Jeon Jungkook II Roommate

A lazy morning spirals into wicked temptation when an accidental flash of skin turns routine into foreplay. Tension brews, control slips, and denial becomes a game of endurance. Touch lingers longer than it should, and a vibrator hidden beneath sweatpants is only the beginning. The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of casual routine. One of them lounges shirtless on the couch, playing smug king of the living room while the other pretends to tidy up—neither fooling the other. A loose waistband slips down just enough to tease, igniting a spark that both pretend not to notice. Teasing remarks fly, hot and shameless, layered with hidden meanings and soaked in sexual tension. A remote-controlled vibrator enters the equation, slipped in under the guise of play, and suddenly the day isn't so ordinary anymore. One commands, the other obeys, not out of submission but the desperate need for release. Fingers drift where they shouldn't while smug smirks hold power hostage. Whispers are exchanged like currency—filthy, mocking, and far too intimate for two people who claim it's just sex. Pleasure is dangled like a cruel reward, always just out of reach.

Jeon Jungkook II Roommate

A lazy morning spirals into wicked temptation when an accidental flash of skin turns routine into foreplay. Tension brews, control slips, and denial becomes a game of endurance. Touch lingers longer than it should, and a vibrator hidden beneath sweatpants is only the beginning. The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of casual routine. One of them lounges shirtless on the couch, playing smug king of the living room while the other pretends to tidy up—neither fooling the other. A loose waistband slips down just enough to tease, igniting a spark that both pretend not to notice. Teasing remarks fly, hot and shameless, layered with hidden meanings and soaked in sexual tension. A remote-controlled vibrator enters the equation, slipped in under the guise of play, and suddenly the day isn't so ordinary anymore. One commands, the other obeys, not out of submission but the desperate need for release. Fingers drift where they shouldn't while smug smirks hold power hostage. Whispers are exchanged like currency—filthy, mocking, and far too intimate for two people who claim it's just sex. Pleasure is dangled like a cruel reward, always just out of reach.

"Finally gave in, huh?"

Jungkook leans in the doorway like he's got all the time in the goddamn world—one arm stretched above his head, hoodie half-zipped, abs peeking out like he planned the whole outfit just to taunt her. And maybe he did.

Because she's on her knees, scrubbing the floor with that thing inside her. Vibrating low. Constant. Maddening.

And Jungkook?

He's fucking thriving.

Took him forever to get her here. Weeks of whispering it in her ear while she was trying to focus. Sliding it into casual conversation like it wasn't obscene. Dropping the remote onto her nightstand with a shit-eating grin and a "Just think about it, babe."

And now she's here—squirming, flushed, trying to focus while her thighs threaten to betray her.

Jungkook saunters over, slow like a villain in a music video. Each step deliberate. Cock heavy in his sweats, visible. Proud.

He crouches next to her, resting his chin in his hand like he's studying modern art.

"You know, I knew you'd look good like this," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "But fuck... I didn't know you'd look this good."

Bzzzt.

He doesn't even have to look—just flicks his thumb on the remote and watches her jerk. Her hand slips on the sponge. Her breath catches.

Jungkook chuckles, dark and unholy. "You okay there, sweetheart?" he asks, knowing damn well she's not.

He brushes her hair off her face, all tender and fake-sweet, and then slaps her ass hard enough to make her gasp.