In Session | c.sb
pairings ê€ soobin x shy!reader (f)
- failing math and desperate for help, you ask your sweet, gorgeous classmate soobin to tutor youâoffering something⊠filthier than cash in return.
wc 11k
- g ; smut · college au · tutor x student · slow burn â rough dom!soobin · bestfriend!beomgyu · campus setting
warnings ê€ smut · explicit sexual content · oral sex (fâm) · dom!soobin · shy!reader · big cock!soobin (size kink) · rough blowjob · messy (spit, cum) · face/chest ejaculation · degradation + praise · possessive behavior · rough handling · hand in hair · deepthroat · gagging · light choking (implied) · power dynamic (tutor/student, consensual) · aftercare · soft dom to rough dom switch · lots of swearing/dirty talk · body worship (chest focus) · drool/spit play · afterglow comfort/care · soobin being sweet as hell after roughing reader up đ
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
Youâre already fifteen minutes into class and the numbers on your notebook make less sense with every tick of the clock. The professorâs voice drones onâsomething about integrals, maybe, or quadratic somethingâbut your eyes keep drifting to Soobin. He sits two rows ahead, always neat, hair shining, pen twirling effortlessly in his hand. His notes are immaculate, tiny symbols and perfect lines, everything color-coded and underlined.
Youâve been telling yourself for weeks to just ask him for help. Everyone says Soobinâs the friendliest guy in class, patient and good at explaining stuff, not to mention his smile makes even the coldest morning seem warm. But every time you work up the courage, you freeze. You picture your words coming out clumsy, your voice squeaking, your cheeks burning until you have to duck behind your notebook.
So you stare instead.
You watch the way his head tilts when heâs focused, the slight furrow in his brow when the professor asks a hard question, the easy way his lips part in a tiny, secret smile whenever he gets something right. Sometimes, he pushes his glasses up with the back of his hand, so soft and casual you wonder if he even notices himself doing it. You catch yourself memorizing the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes fan out when he glances down, the slow, thoughtful way he chews the cap of his pen.
Youâre supposed to be copying down the formula on the board, but all you can think about is how youâd sound saying his name, asking if he could maybe, possibly, please help you with chapter five. Your leg bounces under the desk, nerves prickling through your skin, hands fidgeting with the corner of your notebook.
Every time Soobin laughs at something the professor says, you feel yourself smiling, too. You wonder what his voice would sound like right next to your ear, if heâd tease you for your messy handwriting or quietly praise you every time you get an answer right.
You shake yourself out of it, trying to focus on the next problemâbut the numbers swim, impossible and blurry, and Soobinâs shoulders fill your vision, broad and calm and completely out of reach. You promise yourself, next class. Youâll ask him for help.
Just⊠not today.
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
Itâs almost dusk by the time you drag yourself to the campus cafĂ©, still numb from your last math class. Your notebook is a graveyard of failed equations and doodles in the marginsâflowers, little animals, endless spirals circling the one name you wish you could say out loud. You barely taste your cold fries. Every page you flip only reminds you that youâre screwed if something doesnât change soon.
The cafĂ© is half-full, busy enough for a hum of background chatter but quiet enough for you to hear your own anxious thoughts echoing: Youâre not gonna pass. Your GPA is tanking. Why canât you just ask for help? But the moment you imagine yourself actually walking up to Soobin, something in your chest seizes up. Heâs too pretty, too tall, too careful and soft-spoken. And youâyouâre just the girl in the corner, always behind, always blushing. What could you even offer him?
Youâre half-lost in that spiral, your leg bouncing under the table, when Beomgyu flops into the seat across from you, nearly spilling his iced coffee all over your untouched lunch. Heâs a whirlwind of energy and warmth, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a chunk of cinnamon roll already halfway gone. âYo,â he says, not even pausing to swallow, âyou look like someone just told you finals got moved up a month.â
You snort, flicking your gaze to him, hoping your panic isnât too obvious. âFinals might as well be tomorrow for all the good this class is doing me. Iâm, like, one more bad quiz away from dropping out and joining the circus.â
Beomgyu grins, wiggling his eyebrows. âHey, if you do, at least take me with you. Iâve always wanted to be shot out of a cannon. Or, you know, run the fried dough stand.â
You shake your head, a smile threatening despite everything. âIâm serious, Gyu. Iâm failing. Like, failing failing. Iâve got one more test before the drop deadline, and if I flunk it Iâm screwed. Iâll have to retake the class, lose my scholarship⊠my mom will kill me.â
He reaches across, stealing one of your fries. âNah, sheâll just disown you and adopt me. Upgrade, honestly.â
You make a face, but he softens, voice gentling just a little. âYou ever think of getting a tutor? Doesnât your class have that, uhâwhatâs his name, Soobin? Guy with the pretty handwriting and the anime protagonist jawline?â
You try for nonchalance, but your cheeks give you away immediately. âYeah. I mean, heâs in my class. But itâs not like weâre friends or anything. Iâve barely talked to him. Iâd probably just embarrass myself.â
Beomgyu grins, eyes sharp, all mischief. âUh-huh. Except you stare at him all class. And you doodled his name, like, three times on that napkin last week.â
You huff, snatching your hand back. âThat was an accident. And maybe I do stare, but who wouldnât? Heâs, like, effortlessly good at everything. He never even uses his calculator. Sometimes he helps the professor solve shit on the board. Meanwhile, I can barely keep up with basic algebra.â
He leans forward, elbows on the table, expression turning sly. âOkay, so whatâs stopping you? Just go up and ask him. Worst he can do is say no.â
You sigh, picking at a fry, voice barely above a whisper. âI donât have anything to offer him. Like, what, Iâm gonna say, âHey, I know you probably get paid for this, but would you help me for⊠what, free?â I canât even pay him in Starbucks points. I literally have nothing.â
He considers you, eyes scanning your face with something sharper than teasing. âYou could offer him something else.â
You blink, caught off guard. âLike⊠friendship? Eternal gratitude? I already feel pathetic enough.â
He shakes his head, snickering. âCâmon, use your head. Or better yet, use your mouth.â
You stare, lips parted. âExcuse me?â
Beomgyuâs grin goes feral. âIâm just saying, college is expensive. Everybody wants something. You want math help, he wants to get off. Itâs a win-win. A little blowie for a B-plusâclassic barter system.â
You nearly choke on your drink, glancing around to see if anyoneâs heard. âAre you out of your mind? I canât justâno, Gyu! Jesus. Thatâs not how this works.â
He laughs harder, voice too loud, some of the other tables glancing over with smirks or rolled eyes. âBabe, this is college. Thatâs exactly how it works. You think nobodyâs ever sucked off a TA for a passing grade? At least Soobinâs hot and, like, a genuinely nice guy. Youâd be doing both of you a favor.â
Your cheeks burn, but your curiosity, traitorous, creeps in. âYou think heâd even want that? I mean⊠with me?â
He doesnât hesitate. âAre you kidding? Heâd be lucky. Besides, he totally has a thing for shy girls. I bet heâd go absolutely stupid for you. Youâd show up all nervous and pretty, chewing your pen, and heâd lose his mind.â
You bury your face in your hands. âStop. Oh my god, stop, I canât evenâno way. No way.â
He leans in, voice dropping, pushing the line between joke and dare. âPicture it: youâre sitting on his bed, heâs going over trig functions or whatever, and you just⊠slide down. Heâs too polite to say anything at first. But then you look up at him with those eyes and he justâloses it. Moans so loud the whole floor hears. You probably ruin math for him forever.â
You groan, but now the image is stuck in your headâSoobin, red-faced, hands fisted in your hair, biting back moans as you work him over, his voice trembling as he tries to keep explaining the difference between sine and cosine, failing completely when you take him deeper. Your pulse is racing and you hate that itâs not entirely out of disgust.
Beomgyu is relentless. âYouâd probably ace every test after that, too. Positive reinforcement, yâknow? Maybe heâd let you practice on him before exams. Hell, youâd probably get more than a B if you were really good.â
You peek at him, voice trembling between horror and interest. âYouâre a menace. Thereâs no way Iâd actually do it. Heâd think I was a creep, or a desperate perv, orââ
He shrugs, picking up your cold drink and taking a sip. âMaybe, but maybe not. I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you? He totally stares. And he always picks up your pen when you drop it. Thatâs boyfriend behavior, babe. At least blowjob-for-a-better-grade behavior.â
You cover your face again, trying to will the blush away. âItâs not happening. Iâd rather fail.â
He nudges your foot under the table, not letting up. âSuit yourself, but if you ever change your mind, let me know how it goes. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two if it works out.â His tone is light but you catch a softer edge, almost protective. âSeriously, though, you should ask him. Not for, like, blowjobs, but just for help. Youâre smart. You just need a leg up. Heâd be into it. And if heâs not, fuck him.â
You sigh, biting your lip, eyes drifting back to your ruined notebook. But the damage is doneâthe idea is planted, a messy tangle of embarrassment and curiosity curling in your chest. You imagine going to Soobinâs dorm, voice trembling, asking him for help. Maybe youâd stutter, trip over your words. Maybe heâd smile, all dimples and patience, and say yes. Maybe his hands would linger when he handed you his notes, his knees would bump yours under the table. Maybe youâd get brave, get close, see what it felt like to break the rules.
Beomgyu stands, stretching, grabbing the last fry and popping it in his mouth. âI gotta run, but seriously, think about it. And if you decide to go the, uh, âextra creditâ route? Wear that cute lip gloss you like. Bet heâd go crazy.â
You throw a napkin at him, but your heartâs still pounding, the idea lodged in your brain like a song you canât shake. Maybe youâll just ask Soobin for help. Maybe youâll keep it innocent. Maybe youâll never tell Beomgyu what really happens. But as you pack up your things and head for the library, you canât stop replaying the fantasyâSoobinâs hands in your hair, his low, desperate moans, the flush in his cheeks as you drop to your knees for him.
You tell yourself itâs just a joke, just Beomgyu being Beomgyu, but deep down you know youâre already wondering how it would feel to really ask for more.
And youâre not sure youâd say no if Soobin offered.
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
You spend three days torturing yourself with the idea. Itâs so stupid, so reckless, so out of character it makes your heart race just thinking about it. Every time you catch your own reflection, you picture yourself kneeling between Soobinâs legs, lips slick and shiny, his face a mask of wide-eyed shock and desperate need. It feels wrong and so hot at the same time, an intrusive thought that you just canât shake.
You imagine how it would go. You imagine what youâd say. You practice in front of your dorm mirror with the door locked, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks burning as you mouth the words: If you tutor me⊠Iâll give you head. The syllables feel heavy and sticky, like honey on your tongue. Every time you try to picture Soobinâs reaction, you spiralâsometimes heâs so shocked he runs away, sometimes heâs so into it he drags you to the closest empty room, sometimes you just combust from embarrassment and wake up in your own bed, heart hammering, thighs squeezed tight together.
By day three, youâre so keyed up you can barely eat, can barely sleep, your brain a hamster wheel of âshould I, shouldnât I, what if he laughs, what if he says yes, what if I have to look him in the eye every day after this, what ifââ But then you think about the sinking grades, the looming deadline, the way Soobinâs soft, pretty hands always sweep across his notes, his mouth pursed in focus, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he squints at the board. The way he sometimes glances over his shoulder, eyes flickering to yours, as if he knows youâre watching. The way he always holds the door a second longer for you, lets you pass, doesnât quite meet your gaze but smiles anyway.
That morning, you swipe Beomgyuâs stupid, not-so-subtle advice through your DMsââat least wear that clear gloss, babe, itâll distract him if nothing elseââand, mortifyingly, you actually do it. You dig out your old tube of shiny, sticky, ultra-gloss lip balm from the bottom of your makeup bag, the kind that makes your lips glisten like youâve just been kissed. You dab it on, trying to ignore how your hands tremble, smacking your lips together and staring at your reflection, wondering if you look desperate, or pretty, or just completely out of your mind.
You check your phone. You still have ten minutes before you need to leave for class. Ten minutes to obsess, to back out, to rehearse every scenario and watch yourself fail every one. You almost message Beomgyu, almost ask him to tell you not to do it, but then you realize if you do heâll just send another ten messages making things worse, so you throw your phone on your bed, grab your backpack, and head out into the hall before you can talk yourself down.
The walk to class is a blur of nervous energy. Your heart is beating so loud you wonder if people can hear it in your footsteps. Your hands fidget with your bag strap, thumbs rubbing over the zipper, and you keep ducking your head, scared someone will notice the gloss, the nerves, the wild plan rolling around in your brain like a dare.
Halfway down the hall, rounding the corner toward the math building, you spot Beomgyu leaning against the vending machine, scrolling through his phone, his headphones around his neck. He looks up just as you pass, eyes flickering to your face, and his mouth twists into a slow, evil grin. âOh? Someone got all shiny for class today. Got a hot date with a quadratic equation?â
You roll your eyes but your cheeks are hot, and you canât hide the way you duck your chin. âShut up. Donât start.â
He pushes off the wall, falling in step beside you, lowering his voice. âNo, seriously. You look cute. Heâs not gonna know what hit him. Youâre really gonna do it, huh?â His tone is gentle under the teasing, and for a second you want to hug him and punch him at the same time.
You flip him off, but thereâs a smile behind it. âYouâre such a menace. If I die of humiliation, youâre giving my eulogy.â
He cackles, saluting you as you push through the buildingâs glass doors. âWith pleasure. âHere lies the bravest bitch I ever met. She went out with lip gloss and a mission.â Good luck, baby.â
You stick your tongue out, hurrying into the classroom before he can get another word in. Inside, you slide into your usual seat, tug your notebook and pencil from your bag, and try to act normal, but your whole body is humming with nerves. You glance upâSoobin is already there, sitting in the third row, headphones in, bobbing his head ever-so-slightly to music only he can hear. He looks good, as always: hair a little mussed, glasses perched on his nose, sleeves rolled up just enough to show a hint of his forearms. You have to look away before you get lost staring.
Class starts, and you canât focus. Not at all. The professorâs voice is a distant, garbled mumble, words sliding right off your brain. You pretend to write notes, but all you do is doodle little hearts and tiny equations that make no sense, while your mind loops: What if I just ask for help? What if I actually say it? What if I choke? What if he says yes?
Every time Soobin raises his hand to answer a question, your stomach does a somersault. Every time his mouth curves into a little smileâespecially when the professor says, âGood job, Soobin!ââyou feel your thighs squeeze together, heat blooming under your skin, and your tongue flicks out to swipe the gloss, just for something to do. You start to imagine what it would feel like to kneel for him, what his voice would sound like breaking, how his hand would feel cradling your jaw. You force yourself back to reality, but your heart is racing so hard you can barely breathe.
The clock on the wall crawls. Youâre sweaty, jittery, your foot tapping a nervous rhythm under your desk. You keep replaying your script in your head, but every version feels too forward, too awkward, too much. You think about backing outâyou donât have to do this, you can just ask for tutoring and pay him in Starbucks, you donât even have to make it weirdâbut then you remember Beomgyuâs smirk and the way Soobin looks at you sometimes when he thinks youâre not looking. You remember how it feels to want something so bad it aches.
Class finally ends. You donât remember a single thing from the lessonâyour page is blank except for the imprint of your sweaty palm. Everyone starts packing up, voices rising as chairs scrape and zippers whine. You freeze, panic crawling up your throat. You almost let it go. You almost stay silent, but then you see Soobin gathering his notes, tucking them carefully into his bag, his movements neat and slow.
Now or never, you tell yourself. Youâre not backing out. Youâll regret it forever if you do.
You start to stand, but sit again. Then stand halfway, then freeze, your brain going a million miles an hour.
Okay, just get his attention. Say something, anything. Itâs just Soobin. Youâre just talking.
Your mouth is dry. You swallow. âUmâSoobin?â Your voice is thin, almost drowned out by the chatter, but he glances up, a little startled, lips parting, his eyes soft and curious behind his glasses.
He pushes his headphones off, draping them around his neck, and blinks, shy but attentive. âOh. Hi! Uh, did you need something?â
You hug your bag to your chest, willing your voice not to shake. âHey. Um, do you have a sec? I, uh, wanted to ask you something. About class.â
He gives you that gentle, nervous smile, the one that always makes you want to melt. âYeah, of course! Whatâs up?â
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. You almost chicken out. Then, with a deep breath, you launch into it. âSo, um. Iâm really struggling. With, like, everything. I keep failing tests, and if I donât pass the next one, Iâm pretty much doomed. And, um, I heard youâre really good at this stuff, and I was wondering ifâif maybe youâd tutor me?â Youâre rambling, words tumbling over each other, eyes flicking away from his face.
Soobinâs cheeks go a little pink, but his smile is bright and earnest. âOh! Yeah, I meanâyeah, I can do that. Iâd love to help.â He looks so happy to be asked, it makes you feel like the biggest idiot for waiting this long.
You almost leave it there. You should leave it there. But then you remember the gloss, the way Beomgyu said it, the way your heart is beating like a drum. You want to say it before you lose your nerve. You take a breath, eyes darting to his lips, then back to his eyes.
âAnd, umâsince I canât really pay you, I thought I could⊠I donât know, return the favor? I mean, like, if you wantedâI could give you head? Like, uh⊠blowjobs? For tutoring?â Your voice drops to a whisper, every syllable a living nightmare. You almost cover your mouth, half-convinced youâve said it way too loud.
For a moment, Soobin just stares at you. His face is frozen, all wide eyes and parted lips, the kind of shock you only see in cartoons. He blinks once, twice, his bag halfway zipped, hands pausing as if he canât quite process what just happened.
âWait, what?â His voice is almost a squeakâsoft, a little breathless, the color rising in his cheeks. âYou⊠did you just sayâŠ?â
You want to die. âIâyeah. I mean, only if you want! Itâs, like, not a requirement or anything, I justâcanât pay you. So I figuredâumâmaybe youâd be interested? I donât know.â Youâre staring at your shoes, your hands trembling, your whole body hot and cold at once.
Heâs still staring, stunned, but now thereâs a flush creeping up his neck, spreading to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He fumbles his pen, dropping it, and has to crouch to pick it up, which buys you both a second to breathe.
When he comes back up, his voice is softer, shy but somehow steady. âUh⊠wow. I meanâyeah, I⊠Iâd like that.â Heâs quiet, but thereâs an edge to his words, a little flicker of something needy and amazed, as if he never thought heâd be in this situation. âAre you sure? I mean, I can tutor you, you donât have to⊠Iâm happy to help anyway.â
You force yourself to meet his eyes, mouth sticky with nerves. âI want to. If you want. I mean, if youâre into it.â
He nods, swallowing hard. âIâI am. I mean. Yeah.â He lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. âShould I⊠give you my address? Or do you want to come to my dorm after class tomorrow?â
You nod, pulse pounding, unable to believe this is really happening. âAfter class works. What time?â
He glances at his phone, thumb shaking just a little as he checks his schedule. âUh, six? Room 218B. Whatâs your number? Iâll text you, just in case.â
You both stand there for a second, the silence heavy and electrified as you give soobin your number. You canât help but notice how he keeps sneaking glances at your mouth, his eyes dipping down to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. You wonder if heâs thinking about it, if heâs already imagining your mouth on him, if heâs ever been this flustered before.
You say a quick, awkward goodbye, practically bolting out of the classroom, your knees weak, your hands shaking, the slick gloss on your lips tingling with every breath. You replay every second, every word, every look. You imagine Soobinâs hands in your hair, his breath stuttering as you kneel between his thighs, his cock heavy and hot on your tongue, the taste of him, the sound of his voice breaking as he loses control. You imagine being praised, degraded, worshipped, ruinedâall because you were brave enough to ask for what you wanted.
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
You walk back to your dorm in a daze, sneakers slapping the concrete, air cold against your cheeks but the rest of you burning up. Every step, your mind is on repeatâDid I actually say that? Did Soobin actually say yes? Did I hallucinate that entire conversation? You keep replaying the stunned look on his face, the way his lips parted, the flush creeping up his neck, the stutter in his voice as he said yes, as if heâd never even considered that something like this could happen to him. As if you werenât just a regular girl asking for tutoring, but some kind of secret agent on a mission of pure filth.
You unlock your door, stumble inside, and drop your backpack to the floor without even looking. You donât even bother taking off your shoes before grabbing your phone with sweaty, shaking hands. Itâs an instinct, muscle memoryâthereâs only one person you could possibly call right now, only one person whoâd actually appreciate the chaos.
The phone barely rings once before Beomgyu picks up, his voice already cackling through the speaker. âWhatâs up, slut?â
You let out a helpless, nervous laugh, flopping back on your bed and staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. âYou are never going to believe what I just did.â
âOh, babe, I already know. You finally confessed your undying love to Soobin, he swept you off your feet, and now youâre moving to Bali to raise alpacas together.â
âShut up, Iâm serious!â You bury your face in your pillow, words tumbling out fast. âBeomgyu, I did it. I actually asked him. Like, actually asked if heâd tutor meâand then I told him Iâd give him head as payment.â
Thereâs a long beat of silence, then Beomgyu absolutely loses itâhowling laughter, a sharp slap of palm against something (maybe his desk, maybe his thigh), his breathless voice barely holding it together. âYou did not. Oh my fucking god, you really said it?â
âI said it!â you moan, clutching your pillow so hard your knuckles ache. âI was so nervous. I stuttered, I almost chickened out, but I actually said it. He justâhe looked at me like Iâd hit him with a brick. He dropped his pen, Gyu. I think I killed him.â
Heâs still laughing, wheezing now, almost coughing. âHoly shit. Iâm so proud of you. Did you use the line I gave you? Did you bat your lashes and go all âIâll pay you with my mouth, oppa?ââ
You groan. âI did not call him oppa, you asshole. I barely made it through the sentence. I probably looked like I was about to pass out.â
Beomgyu just sighs, the fondness cutting through his teasing. âAnd? Whatâd he say? Did he faint? Did he start speaking in tongues?â
You flip onto your back, heart still racing, toes curling in your shoes. âHe just⊠he stared at me for like, thirty seconds, then he asked me to repeat itâlike he didnât believe it. Then he got all pink and said yes. He actually said yes, Gyu.â
He makes a dramatic, almost fake-sentimental sound. âIâm honestly tearing up. My babyâs all grown up and bartering blowjobs for math grades. I always knew you had it in you.â
You giggle, the tension bubbling out in a rush. âYou are such an asshole.â
âBut Iâm your asshole,â he counters, smug as ever. âSo, letâs talk strategy. Tomorrowâs the big day, right? You going to his dorm all innocent, or are you going to go full femme fatale?â
You twist a loose thread on your comforter, the nerves swooping back in. âI have no idea what Iâm doing, Gyu. Like, do I just show up and⊠drop to my knees? Or do we actually study first? What if Iâm terrible at it? What if he tells everyone? What if he doesnât even want me toâ?â
He cuts you off with a snort. âFirst off, youâre not terrible. Iâve heard your ex talk, you literally made him see stars. And second, Soobinâs not the type to bragâhe probably doesnât even have friends heâd tell. Heâs the kind of guy whoâd write about it in his diary and then feel guilty for, like, a week. Heâs probably gonna thank you a hundred times and then offer you snacks afterward.â
You cover your face, blushing so hard your ears burn. âOh my god, please. I canât even picture it. What do I wear? I canât look like Iâm trying too hard, but if I just show up in sweatpants, is that weird?â
Beomgyu hums, like heâs actually weighing his options. âOkay, so hereâs what you do. Jeans that make your ass look good, but, like, casual. T-shirt that you know you look cute in, maybe a hoodie to keep it chill. And definitely the gloss. No question.â
You snort. âYou really think heâll notice the lip gloss?â
He makes a tutting sound. âTrust me, babe. Boys like Soobin? They notice. Heâll probably spend the whole time staring at your mouth. Heâll be thinking about it every time you talk. And when you finally go down on him, heâll lose his fucking mind. Heâll remember the way your lips looked forever.â
You groan, tossing your arm over your face. âYou are not helping.â
He just laughs, soft and warm. âIâm helping the only way I know how. Besides, you want him to think about your mouth. Heâs going to be a mess. I bet heâs nervous, too. Heâs probably in his room right now practicing what to say to you. Youâre going to break him.â
You let the silence stretch, the weight of it all hitting you. âIâm so fucking nervous, Gyu. What if I get there and canât go through with it? What if I freeze? What if I just⊠sit there and stare at him again?â
Heâs quiet for a second, then his voice softens, all the teasing stripped away. âThen you just tell him you want to study. Or you leave. Or you do whatever the fuck you want, because you donât owe him anything, and youâre still the bravest bitch I know. Seriously. You already did the hard part. The rest is just⊠whatever you want it to be.â
You sniff, blinking hard, feeling a little teary despite yourself. âThanks, Gyu. Seriously.â
He clears his throat, feigning macho. âDonât get all sappy on me now. Youâve got a dick to blow and a GPA to save. I expect a full report, okay?â
You laugh, tears forgotten, warmth blooming in your chest. âYouâll be the first to know. Maybe Iâll even text you live updates.â
âPlease do,â he says, voice absolutely delighted. âActually, noâcall me from the bathroom if you need backup. Iâll talk you through it. Like a coach.â
You roll your eyes, but you know he means it. âYou are the worst hype man ever.â
Heâs grinningâyou can hear it in his voice. âBut the most loyal. Now, go take a shower, practice your âinnocent student in needâ look, and rememberâgloss, cute underwear, and confidence. You got this.â
You finally kick off your shoes, shoving your face into your pillow and screaming into it, feeling both mortified and wildly alive. The call ends with Beomgyu shouting âGo get that math dick, queen!â and you promising to text him the minute anything happens, your hands still shaking with adrenaline.
The rest of the night, you canât focus on anythingâhomework, dinner, TikTok, nothing. Every time you brush your teeth, you think about Soobinâs mouth. Every time you catch your reflection, you picture what his face will look like, eyes wide, lips bitten, your gloss smeared across his cock.
You practice your smile, your âthanks for tutoring meâ voice, your âoh, Iâm just so gratefulâ look. You lay out five different outfits and hate them all. You wonder if you should bring snacks, or gum, or mouthwash, or maybe just a little bravery tucked into your back pocket.
When you finally crawl into bed, your phone lights up with a text from Beomgyu:
â- [gyu] â you better wear that gloss, slut.
You laugh so hard you startle your roommate. The nerves are still there, but now thereâs something steadier underneathâexcitement, confidence, maybe even a little pride. You did it. You actually did it.
Tomorrow, youâll walk into Soobinâs dorm with sticky lips and shaky hands and maybe, just maybe, enough guts to see it through.
And if not, at least youâll have Beomgyu on speed dial, ready to talk you through the rest.
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
You wake up with your heart pounding. Itâs not even eight in the morning, but your brain is already in overdrive, looping through every possible outcome, every possible disaster, every possible way this could go completely and utterly wrong. The sunâs barely risen and youâve already rehearsed the words in your head a hundred times: âHey Soobin, thanks for helping meâcan I suck your dick now?â You bury your face in your pillow and groan, considering dropping out and joining the circus all over again.
But life marches on, and so does your schedule. You have history class todayâyour most boring lecture of the week, the kind where even the professor sounds like heâs sleepwalking through the Industrial Revolution. You spend twenty minutes getting dressed, agonizing over your jeans, ending up in your softest, most nondescript pair, and a sweatshirt thatâs cozy enough to hide the fact that your hands wonât stop shaking. You swipe on the gloss (because now itâs just a nervous habit), toss your hair into a messy bun, and spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at your phone screen on the walk to campus.
You donât see Soobin. You keep looking, scanning every face in the crowd, hoping maybe heâll pass you on the sidewalk or be at the coffee shop, but heâs nowhere in sight. You text BeomgyuââI havenât chickened out yet. Thatâs gotta count for something, right?ââand he immediately responds with a voice memo of him singing Eye of the Tiger, off-key and extra dramatic. It makes you laugh, and the tension in your chest loosens just a little.
History class is a blur. You sit in the third row, surrounded by a sea of half-awake students, your notebook open to a blank page. You stare at the clock. You doodle. You underline the word âTREATYâ seven times without knowing why. The professor is droning about treaties, about presidents you vaguely remember from high school, but youâre not really listening. Your mind drifts to Soobin: the way his hand shook just a little when you made the offer, the soft rasp of his voice when he said yes, the shy way his eyes kept darting to your lips. Every so often, you catch yourself zoning out, replaying the way youâll kneel for him, the heat of his hands in your hair, the sound he might make the first time you put your mouth on him.
Your thighs squeeze together under the desk. You scrawl â6:00â at the top of the page, then immediately erase it, blushing for no reason.
By the time class ends, youâve learned absolutely nothing about American foreign policy, but you have developed at least four new worst-case scenarios for tonight, all of which end with you either getting banned from the dorms forever or turning into a viral meme.
You check your phone: 5:02 PM. One hour. Sixty minutes. You feel like you might throw up or burst into song, maybe both at once. You shuffle home, fighting the urge to turn around and run straight to Beomgyuâs dorm for moral support.
Instead, you stumble into your own room, dump your backpack on the floor, and immediately flop onto your bed, phone clutched in your hand. You FaceTime Beomgyu before you can lose your nerve.
He answers on the first ring, his face filling the screen, hair fluffed out like heâs been running his hands through it all day. âThere she is! Ready to suck your way to a better GPA?â
You groan, already regretting this. âPlease, Gyu, I need support, not more anxiety.â
He laughs, propping his phone up so you get the full effect of his shit-eating grin. âOh, Iâm very supportive. Want me to practice with you? Iâll even wear my glasses and act shy if that helps.â
You snort, rolling your eyes, but you canât help smiling. âYouâre the worst. I need outfit advice. If I show up looking like a try-hard, heâll know Iâm not usually this put together.â
He sits up straighter, serious now, eyes glittering. âOkay, letâs see what weâre working with.â
You hold up three hangers, one by oneâa hoodie and leggings, jeans and a crop top, then, after a deep breath, a low-cut top and a black skirt that you only ever wear when youâre feeling bold or reckless (which is to say, never). Beomgyu whistles low when he sees the last one.
âOh, damn. Thatâs a lot of chest for a math study session,â he teases. âGonna show him where to aim?â
You smack your tongue, face burning. âShut up! Is it too much? I donât want to look like Iâm expecting him to⊠you know, but also I kind of am.â
He cackles. âItâs not too much. You look hot. Trust me, if he doesnât get the hint, heâs either blind or dead. Honestly, you could show up in a trash bag and heâd still be shaking. But you in that skirt? Heâs gonna be too flustered to solve two plus two.â
You twist in front of your mirror, pulling at the hem, tugging the top a little higher, then lower again. âAre you sure? I donât want to look desperate. Or, like, too easy.â
Beomgyu shakes his head, earnest for once. âYou donât look desperate. You look fucking hot. And you look confidentâwhich is hotter than anything. Heâll love it. Promise.â
You sit on your bed, feet swinging nervously. âI keep thinking Iâm going to get there and just⊠freeze. What if I forget what to say? What if he just wants to study?â
He grins. âIf he just wants to study, you study. If he wants more, you do what youâre comfortable with. Donât stress. Itâs supposed to be fun. Besides, he already said yes. Youâve got him wrapped around your little fingerâand now, probably, your lips.â
You roll your eyes, but his encouragement is working. âGod, youâre insufferable.â
He fake-flips his hair. âThatâs what Iâm here for. So. Final choiceâwhat are you wearing?â
You stand, phone in one hand, smoothing the skirt with the other. âI think⊠this. Iâll throw on a jacket so itâs not obvious. But the skirt, the top, and the gloss. He wonât know what hit him.â
Beomgyu pretends to fan himself. âIconic. Legendary. The campus wonât recover. Seriously, thoughâbring gum, take deep breaths, and remember, youâre doing this because you want to. Heâs lucky as hell.â
You nod, biting your lip. The nerves are still there, but now thereâs something steadierâanticipation, a hint of pride, the sense that maybe you can do this. Maybe you already are.
You sit with Beomgyu for a while, talking about nothing and everythingâmemes, campus gossip, which professors are the worst, what youâd do if you won the lottery. Itâs grounding, the kind of easy friendship that makes everything else feel possible.
With ten minutes to spare, you check your reflection again. The skirt is short but not obscene, the top shows just enough cleavage to make your point without looking like a Halloween costume, and the gloss is perfectâshiny, subtle, inviting. You dab perfume behind your ears, check your breath, and try to steady your hands.
You grab your bag, and Beomgyu, ever the cheerleader, grins through the screen. âGo get âem, tiger. Text me if you need an excuse to bail. Or if you want to brag. Or if you need a post-game analysis.â
You blow him a kiss, nerves jangling, and end the call.
Door locked, jacket zipped, heart poundingâyouâre as ready as youâll ever be.
âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś á âżàŸàœČ Ś á€± âž± áđ Ś á€± âž±á đ Ś âżàŸàœČ
As you head out, the sky is streaked with pink and gold, the quad buzzing with students hurrying to dinner or the gym or their own secret rendezvous.
The closer you get to Soobinâs dorm, the more unreal it feels. You must have checked the room numberâ218Bâat least five times since leaving your own building, your phone screen smudged with nervous fingerprints. The world outside is golden and soft, but you barely notice anything except your own shallow breathing and the faint sting of anxiety in your chest.
By the time you reach his floor, the carpeted hallway is nearly empty, save for the low thrum of a distant bassline behind one of the closed doors, the muffled chatter of a TV game show. Thereâs a faint, institutional smellâcleaner, ramen, and something sweet, maybe cologne. You walk down the hallway on autopilot, smoothing your skirt with trembling fingers, feeling the cool air on your bare thighs. Your jacket feels too warm, so you shrug it off, folding it over your arm to give your hands something to do.
You stop in front of 218B, staring at the white plastic numbers for a full minute, running through every possible scenario in your head. Your heart is hammering, palms slick, mouth suddenly dry. Do I knock now? Should I text? What if I choke? You start pacingâthree steps down, three steps backâthen lean against the wall, fiddling with your phone, pretending to check messages, your thumb hovering over Beomgyuâs contact just in case you need an emergency distraction.
After what feels like forever, you gather your courage and step back in front of the door. You knockâsoftly at first, then a little firmer. Itâs barely been two minutes, but it feels like hours. Your whole body is buzzing, anticipation and fear tangling together under your skin.
The door opens and there he isânot Soobin, but Heeseung. He fills the doorway with ease, his frame relaxed, head tipped back just enough that his messy hair falls into his eyes. Heâs got that notorious, lazy confidenceâthe kind that makes people stare and then look away, not sure if they want to run or flirt.
Heeseungâs wearing a thin, white tee and black joggers, his feet bare, a single silver chain glinting at his throat. He takes one look at you and lets a grin slide slow and wide across his face, dimples flashing, gaze sweeping from your shoes to your thighs to your chest. He doesnât even try to hide it.
âWhoa. Are you sure youâre at the right door?â His voice is syrupy, teasing, and a little bit low, making it clear he already knows the answer. âOr did the campus fairy drop you off as a prank?â
Your throat works. âUm, hi. Iâm here for⊠Soobin? We have a tutoring thing?â
He leans against the frame, folding his arms, that sly energy ratcheting up another notch. âSoobin, huh? I thought he was tutoring the basketball team tonight. Didnât know he was running a secret modeling agency on the side.â
You flush hard, eyes darting away. âJust math. Iâm, um⊠really bad at it. Sorry if Iâm early.â
Heeseung laughsâa soft, rich sound that echoes down the hall. âNah, donât apologize. Iâm just giving you shit.â Heâs still blocking the door, still very much in your space, but itâs not exactly hostile. Thereâs something about himâdangerous, but not cruel. âMath, huh? Well, if you ever need a break from numbers, you should know Iâm pretty good with words. And hands.â He wiggles his fingers, grinning.
You stammer out a tiny laugh, shifting your weight, clinging to your jacket. âIâll⊠keep that in mind.â
âPromise you will.â Heeseung winks, his voice dropping just a little. âLet me know if Soobin bores you. Iâm always around for extra credit.â
Just then you hear footsteps behind him. Soobin appears in the hallway, a little breathless, hair even messier than usual, as if heâs been nervously running his hands through it. His eyes flicker from Heeseungâs face to yours and back again, and his jaw tightens for a split second before he pastes on his gentle, too-polite smile.
âHeeseung, donât scare her off,â Soobin says, voice soft but firm, a subtle warning underneath the friendliness. He looks at you, his eyes all softness and nerves. âHey, you made it.â
Heeseung shrugs, but you can see him eyeing Soobin with a kind of secret amusement. âJust being a good host, man.â He leans a little closer to you, dropping his voice just enough that Soobin has to strain to hear: âYou sure you want the nerd tonight? Last chance to trade up.â
You almost laugh from the absurdity, but Soobin steps in, moving just a bit in front of you. Heâs still smiling, but itâs tight, his fingers curled at his side. âThanks, Heeseung. Iâve got it from here.â
Heeseung finally backs off, shoulders rolling, but he gives you a wink, voice lilting: âHave fun, you two. Donât do anything I wouldnât do. Which is⊠nothing.â He disappears into the room across the hall, door closing with a soft, cocky click.
Youâre left blinking, heartbeat pounding, your skin prickling from the attention and the tension. You let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding.
Soobin turns to you, hands tugging nervously at the hem of his sweatshirt. His cheeks are tinted pink, his eyes darting everywhere but your chest, which makes you oddly more aware of just how much skin youâre showing. âSorry about him,â he says, voice flustered and a little rushed. âHeâs not always thatâumâintense. Heâs a good friend, I swear, he just⊠likes to joke a lot.â
You smile, letting out a shaky laugh. âItâs okay. Iâve seen him around campus. He seems⊠fun. Maybe a little too fun.â
Soobin lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. âYeah. Heâs⊠a lot. But heâs harmless. He just, um, likes to pretend heâs a player.â
He steps aside, letting you into the room fully. You glance around, soaking in the detailsâhis bed is perfectly made, a thick blue blanket folded at the foot, a pile of textbooks stacked on the desk with a neat row of gel pens arranged by color. Thereâs a tiny succulent on the window ledge, its pot painted with a sleepy cartoon bear. On the wall are a couple of art printsâone from a Studio Ghibli film, another a vintage math poster that makes you smile.
You hesitate at the doorway, but Soobin gestures quickly, his nervous energy spilling over. âYou can, uh, sit anywhere. Bedâs fine, or the chair, whatever you like.â He moves a stack of papers, clearing a space at the desk, then sits at the edge of the bed himself, patting the spot next to him but not quite making eye contact.
You settle on the bed, setting your bag at your feet. The mattress dips under Soobinâs weight, and youâre suddenly, acutely aware of how close you areâyour knees almost touching, your bare thigh only inches from the soft denim of his jeans.
Soobin finally looks at you, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat too long on your lips, your bare shoulders, before he catches himself and snaps his eyes back to his hands. He clears his throat, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie, cheeks flushed and so, so soft. âIâm really glad you came. Sorry again for⊠everything. Heeseungâs kind of impossible sometimes.â
You shake your head, smiling, your own nerves finally starting to give way to a warm flutter of excitement. âYouâre fine. Honestly, Iâm more scared of failing math than your roommate.â
He laughs, quiet and genuine, and the air between you softens. âWell, I can definitely help with the math. And⊠whatever else you want, I guess.â He stumbles a little over the last part, voice turning shy.
Thereâs a charged pauseâhis hand inches from yours, the glow of the fairy lights painting golden shadows on the wall, both of you unsure what to say next. You both let out a breath at the same time, laughing quietly, your knees finally bumping.
It feels real now. Not a joke, not a dare, not a dirty story youâll laugh about with Beomgyu, but something just for you and Soobinâquiet, electric, waiting.
The moment you settle in next to Soobin, all the crazy, filthy fantasies youâve been battling for days feel so far away. Youâre just a girl in a skirt, too aware of her own body, and a boy who keeps pushing his glasses up his nose every time he gets nervous, legs angled politely away from you, the math book between you like a little wall. For the first few minutes, itâs just numbers. Well, Soobinâs numbers. Yours are more like hopeless doodles pretending to be math.
Heâs so earnest it almost hurtsâcareful, gentle, his voice always a little quiet, but patient. âOkay, letâs try this one again,â he says, shifting closer on the bed. Heâs in full tutor mode, gesturing softly with his pen, his left knee brushing yours every time he leans over to check your notes. âSo if you distribute the negative, remember you have to switch the sign for both terms inside the parentheses. Hereâsee?â His hand finds yours without thinking, nudging your pencil along the page, his skin warm and smooth against your knuckles.
You try to focus. You really try. But itâs impossible when heâs this closeâwhen you can see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose, the way his lashes flicker every time he blinks, the curve of his lips when heâs thinking hard. You find yourself nodding along, but your mind is just noise, a high, fizzy pulse in your chest.
Soobin, for his part, is the picture of calm. On the surface. But you can feel the tension in his bodyâevery time you shift, his eyes flicker down, lingering too long on your collarbones, the soft spill of your chest in the low-cut top. He tries not to look, you can tell; heâs polite to the core, but sometimes he loses himself and just stares, his lips parting like heâs about to say something, his cheeks burning before he drags his eyes away.
You try not to noticeâbut you do. Heâs distracted, too. His voice trips over words. Sometimes he forgets to finish his explanations, his gaze darting from your mouth to your cleavage, then back up to your eyes, apologetic and guilty but so, so hungry. He drops his pen once, fingers trembling, and you both reach for it at the same time. Your hands brush, and you flinchâthen both laugh, shy and nervous, like kids at a sleepover.
The math, meanwhile, is a blur. You stare at the numbers, but they donât fit together. You get the feeling Soobin could explain it ten more times and it still wouldnât make senseânot with the way heâs sitting so close, his thigh pressing gently into yours, his scent all fresh laundry and something sweet. He leans over you, points to a problem in your notebook, and his hair falls forward, close enough to touch. For a second, you imagine threading your fingers through it, pulling his face down to yours, smearing his mouth with your gloss.
âSo you just⊠FOIL the first and last terms,â he murmurs, but youâre watching his mouth instead of the page, every word warm against your cheek. Youâre blushing, you know you are, but he doesnât seem to noticeâor maybe he does, because he bites his lip and clears his throat, shifting his legs. His jeans look tight, and thereâs a bulge in the front that you try not to stare at, but every time you glance down itâs a little bigger, a little more obvious.
You wonder what heâs thinking. Is he picturing you on your knees? Is he imagining how your lips would look stretched around him, spit shining on your chin, the way Beomgyu so gleefully described? Or is he nervous for some other reasonâscared to ask, scared to take, scared to ruin something soft?
He keeps teaching, but his eyes keep finding youâyour lips, your throat, the curve of your chest every time you shift. At one point, you catch him staring so blatantly that you both freeze, then look away in unison, embarrassed, pretending it didnât happen.
The silence that follows is electric. You can hear your own breath, the hum of his laptop fan, the distant laughter from the hallway. The windowâs still cracked, and every breeze makes you shiver, your skin prickling, nipples tightening under your top, and you catch Soobin glancing there, then back up so fast you almost miss it.
You do a few more problems, but your answers are a mess. You keep messing up the signs, writing the wrong numbers, chewing your lip until the gloss is sticky on your tongue. âSorry,â you mutter after the third mistake in a row, shoulders hunching. âIâm really not getting this.â
He shakes his head, so soft, so gentle it hurts. âNo, itâs okay! Youâre doing better than you think. Itâs hardâespecially when youâre tired, or, um⊠distracted.â
You look up at him, and heâs flushedâhis cheeks pink, his mouth damp, his hands fidgeting in his lap. For the first time you notice just how big he is, how his thighs stretch the denim, how he keeps shifting, like heâs uncomfortable. His notebook is positioned strategically over his crotch, but you can see the outline of his cock anywayâthick, straining, the shape of it bold and impossible to ignore.
The sexual tension is suffocating. You try to focus on your breathing, on anything but how badly you want to touch him. You can smell himâshampoo, sweat, and something raw, something musky that makes your thighs clench together. Every time you move, your skirt hikes up a little, and his gaze flickers down, then away, throat bobbing.
âSo, uh,â he tries, âdo you⊠want to keep going? We can take a break if you need. Or I can try explaining it a different way.â
His voice is shaky, low, and you realize youâre both avoiding the elephant in the room. You know what you promised. You know why youâre here. Your heart is hammering, adrenaline and want coiled so tight in your belly it aches.
You stare at him for a long moment, biting your lip, trying to figure out what to say. Part of you wants to tease him, to draw it out, but youâre too nervous, too needy, too far gone. You take a deep breath, then reach out, your fingers trembling as you tug his notebook gently away from his lap.
âSoobin?â you whisper, voice barely above the hum of the fan. âDo you⊠want me toâŠ? Now?â
His eyes widenâreally widenâhis lips parting as he glances down at his own lap, then back at you. He looks like you just punched all the air out of his lungs. For a second he doesnât answer, just stares, face red, hands clenched so tight his knuckles go white.
You wait, anxiety twisting in your gut, but thereâs something in his eyesâhope, disbelief, hungerâthat makes your skin tingle. When he finally speaks, itâs soft, a little breathless, but so fucking sincere.
âYeah,â he whispers, almost stuttering, eyes shining. âIf you⊠if you want to, Iâyeah. Please.â
You smile, nervous and shy and a little proud, the words hanging between you like a secret. Thereâs a tremble in your hands, but youâre readyâyou want this, you want him, and for once, youâre not afraid to show it.
He sits perfectly still, breath coming shallow and fast, his eyes glued to your mouth. You can see the way his chest rises and falls, the muscle jumping in his jaw, the desperate need heâs trying so hard to hide. The room feels charged, the air thick with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.
You move closer, knees bumping his, and he lets out a shaky sigh, his hands fluttering in his lap. His cock is hugeâthereâs no other word for itâpressing hard against his jeans, a thick line straining the zipper, the outline bold and intimidating. You imagine what itâll be like to wrap your lips around him, to taste him, to hear him moan your name. The thought sends a bolt of heat through you, your own thighs squeezing tight, your breath shallow.
He clears his throat, voice a broken whisper. âYou sure? You really donât have toâif youâre not comfortableââ
You cut him off, placing your hand gently on his thigh, squeezing once, softly. âI want to. I want you, Soobin.â
He lets out a breath, the tension in his shoulders melting, and he looks at you like you just handed him the world. His smile is shy, crooked, his eyes shining with something soft and scared and so full of want.
âOkay,â he says, voice trembling with hope, his hand finding yours on his leg. âOkay.â
You stay like that for a momentâclose, trembling, the world spinning slow and bright around you, the promise of everything youâve both been craving almost within reach.
You donât hesitate, not nowânot when the air is already humming with want, not when Soobinâs eyes are glued to your mouth, hungry and blown. You drop onto your knees between his legs, the carpet scratching your bare knees through your skirt, your fingers already reaching for the button on his jeans. Heâs staring at you like he canât believe this is really happening, chest heaving, jaw slack.
Your hands are shaky, but his are steadierâhe lifts his hips to help you, lets you slide his jeans down his thighs, then his boxers, your knuckles brushing the soft hair just above his cock. And fuckâheâs even bigger than you expected, thick and heavy, his cock springing up against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking.
You hesitate for a second, just taking him in, biting your glossed lips. Soobin is panting, his eyes wild, hands gripping the edge of the bed so hard his knuckles whiten. Heâs so pretty like thisâvulnerable and desperate, a little shy but so, so fucking needy.
You wrap your hand around him, fingers barely able to circle his girth, stroking him slow at first, watching his eyes flutter closed, his head falling back against the wall. He lets out a soundâhalf-whimper, half-moanâthen bites his fist to stifle it, but you can still hear every shaky breath.
You lean in, lips brushing the slick head, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum gathered there. Soobin shudders, hips jerking, his hand flying to your shoulder, gripping tight like heâs afraid youâll stop.
âOh, fuck,â he breathes, voice all velvet and need. âGod, youâoh, fuck, that feels so good.â
You grin, feeling a little drunk on the way he looks at you, the way he falls apart with just the gentlest touch. You lick again, swirling your tongue around the fat crown, collecting every drop, then dragging your lips down his shaft, sucking a bruise into the sensitive underside. His hips jerk again, thighs tense under your hands.
You stroke him with both hands, twisting at the base, your mouth working the tip, messy and slow. Every time you glance up, you catch Soobinâs eyes locked on your tits, the way your top slips lower with every movement, glossy lips wrapped around his cock, spit dribbling down your chin. His jaw is slack, cheeks pink, sweat beading at his hairline.
He lets out a string of curses, all breathy and wrecked. âShitâyour mouthâfuck, you look so hot. Canât believe youâre doing this for me. Canât believe how good you are, fuck, fuckââ
You pull back, spit shining on your lips, smirk curling. âYou like that, Soobin?â
He moans, nodding hard, hips twitching up into your fist. âYeah, fuck, I like it. God, keep going. Please, pleaseââ
You tease him, dragging your tongue along the vein, kissing the head, sucking hard just to hear him whine. Every time you go deeper, his breath stutters, one hand flying to your hair, not quite pulling but holding, gentle but desperate.
The more you work him, the messier it getsâspit sliding down his shaft, pooling at the base, your hands slick as you jerk him, the lewd squelch of your fist making him groan. Your tits bounce with every movement, and you see his eyes flicker, mouth open, tongue darting out, hungry and desperate.
He starts to lose his composureâhis hand tightens in your hair, his hips rock up into your mouth. He groans, deep and low, a filthy sound that sends heat straight between your legs. âFuck, your titsâcanât stop lookingâfuck, you look like a fucking dream. Always wanted to see you like this, mouth full, tits out, taking it like such a good fucking girl.â
His voice cracks, growing rougher, more dominant. âYou know how pretty you look? Such a fucking slut for me, arenât you? God, that mouth is perfectâknew youâd be good, but not this fucking good. Bet you practiced for me, didnât you?â
You hum around him, throat vibrating, eyes rolling up to meet his, and he loses itâhe starts thrusting harder, guiding your head, pushing you down, then pulling you off just enough to watch the spit web from his tip to your lips. He pants, voice ragged. âOpen your mouth. Wider. Yeah, fuckâjust like that. Let me see you. Let me fuck that pretty throat.â
You obey, tongue out, mouth open wide, letting him slap the fat head against your tongue, smearing precum and spit all over your lips. He groans, deep and broken, both hands in your hair now, holding you steady as he rocks his hips, fucking into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat.
âFuckâgood girl, take it, take it, fuckâlook at those tits, fuck, I want to cum all over them, wanna ruin youââ
Youâre drooling now, spit soaking your chest, your top pulled low so your cleavage spills over, the heat in your cheeks matching the wetness between your legs. Soobinâs hands get rougher, guiding your head, rolling his hips with more confidence, the sweet, shy boy you knew melting into something greedy, possessive.
He starts to talk, filthy and nonstop, every word turning you on more. âBet you like this, huh? Bet you love having my cock in your mouth, messy little slutâcanât wait to see you gag on it, canât wait to see you drool all over yourself. Want everyone to know what a fucking whore you are for meâfuck, youâre perfect, so fucking perfect.â
You moan around him, feeling his cock twitch, his breath coming faster, hips stuttering. He pulls you off for a moment, watching the string of spit that connects your lips to his tip. He strokes your cheek, thumb smearing gloss and saliva.
âGod, you look wrecked already. Want me to fuck your face? You gonna let me use your mouth like a toy?â
You nod, desperate, tongue out, eyes glassy with want. He groans, deep and filthy, one hand sliding down to squeeze your tits, rough and greedy, pinching your nipple until you gasp.
âThatâs it. Good fucking girl. Take it. Show me how much you want it.â
He pushes back in, deeper this time, holding your head steady as he fucks your mouth, slow at first, then harder, your nose pressed to his stomach, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag, eyes watering, but he just moans, petting your hair, praising you through gritted teeth.
âYeah, just like thatâfuck, take it, take it, fuckâyouâre so good, so good for meâgonna make me cum, you want that? Want me to fill your mouth, cover those pretty tits, make a mess of you?â
You pull off, breathing hard, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest, tits shiny and swollen from his touch. You jerk him fast, watching his eyes roll back, his head fall against the wall.
âGod, please,â he begs, voice breaking. âDonât stopâneed it, need you, fuckââ
You take him back in, deeper, swirling your tongue, sucking hard, hands working the base, spit running everywhere, eyes locked on his as he loses himself, hips snapping, breath coming in filthy, desperate moans.
The room is filled with wet sounds, the slap of skin, the harsh, dirty words spilling from his lips. Heâs not shy anymoreâheâs in control, fucking your face, squeezing your tits, marking your skin, telling you exactly how much he loves ruining you.
You stay there, on your knees, mouth and hands and tits covered in spit, Soobinâs cock heavy and hard in your grip, his eyes wild, his words filthy and rough, until you both forget what itâs like to breathe without wanting more.
Soobinâs hands are in your hair now, rough and possessive, his fingers digging in just enough to make your scalp tingle, guiding you with a control heâd never dare show in the daylight. The shy, sweet boy who used to blush at your questions is gone; in his place is someone hungry and wild, hips rolling, voice ragged and filthy as he fucks your face without a hint of shame.
âYeahâtake it, take all of it, fuck,â he groans, breath stuttering. âYou look so good like this, fuck, youâre gonna make me cum just from looking at youâlook at you, baby, such a messy little slut for me. Fuckâgonna ruin that pretty mouth, cover those tits, you want that? Want me to mark you up so everyone knows youâre mine?â
His cock is heavy and thick, stretching your lips wide, the taste of him bitter and salty on your tongue. Spit and precum smear your chin, glossy and shining in the lamplight, and every time he pulls you down, you feel the head hit the back of your throat, making you gag and drool even more. Your mascara is smudged, your hair a mess, your chest glistening with spit, and Soobin looks absolutely feral.
Heâs lost the rhythmânow heâs just chasing the high, rutting up into your mouth with desperate little thrusts, using you, chasing that edge, over and over. His dirty talk only gets nastier:
âBet you practiced this, didnât you? Practiced sucking on your fingers thinking about me? Look at youâfuck, such a good girl, such a filthy fucking slut. Mouth so fucking wet for meâyeah, open up, wider, let me see that tongue, fuckââ
You whimper around him, tears prickling your eyes, throat raw but so fucking turned on. He keeps glancing down, watching your tits bounce, your spit dripping down your chest, every sound making him groan even louder.
He pulls you off suddenly, his cock slapping against your cheek, smearing spit and precum over your skin. He wraps your hair in his fist, tilting your face up, jerking himself over your lips.
âFuck, look at youâmouth open, tits out, so fucking pretty. You love this, donât you? Love being my cumdump, letting me ruin you. Say itâsay you want it.â
Your voice is hoarse, your tongue hanging out, chest heaving. âI want it, Soobin. Pleaseâplease cum on me, wanna wear it, wanna be messy for youââ
He growls, low and broken, hips snapping faster, his cock fat and angry in his fist. âFuck, fuck, fuckâlook at meâwanna see your eyesâyeah, just like thatâgonna cum, baby, gonna fucking cum all over your pretty face, fuckââ
You brace yourself, mouth wide open, eyes locked on his, tits pressed together, letting the cool air make your nipples hard and sensitive. Soobinâs breathing goes ragged, his hand jerking himself at a brutal pace, thumb rubbing over the head, groaning deep in his chest. His body tenses, every muscle flexing, and thenâ
He cums with a gasp, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, voice breaking into a wild, desperate moan. The first spurt hits your lips, hot and thick, dripping down your chin. The next splatters your cheek, your jaw, sticky and warm, the rest landing messily over your breastsâyour cleavage streaked, your top spotted with streaks of white, your skin shining with spit and cum and sweat.
He keeps stroking, desperate to wring out every last drop, watching with wide, wild eyes as it drips from your face to your chest, pooling between your tits, slick and obscene. The lamplight makes everything glistenâyour cheeks, your collarbone, your nipples, your hands slick and trembling in your lap.
For a long, breathless moment, the only sound in the room is his harsh panting and your ragged breathing, the faint, wet noises as he finally lets go of your hair and your lips.
Thenâjust as sudden as the filth startedâSoobin changes. His whole body softens, the lust in his eyes melting into fear and care, his hands suddenly gentle, shaking as he reaches for your face. His breath catches, his lips quivering as he takes in the mess heâs madeâhis cum shining on your cheeks, streaked across your tits, dripping down your sternum.
âShitâoh my god, are you okay?â His voice is tiny, terrified, all sweetness and panic. âWas I too rough? Did I hurt you? FuckâIâm so sorry, I didnât mean to, I justâshit, I lost controlââ Heâs already reaching for tissues, frantic, dabbing at your face and chest with shaking hands, his eyes darting everywhere but your own.
You smile, dizzy and fucked-out, catching his wrist with sticky fingers. âIâm fine, Soobin. I promise. You werenât too rough.â You lick a drop of cum from your lips, grinning shy, and his cheeks burn bright red. âYou were perfect.â
His voice shakes, but itâs warm, flooded with relief. âYouâre sure? I justâfuck, you look so messy, Iâdid I go too far? I couldnât stop, you looked so good, andââ He breaks off, laughing softly, his thumb gentle as he wipes away another streak from your cheek. âSorry, I justâwanted you so bad, I didnât mean to be an asshole. Iâm so fucking lucky, oh my god.â
You catch his hand, holding it against your cheek, the room spinning with afterglow and care. âI wanted it, Soobin. I loved it. I love seeing you like that. And you⊠you can always take what you want from me. I trust you.â
He lets out a shaky breath, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his other hand tangled in your hair. âYouâre incredible. Seriously. Thank you.â He glances down at your chest, face still pink, eyes wide with awe and adoration. âYouâre⊠beautiful. Fuck, Iâm never going to forget this.â
You giggle, sticky and full of adrenaline, your skin tingling everywhere heâs touched. âYou better not. That was the hottest thing Iâve ever done.â
He laughs, gentle again, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. âYouâre amazing. Letâs get you cleaned up, okay? Iâll get you some water, andâshit, do you want a shower? Orâuhâmy shirt?â
You let him fuss, let him press tissues to your skin, hands soft and trembling, his voice a sweet murmur of apologies and praise, and you realize you wouldnât trade this mess, this boy, this moment, for anything in the world.
And when you finally stand, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers, soft and shy:
âNext time, I want to see how much of me you can take.â
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