#hansol

you’re taken aback by his words — you were completely unaware that this was something he was into. sure, he’s in absolute heaven whenever he eats you out, but sitting on his face is something you’ve never done before.

but you’re into it.

he watches as you hesitate for a moment before pulling your panties down to your ankles, stepping out of the wet garment. your skin feels hot as you crawl onto him, slowly inching your way up before you settle on his chest, the fabric of his plain white tee shirt brushing against your clit.

“are you sure?” you ask, eyes searching for any sign of hesitation. he nods, hands tugging at your hips.

“never been more sure in my life, pretty girl.” and those are the last words that come out of his mouth before he lifts you up and brings your cunt to his face. his breath is hot against your wet folds, and it tickles with stimulation ever so slightly. your hands grip ahold of the headboard — apparently just in time as he slams your hips down so his mouth fully makes contact with your cunt, a surprised moan ripping from your chest.

his tongue swipes and pokes at your desperately wet folds and clit, hips already shaking from his touch. somehow, sitting on his face amplified the feeling so much more than you expected.

“fuck, sol..” you whine, throwing your head back as your hips unintentionally roll against his face. he moans into your pussy, vibrations running up and down your spine.

“taste s’good,” he mumbles from beneath you, even the way he talks sparking pleasure throughout your body. biting your lip, one hand leaves the headboard to become entangled in his hair, something you dearly missed doing while he had a buzz cut. your grip tightens around the strands, and he groans, sucking your clit between his lips.

pathetic whines fall from your lips as his grip around your thighs tightened, hiding you down against his face.

“fuck you’re so good at this, gonna cum soon,” you whimper, using your hand to push his face deeper into your cunt. his tongue works wonders — moving and stroking in ways you didn’t know was possible, leaving your inner thighs to tense and tremble.

“use me,” he grunts, making himself work harder just to get you off. fuck, he’s so hot. you look down, and just the sight of him is almost enough to get you off — his face his slightly pink, glossy brown eyes hidden behind hooded lids of pleasure, his hair caught in between your fingers. in determination, you bring your other hand to entangle in his hair, holding him with both hands as your rock your hips back and forth.

he moans deeply as you begin to ride his face, both the action and the delicious pain of you tugging on his scalp has his poor cock begging for friction and release. your moans and whines fill the room as he lets you use him as you please, clit brushing on the textured muscle of his tongue. he lies there peacefully, slurping up any juices and taking what you give him.

“fuck… fuck m’so close, fuck hansol…” you babble, drool almost escaping through the corner of your mouth. your hips stutter with the pace once, twice, and until you have no control over them.

the room is disgusting, echos of your moans and vernon’s mouth bouncing off of each other as you cum all over his face, just the way he wanted it. your fingertips loosen the grip you had on his hair as your legs shake, turned gelatinous and unable to move.

he moves you off his face, coming up for deep breaths of air, and he fucked out expression on his faces makes you want to go for round two.

“you're so romantic when you don't need to be,” you reply, lifting your finger. his turns to look at you, brown eyes finding yours.

“why'd you stop?”

“i don't know,” you shrug. “felt like i was disturbing your peace.”

vernon takes your hand and places it on his chest. you feel his heart under your fingers. steady. constant.

“that's weird. because you're...”

you know it's too much. he knows it's too much. but you wait for him to continue.

and he does.

“you're my peace.”

you can't help the startled laugh you let out. it's a statement so unlike vernon, but it's exactly what he'd say to make you laugh. and it's worked like a charm.

he winces. “too much?”

you nod. “a little. i don't mind hearing it again, though.”

“hm. i'll consider it.”

you roll your eyes and cuddle closer to him, peeking at whatever he had been doing before you started your little game.

watching a cat video. of course.

“that's us,” he says, pointing to the pair of cats that are intertwined with each other, one's head nestled into the other's neck.

“you say that about everything, though,” you complain jokingly, your heart beating a little faster. “last week you sent me a picture of two socks and said it was us.”

“that's because it was us,” he says, scrolling to the next video. “we're always together. just like how you tie them together when you do the laundry.”

“but...they're socks.”

“exactly. we don't need to match to be a pair, babe. you could be the craziest, coolest christmas-style sock and i could be a plain grey sock and we'd still work. because it's us.”

“oh,” you say, tears stinging your eyes. vernon looks up at the tremble in your voice, dropping his phone to hold your face in your hand.

“are you cr—”

“no!” you exclaim, a little shrill. “just...dust.”

“oh. right.”

“allergies, you know?”

“all of a sudden? come on,” he says, kissing your forehead. “you know i'd never make fun of you for crying.”

“stop being so romantic when i'm not ready for it,” you say, trying to wipe the lone tear straying down your face.

vernon is faster; he wipes it off with his thumb and kisses the spot. “noted. i'll warn you five seconds before i become the cheesiest person you know.”

“thank you,” you sniff, burrowing yourself in his side. “and, hey, vern?”

“yeah?”

Vernon showed love in a lot of different ways, and he had known from the moment he met you, that he loved you. 

The two of you had always understood each other, unlike most people you were not put off by his quiet nature. Instead you saw it as a safe place to be yourself, which had always meant you would talk his ear off with whatever had caught your attention that day or week. 

And his favorite pastime was to listen to the things you had discovered and the things that brought you joy. 

It didn’t matter to him that people didn’t understand him or his soul, because as long as you did, he knew that he would be okay. 

As he had grown older his thirteenth birthday had started to loom over him as a dark cloud, it held so much promise and so much anxiety. So when he had woken without any kind of mark he had been a little disappointed at first. 

But when your birthday had come and gone and no mark was on your skin either he clinged to the hope that the two of you were in fact each other’s other halves. 

The days following he had started to notice that he hurt himself more often than usual, which was weird because the pain usually seemed to come at times where he was certain he did in fact not stump his own toe. 

And when he started to notice the bruises on your legs seemed to match where he hurt himself that hope in his chest grew, and despite that he grew more and more certain for each passing day, he never spoke up. 

When Vernon had left his home behind to train under Pledis the two of you had hugged each other goodbye with tears in your eyes. And you had squeezed his hand thrice. 

“It means that I miss you, and that I love you” you had said with a blush on your cheeks. 

His heart had felt like it was about to explode right then and there. All he did was return the three squeezes and as soon as he had, he had caught you as you once again threw yourself into his arms. 

The training was hard, it took stamina, motivation and a tough skin. The guys were all kind, and as the days passed they all got closer and closer. 

When the talk of their soulmate marks finally came he had chosen to keep you to himself, not because you were a secret, they had all heard the stories of his best friend back home, but he was not ready to share the hope in his heart with anyone yet. 

He was not ready for anyone to pressure him to confess the feelings he had. He was not ready for anyone to push him down a hole of despair if he was wrong. So instead his brothers knew you as his best friend. 

It took years before anyone finally noticed how his eyes shone brighter when he talked about you, and how he had a special smile and laugh reserved for whenever he talked to you. 

Joshua had been sitting in the studio while Minghao was in the booth, quietly observing his younger brother as you had been talking to one another on a facetime call. It had become a weekly occurrence after you had moved overseas. One he had explained as just wanting to keep in touch with an old friend, when Mingyu had asked with suspiciously raised brows. 

As the time difference finally caught up to you, and you had fallen asleep, Joshua had seen how Vernon's hand had reached out to gently caress your cheek on the screen before silencing the call to not disturb your sleep. 

“You love her” he had said with a quiet voice. 

Vernon's head had quickly turned towards his brother in a panic, cheeks reddening as his brain tried to come up with an excuse for the action. 

Joshua had only smiled at his brother. “Is she your soulmate?” He had asked as he crooked his head a little to the left. 

Vernon had coughed once. “I don’t know” 

“She’s your best friend, how can you not know?” 

He shrugged once as he completely left Minghao behind in the booth, leaving the man as one giant question mark when no music and no direction came his way. 

“We’ve never discussed it. I’ve never had the heart to talk to her about it, because what if she’s not? It would be devastating knowing she belonged to someone else, that she wasn’t mine…” 

He looked down at his hands, completely avoiding his brother's gaze. Then the door opened and Minghao stepped in, and just as he was about to scold his producer for the day, he physically felt the tension in the room, and locked in. 

“But what if she is?” Joshua said as he moved over on the couch to make room for Minghao. 

Vernon buried his head in his hands as he took a deep breath. 

“Leave him Joshua, love is difficult enough, and I’m sure he has thought over every scenario more than a thousand times” 

He quickly looked up at his two brothers with raised brows. “How did you know?” 

Minghao only laughed. “You’re not exactly subtle you know? If it helps I’m pretty sure the feelings are reciprocated” 

That sentence made him smile as he leaned back in his chair and once again looked at your sleeping face on his phone screen. 

“They say you can physically feel a pull in your chest when you meet your soulmate, do you feel that with her?” Joshua asked. 

He nodded. “I’ve felt that with her since before I got my mark, but it’s been so long I’m not sure if it’s something I’ve made up or if it’s actually there” 

Minghao nodded before he once again stood up. “You won't know until you tell her” 

Much like Vernon you were terrified that a confession would lead to you losing your best friend, because what if his mark was different from yours? It would be the biggest heartbreak. 

So instead you had been subtle with your interest in him. You complimented for his music, which only seemed to make him pursue it more and suddenly he told you that he had taken your advice and had started producing and writing music. 

You complimented his clothes one time and now it seemed that his entire closet was only filled with polo shirts and jeans. 

You had thanked him one morning for staying on facetime with you even though you had slept for hours, and now he refused to be the one to hang up. 

It was these small things that always made you wonder if he did in fact love you the way you had always loved him. 

From the very beginning there had been a pull there, something that made you look twice whenever you heard his voice. A pull that made you know he had entered a room before he made himself known. 

When his mark came he said nothing, and when yours came he didn’t say a single thing either. For a while you wondered if that meant he didn’t want it to be you, but he only seemed to give you more attention from that day. 

When he moved away a part of your heart had moved with him, it felt as if you weren’t quite whole, and when you moved overseas that feeling had taken up more and more space in that uncomplete heart of yours. 

But those three squeezes you had given his hand when he had left, was now a part of your daily routine, because he had started to pinch his own hand thrice afterwards, an action you felt everyday. 

When the guys started to find their other halves Vernon started to yearn for you even more than he had done before. 

Both Minghao and Joshua had been slightly annoyed with him at first, his other half was right there, loving him just as he loved her, yet he refused to do anything about it. 

Their annoyance had however disappeared as soon as they had found their other halves. Which had led to that exact moment of him now waiting for you in an airport. 

He had invited you to stay with him a few weeks after Joshua had found his other half. You had some time off, and he missed you so terribly that he had personally bankrolled your entire trip. 

Despite all of your protests, you had let him spoil you, because you too wanted to see him. 

Vernon wasn’t one to run to you in the airport, instead he stood in a corner with crossed arms, and the second you were within reach he had pulled you as physically close to him as he could. 

Letting the smell of you engulf him as he took a minute to breath you in, all the while he tried his best to convince that little heart of his to calm down. 

It was as if a part of his soul had returned to him, as if he for the first time in a year could take a full breath. 

As the two of you pulled away from one another, he gently took your suitcase and with your now free arm you grabbed onto him as if you had done it every day of your life. You felt him stiffen beneath your touch, and for a second you considered if it was too much too soon. 

But as soon as you started to let go of him, he captured your arm with his own, and you soon felt the two of you relax into each other's touch. 

You had decided on the flight that this was the trip where you found out just who he was to you. If he was your other half, if he was your person. 

The two of you talked all the way back to his apartment, and due to all the late night and early morning facetime calls there was no real awkward silence. You just picked up the conversation right where you had left it. 

When you got there your stomach made a loud sound and you went straight for the kitchen, and slowly started pulling ingredients out of the cupboards all the while he sat down at the kitchen island to keep you company. 

It was so natural being with him. It was a feeling of being both safe and feeling utterly excited all at once. 

His phone made a sound. Have you confessed yet? the message read from Joshua. 

He quickly shut his phone off, it didn’t matter that you were too occupied with making dinner and couldn’t see it. 

No, he had planned all of this out. Tonight he wanted to just enjoy the two of you together, and tomorrow he would take you on a trip down memory lane, a trip through your friendship with one another, a trip through every major emotion he had ever felt towards you, and then he would…

He felt the gust of wind coming from the door of the fridge as you slammed it shut. But before he had a chance to even look up and figure out just what you were doing, he felt the pain. 

The pain of four of his fingers being caught in the door of a fridge. He winced from it, and without even thinking about it he was right there by your side in a second. 

“Are you hurt?” he scanned your face, as he saw how the tears welled in your eyes. 

His own hurt hand came to caress your cheek, and dry the tears away. 

“What the hell are you thinking darling?” His eyes searched yours for answers as you didn’t answer him with words. 

Your tears just kept falling, so in the end he just pulled you into his chest as he gently let a hand run through your hair. 

He heard you mumble something into his chest, he hummed slightly to make you repeat your words as he adjusted his stance so he could hear you without letting you go. 

“You felt it…” It wasn’t much louder than a whisper, but it was enough for him to stiffen. 

He pulled you away from his chest and looked down at those still tearfilled eyes. 

He took your hurt hand with his, and kissed the exact places the door had made contact. His own eyes had filled with tears so when he looked at you, his eyes mirrored his own. 

“I’ve felt everything, every tiny bit of pain, every sumped toe, every corner or door frame you have walked into. I’ve felt all of the pinches and squeezes that come in three that you’ve sent my way. I’ve felt every bit of it, and I’ve hoped and hoped that it was you sending all the pain to me, so that I one day could feel the world's greatest pleasure of finally calling you mine” 

Your arms flung around his neck and he pulled you closer than ever before, fully ready to claim as much as you as you allowed. 

It wasn't that this scenario was particularly funny, but the sheer relief of finally being able to express how you felt freely knowing that he felt the exact same, knowing that he always had. 

He lifted you up from the ground and set you down on the kitchen table. 

He kissed you left cheek once. Then your right. He nuzzled his nose against yours before finally looking at you with those eyes. Those dammed eyes. 

He kissed your lips once, quick, then once more. For every kiss they became longer and more passionate, and before you knew it he had laid you down on the surface and were crawling over you as his lips claimed every bit of skin he had access you. 

The sounds you made were the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and he knew now that he would never run out of inspiration ever again. 

The two of you had spent the entire night entangled in one another, catching up on years of intimacy. 

Your head gently rested on his chest, as his hand gently caressed a shoulder. He was silent, just looking at the ceiling. 

“How am I ever gonna leave you tomorrow?” The question wasn’t really aimed at you, but you twisted around and rested your chin on him as you took him in. 

If you could, you would take a mental picture of him like this. Eyes shining, messy bed head and a subtle shine on his skin. 

You smiled and he returned it before his hand left your shoulder for your hair and he gently started playing with it. 

“We’ll have a lifetime to catch up on those few years we missed” 

You physically saw his pupils dilate. “Say that again” 

His voice was quiet, gentle. 

“You will have a lifetime with me” 

Vernon was anything but exhausted when he was finally back in the practice rooms of the HYBE building. 

It was as if this had been the boost he had been missing. He was more energetic and more vocal than he had been in quite a while. 

Joshua and Minghao had both given each other a knowing look when he had entered that morning with a smile on his face and that well known spark in his eyes. There was no doubt that your visit had gone the way they had all hoped that it would. 

The two of you had made a plan, that you would stop by around lunch time and that he would finally introduce you to all of his brothers as his other half. 

All thirteen of them had known and met you through both calls and facetime, but this would be the first time that you would actually meet. 

He got more and more excited the closer the time came. And when he got the text message that you were officially on your way, that well known smile of his, was on full display. 

“I’m assuming that everything went well?” Joshua said as he leaned against one of the walls, close to the corner where Vernon had fled to, to respond to you. 

“Yah, hyung… It was everything and more than I could’ve dreamed of” He looked up from his phone and smiled. 

Joshua returned it. “So when are you gonna introduce her to everyone?” 

“She’s on her way, should be here soon. I just have to get her, her pass and everything so I might need to step out for few minutes” 

His older brother nodded. There was pride blooming in Joshua’s chest, pride that his brother finally showed his love what he had held in his heart for so long. 

“What did she say about the grand gesture?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Vernon only smiled. “We never really got that far” it was almost as if he was taken back to that moment once again, as if he was reliving it once more. 

His eyes glassed over, and he silently bit his lip. 

“Damn” Joshua said, and luckily for Vernon it was enough to snap him back to reality. 

He felt it then, those three little pinches on his hand. He smiled and as he opened his mouth to speak the pinches continued. 

It was panicked, desperate. His smile stiffened and his eyes lost all of it’s spark, to him it felt as if time itself were moving in slowmotion. 

“Something’s wrong… Josh, find her” 

Then the pain hit his body, instant, out of the blue and overall all consuming, and everything became dark. 

Something heavy was laying on his legs when he finally woke up, he moved and heard a silent whine as whoever the person was hugged him tighter.

He opened his eyes to find Chan there, silent but grateful tears streaming from his eyes. 

“Hyung, how are you feeling?” He said with a sad smile. 

Vernon didn’t respond, instead he searched every part of his soul for that small light that was you, and it was still there that thread of light that connected the two of you. 

Jihoon laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Take your time little brother, we got you” 

And as Vernon looked around the room he saw half of his brother's eyes, all worried, some red, some tired. 

Minghao ran a hand through his hair gently. “She’s okay, she’s in the next room” 

Vernon tried to speak but his throat was too dry to get a word out. 

“A car ran a red light, two streets over, Joshua was there before the paramedics, he and the rest haven’t left her side since” 

It felt like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. You were safe, you were okay. 

“Ho-how l-lo” Was all he managed to get out before Seungcheol came with a glass of water. 

“It’s only been one night, the last update we got was that she was still out like a light” 

He tried to sit up but his entire body was sore and hurting. 

“I need to get to her” he said with a groan, if this was how he felt, he knew you were feeling so much worse. 

It was his job to take care of you. His job to protect you. As much as he treasured his brothers for looking out for you, he needed it to be him. 

“You need to rest” Seungkwan said as he dried his nose. 

“Are all of you seriously telling me you would not run to your soulmates had you been in my situation?” He couldn’t help but laugh, but the sound was hallow, almost cold. 

The six men looked between them, a silent conversation that ended with Seungcheol getting a wheelchair. 

It took them so long to get him out of bed and over to the chair, and as soon as he was in it he was out the door. 

Mingyu opened the door to your room with a little smile and a pad on his back. He was by the side of your bed in less than a second. 

He reached out and grabbed your lip hand, and then the 12 members of Seventeen watched as their brother fell apart. 

“Don’t you dare never waking up from this, don’t you fucking dare” he said between the kisses he placed on the back of your hand. 

Seokmin turned his eyes up to the ceiling to not let his tears fall. 

“She’s a fighter, she’ll come back to you” Jun said as he gently stroked his brothers back with soothing strokes. 

“You are mine, and I am yours. In every life before this and every life after” 

He gently raised a hand to remove a strand of hair from your face. 

“You promise?” A hoarse and low voice said. 

“Oh thank fuck” it was the only thing he could think of saying, he could hear how the room shifted then, how his brothers left the room to give you the privacy you both deserved. 

It didn’t matter that his body ached every time he moved, nothing mattered except you. 

He gently moved you enough so that he could fit on the bed you were laying on. 

He could feel your body ache as you stretched your arms to hold him. 

Every move he made was slow and focused on hurting you as little as possible. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay” he whispered into your hair as he breathed you in. Despite the very distinct hospital smells, you still smelled like you always had. You still smelled like home. 

“I’m never leaving you - if we go we go together” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a little morbid, don’t you think?” 

He could feel your smile. “Maybe a little, but if you ask me I think it’s a brilliant plan” 

As usual he had to agree with you. 

As you recovered he never left your side. He was there to hold your hand through ever test and scan. 

There was no doubt in your mind that the hospital staff couldn’t wait until you were discharged, but he refused to let you leave before they had checked everything twice. 

It meant that your first meeting, your first awake meeting, with all his brothers happened in a hospital room. 

“Joshua” you said with a huge smile as he stepped forward with an otherworldly beauty on his arm. “I remember you” 

Joshua had gotten to you so fast that you could actually remember seeing his face before you passed out. 

He nodded. “Yeah, don’t think I’ve ever moved as fast as that day” the woman next to him rested her head on his shoulder. 

“My hero” she said as she pulled him close to her. 

Vernon nodded. “Mine too” 

Your soulmate gently kissed your temple. 

The guys had competed for second place, and had boasted proudly of just how they had taken care of you and Vernon the days after the accident.

Their bickering was entertaining, and absolutely hilarious. Vernon had to send them out multiple times because they made you laugh so hard that your whole body physically hurt. 

The girls had been stoked that they now had a 12th sister to talk to, and each and every one of them had given you a little gift as welcome to the group. 

Your heart felt full of love, and despite the room being filled to the brim most days it had everything to do with him. 

Through it all he was there, right next to you, loving you, as he always had, as he always would.

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His hand flattens against your stomach. There’s no rush to the movement—just his palm, warm and broad, fingers splayed so that his pinky grazes the waistband of your panties. You’re suddenly aware of how little you’re wearing. The tank top you’d pulled on before collapsing into bed last night, the plain cotton panties, the complete absence of a bra. Your nipples tighten against the fabric, and you know, you know he can feel it because his chest is pressed right against your shoulder blades.

“You’ve been waiting?” you whisper.

A soft laugh. His thumb traces a slow arc just below your navel. “You have no idea.”

Over the years, the two of you have built a whole language out of almosts. The way he’d tickle your sides until you gasped, and then his hands would linger. The afternoons you’d sit on his lap while watching a movie, and you’d shift just slightly and feel him hard beneath you, and neither of you would say a word. The nights he’d kiss your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, and you’d pretend not to notice how his breathing changed.

A small furrow forms between your brows as the numbers click together in your mind. You twist your head slightly, trying to look back at him over your shoulder.

"Why now? Why nineteen?" you ask, the words soft but curious. "Why not... last year? When I turned eighteen?"

Vernon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if soaking in the sheer reality that he doesn't have to pull away anymore. His grip on your waist tightens, just a fraction, anchoring you against him.

"Still too young, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your skin that sends a shiver straight down your spine. His thumb resumes its slow, torturous stroke across your stomach. "Eighteen is just a number on a piece of paper. You were still a kid to me. I needed you to grow up just a little bit more before I let myself have this."

Today, that language is about to become something else entirely.

Vernon shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you. His dark eyes move over your face with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. “Turn around,” he says, and it’s gentle but not a question.

You do. The sheets rustle as you roll onto your back, and now he’s hovering above you, one arm bracketing your head, his knees on either side of your thighs. The morning light catches the angles of his face—the sharp jaw, the full lips you’ve been stealing glances at for years, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead. He’s still smiling, but there’s something else underneath it now. A focus. A hunger held carefully in check.

“There you are,” he murmurs. His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, and then his knuckles trail down, over your cheek, the side of your neck, the dip between your collarbones. “I’ve been thinking about this morning for months.”

“Months?” Your voice comes out breathier than you intend.

“Years.” He corrects himself with a quiet shake of his head. “Since before it was okay to think about. And today it’s okay.”

Vernon leans down, and his lips meet yours. Not the chaste pecks he’s given you before, this is different. Slower. His mouth moves against yours with a deliberateness that makes your thoughts scatter, and when his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you open for him without hesitation. The kiss deepens, and his hand slides from your collarbone down to the hem of your tank top.

He doesn’t push it up. Not yet. Instead, his fingers find the edge of the fabric and trace along it, back and forth, until you’re arching slightly, a silent plea. Only then does he break the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Can I?” he asks.

You nod. Words feel like too much right now.

His smile flickers. “I need to hear you say it.”

The consideration, even in this moment, sends a pulse of warmth through you. “Yes,” you say. “Please.”

The first touch of his fingers against your bare stomach makes you inhale sharply. He pushes the tank top up slowly—agonizingly slowly—revealing inch after inch of skin. When the fabric bunches just below your breasts, he pauses, and his gaze drops.

“God,” he breathes.

Your nipples are visible through the thin cotton, tight peaks pressing against the white fabric. The color beneath shows faintly—that pink with a hint of coral, like the inside of a seashell—and he stares as if he’s trying to memorize it.

“I’ve caught glimpses before,” Vernon says, his voice rougher now. “When you wear those thin tops. When you get out of the shower. I’d look away so fast.” His thumb brushes over one nipple through the tank top, and your back bows. A sound escapes you—small, caught in your throat. “But I always wondered.”

He pushes the fabric higher, and then your breasts are bare to the morning air and to his dark, wondering eyes.

Vernon doesn’t rush. He lowers his head, but instead of taking a nipple into his mouth immediately, he simply breathes against you. The warmth of his exhale draws a shiver across your skin, and your fingers twist into the sheets at your sides. When he finally, finally closes his lips around one tight peak, you make a noise that’s half his name and half something wordless.

His tongue circles slowly. Lazy, almost, if not for the way his other hand has come up to cup your neglected breast, his thumb mimicking the motion. The sensation threads through you—down your sternum, into the pit of your stomach, lower. Your hips shift without your permission, pressing up into the solid heat of his thigh.

“So responsive,” he murmurs against your skin, and the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. He switches sides, giving the same patient attention to your other nipple, and now both of his hands are roaming—your ribs, your waist, the curve of your hip. Everywhere but where you suddenly, desperately want him.

“Vernon.” His name comes out as a plea.

He lifts his head. His lips are slightly swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I know, baby. But I’m going to take my time with you. I’ve waited too long to rush.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and he looks at you again—that same silent question. You answer with a nod and a whispered “yes,” and then he’s peeling the damp cotton down your legs. You lift your hips to help him, and the fabric slides away, leaving you utterly exposed.

The sound he makes is low in his throat. A groan that seems pulled from somewhere deep.

“Look at you,” he says, and his voice is almost reverent. He settles between your thighs, and you feel the brush of his shoulders against your inner knees. His gaze fixes on the center of you—bare, pink, already glistening in the morning light. “I didn’t know. I mean, I hoped, but…”

His thumb traces along your outer lips, feather-light, and your breath catches. He parts you gently, and the cool air against your slick heat makes you clench around nothing.

“Hairless,” he murmurs, and the word thrums through you. “And so pink. Like the inside of a rose.”

You want to say something—to tell him how long you’ve imagined this, how many nights you’ve touched yourself thinking about exactly this moment—but then his thumb finds your clit, and language dissolves.

He circles it with the same torturous slowness he’s shown everything else. Not pressing, not rushing, just tracing the shape of you until you’re trembling. Your thighs try to close, but his shoulders hold them open.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says, and it’s almost stern. “I want to see everything.”

His thumb presses just slightly—a question—and your hips buck up into his hand. The sound that escapes you is sharp, and he smiles, that same focused hunger flickering across his face.

“There. Right there.”

He lowers his head, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit makes you cry out. It’s not the broad, flat stroke you expected—he’s precise, deliberate, using just the tip to trace patterns that make your vision blur at the edges. One of his hands slides up your stomach to cup your breast again, thumb rolling your nipple in time with the motions of his tongue.

The dual sensation is too much and not enough. Your fingers find their way into his hair—finally, finally—and you tug, and he groans against you, the vibration ricocheting through every nerve ending you possess.

“You taste,” he says, lifting his head just long enough to speak, “exactly how I imagined. Exactly.” Then his mouth is on you again, and now he’s not teasing. His tongue curls, flattens, dips inside you and then returns to your clit with a rhythm that your body answers instinctively. Your hips roll against his face, and he lets you, one hand moving to grip your thigh and hold you steady as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

The pressure builds—not the cliché coil, but a stretching tightness, like something being wound past its limit. Your thighs shake. Your breath turns ragged. Every muscle in your body draws taut as Vernon’s tongue continues its devastating, patient work.

“Please,” you gasp. “Please, Vernon, I’m—”

He hums against you—a single, resonant note—and you shatter.

The orgasm rips through you in pulses, each one wringing a sound from your throat that you don’t recognize. Your back arches off the mattress, and his arm bands across your hips, holding you in place as he rides out every last wave. When the tremors finally subside, you’re left gasping, fingers still tangled in his hair, thighs slick and shaking.

Vernon crawls up your body, pressing kisses as he goes—your hipbone, your navel, the underside of your breast, your collarbone, the corner of your mouth. When he finally kisses you properly, you can taste yourself on his lips, and the intimacy of it makes something crack open inside your chest.

“I wanted to do that,” he says against your mouth, “the first time I saw you in that little white bikini. You were sixteen, and I had to go take a very cold shower.”

You laugh, and the sound is watery and surprised. “You never said anything.”

“I couldn’t.” He pulls back to look at you, and his expression is serious now, the playfulness banked behind something deeper. “Not until today. Not until you were of age, and it was real, and you could choose.”

The word choose lands softly. You reach up and cup his face, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ve been choosing this since I was old enough to understand what choosing meant. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

His answer is a kiss, deeper and hungrier than before. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and this time there’s nothing restrained about it. His body settles against yours, and through the thin fabric of his boxers, you can feel how hard he is—the length of him pressing against your thigh, hot even through the cotton.

You reach down, your fingers finding the waistband of his boxers, and he breaks the kiss to let you push them down. He helps, shoving the fabric aside until he’s as bare as you are, and then he’s above you again, and you can’t help but look.

The sight of him makes your stomach tighten with a fresh wave of want. He’s beautiful—long and thick, the tip flushed a deep rose, a bead of moisture glistening at the slit. Your hand moves before you can think, wrapping around him, and his whole body tenses.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his forehead dropping to yours.

You stroke him once, twice, learning the weight and heat of him. His breath comes in harsh bursts against your cheek, and his hips twitch forward into your grip. But then his hand closes over yours, stilling the motion.

“If you keep doing that,” he says, his voice strained, “I won’t last. And I need to be inside you.”

The words send a shiver straight to your core. You release him, and he positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Even that slight pressure makes you ache with emptiness.

“Look at me,” Vernon says.

You meet his eyes. The morning light has shifted, painting his skin in shades of gold and shadow. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that you’ve never seen before—something raw and unguarded.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “In my bed at night. In the shower. Every time you sat on my lap and pretended not to notice what you were doing to me. I’d imagine what it would feel like to finally, finally be inside you.”

His hips shift, and the head of him pushes just barely past your entrance. A gasp tears from your throat at the stretch—the sweet, burning pressure of him.

“Tell me you want it,” he says, holding himself there at the threshold. “Tell me you’ve wanted it too.”

“I want it.” The words come out in a rush. “I want you, Vernon. I’ve always wanted you.”

He pushes forward.

The sensation blooms through you in slow motion—the incremental parting of your body around his, the impossible fullness as inch after inch sinks deeper. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there, and he groans, a sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours.

“So tight,” he manages, his voice wrecked. “So warm. I—”

He stops moving when he’s fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust, and the world narrows to the point where your bodies are joined. You can feel every heartbeat, yours and his, a syncopated rhythm that seems to echo in the space between your ribs.

“Are you okay?” The question is strained but sincere, his eyes searching your face.

You nod, not trusting your voice. The stretch has eased into something deeper—a fullness that feels necessary, like something you’ve been missing your whole life has finally clicked into place.

“Good,” he breathes. “Because I don’t think I can hold still much longer.”

He withdraws slightly—just a fraction—and then pushes back in, and the drag of him against your inner walls makes you moan. His rhythm starts slow, each thrust a deliberate, rolling motion that grinds against your clit. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he makes a sound that’s half laugh and half groan.

“Needy,” he murmurs, and the teasing note is back, even through the wrecked quality of his voice. “All those times I kept my hands to myself, and this is what you wanted. My good girl just needed to be filled up.”

The phrase good girl sparks something electric in your spine. Your hips buck up to meet his next thrust, and he rewards you with a sharper, deeper stroke that punches the air from your lungs.

“Like that?” he asks, and the hunger in his eyes is back, burning bright.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, like that. Please—”

He gives it to you. His pace quickens, the slow, patient rhythm giving way to something more urgent. The sounds in the room are obscene—the slick slide of your bodies, the creak of the mattress, the mingled gasps and moans that neither of you can contain. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together beside your head, and the tenderness of that gesture, even in the midst of such raw intensity, makes your heart stutter.

Vernon’s mouth finds your neck, and he bites down gently on the tendon there, and the sharp pleasure of it arcs through you like lightning. Every thrust drives him deeper, the angle shifting with each roll of his hips until he’s hitting a spot inside you that makes colors bloom behind your eyes.

“I’m close,” you whisper, and the admission feels like surrender. “Vernon, I’m so close.”

He lifts his head, and his eyes are wild now, the careful control he’s held onto for so many years finally cracking at the edges. “Come for me,” he says, and it’s a command and a plea all at once. “One more time. Let me feel you.”

His free hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and the added pressure is the spark that ignites the fuse. This time, the orgasm is deeper—a full-body ripple that starts where you’re joined and radiates outward, pulling a cry from your throat that you don’t bother to muffle. Your inner walls clench around him, and Vernon’s rhythm finally, finally falters.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, the sudden tension in his muscles signaling the shift. Before you can even process the change in his rhythm, his hands grip your hips tightly, and he’s pulling out with a sharp, desperate exhale.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, body trembling as he releases just against your skin, his breaths coming in ragged, shuddering gasps as the tension finally breaks.

For a long moment, neither of you move. His weight presses you into the mattress, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, hard and fast. His breath is a warm, uneven tide against your neck.

Then he lifts his head, and his lips find your forehead. Your eyelids. The tip of your nose.

“Happy birthday,” he says again, and this time the words are soft with wonder.

You laugh, the sound trembling around the edges. “Best one yet.”

He smiles, but something shifts in his expression. His weight settles more firmly, and you realize with a jolt that he’s not going soft yet. If anything, the roll of his hips is tentative, testing.

“Vernon?” you whisper.

His hand slides down your arm, fingers closing around your wrist and pinning it gently to the mattress. The change in his posture is subtle—just a fraction more tension in his shoulders, a fraction less softness in his gaze.

“You thought that was it?” His voice is lower now, darker. The teasing note has sharpened into something else entirely. “Baby, I’ve been waiting for years. You think one orgasm and a quick fuck is going to satisfy me?”

Your breath catches. He’s still inside you, still hard, and the words pool heat in your belly despite the sensitivity still singing through your nerves.

“We have the whole house to ourselves,” he continues, his lips grazing your ear. “No one’s coming home until later. And I have a list.”

A list. The word sends a shiver down to your toes.

“What kind of list?” you manage, and your voice comes out embarrassingly eager.

Vernon pulls back just enough to look at you. That hungry focus is back, but it’s sharper now, less restrained. His grip on your wrist tightens just slightly.