Silly Grot

20

[leriexoxo]

Truths Are For Pussies

Enemy! Changbin x Reader

Tags: smut, enemies to lovers, sexting, nudes, public groping, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Dom Changbin, rough sex, breeding kink, soft aftercare

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: A drunk dare. One obscene nude you should’ve deleted months ago. You send it to the loudmouth classmate you hate most—Changbin. What you don’t expect? His filthy response. Or how fast it spirals into late-night thirst traps, voice notes, and him promising to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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You didn’t even want to go out that night.

It had been one of those weeks—back-to-back deadlines, sleepless nights, and that argument with Changbin during Tuesday’s group presentation that had left you pacing your room afterward, teeth clenched, cheeks hot.

He was too much.

Too loud. Too confident. Too all over the place.

Every class, every group chat, every hallway you tried to exist in—he was there. Smirking. Teasing. Rolling his eyes at your notes, talking over you during discussions, always finding ways to get under your skin like it was a personal hobby.

But your girls had insisted. “You need a break. You need tequila.”

So you’d gone.

Lip gloss, crop top, shots lined up like soldiers.

By midnight, the living room was a haze of heat and laughter. Someone had started a game of truth or dare with twisted rules. Everyone was half-drunk and full of bad ideas.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment your turn came and the bottle pointed at you, a few smirks lit up around the circle like a warning.

“Okay,” Layla grinned, “truth or dare?”

You hesitated. Truth was safe. Predictable. But everyone had been choosing it all night, and you’d mocked them for it. Now it was your turn to be bold.

“Dare.”

Layla didn’t hesitate.

“Send a nude to Seo Changbin… or run a full lap around the football field naked. With a suction dildo stuck to your forehead.”

The room howled.

Someone immediately got up to rummage in a drawer. “I have the dildo!”

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to laugh it off, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?”

“You’ve got beef with him, right?” someone snorted.

“This is perfect.”

“You’re always bickering, it’ll shake him up.”

It wasn’t the nudity that scared you. It wasn’t even Changbin.

It was what was already in your camera roll.

A photo you’d taken months ago during a particularly filthy night, when you were feeling reckless and painfully needy. The lights had been low, your skin warm, your thoughts wicked. You’d spread yourself wide open on the sheets, wet and glistening, lips parted, your own fingers pulling at your skin. Your face was in it. Your expression ruined.

You had stared at it afterward, thinking: This is too much. No one can ever see this.

But you hadn’t deleted it.

And now… your hand hovered over it. Over the send button. The whole room was watching you, waiting.

You felt drunk. Braver than you should’ve been.

So you said, too calmly, “Fine.”

And tapped send.

It only took thirty seconds for regret to sink in like poison.

What had you just done?

He was going to lose his mind. Or worse, not react at all. He could ruin you. Show people. Mock you in class. Bring it up next time you tried to speak during a lecture.

You curled into the couch, face hot, eyes burning from the alcohol and the humiliation chewing through your stomach. Your phone buzzed once.

Then twice.

You turned it over.

Changbin 💢:

Did you mean to send that?

You stared at your phone like it had grown teeth.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Every possible answer felt wrong. You almost typed “ignore it”, but deleted it. Then you typed:

“It was a dare. Just forget it.”

Another ping.

Changbin 💢:

That’s not the kind of photo you send as a dare.

You swallowed.

Your face was burning. All the background noise in the living room—the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—faded to a soft murmur. The heat of the dare was starting to wear off, replaced by a sick rush of adrenaline and humiliation.

Changbin 💢:

Jesus fucking Christ.

I… I didn’t know you looked like that.

You’ve been walking around class with that between your legs?

You tightened your thighs instinctively.

You typed:

“It was a stupid dare. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go.

Changbin 💢:

You already had that pic?

That wasn’t a selfie. That was planned.

You took that for someone. You were gonna send it eventually.

You bit your lip.

“It’s old. I never sent it to anyone.”

Changbin 💢:

That makes it worse.

You paused.

“Why?”

Changbin 💢:

Because I’ve never wanted to fuck someone I hate more than I do right now.

You looked so good. So fucking wet. Like you needed someone to take care of it.

You blinked.

Your stomach flipped. The burn between your legs sharpened. You weren’t sure if it was arousal or pure nerves—probably both.

“This is insane.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re still the asshole who makes me want to throw things in class.”

You deleted it all.

Instead:

“You’ve seen it now. Can you just forget it?”

The reply came back instantly.

Changbin 💢:

No fucking way.

Changbin 💢:

You’re seriously gonna act like you didn’t send that on purpose? Like you don’t want me thinking about it?

Changbin 💢:

You want me hard for you, don’t you?

“No.” “Fuck off.” “Stop.”

You didn’t send any of those.

“You’re full of yourself.”

Changbin 💢:

Nah, princess. You’re the one dripping in that pic, not me.

You closed your eyes.

He was unraveling you.

The way he talked in person was always irritating—too loud, too smug. But here? In text? At 1:03 a.m.?

He was… different. Sharper. Controlled. Bold in a way that went straight to your core.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk.”

Changbin 💢:

You think I need you drunk for this?

I’d still be hard for you even if we were sober in the library.

You bit back a noise.

Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily.

Changbin 💢:

You want me to send something back? Would that make it fair? Even the score?

Your fingers twitched.

“You’re bluffing.”

Changbin 💢:

Try me.

Your pulse quickened.

“You’re not actually going to—”

Ping.

The photo loaded slowly.

Dark sweatpants. No shirt. His abs were tight, skin glowing with a warm amber sheen like he’d taken the pic right after a workout. His hand tugged the waistband down low, and the bulge beneath was unmistakable—huge, thick, pressed to the fabric like it was dying to be freed.

You inhaled, sharp.

The outline of his cock was ridiculous. Heavy. Thick at the base, curving up. The tip clearly outlined. The kind of size that made your body react before your brain caught up.

And his caption?

Changbin 💢:

Now you can imagine what’s gonna fill you the next time you talk back in class.

You didn’t realize your mouth had gone dry until you swallowed hard.

Someone from the living room called your name. “Babe! Your turn!”

“I’ll be right back,” you called, voice strained.

You grabbed your phone, pushed off the couch, and disappeared into the hallway. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere you could breathe.

And think.

And maybe—just maybe—look again.

Because for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t sure if you hated him… or if you just didn’t know what to do with how badly you suddenly wanted him.

—

You thought you could outlast the tension.

After the photo he sent—the dick print, the way it looked too big to even be real, the caption that made your thighs clench—you told yourself it was just late-night chaos. That once the sun came up, you could pretend it hadn’t happened.

You left him on read.

Muted the conversation.

Avoided every look in class, kept your expression cold, distant.

But Changbin?

He was different now.

Quieter. Sharper. Dangerous.

He still joked with the guys. Still sat in the same row as always. But whenever your eyes flicked up, he was watching you—really watching. Like he could still see that photo of you spread open and dripping every time you bit your lip or crossed your legs.

And when your professor assigned a partner project and called out his name alongside yours?

You knew it was over.

Later that afternoon, the library was quiet. Too quiet. The air between you was thick with something unsaid as you stood beside where he sat, laptops open, pretending to focus.

You tried not to look at him.

Tried not to remember the outline of his cock stretching grey fabric. The way he’d said “what’s gonna fill you next time you talk back in class.”

Your body hadn’t forgotten.

You’d touched yourself to that image more times than you were ready to admit.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”

“Right.”

“That’s what you were doing the other night too, huh? Working?”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t take you for the type to keep that kind of photo in your phone. Or was it just waiting for someone better to see it?”

You finally turned. “Are you done?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, smirking—but something darker hid behind his eyes. He leaned in towards you, low and quiet.

“No. Not even close.”

You didn’t notice when he stood. But you did feel it when he moved behind you.

At first, it was just his hand brushing your shoulder as he leaned to peek at your screen.

Then he didn’t move away.

Instead, you felt the heavy press of his chest behind you. His palm slid slowly—casually—over your back. Lower. Resting at the curve of your waist.

And then he shifted—just slightly—and you felt it.

The unmistakable weight of him.

Hard. Thick. Pressed right up against your ass.

Your breath hitched.

“Miss me?” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?”

“Because this…” his hand flattened against your hip, pulling you subtly back into his body, into his cock—“says otherwise.”

You should’ve shoved him.

Should’ve snapped, slapped, screamed.

But your body betrayed you.

Your thighs clenched. Your breathing went shallow.

And when his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you didn’t move away.

If anything—you leaned back.

“You liked it,” he murmured, lips just behind your ear.

“You liked knowing I saw you like that. That I wanted to fuck you from the second that photo lit up my screen.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “But your body doesn’t agree.”

His hand slid lower, palm resting on your ass now—really grabbing, squeezing, like it was his already. He rutted against you once, slow, just enough to let you feel the size of him again.

You gasped, barely holding in the noise.

“Poor thing,” he whispered.

“Trying so hard to act like you don’t want this cock stretching you open.”

You closed your eyes. “We’re in a fucking library.”

“And you’re soaked,” he growled. “Aren’t you?”

You were.

You hated him for it.

But God—you wanted more.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Tell me you don’t want me pushing these panties to the side and sliding in right here.”

You didn’t say anything.

And neither did your body.

Because for the first time, you weren’t sure who was in control—him, or the ache between your legs screaming for more.

His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—fingers flexing into the curve of your hips like he wanted to memorize the way you fit under his hands.

You told yourself to move.

To snap out of it.

To shove his cocky ass away and slap the heat off your face.

But instead… you shifted.

Barely. Subtly. Almost like a breath.

Your hips arched back just the tiniest bit—and you felt him twitch.

Big. Hot. Hard against you.

And god help you, you did it again.

This time, he chuckled. Low and raspy.

“Keep doing that and I’m gonna take it personally.”

His voice buzzed against the shell of your ear, warm and wicked.

“I can swear you’re wet.”

“I’m not,” you breathed, barely able to form the words.

“No?”

One of his hands slid from your hip, slipping lower, slow and deliberate. Your skirt offered no protection—his fingers eased beneath the hem with practiced ease, knuckles brushing your thigh.

“Then you won’t mind if I check.”

You gasped. “Changbin—”

But it was too late.

His hand slid up. Under your skirt. Under your panties.

And then—his fingers paused.

Right at your slit.

Slick. Dripping. Heat soaked through cotton and flushed onto his fingertips.

He let out a quiet groan, something dark and pleased.

“Fuck me…”

You froze.

“You’re soaked.”

You should’ve died of embarrassment.

Instead, you whimpered—barely, breath catching in your throat. Your thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but his hand was already there, slipping further, middle finger pressing through the wetness and parting you open.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “Fighting me in public, dripping for me in private.”

“You can’t—” you whispered, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“I can,” he said. “And I am.”

His fingertip circled your entrance, not quite pushing in. Just enough to tease. To test how badly your body wanted him.

And it did.

God, it did.

“All this just from my picture?” he murmured. “You really are a dirty little thing.”

“Changbin, we’re—someone could—”

“Then stay quiet,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “Be a good girl and let me feel what you’ve been hiding from me.”

You squirmed against him, helpless. His hard-on grinding into your ass. His hand between your legs. Your body betraying everything your mouth refused to say.

But then—he pulled back. Slow. Measured and wicked.

“Not here,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

You let out a shaky exhale, unsure if it was relief or frustration.

“You’re not ready.”

He said it like a promise. Even more like a plan.

—

That night, your phone lit up before midnight.

Changbin 💢

You touching yourself right now?

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach.

“No.”

A lie.

You’d been thinking about his finger, barely there, slicking through your folds. The way he pressed against you like he could fuck you through your clothes. The restraint he showed—pulling away just when you were about to lose it.

Changbin 💢:

Liar. You were dripping earlier. You think that goes away?

Changbin 💢:

You want help?

Your breath caught.

Then another message.

📷 An image.

A mirror selfie. Taken low. No shirt. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. But this time… no filter, no teasing.

His cock was hard. So obvious. Thick and curving up in those grey sweats, the head visibly straining against the fabric. His hand was wrapped around the base, gripping himself through the material.

Your core clenched.

Changbin 💢:

You made me like this. Do something about it.

Another ping.

🎧An audio file.

You hesitated… then tapped.

His voice—low, breathless, filthy—filled your room.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

You bit your knuckle.

“Bet you’re wet again just hearing this.”

You were.

And you knew damn well… this was only the beginning because it was obvious that you knew you should stop.

Mute the chat. Turn your phone off. Go to sleep.

But instead, you hit play again.

Changbin’s voice filled your room for the second time, low and unsteady.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

Your hand had already slipped under the waistband of your shorts. Shame curled hot in your chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

Not with his voice saying things like that.

Not when your body was still aching from what he’d done in the library.

You typed, hesitant:

“You’re a menace.”

Changbin 💢:

And you’re quiet. You touching yourself again?

“No.”

Changbin 💢:

You’re such a bad liar.

Another ping. Another message.

Changbin 💢:

Say my name once, and I’ll show you the real thing. But let me hear how down bad you are first.

Your legs squeezed together.

He wasn’t letting up.

Not just the teasing — the control. The way he peeled you open without even being in the same room. It was like he’d figured out every weakness you had and was pressing on all of them at once.

You typed:

“You want me to say your name?”

Changbin 💢:

Just once. Out loud. Right now.

I know you’re touching yourself, i just want to hear you.

Your heart pounded. You stared at the audio reply button. Your thumb hovered.

“I’m not sending you a voice note.”

Changbin 💢:

Why not?

You’re already soaked. Already picturing it, aren’t you?

Changbin 💢:

Me pulling your legs apart. Spitting on your pussy.

Sliding in nice and slow while you beg me to ruin it.

You let out a shaky breath.

Changbin 💢:

C’mon, baby.

Be a good girl and let me hear how badly you want it.

The words good girl punched straight through your resolve.

Your finger hovered over the record button.

You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t script it. But at the back of your mind, you knew shouldn’t have done it.

You knew the second you hit record—you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the heat in your stomach, the ache between your legs, the way Changbin’s voice still echoed in your ears? It all left you trembling.

So you moaned. You whimpered.

And you said his name.

“Changbin…”

You sounded so fucking needy. So shameless and desperate.

Exactly how you felt.

You hit send with your heart in your throat, thighs clenched tight around your own hand. And then you waited—seconds dragging, breath caught in your chest.

Then: ping.

🎥A video.

No caption. No warning.

You hesitated, pulse in your ears, then tapped it.

The first thing you saw was skin—his hand, wrapped tight around the base of his cock. Thick. Hard. Heavy. His head was a darker shade of his skin, glistening with precum, veins running thick along the shaft.

The next thing you heard?

His voice. Ragged. Strained.

“This what you want, baby?”

He was filming from above, cock in his fist, his abs flexing as he pumped slowly, steadily. Each stroke was loud and wet. His hand moved like he was imagining you were already wrapped around him—tight, dripping, ruined.

“Been jerking off since you moaned my name,” he growled. “You sound so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

“Wanna cum in you so bad,” he panted. “Wanna watch it drip out of you. Want you to feel it for days.”

And then—he grunted. Shuddered.

And came.

Ropes of it. Thick spurts shooting across his abs, the head of his cock twitching violently in his grip.

“That’s all for you,” he breathed, voice wrecked.“Next time, I’m doing that inside.”

The video ended, but you were done for.

You stared at your screen like it had punched you in the stomach. Heat licked down your spine. Your hand had slipped between your legs again before you even realized it.

You replayed the video.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You wanted to taste it. Feel it. Be under it.

Then your screen lit up again.

Changbin 💢:

You still there?

Your fingers trembled. You didn’t even overthink it.

You typed:

“I need you.”

[📍Location Shared]

And hit send.

—

You barely had time to think.

One knock. That’s all it took.

You opened the door and he was on you—mouth crashing into yours, body pinning you flat against the wall like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

He kissed like a man possessed.

Like your voice note had ruined him. Like your moan had carved something primal into his chest and he couldn’t shake it loose.

His tongue slid past your lips, rough and greedy, tasting you like he had to claim you first.

“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “Took you long enough.”

You barely had time to respond—his hands were already under your shirt, palming your tits like they were his, thumbs flicking your nipples until you whimpered.

“This all for me?” he asked, breath hot.

“This pussy been soaking since the second I sent that video?”

You gasped as he shoved one leg between yours, grinding up against your clothed heat—his cock already hard, pressing through his sweats like a weapon.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Can’t wait anymore.”

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you into your own apartment without breaking the kiss, and dropped you—hard—onto the kitchen counter.

Before you could speak, your shorts were yanked down and off. Your panties, too. Ripped aside with one rough pull.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered as he spread you open. “Look at this wet little pussy. So damn ready for me.”

“You’re such a—”

“Say it,” he snarled, two fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit just right.

“Say it while I ruin you.”

You choked on a moan, hips jerking up. His fingers dipped inside—thick, slow, curling—testing you.

“Tight,” he hissed. “So fuckin’ tight already.

How the hell you gonna take my cock, baby?”

You looked down—and froze.

He’d pushed his sweats down just enough, and there it was. All of it.

His cock was thick. Long. Veiny. Angry-red at the tip, already leaking. You’d seen the outline. You’d watched him stroke it on video. But up close?

It was fucking terrifying.

And you wanted every inch.

“I’m gonna mess you up real pretty.” he whispered, dragging the head through your slick folds.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Changbin—fuck—”

“What’s that, princess?” he smirked. “You scared of this cock now?”

“Shut the fuck up and give it to me.”

That was all he needed.

He lined up and slammed in—

The stretch was obscene. Your back arched, a broken cry ripped from your throat. He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. He bottomed out in one brutal stroke, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped against you.

“FUCK,” he growled, head dropping to your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s squeezing the shit outta me.”

You clawed at his back, desperate to breathe, but it felt too good. The way he filled you—so deep, so thick—you felt him in your stomach.

“Took it all, huh?” he rasped, pulling back just to thrust in harder. “Greedy little thing.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he was punishing you for every time you rolled your eyes in class. For every time you told him to shut up.

You were moaning like a pornstar—loud, shameless, wrecked—as he pounded into you on the kitchen counter, sweat dripping, his abs flexing with every thrust.

“You were made for this cock,” he groaned. “Fucking built to take it like a good girl.”

He pulled out suddenly, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into the living room.

“Bed’s too far. Couch. Now.”

You stumbled, legs shaking. He bent you over the armrest, slapped your ass once—hard—and buried himself inside again with a brutal snap of his hips.

“This ass…” he groaned. “You know how many times I’ve stared at it in class?”

“Wanted to fuck you bent over all the damn desks.”

Your moans were broken now—choked sobs of pleasure every time his hips slammed into you.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, not too tight—just enough to own you.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Big cock splitting you open. My hand on your neck. My cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Changbin, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

His grip tightened. His thrusts turned savage.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he warned. “I want it leaking down your thighs when you go to class tomorrow. I want everyone to know this pussy’s mine.”

You clenched around him—hard—and he lost it.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—”

He came deep inside you, groaning like he was unraveling from the core. Hot spurts filling you up, cock twitching inside your walls.

You collapsed forward, shaking.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out, flipped you onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.

“Need to taste you.”

His tongue went straight to your core, licking up his own mess, spreading it across your folds as he devoured you like he’d starved for days.

“Not leaving till you cum on my face.”

And you did.

Screaming his name. Shaking. Barely able to think.

Your first mistake had been sending that photo.

But your biggest mistake?

Letting him in.

Because now?

You’d never get him out.

—

You couldn’t move.

You were sprawled out on your back on the rug, blinking at the ceiling, your entire body throbbing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you. You felt wrecked in the best, most glorious way.

And yet—somehow—Changbin was the one panting like he’d just gone through hell.

He lay beside you, arm thrown over his face dramatically.

“I’m filing a formal complaint,” he groaned. “Your pussy should come with a fucking warning label.”

You wheezed out a laugh.

“Says the guy who just broke my uterus.”

He turned his head, looked at you.

And melted.

The shift was instant—his gaze softened, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. He scooted closer, propped himself on one elbow, and brushed your sweaty hair off your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle. “Like… really okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. Then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheekbone—everywhere but your lips, like he was saving those for dessert.

“I swear I didn’t mean to fuck you like a caveman,” he mumbled. “I blacked out. You made that sound and I was just—gone.”

“You were terrifying,” you whispered, smiling. “In the hottest possible way.”

That made him grin.

He reached over for the hoodie he’d left slung on the chair and helped you into it—actually helped, like lifting your arms, guiding it over your head, kissing your shoulder once it was on.

Then he grabbed a warm towel, knelt between your legs, and started cleaning you up with the softest, most careful touch.

“Can’t have my girl leaking all over the carpet,” he murmured.

“Your girl?”

He looked up with a cocky smirk.

“You just let me raw dog you and you screamed my name for the neighbors, baby. Don’t play shy now.”

You tried to glare, but he leaned forward and kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m taking you slower. Gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re already thinking about next time?”

He glanced up at you with a boyish little shrug.

“I think about you all the time.”

Your heart stuttered. Because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded real. Raw. Like the truth.

He saw your expression shift and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple.

“Not just the sex,” he murmured.

“I think about you when you fight with the professor. When you tie your hoodie strings in knots. When you roll your eyes at me like you always do.”

“Binnie—”

“I like you,” he whispered.

Simple. Honest.

And it hit you harder than any orgasm.

You buried your face in his chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, one big palm cupping the back of your head like he could hide you there forever.

“You hungry?” he murmured.

“Starving.”

“Good. I got us pizza and fried chicken.”

You looked up. “You really ordered food while I was moaning your name?”

He smirked. “Actually did it on my way here but I can multitask baby.”

You laughed into his chest, and he kissed your head again.

When the food arrived, you sat curled in his lap, eating from his chopsticks while he kissed sauce off your lips between bites.

Later, when you were tucked into bed and halfway to sleep, he whispered:

“You were fucking perfect tonight.”

“I’m gonna be addicted to you now.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just pulled his arm tighter around you and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Because you already were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Its been a hot minute without a Binnie smut 💪🏻 How are we liking this cute little enemies to lovers?? 🤭❤️

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[maho6any]

hands to yourself- c. jongho

kinktober- day seven

warnings: degradation, mean names, rough sex, restraints, jealous jongho, etc.

a/n: meanie jongho... my girl weiner is haarddd.

enjoy.

He was usually so gentle with you, attentive and caring, and attuned to your every want and need. The perfect boyfriend, you could have never asked for anyone better.

But you decided to test those limits. You wanted to piss Jongho off.

Maybe you went about it a bit unfairly, but in your defense, there wasn't much you could do wrong in Jongho's eyes. However, you learned that flirting with his friends while he sat across the table, unable to snatch you up and put you in your place, was certainly an exception.

Sitting next to Yeosang, you brushed his arm here and there, leaning a little too close when he showed you something on his phone. Smiling a little too sultrily at his jokes.

Jongho picked up on all of this, and mission accomplished.

He was fucking pissed.

When you both made it back home after dinner, you walked into your shared bedroom, and Jongo wasted no time.

"And what exactly was all that?" He asked, tone clipped. He looked mad, but his voice was still gentle, posture still relaxed, a telltale sign you really overstepped.

It was his eyes that told you everything, the fire of jealousy that burned in them. You sort of felt bad, and yet you played with the fire anyway.

"What was what?" You asked, turning and sitting on your bed, facing him, legs crossed, innocence danced across your face.

He said nothing, only raising an eyebrow at your incredulousness, like he was giving you another chance to change your answer. A way out. An escape.

You didn't bat an eye.

He smiled, gently. "Okay," he spoke quietly, and the fire in his eyes disappeared. "Fine, you want to play that game with me?"

You realized that maybe you really did play too much, and you stood, regret painted over your face as you walked forward, arm outstretched to cup his face.

"Jongho, I didn't mean-"

He stepped away from your touch, unexpectedly, like you were a germ he didn't want on him. Confusion all over your face, he only looked down at you, nodding his head at the ground.

"Knees. Now." You didn't dare disobey.

You quietly and slowly sank to your knees in front of him, and Jongho's eyes followed you as you fell below, small and meek.

He crouched down so he was eye level with you, tilting his head, and his smile was gone. His voice was a low, dangerous murmur. "You think you're allowed to touch on my friends just to get a rise out of me, sweetheart?" You swallowed and shook your head.

"Really?" he walked around you and walked into the closet, returning with a navy blue silk ribbon. "Because it looked to me as if that was exactly what you thought. Hands."

Lifting your hands in front of you, Jongho wrapped the silk around your wrists, tying it nice and tight, binding your hands together in front of your chest.

"Since you think that you're allowed to touch whoever you want, whenever you want, guess what?"

He dropped your wrists, and his hand slid beneath your chin, gripping it tightly, squeezing your cheeks and puckering your lips in his hold, craning your neck upward as your eyes locked with his, his towering above you.

"You don't get to touch at all." He shook your head back and forth like you were a broken toy he was trying to shake back to life.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Sliding his hand up the side of your neck, with faux gentle touch, he wrapped your hair around his thick fingers and tugged, guiding you off your knees.

"Lie on the bed, back on the mattress, head hanging over the edge. Don't waste my time."

You obeyed, walking over to the bed, lying on it so your head hung over the edge of the mattress upside down. Jongho watched as he unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down and freeing his cock, walking towards you as he stroked himself languidly.

Your hands wriggled in your restraints against your chest, and you could feel the blood beginning to pool in your head as Jongho stood over you, letting his tip rest against your soft lips.

"Since you wanna act like a whore right in front of me, then I'm going to fuck your throat like I’m paying you to be here. Understand?" You nod, but clearly that wasn't enough for him.

He landed a burning slap against your cheek, the sting subsiding quickly enough as it came. "I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, I'm sorry-"

"I don't give a shit what you think." He interrupted, before promptly slipping the tip of his cock past your lips, sliding into your mouth, groaning the feeling of your warm tongue against him.

His hands found their way to the base of your neck, right above your collarbone, holding your head still as he slowly thrusted further down your throat, laughing when you gagged around him. Tears welled in your eyes, wrists continuing to writhe against their constraints, your thighs rubbing together as wetness gathered.

Jongho clicked his tongue; his expression was less than pleased, but the way his cock throbbed in your mouth told you how he really felt. "And you're turned on by this?" He bucked his hips, hard, and you exhaled hard out of your nose as his tip kissed the back of your throat.

"Desperate slut, if you needed me to put you in your place, you could've just asked."

Setting a pace, Jongho fucked your throat angrily, his hands gripping the base of your neck, ignoring your breathless gags and pathetic whines. Drool bubbled at the corner of your mouth, tears welled in your eyes as your hands flailed helplessly in their binds.

"Then again, stupid girls like you don't like using their words, do they?" He pulled his cock out of your mouth, letting you take in a couple of gasping breaths before he slipped himself back inside, and face fucking you with a vigor akin to a punishment.

"So since my girl wants to be fucking stupid, you can keep your filthy hands to yourself for once, and let me use you until I'm satisfied."

And use you he did.

He would slow his thrusts only to just barely tease you with the promise of oxygen, only to push himself deeper. Slip his cock out of your mouth and slap the tip on your tongue while you gasped for oxygen, your eyes heavy lidded from all the blood flow, your chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Even when you wanna be a brat you just can’t help but relent to me. Your body knows who you belong to.”

Once he decided he had had enough fun with your throat, he flipped you over so your head lay against the pillows, lips coated in spit and precum, eyes hazy, just dopey looking.

Without warning, he slid his spit-slick cock into your cunt, a gasp ripped from your sore throat as he immediately began to fuck into you angrily, punctuating each of his strokes by dragging his nail down soft flesh of your tummy, leaving red scratches, like he was tallying each deep drag of his cock you could take with your body.

Your hands reached out to try and touch his arms as they gripped your hips iron tight, fucking your body down onto him.

Jongho pulled his hand from your stomach and landed a slap directly on your clit, a rather hard one that stung like fire, before it melted into a brain melting pleasure.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself." He groaned, landing a second slap on your clit as your hand retreated back until it pressed against your chest once again. His hand came up and gripped your wrists where they were bound, pressing your hands against your chest, using it as leverage to further piston himself rougher and deeper into your pussy, slightly restricting your airflow.

"Shut your mouth. Learn to listen." His eyes were concentrated, watching your every move, how his cock slipped in and out of you with disgusting ease, from how soaked you were from him throat fucking you.

Breathing heavily, barely making any noise, it was almost scary, as he used you for his pleasure, taking out that rage you instilled in him and fucking it right back into you.

You were bruised, barely conscious, countless orgasms ripped from you, he edged you over and over until you couldn't stop yourself from begging you to let you cum. In his eyes at the moment, you were not his soft, fragile girlfriend. You were a task. A project, he needed to fuck you straight, fix that attitude, and show you why your behavior was unacceptable.

And of course, opening your mouth was your first mistake.

"Fine, you wanna cum so badly slut? Go ahead, cum yourself stupid on my dick, and I'll make sure tonight ends with you blacked out on my cock like you deserve. I'll fuck you till you're completely useless." You couldn't help it, you fell apart with a pathetic whine, cumming so hard around him your vision blacked and your body twitched. You made no noise, just a few gasping breaths as it washed over you.

Jongho did not stop. He flipped your body over, face pressed into the pillow, hands bound as your chest pressed them into the mattress, ass in the air as he continued to pound into you from behind, your screams muffled in the soft fabric.

Mean and ruthless, Jongho used your body like a malleable doll, landing slap after punishing slap against your sore behind, pulling countless orgasms out of you like he was trying to reach a high score on your pussy.

One after one after one, one hour after another, pussy sore and body throbbing, until thoughts no longer formed in your brain, you were just a mindless sack of bones, drooling all over the pillow, forced to let him feel you out, trying new angles and new positions to keep you cumming, to keep you from numbing up on him so he could genuinely fuck you until you were basically out of commission.

“‘M s-sorry!” You sobbed loudly, Jongho’s hand roughly wound through your tangled hair, yanking your head side to side. Broken moans and pathetic whimpers fell from your bruised lips, Jongho’s thick cock impaling you over and over without a single regard for the way your body ached and your voice burned.

“Aww…” he clicked his tongue again, dropping your head against the mattress, watching as you flopped helplessly, unable to keep yourself upright any longer. “She’s sorry? My dumb girl is sorry? If only I could find it in me to care. Maybe if you came again. Cum on my cock again slut, maybe then I’ll forgive you.”

Stretching you out with each drag of his hips, you cum around him once again, soaking the sheets when you squirt all over yourself. Jongho chuckled, rolling his neck with a loud pop, his hips never slowing their brutal train of movement.

“Nope, still don’t forgive you. Maybe one more? C'mon, keep trying. Beg me to forgive you. Don’t get lazy on me now.” He groaned when you squeezed around him like a vice, gripping your hip even tighter, pressing the palm of his hand flat against your lower back, forcing you to arch further for him.

You pouted, sobs of overstimulation wrecking your spent body, face pressed into the mattress like a pathetic princess. Jongho slowed his strokes, shoving his cock deep inside with one heavy movement and staying there for a second, just letting you feel him pulse inside of you.

"Yeosang would be the luckiest fucker alive if he got to see you like this." You felt his warm hands flatten against you, dragging up the expanse of your back, following the path of your spine, up to the back of your neck. He gripped your neck and pulled your body up, molding your back with his front, pushing his cock even deeper up into you. You let out a broken whine, Jongho threading his hand on your neck up to your hair, keeping you up and on your knees.

His lips pressed flush against your ears as he slowly rotated his hips, grinding into you painfully slow. "Stupid..." He bit your lobe, squeezing the hair at your scalp. "Pitiful..." His free hand slipped around to pinch your clit, groaning when you squeezed around him. "Wrecked."

Your whole body shuddered, the determined and firm grind of his hips making you drool on yourself. "You're mine," Jongho sneered. "And I'll remind you a thousand times over until you get it through your pretty little head."

You couldn't even bother to moan, quiet whimpers and heavy breaths floated in the air as he finally slipped his cock out of you, flipping you back over so you lay face up. Jongho stroked himself slowly a few final times, letting his head fall back as he painted your stomach in his cum, glaring down at your spent body as you twitched and shook beneath him. A ruined mess.

Painted in his spent, he slid his thumb over your stomach, gathering his cum and pressing it to your closed lips. "Say ahhh..." he murmured, and you parted your lips obediently.

Jongho slipped his thumb into your mouth, pressing down flat against your tongue as he held your jaw open. He leaned forward and opened his mouth over top of yours, his own tongue falling out as you both watched a trail of saliva fall from his tongue onto yours.

He slipped his thumb from your mouth and closed your jaw for you, softly squeezing your cheeks and gently rattled your head. “Swallow me baby.” He whispered, and you blinked hazily, swallowing the sinful mix of his cum and spit, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face when he saw your throat bob.

"That's better," he whispered, gently patting your cheek as he wiped his thumb on your chin. "Who's my good girl?"

You could barely keep your eyes open. "Me..." you murmured, voice so hoarse and so broken, it didn't even sound like you.

“There she is. Aww, poor baby, too much for you?" You only nod, head falling back against the sheets, too fucked out to even keep your head upright.

"I hope you learned your lesson, sweetheart. Try that shit again, and the next time I might not be so forgiving."

Jongho smiled, picking your ragdoll of a body up as he carried you to the tub so he could clean you up and shower you with all the soft kisses and cotton candy praise he could.

You couldn't sit without wincing for weeks.

"Whoops." That's all he said when you complained about it a week later.

You glared at him for his lack of concern for the state he left you in, to which he responds by gripping the back of your neck, pulling your face close, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

With a slow simmering anger in his words, it seemed like he was still somewhat pissed about the events of last week, and you shivered when he gently kissed the shell of your ear, in direct contrast to the way his blunt nails dug into the nape of your neck possessively.

“Next time you think it’d be fun to get a rise out of me for the sake of a good time, honey, think again. Made me wanna break you in two. Thin ice, precious, thin ice.”

You didn’t dare argue, consider it a fine lesson learned.

[honeymoonjinmain]

deep greedy

☾ roommate!namgyu x reader smut one-shot ☾

namgyu wants to get sober, but the only thing that gets his mind off the drugs is sex. the two of you have an agreement: if he's tempted to use again, he comes and takes what he needs from you.

content tags: smut (18+, mdni), consensual free-use, oral (f receiving), fingering, dry humping only it's very wet humping, unprotected sex a/n: a little apology for not having time to write a new chapter of compliance~ this has been stuck in my brain for far too long, wc 5.1k

despite what he may think, namgyu is incapable of subtlety. 

your arrangement has lasted months now, but even in the early days you could see his intentions from a mile away. of course, there were times when he was in genuine strife - those times he had almost relapsed, times he had relapsed - and didn’t waste a second taking what he needed. 

but most of the time, especially these days, he tries to quietly lead up to it, like you’re not going to notice his cock if your mouth if he slips it in slow enough. you haven’t told him how obvious he is. truth be told, outside of the (usual) sexual gratification he gives you, watching him steadily get more and more desperate as you fail to ‘notice’ his come-ons is the most satisfying part of your week. 

the two of you are in the kitchen on your mutual day off for a late breakfast. he, predictably, is not contributing at all but instead opts to beguile you with every last detail of the incredibly complex hierarchy at his job. 

“-which obviously pissed minsu the fuck off because he always double-checks those details, you know?” his rings clink against the kitchen island with every drum of his fingers, but the rhythmic sound is strangely soothing.

“i can’t imagine minsu pissed off,” you muse as you crack a few eggs into the hot saucepan, tossing the shells and rinsing the residue off of your fingers. 

namgyu reaches up to scratch the back of an ear. “well, he cried. but, i mean, the anger was definitely there under the surface.”

“i’m sure.” your roommate gives a little huff at the deadpan tone. “but he got it sorted?”

“yeah,” he huffs again, more derisively this time. “fucking mina was pouring doubles this whole time without realising it. junho’s gonna shadow her next week, i think.”

you have to suppress a smirk as you put some bread on to toast. it wasn’t news to you that namgyu has some kind of one-sided beef with the university student. she’s a social butterfly and makes absolute bank in tips - now, you suppose, some of it may be due to the fact that her patrons are getting more bang for their buck - so naturally namgyu has to go against the curve and make his dislike known. 

namgyu isn’t impressed with your apparent lack of reaction. the fingers resume their drumming on the counter-top. “you know, thanos offered me ket after his show last night.”

your hands still over the toaster. there it is. in his mind, this is probably the tiniest inkling, just enough to insert the topic into the conversation ‘organically.’ to you, it’s a sign that you may as well give up on breakfast already. “he knows you’re clean.”

he shrugs. “i think he’s just doing it to be polite.”

“it’s not polite,” you shoot back instinctively, cursing the protective streak. usually you act oblivious to his advances for a while first, but thanos has caused namgyu to fall off the wagon too many times. you bite your tongue to stop yourself from speaking on it further, but even out of your peripheral you can see the way his chest puffs up a little in satisfaction.

“yeah, well… i said no,” he clarifies redundantly. if he had relapsed again, it would’ve been pretty obvious. the two of you both know how quickly any drug rips through him now.

affecting a nonchalant demeanour, you turn to wave your spatula at him. “you want a gold star? participation trophy?”

his mouth scrunches up sulkily. “technically it should be a non-participation trophy.”

with a huff, you focus back on the eggs, which are just about ready. “save some of those zingers for the comedy club, man.” the four slices of toast pop with a metallic ping, and you stack them on a plate to set in front of him. next comes the butter and a knife, directly beside his right hand. 

even as you start to season the eggs, he makes no move to butter the toast, just watching your side profile. “sometimes it’s hard to say no.”

you swallow down a laboured sigh. in the early days, you’d just about cried whenever he said something like that. namgyu had admitted to you in a moment of intense vulnerability right in the depths of early withdrawal that one of the rare things that managed to ease the burden was sex, but that finding a girlfriend was out of the question. casual sex wasn’t really possible either; by the time desperation truly kicked in, he wasn’t exactly in a good state of mind to chat someone up. 

you’d slept together for the first time that night. almost two years of being roommates, of wishing you could do more to help him disentangle himself from addiction, and finally you’d seen a little willpower, a shred of relief return to him. it was practically philanthropic. your steady, smouldering attraction to him made it an obvious choice to give him an offer. 

if namgyu felt like he was going to do something stupid, or if the physical and mental pangs of withdrawal were getting the better of him, he could use you within the walls of your apartment as a distraction instead. no questions asked, whenever he needed.

your friends quickly began to suspect the two of you had entered into a friends-with-benefits relationship and neither of you moved to dispel the rumour. it was more dignified than what really went on. 

over the past few months, the two of you have had sex more times than you can count. you’ve been woken up in the night to grant him permission to fuck your thighs, you’ve been late for work sucking him off because he made the mistake of watching scarface, he cried from a handjob when he hit one month clean. recently, though, you get the feeling that he’s grown accustomed to taking you when he wants. even though he’s better now - all his friends see it too - he hasn’t slept with you any less. 

the slight sourness of burning cuts you back to reality, and you quickly move to dislodge the eggs from the base of the pan. “namgyu, the toast.”

they remain untouched. he slides the plate towards you, making no excuse for his unhelpfulness. 

switching the heat off, you place the frypan on the metal of the sink and quickly butter the bread yourself, dividing them onto two plates. the two of you have this exact same breakfast every tuesday morning (barely, as the clock creeps closer to midday) without fail. you with paprika and some salt, namgyu with a flash flood of smoky sriracha.

“they’re a little burnt because my sous chef apparently called in sick today,” you drawl once his has finished. your unspoken routine leads the two of you to the couch, where you draw your knees up and rest your plate precariously on them to start eating.

as always, namgyu eats like he’s trying to choke on it. the overenthusiastic sounds and sauce that collects in the corners of his lips would gross you out were it not for the vivid memory of how little he had eaten back in the throes of addiction. he never had an appetite - not for food, anyway - and when he did eat he just picked at convenience store fried chicken or mcdonalds hash browns, throwing away what he didn’t get through. 

you, on the other hand, try to enjoy the fruits of your labour, though the egg is definitely overdone. namgyu’s finished before you even begin your second piece. “is the a/c on?” he asks suddenly, discarding the plate on the coffee table with a loud clank.

“we don’t have an a/c, namgyu.”

he swallows. you try not to let your eyes linger on the bobbing in his throat. “it’s just - i don’t know, i feel so cold all of a sudden.”

you reach over to poke at the soft skin of his upper arm. “you don’t even have goosebumps,” you point out, pausing to take another mouthful of crackly egg white, “go put a jacket on.”

namgyu points his chin away decisively. “it’s like a chill in my bones. a jacket wouldn’t help.” 

“sounds terrible.”

put out by your dubious tone, he sinks back against the couch. you’re not sure why exactly, but since he’s been weaning off of the drugs and eating better with your cooking, his hair has begun to curl up like it too has received a new lease on life. his skin isn’t so pallid, his eyes have a genuine glimmer rather than a manic one, but his sulky pout is the exact same as it’s always been.

the silence between you, softened by the background noise of muffled traffic in the streets below, doesn’t last long. you’re midway through chewing down a particularly large spoonful when you feel his hand on your inner knee.

you fight another sigh, even as your core begins to heat like a pavlovian dog. “namgyu…” almost without thinking, you begin to chew a little faster, knowing what’s coming. 

“deoksu asked me to pick up a shift at the pent tonight. some high-rollers changed their flight schedule to come earlier and it’s got him tweaking.” namgyu’s fingers squeeze around you for just a moment, hand gradually stroking down. his eyes are on you, but they’re lowered, as if in deference. 

“are you gonna go?” you question before jamming the last of your breakfast into your mouth. 

a slow, solemn exhale. “i should, i could use the money. but i just don’t feel like i’m in a good state of mind right now.” his hand has slid low enough that his pinky is now resting where your thighs meet inches away from your clothed core. “thanos’ offer really fucked with me, you know?”

you lean forward to set your plate down, inadvertently squeezing around namgyu’s fingers. he lets out a quiet groan you don’t think you were supposed to hear. “weird. you seemed totally fine last night.”

clearly, namgyu is abandoning his version of subtlety as he swivels around on the couch to face you and exerts enough pressure to part your thighs, palming you. “if thanos is there again tonight, i don’t know if i have the willpower to say no twice. i need you.”

your legs fall open on their own as your breath quickens at the muffled pleasure of his hand on you. “can i at least go put the laundry on first? i have shit to do today, namgyu.”

he rubs a little faster, knowing he’s wearing you down. “i’ll be quick.”

“you won’t be quick,” you counter immediately, even as you rock your hips into his touch. “you’re not going to shoot up in the next five minutes if i go put a load on.”

“yeah, well, i’ve got a load, too,” he whinges, hand sliding up to your knee to part you further for him. 

you hate the way his stupid joke pulls a genuine laugh from you. “that’s not even-” your words are punched out of you as he tugs at you impatiently, pulling you by both calves so you twist and fall back ungracefully onto the couch cushions. “what’s gotten into you?”

“i told you, thanos-”

“he’s such a recurring character, namgyu,” you complain even as he begins to slide your pyjama shorts down. you don’t fight him. “if he’s really that bad, i’ll call him myself and tell him to stop pulling that shit.”

your shorts are flung to a random corner of the room after he snakes them off your ankles. he scooches down a little lower, hands stroking up the inside of your legs until they reach your thighs again. 

another benefit of playing reluctant and unsympathetic? namgyu bribes you with head.

he whines your name like you’re being unbelievably cruel. “don’t worry about that now. it’s not important.” dipping his head, he drags the point of his tongue in a swooping arch around your clit. you suck in a sharp breath and the reaction makes him dig his fingers into the soft skin of your thighs tight enough that the rings pinch a little. 

groaning, you let the weight of his hands push your legs open wider as he gives your clit a few licks before sucking it into his mouth. you shudder and snake your hand down to latch onto his loose curls. you suspect namgyu is a bit of a selfish lover naturally; at the start, he was clumsy and heavy-handed on the rare occasions he went down on you. 

but for all his lack of skill, he’s a very quick learner. it didn’t take long for him to work out what you liked and hone in on it. namgyu isn’t a munch. he’s efficient. he wants to make the delay to fucking you as short as possible. 

you certainly aren’t complaining. the smoulder inside you is quickly fanned into flames, and you have no hesitation in rocking your hips below him, breath catching when his nose bumps against your clit. he lets out a muffled grumble of approval, satisfied he’s going to get his way. namgyu always does. 

the last slivers of pride you have force you to bite down on your knuckles and hold back any sounds of pleasure. in the early days you’d eagerly offered yourself to him in times of need like a martyr. lately, your cat-and-mouse game of pleading and reluctance gets you far wetter than it should. 

there’s a certain kind of power to making namgyu really work for it. and, judging by the way he’s grinding at the couch through his boxers, he doesn’t mind groveling - not that he’d ever admit it. 

try as you might to remain silent, your shallow breaths and stuttering hips are a dead giveaway of how desperate you are to get off. lapping at you messy, just how you like, namgyu glances up to assess his success rate. though you can’t see his face, buried nose deep as he is, you can feel the curl of his grin, the pressure of his cheeks in the crooks of your thighs. the smug motherfucker. 

you tip your chin back, breaking away from the sinful sight of him yet pressing the back of his head down a little harder, making him grumble again. two fingers snake their way inside you and this time you can’t hold in the shaky moan it pulls from you. he’s well-versed in tracking down the most sensitive parts of you, and this is no different. there’s no building up to it, no slow pumps to relax your core, no sensuality at all. he hooks them up slightly and drags the pads of his fingers against you. your nerves are trapped on both sides, and he’s growing more impatient with every second that passes by. 

a lazy smile tugs at your lips. it feels so good it’s almost too much, balancing on the perfect edge of mind-blowing and overwhelming. as the nails of his free hand dig into the plush flesh of your outer thigh, you feel an orgasm begin to build. a tiny mirage at first, a flicker of warmth a little keener than the rest, but soon building up until your teeth are digging grooves into the back of your hand with the force of holding back.

your heel drags up his back almost like it has a mind of its own, and your spine arches so restlessly your neck aches. namgyu’s tongue speeds up, occasionally pressing your clit up against the edges of his front teeth, the sensation sharp enough to make you jerk underneath him. 

you’re so close you can almost taste it, can feel yourself tensing up in anticipation of a violent release, when namgyu suddenly lifts off of you with an audible pop, slipping his fingers out and getting off the couch casually despite the tent in his pants.

“na- y- what are you doing?” your voice is embarrassingly reedy as you slide your hand between your legs unthinkingly, rubbing against the fine bones of your wrist to ease the ache. it’s too late; your high is dissolving like fairy floss in water. “what the hell?”

he wipes at his face, seemingly unapologetic and unbothered. “you said you had laundry to do?”

you gape at him in disbelief. “are you fucking kidding me? hey, where are you going?”

namgyu shrugs, bending down to pick up the two empty plates. “doing the dishes.” 

naked from the waist down and dripping with need, you stare openmouthed at your roommate pads over to the kitchen and sets them down with a clank. for a few moments, words fail you. you just watch him silently, his forced aloofness at odds with the clumsy, awkward way he washes the pan and dishes - a chore he’s always despised.

finally, you manage to stand on shaky legs and track down your sleep shorts and underwear to slide back on. you grimace at the tacky feeling, making a mental note to change before you do the washing. “what happened to not having the ‘willpower’ to turn down drugs?” you question with air-quotes, even though he has his back to you. 

“i guess i’m just progressing in my recovery,” he offers up by way of explanation. you frown at his lofty tone as he turns halfway to send you a fake-concerned look. “you seem really bothered. i thought you’d be happy for me.”

you scowl suspiciously, joining him in the kitchen. he has his hands plunged in the warm water to clean a single teaspoon, soapy to the elbows, with splashes all over his shirt. you hate the way his untidiness makes your heart twang in endearment. “you’re such an asshole,” you mutter instead.

namgyu hums and returns to the task at hand. by the time he drains the water, all of the dishes are stacked precariously on the drying rack, most of them still with frothy bubbles in the dips and divots. he ignores you for so long that eventually you decide to give up on his odd behaviour and actually get your own jobs done. it’s just as you approach the hallway that he speaks up airily. “if you want help with something, you know, you can just ask.”

pausing in the doorway for a beat, you then turn back to him. he’s wiping himself - but not the dishes - dry with a paper towel, lips quirked up but pressed between his teeth like he’s trying to suppress it. you furrow your brows. “what?”

he shrugs again, leaning back against the benchtop. “if you need something, all you have to do is say so.”

you huff at his evasiveness, crossing your arms over your chest. “you want me to beg you to fuck me?”

namgyu’s rings click a steady beat against the counter. for a moment, he drops eye contact with you, chewing at the skin of his lip. 

like the sun breaking through clouds, his intentions start to come into clarity. “are you saying you want this to be mutual?” your irritation softens at the way he shifts a little in place. namgyu seems weirdly sensitive, a raw edge exposed. the last time he acted this vulnerable was when he first accepted your help that night. “namgyu…”

he promptly stands upright, looking away almost defensively. “you act like it’s such a fucking inconvenience but you never say no. i just-” his mouth twitches. “forget about it.”

you’re not dropping it that easily. just as he pushes off the bench and goes to leave, you rush forward to barricade the entrance. “you just what?”

namgyu shakes his head silently, staring stubbornly past your shoulder at the hallway. he tugs at the lock of hair at the nape of his neck, a nervous movement you often saw from him in the early days of withdrawal where he’d do anything he could to keep his hands busy. your heart seizes at the thought that you’ve misjudged him. “namgyu,” you continue emphatically, “did the pill thing with thanos really affect you? i’m sorry, i should’ve- if you need the distraction, we can-”

“i don’t need it,” he blurts suddenly, sucking in a breath through his teeth. his eyes close lightly, like he can take the words back if he doesn’t see you react to them. he utters your name, hand still wound in his hair. “that’s the problem. i don’t need it, i just… want it. still. i want you.”

your tongue has a mind of its own, spilling words before you can vet them. “that doesn’t sound like a problem to me.” his eyes open at your words, crinkled in trepidation. “listen, namgyu, if i didn’t want you too i would’ve said no a long time ago. fuck, i probably would’ve set you up on tinder myself.”

“don’t mess with me,” he warns, but the words are soft and unguarded.

reaching out to playfully tug at the worn fabric of his oversized black tee, you can’t help but smile. “i’m more than happy to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement. you can take what you want, and i get to as well.”

namgyu stares down at you for a few seconds, searching your face. finally, his expression relaxes. “what do you want, then?”

pleased, you begin walking backwards, towards the hallway. “i want you to finish what you started before i grow cobwebs down there.”

“that’s disgusting,” he’s complaining even as he presses you up against the wall to halt your exit. his mouth descends on you before you have the chance to retort.

apparently this is a morning of new developments. for all the times the two of you have had sex, not once has namgyu kissed you. getting off was the goal, just a means to an end - although, you suppose you’d incorrectly assumed that was all it was this whole time - and foreplay and hand-holding was not really part of that.

now, though, your heart quickens at the sensual press of his lips on yours. his hands wander lower, from your shoulders to your chest, past your stomach to rest on the curve of your hips. it’s like he’s unwilling to relinquish any points of contact. a different kind of needy than the one you’ve grown accustomed to. 

you return his need in full. as he slides your shorts off, you’re cupping his face in both hands to ensure he doesn’t stray. the dull sting of teeth finds your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make you whine out your next breath. he digs in a little harder before soothing the skin with the warmth of his tongue. his hands leave your hips; you murmur his name but it’s swallowed between you.

the absence is quickly explained by the press of something stiff across your lower abdomen. neither of you bother taking your shirts off. he rocks against you once, twice as his hands slide back under the outsides of your thighs. his fingers curl slightly and you lift a leg in response, sucking in a sharp breath against him as you feel the base of him against you. 

just as you begin to slip your tongue past his teeth, eager to taste every inch of him, he pulls on the other thigh. your heart races as he prepares to fuck you against the wall. you push off with your other foot, and he lifts.

barely a second passes before his arms give out and your feet are thudding harshly down on the carpet again. you can’t help it. you try to keep kissing him, but you’re snickering so hard you can feel your own breath ricocheting off of his cheek. 

“shut up,” he murmurs against you, nails digging into your thighs warningly, “i’m still recovering.”

your laugh blooms louder and this time you have to pull away. “what a weak excuse. come on, pipsqueak, let’s find you a step stool.”

namgyu doesn’t respond. at least, not verbally. while he might not have the strength to hold you aloft, he certainly doesn’t mind wrapping his arms around your chest and knocking you off balance, bodily dragging you down the hallway as you fight to keep your feet beneath you. you cry out in indignation even as your laughter remains at the ridiculousness of your situation; both of you, naked from the waist down, with namgyu marching you down to his bedroom in fake annoyance. 

he rounds the corner and, without a word, tosses you onto his bed back first. he’s tugging at your ankles before the springs of his mattress have even settled. your breath leaves you for the second time this morning as you find yourself at his mercy, dripping with need that you no longer need to act coy about.

namgyu’s slid you so that your hips just barely rest on the edge of the bed. you prop yourself up on your elbows to await his next move. even though his cock is so flushed it must hurt, even though you can see the wet glisten of precum clinging to the fine hairs of his happy trail, he takes his time in rocking against you, covering himself in your arousal. 

with every swipe he drags slowly but deeply against your clit, and you can’t muffle the desperate whine that wordlessly begs for more. on every upstroke, the tip just barely begins to press inside you, enough to make your breath hitch hopefully, before he passes by. you arch, spreading your legs wider, but it doesn’t make him fuck you. 

namgyu picks up his pace, letting out satisfied groans low in his throat. one hand is tucked under the crook of your knee to keep you open for him, the other holds a thumb to the top of his cock to you to keep from sliding off. “god, that’s so fucking…” he trails off, practically panting. the beginnings of sweat stick dark strands of hair to his cheeks.

despite the feeling of emptiness, the friction on your clit as well as your previous denied orgasm is enough for you to start feeling that coil inside you start to tighten. your breaths are just as rushed as his now and you paw at your chest to ground you, dragging over your stiff nipple through the fabric. namgyu lets out a broken curse at the sight. 

your breaths sync, your hips rock in turn with his strokes along your cunt. every time, you’re convinced he’s going to finally fuck you properly, but he never dips in further than the blunt head of his cock. though your lips move - whether to express your pleasure or beg for more of it, you can’t even tell - the only sound that you can produce is a hiccuped moan in time with each rut of his hips. 

namgyu’s often vocal during sex. a lot of the time, especially if you’re the one putting in all the work, he’ll just be bitching about whatever issue arose that made him need release. but then there are occasions where the air is filled with groaned sighs and the hiss of air between teeth. swearing and praising that grows more incomprehensible the closer he gets. 

that’s exactly what he’s like now, and - like all of those times - you grow impossibly wetter at the lust-filled sounds. you’re there; so close you can feel the pulse begin, can feel the muscles in your fingers and turns beg to tense up. but he’s already denied you once before, and you can’t take it again. 

you use your free leg to hook around him with the intention of pulling him closer, preventing him from leaving you. the timing is serendipitous. just as you push against his lower back, he’s beginning a new slide of his hips forwards. the teasing hint of pressure against your core doesn’t pass, but instead breaches you. the moment the fat tip of his cock pushes in, instinct takes over. namgyu’s hips snap forward unceremoniously to chase your tight, wet heat, only stopping when he’s flush against you.

you’re so soaked that there’s no resistance, but the sudden intrusion, unbearably deep, has your back arching off the bed with a broken scream. 

“shit, i’m sor- oh, fuck.” even as your hands have flown down to grab at any part of him you can reach, he doesn’t relent. the hand that had been holding him steady now rests flat against your pelvis, holding you in place as he thrusts primally into you. 

through your overwhelmed haze, you can see the way his eyes squeeze shut, jaw hanging slack at the new height of pleasure being inside you has awarded him. you dig your nails into his forearm, his wrist, like a lifeline, practically sobbing with how incomprehensibly good you feel.

namgyu’s gasping out apologies, praise, approximations of your name, as he somehow manages to drive his hips into you even faster, even deeper. the second you feel him begin to twitch, it’s like a string is cut. 

your orgasm hits you so hard that for a moment you go completely silent. it tears through every nerve in your body, neurons firing and neon colours flashing bright behind clenched-shut eyes. your breath returns, every exhale a broken moan. your leg tightens around him, keeping him close.

beneath your hold, namgyu’s wrist jostles a bit. through the wall of pleasure, you notice fingers twisting between yours. he’s still pressing his hand against your lower abdomen to hold you steady, but now your hand is pinned there too, secure in his grasp. 

he spills into you moments later. just as your high begins to settle into a warm, simmering pleasure, he tumbles into the throes of his. his hips stutter but refuse to still completely, fucking hot ropes of cum into you as his chin tips back, chest heaving. 

finally, just as your nerves begin to sting, namgyu slows to the tiniest grind, completely spent. once again, you find your shallow breaths falling in line with his. after a few moments, he curls inwards, lying on top of you with a grunt. 

the air is punched out of you at the sudden heft. “hey,” you protest, but there’s no bite to your words. “that cannot possibly be comfortable.”

his voice rumbles against the duvet right beside your ear as his cheek presses against the fabric. “mind your own business.”

even as your body begins to mostly settle, the throb in your core still makes you clench rhythmically, and you can hear the quietest grunts coming from namgyu with each one. your lips twitch. “hey, namgyu?”

“yeah?”

you grin, twisting your head around to face him. his eyes watch you hopefully. “remember when you couldn’t lift me off the ground ten minutes ago?”

his face drops. “shut up,” he grumbles. this time, when you go to laugh, he cuts you off with a hand around the nape of your neck and his mouth on yours. 

[silly-little-grot]

This was sauurrr good