Stupidly Perfect - (best Friend!bang Chan X Reader) Part 3

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

pairing: ot8 maknae line x reader

summary: you ask skz maknae line if they would love you if you were a worm.

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack

a/n: here's the hyung line version <3

han

bursts out laughing

pokes fun at you "why'd you turn into a worm of all things?"

squints at you and pretends to think

googles pictures of worms to show you what he thinks you would look like

an absolute clown

"A worm? Where did that even come from? Hmm... I guess I’d keep you in a little terrarium and make sure you have the best worm life ever. I’d give you the fanciest dirt and the coolest little rocks to crawl around on. But y'know, if you were a worm, I’d still find a way to love you. I’d probably talk to you all the time, even if you couldn’t respond. And hey, maybe I’d write a song about my worm partner. It’d be weird, but it’d be our weird, and I’d love you all the same. Maybe I could even change the lyrics of my songs to be about worms for you!"

felix

also a soft boi

think about it for three seconds then responds

is trying not to giggle

hes so silly pls

does his best worm impression afterwards to demonstrate his worm-loving capabilities

"A worm? That’s a new one! Well, if you were a worm, I’d make sure you’re the happiest worm ever. I’d keep you in a little jar with the best soil and maybe even decorate it with tiny things to make it cozy for you... maybe even a mini Bbokari so you won't be lonely and you have something to cuddle with! But sunflower, I’d still love you. It doesn’t matter what you are because my love for you goes beyond appearances. I’d probably carry you around everywhere with me, so you wouldn’t be lonely. We’d still have our special moments together, just in a different way. And who knows? Maybe you’d be the cutest worm ever. I’d love you no matter what."

seungmin

deadass stares at you

this man is thinking up the most savage reply but then decides not to

bc he doesn't want to hurt your feelings too much

is soft about it but also threatens to use you as fishing bait if you get worm slime everywhere

also hopes that you don't actually turn into a worm

"A worm? You’ve really outdone yourself with this one. If you were a worm, I’d probably keep you in a little terrarium with all the best dirt and leaves you could ever want. I’d make sure you have a comfortable life. But in all honesty, it wouldn’t change how I feel about you. Love isn’t just about physical appearance or form; it’s about the connection we share. So even if you were a slimy worm, I’d still care for you. I’d find a way to talk to you and spend time with you, even if it’s different from how we are now. You’d still be you, but a disgusting, stinky worm, and that’s who I love."

help

jeongin

is genuinely horrified at first

a worm?? of all things??

does eventually laugh at the idea

finds a picture of a worm and draws your face on it

keeps it in his phone case bc he thinks it's funny and cute (but he's macho so he's not gonna tell you that)

"A worm? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day! But if you were a worm, I’d make sure you have a nice little home. I’d probably keep you in a small, safe place where I could always see you and make sure you’re okay. I’d still love you, you know. Love isn’t just about what you look like; it’s about who you are inside. So even if you were a worm, I’d still find ways to spend time with you. I’d probably talk to you all the time, telling you about my day and everything. It’d be different, but I’d still care for you just as much. Maybe I could even find you other worm friends to hang out with!"

a/n: i laughed so hard writing seungmin's

hello! just read your chan helping reader on their period post, it was so good, could you do one for changbin too? would be amazing <3

yayyy second request ! glad you liked the chan version, love 🤍

he comforts you on your period - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you're struggling with your period and changbin helps you out

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, cramps and period pain, reader has a period, slight suggestiveness

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

You're curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over your body. It cocoons you completely, providing a bubble of intoxicating heat and warmth that seeps pleasantly into your bones. You've been feeling sleepy all day but the drowsiness isn't enough to distract you from the constant, thrumming pain in your abdomen.

Shifting slightly to the left, you turn just enough to look out the living room window. It's clouded with fog, frosting the glass and making the outside world seem far, far away. It rained earlier, a few hours before you and Changbin had gotten up. You'd spent the morning talking in bed, laughing and sharing stories, and adoring each other (in more ways than one).

You'd been perfectly fine through all of that, up until Changbin had kissed your forehead and gotten dressed to go to the gym. You'd protested and whined about it, arguing that there was no reason to go work out this early in the morning, and that skipping one gym session wouldn't hurt. Especially in this weather. It was freezing.

He'd simply laughed and peppered a few more kisses to your face before quickly cooking you breakfast and leaving. You hadn't managed to eat it, though- as soon as you had left the bed, your phone rang. You'd been taking several phone calls from work for about half an hour, casually ignoring the faint, dull warning thuds in your stomach, signalling that your period was about to start. Instead of resting or at least warming up a heat pad, you'd gotten around to doing chores while on the phone with your boss. You figured that there was no harm in doing two things at once. If anything, it meant that stuff got done.

Determination had taken a firm hold of your senses, and you aspired to have finished most of the chores while on the phone. As you worked, you began to realise it was a bad idea; your stomach was beginning to throb, and you couldn't focus on what your boss was saying. The pain in your abdomen spread all the way down to your toes, making it difficult to do anything more than stand stiffly and wash the dishes, your shoulder propping your phone to you ear.

As soon as you had ended the last call, you sat down hastily. The cramps were beginning to set in now and it was too late to take medication. Even if you had taken a few painkillers, it would have taken an hour or so to set in, and you didn't have that kind of time. There was work to be done and you wanted everything to be done before Changbin got back.

Of course, no such luck.

Now you lay on the sofa, having had no more strength to do anything but pull out the biggest, fluffiest blanket you could find, and collapse into the cushions like a ragdoll. It was comfier than expected, despite the throbbing pain in your gut, but it didn't do much to alleviate it. All you could do now was push your way through it. Or you could call Changbin.

But you knew how much he loved his workouts, how much he loved pushing himself to do better. You knew it was unreasonable to be thinking like this, but you couldn't help but feel that he deserved a morning to himself undisturbed.

Yeah, no. If i have to go another minute without painkillers-

Pulling out your phone from under the thick folds of blanket, you clicked on Changbin's contact, waiting for him to pick up. It rung three times before he answered. The sounds of clanking, chatter, and faint workout music sounded from the speaker of your phone. Changbin's voice came through crisp and clear.

"Hey, bunny," he sounded breathless.

"Hi," you whispered, suddenly feeling guilty.

There was a pause.

"Bunny, you okay? What's wrong?"

You shifted to the left again, hip jerking suddenly as a particularly painful cramp shot through your abdomen, needle-sharp.

"Can- can you come home? My period started and-"

There was a heavy clank from the other side of the phone, followed by a hiss and a groan from Changbin. You fought the urge to smile. You'd heard that sound many, many times when he'd been working out at home. It was usually followed by Changbin's characteristic whining as you pressed an icepack to his foot, carefully and gingerly shifting the weight he'd dropped on himself to the side. His dramatic sigh sounded through the speaker.

"Why didn't you call me as soon as you started?"

You whine. "I didn't want to disturb you, I know you like working out uninterrupted-"

"Bunny, that's no excuse. I'm your boyfriend, it's my job to know about this, okay? I'm coming home."

"But-"

"No buts. I'll stop by the store to get snacks. We can have a day in, yeah?"

You bite your lip. "I can always try and get up-"

"Nononononono, don't do that. I'll be there soon, okay? We can eat and cuddle and watch a movie," his enthusiastic tone floated through the living room, making your mouth lift up at the corners.

"Binnie, are you sure?"

He laughs, "Of course I'm sure."

You smile freely then, feeling a fresh surge of affection and love wash over you, momentarily dulling the aching, cramping pains in your abdomen.

"I love you, Binnie."

"I love you too, bunny. Now, what ice cream do you want?"

a/n: requests are open !

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

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

☆ bf jisung x reader who loves to bake

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

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

☆ a skz reaction post

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

bye cute anon . . .

⁺‧₊˚💿✮ 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 ! 🎧✮˚₊‧⁺˖

๋࣭ ⭑ — input passcode to enter... code accepted !

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🎧= moon-ttokki-x !! ノ she her ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

彡 sfw writer - bts skz ults ⋆⸝⸝ call me ttokki .. 𓏲 ๋࣭ ˖

๋࣭ ⭑ — ❝그래도 I know, 서툴게 I flow...❞

⛓️ 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔦 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢: kpop fanfictions, currently only for stray kids. fluff, angst, comfort, hurt/comfort, domestic, and so on. you can see all the categories on my masterlist below .

୨‧₊˚🖇️✩

skz masterlist ✧ skz prompt list

(( requests currently open ))

๋࣭ ⭑ — ❝미치지 않으려면 미쳐야 해, hey na na na...❞

ttokki signing out...☆

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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!

rose part 2 - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: less angsty, mutual pining, college!au, happy ending hehe

a/n: yayy part 2. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist | part 1

The next few days are rather awkward.

You avoid Minho as much as humanly possible; more than once he tries to approach you in the corridors, though unsurely, and you find yourself ducking into the next hallway or stopping to talk to someone so that he won't.

Not that you don't want him to approach. Part of you misses talking to him, though most of what came out of his mouth was teasing remarks and judgmental comments. But he does it in a way that lets you know he doesn't mean it.

You know he doesn't mean it, but after you messed up those few days ago, you're beginning to wonder if he might in the future.

You find yourself glancing his way during lectures, subconsciously reaching for your phone to text him before you take control of yourself and tear your gaze away, shove your phone into a drawer. Keeping distance is the best thing to do right now, even if you do miss him.

But still...

Minho and his pretty necklace, his pretty lopsided smile, although it's rare. But it makes it all the more special. It makes him all the more special.

The part of you yearning to see him wonders if there's a slim chance that he reciprocates what you've begun to find yourself feeling, and it tells you to go and find Minho, talk to him, work things out. Maybe you could play it off, say you were on something, plead that you were tired or that there had just been something on his face.

Which is why you had touched it in the first place, though it was on a whim. You'd stroked those precious few strands out of his eyes, touched his pretty mouth on a whim, your fingers brushing against the perfect mask that Lee Minho never lets slip.

The professor calls your name suddenly and you shoot upright, having previously been slouching on your hand, staring down the rows of lecture seats. He shouts out a question and panic seizes your gut like a vice.

"Y/n, what's the answer to question eight?"

Your eyes flit over the screen at the front; you haven't been listening and none of it makes sense. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, and you feel the gazes of other people becoming more prominent by the minute.

Your gaze catches Minho's by chance; he's sitting at the very front of the lecture hall as per usual, all of his materials lined up meticulously neat on the desks. He mouths an answer to you, subtly holding up three fingers.

"Option three," you blurt out. It must be the right answer because the professor turns away, moving onto the next question. You sag back into your seat with relief.

Minho is still looking at you.

You steal a glance at him again, hoping that he's not looking, but he is. You make to look away in haste but not before you see him point to his notebook, gesturing to you and then back at his book.

Staring down at your own folders and papers, you take your black notebook from under the haphazard mess and flip through it. Minho turns back to the front just as a slip of paper falls from between the pages.

You unfold it. Minho's neat, looping handwriting inks the paper in blue.

Meet me at the library at five o clock.

Absolutely not, you think. You toss the paper onto your desk and lean back. There's no way you're going. You might just come up with an excuse and relay it to someone so you don't have to show up. You look back down at Minho's note. It's fallen the other way and there's writing on the other side. You peer closer.

And don't even think about disappearing or making up an excuse. Come on, Y/n. You're not that busy a person.

You roll your eyes, even though you're smiling. He knows, and the realisation doesn't hit you as hard in the gut as you thought it would have.

Five o clock it is.

☆☆☆

When you enter the library, you know exactly where to go; Minho's usual spot is always the far corner, several long tables and chairs tucked behind the shelves. As someone who spends a lot of time in the library to begin with, you've often seen Minho by himself at one of the long tables, with his knees tucked neatly over one another as he reads, or his head bent in concentration as he studies.

You make your way there now; and sure enough, there he is. He's sitting perfectly upright, his posture immaculate. Your back hurts just thinking about sitting the way he does.

Yet again, the only movement is coming from his wrist as he writes something in his books, just like he did when you were at his dorm. He doesn't look up as you approach, hovering near the table unsurely. Like he's a wild animal to be tamed.

He is a little bit, you think.

"Minho..." You begin hesitantly, if not only to announce your presence.

"Hello, Y/n," he says quietly. He sets his pen down in one movement and looks up at you. Like he doesn't have energy to spare, so he's mindful of every move. "Sit down."

You laugh nervously as you collapse into a chair near him, one seat away from where he is. You are a walking tornado in the pristine museum that is Lee Minho.

"So, what is this, a therapy session?" You tilt your head at him, trying to break this ice. Shit, this is so awkward.

"No," he says again, matter-of-factly. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," you try feebly.

"All you do is lie, Y/n. To yourself too. Stop it."

His comment cuts you unexpectedly.

It hurts even more because he's right. You lied to him and to yourself. You told yourself that avoiding him was the best thing to do. And in addition, suddenly you're irritated and pissed off because of how calm he is.

"Minho."

His tone softens. "Sorry."

You huff and lean back. It feels like when you were a kid, getting into trouble for talking back.

"Why'd you call me here? You've finished your section of the project, so there's no need for us to work together anymore."

Minho shakes his head. "That's not why I asked you here."

You're quiet. Then, "Why?"

"Y/n, I'm not upset about what happened. It seems you are."

He's talking like a fucking therapist, you think. "I didn't mean to touch you like that, it was just on a whim, I was overtired-"

Minho laughs suddenly, his eyes crinkling. It's a surprisingly pleasant sound. "Did you rehearse that excuse?"

You grumble and attempt to wipe the haughty smile off of your face. He's seeing right through you at every turn. "No."

"Well, does being overtired make people want to be close to each other and touch each others' faces?"

You scoff at him, though your heart is pounding. "No. Stop being stupid."

"I'm not stupid. I'm incredibly smart. And I'm right."

"Sure you are, Min."

You freeze. The nickname slips out almost on habit; countless times during the duration of previous project meetings had you called him that purely to irritate him. At first it was a tease. Now it was almost affectionate.

His usual ticked-off reply doesn't come. He looks at you strangely. Then with a slow, deliberate movement, he gets up and sits down in the chair directly next to you. Several of his papers and pens clatter and drift off the table, but he doesn't flinch, nor notice. He doesn't even blink, his gaze entirely, unbrokenly fixed on you.

You gulp.

"I've had a long day," he says calmly. "I missed my lecture this morning because I was studying for my arts exam, and I wasn't able to talk to you these days either, which made it surprisingly worse. I couldn't sleep last night either."

He says all of this with a pure, almost gentle sort of conviction. Like he's a stranger in an elevator, making a polite comment about the weather to fill the silence. It's raining quite hard today. It's predicted sunnier tomorrow, though.

Your throat is dry and it almost hurts to talk. What do you even say to that?

"Okay."

Minho nods solemnly, the ghost of a lopsided grin on his face. His gaze is implicative, almost a smirk. "I happen to be quite overtired at the moment. Do you know what happens when people are overtired, Y/n? I think you do."

Not for the first time in your life do you curse Lee Minho with the eternal role of 'little shit'.

"No," you whisper, unable to speak any louder. "I don't."

"I told you to stop lying."

"I'm not."

He tilts his head a little more. "You are."

You go silent.

Minho's hand comes up to experimentally touch your cheek. You almost flinch at the unexpected gesture but you force yourself to stay still, not wanting to shatter the charged atmosphere. The pads of his fingers are soft and then he draws them back, bringing them to cover his mouth.

He yawns.

He's doing it on purpose now, you think in exasperation. Trying to make me admit that I wasn't overtired at all when I touched him. Even though he already knows what I was doing.

He leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the other side. At this point he's just teasing. He knows exactly what your intentions are. He's playing it up to frustrate you.

Minho brings one hand to his perfect hair and rifles his fingers through it, gaze never leaving you. He messes it up on purpose and you find yourself almost drawn to him, wanting nothing more to reach out and fix it. His gaze is nothing more than an invitation. At least, that's what you're assuming.

You're so close to him, you could just reach out and brush it away like you did those days ago... so you do. It's as soft as you remember, like pinfeathers between your fingertips, and you card it out of his face in gentle, slow motions, not fixing it completely, busy trying your best to ignore his piercing gaze almost burning through yours.

You hesitantly poke his knee, just checking that he's not an apparition and that this is actually happening. It is. And when you look back up, you feel Minho's presence far closer to you than you did before.

This time, when he tilts his head, it is a gentle question. Yes or no?

You nod shakily.

Minho leans in slowly, eyes flitting to yours, checking every step of the way, before his mouth brushes gently against the curve of your cheekbone. Like a bird's wing brushing your face. Colour floods your cheeks and your face burns rosy as his mouth brushes yours briefly, a little clumsy but full of awkward affection, your eyes closing. Minho presses his forehead to yours for a few seconds and then leans back. You open your eyes.

His hair is a royal mess; you suppose your face is a mirror of his expression. His eyes are still fixed on you, the colour high and flushed on his cheeks, mouth parted. You don't think you've ever seen anything, anyone more beautiful.

Minho has the audacity to grin. To grin.

"I think," he breathes shakily, "that I should be overtired more often."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yes."

"Y/n?"

"Minho."

"Please stop avoiding me," he says softly. "It was lonely."

You stutter out a response, surprised you're still functioning after he just kissed you. "Okay."

Minho brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know that assignment we were working on together?"

You blink, surprised at the sudden change of subject, but you go along with it. You'd handed in your parts together several days ago; you'd scraped through with a decent mark, and Minho, of course, scored with his usual A+. "Yes?"

Minho actually laughs then and you know instantly that it's a sound you want to hear him make for the rest of your life. "I knew you would struggle with it, so I gave you most of the work so that you'd have to come to me for help. We spent more time together because of it."

Your mouth drops open. "Minho, you didn't."

He grins, poking your cheek. "Told you I'm super smart. I pulled an A+ and a hot partner at the same time."

You kick him in the shin.

a/n bonus: i saw this in the tags and i have to admit i laughed

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

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

sunflower - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

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

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

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

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

"But I like holding it like this!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or better than Changbin's, at any rate.

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

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

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

"It's us."

a/n: we love artist changbin ✊

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.....

✧ 𝔬𝔱8 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ! (스트레이 키즈) . . . ✧

back to individual member masterlist . . .

[a] - angst | [f] - fluff | [c] - comfort | [cr] - crack | [ht] - heavy or triggering themes | [t] - thoughts

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how skz loves you - hyung line maknae line [f] [t]

how skz would do their nails - hyung line maknae line [f] [t]

asking skz "would you love me if i was a worm?" - hyung line maknae line [f] [t] [c]

skz and what type of magic they would wield - 100 follower special [t] [c]

safe - (ot8!skz x 9th member!reader) [f] [c] [a]

relight me - (ot8!skz x 9th member with ed!reader) [f] [c] [a]

valentines' day event special - (ot8! skz x reader) [f] [c] [a] [cr]

dissonance - (ot8!skz x 9th member with anxiety) [f] [c] [a]

rest easy - (ot8!skz x exhausted noona!reader) [f] [c] [a]

skz and celebrating their 9th member's birthday [f] [cr] [c]

skz x 9th member who can speak multiple languages - (ot8!skz x polyglot!9th member reader) [t] [cr] [f]

you get your period on stage - (ot8!skz x reader) [f] [c] [cr] [a]

don't go - (ot8!skz hyung!line x reader) [f] [a] [ht]

don't go - (ot8!skz maknae!line x reader) [f] [a] [ht]

skz x short 9th!member reader [f] [c]

protective!hyung line skz x maknae!9th member reader [f] [c] [a]

protective!maknae line skz x makenae!9th member reader [f] [c] [a]

ot8!skz x pregnant 9th member reader [f] [c] [t]

ot8!skz x plus one! 9th member reader [f] [t]

will i be okay? - (ot8!skz x injured!9th member reader) [f] [a] [ht]

ot8!skz x protective fem!reader [f] [c] [t]

soft landing - (ot8!skz x distressed reader) [f] [c] [a]

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws | skz prompt list

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