Relight Me - Skz X 9th Member With Ed!reader

reader x changbin with some angst involving readers birthday (like people forgetting) and binnie comforting them

here you go anon <3 also i couldn't find matching header pics but whatever (don't look at it for too long and it'll be fine)

lamplight - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: your friends forget your birthday and changbin finds out

genre: fluff, idol! au, angsty, reader cries a lot, sad boi hours, not proofread as per usual

a/n: comments, likes, reblogs appreciated <3 divider from @wonjuii

You huff and slide down the closed door, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes. The bedroom is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the lamp in the corner, and a cast of warm, golden light spills onto the surfaces in the room.

It's a cool night, it's raining heavily outside, and Changbin is home with you. Your schedules are free and you're off work for the weekend too. These combined things should have made you happy, but instead you felt as if you were the most insignificant, useless person in the entire world.

Unimportant, unappreciated, unloved.

You can hear Changbin pacing down the hallway, muttering something frantically to himself in Korean. You know he's worrying about whether he did something wrong, and it only makes you feel worse; that he's upset, and that he was trying to take care of you when you got home, but you had shoved him aside and slammed the bedroom door behind you without so much as a hello to him.

You were just so upset about how your friends forgot your birthday and it made you forget about the one person who cared more about you than anyone else in the entire world.

A fresh wave of guilty tears pools up in your eyes and you clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs, squeezing your eyes shut as if it'll somehow alleviate the crushing pain in your chest. How could you have hurt him like that?

There's a gentle knocking at the door and you jolt, accidentally slamming your elbow back into the solid surface. Groaning quietly, you cradle your arm in your hand and try to quieten your crying.

"Jagiya?" Changbin asks timidly from the other side of the door. "Please open the door, I can hear you crying."

You sniff and wipe a sleeve across your nose, scrunching your face up in mild disgust at the wet trail it leaves behind. "I'm not crying."

You hear a gentle sigh and the sound tweaks at your heartstrings, knowing Changbin can see right through your feeble, defenseless lie.

"Jagi, I could hear you crying from down the hallway. I didn't mean to make you upset, I just want to hold you. Please open the door?"

You sigh sadly and sniff one more time before crouching and opening the door. Changbin's knelt on the other side, the line of the threshold the only thing separating you two. You look up at him, feeling like a watery, pathetic mess, and all Changbin does is smile softly, the action making your heart flutter even through your sadness.

You lean forward and crash into his arms.

He holds you like that for a while, only moving to sit against the bed with you on his lap. He doesn't say anything, just quietly shushes you and rocks you, stroking your hair and wiping your tears. After your sobs quieten down, you look up at him.

"I'm sorry I brushed you off when I came home, it's just-"

He shushes you gently. "It's okay, I could tell you had a bad day."

You shake your head violently, feeling regretful and guilty. Changbin cups your cheeks with his warm, slightly calloused hands and kisses the tip of your nose.

"What happened, jagi?" he murmurs.

You sigh. "My friends forgot my birthday."

Changbin laughs incredulously, shifting you in his lap and sitting more upright. "Who dares forgot my jagiya's birthday, huh? I want names!"

"Binnie-"

"Jagi, if they forgot your birthday then they're not your friends, okay? Dump them," he settles back against the bed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

You frown, sniffing quietly. "But didn't you forget Minho's birthday a while ago? How come he hasn't dumped you?"

Changbin laughs again, the high-pitched cackle making your mouth tweak at the corners. "Because we're in the same group with the guys," he flexes his muscles, "and besides, I have appearances to keep up with."

You giggle and lean against his chest. Changbin leans down and kisses your forehead, speaking quieter but with a grin.

"Speaking of Minho and the guys, they're coming in half an hour to celebrate, so go and get dressed and look all pretty, okay? I bought you something, it's hanging on the back of the bathroom door."

You shoot bolt upright in disbelief.

Changbin simply grins. "Happy birthday, jagiya."

a/n: awwww

⁺‧₊˚💿✮ 𝔰𝓴𝔷 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ! 🎧✮˚₊‧⁺˖

๋࣭ ⭑ — warnings will now be posted at the top of each fic just to save time and make this post a lil bit neater ><

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 . . . ✧

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

lonely st. (hwang hyunjin x reader) ✧ (completed)

𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫 (방찬) . . . ✧

golden hour - special event

he comforts you on your period

general fluff headcanons

bang chan new years' special - yin and yang

electrifying

make me

𝔩𝔢𝔢 𝓴𝔫𝔬𝔴 (리노) . . . ✧

movie nights

opal

general fluff headcanons

rose | part 2

𝔰𝔢𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔟𝔦𝔫 (창빈) . . . ✧

he comforts you on your period

little fighter

insomnia

sunflower

lotion

lamplight

ice cream & rain

gatecrasher

𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔂𝔲𝔫𝔧𝔦𝔫 (현진) . . . ✧

landscape

chrome nails

raspberries

𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔧𝔦𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔤 (한지성) . . . ✧

studio

cold

instant ramen

𝔩𝔢𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔵 (필릭스) . . . ✧

galaxy

duvet

haze

always forever

felix x neko!reader headcanons

fall for you

𝓴𝔦𝔪 𝔰𝔢𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔪𝔦𝔫 (승민) . . . ✧

bandaid

fever

batter up

𝔂𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔧𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦𝔫 (아이엔) . . . ✧

recipe

outfit

snake

general fluff headcanons

𝔬𝔱8 (스트레이 키즈) . . . ✧

how skz loves you - hyung line maknae line

how skz would do their nails - hyung line maknae line

asking skz "would you love me if i was a worm?" - hyung line maknae line

skz and what type of magic they would wield - 100 follower special

anon masterlist here | dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

bed hair jiminie

what if the 9th member of skz was having a terrible day and just feeling off, like nothing is going well? then, during dance practice she can't focus and can't get the moves right, so the members, stressed, tired and overworked snap at her and say hurtful things. in the heat of the moment she gets emotional and runs off, but later she's hurt, but very understanding and chill. in the end, please make it fluffy. (please leave the reader's age a mystery)

i swear i've seen another fic like this request but maybe it was just a fever dream . anyways . . .

soft landing - (ot8!skz x distressed!reader)

pairing: ot8!skz x distressed!reader

summary: you've all been stretched thin by the latest comeback, and skz catches you on a bad day.

genre: idol!au, reader's age and place in the group is unspecified, ngl skz are pretty mean in this one, mentions of eating and drinking, mentions of blood, bruises, throwing up, feeling dizzy, depression, burnout, exhaustion, reader just really needs a hug tbh

a/n: back in my inconsolably angsty fic writing era

skz masterlist

It was one of those days; the type where you woke up and just knew somehow that things were going to go wrong.

You felt sluggish. Bleary. Dull.

You almost slipped out of bed, your alarm ringing so loudly you were sure you'd woken all of Seoul.

Then, you'd hit your hand on the bedside table trying to turn it off, and then dropped your toothbrush on your foot when you entered the bathroom.

Breakfast had been a fiasco; you'd lost motivation in trying to cook something before practice. Half an Oreo was enough until lunch time, right?

Huffing, you stab the elevator button with a finger, readjusting the bag on your shoulder. Glancing across at the small strip of reflective metal above the button selection, you smooth out your ruffled hair before waiting for the doors to open.

You only just made it to the studio in time; Changbin turns around with a sigh as you whirl around and pull the door shut.

"Took you long enough," he says. "Go sing your lines."

You know he didn't mean to sound angry or irritated; everyone had been stretched thin lately, and you knew he was just tired.

The new comeback was taking a toll on everyone, including Chan (who was sitting at the mixing table and clearly hadn't slept in a week), and Jisung, who was fast asleep on the couch, an arm thrown over his head. His song lyrics glow on his phone, rising and falling on his stomach in tandem with his soft, slow breathing.

Sighing, you drop your belongings on the floor, startling Jisung awake, and shut the door of the recording booth behind yourself. Slipping on the headphones, you wait for the beat before singing several of your lines.

Chan looks at you strangely through the glass. His eyes were dark and baggy. "Try again, Y/n."

Even hearing him say that made you feel like a failure. He hadn't said anything wrong; just told you to rerecord your part. A little bubble of sadness rises in your stomach and you shove it down, clamped a lid on it.

This was no time to be dramatic, let alone succumb to the desperate tiredness pulling you down into the dark depths of your mind. Shaking your head and swallowing thickly, you sing again, and this time, Chan nods before scribbling down a few notes in his pad.

You leave the recording booth and sat quietly on the couch next to Jisung, who clearly hasn't forgiven you for waking him up. He huffs and shuffles away from you, pressing himself up against the other side of the couch.

Normally, the petty gesture would have made you laugh, scoot across the couch, poke his cheek or make fun of his childish act. But you just don't have it in you to be enthusiastic, or even move without reason.

And though you know he doesn't mean it, that he isn't trying to be genuinely hurtful, it strangely pulls at your heartstrings and makes your spirits sink. The world is covered in a permanent grey filter, blocking out all life and colour and joy.

Oh. Okay.

You spend the rest of the producing session with your knees tucked to your chest, nodding when Changbin or Chan calls out a note for everyone to remember, but mainly sitting quietly and trying to ignore the awful feeling in your chest.

Your stomach hurts; it aches deep down in the middle, and you feel sick. Not throw-up sick; more sad, lonely, too-tired, joy-deprived sick.

You barely register 3RACHA packing up their equipment and heading to the dance studio; your body moves on autopilot, as if someone's puppeteering you, and follow them down the hall. Everything feels muted; your body feels alien, like you don't really belong in it.

Floating...

You don't even remember what's happening before the blast of music brings you back down to earth, along with the sounds of heavy panting and shoes squeaking on the polished wooden floor.

The boys are already moving into position, Seungmin moving to the front for his part.

You stumble and Felix gives you a look, but you manage to somehow catch yourself and keep dancing. But trying to keep up with the boys is like running through water. Slow, sluggish, impossible.

Their moves look so smooth and practiced; you feel like a child that's wandered into the studio and been forced to dance. You know the choreo, of course you do.

You could never forget it, not with the countless hours of practicing it, but it's like your body and mind are disconnected, and your limbs just aren't doing what you want them to. You stumble into Hyunjin during formation and ungracefully take him down to the floor with you.

"Oof-"

There's several groans and whines, and a few voiced concerns. The music turns off.

You hear a groan above you; Hyunjin has taken the brunt of the fall, your head pillowed on his stomach. He whines and sits up, and you roll off while rubbing your wrist. It aches, and the sudden, heart-dropping pain is making it hard to breathe. You fight the urge to whimper.

"Sorry, Hyune," you whisper to him. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," he grunts, standing up and brushing himself off. He stalks back to position and gives you a pointed look. Everyone is staring, and the music rewinds several seconds, so you meekly heave yourself up and do the same.

Your wrist is really throbbing now, and you hiss before blinking black dots and tears out of your vision. This isn't the time to be weak. The comeback is soon, and all your group members seem to be doing fine; there's no reason you can't do the same.

Get a grip, you tell yourself harshly.

But the self-chiding doesn't work; it only brings with it a certain sort of desperation, the type that preludes your body giving up, and your mind following. You're exhausted. And you kick yourself, because it's past lunch time and you didn't eat, didn't even notice the time pass.

You haven't ingested anything all day, or done anything productive apart from sing your lines, but your body is screaming for rest like you've just run a marathon. You're running on fumes.

You feel absolutely pathetic, but you meanly shove it aside in favour of trying to keep up.

And you do, at least until your foot slips out from underneath you without warning, sending you to the floor with a dull thud. Pain explodes in your side, lungs struggling to take in air.

This time, you can hear the exasperated groans of "Y/n, come on," and "Are you serious?", but you don't even register it, rolling onto your side in the hopes of sucking at least some air into your lungs. You gulp and exhale sharply, on the verge of laying back down and sobbing. On the edge of giving up entirely and starting a new life on the studio floor.

No one reaches out to help.

You expect to see a hand reaching to yours, someone's sneakers as they lean down, a soothing hand on your back, maybe, but it doesn't come. Not even from Chan.

What you do hear is a harsh "Can you stop being so dramatic?" and a mean little laugh bubbling out of a member behind you.

Your vision blurs with tears, the skin of your sweaty cheek almost sticking to the floor in its wetness. Heaving yourself up slowly, and with such pain and difficulty you're convinced you've broken something, you keel over and gasp for air.

Nobody moves. The sound of it, or lack thereof, is horrible.

Your eyes stop blurring for just a moment, enough that you can see your reflection swaying in the mirror, the pale sheen and shakiness of your hands, and the stoic faces of your members.

"Y/n, can you at least try to keep up?" Minho huffs, stressed, hands on hips. "We've got a performance in two days and you can't even get past the first half of the choreo-"

"Shut the fuck up," you snap venomously.

Silence.

Everyone's faces are contorted in shock; you're sure you would have looked the same way, had you not currently been feeling so sick. You've surprised even yourself; the comment burst out of you like a sharp needle suddenly and forcefully piercing a stiff piece of fabric.

Minho looks like he's about to retaliate, no doubt with a severe reply of his own, but it's interrupted by Chan's voice descending like rumbling thunder over the studio.

"Y/n, we don't have time for this," he shouts. "Take five minutes, and then we'll restart. Just try harder, okay? You're bringing the group down-"

"Maybe," you cry out at him, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, "If you think I'm bringing the group down, I should just fucking leave!"

You shove past Jeongin and Hyunjin before fleeing out of the studio and down the corridor, leaving the rest of the group standing in stunned silence.

Minho sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

.

You don't go far; you drag your feet to the end of a corridor and enter an unused vocal room.

A classic piano and several guitars on the wall sport a thin coat of dust, and you stir more of it up as you collapse against the wall. The sun is in your eyes and you can see the dust floating about you, but you just don't have the energy to care.

Thoughts race in your head.

You're bringing the group down...

The comeback is soon and you're not ready.

Stop being so dramatic!

Just try harder. Everyone else is fine-

So why aren't you?

Sniffling, you pull back your sleeve and turn your wrist over. There's already a nasty purple bruise forming on the bone of your wrist, and it hurts to move back and forth. You feel dizzy from all of the gasping, and the sound of static surrounds your being as you try and rid your lungs of the winded feeling.

It's still hard to gulp in a full breath of air; you must have fallen really hard, and your side is definitely tender and bruised. Part of you wants to take your shirt off and inspect the damage, but you just sit and stare unseeingly out the window. Everything turns into doubles and triples as you let your eyes unfocus.

Two Jeongins suddenly poke their head quietly into the room.

No, wait, just one. One.

"Hi," he says quietly, almost a whisper. Guilt coats his expression.

You just blink tiredly, sniffing as he trails inside. He sneezes once from the dust, and you don't even jump. Or smile like you usually do at the fox-like way he sniffs and rubs his nose.

He sits down a respectful distance from you, clearly aware of the rapid, panicked rising and falling of your chest, and the sweat sheening your forehead. "Are you okay?"

You feel more hot tears stream down your cheeks like little paths of lava. You open your mouth to form a word, but no sound comes out.

"Y/n," he says sorrowfully. "I'm really sorry."

Minho's voice fills the air. "So are we."

Both of you turn just as Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Felix trail into the room, followed by the rest of the members. Minho moves to sit by your side and you stubbornly look away, not ready to face him just yet.

"We shouldn't have snapped at you the way we did," Felix says quietly. The rest of the members nod their heads, murmuring in agreement. "You were having a rough day, and we should have noticed."

"It's okay," you say, so quiet you can't even hear it. But they do.

"No, it's not," Hyunjin says firmly. "In times like this, we should be supporting each other, not tearing each other down."

"Hyune-"

"We've all been stretched thin because of the comeback, Y/n," Changbin says quietly. "We know you have been, too. But Hyunjin's right. We should be kinder to each other because of it, no matter if we get tired or stressed or upset."

You swallow, throat dry and itchy. The saliva does nothing to soothe it. "I messed up the choreography."

Chan tilts his head softly, voice gentle and sad. "And we messed up your day."

Minho touches your hand lightly, expression uncharacteristically soft. "You forgive us?"

You nod, not having the energy to be upset. You just want to go home and rest. Eat something. Feel better again, feel real again.

He sighs quietly, relieved but still worried. "You got hurt and we didn't help. Is it bad?"

You chuckle, voice cracking as your eyes well up. "Nah."

Chan strokes a strand of damp hair out of your eyes. "I'm so truly sorry, Y/n. I didn't mean it when I said that you're bringing the group down. It was so hurtful of me to say-"

"Yeah, Chan-hyung," Jeongin chides him. "You're mean."

The rest of the members eagerly agree and interrupt with their own little lectures, Jisung even going so far to bravely snatch his leader's black cap off of his head. It makes you crack a tiny smile.

"Alright, guys, enough," Chan says meekly. "Let's get you home, Y/n. You need a good rest. I think we all do."

"Group hug, everyone," Felix says, clapping his hands suddenly. "No one's leaving 'til all has been fixed and forgiven."

"Yes!" Hyunjin claps his hands. "Group hug. You too, Seungmin-"

"No- Hmphff-"

You exhale with a small smile as you're piled upon. Closing your eyes, you let yourself be held, let the day's events wash off you like soapy suds. You've been suspended in the air all day by tangled ropes, ones that fray and snap and threaten to drop you plummeting to earth, but when you finally fall, you find that you're not afraid.

And for the first time in a while, falling doesn't hurt.

It's a soft, sure landing.

a/n: i want to nap so bad rn tbh

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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.....

Hi ttokki!! I love the way you write the members being soft and caring for reader :) wanted to request 9th member where she is similar age to chan, so noona to most of the guys, being maybe like his second in command in caring for everyone, cooking, teaching choreo and stuff. Where they realise she's not been taking good care of herself for a while, like skipping meals or sleep bc she feels responsible like she doesnt deserve it. Just soft and gently, you are so skilled at that

hiyo~ thank you sm, love. i liked this request, i tend to do the same for people around me and it's easy to forget yourself sometimes >< hope this hits the spot . . .

rest easy - ot8!skz x exhausted!reader

pairing: ot8!skz x exhausted noona!reader

summary: taking care of skz can be a lot of work, but you tend to forget yourself in the process...

genre: lil bit angsty, idol!au, tired minho with a headache, overexcited skz (what's new), mentions of skipping meals, slight mention of blood (a small injury), mentions of overwork, fatigue, and exhaustion, mentions of food and eating, sulky maknaes, slight allude to reader x chan

a/n: reader pretty much replaces minho for the role of skz mom (sorry min), divider by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Jisung, take that out of your mouth- Seungmin, no, don't give it back to him... You two, stop fighting-"

You smile and lean your head on your hand, watch Chan attempt to wrangle the members, most of which have had far too much sugar to be at a controllable level. You're sitting at the hotel table, and most of the other members are messing about in the lounge area. Everyone but for Minho, who went to lie down earlier, complaining of a headache.

Speaking of, you should probably go check on him.

Getting up and putting your empty glass in the sink, you make your way past the group and down the hallway of bedrooms, entering the second-left door. You're greeted with darkness and a faint groan from within the heap of rumpled sheets on the bed.

"Minho?" You call softly, pulling the door half-shut so as not to disturb him with the hallway light. You walk up to the bed, quiet as a mouse. "How are you feeling?"

He just groans in response as you gently pull back the sheets, checking his temperature just in case he's fallen ill. "Noona..."

"Shh," you quiet him gently, soothing. "Does it hurt much?"

He shakes his head, his hair splayed against the pillow. Likely he's just tired from the day's events. You sit on the end of the bed and stroke his hair for a while, lulling him to sleep. He's already had medicine, and you kiss his forehead gently before getting up to leave.

Shutting the door, you're met with Jeongin and Seungmin, who cling to either one of your arms, sulking. You chuckle and sit down on the lounge couch, both of them burying their faces in your neck.

"What's wrong, you two?" You ask, ruffling Seungmin's hair.

"Chan-hyung told us off," Jeongin whines.

You mock-frown at the leader, who is standing in baggy black clothes, a disapproving expression on his face. He face-palms and you stick your tongue out at him. He scoffs, though you can detect a hint of affection behind it, and claps his hands.

"Alright, you drama kings. Bed."

.

"Hyunjin, take it easy," you say, concerned as he runs through the choreo for a fifth time. "Take a break."

He seems to not have heard, because he keeps dancing with even greater fervour. Sighing, you take his ear and drag him to the side, ignoring his protests. Tossing him a towel and giving him a bottle of water, you place a hand on his leg. You know he's been pushing himself lately, to the point where you had to lock the hotel room door so he wouldn't sneak out at night to practice.

You're all outside at the concert venue, doing soundchecks a few hours before the event commences, and it's cloudy, the wind blowing a breeze through everyone's hair. Chan comes over, frazzled, papers flying behind him, his cap half-falling off, and his fingers covered in bandaids from several clumsy, hastened tasks he had to do.

"I forgot to do the song breaks," he gasps, his hair disheveled. Hyunjin side-eyes him through a sip of water.

You adjust his cap, smoothing down the little duck tail curls at his nape. "Don't worry. I did them already. What did you do to your hands- Mmhff-"

You're cut off as he squeezes you in a hug, a relieved exhale leaving his frame, taking some of the tension with it. "Thank you, Y/nnie. What would I do without you?"

The sentence reverberates through your head; would things be worse without you there?

This means I need to do more, you think. I can help out as much as possible.

You mull this over and wave a momentary goodbye to Hyunjin, walking backstage with Chan. Felix, Changbin, and Jisung are busy being fitted for outfits and they immediately pummel you for attention, calling out as soon as you enter the room.

"NOONA LOOK AT MY SPARKLY TOP-"

"NOONA DO YOU LIKE THE COLOUR OF THESE GLOVES-"

"NOONA DO I LOOK COOL-"

You wave your hands. "Very cool and sparkly, I do like the colour, you all look great!"

It seems to satisfy them for the time being, and you watch them dissipate to their respective stylists. Passing through the room, you sit down in a chair in the corner and keep an eye on all of the boys. Chan is stressed enough right now; the least you can do is keep an eye on the members while he finalises things for the concert.

Your stomach rumbles and you think about quickly leaving to get food from one of the cafes across the street from the stadium, but you can't risk leaving the members unsupervised. Guaranteed, one of them will come looking, and then everything will fall to pieces. Crossing your arms over your stomach, you sigh and unscrew a bottle of water instead. That should keep you full for a while.

At least you hope it does.

.

You laugh and hug a sweaty Jisung, cheering. The concert went off without a hitch, and you're all backstage, congratulating each other on the performances and enjoying the moment of togetherness. Except you can't enjoy it as much, because your head is beginning to hurt, and it's starting to get difficult to see. You probably should have eaten something earlier, but you can last until you all get back to the hotel.

You all file out of the venue and pile into cars. Your foot almost missed the car threshold and you bump your shin, hissing as you collapse into the seat next to Chan.

"You okay?" He asks. He has his headphones in, his makeup smudging a little at the corners of his eyes.

You nod, sighing. "Long day. Good work on the performance."

He smiles and you reach up to gently clean up the messy makeup with a thumb, his gaze fixed on you. Jeongin and Seungmin are looking over the back of the seats in disgust.

"Noona," Hyunjin groans from behind. "Stop hitting on leader-hyung."

You roll your eyes and look out the window as Chan turns to tell him off. Your thoughts wander and you rub a hand against your shin, trying to soothe the ache. Your fingers come away lightly stained in red.

Panicking, and then glancing at Chan to check he hasn't seen, you inspect your leg. There's a few spots of red where the blood has soaked through the fabric of your pants, and you cross your legs quickly so as to hide the stain.

You think for a moment; you could ask someone if they have a bandaid, maybe... after all, there are always first aid kits in the cars, but you can't be weak and ask for help. Your job is to be there when other people ask for help, not the other way round.

Sighing, you try your best to hide your pain as you filter out of the car after the others. Your stomach rumbles, more insistently this time, and you quickly uncap your water bottle, trying to quell the dull, growing ache in your stomach. Your head hurts too, but you don't have time to think about it as you enter the hotel room, mind already whirring with things that need to be done.

You go to your room and quickly slap a bandaid on the cut on your shin, washing your hands of the blood and then changing into comfier clothes. Rolling your sleeves up, you enter the kitchen and begin cutting up ingredients, throwing spices into a pan and seasoning meat. The guys have had a long, tiring day, not to mention a whole concert, so they deserve a good, home-cooked meal away from home.

.

"Noona, this is so good," Felix groans, heaping in another mouthful of cheesy tteokbokki. There's silence around the table; everyone is so invested in stuffing their faces. Hyunjin has even tied his hair back so he can eat without dipping his hair in the soup, and Changbin has stolen two of your hairclips to keep his bangs back for the same reason.

You sit next to Chan as per usual, holding a cup of a hot herbal drink; you didn't feel like eating is what you told the boys when they insisted you take your share of the massive spread you cooked for them.

In reality, you're starving, but it doesn't seem fair for you to be eating when they've been working so much harder. They deserve it more. After all, you're just the second-in-command, Chan's right hand person and a manager for the boys. You don't work nearly twice as hard as they do on a good day.

You set the mug down on the table, standing up. The pain in your head aches and throbs sharply with the movement and you fight not to fall over. "I'm going to bed."

Some of the guys nod with mouths full of meat and rice, and you retire to your room, shutting the door. You collapse on the bed and close your eyes, trying to will the headache away.

That doesn't work, unfortunately.

The door opens then, and it's Minho who comes in, peeking around the corner. "Noona?"

"Mmm."

"Do you have a headache like I did?"

You nod and sit up, rubbing your eyes, and give him a tired smile. "Nothing I can't handle. Did you need something?"

He shakes his head, and then shyly comes into the room, holding a bowl of soup. "I saw you weren't eating earlier... Chan-hyung wondered if we should bring you something to eat..."

You let him place the soup on the bedside. "Thank you, Minho. I might just sleep, but I'll eat after-"

"No," he says firmly, with the absolute ferocity of a tiny, fluffy kitten.

"What?"

Jisung pokes his head in at the doorway. "You have to eat now."

You swing your legs off the bed. "Why?"

"Because," Chan says, appearing behind the two, Jeongin holding his leader's sleeve, "You need to take care of yourself and not just us."

"But I am."

The four boys suddenly tumblr into the room as Changbin and Hyunjin stick their noses into the conversation too.

"Noona, you hurt your leg earlier and you didn't tell us," Hyunjin whines. "And you told me to take a break from dancing but you didn't take a break the whole day-"

"Yeah, and then you went to your room and pretended to sleep so you wouldn't have to eat," Changbin pouts.

Chan gestures to the still-cooling soup on the bedside that Minho had brought for you earlier. "Please, Y/n."

You sigh. "Okay, okay. It just felt wrong to be eating as well, since I don't work even half as hard as you guys do-"

You're interrupted by a crowd of indignant protests and it's so loud that you immediately raise the soup bowl to your mouth. All of the boys watch as you take a mouthful of the rich, meaty broth. It fills your stomach on the first go. Your headache slowly begins to fade.

The boys filter into the room and hang around you while you eat, bickering and play-fighting. None of them make you feel self-conscious or inferior, just bringing with them a sort of peace.

You eventually fall asleep curled between two of the boys, surrounded by serenity, warmth, and the still-lingering scent of soup hanging faintly in the air.

a/n: i was gonna name this one 'soup' but i already have a jisung fic about soup soooo

galaxy - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: your boyfriend comes home to your cooking.

genre: fluff, idol! au, just sweet lixie

a/n: first fic! everyone cheer! *awkward silence*

You curse as you clumsily scatter sprinkles of cheese on the floor for the fifth time. It's taken half an hour just to prepare all the ingredients, and Felix is going to be back from the company any minute. A cheesy, almost spicy aroma floats around your apartment kitchen, mixing with the cold, crisp night air from the half-open window.

It rained earlier this evening. You think about how Felix must have sat at his desk, working away at lyrics and music with the other members. How he must have heard the rain and moved to the window, mouth tilting upwards as he watched the scattered, crystal raindrops thud heavily against the glass pane. You do the same thing now, wistfully staring out into the night, hair ruffling with the slight breeze.

You don't even realise you're smiling at the thought of it.

The earthy smell of petrichor floats into the kitchen as you move back to the stove, gently stirring the pot. It bubbles and sizzles, a fresh wave of the mouthwatering smell hitting you full in the face. Sure, it might look a little strange (maybe it's burnt...) but you know Felix will love it anyway. He always does.

He usually does the cooking most of the time, knowing your haphazard tendencies to drop things and clumsily hurt yourself. He would much rather cook than risk you getting hurt any day. The thought of his tenderness makes you smile again, and you're so lost in thought that you don't hear the faint sound of the door opening with a click. It's accompanied by the sound of Felix's usual sneakers, his favourite pair. He steps in quietly, careful not to trail water inside.

He peeks around the kitchen wall, watching you with a cheeky, loving smile on his face. You're bathed in golden light from the overhead lighting, casting an amber glow over your body and the various pots and pans scattering the stove. To anyone else, it might look like a mess, but to Felix, it's the equivalent of an angel standing in his kitchen, haloed by a wash of honey light.

He clumsily toes off his sneakers and socks, eyes fixed on your frame. You're still lost in thought, the bubbling of the pot causing enough of a distraction that you don't realise Felix creeping up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist, making you drop the spoon. You twist in his grip, surprised and more than delighted to see him.

"Lixie! You're back!" You beam, and Felix's heart melts. His arms subconsciously tighten around your waist. When he speaks, his voice is deep and molten, flowing like water.

"Hey, sunshine. I missed you," he peeks at the pot over your shoulder, crinkling his nose as he smiles. "Whatcha cooking?"

A half-hearted, slightly awkward laugh leaves your lips. You look back at the pot, hand coming up to absentmindedly scratch at his blonde, pinfeather-like hair as you think. Your earlier haze of determination to cook something for your boyfriend had faded about half and hour ago, your rationality returning from its brief holiday.

"I'm not actually sure... um-"

He laughs, the sound swelling and filling the kitchen. It floats out into the night, rich and lilting. You think for a second that his laugh might mingle with the stars, creating unique galaxies and constellations that match the ones in his eyes perfectly. Twisting your head back, you give him a sheepish grin, fingertips lightly touching his freckles, dotted across his cheeks and nose like his very own galaxy. Your galaxy.

Felix kisses your nose. "I appreciate the effort, sunflower. I love you so much, you know that?"

You smile softly. "I love you too, but uh-" You turn back to the pot, which now smells unpleasantly burnt. "Maybe we should just order food instead."

Felix chuckles.

"Definitely."

a/n: how do we feel about this? do you guys want more? if so, go request! it would make my day <3

cold - han jisung

pairing: han jisung x reader

summary: you had a shit day and jisung helps out

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, heavy on the comfort, angsty, big softie jisung

a/n: if you're having a shit day, feel better <3

You sigh and throw an arm over your forehead, trying to erase the day's memories from mind. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong went wrong, and all you wanted to do the entire day was get out of your restricting day clothes and flop into bed.

Which is exactly what you did, but it didn't help.

Nothing felt right. The bed was too stiff, too soft, your clothes too loose or tight, and the music currently playing through your earbuds was doing nothing to help the situation. The night air filtering through the window was too cold and it wasn't enough to stop you feeling hot. It just wasn't making anything better, and your short temper was beginning to show through.

You had tried the whole day to keep your seething to a minimum, and now that it had been all bottled up for most of the day, you couldn't help but feel upset.

Rolling over, you poke Jisung in the back. He's asleep, his back facing you, and you can hear soft snores coming from him. He had come home and sensed immediately that you needed to be left alone. You hadn't talked to him for the whole evening, and now you were both lying in bed, one awake and the other fast asleep.

Finally managing to stir him, Jisung rolls over in bed, hair sticking up at random angles from the tossing and turning. His eyes were half-opened and he blinked at you, trying to see in the dark. The only light in the bedroom came from your phone, which was now abandoned on the bedside.

You felt bad for waking him up, but Jisung didn't seem to mind.

"What's wrong, jagiya?" he says blearily.

"Sorry, Sung," you whisper guiltily, eyes filling with stinging tears. "Just- I can't sleep."

"Hmm? Oh, why?"

You sigh softly, tossing your earphones onto the bedside and turning to face him, trying not to cry. "Nothing was going right and my temper kept flaring up."

Jisung nods, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up further. "I thought you were mad at me, but I just figured you needed space-"

"No, it wasn't you, it could never be you, I just didn't want to end up blowing up on you. I just needed to cool off but I still feel hot and bothered."

Jisung's already moved to turn up the fan and he lays back down on the bed with a "hmphff", wrapping an arm cozily around your waist.

"You know," he croaks thoughtfully, "When I get frustrated in the studio, Chan-hyung and Minho-hyung always make me go to the bathrooms and splash my face with cold water, and then drink something cold. I always pretend like it's cooling me down. You should try it."

Your voice is quiet. "But it's dark."

"I'll come with you."

You get up softly, moving to the bathroom. Jisung follows a lot less gracefully, and he flicks the light on, both of you immediately groaning at the glaring brightness. You run the tap til it turns cold, and splash your face with cold water. Jisung leans against the counter while you dry your face. He grins, eyes half-closed from the sleepiness.

"You feel better now, huh?"

And he's right. You do feel better.

He takes your hand and guides you to the kitchen, lifting you up onto the counter. You protest quietly but he ignores it, opening the freezer and depositing several ice cubes into a glass of water. He waits while you drink it, and hums softly when you poke his cheek, fingers cold from the condensation on the glass. You both steal a couple snacks and eat in the light of the refrigerator before Jisung lifts you from the counter and carries you back to bed.

Despite the cold face wash and the cold water, as well as the snacks, you can already feel your eyelids drooping. You feel yourself being placed back into bed, and you feel all warm and full and content. Or maybe the warm feeling is just from Jisung's arms, which are wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you close and keeping you in the warmth of his embrace.

You sleep.

a/n: i wish i had a jisung

The angst fic you just did of skz reacting to your death was soooo good 😭😭😭def think you should do a pt 2 if you ever consider it :)

*throws heart-wrenching, sob-worthy angst in your face and runs away cackling* SUFFER ! YOU ASKED FOR IT, YOU GET IT !

don't go, please - skz maknae!line x reader (part 2)

pairing: ot8!skz maknae!line x reader

summary: skz maknae line reactions to when you d*e.

genre: so so heavy on the angst like hyung line's, mentions of pushing people away, heavy grief themes, denial, mentions of manic disorders, deluded illusions of happiness, fading personalities, mentions of graves and headstones, mentions of blood and scissors in felix's, jeongin's almost made me cry (oh, my sweet, sweet innie), han's is also super sad

a/n: yeehee part 2 of the angstiest fic i've ever done. why is it actually kinda fun to write sad stuff . . . ? anyway div by @carnage-cathedral

if this content makes you uncomfortable, please skip it . the last thing i want is to make people upset, so don't read this if it's triggering for you. proceed with caution and be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist | part one (hyung!line)

Han whose mic clatters to the floor as the news sinks in. Can't believe it for a good week or two. Not until he realises that when he comes home, there will no longer be something simmering on the stove, there will no longer be the love of his life standing at the counter with sauce-smeared fingers and a cheeky grin. Spends hours and hours listening to all the love songs he wrote for you and that you never heard; cries over his keyboard and breaks the electronics with his misery. Refuses to rap, because like Changbin, he just can't get the words out of his mouth anymore. Becomes quiet and reserved; is aware of every single word that comes out of his mouth, every move he makes, he scrutinizes. Cries for you in the dark every night.

Felix who storms to the bathroom and immediately begins cutting off all of his hair. Hacks it relentlessly; tufts of blonde fall around his feet and collect on the tear-soaked cotton of his shirt. Nicks himself with the scissors in the process, but he doesn't care. Leaves spots of blood in the ironic shape of a heart on the dimly lit bathroom floor. Stains one of your photo frames with the scarlet; kisses it off, and then kisses the delicate depiction of your face behind the glass, setting it down on the bedside and burying his head in his hands. Refuses to dance or sing; the light goes out of his eyes and doesn't seem to return, an odd, almost eerie look taking over his once effortless and joyful exuberance.

Seungmin who pretends not to be affected; lives in denial of what happened, and goes about his life wondering if it's true. Refuses to look at news articles and completely shuts down when one of the members gently tries to help him open up; it always ends in an argument and slammed doors. Sits on his bed wondering if you'll ever come back, and if you left, was it because of something he did? Often regrets not being nicer to you, and jokes to himself about little things he sees that you would have hated; like incessantly hot weather where it melts his skin like pale chocolate, or the whirring of his laptop fan, which you always complained about. Lives the rest of his days in a sort of deluded happiness; he doesn't really believe you're gone.

Jeongin who chases after you in the crowd, only to come up short holding the sleeve of someone who looked the same as you from behind. Is bewildered when he wakes up every morning and places a hand next to him on the bed, expecting you to be there; he finds only a cold-empty loneliness, your soft indent in the mattress rustling under his shaking hands. Still wears your matching jewelry, and visits where you lay often, burying the rings and necklaces in the soft dirt so that you might be able to see them again one day. Scratches little pictures into your headstone and sits with you for hours, talking about anything and everything. Doesn't move, even when it's pouring down like the sea is crashing down from the sky, and holds and umbrella over your buried being to shield you from the wetness.

a/n: so this one is a little longer but it just flowed out of me i guess

HAN / AS I TOLD YOU (말하자면) ⋆ 221216