#goodbye!!!!!!

     He came with only his backpack, a few boxes full of clothes and books and things, three pairs of boots tied together and slung over his shoulder, and his PS4—he didn’t ask for help carrying any of it, just showed up outside your door with all of it piled up in his arms at once. Your guest bedroom already had a bed and a dresser for him, and you had saved up for a pretty nice TV in the living room, and that was all he needed otherwise.

     The first few weeks having a roommate were...different. Your cat seemed to like him, always disappearing into his room and deciding you were no longer worth her time. He kicked his shoes off right in front of the door for you to trip on every morning and every night, and even when he knew you were going grocery shopping, he never told you that he’d finished off the carton of milk or eggs.

     With Jungkook came all of his friends. There were six of them in particular who came around more than most, but you didn’t really mind them. Jin cooked for you, and Hoseok could never help himself from tidying up any of the common living areas; Taehyung was nice to look at, you’d never met anyone kinder than Jimin, and Yoongi kept them all in check; Namjoon was fine as long as he sat on the couch and didn’t touch anything the whole time he was over. Your apartment was never without one or two of them, and now you always had to wear pants.

     But he washed his own dishes and never asked you to turn your music down, so as long as he was taking a load off of your bills, you would survive. Jungkook never did tell you why he had so desperately, immediately needed a place to stay, and you never thought to ask why none of his other friends would take him in.

     It took two months for you to start figuring that out for yourself.

     You’d been living with him for nine weeks the first time it happened.

     The first year in your graduate program was kicking your ass, but by the grace of God you had crawled beneath your covers before 2 A.M. and your only plans for tomorrow were to sleep in until noon, order a pizza, and lay in bed all day.

     At least that was the plan until your eyes popped open at the sound of whatever the fuck coming from outside your door and down the hall. The alarm clock on your bedside table told you that it was 3:24 A.M. It took a minute for your consciousness to wade through the swampy, dreamy haze and register exactly what the unholy noise filling up what should have been your dead silent apartment was.

     “Naaants ingonyama bagithi baba!”

     He’d been watching The Lion King when you got home from work.

     “Jeon Jungkook, do you want to die!?” You screeched, throwing your comforter off of your legs and wobbling on your feet in a half-asleep stupor as you pursued the object of your despair. His singing only got louder after you shoved your door open and let it slam against the wall, and you started a list in your head of the all the easiest ways you could kill him and who you could call to help get rid of the body.

     Jimin was probably your best option. He’d been looking for any good reason to attack Jungkook since he’d needed him to come get something off of a high shelf in your kitchen a couple of days ago, and Jungkook had called him a “little nugget.”

     The sound of his voice brought you stumbling into the living room, where he sat on the couch in the dark, screaming the lyrics so hard he must have been hurting himself instead of singing at this point. You smacked blindly against the wall, relieved to feel a switch and flicking it upwards. The room filled with soft yellow light from overhead, and Jungkook’s “singing” stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He slowly turned to look at you with those doe eyes, shining with the most glaringly insincere innocence and remorse.

     “Oh, sorry noona, did I wake you?”

     You blinked at him once, twice, and let him believe for a moment that you wouldn’t actually do him any bodily harm.

     “I’m going to castrate you,” you answered him quietly, and then lunged, tackling him back into the couch cushions. With the advantage of being on top, you reached down to wrap both of your hands around his neck.

     “Who do you think you are!” You demanded, keeping the pressure on his throat light, “I let you live here and this is how you repay me, you brat!” Jungkook just laughed as his much larger hands wrapped around your wrists and easily pried you off of him, before shifting his upper body weight to his shoulders and lifting his hips.

     “What are you—oomph,” you were cut off as your back hit the carpet, realizing just a moment too late that Jungkook had rolled the two of you onto the floor and now had you pinned beneath him. He was holding your arms down by your head with an iron grip, and your legs were trapped between his absurdly meaty thighs, and you could barely move. You’d have to go into his room and throw all his weights out the window next time he went out and left you—

     “It’s the circle of life, and it moves us all!” He’d leaned in so close to you that the tips of your noses brushed. It was easy to ignore the heat on your cheeks at his close proximity when you could smell the...peanuts and chili peppers on his breath.

     “Jeon Jungkook, were you eating my Chinese food again?!”

     There, on the coffee table, was your previously half-eaten quart of kung pao chicken. You knew it was yours because you had taken special care to write your initials on every side of it, and the top and even the bottom—you’d noticed Jungkook had a special talent for eating everything that wasn’t explicitly yours, but obviously wasn’t his, that way he could talk himself out of it if he got caught.

     You’d been so excited to eat that for lunch tomorrow, and Jungkook was just giggling at the frown that pulled your lips down low on your face.

     His offenses on the night were just piling up, but up to that point had been reasonably forgivable. Then he took it one step further, moving both of your wrists into just one of his hands and stabbing two fingers right into your ribs.

     Your involuntary peals of distressed laughter rang through the room, knocking off the ceiling and the walls and surrounding the both of you. If the way the corners of Jungkook’s lips quirked up was any indication, he was enjoying your pain and suffering. He knew exactly where to jab and poke to make you scream.

     “Jung...kook!...please, I...I-I’m fucking begging you, you.....you fuck...fucking demon!” Getting any words in around the heaves that had once been laughs, trying to suck oxygen back in and relieve your aching lungs, was no simple task. Jungkook did stop, finally, but his eyes were narrowed and his lip curled and you knew that he wasn’t done torturing you just yet.

     “What did you call me? A demon? Noona, that’s just mean,” he mocked you, “now where else are you ticklish...behind your knee, right?” He leaned back to cup your calf in his hand, then ghosted his touch up your leg, leaving goosebumps behind his fingertips’ trail. You thrashed to the side to get away from him, and realized that his stance had opened up the space between his thighs just so—you jerked your leg up with every intention of kneeing him in the balls and leaving him infertile, but Jungkook was quick, sitting back down on your legs with all of his weight to stop you.

     His move backfired.

     A moan ripped through the night.

     Your leg was trapped, still wedged between his thighs, and dug hard into the dick hidden in his sweatpants. You could feel it twitch against your knee.

     “Oh, fuck,” Jungkook wheezed, both of his hands immediately letting you go as he clambered up and backed away. You couldn’t look him in the eye, so you turned your head towards the TV. The cable box read 4 A.M. So much for your night of tranquil, undisturbed rest.

     “I, uh,” he started and immediately stopped, smart enough to know there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make the situation even more embarrassing for either of you. You just dipped a nod down at him, then stood and rushed back down the hall to your bedroom. As you passed him, you noticed from the corner of your eye that he had to cover the beginnings of an erection with his hands.

     It was a sight that kept you up the rest of the night.

     Your phone rang at 7 A.M., and it was your boss calling you into work at the last minute because one of your co-workers was sick. You scratched ‘order a pizza and lay in bed all day’ off the mental two-item list of things you’d needed to maintain the appearance of sanity as you wandered around your room, somehow stepping out of it in your uniform with your hair and teeth brushed. You were barely conscious as you dragged yourself downstairs and to your car—you didn’t know how you made it to work or back in one piece.

     Jungkook made himself scarce for the next few days, for which you were thankful. Between your rage at him for stealing away what would have been your first and last peaceful night of the semester and your mortification at violating him, it was best that you didn’t have to see him for a little while. Eventually you willed yourself to forget about the whole thing, and sooner rather than later, things around the apartment went back to normal.

     Some people say things always get worse before they get better, but in your experience, things always got better before they became dramatically worse.

     After knowing him for two years and living with him for several months, you were shocked that there were still things for you to learn about Jungkook. It was mostly little things, like how he hated black olives (he refused to eat a pizza you brought home for dinner even after pulling off all the little slivers, as if the taste of them would linger over the cheese and sauce) or how he knew all the words to every Britney Spears song you could demand that he sing (at 3 A.M., instead of Disney renaissance movie soundtracks).

     Some of these new discoveries excited you, some terrified you, some made you angry or sad or happy or confused, but none had ever affected you quite as much as when you found out that Jungkook could dance.

     Jimin was one of the top performers in his university’s ballet program, and Hoseok taught at a local studio and performed with a street crew, but Jungkook had never done anything outside of his shitty retail job and graphic design major that enlightened you to his secret talent. It was possible you never would have found out if Hoseok hadn’t come around pounding on your door one morning, ranting and raving about a competition his crew wanted to enter with a hefty monetary prize on the line, but was one member short of being qualified for.

     That was where Jungkook came in.

     You had already told Hoseok you’d go see him at the competition, but your eyes were on Jungkook the whole time. With only a few weeks of practice, he outshone almost everybody he danced alongside. You knew Jungkook was good at everything that he tried to do, but this was more than that—you were clearly watching him do something that he was meant to do.

     He stepped out for somebody else to fill the spot after the competition, but he started going to Hoseok’s studio a couple nights a week after that, dancing with his friends just for fun. It was a simple story—he’d been on a dance team in high school, they’d won their fair share of championships and Jungkook had considered studying dance in college, but in the end had dropped it in pursuit of something more realistic. It broke your heart to hear that he just didn’t think he was good enough at it, when you had seen so clearly otherwise with your own two eyes.

     As sympathetic as you were, that didn’t keep you from being annoyed when Jungkook brought dancing home. Of all places, he made his own studio out of the kitchen, and especially liked to gyrate and twirl around in the tight space when it was occupied by somebody (usually Jin) trying to cook around his choreography. There had been lots of close calls with Jin having to duck underneath an incoming dab as he carried a pot of pasta and scalding water to the sink to drain, or struggling to get around Jungkook attempting to spin on his shoulders on the floor to get to a pan of something burning on the stove.

    Jungkook never found anything wrong with all of this, of course. When he asked where else he was supposed to dance, and you suggested literally anywhere else, he’d just pat your head as he insisted there was nowhere else in the house with enough space and decent flooring. He couldn’t spin on his shoulders on the living room carpet, obviously.

     Four months to the day after Jungkook moved in, the dancing epidemic reached its breaking point. It was his 21st birthday, and even though he wanted to throw a wild party or go club hopping all night, it fell on a Tuesday. None of his friends felt like partying after a long day at school or work, before another long day of school or work. He’d spent hours moping when he realized this, and was just barely pacified by the compromise that you’d have a nice dinner that night, instead, and then you’d all take him out that weekend.

     He’d accepted this, but only with whines and stomps of his feet.

     You weren’t much of a cook, but found yourself sauteing beef at the stove regardless, as Jin bustled around behind you, throwing a dash of salt into this and giving that a vicious stir and overall acting like preparing this meal was the most stressful, grueling thing he’d ever had to do. He’d cooked for you and Jungkook dozens of times, but that night he was holding himself to a different standard—under no circumstances could he disappoint his youngest and most precious dongsaeng.

     “Is it almost done?” Namjoon asked from the doorway, but before he could set foot over the threshold, Jin had spun around and was whipping the towel he’d had thrown over his shoulder at him.

     “Put your hands up! Take three steps back! Don’t touch anything!” The younger man relented, settling back deep into the hallway. Jin turned back to whatever he was mixing, mumbling manically to himself about trying to cut onions with the blunt side of a knife and catching ovens on fire and accidentally getting pancakes stuck on the ceiling.

     There was a strict no Namjoon in the kitchen rule for many good reasons.

     “Ok, well, Jungkook is on his third beer already,” Namjoon had to half-shout so you could hear him, and his statement was punctuated by a bellowing yeeeeeaaaaah, boooooy! from the living room. The boys had agreed to indulge Jungkook in a Mario Kart tournament, and were all graciously letting him win every round—the drunker he got, the less obvious that was and the more taunting and ruthless he became.

     “Keep him under control!” Jin snapped, “We are not dying in here just for him to pass out in the soup!” You had decided to make the seaweed soup yourself when Jungkook told you it was the first birthday he’d be spending away from his parents, and his mom had given you her recipe over the phone that morning. He’d been pleasantly absent from the kitchen while you soaked the seaweed, marinated the beef, and made a stock, but you knew he’d be in there sooner or later in his best attempts at ruining everything.

     “He just keeps screaming that he’s an adult and he’ll call the cops if we don’t let him have another beer,” Namjoon informed him, “and Taehyung keeps giving him shots of tequila, and I think Jimin was drunk before he even got here and he keeps trying to make out with Yoongi, pretty sure Hoseok is getting ready to fight him.” Jin immediately threw down his rag and started untying the knot keeping his apron on around his waist.

     “You’re hopeless, Joon,” Jin sighed, “it’s like I’m raising these kids all on my own!” Then he was brushing past him into the living room in an attempt to temper the situation, Namjoon was hurrying after him, and you were left alone—with your pan of beef, three different pots on the stove, several bowls of mysterious concoctions scattered across the counter, two dishes in the oven...

     There was yelling from the direction the pair had gone, hysterical laughter, the sound of someone being choke slammed into the floor, and then silence...until Chris Brown was blasting through the apartment. Cold dread sliced down your spine as you knew exactly what was coming next, eyes darting one way and then the other, surveying your surroundings for something, anything you could use to block the one way into the kitchen.

     But then a pot was boiling over, a timer was going off on the other side of the kitchen, and Jin was yelling at you, “Y/N, take the cake out of the oven now!” It was as you were backing up with the cake in your hand that you sensed it, and when you turned to place the cake on the counter, there was he was body rolling by the sink.

     “That looks good, noona,” Jungkook purred at you, and you sent a quick prayer to whatever higher power was watching over you for help dealing with him drunk. He didn’t drink much, and usually when he did, he ended up staying with one of the boys, so this was new territory for you.

     “You know I like dancing in here,” he said, as if you needed the reminder, “are you gonna say that I can’t? On my birthday?” You gathered the strength to ignore him as you took the icing from where Jin had placed it in the fridge and began to spread it over the vanilla cake, wondering when the older boy would return, hoping he wasn’t reffing an actual fist fight in your living room. There were breakables in there.

     You kept your eyes trained on the task at hand, but could sense Jungkook twerking in your direction from your peripheral vision.

     “Oh, god, here he is,” Jin moaned as he came back into the kitchen, bee lining for his jajjangmyeon simmering on the stove, “don’t come near me, Jungkook, I swear to God.” The birthday boy paid no mind to his hyung—all of his concentration was on undulating at your side, and when the cake was properly iced and you had turned back to your soup, he took up the spot behind you and...starting grinding.

     Against your ass.

     He’s drunk! It’s his birthday! Your brain screamed at you, but you couldn’t decide if either of those were reasons to make him stop or to just let him keep going. “Nooooona, dance with me...” He whined into your ear, placing both of his hands on your waist and trying to move your body against his. You shot up another quick prayer that Jin didn’t look at the two of you.

     “I can’t dance, Kookie,” you said in a soft voice, but still let him move your hips as he pleased, “I’m trying to cook.” He had moved so close you could feel his rising body heat through both of your shirts, and his nose was trailing up the curve of your neck, nudging behind your ear...damn Taehyung and those shots of tequila. You were going to kill him the next time you saw him sober.

     “Jungkook, where’d you go!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear—Taehyung burst into the kitchen with Jimin hot on his heels, a disinterested Yoongi and a stoic Hoseok trailing behind them. Namjoon was nowhere to be seen, probably because Jin would just kick him out again, anyways.

     “Oooh, he’s d-dancing with Y/N,” Jimin cooed, or tried to coo but was interrupted by a hiccup. The idiot could barely stand up straight as he leaned his entire weight against Taehyung’s back. “Kitchen dance party!” Taehyung announced, twirling around to wind his arms around Jimin, and the pair began to perform an elaborate waltz on the other side of the island from you and Jungkook.

     You were never letting those two back into your apartment.

     Hoseok seemed appeased, forcing Yoongi into a half-tango-half-dance-battle, and you were at least relieved that they were all so busy with each other they didn’t notice what you immediately did—the feeling of Jungkook growing hard against you.

     ABORT MISSION, you screamed internally, MUST EXTRICATE MYSELF FROM THIS SITUATION AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. But figuring out how to get away from him without any of the other five boys in the kitchen noticing his semi and raining a hellfire of teasing and shame upon the two of you was no easy task.

     “It’s ok, noona,” Jungkook sighed over your shoulder, and his boozy breath fanned out over your chest, “just daaance with meee...”

     It was definitely not ok.

     “Oh, Y/N, your seaweed soup looks really good!” Jin suddenly popped up at your side, seemingly unperturbed by Jungkook’s dance moves—the glossy look in his eyes signaling he had totally mentally checked out, the stress pushing him into a numb subspace devoid of any fucks towards the grinding going on. “Give Jungkookie a taste!” This sounded like the absolute last thing you wanted to do, the worst thing you could do, but without a good excuse not to, you slowly twisted around with a spoonful of soup and held it upwards without daring to look at Jungkook’s face.

     The weight of the soup on the spoon stayed as it was, and Jin laughed, “How are you supposed to get it in his mouth if you won’t even look at him,” and you immediately regretted it when you did. There was something in his eyes that you had never seen there before—something dark, predatory. His pupils were blown wide and the moment your head tilted upwards at him, he was scanning your whole face before his eyes dipped down to observe every curve of the rest of you.

     Just as you had decided to make a break for it and leave Jungkook to deal with the humiliation of his erection all on his own, he finally leaned forward and wrapped his tongue around the spoon, sucking it into his mouth. His gaze pierced directly into yours again as he licked every drop off of it and then some, watching the way your breathing picked up in response to the way his tongue moved.

     “Uh, Y/N, are you alright?” You didn’t even realize your jaw was dropped, eyes were wide, and chest was heaving until Hoseok had twirled Yoongi over to you and was staring at the scene before him in equal parts concern and disgust. The spell was broken as the spoon popped out of Jungkook’s mouth, and you dropped it to the floor with a clatter so both of your hands were free to shove him away.

     “No!” You cried, slipping behind him to put more space between yourself and your drunk, hot, ridiculously fucking irritating roommate, “I mean, yes, I’m fine! Fuck, I just—I just remembered I, I left something at work. Uh, my—my notes for that paper I was telling you about, I have to go get them. Right now.” None of the sober men pressed you about the obvious lie, Jin just rolling his eyes and tending to your soup, cursing Jungkook under his breath and probably Namjoon, too, finding some way to blame this whole mess on him.

     Yoongi just watched you back out of the kitchen with a knowing smirk, and Hoseok was pushing Jungkook out into the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you until you rounded the corner out of his line of sight. Air raced back into your lungs—you hadn’t realized how hard it had been to breathe for the past fifteen minutes.

     “Have fun doing whatever, Y/N! See you later!” Taehyung called out, sticking his head into the entrance way and observing you rushing out the door with your jacket half on and your shoes hanging off of your fingers. You narrowed your eyes at him and ripped the bottle of tequila out of his hand, essentially cutting the younger boys off for the night.

     “I hope you’re ready to die the next time I see you,” you said and slammed the door shut before he could say anything more.

     As always, Taehyung and Jimin had both left their doors to your shitty old car unlocked after you picked them up, so even though you’d left without your keys, you could still hole yourself up in the backseat for a few hours. You drowned yourself in what was left of the tequila, hoping it’d make you forget the feeling of Jungkook’s hardness against your ass, but had no such luck.

     In the end, you just drunkenly rubbed one out. The orgasm was less than satisfying, with your focus divided between wondering how that hardness would feel between your legs, trying to imagine literally anything else, and keeping an eye out for anyone wandering around the parking lot. As inebriated as you were, you still didn’t want anyone to catch you masturbating in your car. You were pretty sure you could be arrested for that.

     At least getting off put you to sleep, and sleeping helped pass the time. It was obnoxious pounding on your rear windshield that brought you back to half consciousness, and Jin was holding his phone up to the glass so you could see that it was past midnight already.

     “I thought you’d go to a friend’s place or something,” you heard Yoongi’s voice from behind him, “this is just sad.” He wasn’t wrong about that. You threw the door open and stumbled out onto the asphalt, letting Hoseok put an arm around you to keep you on your feet and lead you over to his car.

     “The kids are passed out in your living room, so you can stay with me tonight, if you want,” he offered, but didn’t wait for a yes or no before dumping you into his passenger’s seat.

     The last thing you remembered was somehow getting the seat belt around your body and clicked into place before you woke up in his bed the next morning. You looked a complete mess, of course, as you met Hoseok in the kitchen where a bowl of cereal and several pills awaited you. He helped you pat down your hair and gave you a change of clothes, but you drew the limit at him saying he’d drive you back home. Hoseok was too nice for his own good.

     You spent the entire Uber ride home begging whatever entity would listen to let the three stooges still be asleep when you got home, and for once luck was on your side. Taehyung was passed out in Jimin’s lap, and they were both draped across Jungkook’s back on the floor. It was a sight that would have warmed your heart if you didn’t hate them all so much.

     You tiptoed through the living room and let out a breath of relief when you were behind the safety of your locked bedroom door. I can totally stay in here forever, you thought, what do I really need outside of this room? Food and water be damned, survival was not worth having to face Jungkook ever again. You could probably have anything you needed delivered by drone to your window until he moved out.

     Unfortunately, in the real world there was still work and school to worry about, but you managed to sneak around your roommate for the next few days. Half the time he had school and work himself, but you had to give up fifty dollars that you really couldn’t afford to bribe Taehyung and Jimin into abducting him and keeping him busy whenever he had any free time.

     For some reason, you had yourself convinced that if you made it to the weekend without seeing him, somehow, everything would reset. He’d go out clubbing with the boys, as promised, get blackout drunk and spend the night with one of them, and by the time he came to on Sunday morning, there could be no way he’d remember the kitchen grinding incident. It all made sense in your head.

     Of course, that all went to shit, as things normally did since Jungkook moved in and his friends invaded your life. It was Hoseok who showed up on Saturday evening, after Jungkook had left with the twin terrors and you were in your pajamas already. He said he was cashing in the favor you owed him after he had helped you out on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning.

     “Technically, I don’t owe you anything since I didn’t ask for your help,” you pointed out as he let himself in and rushed to your bedroom.

     “And I technically saw you looking at Jungkook like you wanted to eat him alive,” Hoseok shot back, freezing you in your doorway. He was already in your closet, throwing your comfy sweaters and mom jeans this way and that.

     “Holy shit, you’ve never tried to look sexy in your life, have you,” but he was mumbling to himself, and it wasn’t a statement worthy of an answer, anyways.

     “I did not want to...I’m not attracted to Jungkook,” you said, a moment too late for it to sound like it was true, “I want to lock him in his room and ground him for the next several months for being gross and stupid on Tuesday, and that’s it.” Hoseok hummed back in fake agreement, before backing up out of your clothes with a pink maxi dress slung over one forearm and a black baby doll dress over the other.

     “It’s so sad that these are the only two things you own that make you look younger than, like, 35,” he said, “just put one on so we can go.”

     “Go where,” you hissed, grabbing them both and throwing them onto your bed, “I was actually about to go to sleep, so, if you don’t mind—”

     “Go out with us, obviously,” Hoseok dropped down beside the dresses, grabbing a pillow to hopefully smother himself to death with. Instead, he just squished it underneath his head to make himself more comfortable as he waited.

     And waited, and waited. You just stared at him like he’d grown a second eyeball in the middle of his forehead or like he’d turned purple or something.

     “That’s really funny,” you finally said after several moments of waiting for him to let you in on the joke, “unless you point a gun to my head, that’s not happening.” You stepped towards your door to let him out, but on second thought—

     “Actually, I think I’d rather let you shoot me than go out with you guys, so I don’t think there’s anything you could do to get me out of this apartment tonight.” You hadn’t known Hoseok for long, but the sight of him frowning just seemed so...wrong. Like his face wasn’t really his face any longer, like nothing in the world would ever be decent and good again if he didn’t start smiling again, or at least stop doing...whatever his lips were doing.

     “Why do you even want me to go?!” You relented, at least a little bit—if he had a good enough reason, you’d give him a second of consideration. He immediately brightened up at your slightest budging.

     “Well there’s this girl from the studio who I asked to come with,” he started, and you had already checked out again. Jungkook’s friends’ girl problems were not your concern. Still, you let him finish, “but she wasn’t really comfortable coming with just me and the guys, so I told her that you’d be there. This is my shot, I’ve been waiting months to ask her out!”

     You knew telling him no would get him to make that weird, horrible, sad face again, but it had to be done—”Also, if you don’t come, I’m gonna tell everyone about how you masturbated in your car on Tuesday night.”

     And you had thought Hoseok was a nice guy.

     “Yeah, I saw that,” he told you, “Jin made me go check on you when he saw you left your keys. Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, just your hand in your pants and you practically screaming Jungkook’s name. It was like, a gross hot? If you know what I mean?” Your dad had tried to convince you to buy a weapon when you moved away from home, and now was the first time since then that you wished you had. Anything to seriously maim the man sitting on your bed would have been welcomed.

     Things were bad enough with the kitchen grinding incident. If Jungkook knew about the sad car masturbating, you’d really have to kick him out or end your own lease to get away from him, neither of which were valid, realistic options.

     “Fuck you,” you spat at him, “get out so I can change.” He skipped out into the living room, screaming and clapping along the way, but when you shut your door he was back up on it screeching about which dress you should wear.

     “The pink one is like a muumuu!” He insisted, “You can’t dance in that! Guys will literally run away from you if you wear it!” That almost made you want to wear the damn thing, but in the end, you walked out of your room in the black dress. You might not have if the pink dress had still fit you, but you had bought it three summers ago and it had barely fit you then, back when you cared at least a little bit about your body, before Jungkook and graduate school took away your will to live.

     “I wore this to two funerals,” you told Hoseok as he looked at you and sighed in distaste, “I’ve never worn it anywhere else.” He grabbed your hair and pulled it up over your ears on both sides, then grabbed your nose to twist your face in every direction, inspecting each inch of you with critical eyes.

     “You couldn’t tease your hair or even put on eyeliner or something?”

     “I brushed it and I covered up the big zit on my forehead. That’s all you’re getting, asshole,” and with that you were out the door and into Hoseok’s car, again, ruminating on why it couldn’t have been Jin or even Yoongi who let you crash at their place on Tuesday night. Yoongi would have been an ass about it, and never let you forget that he helped you that one time, but at least you wouldn’t be about to go into this club in a dress you’d bought because your great grandma died and high heels your mother had made you buy once that you literally never wore, having to face Jungkook for the first time since he fucking made you wet in the kitchen.

     It occurred to you then that letting Jungkook move into your apartment was probably the worst mistake you’d ever made, and it was one you’d be paying for for a long time, you were sure.

     “Something about this is...very wrong,” was the first thing any of the boys said when Hoseok dragged you over to the table they’d occupied. You allowed yourself a brief moment of comfort at the fact that there were only five of them there—Jungkook was nowhere to be seen, for now at least.

     “You look kind of hot,” Namjoon reassured you with a wink, or he thought he was being reassuring, then grunted when Seokjin violently elbowed him in the ribs.

     “I mean, you look nice,” he tried again, and Jin nodded in approval.

     “Y/N, this is Seulgi,” Hoseok said, gesturing to the one girl pressed against Jimin’s side, “Seulgi! This is my friend Y/N that I was telling you about!” She looked miserable as Hoseok brought you to her attention, and her face brightened only just at the sight of the one other girl she had been promised would be there.

     “We’re going to the bathroom,” she said with no preamble, just scooted out of her chair, grabbed your arm, and dragged you away from the group.

     The night was off to a great start.

     “I’m sorry about that,” she said, only after pulling both of you into one dirty stall together, “I know you’re friends with all those guys, but the blonde one has been quizzing me on Hobi trivia for the past half hour, and Tweedledum and Tweedledee were having a burping contest when I first got here and,” she took a deep breath,

     “I felt like I was actually going crazy for a minute there. I know Hoseok likes me, and he’s a nice guy but,” another deep breath, “I think the scary one would kill me if I laid a single finger on him. Not to mention,” another deep breath, “I have to see Jimin at the studio every couple days and he’d never let me live it down if we hooked up. And the birthday boy did like five shots when someone mentioned you were coming, so good luck with that.”

     You thought it all over in your head—Taehyung and Jimin had a burping contest like the idiots they were, Yoongi didn’t want Hoseok dating this girl, and Jungkook was obviously purposely avoiding you. That was fine.

     “The birthday boy can kiss my ass,” you said, for some reason. All you’d meant to do was introduce yourself and say it was nice to meet her, but for a second there, your mouth clearly had a mind of its own.

     “I’ve seen him dancing with like, any girl he could spot with a C-cup,” Seulgi added, and you would have immediately sought him out to give him a good spanking for being so shallow and gross if the idea of spanking him didn’t seem so kinky now.

     “We live together,” you informed her, and got the pat on the shoulder of pity and attempted comfort that you were looking for. Seulgi didn’t seem so bad, you could tell why Hoseok liked her.

     You let her lead you back out to the table, from which all but Yoongi and Taehyung had disappeared. Taehyung was already out cold, and Yoongi was scrolling through his phone with his earbuds in, entirely uninterested in anything going on around him. You wished you gave as few fucks about everything as he did.

     There were two shots on the table of God only knew what, and even though one was clearly meant for her, Seulgi let you take both of them before she dragged you out onto the dance floor. By no means could you dance, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try. At least you couldn’t embarrass yourself as much as Namjoon did, flapping around beside Jin, who had the decency to do nothing more than sway left and right. You knew he could pull out some truly terrible dance moves, but apparently wouldn’t do so in public.

     “Of course you don’t know how to move your hips,” Hoseok groaned as he came up behind Seulgi, “let’s show her, yeah?” And the two of them were immediately caught up in the own world, rubbing and writhing against each other without a care in the world. Your job was complete, as far as you were concerned.

     The music was only mildly shitty, so you just kept dancing for awhile. A few times you were joined by a guy, only to have them duck out as soon as they realized you wouldn’t give them a handjob or go have a quickie in the bathroom. For the most part, you were alone, and Jimin got you a drink that you couldn’t identify but it tasted damn good, and you hadn’t seen Jungkook at all, so it wasn’t that bad. You’d even go as far as to say you were having fun.

     “There he goes again,” you heard Seulgi’s voice in your ear for the first time in what seemed like hours, as she directed your attention to a certain doe-eyed, ruffly-haired young man making out with a cute blonde on the other side of the dance floor. Frankly, you were just relieved he wasn’t harassing you again, the last thing you needed was his dick grinding against your ass and—

     “Hey, let’s not break the fancy cups,” Hoseok said, grabbing your hand and easing the fingers that you didn’t even realize had tightened threateningly around the stem of your glass. You let him take it away from you, as your eyes were fixated on the obscene sight. Jungkook was squeezing her ass, grinding into her front-to-front, pulling away from her lips to trail his nose up her jaw until his lips found her ear to nip at just so—and then he was looking right at you.

     You immediately spun on your heel, rushing back in the general direction you could remember the table being to find your purse and leave. I just don’t want him to come over and say anything about Tuesday night, you thought, but it left a sour taste in your mouth, knowing it was only half the truth.

     “I’ll take you home,” you heard Seulgi say as you found the table and pulled your purse over your shoulder. You hadn’t even realized she was following you.

     “Don’t let me ruin your night, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you lied through your teeth, but Seulgi laughed humorlessly, “The night was ruined before you got here, don’t worry about it, I’m ready to leave, too.”

     You agreed to wait by the table as Seulgi went to tell Hoseok goodbye, only hoping that Jungkook wouldn’t find his way over before you could escape. Yoongi had finally taken his eyes off of his phone and was watching you with narrowed, calculating eyes.

     “You’re in deep,” he eventually sighed, “me too.”

     “Seulgi’s nice,” was the only thing you could think of to say. Yoongi just shrugged before he was looking back at whatever on his phone screen.

     “Okay, let’s go!” And then she was back, and she was once again dragging you onto the dance floor, but this time in service of getting to the exit as quickly as possible. As much as you tried to distract yourself by looking at anything or anybody else, you couldn’t help but glance over in the direction you’d last seen Jungkook.

     He was still making out with that girl.

     He didn’t care that you were there, at all.

     Laying in bed that night, you came to the conclusion that he must not have remembered the kitchen grinding incident. It wouldn’t be a shock with how drunk he was if he couldn’t remember anything from Tuesday night. It would be just like him to forget all about it and leave you to deal with the embarrassment and misery on your own. Now that you thought about it, you figured that if Jungkook had remembered he would have been outside your door begging you to forgive him and not kick him out the next morning. He knew what the boundaries of your relationship were, and rubbing his dick on you on purpose far overstepped them.

     Things around the apartment changed. Obviously, Jungkook was unhappy with you, if the way he stopped making sure to leave leftovers for you and ignored you when you said good morning to him and erased all your saved TV shows was any indication. And you were mad at him, as well, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. All you knew was that whenever you saw him, there was a heat building in your chest threatening to spill over. You weren’t even sure what you’d do if it did.

     Eighteen weeks after Jungkook moved into your apartment, you found out.

     There was an unspoken rule that Sunday nights were your night. Jungkook was always quieter than usual, let you decide what was for dinner and monopolize the bathroom and have free, uninterrupted TV use. Even when your friendship with him was virtually nonexistent at this point, he still respected that.

     That is until you stepped out into the hall after a long bath one Sunday evening and were immediately welcomed back to reality by Jungkook screaming expletives in the living room. Something about Reaper escaping his Deadeye.

     The music and sounds of Overwatch, including Jungkook’s frustrated yells or cries of victory, had more or less become the soundtrack to your life over the past four and a half months. Normally, you wouldn’t have minded, but Jungkook had been an asshole for the past two weeks and today was your day.

     “Hey, it’s Sunday,” you called out, to no response, of course. It was vague, but Jungkook knew exactly what you meant. If he was smart, he would have just turned the game off and gone to his room—it would have saved the two of you a lot of trouble. Too bad that, at least for today, Jungkook was pretty dumb.

     “Did you hear me? I said it’s Sunday,” you repeated as you stomped into the living room, and feasted your eyes upon the sight of shirtless Jungkook sitting on top of the coffee table, eyes glued to the TV screen. We eat on that coffee table, you hissed in your head, and even from the angle you were at, you could see too many stains of only-God-knew-what on his dirty sweatpants. Probably cum, and hot sauce. The little shit was getting cum, hot sauce, and farts all over your coffee table.

     He still didn’t answer you, he didn’t acknowledge your presence at all. He couldn’t bear to so much as jerk his head in your direction. The heat in your chest was flaring and licking up your throat.

     “I’m talking to you, asshole,” you barked, taking a few more steps in until you were standing directly behind him, closely watching the way he played with his whole body. All he had to do was move his fingers, but he was leaning to the left as if that’d help him get a better view of a player shooting at him from above, throwing his arms as if he was actually dodging an attack. For a moment, you were transfixed by his shoulder blades shifting, deltoid muscles stretching beneath his taut skin. The heat in your chest spread down between your ribs until it was brewing in the pit of your belly.

     “Well I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking stop,” Jungkook snapped back, and for you, the world froze. You could barely remember now, the shy sophomore who could barely look you in the eye for months when you first started tutoring him, who would run ahead to open every door for you and bring you coffee, who worshiped the ground you walked on. He had changed so much.

     You planted a hand on each side of his firm, wide shoulders and shoved with all your strength. Jungkook was spinning around to face you, but it was too late—he was falling backwards onto the floor, yelping and flailing his limbs, trying to find a place to plant his hands and catch himself. Instead, he landed on his back and rolled ass over head. The satisfaction as you watched one of his feet catch and unplug the PS4’s power cord from the wall was unrivaled.

     And then the room was silent. Jungkook was on the ground and you were leaning over the coffee table to stare down at him, your lips quirked just so. His face was pressed into the carpet, you could just barely see his torso lifting with each breath. “Stay down there, will you,” you sighed at him, and reached for the remote.

     He moved with a swiftness you didn’t know he possessed, jumping onto his feet and grabbing your wrist in a grip so tight he’d definitely leave angry red evidence of it on your skin. He stared down at you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, but you doubted anyone had ever looked at you like that. It was almost calculating, there were cogs whirring in his brain, but it was something more raw and human than that. You felt exposed, as if he was taking you apart piece by piece.

     “I’m tired of playing this game with you.” Barely a second went by for you to think about what that meant before Jungkook reached over to wrap one arm around your waist and haul you up, over the table and against his chest.

     Kissing Jungkook was not like how you’d imagined it would be—not that you’d imagined it before this, of course. He’d never raised his voice at you, probably never felt anything less than simple indifference towards you, so you’d never had reason to believe his kiss would be anything but soft, pliant, tender.

     Instead his lips were pressed hard against yours, unforgiving. He bit your lip when you wouldn’t relent beneath him, and with your gasp his tongue was deep in your throat, licking out the apology that he knew he wouldn’t hear. You moaned around the intrusion, into his mouth, and braced your legs up around his waist.

     The hand that was still holding your wrist finally let go so that he could grab your ass, kneading the flesh through your flannel pajama pants. Your arms wound around his neck to bring him closer to you.

     Jungkook walked backwards around the table so he could fall onto the couch, and now you were straddling him. Your fingertips played with the soft hair at his neck, then trailed across his shoulders, down until your palms were pressed against his pecs and you finally, gently pushed him back, separating your lips from his.

     “What is this? Why are we doing this?” You asked, barely able to get the words out through your breathlessness. Jungkook leaned forward, knocking his forehead lightly against yours.

     “You’re dense, huh,” he said, and as you were about to indignantly huff and slip away from him, he continued, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, and I know you have, too. Don’t deny it.”

     So maybe you had never not checked him out when he got home from his morning jog, immediately pulling his shirt over his head when he walked through the door, strutting in all of his sweat-slicked glory into the kitchen for a drink of water before disappearing into the bathroom. Maybe you had become, over time, more and more keenly aware of how large, rugged, and masculine his obnoxious Timberlands were framing your dainty flats and sneakers by the door. Maybe you walked through the door and sighed in bliss when you were surrounded by his mere smell, his cologne and aftershave and whatever was just him.

     “...I’m not denying it,” you conceded. That was all the confirmation Jungkook needed. He was leaving wet kisses on your jaw, down your throat to your collarbone where you felt his teeth nibbling, and you sighed your satisfaction back at him while your hands drifted down from his chest to feel the warm skin of his abdomen. You traced his abs, delighting in the way his breath caught in his throat when your fingers softly followed the curve of his v-line towards the hem of his sweatpants.

     One of his own hands had found its way beneath your shirt against the small of your back, inviting your body into his. You could feel him against your thigh, the soft bulge there stiffening, and took the plunge—his head tipped back as you rocked your hips experimentally against him, and the throaty groan he let out made your entire lower half throb.

     “Did you like that, Kookie?” You asked him softly, teasingly, and his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip while he refused to look at you was all the answer you needed. Now both of those big hands of his were spread out on your hips, coaxing you to keep grinding against him.

     “Take off your shirt, noona,” you barely heard his request, but it was there, breathed out into the air. He still had his head leaned back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling, you’d guess trying to keep himself from finishing too early. Little boys had a hard time controlling themselves that way.

     “Why should I?” You asked, swallowing the moan that threatened to spill from your throat when you next rubbed against him and felt the head of his cock dig between your lips and nudge against your clit. Your underwear and pants were like a second skin, you were so wet that they had all but adhered to you.

     It was a genuine question. You knew you’d be naked soon, there was no way you weren’t going to finish this now, but you still wanted to hear his answer. He had been a little shit for months.

     “Because I want to see your fucking tits,” he grunted at you, “and you want me to suck on them and bite them and bruise them, you know you do.”

     Not good enough.

     You froze, and Jungkook kept tugging at your waist a few times before he realized you weren’t going to keep grinding and dropped his hands. His whole body deflated beneath you.

     “But you’ve been an asshole,” you barked at him, “so I don’t think you deserve to see my ‘tits’, brat.” You climbed off of his lap but didn’t go far, settling down right beside him. He still wouldn’t look at you.

     “I do want to get off, though,” you said, and grabbed one of his hands. It was large, rough from use, the veins stretched across it pronounced, but you didn’t observe it for long. It had a job to do.

     “Now Kookie, keep your eyes to yourself,” you warned him as you shoved your pants down your thighs, then placed his palm down against your mound. Jungkook immediately jumped and tried to pull his hand away, but you held it there, giving him time to adjust to the warmth radiating off of you, the wetness he could feel against his fingers. Your eyes were locked on him, waiting for a sign. He gave it to you with the gulp that shook his throat, the way he relaxed his hand in your hold.

     You pressed down on his index and middle finger with your own, and sighed in fucking bliss when they touched your clit through your underwear. On its own, your body slumped back to open yourself up to him. You led his fingers to start circling, slow and steady, and the heat bubbling in your stomach dissolved into a warmth that spread throughout your entire lower body, to the tips of your toes.

     “Noona, please...p-please take your panties off...” Jungkook whined. You were still watching him, saw the way his eyes squeezed tight together and his nose scrunched in a wince, as if it was physically painful for him to ask politely.

     “Why should I?” You repeated, trying to keep your voice steady.

     “So I can make you feel good, noona.” Ding ding ding.

     You moved Jungkook’s hand onto your knee, letting out a shudder of a breath when you realized how sticky the tips of his fingers were, and slid your underwear down to meet your pants. The open air hit your core and you trembled, from the chill or from anticipation, you weren’t sure.

     He didn’t move.

     “Jungkook? What are you waiting for?” You snapped.

     “Permission?” His voice was small, and you melted for it. He’d been acting up ever since he moved in—you hadn’t seen him this docile or obedient in a long time.

     “Touch me,” you sighed, “but don’t look,” and he immediately dragged his hand up your thigh until it reached the split between your legs. Jungkook’s touch over your underwear had been one thing, but his calloused fingertips exploring your lips, tracing shapes into your clit directly was something else, something so much better. He dipped one finger into your entrance, not even up to his knuckle and swirled it there tentatively.

     “More?” He asked.

     “More, more, more,” you panted, grabbing his forearm with both hands to brace yourself and trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

     Jungkook’s finger pulled away, only for two to dive right back in. The sounds that you made were obscene, would have embarrassed you, if the way he rubbed against your inner walls didn’t feel so good. His fingertips dragged against them as he pulled his fingers out then thrusted them back inside of you, again and again and again. You couldn’t decide between letting your eyelids flutter closed as pleasure wracked your body or intently watching the veins of Jungkook’s hand jumping, the muscles in his forearm flexing in your grasp as he worked you over.

     Of course, he made that decision for you when his thumb brushed over your clit. Your eyes slammed shut and your entire body lurched forward, curling around his arm, trying to pull him further into you. He was rubbing your clit side-to-side, mercilessly, while his two fingers stretched you wide open.

     Who had taught him to touch a woman like this? You’d never thought about his sex life before, other than feeling relieved that he chose to fuck girls at their place instead of bringing them home to bother you with all that noise. Obviously he wasn’t a virgin, not that you’d have ever assumed he was, but it amazed you how well he knew his way around a vagina—well enough to leave you speechless.

     It was a third finger testing at your entrance that forced words out of your mouth, “No, wait, I— I don’t think I can—”

     “Yes, you can, noona,” Jungkook assured you, and then his three middle fingers were pressed into you as far as they could reach. You were mewling, clawing at his arm as his hand jackhammered inside of your pussy—it had been so long since you felt this full, and you could feel your peak was so so so close—

     “Look at me, noona,” Jungkook hissed, and he grabbed your chin with his other hand as your eyes peeled open to look into his hard gaze. The emotions swirled so tightly together—irritation, lust, something akin to hurt—making his eyes darker than usual. “Come for me,” he demanded, letting go of your chin so he could use those fingers to cup your mound and pinch your clit.

     The heat in your body gathered between his hands before it burst out to every nerve, setting you aflame. You screamed through your orgasm, shaking and convulsing underneath him, but watched him watching you the whole time.

     When it was over and aftershocks had you writhing only just, you let go of him, fell back against the couch and shut your eyes, exhausted. No one had made you feel that good in...ever. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences, but something about this...this was the best, you were sure.

     Jungkook was silent, and when you finally felt like you could move your jelly limbs and form coherent human words, you glanced over to thank him for being so good at everything, just this once.

     He had his middle and ring finger in his mouth, the two of them that had been knuckle deep in your cunt, eyes shut in ecstasy as he savored your taste. Of all things, this is what shocked you the most. The red on your cheeks at the image just embarrassed and aggravated you.

     “What the fuck, you nasty little shit,” you bit out, hard still with breath you didn’t have, and he looked right at you again, no shame on his face. One of the corners of his lips tugged up into a smirk. With no hesitation, he reached forward with the index finger still coated in your cum, and painted your lips with it. You were frozen to the spot, unable to stop him or say a word.

     “Lick it, noona,” he implored, and with a mind of its own, your tongue slithered out to collect every last drop he’d left for you. Your willingness made Jungkook brave, brave enough to press the tip of his finger against your closed lips again, but this time with more pressure until they parted and sucked his finger in. You wrapped your tongue tight around it, licking your juices off of him.

     “Good girl,” Jungkook groaned, “you taste so good, don’t you?” And you were nodding, even though realistically you thought you tasted a little salty and metallic. If Jungkook said you tasted good then you tasted damn good.

     He grabbed one of the hands lying limp at your sides and for a second it was tender, even with his finger in your mouth, he was just squeezing your hand in his with encouragement and affection, or something like it. It wasn’t until he let go of your hand that you realized he’d pulled your arm across both of your bodies and placed it down directly onto his stiff cock, still hidden beneath his sweats.

     “Now you make me feel good, hm?” His voice lifted at the end, sounding like a suggestion, but you knew it was a demand, and not one you could even think of refusing. You took hold best you could through the thick fabric and rubbed softly, up and down, mimicking the movement with your tongue. The tips of your fingers brushed against his tip, making him jerk, but other than that Jungkook just narrowed his eyes and breathed hard through his nose, seeming otherwise entirely unaffected.

     “Try harder, noona,” Jungkook growled, and grabbed your wrist to push your hand into his pants. Immediately, you wrapped your fingers around his cock. It didn’t feel particularly thick, but as you jerked it once you could tell it was a little longer than average. It was heavy and warm, hard but soft to the touch. You moaned around Jungkook’s finger imagining it inside of you.

     As you worked his cock, Jungkook’s free hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up over your chest, just enough so that he could grab one of your breasts to knead and take a nipple between his lips. You squeezed him, pumping your palm over him back and forth and back and forth, to the same rhythm of his ministrations against your flesh, the same rhythm with which you bobbed on his finger.

     He hissed when you paused to dig your thumb into his slit, looking up at you with a grimace, and you took the opportunity to pop his finger out of your mouth and reattach your lips to his. The kiss was all teeth on teeth, bruising and gnashing and drinking each other in. Jungkook bucked his hips up into your hand, and in response, you grabbed his sweatpants to yank them down, past his thighs and over his knees until they lay in a pile at his feet.

     “Ok, Kookie,” you pulled away to murmur against his lips, “I’m gonna ride you now, you son of a bitch.” You felt a rumble of a laugh in his chest as you pushed him back and threw one leg over his lap, suspending your heat over his length. His eyes were hooded watching you take it into your hold, positioning it at your entrance, letting the tip slip in and rotating your hips on it just so.

     “Don’t be a fucking tease,” Jungkook warned you, but you just hummed at him and offered up a few shallow bounces on his head. It was hard to resist sinking down and letting him fill you up, but it was worth it for one more moment of that irritation and resistance on his face, the curled lip and the fire in his eyes. One more moment before you handed yourself over to him, before everything changed, before there was absolutely no going back, no way to write all of this off.

     That point had probably long passed, but you allowed yourself the dramatics.

     Jungkook’s hands, which just a moment ago had been gripping your waist, reached up to lock around your wrists and then you were spun over onto your back with him on top of you. You were stuck for a moment on the dreadful sense of déjà vu that swept over you, but then Jungkook leaned back to watch as he buried his cock in your pussy and you could hardly remember your own name, his name, where you were and why you were here, anything other than him fucking you.

     Like you’d noticed earlier, his cock was slender but long enough to reach a spot inside of you that you and your toys and no other man had ever gotten to before. There were immediate tears of pleasure in your eyes, a sob tearing from your throat, and Jungkook was reaching up to pet your hair back and place soft kisses all over your face.

     “Are you alright, noona?” He asked carefully, and you cried out at him, “Yes, Jungkook, I’m fuck—fucking amazing, I feel you so fucking deeeeep inside of me, what the fuck!” He grinded into you, pressing against that spot and against your clit both at once, and somehow it already felt like you were going to come and it was too soon, you didn’t think you could go on after another orgasm. Jungkook still needed his own release, so you started to rock against him.

     He rose an eyebrow, dragging his cock out of you slowly. You waited right on the edge for him to thrust back in, but half a minute passed and—nothing. You opened your eyes and there he was, lingering above you with such a smug look on his face.

     “Do something,” you seethed.

     “But noona,” he said, “why should I?”

     You should have known that you had never really been in control. The tip of his cock bobbed and you felt it tap against your clit.

     “Because I need it,” you whined, “Kookie, please, I need it.” Observing the dampness beneath your eyes, the way you’d bitten your lip raw, the way you struggled to lift your hips for just the slightest touch—he couldn’t refuse you.

     He slammed his cock back into you, balls deep.

     You fucking shrieked, and prayed that your neighbors didn’t hear. It couldn’t be helped. Jungkook was pistoning his cock into your heat, and his forearms were braced on either side of your head to hold him up, allowing you access to grab and scratch his swelling biceps. Sweat was rolling down his forehead, and there were tears dripping down your cheeks. Between the two of you there was so much wet and so much sticky, it was dirty and wrong and perfect.

     “T-Tell me that you...that you l-love my cock, noona,“ Jungkook gasped as his pace quickened, and who were you to deny him?

     “Oh god, Kookie, your cock is so good,” you cried, “I do, I do love your cock.”

     “Are you gonna come for me again? Come all over my cock like a good girl, noona?” You couldn’t even say yes, feeling him stop again to poke at that spot inside of you, the one that made your eyes roll back into your head, your lips widen around a scream that must have shaken your entire building as you hit your high.

     Jungkook rode it out, but the moment your body went lax beneath him, he was leaning back to slip himself out of you. He had one hand around his cock pumping it wildly, and you could see his face twisting in pain—he’d had to come for awhile now. You could barely move, but through sheer power of will you lifted your arm to smack his hand away and tug his cock yourself. It took only one, two, three yanks before Jungkook bent over and one long squirt of cum splattered onto your stomach, hot and thick and all yours.

     Then he was collapsing on top of you, squishing his cum between your bodies, nuzzling his big dumb nose into your neck and leaving a peck of appreciation there. You laid still, unsure of what to do, until you settled on reaching up to your fingers through his hair while you tried to catch your breath. He similarly put his hands on your head, massaging your scalp, making you purr for him. It was...nice.

     Until it wasn’t, because Jungkook was fucking steaming and it felt like a thousands pounds of muscle had melted into steel on top of you, trapping you there. You offered up only one more affectionate gesture, a kiss to the crown of his head, before you put both of your hands on his shoulders and rolled him off of you and onto the floor. He grunted in muted pain, but didn’t say anything else.

     You would have instantly fallen asleep if a thousand alarms weren’t ringing in your head—YOU JUST FUCKED JUNGKOOK! THE BOY YOU TUTORED WHEN HE WAS 19! YOUR ROOMMATE AND ONE OF YOUR CLOSEST FRIENDS! WAY TO GO, YOU FUCKING MORON! As it was, you kept your eyes closed, like maybe if you didn’t open them this would all fade away, just a strange, wonderful dream...

     The sounds of Jungkook standing, of his bare feet slapping against the wooden floors while he hurried away, did nothing for your hopes of this being a dream, of waking up alone and clothed in your bed tomorrow morning with no angry red marks or bruises to prove any of this had actually happened. If this was real, you hoped Jungkook at least had the decency to come back and wipe up the mess he’d made on you. That would have been sweet of him to do.

     But instead you heard him shuffle back in, and then...something familiar. Something you couldn’t immediately place, a tune that was grand and sweeping—

     The Overwatch main menu theme.

     You sat up and opened your mouth to yell protests at him, but then a wet rag was smacking against your forehead and falling into your lap. Jungkook had the nerve to look pleased with himself, but could you blame him? The little shit had plenty of things to be proud of at the moment, his rag sniper shot being the least of them.

     You were going to kill him, and as you did you were going to make sure he knew that everything was his fault. Everything that sucked in the world sucked because of him. World hunger? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. The dirty dishes piled up in your sink? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. The fact that you’d just fucked him and you liked it and wouldn’t mind if it happened again? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. When you heated up leftovers and it was all warm except for that bite in the middle? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. When you got a pebble stuck in your shoe? Of course, Jeon Jungkook’s fau—

     Wait. As you wiped his cum off of your stomach and tossed the rag onto the floor, grabbed the blanket you kept draped over the back of the couch and wrapped yourself up in it, you realized...you weren’t mad at Jungkook. You weren’t even mildly annoyed. There was no heat lingering in your chest.

     Trust Jeon Jungkook to realize how to manipulate you out of being upset at him with sex and orgasms.

     “Hey, babe,” he asked without looking at you, from where had resat himself on the coffee table, and the pet name made something tick in your jaw before the slightest irritation settled into something much softer, “which hero should I play as?”

     “Don’t call me ‘babe’, brat,” you mumbled as you came up behind him and leaned against his back. You could feel the comforting, steady thump of his heartbeat. It occurred to you a second too late that that meant he could feel the rapid flutter going on in your own chest, then.

     You observed the other heroes selected on his team, the time winding down, and tilted your head towards, “Widowmaker, she’s my favorite.” Jungkook giggled, his big wonky front teeth peeking out from behind his lips, a sight you hadn’t even realized you’d missed.

     “She’s one of mine, too,” he said as he selected her and started the match. You watched closely, although you didn’t know much about the game, you’d watched him play enough to know when things were going well or were going poorly. Regardless of which way it was looking for his team, you said,

     “Wow, you suck at this.” He bristled, glancing back at you only briefly with slits for eyes. You bit back a smile at the pout his lips sunk into.

     Jungkook slept in your bed that night, only after promising to eat you out for hours if you let him. It wasn’t quite hours, but the forty minutes and two orgasms added onto the two from earlier were good enough.

     He never slept in his own bed again, and things were definitely...different after that. It took four and a half months of living together for you to accept that while Jungkook was certainly a silly little boy, he was also...a man. A big, strong, and obscenely good-looking one, at that.

     You definitely weren’t dating. Jeon Jungkook was not your boyfriend by any means and you weren’t his anything, either. The two of you just liked to sleep in the same bed and fuck every day.

     The sex didn’t stop his annoying habits. He turned the kitchen into his own personal dance studio every night, he hogged the living room TV to play video games all the time, there was always food mysteriously spilled on the carpet, and you could never seem to get rid of the smell of his cologne stinking up the entire apartment. The only difference was that now, when he did something that particularly pissed you off, he got to make it up to you with orgasms. You were content with that trade-off.

     You decided that maybe, just maybe, having a roommate was not the worst thing that had ever happened to you.