Joker (Park Hajun )

you should be studying.

your book is open in your lap, notes scribbled neatly in the margins, highlighter capped beside your hand. but none of that matters — not with hajun pressed up behind you, one arm slung heavy around your waist, the other slowly working its way under your skirt.

he’s warm. he smells like cologne and musk and something so familiar it makes your brain melt. and he’s huge — tall, broad, solid muscle behind you, practically swallowing you whole where you’re perched on his thigh in the dim, tucked-away corner of the library.

“you’re not even looking at the page,” he murmurs, voice rough in your ear.

you squirm in his lap, trying — failing — to focus.

“can’t concentrate when you’re this close.”

“mm. guess i’ll have to get closer, then.”

his fingers dip under your skirt, and you gasp quietly — clenching around nothing the moment his thumb grazes the edge of your panties.

“fuck, baby,” he growls softly, lips brushing your neck. “you’re already wet?”

you nod, face burning. “you’re so—big.”

he grins. you feel it against your throat.

“yeah? you like that?”

he pushes your panties to the side, and his fingers press right into your folds — two thick digits sliding along your slick slit, slow and teasing.

“you like how big my hands look when they’re touching your tiny little pussy like this?”

your breath stutters. you nod again, lip trembling.

his fingers push in, just a little — not even halfway — and you already feel full.

“holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re so tight, baby. my fingers are stretching you, huh?”

“they’re—hah—they’re so thick,” you whisper, burying your face into your sleeve as he slides in deeper.

his knuckles graze your entrance, and your body tenses, overwhelmed.

“can barely fit two,” he mutters, staring at where you’re spread open over his hand. “fuck, look at you. stuffed already.”

you let out the softest moan, and he groans low in your ear.

“and you take my cock like this?” he says, fucking his fingers in deeper, stretching you wide with slow thrusts. “no wonder you cry every time.”

“it’s too big,” you breathe, voice cracked and small.

“but you love it,” he smirks, thumb brushing your clit in tight circles. “love being all tiny and sweet, letting your big boyfriend ruin you wherever he wants.”

“hajun—hah, please—gonna come—”

his pace quickens, the wet sounds of your cunt growing louder even in the hush of the library.

“yeah? that needy already?”

he curls his fingers up — deep, heavy, filthy.

“come on then, baby. be a good girl and come all over my hand. soak it.”

and you do.

legs trembling, breath caught in your throat, your orgasm rolls through you like heat — sharp and sweet and overwhelming. you twitch in his lap, thighs clamping down around his arm, your head falling back against his chest as you moan into your hand.

he slows his fingers, but he doesn’t pull out.

instead, he leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek, and whispers,

“fuck, you’re so small. i love how easy it is to break you.”

you whimper, still throbbing, slick dripping down his hand.

“you think you can study now?” he grins, licking your release off his fingers one by one.

“n-not with you there,” you mumble, dazed and red-faced.

his eyes glint.

“good,” he says, voice wicked. “then let’s not pretend.”