#dj music man x male

[k-hotchoisan]

coming home with me

<san x fem!reader>

under the dim lights, Choi San realises that he just can’t keep this casual when it comes to you.

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, furcoat!San, is San being toxic??? I guess we’ll never know!, jealous dom! San, unprotected sex, reader is commando, car sex, fingering riding, breeding kink, spanking

a/n: ahoy!! y’alls gotta thank @bro-atz & @skteezcursed for the fic concept 😘 have been overwhelmed with life so I’m presenting this as my compensation ~

w/c: 3.1K

Under the dim lights, your eyes slowly adjust, and much to your delight, you spot the man you’ve been eye candying at a booth. Of course, you knew he was gonna be there considering you’ve been stalking his socials, and casually asking your mutual friends about his favourite hang-out spots. 

He’s cute, you think, stealing glances at him from afar, wondering how you should approach him. A coincidence? Maybe stage an accident? 

“And what’s the end goal for you with him?” You hear your friend’s voice piercing into your thoughts. 

Well, initially, it was mostly a light-hearted flirty thing. You just thought he was cute. All romance sparks started off with the thrill of liking someone. It just hadn’t reached to that point with him yet. 

“Maybe play around? I don’t know”, you reply. 

Or maybe it was just a farce to keep a certain guy off your mind. 

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself”, your friend reminds you, her palm on your hand comfortingly. “You should be direct with him.” 

You force a smile back to assure her.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna do anything foolish.” 

You don’t notice the confused expression she’s making at your answer because now you’re thinking if you should just let things unfold naturally. Amidst your pondering, your friend’s elbow nudges you. 

“And he’s looking at you”, she says. Your eyes glance up—and she’s right—your little eye candy has seemed to catch your gaze. He smiles even though he’s on the other side of the room. You give him a small wave and he waves back. Then he gestures for you to go down to the dance floor. You’re wondering if you should too as you watch him leave his booth and down the stairs to the crowded floor. 

Unfortunately, you let the thought sit for a little too long because when you decide to leave the booth to the floor, you’ve lost him. 

Letting the flashing lights and lasers with the decent music from the DJ doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

Soon enough, your eyes filter through the people and you catch your prey. He seems to be talking to someone but he also seems to have noticed your stare before he fully turns to you. 

But as you’re steadily maneuvering the crowd to reach him, your eyes meet another man’s—sharp and all too familiar—and it seems as though he’s caught you too. 

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn away, fishing your phone from your chest, opening your phone book to speed dial.

You bring your phone up to your ear, turning away from the approaching male deliciously styled in a black fur coat walking towards you, panic obvious in your tone while your friend picks up. You look up at her from the dance floor, eyes wide. 

“Babe, you did not tell me that he was here?!” You whisper-shout. You watch your friend’s face widen her eyes before she shrugs. 

“Who the hell did you think I was referring to just now? I was talking about Choi San!” 

Choi San has had his eyes on you since you settled in your booth. He never thought he would see you out of all the clubs that existed in this town. But despite the slight scowl present on his face when he realises you’re flirting with someone else at the same level booth he is on, there’s a seed of desire that’s lodged in his heart, that maybe he has a chance. 

But first, he has to get rid of your little eye candy. 

San’s eyes trail your movements carefully—from the way you bat your eyelashes at the other male from the other booth, then to the way you stare after him as he walks down to the floor. 

How have you not noticed him yet? 

He stays put on the sofa, silently counting down how much longer it’d take for your eyes to rake over the rest of the booths to reach him. 

Unfortunately, it only leaves him frustrated, and even tenfold when you leave your seat while your eyes search for him on the dance floor. 

Guess he has to do it his way then. 

He pushes past the wave of people, still locked onto you under the dim lights

The satisfaction that floods into his brain when your eyes meet his, his ears slowly tuning out the music, and he watches the way you eyes widen when you finally take notice of him from a distance. 

And then you turn away. San cocks his eyebrow in confusion and irritation, and his footsteps towards you quicken. 

Then he stops in his tracks once more. 

Dear god, something might break today if he gets interrupted one more fucking time. 

Your attention is stolen by your little eye candy. He got to you before San could.

You’re well-aware that you’re being stared down by a certain male from your peripherals, and that certainly wasn’t stopping you from pretending that he’s part of the air molecules, although not the easiest task when he’s boring a hole into your head. 

You look back at your eye candy, plastering a pretty smile. 

The both of you sink into small talk, leaning in closer in an attempt to hear each other over the music. You’re listening to him, but your attention remains on someone else. Someone who’s not hiding that he’s stealing glances at you. 

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” You hear him ask into your ear. His arm is snaking around your waist, and your interest is waning. 

You’re ready to reject him, and you jolt slightly when you feel a bigger pair of hands slide across your back replacing the unfamiliar warmth. 

“She’s got afterparty plans”, San answers curtly. It’s an automatic response that you swallow hard when let your eyes rake over San. His hair is slicked back, letting a couple strands fall past his eyes. He’s smug with the corner of his lips curled up. Maybe it’s the confidence that you hate about him, but like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from him. 

You see the way the male tuts, then force a smile. “No worries. We’ll see each other soon, yeah?” 

You nod, already losing him in the crowd, mostly because Choi San has your full attention. 

Even under the dim lights, Choi San looks stunning. You realise you’re royally fucked when your eyes trail to the star of the show—the fact that San isn’t wearing anything underneath his fur coat. That piece of apparel somehow makes him look bigger, and it’s driving you insane. Well, if the tension escalates, he might get a surprise if you’re feeling generous enough. But right now, he’s eyeing you down like a predator, and it’s making you fall into his spell. 

His arm isn’t leaving your back. He’s leaning in closer, making sure you hear his words loud and clear in your ear. 

“That’s your type?”

You do your best to hide the effects he’s having on you—ignoring heat pooling between your thighs.

Your fingers play with the soft fur as he leans in and waits for your answer. He smells so fucking good. 

You shrug, and that only bubbles his irritation further. His grip on your waist tightens slightly.

“Answer me, darling”, he pushes, his palm sliding lower down. 

“Maybe. We had a nice chat before you cut in. Seemed like a decent person.”

San furrows his eyebrows. 

“What if he’s not a good person? Does that mean any guy that has a nice conversation with you a good person?”

His other arm is snaking around the back of your neck and he definitely feels your goosebumps. He’s forcing you to look at him. 

“San”, you huff, mentally bracing yourself from falling for his charms again. “And on what grounds do you have to be saying all of this?” 

“As your best friend?”

You scoff, with a roll of your eyes. Painful to tear away from his chiseled body just peeking out. 

San can’t seem to pinpoint it—for some reason, the interaction you had with your eye candy pricked him so much. But why? You and he have always been fooling around, leaving feelings at bay so it wouldn’t “complicate things”. But obviously after tonight, something clicked, and San is very sure he doesn’t like you to be around other men that aren’t him. 

“I’m leaving, Choi San. It’s hard to hear you with all these people around”, you make up the excuse, smacking his arm away with much reluctance, only for him to snatch you back once more. San makes sure you hear him loud and fucking clear when he leans into your ears. 

“We should go somewhere private then.”

Your moan in the kiss sets him off. Your hands trail up his bare body, and his hands are on your thighs. 

Fucking you in his car wasn’t San’s preference—he prefers a little more space— but he’s not complaining when he has you slowly unravel right before him, forced to press yourself against him even with the seat reclined and his thick erection is just shameless pressing against your body con dress. 

His fingers slip under your dress, and he groans when he feels your bare pussy—wet, puffy and just ready. 

And for some reason, it pisses him off when thought of your eye candy being the one to discover this instead of him. 

“Just how much of my buttons are you gonna push tonight, princess?” He asks rhetorically, his sharp eyes locked onto yours, trying not to snap from how wet you are.

You steady yourself on his lap, your mind slowly growing blank whenever his thick fingers graze your clit and past your sopping hole. 

“You were just begging to be fucked, huh?” San asks with his fingers circling so close to your pussy. 

“San!-“

“Tell me then: who were you hoping to fuck you stupid tonight?”

Your begs come in the forms of soft whimpers, and a sob rips from you when he plunges two thick fingers in, filling you up so fucking full.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

His fingers fucking your cunt isn’t helping you think. 

You know there’s no way around this. As much as you hated to admit, San always seemed to have the upper hand. Nonetheless, your unintentional plan had roused a side of him you’ve never seen before. 

“I’m waiting.” 

It takes almost all of your strength to focus on answering him, and it’s making you frustrated because he’s intentionally missing the spot that he knows can send you seeing the stars. 

“You”, you answer meekly.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie.” His fingers press against your g-spot, and you lean closer to his body on reflex, your hands gripping his fur coat. You could just smack the smug look off Choi San if he didn’t have two fingers stuffed in you. 

“You! Oh, fuck-” You cry out when he misses your g-spot on purpose once more. 

“Right answer, sweetie. You deserve a reward for being a good girl, hm?”

You can’t even answer. His thumb is rubbing on your clit, it sends electricity all over in the best way possible on top of his fingers hitting your sweet spots over and over again. The wet sounds of your pussy squelching only bring up the thick tension. 

“Look at you, tightening up like this. Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice drops an octave, lulling you closer to your impending orgasm. You hate the way he knows every nook and cranny of your body as if it’s his. You just really cannot escape him. 

His words continue to edge you closer. 

“Oh, that’s a good fucking girl. Keep squeezing my fingers like that. I’m the only one who makes you feel this fucking tight, right?” 

You fucking hate Choi San. 

Cream seeps past his fingers from your hole when your orgasm brings your vision to white. Your moans fill up the car when it wrecks your body in waves, your nerves flooding with pleasure over and over. 

And San isn’t letting you leave the damn car, not until you’re screaming his name. 

He’s not faring any better himself and he could just get off just by watching you cum all over him like that. 

His fingers leave your soaking cunt, slightly pruning with strings of your cum in between his fingers. While you catch your breath, San forces you to watch him lick his sticky fingers clean while his free hand shifts your fingers to his bulging erection that’s just begging to be let out. He’s grown so fucking hard that you wonder if it hurts. 

You unbutton and unzip his trousers, then push yourself to the side towards the car door to give him enough space so he’s able to fully remove his trousers. You can’t help but worry if the both of you would be caught, even though San assured you that he parked at a secluded spot. Your eyes dart to the windows, noticing how it’s beginning to grow foggy.

Oh. It’s about to get a lot more foggy. 

San’s touch pulls you out of your thoughts. Although you’ve fucked many times, the sheer fucking size of his cock never fails to make you swallow hard. 

Your hands wander up his tits as you settle back down onto his thighs. The realisation hits you then—the only clothing article Choi San has on right now is his fucking fur coat. 

He catches onto your stare and smiles in response. 

“Why? Is the thought of getting fucked by your favourite person wearing a fur coat getting you excited?”

You narrow your eyes at him, and you palm his bare, thick, and sticky cock, making San groan in reply. 

“Favourite? What makes you think you’re my favourite?” 

He chuckles and makes your heart flutter. 

“Many things, sweetheart. Just as you’re mine.”

You’re really gonna end up losing to him, huh? 

You lift your hips instead, lining up to his cockhead, and then letting San guide your hips down his fat cock, making you take him inch by inch. You bite your lip at the feeling of his cock filling you up so disgustingly good, and San has his eyes screwed shut, a strained groan leaving his lips when your warmth envelops him so fucking good. 

“That’s it. You’re so fucking warm and tight for me”, San mutters in pleasure through half-lidded eyes. 

Riding San sometimes feels too much for you, in the best fucking ways possible because he’s all the way in, and he knows that very well—how easily you get sensitive and squirmy just from sitting on his cock. 

You slowly bounce off his cock, grabbing his shoulders for leverage. He likes that you have to lean into him while he fucks you from below so he can whisper the most dirty things into your ear just to make you clench around him.

His palms slide down your ass, following the momentum of you bouncing off his cock, then landing a tight slap against your skin to hear your gasp and feel you tighten on his cock. 

The sting feels so fucking good that another slap has your pussy leaking cream all over his cock once more. 

“S-San! If you keep doing that-“ you cry, another slap to your ass making you jolt, sinking even deeper into his cock. 

“That’s your punishment for flirting with another man in front of me like that”, his voice buzzing in your ear. 

Another smack. 

Your thighs are trembling from the overstimulation. 

One more smack. 

Your mind is about to shut off. San’s cock is pressing against your g-spot with even more pressure than his fingers. 

The windows have completely fogged up.

“San, please. Oh my fucking god. Gonna fucking cum”, you whine, arms tight around his neck, intoxicated with the smell of his musk mixed with his cologne. 

San’s grunts fill your ears when your second orgasm drowns you again, your cunt pulsing uncontrollably around him, cream just pooling at the base of his cock. He groans and buries his nose into your neck, his mind fuzzy from how close his orgasm is. 

“I’m gonna cum in you. Wanna plug your pussy hole full of my cum. 

And you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl.”

“Yes, please”, you reply, much to his pleasant surprise. So his large hands hold your legs down, listening to you whine while his cock fills you up endlessly with warm and thick cum with moans escaping his lips every few seconds from how fucking good he feels. 

He pushes you off his body gently, his eyes reflecting the hearts in your glazed-out eyes. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips and he pushes his thumb past your lips. 

“Such a good fucking girl, letting me fill you up with my load. Does it feel good?”

You nod, twitching slightly from the overstimulation since he still has you stuffed full of both dick and cum. San wants to keep this sight of you in his brain forever—sucking on his finger, sweating with him post-orgasm, staring down at him with watery eyes while his cum just leaks past your puffy pussy hole even though his cock is plugging your cunt. 

San pulls you into a deep kiss, and you reciprocate it in between breathless pants and sighs. 

“Fuck. I think I’m in love”, he mutters loud enough for you to hear. 

You don’t know how to answer to that, but you feel your face flushing. He grabs the tissues stowed in the storage compartment and quickly cleans the both of you up after he lifts you off his softening cock. 

You instinctively shift to the passenger seat, and San removes his fur coat to cover you. You watch him grab a black tank top from the back seat, then fit his trousers over his thighs. 

He rolls down the windows despite the air-con running, just to rid the smell of sex.

You wrap his coat closer to you when the night breeze kisses your cheeks. 

“So, are you gonna send me home?” There’s a strange tint of hope you have that he’d decline. 

San stares at you with an expression that confuses you—one that makes you wonder if you had said something weird. Then he smiles after that. 

“You’re coming home with me, sweetheart”, San tells you as he loops his tank top over his head before he switches gear to move out. 

“It’s gonna be a long night for the both of us.” 

taglist:

@bro-atz @skteezcursed @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie  @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf  @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @haleyjoy @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @jwnghyuns @everythingboutkpop @skz1-4-3 @minalizasworld @seomisaho @tunafishyfishylike @woojirang @yuyusgirl

[pacifierbby]

* ੈ✩‧₊ STRAWBERRY KISSES

* ੈ✩‧₊ The taste of her lips is what pulls him in every time he kisses her. He can taste the fruitiness of her strawberry lipstick, making him urning for more.

୨ৎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 LN4 x fem fan girl

୨ৎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 kissing,sexual innuendos,

୨ৎ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 1,212

(ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)

The club was packed with sweaty people. The dance floor looked chaotic with how many people were dancing and grinding on each other to any beat that the DJ played. Your friends pulled you to the nearest table, not very keen to stay there but not wanting to upset your friends. They have been asking you to come out for a while, but you are making up 50 excuses as to why you couldn't go until your friends showed up at your door and dragged you out.

placing your bag on the chair closest to you, keeping your eye on it now and then so it doesn't get nicked "Well, ladies, what should we drink?" Your friend shouted out a little louder over the music all your friends replying with their favourite drinks "Um JD and Coke please" grabbing your bag to get your purse "Don't even think about giving me any of your money our treat and also for you too be wild a little" laughing placing your bag back on the chair watching your two friends walk to the bar.

"Isn't he fit?" Your friend is leaning towards you, speaking softly in your ear, your eyes leaving your two friends. "Who?" Looking around the club, including the dance floor, "That guy in the V.I.P. " looked over towards the V.I.P. area. She was right. That guy did look pretty fit "You're right?" "Whose right?" Chloe spoke, placing your drinks in front of you both "That guy in the V.I.P.", Sasha quickly said before you could even say oh, nothing. She knew exactly what you were like. Both of them turn around making it obvious to the guy that you are talking about him making you roll your eyes at them all for being an embarrassment turning their heads around looking straight at you and winking "Now that's who you need to be with" Sasha nodding agreeing with Chloe "well let's carry on with the night" changing the conversation immediately.

Taking a sip of your drink. Well, the only bit you had left. Watching your friends taking over the dance floor, probably more drunk than you were, each of them grinding on a guy that they probably would take home tonight. Sighing, "That was a big sigh," a male voice spoke behind you, making you jump, turning around, noticing it was the same guy from the V.I.P area "Haha yeah supposed to be girls' night but that changed" pointing to your friends "well hopeful I can entrain your boredom for the rest of the night do you want anything from the bar going to get myself another drink?" unsure if you should trust this fella but an offer you couldn't refuse " can I have a JD and coke please but um I didn't get your name?" the man smiled "sorry forgot to introduce myself, Lando Lando Norris," holding out his hand for you to shake which you quickly accepted not wanting to be rude "well love ill be back soon with our drinks" nodding watching him leave towards the bar slowly going away from your eyesight towards the crowd in the middle of the room forgetting to even introducing yourself why are you dumb laughing to yourself a little making sure you tell your friends if you see them later for the small embarrassment. Lando places your drinks on the table sitting on the chair in front of you "Sorry I forgot to introduce myself Chelsea but you can call me Chels for short" You and lando laugh a little "It's okay I forgot to even ask myself to be honest" holding out your glass to lando "cheers?" which he quickly accepted touching his glass with your taking a quick sip placing it back on the table "so who did you come here with?" wanting to start a conversation not wanting to make anything awkward looking up at lando "my friend actually whose dancing with one of your friends" pointing towards yours and his friends who still dancing with each other remembering he was in the v.i.p earlier and that's expensive enough in its self always packed with celebrities that get hidden in the area "you was in the v.i.p area before who do you know?" quickly saying "not wanting to be nosey or anything" lando laughed "its okay have you heard of formula one before?" shaking your head "my friends always say that i live under a rock and should widen my hobbies instead of working all the time" "well i work for formula im a driver for McLaren" softly whispering so his attention didn't get brought onto him "one of my friends who are not here tonight watches formula one but they like red bull i think" taking a small sip from your untouched drink "that will be max Verstappen" Lando begin to say joining you on taking a swig

The night was filled with more laughter sadly it was slowly coming to an end but you can't deny that this man sitting in front of you was attractive his eyes drew you in instantly giving you some sort of butterflies in the pit of your stomach every time they look into yours to his smile the one where it reached his eyes the one he shared with you through the night the conversation instantly flowing between the two of you. so many girls coming to your table flirting with the poor man or asking for a dance and with every question he always said no the girls left with an angry look smirking when lando wasn't looking but he always said sorry at the end of it making you fall a little more in love with him. The guys that you have been talking to in the club just run off with them leaving you back to square one where you originally started Lando shows the instant respect he has for women giving him an instant brownie point hearing the bell for last orders going at the bar no longer seeing your friends on the dance floor anymore "should we go outside?" lando softly spoke taking the previous swig off his drink placing the empty glass on the table slowly leaving the table looking back to make sure you didn't forget anything.

The cold air instantly kisses your skin making you shiver a little completely forgetting your jacket before you leave your house. Lando instantly recognised the shiver bringing his coat around your shoulders and bringing some sort of warmth back "Thank you" you softly said blushing a little with the kind gesture "Wouldn't be a gentleman would I if I I left you shivering" smiling at you rubbing your cheek bringing your eyes up from the floor his eyes instantly looking into yours both of your noses slowly touching like magnets pulling you both in the lips connecting together neither of you wanting to end it Lando hand softly placed on your back bringing you in a little more your hands placed on the side of his arms both of you disconnecting his lips a lot plumper than they were before "your lips taste like strawberries "making you smile "that be my lip balm" softly touching your lips "well never change it" closing in for a gentle kiss.

© pacifierbby works

[dreamersworldduh]

Omg hiii, firstly, I really like your two workss so far they're soooo good 😩. Hopefully, you continue writing, and secondly, I want to request for Dick grayson at one of those parties he has to attend with his friend that he liked for a while, and he sees reader getting hit on by a person he hates so he gets jealous, and he holds it for awhile till he couldn't anymore. If you can complete this, thank you for your time spent on my request. If not, it's completely fine. 🙏. Thank you for even reading my request. Keep up the good work, and have a good day/night!

JEALOUSLY, JEALOUSY

• Dick Grayson x Male!Reader

SUMMARY — Jealousy is an evil disease that most people deny having, but it can also be a great motivator if used properly.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 3.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Thank you so much for putting in your request! I appreciate you so so much—I hope you enjoy! 😚

The Titans' Tower was a beacon of light against the night sky, its glowing windows revealing the lively scene unfolding within. Inside, the air was charged with excitement, the kind of energy that came from heroes finally allowing themselves a moment of reprieve. The main hall was transformed into a party space, with colorful lights casting vibrant patterns across the walls, the music pulsing in time with the rhythm of the crowd.

You stood near the entrance for a moment, taking it all in. The sight was almost surreal—heroes you'd fought alongside, legends in their own right, were here in their most unguarded states. Starfire's radiant laughter rang out as she teased Beast Boy, who had just shapeshifted into a parrot to mimic her voice. Raven, ever the observer, sat in a corner nursing a drink, her normally stern expression softening as she watched the festivities. Even Cyborg, the tech genius of the team, was manning a makeshift DJ booth, nodding his head to the beat as he expertly transitioned between tracks.

You weren't used to seeing this side of them, but it was a welcome change. The Titans weren't just warriors—they were people, and tonight, they were letting themselves be exactly that.

When Dick Grayson—Nightwing himself—had invited you, you were a little surprised. Sure, the two of you had been close for a while, colleagues who had become genuine friends through countless missions. You'd spent hours fighting side by side, but more recently, you'd found yourselves sharing moments outside the chaos—grabbing coffee after a long night, cracking jokes about patrol mishaps, or just enjoying each other's company. Yet, an invitation to the Titans' private party felt personal, almost intimate.

As you stepped further into the room, the music grew louder, the bass vibrating through your chest. Dick wasn't hard to spot—he had that presence that naturally drew attention, even when he wasn't trying. Dressed in a simple black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he moved through the crowd with an ease that was almost magnetic. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a grin spread across his face.

"There you are," he said as he approached, his voice warm and familiar despite the music. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show."

"Miss a party at Titans' Tower? No way," you replied with a smirk. "Besides, you're the one who said I needed a break."

"And I was right," he said, nudging your arm playfully. "You deserve a night to relax. Just... don't let Beast Boy drag you into one of his dance-offs. He's surprisingly competitive."

You chuckled, already feeling more at ease. Dick had that effect on people—his presence was grounding, even in a room full of larger-than-life personalities. Before he could say more, someone called his name, and he gave you an apologetic smile.

"Duty calls," he said. "But stick around, okay? I'll find you later."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to explore the party. You grabbed a drink from the refreshment table—something fruity but deceptively strong—and started making your way through the room. Everywhere you turned, there were little snapshots of joy: heroes laughing, friends reconnecting, moments of normalcy in lives that were anything but.

It was in the middle of this whirlwind of activity that you found yourself drawn into conversation with Brandon, one of the Titans' newer members. His easygoing demeanor made him instantly likable, and you found yourself relaxing even more as you chatted about everything from patrol stories to how strange it was to see the team like this.

What you didn't notice, however, was the way Dick's gaze followed you from across the room. Standing near the edge of the crowd, he watched as you laughed at something Brandon said, the two of you leaning in closer to hear each other over the music. His smile from earlier had faded, replaced by a subtle but unmistakable tension in his expression.

For the first time in a long while, Dick Grayson felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest—jealousy.

Brandon was mid-story, his hands flying through the air as he described a mission that had apparently gone off the rails in the most chaotic way possible. His voice was animated, carrying over the music and noise of the party as he recounted the moment he had to leap from a collapsing rooftop to grab a fleeing criminal.

"And just as I'm mid-air," he said, his grin wide, "I'm thinking, 'If I miss, this is how they're going to write me off the team.' But somehow, I managed to grab the guy's ankle, and the two of us went tumbling into a dumpster. Starfire still hasn't let me live it down."

You couldn't help but laugh, the image of Brandon sprawled out in a dumpster vivid in your mind. His enthusiasm was contagious, and his self-deprecating humor made the story all the more enjoyable.

"What about you?" Brandon asked, leaning casually against the counter. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What's the craziest thing you've seen out there?"

You paused, your mind flipping through the mental catalogue of wild missions you'd been on. Finally, a grin tugged at your lips as you landed on one that stood out. "Okay, so there was this time I ended up dodging missiles while trying to stop a rogue drone. It was absolute chaos—explosions everywhere, smoke, the whole nine yards. And, of course, Dick was there, just doing his thing, making it all look effortless."

Brandon let out a low whistle, his eyebrows raising in mock disbelief. "Missiles and a rogue drone? That's next level. I swear, with him involved, it always sounds like a movie."

You chuckled, nodding. "It felt like one. But yeah, Dick's like that—calm under pressure, always two steps ahead. It's kind of ridiculous how good he is at this stuff."

Brandon grinned, leaning in slightly. "Must be cool, working so closely with someone like him. I bet you've picked up a thing or two."

You shrugged, a warm smile spreading across your face. "Yeah, it is. He's a good guy—one of the best. I've learned more from him than I ever thought possible."

As you spoke, you glanced over at Brandon, but your words brought Dick to the forefront of your mind. It wasn't just his skill you admired—it was his unwavering dedication, his ability to lead, and the way he always seemed to have your back no matter how dangerous things got. It was easy to talk about him, easy to share the respect and appreciation you'd built for him over the years.

Brandon nodded, clearly impressed. "I get that vibe. You two must make a hell of a team."

You smiled, raising your glass slightly. "We do."

Across the room, Dick leaned against the wall, his silhouette partially obscured by the shifting colored lights of the party. His sharp brown eyes, usually calm and calculating, were locked onto the two of you, his gaze unwavering. In one hand, he held a drink—something dark and untouched, the condensation dripping down the glass as it warmed against his grip. His free hand clenched at his side, the slight twitch of his fingers betraying the tension he was working hard to suppress.

You were laughing at something Brandon had said, your face lit up in a way that seemed to magnify the ease between the two of you. Brandon leaned closer, his posture open and relaxed, his confident smile suggesting he was thoroughly enjoying your attention. You leaned in as well, your head tilting slightly to catch his words over the pounding music, your body language unconsciously mirroring his. It was a small detail, but it didn't escape Dick's notice.

A knot twisted in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. He couldn't pinpoint the moment it had started—this feeling that clawed at him every time Brandon was near you—but tonight, it was undeniable. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to look away, but his eyes betrayed him, darting back to you within seconds. He told himself it was nothing, that he was overreacting, but the rational part of his brain was no match for the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

Dick had never liked Brandon, though he'd never said it aloud, not even to himself. He'd brushed it off as a clash of personalities, an instinctive distrust of the newcomer. But as he watched Brandon lean closer, his laugh carrying easily over the music, it became clear: it wasn't just Brandon. It was Brandon with you.

His usual composed demeanor was faltering, the effortless confidence he carried on and off the field slipping away as his emotions bubbled to the surface. His chest felt tight, his thoughts an uncharacteristic jumble. Was it jealousy? Frustration? The fear of something unspoken slipping out of his grasp?

The answer didn't matter, not in that moment. All that mattered was the impulse driving him forward. Before he realized it, his body was already in motion, his steps purposeful and direct. Each stride carried the weight of his emotions, the tension in his shoulders palpable. He weaved through the crowd without so much as a glance at anyone else, his focus entirely on you.

Dick didn't have a plan, no rehearsed words or carefully crafted excuses. All he knew was that he couldn't stand there any longer, watching you laugh with someone else, seeing the effortless connection that wasn't with him. He wasn't even sure what he was going to say when he reached you—all he knew was that he had to do something. Anything.

The music and laughter of the party hummed around you, a lively backdrop to your conversation with Brandon. You were mid-sentence, describing one of your wilder missions, when a familiar voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"Hey," Dick said, his tone even, but carrying an unmistakable edge.

You turned, surprised to see him standing there. He was close—closer than usual—his sharp brown eyes flicking briefly to Brandon before settling on you. His presence seemed to suck the air out of the space, a silent tension rolling off him in waves.

"Mind if I borrow him for a second?" Dick continued, though it wasn't really a question.

Brandon blinked, clearly caught off guard. His usual easy grin faltered for a moment as he looked between you and Dick, before offering a hesitant nod. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Go ahead."

"Dick, what—?" you began, but before you could finish, Dick placed a firm hand on your shoulder and started steering you away. His grip wasn't rough, but it was unyielding, his fingers curling just enough to make it clear this wasn't up for discussion.

You glanced back at Brandon, who shrugged and turned to mingle with someone else, his confusion evident. Meanwhile, Dick's hand remained on your shoulder, guiding you through the crowd and toward the staircase.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and growing irritation.

Dick didn't answer. He stayed silent, his jaw tight, his pace quick. His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly as you reached the stairs, and he led you upward, away from the noise and light of the party. The music and chatter faded with each step, replaced by the steady hum of the tower's systems.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, his normally composed demeanor slipping with every second. It wasn't like him to act this way—so abrupt, so on edge.

When you reached a quiet hallway, you finally pulled free of his grip, stopping in your tracks. "Dick, what the hell?" you snapped, your confusion now mingled with frustration. "What's going on with you tonight?"

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His shoulders were rigid, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he were struggling to find the right words. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, make some excuse and leave you wondering.

But then his expression softened—just slightly—and he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. His piercing gaze searched yours, as though he were looking for something, some unspoken reassurance.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he muttered, his voice low and raw, almost like he was speaking to himself.

You frowned, still not understanding. "Take what? Dick, you're not making any sense."

For a second, he hesitated, his breath hitching as if he was caught between moving forward or retreating. Then, as though something inside him snapped, he closed the distance between you in one fluid motion.

His hands came up, gripping your face with a kind of desperate urgency. Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. It wasn't tentative or uncertain—it was firm, almost overwhelming, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt.

You froze, your mind racing to catch up with what was happening. The feel of his lips against yours, the heat of his hands holding you in place—it all hit you at once, a wave of intensity that left you breathless. There was a weight behind it, a frustration, a longing that spoke of something he'd been holding back for far too long.

The hallway seemed to shrink around you, the hum of the tower fading into nothing. All that remained was him, the kiss, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to pour out in that single moment.

When Dick finally pulled back, his forehead gently rested against yours, his breath ragged and uneven. The heat of his hands lingered on your face, his thumbs barely brushing your jawline as if he couldn't bring himself to let go entirely. His eyes were closed for a moment, and when he opened them, they burned with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

"I couldn't stand seeing you with him," he admitted, his voice low, raw, and unsteady in a way you'd never heard before. It wasn't anger or frustration—it was something deeper, something vulnerable. "I've been trying to ignore it for so long, but I can't anymore. I like you—more than a friend. I needed you to know."

His words hung in the air, heavy and charged, as if the world itself had paused for this one moment. Your heart was pounding, each beat louder in your ears than the faint hum of the tower around you. You felt like the ground had shifted beneath your feet, your balance precarious in the wake of his confession.

You stared at him, trying to process what had just happened—the kiss, the weight of his words, the raw emotion in his eyes. All the nights you'd spent together came flooding back to you. Fighting side by side in the field, your movements always in sync. Late nights eating takeout, his laughter echoing in your ears as you shared stories. Quiet moments after missions, when he'd patch you up with a care and focus that seemed almost too much for a friend. All of it suddenly took on a new meaning, the threads weaving together into something you hadn't allowed yourself to see before now.

"Dick..." you began, your voice soft, barely above a whisper, your chest tight with the weight of everything you wanted to say. But before you could get the words out, he shook his head, his forehead still pressed against yours.

"I get it if you don't feel the same," he said quickly, his voice filled with quiet resignation. His hands dropped slowly from your face, as if letting go was physically painful. "I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore. Not after tonight. Not after seeing—" He cut himself off, shaking his head again, as if the thought alone was too much. "You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know."

You stared at him, the man who had been by your side through thick and thin, who had earned your trust in ways few ever had. And for the first time, you saw something behind the confidence and control he always carried—a vulnerability, raw and unguarded. The man who was always so composed, so unshakable, was standing in front of you now, his emotions laid bare.

He wasn't Nightwing in this moment, the hero who always had a plan and a backup plan. He was just Dick—a man who had taken a risk, who had laid his heart on the line for you. And in that moment, as you saw him so clearly for the first time, something inside you shifted.

You stood frozen, your thoughts spiraling as Dick's words echoed in your mind. Your longest, closest friend—someone who had been by your side through countless battles, sleepless nights, and quiet moments—had just confessed feelings you had never seen coming. It felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsure of how to regain your footing.

Your breathing was shallow, your chest tight as you replayed his confession in your mind. "I couldn't stand seeing you with him. I've been trying to ignore it for so long, but I can't anymore." The rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it was all so unlike the Dick Grayson you knew, the man who always seemed so steady, so composed.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. How could they? This was Dick—your partner in the field, your confidant, your constant. The person who had always been there, who had stitched you up after injuries and made you laugh when things felt too heavy. And now he was looking at you, his heart laid bare, waiting for a response you weren't sure how to give.

Your mind raced through the years you'd known him. The late-night missions, the quiet moments after a battle, the inside jokes only the two of you understood. You'd always thought of him as your rock, the person you could count on no matter what. And now, he was telling you that he saw you as something more—had seen you as something more for a long time.

The weight of his confession pressed down on you. This wasn't just a casual admission—it was the culmination of something deep, something that had clearly been building within him for years. The thought hit you like a freight train: while you'd been leaning on him as a friend, he'd been feeling this all along. How had you missed it?

Dick's expression was impossible to read now. He was standing there, his forehead no longer resting against yours, his hands hovering by his sides like he wasn't sure whether to reach for you or step back. His eyes, normally so guarded, were wide and searching, as if trying to gauge what you were thinking.

But you didn't know what to think. You didn't know how to react. Part of you wanted to speak, to reassure him, to tell him that this didn't change anything—but that would be a lie, wouldn't it? Because everything had already changed.

Before you could fully register what you were doing, instinct took over. Your mind was still spinning from Dick's confession, from the raw vulnerability in his voice, from the way his hands had trembled ever so slightly when he let you go—as if he'd already braced himself for rejection.

But you couldn't let him walk away—not like this. Not when your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from your chest.

In one swift motion, you closed the space between you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The material was soft but sturdy beneath your grip, grounding you in the moment as you tugged him toward you with a sudden urgency that surprised even yourself.

Dick's eyes widened, his breath hitching, but he barely had a second to react before your lips met his. The kiss was fierce, intense—a collision of bottled-up emotions finally set free. Your fingers clenched tighter in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might vanish if you let go.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away—the distant hum of the tower's systems, the muffled bass of the music still thumping from the party below—it all dissolved into nothingness. There was only him, only the warmth of his mouth against yours, only the heat of his hands finding your waist and holding on like he'd been waiting for this as long as you had.

Dick let out a sharp breath against your lips, a sound caught somewhere between relief and longing. His arms wrapped around you fully now, one hand sliding up your back, the other cupping the side of your face like he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go again.

The kiss deepened, fueled by everything unspoken between you—years of trust, shared danger, late-night talks, and quiet moments when words had never been enough. Every suppressed feeling, every glance that had lingered too long, every touch that had meant more than it should—everything finally broke free.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads rested together, your fingers still clutching the front of his shirt like a lifeline. Dick's eyes were half-lidded, dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

"...Quite the confession, Grayson," you voiced, your voice low and shaky.

A slow, disbelieving smile spread across Dick's face, softening the sharp intensity of his expression. His thumb brushed your cheek gently, almost reverently. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

His words sent warmth flooding through your chest, and before you could respond, his lips found yours again—not desperate this time, but sure and steady, like he was memorizing the way you felt in his arms. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear—only certainty.

[lotusbxtch]

SoCal to NorCal: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Chapter 1: Malibu

Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x f!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together? - or - you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU. Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter 2: Highway 101 & Beyond

Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Joel Miller

Chapter Summary: As you road trip north, you and Frankie struggle to voice your growing feelings for each other. Joel suggests something surprising, and the three of you unexpectedly explore new territory together.

Word Count: 8.7k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter Warnings/Tags: polyamory, phone sex, video sex, masturbation (f and m), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), multiple orgasms, creampie, cum kink, cum eating, there’s a lot of cum lol i’m sorry in advance if that’s not your thing, squirting, slight size kink, mentions of food, mentions of Frankie’s young daughter named Isabella, mentions of drug addiction and recovery, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, she/her pussy pronouns, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames, Frankie the PEK, Joel’s filthy mouth is absolutely its own warning, idiots in love, a splash of angst, soft!Joel but also menace!Joel because we love a man with duality, Reader uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n. Everyone is testing negative for STDs and Reader is on birth control.

a/n: The road trip continues! I’m so excited to dive more into Frankie and Reader’s relationship, and I KNOW you all have been waiting for Joel to get into the mix. Well, buckle up buttercups, because he is about to be THE BIGGEST MENACE lmao. A deeply grateful thank you to my darling @for-a-longlongtime, who encourages me every day, helped me massively flesh out some of the more emotional aspects of the chapter, and who I talk to almost every day, in addition to being my beta reader. Thank you @mountainsandmayhem, @alltheirdamn , and @mermaidgirl30 for screaming with me about these three when I shared excerpts with you. And thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I got this written up between huge life events (both good and bad)! Dividers & banners by the amazing @saradika-graphics, thank you. (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader — vibes only!)

If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

You’re so happy.

After your short but memorable stay with Santiago, you and Frankie have been on the road, spending the last few days leisurely meandering up Highway 1 towards San Francisco. You take turns driving, playing car DJ, and sightseeing as you travel north. Tanned feet on the dash, chaste kisses to the back of hands while driving, a shifting playlist between your differing musical tastes. Nights spent snuggled up in a rental or hotel room, playing 20 Questions or “Would You Rather”, kisses turning into intertwining of limbs, labored breath and fingers gripping bed sheets, the murmuring of each other’s names like prayers. 

In Ojai, you drank a little too much wine at the tasting room and biked back to the hotel with wobbly legs. Hearst Castle landed on your list for the formerly-captive-now-wild zebras (you) and to gawk at “ridiculously rich people shit” (Frankie). Ocean kayaking amongst the sea otters and sea lions in Morro Bay filled both of you with wonder. Frankie let you lead him into every little boutique shop that called your name, contentedly trailing behind you while you browsed.

Wherever you were, Frankie indulged your sweet tooth by sniffing out the best artisan ice cream shops. One time during a playful debate, you bopped your frozen treat to Frankie’s nose, giggling at his surprised expression and kissing the sticky-sweet remnants off of him before he picked you up over his shoulder. Your shrieks of joy ricocheted off the small town street until he tossed you in the backseat of his Jeep and crawled in after you, demanding a taste of something sweeter. Before you knew it, you were moaning and sighing under Frankie’s ministrations in an abandoned parking lot. The sight of his messy curls between your thighs as he lapped at your core propelled you into a stratosphere of pleasure. 

The next morning, you continued your road trip north and stopped in Santa Cruz to experience the boardwalk since Frankie had never been. Sun-drenched wood slats under your feet, the crisp, briny breeze cooling your exposed skin. You and Frankie meander slowly, eating chocolate dipped soft serve cones and curly fries, hopping onto the slightly rickety carnival rides, including the famous wooden (and creaky) Giant Dipper roller coaster. (“This thing can’t be structurally sound if it’s making all that noise,” Frankie muttered, but you still got him to get on.)

Adrenaline trickling through your veins, giddy with endorphins from the coaster, you and Frankie debate who had the best strategy for the carousel’s metal ring toss game. “You can’t just huck it like a ninja star,” he gripes about your approach, shaking his head with a smile. “You have to finesse and time it, and throw it like a frisbee so it floats in.”

“I swear, I was way closer than you were,” you shoot back. “I’ve had my whole life to perfect my technique. One of my rings hit the clown’s mouth! More than I can say about your attempts.” You stick your tongue out at Frankie, and he rolls his eyes playfully. Neither of you had set off the lights and buzzers that indicated a successful throw. He’s about to point this out when his phone trills.

Pulling it out of his pocket, his eyebrows knit together a bit before answering. “Mamá,” Frankie says into the phone, “Que pasa? Is something wrong?” He had dropped off Isabella with her for the duration of the road trip, his mother always eager to have “girl time” with her only grandchild. 

“No, no, mijo,” she responds, “Estámos bien. Isa is napping. I just wanted to call you and see how your vacation is going. You work so hard, you deserve to have this time to yourself!”

Frankie breaths a small sigh of relief. “Oh, okay, good. Well, I’ve gotta keep it short. We’re out here on the pier.”

“ ‘WE?’ ” you suddenly hear screeching out of the phone, her tone ecstatic. “Who are you with? Oh my goodness, are you with that girl?” 

Frankie winces, holding the phone away from his ear as you chuckle. “Yes, mamá,” Frankie responds, “the woman I told you about. You don’t need to yell.” He looks at you, a blush slowly creeping up his face, a sheepish smile on his lips. He mouths “five minutes” while walking towards the side of the walkway. Nodding your head with a smile, you whisper, “take your time,” and kiss his cheek, settling on a bench nearby but out of earshot of the conversation, allowing Frankie his privacy. 

“Oh, mijo, that’s wonderful!” his mother exclaims. “When do I get to meet her?”

Frankie huffs out a laugh. “Mamá, relax. You will get to meet her in time. We’re not quite there yet.”

“What are you waiting for? Haven’t you been together for a few months now?”

“Yes, but…” Frankie trails off, not quite sure his mother can handle a full explanation of your situation. Honestly, as he thinks about it, he isn’t even 100% sure what to call the two of you anymore. “It’s complicated,” he says simply.

The both of you agreed to enjoy what you had with no expectations. But “no expectations” changed over the days, weeks, months to become a desire to be around each other more days than not. Visits in the dead of night became dates during the day, morphing into waking up in each other’s arms, eating breakfast together over the weekends, bedhead and sleepy eyes and warm smiles. He thinks about the way you make him laugh, head thrown back, with his whole chest. He thinks about your playful debates, the way you tease him when he loses to you in Mario Kart. He thinks about the way you writhe under, on top of, beside him as he draws pleasure from your body again and again, your moans and gasps creating the prettiest song he’s ever heard. Frankie thinks about your soul, your heart, your innate goodness, and then he thinks about how he can’t possibly deserve any more than you already give him, despite him realizing more every day that he can’t imagine his life without you.

Frankie’s mother clears her throat on the other end of the line, and he snaps back to the present moment.

“Francisco,” she says softly. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just tell her how you feel, and see where it takes you. If she's as special as you say she is, you're going to regret not saying anything.”

Frankie looks down at his boots, and then back at you. You smile at him from the bench, your sundress fluttering slightly in the breeze. “Mamá, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“If you want something, Francisco, go for it. I always told you that you need to be more confident in yourself.” Frankie’s mother sighs affectionately. “You have done so much for your career, for Isabella… you have more than made up for your transgressions, mijito. Do this one thing for yourself. Take the risk.”

He thinks back to the beginning of your relationship, when he said he didn’t want anything serious because he was focusing on his career and his daughter. Not only was he in a stable job with room for upward movement, and becoming the father that Isabella deserved, it was because of you that he was able to achieve his goals. You’ve always supported him, encouraged him, and given him reality checks when he needed it. Not once have you asked for more in the relationship, but he never felt like you had to. He was willing to give you that and so much more. He was nearly certain that you felt the same way about having each other as a more permanent part of your lives, but without ever asking the question directly, he couldn’t be certain that it wasn’t just all in his head.

Frankie swallows thickly. “You’re right,” he acquiesces. “I’ll talk to her soon, when the moment is right. I don’t want to lose her.”

His mother coos sweetly at him. “Now that’s the son I know and love! I’ll let you go have fun with your lady. I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too, Mamá,” Frankie whispers, and then ends the call. 

You’re people watching at the boardwalk as Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. There’s no surprise triggered by his arms around you, just a calm ease and warmth. He presses kisses into your hair and sighs deeply. Tipping your head to the side, you return the kisses up his arm and rub his knuckles with your thumbs.

“How’s your mamá?” you ask. 

“Good,” Frankie responds, “just checking in to make sure I was having fun on my vacation.” A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Sorry you had to hear her scream about you.”

You snicker as you stand up from the bench. “Nah, it wasn’t my ear she yelled into… But I didn’t mind at all. It’s sweet how she checks up on you.”

He grins, lifting his cap briefly to run his fingers through his hair. “She knows how hard I’ve been working to make things right with my job, and with Isabella, and she’s been pushing me to take some time off.” He sighs, looking off into the distance, and you know him well enough to know he’s doubtful of his progress.

“You deserve it, Frankie,” you murmur to him, lacing your fingers with his. You both start strolling along the boardwalk again, Frankie looking deeply in thought. “You’re always so hard on yourself, and at the very least, you deserve some time off.”

Glancing over at him, your breath catches. Frankie’s already staring at you, curls wild in the sea breeze, brown eyes warm and sparkling. Suddenly your chest feels like it’s cracked open, warm and aching. You feel the spark in your heart, and you realize that your feelings may be more than a simple affection. You search Frankie’s eyes and you can see a steady hidden layer under the warmth of his gaze as he lifts your joined hands to his lips, kissing them softly. It makes your heart do somersaults, the deeper unspoken emotions that flickered across his irises. A deep devotion that tugs at your soul.

He deserves the world.

Frankie huffs a laugh, dropping his gaze. “Everyone seems to tell me that. Guess I should stop being so damn stubborn and start believing them.” You continue walking, Frankie swinging your hands between the two of you as you settle into comfortable silence.

This is more than lust and companionship, you think to yourself. The way he looks at you, touches you with such reverence. It goes deeper than respect and fondness. Only Joel had ever given you butterflies and yet here you are, a fluttering in your gut, foreign but familiar. But what does that mean for you and Joel? 

Can your heart love two people at once?

Whoa…. wait, “love”??

You push the thoughts away with a shake of your head, determined to be present in the moment with Frankie. Bumping gently into his shoulder to get his attention, you flash him a smile.

“Wanna see which one of us can win first at the dime toss game?” you ask Frankie, and his eyes crinkle at the corners the way you love so much when he smiles in return, his competitive streak flaring.

“Sweetness, I thought you’d never ask. Prepare to lose.”

After you absolutely demolish Frankie at the dime toss (he swears they rigged the bowls he was aiming for), you and Frankie hit the road towards the cute cottage you’d booked for the night. Among the draws was its proximity to good food while being simultaneously off the beaten path. You were dying to try the seafood restaurant nearby, which was recommended to Frankie by one of his coworkers.

Per usual for the northern California coast, the fog began to roll in from the beach, casting ghostly tendrils across the road. Fog was one of the things you missed most about home while in SoCal, where it was a rarity. You roll up the windows and flip on your seat heater with a content sigh, then drape your body over the center console to grab your oversized cardigan from the back. The move makes your short dress hike further up your thighs as you reach for the soft knit. Frankie glances in the rearview mirror, spotting a flash of the curve of your ass where it peeks out of your panties. The sight has him already hardening in his pants. A quiet groan rises from his throat involuntarily, and you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s reacting to. 

“God, hermosa, that fucking dress,” Frankie grits. “I’ve been half hard all day seeing you in it.” You say nothing, but look over at him, your smirk growing bigger as you recline the seat a bit more and stretch your body just so, making the light blue eyelet lace material ride higher up your thighs, which you spread lasciviously. 

“Oh?” you tease. “What are you going to do about it?” You see Frankie’s eyes flash with desire for a moment, but he works hard to keep his cool.

His hand inches up your inner thigh while he drives, teasing swirls with his fingertips across your soft skin. You pant quietly, your breasts heaving gently against the low, curved neckline, and bite back a whimper as more arousal pools in your cotton underwear. “Take off your panties,” Frankie gently commands.

Dragging the material down your hips and legs, you let your thighs part for him, inviting his touch. Frankie keeps his eyes on the road, calmly navigating towards a quiet backroad. His focused demeanor is a lie though; his increasingly rapid breathing is a dead giveaway. When his fingers brush against your drenched folds, he groans and grips the wheel tighter with his driving hand.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grits out. “You’re so fucking wet for me already.” His nimble fingers explore you, spreading the slick around, swiping a soft circle around the pearl of your clit. He plays with you, and you start to writhe. A smirk blooms on his face as he clocks your movement. Frankie loves teasing you like this, drawing things out until you buckle under the pressure of your mounting desires. But the throbbing of his cock and your soft mewling sounds are making him desperate. 

Frankie pulls the car over to a small lot connected to an overlook, its parking spaces empty since the vista point is shrouded in fog. Trees block the view of your parking spot to traffic on the road. He throws the car in park, ripping his seatbelt off, and pulls your face to his for a passionate kiss. Swallowing your moans with his lips, Frankie tangles his tongue with yours while his fingers grip the base of your skull. 

“You’re killing me with this slutty little sundress,” he pants, sliding his hand down to cup your naked sex. 

You let out a strangled cry. “Frankie, I need you.”

Frankie shushes you gently. “Get in the back, nenita. I’ve got you.” You comply, scrambling over the center console and pushing your back up against the door, legs spreading wide and fingers tracing your glistening folds. He feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get his mouth on you in the next twenty seconds. He gets out of the front seat, yanking open the driver’s side back door and shutting it behind him after he slides in towards you.

“Gonna suck on that sweet little clit of yours ‘til you scream,” Frankie growls as he crawls towards your body, pushing your knees further towards your torso so you’re opened up lewdly for him. He slides his middle and ring fingers into his mouth to wet them, slipping them out and immediately burying them to the second knuckle in your soft cunt. A high-pitched whine is ripped from your throat.

“Frankie!” you whine, eyebrows furrowing together as you lock eyes with him. The mocha richness of his eyes has given way to pits of nearly black desire, and he keeps them on you while he presses his tongue flat to your swollen clit. Your eyes roll back and you nearly scream in pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby, I’m gonna make you come so hard,” he murmurs into your drenched folds, and then buries his face into you. You weave your fingers into his fluffy curls, opening your eyes to watch him at work.

Frankie’s eyes slip closed as he rhythmically pumps his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, curving them slightly up to hit that magical spot you can never quite reach the same way as he does. He sucks your hardened clit into his mouth, nestling it between the cleft of his lower lip and an almost imperceptible divot in the center of his tongue. That sweet, talented tongue swirls in precise tiny circles with the perfect pressure, while continuing to suckle exactly how you like it. Joel may go down on you like nobody’s business, but Frankie has cunnilingus nearly down to a science. At this point, he knows the exact series of moves to bring you to orgasm, and how long it takes really just depends on how long he feels like eating pussy that day. Sometimes, he’ll lay with his face between your legs for hours.

And right now? Frankie seems to want to break his own record for how fast he can get you to come.

Within seconds, you feel your orgasm gathering in your muscles. The tight shimmer of pleasure reverberates across your skin, in your bones, through every cell in your body, suspended in time, just waiting for a release. Frankie feels you tightening on his fingers, and you swear you feel him smirk against your slick folds. He keeps going, never faltering his movements, as the feeling inside you builds.

“Frankie,” you whine again, your body starting to shake. It shouldn't be physically possible for him to get you there so fast, and yet you feel that bowstring drawing impossibly tense in your body. “Frankie, I’m gonna… I’m so….” you keen, high-pitched, your chest heaving fast. Frankie moans against your folds, pressing just a bit harder with his fingers, crooking them just right, and sucks your clit hard.

You’re lucky that the area is truly secluded, because the scream tearing out of your throat as you shatter in ecstasy is loud. Your thighs lock around Frankie’s head as he moans deeply into your pussy, drawing out your orgasm expertly. Slick weeps from your cunt, soaking his lips and chin, and he slurps down every drop. He slows and gentles his ministrations on your core until he feels your thighs relax. Pulling back, he gives your folds one last kiss before he moves up your body to hover over your face, admiring the flush lighting up your features. Frankie kisses you gently, and you cup his face with both hands.

“Sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted,” Frankie slurs, pussydrunk on you.

“God, you’re incredible,” you murmur against his lips, kissing him deeper, the taste of your own essence making you clench involuntarily. You can feel the thick, hard line of him against your thigh. Moaning, you press yourself into him. “Let me ride you, Francisco.” 

Frankie lets out a groan as he pulls you up. You rest your knees on the backseat, littering kisses over his face as he unbuttons and shoves his jeans and boxers down. His cock smacks his belly, precum smearing on his skin. Leaning over, you lick it off, his salty taste invading your senses. Frankie groans again when you suck him into your mouth. You gently lick his foreskin and pull it down to reveal his ruddy head, the tip leaking. Slurping and suckling, you sneak a hand between your thighs to rub your clit, the action not going unnoticed by Frankie. It seems to snap him out of his trance.

“I need to be inside you so badly,” he grits out, pulling you onto his lap. The skirt of your sundress flares over the both of you. Reaching down, he brushes his tip against your folds, making you both whine. Swirling it through your combined slick and spit, Frankie presses his head into you slowly. You take over, grabbing his hand to place it over your hip, and grind down on him, letting his length slip further and further into you. Your breath hitches as he spreads your walls, always a stretch no matter how many times you’ve taken him.

Frankie drops his head back against the headrest, his hands gripping you tightly. “You’re always so fucking tight for me, querida,” he pants, his eyes glazing over with lust. His words prompt another wave of slick to leak out of you, aiding your descent down his shaft as you swirl your cunt around him. Both of you moan, and soon enough you’re fully seated on him. You lean down, kissing him passionately, and he responds in kind, slipping his tongue into your mouth to massage against yours. Your hips begin to roll and Frankie breaks the kiss, a deep rumble of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s like hot velvet,” he grits out, grabbing your hips to buck up into you. He trails kisses down your jaw and leaves little love bites as he goes. The car is filled with the slap of flesh, the squelch of your cunt as you fuck yourself on his cock, your shared gasps and panted breaths. Frankie slips the straps of your dress down, pulling down the cups with it, your breasts spilling out of their confines. He ducks his head down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. You whimper.

“God, Francisco,” you whine, riding him harder, spurred on by the way he laves his tongue over your pebbled nipple, gently catching and pulling it between his teeth. He switches to your other breast, his other hand anchored to your hip to guide your motions. His cock kisses that spot deep in you that only Frankie and Joel have ever found, and the feeling rips another moan from you. 

“That’s it, fucking ride my cock,” Frankie pants. You lean forward, changing the angle a bit until your clit catches on his belly, which triggers your pussy to clench in pleasure. 

“Oh god, you feel so fucking good in me,” you moan, grinding down harder onto him, massaging your walls with his thick shaft and your clit with the friction of his course hairs. “You fill me up so well.”

“Softest, wettest pussy I’ve ever fucked, I swear,” Frankie slurs, losing himself in the feeling of you wrapped around his length. “You feel like silk on me, nenita.”

Your clit swells with the stimulation of every roll of your hips, making your cunt clench around Frankie. He lets out a whine. Your brows furrow in concentration as you seat his length in you as far as it will go, and he nearly chokes when he feels his tip kiss your cervix.

“You’re so deep in me,” you moan, working yourself on his shaft. “Tell me how good this pussy feels.” You’re desperate to hear him lose it.

“You feel amazing,” he whines, his dick hardening and swelling even more as he approaches his high. It feels like he’s lighting up every nerve ending inside of you. At this point, Frankie’s lap is dripping with your arousal, slick squelching and slapping sounds as thick in the air as the smell of sex. Both of you are covered in a sheen of sweat. You can tell he’s getting closer, so you start fucking him harder, driving his cock deeply into you, to the point where you feel like you’re beginning to meld together, a writhing, wet, hot mess of pleasure.

“Yeah?” you ask rhetorically, riding him harder and harder. “Are you going to come for me, Francisco?” You continue to use his full name, knowing how much it turns him on when you say it. “I want you to fuck me so full of your cum; I wanna be dripping for days. I want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Oh fuck, nenita,” Frankie whines as he loses himself in your heat. “I’m gonna fuck you so full. Gonna give you all of my cum. Gonna put it right where it belongs, deep in this cunt.” You roll your hips harder, your tits bouncing with the effort, and Frankie fucking whimpers. Your pussy tightens at the sound. It always turns you on so much when he loses control.

“Do it, Francisco. Fill me up,” you pant, your own orgasm barrelling towards you. Frankie’s thighs begin to quiver under you, and you know he’s almost there, too. You grip the base of his skull with one hand while the other steadies yourself on his shoulder, and then you lean down, nipping his earlobe. He whimpers again, completely fucked out.

“Come for me, now,” you beg in a whisper.

Frankie shouts as his grip on you turns to steel, and at the first hot spurt of his cum inside of you, your orgasm rips through you. Your cunt clenches, prolonging his pleasure, as your release soaks Frankie’s lap and his cum paints your insides. You both cry out at the feeling, foreheads pressed together. Frankie leans in and latches his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss.

As you both come down from your highs, you lean into Frankie, and he rubs his hands along your back soothingly. The softest kisses pepper your face, your sweat cooling down your skin while you both heave breaths, trying to recover. You weave your fingers into Frankie’s damp curls and scratch his scalp.

“Couldn’t wait ‘til we got to the rental, huh?” you quip.

Frankie huffs a laugh and hums in pleasure at your ministrations on his scalp. “Not when you tempt me with those dresses, baby. You know what flashing me a peek under your skirt does to me.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you tease, nipping his ear.

He jerks away at the ticklish sensation, then gently bites your shoulder in retribution. “Such a tease, hermosa,” he tuts. You both begin to untangle your sweat-slick limbs, and you slip yourself off of Frankie’s cock, groaning quietly in contentment as you stem the flow of his spend from your pussy with your fingers, shuffling around, seeking your panties. Finding them in the front seat, you slip them on, pressing the fabric into your cunt to keep yourself full of Frankie. Both of you get back into the front seats.

You fix your hair as you settle back in but pause, looking up to see your boyfriend staring at you, an achingly soft expression painting his whole face. Amber eyes, golden flecked irises, striking deep to your soul.

Breath catching in your throat, vulnerability rolling through your nerves. That flutter in your heart once again.

Before you can process anything, Frankie shakes his head slightly, as if emerging from a daze. “Well I’ve certainly worked up an appetite,” he quips, squeezing your knee gently. “Let’s get some of that clam chowder.” You nod, breathing deeply and shoot him a crooked little smile. He intertwines his fingers with yours, and then puts the Jeep into gear.

A couple hours later, you arrive at the rental, Frankie bringing both of your bags in. You close the door behind the two of you, kicking off your shoes, and survey the place. A small kitchenette to the left, cute velour loveseat to the right, and through adorable French doors, the king size bed, dressed in the fluffiest looking bedding. A dresser and full-length gilded mirror complete the decor in the bedroom, everything fitting perfectly into a cottagecore dream aesthetic. The last of the natural lighting filters through the windows.

Frankie drops a quick kiss to your forehead. “I need to scrub off the road,” he says in passing while stripping off his clothes. “Why don’t you relax a bit before we decide what we’re doing for the rest of the night?”

You snort out a laugh. “Frankie, it’s not like we’re on the Oregon Trail in a covered wagon. We’ve been driving in an air-conditioned car, Mr. Drama Queen.” He laughs and tosses his hat at you, disappearing into the en suite bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Settling into the plush bed, you set Frankie’s hat on the dresser and grab your phone to catch up on messages missed during the drive, when suddenly your phone starts buzzing. Joel’s name flashes onto the screen, and you hit the green button to accept the video call.

“Hey, baby,” you coo, grinning widely as Joel’s handsome tan face appears on your screen. His umber & silver hair is damp and slicked back, likely fresh out of the shower just like Frankie will be in a few minutes. The headboard of the bed you share with Joel sits behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?”

Joel chuckles. “What, can’t a man call his pretty wife just to see her face and tell her that he loves her?”

You giggle. “I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” His eyes soften, and then flick down the screen.

“I see you’re wearing that sundress I like so much,” Joel muses. 

You smile, extending the arm holding your phone so he can see more of your body. “Oh, this little number?” You shift onto your knees, spreading them wide and running your other hand teasingly slow from your collarbone, down the slope of your breast, across your waist, and then down your thigh, retracing your path slightly to lift the hem of the skirt. “Frankie hadn’t seen it before, and he likes it just as much as you do.” Your cheeks flush at the memory of Frankie taking you in the car, and Joel hums lowly when you break eye contact with him.

“Did you and Frankie get up to some fun earlier, baby?” You pause, unsure of where this is going, and then nod your head.

“Words, sweetheart,” Joel reminds you.

“Yes, Joel,” you whisper breathlessly. 

He nods approvingly, a small smirk gracing his plush lips. “I could tell, you got that faraway look in your eyes like you do when you’re thinking about me fucking you.” Joel shifts his seat on the bed, and you recognize the movement as a sign that he’s getting turned on. This is a new development, you think to yourself. He’s rarely asked about sex with Frankie before. 

“Did Frankie treat your pussy right? Did he fill you up?” You nod again, your core beginning to pulse as you affirm with your words, and Joel groans.

“Let me see it.”

You choke on your breath. “What?”

This was not something Joel had ever asked before.

“You heard me, darlin’,” Joel asserts, his eyes darkening. “Let me see that pretty pussy full of Frankie’s cum.”

A full-body shiver ripples through you. “Yes, Joel,” you murmur obediently, sliding off the bed to retrieve the phone stand you use often when you’re away from Joel. You set it up on the dresser near the bed, the front-facing camera angled advantageously for him while allowing you to see him as well. Coming back into frame, you slowly unzip your dress, letting it fall to the floor. You slide your damp panties down, the heady scent of Frankie’s cum wafting up from your heated core. Joel leans back and lets out a low groan. 

You climb back onto the bed once naked, noticing Joel’s espresso brown eyes have deepened to the color of a moonless night, his pupils dilated in desire. Putting your back to the camera, you get onto your hands and knees, canting your hips forward and ass back. You rest your forearms on the bed, looking back at the camera, and snake one hand between your legs to spread your pussy open with your fingers. Joel moans unabashedly at the view, your glazed pussy glinting in the light, Frankie’s milky spend coating it and gathering at your opening. He watches as your cunt clenches at the sound.

“Fuuuuuck, darlin’, that little pussy always looks so fuckin’ good when it’s covered in cum, don’t it?” Joel asks rhetorically, running one hand down his chin through his greying scruff. You whimper in response, the movement of your contracting walls pushing a thin stream of Frankie’s cum out from deep in you, dripping onto the bed sheets. This feels so debauched, filthy, and you are incredibly turned on by Joel’s response to the sight of another man’s cum decorating your most intimate parts. 

“God, if I was there I would be rubbin’ that cream all over your swollen little clit,” Joel drawls. “Can see her peekin’ out at me. Can you flip over? Wanna see you touch her for me.” You oblige, gathering the pillows to prop yourself up, and lean back against them as you butterfly your thighs open for your husband. Holding his gaze, you slowly trace your outer lips with your fingers, feeling the slide of Frankie’s spend lubricate your movements. You swirl your fingertips through the mess of slick and cum at your entrance, then glide them up to the pearl of your clit, throbbing in anticipation. At the first touch, your breath catches on the edge of a jagged little moan. 

“So sensitive already?” Joel teases, and you see him shift in his seat at the same time that the rustle of his pants tells you he’s pulling them down. The thought of him needing to touch himself at the sight of your messy cunt makes a pang of need course through your core. 

“Let me see it, baby,” you whisper hoarsely towards the phone, desperate to see the physical proof of his desire for you, for the sight of Frankie’s desire for you. The frame jostles a bit as Joel sets his phone up on the phone stand you have in your bedroom for times like these. It’s not the first time you have had video sex while apart and it certainly won’t be the last. 

And as Joel walks backwards toward the bed again and into frame, you barely stifle a gasp.

His cock is an absolute marvel, still is after a decade of being together. Thick, long, and uncut, the sight of him always makes your mouth water and your pussy slick. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, stroking his length languidly, the gleaming cockhead a flushed pink, disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin. His gray, worn sweatpants are pulled just under his ass. Heavy, sizable balls drape over the waistband. You’ll never get tired of the sight.

“See somethin’ y’like, angel?”’Joel teases, his Texas twang always thicker when he’s aroused. His thick thighs are spread wide as he sits on the bed.

“Yes… everything,” you breathe, starting to rub your pussy again. 

“Nuh-uh,” Joel tuts, and your fingers immediately stop. “I didn’t tell you that you could touch yourself. Let’s wait until Frankie can join us to have fun.” Your body flushes with more arousal; Joel’s never asked to include Frankie before. But then again, you’d never asked if he wanted to.

As if on cue, the bathroom door squeaks open and Frankie appears, freshly showered, dark curls dripping a bit onto his broad, golden shoulders. A white towel is wrapped around his narrow waist, and he takes a moment to assess what he’s walked into.

“Babygirl, are you getting started without me?” Frankie purrs as he strides towards you, then pauses when he realizes your phone is on the stand and positioned right at your dripping cunt.

“Hey, Frankie,” Joel’s voice floats warmly into the room. “I figured you’d want to watch our girl play with herself, so I made her wait.”

Our girl.

You shiver in arousal — and something else — at the moniker. Your eyes flick to Frankie, a smirk beginning to grace his lips but a bit of hesitation in his eyes. This was all new to him, too.

Frankie moves towards the armchair situated in the corner of the room, behind where you had your phone set up. He was already adjusting himself, clearly aroused, which you took as a good sign.

“Frankie, are you okay with this?” you inquire, trying to gauge his consent to what was unfolding. “If not, I can —“

“Yes,” Frankie grits out hoarsely. “I want to watch you with Joel.” His tone sets off another wave of pleasure through your nerves.

Joel chuckles, his voice smooth and deep as whiskey. “Well, darlin’, give us a show. Go on ‘n pet that pretty lil’ pussy for us.” Planting your heels on the bed, you use your fingers to spread yourself open as another trickle of Frankie’s previous release leaks its way out of you. Both men groan at the sight. Scooping it up, you glide your way up to your throbbing clit, starting to circle it just the way you like. A moan leaves your parted lips; you tilt your head back while you work yourself. Your other hand moves to pinch and thumb a nipple, drawing it into a tight bud.

“Mmm, good girl,” Joel praises you. His hand starts pumping his cock once again at the same time Frankie palms himself through the fluffy towel. Frankie’s eyes flick from you to the phone, still trying to feel out the dynamics of the three of you. But both men can’t keep their eyes away from your soft pussy and swollen clit, glazed in your arousal and Frankie’s cum. Holding both of them in rapture while seeking your own pleasure is a heady power trip that wraps its silken claws into your brain. 

You feel like a goddess.

“Joel,” you moan, writhing in pleasure on the bed, but not quite where you want to be. “I need more.”

“Tell me what you want, darlin’,” Joel croons through the phone, the soft fapping sound of him working his cock audible. 

“I want… more,” you whine, mind so hazy with pleasure that you can’t even articulate your desires. “Please.”

“Hmmm,” Joel responds, slowing down to consider his options. You look up in impatience just as a wicked smirk crosses his face.

That look always means trouble. 

“Y’told me how good Frankie is at goin’ down on you,” Joel continues, “so why don’t you let him show me?” You hear Frankie’s breath choke in his throat in surprise as a whimper escapes your lips at Joel’s words. Frankie’s eyes dart from yours to the phone and back. 

“Frankie?” you hear Joel say while your eyes remain on your boyfriend. “Would you be okay with that? Would you show me how hard you make our girl come with that tongue’a yours?” You let out a little moan at Joel’s filthy words, and Frankie groans involuntarily at the sight of another dribble of his cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, baby, you’re still drippin’?” Joel coos at you. “Frankie must’a stuffed you so full’a his cum. Do you like eating yourself outta her sweet cunt, Frankie?”

In a flash, Frankie enters the frame as he spreads your legs further apart and wedges his shoulders between them, leaving enough space for Joel to watch the action behind him. “I fucking love it,” Frankie growls in response, immediately running his tongue in a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit, tasting himself and you as he swallows every drop of cum and slick you released. You throw your head back, keening.

“Damn,” you hear Joel choke out, his hand moving faster on his cock at the sight of Frankie diving headfirst into your cunt. Eager to prove his skills, Frankie works you up rapidly to your orgasm, your moans pitching higher and higher within a minute. He swirls his tongue over your clit, then slides two of his fingers inside to the last knuckle, aided by your copious slick and the remnants of his cum. Your back arches off the bed from the sensation as you cry out his name.

“Oh fuck, angel,” Joel grits out, his breath coming faster. “He eatin’ you good?”

“Yessss, Joel,” you whimper, your hand holding Frankie’s head firmly to your center. “I’m gonna fucking cum!”

Frankie moans encouragingly, reverberating across your cunt, and the tether inside your core snaps. You stutter out a groan, punctuated each time your pussy spasms with your release on Frankie’s fingers. The man between your thighs laps it all up, moaning in delight. He pulls back, kissing the inside of each thigh, and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Good fucking girl,” Joel purrs at you as you catch your breath. You hear a slightly pained groan, and look at the screen to see Joel gripping the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm. Hmm, that’s odd, you think. Joel usually comes when he’s decided he’s done making me come.

The realization hits you a split second before Joel’s deep, commanding voice spits out, “Again, Morales.”

Ohhhh, fuck.

You whip your head around when you hear Frankie suck in a breath as he stares at the phone, his chest heaving. Looking down, you see his cock achingly hard under his towel, his neck flushed with arousal. Frankie turns to you, his onyx eyes shimmering ferally. You know following orders gets him going, but you’re surprised that Joel clocked that about him instinctively.

In a split second, Frankie’s spread both of your legs again, pinning you open obscenely wide by your thighs. His tongue immediately begins to fuck into your pussy, the strong muscle prodding and curling just right. Your head slams into the soft mattress, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden pleasure. With every thrust of his tongue, you feel Frankie grinding desperately into the bed, trying to stem the intense arousal building below his waist.

“Talk to me, darlin’,” Joel’s voice floats in your ear, pulling you out of the cloud of intense pleasure momentarily. “Tell me how good Frankie feels.”

“He’s so good,” you moan, alternating playing with your nipples and curling your fingers in the bedding. “His tongue feels so good in my pussy.”

“Is he as good as me?” Joel asks, his voice dropping an octave. There’s not a hint of jealousy, just charged curiosity.

“Yes, baby,” you coo, gasping as Frankie moves his tongue back to your clit and slides his fingers back into you, reaching that spot deep in you that makes your eyes roll back. “So good. Just… different.”

Joel lets out a quiet growl, his voice dripping with sex. “Good. Your pussy deserves the best.”

“Frankie,” Joel commands. Frankie lifts his head from your center, moving his thumb to replace his tongue on your clit, making your back arch again. “Have you made her squirt before?”

“Yeah,” Frankie breathes, looking back at you. “She’s so beautiful when she does it.”

“Good,” Joel rumbles. “Make her squirt for us.”

Frankie nods once, then pulls his fingers out slightly until he hits the spongy spot near the entrance of your pussy. He starts swirling the tips of his fingers against it, pressing his other hand down gently but firmly on your lower belly above your pubic bone, and then lowers his head to suck your clit back into his mouth. You keen, your body folding in on itself from the intense pleasure. Frankie moans into you, but you hear a growl rip from Joel’s throat.

“Don’t you dare hide that beautiful body,” Joel demands. “Lay back and spread your legs for us.”

You comply, barely able to shift yourself open again before Frankie starts intensifying his ministrations. You hear Joel’s slick fist jerking his cock again while he coos at you and praises you, telling you how good you’re being for him and Frankie, how pretty and strong you are.

“You can take it, angel,” Joel moans with the squelching of his cock in his hand acting as an obscene background track for your pleasure. “You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whimper, your cunt making equally debauched sounds with every thrust of Frankie’s fingers. “I’m so close. Feels so fucking good.”

Frankie presses harder on your belly and sucks your clit more fervently, and your cries pitch higher. “Oh god, Frankie, you’re gonna make me come,” you whine, toes curling and thighs beginning to shake. A desperate moan from Frankie’s mouth is muffled by your cunt, making you cry out again.

“Let go for us, darlin’,” Joel grits out, his hand a blur on the screen as he approaches his orgasm as well. 

Frankie peels himself away from your drenched folds just long enough to command, “Come for us, now,” and then latches back onto your clit, sucking hard, and that’s the moment you break, nearly screaming. Frankie works you through the first wave of your orgasm with his mouth, then pulls back, slipping his fingers out of you as your release gushes out, spraying your belly, thighs, and Frankie’s torso. With every pump and slide out of your pussy, Frankie brings forth another spray of release, drenching your body and his. 

You’re barely aware of Joel’s groans of pleasure in the throes of your own, but when you come back down moments later, you can hear the edge of desperation in his sounds. You look over to the phone to see him with his teeth bared, the head of his cock an angry red, his fist slick with precum and spit. More pearly liquid slowly oozes from the slit at the top.

Joel is barely keeping it together.

“Joel, honey,” you moan, “I wanna see you come.”

Joel growls. “Francisco,” he grits out. Frankie, who’s looking at you in amazement and pride, snaps his head to the phone at the sound of his full name. You see his cock twitch under the towel.

“Get our girl messy, Francisco.”

A whimper worms its way out of your throat as Frankie whines. Unashamed and blind with arousal, he whips the towel off his waist and his cock bobs, hard and thick. You hear Joel’s breath hitch. I’ll tuck that reaction away for later, you think. 

Frankie kneels between the damp sheets under your thighs, spitting into his hand and fisting his cock hard and fast. His muscles flex with the intensity of feeling, breathing rapid. His grunts get louder and longer as he swiftly approaches his peak. You hear a long, low moan from the phone, Joel nearly delirious with how worked up he is over the scene playing out.

“Where?” Frankie moans, desperately trying to follow orders before he blows his load. Precum drips onto the sheets.

“Her tits,” Joel pants, “and her pussy. Paint her like a fucking picture, Frankie.”

“Oh fffuuuu—“ Frankie grits out just before he explodes, his release shooting out onto your nipples, the curves of your breasts, and then he’s aiming lower, coating your mound and pussy lips with his seed.

You’re dripping with yourself and Frankie, an absolutely debauched sight.

Suddenly you hear a shout from the phone, and turn just in time to see Joel shoot his load all over his chest, belly, and even some on his neck with how hard he’s coming. Every spurt paired with a moan; one of the prettiest sights you’ve ever seen in your life. 

For a moment all you hear is the shared heavy breathing of yourself, your boyfriend, and your husband, and then Frankie is kissing your forehead, your lips, and then working his way down your body. When he goes to lick off his cum from your tits to clean you up, you groan in protest.

“Too sensitive, baby,” you plead, and Frankie acquiesces, cooing at you. 

“You did so well for us, nenita,” he soothes, stroking your face and planting kisses across your eyelids. “You’re so beautiful. Let me rinse off and get you cleaned up, okay?” With your mind pleasantly fuzzy from what just transpired, you simply nod, and Frankie goes into the bathroom for supplies. You let your head roll to the side, and smile tiredly at Joel, who’s watching you with pride and love while he towels off his release from his body and hands.

“I would have licked up all that cum off you to save you from having to add another towel to the laundry,” you giggle, feeling your own juices and Frankie’s cum cooling on your torso. You run your fingers through the slick release Frankie left on your pussy, teasing your clit with the silky fluid. Your body shudders a bit with overstimulation, and Joel shakes his head.

“You just like makin’ a mess and then cleanin’ it up, you dirty girl,” he chuckles, watching you enjoy the tactile sensations.

“Stop pretending that you don’t like me like that, Joel,” you fire back with a smirk. “What is it you said exactly? Oh, right. ‘Get our girl messy, Francisco.’” You imitate Joel’s baritone, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Fine, I do love seeing you drippin’, darlin’,” Joel admits. “Whether it’s my cum or Frankie’s.” You bite your lip and giggle, basking in the glow of this new era of your relationship with Joel. You didn’t expect he’d be so enthusiastic to see you with Frankie.

The door pops open, Frankie emerging with a warm, damp washcloth for you. Although you reach for it, he tuts and gently pushes your hand away, insisting on wiping you down himself. He gently strokes the cloth across your skin, softly smiling and pressing kisses to your face and body as he does. Joel’s heart warms at the sight before him, seeing how well Frankie takes care of you.

Tossing the cloth back into the bathroom, Frankie gets up from the bed. “I’m going to get some water for us. Do you want cold water to help you cool down, or your usual water cocktail?” Frankie asks, always remembering your quirky penchant for filling your insulated water bottle first with hot water until halfway, and the rest with cold. 

“Water cocktail, please,” you giggle, snuggling further into the bedding.

Frankie grins, then lightly kisses your forehead, grabbing your water bottle off the bedside table in the process. He walks out, and you sigh contentedly.

“Wow, Frankie automatically includes Water Cocktail on his drink menu now, huh?” Joel chuckles.

You nod happily, grinning ear to ear. Laying your head on the pillow, you respond, “Yeah, he caught on fast. I think it was after the third week of seeing each other that he started asking if I wanted it instead of bringing me a glass of cold water. I didn’t even tell him explicitly, he just noticed me doing it.” You pause, brain pleasantly fuzzy in your post-orgasmic state. 

“I… I really like him, Joel,” you whisper, slowly fading as sleep creeps to you. You blink your eyes gently at Joel, who looks at you with the softest smile on his face, like you are the linchpin of his universe. 

“I know, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his heart flipping in response. “I know.”

When Frankie re-enters the room with a glass of water and your water bottle, he notices how quiet it is. You lay burrowed under the covers, gently snoring, but he notices your phone is the only one on the video call anymore. His nerves zap a bit in concern, but then he replays the recent events back in his head. Joel seemed totally tolerant - nay, enthusiastic, to include Frankie into sex earlier. He doubts Joel left because he was upset; you probably fell asleep and he needed to go. Nonetheless, Frankie pics up your phone and exits the call, tapping around until he finds your message app.

Hey, that was really fun, he types out to Joel, a tiny flutter of nerves alight in his stomach. Excited to meet you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your night. – Frankie 

Staring at the words for a moment, he hits send before he can back out or second guess himself. Frankie then climbs into bed, wrapping himself around you before sleep claims him wholly.

a/n part 2: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for your patience! I had so much fun writing it and I’m proud to be able to share it with you. For those of you not familiar with Southern/Central CA, you can view photo references here: the Santa Cruz carousel, Hearst Castle, info on Ojai, and kayaking in Morro Bay.

Have thoughts/thots, feelings, SCREAMS, asks? My inbox is open! 💌

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[spooky-bunnys]

Title: This is my honeymoon

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Pairing: South x Izana's little brother

Warnings: arguing, mention of dieing, and protective older brother Izana.

(Name) winced when he felt his fiancée's shoulder dig more into his stomach. "Honey Bear, you're starting to hurt my ribs with your shoulder." (Name) sighed in relief as he was moved into a bridal carry which made him snort. Considering he had just accepted his boyfriend of 3 ½ years marriage proposal.

(Name) moved his white bangs out of his face and stretched up. Lavender eyes met angry Lavender eyes and (Name) sighed. His brother and his gang members had tried sabotaging the proposal and that led to this moment.

"IZA-NII CALM DOWN!" (Name) called out to his older brother figure. Izana and Kakucho had instantly added (Name) into they're family when he arrived. Only to later find out (Name) technically is Izana's brother. Which made the older VERY protective of him.

"I'LL CALM DOWN WHEN HE'S DEAD!" (Name) frowned and wrapped his arms around his fiancée's neck. "Honey Bear you might want to speed up. Kaku is running full speed ahead." The taller male nodded and threw his head back with a laugh. "Groom running away with his bride coming through!"

~

(Name) smiled softly as he slow danced with his new husband. He leaned against the warm chest and sighed happily. Although, the happiness didn't last long, when his groom was ripped away from him. Izana took the others place as the music sped up. Curtesy of his new DJ Rindou. (Name) grumbled softly.

"Iza-nii you need to stop. I'm a grown and now married man! Besides South can protect me too you know!" Izana frowned and glared in the direction of the other groom. Not wanting to admit that his little brother actually married the man. "Well I just want to spend time with you before I can't anymore."

(Name)'s frown softened. He had almost completely forgot about that. (Name) was moving in with South and they had bought a new house on the other side of Japan. So (Name) wouldn't see his brother and their friends too often anymore.

Ran who was dancing with Kakucho behind them tapped Izana's shoulder. "I just found out from Kakucho here that the house was in fact for sale. So we had Kokonoi buy it." Izana perked up and smirked in the semi raging South's direction as (Name) groaned loudly. He really couldn't catch a break could he?

~BONUS~

(Name) happily leaned against South's chest. They were drinking champagne on the balcony of their Honeymoon sweet in the Philippines. Everything was perfect. Was is the keyword.

"WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?! OI MOVE YOUR HAND OFF HIS ASS YOU PERV!?" (Name) snapped his head to the hotel across the street and sure enough his older brother, Kakucho, and all their friends were standing on the balcony. Most were staring at him with binoculars.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" "WHY ARE YOU PANTLESS?!" "IT'S MY HONEYMOON?! WHY ELSE WOULD I BE PANTLESS IZANA!" The two siblings aruged across the street. Nobody noticing the marching Kakucho who had a new mission. 'Retrieve (Name) before its too late.'

(The others in Tenjiku while (Name) and Izana are arguing across hotels)

[woodle-isbae]

Could you please do anything that's male reader X Joost? There are almost no fics with male reader I'm dying out here 😭

One night only

Fratboy!Joost klein x fratboy!reader

Warnings: Frat boys! , drinking , smoking , smut , PiA , unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it) , joost is a jock and reader is a theater kid , bottom!Joost , Top reader

Drunken bodies all over eachother , music blasting from the speakers and people basically black out drunk outside

You and a few friends hosted one of the craziest parties of the semester , free entry and plus ones allowed. You even had three? Four? Of your teachers there aswell , to "chaperone"

"You all enjoying the party!!?"

The DJ you hired hyping up everyone , including you , who was equally drunk as everyone else on the property

Heading to the kitchen to get another drink , moving past the drunk girls and horny couples grinding against eachother , slightly cringing at them

"They're fucking disgusting-"

You whipped your head around at the sudden voice behind you , it was a blue eyed blond man , not much taller than you but had some height.

He had to be a jock

"Oh..uh, yeah..but im not shocked , kinda expected it"

"Still disgusting."

There was an awkward silence between you two before he gulped down his drink and introduced himself as 'Joost'.

Joost Klein , played rugby - star captain- he's well known amongst the people in your year. An icon and playboy , usually hopping from girl to girl .

Unlike you , a total theatere kid , even for your little hobby you were very well known , basically on the same level as Joost in popularity

It was rare that you guys were near eachother , and even more rare for you guys to be talking

An hour passed of you guys talking and playing beer games , eventually settling down in your bedroom balcony, sharing a joint and taking in the cool summer air , the muffled sounds of music and cheers comming from downstairs

"Have you ever...nevermin-"

"C'mon Joostie , don't be shy"

Your interjection catching him off guard as he stared at you for a moment , huffing to himself as he turned a faint shade of pink , taking a gulp of his drink before he looked you in the eye , taking in a breath

"Have you ever had sex. . .with a guy?"

There was a silence between you two , his pink face turning red , embarrassed by his question , biting on his lip.

"I'm sorry it was a du-"

"Yeah , I have"

The silence returning before he continued his questioning

"How was it-? , like did you take it or-"

"I'm more of a giver , it's a fun experience tho"

"Ah..I see.."

You finally turned over to look at him , head resting on your hand , which was on the mini table , scanning his face for a bit.

"You wanna try it out?"

° ☆ °

"Okay..take a breath in , it's gonna hurt a bit"

"Y-yeah okay-"

You currently had him face down into the pillow , fully exposed and your finger lubed up.You gave him a blow job prior , just to relax his nerves a bit

You slowly prodded your finger inside him , pausing halfway to give him time to adjust before you put your finger in fully , giving him a few minutes to get used to the feeling

"Y'ready?"

He mumbled a shaky yes , nodding his heads aswell. His body jerking as you began to move your finger inside him , searching for that spongey spot.

"W-wait..ah-!"

He choked out a moan ,his body trembled and legs shook as he came.

There is it

"Haven't even finished stretching you out yet."

"What just happened-?"

He turned over to look at you , still catching his breath. . .only to be met with a sly smirk from you

"Don't stress it , just have fun"

He was slightly weirded out by how quick he came , allowing himself to relax once more and turn over , stuffing his face in the pillow as you continued stretching him out to your liking

"Okay. . .I'm gonna enter now..take a breath in"

Lining yourself up and slowly entering , his breath hitched as his body trembled

"You'll tell me when I can start moving."

Bottoming out in him , steading his hips against yours as you caught your breath , waiting for him to adjust

"You can-. . .you can move"

"I'll be slow"

You began moving your hips at a steady and slow rhythm , trying your best to make him comfortable.

After a while your movements became more erratic, your grip on his hips nearly bruising as your thrusts were animalistic , knocking a yelp and whine out of the larger man bellow you

"I-ah!-I'm gonna c..Um!"

The way he was barely coherent and rambling out profanities and pleading for more had you at your edge , his back resting against your chest while your hips continued their movement which was becoming unstable

"C'mon Joostie , let it out-shit.-y'can do it"

Your words of praise was just enough to get him to his breaking point , he shuddered and tightened against you , spilling all om the sheets underneath him before his body gave out and fell limp from overstimulation

You pulled out quickly and came on his lower back , catching your breath as you layed next to him.

The world comming back to the both of you , the cheering and music that was erupting from the party still going on downstairs

You went to go get a warm cloth and a bottle of water from your mini fridge, cleaning him up and helping him get his boxers back on , along with your own

"Y'have fun?"

"I'd do it again..definitely"

[torturedtypewritersdept]

earning your stripes - part two

✯ pairing:

racer!rafe cameron x fem sports reporter!reader

✯ summary:

sports reporter, y/n edwards, has the opportunity of a lifetime - interviewing nascar driver, rafe cameron. But, it may be a little bit more than she bargained for.

✯ warnings:

rafe is a sexy cocky bitch, reader is a queen, sexual innuendos, eventual smut, mature themes, rafe low key is a bitch, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

You kept thinking about Rafe after your initial interaction, but you weren’t going to let him know that and you weren’t going to go running back to your bosses crying about a boy being mean to you and refusing to interview him. Racing was already a predominantly male driven sport and that didn’t leave a lot of room for you at the table, but you had worked hard and become someone that every household recognized, they called you one of Nascar's leading women now and you were damn proud of that. You weren’t going to let some meat head race car driver convince you that you weren’t something special, even if he was beautiful and chiseled in all the right places and a leader on the track. Nope. You couldn’t go there. As dreamy as he was, he had ruined any amount of respect you’d initially had for him, simply by opening his mouth. You were brought out of your thoughts as your phone chirped, Alex’s name littering across the screen. 

Green onion. Tonight 9pm. 

You giggled at the text, knowing that she wouldn’t take no for an answer before you sent your reply. 

Only if you wear something sexy ;)

Bitch, get real. 

Her reply came with a quickness, just as you had expected and you giggled, knowing that Alex was always wearing something sexy and always, always going to look good in a bar on a friday night. You wished you could be more confident and carefree like she was. 

- 

Nine o’clock came quickly. You had wasted most of the day going over the stats of every driver in preparation for tomorrow’s race. By your account, Rafe was set to win tomorrow and Topper would probably come second or third. You liked those odds. Though, deep down if Rafe wasn’t as good of a driver, you might find him less sexy, which would be a good thing. You got up from your desk at 8:45pm, living close to downtown had its perks and not having to leave early for things was one of them. You dressed quickly in a black lacy tank top and low-rise jeans, curling your hair and throwing on a little bit of makeup before grabbing your purse and keys and heading out the door. 

By the time you got to the bar, Alex was already about five drinks deep, as you’d expected. She always pre-gamed a little too hard, even when you were in college. You found her on top of a barstool drooling over a questionable looking man as he tucked her long black hair behind her ears. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

You asked and she leapt up, squealing and pulling you in for a hug. 

“It’s about time you got here, this guy is boring!” 

She exclaimed. 

“Alex, honey, be nice.” 

You chastised her, though doing so in her drunken state you knew was a waste of time. 

“Sorry.” 

You mouthed to him and he just smiled and walked away, leaving you to tend to her antics by yourself. 

“Wanna dance!” 

She exclaimed in your ear and you merely nodded, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the dance floor. You danced for a brief moment, the dim light of the bar and the combination of the dj’s uplights created a feeling of ecstasy amidst the drinks that men in the bar kept supplying the two of you with. You continued to grind against Alex for about thirty minutes, the music bumping so violently that you could feel it under your feet. You walked out of the crowd and back to the bar for another drink when you ran into someone familiar. 

“Hey, y/n.” 

Topper said with a smile and you returned the gesture. 

“Hi, Top. Who’re your friends?” 

You questioned and he introduced them one by one. 

“Guys – this is Nascar's leading lady, y/n.” 

You blushed at Topper’s compliment. For a driver, he wasn’t half bad, he was even sweet to you most of the time. 

“Y/n – this is Kyle, Corbin, Zack, and Rafe.” 

You hadn’t even registered that the Rafe Topper was referring to was the same Rafe that you were trying so desperately to forget. Though, you probably should have; what kind of name is Rafe anyways? You remained polite as each boy said hello to you, returning the pleasantries and as your eyes met his, you swallowed thickly. He smiled that same shit eating grin and you pretended you didn’t know who he was. That’s what any self-respecting person would do in this situation, right? 

“Nice to meet you guys!” 

You exclaimed, tipping the drink in your hand and they returned the gesture, tipping their’s right back in your direction. 

“So, Nascar’s leading lady, huh? How’d you wind up, racing?” 

The one who’d introduced himself as Corbin asked and you giggled. 

“Oh, I’m not a driver! I enjoyed it a long time ago – my dad got me into it. But, I’m a sport’s reporter now, so I report on just about all of you.” 

At your revelation, Rafe almost spit out his drink, suddenly realizing who exactly you were and why you had probably made your way up to his garage the other night. Why had he made that stupid joke? 

“Anyways, Top, I’m here with Alex so I better get back to her. I’ll see you tomorrow though.” 

You said in a sweet sing-song voice before bringing him in for a hug. 

“Alright, call me if you need anything.” 

He said, rubbing the back of your hair. You nodded in response before pulling away and heading back to the dance floor where ALex was grinding on the man she had earlier been flirting with. Topper’s eyes lingered on your figure, making sure you got from point A to point B before tearing his eyes away. 

“Topper, please tell me that’s not who I think it is.” 

Rafe asked with bewildered eyes. 

“Well, who do you think it is?” 

Topper questioned. 

“She’s the hot broadcaster, isn’t she? The one all the guys like?” 

Rafe asked, fear lacing his normally overzealous and cocky tone. 

“She’s more than that, but yeah, that’s the same girl. Why?” 

Topper quickly responded. 

“I. fucked. up. – Top.” 

He muttered in a voice so low and choppy, enunciating the words in a tone so serious yet quiet that Topper almost didn’t catch what he said under the pressure of the music against his ears. 

“What did you do this time?” 

He questioned, annoyance lacing his tone. 

“I may or may not have made a joke at her expense when she came to interview me the other day.” 

Topper rolled his eyes in response.

“Rafe, what did you say to her?” 

He growled, grinding his molars against each other.

“I may or may not have asked her if she was an escort?” 

He replied sheepishly. 

“God! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

Topper was yelling at this point, so unabashedly ashamed of Rafe’s behavior and his incessant need to ruin everything. He found it comical really, the way Rafe had the ability to put his foot in his mouth within moments of meeting women; his douchebaggery could . Though, this time, it was at the expense of you – someone topper cared for deeply, and you – you weren’t just some girl in a bar. 

“I was trying to be funny and she looked so sad, Topper.” 

He replied, seemingly remorseful. 

“Of course she did, you idiot! What? You thought she was going to be happy about that?” 

He asked in an accusatory tone and Rafe could only glance between you and back to Topper, like a chastised dog. 

“Rafe, you need to find a way to make it right. She’s sweet. Joke or not – she didn’t deserve to be made to feel like that.” 

Topper growled.

“I promise, I will.” 

Rafe muttered in response, tipping back the neck of the beer bottle as it met his lips. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

taglist:

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[ukrfeminism]

Music colleges and conservatoires are deterring women and girls from playing “masculine instruments” such as drums and trumpets, a parliamentary report laying bare sexism in the music industry has revealed.

Female students are “cat-called in rehearsals”, held to a higher standard with “masculine” instruments and being told they cannot play properly if “they didn’t sit with their legs open”, the report states.

The Misogyny in Music report by parliament’s women and equalities committee found female musicians faced “endemic” discrimination in the industry which they described as a “boys’ club where sexual harassment and abuse is common”.

A series of female musicians and DJs including Annie Macmanus, Rebecca Ferguson and Katie Waissel gave evidence to the committee about discrimination and abuse they had witnessed or experienced.

Waissel, the former X Factor contestant, told the inquiry how “at the age of 16, she was grabbed by a much older man and placed on his lap in the recording studio while they were reviewing the track she was recording”.

The report found that many female performers who had been the victims of “discrimination, harassment and abuse” continued to be silenced through the widespread use of non-disclosure agreements (NDAs).

It said: “Women in the music industry have had their lives ruined and their careers destroyed by men who have never faced the consequences for their actions. 

“People in the industry who attend award shows and parties currently do so sitting alongside sexual abusers who remain protected by the system and by colleagues.”

The report went on: “Much of the evidence we received has had to remain confidential, including commentary on television shows and household names.

“That is highly regrettable but demonstrates the extent of the use of NDAs and the culture of silence.”

The report outlined gender disparities throughout the industry. For example, less than 5 per cent of the producers or engineers on the top streamed tracks in 14 genres were female or non-binary, while of all the songwriters and composers who received a royalty in 2020, only one in six were female.

It also pointed out that the record label departments charged with finding new talent were dominated by men, concluding: “Women have significant additional barriers to pass to get a foothold in the music industry and must navigate acts of passive aggression, ridicule and misogyny to have a sustainable career. 

“Female artists are routinely undervalued and undermined, endure a focus on their physical appearance in a way that men are not subjected to, and have to work far harder to get the recognition their ability merits. Despite increases in representation, discrimination and misogyny remain endemic.”

The committee also called for music colleges, conservatoires and other educational establishment “to do more to address the gendering of instruments, roles and genres.”

Its members heard that “in many cases women are discouraged from playing certain instruments at all’, with one witness saying: “There is this idea that if you’re a girl you can’t play the drums, or if you’re a girl you can’t play the trumpet really loudly because it will make you look ugly.”

The report said that the Musicians’ Union had described female students being “cat-called in rehearsals”, “made to feel uncomfortable by male lecturers” and being told “they couldn’t play their instrument properly if they didn’t sit with their legs open in orchestra rehearsals”.

Caroline Nokes, the Conservative MP who chairs the committee, said “endemic misogyny … has persisted for far too long within the music industry.”

She added: “A shift in the behaviour of men — and it is almost always men — at the heart of the music industry is the transformative change needed for talented women to quite literally have their voices heard and be both recognised and rewarded on equal terms.”

[nishiyako]

After Party (NSFW)

Paring : DJ!Tamaki x RaveGirl!Reader

Tags : vaginal penetration, creampie, hair pulling (m receiving), older male x younger female (3 years apart), pussyjob, sex on table (dj table), reunited, mention of whiskey, tamaki was a perv back in highschool

Summary : After an incident, you never thought you'd go back to a rave. That was until your friend pestered you to come with her to check out this new artist. After finding out this artist was an old friend, he invited you backstage for more than a chat.

Your friend had found this new artist and have been edging you to come to a rave again, after an incident a few years ago you thought you'd never return to one but that didn't stop your friends on reminiscing on the 'good days'.

You were a party animal, absolutely wild. It was always fun when you'd be around since you never had an off-switch.

After a few days of pestering, you finally gave in agreeing to go on a few conditions. Once your friend complied, it was only a few hours until it started.

You arrived as the laser lights flashed and loud music peirced your ears. you defenetly missed the feeling, the blinding lights and bass full music made your brain all fuzzy.

You rushed to the front with your friend but as you inched closer you were found in suprise as you saw exactly who was behind the booth, fiddling with the buttons and knobs.

Amajiki was always quiet, eyes to the floor and always well reserved, so you meeting him at a rave was unexpected. What was even more unexpected was him being the DJ.

It was him, without a doubt, his scruffy dark hair and pointed ears. Though he was wearing a headset, it was only covering one ear, which made it easy to identify him

Your friend was already in her element. She couldn't care less what was going on. You stood there as his once-focused eyes turned to you. In the dim club, you could still see his piercing indigo eyes.

His eyes widened seeing you, like he was surprised you were there, that was defenetly him.

The night still continued. he'd steal glances from time to time to watch how you moved your body. The vibrations of the bass rushed through you as you experienced the rave like it was your first.

You felt a strange sense of nostalgia as the night came to an end, as people started leaving a bouncer approached you, you and your friend started to panic trying to recount if you did anything wrong but the man pulled you away from your friend for "a talk".

Long story short, you didn't do anything wrong. Tamaki has simply invited you backstage, and only you. The bouncer said you weren't allowed to bring your little friend.

You told her, and instead of being a jealous bitch she was absolutely ecstatic. She left as soon as possible telling you to tell her every single detail in the morning, before you could even remind her to be safe going home she was alredy out the door booking an Uber.

You were escorted behind the stage of the huge club, the bouncer opened the door for you, you saw him sitting on some couch in the dimly lit room, manspred and hand holding a cup of what you assumed was whiskey from its dark-yellow, almost orange color.

Your eyes took him in, trying to see every new detail and compare it from when you last saw him.

His hands were tired, nails painted black as his wrists were covered by multiple rainbow kandi bracelets. his physique is still the same from high school. He was a little muscular, yes, but he still had that lean body you always had a type for.

His hair was a mess as his forehead had a glisten of sweat, his eyeliner smudged as his bulky headsets hanged round his neck, necklaces scattering over a black buckle chocker, this was not the Tamaki you remembered.

"Long time no see," you said nervously. He stood up as he placed his drink on a random table. "Yeah, long time..." his voice was still shakey. It was so familiar.

He was taller than you remembered, he was always taller than you but now you were just around his lower shoulder, it intimidated you as he walked around the room "When did you start raving? I never knew you were into this type of thing." He asked.

"Right after we graduated from UA, collage was stressful. I stoped after an incident. What about you? You also never seemed the type." You asked the question back

"Ever since my first year in UA, before you enrolled. the loudness drowned out all the bad thoughts which I found helpful"

You never thought such a quiet person like him would be into such loud music, especially Amajiki.

"How about DJing? This is a pretty popular club. Only a few local artists perform, " you said, sitting beside him on the velvet couch.

You saw his eyes run down your body, your barely exposed tits only being hid by a skimpy top, to your skinny bottoms highlighting your hips and thighs for him. It was clear that he wasent the only one who changed

"I haven't done it for long, I just know what's good. So I got popular quickly. I DJ here during EDM nights and do a few shows around the city." He said, "I can show you the booth if that's what you want..."

The night was young, and you were still curious about his new hobby, of course you said yes.

As he took you to the booth, you were overwhelmed, looking at all the scales and knobs, "is it okay if I touch some stuff?" You ask. He nodded. He could just fix everything later.

It was just you and him at the club at that moment. You fiddled with the controls as his eyes stayed fixated on you. He took in every detail of your perfect body, huggable waist and your fuckable ass in those tight jeans. You weren't the timid first year he remembered, the both of you have grown so even if he was a little older than you, it wouldn't be that bad since you're both adults now, Right?

You turned around to see him standing behind you, still with his signature slouch and a tent in his baggy pants. You squeezed your thighs at the sight. Was this because of you? Most probably.

Artists mostly call girls backstage cause they think they're hot and most likely want to fuck so you took it upon yourself to guess he didn't just want a chat about catching up between old friends.

"So did you just want to talk or did you have something else in mind..?" You asked turning around, sandwiched bewteen the booth and Tamaki. obviously rubbing your thighs together as your hands rested on the metal table waiting for his response.

"Well, that's up to you." He said, placing his hands on the sides of your waist, traping you between him and the booth. He inched closer as you started to get lost in his indigo eyes. We're the both of you really gonna do it here, right now?

You hugged his neck going in for the kiss hoping that you played your cards right, you felt his grip only grow tighter on the skin of your waist, his quivering lips against yours. If this is how it happened he wouldn't really mind.

Tamakis hands wandered to your thighs to lift them up, making you make you sit on the edge of his beloved table. Your legs dangled off the edge, spreading open for his convenience.

His hands wandered to his studded belt, unbuckled in a few seconds he pulled down his pants to expose himself, alredy been twitching from your kisses. You didn't want him to do all the work, of course.

You eagerly slipped off your tight jeans and pushed your panties to the side. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as he rubbed against you, bucking his hips to the addictive friction.

You were already eager to have him inside you. You tugged on his hair as you were impatient and needy for his cock.

"Amajiki, don't tease me like this." You begged, he snapped back onto reality .Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was teasing you like that..." he said, voice shakey and awkward.

"If you wanted it inside you, could've just asked..." he hinted, he loved hearing that voice of yours. "Just fuck me alredy... please. I need you right now Tamaki." You pleaded.

He pulled you closer to him as his hips were against yours, the distance between you closes as he kisses you once more. You felt his body against yours as you melted in his touch.

Your body jolted as he sliped in slowly, stretching you to take him whole, you whined into his kiss as you tugged on his scruffy hair.

He gave you time to re-adjust, but that would be the most mercy he'd show you. He slipped in and out of you as your chest pressed against his.

He pulled away from the kiss as you threw your head back, moaning from the feeling of him hitting your gummy sweet spot over and over again.

You didn't expect expect him to be so good. He was attractive and talented so you could guess a bunch of girls would be throwing themselves at him after shows.

His thrusts quickened, making your body tense as he held you with his arms. Your hand grabbed a handful and tugged on his hair as he peppered your neck with kisses and bites.

Your moans and the sound of skin slapping echoed around the dim room, He fucked you on the stages booth mercilessly making you drip on the metal table, no problem, he'll just clean it after.

Even if you knew it was wrong having sex with someone you haven't talked to in years, it still felt so good, like you were meant to be there.

He didn't know if he was a pervert for enjoying this veiw, once a freshman now a DJ's whore.

He used to watch you as you walked down UA's halls in your little dark-green skirt, plush thighs pouring out of your black thigh highs, he always felt wrong for having a lust for you.

But now he could indulge every nasty fantasy he had now the both of you were all grown up.

He dragged his cock in and out of you, watching your cute little reactions as your head was thrown back with your mouth wide open, screaming and pleading his name.

His breaths grew heavy, and his thrusts sloppy, yet he couldn't get enough of you. You were better than any glass of whiskey or bass drop he could ask for, and he kind of hated it.

With the bites on your neck and the fluids dripping down your thighs, not to mention your sluty moans, they were music to his ears. He knew you were close, no doubt about it.

He fucked you raw and senseless, like an animal in heat, you wonder how long it's been since you've felt like this, it felt divine.

Your legs wrapped around his waist to get him deeper into you, begging for even more of his cock he couldn't say no, his palm pressed against your arched back closing whatever distance your once had.

He held you close. It made you feel... protected. " 'Tmaki, I'm close!" You muttered, "You want it, baby?" He cooed, his voice was shakey as his hands were shaking from the pleasure.

After a frantic nod he picked up his speed, not the smartest decision but it worked. Your legs were left shaking as he filled you full.

Your arched back, loud moans and sopping cunt was perfect to him, it drove Tamaki crazy.

You caught your breath as he slipped out of you. You can't believe you just did that, and honestly, neither did he.

But at the end of the night, you appreciated your persuasive friend. If she didn't pester you for a few weeks, this wouldn't have happened.

The night ended with shakey legs and a new phone number in your contacts, Tamakis obviously.

(Inspired by DJ WH0RE by S3RL)

[ghostgirl-22]

Deck the halls 🎄💫

Day 5: ‘bend over’

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

Pair: Patrick X Reader

Woah second person (you don’t like me)

——-l

Working at the firm of Zweig, Patterson, Masters and Poole wasn’t exactly a “fun” time. The staff is overwhelmingly male and most of them were either old enough to be your parents, or too dorky to care about parties. Seriously. Even the handful of guys who were closer to your age were more into accounting clubs and building computers on weekends than going out. And it’s not even like you’re opposed to nerdy guys, you were trying to build out your career too after all, but not one of them seemed to have the courage to invite you to join them. You’d long since given up on meeting a man at work.

You expect the office Christmas party to be reserved, uptight and boring just like work. Likely the ceo Joseph Zweig who you’d only ever seen twice in person would give some speech about record profits and company shares before toasting Mazeltov and then you’d be stuck listening every iteration of the same dumb Christmas songs until 11 pm (or until you could make your excuses to escape to the next destination).

So it’s quite surprising when you show up to the party in your short black dress, in preparation to meet with friends for an after party… and it turns out to actually be a party. There’s a DJ, loud music, delicious food and festively strong drinks. People are all dressed up with friends and family members. Some considerably younger then the average staff age. You’re instantly relieved.

You decide to stick it out for another hour when you run into Joseph’s youngest son, Patrick. You’ve seen him around before but apparently he’s never seen you. He’s easy on the eyes. Bored. Too much charisma, flirting with you immediately, while also trying to get a rise out of you. Asking what a girl so pretty is doing, stuck in a job like this.

“I happen to be very good at my job,” you say dryly, not that it matters to him. His daddy owns the company. He wouldn’t have to work a day in his life if he didn’t feel like it.

“What’s your job?” He asks, he doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. He’s playing with your braids, leaning into your ear. He smells kinda good, like vanilla and cigarettes.

“I’m an accountant,” you start, “youngest one in the firm.”

“That’s so hot,” Patrick says. “You’re hot.”

You laugh. “You don’t really care, do you?”

He smirks. Of course he doesn’t. He starts playing with the hem of your too tight dress. “This is so pretty.” He says.

You roll your eyes, maybe it’s because you’re ovulating but there’s just something about his energy. Its working on you. His whole thing. It’s actually working.

”What do you do then?” You ask him. Knowing it’s going to be some ridiculous non job.

“I play tennis professionally,” he says.

Of course he does.

He lets his fingers slide up your thighs just a little more, you don’t stop him. “God look at this ass.” He says softly. “Kinda thinking about you and me. Going up to my daddy’s office. Me bending you over the desk. Hows that sound?”

God. The audacity of him.

You swallow and look over at your bosses near the front of room. Everyone is so stern and serious. As a freshly graduated new hire you’ve never even been in Mr. Zweigs office, it’s unheard of … but you’ve always been a little too adventurous for your own good.

It’s how you end up bent over, Mr. Zweig’s desk, dress hiked up, getting fucked within an inch of your life by his son. You totally get it now, his easy charm and self confidence. The way he’s making you lose your mind, legs spread wide, cunt dripping wet, moaning for your third climax all while the music sounds from the first floor. He definitely has a reason to be so fucking smug.

You leave Mr. Zweig's office barefoot, legs all wobbly, body aching so deliciously. Patrick’s arm over your shoulder. “Do you do this every Christmas party?” You ask him. Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed as one of your nerdy coworkers passes with a lingering look at you on the way to the bathroom.

He laughs, “god I wish, I thought it would just be a bunch of boring old people here. I was gonna leave.” He says.

“Me too,” you smile.

“Guess we got lucky,” he says, sweeping your hair back from your face. “What else are we doing tonight?”

[481mclarg]

Drunk together. | LN4

★ Let's get drunk together so I can kiss you and blame it on the vodka.

FANFIC + SMAU « Eng & Esp »

Lando Norris x Male!Oc Former Rider.

« K » I have this AU posted in Spanish on Wattpad as a oneshot, but adding a bit more SM to the SMAU I think it's too long, so I'll post it in a few parts.

Warnings: (mention) drunk sex. Suggestive content, idiots in love, lack of communication (?)

★ Chapters: One. | Two. | Three. | Four. | Five. | Six. | Seven. | Eight. ★

🇦🇷 Lucas Blondel as... EZEQUIEL TORRES.

📱 @/ezzetorres37

EZE . . . 28 y.o: 5 February '96. aquarius. » Moto3 champion 🏍🏆 ; retired Argentine rider 🏁🩺, injured; homosexual 🏳️‍🌈.

( + Pedro Acosta is the one in the photos used when talking about Eze's career & random guys from pinterest).

🇬🇧 Lando Norris as... LANDO NORRIS.

📱 @/landonorris

LAN . . . 25 y.o: 13 November '99. virgo. » 🧡McLaren Racing Limited driver ; 🇬🇧 current F1 british driver🏎🏁 ; bisexual ‼️.

December 2024.

          Mutual friends made Ezequiel Torres, a former rider retired after suffering an leg injury and current mechanic, meet the driver of the current Formula 1 constructors' champion team, Lando Norris.

          Everything Ezequiel knew about Formula cars was thanks to his friend, Sacha Fenestraz, who used to talk to him about his own races and watch other together when they managed to coincide their schedules and meet on weekends to eat.

          It wasn't his main interest, it had always been motorcycles. A passion inherited from his family. Nevertheless, he did not deny that the world of four wheels was just as captivating.

          Anyway, upon meeting Lando he never had to worry about only knowing the basics about Formula 1.

          The British spoke a lot. It was interesting to listen to him explain things about his races and cars, or when he told him his story of starting in the world of music and clubs, what it was like to be a DJ, about streams... Each talk ended up deviating from the initial topic, when they spoke always branched off easily, especially in the clubs full of people dancing and enjoying the rhythm of what Lando played.

          Alcohol was always present, helping them blend into the environment and lose the little shame they had.

          Sacha introduced them. He knew his friends well; he knew they would hit it off immediately. He also accompanied them on the second time going to a club; on the third, was Torres who invited only Norris to "somewhere."

          He didn't have a plan in mind. With his friend now in Japan, he was almost lost in the cold English winter.

          The youngest had heard about a new place in the area near his house, but far from where Ezequiel rented an apartment.

(Ezequiel: You are quite annoying/stubborn, you know?)

          Convincing him wasn't difficult, although he debated whether accepting had been the right thing to do, feeling that something inside him. A kind of nervousness and excitement mixed. He didn't want the time to leave for Lando's house to come, but he didn't want to wait any longer either.

          That dilemma repeated during dinner. He hated the idea of ​​having to kill time before going to the club, but he also hated having to cut off at some point the conversation they had while they were eating on the couch, watching a movie.

          He felt comfortable; he had a great time with Norris. He could stay up all night watching TV with him, if they decided to change plans.

          In the end, neither of them spoke, so they called the Uber and had a couple of drinks before leaving. A little bit of alcohol, so they were still pretty sober when they arrived at the club. However, just the atmosphere was enough to help them blend into the vibes of the place.

          Dance and sing song after song, ordering bottle after bottle. Approaching to the other with no dissimulation but they didn't care. At that point, nothing but the other man mattered to them.

          Nothing but Lando's eyes was important to Ezequiel at that moment. He tried to decipher each different hue, learning how different lights affected its color; sometimes more bluish, other times it had greener tones, he swore he had even found some brown in them.

          As if his changing eyes weren't enough, he also had hundreds of moles on his skin that he could spend hours counting, drawing imaginary lines joining them, forming their own constellations. Outlining with the tip of his finger, delicate, under Lando's attentive gaze.

          Lando let him watch his body, moving his hand up to his dark hair. So soft that it seemed a shame he kept it so short. He had the opportunity to smell the aroma of his shampoo before, and he believed he had become addicted.

          The growth of a beard from a couple of days that always remained the same. He almost envied how well the facial hair looked on him.

          Going over the tattoos on his arms, outlining them while Ezequiel continued caressing his face. Being in an area further away from the dance floor, they didn't care much about being seen.

          Nothing mattered to them at that point.

          They couldn't take it anymore. The alcohol was beginning to be too much, the people were so noisy, the music was annoying and the heat was oppressive. Torres called another vehicle to take them to Norris' house, and in a few minutes, they were back in the brit's couch, trying to recover a little before being able to put their minds in order.

          —You're pretty. —He slurred his words, but spoke with conviction, needing to let his thoughts out, thoughts that did not come from his mind, but from the bottom of his heart.

          —And you're drunk —Ezequiel said, fighting not to let the blood rise to his cheeks or the corners of his lips to curl upward. —, talking nonsense. —he murmured, with a slightly failed accent, but understandable to Lando.

          —Drunks always tell the truth. —he replied, shaking his head almost exaggeratedly, having to rest it on the backboard of the couch to stop the dizziness. —It's just... confidence. The drunk's confidence to-... not think 'bout the consequences. Don't overthink.—

          — ¿Puedo aprovechar la confianza del borracho yo también? —he asked, not bothering to think about the translation. (Can I take advantage of the drunk's confidence too?)

          —You can- You can do whatever you want with me. —he nodded. He begged, rather, cautiously approaching one of his arms until he reached the older man's shoulder. Seeing that he didn't flee from his touch, he added his second arm, hanging around his neck.

          The suffocating smell of whiskey and fernet mixed in that small space between them followed them to the bedroom, already melted into a mixture of alcohol and desperation.

          Knots tied in their stomachs, a combination of nervousness and excitement. They gave their partner full permission to explore their body as much as they wanted, but at the same time they were afraid to do so.

          With the help of a bottle of champagne that Norris had taken, they chased away those concerns, surrendering to the warmth of others with total confidence.

          Sore, tired, sticky, wet bodies. A neat and meticulously maintained bed that ended up ruined. Feelings on the surface, taking advantage of every second to shout out what would be repressed in the morning. Marks they would hide, questions they would avoid answering, looks from which they would flee.

          An uncomfortable goodbye, a tortuous trip, and desperate calls that they cut off before they could even explain what was happening to them.

          Because not even they knew it.

          A second night that began awkwardly, with clear tension between the two sober men, ended just as intimate between the two drunk men.

          A third, a fourth. His friends were already suspicious of his disappearances in the middle of the night. It couldn't be a coincidence that as soon as the alcohol entered their systems, they disappeared.

          «What's going on between you two?» «Nothing!» Sacha would have loved to record his calls with both of them. How they began to justify accusations that he never made. "Defend yourself just in case." They knew their friends were suspicious; as if they were going to judge them at some point.

          After the fifth time, on a Saturday, Lando managed to wake up first. Close to the start of the Formula 1 season, his schedules were beginning to become stricter.

          That morning he got up and made breakfast. Ezequiel couldn't refuse the food, and until he drank at least one coffee, Lando wouldn't let him leave.

          The sixth ended with Torres waking up the next day, Sunday, back between Lando's sheets. The Argentine had been the first again, and unable to leave the bed, he waited in a silence that drove him crazy for the British to open his eyes.

          He had thought of a thousand and more ways to say goodbye, trying to choose the least uncomfortable one for that situation. In the end, he didn't need it. The brunette let him continue caressing his disheveled curls, with both of them allowing themselves for the first time to enjoy each other's warmth.

          Their first sober kiss was also that morning. Tangled in the mess that was the bed, buried between pillows and blankets, seeking each other's warmth. They had feared this so much, and rightly so, because now they felt unable to let the other go.

          The seventh occurred between China and Japan. A new world was opened to them among the streets of Suzuka.

          Sacha witnessed all those small gestures that they believed were imperceptible. Their hands swinging exaggeratedly to gently touch each other, walking together to brush shoulders, clinging to each other in the crowds, seeking the other's gaze when laughing.

          So obvious. Two fools in love; too in love to separate, but too stupid to dare to move forward.

          Norris spent the race weekend at the hotel where Torres had booked. Two different rooms, they excused themselves, but one of the doors wasn’t opened.

          The fact that the hotel staff almost caught them brought them back down to earth. They were no longer on vacation; it was no longer Lando's house or Ezequiel's apartment. It was no longer as easy to hide.

          Bahrain and Saudi Arabia were a resounding no. Miami was impossible to match, something that both regretted, because then Italy, Monaco and Spain did not give Lando time to breathe.

          Despite maintaining contact, the messages no longer filled that void. They also didn't need alcohol or physical contact. At least not the one they were used.

          It was difficult for them to understand that discomfort in their hearts, that absence and "sudden" feeling of loneliness. They felt alone, but they didn't need just anyone, they missed each other's warmth, their company, their simple presence.

          Giving the other one last kiss before falling asleep, and the first one in the morning. Sharing breakfast in complete calm, jostling each other for trying to brush their teeth at the same time, seeing the marks they had left on each other's skin while they ran to get dressed, finishing fixing details on the other's clothes before they went out into the street.

          They missed each other. They missed more than they thought they were capable of feeling.

           Their eighth time was after Spain. Lando was stressed about the championship, and not understanding his emotions only added more weight to his back. He thought he would have the courage to tell Ezequiel about his discomfort, perhaps ask for advice or at least be listen.

          In the end, he lived a week in such a warm silence that he preferred never to bring up such a delicate topic on the table. He preferred to remain silent, ignore the knot in his stomach that was getting bigger, to try to enjoy the company.

          He focused so much on acting normal and hiding his problems, that he didn't notice that Torres wasn't as active as always. A man who rarely sat still, who hated silence and doing nothing, was there, moving from the bed to the couch and from the couch to the bed.

          Since Lando didn't speak, he didn't either.

          They played music that superficially covered the silence, but it did not fill the emptiness they felt. The sporadic kisses, hugs and restless nights no longer had the same effect as before. It wasn't enough.

          They both had that discomfort stuck in their throats, but with a drink of their favorite alcohol, they digested it, before getting lost again in the other's touch.

481MCLARG | 14 . 01 . 2025 | CORREGIDO.

[niki-phoria]

i have a request.🥰🥰

OKAY SO: imagine that we are a beach executive who is known really well in beach and like really muscular (kind of a dilf i think? and the reader is 185/180 cm), and people at the beach simps for us along with chishiya and he has a HUGE crush on us, like he always stares at us or thinks of/about us and one day, we caught him staring at us while we are sitting at the beach and we walk up to him teasing him, just like a high tension moment and maybe it turns into making out? idk the last part really..

pairing: chishiya x male!reader (no pronouns used; masc reader) genre: fluff/suggestive word count: 727

includes: tall/muscular reader, reader is shirtless, smut implied, kind of ooc chishiya but i tried my best

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are always appreciated <33

music blares from the speakers surrounding the makeshift dj tent as you wander through the crowded pool area. the smell of cigarette smoke is overwhelming. humidity sticks to your skin. pulsating strobe lights illuminate the gated area and reflect back onto the water. 

chishiya’s stare follows you as kuina eagerly pushes her way through the crowd to stand at your side. she smiles brightly at you; her hand wrapping around your bicep as she eagerly begins spilling the newest gossip. your lips quirk into a small smile as you guide her to a quieter area. you had always hated crowds, after all.

chishiya pushes off of the wall he was leaning against to get a better view of you. you join kuina in sitting down on a stray, tattered beach chair - conversation never ceasing between you. even in the dim lighting, he can see your bright smile when you accept a bottle of beer from a random passerby. 

shoving his hands into his pockets, chishiya shoves his aching jealousy down. his gaze remains trained on each of your interactions. the way kuina’s hand lingers on your shoulder as she playfully pushes you; your otherwise rare bright smile when she laughs at another one of your jokes; the tension in your shoulders progressively growing more relaxed the more you allow yourself to let go of the awfulness clouding the borderland.

chishiya freezes slightly when you look up to stare directly at him. you smile softly at him, taking a final swig from your beer before setting the bottle aside. you say something to kuina - ignoring her playful innuendos - before standing up from the chair.

he reaches up to run a hand through his hair as you approach. your smile becomes more of a teasing smirk as you walk up to chishiya. the stares from other party-goers are ignored by both of you. despite interacting countless times privately, seeing the seemingly cold man interacting with anyone was a rare sight.

“you have a staring problem.” you chuckle softly. “like what you see?”

“maybe i do.” chishiya’s lips quirk into a small smirk of his own. “you wanna get out of here?” 

your only answer comes in the form of a soft chuckle. he remains silent as he reaches out to grab your wrist, tugging you away from the wall and further into the light. 

you catch even more attention as you wander out of the pool area and back into the hotel with chishiya in tow. your scandals scuff against the carpet with each step you take until you reach your room. the door clicks shut behind you; light shining in through your opened curtains to just barely illuminate the room.

chishiya gingerly rests his hands against your chest. goosebumps arise on your bare skin as his fingertips trail up your body to wrap around your neck. your own hands rest on his waist, keeping him close to you. “‘shiya?” you murmur. 

he pauses his movements to look up at you. stray strands of blonde hair frame his sharp features. “she was all over you,” he finally mumbles. 

“who?” you furrow your eyebrows for a second before softly chuckling. “kuina?” despite his usually perfect poker face, chishiya can’t help the way his jaw clenches slightly. 

“shuntaro,” you bring a hand up to cup his cheek. his stare falters slightly before he meets your eyes again. you slowly lean in until there are merely centimeters between you. the tension in the air feels unbearably thick as your own gaze flicks down to his lips. 

“y/n,” he breathlessly whispers. “kiss me.”

your lips quirk into a slight smirk. you don’t hesitate any longer - leaning down to pull him into a searing kiss. chishiya’s lips feel slightly chapped as they press against your own. your bodies mold together as if made for each other. 

your fingers tangle in chishiya’s hair when he pulls away. his lips trail against your skin as he peppers stray kisses down your neck. your breath hitches as his fingertips ghost against your bare chest once again. “don’t let anyone else touch you like this,” he mumbles. your breath hitches in your throat when his hands fall to your hips; resting just above the elastic band of your swim trunks. his lips quirk into a familiar smirk at your flustered state. “you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you repeat.

[tala-bez-i]

At first sight II Chapter Seventeen

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 3506

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You knocked gently on the door of room 7, and when the light above the number pad changed from red to green, you pressed the handle and entered. 

The room was neither large nor overly small, and at the end of it was a large window that took up almost the entire wall, giving VIP guests a perfect view of the dance floor, the DJ podium, and the bar in the corner. The glass was slightly darkened, letting you know that a special foil had been used to block outside viewing, which was a great solution considering what could happen in such rooms. 

Music blared from a set of speakers placed in various places around the room and you noticed that it was turned down, for which you were grateful. 

The room itself was dark, with only the colored lights of the dance hall occasionally sweeping through the interior, giving you some sense of where each piece of furniture in the room was located. 

You noticed that in the middle of the room there was a rounded couch, similar to the one you saw in the previous nightclub Tomoko had taken you to, and with another flash of colored lights, you saw a figure sitting, or rather almost half-lying, who you assumed was watching what was going on below. 

Suddenly, the smell of cigarette smoke reached your nostrils, suggesting that the figure had lit a cigarette, and you moved closer. 

“What do you want?” The figure asked, moving his hand away from his face, and as you got closer, you saw the glowing end of a cigarette. 

“I need to inform you of a complication in the Takenaka case.” You said, deciding that you had to tell the truth. “I’m not working on it.” 

“Hmm.” Sanzu hummed, taking another drag on his cigarette. He was calm, suspiciously calm. "What did you do to cause this to happen?" 

“Nothing special. Other cases piled up and we were divided into teams. Each team was given a different case.” 

“Who’s working on Takenakas?” 

“Two good detectives, they have more experience on the job than me and my partner.” 

“More experience, huh?” The man laughed. “You’re totally useless. As usual.” 

That hurt. “I have permission from the commander that if they don’t solve the case by Friday, I’ll take it over.” 

“Oh? Until Friday? Do you think you have that much time?” The man’s tone was a little sharper, but it still wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. 

“We don't have anything better. I don't even know what stage they're at right now.” You admitted and began to roam the dark room with your eyes, trying to see as much detail as possible in the flashes of colored light. “I thought about whether we could complicate things a bit. You know, Sanzu, just to make sure they don't make it by Friday.” 

The man shifted slightly in his seat, turning his head in your direction. 

“Do you want to sabotage your fellow detectives?” He asked, slightly amused. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time in my career.” You answered truthfully and the gangster took a slow drag on his cigarette. 

He exhaled slowly and clicked his tongue. “Something’s going to be arranged.” 

Your eyes caught sight of a figure huddled at one end of the couch and you thought it was the guest Riku had mentioned. 

“I didn’t know you weren’t alone.” You lied and the man looked in the right direction. 

“Pay no attention to her. She's asleep.” 

“Asleep? In your company?” 

“Why not? She's tired.” He said calmly, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling cheekily. “Tell me, L/n. How did you know where to find me?” 

“I have my ways.” You lied smoothly, not taking your eyes off the woman's figure. Something was bothering you. “Is she here of her own free will?” 

“What are you suggesting?” He asked, slightly irritated. “None of your fucking business, L/n.” 

“Sanzu.” 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you. These bitches will do anything for drugs and money, she’s a regular chick.” He growled, taking another drag on his cigarette. 

You looked at him when he moved, but Haruchiyo just put his feet on the table where there were several empty alcohol bottles and two glasses. One still had liquor in it. 

“I don't suspect you of anything. That's not why I came here.” You said calmly, so as not to irritate him further. “When I meet with anyone from Bonten, I don't come as a police officer.” 

“Anyone from Bonten?” The other snorted, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray he had next to him. He reached for a nearby bottle and took out two pills, which he swallowed without drinking. “What the fuck are you talking about? You saw us once and that was only because Tomoko arranged a meeting for you.” 

So, the syndicate's number two still didn't know anything... Funny. 

You sighed quietly and, driven by a bad feeling, slowly approached the woman in the room. 

“What are you doing?” 

You ignored the pink-haired man and touched the woman's face. There was no reaction, and when you turned her head gently towards the flickering lights, you saw her blank gaze. Her lipstick was smudged, and a trail of what you assumed was dried vomit ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin. 

“Sanzu, did you give her anything?” 

“I mentioned she was sleeping, right?” The other grumbled in response. “She got fucked for a dose of drugs. Same as usual.” 

You checked the woman’s pulse and looked at your interlocutor. “Call your guys.” 

“For the hell of it?” 

“She’s dead. Overdosed.” You replied calmly. 

At first Sanzu stared at you as if you had made a very tasteless joke, but after a moment he jumped up from his place on the couch, knocking one of the glasses with his foot, which shattered on the floor and rushing over to you to see what you were talking about. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He cursed when he realized you were telling the truth. “She took the usual amount. The usual amount.” He went back to where he had left the bottle of drugs and poured its contents onto the table. He counted the pills a few times and cursed as loudly as you had heard only a few times in your life. “That bitch! She took more than I let her!” 

“Uh-huh.” You looked at the woman again. She overdosed herself, but you were sure that if she didn't take a larger dose right away, once Sanzu figured out how much he had left, she would still be severely punished. Maybe she would have ended up dead anyway. “Call the guys, we need to clean this up.” 

“It's because of you.” He growled, reaching for his phone. “Everything has been fucked up since your name was mentioned.” 

Ouch... “Did you know her long?” 

“Fuck you.” Came the reply and he gave a few commands into the phone before putting it in his pants pocket. 

“Sanzu, I need to know. Who could be looking for her? How easy is it to connect her to you? Who saw you together?” You started asking the standard questions, looking around for the woman's purse or phone to secure. 

“A lot of people know she was hanging around me for drugs.” The man gave you his answer after a short while. 

He walked over to the body and took the expensive necklace off the woman's neck, then unplugged the earrings from her ears. 

"What are you doing?" You asked, seeing what you thought was an unusual behavior from the man, but you couldn't be sure this time. 

"She got them today." He replied, putting the jewelry in the pocket of his jacket, which was lying on the back of the couch. "Nobody saw her in this." 

Your heart pounded as you realized that there had to be more to it than just sex for drugs, otherwise Haruchiyo wouldn't have bought the woman such an expensive gift. 

"What if she took pictures and sent them to her friends?" You asked and the man froze for a moment before he walked to the other end of the couch and pulled out a small women's purse from behind the cushion, from which he pulled out her phone. 

He unlocked it without any problem and began searching through it. "Fuck. She took pictures, but didn't have time to send them to anyone. At least that much." He said with relief, turning the device off completely. 

“Did you use protection?” 

“Who the fuck do you think I am? An idiot?” Sanzu turned his head sharply in your direction and you shrugged. 

“Sometimes there’s no time for this…” 

“Yeah, I had a condom.” He quickly walked over to a small trash bin that was in the corner of the room, near the door, and began rummaging through it. “Fuck. This was supposed to be a regular night at the club, not this shit.” 

You watched him for a moment, your thoughts increasingly turning to what could really connect him to the now-dead woman. 

Before the time-leaps, Sanzu had relationships with all sorts of women, both lasting more than two months and less than a week. It often happened that you yourself suggested various girls to him who could fit the gangster's requirements, and more than once he managed to build something out of it. 

Too bad everything usually went downhill because of Haruchiyo's instability and sick jealousy. Well, maybe not counting that one student that Sanzu had to get rid of by force and ultimately... 

Finally the pink haired man found what he was looking for and cursed. 

“Pass me the lighter.” He threw over his shoulder and you knew what he was planning. 

“That’s probably not the best idea.” You said as you walked up to him with said lighter in your hand. “The smoke detectors might go off.” 

“Should I take all the trash, seriously?” He asked, irritated, and you looked inside the trash can. 

“There isn’t much. A paper bag will do, or we can just take the whole bag.” 

“You carry it.” He answered you after a few seconds, and you put your lighter away, grateful that the man had made a more sensible decision. 

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door of the room, and after a second, there was a quiet sound suggesting that the lock had been unlocked with a magnetic card, and the two security guards you had dealt with earlier entered. One of them pulled a large suitcase behind him. Large enough for the woman's body to fit without any major problems. 

"Everything's ready, boss." One of them said, and the other guy calmly walked over to the couch, opened the suitcase, and tied the woman's hair up, as you guessed, to prevent it from getting caught in the lid of the suitcase or to simply not leave any hair behind. “We'll take her out the back exit. Are you coming with us, boss, or…” 

“Yes.” Sanzu replied quickly and went to the couch to put on his jacket. He gathered his things and turned to you. “Pack the bottles and glasses. Especially the broken one. She drank from it.” 

For a split second you couldn’t believe your ears how freely and calmly he gave you orders, but you were even more surprised by your own obedience, because you were just finishing carefully putting the glass into a garbage bag. 

“Shit.” One of the security guards cursed and looked from you to Sanzu. “She won’t fit much, boss.” 

“Do something to make it work. We don't have anything better.” Said the gangster and you knew perfectly well what would happen next. 

“Can I?” 

“We have to. We have to get rid of her completely anyway.” 

The words had barely left Sanzu's mouth when the sound of her arm and leg bones breaking was heard, causing a slight sense of disgust in you. You had to admit to yourself that you were no longer used to it. 

You used to do this type of stuff yourself and many much worse ones, but with time-leap everything has changed. Well, maybe most of it... 

There was a quiet click of a suitcase being closed and you were all ready to leave room 7 when the man you had come here to meet smiled cruelly at you. 

"L/n. Are you here by car?" 

"Yes." 

“Excellent.” The smile never left his face, and the glint in his eyes and the scars at the corners of his mouth made him seem more menacing. You had a feeling where this was headed. “Then, for my own safety and as insurance for the future, you’ll come with us. You’ll be my driver tonight, and believe me, if you try to twist things and use this whole thing against me…” He gestured to the suitcase. “You can be sure I’ll return the favor and strike much sooner than you. All you have to do is give me the opportunity.”

You looked at him in silence for a moment, completely unsurprised by what he had just said. 

You smiled and tightened your grip on the garbage bag you were holding. 

“I didn’t expect anything less. Let’s not waste any more time.” 

As soon as you stepped outside the nightclub, where a lot of people were still having a great time, two security guards with a suitcase headed towards a black car parked nearby, which didn't seem to be eye-catching, but immediately suggested to you that it belonged to the underworld. Or maybe you just knew what to look for because of your profession and experience. 

“So, where's your limo?” Sanzu joked and you led him out of the alley you were in, and after a moment you pointed out your mid-range Toyota. “Seriously?” He asked, not hiding his disappointment, then burst out laughing. “You drive this?” 

“The important thing is that it drives and, to be honest, it's trouble-free. I haven't had any problems with it since I bought it, which was almost eight years.” 

“Your first car, hmm?” He asked as you stepped closer and unlocked the door. “Ah, almost like first love, huh?” 

You involuntarily compared the man standing next to you to the car and in a split second you decided that this was a very, very bad idea... 

“Let's say something like that... Yeah.” You mumbled and Haruchiyo got into the vehicle from the passenger side. 

You threw the bag of trash on the floor in the back of the car and got behind the wheel. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Stay close to my guys. They know where to go.” The pink-haired man replied shortly and after a moment you began to drive behind said car. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Sanzu sitting as comfortably as he could and gently running his finger over his buckled seatbelt. For a moment you felt as if nothing had changed. 

As if none of the time-leaps had ever happened, but... 

“You know I can take you down at any moment, right?” Sanzu asked after a few minutes, watching the road through the window. 

“I'm aware of that, yes.” You replied calmly, and out of the corner of your eye you noticed the man moving. When you looked at him, you noticed he was watching you. “What?” 

“You’re not scared?” 

“No. Not right now.” 

“Because you’re driving?” He asked and when you looked back at him you noticed he had his gun on his thighs. 

“Because I have Mikey’s word that until I complete the task assigned to me, I’m safe.” You replied, focusing on driving again. 

You pulled onto the highway and judging by the direction Bonten’s car had taken, you figured it would be a longer trip. You could bet you were headed to the waterfront. 

“Mikey could always change his mind.” Sanzu said very casually and you nodded. 

“You didn’t have time to inform him of the complications.” 

“Tsk... He could always change his mind sooner. Like right after you left that night.” 

“True, but tell me one thing, Sanzu, but honestly.” You looked at him again. “You would wait that long to kill me? Apart from the fact that you were in my apartment.” 

Haruchiyo was silent for a moment, his face set in stone, before he holstered his gun under his jacket and laughed quietly, resting his head comfortably against the headrest of the passenger seat. 

“No. I wouldn't wait a minute.” 

“Thank you for being honest.” You sighed quietly, focusing on driving behind the car again. “The waterfront?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You want to drown her?” 

“Ah... Why not?” 

“Don't you have, so to speak, a contract with an incinerator?” 

“L/n... She was my ex, not trash.” He said, feigning indignation, which you shrugged off. “Okay, maybe she was trash... To some extent, but I almost pulled her out of her own shit.” 

Unbelievable. “Just to drown her in yours?” 

“Hey. Watch your mouth.” Sanzu's tone was sharper, but it didn't last long. “Now that you've met mine, when should I drop by to meet your little lady?” He chuckled. “Her safety would be a good safeguard for you to get the job done, don't you think?” 

You winced slightly, but it didn't go unnoticed by the gangster riding with you. 

“Oh, no kidding. L/n.” 

“Yeah, looks like you're late.” 

“No, no, no.” He leaned toward you. “That doesn't change anything. Your feelings for her must still be strong. It's still a good idea.” 

“Uh... No. She's pushed it too hard. No way.” You pursed your lips. “I wouldn't worry about it too much.” 

“Fuck.” The other mumbled. “I thought you were the good guy, and here you are... It's like I'm hearing the old you.” 

“Maybe I haven't changed as much as you think, hmm?” You threw him a quick glance. “Garbage incinerator.” 

“What?” 

“There's still a chance to change direction.” You said calmly. “There'll be an exit in a few minutes that'll get us where we need to be. I'll take it upon myself.” 

“Do you have any dealings with the incinerator?” Sanzu asked warily. 

If only one, thanks to you... “Trust me. There won't be a trace of her.” 

“How can I trust you? You're in the police. We live in two different worlds and follow completely different codes in life...” 

“Really?” You asked quietly. “So what am I doing here, offering you another way to get rid of the problem?” 

“You're baiting me.” 

“You have a gun, a mental disorder, and two bodyguards. You can get rid of me too and it will be over.” 

“Mikey hasn’t changed his mind.” Sanzu reminded you and you nodded, letting him know you knew that perfectly well. “Where did you get the connections at the waste incinerator?” 

“I helped someone and maybe paid a not-so-exorbitant price... Maybe mentioning a few words about Bonten...” You started to explain, but at the mention of the syndicate Sanzu’s hand shot out in your direction and you felt the cold barrel of a gun on your temple. “With the consent of whomever it takes, of course.” 

“Who?” The other one growled. 

“Ask your buddies. Where the hell am I supposed to get the money to pay whoever needs it from the waste incinerator?” 

“I don’t know anything about that.” 

“Ask them later. Now let the security guards know we’re not going to the waterfront.” 

“Fuck you. You won't tell me what to do.” 

You held your breath, waiting for the shot, but at that same moment, as if a sign from God, the pink-haired gangster’s phone rang. He cursed and fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket with his other hand. 

“What do you want?” He asked nervously, but all you could hear was a male voice you couldn’t identify. “What the fuck are you talking about, Kokonoi?” 

Ah, Koko... Thank you... 

“And how the fuck do you know he was at the club, huh?” The man started to move his gun away from your temple. “What? Nowhere. Huh?...” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed he put the safety on the gun and put his hand on his thighs again. Could it be...? “Yeah. Okay, I get it. Fuck...” He hung up, then immediately dialed another number. “Get off the highway at the next exit. Change destination.” 

He put his phone in his pocket and you rode in silence for a while. 

You kept wondering what Kokonoi had told him that made the gangster listen without much protest. 

“Tomorrow at the same time as usual and in the same place as always, there will be a package waiting for you from Kokonoi.” Sanzu finally said in a voice that sounded rather dry. “What the fuck is going on, L/n?” 

“After today's adventure, I guess you'll have to ask your leader that question.” You answered him calmly. “You have to find out about everything. It's about time." 

<PREVIOUS/NEXT>

[violetganache42]

Highlights from tonight's watch party filled with framing, whodunnits, and mystery galore (Sorry about your laptop problems and all our lag complaints, WriteBackAtYa):

"No":

Scrooge and the triplets making an appearance

Mortimer's voice

Mickey being a people pleaser

WriteBackAtYa commenting how we love saying our favorite characters' names whenever they appear onscreen

Me: "PLUS INTEREST?!"

"Duckman of Aquatraz":

Story Blossom: "Would've been awesome if Webby kissed a shark in the new series" spamtoon: "its okay because huey kissed a worm"

ACAB!!!

Even in the original series, Louie is always trying to talk his way out of shit

The idea of Glomgold walking into court blasting Queen's "We Are The Champions" in a similar vein as the "All I Do Is Win" scene

"WHY, BEAKLEY?!"

Duckburg's court and its judge fucking suck

"NOT THE PAINTING!"

Scrooge effortlessly defeating the prisoners in arm wrestling

MORE SCROOGE AND WEBBY MOMENTS 😭💖

Mad Dog being a mama's boy

This whole episode showcasing how prisoners are people too

melcat33: "Mad Dog was like 'this is my comfort millionaire'"

The Scrooge x Mad Dog ship setting sail

This episode also reminding us on why the legal system sucks

Glomgold taking the time to hang up a painting of Scrooge

"McMystery at McDuck McManor!":

Donald fleeing to his car like:

"Literally the oldest person he knows?"

The entire table read of this episode from Disney Channel Fan Fest 2018

Scrooge being a sulking Grumpy Gills. XD

DJ Daft Duck

Godfrey and I being on the same wavelength yet again (To quote Godfrey, "Insert 'Perception Check' by Tom Cardy")

Scrooge being SO against celebrating his birthday that he straight up lagged and froze the Discord stream (Dude, WTF?)

THE BUTLER DID IT

Mist Opportunity

"I hate this already."/"OH, YEAH. :)"/"You can't get that helmet off, can you?"/"OH, NO. :'("

Black Arts Beagle is best Beagle Boy

DT-87

The stream lagging on the part where Scrooge walks into a sliding glass door 😭 (I know it's because of WriteBackAtYa's laptop, but for the sake of levity, let's say it was Scrooge's doing again and he did it because that part fucking embarrasses him.)

Mark saying Glomgold sucks at the whole "trying to kill Scrooge" thing (Rare Mark Beaks W)

THE DUKE IS BACK

"Since when did I have to become the adult in the room? I'M NOT CUT OUT TO BE THE ADULT!"

Huey doing a Scrooge impression

"Don't kill me! I barely lived! #YOLO #FOMO #AHHH"

Duckworth's reaction to seeing the axe fall down to the floor

Duckworth and Beakley's beef with each other

"Clock Cleaners":

Snoozer male stork

Learning A New Hope was paired with "Duck Dodgers in the 24th 1/2 Century" for its screenings

Realizing we were watching the edited version of the short where Donald says "Aw, nuts."

The return of Max's real mother

The Great Mouse Detective:

Me sharing which DT/DWD character would be who in a GMD-themed AU way before the movie started

Us getting excited at hearing Alan Young's voice

Cheerful music playing right after a sad moment (Hiram getting kidnapped) = Last Crash ending vibes

A new server emoji of Mark Beaks getting shot point blank for dabbing

Tokuvivor: "The world's smallest violin" Caroline: "Let me play you a song on the world's smallest violin" Me: "Basil, this is serious."

Learning Vincent Price is in this movie

Sharing a GMD Lorcana card during "The World's Greatest Criminal Mind"

"Flaversham."/"Whatever."

teleportzz: "literally every man in this is so gay so far" puffywuffy8904: "or are they just european" Story Blossom: "Or are they gay AND european?"

Basil's face when Toby sat on Olivia's command

OLIVIA SAYING UNCLE BASIL 😭💖

Hiram and Olivia reminding Puffy and I of Scrooge and Webby (I AM GETTING FUCKING EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT AS WE SPEAK.)

Ratigan upon learning Fidget's list is missing:

Basil x Dawson being the movie's equivalent of DWD91!Drakepad

Story Blossom pointing out how Miss Kitty is basically Goldie

The bar fight scene in a nutshell:

"There is no Queen of England."

Ratigan's royalty drip

WriteBackAtYa: "He's supreme like a taco from Taco Bell"

Basil trying to imprison Ratigan: "Officer, arrest that man!"

The entire Big Ben scene and how well the 2D and CGI animations blended together

Learning that the ballroom scene from Beauty and the Beast was the first Disney and Pixar collaboration

According to melcat33, Basil not skipping leg day saved his life

puffywuffy8904: "and they were roomates" Me: "Oh, my God. They were roommates."

Ratigan's "Goodbye So Soon" diddy playing during the end credits

[somethingkindazainy]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Graphic descriptions of Violence, foul language throughout, alcohol use, non-con(mxf) ♧ MINORS DNI

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 1 - Parley ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 3 - Broken Compass >>

Chapter 2: The DLC

♢ ♧January - 2024♤ ♡

Minho leans against the bar, sips his water, and studies his surroundings.

The club he’s in, The DLC, has recently come up for auction, and Minho is here to assess it for potential investment. Unlike other buyers, he didn’t come here when the place was empty. It’s a nightclub, in his opinion, nightclubs are best viewed at night when it’s filled with customers. 

Assessing property is usually Seungmin's niche. Seungmin can look at things, know in his mind what it will cost to put things right, and whether it could become a viable, profitable enterprise. Seungmin would’ve visited when it was empty, a tape measure and calculator in hand and asked smart questions about turnover, footfall and margins. But Seungmin is very much a thinker, a planner, a to-do list maker. Minho is a move first, ask for forgiveness later kind of guy and doesn’t have anything except an instinctual gut feeling.

Instinctively, he feels it has potential. So far, Minho likes the location. It’s in a good area of Seoul, just south of the river and the place is heaving. The security is a little lacking, he is currently sitting at the bar with a knuckle duster in one pocket and his knife in a shoulder holster. Security would definitely need improving, but Hyunjin could easily see to that. The DJ is good, adapting his noisy music to suit the crowd. Minho would keep him on if their bid is successful, perhaps see if he’d split his time between venues. There are male and female dancers on podiums high above the dance floor, wearing little more than glitter and body paint, their gyrations keeping the crowds entertained and invigorated. He wants to keep them too. His Father will hate it. Which is another reason Minho wants it.

“Sammy! Scotch on the rocks,” a panting voice to his right says to the barman.

Minho glances at him, only a second, but within that he captures the honey colour of the young mans skin, adorned with silver jewellery, the beads of sweat on his forehead. Black hair pasted to the nape of his neck and a black silk shirt. He sees all that in one brief glance.

“Oh, hello new face,” the young man says now. A hand with several silver rings, fingers Minho’s tie. “Not the usual dress code for a night on the town.”

Minho slews his gaze over to him. The young man is facing him now, his face is sort of round, his eyes large and dark, in part because he’s wearing heavy eyeliner. Minho quite likes his smile. It’s wide and bright. 

“I’m working,” Minho says coolly. 

“Oh,” the young man lets go of his tie. “So this is very much a business not pleasure visitation? Or are you mixing the two?”

Minho sips his water, averts his gaze, “Very much business.”

The young man hums, “Well that’s a little disappointing.” He leans back against the bar, his elbow only a hair width from Minho’s own. “Now, what line of business could you possibly be in, wearing a suit to a nightclub? Don’t tell me—” he theatrically purses his lips. “Maybe you’re a talent scout for one of those big companies, out here looking for the next big thing in k-pop?” he steps in front of Minho’s eye line, and now Minho can see him in his entirety. He’s wearing a black silk shirt, tucked into black torn jeans which are in turn tucked into black almost knee high combat boots. His legs are slightly bowed and his waist is grabbable. “I could be him!”

Minho snorts.

“Judgemental,” the young man says, but he’s still smiling that smile. “I’d be an ace, just so you know.”

“Your drink, sir,” says the barman from behind Minho.

“Thanks Sammy,” the young man steps forward, steps between Minho’s legs, his hand flat against Minho’s chest and Minho is fighting to keep his breath even, but knows that his heart rate is betraying him. The young man smells of whisky and sweat and something else, not aftershave, but something that is very warm and pleasant, almost earthy.

“I’m not buying what you’re trying to sell,” Minho says into his ear and he sees the young man’s lip quirk. Probably because he knows Minho is lying. Perhaps he can sense that Minho wants him to.

“Oh, sweetheart, you couldn’t afford me if I were selling,” he pushes himself away, Minho’s tie slipping through his fingers as he drinks from his whisky glass, his throat bobbing. “And I don’t give it away either,” and he winks as he turns away, disappearing down the stairs back to the dance floor.

Minho swallows, takes a breath. Clears his throat. He feels like he’s done five rounds in the ring with Nikko. Part of him is annoyed that the young man had the audacity to touch him. The other, slightly larger part, is annoyed that he had enjoyed it. He raises his bottle to his lips, but the bottle is empty. 

“Another, sir?” The barman is good. Minho decides he’ll keep him on too.

“No thanks,” Minho stands, pulls out his wallet. “Sammy, is it?”

“Sam, sir,” the barman is close to Minho’s age. He has intricate tattoos on his forearms, a warm smile and soft brown eyes. He’s well built, muscles pulling at the seams of his shirt and a whole head taller than Minho.

“You know the gentleman that just ordered the scotch on the rocks?”

“Jisung? Yes, he’s a regular, sir. He comes here every Friday.”

“Why Friday?”

 Sam shrugs, “Probably the DJ, sir. His set is Friday. Friday’s are our most popular night.”

Minho absorbs this little tit-bit. “Would your manager be available to speak with?”

“Uh, we don’t currently have a manager, sir. Is there a problem? Perhaps I can assist?”

“No, no problem,” Minho hands Sam his business card, “I’m thinking of buying this place. I’m just wondering if there’s a reason I shouldn’t.”

Sam considers his business card for a moment. Eyes him warily.

“All confidential,” Minho assures him.

“You seem like a decent fella, so I’ll tell you why you probably want to look elsewhere,” Sam tucks the card into his pocket, leans forward on the bar. “We’ve had some trouble with the Park family. Have you heard of them?”

“I’m familiar.” There’s always a fucking catch. “What kind of trouble?”

“Drugs, mostly. They’ve been in here pushing, claiming whatever pill they have is something it’s not. We had a few OD’s last year. The owner put things in place to help prevent harm to the punters. The dancers are linked to security through ear pieces, they have a good vantage point of the surroundings, see. We have staff in the toilets now. We’re doing what we can, but I think the owner received some threats, and that’s why he’s dipping out. I don’t really know more than that.”

“Where is the current owner?”

“Last I heard, he ran off to Jeju with his family. Then this place went on the market the very next day. Wasn’t a nice way to hear you’re about to lose your job.”

“But you all stayed?”

“A few cut and run, including the managers, but I’ve been here six years. Many of the dancers too. I care about this place, and the staff. It seems unreasonable just to leave because there’s some asshats trying to ruin things. And…” he hesitates. “We’re LGBTQ+ friendly, sir.” Minho keeps his expression neutral. “There aren’t many places like this in Seoul. I don’t think many new buyers will be okay with that. The people that stayed, stayed because there isn’t anywhere safe for them to go. There isn’t anywhere else where they can be themselves.”

Minho decides he really likes Sam. It’s a gut feeling. “Thank you, Sam,” he drops some money on the bar. “Get yourself a drink.”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t–”

“Give it to charity, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

Sam nods.

“And,” Minho drops more money on the counter. “Get a drink for Jisung.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I say it came from you?”

Discreet too. If Minho’s bid is unsuccessful, he’s finding somewhere for Sam. He’d find somewhere for all of them. “Tell him it’s from the talent scout.”

“’Talent scout’, yes, sir.”

“And Sam, if the Parks start trouble, don’t waste your time calling the police, you reach me on the number on that card.”

Sam smiles, reaches behind the bar and pulls out a baseball bat studded with nails, holds it on the counter. “I think I can handle a few thugs, but sure, if something crops up that I think we can’t handle, I’ll give you a call.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

“You bought this place?” Seungmin is massaging his temple with his fingers. 

It's been a month since his first visit. A week since the paperwork was signed and sealed and now The DLC is officially Clowder owned. There was no auction. Minho just made an offer too good to refuse. After that, everything happened swiftly. He’s feeling really rather proud of himself. “Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Seungmin sighs and it’s quite amazing that his sigh is audible above the bass of the electronic music.

Minho chuckles, “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not viable,” Seungmin says. “Cosmetics alone will put this place in the red.”

“We’ll make it back,” Minho says. “Look at it! It’s popular.”

“It’s south of the river.”

“So? We’re expanding.”

“Father will hate it,” Seungmin pointedly nods at a tall male dancer with chocolate coloured skin, on a podium wearing metallic silver short shorts and angel wings. Nothing more. His female counterpart is wearing devil horns, a red thong and platform heels. Seungmin has gone a pretty shade of pink.

“He doesn’t like any of our places. And the fact this is south of the river means he’s unlikely to stop by for a visit. And there’s ten flats above this that I now own as well.”

“Well,” Seungmin considers this. “That’s good. The rent from them will keep this place afloat. What’s the return on each?”

“Nothing, the tenants all work here. Their last landlord stiffed them, so I’ve said they only have to pay their electric, water  and rates. In exchange they keep this place clean and going. It’s a win-win.”

Seungmin’s side eye is next level. “I am running out of fucks. You literally have no business sense.” Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose you’ve gone and done it now, so I have to come in and sort out the mess you’ve made.”

“That’s our dynamic isn’t it?” Minho signals at Sam who is hovering at the far end of the bar. “Seungmin, this is the manager, Sam. Sam, this is my brother Seungmin.”

Sam bows courteously, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Hello,” Seungmin says soullessly.

“Sam, will you show Seungmin the books? He’ll want to see everything you have, so I’d prepare some coffee. And be candid with him. There’s no secrets when it comes to my brother. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to getting to the truth of things.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“Of course, sir. If it’s okay with you, I will arrange some cover for the bar and we can go to the office?”

Seungmin nods and Sam walks to the far end of the bar.

“Why’s the manager working the bar?”

“He doesn’t like being idle and he was the barman when I took over. I’m not about to argue with him.”

“You kept the original staff?”

“Yes and made Sam manager. The staff like him, and they trust him and so do I. He seems like a good man. And I’ve bought the exclusivity of the DJ. He’ll only perform at our clubs going forward. Hyunjin's coming in over the weekend to work on tightening the security.”

“This is getting worse,” Seungmin sighs and stands. “I should have brought two red pens.”

“You love it,” Minho winks at him. “I bet your nerdy little soul is getting hard just thinking about all those receipts out of order and dusty account books and—”

“I can not emphasise this enough: fuck you,” but he’s smiling. 

“—spreadsheets,” Minho groans, then laughs when Seungmin thwacks him on the shoulder.

Sam returns, he’s found a female member to cover the bar for him. “Shall we, sir?”

“Sam, every time you call me ‘sir’, I get heartburn and turn around looking for my old man. You can call me Seungmin.”

Sam smiles, “Of course. If you’d like to follow me?”

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Seungmin says with the air of someone threatening one’s life. As he passes, he very deliberately hits Minho’s knee with his briefcase. Smirks.

Minho flips him off.

“That’s not very demure,” a familiar voice says now. 

Minho is smiling before he turns to look at him. Tonight Jisung is wearing a silk leopard print shirt over a tight black top. His waist pinched in black trousers. He’s wearing his usual combat boots. “Have you been lurking?”

“Me? No, I’ve been on the dance floor.” He looks Minho up and down, “Oh, dear, you’re still working. Do you ever get a night off?”

“I literally just clocked off for the night.”

“Hmm,” Jisung reaches over and loosens Minho’s tie. Undoes the top button of his shirt, his fingers feel warm as they brush Minho’s skin. “That’s a bit better. Now you look like someone who’s just clocked off.” He leans against the bar on one elbow. It accentuates the curve of his waist, his hip jutting out just so. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it takes an incredible amount of effort for Minho not to look. “Who was the cutey you were with?”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Maybe,” Jisung smiles, nods to the lady behind the bar, who immediately starts preparing his drink. “Are you going to drink tonight?”

“I’m driving.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know how to have fun. And you haven’t answered my question about your handsome male friend.”

“He’s my brother,” Minho says simply. “And you sound like someone who doesn’t know how to have fun without alcohol.”

“Sometimes, alcohol just makes things feel better.” Jisung looks at the glass of whisky that the bar staff has just placed in front of him. His smile has cooled, his eyes taking on a far off look. He looks kind of… sad, which doesn’t suit him. “Can I tell you a secret?” His fingers are touching Minho’s now, feather soft, ticklish touches. His finger tips are calloused, but still softer than Minho’s

Minho watches Jisung's thumb trace his scarred knuckles. Waits.

“I’m actually a very shy person in the real world.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Minho says, allowing his fingers to trace the creases on Jisung’s palm. 

Jisung smiles at him, let’s go, starts to walk backwards, “Maybe I’ll see you on the dance floor?” and too soon he’s gone, lost in the throng of the revellers. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the girl behind the bar says. “He didn’t take his drink.”

Minho unknots his tie, wraps it around his hand and drops it into his coat pocket. He’s warm, and he knows it has very little, if anything, to do with the temperature of the club. He walks over to the railings overlooking the dance floor. It doesn’t take him long to find Jisung in the centre, dancing with two female companions. A girl wearing a scarlet mini dress is at his front, a girl in a royal blue bodysuit is behind him, both grinding up on him. Jisung’s hands are on the girl-in-red’s thighs, the girl-in-blue is kissing his neck and he is biting his lip. As Minho watches, the girls alternate between kissing each other and kissing Jisung’s neck, their pretty little hands smoothing over Jisung's chest, his waist, his thighs. Minho feels heat rising in his chest. His knuckles whiten against the railings. And now Jisung opens his eyes and he looks directly at Minho. No, not at him, into him. Even from here, he must be able to sense Minho’s desire. Minho’s jealousy. 

Feeling hot and going dumb, Minho pushes away from the railing, walks to the exit onto the rain slicked street. Grateful for the coolness of the late night air. He turns right into the alley running alongside the club, to cut through to his car, parked a block away. It’s a habit he hasn’t broken out of since one of his brother's cars was firebombed a few years back.

“Didn’t you enjoy the show?”

Minho pauses, glances over his shoulder at Jisung who is walking towards him, looking fine despite the lip gloss staining his throat. Minho pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Not really my thing.”

“The girls, or me, or the combination?” Jisung asks teasingly. 

Minho knows he already knows the answer to that, but still makes sure to smirk at him, “All of the above.”

Jisung is very close now, he smells of warm whisky, sweat, perfume and that other smell that underlies all that. That intoxicating one. A heady, earthy smell. “Hmm, he lies too,” Jisung says, his fingers and thumb rubbing the fabric of Minho’s coat collar. “So why don’t you tell me what it is you do like?”

“I think you’re drunk,” Minho tells him.

“I assure you I’m not as drunk as I should be,” Jisung's fingers brush Minho’s belt and Minho seizes hold of his wrist, wrenches it away, which takes a lot of effort and willpower on his part. Jisung pouts and something about the look suggests to Minho that he’s someone who is used to getting what he wants. It’s wrong of him to show that. In part, because Minho finds the look a bit of a turn on, “What are you scared of?”

“I think you have that the wrong way round,” Minho leans forward, his breath warm against Jisung’s ear. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle me even on your best day.”

“You quite sure about that?” Jisung says and his lips brush the spot below Minho’s ear which is somehow directly connected to a spot behind Minho’s belly button. He’s grateful Jisung can’t see his face at this moment.

He releases Jisung, steps back, reaches into his pocket for a business card and pen. Scribbles his personal number on the back. Holds it out.

Jisung snatches the card from him, looks at it. “Lee Minho.”

“Call me when you’re not pissed, Jisung.”

He takes a moment to marvel at the look of confusion on Jisung’s face that he already knows his name, turns on his heel and walks up the alley. 

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

At his car, he pulls off his coat, lays it in the back seat. Slides in, starts the engine and sits there. Hands tight on the steering wheel as he tries not to think about his dick, which is very much still contemplating Jisung.

His head is filled with Jisung’s scent. His skin still tingles where Jisung had touched him. Jisung had been willing, and Minho had wanted so badly to do unspeakable things to him in that alley. Why the fuck didn’t you do anything about it? 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he taps the touch screen on the centre console to read the message.

Unknown Number: I am pissed, as in angry. Hence the text. J.

“Who the fuck says hence anymore?” Minho wonders aloud as he saves the number into his personal contacts under the pseudonym, Ace. He taps a quick reply.

LM: Yeah? Why’s that?

His phone rings, he answers on the car's bluetooth handsfree. “Hey Seungmin. Are you done already?”

“Hardly. I’m taking some books and a hard drive home with me.”

“You dirty boy.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says, but Minho can hear the amusement in his voice. Through the line he can hear the bass of the music. Can imagine he’s still sitting in the back office of the club, arms deep in a bag of receipts.

“How’d you get on?”

“We might have a bit of a problem.”

“With Sam?”

“No, you’re right about him, decent bloke. I met a few of the staff and they all respect him. Sam already had the books and all that organised after you made him manager. Took him a week to sort through. Apparently the other managers were a bit nonchalant about bookkeeping. But Sam seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Oh, lord, did I find your ideal? Can I be the best man at your wedding?”

“If I ever get married, you won’t be invited.”

“But I already have the perfect calculator picked out.”

“Min, can you stop pissing about and listen to me for a second? The problem is the Parks.”

“Yeah, Sam mentioned the drug problem last year, but it seems like that’s died off since they put new measures in place.”

“Yeah, well, there might be a reason for that. It looks like the previous owner was syphoning off some of the profits and paying them off.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Minho slaps the steering wheel. “You are kidding me?”

His phone buzzes and a new message flashes on the console. 

Ace: you got me all horny and left me.

“No. It’s the only thing Sam and I can come up with. Every week, until the place went up for auction, there’s been a cash payment. No name, no reference, just a circle. It’s not a small number either. Sam reckons it’s started at about fifteen percent of the weekly intake, but it’s been steadily increasing. I haven’t looked at the numbers too closely, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think Sam’s wrong. The most recent payments sit at about forty percent. The only time it differentiates is if there’s a missed payment. The following payment almost triples.”

“Late payment fee,” Minho is staring at the ceiling of his car, cursing the Parks, the higher powers and himself. 

“Looks like it. And that’s before rates and wages and stock— ”

“— fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin sighs. Minho realises that Seungmin sighs a lot when Minho’s involved. “It’s not good.”

“Protection money?” no wonder why the previous owner practically bit his hand off on the first offer. Minho considers ways he can find him, maybe make him see the errors of his ways…

Ace: I’m adding tease to the list of your qualities.

“That’s what we think. Sam reckons the start of the payments tally about the time the problems with the violence and the drugs seemed to have faded out. Which he’d always thought was a bit odd, but he didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes and whenever he asked about it, he was fobbed off. It’s one of the first things he spotted when he was trying to get the books in order for you. Apparently he tried to talk to you about it, but you said something along the lines of ‘I’m not interested in the accounting side of things’.”

“He told you that, huh?”

“No. He didn’t say a thing. I filled in his discreet silence with words I can hear you saying.”

Seungmin; forever the smartest. What a pain in the arse. 

“I think that’s a form of entrapment.”

“I think you need to look before you leap next time,” Seungmin says. “So far there are five weeks unpaid, so there’s trouble round the corner. At least you bought it under the family name, it might make them hesitate to do anything stupid.”

“Ah, well… the thing about that is—”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was quicker doing it directly, through my own solicitor. I figured I’d transfer it to the family once things were up and running—”

“So the club isn’t even under the protection of the family banner? You do know you’ve fucked up, don’t you? That you’ve made a big fucking mistake?”

“Yeah, Seungmo, you don’t need to tell me—” 

“—huge, colossal, major–”

“– I said you don’t need to tell me,” Minho sighs. When the fuck did he start making mistakes like this? He’d always trusted his gut, and now… “Well this is fucking great. Make sure Hyunjin gets there first thing tomorrow. I really want the security on that place reviewed.”

“I already messaged him and gave his number to Sam. He’ll be there before ten tomorrow. I’ll see if we can speed up the transfer to the family. Which means Father will have to get involved.”

“Great. I’ll look forward to that bollocking.”

“Sucks to be you. And somewhere in between all that I’ll dig into the rest of the accounts over the weekend, see if there's an indication of where the payments went.”

“Yeah, well, use protection.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says and ends the call.

Minho stares at the hood of his car for several moments. Lifts his phone from his pocket, rereads the messages from Jisung, taps out his own.

LM: You’re making a list? What you got so far?

The response swoops back almost instantly.

Ace: It’s a work in progress. So far, you’re Trouble. Capitalised.

Great, even a stranger knows what a fucking liability I am. 

Ace: I want to do terribly explicit things to you. LM: I told you, not even on your best day…

“I’d make you beg,” Jisung says as soon as Minho answers. There is the sound of traffic and voices on the other end of the line. 

“Well, ‘hello’ to you too,” Minho says in response.

Jisung hums down the phone, “I’m really not that drunk, you know.”

“Ah, but you’ve been drinking and I’d prefer you to be fully aware of what I’m doing to you in the moment.”

“I'm totally compos mentis, if that’s what you’re worried about. You could do anything you want to me without any guilt.” The traffic noise has quietened significantly, replaced by the sound of footsteps echoing off walls. The sound of raised voices in the distance. “I’d let you do anything.”

Minho leans his head back, adjusts his trousers. 

“You still there?” 

“Hmm. Keep talking.”

Even through the phone, Minho can hear the smile in his voice. Can picture it. His pretty lips. “Is it the sound of my voice you want to hear, or certain words and phrases?”

“I like the sound of your voice, but I like the things you’re saying.”

Jisung chuckles and the sound travels straight down between Minho’s thighs. “What are you doing now?”

“Sitting in my car.” Trying not to think about my dick.

“Just sitting? Don’t you have anywhere to go?” the shouts on the other end of the line are growing louder.

“I’m debating whether to come and get you.”

“Why the debate? Come and get me,” Jisung says. 

Fuck. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Is that a promise?”

 Fuck. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m east of— hang on— OI!” Jisung's sudden shout is jarring. “What the fuck? Get the fuck away—”

There’s a male voice, “Fuck off!”

A different male voice, “Mind your business!”

A female scream, which sends a cold chill down Minho’s spine. “Jisung? What the fuck’s going on? Where the fuck are you?”

“I said get the fuck away from her!” there are more shouts, the sound of scuffling, a hard crack and the line goes dead.

Minho jams the car into drive, tyres screeching as he speeds eastwards in the direction of the club, scanning alleyways and side streets as he passes, looking for any sign of Jisung and no clue about where he was or where he was headed. He stabs at the console, trying to call Jisung back, but a feminine robotic voice says: I’m sorry, but the person you are trying to call is unavailable right now. Please try again later.

“FUCK!” Minho slaps the steering wheel, and catches sight of a young woman wearing a black dress sprinting into the road in bare feet. His tyres screech and smoke as he comes to a stop, the girl’s hands flat on the bonnet of his car. Her face stained with mascara, her lip bleeding, her left eye swelling. Minho reaches over to the passenger door, pushes it open. “Get in the car!” he yells at her.

She hesitates for only a second or two, looking over her shoulder before scrambling into the passenger seat. As soon as she is in, the door barely closed, Minho is jerking the car in the direction she appeared from, his lights illuminating a long alley too narrow for his car, and towards the back, he can see the silhouettes of five figures. 

Minho drops his phone in the woman's lap, “Call the police!” he tells her as he leaps out of the car, his left hand in his pocket finds the birthday present Felix had gifted him last year; his brass knuckle duster.

He knocks the first guy out with a teeth shattering, blood splattering left hook, before the others realise he’s even there. He disarms the second one by dislocating his shoulder, then his knee for good measure. And now he sees Jisung, wide eyed and fucking furious, his lip is split and his teeth red. He’s standing on the neck of a third man, whilst punching the shit out of the fourth. Minho grabs the fourth into a headlock, digs his knee into his spine and Jisung punches him so hard Minho feels the impact in his chest as the man slumps and falls unconscious to the ground. 

Minho bends forward, hands on his knees, the adrenaline firing through his blood. Jisung walks over to the right wall, where the fifth man is cowering, face bruised and bloodied. Judging by the unnatural angle of his hand, he has a broken arm. Bracing a hand on the wall, Jisung draws his foot back like an American football player and kicks the man full in the groin. It makes Minho wince. The cowering man slides sideways and curls in on himself and Jisung lines up another kick, but Minho steps forward, drops a hand on his shoulder.

Jisung, fist clenched, whirls on him, but Minho expects it, his forearm blocking Jisung’s. “That’s enough,” Minho says. 

Jisung doesn’t look convinced, but his shoulders relax. He backs off from the man and starts scanning the floor of the alley, nudging arms and legs with the toe of his boot.

Minho looks at the carnage, “You tried to fight—” he counts quickly, “—six men? On your own?”

“I wasn’t trying, I was doing a bloody brilliant job. Ah-ha, found it,” he crouches down, lifts an object from the floor. It’s a mobile phone, he shows it to Minho, the screen is cracked. “Cunts.”

And Minho can’t help it, he laughs. 

“We should find the girl, make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s in my car, calling the police.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, his lips pouting, as he gestures to the bruised, bloodied and broken men at his feet. “The police? Seriously?”

Minho sees his point.

Jisung rolls his eyes, starts walking towards the car at the top of the alley, the headlights shining through his silk shirt, so from here Minho can see the silhouette of his tiny waist. Jisung raises his hands level with his shoulders, approaches the car like you would approach an injured animal. He stoops down near the passenger door, “Hi my dear, are you okay? You’re safe now.”

Her wailing is too high pitched for Minho to understand her.

Minho pulls off his knuckle duster, drops it into his trouser pocket, and starts to walk back towards the car when he almost trips over a silver shoe. He figures it belongs to the woman in the car, looks for the other one, finds it a few feet away and a small black purse with a chain link handle. When he reaches the car, the passenger door is open and the girl is leaning against Jisung sobbing against his shoulder as Jisung strokes her long black hair and makes soft soothing noises against the top of her head. Minho passes Jisung the shoes and the bag, reaches into his back seat and pulls out his coat, “Here,” he says, as he drapes it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” her tiny voice says, as she sniffles. The entirety of the left side of her face is purpling and swollen. Her tiny legs are cut and bruised and there are notable bruises on her arms that look like hand marks. Minho feels sick and angry and he really hopes that he and Jisung have succeeded in killing one or two of those cunts. His urge to go back down into the alley to ensure they had been successful is cut off by the sound of sirens in the distance.

“My dear,” Jisung says gently. Cupping the girls head and looking her in the eye that hasn’t swollen shut. “I am so so sorry, but we can’t be here when the police come. You understand that, don’t you?”

The girl sniffs, takes a shaky breath and nods. She steps out of the car and Jisung supports her and helps her sit on the pavement. She tries to take the coat off her shoulders, “No,” Minho says as gently as he can. “You keep hold of that.”

Her smile is wan as she nods and pulls his coat tighter around her shoulders. 

Minho scans the area, the sirens drawing closer. “See that broken lamppost over there?” he points at a side street across the road. “We’ll be right there. We won’t go anywhere until we know you’re safe.”

The girl nods again and Jisung smiles warmly up at Minho.

Minho gets into the car, reverses it a few feet with the passenger door still open, lifts his phone off the passenger seat and waits for Jisung who is still speaking to the girl. Stroking her hair gently. The sirens are uncomfortably close now, Minho can make out the lights reflecting off buildings in the distance.

Finally, Jisung jogs over to the car, slips in and pulls the door closed. His eyes never leave the girl as Minho pulls alongside the side street, reverses into it to stop under the broken streetlight, just as he promised her. He kills the engine, blanketing them in darkness. 

A police car arrives first, a female officer sits on the pavement with the girl and holds her as she sobs and her colleague, flashlight and gun drawn, enters the alley. He returns a minute later, speaking into his radio and they are clearly asking the girl what happened and she is pointing the opposite direction to where Minho’s car is sitting. 

“Good girl,” Jisung says quietly.

Another police car arrives and the male colleague of the female officer points in the direction the girl had. Sirens wailing, the second car tears off in that direction. Now, an ambulance arrives, and the female officer, with support from a paramedic, help her into the back of it, and now the girl looks at them, smiles feebly and waves and Minho can breathe again, knowing that she is now safe.

“Did they…” he can’t bring himself to finish the question.

“No, I came across them before they…” Jisung can’t bring himself to finish the answer.

They remain in the car, watching from a comfortable distance as more police cars and ambulances arrive. They can hear the groans and moans of the men as they are loaded onto stretchers. It appears to Minho that the paramedics, especially the female ones, aren’t too worried about giving them pain meds or being gentle with them. Each ambulance departs carrying one patient and one police officer.

Jisung looks down at his hands. Blood is crusted on his skin, his knuckles torn to shreds. He looks at his shirt, blood spatter joining the leopard print spots. “I really liked this shirt,” he sighs.

Smiling, Minho starts the engine, pulls out of the side street slowly, wary that there may be officers still in the vicinity. 

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“Neither am I. But you look like you could do with something to eat. Maybe a shower?”

“Hmm,” Jisung leans his head against the passenger window. “I am hungry.”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 3 - Broken Compass

[intrikatie]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Graphic descriptions of Violence, foul language throughout, alcohol use, non-con (mxf) ♧ MINORS DNI🔞

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 1 - Parley ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 3 - Broken Compass >>

Chapter 2: The DLC

♢ ♧January - 2024♤ ♡

Minho leans against the bar, sips his water, and studies his surroundings.

The club he’s in, The DLC, has recently come up for auction, and Minho is here to assess it for potential investment. Unlike other buyers, he didn’t come here when the place was empty. It’s a nightclub, in his opinion, nightclubs are best viewed at night when it’s filled with customers. 

Assessing property is usually Seungmin's niche. Seungmin can look at things, know in his mind what it will cost to put things right, and whether it could become a viable, profitable enterprise. Seungmin would’ve visited when it was empty, a tape measure and calculator in hand and asked smart questions about turnover, footfall and margins. But Seungmin is very much a thinker, a planner, a to-do list maker. Minho is a move first, ask for forgiveness later kind of guy and doesn’t have anything except an instinctual gut feeling.

Instinctively, he feels it has potential. So far, Minho likes the location. It’s in a good area of Seoul, just south of the river and the place is heaving. The security is a little lacking, he is currently sitting at the bar with a knuckle duster in one pocket and his knife in a shoulder holster. Security would definitely need improving, but Hyunjin could easily see to that. The DJ is good, adapting his noisy music to suit the crowd. Minho would keep him on if their bid is successful, perhaps see if he’d split his time between venues. There are male and female dancers on podiums high above the dance floor, wearing little more than glitter and body paint, their gyrations keeping the crowds entertained and invigorated. He wants to keep them too. His Father will hate it. Which is another reason Minho wants it.

“Sammy! Scotch on the rocks,” a panting voice to his right says to the barman.

Minho glances at him, only a second, but within that he captures the honey colour of the young mans skin, adorned with silver jewellery, the beads of sweat on his forehead. Black hair pasted to the nape of his neck and a black silk shirt. He sees all that in one brief glance.

“Oh, hello new face,” the young man says now. A hand with several silver rings, fingers Minho’s tie. “Not the usual dress code for a night on the town.”

Minho slews his gaze over to him. The young man is facing him now, his face is sort of round, his eyes large and dark, in part because he’s wearing heavy eyeliner. Minho quite likes his smile. It’s wide and bright. 

“I’m working,” Minho says coolly. 

“Oh,” the young man lets go of his tie. “So this is very much a business not pleasure visitation? Or are you mixing the two?”

Minho sips his water, averts his gaze, “Very much business.”

The young man hums, “Well that’s a little disappointing.” He leans back against the bar, his elbow only a hair width from Minho’s own. “Now, what line of business could you possibly be in, wearing a suit to a nightclub? Don’t tell me—” he theatrically purses his lips. “Maybe you’re a talent scout for one of those big companies, out here looking for the next big thing in k-pop?” he steps in front of Minho’s eye line, and now Minho can see him in his entirety. He’s wearing a black silk shirt, tucked into black torn jeans which are in turn tucked into black almost knee high combat boots. His legs are slightly bowed and his waist is grabbable. “I could be him!”

Minho snorts.

“Judgemental,” the young man says, but he’s still smiling that smile. “I’d be an ace, just so you know.”

“Your drink, sir,” says the barman from behind Minho.

“Thanks Sammy,” the young man steps forward, steps between Minho’s legs, his hand flat against Minho’s chest and Minho is fighting to keep his breath even, but knows that his heart rate is betraying him. The young man smells of whisky and sweat and something else, not aftershave, but something that is very warm and pleasant, almost earthy.

“I’m not buying what you’re trying to sell,” Minho says into his ear and he sees the young man’s lip quirk. Probably because he knows Minho is lying. Perhaps he can sense that Minho wants him to.

“Oh, sweetheart, you couldn’t afford me if I were selling,” he pushes himself away, Minho’s tie slipping through his fingers as he drinks from his whisky glass, his throat bobbing. “And I don’t give it away either,” and he winks as he turns away, disappearing down the stairs back to the dance floor.

Minho swallows, takes a breath. Clears his throat. He feels like he’s done five rounds in the ring with Nikko. Part of him is annoyed that the young man had the audacity to touch him. The other, slightly larger part, is annoyed that he had enjoyed it. He raises his bottle to his lips, but the bottle is empty. 

“Another, sir?” The barman is good. Minho decides he’ll keep him on too.

“No thanks,” Minho stands, pulls out his wallet. “Sammy, is it?”

“Sam, sir,” the barman is close to Minho’s age. He has intricate tattoos on his forearms, a warm smile and soft brown eyes. He’s well built, muscles pulling at the seams of his shirt and a whole head taller than Minho.

“You know the gentleman that just ordered the scotch on the rocks?”

“Jisung? Yes, he’s a regular, sir. He comes here every Friday.”

“Why Friday?”

 Sam shrugs, “Probably the DJ, sir. His set is Friday. Friday’s are our most popular night.”

Minho absorbs this little tit-bit. “Would your manager be available to speak with?”

“Uh, we don’t currently have a manager, sir. Is there a problem? Perhaps I can assist?”

“No, no problem,” Minho hands Sam his business card, “I’m thinking of buying this place. I’m just wondering if there’s a reason I shouldn’t.”

Sam considers his business card for a moment. Eyes him warily.

“All confidential,” Minho assures him.

“You seem like a decent fella, so I’ll tell you why you probably want to look elsewhere,” Sam tucks the card into his pocket, leans forward on the bar. “We’ve had some trouble with the Park family. Have you heard of them?”

“I’m familiar.” There’s always a fucking catch. “What kind of trouble?”

“Drugs, mostly. They’ve been in here pushing, claiming whatever pill they have is something it’s not. We had a few OD’s last year. The owner put things in place to help prevent harm to the punters. The dancers are linked to security through ear pieces, they have a good vantage point of the surroundings, see. We have staff in the toilets now. We’re doing what we can, but I think the owner received some threats, and that’s why he’s dipping out. I don’t really know more than that.”

“Where is the current owner?”

“Last I heard, he ran off to Jeju with his family. Then this place went on the market the very next day. Wasn’t a nice way to hear you’re about to lose your job.”

“But you all stayed?”

“A few cut and run, including the managers, but I’ve been here six years. Many of the dancers too. I care about this place, and the staff. It seems unreasonable just to leave because there’s some asshats trying to ruin things. And…” he hesitates. “We’re LGBTQ+ friendly, sir.” Minho keeps his expression neutral. “There aren’t many places like this in Seoul. I don’t think many new buyers will be okay with that. The people that stayed, stayed because there isn’t anywhere safe for them to go. There isn’t anywhere else where they can be themselves.”

Minho decides he really likes Sam. It’s a gut feeling. “Thank you, Sam,” he drops some money on the bar. “Get yourself a drink.”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t–”

“Give it to charity, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

Sam nods.

“And,” Minho drops more money on the counter. “Get a drink for Jisung.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I say it came from you?”

Discreet too. If Minho’s bid is unsuccessful, he’s finding somewhere for Sam. He’d find somewhere for all of them. “Tell him it’s from the talent scout.”

“’Talent scout’, yes, sir.”

“And Sam, if the Parks start trouble, don’t waste your time calling the police, you reach me on the number on that card.”

Sam smiles, reaches behind the bar and pulls out a baseball bat studded with nails, holds it on the counter. “I think I can handle a few thugs, but sure, if something crops up that I think we can’t handle, I’ll give you a call.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

“You bought this place?” Seungmin is massaging his temple with his fingers. 

It's been a month since his first visit. A week since the paperwork was signed and sealed and now The DLC is officially Clowder owned. There was no auction. Minho just made an offer too good to refuse. After that, everything happened swiftly. He’s feeling really rather proud of himself. “Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Seungmin sighs and it’s quite amazing that his sigh is audible above the bass of the electronic music.

Minho chuckles, “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not viable,” Seungmin says. “Cosmetics alone will put this place in the red.”

“We’ll make it back,” Minho says. “Look at it! It’s popular.”

“It’s south of the river.”

“So? We’re expanding.”

“Father will hate it,” Seungmin pointedly nods at a tall male dancer with chocolate coloured skin, on a podium wearing metallic silver short shorts and angel wings. Nothing more. His female counterpart is wearing devil horns, a red thong and platform heels. Seungmin has gone a pretty shade of pink.

“He doesn’t like any of our places. And the fact this is south of the river means he’s unlikely to stop by for a visit. And there’s ten flats above this that I now own as well.”

“Well,” Seungmin considers this. “That’s good. The rent from them will keep this place afloat. What’s the return on each?”

“Nothing, the tenants all work here. Their last landlord stiffed them, so I’ve said they only have to pay their electric, water  and rates. In exchange they keep this place clean and going. It’s a win-win.”

Seungmin’s side eye is next level. “I am running out of fucks. You literally have no business sense.” Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose you’ve gone and done it now, so I have to come in and sort out the mess you’ve made.”

“That’s our dynamic isn’t it?” Minho signals at Sam who is hovering at the far end of the bar. “Seungmin, this is the manager, Sam. Sam, this is my brother Seungmin.”

Sam bows courteously, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Hello,” Seungmin says soullessly.

“Sam, will you show Seungmin the books? He’ll want to see everything you have, so I’d prepare some coffee. And be candid with him. There’s no secrets when it comes to my brother. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to getting to the truth of things.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“Of course, sir. If it’s okay with you, I will arrange some cover for the bar and we can go to the office?”

Seungmin nods and Sam walks to the far end of the bar.

“Why’s the manager working the bar?”

“He doesn’t like being idle and he was the barman when I took over. I’m not about to argue with him.”

“You kept the original staff?”

“Yes and made Sam manager. The staff like him, and they trust him and so do I. He seems like a good man. And I’ve bought the exclusivity of the DJ. He’ll only perform at our clubs going forward. Hyunjin's coming in over the weekend to work on tightening the security.”

“This is getting worse,” Seungmin sighs and stands. “I should have brought two red pens.”

“You love it,” Minho winks at him. “I bet your nerdy little soul is getting hard just thinking about all those receipts out of order and dusty account books and—”

“I can not emphasise this enough: fuck you,” but he’s smiling. 

“—spreadsheets,” Minho groans, then laughs when Seungmin thwacks him on the shoulder.

Sam returns, he’s found a female member to cover the bar for him. “Shall we, sir?”

“Sam, every time you call me ‘sir’, I get heartburn and turn around looking for my old man. You can call me Seungmin.”

Sam smiles, “Of course. If you’d like to follow me?”

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Seungmin says with the air of someone threatening one’s life. As he passes, he very deliberately hits Minho’s knee with his briefcase. Smirks.

Minho flips him off.

“That’s not very demure,” a familiar voice says now. 

Minho is smiling before he turns to look at him. Tonight Jisung is wearing a silk leopard print shirt over a tight black top. His waist pinched in black trousers. He’s wearing his usual combat boots. “Have you been lurking?”

“Me? No, I’ve been on the dance floor.” He looks Minho up and down, “Oh, dear, you’re still working. Do you ever get a night off?”

“I literally just clocked off for the night.”

“Hmm,” Jisung reaches over and loosens Minho’s tie. Undoes the top button of his shirt, his fingers feel warm as they brush Minho’s skin. “That’s a bit better. Now you look like someone who’s just clocked off.” He leans against the bar on one elbow. It accentuates the curve of his waist, his hip jutting out just so. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it takes an incredible amount of effort for Minho not to look. “Who was the cutey you were with?”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Maybe,” Jisung smiles, nods to the lady behind the bar, who immediately starts preparing his drink. “Are you going to drink tonight?”

“I’m driving.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know how to have fun. And you haven’t answered my question about your handsome male friend.”

“He’s my brother,” Minho says simply. “And you sound like someone who doesn’t know how to have fun without alcohol.”

“Sometimes, alcohol just makes things feel better.” Jisung looks at the glass of whisky that the bar staff has just placed in front of him. His smile has cooled, his eyes taking on a far off look. He looks kind of… sad, which doesn’t suit him. “Can I tell you a secret?” His fingers are touching Minho’s now, feather soft, ticklish touches. His finger tips are calloused, but still softer than Minho’s

Minho watches Jisung's thumb trace his scarred knuckles. Waits.

“I’m actually a very shy person in the real world.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Minho says, allowing his fingers to trace the creases on Jisung’s palm. 

Jisung smiles at him, let’s go, starts to walk backwards, “Maybe I’ll see you on the dance floor?” and too soon he’s gone, lost in the throng of the revellers. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the girl behind the bar says. “He didn’t take his drink.”

Minho unknots his tie, wraps it around his hand and drops it into his coat pocket. He’s warm, and he knows it has very little, if anything, to do with the temperature of the club. He walks over to the railings overlooking the dance floor. It doesn’t take him long to find Jisung in the centre, dancing with two female companions. A girl wearing a scarlet mini dress is at his front, a girl in a royal blue bodysuit is behind him, both grinding up on him. Jisung’s hands are on the girl-in-red’s thighs, the girl-in-blue is kissing his neck and he is biting his lip. As Minho watches, the girls alternate between kissing each other and kissing Jisung’s neck, their pretty little hands smoothing over Jisung's chest, his waist, his thighs. Minho feels heat rising in his chest. His knuckles whiten against the railings. And now Jisung opens his eyes and he looks directly at Minho. No, not at him, into him. Even from here, he must be able to sense Minho’s desire. Minho’s jealousy. 

Feeling hot and going dumb, Minho pushes away from the railing, walks to the exit onto the rain slicked street. Grateful for the coolness of the late night air. He turns right into the alley running alongside the club, to cut through to his car, parked a block away. It’s a habit he hasn’t broken out of since one of his brother's cars was firebombed a few years back.

“Didn’t you enjoy the show?”

Minho pauses, glances over his shoulder at Jisung who is walking towards him, looking fine despite the lip gloss staining his throat. Minho pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Not really my thing.”

“The girls, or me, or the combination?” Jisung asks teasingly. 

Minho knows he already knows the answer to that, but still makes sure to smirk at him, “All of the above.”

Jisung is very close now, he smells of warm whisky, sweat, perfume and that other smell that underlies all that. That intoxicating one. A heady, earthy smell. “Hmm, he lies too,” Jisung says, his fingers and thumb rubbing the fabric of Minho’s coat collar. “So why don’t you tell me what it is you do like?”

“I think you’re drunk,” Minho tells him.

“I assure you I’m not as drunk as I should be,” Jisung's fingers brush Minho’s belt and Minho seizes hold of his wrist, wrenches it away, which takes a lot of effort and willpower on his part. Jisung pouts and something about the look suggests to Minho that he’s someone who is used to getting what he wants. It’s wrong of him to show that. In part, because Minho finds the look a bit of a turn on, “What are you scared of?”

“I think you have that the wrong way round,” Minho leans forward, his breath warm against Jisung’s ear. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle me even on your best day.”

“You quite sure about that?” Jisung says and his lips brush the spot below Minho’s ear which is somehow directly connected to a spot behind Minho’s belly button. He’s grateful Jisung can’t see his face at this moment.

He releases Jisung, steps back, reaches into his pocket for a business card and pen. Scribbles his personal number on the back. Holds it out.

Jisung snatches the card from him, looks at it. “Lee Minho.”

“Call me when you’re not pissed, Jisung.”

He takes a moment to marvel at the look of confusion on Jisung’s face that he already knows his name, turns on his heel and walks up the alley. 

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

At his car, he pulls off his coat, lays it in the back seat. Slides in, starts the engine and sits there. Hands tight on the steering wheel as he tries not to think about his dick, which is very much still contemplating Jisung.

His head is filled with Jisung’s scent. His skin still tingles where Jisung had touched him. Jisung had been willing, and Minho had wanted so badly to do unspeakable things to him in that alley. Why the fuck didn’t you do anything about it? 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he taps the touch screen on the centre console to read the message.

Unknown Number: I am pissed, as in angry. Hence the text. J.

“Who the fuck says hence anymore?” Minho wonders aloud as he saves the number into his personal contacts under the pseudonym, Ace. He taps a quick reply.

LM: Yeah? Why’s that?

His phone rings, he answers on the car's bluetooth handsfree. “Hey Seungmin. Are you done already?”

“Hardly. I’m taking some books and a hard drive home with me.”

“You dirty boy.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says, but Minho can hear the amusement in his voice. Through the line he can hear the bass of the music. Can imagine he’s still sitting in the back office of the club, arms deep in a bag of receipts.

“How’d you get on?”

“We might have a bit of a problem.”

“With Sam?”

“No, you’re right about him, decent bloke. I met a few of the staff and they all respect him. Sam already had the books and all that organised after you made him manager. Took him a week to sort through. Apparently the other managers were a bit nonchalant about bookkeeping. But Sam seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Oh, lord, did I find your ideal? Can I be the best man at your wedding?”

“If I ever get married, you won’t be invited.”

“But I already have the perfect calculator picked out.”

“Min, can you stop pissing about and listen to me for a second? The problem is the Parks.”

“Yeah, Sam mentioned the drug problem last year, but it seems like that’s died off since they put new measures in place.”

“Yeah, well, there might be a reason for that. It looks like the previous owner was syphoning off some of the profits and paying them off.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Minho slaps the steering wheel. “You are kidding me?”

His phone buzzes and a new message flashes on the console. 

Ace: you got me all horny and left me.

“No. It’s the only thing Sam and I can come up with. Every week, until the place went up for auction, there’s been a cash payment. No name, no reference, just a circle. It’s not a small number either. Sam reckons it’s started at about fifteen percent of the weekly intake, but it’s been steadily increasing. I haven’t looked at the numbers too closely, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think Sam’s wrong. The most recent payments sit at about forty percent. The only time it differentiates is if there’s a missed payment. The following payment almost triples.”

“Late payment fee,” Minho is staring at the ceiling of his car, cursing the Parks, the higher powers and himself. 

“Looks like it. And that’s before rates and wages and stock— ”

“— fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin sighs. Minho realises that Seungmin sighs a lot when Minho’s involved. “It’s not good.”

“Protection money?” no wonder why the previous owner practically bit his hand off on the first offer. Minho considers ways he can find him, maybe make him see the errors of his ways…

Ace: I’m adding tease to the list of your qualities.

“That’s what we think. Sam reckons the start of the payments tally about the time the problems with the violence and the drugs seemed to have faded out. Which he’d always thought was a bit odd, but he didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes and whenever he asked about it, he was fobbed off. It’s one of the first things he spotted when he was trying to get the books in order for you. Apparently he tried to talk to you about it, but you said something along the lines of ‘I’m not interested in the accounting side of things’.”

“He told you that, huh?”

“No. He didn’t say a thing. I filled in his discreet silence with words I can hear you saying.”

Seungmin; forever the smartest. What a pain in the arse. 

“I think that’s a form of entrapment.”

“I think you need to look before you leap next time,” Seungmin says. “So far there are five weeks unpaid, so there’s trouble round the corner. At least you bought it under the family name, it might make them hesitate to do anything stupid.”

“Ah, well… the thing about that is—”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was quicker doing it directly, through my own solicitor. I figured I’d transfer it to the family once things were up and running—”

“So the club isn’t even under the protection of the family banner? You do know you’ve fucked up, don’t you? That you’ve made a big fucking mistake?”

“Yeah, Seungmo, you don’t need to tell me—” 

“—huge, colossal, major–”

“– I said you don’t need to tell me,” Minho sighs. When the fuck did he start making mistakes like this? He’d always trusted his gut, and now… “Well this is fucking great. Make sure Hyunjin gets there first thing tomorrow. I really want the security on that place reviewed.”

“I already messaged him and gave his number to Sam. He’ll be there before ten tomorrow. I’ll see if we can speed up the transfer to the family. Which means Father will have to get involved.”

“Great. I’ll look forward to that bollocking.”

“Sucks to be you. And somewhere in between all that I’ll dig into the rest of the accounts over the weekend, see if there's an indication of where the payments went.”

“Yeah, well, use protection.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says and ends the call.

Minho stares at the hood of his car for several moments. Lifts his phone from his pocket, rereads the messages from Jisung, taps out his own.

LM: You’re making a list? What you got so far?

The response swoops back almost instantly.

Ace: It’s a work in progress. So far, you’re Trouble. Capitalised.

Great, even a stranger knows what a fucking liability I am. 

Ace: I want to do terribly explicit things to you. LM: I told you, not even on your best day…

“I’d make you beg,” Jisung says as soon as Minho answers. There is the sound of traffic and voices on the other end of the line. 

“Well, ‘hello’ to you too,” Minho says in response.

Jisung hums down the phone, “I’m really not that drunk, you know.”

“Ah, but you’ve been drinking and I’d prefer you to be fully aware of what I’m doing to you in the moment.”

“I'm totally compos mentis, if that’s what you’re worried about. You could do anything you want to me without any guilt.” The traffic noise has quietened significantly, replaced by the sound of footsteps echoing off walls. The sound of raised voices in the distance. “I’d let you do anything.”

Minho leans his head back, adjusts his trousers. 

“You still there?” 

“Hmm. Keep talking.”

Even through the phone, Minho can hear the smile in his voice. Can picture it. His pretty lips. “Is it the sound of my voice you want to hear, or certain words and phrases?”

“I like the sound of your voice, but I like the things you’re saying.”

Jisung chuckles and the sound travels straight down between Minho’s thighs. “What are you doing now?”

“Sitting in my car.” Trying not to think about my dick.

“Just sitting? Don’t you have anywhere to go?” the shouts on the other end of the line are growing louder.

“I’m debating whether to come and get you.”

“Why the debate? Come and get me,” Jisung says. 

Fuck. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Is that a promise?”

 Fuck. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m east of— hang on— OI!” Jisung's sudden shout is jarring. “What the fuck? Get the fuck away—”

There’s a male voice, “Fuck off!”

A different male voice, “Mind your business!”

A female scream, which sends a cold chill down Minho’s spine. “Jisung? What the fuck’s going on? Where the fuck are you?”

“I said get the fuck away from her!” there are more shouts, the sound of scuffling, a hard crack and the line goes dead.

Minho jams the car into drive, tyres screeching as he speeds eastwards in the direction of the club, scanning alleyways and side streets as he passes, looking for any sign of Jisung and no clue about where he was or where he was headed. He stabs at the console, trying to call Jisung back, but a feminine robotic voice says: I’m sorry, but the person you are trying to call is unavailable right now. Please try again later.

“FUCK!” Minho slaps the steering wheel, and catches sight of a young woman wearing a black dress sprinting into the road in bare feet. His tyres screech and smoke as he comes to a stop, the girl’s hands flat on the bonnet of his car. Her face stained with mascara, her lip bleeding, her left eye swelling. Minho reaches over to the passenger door, pushes it open. “Get in the car!” he yells at her.

She hesitates for only a second or two, looking over her shoulder before scrambling into the passenger seat. As soon as she is in, the door barely closed, Minho is jerking the car in the direction she appeared from, his lights illuminating a long alley too narrow for his car, and towards the back, he can see the silhouettes of five figures. 

Minho drops his phone in the woman's lap, “Call the police!” he tells her as he leaps out of the car, his left hand in his pocket finds the birthday present Felix had gifted him last year; his brass knuckle duster.

He knocks the first guy out with a teeth shattering, blood splattering left hook, before the others realise he’s even there. He disarms the second one by dislocating his shoulder, then his knee for good measure. And now he sees Jisung, wide eyed and fucking furious, his lip is split and his teeth red. He’s standing on the neck of a third man, whilst punching the shit out of the fourth. Minho grabs the fourth into a headlock, digs his knee into his spine and Jisung punches him so hard Minho feels the impact in his chest as the man slumps and falls unconscious to the ground. 

Minho bends forward, hands on his knees, the adrenaline firing through his blood. Jisung walks over to the right wall, where the fifth man is cowering, face bruised and bloodied. Judging by the unnatural angle of his hand, he has a broken arm. Bracing a hand on the wall, Jisung draws his foot back like an American football player and kicks the man full in the groin. It makes Minho wince. The cowering man slides sideways and curls in on himself and Jisung lines up another kick, but Minho steps forward, drops a hand on his shoulder.

Jisung, fist clenched, whirls on him, but Minho expects it, his forearm blocking Jisung’s. “That’s enough,” Minho says. 

Jisung doesn’t look convinced, but his shoulders relax. He backs off from the man and starts scanning the floor of the alley, nudging arms and legs with the toe of his boot.

Minho looks at the carnage, “You tried to fight—” he counts quickly, “—six men? On your own?”

“I wasn’t trying, I was doing a bloody brilliant job. Ah-ha, found it,” he crouches down, lifts an object from the floor. It’s a mobile phone, he shows it to Minho, the screen is cracked. “Cunts.”

And Minho can’t help it, he laughs. 

“We should find the girl, make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s in my car, calling the police.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, his lips pouting, as he gestures to the bruised, bloodied and broken men at his feet. “The police? Seriously?”

Minho sees his point.

Jisung rolls his eyes, starts walking towards the car at the top of the alley, the headlights shining through his silk shirt, so from here Minho can see the silhouette of his tiny waist. Jisung raises his hands level with his shoulders, approaches the car like you would approach an injured animal. He stoops down near the passenger door, “Hi my dear, are you okay? You’re safe now.”

Her wailing is too high pitched for Minho to understand her.

Minho pulls off his knuckle duster, drops it into his trouser pocket, and starts to walk back towards the car when he almost trips over a silver shoe. He figures it belongs to the woman in the car, looks for the other one, finds it a few feet away and a small black purse with a chain link handle. When he reaches the car, the passenger door is open and the girl is leaning against Jisung sobbing against his shoulder as Jisung strokes her long black hair and makes soft soothing noises against the top of her head. Minho passes Jisung the shoes and the bag, reaches into his back seat and pulls out his coat, “Here,” he says, as he drapes it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” her tiny voice says, as she sniffles. The entirety of the left side of her face is purpling and swollen. Her tiny legs are cut and bruised and there are notable bruises on her arms that look like hand marks. Minho feels sick and angry and he really hopes that he and Jisung have succeeded in killing one or two of those cunts. His urge to go back down into the alley to ensure they had been successful is cut off by the sound of sirens in the distance.

“My dear,” Jisung says gently. Cupping the girls head and looking her in the eye that hasn’t swollen shut. “I am so so sorry, but we can’t be here when the police come. You understand that, don’t you?”

The girl sniffs, takes a shaky breath and nods. She steps out of the car and Jisung supports her and helps her sit on the pavement. She tries to take the coat off her shoulders, “No,” Minho says as gently as he can. “You keep hold of that.”

Her smile is wan as she nods and pulls his coat tighter around her shoulders. 

Minho scans the area, the sirens drawing closer. “See that broken lamppost over there?” he points at a side street across the road. “We’ll be right there. We won’t go anywhere until we know you’re safe.”

The girl nods again and Jisung smiles warmly up at Minho.

Minho gets into the car, reverses it a few feet with the passenger door still open, lifts his phone off the passenger seat and waits for Jisung who is still speaking to the girl. Stroking her hair gently. The sirens are uncomfortably close now, Minho can make out the lights reflecting off buildings in the distance.

Finally, Jisung jogs over to the car, slips in and pulls the door closed. His eyes never leave the girl as Minho pulls alongside the side street, reverses into it to stop under the broken streetlight, just as he promised her. He kills the engine, blanketing them in darkness. 

A police car arrives first, a female officer sits on the pavement with the girl and holds her as she sobs and her colleague, flashlight and gun drawn, enters the alley. He returns a minute later, speaking into his radio and they are clearly asking the girl what happened and she is pointing the opposite direction to where Minho’s car is sitting. 

“Good girl,” Jisung says quietly.

Another police car arrives and the male colleague of the female officer points in the direction the girl had. Sirens wailing, the second car tears off in that direction. Now, an ambulance arrives, and the female officer, with support from a paramedic, help her into the back of it, and now the girl looks at them, smiles feebly and waves and Minho can breathe again, knowing that she is now safe.

“Did they…” he can’t bring himself to finish the question.

“No, I came across them before they…” Jisung can’t bring himself to finish the answer.

They remain in the car, watching from a comfortable distance as more police cars and ambulances arrive. They can hear the groans and moans of the men as they are loaded onto stretchers. It appears to Minho that the paramedics, especially the female ones, aren’t too worried about giving them pain meds or being gentle with them. Each ambulance departs carrying one patient and one police officer.

Jisung looks down at his hands. Blood is crusted on his skin, his knuckles torn to shreds. He looks at his shirt, blood spatter joining the leopard print spots. “I really liked this shirt,” he sighs.

Smiling, Minho starts the engine, pulls out of the side street slowly, wary that there may be officers still in the vicinity. 

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“Neither am I. But you look like you could do with something to eat. Maybe a shower?”

“Hmm,” Jisung leans his head against the passenger window. “I am hungry.”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

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TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 3 - Broken Compass