#sdwf

Eventually, once again, hunger wins the war against shame. The apartment is quiet. Maybe he went out. Maybe he’s—

And then you see him.

In the kitchen. Shirt loose. Hair is a little damp. And something glinting above his eye. You stop mid-step. What the hell. Your brain short-circuits. Is that—

“You pierced your face?”

Jungkook turns to face you fully slowly. His eyes flick to yours. For a second, he looks startled. And then he looks smug. 

“Not my face. Just the brow.”

Your brain probably stops functioning because you don’t feel like you have control over your mouth anymore. 

“Why?” you ask like it's a legitimate question. 

“Why not?” he asks with a smile and tilts his head.

It’s small, silver, subtle little dots above his right eye— why does it affect you so much? 

What are you? A crow? Attracted to shiny objects?

Weren’t you over your emo-boys phase in middle school? 

It shouldn’t be allowed. 

He shouldn’t be allowed.

You hate him.

You hate how unfairly hot he looks. You hate how much worse it makes everything. As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough to have tried to undress him with your teeth that night.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice low and smug.

“No, I’m not,” you lie, horribly, like someone caught mid-crime.

His smirk deepens.

“You sure? You’ve been looking at me like that since I turned around.”

“Like what?” you ask, annoyed. You fucking hate him. 

“Like you’re about to do something.”

You cross your arms. You try to look unimpressed. You are not even slightly successful.

“I just didn’t think you were the piercing type,” you mutter.

Jungkook steps closer.

Just a little.

“I didn’t think you were the piercing type,” he says with a pleased smirk. 

“You don’t know me,” you say like he offended you, even though you didn’t know you’re the piercing type. 

“And you obviously don’t know me,” he says, pleased. But there’s something gentle behind his words. A meaning he tries to deliver, and you miss catching. 

His eyes sparkle like he’s about to say something dangerous. Something you’ll think about later, in the dark, alone.

But all he does is reach past you to grab the peanut butter from the cabinet.

“You want toast?” he asks, completely unbothered.

You blink at him, caught in the whiplash of that voice and that stupid piercing and the way your stomach growls.

“Yeah,” you say as casually as possible. “Sure.”

You sit down waiting for your toast. You try not to look at him.

But you do.

Oh, no. 

You’re so fucked.

He brings you the toast a few minutes later, plate in one hand, mug of tea in the other. He doesn’t say anything as he sets them down in front of you. Just moves like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like you didn’t basically try to seduce him and fail a few nights ago. 

Like his eyebrow isn’t now a monumental event in your life. 

You eye the toast. “You put Nutella on it?”

He shrugs, sliding into the chair across from you. “You always want something sweet when you’re pissed. Figured it might help.”

“I’m not pissed,” You say, sounding pissed.

“Okay,” he says simply, “So what are you?”

“I-I’m–” 

You hate him.

“Urghhh, you’re so annoying!” 

He giggles like he finds your meltdown amusing. 

You chew your toast unnecessarily aggressively.

Neither of you says anything after that. You both just chew on your toast and sip from your tea.

The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. Something is sitting in the air between you—unspoken, obvious. Like both of you are waiting for someone to address this. 

Jungkook’s watching you.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

“You didn’t have to take care of me that night,” you mutter eventually, eyes on your plate. “I was acting like a drunk, horny idiot.”

“I mean,” he says with a soft chuckle, “you were.”

You shoot him a glare. He holds up both hands in surrender, still grinning. “But I didn’t mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You minded a little.”

He tilts his head. “Only because I didn’t want you to regret it.”

You pause.

You don’t look up.

“I wouldn’t have,” you say quietly.

Jungkook goes still.

You feel it in the air more than you see it. 

You finally meet his eyes.

It’s subtle, but something shifts between you—like the conversation just took a step off a ledge, and now you’re both in danger.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice is quieter now. The smugness is still there. 

“Then why’d you say it should be a one-time thing?”

You should have seen this one coming from miles away.

You should have known this is what he’s going to say. 

It’s not like it’s the first time he teases or challenges this statement.

He’ll use any chance you give him. 

“Because I meant it,” you say while chewing, trying to deliver nonchalant, but fail. 

“Meant?” he asks with raised brows. 

“Because I mean it,” you try to fix the mistake. 

He’s watching you again, but not smug this time. Soft. Curious. A little disbelieving of the bulshit you say. 

“You know I think about it too, right?” he says, like it’s obvious.

You scoff, taking another bite of toast. Trying to defuse whatever he’s doing. “Congrats to me. You think about the sex we had. That’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Didn’t say it was.”

“I’m just saying,” you go on, eyes fixed on your plate, “We just did it one time, and that’s it. It was good. My drunk self tried to do it again. And that’s it, it doesn’t have to mean anything.  ”

“Doesn’t have to,” he repeats slowly. “But what if it does?”

You freeze for half a second. Then recover with a small shrug, like he said something about the weather.

“I mean…” You take a sip of tea. “You’re not exactly the ‘meaningful’ type.”

His eyebrows lift, amused. “Wow.”

You meet his eyes for a second, then look away. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

He twists his lips. “You kind of did.” 

You sigh, setting your cup down. “I just meant… You’re you. You flirt with everyone. You’re hot and you know it, and I’m not stupid.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you a little too closely.

“So what, you thought that night was just about sex for me?” “I wasn’t just being nice the other night,” he adds. “When I said it was better if we didn’t–”

“Isn’t it always just about sex with you?” you say before he continues. 

“I liked being with you,” he says quietly. “It’s not like my whole purpose in life is to fuck you.”

It’s weird. The crude words with the gentle voice. You scoff, trying to brush it off.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. You're nice, and fun, and funny.” He continues and smirks, “And I always like defeating you.”

“Shut up,” you try not to smile, and you toss the little crust from your toast at him. 

He smiles. 

“I didn’t want to have sex with you like that because I didn’t want to ruin this.”

You cock a brow, “To ruin what?” 

“This,” he gestures between the two of you.

“Us.” 

You blink at him. The word hangs in the air, too loud and too soft at the same time.

“Us?” you repeat, voice flat—like you’re not letting it land the way he wants to.

He nods once, slow. Sure.

You look away, start fidgeting with your mug. “There’s no us, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t react. Not visibly.

“I mean,” you continue, forcing a light tone, “we’re just roommates. Friends, maybe. Occasionally… disastrous.”

“Right,” he says, too casually. But there’s something tight in his voice now. Something he’s reining in.

So you stand up and gather your dishes. “Thanks for the toast.”

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then, as you’re rinsing the plate at the sink, he says, “You always do this.”

Your hands pause under the water.

“Do what?” you ask, careful.

“Try to run away when something is about to happen.”

There is roughness in his voice. Yet, he says it differently. He doesn’t sound hurt, or pained. It’s something else. Something raw and electric. 

Before you manage to process that you’ve heard this before– seen this mask, this persona– you hear the chair slide on the floor as Jungkook stands up.

He comes to stand behind you, almost touching, but not really. 

He lowers his head, lips ghosting your ear. You can feel his breath fanning on your cheek. 

“Do you really want to run away?”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. 

You want to say something. But you can’t find words. 

Do you want to push him away? Or do you want to pull him closer?

You don’t know anymore.

And you can’t blame alcohol this time.

“I know this is all you think about from the moment you enter the room.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. 

“You’re not as hard to read as you’d like to think.”

He sounds so smug that it infuriates you. 

Yet, you don’t move, don’t deny. 

He reaches his hand past your waist and closes the faucet. You blink a few times. You didn’t even notice the water still running on your hands. 

He rests his hand on your waist, like it’s natural, like it belongs there. It’s warm and heavy. And it dizzies you. 

“Do you still mean it?” 

“W-what..?” You’re not sure if it’s really unclear or if it’s him obscuring your mind. 

“That we should be a one-time thing.” 

He says and lands a soft kiss behind your ear. 

“I-I-wh–” you mumble incoherently.

And the bastard chuckles, dark and low, “I see.” 

You should say something.

Anything.

But your mouth has forgotten how to form words.

His lips are still close. You can feel the echo of that kiss behind your ear.

His hand hasn’t moved from your waist. If anything, his grip tightens—just slightly. A silent question.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

But without consciousness, your body reacts. Suddenly, your back pressed to his front. 

Was he pressing closer to you, or were you leaning back into him?

You don’t know.

And you’re not sure that you care at the moment. All you can feel is a fire and a need building to an almost unbearable height.

He hears your answer.  

You feel him exhale, slow. Controlled. And then he isn’t.

His free hand rises, fingers brushing your hair aside, exposing more of your neck.

He leans in again, slower this time.

His lips press to the skin just below your jaw. 

Then lower. 

Then lower again.

Each kiss burns.

Your breath hitches. 

You’re still frozen, your hands gripping the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing anchoring you from fainting.

Then his voice, low and right against your skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

But he knows you won’t.

You can’t.

Instead, your head tips just slightly to the side—an invitation you don’t want to speak out loud.

He pulls you back from the counter, turns you in his arms.

Your eyes meet, and everything in his is fire and restraint. Lust and fear. You don’t know what he’s scared of. You don’t want to know.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, repeating your words back to you—but his tone makes it clear he knows they’re bullshit.

And maybe that’s why it makes your stomach flip.

You answer him by gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss you.

This time, it’s different. It’s not tentative or fueled by alcohol. It’s sharp and sure and deep.

He groans into your mouth and walks you backward, toward his room, like he’s known this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for you to finally cave. 

Maybe you also knew.

“This time I’m doing this properly,” he murmurs between kisses. 

You don’t know what he means, but you’re about to find out. 

You pull back just slightly, enough to look at him, breathless. 

“You’re way too smug right now.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating, “What, can’t a guy be smug when he’s proven right?”

You blink at him, “Proven right?”

He leans closer, “Knew it wasn’t gonna be a one-time thing.”

You roll your eyes, “God, you’re such an asshole.”

He smiles wider, returning to kiss you as he says between your lips, “Maybe.”

You’re in his room, and he starts to pull your shirt over your head. The stupid smile is still on his face. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He hums against your jaw, and he trails down the side of your neck, “I told you. I knew you’d come around.”

You scoff, “I didn’t come around. I just—”

He gives a wet kiss behind your ear. One that sends a shiver down your spine, and he leans back. Eyes meeting yours, dark and lustful, but glinting with mischief. 

“You just what?” he asks with a smirk.

“You’re insufferable.”

He returns his lips to the skin of your neck, hands hot and certain on your waist as he leads you towards the bed.

You stumble back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit, breath hitching, thighs slightly parted. He looks down at you with dark eyes and a crooked one-sided grin. Like he’s plotting something. Your demise, maybe.

He drops to his knees.

You blink at him, startled.

He smirks up at you.

His hands glide up your bare thighs, spreading them gently, and he leans forward, kissing the inside of your knee.

He kisses higher. 

And higher. 

Until your breath is ragged and your spine is arching and your fingers are gripping the sheets.

He looks up at you, more gentle this time. Less like a predator, and more like… like.. A lover boy? 

Your answer is a shaky exhale and a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him grin.

“Lean back for me,” he commands, but it’s soft and breathless.

And you obey, starting to lean back slowly. 

Before you fully lie on your back, he tugs your shirt, “Wait.” 

You help him pull the shirt over your head. He puts his palm flatly on your bare stomach, eyes big and unblinking, taking in your bare top. 

He pushes slightly, but you resist, “You too.” You say weakly, your mouth dry. 

“Gladly,” he smiles and pulls the shirt with one swift motion.

He returns his hand to your lower stomach, pushing you a bit. And you comply, lying on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. 

His hand goes to the waistband of your shorts, and he starts to pull them down with your panties, slow. Very slow.

Your breath hitches as the air hits your skin. Cool against the heat.

Jungkook’s eyes stay locked on yours for a beat too long as he slides the fabric down your legs. 

As if to say this isn’t just sex, and you know it.

He drops your clothes to the floor and runs his hands slowly up the insides of your thighs again, fingers dragging, teasing, warm. His palms settle at your hips.

You look at him, and he looks at where his hands are touching.

You catch the glimmer of his new piercing, and a shiver goes down your spine. 

He notices, and he lifts his eyes to see you looking at him before you avert your gaze. 

You expect him to say something stupid, something cocky and so very him. 

But he doesn’t. 

He dips his head, moving your right leg slightly above his shoulder. 

Oh, shit.

His mouth is on you, and his tongue is warm, slow. Like he has all the time in the world to savor this moment, and he plans to take every second of it.

Your hips jolt, and his hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady, grounding you with a soft groan against your skin.

You’re already panting, gripping the sheets, breath breaking.

He doesn't say anything. Just keep going. Keep devouring, like you’re his favorite thing.

You moan louder when he flicks his tongue just right—when he sucks at the spot that’s already making your vision blur.

He pulls back for a split second, looking up at you with a wet mouth and hooded eyes.

And when he goes back in, he slides his hand as well.

He doesn’t go in yet, he just lets his fingers be there, linger at your entrance. Let them be coated with slick as he puts a little pressure, moving them gently around. 

He starts pushing them in, not all the way at first. He starts shallow and goes deeper with each few thrusts, like he’s testing, like he’s studying where he should stop. 

And he finds the spot easily. As if he already knows. 

He notices right away that he’s got it. 

And then he starts being serious. 

He puts work and intentions into his movements. 

Fuck.

You can barely breathe.

Every muscle in your body is on fire, straining toward him. Your hips buck again—helplessly—and Jungkook just hums against you, sounding entirely too satisfied with himself. 

Or just satisfied.

That piercing glint again as he glances up, catching your eyes with a mix of focus and cockiness.

"You good?" he asks with a raspy voice, lips brushing against your thigh.

You can only nod, frantic, barely able to form words. His fingers curl inside you again, and your mouth drops open in a silent cry.

He keeps going, steady and sure, unrelenting in the way he’s touching you like he already knows your body better than you do.

You’re unraveling. 

Fast.

And you hate him for it.

And you need him for it.

You reach for him blindly, fist curling in his hair, not sure what you’re trying to do.

But apparently, Jungkook knows what you need because his mouth is back on you.

Your head flops back onto the bed, breath stuttering. 

His name slips from your lips, quiet, broken.

He hears it. You know he does. Because his grip on your thigh tightens, his pace shifts, and suddenly it’s all too much.

Your hand is still tangled in his hair. You grip harder, pulling without direction. Your thighs start to shake.

“Fuck—K-kook,” you gasp. 

You don’t know if you want him to stop or never stop.

He keeps going, steady and relentless, fingers curling perfectly in time with his mouth, pushing you closer, deeper.

Your spine lifts off the mattress. Your breath catches.

And then you break.

It hits hard, like a snap. It rips through you in pulses, your thighs clamping around his head as you gasp his name again. 

Louder this time.

Your fingers dig into his hair and shoulder, and anything you can reach.

You’re vaguely aware of your own sounds, too raw, too real, but you’re too far gone to stop them.

He keeps going through it, holding you down with strong hands. He doesn’t stop until you're twitching, oversensitive.

When he finally pulls back, his face is flushed, his hair a mess, strands stick to his glistening forehead, his lips slick, and that piercing catches the light again.

He looks wrecked.

You are wrecked.

You cover your face with one arm, breath still jagged, skin buzzing.

You feel him laugh against your thigh, quiet, smug.

He moves back, dragging his palms down your legs before letting go completely. You hear the mattress creak as he sits beside you, his breathing just as uneven.

You’re still staring at the ceiling, still trying to remember how to exist inside your own body.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your face is burning.

You let your arm drop just enough to peek at him. He’s looking at you like he just won something.

Like he knew exactly how this would go.

He reaches out, gently brushes a strand of hair from your sweaty face.

“Lie down prettily for me, babe.”

Then he stands, shoving down his sweats and boxers in one motion.

With one stride, he’s at the nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer.

He tears the foil open, but before slipping it on, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You good?” he asks with a sweet smile..

You blink, realize you’re staring. Frozen in place.  It snaps you out of it.

“Ye—” Your voice catches. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

You shift across the bed, lying back properly now, and seconds later, he’s crawling over you.

You meet his eyes, and he dips his head for a kiss.

He guides himself in, and while your mouths are still connected, he pushes in slowly.

You groan against each other’s lips when he bottoms out, fully seated inside you.

He lifts his head, just enough to look down at you as he begins to move—slow, deep, steady.

And fuck, this feels good.

No—but like, too good.

You’re moaning. Gasping.

He just got in there. 

What is going on?

He picks up the pace slightly. Nothing wild, just a steady rhythm.

But nothing about you feels steady.

You grab at his shoulders, arms winding around him like you’re trying to stay grounded.

You pull him closer, bury your face in his neck. Trying—failing—to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

This can’t be real.

This shouldn’t be happening.

You’re close. Way too fast.

It hasn’t even been two minutes. You’re almost sure.

Fuck.

You bite his shoulder—hard—desperate to hold it in, to hold yourself together.

But it doesn’t work.

It crashes over you, sudden and sharp.

You’re shaking.

Your whole body pulses around him. You feel your walls clench around him, hard.

You can barely breathe.

This never happened to you.

Not like this.

Not this fast.

What kind of sorcery is he doing?

What kind of spell did he put on you? Put on that dick?

Jungkook doesn’t slow. That same rhythm carries on—only faltering for a second as he presses a single kiss to your shoulder.

He shifts, one hand braced beside your head, the other grabbing your thigh to tilt your hips.

He picks up the pace. Louder now.

His hands are everywhere. One moment, he grabs a boob, fingers closing around your nipple, then squeezing the flesh. Another moment, his hand on your jaw, pulling you into a kiss. Then he settles back on your thigh, giving himself a better position to go deeper. 

Your hands also wander. You feel the muscles of his back working under the hot sticky skin. You try to hold onto his biceps, but your fingers can barely wrap around half of it. You go to his thigh, sliding over to grope his ass. 

Everything about him feels good.

And it still feels too good, even through the sensitivity. Even through the aftershocks.

His movements turn sloppy. Thrusts losing rhythm. Both of you moaning like you’ve lost any shame.

Maybe there wasn’t much to begin with. 

And with a forceful final thrust, he buries himself deep. 

“F-fuck.”

You can feel him twitch inside of you, and you feel yourself pulse against him. 

With a loud grunt, he crushes back onto you. Sweaty, hot skin stuck to each other. 

He’s still jerking, his body still tense, and he breaths quickly. 

It takes both of you a few long minutes to calm down. 

He pulls himself out of you with a grunt, plopping by your side, making your body jump off the mattress a little. 

He’s rolling off the condom, tossing it towards–what you hope is– a trash can near his bed. 

He lies back with a sigh. 

And you can feel his gaze on you. 

You scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

You sneak a look at him. 

He smirks, unfazed. “Like what?”

You look back at the ceiling, “Like you’re so fucking proud of yourself.”

You feel him shrug, way too casual. 

“You seemed to like it.”

You sit up slightly, groaning, you look down at him, “I hate you.”

He grins wider, “I know.”

You pull the sheet up over your chest and flop back down, pretending like this was no big deal. 

Like it didn’t just wreck you from the inside out.

Like this was just sex.

Just really, really good sex.

And maybe it was.

Maybe that’s all it is.

You don’t look at him again.

But you feel his arm wrapping around you. 

Holding you in place.

Jungkook leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He waits for your answer, his eyes steady, teasing, expectant.

You grab the towel from the counter to dry your hands, pressing your back against the sink, putting as much distance between you and him as possible in the cramped kitchen. You wish you could just disappear.

You need a way out.

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say, trying to sound as casual as possible while drying your already dry hands with the towel.

“I’m not much of a gamer, but it was fun watching you lose,” you add, throwing in the tease to make it sound more natural.

Jungkook stands up and takes a small step forward, smiling as if he finds you amusing.

“Me? Losing? How could you say that?” He scoffs playfully, his whole chest moving. “Loser.”

“This was my first time. But you? You game every day. You should be better than this.” You mock him with an even look on your face. 

He keeps smiling. “I was still better than you.”

You shrug. “Not impressed.”

“Not impressed?” He smirks, taking another step forward.

You clutch the towel tightly, trying to hold his gaze, to withstand the rising tension, not to be the first to fold.

He gives you a once-over, moving his eyes up until they meet yours again.

“Not really.” You try to sound nonchalant, but you’re aware your tone is a little too high.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, tilting his head with a small roll of his eyes.

“Okay.”

He looks at you again, head still tilted, that annoying smirk on his face.

“So, are you done avoiding me?” 

That little shit. 

He couldn’t just let it go? Couldn’t he?

Did you really think he’d let you act like nothing happened?

You’re an idiot for even entertaining the thought.

What should you do? How are you gonna get out of this mess?

Act a fool.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He moves closer, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, like he finds it funny.

“You don’t know?”

You clutch the towel tighter in your fingers, feeling your throat grow drier as the space between you shrinks.

You feel trapped, like a deer caught in headlights—except, in this case, you're the one who handed Jungkook the car keys.

“Nope.”

You try to stick to your plan. Be cool, act like nothing happened.

He’s really close now. If he reached out, he could touch you.

Not that you want that. You’re sure it’s a terrible idea. 

Distance is good. Distance is better.

Even if he’s hell-bent on demolishing it, along with the little restraint you have left.

“Good.” He says, stopping in front of you.

“So, you’re done avoiding me.”

He says it like he’s stating a fact, smiling like he won this stupid fight.

You roll your eyes. Holding the towel in front of you, like a barrier between you two—as if it could protect you from him somehow.

He leans in even closer, a shit-eating grin on his face that can’t mean anything good.

“Now we can get to the fun part.”

He says in a low voice, and it does things to you it really shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t be here right now.

You shouldn’t be testing yourself like this.

You try to hold on to the little defiance you have left.

You scoff, but it’s weak; it lacks its usual bite. “What do you want?”

Jungkook leans back, giving you a quick once-over.

“There are a few things I can think of.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with a challenge in his eyes, daring you to play along.

You feel the heat rise in your chest, creeping up to your face.

A million thoughts race through your mind.

Should you just give in? Play along? Erase that smile from his face, like you know you can? Like you’ve done countless times before?

No.

You shouldn’t.

There’s no way this can end well. Where will you even go?

Jungkook is a textbook fuckboy.

But why is that a bad thing? You could just fuck once.

Fuck it out of your system. Fuck him out of your mind.

It could be just a one-time thing.

But then what?

You’ll go to grab breakfast, and he’ll be like, ‘Hey, remember the time I was balls-deep inside of you?’

You can’t live like that. It’d be too awkward. There’s a reason you decided it’s a line you shouldn’t cross. A reason you decided no more fuckboys.

You’re ready for an upgrade. It’s time to start living like an adult. And as an adult, you need a man who can treat you right. 

Jungkook is not that man. He can’t handle you.

You’re quiet for too long—it’s starting to get awkward.

You’re just standing there, flustered, while Jungkook looks at you with that smug smirk.

He starts to lean forward slowly, closing the gap between you. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest.

There are only a few inches between you now, and he reaches his hand toward you. His fingers brush the side of your upper arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You curse yourself for taking off the hoodie to clean the kitchen. You need its protection right now.

Jungkook is so close you can feel his breath on your shoulder. You try to collect yourself—your words, your protest.

You manage a weak, “W-what are yo—” when Jungkook suddenly pulls back.

He’s holding the cleaning spray in his hand, a pleased grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll go clean the coffee table.” He turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

Fuck. 

You let out a sigh, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.

What does he think he’s doing?

That little prick.

You want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face so badly.

You want him to regret the day he decided to play these games with you.

Ughhh.

But you can’t. You shouldn’t. That’s exactly what he wants, right?

For you to lose your cool. To make a wrong move.

You need to keep it together.

You grab a bottle of water from the fridge and lean against the countertop, cooling yourself down before heading back out. You can’t stay in the kitchen forever.

Maybe you could?

No, no. You can’t.

You take a deep breath and walk into the living room.

Jungkook is sitting in the middle of the couch, scrolling on his phone.

He looks up as you walk in. You brace yourself for his smug, annoying, infuriating face. But instead, you’re met with something soft. His eyes are big, wide, doe-like, and he gives you a sweet, almost shy smile.

“Wanna play some more?”

It’s weird. You look at him, shocked by the sudden change.

“Come on, it’s still early. I’m not ready to go to bed. I’ll even let you choose the game.” He sounds sweet, pleading, almost innocent.

What happened between the kitchen and the living room? When did he switch from his fuckboy persona to this sweet boy?

You’re about to say no. It’s a really bad idea.

“Are you scared you’ll lose again?” he says, smirking.

Oh, the little fuck. 

Hell no.

You scoff.

“What games do you have?” you ask, plopping down on the couch beside him.

He smiles at you before turning to the TV, scrolling through the games he owns. Then you spot something.

“Pokemon!”

He giggles, raising an eyebrow as he looks at you. “You like Pokemon?”

“Who doesn’t like Pokemon?” you reply, frowning.

“Psychopaths.” 

Jungkook holds a straight face for a moment before bursting into laughter, and you join in.

“Pokemon it is, then,” he says with a nod as he selects the game.

You play for a while, exploring the city, collecting money, buying potions, and battling Pokemon. The light banter never stops, with you two arguing about who’s the best Pokemon trainer. You are, obviously.

"Let’s head towards that forest we saw earlier," Jungkook says, and you follow.

You spot a wild Squirtle running past you. You press frantically on the controller buttons—you need that Squirtle. That Squirtle is yours. 

But it looks like Jungkook spots him too. He throws his Pokéball at the same time.

“Fuck off, JK. He’s mine.”

He scoffs playfully. “Not if I catch him first.”

You’re both extremely invested in catching that Squirtle, pressing buttons like your life depends on it. But that little fucker is persistent. He’s not letting you catch him easily. You try to concentrate, planning the perfect throw to finally catch him, but a millisecond before your Pokéball hits, Jungkook snags him.

“Nooooo.” You throw the controller dramatically to your side.

Jungkook throws his hands in the air, cheering loudly, “Fuck yeah.”

“I can’t believe you got him,” you complain, annoyed.

“What can I say? I’m the better trainer.” He smiles smugly as he leans back on the couch.

“No, but you don’t get it—Squirtle is my favorite,” you whine, pouting.

He snorts and chuckles, “Of course he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown at him.

“Basic ass,” he giggles.

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Fuck you.”

He catches the pillow easily. “Let me guess, you like him because he’s a turtle?” he says, laughing.

“Of course I like him because he’s a turtle!” you shout.

Jungkook laughs uncontrollably.

“Let’s hear yours, Mr. Sophisticated,” you say sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest in fake annoyance. You can barely hold back your smile.

Jungkook tries to stifle his laughter long enough to answer. “Charizard.”

“Charizard?!”

Jungkook nods as he tries to control his giggles. 

How dare he? 

“You gave me shit for liking Squirtle, and your favorite is fucking Charizard?!”

You can’t believe his audacity, so you continue your monologue. “This is like the most basic dude answer ever.”

“And let me guess, you like him because he’s the strongest?” you ask mockingly.

“Da,” he says with wide eyes and raised brows, nodding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Trade the Squirtle with me,” you ask with a pout.

“Na-ah. No way,” he laughs.

“Then I’ll catch the Charmander.”

He snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

You give him your best death glare. “You’ll regret this.”

He chuckles and shakes his head as he stands up. “Want a beer?”

You shake your head. “Na, I’m good.”

He takes a step toward the kitchen, and you hastily catch his wrist with both of your hands.

Jungkook snaps back around.

“Please give me your Squirtle,” you whine.

“I’ll trade you whatever you want,” you add with a pout and pleading eyes.

You expect Jungkook to laugh, to keep this stupid fight going.

But instead, he looks startled and flustered for a moment. Then, something shifts in his expression. It darkens, growing more dangerous. A small, crooked smirk creeps onto his lips as he looks down at you with dark eyes.

He taps his lips with his finger, glancing up at the ceiling as he hums, pretending to think.

“Hmmm, let me think. Anything I want, you say?”

Jungkook looks back down at you, his eyes narrowed, head tilted. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

He tilts his head further, raising his brows slightly as if suggesting you know exactly what he wants.

And you're not stupid—you do. You can barely be mad at him for the suggestion. You practically laid it out for him with all the ‘whatever you want.’ Of course, a guy like Jungkook would jump on the opportunity.

You roll your eyes playfully and pull back your hand. "Jungkook!"

He chuckles light-heartedly. “Fine,” he says dramatically, “I’ll give you my Squirtle. No need to be so dramatic.”

You clap your hands and squeak in joy.

Jungkook shakes his head with an amused smile, turning toward the kitchen.

“You know what? Bring me a beer too,” you call after him. You have a feeling you’ll need it.

A few hours later, you’ve explored a decent chunk of the game, collected more Pokémon, and drank a couple (or more) beers. Both of you are probably too tired to keep playing seriously, so now you’re just strolling lazily through the world, looking for easy tasks to do.

You shouldn’t be here. 

You should’ve gone to bed a long time ago. You know that. 

But you can’t bring yourself to leave. This is probably the most fun you’ve had in a while. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing. Being with Jungkook like this feels easy. Too easy. And too fun.

This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.

Jungkook yawns, stretching as he leans back onto the sofa.

“Do you think Ash and Misty fuck?” 

You snap your head to look at him, your eyes wide in shock. He’s already looking at you, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “WTF?! They’re children! You perv.”

He chuckles, his voice rough from tiredness and alcohol, and probably from laughing too much. It does things to you. You don’t feel cold anymore. 

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

He scoffs playfully. “I don’t mean when they were kids, perv,” he teases, his tone light and mocking. “I mean when they’re adults.”

“No?” you give him a scandalized look. “They’re friends?”

Jungkook laughs. “What does them being friends have to do with them fucking?”

“Because you don’t fuck friends,” you say, as if it’s obvious, waving your hands. Because really, you shouldn’t fuck friends. Someone always wants something more, and the friendship gets ruined. It never ends well.

“Oh, come on, y/n. You wanna tell me you haven’t fucked friends?” He says it like he knows. Because he probably does. Because you did. You did fuck friends. This is why you know it’s a bad idea. 

You feel like you’ve been caught. “What do you mean?” You try to act innocent, but it's not working.

Jungkook smirks, his gaze never leaving yours. “You know the walls in this apartment are very thin.”

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? It’s not news to you, but it’s one thing knowing and another to talk about it with your fucking roommate.

“I-I-” you try to mumble something, but the words just won’t come out. Jungkook laughs.

“Come on, y/n. You and I both know we’ve heard each other fuck, and more, in this apartment.”

“The fact that it happened doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!” you snap at him. 

Jungkook just laughs, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You’re so cute. Jigglypuff.”

“WHAT?!”

“Jigglypuff—the cute pink Pokémon that sings?”

“I know what a fucking Jigglypuff is, Jungkook.”

“You’re all cute and pink when you’re blushing. Just like a Jigglypuff.”

“SHUT UP.” You feel yourself blushing even more.

Jungkook can barely breathe from laughing now, and you try not to laugh with him, instead giving him your best threatening glare. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“You think you look scary? Jiggly?”

“SHUT UP!” You yell again, leaning forward to hit his chest.

But before you can pull back, Jungkook grabs your wrist, keeping it pressed against his chest. He pulls you toward him, and you lose your balance, crashing into him.

With both hands pressed against his chest, you can feel his warmth, his heart beating unnervingly fast. You try not to think about how firm and broad his chest feels. 

You try. But you probably lost that inhibition two beers ago.

Your faces are inches apart now, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. You can also smell his cologne—a classic fuckboy scent you’ve smelled a hundred times before, but it somehow smells good on him. It’s fresh, spicy. 

He smells like a man. 

His eyes are big, dark, and impossibly shiny. You think you’ve never seen eyes that shine so much. You feel entranced, unable to look away.

You shouldn’t have these thoughts about your roommate. You shouldn’t be pressed against him to notice all these things. 

You really shouldn’t be here.

But you are. Jungkook leans in, and you feel his breath catch in his throat. He hesitates, stopping just an inch from you before closing the distance entirely.

The kiss is intense, desperate, urgent—like your life depends on it. It’s like a crack in a dam, and you’re trying to stop it with your hand, but the dam finally gives way. The pressure crushes you, the flood sweeping you away. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t control yourself when Jungkook kisses you like that.

You try to grab into sanity. You try to hold yourself in the present. You try to focus on his lips on yours. They’re soft but firm. Adjusting to your rhythm yet demanding. And he tastes good. You never thought that kissing could taste good. You can’t even explain what he tastes like. 

He tastes like an addiction. 

Jungkook lets go of your wrist and slides both hands to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The movement makes you shift your hands from his chest to wrap around his neck.

And Jungkook fucking grunts. It makes your head spin. 

You sigh into the kiss as he pulls you down, leaning back to lie on the couch. Jungkook slips his hands under your shirt, his big, warm palms brushing over your ribs. You shudder in his hold, and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. 

He pulls back just enough to flip the two of you over, holding himself up on his hands as he hovers above you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathes out, voice hushed and breathless. But before you can even reply, he crushes his lips back to yours.

He leans on one forearm, the other hand moving to your face. His thumb traces your cheek while his fingers rest lightly on your jaw. 

It’s his tattooed hand, and the thought sends a wave of heat crawling down your abdomen. You move your hands to gently push his hair back from his face, pulling him even closer with the same motion.

Jungkook groans into the kiss as his hips buck into you. Your legs must have a life of their own because somehow they’re spread, and Jungkook is between them. You have no idea when that happened. 

Jungkook adjusts his position, and he grinds his hips again, directly into your core. You let out an airy moan into his mouth. 

You can feel him smile as he moves his lips to the side of your face, down your jaw, and to your neck. 

He moves his free hand under your shirt. His lips and hand are hungry, demanding. Reaching every piece of skin they can get. And everywhere they touch, you feel yourself burning. You feel like he sets you up on fire.

Jungkook grinds his hips into you once more, and both of you moan in sync. You into his ear and him into the crock of your neck. Leaving goosebumps on your skin. 

You inhale a sharp breath. “I’m not letting you fuck me on the couch.” You say breathlessly. 

Jungkook props himself up on one arm. His breath is uneven, lips are swollen and glossy, hair is a mess, eyes are dark. And he fucking smirks at you. 

“Okay," he says smugly, and he rolls his hips particularly well, he hits just the right spot. You whine breathlessly as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

He chuckles, and you look back at him, narrowing your eyes. 

He tilts his head, smirk growing wider. “So, where do you want me to fuck you?” 

You roll your eyes, this time in annoyance. “Who said you’re going to fuck me?” 

He chuckles again and grinds his hips once again, making you let out an involuntary, embarrassing moan again. 

“Jungkook!” you try to yell, but the sound comes out choked.

This time, he giggles—not his usual low, manly chuckle, but a sweet, boyish giggle.

He pushes himself up, and with one swift motion, he pulls off his shirt. It’s definitely not the first time you see Jungkook shirtless. He personally made sure of it. But something about the view of shirtless Jungkook between your spread legs is thrilling more than you could have expected. 

Your eyes trail down from his defined pecs to his abs and his prominent v-line. You can’t help yourself from reaching your hand, moving your fingers gently from his navel and down his faint happy-trail. You feel him shudder under your touch, and when you look back up, he has a pleased smile on his face. 

He reaches his hands, tugging at the hem of your shirt, and you push yourself up, giving him space to remove it. 

The moment you flop back onto the couch, Jungkook hands are on you. Moving around exploring the newly exposed skin. His eyes widen as he follows his touch, and his lips part, as if he’s in awe of the sight before him.

He leans forward, giving your lips a soft peck, softer than anything that had transpired between the two of you up until now, before trailing his lips down to your collarbone. He gently kisses and licks from your neck to your shoulders. Keeping his lips on you all the time. He moves lower to your chest. 

“You’re so pretty. Prettier than I imagined.” He murmurs against your skin; face nuzzled in the valley between your breasts.  

“You’ve been thinking about me?” You aim for bratty and teasing, but it comes out breathless and whiny instead.

Jungkook pulls back, pushing himself up again, giving you a no-bullshit look. He places his hands on your waist, holding you in place. “Do you really need to ask that?”

You’d answer with some snarky comment if you could, if only you had enough focus to gather your words. But you can’t find the defiance in you when he’s looking at you like that.

He slides his hands down, stopping them on the band of your shorts. He looks up at your face with a tilt of his head and a question on his face. You push your hips up, allowing him to pull your shorts down. 

When your shorts are on the floor, Jungkook stands up, removing his own before returning to his position between your legs. He leans closer to your face, pushes away a hair strand from your face, and caresses your cheek with his fingers. You look at each other in silence, closely examining each other's features. 

Jungkook parts his lips as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops and dives in to kiss you instead.

The kiss is immediately intense.

As if neither of you want, or could, hold themselves back. The kiss is all lips and tongue at teeth, with airy sighs and desperate whines. 

You move your lips to his neck, nipping with your lips and teeth at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Jungkook let a shaky moan as you continue to explore the skin of the column of his throat. He glides his hand on the side of your body and down between your legs. 

He brushes his fingers over the top part of your panties, and you exhale, leaning your forehead on his shoulder. He’s slowly moving his hand down, gliding his finger lightly over your clothed folds. You let out a choked moan. His digits hover over the wetness that soaks through the fabric and he presses a little harder over your entrance. 

“Fuck. You want me that bad, baby?” 

Jungkook doesn’t wait for an answer. He starts to trail down, kissing a path from your chest down to between your legs. He’s peppering kisses all over your inner thighs and lower abdomen. You slightly writhe and whine, and he’s moving his hands to hold you from your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes dark and hooded. He ducks his head, while keeping eye contact, as he presses a hard kiss over your clit. You moan, and he’s smirking as his lips are still on you. 

He moves his fingers under the side of your panties, tugging it a bit. “Can I?” 

You bite you lip, nod, and he pulls them off for you. 

He settles back between your legs, looking between them before looking back up at you with a devilish smile. He slips his hands to the underside of your thighs, propping them up a little, giving him better access. 

And without another warning, he goes right in. 

Tongue finds your clit immediately, causing you to gasp, back arching from the couch. 

Your response only spurs Jungkook further. You feel him everywhere and exactly where you need him all at once. You don’t know how he does it. It’s not the first time someone has eaten you out, but it’s definitely never felt like that. 

Jungkook gives a particular precise lick, and you moan loudly, hands flying to his hair. 

He looks up at you, eyes barely seen under his lids, and he grunts when your gaze meets. 

The vibration sends you further, higher, and you tug at his hair with one hand while the other tries to catch the couch, something to hold onto. But you find Jungkook's forearm, grabbing it as it could help you. But it can’t. 

Because the pace he is setting is almost animalistic, unleashed. And you don’t understand how it feels so good so soon. 

Oh, god. You’re going to come embarrassingly fast. 

You wish you could control it, wish you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But fuck. It feels so good. 

You’re a mess by now. Your moans are barely audible, throat dry from gasping for air.

And you’re getting closer and closer to the edge. 

It's as if every movement of his mouth is precise, intentional, and deliberate in its meaning. You hate that he knows exactly what he's doing. 

But oh god, you love this so much. 

And when you think that that’s it, that you’re right there, just a little more and it’s done for you, Jungkook changes tactics. 

His lips catch your clit, sucking on it lightly while his tongue does something you can’t explain. Because your brain can’t even grasp what the fuck is going on right now. How he managed to take you away from your pending orgasm while also making everything feel so much better. 

It’s a height you never visited. 

It’s so good, it’s almost too much. 

You’re pretty sure you’re screaming by now. You don’t have much connection to reality at the moment. The only thing you can feel is Jungkook’s mouth between your legs. 

Yet, he speeds up, moving his lips and tongue in sync to a faster rhythm. 

This time, you’re rushing to the edge. 

And before you can even grasp it, it comes crushing on you. 

Strong, hard waves, making you shake and cry. 

You’re gasping, moaning, trying to catch a single breath. 

But before your orgasm even ends, Jungkook is pushing a finger into you. Curling it up and moving faster and faster. 

You try to prop yourself a little up, to look at him with wide eyes through the haze of your pleasure. “J-Jung— ah fuck” he looks up at you, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop. 

The opposite, he adds another finger, quicking his pace.

It’s as if he’s a man on a mission—a mission to tear you apart, and he won’t stop until he’s completed it.

You flop back onto the couch, and your hands try to hold onto the cushions or grab something as your whole body trembles. 

And it hits you again. Harder, faster, stronger. Like you never felt before. 

And you hate to say it, but that was the best orgasm of your life. 

When you start to come down from your second high—well, or maybe it's the first, you're not sure if you ever stopped coming—Jungkook finally pulls away. 

He moves up and kisses your lower stomach before looking up at you with a smile—a sweet, pleased smile. You're still a shuddering mess beneath him, your gaze fixed on him, a hint of shock on your face at what just happened.

Jungkook lays on top of you, head resting on your chest. 

“That was fun,” he murmurs, his voice contented. 

You frown, hand going to push his head up so you could see his face. 

“Aren’t you going to bring a condom?” 

Jungkook is giving you a matching, mocking frown. “Didn’t you say that you won’t let me fuck you on the couch?” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Jungkook!” 

Because let’s be real. There's no way he actually planned for this to stop here.

Right?

“You want me this bad, baby?” he says in a teasing, fake sultry tone.

“Just go get the condom,” you grumble back. 

He stands up, giving you a salute. “Ay ay, captain!” And he heads to his room. 

You’re propped up on your elbows when he returns, practically skipping towards you with a condom in hand. 

You watch him as he stops by the couch, pushing down his boxers. 

Oh, shit. 

Oh.

Shit.

You’re staring. You know you are. But you can’t help it. 

Why does he look this good? 

Yeah. You get it now. 

You get why he’s so cocky. 

The little shit. 

Fucking hell. This is going to hunt you, doesn’t it? 

You move your gaze up to his face, and he’s looking down at you with a huge smirk. 

He tilts his head to the side. 

He doesn’t even ask you if you like what you see. 

Because he knows. 

Fuck. 

You hate this. 

He opens the package before slowly rolling the condom on his dick. Keeping eye contact with you. Daring, or maybe waiting for you to say something. 

You need to hold to the little bit of dignity left in you. So you won’t.

You’re also pretty sure his ego doesn’t need it. 

When he’s done, he crawls back between your legs, big palms rubbing your thighs. He grabs behind your knees, lifting them, and folds your legs, gently resting your feet on the couch. 

Without a word, he grabs the base of his dick with one hand, the other holding your hip, aligning his length with your folds. 

But he doesn’t push in yet. He just looks back up at you. 

He moves a tiny bit forward, making you feel like he's going to push in, making you let out a little gasp, but he doesn’t. 

He just moves it around, playing with your folds. 

He does it a couple more times. Each time, pushing a tinniest more in. Each time, you can feel your hole clench around nothing. Waiting for more. Making you whine with need. Leaving you aching. 

Why is he trying to make you lose your mind? 

When he does it for the ninth time, you whine loudly. You want to complain, to tell him to stop the teasing. “Junko–” But he drags his tip over your clit, making you moan.

And he fucking chuckles. A low, mean chuckle. 

“What?” he asks with fake innocence. 

“Stop playing.” You try to bite, to sound mad. But the little dick, well, not that it’s little, fuck, him. He’s the dick. A huge dick. Shit, no. He’ll never hear it from you. That fuckface, he pushes a mere millimeter in before leaning back. 

You whine, “Jun–” and he moves the tip over your clit again, making the whine of his name hitch in your throat. 

He smirks down at you. “Oh, baby,” he purrs mockingly. “I need to know what you want.” He tilts his head, waiting for your answer as he lazily drags his length over your folds. 

You exhale through your nose, clearly infuriated.

“Jungkook,” you try to warn, attempting to sound stern.

He chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “What?”

He leans down, kissing you softly, a stark contrast to his earlier cocky behavior.

His hand round your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it aside.

“I really need to hear you say it,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot before he pulls back, kneeling above you.

You give him an even look. But you know, and he knows, that you’ll give in. 

“Fine.” You say as harshly as you manage, with his cock pushing against your entrance.  

“I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You roll your eyes. “Pleased?” 

He smiles. A big boyish bunny smile. Not a smile you expect to see from someone inches from fucking you. “Very.” 

Then, with a smooth and gentle but swift motion, he pushes in. You share a sound between a sigh and a moan as he bottoms out. 

And just like that, all the cockiness has slipped out of him. 

Jungkook stops like that. Deep inside of you, leaning above you just a little, breath heavy and uneven. His eyes widen, but as he tries to make a slight movement thrusting in, they shut down forcefully. 

“Fuck.” He courses under his breath. 

You feel the stretch, the slight burn. But he feels good, full. 

You’d urge him to start moving, but you need to enjoy it. Finally, you have power over him. Finally, you whipped the smirk off his stupid face. You need to taunt him.

“What happened? Are you going to come already?” you say, your voice full of condescension.

He drops his head forward, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, a quiet, barely audible laugh escaping him.

When he looks back up, his cocky persona is fully intact, that smug smirk returning to his face.

“Wasn’t expecting you to feel this good,” he says in a gruff voice, and you try to ignore the heat that it stirs in you. “But don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna enjoy every second of this.”

And before you can answer, he starts thrusting. Moving in and out of you with precise motion and increasing pace. 

He holds your waist, stabilizing himself as he fucks you.

He fucks you good. 

Shit.

He slides his hands to grab above your ass, gripping your thighs,  pushing your legs up and apart, allowing him to get in deeper. 

Jungkook grunts loudly from the new angle, and it causes you to open your eyes to look at him. You didn’t even realize you had closed them, to begin with. 

He has a deep frown between his brows, skin shiny from breaking a slight sweat, maybe also from your slick that remained on him. He picks up the pace, letting out a sound between a sigh and a groan, biting his bottom lip hard.

With each thrust, you feel all the air pushes out of your lungs. Your whole body moves from the force of his hips hitting yours. And if he hadn’t held your hips, you're pretty sure you’d be pushed off the couch. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow. 

Not that you can care right now. All you can think about is how Jungkook’s tip drags over your walls again and again. How he hits spots you didn’t feel before when he thrusts deeper. How his hands hold you firmly but they still stay gentle.

How he looks as he fuck you senseless. Like he’s trying to keep it together, on the edge of losing control, drowning in pleasure, completely immersed in the feeling of fucking you. 

You can see he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. You can sense the slips of his movement, indicating he is trying his best to maintain the steady pace of his hips. You can feel his fingers twitch, not to hold you aggressively. 

He grunts as he stills deep after a strong thrust, falling forward to lay on his forearms. His lips find yours in a soft kiss before he resumes the movement of his hips. 

The pace is frantic, yet he still keeps his mount on yours as you moan with each thrust. 

You can’t understand the contrast between the way he’s fucking you and the way he’s kissing you. It’s like your mouth and pussy are having a totally different experience. Like each gets an entirely different Jungkook. 

Jungkook’s movements start to lose their rhythm; it’s subtle at first, but with the way you hear his chucked moan, you know he’s nearing his end. You know he’s doing his best to hold himself. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to push in deeper. 

And he moans loudly, thrust getting messier. His movements become more and more shallow and rapid before he pushes one last time in, stilling deep inside of you. His whole body tensing before he collapses, forehead resting on yours, and you feel his dick twitches inside of you. 

After a minute, he relaxes bit by bit. Shoulders losing their tension, and his lengt stops jerking, he let out a sigh and lays on top of you. 

His head resting on your chest, one of his hands holding your hip as the other finds your hand to hold.

You’re still fuzzy, head floating from pleasure. 

You lay like that for a few minutes, breaths still uneven.

You can feel the beating of his heart, and you think it’s in sync with yours. 

It’s nice and warm. His weight feels right, comforting on you. 

You’re starting to cool off. Feeling the sweat sticking you bodies together. 

Your breath gets slower, steady. Your mind is starting to clear. 

Both of you are quite before Jungkook giggles, then lets out a happy sigh as he moves his hands to pull you into a hug.

You really shouldn’t be here.

You should have gone to bed hours ago.

You shouldn’t have done this. 

a/n2: (author note? at the end? who am I?) so, this is definitely the smuttiest smut I've posted so far. What are we thinking? How are we feeling? How do we think Jungkook feels? I'm honestly a bit anxious about how this chapter will be received, so I hope you liked it!

Yesterday, after making the biggest mistake of the century, you hastily grabbed your clothes from the floor and rushed to the bathroom. You muttered a lame "good night" before disappearing from the living room, ignoring a naked, confused, wide-doe-eyed Jungkook sitting on the couch.

You thought you'd at least have the decency to feel bad in the moment. That you'd lie awake in bed, twisting and turning, struggling to fall asleep. But no. You slept like a fucking baby. For twelve hours, no less. Like you didn’t just fucked your roommate senseless. Like he didn’t fuck you senseless. 

What the fuck was that?

Your stomach growls.

It’s been hours since your last meal, and you're pretty sure there’s still some alcohol lingering in your system. You need food—carbs, salt, oil. Something to help absorb both the alcohol and the regret settling deep in your gut.

You push the covers off, groaning as you tilt your head back.

You really don’t want to go out, to face the consequences of your mistakes. But if you’ve learned anything from this mess, it’s that you can’t avoid it. In some way or another, it’ll come back at you. It’s better to face it head-on.

Why does it have to be a problem anyway?

It was a one-time thing.

You’re both adults that are– no, were sexually attracted to each other. And now it’s out of your system.

So, you fucked. No big deal. 

You can do this.

So what if it was the best sex you’ve had in a while? Maybe even ever...

No. No need for thoughts like that. Traitorous brain.

It was one and done.

Your stomach growls again.

What is it with it? Does it have a personal vendetta against you? Why does something as stupid as hunger have to make you face the world?

You get up from bed, grab the hoodie tossed over the chair, and pull it over your head as you shuffle to the kitchen in search of something to eat. When you enter, you’re met by Jungkook’s back as he stands near the sink, washing dishes. You can tell his shoulders are tense, his whole body stiff as he leans slightly toward the sink. He’s already dressed in his gym clothes. Probably just finished eating before heading out.

“I’m surprised you’re not avoiding me this time,” Jungkook says without turning to face you. You can’t see his face, but his tone is firm, even, cold.

No good morning? No hello? Something?

You’re still standing at the kitchen entrance, not daring to step inside. You stutter, unsure of what to say. “I–I–”

He places the bowl he just washed on the drying rack and moves to clean the next dish. He continues speaking without waiting for you to answer. “After you basically shoved me away and fled last night, I figured you’d hide in your room for at least a few days.”

He calls you a coward.

Not with words, but between the lines.

You stay silent. Stunned silent. You knew leaving like that was a shitty move, but you didn’t expect Jungkook to clock you out. To read you like that. Why does he even care? Weren’t you just another girl on his conquests list?

Jungkook places the utensils in their holder by the sink and grabs the towel to dry his hands. He sighs heavily before finally turning around to face you.

He looks at you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, waiting for you to say something. He looks like he already knows you’re going to say some bullshit. He looks tired, resigned, impatient.

You look down, feeling your cheek heat up with shame. You were so fixated on the one mistake you made last night that you didn’t even think about the other one. You’re so caught up in running from your problem that you don’t even notice you’re creating new ones.

“I’m sorry. For leaving,” you say quietly.

You hear Jungkook sigh again, and you look up. He pushes his hair back, leaving his fingers tangled in it for a moment. His features are softer now, less harsh than before.

“Why did you leave like that?” he asks quietly, looking down before meeting your gaze again.

You don’t have an answer. What can you tell him? That you couldn’t handle the mistake? That he was that good, you started to wonder what else he could do to you? He won’t let you forget, and you can’t make the same mistake twice.

“I was tired.” You can’t look at him as you lie. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s far from the truth. You both know it.

“Tired?” Jungkook repeats, and you can hear the doubt in his voice. But his tone isn’t angry—it’s sad.

You hum softly and nod. It’s a cowardly answer, a way to escape the truth, but you don’t have the courage to face it right now.

“Okay,” he says evenly, running a hand through his hair again.

You hate this. You hate the weird silence, the uncomfortable tension between you two. Yesterday felt so easy, so fun. Why did it have to be ruined?

“I didn’t want you to ask me to give you back my Squirtle.” It’s a weak attempt to break the awkwardness. You know it, but you have to try.

Jungkook chuckles quietly. His laugh is hollow, lacking its usual warmth, but you can see he’s also trying.

“I would never. Squirtle is yours.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t give it back even if you asked,” you reply, trying to tease. He chuckles again, still stiff, but the air between you two starts to loosen.

“Maybe we can continue the conquest sometime?” you add carefully, not wanting to push too much.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Sure.”

“I—I need to go to the gym now,” he says, stepping forward and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” You step aside from the kitchen door, letting him pass.

He gives you a small nod of goodbye as he walks past you.

As he’s almost at the door, you call after him, “Jungkook.”

He turns around, looking at you.

“We’re good?” you ask, the uncertainty still hanging in the air.

“Always,” he says with a smile, then leaves.

You head back to the kitchen, searching for something to eat. At the back of the freezer, you find a frozen bagel and toss it in the toaster, then cook yourself some bacon and eggs. You make a sandwich and take a bite. It helps tremendously with your tired body, but does nothing to ease the weird feeling the talk with Jungkook has left. Your phone buzzes on the table, snapping you out of your thoughts.

[14:03 pm] Sienna my 💖: where are my girlssss

[14:03 pm] Sienna my 💖: wanna meet??

Should you tell your friends what happened last night? You’re itching to spill it all out, but you don’t want to talk about it. You already know what they’ll say. You know it was a mistake. And you definitely don’t want them to get the wrong idea about you and Jungkook.

The phone continues to vibrate with messages as you contemplate what to do. You decide not to decide. You’ll see how you feel when you meet them. You grab your phone and enter the group chat.

[14:04 pm] HanniBoo 🐞: <sent a photo>

[14:04 pm] HanniBoo 🐞: lunch with my man ♥️

[14:05 pm] HanniBoo 🐞: I’m downnnnn

[14:05 pm] HanniBoo 🐞: but later? 

[14:05 pm] Sienna my 💖: my favorite couple 😍

[14:07 pm] You: youre so cute im gonna die 🥹

[14:07 pm] You: yeah

[14:07 pm] You: but lets do something chill?

[14:08 pm] Sienna my 💖: dinner at my place?

[14:08 pm] You: 👍

[14:10 pm] HanniBoo 🐞: 👍

[14:12 pm] Sienna my 💖: see u later 😘😘

Yesterday was a dream.

Spending time with you like that, joking around, it felt natural, easy. Jungkook feels like he can act more like himself around you, drop the cocky mask he wears around other girls. It’s an effective front, but with you, he doesn’t feel the need for it. And that should scare the shit out of him, because only a few people know that side of him. But it doesn’t. It’s fun. It makes him feel warm, happy, light—without all the layers. He doesn’t even know how you manage to bring this side of him out.

It isn’t even about the sex.

Even though it was fucking amazing. The moment he was inside you, he knew he was in trouble. He knew he’d miss it the moment he had to leave you. Everything about you was perfect for him.

Yesterday was a dream.

Until it wasn’t.

Why did you leave like that? He was about to ask if you wanted to sleep in his room—or yours. He felt like a fool. So stupid. So small. After he let his guard down like that, after he allowed himself to be more real with you, and that was your reaction?

Fuck. 

Wasn’t he good enough? 

‘Fuck you out of his system?’ Pffff. 

How stupid was he? 

It’s just making him want you more.

When he hears you enter the kitchen, his body tenses. He uses every bit of his willpower not to turn around, not to grab you and ask, why?

He didn’t expect to see you at all. He’d planned to finish his pre-workout meal and leave as quickly as possible. He needs to go to the gym, clear his mind, maybe talk with Jimin about it. He needs more time to think, to process what happened, to figure out how he feels. He doesn’t want to talk to you when he’s this messed up.

But as you step into the kitchen, he knows he’s mad.

Mad at you for leaving him like that.

Mad at you for making it more than just sex.

Mad at how you make him feel.

Yet, when he turns to face you, he realizes he isn’t mad at all.

At the sight of the shame on your face, the slight blush creeping to your cheeks, he knows he’s not mad. 

He’s in trouble. Because all he wants is to close the gap and hold you. To tell you he’ll never be upset with you. 

That yesterday was a dream.

Until it wasn’t.

He needs to get out of there, to collect himself.

He can’t hold you. Can’t let his feelings loose around you.

You made it clear this isn’t what you want. Alas, why would you leave like that?

But when you ask him if you two are good, he can’t bring himself to say no.

Because he knows he’ll take whatever you are willing to give him.

“I’m home,” you call out as you come back from dinner with the girls.

You don’t see Jungkook right away, but you hear noises and see his keys on the table by the door, so you know he’s here. You head over to the couch, scrolling on your phone.

When you hear him step out of the kitchen, you look up at him.

And you hate how effortlessly good he looks. He’s in his usual uniform—black sweatpants and an oversized shirt. His hair is still a little damp from the shower he probably took recently, and a clean scent drifts through the living room.

When he sees you sitting on the couch, you catch the surprise flicker across his features. Like he didn’t expect you to be here. Like you don’t live here too?!

But then, as he sits next to you, his expression shifts into a smug smirk.

He grabs the controller from the coffee table and scrolls through his game library with one hand, while his other hand casually settles on your thigh, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Want to continue Pokémon?”

You look at the hand on your thigh.

Big, warm, confident—his hand slightly gripping your thigh.

Nope.

You swat his hand away a few seconds too late. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“What?” he asks casually, not even bothering to look at you.

“Want to start a new game?” he continues, as if nothing happened.

And here you thought you needed to clear the air, to make sure whatever weird vibes lingered from your morning conversation were gone. But as Jungkook continues to stare at the screen, acting like nothing happened, you realize you need to have a completely different conversation.

“You know that what happened last night was a one-time thing, right?”

You watch as he freezes for a second, his finger halting on the joystick.

He turns to look at you, a cocky smirk playing on his face.

“Sure.” His tone drips with condescension and amusement.

And then, without missing a beat, he turns back to the screen.

Ughhh. He’s so annoying. You know it was the stupidest mistake of your life.

“Jungkook,” you say sternly. “I’m serious.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t even bother to look at you this time—just keeps scrolling through the game store.  

What did you expect? Of course, this is how he’ll act.

You need him to understand that this was a one-time slip-up, that whatever is going on isn’t a thing, that it was over last night—and that it wasn’t even supposed to happen in the first place.

“This is never happening again,” you continue, even though it’s clear he’s already checked out of the conversation.

“Huh.” He doesn’t even bother with an actual response this time. “I heard this Supermarket simulator is really good. Wanna give it a try?”

What the fuck is he on about?! You could murder him, you swear.

“Jungkook!” you snap, way too loud. But you can’t hold it anymore; he’s driving you insane.

He slowly sets the controller on his lap and turns his body toward you.

“What?” His tone is innocent, but the cockiness oozing from his whole being says otherwise.

“Were you even listening to what I said?” you shoot back.

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a child. “One-time thing. Won’t ever happen again. Understood.” He finishes with a little nod. You might have thought he was genuine—if you didn’t know him better.

You feel like you’re about to lose it. This man is driving you insane. Your face is getting hot, and you exhale sharply through your nose, trying to hold it together.

“What are you so worked up about?” he asks, almost chuckling. “You wanna talk about what happened?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it!” you snap, your voice louder than you intend. You probably sound a little crazy, but it’s not your fault. He’s making you lose your mind. “I want you to understand what I’m saying.” You try to sound serious, fighting to calm yourself down. You don’t want to lose it completely.

“I understand,” he says, flashing that pleased smile like this is some sort of game.

“You don’t seem to understand by how you're acting!” Shit. You’re about to explode.

“How am I acting?” he asks, pretending he has no clue what you want. “What do you want me to do? You said we won’t fuck again, and I said okay. What more do you need? Want me to pinky promise? Want me to cut off my dick?” 

Fucking infuriating, stupid, annoying, unbelievably childish Jungkook. “We need to talk about what happened.”

He smirks. Why the fuck he smirks? 

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he says smugly.

He’s pushing you to the edge of your patience. “Well, apparently we need to, because you just have to act like a dick.”

"Okay. What do you want to talk about? How it was the best orgasm of your life, and you're still saying we won’t do it again?" He speaks evenly, but you see the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Jungkook!”

“What?” he smirks, clearly enjoying scandalizing you.

He continues, still smiling. “Wanna talk about how I saw your legs wiggle even though you tried to ru—” “Okay, I get it. It was good, yeah. That’s not the point,” you cut him off quickly. “Good??” He scoffs. “So, what’s the point?” “I just want to make sure things aren’t weird between us.” You try to explain. Tired from this annoying back and forth. “Why would they be weird?” He asks, genuinely not getting it.

What’s there not to get? How can you explain this to him? You try to explain, stating the obvious. “Because we fucked?” 

“Yes?” He says it like both a question and a statement, a touch of content smugness lacing his tone.

“And we live together?” You drag the words out, as if you’re explaining it to a toddler.

He opens his eyes wide and scrunches his brows, looking at you like you’ve just said the most tupid shit ever. 

You can’t with him.

“I just don’t want things to be weird around here!” You yell at him, throwing your hands up in exasperation, trying to emphasize what you’re saying, and he’s still refusing to understand.

Jungkook leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, that easy smile still on his face. “You’re the one making things weird. I said I understand.”

He smirks, looking away from you. 

You know he’s about to say something stupid.

“Maybe you don’t really want it to be a one-time thing.”

You’re seething by now. “Jungkook, I swear I’m gonna kill–”

“Geez, relax. I’m kidding. I get it.” He stops you before you can complete the sentence. “No weird vibes, okay?”

“Okay.” You agree, not because you believe it, but because what more can you say?

“So, Supermarket simulator?” he asks, grinning from ear to ear.

a/n2: I highly recommend the Supermarket Simulator. 10/10 game.

“That’s what you said 15 minutes ago,” you say, barely wriggling under his hold.

“And you said last time was the last time,” he replies, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“Shut up,” you yell, throwing a pillow at him.

He catches it easily, giggling as it hides his face.

The floor is cold under your feet as you make your way naked to the bathroom. You need to wash the sex off of you. 

And Jungkook. 

If you want to be able to do anything today. 

As you let the hot water disinfect you, you promise yourself that this time is really the last time. 

That's what you said last time, as Jungkook has kindly reminded you. 

And the time before that. 

And the dozen times before that in the past month. 

Yeah. 

You have a problem. 

Well, it’s not your fault. 

The sex is good. 

And it’s just easy. 

You hang out, eat dinner, have sex, and go to bed. 

How more convenient than that can it get?

And when Jungkook isn’t an insufferable prick, he’s actually pretty fun. 

He’s funny and charming. He cooks pretty well, and he’s kinda smart in his own weird way. 

And he’s so fucking hot. 

This can’t go on, thought. 

You're in too deep.

What are you even doing? 

This is so irresponsible. 

What will you do when it all blows up? 

It’s not like you planned to get into this whole roomates-who-also-fuck, barely-friends-with-benefit, Jungkook-is-now-your-biweekly-dick-appointment, mess of a situation. 

It just happened. 

And then it happened again. And again. 

And again..

Well, maybe it is somewhat partly your fault.

By the time you wander into the kitchen, Jungkook’s already there— shirtless, of course — wearing nothing but sweatpants and that smug “I got laid and you and I know it” grin.

He’s shoveling cereals into his mouth. 

He glances up at you, milk clinging to the corner of his lips. “Oh, babe—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—Taehyung’s crashing here this weekend.”

He takes a massive spoonful of cereal, and he chews as you both look at each other silently. Like, okay? 

What does he want you to say? 

It’s not like he gives you any options here. 

And what do you even care? 

For all you could think, it’s a good thing. Someone who’ll take Jungkook's attention, so he’ll leave you alone, won’t annoy you for a few days. 

Finally, some peace and quiet. 

He swallows a huge bite. “Do you have any plans for Friday?” 

You just give some weird non-committal sound and quirk your brow. What does he want? 

He takes the last bite. “The guys are coming over.” He mumbles, voice muffled from chewing. 

You look at him without saying anything, because what does he want? 

Jungkook gets up and goes to wash his bowl and spoon in the sink. His sweatpants hang so low that you can see he’s not wearing any underwear. 

Not something you need to know at this hour of the day when you’re already late for work. 

He dries his hands and turns, leaning against the sink, arms crossed on his chest, biceps popping and veins prominent on his forearms. 

He’s doing it on purpose, you're sure of it. 

“You should hang with us.”

“Oh, umm…”

“So that’s a yes?” he doesn’t let you fish out some half-assed excuse. 

He smirks now. 

Why does he smirk?

“The guys asked if you’re coming, and I already said yes. So you should come. Well, you live here, so... just be here.”  

“Why did you say yes?” you ask, like that’s the important question to ask, and not his odd behaviour. 

“Taehyung is curious about you.”

“About me?”

Jungkook shrugs, rinsing his spoon. “Guess word travels.”

“What word?” 

“You’ll have to be there to find out.” 

You don’t have time for his nonsense right now. 

You grab your bag and head for the door, muttering something about being late.

“Don’t forget Friday,” Jungkook calls after you.

“I’m not coming,” you shoot back.

He tilts his head, smiling lazily. “You keep saying that about a lot of things.”

Your cheeks heat before you can stop them.

You slam the door harder than necessary. 

The living room already smells faintly of takeout and beer, half the coffee table buried under snack bags. Jungkook is leaning back against the couch arm, talking to Jimin about some video game, one leg stretched out. Looking like the perfect picture of nonchalant confidence. 

He spots you as you go to the kitchen, his smile shifting, smug, more self-satisfied. “Finally,” he says, pushing himself up and crossing the room like you’d kept him waiting on purpose.

Before you can react, his hand is on your waist, pulling you just a little closer than necessary. “You look cute,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you hear. You hope so, at least.

You glance around at the others — Jimin smirking knowingly from the couch, Yoongi pretending not to watch. 

You stiffen, fingers curling around his wrist to nudge him off. “Your friends are watching,” you say under your breath. “So?” His hand stays put. “So…” You look back at him with narrowed eyes, “maybe don’t act like my boyfriend right now.”

That earns you a grin. 

“You wish.” He says in a low, teasing voice.

You groan, rolling your eyes as you push his chest away from you. 

“I’m going to get a drink.”

You need alcohol.

And you need to keep your distance from Jungkook. 

“Let me get it for you.” 

“Jungkook, I can walk ten steps to the fridge on my own.”

“Yeah, but then I don’t get to watch you do it.” His grin widens when you gape at him.

You shove at his arm, heat crawling up your neck. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he says easily, “but you’re still blushing.”

You scoff, trying to sound unaffected. Failing. Probably. 

You're turning your back on him before he can see just how right he is. “Keep dreaming.”

But of course, his footsteps follow you into the kitchen anyway.

You pull open the fridge door, letting the cool air hit your face, pretending you don’t notice the way he’s leaning in with you, too close for comfort.

“Want me to pick for you?” he asks, like it’s his place, like he belongs in your space.

You grab a bottle of something. Just to shut him up, to get out of this situation. You shove the colorful bottle against his chest. “Here. Since you’re so desperate to play bartender.”

He takes it with a laugh, popping the cap, then slides it back into your hand. His fingers brush yours — lingering just a second too long. Holding the bottle a second too long, not letting you take it. Making you yank it hard, some liquid splashes out and onto your hand. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “You don’t want to make a mess.”

“Are you two done blocking the fridge?” Namjoon’s voice breaks in, amused, as he sidesteps Jungkook to grab a bottle of water.

Yoongi follows, raising an eyebrow at the scene. He doesn’t say anything, but his smirk says plenty.

You jerk your hand back, clutching the drink. “I was just—” “Letting me serve her,” Jungkook cuts in smoothly, grin unbothered. “Because I’m a gentleman.” He says as he gives a little weird bow. 

Yoongi snorts. “That’s one word for it.” Namjoon just shakes his head, already unscrewing his bottle. “Play nice, Jungkook.”

You mutter under your breath, bitterly, “He doesn’t know how.” But Jungkook leans down just enough for only you to hear, while the others rummage through cabinets, “You like it, though.”

Before you can recover with a comeback, the old front door creaks open.

“Yo, I’m back,” Taehyung’s voice carries in, bags rustling as you hear him kick his shoes off. Jungkook straightens, brushing past you like nothing just happened, and strides toward the entryway. “Why are you packed like you’re moving in?” you hear him tease from the hall.

Taehyung’s laugh booms in reply, their voices fading as another door clicks open down the hall — Jungkook’s room, probably. And Taehyung shows up in the kitchen a few moments later. 

He greets Namjoon and Yoongi casually before turning his gaze on you with an all-too-knowing smirk. 

“And hello to you, too,” he says smoothly, grabbing a drink. Before you can respond, Jimin slips in for a refill, and Taehyung ducks back out.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen next to you, Yoongi and Namjoon are locked in a deadly-serious debate about which instant ramen brand tastes better. And they’ve already roped Jimin in as an impartial judge.

But you can tell by his bored nods that he cares only to eat their noodles. 

You hover in the doorway, pretending you’re invested in the ramen war, throwing your unhelpful input here and there. When really you’re trying not to look at Jungkook, who’s sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning down to talk to Taehyung.

They’re both grinning, voices low like they’re sharing something meant just for them. Jungkook’s hair falls into his eyes as he laughs at whatever Taehyung says, and Taehyung claps him on the shoulder like he’s encouraging him. Or like he’s proud of him. You’re not sure. 

Jungkook glances up mid-laugh and catches your eye, just for a second. “You want another drink?” he calls, like you’ve been waiting for him to ask. You shake your head quickly, raising the bottle in your hand. “I’m good.” He grins and goes back to Taehyung.

He leans in to tell him something that makes Taehyung laugh again. And then he gets up, coming in your direction.

You try to act like you’re not aware.

He stops beside you, shoulder brushing yours as he peers down at the mess of bowls and chopsticks on the kitchen table.

“What the hell are you all doing?” he asks no one in particular, half-amused, half-scandalized.

And then he’s in full force in the burning debate. Already in motion, opening cabinets, pulling out packets, insisting he knows some hack he saw on TikTok that’ll beat every other ramen recipe.

That’s when you hear the sharp creak of the door, followed by an unmistakable voice. Well, you hear Hobi more than the door.

A good distraction. Finally. You smile to yourself, slipping out of the ramen war just as Hoseok steps inside with his usual bright grin.

You flutter your eyelashes at him sweetly and give a little wave. “Y/n!” he beams, heading straight for you and wrapping you in a hug.

When he pulls back, you giggle, “Hi Hobi.” 

“How have you been? Havn’t seen you in a while.” You tilt your head, letting your smile linger a little longer than necessary. “Better now that you’re here.” When you saw him last time, that line would’ve earned you a wink and some over-the-top comment about how good you look tonight.

But Hobi just grins warmly and squeezes your arm. “Glad to hear it. You still working those crazy hours?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning a little closer. “But I think I could make time for the right company.”

He laughs, but it’s the easy, unbothered kind — the kind you’d give a friend, not someone you’re trying to charm. “I'm going to say hello to the guys.”

You pout playfully. “What, no compliment? Not even a ‘you look nice tonight’?”

He chuckles again, stepping back toward the kitchen. “You do look nice. You always do.” It’s said casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. No wink, no smirk, no pause.

And just like that, he’s gone, crossing the room to greet Namjoon, leaving you with a smile that feels a little forced now.

That.. weird. 

And annoying. 

Was he just rejecting you?

Have you lost your charm? 

You sulk all the way to the couch, sitting on the edge, taking a sip from your drink, but nothing comes out.

The bottle is already empty. 

Great. 

A commotion is happening in the kitchen, you can’t understand what is going on, but you clearly hear Jungkook and Hobi's loud voices mixed with Jimin’s laugh. 

A loud voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N!” 

Taehyung appears out of nowhere, plopping down next to you with a grin so wide you’re instantly suspicious. His curls are a little messy like he’s already been in the middle of partying.

He hands you a fresh drink. 

“So what’s going on with you and JK?”

What? 

“Nothing?” You try to diffuse whatever enthusiasm he came with. 

But it doesn’t seem to deter him even a bit. 

“Why? You two look good together.”

“You two look good together.” You counter back. 

“True…” he makes a look of mock seriousness, “But his boobs are too big for me. I like small, perky ones.” He says as he props his hands in front of his chest. Demonstrating Jungkook's chest size…? Weird dude.

You scowl at him, “This is info I could live without.”

Taehyung laughs like a madman. 

Jimin plops on the couch next to you with a fresh drink in his hand and his angelic smile. “What are we talking about?”

“JK and y/n.”

Jimin claps his hands and says with enthusiasm, “Ohh! I LOVE this subject!”

“There’s no me and JK.” You say, annoyed. Why does he and all his friends have to be insufferable? 

“Why tho? You look good together,” Jimin says casually and takes a sip. 

You groan, roll your eyes, and Taehyung points at Jimin, practically jumping in his seat. “That’s what I said!”

“Okay, relax, wingmen of the year. JK and I are not a thing.”

“Why?” Jimin asks like he’s really perplexed, like he doesn't get it. 

“Because..“ you start saying, but you don’t have a real argument. They look at you pointedly, like they won the argument. 

“Because, he’s all about messing around and sleeping around with girls.”

Taehyung cocks an eyebrow, “Okay, and?” Like he’s not getting your point. 

You don’t get it yourself. 

“He’s a good guy, you know?” Jimin adds gently. 

“I-It’s not-“ you mumble, trying to find an excuse, when Jungkook comes from nowhere. “What are we talking about?” He says with an innocent smile. 

Taehyung grins smugly, and Jimin barely holds his giggles.

“Nothing.”

“Sharks.”

You look at Jimin with wide eyes. 

Sharks?

Really?

Jungkook giggles, “Okay, did you know that shark babies eat their siblings in the womb?”

What?

You blink at him. 

“That’s… horrifying,” you say slowly.

“Dude, no way sharks are cannibals. They’d have made a movie about it already,” Taehyung says, dead serious.

“Gives a new meaning to baby shark,” Jimin says, then cracks up at his own joke.

“No, for real,” Jungkook insists. “The strongest baby shark eats all the others before it’s born. Survival of the fittest.”

Jimin makes a face. “That’s messed up.”

“That’s amazing,” Taehyung corrects, taking a swig. “Imagine you’re born knowing you’ve already won your first fight.”

Jungkook drops onto the arm of the couch beside you, his knee brushing your shoulder. You feel the faint press of his leg. He leans closer, saying quietly, “Tae’s just mad he’d be the one getting eaten.”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung points at him, mock-offended. “I’d definitely be the alpha shark.”

“You’d get distracted halfway through and lose,” Jungkook grins.

Taehyung ignores him, turning back to you like you’re the deciding vote. “Okay, important question — if we were all sharks, who’s winning?”

You look between them, sipping your drink. “Honestly? You all give me shark food vibes.” 

Jimin laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink. 

Jungkook pouts. “There’s no way I’d let a fish eat me.” 

“Technically, sharks aren’t fish,” Namjoon calls from the kitchen.

“See?” Taehyung says, gesturing toward the kitchen like it proves something. “Even in a hypothetical shark world, you wouldn’t last. The nerd sharks would eat you first.”

Jungkook leans over you and punches Taehyung's shoulder. 

“Ouch?!” Tahyung yells, rubbing the spot. 

Jungkook leans closer to you, his voice dropping. “Don’t worry. If I were a shark, I’d keep you safe.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. What an honor. Being the last snack.” You say flatly. 

He grins, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth before he straightens up again. “Best snack.”

Before you can think of a comeback, Jimin perks up. “Okay, but what kind of sharks would we be?”

“Oh, easy,” Taehyung says, leaning forward like he’s been waiting for this. “Jungkook’s a great white. All muscle and no chill.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look offended. “I’ll take it.”

“Tae’s a tiger shark,” Jimin continues. “Wanders around biting random stuff for no reason, starting drama.”

“That’s not—” Taehyung starts, then pauses. “…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And me? Obviously a hammerhead,” Jimin adds, grinning. “Distinctive. Stylish. Deadly.”

“Deadly?” you repeat, skeptical.

He leans in conspiratorially. “In a charming way.”

“More like you’d swim into a rock,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook laughs like a child. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, trying to breathe between laughs, “but you’d look cute doing it.”

“Fuck you all,” Jimin says and flipping them. 

Taehyung and Jungkook laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Like annoying Jimin is their ultimate goal in life. 

You won’t be surprised if it is. 

The party’s winding down. One by one, the guys start saying their goodbyes. Taehyung disappears to the bathroom, getting ready for bed. You help Jungkook take the few remaining bottles the guys missed to the kitchen. As you change the bag in the trash, Jungkook lingers, leaning against the wall. He looks at you, eyes glimmering, “I’m glad you came. It’s... better with you here.” “Well… I live here,” you say, ignoring what he really means. Jungkook nudges your shoulder, pushing you a little. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” “Maybe I did,” you admit, voice low. “But don’t let it get to your head.” He grins wider. “Too late for that.”

Jungkook steps a little closer, his grin softening into something more serious. “Come to bed with me. It’s way too quiet without you.” You glance toward the living room. “But Tae’s sleeping here.” “So?” His voice drops an octave, almost a whisper now. “I don’t mind. I doubt he’d care.” Your heart hammers a little faster as his gaze holds yours, the air thickening between you. His hand reaches out slowly, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. For a heartbeat, you consider it — leaning in, letting him pull you. Letting his touch, which has become familiar, relax you.

Then the bathroom door creaks open. “Kook, I’m taking the blankets from your room.”

You pull back sharply, breath catching. Jungkook’s hand falls away.

“Okay,” Jungkook calls out. He looks back at you, but you’re already half a step away.

Tuning around, “Good night, Kook.” You say before going to your bedroom. 

Lying in the dark, the silence wraps around you like a heavy blanket. His words, the way his hand lingered a second too long—it all echoes in your head. Part of you aches for the warmth, the closeness you almost let yourself have. But another part stiffens, pulling back, reminding you how tangled things already are.

Maybe it’s easier to pretend none of it happened, to let go of whatever mess you caused. To push away the feeling before it grows into something bigger than you’re ready for. 

But then again, maybe this is just the beginning of something you can’t yet name, something that will unravel in its own time.

You turn over, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet your thoughts, but it’s no use. 

You think about how he looked at you—the way his eyes softened when he smiled, like he was trying to show you something real. And you wonder if you’re ready to accept that, or if you’re better off keeping your distance.

What if letting yourself get close only ends in heartbreak? What if it changes everything you thought you knew about yourself? 

You can't imagine this having a good ending. Can’t imagine this not concluding in a complete disaster. 

But at the same time, what if it’s exactly what you need? What if you don’t know yourself enough to figure out what is good for you? What if this can be something you can’t even imagine at all? Because you never knew something like that? 

You don’t have the answers. Not yet. And maybe not ever. 

So you lie there, caught between wanting to reach out to the other side of the wall and wanting to run away. 

Trying to make sense of feelings that refuse to be simple.

You wish you could just snooze this mess. 

You need 5 more minutes before you need to decide. 

Or 5 more months. 

For now, you close your eyes and hope sleep will come before your mind pulls you too far into unknown territory.

You need another moment to process it—not just that you’re not in your own room, but that you’re in your roommate’s.

Jungkook’s room.

It’s not like you know his room. You’ve never been in here. Not until now. But somehow, you still know. You know enough to understand exactly where you are.

Why the fuck are you here?

What kind of catastrophic mistake brought you here?

Your pulse pounds in your head, your throat is raw, and you're cold, even though you’re wrapped in his sheets, in his bed.

Oh shit. 

You timidly pull the covers higher, nervous to look down—nervous to see what you're wearing. Or not wearing.

Relief washes over you when you see your underwear still on. But the oversized shirt? Definitely not yours. Jungkook’s? Got. Jungkook’s shirt?

No, seriously—what happened last night?

Did you two…?

You shift forward and sit at the edge of the bed, your toes barely grazing the floor. A new water bottle catches your eye on the nightstand. Gratefully, you grab it and drink, gulping down as much as your stomach can handle.

Your phone is nowhere in sight, and you have no idea what time it is. But sunlight is already sneaking through the slits in the blinds.

You try to stand up. Your vision goes black and a wave of dizziness hits you hard. You sit back down on the bed, breathing through it.

You try again, slower this time.

Carefully, you make your way out of the bedroom and into the living room.

On the couch, you see Jungkook lying down, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen.

When he hears you, he turns his head. “Good morning,” he says quietly. He looks tired, but there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Why was I in your room?” you ask, stepping closer to the couch.

Jungkook puts his phone down and tilts his head. “Because you asked to?” he says, sounding confused, his brows furrowing.

What?

You asked to sleep in his bed? What was going on?

“Did we…?” You gesture vaguely between the two of you.

Jungkook sits up straight. He looks alarmed. And confused.

“You don’t remember what happened?”

What really happened last night...

The party tonight was lame. But somehow, now you’re at your front door, struggling to unlock it like it’s the final boss in some drunken video game. The lock has been fighting you for what feels like two hours—maybe it actually has—but you finally manage to get it open.

You stumble inside and immediately throw your horrible shoes at the door. Those annoying heels made your toes scream all night.

Tonight was too long. Fucking stupid party. All the boys there were stupid. And lame. And ugly. And they smelled bad.

You hate boys.

And then— You see Jungkook.

He’s sprawled on the couch. He’s nice. He smells good. And he’s so fucking hot it’s stupid.

And the sex was a-mazing. 

Why haven’t you had sex again? 

Because of stupid, nice Jungkook. Who acted all nice and friendly for the last two weeks. No teasing, no trying to make a move. Like you’re ‘friends.’ 

Ugh. 

Just like he promised.

Like you made him promise.

Are you stupid? 

He turns to look at you from whatever he’s playing. You catch the way his eyes roam over you, a little smirk tugging at his lips. Yes. Finally. This—you can work with. Game on.

“Hiiii,” you say, trying to sound sweet, pairing it with your best smile. Everything spins just a little. It’s kind of funny. You stumble, reaching out to steady yourself against the wall.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, Jungkook is at your side, his hands on your shoulders. You think he said “oh shit”? He’s so funny.

The room slows down a bit, and you manage to look up. Jungkook is close—closer than he’s been since that night.

You look up at his face, he looks worried.

God, he’s cute like that.

His hands are big and warm on your shoulders. You want him to touch you with those hands. Like he did that night. Like you’ve imagined him doing every night for the past two weeks.

His lips look so soft. So inviting. You can almost feel how they pressed against yours—how they moved over your skin. He was so good with them. Too good.

You want that again. You need it.

You close your eyes and lean in, expecting the kiss—expecting him.

But instead… nothing.

Your lips meet air.

Your eyes flutter open, confused.

Jungkook is pulling back, just slightly—tilting his head away. His grip on your shoulders tightens, his arms now extended. Holding you at a distance.

Keeping you away. From him. From what you want.

Why does he have to be so annoying?

“I think we need to get you to bed,” he says, still wearing that same stupid, worried look.

You don’t want to go to bed. Not alone. What is his problem?

You huff and pull out of his hold. “I don’t want to go to bed,” you mumble, annoyed, as you stumble toward the couch.

When you finally reach it, you flop down with a dramatic sigh. Jungkook just stands there, still in the same spot, looking puzzled.

Why is he just standing there? Why isn’t he coming to sit with you?

You pout at him. “Come here,” you say, patting the cushion beside you.

After a moment of hesitation, he finally steps closer. But when he’s just one step away, he seems to realize something.

“Let me grab you a bottle of water,” he says.

No. You don’t want water. You want him.

Here.

Now.

“Noooo,” you whine, protesting.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist and pull him toward you, harder than you meant to.

He stumbles, losing his balance, and falls right over you. But somehow, he manages to catch himself, his hand landing on the backrest beside your head, stopping him from crashing fully onto you.

Oh. You like this angle.

He’s fighting a smile. And he’s losing.

It makes you giggle.

He’s so cute you could just smooch him.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch up.

“I was just thinking…” You try to sound smooth, mysterious.

“Thinking about what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he starts to push himself up.

You quickly wrap your hands around his neck, not letting him get any further away from you. You can see it flusters him.

“I was thinking about the last time we were this close on this couch.”

You try to say it in a sultry tone, but you can’t control the giggles. Why is everything so funny?

Jungkook seems amused too. “What about it?”

“What about it…” you hum, pretending to contemplate it and looking away. Then, you glance back at him with the best sultry smile you can muster. “It was good.”

Jungkook tilts his head, smirking. “Yeah, it was.”

You try to pull him closer, but he resists, keeping just enough distance between the two of you.

“Then why haven’t we done it again?” you pout.

He chuckles—the kind of chuckle that sends a thrill through you. He looks at you intently. “Because you said it was a one-time thing.”

“Well… obviously, I didn’t mean it!!” you sing-song in playful frustration.

“Oh, you didn’t?” he says with a smile, clearly entertained.

You try to pull him closer again, but he resists and pushes himself up, away from you.

“I’m going to get you some water,” he says, his voice even as he stands over you, looking down at you.

He turns and heads for the kitchen.

You pout, frustrated. Why did he leave? Why isn’t he playing with you?

You need to push his buttons more.

With new determination, you stand up—and almost lose your balance. You flail for a moment, barely catching yourself on the couch armrest. Shaking it off, you set your sights on the kitchen.

You find him there, reaching for a bottle of water.

Without a second thought, you walk up behind him, slipping your arms around his waist.

You feel him tense under your touch. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice tight as he tries to turn his head to look back at you.

“I missed you,” you mumble, resting your cheek against his back, between his shoulder blades. His skin radiates warmth through the fabric of his shirt, and you find it comforting, grounding, relaxing, in the midst of the blur.

He grabs your hands, and for a moment, you smile, happy that he’s finally cooperating. But the smile fades quickly as he pulls your hands away from his chest and turns to face you, putting distance between the two of you.

He pushes the water bottle between you, his voice soft but firm. “Come on, drink some water. Then we’ll get you to bed.”

You glance at the bottle between you, then back up at Jungkook’s face. You frown, pouting. “I don’t want to go to bed.” You swat at his hand, the one holding the bottle.

But Jungkook, of course, decides to be annoying with his stupid persistence. He ignores you and starts twisting open the cap. “Come on, you need to drink a little, and I’ll make you some toast.”

Why is he like this? Doesn’t he want you anymore?

You can’t just let him do this. You need to take matters into your own hands. Push further.

He ignores you? Fine. You’ll ignore him.

You drop to your knees in front of him, looking up at him. His eyes go wide, his mouth slightly gaped.

You smirk, tilting your head, and send your hand toward the waistband of his sweats.

“What are you doing?” His eyes widen even more, and he immediately moves to stop your hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he tries to pull back.

“You don’t want this?” you ask, frowning. Your gaze drops to the bulge in his sweats, a little bigger than before, then back up to him, your eyes narrowing.

Jungkook shakes his head quickly. “Not like that.”

The fuck that means? 

You ignore Jungkook's hands on yours, determined to push past him. You curl your fingers under the waistband of his sweats, intent on convincing him otherwise.

“I’ve wanted to know how you taste for a while now.”

You see his eyes widen, his expression shifting before he quickly shakes his head. In one swift motion, he pulls you up to your feet, his grip firm.

“Y/n.” His voice is stern, like a warning.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, starting to pull you toward the living room, his arm over your shoulders, guiding you out of the kitchen.

You try to resist physically, but it’s a ridiculous attempt. He’s much bigger, much stronger, and it’s like he doesn’t even feel your resistance.

When you’re finally out of the kitchen, you wriggle free from his hold and stop in your tracks.

You cross your arms over your chest and pout.

“Y/n, come on. You need to go to bed.”

“You hate me?” you ask, the words coming out in a soft whine.

Jungkook looks tired, resigned. He drags a hand over his face, a sigh escaping him.

“I could never hate you. But it’s better if you just go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep now. My head is spinning. I want to sleep in your bed.”

“Y/n, I really don’t think it’s a good idea…”

You don’t let him finish, already walking toward his room, determined.

By the time Jungkook enters, you’re already sitting on his bed, making yourself comfortable, starting to settle in for the night.

“Don’t you want to change into something more comfortable?”

You look down at your clothes, your tight, uncomfortable skirt and top. You do want something more comfortable.

You nod, and Jungkook goes to his closet, pulling out one of his oversized t-shirts and some shorts.

He hands you the clothes, but instead of taking them, you raise your hands weakly. Too tired to change on your own.

Jungkook freezes for a moment, but then steps closer, his expression softening. He helps you pull the shirt over your head, and you can see him trying to avert his gaze when your top is bare. You wish he’d look.

He helps you slip the shirt on, guiding your arms through the sleeves.

You get up from the bed, tugging down your skirt, and it falls to the floor. But before you can sit back down, everything spins, and the world fades to black.

You’re not sure what happened, but suddenly, you’re in Jungkook’s arms.

When he asks if you’re okay, you can only blink at him.

Without hesitation, he picks you up bridal style, cradling you gently, and lays you back onto the bed.

Once you’re lying in bed, the spinning of the room starts to slow down.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks again. You hum in response, turning onto your back, away from him, and cuddle into his comforter.

“You don’t want to put some pants on?”

You turn back to face him, maybe a little too quickly for your state. “No. I hate sleeping with pants.”

Jungkook nods, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. I’m gonna go to–”

“No!” You interrupt him, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward you.

He loses his balance once again and falls right on top of you.

You wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him closer. “Sleep with me. I can’t fall asleep without you,” you whine, your voice soft but persistent.

“Y/n, I really don’t think it’s a good id–”

“It’s not what you said two weeks ago,” you fire back quickly, challenging him with your eyes.

He pushes himself away from you to sit on the bed.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “I’m kidding! I won’t do anything.”

And just as he’s about to speak again, you quickly plead with a pout, “Pleaaaase.”

Jungkook sighs, running his fingers through his hair in resignation. “Okay.”

You scootch over to make some space for him, and he lies down on his back beside you.

“Let’s cuddle,” you say, turning your back to him and silently indicating that he’ll be the big spoon.

He turns off the lights and shifts to spoon you, his hand settling lightly over your middle, keeping an unnecessary, respectful distance between your bodies.

You want to feel more of him. 

You sneakily trail your hand back, sliding it toward his dick.

But before you can reach anything, Jungkook grabs your hand and pulls it back over your body.

“No,” he says sharply.

He keeps holding your hand in his, resting it firmly on your stomach.

You lay like that quietly for a little while. But you're still not feeling quite... settled.

So, slowly, subtly, you start inching your body closer to his.

Bit by bit.

Until your back is almost completely pressed against his front.

If you hadn’t felt his body stiffen, you might’ve thought he didn’t notice. Or maybe that he’d already fallen asleep.

And—maybe you’re delusional—but you swear you feel something poking your butt.

You shift a little, press back harder, give your hips the tiniest wiggle to confirm.

“If you don’t stop right now, I’m getting out of bed and leaving.” His voice cuts through the dark, low and sharp.

You huff dramatically in annoyance.

Why does he have to ruin your fun?

Silence settles between you again.

The only sounds are your breathing and the occasional hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen.

“You don’t find me attractive anymore?” you ask, unprompted.

Jungkook scoffs. “Of course I do. I think you’re gorgeous.”

“So… you don’t want to have sex with me anymore?”

“Of course I do,” he answers immediately, though there’s a breathiness in his voice.

“Just not like that,” he adds quietly.

“What do you mean?”

You hear Jungkook sigh behind you. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? It’s late.”

You hum in response. And suddenly, all the tiredness you’d been resisting finally catches up to you. You feel warm, safe, and cozy—like you could fall asleep right here, right now.

You let out a big yawn. “I think about that night a lot,” you confess softly.

“Me too,” Jungkook says quietly. But you’re not sure if you’re already dreaming.

“You don’t remember what happened?”

You blink at him a few times, waiting for your brain to start working—trying to navigate the fog of your memories.

Little flashes from last night flicker through your mind.

You, on your knees on the kitchen floor. You barging into his room uninvited. Him picking you up and dropping you on his bed. His solid, warm form behind you, lulling you into sleep.

Oh god.

What have you done? What have you said?

This is so bad. This is so so bad.

How did you manage to fuck up like that? Are you really that desperate?

This is so embarrassing.

“Oh my god, Jungkook! I’m so, so sorry!”

He chuckles softly, and he actually looks a little relieved that you at least remember something.

“Don’t worry. You were cute.”

“Cute?!” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I was a menace.”

He laughs. “Well, yeah, you were a little—a lot—to handle. But I didn’t mind.” He shrugs.

He gets up from the couch, stretches his arms above his head, then tilts his neck from side to side with a low crack.

“At least now I know why Tae hates sleeping on our couch,” he says, heading toward his room.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook. It won’t happen again.”

He pauses at his bedroom door, turning to look back at you with a smirk.

“That’s what you said last time.”

a/n: sorry (not sorry) for the blue balls 🙃

They arrive in a cluster, chattering, arms full of snacks and bottles. Coats and bags piling up by the door, on chairs, on tables. 

The apartment fills with sweet perfume and laughter. 

Jungkook hovers near the kitchen counter, leaning against it like he doesn’t care, but his eyes keep tracking you.

You’re different with them. Looser somehow. You laugh louder, talk faster. You fit right into their rhythm, and it makes him weirdly… restless. Like he’s watching a version of you that you hid from him. Like, you think he doesn’t deserve to get this part of you. As if you keep him at the gate. 

And then there’s her.

The friend — Mina, he thinks her name is. She’s bold, all easy smiles and lingering touches. 

It’s not the first time she’s been overly friendly with him. 

He saw her here a couple of times; it was usually for a few moments before you left for the bar or some party or brunch. Whatever you girls do. 

She comes to the kitchen to get a drink, and he tries to avoid her, going back to the living room where you are. 

But she’s persistent. 

She drapes herself across the couch too close to him, asks him questions she doesn’t really care about the answers to, laughs a little too hard when he says something dumb. 

“You work out a lot, don’t you?”

He blinks. “…Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“I can tell.” She laughs lightly, tapping his arm like it’s some inside joke. “Your arms are insane. Do you train every day?”

He shifts, trying not to look uncomfortable. “Not every day.”

“That’s dedication,” she says, like she didn’t even hear his answer, leaning in like she’s impressed. “Bet you could bench-press me without even trying.”

He feels like rolling his eyes. Before he can come up with a response, her hand grazes his knee casually, like it’s an accident.

He ignores it. 

She giggles like she said something hilarious. 

“I’m pretty strong myself, look,” she says as she flexes her biceps, waiting for him to check them. 

He reluctantly squeezes her hand. 

He gives a small nod as he takes a sip from his beer, “Nice.” 

What can he say to that? 

She laughs, “Well, they are not as impressive as yours. Maybe you should train me sometime.” 

And her hand slides over his leg again. Higher this time. 

He acts like it didn’t happen. 

“I take new clients through the gym.” 

She laughs again, like he told some jokes. 

“I thought about more of a… personal session.” 

He doesn’t get it–or he doesn’t want to–he does private training at the gym. 

He doesn't really know how to act toward her right now. 

He knows how to play along with flirting. How to get what he wants.  

But now, there’s you.

And she’s your friend.

And he’s not even interested in her like that. She’s hot and all, but she’s not you. 

And he doesn’t know the rules for this.

So he just takes a sip as he offers her a tight-lipped smile. 

She tilts her head, smiling up at him. “So… are you seeing anyone?”

And it hit him like a fucking brick.

At first, he thought: okay, it’s just some harmless flirting. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Don’t be rude to her friends.

But when her hand brushes his knee for the third time as she asks him if he’s seeing someone? He realizes—

Oh.

She’s actually making a move. 

Isn’t she your friend? Isn’t it against some girl code? 

What the fuck is going on? 

And what he doesn’t understand, what makes him feel like his brain is splitting in half, is why you don’t react.

Because he’s looking at you the whole time. 

And you notice. He knows you do.

Your eyes flick over every time Mina leans in, every time her voice drops lower. 

He sees you looking at Mina’s hand on his leg. And you can definitely hear them, the room isn’t that big. But you just keep laughing with the others, sipping your drink, like none of it matters. 

Like it doesn’t bother you.

Like you don’t care.

And that— that gets under his skin more than Mina’s flirting ever could.

“So?”

Mina is asking again with a smile, fluttering her lashes.

“Umm…” he blinks stupidly a couple of times.

Because what can he say?

He obviously can’t say yes.

Because you obviously don’t care.

But he can’t say no, because he does.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you for a second and then at the bottle in his hands.

“It’s– S-sort of,” he mumbles weakly.

She giggles lightly.

She puts her hand on his thigh as she leans closer, “Sort of? You don’t sound very convinced.”

He looks down at her hand on his leg, and then up, meeting her eyes. 

She smiles, “Maybe I can help you figure it out.” 

He turns his head to look in your direction, and he catches you already looking for a split second before quickly turning back to your friend. Acting like you didn’t watch them. 

He scrambles to his feet, making Mina stumble a bit from the sudden movement.

“I need a new drink.” He declares and leaves the room quickly, barely noticing Mina's confused look. 

The night drags on. He goes through the motions, answers questions, lets Mina’s attention slide off him like water because all he can think about is you. The way you look at him sometimes, quick, sharp, then pretend you weren’t. 

He wants to shake you. He wants to corner you in the kitchen and ask what the hell you’re doing. He wants to know why the idea of you not caring feels worse than anything else.

By the time your friends start saying goodbyes, his jaw aches from clenching it. Mina hugs him a little too long at the door, whispers something about “catching up again.” He doesn’t even answer — just nods stiffly and shuts the door behind her.

Silence drops heavy in the apartment. Just the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of you collecting glasses from the coffee table.

He can’t take it anymore.

“So your friends don’t know anything?” The words come out sharper than he intended.

You pause mid-step, turn slowly. “Know what?”

“About what is going on between us.”

“No? Why would they know?”

“Because you told them?”

“Why would I tell them we’re fucking? They’ll just judge me.”

Judge you? 

His chest tightens. 

“Judge you?” He sounds offended, because he is.

“Well, it’s not exactly the best idea to sleep around with your roommate, is it?”

Sleep around?

Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. 

“Sleep around with your roommate? Is this all that this is for you?”

You roll your eyes like you’re bored, like this isn’t tearing him apart. “Well, yeah?”

Something in him snaps. 

“So I’m just someone you sleep with.”

“I don’t get what you want, Jungkook. Yes, we’re sleeping around. What do you want me to say?”

“What do I want you to say?” His voice rises, frustration boiling over. “We live together—”

“Well, yeah, we’re roommates.” You interrupt him, but he ignores you and continues. 

“--We eat almost every dinner together. We spend most of our nights hanging around together. Fuck, we slept in the same bed every night last week. We didn’t even fuck on Wednesday!” His hands fly up, his voice cracks with the force of it. He’s almost yelling, but it’s not anger — it’s desperation.

Your eyes flicker, uncertain for the first time tonight. “I don’t know what you want.”

“I want what we already have, but that you won’t admit is real.” His voice drops, raw, like it hurts to say it. “I just want you to stop acting like there’s nothing between us.”

“There’s no us, Jungkook.” 

He laughs bitterly, runs his fingers through his hair. “Oh, enough with that shit. What are you scared of? We’re basically there. It’s not like I’m asking for something radical. Just… for you to be real with me. For you to be honest.”

You cross your arms, throwing up that wall again, and the words come sharp. 

“You don’t even know what you want, Jungkook. You think this is something real, but it’s just… convenient. You like the attention. You’ll get bored.”

It hits him like a fucking punch. 

His chest burns hot, and his mouth goes dry. “Bored?” he repeats, staring at you like he can’t believe you said that. “You think I’m here because I’m bored?”

“You don’t do relationships,” you cut back before he can even finish. “You hook up, you mess around, and then you move on to the next girl. Everyone knows that about you. You know it yourself. You’re—” your voice falters for a split second, then you spit it out, “—you’re a fuckboy, Jungkook. That’s who you are.”

He goes still. 

The word rings in his skull like a siren. 

A fuckboy. 

That’s all he is to you? 

Not the guy who makes you dinner half the week. 

Not the one who stayed up with you watching movies until you fell asleep on his chest. 

Not the one who makes you laugh because he loves the way you blush. 

No—just that.

Your roommate.

Someone you sleep with.

A fuckboy. 

His voice drops. “You really think that’s all I am to you? Some stereotype? Some guy who’s just waiting to screw you over?”

You don’t even meet his eyes, and somehow that’s worse than the insult. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what I know. And I don’t trust you not to hurt me.”

That breaks him even more. Every word is like a hammer, and it shatters him. Shatter his hope. He doesn’t want to give up. He tries to hold the pieces, try to fight for this.  

He takes a step closer, desperation in every line of his body. “Then let me show you. Let me prove it. Give me a chance—”

“I don’t want a chance.” Your voice slices through his like a knife. And somehow, it also physically pains him. 

“I don’t want maybe. I want someone who’s sure about this. Someone who doesn’t need to figure it out as they go.”

His heart slams against his ribs. 

He shakes his head, words tumbling out too fast, too heavy.

He can’t believe this is happening.

“I am sure about you.”

His throat feels like it’s closing, voice cracking as he forces it out.

But you’re already stepping back, retreating toward the counter like distance will save you from him. “You think you are now,” you say, quieter this time, like you’re convincing yourself more than him. “But give it time. You’ll realize you’re not built for this.”

He runs a hand through his hair like he wants to rip it out. 

“I’m not built for this? You don’t even give me the chance to try. You’ve already decided I’ll fail!”

You flinch at that, he sees it, but you don’t take it back. “Because you will. And I can’t… I can’t let myself go through that.”

Something in him caves. 

Because this is it.

He spelled it out for you and you threw it back to him. 

You don’t want this.

You don’t want him. 

His chest aches, his voice softens, stripped down until there’s nothing left but the truth. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just… want you. Isn’t that enough to start with?”

You don’t answer right away. 

You just stand there, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it’s holding you up. Your silence stretches long enough that it hurts, every second confirming what he’s terrified of.

Finally, you shake your head. 

“It’s not enough, Jungkook.”

The words cut deeper than you probably mean them to. 

His stomach drops, and his throat burns, like he swallowed glass. 

“Not enough?” he echoes, stunned.

You look at him then, really look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that knock the air out of him — not anger, not indifference, but fear. 

“I don’t want to be someone’s trial. I don’t want to be the person you ‘learn’ on. I don’t want to sit around waiting for you to figure out if I’m what you really want.”

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling hard. 

“You think that’s what this is? That I’m just… trying you out? Like you’re practice or something?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. He sees it written all over your face.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his chest heaving. 

He doesn’t know what else to do with the storm inside him. 

How can he explain this to you?

“You don’t get it. You think I’m gonna wake up one day and just be done with you, but that’s not—” His voice breaks, his eyes burning. “That’s not fucking true. I’m already in this.”

Your lips part, like you want to say something, but then you close them again, your jaw tight.

He’s shaking his head; he can’t believe you’re not saying anything. 

“You keep acting like I’m the one who’s not sure. But you’re the one running. You’re the one too scared to even try.”

You swallow hard, your eyes glassy, but your voice comes steady. 

“Because I can’t afford to be wrong about you.”

That’s the thing that wrecks him. 

Not your rejection, not the word fuckboy, not even the dismissal of what he thought you already had. 

It’s that tiny crack in your voice when you admit you’re scared. 

It makes him want to close the space between you, to hold your face in his hands and swear on his fucking life that he’ll never let you regret it.

But you don’t let him. 

You push past him instead, muttering, “I can’t do this right now,” before disappearing down the hallway.

And he’s left standing in the kitchen, fists clenched, chest hollow, staring at the space you left behind.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook feels powerless. Because he knows all you said is bullshit.

He knows there is something there. 

Something worth trying, something worth taking a risk for. 

But you are more scared than you want him.

It’s not enough. 

He’s not enough.

Jungkook doesn’t really sleep.

He lies awake long after you shut your bedroom door, staring at the ceiling, the tick of the clock, the occasional hum of a passing car, every sound amplified by the silence you left behind.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face — the way you looked at him like he was dangerous, like he was the risk you couldn’t afford.

By the time the sun finally starts to lighten the room, his body is heavy with exhaustion, and he finally surrenders to sleep.

When he drags himself out of bed, your door is already open and the apartment is quiet.

He tells himself you probably just went out early for work. Something normal.

But the pit in his stomach doesn’t buy it. 

He tries to shake it off, heads to the gym, and goes through his normal routine. 

Training some clients, laugh at their jokes, acts like he’s not just a shell of himself. Trying to function like not the only thought in his brain is you and you conversation last night. 

He pushes himself to do his own workout when he’s done working. Thinking, wishing, it’ll bring him some clarity.

But even when he’s lifting until his muscles burn, there’s no relief. Just that gnawing feeling in his chest.

And when he gets back, sweat still drying on his skin, he knows before he even unlocks the door.

Something is off. 

The apartment is too quiet. Too dark.

Too… empty.

He steps inside and freezes.

It’s pitch black. 

He looks around. In the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. 

Empty. 

The door to your room is wide open, and he peeks inside. 

His heart drops.

It’s empty. 

Not just you.

Everything. 

You left.

You took everything and left.

His chest tightens, his throat closing around the sudden weight of it.

He pulls his phone out with shaking hands, calls you. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer. Straight to voicemail.

He tries again anyway. Like maybe if he just keeps trying, you’ll finally pick up and tell him he’s wrong. That you didn’t walk out, that you’re coming back.

Maybe if he just keeps trying, you’ll see him for what he is. You’ll the things that could hae been. 

But all he gets is silence.

And somehow it’s loud. 

His pulse rings in his ears. 

Everything is spinning around him. He grabs the doorframe to stay upright.

But it's no use. 

He’s falling. 

He sits on the floor in the dark, elbows on his knees, head slumped low.

The floor is cold, the wall behind him colder.

But everything inside him burns.

And it hurts.

It hurts so bad.

All he can do is break.

He breaks, and he can’t stop.

This is it?

This is how you chose to end this?

To end what?

You barely even let it start.

Hours later, when his phone finally buzzes, it’s not a call. It’s a text. 

Jungkook sees your name on his screen.

He freezes, not daring to open it. 

It buzzes again.

Another text.

[09:52 pm] y/n: I paid my part of the rent till the end of next month.

[09:55 pm] y/n: I’m sorry.

He holds the phone with shaking hands. Staring at it like it’ll give him some answers. 

But he just watches as the screen turns black.

As everything turns black.