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author's note: as part of festa celebrations, I asked you guys to vote between two 'lucky boxes' - one was for slut war, and one was for monsoon. slut war won, so here are the first two chapters!

I won't start properly uploading chapters until towards the end of the year. until then, here are the first two chapters to clue you in on what to expect! i really like this couple and their dynamic! let me know ur thoughts! mwah x

Chapter One

Diagnosis: Lovesick

Wordcount: 3747

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Jeon Jungkook cums, on average, four minutes and thirty-seven seconds after he sinks himself into whichever poor girl is in his sheets, on any given day of the week. It's rarely ever the same girl twice.

On the good days, it's as quick as two minutes and twelve seconds.

On the very worst days, the thudding of his bed frame against the wall separating your dorm rooms had lasted an excruciatingly slow thirteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds. A record never to be repeated.

You had made sure to greet him with a particularly foul grimace the morning after, when he waltzed into your shared kitchen lacking both a shirt and the concept of dignity.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes?" He'd snorted, leaning against the fridge.

With a carton of milk in his hand, of which you knew had soured two days prior, you said nothing. Just waited for him to take a sip. Smiled when he inevitably retched, his freakishly toned abs tensing. His entire body recoiled, and the carton was immediately tossed into the sink with an almighty clatter.

"Who pissed in your milk?" You had replied with a babyish pout.

His eyes narrowed as yours widened, no love lost.

Jungkook had only bought the milk the day before. There was no way it would have soured.

Your cereal—coco-pops, not cornflakes—were swimming in milk. Taking a spoonful into your mouth, you'd shrugged, answering his silent question: what the fuck did you do?

The honest truth really was 'nothing'. 

Or at least nothing much. 

You just switched his milk with yours. Oops. Honest mistake.

Just like you're sure that his excessive shagging, and inability to keep his flavour of the week quiet, must be an honest mistake. 

It's not like you've already put a billion passive-aggressive sticky notes on his door. Not like he's put a billion right back, all with anatomically concerning cocks drawn over the top of your complaints.

"You need to get laid, Lacey," he told you. The name he had christened you with barely even a week into knowing you rolled off his tongue, just like your eyes whenever he says it. "I mean first you'd need to get some new pants, but some guys are into that, I guess—"

"As are you, apparently, given the fact it's still all you ever think about when you look at me," you scoffed.

Now, knicker-gate really was an innocent accident. Some of your laundry had gotten caught up with his. Regretfully for you both (but more so you) it included a monstrously large pair of underwear that you kept so as to not ruin any of your decent panties come red week. He calls you Lacey as a reminder to upgrade your underwear drawer, or at least that's the excuse he uses.

You call him Wanker, or sometimes Jeonorrhea—as a reminder for him to get an STD check every once in a while.

"Hard to forget," he assured you. "I didn't even know they made knickers that big. Must be a real hit with your boyfriend."

"Unlike you, he has a semblance of maturity and a little bit of endurance," you toldJungkook, walking around him to wash your bowl up. Leaving his milk carton in the sink, you let him clear it up. His one redeeming quality is that he's a clean freak. You know it'll get done. "So it doesn't matter what underwear he sees me in. Maybe you could ask him for tips, 'cause there's no way you're getting the job done at the speed you're going."

"You really need to stop listening to me having sex."

"You need to move your bed away from my wall."

"Or you need to move yours away from my wall. Then again, it's not like I've ever heard your Sex God boyfriend do anything other than sneeze," he taunted.

"'Cause I know how to keep things quiet. It's a miracle what a pillow behind the headboard can do."

Jungkook just laughed as you walked away down the corridor.

In university halls, there are five of you in your apartment. You've the room at the far end, Jungkook the room just before it. All in your first year, it's safe to say there's been some teething problems.

"Whatever you say, Lacey."

Respite usually comes in the form of heading across campus to another halls of residence, where your boyfriend, Mingyu, lives.

Assigned to far better halls than you, he's integrated into college life seamlessly. It's a little intimidating. You went to university together, neither of you wanting to break up, but are having completely different experiences.

You're stuck with two girls you've never seen, a guy who you're pretty sure deals coke from his bedroom window, and a walking STD wrapped in a leather jacket (of whom you think should really wrap himself in a latex condom, instead).

Mingyu lives in an apartment of four. Two girls, two guys. There's cohesion. Shared chores. An apartment polaroid wall for all the guests that come to theirs for pre-drinks. The kind of university experience that is promised by the promotional videos and prospective brochures.

He hates visiting your apartment for the exact reason you hate living there—Jeon Jungkook, and the shameless nature in which he conducts himself.

"Seems like a fuckin' tool," Mingyu had muttered on the very first day you moved in.

Jungkook had made a joke about Mingyu being a ball and chain. Asked if you were ever gonna be without it. Needless to say, it wasn't well received.

Yet to learn the intrusive nature of Jungkook's freakishly good hearing, you'd simply replied, "S'fine. I only have to sleep here. Not like we're gonna be besties."

And so a dynamic was established. Besties, you were not. You didn't say hello when you passed each other on campus. He had his friends, you had yours. Everyone else in your apartment kept to themselves.

Three months into your first semester now, and with Christmas fast approaching, Jungkook has proven all your assumptions about him right.

You stay at Mingyu's on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He can't do Mondays - starts too early the next morning - and Wednesday is reserved for 'flat night'. Fridays are often spent at the SU, and weekends are for... well, you're not really sure these days.

You just know that the girls Mingyu lives with have expressed being uncomfortable with having 'randoms' in their home all the time, as if they don't regularly host pre-drinks for dozens upon dozens of randomers.

You're Mingyu's girlfriend. Have known him since you were teenagers. Are a year into your relationship. They've known him all of five minutes.

Still, you don't want to make life difficult for him during these fragile months of early socialisation. Your university experience has already been abysmal. You want him to at least have a shot at making fond memories.

Who knows, maybe they'll warm up to you, too. It might just take some time.

You and Mingyu have always figured you'll move in together in your second year. His flatmates are already saying that they need to start apartment hunting before all the good ones get snapped up. It'd just be awkward moving in if they were still so... closed off.

Which is what brings you here: Wednesday Night, stopwatch open, seeing how pathetically fast Jungkook will finish. It's already exceeded ten minutes. He's doing well—or at least better than usual.

Better for his partner, that is. You'd quite like to rip your ears off and shove them in the holes left in the side of your head.

The thud of his bed frame against your wall is heavy. Whatever the fuck he does, you know he does it with force and little skill. Thoughts of it make you shudder, in quite positively the most unpleasant way. That's what you assume the twinge in your stomach is: revulsion.

He lasts another excruciating three minutes. Doesn't quite reach his personal best. Shame.

Or at least he doesn't until the thudding starts up again half an hour later.

"Fucks sake," you groan, pressing one of your pillows over your face. If he hears your whining through the wall, he doesn't make it obvious. Or maybe he does. It just gets even fuckin' louder.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Thwacking the side of your balled fist against the wall, you hope it'll at least embarrass the girl he's with into migrating to the floor, or something like that.

Miraculously, the sounds muffle. Slow. Quieten. Stop entirely.

Or at least they do until your phone vibrates beneath your pillow.

Jungkook (Room 4): u wanna join lacey? ;)

There's another thud. It's slower. Gentler. Almost as if he's waiting for a response. Your skin prickles, annoyance washing over you. How dare he think it's okay to message you in the middle of fucking some poor girl.

You wonder how he's got her positioned. You'd like to think doggy. Feels less rude, that way. A hand gripped on her hip, the other hand holding his phone. That stupid fuckin' smirk on his face as his hips slow to a gentle roll, thumb darting across the screen to type out his message. A quiet apology to the girl he's with—Sorry. Just my housemate.—could be whispered, though you doubt apologies come naturally to him. Phone tossed back down into his sheets, the hand that had once held his desire to message you now filled with her other hip.

You: ur fucking foul !!

Jungkook (Room 4): im fucking very nicely actually :)

Jungkook (Room 4): my doors open

Jungkook (Room 4): bring your granny panties

Jungkook (Room 4): they'll turn me off and make me last even longer :D

Jungkook doesn't get surprised often, but when he faintly hears your door open through the thin wall, he almost chokes. Didn't actually expect you to take him up on his offer.

He's many things, but a liar he is not. His door really is unlocked. If you walk in, you'll be greeted with his bare ass and broad back, 'cause you're right: Doggy is his position of choice. Not his favourite, not by any stretch of the imagination—but from his experiments, he's concluded that no other position shakes his bed quite like doggy does. Knows how much it pisses you off. Sacrifices the fun of cowgirl for the fun of seeing how disgusted you look the morning after.

And so he fucks almost exclusively in this position just to annoy you. And to spank asses. But mostly to piss you off.

His surprise is doused out when he hears your apartment's front door open and shut, too.

He glances down to his phone and sees it empty, where he half thought a reply from you might be. It's late. Gone midnight. He should probably feel bad about making you leave at such an hour, but it was your choice.

The journey across to Mingyu's halls only takes ten minutes. It's a Wednesday night, which is reserved for cooking dinner with his housemates, but you figure they'll have finished by now. You drop him a text, and head up the stairs to his flat. Wait for him to read it before you knock—but even though he's 'online', it remains unread.

Fuck it, you think. Knock anyway. You can hear the living room TV blaring through the door, so someone is awake at least.

It takes a second or so, but eventually it clicks open.

"Oh," one of Mingyu's housemates greets you. It's one of the girls. The blonde. Thankfully not the brunette—the one who always moans about having 'randomers' in the house. At least this way you can just slip by and into Mingyu's room without causing a fuss.

"Hey," you smile, stepping forward, and awkwardly stopping when you realise she isn't opening the door for you. "Just here to see Mingyu."

"Oh, right," she says, a slightly bewildered gaze focused on you. Her pupils seem normal size, but she's acting as if she's been by your apartment recently to pick up gear from the guy in room 3. It's all very bizarre. "I don't think he's in."

"Oh," you echo, because apparently the little chirp is infectious. "He never sai–"

Your words are cut off when Mingyu's bedroom door clicks open. You innately glance towards it, pleased that she's been mistaken. He never shared any evening plans with you, other than cooking dinner with his housemates like he does every Wednesday. It was fajitas on the menu tonight.

With a smile, your eyes flicker back towards the blonde who is still not letting you pass.

It's only now that you notice how the colour has drained from her face.

Looking back over her shoulder, you find Mingyu staring at you in a similar fashion, one hand on his door handle.

His other hand is intimately holding the nape of his brunette housemate's neck.

There's a smile on her pretty, blushed face that trickles away when her eyes land on you.

And then you notice the shirt Mingyu's without; the shirt that she's wearing. The same one he'd sent you a picture of him wearing earlier that day.

"Oh," you say again, because your brain is short circuiting and it's the only thing you can formulate.

Mingyu swallows. Drops his hand from her neck. Doesn't say a fuckin word.

"Right," you continue with a nod, as if you've just been delivered the most mundane of news, and as if this is a totally normal thing for you to have seen. "Of course. Sorry. It's a Wednesday. Not my day. Don't know what I was thinking."

Turning on your heel, you head for the stairs and don't look back. You think Mingyu calls after you, but you aren't really sure. All that you're sure of is that your feet take you from his door right back to yours in less time than it takes Jungkook to finish again.

The thudding prevails.

You don't go back to your room.

Instead, you sit with slumped shoulders on one of the god-awful kitchen sofas in total darkness.

The idea of hearing Jungkook shag right now makes you feel even more violently sick than it usually does, so sitting in silence on the sofas is your only choice.

You're sure Jungkook has probably shagged on them, too. Disgusting.

Your mind jumps from Mingyu, to his housemate, to how fucking stupid you must have been to miss the signs. Or maybe you'd just been ignoring them. That's the reason she didn't like you staying over. It dug into her time spent in his room. Doing what, you don't want to know. Doing each other, your mind taunts you regardless.

You think you might actually be sick. When your phone starts vibrating, an incoming call from Mingyu lighting up your screen, you dry-retch a little.

"Jesus Christ," Jungkook hisses as he walks into the kitchen, flicking the light on. Clutching at his heart, your presence must have startled him. You don't look in his direction. Just at your phone, and the picture of you with Mingyu back in your hometown that flashes up every time he calls. "What are you doing in the dark? Are you gonna be sick? Do you need a bucket or something?"

"Fuck off," you glare at him, though by the look on his face—brows furrowed and a little confused—you think that maybe for once he was actually trying to be kind. You don't have the patience nor the capacity to deal with his antics, though. "Send your girl home. Let me sleep."

"She's gone," he shrugs, and you realise you've no idea how long you've been staring into the darkness for. "Look, just... Go to bed. You look like hell."

"And you look like the genital warts are migrating to your face," you snap back, knowing full-well that it's impossible for them to spread beyond his crotch.

He doesn't even deny having them. Just shakes his head. Walks away. Calls back, "Call your boyfriend. You need to get laid, Lacey. Or at least remove the stick from up your ass before you get haemorrhoids."

"Fuck yourself," you mutter under your breath.

"No need," he calls back down the hallway, 'cause he really does have bizarre industrial-strength hearing. He's also incredibly rude and ignorant to the fact that your housemates might be sleeping.

Sighing, you let your body flop on the sofa. Grimace when you think about his bare ass touching it. Pout when you remember sitting on this very sofa as he'd teased the fact he'd never heard you having sex.

Ears like a goddamn bat. So bloody annoying.

Him being right? Even more annoying.

No wonder Mingyu wasn't begging to jump your bones whenever he came round. Why would he when he had something new and fresh and exciting waiting for him in his own bed?

You get to your feet. March right on up to Jungkook's door. Slam against it with a flat palm, and are remarkably unaffected by his bare torso and low-slung sweats when opens the door. Hair still dishevelled, he blocks the view of his bed, but you know it must be a mess.

So are you. It's proven when you just sort of blurt out, "Fuck me."

You've gone mad. You must've. It's the most ridiculous demand that has ever left your lips. 

Jungkook tweaks his head to the side. Furrows his brows. Takes a moment longer than you expect to respond.

"Are you having a stroke?" He questions. "Your face looks okay—I mean, not okay. It never looks okay, but you know what I mean. Are you smelling toast? Dizzy?"

"Fuck me," you repeat, ignoring his ill-informed medical diagnostics session.

It's hardly an outlandish request. You're sure he gets it all the time. He must do, given that his bed is rarely ever empty.

"I think you're confusing 'me' with 'you'," he assesses. Knows exactly what you're asking. Knows there's no way you're being sane. He's not particularly fussy when it comes to his lays, but he isn't stupid. Knows better than to entertain whatever this is. "Fuck you is what you mean to say. Repeat after me, Lacey: Fuck Y—"

"Me," you repeat, hellbent on destroying your life. "It's what I meant."

Jungkook pauses. Looks you up and down. Folds his arms over his chest. "Has Number Three given you a bad batch? Are you high? Have you ever done drugs before? You don't look like the type. Should I call an ambulance?"

"Are you saying girls need to be high to shag you?" You raise your brows. "God, that is concerning, Jungkook."

"And so is you coming to my room demanding to fuck me," he smirks, secretly a little bit pleased to have leverage. "Go to bed, Lacey."

He's concerningly kind when he says that. Closes his door not with a slam but with a soft click. Part of you wants to bang on his door again. Force him to close it again without pity—but you saw the look on his face. It's too mortifying to face him again.

You don't even want to fuck him.

You just don't want to think about Mingyu.

But just like that, Mingyu is back in your head—his darling, dark eyes and strong hands, and how you know that they've been wandering all over someone else. You wonder if she's in his room, right now. If he's in hers. If she's comforting him through the shame of being caught red-handed. If they're laughing about it. Fucking. Or maybe even worse, unaffected and asleep together, curled up and sharing body heat.

For once, Jungkook is the one kept awake all night.

You cry for far longer than he fucks. He'd argue that you also cry far louder than he fucks, but knows better than to contest that.

He doesn't time it, and nor does he complain. It's your first big cry of the semester. He'll tell himself it's because he rejected you, but he knows he only rejected you 'cause you were quite clearly already upset. His standards are low but his morals are somewhat higher.

He does, however, leave a post-it note on your door when he heads off to his lectures in the morning.

get a vibrator, lacey. you'll be fine.

p.s. it's totally normal to cry after a rejection from me. you're not the first and won't be the last. chin up. stay off #3's drugs. call emergency services if you think you're having a stroke. don't call me. have a shit day.

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