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mingtinys · 3 days

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" i am so proud of you "

pairing : hansol chwe x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : language

word count : 0.6 k

a/n : got a little carried away with this one , something about writing for vernon is just so fun

"I was thinking, why don't we go out tomorrow to that restaurant you really like? To celebrate and all."

"I'd really like that." You call back, glancing over at your boyfriend who is still busy washing dishes at the kitchen sink. Though he isn't looking directly at you, you can just make out the excited look in his eyes and the toothy grin gracing his lips. He's been like that since you told him about your promotion at work. Honestly, you didn't expect him to make such a fuss over it. It was a relatively small promotion, just a raise and a slightly higher title. But that sunny expression on his face could make someone think you'd hit CEO status.

"I'll make reservations after I finish up here." His words are barely audible over the running water. You're about to thank him when your phone buzzes to life beside you.

Incoming call from Boo Seungkwan.

Seungkwan? You think, narrowing your eyes at the screen. Why on earth could he be calling you and not Hansol?

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" His excited voice comes through the speaker. "You're not busy right?"

"Not really, no. Why, what's up?"

"I— well we all wanted to call and congratulate you on your promotion!" A chorus of voices flood your phone and you take it you're on speaker with the rest of the members.

"That's very sweet of you all, thank you." It's nice, having so many people in your corner cheering you on. "But how'd you know? I only just found out about it a couple hours ago."

"You're joking right?" It sounds like Chan. "Hansol won't shut up about it in the group chat."

"He talks about me?" You ask no one in particular

"Yeah, like an annoying amount." That's definitely Mingyu.

There's a short altercation on the other side of the call, probably Seungkwan trying to wrestle his phone back from various members. But you don't pay much mind, the warm feeling in your chest taking over all other senses. You let your gaze drift back to Hansol, who is now on his laptop, nodding along to whatever song is currently playing in his head.

"Just, give it here—! Sorry about that," Seungkwan's voice jolts you from a daze. "Anyways, we just wanted to give you our compliments. We'll let you get back to your night."

Good, because tears are already welling up at your lashes and you're not sure how much longer you can hold back the stitch in your throat. "I appreciate it, tell everyone I said thank you."

You hang up before Seungkwan can respond and promptly make your way to the kitchen. Hansol's nose is still buried in his laptop, eyes squinted as his fingers peck at the keys. "Okay," He says upon the realization of your presence. He hits the enter key rather dramatically. "Reservations are made and you're . . ." His words teeter off when he looks up, met with your tear-filled gaze.

He takes a beat. Brows furrowed and head cocked to the side. "–You're crying. Shit, wait— why are you crying?" Hansol panics. He rushes to you, taking your face between his warm hands. Holding you the way one would hold fine China. Carefully, his thumb comes to swipe a stray tear from your cheek.

"You tell your members about me?" You sniffle. Hansol's eyes go wide and his mouth opens and closes like a fish before he conjures up an answer. "Was I not supposed to?"

The pure concerned cluelessness in his voice makes you giggle and he seems to relax when he realizes he's not in trouble. "I just didn't know you bragged about me like that, it's sweet."

"I am so proud of you," Hansol speaks with unashamed sincerity. "Why wouldn't I brag about your accomplishments?"

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @tanya596carat

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svtcatcafe · 2 days

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who let a cat in the library?

#seventeen #svt #세븐틴 #vernon #vernon chwe #버논 #chwe hansol #hansol vernon chwe

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zoaime · 3 days

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Vernon Chwe & Lee Chan

#crush #idol #vernon chwe #lee chan #seventeen #svt #vernon #svt vernon #dino #chan #svt dino #svt chan #chansol #verdi

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babyleostuff · 22 days

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౨ৎ voicemails vernon chwe leaves you while he’s on tour - fluff (with a pinch of angst), established relationship, gn!reader (pet names used: babe)

...one: hi babe, so we just got to the hotel. the flight was fine, though my back hurts like hell. anyway, talk to you tomorrow!

…two: you know what i just realised? i forgot to pack my underwear. i mean, do you think joshua will notice if i steal some from him? i can just hear your voice saying "i told you so" because i never make those lists before packing

...three: me, you, finding nemo, tonight

...four: why do you always add the most depressing songs to our playlist? i was showering yesterday while listening to it, and it was not fun, let me tell you. no more sad songs

...five: what if i started calling you "bro"? i'll still love you if you were a worm, but in return i get to call you bro. sound like a good deal to me

...six: what's up bro? (pause) okay, no, you were right about yelling at me, it sounds weird. but what are you up to babe? i heard you're meeting up with sofia today?

...seven: i'm so sleep deprived that i fell asleep on stage today during rehearsal. i was literally in the middle of singing when i just (giggle). i really hope no one filmed that

...eight: you know (pause) i'm just chilling in my hotel room, but (pause) it's so quiet here. like (pause) not fun quiet. wish you were here

...nine: i went on a walk with wonwoo and hoshi today, and wonwoo made us pose for the pictures. i'll send you those, but we literally look like children forced by a parent to pose for a pic

...ten: hey, so (pause) i'm just calling to tell you that i love you

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings

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eoieopda · 8 months

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tidal.

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

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

Vernon isn’t blind.

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

So, yes, Vernon can see you.

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

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

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

You still don’t seem to notice.

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

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response.

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

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

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

You don’t reciprocate.

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

Which, for the record, he does not.

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

Ope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t say anything.

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

Do you or do you not want this right now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“It might be messy…”

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

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

And he means it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

Perhaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I chose this one?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I choose this one.

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

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

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

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

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

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

“We can workshop it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when it hits you:

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

God, you want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you.

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

Christ.

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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teasteeper · 20 days

Text

fanboy (c.hs)

pairing: vernon x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut 18+ mdni

warnings: alcohol, pinv, oral (f + m receiving), dry humping, riding, drunk sex, “daddy”, situationship/fwb, fuckgirl!r, whipped!vern

words: 2.2k

vernon’s never felt this way about a girl. he doesn’t outright admit it or carry it around like a badge, but he knows he’s cool, lips turning up in a lopsided smile and looking down as his previous hookups gush to him telling him so. it’s not like he’s fucking fans, but once a girl spends a night with him.. she’s a fan.

vernon prides himself on not letting it get to his head. that doesn’t mean it’s easy though, having pretty girls drunkenly babble to him as he fucks them into his mattress, their slurred, high pitched praises going straight to his cock. and at the end of the day he’s a man. do you expect him to feel nothing when a wide eyed nearly-drooling girl throws herself at him..?

it was nice while it lasted, knowing he could probably have any girl he wanted, thanks to his pretty brown eyes and shy smile, his tall sleeper build and calm, deep voice. not that he wanted any of them.. not for keeps, anyway. it all ended, or started, with you. the roles reversed, him stunned by how cool you were, and you smiling and nodding along politely, like you were humouring a babbling toddler telling you about their favourite toy - like he was your biggest fan.

weeks into your situationship he still doesn’t know how he got so lucky, skin itchy with anticipation for the next time he can be with you. it makes perfect sense and simultaneously no sense at all. it’s perfect but not enough. not nearly enough.

his cock fits in you so perfect, your cunt gripping him like you never want to let go, your slick gushing down his length and making a mess between your bodies, drenching his thighs and bedsheets like you’re claiming your spot there. you don’t ramble like the other girls, but you look at him like you love him, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed pink and lips swollen from his heated kisses. it’s the best and worst drug he’s taken, sweat beading on his forehead, chest heaving with heavy breaths and biceps shaking as he holds his body over yours. and he’s the one rambling to you, roles always reversed. everything he’s ever known turned on it’s head, everything he’s ever done before you totally lost on him, unimportant.

he doesn’t recognize his own voice, barely able to get the broken, breathy words out.

“fuck, m’sorry. it’s too fucking good. fuck- you just take it”

“want you so bad, baby. i swear it’s you. swear you’re so fucking perfect f’me”

“look at me. yeah, just like that. fuck- you’re pretty. prettiest girl in the world”

it’s safe to say you’ve ruined him for anyone else. it’s painfully obviously after he closes his apartment door after you walk out, splashing cold water on his face and sighing as he lays back on his messy sheets. you always leave too soon, or maybe the problem is that you leave at all. he watches you pick your clothes up off the floor, stepping into your panties before pulling your sweater over your head. he stays on the bed, pulling his sweats over his hips as he thinks of the first time you hooked up, when he tried to help you into your clothes afterwards.

“i can do it,” you had laughed, a breathy, awkward sort of scoff, “thanks”

from then on he just watched, eyes trained on the dimples at the bottom of your spine before your clothes covered them from his sight. that first night he had you on your knees, face buried into his pillow as he filled your cunt. he had held your hips, the pads of his thumbs pressed into the dimples on your back as he pulled you back and forth on his cock. he had stared at them, slack jawed as you moaned out. he pressed his lips to both of them, trailing kisses down your back before lapping at your sticky slick with his eager tongue. and once you redressed they were gone, as if off limits - an intimate detail of your body he was never supposed to know of.

“fuck” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face before pushing his damp hair off his forehead, tangling his slender fingers in the dark strands. his body is content, cock fully drained and soft in his sweats, heart slowing to a healthy pace. but his mind stays running, always searching for that missing part of the equation.

vernon knows you sleep with other people, both of you making it clear at the very beginning that you both weren’t looking for a relationship. but he can’t get his friends’ voices out of his head, telling him he’ll find the right person when he least expects it. but could you really be the right person? a girl so painfully out of his league? a girl who has him feeling like nothing but a lucky fanboy?

⊹

there’s nothing better than this, vernon fumbling with his keys before pushing the right one into the lock, lacing his fingers with yours with a lopsided smirk and pulling you to stumble into his apartment towards the living room. he hates the club, but getting a text from you inviting him out is something he’d never ignore, pulling on jeans and a black hoodie before he practically ran out the door, one hand busy booking an uber to your location. it’s all worth it when you push him to sit back on his couch, giggling as you clumsily straddle his lap and collapse against his chest. his laugh is caught in his throat when you crash your lips to his, the taste of alcohol on both your lips in your heated exchange of needy, drunken kisses.

you break the kiss all too soon, pulling back to trail your eyes over his face, his cheeks flushed pink and lids half closed, lips still puckered as he waits for you to keep kissing him. “you’re so cute, nonnie” you smile, grabbing his jaw between your fingers. he nearly groans out at your praise, his heart swelling in these rare moments when you’re all over him.

it’s like you just remembered you’re straddling him, looking down at your thighs spread over his hips, your mini skirt riding up your thighs so your pink cotton panties are on display, positioned perfectly over the fly of his jeans. your drunken giggles die in your throat, pushing your hips up to drag your clothed cunt over the denim and letting out a sigh as you feel the stiff shape of his cock against you.

“tell me, baby” vernon’s already slack jawed, big hands cupping your hips as you start to grind against him, “tell me what you want”

“off” you whine, pushing your hands under his hoodie before he grabs the collar, pulling it off and throwing it aside, his hair falling into his eyes. you trail your eyes down his chest, pale skin stretched over his toned abdomen. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, playing with the button of his jeans between your fingers.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

“can i leave marks?”

“fuck” he chokes out, your lips already attached to his neck, “please, baby. v’always wanted you to”

he steadies his trembling hands by pressing his fingers into your hips, pushing your shirt up your waist as you run your tongue up the side of his neck, nipping at the skin before suctioning your lips around it. the alcohol and the pressure on his neck and your vanilla perfume makes him dizzy, his eyes fluttering closed and a drawn out sigh passing through his lips. his cock throbs in his pants, feeling close without even being in you.

vernon brings his hands between your bodies to fumble at his zipper, making you whine as he pushes you away from his neck, “sorry, m’sorry, baby. need you to sit on my cock, okay?”

his fingers tremble as he hooks two into your panties and tugs them to the side, his other hand pulling his stiff cock from his briefs and lining the tip up to your slick hole. you’re so eager, dropping your hips to take the head inside, both of you moaning out before he takes his hand off his cock so you can take him fully.

“shit” vernon groans, back slumped against the couch, hooded eyes trained on your chest as he pulls your shirt over your head, throwing it aside to lay on top of his discarded hoodie. he has no time to think or even buck his hips up, gaze unfocused as your tits bounce in his face, eagerly bouncing on his cock with your nails pressed into the muscle of his shoulders.

he’s too drunk and fucked to fully realize how perfect this is. if he was sober he’s sure it would break his brain, how eagerly you’re riding his cock, desperately moaning into his mouth as you crash your lips to his like you need him in order to breathe. he can’t think of how if you were sober you wouldn’t be fucking him so greedily, wouldn’t be so close to tears and saying such sweet things between each heated kiss like you are now.

“feels so good, daddy. need you- always need you”

“y’so good to me. wanna be good f’you. wanna be yours”

his heart swells at your slurred words, pulling back and breaking the kiss to cup your face in his hands, dark eyes scanning your expression. he wipes the mascara-stained tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, tucking your mussed hair behind your ear.

he’s still cupping your cheeks when you reach your high, his jaw tense as your walls suffocate his cock. when your mouth drops into an o he pushes his thumb past your lips, watching you suck around the digit as you come down.

“i got you, baby. that’s my pretty girl.. that’s it. so pretty when you cum f’me”

the alcohol’s worn off, at least for vernon, guiding you off his cock and picking your spent body up with ease. his heart swells when your arms wrap around his neck, burying your face into his neck as he brings you to his bedroom. you let him lay you on his bed, let him pull your skirt down your legs before folding it carefully and setting it on top of his dresser, leaving you in your cotton panties. he turns to the washroom for a cloth to clean you up, but your voice interrupts him.

“you didn’t finish”

he turns back to you and gives you that shy smile, the greater half of him relieved to see you haven’t stood up to put your skirt back on. “it’s okay”

but your eyes are wide and expectant, sitting up in his bed and patting the empty space beside you. so he lays down beside you, silently watching you crawl over his hips, helping you push his jeans and briefs down his hips. he’s still so hard, the head of his cock flushed red and sticky with precum. he sighs softly when you lean down to lap at the sticky fluid, using his hands to pull your hair back into a makeshift ponytail.

if he wasn’t already sober, he is now, hyper aware of the warm wetness of your mouth as you sink down his length. you must be sober too, he thinks, your desperation from earlier turned to softness, quietly humming around his cock as you cup his balls, your other hand resting on his bare thigh. even your mouth is a perfect fit, his tip nudging the back of your throat when your lips touch the base.

“won’t last” he gasps, his high approaching impossibly fast.

he fully expects you to sit back and replace your mouth with your fist, stroking him until he cums on his stomach. so when your head keeps bobbing up and down, your tongue dragging up and down the underside of his shaft, his eyes widen, heart rate picking up as he starts to let go. “baby, baby, baby, oh- oh my fucking god”

he’s stunned, abs tense and chest heaving with shaky breaths as you swallow everything, licking him clean with slow, lazy swipes of your tongue up his cock.

this entire night must be a dream, vernon thinks, holding your body against him as you lay your head on his chest. he feels like an idiot, turning his head to check the digital clock on his nightstand every thirty seconds, but it’s been 12, 25, 50 minutes and you’re still here, letting him hold you. he hasn’t said a word, afraid that if he does you’ll suddenly become aware of the situation, that you’ll remember you don’t do this.

and he doesn’t sleep, even after hours of silence, after your breaths have slowed and your eyes have fluttered shut, because he’s wanted this since he met you, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. even when you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against his chest and soft breaths ghosting over his skin, you’ve never been more his than right now, and more than ever, he’s your biggest fan.

#good night🫡#vernon #vernon chwe #chwe hansol #seventeen #svt #vernon smut #vernon x reader #vernon x you #vernon drabbles #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen hard hours #svt hard thoughts #svt hard hours #mine

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lololololchips · 2 months

Note

COULD U DO BFF!VERNON (may or may not he bffs to lovers 🥺)

vernon is so bff to lovers coded ☹️☹️☹️

BUT HERE IT IS ENJOYYYY:)

Vernon Chwe || bff to lovers texts with vernon

genre: fake texts, one shot au, fluff, bff x lovers arc, non!idols

warnings: cursing, fem pronouns, tiny angst, vernon being friendzone in the beginning 😓

512 notes · View notes

fairyhaos · 3 months

Text

[13:16 PM] — hansol .

hbd @weird-bookworm ! 500 words, est. rs, fluff

“I wanna make you a flower crown,” you say abruptly, a simple passing comment whilst the two of you are laying on the couch in your apartment.

Hansol blinks, and tilts his head. “A flower crown?” he repeats. “For me?”

“Yeah. Look, aren't they so cute?” you sit up a little, showing Hansol the Instagram reel you were watching of some couple making flower crowns in a field.

He observes the video silently, and then nods. “Huh. Cute.”

You pout at the lukewarm response, settling back down so you're lying in his lap once more. “I think you'd look cute with a flower crown. With you and your… face.”

Without looking up from your phone, you gesture vaguely up at him, and Hansol chuckles a little, shifting so that you're resting comfortably on his thigh. He pats your hair lightly.

“My face, hm?” he says, the teasing clear in his tone, and you groan.

“I take it back. You don't have a face.”

“Uh, what?”

You don't talk about the flower crowns again, the conversation blending seamlessly into a different, random topic, but Hansol still thinks about it.

Of course he does, because it's you who brought it up, and he's always thinking about you. He doesn't know why he's so fixated on the flower crowns, though, because you're always proposing cute things to do with him that never end up happening, but for some reason, he really wants to make the flower crown thing come true.

Mostly because he thinks you'd look rather pretty with a halo of flowers, but also because he knows it would make you happy.

“Hey,” he says, after a few moments where your bright voice doesn't fill the space between you two. “Do you still want to do the flower crowns?”

“Hm?” you glance up at him, thinking for a short second because you'd honestly forgotten that you'd proposed the idea. “Oh! Yeah, I do."

Hansol grins down at you, a lopsided quirk of the lips as he gently adjusts you so that you're sitting up properly. “Yeah?”

He gets up from the sofa, and you watch bewilderedly as he grabs his keys.

“W—Hansol, where are you going?” you ask, rising from the couch as he makes his way to the front door.

“To get you flowers to make flower crowns,” Hansol says, like it's obvious, his eyes so round and sweet that it makes you want to laugh, endeared.

“Really?” you say, smiling. “Wait, are you really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It's no biggie. I'll find the nearest flower shop and buy flowers for you. Then you can make all the flower crowns you want.”

That makes you laugh properly, the light, rosy pink feeling welling up inside you and you pad over to peck him quickly on the lips.

“Well, hurry up then,” you say, teasing. “I need to see how good my boyfriend looks in a flower crown.”

Hansol smiles, and leans over to kiss you properly, soft and full of love.

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mangocustard16 · 2 months

Text

HANSOL VERNON CHWE: THE BOY WHO CANNOT BE MOVED

#seventeen #svt #svtcreations #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #vernon chwe #seventeen gifs #svt gifs #useryenas #homerunj #mango.makes #*gifs #*gifset

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seuonji · 3 months

Text

彡 mr exterminator. — chwe vernon

notes ๑ humour, fluff. you and vernon hate bugs.

warnings ๑ none. mentions of insects?

word count ๑ 0.3k

"can you kill cockroaches?" you sat up from laying down and looked at vernon intently.

it was as if an arrow shot him as you asked that question and his body jolted making the whole bed shake. he was on the edge of the bed while you were laying down the whole time but you only got up now to ask that?

slowly, vernon reclined to your side and hugged your arm, "is there a cockroach in the room?"

"hey! im afraid of cockroaches you should kill them!" you shook him off you.

"there's a cockroach in the room!?" vernon shouted so loud that your neighbors probably heard.

"no but what if in there future there is one?" you started laughing at the absurdity of your arguement.

"i love you but i also love my sanity," he bravely let out as your jaw dropped to the floor.

"i'm sorry but im not about to try and risk a cockroach crawling up my body!" he continued while holding your hand pitifully but you felt like pushing him off the bed.

"what do you suggest for the future then?" you sighed.

this was the most seirous you've seen vernon in the course of your relationship. he looked at you with intense eye contact and spoke firmly, "we can get a gun."

"god damn, i'll just go date an exterminator," you weakly whispered as you stared at the wall lifelessy.

"you're breaking up with me over a cockroach!?" he pulled you towards him making you laugh.

"yes! so i hope you learn how to cope with bugs,” you giggled but vernon couldn’t tell if you were joking or not.

vernon looked around the room and huffed, “if ever we encounter a bug, i will kill it. for you.”

“you’d do that for me?” you asked stunned with sparkles in your eyes.

“well it sounded like our relationship was on the line,” he furrowed his brows while looking at you weirdly.

your lips slowly crept into a smile and you squeezed vernon’s face in your hands, “you’re the sweetest.”

“yea yea,” he chuckled.

but spoiler, in the near future, he did not keep his promise which lead to you guys almost needing to look for a new apartment unit.