Keychain - Bf!lee Minho X Reader

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.....

General fluff headcanons with skz

(If not all then just with Chan and Hyunjin!!) ♥️

hihi sweet anon i'm sorry this took so astronomically long ... it's here now tho oops . i got hit with writer's block and lost motivation sigh ... hyunjin version is dropping later tonight, and i might continue the headcanon series if people request for the other members :] we'll see tho <3

bang chan - skz fluff headcanons

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan headcanons

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, general fluff headcanons, chan is just a silly lil thing

a/n: i hate writer's block . divider from @aewinse

masterlist

...

first of all

lots of physical affection

like, lots

anywhere he can get you, anywhere he can find you, he's coiling his arms around your waist or around your shoulders, leaning over your shoulder to nosily look at whatever it is you're doing

sometimes, if he wants attention, and is in a whiny mood, he'll drape himself over you and let his weight sag onto your body from behind

which usually results in a panicked squeal from you, a chuckle from chan, and therefore the two of you sprawled in a heap on the floor

from there, you're not getting up

say goodbye to whatever it was you were doing because chan will happily lie on top of you for as long as he pleases

unless you urgently need to get up, like to turn off the stove or go to the bathroom, chan will keep you in his arms for a very long time

the fact that your legs go numb after a while because of his weight is also an advantage in chan's eyes

he can literally just lift you up and place you on the bed or the couch to cuddle with him like a little plush toy

albeit a very whiny one

when he's feeling a little more playful, and in need of your affection, he'll come up behind you and suddenly throw you over his shoulder

the world goes upside down and before you know it, you're cozied up with a giggly chan

he loves taking naps with you fr

we all know this man does not sleep like at all but somehow having you near him helps a lot

he always finds that your warmth makes him feel relaxed and cozy, and he doesn't have to worry about what comes next because it's just you and him, right now

even if he doesn't manage to get to sleep, he's content with just peacefully watching you sleep, and likes to stroke your hair or talk to you softly

even though you can't hear him

chan also loves to cook for you !!

he's always bugging minho to teach him new recipes so he can cook really good food for you

eventually minho just sends him a list of recipe blogs and websites and you usually come home to something hot on the stove

chan's super busy, so on the days he can't be there to cook for you, he'll prepare food beforehand and freeze several containers so you don't have to cook

he gets to take care of you, and you get to eat well

win win

you always save half the portion of your food so that when chan comes home, he can eat quickly before slipping into bed next to your sleeping figure

he doesn't like it much when you do that, since he wants you to eat well without having to worry about him

you do it anyway, knowing that chan often doesn't have the energy or time to make food for himself after a tiring day at the company

also !!

he likes inviting you to his solo studio sessions, usually late at night or during his free time at the company

sits you on his lap without fear because he always locks the door beforehand

"can't have the kids walking in on us,"

or so he says

he just wants you all to himself

you trace the veins on his hands and forearms while he mixes beats and adds elements to his tracks

hums softly into your ear while you lay your head against his chest

and when you get tired, he'll lift you carefully and place you on the studio couch, draping his thick, cologne-scented leather jacket over you

also i just know he smells so good okay

like

i'm thinking like spicy, smoky sort of scent

but not like bushfire smoky or whatever

like a soft, subtle, masculine smell

more woodsy and leather-like

ughhh

he always pulls up these fragrance websites on his phone, maybe from fendi or another fashion house

he'll let you sit on his lap and choose whichever you think will suit him best

and he always buys the ones you choose, wearing your three favourites on alternate weeks so you have an excuse to be close to him

you just want to smell him

don't tell him that though kekeke

chan also loves buying you stuff though you always tell him not to

on your bad days especially, when you get home, there'll be a little care package on the bed in a pretty box tied with a ribbon

he always puts your favourite snacks, sweets, skincare products, and little gifts inside because he knows it makes you feel so much better

also always adds two facemasks so you can both do them when chan comes home

obviously you get first pick tho

chan also likes buying you little things from tour that remind you of him, or things that match the vibe of the songs they performed

when he came back from the maniac tour it was an oversized hoodie with green and purple accents, just like the theme of maniac

when he travelled to seoul for the five-star tour, he came back with a pair of black leather combat boots

and they had these little silver stars studded all over the sides, and thick silver zips

you wear both items as often as you can, trying to incorporate chan's little gifts into your everyday life

you feel bad sometimes because he keeps buying you stuff and you don't want to be a bother, but chan firmly insists on it

"baby, you're never a bother,"

please step on me ugh

aHem

moving on

in return, you always take chan's insta posts and some of his bubble pics too

he always lets you choose which ones he should post, though over time they get less and less thirty bc chan is yours and not stay's

as much as you and chan love the fans, there are some select photos you would much rather keep to yourself

it's more special that way in your opinion

chan likes to take pretty photos of you too

you get like really shy though, and chan can't have that

so he just sits you opposite him, takes your wrists in one hand, and snaps a shit ton of photos of you with the other

there's no way to get out of it

he keeps all his photos of you in a special folder on his phone, and his favourites pictures of you in a locked, password-protected folder

like your anniversary pictures, and other special memories he doesn't want other people to see

the kids nag him to show them the photos but chan never relents, wanting to keep those special memories private

your camera roll is much the same

you're also the number one supplier of bang chan blackmail material

the boys, especially minho and felix, always come to you for blackmail material and stupid photos of chan that he hates

you think they're cute but chan violently disagrees

anyways

chan honestly doesn't mind you having his less-than-favourite photos on your phone

as long as you're happy <3

a/n: reblogs and comments appreciated

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?

movie nights - leeknow

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have a friday night tradition

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, little bit of crack, mild suggestiveness

a/n: hopefully this gains me some momentum... also do i call him leeknow or minho? who knows. (ha get it?) divider by @chilumitos

"Minho!" you shriek. "Give it back!"

Said man does not give it back, instead standing even higher on his tippy toes and holding your favourite plushie out of reach. A cheeky grin is stretched across his face. He holds the calico cat plushie just out of your grasp, swaying it back and forth.

You leap up onto the couch, almost slipping on the throw blanket draped haphazardly over its back, and stretch out towards minho. He steps back just as your fingertips brush the soft material and does a little dance, laughing at your reaction. The movie that was playing in the background has been long forgotten.

"Min," you whine. "Just give it back..."

Friday night movies had always been a tradition between you two. You both came up with the idea when you moved into your first place, celebrating the move-in with a movie and your favourite snacks. Every Friday after that, Minho would knock on your door, and you'd answer to a grinning cat, his arms laden with snacks and drinks. Then you two would pick a movie and cuddle as you watched it.

Sometimes you would poke fun at the characters and their actions, other times the atmosphere would be amiable and quiet. Not tonight.

You yelp as you slip off the couch, groaning when you hit the floor on your knees. Collapsing forward into the mountain of cushions, you glare up at Minho, huffing in defeat. He stands above you, still holding the plushie in the air, like he's not sure whether to drop it and ask if you're okay or continue dancing like the absolute madman he is.

You hope he does the first.

Safe to say, he does not.

Minho throws his head back and laughs so loudly it reverberates through the rooms. Then, as if it's an afterthought, he drops to his knees and tosses the plushie aside, scattering snacks and packets and drinks as he sits next to you. He clumsily knocks a few other things off the coffee table, rendered utterly unstable by his mirth.

You groan. "It's not funny."

He snickers, touching your arm gently. "It is a little."

You huff and roll over, facing away from him as you sulk. A haughty smile tugs at your lips as he prods your side, whining. Suddenly collapsing on top of you, he pokes your nose.

"Yeobo, stop ignoring mee...."

You groan and let out an oof as he shifts. He's gotten stronger and more muscly, which also means he's heavier (in the best possible way, of course). You can hardly breathe and a wheeze escapes you at the sudden realisation. Squirming away, you dislodge your legs and make a run for the plushie, scrambling across the floor. Minho yelps, grabbing your ankle. You squeal as he pulls you back, climbing up so you're both face to face. He smirks and grabs the plush with his long, slender arms.

"Minho, just-"

"Ah ah ah," he taps his lips, grinning. "Kiss. Then i'll give it back."

You sigh, and relent. He tastes like strawberry soda and fried chicken. His hand creeps to the back of your neck, stroking the shorter hairs there. You turn your head, breaking the kiss. Glaring at him, you sit up and smack him lightly on the arm.

"Now give it back."

Minho grins mischievously, and throws the plushie across the room. It lands somewhere down the hallway, and you crane your neck to see where it's gone. Your vision spins suddenly as Minho grabs your shoulders, pulling you back down onto the comfy pile of pillows and blankets. He smirks.

"Just one more kiss-"

"Minho!"

a/n: requests are open <3

bed hair jiminie

hello~ i dont usually read reader x idol as parents but today i got to see the most beautiful kid in a karate exam and it got me thinking about changbin and reader as parents watching and cheering for their little son in a exam/championship in any sports, with him getting a medal (even tho i think changbin's son would combine perfectly in a martial fighting like karate or jiu jitsu) 🤗

awww, that's cute >< sorry for the wait !

little fighter - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you and changbin are watching your son compete at a championship

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack, reader and changbin are married, reader and changbin's son does karate, sweat (does that need a warning??)

a/n: divider by @anitalenia

The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with excitement and the scent of polished wood floors mixed with the faint aroma of sweat. Rows upon rows of spectators filled the bleachers, but all eyes were on the mat where several young competitors were busy showcasing their skills.

Changbin sat beside you, his fingers interlaced with yours, the nervous energy radiating from him evident.

“Look at him go!” Changbin exclaimed, his loud, exuberant voice rising above the cheers. Your son, clad in a crisp, white karate gi, looked focused and determined, moving with the grace of someone far beyond his years. Every one of his punches and kicks echoed with the outcome of his hard work and dedication over the years. He stumbled a little suddenly against his opponent, but quickly brought himself upright in time to parry a block. You and Changbin cheered so loud the people in front of you cover their ears (half in annoyance.

“Come on, buddy! You’ve got this!” you shouted, your heart swelling with pride. The adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you saw him land a perfect roundhouse kick, earning an impressive round of applause from the crowd spectating the event.

As the championship progressed, you and Changbin exchanged glances filled with excitement and encouragement. With each passing round, your son fought fiercely, his passion shining through every move. The moment he reached the final match, you both stood up, clapping and cheering louder than before.

“Just a little more!” Changbin urged, his voice thick with emotion. Chancing a quick glance at your husband's hands, you saw that his palms were red. They must have been buzzing with the force of his clapping. Your hands were the same, but both of you paid it no mind.

The match was difficult, both your son and his opponent stumbling more than once, but with one final, slightly clumsy strike, your son defeated his opponent. The referee raised his hand in victory, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Your heart raced as you rushed to the mat, wrapping your arms around your sweaty, panting son as he beamed with joy.

“You did it!” you cried, holding him tightly.

Changbin joined in, lifting your son high into the air. “That was amazing! We’re so proud of you!”

Moments later, he received his medal, its gleam reflecting the pride in his eyes. You both knelt down, beaming with joy as he clutched the shiny plate.

“This is just the beginning, kiddo!” Changbin said, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Your son smiled so hard you thought his face would split in half. Changbin was still ruffling his hair, a thin sheen of the perspiration coating his hand. You wrinkle your nose and laugh. Your son does too, taking your hand as you all walk off the mats. He jumped about and talked excitedly, reenacting moves and kicks.

Changbin grinned, subtly wiping his now sweaty hand discreetly onto the hem of your top.

a/n: YALL I FORGOT THE HEADER, I JUST ADDED IT TO THE FIC TT

‧₊ a little bit sweeter - (roommate!han jisung x reader) ˚‧

pairing: college roommate!han jisung x reader

summary: jisung realises that he feels something more for his roommate who loves to bake.

genre: college!au, mentions of eating and drinking, slightly suggestive ? kissing, jisung being a whole simp for reader, one sus joke, making cookies (bc i'm craving them so bad rn)

a/n: hihi~ inspired by this post, so i'm tagging @butteredsushi and @jisunggy thanks for the fic inspo guys <3 div by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Whatcha doing?"

You look up just as Jisung, your roommate, enters the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the clattering noises that you've filled the flat with. He hops up on the counter, peeking behind you in interest, where you've set a heap of bowls and pans onto the countertop.

"Just wanted to make something," you exhale, poking his cheek before moving to find the bowl you're looking for. Jisung hums and sits back on the counter, leaning on his hands as he watches you clumsily sift through the pile, muttering to yourself.

"Do I get to eat whatever it is that you're making?" He asks carefully, secretly crossing his fingers in a hope you'll say yes.

You huff and stand up from where you've been bending and peering into the cabinets. "Ji, we literally live together."

"Yeah, but like, were you planning to eat it all by yourself?"

You laugh, gesturing for him to open the cupboard directly below his feet, which he does. "Maybe, but we both know you would have eaten most of it. Do you want to eat something specific?"

"Cookies," he says instantly, not hesitating. His cheeks flush pink.

You roll your eyes, taking out a spoon. "Should've known."

Jisung throws his hands up defensively. "What? They're good for days like this, with the weather how it is right now. Be for real."

He has a point, you think as you look out the window.

It's drizzling in a fine swell over what you can see of the city, a heavy, almost blue fog casting itself like a blanket over the buildings. Classes ended early today, and you'd wanted nothing more to rush back to your dorm and rid yourself of the soaked, cold clothes you'd had to be in all morning.

To say the least, it had been extremely unpleasant weather, and it had taken at least an hour standing under the steaming water of the shower to try and bring your body's temperature up again.

You shiver as your eyes flicker over to the door, your still-wet shoes leaking droplets of storm water onto the plastic bag you'd set them upon in an attempt to keep the floor dry. Jisung was already back from his lecture by the time you got in, and he hadn't even looked up as you'd rushed into your room and slammed the door, soaking wet and chattering as you turned the water on.

At least, you think he hadn't looked up at you. In reality, he'd been waiting for the moment the door would open and you would come in.

But you didn't notice. You never do.

You set two more bowls onto the counter, missing the way Jisung's eyes follow yours as you move across the floor, gaze fixed on the way your hair is still drying, hanging in little damp clusters over your ears and nape. Your cheeks are flushed, most likely from the boiling water you shower in, and your figure is swamped in an oversized hoodie and a pair of grey sweats. His heart jolts as he looks you up and down, trying to fight that warm feeling that seems to rise in his chest every time he meets your gaze.

I have a hoodie that looks almost the same... it looks like you're wearing my clothes. That'd be so hot...

"...and then I had to rush all the way back here because it was so cold and rainy outside. You have a point, to be honest; I was thinking about eating something warm and delicious when I got back, but I wanted something a little bit sweeter- Ji. Ji, are you listening?"

"H-huh?" He shakes his head, thoughts of you in his clothes hastily evaporating. "Uh, yeah."

You point a measuring cup at him cheekily. "Liar. What's wrong? Are you too hot? I can turn the thermostat down if you want... I turned it up super high when I got back because it was so cold-"

"N-no, it's okay," he interrupts. "Sorry. Just a long morning. Classes and all that."

You shoot him a sympathetic look, opening a packet of self-raising flour. "Yeah, I get that. Poor you... And all this rain, too... not really ideal for all the walking we have to do nowadays."

Jisung can't help but smile softly at your rambling, holding the edge of the bowl as you almost knock it off the countertop. Your measuring spoon gets bumped in the process and a small puff of flour spills onto Jisung's knee, dusting the loose, black denim.

"Oops," you say sheepishly, setting the cup down. "Sorry."

He's about to reply and tell you it's okay before his gaze flits down to your hand, which is gently brushing off his knee. And suddenly, he can't seem to focus on anything but your touch. It's warm, even through the thick fabric, and he finds himself wishing you'd bumped the measuring cup a little harder so you could be brushing off all the flour for longer, your fingers gentle against his leg.

He doesn't even mind that there's a subtle white patch on the denim where it spilt.

You scratch the back of your head. "Hang on, let me get a paper towel-"

"No, don't worry," he blurts out. "I-it's fine."

You look up in surprise, tapping another cupful of flour into the bowl before adding a haphazard mix of baking soda, salt, and cornstarch over it. "Are you sure? I'm gonna make a mess in this place. I don't want your clothes to get dirty..."

"It's fine," he says again, a little more confidently. "I can just take them off."

You splutter, sending a puff of flour into the air, making both of you cough as Jisung waves his hands frantically, cheeks scarlet.

"I-i didn't mean it like that," he coughs, flustered. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," you say, fighting a grin as you turn away to open the fridge. "Honestly, Ji."

He drops his face into his hands just as you crack two eggs into another bowl, heading back to the fridge for the stick of half-finished butter on the top shelf. You've learnt to buy more butter than you think you need; your roommate has a habit of using far too much butter than necessary on his toast. Not that your topping habits are much better; the Nutella jar is usually empty after a day.

Anyways.

Placing the rest of the butter in a small glass bowl, you set the microwave timer for 30 seconds before closing the door. Jisung's eyes follow the bowl spinning round and round inside, the butter seeping and melting into an oily mess against the glass edges.

His fingers tap against the countertop as you move your bowls over to where he's sitting, your shoulder brushing his arm as you busy yourself with tipping brown and granulated sugar into yet another bowl. Jisung cheekily dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his mouth as you smack his hand away, relishing the raw, saccharine taste of the grains.

"You have to stop doing that.. Ew, Ji!"

He wipes his finger nonchalantly on your arm, much to your disgust. Ignoring your groans, he hums to himself as you take the melted butter from the microwave, slamming the door shut again.

"Stop doing what?" He says innocently.

"Dipping your little thieving paws into the bowls... you'll contaminate it. And wiping said paws on my arm..."

"So?" He says, grinning, ears still red from his earlier comment. "It's not like anyone else but you and me are eating the stuff you make."

You huff and tip the butter into the bowl, spilling half of it in the process. "I'm gonna put raisins in these if you keep provoking me."

"No!"

"Shut up and stop bothering me then," you huff, one hand coming up to matter-of-factly wipe a tiny speckle of sugar from the corner of his lip.

He's about to make a comment, but he goes silent; his face turns the colour of the cherry tomatoes in the fridge crisper as you whisk the butter into the sugar mixture. You don't even notice how quiet he's gone, and as a habit, begin to ramble.

"I can't believe the mixer broke," you say absentmindedly. "I had to search for ages and ages for a recipe that didn't need a mixer for the process. It's actually so much easier to melt the butter too... last time I did this, I didn't mix it all in properly so the cookies tasted horrible after- not that you cared, of course, because I came back to the glass dish where I put them in a day before and they were all gone- Ji, you're not listening again."

"Yes I am," he says, strained. His face is red.

"No you're not. Anyways, I had to find substitutes for most of the ingredients until I could get to the store last week.."

You run off on yet another tangent about the recipe and different methods of baking and flavours, but all Jisung can focus on is the fact that you just touched his lip, wiped away whatever it was that what on his mouth, without so much as blinking. Like it was nothing... He finds himself beginning to panic a little; his face still feels all hot and tingly.

They just wiped my mouth for me... Wait, isn't that what couples do in the movies?? Does that mean.. no, it doesn't, because they didn't even blink when they did it. There's no way they feel the way I do right now, like this- is it hot in here? My face feels so warm...

He's about to lift the neckline of his hoodie to try and fan some air into his body, but not before something sweet-smelling and textured lands on the apple of his cheekbone.

He freezes, watching as you dip a finger into a bowl full of white paste. Frosting.

You know Jisung likes frosting on his cookies; it's a fact he hasn't even told you, but you know from the way he always secretly opens the tub of ready-made icing in the fridge that he likes them to be eaten that way. You always make a bowl of it whenever you bake now, just for him. Currently, you can't get over the look on his face; shocked, and almost distant, like he was distracted by something.

You managed to crack the eggs, mix all the ingredients together, add chocolate chips to the mixture, form the dough into balls, and put it all into the oven without him making so much as a comment. And then slightly warm up the icing too. He's never been this quiet.

Like, ever.

"Are you okay?" You smile. "You look a million miles away."

He gulps and watches as you dip a different finger into the icing, some of it remaining on your lip as you lick your fingertip clean. He can feel the tiny dollop of frosting you've dotted on his cheek. It's probably melting with how hot his face feels.

His gaze never leaves your mouth, and his eyes flit to the mess you've made of the counter; there's not a single ingredient you haven't managed to spill a quantity of. Most of it is staining your clothes too, not that you seem to care.

Y/n...

"Ji?" You wave a hand in front of his face, trying to rid him of the glazed look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Silence. Then-

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

It slips out so unexpectedly that he can't even bring himself to be surprised or regretful about it; if he never tells you, you'll never know how stunning you look in the moment, all damp hair and flour-smeared cheeks.

And maybe you don't look lovely to anyone else, but to Jisung, he's never seen anything more beautiful. And in a moment of instant clarity, he knows he's regret it forever if he doesn't tell you how he's felt for so long. Or worse, if someone else decides to tell you the same thing, and he never gets his chance...

You blink at the unexpected sentiment, not thinking much of it. "Thanks."

Turning away, you pick up a bowl and deposit it in the sink before Jisung pulls you back by the shoulder, you tumbling between his legs from where he's still sitting on the counter.

You don't even get a moment to process what's happening before his mouth is pressed gently against yours, tasting of sweet icing and brown sugar.

You mold yourself immediately into his embrace as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you a little closer as his head tilts to the left. You're pretty sure he's almost breaking his neck, kissing you like this, but you couldn't care less, and it seems, neither can he.

"Jisung," you exhale against his lips, almost gasping.

"Sorry," he whispers, though there's a hint of cheekiness behind it that he can't quite disguise. "Should've asked to kiss you..."

You giggle and pull him in again, your hands finding their way to his nape, playing with the tiny, soft hairs there before he pulls back to gaze at you. "It's okay."

He looks too far gone now; his hair is deliciously rumpled from you running your fingers every which way through it, his cheeks still stained pink. The frosting on his cheek is smeared, a long, pale streak against the perfect planes of his skin.

You're about to pull him in again, and his mouth eagerly moves towards yours, but he only gets a light brush against your lips before the oven timer rudely interrupts, beeping and echoing in the silence of the flat. He groans as you turn away and reach across to switch it off.

You hear Jisung laugh breathlessly behind you as you peer through the oven glass; the cookies, once round and perfect, have now spread into a chocolatey mess across the baking tray, and you can see several small bits of dough beginning to burn dark against the hot surface of the oven grilles.

"Shit," you mumble as Jisung pulls you back into him, peppering kisses over your face. "I forgot to chill the dough before I put them in..."

"Screw that," he sighs against you. "We should chill instead. Just us, hmm? Cancel whatever plans you had..."

"Done," you whisper. "But what about the cookies-"

Jisung pulls you impossibly closer, his breath a warm fan across your cheeks and neck.

"Forget that," he murmurs. "I have something sweeter."

a/n: i forgot how fun writing jisung is >< asks open !

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lonely st. ✧ chapter v : behind closed doors

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: han jisung in the building, the usual stuff, hyunjin is confused poor baby :( yeji is a dick

a/n: chapter fiveeeee

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Y/n watched as a butterfly fluttered past her, wings flapping haphazardly. Sighing and leaning against the rough, sanded brick of the school wall, she took a breath and began to walk home.

She'd been stalling for no particular reason; it was just that going home felt mundane and unexciting without the walk with Hyunjin. He'd told her in their last class that he was staying back for basketball practice that afternoon and she'd nodded, watching as he'd apologized for not being able to walk home with her.

Then he'd run off.

The sky seemed a little dimmer than usual, and Y/n clutched the strap of her bag as she made her way down the street, trying to become an inconspicuous presence amongst the throngs of students milling past her. She inhaled deeply as she put one foot in front of the other, the smell of the fresh, post-storm air soothing her lungs and cleansing her insides.

Y/n let her arms relax, her sketchbook slipping out from under the crook of her elbow and dropping to the pavement. Reaching to pick it up, her hand collided with someone else's, large and veiny unlike her own.

"Sorry, Y/n."

Y/n shook her head and took the sketchbook without looking at who it was, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She suddenly tilted her head in confusion, quickly checking the book for any damage.

"Wait- how do you know my name?"

"I'm in some of your classes. I don't think we've talked before, but I'm one of Hyunjin's friends. I play basketball with him too."

Y/n looked up hesitantly. The boy had a friendly, wide grin, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, much like the way Hyunjin wore his school shirt. His slightly fluffy hair was parted messily down the middle. He wasn't wearing a blazer or sweater vest, and Y/n noticed a pair of colourful sneakers on his feet, thick and chunky. Basketballer shoes.

The boy extended a hand. "I'm Han Jisung. Nice to meet ya."

"So, how's it going with Hyunjin?" Han asked casually, almost skipping alongside the path next to Y/n.

She glared at him warily, wondering if he was fishing for details, or trying to find out if she liked Hyunjin. But Han's face was open, not expectant or eager. Not a hint of malice showed in his features, just a casual, easygoing demeanour that Y/n sort of liked. He was quite the talker, so it suited her perfectly to walk in silence while Han talked about this and that.

"It's good," she said quietly.

Han nodded, jumping up to tug a random leaf off an overhanging branch. He'd offered to walk her home, and Y/n figured that if he was one of Hyunjin's friends, he was probably trustable. But she kept an eye on him nonetheless, not wishing to risk anything.

The walk had been nice, though, with Han keeping up a constant stream of cheerful chatter along the way. He's a bit like the sun, Y/n thought to herself.

She watched silently as Han leapt up to slap a sign with impressive height, a metallic thunk ringing out as he slammed a palm against it. He landed easily on his feet and turned back to Y/n, grinning.

"You try," he said.

Y/n shook her head and Han whined.

"Come onnnn, just one go. I reckon you can reach it."

Y/n sighed as Han excitedly took her bag, holding it for her. Mustering up the nonexistent strength, she ran a few steps, swinging her arms up for momentum, and jumped. Her palm hit the middle of the sign with a satisfying bang, the same thunking noise ringing out into the street.

Landing, she stumbled a little, before glancing up at Han, breathless. He cheered, clapping wildly, and handed her bag back to her. Y/n smiled without even realising. That was the fastest she'd moved in a long time. It felt good.

They reached the willow tree five minutes later, Y/n's smile fading unexpectedly. She'd actually really enjoyed walking with Han, and the rest of the walk home without his constant chattering and antics made Y/n's heart sink more than she would have liked to admit.

Han glanced up and let a hand trail through the low-hanging fronds of the willow. Thoughtfully tugging off a couple leaves, he let them flutter to the pavement before looking across at Y/n, who was seemingly lost in thought.

He turned and dug through his bag, hand reaching past the mess of pencils, uncapped pens, crumpled worksheets, and- oh, that's where his wrist brace went- to pull out a scrap of paper and a pen.

Scribbling down his number, he glanced across at Y/n, who was still staring into the distance, and recapped the pen. Shyly, he poked her arm and held out the piece of paper.

She took it hesitantly and glanced at the messy writing. Her eyes widened a tiny bit.

Han shook his hands frantically at her surprised expression, afraid he'd gone too far. "U-um, I just thought it'd be good for you to have my number- you know, since we're both friends with Hyunjin and all, it might be good to stay in contact.. if you want to, of course-"

Y/n nodded, butterflies taking flight in her stomach. "Thanks."

"That's okay. Maybe we can text tonight? Again, if you want to..."

Y/n smiled a tiny bit, the expression feeling strange and unfamiliar. She'd only known Han for 20 minutes, but he already felt like a friend. Maybe they already were friends.

Was it possible to be friends with someone even if you hadn't known them for a long time? Or was that just something people said all the time, but wasn't actually true?

She bid Han a quiet goodbye and he turned and walked back down the street, pausing only to give her a grin over his shoulder. He gestured a texting action with his hands and mouthed 'tonight' before turning the corner and disappearing.

Y/n glanced down at the piece of paper between her fingers. He'd scribbled his number haphazardly across the paper. Next to the last digit was a little smiley face and a messy rendition of a basketball.

The strange, warm, fuzzy sensation came back, settling in Y/n's stomach like a warm, chocolatey drink on a cold winter's day.

For the first time, Y/n welcomed the feeling.

Y/n sighed in relief, shutting her textbook. Her teachers were really dishing out the homework this week for some reason. She'd told herself to finish it before texting Han, and her fingers had been itching to touch her phone throughout. She'd ended up shutting it into her bedside drawer so she wouldn't get distracted.

Looking out her window thoughtfully, she put the textbook neatly to the side and moved to her bed, pulling out her phone from the drawer. She bit her lip

What if it was all just a joke? What if Han had just given her his number so he could clown her for thinking that he really was her friend?

Shaking her head, Y/n entered Han's number and hit the texting application. Thumbing out a short message, she hit sent before she could second-guess herself.

*texting unknown number* y/n: han? unknown number: y/n, hey!

Y/n blinked, wondering if she was seeing things. She wasn't. That was fast.

unknown number: i was worried i'd written my number down wrong. i'm not good at remembering stuff, so i'm glad i got it right 👌 y/n: yeah y/n: thank you for walking with me today unknown number: of course unknown number: it was fun, actually unknown number: and a nice change from having to listen to felix scold me about eating things i shouldn't y/n: ... unknown number: don't question it unknown number: by the way, you can call me jisung. we're friends now, so you don't have to be formal 😁 *y/n changed 'unknown number' to 'jisung'* y/n 🎨: there, i changed it jisung: cool jisung: i already changed yours to 'y/n 🎨' y/n 🎨: why the paint palette emoji? jisung: hyunjin told me and felix that you sketch. he said you're really good. jisung: you being an artist is really cool. i can't draw to save my life

A warm feeling spread across Y/n's cheeks, the same way it had when she'd shown Hyunjin a snippet of one of her sketches during their daily lunchtime library sessions. She wondered when Hyunjin had told his friend about her passion for sketching.

Y/n thought that Jisung was honestly really sweet for not being afraid to compliment her on it.

y/n 🎨: thanks y/n 🎨: you said you played basketball? jisung: yup jisung: we have a championship tournament coming up soon too y/n 🎨: that's cool y/n 🎨: are there positions in basketball? like offense or defence jisung: yeah, i play power forward jisung: hyunjin plays center since he's pretty much the designated captain, plus he's really good y/n 🎨: i haven't seen him play, but i can believe that jisung: yea, he's amazing. wish i could be as good as he is y/n 🎨: i bet you're a great player too jisung: you know, you're actually really nice y/n 🎨: thanks...? jisung: nonono not like that jisung: i just meant that i didn't expect you to be so sweet, you usually sort of come across as... y/n 🎨: cold? jisung: ...yeah. but it's not a bad thing. jisung: it just means that when you do show emotion, you mean it with your whole heart

Y/n rolled over onto her back and looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling. She'd never thought of it that way. It made sense.

A thought occurred to her suddenly.

y/n 🎨: hyunjin usually walks home with me jisung: yeah, he told me about that. when you gave him the bandaids too. jisung: what about it? y/n 🎨: he said he had basketball practice. you're on the team too, so how come you didn't know jisung: i thought you were y/n, not some sort of super detective, jeez! y/n 🎨: haha, it just occurred to me jisung: hyunjin sometimes stays back by himself so he can practice. though i do think he overdoes it sometimes y/n 🎨: he seems like he loves playing basketball a lot jisung: sometimes i think if i asked him to choose between me and his beloved basketball, he would choose basketball 🥲

Y/n let out a quiet laugh as she read Jisung's message. No wonder him and Hyunjin were friends. They had the same easygoing demeanour, the same effortless style of humour.

y/n 🎨: i doubt hyunjin would choose basketball over you, if that makes you feel any better jisung: i wish 😔 he spends a lot of time practicing by himself after school most days jisung: speaking of, did you want his number?

Y/n put her phone down and bit her lip. Would it be weird if she said yes? She didn't want to come across as clingy or overly attached. She typed out a reply.

y/n 🎨: no, it's okay. jisung: you just gonna wait til he gives it to you himself?

Y/n must have paused for a bit too long after reading his message, because Jisung followed up.

jisung: don't sweat it if that's what you were planning to do jisung: he could do with the push

She huffed out a laugh on an exhale and typed back.

y/n 🎨: maybe don't push him too far, he might fall over y/n 🎨: i think he's injured enough... jisung: at least he has you and your bandaid supply to keep him going lol y/n 🎨: yup jisung: super sorry dude but i have to go finish my overdue math homework tonight or my teacher might actually throw me out the window y/n 🎨: who's your math teacher? jisung: mr yang y/n 🎨: we have the same math teacher. i never realised jisung: oh we do, that's dope jisung: we should sit together next class y/n 🎨: sure, if you want y/n 🎨: just curious, but how long is your math homework overdue by? jisung: ... jisung: three and a half weeks y/n 🎨: that's actually crazy y/n 🎨: no wonder mr yang is so stressed all the time jisung: shut up jisung: anyway, we have math tomorrow, so i'll see you then y/n 🎨: okay. see you later, jisung jisung: byeee 👋

Hyunjin slumped down onto the bench, sweaty hair mussing against the wall. His shoes squeaked against the court's polished wooden floor as he stretched out his legs in front of him.

How long had he been practicing for? An hour? Two? A whole day?

The bell that went at the end of the school day felt like it had gone a long time ago. All Hyunjin wanted to do was head home, take his sweaty basketball gear off, shower, and eat something good. Then he would collapse into bed and feel the soft, soft pillow against his cheek...

His phone buzzed. Sighing, Hyunjin reached into his bag and pulled it out. He flicked open the notification bar and saw that he had a new message from Yeji. Groaning, he swiped the chat open.

yeji 🍭: you coming over tonight?

Hyunjin pursed his lips and blew a strand of sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes.

hyunjin: huh? yeji 🍭: for tutoring, silly hyunjin: oh

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't feel like going. He felt exhausted. But Yeji would never let him hear the end of it if he backed out. And it had been a while since they'd talked. He was sort of missing her.

hyunjin: sure hyunjin: give me half an hour yeji 🍭: see you then, jinnie

Hyunjin slurped up a mouthful of ramen, gulping down the noodles and broth. He groaned. Food always tasted better after practice. It tasted even better after he was all cozy and cleaned up.

Yeji had opened the door as soon as he'd knocked. Her parents were often out at night time, since they both worked late office jobs, and she was only too happy to have the house to herself and Hyunjin.

He'd taken a shower at hers and changed into his spare set from his duffel bag before heading into her room. It felt so good to wash off all the sweat and grime he so often collected during intense training sessions. He'd stood under the hot water for a long time, letting it soothe his muscles and relieve the aching.

Walking into her room, Hyunjin noticed she'd set the lighting low and easy on the eyes, gold and pink hues shining out from the lampshade to cast patterns around the room.

Currently, he was sitting on her bed, slurping ramen from an instant noodle cup. Yeji was sitting on her desk chair, deep orange locks tied back messily in a bun, doing the same thing.

Countless times they'd done this. Their parents were close friends and the result of that growing up was a lot of time spent at the other's place. Now, the routine felt comforting and familiar.

It was a little awkward at times, considering they were both older now, but Hyunjin was grateful for her company. What with all the stress and hustle from schoolwork and basketball practice, it felt good to slow down and just relax.

Yeji glanced across at him as he set the empty ramen cup down on her bedside. She chuckled as he flopped back onto her bedspread, almost hitting his head on the wall.

"Careful."

Hyunjin only groaned in response, too exhausted to do anything else.

"Do we have to study?" He managed to get out.

Yeji laughed and set her own cup down, moving to flop down into a beanbag on the floor. The sky outside was dimming in shades of orange and lilac.

"Not if you don't want to. But what happened to wanting to pass the semester, Jinnie?"

Hyunjin sighed and propped himself up on his elbows, gazing at her blearily. "I can do that when I'm not completely exhausted."

Yeji got up and turned the lamp up a little higher before moving to sit next to him. She poked his leg.

"Come on, don't fall asleep."

Hyunjin simply rolled over, turning his back to her. Sure, Yeji could be fake and irritating and more than a bit of a drama queen if she felt like it, but she was Hyunjin's childhood friend. A close confidant, and good company too. Sometimes he wasn't sure what to think of her, but sometimes he liked her a lot too.

He found his heart thudding as she leaned over to poke his cheek. Her airy perfume filled the space between them with a soft, vanilla scent.

She smells so good...

"Jinnie," she said softly. "If you fall asleep here, where am I supposed to sleep? On the floor?"

"In my arms," he murmured, feeling hazy and pleasantly drowsy.

She leaned closer, having not heard what he'd said. "What?"

"Nothing..."

Yeji sighed, lying down behind him and putting her hands behind her head. She stared up at the ceiling, letting her legs dangle off the bed.

"How's basketball?"

"Busy," he whispered in response. "How's dance?"

"Busy."

Hyunjin rolled over, propping his head under his elbow. "Your competition is soon, isn't it?"

Yeji nodded, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. She'd taken her hair out, but there was a little star barrette she'd left in on the right side of her head, near her ear. She must have forgotten about it. Hyunjin could tell she was tired like he was; there were slight bags under her eyes now that she'd removed the concealer from them, and her eyes were drooping shut.

He took a deep breath and reached out to gently unclip the barrette from the locks, his heart pounding so loud it hurt. She didn't move. Hyunjin's eyes flicked to her face and he realised they were shut.

She's asleep, he thought in relief.

Glancing outside, he checked the time on his phone; it was getting late, and he'd be expected to get home soon. He set the star hairclip next to her before reaching out with a shaky hand and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, light as a feather.

He could stay a little longer.

Through his exhaustion, Hyunjin could feel guilt suddenly nagging at his consciousness. How could he be lying her next to her, crushing on her and touching her hair, knowing what she'd said about Y/n? That she was an outcast, that she was only friends with Y/n out of pity...

It's not like Y/n knows about it, Hyunjin desperately reasoned with himself, fighting against his moral compass.

The little sensible voice in Hyunjin's head spoke up. You know it's not right, Hyunjin. Even if you're close friends with Yeji, it's not worth it to throw Y/n under the bus... right?

Hyunjin grit his teeth. Was he willing to lose Yeji in order to become closer with Y/n? Or would he just mess everything up with Yeji? She was his childhood friend. He'd only known Y/n for just under a month's worth of time.

Hyunjin tugged at his damp hair in agitation.

Do the right thing.

Picking up his duffel, he quietly checked he'd gotten every one of his belongings before heading out the door. His desires fought him every step out of her room. He glanced at her sleeping figure before taking a deep breath and continuing away.

He headed quietly down the stairs, and across the living room, before opening the front door. Confusion, agitation, frustration, and indecision tugged at his heartstrings and settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, like he'd eaten something that had gone bad.

A tear ran down his cheek as he started off down the street.

Hyunjin lifted his head from the pillow as his phone let out a ding, signalling a new notification. Groaning and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, he reached across and glared at the bright screen.

yeji 🍭: hey, where'd you go? yeji 🍭: i woke up and you were gone

Hyunjin sighed and flopped onto his back. He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd gotten home, but not before having a little cry. He'd never tell any of the boys, but he liked the feeling of crying, the feeling of the weight lifting off his shoulders. He typed out a reply.

hyunjin: sorry, i had to go, i was expected home yeji 🍭: could've left me a note, jinnie yeji 🍭: i thought you would have stayed the night yeji 🍭: it would have been nice, just the two of us hyunjin: what do you mean? hyunjin: i mean i've stayed the night before, but it seems like you're saying something different this time... yeji 🍭: i mean yeji 🍭: you know yeji 🍭: it is different hyunjin: how so? yeji 🍭: you know why it's different, jinnie.

Hyunjin's hands fumbled and he dropped his phone on his forehead at her reply. He winced and rubbed the red spot on his forehead.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

He shoved his phone under his pillow and buried his face in it, trying to erase the whole evening from his mind. Regret washed over him. He should have just denied her 'tutoring' invite and gone home. He could have saved himself all the time and trouble.

And all of the tears.

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the fast lane : part 1 (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: not much tbh, skz racer!au, illegal street racing, chan is a cocky little shit, wc 2.5k

series masterlist

part 1 : the deal

The tunnel looked pretty unassuming; a round, gaping entrance that was once a pathway for trains to cross through. A hardly-used staircase leading down into a dirty subway and a copse of half dead trees sandwiched the tunnel of either side. Y/n dragged a finger across the cement wall, a trail of dirt and grime collecting on her fingertip. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she stepped back and surveyed the deserted entrance with a disdainful, skeptical eye.

The mouth of the tunnel was haphazardly littered with graffiti tags, long, sweeping, unintelligible strokes in varying shades of neon blue and green. Y/n's eyes swept across the letters and symbols, following the shapes and curves. Perhaps it was a message, or a warning. Stepping back and then peering into the darkness past the tunnel, Y/n sighed.

it felt more like a warning.

She hopped up and down on the spot and rubbed her arms. The night was cold and the air was frigid; Y/n's breath puffed out in front of her in a frozen mist, like dragon steam. She had no idea why she had decided to come here, and that too in the dead of night. Despite her passion for racing and her love of cars, she'd never raced in any official competitions, simply settling for a few high-speed laps round the city streets at night. But now, here she stood, at the entrance to an underground racing circuit, about to race alongside some of the city's most infamous racers.

Groaning inwardly and pulling out her phone, Y/n swiped to her socials and pulled up the details of the racing grounds. Checking the list of racers and seeing her name near the bottom, she huffed. There was no way she could back out now.

Gathering all her courage, Y/n stepped forward, her black boots meeting the dusty, cracked cement. The ground was scattered with cigarette butts and various other discarded items. She bit her lip and continued into the dark.

The neon, flickering electricity of the city faded away, leaving Y/n to walk through the seemingly endless darkness. Trailing one hand along the wall as she walked, Y/n felt her way to the other end of the tunnel. The details of the race had said to enter the tunnel without using flashlights, torches, or other sources of light. Y/n wondered why, and her jaw clenched as she realised it was probably to keep the police off the tracks of the races. She hadn't noticed any security cameras around the area before she'd gone in; but she couldn't shake the feeling that what she was doing was not really something she wanted to be legally confronted about.

A metallic clattering noise shook her out of her worries. Looking down and realising it was useless trying to see in the dark, Y/n bent down cautiously, hand scrabbling around on the cement, before making contact with a metal energy drink can. Chiding herself for her timidness, she walked on, slow and watchful, eyes straining.

The dark continued seemingly forever; each step she took brought a small haze of light to the end of the tunnel, then faded away. Her eyes ached with the strain of trying to see in pitch black. A small seed of panic took a firm grip on her insides, common sense returning from its brief vacation.

This is it, she thought. I'm going to be lost in the void forever.

Y/n closed her eyes, willing herself to think straight. It didn't matter whether her eyes were open or not; the dark was the same. Choking, suffocating, endless. Her fingertips on her right hand hurt from the roughness of the cement, bumps and cracks sending shockwaves of tittering trepidation through her. Her other hand was clenched tightly into a fist.

The wall beneath Y/n's fingertips suddenly disappeared, the cold air enveloping her slender hand once again. The stuffiness of the tunnel had disappeared, and Y/n tentatively opened her eyes, blinking to adjust them to the light. A surge of cold, crisp air filled her lungs with a low whoosh.

Noise.

Colour.

Light.

Y/n's eyes widened. She was standing at the entrance to a colossal circular arena. Rows of metal-backed bleachers rose in towering, circular rings around the main ground area. A large, winding race track, lined by colour-changing lights wound through the low stadium, disappearing somewhere near the back entrance; a tunnel. Turning back suddenly, Y/n stared through the darkness of the tunnel she'd juts come through. Two streets back, she would never had known any of this was here. Judging by how packed the place was, Y/n would have estimated half the city knew this racing circuit existed. It wasn't underground, per se, but it was a spectacle nonetheless. She'd never seen anything like it.

Several cars flew round the circuit, sending a whoosh of cool, petrol-smelling air into Y/n's face. She began to venture forward, and caught a glimpse of a sleek, red car speeding effortlessly around the racetrack; drifting perfectly around the turns and sending the high-pitched sound of zooming and screeching into the air. Six massive floodlights sent glaring white light flashing and reflecting off he vibrant, decorated surface of the cars and bleacher railings.

Surveying the arena with a look of stupid, dazed, disbelief, Y/n noticed a row of shiny, funky cars on a raised platform lining the right side of the amphitheatre. A throng of people were pushing against the guard rail, cheering loudly. Craning her neck to get a better look, Y/n began pushing her way through the crowd, making her way slowly but surely to the platform. The prominent beats of Japanese hip-hop music, the squeal of tires on asphalt, and the constant, excited chatter of the crowd surrounded Y/n like a fog. The excitement and passion in the air was contagious, though it was tinted with the lingering fumes of danger, risk-taking, spray-paint, and exhaust smoke.

It wasn't just the cars that were colorful; the crowd themselves sported an array of different outfits and appearances. Y/n passed by a man with a bright pink and yellow hairdo, silky waves falling into his face as two girls in neon green clung to his arm. Another had an orange LED light mask on, flashing smiley faces and heart eyes as he sold various items of racing paraphernalia to the tightly packed crowd.

But it wasn't hard to distinguish the racers themselves; they were dressed in sleek leather suits of varying colours, sponsors and supporter logos printed across their breast pockets and backs. Many of them carried helmets under the arms, and Y/n spotted a particular racer, who upon stepping out of a bright purple car, tossed his helmet and jacket to a teenage boy dressed in red. The boy fumbled to catch the items and hurriedly followed after the racer, a bit like a puppy following its owner.

It made sense to her that some of the racecar drivers had their own personal crews. Y/n knew that it was incredibly expensive to hire people for services like engineering, having spent almost half her savings on a three-person maintenance crew for the car she was to race tonight. Custom cars and suits must have been expensive enough as it was without the addition of pit crews and maintenance engineers. The people themselves were expensive, but not in a snobby, regal way. These people had the grime of the streets under their nails and hard work etched into the creases of their eyes. Y/n felt a strange sense of admiration and inspiration settle in her chest.

Finally making her way to the guard rail before the raised platform, Y/n looked past the racers and their cars, ignoring the cheering. She had eyes like a hawk's, and they landed nimbly on a roll-up garage door, which most likely led to the backstage area for the cars, and the private rooms for the racers. Thinking back to the instructions on her phone, Y/n began to move through the crowd to the door. That was where she would find her car to race tonight.

Her crew manager had sent her a photo of it; it was battered and a little rusty, but Y/n had faith in her abilities. She was going to race, and win. And if she wasn't going to win, she was going to place third at the very least. This is what you wanted, she reminded herself determinedly. Don't let anything get in your way. You're going to become a racer, one of the best street racers in this city, and-

Y/n smacked headlong into a wall of something tall and warm. Letting out an unceremonious oof, she stepped back, rubbing her forehead. Her boot caught on a stray crack in the asphalt and she tumbled backwards, landing with a thud on her ass. A low, amused chuckle came from above her.

"Should watch where you're going, sweetheart."

Squinting upwards, and huffing (half in embarrassment, half in pain- her ass really hurt...) Y/n blinked up at the obstruction that she'd run into.

A really hot obstruction.

An obstruction dressed in a racing suit of black and red leather, and with dark hair swept back over his forehead. Several strands hung down, striping his forehead, slick with sweat. He held a large, veiny hand out to her. Y/n noticed a thick, silver chain encircling his wrist.

Suddenly realising that she looked like an idiot, and was probably staring, she reached for the man's hand. It was surprisingly warm, and he was surprisingly strong; he hoisted her onto her feet without much effort. Dusting herself off and trying not to wince at the pain in her tailbone, Y/n looked up at him.

He was a little taller than she was, with sharp, angular features dripping with charming appeal. Dark eyeshadow dusted the edges of his eyes, and a neat slit ran through his left eyebrow. His hair was black as night, sheened in blue and white shades with the glinting cars and the floodlights above. His plump, pink lips curved into a smirk as he let go of her hand. Y/n hadn't even realised he'd been holding it. Her heart leapt in her chest.

"This isn't a place for little girls."

His voice was deep, rich and accented; Australian, maybe? She couldn't tell. Frowning up at him, she fired back.

"I'm not a little girl. I'm a racer."

The man leaned the wall, heavy boots tapping against the asphalt. He grinned wolfishly. "No?"

Y/n pursed her lips. "I came here to race. I'm one of the rookies listed for tonight," her voice faded off slightly at the end, a little unsure. Should she really be telling this super hot guy who she was and what she was doing?

But he only smirked again, exhaling a chuckle through his nose.

"Do you know who I am, sweetheart?"

Y/n bit her lip. She didn't.

"No," she said truthfully. Realigning her moral compass, she straightened her back and glared at him. "And don't call me that."

He sighed and stepped forwards, hands clasped behind his back. He began to advance towards her; Y/n stumbled back. Her foot met a step of some sort and she kept retreating anyway, not wanting to take her eyes off him. His gaze sent a chill of sudden fear through her. He was looking at her as if she were a particularly helpless animal he was about to pounce on.

Y/n gulped. A rush of fear, adrenaline... and something else.

The sudden feeling of cool metal meeting her lower back made Y/n stop in her tracks. Glancing sideways, she realised she'd been backed up against the man's car; though she was afraid, she couldn't help but notice how sleek and beautiful the car was, a shiny black body with wings, and red stripes lining the sides.

Attempting to move sideways, Y/n ran her hand along the low window frame, feeling her way around. The man noticed and placed his forearms on the car either side of her, caging her in. His fingers curled around her wrists, squeezing lightly. He leaned in, smelling of something woodsy and spicy. The boy-smell of gunmetal, leather, and smoke filled her nostrils, an intoxicating yet subtle wave of fumes. She fought the urge to inhale deeply, instead looking the man right in the eyes. Which was difficult.

"Leave me alone," she stuttered, cursing herself inwardly.

He chuckled again, tilting his head. "I've never seen you here before. One of the rookies, huh? They don't tend to fare well in the racing scene. Most quit after the first race. But maybe you're different, sweetheart."

Y/n glared at him, suddenly feeling brazen. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Do you usually pin girls to your car without introducing yourself, or is this a one-time thing? Because I'd very much like you to let go of me."

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. A cocky smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

"I'm Bang Christopher Chan. One of the best racers in the underground circuits, and the best in this city. I know this place like the back of my hand, but I didn't know a sassy princess would be the one standing in my way tonight," he grinned, almost devilishly. "and your name is..?"

"Y/n," she replied, not sure what else to say. She ignored the compliment, feigning an unimpressed expression.

Chan chuckled, a deep, breathy sound. "Well, Y/n, let's see how you race tonight. Shall we make a deal?"

Y/n tilted her head, raising her eyebrows. "Oh?"

Chan's eyes darken competitively. "Let's see if you're made of the real stuff. You beat me in the next race, and I'll get you a car. Whichever model you want."

Y/n's jaw dropped slightly. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

Chan lifted a calloused fingertip and ran it along the side of her jaw unexpectedly, seemingly admiring her features. "No catch. I'd like to see what you're made of. Unless you're scared?"

Y/n scowled before contemplating the offer. If she wanted this, she needed a proper car. And she didn't have the money to buy one yet. Taking Chan's offer, winning the race, and getting a car of her choice would be a massive help. But she still felt skeptical.

"Why are you doing this?"

Chan smirked. "Not sure. I'm not usually this nice. Look, the next race starts in 20 minutes. Is it a yes or no to the deal, princess?"

Silence. Chan let go of her wrists, holding out his right hand to shake. Y/n slowly lifted her hand, placing it in his. The heat from his hand rushed up her arm and into her bloodstream, and the cool metal of his chain link bracelet brushed her fingertips, making her shudder in a haze of delicious heat and ice. Pulling her hand back, she gazed determinedly at Chan, who only smirked, inclining his head.

"You're on."

a/n: whew! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated. lmk what you guys think of the first chapter!

duvet - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: it's raining outside, and felix has an idea...

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, crack

a/n: second felix fic. here we go...

"Look at the raindrops, Lixie."

He hums, slender fingers tracing the frosted glass and the patterns of said raindrops as they slide down the pane. Both of you are leaning over the back of the couch and watching the rain patter neverendingly through the window. It's cold, even inside the house, and Felix's fluffy-socked feet touch yours as you both sit in amiable, companiable silence.

The storm has been going on for a while. It began this morning, deciding that it was going to pour down all of a sudden while both of you were in the garden, resulting in a heap of wet clothes, a steaming hot shower, multiple cups of hot chocolate, and two pairs of fluffy winter socks. You smile at the remembered chaos of the moment, both of you running like headless, soggy chickens over the lawn, making a break for the patio door, screaming and laughing and blowing away the wet hair plastered to both your foreheads. It was funny, considering you both decided to shower straight after. It was like stepping out of the storm and into another (though much warmer than the first).

You're pulled out of your thoughts by the rustling sound of Felix getting out of couch. You whine as he gets up and he pats your head.

"Calm down. I'll be back in a second."

You huff and turn back to the window, already missing the warmth of his body and presence next to you. He returns a few moments later, dragging the duvet of your shared double bed into the living room.

"Felix!" You laugh. "What are you doing?"

He grumbles with the effort, groaning as he heaves the whole thing onto the couch. It envelops you both in a thick, heavy cocoon of warmth and spills off the sofa, pooling in heavy folds. Panting with the exertion, he flops back into his spot next to you, resting his head on his folded arms. "There."

You giggle. "You didn't have to bring the whole duvet, you know. There's already a few throw blankets that we keep here, remember?"

Felix sighs, scratching his head. "I know, but it wasn't warm enough."

"It was, actually."

He mimics your voice, shaking his head repeatedly and pulling a funny face. Laughing, you push him sideways in retaliation and he falls into the thick folds of the duvet, landing with a soft oof.

"Oh.." He groans, wiggling and burrowing further into the couch. "This feels so nice..."

You chuckle. "You're going to overheat under that thing."

Felix huffs. "I'll cool down then."

"How?"

He's silent for a minute. You gaze at him expectantly. Then, with a wicked grin, he springs up (with some effort) out of the duvet and seizes you around the waist, dragging you off the couch. You yelp and wriggle, but it's no use; Felix has always been far stronger than you. He hauls you to the glass patio door, the storm raging on outside. He opens the door a little and a gush of cold air rushes in, seeping straight through both of your clothes and sinking into your bones. You scream, laughing, and try to struggle away as Felix cackles, keeping a firm grip on you.

Felix huffs into your ear with a grin. "We could always cool off outside-"

"No! Let go, Lixie, please-" He jerks his arms forward a little, your hands pushing against the doorframe as he pretends to try and throw you outside, back into the storm.

You squeal and twist in his grip as he staggers back from the door, shutting it. The cold air is immediately replaced with the diffused scent of your favourite cinnamon candle and the aroma of hot chocolate as Felix relents. You clumsily tear yourself out of his loosening grip and let out a triumphant laugh. Felix does the same as he lunges for you again, and his foot slips out from under him. He topples forward, taking you with him to the floor. You both land on the thick duvet, and the whole thing is dragged off the couch.

Sighing and pushing his hands away from your waist, you grin and burrow into the duvet, giggling. Felix turns on his side to face you, hand coming up to bring a fold of blanket over your bodies, wrapping both of you in a thick, heavy burrito roll. He giggles too.

It's hard not to when you're surrounded by the intoxicating, cosy warmth of each other's presence.

a/n: send in some requests for me ! they'll be published within a day <3