7:50 Pm - Chs

7:50 pm - chs

genre: fluff & comfort - warnings: crying over spilled food lol [ a/n: i feel like vernon would drop spaghetti on your outfit by accident ]

there's a sting of disappointment in you as vernon leads you outside the restaurant. it doesn't linger any less when you enter the cool evening air.

"it's really not that bad," he tries to reassure you, his hand gentle on your shoulder. he pulls you away from the exit, trying to distract you from looking at your outfit.

"you're right," you mumble before peering at the bright red stain. "it's really bad."

vernon shakes his head and steps in front of you, using both his hands to make you gently face him. his leather jacket creaks slightly as he moves, the black material contrasting with his perfectly styled hair.

his dark eyes search yours, that apologetic look of his that makes your heartache. but the corners of his lips twitch as if he's trying to hold back a laugh.

"y/n, please," he says tenderly. "it's just spaghetti sauce."

"that is now stained in the fabric!" you bite your lips, tears welling up no matter how hard you try to hold them back. "i just wanted to look good for you." you whisper, your voice cracking.

vernon's eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips. seeing him, you can't help but feel your smile threaten through the pout.

"and you do," he says firmly, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, wiping away the stray tears.

you sigh. "no, vernon—"

"and a little spaghetti sauce isn't going to change that," he interrupts. "you looked pretty when you walked in, and you're still pretty when we walked out."

he faintly steps back, taking the sight of you under the soft glow of the moonlight, and knows he's fallen in love again. everything about you makes his heart swell, the way the light reflects on your skin and how your hair catches the breeze.

and here you are, on the verge of more tears and a spaghetti-stained outfit, yet you're still the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

"i think i just fell in love with you again," he blurts without thinking.

you blink, confused and a bit startled but it makes you forget about the stain. he shook his head again, quickly brushing off his spoken-out-loud inner thought.

"uh, babe, i'm really sorry about the spaghetti," vernon squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your skin. "so, what do you say we forget about the spaghetti 'n walk around? get some ice cream?"

you nod, a small grin forming through your own tears. "y-yeah, okay," you agree. "you're paying for the dry cleaner, though." you say, hand tightening in his.

“fair enough,” he chuckles, leading you away.

240723 caratland 2024 d-1. positive about. 🐱 do not edit/crop logo.

his warmth

◚ requested by: none

→ y/n and dokyeom are resting during the winter chill.

✄┈ warnings/tags: extreme fluff

↬ word count: 0.7k

↬ published: 11.13.20

dokyeom let out a comforting sigh against your chest. the weather had gotten bitter and cold and he constantly looked to you as a source of warmth. it was lately that if his members were to look for him, they’d find him cuddled up to you, eyes glittered with sleep. 

and it was because of that that they adored you. dokyeom was their sunshine and all, but he was still human and he still did have his off days. the cold weather only intensified them, putting him in a sour mood because his warmth couldn’t be with him all hours of the week. 

so on their seldom off days, they preferred he spend it with you. you would recharge him and give him that different feeling of serotonin that singing on stage and carats couldn’t bring him. just as he was seventeen’s sunshine, you were his. 

“hyung,” the breath of his exhausted words floated into the air, melting into the heat that emitted from the fireplace. 

Keep reading

— weather forecast, lee seokmin.

Really enjoyed the screaming back reaction. Could you do one where reader actually leaves the house after an argument.

seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. the second you grab your coat and storm out, he’s right on your heels. “where do you think you’re going?” he asks, grabbing your wrist gently before you can reach the end of the driveway. “we’re not doing this, not like this. let’s talk, okay? i’m not letting you walk out.” he’s frustrated, as if the mere thought of you leaving makes his chest tighten, he wants to give you space, but the thought of you out there, alone and upset because of him, eats at him.

jeonghan watches the door close behind you, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “seriously?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. he thinks you’re just blowing off steam, that you’ll be back in no time. but as the minutes tick by, then hours, his confidence wavers. the sky outside darkens, and with it, his composure. he finally picks up his phone, dialing your number with shaking hands, his voice frantic when you answer. “where are you? are you okay? please… just come home.”

joshua moves faster than you expect, cutting you off before you can make it out the door. “you’re not driving like this,” he says calmly, but there’s an edge to his voice. he takes the keys from your hand, his expression softening as he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes. “i’m not letting you go out there when we’re both like this. let’s just… let’s talk, okay? please?” his voice is gentle, coaxing, but firm, making it clear that he’s not letting you leave.

junhui feels his heart drop the moment you walk out, tears welling up in his eyes almost instantly. he tries to hold them back, but by the time the door closes, he’s already crying. hours pass, and he doesn’t move from the spot, tears still falling freely. when you finally come back, you find him sitting on the floor, eyes red and puffy, still crying. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, barely able to get the words out through the sobs. “please don’t leave me like that again.”

hoshi is livid. the moment you leave, he starts typing out a series of furious texts, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “so, you’re just going to run away?” but before he hits send, he pauses, the reality of what he’s doing sinking in. with a frustrated sigh, he deletes the messages, knowing he’s being childish. “damn it,” he mutters, feeling guilty for letting his emotions get the better of him. he paces the room, running a hand through his hair, not sure what to do next.

wonwoo stands frozen as you walk out, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears. he doesn’t chase after you, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the door, his mind reeling. it’s only when the silence becomes unbearable that he snaps out of it, panic setting in. he grabs his keys, heart pounding in his chest. without even thinking, he pulls up the tracker he’d secretly put on your car for safety, his guilt mounting as he realizes he’s going to use it to find you now. “please be okay,” he whispers to himself, racing out the door.

woozi sits back at his desk, but the music project in front of him might as well be a blank sheet. his mind is elsewhere, replaying every word of the argument, each one more painful than the last. he’s never been good with emotions, and now, with you gone, he feels like he’s drowning in them. after what feels like an eternity, he can’t take it anymore. he picks up his phone, calling you over and over until you finally pick up. when you do, you can hear the tremor in his voice, the barely-contained sob he’s fighting. “please… come back,” he says quietly, the desperation clear.

minghao follows you to the door, standing there with his arms crossed, a scoff escaping his lips as he watches you go. “so, this is how you deal with things? running away?” he calls after you, frustration evident in his tone. he stands there for a moment, waiting for you to turn around, to say something, anything. but when you don’t, when you step into the elevator without even a glance back, his heart sinks. the door closes, and he’s left standing in the hallway.

mingyu can’t let you leave. as you make a beeline for the door, he moves faster, blocking your path with his broad frame. “you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice shaky. you try to push past him, your frustration boiling over, but he holds his ground, his eyes pleading. “please, don’t go,” he whispers, and when you hit his chest in frustration, the tears finally spill over. you collapse against him, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you both break down.

seokmin is a mess from the moment you walk out. he grabs his phone, typing out a series of long, heartfelt texts, pouring out everything he didn’t get to say in the heat of the argument. each message is more desperate than the last, filled with apologies and reassurances, but he knows none of them will reach you right now. with a frustrated sigh, he throws his phone onto the couch, his hands shaking.

seungkwan paces the room, his mind racing. he hates fighting with you, hates the way it makes him feel, the way it makes everything feel wrong. he’s torn between running after you and giving you space, his heart pulling him in both directions at once. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, “what do i do?” the thought of you being upset, especially because of him, makes him feel sick. finally, he collapses onto the couch, staring at the door, waiting, hoping you’ll come back soon.

vernon is left standing in the middle of the room, the silence after the argument ringing in his ears. he looks up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that just happened, but all he can think about is the way you left without looking back. the apartment feels different now, emptier, and the echoes of your argument replay in his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. he sits down on the couch, burying his face in his hands, wishing he could take back everything he said.

chan feels his anger drain away the second you walk out, leaving him feeling empty, he knows he should chase after you, but his feet feel like they’re stuck to the floor. he slumps onto the couch, pulling a blanket over himself as if that could somehow make the ache in his chest go away. eventually, he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, the uncomfortable position on the couch mirroring the discomfort in his gut. when you finally come back, the sight of him curled up, asleep, and clearly still upset, makes your heart ache.

the feeling you get when vernon arrives home today is so unfamiliar and so indescribably wrong. instead of jumping up to kiss him, or yelling a greeting from the couch, you feel your stomach twist.

because you don’t know if he wants to see you right now.

so you stay put. curled up on the bed — muscles tense, eyes glancing towards the door, knowing that your boyfriend’s going to walk in any second, and you’re still mad. less mad, but still mad.

you’d had a fight. nothing wild, but it had been building for some time, you could feel it, and when vernon forgot to get the milk you so desperately needed, you snapped. he hadn’t had time for you recently. he forgot about your movie date. he didn’t remember to pick you up from work.

he didn’t have time to argue with you; he had somewhere to be, so vernon had drawn his brows together, stayed silent until you were done, and then, in a hushed tone, said that he’d see you in a few hours. his manager was waiting.

and when he does walk in the room now, vernon’s eyes are drawn to you immediately. there’s a moment where you lock gazes, and then you break eye contact, getting up and walking to the kitchen.

“don’t,” he calls after you, from the bedroom door. “please don’t walk away from me right now.”

some bitter, resentful side of you wants to throw up your middle finger and keep going. but you don’t, because, despite the past few weeks, vernon is good to you. he’s so fucking good to you. and you know that throwing his hard work, extra work, in his face like this isn’t what he deserves.

so you stop. you don’t turn, but you hear him coming up behind you, pausing, and then you feel his arms slipping round your waist from behind; his forehead rests against your shoulder. you can feel his gentle breath against the place your neck and shoulder meet, and you feel his lips there too after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your skin, so quiet that if you’d breathed wrong, you wouldn’t have heard it. “i love you. i’m sorry.”

you feel like crying, but you don’t want to do that. so instead you turn in his arms, burying yourself into his shirt — your voice comes out strangled when you speak. “i missed you.”

“i know,” he breathes, holding you tighter, clinging to you — like you’re precious. like if he let go, you’d slip through his fingers and he’d never be the same. “i know.”

he kisses your shoulder again, and you say your three words back to him, and that won’t fix it forever, but it fixes it now; it fixes it until you’re both ready to talk; it fixes it enough.

an / 👍

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