sex with you sucks || jjk || one-shot || +18
wearing a shirt that said sex with you sucks wasn’t supposed to mean anything. but your ex? of course he had to take it as a challenge and now he’s desperate to convince you otherwise.
w.c: 5,8k
pairing: rockstar!Jungkook x fem!reader
rating: +18
genre: exes, angst, smut, a touch of band-life chaos
warnings: explicit sexual contente, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, spit in mouth, degradation, pet names, rough dynamics, alcohol mention, heavy language & insults, jealousy, toxic exes energy.
author’s note: i don’t know if i’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut, maybe i am, but oh well, here it is lol. i can’t seem to write pure smut without adding a lot of plot, so i ended up creating this whole context that actually made me want to explore more of this story. anyway, i really loved the chaotic, slightly toxic vibe it gave off, idk....
March 12 — Singapore
You hadn’t picked that top to piss off Jungkook. Not on purpose, anyway. But the second his eyes landed on you and he rolled them so hard you thought they might fall out of his skull, you wished you had chosen it intentionally. It felt unfair that sheer coincidence got the credit for irritating him so perfectly.
The tour had barely started and the atmosphere between you was unbearable. As much as you both wanted to keep things professional, it was nearly impossible when the breakup was barely a month old and you were being forced, twenty days after splitting, to spend months on a world tour together.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. The tour had been planned for almost a year. But the way things collapsed between you after everything… it was impossible to stay together. Not when even the PR team insisted you both keep pretending you were still in love for the public.
Maybe that was what made it so suffocating, acting like you were still a couple after everything that had happened. After you’d suffered a miscarriage six months ago, in the middle of a massive awards show in Los Angeles. After you’d been forced to keep performing through the night while your body quietly gave up the baby you’d carried for seventeen weeks. Maybe it was the way grief had sunk its claws into you, leaving you depressed, while Jungkook, also grieving, had pulled away until you could barely look at each other without fighting.
Or maybe it was the fact that since the tour started, twelve days ago, he’d been reckless, drinking too much, flirting with groupies, throwing accusations at you about Yoongi, the guitarist. As if your late-night songwriting sessions with Yoongi were anything more than desperate attempts to put your pain into lyrics. At least Yoongi listened without judgment, turned your sorrow into something tangible. Meanwhile, Jungkook was drunk somewhere in the corner, actually hitting on some fan.
Maybe it was because the two of you hated each other now. Or worse, because you still loved each other. Or something in between.
Either way, Jungkook was a mess at rehearsal. His focus was shot, his fingers stumbling over guitar strings like he’d forgotten how to play. You’d glared at him more times than you could count, and Yoongi had already muttered a fed-up “What the fuck, man?” into his mic, which Jungkook didn’t bother answering.
Five songs. Five mistakes.
Taehyung groaned behind the drum kit, sticks clattering in irritation, while Vicky, at the keyboard, rubbed her face with both hands.
“Are you stupid?” you snapped, slinging your bass aside and storming toward him. “This song’s from our first album. We’ve played it at every single show for six years, you know it by heart.”
You scoffed when he didn’t even look at you, just stared out at the empty stadium seats like he was bored, then fiddled with his guitar volume.
“Mind your part, I’ll mind mine,” he said, voice flat.
“I am minding my part, but you’re screwing everyone else over, asshole.” You rolled your eyes, glaring at the sharp profile of his face, at the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. He finally glanced at you sideways, not bothering to reply. “Take this seriously, for fuck’s sake.”
“I am taking it seriously.” His tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Now get back to your spot so we can run it again.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, stomping back to your mic stand. Jungkook stretched out his hand and flipped you off behind your back, which you didn’t see.
How could the man you once admired so much turned into this jerk?
The rest of the band was visibly over it, eyes rolling, patience worn down to the bone. You were all close, but with everything going on, no one had the energy left to deal with you and Jungkook tearing into each other every rehearsal.
“Jungkook, focus,” Lina, the manager, clapped her hands from the pit below the stage, where thousands of fans would soon stand. “We need you here. Forget whatever’s in your head.”
He nodded, pulling the branded pick from between his lips, sliding it back into place between his fingers. Someone called for another take. Taehyung smacked his sticks together three times, counting off. And just like that, the song started again, this time, almost miraculously, it flowed clean.
For three songs, the band managed to hold it together, the music almost like the old days. But then came the acoustic duet, the one where you and Jungkook had to share his mic, his guitar strumming softly as the stage lights bathed you both, forcing you to play the part of lovers for the crowd. His face was a mask, his voice cold and mechanical, and you had to stare into those doe eyes that used to spark with life but had been dull and empty for weeks. You were getting used to it, the hollowness, but it still stung.
Singing songs from when you were head-over-heels, tangled in each other for years, unable to get enough, felt like torture every night. You deserved an Oscar for the performance, for pulling off the act of being in love with Jungkook on stage, night after night. Maybe it was easier when you let yourself remember how he used to be. How he made you feel like the most cherished woman in the world, like your entire universe orbited around him, like you were the muse behind every lyric you sang together.
But God, you hated when he looked at you like that.
Those sharp, predatory eyes, his tongue grazing his lips, zoning your mouth until you could barely breathe. In those moments, you struggled to recall why you’d ever broken up. Because sometimes, that angry glare of his burned with desperation, like he wanted to devour you whole. It made your legs tremble, forced you to look away, because if you held his gaze, you’d lose yourself completely.
That’s exactly what you did during that damn duet, tearing your eyes away from his. His stare was a molten mix of rage and raw desire, too intense to bear, threatening to unravel you right there on stage.
But, then your in-ear monitor cut out, the sudden silence throwing you off. You missed a beat, your voice faltering, and the rhythm of the song collapsed.
Jungkook shot you an accusing glare, his lips tight, and you ignored it, pressing a hand to your ear as you stepped back from the mic, looking toward James, the sound tech. The band ground to a halt, the silence in the stadium deafening.
“My in-ear’s fucked,” you said, trying to keep it professional.
Jungkook huffed into the mic, the sound echoing through the empty arena. You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring.
“You’ve been screwing up all day, and you can’t handle one mistake?” you snapped, gesturing at him. “That’s what soundcheck’s for, genius.”
He licked his lips, his tongue catching on his piercing, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop obsessing over me,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
You laughed through your nose, a bitter, incredulous sound, planting your hands on your hips.
“Obsessed? With you?” You threw your head back, the laugh theatrical, deliberately overdone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Guys…” Vicky’s voice came from the back, soft but pleading, trying to de-escalate. You both ignored her.
“First, you and Yoongi,” Jungkook said, pointing at the guitarist, who stood frozen, his expression confused. You didn’t dare look at him, just rolled your eyes harder, the absurdity of Jungkook’s words fueling your anger. “Now this fucking shirt.” He jabbed a finger toward your chest, where your cropped tee read Sex with you sucks.
“Oh my God,” you laughed, the sound sharp and loud, echoing off the empty seats. “Not everything is about you, main character.” You glanced down at it, then back at him, grinning viciously. “I grabbed this without thinking, Jungkook. It’s not about you or your dick.” That was true, sex with him was never bad, not even close, and you both knew it. “What a delicate little ego, Kookie.” You spat the nickname like venom, knowing it’d hit him where it hurt.
His jaw clenched, his grip on his guitar tightening as he threw his head back, mouth opening like he was about to fire back with something nasty. But before he could, Lina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
“Enough, both of you!” she barked from the pit, her hands on her hips, her glare fierce enough to silence the entire stage. Vicky slammed her hands onto her keyboard, the metallic clang ringing out.
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky snapped. “You’re acting like fucking kids.”
Lina’s eyes didn’t waver, her tone cutting.
“Thirty-minute break. Now. I don’t care what you do, cool off, scream, cry, whatever. But get this shit out of your systems. The tour’s barely started, and I’m not babysitting your breakup for the next months. Clear your heads, come back focused, or this show will crash and burn before it even gets going.”
Her words landed like a punch, heavy. No one moved for a moment, the silence suffocating, but Jungkook finally turned away, ripping his guitar strap over his head, muttering something under his breath as he stormed toward the wings. You spun on your heel, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as he carefully set his guitar down, his expression heavy with judgment. Shame burned in your chest. You knew this was ridiculous, childish, but you couldn’t stop. With your chin high, you took long strides toward the exit, desperate to escape the frustrated, disappointed looks from Taehyung, Vicky, and Yoongi. You didn’t need to see their faces to feel the weight of their exhaustion with you and Jungkook.
Now, you walk towards the backstage, surrounded by a massive team working tirelessly to make sure the show would go perfectly, every detail handled to give the fans the best possible experience. But there you were, caught in your own little world with Jungkook, fighting over something stupid again. Even though you both knew you were hurting, your arguments were spilling over, jeopardizing the work of dozens of people.
Your thoughts were cut short when Jungkook’s hand suddenly wrapped around your arm. You startled, flinching back, but before you could react, he pushed open a door behind him, one you hadn’t even realized was there and pulled you inside.
The room was dark and smelled faintly of dust. Stacks of boxes crowded the corners, instrument cases piled on top of one another, mic stands and speaker crates shoved haphazardly against the walls. It was some kind of storage space, cluttered and shadowy, the kind of place you’d never have noticed if he hadn’t dragged you in. But even in the dimness, you could see him, the sharp outline of his body, the white tank clinging to his torso like a spotlight in the dark.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight,” you said quickly as he let go of your arm, closing the door behind you. The room dipped into deeper darkness.
“You don’t want to fight? Wearing that shirt just to humiliate me?” His voice was low, melodic in anger.
“Jungkook” you huffed, rolling your eyes, but he cut you off.
“You think the sex was bad, huh?” His body pressed against yours before you could stop him, your back hitting the wall with a muted thud.
Your eyes widened as you shoved your palms against his chest, keeping what little distance you could manage.
“This isn’t about the fucking shirt!” You shot back, pushing hard against him, trying to shove him off. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. “This is about you acting like an asshole who can’t even hit the right notes anymore.” The words came out sharp, like you were spitting them at him.
He laughed. The sound echoed in the dusty storage room, a low, humorless laugh that made your skin crawl.
“God, the small-dick energy, Jungkook. You used to be better than this.” You knew it would piss him off, and maybe you wanted it to. At this point, you didn’t care. Let him get angry. You were past the point of keeping the peace.
The room was claustrophobic. The noise of the backstage crew, shouts, clanging equipment, felt miles away, muffled by the heavy door, and he was so close. Too fucking close. And, what you hated most wasn’t that he was this close, it was that you couldn’t make yourself push him away. Not because you weren’t strong enough, because a part of you didn’t want to.
His laugh cut through, so sharp and mocking.
“I never saw you complain before,” he said, his voice low, as he pressed himself even closer, his hips locking against yours with deliberate force. The heat of him seared through your clothes, and you bit your lower lip hard, stifling the gasp that threatened to spill out.
“Get off me,” you said, the words sharp but brittle, your palms shoving against his chest.
For a split second, he eased back, just enough to let you think you’d won, but then he surged forward again, his hands clamping onto you, fingers digging in with a possessive grip that made your breath hitch.
“Do you really want that?” Jungkook’s voice was a low murmur, his mouth hovering so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his cologne wrapping around you like a drug. His eyes, glinting in the half-light, locked onto yours.
“I’m fucking done with you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort to hold your ground, your pupils straining against the darkness to catch the mocking spark in his gaze.
“Done with me?” he whispered, his lips grazed yours. His voice dropped lower. “You’re not done with me. You’ll never be.”
Before you could fire back, his lips caught your bottom lip, tugging softly that lasted just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Then, slowly, he stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you cold.
“Go,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes burned, locked on yours, daring you to move.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with Jungkook’s dark eyes pinning you against the wall in that cramped, dusty storage room. You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, then filled your lungs to meet his gaze head-on, defiance burning in your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spat, voice sharp and commanding, leaning forward, but not to escape, but to crash your body into his, harder this time. Your hands slammed against his chest, but he caught your wrists in a reflex, yanking them up mid-air, pulling you closer until your bodies collided again. His hands released your wrists, sliding down to your waist, the movement hiking up your cropped tee, exposing the bare skin of your waist.
The second your bodies pressed together, your mouths followed, but this wasn’t a kiss, it was a battlefield. Lips crushed against each other, his tongue invading your mouth like he owned it, claiming every inch with hunger. You bit down on his lower lip, tugging at the piercing there, and he growled into your mouth, not pulling back. Your tongue pushed against his, lips moving with raw, angry need. Teeth clashed in the tilt of your heads, no rhythm, no finesse, just pure, messy intensity. It was impossible to tell if it was a fight or who the hell was winning.
His fingers trailed up your spine, rough and possessive, until they tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. The motion broke the kiss with a wet noise, leaving your lips red and swollen, your eyes locked on his, chin tilted defiantly.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Jungkook rasped, his free hand slipping under your shirt. His fingers found your pierced nipple, pinching and twisting it with just enough pressure to make you gasp, the sensitivity sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you shot back, as you arched away from his grip, not to escape, but to challenge him.
He smirked, dark and dangerous, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts. His large hands squeezed them hard, rough enough to pull a long, unwilling moan from your throat. You hated how it slipped out, how your body betrayed you, but he reveled in it, groaning in approval as he spun you around, slamming your front against the cold metal door. Your cheek pressed against it, his hands bracketing your waist, his body caging you in, his chest flush against your back, his hips grinding into your ass. You felt his hardening cock through his tight jeans.
“I’ll shut my mouth when I’m done reminding you what a lying slut you are,” he hissed in your ear, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His lips grazed your earlobe, teeth nipping as his hands gripped your hips.
He smelled of sweat and that familiar cologne, the kind that used to make your head spin, and it was intoxicating now, pulling you under despite yourself. You pressed your lips together tight, swallowing any moan or sound of pleasure that might give him the satisfaction he didn’t deserve. Even as your body, half-surrendered to the way his frame pressed against yours, hot, angry, unyielding, you refused to let him know how much you wanted this. Wanted him.
Jungkook ground his hips harder against your ass, the friction deliberate and maddening, and you arched back into him, your body lifting off the wall despite your resolve. His low groan vibrated through you, a sound you hated yourself for craving. His hands moved to your zipper, yanking it down with quick, rough, peeling your jeans off your hips until they pooled at your thighs.
His right hand splayed across your ass, delivering a sharp slap that echoed in the storage room. You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the moan he wanted, but then he slapped the other cheek, then the first again, the stinging heat building until a low whimper slipped out. His smug chuckle followed, dripping with satisfaction, and you hated how it made your pussy clench, your frustration spilling out in a sharp sigh, as his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, sliding along the thin strip of fabric between your cheeks.
“A thong?” he murmured, his voice velvety and taunting, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thought you only wore this shit for special occasions. Did you know you’d end up here, getting fucked against a door? Or was this for Yoongi?”
You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought twice. You’d woken up late, grabbed the first thing after your shower, same as that damn sex with you sucks shirt, and rushed to soundcheck. But his talk about Yoongi lit a fire in your veins, sharp and angry, enough to make you shove your hips back and try to twist around, to face him. Jungkook’s grip tightened, keeping you pinned, his body a wall of heat and control.
“You’re pathetic,” you said, straining to catch his eyes over your shoulder, but the dark and awkward angle hid the mocking glint you knew was there.
He laughed, amused, his hand never pausing. It slid to the front of your panties, two fingers rubbing against the fabric, teasing.
“And you talk too much for someone about to get fucked senseless,” he shot back. Without warning, his fingers slipped under the fabric, gliding through your slick folds, already soaked. You sighed, hating how eagerly your body responded. “So fucking wet for me already,” he growled in your ear, his tongue dragging along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail. You clenched your jaw, but your hips rocked into his touch.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I could get wet for anyone. You’re just here.”
He chuckled, his fingers circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“This pussy’s dripping because it knows who owns it.” He pushed two fingers inside you, rough and sudden, curling them to hit your g spot.
“You—oh, fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers thrust harder, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure and pain blurred together.
His other hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose trailing along your throat, inhaling deeply. You let out a louder whimper, his fingers plunging deeper, maybe too rough, because he paused to murmur:
“Does it hurt?” His voice was calm, almost mocking, with the pressure of his fingers against your pelvic bone, the obscene wet sounds of your pussy echoing in that small room. He groaned softly, clearly pleased. You shook your head, biting back another moan, refusing to give him more. “Want it to hurt?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with menace.
You shook your head once more, pride keeping you from admitting the truth, but it wasn’t convincing, not to him, not to yourself. You loved when it hurt, and so did he. How could you hide that from someone who knew your body better than you did? It was fucking impossible, and God, it pissed you off.
Jungkook’s laugh rumbled against your neck, mocking, dripping with that filthy edge that made your skin burn. Fuck. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the sound, and you felt him smirk, pressing them deeper, grinding against your walls with a slow, deliberate twist that made you see stars. He eased up just enough to circle his fingers fully, groaning low in his throat.
“Fucking liar,” he murmured, his voice with lust. “You’re soaked, clenching around my fingers like you’re starving for it. You want this so bad, don’t you? My cock splitting you open right here.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you right between your legs, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. God, you hated him, hated how much you needed him, how your body betrayed you with every pulse of arousal.
“Just… shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, your voice raw, the defiance melting under the weight of your need. You didn’t want to fight, not when his fingers were driving you insane, not when his hard cock was pressed against your ass. You were craving it, and there was no hiding it anymore.
He let out a hot puff of air against your neck, making you shiver, and yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You whined, your body screaming at the loss, and he slapped your ass hard, making your pussy clench around fucking nothing.
“Needy slut,” he taunted, tugging your thong down completely, the soaked fabric falling to your ankles. “Already begging for my cock. Thought you were tougher than that, baby.”
“Says the guy who dragged me into this shitty room just to fuck me.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, just let out a wicked chuckle that made your skin prickle. You pressed both palms against the door, your body aching for more, craving the feel of him inside you again, but you refused to beg.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, to feel his dick against your ass, but found nothing. Then you heard it, the sharp sound of his zipper coming down, and a mix of desperation and relief flooded you, knowing his cock would soon be buried deep inside you.
His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head to the side, pressing your cheek harder against the door. With his free hand, he slid his index and middle fingers along your lips, sudden and unannounced. The musky scent hit you first, you knew these were the fingers that had been inside your pussy. He smeared the tips across your lips, and they parted instinctively, letting him push his fingers into your mouth.
The taste of yourself hit your tongue, almost sweet, you thought, as he shoved his fingers deeper, forcing them down your throat in a rough motion. You gagged slightly, the intrusion sudden and intense, but you didn’t pull back, sucking instead, your tongue swirling around his fingers.
Meanwhile, his other hand released your hair, and as you worked your mouth up and down his fingers, you felt his cock, hard, hot, pulsing, sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing the center. You couldn’t hold back the moan, needy, almost a whimper, slipping out like a plea.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Jungkook said. “Moaning like that while you suck your own taste off my fingers. You love this, don’t you?” His cock pressed harder, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, the raw heat of him making your core clench with anticipation.
You murmured a curse under your breath, hating how your body betrayed you, responding to him despite every ounce of your resistance. His dirty talk, growled low in your ear, sent shivers down your spine as the tip of his cock teased your entrance, brushing against you, so close to sliding in. It made your defiance feel pointless, almost laughable. But you fought it, pulling your mouth off him with a wet, audible pop, throwing your head back and swallowing hard, your voice rough with arousal.
“Fuck me hard,” you demanded, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Jungkook’s hand gripped your cheeks, forcing your lips to purse as his fingers pressed into your skin. He leaned in, his cock aligning perfectly with your pussy, his voice a low whisper in your ear.
“Open that fucking mouth.” You squeezed your eyes shut, too far gone to think straight, obeying without question. You heard the wet sound of him gathering saliva, then felt the warm, slick liquid hit your lower lip, pooling on your tongue. “Swallow,” he ordered. You did, his saliva sliding down your throat without a second thought, the act filthy in a way that made you clench. You opened your mouth again, letting out a shaky breath as he murmured, “Good girl.”
“Goddamn it, just fuck me already,” you snapped, exasperated by his teasing, his voice, his everything. You loved the way he talked, the way your body reacted, or at least you used to. Jungkook always knew exactly what to say to drive you crazy, to make you lose yourself completely, but right now, his voice pissed you off. You didn’t need his words, his smugness, his presence, just his cock, nothing else.
He didn’t make you ask again. With one hard thrust, he pushed into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, a loud, desperate moan escaping as your eyes squeezed shut, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to his size. Your body had missed this, missed him, no matter how much you hated admitting it. You rolled your hips deliberately, matching his rhythm as he moved, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping the bones to hold you steady. His low, throaty groans vibrated against your skin, syncing with each deep thrust.
It had been so long since you’d fucked, since the breakup, since him. Your vibrator could never compare, no matter how self-sufficient you prided yourself on being. Jungkook was Jungkook, and he knew exactly how to fuck you.
He rested his chin between your shoulder and neck, his lips brushing your ear, his moans soft but raw at the same time. His breath was hot, making you moan louder, your voice melodic and needy in a way you despised. You tried to control it, to bite back the sounds, but it was useless, your body was his, and it always had been.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice thick with lust, his hips snapping harder, the cases next to your left, rattling with each thrust. “So fucking tight, like you were made for me. You love this, don’t you? Love how I fuck you raw, how I make you scream.”
“Jungkook,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the cold metal of the door, your body trembling as he hit your g spot again, with his dick now, over and over.
For a moment, you wanted to turn around, to claw at his muscled back, to mark his skin, to leave proof of this on him. The plasure, the hate. But you couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see his parted lips, his dark eyes, the way his teeth caught his lip piercing in the dim light. Even in the near-darkness of the storage room, you didn’t want to risk meeting his gaze, didn’t want to see the intensity in his eyes as he fucked you.
“Don—don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.
“Stop?” He laughed, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, “Not a fucking chance.” His hands slid to your ass, gripping tight, his body grinding against yours, driving himself deeper with every thrust, hitting so deep it felt like he was carving himself into you.
His lips trailed down your neck, and you opened your eyes, seeing only the shadowed outlines of equipment cases and the flex of his shoulders behind you. Your breath came in heavy pants, his lip piercing grazing your skin as he sucked hard on your pulse point, the pressure painful. You hissed, almost jerking away, but he held you firm, his teeth grazing just enough to sting. He was marking you, claiming you, that fucking bastard, and you hated how it made your body respond, your ass pushing back against him.
You wanted to moan his name, to beg for more, knowing he’d give it to you, harder, deeper, exactly how you needed it. But you bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as your walls clenched tight around him, feeling every inch, every vein, his cock pulsing inside you. Fuck. You hated Jungkook with every fiber of your being, but your body didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about your pride.
You swallowed a moan, then another, your lips pressed tight as he slowed his thrusts deliberately, going deeper, so deep it felt like he was trying to bury himself in you. His hips slammed against yours, the force drawing a small, involuntary whimper from your lips. You felt his smirk against your skin as he repeated the motion, quick and brutal, like he wanted you’d feel him for days.
Jungkook groaned low, long as he tugged your hair again, hard enough to tilt your head back. His grip loosened only to slide his hand down to your throat, his long fingers wrapping around your neck, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. God, you really hated how his touch set you on fire, hated how you craved it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds he was pulling from you, but he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingertips pressing into your larynx.
“Trying to be a quiet slut now?” he taunted, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside you, a torturous pause. “You used to not give a fuck who heard you, baby. What’s wrong? Scared the crew’s gonna know you’re getting fucked by me in here, right after we fought? Scared they’ll know you can’t live without my cock?”
You whimpered, the sound pathetic and needy. Your hand fell from your mouth, your body trembling as he started moving again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made your knees buckle.
“Fuck you,” you managed, but it was weak, barely audible, your voice shaking with the effort to hold back.
He laughed, filthy, as he thrust harder.
“Oh, I’m fucking you. And you love it. Look at you, taking me so well.” His hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin, the pressure mixing with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.
His free hand slid between your thighs, the frantic collision of your hips, finding your clit, swollen, sensitive, and aching. His fingers circled it once more, rough, and you, moaning loud, not caring anymore. You weren’t going to last much longer, and neither was he. His groans had shifted from angry, dense, and guttural, almost high-pitched, needy and desperate. You knew that sound, knew the way his thrusts grew faster, his cock barely pulling out, too fast to hold back.
His movements were sloppy but precise, enough to make your eyes roll back, his hand still on your throat, the other rubbing your clit without any real pattern, just raw, chaotic pressure.
Before you could register it, Jungkook’s lips were on your neck again, this time on the other side, sucking hard, leaving another stinging mark until the sharp pull of his mouth made you grunt. Your hand shot to his thigh, and, with nowhere else to grip, you dug your nails into his skin, harder with each thrust, marking him as fiercely as he marked you.
Your moans mingled with his, unfiltered, his balls slapping against your ass as you felt him release inside you, hot spurts filling you, pushing you over the edge. You gasped, your hips grinding back against him, your walls pulsing desperately around Jungkook’s cock as you came, moaning, grunting, whimpering, completely out of control. The pleasure stretched on, long and overwhelming, your body shaking against the door.
Your mouth was dry, your lips parted and panting, his hands now resting gently on your body, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that had left your core burning. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you, his dick still twitching faintly.
Then you felt it, his forehead against your shoulder, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin, his lips grazing your shoulder in a soft, fleeting touch that felt too intimate, too tender for what this was.
You tugged your shirt back down, shifting slightly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Maybe he snapped out of it too, coming down from the high, because he finally pulled out, leaving you empty, aching, not just from the absence of his cock, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. You hated him, hated this, yet part of you ached for more, for his arms around you, his lips on yours, soft and loving like they used to be. You didn’t understand why you wanted it, why you craved that old Jungkook, the one who loved you, not this asshole he’d become.
You pulled your panties and jeans back up, still facing the door, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The rustle of fabric behind you told you he was doing the same, zipping up his jeans in the heavy silence.
“Don’t ever wear that fucking shirt again,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You froze for a moment, your hand on the door handle, the words sinking in, but thn you turned your head slightly, not enough to face him, just enough to let him know you’d heard.
“I’ll think about it,” you said, your voice cool, defiant.
His breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected the pushback, but he didn’t respond. You pushed the door open and slipped out.
