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k-films · 1 month ago

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[NEW PROD.] Check out Rhin's new oneshot !

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

#✩⋆⁺₊ k-films — publishes #✩⋆⁺₊ pg — 13 #✩⋆⁺₊ artist — himewonu #✩⋆⁺₊ group — seventeen #✩⋆⁺₊ member — mingyu #✩⋆⁺₊ genre — fluff #✩⋆⁺₊ genre — humour #✩⋆⁺₊ genre — rivals to lovers #✩⋆⁺₊ genre — suggestive #✩⋆⁺₊ wc — >10k #✩⋆⁺₊ warnings — profanities #✩⋆⁺₊ warnings — food #✩⋆⁺₊ warnings — alcohol #✩⋆⁺₊ warnings — petnames

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screampied · 8 months ago

Text

#TRYNA FUCK ME I'M LIKE OKAY! g. suguru

☆ sum. suguru geto wasn’t used to losing a race, especially to a fucking rookie—but you’ve got him confused, intrigued, and… hard? long story short, ever since he hit it he’s never been the same.

wc. 6.8k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, 2 fast 2 furious references, bratty reader, rivals to lovers ( ? ), geto has a dīck piercing, big size kink, riding, he fucks you on the hood of your car, cunnīlingus, sore loser geto gets humbled lel, overstim, squīrting, dirty talk, praise, petnames.

an. chase atlantic inspired me again </3 same au as this one.

second fucking place. he got second place and he lost to you, a newbie—the newest racer with the prettiest trendy wheels, flashy rims, and a hot pink 2001 honda s2000. stupid, stupid, the reality of losing left a sour taste in geto’s mouth. he can’t remember the last time he’s lost, ever. .

the moment he saw your car bolt in front of him at those last few milliseconds of the race with fiery pink smoke coughing from your steel pipes dusting near his front window, he just knew he lost to you. geto scoffs. “tch,” he’d mumble, slamming his car door shut, and releasing the straps of his custom-made helmet. you leaned against your slick hood, innocently fanning yourself with a pamphlet of the track’s course layout that was given to every racer before glancing at geto. he was quite tall and he looked down at you with a look of intrigue and bitter annoyance. “cheater.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow. you knew damn well who he was, suguru geto—one of the if not the best street racer in tokyo. notorious for his wins and extremly cocky ego - except this time, your win against him bruised that little detail a bit. a small grin spreads across your glossed lips before your eyes rove up and down his dark leather ripped clothes. “you said somethin’?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” he utters, bringing a gloved hand up to his face. doing so, geto tucks his sticky black tresses back inside his helmet. he’s so close, that he practically has you cornered against the hot hood of your car and his eyes stare at the medal that’s pinned near the left side of your chest. that gold medal that was supposed to be his. “besides,” and you nearly gasped once you felt your rear tap against the front of your vehicle. “your ‘riding’ could use a ‘lil work, rookie.”

you saw the look in his eyes. he’s challenging you, geto sees you as a potential threat and he wasn’t fond of losing.. ever.

it just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

you don’t know why but beating one of tokyo’s top street racers made cocky pride swell right up in your chest. the same kind of cocky pride that he was used to, and damn were you a force to be reckoned with. he just had to learn that the hard way.

“do i?” you reply, reaching an arm inside of your car to twist the keys out of the ignition. with a roaring sputtering growl, your engine gradually turns off and the sounds of whirring wind fill the air.

geto’s got his hands buried in his pockets as his tall lean body stands still. he’s checking you out.

his head slightly tilts to the side with his helmet cracked open and you can feel his eyes trailing up your entire physique.

he’s studying you - trying to figure out just who this pretty girl that just dusted him in a race.

you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t idolize him just a little bit. he was well known not just in tokyo but worldwide. the fangirls loved him, and the racers despised him with envy.

beating the suguru geto was a rare fever dream of itself.

“or are you just upset you’re not in the spotlight for once?” brat.. though your comment made him scoff with a sly smile curling against his thin lips.

“mm. for a new racer you sure have a smart mouth,” and his eyes quickly dash toward your car.

hot pink, it even looked freshly new and painted. and just to put the icing on the cake, it also has a pretty character design painted near the sides with the addition of a cheetah print wheel.

he lost to . . that?

geto’s quietly admiring your ride though—it looked like it was straight out of a movie. once he looks down at you again, he speaks in a gruff intimidated tone, finishing his sentence. “it’s only your first win, don’t be cocky.”

“i’ll be cocky if i want,” you murmur, and there’s a loud competitive tension between you both.

people started to leave the car meeting spot until it was just the two of you. your car’s parked near one of the garages where geto’s car was coincidentally parked also. you’re still leaning against the pink hood of your car before walking up to him. you close the awkward distance between you both, being just a few inches apart.

you’re bold, and he liked your spunk although he’d never flat-out admit it.

just . . . who were you?

geto didn’t like losing—that’s already been established. but now, he’s starting to realize he probably has to deal with you in future races, and oh- he knew you were gonna be a problem.

and he was right, because perhaps he’d finally met his match.

“besides, even if i did cheat,” you retaliate, your tone sounding more and more coy and foxy. playfully, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tap against his sheer black helmet that had ‘s. geto’ autographed in bold purple near the other shell. vexed, mousy eyes glare at you through the protective gear and you lean up all the way close. “what are you gonna do about it, suguru?”

famous last words,

because one moment you’re being nothing but a mere brat and the next, you found yourself bent over the hood of your pretty blush-colored honda.

well, fuck.

suguru geto didn’t take disrespect lightly . . although, he liked the brat in you. a nice change of pace, even though it pissed him off a bit - a lot.

“s- shit,” you gasp, feeling your thighs squeeze together. geto’s domineering aura sends you chills, the kind of chills where it runs through your entire soul.

he’s so close that you could almost taste his loud cologne on your tongue. it’s a manly scent, you’d probably guess one of the main ingredients was oak moss. as you’re pondering deep in thought, still trying to get over his loud smell—a hand gingerly starts to brush down your skimpy lace-up chaps.

his touch felt good. . and sure, maybe you’ve fantasized about this exact moment once or twice while watching his races broadcasted on live television. geto’s pressed up against you as you’re idly hunched over, biting your lip. with a huff, you’re so close to your tinted window that you were practically having a staring contest with your rosy windshield wipers. “aw. you planned to spank me over my car?”

“not exactly, pretty girl,” he tsks with a clicked tongue, and that’s when you feel it. something poking against your rear — oh, he was hard.

it was something hard and you don’t quite think it was his helmet..

that couldn’t have been anything else other than a raging boner, and it makes you smugly hum. geto groans once he feels your ass wriggling against his skin-tight leather jeans. “think you’re funny, yeah girl?”

“a bit,” you utter in a breathy tone, feeling his fingers zig-zag down the exposed straps of clothing that reveal a bit of skin. you didn’t mind his touch - in fact, you only wanted more.

the inside of the garage was widely spacious—big enough to fit your car and geto’s iconic skyline gtr. it’s a gorgeous midnight dark purple that glimmers in the dead of night, akin to a raven’s wings.

with the garage lot being empty, it was just the two of you, the witching hour steadily approaching. all that could be heard was the occasional squawks and chirps of squaking birds and loud cars honking near the far distance by the freeway. as he’s still got you pinned over, you bite your pointer finger with a cheeky hum. “hilarious even.”

but, you don’t find anything funny moments later when the street racer’s tongue is shoved right between your splayed, plush thighs.

not at all, in fact- the only ‘words’ that came from your mouth were babbling inaudible whimpers, and he made sure you’d eat your sentences… just like he’s eating out your first place cunt like the starved man he was.

with widened eyes and a stretched jaw hanging open, you stare back with a hand on your ass, giving your skin a soft squeeze. geto grunts, on his knees as you’re hauled right over your pretty decorated hood.

hell! you figured he’d ask to rematch but this..

it seemed like all he wanted to do was take out his loss on your pussy… with his second-place tongue.

and that’s just what he does too.

not that you were even complaining—suguru geto was a nasty man to no one’s surprise. he’s nasty on the road and he’s even nastier with his tongue recklessly driving up and down your slobbering twitching cunt.

you feel a crooked nose sloooowly drag its way like a trail against your entrance. geto starts near the bottom and then makes his way up, making sure to have his button nose dripping with your mess. letting off a sweet whimper, it doesn’t take long before he’s starting sucking against your swollen clit.

“hng,” a needy whine dashes from your throat, and you can already feel a shaking judder spasm between your legs. geto’s unapologetically sloppy with his mouth too. as he’s repeatedly flicking the pointed pink tip of his tongue in crazed different directions, a throaty hiccup leaves from your glued lips. “fuuck, do you usually mhm--do this to your opponents who hah, beat you?”

“only the ones with the smart fuckin’ mouths,” he replies with a quickness, taking a moment to spit right on your sticky cunt. it’s a loud ‘ptui’ and it’s a filthy slimy trail that dribbles past his lips, polishing near the creasing crevices of his mouth.

a rubber-gloved hand snakes toward the crack of your pried open thighs and he spanks your pussy, causing a cute shrieking squeal to leave out your strained cords. “also, a reminder again. you didn’t beat me. i let you win. big difference.”

“s- sure,” you sheepishly moan, feeling vapid air circle around you both.

the night was eerily and silently dead—you swallowed thickly, praying no one would see you bent over your flashy pink hood getting eaten out by one of the most famous street racers in the world. although, the thought of getting caught made you throb in a way you didn’t think it would.

he’s mean with his tongue.

geto was competitive in everything he did, including with how he ate it.

your strapped pants were pulled down along with your panties lazily sticking toward the side of your feeble quaking thighs.

within minutes his jaw would angrily ache, growing slack and locking from how it was reaching soreness - but he didn’t care.

if he didn’t win his race, the least he could do was win by eating you out…right?

geto’s designer mauve-colored helmet probably costed thousands and rests near the side of him. he took it off before he started to feast himself between your sprawled legs.

through hazed doe-like peripherals, you stare at it and admire the designs that paint across his visor.

everywhere, there’s writing and designs—and again, you spot his famous autograph that’s nearly written near the side. typical, of course, he’d autograph his helmet.

he’s suguru fuckin’ geto.

regardless though, you’re still nothin’ but a whining mess though, and as he continues to eat you out, you let off a sweet ‘ooh!’ as soon as he bites near your pearly clit.

it’s soft and tender, but it still makes you babble out a sobbing moan. his teeth gently nibbled against your pussy . . . leisurely slithering his tongue between your flooding flaps.

so good, each time you hear the wet smacks from his lips, you can hear geto huskily groaning out satisfying ‘mmmh’ ‘s.

it’s a feeling that makes your legs stagger within the firm hold of his hands. geto’s still wearing his gloves and each time the stretchy rubber rubs onto your skin, you moan. “fuck, fuckk,” you whine, and he’s groaning right against your sobbing cunt. his hair’s pinned back into a high messy ponytail - a few ravened strands running down the sides of his face. pretty long lashes of his were closed as he was slurping you clean.

so damn sweet . . . he wonders why he’s never seen you on the track until now. well- you were new. maybe he has seen you, but geto’s never been one to pay attention.

either way, you were a meal he didn’t wanna stop tasting, ever.

and despite the bitter taste of defeat continuously lingering on his flat tongue even still . . your cunt sprinkled a bit of flavor to it, an aftertaste of vying rivalry . .

“mmph,” he grunts, feeling you push him further into your cunt with one hand. with a twist, you turn your torso just a bit to look down at him, bringing his face further. geto’s slick wet tongue slides across your nub before he’s sloppily thrusting it in and out of your weeping flowery entrance.

you whimper once he reaches that spot, feeling a sudden heave of a breath snatch its way out from your puffed lungs. geto’s dark brows amusingly knit together and he’s already nose deep—the hooking bridge that smears against your pussy makes you nearly wail out a needy weep.

he’s smearing his face everywhere, and wet splotches of your juices started to coat his clear face.

but he doesn’t mind - geto’s always been one to get a ‘lil dirty during a match.

two slack lips munch against your clit wholly before his lengthy tongue reaches toward your winking hole. “pff,” he clicks his tongue, letting off another husky groan once he feels the tint in his pants arises.

fuck, you made him hard—even more, now that he was eating you out.

the louder you were, the more his dick twitched underneath the rough fabric of his jeans. it’s almost painful- the way his hardened bulge prods its way against the leathery fabric makes him suck his teeth. he needs you.

geto’s lips remain glued against your cunt before he uses a gloved thumb to peel your pudgy sweltering folds apart just a biiiit more.

his tongue creates a downward slope that trickles its way below your clitoral hood that’s frantically throbbing right in his mouth.

ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. . .

pulse pulse pulse after fucking pulse,

a smoky chuckle echoed from his lips as his shoulders slightly shake and fuck- it vibrates against your pussy. “god, she’s a ‘lil crybaby isn’t she,” he breathlessly mumbles as his thumb peels your soaked flaps all the way down. he’s intently staring inside, studying all the pretty nerves and your twitching nub before spitting right inside yet again.

airy cold breath fans over your nude slit and you whimper, feeling his tongue douse itself back inside. “were you drivin’ around this wet the entire time, princess?” and you moan, feeling the rubber of his palm smear a few circles around your clit. “drivin’ around, tryin’ to beat me with a pretty pussy this fuckin’ soaked?”

with a shivering whimper ghosting past your splintered lips, you snivel out a soft mewl.

“sugu—fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” and as your breath gets caught in your throat, you feel him grab a nice chunk of your ass.

at his very grip, he gives your rear a rude spank and the recoil makes him hum in amusement. so soft, the way it bounced just from his palm alone.

oh, and spanking you became his favorite thing to do, especially since you were so fucking noisy.

as a shrilling whine prepares to race out your strained esophagus, you nearly yank his head forward again, hearing him groan against your clit. “d- did you hear me? ‘m close, gonna cu—”

“yeah yeah girl, i heard you,” he swats your hand away, and the low grit that rumbles from underneath his tone makes you throb for the nth time.

geto brings a few digits up toward your cunt to rub against your runny folds, and he starts making out with your pussy - with tongue.

sloppy smacks slosh out from your crying folds and you gasp, feeling him impishly nip your clit with his teeth once more. “mmf,” and his eyes start to become low and hooded.

he’s pussy drunk, very much so.

geto eats you out until you’re abruptly coming undone on his tongue, letting off a sweet euphoric battle cry with your toes curling in your knee-high boots. fuck, and even as he’s savoring the syrupy taste that pours on his flat flushed tongue, he’s still eating you out.

with brief circular maneuvers of his tongue, he’s got you whimpering from the sensitivity. as a staticky twinge pulses through your pussy, your hand grabs at his hair hard, tugging near his roots, having to literally pry him apart.

your cunt was so sensitive, throbbing a plethora of pulses as your mouth fatally goes dry. “f- fuck,” you moan, and you can feel your legs stick together once they instinctively close shut.

“tsk. drama queen,” he soils his lips together that were now perfectly glossed from top to bottom with your juices.

oh, his chiseled chin was just shimmering with such sparkling sap that it even poured a stream down the lower part of his face. his tongue slides near the cracked corner of his right lip, and he’s just luxuriating at the treacly taste of you. if you tasted this good, maybe the second place wasn’t so bad after all. .

as he’s still lapping up his lips with a wolffish grin, geto notices you openly gawking at his bulge and he snickers, patting his fly with a gloved hand. “it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“it’s rude to walk around with a bulge that big.”

“oh yeah? how ‘bout you fix that problem for me then, rookie?”

a brat, almost as much of a brat as you.

geto gets silenced once you slam your lips onto his, not even batting an eyelash that you’re tasting yourself on his tongue that’s swirling around yours.

it’s intense, you could feel your heartbeat start to match the exact pulsing pace from between your legs. his lips were icy, and you moaned—tasting a bit of mint that resides on his tongue.

his breath is freezing cold, it’s an almost sweet candied taste and you whine in his mouth once his hands start to roam up and down your body.

geto’s feeling you up- feeling up the pretty girl who just beat him in a race.

rough protected hands drag down your frame, taking in your curves before toying with the leather straps that droop against your pink lace-up chaps.

it’s as if even the kiss was far more competitive than the actual street race.

both desperately fought to win, swerving through each tongue like swerving lanes.

geto grunts, lightly pushing your ass back against the hood of your car. as tongues twist and tango in lewd unison, he seductively sucks on your pointed tip.

as geto’s eyes open halfway, you open yours, and he’s just staring at you with a look of feral - a carnal smug grin tweaking on each side of his lips.

“turn around again, pretty. hands on y’r hood like…this,” and once he spreads you apart, you moan once he rubs his bulge against the middle fabric of your pants. “good hah- messy girl.” his bulge was so damn hard, it felt like a brick.

the more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body ached and yearned for more.

oh..

his hands, geto kept his racing gloves on the entire time. as the stretchy rubber sensually crawls down your waist, you hear the jangling of his studded skull belt. with a few shuffles, he leans up close, pinning your hands behind your back like you were under arrest.

“just for the record again, you didn’t ‘beat’ me, you cheated,” and you scoff, feeling frigid air waft between your inner thighs. oh- here he goes again. talk about a sore fuckin’ loser.

“sur— mmph,” and he cuts you off, placing a gloved palm over your mouth.

“quiiiiet, you’ll get your turn to talk,” he cuts you off, and you let off a moan once you feel his bulbous tip smack against your sopping cunt.

it’s loud..

dozens of paps and squelches leave it right away and he plants a wet kiss near your exposed neck.

the rubs from his blushing reddened cockhead make loud noises that constantly replay through your empty mind.

“see? let her talk,” and you swallow thickly, feeling him use an extra hand to pry your legs apart further. clammy, big hands glue against the pink hood of your car before your tongue tastes the metallic fibers of his glove. “so eager. poor baby,” he coos against your ear, feeling you trying to swallow and gulp him down right away. your twitching pussy’s aching, and you can’t help the pathetic whimpers that hiccup from your lips. you even try to wriggle your ass but he rubs a hand underneath your clit. “aw, impatient are we? what’s the sayin’, princess? slow ‘n steady wins the race?”

‘okay…but i beat you,’ was what you were saying in your head… but you sort of forgot his hand was covering your mouth. duh girl.

“mmph—” you let off a muffled moan against the palm of his hand, trying to wriggle your ass against him harder.

geto lowly groans and then you groan, feeling what was a piercing that attaches toward his pre-creamed dewy frenulum. geto strokes himself a bit, fisting his cock. with hooded, jaded eyes, he watches his loose skin peel back before arising up again and he hisses. the frenulum perfectly hooks itself over his tip, and oh- how you wished you could have seen it.

you couldn’t see but, fuck did you feel it.

you’re so wet, your swollen pussy lips resemble a blossoming flower as he spreads you apart with two scissoring rubber fingers.

his dick piercing almost tickles once it starts to rub against you some more. he swipes it all against your clit, teasing it near your opening before pulling it right back out. “fuck,” you whine once he finally removes his palm from your mouth, glossy strands of your saliva coating the entirety of your hand. “h.. hurry up, suguru. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

geto rolls his eyes, and that’s when with a semi-loud thud, your chest lands against your hood.

“oh please..” he murmurs, a brow twisting upward in annoyance. one of his hands still has its grip on your wrists and you bite your lip in anticipation.

geto’s tip leaked with creamy coating pre, and you felt remnants of it sprinkle against your entrance. with a raspy grunt, he drags his angered pierced crownhead down your drooling folds before roughly smacking it against your cunt.

more sloppy wet splats! of squelches spurt out from your folds as if it’s saying its own kind of lewd language and he grunts.

geto makes sure you’re arched over the hood of your car before whistling at your presented frame. “so damn…pretty,” and within seconds, he’s easing his way inside.

immediately, your eyes widen with your jaw collapsing down like earlier—fuck, he’s big.

from the countless times, you stared at his bulge, you figured as much. geto’s vast head had a rosy-pink tint of vermillion with how close it mirrored to being a pinkish red.

sucking in a greedy breath, he watches as he’s gradually disappearing inside of your cunt. his pierced dick made things even more sensitive, and you moan once you feel the piercing softly graze its way inside of your fluttering orifice.

pasty gummy walls welcome him, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip.

“hng, f- fuckin’ big,” you try to inhale a single breath, and he raises your leg just a bit. it now sits over your hood- and damn it, the angle he has was just brutal.

you just knew you were gonna feel him everywhere.

geto’s obelisk-like girth was wide ‘n fuckin’ tall, you felt him fully and the shaft ring that’s on top of his top continues to kiss against your sensitive throbbing nub.

prince albert to be specific!

it decorates his tip perfectly, making sure to tickle inside of you as he’s feeling you clamp down. “shiiiit,” you slur out your words in a mere whiny syllable, gasping at the curved column of his fat dick search through your walls like a maze. he’s expanding through you and you can’t help but part your lips, squealing before letting off a cute, ‘ooohh!’

your hand prints stick against the pink-stained hood of your car due to the insane amounts of perspiration and you whine once he gives you one biiiig thrust.

just one- and ah!

it rocks your world - literally.

you let off a cute squealing shriek, your legs shimmying a bit from his pressed-up weight.

“atta girl, bare ‘round me, good girl—fuck,” and the warmth you envelop his dick with makes him groan. your pussy was clingy, already so eager to devour him whole.

within a few punctuated thrusts to start, geto’s finally fucking you and each vigorous piston of his honed snatched hips makes your crossed eyes roll back in needy rapture.

his hands now stick toward your sides and you’re just whimpering from his size over and over again.

weighty inches pound into you at full speed, giving you whiplash every time as he impales your sweet greedy cunt. “fuck, mhm,” you bawl a fist against your car, gritting your teeth. riiiight there, the moment his tip smooches its way against that pretty bullseye spot, it’s over. there, he locates a spongy texture with the mushroomy pierced crown of his cock and it earns out a sobbing whimper from you. “ahng! right there, fuck. faster, there sugu.”

“right there, fuuuuck. faster there, sugu,” he mocks your whiny babbles, fully exaggerating.

to hell with him, you didn’t even sound like that but oh, did he enjoy getting on your nerves. just like you did- cute.

geto’s hefty sack smacks back against you from each nudging thrust he creates with his hips. every time, it makes him groan at how your body cutely slams back against him. with how sharp your ass pounds on his dick, those pretty wet sounds singing straight from your cunt- a sound way better than screeching tire wheels. “god, so fuckin’ warm. hah, squeezin’ all around me,” and as his irregular breathing patterns pick up, he leans in to kiss a slope down your neck. “bend over just a bit more- hah. there we go, m- my good girl.”

as your chest continued to lie flat down against your car’s hood now—he’s got you at such an angle to where you feel his cock expand everywhere.

it reaches every depth and rummages through every open orifice or just about near it. “oh my god!” you whimper out, hearing the sloppy sounds of your cunt whistle through the silent night. geto’s hitting you deep, slamming his keen hips into you with such rhythm, and each time he does, your brain short circuits.

tiny invisible stars circle and float over your head as you’re completely dumbfounded, thinking about nothing but how big his cock is and the way his pierced tip just plummets its way in and out of your drooling cunt.

speaking of drooling—you were starting to drool from the slit cracks of your mouth. you couldn’t help it- his dick was out of this world, and maybe you were exaggerating but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. ever.

geto’s hastily rearranging your insides with just a few inches and it felt oh so good.

it was so good that you forgot the two of you raced together. you forgot about street racing as a whole, and instead, he had you dumb from his dick. “biiiiig fuckin’ stretch baby,” he’d grunt, starting to witness viscid stringy strands glue against each slapping thighs. geto’s dick slips out for a minute and he groans, gradually sliding himself back in.

it’s a sloppy ‘pop’ that rings between your cunt and it’s cute. you were wringing him dry, and with how wet you were, it wasn’t exactly helping things.

geto’s hot breath brushes against the open part of your neck before he gives your ass another playful swat. “fuck, that’s it. fuck back against me, don’t get lazy, uh huh. work those hips baby, f- fuck.”

as you weakly try to sway your ass into him to coordinate in sync with his crazed hips, he holds you in place—pumping inch after inch into you.

his cock sheaths inside between your syrupy-coated pussy almost effortlessly, and you let off a melodic moan the second his tip starts making out with your g-spot.

the pierced bulbous head dared to french kiss against there—making you writhe around him, on the verge of losing composure. you don’t think you’ve felt more sensitive than ever.

geto’s silvery dick piercing probes up and down your pearly clit every few seconds and he grunts at the gripping friction. “suguru…..fuuuck!” and as your words start to get bouncy, more sweet whimpers rose out of your sore throat. “more, more.”

“ungh,” he purses his lips together as he feels your cunt hungrily swallow his cock from top to bottom. with a rough pound, your ass smacks against his base—right near his tender plump testes and he groans.

such power-

even geto’s stunned for a moment, and his head throws itself back. the air surrounding you both starts to feel thick as smoke, and his eyes glance at your exposed backside that’s oh-so-pretty while arched.

all for him, and him only.

geto’s hips were simply maddened, and even he didn’t care about the race anymore.

well actually, maybe he did a little..

your pussy was brimmed with cock — sooo full, and you felt yourself starting to pant quicker and quicker. it’s as if you were having a literal street race with your breathing. geto’s getting lost inside of you, and it’s only a matter of time before his hips turn wildly sloppy.

gloved hands still reel you back into him as he’s breaking sweats within each long millisecond that passes. “pheww,” he’d wipe a sheet of sweat off his forehead, veins bulging in his beefy tatted arms. the drenching grip you had on his dick had him craving more…more of you.

the stoutness of his shaft jackhammers inside of your walls repeatedly until you’re on the verge of breaking yet again. geto grunts, the loud quick snap of his hips bringing him back to reality every time he’s about to go into another fantasm.

“fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” his words come out in a quiet rasp, and he claws a hand near the back crown of your head. “god,” his jaw tightens, and geto leans right up close to your neck, panting heavily against the outer shell of your ear. as long tangled tresses of hair freely cascade past his shoulders - all ruffled and messy from his helmet, he groans. “where do ya want it, sweetheart. tell m—”

“insideee,” you whine, barely giving him time to finish his husky words. your legs slightly raise against your headlight as it’s still stretched up and over.

geto’s still hitting you deep - so deeply good, swollen tip massaging every part of your clit and all. dozens of your toes curl up in erotic excitement as your tongue lolls out. you probably looked a sight. “inside, sugu, in- fuckin’- side.”

sassily smacking his lips together, he spanks you. “tch, dumb girl,” and the racer brings a hand to wrap around your neck. with a firm safe grip, his gloved thumb caresses a trail up your neck before he drills into you much quicker.

each snap of his hips draws out harmonic whines from you, gargled moans following out of your throat shortly afterward. the burn that’s twinging near the undersides of his thighs grows more and more intense before he geto lets out a guttural growl.

so……damn….. wet..

your flooding cunt’s slathering all over him, dripping near his base and he can’t help but snicker. “hah, fine. better hold still though.”

“fuck,” you whimper in response, feeling his sharp hips pound into you at such a pace. his rhythm was insane and there was no way in hell you could match his pace.

when it came to geto’s speed- yeah, you’d always lose. sure, you may have won today but when it came to his cock- you were losing with the hasty speed of his hips drilling into you at such miles per fuckin’ hour. .

as his turgid fat tip gives its final thrusting pumps inside of your cunt, geto’s body starts to violently shudder.

oh.. you were about to wring him dry. with a mewling slosh sound leaving the front your folds, you gush out yet again.

but at the same time…. so does he.

geto’s head remained tossed back with his round adam’s apple bobbing out of his throat. gnawing in the inside of his squishy cheek, he lets off a low grunt. his abs cockily flex through the white tee that tucks underneath his half-on leather jacket.

geto pulls out though, and it’s quick like the flash. he doesn’t finish inside to your devastated surprise, and a downturned pout forms on your lips. he huffs, watching such creamy-white amounts gush ‘n goo out in ropes and he sprays it on the outside of your pussy.

“damn,” he murmurs, feeling the awkward needy fidget of your hips. cute. darkened eyes remain on you the entire time and he grabs ahold of his veiny cock, aligning hit pierced tip against your pearled throbbing clit. “heh.. ain’t that a pretty sight,” and he smears it all against your pasty-creamed entrance.

now . . it’s painted with his color, white.

and geto came a lot because it’s still trickling out in ribbony globs, filthily oozing from the thick girthy sides and all like an erupted volcano. his teeth get caught by his quivering bottom lip as he watches such immoderate ropes of cum leave out of him. “such a- hah, messy girl,” and as he’s still lathering his sloppy seed that’s pouring out, sticking wads of splotches between the heat of your thighs, geto squeezes your ass. “awww,” he huffs breathily, noticing a few ivory stains splattered near the pink bumper of your car. “oops. might wanna clean that, sweetheart.”

hours passed . . many hours, and to say that you got fucked stupid was merely an understatement.

suguru geto had the stamina equivalent to a toyota supra MK4. his horsepower was his hips- with the added addition of his cock driving in and out of you.

but oh- you knew he wouldn’t be running out of gas soon.

or would he?

so. . many rounds, geto had you questioning your insanity the entire time, all because of his dick. if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to fuck.

whether it involved his tongue or not, he knew how to make you feel good. it was one of the many things he excelled at, truly.

the only thing that got in the way was his cocky smug ego. every few seconds, he’d boast and remind you for the umpteenth time that your win was an unruly cheat, a hoax, or that he just couldn’t see the finish line because of your pink fucking smoke.

of course, geto didn’t say that part, that would have been him admitting that he lost the race and his pride couldn’t let him admit that he lost fair in square—

but your pussy could.

“hngh,” he falls back against your front cottony plus seat. geto grunts with a scowl entrapped in his thoughts. you pushed him - the audacity.

both of you were still sensitive but you had a tiny trick up your sleeve. “got some.. nerve,” and with low-dropped eyes, he watches you align yourself on his swollen pierced tip yet again.

he’s soft-flaccid, and he was pretty ran down. maybe now, geto was finally starting to run out of gas. with sweltering reddened lips smearing together, he watches you pick back up his expensive helmet, putting it over your head. “oh, gonna ride me while wearing my helmet, yeah? do your wors— oh.. fuck.”

his priggish words come to a not-so comedic halt the moment your cunt slams down on his cock. geto was still sensitive and he slouches back against your programming warming seat, dark eyes rolling back.

“goddamnnn,” and as your hips swerve around in circles identical to 360 car donuts, he sees you touching yourself while wearing his helmet. “fuckin’ brat—god.”

“aw,” you mock the exact faux caring tone he did to you earlier, making him touch you by bringing his shaky rubber hands toward your chest. geto’s fingers feel against the cropped top you wore, squeezing at your jiggling neglected breasts. “c’mon, sugu. i gotta guide your hands now too?”

“tch, shut up,” he groans, his heavy-sunken base sticking near your skin. dried splotches of cum glue against your sheeny ass as your hips continue to whirl ‘n rotate. you were unpredictable—you moved and jerked while he sat there with the most pussy drunken expression. geto lowly grunts, already feeling his balls starting to tighten up. he was trying to stop a sleazy grin from forming and oh.. was your cunt just making it impossible. “shit, ‘m not gonna last. s- still fuckin’ sensitive…. fuuuckk.”

the pink honda’s loud grumbling engine resounds through the echoey walls of the isolated garage with only the sounds of sheer skin slapping and a mixture of grunts following afterward. without thinking, you lift his helmet off of you, leaning in to kiss him and he returns the gesture almost right away.

geto’s lips were a tad bit delayed once they pressed onto yours. its a small yet cute detail- how he’s so pussy drink that he could barely crash his lips onto yours. as he’s moaning from your hands feeling on his burly tatted arms, his tongue sloppily delves into your mouth with no rhythm whatsoever.

maybe you were crazy, but you think you heard a whimper leave from his lips as he tried to nibble on your tongue. geto grunts, feeling that same pressure from earlier build up and fuck.. you were about to make a mess out of him . . . again!

his dick stills itself inside of you and his hands continue to roam down your body, further and further away from your jostling bouncy tits. “fuck ‘m cumminggg,” he’d moan between sultry kisses as stringy strands of saliva entangle with one another.

wetly, they form a web of sheeny lustrous cobwebs. geto’s foot rests against your bedazzled hard brake pedal before within seconds, he cums again.

this time, inside.

but it’s different this time- so so different.

it feels tenderly warm..

such hot gooey amounts dribble inside of you, spraying further inside your precious womb and you hum at the feeling.

his pierced cock fitting real nice and snug inside and you moan into his mouth, cocking your head in different directions as you trap his lips with another steamy kiss. “mmph.” a muffled whimper gets caught against your lips and you can already start to feel the whiteish searing ropes of fresh cum trail down the insides of your thighs. geto feels you slowing down on his lap—still buried balls deep, and he grunts in defeat..

soon, embarrassment overtakes him once he realizes how early he finished.

it’s a lot, again.

a thick load splatters heavily inside and past the inner lining of your cunt and he’s shivering underneath you. once you finally break away from his lips, your eyes meet his.

geto’s staring back at you, and you don’t see that cocky sly look in his eyes that everyone else sees.

right now, he looks…needy, and you think you broke him.

“what . . ?” he grouses, his hands still attached to your waist. his grip- it was gentle and tender a rubber thumb softly caressing down your curve. geto wasn’t ready for you to leave the garage, at least not yet.

“say it, pretty boy,” you whisper, pressing a kiss near his chin. your touch - it drove him mad.

never in a million years would he, suguru geto- have thought he’d get humbled by a rookie . .

humbled by you.

geto’s shooting straight daggers at you, but you can tell how flustered he is because he breaks eye contact a second later. you’re making him nervous, the same feeling he was making you at first when you had your first encounter with him.

as geto’s still warmly buried inside, he grunts once you take it upon yourself to softly wrap a hand around his throat.

oh- you were a mere tease, mimicking his exact movements from earlier. slightly wide-eyed and all, geto stares at you. and as he does—there’s that familiar glimpse of brattiness glimmering in his irises again.

you fucking turned him on..

“heh, f- fine then,” he stammers, heaving every few seconds to catch his irregular breaths. his body felt like it was on empty. no more gas left in him and that same cunning grin that plastered on his lips slowly started to fade.

geto’s not so cocky now, and in fact— he lets off a soft quiet whimper once you start to grind against his lap.

shakily, his hand squeezes your ass before finishing his sentence in a shaky defeated rasp.

“you . . fuckin’ win, sweetheart,” and you let off a sweet gasp once a loud smack! interrupts the moment, his hand swatting against your ass. “mhm,” geto grunts, “didn’t s- say stop. finish ridin’ me, sweetheart,” and his gloved finger swirls itself inside of your stuffed full cunt before pulling it right back out.

again, he’s filthy.

and even while being in such a state, geto brings his fingers up to his lips, slowly poppin’ them into his mouth before tasting the concoction mixture of both bittersweet messes. your syrupy cum and his.

quickly, he presses the tips of his rubber fingers toward his uvula, before staring at you with a greedy smug expression. he’s panting harshly, still trying to get over how you just outrode him literally, and he laps up his fingers right in front of you.

geto reclines your seat back a bit as you still straddled him, and he gives your ass its final spank before tiredly huffing,

“best- two out of three, what do ya say, r- rookie?heh..”

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