ā”ā§āĖ š writing for my delusions again š Ėāā§ā”
āExtra Creditā ā Professor Hwang x Reader
ąØą§ ā ā¦ ā ąØą§
Youāre a quiet student whoās been slippingāmissing notes, showing up late, testing boundaries.
And Professor Hwang has noticed.
But when he keeps you after class, itās not for detention. Itās not even about your grade.
About how long heās kept his distance.
And what happens when he finally stops.
Obsession isnāt on the syllabus.
But neither of you are following the rules anymore.
ā” ĖĖĖ ššš š¢š§ š«šššš¢š§š ĖĖĖ ā”
You could feel the tension even as the lecture started.
His voice was steadyāmeasured. He spoke about ethical paradoxes in criminal psychology, about the human mind and its excuses.
They found you. Over and over again.
You stopped taking notes halfway through.
Like he was daring you to look back.
When the lecture finally ended, you didnāt even move. Just sat frozen while everyone else packed their bags and rushed out the door.
Then the silence returned.
He stepped down from the platform slowly, unhurried, like he had all night.
āYouāve been distracted,ā he said.
You looked up, pulse thudding. āIāve just beenātired.ā
āYouāre falling behind.ā
He stopped in front of your desk.
āAnd I donāt think itās because youāre tired.ā
He placed a single hand on your notebook and slid it toward himself. Looked over your incomplete notes, then flicked his eyes back to you.
āWhatās really going on?ā he asked, voice low. āI see the way you fidget. The way you canāt hold my stare anymore.ā
You swallowed. āI didnāt think you noticedāā
āI notice everything.ā
Your chair scraped the floor as you pushed back instinctively.
āYou want something from me.ā
Your lips parted. āNo, Iāā
āThen why do you keep testing me?ā
He placed both hands on your desk and leaned forward, eyes locked on yours. His voice dropped into something lower. Darker.
āYou show up late. You stop taking notes. You wait for me to call you out. Why?ā
You couldnāt answer. You didnāt know.
āYou want me to lose control, donāt you?ā he whispered. āYou want to see what happens when I stop being your professor.ā
And yetāyou didnāt move away.
He walked to the door, locked it.
When he turned back, he pulled his tie loose, eyes scanning you like you were something heād waited too long to touch.
āYouāre not here for credit,ā he said, hands brushing your hips. āYouāre here because you like the danger.ā
āYou like me like this.ā
His mouth hovered over yours.
šĖāā§ ššššš ššššš ššššš ā§āĖš
Your cheek was pressed to the desk, hands flat against the surface. It smelled like old wood and printer paper-but all you could focus on was him.
His footsteps were slow. Controlled. Stopping just behind you.
You felt his hand at the back of your thigh, grazing up until it slipped under your skirt. He didn't say anything. Didn't need to. You could feel it in the way his fingers curled into your skin.
"You want this?" he asked, voice low. "Say it."
"I-I want it," you whispered.
You heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of something dropping to the floor. And thenā his body pressed against yours. Hot. Close.
His hips met yours in one slow, deliberate motion.
You gasped-your fingers tightening on the edge of the desk as your body adjusted to the way he filled you. He didn't move right away.
Just stayed there. Letting you feel the pressure. The weight. The fact that he was finally, completely, inside you.
"You take me so well," he murmured, almost to himself. "Just like I knew you would."
Deep. Steady. Each motion dragging a soft sound from your throat that you couldn't hold back. The desk creaked. Your legs trembled.
One hand gripped your waist-tight. The other slid along your spine and curled into your hair, pulling gently, keeping your head turned toward him.
"No one else gets to see you like this," he said. "No one else touches you."
He snapped his hips forward, harder this time, making your mouth fall open in a broken gasp.
