*On My Knees, Begging For The Selfies*

I can see his smile through the mask🖤

Bang Chan ✧ 201225

SEUNGMIN / RACHA LOG EP. 08

Hannah is so real for that 😭

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.2k / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, fluff, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, berry being the perfect baby angel she is. inspired by these bubble messages and @cosmic-railwayxo's treachery. (love u deni)

𝟬𝟲:𝟯𝟲 — “Where’s my baby, hm?”

This is the question on Chan’s lips the moment he lets go of the bedroom door, closed with agonizing caution as to not wake the figure still curled up under the duvet inside.

It’s early. Early enough so the walls are colored a rich beige by new rays of sunlight, so his footsteps are the only sound reverberating around the hallways when he commences his search. Early enough to evidence how he was only bestowed a few hours of sleep before waking up with a budding headache and leaden eyelids.

But he doesn’t mind the lack of rest, not this time. Not when there’s a wad of love with a freckled snout and floppy ears under the same roof for the first time in too long.

“Berry?” Chan calls, his voice tattered and low, like sandpaper. He rakes his eyes over the spots he remembers to be her favorite. Maybe they’ve changed since he was last home. Maybe everything has changed since he was last home.

The thought causes a familiar pang to go off within him, poignant and powerful, but the quiet scuffle of paws against hardwood takes the edge off the guilt straightaway.

Chan finds the beginnings of a smile on his lips before she even rounds the corner, and when she does, well. His grin might as well split his face down the middle. He’s on his knees in seconds, outstretched hands rediscovering home in the puppy’s silky fur as she clambers onto him with blown pupils and excited pants.

His adoring coos of her name falter into muted laughter, which then fragments into a sob. His vision narrows to his precious girl and then starts to blur. When Berry climbs up to give his cheek a few happy licks, she’s fascinated by its saltiness.

You emerge from the bedroom a little over an hour later. Sleeping is hard enough when you’re jetlagged, and even harder when there’s only mattress where you remember Chan’s warm solidity to be. The fabric of Chan’s hoodie suppresses your vocalization of his name as you ungracefully pull it over your torso, still struggling to rouse your body from sleep.

Your beckon produces no response. You wrap a hand around the nearest door frame and peek your head into the living room, a little more alert now.

“Chan? Baby?”

You feel silly. How many visits has it been for you to still feel this nervous, wandering around Chan’s family home? Yet you undoubtedly are, whether because of your absentee boyfriend or that his whole family is a few walls away. You pad through the silent abode with mounting trepidation and intense care to not make any more sound than necessary.

Then you reach the family room and instantly come to a standstill, hands drifting to your sides, features deliquescing to a soft smile. 

Lying on the nearest couch is your boyfriend, head propped up on top of his elbow, his fluttering lashes and gently oscillating shoulders indicating that he’s asleep. You can’t see his face below his eyes, as he has his nose nuzzled into the Cavalier spaniel resting securely in his arms, snoring tacitly into his sleeve, slumbering as deeply as her human companion.

You’ve been stumbling upon Chan sleeping in unexpected places for the better part of two years now, but you still liquefy every time as if it’s the first. These are the moments, you’ve come to realize, when you can care for him in ways he would never let you while conscious: a lift of his laptop off his thighs, a brush of your lips against his hairline, a cardigan draped lightly over his back. These are the moments when you understand in full how far you’ve come together, for him to trust you with his exhaustion with such transparency, to be so vulnerable as to leave you with memories of him that he’ll never have.

Despite your prolonged experience, it’s hard to describe what exactly you’re feeling in this moment. The mere mention of Berry has always dissipated the shadows that veil his face, has always chased off the burdens that cling to his spine. How do you put it into words, seeing your happiness at his happiest?

It suddenly occurs to you that the window beside them is cracked open. That, and you spotted extra quilts in the top shelf of Chan’s closet last night.

Chan’s eyelids lift when he feels the gentle weight of a blanket fall upon his body; so do the corners of his lips, when the culprit materializes before him. Sitting on the edge of the couch, a hand hovering over his frame, face creased into a flinch.

“Sorry,” you whisper, closing the distance between your fingers and the curve of his neck. The pad of your thumb moves over his cheekbone like a willow branch skimming water. “I didn’t think that would wake you up.”

Both of you up, you mentally amend, seeing as Berry has noticed your presence and is wagging her tail with enough vigor for it to thump against Chan’s chest. He lets her wriggle out of his arms and into yours; you emit a noise of glee and gather her into you.

If only you had seen the expression he wears then, watching your eyes scrunch closed at the frenzied kisses she presses to your face. His first love and his very last.

“Don’t apologize,” he answers. “I’m the one who should be sorry for leaving you in bed, angel, I just…”

His voice trails off, but he knows by the softness in your irises when they meet his that you already know.

You move like clockwork. Chan presses up into the back of the couch, the quilt’s edge lifted in wordless invitation. It is your chest that Berry burrows into this time, the top of her head sliding into the space between your chin and the sofa’s cushion. It is Chan’s chest that you’re folded into, the arms around your waist like the coziest of cabins in a sun-spattered wood. It is the back of your neck that he nuzzles his nose into, but not before he litters gossamer kisses across the expanse of skin, as if printing the notes to a lullaby he knows well.

Everything is warm, so warm, so right, and jetlag starts to feel like a distant trouble.

You open your mouth while teetering on the cusp of a dream.

“Baby?” 

He hums into you, listening.

“Always be happy, okay?”

You don’t notice the solitary tear that traverses the bridge of his nose, lands in the cotton of your hood, and dyes the bunched-up fabric a few shades darker. You don’t notice how his embrace around you tightens marginally, like how one’s eyes can’t help but find their dearest possession when the building’s on fire.

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your nape once more. Your and Chan’s eyes close together. Berry licks your chin again, then follows suit.

(Another hour later, Chan’s parents walk into the family room. They decide to go out to breakfast for fear of making too much noise in the kitchen, Chan’s mother blotting away tears as she ducks into shotgun, Chan’s father laughing at her sentimentality while blinking back his own.

Another few hours later, Hannah takes maybe fifty-some photographs of the triad of unmoving heaps occupying their couch. Then she grumbles at Berry for being dead asleep at eleven in the morning: “Those two arrived here from across the world yesterday. What’s your excuse?”)

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© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support.

Felix - SKZ-TALKER Ep.63♥️^^

（＾▽＾）

LEE KNOW 2 Kids Show, EP.8

I need a Minho in my life, no questions asked😭

magnolia.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, kinda fluffy, kinda angsty idek, hurt/comfort; unedited and self-indulgent as hell !! word count: 0.4k listen to 🎧: hold my girl - george ezra

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

sometimes, it's crazy just how in tune minho is with you, how he can sense that something's wrong before you even have to say it.

he knows all of your signs - smiles that don't quite reach your eyes; soft, barely audible sighs instead of frustrated ones like when you're angry; talking about insignificant things throughout dinner with a distinct lack of energy just for the sake of holding a conversation and not letting your home fall into a state of depressing silence. an overall aloofness that can't simply be blamed on exhaustion.

when you're upset, you shut down.

minho doesn't need you to justify your defense mechanism, doesn't try to coax you out of your shell because he's the same way. when something is eating away at him, he detaches himself from the world too.

in those instances, the last thing he wants is for someone else to offer unhelpful advice when no one but him knows what's going through his mind.

there are some things that you just have to process on your own, some motions you have go through by yourself.

minho can only be by your side while you deal with your inner turmoil. hold your hand and give you a shoulder to lean on, whatever you need until you're ready to come back to him again.

that's what he does this time too. he doesn't ask you any questions; he just puts on the kettle and lights your favorite vanilla and magnolia candle. makes you steaming mug of tea and peels some oranges, arranging the slices neatly on a plate afterward. then he sits on the couch next to you, a random movie playing on the tv that no one's really watching.

at some point, you move closer to tuck yourself under his arm. minho instantly pulls you to rest against his body, a hand on your shoulder giving you comforting squeezes over your sweatshirt.

just the two of you, the willingness to be there for the other especially when it's hard, and the occasional meows reverberating from somewhere nearby.

when he thinks you might've fallen asleep just like that, you start sniffling. the ache that minho feels in his chest is almost immediate.

even then, all he says is, "i'm here."

you meekly nod in acknowledgment as you continue to cry, painful sobs making you fist the material of his shirt in your hands.

he knows that you'll talk when you want to, when you're ready. he gets that in this moment, you just don't have the capacity to articulate your thoughts and explain your feelings in a way that other people could understand.

so he simply presses a kiss to your forehead and hugs you a little closer. he sits with you until it passes. he loves you enough to wait for you, to hold you through all of the lowest lows.

"i'm here. i love you. i'm right here."

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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 28.01.2024]

One of my favorites🥰 I really love this 😩✋🏼

a/n: training minho to reach for you when he is hurt instead of being an angry little guy (inspired by this racha log clip)

you’ve seen it a few times now - minho stubbing his fragile toe against a corner and freezing, or bumping his elbow on a table and hissing slowly through his breath, his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he is trying to control himself from combusting. him curling up on the couch with his legs pressed close to his chest, hands looking impossibly small where they’re clasped around his knees to hold them close, a deep scowl on his face completing the picture.

he seems angry to the average person, like he’s somehow mad about being hurt and is stewing in that fury while the pangs of pain evaporate from his system. you know better, though. you know he’s not angry, but frustrated. a little annoyed at himself because all he wants to do is curl up in someone’s arms and have them kiss his wound better like a tiny little kitten, but he can’t do that. because he’s minho, and minho’s complete brand is acting tough. sure, everyone knows hes a pure softie on the inside, but he can’t really go around showing it can he?

you’ve elected to convince him that he can. 

it starts when his morning coffee splashes on the back of his hand and he hisses, glaring down at his hand like he wanted to chop it off (or something else equally as violent). usually you’d let him calm down on his own, knowing his faux anger goes as quickly as it comes, but today you swoop into his space and cradle his hand in both of yours. you press a gentle kiss to the spot, coffee staining your lips as you meet his eyes warmly. you guide his hand to the sink and let cool water run across it, rubbing your thumb against his skin in what you hoped was a comforting way. 

“okay?” you ask once you’re satisfied with the temperature of his skin, wrapping a fluffy towel around his hand to dry it. he just blinks at you for a moment, head tilted so adorably that you feel a scream bubbling under your chest that you have to contain. he’s so cute. you finish making his coffee for him while he continues to stare at you with wide eyes, not faltering once until you press a kiss to his cheek on your way out of the kitchen. 

the second time is when he’s come home from dance practice, a little sweaty and tired and very sore all over. he’s grumbling about his muscles hurting under his breath and you can barely hear it, but you know him well enough to know that his aborted movements and sharp little exhales mean that he’s in pain and doesn’t want to say it. the way he sat himself on the sofa instead of showering first was also a sign - he liked to be clean, especially before relaxing. 

you wince in sympathy, knowing the exact feeling of muscle pain from exercise and while it comes with the benefit of self-satisfaction it almost isn’t worth the all-encompassing ache that comes right after. he reaches for his water but stops halfway, cringing at the stretch in both his arm and his abdomen, and falls back against the couch in defeat. you take pity on him, picking up his water and twisting open the cap for him, even going as far as to hold it up to his lips for him as he takes in greedy gulps. when he’s satisfied, he pulls back and fixes you with a suspicious look, like he’s asking what do you want with his eyes. 

you just smile at him in return, giving his upper arms a gentle massage with your hands as you lean at an awkward angle to press a flutter of kisses to his stomach. he’s a little dazed when you finish your ritual, melted back into the cushions with a glazed over look in his eyes, and you cuddle up next to him with a satisfied smile. 

“better?” you ask, letting your finger trail over his stomach in the pattern your lips had just made.

“yeah,” he breathes out, brow furrowing a little in confusion, thinking too hard. 

the third instance is perhaps the most challenging, because it happens in public. the street you’re walking down hand in hand isn’t the busiest, but there are bustling around corners and crossing streets. you’re not at all surprised when minho straightens up in excitement and pulls you to a tree at the end of a sidewalk, a tiny bundle of fur curled up underneath it. minho pulls out a little tube of cat treats from his jacket pocket, something he seems to have an endless supply of, and kneels down next to the small kitten.

the thing is, cats love minho. everyone knows that they do, it’s in his blood. you’re sure that he has cat genes somewhere in his ancestry. 

but, as the both of you discover, this particular cat does not love minho. he leans towards the poor thing, making soft noises with his mouth as he holds the opened treats out, and the cat lets out an angry hiss and swipes at him with its little paw. he lets out a yelp, falling back on his haunches in surprise and his betrayed gaze trails after the kitten as it scampers away. 

he raises the palm of his face to his hand, decorated with lines of angry red that don’t look too bad but you know they probably sting something fierce. he leaves the cat treats abandoned under the tree as he stands and you prepare yourself for the anger to set in but - it doesn’t come. instead, he looks up at you with wet, wide eyes and a trembling pout and your composure breaks.

you swoop in beside him and take his hand, blowing lightly onto his palm before pressing a light kiss to the corner of it. he rests his head on your shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of public skinship, not caring one bit of the passersby behind the both of you as he soaks in your comfort. you have to hide your shock - you didn’t have to come to him, he asked for you. he sought you out in his pain, didn’t get adorably angry, and leaned towards you. this wound was different, this one was personal, a betrayal of his brethren creating a mix of physical and emotional pain that  served as the perfect opportunity for your conditioning to run its course. 

with the way it’s going, you’ll have him perfectly trained in no time.