NAMGYU ☾ ROUGH.

He wasn’t a man. Not in the way people wanted to believe. There was no gleaming white soul, no trace of purity—just rot, thick and cloying, festering beneath his skin. And maybe, just for tonight, he’d drag you down with him.

“Hey...” His voice was slow,. He tilted his head, eyes flickering over you, calculating. “I think about you too much. You’re one of the people I wish I could forget.” A pause—then a low, humorless chuckle. “Yet here you are, my favorite addiction. Just another sleazy, broken little whore.”

Something unhinged settled in his gaze. His grip tightened—sharp, unforgiving.

He wanted revenge. For what? Even he didn’t know. Maybe it was for the power you had over him, the way you made him feel, the way you were still standing while he was drowning.

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking hard, a cruel parody of something intimate. It wasn’t enough to hold you—he wanted to hurt. Wanted to feel the force of it, the same way he had when he buried a knife in flesh before, twisting at your scalp like he was trying to carve his anger into you, like he could mold you into something as ruined as him.

Maybe you’d hate him after tonight. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

“You don’t even get it, do you?” he sneered, voice slurred with something deeper than rage—something more desperate, more hungry. “You ruined me first.”

His breath was hot against your skin, reeking of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and whatever hell he’d crawled out of before landing at your doorstep. He was a spiraling, and he didn’t care if you got caught in the wreckage.

“Maybe I’ll return the favor.”

He yanked you closer, his eyes wild, fevered—like he was looking for a reason to stop, but knew damn well he wouldn’t take it even if you handed it to him.

He was chasing you—like he had nothing left to lose.

You barely had time to react before he yanked you down onto his lap, the weight of his desperation pressing against you, suffocating. The couch beneath you was worn, damned, but it felt more like a trap than a place to rest.

He didn’t really want to fuck you. Not in the way people meant it. No, this was something uglier, something more desperate. You were the only thing that could quiet the screaming in his head, the only poison slick enough to dull the edges.

Your spit—he wanted it like a fix. Like something that could lace his veins and make him forget.

His legs spread wide, and with them, yours followed—trapped against him, held firm in his grip. His hands dug into your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted, where you couldn’t run, couldn’t even shift without feeling him.

“Oh, you’re such a shot...” His voice was thick, his breath warm against your ear, a cruel laugh spilling from his lips.

“You think you’re better?” His grip tightened. “You think you can demand anything from me? You little shit...” The TV across from you flickered in the dim light, its black screen catching your reflection—both of you together, up close and personal.

The fucking money

The image was distorted, stretched by the angle, but you could see the way his eyes bore into you, unrelenting, wild.

"Look at yourself," he murmured, his fingers pressing into your skin. "Look at us."

His gaze lingered on you, before his lips curled into mockery. “You’ll love us—what we are.” amusement in every syllable. “You’ll love it—when my cock is lodged into you..”

He tilted his head, watching you, drinking in every little flinch, every little shift. “Aww, look at you. You don’t wanna accept it?” His grin widened, sickly sweet. “Look at you. The mess, You wanna close those pretty little legs?”

The words rolled off his tongue like a taunt It turned him on.

You—this—everything. He was a sick man. An addict. And right now, he loved the twisted taste of it all. He mocked and mocked over and over.

His legs closed around yours, trapping you in place as his fingers dug into your mouth. The ripe saliva. He gripped onto your chin.

Rough. forcing you to meet his cruel eyes.

“Suck, suck you pathetic thing.”

Then, without warning, his lips sucked, nipped against yours. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t sweet—it was raw, frustration.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. You could feel it—the heat, the way his boner gripped in-between your thighs like he needed to attach himself to you.

A twisted kind of love.

He slid off his soul, and yours with it, tangled together like attachment pieces caught between bodies and legs, the way your underwear was right below your ankles, slipping.

“Look at me. Look. Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice rough as he ground you down firmly—like you were grinding, pressed and just for him. “You’re so slick, so sweet, so tender.” His breath was warm, his body even warmer, crawling toward you like a starved thing.

“Keep going. Keep staring.” His grip tightened. His movements grew heavier. “This is your crime. This is my punishment.”

The way his cock grinded against your, clit, felt intoxicating—The rich wetness of pussy, mixing with his pre-cum.

“Keep going, you like this? Huh, keep going, keep fucking going.” his breath shaky, a delirious chuckle slipping past his lips. “It’ll teach you something—hah... oh..” His hands dug into your thighs more and more.

“My. Twisted. Fucking. Toy,” he squeezed the skin, “You like that, yea?”

“It feels so good...” he murmured, his voice cracking, raw and uneven. His head dipped below your shoulder, his forehead pressing into your skin as if he were trying to burrow into you.

“I love your little pussy...” a confession. His lips brushed against your skin the desperate, instinctual need to feel something, anything.

He shifted again, his body folding into yours like he was melting, like he was becoming a part of you. “You feel so good... you’re dripping. You’re doing good for me, slut what are you doing to me..”

His hands fidgeted, fingers curling and uncurling against your back, his nails digging in lightly before releasing, his cock into you roughly. he couldn’t decide whether to hold on or let go. He was trembling.

He was close—so close—and it showed in the way his body tensed, His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his chest heaving as he pushed himself to the edge. The sound of his voice was raw, broken, barely coherent as he muttered curses and praises in a tangled mess of words.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re so—god, you’re—” his hips stuttering as he fought to hold on. The force of his thrusts was almost overwhelming, each one driving him deeper, burying him so completely that you could feel the faint, unmistakable bulge of his presence in your lower abdomen.

His hands slid up your body, His lips found your neck again, teeth biting the skin as he groaned against you. “I can’t—I’m gonna—fuck—”

A lie, fucking liar, he stopped.

Namgyu’s lips curled into a sly grin as he leaned in closer, “I’m gonna make you my cock warming fucking slut,” he purred, “That’s what you get...” He paused, his hips stilling for a moment as he pulled back just enough to look down at you,

He wasn’t racing toward himself cum anymore—no, this was about you now. About making you squirm, making you beg, ruining you, making you lose control while he stayed perfectly composed.

It was always about that.

“Aww,” he cooed, his tone sweet. “Maybe I’ll shove something up your tight ass while I fill your cunt. You’d like that, huh?” His smirk widened, his eyes.

His words were filthy, his intentions clear, he was impossibly serious.

He shifted slightly, his hands moving to grip your hips as he angled himself deeper, his pace still slow inside your dripping pussy. “You’re so easy to play with,”

"Yet here you are, still with me," he murmured, "You just... happen to me." You were his unpredictable fix, a twisted high that never fades, a true constant in his chaos. Like the games, but in his own form of torment—unrelenting, infinite. You were the dose that kept on giving, an experiment with no end, bound to him forever.

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