Low-key Can I Pls Request Chris Comforting Reader On Her Period Because I'm On My Right Now And I Want

Low-key can I pls request Chris comforting reader on her period because I'm on my right now and I want him as my personal hot water bottle.

Thank you!!

omg first request!!

hopefully this meets your expectations hahah... i wrote reader having a really bad period... hopefully that's fine for you <3 feel better!

he comforts you on your period - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, lil bit angsty. mentions of undressing, feeling nauseous & dizzy, cramps and period pain, reader has a period (obviously)

a/n: comments are appreciated... and whoever's reading this, feel better! and eat some dark chocolate <3

You groan for the fourth time as another debilitating cramp whacks you right in the gut, followed straight after by a dizzying wave of nausea. You're helpless to do anything but whine and writhe weakly on the bed, tangling the sheets and causing uncomfortable lumps of the blanket to pool up around you. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending.

You can't even call for Chan.

He's working from home today due to the severe weather, shut in his little studio down the apartment hallway. The rain clatters and thunders against the windows and balcony door, speckled with tiny crystal shards of hail ice. He's probably busy working away at some song while on call with the rest of 3RACHA. You can picture him busily writing down song lyrics in his notebook, headphones and black cap askew on his head, and hand messily smudging the dark, scented ink of his words on the page. His pretty, dark eyes shining, wide and focused as he does what he does best.

That pleasing mental image of your boyfriend is quickly chased away by another wave of nausea and you curl in on yourself, fighting the desperate urge to scream with whatever you have left. You didn't bother taking painkillers when the first cramp hit this morning, thinking you could muscle through it. Every time, you think you can handle the pain, and every time, you're proven completely and utterly wrong. And now you're immobilised on the bed, unable to do anything but face the bloody wrath of your monthly cycle.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Groaning, you shift achingly slowly to the side, trying to alleviate the pain. For a moment, you consider calling for Chan, but you doubt you'd be able to shout loud enough, and more so, you don't want to disturb him. The comeback is soon, and he was stressed enough at not being able to go to the company after seeing the state of the weather. He'd woken you up with a kiss, ordered breakfast to be delivered to the door, and disappeared, only pausing to throw on a hoodie and his usual cap. The studio door had shut and you had heard no more. He's been working all morning. He had said to try not to disturb him unless you really needed something, but you understood. He had a lot to do. But...

Biting your lip guiltily, and then wincing at the dull pain pooling in your stomach, you do your best to slide off the bed. It doesn't matter how much it hurts; you need painkillers. And right now, Chan can't afford to be distracted, so you muster up all of your strength to sit upright.

One foot touches the cold floor, and then the other. Both hands fly to your stomach and you double over, hair brushing your knees as you wait for the dizzying nausea to pass. It feels like you're being slammed in the gut with a sledgehammer set on fire. Attempting to regain your bearings, you sit up and wait for a few minutes. The pain dulls for a few moments and so does the headache, so you shakily stand, reaching for the wall in case your knees give out. Walking to the kitchen is a colossal effort, and a slow one at that too. The short walk down the hallway feels like a year.

Finally slumping against the counter, feet numb from the cold tiles, you take a glass from the dishrack and fill it halfway with water, spilling most of it on the counter in your hazy, aching state. Your vision is spotted with stars as you reach up on tiptoes and open the medicine cabinet to reach the painkillers.

You swallow two and move to make your way back to the bedroom. Turning, you're suddenly hit with the most awful, searing, intolerable pain. You jackknife to the floor, knees throbbing from the solid impact as they thud against the tiles. Leaning heavily on the cabinet, you rest your forehead against the cool, slightly chilled surface, and feel a liquid smearing onto the cupboard door. Pulling away slightly, you realise you're covered in a sheen of sweat. Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your body. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending but even worse than before.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, every heave sapping your energy. Sagging forward, you rest your face against the cool tiles, trying to stay conscious. Your surroundings blur out, replaced with an unpleasant echoing ring and the sound of Chan's footsteps.

Chan's footsteps?

He's holding his drained waterbottle in one hand and his phone in the other, eyebrows furrowing as he reads some lyric notes he typed earlier. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he turns into the kitchen and is immediately met with the sight of you slumped on the floor, coated in sweat and curled up like a dying insect in the summer.

His eyes widen and he drops to his knees, phone clattering to the side and waterbottle clanging loudly. The sound makes you wince.

"Love? Hey-" his warm, calloused hands run over your shoulders, panicked and wide-eyed. "What happened?"

You can't even respond.

Chan swears a few colorful, fluent phrases as he stands and dashes down the hallway, returning with a damp rag. He gently but hurriedly mops the sweat off your forehead and nape before tossing it aside and carefully lifting you into his firm, toned arms. Deadlifting you from the floor, he carries you back to the bedroom and sets you down gently, pulling the rumpled covers back. He rushes out of the room for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. Hurrying into the bedroom, he sets a few things down on the bedside before gently freeing you from your sweaty clothes.

In another scenario, you would be embarrassed, but right now you can't care less. It feels freeing and the cold air in the apartment seeps into your body, providing a welcome coolness. He lifts a hot water bottle and places it onto your lower stomach, tucking it slightly into the waistband of your underwear to keep it in place. He presses down lightly and you groan weakly, the heat providing almost immediate relief from the aching.

You don't register what happens after that; only the feeling of the damp cloth sweeping over your forehead and neck and Chan's warm, gentle touch keep you connected to consciousness. He begins to sing softly, lulling you into the heavy, dreamless sleep of the sick. HIs voice floats in the air like a wisp, light and airy and lilting, yet deep, accented, and rich. You gather all your remaining strength.

"Channie," you croak.

He looks up, brows knitted together in worry. He stops his ministrations, hand hovering over your shoulder.

Tears well in your eyes. Whether it's from the jumbled mess that the morning has been, the maelstrom of hormones, emotions and guilt in your system, the debilitating pain, or Chan's seemingly endless love, you're not entirely sure. Your voice is an almost inaudible whisper.

"I'm sorry i disturbed you. I went to take painkillers so i wouldn't disturb you because i know you're busy with the comeback-"

He cuts you off, expression gentle yet concerned. "I know i was busy, but you should have called me, love. Look at the state of you."

A hot tear spills down your cheek. "I'm sorry, Channie."

He shushes you, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "Don't apologise, yeah? If you need me, i'll come to you. Please don't ever feel that you're a bother to me or that you're disturbing me. Especially when it comes to things like this," he rubs your hipbone softly with his thumb, in soothing, relieving circles.

"Channie, can you cuddle me?"

He smiles softly. Pressing himself to your back, he bends his knees, spooning and tucking you into his chest. A surge of intoxicating warmth seeps pleasantly into your body and you sigh contentedly. His toned arm snakes around your waist, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach so you don't have to hold it there yourself. Kissing your neck softly, he nuzzles into your shoulder, telling you to sleep and that he would be there when you wake up. It feels so warm, so cosy, so safe. But the guilt of having tore him away from his work doesn't slip your hazy, fatigued mind.

"Channie, i'm sorry for being a bother."

He exhales a small, sincere chuckle through his nose, tucking his head further into your shoulder.

"You're never a bother to me, love."

a/n: how'd i do? do we like it? likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated <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

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!

IM SO EXCITED FOR YHE NEW SERIES EEEEK CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHP

ahahah thank you!! glad you're enjoying it <3

the fast lane : part 2 (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, mentions of blood, injuries, passing out (very light stuff tho, nothing detailed), angsty reader hours, wc 3.3k

series masterlist

part 2 : the lollipop

Y/n stormed into the backstage area, whipping around on her heel and slamming the two-way door shut behind her. The doorframe creaked as she slid down against it. Frustrated, angry tears burned in her eyes.

Retrieving the second-hand helmet tucked under her arm, she tossed it across the dimly lit room. It landed with a quiet clunk onto the floor, rolling a few metres away before coming to rest against the leg of an old, worn-out, leather sofa.

Y/n groaned and slid further down the doorframe, limp hair mussing in tangles against the wood of the door. Her back hurt from the awkward position and her leather suit chafed uncomfortably against her sweat-slicked skin, but she couldn't have cared less.

A few hot tears spilled down her cheeks, adding to the wet saltiness of her face and jawline. Squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could, Y/n attempted to forget the memory. Making the deal with Chan, the best street racer in the city. Being so overconfident and sassy to him, positive she'd place a win, only to have spun out in the last few seconds of the race. She kicked herself mentally. How she have gotten so confident? She was a mere rookie, a beginner in the racing scene. And yet she had had the guts to pretend like she was one of THEM, dressed in an expensive, tailored racing suit, with a flashy, colorful car and a personal pit crew at the ready to respond to every whim and command.

On top of all of that, she couldn't believe she had accepted the deal wit Chan. She should have turned it down and made a name for herself. She should have let him know that she could stand on her own two feet, and that she could become one of them. It was likely, she realised, that if she had won and accepted a choice of racecar from Chan, he would have used it against her as leverage in every possible scenario. Y/n was disgusted at her gullibility and eagerness. She'd gotten so hasty that she'd forgotten all the implications and consequences that came with attempting to become a street racer.

As soon as her car had pulled to the side, Y/n had thrown open the rusty car door and fled to the backstage room, shoving through the crowd in her haste. The jeers and whooping from the other racers, coupled with the burning embarrassment and the cheers for the racer who'd actually won accumulated and swirled around her in a thick fog of shame, pathetic self-pity, and hopelessness, seeping into her bones and taking hold of her senses till it seemed that failure was woven into every single fibre of her being.

She couldn't shake the images from her mind. Chan, standing at the winner's podium, surrounded by adoring fans, raising a fist in blazing triumph. The almost sympathetic look he'd given her as she'd fled the arena. The steely glare and the tuts from the maintenance crew she'd paid for the night. The consistent, nagging feeling that she shouldn't have tried, shouldn't have gone further than simply entertaining the thought of being a street racer.

More than that, she felt humiliated.

Curling her knees to her chest, Y/n buried her face between them, inhaling the stale scent of leather and sweat. Everything was a colossal mess. If she was lucky, then maybe the universe would crack open beneath her feet and swallow her up in thick, molten rivers of lava and fiery tongues of flame. It would be better than having to face the entire arena of racers who had watched her lose her first race. Better than having to walk out, head hung in shame. She could already hear the taunts and jeers, though if they were from the racers milling around outside the backstage area or her own brain, she wasn't sure.

Look, it's that overconfident rookie!

She really thought she could win against Chan... what a joke...

If she's smart, she won't come back here.

The two-way door against Y/n's back suddenly swung open, sending her tumbling to the floor. Her head hit the dirty linoleum with an unpleasant thud. The world spun and she groaned, eyes shut. Hands flying to the sides of her head, she slowly opened her eyes, wincing. She could see two legs and the top of a pair of combat boots, all sheathed in dark, shiny leather, and further up-

Oh shit!

Flying bolt upright, Y/n turned and profusely apologized to the man standing in the doorway. Her knees hurt from the speed at which she'd whipped around on them but she ignored it, still blinded by the dazing pain in her head. Her cheeks flushed bright scarlet.

The man raised an eyebrow, pulling out something thin and white from between his lips. Y/n blinked, thinking it was a cigarette, but upon closer inspection, she could see the thin, white stick of a lollipop. He poked it back into his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. He didn't seem even mildly put out by the fact that Y/n had been staring up his crotch just a few moments earlier.

He was quite handsome, too. Maybe even a bit more than Chan. Somewhere in the subconscious realm of her thoughts, Y/n realised that the pretty yet staunch man in the doorway must have gotten used to being stared at. Whether it was by Y/n lying between his legs from where she'd fallen or by the other attractive girls out in the arena, he had the air of someone who had such beauty that there was no need to flaunt it.

Damn it, are all the male racers here attractive or what?

Y/n's frantic apologies faded off unsurely into the air as she stared back up at the man. She was on her knees, half-crouched, hands in front of her. She must have been frantically explaining and apologising for at least a minute now, but he hadn't said a word.

If anything, he looked intrigued.

They stared at each other a few minutes; Y/n's miserable, frantic, pleading expression contradicting his steady, sure gaze. Y/n finally collected her thoughts enough to actually look at him. He was very pretty at first sight, but up close Y/n could see faint white scars flecking his forearms, hands, and neck, as if something, or someone had scratched him. His eyes were dark and chocolatey, complementing the silky waves of purplish mahogany falling freely over his forehead, swept into a neat part in the middle. His mouth was a perfect, pink pout, glossy and rosy in the middle where he'd shifted the lollipop between them.

His outfit was a bit like Chan's but more casual, stylish shirtsleeves rolled to his arms and leather pants and boots, all in the same, intimidating shade of black. There was a large, abstract cutout in the shirt to the right side of his chest. A heavy silver chain and a wide- leather belt studded with tiny diamonds looped around his waist elegantly, framing his form.

Crouching before this absolute model of a man, Y/n felt like a common street urchin. Her mind wandered a little, and so did her eyes. But he still hadn't said anything. Y/n was beginning to wonder why he'd come into the room in the first place. Maybe to put her out of her misery. Attempting to speak, she cleared her throat.

"U-uhm..." Her voice came out thick, raw and croaky from crying. She clenched her fists and looked down suddenly, feeling a fresh wave of humiliated tears fill her eyes. He would mock her for sure.

"Hey, kid."

Y/n's head snapped up. His voice was soft and clear. Precise and measured. It wasn't like Chan's voice. Not at all. It was a little accented, but it was lovely. Pretty, almost.

Y/n tried to speak, willing her voice not to wobble. It came out quieter than she'd expected, a barely audible whisper. "Yes?"

"You're absolutely shit at racing, you know that?"

Y/n blinked, her misery temporary halted by the unexpectedly blunt statement. The man continued.

"That last turn was ass. Surely you can do better. You've got the skills, I can tell, but your reflexes need work."

Y/n gaped, dumbfounded. Who was this guy, waltzing into the room and critiquing her so bluntly? He looked like a proper racer, but still, there was no need to be so harsh about it. Y/n sighed and looked down, having come up with no retort to throw back in the man's face. She remained crouching, resigned to her fate.

She heard a small sigh from above here before a hand reached down, wrapping around her right bicep. It was gentle, but enough to lift Y/n to her feet. Firm, but not enough to hurt. His hand was quite large, rippled with veins, the knuckles a bit too big for the fingers. It was a pretty hand nonetheless, the skin smooth and tanned, and Y/n felt a small surge of thankful heat pool in her stomach at the unexpected, almost caring gesture.

Her knees throbbed faintly as she straightened herself. The man's grip on her arm loosened, but remained hovering uncertainly near, as if he was afraid she was going to fall. And in all honesty, Y/n did feel as if her legs were about to give out.

She stuttered a little as she spoke, her consciousness floating about her like a foggy daze. "T-thanks."

He tilted his head at her curiously. "Have you ever raced before? In a proper circuit?"

Unprepared for the direct question, Y/n averted his gaze, cheeks flushing. "No, I- tonight was my first time."

It must have been the adrenaline and the exhaustion surging through her body, but Y/n flushed even darker as she spoke, although her response carried no connotation whatsoever.

If he noticed, he didn't call her out on it, simply settling to fiddle with the lollipop stick still in his mouth. He let his hand fall from her arm back to his side, but it soon came back up to unexpectedly cradle the side of Y/n's head. She flinched at the surprising gesture, anticipating a hit from the racer, but he simply let his hand curve gently around the nape of her neck. He looked suddenly concerned and mildly put out.

"Did you know you've hurt yourself, by the way?"

Y/n blinked. She hadn't been previously aware of any injury on her body, but now that he had mentioned it, the back of her head stung a little, where her hairline met the soft skin of her neck. And she felt dazed, like she was floating...

Her hand came up to shakily press the back of her head, feeling for any sort of injury. When her fingertips met her nape, she felt a searing, white-hot shock of pain.

Her knees gave out and the racer was quick enough to dart forward, taking the brunt of the fall. He awkwardly looped his arm around Y/n's waist, holding her upright, and moved to sit her down on the flaking faux leather of the worn-out couch.

The world spun dizzyingly around her before going black.

~

Y/n woke to something cool and wet being pressed onto her forehead. Groaning weakly, she tensed her shoulders, testing her range of movement. She recognized the ceiling as being the backstage area; she must have remained in the same position on the couch after passing out.

A gentle, lulling hum came from her side. She turned her head to the right and saw the purplish-haired man from earlier, pressing a cool compress to her forehead. She exhaled heavily, eyes feeling baggy and tired. Closing her eyes, Y/n listened to the soft melody of the man's voice floating throughout the room. Her neck still hurt, but felt as if something had been wrapped around it; she figured a bandage of some sort. Weakly lifting her hand, she could faintly see specks of dried blood from where she'd previously touched her neck.

That confirmed her suspicions. She'd passed out because of the injury. Either that, or the exhaustion.

The man beside her poked her cheek, gently and not unkindly. A low chuckle came above her.

"Took you long enough,"

Y/m smiled, a watery, poor affair. Turning her head a little more, and wincing at the pain in her nape, she locked eyes with him.

"What time is it?"

He hummed. "Around two am. You passed out for a couple hours. Looked like your body could do with the rest, so I didn't wake you up," he paused his ministrations, gazing at her again with that deep, intense, yet gentle stare. "Did you have somewhere to be?"

Y/n shook her head minutely, pushing herself upright into a sitting position. She felt weak and boneless.

"I should go home," her voice trailed off, exhausted.

He looked up, mildly confused. "Home? I don't think you'd even make it out the door."

Y/n groaned. "Enough with the sassy comments. I'm going. Thank you for taking care of me-"

He stood suddenly, putting a hand on her shoulder. His gaze was almost fierce, stubborn, protective. Like an older brother.

"You're not going home like this. Let me drive you."

Y/n shook her head wildly, immediately regretting it. The throbbing in her head subsided as she pressed her palms to her temples.

"It's fine," attempting to stand, Y/n moved towards the door, shakily and slowly. Her legs felt like they were made of rubber bands.

The man watched her, unimpressed. Moving towards her, he offered his arm with a sigh.

"Just take it. I'll drive you home."

Exasperated, Y/n glared up at him. "I don't even know you. You could be a murderer."

He scoffed in return, rolling his eyes. "No murderer is this attractive. Look, just take my arm. You walked here, right? So that means you don't live far away-"

Y/n interrupted him, a little panicked at his observational skills. "How did you know I walked here?"

"I saw you earlier, before the race. No motorbike, or skateboard, or car. Looking around the arena like a little kid seeing a plane in the sky. Mouth open and everything."

At this, Y/n smacked him on the shoulder, scoffing at his comparison. He didn't even budge, Y/n's hit doing nothing to move him. He simply took her arm, a little more insistently, and steered her towards the door.

It took about five minutes of back and forth arguing and half-hearted bickering before Y/n finally allowed the racer to drive her home.

I haven't got much left to lose anyway, she thought glumly.

She was led to the back end of the arena, where a little dark hallway opened into the street by a creaky door. A narrow, dark, alleyway gaped at the left side of the street, and the man walked her towards it, making sure not to jostle her.

The night was dark and quiet, everything still and silent. The yellow glow of the streetlights cast abstract patterns of light onto the glistening road, soaked with rain. It must have poured down while she was blacked out. She could still hear the faint pumping of hip-hop music and the occasional rev of a car in the arena behind her.

The man led her into the alleyway, softly pointing out objects for her to move around, and kicking stray cans and rocks out of the way, lest she trip. He was surprisingly nice, considering the blunt comment he'd made about her racing earlier.

He led her to a Kawasaki motorbike, hidden behind a dumpster. It was beautiful, a sleek, dark vehicle with streaks of neon green highlighting the wheels and seat. He offered her a hand onto it and saddled himself onto the bike, revving the engine once. Y/n clung to the sides of the backseat, awkwardly hanging on. The racer took a helmet that had been concealed on top of an old AC unit and slipped it on, the big, dark shield masking his face. He flipped it up and turned to look at her questioningly.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

Y/n blinked.

He sighed. "Hold onto me. Otherwise you'll fall off and die."

Y/n rolled her eyes at his sarcastic comment. "It's fine, just drive."

She was met with a groan and another rev of the engine. He suddenly sped forward half a metre or so, then stopped suddenly. Y/n was thrown forward, crashing into his back. She gasped, arms flying to lock around his waist. She heard an amused chuckle and a click as the man flipped his face shield back down. Cheeks flushing rosy in her embarrassment, Y/n buried her face into his back, fisting the material of his dark shirtsleeves. She could feel the rush of seeping, intoxicating heat radiating into her from his back. Her arms instinctively tightened around him as he sped off.

The wind whooshed in her ears, whipping up her hair and causing a deafening rush of noise to settle around her as the motorbike sped into the night. Y/n tugged on the left side of his shirt, signalling him to go left. He picked up on it without a single hint of doubt or hesitation and Y/n fought a smile, eyes closed as she pressed her cheek into his back, and continued to tug on either the left or right side in order to direct him.

After about ten minutes of gentle tugging, the man pulled up in front of Y/n's apartment complex. The sky was beginning to lighten a little, though the deep glow of twilight still hung over the sky like a blanket.

Y/n awkwardly slipped off the motorbike, stumbling as she dismounted. The racer offered her his hand, but she'd already gotten off the bike. It hovered in the air, unsure, before dropping back to his side, pulling at the fabric of his leather pants, and then travelled back to the handlebars, gripping them tightly. He then turned to her, flipping his shield up, then pausing before taking it off entirely. His hair fell in a mussed mess around his forehead, slightly fluffy. Somehow, Y/n liked it better that way. It looked more raw, more real.

More perfect.

When he spoke, it was quiet. Quiet but gentle, but loud enough to float around the both of them, ringing in the early morning. He cleared his throat hesitantly, as if Y/n was an animal he was trying not to spook.

"I- uh, I wasn't planning to murder you, if that's what you're worried about..."

Y/n laughed unexpectedly at the statement; the sound rung out loud and clear, lighting up the sky. It felt glorious to be defying the silence that hung in the atmosphere, thick as fog on a stormy day. Like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"Good to know," she giggled. "Um, thanks for the ride."

He simply nodded in acknowledgement, hand fiddling with the edge of the Kawasaki's windshield. The sleek, black helmet was tucked awkwardly under his arm.

Y/n turned to go, before pausing suddenly. Spinning on her heel, she thoughtfully looked at the man. He hadn't moved, simply watching her. Waiting. But it wasn't threatening or ominous in the least. It was protective, reliable. Like he was frozen, his dark, pretty eyes fixed on her own.

Y/n's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I never got your name..."

The man smiled. Pushed his fringe out of his eyes, readjusted the helmet under his arm. The dawning light behind him illuminated his outline, all sharp, sleek angles and edges. He chuckled lightly, more airy, light exhale than sound.

"Minho."

a/n: likes, comments, reblogs appreciated !