TABLE 3 | JJK ch23
*.°* pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc
"For good service, and cute waitresses."
warnings: smut, alc consumption, fluff, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idolljungkook, mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.
smut warnings: explicit smut again (ur welcome ) DRUNK SEX. they fuck in naris bed lol, protected sex, he dry humps ur face, throatfucking, dirty talk like its filth. HES SO DESPERATE AND HORNY. nipple play, clit play, f + m receiving oral, cnc undertones but not rlly just him being like “ let me use u “ lol, breath play kinda, missionary, mating press ? idk , kissing, hickeys, holding hands while they fuck <3, riding, thats it i think. nari sees his bare ass in the morning?? idk. he fucks ur tits
wc: longggg
this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!
*.°* taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii
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You wake up with a jolt.
Your heart is pounding, your brain immediately in work mode, and before you can even process what’s happening, you’re already out of bed, scrambling to get ready.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
You were supposed to be at work. You grab your phone, your hands shaking as you fumble to dial Nari’s number. She doesn’t pick up. You call again. And again. And again.
Finally—
“Hello?!” Nari groans, her voice hoarse with sleep.
“Are you not getting up for work?!” you yell, yanking open your closet in a frenzy.
Silence. “Are you joking?”
You blink. “What?”
“It’s. Our. Day. Off.”
Your hand freezes mid-reach. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
You open your mouth to argue—but then, suddenly, it hits you. Your boss.
Your overly dramatic, forgetful boss. Your boss who insisted yesterday that you and Nari were supposed to be in, even though you both had the day off.
“Oh my god.”
Nari sighs dramatically. “You actually got ready, didn’t you?”
You glance at yourself in the mirror. Fully dressed. Hair brushed. Bag packed. You groan, dropping onto your bed. “I hate him.”
Nari snorts. “You just woke me up for no reason.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I panicked.”
Nari yawns. “Mmm. Anyway, now that I’m up, spill.”
You furrow your brows. “Spill what?”
“The date, idiot.”
Oh. Right.
Your heart stumbles a little at the memory. The beach. The way Jungkook looked at you. The way he kissed you. The way he loved you.
Your silence makes Nari shriek. “OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED?! TELL ME EVERYTHING.”
You roll onto your stomach, a slow smile creeping onto your face. “Well…”
And then, you tell her. Everything. From Jungkook surprising you, to the ridiculous phone call with your boss, to falling asleep in the car, to the entire beach trip—the teasing, the laughing, the photos, the splashing, the confession. When you get to the part where Jungkook said he loved you, properly this time, Nari screams.
“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT!”
You pull the phone away from your ear, wincing. “Calm down.”
“No.”
You hear her rustling around, probably kicking her blankets off in excitement. “So what now? Are you guys just back together? What’s happening?!”
You hesitate. Because the truth is—you don’t know. You don’t know what happens after this. You don’t know what happens in a week when he’s gone. All you know is that you love him. And he loves you. And for now, that has to be enough.
“…We’re just making the week count,” you finally say.
Nari softens. “That’s all you can do, huh?”
You nod, even though she can’t see you. “Yeah.”
A small pause. Then— “So… did you guys fuck?”
You groan, hanging up on her.
You finish making your bed, finally settling into the day after the whole work panic fiasco. Now in the shower, you realize that you actually have nothing to do until Jungkook is free.
And he said he was going to be busy all day. With what, exactly, you’re not sure. As if on cue, your phone starts ringing.
You glance at it from the shower, Jungkook. Right as you’re in the middle of shampooing your hair.
Your eyes widen. “Shit.”
You reach for the phone, hands still soapy, and it immediately starts slipping. You try to grab it, but it bounces out of your fingers and onto the floor with a loud thunk.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
You bend down, water streaming from your hair, dripping onto the floor as you finally manage to press answer. “Hello?”
A pause. Then— “…Why do you sound out of breath?”
You groan, pushing your wet hair out of your face. “Because I literally just—ugh, never mind. What do you want?”
Jungkook chuckles on the other end, hearing the shower. “Oh, you miss me that much?”
You roll your eyes, stepping back into the shower, placing your phone on the ledge praying to God that your phone doesn’t get wet. “Says the one who called me.”
“I do miss you, actually.” His voice is casual, but there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.
You clear your throat, pretending like that didn’t affect you. “Busy until five, right? With what?”
He hums. “Meetings. A lot of them. I don’t even wanna talk about it.”
You lean your head back, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. “Sounds rough.”
“Yeah.”
A pause. Then— “I… was gonna get my hair cut off today.”
Your eyes shoot open. “What?!”
Jungkook laughs at your reaction. “Yeah, but I think I’ll skip it.”
You frown, squeezing some conditioner into your palm. “No, go, if you need to.”
“…You don’t want me to, though.”
You hesitate. “I mean, I will miss your hair.”
Jungkook smirks. You can hear it. “I still look good, though, right?”
You scoff. “You know you do, shut up.”
His laugh is soft. “Yeah, yeah.”
You close your eyes, relaxing under the warm water. “Where are you right now?”
“The gym.”
Your brows raise. “Oh? And you’re calling me mid-workout?”
“Yeah,” he says, casual. “I missed you, so I figured, why not?”
Your breath catches for a second.
Then, you glance at yourself—butt ass naked, standing in the middle of the shower, talking to a wet phone, water and soap everywhere. You must look so stupid. But despite it all, you can’t help but smile.
You stay on the phone with him the entire time.
Even after you step out of the shower, still towel-wrapped, rubbing lotion into your skin. Even when you move to the sink, balancing your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you do your skincare. And even when you finally throw on some clothes and wander into the kitchen, eyeing whatever leftovers are in the fridge for breakfast.
Jungkook is just there. A constant, easy presence, talking to you between breaths as he finishes up at the gym. “So you’re eating cold pasta for breakfast?” he asks at one point, amusement clear in his voice.
You scowl, shoving a bite into your mouth. “Mind your business.”
He laughs.
And for some reason, it feels so normal. Like you’re in the same room. Like he’s not actually miles away, probably drenched in sweat in his gym while you sit cross-legged at your dining table in a hoodie and sleep shorts, munching on cold spaghetti.
Neither of you ever really hang up. The conversation just flows—from what you’re watching on Netflix to his gym routine to how your boss made you think that you were in work today because that man has some serious memory issues.
And then—
“Alright,” Jungkook sighs, “I gotta go.”
You frown. “Meeting?”
“Yeah,” he groans. “Kill me now.”
You snort. “Good luck.”
Jungkook grumbles something under his breath.
Then— “See you later?”
You pause, twirling your fork between your fingers. “I thought you were busy until five?”
“I am,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “But after?”
You bite your lip to keep from smiling. “We’ll see.”
Jungkook scoffs. “We’ll see—okay, I see how it is.”
You giggle. “Bye, Jungkook.”
He clicks his tongue. “Bye, baby.”
The call ends.
And you’re just sitting there, staring at your phone, trying really hard not to grin like an idiot.
The rest of your morning passes in a blur.
You clean up a little—fluff the pillows on your couch, fold the blanket you abandoned last night, wipe down the kitchen counters even though they weren’t really dirty to begin with. Anything to pass the time.
You send Nari a quick text somewhere in between.
You [10:30 AM]: What are you doing later?
Nari [10:31 AM]: Recovering from my pickle withdrawal.
You [10:32 AM]: …what?
Nari [10:33 AM]: YOU LEFT ME TO SUFFER ALONE YESTERDAY.
You [10:34 AM]: Oh my god.
Nari [10:35 AM]: I had to get my own pickles. I nearly DIED.
You [10:35 AM]: Nari.
Nari [10:35 AM]: Anyways, what do you want?
You roll your eyes, quickly typing your actual question.
You [10:36AM]: If Jungkook and I have no plans, can we come to yours?
Nari takes her sweet time replying, but when she does—
Nari [10:40 AM]: Ew.
Nari [10:40 AM]: But fine.
At the same time, a new text pops up from Jungkook.
Jungkook [10:41 AM]: What do you wanna do later?
Jungkook [10:41 AM]: Not gonna lie, I don’t really have anything planned.
You smirk, typing back.
You [10:42 AM]: yk anymore of those scenic ass spots you always take me to?
His response is immediate.
Jungkook [10:43 AM]: nah, not today unfortunately.
You raise an eyebrow.
You [10:44 AM]: Wow, okay fine. I’ll ask Nari.
Nari’s ew is still at the top of your chat, which makes you laugh as you text her again.
You [10:45 AM]: He rejected my idea, so I’m rejecting him. We’re coming to yours later.
Nari [10:45 AM]: Omg ew.
Nari [10:45 AM]: But fine.
Satisfied, you send a final message to Jungkook.
You [10:45 AM]: Nari said we can go to hers later.
Jungkook [10:46 AM]: I’m kinda scared. What if she slaps me again?
You [10:47 AM]: Don’t worry, I’ll make her apologize.
Jungkook [10:48 AM]: You will?
You [10:49 AM]: Yes, but she won’t mean it.
Jungkook [10:50 AM]: Figured.
You grin.
Nari never apologizes to any man, but she’ll do it for you, and you both know it. Even though you don’t really care. Even though you think Jungkook doesn’t really care either.
But still.
It’s funny.
You put your phone down, running your fingers through your hair as you exhale. You don’t even realize how much you’ve been checking the time—glancing toward the clock every few minutes, wondering when he’ll text you again.
And then, at some point in the afternoon:
Jungkook [5:11 PM]: omw, love u.
You barely take a second before you jump up, scrambling to throw something on, a little too eager.
And now, all you can do— Is wait.
Jungkook takes longer than usual. Long enough for you to check your phone, frown, and wonder if he forgot about you entirely.
But then— There’s a knock at your door.
When you swing it open, you’re met with a slightly out-of-breath Jungkook, his hair a little messy, dirt smudged on his jeans. And a bouquet of fresh daisies in his hands.
You blink.
“What kind of time is this, sir?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, shifting on his feet. “I was busy.”
You cross your arms, gaze dropping to his knees, where the evidence is literally there. “Yeah, I can tell, judging by the dirt on your knees.”
“Hey—supermarket ones are shit,” he argues, straightening up.
Your eyes flick toward the vase near the window—the daisies from…last time, the ones Nari had forced him to buy. They’re completely dead. “…True.”
Jungkook just smirks, watching as you quickly grab your bag, and before stepping out, you snatch a bottle of wine from your counter. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so it’s that type of night?”
You smirk back. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Nari’s place isn’t long. It starts with you giving Jungkook the address, and for the most part, the car ride is quiet—aside from the occasional sound of you scrolling through your phone, catching up on the nonsense Nari’s been sending you.
But after a few minutes, you notice Jungkook’s grip on the wheel is a little too tight. His brows are furrowed, and even though his eyes are on the road, he looks like he’s somewhere else entirely.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
Jungkook exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”
You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Jungkook.”
He hesitates. Then— “I don’t know. I just feel like Nari hates me.”
You blink. “What? Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, I know she’s your best friend and all, but she was just being really…”
You wait for the insult—rude, horrible, unbearable—but instead, he mutters:
”…mean.”
Your heart clenches a little. It’s almost childish the way he says it, but that somehow makes it even sadder.
You sigh. “I know, she can be a bit much sometimes.”
“Yeah,” he says, jaw tightening. “Honestly, I know I deserved a lot of the things she did to me. But it was confusing, because she would always act like she hated me in front of you. And then, before I came to yours the other day—from the field, when me and her ran into each other—I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “She gave in. Like, she wasn’t mean then.”
You frown, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We’ll talk to her about it, then.”
Jungkook’s eyes flick to you briefly before widening. “What? No. I don’t—No, I don’t have to.”
You squeeze his hand again, firmer this time. “No, honestly. Talk to her about it. She won’t bite.”
Jungkook groans. “Mmm. Debatable.”
You giggle. “She won’t.”
He exhales, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Maybe I will.”
You give his hand one last squeeze before letting go.
When you arrive, you barely have to knock before the door swings open. Nari stands there, arms crossed, sending daggers through Jungkook with her eyes.
Jungkook hesitates.
You sigh, reaching for his hand and tugging him inside before he can cowardly retreat.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. Nari huffs. “Fine. I’m sorry for slapping you.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes. “…You don’t sound very sorry.”
“Well, I’m not.”
You snort.
Jungkook sighs. “I figured.”
Then— “But.”
Nari pauses, rolling her lips together before exhaling. “I guess I could’ve—maybe—toned it down. A little.”
Jungkook raises a brow. “A little?”
Nari glares. “Don’t push it.”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Jungkook exhales, shaking his head. “Look. I get it. I know I fucked up really bad. And maybe I deserved some of it.”
Nari’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“But I don’t know,” he mutters, staring at the floor. “Sometimes it just feels like… no matter what I do, you’ll always hate me now.”
Nari’s lips part. She looks at you, then back at him.
And for the first time, she actually looks unsure.
“Wait,” she says slowly. “Are you… being serious right now?”
Jungkook huffs a humorless laugh. “Forget it.”
“No, Jungkook,” you interject, squeezing his arm. “If you feel that way, you should say it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tenses, like he’s considering brushing it off, but when you give him a small nod, he swallows hard and keeps going.
“I mean it,” he mutters. “I appreciate what you did for her. And for me. Stopping me from driving drunk , helping me when you didn’t have to…” He winces slightly. “Honestly, I probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
Nari stiffens, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
Jungkook shakes his head. “I just—” He exhales roughly, frustration evident in his features. “You made me feel like I was doing everything wrong. And I was. But… I don’t know.”
Nari’s eyes widen slightly.
The weight behind his words finally sinks in.
Her expression softens, guilt creeping into her features. “Jungkook…” She hesitates. “I— I don’t hate you. I never have. It’s just…” She rubs her temple. “She’s my best friend. And I saw what you did to her. You expect me to just—what? Sit back and let it happen?”
Jungkook’s throat bobs. “No. I don’t. I just…” His voice drops, almost hesitant. “I just don’t want her to think I’m not trying.”
Nari exhales through her nose.
Then—
“I know you’re trying,” she admits. “And maybe I push too hard sometimes. Maybe I was too mean. I crossed the line… I’m sorry.”
You blink.
Jungkook blinks.
Nari shifts uncomfortably. “What? I can apologize.”
Jungkook eyes her suspiciously. “Since when?”
She groans. “Oh, my God—take it or leave it.”
Jungkook lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
You smile.
It’s progress.
——
“Did you bring the wine?” Nari asks, perking up.
“Duh.” Jungkook watches in amusement as you hold up the bottle like it’s some prized possession, but before you can walk further into the apartment—
You pause. Your eyes land on the kitchen shelf.
And your jaw drops.
“Nari—”
She follows your gaze, then shrugs. “What?”
“Nari. This is insane.”
Jungkook leans over your shoulder, finally noticing what you’re talking about.
The kitchen shelf is fully stocked with rows of—
Pickles.
Jungkook bursts out laughing.
“Bro, I was gonna die,” Nari says, so casual about it.
“No, no—this is psychotic behavior,” you argue, pointing at the sheer amount of jars. “This looks like you’re prepping for the apocalypse.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
Jungkook is wheezing.
You just shake your head, but Nari is already walking off, waving for you both to follow.
“Whatever, come on.”
Jungkook is still chuckling as you all settle into the living room. Nari—as always—immediately sits on the floor. You and Jungkook take the floor couch.
“So,” Nari says, grabbing the remote. “What should we watch?”
“Anything,” Jungkook says.
You all settle down, and as Nari flicks through the remote, she lands on some shitty comedy show she knows none of you will actually watch. She gives it a second, but she’s already distracted, grabbing the wine bottle from the table.
“Damn Nari, What’s been on your mind?” you ask, watching as Nari fills her glass without hesitation.
She shrugs nonchalantly, looking like she’s putting up a front. “Oh, nothing.” But, as always, Nari can’t keep her thoughts to herself for long.
“Okay, but seriously,” she adds, almost whining, “This guy from the club—he literally rejected me, and I’m just like—what the hell? Like, I looked good. So how is it possible?”
You fake gasp dramatically. “How could he?” you tease. “What a disaster.”
“Shut up,” Nari grumbles, rolling her eyes, trying to act indifferent but still clearly irritated.
You push, though. “No, seriously, you’re hot. You need to get a man.”
Nari throws her head back, mockingly groaning. “Stop shoving it in my face, okay?”
Jungkook, watching the scene unfold, can’t help but grin. “Come on, Nari, settle down.”
Nari shoots him a glare but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she finishes the wine glass a little too quickly. You notice her posture change, and her mood turns from sarcastic to a bit quieter.
The wine hits her too fast.
(Though it’s Nari, and she’d get drunk off of a drop of damn beer.)
And suddenly, she starts sniffling, trying to hide it behind a sarcastic smile. “I swear to God, I just want to be loved,” she mutters, then immediately bursts into a fit of exaggerated, drunken tears.
You and Jungkook exchange a look, both of you equally surprised but not quite sure how to react.
You move over to Nari, rubbing her back. “Nari, hey… you are loved.”
She waves it off, still sniffling but pretending to be fine. “I don’t even know what I’m saying,” she hiccups. “I’m just so lonely—”
Jungkook sits back, watching, unable to look away, his eyes softening at the sight of her, though there’s something else in his expression too—maybe a little amused, maybe just seeing through her sarcasm.
“You’re not alone, Nari,” Jungkook adds, his voice gentle. “Come on, stop playing tough. We’re here, you know?”
But Nari, in her drunken state, ignores the sincerity, still wiping her eyes dramatically. She suddenly looks up at the two of you, glancing back and forth. “Oh my God, can you two just get out?”
You and Jungkook look at each other, trying to stifle your smiles. The moment’s too genuine for either of you to ignore, but you can’t help but laugh softly, both secretly wishing Nari wasn’t such a mess—but also thankful for this small, unspoken moment between the three of you.
The night then dissolves into pure chaos.
Nari is on the damn table now, hair wild, jar of pickles in one hand, the remote in the other, belting out some song off-key like it’s her solo concert.
Meanwhile, you and Jungkook? Absolutely shameless. He’s got you in his lap, hands running up and down your waist, his lips on yours like he physically can’t not be kissing you. It’s all heat, all laughter between kisses, the world spinning in the best way possible.
Nari, mid-spin, suddenly launches a pillow straight at your head. “Oh my God, stop being so horny and get up and dance, losers!”
You groan, laughing, and Jungkook just grins against your mouth before pulling you up. “Fine, fine,” you slur, barely able to balance, and then suddenly you’re just dancing.
Jungkook joins in, badly. He’s spinning you, stepping on your feet, and he doesn’t care. At one point, he starts screaming lyrics to a song he definitely does not know the words to, and it’s so fucking stupid that you nearly collapse in laughter.
The three of you—drunk, delirious, alive. move around Nari’s apartment like a hurricane. And then—
Blackout.
You don’t even realize when or how it happens.
But suddenly, you’re out, curled up somewhere on the floor, head resting on something—probably Jungkook, because you feel warmth, his familiar scent. Nari is knocked out cold, sprawled in the middle of the living room with one arm still gripping the pickle jar.
The apartment is a complete mess.
Hours pass in a blur.
At some point in the night, you stir, barely conscious, when you feel someone shifting.
Then—Jungkook.
You feel his hands, his warmth, gently tugging at you, pulling you closer, before he’s wrapping himself around you like he can’t sleep unless he’s holding you.
It’s peaceful.
Until, sometime later—
Soft fingers trail up your arm, his warmth disappearing for a split second before you feel him pulling you up.
You groggily blink. “Jungkook?” you whisper, voice hoarse, the alcohol still thick in your system.
He’s kneeling beside you now, his touch light but insistent as he tugs at your wrist.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low, breath fanning over your cheek.
“What are you doing?” you whisper-shout, still half-asleep.
You glance over—Nari is passed the fuck out on the floor, her mouth slightly open, not even stirring.
Jungkook doesn’t answer. Just takes your hand, his grip firm, leading you toward a room he guesses is Naris, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers— “I need you.”
And then—
You barely make it through Nari’s bedroom door before Jungkook is on you again, lips crashing against yours, hands slipping under your shirt like he physically needs to feel you.
But then—
He stops.
Mid-kiss, he pauses, eyes suddenly flicking around the room, taking in the absolute chaos that is Nari’s decor.
“Do you guys not know anything about minimalism?” he blurts out, genuinely baffled.
You groan, trying to pull him back in, but he’s too distracted now, blinking around at the explosion of pink, the cluttered shelves overflowing with old concert tickets, framed memes, and an alarming number of stuffed pickles—half of which are just straight-up staring at you both.
“Oh my god,” he mutters, eyes landing on a hot pink lamp shaped like a cat. “What the fuck is that?”
“Jungkook,” you whine, trying to recapture his attention, tugging him back down to you. “Focus.”
He blinks at you, then back at the room. “I’m just saying, this is crazy. Your room is bad, but this? This is next level.”
“Jungkook.”
“Okay, okay, I’m done.” He finally grins, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours. “But seriously, this is insane.”
You roll your eyes, and then—
Jungkook’s lips are back on yours, his focus finally shifting away from Nari’s absolutely chaotic room.
His hands grip your waist, firm and possessive, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You let out a surprised squeal as you fall onto the mattress, the sudden movement making you giggle against his lips, and then—
He’s on you.
His body presses over yours, sinking you deeper into the sheets, kissing you like he’s starving, like he’s trying to drink you in. The alcohol is still buzzing in your system, making every touch feel heightened, every brush of his lips hotter, sloppier, messier.
It’s desperate, the way your hands move over each other—his fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie, your own hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, as if he isn’t already pressing every inch of himself against you.
He groans against your lips, but then—
He pulls back.
You blink up at him, breathless, lips swollen, waiting for him to say something devastatingly sexy.
Instead—
“I don’t know if I can get hard in this weird-ass room,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the corner. “Those pickles are just—staring.”
You gape at him, then burst out laughing, shoving weakly at his chest. “Jungkook, shut up.”
“I’m serious.” His voice is half amused, half genuinely disturbed. “Why does she have so many? And why do they all have faces?”
“Jungkook.” You tug him back to your lips, giggling against his mouth.
He finally gives in, kissing you again, but now you can feel his grin against your lips, amused and stupidly endearing.
And then, you tilt your head back, offering your neck. Jungkook takes the invitation instantly.
His mouth latches onto your throat, kissing down the column of your neck, messy and wet, his teeth scraping against your pulse point before his tongue soothes over the spot. The contrast makes you shudder beneath him, fingers curling against his shoulders.
And then he’s tugging at your hoodie, yanking it up with impatient hands.
“Off,” he grunts, voice rough, already pulling it over your head before you can even process it.
The second it’s gone, his lips are back on you, trailing down your collarbone, across the swell of your chest, all while his hands roam—gripping, kneading, touching you like he’s mapping out every inch of skin he can get his hands on.
It’s desperate.
It’s messy.
And god, it’s so fucking good.
You’re clawing at his shirt, fingers fisting into the fabric, trying to yank it down in your eagerness.
Jungkook just smirks.
“I don’t think that’s doing anything, baby,” he teases, keeping his hands lazily at his sides, making no effort to help. “Other way.”
You whine in frustration, tugging the hem up this time, and he just watches you struggle for a second, clearly enjoying himself, before he finally gives in—chuckling as he helps you pull it over his head.
The moment it’s off, he’s on you again.
He crawls over you, slow and deliberate, caging you beneath him, and it’s so fucking hot. The way his muscles shift as he moves, the way his eyes darken as he takes you in—all of it makes heat pool low in your stomach.
Then he kisses you again, deeper, messier, like he needs to.
You’re biting at his lip now, dragging out these desperate little groans from his throat, making his hips stutter against yours. At one point, you’re not even really kissing anymore—just panting into each other’s mouths, trading moans and gasps like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing.
And then—
Jungkook shifts again, his body sliding up, and suddenly, his bulge is right in front of your face.
You blink, lips parting slightly.
His gray boxers are already tented, the thick outline of him pressing against the fabric, and before you can even process the absolute audacity of what’s happening, he grinds against your cheek.
Your breath catches.
It’s ridiculous.
And yet, somehow, impossibly—
It’s hot.
Because it’s Jungkook.
And because you can hear the way his breath stutters, see the way his stomach tenses at the friction, feel the heat of him through the thin fabric.
You don’t even know what you’re doing—haven’t ever done this before—but something about it makes arousal burn deep in your stomach, makes your thighs press together as your hands instinctively find his hips.
Jungkook groans above you, rolling his hips a little harder, his head tipping back.
“Fuck,” he pants. “That’s—oh my god.”
You don’t even have time to feel shy about it.
Because the way he’s reacting—the way he’s gripping the headboard now, chest heaving, the muscles in his arms flexing as he ruts against your face—makes you feel drunk on him, on the power of it.
And the worst part?
You still need him closer.
Jungkook doesn’t stop.
If anything, he gets worse.
He keeps grinding against your face, his clothed bulge dragging over your nose, your lips, his hips moving slow and controlled before rolling harder, deeper. And you let him—let your mouth relax, lips parting just slightly as his cock presses against your cheek.
Your whole body is reacting to it. Your toes curl, your thighs press together, and every roll of his hips makes your stomach clench tighter.
Above you, Jungkook is panting, his breath uneven, his hands gripping the headboard like he needs to hold on to something.
“Fuck—” he groans, looking down past his own chest to the sight below him. And the sight is unhinged—your wide, glassy eyes peeking up at him, his cock grinding against the softness of your lips, your nose, the curve of your cheek.
He nearly loses it.
“Shit, baby,” he pants, rolling his hips harder. “You have no idea what this looks like.”
His voice is wrecked, thick with arousal and whatever haze of alcohol is still left in his system.
You moan against him, mouth opening just a little more, the heat of your breath sinking through his boxers. Jungkook curses sharply. “God—keep doing that, yeah? Fuck, just like that.”
His grip tightens on the headboard, his whole body trembling. He’s never done this before—never even thought about doing this before—but now that it’s happening, now that he sees it, feels it, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t lost his mind over it sooner.
The warmth of your breath, the way your lips accidentally brush his clothed length, the wet heat seeping through the fabric—it’s making him spiral.
He’s groaning, moaning, whispering things that sound like your name, sounds like fucking hell, baby, you’re gonna kill me and so fucking pretty like this, let me just use you a little more, yeah?
He wants to stay like this forever—wants to keep rutting against you, wants to watch himself grind against your slack mouth until he comes all over your face.
And then he realizes—
He’s too close.
A few more strokes, and he’ll actually—
Jungkook curses, pulling away with a sharp inhale, a final hard grind that has you scowling up at him.
“Jungkook.” Your glare is deadly.
He just huffs out a breathless, wrecked laugh, pressing a messy kiss to your nose.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Jungkook pulls his boxers off completely, kicking them away carelessly, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He grips his length in one hand, giving it a lazy flick upwards, watching it bounce back down. His cock is flushed, leaking, and he looks wrecked, pupils blown out with nothing but lust.
And you—
You stare.
Your mouth goes dry, your whole body tensing in anticipation. You already know what he’s about to do. “Lay back down,” he rasps, voice hoarse.
Your eyes widen. He’s going to do it.
He’s going to throat-fuck you in the exact same position he was just grinding on you.
Heat floods through you, and you’re already moving before you can think, lying back down as Jungkook shifts over you, bracing himself on his knees. But before he can position himself at your mouth, something catches his eye.
Your tits.
A sharp inhale. A pause. And then—
He grins, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Oh, fuck. Why haven’t we done this before?” he murmurs, voice dark with realization.
Then he spits.
It lands right between your breasts, warm and wet, sliding down the curve of your skin. Before you can even react, he presses his cock between them, pushing them together with his hands, and starts thrusting.
The weight of him, the warmth of him, the slick heat of his pre-cum mixing with his spit—it makes your head spin.
Jungkook groans, throwing his head back, his abs tightening with each thrust. “Fuck—this is so hot,” he pants, eyes flickering down to watch himself slide between your breasts. His cock drags against your skin, his tip rubbing over your stiff nipples, catching slightly with every roll of his hips.
You moan, a soft, breathy sound, and he feels it—feels the way your body reacts, the way your chest heaves as pleasure courses through you just from this.
“Shit—” He curses, giving a few more thrusts before reluctantly pulling away, dragging the swollen head of his cock up, tracing over your collarbone, then tapping it against your lips.
“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he breathes, moving back up, his knees caging in your head.
His cock is right in front of your face now, flushed and wet, leaking for you. And then—slowly—he pushes in.
The stretch makes your jaw ache instantly, but you don’t care. You love this. You love the way he takes, the way he gives at the same time, his hands cradling your jaw as his hips start to roll, pushing himself deeper, deeper—until he’s fucking your mouth the way he was fucking your tits, the way he was grinding against your face just minutes ago.
Jungkook groans—deep, wrecked, desperate.
“Holy fuck, babe—”
And you?
You’re in heaven.
Jungkook’s mouth is filthy.
He’s letting loose the dirtiest shit you’ve ever heard—things that would have made you blush if you weren’t already so far gone, so completely ruined under him.
“Look at you,” he groans, voice ragged. “Fucking taking me like this—so good for me, baby. Always so fucking good.”
His hips roll faster, the wet drag of his cock sliding over your tongue sending shivers through you. Your jaw aches, your throat is burning, but you love it. You love the way he fucks your mouth like he owns it, like he needs it just to survive.
And it’s too much.
Your thighs fall open, hands slipping under your underwear, fingers immediately rubbing your clit in messy, desperate circles. You whimper at the feeling, at the sharp jolt of pleasure that rockets through you, and it sends vibrations down Jungkook’s length.
He feels it.
And when he turns his head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of you touching yourself while taking him so deep—
“Oh, fuck yes,” he groans, his head lolling back. “That’s it, baby. Keep going—fuck, keep playing with that pretty little pussy for me.”
His fingers tighten in your hair, his thrusts growing rougher, messier. The room is filled with obscene, wet sounds—the slick, filthy noise of your mouth taking him, the soft squelch of your fingers rubbing your clit, the way he groans above you, completely unhinged.
It’s dirty. It’s filthy. It’s desperate.
And then—he plants his feet flat on the bed.
You barely have a second to process it before he tightens his grip on your head, pulling you flush against him, and—
Jackhammers.
“Oh fuck—”
Your vision blurs. His cock slams into your throat, over and over, his balls pressing against your chin, the heat of him so overwhelming you can barely think. Your throat burns, but you don’t care, you love it, and the noises spilling from him above you make it all worth it.
“God—shit, baby,” he moans, voice wrecked. “Taking it so deep, look at you—look at you, letting me use you like this.”
You can barely keep your eyes open, but you feel his gaze burning down at you.
“Shit—so perfect for me, you love this, don’t you? Love being my pretty little slut—”
A deep, broken groan rips through him, and his thrusts stutter for a second, his hands trembling as he holds you there, keeps you full of him.
He’s falling apart.
You’re drowning in it.
Jungkook pulls out suddenly, and you gasp, choking on the rush of air that floods your lungs. Your throat is raw, lips swollen, drool spilling down your chin, and for a split second, you think he’s giving you a break.
But then—
He shoves back in.
You barely have time to react before he does it again—pulling out just long enough to let you catch half a breath before pushing back in, stuffing your mouth full of him. It’s relentless, dizzying, the way he keeps you gasping, keeps you needing—
And then he starts talking.
Between each brutal thrust, he punctuates his words with the force of his cock sliding deep into your throat.
“Keep—” thrust
“Fucking—” thrust
“Taking—” thrust
“It—” thrust
And then, on the last word, he pulls out completely.
You collapse against the sheets, gasping for air, chest heaving, thighs trembling.
But Jungkook doesn’t even let you breathe.
His mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing your ragged breaths, kissing you with so much force, so much desperation, you feel like you might actually melt into him. His tongue licks into your mouth, deep and messy, and all you can do is whimper, already aching for him again.
He groans at the sound, gripping your jaw, angling your face up so he can devour you fully.
“My good—” kiss “—fucking—” kiss “—girl.”
His voice is pure filth, husky and wrecked, full of heat and love and unrelenting need.
And you’ve never been more turned on in your life.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s him. Maybe both, you don’t know.
You whine, hands fisting into his hair, tugging, pulling, begging him closer, needing more of him, all of him—
And Jungkook just grins against your mouth, breathless and completely, utterly obsessed with you.
Jungkook yanks at your thighs like a man possessed, dragging you up his body, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s falling.
His back slams onto the floor with a dull thud, the force rattling through the room.
But he doesn’t care.
Not one bit.
Because you come crashing down with him—your soaked, swollen pussy landing right onto his face.
You squeal at the impact, hands scrambling for balance, but Jungkook?
Jungkook groans like he’s in heaven.
“Fuck,” he rasps, his grip like iron around your thighs, locking you in place. His breath is hot, his lips already brushing against your slick folds.
And then— “Give it to me.” His voice is wrecked, needy, shaking with hunger, and before you can even react, he dives in.
His tongue swipes up your slit, slow and filthy, before wrapping around your clit, sucking it into his mouth.
And that’s it. That’s all it takes.
You jerk, a choked moan ripping from your throat, fingers clutching at the sheets as a shockwave of pleasure wrecks through you.
Jungkook groans beneath you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. “Give me it, baby.” His voice is muffled against you, tongue plunging inside before dragging back up, flicking exactly where you need it. “Fucking—” He sucks, hard, making you cry out. “Give it to me.”
You do.
You can’t help it.
You grind against his face, rolling your hips, chasing every bit of friction his mouth can give you. It’s desperate, frantic, pure instinct—the way you use him, the way he lets you, encourages you, fucking devours you like he’s been starving for this.
Jungkook’s grip tightens, fingers digging into your ass, pulling you down harder, pressing you deeper into his mouth, like he wants to drown in you.
And fuck, you love him for it.
You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first—grinding down harder, faster, pressing yourself deeper against his mouth.
But Jungkook?
Jungkook feels it.
He groans beneath you, a deep, needy sound that vibrates against your clit, and fuck—fuck, it’s too much.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as you moan loud, letting him know exactly how good he’s making you feel. And he loves it, if the way he growls against you is anything to go by, his hands flying up your body, grabbing at your tits.
“Shit, baby—”
You whimper when his thumbs flick over your nipples, sharp shocks of pleasure ripping through your body, making your hips stutter against his tongue.
But Jungkook doesn’t let up.
Not even for a second.
He just groans, fucking growls, like a man who’s been starved for years, his tongue working relentlessly, devouring you like he needs you to survive. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking just right, and you cry out, your whole body trembling as pleasure slams through you.
It’s too good.
So fucking good that you can’t even breathe.
Your head tilts back, spine arching, vision whiting out at the edges as you grind against his mouth like a woman possessed. Like you’re chasing the only thing that matters. Like you’re rabid for him.
“Jungkook— oh my god—”
He groans, muffled against you, the sound nothing short of wrecked, and then his hands slide back down to your hips, holding you firm, keeping you right where he wants you.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, voice wrecked, tongue still working you open. “Fucking—fuck, that’s it.”
And you listen.
Because how could you not?
You ride his face like you need it, like you can’t live without it, like nothing else in the fucking world matters except his mouth on you, the way he’s pulling you apart and piecing you back together all at once.
It’s desperate. It’s raw. It’s love, in its most primal fucking form.
And neither of you would have it any other way.
As you finally reach your peak, a sharp gasp leaves your lips, your body trembling as the pleasure crashes over you. Jungkook groans against you, his arms tightening around your thighs as if to keep you from slipping away. He doesn’t stop—not immediately—lapping up every bit of your release like he’s savoring you, like he’s worshipping you.
Your breath comes in uneven gasps, and when it becomes too much, you whimper, hands fisting into his hair as you try to pull yourself away. But he growls, playfully resistant, pressing one last lingering kiss against your inner thigh before finally letting you go.
Before you can even recover, he moves—grabbing you and tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. You yelp, landing with a soft bounce, the breath knocked from your lungs, but you’re laughing, breathless, lightheaded from everything he’s just done to you.
Jungkook stands at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his skin flushed, his eyes hooded and dark with something deeper than lust—something almost reverent. He watches you with a hunger that sends a fresh wave of heat curling through you, and when his hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, you swallow hard.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, “how beautiful you are like this.”
Your body reacts instantly, warmth spreading over your cheeks, down your neck, the weight of his gaze alone enough to leave you feeling bare—even more so than you already are. You can’t help it. Your fingers trail lower, teasing, matching his rhythm, mirroring his desperation.
He groans, his grip tightening, his eyes locked onto you. “God, I could watch you like this forever,” he breathes. “You—touching yourself, knowing I’m the only one who gets to see you like this—” His voice falters, like even he’s overwhelmed by the thought.
The air between you is thick with tension, the unspoken love threading through every movement, every shaky breath. It’s not just about pleasure—it’s about this insatiable need for each other, this desperate, all-consuming pull that neither of you can resist.
Jungkook’s voice drops, eyes burning into you. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
Your lips part, a quiet, breathy whimper escaping—because the answer is obvious. Him. Always him.
His breath is warm against your lips when he rasps, “Condom?”
You’re momentarily confused, because—why? You didn’t use one during that night on the beach, since the first time he had you raw, and neither of you had looked back since.
Before you can stop yourself, the question spills out. “Why?”
Jungkook’s eyes flicker with something—hesitation, restraint, desperation. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and he grips your waist like he’s holding himself back from something dangerous.
Then he swallows hard, gaze locking with yours, and murmurs, “Baby, if I fuck you raw right now, I think I’ll come the second I’m inside you. Please—just, I need a condom.”
A feeling blooms in your chest—something heady, something that makes your thighs squeeze around his hips. He sees it immediately, nudging his nose against yours like he’s begging you to understand.
You exhale, nodding, because—to be fair, he’s probably not lying. Not with the way his cock is twitching, heavy and desperate against your stomach, as if even the thought of being inside you bare would send him over the edge.
“Nari’s bedside table,” you murmur, and Jungkook groans, reaching over without pausing his movements, his other hand still keeping you spread open for him.
You hear the drawer slide open, feel him shift above you as he rummages blindly. Then—
“The fuck is this?”
You blink, barely processing, still dizzy from the way he’s lazily rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, slow and teasing.
You crack an eye open just in time to see him holding up a tiny, fluffy cat keychain, his brows furrowed. He tosses it aside, only to pull out a handful of colorful hair clips, a few makeup brushes, a completely unrelated phone charger—
But the final straw is the pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs dangling from his fingers.
You burst into giggles, grabbing his wrist to stop him from digging further. “Oh my god, move,” you laugh, pushing him off just enough to reach into the drawer yourself.
Jungkook huffs, grinning as he watches you fish out the condom with ease, rolling back onto your knees between his thighs. His gaze darkens as you rip it open, his lips parting when you slide it on yourself, slow, teasing, just to watch his jaw clench.
“Gonna kill me, baby,” he mutters, and then he’s grabbing your waist, pulling you back over him, impatient.
Jungkook doesn’t waste another second. He pushes into you in one slow, aching glide, your body stretching around him, the both of you exhaling at the same time—like relief, like fulfillment, like this is the only place either of you are supposed to be.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, burying his face in your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, your waist, sliding under you to press you closer, like even being inside you isn’t enough.
You cling to him, fingers threading through his damp hair, tugging just enough to pull another moan from his lips. Your other hand drags over his back, his shoulders, his waist—grasping at anything, everything, trying to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him.
His pace starts slow, dragging out every thrust, making sure you feel all of him, but the restraint doesn’t last long. Soon, he’s fucking into you harder, deeper, his hands fisting into the sheets beside your head as his body presses flush against yours.
“You’re mine,” he whispers into your ear, his voice rough, desperate. “You hear me, baby? Only mine.”
You can only nod, gasping when he rolls his hips just right, when his words send another rush of heat through your veins.
He groans, lips finding your jaw, your neck, sucking and biting, marking you. “You feel so good, fuck—made for me, yeah? No one else, just me.”
You whimper, tightening your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. His breath stutters at the feeling, and then he loses it completely—his rhythm turning frantic, desperate, like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to bury himself inside you permanently.
One of his hands tangles with yours above your head, fingers lacing together, his grip tight, unrelenting. The other moves down between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing in messy, rushed circles that make you arch into him, gasping his name.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut like he’s overwhelmed. “Come for me—want to feel you—fuck, need to feel you.”
His words send a fresh wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, pulsing around him. He groans, biting down on your jaw, rolling his hips into you with slow, deep thrusts, dragging out every ounce of pleasure.
Your moans break into sharp little cries as he fucks you through it, hips snapping up into yours, pushing you further, further—until your body gives out, trembling against him.
But he doesn’t stop.
He grips your hips tight, flipping you effortlessly, his cock slipping out of you for barely a second before you’re straddling him, his hands spreading over your ass, guiding you down onto him again.
“Ride me, baby,” he rasps, giving your ass a sharp smack that makes you whimper, makes you clench around him as you sink back down.
You grip his chest for balance, breathless as he fills you again, his cock stretching you open so perfectly, so deep it’s dizzying.
“Fuck, just like that,” he groans, hands trailing up your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. “Take me so well. My pretty girl.”
The praise, the way he’s looking up at you—like you’re the only thing in the world—makes your entire body burn. You start to move, rolling your hips, letting him press up into you, meeting you halfway with every thrust.
He groans beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin, his head tilting back against the pillow. “God, look at you. Fucking perfect. You were made to ride me, huh?”
You moan in response, nodding frantically, your hands smoothing over his chest, nails dragging down his skin.
“That’s my girl,” he grits out, eyes dark as they flicker back up to yours. “Come on, baby, give it to me. Let me see you fall apart.”
You whimper, grinding down harder, the friction, the pressure, everything building so fast you can barely breathe.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice rough. “Feel how deep I am? Fuck—so good for me. Always so fucking good.”
His hands move up, brushing over your breasts before gripping your waist, helping you move, guiding you into a rhythm that has you both unraveling fast.
Your thighs burn, your body trembling, but you don’t stop, can’t stop—especially not when he keeps praising you, keeps moaning beneath you, his grip tightening, his thrusts growing sloppier as he gets closer, as you get closer—
“Fuck, Jungkook—”
You cry out as the pleasure crashes over you, your body tightening, pulsing around him so hard you feel him stutter beneath you, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold on.
“Fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”
He groans, hands clutching you tight as he thrusts up once, twice—and then he’s gone, shuddering beneath you as he spills deep in the condom, his moans tangled with yours, the pleasure crashing between you both in dizzying waves.
You slump forward, panting, heart pounding against his as he wraps his arms around you, keeping you against him like he never wants to let go.
And maybe he never will.
——
The morning is a fucking disaster.
You wake up feeling sore, warm, and very comfortable—until you open your eyes and realize Jungkook is completely butt-ass naked next to you.
And then—
The bedroom door creaks open.
“Ughhh,” Nari groans, rubbing her eyes, clearly suffering from last night’s antics. “Why the fuck is the sun so bright?”
Your body locks up.
She’s not looking. Her eyes are still half-closed as she blindly stumbles forward, heading straight for the bed—her bed—where you and Jungkook are naked.
“Nari, wait—”
But it’s too late.
She flops down onto the mattress, sighing dramatically. “Ugh, I feel like death—why does my bed feel weird?”
You and Jungkook freeze.
Nari frowns, still not fully awake, her hand patting around the bed—and then suddenly—
She grabs Jungkook’s bare back.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“…Why does my bed have abs?”
Jungkook screams.
Nari screams.
You scream.
“WHAT THE—?!” Nari shouts, finally opening her eyes—only for them to land directly on Jungkook’s very bare ass.
“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK, PUT IT AWAY!”
Jungkook scrambles off the bed, panicking, grabbing at the blanket for dear life while you’re trying to cover yourself.
“ON MY BED?!” Nari shrieks, pointing at you both, utterly horrified. “ARE YOU GUYS FUCKING SERIOUS?!”
“Nari, get out!” You cry, shoving at her.
“No, this is my room, you get out!”
Jungkook is already gone, bolting for the bathroom with the blanket wrapped around him like a desperate little burrito.
You can hear him locking the door, muttering, “Oh my fucking god, what is my life,” under his breath.
Nari turns to you, squinting. “Are you serious? On my bed? On my fucking bed?”
You groan, frantically grabbing for the blanket—only for her to yank it back. “No, it’s cold.”
“Nari, do you want to see me naked?”
“Kinda.”
“Nari!”
She cackles as you finally manage to snatch it away, wrapping yourself up before making a run for the bathroom, abandoning her in the room.
You knock furiously on the door. “Jungkook, let me in.”
A long sigh. Then, finally, the lock clicks open.
You step inside, finding him sitting on the toilet seat, his face buried in his hands.
“What the fuck was that?” you whisper-shout.
He lifts his head slightly, his cheeks burning red. “I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”
The two of you are fucking dead.
Still half-naked, still reeling from what just happened.
Nari is snoring her fucking life away in the bedroom, completely dead to the world, and you and Jungkook just stare at each other, still clutching your respective blankets, horrified.
And then— You crack. Laughter bubbles out of your chest, and before you know it, you’re cackling, doubled over, Jungkook gaping at you before he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god,” he groans. “I’m so fucking tired.”
“Same.” You wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes. “Like, what the hell did we do? Poor Nari.”
Jungkook just sighs. “She’ll probably forget.”
You both groan, knowing full well that she will never let you live this down.
Finally, you manage to sneak back into Nari’s bedroom, tiptoeing past her sleeping form as you grab your clothes, throwing them on in record time. Jungkook fumbles with his jeans, nearly falling over in his rush to get dressed, and you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh.
Eventually, you escape to the living room, dropping onto the couch, exhausted, the events of last night weighing on you.
Silence.
Jungkook drags himself off the couch and stumbles into the kitchen, opening the fridge.
A long pause.
“What does Nari even eat?” He stares into the sad excuse of a fridge, filled with nothing but pickles, questionable leftovers, and instant food. “How does she live like this?”
You snort, rubbing your temples. “Honestly? I’m not even surprised.”
Finally, you take in the absolute disaster that is the living room. Clothes everywhere, empty bottles, random snacks, and a jar of pickles knocked over on the coffee table.
Jungkook looks at you. You look at Jungkook. And then, in perfect unison, you both let out a long, painful groan.
The apartment is dead silent except for the sound of the TV playing some random channel neither of you are really watching.
You and Jungkook are curled up on the floor couch, hoodies up, barely functioning, waiting for the food you ordered like zombies in recovery.
Jungkook is fully slumped over, one leg stretched out, arms crossed, looking so fucking dead to the world. His hair is a disaster, dark circles heavy under his eyes, and he just stares blankly at the screen, eyes unfocused.
And then— Nari waltzes into the room like she’s been through war.
She looks equally dead, hair a mess, eyes half-open, her oversized shirt hanging off her shoulder, moving with the slow determination of someone who’s been personally victimized by alcohol.
She stops. Looks at the two of you.
Then, without saying a word, she stumbles to the fridge, pulls out a jar of pickles, pops it open, and just starts munching.
You’re safe. She’s forgotten.
And then— “I saw Jungkook’s bare ass.”
Jungkook lets out the most exasperated groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Nari, please—”
But then—her brain finally catches up. Her chewing slows. She freezes. Eyes going wide. Then she slowly turns to you. “Wait.”
Oh, fuck.
“Wait.”
“No, Nari—”
“You guys fucked in my bed?!”
“Nari, I—”
“YOU GUYS HAD FULL-ON, NASTY, SWEATY, I-HATE-YOU SEX IN MY FUCKING BED?!”
“IT WASN’T SWEATY—”
“OH MY GOD, SHUT UP, IT DOESN’T MATTER—”
Jungkook is just sitting there like oh shit man, watching this argument unfold as Nari flails her arms dramatically and you try to defend yourself.
“We were drunk!”
“I don’t give a fuck! That was my bed! Where I sleep! Where I DREAM!”
“We didn’t mean to!”
“Oh, so you just accidentally tripped and landed on his dick, huh?!”
Jungkook chokes. “Nari—”
“No!” She dramatically clutches her chest, looking pained. “My bed has been defiled—”
“Okay, relax, it wasn’t that deep—”
“It was literally that deep!”
“OH MY GOD, STOP!”
She’s fully yelling now, waving the pickle jar around, looking betrayed. Jungkook is just sitting there, mouth slightly agape, watching this play out like it’s a fucking drama series. And then—
“You guys ordered food without me?”
An awkward silence.
You slowly pick up your half-eaten sandwich and offer it to her. Nari snatches it, takes a massive bite, and keeps ranting. “I cannot believe this. This is actually sick. Fucking traitors. I’m gonna need you to call a priest—”
And then she grabs another pickle from the jar, stacking it onto her sandwich like some deranged gourmet chef.
Jungkook just leans back, shaking his head, muttering to himself. “I fucking hate my life.”
And you?
You just groan into your hoodie, realizing this will never be forgotten.
