#like shits been rough for so long that i rlly think the universe is finally giving me a break ehehehh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all.

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms.

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization.

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him?

You’re not so sure.

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows.

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed.

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did.

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?”

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that.

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you.

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes.

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise.

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well.

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows.

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments.

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary.

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight.

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise.

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s.

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face.

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth.

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self.

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first.

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups.

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features.

Oh, you loved this man.

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane.

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway.

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself?

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on.

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.”

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car.

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant.

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you.

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass.

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass.

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit.

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks.

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe.

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear.

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs.

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck.

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush.

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river.

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river.

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!”

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is.

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.”

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song.

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off.

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign.

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device.

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line.

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?”

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?”

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.”

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred?

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend?

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell.

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird!

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at.

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?”

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words.

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?”

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.”

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut.

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead.

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again.

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account.

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?”

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now.

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook.

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms.

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing.

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes.

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.”

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat.

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment.

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river.

“I thought he was cool before.”

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you.

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth.

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor.

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?”

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?”

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own.

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.”

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.”

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling.

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen.

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud.

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief.

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship.

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man.

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot.

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim.

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either.

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.”

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”)

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes.

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.”

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.”

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes.

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself.

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone.

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura.

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.”

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end.

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.”

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is.

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead.

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them.

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.”

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.”

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet.

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again.

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue.

You whimper. “That hurt.”

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey.

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see.

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck.

Of course.

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss.

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it.

And you’re all too ready to act on it.

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy.

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw.

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare.

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him.

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds.

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair.

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips.

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit.

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders.

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you.

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull.

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around.

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you.

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view.

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings.

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you.

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely.

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise.

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth.

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness.

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest.

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor.

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes.

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air.

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead.

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions.

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been.

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table.

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again.

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs.

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true.

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low.

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you.

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you.

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix.

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin.

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction.

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper.

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust.

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly.

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface.

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed.

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy.

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why.

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home.

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you.

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad.

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying.

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses.

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes.

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside.

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds.

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly.

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder.

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you.

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit.

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you.

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different.

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap.

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out.

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds.

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.”

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly.

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic.

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom.

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet.

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums.

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?”

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you.

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house.

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise.

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors.

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.”

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag.

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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mcatra · 4 years

Text

Catra works at Burger King pt 3

catradora in ther modern party clothes!

AO3

pt1/2

Catra was currently studying in the library, trying to work her way through a math problem.

Her place didn't have internet, so she usually alternated between the school wifi, the public library, and Burger King. Lonnie usually let her study in the break room when the libraries closed up.

Her phone pings with a message, obviously from Adora.

Catra picks up her phone and unlocks it, eyebrow raising when she sees the message.

Adora:

Wyd?

Catra sighs. Of course that airheaded jock texted like a frat boy. As much as she wanted to leave her on read, a deal was a deal.

Catra:

Studying.

Adora:

So diligent! You're so cool, Catra :)

Adora:

I'm weightlifting right now! Gotta work off all those BK calories 💪

Great, maybe she will leave her alone to go do her workout.

Adora:

[image.attachment]

Catra almost drops her phone when she sees the photo Adora sent. It was a shot of her by the mirror, and she was flexing with a dumbbell. She was wearing a black crop top, which framed her abs perfectly. What was she doing, getting flustered over what, a gym rat photo that looked like it belonged on a Tinder profile? After much gay panic and debate, Catra takes a photo of herself with her middle finger up to the camera. She taps ‘send’ angrily.

Catra:

[image.attachment] 🖕 She doesn't get a response for a few minutes, which was odd. Usually Adora typed back at the speed of lightning.

Ping.

Adora:

wow Ur rlly hot Catra looks at the text, slack jawed. What the hell?

Adora:

Oh my god I am so sorry. That was Glimmer, she took my phone.

Catra could almost scream, but she was in a public library. She settles for furiously chewing her out, sharp nails flying over the keyboard.

Catra:

Plz make Ur excuses more believable. It's so unoriginal I can't even post this on r/OopsDidntMeanTo.

Adora:

I really didn't mean to 🥺

Adora:

I mean

Adora:

Glimmer didn't mean to God, Adora was so stupid. Yet here Catra was, blushing like a fool. When she doesn’t answer for a while, her phone starts pinging again with notifications.

>Adora liked your photo

>Adora liked your status >Adora reacted to your comment >Adora liked your photo

It goes on for another 23 times and Catra scrolls through it, dumbfounded. Unblocking her was a mistake.

----

As promised, Adora would visit her garage when her shifts were over bringing groceries. In exchange Catra would cook, as it seemed like Adora would burn water if she tried.

It started off as a weekly thing, but in a true Adora-like fashion it ended up like this everyday. They would talk for hours, catching up on their lost years together.

Adora talked about all sorts of things, like how hard it was adjusting to the soft beds at first and how she requested a hard one. She told her about the contents of the letters she would send to Catra that never went received. Catra just listened, gratified to hear that Adora missed her in their time apart even half as much as she did.

They would sing the little songs they invented back when they were kids and make up whole new ones as they waited for the food. Adora even started learning how to cook after watching Catra, and she would barge in uninvited with new recipes. The food tasted better with company, and Adora took great pleasure in piling her seconds.

Catra would show her the local dumpster and they would go scavenging for items they needed. She taught her how to repair the things they found using Youtube tutorials, and how to disinfect them. It was fun watching Adora try to haggle for prices at the market, or her face when she realized she had to use the outhouse to go to the bathroom at Catra’s.

Days bleed into months, their easygoing friendship making Catra feel at peace for the first time in forever.

Right now they were currently in their trial exam period, which functioned both as practice for their final exams and half of their final marks. They were sitting in the library, chatting about their future majors.

Catra taps a pencil to her chin. ‘Let me guess, you want to do art. No, art history.’

‘Political science, actually! Did you know Eternia University has the number one ranked Political Science course in the entire country?' Adora says, flipping through the uni coursebook.

'Wao, future leader of the free world huh? That's kinda hot.' Catra teases, while Adora swats her in embarrassment.

'What about you?'

'Double degree of Law and Social Work.' Catra replies. 'Cliche I know. But I just want to be in a position where I can sue the shit out of Shadow Weaver. The system is corrupt, and there's thousands of kids being abused.'

'Wow, you're so cool Catra.' Adora says in awe. 'You're so smart, you'd definitely get in.'

'Damn right.' She scoffs, crossing her arms.

'You're gonna love Eternia. I went to their open day, the campus is gorgeous. Oh my gosh we could dorm together!'

'Gross, who'd want to be your roommate?'

'You would.'

'Ew, you're so full of yourself. Anyway get off me, I have work soon and I need to get changed.'

'Ah yes, the cute Burger King apron. I never get tired of it.'

They would always flirt back and forth like this, but nothing ever came out of it.

With her friendship came the feelings that she had repressed long ago, unknotting and resurfacing like they had never gone at all. However she had no idea if Adora even liked her in that way, given how affectionate she was with Bow and Glimmer. She was popular with boys and girls alike, but she never dated anyone. Catra never dared to ask.

Once Adora had fallen asleep in Catra's bed, and the brunette had woken up to the other girls arm around her and their feet tangled together. It reminded her of when they shared the bed as kids, but now they were grown up and this kind of thing didn't have an innocent meaning anymore. Having her there made her heart race and her palms sweaty.

She had wanted to kiss her then. She wanted to kiss her now. Catra wanted every single morning to end up like that.

Adora:

Your birthday is soon! Did you want anything?

You , Catra thinks, like a huge sap.

Catra:

My sanity back.

Adora:

Oh my gosh, we could throw you a party at my place! You’re turning 18 right? We could go out drinking! Angella has this amazing vintage wine collection and I could make cocktails!

Catra receives another wall of text, basically planning the entirety of this birthday party with Bow being the DJ and how Glimmer could make these buns that were to die for. Adora starts going through the entire party guest list until she has to cut in.

Catra:

lol calm down

Adora:

Does this mean Ur on board? 🎉

Catra:

yes fine since you won't shut up about it

Adora:

AAAAAAAH YOU'RE THE BEST!!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️ U WILL NOT REGRET THIS

DW I WILL PLAN EVERYTHING <3333

💗💖💖😻

The excessive amount of heart emojis make Catra grin dumbly into her palm.

She's glad they're not video chatting, or Adora would've already taken a screenshot.

---

It’s the day of her 18th birthday, and she’s nearing the end of her shift. The best friend squad were waiting for her at their usual table so they could give her a ride.

‘Hey Catra. Can I speak to you out back?’ Lonnie asks, gesturing outside.

What the heck, did she do something wrong? It’s been pretty peaceful as of late, and Catra tries to remember if she had done anything to Kyle recently. She nods, chucking her apron at the back as she tries not to notice Adora’s eyes following her.

Catra goes out to the back of the store, the night air nipping at her shoulders. Lonnie waits for her there, biting her lip.

‘What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re giving me a raise.’ Catra jokes.

Lonnie looks conflicted, and she takes a big breath.

‘I’m sorry but our store isn’t doing so well. I know you’re turning 18, and that means we can’t afford to keep you on anymore.’

‘What…?’

Catra felt numb, like she wasn’t really there in the back alley with Lonnie. It felt like an out of body experience. She could only stare at her, betrayed.

Like Lonnie could read her mind, she tries to correct herself. ‘It wasn’t my decision, it was Octavia’s.’

Of course it was. Her regional manager was the reason she could never just swipe food while she was working. Octavia never liked her, she always reviewed the security cameras and told her off for goofing around. She must’ve known the door incident was on Catra’s shift, and what really happened despite Adora’s cover up. This ‘layoff’ was just an excuse to get rid of her from a financial standpoint.

‘Thank you for all your hard work over these past 3 years. I know you’re going through a rough time, so we will of course give you a recommendation.’

Catra just nods.

She returns to her shift, robotically going through the motions. Catra doesn’t even say anything sassy when Adora asks for a burger with no patty and no onions and no sauce, only cheese on bread.

The lack of a clever comeback to their gag routine has Adora concerned. ‘Are you okay?’

Of course she wasn’t. How could she be? She was going to have to vacate her garage space, not like she had anywhere to put her furniture in. What the hell was she going to do?

‘I’m fine.’ She says, even though tears were threatening to burn a hole in the back of her eyelids. ‘Just...rough day.’

‘It’s your birthday! The party will cheer you up.’ Bow says brightly. ‘I have the sickest playlist of all time, you're gonna love it.'

'My mum isn’t home so we have free reign over the entire house! Come on girl, let's get you changed!' Glimmer crows, too excited about the party to pick up on Catra's mood. 'Makeover time!!'

The two of them force her into Glimmer's Mercedes, on their way to buy every alcohol imaginable from the bottle shop before they go to her house.

The last thing Catra wanted to do was play dress up or even go to her party, but Adora had planned for so long for this. It would definitely ruin the entire night if she refused to go.

Out of all the times they had hung out, she’s never been to Adora’s house. She leans her head against the window when they drive into the fancy part of town, by the lakeside with the multi-million dollar yachts parked in the water.

That still doesn't prepare Catra for when security lets them in through the black gates to the biggest mansion she’s ever seen. There were fountains, perfectly manicured lawns, a tennis court, and was that a helicopter pad?!

It was incredible, she had only seen this kind of luxury in the movies. So Glimmer was rich , rich. No wonder she was put out that Adora had her 18th birthday at Burger King.

Catra looks at Adora with a dumbfounded expression as the attendants let them in, and the blonde looks almost embarrassed when they have to get into an elevator to go to her room.

Glimmer picks out a hybrid of clothes from her and Adora's closets. The walk-in wardrobe is huge, like a department store full of designer clothes, shoes, jewellery and bags.

Her wardrobe alone is the size of Catra's home. The brunette suddenly understands why Adora cried upon seeing her concrete garage space. Looking at it, she wanted to cry too.

Glimmer sets her down on her huge poster bed as she brings out a checkered crop top, ripped black garter shorts and an expensive looking black leather jacket with a gold trim. While Catra reluctantly gets changed, Glimmer picks out a pair of black strappy heeled boots and a hair straightener to battle the bush on Catra’s head.

She sits still while Glimmer goes to work on her face, bringing out an entire Sephora’s worth of makeup. When Catra looks in the vanity mirror, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were framed with false eyelashes, a swooping cateye, smokey eyeshadow, sharp contour and her lips were now cherry red with bold lipstick. Glimmer applies the finishing touches with silver rings and clip on piercings.

She hears Adora inhale with shock from the staircase in her bedroom.

‘Catra you look incredible !’ She gasps. Adora was wearing this cute backless white dress tied with strings, short enough that it cropped above her knees. She was wearing sparkly wedges to go with it, and her hair was curled instead of her usual ponytail. Her delicate gold sword necklace frames her collarbones.

Catra’s throat goes dry. ‘Uh- You too.’

Glimmer smirks, satisfied with her work. She gets changed into her own outfit, a short purple tulle lace dress with a white fur trim and a cute Gucci clutch to accompany it. The pink haired girl spritzes them all with her various floral and sea spray scented perfumes before they head back downstairs.

‘Wow you guys look amazing!’ Scorpia marvels, and Adora’s friends voice their approval as well.

‘Gosh this place is crazy.’ Scorpia whispers to Catra. ‘Did you see their pool? We should’ve just held the swimming carnival here!’

Catra opens her mouth to tell her how Lonnie had let her go, but Sea Hawk’s booming voice interrupts them.

'I challenge you to the ultimate game of BEER PONG!' Sea Hawk announces, spinning the ball on his fingertips.

Of course this gets everyone's competitive spirit going, and everyone gets into pairs.

After a few drinks Catra has almost forgotten what she was worrying about earlier, too focused on the buzz. Her and Adora demolish the other teams by a landslide with their impeccable aim.

Soon the attendants came out with dinner, and it was lavish with every food you could imagine. Lobster, kobe beef, hor d'oeuvres, beluga caviar, kale, and opulent ice cream were all among the plates of food on the table. They bring out a massive 3 tiered truffle cake, the words 'Happy Birthday' written with an oddly crude drawing of Catra.

'You drew this?' She asks, and Adora nods happily. 'You worked so hard on mine, so.' Catra doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the cake was $7 and the drawing of her forehead was meant as an insult. They sing the birthday song for her, and this time no one brings up the cake cutting tradition.

After dinner they sit outside in the garden around the bonfire Sea Hawk had made. He was drunkenly singing a loud shanty while Bow piled in the wood, fanning the flames. Frosta sips on a mocktail, the only one there who wasn’t old enough to drink yet. The fire flickers and dances, casting shadows around them.

Catra downs a few more cocktails and jello shots as she waits for Mermista to light up some fireworks. Apparently it was illegal, but Mermista just waved her off, telling her that she’ll just pay the penalty fee as Catra’s birthday gift. Sea Hawk really did rub off on her.

When she successfully sets them off they light up the sky in dazzling multicoloured sparks. Adora’s friends whoop with glee, taking photos and videos to commemorate the moment.

Adora's side profile is lit up in the dark, and she looks impossibly beautiful among the backdrop of stars. Longing tears at her chest, Catra wants to hold her hand but her throat feels too tight and she can’t move. The truth was that she knew she had always had feelings for Adora, even back when they were just kids back in the foster home. But like a coward, she could never voice them for fear of Adora leaving her side.

A loud neighing can be heard from the stables in response to the loud booming noises from the fireworks.

'Swifty!' Adora says, standing up. The moment's breaks and Catra reels back her hand. 'Stay here, I'll be right back.'

Her chance disappears, she couldn’t say it after all. She watches her go tend to her horse, feeling stupid.

‘Yoohoo~, want a rematch?’ Sea Hawk calls out from the patio, pouring vodka into tiny glasses.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Catra replies. She definitely didn’t know her alcohol tolerance levels yet, so it was the perfect time to take that to the test.

Catra confidently does a whole line of shots, determined to drink herself into unconsciousness. Every time she sees a flash of Lonnie or Adora’s face in her mind, she takes another swig. Everyone is cheering her on, screaming the song ‘Shots’ over and over again, also all drunk out of their minds. Sea Hawk taps out at the 5th drink, and everyone screams at Catra’s flawless victory. Scorpia lifts her into the air to do a victory lap, cheering.

Adora finally makes an appearance, alerted by the sound of Catra's shrieky laughter as Scorpia swings her around.

‘Don’t worry, I can take it from here.’ Her school captain says pulling Catra away from her friend. Scorpia just shrugs and makes her way to the food table. ‘Catra, maybe you should slow down.’ Adora tells the giggling girl in her arms.

‘Noo way.’ She slurs, she was enjoying the feeling too much, the alcohol burning through her body, making her feel lightheaded. The light up disco dancefloor starts to blur into a kaleidoscope of colours.

‘You got some weed?’ Catra asks, seeing Perfuma light a bowl. The taller girl hands her an already rolled up one and Catra snatches it to take a long drag. The smoke hits her lungs and she starts coughing.

‘Oi Perfuma, why did you bring drugs? Angella will kill me!' Adora gripes, trying to wrestle the blunt away from Catra.

‘Aw don't be like that! I made some edibles for you guys to try.’ Perfuma says cheerfully, pointing to the pot brownies.

‘See? Scorpia likes them.’ She gestures at the other girl, who seemed to be currently tripping out of her mind and eating everything on the table.

Catra goes to reach for one, but Adora grabs her by the wrist to lead her back inside. 'Alright, you're done for the night. Everyone say bye!'

‘Byee Catra!’

‘Happy birthday!!’

Adora grabs her by the waist to lead her to her bedroom, Catra wobbling after her in the heels Glimmer lent her.

'Ugh Adoraaa, don't be such a party pooper. I'm fine.' She moans, leaning heavily on the other girl. 'Don't you have a shift tomorrow afternoon? I don't want you getting hungover or drug tested.' Adora chides, rummaging around the dark for the light switch.

Catra snorts. 'Oh you don't have to worry about that anymore. Got laid off.'

Adora looks at her in confusion, until realization dawns on her. 'Wait, is that why Lonnie took you outside?'

'Say, I never got to give you your birthday gift.' Catra pushes her hair back, voice sultry as she flings off her jacket. She never pinned herself down as a horny drunk, but here they were. Catra shoves Adora onto the bed, straddling her. Her golden hair spills over the mattress, soft like spun silk.

'You still want that kiss?' Catra whispers in Adora's now burning red ear. 'My knife touched the bottom.'

Adora's face now resembled a fire truck, mouth gaping in shock.

'C-Catra, I…'

Catra presses their lips together, silencing her. She knows she probably tastes like alcohol and weed right now, but she couldn't care less in the moment. Adora's mouth is still slack jawed from mortification, so she takes the opportunity for tongue. She frowns and moves down to her neck when Adora doesn’t return the kiss.

'Catra, what are you doing-'

Catra bites down on Adora's nape. The blonde underneath her lets out a soft gasp, arching her back. Her gold manicured nails dig into her shoulder.

'Stop, you're not thinking straight-!'

'Sure ain't.' Catra grins, licking a stripe down the base of her neck. Adora’s necklace chain jingles with the movement. There was now an impressive hickey there, blooming violet on her pale skin. She pauses to admire her handiwork.

'This isn't you talking, you'll, you'll regret this in the morning.' Adora stutters. She's shivering, their hands now laced together, silver rings clanking.

'I know. I don't care.' She replies, kissing her again. Adora's teeth nick her lip. The alcohol in her system makes her feel lightheaded, confident. No way would she have managed this sober. Adora tastes better than she does, sweet like blueberry soju. Catra's hands wander down further, pulling the strings to untie the back of her dress-

'Catra stop!' Adora suddenly shouts, striking Catra across the cheek in a deafening slap .

Adora's eyes were blazing, almost teary in the dark. Her breathing was irregular, panting in and out. Catra stills, clutching her cheek. The look in her eyes sobered her immediately.

Adora looks down at her palm, realizing what she just did. 'Sorry for hitting you!' She flounders. 'It's just that, you're only doing this because you’re drunk and upset, right?’

Catra just stares at her before climbing off. Cold realization settles as the fog in her brain clears. 'You're right. Forget it.'

She sits on the edge of the bed, numbly watching Adora hurriedly trying to re-tie the back of her now wrinkled dress. Her lips are stained with Catra’s red lipstick. Adora catches her looking, and she quickly turns away to smooth down her hair with her fingers. 'You've had more than enough to drink tonight. I’ll get you some water to clear your head.’

She gets up to turn on the light switch, and Catra blinks in the harsh light from the chandeliers. ‘Come on, let’s get you sobered up, okay?’ Adora leads her to the kitchen on the same floor, gingerly placing her friend on the slippery bar stool.

The blonde goes to get the chilled jug of infused water from the fridge and pours it into a glass. Adora slides it across the island, and Catra reluctantly takes it. She sips at it, mint and lemon on her tongue. It tasted way better than her hose water.

‘I’ll uh, pick out some groceries for you since we’re here and all.’ Adora says awkwardly into the silence, turning around to rummage through her pantry.

Suddenly Catra is brought back to the whole reason why she was sitting here in this oversized mansion in the first place. Their friendship agreement. The one she had just violated. Catra had never felt more stupid to mistake Adora’s kindness and guilt for actual feelings. She felt like a charity case, waiting to collect food from the soup kitchen.

Of course Adora didn't like her back. She just saw her as someone needing to be saved. The product of survival guilt. Catra wanted to whack her head on the corner of her marbled countertop and not wake up.

Adora takes out a green plastic bag, and starts filling it with everything and anything she can get. Cans, pasta, biscuits, fruits and vegetables. Actually this feeling was more like being one of those poor kids that white girls would pose next to for their Instagram after their trip to Africa. Did Adora have fun, volunteering to slum it up in her place while she returned here? All she ever wanted her entire life was to be Adora’s equal.

Scorpia and Sea Hawk's loud laughter and DJ music can be heard downstairs in the garden, beyond the tall golden trimmed windows. The class difference between them stretched like an unfathomable canyon. Living the classy bougie dream until the clock struck midnight and she was back in her run down garage. Except soon she won’t even have that anymore. Why did Adora have to bring her here? It was almost cruel.

Catra's suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit. She nearly falls off the high chair in her rush to throw up the unholy cocktail of alcohol into the sink. Tears bead in her eyes from the sour taste as she continues to vomit out everything she ate that night. She can feel Adora by her side, patting her back reassuringly.

It was by far the worst birthday she has ever had.

The morning of, Catra woke up in Adora’s bed with a splitting headache.

Unfortunately she was not given the gift of amnesia, as she vividly remembered every last excruciating detail about last night.

She spots Adora’s mop of blonde hair under a blanket on the floor, even though there were a billion other free spare rooms to sleep in. Adora was probably too afraid to share the same bed as her now.

Catra’s borrowed crop top digs uncomfortably into her skin, and she angrily flings it off her body. The shorts stick to her like a second skin, smelling of tequila. She grabs her old Burger King uniform and puts it on, though even this didn’t belong to her now.

Adora shifts in her sleep, and Catra lightly steps over her to get to the door. The last thing she wanted was for Adora to wake up.

As soon as she’s out, she runs out to the elevator and bangs frantically on the buttons until it sends her to the bottom floor. The lift opens with a ding and in her haste she almost crashes headfirst into Glimmer.

‘Oh hey! Are you going to work?’ Glimmer greets. She was in her silk pajamas and slippers, holding a glass of orange juice.

‘Uh. Yeah.’ Catra lies, trying her best to look natural.

‘Some party last night huh? Lucky today is a Saturday.’ Glimmer says conversationally, unaware of Catra’s urge to throw her across the room. ‘Hey, what happened to your cheek?’

Catra clutches her face, it still strung from where Adora struck her. ‘Nothing.’

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. ‘Well anyway, did you wanna stick around for breakfast? The cooks made pancakes, bacon, eggs, the whole deal.' She peeks behind Catra. 'Is Adora still not up yet?’

As much as Catra wanted to scream get out of my way she schools her expression to her best customer service smile. ‘Nope she’s still sleeping it off. Anyway I’m gonna be late so I can’t stick around.’

‘Did you need a lift?’ Glimmer asks. It dawns on the brunette she couldn’t exactly run the entire way back home. ‘I’ll ask one of the drivers to take you back so you make it to your shift.’

Catra thanks her lucky stars that Glimmer was still too hungover to drive her. She wouldn’t have been able to dodge her questions if she had.

‘Yes please.’ Catra says, giddy with relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ooh and before I forget, Adora told me last night to give you this.’ Glimmer says, grabbing the green bag of groceries off the counter. The shorter girl bundles it into Catra’s arms before she can object.

‘Get home safe.’ She says, waving as the attendant leads her out the door.

Catra looks down at the cans of food in her arms and doesn’t say anything.

------

The days leading up to graduation were painful, to say the least.

They more or less pretend the kiss didn't happen. Adora never brings it up, and neither does Catra.

She would stare at the ceiling, wishing she had never gotten piss drunk at her birthday and kissed her. Adora was right, she did regret it. It was awful, the look on Adora's face when she slapped Catra replays in her mind and nightmares over and over again. It was mortifying.

Adora still messages her every 3 days, and Catra still replies, though her words are empty and devoid of banter. I'm worried about you, she says. I'm fine , Catra always responds.

The brunette continues to humour her to keep the peace, only shutting down when her old job was mentioned. Catra doesn’t allow Adora back into her home again.

Sometimes they study together, but she can't concentrate when Adora wears her glasses. Her heart hurts, so she cradles her cheek and tries not to remember.

The hickey she had branded Adora's neck with had been covered with foundation until it faded away. None of her friends had teased her about it, so she clearly had not told a single soul what had happened.

Catra bites at the scab on her lip from where Adora’s teeth nicked her until it bleeds. She wants to apologize, but the words stick on her tongue and she can't bring herself to talk about that night.

Catra knew Adora was only here by her side to alleviate her guilt. Shame buries itself under her skin every time she's near her, like she was too embarrassed to even exist in the same space as Adora. She wants to disappear.

Exams are hard, and without an internet connection after the library closes at 6pm made it difficult to study. In her heart she knew she wasn't going to come out on top. Her ranking had slipped, she wasn't even at second place anymore. Rent was due at the end of the month, and without her Burger King wage she knew she'll be kicked out sooner than later.

Catra felt stressed and self destructive, and the only thing that kept her from falling off the edge completely was Scorpia. As much as she hated depending on others, she'd much rather her old coworker than Adora.

Her classmates seemed to like this new, muted down version of Catra who didn't argue and just stayed quiet most of the time. Fighting back was too difficult when all she wanted to do was blend into the wallpaper. All they talked about was where they were going for vacation after graduation, and Catra certainly had nothing to contribute to that conversation.

She felt like crying, all the time. It was agony, wanting to burst out into tears randomly while she sat wasting away in the student council room. Despite herself, she missed Burger King, and she just kept getting ghosted or rejected in her other job applications. Sometimes when she really wanted to indulge herself, she'd go cry silently in the school toilet stall.

Glimmer notices the change, and she catches her glaring. 'You don't seem as alive lately. Your eye bags are huge.'

'S'fine.' Catra replies, hiding her hands so she doesn't see how they shake. Honestly Catra couldn't remember the last time she slept.

'Pfft, don't lie to me. Adora's worried about you. You're getting skinnier, and your eyes are always raw. All you do is stare into space.'

Catra bites down on her nails. Of course she knew that. But she's gone through this before, and she'll do it again.

'What happened between you two?’

‘None of your business.’ Catra replies, shuffling her way to the hall.

Their graduation ceremony starts off uneventfully. Every student’s parents except Catra’s sit proudly in the audience, eager to watch their kid graduate. One by one they receive their certificate and return to their seats.

Adora and Catra stand side by side onstage, as Adora makes their final speech as School Captain. Through the blinding lights, she sees Angella waving proudly at her adoptive daughter in the crowd.

Catra looks at Adora in the corner of her eye. She must look pathetic, lovesick and pining after someone she couldn’t have.

‘It’s been such an honour serving the entire faculty and students of this school. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing Vice-Captain and all of my prefects. Now I’m proud to hand over my badge to the next School Captain, Frosta.’

They go through the rest of the ceremony like that, each member of the student council handing their badges to their successors.

Soon their Principal comes up to the podium, tapping it once and clearing her throat.

‘Announcing our honor student, and the winner of the scholarship to Eternia University…’ Castaspella says, turning over the sign card.

‘None other than our school captain, Adora!’

Everyone starts clapping, and Adora walks across the stage to shake Castaspella's hand.

Sounded about right. Catra never won against Adora in her entire life. She had already expected this outcome. Like a game of cat and mouse, going over and over for all eternity.

Adora would excel with her elite education and secure a well paying job. Catra would struggle at the bottom indefinitely, never amounting to anything. She never would, if Adora was still there next to her. When the blonde re-entered her life, everything she had been working towards for years just collapsed. Her job, her home, her School Captain status, her chance at the scholarship, her sanity.

She had to be wiped clean. A fresh start.

The flower petals were falling, the streets decorated with a vibrant pink. The other students mill out of the crowd with their parents, chatting excitedly about what was next in their futures. She waits for Adora underneath a tree.

'Congratulations.' Catra says, when she finally spots the other girl in the crowd. Adora pulls away from Angella’s embrace to meet her.

'You deserve this so much more than I do.' Adora says, her voice pained like she didn't just win a full ride to her dream university. 'You should take it.'

'It's in your name, silly.' Catra replies, lightly tapping her with her rolled up certificate.

'Besides, I knew you'd get into Eternia, so I never applied.'

Adora blinks dumbly. '...What? Aren’t we going to the same university?’

She always was a bit slow on the uptake. ‘Only you decided that, stuupid. Say, it's about time we ended this right?'

‘Catra, what are you...'

'Our deal. You don't need to feel guilty anymore or bring me anything.' Catra says, her voice sounding like it didn't belong to her. She rummages in her bag, bringing out Adora's spare varsity jacket that she hadn’t returned. 'Here, take this. Thank you for all the help.'

'What do you mean? You want to stop being friends?' Adora says in disbelief, taking the jacket.

Catra nods. ‘I can’t continue with the arrangement. I hope you understand.’

‘I don’t! Was I the only one who thought we were friends, real ones?’ Adora asks.

‘...That’s right. I never saw you as a friend. You were just a meal ticket to me. Are you happy now?’ Catra snaps back. Shit, that wasn’t what she meant to say. She had planned to end this quickly and painlessly, on a high note. Trust Adora to put up a fight.

Something seems to click in Adora’s brain. ‘Is this about the night of the party?’

‘Figure that out yourself.’ Catra replies, turning to walk away.

Adora grabs onto her arm. ‘Wait! If- if that’s what you want, I’ll give it! Just don't go!'

This dumb blonde really was offering up her body, out of what? A sense of duty? How stupid.

‘Is that right?’ Catra says, walking closer to her. Adora backs up until she is pinned to the tree. They’re face to face now.

‘Can you really do this?’ Catra lifts Adora’s chin by a finger.

Finally it seems to dawn on Adora exactly what Catra wanted. She swallows, biting her lip.

There’s a flicker of hesitation, before Adora’s eyes squeeze shut defiantly. The blonde is shaking like a leaf, her breath coming out in panicked stutters from her pursed lips.

Catra just stares at Adora’s scrunched up face impassively. Her scared reaction was the only confirmation she needed for closure.

She flicks the other girl’s forehead, and her big blue eyes open in confusion. ‘Chill out, I’m not that evil to do it to someone so unwilling.’

Adora blinks, clutching her forehead. ‘Catra?’

Suddenly Angella’s voice cuts through their conversation from the car park. ‘Adora dear, are you done chatting with your friend? We have reservations!'

‘Um, I…’ Her old school captain opens her mouth to say something, but Angella's started to lose her patience. 'Adora, how long are you going to stand there? Glimmer is already waiting for us at the restaurant!'

Catra just smiles tiredly. ‘Take care, dummy.’

She watches Adora being dragged off unwillingly by her adoptive mother to the car.

Catra lets out a sigh. Her phone pings with a message from Scorpia, and she knows it's time to go.

---

By the time Angella releases her from their graduation celebration, Adora can feel that it's already too late.

Adora:

Please, can we talk? Let me fix this

A pop up appears over the screen.

Message Not Sent

This person isn't receiving messages at this time.

Adora sends another message, but they all go undelivered. Catra had blocked her again. Panic spikes through her veins, and she quickly dons on a jacket and grabs her car keys.

She sneaks out that night, down the familiar winding path through the bush that led to Catra's place.

'Catra?' She rolls up the garage door, blinking in the darkness. When her eyes adjusted, she found Catra's old home completely emptied.

All the furniture and items her friend had collected over the years, they were all gone. The little stove where they cooked, the old mattress where they talked late into the night, all vanished like they were never there.

A single green plastic bag remained on the floor untouched, filled to the brim of food.

catra working at BK fanart:

https://twitter.com/huetrooper/status/1265188930741080064

https://twitter.com/quackelroys/status/1271199987540668416?s=20

https://mcatra.tumblr.com/post/620493235561824256/your-catra-works-at-burger-king-fic-is-great-you

pt1, pt 2

Catra was currently studying in the library, trying to work her way through a math problem.

Her place didn't have internet, so she usually alternated between the school wifi, the public library, and Burger King. Lonnie usually let her study in the break room when the libraries closed up.

Her phone pings with a message, obviously from Adora.

Catra picks up her phone and unlocks it, eyebrow raising when she sees the message.

Adora:

Wyd?

Catra sighs. Of course that airheaded jock texted like a frat boy. As much as she wanted to leave her on read, a deal was a deal.

Catra:

Studying.

Adora:

So diligent! You're so cool, Catra :)

Adora:

I'm weightlifting right now! Gotta work off all those BK calories 💪

Great, maybe she will leave her alone to go do her workout.

Adora:

[image.attachment]

What was she doing, getting flustered over what, a gym rat photo that looked like it belonged on a Tinder profile?

After much gay panic and debate, Catra takes a photo of herself with her middle finger up to the camera. She taps ‘send’ angrily.

Catra:

[image.attachment] 🖕

She doesn't get a response for a few minutes, which was odd. Usually Adora typed back at the speed of lightning.

Ping.

Adora:

wow Ur rlly hot

Catra looks at the text, slack jawed. What the hell?

Adora:

Oh my god I am so sorry. That was Glimmer, she took my phone.

Catra could almost scream, but she was in a public library. She settles for furiously chewing her out, sharp nails flying over the keyboard.

Catra:

Plz make Ur excuses more believable. It's so unoriginal I can't even post this on r/OopsDidntMeanTo.

Adora:

I really didn't mean to 🥺

Adora:

I mean

Adora:

Glimmer didn't mean to

God, Adora was so stupid. Yet here Catra was, blushing like a fool. When she doesn’t answer for a while, her phone starts pinging again with notifications.

>Adora liked your photo

>Adora liked your status >Adora reacted to your comment >Adora liked your photo

It goes on for another 23 times and Catra scrolls through it, dumbfounded. Unblocking her was a mistake.

----

As promised, Adora would visit her garage when her shifts were over bringing groceries. In exchange Catra would cook, as it seemed like Adora would burn water if she tried.

It started off as a weekly thing, but in a true Adora-like fashion it ended up like this everyday. They would talk for hours, catching up on their lost years together.

Days bleed into months, their easygoing friendship making Catra feel at peace for the first time in forever.

Catra taps a pencil to her chin. ‘Let me guess, you want to do art. No, art history.’

‘Political science, actually! Did you know Eternia University has the number one ranked Political Science course in the entire country?' Adora says, flipping through the uni coursebook.

'Wao, future leader of the free world huh? That's kinda hot.' Catra teases, while Adora swats her in embarrassment.

'What about you?'

'Wow, you're so cool Catra.' Adora says in awe. 'You're so smart, you'd definitely get in.'

'Damn right.' She scoffs, crossing her arms.

'You're gonna love Eternia. I went to their open day, the campus is gorgeous. Oh my gosh we could dorm together!'

'Gross, who'd want to be your roommate?'

'You would.'

'Ew, you're so full of yourself. Anyway get off me, I have work soon and I need to get changed.'

'Ah yes, the cute Burger King apron. I never get tired of it.'

They would always flirt back and forth like this, but nothing ever came out of it.

She had wanted to kiss her then. She wanted to kiss her now. Catra wanted every single morning to end up like that.

Adora:

Your birthday is soon! Did you want anything?

You, Catra thinks, like a huge sap.

Catra:

My sanity back.

Adora:

Oh my gosh, we could throw you a party at my place! You’re turning 18 right? We could go out drinking! Angella has this amazing vintage wine collection and I could make cocktails!

Catra:

lol calm down

Adora:

Does this mean Ur on board? 🎉

Catra:

yes fine since you won't shut up about it

Adora:

AAAAAAAH YOU'RE THE BEST!!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️ U WILL NOT REGRET THIS

DW I WILL PLAN EVERYTHING <3333

💗💖💖😻

The excessive amount of heart emojis make Catra grin dumbly into her palm.

She's glad they're not video chatting, or Adora would've already taken a screenshot.

---

It’s the day of her 18th birthday, and she’s nearing the end of her shift. The best friend squad were waiting for her at their usual table so they could give her a ride.

‘Hey Catra. Can I speak to you out back?’ Lonnie asks, gesturing outside.

Catra goes out to the back of the store, the night air nipping at her shoulders. Lonnie waits for her there, biting her lip.

‘What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re giving me a raise.’ Catra jokes.

Lonnie looks conflicted, and she takes a big breath.

‘I’m sorry but our store isn’t doing so well. I know you’re turning 18, and that means we can’t afford to keep you on anymore.’

‘What…’