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deepdisireslonging · 2 months

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Reassurance

Bruce and the Reader are kidnapped by Two-Face. Their kidnapper wants to make the Batman choose, unknowing that the Batman who shows up isn’t the one he expected. After being rescued, Bruce reassures you and himself that you two are safe. Which is something he needs after being completely helpless to do anything to protect you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reporter!Reader

Warnings/Promises: canon-level danger and violence, near-death experience, angst, SMUT, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, fluff

Word Count: 3500

Note: This heavily reliant on the events of the Dark Knight trilogy. As well as being inspired by the 1995 “Batman Forever” situation with that version of Harvey Dent. It’s a bunch of plot for the express purpose of getting Bruce Wayne into ravenous, desperate smut with his lady-love. With that in mind, happy reading!

It had all happened so fast.

One minute, Bruce had been giving a toast. It had been another successful fundraiser downtown. The next, guns were stuttering and the guests were pressed against the floor as their valuables were removed. You were separated from the diamond bracelet Bruce had given you last Christmas. And Bruce hesitantly gave away his father’s signet ring. (But at ease knowing it was a replica. As was your bracelet.)

Two Face strode through the room. He paused between you and Bruce. With his charred face, he glared at you. You with your constant stream of news releases and exposés that kept uncovering his plans. And you, always able to evade him, until tonight. With his unblemished face, contorted with hate, he glared down at Bruce.

“Harvey –” he tried.

“Shut up!” Harvey Dent aimed his gun at Bruce’s chest. In his other hand, his fingers twiddled his fateful coin. He didn’t toss it. With a growl, he shot the ceiling instead. “Come on, before the Bat gets here. Bring both of ‘em with us.”

Bruce had pleaded with him to leave you there, playing up his more cowardly public image. He begged for them to come up with a different solution. And with a wave of his hand, Two Face ordered them to gag him.

There would be no resolution. No peace. Not until Two Face had what he wanted.

***

One of these days you were really going to have to talk with Bruce and the city council members about how many abandoned warehouses there were in Gotham.

You couldn’t budge. The ropes around your arms and legs, tying you to the chair, were too tight. At least you could breathe. A few feet from you, Bruce was tied up in a similar way, but still gagged. Unmoving and observant as he was, you could still see that he was uneasy. He kept glancing between you and Harvey.

The walls of the warehouse were practically gone. The one remaining concrete walkway you were on was at least four stories up, with only rubble on the ground-floor below. Two Face stared off into the distance as if he could watch Batman’s approach in the darkness. The make-shift Bat-signal he’d rigged together sat at his feet.

Only Bruce wasn’t startled when Batman showed up from the opposite direction.

“What is this about, Dent?”

Harvey turned slow, his unburnt side making eye-contact first, before he glared at Batman fully with both halves of his face. “Does this situation look familiar to you?”

You wondered if it was Jason or Dick under the mask. Neither of them had been in the life yet when Harvey Dent had fallen into working as Two Face. But Bruce’s thorough report of that night wasn’t too hard to find on the Bat-computer after a few hours of digging. When “Batman” nodded, you knew it was Dick. Part of you already knew your fate was sealed.

“The two of them had nothing to do with that night.”

“No, that’s true.” Dent took to flipping the coin. Up and down. Catching and flipping. The coin landed flat in his palm, unread and unacted upon. He grinned at you with his burned face as each flip made you shudder. “But each has… cost me greatly here of late. Instead of flipping a coin for each of them and being done with it, I thought this time I could give the choice to you.” Dent caught his coin and gripped it tight. “With half a chance, would you change the choice you made that night?”

Dick/Batman hesitated before answering. “Nothing about this is like that night. We both know now that the Joker lied to me, switching where each of you were. He’s bragged about it to you himself. As for Rachel—”

“Don’t.” Both sides of Dent’s face twitched with rage. He hissed, “you don’t get to say her name.” Sucked through gritted teeth, the breaths he took made his chest heave. A final sigh leveled out his control. “We were on opposite sides of town that night. The two of them are right here. Maybe you can save both. Maybe not. Which will it be? Heads: Bruce Wayne. Billionare playboy with more brains than he shows to the media. How many hospitals, grants, scholarships has he funded over the years?” Dent flipped the coin a couple of times. “How many suits has he replaced for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying—”

“I know Wayne tech when I see it. Don’t try to deny it.” Dent shifted his focus to you, making you flinch back in your seat.

As a young reporter you’d attended the funeral of Rachel Dawe. She’d been a role model for you. But this was the last second on earth that you’d mention that in front of him. You breathed a sigh of relief as he faced Dick.

“Or heads: the reporter. A lifetime ago, she would have been a huge help to my cause. What the courts couldn’t decide fast enough, she could write and share with the world the research we all needed to hear. As she’s doing now. She’s your source of information, isn’t she? Isn’t she!” He grimaced. “Time to choose.”

At his feet, Dent kicked at a device bolted to the floor. On second glance, you noticed the wires traveling through holes bored into the concrete. They led under your chair, and another set ran under Bruce’s. Your eyes widened as you noticed the collection of explosives poking out from under the edge of the walkway… right behind his chair. You assumed you had a set too. Both of them ready to crumble your square of concrete towards the rubble below. Or to blow you to kingdom come the second Dent stepped on the device to set off the charges.

Dick slowly moved his hand toward his tactical belt. “Your men are on the bottom floor. Right under us. If you set that off, this floor will crush them. You yourself will have nothing left to stand on. It looks like the choice is yours: eliminating two thorns in your side, or being able to continue your business ventures.”

A slick smile slid across Dent’s face. “I made my choice years ago. As for my men… they made their choice when they accepted pay from me.”

“Dent—” In a very Nightwing motion, he held his palms out before returning them to his side to hold the stoic Batman pose.

“It’s Two Face. And would you point out the same double-sided leadership to your protégé turned ‘businessman,’ Red Hood? How is his war in weapon sales going against Black Mask these days? I’m tired of this.” Dent stepped forward, placing the toe of his patent-leather shoe on top of the device. “Ready to make your choice?”

Dick’s glance flicked towards Bruce first, who furiously shook his head. When he looked at you, you slowly shook your head. “It’s okay. Bruce Wayne can do more in one night,” your voice cracked, “one night of fundraising than I can do with ten stories. It’s okay.” As Bruce struggled in his bonds, tears began to course down your cheeks. You knew when those charges blew, he’d only be able to race gravity for one of you. And Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and the real soul of the Batman; he was more important to the future of Gotham than you.

As the charges fired, Bruce screamed behind his gag.

The ground fell out from under you. It was no surprise when the dark black blur darted away from you to fall over the opposite edge. Even so, you screamed out your fear, your pain, your goodbye. Only for it to cut off mere feet from the bottom as a blue blur snagged you out of the air. Your scream turned to frantic laughter. It took some effort, flying through the air as you were, but “Nightwing” (who had to be Jason) was able to cut the ropes so the chair dropped to the earth. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I thought you were supposed to be in Blüdhaven.”

Your rescuer alighted next to the Batmobile, where Dick was just landing with Bruce. The brothers shared that Two-Face’s goons had been collected long before Dick had shown up and were on their way with Damian to Commissioner Gordon. Two Face had been harnessed into the ceiling. It had lifted him out of danger and ensured his get-away. Dick smiled under the cowl.

Jason glared at his brother-in-arms. “Say nothing.”

“Blue looks good on you.”

They would have bickered longer, but Bruce darted between them. He held you fast in his arms. He kept patting you down, searching for anywhere you could be hurt.

“Darling, I’m alright.”

“Couldn’t do anything.” He glared at Dick. “You scared the hell out of me, not going after her.”

Dick’s jaw clenched. But he managed not to break eye-contact. “Red Hood was already on her side of the building. We were in constant communication throughout. Neither of you were in any danger of the fall.”

With the way Bruce’s shoulders were still tense, he didn’t seem to fully believe that. You knew he trusted his sons totally. But tonight had cut close. You smoothed your thumbs across his cheeks. “Let’s go home.”

Apologetically, Dick tried to say, “there’s not a back seat. Red was going to—”

“We’ll manage.”

Bruce sat in the passenger seat first, and you sat on his lap. All the way home, he ran his hands over your limbs, still checking you over. And his eyes kept flicking to the road. To the dials and buttons on the dash as they flashed. To Dick as he drove, still in his cowl and cape. And all the way home, you did your best to put him at ease. Your blood was still pumping and your nerves were alight, but you ran your fingers through his hair. Ran your forefinger down his nose and cheeks. You pressed your forehead to his. As much skin contact as you could give him, you gave. As much calm as you could give him, you borrowed back.

Wayne Manor eventually loomed. Dick let you two out at the door. If anyone asked for it, the front cameras would provide visual evidence that you had been returned by the Batman. He drove off in a scuttle of gravel after watching Alfred let you into the house.

“We’re alright, Alfred.” You managed to wave him back to bed before Bruce lifted you in his arms and carried you up the stairs.

Thankfully, he waited until Alfred was long out of sight before sitting you down on a random hall table and latching his lips onto your pulse point.

“Can’t you get us to the bedroom?” You smiled through his kisses. “The boys could walk through and…”

“It’s my house.” Bruce shed his jacket and dress shirt, and he began fumbling with the hem of your dress. “I can ravage you where I want… where and when I need to.”

Still, he froze as your hand spread across his bare chest. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t tell Dick to save you instead of me.” He panted. Sweat was beaded across his brow. “I can’t do this without you. Not anymore.”

“You have me.” You kissed him. “You’ll always have me.” Hugging him close, you cried into the crook of his neck.

Batman hadn’t been able to save both Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawe that night. In the end, he still lost both. The choice, distorted as it was by the Joker, still weighed on him. The guilt had woken him up many a night. Like with every nightmare, you soothed him back to sleep. He was constantly afraid that he’d lose you like his childhood friend. Always afraid that he’d be out on patrol and some underworld power would grab you. No ransom would be too high for Bruce Wayne. No number of obstacles would be too much for Batman. What if he was a second too slow? What if the money wasn’t the point, and they harmed you anyway? What if… The what-ifs swirled in his mind constantly. They were swirling now, blinding him to anything but feeling you safe in his arms.

As for you? You still stood by what you told Dick to do. Nothing could change it. And you stood by your promise to always be with Bruce, even if only in memory should the worst occur. In your mind, he had been Batman long before he met you. He could be Batman long after you’d gone. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring that fateful possibility. He had you. Here. Now. Home and safe. In his arms.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered. “We’re alright. I’m okay.”

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours and his hands were smoothing up your thighs. You rolled your hips forward, and wrapped your legs around his thick torso. You knew every muscle. Every scar. And every bruise long after they’d faded. Bruce ran his hands over your body, feeling your form still trapped under your dress. He knew the same points about you. Every muscle honed from self-defense training with Damian. Every papercut and bruise from archive drawers. And every inch of skin that he’d kissed a thousand times before. He couldn’t get enough.

You laughed as your dress ripped, pulled apart at the seams by a desperate man. His hunger paused as he finally saw the surprise you’d had in store. The entirely black set was your gift to him last Valentine’s Day. He trailed his fingers over the lace on your breasts before diving his face between them. You arched, digging your fingers into his hair. While he left open-mouthed kisses across your chest, you whispered as much comfort as you could. But your ability to speak was quickly degrading into soft moans and whines.

You wanted to be held. You wanted to be held so tight you could barely breathe. You wanted the space to wrap yourself around him like a snake looking for heat. Only his body would be able to warm the shiver out of your spine.

When you sighed as much, he only grunted.

He was lost in you. Lost to the word and the weight of it’s brokenness.

You were home. You were safe. You were in his arms. Skin to skin wasn’t enough anymore. Now he needed to be in you.

Bruce’s wandering touch finally drifted down across your tummy to the apex of your thighs. His fingers curled through the gap in the crotch of your panties. The wetness there made his knees give out. Face level with his target, he dove in, more hungry and hazy-eyed than when he kissed the valley of your breasts. While he ate you out, you gripped the back of his head, steadied yourself on the wall behind you, gripped the edge of the hall table, and you held onto anything you could while your vision blurred. One finger, two fingers curled while his tongue did the rest. He sucked hard on your clit, nearly toppling off your seat. Bruce took advantage of your folded position and hefted you over his shoulder.

Trapped there, you could do nothing but writhe as he continued to play with your wetness as he carried you down the hall. The fancy dress was left in shreds on the floor. You clenched on his fingers. With a growl, he dropped you to your feet. He pinned you to the wall, pressing close. Where your nails clawed into his shoulders, rough and desperate, his kisses to the underside of your jaw were soft and languorous. On the other hand, he never stopped wringing pleasure out of you by quickening the curling of his fingers. His thumb circled on your clit, weakening your knees. But he wouldn’t let you fall. The press of his body over yours was what he needed.

“You’re mine. You’re safe.” He hovered his lips over yours. “Tell me: how are you?”

Now? Your mind reeled. But every time you were about to answer, he’d change the pace of his fingers, or scissor you open, or change the direction of his thumb on your clit. Then your mind would blur. And speech left you. Finally, you managed, “you bastard.”

He smiled against your mouth. “Good.” If you could sass him, then you were completely at ease. His tongue curled into your mouth.

You accepted it, sucking on it like your walls were clamping down on his fingers. But as he quickened both, your breath stuttered. Your nails carved deep half moons into his skin as your body convulsed. Pinned to the wall, your body had nowhere to go as you shivered head to toe. Pinned back, you had nowhere to go when Bruce kept moving through your release. Your mouth fell open, panting with the onslaught of pleasure.

Bruce grinned against your cheek. Once again, he picked you up. This time, he wrapped your legs around his waist. He finished the journey to the master bedroom. When he laid you down, you were still hazy with release. It gave him time to rake his gaze across you again. He took in the heaving of your breasts in the lingerie you picked out. And the way your thighs tried to cover up the mess he’d made of you already. The only remnant of the fancy evening were your heels. Nearly passed out on his bed, there was nothing left of what Dent tried to do to you. He frowned. On second glance, your wrists were beginning to bruise.

From under your fluttering lashes, you took time to look him over too. How his torso shimmered with that fine layer of sweat. How his hair was mussed and his gaze was wild for you. But from the waist down, he was still presentation ready. Give or take the muddy patches on his suit pants.

“You’re wearing too much,” you said.

The frown shifted into a smirk. Slowly, he began to undo his belt. He leaned one way, then the other, as he removed his shoes. With a bit of shimmying, he bared every inch of skin for your view. He slid his hand into the one you reached towards him. His grip between your fingers was just short of painful. Carefully, he loomed over you, pupils blown wide, and his breathing heavy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Please, Bruce.” You closed your eyes as he slowly sheathed into you. A tiny whimper slipped out as he gripped your wrists, pinning them to the sheets on either side of your head.

When he moved, it was like he was trying to relearn you. Each twist and spear of his hips searching out your sweet spots reassured him that you were the same woman who had woken up by his side that morning. You were the same woman who took days or weeks to research an article topic, only to type it up an hour before the due date. Your cries were the same. How you moaned his name was the same. You were the same woman who walked into his life and immediately made it better.

He was the same man as that morning too. Even after a night of keeping Gotham safe, he could aways make you forget your own name. But you remembered his. Every drag and spear that made you quake brought it up like a talisman. Here was the man who knew your every worry. He listened to your every ramble and collection of convoluted theories for hours. And he came back to you. Triumphant or bloody and bruised, he always came back. Right now, he was replacing the bruises on your wrists with his own. And he was replacing the worries in your mind with nerve-blinding pleasure.

“Darling,” you keened, “please. So close.” You didn’t say you needed him. Or that you needed him to do anything, even to cum. He was taking what he needed from you.

Bruce pressed his forehead to yours. “Look at me.” He pleaded, “look at me, please.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced your eyes open. And you almost collapsed under the desire in his gaze.

He turned his hips in that certain way, and you did collapse. Crying out his name and clawing the air, your body seized. Bruce stuttered and moaned, held in place by your walls and by the sight of you falling apart beneath him. He filled you. Thrusting to chase those last sparks of release, he hummed your name.

Finally, he pulled out and fell next to you on the bed. You curled into his warmth with his chest against your back. When his arm draped across your hip, you smiled.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Bruce pressed his nose into the spot right behind your ear. He inhaled deeply. “We’re okay.” “Yes. We’re okay.”

***

General Masterlist

DC Masterlist

More smutty goodness with Bruce Wayne: A Night at the Theater

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne angst #dc comics #batfam x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #two face #harvey dent #reader insert #batman smut

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bruciemilf · 2 years

Note

#like - ill be very transparent. sometimes i write fem bruce solely for harvey or clark eating pussy content KSKSKS #but thats very much achievable with trans bruce so

!!!!! ohhhh pleasepleaseplease give us a few headcanons/some content!! there's not enough trans!bruce out there esp. with harv and clark!

OH MANNN. MAN. MAN. so!! I don't know If you had a set preference between nsfw or sfw and/or harv an clark hcs,, so I think it'll be a mix for both!

Warnings/tags: Degradation, housewife kink, dirty talk, name calling, breeding kink, daddy kink mention, size kink

Transitioned early; Martha, Thomas, and Alfred were as discreet as a star family gets in Gotham City, where the media's eyes never shuts. Which is never enough.

They couldn't pay rich people, media people to ignore the Bruce before the Real Bruce. But if you cared about your life even a little bit, and you didn't want to die under Thomas' scalpel, you kept your mouth shut.

Bruce got in a stage where he was cis passing enough that people didn't think twice to call him a man; I feel like he grew up around healthy examples of masculinity, but when you're in college? You try to make up for your lacks.

There's a subgenre of sexism among men tbh, that its like, specifically To them; It's like, misogyny in the open, but they victimise eachother about it.

Bruce can't quite understand why drinking and hooking up and getting blasted without even worrying there's a pill in your drink is necessarily masculine. It's certainly a privilege, thought, and he's a bit (a lot) bitter abt it

Also most def carries testosterone shots on his batman belt that he accidentally injects instead of adrenaline like, all the time.

Oh, and testosterone and estrogen? Free in Gotham. Courtesy to Wayne Enterprises

Bruce not giving a wet fuck about gender norms in the slightest bit; He'll rock a coral pink tennis skirt and shiny, peach perfumed lip gloss.

He'll rock divine silk dresses. He'll look angelic with motor oil smudged on his cheek from breaking into the autoshop.

And he doesn't really care who has what to say about it, because Harvey Dent? Can't peel his eyes off of him, and that's enough of an achievement for Bruce.

(Nsfw HCs ahead!!!)

Harvey always always worries he might say the wrong thing; the wrong name, (they have a very soft spot for Princess and Baby)

Harvey calls him Baby Girl while Bruce worked him hard with his hand and mouth, dragging holy noises out of him with just a few tugs, and Harvey apologizes profusely

" My masculinity won't shrivel up and die because of a name, Harv. Even I'm not that fragile. "

Bruce is a big time virgin but no surprise there; Have you seen that man. He falls apart at a few words and gets wet so easily it's ridiculous.

Batman riding Harvey's thigh while he's supposed to interrogate him? It's more likely than you think

That being said, he's big on degradation; Harvey calls him a perfect little slut and Bruce's brain goes fuzzy and dim. I'm sorry, but Battinson has huge " pls just break me and take care of me after" energy I am PROFITING

With Clark it's almost the same, because personally? Mean Clark. Mean Clark who'll grip Bruce's diamond sharp jaw and make those strawberry lips pucker. Just to watch those pretty eyes roll back. " Aww. Are you that needy, darlin '?"

HARVEY AND CLARK AND BRUCE? biggest housewife kinks. I'm sorry, don't shoot the messenger, they SPECIFICALLY told me to tell YOU that they love Bruce in a pink apron, legs spread open on the kitchen counter while they're " having dinner"

THE BREEDING KINK???? Bruce rides the hell out Harvey/Clark, making an absolute mess on their laps, whining, squirming, sobbing up a storm because he DEF cries during sex, and he's begging so sweetly

" please-- please, can - can I have a baby? Please? Pretty please? For me, daddy? For daddy's little wife?"

He's very persuasive when he wants to be

And as the tags mentioned; Bruce has his legs spread open wide more often than not.

If he's not laying on his back, getting the soul slurped and licked and milked out of him, he's most definetly riding Clark's or Harvey's faces and I'll die on that hill.

Harvey/Clark love how fucking Big they are compared to him. They love Bruce is small enough to move around, but big amd strong enough to grope and manhandle. Praise kink is on Heavily. " That's a good boy. "

This man's pussy makes Harvey/Clark CRY. They're completely addicted to him. Bruce is all day everyday getting spread on princess pink sheets, lingerie shredded, heels digging in his partner's back and getting SERVICED like he deserves

Pillow princess 100%%%

He likes hard stuff, but he's Very fragile in the after-care process. He's ashamed of ask for it because he's affectionate, or starves for it anyway, and doesn't expect to receive it because he didn't until Then

But it's all so soft, after. Gentle kisses. Harvey/Clark carrying him around everywhere, not minding clingy arms or sharp nails squeezing their shoulders. They're happy to hold that big baby for hours

Gets the baby he wants but like. Of course it's conceived in the dirtiest baby making sex you'll ever hear of. RIP Harvey's old DA office/car and Clark's family barn

That's all folks!!!

#bruce wayne #nsft #trans bruce wayne #bottom bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #smut #harvey dent #clark kent #bruharvey #superbat #battinson

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hintsofhoney · 11 months

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A Deal's a Deal

Pairing(s): Harvey Dent x F!Reader x Soldier Boy

Summary: Your boss, Harvey, agrees to share you with Soldier Boy in return for some intel on Homelander, but only if he can join in on the fun, too.

Square(s) Filled: boss/employee for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, smutty smut smut, oral sex (male receiving), dom/sub dynamics, sir kink, threesome, dregradation, light slapping, light choking, p in v, unprotected rough sex (be smart), this is really raunchy lmfao

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I think I wrote this before Gotham Knights even aired and it's been sitting in my WIPs folder ever since. As always thank you to my loves @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean for beta-ing this raunchiness. GIF is mine. Hope you all enjoy the depravities of my brain!

You can also read me on Ao3!

MAIN MASTERLIST

When you took the job as Harvey Dent’s secretary, you didn’t know you’d be spending most of your time on your knees. Hard worker, quick learner, able to follow instruction: these were the qualities listed under the job’s ideal candidate section — you just didn’t know you’d be using them like this . Not that you were complaining. Not in the slightest.

You knock on Harvey’s office door — he had just called you in over the intercom which usually meant all work and no play. He’d call your desk phone directly if he had any… special requests.

“Come in,” you hear from the other side of the barrier, and you push it open, quickly closing it behind you as you come to stand in front of his desk. You adjust your pencil skirt, pulling it down slightly — a nervous tick you think you developed from being in his dominating presence.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Y/N, I need you to come meet someone with me. Record the meeting, take some notes,” he explains, looking up at you expectantly with those icy blues.

You nod. “Got it, Sir.”

“Good.” The absence of the word “girl” disappoints you a little, but you don’t let it show. “Get your coat. We’re leaving now.”

Harvey hasn’t told you where you’re going or who you’re meeting, but you assume it’s someone important when you reach the fancy apartment complex. Taking the elevator up to the 8th floor, you trail behind him as he finds door 12B and knocks lightly with the knuckle of his pointer finger.

“Ben!? Open up. It’s Dent.”

You don’t know who Ben is until the door opens slowly, and the face on the other side is plastered on every wall, bus, and sign in the city. Ben is the once celebrated superhero, Soldier Boy.

He pokes his head out into the hallway, looking both ways (and doing a very obvious double take on you) before stepping aside and letting you and Harvey in. You don’t know what your boss could possibly need with a supe, let alone a not very well liked one, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you stand in his presence. It’s true what they say — he’s even more beautiful in person.

“This is my secretary, Y/N,” Harvey says, throwing a quick nod in your direction to introduce you.

Soldier Boy holds out his hand. “Ben,” he says with a smirk.

“Pleasure,” you reply, enamored.

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart.”

Your thighs clench together at that.

“She’s here to take some notes,” Harvey interrupts, stepping in between the two of you, forcing your hands apart. He turns his head to glare at you. “And that’s all she’s here for.”

You try not to cower underneath his stare. “Right. Sorry, Sir.”

You begin to pull out a pen and notepad from your purse, ignoring the laugh that Soldier Boy huffs through his nose.

“Something funny, Ben?” Harvey asks.

“Just seems like you got a well trained pet there, is all. Bet she feels even better than she looks.”

Harvey chuckles softly, inviting himself to some whiskey on the liquor cart nearby. “That she does.” He shoots a quick wink your way, and your cheeks heat up as you watch him pour himself a glass. “Now, are you going to tell me what you know about Homelander, or did I waste my time coming here?” he asks the supe, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Tell you what,” Soldier Boy says with a smirk, his eyes raking over your body, “You let me have her and I’ll tell you whatever it is you wanna know.”

Your boss looks over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow raised in a way that always makes your knees buckle.

“You want my assistant?” he asks, his eyes still on you.

“I want to fuck your assistant,” Soldier Boy corrects. “And then I’ll help you.”

Harvey chuckles, low and deep, turning his head to face the supe again. “Fine. But I don’t share if I can’t join in on the fun.”

“Can’t blame you there, Dent.” Soldier Boy makes his way over to the sofa behind you, and you stare at your boss, awaiting further instructions.

“Why are you still standing?” he asks, with a tone that makes you feel like the stupidest girl on the planet. You place your purse on the nearby coffee table before dropping to your knees like he’s trained you to do, head bowed and hands behind your back. “Sorry, Sir.” You hear Soldier Boy huff a laugh behind you; you know he’s finding your blind obedience both amusing and impressive – and that gives you a sense of pride that shows itself in your reddening cheeks.

“Now, Ben here is gonna use you however he sees fit,” Harvey explains, pulling down on your hair forcefully, making your eyes meet with his, “and I expect you to show him the same respect that you show me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s a good girl. Go ahead, crawl over there,” he instructs, nodding towards the couch where Soldier Boy was sitting, legs spread and cock hard underneath his sweats. You obey, Harvey walking slowly behind you, watching your ass as you crawl, the dark spot on your gray pencil skirt making his own dick twitch. “Stop,” he commands, and you freeze in your tracks, only a foot away from your destination. “Pull your skirt up.”

You sit up briefly to pull your skirt up over your hips, revealing to Soldier Boy that you have nothing on underneath it. Harvey already knows this of course — he’s the one who made the rule.

“Christ, Dent,” Soldier Boy exclaims as you finish your crawl. You stop right in front of the tent in his pants, your knees grateful for the carpeted floor. He leans over you and grabs your ass in both hands, pulling your cheeks apart before letting them go and watching them bounce back together. “She’s fucking perfect.”

Harvey chuckles softly. “When she wants to be.”

Soldier Boy sits back, his green eyes lust-filled and hungry as he takes his cock out from beneath his gray sweats. He’s big, about Harvey’s size, and you’re confident in your abilities thanks to the number of times you’ve sucked your boss off underneath his desk.

“Manners, Y/N,” Harvey reminds you. “Next time you won’t get a reminder.”

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, and Soldier Boy huffs another half impressed, half amused laugh as he wraps his hand in your hair. “Fucking hell.”

He pulls you towards his dick, and you use your hands to catch yourself in an all fours position as your tongue meets with his tip. You let the supe use your mouth like it’s a fuck toy, your head bobbing up and down, gurgling noises filling the room as his cock hits the back of your throat, your spit soaking his shaft. It’s only when he pushes your head all the way down, your nose meeting with the tuft of hair above his dick, that you feel Harvey’s presence behind you. The familiar feeling of his cock running through your folds causes you to moan around Soldier Boy, which in turn makes his dick twitch in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps, letting his head fall back.

Harvey chuckles softly, entering you slowly and causing you to moan once more. “If you think that feels good, wait ‘til she comes. Hold her there.”

Soldier Boy nods, readjusting his grip in your hair, and you’ve never been more thankful for Harvey training you out of your gag reflex. With Soldier Boy’s cock stuffed in your mouth, you’re able to focus entirely on your boss’s thrusts and the coil slowly tightening in your abdomen. You can feel your juices running down your inner thighs, and when Harvey reaches around to rub your clit in tandem with his thrusting, you’re on the edge in seconds.

He uses his free hand to land a firm smack on your ass, and your squeal is muffled by the cock in your mouth. “Cum,” he commands, and that’s all you need to push you over, moaning around Soldier Boy as your pussy clenches around Harvey.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Soldier Boy breathes, watching you as you convulse beneath him, keeping your head firmly in position. Harvey hums in agreement, fucking you through your high until your body relaxes again. Soldier Boy starts bobbing your head on his cock again, much slower this time, and you're grateful for the air filling your nostrils once more. “Whenever you’re done, Dent,” Soldier Boy pipes up. “I said I want to fuck her. And I didn’t mean her mouth.”

You hear Harvey huff through his nose, and you can’t help but feel like he’s almost annoyed over the thought of actually sharing your cunt, but in Soldier Boy’s defense, a deal is a deal. You whimper as he slips out of you, and Soldier Boy swiftly pulls you off of his cock.

“On the couch, on your back. Hang your head off the end there,” Harvey orders, nodding towards the end of the sofa with no armrest. You do as you’re told, lying down on the couch with your legs spread for Soldier Boy and your head hanging off the edge with your mouth open for your boss. “Gooood girl,” Harvey praises, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing at his words. With your eyes focused on your boss, you don’t notice Soldier Boy reaching for your blouse, ripping it open without a second thought and sending buttons flying everywhere. You whimper at the sheer force, but it’s quickly silenced by Harvey’s cock in your mouth. Soldier Boy pulls the cups of your bra down, your breasts spilling out of their confines causing him to groan.

“Jesus, where’d you find her, Dent? Fuckin’ perfect slut.”

The comment goes straight to your core, and you’re eager to be filled from both ends again.

“You grab her right here,” Harvey starts, his hand gently wrapping around your throat, “and you can feel how deep she’s taking me.”

“Fuck,” Soldier Boy breathes, replacing Harvey’s hand with his own, his grip slightly firmer. Harvey busies his own hands with your exposed breasts, and Soldier Boy drags his cock through your soaked folds before entering you in one quick thrust. You choke on Harvey’s dick at the abrupt action, causing him to twitch inside you. “Jesus, she does feel even better than she looks,” Soldier Boy remarks, his hips picking up the pace as he begins to pound into you. With every thrust, it sends Harvey’s cock to the back of your throat, and you can feel the pressure of Soldier Boy’s palm on your neck as he feels how deep you can take it.

You’re not sure how long you’re being used from both ends, but you’re enjoying every second of it. With the two men alternating their thrusts, you’re never empty, and you can’t think of the last time you’ve been fucked this dumb. You notice the heat rising in your core again, but you know you can only come with Harvey’s permission. He likes it when you let go on his command. Your pussy clenches around Soldier Boy’s cock in warning.

“Fuck, Dent, I think she’s about to —”

A firm slap gets delivered to your cheek, and you moan around the dick in your mouth.

“She comes when I tell her to,” Harvey says, his voice deep and commanding. “And only when I tell her to.”

“I don’t give a fuck how she comes, as long as it ain’t before me.”

“Oh, it won’t be. She knows better, don’t you, Y/N?”

You nod to the best of your ability before feeling Soldier Boy’s cock twitch inside you. He’s close. He speeds up his thrusts, and they turn from rhythmic to sloppy as he chases his high. It’s getting harder to hold back your own orgasm, but you know better than to test your boss.

“Oh, fuck,” Soldier Boy gasps, and then you feel him filling you up as a sharp smack comes down on your breast with the command that you’ve been waiting for.

“Cum. Now,” Harvey orders, and you're convulsing underneath him once again. Your release seems to trigger his, and before you can come down from your high, you're being filled from both ends. “Good girl,” Harvey praises. “Such a good plaything, aren’t you?” He pulls out of your mouth and looks down at your drool, cum, and tear-streaked face, his blue eyes meeting with yours. You nod in response to his question, breathing heavily as you fill your lungs with air again. You whimper as Soldier Boy pulls out next, leaving you feeling both unbearably empty and incredibly satisfied. You lay on the couch, unmoving, as you watch both men get presentable again, and you suddenly feel very exposed when you realize what you must look like compared to them.

“Bring her to every meeting and you just might get the answers you want,” Soldier Boy comments with a smirk, taking in your abused pussy, his cum dripping from your hole.

Harvey chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind. Y/N!” he snaps, and you look over to him. He’s got a pen and legal pad in his hand — ones that he pulled out of your purse. “Kneel. On the floor.”

You roll off the couch and drop to your knees as Harvey hands you the stationary and takes a seat where you had just been laying.

“You’ll take your notes on your knees,” he explains, staring down at you before leaning forward and curling his forefinger underneath your chin, forcing you to look at him. “And if you do a good job, you might just get to come again.”

#harvey dent fanfic #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy smut #the boys fanfiction #gotham knights fanfiction

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riddle-me-ri · 2 years

Note

ok so um either more harvey like this please or with uh line from prompts: "i'd hate to do this, but you're giving me no choice." because you do him better than me and i would like all of him so yes THANK YOU I LOVE YOU YOU ARE PRECIOUS TO ME 💚

A/N: asdfggh finnie ilysm it's the only reason I'm breaking my own damn rules lmao. The fact you like what little of Two-Face I have actually written to the point of me writing something for him explicitly is absolutely bonkers but anything for you 💚💚

Please bare in mind, dear readers and users, I don't prefer writing for Two-Face/Harvey Dent. I like the character and all but I don't know him incredibly well. I'm just getting by with this because it's my general take on him lmao. So please, please, please don't request him.

This is just a one off thing for a super close and dear friend of mine. If you send a request for Dent I will delete it. I'm sorry but them's the breaks.

Also really didn't have any ideas for this one other than the wee bit I had from this set of headcanons. You don't have to read it, I'll paraphrase it here but in case you're curious rip.

Trigger Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (blowjob, overstimulation, piv intercouse, orgasm denial, rough sex) and strong language

Word Count: 2.0 k

Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Reader - Guilty As Charged

The intimate trial between you and Harvey was stuck at a stalemate.

He had accused you of being far too gorgeous than usual, to the point of distracting him from his work.

However, why must you be punished for something that only comes natural to you? You reserve the right to roam freely in your apartment just as well as he did!

Perhaps it may be easier to just concede, remove yourself from the ever growing tension and he'd be appreciative and all yours once his work was done.

Be that as it may, the better option, you didn't want to concede. You wanted him there and now.

You didn't doubt he wanted you too.

"I'll make you a plea deal, gorgeous." Harvey smirked. His signature coin twirling in-between his rough thick fingers.

"You be good, wait for me in the bedroom. I'll get my work done and I'll be all yours for the rest of the day…"

You defiantly crossed your arms. "And if I refuse?"

A shudder ran down your spine when you heard his other side, Harv chime in. "Ima take you here and now anyway I see fit."

Oh.

Oh shit.

You stood your ground. "Sorry, Harvey…no dice. I'm beautiful and you're just gonna have to deal with it." You smirked.

Harvey sighed heavily, almost guttural. He shook his head, scoffing. He should have known better, you were almost as stubborn as him and he loved you for it. Even if it did make you a pain in the ass sometimes.

He walked over to you around the coffee table in swift strides. Towering over you, he twirled a loose piece of your hair between his fingers, meanwhile he flicked his coin in his other hand.

"We both know I'm guilty…" You mumbled teasingly.

"Oh no I know, just deciding your punishment, gorgeous." He winked.

You hummed softly, expectantly. "I'm certain the punishment will fit the crime?"

The coin landed in Harvey's open palm. He flipped it onto his other hand for good measure. You watch his hands and expression, looking to get a read on the results.

He cups his hand around the coin to keep you from peeking. Harvey clicks his tongue before sighing.

"I hate to do this to you, sweet thing…but you give me no choice." He grumbled.

Harvey pinched your chin between his finger and thumb. He leaned in and gave you a sweet, almost apologetic kiss for what's to come. Although both of you know, either of you are the farthest thing from sorry.

"Get down on your knees, baby." Harv growled under his breath.

Well, time to face the music.

You got on your knees but kept intense eye contact with Harvey. Instinct lead you to place your hands on his thighs, but waited until he gave further instructions. No sense in prolonging your sentence. When the both of you will get yours in the end.

Harvey shoved down the sweatpants and boxer briefs he was wearing, already feeling relief in his groin. He had been getting harder by the minute as he watched you lounge in nothing but a oversized t-shirt and panties. Practically begging for his attention, knowing damn well he was going to be busy today.

You bit your bottom lip to restrain the proud grin from growing along your face as his cock stood at attention just inches from your lips. You put your hands back on his thighs to keep yourself propped on your knees.

“You knew better, knew I’d be busy…” He groaned, his hand folding over the back of your head. Fingers dove into the strands of your hair, he pulled on them slightly, like a jockey to the reigns of their horse. You winced softly at his tight grip.

“And yet you insisted on having my full attention…well gorgeous, is this what you wanted?”

Even if that wasn’t necessarily the truth, in the moment you were willing to accept it as a temporary motive.

“Y-Yes, sir.” You replied meekly.

His grip on the back of your head tightened, pulling the strands from your scalp that more harshly. Yet, you couldn’t deny the damp pool gathering in your underwear.

Using his other hand, Harvey cupped the side of your face and aimed your lips near the bulging head of his dick. You swiped your tongue across your lips before slowly opening your mouth. Harvey took it as a chance to knock the wind out of you, by thrusting his cock into your mouth, his head hitting the back of your throat.

Your nails dug into the skin of his thighs as you groaned around his cock, trying to overcome your gag reflex. As you attempt to swallow, your throat slightly constricts around Harvey’s head and it draws out a groan from him.

You attempt to slowly pull your head away and barely perform a sucking motion, before Harvey tightens the grasp on your hair, causing you to whine around his cock.

“We’re doing this my way, this is your punishment, remember?”

You try your best to nod and muffle out a confirmation, but Harvey didn’t pay any mind. He gradually dragged his dick out from your mouth, painstakingly slow as air slowly started coming back through your mouth and nostrils.

You groaned again as Harvey fully thrusted back into your mouth, head bobbing again against your throat. As he slowly began building up a pace of harshly ramming his cock into your mouth, you picked up tightening your lips and hollowing your cheeks every time he fully sheathed himself into your mouth.

Harvey’s groans and growls were enough sign of not only his appreciation for your efforts but that he was close. You prepared yourself to swallow every last bit and not waste a drop of his cum. Only for him to remove himself from your mouth and remove his hand from the back of your head.

You panted as you were able to finally catch whatever air you could, but you were confused. You swallowed your built up saliva and some of Harvey’s slick when you looked up at him.

Harvey was heaving, catching his own breath as he tried to pull himself back down to Earth.

“A-Ass on the sofa…now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You got up from your knees and sat down on the couch cushions, ironically where your alleged offense took place from the start.

“Brace yourself on the armrest, gorgeous.”

Your knees sunk into the cushions as your fingertips dug into the armrest of the couch. Harvey’s weight causing the couch to sink under his weight. He grabbed your waist, his touch flaming hot against your skin.

His fingers toyed with the band of your underwear, before gripping it and slowly shedding it from you. If you looked over your shoulder, you could see Harvey’s eyes blown as he saw your slick absolutely pasted to the fabric.

“I see…you’re not one bit remorseful for what you did…” He chuckled into your ear after he tossed your panties to the side. He resumed his grip on your waist, as his knee came up between your legs to spread them wider.

You were a whimpering mess that couldn’t form cohesive sentences or a witty remark even if you wanted to. You just knew you needed him, that you were always guilty of.

You gasped when you felt the searing heat of his cock head rubbing itself between your folds as it collected your wetness there. Between his strong heated body covering you, his warm fingers, and his flaming dick; you were already breaking out into a sweat.

“Ready?” He grumbled just above a whisper before shoving himself fully into you, like he did your mouth just moments ago.

One of his hands shot up to muffle your scream of shock, pain, and eventually pleasure. Harvey didn’t wait nearly as long for you to get accommodated before he started pumping his dick into you. Trying to catch back up to the speed he had going in your mouth.

Your knuckles were turning white from the death grip you had on the couch armrest. You thought for sure you were going to leave imprints in the cushion.

Harvey’s head came to rest between the valley of your neck and shoulder. You could hear and feel every grunt and gasp, which only turned you on that much more. He leaned in and began peppering hot kisses along your skin until he came to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. There he bit down hard, you could feel the skin slightly break.

This only caused you to groan in pleasure more than pain, “H-Harvey!”

Your walls continued to convulse. Tightening around him whenever he fully thrusted into you, especially so when he would hit your cervix. You could feel yourself getting bounded tighter and tighter by your nerves, about to combust, apparently so could Harvey…

He thrusted out abruptly and didn’t plunge back in like before.

“No, no, no, no…Harrveeyy..” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, you were so close to that apex of pleasure.

You whimpered as he bit down on just below your earlobe and the start of your jawline. “You must’ve forgotten this is a punishment, doll…”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I’ll be good, I promise…please, baby…” You whined pleadingly. As if you were trying to get out of doing a lifer’s time in the penitentiary.

“Is that an admission?” He tapped the tip along your damp folds.

“Yes, yes, I’m guilty, I’m so sorry, please…please…” You groaned. “I-I’ll be good, sir, please just let–AH!”

Your pleas were cut short by your cry of pleasure as your cunt was occupied by his cock, once again.

“This what you wanted?”

You nodded so fast and hard your head could have popped off. “Y-Yes, oh God, yes…oohh please, please!”

Harvey brought one of his hands back up to your face. He brought your face to the side to face his, he leaned in and kissed you passionately. As your tongues swirled, mouths vibrating from your moans. Harvey began thrusting in and out of you again, slowly but surely building the pace back up.

His other hand went up your shirt and strongly grasped one of your tits, pinching the nipple there and rolling it in between his fingers.

You thrusted your hips backwards to meet his thrusts, your walls tightening again, strangling his cock like a vice.

“H-H-Harvey…mmm..I-I-” Your statement was cut off by your cries of pure ecstasy. Every cell in your body was vibrating just beneath your skin causing goosebumps to appear on your sweaty sticky skin.

Yet, Harvey never let up. The hot friction, his cock fully splitting you open again and again, even after your orgasm.

“H-Harvey! I-I-ah…”

“I know you’ve got one more for me, baby…make sure you remember this…” He panted into your ear. One hand went to grip your waist while the other met your mound.

You couldn’t stop the tears as your nerves were electrified tenfold from your previous orgasm. You felt the knot in your stomach churn again, waiting to come unraveled. As much as you couldn’t stand it, you couldn’t handle it if he stopped again.

A silent scream left you as you felt Harvey roll small short circles on your clit. Your legs and arms began shaking as you felt another numbing wave come over your body. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your body instinctively trying to pull away from the overstimulation, but Harvey’s grip made you ride every last crashing wave.

Everything was white for a moment. Your vision a blinding white. White noise softly buzzing in your ear. No words, thoughts, or feelings except satisfaction and exhaustion began to overcome you. Whimpers fell from your lips as Harvey slowly removed himself from you one last time. His seed mixed with your slick slipping out from between your folds.

You collapsed onto the couch, your back to the cushions and your head against the arm rest you were holding onto dear life for a minute ago. Your legs still shaking from the aftershock.

You didn’t even notice Harvey had got up and retrieved a damp towel and water bottle for you. You flinched as he began wiping you clean.

“Doing time does a number on you, huh, gorgeous?” He chuckled, breathless himself.

You hummed, chuckling softly. “Something tells me the judge enjoyed the time served just as much as I did…”

Harvey scoffed with a side shrug. “Hm, guilty as charged.”

#ri writes #don't ask why I know so much legal lingo...#I watch a lot of crime tv #lmao #i had one chance to put it into use #okay?#even if it was cringe rip #two face x reader #harvey dent x reader #two face x reader smut #harvey dent x reader smut

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tabaquis-barking · 1 year

Text

Harvey leaned down closer, still not quite touching him. “Hey, Nygma… You ever get turned on when you’re angry?”

When an attempt to double-cross Harvey Dent goes wrong, Edward Nygma finds himself navigating a difficult situation in a cheap motel room.

(Harvey/Eddie gunplay thing. The kidnapping isn't exactly consensual but don't worry--the sex is.)

#edward nygma #harvey dent #do these two have a ship name???? idk what it is #tabaquisbarking #tabawrites #trans edward nygma #because I'm trans and I say so #this is the first time I've written smut and also the first fic I've done since 2016 so it's shaky here and there but Im pleased enough w i #twiddler

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mattzerella-sticks · 1 year

Text

beware the eyes of march (ao3 link)

M, F/M, M/M, 2.8k words, Whore-vey Dent in action

Rebecca March wasn't kidding about Harvey Dent's ability to lie. In fact, it's something he prides himself on. He wouldn't be in the position he was today if he hadn't developed an ability nor a knack for it. And he doesn't mean in the District Attorney's office with an eye on the mayoral position.

He means having an affair not just with Mrs. March, but with her husband, too.

It was difficult to conduct anything illicit during fancy events such as these; where at any moment someone could stumble in and catch you in the act. A paparazzo or journalist nosing around where they shouldn’t. Caterers and wait staff making their rounds. Party guests with their own secrets and temptations they couldn’t wait to indulge in. All these and others who, depending on their whims, could use what they learned to either help or, more likely, harm. It was a veritable coin flip, only far worse and dangerous. Which was why Harvey absolutely enjoyed it.

Rebecca hauled him inside an empty dressing room. The gala continued on one side of the room, a bathroom on the other, both hidden and muffled behind closed, mahogany doors. She barely waited for the hallway entrance to shut before she was on him, attacking him. Her hands strayed from his lapels and to his hair while she pressed her body onto his. Harvey happily let her devour him, instead directing them deeper into the room and towards a sofa that was situated against a wall, opposite another with the same furniture placement and perpendicular to a wall that was made up of nothing but mirrors.

The back of her knees bumped into the cushions. She broke the kiss, forcing Harvey’s lips onto her neck. Her necklace had, blessedly, been taken off in advance. “Eat me,” she whispered.

Harvey spoke into her collarbone. “What was that?”

“Eat me out.” She shoved him aside at an almost greater speed with which she initiated their rendezvous, stretching onto the sofa and rucking up her glittering, silvery skirt and revealing Rebecca’s gorgeous folds hidden underneath. The necklace wasn’t the only obstacle taken out of his way. “Now. Do it now and give me a reason to make coming out tonight mean something.”

He always appreciated her forwardness.

“Of course,” he said, “I am nothing but a humble servant.”

Harvey knelt on the polished marble floor and opened her legs wider so that his shoulders could fit the distance between her knees. His face hovered, inches from where Rebecca currently quivered and yearned for attention. He crept closer, his nose ghosting across her cunt. A small huff made her left leg jump. Harvey’s hand fell atop it and brought it back down. “Good girl,” he growled, “need you to be quiet. Otherwise neither of us will get a treat.”

Rebecca gasped as she drew in a deep breath. Harvey looked up from where he had stationed himself as he waited for her response. She nodded. Then, as their gazes were locked, Harvey dragged his tongue over her for the first time that night.

She tasted sweet along with the usual afternotes of saltiness that clung to his lips no matter how much he swiped. “I see you’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured, “making sure you were ready for me, when the moment came.” He delved into her folds again, his tongue flattening and curling when necessary, lapping at the juices trickling out of her like freshly bitten fruit.

Conversation devolved into a series grunts and moans as Harvey concentrated on pleasuring her. Rebecca tried her best to follow his command. She was so normally loud in the bedroom, where she roared and shrieked like a lioness in her den. Harvey commended her efforts. He inscribed his praise on her clit. The occasional mewl or hissed inhale through clenched teeth didn’t bother me. He received many of those as he wrote that.

If he were truly honest, it added to the pressure building within his own pants.

His fingers slipped away from her smooth calf and stroked at the tent forming in his pants. Harvey didn’t apply too much pressure. The cum stain would be obvious. He did, however, adjust himself. His dick pointed upwards and blotted the waistband of his boxer-briefs rather than their thin cotton.

“Harvey,” Rebecca sighed, “I’m – I’m about to –“

Harvey purred and shoved his face deeper into her. “Let yourself.”

Rebecca raked her nails through his scalp as she came. Her hips bucked. She rode his face through the series of waves spurting free from her, rising and falling with the tide. Harvey sucked down every last drop and, for good measure, he cleaned off any excess with the back of his hand and laved himself clean under her lax scrutiny.

They stayed like that, her ruined on the couch and Harvey caught in worshipping pose. Nothing but their heavy, heady breaths filled the space. The air was so charged, yet so fragile. It could break with the slightest of disturbance. Harvey’s dick twitched at the thought.

Finally, Rebecca shifted.

She tapped Harvey’s shoulder twice, signaling the end of their affair. Harvey rose and, after she’d smoothed the lines of her skirt, he helped her to her feet. She dipped into his orbit, briefly, then returned to a safer distance. She circled him and grabbed for the necklace which she’d abandoned earlier, left on one of the dressing room’s small tables. Rebecca held it between pinched fingers. The baubles dangled in front of him. “Help me with this?”

Harvey grinned wolfishly as he snatched them. “Of course,” he droned, “I am nothing but a humble servant.”

She turned to face the mirrored wall. He delicately placed the extravagantly decorated, overpriced piece of jewelry on her, fixing its clasp with ease. His hands lingered and brushed her shoulders. He stared at their reflections as he placed a featherlight kiss to one of them.

“Enough of that,” she chuckled. Rebecca stepped out of his reach. She frowned, but only for show. Her gaze had been lit aflame, and her eyes burned wherever they touched him. She remained in front of the mirror, tapping at where her lipstick had smudged. “I’m going to freshen up some more. You should get back to the party.”

“Maybe I can help you with that, too?”

“You can’t win an election servicing only one person.”

Harvey stepped towards her. “What if it’s a special person…”

She blushed though she remained adamant and refused to turn back around. “Go.”

Harvey acquiesced. He waited until he was sure no one was passing and left the comforting walls of purgatory to journey back into hell.

He snagged a champaign flute from a passing waiter’s tray and acted as if he hadn’t been feasting off the nectar of a member of Gotham’s high society. It was an easy feat. Many of the guests tonight were too absorbed in their own dealings that his didn’t blip in their radars. Plus, he’d had years of practice, perfecting an innocent façade. He schooled his features in a blasé assemblage that would cast even the most cynical into doubting what exactly Harvey could do. It was a mask few could see past. Bruce was one of them, bless his soul…

Lincoln was another.

He sent a note over along with an old-fashioned while Harvey was in the midst of telling the Cobblepots a story. Meet me near the coat check. 5 minutes. March. It was hastily scrawled with dark, black ink.

Harvey scoured the event for a hint of the note’s author. He waited for Harvey to find him beside a column. A couple interrupted their contest by walking in front of Lincoln. It was all he needed to slip out of sight. Lincoln was sprinting for the coat check.

He wrapped his story earlier than he wanted to, summarizing what he had left to say. Regardless of whether hearing the full exploit or the bulleted version, the Cobblepots still laughed and hinted their support to his candidacy as they flew away. Alone, Harvey drank his old-fashioned in a single gulp. He set the glass down along with the long-since-emptied flute. He had a meeting to attend that he’d require both his hands for.

There wasn’t any attendant manning the coat check area. It’d been closed off with a velvety purple curtain, to reopen the closer it was to when the gala ended. Harvey also might’ve suspected Lincoln had something to do with there being no one there to greet him. Especially since the door leading into the room was ajar when he surely remembered it being locked closed.

Harvey pushed it open further and saw Lincoln rifling through the pockets of Gotham’s wealthiest elite.

“Don’t you think you’re a little old for pickpocketing?”

Lincoln glanced at him as he continued digging, grinning. “It’s not a crime if it’s my pockets.” He found what he was looking for in the black, wool trench coat and showed it to him, shaking the container of candy while crowing with victory. “Cannabis-infused,” he explained as he popped the top off, “Want one?”

Harvey flatly glared at him. “Marijuana use is an even worse crime in Gotham than pickpocketing.”

“Not like you’ll turn me in for it.”

“I’d have a pretty good case, seeing as how you’re offering drugs to Gotham’s District Attorney.”

“Will you cut the act already, Harvey?” Lincoln scoffed, flinging two pieces of gummy candy into his mouth. “God… Y’know the holier than thou schtick might work with some of these assholes but it’s you and me, okay? So take the fucking weed gummy.”

Harvey sighed and did as he was told. He dropped his affectation of piousness and accepted three gummies from Lincoln, swallowing them whole. “What did you ask me here for?” Harvey said, more pretense fading as he let more of his true self slip through the cracks. “Because I doubt it wasn’t to smoke weed behind the bleachers while the pep rally was going on like we used to do in the old days.”

“You’re right about that,” Lincoln said. He replaced the gummies back in his coat and advanced on Harvey. He pressed him against the wall, with a monochromatic array of coats and jackets on either side of them, cocooning them in their own, private world. “I also wanted to do that other thing we did back then, too.”

“Oh, that…” Harvey chuckled, slipping a hand between the buttons of Lincoln’s shirt. His fingers tugged on curling chest hair. “Well, that depends.”

“…Depends on what?”

“Are you willing to voice your support for my campaign when the time comes?”

Lincoln laughed into the crook of Harvey’s neck, his chest bumping into Harvey’s with every gasp. Lincoln’s teeth scraped along the tanned lines of his neck, across his stubble, and traced the shell of Harvey’s ear. “Are you always scheming, Harvey?”

“How do you think I became District Attorney?”

Lincoln’s patience had worn thin, and he answered by sticking his tongue down Harvey’s throat. His hands crept up and were firm around Harvey’s neck. He didn’t choke. Lincoln applied a delicious amount of pleasure.

They broke for air, Harvey using that momentary reprieve to scrabble for purchase along Lincoln’s belt buckle.

“Funny,” Lincoln smacked his lips together. “You taste like you’ve been eating pussy.”

“I don’t recall those being one of the hors d'oeuvres on tonight’s menu.”

His hands were still around Harvey. Lincoln forced Harvey to unbuckle him blind, Harvey’s gaze otherwise trapped within his. There was a question hiding behind his wide-blown pupils. Lincoln pushed the tip of his tongue past the seam of his lips and dragged it back and forth. “Don’t tell me you’ve already had your way with someone this evening?”

Harvey shrugged. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he chuckled. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

“You’re such a whore…”

“And you’re a brat,” Harvey finally pried the buckle loose on Lincoln’s pants. He shoved Lincoln off and flipped them over, so know Lincoln was leaning on the wall with Harvey’s hands on him. “Neither of us have changed much since we graduated. Would you rather we keep talking about that, or do you want me to blow you?”

Lincoln eagerly nodded and shoved hard on Harvey’s head. “Thought you’d never shut up.”

Harvey hit the carpeted floor hard enough that his whole body shook from the force of his landing. His knees were used to such treatment. They barely twinged with pain. He continued as he was, freeing Lincoln’s heavy cock from his pants. Like his wife, he chose to wear nothing on underneath. Both were expecting Harvey to ply them with entertainment.

Unlike his wife, there wasn’t any hope of keeping Lincoln quiet. Harvey’s lips had barely travelled down his shaft when the babbling began.

Most of it was rote pleasantries Harvey had heard before from him and many men like Lincoln in this game of call-and-response. He squeezed and stroke Lincoln’s cock, and he’d hear about how strong his grip is. Harvey flattened his tongue along the curve of the penis head, slurping at the precum that had gathered there, and Lincoln affirmed he tastes good without any need hearing it from Harvey. Harvey fondled Lincoln’s balls and there’d be a moan followed by praise over how Harvey knew exactly what to do to make it pleasurable. Despite hearing all of that, and more, before, Harvey and his dick preened at the attention.

Harvey added a finger to his mouth, dipping it inside and coating it with spit as he dragged it out. The brush of his knuckle on Lincoln’s tender shaft had him twitching. A spurt of come hit Harvey in the back of his throat.

“What’re you doing there, Harvey?”

Harvey didn’t remove his mouth off of Lincoln’s cock. Rather, Lincoln discovered on his own what Harvey’s intent was when a finger pressed against his hole.

“Oh yeah,” Lincoln gasped. He spread his legs as best he could with pants around his ankles for Harvey’s finger to better tease him. “There. Slide it in there.”

With mouth and finger working in tandem, Lincoln tipped over the edge rather quickly and came inside Harvey’s mouth. Harvey drank every last drop of him.

Lincoln sagged atop Harvey, his stomach resting on Harvey’s head. He could feel every exhale. “Did you enjoy that?”

“You know I did.” Lincoln pulled himself together, straightening to his full height. He tapped Harvey twice on the shoulder, another similarity with his wife. He adjusted himself back into his pants as Harvey stood. Lincoln kept glancing at Harvey’s crotch. “Do you need me to help you, or…”

Harvey stopped his hands before they could reach out. He smiled. “I can manage without a quickie in the coat check.”

“If you say so.” He was tucking in his shirttails when he gestured at the door. “We should probably get back out there, in case anyone’s wondering where we are.”

“You mean in case Rebecca is wondering where you are?”

Lincoln’s eyes darkened again, and he launched himself at Harvey for another round of kissing that rucked both their outfits back into disarray. Then, once satisfied, Lincoln shoved Harvey off and buttoned his suit jacket.

“Wait five minutes. Then you can leave.”

Lincoln exited the coat check closet without looking behind. Harvey hadn’t minded. To a man like Lincoln, he probably wanted the satisfaction of knowing he left Harvey craving more. The reality of his face wouldn’t align with Lincoln’s fantasy, and there wasn’t enough drugs or booze in the world that might help Harvey endure Lincoln pestering him until he got what he had wanted.

Harvey waited the five minutes. In that time he checked his phone, fixed his tuxedo, and took another two gummies from Lincoln’s stash. He had developed quite a taste for it, and a tolerance, in his youth. Harvey hid the gummies in another person’s jacket and then ducked out of the coat check.

He wandered towards the main hall casually, somewhat exhausted from his sexual encounters with the Marches. Harvey stole a second flute from a passing waiter and positioned himself strategically by a corner where he could watch the party without engaging it.

Near the center of the room, he saw Lincoln reunite with Rebecca. Neither appeared as guilty as they should feel, if they could have felt such stirrings in their conscious. They also hadn’t suspected that the other had been engaged with the same man that they had. It wasn’t something Harvey should be proud of. But he was.

Rebecca noticed him first. Her stare dipped in his direction for a second, enough for him to recognize what she did and raise a toast to her. She smiled as she looked away.

Lincoln mirrored his wife a beat later. Harvey’s flute was still held aloft. He thought the toast was for him. He squared his shoulders and stood a bit taller as he turned elsewhere.

Harvey did a lot for this city – especially her wealthiest inhabitants. Given the breath and scope of his work, becoming the next mayor shouldn’t be a problem.

#gotham knights cw #cw gk #harvey dent #bisexual harvey dent #whore-vey dent #rebecca march #lincoln march #dent x marches #gotham knights cw fanfic #gk smut

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jellyfitzjelly · 2 years

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hear me out......superman/two face (or supertwo as i like to call it)

#dcu #clark kent #superman #harvey dent #two face #mhm.........maybe i should pioneer this ship with some good old smut

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vampyan · 7 months

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☾ ꕀ 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰 & 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked on sight.

this blog is dom!reader x sub!yandere!character only. you can find sub!reader everywhere else so don’t come looking for it here.

all gender identities are welcome but this blog mainly caters to fem/afab!readers.

this blog is yandere-centric and will be littered with dark content, though all of these things will be tagged.

anon hate & rude asks will be deleted on sight cus idc.

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓲 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻

❧ 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓾𝓼

ellie williams ˖ abby anderson

❧ 𝓴𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓼𝓾 𝓷𝓸 𝔂𝓪𝓲𝓫𝓪

kyojuro rengoku ˖ obanai iguro ˖ tengen uzui & wives ˖ shinobu kocho ˖ sanemi shinazugawa ˖ shinjuro rengoku ˖ zenitsu agatsuma ˖ inosuke hashibira ˖ tanjiro kamado ˖ genya shinazugawa ˖ muzan kibutsuji ˖ akaza ˖ gyutaro ˖ gyokko ˖ hantengu clones (sekido & urogi preferred)

❧ 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓾𝓻'𝓼 𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝟑

karlach ˖ lae’zel ˖ minthara

❧ 𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓮

vi ˖ silco ˖ sevika

❧ 𝓼𝓱𝓮-𝓻𝓪 【 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓹 】

scorpia ˖ catra ˖ shadow weaver / light spinner ˖ adora

❧ 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓷

john doe / joker ˖ edward nygma / riddler ˖ harvey dent / two-face ˖ harley quinn

❧ 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓵

goku ˖ vegeta ˖ broly (dbs only) ˖ frieza ˖ frost ˖ beerus ˖ android 17 ˖ android 18 ˖ zamasu ˖ goku black ˖ jiren

❧ 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼

mizu (blue eye samurai) ˖ sidon (loz botw & totk) ˖ john doe (visual novel) ˖ victor van dort (corpse bride)

❧ 𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼

coming soon!

𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼

requests aren't guaranteed and might take me a while (especially since i run another blog as well) but i'll try to finish as many as i can >:3

yandere!character is the main focus of this blog, but yandere!reader is also acceptable!

all characters aged up to 18+ if applicable

please be specific and have a concept instead of sending something like ‘kyojuro x reader smut’ i’ll be more likely to write it if you know exactly what you want :)

𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮

✓ fics, headcanons, and quick thirsts/drabbles.

✓ dom!reader x sub!yandere!character (top! or bottom!reader so long as they are dominant)

✓ fem or afab!reader for nsfw. fem or gender-neutral!reader for sfw. (pls specify if you’d prefer a gn!reader bc i will usually default to fem)

✓ non-sexual non-con, dub-con, non-con touching/affection, stalking, controlling behavior, kidnapping, manipulation, blood & gore.

✓ polyamory, threesomes, and harems (examples: ellabs x reader, ellie x reader x dina, uzuren x reader, obamitsu x reader, inotan x reader, kamaboko trio x reader, scorptra x reader, catradora x reader)

✓ a/b/o dynamics. alpha!reader x omega!character preferred, but will write for dominant omega readers (ex: prime omega!reader)

✓ monsterfucking/teratophilia, monster/cryptid au yanderes (ex: werewolf!ellie, cryptid!kyojuro, eldritch horror!yandere)

✓ kny demon pet au (@/invertedphantasmagoria, @/phantasmiafxndom), hybrid au, catboys, puppyboys, bunnyboys etc...

𝔀𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮

✘ sub!reader x dom!character

✘ male or amab!readers.

✘ kink no-no’s: sexual non-con, incest/stepcest, daddy kink, piss play/watersports/omorashi, foot fetish, maledom.

✘ forced pregnancy, miscarriages.

#.˚🕯️ ݁ ˖ 𝓷𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 #blog rules #request rules #dom!reader #dom reader #sub!character #sub!yandere

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year

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throttle - jjk | seven

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - oof. goes without saying, it's angsty, graphic depictions of violence, physical and verbal fight between jk + joon, they are VILE to one another, drug usage (mostly snorting coke), alcohol, clubbing, taking things too far, insinuations of dangerous driving, illegal boxing rings, blood, one mention of the dark knight, one harvey dent quote, disgustingly sweet daydreams from jk, lewd references to sex, political dynamics, no smut, important plot points

PLEASE take note of the warnings. The fight is nasty, and both jk + nj use the women one another care about as weapons. Both men take things too far in a bid to make the other angry. The women -the oc and nj's sis- are objectified, degraded, spoken about sexually and yeah, just really unpleasant. These characters are career criminals. They are NOT nice people. Please consider your own limits before reading - I've actually edited this to make it a little more palatable and it's still not very nice.

word count - 13.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Metal clatters against the concrete floor of Kang's boxing club as soon as Jungkook opens his locker.

He's yanked it open with such ferocity that one of the bolts has fallen to the floor. Just a small one; a washer that helps to keep a hinge in place, but an inconvenience nonetheless. He stops. Sighs. Looks down at it for a moment, tells it to stop being a little bitch, and then rummages around in his locker for the black jumper he left in there a week prior.

His t-shirt drags against his skin as he sheds himself of it, still damp. The fabric slaps against the floor, echoing his mistakes around him, reverbing in the empty room. They bounce from wall to wall. Taunting him.

If he picks his shirt up off the floor, there'll be a stain of red on the ground.

Jimin's locker, once pristine, crumples beneath Jungkook's fist, overwhelmed by an unavoidable truth:

Jeon Jungkook destroys.

His touch impacts. Makes impressions. Leaves marks. There's no straightening out the door, he thinks. It'll always be rumpled by the indent of his knuckles. Disfigured. Broken.

Jungkook has been a hurricane for as long as he can remember; a facilitator of misfortune for those around him. He engulfs the best of people and spits them out again when they're at their worst.

If he really wants to, he can pinpoint the exact date and time he transcended from human to meteorological system. He's been upgraded recently - was once a tropical storm, is now a typhoon.

Destruction is just who he is. More fool him for thinking that clouds could break, and sun could shine.

Perhaps it's why things always worked so well between you both when the skies were dark, nightfall hiding who he was from plain sight. Any unpleasantries could be chalked up to bad dreams.

He rids himself of the clothes dampened by the commitment he made to you, a little red stain drying around the nape of his neck.

Despite his best attempts to lock it in, there's still dye leaking from strands of his hair, only serving to further remind him that you were never meant to be permanent.

You'll wash away with the spring rains that are set to fall in the coming months, and all he'll be able to do is watch as you drain into the gutter with the rest of his best-laid plans.

For a moment, he considers running. Wind cracks the back door open, light from a streetlamp pooling in. Dust dances in the orange beam, free and unrestricted by the confines of life. It's a freedom he'll never know, not really. He has choices he can make. Liberties he can take. He isn't really as trapped as he thinks he is - but the mind is a heavy prison for those who have shackled themselves to a predestined fate that doesn't exist.

It's not like he doesn't know this. He's aware that the only thing in the world that's stopping him is himself - but his feet are bolted to the floor with screws branded with the names of the people he loves: his mother, his father, one for each of the boys.

They're wound tight, twisted through his flesh and bones. He's tied to Daegu by everything he loves, and the promises he made to ensure that he'll never forget them.

But there's a missing screw, and it's threaded right through his heart. There's a name on it he wishes he'd never learnt, messy, and carved out in a hurry because he didn't have the time to properly process the way he felt until it was too late.

It pinches as he moves, scrapes against his spinal column, etches the letters into his bone.

You might not be permanent, but the mark you leave is as indelible as the ink on his skin.

He laughs when he thinks of you. Laughs in a way that isn't really a laugh. It's full of scorn, and loathing, and longing. The kind of laugh that settles in his stomach like acid that will surely burn away at his soft tissue. He'll disintegrate from the inside out before he ever has the chance to make amends.

Jungkook is pulled, all rather abruptly, from his thoughts when the entryway door slams open. His heart lifts in his chest, that damn nail scraping away at even more of his bone as it does so, body temperature rising and falling all within the same second.

"Here he is," Jimin greets him like a long lost friend. He only saw him, what? Five? Six days ago, maybe? "Where the hell have you been? And Christ, the hell happened to your hair?"

"Home," he says, eyes vacant, no trace of a lie. Of course, it isn't a lie - but it is a half-truth. He ignores the question about his hair. "Went to check on dad."

"How is he?"

"Same old," Jungkook shrugs, not needing to explain the situation. Jimin grew up with Jungkook. Knows the intricacies of his family history. He doesn't pry, and is rewarded with unfiltered access to the most private details of Jungkook's personal life.

Well, almost unfiltered.

Jimin doesn't know about you. He guesses. Notices. Clocks the way that Jungkook sometimes smells far sweeter, far more feminine, after a night of unexplained absence from the boxing club. Watches the way Jungkook keeps his phone on silent, but presses the lock screen far more frequently than usual to check for new messages. Can tell whenever there is a message waiting, because of the way Jungkook's cheeks twitch, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips, of which he refuses to let form.

It's adolescent, how Jungkook thinks he's able to hide his affections.

Jimin might not know for sure that it's you, but he knows his best friend well enough to know that it's someone. There's been no mention of a girl, not since Namjoon forced him into the ring after he found out about Naejeon, so he figures that it must be someone new.

Someone worth keeping secret.

Someone a lot like you.

When he looks over towards his locker, a deep-rooted sigh escapes his lips. "Really? Couldn't have fucked up your own?"

"Accident," Jungkook lies. "I'll swap our doors over."

Jungkook is good at solving problems, but is so quick - so logical - he doesn't often consider that perhaps the problem isn't the issue; it's the circumstances that led to the problem which need fixing instead.

"'S'fine," Jimin shrugs, as he opens it up with a creak and tosses his bag inside it. Not much care is given, because he's already dressed and ready to go. Always early, always punctual, he follows the orders given to him with very few questions asked. "How are you feeling?"

Pretty fucking awful.

"Yeah, fine," Jungkook dismisses, but is painfully aware of how short he's being. He doesn't wanna talk, doesn't wanna give Jimin any ammunition to weaponize against him (not that he would), but knows he's being too aloof. Jimin will start asking questions. "Just wanna get it over and done with, yanno?"

Jimin laughs. "Why such a hurry? Not like it's an in and out job. May as well take our time with it."

Jungkook doesn't reply as he pulls the hoodie over his head, and waltzes up to one of the tattered punching bags.

He begins to bounce on his feet, hands unbound as they tap against the leather. "Just don't understand Jin. Why'd he decide now or never? Couldn't we have time to prep?"

"Beats me," Jimin shrugs, back resting against the cool metal of the lockers. "But we've been prepping for months, Kookie. Been ready since the start of the year, it's months since we said we were gonna do this. Think he's just fed up of waiting."

The younger of the pair grunts a reply as his knuckles slap against the weighted bag.

"Aren't you?" Jimin adds on. "Aren't you tired of waiting, too? Always having to go to that damn gas station. Bet you'll be thankful when this is all over."

He knows he won't be. Knows that Jungkook goes to the gas station far more often than he lets on - has trailed him a couple of times just to confirm.

It hasn't gone unnoticed by Jungkook, mind you. He's never confronted Jimin about it, but it is why he's started parking a little further away from the gas station. Jimin's caught on about that, too.

"Mhmm," Jungkook grunts, not paying any attention to his friend, squaring up to the bag once more.

"Save your energy. Might need it later."

"Better fuckin' not," Jungkook husks beneath his breath as his fist begins to tap against the bag, the sound of flesh against leather saturating the air. Jimin doesn't hear him as he whispers, "listen to me, C. Please just fucking listen."

It's useless. No amount of manifestation on his part will ever make a difference to the choices you make. You're a woman of your own convictions; a bull trapped in a ring who doesn't take too kindly to that stupid fucking red flag. Especially not when Jungkook's been so careless, waving it around, taunting you, encouraging you.

This mess is one of his own making - and he knows this.

He tried to clean it up.

He really did.

But now your bathroom tiles are stained in red dye, and as hard as he may try, his attempts to clean will be as fruitless as that robotic arm that keeps leaking hydraulic fluid no matter how many times it tries to scoop it up.

You had watched a video about it with him in the sanctuary of his bed, deceptively chilly sunlight peeking through ashy clouds, the musk of his early morning embrace keeping you glued to his side. 'Can't help myself' the installation is called, and Jungkook thinks of it now as the rear door of the club opens up.

The rest of the boys file in, Namjoon first and then Jin a few moments later. The air is heavy around them, yet none of them seem to give a fuck. Jungkook thinks they're treating this like a fucking jolly. Why don't they care about what they're about to do? Aren't they worried about what could go wrong?

The answers are no, and not really - the same answers he'd have given a few months ago, too.

He started this all with nothing to lose, everything to gain.

Kinda feels like you handed him an Uno reverse card the moment he stepped foot in that bloody gas station.

"Two cars," Jin begins to instruct as they gather around on the old beat-up sofas in the corner of the room. He's sat on an old oil drum, taking command of the situation like it's what he was born to do. "Kook, you drive the main car, Jimin be ready in back up."

They both nod, Jimin's eyes on their leader, Jungkook's on the floor. His bottom lip is clamped beneath his teeth, which are softly nibbling away like some sort of coping mechanism.

No one notices his state of distress. You would have done, he thinks - but you're not here.

And Jungkook really hopes it stays that way.

There's stoicism in how he stands; a single strand of seaweed still yet to be plucked by the Haenyeo women of Jeju. Wonders if they'll come back for him. Knows they won't. Knows it's too late. He'll be subject to a life of solitude; swaying to a soundtrack that emits at 52 hertz.

So enthralled with his woe is me parade, Jungkook doesn't realise that Jin watches him with intent. He notices that there's something off about his gaze, how he's refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Jungkook's always been a bit of a liar, always been fairly good at it too, but he's never been without his tells; his eyes.

Always his eyes.

Windows to the soul, some say. It scares him. Doesn't let anyone look in them for too long, for fear of them finding out there's something sinister hidden behind them.

"Kang wants this done asap. Elections are coming up and if we don't strike now, it'll be too late," Jin begins to explain, hoping it will stem the questions that he knows Jimin is dying to ask. "We need to get the mayor distracted, off his game. Have him fretting over his family, not thinking about the polls, but equally not able to share his troubles with the public. The mayor will want the situation resolved quickly, which means we can probably put our demand up, ask for a higher price - and all the while, it will give Kang an advantage in the polls."

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard he can almost hear them turn. He really does hate politics.

"How much are we talking?" Namjoon asks, because the money is all he's really here for. Doesn't like the mayor, doesn't care for politics, doesn't really care for anything. Just money. "For the girl? Was 150mil, wasn't it? 150 million won?"

"Was," Jin nods. "Kang reckons we can go for 180, easy. Maybe even 200."

"180, five-way split," Namjoon begins to muse. "That's, what? 36mil each?"

And it's stupid, because the money used to excite Jungkook. Oh, if only you'd have heard the conversations they've had about what they'd spend it on, how they could blow it all in a single weekend. Yet despite the higher margin, the bigger gain, Jungkook scoffs.

"36 mil. We're doing this shit for 36 fucking mil. You know how long we're risking behind bars for this if it goes tits up? How long they put you away for for abduction? Blackmail? All for the sake of 36 fucking million."

It's on par with what he should be earning annually. Before he met you, before any of this, it's what would have been on his end of year tax return, or near enough. So much has been lost to you; time, energy, brain capacity. Finances are the least of his worries these days.

If he'd have just worked a little bit harder, put in some more hours, he could have kept on top of the repayments he's been making to the loan sharks who circle in the shallow waters of Busan, just waiting to sink their teeth into his father. He could have been back home, been present. Stopped all of this mess, all of this nonsense. He wouldn't know you. Wouldn't feel like his ribs are splintering whenever he thinks of you. In fact, he never would think of you.

Can't imagine it, now. His brain is a spongy mess of badly sung 80's songs and crying cat memes. Corrupted by you; preserved in such a way by his own desire to keep you around. He surrounds the memories of you in salt to keep the demons away, despite the fact it dries out the very essence of him. His brain will shrivel and rot, and all that will be left is you.

"It's not gonna go tits up, though, is it, Kook?" Namjoon pushes back almost immediately.

"It's not," Jin answers for him. "We get in, get the girl, get out. That's the hard part. Everything else is easy."

Jungkook's jaw is tense as he looks at Jin - and then he's looking away again.

"Look, Kook, if you're not up to this, then say so - but you're the one who came to us hell bent on taking her father down. You're the one who came up with this whole plan, you're the fucking mastermind - but we've got Kang on our backs now and we have to deliver. Either you're in," Jin shrugs. "Or you're out. Your choice."

"I'm in," Jungkook almost spits in retaliation. "I'm fucking in."

"Good. So go start the car. We're running late."

He pauses. Bites down on his lip, and nods. Does as he's told because it's the only way he can leave the room without raising suspicions.

He doesn't breathe again until he's in his car.

His engine hums as it basks in midnight lunar light, predatory in the way his headlights stalk out the shadows. He turns them off, thinks he won't need them. The roads are quiet. If he gets pulled over, he'll feign naivety. 'Oh, sorry officer. I'll turn them on.' He doesn't wanna be seen. Doesn't want to announce the way he's coming into your neighbourhood. Doesn't want you looking for him like a lighthouse. Wants you to crash. It'll be easier, that way.

꾹: i can explain everything. just trust me.

꾹: go to yoongis. i need you safe.

꾹: give me a little time. i'll tell you everything, c. please just go to yoongis and let me know you're okay xx

His messages drop in your chat feed. They never deliver.

He's joined in the car by Jin, and then it's go time.

The drive is silent, and Jungkook sort of just blanks it out. Doesn't remember how he got from A to B, but before he knows it, he's on your street. Outside your apartment block. Wishing for a sinkhole to open up and swallow his beloved car, with him still inside it.

He's been told to sit, wait. Cut the radio, keep the engine going. Jin and Namjoon are doing their job. Breaking and entering; stealing the only thing of any value in your shoebox apartment.

The idea of you looking at them, brows contorted, heart nice and bloody on your sleeve, plays on loop in his head. He wonders if you'll comply. Know you'll most likely fight.

Jungkook sits and stews in hushed cacoethes. He desires only you; the most forbidden of all the fruits. There's an ache in his chest, and a heat pricking at his skin. Poison, he thinks. That damn fruit. Damn you.

He needs to see you. Needs to know you're okay. Needs you in his passenger seat as you escape the city, forget it all, leave it all behind.

Ashtray mind and tobacco-stained eyes; there's nothing in his heart but the residue of things that will kill him. His lungs are all covered in the tar of you, too. Not like they matter. He left them with yours. Hasn't been able to breathe since he left your apartment, he doesn't think.

The road ahead is clear.

Dark and wide, it's lit only by street lamps, and the occasional neon light, that will no doubt lead late-night revellers to karaoke rooms. They're all basement level; a passage to the underworld of sin that swells beneath the belly of the metropolis. Impiety laces the streets of a city marred by cult churches, no closer to God than the shit beneath their shoes.

He doesn't believe in God, and certainly doesn't believe in the burning red crosses that sit atop the cult houses. They defile Buk-gu in debauchery; at home with the heathens, obscuring the ordinary.

He does, however, consider asking for forgiveness; repenting his sins. He'd be suited to a confessional; the glare of impure light pouring through the slats, disfiguring the face you've grown to adore, like the shadows of a prison grate.

He hates this place.

Hates why he's here, hates why he's stayed, and - funnily enough - hates that there's no longer any reason for him to stay. Not once his business is done.

He wonders if this could have played out differently. Maybe if he'd have been honest with you from the start, it wouldn't have come to this. You could have played along, maybe. Did what was asked of you willingly.

The door opens with a rough crack, far too much force being put on its old hinges. "Woah, woah- careful," he shrieks, drawn away from thoughts of you for a split second.

That is, until, he sees the look on Jin's face.

It's unfamiliar. Teeth bared. Snarling, almost. Eyes hard, jaw tense.

Oh, fuck.

"Drive," Jin hisses. "Fucking drive."

But he doesn't.

And he won't.

Not until he knows you're okay.

"The girl?"

"Don't act fucking dumb, Jungkook," Jin spits as he slams the door shut, imprisoning them both.

"I don't know wha-"

"Driv-"

"Where's the girl?" Jungkook snarls right back.

"Not fuckin' there!"

This is bad, he thinks. Real fucking bad.

But then he's overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. You weren't there. You listened to him. You trusted him. He could laugh. Could cry. Might do both.

Not yet, though. He's still wearing his lies well. They sit atop the crown of his skull with pride. Liar of the year, 2022. Jeon Jungkook.

"Why isn't she there, huh?" Jin barks, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. And then he's shouting. Shouting so loud that the whole fucking neighbourhood will wake up. "Again? Every fucking time Jungkook, she's just never where you say she will be. But you know what is where she should be? Huh? A bathroom stained in red fucking hair dye. Flannel shirts we both know damn well belong to you. Tell me, Kook, why didn't you want us to do it tonight, huh? Scared we'd catch you two at it?"

"You've lost your fucking mind, Jin. I don't know the ins and outs of her life."

"Oh, but on the contrary," Jin scathes as he slaps a receipt on the dash. It's branded. Jungkook thought he'd left it in the restaurant; that little pizza place in Busan. Hadn't realised you squirrelled away momentoes like that. Is still learning about you, apparently.

It's Jungkook's card number along the bottom of it. Jin won't know that.

But he's got eyes. Can read. Your handwriting adorns the top corner, right above the date and location. Jungkook feels sick.

Dinner with JK <3

"No?" Jin presses. "So you don't know who JK is? Don't know why the fuck she was in Busan when you were? Don't know why she's drawing fucking hearts next to his initials, huh? Somethings not adding up, JK."

"I've never been good at maths," Jungkook retorts, tone flat.

"You ain't no good at lying, either," Jin growls, crumpling the receipt and throwing it at Jungkook. It hits his chest, right where his heart used to be. Sinking back into the passenger seat, Jin curses. Shakes his head. Sighs.

"Just fucking drive, Jungkook. Just fuckin' drive."

────────────

Daegu tarmac is always a little harder in the winter. Jungkook prefers it, for there's less pull against his wheels as he hurtles down the streets.

He's vaguely aware of the fact he needs to check the wear on the inner treads of his tyres. They're pulling even less than usual, and he knows that he needs to adjust the tracking, but it's been the last thing on his mind lately.

Jin instructs him in the direction of the boxing club, and Jungkook almost refuses. Almost takes a left by the bridge to bomb up towards Palgongsan. He wants to see the city. Escape it. Look down on it; on you. Keep watch. Keep you safe.

It's an impossible task though, so he does as he's told - and quickly, too. He runs not one, but two reds. The streets are clear, marred by darkness of a midnight sky, so he's not concerned about getting caught - and if anything, it would probably do him a favour.

A night behind bars would be preferable to a night in the ring with Namjoon.

He's childish, and a grade-A dick when he wants to be, but Jungkook's no stranger to the way it feels when Namjoon's knuckles kiss his cheek.

A fight has been brewing ever since the last, Namjoon displeased with how Jin intervened, but Jungkook has fucked it now.

Even Jin is pissed at him - and rightly so. He's done exactly what he's been accused of.

He's betrayed them.

Been disloyal. Abused their trust.

Done things he said he never would.

"We in this?"

"In this shit for life."

Seems stupid now when Jungkook replays the memories back. He never should have promised the rest of his life. It was never feasible. He, himself, had seen how quickly life could change within the blink of an eye; but more importantly, how the change could be so slow, so gradual that he didn't even notice until it was too late.

It had happened with his mother; her illness slowly but surely taking hold until she was a shadow of herself. It had happened with his ex; her withdrawal from him so incremental that he didn't even notice the evenings she spent with Taehyung instead of him.

More recently, it's happened with you.

He should have known better. Hell, he did know better. Knew what would happen if he let himself get a little bit too comfortable.

There was a reason why he's been single for so long; why he never lets anyone get too close.

See, Jeon Jungkook is just as romantic as he always has been.

His heart has been broken, and misery has ravaged his veins, but he still believes that there's a life out there for him that doesn't involve any of those things. He believes that he could have a happy ending.

And it's foolish.

Foolish because nobody gets one of those. Foolish because people like him certainly don't.

Foolish because only fools fall - and lord knows he's been in the gutter ever since he met you.

It wasn't one of those first-sights, heart-palpitations, heavy-breathing types of situation, but it was something more than nothing - and when you're so used to drought, even the slightest spark can light the brightest fires. You had surged through him like a wild blaze, burning deep red, akin to the dye that stains his hair.

And now his bones are charred; irrevocably scarred by a girl who only ever sought to heal him.

So yeah, maybe he was a fool, but so were you for ever thinking he could be healed in the first fuckin' place.

Jungkook barely has the chance to shut his car off before Jin barks at him to get inside. Says that he's fucking lucky Joon didn't catch up with them.

He scoffs a laugh. "I'm lucky? I'm lucky? Joon's fucking lucky I haven't sparked him out before now. He's been on his high horse for far too fucking long."

"Yeah, and not without reason, Kook. The fuck have you been playing at, huh?" Jin asks, with genuine bewilderment, once they're inside Old Man Kang's boxing club. The air is cold, but the tension between the two men, who were once more like brothers, is even more so.

If Jungkook were to answer honestly, he'd say he doesn't know. Would probably cry a little bit, too. Maybe a lot. He's not really sure at this point.

He's not sure of anything. Not sure about his loyalties, about his motives. Not even how he feels about you.

The only thing Jungkook is sure of, is that Namjoon is going to be gunning for blood the second he storms through the door, and that he'd really rather not be here when it happens.

"I can fix this. Let me go and look for her, alrigh-"

"No."

"If anyone is gonna fin-"

"You've done enough, Kook."

"Jin, please-"

"Enough."

"But I-"

"You've done enough," he repeats firmly now, his eyes unable to grace Jungkook with mercy. He can't fucking look at him. Not after everything; not after all of it. They'd planned this together. Been in this shit together. A team. They had always had the same goals, the same motivations, and Jungkook had just thrown it all to the wayside.

He's never cared much for 'bros before hoes,' or any of that bullshit, but Jin thought there was an understanding between them. A common goal. Common ground.

Thought their friendship went beyond business.

He's known the kid for years. Watched him grow. Practically raised him after his dad couldn't afford to feed them anymore, his mother's life savings spaffed at the bookies every Sunday, then every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... He'd been Jungkook's parent when the poor kid may as well have lost both.

And this is how he repays him?

Jungkook tenses his jaw. Presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Nods. Curses as he lashes out at the pole marking the corner of the boxing ring. Yells a little as his bare fist cracks against the padded wood.

Jin just walks to the sofas in the corner of the room. Sinks into one of them, defeated. There's no point in arguing, not right now. Not while his head is all fucked up and his vision is marred by a shade of red that matches Jungkook's hair.

The steel of the fire exit door screeches as it scrapes against the pavement, too heavy for the hinges it's on. An easy fix which none of them have gotten round to doing yet. Too busy. Minds have been elsewhere - but Namjoon's mind is only on one thing as he hurtles toward Jungkook.

"You mother fucker," Namjoon spits, his fists rough as they grab onto the neckline of Jungkook's shirt. The friction burns a little, but nothing really hurts Jungkook. Not when it already feels like his heart has been cut straight from his chest with a craft knife.

He wants to hurt, though. Wants physical pain to match his mental torment.

"Joon," Jimin calls from the entryway, trying to draw him back, but it's futile. Bad blood needs to be drained in order to keep a body healthy, after all - and this band of brothers is dying. They need something - anything - to replenish their health.

It's a shame that Jungkook's on a suicide mission, really.

"Nah," Jungkook smirks, but his eyes are void of any humour. In fact, he's deadly serious as he says, "it was your sister I fucked, remember?"

He's barely finished mocking his former friend before a fist meets his face. The crack of Namjoon's knuckles against his skin echoes into the room, reverberating from wall to wall, like a chilling laugh sounding from the shadows.

"Is that all you've got?" Jungkook laughs, despite the fact a small red bead is forming on his bottom lip. It swells and drips, like the scarlet water that ran from his hair earlier that afternoon. He knows he shouldn't keep going, but he doesn't really care. Namjoon has a short fuse, and Jungkook feels like blowing up. "Even Naejeon liked it rougher than that."

For all his stupidity, the boy's got a sharp tongue about him. Knows just the right thing to say to get what he wants - this time, it's another punch to his face. His cheek. Gonna bruise like a fuckin' bitch.

Namjoon still has a grip on his collar and pushes him now, until his legs are pressed against the base of the ring, back against the ropes.

"Say another fucking word about my sister and I'll rip your fucking tongue out."

Jungkook laughs. Namjoon just makes it so fucking easy.

"Don't be like that, Joonie," he coos, the smile on his face borderline psychotic. "Naejeon reckons it's the only thing that ever made her cum."

When Namjoon punches him this time, he doesn't give Jungkook the chance to interrupt with any more quick remarks about his little sister. He was pissed at Jungkook for shagging her, pissed at Jungkook for ghosting her, but everything Jungkook's done since then only serves to make it so much worse.

"You," he spits, only pausing his words to land another punch against Jungkook's cheek. "Stupid" - another punch - "fucking" - again - "twat."

He grabs Jungkook's collar with both of his hands now, forcing him to stand up straight, face pink from Namjoon's knuckles smearing his blood all over it.

"You couldn't keep your dick in your pants, could you? First my fucking sister and then that fucking whore? Her of all people?"

Jungkook is laughing again. Sniffs back the blood dripping from his nose. Jin is sitting with his head in his hands, pretending like it isn't happening. Jimin can't take his eyes off it. It's like a car crash; a head-on collision between two boy racers, who always take it too fucking far.

"I can give you a comparison if you like?"

"Kookie-" Jimin tries to interject, but is silenced by Namjoon who snaps his head around to look at the most innocent of the bunch.

"Nah," Namjoon laughs. "Let him talk. Let him spew his bullshit."

And then he faces Jungkook again. Gets closer. Gets real close. Close enough that Jungkook can smell the cigarette he smoked half an hour ago.

His breath is hot against Jungkook's skin. Intrusive. Unwelcome.

Namjoon knows this. Knows that Jungkook hates people breathing on him. Hates it so much that Namjoon used to sneak up on him and breathe on his neck, specifically to get a reaction out of him. Used to find it funny.

He doesn't know that Jungkook never hated your soft sighs against his skin. Not against the crook of his neck during early morning embraces, not into his lips when the build of your climax got so intense that you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore. He doesn't know that Jungkook would do anything to hear the way you breathe as you sleep right about now; shallow and a little stuttered. His favourite sound. His very own metronome.

Namjoon doesn't know you were different. Wouldn't really matter even if he did know. Wouldn't change a single damn thing about the betrayal he feels. In his eyes, it's just one thing after a-fucking-nother with Jungkook. Kid's a liability.

"How long you been fucking her, huh?" Namjoon speaks quietly, breath warm against Jungkook's ear. It's hushed enough that none of the others can hear. Probably for the best. "How long have you been sinking your cock into your mother's corpse?"

"My mother's corpse?" Jungkook almost chokes, legitimately in a state of shock over what's just left Namjoon's mouth. It's probably worse than the stench of his ashtray breath.

"What?" He laughs. It's bitter. "Her daddy's the reason your mum's dead, isn't she? She's the reason. So you're fucking your dead mum by proxy, aren't you? There'd be no corpse if it wasn't for her."

It's good. Jungkook's gotta hand it to him. It's pretty fucking savage. He's not sure of the legitimacy of such a claim, not sure it makes any fucking sense, but the shock value? Yeah, Namjoon has him stumped.

Part of him knows he shouldn't bite. Part of him knows that Namjoon is only after a fight.

In fact, all of him knows this - but Namjoon's breath is all clammy on his cheek, and it makes his skin crawl in a way that rivals nails on a blackboard.

He doesn't wanna react. Doesn't wanna lash out. Doesn't wanna make this a fair fight, but he can't fucking help it as his head lunges forward, smashing against Namjoon's nose with a crack.

"Kook," Jimin tries again, sterner this time, but Jin shakes his head and tells him, 'let the kids have their squabble.'

"This has nothing to do with my mother," Jungkook spits as he stands up straighter now, taller.

"Oh, but on the contrary," Namjoon says, his posture slightly cowered from the impact of Jungkook's skull cracking against his own. He's feeling for blood with the back of his hand, eyes narrow. "It has everything to do with your mother. She's the reason you're here. She's the reason you wanted to take that bitch out in the first fuckin' place."

The worst part is he's right. Jungkook knows he's right.

"So?" He says before he spits, crimson phlegm hitting the concrete floor with a slap, red with blood from the inside of his cheek. "So what? So what if I fucked her?"

Namjoon's not even really concerned about the fact Jungkook's been fucking you.

If Jungkook had fucked you and not let it sway his judgement, Namjoon probably would have congratulated him for getting his dick wet and the job done well. Issue is, Jungkook started fucking with you with heart and thinking with his dick.

"Coulda fucked any whore in the city. I know you know where to find them."

"True. Did find your sister, didn't I?"

It's not Jungkook's finest hour. It's not been his finest few months, if he's being realistic - except for the fact it has been. The time he's spent with you, at least.

The training sessions he'd cram between leaving you in his bed and heading to work were always his best.

The days at work when he knew he'd be heading to your gas station afterwards were always his most productive. His area manager had been eyeing him up for a fucking promotion. His good, honest work is better because of you.

He doesn't understand why, he doesn't understand how - he just knows if he hadn't constantly had this huge guilt weighing down on him constantly, that maybe he'd have known what happiness felt like again.

He hates the circumstances that lead him to you. Hates the reality of your relationship. Hates that he's pretty sure you don't even have one, now.

But he loves that he met you. Loves that he got to experience you. Loves that you gave him hope where he'd only ever seen hardship.

It's useless now, of course. Down the fucking drain. Should have trained to be a plumber instead, he thinks. Maybe he'd have been able to salvage things.

He's an electrician though, and all he's done is keep you in the dark, until he blinded you with a spotlight. He's short-circuted everything now. Fried the motherboard. Destroyed everything you once were together. He knows there's no salvaging it.

But he's also questioning if there was ever anything there to begin with. Questions whether or not you really liked him, or just the way you perceived him - but it was no different from any normal scenario. No one shows their bad cards first. You're drawn in by the best, and learn to adore the worst, too.

For a long time, you thought that his worst card was the fact he used a 2-in-1 shampoo and shower gel. Used to tease him about it.

And now he's thinking of the way you laugh and he wants to fucking cry.

Joon can see it. See the shift behind Jungkook's eyes. Thinks he's won. Pushes Jungkook away from him. Spits on the ground. Walks away.

"You're pathetic, Jeon. Good for nothing waste of fuckin' sperm. Thank fuck you ghosted Naejeon. Thank fuck. Could think of nothing worse than sharing a bloodline with a coward like you."

Jimin breathes for the first time in what feels like hours, hoping that this is it. It's done now. Jin remains as he was, but reclines into the sofa as Namjoon saunters to meet him. He throws himself down into a chair and sighs.

"What now, boss?"

Good fucking question, Jin thinks. The plan is fucked. Jungkook knows there's no way it can be rectified. You know too much now. Know what to expect, even if not when to expect it. You don't know his motives, you just know they're not as pure as you once thought. Know that it's safer to hate him.

He wonders if you already do.

He turns to face the ring; holds on to the ropes, lets his body lean forward, heaving a little. All of this feels like a nightmare. The kind that loop, and replay again and again until insanity is the only logical explanation.

But maybe he is insane.

Insane for thinking that this could ever work. Insane for thinking that maybe he'd be able to mastermind a plan in which everyone got a happy ending. Insane for letting you into his home, insane for letting you into his sheets, insane for letting you into a part of his brain reserved for memories of his family before it all went wrong.

You're there now, though. It's permanent. The way you make him feel is something he'll never be able to shake, and he knows damn well that he's ruined for the rest of his life.

"Without the girl, we have nothing," Jin sighs. "The girl was our meal ticket. We needed her to get the Mayor's attention. Need her to make this whole thing work. Without her, there's no leverage. Nothing to work with."

"Hear that, Kook? We've got nothing," Namjoon taunts. "A little bit of sour pussy worth it, huh? Maybe I should just fuck her. See what all the hype is about. See if it's worth it. How'd she like it, huh? She like it rough?"

"Can the pair of you just stop?" Jimin snaps now. "You're like a pair of twelve-year-olds."

Namjoon ignores him. Sinks further into the tattered leather chair. Crosses his legs, and hooks an ankle upon his knee. Smirks.

"Bet she's a dumb slut with a rack like that," he says instead. "Her titwanks must be pretty fucking good, right?"

He knows - much to Jungkook's dismay - that Jungkook is a tittie guy. They've had enough conversations about it. Vulgar shit. Objectifying. Laddish banter, that was really just juvenile shit they both knew better than to say.

"That's what got you, isn't it, Kook?" Namjoon laughs. "Her tits? Your mommy issues are showing."

Jungkook's blood is burning as red as his hair, but he tries not to let it show.

"Not really," Jungkook lies, and they all fuckin' know it. "Her tits were good, but I can live without them. I mean, Naejeon's flat as a fuckin' pancake - and I fucked her for long enough, didn't I? Might see if she's free later, actually."

It's like they're playing a game of table football, each one of them trying to get one up on the other. It's Namjoon's turn, now.

"You never answered, Kook. How does she like it? Is she the kind of bitch that likes it rough? Likes it when you make them cry? She'd be good at that, I reckon. Crying. How long do you think it would take to get her crying?"

The thought of it makes Jungkook sick. Makes him want to cry. He's still leaning against the ropes, but it's mainly to stop him from falling down. His head feels like it's gonna fucking cave in.

"I dunno man," Jungkook shrugs, but he's a little breathless. Knows he sounds weak. Knows he has to go extra hard with the next insult flung Namjoon's way. "Given how tight your sister was, how much I had to stretch her little pussy out-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm guessing that size runs in the family - so I don't imagine you've got much to make CC cry with, to be honest."

He says it before he realises - but the rest of them do. Notice it immediately.

"Sorry, who?"

"The fuck did you just call her?"

There's silence. Jungkook doesn't speak. Not till the question is repeated, this time by their leader. Jin's voice is stern as he asks, "What did you call her, Jungkook?"

"Nothin'. Doesn't matter. Just a dumb fuckin' nickname."

"A nickname?"

"Yeah, a dumb one. What does it matter?"

"How deep does it run?" Jin asks, genuinely concerned for Jungkook. This is so much worse than just hooking up. "This little affair you've been having? How fuckin' deep does it go?"

"Doesn't. Doesn't run deep, doesn't run anywhere. It's nothing," he spits. "She's nothing."

Saying it out loud makes him feel like a piece of shit.

You're everything.

"I'm sure she finds the lying all very endearing, Kook, but cut it out," Jin scolds him. "We're in this together. Just be fuckin' honest with us. We know you told her to run. You chose her over us. The least you can do is tell us how invested you are. How invested she was. Let us know what we're dealing with, here."

"Can't invest in something that you know will never give you a return," Jungkook says as if that makes a difference. He always knew the pair of you were doomed.

"She's not a financial investment," Jin debates. "And yeah, you can."

"But she is a financial investment."

"Joon. Not now."

"Well, I mean, she was," Namjoon adds a little mindlessly. "She isn't now. Golden balls has screwed it all up for us."

"I haven't."

Namjoon laughs. Looks at Jungkook as if he knows every fib he's ever told. Perceptive and well aware of Jungkook's tendency to tell white lies, there's no fooling him.

"You've been shafting the plans for months," Namjoon says with certainty. "The first raid? Tell me that you didn't have anything to do with it."

But he can't. And he doesn't want to lie anymore, so he remains silent.

"See, I told you," Namjoon nearly fucking yells. He'd gotten into much trouble for picking a fight with Jungkook after the raid, only to go and be proven right. "I fucking told you. You all told me I was overreacting but I fucking knew it."

His rant is ignored as the rest of them process what's been divulged by Jungkook.

"Ever since then?" Jimin asks quietly. His tenderness is noticed. Appreciated.

And so Jungkook nods. "Didn't know her back then. Not really. I just... I was getting cold feet. I'd never really understood that there was another human on the other end of the plan, yanno? I didn't want us to do something we couldn't take back. She could have been useful to us."

"Not sure Jungkook's personal cum-dump would have been useful to 'us' as a collective - unless you were planning on sharing?"

"Namjoon, will you ever just shut the fuck up?"

Jungkook ignores it. He knows Namjoon is just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. His face is aching enough now. They've had their fun.

None of them feel aggression towards him anymore. Not really.

They're scared, more than anything, knowing they have Kang to answer to if they don't deliver on their promise, and none of them enjoy the prospect of that too much.

"Things spiralled. I didn't mean for them to-"

"Ah, but you never do, do you?" Namjoon interrupts, but again, Jungkook ignores it.

"She wasn't there on the night of the raid, 'cause I was standing her up on a date downtown. Thought I'd try and figure some other plan out, but when I saw her next I panicked. Was trying to keep her on side."

He's downplaying it, granted. They're all vaguely aware they aren't getting the whole truth, but a half-truth is better than none at all.

"We ended up going out a week or so later. Both drank a little too much and - well, I mean, I don't need to teach you about the birds and the bees, do I? Pretty sure you know how the rest of it goes." There's a murmur amongst the boys, collectively agreeing not to ask more. "Things got out of hand. I panicked. I didn't know what to do."

"It's not an excuse," Jin says. "No fucking excuse at all, Kook. Your panic has fucked us all over. I hope you know how to fix this fuckin' mess, 'cause Kang is gonna have our balls for breakfast if we don't deliver. We signed a contract."

"Not exactly legally binding, is it?"

"Since when has anything Kang's ever done been in keeping with the law?" Jin asks, but the question is rhetorical. They all know the answer.

The cash counting machines in the back office, and the hostess noraebangs are a dead giveaway. Old Man Kang is bad news. Such bad news that Jin even fears having this discussion in the boxing club... just in case.

"Go home. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Don't even wanna look at any of you, right now," Jin almost laughs, but they know he isn't actually joking. He's deadly serious. "We'll meet at mine tomorrow. I don't want Kang getting wind of this. Kook, clean up your blood, then get gone. Jimin, clear away the chair for the girl. Won't be needing it now. Joon, just get gone. I'll see you tomorrow. 9 am sharp. We'll figure it out."

He looks at Jungkook, and shakes his head. What a fucking mess that boy has made.

"We'll figure it out," he repeats, before adding, "together."

They all do as they're told. Jungkook is the last to leave, his hands a little stained in his own blood by the time he's done. He ignores the tightness of the skin on his palms as he drives, heading in the direction of home.

Jungkook's apartment is cold. He'd left the bathroom door open before leaving for Busan, and winter wind howls into the apartment as soon as he steps foot through the door. He doesn't close it. Just heads into his bedroom-turned-living area, flicks on the ondol and falls face-first into his bed.

He regrets it as soon as he picks up the scent of you on his sheets. You've not slept in them for the best part of a week, and yet you're still there. It's too late to put a washload on - his neighbour will bang on the ceiling with the handle of her broom again like she did the last time you'd had morning sex - but he can't stay like this. Can't stay suffocated by you.

He sits up. Sniff back a sob, and kicks off his shoes. "Stupid fucking prick," he laments, then catches sight of himself in his mirror. Sees his hair. It fucking stings. So fucking red. Looks like a fresh wound. He supposes it is; the remnants of his heart that were torn from his chest the second your eyes turned hard.

It had been dark in your room, but he could see the lights of your kitchen reflect with more variance as water began to grace your lashline. He'd made you cry and he couldn't even so much as give you a fucking hug to make it any better.

There's no enthusiasm in his steps as he skulks toward his bathroom. Doesn't bother stripping his clothes off. Just flicks the light on, twists the tap and sits on the floor as the shower chokes into action. The water is freezing as he sits, legs pulled up to his chest, arms hugging around his knees.

Slowly but surely it warms up, even if his heart doesn't. He doesn't even know what his aim is. Perhaps he's trying to recreate the last place he felt happiness - back in your shower, with you - or maybe he's hoping the water will wash away the remnants of you from his hair.

He's a warning light; a red flag that screams 'stay away.' He wishes he could. Would rather be with anyone but himself right now.

But there's a comfort to be found in the fact that he knows you're a walking red flag, too.

Eventually, he stands. Discards his clothes - he'll sort them in the morning - and rinses his hair through. His shampoo bubbles up all pretty and pink, but it isn't enough to reverse what he's done. Your relationship has stained him for all to see.

He deliberately avoids looking in the toothbrush holder. Doesn't want to see your one. Instead, he looks in the mirror as he reaches for his brush - it's thicker than yours, battery-powered, so it's easy to distinguish from touch alone.

It's as he's rummaging around that he notices an inconsistency in his steamed-up mirror.

It's in the bottom left-hand corner, discreet and hidden unless you know where to find it: a thin outline in the shape of a heart.

Jungkook didn't put it there, and there's only one girl who he's ever let stay long enough for a shower to be needed.

He has to grip the basin of his sink to stop himself from keeling over. Thinks he'll be sick. Actually gags a little. Never been so close to it without actually following through.

It's hard to tell what's making him feel this way. The guilt? The hurt? He's not sure. All he knows is that he can't fucking breathe properly. His shower is still pounding down on his spine as he hunches over, painful as the water slaps against his skin. He doesn't realise, but it's tender because your scratch marks are still running down it.

You're in his skin. In his head, his hair, his bed. You're still here, and he can't fucking shake you. You're haunting him. Taunting him.

Except for the fact you're really not. You're doing the opposite. You've gone ghost, yes, but entirely in the opposite direction. Radio silence.

He tries sending a message through to your chat feed, but it remains undelivered. He calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls and calls and calls - this number in una- this number is- this nu- until he gets so frustrated he throws his phone across the room. Hears a crack. Knows he's fucked his screen. Just another thing to hate himself for.

He considers going to Yoongi's. Gets dressed, puts a coat on. His hair is still damp. He doesn't care. Gets in his car. Drives in fucking laps around the city. Thinks he sees you twice - doesn't see you a single time.

And he won't.

Jeon Jungkook had the luxury of finding you once. You're never gonna give him that again.

See when you left your apartment that evening, you did it on your terms. You packed your bag with the essentials: documents - some forged, some not -, money, and the hard drive that has everything your father wouldn't want in the hands of the wrong people. Up until now, you've been the wrong hands - but it seems like there are far filthier hands in search of it now.

You upturned a few items, made your life look as simple as you could; just a regular girl who had fallen for a no-good piece of shit. You pinned up a few photos. Scribbled some dumb nostalgic shit on a receipt.

And as you sit in the waiting room of the first terminal of Daegu Airport, you smile.

You imagine all the ways that little note could fuck him up. Wonder if they'll notice the shirts of his you left out, but neglect to think about the one you're still wearing. The blue one. Your favourite. Smells like him.

There's no time to dwell on it, mind you. A bell chimes. It's not the one in your stomach - you may as well have swallowed cement with how still it is, now. The bell echoes, and then a voice sounds. "This is the boarding call for flight 711 to Jeju. Please have your passport and boarding pass ready for inspection at gate 3. Flight 711 for Jeju, at gate 3. Thank you."

You sigh. Pretend like you can't smell the scent of his aftershave as you hook your bag over your shoulder, and head in the direction of gate 3. Doesn't really matter where you're going. All that matters is that you are going - and that Jungkook will have no fucking clue where to find you.

And yet part of you hopes he'll show up. Beg you not to board that flight. Tell you he's sorry, and that it's all a huge misunderstanding. Will buy a ticket, fly with you. Stay with you. Make things right on an island that's done no harm to either one of you. Not like the city you're leaving behind.

It's a hope you hold onto, even as you board. Even as the cabin crew begin safety demonstrations. Even as you begin to hurtle down the runway.

Jungkook's not a mind reader though, and so he sits, body all hunched up and crooked by your apartment door, waiting for you to come home. He's aware it's a little creepy. Knows you won't be happy to see him - but he doesn't want to fucking stalk you. He just wants to know you're safe. Wants this nightmare to be over.

He's woken the next morning, back in agony from his position, by the ajumma who lives across the hallway. He asks if she's seen you. She tells him it's none of his business, and to get gone.

Good old Eunhee. You've always liked her. She's always hated your boyfriends. It's a win-win.

Jungkook leaves his number with Eunhee, but she bins it as soon as she's inside her apartment. She knows if you want to call Jungkook, you will. She's old enough to know what men are like. Wise enough to know he's probably been up to no good. The ones who grovel always have been.

He walks home, just so he has an excuse to walk back to your area later to pick up his car. Forgets he's supposed to be at Jin's for 9 until Namjoon drives past him.

He expects Namjoon to hurtle off, but to his surprise, he pulls over. Tells Jungkook to get in. Doesn't speak to him the entire way there, but still gets him there ahead of schedule.

There are three cars outside Jin's apartment by the time they arrive. Jin's sleek Merc, Jimin's red Mx5, and a car that Jungkook hadn't expected to see: a Rolls Royce. Blacked out. De-badged. Discreet, but screaming importance. The plates are illegal. Decoys. The kinda shit used by criminals - which is fitting, Jungkook supposes.

"Shitting hell," Namjoon hisses beneath his breath as he pulls his keys from the ignition. "Looks like we've got a date with the Devil himself."

Jungkook laughs. "Don't think the Devil wears Cuban heels."

Namjoon smiles, too. Knows smiling won't be an option once they're inside Jin's apartment.

"C'mon," he says as he encourages Jungkook out of the car. Neither of them really wants to go, but both know their arrival will have been noted. Any slackness will have to be accounted for. Better men have lost fingers for less than tardiness. It's not worth the aggro. "Time to go face the wrath of Old Man Kang."

────────────

When Jin arrives at the boxing club that evening, Jungkook's skin is already glistening beneath the frosty glow of exposed lightbulbs. They're LED, providing no warmth to the shell of a room he's in - but Jungkook's been going at it for so long - been going at it so hard - that steam wafts from his body.

There's something stern in the way Jin is looking at him, as if he's willing for him to slow down.

Jungkook doesn't even so much as look in Jin's direction. His gaze is wasted, much like all of Jungkook's efforts of the past few months.

If he's being honest, Jin is surprised to see him at the club. He hadn't expected to see the kid for at least a day or two after Jungkook had stormed out of his place earlier that morning.

With a face of thunder, jaw tense, his jugular vein throbbing beneath his honey skin, he'd been royally pissed.

Credit where it was due, Jungkook had just about managed to hold it together for long enough to see Old Man Kang out the door - but only just.

He'd sat as quiet as a broken record player in Jin's apartment, leg jittering, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Had barely even looked at their boss. Didn't want to. Didn't trust his misplaced anger.

See, Jungkook has a thing for shifting blame; everything is always someone else's fault. Him losing you? Well, it couldn't possibly be his fault. Had to be Kang's. After all, he was the one who'd sent Jungkook on the first stakeout of GS25.

Maybe not the second one, though. That was all Jungkook's doing. As was the third, and the fourth, and - well, I mean, Kang certainly hadn't told Jungkook to ask you out on a date, the silly cunt. Definitely never told him to put his cock in you, either.

He'd got himself into this mess all by himself.

Didn't like that admission, though, so he stayed silently furious with Kang instead.

Which worked out in his favour, actually. Being preemptively pissed at the stupid old fucker meant that Jungkook's visible annoyance was minimal as Kang dropped a fucking bomb on them at Jin's dinner table.

"Forget about the girl for now. There's too much heat around her. That coworker of hers... he knows too much. You let him know too much. The second she's gone, he'll be pointing fingers - and if they land on you? They'll land on the boxing club too, and whose name is printed above the door? Mine. Too much risk."

Kang had been oblivious to the glances being thrown Jungkook's way - but of course he had been.

Again, Kang had nothing to do with Jungkook's quite frankly ridiculous choices. There really was no one to blame but himself.

And that's the worst part of it all: Jungkook knows this.

It doesn't stop the anger from fermenting in his chest though, so fucking torn apart by the fact that if everyone had just listened to him, just given him a little more time, he could have fixed things.

If Jin hadn't been so headstrong - had just given Jungkook one more fucking day - then he could have kept you. Maybe not forever, but for a little bit longer.

And there he goes again, shifting the blame.

The reality of it being his own mistake, his own failures, is too much for him to come to terms with. He'll deal with eventually, but for now, he needs to forget it all. Forget you exist. Forget the look in your eyes when you realised he'd been playing you like a fucking fiddle. Forget the anger that came when you snapped the strings before he could.

He thinks he's only ever felt sorrow once in his life, and it was what dragged him all the way to Daegu in the first place.

He's not sure that he would classify the way he feels right now as sorrow.

It's too strong of a word to associate with such a silly circumstance.

His heart isn't broken. He wasn't in love with you, for christ's sake. Was just fucking you a little too well. Forgot himself in the moments that he found solace in you; forgot who he was, what he was supposed to do.

This is all on him.

And that's what upsets him so much. He's usually good at this.

If his tryst with Namjoon's little sister had taught him anything, it was that it's easy to not care. It's easy to fuck around with the same person for an extended period of time and not catch feelings. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.

Was as easy as learning ABC's - except when it came to you, Jungkook found himself stumbling, mixing all the letters together, getting things all jumbled up. He was putting letters in the wrong order, but kept 'U' and 'I' side by side - 'cause even though he knows it's wrong, he likes the way it looks. Likes them together.

"Slow down, Kook." Jin's voice is stern as it bellows across the hollow room. "You'll tear something."

Beneath his breath, Jungkook mutters. "Good. Hope I fuckin' do."

"Heard that."

"Don't give a fuck."

He continues to spar against himself, the only enemy his own mind. There was no winning in this match, much like there was no winning in the life he'd chosen to live over the past couple of months.

"She's just a girl, Kook. There'll be others."

The statement hangs in the air like a rancid stench; foul and lingering for far too long.

Jungkook stops bouncing. Slumps his shoulders. Lets his gloved hands hang gamely by his hips. His laboured breaths fill the silence, but he wishes they wouldn't. Thinks it would preferable if he wasn't breathing altogether.

"I know that," he eventually says, rolling his head to his left shoulder and then his right. He bounces again. Taps his glove against the punching bag once, twice, then hits it with far more aggression than is really necessary. "Don't give a fuck about that. Don't give a fuck about her."

Jin wishes he wouldn't lie. There's no need to. The way Jungkook feels about you is stained into his fucking hair. It's not like it's black, or blue, or anything that could be explained away: it's fucking red.

Red like the blood that keeps him alive, and red like the heart that pumps a little faster whenever you're close by.

Red like the stop signs he charges through whenever he's in a rush to get to you, and red like the car you love to hate.

Red like your cheeks when you've had too much to drink, and red like the wires he'd cut on the night he raided the gas station, to stop the silent alarm from tripping.

Red like the sauce of the dakgalbi he'd shared with you on the first night you'd slept together, and red like his ears when his brother had asked if he was seeing someone new during the trip to Busan.

"You seem... I don't know. You seem a lot like the Jungkook we used to know. Jungkook before everything happened. It's nice. That's all."

He's covered in red, head to toe and - because he doesn't like to ever blame himself - it's all because of you.

It's funny, 'cause reds always been your least favourite colour.

You like green best. Wear black like it's a religion. Always thought that if Jungkook was a colour, he'd be dark brown.

The colour of his eyes, americanos on ice - whisky, too. The indulgence of a chocolate cake, the stability of a thick bonsai trunk. The fur of the dog you'd petted together on Dadaepo beach, and the box of dye you're eyeing up in an Olive Young on an island you didn't know.

And more importantly, an island that doesn't know you.

You put the box back in place, and reach for black instead. The last thing you need is to be reminded of him every single time you look in the mirror.

He doesn't know this, though.

Whenever he thinks of you in the months that follows your departure from Daegu - which is pretty fucking often - he remembers it as it was.

He has intrusive thoughts of your hair, how pretty and red it was, and how he'd never had the chance to live out that little fantasy with you; the one where you'd walk down the street, hand in hand, and people would know.

"Cute."

"Their hair! They must be so in love."

"I wish my boyfriend would do stuff like that with me."

And, in Jungkook's delusions, you'd laugh about it, for you still wouldn't actually be a couple. You'd revel in the fact other people assumed you were, though. There'd be no reason for your lack of commitment; just the excitement of the unknown. The thrill of the chase.

One day though, inevitably, he thought commitment would come.

It'd be in your shared loft apartment, a dog sleeping at the foot of your bed, your initial tattooed on his ring finger after a bet gone wrong. He still wouldn't have asked you to be his girlfriend, but he'd press a kiss against your hair and say 'we should get married.'

You'd be in a courthouse by the end of the week, him in a blazer that didn't really fit him anymore, you in a dress picked up from a vintage store downtown. You'd look beautiful in white, he's sure, but when he pictures it, you're in champagne. Rings are foregone - he imagines there'd be a wait on your smoky quartz stone, due to the short notice of your nuptials - but Hairbo rings would be used in their place.

They'd be worn for the entire drive back to the hotel - the one in Busan where he'd decided that you were 'it' for him - and then he'd eat them off as some haphazard form of foreplay.

Not that he's given it much thought.

Barely even gave thoughts of you the time of day after you left.

He doesn't notice when two days ticks into two weeks.

Doesn't think much of it when two weeks becomes two months.

He'll admit that he thinks about you briefly when your father wins the election.

It's only 'cause Kang makes a big fucking fuss about how it's all Jungkook's fault, and that if he'd have 'just done that one fucking job', then maybe Kang would have won it.

In fact, he's sure he would have won it.

He tells Jungkook that next the time he wants to fuck around with a target - 'cause everyone knows, by that point, what Jungkook had gotten up to in the dark with you (thanks a fuckin' lot, Namjoon) - then he could consider himself a target, too.

He's lucky Kang likes him. Or not so much likes him, but recognises his potential.

Has him in the ring most Thursday nights, fighting scrawny fuckers from the neighbouring clubs, fat cats placing bets on them for sport. He's become quite the fighter. Doesn't see fuck all of the bets placed on him. Gets a 5% cut if he's lucky.

But it's that or face the wrath of Kang, and he knows which he'd rather.

Plus he kind of enjoys it. Likes to fight without consequence. Hasn't been fucking without consequence as of late, so it's a good way to rid himself of his frustrations.

Jimin tries to get him back out there, but every club night turns into Jungkook getting off his tits on god knows what was sold to him in the bathroom. Normally coke. He thinks it's pretty harmless. Just a little buzz. Something to get his heart beating in the same way that you used to.

Because Jin was right. You're just a girl. There'll be others. But while there isn't, he'll get his fix in other ways.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him on the nights he got coked up a little too fast, the house key around his neck dusted in white powder.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him when he was training too hard with fractured knuckles.

"Slow down," Jin would tell Jungkook when he's in the passenger seat, but Jungkook doesn't listen, too busy running reds.

Everyone wants him to slow down, but he doesn't understand it.

Slow down? Spend more time withering away? Spend more time thinking about you?

Slow down? Take longer to get over the fact that he's never gonna get the chance to apologise, never gonna get closure?

Why would the people who care about Jungkook wish that upon him?

And so he speeds up. The coke becomes a cocktail of whatever gets him fucked up fastest. He spends every spare moment training. Jin stops hitching rides from him, 'cause he fears Jungkook is becoming too reckless.

They're all concerned.

It's been months, now.

His hair has grown out and is back to its natural shade. He's filling in his tattoos, numbing his skin, covering the art he once loved. Gets a DUI, and only gets off because the superintendent is a spectator of Jungkook's fights; just another one of Kang's Pawns.

See, Jungkook's fights aren't exactly legal. The money made from them definitely isn't legal.

It's then that he realises he's a part of it now; part of the corruption. The same system that killed his mother, the same evil that he'd wanted to destroy from the inside out.

He thinks about Harvey Dent, and the way you could quote the Dark Knight word for word if you really wanted to. It was something he'd learnt about you by accident.

The film had been playing on his television- the Netflix accompaniment to your 'chill' - and you'd stopped midway through a fucking blowjob to do a god awful impression.

'You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.'

At the time, he'd laughed; pulled you in for a dozen kisses and told you never to do the Harvey Dent voice while holding his cock again. That, and also that from now on, movies were strictly off the table whenever the pair of you hung out - only for him to snuggle up with you the next night, watching the Dark Knight Rises because you'd been too sleepy after work to do anything but nap.

The quote haunts him now.

He knows he's lived too long.

It's a Sunday - three months after you'd left - when he finds himself thinking about you again. Your father is launching a new campaign. Some bullshit about healthy family activities. Is opening more parks. A grand opening is being televised.

He doesn't watch it, 'cause why the fuck would he? Avoids that fucker like the plague. Has no idea how your father helped create someone so fucking perfect.

Then again, he supposed it does make sense. Your dad had ruined his life, and you'd ruined his ability to live one without you. Maybe the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

Jimin is the first to enter the club that night. Keeps a safe distance from Jungkook. Doesn't think he's coked up, but hasn't been happy with him as of late. Is withholding his friendship until the stupid kid gets a fucking grip.

Tonight is different, though.

"Hey," he hums, slinking down into the sofa beside Jungkook. "How you doing, man?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Same old, same old. You?"

His question is met with a near identical answer. Jimin glances towards Jungkook as he sniffs, rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Clean," Jungkook tells him. It's been about a week since he last did gear. Didn't like the way it was fucking with his head. Was trying to cut back. "Just habit."

It's an answer Jimin accepts but doesn't necessarily believe.

Not after the broadcast today.

"You watch it?" He asks, nervous of Jungkook's reaction. The TV is playing on mute in the corner, and Jimin can't take his eyes off it.

"Nope."

Jungkook doesn't even need to ask what he's on about, for he knows. Of course he knows - just like Jimin should know that there'd be no way in hell he'd have been watching. His answer is met with a nod. Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip. Can't look at his friend.

"Kook, there's somethin-"

The sound of the side door opening interrupts Jimin, screeching against the floor because none of them had fixed the hinges yet. It's Namjoon, out of breath and a little flustered. Jin follows in behind him, completely stoic.

"Did he see? Did he fucking see?" He's looking at Jimin, but he's asking about Jungkook.

"See what?" Jungkook asks right back, not enjoying the wild beast look in Namjoon's eyes.

"Oh, Jesus."

"Joon," Jimin warns him, knowing that this was not the kind of thing Jungkook needed to hear so abruptly. It needed Jin's touch. Someone calm, someone able to manage a situation without freaking the fuck out like Namjoon was.

"You know and you haven't told him?!"

"Told me what?" Jungkook asks, knowing that whatever it is can't be good. News delivered like this could never be good.

Jimin glances over to Jin for a little guidance, who simply nods towards the TV in return. "Unmute it."

Jungkook's eyes fall on the screen, where a news reporter is talking about the new campaign with such little enthusiasm it's a wonder it ever got aired.

"Don't wanna see it," Jungkook says, despite the fact his heart is fucking racing. Forget the molly, forget the coke, forget the adrenaline that comes in the form of victories in a boxing ring - the anticipation of you outranks all of those. Has his heart resting in his throat. Threatens to choke him. "If she's there, I don't wanna know."

Oh, but it's a lie. Such a big fat glorious lie. His eyes have never been wider, the flickering screen reflecting in them as he watches some journalist try and set the scene. He doesn't recognise the place. Somewhere downtown according to the location stamp, but he can't place it. Can't get in his car and drive there just in case the campaign is still running.

In the top corner, the time reads 2:43PM. It's now gone 9. This was filmed hours and hours ago. Whatever his friends need him to see is long gone.

The camera cuts to your father. Jungkook's blood seems to rise in temperature. There's a ringing in his ears. Your father is spewing some bullshit about the importance of an active family.

Jungkook thinks that must be nice; having a family you can be active with. Shame the prick on the television screen had torn his family apart.

And then he's talking about his own family. His daughters. Plural. About how lucky he is to have them both. How grateful is he to have parented such intelligent, beautiful young women.

The camera pans.

He sees your sister. It's to be expected. She's always there.

But then the camera pans again.

And it's you.

It's fucking you.

3 months gone and then you're back, back in Daegu, back by your fucking father's side - and Jungkook is seeing red again.

Or he's just seeing you. Either or.

He'd somehow forgotten the effect you have on him.

Jungkook stands. Walks away. Paces a little. Takes deep breaths.

And then he crouches. Rests his head in his hands, wants to scream but is entirely silent.

Joon is the first to speak. "Thought you said she didn't agree with her Daddy's politics?"

Jungkook muffles a response. "She told me she didn't."

"Well, she was fuckin' lying."

He didn't think you were. You'd been riding his cock down a Daegu back alley at the time. Would have been pretty hard to lie, he thinks. Too much else going on. He doesn't tell Namjoon this, though. Doesn't want to speak about fucking you. Doesn't want to think about it either, but the mind is a cruel mistress.

"Does it really matter?" Jimin interrupts, knowing how the pair of them like to gun for one another in moments of heightened tension. Now was no time to be fighting. Not when Jungkook would already be fighting against the demons he's been running from ever since you left. "She's back, and she's untouchable."

It's smart. Oh, it's so fucking smart. Jungkook begins to laugh at how much of a clever little fucker you are.

"That's exactly why she's done it," he says. He'd be proud of you, if the circumstances were different, he thinks. "We can't fucking touch her. None of us. Not even me. Especially not me, actually. She isn't letting herself be vulnerable to us. She's protected by a public persona she didn't have before. Smart bitch." He pauses. Lets himself laugh. "Smart fuckin' bitch."

There's a smile as he says it. A little bit of awe, too. Far more sadness, though.

"Smart fuckin' boy."

The voice that echoes into the room has Jungkook frozen. He doesn't react. Thinks it's in his head. Thinks he really has been taking too much gear lately.

But then hears it again, and fucking hell, it hurts.

"What a pair we could have made."

And then there's the click of heels across the concrete floor. Jungkook can't bring himself to look in the direction of the noise - not that he really has a choice as you walk straight past his pathetically crouched body.

He's not the man he once was, you think. Shame.

His eyes are level with your hand, though, where a ring glistens underneath the cold lights of the club as you walk on by.

It's on the same finger he's been keeping spare in his imagination for months. The one reserved for Haribo rings.

You take a seat. Cross your legs. Smile at the dumbstruck faces of the stupid mother fuckers in front of you.

You had expected this reaction from one of them, but it's kind of satisfying to have them all choked out.

"Sorry I'm late, boys," you smile, all pristine and pure. None of them really understand what the fuck is happening. "I hear you were looking for me? Well, consider me found. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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