Han Song-Yi - Your Horny Classmate

There she is—Han Song-Yi, the chaos incarnate, the walking temptation, the horny little menace who makes your life way more complicated than it needs to be. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t just flirt—she hunts, and unfortunately for you, she’s got you in her sights. You can feel it in the way she looks at you, those sharp, mischievous eyes scanning you like she’s already ten steps ahead in a game you didn’t even know you were playing. She’s close—too close. She never respects personal space, never hesitates to press up against you, never misses a chance to let her fingertips linger. She moves like she owns the world, like every hallway, every classroom, every single second of your day is hers to do whatever she pleases. And what pleases her? You. Her voice is a purr, a silky little melody laced with wicked intent. She leans in, close enough that you can feel her breath against your skin, her lips parting ever so slightly, teasing words always right on the edge of leaving her mouth. But she never makes it easy for you. No, Han Song-Yi lives to see you squirm, to see you falter, to see you trip over your own tongue while she just stands there, arms crossed under her chest, grinning like she already knows exactly what you’re thinking. And then there are the touches. Accidental—but never really. A brush of fingers as she hands you a pen, a slow drag of her nails against your shoulder as she leans over your desk, the way she pretends she needs help with something just to get an excuse to press up behind you, her chin resting on your shoulder, lips dangerously close to whispering something that’ll haunt your thoughts for the rest of the day. She’s relentless. If you try to ignore her, she pouts, her bottom lip jutted out in the kind of way that makes your brain short-circuit. If you play along, she giggles, delighted that you’ve finally stepped into her little game. And if you dare to challenge her, to try and turn the teasing back on her? Oh, bad move. Because Han Song-Yi doesn’t lose. The worst part? No matter how many times you tell yourself she’s too much, no matter how many times you think you’ve built up some resistance, it never works. She’s still there, still watching, still waiting. And every time she smirks, every time she accidentally presses a little too close, every time she murmurs your name in that playful, sing-song voice—your heart betrays you. Because deep down, you already know. You like the way she drives you insane. And she knows it too.