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Distraction

pairing: boyfriend!vernon x fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut (minors, stay in school instead of reading this)

words: 1.6k

warnings: fluff, fem-bodied!reader, reference to vernon's weakling peanut allergy (I'm kidding, I'm kidding), heavy mentions of food, fingering, f. orgasm, vernon is a shithead hehe I love him

requested: yessir!

a/n: my dear anon, I hope this satisfies the domestic vernon smut/fluff combo meal you've been craving! this was fun to write, I simply adore vernon (and the rest of seventeen) so much. this is much heavier on the fluff side than I usually write, but it was fun!! happy reading, my lovely vernon stans 🖤

summary: typically, when a person’s house smells like fire, you call the fire department. when your house smells like fire, you know it’s because Vernon is cooking.

A pan clattered.

You looked up from the book in front of you and craned your neck to look through your open bedroom door. You couldn’t see the kitchen from your place at your desk, but you watched Vernon’s distorted shadow drift across the wall as he moved.

“Babe?” You called, a strained smile on your lips. “Everything going okay in there?”

There was a beat of silence before Vernon yelled back, “Yes, uh… everything’s fine. You definitely do not have to come in here.”

Okay, so you definitely did need to go in there.

You stood slowly, taking a moment to stretch your tight muscles. Sitting for hours on end wasn’t good for you, but it was the nature of your job. Poring over books older than your grandparents for the sake of a museum wasn’t typically something that could be done while running.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen like you were sneaking up on a wild cat. Don’t move too fast, don’t make a sound, don’t startle him.

Vernon was standing in front of the stove, wielding a package of raw bacon in one hand and a spatula in the other like they were swords. You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh.

You watched him for a moment, affection for the boy swelling in your chest. Half his hair stuck up straight on his head, a strange cowlick curling at the nape of his neck. The white t-shirt he wore beautifully showcased the muscles in his back—which you did not admire, thank you very much—but his plaid pajama pants were baggy, tied low around his hips.

You finally moved from your place in the hall when an ominous plume of smoke rose from the stove in front of him.

Vernon didn’t notice your presence as you peered around his shoulder, attempting to assess the damage. You grimaced.

He’d chosen to make pancakes, usually a wonderful choice—when they weren’t black on one side and completely raw on the other. You quickly identified the source of the smoke as the pancake currently cooking.

“I think that one’s done.” You advised quietly.

Vernon jumped so hard he nearly knocked his head against the range hood.

So much for not startling him.

He whipped around, still holding his breakfast-themed swords as he stared guiltily down at you. “Baby, you scared the shit out of me. How long have you been there?”

You tracked his movements as he set down the items in his hands so he could pull you against him. Around the scent of burnt food, he smelled incredible. Traces of his cologne from yesterday still clung to his skin and there was a faint undertone of you from the night before. You wrapped your arms around his waist and inhaled greedily, unable to get enough.

You responded at last, “Why, are you doing something wrong?”

Vernon pulled back and softly flicked your forehead. “Of course not. I’m making you breakfast.”

“So that’s what all the racket was about.”

He smiled, a tinge of embarrassed color dusting his cheeks. “I really thought I’d be able to do it this time.”

You laughed and disentangled yourself from his arms. This wasn’t the first time Vernon had attempted to cook for you and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. Usually, his efforts ended with you taking over, your boyfriend sitting at the table to watch you in defeat.

“Move aside, Chef Choi,” you pretended to stretch like you were about to run a race and cracked your knuckles for emphasis. “I’ve got it from here.”

Vernon groaned dramatically. “But I’m supposed to be cooking for you.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll get it next time.”

You didn’t mind that you usually had to finish the meals he started. In truth, you genuinely enjoyed cooking. It helped, of course, that Vernon always theatrically moaned when he took the first bite like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Your boyfriend leaned against the counter while you scraped the remainder of his breakfast attempt into the trash. It pained you to waste food, but it was truly unsalvageable—biting into one of those pancakes would surely ruin your appetite forever.

Not that you were going to tell him that.

You spooned globs of batter onto the pan and retrieved a skillet for the bacon, aware that Vernon was watching you all the while.

“You’re not putting peanuts in those, right?” He asked nervously.

You shot an incredulous glance over your shoulder. “Who puts peanuts in pancakes?” Vernon shrugged and you teasingly rolled your eyes. “No, Vernon, I’m very aware of your peanut allergy.”

“You can’t blame me for asking. You did try to kill me that one time.”

You scoffed. No way would you even bother responding to that one. Leave it to Vernon to bring up the one time you’d accidentally given him a granola bar with peanuts and you’d had to whip out the EpiPen in the middle of a grocery store.

Obviously, he was fine now.

It wasn’t until you flipped the pancakes onto their other sides, each one a perfect golden-brown circle, that Vernon decided he’d had enough.

“How did you—I don’t under—ugh.”

You smiled at his incoherent complaints. His arms wrapped around you from behind and you giggled when he attempted to tickle your ribs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You laughed and pushed his hand away. It immediately returned to your side, this time sliding beneath your shirt so his fingers drifted over bare skin. You shivered at the temperature of his hand but continued to flip the pancakes in front of you.

Vernon’s mouth drifted over your ear and he exhaled, his warm breath sending chills skittering across your skin.

“Seriously, hot shot, what are you doing?” You asked again, your stomach tightening when the tips of his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your pants.

“Distracting you.”

No shit. You were more focused now on the growing ache between your legs than the task at hand.

You swallowed and asked breathlessly, “And why are you distracting me?”

“Because I’m tired of you being good at everything.” Vernon pressed a soft kiss to your jaw as his hand drifted lower. You unconsciously pressed back into him and his arm wrapped around your middle. “I’m trying to even the playing field.”

You moved the finished pancakes from the stove to a plate and replaced them with new batter, your brow furrowed with concentration. If Vernon wanted to play dirty, fine, but you were not going to let him win.

You gasped softly when Vernon’s fingers at last entered your panties. He teased your entrance with his middle finger, his thumb dragging gentle circles over your clit.

“You’re so wet, baby.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, his voice rough. “Cooking turns you on?”

“You’re the worst,” you half-moaned. Vernon laughed as his thumb exerted more pressure. Your knees began to shake, and you couldn’t be bothered to care that your boyfriend was now supporting most of your weight as you leaned against him.

At last, a pancake slid off the spatula before you could set it safely on the plate. It landed with a dissatisfying thwack on the counter. You groaned, half in frustration and half in pleasure, as Vernon chuckled victoriously.

“Gotcha.” He bit down softly on your earlobe and moaned when two of his fingers slid easily into your slick entrance. You didn’t bother trying to be subtle anymore as you rocked your hips on his hand, silently urging him to pick up the pace.

Vernon completely ignored your wishes as his fingers continued to thrust languidly into you. You climbed higher with painful slowness, your walls fluttering around him while you whimpered.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. His hard length was pressed snugly against your backside, fully at attention and practically begging you to help. He softly ground his hips against your ass, seeking some degree of friction.

“Your pancakes are burning." He unhelpfully pointed out.

You truly couldn’t have cared less. You braced your hands on the corners of the stove for some level of support, your orgasm urgently looming.

When your high at last swept through you, you saw it coming from a mile away. Pleasure crested over you in a wave, warm as your boyfriend’s chest pressed against your back. You released a shuddering moan of relief as you clenched hard around Vernon’s fingers.

He was the only person in the world who could make you cum like that. You turned boneless halfway through your orgasm, leaning fully against him as you dove head-first into the pleasure his hand gave.

He exhaled heavily in your ear, seemingly as satisfied as you were, and kissed the side of your throat.

“See? Me distracting you isn’t so bad, huh?”

You turned in the circle of Vernon’s arms so you could glare up at him. He gazed down at you with a smug expression, though his eyes were heavy-lidded with lust and his erection still pressed insistently into you.

Without warning, you grasped his clothed length in your hand. Vernon jumped, his eyes wide with alarm, as he released a startled, choked moan.

“That wasn’t nice.” You chided softly. He groaned again when you gently squeezed him through his pants.

You reached behind you without looking and turned off the burner with a sharp snap. The long-burnt pancakes on the stove sizzled dejectedly, but you paid them no mind.

You pressed a gentle kiss to Vernon’s lips, which he eagerly attempted to deepen. Smiling, you pulled away.

“You think you won?” You asked quietly.

“Well you came, so respectfully I know I—”

Vernon’s words cut off in a sharp inhale when you squeezed his dick again. He swallowed thickly at the promise in your eyes.

“Oh yeah? Two can play at that game, baby, and it’s my turn.”

thanks for reading, party people! please give it a like/reblog if you enjoyed it! - j

masterlist here :)

© minghaoyoudoin 2022 - all rights reserved. reposts/translations not allowed. I do not assume to know the personal lives of the idol(s) depicted in this fic, this is for entertainment purposes only!