#NO DELAYING THIS MASTERPIECE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

himewonu · 1 month ago

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STRAWBERRY SCENTED STRINGS ౨ৎ kim mingyu

౨ৎ mingyu loves sweets. what wasn’t sweet, though, was the cellist from his rival band. your aloof and irascible attitude toward his band always left them in a bad mood. somehow, you and mingyu can only get along through your love for desserts.

starring bassist! mingyu x cellist! f reader

word count 16k (thanks 4 betareading soph and alya >_<) | playlist

genre fluff, humour, rivals to lovers (?), band au, suggestive

contains profanities, food, alcohol, petnames, mentions of sex, they makeout once (not really), idk anything abt the bass or cello or being a professional musician, ambiguous ending

from rhin, this was heavily inspired by mingyu shredding the guitar during their clap performance. i’ve been itching to release this since dec 2023 but i have been inconsistent with writing it so i’m leaving it halfway finished!!

please support by reblogging and feedbacks ♡

TRACK_001_SWANSONG

Just as your quartet is finishing the first movement of the piece, you hear a soft guitar riff lingering from the practice room next to yours. It interrupts the practice and causes someone to make a mistake. Given how painfully obvious a cello is compared to any other instrument in the violin family, it was unquestionably yours. They began to glance at each other until they finally turned to face you, who was attempting to reprise the bar—this time, correctly.

Swearing under your breath, you carefully set down your cello, trying not to let your rage get the better of you and throw the instrument across the room. You left the practice room, slamming the door behind you. The other musicians in the corridor noticed your little outburst and walked away when you gave them a stern look.

If there was one thing you hated more than making mistakes, it would be rock music. Whether it was the genre or the people indulging in it, it was the bane of your existence. The hardcore melody and the blaring noise the instruments made, especially when they were all playing at once, were too much for your ears to handle. The genre is what you would call offensive to you.

The people who participated in that genre weren’t any better. The majority of rock bands you’ve encountered were merely conceited and brash rebels. The thought of having your worlds clash was like another war, and you might prefer to switch back to the viola than subject yourself to those monstrous pieces of work.

Since rock bands make up the majority of the bands playing at the festival, your quartet is starting to doubt their ability to perform well. You sharing a stage with them was already hell enough. In fact, you should be intimidating to them rather than afraid of them. They serve only as a distraction from the masterpiece that your quartet is about to unveil.

Half applauded for your quartet's performance, but their enthusiasm wasn’t meeting your expectations. Your quartet played flawlessly with no delay or off-key parts that could show a lack of praise from the audience. They mostly consisted of teenagers who were cheering for rock bands and probably new to your performance, hence why the crowd felt muted. Of course, they only like bands.

When the emcee introduced the following band as you were leaving the stage, the audience was cheering far louder and more enthusiastically than they had for your group even before they had taken the stage. Their height blocked your view as they made their way to the stage, making you promptly move aside since you were in the way.

Cherry Bass. The audience appeared to really enjoy them; some were yelling nonstop, which makes them seem popular. They stood out from the majority of bands in the area for a few reasons. Their concept suited their name—the outfits and height were pointed out.

They are somewhat alike and both formal and informal. Their performance is meticulous, and they remain still rather than circling the stage. Not only are their lyrics poetic, but their music is also non-aggressive and loud. Rather than being a typical song about heartbreak, it's more about friendship and fun.

It’s no wonder the audience likes them.

The way their cherry red leather outfits complemented their physical structure, combined with the lack of awkwardness when staying still and somehow nonchalantly engaging with the audience. Whenever they play their instrument, they give off a cool, edgy vibe and appear more like a bunch of friends who are simply excited to perform in front of an audience than like they are trying to prove they're the greatest band in the world. Despite their lack of professionalism, they give off the impression of having some band experience.

Still, they’re a distraction.

The realization finally dawned on you as the hot air of summer was draining out your energy and killing your ego. "We should go." You uttered. Your group trailed behind you as you made your way out of the alluring scenery before your pride could die.

TRACK_002_ESPRESSO

Mingyu doubts his place in the band. There are some songs where people can barely hear the bass in their extended plays, and he sometimes can’t even hear himself during practices when his bandmates are loud. Whenever he notices that he made a mistake, he doesn’t bother redoing that bar since it’s so quiet that not even the others can hear it.

He mainly relies on the feeling of friction between his fingers and the strings to play along.

During practice, a certain sound caught his attention that was definitely not his bass or any other instrument. Its subtle taps or thuds resonate in his ears. It’s not in the room, and it sounds like it's coming from outside. As they wrap up their practice, Mingyu decides to investigate as he puts his bass down and strolls towards the door. Slowly opening it, he peeks his head out to meet with the sight of movers holding boxes. They drop them inside the room in front of theirs.

“We have new neighbours,” he announces to his bandmates.

“And they’re most likely gonna move out. Everyone hates using that practice room since we’re loud,” Vernon mocks, pulling out the cable from his guitar.

Just like every other neighbour they had, everyone kept moving out due to their infamous noise. They all tried to get them kicked out, but it was impossible since the landlord of Choi’s Music Store and Apartments for Musicians was their leader’s dad. Since then, all he could do was talk his way out of not mentioning that room.

The landlord mentioned how he didn’t recommend renting your room, as the room in front of yours was going to be noisy. But that didn’t stop your quartet from using it; it doubles as a practice room and an apartment, and you all needed to move out of your brother’s basement as a practice room. The only con is that it's downtown.

This was one of those times when your ensemble was willing to be nice to rock bands—except you. You refused to cooperate with them since your excuse was that you didn’t want to see their faces.

Ryuwon had to go build your bed frames and told you to bake muffins for your neighbours, hence why the three of you had to be nice.

“She better be joking when she wants us to bake for them,” you scowled.

“Let’s just do it in her favour. After all, we should let them know they have new neighbours,” the violinist proposed. “I don’t want to deliver, though.”

“Not it,” Yoonhee utters, quickly touching her nose as the other does the same, leaving you with the responsibility.

“What the hell! I didn’t even agree to this!” You grumble as you all head to the kitchen.

Meeting them was a questionable encounter. You urged them that you really didn’t want to give them the muffins, but they were insisting on it to the point where they pushed you out of the apartment, giving you the container of muffins. You were banging on the door, yelling at them to let you in. They didn’t answer, and you just so happened to give in, asking them what you should even say. Their response to you was to just come up with something from the top of your head.

You were finally facing their door, knocking rapidly until someone opened the door. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of you holding muffins in your hands. His tall figure was practically towering over you, making him seem intimidating. But the only intimidating thing between you was your mad expression and how you looked like you didn’t want to be there.

“Hi, not sure if you know, but we’re your new neighbours,” you greet, still retaining the muffins in his face.

He scratches his head. “Uhh, what are the muffins for?”

You didn’t reply right away, as you were trying to come up with an answer. "Think of it more as an advance apology. We practice loudly, so hopefully you and your band can handle that," you sarcastically remark.

He scoffs as he takes the container. "Oh, we’ll be much louder than you,” he brags before shutting the door on you.

You wonder why you would even agree to live next door to a rock band. But he looked awfully familiar to you. How he held onto his bass and the way he was towering over you. The band was undoubtedly one you have seen before, even though the landlord didn’t mention their name.

He takes the lid off and gazes at the freshly baked muffins. “What’s that?” Vernon proceeds to ask Mingyu. “Not for you!” he retaliates. Vernon rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the music sheet, while Mingyu pulls out a muffin and begins to bite into it. He hums in pleasure.

Strawberry banana—his favourite.

Your quartet decided to establish a rivalry with the band next door. It all began two days after you moved in, at five in the morning, when they practiced, more specifically, by clashing their instruments together to aggravate you four.

The following day, you practiced more loudly than you usually would, and you practiced for hours on end until they started banging on your door to beg you to stop. That day, they found it amusing since you were their opposing genre, especially being that quartet they saw at the summer music festival.

Since then, the eight of you have always found a way to piss each other off—everywhere, every day, and every time.

Everyone in your quartet likes to disappear off to their own places when the group isn't practicing, leaving you alone. You’d either be at work or out in public, because there’s absolutely nothing you could possibly do at home except practice, write songs, or bake. You want to ensure that your day is peaceful and that you’re not being disturbed during your alone time. Whenever you see someone from that band approaching you, you usually scare them off with your words, or if you don’t feel like losing your voice, you just give them a death glare.

For someone who’s so graceful, you sure can be frightening.

“Why are you so sour?” A voice utters before you. Lifting your gaze from your journal, you see the man you gave muffins to. You were at a nearby cafe, quietly penning some lyrics for yourself. He puts his coffee down on the table and sits in front of you, attempting to strike up a conversation.

His words cause you to furrow your brows before you snap back. “Excuse me? I didn’t even ask you to sit with me!”

“You sure look like you need someone to sit with,” he mumbles against the rim of his coffee cup.

"Maybe you can't tell, but everyone here knows that I prefer to be by myself, except for you and your stupid ass!" He doesn’t leave; rather, he stays in his seat, still drinking the coffee. You ignore the fact that he isn’t going to leave you alone and glance down at your journal once more. You continue to write a line on the current song you’re working on.

He sets his coffee back on the table and leans in so that his face is just inches from yours. You try to pay attention to the burning sensation that’s growing on your cheeks from the proximity. You’re still writing and not even trying to look at him. He pulls his arm out and reaches in to quickly grab your journal.

“What’s even in here?” He questions, holding it with both hands as he looks at the page of lyrics. “Flash Forward,” he mutters as he reads the title of the song. Before he can take another look, you snatch it back from him and stuff it into your bag. “That’s none of your business,” you retort as you get up from your seat and walk away.

There was nobody home when you returned to the apartment. You run to your bedroom and lie on your bed as you stare at the ceiling. The light was shining on your eyes, making you get up and realize that you still haven’t finished writing the song. You grab your journal out of your bag and open it to the unfinished page.

The moment the tip of your pencil touches the paper, your mind goes blank. Nothing comes to mind for the next few lines. All you can think about is what the man from earlier said about you.

“Sour? What does he know about being sour? I’m anything but sour!” You quietly complain to yourself.

You were writing down exactly what you had said before you even realized it. After continuing to stare at the words, it finally dawned on you. You turned the page to an empty space and began to write a heading.

‘Sour Grapes’

Other than writing lyrics, you like to bake in your free time. You would have been a baker without a doubt if you had not been a musician. Since you were a child, you have always enjoyed baking. Always trying out how to bake different kinds of pastries and other desserts. Your family never brought desserts home, except for birthday cakes, and no one really taught you how.

All you remember is how it all started, when your brother was watching a food channel and the show that was airing was about young bakers. It was kind of annoying to watch them fail at their recipes so often. You recalled remarking that even you, a seven-year-old, could accomplish it because it was so simple. Joshua wanted you to give it a try, but he said it was not easy.

For one thing, he was a little stupid to encourage his younger sister to go into the kitchen and possibly set the house on fire. Either way, you proved him wrong in a way. You followed a recipe that you remembered seeing on the screen. You weren’t precise with the measurements since you eyeballed it. However, the outcomes were better than shown on the show. Joshua seemed to like it and mentioned that you should try baking when you’re much older.

That's how your interest in baking began. You don’t really bake for yourself. Usually, you just serve your friends or family whatever dessert you make. Their constant approval encouraged you to bake more and more.

Here you are, by yourself, in the kitchen. Since it's less disruptive and you get to surprise them when they get home, you actually prefer to bake when no one else is home. On days like these in September, people would be craving autumn-related baked goods. Unlike them, you’ve been craving anything with strawberries lately, and this was going to be one of those times where you bake for yourself.

Baking is the only hobby you have where you don’t have to stress. It’s funny because baking requires you to be meticulous at every step. As long as you have the basics, you just grab everything from the refrigerator and cabinets and toss it all together.

Loaded with all the essentials and a pack of fresh strawberries on the counter, you took your phone out and looked up strawberry dessert recipes. The most common pastry to ever exist, Strawberry Shortcake, appears first, and surprisingly, you’ve never tried to make one.

Doing it on the first try was nothing. You could probably open a bakery knowing how good you are, because it was undoubtedly one of the easiest desserts you’ve ever made. It smells delicious, and by looking at it, it was pleasing.

Since you haven’t shared anything on social media in months, this was your chance to showcase your accomplishments. The majority of your pages are composed of scenery, which makes them visually appealing.

As you opened the camera app, you noticed how the kitchen in the background was ugly to look at. You looked around the apartment for a spot, but nothing seemed to fit the mood. The sky was still blue, and all of a sudden, you recalled that the rooftop had a patio. You put your phone in your pocket and picked up the plate with the cake on it.

You ran into a familiar face as soon as you opened the door and stepped outside, and it was not just your eyes that met him. It just so happens that his bass pickups are now covered in whipped cream, and your strawberry shortcake was lying on the ground when you dropped it. You’re so glad the plate was plastic, because if it were ceramic and shattered, it would’ve made this situation really painful.

Your gaze soon shifted to the guitar, which was now drenched in whipped cream. Your initial reaction, if you were looking at a guitar, was probably to yell at him for running into you. Though slightly different, this scenario is exactly like the one you had in mind.

You would’ve definitely scared him away if his bass had not gotten in the way. If he wasn’t wearing that same black t-shirt he always wears, again, you would’ve scared him off. The scenario can go in a million different directions, but they all come to the same conclusion—you get upset at him. So why is it that pity comes out of your mouth?

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You blurted as you tried wiping off the mess on his bass. Other than opening his eyes wide and staring at you, he remains motionless. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or sorry too, but he was in full panic mode.

“I-It’s fine!” He huffed, backing up to get your hands away from him. He returned to his apartment, leaving you by yourself in the hallway. You stood there, looking at the mess on the floor and realizing that you just pitied a bassist.

TRACK_003_RUNAWAYBABY

“Enjoy!” You exclaim as you hand a cup of Americano to the customer before they leave. As usual, your quartet ran off. Fortunately, you were working a shift at your part-time job, so you wouldn’t be by yourself this time. Although you don’t see the band on your shift, you always end the day annoyed because of how aggravating your co-workers are.

Being a barista isn’t entirely bad, but you wish you had another music-related job. After college, you thought of pursuing songwriting as a side job, but no agency would hire you, and they weren’t entirely convinced by a music degree either. So you stuck with being a musician with your friends and performing for fancy birthday parties and whatnot. It doesn’t really work in your favour since you can’t entirely write songs for a genre that doesn’t need lyrics, but at least you get to flex that you were the only one out of the four who went to college for music.

Since the customer was the last in line, you turned away when they departed. After hastily adjusting your apron, you turned to face the tall man you have always seen. “Oh, fuck, not you again,” you mutter. You raise an eyebrow before uttering in a sulky tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question. What are you doing here?” He retaliates.

“It’s called a job, something I’d doubt you would have.”

He scoffs. “I have a job, and it’s better than your miserable coffee-making job.” You don’t fight back since he’s right; it is miserable, and you would do anything to get you out of there. The only good part is that it pays better than other part-time jobs you worked for, and you work once a week.

“Are you here to waste my time, or are you actually going to order something?” You provoke as you cross your arms and rest them on the counter.

“Got anything cold?”

You tilt your head up, indicating the menu on the screen above you. “Refreshers, iced tea, smoothies, cold brew coffee—we have a ton,” you add. He looks up at the menu, contemplating the choices to pick from.

To be honest, he never came here for a drink to begin with. He found it amusing that you were behind the counter wearing an apron. He entered merely to cause you trouble, particularly in light of the incident; he’ll make sure that this isn’t the last time you see him. An arrogant expression appeared on his face as one of the menu's distinctive images highlighted a specialty.

“I’ll have a medium strawberry refresher, pretty girl,” he decides, putting a lot of emphasis on the fruit and making your eye twitch as the pet name rolls off his tongue. When you nod and inquire if he needs anything more, he simply shakes his head and makes the payment. Making his drink was fairly simple; all you had to do was fill a cup with ice, then add ginger ale and strawberry syrup, and finally garnish with a fresh strawberry slice.

You gave him the drink and thought he would at least walk out of the cafe, much less with you. With the counter separating you both, he remained exactly where he was—in front of you. He takes a sip of the beverage and stares at you. He’s testing your patience, and it’s infuriating you, but you’re not willing to give in. The tension relaxed when he spoke up.

“So when do you plan on paying for my pickup replacement?” He asks, swirling the drink. He confused you for a moment because he didn’t provide any context, but based on the keywords he used, he implied that you owed him for damaging his bass.

“How much do they cost? Fifty dollars?”

"Double," he corrects, smiling from ear to ear.

You shudder at his response. “Don’t you have another bass for emergencies?”

“Don’t you have another cello?”

“Right… We can go to the bank after my shift.”

“Which is in…?”

You check the clock on the monitor. It won’t take you that long for him to wait. "In half an hour, but I have to clean up, so I guess around forty minutes?"

He nods and heads over to an empty table near the entrance of the building. He waits by scrolling through his phone, checking unanswered texts, and stalking accounts on social media. It wasn’t long before he began to doze off, only to be jolted awake by a nudge. He raises his head and rubs his eyes, looking at you, who is already out of uniform and waiting for him.

“So do you still want that replacement or not?” You ask after vigorously tapping his shoulder. He shifts his gaze to the table, where the ice in his refresher has completely melted and his phone has already reached twenty percent. Has he been asleep for so long? He returns your gaze and immediately stands up, pushing the chair into place.

“Hell yeah, I do!” he exclaims. He exits the cafe while you trail behind. Just as he turns in the direction of where he parked his car and heads over there, you turn the opposite way. He looks back and notices you walking away from him. “Where are you going?” he yells. You pause in your steps and turn around.

“The train station?” You answer, puzzled by his question.

“And let you sit between sweaty middle-aged men on the way? No way, pretty girl!”

You grumbled at his response and began walking toward him. “I’ll stay with you if you stop calling me that!” you protest.

He opens the passenger door and motions for you to enter the car, which you do after slapping his hand away. He gets in the car and fastens his seatbelt before chuckling. He moves his hand to the side and presses a button, followed by a clicking noise.

"I can’t make any promises," he smirks, placing one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding the keys as he starts the car.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," you mutter, buckling your seatbelt as he begins driving. He remained silent for the first few minutes of the drive, with the music filling the void between you two.

"You know, I just realized we don’t know each other's names, and this is the fourth time I’ve run into you," he remarks, quickly shifting his gaze to you and back to the road. You’re staring into nowhere at the window as your fingers tap your thigh to the rhythm of the song. “It’s my band’s song,” he pointed out, causing your fingers to stop going along.

“You like to run your mouth, don’t you?” You scoffed as you turned your head to look at him.

“If you tell me your name, I’ll be quiet,” he bargained.

“Why would I tell you that?”

He hummed. “So I can sabotage your quartet and blame the conceited cellist.”

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who wants to ruin their opponent’s image.”

Following that, you both remain completely silent. He silently questions why you’re not saying anything like he had expected. “Aren’t you gonna ask for my name in return?” He asks.

“Why would I want to know your name?”

“‘Cause I’m sexy and rich, and if everyone heard my name come out of your mouth, society would shake.”

“What an exaggerated way to say, ‘I’m better than you if you knew my name.’”

“I wouldn’t say better, but I am cooler.”

"And annoying," you mumble, causing him to quickly turn his head to you and raise an eyebrow before returning his attention to the road.

"The offer is still open," he adds.

You let out a heavy sigh. “(Name).”

When you finally arrive at the parking lot, he parks in front of the bank, and the silence lingers. You step out of the car without uttering a word, feeling the breeze of the air hitting your face. His eyes follow your figure as the car door slams shut, the sound resonating in the quiet atmosphere. He watches you enter the bank, the neon sign flickering and dancing to the beat of your steps.

Your name echoes in his head like a melody. It’s a perfect name for a cellist. The music still plays, and his fingers tap on the steering wheel to the rhythm. The door of the bank swings as you come back running to the car with a small stack of cash clutched in your hand. Without exchanging a glance, you shove the money into his hand. You fastened your seatbelt and gestured to him to start the car.

He turns the keys and starts driving back to the practice building, which was only a few minutes away. You closed your eyes and sat a bit too comfortably in the seat. You listen to the music. Is this really his band’s song?

It was too good to be true; it’s too sensual to be a song from a rock band. You didn’t even notice you were slowly bobbing your head until he mentioned it, making you scowl and sit up straight. Before you know it, the car comes to a halt, and you open your eyes to the parking lot of the studio.

You got out, and he trailed behind, catching up to you at the back entrance. You enter the elevator and press the button to go to the floor you both were going to. He plays with the hem of his jacket as he watches the numbers go up, his gaze shifting to you, then back to the numbers.

The door opens to the corridor of your floor, and you both walk out. You tried walking faster so you could quickly leave him in the hallway, but he tries to make small talk with you when you reach your apartment’s door.

“By the way, pretty girl,” he speaks up as you hastily rummage through your bag for your keys. “If you wanna sabotage my career as well,” You finally found your keys, looked for the key to your apartment, and stuck the key into the lock. “It’s Kim Mingyu,” he finishes his sentence as you open the door, entering the apartment and slamming it shut to indicate that you don’t want his name.

You ran to your room and dropped your bag by the door. You went to your desk and took out your journal from the drawer. You flipped to the incomplete page of your current song. You still have yet to finish the other one from two weeks ago, but this song was simply an excuse to rant about that stupid ass Mingyu.

As you try to think of a few lines for the song, you mutter his name several times. You jot them down, take out an empty sticky note that is lying on your table, and adhere it to the page.

You began writing down the recipe for that strawberry shortcake you made last week, and for some reason, you even drew a doodle of the cake in the corner. You chuckle at the paper, realizing that the sticky note had strawberries on it, but the title contained grapes.

You just seem to be drawn to fruits.

The following week, Mingyu found a way to always be with you, and you were just quick to assume it was a part of his band’s way to annoy you all.

On Monday, he came to your door with a broom in his hand and the other gripping your forearm. He was practically begging you to let him into your apartment. When you turned him down, he urged you to kill the cockroach in his apartment as you tried to push him away. You refused to believe someone giant like him was afraid of something so small.

On Tuesday, he saw you use the display cello from the music store he works at. He went up to you and had the audacity to ask you why you weren’t using your cello. Apparently, when your quartet wanted to practice, the minute your bows touched your instruments, the strings suddenly broke. Mingyu admits it was his band’s doing, which left you confused since, one, how the hell did they break into your apartment, and two, when did they do this? Not only did you land some free strings, but you also landed a punch on his stomach.

On Wednesday, he followed you around the building. The only time he didn’t was when you were in your apartment. You kept telling him to go away, but he insisted you tell him that strawberry banana recipe from three weeks ago. In the end, you never told him the actual recipe, only telling him to make a muffin batter and add the fruits.

On Thursday, it wasn’t intentional. You happened to run into him at the grocery store. He needed butter, and you needed whipping cream, so it was a coincidence to meet in the dairy section. Like the friendly man he was, he tried conversing with you, but you were trying to ignore him by making your way to the yogurts.

He kept eyeing the overripe bananas in your basket and attempted to convince you to give them to him. Apparently all the other bananas in the aisle were unripe or ripe, and he wanted to copy your strawberry banana muffins. You told him that he could use ripe ones and it would still taste the same, but he insisted that he preferred it sweeter when using overripe ones. So you two had to fight for the bananas. Or, in other words, he stole them from your basket.

On Friday, it was a much more peaceful day for you. No quartet, no shift, no chores, and most importantly, no Kim Mingyu to pester you around. You spent most of the day writing songs. You were able to finish the song you’ve been wanting to finish since three weeks ago and start a new one—still leaving Sour Grapes untouched.

It was around eleven in the evening when you stopped writing since Ryuwon texted you that her package had arrived. When you left the apartment, you happened to bump into Mingyu, who looked dishevelled and was close to letting go of his grip on the handle of the case of his bass. Although he was exhausted, he still wanted to talk to you.

On your way down, he followed you and mentioned how his band was unfortunate to have two gigs in one day. In the morning, their first gig was at a folk festival, and they played for five hours straight with a fifteen-minute break in between. Their other gig was at a bar, and the people there seemed to enjoy it more than the audience at the festival.

It was weird how he was tired. Despite hating rock bands, you know well enough that bass players are equivalent to violists. It was either the fact that he spent the whole day playing the bass or he’s simply exaggerating. Whatever the case was, it was Mingyu anyway, so there was no reason to be perplexed about him.

Saturday is your usual weekly group practice, but due to Ryuwon’s and the violinist’s instruments being broken, you all agreed to push it to tomorrow. As the two went to visit a specialist for reparations. you spent that day isolated in your room until Yoonhee called you to say that there was someone waiting for you at the door. Her brows were furrowed, and she really emphasized “someone.”

The door was closed rather than open, and Yoonhee stood by the door as she was anticipating for you to open it. When you opened it, Mingyu unexpectedly showed up at your door, beaming and waving.

You groaned, and Yoonhee whispered in your ear along the lines of asking if you and the bassist were friends. You were quick to reply and retorted that you two were never friends in the first place, and he was just trying to seek attention from you.

“What do you want?” You asked in a careless demeanour as Yoonhee left you two alone.

“Can’t I see my amazing best friend in the whole wide world?” He responds as he leans against the doorframe and gazes at you with what seem to be puppy eyes.

“I don’t recall being your friend. Go away,” you say, closing the door on him before he stops it by putting his hand in between.

“Wait, let me take you somewhere. Cat cafe, arcade, music store, you name it.”

You silently judged him with your eyes. “Me? Go out with you? Never in a million years! I’d rather jump off a bridge than be stuck in a room with some hot and arrogant bassist!”

He pouted at your words, but his eyes started to light up, and he slowly started smirking. “You just called me hot,” he teases.

“I never said it like that,” you retaliate.

“You think I’m hot!”

“Not! Stop twisting my words!” Those were the last words you yelled before shutting the door on him. He kept knocking on the door as you went back to your room. You can hear your roommates complain, and the noise eventually stops.

You spent Sunday practicing with your quartet. The two were able to get their instruments repaired, and you four sounded perfect, like always. Despite preferring to be alone all the time, you always liked playing with others rather than by yourself—although you never admit it when someone brings it up.

From playing with your grandparents to joining your high school’s orchestra to being a cellist in a quartet, you were always with someone when playing—except when composing your songs by yourself. Even when your cello didn’t have strings that one fateful week, someone from a rock band you despise was with you.

TRACK_004_FALLINGFORYA

‘Don’t usually swoon but I’m over the moon.’

That sentence was a line from the very first song you wrote when you were still in high school. The line was originally from a poetry assignment for English class back in your first year, and it has stuck with you ever since.

It was so simple yet so inspirational and relatable, and it perfectly described your love life. You remember writing that line, thinking about your first crush, who was a bassist from a boy band established by other students from the performing arts department. You weren’t the type to have crushes, so it was a new feeling.

He caught your eye when he was leaving the performing arts department as you were about to enter. You never knew his name or what grade he was in, only knowing his band was called Cerise.

You labelled him as a hallway crush since you never shared any classes, and you only ever saw him in the music room or at events the student council would hold. You easily got over him when you joined your school’s orchestra and choir ensemble, since those two were your priorities. That was also when you started to grasp the idea of rivals being a distraction.

Thinking about that one song makes you realize that the majority of the songs you write are about love. You don’t know where you get the motivation to write those since you’re not much of a romance fanatic, but you’ve definitely written a lot. You have a total of sixteen songs written. The first four were simply poems, but you began putting music notes on the others.

You like to write anywhere since it gives you inspiration, and in every song you finish, you add melodies and adjust them if there are too many or too few words in a line. You first hum out a melody, then use a piano your roommates have on display in the living room, and use your cello afterwards.

You’re currently trying out your recent song on the cello. Your fingers are starting to feel sore from moving the bow a lot. The melody is too upbeat for your liking, and it’s not the usual mellow or melancholic songs you’d write.

Singing it sounds right, but playing it with the cello sounds off; it might just be better off with the piano or some other instrument.

You close your journal and quickly put your cello back in the case. You take a deep breath as you lean down in your chair. You’re not the type to give up, but the song is making you doubt your skills. You get up to grab your journal from the stand and take your purse lying on the floor.

You shoved the book in as you left your room to head to the door. Quickly locking the door, you went down the hallway to go to the elevator. To be honest, you have no idea where to go; you're just hoping there’s a place out there to solve your small problem.

As soon as the elevator doors close, they open again, revealing a smiley face you’d recognize anywhere. “Where are you headed now, pretty?” Mingyu asks, making you scowl even more at that stupid-ass nickname he calls you.

“I don’t know; maybe away from you,” you say, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.

"Ouch, it looks like someone pissed in your cereal today. Not surprised, though, since you’re always salty,” he jokes, earning him a hard slap on the shoulder from you.

“Last time it was sour, and now it’s salty; what’s next? Sweet?”

He cackles, “You wish.”

The door opens, and the two of you step out. He heads over to the exit, and you couldn’t believe that your steps are following his. “Bassist!” You yell out, causing him to stop walking and turn his head.

“It’s Mingyu,” he corrected.

“Whatever. Are you going anywhere?”

“I have a gig in twenty minutes at a resort. Wanna come?”

“Nevermind, I heard ‘gig,’ and my ears turned off.”

“I’m not bad at the bass, trust me. I’m pretty hot when I play.”

“Even worse,” you turn away and walk back to the elevator. “Break a leg—literally, bass boy.”

“I’ll treat you to dessert if you come!” He yells out, making you leave the elevator to face him again. Dessert is tempting; then again, you have to watch his show—unless you don’t but still eat. Running away with the plate might be a better idea; what’s the worst that can happen?

“Fine, but only if it’s before your show. And I’ll only be there until I finish the dessert. I’ll call my friend to pick me up,” you sigh before he takes your hand and brings you to his car.

When he mentioned a resort, you assumed it would be some small resort by a lake, not the most luxurious resort in the city by the beach. It pays a lot, and he’ll be playing for tons of people, not to mention rich tourists.

Your mouth is agape at the sight of the massive resort when you two stand in front of the entrance. You see his friends setting up through the glass door before walking in. His bass is on display next to his band, and it piques a thought.

“Why didn’t you go with your band for rehearsal?”

“I was recovering from a hangover. I can rehearse the whole setlist within five minutes.”

“Wow. Alcoholic much?” You joked. He didn’t deny it, but all he did was change the topic to the dessert he promised. He left for a few minutes and unexpectedly came back with a cart of plated desserts. He rolls the cart in front of you, showing you all the options.

Key lime pie, apple rhubarb pie, chocolate-covered strawberries, peach cake, matcha French macarons, caramelized banana pudding, lemon galette, grape yogurt tart—there were too many to name. This might interrupt your plan. You looked at the cart, then at Mingyu, then back at the cart. It looks good, it smells delicious, and it might taste amazing. Baked goods may be your weakness, but the mastermind behind this is your biggest enemy. Thinking about it is making you suddenly wish you didn’t agree in the first place.

But you’re smarter than this. If you can bake at the age of seven without parental supervision, you can get your way out of this. Maybe you can eat three plates of dessert, then call it a day. Though that wouldn’t work since he expects you to bring the rest home. Or you could pretend to eat it all and throw it away, but food waste is so careless.

“I’m suddenly not craving carbs. I’m more thirsty than I am hungry,” you mention, smiling to mask your lie. “I’ll have water, then I’ll be out of here.”

He stares at you with confusion. Carbs? More thirsty? Water? You’re just spitting nonsense at this point. First it was spilling whipped cream on his bass, then you kept calling him random names, and now you want to leave five minutes after arriving—he thinks you’re more eccentric than he is. “How about staying for just one song?”

“Hell no.”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad.” It’s very bad. Detrimental, you may say. You know it’s vile; your quartet knows; heck, his past neighbours experienced how atrocious it was.

“It’s terrible.”

“Another one of your lies; you just love lying, don’t you?” He teases. His words remind you that you don’t remember lying to him at all.

“I’m an honest person.”

“And what about that time you were enjoying my band’s song?”

“It was an honest mistake; I didn’t know you guys knew how to make indie rock songs.”

“We’re literally an indie rock band.”

This small argument is getting you nowhere out of this building. All you want to do is perfect your song with a better instrument, something that isn’t a part of the violin family, and that might just hurt your pride.

“I’ll do anything for you to stay for just one song.” His words finally hit your head, connecting the dots—and this might hurt your pride even more.

“Do you know how to play the guitar?” You ask. You came up with an idea while thinking about your song. Never in your life would you think of someone like Mingyu helping you, but it’s your only hope. You could give up on the song, yet knowing you, you’d rather give in than give up.

“Is that even a question? Of course I can.” In less than three seconds after he responded, Mingyu suddenly found it weird how you would ask a question like that. Even though he met you a month ago, he knows well enough that a word about rock would never come out of your mouth unless you were talking shit about it.

“What’s on your mind, pretty one?” He asks, and that already has you thinking about the other option, giving up instead.

“If I stay for one song, will you help me with something?” Mingyu is already beaming from ear to ear when he hears your answer. Before he can agree and ask you about your favour, his bandmate calls him to start the gig, leaving you without a word. His supposed five-minute setlist rehearsal has already passed due to talking with you. He’ll be fine though; he’s a bassist after all.

Now you don’t know if he agreed or not, so now you’re not sure if you should speak up to your word or not. You sit down on a stool by the bar, which is close to the band. The rich guests were already interested when they introduced themselves. Seungcheol on drums, Vernon and Wonwoo on guitar, and last but not least, the man himself, Mingyu on bass. They started off with a song, which, ironically, was the song Mingyu was mentioning earlier—the one you’re quite familiar with and their only song you know.

Every time Mingyu told you he was good at the bass, you never believed him since bassists barely did anything. Now, after seeing it with your own two eyes, he’s way better than what you awfully expected. Despite not rehearsing right when he arrived, his bass slaps are hella impressive.

The way his fingers move a lot on the neck and how his eyes are so focused on people instead of his instrument. It’s alluring; it’s distracting; why does it feel like you’ve seen this before? The audience cheers, and you can see his smile widening. When the guitarist begins his solo, Mingyu averts his gaze from the others to you, tilting his head in a way of asking for commendation. You roll your eyes and ignore him by turning to face the bartender, who was watching as well.

By the time they finished the song, everyone applauded. You turned to look at them again, and the lead guitarist’s action caught your eye. He was shyly waving at someone in the audience, and as you averted your eyes to see who he was waving at, you couldn’t believe who waved back. While the band was asking people for song requests, you got up from your seat and moved closer to the person.

When the next song began, you nudged her as she looked at you with fear in her eyes. “What are you doing here?” The violinist asks.

You glanced at the band, then returned your gaze to her. “I should be asking you the same. Are you seeing the guitarist behind our back?”

“No! We’re just friends.” She was swift to deny, but her voice was strained.

“Friends? Do you realize that you, being friends with him, are putting our music in a dangerous position?”

“You say that as if you don’t do the same!”

“It’s different! I don’t want to be the bassist’s friend, yet you’re willing to be friends with the enemy.” The frustration rose between you two. It’s leading you to so many thoughts about her and the quartet.

You were quick to end the argument by calling Yoonhee to come pick you two up. By the time she arrived, she was confused as to why the two of you were at a resort, but she easily read the room that something bad had happened. The car ride back to the studio was extremely silent, with no music playing on the radio and the middle seat separating you and the violinist.

Yoonhee overreacted when you brought up the fact that the violinist and the guitarist from the band are friends. She began jabbering about how disappointed and mad Ryuwon would be if she found out—and everyone knows how terrifying it can get when the leader is mad.

The violinist fought back and called it hypocritical because it wasn’t fair how they let it slide when the bassist talked to you. “We talked about this before; he’s only there to pester and sabotage me, while you and that guitarist have some sort of friendship,” you remarked earlier. “You know he’s an enemy.”

After Yoonhee parked in front of the studio, the violinist left the car before the argument could get any worse, slamming her door as you two watched her enter the building alone. That was the first time you ever saw her explode.

The following week, you eventually apologized for scolding her about it and mentioned that you were only worried for her as a musician rather than as a friend, because if your non-cellist persona was aware of what was going on between them, you wouldn’t give a damn if she had a thing for him. The three of you acted as if that day never happened, not even telling Ryuwon about it. The violinist was a lot busier music-wise than the rest of you since she got invited to perform a concerto at her instructor’s birthday, making her practice a piece non-stop two weeks prior. So none of you practiced for those two weeks.

You had nothing to do at home since, one, in order to finish your current song, you needed to use your cello, and two, if you were to bake, it would be disruptive. So, you simply went out all the time to see if you could do anything and hopefully get inspiration to write new songs.

Those times may have been unlucky for you because no matter where you went, the stupid bassist would always be there. Each time you saw him, it was always the same: he would go up to you and make small talk, would clown you all the time, and at the end of the day, you would find yourself writing a few lines for ‘Sour Grapes.’

The first time he encountered you was at a music store. Not the store in the studios, but a studio that’s at the opposite end of the city. You both stared at each other in bewilderment, him wondering why you’re here and how you should be asking the same since he clearly works at one. He brought up that you left the resort early, and you simply told him important matters came up.

“You didn’t get to eat the desserts I gave you,” he pouts. “I had to give them all away to new fans.”

“What a bummer,” you sarcastically remark.

“You should do that all the time when I have gigs.”

“Keep dreaming, Bubble Bass,” you say, walking away from him, but he keeps following you.

“When will you start calling me by my actual name?” He asks while looking through vinyls of classical composers. Disgust grows on his face with each vinyl cover he looks at. Seriously, he doesn’t understand how one can only listen to classical music.

“I could say the same. It’s always ‘pretty girl’ but never (Name).”

“But you are pretty.”

“Go home, weirdo.”

Little did you know that you went home before him and slept for twelve hours straight. By the time you woke up, it was already four in the morning. That sleep was probably the best you’ve ever slept in your entire life. Your hand reached for your journal that was lying on the nightstand, and you didn’t think you’d ever write another line.

‘I’m the only one who’s going to get hurt.’

Mingyu heard of the grand opening of a new cafe that was a block away from the studio; he had a feeling you were going. So there he stood by the corner of the building, waiting in line. He didn’t think there would be such a long line, but what did he expect? Everyone just loves coffee.

He’s suddenly thanking his genes for his height when he tiptoed to look at the front of the line. He instantly recognizes you, who was entering with a group of friends. He steps back down and rethinks. Since when did you have friends, and how the hell were you earlier than him? The line was moving, but he only had to take two steps. He’s going to be here forever.

Around twenty minutes later, Mingyu finally entered the cafe. He scanned around; the place was minimal and the decor was cute, something you definitely like.

When you saw him walk in, you were quick to hide your face by turning your head to face one of your friends and whispering in her ear. You mentioned the ‘don’t look’ code, but you knew that never works and looked at Mingyu. Her eyes moved a lot from her cup of coffee to him to your eyes and back at her coffee. The more her eyes were on him, it clicked in her head why he looked so familiar.

She turns her head to whisper back in your ear, your face still away from his direction. “Wasn’t he your hallway crush from high school?” She questioned before you lightly pushed her away from the idea. You forgot how your hallway crush looked since you last saw him years ago, but there was no way he was Mingyu. He was hotter and more talented than the latter.

But the idea still struck you. Him? Sure, there were some similarities, like being the bassist of a band and being super tall, but that’s mostly all bassists you’ve encountered. Your friend is just tripping. Or maybe you don’t want to admit that it could be him. You take a quick glance at him, who was by the counter ordering, and the more you look, you can’t help but think that he might be the bassist you wrote a song about.

‘It’s bittersweet that I don’t wanna taste.’

Two weeks have passed, and you’re here sitting in Yoonhee’s car next to the violinist, adjusting her necklace for her. The four of you are on your way to drop her off at the birthday party before the rest of you go to a nightclub. You all agreed that while she was at her instructor’s party, you’d be at the club until she called to go home.

There were a few rules Ryuwon established, such as if Yoonhee was drunk, either you or she would drive, and the club had to be near where the violinist would be in case something happened. Luckily, after you dropped off the violinist, you were able to find a club that was two blocks away from the banquet.

“Wanna bet who’s gonna get hit on first?” Yoonhee asked as you three were heading to the entrance of the club.

“Hmmm, Ryu, for sure, her back is showing,” you say, poking her revealing back.

"Yeah, and I’ll tell them three hundred ways to go get lasik because they clearly can’t see the ring on my finger,” Ryuwon provoked. “If they aren’t actually blind, it’s either you two.”

“(Name) would be the last to go home with a guy because she hates men,” Yoonhee mentions.

After you finally go in, Ryuwon speaks up. “Nah, (Name) doesn’t hate men; she’s loyal. And besides, we all know she has a thing for men who play bass, whether it’s someone that plays double bass or bass guitar, mainly bass guitar—which, yuck, by the way!”

“I do not! Everyone knows I hate bassists, especially if they’re men,” you retort.

“Says the one who used to like one back in grade nine.”

“And has a bassist head over heels for her!” Yoonhee adds.

“Speak of the devils,” you mutter when you spot the band sitting by the bar with the bespectacled guitarist missing in the picture. Out of all places and times, why do they have to be here?

As you looked by your side, the two had already run off, and you swore you were going to kill them if you saw them. You’re all alone, and there’s a fifty percent chance you might run into Mingyu. Maybe if you avoid him for the night, you won’t have to talk to him; just pray he doesn’t approach you.

You sat on the end of a couch and spotted Yoonhee in the crowd. Just as you were about to go up to her, an aggravating and well-recognized voice stopped you from getting up.

“The club is the last place I thought I’d ever see you,” Mingyu brought up, who was standing next to the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. “What are you even doing here?”

“My friend is performing at a birthday party, so the three of us agreed we’d go clubbing while she’s busy.”

“That’s ironic; so is mine. My friend’s dad’s birthday is today, and his dad is a violin teacher. Who knows, they could be attending the same one.”

Your mind trails back to the day you found out she and the guitarist were friends. “I found out they’ve been seeing each other.”

“That’s odd; Wonwoo was never the romantic type. Is that why he’s always gone?” Now it’s really convincing that the violinist and he have connections. She mentioned his name once in a conversation, but no one bothered asking who he was.

“While you’re here, want a drink?” He asks.

“Not much of a drinker, but sure.”

You both head to the bar, and as you sit on the stool, Mingyu gives cocktail recommendations. He suggests a lot that you’ve heard of, like Margarita and Mojito, but never tried since you only ever drink once every two or three months. He mentions one that catches your attention, and you immediately ask for that one.

Strawberry Daiquiri.

While waiting for your drink, Mingyu comments that it’s his personal favourite, mainly because it’s strawberry-flavoured. That made you realize he likes a lot of things strawberry-related, like you. The muffins, the refresher, fighting over a pack of strawberries, and the daiquiri—your love for the fruit is the only thing you two have in common.

Surprisingly, he’s still talking to you despite not saying anything but nodding. You’re listening, and for some reason, you’re glad you have company. The bartender places the drink on the counter, and Mingyu eagerly watches you hold it. You brought the brim to your lips, and the first sip was strong. It tasted more delectable than you expected, and you were quick to down half the glass.

You feel bad for keeping the conversation one-sided, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. It kept going, and before you knew it, your drink was already finished. You asked for another one, and this time the conversation was mutual. You two were on the topic of music, and you got to know a little bit about him from his implications.

From what he mentions, his band has been going on since high school, and he once injured his arm so much that his little sister had to replace him for a while. He was never serious about music and played for fun. You remember earlier that he knew how to play the guitar, and apparently, he used to be a guitarist until he learned that the bass was much easier. He mentioned the school he went to, and that information alone confirms he was the bassist you had a crush on.

Your words were starting to slur, and you don’t know how you ended up confessing that you went to school with him—still trying not to mention that he was the reason why you started writing songs. You finished your second drink quicker than your first one and laid your head on the counter before asking for a third. While drinking your third one, the words coming out of your mouth are foreign to you. When you tried getting up from your seat, you almost stumbled, but Mingyu was lucky enough to catch you, his hand on your waist.

“You know if I was sober right now, I’d punch you for holding me like this,” you mumble. He doesn’t say anything in return. Your faces are close, and his lips are practically hovering over yours.

He leans in more to your ear and whispers. “I’d like to see you try.”

After that, the rest of the night was a blur, only remembering how his other hand held the back of your neck, your back pressed against the cold wall, and your fingers brushing against his soft hair.

TRACK_005_KISSYOU

Jihyo opened the front door to the sight of you standing there, holding your cello and a few cardboard boxes lying on the porch. She looks like she just woke up with bedhead, with a blanket covering her upper body. She rubs her eyes as she tilts her head as to why you’re on her doorstep, and then she remembers. “You told me it was next week!” she yells.

“Yeah, I told you that last week!”

The band practiced late at night often, and it started to piss your quartet off and ruin everyone’s rest, so you all decided to move out. The agreement stayed the same: every Saturday, group practice in your brother’s basement. Ryuwon rented a small condominium, while the violinist and Yoonhee moved in with their group of friends. As for you, you decided to be housemates with your cousin Jihyo since the only payment she accepts is your offering to pay for groceries and the bill for fine dining. You’re grateful to have Jihyo because, without her, you might be living in Joshua’s basement again.

She pushes each box inside the house with her foot. As unfazed as she is when pushing it, it’s lighter than she thought it would be. Knowing you, when it comes to packing, you pack lightly, which is why on flights abroad, some of your friends would add their own personal belongings to your luggage because ‘there’s a lot of space.’

Jihyo led you to your room, which was still empty, as she had planned on decorating it tomorrow if she knew you were coming this week. Still, as long as you had a bed and a desk, it was fine. You were quick to drop your cello and lie down on your new bed. If there was something that you were glad to know, it was that Jihyo’s parents owned a mattress store, and their mattresses were known to be the softest in the city. It was like resting on a cloud, and you don’t think you could ever get up after this.

“Don’t think that you can take a break; you have some unpacking to do,” she reminds you, taking a pillow and throwing it against you. Luckily for you, the only belongings in the boxes are clothes and other necessities like skincare and your unhealthy collection of fruit-themed hair clips.

She opens a box, and it turns out to be said collection, and only that, in the box. “Damn girl, I thought you stopped collecting in grade eleven.”

“I did, but I started collecting again after I saw a cute set when I went to France, which was not too long ago,” you say, sliding off the bed.

"Well, I can’t blame you; it’s not a bad addiction.” Jihyo puts the collection aside and helps you by unpacking more boxes with you. After several boxes were unpacked and your belongings kept tidied away, it was already past four in the afternoon. Jihyo went to cook dinner, which left you with nothing to do. You could either A: stay in bed on your phone until dinner or B: roam around the area. The first option might be better.

The minute you lay back on your new bed, Jihyo calls your name out, then proceeds to mention you getting the mail outside for her. Damn, Jihyo really doesn’t want you resting in her house. You head out the front door to her mailbox. As you pick up all the mail, you look through the letters and offers that were sent to her. A letter from the bank, a few coupons from fast food chains, and a letter that was supposed to be sent to the house next door to Jihyo. You quickly made your way to her neighbour’s house to drop off the letter in their mailbox, but by the time you turned around to leave their porch, a living nightmare froze at their gates, holding eye contact with you.

“Long time no see?” Mingyu comments but is perplexed by the sight of you. ‘Long time no see,’ as in the last time he ever saw you was the night you went clubbing, and that will be the last time you’ll ever go to a club. Ever since that night, you started avoiding Mingyu because, to be honest, you didn’t really know what actually happened that night between you two. You were scared of what he was going to say, like mentioning the fact that you probably made out with him—which you’re not too sure if you actually did.

Luckily, when Ryuwon brought up moving, you were quick to agree, mainly because this was a chance to escape Mingyu’s clutches. The reason why you specifically asked Jihyo to be her housemate was due to the fact that she lived in the suburbs, which is far from the music plaza. So how the hell did you encounter Mingyu at your secret hideout place that was half an hour away from his place?

“What are you doing here now?!” you complained.

“I live here? What are you doing in front of my house?” Live. You. His house. He’s your neighbour again? And just as you thought you could escape, he has another place to stay that just has to be next to yours again. Seriously, what’s up with rich boys and having houses everywhere?

“Your mail went into my mailbox; I just didn’t think it was your mail.” You clarified, stepping down from his porch. You didn’t think too much about the letter when you saw the owner’s last name. ‘Kim’ is a typical last name, and it could’ve been anyone. Unfortunately, that ‘Kim’ was related to Kim Mingyu. Mingyu looks to his left, looking at the house you were currently living in.

“You moved out? Is that why your apartment was suddenly quiet?” He asks. Out of nowhere, your quartet’s apartment was dead silent. He noticed how no one left or entered, and he never saw you or your members around the plaza. And now that he thinks about it, he never saw you around the area. You weren’t sitting at a usual café or looking for CDs in the music store. He even went to the café you worked at in hopes he'd find you working, but you weren’t there behind the counter.

“Yeah, we all did because we were tired of your band’s bullshit. You won.” You say, walking past him and leaving his property to go to yours. Leaving that band alone was supposed to be a new era—no more rivalries and only playing for yourself. Mingyu, however, just keeps coming back into your life, and it’s sickening.

The following several days of staying at Jihyo’s, you noticed a pattern of when Mingyu would go to his house. It turns out it’s his childhood house, and he visits his family four times a week. Ever since he found out you’re his neighbour once again, he has visited you on the same days.

One time, you came back from work and found Mingyu sprawled and napping on your bed. You kicked him off your bed, started throwing pillows at him when he woke up, and kept calling him a pervert. Apparently, when he was looking for you, Jihyo let him in and told him to wait until you came back—but what she didn’t know was that you hate his guts.

When you tried kicking him out of the house, she caught you two and asked why you were kicking your boyfriend out. The moment she called him your boyfriend, Mingyu's lips grew a smirk, and he snaked his arm around your shoulders.

You were irked when he continued with, “Yeah, love, why are you?” Jihyo was, without a doubt, geeked out. You were quick to push him away and tell her that he wasn’t your boyfriend. She offered to stay for dinner, as Mingyu thought it was a great idea while you thought it was a horrible idea.

Eventually, he did stay over for dinner since the only person who was terrifying to fight was none other than Jihyo. She made the two of you sit next to each other, and the only thing she talked about was embarrassing you in front of him, telling him how you once cried over your orange falling in the toilet and how you always mistook some random person in the hallways as her.

It was humiliating to the point where you left the room for a few seconds. Bad idea, you thought. Who knows what kind of bullshit Jihyo will tell him? You quickly came back to your seat just as she finished whispering to him, causing him to smile a little. Jihyo excused herself to the bathroom, and it was just you two, eating in silence.

Whatever your cousin told him is making you nervous since Mingyu isn’t talking at all—and he always has something to say. You take a small glance at him, who was already looking at you, and turn your head away. Did he catch you staring at him? Or did you catch him staring at you?

"So, what’s the song called?” He asked without context. Song? Whatever Jihyo told him has to be music-related; otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking at all. What did she tell him, though?

“What song?”

“Your cousin told me you wrote a song about me back in high school.” What the fuck? Self-note to your next life: never tell anyone about your crushes. You internally push the panic button, and your jaw only drops. You’re left speechless, debating whether you should lie to him by telling him Jihyo says anything for the plot or be honest and confess you liked him before.

“It was just a poetry assignment, nothing special,” you clarify, lying about the last part because you know damn well it was dedicated to him.

He moves his face close to yours, innocently smiling and holding eye contact with you, as your faces are most likely two inches away from kissing. “Does that mean you like me?” He teases as he tilts his head.

You shoved his face away and started yelling at him. “It was freshman year! Any girl would have liked you more!”

“Well, now that I know you were one of those girls, I wish I had known you back then.” He starts laughing, as your hand is the only thing that's creating a barrier between you two. Jihyo comes back and asks what he was laughing about.

Without answering her, you immediately asked her, “Did you tell him I liked him?”

She grinned as if she were clueless and took a closer look at Mingyu. “Ohh! So you were the bassist in my Geo class,” she commented and turned to you. “No, I only told him you were downright horrendous for a guy who plays bass, to the point where you wrote a song about him.”

You groaned and sank in your seat. “Remind me to never tell you about any man I like.” While your eyes are shut, Jihyo looks at Mingyu, then at you and back at Mingyu, and starts wiggling her eyebrows. He looks away while he coughs aggressively and gets up from his seat as you sit properly.

“I should probably get going. It was nice meeting you again,” he concludes, shaking Jihyo’s hand. You all head to the front, and before he heads out, he looks at you once more and beams. “Goodnight, you two. Dream of me, (Name)!” He jokes before you push him out the door.

Unbeknownst to you, you dreamt of him that night—and you can’t deny that the idea of it made you giggle just a bit when you woke up.

TRACK_006_BREAKINGNEWS

Mingyu literally flipped when he finally got your number. It took him several months to convince you to give him your number. Whenever you asked why, he would simply answer with ‘cause why not’ or ‘don’t worry about it.’ Since then, he would text you nonstop whenever you two didn’t see each other, always starting by asking about your day and ending it off with goodnight texts at three in the morning.

He would also call you out of the blue, always giggling like a little girl whenever you answered his calls, and ramble random things about his day to you. Mingyu likes talking to you, and he loves it when you talk to him. His day isn’t complete without annoying you, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, his time is up with you.

“I’m sorry?” He asks after hearing what Seungcheol, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, told him. His friend randomly woke him up after his fourteen-hour sleep to tell him he had to go on a date soon.

“I set you up with someone, and your date is in,” Seungcheol mentions as he checks his watch for the time, “three hours.”

Mingyu quickly sat up and began to make random noises, shouting a bunch of ‘whys.’.

Seungcheol tossed him a shirt and explained. “Well, once upon a time, I went for your beautiful sister. Vernon doesn’t mind the idea of dating, and Wonwoo is in love with music. It’s your turn.” Before Mingyu could defend himself, Seungcheol spoke up again: “And if you’re gonna mention that cellist, she’s our rival; don’t get yourself attached to someone who’s willing to sabotage your career.”

He’s right. Knowing you, you can drop the act and ruin everything he worked hard for. You’re dangerous. But he loves danger and wants to take the risk.

[Mingyu]: i survived!!!!

You were the first person Mingyu texted after his date. Long story short, he doesn’t want to go on another date. Seungcheol set him up with another bassist from a girl band. He wasn’t interested at all and would’ve preferred someone who didn’t play the same instrument as him, like a drummer or a cellist.

He’s engulfed in the warmth of his blanket, waiting for your reply to his message that he sent two hours ago. When it comes to texting, you’re very odd. You text people like you’re a mother. You would leave his messages on seen and text back hours later. He knows you’re a busy person, but he also knows you prefer calling over texting.

Seungcheol crashes into his room and slams himself on Mingyu’s bed. “How was the date?” He asks.

“Not a big fan. I prefer drummers,” he lies, keeping his eyes on his phone, still waiting for your response.

“Good choice. Your sister is a great example; she, a talented bassist, went for a hot drummer,” he comments, pointing at himself. Mingyu shrugs in response and doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. Seungcheol heavily sighs and snatches Mingyu’s phone from him. He glances at the screen and shuts it off.

“I’ll find a drummer for you, cause they’re rock stars, and rock stars don’t play the cello,” he provoked, tossing his phone back to the owner and leaving his room. Mingyu’s phone flashes open, a notification popping up on his lock screen.

[You]: The date?

[Mingyu]: yeah

[Mingyu]: it was the worst

[Mingyu]: i dont get along with my kind of people

[You]: You would be a very horrible boyfriend.

[Mingyu]: ur horrible boyfriend ;)

Thumbs down. That was how you responded to that—reacting to the message with a thumbs-down emoji. Mingyu chuckles at your reply and shuts his phone off. He can feel his heart beating fast. He likes to tease you by shipping you with himself, but it was always just jokes. This joke, however, has him thinking what it would be like to date you. He likes the sound of that—(Name)’s horrible boyfriend, Mingyu. Maybe he won’t mind going on a date with you.

12:37 AM. Mingyu had another date at seven in the evening with a drummer. Seungcheol expected him to come back in three hours, but when it was already almost midnight, he assumed the date was successful and thought he slept with her. In reality, the date ended earlier than he expected. As soon as Mingyu had met up with her, she was honest and admitted that she was forced to be here as well. He left right after and secretly went over to your house.

You were in the middle of baking strawberry cheesecake cookies, requested by Jihyo while she was at work. The cookies were in the oven when Mingyu rang the doorbell. When you opened the door to his face, you closed it before he could even greet you.

“I brought ice cream,” he mentioned, trying to convince you. The door creaked open, and he let himself in, watching you head to the kitchen to take the sheet pan out of the oven. He places the plastic bag on the coffee table and sprawls on the couch. You come into the living room, quickly place the plate of cookies and two spoons on the table, and sit next to Mingyu.

As he tries to grab a cookie, you slap his hand away from it. “Not for you.”

“So you’re just gonna put it on the table in front of my eyes and expect me not to eat it?!” He complains as you nod in response. “Ouch, princess, you might just be the cause of my death.”

“Do you expect me to feed you whenever you show up to my house uninvited?”

“Pretty much an unspoken rule between us.”

“Uh, no, we did not establish that at all.”

He pouts, his attempt at distracting you from his hand sneaking to the plate, which easily caught your eye before you slapped it away again. You pass the TV remote to Mingyu as you look through the flavours of ice cream in the bag that he brought. Cookies & Cream, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Neapolitan, Mint Chocolate Chip, and the best flavour out there, Strawberry Cheesecake—which is no doubt the one you picked.

You look back up to the TV, where Mingyu was about to start playing a musical. “I’m feeling a High School Musical marathon right now.” He looks at you, his eyes practically pleading for you to say yes. You give in and agree, him cheering and quickly pressing the play button as a result.

Mingyu gets weirder and weirder each time you meet him. He’s a whole different person when he’s not on stage, like he’s about to conquer the world. How he went from an intimidating bassist to a man who can’t even kill a spider to save his life. You doubt he would be able to protect his image from the public.

All this doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, though. Despite you saying a lot of awful things about him, there are some parts of him that you tolerate. Even though he bugs you all the time, he’s a caring person who doesn’t want you to be lonely—although you prefer being alone all the time. His smile is a little detail you notice about him—how his grin gets wider each time he sees you.

Does he know you’ve been staring at him instead of the screen since the movie started?

After you two finished the first movie, you suggested watching the second one since your cousin wasn’t home yet and she hasn’t even replied to your texts. So you ended up watching the whole trilogy while eating the cookies that were about to get cold. By the time you finished the third movie, it was already past eleven in the evening, and you still hadn’t heard anything from Jihyo. Mingyu played a documentary to pass time, which was mundane, so you two pan out in small talk here and there instead.

Mingyu’s phone buzzes as he takes it out to look at texts from his leader.

[Seungcheol]: enjoy ur little “date” with little miss drummer

[Seungcheol]: REALLY take ur time with her

[Seungcheol]: girls love it when ur rough

[Seungcheol]: if you know what i mean ;)

Mingyu mutters out a ‘yuck,’ and if you were in his shoes, you would’ve said the same thing. He glances at you, who was perhaps reading his messages with his leader, and all you did was raise a brow at him.

“I swear I’m not having sex with anyone!” He refuted, not even giving a care about leaving his friend on read.

“Sure…”

“Seriously! I’m done with going on dates with my kind of people.”

A thought popped up in your mind. Mingyu was never serious about playing in a band, so that would mean it wasn’t his first priority. Serious musicians prioritize music over relationships, so why is it that he’s not interested in dating? “How come you don’t want to date?”

Mingyu was taken aback by your question. It’s a broad topic. He actually wants to be committed to a relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t want to date, but he doesn’t want to date rockers. He sees how they act and the chaos they would start. He would know; he’s one of them. So he wants to balance it out; he would want someone who’s the opposite of him. That’s why he was so intrigued when he met you. How is he supposed to tell you he doesn’t want to date anyone but you?

He shrugs as a response instead, trying to avoid the question. You suddenly recall that time you went to the club and encountered him there. It’s been bothering you since you don’t want to believe that you kissed him, but you needed to clear it from your mind.

“What happened that night we went clubbing? Did we do something…suggestive?” You ask out of the blue. Mingyu says nothing but smiles to himself.

“What if I said we did?” You groan at his response and cover your face. “I was kidding! We actually didn't.” He laughs sheepishly. “You assaulted me instead.”

What the hell? You always say that you’ll make your enemies pay, but you didn’t think you’d actually do it, especially when you’re drunk.

“Right after I whispered in your ear, you literally grabbed my lips. Then when I tried pulling your hand away, you pushed my face away.” When Mingyu stops explaining, you think that's it, but from his awkward expression, he definitely had more to say. “So I may or may not have gripped onto you by the neck.” ‘His other hand held the back of your neck’ was really his attempt at strangling you.

“You splashed water on me, and when I was gonna go to the restroom to clean myself up, you followed me, so I made you stand against the wall until I was done.” ‘Your back pressed against the cold wall’ was another way of saying that he put your grown ass on time-out.

“When I came out, you started pulling my hair, and I had to call your friend over to take you home before you could give me a second bald spot.” Mingyu turns his head and parts some of his hair out of the way to show you the small growing bald spot that you did on the back of his head. ‘Your fingers brushing against his soft hair’ is more like your hands ripping his hair out.

Damn, you can’t believe you did all of that. It doesn’t sound like you, but at the same time, it definitely does!

"Wow...” is all you can respond to about your actions. You sigh in relief, and your worries about that night are washed away. “I’m kind of relieved I did that instead. I thought we made out or something.”

The instant regret comes to you as soon as you confess your thoughts, with Mingyu slowly turning his head to face you with his awkward expression now forming into a smug face. “So you thought about us kissing, didn’t you?” Before you could defend yourself like always, you were saved by another notification that popped up on Mingyu’s phone.

[Wonwoo]: cheol said you're not coming home tonight, but I know you're not screwing with other women right now.

[Wonwoo]: I also know you're at the cellist’s house because you have your location on. so I advise you to turn it off if you don't want to get caught.

[Wonwoo]: are you going to bring her to the festival?

Mingyu looks back to you, who was actually trying to watch the documentary instead of looking at his messages. “Do you want to go to the winter music festival this Saturday?”

“Sure, I’ll bring my friends there too,” you agreed without hesitation or careful consideration, not even looking at Mingyu but keeping your eyes on the screen.

[Mingyu]: yeah, r u bringing yours

[Wonwoo]: obviously, that’s why I asked you because I don’t want to get caught.

[Wonwoo]: and if I did get in trouble, you too would be in trouble with me.

[Mingyu]: im surprised no one found out abt ur little relationship

[Wonwoo]: I’m surprised you’re not afraid that our manager knows about yours.

[Mingyu]: we’re not a thing YET!

[Mingyu]: but we should never hide what we love!!!

[Wonwoo]: …

[Wonwoo]: it is a tough world we live in.

Mingyu takes another look at you, who was dozing off from the boredom of watching. Wow, the documentary must really be that boring. He thinks about what Wonwoo said. it’s a tough world they live in. Rock and classical are never a good mix. You’re the polar opposite of what he is. He’s supposed to hate you, but there’s something about you that draws him to you. However, you’re very competitive and dedicated to the feud. Oh, how he wishes there was never rivalry in the first place.

[Mingyu]: life is hard but im harder 🗣️

[Wonwoo]: shut the hell up.

When you woke up, Mingyu was already gone, and the TV was off. The table was sparkly clean, and you found yourself wrapped in a blanket. Jihyo walked in the living room, caught off guard when she saw you sitting up. "Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” she joked as she went to sit next to you on the couch.

“What time is it?”

“Past midnight. I came home not too long ago and saw you with you-know-who.” Jihyo must’ve showed up when he was still here and kicked him out. Yeah, that’s it—or what you hope you think.

“Did he leave right after you came?”

Jihyo giggles and pulls out her phone, showing you a picture she took of you and Mingyu sleeping together on the couch. “You guys are so cute, I might just set this as my lockscreen!” You groan at her words as you get up to do your nightly routine, hoping that this won’t haunt you in your dreams like always.

Mingyu sneaked back into the apartment and quietly exulted in the lights being shut off, a sign that all his roommates were asleep. When he headed over to the kitchen for a glass of water, he heard footsteps behind him, and the lights turned on. Too afraid to turn around, he continues slowly reaching for a cup in the cabinet and places it down on the counter. It could be anyone behind him: a blind Wonwoo, a tired Vernon, a scary Seungcheol, or all three of them—but he’s especially afraid of looking face-to-face with everyone.

Instead of any of those options, the mysterious person speaks up, and he recognizes the voice a bit too well. “The fuck are you doing here?” his little sister complains before Mingyu turns his head to look at her.

“I should be asking you that. Also, be mindful and cover up!” He throws a pair of oven mitts at her, who was wearing nothing but Seungcheol’s oversized t-shirt.

“I would’ve put on some proper clothes, but no one is here except me and Cheol—until you showed up. He told me you were fucking some girl.”

“I didn’t even tell him that; he just assumed I did.” He fills the glass with tap water and takes a sip after speaking.

“So, where were you then?”

Right, she doesn’t know about you yet, and Mingyu doesn’t want to tell her at all. She’s practically another version of Seungcheol, and she’ll snitch to him—even though he’s already on his ass because of you.

“It’s not like you would care,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, you’re right. You probably just went out to drown yourself in alcohol—you reek of beer, by the way.”

“Whatever.” Mingyu leaves the kitchen and makes his way to his room. She’s not entirely wrong. He stayed in the parking lot for half an hour, drinking beer before he decided to sneak in.

Saturday rolls by, and you show up at the festival with your quartet. The field is covered with people, but there’s a decent amount, like most music festivals. The violinist had already gone off into the crowd—most likely to see her man. You’re 100% sure she was invited before you were since she brought it up to the other two before you could. Ryuwon thought this was a perfect time for the four of you to bond, and well, Yoonhee only agreed to come for the food. You want to say you’re here for the vibes and just to explore other artists, but honestly, you only came because Mingyu asked you to.

It was only just the three of you walking around, and in a crowd like this, you doubt you can find Mingyu anywhere. A jazz band was in the middle of performing, and you don’t know if a few bands had already passed or if this was the first band on stage. All you know is that his band is fifth in the line-up, so you’ll just have to wait for the announcement.

“I wonder why they didn’t invite us to perform. It’s literally in our name, Snow Swan,” Yoonhee pondered, looking at a pamphlet that was most likely about the festival.

"Well, there’s always next winter,” Ryuwon reasoned. She picked up a sample cup of hot chocolate from people handing it out and downed it in seconds. “For now, let’s just enjoy what it’s like to be the audience.”

The three of you were roaming around the field, visiting pop-up shops, vibing to the bands performing, and spending most of your time in the food stalls—mainly that last bit. As you were in the middle of eating a potsticker, you overheard a group of girls talking about Mingyu’s band and that they were going to make sure they got to see them up close when they performed. They ramble about how hot they look when they play and how they would love to be serenaded by them. Hah, if only they knew how miserable it feels to be tormented by them.

The fourth band finishes their performance by the time you finish your plate of potstickers, and the speaker announces that Cherry Bass will be up in less than five minutes. You hurry your way over to the stage, where there were hundreds of people piled up in front just to see Mingyu’s band perform. They were in the middle of preparing their instruments, as the audience was already getting ecstatic over them. You can barely see their faces from where you’re standing, and you doubt Mingyu can locate you.

Their drummer starts off their first song, and the crowd goes wild before they even start singing. Throughout the whole song, you can only hear Mingyu’s bass, despite him being the quietest out of all of them. The cellist in you can recognize his rhythm, his slap bass, his fingerstyle, and even his muting. There’s some groove to it and a bit of funk, but it’s still rock. You hate rock; you’ve always despised it. But the way Mingyu plays it has you thinking otherwise.

Why does he have to be a rock star? Why couldn’t he just play something normal like the double bass? He’s a stupid man who plays the bass; he just had to be a bassist. The rhythm is pounding—is it even the rhythm, or is your heart just beating really loud and fast? You spent the rest of the performance listening to their setlist, mainly focusing on Mingyu’s parts. You can’t lie; he is good at the bass, like he always says.

The band left the stage, and the majority of the audience disappeared too. “They were good,” the violinist comments, who was watching right next to you the whole time. Like you, she was gazing at her guitarist friend. You can tell she has no shame in their friendship and ignores the whole rivalry that surrounds them.

“Yeah, really good.” The two of you walked around the field, trying to find the other two while looking through some pop-up shops. One of the shops was selling tote bags, and they were selling a particular bag that was displaying a giant embroidered strawberry on both sides. You spent such a long time admiring the bag and considering buying it that you didn’t even notice someone was creeping up behind you.

“Hey pretty, long time no see,” Mingyu jokes. He eyes you, then the bag, then back to you. “Never thought you would show up, honestly.”

You put down the bag and began to walk away as Mingyu followed you from behind. “I never skip music festival days—unless it’s country, then that’s when I’ll dip.”

“Guess that’s a sign I shouldn’t switch to country.”

You both leave the tent, and to your surprise, flurries of snow start falling. It’s a beautiful sight, and you're glad you brought a scarf with you. “Hey, it’s snowing!” You exclaim, reaching your hand out to look at the intricate detail of each different snowflake. You admire each one of them as some fall on your hands again and the former ones melt away.

Mingyu ruffles your hair while he watches you admire the snowflakes. “You’re getting snow in your hair; you look like you have dandruff,” he jokes.

You bent down to grab snow from the ground and threw it at his face. “And you look like Frosty right now.” He wipes the snow off his face, and you both laugh it off. He gazes at you, who’s not even noticing that he’s looking at you while you’re busy laughing your ass off. You stop eventually, and somehow, you two make eye contact.

Neither of you is talking, and all you can ever hear is the pop band playing in the background.

‘If it’s okay with you, I think I’m gonna love you for a long time.’

You look into Mingyu’s eyes. He’s not saying anything, and you don’t think he’ll say a single word in the next minute. Look away, (Name), while you have the chance. This is odd, yet it feels so intimate.

To Mingyu, you look like a flock of doves or maybe a dancing swan. You’ve always looked pretty in his eyes, but today, it’s different. He can’t tell if it’s the way you styled your hair up, did your makeup simple, or the ivory outfit you picked out. But you look so beautiful that he feels he doesn’t deserve to look at you.

A smile creeps up on his face, and you scowl, lightly punching his shoulder after. “You weirdo! Don’t go silent on me like that.” All he responded was a chuckle, and you two walked into the crowd to listen to the band.

‘I think I’m gonna love you for my whole life.’

more from rhin, this is originally a spin off to an unreleased hhu band au (which is why the violinist and mg’s sister are unnamed bc they were supposed to ww’s and sc’s readers). i most likely won’t continue the other works since when i first came up with this idea, i used to be a violinist but i quit so i don’t remember anything abt the violin😭 this is actually my old writing style so i didnt even bother changing things other than fixing the grammar lmao. i hope u guys liked reading this as much i loved writing this!

svt masterlist .ᐟ

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mariasont · 10 months ago

Note

hiii! I read your last spencer one shot AND I LOVED IT! IT WAS SO SWEET AND YOU'RE SO TALENTED!! Would you write something about post prison reid and shy reader? I was thinking of her as the media liaison (in my mind she is old-fashioned in music and clothes I'd wear skirts everyday, her emotional intelligence makes her good at her job, despite her shyness). Maybe she's clumsy, especially when she gets nervous and more especially (I don't even know if that's grammatically correct) when she's around Spencer.

Thank you so much for reading this, you're doing an EXCELLENT job, your works are a masterpiece!! 💕💖💝💓💓💖💞💕💖💓

Make a Wish - S.R

a/n: eekkkkkk post-prison spencer reid has me in a CHOKEHOLD! thank you so much for requesting, i'm so sorry for the delay! i hope i did your request justice!! I LOVE LOVE YOU!

masterlist

pairings: post prison!spencer reid x shy!reader

wc: 0.9k

You had been meaning to give the reports fastened in your hands to Spencer for give-or-take two hours now. Each time you gathered the courage to approach him, just one glance, one simple stupid glance from those piercing eyes set your nerves on fire and sent your brain in overdrive.

As the new media liaison from the narcotics unit, you were warned about the BAU's intimidating figures, particularly Rossi and Emily. However, no warning came regarding Spencer Reid. They mentioned his tendencies for long-winded explanations and awkward social interactions but not the aura of intensity he exuded. Whenever he entered a room, you instinctively started looking for an exit, not because of his criminal record, but because you found yourself hopelessly mesmerized by him.

He was perfect in every sense of the word—brilliant, compassionate, selfless, and an exceptional agent. At least, this is what you had observed from afar. A part of you was scared that any real interaction with him would shatter the idyllic image you had crafted in your head, and you weren't confident you were prepared for such disillusionment. However, you needed to give him these damn papers, dreading the alternative, which was getting summoned to Emily's office.

"Hi."

You did it, okay, first step complete. You opened your mouth, determined to get out the next part you had practiced a little over twenty times in your head, but the words seemed to dissipate into a misty fog in your brain.

"Um, these are for you," you said, rocking back onto the balls of your mary janes, placing the report on his desk. "It's the Henderson lie detector test transcript?"

"Is it?"

You realized you had said it like a question.

You paused, the part of your brain stuttering for a second, trying to flip over the thousands of scenarios you had rehearsed in your head for this interaction. None of them had included those words.

Just a little off script and you felt your fight or flight kick in—nails digging into your palms as you avoided eye contact.

"Yes." A little more confident this time, not by much, and it quickly deflated as you second guessed yourself, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder at the document. "At least I think."

"I'm just messing with you, it is." He said, eyes flickering down to the document, then to you. "You okay?"

"M-Me? Okay? Yeah, of course." The words were stumbling out of your mouth at a rate that was hard to keep up with. "Do I not look okay?"

"No, of course you look okay," he responded, brows knitting together as his gaze traveled down your body, no doubt dissecting your every thought. "You just seem... a bit nervous."

You opened your mouth, aiming to articulate a coherent thought, but it fell short and was quickly interrupted by Spencer.

He suddenly leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, hold still; you have an eyelash."

He was so close, you swore you feel his breath on your cheeks, instantly warming them. Your body was in overdrive, trying to recalibrate as his finger grazed the area under your right eye. You closed your eyes, almost unwillingly, relishing in the unexpected touch.

This was weird. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, and you balled your hand into a fist, attempting to mask the way you were shaking.

The sound of your name snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes followed suit, meeting Spencer's prying eyes. His finger was raised, your eyelash perched on the tip. Your face could have been a furnace, flames of heat spreading from your neck to your nose.

"Do you want to make a wish?"

He looked at you expectantly, eyes darting from your face to his raised pointer finger.

"Okay."

You closed your eyes, forming the wish in your mind before blowing on the lash. You watched it float to the ground, settling gently on the toe of Spencer's shoe.

"What did you wish for?"

"I feel like I'm not supposed to tell you that," you say, pulling at the ends of your hair.

He was undeniably good-looking. It wasn't like you were just realizing it; you had eyes and you were only human. But up close, you could see every detail—the dark circles under his eyes, the rough stubble under his jaw.

"I think you're right."

The sudden intimacy of the moment made your heart skip a beat. You stepped back, nodding at his words and also nothing in particular.

"Anyway, yeah, those are the papers—," you began, turning to walk away. As you did, you bumped your hip into the desk beside you, hissing under your breath in response.

"Christ, are you okay?" His hand was on your hip as the words came out of his mouth.

The touch only seemed to intensify your embarrassment. You stepped out of his grip, dropping your phone as you did which you quickly bent down to pick up.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine, just forgot I have a meeting with Emily, so I'm just gonna—," you pointed towards her office, quickly making your escape from Spencer as you tried to catch your breath.

Once you were a distance you deemed safe enough, you allowed yourself a quick glance back at him. He was smirking, and you felt that all familiar heat rising into your chest once again.

You really hoped that wish would kick in soon.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @looking1016 @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @perpetuallydone @hiireadstuff @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3

join my taglist here!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x shy!reader #post prison!spencer reid x reader #post prison reid #criminal minds fluff

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gracieheartspedro · 4 months ago

Text

Make Me Feel

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x rockstar!gareth emerson x fem! reader

word count: 7.1k words

description: you fly out to reunite with your rockstar boyfriend eddie munson. after a long day, you decide to return to his bed on the tour bus, but it seems like it is already occupied by his bandmate, gareth.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, rockstar au, all participates are 18+, mentions of alcohol and substances, reader is established as eddie's girlfriend, gareth has crush on reader, mentions of reader having hair but no other characteristics described, groupies, threesome activities, voyeurism, dry humping, tons of dirty talk, spanking, oral (v receiving), v and anal fingering, rough unprotected sex, face grabbing, multiple orgasms, light choking, possessive eddie, cum eating/feeding.

authors note: hey... hey... how y'all doing? lmfao, happy valentine's day! i have been hunkered down for days trying to finish this insane idea and let me tell you... it was horny times. i loved writing for eddie already, and i decided after reading @the-unforgivenn's masterpieces with gareth, that I too would like to add that man to the mix. wanna thank my babies @amanitacowboy, @pedgito, and @chaotic-mystery for supporting this insanity as well. enjoy!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

It had been three months.

Three months since you saw your boyfriend, Eddie.

Tour had taken up his entire life since his band’s new album “Asylum” came out in January, and you fucking missed him so much. He had told you countless times to come out and visit him, but your job was holding you hostage with a bunch of stupid deadlines. You were simply just waiting for him to come home to your shared condo in LA.

But after one too many missed assignments, your job decided it was best to let you go because your head was somewhere else. And it was. It was constantly occupied on what your boyfriend could be getting up to while on the road with his bandmates.

You called Eddie that night, twisting the home phone’s cord around your finger as you spoke about how your boss called you into his office and told you that you were dismissed. Eddie was pissed, telling you that he would give your boss a piece of his mind. You told him there was no need, you did not feel like fighting for a job that useless.

“Well, we got four more shows left. Tomorrow is in Austin, Texas. I will be home in like a week, baby. I’m so fuckin’ excited to see you.”

You could not stand another week. You needed to feel him. Touch him.

When you got off the phone, you booked the next flight to Austin. Tomorrow morning at 7AM. That would do. Once you got your official booking, you called Gareth. When he picks up the phone, you can tell from his slurred speech that he’s one, drunk, and two, very confused.

“What’s up darlin’?” His voice rasps through the speaker.

“Hey, I’m surprising Eddie tomorrow and coming to the Austin show. You think you could make sure your management knows and I can get backstage?”

You can hear Gareth’s shuffling, isolating himself somewhere more private, “You are coming to Austin?”

“Yes. I’m surprising Eddie. Make sure will call has passes for me, please.”

His voice sobers, “Of course. I’m… We are excited to see you.”

Gareth was probably your favorite member of Corroded Coffin, other than Eddie, of course. He was sickeningly sweet to you. You chalked it up to how close he and Eddie have been since childhood. He knew you meant the world to Eddie. Plus, he enjoyed your swift and funny banter.

Little do you know, Gareth harbors a small crush on you.

You were strictly off limits but he could not help but let his gaze fall on you longer than what was needed.

“See you tomorrow, Gare!”

You were on the verge of tears.

Your flight had been delayed all day. You were not going to make it to the show if the next flight out cancelled again. The kiosk worker said it was because it was too windy for takeoff and most flights had been canceled for the rest of the day. You were at the mercy of the fucking wind.

But by the grace of whatever god, you were boarding a flight at 1PM, which meant you would miss the show and arrive by 8PM. But you still had the chance to catch them after the show, you told yourself.

When you land, you hail the first taxi you see and tell them to race to the arena where your boyfriend is performing. You only brought a backpack, stuffed full of some random assortment of clothing and toiletries. You throw it in the backseat, tapping on the buckles as your anxiety spikes.

Traffic was a nightmare, the city bustling with people attending the show and or, getting fucked up on a Friday night. When the cab screeches to a halt at the very front of the arena, you throw them two $20 bills and sling your backpack over your shoulder. Scalpers approached you immediately, asking if you wanted a shot at catching the band’s last song, but you practically push them to get to the will-call stand. You get the lady’s attention by your insane expression, hurriedly telling her your name and why you are there.

She smiles widely, her wrinkles reflecting her surprise. “We thought you weren’t gonna come! Let me get security to escort you back.”

As soon as you cross into the area, you hear Eddie’s voice over the speakers, wishing everyone a good night. Before you know it, you are guided down some random corridors under the arena. The halls are narrow and you catch yourself knocking your jam-packed bag into the brick walls. It’s so loud, different sounds bouncing off the not-sound-proof walls.

You finally are let backstage which has tons of people bustling around taking large metal boxes off the stage and towards other hallways. Everything was so scrambled and confusing, so it’s reassuring the moment you lock eyes with Gareth. He’s sweaty, his cheeks red and his shirt completely off, displaying some new artwork you haven’t seen before.

“There you are!” He cheers, racing over to you. His glistening skin does not shy you away from giving him an embrace. You giggle as he shakes you excitedly.

“I’m sorry, my flights got all fucked up. But I’m here!” You release him, pulling away to get a good look at him, “Where’s my boy?”

His smile widens even more, taking your hand as he guides you around a crowd of crew and groupies. Walking hand in hand with Gareth gets you some odd glances from pretty girls, which gives you a confidence boost.

When you get to the door marked “Eddie Munson”, your heart is beating straight out of your chest. You had been so nervous this whole time, that you had really no time to get excited. You look at Gareth, releasing his hand and knocking furiously on the door. You take a deep breath when you hear footsteps bounding towards the door.

“What the f-,” His voice is deep and somewhat annoyed, but the moment his eyes land on you, it’s like his entire body relaxes. His big brown doe eyes are enough to take your breath away. His hair is wet and tangly across his forehead. He looks so broad. And naked?

“Surprise!”

It’s the first thing that you can think to say. You can’t say anything else because Eddie’s arms fly around you, pulling you into a big bear hug. His body is so warm, setting you alight almost immediately. “Baby, what are you doing here?!”

You pull away, your hands going up to touch his face. You missed cradling his jaw in your hands when you looked at him or kissed him. “I am surprising you! Surprise!”

“Yeah, you said that!” He presses a kiss into your palm, “I’m so happy to see you, sweetheart.”

You look back at Gareth, whose smile is so wide it warms your entire body. He waves a simple goodbye to you, letting Eddie drag you into his dressing room.

Eddie is quick to get you in his lap. He knew the moment he got his hands on you, he would not want to let go of you. You are propped up on his thighs, telling him about the dramatic day you had while he peppered kisses all around your neck.

“Are you even listening to me, baby?” You pester, poking at his still-nude chest. He had managed to put on some sweats before he pulled you onto his lap.

He chuckles, pulling away to sit back on the leather couch. “Of course, I am, sweetheart. Just missed you way too much.”

The sparkle in his eye sends a smile spreading across your face. The days seemed so long without him and while you supported his career and loved that he followed his dreams, you miss the simple pleasures in life with him. Waking up in the same bed. Going grocery shopping together. Doing dishes and singing along to your favorite songs. Ever since Corroded Coffin took off, you have been grieving that life.

Seeing him happy was all that mattered, though. His hard work allowed you two a comfortable life and you knew that’s all Eddie ever wanted to give you.

You slide out of his lap when there’s a knock on the door. The tour manager comes in, his eyes never even meeting your eyes as he directs Eddie to hurry up and get packed up. He’s short in stature, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. You assume he does not look your way due to the fact that most rockstars keep random girls around all the time and there cannot be conflicts of interest with his talent. Before he can shut the door, Eddie stops him.

“Roger, this is my girlfriend. She’s gonna be tagging along tonight,” Eddie states simply, standing up to almost present you to the man. You nod timidly as the guy finally glances at you.

“Nice to meet you, kid. Keep this boy in check, he’s been a pain in my ass all week. He and Gareth are pests.”

And then he shuts the door, not saying another word. You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, unsure how to react to such a claim. Eddie purses his lips, the sides of his mouth pointing up slightly.

You crook your head, “What have you been putting that poor man through?”

“Nothin’. Gareth has been more of a shithead than me. Won’t stop kidnapping women and bringing them over state lines.”

You lock onto his arm, your eyebrows dropping in confusion. What did he mean by that?

“And you?”

“Last week of tour is prank central. I pelted him with water balloons when he was leaving a porta potty yesterday.”

Him being the more innocent of the two throws you for a loop. Gareth being the real problem is shocking. While a hellion like Eddie, he was definitely the more tame one. Eddie was always dragging him into the pits of chaos, not the other way around.

You loosen your grip as Eddie starts to head over to his vanity to collect all his belongings into a frayed duffle bag. “Gareth is kidnapping women?”

“Not on purpose. He brings them on the bus to fuck and then when he is supposed to take them back to security, he just doesn’t. A girl made it to Chicago from Louisville and Roger had to book her a flight home.”

You shake your head, your hand resting on your forehead. You could not imagine having that poor man’s job. You would murder all of the band before the first show could even go on.

“He’s right, you two are pests.”

You and Eddie walk hand in hand down the long corridor that opens up to the back lot of the arena. On the way out, Eddie stops at craft services to load up his duffle with random snacks he says “They don’t have them on the bus”, which you know is a big fat lie. You could bet money their snack cabinet is filled to the brim with snacks and restocked the moment they start to run low.

Jeff walks by you two, his face twisting in surprise when he recognizes you. You stand in the hall, catching up with him. You can tell he’s high off something because his eyes are half shut when he talks. Like a magic trick, a flask appears in his hand and he raises it to you and Eddie.

“See you lovebirds on the bus!”

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist, a sly giggle releasing from his throat, “Mans off his ass every night. He probably won’t even make it to his bunk.”

Your fingers trace his arm, wrapping your finger through one of his bracelets, “Do you have a bunk?”

“Oh no, princess, I have the queen-sized bed in the very back of the bus. We will be very comfy tonight.”

You finally climb the steps onto the bus. It’s weirdly freezing as you make it to the very top, taking in the space. It’s a mess to put it lightly. Jeff is already making himself at home on the scratchy-looking couch. Grant is propped up next to a very pretty girl, his arm slung around her possesively. It is weird to see the boys living the life of rock stars. You knew your boyfriend entertained some parts of the life, mainly the alcohol and drugs, but with the way he’s wrapped around your finger, you seriously doubt any infidelity. You also knew if he did try something like that, Gareth or one of the other boys would come running to you to rat him out.

Eddie would never, though. You were his everything.

You give Grant a gentle wave, moving your way through the back of the bus. Before you and Eddie make your way to the door at the very end of the hall, Grant speaks up.

“Gareth’s in there!”

Eddie’s hand drops from your back as he shimmies past you in the tight corridor. He presses his ear up to the door, but you do not even need to do that to hear what is happening in the room. On Eddie’s bed.

Eddie cracks the door a bit, getting an eyeful of Gareth completely going to town on a girl, who he surely does not recognize.

Eddie rolls his big brown eyes, annoyed and ready to break down the door. You stop him, though. An idea sprouts in your head. Something a bit unhinged.

“It’s prank week, Eds. Why don’t we… prank him?”

Eddie’s face relaxes, his jaw going slack. “Prank him? How?”

You ponder your options for a moment. You could sneak in there and scare him? You could have Eddie go up behind him and slap his ass or something?

You smile when the idea hits you.

“Why don’t we stumble in there acting like we are trying to get it on and just fall onto the bed next to them? That’ll rattle him.”

Eddie’s pride shines through his expression. “You’re a dream, baby. So smart and so pretty. You know that?”

He drops the bag onto the floor, as your heart pounds at the fact that he agreed so quickly to your plan.

Eddie grabs you roughly, his eager kiss turning into something more the moment he slides the wooden door open. You hear a sharp gasp the moment you two step into the small confines, but you know not to pull away from Eddie to see who it came from. His hands are expanding under the t-shirt that’s loosely hanging off your body, fondling the flesh of your hips and back. You are walking forward, while he is dragging you with him, his heels hitting the end of the bed before falling onto the bed with a bounce.

The slapping of skin has completely halted by the time Eddie’s lips leave yours and is instead replaced with the sounds of sheets rustling.

“What the fuck!” Gareth’s voice pierces through the room, ringing in your ears. Eddie’s eyes do not leave your face as you both smile wickedly at the plan working out exactly the way you wanted.

You do not look at Gareth, instead, you face the pretty little thing he’s been fucking. Her widened eyes reflected her absolute horror at you and Eddie’s entrance.

She reflected a lot of your physical attributes, but she was just smaller. She was probably a bit older than you as well, her makeup caking around her forehead where her face must’ve been twisted in pleasure. After taking her in, you finally glance over at Gareth.

Big mistake.

He’s glistening with sweat, his curls a mop of mess on his head. He only covers his dick with his hands, leaving the rest of his body on display. You had just seen him shirtless, but there was something more to look at. The expanse of his hipbones and long legs that are littered with random tattoos. He was more covered than Eddie was, which for some reason sends your mind reeling.

You had to keep going along with the bit. “I’m sorry, Eddie said this was his bed.”

Eddie perks up, finally peeling his eyes away from your lingering gaze on Gareth. “It is.”

Your eyes falter back to the girl lying naked under the covers next to Eddie.

“What’s your name?” You probe, your fingers dancing across Eddie’s shoulders. You wanted to be touching him, making sure you maintained your coolness. The girl’s expression shifts over to Gareth, who just shrugs at her.

“Emily,” She responds, her voice small and hesitant. With the way she was moaning, you expected her to have a bit more conviction. Eddie’s hands rest on the back of your thighs, keeping you right between his spread legs. Gareth noticed it immediately, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight.

“Emily… I like that name,” You utter, the coldness of Eddie’s rings sending goosebumps down your legs. His every touch was distracting you.

“It’s a very pretty name,” Eddie adds, staring up at your face as he sits back a bit more on the bed. He does not dare look at the other girl, knowing that the only sight he wants to look at right now is you.

“Edd-”

“Gare, why did you stop?” You inquire, your eyes are unyielding as you let them settle back on his face. “Emily seemed to be enjoying herself.”

“You two walked in-”

“And?” Eddie presses, dragging you forward so you are fully mounted on his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on each side of his hips.

You drag your tongue slowly across your top teeth, ticking it as you shoot Emily a glance. For some reason, this was not just a silly little prank to fuck with Gareth. You strangely wanted to watch Gareth at work. You and Eddie had talked about joining other people in the bedroom in the past, but you knew better than to add a random groupie to such affairs. So you would settle on just watching your long-time friend and your boyfriend’s bandmate fuck a stranger.

“Do you want him to continue, Emily?”

She looks nervous under your regard, which only sends you more on a power trip. You did not know this girl and you would probably never see her again.

Eddie’s hands find your ass, squeezing both cheeks and spreading them apart. It makes your hips rock against his crotch. You can audibly hear how wet you are and it makes Eddie chuckle, a rasp in the back of his throat. You place your hands on the nape of his neck, holding on to steady yourself before you start grinding harder on him involuntarily.

When her head jerks for ‘yes’, you smile and look back at Gareth.

“Give her what she wants, Gare.”

The air in your lungs is literally stolen from your body when Gareth drops his hands from his dick. You did not expect such a thing from him. Long, girthy, and so fucking pretty. The extra saliva in your mouth almost dribbles down your lips when you watch him rip the top sheet off of her body.

By the look on your face, Eddie realizes you are liking this a whole lot more than he is. He swats your ass, gaining your attention again. You grab his neck with your hands, your nails leaving small scratches across his throat. You arch your back, leaning forward and capturing Eddie’s plump pink lips. He is all teeth when you open your mouth to deepen the kiss, which makes you moan a bit.

All the tension you have built up in the last couple of months is now being released and it makes you aggressive. When his teeth graze your tongue, you push him onto his back as you adjust your hips to completely line up your clothed cunt against the tightness in his pants.

The whole time you two have been battling dominance, you realize Gareth has dragged Emily’s frame to the side of the bed, lining his cock up with her perfectly shaved cunt. When he sinks into her, the moan she lets out is pornographic. With one experimental thrust into her, he returns back to the steady pace he was at when you and Eddie just listened to him through the door.

You roll your body on Eddie’s lap, resting your hands on his chest. His body responds to your touch, lurching his hips upward to meet your circling hips. His hands grips onto your thighs, holding you down so you cannot stray away from the friction. You flick your head back to watching Gareth, his pace speeding up as he grunts about how tight Emily is.

“You better make her cum first, Gareth,” You mock, your voice dripping in lust. His eyes snap up to you, his brows furrowed in concentration. Eddie’s hands are burning into your hips, his focus solely on making you cum by simply dry-humping him.

Gareth flicks his curls away from his forehead, leaning over Emily’s smaller frame as he sharpens his angle and grinds his pelvic bone into her swollen clit. She’s writhing under him, completely taken by his performance.

“You want to watch her fall apart on my cock, honey?”

Gareth’s eyes are lasered in on you, your face twisted in pleasure as Eddie starts to move your hips for you. You are so enamored by the question that it steals your voice. Eddie sits up again, his arms wrapping around you, locking your arms behind your back. It’s like he’s putting you in a human straight jacket.

His mouth connects with your jaw as you dry hump him, his voice coming out strained. “Gareth asked you a question, princess.”

You feel your cunt clench around nothing and you are panting. You did not expect those words from Eddie, who was usually possessive and jealous when any guy even gave you a glance. Now he’s playing into Gareth’s game? How did you get here?

You nod, your chest rising and falling in Eddie’s face. You cannot look at Gareth as you say it, so you just squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes, please.”

Due to the close proximity, Gareth’s wing span is long enough to touch you. Instead of a gentle caress, he’s grabbing your face, his fingers pinching your cheeks together. Eddie says nothing, just smirking devilishly at his actions.

“Eyes open. Key word was watch.”

When you open your eyes, Gareth’s face is inches from yours. His steel blue eyes are practically black, his pupils are beyond dilated. You blink slowly, seeing Emily’s twisted expression while the man that’s fucking her is holding onto your jaw. With the way she’s groaning, you know she’s nearing her end, and so are you. Eddie’s one hand locks your wrists behind your back while the other makes its way groping your braless chest over the black fabric of your t-shirt.

Your hips still as the stimulation becomes too much and your cunt spasms even though it’s not filled. Emily matches your moment, her arms lurching upward to grab onto Gareth’s arms as she falls apart on his spearing cock. The moans coming from the room are enough to alarm on the bus, for sure. Her long drawn-out sobs are much louder than your whines, but it was no competition.

Gareth does not finish, just pulls out of her and continues to jerk his soaked dick. Eddie releases your hands, letting you settle against him as your body recovers from your orgasm.

“Gather your clothes, Emily. The security outside the bus will bring you back to the arena,” Gareth directs, backing up so the absolutely spent girl could come to her senses enough to get dressed. You look away as she stands up, focusing your eyes back on Eddie. He’s smiling still, the glint in his eye mischievous.

You felt bad for the girl. She just got to fuck a rockstar, probably one she admires, and now he’s escorting her off the tour bus without really finishing the job. As he guides her to the door, you half expect him to gather his own clothes off the floor.

But he does not do that. Instead, he’s bounding over to the bed, sitting down right next to Eddie.

Eddie’s hands rub up and down your thighs, before he clears his throat. “Did you need something, Gareth?”

You finally peel your eyes away from Eddie, looking over at Gareth’s narrowing expression. His lips are pursed in contemplation. Gareth’s cock is still covered in a condom. When he notices your eyes on him, he slowly drags it off his dick, discarding it on the floor. You feel a dribble of sweat drop down into your eyebrow, not realizing that your body is covered in a layer of glistening sheen.

“Your girl, Munson.”

Your stomach flips as you tug your lip between your teeth, trying your best to not smile. You do not know how Eddie was going to respond to such a revelation, but the thought of being able to get both of them in one night was enough to send your head spinning.

Eddie shrugs, nonchalantly. He starts tilting your face towards his with his pointer finger, “You want that, sweetheart?”

You let the tension in your face go, finally settling on a smirk as your eyes rested on Eddie’s lips.

“As long as I get your dick first, baby.”

Gareth chuckles dryly beside you, his hand grazing the arm you have wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders. “Eddie, you lucky bastard.”

Eddie tightens his grip around you, flipping you on your back. He presses your hips into the mattress, the tangled-up sheets surrounding your head as you look at the two men staring down at you. Their next meal.

Eddie’s quick to strip you of all your clothes and his own. When the realization hits that you are completely bare in front of both men, you start to grow a bit self-conscious. You raise your arms up to grab at your boobs, but Eddie is quick to swat them away.

“Don’t be nervous around us, princess. You’re fuckin’ perfect,” his voice drips with lust. The amount of times you got off on Eddie’s words alone should be studied. Gareth settles beside you, stroking himself as Eddie’s hands trace your legs and thighs. He settles on his knees, parting your knees. “Isn’t she perfect, Gareth?”

Gareth hums, “Fuckin’ flawless, Eddie.”

Your focus tapers in on Eddie’s fingers, dragging towards your wet slit. He still has his rings on, the silver catching the dim overhead light. You groan when his touch graces your silky center, his fingers gathering your slick. When his pointer and middle digits sink into your cunt, your hips raise off the bed.

Your head lulls to the side, your eyes feasting on Gareth’s length right near your head. He’s looking down at Eddie working magic on your core, pumping his cock with his large hands.

You did not realize how attractive you found Gareth until he was this close to you, naked and fiending for you.

When his eyes snap over to yours, he looks pleased.

“You just can’t keep your eyes off my cock, huh, honey?” His voice brings Eddie’s eyes to the state of your gaze. He pumps his fingers into you faster, latching his lips around your swollen bud. That brings your attention back to his head between your thighs.

“Oh my god, Eddie,” You moan, your hand reaching up to grab at his long curls. He shakes his head, his tongue running between your pussy lips like a madman. Eddie always had you cumming on his tongue, and this moment would be no exception. Your core tightens as you feel that familiar build-up in the pit of your stomach.

You cannot look away at his nose and how it probes the top of your pussy as he drags his mouth up and down your slit. When his lips envelop your clit, it’s game over. He scissors his fingers in you as you tumble over the edge.

“Yes, fuck, yes baby,” You cry, your other hand mindlessly gripping onto the closest thing. It was Gareth’s thigh. You dig your nails into the flesh as you grind your cunt on Eddie’s mouth.

Your mind is blank as Eddie lifts himself up, his mouth glossy with saliva and your spend. Your hand is still locked on Gareth’s leg, observing how Eddie slots himself between your lower half. Eddie’s cock is standing at full attention as he pumps himself with his wet fingers. You smile at Gareth, completely drunk off of the climax Eddie just gave you.

“Two orgasms, sweetheart. You think you can handle any more?” Eddie questions, pushing his cock between your folds. You are so sensitive, you are unsure if you can handle it, but your lips deceive you.

“Yes, please,” You say to Eddie, eyes still glued to Gareth.

Gareth decides it’s time to adjust his position, sliding off the edge of the bed and leaning over it to put all his focus on you. He glances up at Eddie, almost to ask permission for something. Eddie just nods, like they spoke telepathically.

Gareth’s hand comes up to your cheek, tenderly dragging down your cheekbone.

“You’re so polite, honey,” He murmurs, his eyes sparkling down at you, “I can’t wait to watch Eddie ruin you with his dick.”

Eddie tilts his shaft down, pushing his cock inside you. You breathe out, trying to take him without clenching immediately. But your reflexes squeeze him so much that he matches your action, gritting his teeth and letting out a sigh.

“Relax, baby. You’re squeezing the fuck outta me,” Eddie groans, taking his time fully sheathing himself inside you. Your senses are in overdrive as you watch Gareth’s mouth slightly open, his fingers touching your lips softly. He’s teasing you, you can tell by how his demeanor has shifted from the way he’s been talking to you.

“Her pussy is probably tight because it hasn’t had a good fuckin’ since you left, Eds. Give her a break,” Gareth dotes, his thumb dropping to your chin. Your breathing hitches when Eddie widens your legs more and snaps back into you. “That right, sweet cheeks?”

Eddie chuckles darkly as you whine when his pace picks up, not waiting for you to adjust to him again. “My girl doesn’t need a break. She just wants to soak my cock, don’t cha, princess?”

You just nod, the air your lungs completely pushed out of your body the moment Eddie lifts your hips up with his sticky hands. The new position hits you perfectly, his cock driving into you at a speed it’s never been at before.

Gareth’s hand drags down to your throat, wrapping around it slightly in a teasing squeeze. He is gauging Eddie’s reactions and that one seems to rub him the wrong way.

“Watch it, Emerson,” he warns, tightening his hands on your hips, “Play with her titties. She likes that.”

Gareth’s hand leaves your neck. You silently curse Eddie’s guidance, wanting nothing more but for him to choke you while Eddie spearheads into you. But the moment his palm reaches your tit, you whine at the contact.

“She does like that, doesn’t she?” Gareth lilts, his fingers going to pinch at your perked nipples. You wiggle in Eddie’s grip, trying to get away from the overstimulation both boys are bringing you. Eddie grabs the back of your thighs, hinging your legs, and drives his cock into your pussy while compressing you into the bed. Even Gareth gasps at the aggression, loving the way you cry out for Eddie.

In an act of pure insanity, Gareth leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth. Eddie’s reaction brings a sound out of your throat that you have never heard before. His hand practically manhandles Gareth’s curls, trying to pry him away from your chest. It’s met with resistance for a moment before Gareth’s swollen lips pop off your nipple.

You are not sure how the action does it, but you are seizing around Eddie’s cock. No names come out of your mouth, you are unsure which one to scream anyway. You just chant, “Oh god, oh god”, over and over again.

The constriction on Eddie’s cock pushes him over the edge. He releases Gareth, practically tossing him aside as he locks his hands on your waist to fuck his seed into you. Even with your bones feeling like jello, you sit up on your elbows to get an up-close view of Eddie’s furrowed brows and distorted expression.

You grab onto the nape of his neck, the sweat pooling at the base of his curls. You pull him into a passionate kiss, your tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. He tastes like your essence and the whiskey he had been sipping on earlier.

You pull away, nails raking down his neck and chest. You tilt your nose up, getting ready to probe him with a mind-numbing question.

“Now why did you do that to Gareth, baby? You told him that I liked when someone plays with my titties.”

Eddie’s jaw drops before a small smile creeps across his lips. You shoot Gareth a look, his face completely dazed by what just happened.

Eddie’s breath fans your face before drawing back a bit. His cock slowly drags out of your leaking core as he stands up before you. “I told him to play, not suck.”

You tick your tongue, shaking your head at his response. “No making up random rules in the middle of sex, baby.”

Eddie looks smug as he grabs Gareth up from his spot. The odd intimacy of him touching Gareth’s hips as he positions him in front of you is very hot to you. Eddie stands a bit taller than Gareth, so when he leans down to whisper in his ear, you cannot help the way your stomach flutters.

“Fine. Gare, just do what the girl tells you. But,” Eddie’s hands leave his waist, nudging him a bit closer to your knees, “If you cum in her, I will rip your dick off your body. Understand?”

After he says it, he slaps Gareth’s ass before giving you the cheesiest smile ever. His body sinks into the bed next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. When he presses a kiss into your shoulder blade, you finally roll your eyes.

“You heard his terms,” You give a pointed look at Gareth as he slowly drags his pointer finger across your knee, “Do you understand?”

“Crystal clear, honey.” He quips, shooting you a smug smile. “Do you mind if I take you from the back? Or are there stipulations with that?”

You shake your head, pushing up on your ass, flipping over eagerly. Eddie watches you with curiosity, completely taken by the fact that you are this excited to get fucked by his friend.

Gareth’s hands lock on your hips, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He pumps his dick, watching your pulsating pussy dripping with a mixture of Eddie’s cum and your own. He smiles sickly, dragging the tip of his dick through your messy folds.

“Tell me you want it.” Gareth rasps, tilting his head a bit to meet your gaze.

You giggle, not taking him too seriously. “I want it.”

He shakes his head, glancing over at Eddie. He is propped up, his completely nude body looking like a graffitied sculpture from the Louvre or something. Eddie looks between you two, tilting on his side so he can watch you get your fix from Gareth.

“Is she always such a tease, Eddie?” Gareth inquires, his gaze snapping back to the view of you ass up for him.

Eddie snickers, “Gotta put her in her place, Emerson.”

You angle your head to face Eddie head-on, completely baffled by his response. Gareth’s titillating motions around your pussy are already putting you on edge, and now Eddie is only encouraging him to taunt you even further.

“I’ll leave that to you. I’ll just fuck her like the slut she is.”

He snaps into you in one fluid motion, his cock curving inside you in a way that Eddie’s dick does not. You do not expect him to shift so quickly inside you, so you let out a shift yelp. His words still ring in your ear as you hear both of them laugh at your reaction. You press downwards, pushing your ass up further, laying the side of your face into the sheets.

You decide it is better to give it back to him. While he drives into you, you speak up.

“Yes, Gareth, treat me like the dirty little slut I am. Fuck me like you fuck those groupies.”

“Yeah?” He pistons his hips faster. The way his hands fit on your waist is so different than how Eddie’s settle. His hands are rougher and his fingers are not as long. Must be the callouses built up from all the drumming he does. You feel his naked chest make contact with your back. His voice comes out as a whisper, “I fuck all those girls wrapped up. I get you raw. Fuckin’ slut.”

The idea you had earlier about how that girl resembled yourself springs into your brain.

“You like fucking girls who look like me, Gare? Hm?”

Gareth’s thrust slowed for a moment, shocked that you would say such a thing. You were right, but how were you so observant?

“Fuck, you gettin’ off on my little crush on you? You think it’s cute?”

You hum your response, hands gripping the sheets as he rams into you even harder now. You were surely getting off on more than that.

Eddie knew Gareth had a crush on you. He knew that he was fucking whatever girl had your hair or your eyes. Hearing Gareth confess such a thing as he’s balls deep in you sends red flags flying in his mind. He knew he could not stop this right now, loving the way you looked all blissed out on his friend’s dick anyway. But this would not be happening again.

Eddie's hands roam all over your skin as his bandmate fucks you, massaging your back. His fingers meander over to your lower back before his hand is groping your ass cheek. His body moves away from your constricted view. He takes your other ass cheek in his hand, spreading them for his and Gareth’s viewing pleasure.

“How does she feel, Gare? Everything you dreamed about?” Eddie quizzes as he swats your ass a couple of times, trying to rid his mind of the racing thoughts.

Gareth audibly moans, “So fuckin’ tight, dude.”

Gareth’s thrusts only get more sloppy as Eddie plays with your ass. When his middle finger slips down your ass crack, feeling out for your asshole, you put your face in the blankets and screech. Your throat is becoming hoarse at all the strangled moans you have let out in the last hour. Over the wet slapping due to Gareth fucking you so good, you hear the squelching of Eddie pooling a drop of spit between your cheeks.

“She will be gushing on you in no time if you just,” Eddie sinks his finger into your other hole, the excessive stimulation maddening. “Add a finger.”

This is why you are madly in love with the man. He knows you better than anyone.

Because he’s right. As soon as he presses his index finger into your asshole, your hips jut forward. Instead of retreating, Eddie and Gareth both clutch onto your waist and fuck you through the white-hot rapture ripping through your body. Your cunt is gushing around Gareth’s cock, the sounds absolutely obscene.

“Oh fuck, Gareth, oh my god yes! Cum, please cum.”

The way your pussy clamps down on Gareth causes him to hit that same wall, too. After one particularly sharp thrust, he is fumbling out of you, jerking his dick off right near Eddie’s intrusive fingers.

His cum spurts out all over your ass crack and Eddie’s hand. Instead of straying away from it, Eddie chuckles at Gareth’s spend coating everything in sight.

You have never felt so drained in your life the moment the orgasm dampens. Eddie and Gareth share snickers when your body essentially drops down onto the bed.

For you, the interaction is done. But Gareth has something devious planned. He exhales, tilting over and dragging his tongue across your cum-covered ass and back. The warmth of his mouth sends goosebumps rising all along your skin. Eddie gawks at his exploit, his eyes dropping to his cum covered hand. He glances over at Gareth who is so focused on cleaning his remnants on you that he’s not focused on what Eddie is about to do.

With his clean hand, Eddie grips your hair and yanks you up by your scalp. You are whiplashed when he places his coated hand in front of your face.

“A gift from Gareth,” He displays, his smile a bit unhinged. You ogle him before accepting his offer, extending your own tongue and dragging it all around his knuckles and fingers. He shakes his head, at your vulgar conduct. “That’s my girl. Always so compliant.”

By the time you are getting the last bit off Eddie’s hand, Gareth is done cleaning you up. He sees what Eddie is making you do and he cannot help the quiver that escapes him.

When your mouth is laced with your own spit and Gareth’s cum, Eddie drops your head delicately. You roll onto your side, your upper body half in Eddie’s lap, half on the bed.

“I need a shower,” You gripe, trying to regain full feeling in your body. You feel a head high, almost as if you just smoked a full joint by yourself or something.

Eddie assists you in getting up, wrapping you in a sheet, “Let’s get you a shower then, baby.”

Gareth watches him help you as he gathers up his clothing off the floor. The room is so small and the bathroom is right outside the sliding door, so you did not have long to walk. Still, your legs felt like they may give out at any time, so Eddie’s trained hands on you were very helpful.

Eddie helps you into the shower, unraveling you from the blanket and holding your hand as you step into the stand-up surround. You give him a gentle smile, nodding that you would be okay with the rest of the chore.

Eddie uses the blanket for himself, wrapping up just in case one of the other guys sees him in the narrow hallway. As he walks out, Gareth is leaving his room, a snicker leaving his lips.

Eddie raises his fist, gesturing that a bump was required.

Gareth returns the bump, “Thanks for letting me join, dude.”

Eddie shakes his head, a half smile ticking upward, “No problem… It’s never happening again.”

“What if she-”

“Never. Happening. Again,” Eddie states firmly, still grinning, “Enjoy your bunk, Emerson.”

part 2

np tags (just some folks that supported my last eddie fics or asked to be tagged, tehe): @hockeyhughes @wdsara48 @emxxblog @cxrsed-angel @canyonmooncreations @mediocredreams

#a threesome? what?#happy valentines day #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson x gareth emerson #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #rockstar eddie munson #gareth x reader #rockstar au #eddie munson x reader x gareth #gracieheartspedro

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vixeneptune · 6 months ago

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IRRESISTIBLE MAGNETISM vaunt 🧲

You have no idea how magnetic I am. It’s honestly unreal. I’m so magnetic that I don’t even have to lift a finger—everything I desire is drawn to me as if I’m a force of nature. My energy? It’s irresistible. My desires don’t just find me; they crave me. They have no choice but to flow into my life because my aura is just that powerful.

I have this natural pull, this undeniable force that makes people, opportunities, and abundance gravitate toward me. It’s like I don’t even need to think about it. My magnetism operates on a level that most people can’t even comprehend. It’s like the universe is conspiring in my favor every single second. Whatever I want comes to me effortlessly, like it was always meant to be mine.

When I walk into a room, my energy speaks louder than words. People feel it—they can’t help but notice me. It’s not just about my appearance, though that’s irresistible too. It’s the way I carry myself, the way my presence demands attention. People can’t stop thinking about me. I stay in their minds, and they replay every moment they’ve had with me over and over. I leave an impression that’s unforgettable.

And it’s not just people. Opportunities line up for me like they’re waiting for my permission. Money? It flows to me effortlessly, as if I’m a magnet for wealth. Love? It’s drawn to me like I’m the most irresistible person in the world. Everything I want already belongs to me—it just shows up in my life exactly when I need it.

Here’s the thing: I don’t chase. I don’t beg. I don’t force anything, because I don’t have to. My magnetism is so insanely powerful that everything I want comes straight to me. I set my intention, and the universe handles the rest. My energy is unshakable, undeniable, and completely irresistible. Nothing and no one can resist me. It’s like the entire world is designed to work in my favor, and I love it.

I am the kind of person who always gets what I want because my energy commands it. I have complete confidence in my power. It’s not just luck or chance—it’s who I am. I am the embodiment of attraction. My aura is a masterpiece of magnetism, and it’s only getting stronger every day. This is my reality, and it’s the most natural thing in the world for me.

When I want something, it’s mine. No obstacles, no delays, no exceptions. It’s as simple as breathing. My power is limitless, my energy is irresistible, and my life is proof of that every single day.

That’s just the kind of person I am: effortlessly magnetic, endlessly powerful, and undeniably unforgettable.

You don’t understand just how magnetic I truly am. It’s as if the entire universe is wired to respond to me. My energy doesn’t just attract; it commands. The things I want? They don’t just find me—they chase me. My magnetism is so powerful that it feels like my desires are obsessed with me. They can’t resist me. Nothing and no one can.

It’s as though there’s this invisible force around me, pulling everything I dream of directly into my life. People feel it instantly. The moment they meet me, they’re captivated. They can’t explain it, but they’re drawn to me like I’m the most irresistible thing they’ve ever encountered. My presence is unforgettable—I stay on their minds, effortlessly. They replay every conversation, every glance, every moment with me because I’m that magnetic.

And it’s not just people—it’s everything. Money flows to me like water. Opportunities show up in the most unexpected ways, as if the universe is constantly bending over backward to deliver exactly what I want. Abundance surrounds me because it’s attracted to my energy. My life is proof that my magnetism is working 24/7, effortlessly drawing in the best of everything.

The way I attract isn’t normal—it’s supernatural. My aura is so strong that nothing can resist me. I radiate confidence, power, and beauty in a way that’s impossible to ignore. It’s not even about what I do—it’s who I am. My energy alone is enough to bring everything I want right to me. It’s like I’m operating on a different frequency, one where everything aligns perfectly in my favor.

And the crazy thing? I don’t have to try. I don’t stress. I don’t overthink. My magnetism works for me effortlessly. All I have to do is exist in my power, and the universe takes care of the rest. People, opportunities, success—it all gravitates toward me as if I’m the sun and they’re orbiting in my light. I shine, and everything I desire comes to bask in my glow.

Every step I take, every word I speak, every thought I think is infused with this magnetic energy. I’m so irresistible that even the impossible becomes possible for me. Barriers? They don’t exist in my world. If I want something, it’s already mine. My power overrides every obstacle, every limitation. My magnetism turns “no” into “yes” and “maybe” into “definitely.”

People feel my energy before I even speak. My confidence, my beauty, my aura—it’s overwhelming in the best way. They don’t just notice me; they remember me. I stay in their thoughts, their dreams, their fantasies. I’m the kind of person who becomes their standard for perfection. They’re drawn to me like moths to a flame, and they can’t help themselves.

But my magnetism goes deeper than just attracting people. It’s about my entire reality. I shape my world with my energy. I am a master at manifesting because my magnetism makes everything easy for me. I don’t just want things—I expect them, and they always show up. It’s inevitable because my energy is so potent, so irresistible, that the universe can’t help but deliver.

I’m in control. I’m powerful. I’m magnetic beyond belief. My desires don’t stand a chance—they’re mine, every single one of them. This is my reality, and it’s only going to get better, because every day my magnetism grows stronger. This is who I am. This is my power. This is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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huntingcupid · 2 days ago

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YOU NEED A SEAT? (I'LL VOLUNTEER) WITH DANIELA AVANZINI

she's taking pictures in the mirror, oh my god her skin so clear, tell her bring that over here, you need a seat? I'll volunteer now shes smiling ear to ear

⌗ DANIELA — fem!reader, smut, drabble, short, cheating, oral, swearing, might turn into a full fic, etc...

⌗ CUPID — sorry but ceo!marz is delayed again :((

daniela never understood how much she liked you, it was so wrong, shes your boyfriends sister, why did she find you attractive and why is she in between your thighs now?

every gear in your head is turning, fuck you felt guilty but you couldn't stop, how could you when shes knuckles deep in you, whispering the nastiest of things into your ear as you scratch her back

“why can't he fuck you good, you have to run to me?” daniela husks as she hits that spot in you making you whine, “d-dani” you stutter, “fuck this is so wrong” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes out of shame and arousal

“if it's so wrong why don't you pull away, hmm? — that's what i fucking thought” daniela degrades, her words coming out way meaner than she intended but it made you squirm — the latina looks at you like a prize her eyes roaming over your body as you two lay in her bed, your boyfriend just taking a shower in the bathroom

at any moment you two can get caught, fuck get heard even — yet that somehow thrilled you, “he can't fuck me good” you mutter, “i can tell look at how wet you are baby” daniela whispers kissing your cheeks as she pushes in deeper

her fingers pumped in you so agonizingly fast making it feel like heaven, your legs shook as she kisses all over you, looking at you like you were a masterpiece in a gallery — your nails left red welts at her back as she groans

you heard soft rustling outside the door, you panic yet daniela pushed you down, going rougher — you heard how wet you were, squelching out

“he might hear” you panicked, “let him” daniela smirks as you finally came around her digits moaning sinfully loud, “good girl” daniela praises kissing down to your torso eventually till she hit your cunt

licking up the excess cum making you whimper as she suckles on your clit, her siren eyes glued onto yours

wc: 400 words

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #gg fics #katseye daniela #daniela avanzini #daniela katseye #katseye wlw

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qserasera · 6 months ago

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CHAPTER 16 IS HERE

for the holidays or smth nice

fic: the light we kindle here

A series of stories about the horrible exorcists of Natsume Yuujinchou set in an established relationship AU. Coauthored with sulfatetocopper.

(Read on AO3)

#or a super delayed scorpio month chapter who knows #don't remind me how old our masterpiece fic is #horrible exorcists #natsume yuujinchou #words words words #SURPRISE. i worked on this 3 days straight without doing much of anything else

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xo100 · 7 months ago

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A night on the beach - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: At a beach party, you feel out of place until Lando Norris, who’s unexpectedly there, helps you navigate the chaos. Despite your shyness, his charm puts you at ease, and the two of you connect over quiet joys like sunsets. By the end of the night, standing together by the shore, you realize stepping out of your comfort zone was worth it.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1629

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The beach was alive with music, laughter, and the crashing of waves under the soft glow of string lights. The party buzzed with life, but you couldn’t help feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece in this loud, chaotic world. You clutched your small green purse, adjusting the delicate straps of your pastel dress, a masterpiece of soft fabric and embroidered flowers that caught the moonlight beautifully. It was Lucy who convinced you to come, practically dragging you here despite your protests. She called it “breaking out of your shell,” but you were pretty sure your shell was perfectly fine.

You hadn’t even wanted to leave the car earlier, yet here you were, standing awkwardly near the bar. The crowd pressed in around you as people ordered cocktails and chatted animatedly. You weren’t drinking—never did—and trying to get the bartender’s attention felt like navigating a minefield of tipsy strangers. You craned your neck, softly mumbling “excuse me” every now and then, but your words were swallowed by the music.

Lando Norris wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this part of town. Tonight, his name had been written on the guest list of an exclusive gala, complete with black ties, red carpets, and cameras flashing at every turn. He had the perfect black suit tailored for it, ready to make a sharp, polished appearance. But life had other plans. A series of delays and last-minute cancellations had left him unexpectedly free for the evening. On a whim, he decided to wander—just drive until something caught his attention. That’s when he saw it: the soft glow of lights on the beach, the sound of faint music carried on the wind. A party. No pressure, no obligations. Just... people.

It was impulsive, but he stopped anyway. Walking toward the bar, he loosened the collar of his suit, blending into the crowd effortlessly despite his fame. He wasn’t there to be noticed, just to enjoy the anonymity for a little while. But then, he noticed you.

You stood out, not in an ostentatious way, but in the way that draws eyes without trying. There was something inherently endearing about the way you fidgeted, your hands brushing the hem of your dress nervously as you struggled to get the bartender’s attention. You looked so out of place in the sea of wild laughter and carefree dancing, a quiet sort of beauty like a flower blooming amidst chaos.

Lando found himself stepping closer, weaving through the crowd toward you without a second thought.

“Need some help?” His voice cut through the music, warm and playful. You turned, startled, and there he was—a man who looked far too charming for his own good, even with his shirt slightly undone and his tousled curls catching the breeze. His grin was lopsided but kind, his eyes sparkling like he was in on some secret joke.

You blinked at him, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. “I... uh... I’m just trying to get a soda,” you admitted shyly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Non-alcoholic.”

His grin widened. “The sober one at a beach party. Brave.”

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered. Small talk wasn’t your forte, and this was... a lot. He didn’t seem to mind the awkward pause, though. Instead, he leaned slightly against the bar, signaling the bartender with a practiced ease. A moment later, a soda was slid across the counter toward you.

“There,” he said, as if he’d just performed a heroic act. “Saved you the hassle.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the cold glass as if it were a lifeline.

He tilted his head, studying you with a curious smile. “Not much of a party person, huh?”

“Not really,” you admitted, glancing down at your drink. “My friend dragged me here.”

“Let me guess,” he said, leaning in slightly. “She said something about needing to live a little?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Exactly that.”

Lando’s smile softened at the sound of your laugh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not much of a party person either.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, skeptical. “Really? You seem... comfortable.”

He shrugged. “I’m good at pretending. Perks of the job.” There was a playful glint in his eye, but something about the way he said it felt genuine. “But you... you’re honest about it. I like that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Compliments weren’t something you were used to, especially not from strangers who looked like they belonged in glossy magazines. You took a sip of your soda, hoping it would hide the blush creeping up your neck.

Lando didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. If anything, he seemed content just standing there, the chaos of the party fading into the background as he focused on you. “So, if you’re not a party person, what’s your thing?”

“My thing?” you echoed, buying yourself a moment to think. “Um... I don’t know. I like quiet things. Books, movies... sunsets, I guess.”

He smiled. “Sunsets are a solid choice.”

“What about you?” you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

“Me?” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if the question caught him off guard. “I guess I like... racing.”

“Racing?” Your eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. “Like cars?”

“Something like that,” he said with a grin, clearly amused by your lack of recognition. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll show you sometime. If you’re interested.”

The offer hung in the air between you, and for the first time that night, you felt a spark of something new—something exciting. Maybe Lucy dragging you to this party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

You hesitated, glancing down at your drink as you processed his words. He wanted to see you again? You weren’t used to this kind of attention, and you didn’t want to overthink it—but it was hard not to. Lando, on the other hand, seemed entirely at ease, waiting patiently for your response, his smile soft and encouraging.

“I think... I’d like that,” you finally said, your voice barely above the sound of the waves crashing behind you.

His grin widened, and he straightened up slightly, looking undeniably pleased. “Good. It’s a deal then.”

The air between you shifted, lighter somehow. You didn’t feel quite as out of place anymore, even as the party continued to hum around you. He leaned back against the bar, his body turned slightly toward you, as if you were the only person worth talking to tonight.

“So,” he started again, his voice teasing, “what’s a quiet, sunset-loving introvert doing in a dress like that? Not that I’m complaining—definitely not—but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘low profile.’”

You laughed softly, your cheeks heating up. “Lucy again. She said it would be a crime not to wear it.” You glanced down at the soft green fabric, the embroidered flowers trailing along the straps. “I guess I thought it might help me fit in.”

He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the dress for a brief moment before meeting yours again. “You don’t need a dress to fit in,” he said gently. “But for what it’s worth, it suits you. The color, the flowers—it’s... soft. Like you.”

The way he said it wasn’t like a typical pick-up line. It wasn’t overdone or cocky. It felt real. And that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking away, unsure how to handle his gaze. You took another sip of your soda, hoping it would cool the flush on your face.

He let the moment linger for just a second longer before breaking the tension. “So, what do we do now?” he asked, his voice light and playful. “Want me to rescue you from this party, or are we braving it together?”

You looked at him, surprised by the question. He was giving you an out—a way to leave the noise and chaos without judgment. Part of you wanted to say yes, to let him lead you away to somewhere quieter, safer. But another part of you—the part that had spent so much of your life hiding away—wanted to try something different.

“I think...” You paused, glancing at the crowd. Lucy was nowhere in sight, probably lost in the music or talking to someone. “I think I can stay. If you’re here, that is.”

His smile turned softer, his eyes warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. For the rest of the night, Lando stayed by your side. He didn’t push you to dance or drink or do anything outside of your comfort zone. Instead, he talked with you—about sunsets, about racing, about the little things that made him laugh. He made you feel like you belonged, not just at the party but in that moment, with him.

When the party finally started to wind down, the music fading and the crowd thinning, he walked you toward the shoreline. The water shimmered under the moonlight, and the two of you stood there, your dress catching the breeze as the waves lapped at your feet.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “Sunsets aren’t the only thing worth staying for.”

You turned to him, the sound of the ocean filling the silence between you. His gaze was steady, his expression open. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel shy or awkward. You smiled back, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer air.

Maybe parties weren’t your thing. But tonight? Tonight felt different. Tonight felt like the beginning of something you didn’t even know you were waiting for.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @spookbusters-jr

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hamilton-here · 1 day ago

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Heya, just another idea I want to drop in your inbox so I don’t forget about it. Lewis taking his famous girlfriend to the f1 premiere and the relationship has been secret before so eveyone is like wooooah they are dating???????! And he‘s supe protective of her (maybe also possessive when there’s men getting closer?) something like this, thank you

𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈, 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓈, 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I have around 17 requests to complete😫. Y'all were keen for me to open my requests oh my lordy. Requests are definitely gonna be closed for a while. I can't wait to watch the F1 movie this Sat. Anyway enjoy! Apologises if this is somewhat short 😞Lots of love xx

Summary: At a high profile premiere, Lewis Hamilton and his partner navigate the chaos of fame, finding strength in their private bond amidst the public spotlight.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was one of those mornings where the world felt slightly off-kilter with a strange, humming energy hung in the air, buzzing quietly just beneath the surface, like New York itself knew that today would be anything but ordinary. Even from the safety of the hotel’s lavish suite you could feel it, the weight of what was coming, the undercurrent of anticipation threading through your every breath.

The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the soft morning sunlight, its pale glow stretching lazily across the minimalist décor - cream walls, cool marble counters and dark wooden accents. It should’ve felt calming. It should’ve made you feel like you had time. But the walls seemed to close in, your thoughts ricocheting off them as the clock’s relentless ticking filled the silence.

You were standing in front of the mirror, unmoving, almost like if you stayed still long enough, you could delay the inevitable.

Today’s the day.

Your eyes flicked to the dress draped neatly on the back of the bathroom door, which was a delicate, fluid masterpiece in soft gold, threaded with a whisper of shimmer so faint that it only caught the light when you moved. It was simple, intentionally understated, but the thought of wearing it made your chest tighten. The fabric was like your emotions of serene on the outside, but inside you were vibrating with nerves, spinning with every anxious what-if.

What if you stumbled in front of the cameras? What if people didn’t like you? What if, stepping into the spotlight next to him, made you more than just his partner - what if it made you a target?

From the other room came the gentle rustling of fabric, the soft thump of shoes against carpet as Lewis moved around. His presence, even unseen, always brought you comfort. Normally, he was the calm in your storm. But today? Today was different. This wasn’t just another gala, another appearance where the world expected him to show up alone. This wasn’t even about racing. This was his movie.

The F1 movie. The one Brad Pitt had starred in; the one Lewis had poured years into as a producer. The project that blended Hollywood with the fierce, unrelenting world of motorsport. Lewis had worked for this and fought to shape it, to tell the story right.

And today wasn’t just the culmination of that journey. It was the day your quiet, sacred relationship was about to be placed in the centre of the world’s stage.

You’d both kept it hidden for so long. It was easy, in private. In hotel rooms, late-night phone calls, tucked-away vacations where no one could reach you. But now would change everything. You would walk out of that car, and the world would see you.

Your fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of your robe. Was this really happening? Were you ready to stop being invisible?

The sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom pulled you from your spiral. You looked up just as Lewis appeared in the doorway, framed by the soft morning light, and for a second, it stole your breath.

He wore his pale pink jacket, the one with the diamond-studded goat symbol glinting just below his shoulder blade. He hadn’t needed to say it out loud, but you knew exactly why he’d chosen that jacket. He was stepping into the premiere knowing exactly who he was. He wasn’t shying away from being seen.

Paired with sharp black pants and his signature sleek boots, he looked as effortlessly commanding as always, but you didn’t see Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion.

You saw your Lewis the one who remembered how you liked your coffee, who rubbed your back when you couldn’t sleep, who pressed quiet kisses to your temple when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

“How are we doing, love?” His voice was soft, but you could hear the edge of concern, the subtle way he was reading you like you were a puzzle he’d long since figured out but still studied, just to make sure.

You offered him a weak smile, brushing your palms down the sides of your thighs to ground yourself. “Just trying to get it together.” You glanced at the dress again, as if it might help settle your racing thoughts. “It just feels like something’s shifting, you know?”

Lewis’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he crossed the room in a few strides, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his touch warm, steadying.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he said, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, lingering there just a moment longer than usual. “They’re gonna see you the way I see you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the nerves still clinging to your chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know how to be someone people talk about. Someone they pick apart.”

Lewis gently lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His gaze, deep and unflinching, held yours like an anchor.

“They’re gonna talk, no matter what,” he said, his voice velvet smooth but laced with quiet certainty. “But I’m not letting them near you unless you want them there. You don’t owe anyone anything. We’re in this together, yeah? You’ve got me.”

The sincerity in his tone loosened something in your chest. You nodded, feeling the edges of your fear begin to soften under his steady gaze.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Together.”

Lewis’s grin widened, and he dropped his hand to your waist, giving you a little squeeze. “Damn right.”

The simplicity of the moment, his unwavering calm, reminded you of who you were doing this with. If Lewis was willing to walk through the fire with you, you could handle the heat.

By the time you both left the hotel room, hand in hand, the hum of New York City had sharpened into a tangible pulse that seemed to vibrate through the streets.

It was no longer just background noise, but it was alive, a persistent rhythm that reminded you of the weight of the moment you were walking toward.

The sleek red car waiting at the curb shimmered in the late morning sun, its glossy surface polished to the point where it mirrored the skyline. Even from a distance, you could hear the faint pop of camera shutters and the sharp, echoing shouts of paparazzi, though they were still just spectres at this point not close enough to suffocate you yet, but looming, hovering on the horizon.

Lewis guided you toward the car with quiet ease, his thumb brushing across your knuckles as though it was second nature because it was. You’d walked together like this countless times before. Grocery runs. Lazy afternoons. Late dinners when no one was looking.

But never like this.

Never where the entire world was waiting to see you.

He reached for the car door first, opening it smoothly and gesturing for you to slide in. You caught the softness in his expression, the way his eyes flicked over you like he was mentally checking every detail, not of your outfit but of you.

Are you okay? Are you ready?

You didn’t have to speak for him to know you were on the edge of unraveling. You settled into the car’s cool leather seats, the door shutting behind you with a soft, final click that somehow felt heavier than it should have.

Lewis circled the car, taking his time as though he was deliberately drawing out these last few seconds of peace. When he slipped into the seat beside you, the space immediately felt smaller in a good way. Like you could breathe again, but only because he was there.

The driver merged seamlessly into the pulsing afternoon traffic, the streets of New York sprawling past the windows in a blur of yellow taxis, glinting skyscrapers, and pedestrians that didn’t know, or didn’t care, what was about to unfold a few blocks away.

Lewis’s hand found yours again, his fingers slotting between yours with the familiarity of someone who had done it in the dark, in elevators, in back seats always with that same quiet certainty. But this time, you couldn’t stop the trembling in your palm.

He noticed immediately, his thumb starting to stroke gentle, reassuring circles over your skin without missing a beat.

And then, without hesitation, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. He lingered there. Not a quick, passing touch, but a moment, as if he could anchor you and absorb the nervous electricity humming beneath your skin.

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, that slight rasp curling around the edges like smoke. The kind of voice that always made your chest tighten, though it carried something more. Something protective. Something that felt like a promise.

Your throat tightened. You tried to smile, but you knew he could see straight through it.

“It’s just this is the first time. I’ve never had to -” you gestured loosely, as if the words themselves were too big to properly shape, “be seen like this. With you.” Lewis’s brow softened, his thumb pausing momentarily as he studied you, really looked at you.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to them,” he said, his tone quietly resolute, each word measured like he wanted them to sink into your bones. “Not today. Not ever. They don’t get to define you. You’re mine now. Let them write whatever headlines they want. What matters is what’s real. Us.”

The words weren’t suffocating or possessive in the wrong way they were protective, wrapping around you like armour. Like he wanted to build a wall between you and the sharp teeth of the outside world. You exhaled slowly, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. “You really think I can handle this?”

His lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that brought out the faintest dimple on his cheek the one you always loved catching when his guard was down. He leaned in, brushing another kiss to your temple, lingering there longer than necessary, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know you can. And you’re not doing it alone. We walk through that carpet together. Always.” It wasn’t just a line. It was a vow. One you felt settle deep inside you.

The rest of the ride passed in a pocket of silence - comfortable, grounding. Every few blocks, Lewis would squeeze your hand like a pulse check, a quiet I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. But the closer you got, the louder the energy became.

The muted hum of the city sharpened into the distinct roar of a waiting crowd. Even through the double-insulated car, you could hear the rising commotion followed by the blend of engine rumble, the faint blare of speakers, the excited calls from fans who had been camped out for hours just to catch a glimpse of the stars arriving.

Your heartbeat jumped as you caught your reflection in the tinted window. The way your makeup had been carefully perfected, the delicate shimmer of your dress catching in the sunlight, the slight tension still lingering in your jaw.

It hit you, suddenly, like cold water.

You were about to step out next to Lewis Hamilton. Not as a friend. Not as a PR plant. As his. Officially. Unmistakably.

When the car finally pulled up to the curb, your heart felt like it was lodged somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Through the safety of the dark glass, you could see them. Hundreds of people. Dozens of cameras. The flashes had already begun, stuttering white sparks popping like fireworks as they homed in on the unmistakable car.

You gripped Lewis’s hand tighter, your pulse hammering in your wrists. He turned to you, his thumb brushing firm, grounding strokes over your skin. His eyes softened, but his jaw was set with a quiet line of resolve.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting your chin gently so you couldn’t hide from him. “I’ve got you. You ready?” Your breath trembled on the inhale, but you nodded. “Yeah.” His lips tugged into a slow, knowing grin. “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about.”

The car door swung open, and Lewis stepped out first, unfolding to his full height in a smooth, commanding motion that instantly drew every pair of eyes in his direction. The collective hum of the crowd exploded into cheers, gasps, the frantic whirl of camera shutters cranking into overdrive.

He moved like he owned the moment as it was unhurried, deliberate and as if the carpet had been rolled out just for him. Even the late morning sun seemed to bow to him, its bright rays catching on the pale pink jacket he’d chosen for the day, the fabric shifting in soft glimmers as he moved.

The diamond-encrusted goat symbol shimmered like a crown on his back. It wasn’t loud, more intentional. The greatest. And he knew it.

The outfit alone would’ve set social media ablaze but paired with his effortless charisma—it was like gravity itself bent toward him.

And then he turned back to the open car door. To you. His hand reached out, palm up, fingers open waiting for yours. There was no rush. No spectacle. Just an invitation. Step into this with me.

His hand wasn’t just a gesture it was a lifeline, a quiet anchor against the roar of the crowd. It was Lewis, saying without words, you don’t have to face this alone.

Your heartbeat so hard you could feel it in your teeth. But your hand moved to his like it always had like it belonged there. The moment your skin touched his, the world seemed to shift. The gasps from the crowd sliced through the noise in sharp, staggering waves.

“Wait is that -?”

“Who’s she?”

“Lewis brought someone?”

“Are they…are they together?!”

The murmurs surged, building into something uncontrollable, like the spark of a match dropped into dry grass. The media scrambled reporters elbowing for position, photographers tripping over each other to capture the shot that would headline a thousand news feeds.

You stepped out carefully, your heel meeting the carpet with delicate precision, but you felt weightless, unsteady under the sheer force of the moment. The noise blurred with shouting, cheering, cameras flashing so rapidly it felt like lightning was fracturing the air around you. For a heartbeat, you wanted to retreat, to fold back into the shadow of the car.

But then Lewis’s hand. His grip, warm and solid, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your knuckles. You looked up, your breath caught in your throat. And he was already looking at you. His expression wasn’t tense. It wasn’t forced. He looked proud. Unapologetically proud to be here, to be standing with you. There was no hesitation. No doubt. He wanted this. He wanted you with him. Seen with him.

His hand slid to the small of your back, his touch protective but gentle, guiding you forward onto the iconic red carpet, step by step, as if the rhythm of his body would keep you steady.

And it did.

The cameras clicked, reporters fired off questions that tumbled over each other in desperate waves.

“Lewis! Who’s your date for this event?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Lewis, can we get a quote? Is this serious?”

You could feel the weight of the world pressing against your skin, their curiosity a heavy, sharp thing. But Lewis never faltered. His hand on your lower back was warming, his voice calm, smooth, but with a quiet finality that settled over the crowd like a closing door. “A while now,” he said simply, his gaze flicking back to you with a softness that felt like home. “We’re happy.”

And somehow, those two words made everything else fade. The noise. The flashes. The rush of adrenaline.

You were here. Together.

And in that moment, you realised it didn’t crush you like you thought it would. You didn’t crumble under the pressure. You felt steady and protefted. Seen but not exposed.

Because Lewis was right. They could write whatever they wanted thought what mattered was what was real.

You leaned in just a fraction closer to him as you both posed for the cameras, the rhythmic flashes sharp and unrelenting almost starting to blur into the background, like a metronome you could finally find comfort in. The noise, once deafening, began to soften at the edges as you found your rhythm by his side.

Your arm slid into his, a natural tether and Lewis subtly adjusted his stance, shifting his weight just enough to tuck you closer against his side. It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t for the cameras. It was instinct, Lewis’s silent way of making sure you knew you were his and that he wasn’t about to let you drift, not even an inch.

The photographers barked instructions with increasing urgency, their voices stacking over each other in a chaotic medley.

“Lewis! Look here!”

“Over the shoulder, please!”

“Give us that smile, champ!”

“Just one more this way!”

Lewis accommodated them, turning when they asked, angling his body toward each flash in controlled movements. But you noticed something else, he kept glancing back at you. His attention never fully left.

Even when he posed, even when he smiled for the lenses, his body was never squared away from you. He was always slightly turned toward you, his hand tightening around your waist, his thumb sweeping soft, deliberate patterns against your dress. Like a quiet promise, like a claim.

The longer you stood there, the more you felt the initial hurricane of media attention settle into something more manageable, almost rhythmic. The sharp staccato of the camera shutters became predictable. The crowd’s gasps softened into murmurs. The disbelief settled into fascination.

You’d survived the peak. The rest, you could handle.

As the red carpet stretched onward beneath your feet, the moment began to shift. More arrivals. More distractions for the crowd. The cameras still followed your every move, but the focus, the suffocating intensity, began to fracture as other stars and drivers made their own entrances.

Familiar faces from the paddock appeared of drivers Lewis had competed against, traveled with and known through seasons of brutal races, podiums and near-misses. They came with easy handshakes, claps on the back, brief but genuine embraces. You could see the years between them, etched in their shared smiles, in the casual way they joked about the season, the film, their own cameo scenes.

You recognised some of them instantly, men whose names had been etched into the sport alongside Lewis’s, their histories tangled with his through championship fights, victories, and heartbreaks. Some were younger, just beginning their legacy, still wide-eyed on carpets like these. Some were the old guard, battle-worn but still magnetic.

As the press scattered between the stars, the Hollywood elites, and the racing royalty, the energy on the carpet shifted from tense spotlight to curated chaos. Lewis’s world now your world started to fill around you.

And still, through all of it, his hand remained anchored at your back. Firm, steady, a quiet signal that even amid the waves of familiarity, the interviews, the handshakes, you were his fixed point. His centre.

You watched the ease with which he navigated the room graceful but unyielding, the kind of practiced charisma that came with years in the spotlight.

Yet, despite his seamless flow through conversations and greetings, his focus circled back to you in loops. He would smile, laugh, speak in that rich, grounded voice the cameras loved but his hand never drifted from your lower back, his thumb still brushing those slow, grounding circles against the fabric of your dress.

And then just as you were beginning to relax you felt it.

Lewis dipped his head slightly, his breath grazing the delicate curve of your ear, his lips barely brushing your skin as he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, “Stay close, yeah?”

The softness in his voice didn’t hide the edge beneath it a quiet possessiveness threaded through the words like silk over steel. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a question.

It was a promise.

A directive.

An unspoken tether.

You nodded, a subtle but certain movement, your breath catching as a shiver ghosted down your spine from the intimate brush of his lips against your ear. “I will,” you whispered back, the words slipping out on instinct. It didn’t matter where he went. Interviews, photos, greetings you would follow.

For a while, the two of you moved in seamless tandem.

Lewis eased through interviews with practiced charm, answering questions about the film, about his producer role, about the legacy of Formula 1 and the authenticity the movie promised to deliver. His voice dipped into passion when he spoke about motorsport how much he cared about telling the story right, about honouring the sport’s culture.

You trailed just a step behind him, your hand never far from his, your presence wrapped safely within the invisible border Lewis’s body seemed to create around you.

Drivers passed by some offering friendly nods, some casting knowing glances toward Lewis with subtle smirks that said so this is the secret girlfriend, huh? - but none dared to push too far.

Most of them knew better.

Until he arrived.

The man appeared almost out of nowhere sliding easily into the edge of your space, wearing a polished smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His event badge was flipped backward, his credentials unreadable, and his approach lacked the caution you’d grown used to seeing from others around Lewis.

He wasn’t familiar. He wasn’t part of the F1 world. But he was curious. Too curious.

“So,” he started, his voice laced with that smooth, false charm that made your stomach twist, “must’ve been hard, huh? Keeping him all to yourself all this time?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness. You opened your mouth, unsure whether to offer a polite deflection or to retreat entirely.

But he didn’t give you the chance. “A man like Lewis?” His gaze raked over you in a way that made your skin prickle. “I’m surprised the secret lasted this long.” His tone wasn’t overtly inappropriate but there was something in his delivery, something too casual, too invasive, that made your pulse spike.

You instinctively leaned away, shifting your weight to subtly create space, searching for Lewis with your peripheral vision. You didn’t have to search long.

Suddenly Lewis was there.

His presence enveloped you in an instant, a wall of calm, immovable certainty. His arm curled around your waist in one smooth, possessive sweep, pulling you tightly against his side as his other hand rested firmly on your hip.

The air between you and the man closed like a slammed door.

Lewis didn’t speak at first. His silence - that silence hung in the space like a loaded chamber. And when he finally did speak, his voice was so controlled, so disarmingly calm, that the warning beneath it landed like a thunderclap. “She’s with me.” Three words. Quiet, steady, but wrapped in steel.

The man faltered. You watched it ripple across his face a slight shift, a flicker of discomfort, as if he’d miscalculated how far he could push. Lewis’s posture didn’t change. He didn’t bare his teeth. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

His message was carved into the taut set of his jaw, the protective cage of his arms around you, the sheer weight of his presence pressing into the man like an invisible wall.

Back off. She’s mine.

The man’s bravado crumbled just enough to reveal the hesitation beneath. He raised his hands in mock surrender, a forced laugh tumbling out as he tried to soften the edge of the moment. “Didn’t mean to overstep. Just making conversation.”

Lewis’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Conversation’s over.” The dismissal was soft. Lethal. Final.

The man lingered for half a second too long, then retreated mumbling something about catching Lewis later, slipping quickly into the crowd like a man who knew he’d overplayed his hand.

Only after the man disappeared entirely did Lewis’s grip on you soften just slightly but his arm didn’t fully release you. His thumb resumed its slow, soothing circles against your waist, like he was wiping away the residue of the unwelcome attention.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice now velvet-soft, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as his focus narrowed solely to you. Your heart was still racing, your adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, but you nodded, pressing into his side with a small exhale. “Yeah. I’m good.” Lewis didn’t rush you. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slid from your waist to your fingers, lacing them together tightly, a deliberate act that sent a silent signal to everyone else.

You were his.

Unmistakably. Unapologetically.

His.

The possessiveness wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t about control more about care. It was about making it impossible for anyone to mistake what you meant to him.

Even as the photographers continued to call out his name, even as the press still lingered nearby, you felt safe.

And as Lewis guided you forward with that quiet, magnetic certainty, you realised this wasn’t just about stepping into the spotlight. It was about stepping into it together.

The velvet ropes and the relentless flashes of the red carpet finally gave way to the grand entrance of the theatre, and with each step inside, the roar of the crowd outside began to dissolve into something distant, like thunder fading over a distant hill. What had moments ago been a hurricane of noise camera shutters, reporters shouting, fans crying out Lewis’s name softened into a low hum, gradually swallowed by the thick walls of the grand hall.

There was an invisible threshold, one you crossed almost without paying attention it, where the world outside - the headlines, the speculation, the careful curation of public image no longer followed. It all slipped away, as if you’d passed into a different universe where none of it could reach you.

Inside, the theatre was awash in soft, amber lighting that shimmered faintly off the marbled floors and stretched upward into soaring ceilings etched with intricate moldings. The grandeur of the space wrapped around you, not in an overwhelming way, but like a protective cocoon, shielding you from the weight of the spectacle you’d just endured.

Plush, uniformed ushers moved through the lobby with quiet efficiency, their voices hushed as they guided arriving guests toward their seats. There were no shouting reporters here. No cameras shoved inches from your face. No strangers inching closer, pushing boundaries.

Just calm.

Just the low, steady murmur of conversations and the gentle rustle of expensive fabrics as people drifted toward their places. It felt like exhaling for the first time all evening.

For the first time, you realised how tightly you’d been holding your shoulders, how shallow your breathing had become under the heat of the public eye. You felt the weight begin to lift, inch by inch, like your body was finally giving you permission to exist again without bracing for impact.

And through it all, Lewis’s hand never left yours.

If anything, his grip had tightened the moment you stepped inside, the second the velvet ropes disappeared behind you. It was as if now finally he could drop the armour he’d worn outside, the polished composure that had kept him steady in front of a thousand lenses. Here, in this sliver of quiet, he could relax. And with that release, his instinct wasn’t to let go of you it was to hold you closer.

You followed the usher as they guided you toward the front of the theatre, past rows of important names and famous faces, past whispered greetings and exchanged nods. Of course, your seats were front row. There was never a question.

Lewis gently tugged you toward your seat, and the moment you sank into the velvety embrace of the plush chair, it felt like you were landing after free-falling all night. The contrast was striking of the weightless buzz outside against the grounded stillness now settling over you.

Lewis dropped into the seat beside you, his body shifting with a long, measured exhale, as though this was the first time he’d allowed himself to breathe deeply since stepping out of the car. And then, like muscle memory, his hand found yours again fingers lacing together like they belonged there, like they always belonged there.

“This is going to be a good time,” he murmured, his voice low, softer now that he no longer needed to project for microphones or entertain the crowd. It was no longer the carefully measured public version of himself. This voice was only for you unfiltered, unguarded. The words, simple as they were, wrapped around you like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves.

You turned your head toward him, your gaze catching the curve of his lips, now curled into the softest hint of a smile not the practiced one he wore for photographers, but something smaller, warmer, real. His dark eyes had lost the sharp glint he carried on the carpet; now, they were calm, drenched in quiet affection.

And in that moment, the tension that had gripped your shoulders, the racing pulse that had thudded relentlessly in your chest it all started to melt away.

The headlines didn’t matter now.

The whispers didn’t matter.

The speculation didn’t matter.

Inside these walls, it wasn’t about what the world would say tomorrow. It wasn’t about trends or social media frenzies or dissected footage. Here, it was just you and him. The rest of the world could wait.

The lights dimmed gradually, the soft amber glow fading into a deeper, velvet darkness, until the only light remaining came from the enormous screen flickering to life. The chatter in the theatre dissolved into silence, like a switch had been flipped, and the quiet reverence that filled the room was almost sacred.

As the opening sequence of the film began, you shifted instinctively, your body leaning toward Lewis like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head came to rest against his shoulder, the fabric of his pale pink jacket soft beneath your cheek, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne clean, fresh and uniquely him.

Lewis welcomed you into him instantly, his arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you into the warm, protective curve of his body. His hand splayed wide across your upper arm, his thumb brushing lazy, almost absentminded strokes along your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

It was comforting. Yours.

You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear steady, unhurried, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

His touch wasn’t performative anymore. It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for the curated narrative the world was already racing to write.

It was just Lewis holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to fill the moment with more promises or empty reassurances. His presence was enough. The weight of his arm around you was enough. This was the truth of who he was not the man in front of the flashing bulbs, not the headline, not the legacy.

Just Lewis. The man who kept you close. The man who made sure you were safe. The man who had never once let go of your hand since you stepped out of that car.

You could hear the film continuing, the hum of engines, the dialogue, the familiar cadence of the racing world but your focus drifted, your heartbeat syncing with his, the velvet darkness cocooning you in the most intimate of silences.

Because this wasn’t just the premiere of a movie. This wasn’t just another milestone in his already illustrious career. This was the night Lewis chose to pull you into his orbit not in pieces, not in fragments, not as something to be tucked away in the shadows and it wasn’t about being his secret anymore.

And what struck you most what melted something in your chest was the quiet realisation that he had always been preparing you for this, gently, without pressure, until you were ready to walk beside him in full view of the world.

The media would dissect the two of you.

The photos would flood the internet.

The world would spin its stories.

But none of it mattered in this moment.

Because the most important headline had already been written in the curl of his fingers around yours, in the warmth of his breath against your hair, in the steady cadence of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

You were his. And maybe you always had been.

And as you nestled just a little closer to him, your eyes softening as you allowed yourself to exhale completely, you knew this wasn’t about surviving the spotlight.

It was about standing in it together and that would always be enough.

By the time the film ended, the velvet seats were now empty, the grand theatre slowly slipping back into quiet as guests trickled out into the cool New York evening.

The buzz outside was still alive reporters lingering for scraps of commentary, fans clinging to barricades for one last glimpse, but Lewis had expertly guided you out through a private exit, a warm hand at your back the entire way, keeping you tucked close to him, away from the chaos.

Now, the hum of the city wrapped around the car as you both sat cocooned in the soft leather seats, the tinted windows blurring the flashes into distant glimmers that felt too far away to reach you anymore.

For the first time all night, the silence wasn’t filled with tension.

You sat with your legs tucked toward him, your body turned just slightly, head resting back against the seat as you let yourself really breathe long and deep, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade from your bloodstream. The noise outside, the relentless clicking of cameras, the flashing bulbs they all felt so far away, like they were happening to someone else, far removed from this intimate, quiet moment you now found yourself in.

Lewis’s hand was still in yours. Always in yours. His thumb was still brushing that same, familiar rhythm against your skin, a quiet tether that had grounded you all night, the gentle movement providing a sense of calm you hadn’t noticed you’d been needing.

He hadn’t let go, not once.

You looked over at him, your gaze tracing the softened curve of his jaw now that he wasn’t wearing the weight of the room anymore. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders had unraveled. His posture more relaxed, but his eyes those deep, thoughtful eyes still flickered to you like he couldn’t quite stop checking, like some part of him still needed to make sure you were okay.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice now stripped of the polish he’d worn on the carpet. This wasn’t the voice he gave the cameras. This was the voice he saved for you.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I think I am now.”

Lewis’s lips quirked into that half-smile, the one that always made your heart skip a little. “Told you we’d be alright.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your head tilting against the seat as you studied him, the memory of the night still warm on your skin. “I was so nervous,” you admitted, the honesty slipping out easily now, safe in the privacy of the car. “I thought I was going to faint when I stepped out. I thought maybe I’d embarrass you.”

His brows drew together instantly, his thumb pausing its rhythm to grip your hand a little tighter. “Embarrass me?” His voice softened with disbelief, the very idea of it clearly throwing him off. “You didn’t embarrass me. Not for a second. You -” He trailed off, searching for the words, his thumb resuming its soft circles, grounding you in a way that only he could. “You were perfect.”

You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, a soft flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with the cameras or the crowd. “You really think so?”

Lewis’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you like he wanted to etch this version of you - tired, glowing, real into his memory forever. “I know so.”

The car slowed as the driver turned onto a quieter street, the city’s pulse dimming to a soft murmur as the chaos of the premiere faded into the distance. The night air slipped through the cracked window, cool against your skin, fragrant with the distant scent of rain and city life.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty it was full, wrapped in the comfortable weight of shared understanding. The light outside seemed softer now, more intimate, as though the world had dialled down, just for you two, to let you breathe.

Lewis finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “They’re gonna talk, you know. They’re gonna write their stories.”

You nodded, your heart steady now. “Let them.”

He smiled at that, proud and soft all at once. “That’s my girl.”

His words settled in your chest like something permanent, something you wanted to hold on to. He didn’t need to say more everything he had already said, everything he’d done, told you more than words could. The car pulled up in front of the hotel, the quiet rumble of the engine slipping into stillness. The driver moved to open the door, but Lewis squeezed your hand once more before you moved, anchoring you there just a moment longer.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze locking with yours, the weight of the words settling between you, grounding you even deeper. “For being with me. For walking through that with me.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten in a way that almost took you by surprise. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your lips as you whispered, “Always.”

There, in the soft glow of the streetlights, in the quiet safety of the car, you allowed yourself to close the distance between you and him just a little more. His lips, soft and warm, brushed gently against yours before he pulled away, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to capture every second of the moment.

You lingered there, your face still inches from his, the rush of the night finally settling into something you could hold onto.

His brown eyes stared into yours almost like a plea. His hand slid to your face, cupping your cheek as if to remind you that this wasn’t for the world it was just for the two of you.

Soon enough, Lewis’s lips found yours again, this time with more certainty, more passion, more everything. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he was savouring the feeling of having you this close, finally able to love you without the weight of the world on his shoulders. His thumb traced the line of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, and you melted into him, letting him pull you closer, hands finding his neck, your bodies aligning with ease.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Lewis’s forehead pressed gently against yours. “You’re mine,” he murmured softly, almost as if reminding himself.

“I’ve always been yours,” you whispered back, feeling that truth settle in your heart.

And as you walked toward the hotel, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles against your hand once more, you knew with certainty -

You’d walk through it all again.

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