Still Just A Kidult

Whims | 25 | She/Her

[junrenjun]

I can’t remember if I’ve already asked you this but Can you do an alpha Vernon x omega reader set when they’re at the hotel getting woken up for their trip to Italy with NaPD? And the reason seungkwan had to go into Vernon’s room first before the camera was because reader was in there and reader is either post/pre heat and nesting and Vernon is all protective.

Wake Up Call

alpha!vernon x omega!reader

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mentions of sex/heats, reader gets called miss, mentions of pregnancy

“Nonie, ‘m warm” is all Vernon can hear from the way your head is buried in his chest. He runs his hands comfortingly up and down your back, brushing against the shirt he barely managed to put on you the night before.

“I know,” he mutters, pressing his lips into your forehead. It’s still a little warm, but your fever is definitely gone. “Your heat broke yesterday though, which means you only have a day of post-heat and then we’re done.” While helping his omega through heat in a foreign country in a hotel room wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, he figures he can check that one off now. 

You sigh contentedly into his chest. He shudders at the cool air against his bare skin. If he could wish for one thing, it would be to stay in this moment forever. Your soft breaths practically lull him back to sleep, but not before you move your head a bit, looking down at the nest beneath the both of you. 

Before Vernon can even say anything, you're pushing yourself away from his arms, sitting up straight with tears in your eyes. “The nest,” you mutter. “I need…I need…,” it comes out as a sob.

Vernon’s arms wrap around your waist pulling you back down, then cupping your cheeks to make you look him in the eyes. “Gotta tell me what’s wrong with your words, honey,” he tells you firmly. When you shake your head at him he sighs. “C’mon omega,” he whispers, wrist bumping along your still sensitive scent gland. 

You are nothing but a slave to your instincts, giving in almost immediately. “I need to fix the nest,” you sob. “We messed it up. I need to fix it.”

You’ve almost never been this upset over a nest after your heat has broken. It’s one thing to be weird about nesting during pre-heat, but during post-heat? Vernon is a little concerned. “Why do we need to fix it, omega?” he asks softly. “Your heat is over and we can make another when we get home.”

A pathetic whine leaves your throat. “For the pups, Vernon! You pupped me! My pups need a nest!”

Oh. Oh. Now Vernon is highly aware that you are both on forms of birth control. With him on suppressants and you on the pill, it’s highly unlikely that you are pregnant. He didn’t actually pup you. But with your muddled, post-heat brain, all you can think about is how your alpha bred you full. How your alpha knotted you, filled you with his pups. You don’t know any better. 

“Shhh,” he consoles you, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you close. “Okay honey, we’ll take of the nest okay? I need you to relax though. Can you do that for me?”

You nod in his arms as best as you can, the tears finally beginning to slow. He reaches up to wipe them away. “Let’s get started, yeah? What are we moving?” he says gently, gesturing to the clothing items scattered on the bed. 

He waits for you to respond but you simply manhandle him further into the bed. You place a hand on his chest with a motion that he assumes means “stay.”

Vernon watches as you fuss over the nest, tossing some of the dirtier clothes onto the ground while pushing the clean ones closer to him in the center. His shirt hangs loosely on your form, exposing your bare shoulder. A small smile crosses his face. He can’t wait to put a mating bite in your neck. 

His little bubble of peace is soon interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. In the moment, Vernon is angry. Both the boys and the staff were well aware of the situation he was in and were under strict instruction to not intrude unless there was an absolute emergency. He doesn’t even realize that he’s letting out a low growl until you gasp, “Vernon!”

The interruption has clearly knocked you out of your post-heat headspace, your eyes looking a bit more lucid than they had before. He glances at you, before turning his head to where Seungkwan enters the room. There’s a grimace on his face and he’s trying his best to not open the door any further than it needs to be for him to get through. 

Within seconds, Vernon is protectively throwing himself in front of you. Which is funny considering Seungkwan himself is an omega. Still, the alpha instincts outweigh his normal train of thought, and he slightly bares his teeth at the boy.

Immediately, Seungkwan has his hands thrown up in surrender. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come in it’s just…,” he says while looking hesitantly at the door. His voice drops into a whisper. “Na PD is here to take us to Italy. He’s been filming everyone as they wake up and he’s about to come in here.” 

“What?” both you and Vernon say at the same time, though your boyfriend’s tone is a bit harsher. 

There's a racket from outside and Seungkwan tries to speak again, but is quickly interrupted by the door swinging open. You push yourself even further behind Vernon, who now has an arm resting protectively on your leg. Your eyes peek out just slightly from behind his shoulder. Within seconds, there’s a camera pointed at both of you, Na PD himself right next to it. “Vernon-ah! Wake up!” the man shouts excitedly. 

Vernon doesn’t know quite when he started growling. All he knows is that his chest is rumbling loudly and his teeth are bared once again. Seungkwan cowers in the corner a bit. Na PD and his crew have looks of extreme surprise on their faces. They all scrunch their noses at the potent scent of heat sex that fills the room. Vernon’s hand squeezes even tighter around your leg. 

“Vernon! Quit that!” you exclaim in response to his outburst, slapping him on the shoulder. The growling quickly stops and he releases the hold he has on your leg. 

The camera is quickly pointed toward the ground and eventually turned off. Vernon relaxes a tiny bit once it’s done. Na PD is quick to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Vernon! We’ll delete the footage, I promise! We didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

Vernon is too agitated to care that much about the apology. There are multiple strangers standing within a few feet of his omega’s nest uninvited. His alpha is not pleased to say the least. “Don’t apologize to me,” he spits out harshly. “Apologize to my mate.”

With those words, you pop out a little bit more from behind him, reaching to pinch his ear. “Yah!” you exclaim, “don’t call me that until your mark is on my neck!”

He grimaces at the pain. Once your hand pulls away, he’s quick to reach up and rub at his ear, hoping to soothe it. “Ow! What the fuck, baby?” 

Na PD’s expression softens a little bit at your banter. “I’m sorry miss. We didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

Vernon feels you straighten up a bit, breath tickling against his neck. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “But um, you are intruding on my nest during my cycle, so could you just…” He turns his head slightly to see you point toward the door shyly.

Everyone must get the message loud and clear, because they begin to exit quickly. Seungkwan is the last out, and he throws Vernon an apologetic expression before slamming the door closed. 

You both let out a sigh of relief. Vernon takes a second to compose himself, before turning and tackling you down onto the bed. God, he wants his scent all over you right this second. He quickly buries his face into your neck, rubbing his cheeks against your gland harshly. You whine, the area still pulsing and sensitive from your heat. “Mine. My omega,” he whispers into your skin.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, fingertips running up and down his spine. “All yours.” His alpha roars in delight.

[vernonverse]

VIRGIN NIGHT ✶ Chwe Vernon

SYNOPSIS. There’s a killer hunting virgins in the city. And when you realize you could be next, you turn to the one person you trust most to help you stay alive: your best friend, Vernon.

GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, friends to... (?), psychological horror, thriller, smut.

WC. 7.1k+

RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).

WARNINGS. Ambiguous/open ending, explicit sexual content, consensual non-consent, virginity loss, psychological distress, gore/violence mentions, murder references, manipulation, stalking, fear, dark themes, dry humping, nipple play, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, multiple orgasms, lots of teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie, aftercare.

AN. This is probably the most spontaneous writing I've had in the last few days, I literally sat down and wrote after DAYS without writing anything. But this is very different from anything I've ever posted here, so please make sure you've read all the warnings. Dividers credit.

READ ON AO3

The sirens hadn’t stopped in three days. They echoed through the streets, cutting through the air unmercifully. What was likely one of the most shocking and tragic events in the city’s history was now being called The Virgin Massacre by the news. Every victim had been found the same way, same pattern, same mark carved into their skin. 

The whole city was locking doors, lighting candles, closing their curtains, praying that superstition might save their daughters. Meanwhile, you were making your way home after a 12-hour shift with the rain falling relentlessly and cold, turning the streets into a blur of reflections, red lights bleeding into puddles, the wind carrying the sound of distant sirens and the bustling city. 

You put your coat tighter around you, hurrying down the block, your shoes clicking on the wet pavement. It was late — too late — and you cursed yourself for staying behind at the café. You’d promised Vernon and your mom earlier you’d head straight home after work, but the manager had begged you to help close up. 

Now you were paying for it with every step echoing through the nearly empty street.

Your breath came out shallow bursts. The air smelled like rain and fear, one that had settled over the entire city since the murders began. Every news alert, every whisper online said the same thing: the victims were all virgins. 

At first, you’d laughed it off, thinking it was all a rumor. But tonight, when you saw the police cars two streets away and the white sheet covering another girl’s body, virgin scrawled across the wall beside her in a deep, bleeding red, the joke stopped being funny. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket and hit Hansol’s name. One ring. Two. Three. 

“Pick up, pick up, come on,” you muttered under your breath, glancing over your shoulder. The street should've been empty at these hours, but there was a tall figure walking a few steps behind, the heavy rain blurring the face of whoever it was.

“Peach?” Vernon’s voice finally came through the other line, rough, sleepy, calling you by the nickname he gave you ages ago. 

“Hansol,” you exhaled in relief, voice trembling, “I think someone’s following me.”

“What?”

Your pace quickened. You turned a corner, splashing through puddles as you increased the speed. “I just left work. There is a man and he’s been behind me since the main street. I looked back, and he–”

Another sound cut you off. This time, of a foot falling into a puddle. A loud gasp escaped you, but not loud enough to be a scream.

“Y/N, where are you right now?” Vernon’s tone was serious, more than you ever heard him sounding. You scanned your surroundings until your eyes landed on a street sign and you told him. “Run. Don’t look back. I’m coming. Keep me on the line.”

The phone slipped slightly in your shaking hand as you ran. Your breath tore at your lungs, the rain stinging your face. You could hear the rhythm of footsteps matching yours getting closer by the way they echoed through the street. You darted across the street, heart hammering against your ribs, keys already in your palm. You could see your building now, just a block away. 

“Hansol,” you whispered into your phone, “I think he’s still there.”

“I’m almost there, peach.”

Something darted behind you, a shadow slicing across the glow of the streetlamp. You screamed and bolted, fumbling with your keys. Finally, you dashed inside the building and raced up the stairs without a glance back, footsteps chasing you, hurried and heavy. Somehow, you made it to your apartment, slamming into the door. Your hands shook too violently to fit the key. 

The steps were already on your floor when you jammed the key into the lock, shoved the door open, and slammed it shut. One, two, three locks clicked into place at record speed, your chest heaving as you pressed yourself against the door, trying to get your pulse back under control.

Silence. Except for your heart roaring in your ears.

You pressed your back against the door, chest rising and falling too fast. Your hands were numb, your hair dripping down your neck, your body was shaking from head to toe. You watched through the peephole the hallway light flickered once, twice, before steadying again. 

You don't know how long you’d stayed there until a knock came through. You nearly screamed when you heard his voice. 

“Y/N?”

You yanked the door open to find Vernon there completely drenched, breathless, eyes wild. He must have ran straight over. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping inside before you could answer. His hands cupped your face checking you over for bruises, or any way you could be hurt.

“I don’t know,” you managed to say, voice shaking. “I think he followed me here.”

Hearing this, Vernon locked the door, double-checked the windows, the rooms and closets of your apartment, then turned back to you, who was sitting on the living room floor now, your knees pressed against your chest and your head buried in your arms, body still trembling, although you didn't know if it was from fear or cold anymore.

You couldn’t believe you’d almost been killed tonight. Killed because you were a virgin. A twenty-something virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. And now you were at risk of being killed because you'd never had sex. How ironic was life?

It’s not like you planned on being a virgin forever. It wasn’t even your desire, it just hadn’t happened before because you’d never felt that way with any guy. Well, there was one guy that you felt that way, but you didn't think he’d look at you that way.

You heard his footsteps echoing through the silent apartment until he knelt in front of you, trying to lift your head to look at him. “Hey. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t reach you. Your body was trembling so hard you could barely stand, your thoughts working a million miles an hour. Vernon guided you toward the couch, wrapping you in a blanket, crouching in front of you again. 

“What exactly happened?” he asked softly. 

“I saw him. Dark jacket, hood up, red mask. I thought I was being paranoid, but then he started walking faster when I did. And when I ran…” you swallowed hard, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your brain slowly processed the seriousness of the situation, “he ran too.”

Vernon’s jaw tightened. You knew that was the way he showed he was angry. “Did you see his face?”

You shook your head. “No. But…” you hesitated, lowering your voice. “The police found another victim near the coffee house. She was my age. And–”

“And she was a virgin,” he finished grimly.

Tears were now falling down your cheeks uncontrollably without you even noticing, your lower lip trembling with the same intensity. “I’m scared.”

He reached out, taking your cold hands in his. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head and letting more tears fall down. “You can’t promise that.”

Vernon really wanted to argue, but something about the fear in your eyes stopped him. Instead, he just said, “So you’ll come stay with me at my place. We don’t know if he might still be out there.”

Outside, thunder rolled, rattling the windows so hard it made you flinch. 

“Okay.”

“Another young woman has been brutally murder tonight,” the stern-faced reporter announced into a microphone. “The killer is still at large. Citizens are urged to stay indoors and lock their doors.” 

You sat curled on Vernon’s couch, your knees pressed tightly to your chest. It was already the third night you’d spent at his apartment, too scared to be on your own, not that he’d let you go, anyway. He’d been the one to invite you to stay, and now you were practically quarantined together, hadn’t stepped outside in days, hadn’t even ordered food, terrified that the next delivery man could be him.

During this time, two more girls were murdered, and the pattern only grew clearer and clearer. Vernon had already begged you multiple times to stop watching the news, to stop feeding your fear, but you couldn’t help yourself. The anxiety would come either way, whether you knew what was happening or not.

You watched the news attentively and didn’t speak until the reporter’s voice faded completely. 

“Hansol,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around your body, “these girls were about our age.”

He looked up from where he stood by the window, watching the rain. His jaw flexed. “I know.”

You swallowed hard, twisting the string of your sweater between your fingers. “All the victims… they were all virgins. I am too.”

The living room went quiet as you turned off the TV, leaving only the low hum of the storm outside. When he didn’t say anything, you glanced away from the dark reflection on the screen to his face. His eyes were tired, red around the edges. 

Just as you, Vernon hadn’t slept either, helping you whenever you woke up in the middle of the night, shaken from another nightmare of being followed. He'd talk to you until your breathing evened out again. And knowing him the way you did, it wouldn’t surprise you to learn he stayed awake afterward, just sitting there in the dark, keeping watch until morning.

You’d been best friends since middle school, inseparable, always there for each other when things got bad. And now things were worse than they’d ever been.

“Peach–” he started, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t want to die, Hansol.”

He froze at the sound of your voice. Having known you his whole life, Vernon could always tell when fear was real, and this time, it was. The tremor in your tone said more about your vulnerability than any tears ever could.

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.” Your voice cracked. Vernon's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, unsure how to calm you when he was barely keeping it together himself. “Every single person who–who died was like me. I was almost one of them, and I don’t want to be next. I can’t just wait here for–” you stopped yourself, shaking your head like you could chase away the fear. You met his eyes again. “You’re the only one I trust.”

It was now or never. You’d been stewing over this idea for days, ever since you started staying here with him. Not that it was a new thought; if you were being honest, it had been simmering in the back of your mind for a while. But given the circumstances, this felt like the perfect moment to finally summon the courage to say what you’d been holding in for so long. At least now, you had an excuse.

You got up from the couch, moving slowly, and Vernon’s eyes stayed on you. “Peach, what are you saying?”

“There’s one way I won’t fit the pattern.”

“Okay, and how do you plan on—” He stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning as you bit your lip and got closer to him. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You can’t possibly mean that—”

You tugged nervously at the sleeve of his Star Wars shirt. “I do. You’re the only person I trust, Hansolie.”

The way you said his name — soft, pleading — made him shut his eyes tight, as if that could block out the look he knew you were giving him. 

“Peach.” His laugh came out nervous and strangled. “That’s not exactly what they teach you in self-defense.”

“I’m not joking, Hansol.” 

“I know you’re not, that’s the worst part.” He ran a hand down his face, trying to process it, heart suddenly going a mile per minute inside his chest, and it most definitely wasn’t because of the thought and fear that there was a killer on the loose. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “And I’ve been thinking about it since the second murder. It’s logical.”

“Y/N, it’s insane.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged helplessly. “But it might save my life. Do you really want to be without a best friend?”

His eyes searched yours, to see if this wasn't a very nasty prank you were playing on him. “So you want me to–”

“Take my virginity, yeah,” you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve again. Your voice held a mix of courage and certainty he was sure he’d never seen before. Still, your eyes gave away the spark of nerves beneath it.

Vernon’s brain blue-screened. Like, there’s just no way this was his real real life. Either he accidentally overdosed on coffee or he’s straight-up dreaming, because the girl he’s been low-key simping for since forever – his very own best friend, the one he never had the nerve to even flirt with — could not have just proposed that to him. Maybe he was overtired. Maybe the world glitched for a second. Vernon didn’t know. 

He opened his mouth to argue, but his heart was hammering so fast now it drowned out his thoughts. “Why me, peach?”

“Like I said, I trust you the most.” Your voice softened. “And because you won’t make it weird.” 

“Make it?” He barked out a nervous laugh. “This is already super weird.”

You gave him a look that was somehow both terrified and amused. “Would it help if I said I actually like you?”

It was always funny to hear people say your best friend was a man of few expressions. To you, he was the most expressive person you knew, people just never paid close enough attention to him like you did. Right now was one of these examples, when Vernon’s eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets, his eyebrows threatened to touch his hairline, and his mouth hung open in shock.

“Like me? Like–like me like me?”

“Hansol, we’re not in middle school,” you said, rolling your eyes with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“I just need to confirm which level of insanity we’ve reached tonight!”

You smiled faintly despite the situation. “You’re cute when you panic.” 

He was pretty sure his soul left his body for a second. “You can’t just say stuff like that right before asking to… to...”

“To help me not get murdered?” you finished bluntly. “Not die a virgin?”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face again and crossing the living room trying to get some space so his head could finally fully function. It was funny that for someone who was usually a thinker, he was doing it very little and with very low performance right now.

“You’re actually unbelievable.”

“Am I wrong?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “If you say no, I’ll just ask someone else."

He snapped his head up. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if it’s about our friendship, I get it. But I don’t exactly have time to be picky right now.”

“And who else would you ask such a thing?”

“I mean, there's Chan and–”

“Don’t—don’t even joke about that,” he cut you off mid-sentence, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear there was something possessive in the way he looked at you. “You’re not asking anyone else.”

You sighed. “Then say yes.”

“Peach,” he warned, voice low, but you didn’t flinch, walking towards him again.

“Hansol, I’m scared.” Your voice broke then. “And you’ve always protected me. Every single time something bad happened, you were there.”

You sounded scared, yes. But layered beneath it were a thousand other unspoken things, suggestive things, that made his chest tighten at the possibility. It was impossible to reconcile them with the fact that you were his best friend, the one person he knew wasn’t supposed to be needy for him. Except maybe you actually were.

Vernon met your eyes, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stared at each other. The storm roared outside, but in that tiny apartment, the only sound was your uneven breathing, your chest rising and falling, his mind going around in circles. 

“Tell me this isn’t just fear talking,” he said finally.

“It’s not.” You took a shaky breath. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Hansol.”

His world tilted slightly. “You pick now to tell me that?”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have a deadline.”

He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t funny, more disbelief, panic, and affection tangled together. Vernon stepped closer, hardly believing he was really doing this, until the space between you was almost nonexistent.

You both stood there for a moment, caught in an awkward silence, hands hanging uselessly at your sides. Vernon could feel the tension buzzing in the air between you. Someone had to do something. And it had to be him. He was supposed to be the one guiding you through this, because it was your first time. If he hesitated any longer, you might rethink everything, maybe even walk over to Chan’s place instead. And that thought alone was enough to make him move.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, breathing hitting your face. “If I do this, it’s not just some survival plan. I don’t want to be something you regret.”

Your eyes softened as you shook your head. “I won’t. I could never regret you.”

Vernon exhaled shakily, unable to believe this was really happening. “You sure?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of hesitation again. There wasn’t any. 

You nodded without wavering. “Im sure. I want this, and I want it with you.”

Slowly, like he was afraid you’d change your mind, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your skin was soft and warm beneath his fingertips, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter shut at the gentleness of the touch. 

“You’re  beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in closer until you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “And I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a flush spread across your cheeks. You’d never thought you’d hear those words from him, especially not in this context. But now that you were finally giving in to what you’d both been feeling for so long, it felt right. 

“Kiss me, Hansol.” Your voice came out in an almost desperate whisper.

“Now?”

You opened your eyes, finding that teasing curve already on his lips. Once a ragebaiter, always a ragebaiter. “Well, it could be tomorrow, but I kind of have a deadline here and—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hands came up, cupping your face, and then his lips were on yours. 

It was slow and explorative at first, his mouth moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. You melted into him instantly, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from turning into a puddle on the floor. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss until your tongues met. 

The soft sound that escaped your lips made him groan low in his throat, a sound that vibrated between you. The heat of him slipped through his clothes, too much and not enough at once, leaving you aching to close the distance that still existed between you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, to explore every inch of him the way you’d always fantasized about.

As if sensing your need, Vernon began to guide you toward the hallway that led to his room, his lips never leaving yours while his hands traveled through your body. It wasn’t hurried, but desperate in a quieter way, exactly as you’d expected kissing Vernon to be, and somehow, even better.

Halfway there, he pressed you against the wall, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. Your head fell back, giving him freer access, while your breaths came in ragged gasps and small moans slipped from your lips. Vernon’s mouth trailed lower, past the collar of your shirt, his hands gripping your waist and fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you against the wall. 

You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, and it made your head spin with desire, fingers clenched to his sleeve like your life depended on it. 

“Hansol,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Please.”

He looked up at you then, eyes dark with lust. “What do you need, peach?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Huh?”

“I need you,” you breathed, arching into him. “I need to feel you.”

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his hard length pressed against your core through the thin fabric of your clothes. Another moan slipped past your lips at the sensation, your hips rolling instinctively to seek more friction. 

You had made out with other guys before, sure – some good, some forgettable — but none of them had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever felt like having Vernon pressed against you, making your pulse trip over itself. Everything outside this apartment could disappear and you didn’t even care. The fear, the sirens, the headlines, it all burned into nothing. 

Your mind erased the fact that there was a killer out there. That you’d almost been one of his victims just three nights ago. All you could think about was him: the warmth of him, the feeling of him, the way everything narrowed down to just him.

Vernon carried you to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before lowering you onto the bed. His body followed, fitting naturally over yours as if it had always belonged there. His lips found yours again, hungry, desperate, stealing the breath from your lungs, and your hands roamed over his back, fingers digging into the firm muscles as he rocked against you. He was rock hard and the friction was a delicious torture, bulding a pressure inside you until you actually thought you might combust just from drying humping him. 

Breaking the kiss apart, Vernon sat back on his heels, reaching for the hem of your shirt at the same time as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. Slowly he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes raked over your exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like he wanted to devour every inch of you. 

“God, Y/N,” he breathed, his hands skimming up your sides, over the swell of your breasts. “You’re perfect.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the thin lace of your bra, making your arch into his touch. Another whimper escaped your lips, your back bowing off the bed as he continued his teasing caresses. You ached for more, for his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body traveling to where you needed him the most.

“Please, Hansol,” you begged, not even caring how desperate you sounded. “Touch me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Vernon unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, his lips immediately latching onto the hardened peak. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hand fisted in his hair, holding him in place while he lavished attention on your breasts. 

Your hips rocked against his, seeking more of that delicious friction you felt before. You could feel the dampness growing between your thighs, the evidence of your desire for him, and Vernon seemed to sense it too, one hand sliding down past the waistband of your sweatpants to palm you through your panties. You immediately cried out at the contact, your hips bucking into his touch. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice showing a hint of disbelief. His thumb brushed against your clit and you squirmed. “You’re so wet for me already.”

Slowly and tortuously, Vernon started to kiss down your stomach, with you writhing in anticipation under him. Suddenly, he paused and looked up at you with a mischievous grin that you knew so well. 

“Tell me peach,” he whispered against your skin, nose hovering just below your bellybutton, “have you ever touched yourself before?”

Your cheeks flushed hot at the question, and you averted your gaze shyly. “Maybe,” you admitted after a moment. 

Vernon chuckled, low and sultry, the sound sending shivers down your body. “And what did you think about when you did?” he pressed, fingers tracing patterns on your hip while he slowly pulled your sweatpants down. 

You bit your lip, hesitation warring with arousal. But the desire won out. “You,” you confessed. “I thought about you, Hansol.”

His gaze was locked on you, dark with an intensity that seemed to consume his entire face, like his lust and desire were swallowing the rest of him whole. “Fuck, Y/N. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Rising from where he was, Vernon captured your lips again, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You moaned into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair again as he explored your mouth thoroughly. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting for breath. Still, he gazed down at you with a hunger that made your core clench with need.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, peach,” he promised, leaning down to trail another set of open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your breasts. “I’m going to worship every inch of you.”

“Please, Hansol.” His name came out in a moan this time, showing how desperate you were for whatever he was wheeling to give you. “I need you.”

He smiled against your skin, continuing his trail between your breasts, ignoring your pleas. You weren't surprised that Vernon was a tease; he was like that in every other aspect of his life, and now he was just making clear that he would take his sweet time with you, as if you were now his favorite pastime.

“Did you imagine my fingers doing this?” He cupped the soft mounds in his hands, squeezing gently while his thumbs massaged your nipples. “Squeezing and playing with your perfect tits?”

You gasped, arching into his touch. “Y-yes. I imagined your hands on me all the time.”

“Mmm, and what about my lips?” he continued, laving his tongue over one peaked nipple. “Did you think about my tongue circling these pretty buds?”

“Yes, yes I did.” You nodded, breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair again. “So many times.”

Vernon chuckled low at your desperation, moving down your body until he was nestled between your thighs. “And this pussy,” he growled, blowing a stream of cool air over your heated flesh. “Did you ever slide your fingers inside here, wishing it was my cock stretching you open?”

You cried out at his words, rocking your hips forward instinctively. “God yes,” you whimpered, letting him pull your panties down your legs at a torturously slow pace. “I imagined your cock splitting me open so many times, filling me up so good.”

At your words, he looked up at you grinning like a devil, before diving in and devouring your pussy like a man starved. You screamed in pleasure when Vernon’s tongue started to work magic on your clit, flicking, sucking and circling the sensitive nub until you were squirming beneath him.

“Fuck, you taste amazing. I could eat this sweet pussy for hours.”

You gasped, feeling his tongue delving deep inside you, lapping up your juices. Vernon feasted on your cunt like it was the first and last meal he’d ever have in his life, eating you out with a wild hunger you were sure you’ve never seen before. Then he slid a finger inside your dripping pussy, pumping it in and out while he sucked hard on your clit. 

“Did you touch yourself like this? Finger-fucking your tight little hole until you came hard?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, rolling your hips down to meet his face, thrusting on his finger. “I came so many times thinking about you doing this to me.”

“Mhmm, need to stretch you, peach,” he groaned against your slick folds, and you swore you could cum just from the deep, rumbling sound. “Gotta loosen up this tight little cunt so it can take my cock. Think you can handle another finger, baby?”

You moaned in response, feeling him slip a second finger alongside his tongue, pumping them slowly as he kept licking and sucking at your sensitive clit to ease it in. Your hands were now gripping his hair so tightly that you thought you’d tear some strands out when you had to remove them.

“That's it, nice and easy.” He worked a third finger inside you, stretching your tight walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. “Fuck, you're so goddamn tight. Can't wait to bury my cock in this sweet cunt.”

You never would’ve imagined Vernon to be this vocal in a moment like this. But here he was, every word spilling from his lips only driving you further out of your mind. And all you could do was  moan and writhe beneath him in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving to you.

“Tell me,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look up at you. “Tell me what you thought about me doing while you played with this pretty pussy.”

At this point you were too far gone to be ashamed. “I imagined your face between my thighs,” you admitted breathlessly. “Licking and sucking on my clit until I exploded.”

“And my cock? Did you imagine me fucking you hard and deep?” 

His fingers pumped faster, curling to rub against that secret special spot inside you as his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard. 

“God yes,” you moaned, without knowing how the words were managing to leave your lips. “I’d imagine you pounding into me, stretching me open with your cock.”

Vernon groaned loudly, doubling his efforts and fucking his fingers into you in earnest now. You hips bucked against him again and this time you didn't stop, moving uncontrollably against his face.

“I bet you thought about me painting your insides with my cum. Filling you up real nice.”

“Yes, yes!” you screamed, teetering on the edge now, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers. “I wanted it so badly! I need your cum inside me!”

“Then come for me, peach,” he ordered, pumping his fingers faster. “Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.”

“Hansol,” you cried out, your orgasms building fast and hard. “I’m gonna–”

“Let go, baby. Come for me. Go on.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your body convulsed around his fingers, your vision whiting out as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of pure bliss. Your pussy spasmed violently around his plunging digits, juices gushing out to coat his fingers and tongue. You screamed his name again and again, trembling and writhing beneath him, lost in ecstasy. 

Vernon lapped at your dripping folds, determined to lick up every drop of your essence. He didn’t stop until you were completely spent and trembling beneath him, your body going limp with satisfaction. When he finally resurfaced, his chin was slick with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean while locking eyes with you. The sight made your core clench with a sense of renewed desire. 

He crawled up your body, trailing up kisses, a grin on his face. “You look so fucking sexy like this. All sated and glowing from my touch.”

You blushed at the compliment, but your only response was a small whimper, still reeling from the intensity of your climax. Vernon chuckled softly, trailing his fingers up your body to cup your face and capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

His weight settled on top of you, his hardness pressing against your still sensitive center. You could feel how much Vernon wanted you too, how much he was holding back, so you bucked your hips against his for the thousandth time tonight. 

“Please, Hansol,” you whispered against his lips, hands sliding down to palm him through his sweatpants. “I need you inside me.”

He groaned at your words, hips rocking into your touch. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

In response, you reached down and started pushing his pants down, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang free, long and thick and already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a slow stroke from base to tip, making Vernon close his eyes at the feeling. 

“I’m sure,” you breathed, stroking him again. “I want all of you.”

Vernon reached between your bodies, his hand enveloped yours as he grabbed his throbbing cock, rubbing the head through your slick folds. You gasped at the sensation, desperate for him to fill you up. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips almost instinctively, rocking your hips forward and making his cock slide easily between your slippery pussy. “Please. I need your cock inside me so bad.”

He gasped at the delicious sensation, positioning himself at your entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your hole and you could feel yourself throbbing with anticipation.

“Last chance to back out,” he said, voice strained with restraint. His eyes searched yours, filled with heat and desire, but also a hint of caution. He wanted you to be sure.

“Don’t you dare.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep him there. “I want this. I want you.”

And with that, Vernon pushed inside you with one smooth thrust, filling you slowly. You gasped and cried out at the sudden sensation of fullness, your walls stretching deliciously around his thick length. It burned slightly at first, but it quickly morphed into a deep, aching pleasure. 

His head dropped to your shoulder. “Fuck yes. You feel incredible, peach. So hot and tight.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed by sensation to form words, but sharing the same feeling as him. Vernon began to move then, slowly at first letting you adjust to the intrusion. Each thrust pushed him deeper, almost hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your toes curl just minutes ago. 

“You can go faster,” you practically begged, nails digging into his back. “Please. 

He obliged, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, snapping his hips forward with more force and setting a steady rhythm. The new angle sent shivers shooting up your spine, your pussy clenching more and more around him.

You met each thrust with eager movements of your own hips, relishing the feeling of Vernon moving inside you. His breath came in ragged pants against your neck as he drove into you like his life depended on it, chasing not only his pleasure but yours too. 

“Harder,” you panted, raking your nails down his back. “Fuck me harder, Hansol!”

Vernon complied eagerly, pounding into you with renewed vigor. 

The room soon filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. Vernon’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles on the overstimulated nub. The added stimulation sent you hurtling toward another peak, your body tightening like a coiled spring. 

“Come on, baby,” he encouraged, fingers working faster. “I want to feel you come around my cock now.”

He powered into you, chasing your releases with single-minded focus. Your own pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building higher and higher with each powerful stroke of his.

“Come with me, Y/N. Come on my cock, baby!”

Just like that, your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, clamping down around him like a vice, your body trembling enough to make your feet sink into his ass searching for steadiness.

“Where—where do you want me?” Vernon asked, his voice strained, and you could feel that he was almost there. 

“Inside, please,” you replied breathlessly, aching to feel him fill you completely.  “You can cum inside.”

He needed no further encouragement.

With a final, mighty thrust, Vernon buried himself to the hilt and came with a loud groan of completion, spilling deep inside you in long thick spurts. You continued to move beneath him, working him through his release until he collapsed on top of you in a boneless heap, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his sweat-dampened forehead. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other as you tried to catch your breath, Vernon still buried deep inside you. After a moment, he lifted his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes shining the same way you imagined yours did.

“Hi,” he simply said, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose.

A slow smile spread across your face, and Vernon mirrored it back at you. In that moment everything else faded away; the fear, the danger lurking outside these four walls. There was just you and him. 

“Hi.”

Vernon kissed along your jaw and neck. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.”

You could only hum in agreement, still floating in the realization that the guy you’d loved for years loved you just the same. He pulled out slowly, a soft grimace crossing his face as his softening cock slipped free of your still-fluttering heat, his release spilling out of you.

“Come on,” he murmured, gathering you close and rolling to the side. “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can sleep.”

You nodded weakly, too sated to move just yet. Vernon pressed one more kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you and sliding out of bed. You watched him walk to the bathroom, admiring the sight of his bare back. He returned a moment later with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up before tossing it aside and climbing back into bed. 

You got up to pee, and when you came back, Vernon pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin and wrapping his legs around yours. You nestled into his embrace, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

He stroked your hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in return. “For what?”

“For being here. For making me feel safe.”

His arms tighten around you. “Always, peach. I’ll always keep you safe,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep now. We can talk more in the morning.”

You nodded drowsily, already slipping under the covers. As you drifted off in his embrace, you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly you fit together. Being here with him felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. And that knowledge brought a sense of profound peace and happiness to your heart.

Morning came softly, a pale, silver light slipping through the curtains of Vernon’s bedroom, like the world hadn’t almost ended in a downpour over the past three days. The storm had passed, leaving everything outside washed clean. The city felt quieter than it had in days, as if the air itself was holding its breath with fear. 

You woke first. Vernon was still asleep beside you, his arm loosely around your waist, the rise and fall of his chest slow, steady, peaceful. For the first time in weeks, you felt calm. The fear that had been gnawing at you was gone. There was no other place in the world where you felt as safe as you did with him.

You lay there for a moment, watching the soft light paint across his face, and smiled. He looked different like this, softer, younger. Beautiful. 

After a few minutes, you carefully slid out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. You wanted to make breakfast, something normal, something that didn’t smell like panic or sleepless nights. Maybe eggs, a french toast, maybe some orange juice. 

The apartment was cold under your bare feet as you padded toward the kitchen. You hummed under your breath, something small and tuneless. You opened the living room curtains, letting the sunlight you hadn’t seen in days stream into the apartment.”

“Morning,” you whispered to yourself, watching the streets below, already filled with cars and people going about their day.

You didn’t hear the creak of the other door until you turned to walk toward the kitchen again. 

Vernon’s office door,  the one he always kept closed. You’d never been inside. He’d laughed once and said it was too messy, too embarrassing, and you knew that was probably true, considering he was extremely messy and was only keeping everything in place lately because you were here to organize.

But the door was open now. Halfway open, in fact. 

You’d always been curious about what might be there, so instead of walking to the kitchen, you walked to the door. Maybe now you could help him organize whatever mess it was. 

You didn’t know why, but suddenly and somehow the air in the hallway felt heavier with each step you took. The closer you got, the stronger the faint metallic scent became, something sharp, sour, familiar in a way you didn’t want to name.

When you pushed the door open fully, your whole world tilted.

Polaroids.

Dozens of them.

Taped to the walls, hanging in uneven lines, faces of people you’d seen on the news. The victims. Some of them smiling, some of them terrified. And at the center of it all, a table. On it, a red mask. The same one the killer wore when he followed you three nights ago. 

You stumbled back, your hand flying to your mouth.

No. No, no, no.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You turned, eyes darting to the hallway, but he was already standing there. Vernon leaned against the doorframe, barefoot, hair mussed, wearing the same shirt and boxers from last night. There was no panic on his face. No fear. Just a quiet, tired calm.

“How many times have I told you not to go into this room, peach?”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST

Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @bmo-bri @chromequette @codeinebelle @starlight-constellation @paradiseoflosers @tinyelfperson @dcrlingyou @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @haaruki @bath1lda @hoshstruck @wubbz05 @jihoonsbbygirl @smiileflower @tastyluvr @gyuguys @nerdycheol @christinewithluv @jesauiin @ughokmyg @raggedypansexual @caratcak3 @ateez-atiny380 @meowchella @jeonsfries @whoisbaek15 @damnedangel98 @sumzysworld @theidontknowmehn @mingyuuulover @vsopesoul @andreethier @sarabencze @weepingsweep @minhui896 @blaycke @miyx-amour @pl4netx1a @ohwowzersthatscool @ahuiahoe @bee-the-loser @im-gemmy @ssamarzi @my-neurodivergent-world @wonsrat @unlikelysublimekryptonite @nonuverse @gyuhao365 @healingmv @coupsarchive

© VERNONVERSE. I do not condone reposting, plagiarizing or translating my work in any form.

[97latte]

request for vernon high sex drive but like make it nonchalant but it becomes too high he just breaks??

high sex drive!vernon headcanons

high sex drive!vernon is suuuuuper nonchalant. like maybe sometimes too nonchalant. to a point where it seems like his willpower is godlike—but in reality, it is not.

high sex drive!vernon doesn’t seem to bat an eye when you wear those short, short skirts of yours, when he “accidentally” catches you naked after your shower.

high sex drive!vernon lets you have your way during sex, letting you dictate whether you want to be on top, or be a pillow princess for the night. it seems that he simply does not care.

high sex drive!vernon, in truth, has been holding back his sex drive and his sexual fantasies from you.

high sex drive!vernon who clenches his fists so hard in his jean pockets when he sees you in those skirts. Oh how he just wanted to bend you over the dinner table and fuck you raw in front of all of your friends.

high sex drive!vernon who tries so hard to keep the image of your naked body burnt in his brain for days so when he is fucking his fist for the third time that day, he can pretend he’s cumming deep inside of your gummy walls again and again.

high sex drive!vernon who simply just cannot hold himself back anymore. he sees you get up to shower off his cum off of your back and his cock twitches—a signal that he is not done, yet.

high sex drive!vernon who has your arms pinned behind your back as he pistons himself in and out of your pussy, grunting and breathing raggedly in your ear. “fuck—you have no idea how much i’ve been holding myself back from fucking you like this. breaking you like this.”

high sex drive!vernon who cums for the second time, now making it a point to do so inside of you so he can watch it ooze out of your swollen lips as he roughly jacks himself off. he’d use his middle finger to scoop up the dripping cum, then pushing it right back into you again.

high sex drive!vernon who instructs you on how to move your hips as your knees give out from beneath you. he’d let out a moan when your sloppy movements rub his cock just right - gripping your hips hard as he tried to recreate that sensation without asking too much from you. he’s pinching your nipples, caressing your cheek, smacking your ass—his hands never leave your body.

high sex drive!vernon who feels his high coming for the third time and gets a little whiny. “y’gonna milk me dry baby? you gonna let me fill you up again?” he’s making eye contact with you, eyebrows scrunched up slightly, lips parted in breathy moans. pulls you down to messily make out with him as he filled you up for the second time.

high sex drive!vernon who is panting now, both of you slumped on top of your wet bed sheets—“fuck, i’m hard again.”

a/n: why is he so goddamn hot???!!! also i did not proofread this 😌 ty for the request, i had so much fun with this one 😛 <33

[mochacoda]

what is love? | chs

Pairing: Chwe Vernon x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It’s been 2 days since you confessed to your best friend that you love him, and it’s been 2 days since you’ve talked to him. Now you're hiding in the bridal suite of your friend's wedding, avoiding him.

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Friends to Lovers

Tags: bridesmaid!reader, groomsman!vernon, insecure reader, jihyo appears, dino's getting married in this one lolz, intense pining, lots of internal spiraling, vernon's facial expressions get flamed, 2 kdrama fall moments, a little konglish w/ translations, a kiss, no "y/n"

Word Count: 6.4K

What is love? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that it’s what you feel for Chwe Vernon. Unfortunately for you, though, you really didn’t know any better, and now you’re facing the consequences of your actions. 

It’s been two days since you confessed to your best friend that you love him, and it’s been two days since you’ve talked to the man. Honestly, you have no one to blame but yourself, but you’ve convinced yourself that it’s everyone else’s fault for encouraging you. Maybe, if they hadn’t kept pushing you to confess to him—insisting that he definitely was into you—then you wouldn’t be in this position. 

Said position involves taking turns hiding in the bridal suite and bathroom of this wedding venue. In fact, you’re so committed to your act that you’ve practically become one with the shadows.

If anything, Vernon should be grateful that you’re going out of your way to avoid him. That way, he wouldn’t get bombarded with the secondhand embarrassment from remembering that horrible day. 

The only reason you’re here right now is because both Chan and his bride are close friends of yours, and you wouldn’t want to miss their wedding for the world. Plus, you’re also a bridesmaid. 

It was on you for blurting a disastrous confession to Vernon a few hours after the wedding rehearsal. 

But the bride and groom don’t even know that things have changed between the two of you. Given the chaos of wedding preparations, you withheld the fact that you and Vernon are going through a rough patch right now—if not the end of the friendship entirely. You didn’t want to add to their stress, but now you feel like you’re on fire. 

After all, Vernon is one of the groomsmen. What’s worse is, the wedding plans involve bridesmaids and groomsmen walking down the aisle in pairs, and you’d been placed with Vernon without a second thought. 

In other words, you’re completely screwed. 

“T-minus 20,” your friend and fellow bridesmaid Jihyo says, nudging your side. “We should go now.”

You feel a faint pulsing at the forefront of your head, a headache creeping up on you. God, what if when he sees you, he shakes his head and makes an X or something with his hands, insisting that he won’t walk down with you? What if he finds you physically embarrassing to be around, and just walks away? You’ve been running away from him all day, so it might not be a stretch to consider that he might have been trying to get away from you, too. 

You groan, scrunching the root of your hair, somewhat messing up your carefully curled hair. No, he wouldn’t just leave, that would ruin the wedding. He has too much love for Chan to do that to him. If he protests, he’d either do it subtly right before or confront you after it’s all over. 

You shut your eyes and take a deep breath. No one knows about your falling out except for you. And, well, Vernon, of course, but that’s not who you have to keep this secret from. You have to do your best to act normal and not at all like your heart is on the verge of bursting. 

“Has anyone ever died of embarrassment?” you suddenly ask, fingers dancing to find something to channel your nervous energy into. You fist a bit of the dress you’re wearing, then release it when you realize you can’t wrinkle the pretty material. “Shit.” You smooth over the fabric with shaky, sweaty hands.

“What is going on with you?” Jihyo’s eyes narrow as she looks you over. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you manage, bouncing your leg up and down. 

“Later, as in when?” 

“After the wedding,” you grit. You want to bury your face in your hands, but the expensive makeup gives you pause. You settle for lowering your head, staring listlessly at the white tiles on the ground. 

“Is this about what happened with Vernon?” 

You whip your head up. “You know?”

Jihyo slowly blinks, then deadpans, “Uh, yeah? A, both of you have been weird. The last time I saw you two not together was like, five years ago. And B, you’re literally the least subtle person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh,” you squeak, then quickly ask, “Wait, what do you think happened with Vernon?”

She stares blankly at you, as if the answer is obvious. “You confessed. He said nothing. You ran away.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes growing comically large. Then, a frown replaces your shock. You don’t need to ask her how she knows. If anything, it just adds to the notion that even your other friends knew that he would’ve rejected you.

Jihyo sighs, coming over to the loveseat to sit next to you. She gives you a warm side hug, rubbing your back. “He’s a massive idiot. It’s gonna be okay. Let’s just get it together for the wedding, hmm?”

You swallow roughly, then nod. 

She continues, “Seriously, though. I’ve known Vernon for almost as long as you have. He’s not great at talking when he’s caught off guard—you know that, too.”

You blink at her words, the tiniest spark of hope igniting in your chest. But you quickly stamp it out, remembering the face he had made when you blurted out that you loved him.

Brows furrowed, open-mouthed, eyes wide, dead silent—he had to have been looking at you with disgust. That was the only way any sane person could decipher that look, really! There was no way that that face was the look of a man who was in love with you, as your friends have claimed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, wrinkling your mouth into a smile that anyone could tell was faked. “I’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, it’s not that deep. Just walk down the aisle with him. It’ll take 10 seconds, tops.”

You’re very sure she’s exaggerating, but you wave it off. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she says dryly.

You glare at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good, that’s the right mentality,” she says, clasping your shoulders, shaking your upper body. “파이팅! [Fighting!]”

“해야지, [gotta do it,]” you mutter. 

Jihyo’s right. You’ll have to see Vernon anyway, so you might as well do it with as much dignity as you can scrap together. 

Except, the little dignity you have left demands some more time to procrastinate and linger in your regret.

Jihyo stands up from the couch, but you don’t. Your limbs feel impossibly heavy, as if they’ve been held down by a massive boulder.

You groan, “Just go without me, I’ll leave soon. I wanna go as late as possible.” 

Jihyo looks at you with what you can only describe as immense pity. “Okay. I’ll see you in five?” 

You nod numbly, watching her walk away to open the doors of the bridal suite. 

Vaguely, you can hear some absentminded chatter across the room from the hair and makeup artists, mother of the bride, and maid of honor, all crowded over the bride. It’s all but a buzz in the back of your mind, though, since you’re preoccupied with trying to convince yourself that you have it in you to face Vernon. Knowing you only have five minutes before needing to walk down the aisle with him, your mouth feels dry—too dry. 

At that realization, you force your heavy limbs to get up, then walk over the fancy rug to the table where a myriad of miscellaneous objects have been strewn about. You reach for your bag to take out your water bottle, but your hands falter when you look at the little keychain attached to the bag. 

It’s a silver charm bracelet you’ve repurposed as a bag charm. It has a turtle and retriever puppy on it, representing the animals you’ve viewed each other as being. Seeing the charms causes a pang of longing to cut deep into you, reminding you of how much you’ve missed him in the last two days. 

Could you ever forgive yourself for ruining your precious friendship? For getting too greedy, for asking for too much? 

Your hands grip the edge of the table roughly, searching for something to stabilize your body, which is dangerously teetering in the high heels you had convinced yourself you’d be able to walk properly in. You’d bought it because the color of the shoe perfectly matches your dress, but the razor thin heel is proving to be an issue. 

Subconsciously, your hand reaches out from the table corner to your bag, gently rubbing the golden retriever charm Vernon always said looked like you, and you’re hit with a sudden intense wave of sadness—but not for the confession. 

No, instead, you turn your regret to the insecure internal ramblings that have ravaged you lately. 

The earnest, bright eyes of the little puppy charm makes you conscious of the hollow ache spreading throughout your body. How could you have been so mean to your poor, fragile heart? 

Alright, maybe you and Vernon wouldn’t be friends anymore. Maybe you would have to live without seeing him ever again. 

But you’d have to live with yourself, and it wasn’t right to treat yourself like this. 

Technically, Vernon didn’t even say anything to you. He didn’t outright reject you just yet, and he certainly didn’t say you weren’t someone worthy of love. So it was completely unfair for you to jump to those conclusions yourself, putting words in his mouth. 

And most of all, it would be even more unfair to you, represented by this adorable puppy charm, to lose yourself to heartbreak. 

Straightening your back, your other hand reaches into your bag for your water bottle. Upon chugging the remainder of the water, you close your eyes, concentrating on making your pulse slow down. It works, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You might have to live with the fallout of this confession, but you could also live with the truth. Loving Vernon wasn't a mistake, and it wouldn't feel like one, no matter how he responded. He deserved honesty, and you deserved to stand by it. Even if this was the end, you wanted to leave this part of your story knowing you'd done right by both of you. 

You nod to no one in particular, having made your mind up. After the wedding, you’ll go to him and be upfront about it all, bearing your soul to his response. 

For now, though, you’ll help him enjoy the wedding by continuing to stay out of his sight. If he can’t see you, he can’t get reminded of his need to reject you—which is important, of course, because you don’t want his memories of this wedding to be of you crying after he lets you down. 

With this renewed clarity, you steady yourself. Vernon doesn’t love you, and that’s okay. You’d do enough loving for the both of you.

────୨ৎ────

Vernon steps into the bridal suite, a thrum of nerves coursing through his veins. He’s spent the past half-hour searching for you in every nook and cranny of the venue, dodging curious glances and knowing jokes from the other groomsmen about his obvious distraction. Jihyo’s the one who finally pointed him in the right direction, murmuring something about how it’s been over five minutes, and how he’s the only one who can get you to show up.

When he sees you standing by the table, shoulders tense, your hands gripping the edge like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, his breath catches. There you are, beautiful and strong and fragile all at once, lost in your thoughts. His chest constricts. How did it come to this? How did the best thing in his life become the one thing he feels he’s on the verge of losing?

“Hey,” he says softly, taking a step forward, calling your name softly.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and the sudden movement sends you teetering in your high heels. Eyes wide, you twist toward him, your balance faltering. “Vernon?”

It happens in a split second. One of your heels trips on the edge of the rug, and you stumble forward. Vernon darts forward instinctively, grabbing you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you tightly, steadying you.

For a moment, everything stops. Leaning against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat, a frantic rhythm that matches your own. God, your near face plant must have scared him a lot?

But just as you start to regain your footing, your heel accidentally digs into his foot, and he lets out a yelp of pain. 

The abrupt shift in weight sends him off balance, and the two of you tumble onto the floor in a tangled heap.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Vernon’s crazy seagull call of a laugh cuts through the tension. 

It’s infectious, and before you know it, you’re both laughing, the sound filling the room. It’s ridiculous, it’s messy, and it’s the most alive you’ve felt in days.

When your body relaxes all of its tension, you realize that you’ve missed him with every fiber of your being. That something in you has been waiting for him, like you’ve been in withdrawal without hearing his laughter in the last two days. 

You’d planned on continuing to avoid him until the end of the wedding, so that he could enjoy his night without you, but that idea is crumbling right before your eyes. You might not be able to bring yourself to stay away from him any longer. 

And then, oh, then—the laughter fades, and you realize how close you are. 

Vernon’s face is inches from yours, his warm breath fanning across your skin. His eyes, dark and soft, hold a depth of emotion that makes your stomach twist. And for a fleeting moment, you think you see something raw and unguarded in his gaze—something you’ve seen before. 

It’s how he looked when you confessed to him.

Your chest tightens, and your thoughts spiral. Is he mad, reminded of your confession? 

You scramble to put distance between you, pushing yourself off him and stepping back hastily. Too hastily, really.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if that will somehow restore your composure. “I didn’t mean to, I swear—”

“It’s okay,” Vernon says gently, sitting up. 

He reaches an arm out for you, but you’ve already retreated several steps, an apologetic smile plastered on your face.

“We should get going,” you say, your tone overly formal. “It’s almost time.” Without waiting for his response, you turn on your heel and stride toward the door, your movements stiff and hurried.

Vernon watches you go, his hand dropping to his side. He flexes it, then exhales sharply, frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his calm exterior. 

You’re running again, and he’s running out of time to fix this. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he follows you out of the suite, his long strides easily catching up to you.

The two of you arrive at the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen just as the coordinator starts organizing everyone into pairs. You avoid Vernon’s gaze, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. 

But when it’s your turn to step forward, he’s there, holding out his hand to you. 

It shakes a little, and your breath hitches when you notice a flash of silver on his wrist. It’s a charm bracelet, and it’s unmistakably the same one you’ve kept on your bag for years, the little turtle and retriever puppy charms glinting under the soft light. 

Surely not? 

Surely, he doesn’t?

Tentatively, you place your hand in his, your fingers trembling. His grip is familiar, warm, and steady, grounding you even as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you. 

As you walk toward the aisle together, you don't look at whoever you're supposed to be looking at, whether it's the officiant or the people clapping in the crowd. Instead, your eyes are trained on the jewelry peeking out of his sleeve, and how his hand feels so soft and warm and dependable against yours. 

Then, it suddenly occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, you saw it wrong that day. Maybe he wasn’t looking at you like he was appalled by your audacity to tell him your feelings. He might have actually really been confused, allowing for you to misinterpret his surprise for rejection. 

But as soon as the thought enters your mind, you dismiss it. False hope definitely wouldn’t do anything for your precious feelings. Especially when the hope was that Vernon, of all people, would love you as much as you love him.

Desperately avoiding eye contact with the man in question, you stare straight at the bridesmaid-groomsman pair in front of you. 

If Vernon loved you back, then he’d say it. He’d show it somehow, some day. Today wasn’t that day, and that’s okay. 

You’d be alright without him, eventually. Probably. Hopefully?

With that rationale, you do your best to ignore your trembling legs, burning ears, and constricting chest. The bride and groom deserve a perfect procession, and you would play your role well. 

────୨ৎ────

It was a beautiful ceremony. And, three hours into the reception, you’re proud to say that you’ve survived. Promptly after the procession, you separated from Vernon, finding refuge within the bridesmaid group. Ever since, you’ve flitted around different tables, dancing with random people, all in the name of protecting him from seeing you. 

You’re actually incredible at avoiding people, if you do say so yourself. Every time you’ve seen Vernon within 50 feet of your vicinity, you’ve grabbed someone new to dance with or talk to. And for especially close calls, you’ve dragged Jihyo into the bathroom. 

This time, though, you’re hiding in the bathroom without her. She’d finally refused to go with you for the nth time. The brat had thrown you to the wolves, essentially. No girl code—the nerve of her!

Patting down the roots and length of your hair, which had gotten a bit frizzy, you stare at yourself blankly in the mirror, watching a shiver run down your spine from the cold air-conditioning blasting in the small space. 

Despite your efforts to calm down, a sigh escapes your mouth, your shoulders feeling far too heavy. What are you doing, hiding?

God, you love him so much. So much that you’re willing to dance around him so he doesn’t get reminded of you, so that he doesn’t worry about how to reject you all night, so that he can just enjoy the wedding. 

What even is love? 

You’ve heard that love is sacrifice, and if what you feel is really love, then, well. You’ll have to try not to love anyone but yourself from now on, because unrequited love is somewhat horrible. 

You’ll get over him someday, right? 

Right?

Before you can psych yourself out of leaving the freezing but rather safe haven that is the restroom, you march over to the door with a new mantra. You shake your shoulders and roll your neck, cracking the joints in your fingers. 

“I’ll get over it,” you murmur. “I’m over it. I’m over it! Over, over, over.” 

Pushing the door open, you continue rambling to yourself. “I’ll get over it. Over, over, over, over...”

“Over what?” comes a familiar voice.

Oh, shit.

Wide-eyed, you look up to see Vernon blocking your way past the bathroom and back into the hallway leading to the reception. 

“Oh,” you gasp, limbs frozen. your eyes flit back to the door to the women’s restroom again, contemplating ditching him cheaply (again). 

Vernon steps closer, his gaze softening as he notices your hesitation. His voice is low and gentle—too gentle—when he speaks, almost as if he’s unsure how to break the silence.

"Hey," he says softly, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing against your arm. "You don't have to hide from me, y’know."

You glance up at him, your adrenaline flowing through your veins. You want to back away, to keep putting distance between you, but something about his insistent stare makes your legs freeze.

"I know it's been awkward," Vernon continues, his words more measured now. "But I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just—I just want to talk." He brings his right hand up to his chest, like he’s swearing that he speaks the truth. 

You shake your head, your voice trembling. "You don’t have to. I don’t want to make things worse."

Vernon furrows his brows, stepping closer, as if he can’t bear to see you pull away from him again. "You think that running away will fix it? You think I want you to hide from me?"

You swallow hard, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know. This is all new to me."

"Then let me say it.” Vernon’s voice is strangled. "I don’t want to lose you, okay? I didn’t want it to happen like this, I…” His voice trails off as he clenches his fists, shutting his eyes tightly before opening them again. “Please don’t think I shut you down, I just—I needed some time to process everything. I care about you a lot—so much more than I know how to show, sometimes. Or,” he huffs with red-rimmed eyes, “a lot of the time."

A silence settles between you, thick and heavy, but Vernon doesn’t seem to notice. He looks at you with downturned, shining eyes, and you feel your defenses slowly start to crumble. 

You’ve never seen him so devastated. 

"Come here," Vernon says softly, his arm reaching out to tug you closer, now fully clinging to your side. "Please don’t keep running. Please?” He says the last word like it’s a prayer—and, oh, is it a powerful one.

Every part of your body stiffens, caught off guard by how warm he is, then immediately relaxes at how gently he’s holding you, as if you would break if he held on any tighter.

"Please don’t run from me anymore," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You think you could melt into his arms, and it takes everything within you to trust him, to not back away like you have for the past two days. With each passing second, you feel your spine relaxing and leaning into his touch. Then, in the midst of your relaxation, it occurs to you that he’s awaiting your reply.

But before you can answer his pleas, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the hallway. Jumping apart like fugitives before the law, you both turn to see Jihyo skidding around the corner, her face flushed with panic.

“There you are!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “The bouquet toss is about to happen! Get over here!” 

Before you can even blink, Jihyo grabs your wrist, pulling you away from the delicate warmth of Vernon’s embrace. 

“Now!” she shouts. 

You twist your back around to send him a helpless look, and all he gives you is an encouraging nod and the cutest, awkward little wave. You see the sincerity in his boyish smile, which makes your chest feel tight, as if all the air had been sucked from the room. It’s bad enough for your delicate heart. 

But then, most wickedly, you catch the adorable, anxious eagerness in his crinkled, watery eyes—and, oh. 

It really is all over for you, isn’t it?

You really won’t be able to love anyone else, will you? 

There is no “getting over” Chwe Vernon.

The last threads of your resolve crumble as you follow Jihyo. You barely register the steps that lead you back into the grand reception hall. She has a vice grip on your wrist, tugging you along with such urgency that your shoes almost trip you on the way inside. The room hums with energy, and you can’t help but feel out of place in the frenzy of people excitedly whispering and glancing toward the front.

Everyone has gathered in a semi-circle, eager faces all pointed at the bride, who is holding the bouquet high above her head. Your pulse is speeding up by the second, but it’s not for the reason the other single women are likely nervous for. All you can think about is how you’ve been dragged here with nothing but the love you have for Vernon—a deep, endless kind that threatens to burst out of you in a wildly embarrassing public display of affection.

"You're gonna be fine," Jihyo says with a grin, though it’s a little too wide, too bright. You’re not sure if she’s referring to the Vernon fiasco or the bouquet toss, but you force a smile back at her anyway.

"Sure I am," you mumble under your breath. 

She doesn’t hear you, or if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge that she heard it. She’s already turned her attention back to the bride, her arm brushing yours as she steps forward, positioning herself with the other women who are trying to catch the bouquet.

You stand awkwardly behind her at the edge of the crowd of single women, feet shuffling, heart still pounding from your conversation with Vernon.

Then, the live orchestral music shifts, and you feel a slight weight in your stomach, despite knowing the chances of the bouquet toss heading your way is slim to none. Still, it’s happening now, and you’re now on the single ladies floor, so there’s no backing out.

When you shift your back to brush away some of the hair obscuring your vision, you make eye contact with the very man who has been occupying your every thought this evening. Vernon had probably followed you and Jihyo as she pulled you away, since he’s now standing near you. And, oh, he’s close—only an arm’s distance or so away from you, standing at the front of the larger crowd. 

The closer the moment of the throw gets, the harder it is to ignore his burning presence. He’s standing with a group of other men who are watching the floor full of gorgeous, single women, but his attention is entirely on you. 

A subtle smile plays at the corners of his mouth, and the air between the two of you suddenly feels too thick. You have so much to say to him, and you don’t know how to get it all out in an eloquent way. 

But your deliberation of what to say to him is cut short by the screams announcing that the bouquet has launched into the air. 

You lift your chin up, squinting as the light of the chandeliers temporarily blinds you. By the time you blink away the flashing spots in your vision, you see the trajectory of the bouquet. 

It arcs high above the crowd of waiting women, catching the light as it spins toward the back—toward you! If you don’t move, the bouquet will crash into your face. 

Your arms instinctively reach for the flowers, reaching beyond what you’d thought was capable for yourself. But the second after your back stretches and feet jump to accommodate the move, your left heel completely gives out, sending your balance completely off-kilter.

Your arms flail uselessly as your ankle sharply twists, and the world tips sideways. The air rushes past your face, cold and sharp, and you brace yourself for impact—ready to collide utterly gracelessly with the hard floor. But before gravity can win, a pair of strong hands clamps around your waist, arresting your fall with a jarring yet steady pull.

The warmth of his touch spreads like wildfire through the thin fabric of your dress, grounding you in an instant. Vernon’s hands are firm, almost possessive, his grip both steady and urgent, like he’s afraid to let go.

Your chest presses against his, the faint thud of his heartbeat syncing with the chaotic rhythm of your own. His scent hits you next—a subtle mix of cedarwood and something distinctly him, crisp and comforting all at once. The tension in your body melts slightly as his arms secure you closer, your trembling legs finding balance in his hold.

“Hey,” he says shyly, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine, his words calming and electrifying in equal measure.

Your fingers instinctively clutch at the lapels of his jacket, the soft fabric brushing against your palms, anchoring you to reality. His thumb brushes lightly against your side, the touch barely noticeable yet searing, and the warmth from his body radiates into yours like a shield against the world.

Slowly, he adjusts his grip, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other ghosting against your shoulder as he steadies you on your feet. The gentleness of his movements is stark against the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

When you finally look up, your breath catches. His face is so close—closer than you were when you fell in the bridal suite, closer than you’ve ever been before. Close enough to see the individual strands of his long lashes, to see the beautiful shimmer in his brown eyes. His eyes, wide and searching, lock onto yours, the emotions swirling in their dark depths rendering you speechless.

“I’ve got you,” Vernon says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the words reverberate through you like an earthquake. “다친 데 없어? [You’re not hurt, are you?]”

You shake your head without much thought, the back of your neck and your ears burning up at how tender his touch is. 

His fingers linger at your waist, the subtle pressure of his touch still burning against your skin. Even as he pulls away just enough to give you space, the absence of his warmth feels like a loss you’re not ready to accept. Without thinking, your hand darts out, fingertips brushing against the sleeve covering the charm bracelet you saw during the procession.

And that’s when you notice the bouquet—clutched awkwardly in your other hand, its delicate petals trembling just as much as you are. The flowers are slightly askew from the near disaster, and it all comes crashing down on you. 

You wince at the ridiculous public scene you’ve made, but the smile that spreads across Vernon’s face is enough to make you forget about everything, humiliation be damned.

“Perfect,” he says softly, though you can hear the teasing edge in his voice. “You got it, princess.” 

Princess, the joke he started calling you after Disney movie marathons in which you mocked the main characters always needing men to save them—you were definitely having a princess moment right now.

Vernon reaches to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you feel your cheeks heat from the decidedly intimate nature of his touch. 

And that’s when the room erupts. 

Cheers fill the space as the guests begin clapping, laughing, and shouting in celebration. You see Chan whistle, while his newlywed wife shouts, “Finally!” The noise surges around you, but you can’t focus on anything except the way Vernon is looking at you.

You don’t know how on earth you could have misinterpreted it before—his wide eyes, slightly furrowed brows, half-open mouth. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, and it’s suddenly clear he’s just as affected as you are. 

He’s looking at you like you’re the only one in the room, like you’re the only one he can see.

He’s looking at you in the same way you look at him.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare past his shoulders to see the waiting eyes of the entire room. It’s as though they’ve known all along, most having been there to see the constant teasing, the not-so-secret glances exchanged, and the tension that’s been building for what feels like ages. Everyone knew before you two did, really.

The realization hits you all at once, and a nervous laugh escapes you. You’re caught in the act—the act of love—and there’s no denying it. 

You exchange an uncertain look with Vernon, and something flickers in his eyes. It’s something deeper, like the three words you told him two days ago, only to be met with silence.

“Looks like it’s fate, huh?” you joke weakly, shaking the bouquet, trying to regain some control over the situation. 

But Vernon doesn’t laugh. His expression just softens, and his voice is so, so deep when he speaks, it’s barely audible over the noise of the guests. “Y’know, you don’t have to joke your way out of this.”

You swallow hard, but before you can respond, he steps closer to you, his gaze unwavering, presence overwhelming. He reaches for your hand, gently pulling it into his, where it fits just so, and the warmth of his touch sends a wave of electricity through you.

“You know I’ve been looking for you, right?” Vernon continues, his voice slightly choked, making your chest tighten. “All day. All day, yesterday and today. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything that day. It wasn’t because I didn’t care, I do,” he pauses, tightening his grasp on you. “It’s because I care too much, really.”

Your breath hitches. What is he saying? Your brain is practically numb from the excessive overthinking you’ve been doing for the past two days. He needs to just spell it out.

“What?”

Vernon exhales a short laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands, buried deep in his coat pockets, tense visibly as his shoulders lift slightly. “I feel like you don’t get it,” he says softly, the words teetering on the edge of vulnerability.

Your heart skips a beat. “Get what?”

He looks at you—really looks at you, staring intensely into your eyes, weighing whether or not to say the next part. His jaw tightens for a brief second, the muscle flexing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He pulls a hand out of his pocket, raking it through his hair. His fingers linger at the nape of his neck before dropping back to his side, curling loosely as though they’re bracing for impact.

“That I’m here for you,” Vernon says, his voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, not quite closing the distance but close enough that you can feel the addictive heat radiating off of him. “That I’ve always been here for you. And not…” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “Not just as a friend.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel his gaze flicker to your lips for the briefest moment before darting back to your eyes. His own are wide, filled with uncertainty but also a quiet kind of determination.

He shifts again, this time slipping his other hand out of his pocket and holding it out, palm up, like an offering. His fingers twitch slightly, betraying his nerves, and you notice a faint redness creeping up his neck, the telltale signs of his composure cracking.

“I didn’t say anything sooner because…” His voice trails as he bites the inside of his cheek, eyes dropping to the ground. When he looks up again, his expression is raw and completely unguarded. “Because I didn’t want to mess things up. But I can’t keep telling myself I don’t feel this way. I’m sorry I’m so late.”  

Your chest tightens as his words settle over you, finally registering the weight of them.

“Please don’t get over me,” he says all at once, breathlessly. His eyes are shining, his gaze ever so hopeful.

His hand lingers in the space between you, waiting, hoping.

“Please?”

You stare at his outstretched hand in disbelief, limbs locked by pure shock. Is this real? 

You can feel the effort it’s taking for him to stay still, his thumb twitching every few seconds like he’s fighting the urge to pull away and retreat.

When you don’t immediately respond, Vernon exhales shakily and starts to pull his hand back, his lips parting as if to apologize. 

But before he can, your fingers move instinctively, brushing against his.

The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make him freeze. His eyes snap to yours, widening as if he doesn’t quite believe what just happened. Slowly, hesitantly, his fingers curl around yours, the warmth of his touch steadying you as much as it does him.

“I mean it. I don’t want you to move on, because I love you,” he says shakily. “I’m in love with you, and I don’t know if you still feel that way for me, but… I need you to know how I feel.”

In the depths of his eyes, you see the vulnerability he’s always tried to hide, the intensity of the emotions he’s been holding back for so long.

And it’s as if the whole room vanishes, leaving just the two of you standing there. The bouquet is forgotten, and so are the guests, their cheers having long faded into the background.

Your heart feels as though it’s about to explode from your chest, but the words spill out before you can think. “I love you, too.”

Vernon brightens, eyes lighting up his, his grin stretching from ear to ear, and you fold. He’s handsome and sweet and a little awkward and brilliant—and yours.

Before your next breath, he’s leaning forward, closing the distance between you. 

His lips meet yours in a kiss so soft, so gentle, that you barely feel it at all. Impatient, you eagerly lift your chin up for more of him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss—oh, is it something to live for. You never want to let go. He tastes like chocolate and feels like a dream come true—he’s your very own prince, if you’re the princess. 

It feels like the world has finally clicked into place. You and Vernon are on the same page, and it’s indescribable, really.

When the roaring in your ears subsides, you hear some wolf whistles, and you suddenly realize where you are. You barely bring yourself to pull a few inches away from him, laughing softly, and he smiles, his eyes sparkling with so, so much warmth and love. It’s all for you. And you realize that here, in his arms, you feel full. You feel so warm, so cared for.

This, this is love. 

Masterlist

Author's Note: he's a bit of a loser in this, but i think he made up for it

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone

[phuwins]

SEVENTEEN Reads Thirst Tweets

[svt-interactions]

[boochwe]

Dream About Me

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Synopsis: There's a world you go to each night in your dreams, a reality between realities. That is where you find him. That is where you feel most at home.

She/Her pronouns used

Warnings: None that I can think of, this is pure fluff. Maybe just a small, small hint of angst but more melancholic in vibes than actually sad or upsetting.

Word Count: 784

Notes: First fic posted on a new blog. I wrote this a bit ago and never really thought about doing anything with it until now. No idea of what's to come from it, but I hope you guys enjoy. I listened to Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old-Girl by yeule on repeat while writing and half ass editing this.

“Do you dream of me?”

The question hung heavy in the air as Vernon turned his head to the side to look at her, brows furrowed as he pondered over her words. The answer was so obvious and yet she had him second guessing himself.

“Is that not what I’m doing right now? Dreaming of you?” He asked, wishing she’d turn her head so he could look her in the eye. She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned to fidget with the volume of the music they’d been listening to until it was adequately regarded as background noise for their conversation before returning to her original position. His fingers itched to pull her closer- to turn her head towards him so he could get a read on her- but he hesitated and let his hands stay by his sides, twitching with the need to touch her.

“I don’t think so. I think right now…right now we’re wide awake, and when we leave these moments- whatever they really are- that’s when we sleep. Does that make sense?” She asked though from the way her voice stayed quiet, barely audible over the music she’d already turned down, he knew that she wasn’t even sure if it made sense to herself.

Vernon let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, needing something to keep them occupied or else he was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep them away from her much longer.

He’d been finding himself in that situation a lot since this whole thing started, unable to stop his hands from finding their way towards her- her hands, her hair, the hem of her shirt. He could almost feel the soft fabric between his fingertips when she shook him out of his own thoughts.

“It doesn’t make sense,” She muttered as she finally turned to look at him, eyes squinting to fully make out his features as only moonlight illuminated the room. “I can’t explain it any better than that. I just can’t imagine that the world I’m awake in isn’t this one. Where you’re here, and you’re tangible, and I can always find you. I can’t have you out there but every night I have you right here beside me. I don’t want to believe you’re just a dream.”

Her words rolled down his body like condensation on a glass, starting in his mind and dripping all the way to his toes until his whole body was chilled and warm all at once. He didn’t give a damn about holding back anymore as he turned to lay on his side, one hand coming to rest on her waist as his large fingers tangled around the fabric of her shirt until it inched up enough for him to slip his hand down against her bare skin. His touch was hot but so was her skin, as if the pair were flushed head to toe just with the weight of their affections.

“I’m not,” he said, cheeks burning at how simple his statement seemed compared to her confession. “A dream I mean. I’m not a dream. I’m real out there and I’m real right here. And so are you.”

“But how are you sure? How can you know?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, some semblance of a pout settling on her lips. He considered kissing it away for a moment before he forced the thought away. There would be plenty of time to kiss her later, but now he had to talk, he had to reassure them both.

For a moment, he pursed his own lips as his eyes darted away from hers and tried to find the right words among the millions of reasons rushing through his mind. She always did this- overwhelmed his brain with so many thoughts and words and feelings. He hated how much he loved it.

“I just know. I know it when I hear your favorite songs or when I see certain things. I could never dream up something like you.”

This time, it was her turn to lose herself within her thoughts because several moments passed by with nothing but the steady beat of a song that he was sure he could have fallen asleep to under normal circumstances.

Finally, as one song came to an end and the next began, she spoke.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she said as she turned onto her side and shifted so their noses were brushing.

“I know I’m in love with you,” Vernon responded and he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. Not quite a kiss, but not quite less. “So yes. I do dream of you.”