Skz X 9th Member!reader Who Can Speak Multiple Languages

THE THEME OMG IT’S EATINGGGG

omg thank you so much, i decided to change it again after a while... changed my user too bc i felt like it was getting old lol

i like the fact that our themes are literally opposites too hahah

how you been?

hiii i see you hav angst fics, do uu write character death? if u do then can i request a reader death one and how the members react to it? totally okay if you can’t lolz

ok so this is the angstiest thing i've ever written . . . proceed with caution bc it gets quite intense >< it was a nice release though, i haven't been feeling too over the moon lately, so it helped me a little <3 also blurry header for added angsty vibes . anyway here you go, love~

don't go, please - skz hyung!line x reader

pairing: ot8!skz hyung!line x reader

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

genre: so so heavy on the angst i cannot stress that enough, kind of dark, mentions of not eating, depression, anxiety, reader doesn't really exist in this fic, sad skz which hurt me to write, mentions of pushing people away, unhealthy obsessions, loss of passion and interests, just really heavy grief themes

a/n: you can't expect me to get a request like this and not write the angstiest, most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking shit anyone has ever read . . . anyway suffer . 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

Chan who goes silent when he hears the news. Doesn't talk, doesn't move, and then gets up and leaves, walking endlessly and aimlessly through the streets until the members have to physically stop him. Doesn't wail or cry, doesn't make a fuss. Becomes less affectionate with everyone around him because physical affection reminds him of you; your hugs and kisses and your hands playing with his. Loses his leader attitude, becomes quiet and introverted, and can't seem to find as much passion in being a leader for his team like he did before. Is wary around everyone he's ever known, pushes people away like he did when he was a trainee. Sits in his room most days; is hardly ever seen, and when he is, he's looking at a little polaroid photo of you, clutched between shaking fingers as he wishes for you to come back.

Minho who immediately shuts himself away, refusing to see or talk to anyone. Spends all day in his dorm room, just sitting and staring placidly at the wall. Relives every single moment you've ever shared and wishes endlessly that he could have spent more time with you. Doesn't feel like dancing much anymore, and any remnants of energy he might have had when you were still here is gone. Becomes bitter and angry, harsh towards his own members. Even loves his cats a little less; most of his memories with them are ones shared with you, and they're far too painful for him to relive. His emotions dry up like a dead, shriveled plant and disappear, his teasing personality evaporating with it.

Changbin who goes radio silent over the phone; hangs up immediately after and can be heard throwing up from distress in the staff bathroom. Is taken sick for a week due to the shock, and doesn't eat much throughout. Ends up throwing all of his still-to-be-given-to-you love letters in the trash, along with the diamond ring he was planning to give you the night of your anniversary. Quits producing music; his words don't flow as smoothly as before, even when he rarely feels like talking to anyone. Permanent eye bags take place under his eyes as he goes online, clicking out of his gym membership. Doesn't want to touch any of your belongings, it's too painful, and quits working out due to the lack of energy in his body.

Hyunjin who choked out a terrible, wailing scream and tore out his hair when he found out what happened; begged his members for it not to be true. Spends all day just staring out the window; is no longer afraid of anything, and finds nothing but icy numbness and a deep blue sadness taking root in his heart. Covers the walls of his room and art studio in pictures of you; splatters the walls in scarlet red and peachy pink, and then splatters himself in the same shades. Can't find it in himself to paint for much longer after that; doesn't cut his hair or paint his nails anymore, because that was always your job. Sets fire to his sketchbook and puts the ashes of it in a jar; then sets it on his top shelf and tucks the rest of his supplies away. Is no longer able to find any beauty in the world, not if you aren't there with him to see it.

a/n: i'm not writing a part 2 unless someone requests it

Can you do something fluffy with 29 and 45 with Changbin? Glad to see you back!! (JJ)

hihi <3 thanks for the request, it's good to be back! this is my first time writing prompts but it's super helpful actually... idk why i didn't do it before. i know you said fluff but i've been itching to write spy!changbin for so long so i just did it quite lighthearted. lmk if you want a rewrite <3

gatecrasher - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you and changbin get sent on a spy mission. look i don't know what the fucking description for this is supposed to be okay

genre: fluff, superspy! au, crack, pretty lighthearted, a few mentions of guns but that's it, kiwi hyunjin surprise appearance

a/n: i mean, come on. changbin as a spy? yes.

⛓️ prompts: 29. "I like the way you think." / 45. "This changes everything."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

Changbin is smirking as you reach the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek, dark suit. The top button of his dark dress shirt is undone and he pulls the material away from his skin, fanning himself dramatically as you reach to take his extended hand.

He bows exaggeratedly and you swat at his chest, chuckling. You subtly brush a hand across your thigh to feel that the gun holster strapped to your thigh hasn't come loose. You know the exact model and make of your pistol is also strapped against Changbin's chest, sleek and dark and out of sight.

For now.

Adjusting the comm-link in your ear, you take Changbin's arm as you two subtly blend in amongst the other guests. The ballroom is large and sumptuous, filled with sparkling light and expensive items for auction. The guests themselves are dripping in diamonds and glamourous clothing and you fight the bile rising in the back of your throat. These people are so snobby and oblivious.

Changbin nudges you silently and you both take several steps backwards, disappearing behind a heavy velvet curtain. Part of you wishes you could keep walking through the ballroom and admire everything, but you and Changbin have a job to do.

That's the thing about being a spy. Sometimes you want to do things and then your duties tug you in the other direction, the way an irritated owner might tug their yappy dog on a leash.

"By the way," Changbin whispers from where he's situated next to you, "you look good."

"You too, gatecrasher."

He rolls his eyes. "We're spies. We're allowed to gatecrash. Legally. I think."

He tugs on your arm now, leading you to the curtain. You're both here to acquire a precious item; or rather swipe it and bring it back to your headquarters. Peeking out from in front of Changbin, you notice the target item being inspected by a snobby-looking man and another woman.

"What now?" You whisper.

Changbin hums from where he's looking out the curtain above you. "We just have to wait a while until they leave. Then we'll swipe it."

You groan softly. "I hate waiting. It'll take ages for that guy and his wife to leave. Look how much they're yapping."

He snickers. "Some particular intel tells me that woman with the snobby-looking guy is his mistress, not his wife."

You gasp, equal parts scandalised and delighted. Changbin claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh.

"Or," he says, clearly struggling to hold his mirth in, "We could go now and try to fake-buy the stupid thing first. This is an auction, after all."

"Yeah. One that we broke into."

He rolls his eyes and pokes your forehead. "That's because it's our job to break into places and steal things. It's for the greater good."

You grin. "Greater good, my a-"

"Shut up, they'll hear us. Let's just wait a couple minutes then stroll out all posh and try and win the auction for the item."

You smirk and look back out the curtain. "I like the way you think."

Changbin nods modestly. "I know you do. It's very obvious."

"Just one thing, how are we supposed to walk out of here with the item? You have to pay for it and then show your receipt to the bouncers at the door."

He grins. "We'll figure that out soon enough."

You roll your eyes and turn back to peek through the curtains. A tiny, almost inaudible sound from behind you makes both you and Changbin whip around, guns unholstered and in hand.

Hwang Hyunjin is leaning against the wall, dressed in a sleek white and black tuxedo. His hair is startingly different, now a shorn dirty blonde and you find yourself missing his long, dark locks all of a sudden. Not that he looks bad. He looks good, pretty even-

You gulp as Changbin lets out a small puff of laughter. "Hello, kiwi."

Hyunjin just rolls his eyes, his voice a low drawl. "Hello, Bin. Chief sent me to keep an eye on you two. Swiped that pretty target item yet?"

He looks at you as he says the word 'pretty' and you feel Changbin bristle on your behalf. Not that you mind, though you feign annoyance at Hyunjin's subtle remark.

"I don't see you with the item," Changbin retorts.

"Yeah, because I'm supervising."

You fight a laugh as Changbin turns back to the curtain, huffing dramatically. "Supervising. Totally."

Hyunjin just grins and peeks out the curtain too. "I mean, I could go get the item, since you two are content to hide behind here."

You poke him harshly in the side and he bends sideways, glaring playfully at you.

"This changes everything," Changbin huffs. "It'll look suspicious if two of us came behind this curtain and three of us walk out."

You side-eye him. "What now, then?"

Hyunjin's breath plays across your cheek. "Let's all go."

"No," you and Changbin whisper in unison.

He rolls his eyes. "On the count of three."

"Hyunjin-" You protest.

"Onetwothreego-"

And he's gone, sashaying into the crowd of opulence.

"Fucking kiwifruit man." Changbin swears, glaring through the curtain. "Come on, he'll wreak havoc on his own."

You grin and take his offered arm. "Thought he was supervising."

"Not anymore, it seems. We need to swipe that target item or at least catch up with Hyunjin. We exit from the curtain on three, okay? One-"

"Two three go!"

a/n: if i had the motivation i would have made this into a series

omg how about artist!reader trying to teach changbin how to paint/draw, would be so cute!! idk but when i draw i love to make au of me with my friends, like spidersonas, or tlou yk? do as you wish 💥

hey anon ! i love this, as an artist myself i would be so excited to teach any of skz how to draw/paint (aside from hyunjin ofc, he's so great at it lol) here you go love <3

sunflower - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you decide to try and teach changbin how to paint

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack, reader is the artsy type, changbin tries his best lol

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

"Binnie, that's not how you hold the paintbrush-"

"But I like holding it like this!"

You sigh and fight a smile as you reach across and attempt to adjust Changbin's grip on the paintbrush. He's holding it in his fist, all his fingers curled around it, a bit like the way a murderer would hold a knife.

Hopefully he doesn't end up trying to stab anything with it, you think. That brush was really expensive.

Changbin whines as you take the brush out of his grip and show him how to hold it, swiping a few experimental strokes of red against his canvas.

"Like this," you say, handing it back to him.

He pouts but does as you say, attempting to swipe across the canvas just like you showed him. He manages to get the hang of it, his eyes widening. He laughs, the sound bright and surprised.

You laugh. "It works better like that, doesn't it?"

The bedroom floor is scattered with canvases, watercolour paint palettes, a box full of mismatched acrylic paint tubes, and various other artists' paraphernalia. You had pulled out the box of all your art stuff from the cupboard earlier, intending to paint for the afternoon. Changbin, who was bored, had coaxed you into letting him join you.

Now you both sat in the dappled sunlight filtering into the bedroom from the large window. The light cast a mahogany glow over the floor and the mess of various paints and watercolours seemed to reflect their bright colours onto the far wall in haphazard, colourful strokes and patterns. You and Changbin had a large canvas each, set and propped against the bed. Subconsciously, you realised too late that it might not be a good idea to paint near the bedsheets, but Changbin didn't seem to mind, so you let it go.

Your canvas was covered in varying shades of pastel greens, browns and yellows, a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a red ribbon. You were quite proud of it, having spent about an hour painting each individual petal of the sunflowers. It looked great.

Or better than Changbin's, at any rate.

His canvas was a mess of vibrant blues and pinks, two messy stick figures in the middle painted in thick strokes of black. One was taller than the other, and you smiled at his messy depiction. A drip of blue paint hit the floor, followed by a drop of pink. He'd put so much paint on his canvas it was all beginning to slide off. You hurriedly set your brush down and adjusted his canvas to lie down on the floor to prevent any more mess. Sitting up on your knees, you surveyed his canvas. Tilting your head, you looked at the man sitting beside you.

"What is it?" you asked gently, so as not to upset him.

Changbin grinned, a smear of pink on his cheek curving upwards as he smiled. He kissed your temple, then looked down at his work, obviously very proud. He laughed.

"It's us."

a/n: we love artist changbin ✊

Hi!! Could I please make a request? I was thinking of maybe a ot8 skz x 9th member reader, where the reader has anxiety and ends up having a panic attack and the members comforted the reader?

hihi anon >< i liked this request. i was actually thinking of writing another 9th member fic when this ask came in, so perfect timing ! here you go <3

dissonance - skz x 9th member with anxiety

pairing: ot8!skz x reader with anxiety

summary: you have a panic attack while performing on stage with skz.

genre: angsty, idol!au, mentions of eating, graphic descriptions of a panic attack, slight implication of sh, fluffy ending, mentions of eating, skz are sweethearts

a/n: go check out my 'skz valentines' day event special' if you haven't already >< !

You love what you do. Really. Being on stage, wearing cool outfits, doing what you love, and of course, singing and dancing and performing with eight of your best friends is the total dream.

You couldn't have asked for more.

But now that you're standing backstage, surrounded by staff members, stylists, maintenance techs, and a countless amount of other people you don't even know, you're beginning to feel a little bit overwhelmed.

You look across to where Chan is discussing something with a stylist; it's like you can barely see him because of the overloading environment, and as you watch, his image slowly splits into two. Like a hallucination.

The performance is in a few minutes, and the noise around you becomes even louder as you begin to make your way to the wings of the stage. It's darker here, at least, but the hustle and bustle doesn't end, and neither does the constant ringing in your ears.

You feel a warm hand press lightly into the small of your back and you look up to see Hyunjin gazing down at you.

"You okay?" He says, adjusting his mic. "I know it's noisy here."

You can't do anything but nod in response, not trusting yourself to speak, save you burst into tears, or rudely snap at him. You've been backstage to events like this countless times, but the overwhelm and nausea that seems to come with it never ends. It always starts to happen the moment you sit down in the dressing room to have your makeup done.

The other members gather in a group behind Chan, who's waiting at the curtain before the stage, and you, who's gripping into the velvety material with white-knuckled fingers.

It all feels too much; the coloured lights, the brightness of the stage, the jumbled, discordant noises around you, and even your own members being near you makes you want to scream. Looking at Hyunjin's face again is too much to even bear, the diamantes under his eyes shining far too bright, and the badges on his jacket feeling far too odd and icky to be fashionable.

Chan, who's turned back to count his members before going on stage, glances at you; he knows how you get with these sorts of events, and you can't bear the sight of his face either. You just want him to go away, even if he's not talking to you. A pang of irritation shoots through you as he begins to talk.

"Y/n," he says quietly, though you can barely hear him through the blood rushing through your ears. "Take a deep breath, yeah?"

He moves a little closer, a hand out to stop anyone rushing by from bumping into you. There's a heart-shaped diamante on his cheek, and suddenly you want nothing more to reach up and rip it off his face. The urge to do it is almost overwhelming.

But even if you wanted to, you can't, because suddenly Chan is shouting something and you all run out onto stage, the cheer of the crowd so deafening you can't hear anything at all, your ears buzzing. You start to move purely out of muscle memory, your subconscious forcing your to dance only due to hours of late-night practices where you repetitively drilled the routine into your bones. But it feels stiff and clunky, almost unnatural to be moving the way that you are.

You barely register singing your part; it must have been incredibly subpar, you're sure of that at least, because Minho turns to look at you a little strangely before moving to jump back into position. But you're so visibly out of breath that he seems to realise what's happening, and he takes over singing your part while you keep dancing. The white lights above you are so hot, almost searing against your skin, beating down on you relentlessly. None of the other members seem to be affected, however.

You wince and scrunch the left side of your face as you almost roll your ankle, and you swear you can feel the makeup crinkling against your skin, the unpleasant caked layer of it seeping into your pores, clogging them with impurity. You desperately reach up a hand to scratch it off, provide some relief, but all the members put their hands up as per the routine, and you do the same, so your current situation isn't immediately noticeable to anyone who's watching. You doubt you're performing at even an average level, but you can't find it in you to care, you're so out of breath.

I can't keep going-

Your clothes feel scratchy and irritating against your skin, the top just a little bit too uncomfortable, your shoes just a little too tight, and the fingerless gloves on your hands are almost too much to bear, your hands going numb. Your hair is done too strangely, the styling making your scalp feel all tight and pressured, and suddenly you can't do anything but drop to your knees in the middle of the rush and gasp, your head pounding so hard it hurts-

Too much too much too much-

Before you know it, the stage suddenly goes dark and you realise that the performance has ended. Hopefully no one saw what happened-

That hope is dashed to pieces as you're immediately swarmed by staff members, all crowding in concern. You hear Jeongin yelp as he's pushed to the side and someone else, Chan, you think, is shouting, trying to create order and get to you at the same time. The crowd is murmuring, whispering, but you can't hear them, your whole being numb and grey with searing anxiety.

The members seem to understand what's happening, though, and you look up through dark, blurry vision to see Danceracha making a barrier between you and the rest of the backstage crew with their bodies, Felix looking over his shoulder in concern. They've finally managed to get through the swarm and you collapse onto your back, simply too exhausted to do anything else despite the din of noise surrounding you like a cloud of wasps.

You feel someone's hands- Seungmin's, maybe, press themselves into your shoulders, and a spicy, warm scent fills your nostrils as you suddenly leave the earth, a prominent weight settling over your being. Chan is lifting you.

The rest of the members begin to make their way through the crowd to their designated group dressing room, you clinging to Chan's shoulders so hard you think you might leave crescent-shaped scars in the skin. But he doesn't flinch, not that you notice, since you're unable to do anything but gasp and hyperventilate. You think you might scream, but nothing leaves your lungs, and by now you've lost complete control of your breathing.

Chan sets you down in his lap once the dressing room door is shut, sitting on the couch, and Minho immediately turns the light off. Dimness floods the room and Changbin kneels in front of you, carefully slipping off your shoes and gloves while Jeongin runs his fingers through your hair, flaking out the harsh gel and returning your slightly sweaty hair to its usual state.

You gasp and keel over just as Jisung takes a hold of your hands, completely calm and in control.

"It's okay, Y/nnie," you hear him say, his voice sounding faint and faraway. "You did so well for us, just try and tune into the silence, it'll help..."

You almost forget that this is what Jisung does when he feels overwhelmed with a panic attack too; he told you once that sitting somewhere quiet helps your head to clear things up a little. He must be right, because your breathing is beginning to slow down.

You look down at your hands; you can't feel them, and they look almost alien through your buzzing panic, like they don't really belong to you. Jisung's firm yet gentle grip has left little white patches on the skin in the shape of his fingertips, the blood not flowing through your hands properly due to the hyperventilating.

Foundation gathers on the underside of your nails as you reach up and desperately try to remove all the makeup, your tears not even penetrating the thick, oily layer of cosmetic product. Diamantes come raining down and gather on your thighs just as someone gently swipes a damp, cool cloth across your cheeks, the fabric coming away the colour of your skin.

By the time all of the makeup is cleaned off, and you're sitting in nothing but the complete base layer of your outfit, your breathing has slowed down completely. You look up with red, teary eyes, your heart still pounding, and meet eyes with Chan, who's still sitting with you in his lap, one hand stroking your waist.

"I can't go back out there," you choke out.

Chan nods. "That's okay, Y/nnie. You did really well performing, okay? I think we should all just stay here a little longer until you feel somewhat better, then we'll figure out what to do, hm?"

You sniff. "I m-messed up the performance, though.."

"It's okay, Y/n," Changbin says softly from where he's sitting, his legs swung over a chair.

"Yeah," Hyunjin adds. "Don't worry."

The room is completely silent, until Seungmin pointedly gets up and moves to a stylist mirror, opening the cabinet and pulling out a packet of makeup wipes. He sits down and cleans his face, matter-of-factly, then tosses the wipes into a nearby bin. Minho moves to do the same, and undoes the clasp of his necklace, tossing all his jewelry into a shiny, clunky pile on the table without a word.

Chan nods in approval. "I think we're done here for today. Let's dress down and clean up, then go back home. I think all of us could do with some rest."

You lie down on the couch while the rest of the members change clothes and wash off their makeup in the adjoined bathroom. Everyone keeps their voices low, and the dimness of the room compared to the flashiness outside almost makes you fall asleep. That is, until Felix appears at your side, holding out a juice box and a couple of wrapped chocolates.

"Here," he says quietly. "It should help keep your sugar up until we get back to the dorms."

You sit up a little bit and accept them from him, sipping tiny little sips from the juice as Felix pats your head and leaves to clean off his makeup.

Jeongin moves to lie down next to you after a while, and Hyunjin makes little origami birds out of the chocolate wrappers while Chan finalises the group's departure from the event.

"Alright," Chan says with conviction as Jisung helps you up from the couch. The members assemble near the door, raring to go. "Let's get out of here. I've had enough of this place."

You fight a weak smile as he shoots you a wink.

I couldn't agree more.

a/n: i should really try and find images that actually match for my headers. sigh

lonely st. ✧ chapter ii : the first glimpse

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: lonely reader, school!au, hyunjin gets a minor injury ft. concerned basketballers jisung and felix, awkward y/n

a/n: i had so much fun writing jisung's dialogue, he is truly best friend goals

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Hyunjin leaned against the lockers, his long, lean frame sagging onto the slightly dented metal surface. Early morning sunlight filtered in through the school windows. He held a basketball in his hands and was turning it thoughtfully, lost in his own mind.

"-and then she said to me, like, all whiny, Jisung, you can't eat that, I need it for my science dissection- Yah. YAH. Hyunjin! Have you even been listening to my story?"

Hyunjin's head snapped up, wide, unfocused eyes meeting his friend's. He shook his head lightly.

Jisung groaned, slamming his locker door shut and snatching the basketball from Hyunjin. He tossed it up in the air a couple times and made to fake-pass it to his friend.

Hyunjin flinched, his hands coming up unsurely.

"Man, you're really out of it," Jisung said in half-concern, half-wonder. "You never fall for the fake-pass thing. What's up?"

Hyunjin sighed, shaking his head. "I- um, just haven't been sleeping that well lately. It's fine."

Jisung scoffed as they both began to walk to their morning basketball practice. He absentmindedly tossed the ball up in the air, catching it with a smooth, practiced ease.

"Nice try, dude. You sleep like a dead log. Come on, just tell me."

Hyunjin sighed, for once feeling a little irritated towards his best friend and his unusually perceptive nature. But he shoved it down without a second thought.

He's only trying to help.

"I, um- there's this girl," he began unsurely.

Jisung let out a highly overexaggerated gasp, his breath catching in his throat. He dropped the basketball and doubled over, thumping his chest. Sighing and patting Jisung's back firmly, Hyunjin jogged to pick the ball up.

Jisung stood up, gasping as he cleared his throat loudly. He was grinning ear to ear, a sly smirk twinging at the corners of his mouth.

"Ohhh, I see. No, no, I get it. A girl," he drew the last word out, smirking at his friend.

Normally, Hyunjin would have shoved him playfully, teasing and laughing. But his face didn't betray even the slightest hint of a smile. He just couldn't feel cheerful if he tried, too buried in his thoughts to do anything but the smallest and most necessary of movements.

Jisung tilted his head at him, looking genuinely worried. Hyunjin was staring at the floor, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought. Or distress. Or in mad, uncontrollable love.

Or all three, Jisung thought.

"Hyunjin, do you think Coach will split us into training teams for the championship rounds? Because he did that last time, and I got stuck with your idiot friend here."

Jisung whined, tossing a half-empty can of deodorant at Felix, who caught it effortlessly.

"I'm not that bad," Jisung huffed. Felix just rolled his eyes, turning back to his changing locker with a subtle mutter of 'yes you are'.

The locker room was unusually quiet; most likely due to the early hour. No sane teenage boy wanted to be at school this early, and not for basketball practice at the very least either. Not that Hyunjin noticed, still lost in his thoughts.

Felix tugged his shirt off tiredly, digging through his bag for his jersey and shorts. He moved next to Jisung, picking up his clothes where he'd left them lying on the bench. Slipping his jersey on with a disgruntled huff, he leant in to whisper discreetly to his friend.

"Is Hyunjin okay? He's been standing like that for, like, fifteen minutes."

True to Felix's word, Hyunjin had been standing at his changing locker for a while. His usual white shirt was half tugged off, his jersey hanging limply from his hands. He was staring down dimly into his bag, where unbeknownst to his friends, he'd hidden Y/n's pen.

"I don't know," Jisung whispered back. "He's been like that all morning."

Felix's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Do you know what happened?"

Jisung sighed, slipping his own jersey on. "Some girl. I don't know. But he's been super down for some reason."

Felix's voice was low and conspiratorial. "Do you think he got dumped by some chick?"

Jisung shook his head. "Nah, I would have known. He won't talk much, though, so I just left him to it, I guess."

"Maybe he just needs time."

Jisung nodded somberly. He watched as the other boys filtered out of the locker room in yawning, hair-ruffled groups to the indoor courts.

Felix glanced at Hyunjin sympathetically before shrugging and moving away.

"Come on, boys, pick up those feet! Felix, Changbin is open, pass, pass! Like that!"

The squeaking of shoes against the polished courts and the thud of the basketball bouncing were the only sounds in the spacious, sunny gym.

Jisung wiped his sweaty forehead, tossing the ball back to Changbin as they weaved their way down the courts. They'd been playing a lot of practice games lately in preparation for the upcoming schools' championship. Glancing back at Hyunjin, who was still dragging his feet and definitely not on his usual game, Jisung sighed before running to catch up and defend his team member, who was attempting to shoot.

Hyunjin looked up just as the ball flew towards him; he caught it reflexively and began dribbling down the court. Felix, who was on the other team, made to snatch it; Hyunjin stepped back just as Felix stepped forward.

Making to dribble around his friend, Hyunjin dodged to the left, his foot catching, and fell to the floor with a sickening thud, the air whooshing unpleasantly out of his lungs.

Felix knelt down immediately, asking if he was okay, and Jisung jogged over just as Hyunjin rolled over, heaving. Felix gasped. Struggling to his hands and knees, he let his friends pull him upright. Coach blew his whistle, brows furrowing in concern, eyes zeroing in on his star player's face.

"Hyunjin! Take five. And go wash your face."

Groaning, he dragged himself off the courts and to the side, sitting down heavily on the bench. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he fought the urge to shout in frustration.

Jisung and Felix glanced at each other worriedly before resuming the game.

Hyunjin couldn't stand it anymore. Getting up with a huff, he muttered something about getting a drink and headed out of the gym, pushing the double doors shut behind himself. He wandered down the corridor, trying to ignore the slight throb in his chest. He'd fallen a lot harder than expected.

A sudden thud to his left made him look across into the opposite connecting corridor. He slipped back just in time, peeking into the hallway.

Y/n was on her hands and knees, trying to gather a stack of books, which had been scattered across the floor. Hyunjin wondered if she'd fallen over, or tripped maybe.

A group of girls from their grade were walking past, giggling and chatting about the latest whatever. Hyunjin's hands tightened on the wall just as they pointedly looked away from Y/n as they passed by, who had looked up for help.

Hyunjin stepped back into the corridor just as the girls disappeared down the hallway. Checking that they were gone, he began walking as casually as possible down the hallway, kneeling in front of Y/n. He picked up one of her books, a sleek, dark sketchpad.

"Hi," he said cautiously.

Y/n glanced at him warily before taking the sketchpad from Hyunjin's hand. She gathered the rest of her belongings and stood up, her eyes flitting to him, still kneeling.

"You're bleeding," she said hesitantly, quietly. Then she turned and walked away.

Hyunjin pressed a hand to his cheek, his fingertips coming away lightly stained in red.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, a pencil flicking between her fingertips. Scribbling down a few notes in her notebook, she set the pencil down and picked up her novel, flipping to the latest page. She smoothed out the folded corner before settling down to read.

The library was pretty much empty at lunchtimes; hardly anyone came in besides the few senior students looking for study references. Y/n thought it rather a shame; it was a lovely place, all tall, dark shelves and little hidden corners to read in. Sunlight filtered in through the arched glass windows and drew patterns across the long, polished tables.

At the same time, she was grateful; it was both a blessing and a curse that she had the opportunity to be alone. She liked being in the library, spending her spare time delving into books and sketching little drawings in her pad.

No distractions, no drama, no friends, no company.

Y/n had learned to accept the fact that she was a loner, a social outcast. Sure, she had a sort of friend group, with Sangmi, Ha-eun, Yeji, and Aeri, but they never really included her. They did try, Y/n supposed, but she never felt the spark of a social connection, never felt like she was truly part of the group.

And besides, Y/n reasoned, they always talked about things Y/n either didn't understand or wasn't a part of. The latest song release, their love lives, Sangmi's amazing achievements, the newest drama in their grade. They had all been friends since primary school, while Y/n had sort of become a pseudo-member only a couple years ago. She was a weird growth stemming off to the side, not a stranger but not exactly welcomed either.

At least, she felt like she was unwelcomed. Maybe it was just her head getting to her, but Y/n just couldn't shake the feeling of alienation. And it ate at her more and more every day. It was just easier to keep her head down and pretend like she didn't care. It was just so much easier to be alone, even if it hurt.

A sudden shuffling of footsteps halted her spiraling thoughts. Y/n hastily buried her face in her book.

Hyunjin sat down cautiously opposite her, sliding into the seat. He opened his notebook and began scribbling something.

Y/n blinked in surprise, the feeling quickly overtaken by half a scowl. Why was he always everywhere? The pen-borrowing in class, the falling over this morning, and now here. Speaking of, he still hadn't given her pen back. What did he want?

He's probably sitting with me out of curiosity or pity, Y/n thought. Or he thinks I'm trying to get his attention. Stupid, sporty boy.

Y/n huffed and slid further down in her chair, glaring over the rim of her book. Hyunjin hadn't looked up; he was quietly working on something, brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He wasn't disturbing her, or being pushy, just- sitting there.

But why here, of all places?

Y/n noticed the little cut across his cheekbone. He must have washed it out after she'd told him. She wondered what had happened; maybe he got hurt at basketball. After all, she knew he played, and he had been in his jersey when he'd moved to help her pick up her books.

He was dressed in his usual white shirt, the sleeves half rolled up his forearms. His dark tie was slightly loose under the grey sweater vest, which was a tad too big. Y/n grudgingly thought that the oversized style suited him much better anyway. He was missing his usual dark blazer.

Hesitantly, she set down her book, eyeing Hyunjin across the table. He didn't look up, still writing. Reaching into the front pocket of her bag, she pulled out a bandaid, a little cutesy chicken face detailed in yellow across it. She slid the paper-packaged item across the table to him.

"You shouldn't leave injuries uncovered, stupid," she said to him disapprovingly. "It'll get infected."

Hyunjin smiled at her warmly despite the quip, carefully undoing the adhesive strips and sticking the bandaid over the cut.

"Thanks. At least it's covered now."

Y/n nodded awkwardly, still half-glaring at him. She picked up her book, trying to focus.

"Do you always carry around bandaids?"

Y/n looked up at Hyunjin. "What?"

"You know," he gestured to her bag. "D'you keep a stash of them?"

She nodded.

"How come?" he said quietly, curiously. His face brightened suddenly. "Do you play sports too?"

Y/n scoffed. "No."

"Oh. Then why?"

"I- I just fall over a lot."

Hyunjin nodded, settling back into his chair with an effortless smile, effectively ending the small conversation.

She's lying through her teeth, he observed. Y/n never stutters.

"How's your little friend, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin glanced over his shoulder at Jisung behind him, who was leaning on the desk with one hand, head propped up. The worksheet they were supposed to be filling out in groups was blank under his forearms.

Hyunjin scoffed just as Jisung smirked. He leaned in so no one could overhear, the chatter in the classroom masking his low voice.

"Don't be like that," he said quietly. "It's not-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jisung's voice tilted to a whiny, high-pitched lilt. "It's not like that. Heard it before, dude. C'mon. You like her, right?"

Hyunjin scoffed. "No."

"You sure?"

"She just seems really alone, so I thought I'd sit with her."

Jisung's smirk dropped in realisation. "Oh."

They both glanced behind themselves to where Y/n sat in the corner by herself, diligently filling out the worksheet. It had been ten minutes and she was already almost done. As per usual.

Jisung winced. "Hyunjin, as your best friend, I say this from the bottom of my heart; you can do a lot better."

Hyunjin slapped his friend sharply upside the head. "I told you, it's not like that. It's not a crime to talk to someone who seems really lonely."

Jisung rubbed the back of his head, huffing. "Alright, sorry, sorry. It's just that she seems really intense."

Hyunjin tugged at his tie thoughtfully. "She's pretty upfront and honest, I guess, but not mean like most people think. You know how I fell over at practice this morning?"

Jisung nodded, straight faced. "It was a very graceful, elegant fall."

"Shut up. Anyway, I went to the library to finish my essay at lunchtime and I went to sit with her. She gave me this bandaid."

Jisung tilted his head, smiling slightly. "I was wondering who gave you that. Felix will be jealous. He loves chickens."

Hyunjin saddled a leg over his chair, crossing his arms and leaning on the back of it to face Jisung. A long, dark bang fell into his face and he pushed it back impatiently.

"She's really not that bad. And besides, maybe all she needs is a friend. It can't be easy being so alone all the time."

Jisung hummed, balancing his pen on a finger. "Maybe she wants to be alone."

Hyunjin went silent. Maybe she did. But he figured there was no harm in at least becoming an acquaintance.

"Yeah, maybe," he said quietly. "But she kept looking at me curiously when I sat with her in the library earlier. She seemed really surprised that I chose to sit with her. And like I said, she wasn't being mean, just- a little awkward. Like she wasn't sure what to do."

Jisung absentmindedly ripped off a corner of his worksheet. "I feel really bad for her, to be honest."

"Then help me become friends with her."

Jisung spluttered, tossing the ripped corner off the side of the desk. Hyunjin rolled his eyes, picking the scrap up and shoving it into his friend's hand.

"Don't litter. Anyway, maybe she could do with some company."

"You have no clue about what kind of person she is, Hyunjin. Maybe she's just going through something."

"Sung, come on. How would you feel if everyone at school ignored you and you were a complete loner?"

"Well, first of all, I am a totally sick person, so that would never even happen in the first place-"

"Jisung."

"Oh, okay, fine," he threw his hands up. "Just keep talking to her and being nice and whatnot. See if she opens up or starts talking. Step up. I'm just worried about you getting caught up in something you don't understand."

Hyunjin shook his head vehemently. "I won't get caught up in anything. I promise."

Jisung huffed, twirling his pen. "Yeah, okay, we'll see. Now, let me copy your worksheet answers. I've already had five detentions this week."

taglist (open) : @kozumesphone

✨ send a request or DM to be added / removed !

batter up - kim seungmin

pairing: baseball captain! kim seungmin x baseball player! reader

summary: you're struggling with baseball practice until a certain captain steps in to help (or make fun of you. whichever way you wanna see it.)

genre: fluff, college baseball team! au, dry humour seungmin, baseball duh

a/n: seungmin please i need more baseball content... divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The baseball hits the chain-link fence with a reverberating clang.

You groan and throw your glove down, stomping one foot in frustration. It's childish and dumb, but it helps to dissipate some of the growing irritation building in your gut.

This is stupid.

Surely someone with your skill set should be able to throw a baseball in the right direction. And normally, you would be able to. But for some reason, the throws from the last few weeks have been violently misguided and your usually-accurate hand has somehow forgotten to catch a baseball, let alone throw it correctly.

You sigh and take another from the ball cart; lifting your left knee, you turn before pegging the ball with a grunt at the batter's base. It flies off-target and instead pummels into the ground, to the left of the base. A cloud of dust rises in its wake.

You sigh and take another ball, picking up a stand and setting it up at the batter's base. Adjusting the height, you place the ball on the small cup at the top and position yourself, raising the bat over your shoulder.

Swinging with full force, you bring the bat across yourself and whoosh past the ball, missing it completely. It shifts a little on the stand and you sigh before trying again.

Whoosh. Another miss.

Whoosh. And another.

"Shit," you curse, adjusting your hold on the bat. The grip-wrapped metal is slippery and beginning to warm under your fingers, the rough tape sanding against your palms.

You bring the bat down in a knowingly hopeless, half-baked attempt of effort, hoping to at least knock the ball a few metres away. But when you bring your hands down, the bat is no longer within them.

Blinking at your hands in confusion, you turn and see it suspended above your head, the metal tip several inches from your forehead. Behind it is a snickering grin.

Kim Seungmin.

He'd caught the bat from your grip before you swung. A sudden thought flashes through your mind; had he been watching? All that time, seeing all those miserable fails...

You scowl and snatch the bat off him, almost hyperextending your wrist in the process, because he doesn't let go. You tug on it and he does, and you stumble back a little before glaring at him.

"Shouldn't stand near the batter," you huff at him. "S' dangerous."

"I know," Seungmin replies, not missing a beat. "Should've put that much effort into your swing at last week's game."

You mimic his voice in a whiny, teasing lilt and toss the bat down with a thud into the dusty dirt, your back to him.

"Whatever, Seungmin," you scowl. "I was trying, you know."

"Didn't seem like it. And it's Captain to you."

You throw your hands up, turning to face him. "Play at baseball Captain all you want, but you're not any good at it. Good captains try to help their teammates instead of cutting them down."

Your sharp tone does nothing to intimidate Seungmin, because he crouches to pick up the bat, nudging you aside with it. Huffing, you let him.

Seungmin lines himself up at the base, swinging effortlessly with the bat and sending the still-stationary baseball into the sky. It disappears momentarily and then lands somewhere beyond the fence with a distant, faint thud.

"There," he says dryly, turning to you. "Like that."

You snatch the bat from him, packing as much sarcasm into your words as humanly possible. "And how exactly do I swing like that, oh great Captain Seungmin?" You point the bat at him.

He looks at you for a moment.

Then he grabs the end of the metal bat and tugs, hard. Quite sharply. Since you're still gripping it, you stumble forward, almost into his chest. Your nose brushes his collar as he pushes your shoulder forward, guiding the bat above your head.

Your back is to his chest now, and Seungmin leans down to align his eyesight with yours, levelling his view.

"See that?" He says quietly. He raises a hand, the one not occupied with maintaining your grip on the bat, and points to somewhere in the sky. "Aim there."

You scoff. "I can't hit that high."

Seungmin exhales, a puff of breath stirring the hair by your ear. "You're not trying to hit high. You're trying to hit far. And when you swing, level your grip as the bat comes down. More stable that way."

He says this as his hand places itself over yours, squeezing lightly to firm your grip on the bat. He shifts your hand a little lower and then points again to the sky.

"Right there, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper. He's standing so close.

You level your grip just a tiny bit under Seungmin's hand, suddenly afraid he might take it away from its current position on top of yours, but he doesn't. His hand remains there, oddly comforting. You adjust your fingers a little more, and the bat begins to feel a lot more steady under your shared palms.

"Good," he murmurs. "Just like that."

Seungmin steps back suddenly, backing up a few paces and positioning himself where he can't possibly be hit by the bat if you let go. You glance at him and then at the ball, blinking. He must have put another on the stand while you were busy huffing at his earlier blatancy.

You exhale and then swing, adjusting your hands as the bat comes down. To your tremendous surprise, the ball knocks off the stand with a cling and goes flying into the sky, disappearing. It comes down to the earth somewhere just beyond the fence.

You drop the bat and gape at Seungmin in disbelief.

He looks very self-satisfied; his usual I-told-you-so look is painting the expanse of his face, but there's something warm about it. Like he's proud. Knowing him, he's probably just glad you won't disadvantage the team in future games with your haphazard batting, but you appreciate it all the same.

He stares back for a few seconds, his blue team jersey fluttering in the wind. Yours does the same, but it's disheveled and tucked at the waist where you've been swinging and pitching.

Neither of you move. Then seemingly regaining his bearings, Seungmin flits his gaze away and waves a dismissive hand, his snarky demeanour returning.

"Finally," he drawls sarcastically, though it's a tiny bit less confident than before. "You learned how to swing a bat properly. Congratulations."

You offer a kind middle finger in response, and a sudden, unexpected grin bubbles out of you, a slight laugh escaping your mouth. Seungmin graces you with the tiniest presence of a smile. He checks his watch before waving you off.

"Practice tomorrow, don't forget." He calls bluntly over his shoulder, walking past you and off the pitch. Most likely heading to his dorm room.

You nod and pick up the bat, intending to get a couple more hits in before you pack up for the night. A blush tints your cheeks, your hands buzzing from the brief contact. You feel all floaty and optimistic.

Back in the safety of his own dorm room, Seungmin stands facing himself in the mirror, feeling the exact same way.

a/n: *as we are playing in the distance*

Your Skz 9th member was so good, you really know how to write the members so well, their relationships with each other are perfect 😍 you should definitely write more 9th member

thank you so much anon ! yeah i definitely will once i get time and think up some new plotlines.

keep an eye out for updates !

HIII MY LOVE

i was just wondering if you could do something with a foreigner!reader, who doesn’t speak korean, with han?? where they have a hard time communicating but they still wanna be together??

(btw if you have anons can i be 🪻??)

hi, love~ this was so cute, really interesting to write . this took a while but it was so worth it hehe . yes you can, my first emoji anon yayy . here you go~~

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

pairing: idol!han jisung x female!reader

summary: the language barrier between you and jisung stops your true feelings from being communicated.

genre: angsty but happy ending, idol!au, reader is a stylist, mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, bandages, antiseptics, broken glass, jisung doesn't like being injured, chan's iconic smirk comeback, hints to chanlix and minsung, mentions of wrestling, kissing, nothing too intense i promise

a/n: this is one of my fav fics that i've written tbh . everything in bold + italic is spoken in korean. just a note !

skz masterlist

"How long have you been watching him?" Felix whispers into your ear.

"Huh?"

He smirks, nodding his head towards Jisung, who's currently messing about on set with Minho. "You've been watching him."

You scoff and push him away. "No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

Groaning, you brush past Felix and wander past the cameras to the other side of the MV set. It's almost midday; the sun beats down relentlessly on the pavements outside, bathing everything in a bright glow, but inside the warehouse, the lights are dimmed in shades of red, green and white, casting an eerie palette over the broken glass and haphazard items scattered about the dusty floor.

Your eyes wander to one of the camera tripods; 'ESCAPE FILMING' is written on a piece of masking tape and stuck to the side. Your gaze flits to Chan and Hyunjin; both of them are raggedy, slender figures in heavy coats and coarse clothing. They're busy talking to their manager; you duck off to the side and run straight into Felix again.

You groan. "Go away."

"Come on," he murmurs. "Go talk to him."

It's been almost a month since you took the job as a stylist with JYPE; it had been interesting, to say the least. The members took to you immediately, teasing and friendly within a couple of days. You were in awe; they were such professionals you'd been assigned to work around, but one of them had caught your eye.

Jisung.

You feel your cheeks warm as you watch him; Felix is motionless beside you, no doubt smirking, but your heart sinks as you hear the distant lilt of excitable Korean floating over the set to your ears.

"Y/n, go," Felix insists. "Talk to him."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" You whip around to face him. "I don't speak Korean, and he doesn't know enough English to be fluent in a conversation with me."

"He sings in English," Felix points out, adjusting the cuff of his hoodie. His black cap- Chan's cap- sits low on his head.

"That's because he has you and Chan to help him." You groan.

This would be so much easier if the rest of the members weren't here. You wonder what they're here for, anyway; they said they came to support Chan and Hyunjin while they filmed their music video, but you have a sneaking suspicion it was just to get out of an extra dance practice Chan scheduled for the remaining members while he was away. No doubt the maknaes' idea.

You'd fought to stay focused on doing Hyunjin's makeup that same morning; he hadn't missed the way your hand shook around your eyeshadow brush when Jisung had breezed in with a cheerful shout. If Hyunjin had noticed, he hadn't said anything, and the resulting makeup look had thankfully turned out just fine.

"Y/n."

You whip around so fast your neck hurts, and you almost trip over your own feet as you come face-to-face with Jisung. He's dressed casually, as most of the members are; his grey zip hoodie is slightly dusty, loose black jeans showing a peek of startingly white shoes beneath their hems.

His face is bare, void of makeup, and you can see the healthy pink flush on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His lashes blink away strands of un-styled, dark hair falling into his face; he sweeps it back effortlessly with two fingers, and his wide eyes fix themselves onto your own, a cheerful grin painting his lips.

You look around wildly for Felix to save you; he's conveniently disappeared into thin air, and you curse inwardly as you're forced to face Jisung once more. There's nowhere to run.

"Hi." Your voice sounds thin and awkward.

"Hi." He replies, an equally awkward but adorable smile curving his mouth further. Even the simple syllable sounds odd and unfamiliar to him, it seems. Tinged with his accent, the sound coming out of his mouth looks like he tasted something unusual; new and curious, but strange.

Foreign.

You stutter, unable to comprise a singular sentence. Even if you were able to at the moment, it's unlikely Jisung will understand. The past few interactions with him have shown you that.

You try anyway. "Did you need something?"

He blinks. Takes apart each word in his mind, turns his cognitive gears, and a dawning sense of confusion appears on his face despite the effort to understand. "Chan-hyung ruined his makeup again. He's busy with his outfit, but he sent me to ask you if you could quickly touch it up for him? If you're not busy..."

You're running, sprinting even, to keep up with Jisung's rapid pace of speaking. Korean tumbles out of his mouth in a smooth waterfall, each word naturally clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle.

For you, though, it's like looking at the completed picture upside down. It just doesn't make sense, and you can't tell what's he's asking by his tone like you have before.

"Chan?" You say, questioning. It was the only word you caught.

He nods once, then faster. "His makeup." He points to his leader, a distance away, who is redoing his belt and pulling on his coarse jacket for the next scene.

Jisung points to Chan again, then to his own face. He points to the crossbody bag across your waist, full of your stylist tools, and mimes swiping a brush across his cheeks.

"Oh," you say. "His makeup?"

Jisung nods frantically. You fight a smile; makeup and snacks are the only English words he seems to understand at the moment. Couldn't say you wouldn't have been the same way.

You nod once to him and awkwardly brush past him to go to Chan.

Jisung watches you go.

Chan turns round as you approach, bowing sheepishly as you pull several brushes and a chrome palette from your bag.

"Sorry for ruining it," he says as he closes his eyes. You chuckle and redo the look with a few simple strokes, and step back to make sure it's neat. You swipe a pinky across his cheekbone to remove any excess. "I saw you and Jisung talking."

You sigh. "Wasn't really talking. More..."

"Confusion?" Chan offers with a smile.

You poke him in the side and he shies away, grinning. "How long were you watching us?"

He shrugs casually, looking away. "The whole time."

You groan, cheeks flushing as he laughs. "I wish I could speak Korean fluently... Learning it takes so long, and there aren't any translating apps I can use on a day-to-day basis."

Chan does look at you then, expression empathetic. "I know it's inconvenient, Y/n, but you're making progress. Just keep at it, and while you and Jisung are both learning each other's languages, it'll become easier to communicate over time."

You look towards Jisung, who's currently reenacting the wrestling scene with Seungmin. Rapid, unfamiliar words tumble from the members' mouths at the speed of light as they laugh and clap, and you smile as Jisung emerges from underneath Seungmin with his dark hair covered in feathers.

You sigh. "I hope so."

Chan sighs, touching your shoulder in reassurance. Looking past you, he gazes fondly over the seven members, unaware of you both watching them, and chuckles. "I thought Hyunjin and I were gonna get this music video filming done fast, but... apparently not."

You smile. "I don't think they were too fond of having to do extra practice while you were away."

Chan rolls his eyes and you laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. There's a yelp from behind you, and Chan whips around, faster than lightning. The members have gone silent.

You're both just in time to see Jisung fall off the mattress. His hand scrapes awkwardly along the floor, where tiny fragments of glass from the stunt filming earlier scatter throughout the dust. A deep red line opens up along his forearm, and Chan swears before dashing to his side.

You come up behind Felix, calling to one of the crew members to find a tissue and water as Chan sits Jisung down properly on the mattress, brushing aside feathers.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks in worry, cradling his member's hand.

Jisung winces as a wet rivulet of blood drops onto the floor. The rest of the boys burst into concerned murmurs, jostling to see. You push past Minho with a pack of tissues, handing them to Chan. Cracking open the top of a water bottle, you dampen the centre of a folded piece of tissue and dab it gently along Jisung's forearm. He groans and attempts to pull away, but his leader holds his arm firmly, murmuring reassurance.

"There's a spare room down one of the warehouse corridors," you say to Chan. "I went there earlier to set my things up. There's a first aid kit in there."

"Is there no one on set with one already?" He says, strained. You bite your lip and look to the crew, who all look away, seemingly distracted.

Chan actually growls then, making you recoil, and mutters something that might have either been a string of expletives or a complaint about crew disorganisation.

You suppose his reaction is justified either way.

Folding the water-damp, bloodied tissue, you tuck it into your pocket and stand up. "I can take him to the room there and clean the cut," you offer. "Might be easier without all the glass around."

Chan nods, holding a hand to Jisung to stand up. "I can come with both of you-"

"No," you say firmly. "Focus on filming with Hyunjin. It's getting late and I know both of you want to be done with it. I'll take care of him."

Chan bites his lip in anxiety, clearly struggling to make the decision between staying on set and going with Jisung, but Hyunjin puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get the rest of the shots done, Chan-hyung," he says. "Y/n is more than capable of taking care of the injury."

You blink, not understanding, but it seems to be enough to reassure Chan, who nods and turns away. Hyunjin follows him, and the rest of the members meekly disperse behind the cameras, far quieter than before.

You wind between crew members and filming equipment before heading down the main back corridor of the warehouse, where a spare room splits off into four smaller rooms down the way. Heading into the second door on the right, you hold the door open for Jisung before pulling out the first aid kit from a duffel bag.

You point to a chair as he closes the door. The metal of the knob is scarlet as he lets go. "Sit."

He sits and you place the kit on the cabinet, unzipping a pouch and pulling out a bandage, an antiseptic wipe, and another pack of tissues. Trying to ignore your hands shaking as you do so, you feel your cheeks warm as Jisung shuffles on the chair, a muffled disturbance in the sudden stillness of the room.

You're alone with him.

Biting your lip in an all-too-aware consciousness of the situation, you pull a chair to sit next to him, setting down the items on the plastic table. He rests his arm on the surface as you rip open the antiseptic packet, and then pause.

Gingerly, you place a light hand on his wrist and pull his forearm closer to you, beginning to gently swipe the wet wipe across the cut. A faint smell of chemical rises in the air, and Jisung discreetly exhales, making you crack a tiny smile.

His forearm is tense; you can see the stress of the situation, visible in his body language. The wipe clearly stings him, becoming redder by the minute. He lets out a tiny start, obviously fighting to keep quiet.

You can see him beginning to squirm, his bottom lip caught flush between his teeth as he chews on it in distress.

"Jisung," you say softly, pausing the cleaning to give him a break. "It's okay. You're doing well."

He doesn't respond, focused on the wound. Then, taking a deep breath, his wide eyes meet yours and he gives a tiny nod, signalling for you to continue.

You've cleaned about half of the injury's surrounding area; feeling unbelievably bold, you stroke a gentle thumb across the inside of his wrist as you swipe scarlet off his bare skin, attempting to calm him. He relaxes suddenly, and the exhale of a deeply-held breath fans lightly across your face, stirring your hair. It does nothing to cool the tension building between the both of you.

You fumble to stuff the used, damp wipe back into the packet. Jisung's eyes follow you intently; he seems to have recovered from the initial shock of injury.

He watches curiously as you tilt your head to the side, inspecting the cut, before unravelling a length of a clean rolled bandage. You lay it flat on the clean table before unwrapping four sheets of fluffy gauze, laying it on top. You undo the top off of a small tube of ointment.

"What's that?" He says.

There's a clear question in his tone; taking a wild guess, you hold up the tube. He nods.

"This? Ointment. It's to keep the wound moist," you reply. You're not sure why you bothered; he doesn't understand it anyway, and he just nods politely before continuing to gaze at the tube, most likely attempting to piece its use together in his head.

You let out a tiny sigh, almost fuming at the inconvenience of it all. You want to talk to him, understand him. But you keep quiet, clamp it down, and continue to smear the cream gently across the wound edges with a finger.

He's no longer watching the application of the cream, though; his gaze is fixed intently on your face, as if he's trying to see through you to the other side of the room. You know he's watching; you can feel his eyes burning into you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to keep composure.

"Y/n," he says softly.

You gulp and look up, pausing your ministrations. He tilts his head to the side, a strange look taking over his features. It's no secret to either of you that you can't understand the other; it seemed to you that Jisung was just never as bothered by the language barrier as you were.

Apparently not.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he says simply. Taking a deep breath, he hopes inwardly that you haven't learnt too much Korean yet, and continues to talk. "I wish I could speak more English, enough for us to communicate. I'm sorry I never told you that before. I know it makes you sad."

Silence.

"I don't know what you're saying," you murmur softly, a look of longing and resignation taking over your expression.

"I don't understand you."

You lean one hand under your head. "I wish we could communicate."

"I wish we could talk properly... This is so frustrating."

Sighing and giving up completely, you tap his wrist, and he brings it closer to you so you can wrap the injury. Delicately placing the gauze sheets along the cut, you begin to firmly wrap the bandage around his forearm, taking care not to cut off his circulation in the process. Securing the bandage with a clip, you stand and begin to dispose of the packets and tissues.

Jisung stands too, unsure, like he's waiting for direction. He opens his mouth to say something, but your thoughts are beginning to run away with you, and you speak them aloud before he has a chance to say anything.

"I wonder what things would have been like if we both spoke the same language." You throw the packets in the bin.

Jisung seems to be lost in his own thoughts too. "Maybe I could ask one of my hyungs to teach me English... or Hyunjin! He knows English too! He might be able to help..."

Yet again, the names of one of his members is the only word you can recognise amongst his rapid-fire speech.

"Hyunjin?" You say. "What about him? Did- should I go get him?" You groan in exasperation and throw your hands out, knocking the ointment off the cabinet from where you've just set it down. "What are you asking for?"

"Sorry, I don't know what you're upset about, but maybe I can ask Chan-hyung and Hyunjin for advice on what to do... Unless you've already talked to them..."

"I bet you'd sound so different talking in English," you're beginning to fume, and you feel bad, because none of this is Jisung's fault. He's Korean, he speaks it, so why are you getting so upset about not being able to communicate through the same language?

Both of you are practically talking to yourselves now; Jisung is clearly lost on another planet, seemingly recovered from the injury. You're beginning to feel yourself sink, no longer nervous around him. Now, you just feel a desperate longing.

To talk. Actually talk.

"Changbin-hyung told me that you don't speak much Korean, but maybe I could teach you? Ah, that wouldn't work, because I'd have to teach you in English first..."

You bite your lip. A dangerous thought crosses your conscience; you could just tell him. About how you feel. He might not even know what you're talking about. He probably won't.

Hopefully.

You decide to risk it. Even if he does understand, you can easily play it off as a translating mistake on his part. No worries.

"Jisung," you say cautiously.

He snaps out of his endless train of thought, and locks his gaze with yours. Like a soldier called to attention.

"Y/n," he says cheekily, though you can see his confident demeanour faltering.

"I really want to be able to talk with you," you continue. "Properly. But maybe it's a good thing we can't understand each other. I can say I love you without you understanding... Gosh, Hyunjin would have a field day making fun of us idiots. Not being able to communicate..."

Jisung blinks. Once. Twice. You see the flutter of his lashes, the cogs turning in his head, and then, very hesitantly, he steps closer. Like you're a wild animal he's trying not to spook.

You take a step back. He takes another forward.

So you step back again. Your back hits the cabinet.

Shit.

Jisung cocks his head; he looks exactly like his quokka counterpart. You blink as he frowns suddenly, then presses his hands together, slipping his fingers in a pattern over the newly wrapped bandage on his forearm.

Around and around and around. And then-

"You love Hyunjin?" Even without understanding, his tone is incredulous. Disbelieving.

"What about Hyunjin?" You say in confusion. "Clearly I've done something wrong, as your tone is telling me, but what does he have to do with it?"

Jisung groans, frustrated. "All this time. I was so happy you came to help me... I thought there might have been something between you and me, but you were just being helpful. Hyunjin, of all people."

You huff. "You keep saying 'Hyunjin' and yet, I still have no idea what you're saying."

Jisung scoffs. "Okay, relax! You don't need to keep talking about how much you love him! I get it... Damn, I'm stupid."

"...Well, you stopped saying his name, but I still don't know what you're talking about, Jisung."

"I wish I could understand you, Y/n."

"I wish you loved me."

"I want to know you. I would never let anyone hurt you, ever... But clearly, I'm not fit for it... I can't even put together a sentence in your language. How am I supposed to love you when I can't even do that?"

Your voices are rising at this point, swelling to fit the room. They mix in the air and rain down in shards, sparkling shards of glass that seem to hurt more than Jisung's forearm injury did.

Every glittering remnant makes your eyes sting until you feel a salty wetness coating your cheeks. The frustration is spilling out of you, the unfairness and utter inconvenience of it all drowning you in tumultuous, crashing waves until you are swept under the dark, powerful current, falling and falling and clawing upwards to air, to breathe, to him, but it doesn't work.

"Why can't things just be easy for once?" You cry out at him. He jolts, taken aback. "I just want to love someone, and here you are, yet I can't even tell you that I love you. I love you, Jisung, and you'll never, ever understand, and it's all my fault because I don't know any Korean enough to talk to you."

He's frozen. Pale as a ghost. And then the colour rises so fast to his face that you step forward, afraid that he might collapse or pass out or experience some other type of wildly unexpected medical occurrence that would probably make your current situation even more upsetting than it already is. If that's even possible.

"Me?" He says. His voice is shaky, strained. "You love me? Not Hyunjin?"

"Fuck, Jisung, this has nothing to do with Hyunjin. Forget about him, I'm talking about you. You might as well know since we can't fucking communicate. Do you even know what I just said, or do I just sound like an angry chicken?"

A look of understanding begins to dawn incredibly slowly on his face. He points to himself, in disbelief but still rather unsure about what you're saying. "Me?"

"Yes, you, you absolute idiot. Shit."

Jisung looks at his hands, then points to himself. He cups his hands and shakily rearranges his fingers, making a comical depiction of a heart. "You?"

"That is the most shit heart I've ever seen you make," you huff. You point to yourself, dramatically enunciating as if he was a child unable to understand anything more than the colour of the sky.

"I." You jab a finger repetitively into your chest.

"Love.." You make a heart, bending your index fingers and pushing your hands towards him. Like he could just take your love the way something might take a glass of water offered to them.

"You," you stab a finger in the air again and again, pointing to him. There's no way he's confused now.

He's still standing there, eyebrows raised, confused and in disbelief. Your mind whirrs.

How can I possibly make this any clearer? I don't know what else I'm supposed to do now... Maybe I should just brush it off and give up. The others must be wondering where we are. Hey, I bet Chan and Hyunjin are finally done filming-

Jisung's mouth crashes desperately onto yours.

Your back throbs as it's pressed against the cabinet; his chest bumps yours and your hands fly to his shoulders, clutching him as if you're drowning. A gasp slips out of your mouth before it's swallowed up; Jisung tilts his head and it's all you can do not to let your knees buckle under him.

You can feel his hair tickling your forehead as he gulps in half a breath of air, so soft, so impossibly soft, like pinfeathers under your fingers just as you'd imagined it to be. You tug him back in, gripping the neckline of his hoodie, trying to make him realise, trying to communicate everything you've been saying without saying anything at all.

He doesn't seem to care about the injury on his arm anymore, and one hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. He's not just kissing you, he's pouring thousands upon thousands of words into you, words he can't ever hope to tell you and words you won't ever understand.

But you do understand.

He pulls back, gasping. Your foreheads bump clumsily against each other's and he holds you fast, panting.

"Jisung," you gasp.

"Y/n," he replies breathlessly. "I love you. I love you."

You finally have some clue as to what he's saying. "I love you too."

He nods frantically, his nose brushing your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, so hard it almost hurts. But you can't find it in yourself to care, returning the crushing affection with as much strength as you can muster, fuelled by relief and love and irrevocable joy and Jisung.

The hasty explanation of your feelings all this time evaporates off your tongue, burning into ash. You sweep it into a corner of your mind and dust the rest off Jisung's shoulders.

Chan clears his throat.

Both you and Jisung spring apart as if burned. Chan stands in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame. There's a delighted smirk painted across his face, the remainder of his dark, raw makeup smudged and faded. There's a feather in his hair, and he regards the two of you with a cool stare.

"So," he says slowly, clearly fighting the urge to tease. He speaks in English and Korean, so that both of you can understand.

Chan adjusts his coarse jacket. "Did you two finally manage to communicate? Did you finally manage to talk properly?"

Jisung grins.

a/n: div by @aquazero

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hiii baby!!! I love your work and this is like my first request I’ve sent to anyone at all 😭 but could you do 28 and 7 for Minho ^^ tysm!!

hihi cutie~ i've actually had both of these prompts before so i got better at writing them hehe. also amogus divider bc why tf not

keychain - bf!lee minho x reader

pairing: bf!lee know x reader

summary: you fight with minho and he comes back to make things right.

genre: non-idol! au, pretty angst, soonie doongie dori honourable mention, comfort, fluffy ending, soft minho

a/n: so i started listening to lana del rey and i wrote this to 'sad girl' also div by @si-eunnis

⛓️ prompts: 7. "I'm glad you're here." / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

You toss another dirty tissue across the countertop, sniffing as you watch it come to rest at the very edge, teetering. Leaning your cheek against the cold, marbled surface, you sigh and let the sharp feeling seep through your pores like iced water.

It does little to soothe the current puffy redness of your cheeks; how long have you been sitting here, crying? The golden hanging lights that frame the kitchen have made your hair warm to the touch, their beams caressing the messy state of it, and your back feels numb and achy from the awkward position you've been slumped in since Minho stormed out of the apartment. You sigh.

You don't even remember what you were fighting about.

Each exhale feels like it's been punched out of you as you relive the events of the past hour; him coming home, both of you tired and irritable, and then fighting over the pettiest thing that you don't even remember anymore.

Then he left.

You're not sure if he's coming back; he didn't take anything but his phone, which had been in his pocket as soon as he came in, and his work bag, which is still smashed against the wall where he'd dropped it with a sigh on coming home.

You can't fight a weak smile at the habit; you've installed multiple hooks along the wall so he can hang his bag up when he gets home, but every time you did, he'd always just drop it on the floor anyway, kicking off his shoes at the door.

And you'd smile and gesture at the hooks, but he'd just ignore them, kissing your fed-up expression off your face with a gentle mouth and squeezing your shoulder with a warm, solid hand.

The way he always does.

You look at those hooks now; one of the cats' collars is hanging off them, and several other items like hair ties and rings of keys adorn the others. You came into the kitchen one day and saw Minho hanging a cat toy from the hook nearest to the door so that, when he wasn't home, the cats would be able to play. Dori sits there now, batting with fluffy white paws at the feathers and bells on the string.

Ding, ding. Ding.

You're not sure why you're thinking of such things; surely anyone in your current situation would incessantly cry their eyes out, wailing at the mistake of fighting with their partner, instead of thinking about plastic wall hooks and under-stimulated cats.

You're so distracted that you don't even notice the apartment door open again, so slowly that it takes about half a minute for Minho to actually step inside.

He's soaked.

The smell of the night rain that he brings with him is suddenly so prominent inside the still air of the apartment that it's what makes you look up.

"Minho," you whisper, eyes red and puffy. You scrub a hand across your face, the skin stinging at the harsh treatment. You hadn't even heard the rain outside.

He doesn't look at you, just takes off his shoes, very deliberately. There's a little puddle of rainwater around his feet and you fight back an exhale as his socked feet meet the wet tiles. Dori immediately goes to nuzzle against his legs and then hisses at the unpleasant wetness of his owner's legs.

But Minho doesn't seem to notice, simply taking off layers until he's stood in his slacks and white work shirt, which is the only dry item of clothing he has on. He drops the rest of his clothes in a pile.

His eyes finally lift themselves to meet yours; the warmth in them is gone, replaced by something unreadable. A dull, heavy feeling settles in your gut, a sense of finality washing over your being. You know this is the moment that he'll say he wants to leave, that he just can't find it in himself to love you. He'll go to your shared room and start packing a suitcase, and take the cats with him, all while you wail and tug at his arms for him not to leave, please, Minho, don't leave-

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Your gaze flits to his. Your voice is croaky, cracked, saturated with sadness. "What?"

He steps forward, ignoring the insistent mewing of Soonie and Doongie, who have just come into the room. "I'm sorry. I should have just left to clear my head and then came back, but I've been gone half the night."

You blink and look through tired eyes to the clock on the wall. It takes you a couple seconds to process the time. It's 1 am. Minho came home at 9 pm. You don't even know how many hours that is.

"How long were you walking in the rain?" You say, still whispering lest you scare him off again.

He shrugs. His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but he's hesitant, like he's not sure how it will be received.

He speaks anyway. "I stalled for a while. I didn't know if you'd be here when I came back..." His fingers twist in the slightly damp material of his white shirt, fidgeting.

Your indignance suddenly takes over your upset state and you sit up straighter. "I would have waited all night for you, Minho. I wasn't going to leave..."

"I know," he says solemnly, and then quietly, "I'm glad you're here."

You nod and slowly slide off the chair you've been slumped in, disturbing a few of the tissues scattered across the countertop. "I'm sorry too, Min. I shouldn't have kept the argument going."

He shakes his head. "We were both tired. It happens."

You both stand in silence for a minute, neither one of you sure how to continue the conversation. It's almost awkward until Minho steps forward, taking out something from his pocket. He shyly holds it out.

You take a small step forward and take the small item from him. Unfolding your fingers from around it, you blink through unshed tears to see a small keychain resting in the palm of your hand. It's a little cat with its mouth open, its fur pattern like Soonie's, but grey instead of ginger. There's another attachment of a pink peach, and the clip keyring attachment is shaped like a heart.

You look up at Minho. His face is red. You remember suddenly that he's quite shy when it comes to giving things to people, and you can't fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms.

This little keychain is Minho's apology.

His skin is cold, damp from the rain, and the collar of his shirt is wet from the rain, but you hold him close anyway. You wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing your eyes shut. He's almost fetched up against the wall from how hard you threw yourself at him, but his arms find their familiar place around your shoulders.

You pull back slightly, gazing up at him. As if he wasn't soaked enough, your tears have left two patches on his chest, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You're looking at me like that again." Minho says quietly.

You hum, a tear spilling down your cheek. "Looking at you like what?"

You see his throat bob, swallow hard. You can feel the constant thrum of his heart through the damp fabric of his shirt.

Minho gulps. "You always look at me like than when- when-"

"When I say I love you?" You finish for him.

Minho nods inaudibly, the movement of his head so small you almost don't see it at all. You smile, tilting your head at him, the tears beginning to slow.

You both stand there for who knows how long, clinging to each other, trapping between your bodies the smell of rain and fade cologne. Finally, Minho talks.

"I love you too."

a/n: this was way too long