High enough
Namgyu x female reader
Left alone with your brother’s annoying friend, the night takes a turn you never saw coming. warnings: mild drug use, sexually explicit content
You stare at your reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror, hands trembling slightly as you touch up the last of your makeup. The light above you flickers like it’s trying to piss you off on purpose. Tonight was supposed to be simple: a night out at Club Pentagon with your brother Subong and his insufferable friend Namgyu. Instead, you’re here in Namgyu’s bathroom, listening to the muffled thump of bass through the wall and trying not to scream.
Your stomach twists with irritation. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Subong begging you to come. “It’ll be fun, little sis,” he’d said, completely oblivious to how you and Namgyu mix like oil and water. You only agreed because you miss spending time with your brother, ever since he fell into Namgyu’s orbit of clubbing and getting high, you hardly see him sober. If tagging along means keeping an eye on Subong, you’ll swallow your pride for one night.
You flinch when a fist hits the door, loud and impatient. “Hurry the fuck up in there,” Namgyu’s voice barks from the other side. He’s been pacing outside for the last ten minutes, making it impossible to get ready in peace. Your grip on the mascara wand tightens. Heat flares in your chest
“You can wait, asshole,” you snap back, trying to keep your hand steady as you coat your lashes. “I’m almost done, so chill.”
“Jesus, how much fucking makeup do you need?”His tone drips with condescension. You can practically picture the smug smirk on his face as he leans against the wall, probably running a hand through his hair.
Your jaw clenches. Every interaction with Namgyu feels like nails on a chalkboard. Don’t engage, you remind yourself. But it’s useless. He always knows how to get under your skin.
A bitter comeback flies out before you can stop it. “Some of us actually care how we look. Unlike you, I don’t roll out of bed smelling like booze and call it a day.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a low chuckle. “Sure, princess. Keep telling yourself that makeup hides your bitchy attitude.” He’s practically purring with provocation now. “Though that dress is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Who are you trying to impress? Or are you just hoping to get laid to loosen up that uptight ass of yours?”
You freeze, blood rushing to your cheeks in a mix of embarrassment and rage. You spent way too long stressing over what to wear, settling on a sleek black mini-dress that hugs your curves just right, paired with knee-high boots. It’s bold for you, a departure from your usual jeans, but you wanted to feel confident tonight. Now Namgyu’s twisted it into something cheap.
Face burning, you fling open the bathroom door so hard it bounces off the stopper with a bang. Namgyu stands there in the narrow hallway, one eyebrow arched over those dark, mocking eyes. He’s dressed in his typical club attire: ripped black jeans, a fitted grey tee that rides up just enough to flash a bit of a toned stomach when he shifts, and a worn leather jacket. The silver chain at his neck catches the light. Flashy. Just like everything about him. He’s the picture of casual arrogance, arms crossed as he looks you up and down with a curled lip.
“Fuck you, Namgyu,” you hiss, shouldering past him. Your bare arm grazes against his leather jacket and you pull away as if burned. The living room is just a few steps away, the whole apartment is small and poorly furnished, clearly a bachelor pad. Empty beer cans and takeout boxes litter the coffee table, and the smell of smoke clings to the sagging couch cushions. You whirl around to face him, anger boiling over.
“I’m ‘trying to impress’ no one. And don’t you dare talk to me about being uptight,” you spit out. “Maybe if you weren’t such a misogynistic piece of shit, you’d know the difference between dressing for yourself and dressing for male attention.”
Namgyu saunters out of the hallway after you, leaving the bathroom door to drift shut. He towers a few good inches over you and uses every bit of it, looming with a lazy grin. “Spare me the feminist lecture,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You walk into my place looking like that and expect me not to comment? I’m just being honest, babe.”
“I’m not your babe,” you snap, heart pounding in your chest. He infuriates you. The way he says things, like he’s entitled to judge you. You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, which keeps flicking over you. The air between you crackles with hostility.
Namgyu steps closer, the smell of his cologne invading your space. You refuse to back up, even as your nerves jangle.His head tips slightly, gaze crawling from your boots to your face without an ounce of shame. “Whatever you say,” he murmurs, then smirks. “By the way, you missed a spot.” He gestures vaguely at your face.
You blink. “What?”
He makes a circular motion at his own cheek. “Your makeup. It’s uneven or something. But hey, maybe no one’ll notice in the dark. Lighting’s pretty forgiving at the club.”
Humiliation slams into you. You spent extra time trying to get everything perfect, and he’s saying you look… wrong? Instinctively, your hand twitches toward your purse for a compact mirror, but you catch yourself. This is exactly what he wants, to make you doubt yourself. To get under your skin and make fun of your insecurities.
You lift your chin instead. “Eat shit, Namgyu,” you growl, forcing your voice not to waver. “Like I’d trust your opinion on anything women related. The last time I saw you, you were drooling over some girl wearing fishnets as pants.”
Namgyu’s grin sharpens. “Yeah, I remember. She was hot as fuck. Hooked up after, no regrets.” He licks his bottom lip suggestively, and you nearly gag. “Unlike some people who are all bark, no bite.”
Your hands ball into fists at your sides. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “It means you talk a big game about being independent and dressing for yourself, but I bet you’d never have the guts to do what she did. You judge her, but at least she knows how to have fun.” He gives you a once-over again, slower this time. “All this effort just to scowl all night? What a waste.”
A hot, prickling sensation creeps up your neck. “Don’t compare me to your flavor of the week,” you say tightly. “And I’m not judging her, I’m judging you. You treat women like they’re disposable, Namgyu. It’s disgusting.”
He laughs. A short, harsh sound. “Better than treating them like saints and getting walked all over. Not that you’d understand. You’re too busy acting like you’re above everyone to actually get laid.”
The words hit a nerve. You flinch before you can stop yourself. Acting like you’re above everyone… Is that how he sees you? As some stuck-up prude? Your face burns, this time not just from anger but a flicker of shame. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue, when your phone buzzes loudly in your purse.
You exhale, tearing your glare away from Namgyu’s infuriating face to yank your phone out. Saved by the bell, you think, relief short-lived as you see the caller ID: Subong.
Namgyu’s eyes narrow at the phone in your hand. “That him?”
Ignoring Namgyu for a moment, you answer, turning slightly away. “Where are you? We’ve been waiting—”
Subong’s voice crackles through, loud enough that even Namgyu can likely hear the tinny sound. “Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up with my girl. She’s having a meltdown over some shit, and I… I can’t leave her like this. I’m not gonna make it tonight.”
It takes a second for his words to register. You frown, pressing the phone harder to your ear. “Wait, what? You’re bailing?”
Namgyu comes closer, trying to catch what’s being said. You feel him hovering at your shoulder, and you twist away further, heat simmering again.
“Look, I know it sucks,” Subong continues, sounding genuinely upset, “but I have to sort this out with her. She’s threatening to break up and… fuck, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Both of you. I owe you one, okay?”
You’re silent, a mixture of disappointment and panic swirling in your gut. If Subong’s not coming, that leaves you here… alone with Namgyu for the rest of the night. The plan had been to meet up and head to the club together. Now everything is falling apart.
Subong’s still talking, oblivious to your inner crisis. “You two should still go! Have fun, drink on my tab. Namgyu can get you in VIP. Seriously, I feel like shit for cancelling last minute. Just… try not to kill each other, alright?” He attempts a weak chuckle.
You can’t even fake a laugh. Your eyes dart to Namgyu, who’s watching your face intently, arms still crossed. You know he can tell something’s wrong. “Yeah,” you say into the phone, voice flat. “Sure. Take care of her. Bye.” Without waiting for a response, you hang up.
The moment you lower your phone, Namgyu asks, “What happened? Where’s Thanos?”
You suck in a deep breath. “He’s not coming.”
Namgyu blinks. “What do you mean ‘not coming’?”
You slide your phone back into your purse with stiff movements. “I mean he’s ditching us. Girlfriend problems or whatever.” The bitterness in your tone is unmistakable. “So it’s just—”
“Just us,” Namgyu finishes, his voice flat.
For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. The reality settles in the cramped living room like a foul odor. You feel your night splintering into chaos. There’s no way in hell you’ll go clubbing alone with Namgyu. You’d rather swallow glass.
He must feel similarly because he immediately shakes his head. “Well, fuck that. I’m not going to Pentagon with just you.”
“Glad we agree,” you retort, fuming. “So do us both a favor and drive me home. Now.”
Namgyu’s brows shoot up at your demand, and for a second you think he might actually do it. Instead, he strolls around you and collapses onto the couch. He fishes his phone from his pocket and tosses it onto the cluttered coffee table, then runs a hand over his face. “God, what a waste of a night…” he mutters.
You remain standing, arms tightly crossed. The thump of club music you heard earlier is now gone, maybe it was just in your head. In the silence, you notice your own heart pounding. “Namgyu,” you say sharply. “Hello? Did you hear me? I want to go home.”
He tilts his head back against the couch, eyes closing for a moment. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then he cracks one eye open to look at you. “And I want you to stop bitching, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?”
You stare at him, incredulous. “What is your problem? My brother just screwed us over, and now you’re throwing a tantrum? If you’re not going out, fine. Just drive me back. Or call me a taxi, I don’t care.”
Namgyu sighs dramatically. “Will you chill for one second?” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a thin, hand-rolled blunt. You recognize the distinct brown leaf wrapper. He probably prepped it for later at the club. With an irritated grunt, he pats his other pockets and then looks at you expectantly. “You got a lighter?”
You fumble, thrown off by the random request. “Seriously? You’re going to get high right now?”
He flashes you a sarcastic grin. “I was planning to later anyway. Might as well salvage something from this shitshow. Now, do you have a lighter or do I have to get up?”
Unbelievable. You dig in your purse on autopilot, your hands are shaking with frustration and some leftover adrenaline from the earlier fight. You find a pink lighter. Wordlessly, you toss it to Namgyu.
He catches it in one smooth motion. “Thanks,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm, as if you’ve done him a grand favor. Then he hesitates. His gaze flickers over you, less hostile now and more considering. “Look… I’ll take you home after this, okay? Ten minutes. Relax.”
You open your mouth to say something back. Something about how he should take you now, not after he gets high, but you bite it back. He’s clearly not budging, and a taxi ride alone from this part of town doesn’t thrill you. Namgyu’s apartment is in a sketchier part of the city, somewhere you wouldn’t wander by yourself at night. He knows it too, you can tell by the way he watches you wrestle internally with your options. Damn it.
“Fine,” you say curtly, moving to perch on the arm of a chair across from the couch. You make sure to smooth your dress down, aware of his eyes flicking to the exposed length of your thighs. “Ten minutes. That’s it. Then you’re driving me home.”
He doesn’t respond, already holding the blunt between his lips. He sparks the lighter. The tip of the blunt glows orange as he inhales deeply. Almost immediately, the pungent scent of weed fills the small living room. Earthy and a little sweet. It blends with the stale tobacco odor that clings to everything Namgyu owns.
You watch him through narrowed eyes. His lashes flutter shut as he holds the smoke in his lungs, head tipped back. For a brief moment, with his guard down, he looks almost peaceful. Strong features softened in the dim light, full lips parted as he finally exhaled a long stream of smoke toward the stained ceiling. The tension in his posture eases slightly.
It’s the calmest you’ve seen him all evening, maybe ever. Not that you’re looking, you tell yourself, but your gaze betrays you. There’s something morbidly fascinating about Namgyu in his element like this. The asshole who’s been tormenting you all night is, for a few seconds, just a guy unwinding.
He catches you staring. Of course he does. Those dark eyes cut to you through the haze, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Want a hit?” he asks, voice raspier after holding the smoke. He extends the blunt toward you between two fingers, the offer almost gentlemanly if not for the smirk.
You blink, thrown off. “What?”
He waves the smoking blunt slightly. “Do you want a hit, (Y/N)? It might get that stick out of your ass for a bit.” Then he adds with a thoughtful expression, “Unless you’re too much of a good girl to indulge?”
His words are needling, but there’s less venom behind them than before. More like he’s teasing. You glare at him all the same, ignoring the prickle of temptation. You don’t often smoke weed, just a few times in college, and occasionally with Subong when he was desperate for company and you were desperate to understand what was pulling him away. It’s not really your thing. Yet right now, your nerves are frayed and your night is ruined. Maybe a little escape would be welcome.
Namgyu raises an eyebrow at your silence. “Thought so,” he says, about to retract the offer.
Something rebellious flares in you. Before you can think it through, you push off the chair and cross the space between you. “Give me that,” you mutter, plucking the blunt from his fingers.
A look of surprise flickers across his face, quickly masked by a cocky grin. “Well, well. Look who’s full of surprises tonight.”
You ignore him and bring the blunt to your lips like you’ve seen Subong do countless times. Inhale, deep but careful, you tell yourself. The moment you draw the smoke into your mouth and then down your throat, a harsh burn scratches at your lungs. You break into a cough, heat searing your chest, and quickly pass the blunt back to Namgyu as you cover your mouth.
He’s laughing at you, of course. “Smooth,” he comments, but he shuffles over on the couch, patting the seat beside him. “Sit down before you fall down, maybe.”
Your eyes water from the coughing fit and embarrassment. You want to snap at him, but the truth is your knees do feel a little wobbly. Partly from the coughing, partly from the adrenaline crash. Reluctantly, you sink down onto the far end of the couch. The cushions sag under your weight, tilting you slightly toward Namgyu.
He offers the blunt again, now that you’ve recovered. “Try again. Slower this time. Don’t hold it in so long if you can’t handle it.”
You tense at his tone, but snatch the blunt anyway, determined to not look completely incompetent. Another drag, smaller this time. The smoke curls into your lungs and you let it out quickly, coughing only a little. The second attempt goes better, a tendril of warmth unfurls in your chest, spreading to your limbs.
Namgyu watches you with a lazy half-smile. “There you go. Not so hard, huh?”
The sarcasm in his voice is mild now. You hand the blunt back, leaning into the couch as you exhale slowly. A strange calm begins to creep in, like your anger is a radio someone just dialed down. It’s not gone, just not blaring in your ears so loudly.
“Don’t get used to it,” you mumble. You’re not sure if you mean the weed or sitting civilly with Namgyu on a couch sharing a smoke. Maybe both.
He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through the quiet room. “Trust me, I’m not. But I gotta admit, I’m impressed. I figured you’d march out of here the second your brother bailed.”
“I thought about it,” you confess bluntly. The honesty surprises even you, but the filter between your brain and mouth feels like it’s loosening. “But this neighborhood is sketchy and the buses are shit at night. So… I’m kinda stuck with you.”
“Lucky me,” Namgyu says dryly, but there’s no bite to it. He takes another slow drag, then passes the blunt back. As your fingers brush his, you notice the rough calluses on his fingertips, probably from rolling so many joints or handling whatever other drugs he both deals and uses. For some reason, that detail sticks in your mind.
Silence settles as you take another hit. It’s not exactly comfortable silence. There's too much history of animosity for that, but it’s less charged than before. The weed’s effects are subtle but growing. Your limbs feel looser, your head a touch light. The tension in your shoulders unknots itself. Even Namgyu seems more relaxed, sinking into the cushions, manspreading in that obnoxious way but at least not on full alert to start shit with you.
Your eyes drift over the coffee table: a couple of empty Soju bottles, a half-full ashtray, crumpled receipts. Among them, a small framed photo stands out, unexpected in the mess. It’s of Subong and Namgyu from last summer, arms slung around each other’s shoulders in front of Club Pentagon’s neon sign. Your brother’s grinning wide, clearly buzzed, and Namgyu has the goofiest expression you’ve ever seen on him, both middle fingers up at the camera. They look so… happy. Carefree idiots. You remember Subong showing you that photo, trying to convince you Namgyu wasn’t that bad once you “got to know him.” You’d laughed in your brother’s face then.
Now, with a slight haze settling in your mind, you find yourself pointing at the photo. “You and my brother,” you say, “how did that even start? You two don’t exactly make sense as friends.”
Namgyu’s gaze follows your finger to the photo. He snorts. “Met at the club, how? He was a paying customer, I was the charming promoter. One thing led to another. Shots, girls, a little coke in the bathroom and bam, buds.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You frown. The mention of coke sends a ripple of worry through you, even in your relaxed state. “I wish he’d never met you,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.
Namgyu exhales smoke and laughs under his breath. “You and me both, sometimes.”
That answer surprises you. You turn to look at him fully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, tapping ash off the blunt into an empty can. “Just that your brother’s a pain in my ass too, princess. I didn’t sign up to be anyone’s dealer-slash-babysitter. But he kept coming around, and, I dunno… he grows on you.” Namgyu rolls his eyes. “Like a fungus.”
Despite yourself, a tiny smile tugs at your lips. It’s bizarre to hear him talk about Subong like that. Almost affectionately, in his own twisted way. Normally you only hear secondhand accounts from your brother or catch glimpses of them together when you’re picking Subong up after a bender. You’ve never bothered to wonder how Namgyu feels about any of it, or why he sticks around when even you know Subong treats him like crap sometimes.
“I know he looks down on you,” you blurt, the filter in your brain apparently completely gone now. “Subong… he talks like you’re just his fix.” You bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to spill that, but it’s true. You’ve heard your brother on the phone bragging about how he’s got Namgyu “wrapped around his finger” for any party favor he needs. It always made you uneasy, like Namgyu was some rabid dog that could bite back any time.
Namgyu is silent for a moment, jaw tight. He doesn’t meet your eyes. When he speaks, his tone is neutral, but a muscle twitches in his cheek. “He’s not wrong. I mean, what do I do? I get him high. He gets me into VIP rooms with his trust fund friends who want product. It’s mutual use, princess. Symbiotic, even. Save your judgment.”
It’s weird. Normally his assholery hits you like darts, but right now, it almost sounds like he’s deflecting. You can sense a bitterness under the surface. Maybe even hurt? But before you can decide, he smirks and nods at the blunt in your hand. “You gonna finish that or just hold it all night?”
Startled, you bring it to your lips and draw one last hit. The paper has burned down almost to the end. You cough softly as you exhale, and he plucks it from your fingers, stubbing it out in the ashtray.
Almost immediately, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one. “Seriously?” you groan, waving smoke away from your face. “More?”
“Nicotine boost,” he says, leaning back with the cigarette dangling from his lips. “And it’s my place, so yeah. Seriously.” He regards you through the thinning weed haze, blowing a stream of lighter smoke upward. “But look at that, we actually shared something without biting each other’s heads off. Miracle.”
You roll your eyes but can’t deny it. The fight in you has dulled to embers. The weed has wrapped you in a peculiar tranquility, where everything, even sitting here with him, feels one step removed and softer at the edges. Your body is relaxed against the couch, limbs loose, head pleasantly buzzing. Even your anger has been gentled. Not gone, but gentled.
“Don’t get used to it,” you repeat, but there’s no heat in it. Your eyes drift over Namgyu’s profile as he smokes. He has one arm slung over the back of the couch now, not quite touching your shoulders but close enough you feel the warmth radiating from him. His t-shirt rides up a bit, revealing a bit of his stomach and the trail of a tattoo curling up from his hip. You catch yourself staring at the ink and quickly look away, focusing on the dirty coffee table again. Anything but him.
Namgyu notices anyway. He always notices. “Something interesting?” he drawls.
“Nope,” you say quickly. But then a bubble of curiosity, fueled by the weed’s uninhibiting effects, pushes you to speak. “What’s the tattoo of?” you nod vaguely at his waist.
He glances down as if he’s forgotten it’s there. “Oh. This old thing?” He lifts the hem of his shirt a couple of inches, enough to give you a better look. It’s a black-ink design slashing across his right hip: some kind of stylized dragon or snake, you’re not sure, curling towards his abs. The skin looks a little scarred in places, like it was done in haste or by someone learning. “Just stupid teenage choices,” he says dismissively, dropping the shirt. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
You find yourself oddly disappointed at the lack of a story. Maybe you expected something more dramatic, like he got it in a gang or for a lost love. But of course he won’t give you that, even if it were true. He’s always been a closed book.
Still, the brief glimpse of his skin has you unnerved. You hate to admit it, but Namgyu has always been attractive in a dangerous way. You noticed it against your will the first time Subong dragged you out to meet him. He was hot before he opened his mouth and ruined it with his personality. He’s lean but strong, with those sharp cheekbones and perpetually messy black hair that just begs fingers to tame it. Not that you’ve ever thought about doing that.
Nope, absolutely not. You shake your head, physically dismissing the thought. You blame the high for loosening your control. Heat rises in your cheeks again, but this time it’s not pure anger. It’s something more confusing.
To fill the silence and your own awkwardness, you latch onto the first topic that drifts through your hazy mind. “So… besides dealing and pissing people off, what do you do for fun?”
Namgyu chuckles, a puff of cigarette smoke escaping his lips. “Who says I piss people off for fun? That’s just a bonus.” He takes another drag, then stubs the cigarette out half-finished on the same ashtray. You wonder idly if he’s actually anxious. He usually smokes to look cool or out of boredom, but leaving one burning out is unusual. Maybe the conversation is making him restless too.
“I’m serious,” you insist, turning to face him a bit more. Your knee bumps into his thigh and you both pause at the contact. Neither of you moves away, though your pulse ticks up. “What do you do when you’re not at the club? There’s gotta be more to you than free drugs and a big ego.”
Namgyu laughs. “You really wanna know?”
“I… yeah.” Do you? The sober part of you might not, but right now some curious part does. “Unless it’s going to bore me to death, sure.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, considering. “Alright. Fun. Let’s see… I like music.”
You blink, not expecting something so normal. “Music?”
“Yeah, you know, those sounds people listen to for enjoyment,” he says sarcastically. “I DJ sometimes on off-nights at the club. Write some mixes. Not that you’d know, you’ve never come when I’m spinning.”
This is news. You recall Subong mentioning Namgyu messing with playlists occasionally, but you always assumed it was just him blasting bass-heavy crap. “What kind of music?”
“EDM, mostly. Trap, house… shit that gets girls shaking ass like the biggest sluts.”
He waggles his eyebrows comically, and you groan.
“Of course.” So much for depth, he made it sleazy again. Still, the idea of Namgyu focusing on something creative like mixing music is oddly humanizing.
He continues, “I also watch movies, play some games, normal shit.” Then he grins wickedly. “And fuck. That’s a hobby, right?”
You roll your eyes hard. “You would count that as a hobby.”
He chuckles. “Why not? It’s fun. Good exercise too. And I’m damn good at it.”
The arrogance in his voice is simultaneously irritating and strangely intriguing. You can’t help but laugh. “Oh really? Is that what all the girls say when they’re done with you?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” he says, casual as anything. “Though usually they can’t talk right after, being exhausted and all.”
You make a gagging noise. “Oh my God, shut up. I’m gonna puke.”
He just smirks. “Truth hurts, princess. Don’t blame me because you’ve only been with boys who couldn’t find the clit if it bit them.”
Your mouth falls open in shock. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, totally unrepentant. “I’m just saying, you’re constantly bitching about shit. Maybe you need some good dick to sort you out.
You shoot him a glare. Heart thudding grossed out, but also unsettled by how much it gets to you.
It’s not like you haven’t had… well, you’ve had an okay sex life. With your ex. It was fine. Fine, not mind-blowing, but fine. But Namgyu doesn’t need to know any of that.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you snap, but there’s less venom than usual. Possibly because you’re distinctly aware that your limbs are soft from the high and your comebacks are coming slower. “Unlike you, I don’t base my self-worth on who I’ve slept with or how many notches are in my bedpost.”
Namgyu’s eyes gleam. “That wasn’t a denial.”
Shit. You scowl at him, lifting your chin defiantly. “My sex life is none of your business, Namgyu.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender, though the grin stays. “Alright, alright. Touchy subject. I get it. Must be a dry spell.”
You almost lunge at him, but manage to restrain yourself, nails biting crescents into your palms. “God, I hate you,” you mutter. The problem is he’s too perceptive even when high. Your reaction gave away more than you wanted. Now he looks like a cat who’s cornered a mouse, delighted and toying.
“If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under,” he teases. He scoots a fraction closer; you feel the cushions shift, and suddenly your thigh is against his. A zap of awareness goes through you at the contact. Namgyu lowers his voice conspiratorially. “C’mon, tell me one thing. When’s the last time you got laid? Bet it’s been a while.”
You grit your teeth. “None of your business,” you repeat, but he’s not wrong. Since your ex, you haven’t exactly had the energy or trust to sleep with anyone else. Sure, there were a few dates, some drunken makeouts that went nowhere. Your standards climbed sky-high after being burned. The memory of catching your ex screwing his colleague on his couch while you stood there with a birthday cake still twists your gut.
A flicker of that hurt must show on your face, because Namgyu’s smirk fades a touch. “Oh,” he says softly. “That bad, huh?”
His tone holds something almost like understanding, and that strange gentleness is worse than his taunting. You don’t want his pity or whatever this is. You cross your arms defensively. “Drop it. I’m not joking.”
Namgyu tilts his head, studying you. Maybe it’s the low lamplight or the way your head is swimming, but you think his gaze softens for a split second. Then he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, ankles crossed, affecting nonchalance. “Alright. No need to bite my head off. I was just curious. The tension on you is so thick.”
You huff, not sure if that was another insult or a weird observation. Possibly both. He’s not entirely wrong.You've been on edge a lot these days, stressed from work, constantly worrying about Subong, and pissed off at life in general. But you’re not about to unpack that with Namgyu of all people.
“So, your idea of fun is screwing and bragging about it,” you say, redirecting away from yourself. “What an exciting life you have.”
He laughs. “There’s that sharp tongue. Careful, I might start thinking you’re fun to hang out with after all.”
That draws a genuine scoff from you. “In your dreams.”
The high peeled back that usual filter in your brain, leaving things messier, more honest. You find yourself saying things you normally wouldn’t and surprisingly not regretting it instantly.
Namgyu stretches, raising his arms above his head until his joints crack. Your eyes unintentionally skim up the strip of skin revealed where his shirt lifts: a lean V-line diving below his belt, more of that tattoo peeking out. You swallow and force yourself to look away, pretending to pick at a stray thread on your dress.
He drops his arms and suddenly asks, “So what about you? What do you do for fun, when you’re not judging me and Subong?”
The question is so unexpected you have to think. What do you do for fun nowadays? It feels like all you do is work, go home, occasionally drag your brother out of trouble, and repeat. How sad is that?
“I… read, sometimes,” you say lamely. “Watch Netflix. Hang out with friends.” Although you’ve been distant with friends lately, canceling plans because you’re either too tired or anxious about leaving your mom alone. She's been a wreck since she discovered Subong’s habit.
Namgyu raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? And you call me boring.”
“I didn’t say you were boring, I said you’re a sleaze,” you correct, then sigh. “And yeah, I know. My life’s not exactly wild. Sorry it doesn’t measure up to yours.”
He regards you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Ever think maybe that’s why you got cheated on?”
The comment is like a slap. You flinch as if struck, eyes widening. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He doesn’t back down. “Your ex. He cheated, right? I heard something like that from Thanos. Maybe if you weren’t so… I dunno, predictable, he wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere.”
Anger whooshes back in, dousing the mellow haze. A pressure builds behind your eyes,angry tears threatening. But you refuse to show that weakness. That wound is still raw beneath layers of scar tissue and here he is poking it casually.
“That’s rich coming from you, Namgyu,” you manage to bite out, voice trembling despite your efforts. “You barely know anything about me or that relationship. But sure, blame me for a man’s shitty choices. How very on-brand of you, you misogynistic prick.”
He actually has the decency to look a bit contrite, a crease forming between his brows. “Hey, I’m just stating facts. It sucks, but guys get bored if you don’t keep things interesting.”
You shake your head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping. “Right, because it’s the woman’s job to be a circus act to hold a man’s attention. You really are a piece of work.”
Namgyu exhales slowly, irritation crossing his features. “Twist my words all you want, princess. I’m trying to give you a fucking insight and you’re taking it personal.”
You glare daggers at him. “How is it not personal? You’re talking about my life, my relationship that you know nothing about.” Your voice rises, cracking. “You don’t know how hard I tried to make it work with him, what I put up with, how I—” You cut yourself off, realizing you were about to spill far too much.
Namgyu’s face shifts, less cocky now, more attentive. “How you what?” he prompts quietly.
Your heart thuds. The walls you usually keep so sturdily in place are wobbling, weakened by weed and emotion. Your chest is tight, you press a fist there as if it could hold the hurt in. “How I never measured up,” you finish bitterly. “At least, that’s how it felt. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough for him. Not exciting enough, not sexy enough, not—” you gesture vaguely, “whatever.”
The admission hangs in the air, and immediately you regret it. You hate that you admitted that to him of all people. You sink back, dragging a hand over your face. “Fuck. I can’t believe I’m talking about this.”
Namgyu is quiet, surprisingly so. When you peek at him through your fingers, he isn’t smirking. He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher. It almost looks like… understanding. Maybe even sympathy. But it’s gone too fast to tell, replaced by his usual half-grin, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, his loss,” he says casually, but there’s a rough edge to it. “If I had a girl like you—”
He stops abruptly, and your heart skips a beat. Did you hear that right? The air in the room suddenly feels charged again, but with something different from anger or annoyance. Namgyu’s looking away, jaw working as if he’s angry at himself.
Slowly, you find your voice. “If you had a girl like me… what?”
He flicks his eyes back to you, then lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. Forget it. I was just talking out of my ass.”
You’re not about to let that slide. Maybe it’s masochistic, but you press on, needing to know. “No, tell me. If you had a girl like me, what?”
Namgyu meets your gaze directly now. There’s a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there before, or maybe it was and you’re only now noticing it. It makes your breath catch.
“You really want to know?” he asks quietly.
The way he says it makes your skin pebble with goosebumps. You nod, though you’re not entirely sure you’re prepared for his answer.
He leans in slightly, resting his forearm on his thigh, his body angled toward you. You can see the faint stubble along his jaw. When he speaks, his voice is low, deliberate.
“If I had a girl like you, I sure as hell wouldn’t leave her wanting,” he says. “Not for anything. Not attention… not respect…” His eyes dip down your form and back up, igniting sparks under your skin. “And definitely not pleasure.”
The bluntness of that last word sends a hot flush through you. Your mouth goes dry. You should laugh it off or slap him or something, but you’re frozen, hanging on that husky tone. He’s likely just fucking with you. He has to be. But it doesn’t stop your pulse from thudding in your ears.
Namgyu smirks lightly at your speechless figure. “I’m just saying, princess, some guys actually know how to take care of a woman. Sounds like your ex wasn’t one of them.”
You search his face for any sign he’s joking, that this is just a way to humiliate you further. But his expression is oddly serious despite the quirk of his lips. There’s something hungry in his eyes that wasn’t there before, or maybe it was and you’re only now noticing it.
Namgyu reaches out, slowly, giving you time to stop him. He takes a lock of your hair between his fingers, rubbing it gently as if examining the texture. The gesture is surprisingly tender, and it sends a tingle across your scalp. “He must’ve been a fucking idiot,” he murmurs, “to not want to taste you.”
Your breath catches. The words are obscene, but the way he says them, almost reverent and low, makes your thighs clench unconsciously. Heat floods your face, and you’re caught between mortification and sudden arousal. You should slap him for being so vulgar. You should laugh it off. You should do anything but stare at him with your lips parted and your body betraying you with a surge of desire.
But you do stare. And he stares back, that cocky mask dropping completely now. What remains is raw and unreadable except for one thing: lust. You recognize it because it’s mirrored in how your own belly flips and tightens.
“You… you’re high,” you whisper, a weak attempt to break whatever spell is coiling around you both. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Namgyu’s fingers leave your hair to trail lightly down your cheek. You shiver. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he replies softly. “I’m saying your ex was a moron. And that maybe you shouldn’t knock me until you try me.”
Your brain misfires. Did he just—?
The world tilts as Namgyu shifts nearer, his face now inches from yours. You can see the subtle variation of brown in his irises and the way his throat moves as he swallows. The scent of him surrounds you. A mix of smoke, cheap aftershave, and something warm and male underneath. It’s not unpleasant. In fact, it’s dizzying in a way that makes you feel even more lightheaded than the weed alone.
“You’re out of your damn mind,” you finally manage to croak, but your voice lacks conviction. It comes out husky, almost needy, and you internally cringe at how weak it sounds.
“Maybe,” he breathes, eyes flicking to your lips. “But the offer stands.”
Offer. The word sends a jolt through you. This is actually happening. Namgyu is offering. No, basically suggesting that he’ll go down on you. To let you experience what you’ve missed. The audacity, the arrogance, and yet… the thought makes your entire body flush hot.
Your rational mind screams at you to say no, to push him away. This is Namgyu. The man you loathe. Your brother’s fuck-up friend. You shouldn’t even consider this.
But then another part of you, possibly influenced by being high and definitely by the lingering frustration and curiosity of years, whispers: Why not?
It’s just physical, right? Two people blowing off steam. It doesn’t mean you suddenly like him. In fact, you could blame it on the weed and anger and everything colliding. And who’s going to know? Subong bailed. It’s just you two, alone in this apartment where secrets likely pile up with the dust.
You realize you’ve been quiet for too long. Namgyu misreads it as reluctance or outright rejection. Slowly, he pulls back a few inches, clearing his throat. His hand drops from your face. “Forget it,” he mutters, a defensive edge returning to his tone. “Stupid idea.”
The loss of his warmth on your skin spurs you to action. Without fully knowing why, you reach out and grab his wrist before he can retreat completely. “Wait.”
He stills, looking at you in surprise. You don’t think you’ve ever willingly touched him before. His skin is warm under your hand, his pulse skittering at the base of his arm. You gather your courage, pushing aside a lifetime of animosity just for this suspended moment.
“You’re serious?” you ask softly, needing confirmation straight from him. “You’d… do that? For me?”
Namgyu’s eyes flicker with something. Perhaps shock that you’re actually considering it. Then they darken, and he leans back into your space slightly, the tension between you coiling tight again. “I don’t say shit I don’t mean, princess. If you want it…” His gaze travels down your body and up, lingering on the press of your breasts against your arms where you’re still tensely hugging your knees. “I’ll give it to you. No strings attached. Think of it as… a favor.”
You nearly snort. A favor. Right. More like he wants to prove a point. But damned if you aren’t tempted beyond reason now.
This is insane, the last lucid part of you interjects. You can’t sleep with Namgyu. There’s literally no one worse to mess around with. This will complicate everything, and if your brother ever found out—
But he won’t find out. Because you’ll never tell him, and Namgyu certainly won’t either. It would ruin their friendship and probably cut off his best customer.
It’ll just be this once, a devil on your shoulder murmurs. An itch scratched. Then you can both pretend it never happened.
Your heart beats so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. You slowly release his wrist, only for him to take your hand in his, calloused thumb brushing the inside of your palm in an almost soothing motion. It sends tingles all the way up your arm.
“And you think you can actually get me off?” you say, trying to inject some challenge in your tone to mask how close you are to caving. “What, like all those other girls you brag about?”
He sees right through your bravado. “I’ve never had any complaints in that department.” Then he adds, eyes locking with yours, “But I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
Your breath hitches. The ball’s back in your court. Decide, he’s saying. Yes or no.
Time seems to slow. In the space of a few seconds, a cascade of thoughts and images flood your mind. You imagine what it might be like. Namgyu’s head between your thighs, that sharp tongue of his put to better use, his hands holding you down, your fingers in that messy hair. The idea is outrageous, terrifying, and incredibly arousing. Your core contracts and you realize with a start that you’re wet, just from the thought and the heated look he’s giving you.
You could say no. Stand up, call a cab, run away from this. But you know you won’t. Because you’re tired of always doing the right thing, tired of the what-ifs and missed experiences. Tired of holding yourself back out of fear or principle. You rationalize it swiftly. It’s one night. You’re both a little high, pent-up, and clearly attracted enough to entertain this. You can do this and still hate him tomorrow.
In fact, a part of you wants to do it because you hate him, like extracting a twisted revenge by using each other’s bodies. Fuelled by all those emotions you keep bottled up. Release, in the purest form.
The words leave you in a soft exhale: “Fuck it.”
Namgyu’s eyes widen a fraction. “Yeah?”
You lick your lips and nod, your decision solidifying in the drum of your pulse. “Yeah. Just… don’t make me regret it, or I swear—”
He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift movement, Namgyu closes the scant distance and kisses you.
It’s like a spark hitting a fuse. The moment his lips crush against yours, every rational thought left in your brain incinerates. You gasp against his mouth, shocked by the suddenness, but he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, a bold, filthy stroke that draws a whimper from you.
It’s not a gentle kiss. There's nothing gentle about Namgyu, apparently even now. It’s bruising, aggressive, a clash of teeth and tongue as you respond with equal fervor. All the pent-up frustration, the years of mutual antagonism, it spills into the kiss, making it far hotter than it has any right to be. You pour your anger and confusion into biting at his lower lip, and he retaliates with a growl, one large hand coming up to cup the back of your head, tangling in your hair to hold you in place.
Your hands hover uncertainly. One grips his shoulder through his jacket, the leather cool and smooth under your fingers, while the other, almost of its own accord, slides up the hard plane of his chest. You feel his heart thudding nearly as hard as yours beneath your palm.
He tastes faintly of smoke and mint, and something sweet from the blunt. It’s intoxicating. Or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen because he’s kissing you like he wants to devour you and you’re letting him.
A small, distant voice in your head screams that this is Namgyu you’re making out with, how can you stomach it? But that voice is drowned out by the roar of your blood and the heat coiling in your belly.
Namgyu nips at your bottom lip, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. He smirks against your mouth. “Still with me, princess?”
“Shut up,” you breathe, then pull him back in, surprising both of you with your urgency. You slide your hands up around his neck, fingers curling in the hair at his nape. It’s as soft as it looks, damp still from an earlier shower or product. You tug, and he makes a delicious sound low in his throat, deepening the kiss in retaliation until you’re dizzy.
At some point, he shifts, guiding you to lie back against the couch. You find yourself pressed into the worn cushions as Namgyu moves over you, one knee sliding between your thighs. Your dress hikes up your legs, and you couldn’t care less at the moment. All you care about is the solid weight of him partially on top of you and the way his mouth has begun to wander from your lips to your jaw and down your neck.
He bites at the sensitive spot where your neck meets shoulder just hard enough to make you gasp. Then soothes it with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Your back arches involuntarily, breasts pressing against his chest. He notices, of course, and a hand that had been gripping your waist slides up to the neckline of your dress.
“Is this okay?” he mutters against your skin, fingers teasing the strap.
It’s almost sweet that he asked, like he’s checking in. You’d be more touched if he didn’t follow it up immediately with a typical Namgyu remark. “I mean, I assume you want more and not just a PG-13 makeout.”
You huff a breathless laugh, tilting your head back to give him better access as he kisses along your collarbone. “Yes, dumbass. It’s okay.”
“Good,” he growls, and with that, he yanks one strap of your dress down, then the other, not even bothering to find a zipper. The stretchy fabric gives way, and suddenly your bra is exposed. He wastes no time pulling the cup down to free one breast, his mouth descending on your nipple so quickly it forces a shocked cry from you.
Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping as his tongue circles the sensitive peak, then closes his lips around it to suck. Your nerves are on fire. You can feel that sensation spearing straight down between your legs. You clamp your thighs around the knee he’s pressed against you, a reflexive attempt to ease the ache building there.
“Fuck,” you whimper, the expletive drawn out into a moan as he gently bites your nipple. It sends a lightning bolt of pain-pleasure through you. He soothes it with another lap of his tongue, looking up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.
Your hand finds the side of his head, fingers threading in his hair again. Not to pull him away, but to hold him there, wordlessly urging him on. He obliges, giving attention to your other breast, tugging the dress and bra down enough to expose it as well. His big hand cups you, thumb strumming over the nipple not currently in his mouth.
It’s almost too much. You feel your pulse between your thighs, your panties undoubtedly damp by now. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this turned on. Scratch that, you’ve never been quite this turned on. Maybe it’s the taboo nature of it, the hate-turned-lust, or just Namgyu actually being as skilled as he boasts. Whatever it is, it has you writhing under him, your hips instinctively grinding up against the pressure of his knee between your legs.
Namgyu notices your squirming. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, leaving both your breasts slick with his saliva and cool in the open air. The combined sensation of chilled air and heat from his mouth makes you shudder.
“Someone’s eager,” he taunts, but his voice is thick, belying his own arousal. He plants a hand on your thigh, just below the hem of your ruched-up skirt. The weight of his palm on your bare skin sends a thrill up your spine. “Relax. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
You bite your lip, nodding, because words seem to have abandoned you. There’s an urge to snark back, to maintain some upper hand, but it melts away when his fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your inner thigh.
He nudges your thighs apart a bit more, sliding down until he’s kneeling on the floor between your legs, the couch cushions supporting your back. The sight of Namgyu on his knees for you is almost as heady as the feeling of his hands pushing your skirt fully up around your hips. He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission.
It occurs to you, fleetingly, that this is it. Cross this line and nothing between you will ever be the same. But honestly, things were never good between you to begin with. At least this would be a different kind of tension.
And you want it. God, you want it so bad you can taste it.
You lift your hips slightly, granting him access. That’s all the answer he needs. In one swift motion, he drags your panties down your legs, tossing the scrap of fabric aside. You cringe internally at how wet they are. Evidence of just how affected you are by him. But if Namgyu notices, he doesn’t tease for once. His focus is laser-sharp on the prize between your thighs.
The air against your damp, exposed core makes you shiver, but not as much as the look in Namgyu’s eyes when he settles his gaze there. It’s a mix of hunger and smug male pride.
He licks his lips. “Damn, princess… you’re already dripping.” He says it almost reverently, his hands sliding up your thighs to gently push them further apart. You flush deeply at his words, instinctively trying to press your knees together to hide yourself, but he holds you firmly.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, and the unexpected tenderness in that single word freezes you. “I want to see.”
Your cheeks are on fire, but you force yourself to drop your knees open again. You’ve never felt so vulnerable lying half-dressed on Namgyu’s couch, legs spread with his face hovering inches from your most private area. The one no man has ever given his full attention to. Your heart hammers at the thought that this is Namgyu about to do this. Namgyu, who you always said you hated. And yet, the anticipation coursing through you doesn’t feel like hate at all.
He trails a finger down your slit, feather-light, and you jerk at the contact, a soft cry escaping. You’re embarrassingly sensitive, all your nerve endings on high alert.
“Easy,” he coos, in a tone that might be mocking if it wasn’t so throaty. His finger slides through your folds again, gathering wetness, then he brings it to his lips and sucks it off with a hum of satisfaction. “Fuck… you taste good already.”
You bite back a whine. The sight of him tasting you like that sends a pulse of arousal through you, and you clench around nothing, hips canting upward involuntarily.
“Please,” you hear yourself whisper. It’s half an entreaty, half a demand.
Namgyu flashes you a grin, almost feral in the low light. “Told you, just had to ask nicely.” And with that, he ducks his head and finally, finally puts his mouth on you.
The first swipe of his tongue through your folds has you moaning outright. It’s a slow, deliberate lick, from your entrance up to your clit, where he circles teasingly before doing it all over again. Your hand flies to your mouth, almost embarrassed at the sounds trying to escape you. The other grips the back of the couch above your head, bracing yourself as your body jolts with electricity at each lap of his tongue.
If he was smug before, he’s downright energized now. “That’s it,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice against your sensitive flesh making you gasp. “Already making such pretty noises. And I’ve barely started.”
“Don’t—ah—don’t get cocky,” you manage to pant, though it loses effect since it’s punctuated by a whimper when he sucks lightly on your clit. Your vision sparks. Pleasure bolts through you, and you instinctively clamp your thighs around his head.
Namgyu just chuckles, prying them back apart with firm hands. “Nuh-uh, keep these open. I’m not done with you.”
He latches his mouth around your clit and begins to suck in earnest, flicking his tongue over the swollen nub in rapid strokes. The world drops out from under you. You cry out, both hands flying to his head this time, fingers tangling in his hair and holding on for dear life.
“Fuck! Namgyu—” you gasp. It’s half curse, half plea. Your hips move of their own accord, grinding up against his face as he works you with a precision that leaves you reeling. He alternates between sucking and licking, occasionally dipping his tongue down to tease at your entrance, then back up to torment your clit again until you’re a writhing mess.
Pleasure coils tight in your belly, an insistent, molten heat growing with each passing second. You can’t believe how fast he’s unraveling you, how your body responds to every flick of his tongue as if he’s played this instrument a thousand times.
Maybe he has, just not with you. The thought of all those other girls, faceless in his past, usually would provoke jealousy or disgust. But right now, you’re almost grateful he’s had practice, because he’s playing you like a maestro, and you’re hurtling towards a crescendo at breakneck speed.
“Oh god,” you choke out. One of your hands claws at the cushion, the other gripping his hair almost painfully, but he only groans as if he likes it. The sound vibrates through your core, sending you closer to the edge.
Heat is surging inside you, muscles tensing. Your breaths come in short, ragged pants. It’s never been like this, so overwhelming, so all-consuming. Your ex’s fumbling attempts to get you off were like weak tremors compared to this earthquake building inside you.
Namgyu slides one hand up to intertwine with yours where you clutch the cushion, pinning it above your head. With his other, he teases your entrance with his index finger, circling lightly. “You’re so wet,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Think you can take a finger?”
You nod frantically, not trusting your voice. Actually, you could probably take more than one given how aroused you are, but one is a fine start.
He eases a finger into you, slowly, watching your face for any discomfort. All you feel is relief, the fullness a welcome addition to the relentless stimulation of his mouth. You moan, loud and unabashed now, as he pumps the finger in and out a few times before adding a second without even needing to ask. You’re more than ready.
The stretch is perfect enough to feel it, not enough to hurt. He finds a rhythm, curling his fingers to press against your front wall as he thrusts slowly. The combination of his fingers inside and his mouth on your clit has you hurtling toward that peak so fast it’s almost frightening.
Your legs are trembling on either side of his head. “Namgyu—” you gasp, looking down at him.
His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the heated haze in them pushes you closer to oblivion. He looks thoroughly in his element between your thighs, like he belongs there, and the realization that you’re letting him do this, loving that he’s doing this,sends your mind reeling.
“I’m—” you try to warn him, but coherence fails you as he redoubles his efforts, fingers curling just right inside you to hit a spot that makes you see stars, tongue flicking faster over your clit.
It’s too much. You shatter with a cry, your climax crashing over you in a white-hot wave. Your thighs clamp around his head despite his earlier admonition, and you feel him groan against you in response, but he doesn’t let up. He carries you through it, lapping at you as you spasm and arch off the couch. Your hand in his hair tightens, likely painfully, but he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering and pushing at his head, the overstimulation turning sharp.
He relents then, gently removing his fingers and placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh as your body continues to quake. You can hardly breathe, much less form a sentence. An intense flush covers you from face to chest, your skin damp with sweat. You’re pretty sure you just saw heaven for a second there.
Namgyu sits back on his heels, wiping the glistening wetness from his chin with the back of his hand. He looks incredibly self-satisfied, the bastard. But you can’t even summon the will to knock that smug grin off his face because you’re still floating.
When you finally manage to catch your breath, you croak out, “Holy shit…”
He laughs, low and pleased. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You manage a weak glare that probably looks more like awed gratitude than irritation. “Don’t—don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’”
He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then, to your surprise, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your mound, almost… sweetly. Your heart skips at the gentleness of it. Maybe he’s more affected by this than he’s letting on.
You’re more affected by him than you’d like to admit. Because as the haze of climax slowly clears, the reality sets in. You just came harder than ever in your life from Namgyu’s mouth. And now he’s looking up at you, hair disheveled from your fingers, lips swollen and glistening with your arousal, and he’s… beautiful. Ruggedly, sinfully beautiful. The thought shakes you.
He moves to stand, and in a daze, you sit up, legs still feeling like jelly. Your dress is still bunched around your waist, breasts exposed, and you start to pull it back up, suddenly self-conscious. But Namgyu stops you with a hand on your knee.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “I’m not done looking at you.”
The way he says it sends a flicker of renewed arousal through you. You should be spent, utterly satisfied. And you are, in one sense. But seeing the bulge straining against his jeans, knowing he’s hard and aching and that you can do something about it, stirs your own hunger back to life.
He’s done this incredible thing for you, no one can say Namgyu doesn’t give as good as he boasts. And now, surprisingly, you want to return the favor. Not out of obligation, but because the idea of making him unravel like you just did is suddenly very, very appealing.
Maybe it’s also because a part of you still wants to wipe that cocky grin off his face, and what better way than to have him at your mercy for a change?
You reach for him, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans. He raises an eyebrow as you tug him closer. “Your turn,” you say, voice still a bit shaky but gaining strength with each word.
Namgyu blinks. “What, you gonna suck my dick out of gratitude?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a flicker of genuine surprise and desire in his eyes.
You flush. “Gratitude? No. Consider it… payback.” You force a smirk. “Unless you’re all talk and no stamina?”
He laughs, a genuine warm sound that rumbles through his chest. “Oh, I’ll show you stamina.”
But as he starts to undo his belt, you stop him, batting his hands away. “I got it.”
He lets you, curious, as you rise onto unsteady knees on the couch and push his leather jacket off his shoulders. He shrugs out of it and tosses it aside, then grabs the back of his t-shirt and yanks it off in one fluid motion, clearly eager to shed clothes. You drink in the sight revealed: lean muscle, a scatter of tattoos across his chest and arms and a few old scars. His skin is warm and smooth except for the roughness of scars and ink.
You realize you’re outright staring when he smirks. “Like what you see?”
You snap back, “Shut up,” but it lacks bite because, yeah, you do like it. Too much. You place your hands on his bare chest, intent on pushing him to sit on the couch so you can straddle him or kneel or something, but he’s not easily guided.
Instead, Namgyu grabs your hips and flips positions with you, sinking onto the couch and pulling you into his lap in one swift move. You gasp, hands landing on his shoulders for balance. Your bare core is pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans and the hard bulge beneath, and even though your nerve endings are a bit sensitive from your orgasm, the friction makes you suck in a breath.
He groans softly, hands sliding up your thighs under your bunched dress. “Fuck, you’re so wet… gonna ruin my jeans,” he mutters appreciatively.
“Then take them off,” you counter.
His eyes flash with heat. “As you wish.”
You help, fingers fumbling only slightly as you undo his belt and pop the button on his jeans. The zipper is next, and as you pull it down, his erection strains against black boxer briefs, the tip already gleaming with a damp spot of pre-cum.
You feel a fresh wave of arousal at the sight and the realization: he got that worked up just from going down on you. The power in that is heady. You reach into the waistband of his briefs and wrap your hand around him, freeing his cock from its confines. He hisses as the cool air hits it.
Holy hell. He’s big. Not in a way that seems impossible, but definitely enough to command attention. Long, with a slight curve, and girthier than you expected. Your mouth goes a bit dry, not with fear, but anticipation. A flicker of nerves, sure But mostly excitement at the challenge.
Namgyu watches you pump him slowly, eyes hooded. His chest rises and falls faster now. “Enjoying yourself?” he quips, but it comes out in a strained rasp.
You smile sweetly. “Actually, yeah.” And to emphasize, you swirl your thumb over the slick head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum around. He inhales sharply, hips twitching.
“Two can play that game,” he breathes, and suddenly he sits up and captures one of your still-bared breasts in his mouth again, teeth scraping your sensitive nipple unexpectedly. You cry out, pleasure laced with a bit of overstimulation pain, and arch against him. He soothes it with his tongue, then pulls back with a self-satisfied look.
“You distract me, I distract you,” he says smugly.
Your eyes narrow playfully. “Fine.”
You slide off his lap to the floor, kneeling between his spread legs. The position reversal from earlier is not lost on either of you. He looks genuinely stunned for a second, maybe not having expected you to go this far. But he recovers with a grin.
“If you wanted to get on your knees for me, all you had to do was ask,” he taunts.
“You talk way too much,” you mutter.
“Make me shut up, then,” he challenges.
So you do. By wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and leaning forward to take the tip into your mouth. That shuts him up real fast.
“Ah, fuck—” he curses, head tipping back as you swirl your tongue around the head, tasting the salt of him. His hand flies to your head, fingers tangling in your hair, not pushing, just holding, as if to convince himself this is real.
Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, sliding your lips down his shaft as far as you can comfortably go. He’s thick, stretching your mouth wide, and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you pull back.
“Jesus, (Y/N)…” he groans. The sound of your name in that ragged tone sends a thrill through you. Usually he calls you princess or just hurls insults, but the way he says your actual name now, like a prayer or a curse, spurs you on.
You begin a steady rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him a little deeper each time until the tip nudges the back of your throat and you have to ease up. Your hand works in tandem, stroking what your mouth can’t reach, and you use your other hand to gently cup his balls. He curses again, a litany of “shit, fuck, yeah” spilling from his lips.
Namgyu is not quiet, he lets you know exactly how good it feels with those filthy words and deep, throaty groans that only make you wetter. He tries to watch you, propping himself on an elbow to gaze down, but one particularly hard suck makes his eyes roll back and he collapses against the couch with a strangled moan.
The taste of him and the musky scent envelops your senses. You never particularly enjoyed giving head with your ex. It always felt like a chore because he never reciprocated. But this… this feels powerful. You’re driving Namgyu absolutely wild. Him, who always acted like nothing fazed him.
You hum around his length, and he actually whimpers, his grip on your hair tightening. “Fuck, baby, you keep doing that—” He cuts himself off, chest heaving.
The pet name slips out and surprises both of you. You feel his thigh muscles tense under your hand as if he’s bracing for you to tease him about it.
Instead, you double down, sucking even harder and then releasing him with a lewd pop to catch your breath, pumping him with your fist. “Keep talking like that and I might think you like me or something,” you tease breathlessly, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.
Namgyu lets out a breathy chuckle, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “Don’t get it twisted,” he pants, though his hand is petting your hair almost affectionately now. “I just really, really like your mouth.”
“To think earlier you said I talked too much,” you quip, then lick around his head again, focusing on that sensitive spot just under the crown.
He swears, hips bucking a little. “Shit— okay, fine, shutting up.”
You smile, victorious, and take him back in, bobbing faster now. His breathing grows ragged, and you can tell he’s getting close. His thighs tremble on either side of you.
“(Y/N)… I’m gonna…” He grits out, a warning.
You should pull back and finish him with your hand, or ask where he wants to come. But a streak of recklessness, or perhaps generosity, makes you want to take it all the way, consequences be damned. You want to taste him, to swallow his cockiness literally and figuratively.
So you don’t slow. You keep going, slurping and sucking, pumping the base with a twist of your wrist the way some instinct tells you he’ll like.
With a hoarse shout, Namgyu comes undone. He spills hot and salty into your mouth in spurts, and you do your best to swallow quickly, but some still trickles past your lips. You keep milking him until he’s empty, his body shuddering with aftershocks, a string of curses and your name tumbling from his lips.
Finally, you release him, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth, catching the bit that escaped. Namgyu is panting, head thrown back, one arm over his face. He looks thoroughly debauched and utterly spent.
Pride swells in your chest. You did that. Little Miss Uptight made the king of sleaze fall apart.
As the high of the moment begins to settle, an uncertain quiet envelops the room. You slowly rise from your knees, your own legs screaming from the position, and sit on the couch next to him. You’re hyper-aware of your disheveled state. Dress still down around your waist, breasts out, hair a mess, lips swollen. He’s not any better. Jeans open, shirt off, chest glistening with sweat.
Your mind races to process the sheer insanity of what just happened. A half hour ago, you were at each other’s throats. And now…
Namgyu is the first to break the silence. He lifts his arm from his face, turning to look at you with an expression you can’t quite read. Sated, yes, but there’s something softer, almost perplexed in his eyes.
“That,” he says slowly, voice rough from groaning, “was…”
You tense, wondering if he’s about to ruin it by saying something cruel or crass.
“…fucking amazing,” he finishes with a faint, almost incredulous laugh.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, then manage a smirk. “Yeah, it was alright.”
He barks a laugh at your nonchalance. “Alright, she says. The way you were moaning, I’d say it was a bit better than alright.”
Now that the deed is done, your reflexive banter returns to cover up the weird vulnerability creeping in. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was thinking of someone else the whole time.”
He grins, rolling his head to face you fully. “Liar.” His hand comes up, and for a second you think he might touch your face. But he hesitates, then smirks and flicks your exposed nipple instead. “And cover up. Not that I mind the view, but you’ll catch cold or some shit.”
You swat his hand away, cheeks heating, and quickly pull your bra and dress back up over your chest. “Ever the gentleman,” you quip.
He zips up his jeans, not bothering with the belt yet. An awkward beat passes as you both adjust yourselves, reality slowly seeping back in. The air smells of sex and sweat and weed, a pungent reminder of what happened.
Your mind starts to chase implications: what now? Do you just… go home? Do you say thank you? God, that would be weird. This was transactional in a sense, but also not. It felt… personal, in ways you’re not prepared to face yet.
Namgyu clears his throat, seeming to sense your sudden tension. “So,” he drawls, attempting nonchalance, “this definitely beats going to the club, huh?”
A startled laugh escapes you. “Yeah,” you admit, “the club would have to be pretty damn special to top this.”
He flashes a lazy grin. “I mean, we could probably charge people to watch next time. Might make more than I do dealing in a night.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t help a small smile. “In your dreams, Namgyu.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Could be fun. But fine, I’ll keep this private show just for me.”
The implication that there might be a next time hangs in the air. You should shut that down. This was a one-time lapse in judgment, right? Brought on by weed and weird circumstances. Tomorrow, you’ll both go back to hating each other. That’s the safe assumption.
Yet, a treacherous part of you isn’t entirely sure you want it to be a one-time thing. Not after discovering what lies beneath all that bickering, a chemistry so intense it scorched you both.
You stand up on slightly unsteady legs, smoothing your dress and searching for your discarded panties. You spot them half under the coffee table and bend to pick them up, wincing at the slight ache between your thighs. Namgyu definitely did a number on you.
As you step into your underwear and right yourself, Namgyu has also stood, pulling on his t-shirt again. You catch each other’s eyes and then quickly look away, both of you seemingly unsure how to navigate this new terrain.
The awkwardness is starting to creep in. You hate it. After everything, returning to being strangers enemies feels wrong. But you’re not about to get all sappy and ask him what this means or any of that nonsense. Instead, you latch onto practical matters.
“You still gonna drive me home?” you ask, your tone a bit more snappy than intended. Defense mechanism, fully engaged.
He runs a hand through his mussed hair, giving you a sideways look. “Yeah… of course.”
He grabs his jacket and keys from where they ended up, while you retrieve your purse and phone which somehow got knocked to the floor in the fray.
As you slip on your heels that you’d kicked off at some point, you become hyper-aware of the silence. A million thoughts swirl in your head. What will it be like tomorrow? Next week? Can you really act like nothing happened? Do you want to?
Should you say something? Like, set a rule or…?
Before you can decide, Namgyu speaks up, his tone oddly serious. “Hey.” He steps closer, standing in front of you. You clutch your purse strap, steeling yourself and meeting his gaze.
He actually looks a bit nervous, which is a new look on him. “About… all this,” he begins, gesturing vaguely at the couch and you. “We’re cool, right?”
It’s almost endearing, how unsure he sounds. You realize he might be worried you’re going to freak out or regret it and make things weird for Subong or something.
You force what you hope is a reassuring smirk. “As cool as we ever were.”
He gives a small huff of laughter. “Not saying much. But yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, an unusual bashfulness creeping in. “I mean… we don’t have to tell him. Obviously.”
“Oh god, no,” you say quickly, mortified at the very thought. “We take this to our graves.”
“Good,” Namgyu says, though something in his face twitches. Disappointment? You can’t tell. He recovers with a cocky grin. “Though if he ever found out, at least he’d know his sister isn’t as uptight as she acts.”
You swat his arm, but lightly. “Shut up.”
He laughs and heads to the door, pulling it open and gesturing for you to go ahead. “After you.”
Well, at least he’s not a total asshole post fucking, you think dryly. You step out into the hallway, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat inside that apartment. As you pass him, you feel his hand lightly brush your lower back in a way that’s oddly protective, but it could have been accidental.
The walk down to his car is quiet. Your body feels heavy, sated, a pleasant hum in your veins. Namgyu unlocks his beat-up car with a click, and you slide into the passenger seat. He gets in the driver’s side and for a moment, you just sit there. The car smells faintly of him, plus a bit of weed. You wonder if the scent of sex clings to you both.
When he starts the engine, a music track comes on. Some EDM thing with a driving bass. He quickly turns the volume way down to a background thump. Neither of you seem inclined to blast music right now.
As he pulls out and heads toward your part of town, you find yourself stealing glances at his profile in the passing streetlights. He looks calm, maybe a bit tired. You suddenly recall the way he looked between your legs, concentrated and feral, and you flush, facing forward again.
Say something, you urge yourself. Anything to cut the tension. But small talk feels ridiculous after what you’ve done.
In the end, it’s Namgyu who speaks, just as you’re almost halfway. “So… your first time, huh?”
You almost choke. “Wh— excuse me?”
He clarifies, one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually out the open window. “Getting head. That was your first.”
“Oh.” You bite your lip. “Uh, yeah.”
He glances at you, a hint of a proud smirk on his lips. “Glad I could be of service.”
You manage a huff. “Way to ruin it, jerk.”
He frowns. “That’s not—” He stops, sighs. “I’m just saying. I’m glad it was me.”
That admission hangs in the air, far more intimate than the crude talk before. You turn your face to the window, hoping the darkness hides the way your cheeks burn yet again. There’s that softness from earlier creeping in, threatening to make this more than just a sleazy hook-up story.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” you murmur, trying to keep your tone light. “Just because you gave me an orgasm or two doesn’t mean we’re suddenly best friends or something.”
He is quiet for a moment, and you worry you’ve offended him. But when you peek over, he’s smirking lightly. “Orgasm or two, huh? So I set a high bar. Whoever comes after me’s got their work cut out.”
Whoever comes after… The idea of someone else, someone not him touching you should be a comforting thought because obviously you won’t do this with him again. You’ll eventually meet a nice guy, have normal sex, maybe they’ll be generous lovers too. That’s what you want… right?
So why does picturing anyone else down there make you feel oddly… empty?
“Yeah, well,” you say carefully, “maybe no one will have to try. I might just swear off guys entirely after tonight. Retire at my peak.”
He actually looks almost insulted. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
You can’t help it. You burst out laughing. “You idiot. I meant the opposite.”
His grin returns. “I know. I just like hearing you say it.”
You shake your head, but a smile tugs your lips. “Fine. Congratulations, Namgyu, you’ve officially ruined me for other men. Happy?”
He taps the wheel in a little drum fill, clearly pleased. “Very.”
The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, but not painfully so. You both seem lost in thought. Soon, he’s pulling up to your house. It’s late and the lights are off.
Namgyu parks and stops the engine. You hesitate, hand on the door handle. This might be the weirdest part yet, saying goodbye.
“So…” you begin awkwardly, turning to him. “Thanks for the ride. And… uh…”
He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And… uh…?”
You groan. “Don’t make it weird.”
He chuckles. “Alright. I won’t say ‘it was a pleasure’ then, even though it was.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Good night, Namgyu.”
You push open the door and step out, eager to escape before anything more can be said to muddle your brain.
Just as you’re about to close the door, he calls your name. You lean down, looking at him questioningly through the open car door.
His face is partially in shadow from the streetlight, but you can see he’s serious. “Don’t forget… still taking this to the grave, yeah?”
You nod firmly. “Absolutely.”
He nods back. But you think you catch a flash of something like regret in his eyes before he masks it. Maybe you imagined it.
Without another word, you close the door gently and head up the path to your house. You don’t look back, but you hear his car start up and drive off as you reach your door.
Inside, the house is silent. You tiptoe to your room, not bothering with more than kicking off your heels and dropping your purse. You collapse on your bed, every muscle in your body relaxing into the mattress.
The night’s events replay behind your eyelids. Already, it feels a bit like a dream or something you might have hallucinated. But the aches and tingles in your body are proof it was real.
As you drift off to sleep, one last thought goes through your mind: you’re definitely not telling Subong. But lying here, sated and warm, you’re also definitely not regretting a damn thing.
And that might be the most confusing part of all.