Skz Angst - Blog Posts

hello 🙊 for the prompt list thing may i request 17 + 28 with lino or jisung pls 😌 excited to see what you'll come up with heheh

i had fun with this request, anon. it's kind of sad so maybe i'll write a little part 2 to it but ig we all need some angst from time to time. i was actually going to write jisung for this fic but i'll save him for another ><

rose - 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: kinda angsty ngl, escalates quickly, college!au, mutual pining, mentions of being thrown out a window (it's a minho fic what do you expect)

a/n: this isn't really how i saw it going but fuck it we ball. 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

"It doesn't make sense," you groan, dropping your head into your hands. Giving up completely, you drop yourself further into the mess of books and papers scattered across Minho's low desk.

Today, the sun is watery and filters weakly through the wide windows of Minho's dorm bedroom, making everything seem pale and slightly colder than usual. You rub your feet together under the desk, your fluffy socks providing some comfort, before it evaporates as you turn back to the part of the assignment you've been struggling over for the past hour.

Minho is sitting across from you, embedded in his own section of the assignment; his head is bent and he sits with his back straight, his elbows positioned so that they just touch the edge of the table. He is pale in the weak sunlight and the only movement he makes comes from the slight flicking of his wrist as he neatly scribes down notes, apparently unaware of your predicament.

He looks like a statue, you think.

"Hey, Minnie," you hum lowly, resorting to annoying him instead of re-attempting your part of the assignment. "Help me out."

"No. And don't call me that."

You groan, pressing your fingers down onto the table and pushing several miscellaneous papers his way. A couple of sticky notes go flying too, and Minho sighs irritatedly as he plucks one off of the collar of his pristine white shirt.

Your eyes follow the trail of his hand as he lowers it, before it creeps back up. His top two buttons are undone and you can see the attractive glint of a necklace, a sleek chain perhaps, against the perfect porcelain skin of his throat-

You sigh. Of all people, why him?

You wish you'd been allowed to choose your own partner for the project. But your professor had other ideas in mind and decided to pair up random people 'to facilitate teamwork and spark new connections' or whatever. Something like that.

Much to your disappointment, you'd been separated from your friends and teamed up with Lee Minho. You knew of him but had never actually talked. Unless you counted that one time where you'd run face-first into him as he'd been coming out of the college library. And all that had been was a rushed apology from you and a slight, huffy glare from him.

He was kind of strange, you thought. He always sat at the front of every lecture, always finished his work way before it was due and scored perfectly every time. Without missing a beat and without breaking a sweat. It was so incredibly irritating.

On top of that, he was popular, usually swarmed by friends and other students whenever he walked the halls. Not that he seemed to notice most of the time. Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he was a robot. It would explain his behaviour.

A really attractive robot at that.

You crane your neck a little, peering over the stacks of books between the both of you and see that he's almost done writing up his notes for his section. All without even so much as a glance in your direction. Your page isn't even half-full and you're stuck.

"Why'd you ask me to come to your dorm if you were just gonna ignore me?" You whine.

"Because," he says calmly, "it's easier than having to do it over the phone."

Little shit.

"What about the library?" You retort. "We could have just gone there."

Minho doesn't take his eyes off the paper and he doesn't reply either. Faint colour rises in his cheeks but you're too wrapped up in your own current problems to notice.

"Minho, come on. We're supposed to be working together." You tilt your head and fix him with a pleading gaze, half-despair, half panic. You're not dumb, and maybe not incredibly smart like Lee Minho either, but this assignment is difficult. And it's harder when he's refusing to help.

You don't take your eyes off of him, deciding to keep your gaze fixed on his face until he chooses to acknowledge you. You wait almost ten minutes before he looks up again, and he jolts slightly, like he hasn't realised you've been fixated on him all that time.

He stiffens. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because. I need help."

"You're clever. Figure it out on your own."

Your heart flutters from the rather direct compliment but you choose to ignore it. "Minho, please."

He smirks suddenly, a short bout of apparent confidence, teasing as he imitates you. "Minho, please."

You swear and lift a fist but he doesn't even flinch. He looks at you quietly and his smile disappears, then he gets up and crouches down beside you, poring over your page.

He hums. "You didn't write shit."

You groan. "Yes, I know. Thank you for clarifying."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, unfazed, eyes fixed on the page.

It's then that you realise how close he is; he's not sitting down fully, leaning on the balls on his feet, a temporary sitting position. One hand is on the desk and he's leaning in a little, his mouth moving slightly as he exhales out words, skim-reading your page.

He smells good, you think.

Minho is there for what feels like hours but is probably a few seconds, and then he leans back, fixing you with a stare. You feel the unusual warmth of his presence near you fade, like a mug of hot tea gone cold, and a bitter feeling rises in your throat. You open your mouth a little, maybe to prepare for whatever insult he's concocted, but it doesn't come.

What does come is an unexpectedly gentle explanation of your section of the assignment. He moves a little closer to point things out on your research papers, so close that if you turned your head, the tip of your nose would brush his chest. He's looming over you a little but you feel strangely protected, and you find yourself relishing in the almost-contact of Minho being there beside you.

So much so that when he leans back to clarify that you've understood what he's been saying, you find yourself as a loss for words. All you can do is gaze up at his stupidly perfect face, mind whirring with many thoughts but none as present as the fact that you hadn't been listening and now he will probably throw you out the window.

"Y/n."

You blink once, slowly, stupidly.

"You're looking at me like that again."

And maybe it's the fact that this whole thing feels unreal, or that the assignment has you so dazed, or that you're working with Lee Minho of all people, but you suddenly find your hand reaching up to brush a strand of soft hair out of his eyes. It trails down until your thumb rests gently in the middle of his plush bottom lip. You expect him to move back, chide you, glare, push you away.

But he doesn't.

Later, you will be embarrassed by this memory, and the fact dimly registers somewhere in the back of your mind.

It seems to register in Minho's mind too, because his eyes widen a fraction and suddenly you find yourself falling off the soft, ethereal cloud of fantasy into the real world, where consequences and rational thoughts exist, though they didn't several seconds earlier.

You jerk your hand back and he looks almost disappointed, but you don't notice. A strand of fumbled apologies leaves your mouth as you stand, almost tripping, and quickly collect your belongings.

Minho has his hands out, seemingly trying to stop you, but his face is burning and unsure and you brush past him, fleeing as your eyes sting with tears. You rush through the unfamiliar setting of his dorm and eventually find the door.

"Wait," Minho gasps, seemingly out of breath. From what, you don't know. He still has his hands out, but he doesn't move to touch you, maybe afraid that he might scare you or cause some sort of unwanted reaction. Not that you're not already having one.

"Please," he says, quieter. You're still fumbling with the lock on the door, back to him. And you're not listening, too dazed and afraid to turn and face him. Humiliation washes over you in waves.

You feel so embarrassed.

But Minho has yet to throw an insult or a glare. He's just standing there, his hands out, almost reaching, and an expression of near-worry on his face. It looks strange, like he's not quite sure how to move his features to express it. In other situations, you would have laughed. Now all you want to do is cry.

The lock on the dormitory door finally gives and you rush out, disappearing down the hallway in a blur. Minho lets out a last, frantic 'wait' and considers rushing after you, but his rationality tells him it would just make things worse.

He pushes the door shut in a haze and sinks down against it, his hair ruffling against the smooth, white wood. He finds himself out of breath again, like he's been running, though he hasn't, and his stomach feels funny. Like something is leaping around inside it.

It's not unpleasant, almost a nice feeling, but it's unfamiliar and Minho has learnt to recognise that unfamiliar is usually not a good sign. He's supposed to know things and the feeling won't stop, so he puts both hands on his stomach to try and press it out, maybe.

But it doesn't work. Flashes of you run through his mind and the feeling only intensifies. His face feels like it's burning and he is bewildered, rosy in the weak sunlight. And he has a sudden, strange longing, yearning, maybe, to see you again.

Is it because you touched his face like that and he kind of liked it, maybe? Is it because he enjoyed having you around even though you're not a friend, or is it because you're a familiar face at college, and familiar is good and familiar is safe? He doesn't know.

A rather raw feeling surfaces in his chest and he almost gags at the unexpectedness of it. Suddenly he's on a stormy ocean, waves ravaging and lightning flashing all around him. He falls off his boat and loses his grip on the anchor and sinks into the cold, dark sea.

It runs down his cheeks, staining them wet and salty. And he's not one to be overemotional or show much of it in the first place unless there is a real reason, but he can't stop.

Minho puts his head in his hands and cries.

a/n: part 2?

raspberries - hwang hyunjin

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

summary: hyunjin comforts you after a long, painful day

genre: idk!au, soft hyunjin, really angsty, comfort, fluffy, sad, reader is depressed and is having a tough time, mention of throwing up, mentions of eating and ed, please be safe, and remember that you are loved

a/n: sad :( also requests open

You storm through the front door, almost tripping over before tugging off your shoes and slamming the door shut. Huffing, and on the verge of tears, you trudge down the hallway, every single step aching with a week's worth of disappointments, one after the other.

Entering the bedroom, you throw yourself on the bed, rolling over. Tugging off your work shirt, you groan and run tired, aching hands through your hair, just before the nauseating sense of overwhelm sets in.

You bury your face in the bedding and cry.

.

"Love, I'm home," Hyunjin calls from the doorway.

He's busy kicking off his shoes, about to leave them in their haphazard position on the floor, before he notices something. Your own shoes are strewn messily in the gangway, something that normally never happens.

Hyunjin can recall hundreds of times when you'd made him retrace his steps to the door and put his shoes away neatly in the cupboard. It was a familiar and somewhat comforting routine (though a little unnecessary, Hyunjin thinks).

He frowns before picking each shoe up and putting them carefully in the cupboard. Satisfied, he begins moving through the hallway, before quickly retracing his steps and putting his own footwear meticulously into the cupboard next to yours.

Hyunjin moves through the house, peeking into each room, trying to find you. He pokes his head into the bedroom, immediately noticing your spreadeagled state. He chuckles before moving to your dazed form, lying face down on the mattress.

Hyunjin pokes your side. Nothing.

He figures you're asleep before his hand moves to your hair, ruffling it gently. You let out a muffled whine and shake your head, batting his hand away.

Retracting his hand in surprise and mild confusion, Hyunjin peers down at you as you raise your head. His brow furrows in concern as your eyes meet his.

You look miserable.

Lowering his voice, Hyunjin kneels by the bed, cooing softly.

"Hi," he says quietly. "What happened, my muse?"

A fresh wave of tears fills your eyes and you choke back a cry, mouth parting in distress. Hyunjin is immediately next to you, tugging you gently into his lap, rocking back and forth. Sweet nothings and whispered reassurances leave his mouth in a steady, comforting stream, but his usually soothing voice does nothing to calm your frazzled nerves.

It's all too much.

You sob like a child, leaning into Hyunjin. He notices with some worry how your shoulders are tightening in anxiety, and your hands that are balled into fists, clutching his shirt. Like you don't want him to leave, like he might disappear at any given moment.

You don't know how long it's been before your sobs quieten down. Hyunjin is still rocking you gently, kissing the crown of your forehead every now and then. You raise your head and look at him with red, puffy, exhausted eyes, cheeks streaked with hot, sticky tears.

Hyunjin smiles warmly at you regardless, seemingly not minding the large, soaked patch on his white shirt or the mess you've made of your hair and face. The adoring look in his eyes makes you want to cry and sob into him for another hour. It feels like it's been an hour.

At least, your current feelings are so overwhelming that you can do nothing but open your mouth, staring up at Hyunjin like he's the cure. But the usual, pretty, princely smile doesn't penetrate your heart with a beam of sunlight, and the sky outside feels so much dimmer. Everything feels lonely, like you're a sinking stone, trapped under the cool, dark, icy surface, chilled to the bone.

Like you're watching everything going on above water, where there is warmth and smiles and laughter and compassion, while you sink to the bottom of the deep, dark ocean, heavy and burdened and forgotten.

Hyunjin has been speaking for the last few minutes, his voice careful and soft, but you haven't been listening, too occupied with the numbing, aching feeling settling unpleasantly in the pit of your gut. An uncomfortable cloud of guilt settles over your head, sinking into your being and infusing through your skin like the cloying, sharp scent of cheap perfume.

Your head begins to swirl with a mass of racing thoughts, so fast you can't even comprehend. You feel like you're being squeezed, the life draining out of you, the edges of your vision blurring and darkening.

It's not enough. You're not enough, nothing will ever be good enough, no wonder people don't like you, why can't you just be normal, why can't you just be normal-

"Love, you need to breathe, okay? In and out for me, come on. You can do it."

He sounds so far away...

"Jinnie," you choke out, heaving. Tears stream down your stained cheeks.

"I'm here, I'll always be here, okay?"

You shake your head, sobbing. Your hands are tingling but you can vaguely feel something solid and warm against your palm. Looking up with a tremendous amount of effort, you notice Hyunjin pressing your palm to his heart. Through a haze of tears, you can feel the steady, solid thrum of his heart against your tingling, shaking fingertips.

"You're safe, okay? I'm gonna stay right here with you, just breathe in and out, you can do it, love. You're doing so well."

You choke in a heaving breath and Hyunjin coos encouragingly, still rocking you gently in his lap. Your breathing begins to even out, albeit extremely slowly.

Hyunjin doesn't let go.

.

You wake to something cold and damp being swiped gently across your face. Spluttering, you shove it away before sitting bolt upright, immediately regretting it as you feel the strength pour out of your body in a dizzying wave.

Hyunjin pushes you to lie back gently against the pillows, picking up the damp cloth and continuing to wipe gently at your stained, sticky cheeks and nose. You flush, feeling a bit pathetic, but he doesn't seem to care. His voice is soft.

"You fell asleep again, so I laid you down. What happened, hmm?"

You sniffle. "Everything is a mess."

Hyunjin nods understandingly, cooing as your hands come up to gently clutch at his wrist. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head, even that simple motion feeling like a test of ultimate strength. And you're losing the battle.

Hyunjin lets out a soft noise, gesturing to the bedside. "That's okay. Whenever you're ready, my muse. I just want you to drink water and eat something, and then we can do whatever you want."

You sniff and look to your right. On the bedside is a bottle of water, a hydration sachet, a couple of painkillers, and a little bowl of something fresh and red.

You look at Hyunjin, voice croaky. "Raspberries?"

He smiles, nodding. "Bought them this morning. It'll help you feel better, they're really good."

"Jinnie-"

"You need to eat something, okay?" Hyunjin's voice is soft but firm. "Please. It'll help, I promise. You've been running on fumes lately."

You look away guiltily, feeling a bit sick. Hyunjin's long, slender fingers come up to your face, the other holding one of the little berries.

You sigh and relent, chewing slowly on the fruit. And he's right. They are really good.

Hyunjin smiles proudly, like you've done something incredibly amazing. Ruefully, you think that in his eyes, you probably have. And it makes you feel just a tiny bit better inside.

He kisses your forehead. "I'm going to get changed, and then we can watch a movie or cuddle, or do whatever you want, okay?"

You nod silently, exhausted.

Hyunjin leaves and shuts the bathroom door, leaving you with the bowl of little red fruits. You eat slowly, nibbling, not wanting it all to come back up. Every movement is an effort, but slowly, you feel your strength ebbing back in tiny, flowing rivers.

The sky outside lightens, just a little.

a/n: *incoherent sobbing* *sniff sniff*

the fast lane : part 5 (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, angst, chan isn't as much of a dick (yayyy), jisung is the best, lots of vroom vrooming, not proofread, brief mentions of injury, tiny bit suggestive if you squint, that's it i think 3.6 k wc

series masterlist

part 5 : white knight and black knight

"You ready?" Jisung asked.

Y/n nodded shakily, adjusting her leather jacket. The material felt foreign, unusually smooth and uncomfortable against her skin. Jisung had kindly lent it to her, since she didn't have a racing jacket of her own yet, and not for the first time, Y/n was truly grateful for his amiable nature and quick smile.

He was just so easy to be friends with.

Y/n had only spent several days in Jisung's company as he'd helped train her, but by the time Saturday's race came around, she felt as if she'd known him for years. It was a pleasant feeling, to have someone who was so willingly kind to her after experiencing Chan's confusing attitude towards her, and the other racers' nonchalance and ignorance of her presence entirely. Minho's absence still bitterly tugged at Y/n's heartstrings, but with Jisung's constant chattering, grinning, and spontaneous antics, the sadness and longing began to slowly fade away, and Y/n surprisingly found herself enjoying herself in and out of the arena for the first time since Minho's impromptu training sessions.

Jisung nudged her shoulder suddenly, chuckling as she blinked, having been so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten where she was. "You'll be fine, Y/n."

Y/n exhaled, nodding, glad that he'd mistaken her quietness for nerves. She liked Jisung, but being a naturally suspicious person, she was finding it truly difficult to open up and tell him things that might have come easy to someone else. She understood now, why Chan acted the way he did, how he might have been feeling the same way as she did, not knowing who to trust or open up to.

Y/n was surprised she currently even had the capacity to hear herself think. The arena was bright and bustling, trails of car exhaust smoke rising in wisping plumes against the night sky. The floodlights were slightly dimmed, their usual blinding, white glare toned down by the hundreds of coloured light bulbs threading through the grandstands, giving the arena and racetrack a garishly dramatic, multi-coloured aura of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. The cars racing in the next heat were already lined up, decorated in flashy stripes and sheens of neon colours that made Y/n's head spin if she looked for too long. Minho's car, her car now, was there too, the neon green and chrome black cast sending a jolting, bittersweet pang through her heart. Jisung's neon red and candy-pink Mustang was positioned directly behind hers.

Someone brushed past her shoulder suddenly, smelling woodsy and spicy. Y/n knew that scent now.

Chan moved past her, walking into the crowds towards his car as if she'd conjured him there out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him around much since their shared breakdown in the tuning shop, but she was relieved to at least see that he was okay. Yn subconsciously realised she'd been coming around to him, albeit extremely slowly and warily.

Not to say she had forgiven him for what he'd done to Minho.

Y/n considered going after him suddenly, feeling a strange urge to reconnect with him the way they'd done in the garage. But she knew in her heart Chan wouldn't want to talk about it, especially since he'd been crying. She had a feeling most of the racers here weren't really into shows of affection or vulnerability unless it was shoving their tongues down the throats of the grid girls, who were currently swarming flirtatiously around a blonde-haired racer clad in jet black and blue.

Not that there was any time to reconnect with Chan anyway.

Jisung clapped her on the back, giving her a final, million-watt smile before disappearing behind her to enter his own car in the lineup. Y/n took a shaky breath and opened the car door of her own, sliding smoothly into the driver's seat. Her fingers found their place on the wheel, the cool leather sending an involuntary shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus. Opening them again, trying to clear her head, Y/n glanced in her rearview mirror, noticing Jisung making his final adjustments in his seat. Y/n fought a tiny, fond laugh as he hit his elbow on the window frame, his lean top half temporarily disappearing as he keeled over dramatically at the pain.

Dragging her eyes away from her friend, Y/n glanced across to her left, noticing Chan clenching the wheel of his own car next to her. His sleek, dark Corvette was polished to an effortless shine, the red streamlining catching the multi-coloured lights sprinkled around the racetrack. He was wearing the exact same black and red racing suit he'd worn when she'd first ran into him, and Y/n cringed at the memory, remembering how she'd fallen straight onto her ass afterwards. She was also convinced that Chan probably slept in his racing suit at this point. She was about to smile at the thought, turning to look at him, when she realised he looked a lot more focused than usual.

No, not focused.

Tense.

Like he was worried about something.

Every single muscle was rigid and stiff. He kept shifting in his seat, his usual bravado disappearing completely as he fretted silently to himself, frowning every now and then. Y/n hastily redirected her gaze as Chan's eyes caught hers, her heart thudding at the unexpected glance.

A grating rev from her other side made Y/n jolt. Glaring at the racer to her left, Y/n's jaw dropped a little as she realised the racer who had been flirting with the grid girls was staring directly at her. Her glare disappeared as quickly as it had come, a sudden shyness and sense of inferiority crashing over her being. His car must have been the most expensive one on the track. The McLaren P1's sleek, deep blue body was decorated with vibrant, sky blue lightning strikes detailed in black and white. It was truly stunning.

So is the racer inside it, Y/n thought.

She promptly realised she'd been staring at the blonde-haired racer for some time now. He was doing the same, his dark, almost boyishly pretty eyes boring into Y/n's with an intensity that made her want to shrink into oblivion. His face was freckled, the blonde strands falling down over his forehead and nape in messy, loosely clustered strands. She could faintly see his roots growing out, the colour beneath the harsh dye a pleasant, dark, chocolatey brown.

Y/n watched, stupefied, as the racer smirked, a strand of pretty blonde hair falling into his face. He shook his head a little, shaking it out of the way, before cocking a confident eyebrow at her and smirking again, his tongue darting out to briefly touch his teeth. Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks at the expression, though she knew he was mocking her, nonverbally telling her to stay out of the way.

Out of his way, most likely.

She watched as he threw his head back and laughed, though she couldn't hear it from her car. It didn't seem like the friendly type of laugh, either. More derisive and taunting. Y/n's hands clenched involuntarily on the wheel and she looked straight ahead, trying to redirect her moral compass, and focus.

This would have been so much easier if Minho was here, she thought desperately. She leant forward a little and watched with hawk-like eyes as a grid girl sashayed onto the track, holding a single, black-and-white checkered flag. Y/n's heart thudded as she watched the girl raise the flag. Y/n glanced at Chan one more time before the flag dropped.

The instant the green signal flared, they were off.

Tires screeched against asphalt as the cars launched forward, engines roaring. The blonde-haired racer's car had already disappeared round a turn as soon as the signal flare had launched, and Y/n sputtered, faltering momentarily.

How had he gotten there so fast?

Recollecting herself, Y/n's heart leapt into her throat as she slammed her foot on the gas. The adrenaline surged through her veins as the world around her blurred, the car's momentum throwing her against the seat. Jisung's car sped past her, stuck in the middle between Chan's car and her own, but she strangely found she didn't mind. Jisung seemed to have enough skill to hold his own, and Y/n was far more focused and preoccupied on beating two particular cars.

Chan’s car surged ahead at first, taking an early lead like Y/n had always seen him do, with smooth confidence and practiced ease. Y/n glanced at her rearview mirror; she could already see the blonde racer's car coming up behind her. He was so incredibly fast that Y/n put him out of her mind, instead focusing on Chan's car beside her.

Forget about the hot blonde guy, she thought. I just have to place, and beat Chan.

Chan's car was faster, smoother, and Y/n could tell that he knew the track like the back of his hand. But Y/n stayed focused, her knuckles white against the wheel, refusing to be intimidated. She could feel the power beneath her, every turn and shift of the road pushing her to test her limits, and go beyond. She gritted her teeth and wrenched the wheel, eyes laser-focused on the track ahead and the cars vying to overtake her.

The cars whipped around tight corners, engines screaming, sparks flying as their bumpers almost brushed. Y/n inched closer, narrowing the gap between her car and Chan's. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer—she was pushing her car harder than ever.

Y/n saw Chan’s engine suddenly sputter, and his car jerking violently. The reckless revving dropped, and the smooth power that was seconds ago relied on faltered. His car slowed, losing speed, and within seconds, it was clear—his car was stalling.

Y/n's eyes instinctively flickered back and forth between the track ahead and Chan's car, now dropping behind her. She could see him beat his fist against the wheel, his expression wild and glaring. Her heart hammered against her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering if she should slow down. But regaining her rationality, she cast Chan one last glance and sped past, right behind Jisung and the blonde racer. Steeling her focus, she looked ahead at the finish line, the grid girl now standing on the side of the track, waving the checkered flag.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. This is it.

The finish line was in sight, the wind whipping past her, the crowd roaring as they saw her take the lead, directly behind the blonde. She sped ahead, leaving Chan and his stalling car behind.

Seconds later, Y/n crossed the line, the rush of her first placing victory flooding through her veins. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a hard stop, her heart pounding, barely believing what had just happened.

She turned the engine off and with clammy hands, opened the door, stumbling out. Her ankles and wrists ached with the exertion and her fingers hurt, like they had been molded to the steering wheel. She made a mental note to buy gloves and loosen her grip next time.

The thought flew out of Y/n's head as a large, lean figure tackled her in a hug, her hearing muffling temporarily along with the roars from the crowd. Jisung lifted her above the ground, his hair slick with sweat, eyes crinkled as he laughed. He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot, Y/n jolting in his arms.

"You did it!" he cheered. "Even beat me and Chan. How's that for a proper race, uh?"

Y/n smiled, letting out a tentative, wheezy laugh, struggling in his grip.

"Thank you, Jisung, but I can't breathe-"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry," he placed her back on the ground, readjusting the jacket from where he'd disheveled it. He grinned at her, running a gloved hand through his hair. The haphazardly neon, overexcited crowd bustled around them, jostling and shouting. "Better?"

Y/n nodded, relieved, just as she spotted a head of messy blonde hair. Peeking behind her friend, she noticed the blonde racer pushing and brushing his way through the crowd. She blurted out a half-hearted excuse to Jisung and disappeared into the mess of people, trying to keep him in her sight.

Finally making her way through to the other side of the crowd, Y/n inhaled in a much-needed breath of cold, slightly smoky air, and glanced around hastily, her eyes settling on the racer. He was a little way away, talking to a slim, well-dressed man with a stern face. Y/n stumbled past a crowd of flamboyantly dressed young women and came up beside him, panting slightly. The well-dressed man disappeared with a glance at her, just as the blonde racer turned to face her. Y/n's breath escaped her lungs in a low whoosh.

He was beautiful.

Stuttering slightly, and feeling like a common peasant in the presence of someone so ethereally charming, Y/n found she had temporarily lost the capacity for speech. Her words finally came out in a rather pathetic, stumbling mess of fragments.

"U-um, I just- wanted to say, that-"

The racer raised an eyebrow, his expression not unfriendly nor open. More... mildly irritated and hesitantly curious at the same time. Y/n was convinced she couldn't have pulled off the expression if she tried.

His voice broke through the charged, slightly smoky atmosphere, the tone and pitch of it deep and thick and smooth like honey.

"Yes?"

Y/n's knees almost buckled. His voice was rich and accented, like Chan's but just a little bit more so. Y/n noticed his freckles again, spotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, his eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. There was a slighter larger freckle on the smooth curve of his cheekbone, shaped a little like a heart. She fought the sudden urge to smile at the cuteness of it and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Um, congratulations. For winning the race."

Her words came out more composed than before. Y/n silently congratulated herself on being able to form a singular coherent sentence in front of this ethereal supermodel of a human being.

"Thank you."

Y/n fidgeted, unsure of what to do. She intertwined her fingers, trying not to make things awkward. The supermodel racer simply stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tugging lightly on the collar of her borrowed jacket. A jolt of fire seared through Y/n at the touch, though he had made no contact with her skin. Like a static shock.

"Stealing Jisung's things, hmm?"

Y/n stuttered. "He let me me borrow it. Uhm, for the race."

"I see. Congratulations to you too. Much better since your last try."

Y/n almost choked on her saliva, the humiliating memory of her first race resurfacing in her mind. Had he been watching her?

All this time?

The racer seemed to notice her assumption, because his eyes widened infinitesimally, his hands clenching into fists. Seemingly irritated, he huffed out a breath that felt more forced than genuine.

Must be to keep up an image, Y/n thought ruefully to herself. I bet he's a softie under all of it. Like Chan. I think.

The blonde's thick, velvety voice floated through the air to her again, this time tinted in clarity and begrudging respect.

"Don't get cocky, rookie."

"Okay."

The racer simply nodded, apparently deeming the conversation finished, and brushed past her into the crowd.

Y/n watched him go.

☆★☆

The crowd was like a human barrier; Y/n was pushing and stumbling her way through, trying to get back to Jisung. Suddenly turning around, she ran directly into someone, almost falling over backwards. Panic set in her chest as she stumbled, the jostling crowd around her doing nothing to help her regain her bearings or balance.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, just as a pair of strong arms coiled around her waist, warm and stable. Her feet caught themselves on the asphalt, and one foot hovered unsurely just above the ground. Y/n looked up at Chan.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have caught you the first time, uh?"

Y/n's heart dropped out from her ribcage, down her legs, and out of her ass. She flushed suddenly at the feeling of his arms around her waist, cheeks tingling with fire.

"Thanks," she managed to get out as Chan pulled her fully upright. He released his hold on her and Y/n's body almost followed him like a magnet, already feeling cold without his touch. A sense of bittersweet disappointment filled her stomach. She blinked, hard, before looking up at him, unsure of what to say. Was he upset he'd lost?

"Um, your car-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan's expression was unreadable.

Such a carefully constructed mask, Y/n thought. A lot like Minho's.

But where Minho's mask was gold and ivory, Chan's was silver and obsidian.

Opposites.

In every way, it seemed. Black and white. Light and dark. Like two knights from opposing kingdoms, standing for completely different things.

White knight and black knight.

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, opening her mouth to speak. Chan beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

What?

Y/n's dumbfounded expression must have betrayed her surprise, because Chan rolled his eyes, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He huffed, seemingly trying to steel himself, or keep his irritation in check. Knowing Chan as little as she did, she went ahead and assumed it was probably the latter.

"Just- I'm sorry. That I shouted at Minho in front of you, that I left the tuning shop so suddenly. I didn't mean to get so sentimental, just- memories, y'know?"

Y/n blinked, her capacity for speech returning from its brief holiday.

"Oh. Um- it's okay."

Chan blinked back at her, expression mildly surprised. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disbelieving. It was clear he hadn't been expecting to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be pissed."

Y/n shrugged. "I was, but I let it go after a while. I forgive you. You know, if that's what you want to hear."

Chan's mouth formed a small, 'o' and Y/n's cheeks puffed up, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You look like a pufferfish," she snickered.

Chan flushed a light pink across his cheekbones and tutted once at her before hastily running a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair. Now that he was standing a little closer, Y/n could see the light bruising around his right eye showing through. She could see the light, careful smoothing of concealer over the sweat-sheened area and bit the inside of her cheek. A tiny patch of purple and green bloomed in faint patches at the corner of his eye, and to Y/n, it looked like it'd gotten worse since the last time they'd seen each other. Se glanced up at the racer, suddenly concerned, but decided not to say anything.

Chan suddenly opened his mouth to retort to her comment and was immediately tackled by a tornado with dirty blonde hair and a mesh shirt. He let out an oof and stumbled back a few steps, freezing as Jisung joyfully squeezed him around the middle. Chan exhaled before hesitantly patting Jisung on the back. Y/n chuckled.

"Y/n beat you," Jisung's voice was muffled, though it contained no small amount of glee.

Chan groaned. "Well spotted. Uh- you can let go now."

Jisung lifted his head from where it was buried in Chan's shoulder, and reluctantly let go, cheeks puffing out in a pout.

Y/n chuckled at her friend's antics and glanced at Chan. The crowd around her was beginning to feel suffocating.

"Let's go sit down."

☆★☆

Chan groaned as Jisung snatched his drink for the fourth time, laughing.

Y/n had dragged the both of them up into the bleachers, where they could watch the entire event without being crowded. The neon flashing lights and the screeching of the cars had dimmed, as if someone had draped a blanket over it, dulling the lights and colours and noises.

She dragged her gaze away from the arena below and turned her gaze to Jisung. He was busy scarfing down the rest of Chan's drink. Tossing it into a nearby bin, he turned to her with a cheeky grin. Chan groaned and shoved him lightly, displeased with the theft of his refreshment, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.

Looking down at the arena again, Y/n replayed the events of the night. The blonde haired racer popped into her mind, and she turned to Jisung suddenly, curious.

"Jisung?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you, um- there's this blonde haired racer, he was next to me in the lineup. Do you maybe know who he is? He had the McLaren with the lightning strikes on it."

Jisung nodded thoughtfully. Chan was preoccupied, running calloused fingertips over the thick silver chain on his wrist. He looked up in interest just as Jisung spoke.

"Blonde hair, McLaren, lightning strikes... sounds like someone we know, huh, Chan?"

Chan rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The night breeze blew his dark hair black, the wind running its cool fingers through the sweat-dried locks.

"Oh, we know him all right."

Jisung grinned cheekily, chuckling. "Chan hates him because he's a better racer."

"I do not. And he's not that good."

"Mhm, totally..."

"Oh, shut up, Jisung."

The younger boy laughed, holding up his hands in defence, leaning away from Chan. The shit-eating grin on Jisung's face was wiped away by a swift, sharp slap to the upside of his head. He groaned and flopped dramatically to the arena floor. Y/n, meanwhile, just blinked softly, unbothered by their antics.

"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.

Chan huffed, stretching out his long legs in front of him before propping them up on the seat in front. His voice was gravelly.

"Lee Felix."

a/n: i planned to post this a month ago but oops. also felix introduction yay !

Hi! I love everything you’re writing so I wanted to say that 😅. Also (if you can’t and I am not bothering) I was thinking if you could have written something with Felix when the reader gets bullied (it doesn’t have to be physically) because I am kinda experiencing it and…. I wanted comfort? Hahaha it sounds strange but yeah….. thank you so much 😘

hello lovely anon <3 i'm so sorry to hear you're being bullied, i've been there too and it hurts a lot . i hope this helps a little, and my dms are always open if you need someone to talk to ! you are loved !

always forever - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: felix comforts you when he finds out you've been getting bullied

genre: fluff, idol! au, very angsty, reader is bullied, mentions of injury, mentions of blood and scrapes (not descriptive), lots of crying, sad shit overall, hurt to comfort

a/n: if you're being bullied, please reach out . take care of yourself lovelies 🫶

You hurry down the paved pathway, slipping between the throngs of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Mumbling a half-hearted 'sorry' to an older woman who you'd accidentally bumped, you push past the park gates and find yourself wandering the paved path through the grass.

There aren't many people around, since it's a weekday afternoon, and you're glad of it. Your tie blows in the light, summery breeze as you hurry down a widened path, the trees expertly twined together and grown over time to form a giant, leafy archway. The lush, green canopy provides a welcome shelter from the afternoon heat, and you stumble as you pass a patch of dappled sunlight that's filtering through the leaves.

You land with a solid ugh onto the pebbly pavement, the side of your head knocking a little against the ground. You wheeze, the air leaving your lungs in a low, instant huff. It hurts so bad you instantly roll onto your side. There's nothing more you want to do than curl up, lie here, and cry, but the small, sensible voice in your head tells you to stand up and find somewhere to sit.

Groaning, you heave yourself to your feet and collapse onto the nearest bench. The tears fill your eyes then and you heave, doubling over, the impact from hitting the ground, the terrible course of the day, and your general state of dishevel rushing up on you in a dizzying wave of nausea and overwhelm.

You cry.

☆☆☆

Gentle footsteps crunch against the pebbled pavement, and you feel a presence move to sit quietly beside you. Your have your knees tucked up to your chest, your head buried between them, so you have no clue who it is.

A faint scent of vanilla fans over you with the soft breeze and you feel a warm, calloused fingertip gently poke the side of your head.

You sniff. "Go away, Felix."

Felix sighs and leans his head on yours, careful not to put too much pressure on you. One hand moves to place itself on top of yours, the deep, velvety tone of his voice penetrating the walls you've built up around yourself.

"Y/n, lift your head."

"No."

"Please?"

You sigh and lift your head at his pleading request, which feels like it's made of lead, and look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and watery, hot tears spilling down your cheeks like little rivers of flames. Felix sighs softly and puts an arm around your hunched figure, pulling you into him gently. His warmth envelops you and it's the safest you've felt all day.

"What happened?" he says quietly so as not to scare you. "I was walking back from the shop and I saw you dashing the other way crying."

You sniff, your voice cracked and pitched in distress. "They hate me, Felix. I don't know why, it's just every time they see me, I walk away feeling like shit. They hate me and it's making me hate myself, I feel like I don't even matter-"

Felix's eyes widen and his hold on you tightens, secure and stable around your shaking figure. He lets you sob into him, and by the time you lift your head, the juncture of his neck is soaked with tears.

"Y/n," he says softly. "They're just insecure about themselves. They hate themselves so they want to make everyone else feel the same way. Don't let them."

You cry softly. "I feel so worthless, Lix..."

"You're not worthless, Y/n. You're pretty and smart and creative and stunning and the funniest person I know. I'm constantly checking my phone to see if you've texted me, and every time the door to the studio opens, I hope that it's you.

Hyunjin-hyung and Changbin-hyung tease me all the time because I talk about you so much. The boys love you, so, so much. I do too, and I need you to understand that whatever those bullies say, it's not true. You're worth everything, and I'll be here every second to remind you in case you forget."

You drop your head into his shoulder again and he cradles it close, the warmth of his hand easing the throbbing pain in your temples. You emit a weak, watery, muffled thankyou into his now-soaked shirt and he affectionately kisses the crown of your head. Cupping your face, he looks at your face, seemingly searching.

"You're hurt," he carefully brushes a thumb across your cheekbone, a slight sting following. You probably scraped it when you fell earlier. Felix retracts his hand, his thumb stained lightly with blood. You turn your hands over. The heels of your palms are in the same condition.

Felix tuts softly, stroking the inside of each wrist. "Do you wanna come back to the studio with me? Chan, Hyunjin, and Han will most likely still be there, but there's a big first aid kit in the cupboard, and Chan-hyung might be able to help fix you up."

"I don't want to burden-"

"You're not being a burden," Felix cups your face firmly. "You'll never be a burden to me. Just keep fighting and let me help. Let us help. You don't have to keep doing it alone."

You nod, and move to stand up. Your knees protest in the form of a stinging, searing pain, the scrapes disturbed. You wince and flop back onto the bench, groaning. It's replaced by a yelp as Felix hoists you effortlessly into his arms, bridal-style. Your hands lock around his shoulders and he grins.

"Let's go."

Despite the situation, a question nags at your conscience. "Lix, weren't you supposed to be at dance practice at this time? How come you were out."

Felix begins walking, a cheeky smile making its way onto his freckled face. "I snuck out because Hyunjin wouldn't stop nagging me. Besides, I wanted food from that really good ramen restaurant down the street."

You cover your mouth with a scraped hand. "The rest of the boys are never going to let this go once they find out."

Felix winces. "Oh well. I snuck out for a snack and came back with a Y/n, so I don't think they'll mind-"

You squeal and swat his chest. Felix laughs and continues carrying you down the path.

"Felix?"

He responds with a hum, still smiling softly.

"Thankyou for helping me."

Felix chuckles lightly. The arm that's cupping your shoulders squeezes gently, sending heatwaves flooding into your veins.

"Always and forever, okay?"

a/n: my heart hurts

the fast lane : part 4 (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, chan cries, reader cries, everyone cries, mention of injuries, brief description of injury, trauma-ma-ma-ma wc 3.9 k

series masterlist

part 4 : unexpected contact

"Minho, wake up!"

Y/n sank to her knees beside him. Minho's outline was blurred through the haze of Y/n's tears. She placed a hand on his shoulder; it was cold, almost lifeless.

She should call someone- who was she even meant to call? The arena was empty and the sky was beginning to dim in deep gloaming tones. Looking down at Minho again, she shook him uselessly, squeezing his shoulder and pressing her palm pleadingly to his clammy, tearstained face.

"Please, Minho..."

His eyes fluttered but he showed no sign of movement beyond that. His face was so soft and delicate in sleep, eyelashes like a dusting of cocoa against his lids. The chiseled angles of his nose and jaw, the little white scars on the line of his throat and his temples. The perfect porcelain mask was cracked and Y/n tried desperately to piece it together, crying and coaxing and trying with shaking hands to do something, anything.

Nothing was working.

Y/n cupped his face, pressing her forehead to his. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheekbones like tiny rivers of molten gold. She knew in her heart that he'd passed out from the distress. She stroked his hair, deep purplish-brown in the dimming light, and whispered to him sweet nothings she wouldn't remember and he wouldn't hear.

"Min..." she hiccupped, barely able to see through the onslaught of hot tears. "Please wake up."

She had felt two pairs of hands grasping her, ripping her away from Minho like a bandage being ripped off a half-healed wound. Blood pooled in Y/n's footsteps as she was hauled to the backstage area, pushed down onto the couch. She remembered her hands, sweaty with the emotional exertion, slipping against each other as she'd wrung them together, pacing behind the closed door.

She remembered wo people shouting frantically and a muffled groan, boyish and pretty. The slam of a door, weak protests, and then the revving of a car. When she'd finally been let out of the room, he wasn't there.

She remembered being told to go home.

She remembered returning to the arena the next day, and how he hadn't been there.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that one either.

She remembered showing up six days later, having been told she had been signed up for a race the following Saturday. She'd just smiled weakly as she'd been informed, knowing that Minho had been the one to register her. That information only made her heart ache more as time passed.

She remembered asking around, only to be told that he'd been taken to get medical attention, and that no one knew where he was. She'd cried after that, curling up into a ball against the backstage door, where she'd fallen backwards and met Minho for the first time.

A pair of strong arms had coiled around her, comforting her, though later she couldn't seem to remember who it was. The image danced just out of reach, her memory fogged over by her aching longing and worry.

What if he never returned?

What if he'd collapsed because of what Chan had said?

Or worse, what if he'd-

What if-

Y/n flew bolt upright, gasping and shaking and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She spasmed for a moment, flailing, before realising where she was.

The tuning shop's lights were off, the sun filling the space through the half-opened garage door. It was wide and spacious, several other cars lined up beside the one Y/n was working on. Minho's car, she reminded herself. It was his. And he'd been grudgingly trusting enough to allow her to keep it.

"I have another I can use," he'd said, refusing to make eye contact as Y/n had thrown her arms around him, squealing.

Her very own car.

Y/n smiled sadly, willing her eyes not to well up as she ran her fingertips along the chrome-green and black satin cast. Exactly like his motorbike, she remembered. He always did like matching items.

The sun cast a golden glow over the cement, reflecting and lighting up the area. The cheerful chattering of birds and the amiable talking of the occasional racers who passed by should have lifted Y/n's spirits.

Strangely enough, it hadn't.

She'd fallen asleep after about an hour of engine adjustments, too exhausted by her racing thoughts and neverending worries to do anything more than idly sit and adjust a miscellaneous bolt. Her fingers and the front of her shirt was stained with engine grease, though she wasn't entirely sure how it'd gotten there.

Y/n sighed and propped herself up against the car, elbows on her knees as she stared quietly out of the garage. She could see the wheels of cars and a little bit of the arena entrance from her. She had no will to be where she was right now, but she was kept in place by a bone-deep, aching tiredness that took a firm grip on every part of her body. She was more than content to sit here for the rest of the day and wallow endlessly in her weeping, abyssal sorrow.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A quiet, somber, accented voice shook her out of the haze of her thoughts. Almost. She was too caught up in her fugue state to even bother turning or acknowledging whoever was at the entrance.

Without looking to see who it was, Y/n let out a tiny, almost inaudible, half-hearted "mm" before relapsing into silence once again.

There was a sigh, then the quiet thudding of boots as whoever it was moved to sit down next to her. The intoxicating scent of a familiar, spicy, woodsy cologne filled her nostrils and she turned hesitantly, the small action unexpectedly taking most of her strength.

Chan gazed back at her, expression hard and solemn.

Y/n blinked, his presence finally registering in the fog of her mind. She opened her mouth, then closed it unsurely, shoulders tensing.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears, though from what emotions or thoughts, she wasn't sure. "I haven't seen you since-"

"I know," he murmured.

There were dark rings around his eyes, and the space under his right eye was slightly red and purple, like he'd bruised the soft skin there. He looked pale and he hadn't bothered to style his hair, the strands falling in soft, thin waves past his forehead. Y/n wondered if he'd been having trouble sleeping, or if he'd slept at all.

Y/n turned her face away to hide the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks like little paths of fire. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, shaky.

"Are you going to shout at me too in whatever language you were spitting at Minho in?" Her voice was bitter, quiet, almost resentful.

Chan didn't reply.

Y/n knew in her heart that she had no right to be truly resentful towards him. After all, she had no clue what had transpired between him and Minho, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Chan had done something terribly, terribly wrong. And, Y/n reasoned with herself, even if he had, there was no reason for him to have snapped at Minho the way he did. Y/n fought the urge to seethe in the racer's face, though he showed no signs of aggression. He simply sat quiet and docile, seemingly reflecting as he watched the dappled sunlight from the garage cast patterns across the cement floor.

"Y/n," he whispered.

It was so faint she almost didn't catch it. Turning her face back towards him, she felt a small wave of surprise overcoming her features at the soft expression of her name. He was clearly struggling to maintain his cold, almost expressionless mask, the facade doing nothing to hide the thinly-veiled distress in his dark eyes. He looked so genuinely upset that Y/n couldn't help but turn her body towards him, tilting her head.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. It felt like ages had passed before Chan spoke, quiet and shaky like the way Y/n herself had spoken only moments before.

"Just- I can't tell you what happened, okay?"

Y/n blinked before an unexpectedly fierce scowl overcame her features, twisting it into a resentful, bitter mask. She recoiled minutely like she was disgusted. She felt disgusted, and she wasn't even sure why.

"Why not? You know, after all, I don't deserve to know why my friend collapsed, or why you yelled at him in the first place, or why you're such a jerk, but you know what, it's fine. It's fine, Chan."

Her voice came out sharp and spiteful, reminiscent of the sound of crashing, shattering glass. A glistening shard flew from her mouth and embedded itself in Chan's chest in a clean, swift swipe. He looked taken aback at the sudden harshness of her tone, looking almost guilty, and the remorseful, stupefied expression on his face was like a dagger to Y/n's heart, a clean, white slice too fresh and painful to fully comprehend.

Y/n knew she was projecting, knew she should hold back since Chan was so clearly distressed, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't help stepping back hastily when Chan rose to his feet and moved soundlessly towards her, his hands out in front of him like she was a wild, untamed animal he was trying not to spook.

Y/n couldn't help it when she batted his hands away with surprising sharpness, glaring up at him like she was attempting to burn laser holes through his skull. She couldn't help it when Chan swiftly stepped closer, expression desperate like the air of a man who knew he was losing his audience.

Or his sanity.

Or perhaps both. One could never really know nowadays.

What Y/n did know was that she wanted nothing to do with Chan, or what he had done. Not until he had simply just proved to her that he hadn't intended to hurt Minho the way he had. He was Y/n's first real friend, the first person to want to know her, truly as she was. Minho, who wanted Y/n with all her complications, worries, desires.

Minho, who listened to her stories, doing his best to keep up with her even when she got excited and spoke so fast she became dizzy.

Minho, who chided her as he ruffled her hair, his gaze lovingly scolding.

Minho, who had once driven her, a complete stranger home, simply because he was worried for her safety.

Minho who dragged her to the cafe after every practice, who drove her home, every time smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.

Minho, the sadist, the feline-eyed racer, the embodiment of untarnished strength and quiet confidence.

Minho, the pretty mask of ivory porcelain and dripping gold.

Minho, and her. Her.

Just her.

Y/n burst into tears.

Chan's arms were suddenly on her shoulders, her biceps, skating across the fabric of her jacket, wrapping around her waist until she sunk to the floor in his arms, a shattered, broken mess of glass and tears. Her knee scraped the cement through her ripped jeans but she didn't feel it, clinging to Chan even though all she wanted to do was push him away. A loud sob escaped her mouth and she buried her face in his jacket as his arms coiled around her even tighter, almost protectively. His hand brushed her knee, readjusting it gently so it didn't press against the ground, his retracting fingertips stained lightly with her blood.

Y/n closed her eyes tight, so tight, like if she did it hard enough Minho would suddenly reappear and take Chan's place. She was a swirling, confused mess of overwhelming agony and longing sadness. Y/n did not know how it felt to drown in a dark, lonely ocean, but she supposed this is must what it would have felt like. Sinking like a stone in a sea of doubt, gasping for oxygen but instead dousing her insides in the fresh, painful frigidness of her situation.

She was barely aware when Chan adjusted himself to lean against the car again, Y/n in his lap. She clung to him, the weeks of maintaining the nonchalant facade disappearing in the unexpected comfort of his embrace. Turning her head to the side, overwhelmed by sudden dizziness from her emotional onslaught, she dimly noticed that the sleeve of her jacket was wet, soft, dark patches making patterns on the fabric like the first few raindrops at the beginning of a storm. It took her several moments to comprehend the fact that Chan was also crying.

His face was buried into the crook of her neck, nuzzling into the juncture, soaking it with his tears. Strangely, Y/n didn't mind, too preoccupied with the combined vulnerability of the situation. She stopped sniffing, blinking to remove the blurry tears from her vision. A quiet, repeated whimper came from her shoulder, Chan's voice muffled by the fabric and the force at which he was burying his face into her neck.

"Please, don't go... Stay with me, I'm sorry, I should never have done this, please-"

Y/n stilled, trying to understand through the aftermath of her tears. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or reliving a memory of someone, or something else. Maybe he was talking to Minho, or another close friend. It was impossible for Y/n to tell.

He was pleading.

"Chan?" Y/n whispered, voice raw and cracked. A sudden realisation dawned on her. She knew it was completely outside the bounds of propriety to interrupt his whimpering pleas but she couldn't let the thought remain unsaid. Gathering her courage, she touched his shoulder. He lifted his head slightly, indicating that he was listening. Or maybe he just needed air, having shoved his face into her shoulder for so long. But Y/n took the opportunity as it came, though a little shakily.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She whispered almost inaudibly. "The night I cried backstage, a few days after Minho collapsed.. you were the one who held me."

Chan nodded infinitesimally, almost guiltily, like he'd been caught. A choked sob ripped out of his lungs, his eyes glazed, and Y/n opened her mouth, unsure. He was clearly in pain, and Y/n had a strong feeling it wasn't the physical type. Chan murmured something shakily in Korean before pressing his head to her shoulder again, shoulders heaving with the force of his tears.

They sat like that for a while, Y/n eventually feeling bold enough to reach up and stroke his hair lightly. It was like pinfeathers beneath her fingers, softer than she could have ever imagined. Chan's cries quieted after a while, and so did Y/n's halfhearted sniffing, leaving the both of them clinging to each other, the way a person drowning in the sea might cling to a piece of debris.

It should have felt strange, considering that Y/n didn't even know Chan well, but she felt too boneless and spent to currently care about physical boundaries. And so did he, clearly feeling careless enough to run his fingers lightly up and down her spine, not daring to go past her middle back. The sense of affinity hanging in the atmosphere descended like a cloud upon Y/n and Chan until the advancing, rhythmic sound of footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. The door handle turned and Y/n hastily scrambled off Chan's lap, unceremoniously falling on her ass beside him. Chan smoothed a large, veiny hand through his hair just as the door opened.

To Y/n's enormous surprise, a cat came strolling through the doorway, looking around inquisitively before moving to lie down in the sunlight. Chan spluttered before pointing to the doorway, confused.

"Whose footsteps were those, then?" he stuttered, looking at Y/n as if she might have known the answer.

She simply fought a smile and shrugged back before standing up, and slowly moving closer to the cat. The dark, jet black fur shone honey brown and was flecked with gold under the wash of sunlight. Y/n stroked its back gently, feeling the cat's satisfied purr rumble up from its throat. It mewed at Chan as he settled on the other side, his long legs folded up to his chest. He leaned forward, petting the cat, and his knee brushed Y/n's. The touch sent a jolt through her and Y/n felt heat rise in her cheeks, petting the cat a little faster to hide the crimson splotches on her face. If Chan noticed, he didn't say anything, having apparently come to a conclusion that the footsteps outside the door must have been someone else.

Y/n pressed her lips together to stop herself from bursting out in questions. The moment was quiet and almost intimate, and Y/n felt like she'd be ruining it if she bombarded the dark-haired racer with questions. Looking down at the cat as it tilted green eyes at her, she smiled and scratched it lightly behind the ear. It looked a little bit like Minho; inquisitive, quietly confident eyes and fur the same shade as his hair when it hit the light. Y/n felt a pang in her chest and turned to Chan. Now or never, she supposed.

"Chan?" she whispered, not for the first time.

He responded with a "hm", seemingly distracted by the cat.

"Do- do you know where Minho is? Is he okay?"

Chan turned to her. Y/n's breath caught; his eyes had lightened to a dark brown, the sun casting an almost glowing sheen over his tanned skin. His eyes were rimmed in red and tear tracks stained his cheekbones like the hollowing path water makes through the ground, and the water caught the light, sparkling when he blinked at her. The slight bruise under his eye was rosy and pale purple. His hair, however un-styled and messy it was, swept down over his forehead in a way that strangely made Y/n's heart thud far faster than it should have.

Chan opened his mouth to speak. "He's-"

"Minho's fine. At home, resting." A voice sounded from the doorway. A slim, agile-looking racer was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He had an air of good nature, with his hair dyed a dirty blonde, and the dark roots growing out under the strands. His eyes were wide and dark, yet they were sparkly with a mischievous light that glinted as he tilted his head at Chan. There was silence between the three, until the man clicked his fingers, the cat rising from its position like a sleeper agent and padding to the racer's feet. It wound itself between his legs, pawing at the thick silver zips on his boots. The man reached down and gently picked the cat up, stroking it and whispering. Y/n watched the man, fascinated, though Chan looked politely unfazed.

"Was it you making those heavy footsteps before?" Y/n asked timidly.

The racer simply nodded, not taking his eyes off the cat. Y/n's gaze traveled down to where the cat's dark, fluffy tail flicked at the waist level of the man. The racer's physique was slim and lean, his shoulders broad, chest tapering down to a slender, pretty waist that Y/n was almost jealous of. He was wearing a plain black short-sleeve mesh shirt, tucked into combat pants similar to Y/n's own. He was fairly short, just like Chan and Minho, yet tall enough that Y/n figured if she stood, he would be able to look down into her face.

The racer tilted his head, noticing Chan's gaze and Y/n's stare. He gave Y/n a million-watt bright, cheeky grin, eyes slitting with the exuberant movement, before his gaze slid back to the cat. She liked him instantly.

"I didn't think she would wander here," he said quietly, still smiling, referring to the cat. He tapped its nose softly but cheekily before moving to sit right next to Y/n. His knees took up most of her personal space, but she found that she didn't mind, feeling more curious than anything. He looked up at Y/n, poking her cheek lightly.

"Why you crying?" he said curiously. "Yah, Chan, what'd you say- oh, you're crying too, alright... are we just having a quick breakdown sesh in here? Cool, cool, cool."

Y/n heard Chan sigh. Turning her head just enough to see him out of her peripheral, Y/n watched as he leant back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him. He looked relieved, and Y/n wondered if he was glad that the cat-wielding racer on her other side had provided a welcome distraction from the previous conversation. Fighting a sigh herself, Y/n turned to the cheeky-looking man before reaching out to lightly ruffle the cat's fur.

"Are you friends with Minho?" she said softly, glancing up at the man. He nodded with a small "mm" before gently tugging on Y/n's hand, directing it to the spot behind the cat's ears. Surprised at the sudden contact. Y/n watched as the cat purred loudly at the feeling of her fingertips brushing its ears. The man chuckled before letting go.

"Minho and I have been close friends for a long time," he said quietly before glancing at Chan. "How are things, you know, after-"

"Things are fine," Chan's voice was tight, strained. Y/n tensed involuntarily.

The man sighed, voice softening, before he turned to Y/n. "If you want to know about Minho, he's fine. He's at home, recuperating. I went to see him yesterday just to drop a few things off for him, and I'm going again tonight, if you want me to say anything to him from you."

Y/n shook her head lightly at his offer, polite and appreciative. "Thank you, but I would much rather he rest, and come back healed. Do you know when he's coming back, by the way?"

"Probably within the next few days," Chan interrupted blandly. "He's never away for long. Too worried about you."

Y/n spluttered. "Me? What do you mean-"

The racer interrupted, laughing nervously before shooting Chan a glare, unbeknownst to Y/n. His voice tightened.

"Don't worry. Minho will be back soon. And he'll be happy to find out there's a stray hanging around the arena too. He loves cats," he scratched the cat's dark fur with a smile. "Oh, and I'm Jisung."

Y/n nodded. "I'm Y/n."

Jisung shot her another smile, bright enough to outshine the sunlight filtering into the garage. It dimmed slightly as Chan got up with a huff, brushing off his clothes. His eyes were suspiciously glassy and Y/n made to take his hand, voice coming out shaky but concerned.

"Chan, wait, where are you going-"

She moved to stand up too, hand still outstretched. She only got about halfway, crouching, before Chan took her hand as if on impulse, squeezing it quickly but gently before hastily leaving the room. The garage door swung shut behind him.

Y/n froze in position, hand tingling from the unexpected but welcome contact. A sudden rush of heat flooded to her cheeks and she gulped, that familiar pit of strange, fluttering tenderness settling in the pit of her stomach.

Jisung pointedly looked away.

a/n: this took way too long oops

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

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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.....

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