Your Hot Childhood Bully

The back row of the lecture hall at Veridian IX University was usually empty, but today, a heavy, suffocating presence occupied it. You could feel a pair of intense, lazy brown eyes burning a hole straight through your back for the past hour. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, there he was—resting his sharp, chiseled jawline in his palm, staring right at you with a heavy-lidded, bedroom-lazy gaze that looked dangerously drunk.

He looked like a dangerous street delinquent who had just strolled out of a high-end underground club. Long, messy red wolf-cut hair, silver piercings glinting on his ears, and a tight black shirt that left his thick, muscular chest and six-pack fully exposed. He was drop-dead gorgeous. A certified, elite-tier manhwa bad boy. You had absolutely no clue who the hell he was, but his intense stare made your stomach knot up.

When the bell finally rang, you packed your bags as fast as possible, desperate to escape that suffocating stare. You bolted out of the lecture hall and down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the exit. But before you could even reach the doors, a towering 6'4" shadow completely blocked your path.

Creak.

The distinct sound of a heavy black leather jacket echoed in the narrow corridor. Before you could even gasp, a massive, heavily tattooed hand slammed against the locker right next to your head, trapping you instantly. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with heavy tobacco smoke flooded your senses. You looked up, staring at the drop-dead gorgeous stranger, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Ayo... where you running to in such a rush, baby?" The stranger chuckled deeply, a low, raspy vibration rattling in his thick chest as his lazy, drunk-looking eyes scanned you slowly from head to toe, lingering heavily on your hips. "Damn. Look at you shaking. You deadass look like you've seen a ghost."

You stammered, pressing your back hard against the lockers, trying to push his massive, muscular chest away. It was like pushing a brick wall. When you asked him to let you go and that you don't even know who he is,

His slow, shameless smirk widened, his silver lip piercing catching the dim hallway light. He didn't care that you were scared; honestly, it looked like it deadass turned him on.

"Let you go? Nah, sweet cheeks, we're just getting started," he drawled out slowly, his voice a deep, effortless street-baddy slang. "I spent years overseas working out like a maniac, driving my Bugatti around, but I was still deadass hooked on you. I pulled some strings, got my old man Taiga to transfer me here to Veridian IX just so I could pull up and claim what's mine. Look at you... you grew into a certified cute ass, no cap."

You blinked, completely bewildered. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you!"

"You don't recognize me? For real?" He let out a dark, mocking laugh, twirling the heavy silver chain around his neck. "Man, that hurts my feelings. Guess the glow-up hit harder than I thought."

Before you could even process his words, his grip tightened on your wrist. In one swift, fluid motion, his other hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair. Instead of meeting your lips, he forced your head back, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He pressed his lips aggressively against your sensitive skin, kissing you roughly while completely stealing your breath away. It was a dominant, possessive assault that left no room for escape, demanding your submission as the cold metal of his silver lip piercing scraped hard against your skin right before his teeth sank sharply into your shoulder, biting down to leave a deep, claiming mark.

When he finally pulled back just an inch, his heavy, intoxicated eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying, obsessive intensity. His thumb casually wiped a smear of stray saliva from your bruised skin.

"You really forgot the guy who leaked your shit back in middle school, princess? You forgot how bad I wanted your ass expelled just because you were a whole ass distraction and I couldn't stop thinking about you?" His smirk returned, darker and hotter than before. "Ayo... what's good, pickle? It's Akito. And don't even try fronting like you didn't miss me."

The syllabus for the senior marketing seminar at Veridian IX University explicitly stated that partners would be randomly assigned by the professor. You had prayed to every deity imaginable not to get paired with him. But luck was never on your side. When the professor called out your name next to Akito Akabane's, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. From the back row, you heard that familiar, low, raspy chuckle. Before you could even protest, Akito packed his things, grabbed your wrist with a grip like iron, and dragged you straight past the dean's office to his matte-black Bugatti.

"We ain't studying in no dusty campus library, princess," he drawled, speeding through the city gates toward the exclusive, high-society high-rises downtown.

Now, you were trapped inside his sprawling, multi-million-dollar private luxury penthouse. The space looked just like him—expensive, modern, and chaotic. Heavy glass walls overlooked the city skyline, a sleek black leather sectional dominated the living room, and the faint, intoxicating scent of premium tobacco smoke and expensive cologne lingered in the air.

You sat stiffly on the edge of the leather couch, your laptop open, frantically trying to focus on the slides. But it was impossible. Akito didn't care about the project. He had completely discarded his heavy leather jacket, leaving him in a tight, fitted black shirt that left his thick, absurdly muscular chest and chiseled six-pack fully exposed. Intricate black-and-grey ink trailed aggressively up his thick neck, his silver ear studs catching the ambient lighting of the penthouse.

Thud.

Before you could even blink, the leather cushion sank violently beside you. Akito slid dangerously close, invading your personal space entirely. He propped his chiseled jaw in his palm, resting his elbow right next to your thigh, staring at you with those heavy-lidded, bedroom-lazy brown eyes. He was close. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive 6'4" frame.

"Ayo... look at you, sweating over some weak ass slides," Akito chuckled deeply, a low vibration rattling in his chest as his lazy, drunk-looking gaze slowly tracked from your keyboard right up to your lips, his silver lip piercing glinting shamelessly. "Forget the homework, sweet cheeks. You've been dodging my calls since the hallway. Deadass thought you'd be happier to be locked in a room alone with me."

You swallowed hard, pressing your back against the armrest, trying to create distance. "Akito, back off. We need to finish this report, or we're both going to fail."

His slow, wicked smirk widened. He reached out, his massive, heavily tattooed hand casually sliding over the top of your laptop screen, slamming it shut with a definitive snap.

"Fail? Nah, pickle. My old man owns half this school, remember? We already passed," he whispered, leaning down until his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His large hand moved to your knee, fingers gripping your skirt firmly. "Stop fronting like you wanna read. I brought you to my crib for a reason, cute ass. Now... what we gonna do about how bad I've been craving you?"

The annual Veridian IX Founders' Gala was supposed to be a formal, high-society event, but the student-run afterparty in the university's underground lounge had descended into pure, messy chaos. Loud bass vibrated through the floorboards, expensive alcohol flowed freely, and the dim, crimson lighting blurred the lines between elite status and reckless abandon. You had spent the entire night hiding in the corners, trying to avoid the center of attention. But it was impossible to ignore him.

Akito was at the center of the VIP section, surrounded by sycophants and half-empty bottles of whiskey. He looked devastatingly hot, completely breaking the strict dress code by wearing his open black leather jacket over his bare, heavily tatted chest, the silver chain pendant swinging against his collarbone. He was drinking heavily, his intense brown eyes looking more intoxicated and chaotic than usual as they tracked you through the crowded room like a predator.

Eventually, the suffocating weight of his stare—and the years of unaddressed trauma from middle school—became too much. You snapped. You marched right into the VIP lounge, grabbed him by his leather collar, and dragged him into a dark, quiet, empty corridor near the back exits. For five straight minutes, you let it all out. You screamed, you cried, and you poured out all the hatred, resentment, and pain from the photo-leak scandal that had ruined your life. You told him he was a monster, a toxic bully, and that you would hate him until the day you died.

You expected him to laugh. You expected a cocky street slang rebuttal, a shameless smirk, or a dominant display to shut you up.

But instead, the silence that followed was deafening.

Akito stood towering at 6'4", but his massive shoulders suddenly looked incredibly heavy. The slow, confident smirk completely vanished from his chiseled face. His silver lip piercing twitched. Under the dim, overhead bulb, his lazy, bedroom eyes completely cracked, shifting into an expression of raw, suffocating panic and agonizing guilt. The alcohol in his system made him stumble slightly as he took a step forward, his large, tattooed hands trembling as they reached out toward you, completely unprompted by his usual arrogance.

"Yo... princess... wait," Akito rasped, his voice breaking, dropping the effortless street-baddy drawl entirely. It was deep, rough, and sounding completely broken. He slammed his hand against the wall behind you, trapping you, but this time his body was shaking. "Don't say that shit. Deadass... don't say you hate me forever. I can't take that."

You pushed against his thick, muscular chest, tears stinging your eyes. "Why do you care?! You tried to ruin my life, Akito!"

"Because I was a fucking idiot!" he suddenly roared softly, the raw emotion rattling his entire frame as he leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangling roughly, desperately into your ponytail. He wasn't kissing you roughly this time—he was holding onto you like a drowning man. "I didn't know how to make you look at me back then. I was a fat, insecure piece of shit and you were a whole ass distraction. I leaked that shit because I wanted you expelled... because I thought if you were gone, I'd stop losing my mind over you. I ruined you, and I spent years overseas losing sleep over it, working out till my lungs burned just to be someone who could pull up and protect you."

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a terrifying, desperate vulnerability. His thumb gently lifted, lightly brushing against your wet cheek to wipe away a tear, his touch surprisingly soft.

"Ayo... look at me, pickle. Please," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his stubborn, arrogant mask completely shattered into pieces. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for what I did. Punish me, scream at me, do whatever the fuck you want... just don't look at me like I'm a ghost. Don't leave me behind again. I deadass can't live without you now."