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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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mangocustard16 · 1 month

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FIRST DATE (VERNON'S VERSION)

genre: fluff, headcanon warnings: first date nerves, kiss(cheek) wc: 400 a/n: thank you anon! please reblog if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated

first of all, he was nervous about asking you out. it was probably months of pining over you, planning things out, and just waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask

when he finally did, it was more like, "Hey...would...date...with...me"

picks you up from your house, with flowers, and opens the door for you so politely that you almost get the impression that he's acting strange

the two of you would probably go and see a movie for your first date and grab some popcorn before the movie starts

after finishing your popcorn before the movie even starts, you'll have to run back to buy some more

vernon doesn't pay you much attention he is way too absorbed in the movie for his own good

if you go to the bathroom during the interval, he buys you more snacks, so you can't argue or try to split the bill.

has a lot of thoughts about the movie so far so, tells you everything he's come up with

you've come to the conclusion, that this guy is a complete nerd and writes half of his reviews during intervals so he doesn't miss anything

his ears turn so red when your hands brush against his while reaching for the popcorn

suggests grabbing a bite to eat at a nearby diner

he excitedly discusses the movie's themes, character development, and any easter eggs he noticed

is very interested in your thoughts about the movie

is so flustered when you compliment him that he accidentally spills your drink, apologizing profusely and offering to pay for a replacement

the conversations with him are really deep

he prefers to really get to know you, the real you, and answers all your questions very seriously

the conversations flow so effortlessly that you don’t even realize how much time has passed until the sun starts to set

internally takes notes of everything

what you're wearing, what he's wearing, the way you almost fall out of your seat laughing

'accidentally' links his pinky with you while walking back to the car

mhmm sounds right

he's driving you back home, almost pops out a ring when you play his favorite underground artist

tells you that he had so much fun and is down for another date

doesn't expect any kisses or anything

but if you kiss him on the cheek while leaving

oh boy, he’s going to think about it all night

@kflixnet @k-films@k-labels taglist-˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅: @bangchansbae @haecien @aaniag @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @gigification @bewoyewo if you want to be added just send me an ask ♡⸝⸝

pls reblog if you liked !!

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wheeboo · 10 days

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laundry day | hansol vernon chwe

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

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

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

join the 2k celebration!

You are so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A cough erupts from Vernon, breaking the sudden silence.

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

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

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

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

"No."

"Or it can't be postponed?"

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're cute."

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

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

"I said you're really dumb."

That is not what he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"𑁋because I'm cute?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink up at him dazedly. "Really?"

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

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

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spamgyu · 4 months

Text

RED STRING THEORY // Hansol x Reader Oneshot

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates weren't real. This wasn't a fantasy world... But somehow, the world wanted them together. Giving them one too many chances to be together. Almost as if there was a little string that connected them to one another PAIRING: Idol!Hansol x Reader GENRE: A very LONG fluff.

There is a popular belief that there is one person you are destined to be with regardless of time, place, and circumstances.

A person is born in to this world connected to their other half by this invisible red string. No matter how knotted and jumbled this string got, it was never broken – because in the end, it will always be them that would be destined for each other.

Y/n had grown up with her grandmother telling her and her older sister this folklore; standing firm on her belief that her and their grandfather were destined lovers and had proclaimed that one day, the two girls would find their way to theirs.

The two had taken their grandmother's words a with a grain of salt. More now that their father and mother had a very messy divorce, leaving the two to be solely under their mother's care.

But the older woman didn't care if the two girls huffed and puffed about her tales that she told each summer they paid a visit. A regular occurrence of their mother shipping them out to her home country; claiming it was good for them to be in touch with their roots instead of rotting away in their rooms during summer break.

Plus, it was far better than making the journey to Chicago where their father had relocated with his new girlfriend.

It was just like old times.

Except, now they were no longer required to have their grandparents accompany them as they explored the large city. They had the freedom to run about the streets, spending hours on end at the computer shop, biking along the river, and spending all their allowance at the local convenience stores.

"I don't think we have enough money." Y/n looked down at the basket of snacks her and her older sister have filled.

Her sister agreed with a nod. "Put back some chips."

Y/n pouted, reaching down to grab three bags of honey butter chips she had carelessly thrown in; trudging to the next aisle where they had been placed.

"Are you going to buy all that?" A young boy no older than fifteen asked, pointing at the bags in her arms. Unlike the boys from the neighborhood, he had looked like someone from back home. She took in his disheveled appearance, his hair was almost like a helmet on his head; the sweat on his forehead causing some of the strands to stick together.

Yuck.

Blinking slowly, y/n tilted her head to the side trying to comprehend what he had asked. She knew the language, just not well enough to understand when someone was speaking fast.

He must have grown up here.

"Hello?" He waved his hand to gain her attention.

"Sorry." She mumbled, rushing to place the chips back on the shelf.

"Weirdo." He said underneath his breath, grabbing a bag.

"Excuse me?!"

Eyes growing wide, the boy turned to face her – ears and cheeks red. "Heh?" He flashed a shy grin and peace sign before running away to the front of the store.

Y/n dismissed the small interaction with the young boy – not before ranting to her older sister about how rude he was to someone who was clearly from not the area.

Teens were rude and arrogant at that age anyways.

It was her last day before heading back west when she had another run in with the teen. She was reaching for a can of grape drink when another hand brushed against hers; causing her to quickly retract her hand – mumbling a soft apology and motioning for the person to go ahead.

"Here." He extended his arm to offer the girl the can, recognizing her from weeks ago.

Their first small interaction that had left him flustered as he made his way back to the practice room. He was told specifically by the staff to be careful of how they portrayed themselves during their time outside the green room, in case they were to debut.

No future idol wants negative stories from strangers as a new comer. One story can easily cause a snowball effect and become not only the downfall of one member but the group as a whole.

He knew their conversation wasn't much of a headline, but he also knew how easily the public villainized a celebrity for something so miniscule.

He did not want to risk it.

The young teen had gone back nearly every day before practice in hopes to run into the girl, wanting to change whatever impression he had originally made.

"Thanks." Y/n pulled a tight lipped smile before turning her heel to head for the register.

"Sorry about the other time!" He called out.

"I don't care." She called back, handing the cashier the change she had fished out from her pocket – not bothering to look back at the dumb struck boy stood at the refrigerated drinks aisle.

Crisis averted.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

It had been years since he had been back in the city where his parents had met. Not to mention years since he had given a proper break.

Thanks to their group's success over the past two years since debuting, they were granted a month and half of down time. No practices, no variety show guesting, no filming.

Just quiet time.

The first in a very long time.

Each and every member agreed that they would use the first half of this break to work in their team and the latter half with their own families.

Vernon could not be anymore grateful that his mom had decided this meant flying back New York for a change of scenery and pace.

For once since his debut, he felt like a normal teen; waking up at noon, exploring the city by himself with no set schedules, and eating whatever his heart desired.

"You're staring." His sister nudged him, breaking his gaze from the girl behind the counter who was far too busy taking everyone else's order to notice that he was practically burning a hole into her skin.

"She looks familiar, doesn't she?" He nodded to the girl.

His sister follower his eyes before giving him a look. "No she doesn't."

"I swear, I've seen her before."

Sofia snorted, rolling her eyes at her brother.

He could be a dits at times.

"You wish." She took a step towards the counter, placing her order.

"And for you?" The girl smiled, using her customer service voice that she had gotten down to T since applying for the cafe.

"Oh uh–" He glanced up at the menu, scratching the back of his neck. He had become too preoccupied trying to figure out why the girl in front of him had looked like someone he had seen before that he had completely forgotten the reason why he and his sister decided to drop by in the first place.

Coffee.

"He'll have an iced mocha." His little sister interjected, seeing that her brother seemed still be buffering by her side.

"$10.78 please."

"Vernon." Sofia nudged him yet again, this time a little harder, signaling for him to pay.

"Right." He cleared his throat, digging into his back pocket to pull out the plastic card from his wallet. "Here you go."

"Is he okay?" The girl joked, taking the card from his had.

"He's allergic to girls."

"Am not!" He cried, now fully present.

"Okay well then don't be a freak."

Y/n awkwardly laughed at the two's sudden bickering, handing the form of payment back. "Drinks will be ready at the side."

"Thanks– wait, do I know you?"

"Oh my god." Sofia grumbled, slapping her hand on her forehead in embarrassment.

"Um.... No." Y/n replied, coming out as more of a question. "Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Wha– No! Oh my god no!" His eyes wide, shaking his head quickly.

He was never good with girls.

Or strangers.

Unless they were his fans; all thanks to their media training and fan service lessons.

She raised her brows. "Should I be offended by how quickly you said that?"

"Oh my god oh my god, let's go please you're embarrassing me." Sofia cried, pushing her brother towards the direction where the rest of the cafe customers were stood, waiting for their drinks. "I'm really sorry about him!"

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Curiosity had gotten the best of him and he was set on figuring out why the girl at the coffee shop looked familiar – dropping by another time.

"Hi familiar stranger." She greeted as he walked into the semi-empty shop, a glaring difference from the other day.

Granted, he stopped by during hours where most would be busy at work or school.

"What can I get you today?"

"Iced mocha please." He said confidently this time.

"Anything else?"

"That's it." Vernon pulled a tight lipped smile, handing her his card.

He was so sure he would have been able to figure it out by now; unable to help himself from staring at her.

Not in a creepy way of course.

No. He was not a creep.

Just annoyed that his brain can't seem to put a finger on why her features looked like someone he has seen before.

He hadn't been in the states in years. Let alone has he been to this particular coffee shop.

But why was she so familiar?

Before he could walk away, he found himself asking the question aloud. Again.

"Are you sure I don't know you?"

"Are you sure you're not hitting on me?" She countered.

He shook his head. "No, I– you just look like someone I know."

Maybe she was a fan.

From a fan sign.

What if she was playing a sick prank, wanting to have her own little cliche moment of bumping into their celebrity crush so that they could organically fall in love with each other.

Not that he was in love.

Nor did he like the girl.

He didn't even know her.

She's pretty. Very pretty– but– oh my god he's staring at her. Shake it off.

"Do you go to fan signs?"

Oh he is about to blow his cover.

"Yeah, totally. I just went to one in Brooklyn– are you stupid?" She replied sarcastically.

She didn't live under a rock. She knew what fan signs were, having heard of them from her cousins when she would visit her grandparents for the summer.

"Taking that as a no." He said slowly.

"Is this some sort of pick up line. You're going to say I look like one of those idols you see when you go to fan signs? It's a really dum–"

He let out a laugh.

If she had only known.

"I told you I'm not hitting on you."

"Says the guy that keeps asking why I look familiar, in a really weird way, I may add."

This was hopeless.

Why did he think he would be able to figure it out this time around?

It was as if there was an itch in his his brain he couldn't seem to scratch. But considering there was no progress in getting any clues as to why the girl looked like some one he had previous encounter with, he'd just have to learn to ignore it.

"I just– it's bugging me– It's whatever." He mumbled, walking over to his drink that was waiting at the counter.

"If it helps, my mom said I have an average face!" She called out.

Little did he know she would later find out who he was, all thanks to her mom's need to watch any and all content that was happening back east.

She had nearly choked on her water that night when his face appeared on screen as her mom watched the latest episode of Happy Together; earning strange looks from both her mom and sister.

Y/n wanted to so badly let the two know that she had not only one but two encounters with the boy on the screen a few months back – for street creds of course.

But she knew they wouldn't believe her.

No one would have.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Moving was one thing.

Y/n didn't mind moving.

Moving to different country.

That was another story.

Due to her grandfather's recent passing, y/n's mother thought it was best to relocate back to their home country to accompany her now widowed grandmother.

Y/n wanted to be selfish.

She wished she had enough guts to fight to say behind, just as her sister had, and complete her masters with her friends. She wished her mom hadn't been fully educated about the transfer program her university had.

If she had only been born two years earlier like her sister, maybe she could have used the "I have a job here that I can't leave behind." excuse.

Don't get her wrong.

She loved her grandmother, and she would do anything for her.

But asking to up root her whole life, to move all the way across the world to leave behind her friends and her boyfriend, was a lot.

Y/n wanted to complain. She wanted to pout. She wanted to throw a fit, like any other toddler who was told they were not allowed the toy they have been asking for but she knew better.

Y/n sucked it up, hiding her disappointment behind a smile each time she came home from yet another day of classes at the university.

A lifestyle she had yet to adjust to.

Pushing past the mess of people, y/n ran down the stairs of the subway station – afraid of missing the train that was set to arrive in just a minute. She had gotten a little too distracted with the shops along the way and lost track of time, forgetting to account for the endless corridors and staircases she had to travel before reaching her set subway line.

She had nearly reached the last step when she felt someone step on the heel of her sneakers, sending her forward in an instant.

Y/n was fully prepared to make contact with the floor, bracing for impact.

But the pain never came.

Instead, a tight grip on her upper arm held her up just enough for her to regain balance.

"Thank you." Y/n turned to the stranger, reaching up to rub where their hand had once been – in attempts to soothe it.

Thanks to their quick thinking, she had been able to save herself from embarrassment and a possible concussion; but that didn't mean it didn't come with a cost.

She could practically feel the bruise forming on her arm where their fingers once was, wincing at the thought of having to explain to her mom and grandmother why she had a perfect hand print bruise on her upper arm.

"Sorry." He apologized sheepishly, coming out as almost a mumble due to the mask that covered half of his face.

"It's fine."

"I uh– let me give you money for uh– cream?"

She raised her brows. She knew there would be a cultural difference once she had moved to the country, but never had she heard of someone being a little too friendly and offering to buy.... bruise relief cream.

It's just a bruise, anyways.

"No need, oh my god." She shook her head, subconsciously reaching over to stop him from grabbing his wallet from his back pocket; instantly retracting her hand when she noticed him flinching at her touch.

Right, this wasn't the west.

They don't do that here.

"Sorry, I– am not."

"From here?" He finished with a chuckle.

"Yeah..."

"I know. I mean– you sound like my sister from back in the states– That's information I didn't need to share."

"Line 6 is arriving." A perky voice blared through the speakers, interrupting the two.

"Shit. Gotta go, don't worry about the bruise!" She spoke quickly, hurrying over to her platform.

To her surprise, the stranger had hopped on to the same cart as her – instantly spotting his all black outfit paired with black fitted hat from a few seats down.

Sh had tried her best to keep herself pre-occupied, looking down at her phone as she pretended to be interested in her instagram feed – not wanting to look like a stalker. It wasn't that she was interested in him.

She had a boyfriend.

No, she was just.... curious.

Something about his voice seemed... familiar.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He was in the same cart as her the following day — easily spotting him as he was dressed in the same ensemble. Just different colors.

This time, he wore light washed jeans and a plain white tee. As opposed to yesterday's all black attire. Not to forget the cap that rested low on his head and mask covering the remainder of his features.

He really did not want to be seen.

"How's the arm?" He asked, taking a seat at the now vacant spot next to her.

Y/n lifted the sleeve of her oversized graphic tee to show him the mark he had left behind. "Purple."

"Sorry again." He winced.

"Saved me from cracking my head open." She shrugged. "You been to New York?"

"Huh?"

Y/n gestured to the embroidered team cap he was sporting.

"Oh uh— kinda?"

"Kinda?" She raised her brows.

"I was born out there." Vernon answered hesitantly.

He wasn't sure if his disguise was, if it could even be considered as one, had been good enough to hide who he really was. He wanted to be careful of any and every information he gave out to her, just in case she was a fan of him and his group.

Not that she seemed to hint that she had any sort of idea of who he was... or seemed to care to figure out who she was speaking to under the mask and hat.

Besides, who's ever heard of an idol taking a subway.

In Vernon's defense, he didn't have a license and didn't feel the need to. It was very rare that he needed to be behind the wheel on his own anyways.

"Cool." She nodded. "Me too."

He let out a soft chuckle, finding her poor attempt to make small talk.... humorous...ly cute.

"What brings you out here?"

"My mom."

"Well yeah–"

"No I'm serious," She laughed, realizing he had probably thought she was making a joke about reproduction. xi. "My mom wanted to relocate."

"Oh my god." He groaned putting his head in his hands out of embarrassment before sitting back up and joining her in her fits of laughter.

"What about you?"

"Also my mom.... and dad."

"Cool."

The sound of the train humming along the tracks filled the silence between the two.

She had yet to figure out how to properly interact with strangers, afraid to come off too strong.

"I'm y/n by the way." She hesitantly brought her hand up, unsure if it was appropriate to shake his hand or not.

"Hansol." He took her warm hands in his cold ones, giving it a quick shake — just in case there had been wandering eyes.

"This is me," Y/n allowed for the train to a complete stop before standing from her seat, turning to give the boy one last smile and wave. "I'll see you around I guess"

She never did.

A part of her wished that he was on the same train again the following day, catching herself craning her neck to see if she could spot him in the mess of crowd that had piled in.

She had done this for three days.

Giving up on the fourth.

Why was she so curious? Who makes a friend on a train?

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Y/n had grown to love the place.

Contrary to what she had made herself believe.

Maybe it was that she had finally adjusted to the culture and the lifestyle of the country, or maybe it was that there was no other reason for her to go back – her boyfriend of three years dumping her on a random Tuesday in May, just days before she was set to fly out to visit him.

So much for the stupid red string theory.

Swearing off relationships, y/n chose to focus on her new job; as a Media Marketing Associate at the new leading entertainment company.

She wanted to make her mother proud – just as her older sister has, who was now a Creative Director for Capitol Records.

Y/n wanted to follow her older sister's footsteps.

At least, if it fate allowed it.

Just before clocking out the night before, her team had received word that one person will be removed – claiming that the workflow needed restructuring.

Y/n wasn't stupid. She knew it meant someone was getting fired.

And judging by seniority, and her being a new hire of two months, she knew she would be the one to be let go.

"Morning." She greeted her coworkers with a sigh.

"Don't look too sad, y/n." Soooyun frowned, knowing that she had nothing but words to offer.

"So much for being a marketing director." Y/n pulled a tight lipped smile, reaching over to turn on her computer.

As if it was any use, considering she may have already had her employee access revoked.

She had been fully prepared to pack up her desk by the end of the day, giving her mother a heads up that she may need to cry in her arms once she got home from work.

But fate was on her side.

"No way." She gasped, scanning the email she had opened. "I'm not fired!"

"What?" Sooyun jumped from her seat, walking over to her desk to read over her shoulders. "We are pleased to tell you that you have been selected to join our subsidiary label's marketing tea– this is good news!"

"Oh my god. I thought I was going to be unemployed!" Y/n cried, continuing to scan through the email. "Wait, what floor is PLEDIS?"

"Eight. Good luck. They're a mess." She snickered, walking back to her desk.

"Oh so I might as well have been fired."

"I'm kidding. They're .... working on it."

"I'm drafting my two week notice."

She never drafter her two week notice.

Instead, the department she had been suddenly thrusted into had welcomed her with open arms — despite half of the team having been around since before the label acquisition.

They were all learning the new groove of workflow that HYBE had standardized for a good portion of their subsidiaries' PR and Marketing department, leaning on one another for support during their onboarding.

She had quickly grown to be comfortable with her new team just as she had with the temporary one from two floors above.

"Y/n, it's your time to shine." Her lead grinned, leaning against her desk. "Sales and PR approved of your tour pitch."

"No way." Y/n gasped, her grin matching his.

"I want you to pitch it to the boys."

The grin quickly fell from her face. "No way."

Yn had known each and every boy by name; especially the boy that she had interacted with years back when she was working at the cafe near her home. But she still couldn't help but feel nervous.

She had done minor research on the men she now worked for, but interactions with them in person was different.

Especially now that she was a grown adult with an almost fully developed frontal lobe.

Y/n had yet to meet the group as a whole, having only met Seungcheol and Woozi in passing on the way to the office — tucked far behind the practice room used by the team.

She knew she wanted to move up in the company, meaning that she would be heading meetings regularly. But she had also yet to assimilate to the workplace — let alone the talents she had worked for.

Almost everyone on the team were comfortable with the boys, each having their own stories about how kind and attentive they were to their staff members.

She wanted to ease into it slowly.

Not thrown into the deep end.

Which seemed to have been occurring far more often than she would like.

"Can't I just be the person that clicks the arrow button for the next slide?"

"It's your presentation. You have it memorized."

"I'll teach you."

"I think that will be tough because meeting is in," He glanced down at the silver watch on his arm. "Ten minutes."

Oh she's definitely drafting her two weeks now.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Nervously standing at the end of the very long conference table, y/n fiddled with the hem of her cardigan — waiting for the group of thirteen boys to file in and take a seat.

The growing sound of booming voices grew louder and louder as each seconds passed; signaling their arrival. It was only a matter of milliseconds before they appeared one by one through the doorway — greeting her and Seongho, her team lead who stood beside her.

Of course, he earned chirpier hi's and hello's — being a part of the team for five years now.

Y/n nearly had to fight her eyes from lingering at the him. He had matured entirely, his shoulders now broad, maybe even gotten taller.... and god that jaw.

He looked good.

She quickly averted her eyes down to the device in front of her before anyone caught her stare – which was quite easy as they all seemed quite busy in their own worlds.

Y/n waited until they were situated in their seats, each small conversation finishing as she tapped away on her laptop that was connected to the projector behind her — instantly catching their attention with the bright colors of the mood board she had put together.

She felt like a teacher standing in front of a group of kindergarteners and she felt their gaze on her — some with hands folded in-front and on the table.

Just like kindergarten.

"Hi everyone, name is y/n." She bowed, using her best customer service voice. "I'll be heading today's marketing pitch."

Y/n was about to open her mouth, ready to start with her first slide when a sudden cough attack caught everyone's attention.

It was him.

"You okay?" Mingyu turned to Vernon, letting out a laugh as he patted his back in attempts to soothe him.

"Yeah, swallowed my water wrong." He croaked, earning laughters from everyone.

"Slow down, yeah?" Minghao chuckled.

Vernon nodded, clearing his throat as he adjusted in his seat. "Sorry, uh, y/n please continue."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

She didn't know which she liked more about her job. The pay.... or the free food.

Not a day had gone by where she did not passed up taking trip to the company cafe on the third floor to get her daily caffeine fix and sweet little treat from the pastry selection that was baked fresh every day.

Yeah.... it was definitely the free food.

Especially now that she had been appointed to lead the marketing for the group's Japan leg of the tour.

It was her fourth day in a row that she had made her way down to the cafe for the second time since clocking in – deeming that one iced coffee was not enough.

Unfortunately for her, there was a line of at least eight people ahead of her and only two barista's working the counter.

This was going to take longer than the ten minutes she had told her team.

Unbeknownst to her, he was stood second in line – his eyes immediately spotting her when she had entered the room.

Not that he was looking for her.

She was just very easy to spot.

She dressed differently than the rest of the staff.

Her style still very much influenced by western fashion.

"Y/n." Vernon called from his spot.

His voice was very easy to recognize.

Once she locked eyes with him, he motioned for her to stand next to him – cutting the rest of those who stood behind.

Not that they would complain.

"Thank you." She bowed hesitantly.

Y/n had yet to be comfortable around him and the rest of the boys, despite having had frequent interactions since the meeting she had delivered months ago.

She was his age and he had specified that it was completely fine to address him like a friend.

They all preferred their staff seeing them as coworkers, people that they could be friends with, instead of land mines that they had to carefully tiptoe around.

"We'll be seeing each other a lot and we hope you'll be around as long as we are... So please, don't think you have to treat us like kings." The leader said after the meeting, formally introducing the team as a whole to y/n.

"How's planning going?" He asked, making small talk.

In all the times he had a run in with the girl, he hadn't been able to properly converse with her. Mostly because it was either he had a other members with him, who were far more outgoing and vocal – leading the conversations. Or he just didn't quite have time.

He would see her in the halls, giving her a nod as a form of greeting and a quick smile before rushing to the practice room.

The last time he had a proper one on one with her was a year ago... at the subway station near his parent's home.

Though, it was just him that knew of that interaction.

He planned to tell her one day. Thinking it would be a fun fact to bring up one day.

He just needed to find the right time.

"Really good, actually. Stressful. But good." She beamed, wanting to spill all that she had managed to accomplish since being assigned the project.

"I'm excited to see all that you worked on– you and the team."

Pulling out her phone from her phone pocket, she quickly swiped through her emails – double checking to see if anyone had been peering over their shoulders before showing him the screen.

It was rough draft of the train decal she had managed to secure with the subway system in Japan – promoting their multiple shows.

"Are we gong to be on a train?" He gasped, zooming into the file.

"Yeah, just got it approved this morning." She smiled.

"Whoa." Vernon was shocked.

He knew their group had been successful, his bank account being the biggest indicator, but he didn't think it had gotten this far.

Vernon was fully aware that they had gotten quiet big; bigger than what they had imagined during their trainee days. But a train.... with all their faces... set to be traveling throughout the country....? That blew his mind.

"Thank you." He handed her phone back.

"Working on gettin it on a plane too." Y/n replied, stepping up to the counter once the person in front of them had stepped away. "Iced hazelnut coffee please."

"Plane?" He gasped, still standing in his spot, mouth agape.

Y/n didn't think it was much of a big deal, remembering that she had briefly mentioned it during her presentation. Along with the VERY generous budget HYBE and PLEDIS had given the marketing team.

She remembered clearly because Minghao compared it to the Hello Kitty plane he had taken once on the way back to China; unable to help herself from laughing.

"Uh.... he'll have an iced mocha." She turned back to the barista, letting out a soft laugh as she stepped away from the front of the line – Vernon following suit.

She had perfectly remembered his order from that day.

Unable to shake it off. Especially not after she realized who he was.

"A plane?"

"It's not for sure yet."

"A plane." He repeated, coming back down to earth. "Wait I didn't order!"

"Oh I got it."

"Did you get me an iced americano?" He deadpanned, knowing that it had been a stereotypical drink that was a crowd favorite. And considering he was lost in his own world, he figured it would have been the safe choice for her to say.

He hated that watered down tar drink.

"Did you want an iced americano?" Y/n asked slowly, scolding herself for ordering the same drink he had picked out when he was a teen.

How was she going to explain this to him?

Without being an absolute creep...

"No but it's fine, I'll give it to Seungkwan."

"I got you an iced mocha."

Welp.

There goes the bomb.

She began planning her escape route.

"Oh." He was left dumbfounded for a second time.

"Uh.... you seem like an iced mocha guy."

That was convincing.... right?

"Should I be offended?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, letting out a small sigh of relief as she walked over to get their drinks from the counter.

Crisis averted.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Y/n didn't intend to stay past her usual work hours. She wasn't one to work a full twelve hour day, not when she can help it.

The first day of the Follow to Seoul was fast approaching, and though she was on the Japan team, she had grown restless as the big day approached. Each and every single marketing deliverables had to be cohesive through out all the stops, regardless of country or city. And considering it was her that had pitched this overall theme, she couldn't help but take extra hours to ensure any and all loose ends had been perfectly tied off.

Y/n was a perfectionist.

She had taken one last glance at the email she had scheduled to be sent to all the staff members the following morning, containing all information relating to the tour; including posting schedules on social media, announcement of later dates, and merch recap.

Content with herself, she closed out of her browser and collected her belongings – heading for the door.

At least she wasn't the last one on their floor, getting accustomed to the group's late night practices. She had one too many run ins with a few members in the past week, each scolding her for staying past the usual 6pm clock out time.

"Didn't you already get an earful from Seungkwan the other day?" Vernon called out from the end of the hall.

He had stepped out of the elevator and instantly recognized her; a smile appearing on his face.

Because he wanted to tease her.

Nothing else.

Looking up from her phone, she let out a laugh. She was caught.

"Shouldn't you be at practice? You're late." She teased right back.

They had met halfway, both with stupid grins on their faces.

Because of the joke.

"I had schedule before this." He defended.

"I was finishing up the last few details." Y/n countered.

His bottom lip jutted out, nodding in understandment. A habit she had noticed he seemed to have done quite often.

"The last train was 30 minutes ago."

"My mom's picking me up."

"That's cute."

She reached over to give his arm a smack, knowing that he was holding himself back from making another joke.

They had finally crossed the weird line that rested between coworkers that made small talk with one another in the work place and coworkers that you'd consider to maybe... just maybe be okay with hanging out with outside of the workplace.

Not that they have ever.

That was still untouchable territory.

Being an idol and all.

The only time they have spent time outside of the office building was during company dinners. A neutral setting.

Sure, they've spent some lunches at the cafeteria together – Vernon unable to pass up free food when he was far too lazy to go off and find other meals outside of the company.

"Ow! That'll bruise." Vernon cried, grabbing the spot where her hand had landed.

"Oh please. I barely grazed it. I would have to grab you really hard to even leave a mark."

"Like when you fell in the subway?" He snorted.

Y/n brows furrowed in confusion, her head tilting to the side. She had never told him about that day in the subway.

She had never told anyone about it.

It was of no significance.

A minor interaction with a stranger.

"How do you know about that?"

Vernon's eyes grew wide at the sudden slip up. "Huh?"

"I never told anyone about that."

"No– no you definitely told me about it. You were falling and this guy saved you from falling."

Or maybe she had.

... Had she?

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He was screwed.

Not only was he screwed but he owed Mingyu and Dokyeom ₩100,00 ... each.

Vernon had a crush.

A big fat crush that had him grinning like a stupid little kid every time he was near her. Hell, he had caught himself grinning while looking at her instagram.

Which took a lot of convincing and a few specially delivered coffees at her desk for him to even pry out of her.

He would spend hours on end that day carefully swiping through to make sure that he did not accidentally like any of her posts.

His fans were smart. Detectives even.

He knew any movement on any social media did not go unnoticed.

All hell would break loose the second they caught wind of him interacting with anyone but his members or fans.

He had managed to deny all claims that he may be attracted to the newest addition to their staff team, and everyone seemed to have bought it.

All except Mingyu and Dokyeom, who had caught the two one too many times in their own world during her lunch breaks.

Vernon had confidently challenged the two to a ₩100,00 bet to prove that they were wrong.

He didn't think they would win.

It was silly little crush.

But she had texted him earlier that day, wanting to talk after work – claiming that she had to confess something.

Since receiving that text, he had been restless; unable to find a comfortable position on his couch and opted to plan out his outfit instead.

He wanted to look good.

Because she's confessing her feelings right?

And if the feelings were mutual.... then why not? Right?

He's allowed to date.

Everyone else around him had significant others.

Why can't he?

Vernon decided being home was not an option, not while his everyone else was home and able to pick up on his behavior.

Coming up with some lame excuse about wanting to practice one last time before they headed off to Japan for their first show, he made his way to their company's designated floor – waiting in the practice room.

He was grateful that she had asked to meet on the one particular day their day off landed on – their managers agreeing they needed rest more now that the non-stop schedules were kicking off.

Vernon was laying on the couch when he heard the door creak open, his head shooting up – eyes immediately locking with hers. He jumped up and off of the couch; adjusting his shirt.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as she grew closer to him.

It began to beat louder once she was a foot from him, his nose instantly filled with her signature scent.

Burberry HER.

He wasn't weird.

He had complimented her months before and she happily advertised the small roll on version of the product she carried with her at all times.

"I hate not smelling good." She reasoned when he had teased her about it.

"How was work?" He asked.

She shrugged. "We finally announced the Follow train and plane. Your fans made a few jokes about how they hope it was you guys flying it too."

He let out a chuckle, aware of the jokes that their fanbase were capable of making – some even making it into the groupchat whenever either one of them found one good enough to send them to tears in laughter.

"Anyways, I have a confession." She wasted no time getting right to the point. "And I already know you're probably going to distance yourself after, but I don't care. It's been literally bugging me for months now."

"It's okay, I– I think I have something to say too." He wiped his hands on his jeans, feeling them grow moist from the anticipation.

"You do?" Y/n was puzzled.

"Yeah but uh... you go first."

"No, now I'm curious." She laughed, picking up on his nervous demeanor.

She was nervous as well, but his.... was little more off putting; the color on his lips draining.

Vernon was glad they were standing, knowing that his legs would have been bouncing enough to shake the whole room from the anxiety he had been feeling.

He had confessed his feelings to someone before. Why was he so nervous?

She was going to do it as well.

Right?

"I– fine." He sucked in a deep breath, locking his eyes with her. "I um, may have a slight, crush– No actually, no I have feelings for you. Positive ones. You know the one that makes me want to kick your feet and giggle when you text the person you like.... That kind."

Y/n's lips formed into an "o".

That wasn't what she was expecting, though.... she should have guessed the minute she picked up on his strange behavior – mentally comparing it to a high schooler when they were around their crush.

Vernon watched as the girl slowly walked over to the couch, taking a seat. His eyes remaining on her as she sat in silence.

"I'm guessing that you were not going to say the same thing."

She slowly shook her head, still in shock.

Welp.

Time to go on a year long hiatus.

He allowed her for a minute of silence, taking a seat on the far opposite end of the couch; silently drumming his fingers on his legs as he tried his best to keep the voices in his head from jumping into further conclusions.

"So I'm uh– going to head out." He clicked his tongue, standing from his seat.

God this was so awkward.

"Wait!" Y/n her voice cracked, finally blinking away the blank stare she had.

Vernon was halfway to the door when she had called out for him, turning his heel to face her.

"Sorry I was... processing." She ran her fingers through her hair. Y/n had many things to consider.

The thing was, she too had positive feelings for him.

But that was the thing.

She was perfectly fine pining for him in silence. She was okay with the one sided admiration. Y/n was completely okay with having him as her work crush, the reason as to why she was that much more motivated to come in when the days felt like a call in sick type of day.

Because just a minute ago, she didn't know he had felt the same.

But now that he had exposed how he felt, it complicated her false reality.

Not only did she realize she might just have a chance with him... she had a chance with an idol.

Someone who was meant to remain unattainable. Only for fans.

Someone who cannot be seen with anyone of the opposite gender.

Someone who she was definitely not supposed to be dating.

Not that he asked her out.... he just told her how he felt.

"I came here to tell you that we met before." Y/n swallowed, walking over to where he stood. "I– we were teenagers. I was working at a cafe and you and your sister came in. I– I didn't know who you were at the time but a few months later I saw you on TV and– I didn't think I would see you again. Let alone work for you. It's been eating me alive since I saw you in the conference room. More now that we're friends. Or... possible ... crushes? I–"

Now it was his turn to be in shock.

"Do you believe in the red string theory?" He blurted.

That damn red string.

Y/n couldn't help but laugh, nodding in response to his question.

Vernon had heard about the red string theory from his mother, she had always entertained all sorts of ideas as such and happily shared it to him and his sister.

He rarely believed in these ideas, such as zodiac signs being able to properly describe someone's personality down to what makes them tick. Listening to his mother ramble on and on out of respect.

"You don't know this but– that day, that you fell at the station... That was me. I was the one that stopped you from falling. That bruise, I– I'm Hansol."

Vernon remembered that day so clearly.

His sister was in town for a quick break from her school back west and he had been paying her a visit at his parent's home – opting to take the public transportation instead of bothering his band of brothers or managers.

He was far too busy trying to keep his profile low as he headed back to his shared apartment when he stepped on the back of her sneakers.

Thanks to his quick reflexes, he had been able to catch her.

He was left in awe of her beauty that day, cursing himself for not approaching her when he had caught her staring from a few feet away.

The second time was purely coincidence.

He was sending his sister off.

He didn't think y/n would be taking the same scheduled train as him.

Vernon wasn't one to take things a sign. But he did just this on time – taking a seat next to the girl.

He didn't think he would see her again.... again.

Especially not as someone heading their marketing meeting.

"I choked on my water that day you were presenting because– I mean, I was surprised that you were there." He continued.

Maybe both her grandmother and his mom were right.

Maybe they did have an invisible string that tied them together.

That must be the only explanation.

"Wait— you— hold up." She reached over, using one hand to hold onto his upper arm; trying to stabilize her now weak knees. "Is this okay? I'm allowed to hold onto— I—"

Vernon felt his ears grow hot, unable to bite back the smile fighting its way to appear on his face. "Yeah this is okay." He nodded.

"Before we circle back to the whole destiny thing," Y/n withdrew her arm back to her side. "I— can't believe I'm saying this out loud, but I... uh— kinda like you too?"

"Kinda ... with a question mark?"

"Okay, I do. I have positive feelings for you."

He felt his heart take a leap.

"Can you give me a second?" Vernon held up a finger before walking over to a corner, letting out a dramatic 'yes!'.

She watched him in awe.... and pure adoration. A larger grin on his face as he made his way back to where he stood.

He was cold and stoic on camera, rarely showing any emotions but she quickly realized that the facade he seemed to put on wasn't who he really was.

Vernon was a dork, an animated and very funny guy who enjoyed teasing her any chance he got. Just like any other boy who had a crush.

There had been countless of times when she found herself wiping away the moisture from her eyes from the stupid corny jokes he told.

"Back to the whole destiny thing."

"It can't possibly be real but... I'll take it. I'll allow it." She laughed.

"You think that little red string is tied to yours?" Bringing his pinky up to their eye line.

"I would hope so."

"Want to test the theory?" He wiggled his finger, earning a giggle from her. "Dinner on me?"

"Let's start with dinner on a plate first."

Vernon's smile fell, using his other hand to fiddle with his pinky.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to untie the string." He chuckled, breaking character.

"You're a loser." Y/n rolled her eyes.

tag list: @leah-rose03 @yoonzinuhh @musingsofananxiouspotato @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @hanniebanggi

#something different for now lol #vernon x y/n #vernon x reader #vernon x you #vernon fluff #vernon fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #red string au #hansol vernon chwe #chwe hansol x reader #vernon x oc

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

Text

Bloodhound Pt. I | chs x reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.5k | Pairing: chs x reader | Genre: romance, supernatural au

Life as a vampire isn't the easiest for Vernon, friend-wise or feeding-wise. He's ready to find a solution, and he thinks it just might be you.

Warnings: blood mentions (i mean it's a vampire fic like ...), non explicit sexual advances from strangers online, suggestive thoughts, involuntary thoughts of violence/murder, the briefest angst (it's me lbr), food mention, mention of being unable to eat

Reader Notes: human, has 2 brothers (i don't name or describe them so they can be other members if u want), currently ungendered (will have breasts and vagina in future smut)

It took a while for Vernon to figure out what happened to him. He still doesn’t know all the details, just that he woke up in an alley with blood all over his clothes and a burning in his throat that wouldn’t cease, and even now, he doesn’t know who did this. Who made him like this.

This being a vampire, of course.

He knew they existed, but in his short twenty five years walking the earth as a human, he doesn’t think he ever met one. He supposes now he has, considering the fact that he didn’t just wake up like this out of nowhere. He wonders if they meant to change him, or if he bit back and managed to get some of their blood in his system before they left him for dead.

Either way, he’s a vampire now, and it fucking sucks. Literally and metaphorically.

There are many cons, and only a few pros, he’s discovered in the six months since he was turned. He can’t go out in the sun anymore, and he’s so strong, he’s broken three phones. Worse than that, he likes the taste of blood now, likes feeling the coppery liquid fill his mouth before he swallows it down, likes the way it soothes his throat and sates his hunger. His brain still screams at him that it’s not normal or right or cool of him to be drinking fucking blood, and the cognitive dissonance gives him a headache every time he feeds.

That’s another con, the feeding. He doesn’t want to just snatch innocent people and drain them dry like his maker did, but he can’t afford blood bags like the rich vampires, and he also hates the synthetic options available on the market. They all have an awful taste, like too sour grapes, and the weirdest consistency, just a bit too thin to alleviate the burning he still feels.

That leaves him to find willing donors, which is surprisingly difficult when you don’t want to fuck them too. He doesn’t have anything against fetishists, but he also doesn’t have a lot of experience, and gaining it with people who only like him because he’s a vampire isn’t what he wants.

He’s tried the apps, tried the matching services, but they all lead to people who just want him for his venom, and he’s grown tired of it. So, he does the next logical thing.

He puts an ad out on Craigslist.

Vernon wakes from his daily rest to find his inbox completely full, his phone buzzing on a near constant vibration with every email received. He props himself up on an elbow in bed (no, he doesn’t sleep in a coffin), and scrolls through, cringing at all of the sexual subject lines and wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have included pictures.

He felt like it was the normal thing to do, share part of himself in hopes someone will share back, but it seems all he’s done is made them feel bolder, made them feel more comfortable being open about what they want from him, even though he clearly put NOT DTF in the listing. But maybe that’s a good thing?

He can easily weed out the people who don’t actually want to help him out, and he doesn’t even have to open every single message to find out who they are. His thumb blurs as he deletes email after email, the amount in his inbox dwindling the longer he swipes, until finally, he’s left with one unread.

The subject line is innocuous enough, [interested in becoming friends with “benefits”], and he opens it to find a picture of you, with your arms extended on either side and seemingly wrapped around something, though nothing appears in the picture. You begin by saying that your two vampire brothers took the photo with you, which explains the empty spaces, and continue to tell him that they were changed against their will, attacked on their way home from seeing Spiderman in the movies a few years ago.

That tugs the corners of his lips down, makes him feel sorry that there are other vamps out there like him, other vamps who didn’t choose this life. He knew he wasn’t the only one, but seeing, or he supposes not seeing proof drives the idea home.

Apparently, they struggled with finding a source of sustenance too, never wanting to turn to you for your blood or your help, and when you saw his post, it made you think maybe you could help someone, in some way.

He’s curious what solution your brothers found, and curious if you’re really offering to be fwbb (friends with blood benefits), but reminds himself to be cautious - this could all be a lie to lure him in, to get his defenses down so you can go after what you really want. He maintains that thought as he types out a reply to you, trying to play it cool and not get his hopes up.

Vernon | hey! im sorry to hear what happened to your brothers, my turning was under similar circumstances. ive been looking for someone for a while, someone who i could feed from without hurting, but maybe also a friend too? Idk i lost most of mine when i was changed, even though i didn’t ask for it, and it would be nice to have someone who understands like it seems you could

Okay, so that didn’t come out cautious at all. He practically laid his soul bare and sent it off to you with a smile (literally he ended the email with his name and a smiling emoji). But it’s already in the void, in the cloud, out of his hands, and now all he can do is wait.

Vernon doesn’t have to wait for long, he finds. You reply within minutes, the buzz making him jump and glance away from the space he was staring into. He does that a lot now, just finds some point in the room and sets his eyes on it, thoughts running through his mind in circles and zig zags and parallel lines.

His phone is still lit up with the email icon, and when he brings it up to his face, it unlocks to reveal a new message from you.

You | Oh no, I hate to hear it happened to you too! Is it still fresh? I know you said you were only turned a few months ago. My brothers wouldn’t even see me for a year after, too concerned that they’d snap and hurt me. I never had that fear, but I never blamed them for it either.

Funny, that’s the fear that drove his friends away in the first place. It’s nice to hear you don’t have it, that you accepted your brothers’ new forms immediately and also accepted their worries, didn’t get upset or hold it against them when they felt they couldn’t be near you for your own safety.

You | I think we could definitely make this work! I have blood and friendship to spare, and you’re in need of both. My only restriction is that I can’t offer too much of the first on weekdays, I teach third grade and I need all my energy to wrangle those kids :-)

So you’re a teacher too? Are you just entirely altruistic or…?

If you are, he thinks this might really be good, maybe even great. His heart would be racing if it could still move, and he can’t stop himself from scrolling back up to find your picture. He didn’t pay much mind to it before, didn’t study your face like he’s doing now, and he really should have before responding to you.

Because you’re beautiful, and he’s in danger.

In danger of what, he doesn’t know, but he can feel it stirring in his belly, burning like hunger and brewing like need, and before he knows it, his fangs are poking at his bottom lip and his dick is throbbing.

But he won’t give in, won’t ruin this with his base desires, won’t become something to fear.

He needs a blood source and a friend, and if he wants you to be both, he can’t be lusting after you like the monster he worries he really is.

Vernon exchanges emails with you for days after that, going over logistics and preferences and possibilities. You decide together that you’ll meet next month, after some time spent getting to know and trust each other, and he decides not to feed from you that first meeting, wanting you to feel comfortable and safe with him before he sinks his teeth into you.

It makes him feel giddy almost, the anticipation of having a friend, of having someone to drink from who doesn’t carry ulterior motives, of having you. Emails become texts which become calls, and soon enough, he’s got the tone and cadence of your voice memorized. He learns how you take your coffee in the morning, knows that you’d both die and kill for your kids, hears the love in your voice when you’re talking about your brothers.

You’re a real, genuine person, and Vernon can’t wait to meet you.

The days and nights fly by now that he has someone to talk to, and it only hits him the week before your meetup that not only will he be meeting you, you’ll be meeting him.

You’ll be seeing and hearing and perceiving him, and suddenly, he’s nervous out of his mind. He hasn’t met anyone that stuck around since he was changed, and he’s all too aware that you could slip out of his life just as easily as you slipped in.

In the days before, he tries to remind himself that you’ve already heard his voice, already seen his face, that you know he’s a vampire and haven’t shown any sign of running.

It doesn’t occur to him to worry about his own reaction to you, which is mistake number one.

Mistake number two is going to your meeting hungry.

You settle into the booth, latte in hand and heart beating out of your chest, and keep your eyes locked on the door. Vernon should be arriving soon, and with so many conflicting emotions razing your thoughts, you don’t know how you feel exactly.

You’re nervous, of course, as you should be when it comes to meeting online people in real life. You’re scared a little, because what if he’s not as harmless as he seems? He is still a vampire, and he could still easily kill you. But you’re also a bit… excited? He’s cute and sweet and in dire need of a confidante, and you think you could be that for him.

Over the weeks spent getting to know Vernon, you’ve grown fond of him, fond of his dry jokes and his media recommendations and his fascinating opinions, and you’re interested to see if your easy back and forth will remain in person.

This should be a good environment to test it out, you think.

You chose this cafe because it’s open twenty four hours, but also because it’s welcoming to vamps, serving a few synthetic options and even carrying donated blood for those with a bigger budget.

What will Vernon get, you wonder? Will he go for synthetic even though he’s admitted to you that he hates it, or will he spring for a blood bag, drink it in front of you with a straw like it’s expensive cherry cola?

Will he buy nothing, deny his hunger and his state of being?

It’s a shame you don’t get to find out.

Vernon takes in a no longer necessary deep breath to steady his nerves and places his hand on the door of the cafe, primed to pull it open. There’s a growl in his stomach, an emptiness that reminds him he didn’t have a chance to feed before, and he pushes it down, drowns it out, ignoring it for all he’s worth.

There’ll be time later, after he finally meets you.

His hand is steady as he pulls the door open but his ice cold heart is in his throat, lodged there like something he can’t swallow down.

“Come on in!” The barista calls out, allowing him to cross the threshold and enter the cafe. He nods in thanks and starts to scan the tables for someone familiar, someone whose picture he definitely doesn’t look at before he lays himself to rest every morning. His eyes catch on a hand raised, one that leads down a soft arm to a gently sloped shoulder and up a tantalizing neck to a sweet, kind, open face. Your sweet, kind, open face.

He grins, beams really, and races over, stirring napkins and shifting chairs with his sudden movement. He’s about to slide into the booth across from you when it hits him.

Your scent.

It’s like a brick wall smashing into him, every sane, rational thought in his head scattering like rubble in the wake of your natural perfume, unmarred by synthetic smells and caustic chemicals like so many others out there.

Instantly, the burning in his throat starts, except this time, it’s an inferno, a supernova of pain and need and desire and hunger screaming at him to take take take. His fangs shoot out, bursting through his bottom lip and making him cover his mouth, frantically backing away from you with his eyes wide and his other hand held out to keep you in the booth when it looks like you might follow him.

He bumps into tables and chairs as he flees, his blazing red eyes still locked with yours, part feral, part apologetic. The door slams behind him but he doesn’t hear it as he runs, his ears full of a roaring voice telling him that he’s going the wrong way, that he needs to go back to you and steal you and keep you and sip drink devour until you’re his, all his, until you’re glassy eyed and your heart is slow and your breaths are even slower.

Which is fucking terrifying, the thought of ever hurting you like that, of wanting to hurt you like that, making him shake with rage at himself and despair over likely blowing it with you.

He’s miles out of the city before he stops running.

When he finally does, he turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings and attempting to find his humanity again even with his mind still screaming at him to find you and fucking kidnap you. His clothes are torn and his bones are aching and his stomach is empty, so very, very empty, but nothing is worse than the shame.

He wasn’t strong enough for you. He wasn’t in control, wasn’t even capable of sitting across from you without wanting to drag you over the table and either kiss you breathless or suck you dry.

Numbly, he sinks to the ground, laying himself out on the forest floor and staring up at the moon peeking through the trees.

He feels like it’s taunting him.

The moon used to be his friend, back when he was human. He was a perpetual night owl, always staying up late with his curtains open and music blaring and the light of the moon filtering in through the window. His roommates didn’t mind the noise because they were all making their own, and it wasn’t often any one of them would be sleeping before the sun came up.

He lived most of his life at night and slept during the day, wasting the sunshine and warmth and normal waking hours like the ungrateful bastard he was.

He can remember the moon that night. The night he was bitten.

It was a blood moon, foreshadowing trouble around the bend, and it’s about the only thing he does remember before the agony blinded him and his memories started to flicker through his brain, going too fast for him to make sense of much.

Some stood out, like when his baby sister came home for the first time, screaming and crying until she set those big eyes on him and fell silent, transfixed. Or when he was thirteen and broke his arm sledding in Prospect Park, pretending after that it didn’t hurt because all his friends were watching, waiting for tears. Or when he got a full ride at Berklee for music production, every exhausting day sped up and reduced to a flash before he saw himself walking across the stage and shaking the Dean’s hand.

He succumbed to the encroaching darkness soon after, the red moon growing nearer and nearer in his mind’s eye. He awoke hours later, just minutes before the sunrise, with his throat on fire and his body feeling like someone else’s.

This moon is full and silver, friendlier looking than the last one he remembers, but no less foreboding.

This moon is the one he ruined everything under.

He’s sure any chance he had with you is gone. Any chance to be your friend or maybe even more, as he’s realizing only now that he did want more. Does want more.

How could he not, when you matched his energy, met him quip for quip, made him a playlist and a hypothetical skincare routine? When you devoted so much of your time to helping others and still made some for him? When you’re so beautiful inside and out, that it would take his breath away if he needed to breathe?

How could he ever not want more with you?

You stare down at your undoubtedly cold latte and furrow your brows, scrunching your mouth to the side as you remember how Vernon ran from you.

The barista has already been by to check on you, and you can still feel their eyes every so often, concern and pity rolling off of them in waves. You appreciate their empathy, but you feel a bit raw, a bit on edge, and you wish you could just burrow into the booth and go unseen. You’d leave but too many people who witnessed it remain, and you don’t have it in you to walk past them just yet.

That leaves you to wrap your trembling hands around the mug and bring it up to your lips, attempting to act like nothing is wrong. Like it’s normal for your possible friend and perhaps crush to dash away at one whiff of you.

You have to assume that’s what happened. He seemed so happy to see you, his mouth stretching wide in a smile and his hand coming up to mirror yours as he zoomed over in a blur. The wind he created made you laugh but it also rustled your hair, blew it away from your neck and probably wafted the scent of your rushing blood toward him.

You don’t wear perfume or use fragranced products, your brothers’ noses are too sensitive for that, and you bite your lip, considering that perhaps you should have just this once. Your brothers are old enough to be able to control themselves but Vernon isn’t.

He may be twenty five in human years but in the vampire world, he’s still a baby, and you didn’t approach him as such.

Fuck, this is all your fault.

You sip down the latte slowly, the rich bittersweetness heavy on your tongue, and take a small bite of the cake the barista brought over while you were stewing in your thoughts. It settles like a stone in your belly and you push it away, unable to eat with the idea that you may never see or hear from Vernon again blaring in your mind.

It’s only been a few weeks since you started talking to him but he feels… special. Important. Like someone who’s meant to be in your life. You’d hate to go back to not having him in it, especially now that you know what it’s like with him around.

Everything is brighter, happier, more vibrant. You wake with a smile on your face knowing you’ll have a goodnight text from him, countdown the minutes from sunrise to sunset knowing he’ll call you as soon as he opens his eyes, go about your day wishing you were sleeping next to him instead.

You don’t want to be a vampire, but by God you really think you could love this one.

So you’re not going to let him go that easily. You’re not going to let him fade into the night, never to be seen again. And you’re definitely not going to let him be alone anymore, not like he has been since he was turned.

With determination alight in your veins, you unlock your phone and find Vernon’s contact, pressing call and assuming he’ll send you to voicemail. You have a lot to say, and you’ll be glad to get it off your chest. You’re surprised when a ragged voice greets you, sounding, for all intents and purposes, dead inside.

“Hello?”

“Vernon?” You gasp desperately, any thought of a speech gone from your head as soon as you hear his voice.

“Y/n?” He gasps back, suddenly full of wonder and light and life. “I didn’t check before I answered, I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Why can’t you believe it’s me? We talk every day,” you joke halfheartedly, not even trying to suppress the frown at his response.

“I thought you’d never want to speak to me again after I went feral like that,” he confesses, shame and dejection obvious in both his words and his voice.

“Vernon, you didn’t go feral. Feral would have been killing me. You ran instead, hell, you protected me!”

“Yeah, from myself,” he laughs acerbically, making you roll your eyes at his self-deprecating tone.

“Listen, you’re still new. My brothers had run-ins like this too, it’s not a sign of your character or your control. It’s just a byproduct of your nature, you can’t help it,” you insist, pleading with him to understand and stop blaming himself.

“That almost makes it worse! The fact that there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can change. I don’t think I can see you until I figure this out,” he sighs regretfully, and somehow you can picture him shaking his head, his brow furrowed and his mouth tight.

“What are you going to do until then? How are you going to feed?” You ask in concern, knowing it’s already been a few days and selfishly wanting him to change his mind.

“I don’t know, I’ll spring for the blood bags and try some synthetic too,” you can tell he’s shrugging, and his nonchalance at being able to fucking eat has you lighting up with anger. You tamp it down, try to temper it, but your anger isn’t just at him.

You’re upset with the world, with the greedy overlords who decide the price of life, with the asshole who took Vernon’s away from him, with the fact that he may never be able to control himself around you. Talking has been enough for the last month but that’s just with you in the crush phase.

What happens when you finally fall in actual facts love with him?

“Vernon…,” you start, not knowing where you’re going but knowing where you want to finish (with his teeth in your neck and your body on top of his).

“Y/n, I’m not risking you.”

He sounds as firm as you’ve ever heard him, and you feel the anger ramp up and then wash away as you realize you’re simply not going to win. There is still a way you could help him though. It might be tedious and painful, but you’re willing to endure it for Vernon.

“What if I go to a donation center and have them reserve it for you? You’d just have to tell them your name and show your ID and you could drink my blood instead of paying for bags. You may still need to supplement with synthetic but together they could tide you over until we can meet again.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few minutes, minutes you spend picking at your nails and going over tomorrow’s lesson plan in your head. You doubt he realizes how long he’s been thinking about it, but you’re not going to rush him when it’s likely that his hasty answer would be no.

“I don’t know… I could still- You’d have to be so far away from me, I couldn’t even smell you,” he sounds unsure, apprehensive, and you don’t want to force him into it but you know this is the best solution.

“You could wait a day or two before going to pick it up? It’ll be less fresh but maybe by then my scent will have faded,” you offer, nearly ready to beg him to say yes.

A few more beats follow, your breathing steady and calm though your heart is racing, galloping in your chest as you wait for his response. You just want to know Vernon is happy and healthy and fed, you just want to take care of him. It seems like no one has done that in a long time, maybe since even before he was turned.

“Okay, we can try,” he still sounds reluctant, but there’s an edge too, a determination that wasn’t there before.

You bite back the squeal, vibrating in your seat as you look up centers nearby. There’s one just down the street and it’s open twenty four hours, so realistically, you could go right now.

“I’ll donate tonight, just don’t change your mind in the next couple days, okay?” You rush to say, grinning and relaxing in the booth when you hear him let out an easy laugh.

“I’ll do my best,” he chuckles, and though you know you should hang up and get going, you can’t help but linger.

“Did you make it back to your apartment alright?” You ask, realizing you don’t hear any music or TV in the background like you normally do.

“Ummm, I think I might be in Connecticut actually.”

He’s not nearly as bothered by this as you are, he even sounds almost carefree compared to how he first picked up the phone.

As if he can anticipate your responses, he says, “I’m not coming back until you’re home safe, okay? With the door locked.”

“You don’t even know where I live,” you remind him, jest in your voice and fondness in your heart.

“That doesn’t matter. I could find you anywhere with how good you smell,” his admission sounds apologetic almost, like he’s sorry for wanting your blood so bad he could find you by fragrance.

Honestly, you preen a bit, flattered that you seem to affect him so.

“Let me go to the blood bank and get you squared away first, then I’ll go straight home and lock all my locks,” you can hear the smile in your voice, hear the affection, and you wonder if Vernon hears them too. You hope he does.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

AN: i was super excited to kickstart baby vamp vernon so i figured i'd post on his (and dk's) birthday!! this was inspired by a series of asks, but mainly this one. it got a bit more plot heavy than i expected but i'm having a good time so far!! i have the second part written already and i'm hoping to write part three before i release part two just so i can stay ahead of it and yall don't have to wait too long!

pls pls pls reblog and lmk how you liked it! you don't know how happy it makes me to see your thoughts and feelings on my work, they're my fuel to keep sharing my writing 🥰

*warnings for this were a bit tricky so if you think i missed anything, lmk and i'll be happy to add it!

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Part II

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