THE THEME OMG IT’S EATINGGGG

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

hello 🤗 saw that yours reqs are open and i was thinking about a anxious reader that can't sleep and is tired and changbin calming and lulling them to sleep

hello lovely anon ! ooo this is a good request. i didn't know if you wanted reader to be feeling anxious about something in particular, so i just did general worry and anxiety. enjoy <3

insomnia - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you're struggling to fall asleep due to anxiety, but changbin is there to help.

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, reader struggles to fall asleep, mentions of anxiety, slight mentions of a panic attack

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

The night is cold.

Everything is perfect; outside is quiet, immured in the sheath of a late-night sky, there's no traffic outside the apartment, and the lights inside are off. The bedroom is dark, and at the perfect temperature. The hum of the AC sends cooling waves of chilly air over the room, contrasting with the warm duvet.

But you can't sleep.

Tossing onto your side for the fifth time, you huff frustratedly and almost whack Changbin in the process as you shift. He's fast asleep next to you, his face lit only by the dimmed purple and green lights emitting from the gaming setup in the corner. The bedsheets are tangled round his bulky frame, muscly arms splayed over your waist. His jet-black hair fans out messily against the stark white of the pillow. His mouth is slightly open, and he's lost in the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted. He'd had a massive day at work, and had come home late at night and gone straight to sleep after quickly eating. He hadn't moved since collapsing onto the bed.

In the dim lights, you can just barely see him, and you pause to gaze at his face, highlighted in muted tones of violet and lime green. He looks so relaxed, so at peace.

You wish you could feel the same way.

Your brain is wide-awake, but you feel absolutely shattered. The anxiety and worry gnawing at the lining of your stomach isn't helping much either. A million thoughts race through your head, swirling and zooming and cluttering your mind. The storm rages and thunders until all you can hear is the deafening rush of your worries drowning you in a tidal wave of uneasiness and apprehension.

Turning to lie on your back, you gently pry Changbin's arm off your waist, laying it carefully by his side. You trace a little pattern on his arm before pulling away and clenching your hand in a fist by your side. The last thing you want to do right now is wake him up.

Blinking to try and clear your mind, you try to think of a logical solution to your worries. But it's like your rationality has ceased to exist, throwing you further into the raging storm. No matter what you do, it doesn't feel like it'd help at all. You think you've run through almost every possible but useless solution to your problem by the time the LED clock on the bedside table hits midnight. Nothing is working, nothing will help.

Exhaling harshly through your nose, you throw off the duvet and shiver as your bare feet hit the cold floor. You tuck the blanket into the crook of Changbin's arm so he doesn't feel your absence in his sleep. You hear him grunt softly in his sleep and tug the blanket closer.

Once you're sure he won't wake up, you creep to the window and sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall. The night is cool and serene, and you close your eyes, envisioning yourself becoming part of the night sky, a symbol of peace and tranquility. You shiver again, more intensely this time, as the cold begins to seep into your bones beneath your thin nightclothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take a shaky breath, trying to keep it together.

Why can't I just fall asleep? Why can't I stop worrying?

The more you question yourself, the more your anxiety increases. It peaks and takes a firm hold of your mind, gripping it and squeezing until all that is left is a mess of uncontrollable chaos and jumbled thoughts. You don't even realise when your breathing begins to speed up and you cover your mouth, desperately trying not to make noise. The storm thunders wildly in your head, pounding and raging, and you feel yourself falling into the deep abyss, perhaps forever. Never to be found again, like a sinking stone at the bottom, of a deep, dark, cold, lonely ocean.

It's too much it's too much it's too much-

You feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around your torso. You gasp like you've been lifted out of the ocean you were drowning in. Changbin's arms are a life ring, floating you back upwards, helping you break the surface with a heavy, gasping breath that makes you slump into his chest with a choked sob.

"Binnie," you cry weakly, clinging to him.

He shushes you gently, rocking back and forth with you in his arms. His big, warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, hushing you and carefully bringing you down from the panic.

He keeps gently rocking like that, and you close your eyes against his chest, relishing his warmth. Your tears stain salty tracks down your face and seep into the material of his shirt, but Changbin doesn't mind. He kisses your forehead lightly and whispers an "i love you" in your ear before picking you up gently and taking you to bed. The warmth of the bedsheets and the heat from Changbin's body as he tucks you into his chest slowly lull you to sleep.

The storm finally settles.

a/n: for anyone who has anxiety or similar conditions, feel better ! i tried to write this as accurately as possible, and i based the panic attack off a personal experience i had. everyone's different but i hope this helped. thank you anon <3

the fast lane : part 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.....

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

omg love your new theme, it's so cuteee😭💖

thank youuu 🫶 i felt like switching it up for a bit before i take a break

hiii do you have a taglist for lonely st.?

i do not currently but i can start one! would you like to be added ? chapter two comes out soon ><

HAN / AS I TOLD YOU (말하자면) ⋆ 221216

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

ttokki's taglist: @emilyywhyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs @stellasays45 @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

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

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

hahah we'll see lol . . .

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