Studio - Han Jisung

hello hello sweetheart <3

i heard requests are open and i just really needed a comfort fic with minho? i had a dance production recently. one that was really important to me but my old knee and thigh injury acted up last minute and i physically winced in the middle of my performance. people say they didn't notice it but i did and i just feel like absolute shit over it. maybe minho being a dancer comforting reader about it? i'm sorry this is specific but you write comfort incredibly well. i hope you're keeping well ❤️‍🩹

hello <3 oh no, hope you're okay and the injury isn't acting up too much... i'm sure you were great, sho. sometimes we have a way of beating ourselves up for things that people don't even notice. nevertheless, try not to be too hard on yourself, and take care of your body <3

you did well - dancer!lee minho x dancer!reader

pairing: dancer!lee minho x dancer!reader

summary: you make a mistake during a dance performance and minho comforts you.

genre: angsty, mentions of an old injury acting up, crying, dancer!au, fluffy at the end

a/n: sending love to all my dancer readers. divider by @draculasdaughterrr

You sit down and press a hand to your beating heart. The plastic of the blue chair is cold beneath your thighs and you inhale deeply, trying to still the racing thrum pulsing inside of you.

Looking up, you catch eyes with yourself in the reflection of the wide stylist mirror. In your current state, you're finding it difficult to recognise yourself; all dressed up for the production, two dilated eyes set into a pale face staring back at you.

This is beyond important.

Everything needs to go well, and you find yourself so restless that you get up and begin quietly rehearsing your steps. A hand goes to your leg; you find yourself wondering if the injury will decide to play up during the performance. It has before, and it's never ended well.

But it might not happen this time, you remind yourself firmly, and move into your start position.

There's still half an hour to go, and the dressing room is empty while you rehearse, everyone instead choosing to filter into the wings of the stage to peek out over the audience. Occasionally, someone comes in while you dance by yourself; a dancer who forgot their shoes, or a stylist who came to pick up their set of eyeshadow brushes.

But you ignore them and focus wholly on repeating the steps over and over, and when the time comes to head backstage with the other dancers in your section of the performance, you feel ready.

The excited, glittery buzz coming from everyone in the production quiets as the event officially starts. You wait and watch, preparing to head onstage. You watch the others dancing and notice Minho amongst them, a fellow dancer and friend; you're surprised as you hadn't realised he was helping start the dance off. You'd assumed his part was mainly the middle section, but apparently not.

You allow yourself the brief luxury of watching him for a while; you anticipate every one of his steps, and watch how the gems sewn into the shoulders of his top catch the light, making him look as if he's glowing.

"Y/n," someone whispers behind you. "Come on, we're supposed to be filling in the background. Stop staring at your lover and move."

"He's not my lover," you hiss, but you move anyway, filtering into the background with the other members. The light of the stage hits you suddenly; you float to the right, as the routine goes, and feel the heat of its glare pressing against your skin.

Your heart begins to speed up and then slow as you find yourself becoming more comfortable on stage. You remember every step, executing the moves with a seamless perfection, twisting and turning and jumping on beat every time. A little bubble of joy floats up inside of you and settles happily in your stomach, the way it always does when you dance.

You keep a watchful eye on the front dancers, as they hold your cue for moving to the front. Your solo comes directly after they begin to part down the middle. The first dancer at the front moves, then the second, then the third, and by then you're already moving confidently to begin your solo.

Your heart pounds suddenly as you feel the audience's concentrated gaze on you, but you calmly inhale and focus on your steps, choosing to periodically close your eyes to help refocus. You're not as nervous as you used to be, but there's always that little bundle of nerves that decides to unravel in the middle of a routine.

You exhale and channel all the force from your knees, perfectly completing the first part of your jump combination. You feel a sudden, sharp pain in your knee and your heart rises up, a sick feeling popping the happy bubble in your stomach. Because you know exactly what that pain is.

You spin and continue anyway, choosing to balance the weight on your other leg. Channeling all the energy from your legs, you jump and complete the second jump, but as you land, a terrible searing pain shoots through your leg and you physically wince, your knees almost buckling.

Hissing quietly, you keep dancing and finish your solo, moving towards the back of the stage, where your position is for the finale. You dance as much as you can without overexerting and quickly get into position, dropping to your knees and stretching to the left, the music swelling and then dropping. The audience's applause is deafening but all you can focus on is the sharp stinging pain radiating through your leg and the feeling of failure sitting heavy in your gut like lead. You bite your lip, trying to hold back tears, and strain, holding your position before the dancers at the front begin to get up.

You don't even stay to bow. Hurrying off stage, you limp to the nearest dressing room and slump against a bench, clutching your leg. The pain begins to dwindle after a while and you exhale through your teeth, feeling hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You ruined it. After all that practice, you just had to go and ruin it by wincing in front of everyone. And they all saw it. The audience is probably whispering about it right now.

You hastily scrub tears off your cheekbones as someone opens the door. A large brown eye peeks through hesitantly, followed by a glittering string of diamonds sewn into two broad shoulders.

Minho steps into the dressing room and shuts the door carefully before turning around. There are costumes and various dancer paraphernalia strewn chaotically across the floor, and you watch with a weak smile as he begins to navigate through the mess with a typical dancer's precision. Through your haze of tears and the still-dwindling pain in your leg, you can't help but notice the fact that he's here, that he knew where you were even after you ran off. He must have followed you off stage.

He sits down next to you, adjusting himself against the bench, and folds his legs neatly across each other. He wraps his arms around his legs and thoughtfully traces a diamond on his left shoulder.

"Are you in pain?" He says quietly, not looking at you.

You shake your head, a heavy sigh escaping you as you fully process the absolute mess you made of your solo.

Minho hums and turns to look at you finally. He tilts his head and nudges you ever so gently. You go sideways, just managing to catch yourself with your hand. But you don't mind. To Minho, it's a companiable gesture, the gentle nudge, but he forgets his own considerable strength sometimes.

You sigh again and Minho exhales too. You notice his chest is still rising and falling, rising and falling. He's probably still coming down from the dancer's high. Either that or he's tired.

"You did well, you know," he says, even quieter than before.

You sniff and scrub a hand over your cheekbones again. "It's not that."

"Oh? Then what?"

You fall against the bench, exhaling shakily. "I winced during the jump and everyone saw it. My injury acted up."

Minho blinks. "I was watching you and I didn't see anything. Looked good to me."

Your eyes go wide. That's a big compliment coming from him. But it doesn't lift your spirits the way you imagined it would.

He turns his body to face you. "It's okay, Y/n. Things happen. But you were professional about it and pushed through. You still did your best, and that's all you need to do. I really don't think anyone noticed."

You feel another tear run down your cheek. "But what if they did notice?"

"So?" He says rather bluntly.

You turn to face him, but you're met with the feeling of soft, musky fabric against your cheek. Minho's arm wraps around your shoulders and you exhale, relaxing against his chest. You feel him shift the fabric a little higher so that the diamonds on his shoulders don't rest against your forehead.

"Don't worry," Minho says gently. "You did well, Y/n."

You feel another tear run down your cheek as he pulls back. Your tears look like cracked slivers of crystal against the puffiness of your eyes and you sniff as Minho brushes them away with a thumb.

"Thank you, Min," you say almost inaudibly.

He strokes your hair and then gets up, offering you a hand. He grins, but it's not unkind, rather reassuring and quietly caring. "Let's go and get you an icepack."

You take his hand and stand up.

a/n: feel better sho !

CHANGBIN & HAN for DAZED Korea Edited, Re-coloured, Re-touched, Manipulated

NONONONONONOOOOOO NO SIRREE YOU CANNOT JS LEAVE US W STUPIDLY PERFECT LIKE THAT NUH UHHHHHH PART 2 PART 2 PLSPLSPLS OR AT LEAST JS TELL ME IF SHE DIED I NEED TO KNOW SO I CAN MOVE ON 😭😭

hahah we'll see lol . . .

might release a part 2 once the first part hits 150 notes. that's how i usually decide whether to write a part 2 ><

ttokki!! can u share your works/requests in progress w us, please?

hi anon ! omg i don't know why but i heard the cutest, sweetest little voice saying this when i read it. cute. anyway, i have a couple wips right now:

☆ bf jisung x reader who loves to bake

☆ minho x reader with prompts 7 and 28 from my prompt list

☆ another mystery 9th member fic that i'm thinking of posting soon

☆ a skz reaction post

that's it so far ! requests usually kind of flood in after i post a 9th member fic so i'm just waiting for requests atm ><

bye cute anon . . .

Hellooo!! I say your requests open and wanted to ask a changbin fluff basically remember the interview where he said he only uses body lotion on his face and the others were disguised? I want him to be in a relationship with the reader and for the reader to show him a few skincare products and do it in him xd the girlfriend effect is reall

that interview made me laugh so hard lol. the others' faces were priceless. also, i don't have a particular order for reader's skincare routine so yea. here you go, anon <3

lotion - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you're doing your skincare, and decide to try it on changbin too

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack, skincare stuff, changbin tries to eat hand cream, not proofread please don't come for me

a/n: changbin, if you're reading this, please, for the love of stay, get rid of the body lotion

"Binnie, please don't eat that.."

"But it smells so good!"

You sigh for the fifth time and swipe the bottle of strawberry-scented hand cream out of Changbin's grip. He whines and flops onto the bathroom counter before climbing onto it completely. He plops down and surveys you, your face glowing with different products under the bathroom lights. You pick up your intense moisturizer and begin rubbing it into your skin gently. Changbin watches in fascination and slight irritation.

"Bunny, you do this every night," he whines. "Why can't you just skip it and go straight to bed?'

You sigh before picking up your acne cream and dotting it over your face.

"Because I want my skin to look really good."

Changbin pokes your cheek, smearing some of the cream. He surveys his fingertip with slight wariness before wiping it back onto your face with a grin. He doesn't respond this time, having given up n trying to persuade you to skip your skincare routine for the night.

Come to think of it, you haven't really seen your boyfriend using many skin products. While your side of the counter is scattered with different bottles, serums, and face creams, his side has hardly anything. Just a bottle of moisturizer, his shaving stuff, and his toothbrush. You glance at the bottle of his moisturizer before picking up your antibacterial facial serum. Focusing on your reflection, you lean closer to the mirror and carefully dispense a few drops of the serum onto each cheek. Changbin blinks in confusion.

"What's that for?"

You chuckle before setting the bottle down and using gentle motions to rub the serum into your skin.

"It's to stop breakouts on my skin," you pick up the bottle and show him, grinning devilishly as an idea pops into your head. "Do you want some?"

-

Ten minutes later, you've finally coaxed Changbin off the counter. You're now sitting in his spot, and he's standing between your legs, looking up at your face as you rub multiple different products into his skin (with some difficulty).

"Binnie, stop moving, you're going to spill it everywhere-"

"The body lotion works just fine though-"

You bonk him gently on the head with the tube of scented face cream you're using. A giggle escapes your mouth as you readjust the fluffy pink cosmetics headband on his head. Picking up the serum you were using earlier, you begin dispensing it onto his cheeks, rubbing it into the skin. He sighs and closes his eyes, his previous complaints forgotten. Setting the glass dispenser and bottle onto the counter with a small clink, you reach down to pull open one of the drawers and pull out a tube of chapstick.

Uncapping the tube, you carefully twist the bottom before applying it to Changbin's mouth. He pouts exaggeratedly, making a stupid face, and you laugh, leaning backwards.

Several things happen very fast.

Your head hits the mirror behind you with a small thud, making your hands fly to the back of your head. Changbin's hands go to your head too, concerned, checking you over for injury. You're both still laughing until you lose balance and grip the edge of the counter to steady yourself, knocking over Changbin's singular bottle of body lotion onto the tiled floor. The lid snaps off with a dull crack and the bottle bounces across the tiles, sending reverberating sounds echoing through the bathroom, mixing with your laughter. You stop laughing suddenly, smile fading.

The moisturizer is everywhere.

Changbin throws his head back and cackles. Some specks of the lotion have made its way onto his face, and onto yours too. There's a massive, sticky, vanilla-scented, puddly mess splattered over the tiles. Changbin turns to look at you.

"Oh, well," he says, still laughing. His eyes are crinkled at the corners.

You blink in shock. "I swear, Binnie, I didn't mean to- my hand, it just-"

Changbin cuts you off with another high-pitched laugh, smirking cheekily.

"Guess I'll have to use your lotion instead."

"No!"

a/n: comments, likes, reblogs appreciated <3

HI!!!!! you’re my sole inspiration for writing 9th member fics (they’re so fun,, it’s like being skz’s best friend eifjsjdj) and also the way there’s barely any good fics for 9th member readers 🙂‍↕️

hff....i- my fics...jjfff...kahsj..me-? my fics...

Hello, I really adore your writing and was just wondering what are your WIPs are?

hello my love, that's so sweet of you xx

i thought i'd make all my wips a poll so you guys can decide what you want to see first !!

if you guys want, drop a 'top three' list in the comments so i can decide what to release after the top poll result !

(please do it . . .)

this isn't even all of them omg . . . i have a few more skz prompt list requests and some thank-you messages from my readers .

but yeah! gonna put my taglist here just to speed things up :

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs

minty - bf!han jisung x female reader

pairing: han jisung x female reader

summary: when everything bursts into flames, there will always be someone to put it out.

genre: fluff, idol! au, heavy on the angst, panic attack, sensory overload, anger outburst out of frustration, negative thoughts, inferiority complex, feeling left behind. this one is a little sadder, not my usual writing, so read ahead at your own risk.

a/n: kinda having a bad time rn so i wrote this. also my masterlist just deadass stopped working so i have to remake it TT new masterlist will be up soon don't panic guys

You're laying on the floor face-down when Jisung comes home from the company.

He enters your shared bedroom, humming a new unreleased track, and finds you near to the floor-to-ceiling window, curled up in a ball. Your jacket is tossed somewhere behind you and you're not even aware that Jisung is home until he bends down and taps your shoulder.

"Jagi," he says, smiling in greeting.

You don't turn. Your head feels like it's made of lead and you can't seem to find the energy to even twitch a finger. And you feel bad because you know Jisung is tired too, and here you are, ignoring him because you're selfish and lazy and not good enough for anything-

"Y/n," Jisung says again, a little softer.

You do turn your head then. It's not much of a turn, to be honest; more like a slow, sluggish effort to move your head to the right. Your look over your shoulder and he's sitting there, knees to his chest, smiling down at you.

His headphones are slung around his neck as per usual, the headphone cord wrapped loosely around his wrist. His blue hair is flopping attractively into his eyes and the neckline of his band shirt slips a little to the left, revealing a sliver of collarbone.

Some of the skin there is slightly red, and you know it's because he probably worked out his shoulders and torso before coming back home.

You feel even worse at the thought of him working out; why can't you be the same? Why can't you just get up and be productive and multitask and live a good life and be happy like everyone else? Like him? Was that sort of thing not meant for you? Success and friendships and contentment and normalcy?

Because here is Jisung, so many achievements under his belt, so many talents and aspirations and thoughts and dreams, and there you are behind him, struggling to keep up with even the simplest of tasks in your own life.

And it's not just him; lately it feels like everyone else is sprinting ahead, while you're lagging behind, confused. Winded. Out of breath.

Losing energy.

It feels the same even now. Usually making eye contact and being close to Jisung fills you with strength, but today it seems even he can't wash away your thoughts. You wonder how bad it can be if even Jisung, your number one supporter, can't seem to even slightly unclasp the boulder shackles from around your ankles.

And the yet-again nagging thought of always being left behind culminates the peak of your bottled desperation.

And everything is Wrong.

The floor feels rough and uncomfortable all of a sudden, grating against your skin, scratching at the pores, and your clothes are too tight and restricting, digging into the soft curves and peaks of your figure, tightening around you like a python winds about its prey.

Jisung is still sitting there next to you; he must have realised you didn't feel like talking. He's staring out the window, still singing softly to the track, gaze unfocused but content. He understands; he has days like yours too. But right now it feels different, and suddenly you want nothing more than for him to just leave. To just go.

And that thought makes you feel awful.

You feel all hot and irritated like you've been put into an oven on high heat, and you rake a hand through the limp strands of your hair, the tickling flyaways suddenly causing a sudden surge of boiling hot frustration to pour through your veins.

Everything goes up in flames and before you know it, you're shoving Jisung's hand away and storming into the living room, throwing yourself down on the couch and then violently tossing yourself about because even touching the couch feels Wrong too. The leather sticks to your skin and the shuffling sounds are too noisy and sound more like nails being dragged down a chalkboard.

You let out a half-hearted scream and even that feels pathetic. Like you've tried to blow a whistle and all that came out was a sad little wheeze. The noise floats into the air and absorbs into the stillness. You want to scream again but it won't help; no matter how much noise you make, it will never be enough to quiet the wildfires searing across your nerves and seemingly into the core of your brain.

But the flames begin to sizzle, and like all fires do, it begins to die down.

You're left in the smoldering aftermath; the human form of it, anyway, which consists of sobbing like a child face-down in the couch, your body draped uncomfortably across the lounge.

It's almost an hour before Jisung tiptoes into the living room; he peeks over the back of the couch before cautiously moving to sit in front of you, about a metre away. And it's not that he's afraid of your sudden outburst, no, not at all. He knows not to touch you for now, to keep a distance, so as not to trigger you further.

He's silent for a moment; you miserably raise your head, a picture of defeat, eyes puffy and red with tears. You sniff and scrub at your face, wanting to get rid of the Feeling, the one that makes your jaw feel all sour and your head dizzy, the way it always feels after you cry.

Jisung chides you softly, gently reaching out to smooth a singular finger over the irritation you've caused across the delicate skin of your cheekbones. He's testing the water, so when nothing bursts out to bite his hand off, and the temperature seems reasonably cool, he moves just a little closer and gently pats your shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he says softly, almost inaudibly.

"Everything," you sob, the sound causing a terrible racking pain through Jisung's chest. It sounds so hollow, so lonely and desperate.

And yet so filled with hope, but hope that is slowly dying, losing its intensity, like you know in your heart that utilizing it won't really help anything. At least not anymore.

You don't expect Jisung to understand. How could he ever, when the terrible, tumultuous storm of horrible thoughts and feelings in your head is making it hard to understand yourself in the first place?

And you're right. Jisung doesn't understand. He looks bewildered but also empathetic. He looks the way people look when they sort of expect something to happen but it still shocks them when it does.

So he sits, not understanding but also knowing, and strokes your shoulder, keeping the rhythm of it, smooth and constant and flowing, dousing the flames, ever so slowly.

And you can't even try to explain how you feel, or what's wrong, and you can't even find it in yourself to apologise for so violently bursting out at him, but the look in Jisung's eyes tell you that no words are necessary. Not from you anyway.

"I love you," he says quietly after a while, still soft, still a little bit bewildered. But there is no doubt in his words.

And a weak, watery smile manages to tug at the corners of your mouth. At least you think it does; in reality, your face doesn't move an inch, still drawn tensely in rife and despair. But something in your eyes shifts slightly and Jisung knows you well enough to know what that shift means.

The searing flames die down completely, the ash rising and dissipating into a quiet, still, air, and when Jisung draws his hand back, his fingers are stained in still-warm charcoal.

You look at him, still heaving and exhausted; he smiles a tiny bit, like he's not sure whether it might set you off again or make you feel worse. But he does anyway, and the air begins to feel a lot cooler around you as he speaks.

"I brought you something from the company," he whispers, his fingers dancing along the thick seams of the leather couch.

You blink once, slowly, the movement taking a ridiculous amount of energy, which has dwindled to its last stores.

Jisung smiles, almost uncharacteristically shyly, and draws a little rectangular tin out of his dark, worn jeans. He lifts it to your eye level and holds it out on his palm.

On closer inspection, you see it's a little container, the plastic dyed a cool blue-green. There's a small flap on the top for flicking open and dispensing what looks like little sweets.

"Peppermints," Jisung says softly, a little shyly. "They help me when I feel all shaky and irritable. Chan-hyung keeps a pack in his bag for me too, just in case I start feeling anxious at events or concerts... maybe it'll help you too."

You sniff and let him put one of the mints on your palm. You lift it to your mouth and the sensation is immediately refreshing, a growing, almost cool-burn that seems to ease the aching tension that's set itself into your muscles.

It tastes slightly salty from the sweat on your palms, but it disappears as you roll it over your tongue. You exhale a tense breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

You blink again, even slower, hoping that Jisung knows it means thankyou. And he seems to understand, because he tips the container up a little, taking one of the mints himself with a grin.

a/n: hello yes i would like to order one jisung please

good thing he didn't overreact...

outfit - yang jeongin

pairing: yang jeongin x reader

summary: you help jeongin choose his outfit of the day

genre: non-idol! au, lil bit of crack, just chill tbh

a/n: no one say anything about the hasty shoe choices in this fic

"How about these? Which one?"

Jeongin holds up a pair of denim jeans and a pair of baggy, black cargo shorts. He grins as you pull an overexaggerated thinking face. The bedroom is disheveled, every surface (including the floor) strewn with heaps of clothing articles and accessories.

You and Jeongin are in various stages of undress, trying on different outfits and mixing-and-matching each other's belongings. You're dressed in your own pair of shorts and one of Jeongin's ridiculously oversized hoodies, the sleeves going about twenty centimetres past your fingertips (though he is pretty tall in comparison to you, to be fair).

Jeongin's in a white t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, one of your favourite lace-tipped socks on his left foot and a thick, black sock on the other. He's been messing around all morning, trying to style outfits, and you'd been roped into it.

Not that you minded.

Jeongin pouts as you suddenly snatch the pair of denim jeans, tossing them somewhere onto the floor.

"Aw, why not the denim?"

You snicker. "You look too much like Felix. He's always wearing denim."

"Not like anyone can tell the difference," he rolls his eyes and drops to his knees, digging around. You know he's talking about Changbin. Jeongin lets out a triumphant "a-ha" as his hand resurfaces holding a crossbody bag, checkered in black and white. You grin just as he fastens it around his waist. He looks ridiculous. Mainly because of the pretty, girly sock on his foot. That, and his shorts don't match.

"Innie, take the sock off, and put this on," you hand him a pair of long black shorts to him and he groans.

"I've changed bottoms almost a hundred times-"

"You're the one who dragged me into doing this in the first place. Don't complain."

He whines but puts the shorts on. You glance at his feet pointedly and he very reluctantly takes both mismatched socks off, replacing them with a pair of white Nike socks. The whole outfit looks a lot more coordinated now.

"That looks a lot better, Innie."

"Do you think so? It's still missing something."

"Shoes, pabo."

"Oh, right!"

Jeongin disappears into the hallway, and you can hear him padding to the shoe cupboard. A loud bang follows, and a couple of thumps. There's several minutes of faint scuffling, and Jeongin scurries back into the room, breathless but holding a suitable pair of black sneakers.

You roll your eyes. "Did you make a mess?"

He looks away pointedly, hurriedly. "Just- fixed some things."

You sigh, not even remotely surprised, and wait as he slips the sneakers on, haphazardly tying the laces. He straightens and runs a hand through his hair, glancing at you expectantly.

You laugh. "It looks great."

"Does it?"

You nod, moving to pick items of clothing up off the floor. You're stopped suddenly and pushed back onto the bed, the oversized hoodie sleeves flapping as you fight to rebalance. You huff up at Jeongin with a confused, slightly haughty expression.

"What are you doing?"

Jeongin grins. "My turn to pick your outfit."

"No!"

a/n: innie's such a style icon