Skz Comfort - Blog Posts

hiii lovee

can you do a fic with chan with an overworked!trainee!reader, where he finds her asleep at a cafe near the JYP building, after his day of work and it’s just very fluffy and sweet

-🪻

i haven't got anything to say tbh so . . .

star in the making - (chan x overworked trainee!reader)

pairing: bang chan x overworked trainee!reader

summary: chan finds you asleep in the cafe near JYPE after a long day.

genre: idol & trainee!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan needs to put a fucking screen filter on his laptop, reader is tired asf, mentions of injuries, self-doubt, chan is the softest mashed potato :[

a/n: i had to drag this out of my brain . . . div by @roseraris

skz masterlist

Chan left the JYP building with his head hung low.

In the dusty purple hue glowing from the late-evening sky, everything felt soft and pillowy, but he couldn't help but drag his feet in exhaustion. The scraping of his shoes against the pavement slowed to a stop as he lifted his head, inhaling a deep, cold breath of lilac air.

He groaned and stretched his back a little, feeling the satisfying vibration ring through his bones. He couldn't remember if he'd actually taken a break from working since the morning, and his eyes stung and watered as he blinked them shut.

"Ow," he huffed, scrubbing at his face. His knuckles came away wet and his vision momentarily blurred, strained from the constant focus on his screens in the studio.

Making a mental note to set his screen brightness lower next time, he looked up just as his eyes focused on the cafe across the street.

Small, golden, and cosy, it stayed open late enough for desperate trainees and exhausted artists to rest, a tiny slice of evening light in the otherwise-deserted streets of Seoul.

Chan checked his watch. He should really be heading back to the dorms; Jeongin would be expecting him. He wasn't sure he'd make it back without some sort of energy boost, though, so he looked across the streets both ways, and then crossed, pulling the wooden-framed door of the little cafe open.

The warm, golden glow of the overhead lights hit him with a soft ray of warmth, making his cheeks turn pink from the effects of the thawing cold in his blood. He sighed, pulling the door shut behind himself, and nodded once to the barista.

She smiled tiredly, wiping down the counter with a cloth, and moved away to attend to one of the coffee machines, too familiar with his face to cause much of a fuss.

Chan ordered a hot drink and paid, before stuffing his receipt in his pocket and looking around for somewhere to sit.

His gaze caught onto a small, hunched-over figure nestled in a tiny booth at the back, a cup of barely-touched tea next to them.

Chan smiled softly, the familiar flop of your hair and the usually-ruffled clothes drowning your frame pulling him like a magnet.

Sitting down next to you and shedding his coat, he draped it over your back before poking you lightly in the side.

"Mmhmff..."

"Wake up, Y/n."

Lifting your head, you groaned before rubbing your eyes with a fist. "Wha- Chan?"

He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He didn't seem to mind the lack of honorifics, simply choosing to stroke a strand of hair out of your face in an affectionate, brotherly gesture. "Hi."

You sighed sleepily before resting your head on the cushioned backseat of the booth. "What time is it?"

"Late enough." He pushed the cooling cup of tea towards you.

Taking a small sip with a momentous amount of effort, you pushed the cup away before blinking away the remnants of sleepiness. "What are you doing here?"

Chan nodded at the barista in thanks as she set down his drink in front of him, and pulled the steaming mug towards himself. "Needed a boost before heading home. Didn't feel like getting a ride home; I've been sat on my ass all day in the studio."

You snicker, fighting another yawn. "As per usual."

"Shut it, trainee."

A tiny laugh escaped your mouth; you pulled Chan's coat around yourself a little tighter, feeling the post-sleep shiver set in, a disturbance to your previous state. "I've been sleeping since four, I think. It was packed when I came in."

"It's bad for your back to sleep like that, you know."

You fired back without hesitation. "And it's bad to be shut up in a studio all day, staring at a screen."

Chan's chuckle warmed the air between you, a musky, welcoming sound. His voice cleared a little as he took a sip of his drink, the warm liquid soothing his throat. "Fair enough. Still, you shouldn't sleep here. Go home. Rest."

You shook your head, resting it on your folded forearms as you leaned over the table. "Too tired. I had dance practice all day."

He stared thoughtfully into the distance, gaze unfocused. "It can't have been that bad."

"I can't feel my legs. I think I pulled a muscle..."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Chan choked on his drink, hiccupping as he thumped himself in the chest. You chuckled as he exhaled, wiping the last dregs of his drink from his lips. "Average trainee experience, huh?"

You sighed and nestled further into your forearms, Chan's heavy coat like a hug on your back. "Yeah. I don't seem to be getting any better, though. Lots of my friends have dropped out already."

Chan was silent for a moment. He pressed his fingertips to the warm porcelain of the mug in his hands, relishing its warmth. His voice was soft in the golden light. "Lots of trainees do. It's not just about talent, Y/n; you have to be able to keep pushing and persevering. You need heart."

"I do?"

"Yes," Chan sat back against the cushioned seat. "And you've got plenty of it, little one."

You couldn't fight the warmth rising in your cheeks.

"Okay," you whispered.

Chan's gaze was steady, measured; he ran a finger around the rim of the mug in his hands. "Keep your chin up, hmm? It gets easier around evaluation time. Just push as hard as you can for now and it'll pay off. I promise."

You gazed at him thoughtfully; the smooth, cold-flushed planes of his face, his dark, windswept hair. His eyes, perhaps a little baggy and strained, but as full of loveliness and affection as they had been the day you'd first met.

Your voice was quiet and thoughtful, wary as if you were afraid you'd be overstepping a boundary. "Was it worth it? The struggle?"

His gaze met yours, and he pushed the mug away. "I felt like it wasn't really worth it while I was training. But now, I'm the leader of a successful group, I've learnt so much and met so many new people, I get to spend my days doing what I love-"

"And you have seven kids."

He tweaked your nose, smiling at your cheeky interruption. "Eight. Including you."

You grinned, sleep still faintly dulling your senses in a pleasant, dreamy haze. "Me?"

Chan chuckled quietly. "Yes, you. Our little star-in-the-making."

He picked up your teacup and placed it next to his in the middle of the table. He reached into the pocket of his coat, still draped over you, and retrieved his phone.

"Come on. I'll take you home."

a/n: yayy new fic (do people even read these notes? comment if you do pls)

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i beg of u to make a felix ver of the period comfort series

hihihi it's finally here~ i haven't released much lately but i've been wanting to write for lixie for a while . . . here you gooo

your warmth - (best friend!lee felix x reader with period)

pairing: best friend!lee felix x reader with period

summary: felix catches you at an unpleasant time . . .

genre: soft, reader has a period, mentions of blood, period products, medication, mentions of eating and drinking, i don't like this one very much :/, oh well, cuddling, kissing, very soft, very fluffy, kind of angsty?? reader has a job, felix likes to burst into reader's house unannounced

a/n: yayyy the felix ver. of the period comfort series !!!

skz masterlist

You're pretty sure you're falling apart right now.

At least, that's what it feels like.

It started with a momentary, dull ache this morning while you were getting ready for work; you thought nothing of it and grabbed a piece of toast on your way out. It faded after ten seconds, anyway; probably the result of a late-night snacking session. Or so you thought.

It happened again at work, as soon as you sat down at your desk; again, you ignored it, though the thought of your period lingered at the back of your mind. Brushing it aside, you had locked in and finished everything that you needed to do.

Satisfied a couple of hours later, and feeling in the mood for a well-deserved break, you'd stood up and immediately felt the wet, scarlet dregs of horror gushing out of you like a leaky tap.

Shit.

That event had been followed by a hasty call to your manager, saying you needed to go home, a rummage in your bag (only to find you'd run out of pads and tampons... seriously?) and then a drive home that was so fast you're pretty sure you caused some sort of accident.

Now, you're curled up on the sofa, both hands pressing a heating pad firmly to your lower stomach, swaddled in a fluffy blanket and a hoodie that is far too hot.

You're sweating, your lower back, thighs, and underarms uncomfortably damp against the thick material of your clothes, but you don't have it in yourself to move.

Just as you're about to hesitantly move to turn the thermostat as cold as possible, the door flies open and Felix strides in with a cheerful greeting. You flinch at the sound of the door banging shut, followed by your best friend's clumsy shuffling as he makes himself at home.

"Y/n, I'm here!" He sings, grinning.

Immediately dumping his belongings on the counter and kicking off his shoes, he walks over to the couch where you are and flops down on the couch, apparently unaware of your sticky, miserable state.

"Get out," you groan, doubling over on the couch.

"Aww, why?" He leans forward, eyes scanning your figure. "Thought you were fine with me coming over.." He trails off.

Hoodie, fluffy blanket, heating pad, looks angry, sweating, clutching stomach... Oh no. Period.

"Y/n," he coos cutely, suddenly cautious.

You groan even louder. "Go away, Felix. I'm not in the mood."

"Clearly- hmphh-"

He's met with a cushion to the face, and he falls back against the couch with an ungraceful thud. Tossing it aside, he scoots closer, pushing the fluffy blanket onto the floor and giving you some much-needed, cool relief.

"No need to get violent," he says, chuckling. "Do you want tea?"

Having no energy left to scoff at him, you sigh and nod in defeat. He gets up and pats your head before heading into your kitchen. The smell of chamomile fills the room, and you inhale deeply, the warm, light scent giving you enough strength to stand up. You grimace as the blood rushes out, and you shift uncomfortably on the spot, trying to ignore the warm, wet feeling.

"I'm going to get changed," you say quietly, voice so small you're not sure he'll hear it. But he does, and he just nods with a smile before pouring a little more hot water into a mug.

You sigh and drag your feet down the hallway, shutting your bedroom door behind yourself. Quickly changing your pad and washing your hands, you wipe your sweaty body down with several wet wipes before stepping into a light shirt and pair of shorts.

Normally you wouldn't be wearing this sort of thing on your period, but it's too hot for heavy clothing, and it's not like Felix will care. He's seen you in all sorts of things, and in this state too. It's not the first time he's come across you on your period.

There's a knock on the door; too tired to call out, you sluggishly pull it open and are met with your best friend's smiling face; his sunshine-like energy hits you with a wave of irritation, and you groan before moving aside to let him in.

A waft of steam follows him as he enters and sets the mug of tea down; he rubs his hands together and flops onto the bed, holding out the heat pad you had earlier. It had gone cold as soon as he had spontaneously announced himself in your abode; now, you watch as he drops it on the bed, tapping his fingertips together to disperse the heat from holding it.

"I reheated it for you," he says cheerfully.

"Thanks," you sigh, sitting on the bed. He hands you the mug and you lift it with weak hands, taking a long, deep sip of the liquid. It's immediately soothing, the cramps ripping your gut open dulling for just a moment. Felix watches you intently.

"Did you take medication?" He asks softly.

You nod. "Only a while ago. It hasn't kicked in yet, unfortunately."

Felix watches as you lift the heating pad to your stomach, pressing it to try and relieve the cramping. It hurts a little because of the heat, but it's soothing, and you exhale as the pain begins to dull.

"I wish I could have a heat pad as big as I am," you say, dazed and fatigued. "It's too messy to take a hot bath, and I get uncomfortable with blankets and hoodies... Too sweaty..."

Silence.

"Just wanna fall asleep," you continue, sighing. You're talking to yourself more than you are to Felix; the pain has muffled your senses, making the whole world seem quiet and tired, and all you're aware of is the constant ache in your abdomen.

There's a sudden warmth against your cheek and the world tilts sideways.

Shooting upwards, and then grimacing as you feel blood soak your pad, you stare at Felix with wide eyes. His arms are around your waist, one leg up as he leans against the headboard, clearly meaning to take you into his chest. His ears are red, though not half as scarlet as your nether regions.

"S-sorry," he says hurriedly, stumbling over his words. "I just- I thought it might help a little?"

He finishes on a question, a feeble attempt to reason and placate, like he's not sure why he did it himself. Rightfully so; you and Felix are close, but not so close that you cuddle or hold each other. The furthest you two go is holding hands or him having his arm around your shoulders.

But not this.

You bite your lip and look him up and down, weighing your decision. It did feel really good to be held. You know you could just fall asleep on him instantly. Felix is a comfy person, the angles and planes of his form surprisingly soft and pillowy.

But he might think it's gross... What if I leak on him while I sleep? Or what if he gets uncomfortable...

You don't have time to think the rest of it through, because Felix makes the decision for you. You let yourself be pulled into his chest, resting comfortably on your side as his arms meet each other at your waist. They wrap warmly around your shoulders and you're immediately sleepy as your cheek once again meets the heat emanating from his chest.

Was he always this comfortable?

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, and the low sound makes you shiver despite the warmth surrounding you. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Felix..."

"Shhh," he says, stroking your hair, surprisingly bold despite his earlier flustered state. "I've got you."

The constant, dull ache plaguing your body like a disease has now reduced to a quiet, half-hearted throb in your stomach, the pain soothed for the most part. Part of you wishes you could stay like this forever, pressed against him like this, feeling the fan of his warm breath on your hair, the heat radiating from his body.

It's all so comfy and domestic and familiar, somehow.

Felix drops a tiny, hesitant kiss to your temple as he slides down the headboard, pulling you gently to his chest. It makes your cheeks warm as your eyelids begin to droop. You're on the verge of falling asleep, too far gone to be awake enough to open your eyes or protest at his movements. Not that you want to, even if you could.

One hand falls limp as your eyes finally shut, and Felix tucks it into the space between you, once more wrapping his arm around your waist and letting it rest in the dip.

He can't resist the urge to kiss your forehead, so close to him, and the feeling of your skin against his mouth is so restful that he keeps it there, gently falling into slumber with a permanent kiss resting against your face. Permanent enough, or at least until you wake up or he pulls back.

Neither of those things are happening any time soon.

"Feel better," he whispers.

a/n: this feels so short (like me) . . .

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stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader) part 4

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: the aftermath of the fight, as well as another disaster, unexpectedly brings you and chan together .

genre: idol!au, mentions of eating, drinking, mentions of injuries, medical supplies and processes, mentions of self-neglect (chan forgets to use chapstick lmao), my poor minho :( , jisung chews his nails . . . bad quokka !! if i forgot anything (i probably did), comment and i'll add <3

a/n: part 4 everyone cheer !! gonna make a masterlist soon (lie) !! div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part one | part two | part three

Chan walks home in the rain.

It's still thundering down like the skies have opened up, and the sensible part of him tells him to go back to your place and apologise, reason with you. Smooth a bandaid over your wounds, stroke a hand down your shoulders, make it all better like he has so many times before.

But he doesn't.

He keeps walking with his head down, the rain dripping off the slick strands of his hair, dripping into his eyes and falling unpleasantly down the front of his shirt, though it's already soaked beyond repair. It's freezing; so unbelievably cold that his skin is beginning to ache all over. The rain drives into his skin like a thousand tiny needles made of ice.

He grits his teeth and keeps walking. Time passes by in a shower of darkness and wet misery, and before he knows it, he's back at the dorm, shivering on the doorstep as he waits for Jeongin to open the door. His hands fly to his biceps and he stamps his feet, shivering and chattering as the door opens.

"Hyung?" Jeongin says, peeking around the door. He looks so cosy; oversized hoodie and sweats carrying the lingering scent of an evening hot drink. "What- You're soaking! Did you change your clothes...?"

Chan nods and steps inside, exhaling a puff of almost frozen air from his lungs. Jeongin disappears down the hallway in a whirl, presumably to fetch a towel, and Chan bites his lip harshly as he takes in the sudden sereness of his surroundings.

It should be no surprise; he lives here. But the way everything is set out, the placement of the furniture and little items on the shelves coupled with the rich scent of cocoa and soft blankets suddenly makes him shiver in a way he can't explain. And he knows it's not from the cold or the clammy wetness slicking his body.

He shouldn't be in here.

He should be outside, in the rain, in the cold, shivering and curling in on himself in the dark street. He should be out there, so blinded by the mist and the fog that he has no idea which way is where.

Because he deserves that. Not least because he literally blew up in his best friend's face and stormed out of their house.

Along with a few other things, he thinks bitterly.

"Here," Jeongin says suddenly, thrusting two towels in his face. Chan takes them and his younger member stands by worriedly, fluttering around like he's not quite sure what to do. "What happened?"

Chan just shakes his head, flinging drops of water like crystals from his hair. Turning, he slips off his waterlogged shoes, toes off his socks, and then trails down the hallway like a phantom. Albeit a very wet one at that.

Jeongin stares after him in utter confusion.

.

Chan hisses as the hot water hits his skin.

It's a welcome change from the wet cold he was drenched in earlier, but it feels strange, the difference in temperature. Like pouring boiling water over frozen bones, they don't immediately thaw.

His temper does, though.

Groaning, he leans his head on the tiled wall of the shower; it's steamy from the condensation, as are the glass walls. His hand comes up to lightly tug at his hair, trying to remove the waterlogged feel of it. Like he can just rinse it all off.

Resting his forearm on the tiled wall, he sighs and turns the shower temperature a little hotter. He's been standing under the stream for who knows how long, but he can't quite bring himself to reach for the handle and turn the water off. Not yet.

His forearm slips against the tiles and knocks unpleasantly against his chest, almost knocking the breath out of his lungs. Standing up abruptly, his vision is blinded by the hot stream of water and he hisses before slapping the handle. The water jet turns off and he rubs at his eyes with a wet fist before sighing and stepping out.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he steps out of the bathroom and jolts.

Hyunjin is sitting calmly on the bed; his long, elegant form is swathed in a dark hoodie and a pair of basketball shorts. He doesn't look cold despite the weather outside; though inside the dorm, warmth hangs in the air like a thick woollen blanket.

Stumbling and fetching up against the bathroom doorframe, Chan hisses before tossing a can of deodorant at his friend from the dresser. It hits his knee with a metallic clang before rolling under the bed. Hyunjin stares after it with a look of mildly piqued interest.

"Didn't know we were throwing aerosols to deal with our problems now," he remarks dryly before gesturing to the bathroom. "You took a while in there."

Chan huffs and sits down on the bed, feeling a lingering drop of water slide down his spine as he leans over, elbows on knees. "I wouldn't have taken as long if I knew you'd be here. Did Jeongin let you in?"

"No," Hyunjin says sarcastically. "I climbed seven stories and then broke in through the window."

One hand meets the bridge of Chan's nose, rubbing to ease the tired tension set between his brows. "Minho's humour is rubbing off on you."

"Minho-hyung wouldn't have done what you did."

Chan scoffs and moves to the dresser, slipping off the towel and replacing it with a pair of sweats, a tank, and a hoodie, all black. Hyunjin turns his back without being told, sighing as he twists his ring around his long, knobby fingers.

Feeling the weight of his friend on the mattress next to him, Hyunjin turns back and is met with Chan sprawled out on the mattress, rather like a fish after the tide has gone out. He's left flapping and dying on the sand.

"I'm guessing Y/n told you what happened," Chan says, his tone dead and tired.

"She called me crying, saying that you exploded at her and then left."

"Yep. You idiot."

Chan makes a strangled noise, throwing his hands up in the air and then letting them collapse by his sides. They bounce against the mattress. "I- That wasn't how it was supposed to go."

Hyunjin tilts his head. "She also got pissed at me because I let you use my phone to text her. So..." He lies down next to Chan, nestling in the duvet underneath him. "We're both in the wrong."

Closing his eyes, Chan rolls onto his side and regards his friend with a cool, stony stare. "You haven't said anything, have you?"

"About what?"

A pointed glance.

Hyunjin scoffs and looks up at the ceiling. "No. But I think you should."

"I can't. She hates me. Even more, if that's humanly possible. It'll just make this mess worse."

"Then at least apologise to her, hyung."

Chan sighs; a deep, weary exhale betraying the depth of his exhaustion. "Fine. Just- I need time to think."

Hyunjin nods. "I'm sure she does as well. For now, rest, and try to avoid getting sick. We have a lot to do in the next few weeks." He puts a hand on his friend's shoulder as he sits up. "Go and eat something, and then sleep. Let's put this mess aside for now and clear our minds. Everything will be fine."

"Do you think so?"

Hyunjin grins. "I know so. Now quick, go and eat something before Jeongin scoffs the whole pantry."

.

Chan can't focus.

Not on his schedules, or his training, or his dancing or singing or socialising or any other one of the multitude of roles he's somehow picked up along the way of being the leader of Stray Kids.

He wakes up. He sleepwalks his way through dance and vocal practices, half-asses his production work, does a photoshoot or an interview which he can't find it in himself to care about, does some more practice, and then crashes into bed.

Today is no different.

"Jisung, like this," Minho pushes his younger member's arms into the right position for the choreography, demonstrating the step. "Make sure you pop your chest before moving here- And then like this, see?"

"I don't get it."

Minho groans playfully, tugging lightly on Jisung's hair before moving to correct Seungmin's position. "Chan-hyung will show you."

Jisung looks across at his leader, who is standing half-dazed in the middle of the floor, clearly not up to the task. Which is unusual, along with the fact that he hasn't bothered to wrangle the rest of the kids into practicing like normal.

Hyunjin and Jeongin are fighting in the corner, and Changbin is on the floor on his phone. The rest of the members whine and complain, halfheartedly dancing, and Minho rubs a finger across his temple as his gaze follows Jisung's.

"Okay, fine," he sighs. "Just work on the first part. Seungmin, go do it with him."

Both members trail to the back of the room, beginning to run through the choreo again. Minho stalks up to his leader and tugs lightly on the stiff brim of his cap.

"Hyung," he says firmly. "I know you're tired, but we have a lot to do. Just this practice, then we can take a break tomorrow. But you have to help me out, okay?" He gestures to the chaotic mess of members around the room. "They only listen to you, and you're standing here like a ghost. Help me."

Chan is silent.

"Hyung," Minho says insistently, peering into his leader's face. "Help me."

No answer.

Minho sighs, turning away and feeling rather crestfallen as he begins the first line of choreography again. There's a strange feeling bubbling in his stomach, one that's unpleasant and rather reminds of when he was younger, being told off for breaking something or getting into a scuffle.

It's not like Chan to brush him off.

He didn't really brush me off, Minho thinks. Just kind of- Ignored me. I wonder if something's wrong. I heard Hyunjin saying he went to go talk to Y/n... Maybe they fought. Ah, this isn't ideal... We have a comeback soon.

How am I supposed to keep everyone in line? Chan-hyung won't do it.. Maybe he's upset with me, too. Maybe I should be doing better. I'll come back and practice tonight.

"Minho-hyung, we did the first part." Seungmin emerges from behind him, rolling up his sleeves. Jisung nods dutifully next to him. "How do you do the switch part where we move? Because I go forward to centre but Jisung-hyung and I have to move around each other..."

Minho racks his brain for the choreography. He knows this. He knows every step, every turn, every switch. He could do it in his sleep.

But suddenly, he can't remember.

Panic rises in his gut like bile creeping up his throat. He clears it awkwardly and clenches his fists as he desperately attempts to recall the steps. His vision blurs and he fiercely wills the unexpected emotion away.

"Take a break," he says, strained, cheeks pink in embarrassment. I don't want to be upset in front of them. "We'll do the next part tomorrow. I don't think we're going to get much done today anyway."

Seungmin and Jisung share a strange look before nodding quietly and wandering off.

Minho bites his lip as he watches them go. A sharp tang erupts in his mouth and he whimpers suddenly, tasting blood.

A pathetic feeling settles on his shoulders before it's overtaken by a wave of anger and frustration. His gaze flickers to Chan. He's still standing in the middle of the floor. Dead to the world.

Minho's gaze is afresh with determination.

I'm going to do better, hyung.

.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Chan calls wearily. He's been sitting slumped against the desk, flicking a pen with his finger. It rolls up, then down, then falls to the floor as Hyunjin steps into the room.

He closes the door quietly, hovering in the doorway.

Chan doesn't look up; he doesn't need to. He's known his members long enough to recognise whose footsteps are whose, and he sighs and picks up the pen before turning to regard Hyunjin with a tired gaze.

"You again," he says, though there's no maliciousness behind it. "It's late."

"Hey," Hyunjin replies quietly. "I know. Can we talk?"

Chan gestures to the small leather couch behind his chair. Hyunjin sits and shifts uncomfortably. Clearly it's taken a lot of courage for him to appear at the studio, and his hands twist around each other in his lap.

"So," Hyunjin begins awkwardly.

"I haven't told her, if that's what you're wondering," Chan says calmly. He feels anything but.

Hyunjin doesn't look up, but the slight set of tension in his shoulders relaxes slightly. A puff of air escapes his lips. "I don't know if I should tell her. It feels wrong."

"It isn't wrong," Chan reasons.

"It is, kind of. Knowing that all this time..." He trails off, clearly guilty. "I just don't know when the right time is. Especially because you two fought."

"We didn't fight," Chan groans. "I just- I wanted to tell her so badly, but after the restaurant, I didn't know how to process things, and once I found out about this..." He gestures vaguely. "It was just so frustrating to not be able to tell her the truth."

"You need to, Chan."

"I know-"

"No," Hyunjin says firmly. "You need to really tell her. Sit her down when she isn't busy, apologise, and explain everything. Like we talked about last night. She deserves to know that much at least. It'll be good for you too."

Chan tugs off his cap. "What do you mean, good for me?"

"Hyung, you've been running on nothing but fumes since you stormed out of Y/n's place that night. You haven't been able to focus on anything, and we're falling behind. The comeback is soon."

"I know, I know," Chan sighs, slumping in his chair. "It just seems selfish to tell her how I feel, considering..."

The studio falls silent. Hyunjin stares at his friend with a look of empathy, though it's tinged with sadness in the dim light of the room. "You really do love her, don't you?"

Chan nods sincerely. "I know someone else does too. That's why I held back... It was so frustrating, Hyunjin. You have no idea..."

Hyunjin has the grace to look sheepish, running a hand over his dark buzzed hair. "Do they know that you know? The other person who likes her..."

"I don't think so."

Hyunjin leans forward, tugging curiously at the neckline of his shirt. "Do you know who it is?"

He nods again, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "It's-"

"Chan-hyung!" Jisung throws open the studio door, red-faced and breathless. "Come quick!"

Chan stands up immediately, Hyunjin following. His brow furrows in concern. "Jisung, calm down. What's wrong?"

Jisung's eyes widen fractionally in panic. "Minho-hyung is hurt."

.

He was just trying to practice.

One late-night dance practice wouldn't hurt, right? It would do him so good, help him clean up his moves before the rest of the members came to their senses and realised that he isn't competent enough to be teaching the group choreography.

Great work, Minho. Absolutely fantastic.

Now he sits in the middle of the dance studio floor, cradling his ankle between white-knuckled hands. The rest of the members flutter around him, along with some of the medical staff, and the door flies open once more as Hyunjin and Chan stride in, faces set in worry. Jisung follows, chewing anxiously at his nails.

"Minho," Chan says, kneeling by his side. He exhales sharply as his fingers lightly touch his shin, inspecting the damage. "What happened?"

"I'm fine." He fights a grimace.

"What happened?" Chan's voice is stern, strained with worry. He has every right to be; Minho's ankle is swollen and red, already bruising, but he feels a sharp pang of sadness at his leader's tone. And it somehow seems to hurt more than the injury itself, even if just for a moment.

He seals his mouth shut, pressing his lips together, and looks away.

"He was doing a late-night practice of the choreo," Jisung explains, moving to put an arm around Jeongin and Felix. "We came in a little later because I forgot my phone, and he was on the floor."

"He must have fallen doing the dance break," Jeongin says quietly, meekly nestling into Jisung's side.

Minho interjects with a sharp cry of pain as one of the staff members presses ice to the joint. It stings and aches and feels a little better all at the same time. His throat bobs, swallowing thickly, and a bead of sweat blooms a damp, circular patch on the cotton of his shirt.

Chan goes tense and calls out several instructions to the staff, his previous misery clearly forgotten. Turning back to Minho, his eyes flit all over his body, worriedly checking for any other injury. "You shouldn't have been up this late. And alone, too; you know bad things happen this way."

Minho flinches at his sharp tone. "Hyung-"

"No, Minho," Chan says firmly. "Promise you won't do it again. And tell me why you did it in the first place; it's not like you to be up so late to begin with-"

"I was trying to make you happy, hyung," he interrupts miserably, biting his lip.

The members fall silent, and the staff members bustling around with medical supplies and phone calls have the good grace to do the same.

"What?" Chan's tone is disbelieving.

"You were so down, so upset, and I thought it was because of Y/n, but I tried talking to you earlier during practice and you brushed me off, and it felt so hurtful, and I just wanted to do better, hyung," Minho cries, words tumbling out of his mouth. "I thought it would help- I wanted you to be proud of me..."

Chan presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. It ends in more of a sigh, and he crouches closer to the younger member, reaching up to brush a strand of slick hair out of his face. "I am proud of you. I always have been, no matter what you do or achieve. And I want you to know that I'm sorry, Minho," he stands up. "Everyone. I'm truly sorry. I've been so lost in my head and I forgot what matters to me. I'm going to fix this, I promise."

"Fix his ankle first, hyung," Jeongin chides him bravely, clearly fed up. "Apologise later."

The rest of the members groan and agree, and even Minho fights back a familiar smirk, grimacing as one of the staff adjusts him gently.

Chan lets a grin crack his mouth, the first real bubble of happiness rising up in him, even though it's small. It feels strangely good to be told off, snapped back into his senses.

He adjusts his dark cap on his head. "Right."

.

"Hey, Minho."

He looks up from the mess of blankets and cushions swaddling his figure on the couch. Blinks once, and then shuffles upwards to peek out at you with curious, catlike eyes.

"Y/n."

Grinning, you shut the door quietly and step into the dorm, pocketing your spare key. Toeing off your shoes, you place them neatly by the rack and then move over to where Minho is on the couch. "I bet you didn't hear me, hmm?"

He shakes his head rather shyly, clearly pleased to see you. He picks up the remote and pauses the show he's been watching. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Min," you say gently, placing a bag on the table and carefully bringing out a box. "I bet your stomach missed me too... I brought donuts."

You don't even get to finish your sentence before Minho dives into the box. Laughing, you stand up and pet his soft, messy hair before moving to the counter and placing a tote bag on the marble. "Leave some for Jisung. I'll get him to drop this stuff off too..."

Minho looks up, licking sugar and cinnamon from his fingers. "What's in that bag?"

"Chan's clothes," you say quietly. "He forgot them when he came to see me."

There's a silent moment of understanding where you move back to the couch and Minho dusts the remaining sugar off his hands. But it doesn't feel awkward like you were afraid it would.

You clear your throat. "How's your ankle?"

He sighs and closes the donut box, lifting his ankle from the couch. It's wrapped in a soft, white bandage, and you can still see some of the bruising peeking out like rose petals. He turns it side to side, inspecting. "It's better. I'm still not allowed to dance, though. Two more weeks."

You touch his knee. "I know it's hard not being able to dance, Min. Good on you for resting, though... I was convinced they'd have to tie you up- Ow."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he lightly pinches your arm. "Not funny. It sucks being stuck here all day."

You sigh and lean back against the couch. "Surely they'd let you come down and watch the practices, at least."

Minho shakes his head. "No. I'd just get tempted to try and get up. It's better this way."

You nod. "I see."

"You know," he continues quietly, "I missed you."

"I know, Min-"

"No," he interrupts. "Not just because of this," he gestures to his ankle. "I missed you when we went out with the guys and the dance crew girls. When we used to leave the company at 3 am to get snacks. I missed you hanging around us. I was upset about it for a while before I realised there was something going on with you and Chan."

"I ruined everything," you sigh. "If I hadn't burst out that night at the restaurant, none of this would have happened."

"And then you would have gone years without getting a chance to tell him how you feel," Minho says reasonably without missing a beat. "Better now than later, where things will be more complicated."

"Things are already complicated."

"Even so, it's better to do it now," he says earnestly. "At least you don't have to waste time pretending you don't love him. The feelings are out, Y/n; now you and Chan just have to work them out. And there's no reason you can't do it together. Like you both always have."

You're quiet, and before you can open your mouth to reply to his unexpectedly reassuring statement, the door opens.

Changbin and Jisung enter the dorm, clattering and bickering about a reworked lyric of the upcoming album's title track. Felix follows, laughing and attempting to stop the argument, finishing off the remains of a coffee. They stop mid-argument, gazes locking with yours, and both fall silent. Someone else steps into the dorm, shutting the door and pulling a dark cap off his head.

"So," Minho says uncomfortably, "I might have forgotten to tell you 3RACHA and Felix were coming over tonight..."

"Minho." You hiss at him.

"Sorry, sorry, it slipped my mind... Injuries and all..."

You filter his excuses out and stand, brushing yourself off. "Hey."

"Hey," Changbin, Felix, and Jisung all awkwardly reply in unison.

Chan turns around in surprise, tugging out his earphones. Clearly he wasn't expecting to see you standing in the middle of the room, and you see his throat bob before he stuffs the headphone cord in the pocket of his hoodie, wary.

No one moves.

You take the first step and pick up your bag, nodding a goodbye to Minho before you move past the couch. "I'll, um- I'm going now. See you later. Feel better, Min."

You fly out the door, fumbling to pull it shut behind yourself. Chan hasn't moved as you went past him, and the scent of his musky, faded cologne follows you in wisps as you head down the corridor with hasty steps.

Shit, you whine inwardly, pressing a hand to your hot cheeks. That was so awkward. Talk about bad timing.

You turn to the left and walk down the corridor before turning to go down the steps to the main floor, focused on leaving as quickly as possible in your embarrassment. In your haste, you miss a step and your stomach swoops unpleasantly downward as you trip.

Time freezes.

Gasping, you open your eyes, and look down at the staircase below. One foot hovers in the air, the other at such an angle behind you that you can't possibly understand how you aren't falling.

Someone pulls you back and you flail, only now feeling the strong, warm grip of a hand on your wrist. Both hands meet a solid chest as you're pulled back to face whoever it is that caught you.

Chan gazes down at you, expression unreadable.

He has total power over you right now; if he lets go, you'll tumble down the stairs. There's a small half of his expression that rather makes him look like he wants to do it.

But the other half...

"Chan," you whisper.

"Planning to break your ankle like Minho?" He doesn't smile, his arms warm and steady around your waist. You're on your tiptoes, body pressed against his as you attempt to balance, but it's impossible without him. "You didn't have to leave."

"I-" You gulp. "I had plans."

"Liar," he says without hesitating. "With who?"

Silence.

Your heart pounds in your chest, smacking against your ribs like a wild, caged animal trying to escape. You look away, giving up without bothering to defend yourself, and Chan exhales.

"Could've just let me fall," you say suddenly, tone bitter. It bubbles out of you unexpectedly like fizz from a shaken can of lemonade.

He blinks, dark eyes regarding you with a calm gaze. He doesn't look as nervous as you thought he would. "Why would I do that?"

You scoff quietly and look away.

"I do care, you know," he says, his voice quiet. One hand comes up to gently brush away a strand of your hair. "Just in case you forgot."

For a moment, everything feels right; the brush of his calloused fingertips, the warmth between you; it's like it was before. Calm and comforting and familiar and Chan.

Before.

Part of you wants to break away from the touch, toss your head and shoo him away. But you don't. You let his hand gently move to touch your cheek, skating down the textured, smooth surface of your skin, caressing the curve of your jaw.

You don't pull away when his breath fans over you, stirring your hair in a faint wave, smelling of mint and coffee and something unmistakeably sweet.

You don't push him back when he lifts you gently, just enough to have your toes touching the ground, and steps back to the top of the landing, carrying you as if you were a doll.

You don't scoff at him when he lets a hand fall to the small of your back, guiding you closer, his touch magnetic and sweet and wildly addicting and so, so warm.

Like the Chan you know. The before Chan. The best friend Chan.

The one who always brought you little flowers when you were both younger to make you smile.

The one who excitedly sang and played his guitar for you on cool summer evenings.

The one who held your hand when you crossed a busy street.

The one who seamlessly included you into a group of friends without trying, because he knew it'd ease your worries of being alone when you first moved to Seoul.

The one, who right now, is gently pressing his mouth to yours in a hesitant, almost dazed action of searing contact, pulling away slightly. As if he's afraid.

Without thinking, you let him tug you gently closer, and one hand meets his collar, softly pulling him in. You didn't even notice when your mouths met.

You feel dizzy.

His lips are chapped; you pinch him lightly on the shoulder, chiding him for the self-neglect, and he chuckles against your mouth. He knows what you're saying.

He always does and he always has.

He barely has time to murmur your name in a blurry, heated whisper before the unmistakeable clatter of footsteps down the hallway makes you both pull back, panting.

Blinking, you and Chan stare down the hallway, fighting to rejoin reality, clinging to each other as your grip tightens on his shoulders.

Your mouth goes dry.

Felix stares brokenly from the end the corridor.

a/n: i hope the wait was worth it . . . nyeheheheheh !!

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo

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not your doll - (bf!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bf!bang chan x reader

summary: chan comes home upset from the latin american leg of the dominate tour.

genre: reverse comfort, idol!au, angsty, mentions of exhaustion, lots of crying, skz deserve better. reader comforts channie, mentions of delusion, mentions of eating and drinking

a/n: yall who think what happened in brazil is funny, or think it was 'just a joke' or 'fans showing support' get tf off my blog. i don't wanna see or talk to anyone who thinks what happened was okay. leave skz alone, leave chris alone. that man is not your punching bag, he's not responsible for fixing all your fucking problems, keeping everyone happy, or in charge of anyone's but his own happiness. that shit you gotta do yourself. this is so fucking disappointing, i'm ashamed to call myself a stay at the moment. let chris live his damn life and let the kids do the same. fuck yall 'stays'. if you were a real stay you wouldn't be doing this shit.

i stand with skz.

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Love?" You call softly, peeking around the bedroom door frame. "Did you wanna come and eat something?"

All you get in response is a muffled 'no' and the sound of shuffling as Chan shifts slightly on the bed. The warm lamplight from the bedside tables spill across his back, highlighting the skin in a rosy, haloed glow.

You sigh and pad over to him softly, sitting on the bed. "I know you might not feel like it, but you need some good food after all that travelling."

Chan shakes his head again, further mussing his unbrushed hair. The curls are squashed and fluffy from him burrowing his head into the pillows, but he doesn't seem to care. Not once has he lifted his head to take a breath of air, and you sigh and push his head gently to the side to do it for him.

He turns his head away, facing the opposite direction; you can hear the shudder from his lungs as he gulps in the fresh coldness of the air; you'd set the thermostat colder, just as he likes it, but he hadn't seemed to take any notice.

You sigh again, running a gentle hand down the soft, albeit slightly dry skin of his back. His duffel bag and suitcase is still in the corner of the room, the zip on his bag half undone as if he'd had the intention of unpacking, but he hasn't.

You'd left him to sort himself out and shower before coming to eat, but it seemed he'd just stripped himself of his outfit and tossed himself on the bed.

Couldn't say you blamed him.

Chan speaks then, low and muffled from the pillow. "I need to go to the company."

"It hasn't even been twenty minutes since you've been home, love," you chide him gently. "Just rest., hmm? All of that can come tomorrow. It doesn't look like you can even move right now..."

Chan groans and burrows his head further into the pillows; you take a soft fistful of his hair and tug it lightly, guiding his head to the side. Your heart lurches.

Chan is crying.

His makeup is smudged; you immediately rest your hands on his shoulders. They're tense as rocks. A black streak of eyeshadow has smeared itself across the white pillowcase, as well as some of his concealer; he doesn't seem to care, and neither do you.

"Channie, my love," you say as gently as you can. You can't hide the worry on your face. "What's wrong?"

That's a useless question. You know exactly what's wrong.

He sits up suddenly, as if to get up, but he collapses on his knees, digging them into the soft sheets. He throws his hands out.

"It's not fair," he cries desperately. "I do everything I can to make things work, and then it all just gets thrown to the side... I can't even open my mouth anymore without my words being twisted..."

You sit there, eyes wide and bewildered, watching this outburst. It's so oddly unlike him to do this, but you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I- The kids, too, they have to deal with all of this, I couldn't wait for us to leave because of what happened at the hotel... They were taking videos of us, videos of one of the kids just standing outside on the balcony, minding his own business, and I couldn't sleep all night because of them chanting, I just-" He hiccups, a tear spilling from each eye like a shattered crystal.

"I just want it all to go right, but it doesn't, and no matter what I do it's not enough," he keels over then, and you pull him into your lap. He lets his lower half kneel over the bed, his face buried in your thighs.

Your vision starts to blur, and a tear drops into his hair, but neither of you take notice. "Channie..."

"I chose this life, Y/n, I chose all of this, I thought I could handle it but I'm not so sure anymore. I want to be happy, and perform without worrying about all of this, I want everyone to just leave me alone..." He's crying freely now, hands gripping your hips as his back shakes, and it's all you can do not to start crying yourself.

That sadness is quickly taken over by a wave of disapproval and anger, anger at the people who dare treat your lover like this, treat his group like performing monkeys at a circus, to be poked and prodded at.

How dare they.

It's not fair. He's right. And you know you can't fix it, make it all better, kiss it healed like you have so many times before. And it's that feeling of helplessness, that overwhelming powerlessness, that makes you lean down and whisper fiercely in Chan's ear.

"Listen to me," you whisper. "It doesn't matter who did it, it doesn't matter if they thought it was right. I can't sit here and tell you I can fix it, because I can't, and neither can you, because it's not your problem, it will never be your problem. You are not their toy. Channie, my love, all you need to do is keep going. That's it, without looking back.

"Forget about those people who pretend to be Stays, who are nothing more than obsessed delusional idiots. I know it's hard. They are so completely and utterly lost in their own worlds, and you can't tie yourself into knots to fix them, because it's impossible.

"I know it hurts, love, and I know it's frustrating, especially for the kids too. None of you deserve to be treated like that, like you have to be filmed and screamed at and all of those other things-"

"But if I don't let them, then they all start hating me," his eyes are teary, utterly exhausted with emotion.

"Chris, you are not a doll," you say firmly, cupping his face. "You are not responsible for everyone's happiness. You are responsible for your own joy. So are the kids. I know you feel like you have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but it doesn't mean that you have to take everyone's bullshit alongside it too...

"You are a musician, an artist, not a miracle worker or some sort of magician that can take everyone's troubles away or perform to everyone's unrealistic standards. And as for those idiots who stalked you outside your hotel, JYP is taking measures to deal with it. And he says it's fine if you want to take a break for a while."

"I don't want to," he says quietly, inhaling your scent as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. "I just wanted to be home with you, and I am."

"Love..."

"Please," he says, quieter. His tears have slowed. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. It makes me angry, and being angry is exhausting. I'm already exhausted."

You sigh and crack a tiny smile, tapping his cheek lightly. Already you can see his resilience taking effect. Nothing keeps him down for long, your Chan.

"I'll let it go if you promise to come and eat something," you say. "Otherwise, I'm gonna call the kids to spend the night here and they'll eat all of the food I made for you-"

"Okay, okay," he groans, heaving himself upright. "I'm coming. Please don't call them, I've lost enough sleep trying to keep them all in line."

You laugh and kiss him. His lips are slightly chapped, and you tsk softly into the kiss as he stands up, taking you with him.

"Y/n," he murmurs, burning hands slipping to your waist.

"Thought you were too tired," you giggle.

He doesn't respond, instead tugging you closer. You reluctantly pull back and poke his side, making him gasp.

He pulls back too, fighting a sheepish look as you stare pointedly at the bathroom door. "Go shower, then come eat. Now."

He rolls his eyes and steals another kiss to your cheek as he heads towards the bathroom. "Fine."

Chuckling, you make your way to the door, heading to the kitchen. Your feet slow at the door threshold, and you turn to look back at Chan as he busies himself with pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his drawers. Even exhausted and upset, he's still beautiful. Your heart sinks a little as you watch the tear tracks on his face glisten under the lamplight, but you don't bring it up. Instead-

"Channie," you say softly.

He looks up, a black hoodie in one hand.

Your voice is gentle, almost hesitant. "It'll be okay, you know that, right?"

He nods quietly, solemn as you've ever seen him. "I know."

You feel your lips curving into a soft but sad smile. "I love you."

He blinks. "I love you more."

"That's not possible," you say teasingly as you turn and head towards the kitchen.

His laugh echoes through the house.

a/n: none bc i'm fucking pissed.

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude

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stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader) part 3

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: you're greeted with an unexpected surprise that same evening. but no one said it would be pleasant . . .

genre: angsty (everyone say it with me), idol!au, mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, scrapes, mentions of first aid kits and medical supplies, slight suggestive warning (nothing intense or graphic), lots of back and forth, lots of crying, i think i missed something but this chapter is sadder than the last two combined . . . i'm not sorry

a/n: yall wanted part 3 . . . SUFFER ! ! div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part one | part two

Chan is soaked.

His hair looks as if it had been styled earlier; not anymore, and the rain drips down strands of his hair and into the neckline of his tee. The white fabric clings to his skin, turning sheer under his leather jacket; its dark, smooth surface collects water in the grooves, running off the silver-clipped cuffs.

His bare skin has a thin sheen of water over it, like he'd wiped his face before knocking. He stares at you with flushed cheeks, shining wet and dark under the warm light of your porch.

"Y/n," he says cautiously. The rain thunders behind him, and you can barely hear the whisper of your name as the wind carries it into the house behind you.

You step back.

Chan doesn't move; doesn't ask to come in, or offer an explanation. He simply stands. Like he showed up at your door without a plan or anything to say. The thought pisses you off, and before you know it, you're moving to slam the door.

He presses a hand to the frame before you can shut it; the satisfying bang that was supposed to come from the slam is replaced with the dull thud of the wood smacking against Chan's hand.

He doesn't flinch.

The skin instantly turns an angry red, a raw scrape running across the top two knuckles. Your hand grips the doorknob as you watch a thick rivulet of scarlet bloom across the wound and run between the dip of his fingers, mixing with the rainwater, tinging his palm pink.

Your voice is low, but firm enough that he can still hear it over the cacophony of rain behind him. "What do you want, Chan?"

Silence. Then-

"To talk."

You glare at him, feeling your shoulders go rigid. "Bit late for that, don't you think?"

He does flinch then, from the cold tone in your voice, but he pleads anyway. "Please, Y/n. I just want to figure this out. Let me in."

You scoff and bite the inside of your cheek. The audacity. "You had time to come and see me, both when I was in hospital, and yesterday, when I came back home. Why now?"

"I-" He pauses. "I had to think things through."

You don't have a reply for that. You needed time to process things too. His reply is valid enough. And it's not like he could have texted or called you; you'd blocked him on every platform, and given the members explicit instructions not to let him contact you through them.

Wordlessly, you step aside.

Chan hesitates for a split second before toeing off his shoes and stepping inside. The door brushes his shoulder as you shut it, quieting the din from outside, and he stands there awkwardly, clearly not sure what to do. He doesn't seem to notice the injury on his hand, and blood drips onto the floor, mixing with the rainwater around his feet.

"Wait here," you say monotonely.

Leaving him standing by the door, you head upstairs to fetch a fluffy towel from the linen closet. Pausing by the landing, you spin on your heel towards your bedroom and fetch an oversized shirt and sweats from your drawers.

Chan doesn't look at you as you come back down the stairs; he's still fixed in position as you left him. There's a sizeable puddle around his feet now, tinged with pink where blood from his hand is still dripping. You thrust the towel at him and place the clothes on the back of the couch.

He takes them with a quiet nod of thanks, still not making eye contact. You watch as he pauses, clearly not wanting to trail water over your floor.

"It's fine," you sigh. "Just use the towel after."

He nods and moves to the coffee table in the midst of the living room, taking out several items; his wallet, keys, and his phone in a plastic bag, as well as a few random things like a chapstick, gum wrapper, and crumpled sticky note. Ink stains his fingers as he sets it down on the table, along with everything else.

You wonder dryly as to how he managed to remember to put his phone in a plastic bag to protect it, but somehow forgot to bring an umbrella with him.

The thought is chased away as Chan sheds his jacket. You blink as he brings his arms over his head, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He's-

Oh.

Oh.

You spin around with a squeak and your hands fly to cover your eyes. Chan doesn't remark on this; simply towels his torso down, puts on the shirt you left on the couch, and does the same for his lower half.

He's reasonably quick with it; by the time you turn around, cautiously lowering your hands from your eyes, he's dried off his hair and the water he trailed on the floor.

He folds his wet clothes, save for his leather jacket, which has dried, and places them on top of the damp towel. He stands with the items in his hands, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Put them in the guest bathroom," you say. There is nothing welcoming or gentle about your stance or tone. Just firm, cold instructions.

Chan wanders down the hallway and you sigh, fetching your first aid kit from the kitchen drawer. By the time he comes back, bare feet padding across the tiles, you're sat on the couch with an antiseptic wipe in your hand.

Wordlessly, he sits down beside you, keeping his distance, and lets you swipe the cold pad across his knuckles. You don't coo or utter words or sympathy as you normally would have; cleaning it briskly of the blood, you wind a soft, clean bandage around the top half on his hand and secure it at the wrist.

He flexes his hand as you tuck the empty antiseptic packet into the kit, zipping it up and pushing it to the side. Part of you feels bad, exhibiting this cold demeanour to your best friend, but the other half of you, the much louder part, says he deserves it. Not to say that it isn't partly your fault either.

Is he even your best friend anymore?

You think about yesterday night at this time, sitting with Hyunjin as he stroked fingers across your blanketed knee, cooing and talking to you gently. The air then was filled with unspoken compassion, a mature gentleness, and mutual understanding.

It is nothing like that now. The atmosphere is thick with tension.

"Are you feeling better?" Chan asks quietly.

His voice is tired, void of expectation, but you can detect a slight glimmer of hope behind his words, however short his sentences are.

"Fine," you say curtly, ignoring the stabbing guilt in your heart.

He exhales, tucking up his knees to his chest. "I wanted to come and see you, you know. In hospital."

You fix your eyes on the lamp like you did with Hyunjin yesterday. "So why didn't you?"

"I was afraid."

You fight a scoff. "Afraid of what?"

Silence. Then, "I didn't want to make you feel any worse than you already did."

You actually do scoff then, glaring at him in your peripheral. "Don't spare my feelings, Chris. If you really cared, you would have told me anyway, because the truth is what I needed. Not you avoiding me for almost two weeks because you were too afraid to face me."

He flinches at the odd use of his name, but doesn't retaliate. You can tell you've cut him with the formality, and a look of hurt clouds his eyes before he wills it away. "I'm sorry, Y/n."

"I don't care."

He sighs, running his fingers along the hem of the shirt. A stray droplet of water from his still-drying hair soaks into the fabric, blooming a damp patch on the cotton.

You exhale. "How did you even know I would be home?"

He lifts his gaze. "What?"

"How did you know I would be home when you came?"

He sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "I begged Hyunjin for his phone. The texts from him earlier earlier were from me."

A breathless, disbelieving laugh punches its way out of your chest. "So, first you avoided me, then lied to me, and now you're trying to justify lying to me again through Hyunjin."

Chan throws his hands up. "He agreed to it!"

"That doesn't make it right!" You cry.

He groans, slapping both hands onto his face. "I was a coward, okay? And I didn't want to hurt you, even though I know I already have. I just-" He sighs. "This is a mess."

"Yeah," you mutter. "It is. And I'm going to kill Hyunjin."

"Y/n, just listen," he says desperately. "I don't need you to forgive me. I need you to understand. I'm so sorry I wasn't honest with you-"

"Did you know how I felt?"

He stutters, caught out by your hasty interruption. "I- What?"

Your voice wavers and you curse it for doing so. "Did you know how I felt about you?"

"I-" He leans back again, biting the inside of his cheek. "I had suspicions after you left the restaurant that night, but I figured it might have been because of Chae-"

"Do you like her?"

"No," he says instantly. "I- She's nice and all, but- I don't know. She makes me feel off sometimes."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "So why do you talk to her? Too oblivious to see how she fawns over you?"

He groans again, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'm not oblivious. And that's my job, Y/n. She's part of the dance crew. If I don't talk to her she starts shitting on the group and I really can't deal with another scandal or hate train, okay? I have enough on my mind."

You exhale. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"

"I thought you knew!"

"Well, I didn't," you can't keep the accusatory tone from your voice. "I told you, Chan, all I want is honesty. And if she's that much of a problem, just report it. You have that power over your crew-"

He rolls his eyes. "It doesn't work like that, Y/n. Besides you can't be calling me oblivious when you don't see the way Felix stares at you half the time-"

"What?"

"Just forget it," he scoffs. "Since you're so determined to miss my point."

You exclaim in protest. "I just wanted you to admit that you were-"

He hisses and leans back into the couch, clearly fighting with himself as he interrupts. "Alright, fine! I was wrong. I did something stupid. Okay? Happy?"

"You usually do stupid things anyway," you murmur stubbornly, looking away. It's petty, but it slips out before you can stop it, and strangely, you don't find yourself wanting to take it back.

Chan actually stands up then, running a hand agitatedly through his damp hair. "Y/n, what do you want from me? You want me to admit I was wrong? That I was always around Chae and not you? That I was too scared to come and visit when you were injured? What do you want?"

"I just wanted you to admit to me how you felt!" You cry at him, standing up too, and throw your hands out. "I never wanted any of that! I just wanted the truth about your feelings, about me..." You swipe a hand across your eyes. The backs of your hands come away salty and wet, and you sniff. "But you never listen."

Chan is silent.

His expression is bewildered, upset, the way he looked when you confessed through a haze of tears. Like you're telling him about your feelings for the first time again.

You let out a sob then, the sound bursting out from your chest. It feels ugly, unpleasant, wildly inappropriate for the context of your current situation. But you can't help it, so you screw up your face and cry with your hands at your eyes. A bit like a child.

Chan stands there and lets you cry. He doesn't move to comfort you, reason with your attitude, gently pull your hands from your face like he did so many times before.

He just stands.

You sniff and lower your hands from your face, the room blurry through your misery.

"I thought, that just maybe, you would finally feel the same after all this time, that you would realise feelings the way I did about you." You sniff again. "But you don't."

His mouth is slightly open, like he was moving to say something, but he shuts it again, expression hardening. You blink up at him, vulnerable, exposed, feeling utterly wretched.

He stares down at you, pale and strained, like he's holding himself back from saying something. The way a person who desperately wants to argue, explain, might look at someone who's just sharply told them to shut up.

A strange look takes over his face. Like he can't decide what expression he wants to make. You watch the transition, watch the warmth and softness leave his gaze. Eventually, his features settle, firm and fixed and void.

The lamp does nothing to soften the harsh edges of his words. "You're right, Y/n." His tone has gone numb, uttering out a dark, resigned finality into the lamplight. It's strangely peaceful. "I never felt the same way. I don't believe I ever will."

There's a cold whirl of air, a scuffle, and you flinch as the door then slams shut. Cold, frosty air from outside swirls around the living room.

Unable to process anything, your gaze wanders numbly to the table.

The items he set out on the table earlier are still there, save for his phone, wallet, and keys. His shoes by the door are gone. You let your eyes drift wordlessly to the couch, where Chan had been sitting not even five minutes before. Outside, the rain continues to thunder down relentlessly.

He never even bothered to take his jacket.

a/n: i don't feel like writing a part 4 tbh i just wanna be lazy (can someone else write it please :3 )

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stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader) part 2

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: after a nasty scare, you talk to felix and hyunjin about what happened. the distance between you and chan grows, until...

genre: angsty angsty, idol!au, mentions of hospital, blood, cuts, bruises, no graphic descriptions, mentions of needles (blood withdrawals), mentions of food and drink, han and jeongin want to be medical professionals, seungmin is far too honest (he loves them really), chan loses his shit, i'm not sorry for the ending :]

a/n: the long-awaited part of 'stupidly perfect'! everyone cheer . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part one here

The room is cold; it's the kind of cold that you only experience in hospital. That starched-white, stiff, sterilized cold that seems to sink into every fibre of your being, turning it to ice, until all you can do is sink further into the pristine sheets, trying to find some semblance of warmth.

Warmth.

It reminds you of Chan all over again; the pining, the admiring, the restaurant, Chae. Crying in the bathroom. Confessing. The car.

It's been two days since the accident; your cuts and scrapes are beginning to scab over, but you're still not allowed to leave. They woke you in the hospital in a daze, took one look at your battered body, and that was that. One week of staying in hospital, then they'll see what they can do about letting you go home.

You sigh. Turning onto your side with some difficulty, you survey the familiar white blandness of the room.

It's empty enough; the door in the corner has a pane of frosted glass over it, and a couple of switches by the frame. There's a white table and two chairs placed near the wide window, and the monitors surrounding your bed are a sterile light grey, beeping and flashing.

White, white, white.

Huffing and turning to your left to look out the window instead, you find a slightly more interesting sight; raindrops slide down the glass in a constant, heavy drizzle, and you can just make out the tall, surroundings buildings nearby. The sky is grey, and you think then that maybe the world really has lost its colour. It only felt that way at first; now you can't help but wonder if your world is turning to greyscale, void of colour and life and love.

There's a knock on the door and you're sluggishly dragged out of your misery. Pressing a button by your bedside to let whoever it is in, you sit up a little as a nurse enters the room.

"Hello," she says softly. "Feeling any better?"

You shake your head, and try to offer a smile, but it doesn't work.

"Poor you," she replies quietly. "Anything to eat, maybe? A drink of water?"

"No, thank you," you whisper, exhausted.

She nods, adjusting the hem of her ironed top, and then moves to draw the blinds down. Just enough to dim the room slightly and still let you look out the window.

"You have a visitor," the nurse says softly. "Are you feeling well enough to see them, or should I tell them to come some other time?"

You sit up a little straighter then, heart beginning to throb unpleasantly in your chest. "I, um.. Let them in."

She nods and leaves, and you can hear her softly speaking to someone in the corridor. There's a little bit of shuffling, and then a familiar face pokes its nose into the room.

"Felix," you say, relieved.

He shuts the door with far more care than he ought to, and the comical sight makes your heart twinge. You didn't even realise how much you missed him, too caught up in your own head to acknowledge the Felix-shaped hole in your heart.

He drags a chair from the table over to the bedside and flops down, depositing his bag onto the floor. You inhale deeply; a fresh wave of sweet-smelling cologne fills your senses, immediately reinvigorating. The air feels light and tangy.

"How have you been?" Felix says quietly. "Heard it was nasty."

You sit up with some difficulty, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in your joints. "Yeah, I'm okay. I guess. Could've been worse."

Quiet. Then-

"He's torn to pieces about it," he says even quieter. "Chan."

You sigh and look down at your bruised hands, fiddling over the starched sheets. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide down a little against the pillow. "Is- is he okay? Like..."

Felix sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. Leaning back on the chair, he toes his boots off and places his socked feet on the bed, crossing his legs over one another. You crack a tiny smile at the casual gesture.

"He hasn't been talking much," he muses. "Kind of just stays in his room most of the time. He stopped talking to Chae as well. He felt so guilty."

You groan. "I didn't try to make him feel guilty. I just wanted to tell him how I felt all this time... and I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been so upset about what happened at the restaurant."

"I know."

"He didn't have to cut Chae off because of it... I kinda wanted them to stop talking, but I didn't want that to happen..."

"I know."

"And now I messed up and I'm stuck in hospital all cut and bruised because I couldn't fucking look both ways before I crossed the road-"

"I know."

You slap him half-heartedly on the shoulder. "Is that all you're going to say?"

He runs a hand through his dark locks again. "Nah. By the way, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner to see you. I figured you'd want some time to rest and heal."

You sigh. "It's okay. I just- Everything is a mess right now."

"Messes can be cleaned."

You sigh and shift against the uncomfortable firm mattress. "Lix?"

He tilts his head. "Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you came to see me."

Felix is silent. Then, he stands and leans against the glass of the window, looking down thoughtfully to the streets below.

You get out of bed with some difficulty and join him, letting your forehead rest on the cold, cool glass. You're not bothered that he isn't replying to your sentiment; sometimes, people say the most when they speak no words at all.

Both of you are aware that the glass could break at any moment and send you both hurtling to the ground, but you don't move and neither does Felix, still looking down onto the street far, far below.

All you can hear is his soft breathing, the muted sounds of city life rumbling seemingly right under your feet, and the occasional soft footsteps of a nurse outside the door.

"Are you gonna talk to him?" Felix says. "About it all."

It's a vague enough question; strangely, you feel your heart flutter. Talking to Chan after getting out of hospital seems like such a faraway event. Like it's something that you don't need to worry about for the next few years, so distant.

That is not true.

"I'm gonna have to face him at some point," you say, sighing in resignation. "Should I wait for him to find me first? It might be less awkward..."

Felix lets out a little laugh, drawing a circle on the glass with his fingertip. "It's gonna be awkward either way."

You sigh and look down at the streets below. It seems so peaceful up here, yet you can see the faint, faraway tell-tale gathering of dark clouds on the horizon.

He's right.

.

"So," Yuna exhales, pulling your bag inside the door. "Do you want me to pick up anything from the grocery store for you?"

You think about this question as you set your waterbottle down on the counter. It's so good to finally be back home. Yuna, one of your work friends, called and asked if you wanted help getting set up back at home, and you had readily and gratefully agreed.

"Um.. I need more milk and..." You open the fridge, then the pantry, to inspect what needs replacing. "...And some ramen."

Yuna scoffs. "Y/n, you are not living off ramen. You just got out of a week in hospital... do you want to send yourself back in from an MSG overdose?"

You laugh, your healing ribs hurting at the action, and unzip your bag. "Okay, fine. I'll ask Felix if he can spare me anything. The boys said they'd drop off a few things for me too."

She brings you in carefully for a hug, and you wrap your arms around her frame. She smells so nice, and not for the first time do you deeply relish the warmth of someone's arms around your body. There's something about physical affection that is just so comforting.

Especially after so long in hospital.

Felix had dutifully come to visit you every day, each time bringing a couple of the members. It had been a welcome distraction from the fading novelty of being hospitalised and the injuries you sustained, but after Han and Jeongin asked the nurses to have a go at giving you a blood withdrawal, Felix had hurried them out of the room.

Not that they minded.

Then there was Seungmin, coolly making jokes about turning off your life support (you weren't even in intensive care), and Lee Know, who had smuggled Dori into his bag to bring to you.

"Dori will kiss it better," he had said seriously (Dori bit you).

Hyunjin spent most of his time sketching and painting over your bandages; it was a welcome gesture from the stark white you'd gotten so used to seeing in the hospital. Even Changbin had taken time off his busy schedule to see you, often coming into the room fresh from the gym or a dance practice.

But no Chan.

Each time they entered, you'd look up in anticipation and barely veiled hope, but it was always wasted. He never showed. Felix told you they'd been trying to persuade him to come and see you, but Chan had refused and shut down. You were a little disappointed and partially relieved at this revelation.

You glance down at the bandages wrapping your forearms now; not exactly a cast, but not a simple wrap either. It's slightly stiff, and you smile at the multitude of silly signatures and drawings that the members and some of your friends had peppered the surface with.

Looking around your living room and then casting a glass-eyed gaze over the kitchen, you inhale deeply. It feels strange to be here. The place is well-worn, lived in, but it feels like you've walked into someone else's home and stood in the middle of the room. It doesn't feel like you live here at all.

Oh well, you think. Time to get settled.

.

And settle you do; by the time the clock hits seven, you're curled up on the couch with a blanket, a bowl of hot soup (courtesy of Lee Know), and a good tv show.

You've turned the lights off and put the lamps on instead; you swear if you see one more bright light you might literally lose your mind.

The dim, golden glow is comforting; it makes you feel warm, and along with the effects of Lee Know's soup, the fluffy blanket, and the light pitter-patter of rain on the window outside, you begin to feel very sleepy. The show you've put on in the background drones on faintly, and for a moment, you revel in the quiet.

Until the doorbell rings.

You groan and heave yourself up from the couch. Standing up, you pause for a few seconds to see if whoever it is will give up and decide to go away.

They don't. The doorbell rings again.

Yawning, you make your way to the door and unlock it, coming face-to-face with none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

"Hyune," you say, surprised.

"Hey," he grins sheepishly, running a hand through his buzzed hair. "Can I come in?"

You step aside and shut the door as he takes his shoes off, shrugging off his rain-spotted jacket. Wordlessly, you sit back down on the couch and gesture for him to do the same. He does.

"How have you been?" You ask him quietly, trying to drape the blanket over yourself once again.

Hyunjin reaches across and tucks the blanket in for you. "I should be the one asking that, don't you think?"

You shrug.

He sighs, leaning back against the couch, and tucks his socked feet up underneath him. "I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

He shifts uncomfortably, like there's something wrong with his insides. "I, um... Have you talked to Chan yet? Has he talked to you since..."

You shake your head. "Why? Aside from the obvious."

Hyunjin exhales. "He's lost his shit."

"What?"

He sits up a little further, repeating himself. "He's lost his shit. He's just- not himself."

You sigh and relax against the cushions, not knowing what to say. You feel a little bit bad, but your stubbornness tells you that Chan should be the one to reach out again first if he's so upset about it.

You tell Hyunjin that, but he just shakes his head.

"One of you is going to have to take the first step to fix this," he says. "How do you feel about it, though?"

"Considering it was my own fault for not looking both ways, and my fault for setting off the whole thing... it still stings."

He nods understandingly. "I figured you might wanna talk about it a little, if Felix hasn't done that already. That's why I came."

You shake your head. "We talked about it a little, but I guess he was mostly there to distract me."

Hyunjin chuckles. "He's good at it too."

You nod. There's silence.

"So you're in love with Chan," he says finally.

Hearing it being said out loud is strange. Like something surreal floating in the air. Not a truth that you've kept buried for so long. Well, not anymore, at least.

Hyunjin's voice snaps you out of your daze. "Do you still love him? You know, after all of this."

You sigh and cast your gaze on the golden light emitting from a nearby lamp. "I don't know. I guess. But it doesn't matter if he doesn't feel the same way."

"Maybe he does," he says earnestly. His skin is honeyed in the dimness of the room.

"He's far too busy for it anyway," you say. You hate the way it sounds like you're unsure. Like you're trying to convince yourself that you're not in love with your best friend.

Hyunjin seems to pick up on this, because he scoots a little closer, stroking a couple of fingers along your blanketed knee. "Even if he doesn't feel the same way, Y/n, it doesn't mean you can't still work it out. You two were inseparable-"

"Yeah, until Chae came along."

"Was she really the reason?"

You sigh and turn to face him, shifting on the couch. "If he really loved me, he would have made an effort to talk to me despite Chae. Like I did. I did everything I could to see him as often as possible," you sigh. "But he didn't do the same thing."

"Maybe he was too afraid to ruin what you both have," Hyunjin says diplomatically.

You scoff. "Well, he shouldn't have worried, because I ruined it for both of us."

He sighs and touches your hand lightly. "Talk to him. We've been trying to convince him to come and see you-"

"No," you say, panicked. "Don't do that."

"Y/n, just- How are you both supposed to work this out if you keep avoiding each other?"

You groan and lean your head on his shoulder. "I don't know. And I want to fix this, Hyune, but I can't face him and have him tell me he doesn't feel the same way. It's better like this."

"Is is worth losing him to preserve your feelings?"

Silence.

"I don't know," you finally admit, voice quiet.

The lamp flickers.

.

In the morning, you wake up sprawled on the couch, the blanket tucked up neatly under your chin. You glance across at the coffee table; your bowl isn't there anymore, and the TV is off. Hyunjin is gone.

Sitting up, you notice the bowl in the sink, and a small bag of something, probably food, on the counter. Thanking your stars that you have good friends, you stand up and stretch.

Your strength is almost fully replenished, and your cuts and bruises have gone from angry reds and pinks to faded purples and browns. They don't hurt as much anymore, and it's easier to move around, so you decide to get some housework done after eating.

The weather outside is still grey and stormy; it rains hard for the first part of the morning. You've woken up quite late, but the sleep must have done you good, because by the time afternoon hits, you've cleaned up your place quite well.

Your phone buzzes, then again, and again; it's the SKZ groupchat, and you smile at the multitude of welcome-home messages flooding in from the guys. Your cheeks warm.

Hanji Quokka 🔥: WELCOME HOMEE Y/NNNNN Kiwi 🥝: Hope you slept well. Seungie 🐶: Don't do that again. Thought you were gonna die. We all got excited for a minute. Lixie Pixie 💫: SEUNGMIN Strong Guy 🐇: SEUNGMIN Lee Doesn't Know 💟: SEUNGMIN

You roll your eyes and your finger moves to press the button to turn your phone off, fighting a smile. Their affection, however chaotic, makes a twinge of warmth settle comfortably in your stomach.

Your phone buzzes again, and you open your messages to see a text from Hyunjin.

Hyune: Feeling any better? Y/n: Yes. Thank you. For last night as well... I didn't even hear you leave. Hyune: Probably a good thing. I reckon you needed the rest. Y/n: Yeah. Hyune: Can I come over tonight? Y/n: Of course.

You turn your phone off then. It seems a little strange, that he sent you a private text rather than just asking how you were in the group chat. But you shrug it off, and decide to continue cleaning up.

You don't notice how dark it's beginning to get; wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you quickly run upstairs to change into a fresh set of clothes and wash up.

Hyunjin said he'd come round the same time as yesterday, so you turn all the lights off and put the lamps on again. You like the honeyed wash it coats everything in, softening all harsh corners and edges and covering them in that familiar, golden glow. Warmth emits from their bulbs.

You're about to plop down on the couch and dissociate for a while, or at least until Hyunjin comes over, but the doorbell interrupts your motions.

Huh. That was quick.

It's raining outside again, you notice as you make your way to the door. The comforting pitter-patter fills your senses as your fingertips touch the cold metal of the door handle.

You undo the latch and pull the door open. You expect to see Hyunjin, drops of water clinging to his jacket, a sheepish grin stretched handsomely across his elegant features.

But it's not.

"Chan," you whisper.

a/n: ohohohooo reader is cooked (i think. i haven't decided what the third part will be about. anyways.)

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omgomg can you please write a 9th member fic (chan x f!reader) where they attend the milan show together (the one chan is at rn) 🥹🫶

hihi sorry this took a while to answer >< it's here now tho . i liked this idea so much, i haven't written much fashion event stuff ! maybe i added a little surprise near the end, but you'll just have to see hehe . here you gooo~

fendi - bangchan x female!9th member reader

pairing: bangchan x female 9th member reader

summary: chan asks you to accompany him to the fendi event in milan.

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, super duper fluffy and cute, sleepy channie, mentions of eating and drinking, swarming from fans, lots of mentions of camera flashes, chan almost falling over (yes that is a warning)

a/n: yuhh i'm so back guys ! div by @elleisdesigning

skz masterlist

Chan who surprises you with the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers as he hands you the invitation to the Fendi show in Milan. Who flushes as you look up in shock and shyly explains that he wants you to be his plus-one to the event. He lets out an 'oof' as you fly into his arms, almost knocking him over and nodding over and over again to accompany him to Milan. He grins again in relief as you explain that you don't have anything half as fancy to wear and pokes your cheek, telling you that your outfit isn't something you should be worried about, and that he would handle all of it. You're unconvinced but decide to trust him anyway, and coincidentally, later in the day, he asks what your favourite colour is.

Chan who holds your hand all the way to the airport and refuses to let go, even when you're all swarmed by the photographers and fans. His leader-mode kicks in and he protects you from the swarms as you navigate through the airport. His grip is strong, warm, and steady, and he leads you skillfully through the throngs of people pressing in on both of you until you reach the terminal gate. Makes you go first and presses a warm hand to your back as he guides you down the ramp. Refuses to sit down until you've found your seat and then offers to swap places with you so you can have the window seat. He spends about half an hour gazing out at the ground falling away beneath you and then immediately falls asleep, his mouth open and hair endearingly ruffled as the plane vibrates all around you, rising higher and higher in the air.

Chan who wakes up sleepily when the plane lands and accidentally stands up too soon, almost ending up sprawled in the aisle as the plane bumps against the tarmac. He guides you through the mess of cameras and flashes and falls asleep again in the car on the way to the hotel you'll both be staying in. You wake him up and watch him drain a bottle of water as you step out of the car, heading into the lift and up to your shared hotel room. You watch him bustle around the room, making phone calls and arranging food to be delivered, and then nuzzle into his shoulder as he sits down on the bed next to you, coiling an arm around your shoulders as you both watch the city bustling with life from outside the window.

Chan who offers you his hand as he steps out of the car, letting you take his arm as you both make your way inside the stylist's room that's been temporarily set up for the event, and fights a grin as you look around in curiosity and ask what you're doing here. He leads you to a curtain and pulls it back, nodding thankfully at the designer, and jumps when he hears you gasp and then squeal in delight. Your hands trace the beautiful, flowing fabric of the gown and you throw your arms around the leader, not caring who sees. His face is tinged pink as you run over to the mannequin once more and fawn over the dress he's had custom-made for you for the event. It's sparkly and subtle and just the right colour, and you hold back another squeal as you realise, this is why Chan asked your favourite colour a few days earlier. Not that he didn't already know what it was...

Chan who presses a hand gently onto your knee as the car pulls up to the carpet leading into the Fendi event. His gaze is reassuring and a little of the subtle sparkle on your cheeks come away on the curve of his fingers as he brushes a strand of hair off your face, promising that you'll do great. Not that the sparkle on his hands makes a difference; he looks stunning as always, and whispers the same thing back to you as he offers you his arm. You close your eyes briefly against the camera flash and step out of the car, letting him lead you inside. He stays with you and gracefully walks you around, greeting people, introducing you, and mingling with the crowd. As expected, he is a hit; unexpectedly, so are you. You're entirely comfortable in just an hour, and you even receive some lovely compliments on your appearance at the event.

Chan who secretly strokes your hand with a gentle thumb as both of you stand and pose for the cameras; he keeps your intertwined fingers behind the both of you, his smile warm and genuine as photos are snapped endlessly. The subtle, secret yet possessive gesture makes your heart flutter and you fight a laugh as he whispers jokes and comments to you in an attempt to make you smile harder than you are. He succeeds, and the result is a beautiful photo of the both of you on the cover of several fashion articles and websites, who all sing your shared praises, gushing over your outfits and potential chemistry (the members, who have been keeping updated on the event, cheekily start planning your eventual wedding).

Chan who's glad he brought you along; he's never seen his ninth member and secret crush looking so stunning and effortless. He thanks his stars for the rest of the night as he remembers the courage it took to ask you to accompany him to the event. He's never been prouder of you, and later, when the event ends, he takes you out on a walk, both of you licking at ice creams in the warmly-lit streets and talking about the day. His heart is fluttering as he wipes a little of ice cream off your lips and presses his mouth to yours, sweet treats forgotten as you melt immediately into his embrace, relishing the warmth and steady comfort he always manages to exude.

He couldn't be happier.

a/n: i'm thinking of starting a fic taglist, the post for it will be up soon ><

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part two

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

✧ 𝔬𝔱8 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ! (스트레이 키즈) . . . ✧

back to individual member masterlist . . .

[a] - angst | [f] - fluff | [c] - comfort | [cr] - crack | [ht] - heavy or triggering themes | [t] - thoughts

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how skz loves you - hyung line maknae line [f] [t]

how skz would do their nails - hyung line maknae line [f] [t]

asking skz "would you love me if i was a worm?" - hyung line maknae line [f] [t] [c]

skz and what type of magic they would wield - 100 follower special [t] [c]

safe - (ot8!skz x 9th member!reader) [f] [c] [a]

relight me - (ot8!skz x 9th member with ed!reader) [f] [c] [a]

valentines' day event special - (ot8! skz x reader) [f] [c] [a] [cr]

dissonance - (ot8!skz x 9th member with anxiety) [f] [c] [a]

rest easy - (ot8!skz x exhausted noona!reader) [f] [c] [a]

skz and celebrating their 9th member's birthday [f] [cr] [c]

skz x 9th member who can speak multiple languages - (ot8!skz x polyglot!9th member reader) [t] [cr] [f]

you get your period on stage - (ot8!skz x reader) [f] [c] [cr] [a]

don't go - (ot8!skz hyung!line x reader) [f] [a] [ht]

don't go - (ot8!skz maknae!line x reader) [f] [a] [ht]

skz x short 9th!member reader [f] [c]

protective!hyung line skz x maknae!9th member reader [f] [c] [a]

protective!maknae line skz x makenae!9th member reader [f] [c] [a]

ot8!skz x pregnant 9th member reader [f] [c] [t]

ot8!skz x plus one! 9th member reader [f] [t]

will i be okay? - (ot8!skz x injured!9th member reader) [f] [a] [ht]

ot8!skz x protective fem!reader [f] [c] [t]

soft landing - (ot8!skz x distressed reader) [f] [c] [a]

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws | skz prompt list

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

⁺‧₊˚💿✮ 𝔰𝓴𝔷 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ! 🎧✮˚₊‧⁺˖

๋࣭ ⭑ — some guidelines . . .

-> warnings will now be posted at the top of each fic to make this post a lil bit neater.

-> comment on the taglist post if you want to be added to my fic taglist !

-> asks and dms are always open !

ot8!skz masterlist here . . .

๋࣭ ⭑ — anons : 🪻,

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 . . . ✧

the fast lane (racer!bang chan x racer reader x racer!lee felix) ✧ (discontinued)

lonely st. (schoolboy!hwang hyunjin x schoolgirl reader) ✧ (completed)

stupidly perfect | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (best friend!chan x reader) ✧ (ongoing)

𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫 (방찬) . . . ✧

golden hour - special event (bf!chan x female reader)

he comforts you on your period (bf!chan x female reader)

general fluff headcanons (bf!chan x female reader)

bang chan new years' special - yin and yang (bf!chan x female reader)

electrifying (producer!chan x female 3RACHA producer!reader)

make me (bf!chan x female reader)

hold me (bf! chan x depressed reader)

fendi (bang chan x female!9th member reader)

what you're worth (bang chan x 9th member!reader)

not your doll (bf!bang chan x reader)

star in the making - (idol!bang chan x overworked trainee!reader)

𝔩𝔢𝔢 𝓴𝔫𝔬𝔴 (리노) . . . ✧

movie nights (bf!lee know x female reader)

opal (bf!lee know x female reader)

general fluff headcanons (bf!lee know x female reader)

rose | part 2 (college partner!lee know x female college student reader)

you did well (dancer!lee know x dancer reader)

keychain - (bf!lee know x reader)

𝔰𝔢𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔟𝔦𝔫 (창빈) . . . ✧

he comforts you on your period (bf!changbin x female reader)

little fighter (husband!changbin x female reader)

insomnia (bf!changbin x female reader)

sunflower (bf!changbin x female reader)

lotion (bf!changbin x female reader)

lamplight (bf!changbin x female reader)

ice cream & rain (bf!changbin x female reader)

gatecrasher undercover spy!changbin x female spy reader)

𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔂𝔲𝔫𝔧𝔦𝔫 (현진) . . . ✧

landscape (bf!hyunjin x female reader)

chrome nails (bf!hyunjin x female reader)

raspberries (bf!hyunjin x female reader)

general fluff headcanons (bf!hyunjin x female reader)

𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔧𝔦𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔤 (한지성) . . . ✧

studio (bf producer!han x female producer!reader)

cold (bf!han x female!reader)

instant ramen (bf!han x female!reader)

minty (bf!han x female!reader)

hot soup - (sick bf!han x sick!reader)

a little bit sweeter - (college roommate!han x reader)

i want to understand you (han x female!reader)

𝔩𝔢𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔵 (필릭스) . . . ✧

galaxy (bf!felix x female!reader)

duvet (bf!felix x female!reader)

haze (bf!felix x female!reader)

always forever (best friend!felix x female bullied!reader)

felix x neko!reader headcanons (bf!felix x female neko!reader)

fall for you (college student!felix x female college student!reader)

floral tea (lee felix x reader)

your warmth (best friend!lee felix x reader with period)

𝓴𝔦𝔪 𝔰𝔢𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔪𝔦𝔫 (승민) . . . ✧

bandaid (bf!seungmin x female reader)

fever (sick bf!seungmin x female reader)

batter up (baseball captain!seungmin x female baseball player reader)

stylist!reader x kim seungmin

bodyguard!seungmin headcanons

𝔂𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔧𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦𝔫 (아이엔) . . . ✧

recipe (bf!jeongin x female reader)

outfit (bf!jeongin x female reader)

snake (bf!jeongin x female reader)

general fluff headcanons (bf!jeongin x female reader)

that's true (secret bf!yang jeongin x reader)

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws | skz prompt list

Hi hi! So I’ve like been seeing edits of this one Chan look

Just image your like yapping about how annoying it is and you say something that really gets him into “watch your tone” type mode and gives you this look!

Like agghh I was wondering if I could make this a request. You make it however you like but this is just so like ahhhh.

Love you babes!

-haeso🐨

omg the LOOK... fr send me edits of this chan bc i cant find them anywhere TT

make me - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: you pull a prank on chan with minsung and seungmin

genre: crack, idol! au, kind of suggestive ngl but nothing risky lol

a/n: yall are gonna have to use your imaginations for this bc i aint writing anything 18+ it's too cringy for me TT dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

"Y/n, have you heard of that one TikTok prank?"

You look up to where Jisung is splayed over Jeongin's lap, his wide boba eyes blinking up at you from his odd position. Jeongin doesn't look particularly happy with the position and shoves his hyung off, muttering something about a dance practice, then leaves.

Jisung lands on the studio floor with an oof and takes up a new position on Minho's lap, seemingly unfazed. He blinks like nothing happened, the conversation apparently continuing.

You tilt your head at him. "What prank?"

Jisung grins as Minho wraps his arms around his tiny waist. "The one where you purposely piss off your partner by talking smack and then film their reaction."

You shake your head, laughing. "Nope. Seen others like that though."

Minho peeks out from behind Jisung. "You should try it on Chan-hyung. It'd be funny."

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. "He won't fall for that. He's already too used to Felix being chronically online. He'll know if I try to prank him with something I saw on Tiktok."

Jisung whines and shifts off Minho's lap, kneeing him in the process. He flops down next to you, ignoring Minho's groans of pain, and pulls out his phone to show you a video.

"So basically, all you have to do is rile him up and then we'll film him," Jisung grins.

You deadpan. "Then Seungmin will be begging me for blackmail material. He's annoying when he wants something."

"Fine," he groans. "We'll just spectate."

Minho, who has recovered from Jisung's unintended attack, looks up from the floor with a pained grin. "You're gonna do it then?"

You nod and Jisung whoops loudly.

✧

The whole thing turns out quite well, it happens, as there's a whole group dance practice at the end of the day. Most of the boys are sweaty and tired within the first few minutes, with the exception of Minho, with his main dancer core, and Hyunjin, who has had too much caffeine.

You watch from the sidelines, taking note of Chan's current mood and assessing whether it'd be wise to prank him; you don't want to catch him at a bad time, since he's usually stressed. But today, he seems a little more relaxed, dancing smoothly, with his voice soft and quiet, though still authoritative. The members seem more relaxed too because of it.

Jisung makes eye contact with you halfway through the dance, his arms up as he turns to the left. A devilish grin paints his face for a split second and you nod subtly. He slips up on purpose and Minho pretends to scold him, telling everything to take five.

Minho turns away and mouths something to you.

Now's your chance.

You casually walk over to where Chan is, touching his arm as he takes a swig of water from his water bottle. He smiles at you before kissing your cheek, and you almost feel bad for what you'd about to do. But you're curious too, about what his reaction will be like, so you keep on track.

Minho, Jisung, and Seungmin all walk up too. They must have told Seungmin about the prank, because he's clearly interested, though it's carefully hidden behind a straight face. Minho is the same, though Jisung is clearly struggling to keep a poker face.

"Hey, love," Chan smiles at you. "Anything you noticed during practice?"

You shake your head. "It all looks great at the moment, I think. Very energetic."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "Nothing at all? Usually there's at least one thing you say that we could all do better."

You whine a little, smiling. Trying to rile him up, make him huff a little. "Why is it my job and not yours, Channie? You're the leader, not me."

"Because," he says, matter-of-factly, "It's easier for you to notice where we're going wrong, because you're watching. It's harder to notice when you're dancing and moving. You can miss things."

You keep smiling and nod in response. He's not being rude, just telling you how it is. That's Chan for you.

Your mind is whirring, trying to think. He doesn't miss a beat, your Chan. It's difficult to piss him off or even argue with him. Of course, if you were one of the boys, it'd be easier. But Chan talks to you on a 300% softness setting, and apparently it's permanent.

"Well," you say slowly, pretending to think. "Maybe those last few moves, the turning ones? You could have done them better."

Chan tilts his head, seeking feedback. Even though you're not a dancer, he likes seeing it from your perspective. "How so?"

It takes all your effort not to burst out giggling. "Maybe you should copy Minho's dance moves more often. And actually listen to him."

Chan's eyebrow shoots up into his hairline. Minho simply looks at his leader, Seungmin doing the same. Jisung is clearly struggling to contain his laughter, and for a second you worry he might give the prank away. But it's Jisung, so no one bats an eye, least of all Chan.

His voice is a little lower, though still playful. "Are you suggesting I don't listen to him?"

You shrug nonchalantly. "I mean, if you had, you'd be as good as him. But you're not, soo..."

You can see the glint in Chan's eyes. Something swells in your chest, a tidal wave of mischief.

It's working.

"Yeah, hyung," Seungmin adds flatly, his face expressionless. "Listen to Y/n. Maybe if you'd taken her advice to begin with, you'd be main dancer. Must be a shame to be outdone by someone younger."

Jisung loses it then, the studio reverberating with his laughter, and even Minho cracks a tiny grin. Chan, however, is unamused.

Trust Seungmin to piss him off, you scoff internally. Probably why they brought him over here.

Chan says something in Korean then, which you can't understand, and Seungmin immediately leaves, walking away with a smirk. Jisung shuts up too. Must have been a threat.

He turns to you and you almost shrink under his gaze. It's dark and challenging.

"Continue, sweetheart," he drawls, leaning one muscled arm on the long cabinet against the wall.

Minho and Jisung are quiet.

"I-I wasn't saying anything wrong," you stutter suddenly, cheeks pooling with colour.

Chan tilts his head again, slightly raising one eyebrow.

You muster up all your confidence then, feigning nonchalance as best you can. "You'd be a better dancer if you spent more time practicing than shouting at everyone to get their shit together."

You see Minho and Jisung shoot wary glances at each other and you know immediately that you've crossed a line. An unspoken apology and several pleading phrases hang on the tip of your tongue, but your eyes flit to Chan's, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes are narrowed, head tilted, half a smile hanging off his lips. It's terrifying and hot and also scary at the same time. You try your best not to shrink under the intimidating look but it's like his gaze is a laser directed straight at your face.

You can't look away.

Chan steps closer and leans in slightly, his voice dangerously low. You can almost hear the smirk in his tone. "Take that back, sweetheart. Right now."

You fight against every survival instinct you have and keep your mouth pressed shut.

Chan asks one more time, his voice ever lower, and you spit out two words.

"Make me."

Chan's eyes flash with the challenge and he lets out a little, dark laugh. Minho, meanwhile, has a hand up against Jisung's face, most likely in preparation to quickly cover his younger member's eyes if something Chan making you take it back in front of everyone happens.

Chan doesn't even have to look at Minho and Jisung; he waves them off with two fingers, his gaze never leaving yours. You're stuck in position like prey being circled by a predator, waiting for the moment you'll be struck.

"What do you think he's saying to her?" Jisung whispers as he crosses the room with Minho.

He shrugs in response, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sits down, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Dunno. Probably something risqué."

"Minho," Jisung slaps his arm, a hushed laugh escaping his mouth. "You can't say stuff like that."

"What?" he protests. "Technically, it's all your fault because you put Y/n up to it."

"Aw, hyung," Jisung whines. "You agreed too. Should we confess and tell Chan-hyung it was a prank?"

"Nah. I mean, we could, but only if you admit it was your idea."

"That's the highest form of betrayal-"

"CHAN-HYUNG!" Minho suddenly shouts to him from their position on the opposite side of the room. Every head in the room turns towards them, including yours. "IT WAS ALL JISUNG'S IDEA-"

Jisung claps a hand over his friend's mouth, frantically attempting to muffle him. "Minho, shut up! You traitor!"

You take the opportunity to escape, ducking behind Seungmin. He's the only member not afraid of his leader, and both of you watch as Chan apparently forgets about you, instead stalking towards Minho, who is sitting eloquently unfazed against the mirror, and Jisung, who is frantically spewing apologies and pleading phrases, clutching to his friend's arm, eyes wide.

Seungmin lets out a laugh as you watch, poking you hard in the side. He raises his eyebrows suggestively. "Might as well escape before Chan remembers he has to make you take it back."

"CHANNIE!" You shout. "IT WAS SEUNGMIN'S IDEA-"

"Shut it!"

a/n: i know exactly what was going through yalls minds 📸

hi~ would love to request from the prompt list!!

46 + 49 with bangchan seems interesting :D

hihi, sorry for the delay lol TT producer!chan now joins the fic library alongside producer!jisung. i felt like writing something with most of skz bc i think it makes it more fun :] here you gooooo

electrifying - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x producer!reader

summary: a late night with chan in the studio leads to a little more.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, kind of crack tbh, most of skz is in this fic, hyunlix honourable mention, mutual pining

a/n: producer chan save me. divider by @veonaa

⛓️ prompts: 46. "What if I told you I knew?" / 49. "I have a confession to make."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

"Try one more time," you suggest quietly. "Just the last two lines then we'll move to the pre-chorus."

Minho nods from the recording booth, slipping one headphone back over his ear. He nails it and you replay back the recording, looking to Chan to verify that it's okay.

He's writing down a couple of notes on his lyric sheet, a thin pencil held between his fingers. Looking up, he nods, before his gaze flits to yours and then back again to Minho, who is waiting quietly in the recording booth. You compliment him and give him a sunny smile as he exits the booth.

The process continues with most of the other members; Jeongin and Changbin have already finished recording their parts since they came in early. Seungmin's part takes a little longer, so you and Chan do him next, trying to work productively.

The night ends up running quite late; most of the boys are beginning to get bored, and Chan had initially suggested a group meeting at the end of the session, but after several antics begin to disrupt the process, he dismisses them with a weary sigh.

Hyunjin practically flies out the door, Felix following him with a smile to the dance studio, and the other boys begin to dissipate, thanking you quietly before heading home for the night.

You try not to laugh as you save Seungmin's recording on a file. "Thank you, Seungminnie. You can go."

He nods and thanks you politely before turning to leave. Now it's just you and Chan, who has yet to record his lines. Unlike most of the other boys, Chan's part takes unusually long. He fixes his voice on one line but messes it up on another, dragging out certain words and furrowing his brow.

"Chan, you okay? We can call it a night if you want."

He looks at you through the glass, seemingly surprised. "Yeah, I'm alright, why?"

You set your headphones down. "It's just that it's quite late, and you might do better tomorrow with some rest? You look exhausted."

Chan sighs and nods. Whatever is on his mind, it's clearly bothering him, and you glance sideways at him as he sits back down next to you at the recording table. All is silent as both of you relapse into editing the recordings at your own individual paces.

But you're not so much focusing on the recordings as focusing on your fellow producer. You fight not to look across at him, knowing it'll be obvious, and turn yourself a little away from him in order to not be distracted. You do it subtly, so that Chan doesn't notice, and it works a trick, because half an hour passes and you've almost finished editing the recordings and checking the backing track.

Neither of you have said a word, a comforting silence descending over the studio. Maybe because it's night time and the usual noises from outside the door are beginning to quiet, or maybe it's because Chan is here, bringing with him a sort of safe serenity that you only really feel when he's around.

You lean back in your chair and make to grab a notebook from behind you on the lower table, sneaking a glance at Chan in the process. All black clothes as per usual, his leather jacket slipping off his shoulder a little as he hunches over the desk. His hair is curly and un-styled, a little fluffy under his black cap. He's murmuring to himself as he scrubs a hand across his eyes, smudging a length of pencil graphite across his cheek in the process.

Without turning, he speaks. “You know, Y/n… I’ve been thinking. What if I told you I knew?"

You frown, snapping out of your daze, looking at him slightly confused. “Knew what?”

Chan turns, and there's a gentle smile, almost a smirk painted across his mouth. The world holds its breath and suddenly you find that nothing else matters. Not right now.

He leans a little closer, resting an elbow on the desk. “Knew that you like me. That you’ve liked me for a while now.”

You freeze for a second, tidal waves of reality crashing down on you at his words. Your cheeks flood with colour. “W-What? How—how could you possibly know that?”

Chan chuckles, but there’s a tenderness in it that makes your heart beat a little faster.

He shrugs. “I’ve noticed the little things. The way you smile at me when you think I’m not looking. The way you get quiet when I tease you. I’m not blind, you know."

The warmth in his voice makes your crush’s face turn bright red (more so than it already is), and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The air between you feels charged, filled with unspoken feelings. Chan reaches over and gently brushes his thumb against your hand.

The touch is electrifying.

His voice is soft. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Also, while we're on this topic, I’ve got a confession to make.”

You looks up at him, heart pounding, as he speaks again, the weight of his words suddenly heavier than expected.

Chan speaks slowly, looking into your eyes. “I like you too. A lot. And I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without messing things up. You know, considering all of this.” He waves his hands vaguely in the air, but you know what he means.

The confession hangs in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. But the silence is comfortable like before, like everything both of you have wanted to say has finally found its way out. Chan’s hand stays gently resting against yours, a comforting yet giddy warmth, and you feel your heart flutter at the sight of his hand swallowing yours.

You smile shyly at him. “You really knew?”

Chan laughs quietly, not unkindly. “Yeah. I think I’ve known for a while now."

There’s a pause, then both of you break into shy smiles, both realizing that the thing you were both too nervous to say has finally been said. It's clear neither of you know how to continue, as you're too shocked to process what has apparently just happened, and it seems Chan hasn't planned this far either, his energy simply concentrated on confessing.

You both sit and gaze at each other, mouths opening a little and then hesitating, wondering if the other will say something. But neither of you do, until the door flies open with a bang.

Hyunjin and Felix are standing in the doorway, sweating and disheveled from a nightly dance practice. Seeing how they flew out of the studio earlier, you see no foreseeable reason why they would have returned, until you see Hyunjin's phone on the low table.

"Sorry," Hyunjin drawls, panting. "Forgot my phone-"

He cuts himself off and his jaw drops, matching Felix's. The looks on their faces are comical and you would laugh if you weren't suddenly so flustered.

Felix quickly stumbles past Hyunjin and grabs his friend's phone off the table, shooting Chan a not-so-subtle smirk as he bows hurriedly.

"Sorry for interrupting!" Hyunjin calls, cackling before turning away, a giggling Felix at his side.

The door slams shut before either of you can process, hands jerked back from each other as they'd entered and frozen in the air.

The situation is suddenly so ridiculous that you burst into unexpected laughter. You can see Hyunjin and Felix through the frosted glass of the studio door, hunched over and whispering to each other through hushed snickering and giggling.

Chan groans and drops his head into his hands.

a/n: i love the purple theme, suits channie so much

omg i just saw the prompt list

can you do something cute and fluffy with 21 + 44 for Felix, he is wrecking me again rn🥹❤️

so this is pretty rushed but i think it went okay. omg same btw, he's been wrecking me so hard the past few days with his new hairstyle too. anyway here you go <3

fall for you - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: you and felix are at the library late at night, studying for an exam, until things take a sudden turn

genre: another college!au but you can't really tell ig, soft shy felix, very fluffy

a/n: this fic feels so cosy. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 21. "Are you trying to get me to fall for you?" / 44. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

The library is dead silent this time of night, you note as you walk in; the only sounds come from the faint tapping of keys on laptops and occasional taps and thuds as a pen is set down and a book is closed. No one is here but you and a certain someone.

Felix.

He is sitting with his knees tucked to his chest when you return from the cafe down the street, holding a cardboard tray of two drinks. You hand one to him and he thanks you with a soft, tired smile as you sit next to him, where your own workstation has been set up.

Your shoulder brushes his as you readjust, and you sigh as you reopen your laptop, the ghoulish blue light overtaking the warm glow of the golden desk lamps surrounding the area.

Felix laughs quietly. "Bet you missed that blue light, huh?"

You groan. "No, I dragged my feet on the way back from the cafe so I wouldn't have to face it. It's giving me a headache."

"At least you're prepared for the exam."

You groan and lean your head on his shoulder, exasperated. Your voice is muffled. "I don't feel prepared."

He ruffles your hair. "You say that every time, and then you pass with a great score. Relax, Y/nnie."

You sigh and sit upright, stretching. "I guess."

Bending your fingers to release some of the tension, you exhale and dive back into your work. You assume Felix is doing the same, and when you glance across, he is, but little do you know that he's already missing the familiar warmth of your physical action. His shoulder burns where you rested your head and he rolls it back, trying to alleviate the bittersweet feeling.

You're both already sitting fairly close; it's cold outside, and naturally, you drift closer to each other for warmth in the chilly air of the spacious library, knees tucked to chests and jackets draped over shoulders. Silence descends again, occasionally broken by one of you as you pore over shared notes or point to something on your laptops.

You sit back suddenly, turning behind you to survey the darkened shelves and sitting areas. Felix looks up from his notes.

"What's wrong?"

You grin at him. "We're literally the only ones here, do you realise?"

He surveys your surroundings too with a dazed gaze, then he nods. "Yep. I guess everyone else studied earlier."

You laugh and then hurriedly shush yourself, not wanting to disturb the peaceful, serene atmosphere that has descended like a blanket over the library interior. Felix covers his mouth with a hand, trying to muffle his laugh.

"The place isn't haunted, you know," he snickers. "You're allowed to make noise."

You point an accusatory finger at him. "It might be! And besides, you're doing the same thing."

"No, I'm not."

You roll your eyes. "All the library ghosts are going to come for you if they hear you lying, Lee Felix."

Felix snickers again, eyes widening. "Library ghosts? When'd you get that idea? You're lying now-"

You put on a very self-important expression and interrupt him, pretending to glare. "I made it up just now, 'cos I can. They can hear you, Felix."

He's grinning softly now, and a warm feeling spreads in his chest, thawing the ice beginning to frost over his skin from the library air. “I swear," he says, still grinning, "You always know how to make me laugh. Are you trying to get me to fall for you?”

You grin too and try to hide a blush, thankful for the low light. “What? No, of course not. Just trying to keep you awake.”

Felix’s smile falters slightly, unsure if he meant to say that out loud. His hand scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“I... I wasn’t supposed to say that.” He says uncertainly.

You try to play it off, teasing. “Well, now you’ve said it. So, what are you going to do about it?”

Felix’s eyes widen, and he stammers, not knowing how to answer. His heart races. He tries to cover it up with a nervous laugh, his voice a little shaky.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe you should just... make me fall for you?”

Your heart thuds, almost out of your ribcage, and you turn to him, hoping you look as confident as you sound. You don't.

"How exactly do I do that, Felix?"

He is silent. The atmosphere is charged, not least because of the conversation topic or the proximity. Felix lets his head drop and exhales heavily, like he used to when he had a secret to tell. When he raises his head, there's the faintest ghost of a shy smile on his lips. His cheeks are flushed and he's almost shaking.

His voice is so quiet when he speaks, almost a whisper.

"You don't have to try and make me fall for you, Y/n."

You tilt your head softly. "Why not?"

"Because you already have."

a/n: ooooohh *snaps fingers* plot twist

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨' 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 ⊹ 𝙮𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙜

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: you go out on new year's eve with chan and the rest of skz

genre: literally just fluff, it's cold ig

a/n: happy new years, everyone! i wanted to do a little special fic to mark the start of a new chapter (ha ha not literally) and even though it doesn't snow here, i wrote colder weather into the fic anyway for that extra vibe 🌨️

skz masterlist

Your breath puffs out in front of you in sharp, frosty clouds as you and Chan weave your way through the busy streets. The air is tangy and cold with the promise of more snow to come, though in the morning, most of it will begin to melt.

Everywhere you look, there are people; weaving through the busy sidewalks, holding hands with their loved ones, streaming out of shops or stores.

Next to you, Chan grins, his cheeks feeling stiff and iced with the cold weather, but slowly thawing with the warmth of his smile. He was in his element; he'd told you a while ago that he had made it a tradition with the kids to go out on the very first day of the new year, spending hours into the night laughing, eating, and exploring.

So, this year, he decided to bring you along too. It's chaos, but for once, Chan doesn't make an immediate move towards Seungmin and Jeongin, who are tossing back and forth creative insults a little way ahead of you on the sidewalk, or to Hyunjin, who's busy scooping up handfuls of snow to put down Felix's shirt.

Minho hovers nearby, his phone camera at the ready, and the neck of his shirt tucked in tightly, secure and cheeky-dongsaeng-proof. The rest of the boys are scattered up ahead, and though Chan hangs back, holding your hand and letting the other members supervise for once, you can tell he's checking in every few minutes anyway. Just in case.

You squeeze his hand a little tighter.

Normally, for you, the new year brings about a sense of loneliness and gloom; you were a storm, overcast with the grey feeling of another year passing by without feeling like you'd achieved anything. And for some reason, it seemed to weigh down on the times when you were supposed to be happiest. Like now.

Of course Chan noticed; yet again, his gentle, perceiving nature had reached out a hand to you, though it was shaking a little with the cold. So you had taken it, and now you found yourself seated next to him at a cosy, steamy restaurant on a street corner, all the other members crammed around the table, packed in tight but their spirits and feeling flying free.

You rub your nose, feeling the inside thaw a little as you inhale steam floating from the kitchen. Everything is soaked in rosy, warm light; your hands, Chan's face, the table in front of you all, and all the other guests chattering away and eating at their own tables.

Chan nudges you. You look up at his face; kind, dark eyes, a flush high on his cheekbones, staining the skin pink. He's a little paler than usual because of the cold, and his hands look the same way, but the radiance of his usual self shines brighter no less.

"You okay?" He whispers.

You nod back and you notice that his teeth are chattering slightly.

"Yeah, just recovering from the cold outside. It's much warmer in here."

Chan nods, puffing out a laugh. "I thought the boys were gonna freeze out there too, alongside us."

You steal a glance at the seven members, who are busy bickering and chattering and being their usual selves. They all erupt into laughter just as Felix pulls out a chunk of snow from the hem of his jacket and shoves it down Hyunjin's shirt instead.

You chuckle. "They move too fast for the frost to catch them."

Chan sighs wearily in agreement and you laugh, feeling the grey, stormy cloud hanging over your head lift a little.

Two hours, a lot of food, and nine full bellies later, you're all walking back down the street to a famous lookout point. It's not midnight yet and it won't be for a while, so Changbin suggested killing time by looking over the city of Seoul before heading back to watch the fireworks.

You all reach the steps to head to the lookout tower and the boys scramble up, skipping stairs. Joking threats of pushing each other down the steps and playful bickering disturbs several other people and Chan bows hurriedly before moving to follow the rest of his band. His hand is still glued to yours, however, and he jolts in his tracks as he moves and you stay rooted to the bottom of the steps.

"Channie," you say quietly. "Wait."

He steps back to your level, looking into your eyes with curiosity. "What is it? Are you okay?"

Though it's cold, you feel your palms sweating a little as you reach into your pocket, closing your hand around something as you keep eye contact with the man in front of you.

"I wanted to give you something," you whisper. "Because you always do so much for me, and I wanted you to know that I love you."

Chan smiles warmly. "I love you too."

You pull out the flat box from your pocket. It's dark blue and about the size of your palm, and you hand it to him with shaking fingers, soothed by the brush of Chan's own fingers brushing yours as he takes it gently.

He opens the box. Inside is a silver bracelet; a chain, just like the ones he loves to wear. There's a pendant at the bottom; a silver love knot threaded with tiny black diamonds, and two smaller pendants either side of that one, each depicting little bold letters spelling out yours and Chan's names.

Chan takes it out of the box with shaking hands and you help him clip it to his wrist. He turns it over and over, his eyes almost glowing with soft, adoring affection.

"I love it," he whispers. "Thank you."

You smile and pull back your own jacket sleeve, where an identical bracelet rests. Where the diamonds on Chan's pendant are black, yours are a silvery white, the colours opposing but still working so well together. Chan's eyes widen at the sight of it. Black and white.

Yin and yang.

You're still holding back your sleeve as Chan stares with unfiltered adoration at the identical chain circling your wrist. Earlier, the cold stung and whipped icicles against the softness of your skin, seeping into your bones and biting with icy teeth.

Now, you don't even feel it. It's like a bubble of warmth has begun to radiate from your shared presence at the bottom of the steps, the snow beginning to fall lightly around you both. You can almost feel waves of it rolling off of Chan's body and you sink into his inviting, cosy warmth, wrapping your arms around Chan's shoulders as his arms circle tightly around your waist.

The cold does nothing to hurt you now, not while Chan is here. The last remnants of stormy cloud dissipate and you feel a warm, pleasant feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. With Chan, it is warm, and safe, and the love between you is known.

You hope it stays that way.

a/n: first fic of 2025 hehe

raspberries - hwang hyunjin

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

summary: hyunjin comforts you after a long, painful day

genre: idk!au, soft hyunjin, really angsty, comfort, fluffy, sad, reader is depressed and is having a tough time, mention of throwing up, mentions of eating and ed, please be safe, and remember that you are loved

a/n: sad :( also requests open

You storm through the front door, almost tripping over before tugging off your shoes and slamming the door shut. Huffing, and on the verge of tears, you trudge down the hallway, every single step aching with a week's worth of disappointments, one after the other.

Entering the bedroom, you throw yourself on the bed, rolling over. Tugging off your work shirt, you groan and run tired, aching hands through your hair, just before the nauseating sense of overwhelm sets in.

You bury your face in the bedding and cry.

.

"Love, I'm home," Hyunjin calls from the doorway.

He's busy kicking off his shoes, about to leave them in their haphazard position on the floor, before he notices something. Your own shoes are strewn messily in the gangway, something that normally never happens.

Hyunjin can recall hundreds of times when you'd made him retrace his steps to the door and put his shoes away neatly in the cupboard. It was a familiar and somewhat comforting routine (though a little unnecessary, Hyunjin thinks).

He frowns before picking each shoe up and putting them carefully in the cupboard. Satisfied, he begins moving through the hallway, before quickly retracing his steps and putting his own footwear meticulously into the cupboard next to yours.

Hyunjin moves through the house, peeking into each room, trying to find you. He pokes his head into the bedroom, immediately noticing your spreadeagled state. He chuckles before moving to your dazed form, lying face down on the mattress.

Hyunjin pokes your side. Nothing.

He figures you're asleep before his hand moves to your hair, ruffling it gently. You let out a muffled whine and shake your head, batting his hand away.

Retracting his hand in surprise and mild confusion, Hyunjin peers down at you as you raise your head. His brow furrows in concern as your eyes meet his.

You look miserable.

Lowering his voice, Hyunjin kneels by the bed, cooing softly.

"Hi," he says quietly. "What happened, my muse?"

A fresh wave of tears fills your eyes and you choke back a cry, mouth parting in distress. Hyunjin is immediately next to you, tugging you gently into his lap, rocking back and forth. Sweet nothings and whispered reassurances leave his mouth in a steady, comforting stream, but his usually soothing voice does nothing to calm your frazzled nerves.

It's all too much.

You sob like a child, leaning into Hyunjin. He notices with some worry how your shoulders are tightening in anxiety, and your hands that are balled into fists, clutching his shirt. Like you don't want him to leave, like he might disappear at any given moment.

You don't know how long it's been before your sobs quieten down. Hyunjin is still rocking you gently, kissing the crown of your forehead every now and then. You raise your head and look at him with red, puffy, exhausted eyes, cheeks streaked with hot, sticky tears.

Hyunjin smiles warmly at you regardless, seemingly not minding the large, soaked patch on his white shirt or the mess you've made of your hair and face. The adoring look in his eyes makes you want to cry and sob into him for another hour. It feels like it's been an hour.

At least, your current feelings are so overwhelming that you can do nothing but open your mouth, staring up at Hyunjin like he's the cure. But the usual, pretty, princely smile doesn't penetrate your heart with a beam of sunlight, and the sky outside feels so much dimmer. Everything feels lonely, like you're a sinking stone, trapped under the cool, dark, icy surface, chilled to the bone.

Like you're watching everything going on above water, where there is warmth and smiles and laughter and compassion, while you sink to the bottom of the deep, dark ocean, heavy and burdened and forgotten.

Hyunjin has been speaking for the last few minutes, his voice careful and soft, but you haven't been listening, too occupied with the numbing, aching feeling settling unpleasantly in the pit of your gut. An uncomfortable cloud of guilt settles over your head, sinking into your being and infusing through your skin like the cloying, sharp scent of cheap perfume.

Your head begins to swirl with a mass of racing thoughts, so fast you can't even comprehend. You feel like you're being squeezed, the life draining out of you, the edges of your vision blurring and darkening.

It's not enough. You're not enough, nothing will ever be good enough, no wonder people don't like you, why can't you just be normal, why can't you just be normal-

"Love, you need to breathe, okay? In and out for me, come on. You can do it."

He sounds so far away...

"Jinnie," you choke out, heaving. Tears stream down your stained cheeks.

"I'm here, I'll always be here, okay?"

You shake your head, sobbing. Your hands are tingling but you can vaguely feel something solid and warm against your palm. Looking up with a tremendous amount of effort, you notice Hyunjin pressing your palm to his heart. Through a haze of tears, you can feel the steady, solid thrum of his heart against your tingling, shaking fingertips.

"You're safe, okay? I'm gonna stay right here with you, just breathe in and out, you can do it, love. You're doing so well."

You choke in a heaving breath and Hyunjin coos encouragingly, still rocking you gently in his lap. Your breathing begins to even out, albeit extremely slowly.

Hyunjin doesn't let go.

.

You wake to something cold and damp being swiped gently across your face. Spluttering, you shove it away before sitting bolt upright, immediately regretting it as you feel the strength pour out of your body in a dizzying wave.

Hyunjin pushes you to lie back gently against the pillows, picking up the damp cloth and continuing to wipe gently at your stained, sticky cheeks and nose. You flush, feeling a bit pathetic, but he doesn't seem to care. His voice is soft.

"You fell asleep again, so I laid you down. What happened, hmm?"

You sniffle. "Everything is a mess."

Hyunjin nods understandingly, cooing as your hands come up to gently clutch at his wrist. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head, even that simple motion feeling like a test of ultimate strength. And you're losing the battle.

Hyunjin lets out a soft noise, gesturing to the bedside. "That's okay. Whenever you're ready, my muse. I just want you to drink water and eat something, and then we can do whatever you want."

You sniff and look to your right. On the bedside is a bottle of water, a hydration sachet, a couple of painkillers, and a little bowl of something fresh and red.

You look at Hyunjin, voice croaky. "Raspberries?"

He smiles, nodding. "Bought them this morning. It'll help you feel better, they're really good."

"Jinnie-"

"You need to eat something, okay?" Hyunjin's voice is soft but firm. "Please. It'll help, I promise. You've been running on fumes lately."

You look away guiltily, feeling a bit sick. Hyunjin's long, slender fingers come up to your face, the other holding one of the little berries.

You sigh and relent, chewing slowly on the fruit. And he's right. They are really good.

Hyunjin smiles proudly, like you've done something incredibly amazing. Ruefully, you think that in his eyes, you probably have. And it makes you feel just a tiny bit better inside.

He kisses your forehead. "I'm going to get changed, and then we can watch a movie or cuddle, or do whatever you want, okay?"

You nod silently, exhausted.

Hyunjin leaves and shuts the bathroom door, leaving you with the bowl of little red fruits. You eat slowly, nibbling, not wanting it all to come back up. Every movement is an effort, but slowly, you feel your strength ebbing back in tiny, flowing rivers.

The sky outside lightens, just a little.

a/n: *incoherent sobbing* *sniff sniff*

the fast lane : part 5 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, angst, chan isn't as much of a dick (yayyy), jisung is the best, lots of vroom vrooming, not proofread, brief mentions of injury, tiny bit suggestive if you squint, that's it i think 3.6 k wc

series masterlist

part 5 : white knight and black knight

"You ready?" Jisung asked.

Y/n nodded shakily, adjusting her leather jacket. The material felt foreign, unusually smooth and uncomfortable against her skin. Jisung had kindly lent it to her, since she didn't have a racing jacket of her own yet, and not for the first time, Y/n was truly grateful for his amiable nature and quick smile.

He was just so easy to be friends with.

Y/n had only spent several days in Jisung's company as he'd helped train her, but by the time Saturday's race came around, she felt as if she'd known him for years. It was a pleasant feeling, to have someone who was so willingly kind to her after experiencing Chan's confusing attitude towards her, and the other racers' nonchalance and ignorance of her presence entirely. Minho's absence still bitterly tugged at Y/n's heartstrings, but with Jisung's constant chattering, grinning, and spontaneous antics, the sadness and longing began to slowly fade away, and Y/n surprisingly found herself enjoying herself in and out of the arena for the first time since Minho's impromptu training sessions.

Jisung nudged her shoulder suddenly, chuckling as she blinked, having been so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten where she was. "You'll be fine, Y/n."

Y/n exhaled, nodding, glad that he'd mistaken her quietness for nerves. She liked Jisung, but being a naturally suspicious person, she was finding it truly difficult to open up and tell him things that might have come easy to someone else. She understood now, why Chan acted the way he did, how he might have been feeling the same way as she did, not knowing who to trust or open up to.

Y/n was surprised she currently even had the capacity to hear herself think. The arena was bright and bustling, trails of car exhaust smoke rising in wisping plumes against the night sky. The floodlights were slightly dimmed, their usual blinding, white glare toned down by the hundreds of coloured light bulbs threading through the grandstands, giving the arena and racetrack a garishly dramatic, multi-coloured aura of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. The cars racing in the next heat were already lined up, decorated in flashy stripes and sheens of neon colours that made Y/n's head spin if she looked for too long. Minho's car, her car now, was there too, the neon green and chrome black cast sending a jolting, bittersweet pang through her heart. Jisung's neon red and candy-pink Mustang was positioned directly behind hers.

Someone brushed past her shoulder suddenly, smelling woodsy and spicy. Y/n knew that scent now.

Chan moved past her, walking into the crowds towards his car as if she'd conjured him there out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him around much since their shared breakdown in the tuning shop, but she was relieved to at least see that he was okay. Yn subconsciously realised she'd been coming around to him, albeit extremely slowly and warily.

Not to say she had forgiven him for what he'd done to Minho.

Y/n considered going after him suddenly, feeling a strange urge to reconnect with him the way they'd done in the garage. But she knew in her heart Chan wouldn't want to talk about it, especially since he'd been crying. She had a feeling most of the racers here weren't really into shows of affection or vulnerability unless it was shoving their tongues down the throats of the grid girls, who were currently swarming flirtatiously around a blonde-haired racer clad in jet black and blue.

Not that there was any time to reconnect with Chan anyway.

Jisung clapped her on the back, giving her a final, million-watt smile before disappearing behind her to enter his own car in the lineup. Y/n took a shaky breath and opened the car door of her own, sliding smoothly into the driver's seat. Her fingers found their place on the wheel, the cool leather sending an involuntary shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus. Opening them again, trying to clear her head, Y/n glanced in her rearview mirror, noticing Jisung making his final adjustments in his seat. Y/n fought a tiny, fond laugh as he hit his elbow on the window frame, his lean top half temporarily disappearing as he keeled over dramatically at the pain.

Dragging her eyes away from her friend, Y/n glanced across to her left, noticing Chan clenching the wheel of his own car next to her. His sleek, dark Corvette was polished to an effortless shine, the red streamlining catching the multi-coloured lights sprinkled around the racetrack. He was wearing the exact same black and red racing suit he'd worn when she'd first ran into him, and Y/n cringed at the memory, remembering how she'd fallen straight onto her ass afterwards. She was also convinced that Chan probably slept in his racing suit at this point. She was about to smile at the thought, turning to look at him, when she realised he looked a lot more focused than usual.

No, not focused.

Tense.

Like he was worried about something.

Every single muscle was rigid and stiff. He kept shifting in his seat, his usual bravado disappearing completely as he fretted silently to himself, frowning every now and then. Y/n hastily redirected her gaze as Chan's eyes caught hers, her heart thudding at the unexpected glance.

A grating rev from her other side made Y/n jolt. Glaring at the racer to her left, Y/n's jaw dropped a little as she realised the racer who had been flirting with the grid girls was staring directly at her. Her glare disappeared as quickly as it had come, a sudden shyness and sense of inferiority crashing over her being. His car must have been the most expensive one on the track. The McLaren P1's sleek, deep blue body was decorated with vibrant, sky blue lightning strikes detailed in black and white. It was truly stunning.

So is the racer inside it, Y/n thought.

She promptly realised she'd been staring at the blonde-haired racer for some time now. He was doing the same, his dark, almost boyishly pretty eyes boring into Y/n's with an intensity that made her want to shrink into oblivion. His face was freckled, the blonde strands falling down over his forehead and nape in messy, loosely clustered strands. She could faintly see his roots growing out, the colour beneath the harsh dye a pleasant, dark, chocolatey brown.

Y/n watched, stupefied, as the racer smirked, a strand of pretty blonde hair falling into his face. He shook his head a little, shaking it out of the way, before cocking a confident eyebrow at her and smirking again, his tongue darting out to briefly touch his teeth. Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks at the expression, though she knew he was mocking her, nonverbally telling her to stay out of the way.

Out of his way, most likely.

She watched as he threw his head back and laughed, though she couldn't hear it from her car. It didn't seem like the friendly type of laugh, either. More derisive and taunting. Y/n's hands clenched involuntarily on the wheel and she looked straight ahead, trying to redirect her moral compass, and focus.

This would have been so much easier if Minho was here, she thought desperately. She leant forward a little and watched with hawk-like eyes as a grid girl sashayed onto the track, holding a single, black-and-white checkered flag. Y/n's heart thudded as she watched the girl raise the flag. Y/n glanced at Chan one more time before the flag dropped.

The instant the green signal flared, they were off.

Tires screeched against asphalt as the cars launched forward, engines roaring. The blonde-haired racer's car had already disappeared round a turn as soon as the signal flare had launched, and Y/n sputtered, faltering momentarily.

How had he gotten there so fast?

Recollecting herself, Y/n's heart leapt into her throat as she slammed her foot on the gas. The adrenaline surged through her veins as the world around her blurred, the car's momentum throwing her against the seat. Jisung's car sped past her, stuck in the middle between Chan's car and her own, but she strangely found she didn't mind. Jisung seemed to have enough skill to hold his own, and Y/n was far more focused and preoccupied on beating two particular cars.

Chan’s car surged ahead at first, taking an early lead like Y/n had always seen him do, with smooth confidence and practiced ease. Y/n glanced at her rearview mirror; she could already see the blonde racer's car coming up behind her. He was so incredibly fast that Y/n put him out of her mind, instead focusing on Chan's car beside her.

Forget about the hot blonde guy, she thought. I just have to place, and beat Chan.

Chan's car was faster, smoother, and Y/n could tell that he knew the track like the back of his hand. But Y/n stayed focused, her knuckles white against the wheel, refusing to be intimidated. She could feel the power beneath her, every turn and shift of the road pushing her to test her limits, and go beyond. She gritted her teeth and wrenched the wheel, eyes laser-focused on the track ahead and the cars vying to overtake her.

The cars whipped around tight corners, engines screaming, sparks flying as their bumpers almost brushed. Y/n inched closer, narrowing the gap between her car and Chan's. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer—she was pushing her car harder than ever.

Y/n saw Chan’s engine suddenly sputter, and his car jerking violently. The reckless revving dropped, and the smooth power that was seconds ago relied on faltered. His car slowed, losing speed, and within seconds, it was clear—his car was stalling.

Y/n's eyes instinctively flickered back and forth between the track ahead and Chan's car, now dropping behind her. She could see him beat his fist against the wheel, his expression wild and glaring. Her heart hammered against her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering if she should slow down. But regaining her rationality, she cast Chan one last glance and sped past, right behind Jisung and the blonde racer. Steeling her focus, she looked ahead at the finish line, the grid girl now standing on the side of the track, waving the checkered flag.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. This is it.

The finish line was in sight, the wind whipping past her, the crowd roaring as they saw her take the lead, directly behind the blonde. She sped ahead, leaving Chan and his stalling car behind.

Seconds later, Y/n crossed the line, the rush of her first placing victory flooding through her veins. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a hard stop, her heart pounding, barely believing what had just happened.

She turned the engine off and with clammy hands, opened the door, stumbling out. Her ankles and wrists ached with the exertion and her fingers hurt, like they had been molded to the steering wheel. She made a mental note to buy gloves and loosen her grip next time.

The thought flew out of Y/n's head as a large, lean figure tackled her in a hug, her hearing muffling temporarily along with the roars from the crowd. Jisung lifted her above the ground, his hair slick with sweat, eyes crinkled as he laughed. He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot, Y/n jolting in his arms.

"You did it!" he cheered. "Even beat me and Chan. How's that for a proper race, uh?"

Y/n smiled, letting out a tentative, wheezy laugh, struggling in his grip.

"Thank you, Jisung, but I can't breathe-"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry," he placed her back on the ground, readjusting the jacket from where he'd disheveled it. He grinned at her, running a gloved hand through his hair. The haphazardly neon, overexcited crowd bustled around them, jostling and shouting. "Better?"

Y/n nodded, relieved, just as she spotted a head of messy blonde hair. Peeking behind her friend, she noticed the blonde racer pushing and brushing his way through the crowd. She blurted out a half-hearted excuse to Jisung and disappeared into the mess of people, trying to keep him in her sight.

Finally making her way through to the other side of the crowd, Y/n inhaled in a much-needed breath of cold, slightly smoky air, and glanced around hastily, her eyes settling on the racer. He was a little way away, talking to a slim, well-dressed man with a stern face. Y/n stumbled past a crowd of flamboyantly dressed young women and came up beside him, panting slightly. The well-dressed man disappeared with a glance at her, just as the blonde racer turned to face her. Y/n's breath escaped her lungs in a low whoosh.

He was beautiful.

Stuttering slightly, and feeling like a common peasant in the presence of someone so ethereally charming, Y/n found she had temporarily lost the capacity for speech. Her words finally came out in a rather pathetic, stumbling mess of fragments.

"U-um, I just- wanted to say, that-"

The racer raised an eyebrow, his expression not unfriendly nor open. More... mildly irritated and hesitantly curious at the same time. Y/n was convinced she couldn't have pulled off the expression if she tried.

His voice broke through the charged, slightly smoky atmosphere, the tone and pitch of it deep and thick and smooth like honey.

"Yes?"

Y/n's knees almost buckled. His voice was rich and accented, like Chan's but just a little bit more so. Y/n noticed his freckles again, spotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, his eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. There was a slighter larger freckle on the smooth curve of his cheekbone, shaped a little like a heart. She fought the sudden urge to smile at the cuteness of it and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Um, congratulations. For winning the race."

Her words came out more composed than before. Y/n silently congratulated herself on being able to form a singular coherent sentence in front of this ethereal supermodel of a human being.

"Thank you."

Y/n fidgeted, unsure of what to do. She intertwined her fingers, trying not to make things awkward. The supermodel racer simply stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tugging lightly on the collar of her borrowed jacket. A jolt of fire seared through Y/n at the touch, though he had made no contact with her skin. Like a static shock.

"Stealing Jisung's things, hmm?"

Y/n stuttered. "He let me me borrow it. Uhm, for the race."

"I see. Congratulations to you too. Much better since your last try."

Y/n almost choked on her saliva, the humiliating memory of her first race resurfacing in her mind. Had he been watching her?

All this time?

The racer seemed to notice her assumption, because his eyes widened infinitesimally, his hands clenching into fists. Seemingly irritated, he huffed out a breath that felt more forced than genuine.

Must be to keep up an image, Y/n thought ruefully to herself. I bet he's a softie under all of it. Like Chan. I think.

The blonde's thick, velvety voice floated through the air to her again, this time tinted in clarity and begrudging respect.

"Don't get cocky, rookie."

"Okay."

The racer simply nodded, apparently deeming the conversation finished, and brushed past her into the crowd.

Y/n watched him go.

☆★☆

The crowd was like a human barrier; Y/n was pushing and stumbling her way through, trying to get back to Jisung. Suddenly turning around, she ran directly into someone, almost falling over backwards. Panic set in her chest as she stumbled, the jostling crowd around her doing nothing to help her regain her bearings or balance.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, just as a pair of strong arms coiled around her waist, warm and stable. Her feet caught themselves on the asphalt, and one foot hovered unsurely just above the ground. Y/n looked up at Chan.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have caught you the first time, uh?"

Y/n's heart dropped out from her ribcage, down her legs, and out of her ass. She flushed suddenly at the feeling of his arms around her waist, cheeks tingling with fire.

"Thanks," she managed to get out as Chan pulled her fully upright. He released his hold on her and Y/n's body almost followed him like a magnet, already feeling cold without his touch. A sense of bittersweet disappointment filled her stomach. She blinked, hard, before looking up at him, unsure of what to say. Was he upset he'd lost?

"Um, your car-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan's expression was unreadable.

Such a carefully constructed mask, Y/n thought. A lot like Minho's.

But where Minho's mask was gold and ivory, Chan's was silver and obsidian.

Opposites.

In every way, it seemed. Black and white. Light and dark. Like two knights from opposing kingdoms, standing for completely different things.

White knight and black knight.

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, opening her mouth to speak. Chan beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

What?

Y/n's dumbfounded expression must have betrayed her surprise, because Chan rolled his eyes, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He huffed, seemingly trying to steel himself, or keep his irritation in check. Knowing Chan as little as she did, she went ahead and assumed it was probably the latter.

"Just- I'm sorry. That I shouted at Minho in front of you, that I left the tuning shop so suddenly. I didn't mean to get so sentimental, just- memories, y'know?"

Y/n blinked, her capacity for speech returning from its brief holiday.

"Oh. Um- it's okay."

Chan blinked back at her, expression mildly surprised. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disbelieving. It was clear he hadn't been expecting to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be pissed."

Y/n shrugged. "I was, but I let it go after a while. I forgive you. You know, if that's what you want to hear."

Chan's mouth formed a small, 'o' and Y/n's cheeks puffed up, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You look like a pufferfish," she snickered.

Chan flushed a light pink across his cheekbones and tutted once at her before hastily running a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair. Now that he was standing a little closer, Y/n could see the light bruising around his right eye showing through. She could see the light, careful smoothing of concealer over the sweat-sheened area and bit the inside of her cheek. A tiny patch of purple and green bloomed in faint patches at the corner of his eye, and to Y/n, it looked like it'd gotten worse since the last time they'd seen each other. Se glanced up at the racer, suddenly concerned, but decided not to say anything.

Chan suddenly opened his mouth to retort to her comment and was immediately tackled by a tornado with dirty blonde hair and a mesh shirt. He let out an oof and stumbled back a few steps, freezing as Jisung joyfully squeezed him around the middle. Chan exhaled before hesitantly patting Jisung on the back. Y/n chuckled.

"Y/n beat you," Jisung's voice was muffled, though it contained no small amount of glee.

Chan groaned. "Well spotted. Uh- you can let go now."

Jisung lifted his head from where it was buried in Chan's shoulder, and reluctantly let go, cheeks puffing out in a pout.

Y/n chuckled at her friend's antics and glanced at Chan. The crowd around her was beginning to feel suffocating.

"Let's go sit down."

☆★☆

Chan groaned as Jisung snatched his drink for the fourth time, laughing.

Y/n had dragged the both of them up into the bleachers, where they could watch the entire event without being crowded. The neon flashing lights and the screeching of the cars had dimmed, as if someone had draped a blanket over it, dulling the lights and colours and noises.

She dragged her gaze away from the arena below and turned her gaze to Jisung. He was busy scarfing down the rest of Chan's drink. Tossing it into a nearby bin, he turned to her with a cheeky grin. Chan groaned and shoved him lightly, displeased with the theft of his refreshment, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.

Looking down at the arena again, Y/n replayed the events of the night. The blonde haired racer popped into her mind, and she turned to Jisung suddenly, curious.

"Jisung?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you, um- there's this blonde haired racer, he was next to me in the lineup. Do you maybe know who he is? He had the McLaren with the lightning strikes on it."

Jisung nodded thoughtfully. Chan was preoccupied, running calloused fingertips over the thick silver chain on his wrist. He looked up in interest just as Jisung spoke.

"Blonde hair, McLaren, lightning strikes... sounds like someone we know, huh, Chan?"

Chan rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The night breeze blew his dark hair black, the wind running its cool fingers through the sweat-dried locks.

"Oh, we know him all right."

Jisung grinned cheekily, chuckling. "Chan hates him because he's a better racer."

"I do not. And he's not that good."

"Mhm, totally..."

"Oh, shut up, Jisung."

The younger boy laughed, holding up his hands in defence, leaning away from Chan. The shit-eating grin on Jisung's face was wiped away by a swift, sharp slap to the upside of his head. He groaned and flopped dramatically to the arena floor. Y/n, meanwhile, just blinked softly, unbothered by their antics.

"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.

Chan huffed, stretching out his long legs in front of him before propping them up on the seat in front. His voice was gravelly.

"Lee Felix."

a/n: i planned to post this a month ago but oops. also felix introduction yay !

General fluff headcanons with skz

(If not all then just with Chan and Hyunjin!!) ♥️

hihi sweet anon i'm sorry this took so astronomically long ... it's here now tho oops . i got hit with writer's block and lost motivation sigh ... hyunjin version is dropping later tonight, and i might continue the headcanon series if people request for the other members :] we'll see tho <3

bang chan - skz fluff headcanons

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan headcanons

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, general fluff headcanons, chan is just a silly lil thing

a/n: i hate writer's block . divider from @aewinse

masterlist

...

first of all

lots of physical affection

like, lots

anywhere he can get you, anywhere he can find you, he's coiling his arms around your waist or around your shoulders, leaning over your shoulder to nosily look at whatever it is you're doing

sometimes, if he wants attention, and is in a whiny mood, he'll drape himself over you and let his weight sag onto your body from behind

which usually results in a panicked squeal from you, a chuckle from chan, and therefore the two of you sprawled in a heap on the floor

from there, you're not getting up

say goodbye to whatever it was you were doing because chan will happily lie on top of you for as long as he pleases

unless you urgently need to get up, like to turn off the stove or go to the bathroom, chan will keep you in his arms for a very long time

the fact that your legs go numb after a while because of his weight is also an advantage in chan's eyes

he can literally just lift you up and place you on the bed or the couch to cuddle with him like a little plush toy

albeit a very whiny one

when he's feeling a little more playful, and in need of your affection, he'll come up behind you and suddenly throw you over his shoulder

the world goes upside down and before you know it, you're cozied up with a giggly chan

he loves taking naps with you fr

we all know this man does not sleep like at all but somehow having you near him helps a lot

he always finds that your warmth makes him feel relaxed and cozy, and he doesn't have to worry about what comes next because it's just you and him, right now

even if he doesn't manage to get to sleep, he's content with just peacefully watching you sleep, and likes to stroke your hair or talk to you softly

even though you can't hear him

chan also loves to cook for you !!

he's always bugging minho to teach him new recipes so he can cook really good food for you

eventually minho just sends him a list of recipe blogs and websites and you usually come home to something hot on the stove

chan's super busy, so on the days he can't be there to cook for you, he'll prepare food beforehand and freeze several containers so you don't have to cook

he gets to take care of you, and you get to eat well

win win

you always save half the portion of your food so that when chan comes home, he can eat quickly before slipping into bed next to your sleeping figure

he doesn't like it much when you do that, since he wants you to eat well without having to worry about him

you do it anyway, knowing that chan often doesn't have the energy or time to make food for himself after a tiring day at the company

also !!

he likes inviting you to his solo studio sessions, usually late at night or during his free time at the company

sits you on his lap without fear because he always locks the door beforehand

"can't have the kids walking in on us,"

or so he says

he just wants you all to himself

you trace the veins on his hands and forearms while he mixes beats and adds elements to his tracks

hums softly into your ear while you lay your head against his chest

and when you get tired, he'll lift you carefully and place you on the studio couch, draping his thick, cologne-scented leather jacket over you

also i just know he smells so good okay

like

i'm thinking like spicy, smoky sort of scent

but not like bushfire smoky or whatever

like a soft, subtle, masculine smell

more woodsy and leather-like

ughhh

he always pulls up these fragrance websites on his phone, maybe from fendi or another fashion house

he'll let you sit on his lap and choose whichever you think will suit him best

and he always buys the ones you choose, wearing your three favourites on alternate weeks so you have an excuse to be close to him

you just want to smell him

don't tell him that though kekeke

chan also loves buying you stuff though you always tell him not to

on your bad days especially, when you get home, there'll be a little care package on the bed in a pretty box tied with a ribbon

he always puts your favourite snacks, sweets, skincare products, and little gifts inside because he knows it makes you feel so much better

also always adds two facemasks so you can both do them when chan comes home

obviously you get first pick tho

chan also likes buying you little things from tour that remind you of him, or things that match the vibe of the songs they performed

when he came back from the maniac tour it was an oversized hoodie with green and purple accents, just like the theme of maniac

when he travelled to seoul for the five-star tour, he came back with a pair of black leather combat boots

and they had these little silver stars studded all over the sides, and thick silver zips

you wear both items as often as you can, trying to incorporate chan's little gifts into your everyday life

you feel bad sometimes because he keeps buying you stuff and you don't want to be a bother, but chan firmly insists on it

"baby, you're never a bother,"

please step on me ugh

aHem

moving on

in return, you always take chan's insta posts and some of his bubble pics too

he always lets you choose which ones he should post, though over time they get less and less thirty bc chan is yours and not stay's

as much as you and chan love the fans, there are some select photos you would much rather keep to yourself

it's more special that way in your opinion

chan likes to take pretty photos of you too

you get like really shy though, and chan can't have that

so he just sits you opposite him, takes your wrists in one hand, and snaps a shit ton of photos of you with the other

there's no way to get out of it

he keeps all his photos of you in a special folder on his phone, and his favourites pictures of you in a locked, password-protected folder

like your anniversary pictures, and other special memories he doesn't want other people to see

the kids nag him to show them the photos but chan never relents, wanting to keep those special memories private

your camera roll is much the same

you're also the number one supplier of bang chan blackmail material

the boys, especially minho and felix, always come to you for blackmail material and stupid photos of chan that he hates

you think they're cute but chan violently disagrees

anyways

chan honestly doesn't mind you having his less-than-favourite photos on your phone

as long as you're happy <3

a/n: reblogs and comments appreciated

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩 ⊹ 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan's been busy, so you decide to surprise him.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, extreme softness, reader is a sweetheart, chan is also a sweetheart (but what's new), i cried writing this oops

a/n: happy birthday, channie ♡ (seungmin in the background) "chan you're half 56-"

The evening sun casts a golden glow across the rooftop of the studio, its last rays spilling over the horizon, tinting the sky in hues of pink and orange. The city below was alive with the hum of traffic and distant chatter, but up here, it felt like another world — quiet, intimate, serene.

Just the two of you.

Chan leans against the railing, a soft breeze ruffling his hair. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a playful smile. “I still can’t believe you managed to pull this off,” he says, his voice a mix of surprise and affection.

You smile, shrugging your shoulders casually. “Well, you’ve been working non-stop for weeks. I figured you deserved a break.”

It had taken weeks of secret planning, coordinating with the studio staff, and a few sneaky conversations with his members to set up this surprise. You’d transformed the usually empty rooftop into a small, cozy haven. It had taken a while, with several near-accidents (mainly involving a certain Han Jisung trying to hang up the lights, but you appreciated the help nonetheless).

Fairy lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the space. A small picnic setup was laid out with Chan’s favorite snacks, and in the centre was a guitar, propped against a chair.

He steps closer, his eyes scanning the space, clearly touched by the effort. “This is amazing,” he whispers, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining subconsciously.

“I wanted to do something special,” you admit, looking up at him. “You give so much of yourself to your music, your fans, and your members… you deserve a moment just for you.”

Chan chuckles softly, cheeks dusted pink, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You know, you didn’t have to go this far for me.”

“Of course I did,” you reply. “You work hard every single day. I see it, and I know how much it means to you, but I also know how much you need to breathe sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “I don’t think I thank you enough for always being there.”

You squeeze his hand softly, gazing at him. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy.”

Chan pulls you into a gentle embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You make me happier than you know,” he whispers. His voice, though quiet, carries the weight of his sincerity.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his eyes twinkling with a familiar spark of adorable mischief. “Alright, what else do you have planned? I can tell there’s more.”

You grin, stepping back and gesturing toward the guitar. “I thought you might want to play something. You’ve been working on so much music, but I haven’t heard you play in ages.”

Chan’s eyes light up, and he reaches for the guitar, settling onto one of the cushions you’d laid out. He strums the strings lightly, testing the sound before looking up at you with a grin. “Anything you want to hear?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “How about something new? Something you haven’t shown anyone yet.”

He chuckles, his fingers already moving over the strings, creating a soft, melodic, lilting tune. “Alright, but this is still a work in progress.”

The melody that followed was gentle, the kind that made you close your eyes and lose yourself in the moment. His voice, smooth and filled with emotion, carried through the quiet evening, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. As he played, the world seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you and the music, hung in the air, making the twinkling lights seem brighter with the shining, incandescent melody.

When the song came to an end, you open your eyes to find Chan watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What did you think?”

You sigh, completely in awe. “It was beautiful. You always manage to create something so… real.”

He blushes slightly at the compliment, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your hand again. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for all of it. This- everything… it’s so perfect.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the golden hour fades into twilight. “You’re welcome,” you whisper. “But it’s only perfect because you’re here.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the stars begin to twinkle in the sky. Your hand, the one that isn't holding Chan's moves to your pocket, slipping inside to brush against something. You glance at Chan to see if he's noticed, but he's too busy looking at the twinkling fairy lights, the golden shine reflected in his dark eyes.

He looks so beautiful.

Your voice comes out a hushed, almost reverent whisper.

"Chan?"

He hums, dragging his gaze away from the lights and onto your face. His eyes seem to shine even brighter, and he smiles, making an all-too familiar warmth settle in the pit of your stomach. You inhale.

"Do you remember when we first came up here?"

He nods, recalling the memory. You know it's one of his favourites.

"I was getting stressed from all the schedules we had planned. I was supposed to fly out to Shanghai for the fanmeeting and concert the next day... I got so close to honestly just crying, and you came up onto the roof after Felix snitched to you about where I was."

You smile ruefully, remembering it all too well. Chan continues.

"I remember you told me that it would all be okay, and you gave me this," he shows you his hand, a silver ring with a movable chain running through the middle. "You said that you noticed I was fidgeting a lot recently because of the stress, so you got me this to help me stop messing with my hands."

He spins the little chain twice with a smile before continuing.

"I remember flying out the next day, sitting on the plane, watching the ground fall away, taking me away. From home, from you. But you told me before I left that the ring was a little part of you, that I could take with me while we weren't physically together," Chan's eyes are suspiciously bright. He takes a shaky breath, smiling.

"I never took it off, even when I slept. The stylists kept getting frustrated with me because I refused to take it off, even when it didn't match what I was wearing. But I kept it on, during the fanmeeting, the concert, the activities with the Kids, everywhere, all the time. Minho used to say to me during the trip, "Hyung, did she glue the ring to your finger?"."

Chan laughs then, and so do you. He had pretty much kept it on all the time.

"Even when I returned, I kept wearing it. It stopped being a part of you and became a part of us. I felt wrong without it, and during the recent events where the stylists insisted I take it off, I wore it on a chain."

You giggle, leaning into him. "I remember you ran to hug me after the concert and the chain hit my cheek. I wondered what you were doing, wearing it all the time."

Chan huffs a small laugh, exhaling. "It's a part of me now. Forever."

Your smile fades, replaced with a soft, affectionate look.

"Channie, I did all this tonight because I wanted you to have a break. But I also did this because I need you to know how much I love you. You mean so much to me, and you're always spoiling me and doing things for me, so I wanted to give back. I know that love isn't grand gestures or fairy lights or guitar music, but you deserve this. So much.

And I'm glad you played the song for me. It was so beautiful, it felt like I was floating up into the air, I felt so free and at peace. I know you always say that music is the way to capture emotions, but no song could ever capture how I feel for you, or how much I love you. Music helps us to express our emotions and fond memories, but no melody, harmony, or tune could ever express how much you mean to me. And it's frustrating because I want you to know, I want you to be able to feel it-"

"I do feel it," Chan interrupts, grabbing your hand and gazing into your eyes with a soft smile. "During the hectic last-minute dance practices with Hyunjin, where you cheer me on, or during late night conversations, our chaotic dates, or all-nighter studio producing sessions. I feel your love wherever I go, because it's always with me. It chases me like a light and spills into everything that I do."

You smile, squeezing his hand again, and continuing a little quieter. "I've been by your side through everything, Chan. The moments of joy, the quiet sadness, the doubt, the excitement. I've seen it all. I've been right next to you through it all, and you always tell me that I'm your biggest supporter, your best friend, and more than you ever thought you deserved. But you do deserve it, Chan. All of it. I always try to make moments like this perfect for you, but the truth is, any moment with you already is. Whether we’re laughing, or even just sitting in silence… I realised that I've been searching for something, and all along, it was right in front of me.

When you're working away at producing with me on your lap, when we're running through the streets at night holding hands, taking photos of each other at ridiculous angles, and fighting over the last chip, it's perfect. Even during the rare moments when we disagree, or get frustrated with each other, that's perfect too. Because no matter what either of us feels, or what we're going through or facing, I know I can turn around, and you'll always be there. And you know I'd do the same for you, in a heartbeat. Always.

Channie, I know you always say that I'm a part of you, and so is that ring you never take off, and the chain too. I know my happiness and sadness and doubt and fear and love and affection is exactly what you feel, too. The members always joke and poke fun about how we're glued to the hip and can't go a day without each other, but for once, they couldn't be more right."

You let out a shaky exhale, eyes meeting Chan's.

"I know you love that silver ring, Channie, but I want to replace it."

You smile softly and reach up to wipe away a glittering tear from your cheek. With a startled realisation that Chan is also crying, you smile softly before reaching across to do the same for him, your voice soft.

"Bang Christopher Chan, will you marry me?"

a/n: happy chan week, everyone. i hope someone does this one day for him, he deserves it all ♡

the fast lane : part 4 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, chan cries, reader cries, everyone cries, mention of injuries, brief description of injury, trauma-ma-ma-ma wc 3.9 k

series masterlist

part 4 : unexpected contact

"Minho, wake up!"

Y/n sank to her knees beside him. Minho's outline was blurred through the haze of Y/n's tears. She placed a hand on his shoulder; it was cold, almost lifeless.

She should call someone- who was she even meant to call? The arena was empty and the sky was beginning to dim in deep gloaming tones. Looking down at Minho again, she shook him uselessly, squeezing his shoulder and pressing her palm pleadingly to his clammy, tearstained face.

"Please, Minho..."

His eyes fluttered but he showed no sign of movement beyond that. His face was so soft and delicate in sleep, eyelashes like a dusting of cocoa against his lids. The chiseled angles of his nose and jaw, the little white scars on the line of his throat and his temples. The perfect porcelain mask was cracked and Y/n tried desperately to piece it together, crying and coaxing and trying with shaking hands to do something, anything.

Nothing was working.

Y/n cupped his face, pressing her forehead to his. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheekbones like tiny rivers of molten gold. She knew in her heart that he'd passed out from the distress. She stroked his hair, deep purplish-brown in the dimming light, and whispered to him sweet nothings she wouldn't remember and he wouldn't hear.

"Min..." she hiccupped, barely able to see through the onslaught of hot tears. "Please wake up."

She had felt two pairs of hands grasping her, ripping her away from Minho like a bandage being ripped off a half-healed wound. Blood pooled in Y/n's footsteps as she was hauled to the backstage area, pushed down onto the couch. She remembered her hands, sweaty with the emotional exertion, slipping against each other as she'd wrung them together, pacing behind the closed door.

She remembered wo people shouting frantically and a muffled groan, boyish and pretty. The slam of a door, weak protests, and then the revving of a car. When she'd finally been let out of the room, he wasn't there.

She remembered being told to go home.

She remembered returning to the arena the next day, and how he hadn't been there.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that one either.

She remembered showing up six days later, having been told she had been signed up for a race the following Saturday. She'd just smiled weakly as she'd been informed, knowing that Minho had been the one to register her. That information only made her heart ache more as time passed.

She remembered asking around, only to be told that he'd been taken to get medical attention, and that no one knew where he was. She'd cried after that, curling up into a ball against the backstage door, where she'd fallen backwards and met Minho for the first time.

A pair of strong arms had coiled around her, comforting her, though later she couldn't seem to remember who it was. The image danced just out of reach, her memory fogged over by her aching longing and worry.

What if he never returned?

What if he'd collapsed because of what Chan had said?

Or worse, what if he'd-

What if-

Y/n flew bolt upright, gasping and shaking and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She spasmed for a moment, flailing, before realising where she was.

The tuning shop's lights were off, the sun filling the space through the half-opened garage door. It was wide and spacious, several other cars lined up beside the one Y/n was working on. Minho's car, she reminded herself. It was his. And he'd been grudgingly trusting enough to allow her to keep it.

"I have another I can use," he'd said, refusing to make eye contact as Y/n had thrown her arms around him, squealing.

Her very own car.

Y/n smiled sadly, willing her eyes not to well up as she ran her fingertips along the chrome-green and black satin cast. Exactly like his motorbike, she remembered. He always did like matching items.

The sun cast a golden glow over the cement, reflecting and lighting up the area. The cheerful chattering of birds and the amiable talking of the occasional racers who passed by should have lifted Y/n's spirits.

Strangely enough, it hadn't.

She'd fallen asleep after about an hour of engine adjustments, too exhausted by her racing thoughts and neverending worries to do anything more than idly sit and adjust a miscellaneous bolt. Her fingers and the front of her shirt was stained with engine grease, though she wasn't entirely sure how it'd gotten there.

Y/n sighed and propped herself up against the car, elbows on her knees as she stared quietly out of the garage. She could see the wheels of cars and a little bit of the arena entrance from her. She had no will to be where she was right now, but she was kept in place by a bone-deep, aching tiredness that took a firm grip on every part of her body. She was more than content to sit here for the rest of the day and wallow endlessly in her weeping, abyssal sorrow.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A quiet, somber, accented voice shook her out of the haze of her thoughts. Almost. She was too caught up in her fugue state to even bother turning or acknowledging whoever was at the entrance.

Without looking to see who it was, Y/n let out a tiny, almost inaudible, half-hearted "mm" before relapsing into silence once again.

There was a sigh, then the quiet thudding of boots as whoever it was moved to sit down next to her. The intoxicating scent of a familiar, spicy, woodsy cologne filled her nostrils and she turned hesitantly, the small action unexpectedly taking most of her strength.

Chan gazed back at her, expression hard and solemn.

Y/n blinked, his presence finally registering in the fog of her mind. She opened her mouth, then closed it unsurely, shoulders tensing.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears, though from what emotions or thoughts, she wasn't sure. "I haven't seen you since-"

"I know," he murmured.

There were dark rings around his eyes, and the space under his right eye was slightly red and purple, like he'd bruised the soft skin there. He looked pale and he hadn't bothered to style his hair, the strands falling in soft, thin waves past his forehead. Y/n wondered if he'd been having trouble sleeping, or if he'd slept at all.

Y/n turned her face away to hide the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks like little paths of fire. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, shaky.

"Are you going to shout at me too in whatever language you were spitting at Minho in?" Her voice was bitter, quiet, almost resentful.

Chan didn't reply.

Y/n knew in her heart that she had no right to be truly resentful towards him. After all, she had no clue what had transpired between him and Minho, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Chan had done something terribly, terribly wrong. And, Y/n reasoned with herself, even if he had, there was no reason for him to have snapped at Minho the way he did. Y/n fought the urge to seethe in the racer's face, though he showed no signs of aggression. He simply sat quiet and docile, seemingly reflecting as he watched the dappled sunlight from the garage cast patterns across the cement floor.

"Y/n," he whispered.

It was so faint she almost didn't catch it. Turning her face back towards him, she felt a small wave of surprise overcoming her features at the soft expression of her name. He was clearly struggling to maintain his cold, almost expressionless mask, the facade doing nothing to hide the thinly-veiled distress in his dark eyes. He looked so genuinely upset that Y/n couldn't help but turn her body towards him, tilting her head.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. It felt like ages had passed before Chan spoke, quiet and shaky like the way Y/n herself had spoken only moments before.

"Just- I can't tell you what happened, okay?"

Y/n blinked before an unexpectedly fierce scowl overcame her features, twisting it into a resentful, bitter mask. She recoiled minutely like she was disgusted. She felt disgusted, and she wasn't even sure why.

"Why not? You know, after all, I don't deserve to know why my friend collapsed, or why you yelled at him in the first place, or why you're such a jerk, but you know what, it's fine. It's fine, Chan."

Her voice came out sharp and spiteful, reminiscent of the sound of crashing, shattering glass. A glistening shard flew from her mouth and embedded itself in Chan's chest in a clean, swift swipe. He looked taken aback at the sudden harshness of her tone, looking almost guilty, and the remorseful, stupefied expression on his face was like a dagger to Y/n's heart, a clean, white slice too fresh and painful to fully comprehend.

Y/n knew she was projecting, knew she should hold back since Chan was so clearly distressed, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't help stepping back hastily when Chan rose to his feet and moved soundlessly towards her, his hands out in front of him like she was a wild, untamed animal he was trying not to spook.

Y/n couldn't help it when she batted his hands away with surprising sharpness, glaring up at him like she was attempting to burn laser holes through his skull. She couldn't help it when Chan swiftly stepped closer, expression desperate like the air of a man who knew he was losing his audience.

Or his sanity.

Or perhaps both. One could never really know nowadays.

What Y/n did know was that she wanted nothing to do with Chan, or what he had done. Not until he had simply just proved to her that he hadn't intended to hurt Minho the way he had. He was Y/n's first real friend, the first person to want to know her, truly as she was. Minho, who wanted Y/n with all her complications, worries, desires.

Minho, who listened to her stories, doing his best to keep up with her even when she got excited and spoke so fast she became dizzy.

Minho, who chided her as he ruffled her hair, his gaze lovingly scolding.

Minho, who had once driven her, a complete stranger home, simply because he was worried for her safety.

Minho who dragged her to the cafe after every practice, who drove her home, every time smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.

Minho, the sadist, the feline-eyed racer, the embodiment of untarnished strength and quiet confidence.

Minho, the pretty mask of ivory porcelain and dripping gold.

Minho, and her. Her.

Just her.

Y/n burst into tears.

Chan's arms were suddenly on her shoulders, her biceps, skating across the fabric of her jacket, wrapping around her waist until she sunk to the floor in his arms, a shattered, broken mess of glass and tears. Her knee scraped the cement through her ripped jeans but she didn't feel it, clinging to Chan even though all she wanted to do was push him away. A loud sob escaped her mouth and she buried her face in his jacket as his arms coiled around her even tighter, almost protectively. His hand brushed her knee, readjusting it gently so it didn't press against the ground, his retracting fingertips stained lightly with her blood.

Y/n closed her eyes tight, so tight, like if she did it hard enough Minho would suddenly reappear and take Chan's place. She was a swirling, confused mess of overwhelming agony and longing sadness. Y/n did not know how it felt to drown in a dark, lonely ocean, but she supposed this is must what it would have felt like. Sinking like a stone in a sea of doubt, gasping for oxygen but instead dousing her insides in the fresh, painful frigidness of her situation.

She was barely aware when Chan adjusted himself to lean against the car again, Y/n in his lap. She clung to him, the weeks of maintaining the nonchalant facade disappearing in the unexpected comfort of his embrace. Turning her head to the side, overwhelmed by sudden dizziness from her emotional onslaught, she dimly noticed that the sleeve of her jacket was wet, soft, dark patches making patterns on the fabric like the first few raindrops at the beginning of a storm. It took her several moments to comprehend the fact that Chan was also crying.

His face was buried into the crook of her neck, nuzzling into the juncture, soaking it with his tears. Strangely, Y/n didn't mind, too preoccupied with the combined vulnerability of the situation. She stopped sniffing, blinking to remove the blurry tears from her vision. A quiet, repeated whimper came from her shoulder, Chan's voice muffled by the fabric and the force at which he was burying his face into her neck.

"Please, don't go... Stay with me, I'm sorry, I should never have done this, please-"

Y/n stilled, trying to understand through the aftermath of her tears. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or reliving a memory of someone, or something else. Maybe he was talking to Minho, or another close friend. It was impossible for Y/n to tell.

He was pleading.

"Chan?" Y/n whispered, voice raw and cracked. A sudden realisation dawned on her. She knew it was completely outside the bounds of propriety to interrupt his whimpering pleas but she couldn't let the thought remain unsaid. Gathering her courage, she touched his shoulder. He lifted his head slightly, indicating that he was listening. Or maybe he just needed air, having shoved his face into her shoulder for so long. But Y/n took the opportunity as it came, though a little shakily.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She whispered almost inaudibly. "The night I cried backstage, a few days after Minho collapsed.. you were the one who held me."

Chan nodded infinitesimally, almost guiltily, like he'd been caught. A choked sob ripped out of his lungs, his eyes glazed, and Y/n opened her mouth, unsure. He was clearly in pain, and Y/n had a strong feeling it wasn't the physical type. Chan murmured something shakily in Korean before pressing his head to her shoulder again, shoulders heaving with the force of his tears.

They sat like that for a while, Y/n eventually feeling bold enough to reach up and stroke his hair lightly. It was like pinfeathers beneath her fingers, softer than she could have ever imagined. Chan's cries quieted after a while, and so did Y/n's halfhearted sniffing, leaving the both of them clinging to each other, the way a person drowning in the sea might cling to a piece of debris.

It should have felt strange, considering that Y/n didn't even know Chan well, but she felt too boneless and spent to currently care about physical boundaries. And so did he, clearly feeling careless enough to run his fingers lightly up and down her spine, not daring to go past her middle back. The sense of affinity hanging in the atmosphere descended like a cloud upon Y/n and Chan until the advancing, rhythmic sound of footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. The door handle turned and Y/n hastily scrambled off Chan's lap, unceremoniously falling on her ass beside him. Chan smoothed a large, veiny hand through his hair just as the door opened.

To Y/n's enormous surprise, a cat came strolling through the doorway, looking around inquisitively before moving to lie down in the sunlight. Chan spluttered before pointing to the doorway, confused.

"Whose footsteps were those, then?" he stuttered, looking at Y/n as if she might have known the answer.

She simply fought a smile and shrugged back before standing up, and slowly moving closer to the cat. The dark, jet black fur shone honey brown and was flecked with gold under the wash of sunlight. Y/n stroked its back gently, feeling the cat's satisfied purr rumble up from its throat. It mewed at Chan as he settled on the other side, his long legs folded up to his chest. He leaned forward, petting the cat, and his knee brushed Y/n's. The touch sent a jolt through her and Y/n felt heat rise in her cheeks, petting the cat a little faster to hide the crimson splotches on her face. If Chan noticed, he didn't say anything, having apparently come to a conclusion that the footsteps outside the door must have been someone else.

Y/n pressed her lips together to stop herself from bursting out in questions. The moment was quiet and almost intimate, and Y/n felt like she'd be ruining it if she bombarded the dark-haired racer with questions. Looking down at the cat as it tilted green eyes at her, she smiled and scratched it lightly behind the ear. It looked a little bit like Minho; inquisitive, quietly confident eyes and fur the same shade as his hair when it hit the light. Y/n felt a pang in her chest and turned to Chan. Now or never, she supposed.

"Chan?" she whispered, not for the first time.

He responded with a "hm", seemingly distracted by the cat.

"Do- do you know where Minho is? Is he okay?"

Chan turned to her. Y/n's breath caught; his eyes had lightened to a dark brown, the sun casting an almost glowing sheen over his tanned skin. His eyes were rimmed in red and tear tracks stained his cheekbones like the hollowing path water makes through the ground, and the water caught the light, sparkling when he blinked at her. The slight bruise under his eye was rosy and pale purple. His hair, however un-styled and messy it was, swept down over his forehead in a way that strangely made Y/n's heart thud far faster than it should have.

Chan opened his mouth to speak. "He's-"

"Minho's fine. At home, resting." A voice sounded from the doorway. A slim, agile-looking racer was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He had an air of good nature, with his hair dyed a dirty blonde, and the dark roots growing out under the strands. His eyes were wide and dark, yet they were sparkly with a mischievous light that glinted as he tilted his head at Chan. There was silence between the three, until the man clicked his fingers, the cat rising from its position like a sleeper agent and padding to the racer's feet. It wound itself between his legs, pawing at the thick silver zips on his boots. The man reached down and gently picked the cat up, stroking it and whispering. Y/n watched the man, fascinated, though Chan looked politely unfazed.

"Was it you making those heavy footsteps before?" Y/n asked timidly.

The racer simply nodded, not taking his eyes off the cat. Y/n's gaze traveled down to where the cat's dark, fluffy tail flicked at the waist level of the man. The racer's physique was slim and lean, his shoulders broad, chest tapering down to a slender, pretty waist that Y/n was almost jealous of. He was wearing a plain black short-sleeve mesh shirt, tucked into combat pants similar to Y/n's own. He was fairly short, just like Chan and Minho, yet tall enough that Y/n figured if she stood, he would be able to look down into her face.

The racer tilted his head, noticing Chan's gaze and Y/n's stare. He gave Y/n a million-watt bright, cheeky grin, eyes slitting with the exuberant movement, before his gaze slid back to the cat. She liked him instantly.

"I didn't think she would wander here," he said quietly, still smiling, referring to the cat. He tapped its nose softly but cheekily before moving to sit right next to Y/n. His knees took up most of her personal space, but she found that she didn't mind, feeling more curious than anything. He looked up at Y/n, poking her cheek lightly.

"Why you crying?" he said curiously. "Yah, Chan, what'd you say- oh, you're crying too, alright... are we just having a quick breakdown sesh in here? Cool, cool, cool."

Y/n heard Chan sigh. Turning her head just enough to see him out of her peripheral, Y/n watched as he leant back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him. He looked relieved, and Y/n wondered if he was glad that the cat-wielding racer on her other side had provided a welcome distraction from the previous conversation. Fighting a sigh herself, Y/n turned to the cheeky-looking man before reaching out to lightly ruffle the cat's fur.

"Are you friends with Minho?" she said softly, glancing up at the man. He nodded with a small "mm" before gently tugging on Y/n's hand, directing it to the spot behind the cat's ears. Surprised at the sudden contact. Y/n watched as the cat purred loudly at the feeling of her fingertips brushing its ears. The man chuckled before letting go.

"Minho and I have been close friends for a long time," he said quietly before glancing at Chan. "How are things, you know, after-"

"Things are fine," Chan's voice was tight, strained. Y/n tensed involuntarily.

The man sighed, voice softening, before he turned to Y/n. "If you want to know about Minho, he's fine. He's at home, recuperating. I went to see him yesterday just to drop a few things off for him, and I'm going again tonight, if you want me to say anything to him from you."

Y/n shook her head lightly at his offer, polite and appreciative. "Thank you, but I would much rather he rest, and come back healed. Do you know when he's coming back, by the way?"

"Probably within the next few days," Chan interrupted blandly. "He's never away for long. Too worried about you."

Y/n spluttered. "Me? What do you mean-"

The racer interrupted, laughing nervously before shooting Chan a glare, unbeknownst to Y/n. His voice tightened.

"Don't worry. Minho will be back soon. And he'll be happy to find out there's a stray hanging around the arena too. He loves cats," he scratched the cat's dark fur with a smile. "Oh, and I'm Jisung."

Y/n nodded. "I'm Y/n."

Jisung shot her another smile, bright enough to outshine the sunlight filtering into the garage. It dimmed slightly as Chan got up with a huff, brushing off his clothes. His eyes were suspiciously glassy and Y/n made to take his hand, voice coming out shaky but concerned.

"Chan, wait, where are you going-"

She moved to stand up too, hand still outstretched. She only got about halfway, crouching, before Chan took her hand as if on impulse, squeezing it quickly but gently before hastily leaving the room. The garage door swung shut behind him.

Y/n froze in position, hand tingling from the unexpected but welcome contact. A sudden rush of heat flooded to her cheeks and she gulped, that familiar pit of strange, fluttering tenderness settling in the pit of her stomach.

Jisung pointedly looked away.

a/n: this took way too long oops

Hi!:) Sorry if you busy but could I ask you something? I was thinking if you could do something where you have frequent migraines and Felix is there to take care of you and comfort you. Thanks (and also I waned to say that I love your writing). Bye 😘

awww thank you TT so sweet. hehe sorry this took me so long, anon... i had this in my drafts for ages but it's here now ! here you go <3

haze - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: felix helps you out when you get a migraine

genre: fluff, idol! au, jisung is goofy at the start (but what's new tbh), chan is helpful (again, what's new), not proofread nyehehe, softie lix, bit angsty, reader gets migraines :(

a/n: comments, likes, reblogs appreciated <3 divider from @chilumitos

You laugh just as Jisung shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth, grinning wildly as sauce stains the corners of his mouth. Minho slaps him on the back and Chan chides him frantically, reaching across Minho's lap to wipe sauce off Jisung's mouth. At this point, your stomach hurts from laughing so hard, a slightly painful but gleeful ache settling in the pit of your stomach. Next to your side, Felix is doing the exact same, and you both lean heavily on each other as the sound of chattering and excitable laughing fills the night air.

Felix was getting together with the boys for a night out, and had invited you along, knowing that the boys would be pleased to see you. You had gladly agreed, having nothing else to do apart from sit at home and scroll through your phone. Felix had driven the both of you to the restaurant where you were meeting the boys. Stepping out of the car, the cold, chilly air of the evening had hit you both straight in the face, and you had grinned just as the rest of the boys had come bounding up.

Jisung had tackled you in a full-blown hug, Minho and Seungmin both having to pry him off you, while Chan wrestled with Changbin's arms that were wrapped tightly around Felix. You'd been released, slightly breathless, but so, so glad to see them. Their schedules hadn't allowed for much personal time, so it was lovely to be able to sit with them under the deep gloaming of the sky and eat to your hearts' content.

It had been so long.

Finally controlling your laughter, you held onto Felix's arm to keep yourself upright, wiping away a stray tear of mirth just as Jisung choked. Chan let out a yelp, moving to Jisung's side, and Hyunjin slapped his friend harshly on the back, trying to dislodge the food.

Felix and you bent over wheezing just as Jisung cleared his airways, flipping two thumbs in the air and grinning. Your head was beginning to hurt from the laughing but you brushed it off as the rowdy group continued with the meal.

The night progressed smoothly for the next few hours, the boys talking and laughing and chattering, and you doing the exact same. Your head was beginning to throb slightly and you sipped on your drink, the iced, saccharine, carbonated drink doing nothing to ease the growing aching in your temples. Pressing your thumbs discreetly to the space under your eyes, you breathed deeply, trying to still the aching throb. When that didn't work, you dropped your hands, sighing. Guess you'd be nursing a headache for the rest of the night. You clenched the cold glass in your hand, the condensation dripping off and forming a ring on the varnished table underneath. Felix nudged you suddenly, his eyes alight with the soft, golden glow from the street fairy lights hanging overhead. His voice was soft, considering the fact he'd been pretty much yelling excitedly for most of the night.

"You okay?" he smiled, leaning down a little to peer into your eyes.

You nod mutely, not wanting to exacerbate the pain in your head, and not wanting to risk ruining the night for Felix. It'd been so long since he'd been able to just enjoy himself, no dance practices, no promotions, no fansigns or vocal lessons. Just him and his friends.

And you.

But it felt like your head had been split in half. A searing pain shot through your forehead, followed by a dull ache where the bridge of your nose met your eyelids. You clenched your fists, trying to stop a rush of frustrated tears. Why did you always have to ruin everything?

Felix, noticing your worrying lack of response, placed a reassuring, warm hand on your thigh. He leaned down a little more, eyes filled with concern and a little confusion.

"Sunflower?" he spoke lowly, just loud enough for only you to hear. "What's wrong? You look pale..." he took your hand, squeezing it lightly. You saw Minho and Hyunjin glance at you out of the corner of your eye, seemingly worried, or curious. Or both. Hyunjin looked away hastily just as Felix leaned in to kiss your forehead. Taking your hand, he stood up, and so did you, with some difficulty.

"Where are you going?" Chan said, eyebrows furrowed in concern. He looked between you and Felix, rising out of his seat a little.

"Home," was Felix's reply.

A chorus of disappointed awwws and protests arose from the group. Felix only gripped your hand tighter.

"Why?" asked Jeongin.

You collapse back into your seat, unable to stand any longer. Your ears were ringing and your knees felt weak. The fatigue had spread to every part of your body and you weren't sure if you were even going to make it home. Doubling over, you plant your forehead onto the table with a thud, groaning at the pain.

Nervous, concerned murmuring breaks out amongst the group before Chan waves them silent with a hand. You feel Felix's hand on your bicep and around your waist, Chan's forearm looping around your other arm. They both stand and begin walking down the street, where Felix parked the car. You hear him give the boys a half-hearted goodbye before he's focusing on getting you inside the car. You hear Chan murmuring before the door opens and you're back in the passenger seat, the smell of leather and Felix's favourite cologne filling your nose. You see Felix hug his friend, then Chan's hand affectionately running through your hair, then the door shuts and Felix is driving home.

The drive home feels like ages.

You balance precariously on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness, the world outside the window swirling into a blurry haze. Your head feels numb. You barely register a pair of warm, steady arms wrapping around your frame, and then suddenly, you're in bed, Felix's hand smoothing over your forehead. He tilts your head back and gives you medication, elevating your legs on a thick pillow once your restricting jeans have been gotten rid of.

You feel him gently tugging off the rest of your clothes to avoid making you overheat, and you do your best to help, but he rubs your limbs and shushes you quietly before turning the AC on and covering you with a thin, breathable blanket. It's not long before he undresses and slips into bed next to you, burrowing into the blankets the way he always does. He lets out a pleased squeak at the warmth before he turns over, his hand coming out from underneath the blanket to trace little patterns over your stomach. You feel him doodling hearts, and even through the pain, you can't help the little smile that tweaks at the corners of your mouth. You weakly reach a hand out and touch his cheek, just as you begin to fall into the deep, immuring sleep of the utterly ill and exhausted.

Felix kisses your palm, light as a feather, before tucking his head into the juncture of your neck. He murmurs something, very quietly, into the soft skin.

"I love you, sunflower."

a/n: i hate getting headaches :( just the worst

the fast lane : part 3 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, soft minho, brief mention of a past injury (read part two for context if you haven't already) reader gets tangled up in a mess, angsty chan and minho wc 3.2 k

series masterlist

part 3 : porcelain and gold

Y/n groaned for the millionth time, banging her forehead on the wheel. Her hands clenched the cool leather beneath her fingertips and she let out a heaving sigh, squeezing her eyes shut.

The arena was bright and silent, glaring floodlights casting an almost blinding glow onto the lined up cars. The road was cool and damp, fresh from the light rain. The sky was murky with early-morning fog, shades of yellow and orange peeking out from behind the clouds. Y/n could distantly hear birdsong and the noise of the city upstreet, but right now, everything was quiet. Racing on the empty track, devoid of any obstacles or cars reassured Y/n a little, and she knew that if she made a mistake, nothing too bad would happen. But she still felt tense.

Sighing and starting the car again, she drove to the side tarmac, rolling down the window and cutting the revving engine.

Minho leaned down, forearms resting on the window frame. He tilted his head and pressed a couple fingers lightly into her shoulder, firm but gentle. Y/n looked up.

"That was better," he said quietly, nodding.

Y/n sighed, defeated. "It's not good enough-"

Minho interrupted, "Do you think I would have offered to get up this fucking early to train you for no reason? No. You're doing well, okay? It's just the turns that you need to work on."

Y/n bit her lip, fighting the rising pit of anxiety in her stomach. Opening the door, she stepped out and leaned against the cool surface of the car, trying to slow her breathing. Minho said nothing, simply letting her recuperate. When Y/n finally opened her eyes, she looked straight up at the man standing in front of her, eyes tired but sincere.

"I really do appreciate this, Minho, but I don't feel that I'm getting any better. It just feels like I'm going in circles."

Minho blinked. "You are going in circles. That's the whole point."

Y/n's mouth lifted up at the corners and she chuckled, punching the man lightly on the shoulder. He grinned and leaned against the car- his car- next to her.

Y/n had decided to take a couple days' break from racing, instead focusing on getting back to 100 percent. The cut in her neck had healed slowly, leaving her with nothing but a small, white scar on her nape. Her head felt better too, no longer bruised or sore. Since the street races ran almost every night, Y/n had decided to go back a couple days after the night when Minho had dropped her home.

She'd found him lurking around the backstage arena, watching the races. He had looked up in surprise, barely-masked, thankful relief, and something else. Some glint in his eyes that Y/n couldn't quite pinpoint. He'd unexpectedly smiled when Y/n had walked up to him and shyly proffered him a lollipop, exactly like the one he'd been sucking on the night she hit her head. Y/n remembered the way he'd almost immediately stuffed it in his mouth, smiling around the thin, white stick.

You'd both spent the night up in the arena stands, out of the light and out of the other racers' sight. Just quietly observing, testing the waters around each other. Y/n had felt tense at being in such close proximity with him, but it had slowly melted away over the next few hours.

Minho was actually quite funny. In a sadistic, sarcastic way, but Y/n adored it nonetheless. He was quiet and intellectual, but ambitious and unafraid. He was a contradiction in all of the best ways.

She'd continued visiting him at the arena most nights, and you would both often end up in the stands, talking into the early hours of the morning about various things. But as much as they talked, Y/n continued to feel as if she didn't know much about him at all. Minho had a way of dodging questions smoothly and turning them on her, often so seamlessly that she didn't even realise until she replayed her interactions with him in her mind later on.

This little routine of visiting had continued for about a week and a half, and Y/n was simply content to keep it that way. But Minho had other ideas, telling her one night that she'd benefit from training instead of just winging her races. Y/n had denied it, retorting with the fact that she had no one to teach her. She'd thought about asking Chan, but she didn't trust him at all, and besides, he seemed to be too busy working on or fixing his car, racing (and winning, unfortunately), and flirting with the pretty women fawning over his racecar. She had told Minho about the ordeal with Chan the first night they'd met, and how cocky he was. Minho had simply nodded.

"We used to be close friends," he'd told her. "But we don't talk anymore."

Then he'd changed the subject.

Used to be. Y/n wondered if something had happened between them. Did they fall out? Did they decide not to talk anymore for some unknown reason? Or did they both just choose their separate pathways and slowly lose their connection with each other?

Y/n wanted so badly to ask Minho about what had happened, but it felt wrong, almost demanding. Seeing as he had been so kind to her, Y/n felt that it was rude to ask him something so personal, even if she wasn't sure why he had decided to befriend her in the first place. And if she was being honest, Y/n also felt that he wasn't really the kind of person who would welcome such a personal question with an open heart and mindset.

She also wasn't really sure if she and Minho were friends. Sure, he was nice and all, but could she really trust him? What if he was just like Chan? What could he possibly be trying to achieve by befriending her?

No, Y/n shook her head. He wasn't like that, she was sure of it.

Said man's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Blinking up at him, she stopped dead in her tracks. She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised they'd left the arena.

They were standing in front of a little cafe. Y/n recognised it briefly, realising she'd passed it so many times before during her walks to the arena. She'd never stopped to look at it. It was quite pretty, and-

Minho flicked her forehead.

"Ow," she whined, hands pressing over the sore spot. "What'd you do that for? And why are we here-"

Minho rolled his eyes. "Well, I flicked your forehead because you've been in your head all day. You didn't even realise when we left the arena. I'm not sure you even knew that you were walking. And secondly, I'm hungry and this place has good food. Come on."

He took her hand and tugged her inside, the little bell above the shop door tingling. He led her to a little table booth in the far corner, pushing her lightly to sit down. It was a light push but Minho's standards, but Y/n knew that sometimes he forgot his own considerable strength and she almost stumbled, landing on the cushioned booth seat with an oof. Minho disappeared for a few minutes and Y/n realised he'd gone to the front to get something to eat. She hadn't brought money with her to buy anything, but she wasn't really hungry, so she sat back and looked out the window, waiting for him to return.

The cafe was modern but cute, boho-chic furnishings making up the majority of the wooden tables and chairs. The rest of the tables and chairs were white, and it all contrasted nicely against the various, lush, potted plants spilling their vines and leaves down wooden, high-set shelves. The counter up the front had a display glass lining its expanse, and behind it were stocked all sorts of pastries and other food. The place was pretty much empty and Y/n wondered why before realising that it was extremely early. Not even caffeine-lovers came down to buy their daily coffee this early. The lights were off, and there was no need for them to be on, since the sunlight spilling into the cafe from the large windows illuminated everything in a soft, golden glow. Y/n began to feel sleepy.

Minho walked up, holding two mugs and a slice of cheesecake on a pretty silver tray. He set it down and pushed one of the mugs towards her. The rich scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted into her face, filling her lungs with a pleasantly soft, warm, and spicy aroma. She inhaled deeply before looking up at Minho questioningly.

"Is this for me?" she said quietly, almost hesitantly.

He took a big gulp from his own mug before setting it down and inclining his head. "Yeah."

Y/n felt a warm flush tingle on her cheeks. "You didn't have to, Minho."

He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from the mug. "You're right, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. But if you don't want it, feel free to starve," he took one of the forks from the tray and cut the cheesecake slice into two halves, putting one on his tea plate and pushing the other half towards her. Y/n smiled.

"Cheesecake?"

Minho nodded. "Mmm. My friend loves it. I always order it when I come here. Reminds me of him."

Y/n smiled sincerely, staying quiet. She filed away this unexpected piece of personal information into a hidden chamber of her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him into closing up again, and she nodded her head in acknowledgement before taking a sip from her mug.

The sweet, intoxicating heat of vanilla foam and the spicy, gingerbread-like taste of cinnamon flooded her body and she sagged back into the booth seat.

"Oh," she groaned. "This is so good..."

She heard Minho chuckle. Feeling a little bolder, she sat upright again and glanced at him curiously. He was dressed in black leather, a dark grey hoodie under his leather jacket. She could hear his combat boots absentmindedly tapping on the floor. His hair shone a lighter purplish-brown under the sunlight spilling onto the table, and his eyes were lightened to a honey brown. Y/n noticed his hands fiddling with the handle of his mug, the fingertips running up and down the smooth, ceramic surface. Y/n wondered if he was nervous, or perhaps upset about something.

"Min, are you okay?" she asked gently and quietly.

"Hmm? Yeah, sorry," he blinked at her, as if he'd snapped out of a daze. Y/n felt a knot of worry settle in the pit of her stomach, and feeling brazen, she reached out and placed a slender, much smaller hand over his. Heat from his hand flooded into hers.

Minho looked up in surprise, his fidgeting stopping. They locked eyes for a moment before Y/n pulled her hand away slowly, unsure of his reaction. She kicked herself mentally, worried she'd overstepped a boundary.

To Y/n's surprise, he chuckled. He didn't move his hand or snap at her like she had expected him to. He looked her right in the eyes, and Y/n swore for a second that there was a flash of gratefulness in his gaze. Y/n's palm froze and she smiled back, almost uncertainly.

Then, to complete this entirely unlikely scenario, Minho took her hand, calloused fingertips brushing her wrist, and placed it between his palms. Again, he was firm and gentle; not too much force, nor too little. Simply steady and reassuring.

Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks. She hadn't expected that he would be so open to her affection. He noticed her scarlet cheeks and smirked, his voice coming a little lower than before.

"You called me Min."

Y/n squeaked in embarrassment and looked away, flushing. She attempted to pull her hand out of his grip, but he was unrelenting.

"It-it was just a heat of the moment thing," she stuttered.

Minho laughed, the sound light like the foam in her mug. "Heat of the moment? Are you sure that's the phrase you were going for?"

"Shut up."

Minho chuckled before settling back into the booth seat. "It's fine, by the way."

"What is?"

He huffed a little. "I don't mind you calling me Min. But not in a sappy, lovey-dovey way, got it?"

Y/n lifted her mug to her mouth in order to hide her smile.

-

Minho opened the door to the passenger seat of his racecar, slamming the door shut. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, and Y/n chided him before revving the engine and speeding off. They'd returned to the arena after spending almost two and a half hours in the cafe, both of them having been too caught up in their animated conversation to notice the time passing by.

The arena was still empty, and the afternoon sun shone high in the sky. The floodlights hadn't turned on yet, and it was the sun that caught the sleek angles and edges of Minho's car as Y/n steered it around the arena track. Her hands gripped the smooth leather of the wheel and her feet danced across the pedals as Minho instructed her through the turns.

"Good, that's it- turn a little more, angle the car."

Y/n did as he said, fingers digging into the steering wheel as she sped up and executed the turn perfectly.

Minho let out a whoop of triumph and Y/n laughed in disbelief, pulling the car to the side of the track. She stumbled out and so did Minho, who swooped her up in a sudden, unexpected hug.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning. He set her back down onto the tarmac, cheeks flushed. Whether it was in exhilaration or something else, Y/n didn't know. She was too happy to care.

The laughter died down and Y/n gazed up at Minho, his dark eyes locking with her own. They both stood there, Minho's arms encircling Y/n's waist where he'd lifted her, and her arms clutching his broad shoulders where she'd held on. He looked so pretty, the sun smoothing all his features into ivory porcelain and molten gold. Y/n saw his cheek tuck in slightly, like he was biting the inside of it. He leaned down slightly, and opened his mouth to say something, a slight flash of guilt flickering in his eyes, and then-

"What a performance."

Y/n and Minho both jerked their hands off each other like they'd been caught doing something wrong.

Chan was walking across the tarmac towards them. He was clapping slowly and the sound echoed throughout the arena, causing an unpleasant chill to run down Y/n's spine. One of Minho's hands was still on her waist and she felt it tighten infinitesimally around her hip.

Chan reached them, smirking. He had put his hands into the pockets of his racing suit, the same black and red one he'd worn the night Y/n had met him. This time, she disliked him even more.

Chan's smile faded as his eyes flitted to Minho. Y/n glanced up at her friend just as his hand dropped from her waist. He looked suddenly pale.

"Minho?" she said hesitantly. But he didn't seem to hear, his eyes fixed on the racer. Y/n saw the lines of his shoulders tense just as Chan spoke.

"I didn't think you'd have the guts to show up here, Minho," his voice was cool and calm, yet tinted with an undertone of menace.

"I've been here spectating most nights."

"I know," Chan's voice lowered. "I meant here. On the tracks. You know, after..."

Y/n heard Minho suck in a breath.

Chan was seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere. Stepping closer to Minho, he looked him dead in the eyes. Y/n swore she could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. She stumbled back unsurely as Chan's shoulder nudged her as he passed. He was so close to Minho, so close that Y/n could see that there was only a few centimeters worth of space between them. She could see Chan trembling and she took another step back, unsure if they were about to fight, or worse.

Minho had gone as still as a statue, and Y/n could see the cracks appearing in his nonchalant facade. Chan was still too, but in an entirely different way. Where Minho was tense, Chan was shaking.

Like he was holding back.

Y/n heard a string of unfamiliar, garbled words come out of Chan's mouth and she shook her head a little, frowning, before she realised Chan was speaking a different language. It sounded Japanese, Korean maybe? She wasn't sure. A wave of guilt washed over her. They clearly did not want her to understand, or become a part of whatever it was they were fighting over. It didn't look much like a fight, nor a disagreement. Y/n had no clue what it was, but she knew it was something serious.

Chan spoke again, this time with a hint of venom in his tone. Even though she couldn't understand what he was saying, she could clearly tell he was blaming Minho for something. Minho looked like he was about to cry, or run away, or hit Chan. Or all three.

With a final spit of venom-laced Korean, Chan turned and stormed away, not sparing Y/n a second glance. She stumbled a step back, feeling a nauseous mix of guilt, anger at Chan, worry for Minho, shameful curiousness at both, and more than all of that, fear. Taking a second to come to herself, she turned to her friend, unsure of whether to speak. The sun had set, and Minho's features were no longer ivory and molten gold. The dawning twilight had hardened his face into a mask of cracked stone, the haphazard gaps run through with dripping silvery gunmetal. Y/n realised with a startled confusion that he was crying.

What had Chan said to him, she wondered. Turning back to the direction Chan had stormed off in, she bit her lip, trying to decide between consoling her friend and asking the other clearly angry racer if he was okay. She disliked Chan, but the stark deviation from his cocky, ambitious, flirty demeanor to the solemn, almost devastated expression he'd held as he spat made Y/n's heartstrings twitch. She couldn't help but feel as if she'd tangled herself up in a much bigger problem, and the fine hair on the back of her neck and her arms stood up at the thought. Her blood began to frost over in her veins, and she felt upset for some reason, like the entire dispute had been her fault. A dull, ugly thud echoed from behind her.

Minho had collapsed to the ground.

a/n: ooooooohh.....

hello 🤗 saw that yours reqs are open and i was thinking about a anxious reader that can't sleep and is tired and changbin calming and lulling them to sleep

hello lovely anon ! ooo this is a good request. i didn't know if you wanted reader to be feeling anxious about something in particular, so i just did general worry and anxiety. enjoy <3

insomnia - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you're struggling to fall asleep due to anxiety, but changbin is there to help.

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, reader struggles to fall asleep, mentions of anxiety, slight mentions of a panic attack

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

The night is cold.

Everything is perfect; outside is quiet, immured in the sheath of a late-night sky, there's no traffic outside the apartment, and the lights inside are off. The bedroom is dark, and at the perfect temperature. The hum of the AC sends cooling waves of chilly air over the room, contrasting with the warm duvet.

But you can't sleep.

Tossing onto your side for the fifth time, you huff frustratedly and almost whack Changbin in the process as you shift. He's fast asleep next to you, his face lit only by the dimmed purple and green lights emitting from the gaming setup in the corner. The bedsheets are tangled round his bulky frame, muscly arms splayed over your waist. His jet-black hair fans out messily against the stark white of the pillow. His mouth is slightly open, and he's lost in the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted. He'd had a massive day at work, and had come home late at night and gone straight to sleep after quickly eating. He hadn't moved since collapsing onto the bed.

In the dim lights, you can just barely see him, and you pause to gaze at his face, highlighted in muted tones of violet and lime green. He looks so relaxed, so at peace.

You wish you could feel the same way.

Your brain is wide-awake, but you feel absolutely shattered. The anxiety and worry gnawing at the lining of your stomach isn't helping much either. A million thoughts race through your head, swirling and zooming and cluttering your mind. The storm rages and thunders until all you can hear is the deafening rush of your worries drowning you in a tidal wave of uneasiness and apprehension.

Turning to lie on your back, you gently pry Changbin's arm off your waist, laying it carefully by his side. You trace a little pattern on his arm before pulling away and clenching your hand in a fist by your side. The last thing you want to do right now is wake him up.

Blinking to try and clear your mind, you try to think of a logical solution to your worries. But it's like your rationality has ceased to exist, throwing you further into the raging storm. No matter what you do, it doesn't feel like it'd help at all. You think you've run through almost every possible but useless solution to your problem by the time the LED clock on the bedside table hits midnight. Nothing is working, nothing will help.

Exhaling harshly through your nose, you throw off the duvet and shiver as your bare feet hit the cold floor. You tuck the blanket into the crook of Changbin's arm so he doesn't feel your absence in his sleep. You hear him grunt softly in his sleep and tug the blanket closer.

Once you're sure he won't wake up, you creep to the window and sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall. The night is cool and serene, and you close your eyes, envisioning yourself becoming part of the night sky, a symbol of peace and tranquility. You shiver again, more intensely this time, as the cold begins to seep into your bones beneath your thin nightclothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take a shaky breath, trying to keep it together.

Why can't I just fall asleep? Why can't I stop worrying?

The more you question yourself, the more your anxiety increases. It peaks and takes a firm hold of your mind, gripping it and squeezing until all that is left is a mess of uncontrollable chaos and jumbled thoughts. You don't even realise when your breathing begins to speed up and you cover your mouth, desperately trying not to make noise. The storm thunders wildly in your head, pounding and raging, and you feel yourself falling into the deep abyss, perhaps forever. Never to be found again, like a sinking stone at the bottom, of a deep, dark, cold, lonely ocean.

It's too much it's too much it's too much-

You feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around your torso. You gasp like you've been lifted out of the ocean you were drowning in. Changbin's arms are a life ring, floating you back upwards, helping you break the surface with a heavy, gasping breath that makes you slump into his chest with a choked sob.

"Binnie," you cry weakly, clinging to him.

He shushes you gently, rocking back and forth with you in his arms. His big, warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, hushing you and carefully bringing you down from the panic.

He keeps gently rocking like that, and you close your eyes against his chest, relishing his warmth. Your tears stain salty tracks down your face and seep into the material of his shirt, but Changbin doesn't mind. He kisses your forehead lightly and whispers an "i love you" in your ear before picking you up gently and taking you to bed. The warmth of the bedsheets and the heat from Changbin's body as he tucks you into his chest slowly lull you to sleep.

The storm finally settles.

a/n: for anyone who has anxiety or similar conditions, feel better ! i tried to write this as accurately as possible, and i based the panic attack off a personal experience i had. everyone's different but i hope this helped. thank you anon <3

the fast lane : part 2 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, mentions of blood, injuries, passing out (very light stuff tho, nothing detailed), angsty reader hours, wc 3.3k

series masterlist

part 2 : the lollipop

Y/n stormed into the backstage area, whipping around on her heel and slamming the two-way door shut behind her. The doorframe creaked as she slid down against it. Frustrated, angry tears burned in her eyes.

Retrieving the second-hand helmet tucked under her arm, she tossed it across the dimly lit room. It landed with a quiet clunk onto the floor, rolling a few metres away before coming to rest against the leg of an old, worn-out, leather sofa.

Y/n groaned and slid further down the doorframe, limp hair mussing in tangles against the wood of the door. Her back hurt from the awkward position and her leather suit chafed uncomfortably against her sweat-slicked skin, but she couldn't have cared less.

A few hot tears spilled down her cheeks, adding to the wet saltiness of her face and jawline. Squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could, Y/n attempted to forget the memory. Making the deal with Chan, the best street racer in the city. Being so overconfident and sassy to him, positive she'd place a win, only to have spun out in the last few seconds of the race. She kicked herself mentally. How she have gotten so confident? She was a mere rookie, a beginner in the racing scene. And yet she had had the guts to pretend like she was one of THEM, dressed in an expensive, tailored racing suit, with a flashy, colorful car and a personal pit crew at the ready to respond to every whim and command.

On top of all of that, she couldn't believe she had accepted the deal wit Chan. She should have turned it down and made a name for herself. She should have let him know that she could stand on her own two feet, and that she could become one of them. It was likely, she realised, that if she had won and accepted a choice of racecar from Chan, he would have used it against her as leverage in every possible scenario. Y/n was disgusted at her gullibility and eagerness. She'd gotten so hasty that she'd forgotten all the implications and consequences that came with attempting to become a street racer.

As soon as her car had pulled to the side, Y/n had thrown open the rusty car door and fled to the backstage room, shoving through the crowd in her haste. The jeers and whooping from the other racers, coupled with the burning embarrassment and the cheers for the racer who'd actually won accumulated and swirled around her in a thick fog of shame, pathetic self-pity, and hopelessness, seeping into her bones and taking hold of her senses till it seemed that failure was woven into every single fibre of her being.

She couldn't shake the images from her mind. Chan, standing at the winner's podium, surrounded by adoring fans, raising a fist in blazing triumph. The almost sympathetic look he'd given her as she'd fled the arena. The steely glare and the tuts from the maintenance crew she'd paid for the night. The consistent, nagging feeling that she shouldn't have tried, shouldn't have gone further than simply entertaining the thought of being a street racer.

More than that, she felt humiliated.

Curling her knees to her chest, Y/n buried her face between them, inhaling the stale scent of leather and sweat. Everything was a colossal mess. If she was lucky, then maybe the universe would crack open beneath her feet and swallow her up in thick, molten rivers of lava and fiery tongues of flame. It would be better than having to face the entire arena of racers who had watched her lose her first race. Better than having to walk out, head hung in shame. She could already hear the taunts and jeers, though if they were from the racers milling around outside the backstage area or her own brain, she wasn't sure.

Look, it's that overconfident rookie!

She really thought she could win against Chan... what a joke...

If she's smart, she won't come back here.

The two-way door against Y/n's back suddenly swung open, sending her tumbling to the floor. Her head hit the dirty linoleum with an unpleasant thud. The world spun and she groaned, eyes shut. Hands flying to the sides of her head, she slowly opened her eyes, wincing. She could see two legs and the top of a pair of combat boots, all sheathed in dark, shiny leather, and further up-

Oh shit!

Flying bolt upright, Y/n turned and profusely apologized to the man standing in the doorway. Her knees hurt from the speed at which she'd whipped around on them but she ignored it, still blinded by the dazing pain in her head. Her cheeks flushed bright scarlet.

The man raised an eyebrow, pulling out something thin and white from between his lips. Y/n blinked, thinking it was a cigarette, but upon closer inspection, she could see the thin, white stick of a lollipop. He poked it back into his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. He didn't seem even mildly put out by the fact that Y/n had been staring up his crotch just a few moments earlier.

He was quite handsome, too. Maybe even a bit more than Chan. Somewhere in the subconscious realm of her thoughts, Y/n realised that the pretty yet staunch man in the doorway must have gotten used to being stared at. Whether it was by Y/n lying between his legs from where she'd fallen or by the other attractive girls out in the arena, he had the air of someone who had such beauty that there was no need to flaunt it.

Damn it, are all the male racers here attractive or what?

Y/n's frantic apologies faded off unsurely into the air as she stared back up at the man. She was on her knees, half-crouched, hands in front of her. She must have been frantically explaining and apologising for at least a minute now, but he hadn't said a word.

If anything, he looked intrigued.

They stared at each other a few minutes; Y/n's miserable, frantic, pleading expression contradicting his steady, sure gaze. Y/n finally collected her thoughts enough to actually look at him. He was very pretty at first sight, but up close Y/n could see faint white scars flecking his forearms, hands, and neck, as if something, or someone had scratched him. His eyes were dark and chocolatey, complementing the silky waves of purplish mahogany falling freely over his forehead, swept into a neat part in the middle. His mouth was a perfect, pink pout, glossy and rosy in the middle where he'd shifted the lollipop between them.

His outfit was a bit like Chan's but more casual, stylish shirtsleeves rolled to his arms and leather pants and boots, all in the same, intimidating shade of black. There was a large, abstract cutout in the shirt to the right side of his chest. A heavy silver chain and a wide- leather belt studded with tiny diamonds looped around his waist elegantly, framing his form.

Crouching before this absolute model of a man, Y/n felt like a common street urchin. Her mind wandered a little, and so did her eyes. But he still hadn't said anything. Y/n was beginning to wonder why he'd come into the room in the first place. Maybe to put her out of her misery. Attempting to speak, she cleared her throat.

"U-uhm..." Her voice came out thick, raw and croaky from crying. She clenched her fists and looked down suddenly, feeling a fresh wave of humiliated tears fill her eyes. He would mock her for sure.

"Hey, kid."

Y/n's head snapped up. His voice was soft and clear. Precise and measured. It wasn't like Chan's voice. Not at all. It was a little accented, but it was lovely. Pretty, almost.

Y/n tried to speak, willing her voice not to wobble. It came out quieter than she'd expected, a barely audible whisper. "Yes?"

"You're absolutely shit at racing, you know that?"

Y/n blinked, her misery temporary halted by the unexpectedly blunt statement. The man continued.

"That last turn was ass. Surely you can do better. You've got the skills, I can tell, but your reflexes need work."

Y/n gaped, dumbfounded. Who was this guy, waltzing into the room and critiquing her so bluntly? He looked like a proper racer, but still, there was no need to be so harsh about it. Y/n sighed and looked down, having come up with no retort to throw back in the man's face. She remained crouching, resigned to her fate.

She heard a small sigh from above here before a hand reached down, wrapping around her right bicep. It was gentle, but enough to lift Y/n to her feet. Firm, but not enough to hurt. His hand was quite large, rippled with veins, the knuckles a bit too big for the fingers. It was a pretty hand nonetheless, the skin smooth and tanned, and Y/n felt a small surge of thankful heat pool in her stomach at the unexpected, almost caring gesture.

Her knees throbbed faintly as she straightened herself. The man's grip on her arm loosened, but remained hovering uncertainly near, as if he was afraid she was going to fall. And in all honesty, Y/n did feel as if her legs were about to give out.

She stuttered a little as she spoke, her consciousness floating about her like a foggy daze. "T-thanks."

He tilted his head at her curiously. "Have you ever raced before? In a proper circuit?"

Unprepared for the direct question, Y/n averted his gaze, cheeks flushing. "No, I- tonight was my first time."

It must have been the adrenaline and the exhaustion surging through her body, but Y/n flushed even darker as she spoke, although her response carried no connotation whatsoever.

If he noticed, he didn't call her out on it, simply settling to fiddle with the lollipop stick still in his mouth. He let his hand fall from her arm back to his side, but it soon came back up to unexpectedly cradle the side of Y/n's head. She flinched at the surprising gesture, anticipating a hit from the racer, but he simply let his hand curve gently around the nape of her neck. He looked suddenly concerned and mildly put out.

"Did you know you've hurt yourself, by the way?"

Y/n blinked. She hadn't been previously aware of any injury on her body, but now that he had mentioned it, the back of her head stung a little, where her hairline met the soft skin of her neck. And she felt dazed, like she was floating...

Her hand came up to shakily press the back of her head, feeling for any sort of injury. When her fingertips met her nape, she felt a searing, white-hot shock of pain.

Her knees gave out and the racer was quick enough to dart forward, taking the brunt of the fall. He awkwardly looped his arm around Y/n's waist, holding her upright, and moved to sit her down on the flaking faux leather of the worn-out couch.

The world spun dizzyingly around her before going black.

~

Y/n woke to something cool and wet being pressed onto her forehead. Groaning weakly, she tensed her shoulders, testing her range of movement. She recognized the ceiling as being the backstage area; she must have remained in the same position on the couch after passing out.

A gentle, lulling hum came from her side. She turned her head to the right and saw the purplish-haired man from earlier, pressing a cool compress to her forehead. She exhaled heavily, eyes feeling baggy and tired. Closing her eyes, Y/n listened to the soft melody of the man's voice floating throughout the room. Her neck still hurt, but felt as if something had been wrapped around it; she figured a bandage of some sort. Weakly lifting her hand, she could faintly see specks of dried blood from where she'd previously touched her neck.

That confirmed her suspicions. She'd passed out because of the injury. Either that, or the exhaustion.

The man beside her poked her cheek, gently and not unkindly. A low chuckle came above her.

"Took you long enough,"

Y/m smiled, a watery, poor affair. Turning her head a little more, and wincing at the pain in her nape, she locked eyes with him.

"What time is it?"

He hummed. "Around two am. You passed out for a couple hours. Looked like your body could do with the rest, so I didn't wake you up," he paused his ministrations, gazing at her again with that deep, intense, yet gentle stare. "Did you have somewhere to be?"

Y/n shook her head minutely, pushing herself upright into a sitting position. She felt weak and boneless.

"I should go home," her voice trailed off, exhausted.

He looked up, mildly confused. "Home? I don't think you'd even make it out the door."

Y/n groaned. "Enough with the sassy comments. I'm going. Thank you for taking care of me-"

He stood suddenly, putting a hand on her shoulder. His gaze was almost fierce, stubborn, protective. Like an older brother.

"You're not going home like this. Let me drive you."

Y/n shook her head wildly, immediately regretting it. The throbbing in her head subsided as she pressed her palms to her temples.

"It's fine," attempting to stand, Y/n moved towards the door, shakily and slowly. Her legs felt like they were made of rubber bands.

The man watched her, unimpressed. Moving towards her, he offered his arm with a sigh.

"Just take it. I'll drive you home."

Exasperated, Y/n glared up at him. "I don't even know you. You could be a murderer."

He scoffed in return, rolling his eyes. "No murderer is this attractive. Look, just take my arm. You walked here, right? So that means you don't live far away-"

Y/n interrupted him, a little panicked at his observational skills. "How did you know I walked here?"

"I saw you earlier, before the race. No motorbike, or skateboard, or car. Looking around the arena like a little kid seeing a plane in the sky. Mouth open and everything."

At this, Y/n smacked him on the shoulder, scoffing at his comparison. He didn't even budge, Y/n's hit doing nothing to move him. He simply took her arm, a little more insistently, and steered her towards the door.

It took about five minutes of back and forth arguing and half-hearted bickering before Y/n finally allowed the racer to drive her home.

I haven't got much left to lose anyway, she thought glumly.

She was led to the back end of the arena, where a little dark hallway opened into the street by a creaky door. A narrow, dark, alleyway gaped at the left side of the street, and the man walked her towards it, making sure not to jostle her.

The night was dark and quiet, everything still and silent. The yellow glow of the streetlights cast abstract patterns of light onto the glistening road, soaked with rain. It must have poured down while she was blacked out. She could still hear the faint pumping of hip-hop music and the occasional rev of a car in the arena behind her.

The man led her into the alleyway, softly pointing out objects for her to move around, and kicking stray cans and rocks out of the way, lest she trip. He was surprisingly nice, considering the blunt comment he'd made about her racing earlier.

He led her to a Kawasaki motorbike, hidden behind a dumpster. It was beautiful, a sleek, dark vehicle with streaks of neon green highlighting the wheels and seat. He offered her a hand onto it and saddled himself onto the bike, revving the engine once. Y/n clung to the sides of the backseat, awkwardly hanging on. The racer took a helmet that had been concealed on top of an old AC unit and slipped it on, the big, dark shield masking his face. He flipped it up and turned to look at her questioningly.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

Y/n blinked.

He sighed. "Hold onto me. Otherwise you'll fall off and die."

Y/n rolled her eyes at his sarcastic comment. "It's fine, just drive."

She was met with a groan and another rev of the engine. He suddenly sped forward half a metre or so, then stopped suddenly. Y/n was thrown forward, crashing into his back. She gasped, arms flying to lock around his waist. She heard an amused chuckle and a click as the man flipped his face shield back down. Cheeks flushing rosy in her embarrassment, Y/n buried her face into his back, fisting the material of his dark shirtsleeves. She could feel the rush of seeping, intoxicating heat radiating into her from his back. Her arms instinctively tightened around him as he sped off.

The wind whooshed in her ears, whipping up her hair and causing a deafening rush of noise to settle around her as the motorbike sped into the night. Y/n tugged on the left side of his shirt, signalling him to go left. He picked up on it without a single hint of doubt or hesitation and Y/n fought a smile, eyes closed as she pressed her cheek into his back, and continued to tug on either the left or right side in order to direct him.

After about ten minutes of gentle tugging, the man pulled up in front of Y/n's apartment complex. The sky was beginning to lighten a little, though the deep glow of twilight still hung over the sky like a blanket.

Y/n awkwardly slipped off the motorbike, stumbling as she dismounted. The racer offered her his hand, but she'd already gotten off the bike. It hovered in the air, unsure, before dropping back to his side, pulling at the fabric of his leather pants, and then travelled back to the handlebars, gripping them tightly. He then turned to her, flipping his shield up, then pausing before taking it off entirely. His hair fell in a mussed mess around his forehead, slightly fluffy. Somehow, Y/n liked it better that way. It looked more raw, more real.

More perfect.

When he spoke, it was quiet. Quiet but gentle, but loud enough to float around the both of them, ringing in the early morning. He cleared his throat hesitantly, as if Y/n was an animal he was trying not to spook.

"I- uh, I wasn't planning to murder you, if that's what you're worried about..."

Y/n laughed unexpectedly at the statement; the sound rung out loud and clear, lighting up the sky. It felt glorious to be defying the silence that hung in the atmosphere, thick as fog on a stormy day. Like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"Good to know," she giggled. "Um, thanks for the ride."

He simply nodded in acknowledgement, hand fiddling with the edge of the Kawasaki's windshield. The sleek, black helmet was tucked awkwardly under his arm.

Y/n turned to go, before pausing suddenly. Spinning on her heel, she thoughtfully looked at the man. He hadn't moved, simply watching her. Waiting. But it wasn't threatening or ominous in the least. It was protective, reliable. Like he was frozen, his dark, pretty eyes fixed on her own.

Y/n's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I never got your name..."

The man smiled. Pushed his fringe out of his eyes, readjusted the helmet under his arm. The dawning light behind him illuminated his outline, all sharp, sleek angles and edges. He chuckled lightly, more airy, light exhale than sound.

"Minho."

a/n: likes, comments, reblogs appreciated !

the fast lane : masterlist

Pairing: bangchan x reader x felix

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: illegal street racing, skz racer!au, chan and felix (yep that's a warning), more warnings will be added as the series progresses ! also, warnings are issued at the start of each chapter, so make sure to check <3

part one : the bet

part two : the lollipop

part three : porcelain and gold

part four : unexpected contact

part five : white knight and black knight

Low-key can I pls request Chris comforting reader on her period because I'm on my right now and I want him as my personal hot water bottle.

Thank you!!

omg first request!!

hopefully this meets your expectations hahah... i wrote reader having a really bad period... hopefully that's fine for you <3 feel better!

he comforts you on your period - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: you're struggling with your period and chan helps you out

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, lil bit angsty. mentions of undressing, feeling nauseous & dizzy, cramps and period pain, reader has a period (obviously)

a/n: comments are appreciated... and whoever's reading this, feel better! and eat some dark chocolate <3

You groan for the fourth time as another debilitating cramp whacks you right in the gut, followed straight after by a dizzying wave of nausea. You're helpless to do anything but whine and writhe weakly on the bed, tangling the sheets and causing uncomfortable lumps of the blanket to pool up around you. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending.

You can't even call for Chan.

He's working from home today due to the severe weather, shut in his little studio down the apartment hallway. The rain clatters and thunders against the windows and balcony door, speckled with tiny crystal shards of hail ice. He's probably busy working away at some song while on call with the rest of 3RACHA. You can picture him busily writing down song lyrics in his notebook, headphones and black cap askew on his head, and hand messily smudging the dark, scented ink of his words on the page. His pretty, dark eyes shining, wide and focused as he does what he does best.

That pleasing mental image of your boyfriend is quickly chased away by another wave of nausea and you curl in on yourself, fighting the desperate urge to scream with whatever you have left. You didn't bother taking painkillers when the first cramp hit this morning, thinking you could muscle through it. Every time, you think you can handle the pain, and every time, you're proven completely and utterly wrong. And now you're immobilised on the bed, unable to do anything but face the bloody wrath of your monthly cycle.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Groaning, you shift achingly slowly to the side, trying to alleviate the pain. For a moment, you consider calling for Chan, but you doubt you'd be able to shout loud enough, and more so, you don't want to disturb him. The comeback is soon, and he was stressed enough at not being able to go to the company after seeing the state of the weather. He'd woken you up with a kiss, ordered breakfast to be delivered to the door, and disappeared, only pausing to throw on a hoodie and his usual cap. The studio door had shut and you had heard no more. He's been working all morning. He had said to try not to disturb him unless you really needed something, but you understood. He had a lot to do. But...

Biting your lip guiltily, and then wincing at the dull pain pooling in your stomach, you do your best to slide off the bed. It doesn't matter how much it hurts; you need painkillers. And right now, Chan can't afford to be distracted, so you muster up all of your strength to sit upright.

One foot touches the cold floor, and then the other. Both hands fly to your stomach and you double over, hair brushing your knees as you wait for the dizzying nausea to pass. It feels like you're being slammed in the gut with a sledgehammer set on fire. Attempting to regain your bearings, you sit up and wait for a few minutes. The pain dulls for a few moments and so does the headache, so you shakily stand, reaching for the wall in case your knees give out. Walking to the kitchen is a colossal effort, and a slow one at that too. The short walk down the hallway feels like a year.

Finally slumping against the counter, feet numb from the cold tiles, you take a glass from the dishrack and fill it halfway with water, spilling most of it on the counter in your hazy, aching state. Your vision is spotted with stars as you reach up on tiptoes and open the medicine cabinet to reach the painkillers.

You swallow two and move to make your way back to the bedroom. Turning, you're suddenly hit with the most awful, searing, intolerable pain. You jackknife to the floor, knees throbbing from the solid impact as they thud against the tiles. Leaning heavily on the cabinet, you rest your forehead against the cool, slightly chilled surface, and feel a liquid smearing onto the cupboard door. Pulling away slightly, you realise you're covered in a sheen of sweat. Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your body. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending but even worse than before.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, every heave sapping your energy. Sagging forward, you rest your face against the cool tiles, trying to stay conscious. Your surroundings blur out, replaced with an unpleasant echoing ring and the sound of Chan's footsteps.

Chan's footsteps?

He's holding his drained waterbottle in one hand and his phone in the other, eyebrows furrowing as he reads some lyric notes he typed earlier. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he turns into the kitchen and is immediately met with the sight of you slumped on the floor, coated in sweat and curled up like a dying insect in the summer.

His eyes widen and he drops to his knees, phone clattering to the side and waterbottle clanging loudly. The sound makes you wince.

"Love? Hey-" his warm, calloused hands run over your shoulders, panicked and wide-eyed. "What happened?"

You can't even respond.

Chan swears a few colorful, fluent phrases as he stands and dashes down the hallway, returning with a damp rag. He gently but hurriedly mops the sweat off your forehead and nape before tossing it aside and carefully lifting you into his firm, toned arms. Deadlifting you from the floor, he carries you back to the bedroom and sets you down gently, pulling the rumpled covers back. He rushes out of the room for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. Hurrying into the bedroom, he sets a few things down on the bedside before gently freeing you from your sweaty clothes.

In another scenario, you would be embarrassed, but right now you can't care less. It feels freeing and the cold air in the apartment seeps into your body, providing a welcome coolness. He lifts a hot water bottle and places it onto your lower stomach, tucking it slightly into the waistband of your underwear to keep it in place. He presses down lightly and you groan weakly, the heat providing almost immediate relief from the aching.

You don't register what happens after that; only the feeling of the damp cloth sweeping over your forehead and neck and Chan's warm, gentle touch keep you connected to consciousness. He begins to sing softly, lulling you into the heavy, dreamless sleep of the sick. HIs voice floats in the air like a wisp, light and airy and lilting, yet deep, accented, and rich. You gather all your remaining strength.

"Channie," you croak.

He looks up, brows knitted together in worry. He stops his ministrations, hand hovering over your shoulder.

Tears well in your eyes. Whether it's from the jumbled mess that the morning has been, the maelstrom of hormones, emotions and guilt in your system, the debilitating pain, or Chan's seemingly endless love, you're not entirely sure. Your voice is an almost inaudible whisper.

"I'm sorry i disturbed you. I went to take painkillers so i wouldn't disturb you because i know you're busy with the comeback-"

He cuts you off, expression gentle yet concerned. "I know i was busy, but you should have called me, love. Look at the state of you."

A hot tear spills down your cheek. "I'm sorry, Channie."

He shushes you, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "Don't apologise, yeah? If you need me, i'll come to you. Please don't ever feel that you're a bother to me or that you're disturbing me. Especially when it comes to things like this," he rubs your hipbone softly with his thumb, in soothing, relieving circles.

"Channie, can you cuddle me?"

He smiles softly. Pressing himself to your back, he bends his knees, spooning and tucking you into his chest. A surge of intoxicating warmth seeps pleasantly into your body and you sigh contentedly. His toned arm snakes around your waist, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach so you don't have to hold it there yourself. Kissing your neck softly, he nuzzles into your shoulder, telling you to sleep and that he would be there when you wake up. It feels so warm, so cosy, so safe. But the guilt of having tore him away from his work doesn't slip your hazy, fatigued mind.

"Channie, i'm sorry for being a bother."

He exhales a small, sincere chuckle through his nose, tucking his head further into your shoulder.

"You're never a bother to me, love."

a/n: how'd i do? do we like it? likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated <3

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彡 sfw writer - bts skz ults ⋆⸝⸝ call me ttokki .. 𓏲 ๋࣭ ˖

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⛓️ 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔦 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢: kpop fanfictions, currently only for stray kids. fluff, angst, comfort, hurt/comfort, domestic, and so on. you can see all the categories on my masterlist below .

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skz masterlist ✧ skz prompt list

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