#PRAYING EMOJI PRAYING EMOJI PRAYING EMOJI | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jongst4r · 1 day ago

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lab partner (p. sunghoon)

in which being paired with sunghoon leads to way more than just classwork.

pairing: mean!dom!sunghoon x sub!fem!reader || wc: 10.3k || cw: smut! public sex, degradation, teasing, humiliation, praise, fingering, oral (f. rec), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t.), dirty talk, use of petnames, swearing, marking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, making out, a little angst (and a liiiittle fluff if you squint), a tiny bit of sir!sunghoon, sunghoon is mean but not that mean, mentions of enhypen’s jay and jake, le sserafim’s yunjin and txt’s taehyun || warnings: +18 content, mdni!!! || a/n: when i first started writing this i thought of it as a short drabble but…….i got a bit carried away

you sigh when you walk into class.

yunjin’s seat is empty, her bag nowhere in sight. she had texted you thirty minutes ago: “not going to class, i feel awful 💀 good luck with bio, text me later! <3”

you had replied with a string of panicked emojis, but it was too late already. yunjin was your lab partner, the only reason you got through this class every week.

you walk towards your seat at the end of the class and set your notebook down quietly, half-hoping the teacher would just let you work alone. but then you hear your name.

“since miss huh and mr. sim are absent today, you’ll be paired with mr. park.” you freeze.

you glance sideways, in an attempt to avoid eye contact, but sunghoon is already looking at you.

of course he is.

he’s lounging back in his chair like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the backrest of jake’s empty seat, a lollipop in his mouth, smirking like he just won something. your stomach sinks.

you’re not friends. you’ve barely spoken outside of group assignments and hallway glances. but sunghoon is… insufferable: he’s always teasing you for no reason, calling you “quiet girl” or “shy thing” when he passes you, brushing too close when he doesn’t have to.

and worst of all? you’re weak to it.

he shifts to the empty desk beside yours with a loud noise, dropping into the seat like it’s a sofa. the moment he settles, he turns to you with that same slow, lazy smirk that is always adorning his face.

“hi, princess,” he says, voice low and mocking.

you turn your head, immediately pulling your textbook closer. “hi.”

“aww,” he hums sweetly. “don’t be shy! we’re partners now.” he leans in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath near your cheek. “guess you’re stuck with me today, huh?”

as the teacher starts explaining the lesson you’ll work on today, you try to focus on your notes — really, you do, but it’s impossible when you feel his eyes on you. watching, enjoying every second of your suffering.

“you always sit so straight,” he murmurs after some time. “so… proper. bet you’ve never even skipped a class.”

you don’t respond.

he grins. “i like good girls.”

your breath catches and you grip your pen tighter, silently praying that your cheeks don’t start burning. but then you feel it, his knee nudging against yours under the desk, casual and deliberate. you gulp.

and he notices.

“are you nervous, baby?” he whispers, voice almost too soft to hear. “or is that just how you always behave when i’m near you?”

your cheeks burn instantly.

“s-stop talking,” you mumble, flipping the page in your book too hard.

he chuckles, low and amused. “god, you’re cute.”

you try to focus on the lecture, eyes fixed on the whiteboard, but it’s no use. every time you glance at sunghoon he’s watching you with that amused smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

his knee presses lightly against yours again and your breath catches, heart pounding in your chest. you clamp your hands over your notebook, pretending to write, but you haven’t written a single word. how could you when sunghoon is right beside you, legs spread out, one hand hidden under the desk and dangerously inching closer to you?

at first, it’s subtle. the light brush of his fingers against your knee like it could’ve been an accident. like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t, you can’t. it’s like your body’s frozen.

his fingers linger there, just barely grazing your skin. then, a little bolder this time, he drags the tips up and down slowly, just once, making it clear that this is intentional. he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows what it’s doing to you.

your spine stiffens, thighs tensing slightly. the air between you grows thick, tense, filled with unspoken things. you still don’t look at him. you can’t. if you do, you’ll fall apart right there at your desk. instead, you stare blankly at the whiteboard, at the scrawled words you’re supposed to be copying, but they blur and shift out of focus with every inch his hand moves.

then, just when you think you might explode from the anticipation, he leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your cheek, even smell the faint trace of cologne on his shirt.

"keep your eyes on the board," he mutters under his breath, voice low enough only you can hear. “act like you’re paying attention, got it?”

your thighs twitch as he caresses your skin, higher this time. and you try to focus, really, you do, but as his fingers go even higher and graze your inner thigh it’s impossible.

"what, cat got your tongue?" he smirks, watching you squirm. “you’re so quiet all the time, but look at you now. sitting here like a good little toy while i do whatever i want.”

your cheeks burn. you bite down hard on your lip to stay silent, but he notices — of course he does.

“you like this, don’t you?” he says, leaning in, his mouth brushing your ear. “you pretend to be all shy and innocent, but i know you're soaking through your panties for me.”

your breath hitches, and that alone makes him chuckle.

“pathetic,” he whispers, cruel and amused. “you’d let me do anything to you as long as no one else finds out, huh? sitting here letting me touch you like this in class, acting like you’re not loving every second of it.”

his fingers press higher, centimeters away from your panties, and you flinch, grabbing the edge of your desk, knuckles white. he grins.

"aw, baby. scared someone’s gonna notice?" he teases. “maybe they already have. maybe they’re watching you fidget and wondering what’s got the shy girl squirming in her seat.”

you shake your head, breath trembling.

he tsks. “you can beg me to stop, yeah?”

you should be pushing him away. you know that, but your body reacts before your mind can catch up, just like it always does around him.

it’s not the first time he’s done something like this, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. like the time his hand lingered on your waist a second too long when he passed behind you in the library. or that morning in gym class when he caught you staring at the veins in his forearms and raised an eyebrow like he could see right through you.

he never says much. he doesn’t have to. a smirk, a look. the way he leans just a little too close. he’s been breaking down your defenses one touch at a time. you had told yourself that he was just messing with you, that he didn’t mean anything by it. but now his fingers are brushing higher, his breath hot against your cheek, and you're letting him. and the worst part? you want this.

“just what i thought,” he mutters. “such a filthy little thing when no one's looking.”

and then he smirks again.

“stay quiet for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, eyes fixed on your red cheeks. “or i’ll make you beg out loud.”

his fingers hover just above your soaked panties for a moment, the slowest tease. then, with deliberate cruelty, he slides two fingers past the thin fabric, pressing against your wetness. your breath hitches sharply and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the rush of sensation. sunghoon smirks, watching your reaction like a predator watching his prey. he presses those fingers gently at first, just brushing your clit over your soaked panties, teasing you mercilessly.

“you’re so damn wet for me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction. “didn’t think the shy little thing would be this desperate.”

you can feel the air hitting your cunt as he pulls your panties aside. then, without warning, he pushes his fingers inside you, slow and teasing, just a little, curling with precision, searching for that perfect spot that makes your body tremble. your back arches off the seat before you can stop it, a strangled moan caught between your lips.

he waits for you to adjust, watching how you shiver beneath his touch, then presses deeper. two fingers sliding inside with a wet, slick sound muffled by the desk. he moves them in slow, steady strokes, curling and twisting just right to stretch and fill you, making you clench instinctively around him.

“you like that?” he whispers, voice low and husky. “that’s just my fingers, baby, and you’re clenching already. just imagine what else i could do to you if you let me.”

his other hand isn’t passive; it slips under the hem of your skirt, creeping up your thigh with feather-light touches that contrast the deep motion of his fingers inside you. his fingertips find your clit, circling it slowly, teasing in small movements that make your hips jerk involuntarily.

you try to stay still, to not give him the satisfaction, but your whole body betrays you, every flick and press on your clit is pushing you closer to the edge.

sunghoon’s voice drops even lower, thick with amusement. “you like that, don’t you? you like being stretched and touched like a filthy little toy. you’re so desperate you’d let me do this even here, in class, with so many people around us.”

his fingers flick harder over your clit now, and you whimper, trying to bury your face in your arms on the desk to hide the noise you can’t control. but it’s no use. he curls his fingers deeper, rubbing that perfect spot inside you in perfect rhythm with the relentless teasing on your clit. your legs shake, your breath becomes ragged.

“look at you clenching,” he murmurs. “so needy. are you gonna cum just from this? from being fingered like a cheap toy where anyone could see?”

you try to speak, to utter any word you can think of, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it, knowing your voice will be filled with desperate need. so you nod helplessly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk with so much strength it almost hurts.

“you really are my dumb little thing, huh?” sunghoon whispers, chuckling. “go ahead, baby. cum for me. be a good girl.”

and you do — hard.

your whole body shakes, walls pulsing around his fingers, slick dripping down onto his hand. he coos mockingly, fingers still working you through it, riding out your orgasm. your thighs tremble, overstimulated, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep any sounds from slipping out, jaw clenched. he finally pulls his fingers away, slowly, like he’s savoring every second of your dirty encounter. then brings them to his lips, sucking them clean with a smirk that makes your brain short-circuit.

"you taste so fucking sweet," he murmurs in your ear, chuckling as if he’s not just completely ruined you in the middle of class.

your heart is still racing, vision hazy, and you're too dazed to even think. you shift in your seat, thighs sticky, trying to fix your skirt with shaky fingers. the world feels like it’s moving in slow motion. you can’t focus, can’t breathe, can’t believe what just happened, and how easily he’s acting like it was nothing.

you’re still catching your breath when the bell rings. you don’t look at sunghoon. you don’t dare to. you just grab your bag and sprint out of the classroom. or at least, you try, because you don’t even make it two steps before you feel cold fingers curling tightly around your wrist.

sunghoon.

“where do you think you’re going, angel?” he mutters, voice sharp but laced with amusement. “you thought i was gonna let you get away with the little show you pulled in class?”

you glance around the empty hallway, but no one’s around. still, the risk of someone hearing him makes your breath hitch.

sunghoon wastes no time and tugs you down the corridor, pulling you into an empty class without asking. he shuts the door behind him with a quiet click.

“you know,” he murmurs, cornering you, “i’ve never seen someone try so hard to not moan. you were shaking, baby.”

his hand drags slowly down your side, fingers grazing the curve of your waist, and your body responds before your brain can catch up, a sharp shiver runs down your spine. the back of your knees nearly give out when your hips brush the edge of a desk behind you.

"so sensitive," he adds under his breath, eyes flicking down like he’s already imagining what he’ll do next. “what am i gonna do with you now, hm?”

you look at him, cheeks still flushed. your heart is pounding so hard in your chest you swear he can hear it. your back hits the edge of the desk, anchoring you, but your legs still feel shaky beneath you.

“you liked it? that cute little act of yours?” he chuckles, breath ghosting over your jaw.

you don’t answer, you can’t. your lips part, but no words come out, only the soft hitch of your breath as he moves closer.

sunghoon leans in, mouth against your ear. “you’re such a desperate little thing when I touch you. and you like it when i talk to you like this, don’t you?”

your thighs press together instinctively, breath catching in your throat. god, you wish you could say no, but your body betrays you. and he knows it.

his hand snakes under your skirt again, fingers gliding over the soaked patch he left behind earlier, pressing lightly, just enough to make you gasp.

"good girls don’t act like this," he whispers, voice dark and close against your neck. "but you? you sit there, all innocent, begging for it without even saying a word, looking at me with that pretty face."

your thighs clench around his hand, hips twitching forward before you can stop yourself. he notices and grins, slow and wicked.

"ohhh," he coos, dragging the word out like it tastes good on his tongue. "you like when i call you that? pretty? my pretty little mess."

heat floods your cheeks, your chest, your stomach, everywhere. your hands grip the edge of the desk behind you, trying to ground yourself as his fingers slowly tease your clothed entrance. he presses a cruelly gentle kiss under your jaw before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

“i bet you’d let me mark you up right now. wouldn’t you?”

you swallow hard, unable to meet his eyes.

he hums, satisfied. “go ahead then. ask me.”

you hesitate. your lips part, then close again. your heart is hammering so loudly you can barely think. and then…

“…please.”

it’s barely a whisper, but it’s there. soft and desperate.

sunghoon smirks. “god, i’m going to ruin you.”

he dips his head to your neck, and when his lips finally latch on, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark, the sharp pull of pressure makes you moan. your fingers clutch at his shirt without thinking.

"shh," he murmurs against your skin, dragging his lips over the spot he just marked, only to suck again, slow, deliberate, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

then he trails kisses along your jaw, infuriatingly slow. your head tips back, exposing more of your throat, and he takes his time, tasting every inch like he owns it. you cling to him, hips shifting, trying to chase some kind of friction, but he just chuckles at the way you bite your lip to keep the whimpers in.

by the time his hands move up to knead your breasts over your shirt, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric, he knows.

you’re already gone. your head’s spinning, body humming with overstimulation, and then—

“on your knees,” sunghoon snaps, voice low and sharp.

your body reacts before your mind catches up. you drop immediately, knees pressing into the cold classroom floor. your heart pounds in your chest. you asked for this — wanted it. wanted him to treat you like you were nothing but a toy he could use.

sunghoon barely looks at you as he walks past, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it carelessly over a chair. he takes his seat on the edge of the desk, legs spread, towering above you.

"look at you," he scoffs, gaze dragging slowly down your body, lingering on the way your thighs press together. "always so desperate. bet you were soaking the second i called you 'pathetic' earlier, weren’t you?"

you nod, shame and arousal twisting your mind. your cheeks burn, but you can’t help the way your thighs twitch, seeking friction.

sunghoon chuckles, darkly. “of course you were. little freak.”

he beckons you with two fingers, and you crawl over slowly, like a good girl — because that’s what he wants you to be. when you reach him, he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up until you eyes meet his.

“say it,” he orders.

you blink, confused. “say what?”

his grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you listen. “say you like when i treat you like this. say you like being my dumb little toy.”

your breath catches. heat floods your cheeks again, feeling ashamed, but not enough to drown the arousal that’s eating you alive. your lips part. “i… i like it.”

“louder.”

you swallow.

“i like it,” you repeat, voice shaking. “i like when you’re mean to me.”

sunghoon smirks and leans in just enough for his breath to graze your lips. “good girl.”

he pulls you up to straddle his thigh, the pressure of his muscle against your heat making your legs tremble. one hand slipping between your legs, cupping your heat through the fabric of your panties.

“already wet,” he mocks, laughing softly. “you’re pathetic. you know that?”

you nod, moaning softly as his fingers press harder. he moves your panties aside with ease and runs two fingers through your folds — slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

“so needy,” he mutters, teasing your clit with the pad of his finger. “and for what? i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

you whimper, trying to rock your hips against his thigh for some relief, but his other hand lands on your waist, holding you still.

“nuh-uh,” he scolds. “you don’t get to move unless i say so. you’re my toy, remember?”

you bite your lip, nodding quickly.

sunghoon hums, satisfied, then he finally slips a finger inside. he does it slowly, curling it just right. your back arches immediately, breath hitching.

“god, i fingered you twenty minutes ago and you’re still tight,” he groans. “and you’re clenching like you’ve never had anything inside you. pathetic.”

“sunghoon—” you moan, but he cuts you off with a glare.

“that’s sir to you right now.”

you shiver, voice barely above a whisper. “yes, sir…”

he adds another finger, stretching you out, fucking you slowly, deliberately, like he’s enjoying watching you fall apart inch by inch. your moans get louder, needier, and you cling to his shoulders, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hold yourself together.

he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “you gonna cum again just from my fingers, pretty?” he taunts. “gonna make a mess like the filthy little girl you are?”

your body trembles, your legs starting to shake. you’re right on the edge, and he knows it.

“c’mon, beg for it.”

“please,” you whisper, desperate. “please let me cum, sir. i need it—ple—”

you moan louder as sunghoon’s fingers sink deeper inside, slow and cruel, keeping you right on the edge. your hips keep twitching but he doesn’t let you move, just keeps you there, needy and whimpering in his lap.

“please,” you breathe, voice wrecked. “please, sir, i’ll be good��just—please fuck me.”

he tilts his head, smug as ever. “you sound so pretty when you beg,” he mutters, pulling his fingers out and watching your body tremble. “makes me want to ruin you even more.”

you’re nodding before he even says anything else, like you’ll agree to anything if it means he will finally fuck you.

sunghoon stands up, undoing his belt with slow, deliberate movements. “on the desk,” he says. “face down.”

you are quick to obey, bending over the cool surface.

he chuckles, pulling your skirt around your hips and shoving your panties down. “fuck…” he groans, watching your dripping folds. “you’re so fucking wet, angel.”

your knees buckle at the sound his voice. you feel the heat of him behind you. and then you feel it, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. you whimper when he just rests there, not pushing in, just waiting.

“tell me who you belong to.”

“you,” you whisper.

“louder.”

“you. i’m yours, sir.”

that’s all it takes.

he thrusts into you in one hard, deep motion and you cry out, your hands scrambling for grip on the desk as he fills you completely.

“fuck,” sunghoon groans behind you, snapping his hips again, harder. “you feel so fucking good like this. tight little cunt just made for me.”

you moan helplessly, cheek pressed to the desk, eyes rolling back as he fucks into you with deep, punishing thrusts. he grabs your hips, dragging you back to meet him with every stroke, skin slapping loudly in the quiet room.

“god, listen to that,” he laughs, breathless. “so fucking wet. all that begging and whining, just to get split open like this.”

you can barely answer — the pleasure is too much, the stretch too good. all you can do is whimper and moan and let him use you like you wanted.

“you’re clenching,” he growls, voice right by your ear now. “you’re gonna cum for me, baby? gonna cum on my cock like a good fucking toy?”

“yes—yes, sir, please—”

his hand snakes around your waist, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles in perfect sync with his thrusts.

“c’mon, show me what a good girl you are.” he whispers.

your orgasm hits hard, it’s almost overwhelming. your whole body locks up, walls pulsing around him, crying out his name like a prayer.

“that’s it,” he groans, fucking you through it. “make a mess for me. that’s my girl.”

he keeps going, deeper and sloppier now, chasing his own release. and then you feel him twitch inside you, the low growl in his throat as he buries himself deep into you and cums hard, filling you completely.

for a moment, after he’s finished, there’s just heavy breathing and the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. he pulls out slowly, fingers trailing lazily over your heated skin as he leans down to leave a warm kiss along your spine.

“look at you,” he murmurs with a smirk, voice low and teasing. “all wrecked because of me.”

you bite your lip, face burning. you don’t dare move, not trusting your legs to hold you up yet. your heart is still racing, your body trembling slightly. sunghoon stays there for a bit longer, eyes looking up and down your back like he’s memorizing the view. then he straightens, tucking himself back into his pants and adjusting his belt with ease. you hear the familiar click of the buckle, but you’re still trying to collect yourself.

“don’t think this is a one-time thing, angel,” he says, voice full of amusement. “you’re mine now, and I’m just getting started.”

you finally glance over your shoulder at him, still bent over the desk, lips parted to say something, but the look he gives you steals every thought straight out of your head.

his smile is wicked. “aw, don’t look at me like that,” he coos, taking a step closer and gently fixing your skirt over your hips. “you’re the one who begged for it, remember?”

you let out a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

“god,” he laughs softly, running his thumb over your swollen bottom lip before leaning in close, voice brushing your ear. “you should see yourself right now. all flushed and fucked out, it's adorable.”

“sunghoon…” you murmur, unsure if it’s a warning, a plea, or just his name falling from your lips like muscle memory.

he hums in response, then tilts your chin up so your eyes meet. “you’ll be thinking about this all day, won’t you?”

you blink at him, still dazed, still aching. and he knows.

“you should, you look pretty when you’re thinking.”

before you can reply, he plants a surprisingly soft kiss on your cheek and turns toward the door. as he opens it, he glances over his shoulder, smirk still playing at his lips.

“try not to get too distracted in our next class, princess.”

then he’s gone, unbothered, like he didn’t just ruin you completely and leave your legs shaking.

and you’re left standing there, heart pounding, lips tingling, and one very real problem: how the hell are you supposed to walk out of this classroom like nothing happened?

you take a second to fix your skirt, smooth your hair, wipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. you take a few shaky steps toward your backpack, grabbing your phone with a hand that’s still trembling slightly. you open your messages, ignoring the chaos reflected on the screen — messy hair, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes — and click on yunjin’s name. there’s a half-typed message from when you first walked into class. you delete it and start over.

you: do you think you’ll be sick tomorrow too?

you: just asking

you: no reason

you: like maybe don’t rush to get better. rest up. hydrate. sleep lots. drink tea. rest. a lot.

you stare at the screen, lips pressed tight, and then add:

you: seriously. please be sick again.

your thumb hovers over the send button.

you think of sunghoon’s voice in your ear, the press of his lips to your cheek, that stupid smirk as he walked out like he didn’t just rearrange your guts. you think about sitting next to him again, about his hand on your thigh under the desk.

you hit send before you can regret it.

and you immediately regret it.

then you press your face into your hands and let out a groan, muffled and entirely helpless.

you're in so much trouble.

you told yourself it was just a phase.

just hormones, just bad timing.

but it’s not just that.

you dream about sunghoon. think about him at night when you’re alone, hand between your thighs, biting your pillow to stay quiet while his voice echoes in your head.

you hate that he’s the one who makes you feel like this. hate that he’s cocky, careless, cruel.

it’s been three weeks since that day and you can’t stop thinking about him. not when he keeps on touching you, not when it feels good, too good, so good you can’t even think.

three weeks of sneaking into bathrooms during study period, of sitting in his lap in the back of the library as his cock is deep inside you, of biting your knuckles to stay quiet while his fingers ruin you during class.

three weeks and he still hasn’t kissed you. not really. only bitten lips and bruising touches and words that make your legs shake.

and even though you know it’s wrong, know you should pull away, your body is already choosing for you.

just like it always does when it comes to him.

yunjin came back the next week after the incident, and the teacher still kept you paired with her for “consistency,”. you didn't protest. you couldn’t.

but that wasn’t an impediment for sunghoon. he hasn’t stopped teasing you since that first time. if anything, he’s gotten even worse: touching you shamelessly on the hallway, whispering filth against your ear during group discussions, acting like it’s funny how easy you are now.

it always starts the same way now: a look across the classroom, a tiny twitch of his lip when you make eye contact, and then, after the bell, that slow, deliberate walk past your desk as he brushes his fingers along your arm like it’s an accident. but in reality it’s a silent demand: come.

today is no different.

now you’re alone again — he told you to stay after class, so you did. you always do.

the door clicks shut behind him. he doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against it, looking you over like he’s bored.

“you wore that skirt on purpose,” he says, voice low. “didn’t you?”

you shift in your seat. “no.”

he laughs, dry and mocking. “you’re such a bad liar.”

your cheeks burn. your legs press together under the desk.

he walks toward you slowly. one hand rests on the back of your chair, the other ghosts over your thigh.

“you know i’ve had to sit through two full periods with my cock hard because of you?” his fingers grip your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “i bet your panties are already soaked,” he murmurs. “you’ve probably been aching all day, waiting for me to do something. am i wrong?”

you swallow hard, he grins.

he leans closer, breath brushing your cheek as his hand slides higher up your thigh, warm through the fabric of your skirt. “what’s the point of pretending?” he murmurs. “we both know what you came here for.”

your breath hitches. you want to tell him it’s not true, that you just stayed because he asked, but your thighs are already tensing, betraying you. your heart is pounding in your ears, and he knows. he always knows.

his fingers push the hem of your skirt higher, dragging it up until it bunches around your hips. he grins when he sees your panties.

“lace?” he scoffs softly. “you really did dress for me.”

you shake your head weakly, but it’s useless. he slips a hand between your legs and presses his fingers against the damp cotton, rubbing slow circles over your clothed clit until your body jolts.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked already. pathetic.”

your lips part in a breathless whine. he’s not even inside you yet and you’re already trembling. you should stop this. you should tell him you want more than this. but when his fingers hook under the waistband and slide your panties down, you lift your hips without thinking, letting him pull them off.

“spread,” he orders simply, and you do — knees falling open for him, desk chair creaking quietly under you.

sunghoon turns you around and sinks to his knees in front of you, eyes heavy-lidded, focused. you feel the cool air against your skin, the heat of his breath as he leans in.

“look at you,” he mutters. “needy little thing. you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

you nod before you can stop yourself. shame blooms in your chest, but it’s drowned by the ache between your legs.

his fingers trail over your folds, light and teasing, avoiding where you need him most. you let out a soft, desperate whimper, hips twitching.

“aw,” he says mockingly. “you want it so bad you’re shaking.”

he finally drags a finger between your folds, slick coating his skin. then another. slow, deliberate. and then he pushes one finger in — just past the knuckle — watching your face twist as you try not to moan.

“tight,” he murmurs. “always so tight for me.”

he fucks the finger in deeper, curling it slightly, then adds a second. the stretch stings, but you take it, thighs trembling on either side of him. his thumb brushes over your clit at the same time, and your back arches.

“sunghoon—”

he tsks. “keep your voice down, baby. unless you want someone to walk in and see what a mess you are.”

your mouth clamps shut, eyes shut with the effort of holding it in. his fingers work faster now, hitting that sweet spot, rubbing circles over your clit in rhythm.

“look at you,” he breathes, almost to himself. “clenching around me like a whore. you gonna cum just like this? from my fingers again?”

you nod frantically, tears spilling as your thighs twitch and your stomach tightens.

he grins, cruel and beautiful. “do it, then. cum for me. be my filthy little thing.”

you do — choking on the whimper you can’t hold back, body locking up around his fingers as your orgasm crashes through you. you barely hear the wet sounds echoing in the empty room, barely feel the drool on your chin or the tears on your cheeks.

he keeps moving, even as you twitch and gasp, overstimulated. he only slows when you collapse forward, clutching his shoulder weakly.

his voice is low against your ear. “god, you’re so easy now.”

you’re still trembling when his fingers finally slip out of you, coated and glistening. your panties lie discarded on the floor. your fingers weakly gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it’ll keep you grounded, as if you’re not seconds away from falling apart again at the mere sound of his voice.

sunghoon doesn’t give you time to recover. he stands slowly, wiping his fingers on your inner thigh like you’re just a napkin for his mess, not a girl barely holding herself together.

“you always do this,” he mutters, brushing your hair behind your ear with mock gentleness. “act so shy around everyone else, all quiet and sweet… and then the second we’re alone, you’re dripping for me.”

your eyes flutter shut at the sound of his voice. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he knows the way his words make you ache, how every cruel nickname, every degrading comment, digs deeper than just lust. you don’t want to enjoy it, you don’t want to need him, but the proof is between your legs, soaking the chair beneath you.

“you don’t even try to pretend anymore,” he goes on, voice dropping lower. “you just sit there and take it like a good little toy.”

your stomach twists at that, shame and arousal knotted together. you should say something, anything, but all that slips past your lips is a broken, quiet, “sunghoon…”

his hand grabs your chin, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath catch. he tilts your face up until your eyes meet his. his expression is unreadable.

“what?” he asks.

you blink at him, dazed. “i… i can’t—”

he cuts you off with a slow shake of his head, and suddenly he’s moving again, dragging your chair back just enough to make more room. you realize what he’s doing.

his belt clicks open with a soft sound. your breath catches in your throat. you swallow hard. your legs are still spread, panties still off. and he’s staring at you like he already owns you, like he knows he can do anything and you won’t stop him.

because you won’t.

he approaches you as he strokes himself lazily, his other hand curling around the back of your neck, face inches away from you. he doesn’t kiss you. he never kisses you. but his breath is warm against your lips, and for a second, it feels almost intimate.

“you gonna let me fuck you right here, angel?” he whispers. “right on this little classroom, where anyone could walk in and see you like this?”

your body betrays you again. your hips twitch, a soft noise slipping out of your throat.

he grins.

“thought so.” he mocks, reaching for your hips to carry you and sit you on the desk. you watch him kick his lips as he spreads your legs, slowly, teasingly.

he pushes himself forward slowly, the tip of his hardened dick teasing your wet folds, making your breath hitch. your hands grip the edges of the desk like you’re trying to hold yourself together, but all you can think about is how close his face is — how those thick, dark eyebrows furrow in concentration, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes flicker down to your chest before locking back with yours.

sunghoon doesn’t notice the way you look at him. or maybe he does, but chooses to ignore it. his gaze never softens, never lingers on your mouth.

he’s never kissed you. never once. it’s an unspoken rule. but you want it. you want to press your lips to his, to taste him, to make this whole mess feel real. you want to catch him off guard, to break the rules between you both even just once.

but you don’t say a thing. you just watch him, eyes tracing every inch of his face, memorizing the way his breath stutters as he pushes deeper inside you. the slow stretch, the way his body fits against yours.

his hand tightens on your neck, pulling you forward just a little, and his voice cuts through your thoughts.

“look at me,” he orders, voice low and rough.

your eyes snap back to his, and you nod, barely able to breathe.

“good girl,” he says, starting to move again, slow and relentless.

and still, no kiss.

he doesn’t slow down; if anything, his movements grow more deliberate, more possessive. every thrust presses deeper, setting fire to your nerves, pulling a gasp from your lips. you lock your hands behind his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair at the nape, needing to hold him still even as he owns every inch of you.

“you’re so tight,” he murmurs, voice low, rasping with hunger. “always so fucking ready for me, no matter how many times i fuck you.”

the way he says it makes your skin flush with a mix of shame and pride. you can feel the muscles in his jaw clench, his breaths shallow, desperate. your eyes catch his, dark and intense, searching yours like he’s trying to memorize the exact moment you lose yourself beneath him.

the rhythm between you shifts, faster now, harder. it’s raw and urgent, like the world outside doesn’t exist. your body arches instinctively. his hands grip your hips, steadying you.

“you’re mine,” he growls low, almost possessively. “nobody else touches you like this. say it.”

your head drops forward, breath ragged, but you manage the words. “i’m yours.” there’s something in the way you say it that makes his grip on your hips tighten just a little.

his face lowers toward yours, eyes dark and intense, flickering with something you can’t quite name. your heart hammers louder, the desperate hope still lighting inside you — is he going to…?

he stays close, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, the roughness of his breath mixing with yours. your eyes flicker to his mouth, lips slightly parted, so tempting, so close. you want to lean in, to close the distance, but your throat tightens and you stay still, waiting for him.

instead, his voice drops to a whisper, thick with raw need. “say it again. louder.”

your voice breaks as you repeat, “i’m yours.” this time more certain, more desperate. and when you do, you see something soften in his eyes, like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally letting you in.

then, without warning, his mouth brushes your cheek. and you want so badly to reach up and pull him closer, you want him to kiss you. god, you want it so badly it feels like your chest is on fire.

and without thinking, you lean in, closing the small space between your faces. your lips brush his, as if asking for something more than the roughness of his thrusts. you want him to kiss you, to break through that invisible wall he’s built so carefully.

but the moment your lips meet his, he pulls back sharply, eyes wide and mocking, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth. “what the hell?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disbelief and amusement. “are you serious right now? i thought you knew we were just fucking. you thought i was your boyfriend?” he mocks you.

he’s still inside you, his hands gripping your hips as if to remind you who’s in control, but his tone is cold, sharp, degrading. the way he looks at you, like you’re some naive fool for expecting anything more than this raw, physical mess.

your lips part in silent shock, the sting of his words almost worse than the sudden withdrawal of his warmth. your body trembles, caught between the want to pull him back and the shame that knots in your chest. he’s right, isn’t he? this is just sex. nothing more.

you don't say anything, not even when he stays inside you, still using your body like nothing just happened, like you didn’t try to kiss him, like you didn’t embarrass yourself in the most humiliating way possible.

you let him finish.

you keep your eyes shut and your jaw tight, nodding numbly through the last few degrading words he spits. and when it’s over, you dress quickly, quietly. you don’t look at him. you don’t let yourself cry until you’re already out of his sight.

and after that, you stop answering.

you ignore his messages. you switch seats in the library. you walk the other way when you see him coming down the hallway. you leave him on read. you don’t even let yourself look at him, no matter how much your chest tightens every time you hear his voice. you pretend he doesn’t exist.

and at first, he doesn’t seem to care. he’s always been cold, indifferent. you tell yourself it’s nothing. he’ll find someone else to bother. he probably already has. maybe it’s better this way.

but a week goes by, and you can feel the shift.

he’s off. the smug, lazy confidence he always carries is gone. not completely. of course, he’s still sunghoon, still handsome and untouchable and a little cruel, but he’s… tense. short-tempered. eyes flicking to you in class like he’s daring you to meet them. leaning back in his chair like he doesn’t care, but tapping his pen like it’s the only thing keeping him from snapping.

he doesn’t understand what happened, why you stopped letting him fuck you, why you’re not melting under his words like before. why you won't even look at him. he doesn’t ask, not directly. he’d never lower himself to that.

but you feel it every time he shifts behind you. every time you catch him staring at you. every time he mutters your name and you don’t turn around.

he’s going crazy, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

you, on the other hand, are just trying to feel like yourself again.

the shame still sits heavy in your chest, and some nights it creeps into your dreams, that moment where you leaned in, where he pulled away like you disgusted him. but it’s quieter now. it doesn’t hurt that much, it’s like a bruise already starting to fade.

so you keep ignoring him. and he keeps unraveling. and both of you pretend it doesn’t matter.

but it does.

badly.

it’s friday again. you hurriedly walk down the hallway, it’s your last class of the week and you can’t wait for it to be over. to not have sunghoon’s presence near you.

you slip into the classroom, eyes scanning for yunjin first — but she’s nowhere to be found. your breath stutters, and you look to jake’s usual seat.

empty.

you stomach twists. “not again…” you whisper.

you don’t even think. you cross the room fast, heart in your throat, voice low and almost shaking as you reach your teacher’s desk.

“sorry,” you say, breathless. “is there any way i could… maybe join another group instead?”

she looks at the room. “but mr. park is also—“

“i-i know he’s not paired either, but we’ve already worked together and sunghoon is—”

you catch the mistake the moment it slips from your mouth. you shouldn’t have said his name. you shouldn’t have looked up.

but it’s too late.

you feel his eyes on you, burning from across the room. when you glance, just briefly, you see him sitting with one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair, gaze fixed on you like he’s trying to figure out whether to laugh or rip the desk in half.

he heard you.

he heard everything.

and he’s pissed.

not just irritated, it’s not the usual smirk, not the cocky eye-roll, but jaw tight, knuckles clenched, tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek. like your rejection, your plea not to sit beside him, cracked something in him wide open.

but the teacher hums distractedly and waves her hand toward the front of the class. “sure, sure. go sit with jay and taehyun today.”

you thank her quietly and turn without looking back.

sunghoon doesn’t say a word, but you know he’s fuming.

the bell rings, sharp and sudden. your heart hammers in your chest as you gather your things, eager to escape before sunghoon can corner you.

you run out of the class. you slip past the rows, weaving through the crowd with quick steps. but just as you reach the exit door, a rough hand clamps down on your wrist. you don’t have to turn around to know it’s sunghoon, of course it’s him.

before you can pull away, he yanks you backwards and pushes you into the nearest empty classroom. the door slams shut behind you with a solid thud that echoes in the small space.

he closes the distance between you fast, cornering you against the door. both hands are pressed at the sides of your head, his chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and something you can’t quite name.

“why the hell are you ignoring me?” his voice is low, rough.

he’s mad. really mad. but he’s not yelling, not mocking you. it’s something else, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“you’re acting like i’m some fucking stranger,” he says, voice shaking just a little. “like none of this means anything. you don’t get to just disappear.”

you can see the tension in his fingers, the way his shoulders are tight, like he’s holding back everything he wants to say.

“you don’t answer my messages, you don’t even look at me.” he growls, eyes snapping back to you. “this silence is fucking killing me.”

the air between you thickens, heavy with everything left unsaid.

he takes a step back. “what the fuck did i do?” he spits, voice rough, shaking with frustration. “i don’t get it. i’m not your boyfriend, i don’t owe you shit. so why the hell are you making me feel like this? like i’m losing my fucking mind over you?”

his hands slam down on the desk, rattling the wood. his eyes burn into yours, dark.

“i’m mad, yeah. mad because i fucking want you, and you’re pretending i don’t exist. like you don’t want me at all.” his voice drops lower, rougher, rawer. “but goddamn, i can’t fucking stand it.”

he steps closer, chest nearly touching yours, breath hot and uneven. his fingers curl around your wrist, tight enough to leave marks but not enough to hurt. his grip is possessive, demanding, like he’s claiming you.

“do you even know what you’re doing to me?” his voice cracks just a little, like the anger is barely holding back something more dangerous. his eyes burn into yours, but there’s not a trace of the usual mocking, just pure, burning frustration.

he drags you closer, until there’s no space left between your bodies, his chest rising and falling against yours in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your own heart.

“you’re driving me fucking insane,” he growls, voice rough and ragged, “and i don’t understand why you’re doing this. ignoring me like i’m some stranger, like i don’t exist.” his breath fans over your skin. “i’m not used to feeling like this,” he admits, voice dropping to a rough whisper that’s almost too vulnerable for him. “mad, desperate, like i need you more than i need air.”

he tilts his head, searching your face like he’s trying to find an answer buried deep inside you, a reason for the cold silence, for the way you pull away without saying why.

“i’m not going to let you shut me out,” he says, voice hardening again, “not when everything you do it’s fucking killing me.”

his hands slide from your wrist to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his hold. “so stop pretending you don’t want this too. because i know you want me.”

his eyes darken. for a moment, the fierce edge of his anger softens, almost as if he was shutting the wall he’s built around himself.

“tell me,” he breathes, voice rough and low, “just say something. anything.”

without waiting for an answer, without giving you time to pull away, his face drops closer to yours, his breath warm against your skin. his lips hover just inches from yours. and then, he presses his mouth to yours. it’s not soft, just a fierce, desperate kiss that speaks of all the confusion and want tangled up inside him.

his hands tighten on your waist, holding you close as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away the second he lets go. the kiss is rough, urgent, like he’s trying to pour all his frustration and need into that one moment, needing to know if you’re there with him.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling, eyes searching yours for any sign of what you’re feeling.

“please, angel, please…” he whispers.

for a second, you stay frozen.

sunghoon is begging. begging for you. you finally look into his eyes, your breaths mingling. you stay there for some time, just looking at each other. you try to gather your thoughts, to decide whether if this is correct or not.

but it’s sunghoon, sunghoon who is desperate for you. and you’re so weak when it comes to him.

without thinking, your lips part, and you lean in, closing the last fraction of space between you.

your kiss is fierce, wild, everything you’ve been holding back crashing forward at once. your hands dig into his hair, pulling him closer as his lips move urgently against yours. the kiss full of anger, frustration, need.

he groans into your mouth, one hand slipping from your waist to cradle the back of your neck, his grip fierce but desperate, like he’s finally got what he’s been chasing. your bodies press together, heat rising between you as the world fades away

the second his tongue slips past your lips, everything inside you ignites. his hand tightens on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, crushing you against him. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, desperate for more, wanting to lose yourself. his breath hitches, low and ragged, as his hips press harder against yours, the unmistakable hardness on his pants being even more obvious.

his hands slide lower, exploring the curve of your back, tracing your hips with a rough, claiming touch. every movement is possessive, filled with that maddening mix of desperation and control, and you ache for it. every brush of his skin, every bruising grip making you tremble.

you break apart just enough to gasp, his name barely a whisper on your lips, and he responds by crushing you into him again.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice thick with need, “i’ve been dying to do this. to have you like this.”

his breath is hot against your jaw as his hands wander higher, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, palms pressing hard against your bare skin. the rough touch of his fingers sends shivers down your spine, he grips you tightly, fingers digging in possessively.

his mouth trails down your neck, biting and sucking with fierce hunger, leaving a trail of small hickeys. you arch into him, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as his hands explore the curves of your body.

your hands slide beneath his shirt, tracing the muscles of his back, desperate to feel every inch of him. he pulls away, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it to the floor. your fingers clutch at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips, in desperate, gasping kisses. his mouth is rough and demanding, tongue slipping inside, tasting you, claiming you with an urgent need that matches your own.

he grinds against you, his hard length pressing insistently between your thighs. you let out a moan, your body aching for more. his hands roam lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above your waistband.

“tell me you want me, please,” he growls against your lips, his voice low, “say it, or else i’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

you gasp against his mouth, voice trembling but fierce, “i want you.” your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you grows. “i’ve wanted you from the start.”

his eyes darken with hunger, lips curling into a wicked smirk before he suddenly dips his head, leaving your mouth with a trail of kisses down your jaw, neck, until he reaches the sensitive skin just below your ear. his breath fans hot as he murmurs, “good girl.”

without warning, his mouth moves lower, teasing your collarbone, then glides down over your chest. his fingers are quick to unbutton your shirt, brushing your skin, exploring, while his tongue flicks against your pulse point, slow and deliberate, making you shiver. you arch into him, biting back a moan as his lips find the sensitive skin beneath your bra.

“fuck,” he growls, voice thick with need, “you’re so fucking pretty, angel.”

his mouth leaves a trail of kisses down your torso, and before you can catch your breath, his lips part to tease the bare skin at the waistband of your pants, making you moan. he chuckles below you, kissing your hip before sliding your pants and panties down in one swift motion. you hear him groan as he spreads your thighs, finding your dripping cunt.

he looks at you before moving, looking for a sign of discomfort in your face, a sign that you don’t want him. but when you moan as he licks his lips, he takes it as a confirmation. he wastes no time, his tongue slips inside your folds, licking slow circles that make your knees weaken. his hands grip your hips firmly, holding you steady while his mouth claims you.

you bite your lip, eyes closed, letting out soft, shaky moans that only urge him deeper. his tongue moves with a fierce determination, exploring every sensitive inch with a skillful precision that makes your body shudder. the warmth and wetness, the slow, deliberate flicks and strokes, it’s like he’s memorizing you, learning exactly how to drive you wild.

your hands thread into his hair, pulling him closer as your hips instinctively push down against his mouth, desperate for more. as his tongue flicks your clit your breath hitches, and you can’t hold back the ragged moans spilling out.

“f-fuck, sunghoon,” you gasp, voice thick with need, “don’t stop.”

he hums, three low sound vibrating against your skin before he quickens the pace, his tongue darting expertly, teasing, flicking, pressing just right to make your body tremble. every touch sends sparks through your veins, building a heat that threatens to consume you whole.

his hands tighten on your hips, grounding you even as your world spins. “you’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough but soft all at once, “only mine.” you nod desperately as you moan even louder.

it takes him just a few more licks for you to cum all over his mouth, a loud cry leaving your lips.

you’re still gasping, skin flushed and slick with sweat, as sunghoon kisses your stomach, his mouth still tasting you. your thighs tremble slightly. it should be perfect — finally, he kissed you, finally, he’s touching you like he wants you, not just your body.

but something inside you is already unraveling again.

his voice is rough when he speaks, low and satisfied. “are you gonna ignore me again after this?”

you freeze. he’s still between your legs, still licking softly at the sensitive skin of your hip, but your whole body tenses at the question. you don’t answer. you can’t.

sunghoon sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair. his eyes trail lazily up your body like he’s memorizing the mess he made, but then he sees your face, the way your mouth is parted, your eyes somewhere else entirely — and his smile falters.

“…what?”

you blink, forcing yourself look at him. your shirt is open, your body exposed, but somehow you feel more vulnerable than naked.

you don’t know how to explain it. how to tell him that you want more than this. that the kiss was good — god, it was so good — but it wasn’t enough. because you’ve tasted the softness beneath his cruelty, and you want it again. you want all of him, not just his mouth or his hands or the way he ruins you against desks and walls.

you want the sunghoon who looked at you like you mattered. like you hurt him when you started evading him.

you wrap your arms around your chest, shielding yourself. you hesitate. the words sit heavy in your mouth. you want to ask, was it just sex again? will you kiss me after this? do you even care that i stopped talking to you, or are you just pissed because you lost your control over me? “i just…” your voice breaks before you can finish.

his brows furrow. “you just what?”

“i don’t want to be the only one who cares.”

the words hang between you like smoke, fragile and heavy.

sunghoon blinks, like he didn’t hear you right. “what the hell does that mean?”

you laugh, a bittersweet feeling on your chest, and shake your head. “of course you don’t get it.”

his jaw clenches. “no. say it.”

you look up at him, eyes burning. “you act like i’m just… a thing to you. a body. something to fuck whenever you feel like it. and then you lose your mind when i pull away, like i’m the one being unfair.”

he stares at you, face unreadable. “i never said you were a thing.”

“you didn’t have to,” you whisper. “you made it pretty clear.”

his silence is loud, too loud, and you hate how fast the tears rise. you blink them back, but one slips free anyway. you wipe it away before he can see.

he notices, his expression shifts.

he meets your eyes for half a second. “listen, i… i’m not good at this shit.”

your chest aches. “so what is this to you, then?”

he’s silent again. and that silence answers your question before he ever can.

you nod, pressing your lips together. “okay, great.”

“no, don’t do that,” he says sharply, stepping forward. “don’t shut down now.”

“why not?” your voice rises, unsteady. “you can’t say what you want. you won’t tell me what this is, what this means to you. and i’m just supposed to keep letting you use me like i don’t feel anything?”

he recoils slightly. like your words landed harder than he expected.

you shake your head, tears stinging now. “i liked you. i like you. even when you’re mean, even when you laugh at me, even when you’re cold. and i hate myself for it.”

“you think i don’t care about this? about you?” he asks, slowly, like the words are foreign in his mouth.

you exhale shakily. “i know you don’t. you only kissed me because you were mad. because you didn’t like that i was ignoring you. it wasn’t because you—”

“stop,” he says, harshly. “just… stop.”

he steps back, running a hand down his face like he’s trying to scrape the feelings off. then he walks to the side, dragging a hand along the edge of the desk, pacing like he’s trying not to explode.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he says finally, voice low. “i’ve never—fuck.” he looks at you. “you think i don’t care, but the second you stopped looking at me, it felt like i was going insane, it fucked with my head.”

your breath catches.

“i was angry because you weren’t there,” he goes on, jaw tight. “i was angry because i thought you were done with me, and i didn’t know why.”

you look at him. “so why didn’t you just say something?”

“because it’s easier to pretend i don’t care,” he says quietly. “it’s easier to pretend it’s just sex than to admit you’ve been in my head since the first time i looked into your eyes.”

your heart stutters.

he walks back toward you slowly, stopping just in front of you. his fingers brush your cheek, soft this time, unsure.

“i don’t know what the fuck this is,” he admits. “but i don’t want to lose it.”

you blink up at him, lip trembling. “sunghoon…”

he leans down, this time gentle, and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes close.

“i don’t know how to do this right. but i don’t want you to ignore me again. i don’t want to go back to not having you.”

your lip trembles.

he takes a deep breath. “i kissed you because i wanted to, but because i couldn’t not. because i was going crazy needing to feel something from you that wasn’t distance.”

you close your eyes too. your arms slowly lower, unfolding from around yourself. your fingers find his skin.

“i just want to stop feeling like i’m the only one falling.” you whisper.

a pause.

“you’re not.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

you stay there like that — foreheads pressed together, his hands finally soft against your waist, your bodies close.

and for the first time, it feels like maybe this isn’t just sex.