You had started coming to this auto-shop about two months ago. It really wasn’t anything serious, just a routine oil change, but then you saw him for the first time.
Tall, muscular, and covered in tattoos. His eyes glowing yellow-green in the shitty shop lights. He loomed in the doorway like a bad idea, one that after that moment, you couldn’t get out of your head. That strong jaw and those big hands making your stomach flip each time you saw him.
Then it seemed that your car just kept having problems. An oil leak here, a broken wiper there, and you now were known as a regular around the shop. The other mechanics laughing every time you rolled into the lot, teasing “what seems to be the problem today?” There never was a problem, just another excuse to stroll inside and watch as he worked on your vehicle.
Muscles flexing, sweat beading on his face. His cutoff tank exposing his broad shoulders and hard arms, and of course if his physique wasn’t artwork enough the man had tattoos that traced every inch of his back, arms, shoulders, and hands. You especially loved the ones that danced up his neck.
Anytime you went to the shop you looked good and you knew it. You didn’t leave your house till you were the shining symbol of sex appeal.
Your hair was blown-out and falling lusciously around your face. Your eyelashes brushed with mascara and perfectly curled made for the perfect doe eyed look. You wore the tightest shortest mini skirt you had in your closet, along with your good pink lace push up bra, that poked perfectly, and tastefully, out of the top of your cropped baby-tee tank top.
You doused yourself in your sexiest perfume, and applied a perfect top coat of cherry lipgloss before heading to the shop.
You had reserved the latest spot available, hoping to catch him alone, or at least with as little people around as possible. Tonight was the night, you were finally going to make your move.
You had said it was something wrong with the starter over the phone, unsure of what ridiculous lie to use this time. It didn’t matter though, because as you rolled into the lot, the sky already darkening, you could see that in the dim shop lights he was here, and looking as tempting as ever.
You could feel the other guys eyes drag over you as your strutted into the office, your skirt perfectly shaping around your ass, your matching pink lacy thong slightly poking out of the top. Your tits bouncy perfectly with every stride. For once you didn’t mind the stares and drooling, this little show wasn’t for them anyhow.
You stopped at the desk, the older scruffy man behind the counter giving a long and low whistle as his eyes danced over your breasts. “Now what can I help you with, doll?” He asked a giddy smirk riding up his face. You rolled your eyes. “I had an appointment at 8, to check my starter.” You reply flatly not engaging in his pathetic catcall. He unlatched his gaze from you to check his books and nodded. “Yup! I got you right here sweet cheeks.” He winks, you stare back blankly, he slides a clipboard over to you for you to sign.
“Now I would love to stay and help you myself but me and the other fellas are packing in for the night, but don’t worry you’re in good hands little lady! Enjin over there is going to lock up tonight and you’re our last costumer of the day, you can just take seat right over there while he checks everything out, alright?” The man gives you a creepy smile before finally taking the hint to your indifference.
He rounds the desk, whistling a tune and locks up the office doors, a few men filing in behind him, their eyes burning into you as they exit the garage. You sit in a chair off to the side of the garage a perfect view of your car. You wriggle anxiously in your seat as you wait for him.
Finally he emerges from the second service pit, the one next to your car. His hair is slicked back with sweat, his hands and tank covered in oil and the labor of his day. All of his tattoos completely visible, and you can see now as he stretches, that they extend onto his chest. You bite your lip softly just seeing him.
He walks over to wear you sit and you can feel your heart stop in your chest. You squeeze your arms together slightly making sure your breasts look voluptuous and desirable.
“Hey you!” He chirps a happiness in his tone, he was glad to see you, your heart leapt. You stood to greet him your legs feeling like jelly. “Hey!” You say back breathy, trying to regain some composure.
“What seems to be the problem today, sweetheart?” His voice was low and it rolled off his tongue like honey. A lustful ache forming in your abdomen at the nickname. You tried to speak but the words were getting stuck in your chest. He let out a throaty laugh, suddenly grabbing your hand. “Here come show me.” He winked at you and you could feel your skin melting. 
You both approached your car and a panic started to well within you, nothing was wrong with your car. What were you supposed to say? You spun around, stopping as you both reached the drivers side door. You lean your back against it to stop him. He quirks an eyebrow up at you in confusion, you can smell the mix of oil and fresh cologne on him, your legs trembling.
You want to tell him the truth, but a wicked grin begins to grow on his face. He places a hand right next to your face, leaning against the car, trapping you in. He leans down into your ear, you can feel the warmth radiating off his face, his breath against your neck. “There ain’t nothing wrong with this car.” He purrs, and runs his other hand slowly up your thigh. The contact making your pussy throb, his long fingers dragging around the hem of your skirt, playing with the top bands of your thong.
You can feel your breath hitch in your chest as his lips brush against your ear. “You don’t think I’ve noticed? You stroll in here every other week, dressed like this, just to tease me.” He growls, now gripping your thigh, you let out a sudden moan at the possessive touch. You can feel him smile against your ear as he begins massaging his thumb into your inner thigh. Your thong is soaked, your breasts heaving with your unsteady breaths as he inches his way upwards towards your heat.
He crashes his lips into yours, planting rough kisses on your mouth, your sighs of pleasure filling the garage. He removes his hand from the car, using it to grab your face. Pushing into you with his hips till you’re fully against the car. You can feel his large pulsing erection against your stomach as he grinds into you.
He gives you a long slow kiss, swirling his tongue over yours, before pulling away licking maliciously slow over your lips. “mm is that cherry, baby?” He asks devilishly. “Mhm.” You whine needily. His other hand still gripping and massaging your thigh. Your hips buck involuntarily, encouraging him to touch you. He grips your face tighter. “You’re so needy baby, after all this time teasing me, how does it feel being on the other side of it?” You squeeze your eyes shut tight, feeling your thighs clench, hungry for contact. “Please.” you moan to him.
He slides his hand up finding your center. You gasp as he works his long fingers in-between your folds. Your wetness gladly greeting him as he slides in over your clit. “Ah!” Another moan rips through you as he massages you in circles with his thumb, your slick dripping over his hand. He works his mouth down your neck till he finds your breasts. He squeezes them with his free hand, slowly coaxing one out and into his mouth. You gasp as his tongue makes wet hot contact with your already hard nipple.
He drags over it again and again, circling the bud meticulously, then putting it fully in his mouth sucking down hard. You lean your head back against the car, enjoying the dual stimulation. He pulls off with a loud pop that echoes through the garage.
He pulls his hand away from your drenched pussy, you groan at the loss of contact, but then he hauls you up, squeezing your ass hard in a way that makes you wonder how many other women he’s done this with. You put that thought out of mind as he plops your bare ass down onto the trunk of your car. You gasp at the sudden force.
He stares at you hungrily, pushing his hands up your thighs, your center clenching as he works his way up. He unzips your tight little skirt yanking it down hard over your ass and thighs. Discarding it somewhere behind him. “Aw you wear this all for me baby?” He groans seeing your pink lace thong, dipping his head down placing hot kisses down your stomach, your legs shuddering.
You grip the edge of the trunk helplessly watching as he works his way down, you tip your head back. He pushes up your chest till you’re laid back against the back windshield. He throws your legs over his strong shoulders pulling your ass forward. Still planting sloppy drooling kisses down your abdomen.
He licks above the band of your thong, dipping his tongue barely below it. You gasp, pushing your hips slightly forward. “So needy.” He laughs the sound vibrating against you.
He ducks his head between your legs, a deep sigh escaping you. He moves your thong to the side with his teeth. “Ah!” He shushes you. “Just let me take care of you sweetheart.” He tells you as his tongue makes slick contact with your cunt.
“Oh-oh my god.” You groan your hips snapping into his face.
He works his tongue in you, moaning into you as his tongue slides through your pussy. Your arousal already dripping down his mouth. He pulls back for a moment “You taste so good baby.” Before he dives back in. You can’t help it, you grip at his hair, pushing his mouth further into you. He works his tongue around your clit forming tight circles your hips rocking against him. “Mm” he pushes down on your lower stomach, building pressure there.
He slips his tongue inside you working it in and out. Finding that spot inside that feels so good. You are shamelessly humping his face, feeling your walls clench against his tongue. The wet sounds dirty as you ride his face.
He drags your wetness back up to your clit, sucking there, your pussy tightens and flutters, your back arching as your orgasm rips through you. You hold his face tighter into you. “Fuck!” You scream out, riding out your pleasure on his face.
He pulls off, his mouth soaked with you. He licks his lips, and bends down handing your skirt back to you. You lay on the trunk still, shuddering through the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Your legs shake around his neck, falling limp against his shoulders. He rubs your knee thoughtfully planting a light kiss there. The stickiness of your cum still fresh on his lips.
He looks down at you, a wicked grin on his face.
“Let’s hope your car breaks down next week too.” He smirks, and gives you a little smack on the ass. You yelp, blushing up at him. Praying your car never gets fixed.
A/n: Lowkey inspired by that one artwork I have reposted a few posts down, I #need dat! I also love a pleaser what can I say.
🗒️:This post contains links to sexually explicit videos on Twitter (x), don’t look at this post if you are under the age of 18 or uncomfortable with the material being shown.
Ever read a smut so detailed that you start to side eye the author cause…how do you know too much about these things... like are these your experiences or you that delusional we never know.
you didn’t mean for it to sound like a challenge, but satoru always treated your words like one.
it started stupid — like most things between you did. sprawled on his couch, your legs thrown over his lap, scrolling through tiktok and teasing him about his type. he always joked about liking short girls, smaller girls, the kind he could tower over and toss around. so you asked, half-curious, half-sarcastic, “what, you gonna hold her up while you fuck her? bet you couldn’t even fit in someone that small.”
his head tilted, shades slipping down the bridge of his nose so his ice-blue eyes could pin you with that lazy grin. “hm? you doubting me, shortie?”
“i’m not short,” you huffed. “i’m five flat, that’s… average. kinda. besides, i’m saying you couldn’t.”
he laughed — a sharp, amused sound that made your stomach flip — before leaning down, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “then why don’t we test it, hm?”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the way your thighs clenched. “yeah, right.”
except you should’ve known better than to taunt him. because ten minutes later, you were pressed against his bedroom wall, legs locked tight around his waist, his palms cupping your ass like you weighed nothing.
“see?” his voice came warm, teasing, right against your ear as he pushed in slow, deliberate inches. “fits just fine. all the way in.”
“satoru—!” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your back arched. he was thick, stretching you so good you swore your eyes rolled back. “too big—”
“nah,” he cut you off with a groan, thrusting up into you until your hips hit the wall with each snap. “you said i couldn’t, remember? i’m making it fit.”
your head thudded back against the wall, whimpers spilling out helplessly. “y-you’re such an ass.”
he laughed again, low and smug, but it broke into a moan when your cunt clenched tight around him. “mm, fuck—keep saying that, baby. feels like you’re trying to strangle my dick.”
“stop— talking—” you gasped between thrusts, but he only drove in harder, deeper, forcing your legs to squeeze tighter around him.
“what’s that?” he smirked, fucking you against the wall like you were made for it. “thought you wanted to know how i’d fuck someone small. now you’ve got your answer.”
“i didn’t—” your words cracked into a moan as his cock hit that deep spot, sharp and blinding. “satoru, fuck—”
he grinned against your neck, biting at your skin just to hear you squeak. “don’t pretend you’re not loving it. little body taking me so well. thought i couldn’t fit? look at you, clinging to me like you’ll fall apart without it.”
and maybe you were. every thrust had you trembling, every snap of his hips knocking your breath out. your arms wound tighter around his neck, your moans growing louder despite his hand slipping up to cover your mouth.
“shh,” he cooed, voice half-teasing, half-melting as your muffled cries vibrated against his palm. “neighbors’ll think i’m ruining you.”
you glared at him through wet lashes, whining against his hand, and his grin faltered into something darker, hungrier. “fuck, maybe i am.”
your orgasm hit messy and sudden, your cunt pulsing around him like it was trying to keep him there. he groaned loud against your shoulder, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, pressing you harder to the wall until his own release spilled hot and deep inside you.
when he pulled back enough to look at you — sweaty, wrecked, legs trembling around him — his grin returned, softer but no less smug. “see, told you i could fit.”
you smacked his shoulder weakly, still gasping. “you’re the worst.”
“the best,” he corrected, setting you down gently but keeping his arm tight around your waist so you didn’t stumble. “and don’t forget, you asked.”
your glare softened into something more like a pout, but you didn’t argue when he kissed your temple, muttering, “guess being five flat has its perks, huh?”
a/n: me writing this as a five flat girlie hahshahhahsha
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summary : After walking in on her boyfriend Sanho cheating, Y/N moves out and ends up living with Jungkook, a cocky yet caring acquaintance she once couldn’t stand. What begins as a tense, passive-aggressive roommates situation slowly transforms into something deeper, as both navigate heartbreak, vulnerability, and emotional healing. Through stormy nights, late-night confessions, domestic routines, and quiet tension, Y/N and Jungkook gradually uncover the warmth and safety they’ve both been missing—especially in each other.
“After all, what’s the worst that could happen just living under the same roof?”
pairing : jeon jungkook x f!reader
genre : roommates , fluff , smut
word count : 4.5k
warnings : Explicit. This story contains sexual content, explicit language, and themes of emotional trauma. Expect a roommates-to-lovers slow burn with intense enemies-to-lovers tension, mutual pining, and eventual smut. Features include domestic intimacy, past cheating, emotional hurt/comfort, and lots of kitchen tension. There’s jealousy, unresolved sexual tension, first times, comfort sex, and characters who are both emotionally guarded and touch-starved.
The toothbrush was still in the cup.
His shirt still hung on the back of the chair.
The vanilla candle she’d lit two nights ago still flickered faintly in the corner, scenting the room with a memory it no longer deserved.
Everything looked the same—everything but him.
Sanho.
On the couch. Shirtless. Laughing. Arms draped around a girl who wasn’t her.
The same girl from his contact list—the one she had once asked about during a quiet dinner, wine glass in hand and something unsettled in her voice.
“She’s just a friend, babe.”
That girl now sat nestled into him like she belonged there.
Like Y/N had never existed.
His hand was resting on the small of the girl’s back, thumb moving in slow, familiar circles.
The way he used to touch Y/N when he was trying to soothe her. Calm her. Keep her.
And for a moment, all she could do was stand there—motionless, silent, keys still clenched between white knuckles, while the ground crumbled beneath her.
She didn’t scream.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t even blink, not right away.
It was strange, how pain like that didn’t make noise.
It just sat inside your chest like a heavy, rotting secret.
He saw her. The laughter stopped.
His head snapped toward the door. His expression flickered—first confusion, then horror, then that awful, choking guilt she’d seen before.
A crack formed in the perfect little mask he wore for everyone else.
But not for her.
Never for her.
“Y/N—” he breathed.
She could’ve unleashed everything in her. All the rage, the heartbreak, the months of second-guessing herself.
She could’ve screamed “How fucking long?”
She could’ve marched over and thrown his stupid records off the shelves or smashed his phone into the floor.
But she didn’t.
She just looked at him, like she was seeing him for the first time. And maybe she was.
“No.”
That was all she said.
One syllable. Low. Final.
It wasn’t a cry. It wasn’t a plea. It was a closed door. A lock snapping shut. A full stop at the end of a love story that never should’ve started.
Sanho stood quickly, the girl still tangled in his lap scrambling to fix her top. “Wait—wait, baby, just—just listen for a sec, it’s not what it looks like—”
Not what it looks like?
God, he had the fucking audacity to pull that line?
She turned on her heel without another word. Walked out, heart caving in her chest, jaw tight, eyes dry.
Not because she wasn’t hurting.
But because she’d already cried enough for him in all the nights she waited for his texts, all the mornings she woke up feeling like a ghost in her own bed.
Each step was a scream she didn’t let out.
And when she closed the door behind her—it wasn’t a slam. No rage. No theatrical heartbreak.
Just a soft, measured click.
But it sounded more like a funeral.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
She didn’t remember how long she walked.
Through the streets of Seoul, neon buzzing overhead, air thick with the smell of late-night food stalls and engine fumes.
She barely noticed the music thumping from passing bars, the chatter of couples holding hands. It all moved around her like she didn’t exist.
Her feet took her to the only place that didn’t feel like a lie: the Han River.
She sat on a cold metal bench near the edge, the water stretching wide and black in front of her. Quiet.
Still.
Unbothered by her tiny, shattered world.
She stared at it until her eyes stung, until the city behind her dimmed and the ache in her chest throbbed like something alive.
And still, she didn’t cry.
Because fuck him.
Because crying was what she did before—when she thought she was losing something real. Now she knew better.
He wasn’t worth the tears.
He wasn’t worth any of it.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
Her phone vibrated once. Then again. Then again. The texts came in waves, each one more pathetic than the last.
Sanho [7:14PM]
Please just talk to me.
Sanho [8:02PM]
You’re overreacting. It didn’t mean anything.
Sanho [10:17PM]
I messed up, okay? I’ll fix it. We can fix it.
Sanho [1:03AM]
Do you really want to throw away everything we had?
She turned the screen off. Tossed the phone beside her on the bench like it was diseased.
Everything we had?
He threw it away the second his lips found another neck.
When his fingers moved across that girl’s skin like Y/N never even existed.
Fuck him.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
The next morning, she moved like a machine.
No tears. No music. Just packing.
The room looked like someone else had lived in it. Her clothes in the closet. Her books on the shelves. Her green Jeju mug by the window.
That mug.
He bought it during their trip. Said it reminded him of her eyes.
Now it just looked like bullshit.
She left it behind.
She didn’t leave a note. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t even text. She just grabbed her duffel, wheeled her suitcase through the quiet hallway, and shut the door on two years of her life like it was nothing.
Because in the end, that’s what it had meant to him.
Nothing.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
Her best friend let her crash on a futon in her tiny studio for two nights. It smelled like ramen and floor cleaner. The radiator was broken. But it was safe.
She barely ate. Barely slept.
Mostly just lay there, wondering how she could feel so hollow and still so heavy at the same time.
By the third morning, the ache in her chest had calcified into something solid.
She picked up her phone and started searching. No more waiting. No more sleeping in someone else’s corner.
She needed a place that was hers—even if it was small, even if it was broken, even if it was shared.
That’s when she found it.
Available Immediately:
Two-bedroom apartment in Hongdae. Quiet area. Natural light. “Character.”
Shared with one existing tenant. No pets. 500k deposit. Rent negotiable.
She didn’t think. She just called.
By noon, she’d toured it.
By 3 p.m., the lease was signed.
“Roommate’s already living there,” the landlady warned as she handed over the keycard and a scribbled door code. Her voice was dry, not unkind, just matter-of-fact. “Keeps to himself mostly. Don’t worry, he’s not a creep.”
Y/N blinked, the key cold in her palm. “That’s… comforting?”
The woman shrugged, already turning back toward her office. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just don’t touch his guitar.”
That was all she got.
No photo.
No proper introduction.
Just a number, a code, and a list of passive-aggressive post-its waiting for her future.
And frankly, Y/N wasn’t in the mood to care.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
The hallway leading to the apartment smelled faintly like burnt coffee and wet paint. The kind of scent that lingered in buildings where the rent was just low enough to make you tolerate it, and just high enough to remind you you’re still paying to suffer.
She reached the door, punched in the code with a sigh, and stepped inside.
The scent of incense hit her first—smoky, musky, like sandalwood and something a little bitter underneath. Then came the sound: a bassline vibrating low through the walls, like a heartbeat that didn’t know how to settle.
Then came the sight.
The apartment was chaos—but the curated kind. Lived-in, but not messy. Controlled disarray.
Posters were pinned crookedly to the walls—bands she vaguely recognized, some in English, others in Hangul scrawled like graffiti. A guitar leaned lazily against a chair that had seen better days. Ashtrays were used as coin trays. Open sketchbooks were scattered across the coffee table, some smudged with what looked like ink, charcoal, or maybe just frustration.
A used hoodie hung off one kitchen stool. A half-empty mug sat beside a tub of protein powder on the counter. A neon sign buzzed quietly from behind the curtain—something about “love” and “ruin” in script too artsy to read clearly.
And then there was him.
Standing in front of the sink, a spoon in his mouth and zero fucks in his eyes.
Black hair, loose waves, half tied back like he couldn’t be bothered to fully commit to a man bun. Sleeves rolled up just enough to show off inked forearms—swirls and lines that disappeared beneath the fabric. Headphones hung around his neck. His shirt was half-unbuttoned. A silver lip ring caught the light as he chewed on a piece of gum and gave her the kind of look people gave cold coffee.
“You’re the replacement?” he asked, voice flat, tone somewhere between suspicion and boredom.
Y/N blinked once. Twice.
Okay. This was happening.
“Roommate,” she corrected, hoisting her duffel a little higher on her shoulder. “Not intern. Or a stray cat, in case that’s where your brain went.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh, like she’d told a bad joke. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Wow,” she muttered under her breath, stepping inside. “Aren’t you just a warm fucking welcome.”
He didn’t respond, just moved back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer like she wasn’t still standing there with exhaustion weighing down every limb.
She set her bags down slowly, deliberately. The hardwood creaked under her boots.
Why do all men either cheat on you or treat you like you’re a Netflix error message?
Her thoughts were rapid fire now.
Cool. Love this. Love being ignored in my own new place. Love living with an angsty fucking album cover.
Her voice was sharp when she spoke again. “I’m Y/N.”
He glanced over his shoulder, didn’t smile. “Jungkook.”
No handshake. No nod. No “nice to meet you.”
Just silence.
Awkward, stretched-thin silence filled by the sound of rain tapping against the windows and the low thrum of music still playing from his speaker.
She crossed her arms, taking him in more fully now that the shock had dulled slightly.
He wasn’t ugly—fuck, no, he was objectively hot. Like, Pinterest thirst-board hot. But that didn’t matter. He had that specific brand of “I don’t give a shit” energy that instantly made her teeth itch.
“Are you always this friendly or am I just lucky?” she asked.
He shrugged, barely looking up. “I don’t do the whole ‘bonding’ thing.”
“Oh, I figured,” she said, kicking off her shoes and toeing them toward the rack. “It was either that or you’re just socially constipated.”
That got a twitch out of his lip. Almost a smirk.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he said. “Other bedroom’s at the end. Don’t touch my speakers.”
“Don’t touch my shampoo,” she shot back. “It’s imported and I will know.”
“Noted.”
She rolled her eyes and picked up her duffel, trudging toward the hallway. “This is gonna be fucking great,” she muttered.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
Her room was fine.
Small. Clean. Sunlight filtered in through sheer curtains. A bare mattress on a low platform bed. A single window facing the building across the street.
It smelled like dust and old wood and hope. Or maybe that last part was just wishful thinking.
She collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. It didn’t.
Jesus fucking Christ, she thought, one arm flung across her forehead. What kind of rom-com bullshit did I just sign up for?
“Hot, tattooed roommate” was supposed to be fantasy material—not her rebound reality.
Her stomach twisted. Not because of Jungkook. Because of Sanho.
Her chest still ached, but in a dull, hollow way now—like something removed too fast. The kind of pain you couldn’t cry about anymore because you’d already cried yourself dry.
“You’re not gonna fucking think about him again,” she told herself out loud. “We are not doing the Sad Girl Shit tonight. We’re a new bitch now. A bitch with rent.”
She got up and started unpacking with mechanical force, slamming drawers open and folding clothes like they owed her money.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
Later that night, she emerged from her room in pajama shorts and a hoodie, hunting for food and maybe—God forbid—some civility.
Jungkook was shirtless now, sprawled on the couch with his sketchpad on his lap, a pencil moving quickly between his fingers. Headphones in. Eyes sharp. Jaw tense.
Jesus. Okay, he really is hot. Dammit.
She cleared her throat. “Hey. Kitchen’s fair game, right?”
He didn’t answer.
She repeated louder, “I said, kitchen’s fair game?”
He finally glanced up and yanked one side of his headphones off. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because you have the fucking sound barrier on your head.”
He blinked at her. Then nodded toward the fridge. “Go ahead.”
She flipped him off under her breath and went to dig through the fridge. Not much. Leftover tteokbokki. Half a bottle of Coke. Three cans of beer. Protein shakes.
She grabbed the beer.
Popped it open.
Took a long sip.
Jungkook spoke from the couch. “So… what’s your deal?”
Y/N turned, beer in hand, leaning against the fridge like a soap opera villain. “You mean, why did a broken, emotionally wrecked woman move into a grunge boy’s apartment instead of therapy?”
He smiled. Just a little. “Something like that.”
She took another swig. “Ex-boyfriend. Cheated. Ate shit. I moved out.”
“Damn,” he said, pencil still moving. “What a guy.”
“Oh, he’s a fucking treasure. You’d love him. The human equivalent of a softboiled egg with an Instagram account.”
That made him laugh. A real one this time.
And it hit her harder than she expected.
Something about the way he laughed—low, sudden, surprised—like he hadn’t done it in a while.
Jungkook looked up again, this time properly. “Well… welcome to hell, roommate.”
She raised her can. “Cheers to shared misery.”
Their eyes locked for a beat longer than necessary.
And that’s when she knew it.
Clear as the goddamn moon outside.
This was going to get messy.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But sometime soon—between the passive-aggressive post-its, shirtless mornings, late-night sketching, and secondhand incense—
Shit was going to burn.
And Y/N?
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop it.
They were opposites in every imaginable way.
And not in a quirky, “wow, opposites attract!” kind of way. No. They clashed like oil and vinegar—and not the expensive kind you drizzle over artisan bread. The cheap shit. The kind that spills, stains, and smells like regret.
Y/N liked quiet mornings. Tea, calm Spotify playlists, the soft hum of her skincare fridge, the whisper of a pen against a planner.
Jungkook made protein shakes at 7 a.m. like he was competing in Seoul’s Loudest Roommate Olympics. Blender screaming. Trap music thumping. Half-naked with only a towel slung low on his hips, just to complete the auditory and visual chaos.
She took long, hot, soul-resetting showers.
He’d drum on the bathroom door with a fucking spatula if she took more than fifteen minutes. “Some of us have biceps to build!” he once shouted. She retaliated the next day by blasting Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 Minute Version) on loop while showering for thirty-eight minutes.
She labeled the kitchen shelves. Clearly. Systematically. With her own goddamn money.
He laughed for five straight minutes, then moved everything around like a chaotic little gremlin on a mission from hell. She nearly cried when she found the cereal in the pan drawer.
And so, they adapted.
Barely.
They communicated mostly through notes. Passive-aggressive ones, stuck to any available surface—fridge doors, cabinets, shampoo bottles, his protein powder container.
Jungkook, stop leaving your damn socks on the dining table. That’s where I eat.
→ Y/N, stop acting like the sock police. No one died.
I have class at 8 a.m. Stop screaming into your mic past midnight.
→ I’m not screaming. I’m singing. You’re welcome for the free concert.
You drank my oat milk. Again.
→ It was expiring tomorrow. You’re welcome for preventing waste.
Eat shit.
→ Already did. Thanks to your cooking.
She sometimes fantasized about moving out. A cute studio with plants. A view of the Han. A cat named Nico. No Jungkook.
He probably fantasized about roommates who didn’t color-code the pantry and leave Post-its that accused him of crimes against almond milk.
And yet… neither of them left.
Because in between the blender wars and label-maker tyranny, there were moments.
Small. Invasive. Unwelcome.
Moments that made her heart skip or her mouth press into a line. Moments she’d think about late at night when her brain wouldn’t shut the hell up.
Like the time he left tea outside her door.
She didn’t think he’d heard her crying. She’d stuffed her face into her pillow, blanket over her head, trying to muffle the sound. But he had.
There was a knock.
Then silence.
When she opened the door, a chipped mug of warm jasmine tea was waiting on the floor. Steam curled from it like something sacred. No note. No pity. Just… kindness. Quiet, unspoken kindness.
She drank it.
Didn’t say thank you. Couldn’t.
But the next morning, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t bitch about the blender.
Then there was the lamp.
Her desk lamp had fried itself mid-study session, sputtering out like her will to live. She sighed, muttered something about everything being broken, and left it.
The next morning, it was glowing. Fixed. No fanfare. Just… working.
She stared at it like it had grown legs.
“Who the fuck does that?” she whispered to no one.
Jungkook did.
She didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
And then, the worst moment. The one she couldn’t forget.
She came home early from class one afternoon, shoes in hand, and stopped in the hallway.
Jungkook was on the couch, hunched over a sketchpad, headphones in, pencil moving in soft, precise strokes. She hadn’t seen him draw before.
What made her heart jackhammer was the figure on the page.
A faceless woman, shoulders curled inward, wearing a sweater that looked exactly like hers—the oversized beige one she wore when she felt like hiding. The details were haunting. Exact. Tender.
It wasn’t just a sketch. It was a feeling. An intimacy.
She backed away before he saw her and closed herself in her room like a coward. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for two straight hours, cursing the weird twist in her stomach.
What the fuck was she feeling?
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
He never asked why she moved in suddenly.
Didn’t dig, didn’t pry. No sympathy. No therapist-mode bullshit. And that somehow made her trust him more than any guy who’d said, “If you ever need to talk…”
She never asked about his bruised knuckles or the nights he came home smelling like cigarettes and adrenaline. Never questioned the darkness under his eyes.
They lived parallel lives. Same fridge. Same bathroom. Same ceilings over their separate beds. Close enough to hear each other breathe, but far enough to pretend they didn’t care.
It was limbo.
It was maddening.
It was fucking confusing.
Some nights, when the silence got too loud and her mind started spinning—
She wondered.
What would it be like to blur the lines?
To walk out when he was humming in the kitchen, hair tied up, lip ring catching the light—and just kiss him?
Not a romantic, slow kiss.
A messy, chaotic, shut-the-fuck-up kiss. Just to see. Just to know.
Would it make the tension go away? Or would it ignite it like gasoline on a match?
But she never acted on it.
Instead, she left him another Post-it:
Stop leaving your wet towel on the bathroom floor. Again.
Underneath it, scribbled smaller:
P.S. Thanks for the tea.
That night, the towel was gone.
And a new Post-it appeared on the fridge:
P.S. You’re welcome.
The next morning, she found a protein shake waiting for her on the counter.
And a note stuck to it:
Try it. Not poison. Swear. —JK
She blinked at it, then cautiously took a sip.
It was actually… good.
“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Of course it is.”
That night, she left him a tiny Tupperware container of her homemade kimchi fried rice with a sticky note:
Apology for calling your blender Satan.
Next morning?
Apology accepted. But Satan has better manners.
She snorted into her coffee. She didn’t know what they were now.
Enemies? Allies? Passive-aggressive friends with incredible timing?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And it sure as hell wasn’t boring.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
It happened one night after a storm rolled in.
The power went out. The whole building fell silent except for the rain tapping against the windows like impatient fingers.
Y/N sat on her bed in the dark, knees drawn to her chest. She hated storms. Not because of the thunder, but because it reminded her of that night—the fight before he cheated. The storm when Sanho had promised forever and gave her betrayal instead.
She didn’t cry. But her fingers clutched the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.
There was a soft knock.
She looked up.
Jungkook stood in the doorway, shirtless, his phone flashlight casting a faint glow across his face. Shadows clung to his jaw, his collarbones slick with humidity. His usual cocky expression had been replaced with something gentler. Something careful.
“You good?” he asked, voice low, words soft like he was trying not to scare her further.
She nodded, but didn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. Her silence said more than her voice ever could.
He hesitated, shifting on his feet like he didn’t know whether to leave or stay.
Then, without a word, he stepped inside, tossed a hoodie onto the bed, and sank down beside her—back against the wall, legs stretched out. His phone light clicked off, and for a moment, they were just silhouettes in the dark.
Silent company.
She didn’t thank him.
He didn’t need her to.
“I’m not gonna cuddle you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she muttered, trying to disguise the break in her voice with sarcasm.
He let out a low laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But he didn’t move.
They sat there. No notes. No insults. Just quiet breaths in the dark, surrounded by the storm.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did—shoulder barely touching his. Something about the solid weight of him nearby. The calm of his presence when everything else was loud.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
Jungkook’s POV
She fell asleep against his arm.
Her breathing evened out, lashes resting against her cheek like spider silk. Soft. Peaceful. Her face, usually sharp with wit and layered defenses, looked younger in sleep. Almost fragile.
Jungkook sat still.
He hadn’t meant to come in. But when the lights went out and he saw her bedroom door cracked open—something tugged. The kind of instinct that came from watching someone suffer in silence for weeks and pretending you didn’t care.
But he did. Fuck, he did.
He told himself it was curiosity. Or maybe roommate guilt. But sitting there now, staring at her—he knew it was more.
It wasn’t just the way she looked, though she was beautiful—undeniably so, in a way that hit you slow and then all at once. It was the weight of her silence. The grief she never named. The brokenness she carried like it was her fault.
He used to think she was dramatic.
Now, he knew she was just surviving.
He leaned his head back, watching the flashes of lightning cast shadows across the ceiling. His hand twitched beside hers. He wanted to touch her. Just once. Maybe tuck her hair behind her ear. Maybe press a palm to her back and tell her she wasn’t alone.
But he didn’t.
Because he wasn’t sure he could stop at just one touch.
And then—there was a knock.
He stiffened.
Carefully, he lifted her hand from where it had slipped onto his thigh, laying it gently on the blanket. She didn’t stir.
Another knock. Louder this time.
He moved through the apartment barefoot, muscles tense, heart inexplicably pounding.
He opened the door.
A guy stood on the other side. Tall. Soaked. Hair plastered to his forehead like he’d been running through the rain. Brown leather jacket. Shifty eyes.
“Is Y/N here?” the guy asked.
Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Sanho.”
The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Oh.
Of course it was him.
Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “She’s sleeping.”
Sanho tried to peer inside. “She lives here?”
“She does.”
“With you?”
A pause. A beat.
“Yeah,” Jungkook said slowly. “With me.”
Sanho’s eyes narrowed. “Are you her boyfriend?”
The question hung in the air like a match waiting to be struck.
Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “No.”
But something in him wished he could say yes.
Sanho scoffed. “Right. Look—can you just tell her I stopped by? I didn’t know she was… living like this.”
Jungkook’s brow rose. “Living like what?”
“I mean… with some dude she barely knows? After everything? Kind of reckless, don’t you think?”
That did it.
Jungkook stepped out, pushing the door half-shut behind him.
“You don’t get to judge her,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Not after what you did.”
Sanho rolled his eyes. “It was one mistake. People cheat all the time—”
“You touched someone else while she waited for you to come home. You made her feel crazy for suspecting what she already knew. That’s not a mistake, that’s fucking manipulation.”
Sanho’s jaw clenched. “Why do you even care?”
Jungkook stepped closer.
“Because I see the way she flinches when she hears the front door open. Because she can’t walk into a storm without shaking. Because she smiles like it hurts. And you’re the reason.”
Silence.
Sanho scoffed. “You trying to be her hero now?”
“No,” Jungkook said, eyes dark. “I’m trying not to beat the shit out of the guy who broke her.”
Sanho stared him down, but he didn’t have a comeback. Just swallowed hard and turned.
“I’ll tell her you came by,” Jungkook said, stepping back inside. “But don’t come back. She’s not yours to hurt anymore.”
He shut the door. Hard.
The echo followed him down the hall.
𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈
The next morning, Y/N woke up groggy.
The storm had passed. Pale light slipped through the curtains. Her skin smelled faintly of rain and laundry detergent—and something warm, something familiar.
Jungkook’s hoodie.
She blinked and sat up slowly.
Her bedroom door was cracked. No sign of him.
She stretched, then padded into the kitchen in bare feet. Reached for her tea—and froze.
A yellow Post-it was stuck to the fridge.
His handwriting.
Your ex was here last night.
No commentary. No opinion. Just information.
Her stomach twisted. She took the note down slowly, eyes scanning it twice.
And right under it, smaller writing she hadn’t noticed before:
I told him not to come back.
Note : hey tumblr !
i’m ario and this is my first time here.hoping this little corner of the internet treats me kindly .i’m here to make memories, meet moots, and maybe even share some soft chaos.kisses, comfort, and kind energy are always welcome 💌
this is very self indulgent, but could you write a myunggi and reader where the reader is a hider and hes a seeker, and has a little bit of dubcon? maybe starting off as trying to hide her away from namgyu then escalates!
Anon you absolute genius
Behind the Blue Door (MDNI)
Pairing: Myung-gi x Fem reader
Warnings: General squid game, smut, vaginal fingering, eating pussy, drug use
The rebellion had failed. Of course it did. It was supposed to anyway. It was time for the fourth game now. The guards explained the rules and the teams. You were on blue. A hider.
Fuck
And as if it couldn’t get worse, that psycho addict was on red, but Myung-gi wasn’t. He was on blue until a girl came up to him, almost making you jealous over her. They trade vests and everyone on team blue goes into the arena. It resembled a town with stars on the ceiling. It was nearly impossible to navigate, especially alone.
Once the starting minute passed, the red team entered, Namgyu popping pill after pill. It was so selfish, but you were so jealous over that girl Myung-gi traded with- did they know each other? That wasn’t important now- the only thing was staying alive in this game.
You had a circle key and stayed in one room for at least half of the 30-minute game by now. You thought you were safe until you heard a soft voice around the corner…singing? It was Namgyu. Him and Myung-gi round the corner, directly in front of the door now.
“You’re in love with that bitch, aren’t you?” Namgyu asks
“Shut up” Myung-gi retorts.
You cover your mouth in fear, the thought he liked someone else was past you now. Namgyu was scary and you knew he would want you to suffer.
By now he was banging on the door- the guards had explained that the doors can’t be locked again once opened, so Namgyu knew someone was in there. After a minute of struggling, he gives up “you try. I need a minute” he walks off, leaving Myung-gi. You trusted player 333, so you move and let him enter.
His eyebrows furrow when he sees you, you just stare at each other for a minute, he was just now realizing how fucking hot you were. Namgyu comes back “did you get it?” he giggles. “Uhm..” Myung-gi pauses “yeah…can I kill her? You go find someone else” He offers, knowing Namgyu would take him up “go ahead” Namgyu shuts the door and walks away.
Myung-gi crouches down next to you. “What do you want?” you ask
“You’re hot.” He says, a bulge evident in his pants, making you blush.
Before you could reply, he leans in and kisses you deeply, your body betrays and you kiss back. He starts removing all clothes swiftly “wait-” you mutter “hm?” “I- I thought you liked that other girl” you ask “I do. But she fucking hates me and I want you” he whispers.
“Can I?” he asks before taking off your panties, you nod. He runs a finger from your entrance to your clit and licking it off his finger “shit…so fucking pretty” he murmers before bending down and placing a gentle kiss to your swollen clit. Myung-gi starts slow, but quickly gets desperate and starts eating you out like a starved man. You moan loud, making him place two fingers in your mouth as he eats your pussy.
You suck hard on his fingers, your climax already close. He takes his fingers out and sticks them in your entrance, scissoring them gently. “I’m really big, princess, need to stretch you out first” he explains, circling your clit with his thumb making you grasp onto his jacket “I’m- close..” you whimper, making him smirk and hit your sweet spot hard with his fingers, making your back arch and you cum all over his digits.
You pant fast, sweaty and hot from the intense orgasm. You thought you were done until Myung-gi started pulling down his track pants. “I’m not done with you yet” he chuckles before spreading your legs and thrusting slowly into you, making you cry out, he places his hand over your mouth to stop you from being so loud. “Thats it…good girl” he praises, making you whimper against his hand.
He smirks and starts speeding up his movements, tears pricking your eyes as he goes fast, his own climax already close. “Fuck…” Myung-gi mutters before letting out a low groan and pulling out before cumming on your stomach.
A few silent minutes pass. “Good thing I pulled out this time”
-----
Kinda short sorry guys </3
I really wanna write some like geeked min-su x reader maybe so if anyone has any ideas I gotchu
