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inkchwe · 15 days

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not a bad thing | 𝖍𝖛𝖈

୨୧ pairing: hansol (vernon) chwe x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.6k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to lovers, light drug use, fingering, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, penetration, cockwarming. ୨୧ synopsis: Just because you've been friends for so long doesn't mean Vernon isn't keeping some secrets from you, and you're determined to confront him about it.

“Simple but still cute, or spontaneous and fun?”

Vernon, sprawled out on his back on your bed, looks up from his phone screen in absolute confusion. He’s wearing a rainbow beanie with his plaid button-up and denim jeans, contrasting your leggings and baggy t-shirt. He always acts unaffected by how good he cleans up when he wants to, but you shake the thought out of your head and wait for his answer. “Come again?” he asks.

You’ve been holding out the red and black cropped, long-sleeve shirts for two minutes for your best friend to see. Maybe he would immediately pick one or take his time deliberating, especially with the cutout in the shirts’ centers meant to reveal hints of cleavage. However, the realization that his attention was stolen long ago by some meme in your friend group’s group chat has you huffing and flinging the shirts at the edge of your bed.

It isn't the first time you've gotten nervous before a date, and it definitely isn't your first runaround with Vernon being out of touch with both his current and past conversations. Still, you value his advice more than anyone’s. Only you need it in an hour before your date arrives, and he’s being less than helpful. “Pick which one you like, idiot,” you whine.

“They’re literally the same shirt. The only difference is the color,” Vernon retorts. He rolls his eyes and resumes his endless scrolling.

“Exactly! I need to know which color you think I should wear. That way I give off the right impression.”

“And what impression exactly are you trying to give?”

“I don't know! Ready to have a good time but not looking to go too fast. Fuck, if only they had a shirt for that.” You rub your temple, contemplating if going on this date was the right decision.

The day Mingyu offered to set you up with his friend, you had half a mind to shut him down. His insistence on this blind date was too much to say no to, though, and going without any romantic or sexual interests for months seemed to take its toll on your resistance. While Vernon wasn't outwardly against the idea, he decidedly brushed it off with a disinterested hum and didn't mention it once until today.

Once he sees the defeat on your face, he caves, leaving his resting spot to grab you by the shoulders. It’s unsaid, but he practically asks outwardly for you to look him in the eye, so you do. “Listen. This guy is gonna like you no matter what color your shirt is. And you wanna know why?” You shrug, deflated. “Because anyone who can't see how hilarious and gorgeous you are is blind, and we don't hang out with blind people.” Vernon crinkles his eyebrows together and sighs. “You know what I mean. Like, metaphorically blind and shit.”

You laugh. “Thanks, Han.”

You turn away from him to stare at the two shirts still spread out on the bed. “But back to this. Which color do you like more?”

After waiting a few seconds for his answer, you look over your shoulder. He’s miles away, lost in his thoughts again. The look in his eyes and etches of his face are traced with puzzlement, and when you call his name to get his attention and snap him out of it, it’s still there. No matter how hard he tries to hide it with a tight-lipped smile. “Black. Simple but still cute,” he says, his voice soft as he uses your words from earlier, proving he was still listening.

Satisfied, you grab the top and turn, ready to make a beeline for the bathroom to get dressed. You stop short when you almost bump into Vernon on your way. It's only then you realize how close the two of you are. Less than a foot apart, to be exact. “I gotta get dressed, weirdo.” You try to sound humorous, but the breath accompanying your words sounds bated and unexpectedly airy.

In that second, all while you trace the outline of Vernon’s lips with your eyes, you wonder if maybe it would be so bad to skip the date altogether and do something else. Anything else. As long as you didn’t have to leave the house or Vernon.

“Right,” he whispers, but has no intention to walk closer to the bedroom door. Slowly, his eyes go a fraction wider than they normally do.

Like a silent cue, he steps away and fumbles over his words. “Okay well, good luck and—Sorry, I just—I’ll see you at Seuncheol’s after. You can tell us how it went. That is if you want to!” He stutters, right as he hits the back of his head against the door.

“Hansol! Are you okay—“

“Yeah! I’m fine!” He takes his beanie off to rub the sore spot. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna be late. I’ll see you later!” He races out of the apartment, mumbling and clutching his head.

While you curl your hair and put on your favorite pair of jeans for your date, your mind goes back to the look in Vernon’s eyes and the thoughts that raced in your head before he took off. And you speculate about what those two things mean, and if they mean anything at all.

“He didn’t even kiss you? What a dumbass.” Vernon mumbles, grabbing his mocha latte. He takes a vigorous sip, humming at the warmth it brings.

“I know. Now pass me a Splenda packet, please?” You pout. Well-adjusted adults would normally be at home and in bed at ten in the evening. But for you and Vernon, you decide on hanging out in your favorite late-night coffee shop for pastries and cold brew. It was better than sitting around at Seungcheol’s, the usual festivities of weed and alcohol not hitting the same way. You both settled on an alternative to fill your time instead.

“How did it go exactly,” Vernon asks, his voice garbled from the cheese danish he stuffed into his mouth.

“Well, I made it to the restaurant and he was there already, which was nice. But as soon as we started talking about ourselves, he was so flat.”

“What do you mean?” His eyebrow furrow, clearly confused.

“He was just very one-dimensional.”

“How so?”

“I mean, he was either talking about accounting, his accountant friends, or his work projects. Maybe it was better that he didn't kiss me. It might have been as boring as his capacity for communication.” You both share a laugh.

“So, I guess this means you don’t want a boring guy who presses his suits and plays golf on the weekends,” Vernon teases with a grin. You shove him playfully in the arm.

“That’s not the point! I mean, yeah, I don’t mind if a guy is serious, but I want someone who makes me laugh too. Who I don’t have to worry about liking my jokes but also sets a table or buys me flowers once and awhile.” You sigh.

While on your diatribe, Vernon grabbed your vanilla bean frappuccino. In a second, he has your straw in his mouth for a long sip. He smiles when he passes your drink back to you, unapologetic. “Someone who steals your drink for himself?”

You throw a napkin at him in retaliation. “I hate you!”

“Everything okay here, miss?” The barista asks, his name-tag shining against the dim lamps surrounding the cafe.

“We’re all good—Joshua—thank you.” You give him your best smile, to which he flashes his own at you. His teeth sparkle as much as his name-tag does, you think to yourself.

“Just Josh, please. The only one who uses my full name is my mother.”

You two exchange a chuckle, and you notice Vernon is not laughing or smiling at all. His eyes are mere slits, you can barely see the brown in his irises. His mouth follows in the same fashion, but downturned at the corners if anyone was paying close attention.

Joshua hands you a packet of chocolate-covered almonds, and he blushes. “They go really great with the frappes.”

“Oh thank you, but I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house. As long as you keep coming back.” Joshua turns to walk back to the coffee bar, suddenly tense as he leaves you and Vernon at your table.

Looking back to your best friend, you can see why. The original expression on his face has changed to pure anger. Vernon looks like he wants to blip the poor barista out of existence, and his long, hard stare in the guy’s direction might just make his wish come true.

“What’s wrong with you dude?” you ask Vernon directly.

When he turns to look at you, the stone in his expression softens a touch. “That guy seems like a creep.”

“He was just being nice!”

“He gave you a pack of nuts. Who does that?” He scoffs outwardly, and you can’t help but laugh. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Next time a cute guy gives me a snack, I’ll make sure you vet him first.” You wink at Vernon, but he remains hard-pressed. “Come on, don’t be jealous!”

“Of coffee boy? Please.” Vernon shrugs off your comment and crosses his arms. Something unreadable passes over his face for a brief moment. You would ask him about it, but you know the man is anything but overly emotional or easily vulnerable.

You try anyway. “Han, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head and gets up to throw away his coffee, half unfinished. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he lies, looking away from you with a cold lilt to his tone. “Let’s get out of here.”

The sound of Vernon’s voicemail causes you to grunt in frustration, the beginning of the message you practically know by heart now. After the stint in the coffee-shop, Vernon walked you home without a word and hasn’t interacted with you since then. After being left on read for the past three days, you are all kinds of antsy. Normally, he would text or call instantly with a reason, but it’s been nothing but silence on his end. Your black phone screen makes you rub your temples. What did you do wrong?

“At this point we should send a carrier pigeon,” Lisa says with a shake of her head.

“She’s got it bad, babe,” Hoshi comments with a wink in your direction. He kisses Lisa on the cheek on his way to their kitchen.

When things went wrong, it was second nature to confide in Lisa and Hoshi. Two childhood friends turned dance prodigies and then inseparable lovers? They sounded like the plot of a bestselling romance novel. And admittedly, you wish you could find what they had. Why did you have to encounter so many red flags and road blocks?

“I mean, we all know you’ve been down for him for…three years now?”

“Shut up, Soon!” You exclaim, blushing. “I just don’t know why he’s gone AWOL on me.”

“Maybe he’s in a mood. You know him,” Lisa responds.

“Not like this. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without even sending an emoji to each other,” you say with a frown. You scroll through your conversation, the endless blue bubbles making your stomach sink further.

“He’s gonna be at Wooz’s tomorrow night for that party,” Hoshi says with the slam of the fridge door. You nod your head, already aware. Hoshi smirks. “Corner him there.”

Vernon was closer friends than you were with Woozi, someone you knew in passing because of his relationship with your best friend. But you had been to the guy’s apartment many times before. It wouldn’t be weird to attend, sans Vernon. Right?

“Fuck it,” you think out loud. “Lisa, can I borrow an outfit?”

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. Chan answers the door with a grin, patting you on the shoulder when you step through the threshold. Woozi and Seungcheol are karaoke battling in Woozi’s living room while the rest of the partygoers are either drinking beer or in circles puffing and passing.

You decline when Minghao tries to hand you his half of a joint, a dopey grin plastered on his face. You want to be sober when you confront your best friend for leaving you in the dark for half of the week, even if you know it’ll take the edge off of your nerves.

When you find Vernon, he’s grabbing a hard lemonade from the spare cooler on top of Woozi’s counter. His eyes, the usual white around his irises pink from the party favors, go wide when he sees you. “Fuck me,” he says out loud.

“Yeah, fuck you is right,” you bite back. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

His mouth is agape, giving no attempt to provide an answer. no answer. You get angrier the longer the seconds go by without one.

“Okay, how about an easier question: Why couldn’t you respond with a thumbs up or something when I asked if you were still alive?”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, another curse leaving his lips.

“Fine. Keep being weird about whatever the fuck is wrong. I wanted to try and make sure my best friend was okay, but he can’t even give me a solid explanation as to why he’s being a dickhead.”

Vernon takes your hand and walks quickly with you in tow. The people you pass move out of his way before they get body-slammed, some of them confused while others are too drunk or high to care.

When you make it to a bathroom off of the hallway, Vernon closes the door behind you and locks it. He takes a second before turning to you with a solemn expression.

“We can’t be friends anymore.” The words that leave his mouth break your heart to pieces and steal any semblance of air from your lungs. You didn’t expect to come into tonight and lose a friend, especially when you were unsure of what you did to cause Vernon to feel that way.

Your eyes begin to water with tears, but you don’t let them run over. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Your voice grows thin. You’re confused how every word from his mouth sounds more sure than the one before while you’re falling apart.

But, even though he keeps up a composed posture, you can tell something inside of him is cracking. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth and his hands are fidgeting, two signs something is bugging him beyond his will.

“Please just tell me what I did wrong and I can fix it. I can’t help make this better if you don’t tell me what—”

In a second, Vernon has your back pinned against the bathroom counter. His lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, giving your quick gasp no time to leave your mouth. He swipes his teeth over your bottom lip while his hands roam from your waist to the expanse of your hips. Soon enough, his tongue is inside of your mouth. He holds your neck with one hand while the other sits on the back of your thigh, hitching it up to press your leg against his side.

He feels the warm skin of your thigh in his palm and the center of your legs against him, making him groan. His touches and the sounds leaving him make you moan in kind into his mouth, and he swallows it blissfully.

When you separate for breath, you look deep into his eyes. Vernon’s expression brims with naked emotions, ones undecorated and unprepared, ones he cannot hide anymore. “If that’s the only time I got to do that when I’ve wanted to for so long, I had to make it count.” His confession should feel like a shock, something you were not ready for and quick to play off as an after effect of the joints he’s been smoking for the past couple hours, but it doesn't.

Instead, you accept it, with open arms and without a first or second thought to the contrary.

You soak in his words willingly, knowing for certain your heart wasn’t just wishing for someone. It was always wishing, comparing, waiting…for him. And now you have him, in this bathroom, terrified you feel anything less than what he feels for you.

Before he can step back, you take his hands in yours to prevent him from taking them off of your body. How could he think you could stop now? “Han, I need you to touch me more,” you whisper.

Vernon drops to his knees and rubs his hands up and down your thighs, his eyes requesting permission to hike up your skirt. Instantly, you nod.

He raises the denim up over your hips, meeting the cotton of your underwear with his mouth. As soon as his lips are on you, the cloth barely separating him from your clit, most of your coherent thoughts become lost to the wind.

Once he takes his fingers and moves your underwear to the side, you know you’re about to lose the breath in your lungs as well. His tongue licks a long stripe up your pussy, taking in the length of you with ease to maximize your pleasure. Your body quakes from how good he is at running his lips and mouth across you. You take in heavy breaths to try and steady yourself, but it’s no use.

Your best friend is eating you out too well and you have no idea how to function properly. You clutch his head with your hand and move your hips in time with the patterns of his mouth. The throes of your orgasm are so close, and it may just break you.

Vernon prods a finger at your walls, and you feel your body shake harder. “Han, I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop.” He hums against you and takes that as the green light to insert the digit completely.

A couple of strokes to the inside of your gummy walls and his tongue lapping at your clit makes you fall apart, whimpering quietly as to not have the people right outside the door hearing you climax.

Coming down, you sigh in pleasure. The sound morphs into breathless laughter. “I love you,” you finally say with a frail tone, but those three words have never been more true than right now.

The smile on Vernon’s lips revealing his gums and teeth is almost too radiant to stare at. It reminds you of butterflies, especially the ones that still flutter in the small spaces of your chest when he looks at you so reverently. Gently, he takes your cheek in his hand and says, “I love you too, pretty girl.”

You don’t leave the bathroom for another five minutes, spending that time in awe of what’s transpired and soaking in the feelings and love you’ve expressed to each other, all while you feel the bass of a Childish Gambino song beat against the bathroom walls.

The shuffle into your apartment is so quick you don’t hear Vernon close the door and lock it behind you. Even though you spent enough time pressed against each other in Woozi’s bathroom, the sticky and sweet feelings coming back to you in flashes, Vernon did not let go of your hand the entire walk home from the party. “It was so cold outside, I’m sure my nose is red.” Looking in the hallway mirror, you frown. “Yeah. I look like a reindeer.” You pout, falling into a fit of laughter.

Vernon chuckles, releasing his hand from yours to place on your cheek, his fingers oddly warm. He kisses the tip of your nose lovingly. “You’re a cute reindeer, if that helps,” He says. Stepping away from you, he takes off his jacket and places it on the coat-rack. “A few minutes with the heater on and it’ll feel like summer in here.”

“Don’t make me sweat, weirdo.”

“I kind of already did, but noted.” Vernon smirks, and right after the next giggle leaves your mouth, you stop to watch him.

Despite knowing how he tasted and how the timbre of his laughter felt against your neck, you knew those things didn’t compare to the candid moments that made you love him. He didn’t take notice of the squinted shape of his eyes reading his phone screen, or even the press of his hand against your back to make you feel safe. But you did, every instance more clear than they’ve ever been before. They were so minuscule on their own, but when they were all stacked together in every year and tear and smile, it was a wonder how you didn’t know you fell in love with him so long ago.

You don’t have to tell him you feel that way, though. He can see it in the stillness of your eyes, in the small and tender smile painting your mouth, in the red tint of your cheeks. He has felt the same too many times to count. You claimed his heart for all the reasons he claimed yours. Of course, it took you both almost half a decade to realize it.

He steps closer, a breath separating your bodies. Taking your hand in his, he kisses each finger before pressing his lips to the knuckles. You grin wider and rest your head on his chest. It’s a tiny marvel to feel the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, all the times being strictly platonic. Its tempo is a soft rhythm that has sent you to sleep on multiple occasions during sleepovers and movie marathons. Now, it’s as if the rhythm sounds different, beating with an entirely different meaning. You suddenly feel shy with him this close, the silent actions speaking for themselves.

“Are you tired,” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your scalp.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve never felt more awake.” You look up at him, a realization at the forefront of your mind. While you may have been together all night, and your mutual confession in Woozi’s bathroom was barely two hours ago, it feels like a world away since you last touched him. Intent, charged with what needs to be spoken and doesn’t, too vivid to go unnoticed.

Like the blunt release of a bowstring, it’s a sudden rush of lips gravitating to each other. The sensation is a mix of headiness and affection. In you, it’s the pull of your hands on the brown waves of Vernon’s hair and smiles slipping in between his kisses. For him, it’s the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip to let him in, let him guide, and the reverence of kisses across your throat saying the words he knows are on your mind because they’re on his too. I love you and I want you and I need you and I don’t know how I’ll ever stop.

You make contact with the heat of Vernon’s skin when his sweater rides up, revealing the dips of his hip bones above the waistline of his pants. You spread your hands up and underneath the material to feel more of him, the warmth you desire, and the home that resides there. In his own desperate fingers, you realize he’s also exploring the places in you where he finds comfort and love.

The two of you stumble into the bedroom, caring almost as little as you did entering the apartment. You’re both so focused on each other the rest of your surroundings seem to be background noise, but Vernon does nod when you mention birth control. The back of your legs knock into the mattress, but you don’t mind with his lips at your neck, kissing and occasionally biting. He detaches his lips from your skin to tug abruptly on the hem of your skirt, wanting it gone. He rests his hands there, the request for permission clear. Once he takes it off, you raise your arms to let him remove your top as well. Once you’re clad in your undergarments, you help him with taking off his sweater in a haste, reaching for him again when the fabric finally falls to the floor. The renewed closeness seems to snap you both from your trance.

Your gaze reaches up to his eyes, and his are filled with patience and adoration. “We don’t have to rush, you know,” Vernon murmurs. He could easily let the time speed past him like he did earlier, certain there will be more moments like this to cherish at a slower pace. However, he can't deny he wants you as close as possible, determined to not let his words or actions go unsaid anymore.

You nod, running one hand against his chest while the other curls around the back of his neck. You place featherlight kisses to the column of his jaw as he unclips your bra. Each clip feels tentatively released, as though he’s slowing the two of you down like he wants to remember every moment. Maybe he feels this will only last until the morning, but little does he know that there's no way anyone or anything could be worth giving him up, not as a friend and definitely not as a lover.

He finally unbuckles his belt with determination and lets the metal clank on the wood floor. The only clothing left between you is your underwear, still damp from your previous activities, and his boxers. Immediately, you wrap your arms around each other when the busy work is finished, a clash of teeth and tongue following. A muddled moan escapes your mouth and reverberates against his throat when his groin brushes yours and his hands find your breasts. He rolls one nipple between his index and thumb while he squeezes your other breast with his opposite hand, teasing your skin with the pads of his fingers. The skin puckers and swells at his ministrations, the sensitivity between your legs growing again, wetness pooling there and leaving you aching.

The mattress dips underneath your weight when you fall onto it. You grip Vernon by the waist, but he only takes your hands away from his body and intertwines his fingers with yours. He’s all gravity, his seriousness palpable. The faintness of a smirk sits on his lips, but he shows no intentions of smiling. His boxers seem to grow tighter against him, but you don’t look away from his eyes. “Come here, Han. Please,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider, in hopes he can see how deep the ache he’s placed in every part of you goes. Vernon kisses each one of your palms before releasing them.

“Show me first. Show me how much you want me.” You bite your lip and use your hands to lower the cotton fabric of your underwear until it comes off. Your right hand trails up your body and lands on one of your breasts, squeezing and testing. No matter how you touch yourself, it doesn’t make up for the feeling of Vernon’s hands on your chest. His breath hitches when you press your opposite hand to your clit, a garbled moan unraveling on your tongue.

You tease yourself in small circles, enjoying the expanse of wetness you feel, and press your thumb to your clit again to make your hips roll. It feels like it should, a nice reprieve from the short time you’ve spent without any physical contact. But the lust-blown color in Vernon’s eyes, turning the brown irises that you love almost black, is what makes raspy sounds of pleasure leave your mouth. You want his hands instead of yours, as well as his mouth and his body on you, but his stare is enough to keep you going for him.

To amplify your torture even more, Vernon tugs at the waistband of his boxers until they fall at his feet, his cock fully erect. With the bottom of your lip stuck between your teeth, you run a finger up and down your slit at the thought of him on top of you, underneath you, and more. You release a whimper when he runs a hand up and down his cock, the tip swollen and leaking pre-cum already. You remain there together, sharing heady gazes and touching yourselves with slow and painfully gratifying motions, suspending all of the tension of the night into the air until one of you drops it. A loud, broken groan escapes him in response to the contact of his hand against himself and your body begging to be touched. If only he would let go and touch me, you think to yourself as you feel a satisfying clench in your belly.

“God, I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he says, the last words catching in his throat.

You stop to sit up and grasp the head of his cock, running your hand up and down the girth to replace his. It causes Vernon’s body to shiver exquisitely, and you revel in the way your touch affects him almost half as much as his affects you. You whisper, “You don’t have to wait.”

Those words prompt him into action, pressing his free hand to your cheek and diving for your lips. The two of you fall flat onto the bed, and when his tongue enters your mouth once again, you can’t hold back. You grind your body against his, feeling the press of his erection at your center. “Please, I want you to fuck me so bad.” In the midst of your arduous haze, Vernon’s mouth turns into a wide smile, one you forgot you could miss so much.

You laugh at the beautiful twinkle in his eyes, lust laced into the sound. “What?”

“Aside from you telling me you love me, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words”—he brushes an index finger along your lips—“come out of your pretty mouth.” You bite on the tip of his finger, and he pulls it away with a smirk. He replaces it with his lips, using his hand to align and direct the head of his cock to your entrance.

He has no desire to rush, though, a slow, languorous push of his hips to press his cock inside of you following a soft kiss to your temple. But with a sudden jolt of his next thrust that makes you yelp in pleasure, you can tell that desire is starting to wane. “Sorry,” he says, “fuck, you just feel—“

“I know,” you agree. He’s so patient and loving, but the way he fills you and drives in and out, you want nothing more than for him to grips your hips and make a mess of you. After trailing a string of kisses from his cheek to his neck as he continues trying to restrain himself with drawn-out thrusts, you say, “I don’t want you to go slow. We have time for that later.”

“I just—Are you sure?” His eyes reveal all of the yearning he has felt and the doubts that still linger in his mind, the exposure of his feelings almost too much for you to bear. You kiss his lips once again, hoping all of your reciprocated emotions pour out of you and into his reservations to drown them out.

“After tonight, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Vernon nods and places his hands on your hips, the pressure exemplary. You wrap yours around the nape of his neck.

With a sharp and hard thrust, you moan into his mouth, loving how he pushes himself into you to the hilt. He continues his pace without slowing, loving the smack of his and your hips against each others’ and the way his body connects to yours.

“Fuck,” you whisper in unison, dragging your nails up his biceps and shoulders as he grips your hips harder. You may find bruised skin tomorrow morning, but at the moment, you love how tight his hold is on you. You wrap your legs around his lower back so he can angle his thrusts, and it feels like drowning and burning in the same breath.

From the chest to the hips, there’s an array of points where your bodies meet. With an overwhelming feeling of fullness pervading your body, you’re certain now there was never a time for anyone else to claim your heart when he had claimed it for his own long ago. You close your eyes to enjoy the thoughts bursting at the forefront of your brain alongside the build of your release, but the press of Vernon’s hand against your chin makes you snap your eyes open.

He pushes in deep, filling you to the brim once again, hitting the sweetest spot within you that has you digging the heels of your feet into his skin. You keep your eyes locked with his, but the way he presses down against your body and the new feeling of his hand against your neck makes it difficult to keep your focus on anything besides the profusion of sensations he’s giving you. You pull him in for a deep kiss, all while you push your hips back against his. This time, you capture a groan from his mouth with your lips. The hand against your neck shakes as his hips stutter, the established pace falling off.

In the midst of his lips being attached to yours, You notice the tinge of a whine accompanying his groans and how labored his breathing becomes. You press your fingers to your clit, rubbing circles into your flesh to follow him to his release with your own.

At this point, you cannot tell which sensation feels the best: Vernon’s tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth, his cock sinking into you, his hand pressing lightly against your windpipe, or the drum of your fingers along your center. Regardless, you love the filth and sweetness of each one, and how you’re sharing the same sensations with the man you love. It’s all you could ask for. You cry out when you finally orgasm. Clenching around him, you hold on to every second of the white hot bliss that coats every space of your skin.

Vernon lets out a long string of moans when he releases, filling you up and spilling inside of you. His thrusts come to a halt, pushing his hips one last time to milk what's left of his climax. Breathing fast, you press your forehead to his. Your heartbeats are drums, beating hard and clashing against each others’ tempos. With time pressed against each other, your bodies sticky and his cock still inside of you, they slowly find their way to a soft beat that compliment each other. Vernon huffs out a breath into the space of your neck, and you kiss his temple before he can raise his head and look into your eyes.

“I love you,” he says, panting, his face lit up in the dark. It’s as though he’s found rapture in the solace of your bed and in your arms, and you would not fight him on the sentiment because your smile mimics it tenfold.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him long and sweet, the damn taste of his mouth a new and unending craving.

He pulls out of you to grab some tissues from the bathroom, but not leaving without pecking your nose, which makes you giggle more than it should. He comes back to bed and wraps himself around you, and you breathe in his scent as he rubs soothing circles into your back. Despite that, you still yearn for more of his body against yours, too touch-starved to go back. “Han?”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes.

“Could you…I don’t know,” you fumble, unsure of how to get your point across. In trying to find the right words, Vernon seems to understand as a small, boyish grin spreads onto his face. You two discussed your kinks lots of times, sometimes for the fun of it, and Vernon knew some of yours were based solely on your desire for connection and intimacy. And how could he say no to you now when all you wanted was to be close to him?

Wrapping a hand around his cock, he hisses from the lingering traces of sensitivity. He strokes himself a few times before he grows hard again and sinks himself inside of you. While he shudders from feeling you take him so well, he doesn’t roll his hips and you don’t rock back against him. You only press your bodies closer together, love and fullness coaxing you to sleep in tandem with the sound of Vernon’s heartbeat.

The sun bleeds through your curtains, and normally you would trudge to the window to close them shut and fall back asleep peacefully. This time, though, you don’t mind it when you see the rise and fall of Vernon’s naked chest in the sunlight, all while feeling his arms wrapped around you. You know you could watch him sleep all day, the gape of his mouth so kissable and the warmth of his skin calling to be savored. However, those thoughts come to a halt when the sudden desire to grab something to drink hits you. Hating to leave him, you press a soft kiss to Vernon’s temple.

You take an old button-up of his from your closet and tiptoe to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You know your bed is a room away, but you gulp down the drink to make it there faster. Of course, when you walk back into your room, you see an awake Vernon with a hand propped behind his head. His eyes are droopy, but a sugary smile sits on his lips nonetheless, taking in your article of clothing. “Is that my shirt?”

You grin, a blush creeping on your face. “You left it here, so that makes it mine.” On some level, you had worried this morning would be awkward no matter how many times you had said you loved each other the night before. Still, the ease of falling into your shared banter and routine comforts you.

“Point taken. You look cuter than I do in it, anyway.”

Vernon pats the empty spot next to him you were previously occupying, and you have no qualms crawling back into it and into his arms. “Does that mean I can wear all of your shirts when I want? I mean, since I look so cute in them,” you joke, kissing several spots on his jawline.

His hand creeps up to your shoulder, and thanks to the lack of buttons fastened together, he slides the fabric down until one of your breasts peaks out. “As long as I’m the only one who sees you out of them.”

“I think we established that last night.“ You giggle into his neck. “But, to reiterate, yes. You’re the only one I’ll share all of my terrible jokes with, take with me to Taco Tuesdays, and get undressed for.”

Vernon smirks. “That’s what we do anyway, minus the last part.”

“Well, call it an added bonus then, since we’re in love and all.”

The laugh that leaves his lips stops your heart, and you wonder if it’s possible to pack away a sound in your mind for every good and bad day, just to recall this moment. “Deal.”

With that, he places a kiss on your lips as the sun continues gleaming through your window.

You spend the rest of the early morning that way, wrapped up in each other and not bothering to dress. After another post-morning sex nap, you two spend the rest of the day cuddled up on your couch with Chinese takeout, reminiscing about the past, but ready to find out where the future takes you both. Lucky for you, with the way Vernon looks into your eyes, loses his train of thought every time you kiss him, and finds it again when you smile, the future has the potential to be pretty beautiful.

#svthub #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #hansol x reader #svt smut #vernon smut #hansol smut #seventeen fic #svt fic #vernon fic #hansol fic

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hoshifighting · 4 months

Note

Hello, may request smut reaction from Seventeen watching their s/o(reader) wearing a sun dress??

Seventeen reaction to you using a sundress

a/n: aww so lovely, I loved this request <3

Seungcheol

you know, Seungcheol thinks summer is the absolute best time of the year, and it’s all because of your sundresses. the moment you step out in one, he can’t help but grin like a kid on Christmas morning. It’s like the sun gets a little brighter, and his energy just skyrockets. he’ll tell you, “you know, I’m pretty sure your sundresses make summer even better!” with a playful wink that makes you blush.

Jeonghan

when you wear a sundress around Jeonghan, he just can’t stay quiet. It’s like you’ve put on some magical pheromone perfume, and he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. he’ll sidle up to you, whispering, “you really know how to make it impossible for me to stay away, don’t you?” and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear, making your heart race.

Joshua

will spend the whole day showering you with compliments, loving how you get all shy with each one. “u look absolutely stunning in that dress,” he’ll say, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. he can’t get enough of seeing you blush, and you can’t help but smile at his sweet words.

Junhui

when you step out of the closet in your sundress, Junhui turns as red as a tomato. he can’t stop staring, completely mesmerized by how pretty you look. “you’re so beautiful,” he manages to say, and his blush is so contagious that you find yourself giggling and blushing along with him.

Hoshi

sees you in your sundress and immediately rushes to change his shirt. he wants to find something that matches perfectly with your outfit. “we’ve got to look good together, right?” he says with a big, goofy grin.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo wants to see every angle of your sundress. “Give me a twirl,” he says, his eyes lighting up as you spin around. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He’s not one for many words, but the way he looks at you says it all.

Woozi

Woozi’s mind races, thinking about how he could write a song about you and that sundress – just like ruby. the way the light hits you, the soft fabric, the summer vibe—it’s all so inspiring. “you look amazing,” he says, his eyes thoughtful. “I think I’ve got an idea for a new song…”

Minghao

Minghao appreciates every detail of your dress—the tone, the cloth, the pattern, and especially how it fits you so perfectly. “this dress was made for you,” he says, examining the way it moves. his appreciation for beauty is evident in his admiring gaze.

Mingyu

Mingyu grabs his camera the moment he sees you. “hold still,” he says, leading you to a spot with flowers and dappled sunlight. he takes countless photos, capturing your every smile and twirl. “you’re my muse,” he says, showing you the stunning shots.

Seokmin

Seokmin always treats you like a princess, but when you wear that sundress, he takes it up a notch. “don’t lift a finger,” he insists, carrying everything for you. his protectiveness is sweet, and he constantly checks to make sure you’re comfortable and happy.

Seungkwan

there’s something about that sundress that stirs something new in Seungkwan. “you look... incredible,” he says, his voice soft with awe. he compliments how the skirt flows and how the straps sit perfectly on your shoulders, his eyes filled with admiration.

Vernon

Vernon doesn’t say much at first, just a quiet “wow” under his breath. But later, maybe the next day, he mentions it casually. “that dress looked really good on you yesterday,” he says, his words simple but sincere. you know he means it from the way he says it.

Chan

Chan is so impressed by how you look in that sundress that he immediately starts searching online for more. “I’ve got to get you more of these,” he says, excited. “you look amazing.” It’s clear he’s found his new favorite look for you.

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ssentimentals · 1 month

Text

seventeen members as love tropes: choi hansol

forced proximity

'coincidence? baby, they don't exist'

'so, what's your name?'

you blink, turning around to face the guy with who you got stuck in the elevator. he is now comfortably sitting on the floor with his knees tucked closer to his chest, leaning on the wall. the look on his face has zero traces of nerves or anxiety, he's opening bag of chips with a small smile on his face, looking at you like what is happening right now is absolutely normal. is this how an average day goes for him?

'you think this button is broken?' you ask instead, turning back. you push at 'call' button again but no sound comes out. 'we can't actually be stuck here with no connection to the outside world, right?'

'it happens quite often.' my god, so you were right, this is an average day for him. 'but no, this button works, we just need to wait a little. maybe these guys are out somewhere.'

'out where?' you ask, turning back to him. smell of chips starts filling up the cabin and you try to concentrate on it instead of thinking about being stuck here forever. 'should i just keep on pressing that button?'

your voice gets caught in your throat because the guy looks at you with... you don't know what. his gaze is piercing and it's like he's looking right at you, within you, in your soul. it's unsettling, especially when it comes from someone that handsome. in all three months since you moved into this apartment complex, you only met several families and few kids here and there, but never this guy. your brain unnecessarily reminds you that right now you're standing in front of a really handsome guy in old washed out t-shirt and pj pants, while he's at least dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.

'i'm hansol,' he says suddenly, breaking your thinking spiral. 'your neighbor from the forth floor.' he then pats a space next to him: 'come sit? i think it's more comfortable than standing.' you open your mouth to argue when he adds: 'i'll be the one pressing that button, no worries. just come sit down, yeah? you can meditate that way better, no?'

your nose scrunches in confusion. 'meditate?'

it's time for hansol to look sheepish. 'isn't this what people do when they start panicking? i mean- i am not implying that you are panicking right now, but you look pretty worried and i thought- shit, you are not panicking, right? there really is no need to, i promise we will be out of here in no time. i thought if you can sit and mediate then you can-' he shuts up, noticing his rambling and how your eyes grow only bigger with each word he says. after a second of hesitation, he stands up, grabs his chips and comes over to you, shoving them in your direction. 'here. chips.'

there are a lot of things that you can say or do, but your mind chooses to grab offered snack and silently move to where he was sitting. hansol seems to approve, as he smiles a little and leans with his back on the opposite wall so he can still look at you, while insistently pressing the 'call' button. 'so.'

'yes?' you raise your head, slowly munching on the chip. it's salty taste helps you stay here in the moment instead of disappearing in the anxiety.

'i feel like it's my fate, you know? to get stuck in the elevators. like god is trying to tell me something through it, you know? like i don't get stuck just because, i get stuck for something. and then i think-'

it takes you five seconds to realize that hansol is doing this on purpose. he is distracting you so you won't panick and this gesture is incredibly sweet for a random stranger. you're not sure how much time passes, because hansol's storytelling is fascinating (and a bit weird, but in a more 'not ordinary' way than bad). you don't notice how your spine is not rigid anymore, but hansol does. he notices how you slowly relax, hold his gaze more and eat chips more actively. he notices how corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile and how cute you look with confusion written all over your face. in truth, he has no idea what he is even saying, but he can't stop, can't let you remember even for a second that this stupid elevator is not working. his thumb is numb from how strongly he pushes on that 'call' button but he ignores it in favor of staring in your eyes, catching every emotion that sparkles in them. you are cute and you don't even realize it and that makes you even cuter.

'hello? is someone there?' when static voice cuts through, both of you jump a little. 'apologies for this horrible inconvinience, elevator will start working in few minutes. are you alright?'

hansol takes a look at your surprised face and half-finished bag of chips. 'yeah, we are all good.'

pang of regret slashes through him when you hastily stand up and cheer, when cabin finally starts descending. shit, he didn't even manage to learn your name! when elevator door opens, hansol reaches out for your hand and is pleasantly surprised when you take it with a smile, rushing out with the cutest little 'whoop!' he saw in his life.

'i think you are right,' you suddenly speak, making him look up. 'what you said about you getting stuck in the elevators meaning something? i think you're meant to help people like me.'

i think i was meant to meet you, he wants to say but doesn't. instead what comes out of his mouth is: 'you owe me.' at your confused expression, he points at his snack. 'chips.'

'oh. oh!' you exclaim, getting flustered. 'of course, i will-'

'-and your name.' he adds, making you freeze. he watches understanding dawn on you and smiles. 'and your favorite drink. so i would know what to buy for you.'

it's bold. not exactly his style, but his head-to-mouth filter is not working anymore. for a second he thinks he overdid it, but then you blush (so prettily), then smile (so, so prettily) and he knows he didn't mess up. when you step closer and introduce yourself, hansol knows he not only didn't mess up, but also won something out of this whole situation. (and he doesn't know it yet, but this big win? it's your heart. it really is).

a/n: guilty for having this trope as my most favorite one!! and who is better than hansol to write this for, am i right? - nini

my other works are here

#seventeen imagine #seventeen reaction #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #seventeen vernon #vernon x y/n #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #choi hansol #seventeen hansol #seventeen scenarios #chwe vernon #svt vernon #svt x reader #svt fluff #vernon imagine #vernon fluff #seventeen vernon imagine #seventeen fic

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idyllic-ghost · 3 months

Text

title: Stay in Character! pairing: vernon x gn!reader genre: established relationship, fluff, warnings: reader has a sister with a kid, mentions of childbirth, mentions of stress, anxiety over moving in with a partner synopsis: You're on the verge of panicking - you still have moving boxes to pack and move into your boyfriend's apartment, but you can't leave the fact that your sister is giving birth to her second child while you're babysitting her first. However, your stress slowly dissipates when you walk into your cluttered kitchen and see your boyfriend playing pretend with your niece. wordcount: 5.9k

rating: PG 15

a/n: i keep wanting to write soft fluffy vernon blurbs idk what's happening

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

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The bumbling sounds from your tiny kitchen caught your attention as soon as you got out of the phone call with your sister's husband. Once one anxious thought was gone, another one appeared out of the blue - what were they doing in there? They weren't messing with the boxes, were they? You took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough for you to have an interaction without yelling.

Rolling up your sleeves, you walked into your kitchen to deal with the next situation. The walls were covered with stacked boxes, so you almost couldn't see the old wallpaper. The noises were coming from your kitchen table, which still wasn't packed up. Vernon was sitting at the table with your niece, and the two of them had put out a paper plate with whatever snacks they could find, three glasses, and a bottle of water.

Your shoulders relaxed as you watched the two of them play pretend. They had clearly been trying to help you pack but had gotten distracted by your miscellaneous items. Vernon was wearing one of your scarves on his head and an old pair of sunglasses you had forgotten about - your niece wearing a matching pair. However, as soon as he saw you come in, he took off the glasses and sent you a gentle smile.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

It was all so ridiculous. Your sister was in the middle of an unexpectedly early childbirth, in the middle of you getting ready to move into your boyfriend's apartment, and here he was: playing dress-up with your niece. In some weird way, it was just what you needed - how Vernon could know you had no idea.

"She's fine," you finally replied with a tired smile. "It was a little bit of a surprise, but everything seems to be okay... what are the two of you doing?"

"We're just-"

"Stay in character!" your niece complained.

Vernon mouthed "Sorry," before putting the sunglasses back on and turning back to your niece. With his usual, matter-of-fact voice, he asked her what she thought about the weather. Your niece picked up her glass and took a sip of the water, making an exaggerated "ahh" as she put it back down.

"Too much rain," she responded with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

You could see Vernon have to restrain himself from laughing, his hand flying up to cover his smile. After clearing his throat, he nodded in agreement. You should be packing up the last of your stuff, the moving truck will arrive soon, and you should probably text your sister's husband again to ask him to send you updates. But right now, you could feel how tired you were in your bones. So, you sat down on the third chair and let Vernon pour you a glass of water. Then, he picked up the paper plate and held it out to you.

"Gummy worm?" he asked.

"How old are those?" You chuckled as you inspected the candies on the plate.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "But the cookies are from last week, I think."

You took a cookie and silently thanked him. Vernon and your niece continued their conversation about rain, which took a sharp turn when Vernon mentioned thunder - which was apparently very controversial in your niece's eyes. Any anxious feelings you had over moving in with Vernon were slowly disappearing. For a moment, you could truly let go of everything as Vernon kept your niece busy - and if he acted like this in a moment of crisis, maybe the two of you would do well living together.

"Bathroom break!" your niece suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands together once to signal that the scene was over.

She hopped off her chair and walked away to your small bathroom. You had already taken all of the boxes out of there, so you knew that she would be okay on her own.

"She's a little director," Vernon said.

"She is," you murmured.

He gave you a long look, a silent "Are you really okay?" to which you responded with a nod. Vernon moved his chair closer to yours, wrapping his arms around you and slowly patting your head.

"You're doing good, babe," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Thank you."

"I'll go back to packing up and you could sit with her for a bit," he suggested. "Or I could do anything else you need."

"Packing sounds good," you hummed. "I just need to make sure she's not feeling neglected or anything, you know? My sister was worried."

Vernon let go of you and grabbed your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. He was still wearing the scarf and the sunglasses, and you could no longer keep a straight face. You snort and turn away from him, trying to shield yourself from breaking out into even more laughter.

"What?" he asked and tried to make you look at him again. "Am I not pretty?"

After taking a deep breath, you look back at him with a contained grin. Vernon cocks his head at you, clearly aware of the way he looks now but also determined to keep you smiling. Your niece eventually came back from the bathroom and climbed back onto her chair. The two of you looked at her expectantly as she cleared her throat.

"Bathroom break's over!" she chimed.

"Honey," you said carefully. "Is it okay if Vernon goes away to pack some more stuff and I stay here with you?"

Your niece glanced back and forth between the two of you before extending her hand to Vernon. He carefully removed his scarf and glasses and placed them into her small, outstretched palm.

"You've been replaced!" your niece exclaimed dramatically as she handed you the items. "I'll give you the roll as long as you stay in character!"

As you and Vernon erupted into laughter, your niece continued to mimic the voice of a director before she eventually joined you in your mirth. Everything that could go wrong today, did go wrong - yet, it felt bearable with Vernon by your side. Observing his banter with your niece might have seemed like a man simply engaging in make-believe with his partner's niece others, but to you, it was a deeply serene and comforting scene. You knew with certainty that your future was in reliable hands.

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feedback is always appreciated!♡

taglist: svt taglist: @enhacolor, @shuabby1994, @junhui-recs, @dkakapizzaboy, @just-here-to-read-01, @loviehan, @userjunhuii, @novalpha, @bubblymoon, @aaniag, @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @seunghancore, @woozixo, @niktwazny303, @lllucere, @uniq-tastic, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @cali-snow, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang, @wonuvs, @dokyeomkyeom, @kyeomiis, @gyuguys, @notevenheretbh1

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lovelyhan · 1 year

Text

— divorce child ⟢

you like to think that your most recent breakup with vernon ended on relatively good terms. there’s only one issue left to sort out: who’s getting custody of the cat you got together?

★ FEATURING; vernon x producer!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 9.2k words

★ TAGS; exes to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut (MINORS DNI!)

★ NOTES; 3/4 stories in the series are now up <3 i hope you like this bc i really just wanted an excuse to write something fluffy and adorable with vernon.... he's got me in my feels these past few days fr. small heads up that this fic also features a bunch of characters from again and again, the mingyu installment of the series. this story takes place a couple years after that fic, but you don't necessarily have to read that part to get the events in this one :3c

★ P.S.; this was not proofread as usual lol if you spot any mistakes, do me a favor and pretend they don't exist !

this is part of the doting on you! series.

★ SMUT TAGS; vanilla, clothed sex, wearing ur bf's clothes kink(?), unprotected sex, body worship, praise kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, the smut is just so sweet okay

★ SVT TAGLIST; @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @cheolhub - @Idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jeonghancvunt - @jyiiscool - @jinniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @emmmui - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @jkbabiey - @featmia ★ SERIES TAGLIST; @exactlygreatcoffee - @gyusbabydoll - @jeonwonhi - @ti--red

“You sure you don’t need me to pitch in for this month’s check-up? I can always wire you some cash, you know.”

As you zip the pet carrier shut, you roll your eyes despite the fact that Vernon can’t exactly see your expression. Your phone’s sitting all the way on the coffee table but you were so preoccupied with wrestling your cat, Milana into the bag that you couldn’t exactly hold it like a normal person would.

“I’m good. You already covered for me last time, remember?” You remind him before taking the call off loudspeaker before pressing your phone to your ear. “I just got her inside the carrier. Might have to patch up a few scratches before we leave though.”

Vernon laughs. “She always hates going to the vet. It’s nothing too bad, right?”

“I’ve handled worse,” you snort before grabbing a couple of band-aids you keep around various corners of the house for this scenario specifically. “How about you? I thought I remembered Jihoon mentioning that today’s gonna be shut-in day. You know, that time of the month when you guys lock yourselves inside the studio to brainstorm lyrics together. Didn’t think you’d have the time for a phone call.”

“I always have time for a phone call when Milana’s going to the vet,” he says a-matter-of-factly and you can almost picture the warm smile on his face. The thought is enough to make your chest flutter, but you push the feeling down before it can completely come to the surface. “But you are right about shut-in day though. I might have to go in a few, so if there’s anything you need, you better tell me right now or forever hold your peace.”

“Nah. I told you, we’re good,” you insist with an eyeroll before placing band-aids on the scratches that your cat affectionately left all over your arms. “I’ll drop by the company later to drop off a mix that Jihoon asked me to mess around with. But if it’s shut-in day, I doubt we’ll get to see you.”

“Hmm. I can hide his Coke Zero stash outside so he’ll be forced to go out and get it?”

“Now that’s just downright evil.”

“It is. Anyway, aren’t you going to be late?”

“I already am, but Milana’s vet adores her, remember?”

“Nari adores everyone’s pets. Mingyu-hyung told me so.”

“Shush. You talk like our baby isn’t special,” you huff as you sling the strap of the pet carrier across your shoulder. “We’ll head out now. Thanks for checking in, Vernon.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, take care on the way.”

You end the call with your heart racing inside your chest. It’s not the phone call with your ex-boyfriend that flusters you, per-se. You work in the same agency, for god’s sake. Meaning, you’d be in deep shit if talking to him throws you off just because your relationship has already come to an end.

But whenever you jokingly refer to Milana as ‘our’ baby whenever you talk to him, it feels like you’re encroaching on something you’ve already lost a long time ago.

Your listlessness lasts until you pull up by the parking lot. Whether Milana’s staying at yours or at Vernon’s, this pet clinic at the heart of Seoul has always been your go-to. The fact that the attending veterinarian is Mingyu’s girlfriend does wonders to your final bills—she loves giving discounts to regulars and acquaintances—and you like to think you’ve found a friend in her ever since.

The automatic doors slide open when you walk in—Milana’s bag still slung over your shoulder. Chae, the receptionist, flashes you a bright smile before you notice the familiar golden retriever lying in front of the front desk. Old eyes flicker up to you for a moment before his tail twitches once or twice to signal his excitement.

“Good morning, Chae. Good morning, Namja,” you coo before crouching down to pet his head. “Is Nari waiting for me? Sorry for the hold up. It was a bit tough getting this one inside her bag.”

Chae lets out a soft laugh as she types away behind her computer. “Really? Vernon always gushes about how much of a sweetheart she is whenever it’s his turn to bring her in.”

You don’t know whether you should be surprised or embarrassed that Chae knows—or at least has an inkling—of your little arrangement with Vernon. When the two of you were still together, you always brought Milana in at the same time, but now you’re taking turns in bringing your little divorce child to the vet.

But hey, at least you’re still upholding your parental responsibilities, right?

“Of course he does,” you scoff with a shake of your head. “He knows better than anyone that getting Lana inside the bag is a nightmare. This one’s already her third this year. I was thinking of investing in a cage-type carrier instead but Vernon said it was like we’re sending her to prison.”

Chae sighs. “Men. Always so dramatic. Oh, but Doctor Nari’s waiting for you inside.” The receptionist glances at you curiously before you start taking Milana out of the bag so Chae could measure her weight.

It’s a bit of a challenge, handing your full-grown Maine Coon over to Chae, but despite the fact that she thrashes all around before vet visits, Milana has always been tame whenever she’s at the clinic. You manage to settle inside Nari’s office once your cat’s vitals have been measured and her vet is more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Well, if it isn’t Milana and her single mother,” she chuckles. “You here for routine check-ups? Where’s the father, though?”

You roll your eyes—fully aware that she’s only teasing. “Do you ask Vernon where’s the mother when he’s the one who brings her here?”

“Maybe.” Nari smiles before getting up from her desk and receiving your big cat into her arms. “Oh. She’s gotten heavier since the last time she came in.”

“Yeah, her father has been spoiling her with too much catnip. I only found out last week,” you sigh as you settle into one of the seats adjacent to the one across Nari’s desk. “But she’s been hairballing a lot recently. She doesn’t usually groom as much as she does now. Should I be concerned?”

She hums for a moment as she puts on her stethoscope—checking Milana’s heartbeat while her free hand examines your cat’s light brown coat. “Doesn’t look like she has any fleas or mites hanging around, but I can always do a scrape for you if you want the definitive results on paper. Though the excessive grooming could also be caused by stress.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stress?”

Nari nods before hanging her steth around her neck once more, stroking Milana’s fur with calm affection. “Cats are more easily agitated than dogs. Lots of things can stress them out. Loud music, vacuum cleaners, thunderstorms… Actually, even a switch-up in their pet parent’s schedules is grounds for stress.”

You can only watch in silence as Nari scratches behind Milana’s ears, making your cat purr like a kitten despite the fact that her long limbs are spilling out of her vet’s arms. But regardless of how adorable she looks, Nari’s words got you thinking.

In the tail-end of the breakup, it was a topic that was brought up over and over: who gets to keep Milana? You both split half and half with expenses after the two of you adopted her at a nearby shelter. Not to mention, you both loved her in equal measure, so it was difficult to come to a decision that the two of you could soundlessly agree on. In the end, you settled with the compromise of taking turns watching over Milana because neither of you could stand not being able to see her for too long.

It’s been about three months since you and Vernon call it quits and three months since you’ve agreed on ‘splitting custody’. She stays with you on weekdays and with him on weekends—along with some exceptions for when one party isn’t available. It was also agreed that you’ll take turns bringing her to the vet every month to make sure nothing is amiss with her health.

But when you planned on paying Nari a visit today, you didn’t expect to find out that the fluctuating schedule you and Vernon made a deal out of could be a possible stressor for your cat.

“I think you should just keep her.” Nari suggests, a hint of concern creeping on her face. “You could always tell Vernon to visit Milana whenever he wants to, right? The back-and-forth travel is definitely going to take a toll on this one. Also, cats are smarter than you think. I’m sure she’s already sensed something’s off with her parents a long time ago.”

Milana heaves a deep sigh as if she understood every single word her vet just said and you can’t help the guilt that gnaws at your gut. You thought that this was the best decision you could make for both yours and Vernon’s sanity, but you completely forgot to take Milana’s well-being into account. You can almost hear Nari silently judging you, but you shake your head to rid yourself of the thought.

“We’ll… We’ll talk about it,” you reassure, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But…she’s okay, right? No serious health complications or anything?”

She rolls her eyes. “Sweetie, you’re literally the most responsible cat owner I’ve ever met. No one ever bothers to bring their pets in unless the situation’s already too severe to handle. So you’re good. Milana’s perfectly healthy. Just a little…sad, maybe.”

“Why would she be sad?”

Nari stares at you like you just asked something ridiculous, but thankfully she doesn’t dish out any half-assed remarks about it—opting to settle Milana back onto a nearby examination table to do a couple more physical exams.

“Have I ever told you that me and Gyu used to be in a similar situation in the past?”

You stare at Nari with a bewildered look while her gaze never strays too far from her patient. She even coos out little remarks of praise whenever Milana behaves. How can someone who’s this focused drop such a question in the middle of work?

“Vernon told me you guys split up and got back together after almost a year,” you tell her dryly, not liking the fact that you admitted your ex-boyfriend is a big gossip, but you don’t see any point in hiding the fact that you knew. “What brought it up?”

Nari’s lips twitch into a firm smile before she lifts her gaze to meet yours. “I just think that…you and Vernon? You’re kind of on the same boat we were in before we reconciled. It’s either the two of you are too stubborn or too afraid to see it for what it is.”

Too afraid to…?

“What do you mean?” you ask. “It’s best that we split up, you know? Relationships between co-workers can get ugly really quickly if we forget to be professional. I don’t want us to stop doing the things we love just because of some work-related spat.”

“Then the two of you should just learn how to segregate work from play,” Nari insists before smoothing her gloved hands across Milana’s long torso. “I’m not trying to meddle or anything, okay? It’s just that there’s virtually no reason for you to not get back together. You’re still taking care of Milana together, still checking up on each other, still working together—”

“There it is. That’s the reason why we can’t be together, Nari,” you groan at her stubbornness. “We’re still working together.”

She huffs. “Is there a clause in your company’s contract that prohibits romantic relationships among talents and staff?”

“I’ve never read the fine print, but I’m pretty sure there’s something along those lines somewhere in there.”

“Oh. Well, who cares? Milana needs a loving home where her parents can take care of her at the same time.” Nari then leans down to cup her face in her hands. “Isn’t that right? You need both of them to look after you, hm?”

“So you’re suggesting that Vernon and I should just get back together for Milana’s sake?” you ask half-jokingly and to your surprise, Nari nods like it’s the easiest question in the world.

“Well, I won’t make any assumptions by saying that you’re still in love with him, since you’re the only one who can say that for sure. But come on, do it for the not-so-little baby. You can just learn to love each other again in the process!”

You can hardly believe your ears. In the quick stories that Vernon shared about Mingyu’s girlfriend, you never expected her to be this carefree about the matters of the heart. It must’ve been her six-foot boyfriend’s bubbly personality rubbing off on her.

“Right,” you say with a shallow sigh. “Pray tell, why’d you and Mingyu split up in the first place?”

Nari’s eyes dart to the ceiling as if deep in thought as Milana nibbles playfully at one of her latex-covered fingers. The silence presses on for a few more seconds before she turns to you with a mellowed out expression.

“I thought we weren’t going to work because of how different our jobs are,” she admonishes quietly, lips spread into a thin smile. “But after being an idiot for almost six months, I realized that our jobs don’t matter. I love him. I don’t think I really stopped. Don’t think I’ll ever stop, actually.

“That’s why I was so surprised when I found out you and Vernon broke up three months ago!” Nari continues with a disgruntled look on her face. “The two of you spend so much time in the studio and at your apartment. You even have a child together!” She then gestures dramatically over to Milana. “So forgive me if it doesn’t make sense to me, why the two of you broke up. But won’t you reconsider it? For Milana?”

You shake your head. “Nari, some relationships just aren’t meant to work out. Just because you and Mingyu managed to make good on that second chance, doesn’t mean it’ll be the same with us. We’ve already…settled with what we have right now.”

“What, the endless pining and using the poor cat as an excuse to see each other?” She huffs again and, god, she reminds you so much of Mingyu now it’s actually funny. “Come on, sweetie. I’ve been in your place before, so I know perfectly well. Gosh, this must be how Seungkwan felt when I was still getting my shit together.”

Unsolicited mention of Seungkwan aside, you just don’t see any reason to pursue what Nari is convincing you to do. Nothing really changed after you and Vernon broke up. That’s one of the things you like about him—how easy it is to fall back into a comfortable friendship despite the history you shared.

But you aren’t going to deny the fact that it kind of sucks that you can’t kiss him anymore. Can’t lean into his chair in the studio to pull him into a hug. Can’t tell him you still love him even if…

Oh.

Fuck. You still love him?!

“Fine, fine. Since I have a couple more patients on the waitlist, I’m gonna let you off the hook. For now,” Nari grumbles before handing Milana back to you and taking a seat behind her desk. “Just stick to her usual vitamins and diet and she should be fine until the next visit. But if you want the stress problem to go away…”

“Nari,” you groan. “I’m not getting back together with him.”

“Hey, that is not what I was saying,” Nari rebuts with her hands up in surrender. “I was gonna suggest that you just lessen her traveling! Maine Coons are usually really active, but Milana’s a bit of a…homebody, isn’t she? Might not like all that moving around between yours and Vernon’s apartments.”

“But she’s literally with me five days a week. Won’t she have plenty of rest time then?”

“Oh, who am I kidding? Just get back together soon, pretty please?”

Yep. Mingyu’s definitely rubbed off on her.

When you get home later in the afternoon, Milana is quick to slink off to her usual spot behind the sofa to take a nap while you make a beeline for the kitchen.

It’s always been a post vet visit ritual to get take out to eat at home—even when you and Vernon were still together. However, you opted against the practice for now because not only does it remind you of your ex, but eating all alone in your apartment will only give you more leeway to think about the things Nari told you earlier today.

If you make your own food like you are now, your mind is at least preoccupied enough that you don’t have enough thinking room to even wonder if Vernon even wants you back.

By the time the sun sets, Milana is still dozing behind the couch and you have a potful of pasta noodles and enough red sauce to last you five days. Another thing that you overlooked whenever you cook inside the house is that you almost always cook enough servings to feed two people. Whether subconsciously or not, you can’t bring yourself to hate how your habits are still attuned to the lifestyle you had three months ago.

Before you and Vernon broke up.

“Work,” you mutter to yourself as you dump some pasta and sauce into a bowl. “If I work, I won’t think about him anymore.”

Not-so wise words from a not-so wise person because newsflash: the time that you and your ex spent in your studio is leagues more than the time you spent together in the bedroom. Vernon has already cleared out his leftover gear from your home office, but memories aren’t something he can pack up and leave with so easily.

You recall quiet afternoons where you’d bounce ideas about their group’s next song off each other—sometimes with Jihoon and Seungcheol connected to a Discord call, but more often in the privacy of each other’s company.

There were also gloomy days where it rained all day long. Milana would curl up on Vernon’s lap while he played around with the software on your computer—sometimes using the weird sounds she makes as samples to add into the mix along with the soft drizzle pattering against the windowpane.

But it’s even harder to just forget about all the times the two of you came together intimately within the soundproof walls. You can’t even count how many times Vernon has eaten you out while you’re perched on top of your work desk—one hand muffling your moans despite the fact that no one outside the studio can ever hope to hear you. The world is none the wiser when Vernon pulls you onto his lap, bouncing you on his length until he’s spilling into you with gratuitous release.

In the present, there you are in the ear-splitting silence of your studio—the music software your ex bought for you ages ago seemingly glaring at you for spacing out again. You know you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself since it’s easier to come up with the perfect beats when you’ve got a rough draft of the lyrics in front of you—something that Jihoon and Vernon are busy getting done today.

But still. You can’t help the frustration because you’ve been functioning normally since the breakup. Sitting in the studio didn’t usually lead to you reminiscing about the countless hours you and Vernon spent here together. Making dinner never made you miss having someone to eat across from you at the dining table.

If only Nari didn’t breathe a word about your ex-boyfriend and all the reasons why you should just get back together. Maybe you would’ve remained rational. Maybe you wouldn’t have started considering things that are beyond your control.

Maybe you wouldn’t be hoping so badly for something to happen.

You try to distract yourself by listening to and reviewing the mix you’re supposed to hand over to Jihoon today. The visit you planned on making to the company was canceled since neither he nor Vernon were answering their phones, which usually means they’re taking shut-in day seriously for once.

The track continues to stream through the speakers as you munch on your dinner, filling the room with a quiet melody that would make a great ballad once the lyrics are in place. But no matter how good Jihoon’s music is, no matter how delicious your cooking can be, it isn’t enough to quell the thoughts that have been suffocating you all day.

You still…love Vernon.

If you didn’t, your apartment wouldn’t feel as lonely as it does. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have to feel so awkward whenever you bring Milana to the vet all alone.

But part of you insists that you’re just being carried away by the ideas that Nari planted in your head. You’ve been doing fine on your own for the past three months. How is today any different?

Your senseless overthinking gets worse before it gets better.

The next thing you know, you’re scrolling through your gallery, unearthing pictures whose existence you’ve long forgotten about. You’ve spent almost three years with Vernon—two years officially before getting Milana on your second anniversary. Tons of photos were snapped, countless memories created.

You could’ve snapped more photos, could’ve made more memories if only you hadn’t split up. The fact that (what should’ve been) your third anniversary passed a few weeks ago, stings more than it’s supposed to. That day, Vernon jokingly asked if you wanted to celebrate by your usual spot in the park a few neighborhoods away and you jokingly rejected his offer by saying you had a sitcom to catch up on.

Part of you wishes you accepted the invitation. Maybe the joke could’ve been subverted into something real, and maybe you could’ve been back in his arms by now.

That night, you go to bed with a mild headache and a million thoughts racing through your mind. It isn’t Jihoon’s sad, mellow mix that drones on and on in your head, but a single question that you aren’t sure if you’ll ever get a proper answer to.

How can you still love someone you were so sure that you didn’t anymore?

Come morning, you wake up with a heart that’s heavier than last night and the glaring realization that Milana is missing.

Panicking isn’t usually your first instinct when it comes to your cat. Milana is fairly easy to spot because she’s built more massive than your regular neighborhood felines. But when you’ve already scoured the vicinity for your beloved Maine Coon, it becomes clearer and clearer that she’s nowhere to be found.

You ask around with your neighbors—fairly certain that they know what Milana looks like since she slinks out of the house every now and again. What makes this particular situation worrisome is that she hasn’t come bolting back inside your apartment when you brought out the goddamn catnip. So, when your neighbors begrudgingly tell you that, no, they haven’t seen an oversized house cat prancing around the area, you don’t know what to do.

“Wait, come again?”

“She’s missing, Nari,” you whine into your cell as you nervously bite down on your nails. “I… I was so sure that I locked everything last night, but when I woke up, the front door was wide open and Milana’s just gone.”

Your friend curses at the other end of the line and from the concerned voices in the background, you figure that you must’ve called at a busy time in the clinic.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you tell her while choking down a sob. “Just…give me a ring if ever you or Chae see her around the clinic.”

“It’s not a bother at all! I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Nari sighs. “I’ll keep in touch. Oh, but it’s also worth considering that cats like familiar places. If you’re going to look for her, you can start with that.”

“Alright, thank you, Nari.”

After hanging up on her, you bury your face in the palms of your hands—sticky tears matting your skin as you breathe in sharply. You’ve never had to deal with a lost pet before. How the hell are you supposed to find Milana in a city that’s as big as Seoul?

You consider calling the police to file a report, but you’re not sure if pet cats even count for a missing person’s case. They wouldn’t be of any help if it didn’t. The only thing you can do right now is go outside and look for her yourself.

You’re quick to pull on an old sweatshirt you once nabbed from Jihoon before heading out—simultaneously texting every one of your friends about the situation as you scout further out of your neighborhood. Hell, you even contacted the animal shelter you and Vernon adopted Milana from out of sheer desperation.

Thankfully, a handful of them responded right away with a promise that they’ll keep a close eye out for any Maine Coons that surely don’t belong in their areas.

But no matter where you look, you always end up back to square one. It doesn’t help that Milana doesn’t usually wander too far from your apartment, which means that you have no clue where she could’ve possibly gone.

Nari mentioned that cats like familiar places, but the only places that are remotely familiar to Milana are yours and Vernon’s apartments.

Yours and Vernon’s…

You quickly bolt back to your place—scrambling to your car before fumbling to get the keys into the ignition. A few failed attempts and very loud cursing later, you manage to rev the engine to life. The next thing you know, you’re pulling into the street with an urgency that’s barely beating the speed limit.

Given that it’s still a weekend, you don’t have to come into work, which means that you have no idea what the boys’ schedule looks like right now. You’re not even sure if Vernon is in the same city, but you’d rather risk the off-chance that he isn’t in Seoul than do nothing.

You try your best to keep an eye on the road all while dialing up your ex-boyfriend as well as doing your best to obey every Korean traffic law there is. The first call goes straight to voicemail and you would’ve crashed into an SUV that’s idling by a red light if you hadn’t angrily brought down your foot on the brakes. Why the hell isn’t he answering?!

By the time you’ve made it to the street that led to his apartment complex, you’re already shaking with anxiousness. Dozens of uncertainties flit into your mind a million miles per minute. What if he doesn’t know where she is? What if he gets mad at you for losing Milana? Hell, what if he isn’t even here?

Shoving down all these biting questions, you park haphazardly across the street, locking your car behind you as you jog up to the steps that lead to the entrance. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that the receptionist at the counter still recognizes you—even going as far as flashing you a kind smile and informing you that Vernon is just upstairs. You wordlessly thank her for the tip before jamming a thumb on the elevator buttons.

You tap your foot impatiently across the marble tiles. Why the hell did Vernon choose to live in a place where you have to use elevators just to get home? Your apartment’s much more accessible especially in times like this when you feel like you’re going to explode with how fucking nervous you are—

The elevator dings when it arrives at the ground floor, making your nerves jump back into focus. You’re completely ready to brush past whoever’s getting out so you can come up to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment faster, but when you meet said ex-boyfriend’s surprised gaze at the mouth of the elevator, your prior urgency comes into a screeching halt.

He’s dressed like he usually is on lazy days—ugly checkered pajama pants, a tour shirt from some Western band that he probably hasn’t listened to a day in his life, and that perpetual bedhead he always sports whenever he just rolled out of bed.

God, he looks so good. It’s so fucking unfair.

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just about to head out and grab breakfast… Uh, make that brunch. Did you need something?”

You don’t even dare to dawdle. “Is Milana with you?”

Vernon cranes his head in confusion and the look makes your heart sink like a stone. “Last I recall, you’re the one who brought her to and from the vet yesterday. Aren’t we missing a couple of chapters here or…?”

You meant to explain the situation as concisely as you possibly can to him. Vernon’s always been an easy going guy. You’re sure that he won’t resent you for it when he finds out that you lost the daughter you’ve been sharing custody over. Even if some irrational part of your brain insists that he will.

But instead of coherent words, all that comes out of your mouth is a choked up sob.

The curve between Vernon’s neck and shoulder is as comfortable as you recall as you press your face against the crook of it—letting the tears run from your eyes and across his pale skin. You vaguely feel him wrap a protective arm around your frame while his free hand smooths down your hair and it makes you wonder why he’s patient enough to let you cry in his arms despite not having explained what the hell even happened yet.

He’s thoughtful enough to bring you to a more secluded corner of the lobby, calming you down by rubbing soothing shapes on your back with his hand and never letting you stray too far from his embrace. It helps that his low voice is there to keep you grounded—telling you that everything’s going to be fine and you just have to breathe, love.

It works after a few minutes and Vernon only lets you let go when he’s sure you’re not in danger of suffocating on your own tears anymore.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he murmurs, taking your hand in his. A small gesture that you’re too selfish to resist. “Is it about Lana?”

You nod weakly. “She’s…gone, Vernon. I have no idea where she went, but she’s gone.”

He hums in understanding and surprisingly enough, the understanding glint in his eyes never wavers. It’s a bit off-putting since you expected him to at least be shocked by the news, but it’s almost like he’s used to hearing that your pet cat just ran away.

“Right. I forgot to tell you about this new habit of hers.” He chuckles with an apologetic smile before one of his hands reaches up to wipe the tears off your cheeks. The close proximity has heat rising to your face, but you’re too stunned to react.

“I read somewhere that it’s good for Maine Coons to wander around to stretch out their limbs. Nari also told me last month that Lana could use the exercise, so whenever she comes over to mine, I let her out without supervision. She eventually finds her way to the lobby and just waits for me to come back if I’m ever running a little late.”

You listen to every word of Vernon’s explanation with a look of disbelief. All this time, you were worried sick about how he’ll react to the news that you lost your cat, but he’s been letting her go out and about when it’s his turn to look after her?

“Then where is she now?” you ask—not bothering to pick a fight with him now of all times.

Vernon hums for a moment as if considering the options and you don’t miss how his fingers tighten around yours when he gives you an answer.

“I might have a good idea.”

When Vernon suggested for you to head to the park just a few minutes away from your apartment as he climbed into the passenger seat, you merely scowled at him. “Milana is afraid of all the dogs that go for walks there. The only dog she isn’t scared of is Namja.”

“Just trust me,” he insists as you start the car. “Better we look there and find nothing than not look when there turns out to be something.”

His logic isn’t so flawed after all when he briskly leads you down a familiar walkway to an even more familiar location. It’s a small hill that’s got a perfect view of the river nearby. The upslope is lined with plum blossom trees that bloom even more vibrantly in spring and it just so happens that one of those trees is dubbed as yours and Vernon’s usual spot.

It’s where you and him usually hang out when the air in the studio has gotten a bit too stale to bring forth any sort of output. The outdoors can offer all sorts of inspiration when it comes to writing and producing songs and it’s common practice to make the trip to the usual spot when either of you are suffering from a nasty bout of creativity block.

And under the shade of the tree in the said usual spot is none other than Milana—curled up in deep slumber as plum blossom petals drift onto her pale brown fur.

You don’t even feel bad for rudely disturbing her from her comfortable nap, immediately pulling her into an abrupt embrace as you feel the tears welling in your eyes again. Milana lets out a strangled meow—claws straining against your skin with a threat of attack if you don’t knock it off. But you can’t bring yourself to care. You’d gladly use up all the band-aids in the world after she scratches you up if it means you can get to hug her for a few seconds more.

“There she is. All cozy at that.”

Vernon’s smooth voice startles you out of your relief—so overwhelmed to see your cat again that you almost forgot that you had company.

“I told you she’d be here,” he laughs before reaching out to pet her head. “You got us worried though. Don’t go wandering too far, okay, Lana? You scared your mom shitless, you know?”

Milana responds with a disgruntled noise but you can feel her claws retract nonetheless. Damn Vernon and the fact that he’s obviously the favorite parent…

She seems considerably happier when you deposit her into her father’s arms—nuzzling his chest with a satisfied purr as you and Vernon start to descend the hill.

But as he showers her with affection, you can’t help but sneak brief glances in your ex-boyfriend’s direction. Vernon has always been easy on the eyes. That’s one of the reasons you were drawn to him in the first place. But whenever you see him like this—laughing goofily as he teases Milana, the high of his cheekbones dusted red with a shower of plum blossoms gliding all over…

The gods are cruel to think you could ever put up a fight.

When Vernon comes over to bring Milana back to your apartment, you don’t expect him to stay for too long. He mentioned on the way that yesterday’s shut-in session was a complete success and that they’ve got all their work cut out for them. All they need is a green light from the higher-ups before Jihoon can start handing the song samples to the company’s usual team of producers—a team that just happens to include you.

So yeah, you don’t expect Vernon to linger because he’s obviously got a lot on his plate. The man hasn’t even had breakfast or brunch or whatever. So when he surprisingly decides to stay and rummages through your fridge for the pasta noodles and red sauce you’ve been saving for tonight, it’s like you never broke up with him at all.

The sight is almost too familiar for you to bear.

Vernon sitting on the kitchen counter, helping himself to some day-old pasta as his long legs dangled over the edge. Milana watching his feet sway around with keen eyes as she attempts to swipe at them with her claws. Not to mention you, who’s staring at the two of them like they’re the most precious things in the world.

“Hey, this is really good,” Vernon compliments with half his mouth stuffed with noodles. “You’re using that one Italian tomato sauce that I like, right? Man, I missed this a lot.”

You will yourself to snap out of whatever trance his presence has got you in before walking closer to him with a soft laugh. You lean across the counter, grabbing a fork from the drawer where you keep your silverware to help yourself to some of the pasta that he haphazardly tossed into the microwave.

“It could’ve been better if you heated the noodles properly in boiling water.” You shake your head. “Then again, you’ve always been impatient when it comes to food.”

“Not as impatient as Seokmin-hyung,” he snickers. “One time when we were still staying back in the dorms, Mingyu-hyung just put the lasagna in the oven but Seokmin-hyung was already yelling about when it’ll be ready to eat. Actually, he always does that even if one of us just pops something in the microwave.”

You shake your head, recalling the words of Nari’s receptionist, Chae. “Men. Always so dramatic.”

Vernon snickers in agreement. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

You fall into conversation with him so easily, it’s almost unreal. When Vernon finishes his food, the two of you eventually migrate to the living room—catching up with each other in a way that you don’t really have the time to whenever he comes over to pick up Milana from your apartment in the past.

Speaking of Milana, your cat acts as a barrier of sorts between you and Vernon, lying comfortably in the space that the two of you left unfilled. Cuddling up to him on the couch used to be so easy, it’s almost second nature, but now that you’re nothing but co-workers that are friends at best, you’ve got a lot more reservations than you used to have.

“By the way, I’ve been looking everywhere for that sweatshirt,” he muses before pointing at the graphic crewneck you’re wearing. “I thought I lost it in the laundry or that Seungkwan might’ve nabbed it when he came over to my place.”

“Why is he your first suspect?” you snort. “Also, what are you talking about? This is Jihoon’s.”

Vernon blinks at you, a little confused. “No, that’s mine. Jihoon-hyung must’ve borrowed it from me and let you borrow it after. When did you even get it from him?”

“Um. About a month ago?”

“That explains it then.”

You roll your eyes. “Look, if you want your sweatshirt back, I can just give it to you.”

“No, it’s okay. You can keep it,” he insists, one hand drifting onto Milana’s head so he can scratch her ears. “You’ve always looked good in my clothes anyway.”

Silence fills the room almost uncomfortably at how easy it is for him to admit that. The sudden shift in the atmosphere occurs to Vernon a little late and the smile on his face falls when he realizes what he just said.

“Oh, I didn’t… I mean—”

“It’s— It’s okay,” you interject meekly, managing a shy smile as you tug on the sleeves of your—his—sweatshirt. “I always liked wearing your clothes too.”

You’re perfectly aware that you should know how to hold yourself accountable for the things you say. That goes the same for Vernon. So when the two of you willingly let the other hear such controversial things that co-workers-slash-friends probably shouldn’t be saying to each other, you’re not sure what to make of the situation.

Are you reading him wrong? Or is he actually reciprocating your misplaced longing, no matter how subtle? It’s always been hard to tell with Vernon, who’s never straightforward with what he wants to communicate. Always trusting that you would understand the nuance of his every action, his every word, when all they do is make your head spin.

The sight is perfectly domestic—lounging comfortably on the sofa after a good meal, both of your feet kicked up on the coffee table, and your big baby daughter purring quietly from where she lies between the two of you.

But even if three months doesn’t seem like a whole lot, it’s enough time for some…due changes to eventually set.

“You know…” Vernon starts, sucking in a deep breath almost like he’s nervous.

“Do I know what?”

His eyes flicker over to the ceiling as if praying for some sort of deliverance before forcing himself to meet your gaze again. There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t parse right away, and you wonder if you can ever understand what it is.

“I… I still listen to that old mixtape you gave me. Do you remember? The one you gave to me when we first met?” he murmurs quietly, bringing his hands onto his lap so he can twiddle with his thumbs. “Before we have to come up on stage and I start feeling nervous, I just listen to a softcopy of that mixtape on my phone. I still do now.”

That mixtape… He still has that? Moreover, he managed to save a softcopy and downloaded it onto his phone? You would’ve asked him how on earth he managed to do that, if you weren’t so startled about his sudden revelation.

“Your voice always gives me strength. Even when we weren’t together yet—even if we’re not together anymore.” Vernon purses his lips, a sad look eclipsing the sincerity in his eyes as he strokes Milana’s fur thoughtfully. “So I’m really sorry if you think I’m overstaying my welcome today. I definitely am. But I just— I just wanted to be selfish for once.I wanted to spend a little more time with you because I know you’ll go back to distancing yourself from me once I leave.”

When he turns to face you, you know it’s the real deal. There’s a spark of determination in his eyes that scares you a little—like he’s about to say something you’re not ready to hear yet regardless of how badly you want to.

But before he can get a chance to utter the words, your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. You’ve never swooped in to answer a call so quickly in your life.

“Hello, what’s up?” You nearly cringe at how bubbly your voice sounds as you get up from the couch.

“Hey, have you found Milana?” Nari’s voice flows into your ear, genuine concern lacing each word. “I asked Mingyu to look around with Namja, but no dice. I could contact some other friends if you—”

“It’s okay, Nari,” you interject, fingers drumming across your thigh. “We already found her.”

Your friend makes a curious noise. “Who’s we?”

You nearly balk when Vernon plucks the phone out of your hands, pressing it to his ear with a smug grin that you don’t usually see him wear.

“Who else?” he says. “Thanks for checking in, Nari. But we’re kind of…busy.”

The call isn’t even on loudspeaker but you can obviously hear the way Nari gasps like Vernon just unveiled some scandalous secret. “Oh my god. Are you—”

Vernon ends the call before tossing your phone back onto the couch, startling Milana out of her nap. Your cat flashes Vernon something similar to a dirty look before hopping off the cushions and sauntering off elsewhere. You just hope she doesn’t retaliate by wandering outside again.

But your cat’s newest penchant for wandering around is the last thing on your mind because even if you’re not facing him, you can sense Vernon’s towering presence directly behind you.

You don’t resist when he hugs you from behind—resting his forehead against your shoulder as he breathes out a shuddering sigh. His arms still feel like home despite being months into the breakup and you don’t know how to fucking deal with it.

“I still love you. Never stopped,” he whispers. “It was…completely stupid of me to think we’re better off as friends just because we’re coworkers. You’re too important to me. I don’t want to be your friend. I want to—”

You don’t even give him leeway to finish that sentence, whirling around in his embrace as you meet his lips in a quiet kiss.

In a split second, several things happen at once. Dying stars collide. Black holes collapse. Eternities unspool.

And you start to realize that you can’t live without Vernon Chwe.

“Shit, Hansol, please.”

Vernon loves how his other name falls so gracefully from your lips—loves how you frame the words in such an…interesting way. You only ever call him that when you’re feeling particularly strong emotions—happiness, anger, disappointment…

Pleasure.

He heaves a long sigh as he peels himself away from the home he’s made between your thighs. You’re not sure how long Vernon has been eating you out, but your brain is close to melting and you can’t process any other coherent thoughts aside from how your cunt still tingles from the orgasm he just gave you.

Your panties have long been discarded on the bedroom floor. All you’re donned with now is the old sweatshirt that you thought belonged to Jihoon but turns out was Vernon’s property all along. He insisted that you keep it on—emphasizing just how much he likes seeing you in his clothes before promptly robbing you of your capacity to think by eating pussy like it was his life’s purpose.

It doesn’t help that he looks so fucking delectable between your legs—big hands splayed across the sensitive flesh of your thighs as he looks up at you with a dazed expression. His lips are parted, still glossy from the aftermath of your release and the look in his eyes almost makes it seem like he’s the one who’s just been eaten out to completion.

“Fuck, ‘Sol,” you whimper, head falling back onto the pillows as you shield your eyes with your arm. You can’t even look at him without feeling like you’re about to combust. “Stop staring at me like that…”

Vernon leans down to pry your arm off your face—forcing you to meet his loving gaze before pressing your arm down onto the mattress.

“Like what?” he whispers, the blunt of his nail scraping against your bottom lip.

“Like you want to swallow me whole.”

His eyes almost crinkle with how wide he smiles at you and you nearly writhe with anticipation when you feel his drenched fingers prodding your slicked entrance again.

“What if I tell you that’s exactly what I want?”

Vernon’s mouth is on yours before you can even breathe, tongue bullying its way past your lips as he licks into your mouth. He slips the digits he used to tease you back into your wet channel and you delight in how he swallows your moans as he pumps them inside at a languid pace. Vernon has always been good at building your release from the ground up—never one to rush any orgasms he’s willing to give. As long as you feel good, he’ll exercise as much patience as he can.

“V-Vernon,” you gasp when he curls his fingers and thumbs at your clit at the same time, flicking your sensitive bud with just the right amount of pleasure that has your toes curling with pleasure. “Fuck, please, please—”

“Sounds so good for me,” he sighs, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before giving a delicious tug. “Wanna record all your pretty noises and use it in a song. D’you want that too, love? Want everyone to hear how nice you sound?”

The idea of him using your voice in the throes of pleasure for such a mundane thing sends a rush of heat straight to your core. You moan in reply, rubbing your needy cunt against his hand in a desperate attempt to get yourself off. Vernon chuckles against your lips and his teasing almost makes you pout, if only he isn’t so fucking good at finding your g-spot.

The first time he makes you come, it’s with his mouth and the second is after he expertly picks you apart with his fingers. But no matter how well Vernon knows your body, you still think it’s fucking unfair for him to coax orgasm after orgasm from you like it’s as easy as breathing.

“Hansol,” you whisper—brain too fucked out to segreget his two names properly. “Want you inside me. Want all of you.”

He shakes his head with an audible tut, slipping his fingers out of your pulsing hole. The action makes you mewl in protest, but Vernon brings those same fingers to your lips to silence you.

“You have to work on your patience, love,” he murmurs, angling his face a little before his lips descend onto your neck. “It’s been a while since I’ve had you like this… I want to savor you. You’ll let me do that, right?”

All you can do is answer him with a helpless nod.

His sweatshirt is off in a split second, revealing your body to him in a way that makes you want to hide underneath the covers. He gazes at you so intensely, it makes you wonder how someone you broke up with three months ago still looks at you like it's the first time.

Vernon writes poetry onto your skin with each caress of his lips, making sure you feel everything he’s doing to you as he leaves no inch of your body untouched. Sex with him has always been intense, not because he likes to fuck hard and fast but because he likes to take his time—to sink himself into your skin deep enough that you can’t ever hope to flush him out of your system.

That’s probably one of the reasons why you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop loving him. He’s become such a fundamental part of your life that living without him is the same as breathing without oxygen.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as his lips latch onto your breasts. “So fucking beautiful.”

Vernon isn’t a man of many words. You’ve come to know this for a fact, so whenever he spills all these compliments for you to hear, it makes your heart swell inside your chest. A handful of other people have called you that in the past, but when the words come from Vernon’s mouth, it feels like the gospel truth.

Fortunately, your lover was never too cruel to you. Sure, he likes to instill the value of patience, but Vernon never found the appeal of bringing your partner to tears because of their unquenchable need for release.

He doesn’t even make you beg for his cock. Vernon simply lines up the tip with your swollen entrance before slowly pushing inside—dark eyes cognizant of every shift in your expression to make sure he isn’t hurting you. When all he sees is you whimpering from how good it feels to be split open by his cock, he knows he’s doing it right.

“I love you,” he whispers breathlessly—hoping the words won’t be lost in the midst of the mind-numbing pleasure. “I’m so in love with you.”

He ploughs you into the mattress slowly, deeply, wanting you to feel every inch of his cock as he fucks into you. Vernon is rarely vocal with his words when it comes to sex, but he makes up for it with the pleasurable sounds that escape his lips. And with how long it’s been since the two of you lied together like this, you wouldn’t blame him for feeling more unhinged than usual.

“I love you, too, ‘Sol,” you sigh but the words are eclipsed with a high-pitched keen when he amps up the pace of his thrusts.

“I love hearing you say that,” Vernon groans, biting his lip until he can taste iron on his tongue.

“Then I’ll keep saying it.” It’s a miracle how you manage to get the words out when he’s quite literally punching the breath out of your lungs with each stroke. “I’ll say I love you while you’re fucking me. I’ll say I love you even when you’re not.”

“I’ll say it all the time if it means you’ll come back to me.”

For a moment, the intense pace he’s set falters—eyes wide and mouth agape. You worry that you must’ve said something out of turn, but Vernon proves you wrong by pulling you forward into a tight embrace, fucking up into your tight cunt with a kind of vigor that you never would’ve associated with someone as easy going as he is.

“I’m yours, love.” he rasps against your neck, teeth grazing the skin just above the thrum of your pulse. “I’ll always be yours.”

The sudden switch in positions and the sincerity of his words is what pushes you over the edge a third time—making you cling onto Vernon like a lifeline as he continues fucking you through your orgasm. You can tell that he’s close. His strokes are more erratic, more frantic. Now that he’s brought you to the pinnacle, he doesn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t make it to that same paradise too.

When he comes, it’s a burst of white hot pleasure that singes through every single nerve ending in Vernon’s brain. You let out such an adorable little whimper as his cum coats your insides in generous spurts, filling you to the brim with his emission with the full intention of keeping it inside you for days.

But as much as he loves entertaining the idea of defiling you until everyone in the world knows you belong to him…

He’s always put great importance in the art of aftercare.

Both of you try very hard to ignore Milana’s judgemental stare as Vernon carries you to the bathroom—propping you up on the toilet cover first as he draws a warm bath. But from the way she dismissively leaves the two of you to your own devices after a few minutes, you like to think that you’ve gotten her seal of approval.

Your no-longer-ex-boyfriend gently lays you into the tub with him, reaching out for the soap on one of your toiletry holders as he massages you everywhere you’re sore. You let out a satisfied sigh before resting the back of your head against his firm shoulder.

“How’re you going to explain to the higher-ups that you’re dating one of their producers again?” you chuckle, placing your hand on top of his as he continues to clean you up. “Maybe I should just find a job somewhere else. A place where it isn’t illegal to have an idol as a boyfriend.”

“Maybe,” he muses before placing a firm kiss on your temple. “But whatever happens, I know I’ll always stick by you no matter what.”

You turn around, arching an eyebrow at him. “Even if it’ll cost you your job?”

You completely expect him to backtrack a little. Vernon is obsessed with you—you get that. But probably not to a point where he’s willing to breach the company’s contract just to keep being with you, right?

But for some reason, it sounds so fucking easy for him to say it when he whispers:

“Even if it’ll cost me my job.”

⟢ end notes: this is probably the sweetest thing i've ever written bc i personally headcanon vernon as someone who loves his s/o so deeply, it consumes him (like in a good way yk). i had so much fun writing this (esp since i got to sneak in vet!reader from again and again under the name nari hehe) so i rly hope you enjoyed it! do look forward to the last part of this series, which will feature resident catboy jeon wonwoo <3

this is part of the doting on you! series.

#svthub #seventeen smut #vernon smut #hansol smut #seventeen fanfic #chwe vernon fic #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

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wheeboo · 5 months

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laundry day | hansol vernon chwe

SYNOPSIS. in which it's laundry day and you're in a bit of an embarrassing predicament. PAIRING. hansol vernon chwe x gn!reader (however, sorta implied that reader is more leaning toward fem) GENRE. fluff, humour?, best friends/roommates to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, vernon is checking reader out lowkey, reader embarrassingly wears hello kitty underwear i don't make the rules, ik vernon is mainly chill but in this they bicker <3, this was very stupid n silly lmfao WORD COUNT. 1.6k

requested from @weird-bookworm: lemme be annoying already— noni + #16 and #59 from list 1!! - #16: "You hugged me like your personal pillow." - #59: "Laundry day doesn’t mean walking around in your underwear, but for you, I’ll make an exception."

notes: i'm never good with writing humour but i thought of this stupid scenario and idk how i feel BYEE (cuz ur girl lowkey struggled on figuring out how to put #59 in the story lmao) tysm for submitting this in sky <3 and ty @bananabubble for reading it over for me!

join the 2k celebration!

You are so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

How could you let yourself get carried away in loading all your laundry that you forgot to save a pair of pants to wear in the meantime?

You replay everything in your head: your overflowing, neglected laundry basket, the utter satisfaction you felt after loading it... right up until the moment you realised every single pair of pants you own was now basically swimming around in a goddamn whirlpool, and now you're left sporting nothing but your underwear and a shirt that didn't offer much coverage than expected.

You let out an annoyed groan, burying your face into your hands and mentally slapping yourself in the face. The chill of your room sends a trail of goosebumps running up the exposed skin of your legs. There really was nothing you could do but wait for your laundry to finish.

Then your head shoots back up, and maybe your bedroom lights up a bit brighter at your metaphorical lightbulb moment, because you think of Vernon. He's the only other option you have.

Tip-toeing up to your closed door, a bit of hesitancy gnaws at you for being so dumb, before you yell out, "Vernon!"

He's probably in the living room right now𑁋you can overhear the faint music of the record player the two of you snagged at this vintage thrift store the other week. A very good and lucky find, nonetheless.

Taking another (and maybe regrettable) deep breath, you call out again, a little louder this time. "Vernon! Can you hear me?"

The music seems to dip down slightly, and after a moment, the record stops spinning, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. You brace yourself for the door to swing open to reveal the embarrassing state you're in right now, but it doesn't.

Instead, you hear Vernon's voice respond to you through the door, "Yeah?"

"Uh..." You bite your lip because you can't believe you're about to ask this. "Do you have, um... a pair of pants or shorts I can borrow? I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

For a moment you think he didn't hear you because it's completely silent on the other side of the door, and it does absolutely nothing at calming down your racing heart. You see, you probably should be fine with walking around in your underwear with Vernon because he's your best friend and roommate and he definitely would not judge at all, but it's simply not that simple𑁋

"Did you, like, spill Monster on yourself again?" Vernon asks casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world that you would do (it's happened one too many times).

"Yes, I mean, no, I mean𑁋look, just fetch me a pair and I'll bring it back to you later?"

"Uh, yeah, about that..." He pauses. "I'm wearing my only pair right now since you loaded yours first."

You really should've considered that being best friends with Vernon meant collectively sharing the brain cell of procrastinating when it comes to doing your laundry. Great, just absolutely fantastic. This was very much how you wanted your day to go. Perhaps this is why you're best friends, after all.

"Well, shit," You murmur, more to yourself but Vernon hears it anyway.

"Look, I'm sure it's not that bad, right?" Does he seriously still think you spilled Monster on yourself? "You could probably just𑁋"

You can hardly act by the time the doorknob twists and Vernon peeks his head around the door. But the second he catches sight of you, his eyes flicker over you, before he quickly averts his gaze to the Radiohead poster on your wall. Was it the lighting in your room that's making his face look pink?

You stand there awkwardly, suddenly feeling so exposed in front of him as if some sort of gigantic spotlight was shining down on you. It's not like you haven't been half-naked around each other before, but this feels different... somehow. You don't know why, or maybe you don't want to know.

A cough erupts from Vernon, breaking the sudden silence.

"Oh, wow, um..." He toys with the black hoodie around his head. "I didn't look. I swear."

His eyes dart everywhere except back to you, lingering on the Radiohead poster, the slightly askew picture frame on your desk, just anywhere but you. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed.

"Ugh, I'm so stupid." You run a frustrated hand through your hair. "And I have this meeting for work in an hour and I know the laundry won't be done by then. I'm actually screwed."

Vernon thinks for a minute. "You can't like... virtually attend the meeting?

"No."

"Or it can't be postponed?"

"Nope."

"What if I file you as a missing person to the police?"

"You're seriously no help, dude," You say, giving him a light shove to the shoulder, but it's hard to suppress the curve to your lips and the small chuckle that leaves your mouth when you see him fall back dramatically.

Vernon snorts lightly. "Well, it's probably better than showing up to work in your Hello Kitty underwear𑁋"

"You said you didn't look, you idiot!" You exclaim furiously, and Vernon literally does not see the way a pillow practically spawns in your grasp and flinging toward him before he can even react. The pillow hits him square in the chest, causing him to stumble backward with a surprised yelp. "Oh my god, just report me missing at this point."

Vernon just laughs as he catches his breath to stand back up, grabbing the pillow up the floor and lifting it up like a shield as if to defend himself from you. Your face is burning brighter than the lava lamp glowing on your bedside table.

"This is so embarrassing," You mutter sheepishly, wanting to unleash another defeated groan again. "I can't believe I'm this stupid to forget to..."

"You're cute."

"...and then I'm probably going to get fired𑁋what?"

Vernon tosses the pillow back onto your bed and clears his throat.

"I said you're really dumb."

That is not what he said.

For a second, the disastrous situation seems to lighten up just a little bit, and your heart is doing some intense, unrhythmic tap dance against your ribs. You heard exactly what he said𑁋that he called you cute in this ungodly predicament𑁋and now he's trying to brush it off?

Vernon cracks a teasing, boyish smile. "And stupid, yeah. You're not wrong about that."

You open your mouth to retort, but the words get caught in your throat, almost like a choked sound coming out instead. So you point an interrogative finger and step closer to him (and yes, still in your underwear), eyebrows furrowing together.

"You called me cute," You state, all firm and serious now.

Vernon's playful look falters slightly, expression shifting to something a bit more guarded now. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, that nervous habit you've always found sort of endearing throughout time. Perhaps there's a bit more meaning to it now.

The few moments of silence that follow is absolutely suffocating. You can't even tell if time is passing by quicker or slower as the two of you stand there, shifting this uncomfortable weight between both of your feet.

"Yeah," Vernon says simply, quietly. "I did."

You nearly want to laugh for some reason, but you can feel the nerves tickle up your spine. "I'm standing here in fucking Hello Kitty underwear and you think I'm cute?"

You can visibly see the way the lump in his throat tightens as he swallows, his eyes flickering uncertainly between you and the floor.

"Look you just... You caught me off-guard. Like... laundry day doesn't mean walking around in your underwear and all that," Vernon explains, in a tone like he's trying to reason with you. "but for you, I'll make an exception because𑁋"

"𑁋because I'm cute?"

"Because you're so stupidly cute from freaking out when I could just go to the store right now and buy you a pair of pants to wear." Then he sucks in a breath. "And yeah, the Hello Kitty underwear is cute, I guess."

You feign a shocked, traitorous look to your face. "You guess?! It's Hello Kitty, man."

"Dude, do you want me to snatch you some pants to wear or not? Because I'm deadass about the missing persons report," Vernon asks, half-annoyed yet somewhat half-amused. The twitch to his lips doesn't go unnoticed. And the voice of him calling you cute just minutes earlier also doesn't go unheard of too.

You wear a cringy, exaggerated pout to your lips. "Please."

Vernon's face contorts in slight disgust at that. "Please don't do that eve𑁋I'm leaving." And before you can say anything, he's turning around and leaving your room.

You hear the clinking of keys, assuming that Vernon is getting ready to leave to presumably retrieve you a pair of pants to wear for the day. You step up to your doorway to peek into the living room.

"Hey, I owe you!" You holler out to him. "Let me know how much it costs and I'll pay you back."

"No need," Vernon calls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, I'll feel bad," You insist, leaning against the doorframe. "I'll do anything, I swear."

Now that seems to intrigue him, and you watch the way Vernon slowly turns back to you, and maybe you're starting to regret ever saying that to him.

"Okay," he says lightly. "We're watching a movie tonight."

"A movie? What are we..." Then your eyes widen in realisation. "We are not watching Shrek again. I'll end up falling asleep on you because we've rewatched too much."

Vernon just shrugs. "Yeah, like last time. You hugged me like your personal pillow, remember?"

"I..." You stop yourself from responding immediately, feeling a flush creeping up your cheeks at the memory. "Fine, whatever. If I fall asleep again, you can just wake me up this time."

A low, thoughtful hum runs out of Vernon's mouth. "I mean, I really don't mind if you fall asleep, you know. If you're tired and stuff."

You blink up at him dazedly. "Really?"

"Yeah," he answers, and the corners of his lips lift up ever so slightly. "You're cute when you fall asleep on me, anyway."

another note: guys idk what i just wrote lol its like 90% dialogue n rushed HAHSADSA

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

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spamgyu · 5 months

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Mess It Up – idol!SVT // Masterlist

"I keep thinking maybe if you let me back in. We can make it better, breaking every habit"

DESCRIPTION: A collection of idol!Seventeen one-shots and how they allowed their idol life ruin their relationship GENRE: a whole lot of angst

STATUS: IN PROGRESS

DIRECTORY

ᡣ𐭩 - NEW

DISCONNECTED CALLS - SEUNGCHEOL

description: All his choices to put his career and his team first never led to any regrets; all except his choice to cut his ties with you.

ᡣ𐭩・:〃➜ INBOX, FULL - SEUNGCHEOL

description: Four years has passed many has changed, but yet not quite much at all... A highly requested Part 2 to Disconnected Calls

THE APARTMENT WE WON'T SHARE - JEONGHAN

description: Jeonghan had only broken his promise to you once and he swore to himself he would never put you through that again, even if it meant promising to watch you walk in to another man's arms.

I MISS YOU, I'M SORRY - SOONYOUNG

description: Soonyoung let his pride get in the way and now he's forced to come to terms of his mistakes... two years too late.

TUESDAY - JIHOON

in response to this request: i need jihoon to break my heart bc he doesn't know how to balance his career and a relationship 😭 it would so gut wrenching bc he's being quite cold about it, but when he gets back to his studio the flood gates open 😭😭😭

BIGGEST REGRET - MINGYU

description: Mingyu had many regrets in life, he had made many mistakes... ruining the best thing to happen to him, since joining Seventeen, was his biggest one.

FRIENDS - HANSOL

description: You were the right person, at the worst of times. Or at least, he thought it was...

ᡣ𐭩 FAVORITE CRIME - CHAN

description: When has messing the gray area between two friends ever resulting in any good? The answer; never. You were his best friend and it should have stayed as that.

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chanranghaeys · 1 month

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🥛 just like a tattoo

Waking up was always something you looked forward to, especially if the first sight in the morning is Vernon and his hidden little secrets, and maybe his cute chocolate milk carton.

pairing: idol!tattooed!vernon x gn!reader, reader is identified to be female word count: 1.3k tags: slice of life, fluff first thing in the morning, vernon has multiple tattoos (in my head) listed in detail warnings: slight sexual overtones, pg-13 at most 😇

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The light burns through your eyes, waking you from a dreamless slumber. Looking around, you find the source of the almost blinding glare: the patch of sun bleeding through the curtains of the already-lightened room. You glance at the clock hanging from the wall across you. It was 8 am on a Sunday—a perfect reason to sleep in.

You slowly move around the bed and find that you are already wearing a slightly loose shirt and panties. Memories of last night flood your mind and you close your eyes again almost as if in bliss. It’s been a good two weeks since you two spent the night together, and while you both maybe kinda slightly expected it, both of you were still surprised at how deep the need was for one another, as evidenced by the slight ache in your thighs and back while you moved. Nothing you couldn’t manage, but definitely more reason to just stay in bed.

When you turn again, you see his slim figure leaning against the door frame and you wonder how long he’d been watching you toss and turn. He had no shirt on because you realized that you had his shirt on your back, and his boxers were slung dangerously low as if haphazardly thrown on. And while you’ve marveled at this sight too many times than you can count, you still can’t help but look at his body in awe.

People could say he had a sleeper bod, and you agreed, but it wasn’t something he cared for. If he was healthy and able to move about, he was content with that. But with all the activity his job demanded, his body followed suit. He wasn’t all muscle or all skin, but he was built sturdily and toned in the places that got the most use—that is to say, his arms, thighs, and core. His naturally light skin tone almost looked sallow in the places that didn’t get much sun, but it only enhanced what he permitted only your, and very few other, eyes to see.

Strokes of black both thick and thin were scattered across his torso in a most curated manner. They weren’t a lot, but you knew that his tattoos were his most well-kept secret from the K-pop industry, and you knew it was the deepest privilege to be able to even have a glimpse of one, much less all that can be hidden behind a shirt. You’ve memorized all of them at this point.

On his right chest near his lower rib was a simple line of text in all caps inspired by a line from “The Matrix”: SEE IT FOR YOURSELF. Another text tattoo lined the left side of his torso, this time a vertical stack of letters spelling out MELODY—once a temporary tattoo for a concert, now permanent to forever honor his mother.

There was one tattoo that he knew people were aware of and didn’t mind much, and that was the small star tattoo at the back of his right ear’s helix, but little did people know that it was only one of a series, with the rest of the small stardust sparkles smattering his back near his right shoulder blade. Specifically, there were five of them, one representing each member of his tight-knit family, including Jazzy and Leo Chwe.

Amidst the minimalist tattoos was one that stood out as more realistic than others—a medium-sized sunflower head on his left hip, its petals you could see right now peeking from the top band of his boxers. People knew of his sister Sofia’s own sunflower tattoo down her left thigh, but fewer people knew that when she was 17 and he was 23, they both talked about how they’d get matching sibling tattoos and their discussion landed on sunflowers. While Vernon wished he could place it in a more prominent spot, he knew better than to do such a thing.

“Did you sleep well, baby?” His deep morning voice broke your reverie as you finally settled on his eyes, his gaze forever the most piercing one you never could break. You gave him a lazy, mischief-laden smile.

“The best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I guess I have someone to thank for making sure I was knocked out last night.”

He let out a light-hearted scoff and drank from his chocolate milk carton. “You know that I was just following your lead, right? I asked you what you wanted, I just gave it to you.”

“I know.” You rolled your eyes, recalling how you were practically begging him with tears in your eyes—the utter hold he had on you was intoxicating. It was those clear brown eyes, you swore so. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too.” At that, he gave you the softest smile and his gaze eventually followed suit.

“I love you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate you.”

He laughed again and shifted his weight off the door frame and moved toward you. You sat up to meet him in an embrace, your head resting on his warm chest as he kissed your head.

“Can we stay in, Nonie? Please? Pleaseeeeeee?” You look up at his raised eyebrow and pursed lips, swearing you will never get tired of his expressions that said exactly what he was thinking. Right now it obviously said, “Are you kidding me right now?”

“What if…” You trailed off mid-sentence as you lowered your hands to the waistband of his boxers, brushing your thumb over the sunflower’s petals suggestively. At that, he drew in a sharp breath and stepped away. He knew what you were capable of, so he had to stop it right there.

“Easy, young lady. You know we won’t get anywhere with that attitude of yours. We’ll be late if you keep that up.” The scene was comical, his serious expression and pointed finger at you in warning just did not suit the fact that his other hand held an unfinished milk carton.

You grab the carton from his hand and take a generous sip, grateful for the cool and sweet liquid down your parched throat. “Fine. But could you at least make me coffee? Or something that will wake me up more than this chocolate milk of yours?”

“It’s in the kitchen. I also made French toast!” His smile as he said this was so bright, it was the gummy smile you so loved from him. But it was what he said that made you stop mid-sip of milk.

“You what?”

“I made French toast. And bacon and eggs because it was the easiest after the French toast, which was not as easy as it looked when I did it with you.”

“And you made coffee?”

He shrugged. “I knew you were gonna wake up late,” finishing with a smirk. “Now come on. And give me back my milk carton before you finish it all.” He took back his drink and did not leave your side until you finally stood your lazy ass up. “There’s my good girl,” he says, followed by him slapping said ass teasingly, then walking out of the room with a final grin.

When he faced his back to you, you saw the most recent tattoo he got: a minimalist rendition of a rock with googly eyes on the small corner of its lower left. You remember watching “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once” in the cinema with him, the last full show of the day, and he would not shut up about it. You got it though, you truly did, and you’d both talk for hours on end about the film. So it was decided: it was the first matching tattoo you got together.

Could love really be this easy? You thought to yourself, as you smiled and got ready for payback.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: frickin’ vernon and his damn hip tattoo living rent-free in my headcanons. i blame my friends for planting this idea in my head and as a result, this came to be. i shall now leave you all with this mental image so i do not suffer alone HEHE

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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind.

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you.

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright.

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response.

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you.

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you.

You don’t reciprocate.

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope.

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk.

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so.

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw.

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access.

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?”

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat.

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…”

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it.

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound.

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life.

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic.

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.”

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,�� you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you.

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed.

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist.

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you.

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before.

Christ.

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you.

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you.

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

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