VAMI !!

The smoke doesn’t just drift under the lamp; it hangs there, heavy and stagnant, warping the corners of Ni-ki’s room until everything feels slightly detached from reality.

You’re pressed against the wall, heels digging into the unmade mattress, watching your body give in to the slow, physical drag of the high.

Next to you, Ni-ki is half-reclined, one knee bent, his long fingers loosely anchoring the joint between them. He’s running his mouth about some idiot from his department who tried to trade him a fake watch for two grams.

You aren't really following the words. Your focus is entirely on the blunt, tracing the slight tremor in his hand, answering him with just enough sharp, cynical teeth to keep your usual defense up.

"—and the asshole swears to me it’s gold," Ni-ki mutters, a dry, humorless huff slipping past his lips. "I could tell it was painted plastic from three meters away. You have to be a specific type of stupid to try and play me like that."

"Honestly? He probably just looked at you and realized you’re an easy target," you reply.

The words drag out of your throat, thick and slow, but the arrogance behind them is perfectly intact.

Ni-ki smirks. It’s that lazy, cocky tilt of his lips you’ve memorized over months of this. He takes a slow, deep drag, holding the smoke in his chest while his bloodshot eyes lock dead onto yours. His eyelids are heavy, dropping low, but the gaze behind them is entirely too focused. He releases the breath inch by inch, letting the pale mist settle as a physical barrier between your faces.

The conversation dies right there.

The silence that follows isn’t empty; it’s dense. Solid. Ni-ki lets his hand drop to the sheets, completely forgetting to pass the joint back, his eyes tracking down your nose, over your cheekbones, and stopping hard at your mouth. A faint sheen of sweat glints at his collarbone, the sheer heat radiating from his skin bridging the small gap between you.

Your pulse has slowed to a heavy thud behind your ears, but you refuse to blink first.

"What?" you finally ask, your voice dropping a octave, floating weakly in the quiet.

Ni-ki doesn't answer. He just shifts his weight onto one elbow, sliding across the mattress with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. He closes the distance until the scent of weed and the warmth of his breath hit your face.

"Just that you look pretty when you're high," he says, his tone completely casual, but the smirk is gone.

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, trying to push back against the sudden spike of your adrenaline.

"Your compliments are fucking garbage, Ni-ki," you murmur, staring straight into his bloodshot eyes. "Stop lying just because you want to get into my pants."

He doesn't even flinch. The corner of his mouth just tugs back up, feeding on the resistance.

"Oh, yeah? So you think you're ugly?"

"I never said that," you snap back, narrowing your eyes. "I'm just saying it's weird getting a sincere word out of you when your dick isn't in my mouth."

Ni-ki’s gaze drops to your lips instantly. He leans in that extra millimeter, forcing you to breathe his air.

"You look fucking gorgeous then, too," he rasps, his voice slurred but heavy. "Can't help it. Seeing you smoke just reminds me of how you get under me. The noises you make when you lose your grip."

Your throat goes completely dry. The bluntness of it catches you off guard, stripping away your ability to find a clever comeback.

"You're delirious," you whisper, a desperate attempt to save your pride.

"Maybe," he murmurs.

Ni-ki takes one final drag, the cherry glowing bright before he crushes the butt into the ashtray on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, his hand comes up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair, tilting your face up.

When his mouth meets yours, he doesn't just kiss you—he blows the trapped smoke directly down your throat.

You inhale him, the hot hit striking your lungs right as he obliterates the remaining space. The kiss is wet, thick, and slowed down by the high clouding both your heads. His tongue slides against yours in a heavy, friction-filled rhythm, tasting of dry smoke and lazy urgency. He sucks on your lower lip with a rough insistence that makes your entire body vibrate against the wall.

He uses his weight to break your posture, pushing you down until your spine sinks into the unmade mattress. The room spins in slow motion.

Instantly, he’s between your thighs, his crotch sinking hard against your lower stomach. He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his chest rising and falling in time with your own ragged breaths. His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, his palms hot against the bare skin of your waist.

"Look at you," he mutters, his voice raw. "Fucking beautiful for me."

You groan when his fingers grip your hip firmly, tilting your pelvis up to meet his in a sudden, blunt alignment.

"Shut up and just fuck me already," you whisper, digging your nails into his shoulders, your pride still fighting the lethargy. "You talk too much."

Ni-ki lets out a short, husky laugh against your jaw before tracing a wet trail down your neck. Your skin feels rawly sensitive from the weed; every brush of his denim, every touch of his calloused fingers feels amplified, almost overwhelming.

He traps your wrists above your head, pinning them with an easy, careless strength. His free hand slides up your torso, gathering the fabric of your shirt and pulling it all the way up with a rough yank, bunching it tightly around your neck and collarbones, trapping your arms.

Before you can complain about the cold air, his fingers hook under your bra, shoving it up to bare your chest. His bloodshot eyes track the movement, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they harden.

"Fuck," he slurs, completely gone in the high. "I missed these."

"Pervert," you breathe, a weak laugh catching in your chest.

He ducks his head, his weight crashing into you a little clumsily as the high throws off his balance, but he recovers instantly. He takes one nipple into his mouth, his tongue licking insistently against the tip until you let out a loud, unprompted groan.

Without letting go of your chest, his hand tracks down to the waistband of your jeans, hooking both denim and cotton together. He shoves them down with a lazy roughness, stopping right at your mid-thighs—just enough to free your hips, completely ignoring how the tight denim bunches uncomfortably around your knees. He just wants the access.

"Move, you're heavy," you whine, tugging weakly at his hair.

"Shut up," he rasps.

Ni-ki slides his hands down, hooking his fingers behind your knees and hauling your legs upward, opening you completely. The restriction of your pants forces your thighs wide, arching your lower back off the bed.

He doesn't look down yet. Instead, he brings his hand to his mouth, lazily coating his thumb in his own thick saliva before dropping his gaze to inspect you.

You're completely wet, glistening under the dim light, your pulse throbbing visibly between your thighs. Ni-ki stares, his eyes narrowing as he reaches down and drags the pad of his wet thumb directly up your inner lips, parting them with agonizing slowness to smear his spit and your juices together.

When his thumb presses firmly over your clit, an electric jolt snaps up your spine.

You gasp, your hips instinctively jerking into his hand. Seeing the reaction, that cocky smirk returns to his face, but he freezes his finger right there, leaving the ache burning in your stomach.

"Always so sensitive when we smoke," he murmurs, enjoying the total collapse of your control. "Every single touch wrecks you."

"You're an asshole... keep going," you groan, closing your eyes as the room tilts.

"No," he whispers.

Before you can process the word, Ni-ki grips your hips and flips you completely over on your stomach.

The sudden movement makes the weed haze hit your brain full force. The room spins violently; you have to dig your fingernails into the fitted sheet just to keep from feeling like you're falling through the floor. You're left suspended in that heavy, nauseating dizziness, your cheek pressed hard against the pillow while the ringing in your ears grows deafening.

Behind you, the mattress dips. There's the sharp friction of cotton as he rips his shirt off, followed by the metallic click of his belt buckle echoing sharply in the silence. You hear his jeans slide down just enough to free him.

You’re barely recovering from the vertigo when his heat floods your back. Ni-ki drops his heavy torso over you, pinning you flat. The direct contact of his bare, slick skin against your exposed back forces a broken breath from your lungs. He feels massive. Heavy. Real. His rigid dick presses directly against your backside, the pulse of it vibrating through your own skin.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging your hair out of the way as he breathes heavily, his chest expanding against your spine. His hands find your hips, anchoring you down.

"Still dizzy?" he whispers into your ear, his voice cracked and dangerously thick. "Tell me if you're gonna pass out, because I'm not stopping once I start."

"Rot in hell," you whisper back, tilting your head to catch air, your body already going completely soft under his weight, surrendering to the high. "Just do it."

Ni-ki lets out a rough huff against your skin, satisfied. His hands grip your hip bones, hauling your pelvis up just high enough. The posture forces you onto your forearms, your head hanging low, your limbs completely numb.

He slots his thighs outside of yours, rubbing the wet head of his dick against your entrance. The friction against your swollen lips pulls a violent shudder from your legs.

"You're so wet..." he groans, the words slurred and thick with difficulty. "Fuck, it's taking everything."

You open your mouth to tell him to cut the games and just push inside, but you never get the chance.

Ni-ki drives his pelvis forward in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself all the way inside you in a single motion.

The penetration is so blunt and sudden that your eyes roll back under your heavy lids. A muffled cry tears from your throat, trailing off into a long gasp as your fingers claw desperately into the sheets. The impact fills you so entirely that the sensation reaches deep into your stomach, completely wiping out any coherent thought.

Ni-ki lets out a loud gasp of his own, a low, startled sound escaping his throat as your walls clamp down wildly around him. His own muscles seem to weigh twice as much under the high; instead of keeping up a pace, he collapses forward, laying flat against your back.

The pressure of his chest pins you down, stealing your air and your ability to react. There is no space to think—only the heat of his skin and the massive weight holding you under.

He begins to move with an intentional slowness, his reflexes weighed down by the drug, but every single thrust is brutal in its depth. It’s a thick, heavy rhythm that stretches the pleasure until it edges into pain. He pulls almost entirely out, only to slide back inside slowly, savoring the slick friction and the wet sounds filling the quiet room.

Clumsily, his hand reaches up to your face. Strands of your hair are stuck to your forehead from sweat, some caught in your mouth. He brushes them away with trembling fingers, his palm sliding under your chin to force your head up. He wants to see you. He pulls your face back, forcing your eyes to meet his through the haze.

"Fuck, it feels so good..." he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking tight... you're gonna milk me dry."

You try to bite back with an insult—anything to rebuild the facade—but Ni-ki shifts his angle and delivers a heavy, driving thrust that hits your absolute depth.

A high-pitched moan bounces off the walls, your back arching violently under him. The sheer intensity of the friction snaps something in his mind. He loses what little restraint he had left; his knees give out slightly, and he drops his forehead straight against your shoulder, surrendering.

That's when Ni-ki begins to moan.

He’s never the type to make noise; usually, he keeps it all behind that arrogant smirk. But right now, he’s too undone to hold it in. They are short, husky sounds vibrating deep in his chest, fracturing into a higher pitch at the end from the sheer lack of air.

He buries his face in your neck while his thrusts get harder, driven by that heavy, relentless rhythm. The heat of his skin suffocates you, but it's his breath—fast and panicked against your ear—that makes you lose your footing entirely.

Slowly, his hands slide down your arms until they find yours, still gripping the messy sheets. He covers your fingers, intertwining them with a firm, crushing strength, locking you to the bed while he drives his pelvis forward.

"Fuck... you're mine, you know?" he whispers, his voice cracked, rough, stripped of any safety. "I don't give a shit about anything else... you're the only one who gets me like this. You drive me fucking crazy."

Every word comes with a push that forces a gasp from you. He kisses your neck, moving up to your ear, leaving a wet trail that cools instantly against the room's air. The intimacy of the gesture starts to panic you.

"Ni-ki, please... shut up," you groan, trying to turn your head away from his mouth. "Stop saying... stupid shit."

"It's not stupid shit," he cuts you off, his voice suddenly carrying a crushing certainty, completely devoid of his usual cheap arrogance. "It's not stupid shit and you know it."

He delivers another hard thrust, reminding you exactly who has control of your body. He squeezes your hands tighter, flattening his chest against your spine, forcing you to feel every frantic beat of his heart.

"You think I'm an idiot," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your arms. "I know exactly how you look at me when you think I don't notice. I know how you get when I come close... how you look for me. You can't lie to me with your fucking pride."

Your eyes snap wide open in the darkness. The words cut just as deep as his movements, sending a violent flip through your stomach.

"You're... delirious, you junkie piece of shit," you breathe, trying to piece your cynical mask back together, but the tremor in your voice gives you away completely.

Ni-ki just smirks against your skin. He doesn't care about the insults; he knows they're just the shield you use when you're dying of nerves.

Without stopping his pace, his free hand slides down under your stomach, tracking between your thighs until his fingers find your clit, completely swollen and wet.

He rubs you with a slow, agonizing insistence, timing the friction of his fingers with the drive of his pelvis. Your knees shake, the cold sweat turning into a stifling heat that destroys your judgment.

"Say whatever you want," he rasps into your ear. "Tell me I'm crazy, call me whatever you want. But we both know you love that I'm a mess, because I'm the only mess that makes you feel anything like this."

You lose your breath entirely as his fingers press harder, pushing you straight over the edge. Ni-ki delivers two quick, rough thrusts, his teeth gently sinking into your earlobe before dropping the line that completely breaks you:

"You can run from me if it makes you feel safe, but you're never getting out of my head, and I'm never getting out of yours either."

The impact of the words hits at the exact same time as the final drive of his pelvis. Your walls contract violently, trapping him in a wild spasm as the orgasm strikes your lower stomach full force. You roll your head back, letting out a choked, ruined cry, completely far gone under his weight.

But Ni-ki doesn't stop. Even though you're coming all around him, he keeps thrusting, chasing his own edge through the suffocating friction of your climax.

His hands grip your hips with a force that's going to leave bruises. With his breath shattered against your ear, he drops the words all at once, with a simplicity so raw it burns worse than the pleasure itself:

"I'm fucking in love with you."

The whisper is husky, desperate. "Stop being so stupid... Stop pretending you don't notice. I like you so much it hurts, fuck."

On the very last syllable, Ni-ki delivers one final, deep stroke, burying himself into your absolute depth as his entire body goes rigid, coming deep inside you.

You let out a sharp moan that cuts off in your throat as you feel the hot rush of his cum filling you up, a suffocating heat mixing with your own juices. He buries his face in your neck, letting out a few rough gasps against your wet skin, finally giving in to the exhaustion.

The room settles, returning to that heavy stillness. The background hum creeps back into your ears as your breaths try to steady themselves.

Ni-ki begins to leave a few lazy, trailing kisses on your skin. He kisses the upper part of your back with a strange tenderness, moving up your shoulder, tilting his head until he reaches your face, searching for your lips.

But when his mouth brushes your cheek, he catches a wet texture. Tears.

Ni-ki freezes instantly, blinking slowly to clear the haze from his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice thick, carrying a tone of genuine concern stripped of any defense.

You don't look at him. Your eyes are locked on the wall, your chest rising and falling heavily, a knot in your throat choking you. Pure panic has taken complete hold of you; you feel naked, exposed, and utterly terrified of what just happened.

"Get off," you murmur in a sharp, breathless whisper. "Please, just get off of me."

Ni-ki, still too wasted and exhausted to process the gravity of your tone, doesn't understand. His brain, slowed down by the joint, doesn't comprehend what's wrong when a second ago everything was perfect. He shifts slightly over you, not pulling away entirely.

"Hey... what's wrong? You good?" he asks again, a clumsy hand reaching out to touch your hair.

That simple gesture makes you snap. The docility of the high vanishes, replaced by a defensive rage that burns you from the inside out.

"I said get the fuck off me!" you scream, using all the strength in your back and elbows to shove him violently backward.

The impact catches him completely off guard. Being so loose from the high, he loses his balance easily and slips out of you with a wet friction, tumbling back onto his side of the bed.

You bolt upright on the mattress, turning your back to him, roughly wiping the tears from your face with the sleeve of the shirt still bunched around your neck.

Ni-ki opens his mouth, a word getting caught in his throat from pure confusion. But you don't give him the time. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the violent ringing roaring in your ears from the sudden change in position.

You pull up your panties and jeans with frantic, clumsy movements, not even bothering to wipe away the mix of fluids running down your legs. You don't care about the discomfort; you just need layers of clothes over you to stop feeling so defenseless in front of him. Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely work the button of your pants, cursing under your breath in a fractured whisper.

"Hey, wait..." Ni-ki's voice sounds weak, thick, drifting from the mattress. He gently catches your forearm with fingers that are also trembling from exhaustion. "Why the fuck are you acting like this? I'm serious, I—"

"Get off me!" you snap, slapping his hand away.

You force yourself to stand up, but the weed takes its toll and you stumble, having to lean your palm against the wall to keep from hitting the floor. The room takes a slow, sickening spin, making you break into a wild sweat.

"You're way too high, you can't go out on the street like this," he insists, shifting slowly onto his bare knees, his dilated pupils locked on you. His expression is a mix of genuine concern and the confusion of a guy who just opened his heart only to get a slap in the face. "Stay. Just... stay for five minutes. Let's talk."

Panic rises up your throat like acid. Sensing that Ni-ki, the idiot you're only supposed to hook up with to pass the time, is looking at you like you're his whole world terrifies you. It burns. Because how can you control yourself from looking at him that way, too? You need to shatter the atmosphere; you need to put back the usual distance, even if you have to tear your heart and his to pieces to do it.

"Talk about what?" you scream at him, your voice cracking as tears start gathering in your eyes again. "About the stupid shit you say because your brain is fried? You're pathetic, Ni-ki."

He tenses on the bed. The docility of the high begins to evaporate from his face, replaced by a harsh stiffness.

"What?" he murmurs.

"You heard me," you shoot back, using venom to hide the trembling of your lips. "You're just a fucking junkie piece of shit who doesn't know the difference between being horny and your own delusions. You smoked a little too much and now you're getting sentimental. You disgust me."

The insult cuts through the silence of the room with the force of a physical blow. Ni-ki's fingers tremble against the sheet, but it's no longer from the effects of the substance; it's from suppressed rage. His shoulders go rigid, and that cold, arrogant look he uses with the rest of the world snaps right back, wiping away any trace of the vulnerable guy from a few minutes ago.

"Say that again," he says, his voice dangerously low and slurred.

"You're sick," you reply, backing away toward the door while frantically shoving your shoes on. "We're only friends with benefits because you're the only dumbass who gets me this stuff for free. Don't get it twisted. You mean nothing to me."

Ni-ki lets out a short, dry laugh that has absolutely no humor in it. He stays sitting on the mattress, motionless, watching you run away. He is too physically weak to get up and stop you, but his bloodshot eyes drill into your back with a hatred that is pure pain.

"Go then," he tells you, and his voice sounds like ice hitting metal. "Get the fuck out of my house. And pray your fucking addiction doesn't bring you crawling back to me."

You don't answer. You yank the bedroom door open and step out into the hallway, slamming it behind you hard enough to make the walls shake.

Three AM in this building always smells the same: stale air conditioning, reheated coffee, and that grey carpet that seems to swallow up everyone's sound. The basement hallway is pitch black, save for the sliver of white light bleeding out from under his studio door.

You don't knock. You know that if you do, it’ll take him a solid three minutes to react—or worse, he’ll slip on that automatic "I'm fine" mask before opening up. So you just swipe your keycard against the reader. The electronic latch gives way with a dull click, and you step inside.

The room is freezing. The first thing you notice isn't him, but the computer screen dominating the desk, flickering with the waveforms of an editing program that has been paused on the exact same second for God knows how long. The bluish glow gives the entire space a clinical, almost hospital-like look.

He's sitting on the floor, his back against the expensive ergonomic chair, legs crossed and posture slouched against the furniture. He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie about three sizes too big, the hood half-pulled up, and grey sweatpants. His head is tilted back, resting against the edge of the seat as he stares blankly at a dead spot on the ceiling. His headphones hang loose around his neck like a chain that’s just too heavy to carry.

"I told you not to come," he says. His voice is scratchy, thick from disuse and built-up exhaustion, dragging over the words as if it takes too much effort to move his tongue.

You don't answer. You toss your bag onto the small leather couch in the corner and walk over to him with slow, quiet steps, barefoot because you slipped your shoes off at the entrance so you wouldn't break the heavy silence that has settled in the room.

As you sit on the floor right beside him and take a closer look at his profile under the blue light, the image of the flawless boy who dances under the spotlights completely shatters. There are deep, almost purple dark circles under his eyes, contrasting sharply with the sickly paleness of his skin. His lips are chapped from biting them out of anxiety, and there's a barely noticeable twitch in his right eyelid.

Heeseung looks strangely small. Vulnerable. It’s as if the entire weight of the expectations he built for himself has collapsed right on top of him, crushing him.

"Have you eaten anything?" you ask, keeping your voice low, barely a whisper so you don't disturb the atmosphere.

He lets out a dry, bitter breath that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Finally, he drops his head and looks at you. His eyes, which usually hold a sweetness that softens anyone, are completely dull, glassy, and fixed on you with a mix of relief and deep shame. He hates that you're seeing him like this, but at the same time, it’s blindingly obvious he was terrified of being left alone with his own thoughts for another hour.

"I'm not hungry," he replies, reaching out a trembling hand to rub his face harshly, leaving his skin flushed from the friction. "I can't get it right, you know? The bridge on the third track... it's trash. Everything is trash. I don't know what I was thinking.

"His voice cracks a little at the end, and that's where you see the fracture. The perfect plan he had in his head—the solo project that was supposed to be his grand statement to the world, his redemption—has turned into his own cage. Things aren't going the way he wanted. The numbers, the demos, the meetings where executives tell him what to change... it’s consuming him alive. The incorrigible perfectionist has run into a reality he can't control, and the frustration is driving him insane.

He runs his fingers through his messy hair, tugging desperately at his blonde roots.

"Everyone expects me to be perfect. To fix it. To be who I’ve always been," he continues, and this time he turns fully toward you, shuffling a few inches across the carpet until his knees brush against yours. His eyes lock onto yours with an obsessive, almost sickly intensity. "But I can't. I feel like if I take one more step, I'm going to break. I'm scared they'll realize I'm a fraud."

He doesn't take his eyes off you. He bites his lower lip so hard you can almost see the skin turn white, searching for any physical pain to distract him from the ache inside his head.

You don't offer any cheap, cliché comfort. You know better than anyone that it won't do a thing. Instead, you close the distance between you both, sliding across the floor until you're right in front of him. You reach out, slowly, and brush away a strand of hair that had fallen over his left eye.

"Look at me," you tell him softly, forcing him to focus those glassy, exhausted eyes on yours. "You are not a fraud. You're just fucking exhausted.

"He lets out a shaky breath, completely surrendering. He drops his forehead straight against your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing is heavy and hot, and you can feel the frantic thumping of his heart beating against your own chest. His arms, long and heavy, wrap around your waist with a nearly desperate force, as if he’s truly terrified you’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go.

"Everything hurts," he murmurs against your skin, his voice so muffled it makes your stomach knot. "I can't sleep. I close my eyes and I just keep hearing the same damn melody over and over again. I feel like I'm going to go crazy if I stay cooped up in here.

"Your hands slide down his back, tracing the line of his spine over the thick fabric of his hoodie. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders completely knotted, stiff as stones. You begin to give him a slow massage, pressing down with your thumbs to work out the tension built up from so many days of rehearsals and stress.

Heeseung lets out a low groan, a whine of pure physical relief that echoes right in your ear. You feel his body finally begin to untangle, yielding to your touch at last.

It breaks your heart to see him so vulnerable, so you gently run your fingers through his hair to lift his head from your shoulder, tilting your face up to his. You brush your lips against his temple, leaving a tender kiss there, then another on his cheek, moving slowly down the line of his jaw. He lets out a hitched breath, his eyes closed, completely letting you take over. He nudges his face up, searching for more, and you give him exactly what he wants—sliding down to his neck, leaving soft kisses that make him shiver, soothing the storm inside him with pure tenderness.

When you finally look up, Heeseung is already searching for you. His lips find yours in a slow, deep kiss, the kind that hurts because of how good it is. It’s a warm kiss that tastes of desperation, but also of immense affection. You feel the heat of his mouth parting naturally, his tongue brushing against yours with an addictive slowness that makes your head spin.

As the kiss grows wetter and deeper, his hands react. Heeseung’s palms slide down from your back to your waist, squeezing the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pulls you so close you can feel the heat radiating from him, but it doesn't seem to be enough. His hands slide a bit lower—firm, large—until they cup the curves of your ass possessively, lifting you slightly off the floor without breaking the kiss.

You catch the message instantly. You part your legs slightly and straddle his lap, sitting directly over him with a leg on either side of his hips.

Heeseung lets out a husky sigh right into your mouth the moment he feels your full weight on him. You settle onto his lap, shifting your hips in a soft grind that makes him catch his breath. His hands remain firm on your ass, but you notice he barely has the strength to guide you; he’s so overwhelmed by the exhaustion and anxiety that he prefers to completely surrender to whatever you decide to do with him.

You pull back from the kiss slightly, looking down at him. His eyes are hooded, locked onto you, his cheeks flushed dark.

"Let me take care of you tonight, okay?" you whisper, caressing his cheek.

"Do whatever you want..." he murmurs, his voice cracked and deeper than usual. "Anything, just don't get off me."

Without breaking eye contact, you bring your hands to the hem of your shirt and sports top, stripping them off in a single motion and tossing them somewhere onto the floor. You're left completely bare in front of him. Heeseung’s pupils dilate instantly; he has always had a massive weakness for your chest, and seeing your breasts right there, so close to his face under the dim studio light, makes him snap out of his daze.

He lets out a low groan and reaches his hands out to cup your breasts, squeezing them with a mix of adoration and anxious clumsiness. The heat of his palms makes you arch your back.

"You're so good to me..." he gasps, leaning forward, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He opens his mouth and latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it hungrily while his tongue swirls around it. The contrast of his hot, wet mouth sucking you makes an acute whimper escape your throat, echoing against the four walls. Heeseung groans against your skin, thrilled by your reaction, and slides a hand up to squeeze your other breast, kneading it to the rhythm of his mouth.

Taking advantage of the fact that he’s completely lost between your breasts, you lower your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants. You slip your fingers underneath the elastic, gently sliding the fabric down, dragging his boxers along with them until his half-erect length slips free.

You stop moving your hips so you don't lose your balance, and lower one of your hands to the base of his penis. You wrap your fingers around it and begin to slide your hand up and down in a slow, smooth motion.

Heeseung freezes. He stops sucking your breast instantly and throws his head back, resting it against the wall with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched tight. A husky, long, choked groan escapes his throat as his pelvis gives a subtle upward twitch, chasing the pressure of your fingers.

"Does this feel good?" You say softly, using your free hand to caress Heeseung’s jawline.

He lets out a whine of approval, his breathing completely shattered, but you’re already moving. You lean on his shoulders for stability and push yourself up just enough to strip off the rest of your clothes. You pull your pants and underwear off in one quick motion, letting them drop to the floor right next to his hoodie. When you settle back down onto his thighs, your bare skin presses against his, the heat of your wet core brushing directly against the tip of his heavily throbbing erection.

Heeseung snaps his eyes open, completely unraveled. His hands immediately slide up to your hips, digging into your skin to guide you, but you maintain control.

Before sliding him inside, you slowly grind forward and backward against him. You let the head of his cock, glistening wet with pre-cum, drag and press directly against your folds and your clit. The friction of his thickness against your most sensitive spot draws a sharp gasp from your throat, making Heeseung arch his pelvis upward, desperately chasing the hilt.

"Fuck... please," he begs, his voice raw, squeezing your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Put it in already, I can't take it anymore.

"You're burning up too. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and slowly lower your body, letting yourself drop onto him. His wet, hot length stretches you open centimeter by centimeter, filling you completely. Heeseung throws his head back with a low, deep groan that vibrates in his chest the second he feels you take all of him. The fit is perfect, so tight and hot that you both freeze for a second, soaking in the sensation of being completely joined together like this.

The clinical silence of the studio is broken only by your hitched breaths. Beneath you, you notice his chest rising and falling erratically, and when you look down to find his eyes, you realize Heeseung’s eyelashes are completely wet. All that emotional instability and the pressure built up over weeks are overflowing the only way he has left: a silent sob, a raw release triggered by the sheer intensity of having you so close, of finally feeling safe and contained.

"Hey... Hee, my love," you whisper in your sweetest tone, pausing your movements for a moment.You cup his face with both hands, using your thumbs to brush away a couple of stray tears escaping down his cheeks. Heeseung opens his eyes, completely unraveled, looking up at you with a shyness and devotion that makes your heart ache. He looks like a little boy seeking shelter in the middle of a storm.

"I'm sorry..." he manages to choke out, his throat tight. "It’s just... it's too much. I feel like I don't deserve you being here, putting up with all my shit."

"Don't say that," you interrupt him, pressing a tender, wet kiss to his lips, tasting the heat of his mouth. "You're doing amazing. You are the most talented and strongest person I know, Heeseung. You're already perfect. I love you just like this, exactly as you are right now. Even if the world turns its back on you, my place is still right by your side."

Your words seem to heal something inside him. Heeseung lets out a choked sob, a low, tearful whimper that gets lost against your neck as he buries his face there, wrapping his arms around your waist with an almost desperate strength. He clings to you as if you were his lifeline, losing himself in your scent while his hips give a subtle, deep upward twitch, making you gasp.

"Tell me again... please," he begs against your ear, his voice broken, completely surrendered to you. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Heeseung. Only yours, my love," you repeat against his ear, sealing the promise with a soft bite on his earlobe that makes him shiver from head to toe. "I'm right here, and I'm staying right here."

You start out slow, giving him a couple of deliberate, circular grinds that squeeze a sharp whimper from his throat. But the friction of your completely drenched core against his base and the stifling heat of the studio set your blood on fire. Without warning, you shift gears. Bracing yourself hard against his thighs, you begin to ride him fast, slamming your hips against his with a savage urgency.

The sudden shift catches him completely off guard. Heeseung throws his head back against the wall, his eyes rolling back as a broken, long, acute groan escapes his lips. The wet sound of your bodies slapping together mercilessly—a rhythmic clapping of skin against skin and the echo of your mixing juices—fills the freezing room, turning it purely obscene.

"Fuck... you're going... you're going too fast," he whimpers, his voice completely shattered from the extreme sensitivity. His large hands dig desperately into your buttocks, trying to slow you down a bit, but he has neither the mental nor physical strength to stop you. He’s too soft from the crying before, yet too hard from the pleasure.

"You like it like this, don't you?" you tease him, panting, rolling up and down his length without giving him a single second of truce.

He opens his eyes, unfocused with ecstasy, looking up at you from below. Seeing your breasts bouncing to the frenetic rhythm of your hips and your face contorted with pleasure drives him completely insane. He tries to match your pace clumsily, pushing his pelvis upward in needy spasms, but every time he tries, your fast rhythm crushes him, bottoming out all at once and forcing a choked sob from his chest.

"Yes... Fuck, yes, I love it," he growls, slurring his words, completely overwhelmed. His brows furrow so tightly it looks like he's in pain, and his Adam's apple bobs frantically as he gasps for air. "You're going to make me come so fast..."

You can't hold out much longer either. The constant friction of your clit against his pubic hair, paired with the sheer heat of every downward stroke filling you to the brim, is pushing you straight to the edge of collapse.

Heeseung feels those first contractions of your orgasm perfectly around him. He lets out a choked, low, raspy groan, and his hands on your hips tighten with an instinctive firmness, pinning you completely against his pelvis so as not to lose a single millimeter of contact. His breathing is a total wreck, pure fire against your neck.

"Heeseung... I'm going to come," you confess in a pant, unable to keep up the pace any longer, letting yourself fall heavily onto him as your core squeezes tightly around his length

."Do it..." he replies in a broken whisper, squeezing his eyes shut as his own pelvis gives a couple of slow, deep, agonizing upward thrusts. "Do it, my love."

Your orgasm hits you hard, forcing you to arch your back and bury your nails into his shoulders as you twitch over him in an already erratic rhythm. That tight, burning pressure is the final push Heeseung needed.

His entire body tenses so much that the muscles in his arms and back ripple beneath your touch. With a long, muffled, shattered groan tearing from his chest, Heeseung buries himself deeply inside you.

You can perfectly feel the first pulse of his length releasing the load, a hot stream shooting straight against your depth. His pelvis gives three hard, successive spasms, bottoming out as much as possible as he fills you completely. The heat of his semen begins to flood your inside, a thick, liquid sensation blending with your own wetness. Heeseung sighs with his lips pressed to your shoulder, letting out the air he was holding in a low whimper of pure physical and mental relief, his length still pulsing inside you, leaving every single drop of his warmth.

Silence settles over the studio once more, but this time it’s a completely peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing trying to quiet down.

It takes Heeseung a few minutes to react. When the trembling in his muscles finally subsides, he relaxes his arms around your body, but he doesn't let go. He slides back a bit against the wall, adjusting you better on his lap so you don't have to make any effort. You notice a warm trickle of your mixed juices beginning to lazily slide down your thighs from just how much he came inside you.

He holds you with infinite tenderness, hiding his face in your hair while caressing your back with a sweet, slow rhythm.

Soobin closed the apartment door with practiced care, the click of the lock almost silent, but you already knew he was there. He was late. Only twenty minutes—hardly a crime for most—but you had been simmering in a dark mood all day, and tonight, even the sound of his breathing felt like an invitation to lash out.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed out the moment he stepped inside. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his backpack, the thud echoing in the quiet room. “The boss caught me at the door with a last-minute document, and I… I lost track of time. I brought dinner, though. From that place you love? The spicy noodles.”

He hurried to set the bag on the table, his movements frantic and eager. You didn’t even offer him a glance. You stayed curled on the couch, thumbing through your phone and pointedly turning up the volume on your video.

Soobin stood frozen for a beat. He looked so tall yet so incredibly awkward in his damp, oversized hoodie, his hair slightly plastered to his forehead from the drizzle outside. That handsome, soft face of his—all big, puppy-dog eyes and plush lips—seemed to crumble the second he registered your icy silence.

“Babe… are you upset?”

No answer. He crossed the room, his footsteps heavy with anxiety, and knelt beside the couch. He lowered himself until he was at eye level, tentatively resting one of his large, warm hands on your knee. It trembled slightly.

“It was just a document, I swear. I left the second I could. Look, I can heat the noodles up right now, and maybe we could—”

“Forget it, Soobin,” you cut him off, your voice flat and sharp. You didn’t bother looking away from your screen. “It’s always ‘just’ something with you. You’re nothing but a walking excuse.”

He flinched as if you’d slapped him. He blinked rapidly, his voice cracking on the next word.

“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth… but if I upset you, I’m sorry. Please. Just tell me what you want. I can go back out and get dessert, or I’ll scrub the kitchen again, or—”

You finally turned your head, meeting his frantic gaze with eyes like chips of ice.

“You know what? You look so pathetic when you beg like that. It’s embarrassing. Just shut up already.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Soobin’s mouth snapped shut, but his eyes flooded with tears almost instantly. He tried to fight them, biting his lower lip so hard it turned white, but two heavy droplets escaped anyway, tracking down his flushed cheeks. He wiped them away quickly with his sleeve, a hitched, embarrassed breath escaping him. He looked like a giant, broken child—a man with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline who could have been intimidating if he had an ounce of self-respect, yet here he was, weeping on the floor because you’d been mean to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a jagged wreck. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

He scrambled to his feet and retreated to the kitchen. You heard the frantic sounds of him trying to fix things—opening drawers, plating the food with trembling hands, even the rhythmic *thump-thump* of him slicing cucumbers because he remembered exactly how you liked them. He brought the tray over and set it on the coffee table with a neatly folded napkin and a glass of ice water.

You didn't touch a single bite. Soobin sank into the armchair across from you, watching you with the heartbreaking devotion of a stray dog waiting for a scrap of attention. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. You kept your eyes on your phone, ignoring his existence entirely. He began to shift, his breathing becoming shallow and ragged with anxiety.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” he choked out. “I can use the lavender salts… warm the towels? Or… or I can massage your feet? I know they’re sore.”

Nothing.

He stood up again, cleared the untouched plate, and washed it by hand. He wiped the counters until they shone, took out the trash, and meticulously lined up your shoes by the door. Finally, he came back and stood in front of you, his large hands hanging uselessly at his sides, his chest heaving.

“Please… please just say something. Anything. Yell at me if you have to. I can’t—I can’t breathe when you ignore me like this.”

You remained a statue. Soobin swallowed hard, the desperation in his eyes turning into something darker, something carnal. He knew the only currency he had left to buy your forgiveness was his own body.

He knelt between your legs again, his palms sliding carefully onto your thighs, his touch a silent prayer for permission.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, his voice now low and roughened by the remnants of his crying. “Please. I just want to make you feel good. Let me do this for you.”

You didn’t say a word, but you didn't push him away. For a boy like Soobin, that was as good as a "yes."

He slowly worked his hands under your shorts, his touch a dizzying mix of reverence and frantic need. He stripped you with shaking fingers, pausing to press soft, lingering kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner knees. Once you were bare, he just stayed there for a moment, staring at your pussy—already beginning to glisten—as if it were the only holy thing left in his world.

“So beautiful…” he whispered, a fresh tear catching on his lash.

He lowered his head and dragged his tongue in a slow, flat stroke from the very bottom to the top, lapping up your nectar with a low, vibrating groan. He started slow, almost worshipful, licking the outer lips and sucking gently on the sensitive skin. Then, he used his thumbs to spread you wide, burying his tongue inside you with lazy, rhythmic sweeps while his nose rubbed circles against your clit.

“Mmm… I’m so sorry I was late,” he mumbled against your wetness, his voice muffled and thick with heat. “I’m going to make it up to you… I want you to come all over my tongue until you’re shaking.”

You brought your hand down, tangling your fingers in his soft hair and pulling hard to set the pace. Soobin moaned against you, obeying instantly. He increased the pressure, his tongue brushing against your clit with frantic precision while sliding two long, thick fingers deep inside you. He began to fuck you slowly, his knuckles grazing your opening while his mouth worked to worship every inch of you.

“Fuck… you’re so wet,” he rasped, the words vibrating against your sensitive flesh without him pulling away. “I love the way you taste… I could stay here all night.”

You yanked his hair, forcing his head back just enough to see his desperate eyes.

“Shut up and eat me properly. You’re not down there to talk.”

Soobin shivered, a small, broken sound escaping his throat, but he didn't dare argue. He buried his face against you again, his tongue lashing out faster, his fingers diving deeper into your heat. The sounds filling the room were filthy—the wet slap of his tongue, the rhythmic slide of his fingers, and his muffled, needy moans pressed into your soaked skin. You began to roll your hips against his mouth, using his face as a toy. He let out a louder groan, clearly electrified by the fact that you were finally using him.

As he felt your muscles start to twitch, he sucked on your clit with a bruising pressure, his fingers relentless inside you. You came hard, your thighs clamping around his head like a vice. You tugged at his hair, a long, ragged moan leaving your lips. Soobin didn’t pull back for a second; he kept licking gently, savoring every drop of your release, dragging out the peak until your legs were nothing but jelly.

He lifted his face just enough to catch his breath, his lips and chin glistening with the evidence of your orgasm.

“Did you like that? Do you want me to do more? I’ll do anything, baby… just tell me—”

You didn’t let him finish the sentence. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his face back into your crotch.

“Who told you that you could talk? You’re so fucking useless… you can’t even eat pussy without begging like a dog. Keep going.”

Soobin’s body tensed. His eyes welled up again—not with anger, but with a crushing sense of guilt. He truly believed you; he thought he was failing you, that he wasn't even good enough at this one simple task. He whispered a pathetic, almost silent “sorry” against your skin and went back to work.

This time, he was frantic. He licked broader, messier, dragging his tongue down to circle your other hole, sucking lightly while his fingers continued to fuck your dripping entrance. He moaned softly into you, completely lost in the worship of your body.

You moaned louder, pressing his head into you until you were practically fucking his face. Soobin was rock hard, his cock throbbing painfully against the denim of his jeans, but he didn't even dream of touching himself. To him, nothing existed but your pleasure.

“Faster,” you commanded, your voice cutting through his haze.

He obeyed instantly. His tongue and fingers worked with a desperate intensity. You came again, even more violently this time, soaking his mouth and chin as you cried out. Soobin didn’t stop until your trembling ceased. Then, he slowly began to kiss his way up your body with a devotion that felt almost sickening.

He worshipped your stomach, your ribs, the dip between your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking hard, his large hand kneading the other breast. Finally, he reached your neck, burying his face there, licking and nipping at the skin.

“I love you so much…” he whimpered, his voice cracked and fragile. “You’re the most beautiful thing I have. I’d do anything for you. Even if you hate me, even if you scream… I’m just happy I can touch you.”

You didn't answer with words. You just ran your nails down his broad back, scratching lightly through his hoodie. When he bit your neck a little harder, you let out a low, dark moan. Soobin shuddered. His erection was trapped between your bodies, leaking and painful, but he didn't complain. He only tilted his hips slightly, seeking a ghost of friction against your thigh without daring to ask for more.

“Tell me if you want me to fuck you… or if you’d rather I keep going with my mouth,” he murmured against your ear. “I’ll get back on my knees. I’ll stay here until you're tired of me.”

You smiled, a cruel, satisfied curve of your lips. You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“You’re pathetic, Soobin. Look at you… so hard it hurts, and you still don’t have the balls to ask for it.”

His face flushed a deep, shamed red, but his eyes shone with a mix of agony and arousal.

“I know… I’m pathetic. It’s because I love you. I just want to make you feel good. If you don’t want to touch me, that’s fine. Just let me keep going.”

You watched him, your breath still heavy. Soobin remained kneeling between your legs—hair a mess, face flushed, lips shiny and wet. He slowly pushed his pants down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, twitching against his stomach, a thin string of precum clinging to the skin.

You stared at it for a moment before saying, almost annoyed:

“Then fuck me. But do it my way. Don’t you dare go slow.”

Soobin nodded, his eyes wide. He straightened up, his large hands gripping your hips to pull you to the edge of the couch. He pushed inside you in one deep, unceremonious thrust, a long, guttural groan breaking from his chest. He stayed still for a second, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to keep his composure.

“Fuck…” he choked out.

He started to move. At first, he was still too careful, too gentle. You dug your nails into his bicep.

“Harder. Don’t make me say it again.”

The rhythm changed instantly. His thrusts became rough, borderline frantic, the sound of skin-on-skin slapping through the quiet apartment. Soobin was big and powerful, and when he stopped holding back, it showed. Every stroke was deep, hitting your cervix with a force that made you gasp. He moaned with every lunge—those raw, slightly high-pitched sounds he always made, as if the pleasure was a punishment he was grateful for.

“Like this? Is this good?” he panted through gritted teeth.

“Shut up,” you snapped, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper. “Just fuck me.”

He clenched his jaw and obeyed. The couch groaned under his weight. Sweat dripped from his chin, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy clumps. Every time your walls tightened around him, he let out a strangled cry. You could see the struggle in his trembling arms, but he was so loud. So beautifully, painfully noisy.

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t you dare cum yet.”

“I won’t… I won’t,” he panted, his eyes glassy. “I want you to go first. Please.”

You scratched his back, and he buried his face in your shoulder with a whimper. His hips never faltered, slamming into that perfect spot until you came hard around him, squeezing his thick length. Your nails drew blood on his shoulders as you peaked.

Soobin tensed, his entire body vibrating as he fought his own release.

“God… you feel so fucking good,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

The second your trembling stopped, you shoved his chest.

“Pull out.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure frustration crossing his face, but he obeyed. He slid out with a low, pained groan. His cock was red and glistening, throbbing in the air. He stayed on his knees before you, chest heaving, looking at you with that familiar, desperate need.

“What… what do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice a hoarse wreck.

You watched him, enjoying the way his cock twitched rhythmically on its own.

“Finish yourself off. With your hand. Right here where I can watch.”

Soobin’s face burned, but he didn't hesitate. He sat back on his heels and wrapped his large hand around himself. He started to stroke, slow at first, almost shyly, never breaking eye contact. His breathing grew ragged.

“Sorry for coming home late…” he murmured, the words sounding like a prayer. “I know I mess everything up. I just want you to love me again.”

He sped up. His hips began to buck into his fist, desperate and messy. He looked so huge and yet so small kneeling there—that strong, athletic body shaking as he chased a release he didn't even feel he deserved.

“I’m close…” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “Can I…?”

“Not yet.”

He let out a sound that was half-moan, half-sob, but he kept going. His hand moved faster, the sound of it loud and wet. Tears were pricking his eyes again.

“Please… it hurts,” he whined, his head tossing back. “Just let me… I want to be good for you.”

You let him suffer for another minute, watching his thighs tremble and his jaw lock in agony. Finally, you spoke:

“Now.”

Soobin let out a long, shattered cry. He came hard, thick ropes of white splattering over his hand and the floor. He kept stroking until he was completely spent, his head hanging low, his breathing coming in jagged gasps.

When the shaking finally stopped, he didn't wait for a command. He leaned down, his tongue darting out to clean his own mess off the floor, silently and meticulously. He didn't look sad; he looked relieved. To him, this was the price of your forgiveness.

Afterward, he crawled back up and rested his head in your lap, his large arms wrapping around your legs. He was hot and damp with sweat. He pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your thigh.

“Thank you for letting me,” he whispered against your skin. “I love you so much.”

You didn’t say a word. You just ran your fingers through his hair. Soobin closed his eyes and drifted, perfectly content with the scraps you threw him.

He knew that tomorrow he’d probably fail you again. He knew he’d end up right back here—on his knees, begging, doing too much. But for now, he was at peace, even if it was a peace bought with his own humiliation.

And you knew it too. You didn't love Soobin for his heart; you loved how easy he was to break. As you stroked his hair, you weren't comforting a boyfriend—you were simply admiring how well you owned your favorite toy.

You had always been defined by your competitiveness, mostly because Heeseung was perpetually one step ahead. He was the undisputed first, leaving you trapped in his shadow—a reality that gnawed at you day and night. You loathed his effortless superiority, fueled by a bitter spark of envy you barely dared to acknowledge.

He played the part of the "ideal guy" to perfection. Charismatic, insightful, the star athlete, and a natural leader with an impeccable sense of style. He was attractive. No—he was devastatingly hot. So fucking hot that it made your hatred for him feel like a physical weight in your chest

....

It was nearly 5 PM. The final bell had rung over an hour ago, but you were still huddled in the classroom, buried under a mountain of assignments. It had been one of those days where the stress made your skin crawl. As you finally finished the last task, your body slumped into the chair like jelly, an exhausted sigh escaping your lips.

Staring at the ceiling for a moment, you eventually reached into your purse for your phone. You bypassed your usual apps and headed straight for one of your favorite adult sites. It was a guilty pleasure, a necessary release for whenever you felt this frustrated—whenever you just longed for someone to pin you against a wall and fuck you until you were utterly spent.

As the video played, a familiar heat began to coil in your gut. You glanced nervously at the door, biting your lower lip before sliding your hands over your breasts and abdomen. Your breath hitched as you hitched up the hem of your skirt, slipping your fingers beneath your underwear to brush against your aching, wet folds.

You shifted, finding a better angle in the chair, and pressed your fingers firmly against your clit. You began to work in slow, rhythmic circles.

Pleasure flooded your senses almost instantly. You tilted your head back, clenching your jaw to stifle any sound. Your hips bucked slightly, searching for more pressure, more friction. You were right on the edge, the haze of an orgasm beginning to cloud your mind, until a voice cut through the silence:

"Why do you do it alone when you have me?"

The sound made you bolt upright, your heart hammering against your ribs as you jerked your hands back to your lap. Your face burned a deep crimson.

Through the lingering fog of arousal, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on Heeseung. He was leaning casually against a desk a few meters away, watching you with a smug, predatory smirk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Shouldn't you be fucking a cheerleader in the bathroom or something?" you snapped, trying to inject some cockiness into your voice despite how much your hands were shaking.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound, as he began to stalk toward you. His imposing figure cast a shadow over your desk. "You’re always trying to get rid of me, aren't you? But we both know that's the last thing you want right now."

He leaned in, bracing his hands on your desk and bringing his face inches from yours. "I saw what you were doing, you little deviant," he murmured in a husky tone. "Don't you know it's wrong to play with yourself in a place like this?" He let out a disdainful huff as one hand slid down, gripping your thigh possessively and squeezing the soft flesh through your skirt.

You took a sharp breath, shifting against the seat. The contrast between his warm palm and the cold bite of his rings sent a violent shiver down your spine. "I find it more inappropriate to spy on someone during a private moment."

"Private?" He let out a mocking laugh. "There’s nothing private about masturbating to porn in a classroom." His voice dropped to a deep, gravelly register. "And as for spying... let's just say I like to keep an eye on you."

His hand moved higher, his fingertips teasing the hem of your skirt. "You’re desperate for attention, even if it means getting caught like this. It’s almost pathetic, really." He tilted his head, admiring your flushed face. "Tell me... have you ever fantasized about someone doing those things to you for real?"

You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to block his hand, which was inching closer to your center. "Why do you ask?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "Have you fantasized about being the one to do them?

"He easily forced your legs apart again with a firm, bruising grip. "Oh, I’ve fantasized about plenty of things. Like bending you over this very desk and fucking you senseless until you're begging me for mercy.

"Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. He pressed his body against the edge of the desk, pinning you in place while his free hand tangled in your hair. He leaned in to bite your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "I’ve imagined being the one to drive you crazy. I’d show everyone that you’re just an envious little bitch who’s always lived in my shadow because you need me. You need me to fill you up with my cock until you can't take another inch.

"You stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer bluntness of his words. He watched your wide, embarrassed eyes for a moment before letting out a sharp sigh of disappointment. He released your hair and stepped back.

"You’re a fucking coward," he stated coldly, turning on his heel to leave.

Your blood began to boil. It wasn't the insults that got to you; it was the word coward. The idea that he thought he had won again.

You stood up so abruptly that your books clattered to the floor. Heeseung stopped and turned, looking confused.

"What did you call me?" you muttered, fists clenched at your sides.

He raised an eyebrow. "A bitch?"

"A coward," you corrected him.

You marched toward him, trying to keep your steps steady despite the adrenaline. When you reached him, you grabbed his collar and smashed your lips against his.

He let out a sharp, muffled gasp before kissing you back with a suffocating hunger. His hands found your waist, hauling your body against his until your breasts were crushed against his chest. His tongue sought yours, deep and demanding, and you tasted the slick heat of his mouth as a moan escaped you.

He pushed you backward until your hips hit the desk. You pulled away for a second, breathless. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his pristine collar was a mess. He smiled—that same arrogant smile he used when he corrected you in class.

"Ah, so the little pervert finally shows her true colors," he gloated. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them open and pressing hard against your aching center.

"Stop calling me a pervert, idiot," you practically spat in his face.

"A bit pedantic, don't you think? Especially since I can feel how soaked your pussy is against my leg." To prove his point, he ground his knee upward, rhythmically.

The friction of your wet lace against your clit made you whimper. Your hips began to move in sync with his leg. "I'm only wet because you interrupted me," you gasped out, "not because of you."

"Oh, how rude of me, princess. Let me make it up to you." He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire.

The mix of rage and longing was intoxicating. Part of you wanted to hit him; the other part wanted to rip his clothes off and suck him dry. Before you could decide, his fingers were already fumbling with your buttons. He pulled back slightly, looking at your chest as he bared your skin.

"You're beautiful," he declared, his voice suddenly raw and serious. That shift in his tone broke your last bit of resistance.

You ground your hips against him desperately, feeling his solid erection through his trousers. He slid one hand to the small of your back to hold you steady while the other tugged your bra down. He didn't hesitate, taking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling with heavy saliva that dampened your skin.

Your moans became incoherent, broken words. You felt your legs trembling, hooking around his thigh as the peak drew near.

"Heeseung..." your voice was a tiny, submissive wail.

He pulled back, his expression more intense than you’d ever seen it.

"I... I’m close..." you stammered, unsure why you were even telling him.

"Let me help you with that." He reached down and hiked your skirt up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties. He let out a dark, triumphant laugh before slipping a finger under the lace, shifting the fabric just enough so your bare clit could rub directly against the rough material of his uniform pants.

It was rough, jarring, and utterly delicious. You leaned all your weight against his legs, hips moving in a desperate blur as you chased the peak.

The sight of your small, swollen clit made Heeseung let out a low groan, his muscles tensing beneath his clothes. "Come on, keep going," he urged, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. "I want to see that pretty little pussy ruin my pants.

"His words were the final push. Your name for him left your lips in a muffled, broken cry as you finally came, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You buried your face against his chest, trying to swallow the jagged moans that escaped you.

A few seconds later, as the euphoria began to ebb away, you slowly pulled back. He reached out, his hand cupping your face and squeezing your cheeks with a playful, dominant grip. "Clearly, that was much more effective than doing it yourself," he stated, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But... I’m not nearly done having my fun yet."

Before you could protest, he grabbed your shoulders and forced you around, pinning your chest flat against the desk.

"Heeseung," you breathed out, a warning tone in your voice as you realized exactly what he intended to do.

Ignoring you, his hands made quick work of your panties, sliding them down your legs before hiking your skirt up until it was bunched around your waist. "You have such a beautiful little ass." The words were followed by a sharp, stinging slap across one of your cheeks, making you yelp and instinctively try to lurch away from the desk.

"Heeseung, we shouldn't—" you tried to plead, but he tangled his fingers into your hair, yanking your head back and forcing your body back down with even more weight than before.

"I wasn't asking for permission," he growled. The metallic clink of his belt buckle filled the air, followed by the rustle of his pants hitting the floor.

"I can't wait to fill you with my cum." He took his length in his hand, dragging the tip against your aching, wet entrance, smearing his pre-cum into your own heat.

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing against your center. "I’m going to fill you up so much that when you walk down the halls, my spit and semen will slide down your legs," he murmured, the words sounding more like a dark promise to himself than to you.

He slid home with startling ease, slicked by your shared arousal. As he hit his limit, a guttural groan tore from both of your throats. Heeseung threw his head back in pure ecstasy. "And when people notice—when they ask—you'll have to tell them it was me who went all the way." He was rambling now, lost in the sensation.

It felt like he was piercing your very core; your walls struggled to stretch and accommodate his sheer size. "Too... it’s too big..." you gasped, claws scraping at the wood of the desk beneath you.

"Shh... stay calm..." He began to grind his hips against yours in an animalistic, heavy rhythm. "I know it’s deep," he whispered, his tone mockingly comforting.

A hoarse moan vibrated in his throat, causing you to clench around him uncontrollably. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned. "I should have used at least three fingers before burying myself in you." He was lying, of course; he was clearly intoxicated by the way you squeezed him, almost painfully so.

He gripped your hair again, pulling you up until your back was arched against his chest. With his free hand, he turned your face toward his. "What’s wrong? Why aren't you saying anything anymore?" He delivered a particularly deep, punishing thrust that made your eyes roll back. "You're always so grumpy, but now that you’ve got a cock inside you, it seems like you can't even think.

"When you tried to snap back, only a stream of nonsensical whimpers and sharp gasps came out. He let out a low laugh that vibrated against your spine.

"You’re too sweet." The sudden change to an affectionate, almost tender tone caught you off guard. You looked back at him through tear-filled lashes, your expression a mess of exhaustion and unintended devotion.

His free hand moved to your lower abdomen, pressing down right where you could feel the bulge of him inside you. You reached down, intertwining your fingers with his as you followed his lead.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the sound of Heeseung’s heavy breathing and your own sharp cries. There was nothing but the heat radiating from his body and the friction of him moving inside you.

He began to pepper your neck with wet, messy kisses. "Fuck, you’re so wet, so tight... so beautiful..." He growled the words against your skin. "You were made for me."

Your legs began to give way, the knot in your stomach tightening into a final, agonizing point. "Seungie... I’m close..."

"Yeah? Are you going to squeeze me while you come all over my cock?" he asked, his voice cocky yet broken by a pathetic moan of his own.

You could only nod desperately, too far gone to care about how vulnerable you looked.

Before you knew it, your walls were spasming around him. "Just like that... take it all," he grunted, shoving your body back down onto the desk and pressing your cheek against the cold surface.

His thrusts became frantic and careless as he chased his own release. "I’m going to fill you so deep that I'll ruin you for anyone else.

"You moaned, overstimulated and trembling as your juices began to drip, creating an obscene, wet sound with every hit.

"You're never going to get it all out." He crushed his chest against your back, pinning you to the desk. With one final, desperate surge, he buried himself to the hilt and came, hot spurts of semen hitting your womb.

The sensation of him filling you so deeply left you feeling both completely shattered and strangely relaxed.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, trying to process the sheer intensity of it. "Get off... you're suffocating me," you finally managed to complain, your voice thin and breathless.

Heeseung laughed, a soft and genuine sound, as he slowly withdrew and slid out of you. He took you gently by the shoulders, helping you stand and turn to face him.

You tried to keep your balance, but your legs were like water. You would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't caught you in a firm, protective grip.