tacosandbitch

As you turned your head to look anywhere that wasn't the relentlessly revolving fan, a dark shag of hair materialised next to you, a bundle of tanned limbs sleeping peacefully away from you.

The vision of toned biceps let your memories fuse together instantaneously — back arched impossibly as Mingyu pounded into you persistently, strong arms holding you against his chest as he refused to falter his pace, orgasms so blissful you dared to stay the night.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe it was the ecstasy you were sure Jeonghan slid you or the cocaine you'd snorted through giggles with Chan, or maybe even the bitter beer you'd shotgunned with Jun — the sticky substance coating your bikini top and making your chest glisten in the strobe lights.

Selfishly, you raked your eyes down Mingyu's god-like body; his back muscles practically pulsed even as he lay slack, small, level breaths escaping his parted lips. Then, you silently slipped out of his bed, using your perfected feather-like footsteps to gather your various discarded articles of clothing and slide them onto your body — a skimpy bikini top that reeked of alcohol and a pair of striped booty shorts that Mingyu had almost ripped off your body. As you squinted into the mess, your pretty lace panties were nowhere to be seen.

Fuck the underwear; they were concealed by heaps of clothes and blankets, and you needed to get out of the house urgently, before the impending comedown punctured your consciousness and rendered you a zombie for a few hours.

Without a peep, you crept out of his bedroom, silently clicking the lock as you bee-lined for the front door, wherever it was.

Throughout the three years that you'd lived in Los Angeles, you never seemed to get the hang of coordinating your way out of a house the morning after. Hallways that were packed with people abandoned in the early light, solo cups and toilet rolls stuck to tacky floorboards, silence echoing louder than any music had played the night before.

But, as your head began to pound, the adrenaline of the drugs slipping from you selfishly, you just picked a direction and followed it. Luckily, the quiet hum of a voice grew louder as you followed dirt-stained walls, mysterious patches of liquid and clusters of discarded trash.

Like the gates to heaven, the front door appeared as you turned a corner, and a sigh of relief almost slipped out of your mouth instinctively. However, as the room opened up, a lounge-style seating area came into view; a figure sat with one leg resting over the other, both legs bobbing incessantly as the man leaned with a slackened head against the back pillows of the settee.

You could recognise that mop anywhere. Vernon Chwe, the Los Angeles underground scene's most renowned producer — and fuck, as you'd been told. The man was a living legend among female party-goers; famously tough to get in bed, but if he decided you were worthy of him, he quite literally rocked your world.

And sure, you'd love for your world to be rocked. But you'd dipped into a lot of LA producers and were satisfied enough. The last in a long line, Mingyu, was sensational enough to warrant a sleepover — a rare luxury few men got from you, so you were alright with never experiencing the five-star fuck that was Vernon.

Plus, every time you saw him, he'd dismissed your presence without a moment of hesitation. Either walking away from you mid-conversation or ignoring any input you contributed. You never knew if it was deliberate, but it definitely felt like it was.

On the sofa, his jaw was tensed as he held his phone to his ear, slender fingers gripping slightly too hard as the distant babble of a voice played into his ear. When you took your leave, his gaze drifted from the chandelier to your scantily-clad body, watching with the same deadpan expression for a second before returning his bored look to the ceiling.

To him, you were probably another underground groupie, fucking his friends and drinking his alcohol, fading from his conscience as soon as you appeared, like smoke from a cigarette; produced to be discarded.

And that's why you took control of every sexual encounter you partook in. Even if you were S.Coups' 'little slut' for one night or Joshua Hong's 'princess' for another — you'd always walk away as soon as it was done, just to ensure they knew you weren't going to be their booth girl to trample all over.

Quite frankly, it worked a treat. You were having brain-altering orgasms multiple nights a week, listening to the best electronic music LA had to offer and then walking away with some of the hottest producers still desperate to feel you wrap around them again.

Letting yourself out, the heavy Los Angeles heat hit you, making bile rise in your throat as you walked away from the mansion, not once glancing back as your heels hit the sidewalk, the humidity bouncing off of the cement below you.

It was another one of those nights, tucked deep in the Hidden Hills, a sprawling bungalow shook with bass as bodies piled into the heap of the house. The art-deco style abode was bound to be a disaster by sunrise, and the front garden was already halfway there — pools of sick in the grass, tipped-over trash cans, couples lustfully making out on the steps.

The sight sent excitement running down your spine.

Pushing through the dark wooden door, you were greeted by the sight of people — a lot of them.

From wall to wall, the space was packed with drunken party-goers, swaying along to the thumping dance music and hollering at each other, voices raised to match the music and alcohol rife in their systems. Cans raised to the ceiling as people got lost in the music, letting their necks hang in time to the beating kick drum.

The lively electronic track was a new tune, and it flowed through you easily; the rumbling bass resonating deeply, making the cocaine you'd snorted suddenly awaken as you allowed your chin to nod timidly along. Keeping your chunky sunglasses over your eyes, you squinted over the sea of bodies to spot who was situated behind the makeshift decks.

Hunched to one side, adorning a black top, was Vernon, his eyes concealed by his shaggy fringe as his head swung nonchalantly from side to side. However, beside him was the8, a close friend of many of the guys you'd slept with — if you were honest, the8, or Minghao, was absolutely enticing, and his shaggy blonde mullet was practically sending heat between your thighs already.

'Ah! Hey you!' The loud and booming voice belonging to Mingyu sounded, and you turned your head to where the built man materialised through the crowd, slinging a strong arm around your shoulders.

'Hey Gyu!' You replied, letting the taller man hug you sweetly. As much as Mingyu was oblivious, he knew you were just a one-time fuck, and graciously he accepted it, even though at every party since you'd slipped out of his bed at 8 am he'd drunkenly tell you he'd do anything to do it again.

There was a part of you deep down that felt bad for him, but alas, you maintained a healthy friendship with him and allowed him to guide you behind the decks at every single party. It was sort of a ritual at this point; you'd end up like a booth girl — but instead of splaying yourself for attention, you just let them silently approach you.

So without further ado, Mingyu's strong arm and elevated presence parted a path through the crowd, and you were situated with a perfect view of Minghao's tattooed muscles, not batting an eye at the nonchalant man beside him.

With flirtatious giggles and batted eyelashes, you had managed to enamour Minghao into holding your waist weakly as he spoke to someone beside him. The time had passed dangerously slowly as you waited for him to take you home, twirling your hair between your fingers as your gaze floated across the intoxicated bodies dancing along to the next DJ.

'Going to the toilet, I'll be back.' You leaned over and whispered with a flirtatious bite, and Minghao turned to you, smoothing his hands down your dress and cupping your ass.

'Ok, let's go to mine when you're back.'

Finally.

Slipping away, you were subjected to the crowd of unruly party-goers — multiple of them stumbling and shoving into you as you bee-lined for what looked like a hallway. After what felt like a torturous hike instead of a brisk walk through a party, you emerged in a quieter hallway, a pissed-off scowl dominating your face as you leaned against the wall.

The dim lighting masked the faces of the bodies that floated around the narrow space, and you tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for the bathroom door to swing open.

As you reclined against the wall, a figure appeared in your peripheral vision, and you snapped your head forwards to distinguish who had halted only a few centimetres from your face.

Unmoving, stoic eyes bored into yours as you were greeted by Vernon, his movement paused with certainty as he sized you up, and under his gaze you felt like prey, cornered by a ruthless predator.

'What do you want?' You asked, a grimace twisting your expression as you looked up at him.

'What do you think?' He replied with a deadpan voice, holding an almost identical look of disgust when his eyes trailed down your body and he signalled to the bathroom.

'Whatever.' You muttered, looking up at Vernon with sharp eyes. This was the closest you'd ever been to him, and you could finally see his dark chocolate eyes clearly. There was no trace of emotion adorning his orbs, not even recognition, so when he spoke to you, it came as a shock.

Vernon was ridiculously handsome, his bushy pointed eyebrows making his eyes look like they were narrowed — like he was permanently judging whatever was in front of him. His jaw was tightly clenched in this moment, like just looking at you pissed him off.

And there was no way on planet earth you were letting the effect of his heavy gaze show on your features, so you met his stabbing eye line as it stared into you.

'Don't you get bored of being everyone's booth girl?' He asked easily, like the words weren't practically spoken to grate against you.

'Don't you get bored of being fucking miserable all the time?' You hung your head to one side, letting venom seethe in every word.

For a few moments, he doesn't break your eye contact, as if his gaze could hurt you.

'Would hate for you to forget your panties at my house again.' There was a hint of a satisfied look that surfaced on his face momentarily before it was swallowed into his nonchalant facade.

Oh, this fucking cunt.

'You'd love it if I left my panties in your room, Chwe. Don't act all high and fucking mighty.'

To your retort, his head snapped away, his jaw sharpened as he gritted his teeth. A sweet smile danced on your face, victory tasting a little too good as you slipped away from him, unable to bear his presence any longer.

'Bye Vernon! I'm off to leave my panties in Minghao's room tonight!' But before you could throw a mocking wave over your shoulder, a strong hand pinned you against the wall, chapped lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss.

Without hesitation, you let your eyes flutter closed as the feeling of Vernon's lips pressed against yours sent jolts of electricity sprinting down your spine — Vernon. Chwe Vernon. King of the Los Angeles underground scene and god of nonchalance had you pinned messily against a wall in the midst of a bustling party.

Well shit.

Vernon tasted like mint and the best parts of a shot of vodka — there was an intoxicating way his lips caught yours, his teeth biting at your bottom lip and dragging it with head-spinning intensity.

As your hand found the fluffy nape of his neck, it tugged harshly, your tongues practically fighting for dominance amongst one another as he pressed himself against you. There was a sense of desperation that bled through you both, the kiss not loving at all — it was a mess of selfish lust, insistent dominance and pure, undiluted hatred.

'I fucking hate you.' You spoke through heavy breaths as his lips began to trail downwards, biting and nipping roughly at every spot he could find, and it had you in a fit of indiscreet moans.

A dry laugh sounded against your jaw, and he continued, not sparing the words to respond.

The bathroom door swung open, a drunken man stumbling out, and Vernon had you through the doorway with lightning-fast agility — pressing you against the hollow wood expertly, his mouth reattaching to the crook of your neck, sucking cruelly and biting at you like you were just something to put in his mouth.

Like your worth was equivalent to the piece of mint gum pressed between his teeth.

His strong hands had your hips held tightly as he pressed them against the door, unallowing of any movement. Even as you squirmed when he hit that sweet spot behind your ear, his iron grip kept you as still as he wanted you to be — loud and breathy moans leaving your lips as his became unrelenting.

'Listen to you.' He breathed, still working at that spot. 'Such a fucking slut.'

The words went straight to your core, butterflies fluttering at a fierce intensity within you, sending wetness sopping out of your neglected heat. Reluctantly leaving your hip, Vernon let his hand grip your boob roughly, a small sigh leaving his lips as he let his assault trail along your chest.

It was mind-boggling, the hate pumping through you that was being viciously subdued by how good Vernon was making you feel. It was like all that hate fuelled something different this time — something that was making his length harden in his jeans.

'You're a slut, aren't you?' He questioned as he pulled the tight fabric of your dress to scoop below your breasts, forcing them to bulge out in an almost pornographic fashion. As he pinched your nipple, his tongue licked ruthlessly at the other, and you were rendered absolutely wordless. The overwhelming sensation of your body being stimulated so expertly let only deep breaths and heinous sounds fall out of your mouth.

Then he seized. The euphoric movement halted savagely as he held your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his harsh gaze. It was enticing how his dilated pupils were so darkened, lust ruling every second of your encounter. 'Answer me.'

'Yes, Vernon.' You spat out, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath.

Before he continued, he rejoined your lips — and for a few seconds it's not full of hatred, and there's no point desperately trying to be proven, no tugging on either of your bodies; he's just got his arms wrapped around your waist, lips pressed deliciously against yours as he walked you away from the shut door.

However, the shock of the cool tile adorning the sinks met the back of your thighs, and the warmth dissipated; Vernon's hands roughly spinning you to be bent over the cold porcelain sink.

The mirror revealed a vision of indecency; Vernon had left an array of dark splotches along your neck, purple blossoming against your skin, your hair messily falling down one shoulder, your breasts practically squeezed together. And like a shadow behind you, his brown hair concealed his features as his hand smoothed along you.

'Look at you,' He met your gaze, his eyes half-closed in a sultry look as he inspected his work. He pressed himself against you, letting the hardness of his clothed erection push against your ass, and the feeling made you impossibly wetter. 'Such a pretty whore.'

'About time I see for myself what all the boys were raving about.' He spoke as he roughly shoved the silk of your dress upwards, exposing your ass and thighs, the tiny lace panties doing a shockingly bad job at concealing the arousal dripping down you.

A strangled groan left his throat as he took in the sight of your uncovered body, making his hardness throb with need. Using one hand to roughly squeeze the flesh of your ass, he unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans and underwear down to his thighs in one smooth movement.

Vernon's hardened member slapped against you, and you held your breath in anticipation, your hips involuntarily bucking to gain any type of friction — you didn't care at this point; it didn't matter that this was the man who never spared you a glance, or who famously discarded his hook-ups like an old toy. All that mattered was how hard he was going to fuck you.

'So desperate, huh?' A small grin quirked on his lips, and it was a pure expression of cockiness, selfish pride on his features as you pushed yourself towards him, his slender fingers slowly making their way through your folds.

It's almost blissful, how he touched you enough to have your head hanging back onto his shoulder but not enough to have you clenching around nothing. If you weren't so distracted by the overwhelming feeling of his digits flicking your clit, you'd pay attention to how his head was nuzzled against yours, peppering light, almost intimate, kisses along the side of your head.

But before you had time to realise his slip-up, his almost stupid exposee on himself, he was roughly pushing you against the counter, your breasts pooling against the tile as he gripped your hip.

'Don't you get enough attention, whore?' He spat almost maliciously as he bullied his way into you, the gushing wetness making him slip in like it was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He was big. Not the type of big that is a discarded comment; his length had brutally scratched your cervix in the first thrust and ignited a bittersweet stinging sensation as he stretched you. The feeling made a gaudy moan force its way out of your mouth, your eyes screwed tightly shut in absolute pleasure.

Without a moment to spare, he pistoned into you with an unrelenting pace, his member hitting every single inch of you, the feeling beyond anything you'd felt before. It was enticing, the way he hit parts of you that you didn't even know existed, not alleviating his speed for even a second.

As you forced your eyes open, the sight of Vernon made you clench around him. His face was flushed, cheeks pinkened as his lips were caught between his teeth — there was a lusty glaze adorning his eyes as he watched your ass giggle with each thrust.

'Fuck,' He groaned, his grip hard enough to leave bruises against the skin of your hips; wet sounds echoed through the bathroom as he fucked you ruthlessly, wetness practically gushing out of you with each tenacious thrust.

As his eyes met yours, he released one side of your hip, gathering your hair into a mass before pulling you roughly against his chest.

'Look at yourself slut.' He said, your tits bouncing rhythmically as he continued to fuck you. It was degrading and frankly embarrassing to be in this position, the party thumping behind the bathroom door — and it's even more humiliating that Vernon has you like this, a gushing mess in a filthy LA party bathroom.

The sight is enough to make the approaching release come hurtling at you faster, 'Vernon, I'm going to cum.'

Your words only made him speed up impossibly faster. It was incomprehensible how he could thrust into you at such a heinous speed, and your body felt like it was running at a near-boiling point.

With a cocky smirk, he released your hair to grip your neck instead, the pressure overwhelming as you let your head slacken onto his shoulder.

'Good girl, cum for me.' He whispered into your ear, letting his hot breath tickle it, and rapidly your vision was turning white as stars exploded within you, the insistent banging of his tip against your cervix jolting euphoric pleasure through you as you cum around his cock, clenching uncontrollably as he continued.

'Such a good slut.' He said, and you whimpered, the feeling of him inside you, chasing his own high, so overwhelming all you could do was lean with jelly limbs into him.

'Just going to keep using you until I cum.' He said through gritted teeth, hand still securely around your neck to keep you right where he wanted you. It was like you were a rag doll, almost limp for him to finish himself off on.

Ludicrous moans tumbled out as every inch of you felt overstimulated. Beside you, small groans slipped from Vernon's mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut, his pace brutal inside you.

'Fuck, you're so hot.' He admitted, and if you weren't at his mercy, you may've smirked cockily. But you were still at his disposal, your hole a toy for him to get off in. As you gasped, his hips slapping yours cruelly, his moans intensified, and he pushed you down again, hot skin hitting the cold tile as his orgasm descended upon him.

The pace faltered, and throaty moans escaping him as you felt him twitch inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and slow as he painted your insides with his load. As he stilled inside you, you finally let your breath begin to catch up with you, feeling aware of your skin gleaming with sweat and hair in tangled masses

Leisurely, he pulled out, eyes trained to the mixture of release coating your folds.

The air suddenly felt tense, as if you both realised who you'd just fucked and how good it was. In a calm scurry, you pushed yourself forward, pulling your dress to conceal your exposed body and combing your hair through with your fingers.

Behind you, Vernon was tugging his underwear onto his hips, the matching sheen making his pale complexion glow.

'Where the fuck is my underwear?' You questioned, wondering if the mind-blowing orgasm had rendered your brain useless as you scrambled to cover your leaking vagina. With squinted eyes, you turned to Vernon, who had finished buckling his belt and now had your soaked panties hanging off of his pointer finger.

'Don't be a dick.' You reached to grab the lacy material from him, and he roughly shoved them into his back pocket.

'You can get these from my room next time.'

Soonyoung is a lover. You've known it since the moment you met him. You knew he'd give his everything to whoever was lucky enough to hold his heart. You did not, however, know the true extent of what that meant.

You couldn't have known that even now, nearly 10 years in, he still loves you the way he did at the very beginning.

It shows in the way he still remembers details from long enough ago that you don't even remember them— on top of your habits and preferences he's long since memorized. If something does happen to slip his mind, you can tell it weighs on him. He'll never say it, never make the intent obvious, but he doubles his efforts, both to make up for his mistake and to ensure it doesn't happen again. You're not sure how he keeps it all in his mind.

It shows in the way Soonyoung clings to you after time apart. The way he seems to attach himself to you in any way possible, as if the moment you separate you'll be gone once again. His touch alternates between intentional embraces and light, barely there grazes, as if his body knows he needs to be near you even when he's not consciously thinking about it.

It shows in every "I love you." The way it never feels thoughtless. It feels intentional, because it is. It will be a cold day in hell before Soonyoung lets you forget it.

It shows today. There's no special occasion, other than it being one of the scarce days you both have off together. The light streams through your window, but that's not the first thing you notice upon coming back into consciousness this morning. Rather, it's the smell of food coming from elsewhere in the apartment.

Despite how pleasant it smells, you're not sure where you lie on the spectrum between being happy about the food and being upset that Soonyoung isn't in bed with you right now. There's little appeal to staying in an empty bed, you realize, so you heave a heavy sigh and lug yourself out of bed. Following the scent of something you can't quite place, you make your way to the kitchen.

Soonyoung hums softly to himself as he tends to the food, not yet noticing your presence. The sight makes your heart flutter. You've lived together for years at this point, but seeing him in such a domestic scene still does something to you.

A soft smile adorns your face as you approach the kitchen. He must hear your footsteps, because he turns to face you. Sleep is still visible in his eyes, so you conclude he hasn't been out here for that long. Regardless, he practically lights up when he sees you. The flutter in your heart returns.

"Morning baby," he greets with a smile.

"Morning love." You take up residence next to him, eyes scanning the counter and stovetop for clues about what he could be cooking. "Can I help out? What are you making?"

He pulls you into a side hug by your shoulder, planting a brief kiss on the top of your head. "It's a surprise. You can help by sitting there and telling me what a good job I'm doing."

You snort and lightly push him away. You want to protest, but the look in his eye tells you he's serious about it being a surprise, so you take a seat at the table. Elbows resting on the surface, you place your chin in your hand and take a moment to simply observe him. He's gotten a lot better at cooking over the years. Seeing him get to the point where he can confidently cook you something as a surprise when a lot of what he used to make came out… wrong to say the least, brings a warm feeling to your chest.

The minutes pass in soft, casual conversation accompanied by Soonyoung's occasional pout over the "lack of compliments". Before you know it, he's turning the stove off. There's hesitantion in his movement, as if he's suddenly unsure of what he's made for you. You had a feeling he was cooking something he hadn't cooked before, based on how secretive he was being with it, but his nervousness confirms it.

He steps toward you, breakfast in hand, and sets it down on the table. Now that it's in front of you, you see exactly why he wanted it to be a surprise. You feel your heart skip a beat in your chest. Your eyes flick between him and the food repeatedly, before firmly landing on his anxious gaze.

"Where did you learn this?" The question comes out soft, soft enough to match the adoration in your eyes.

Soonyoung's hand finds the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the awkwardness he's feeling. "You uh, you talked about it with your family when we were over for the holidays. You said it was your favorite when you were a kid, so I asked your mom for the recipe."

You don't know how he does it. It's baffling, truly, how he manages to surprise you even after so long.

"You…" You start to speak, but the sentence quickly dies on your tongue. Words seem to fail you. It's not a grand gesture, but right now it feels like one of the most meaningful things he has ever done for you.

"Don't thank me until you've tried it!" Soonyoung rushes to fill the silence you failed to fill yourself. Whether it's to save you from searching for something to say or to save himself from the wait, you're not sure. Honestly, it's likely both. He gestures to the meal in front of you, watching expectantly.

If you could see your own face right now, you think you might be able to see literal hearts in your eyes. "Soonyoung, I'm sure it's great," you try to put his nerves at ease. You mean it though. The food could be the worst thing you've ever eaten and the gesture would still be enough to make you fall in love with him all over again.

If your reassurance helps him in any way, it doesn't show on his face. Even though you hate to see him so nervous, it's endearing how hard he tries to do you justice. It's time you put him out of his misery, though, so you reach for the food.

When you take a bite, a smile instantly breaks out across your face. "Baby, this is amazing!" you say. It's true. It really is great. It's not perfect— not exactly like how your mom used to make it— but it's damn close and now is not the time for constructive criticism.

"Really?" Soonyoung perks up as he asks the question, anxiety dissolving in front of your eyes. As you nod, he practically beams. He starts to ramble, words coming out quicker than you can fully process. You can tell he's talking about his conversation with your mom, but the details are lost on you. You're simply too enamored by the man in front of you.

He goes on for… a while. He speaks about you and your family with such passion and care it makes your heart hurt. You know he loves you. God, how could you ever forget? But sometimes it gets so overwhelming you think you might explode.

At this moment, you want nothing more than to hold him close to you and never let him go, but emotion roots you to your seat. To your luck, he seems to notice. Stopping his ramble, he closes the difference between you and crouches down in front of your seat so he can look up at you. There's a curious glint in his eye.

"Hi." You speak softly through your smile.

He lets out a shy giggle, "Hi."

"I love you. So much," you speak it with the same purpose as he says it to you, hoping he can feel it.

The dopey grin on his face hasn't left. "I love you m-"

You don't let him finish his thought. Resting your hand on his cheek, you lean in to press your lips against his. You can feel his smile grow impossibly wider between kisses, and it only makes you want him more.

He pulls away just slightly, resting his forehead against yours as you chase his lips, not yet ready to let the moment go. There's a pout on his face now. "That wasn't fair."

A huff of laughter leaves your lips. "Can you just let me have this one?" You always say that your love is not a competition— that you can't quantify who loves each other more— but it still somehow feels like Soonyoung always beats you. After everything he's done for you this morning, the least he can do is let you have the verbal win.

His pout deepens, but it seems that he's not in the mood to say no to you. "Fine. I love you too." You roll your eyes and leave another peck on his lips.

You were too busy describing the cat’s little white socks.

“So then I was like, ‘Hi baby, do you have a home?’ and she—”

He made a low, strangled noise.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, but his jaw was tight and he was biting the inside of his cheek like he was physically restraining himself.

His free hand came up to pinch your cheek gently, then not so gently, squishing the soft skin between his fingers.

“Cheollie, I’m trying to tell you about the cat—”

“You’re killing me,” he groaned, voice rough.

“You’re actually going to kill me.”

You tilted your head, confused and a little pleased.

“What did I do?”

“You’re talking with the hoodie paws. You’re using voice cracks. You called a stray cat ‘baby’ in that voice.”

He sat up suddenly, pulling you closer by the ankles until you were half in his lap.

“You’re being so fucking cute I can’t breathe.”

Your face heated. “I’m just talking—”

“Exactly.”

He cupped your cheeks with both hands now, thumbs brushing your skin almost reverently. His eyes flicked all over your face like he couldn’t decide where to look your sparkling eyes, your slightly puffed cheeks, the way your lips kept moving even as he held you. “You talk too much and it’s lethal. I’m having cuteness aggression. Medical emergency.”

You giggled, trying to squirm away half-heartedly.

“You’re so dramatic—”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not a soft one. Not the gentle little peck he usually gave you when you were being silly.

This was sudden and deep and hungry, like he’d been holding back for the last ten minutes and finally snapped.

His lips moved against yours with purpose, one hand sliding to the back of your neck to tilt your head just right.

You made a surprised little sound that only seemed to make it worse.

“Cheol—” you tried to say between kisses, but he swallowed it, kissing you harder. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you fully into his lap until your knees bracketed his thighs.

The hoodie rode up your legs and his warm palm slipped underneath, resting possessively against the bare skin of your lower back.

“You’re so cute it hurts,” he mumbled against your mouth, barely pulling away enough to speak.

“Every time you get excited like that… fuck, I just want to kiss you stupid.”

“Then do it,” you whispered, dizzy and grinning.

He did.

The next kiss was slower but no less intense tongue brushing yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, the kind of makeout that made your fingers curl into his hair and tug. He groaned softly at the pull, the sound vibrating through you.

One of his hands slid up your spine under the hoodie while the other stayed on your cheek, thumb stroking like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together.

“Hi,” you said softly, a little breathless, cheeks burning.

Seungcheol’s eyes were dark, lips kiss-swollen, but the fond smile that broke across his face was pure sunshine. He squished your cheeks again, gentler this time, and planted three rapid little kisses on your puckered lips.

“My baby,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

“My cute, talkative, lethal baby. Keep talking. I’ll just keep kissing you every time I can’t handle it anymore.”

You laughed, bright and giddy, and leaned in to kiss him again soft this time, sweet, the kind of kiss that tasted like promises and quiet nights in.

He smiled against your mouth, arms tightening around you like he never planned on letting go.

Outside, the city kept moving, but in here it was just you, his favorite hoodie, and Seungcheol’s endless, adorable, slightly feral love.

Taglist 🥂

@stella-dreamy @joongtime

and that's just how you were; always shying away from every little thing he does for you--like how he fixes your shirt, lets you cry on his shoulder, celebrates your milestones, heck, even holds your hair back as you puke in a toilet. to him, that's just what friends are for. to you, it's just the right amount to fall in love.

"it's almost like you enjoy it," he says, circling behind you, "i'd be losing my mind if i were you."

"hao," you murmur, recognizing his voice, "thought you left early."

you don't seem to be looking up to greet him, so instead, he sits himself on the stool next to yours.

"i was on my way out, and then i saw you sitting alone. i figured you'd be with him all night, but i guess i was wrong," he sighs, watching mingyu and his flirtatious advances.

you roll your eyes, grumbling quietly. as much as you try to conceal it, you can't help the heat that prickles your cheeks. "not everything's about him, you know."

minghao is quick to give you a look, knowing you're not being truthful. however, he only nods, not wanting to push an answer out of you. you let out a big breath, slightly spinning your stool to face him. guess he didn't have to try either, minghao thinks.

"like, he can talk to whoever he wants to, right? i mean, it doesn't bother me at all, you know? it's just, what's the point of me being here if he's just gonna--" you shrug, unsure about your next words, "talk to other girls? he's the one who invited me."

"with the notion that you'd probably be talking to other guys," he says, leaning his back on the bar table. "or just people in general. instead, you're here, sulking at the back. alone."

"well, you're here," you scoff, lightly kicking the back of his leg with your heel. "and i don't want to talk to anyone. not in this place."

"but he is," minghao remarks, "talking to someone else, that is."

"yeah, well..." you trail off, suddenly not sure what to say. those drinks have loosened your tongue more than you'd like, as it's easier to be vulnerable when you're a little tipsy, but it doesn't make you hurt less.

in his peripheral vision, he notices the excessive amount of times you raise your hand to the side of his head, suspiciously pressing something small onto the black surface of his headphones.

at first, he assumes you were fidgeting or brushing off fluff from his hair. but after a few minutes, he takes his eyes off his phone screen and turns his head to you, catching a glint of something shimmering between your fingers.

he tilts his headphone off one ear and glances at the abnormal number of sticker sheets on your lap. "cats?" he asks flatly.

"tabby cats," you added, using your empty hand to guide his chin back to its original position. you place the sticker next to the other cats. "with holo finish. very shiny."

vernon puts his phone down to remove his headphones fully, only to be met with half its surface decorated with cat chaos. he has to give you credit, though, for how lovingly you arranged them: sleepy cats, angry cats, rainbow cats, and... a banana cat?

you nuzzle your cheek further into his shoulder and mumble, "you don't like?"

his eyes quickly meet with yours, which stare right at him. "no, i do. i do like them. a lot," he says, pointing at one with his thumb, nodding, "i like this one in particular. rainbow cat."

you hum in response, going quiet once he puts his headphones back on. your fingers rest on his arm while he resumes scrolling--but he's not really thinking about his phone anymore.

"you can put more on if you want," he murmurs.

you look up at him. "you want more?"

he taps the surface of the opposite ear, grinning. "well, i can't have one side untouched."

without a second thought, you grab your sheets and smile wildly, crawling over his lap to snuggle in on his other side. he barely reacts to the sudden shift onto him--just adjusts to make room for you.