gyunotes

[gyunotes]

Ride For Me - Lee Heeseung x F!Reader

“There she is,” he says against your skin, his voice muffled but giddy. You gasp, legs trembling slightly. Heeseung’s hands squeeze your thighs, grounding you. “Relax,” he says between kisses. “You’re doing so good. I got you.”

cw : face riding,smut, cowgirl and climbed up like it was a rollercoaster—nervous at first, but screaming by the end.

You're hovering above him, hands pressed into the sheets on either side of his head, heart beating somewhere near your throat. Every part of you is flushed, half from anticipation, half from the way Heeseung is looking at you.

Like you’re the only thing in the world he wants right now. You bite your lip, hesitating. “This feels… kinda awkward,” you admit with a shy laugh. Heeseung’s smile is immediate soft and lopsided. “Awkward?” he echoes, reaching up to run his hands along your thighs. “You, babe? No way. You look so hot right now, I’m fighting for my life down here.”

You snort, laughter breaking the tension just a little. “Shut up.” “No, really,” he grins, eyes sparkling. “I’ve been dreaming about this forever, and now you’re actually up there, looking like the literal goddess of my fantasies.”

You roll your eyes but your cheeks burn at the compliment. Still, nerves crawl beneath your skin. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.” Heeseung lifts his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You don’t have to know. That’s the best part.”

You exhale shakily. “But what if it’s weird? Or I crush you or—”

“Crush me?” he laughs. “Baby, if I die, at least I’ll die the happiest man alive. What a way to go.” You giggle, covering your face with one hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet you love me.” You peek at him from between your fingers, smiling despite yourself. Heeseung reaches up, gently pulling your hand away. “Hey,” he says, voice softening. “Look at me.”

You do. His expression shifts still playful, but with something deeper behind it. “You don’t have to be perfect. I don’t want perfect. I just want you. Comfortable. In your body. With me.”

Your chest aches at how easy he makes it sound. How sincere he looks, even lying beneath you like this. “Okay,” you whisper, heart pounding. “I’ll try.” Heeseung’s smile returns, softer now. 

You start to lower yourself, slowly, still unsure. He watches you with reverence, like he’s seeing something sacred. “Go slow,” he murmurs, hands steady on your thighs. “Just move how you want. I’ll guide you if you need.”

You pause just before touching his lips, your breath caught. Heeseung chuckles gently. “C’mon, babe. I promise I’m ready. I’ve been training for this moment my whole life.” You can’t help the laugh that escapes you—nervous, but genuine.

And finally, you let go.

When your hips settle against him, he groans softly the moment you touch him, hands sliding up the back of your thighs to steady you. “There she is,” he says against your skin, his voice muffled but giddy. You gasp, legs trembling slightly. Heeseung’s hands squeeze your thighs, grounding you. “Relax,” he says between kisses. “You’re doing so good. I got you.”

Then his mouth moves.

And you forget how to think. His tongue licks a slow, upward stroke and your entire body jolts in response. His grip tightens ever so slightly, not forcing, just anchoring you to him as he pulls you in with ease. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t press too hard. He lets you adjust, lets you settle into it.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers threading through his hair as instinct takes over.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice cracking on the syllable.

He hums in response, and the vibration against you sends another spark shooting up your spine. He’s gentle at first—his tongue exploring you with long, deliberate strokes, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the way you react. Like he wants to learn your body the way he’s learned your mind.

He pulls back just a little to speak, voice low and utterly smug. “You taste so fucking good.”

You moan and his hands flex on your thighs again, encouraging, grounding.

“You can move, babe,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Ride me. However you want. I’ll follow your lead.” You hesitate for half a heartbeat.

Then you shift. Just a little.

Just enough to feel the slick glide of his tongue against you again, firmer now, slower. Heeseung moans into you like he’s the one unraveling. And you can’t help it you do it again. And again. Testing. Riding.

Heeseung responds every time, mouth meeting your movements with a perfect mix of pressure and softness. His tongue dips lower, then circles back up to swirl around your clit, teasing it, flicking just enough to make you gasp.

“F—fuck,” you murmur, breathless, your hips rolling forward now with more purpose, more need. “That’s it,” he groans, not even coming up for air. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

Your thighs tighten around his head and he lets out a deep, pleased moan, like he loves the feeling of being surrounded by you, devoured by you. His hands slide up to your hips now, guiding you, never controlling, just helping you keep rhythm.

Every time you grind against his tongue, he meets you with devotion. His nose nudges your clit just right. His tongue dips into your entrance, lapping up everything you give him like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back for just a second to breathe. “So fuckin’ pretty like this—on top of me, using me.” The words send heat straight to your core.

You whimper, needy now, chasing more. Heeseung’s tongue is relentless in the softest way. Never too much. Never too little. Just that perfect pressure that makes your thighs shake and your breath stutter.

Your moans get louder. Your rhythm less controlled.

And Heeseung? He’s right there with you. Eyes half-lidded, arms wrapped around your hips now, holding you close as he pulls you down into his mouth like he needs you to come for him.

“Let go,” he says against you, voice muffled but firm. “Come for me. Right here. Let me feel it.”

You’re right on the edge, the pleasure curling like heat in your stomach.

One more swirl of his tongue. One more perfect flick. One more moan from him that sounds like worship—And you fall apart. Your hips shudder. Your hands fist in his hair. Your thighs clench around his head and you cry out his name.

Heeseung doesn’t stop. He slows, but he stays with you, licking you through it, kissing you through the aftershocks like he’s savoring every last drop. When you finally still, breath heaving and body trembling, you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. Soothing.

Loving.

He looks up at you, lips wet and swollen, smile lazy and full of awe.

“You,” he whispers, “are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You’re still panting when you slump forward onto his chest, muscles buzzing and loose, skin dewy with heat. Heeseung's arms wrap around you immediately, holding you like you’re something precious fragile and radiant all at once.

“Hey,” he murmurs into your hair, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you okay?”

You nod, cheek pressed to the rise and fall of his chest. “More than okay…”

He laughs softly, a low, satisfied sound. “You should see yourself right now,” he says, brushing his hand along your spine. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

You shift slightly, straddling his waist now instead of his face, your core still soaked, throbbing, aching.

But it’s not enough.

Not anymore.

Heeseung looks up at you as you sit up, eyes slightly wide, lips still slick with you. His hands find your hips again instinctively. Your voice is soft, almost breathless, but there’s no hesitation in the words.

“I need you inside me now.”

The air thickens between you. Heeseung’s pupils darken instantly, mouth parting. “Shit.” His hands flex on your hips. “Yeah?” he asks, like he’s checking, like he needs to hear it again to believe it. You nod, voice firmer this time. “Please, Heeseung. I want you. I need to feel you. Now.”

His restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Fuck—okay,” he breathes, shifting beneath you to sit up and kiss you. It’s messy, deep, laced with hunger but still so full of care. His hands frame your face for a moment like he needs to memorize how you look at this exact moment.

When you lower yourself onto him, it’s slow. Deliberate. Your body opens for him with a needy, aching stretch, and you both gasp at the contact. “Oh my god,” you whisper as he fills you inch by inch, impossibly deep.

Heeseung’s hands clutch at your hips, trying to stay still, trying not to thrust up too fast. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, forehead resting against your chest. “So warm. So tight. Shit.” You start to move gently, rolling your hips, letting him slide deeper, angle just right.

Every shift makes your body tighten around him, and every little whimper you make drives him insane. His hands trail up your sides, one moving to cup your breast while the other presses against the small of your back, guiding your rhythm.

“You wanted me inside you,” he pants, eyes locked on yours. “Now you’ve got me, baby. All of me.”

And in this moment, nothing else in the world exists but you and the way your bodies are tangled together, breath meeting breath, heartbeat syncing with heartbeat. 

Every time you sink down, he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way. Every time you lift, he groans, chasing your warmth.

Heeseung’s hands never stop moving. One is spread across your lower back, the other cradling your hip, guiding, steadying, encouraging.

“God,” he breathes, watching you like you’re something holy, something he’s worshiping with every stroke. “You feel unreal. You’re perfect.” You whimper at the praise, at the way his voice trembles on the edge of restraint. “Heeseung…”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dark and glazed, hips twitching beneath you with each glide of your body over his. “You’re so tight, so warm fuck, baby, watching you ride me like this…”

You lean forward, chest brushing his, and he meets you in a kiss deep, desperate. His tongue licks into your mouth just as his hips lift up, thrusting into you with a little more force, hitting that spot that makes your breath hitch.

“Right there—oh my god—” you moan, breaking the kiss, head falling back.

“Yeah?” he pants, voice wrecked. “There?”

You nod, your rhythm picking up now—needier, faster, slick sounds filling the room as your bodies find a perfect, frenzied rhythm. Heeseung’s hand slides between you, his thumb brushing over your clit with careful pressure, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your gasp is instant. Your thighs tighten.

“There you go,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “That’s it. Let go for me again.”

You can feel it building, hot, sharp, relentless. The pleasure coils tight in your belly, spreading through your limbs until you’re trembling, moaning his name like a prayer. Heeseung thrusts up into you with purpose now, meeting your every grind, your every desperate cry for more.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “I wanna feel you fall apart again. Want you to come all over me.” And with one more stroke seep, perfect his thumb pressing just right.

You shatter.

The orgasm tears through you like fire, like light, blinding and raw. Your body clamps down around him, pulsing hard, uncontrollable. You cry out, grabbing his shoulders, your whole body shivering as the waves crash over you.

Heeseung groans loud, gripping your hips as your release milks him, drives him right over the edge with you. “Fuck, fuck—baby, I’m—” he chokes on a moan, thrusting up once, twice more—

And then he’s gone, too.

Coming deep inside you with a broken gasp, his arms wrapping around your waist like he needs to hold you while he breaks. You both freeze locked together, breathless, trembling.

The only sound in the room is the echo of your moans, your panting breaths, your hearts trying to slow down. You collapse forward onto his chest again, utterly spent, boneless and blissed out.

And Heeseung?

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms pulling you even closer.

“You,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of wonder, “just ruined me.”

[gyunotes]

Closet Affair - Choi Soobin x F!Reader

You came to support your sister as maid of honor—handle the prep, give a sweet speech, maybe share a dance with the best man. Babysitting with him? Definitely not part of the plan.

cw : strangers to lovers, making out, sex in closet and it wasn’t on the seating chart, but damn was it worth it.

You were here to support your sister as her maid of honor. You pictured yourself helping with last-minute wedding prep, giving heartfelt speeches, and maybe even stealing a dance or two. Babysitting was definitely not on the agenda.

But here you were, stuck in the living room, keeping an eye on your wild little cousin, the ring bearer, while everyone else was out celebrating her last night as a single woman.

You glanced around, heart pounding a little. You weren’t great with kids. Honestly, you found them exhausting and unpredictable. This one was already testing every ounce of your patience, darting between chairs and snatching cupcakes off the table like a tiny hurricane.

Your fingers twisted nervously around the hem of your dress. You were supposed to be calm and supportive—maid of honor material. Instead, you were on edge, trying not to lose it while the kid zoomed around like he owned the place.

A sudden shift in the room made you jump. You hadn’t even noticed someone else had come in. “Hey,” said a calm voice beside you. You turned, startled, to see a tall guy leaning casually against the doorway, hands in his pockets and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself. “Hey. Uh… wait, who are you? And why are you here?”

“I’m Soobin,” he said quietly, as if that was supposed to make everything less chaotic. He nodded toward the tiny tornado tearing through the room. “Looks like we are on babysitting duty, we’ve got our hands full.”

“I’m really not great at this,” you admitted.

The kid zoomed past again, nearly knocking over a vase, and your nerves tightened.

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.” 

The kid wasn’t making it easy. Every time you thought you had him cornered, he slipped between your legs or darted behind the couch, giggling like this was all a game.

“So,” Soobin said, crouching down, “what’s his weakness? Candy? Toys?”

You shook your head, breath catching as the kid zigzagged past again. “I don’t know what if he gets extra screen time, maybe he’ll calm down.”

Soobin grinned. “Perfect. Let’s bribe him.”

You both knelt, and Soobin called out, “Hey, kid, want to watch one more cartoon before bed?”

The kid’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

You exchanged a relieved smile as Soobin flicked the TV on and settled the kid between you on the couch. The little guy’s energy slowly drained away, his heavy eyelids drooping as the cartoon played softly.

Within minutes, his head lolled onto Soobin’s shoulder, and he was fast asleep.

Soobin looked over at you, quiet but kind. “I’ll take him to bed.”

Before you could protest, he gently scooped the kid into his arms, careful not to wake him. You watched as Soobin carried the sleeping boy down the hallway, soft footsteps barely audible on the carpet.

You stood there for a moment, heart a little lighter than before, realizing that babysitting with Soobin might not be so bad after all.

You were still standing by the couch when Soobin reappeared, his footsteps soft, his presence even softer. He gave you a little smile as he padded back into the room, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“He’s out cold,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t even stir.” You smiled, easing back onto the couch. “You’ve got a touch, apparently.” He shrugged with a humble grin, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Wine?” You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He disappeared for a moment, returning with two glasses and a half-full bottle of red. He handed you a glass, their fingers brushing, brief and electric. Neither of you mentioned it. The TV played on, low and forgotten, as you sat side by side, sipping slowly. The warmth of the wine settled in your chest, and the quiet between you shifted—no longer awkward, but charged.

Soobin looked at you over the rim of his glass, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not so bad at this babysitting thing either.” You chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a pause. Not empty. Full. His gaze lingered, darker now. You met it, not quite ready to look away. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice lower than before. “You’ve got something on your lip.” Your brows furrowed, but before you could wipe it, he leaned in—just enough. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

And he didn’t move away. Neither did you. The air between you tightened like a string pulled taut, and when he leaned in that last inch, you didn’t stop him. His lips found yours, warm and hesitant at first, then deeper, firmer. You melted into him, tasting the wine on his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

But then—

The sound of the front door opening shattered everything. Laughter. Voices. You and Soobin sprang apart like you’d been electrocuted. His hair was a little messy. Your breath was unsteady. You both sat stiffly, trying to look as casual as two people who definitely weren’t just making out in the living room.

Footsteps approached.

“I’ll, um…” You stood quickly, setting your glass down with more force than necessary. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He looked up at you, still slightly breathless, eyes searching yours. You gave him a quick, almost sheepish smile before turning and heading toward the hallway. Your footsteps were fast, your heartbeat faster. The soft click of your bedroom door was the only sound you allowed to linger. 

The morning of the wedding was a blur of curling irons, zippers, and soft panic. You kept your hands busy, tying ribbons, fixing veils, touching up your sister’s makeup. Doing anything to avoid thinking about last night.

But your thoughts betrayed you every time. The press of Soobin’s mouth. The way he’d looked at you right before. The way he’d looked after. And the fact that you had fled the room like your own heart was something to be embarrassed about.

Now, standing near the altar in your dress with the bouquet clutched tighter than necessary, you tried not to scan the guests for him. Tried and failed. Soobin wasn’t hard to spot.

Tall, stupidly handsome, perfectly disheveled in his groomsman suit. He was talking to the groom, smiling casually like he hadn’t completely scrambled your brain the night before. Like he hadn’t kissed you with enough heat to melt the air between you.

And when his eyes finally found yours, it was instant. That jolt again. He gave you the smallest smile, subtle but just for you. You looked away quickly, cheeks burning, heart stuttering under your ribs.

Throughout the ceremony, your eyes kept brushing his. During the speeches, the toast, the dinner...you could feel him across the room like gravity. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

You tried to focus on the celebration, on your sister glowing as she danced with her new husband, but every glance from Soobin made it harder to pretend nothing happened.

Later, after the first dances, while guests were laughing and drinks were flowing, you were grabbing a fresh drink from the bar when his voice cut through behind you, smooth and far too close.

“You ran off pretty fast last night.”

You turned to face him, your breath catching. “I—yeah. It was… late.” His eyes twinkled. “Is that what we’re going with?” You gave a small, nervous laugh, fiddling with the rim of your glass. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“I could tell,” he said, not unkindly. “But… just so you know—I don’t regret it.” That silenced you. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you didn’t know how to say that you didn’t either.

Then his voice dropped, a little lower, a little rougher. “Want to get some air?”

Your heart skipped. “Air,” you echoed, dumbly. “Yeah.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. You hesitated, then nodded, pulse already racing. Soobin reached for your hand, brushing his fingers lightly against yours in a way that made your whole body aware of the contact. It wasn’t full-on bold. But it was enough to make your breath stutter again.

He didn’t take you outside, though. He led you quietly down one of the side hallways of the venue, then paused in front of a supply closet. You raised your brows.

“Seriously?”

Soobin grinned. “Unless you know a better hiding spot in mind.”

He opened the door, peeked inside, then gestured. You stepped in, heart pounding, and he followed, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet. Dim. Your back brushed against a shelf full of extra linens. You were pretty sure there was a broom poking your calf.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered, half laughing, half mortified.

He leaned against the door with a crooked smile. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lied, voice shaky. Soobin stepped closer, just close enough to make your breath hitch. “Good. Because I kind of want to kiss you again.”

You swallowed hard. “In a closet?”

“So… is that a no?” Your fingers curled at your sides. “no.”

His hand rose slowly to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. His gaze lingered there, full of something raw and reverent.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant only for the quiet between your heartbeats.

His other hand found your waist, drawing you to him until your bodies touched. It was warm, alive, trembling with anticipation. He moved in gradually, his breath ghosting over your lips. You tilted your face up to meet him, offering the smallest nod of permission, your pulse thundering like a war drum.

His mouth found yours.....soft at first, exploring, savoring. A kiss that tasted of wonder and need. But soon, it deepened, turning desperate, hungry. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were his only breath.

“God, I need you,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours. “Last night… the way you tasted, the way you moved beneath me, I've been thinking about it nonstop. It's driving me insane.”

His hands slid down to cup the curve of your ass, lifting you slightly as he pressed you gently back against the shelving. The closet was cramped, shadowed and secret, but you hardly noticed. All you could feel was him.

“Soobin…” you gasped, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck, warm and open, his teeth grazing your pulse. “We shouldn’t… not here…”

“Shhh,” he murmured into your skin. “Let me take care of you. No one’s going to find us. Just you and me, sweetheart.”

His fingers gathered the hem of your dress, sliding it up with reverence, exposing your thighs to the cool air. His touch was firm, purposeful, yet gentle as he parted your legs and stepped between them, cradling your body as if it belonged to him.

You whimpered, torn between reason and need, but when his mouth found yours again, every hesitation unraveled. He kissed you like he meant it, like you were his salvation.

He guided your hand down to the front of his pants, letting you feel him twitching beneath your touch. “Feel that?” he groaned. “That’s all for you. I’m aching for you, baby.”

He rocked his hips against your center, the friction enough to make your breath catch and your knees weak. You clung to him, the hunger in your body coiling tight like a spring, ready to snap.

“Please…” you breathed. Whether it was a plea for more or for restraint, you couldn’t say.

But Soobin heard what you truly meant.

He freed himself with a few hurried motions, his cock thick, flushed, and glistening at the tip. You gasped at the sight—at the weight of what was coming.

Still holding your gaze, he shifted your panties aside with one hand and rubbed the head of his cock through your wet folds, teasing, testing.

Then, with a single, aching thrust, he filled you completely.

“Soobin—” Your cry was swallowed by his kiss as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open, claiming you.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands down the curve of your thighs and bent slightly. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms hooking beneath your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips as your body rose, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, locking behind him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed against yours. “You feel unreal. So warm. So tight. So perfect.”

His hips began to move, slow at first, savoring every inch. You held onto him with everything you had, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your trembling body. His hands gripped your thighs, grounding you, as the rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate.

Every movement was worship. Every breath was shared.

“So good,” he panted, mouth hot against your jaw. “I can’t… I’m not going to last. I need to feel you cum for me. Need to fill you up.”

His words made you moan, your own release spiraling closer, tighter.

“Yes—yes—don’t stop—” you begged, your voice breaking as your body surged forward into ecstasy. You shattered around him, your walls clenching, pulling him deeper as pleasure bloomed from the center of your soul.

Soobin cried out your name, and with one final thrust, he came hard, burying himself in you as he spilled deep inside—pulse after pulse of heat filling you. His entire body trembled with the force of it, arms locking tight around you.

The world stilled. You held him. He held you. Only your breaths remained—shaky, tangled, real. He pressed soft, reverent kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your hair. “That… that wasn’t just sex,” he whispered, voice hoarse and true. 

You kissed him back, slow and lingering, your body still trembling from the aftermath. When your lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Don’t go. I need you next to me.”

And the way he said it...the vulnerability in it made your heart ache in the best way.

Because you realized…You needed him too.

© 2025 gyunotes

[gyunotes]

Mutual Distraction - Mark Lee x F!Reader

"Try not to fall in love with me mid-rebuttal,” I murmured, flipping open the folder without even looking at him. He smirked. “Try not to humiliate yourself. I’d rather not have to carry both our arguments on stage.” I hate him. I really, really do. But I also kind of want to see what happens when we actually team up—because if our insults are this sharp, God help the judges."

cw : smut, enemies to lovers, slow burn?? or just two overachievers stress-fucking their way to an A+

There are exactly three things I hate more than public speaking: group projects, lukewarm coffee, and Mark fucking Lee.

So naturally, life decided to hand me all three before 10 a.m.

I was halfway through mentally writing an email titled “Why this debate tournament is my villain origin story” when my name got called — loudly and way too enthusiastically. 

“y/n will step in as Mark’s partner due to medical withdrawal from his teammate.”

Cue: mild cardiac arrest, a brain reboot, and the overwhelming urge to vanish into the air. 

I blinked. Then blinked again. Apparently, glaring at the universe doesn’t reverse stupidity. Tragic, really. 

Across the room, Mark looked up from his book like fate had just slapped him across the face with a hardcover — which, honestly, felt accurate. 

His expression screamed what the fuck?. Mine probably said the same.

I stood up anyway. Pair me with a brick wall and I’d still walk away with the win. Mark just happens to be a brick wall who thinks he’s a genius. Cute. He’ll learn. 

Still, as I walked across the stage toward him, I couldn’t ignore the simmering irritation bubbling under my skin — or the way his blazer fit a little too well. Ugh. Rude.

“Don’t look so thrilled, Mark,” I said with a too-sweet smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Relax — I only bite if someone asks nicely.”

He handed me the case file like it was laced with anthrax.

“You have five minutes to prepare,” the moderator announced.

Mark didn’t say a word — just looked at me like I’d committed a crime against humanity. I stared back, resisting the very real urge to throw my pen at his annoyingly symmetrical face.

“Try not to fall in love with me mid-rebuttal,” I murmured, flipping open the folder without looking at him.

He smirked. Barely. “Try not to humiliate yourself. I’d rather not have to carry both our arguments on stage.”

I hate him.

I really, really do but I also kind of want to see what happens when we actually team up.

Because if our insults were this sharp…

God help the judges.

A sharp tap on the mic snapped the room to attention.

“Okay, let’s begin,” said one of the judges, adjusting her glasses and peering over the rim with a challenge in her gaze. 

“If social media is such a threat, why do billions still use it every day?”

She barely finished the question before I fired back. 

“Because addiction doesn’t look like destruction—not at first.” 

She let the words settle before continuing, her gaze sweeping the panel.

“It looks like dopamine. Like connection. Like validation in the form of likes and comments. But under the surface? It’s rewiring how we see ourselves and worse, how we value each other.” 

I leaned in slightly. “We don't fear the tool. We fear what it's turning us into.” 

I turned to Mark.

“You say people choose to be online.”

A pause. He lets the silence draw just long enough.

“But addiction always looks like a choice… right up until it doesn’t.”

He took one step forward.

“Social media doesn’t connect us.”

Another pause, this one surgical.

“It controls us.”

A pause—then the soft scratching of pens, the subtle twitch of impressed smiles.

Mark gave a faint shrug, turning slightly toward me with the hint of a smirk.

I didn’t look at him.

But my grin said everything.

Checkmate.

We won the debate. obvi.

And of course, Mark couldn’t let it settle for more than two seconds before opening his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, tugging at the edge of his blazer, “we only won because I delivered the knockout line. The rest was just—set dressing.”

I scoffed, not even looking at him as I slipped my folder back into my bag.

“You mean the line you stole from a book” I shot back sweetly. “Congratulations, you plagiarized your way into glory.”

He laughed, low and warm. “You’ve got to admit, it sounded better coming from me.”

I looked up at him, my eyes flashing. “So would silence.”

Mark tilted his head slightly, smirk curling at the edges. “Admit it. You love when I win.”

“I love that we won,” I corrected, then added, under my breath, “and now I have to tolerate the ego inflation that follows.”

His voice dipped, just enough to turn the air between them warmer than it had any right to be. “So you do love something about me.”

I opened my mouth—whether to fire back or let something slip, even I wasn’t sure—but that’s when Professor Kim appeared beside them, clapping once, far too loud.

“Incredible, both of you! That was one of the sharpest debate I’ve heard in years.”

They both straightened instantly, too quickly, like school kids caught passing notes.

Mark’s smirk vanished in favor of a polite nod.

My smile was stiff.

“Thank you, Professor,” we said in near-unison.

The professor, thankfully oblivious, beamed at us and moved on to the next team.

Mark exhaled.

I cleared my throat.

And just like that, the moment was gone—left hovering awkwardly between them like an ellipsis neither of them knew how to finish.

“So you do love something about me.”

The words kept echoing in my head, like a song I couldn’t stop replaying. Ever since the debate two days ago—his cocky smirk, that glint in his eye, the way he leaned just a little too close when he said it—I hadn’t been able to shake it.

Get the fuck out of my head, Mark.

I scowled at the notebook in front of me, not absorbing a single word of the notes I was supposed to be taking. My pen hovered uselessly above the page, tapping a silent rhythm that matched the anxious flutter in my chest.

Why the hell was he in my head?

The shrill sound of the bell snapped me back to reality, like cold water thrown over my thoughts.

“Okay, class, see you Monday,” the professor called. Chairs scraped and conversations buzzed as everyone packed up.

I stood to leave, slinging my bag over my shoulder, when—

“Miss Y/N, could you stay back a while? I have something to ask you.”

My heart stuttered.

I turned slowly, trying to play it cool even though my pulse was sprinting. Behind me, Mark hadn’t moved either, his lazy grin already in place like he was expecting this.

Of course he stayed back too.

“Uh, sure,” I said, trying not to sound suspiciously breathless.

The classroom emptied around us, the chatter fading until it was just the three of us.

As I stepped toward the front, I could feel him beside me—his presence always too warm, too close.

"Relax," he whispered under his breath, just low enough for only me to hear. "I'm not gonna bite."

"Too bad," I shot back before I could stop myself. My eyes widened a little too late. Did I really just say that?

His smirk deepened, and now I really wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

“Right,” the professor said, oblivious. “I just wanted to ask if you two would be open to working together for the upcoming presentation. You both have strong points of view in the last debate. I think it could make for an interesting dynamic.”

I could practically feel Mark turning to look at me.

“That’s… up to her,” he said. And damn him, his voice was all casual and charming, like he hadn’t just been living rent-free in my head for forty-eight hours.

The professor looked at me expectantly.

I opened my mouth and forced a polite smile. “Sure. That’s fine.”

“Perfect,” he said. “You can coordinate the details together. I’ll expect a rough outline by Friday.”

With that, he gathered his things and left us there—in the silence, in whatever this thing was that buzzed between us like static.

Mark didn’t move. Just tilted his head, watching me with far too much amusement.

“What?” I asked, trying for exasperation, but it came out… flustered.

“That didn’t sound like a no,” he said softly.

“To what?”

His eyes twinkled. “To loving something about me.”

I groaned and turned to walk away. “God, you’re insufferable.”

But he followed, matching my pace with infuriating ease. “You didn’t say no, though.”

“Shut up, Mark.”

“See? You do love something about me.”

And I hated how much I almost smiled.

I was mid-scroll through my phone and minding my own business when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Tomorrow. My place. 4PM. Outline work + snacks provided. Dress code: chill but cute.

I stared at the screen, blinking like the words might magically rearrange into something normal.

Then another text came in.

Unknown Number: Don’t act surprised. It’s Mark, obviously.

I nearly dropped my phone. Mark??

I hadn’t given him my number.

At least, I didn’t think I had. Had I blacked out during class? 

Then clarity. 

The professor.

Of course. “Pair up for the presentation,” he’d said. 

Apparently, giving Mark Lee access to my number was part of the deal now.

I fired off a reply with shaky thumbs:

You: How did you get my number??

Mark: The professor.

You: I’m reporting this as an invasion of privacy.

Mark: You can do that. After we finish our presentation on 20th century subtext and the unbearable tension between co-presenters. See you at 4, Sunshine.

Sunshine???

I stared at the ceiling and seriously considered deleting my entire identity.

This was dumb. I shouldn’t be nervous.

It was just Mark. Annoying, arrogant Mark who delighted in getting under my skin.

But my palm was sweaty against the strap of my laptop bag, and I’d changed outfits twice before settling on something that said “I don’t care” when it very much meant “God, I hope I don’t look like a disaster.”

I hesitated, then knocked.

The door swung open before my fist could land again.

Mark was standing there, wearing a black hoodie and an easy smile that immediately made me suspicious.

“You’re early,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“You said four.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d show up fashionably late.”

I pushed past him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He shut the door behind me. “You never do.”

My brain short-circuited.

“Snacks are in the kitchen,” he said, like he hadn’t just casually flirted me into a state of semi-catatonia. “And yes, I remembered you hate raisins.”

I blinked. “You… what?”

“Your oatmeal cookie rant in class?” He looked at me over his shoulder. “Very passionate. I felt personally attacked.”

I blinked again. “Okay, wow. You actually listen.”

Mark grinned. “Shocking, I know.”

I followed him to the living room, trying very hard not to look like I was analyzing every surface of his house for evidence of his entire personality.

His couch was comfy. His bookshelf was full. And his kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon, which I refused to find charming.

“Alright,” I said, settling on the chair by his desk and opening my laptop. “Let’s focus. No distractions. No attitude. No stupid smirks.”

Mark dropped into the seat beside me—beside, not across—and leaned back, looking way too comfortable.

“I make no promises,” he said, reaching for a cookie. “But I’m flattered you called my smirk stupid. That’s how I know you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You’re a little flustered.”

“I will throw this cookie at your face.”

He held out a hand. “Go ahead. I love dramatic foreplay.”

I choked on air.

“Presentation,” I gasped, pointing at the screen like it could save me from whatever this was. “We���re outlining. Now.”

Mark grinned. “You’re adorable when you panic.”

“I’m going to murder you with a notebook.”

He laughed, leaning closer until our shoulders almost touched. “And yet… here you are. At my house. With cookies. And a suspicious amount of eye contact.”

I glared at him. “Let’s just get this outline done before I remember I have pepper spray in my bag.”

Mark raised his brows, pretending to scribble a note in his journal. “Add that to our conflict section. Threats, unresolved tension, will-they-won’t-they energy. We’re off to a strong start.” 

This is going to be a long day.

“We are exactly three bullet points into this outline,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the document on my laptop. “And somehow we’ve spent fifteen minutes arguing about font size.”

“Because it matters,” Mark replied, leaning back in the chair like he was relaxing at a resort instead of sabotaging my productivity. “Presentation is 50% aesthetics. You wouldn’t wear ugly shoes to a first date, would you?”

“This isn’t a date.”

He looked at me. Slowly. His eyes dragging from my face down to where my knees were curled under me on the chair. Then back up.

“No,” he said, voice a little quieter. “It’s not.”

My throat went dry.

There was something about the way he said it. Like he was daring me to contradict him. Like he wanted me to say something but all I could do was blink at him like my brain had taken the rest of the day off.

Silence settled between us. The kind that hummed. Soft and slow and almost... expectant.

I reached for a cookie to have something to do with my hands. “We’re never going to finish this outline.”

“Maybe,” he said, “we’re not supposed to finish it today.”

I turned to look at him.

He was closer now. His knee brushing mine. His eyes not moving.

“When are we supposed to finish then?” I asked. My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

Mark tilted his head. “Not sure. But I think we’re in the middle of something.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s on purpose.”

Another beat of silence. The air between us was thick with it—whatever this was. Heat. Curiosity. The kind of pause where you both know what’s coming next and are terrified of how real it’s about to get.

I should’ve said something sarcastic. Broken the tension. Pushed him away like I always did.

But I didn’t.

Because he was already leaning in.

And I didn’t stop him.

Not when his gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips.

Not when he murmured, “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t.

And then—

His mouth met mine.

Soft at first. Testing. Like he was waiting for me to pull away.

I didn’t.

I leaned in.

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently through my hair, the kiss deepening just enough to steal my breath—but not too much to feel rushed. It was warm. Messy in the best way. All tension and heat and finally.

When we broke apart, my heart was thudding so hard I was positive he could hear it.

I blinked at him.

He was smiling. Not that smug smirk. Something softer. Still teasing—but different now.

“So,” he said. “Still threatening me with that notebook?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I whispered, breathless.

“Too late.”

I swallowed hard, still trying to catch up to my own brain. “This doesn’t count as a study break, by the way.”

Mark grinned. “Then we should do it again. Just to make sure.”

Mark didn’t wait this time.

He kissed me like he was going to ruin me—hands gripping my thighs and lifting me in one swift, breath-stealing motion.

I gasped as he spun me toward the desk. My papers went fluttering to the floor in a storm of pages and forgotten priorities.

“Oops,” he murmured, setting me down on the edge of the desk like I belonged there. “Guess I’m not very good at group projects.”

My breath hitched, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. “You’re a dick.”

Mark smirked, his hands sliding under my thighs, fingers warm against bare skin. “And yet, here you are. Moaning for the guy you claim to hate.”

“I didn’t moan.”

“You will.”

His mouth was back on mine—deeper now like neither of us had time to pretend anymore. His hands were everywhere. Tracing up my back, down my hips, slipping under my shirt with ease. I could feel his grin against my lips when I gasped as he touched my boobs.

“God,” I whispered, arching into him, “you’re—so annoying.”

He kissed down my neck, slow and deliberate. “But you’re wet for me anyway.”

I hated how easily those words undid me.

“Tell me,” he said, voice dark and low, breath ghosting across my collarbone, “how long you’ve wanted this.”

I hesitated just a second too long and he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes.

Mark’s gaze was hungry. But not just with lust—he needed the truth.

So I gave it to him.

“Since the first time you smiled at me,” I breathed. “Which is annoying. Because I hate your smile.”

He growled softly. “You love my smile.”

And then he was kissing me again, yanking my shirt over my head, dragging his hoodie off with one hand. We were heat and skin and tangled limbs and barely-restrained want.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he murmured, trailing kisses down my stomach, fingers hooking into my waistband. “On my desk. All soft and needy.”

“I am not—”

He slipped two fingers between my thighs and pressed.

I whimpered.

Mark looked up at me, all teeth and heat. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

My head fell back, hips lifting toward his touch.

“Say you want it,” he whispered, voice thick with heat, fingers still teasing. “I need to hear it, baby.”

“Mark—” My voice cracked. “Please.”

“Please what?”

I met his eyes, breathless, desperate. “Please fuck me.”

He didn’t make me wait.

He pulled off the rest of our clothes in a tangle of laughter and curses between kisses. His touch was reverent and rough in equal parts slow when he wanted me to feel everything, fast when he couldn’t hold back.

When he finally slid inside me, we both gasped ourforeheads pressed together, mouths parted, like we couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned, rocking into me, his grip bruising on my hips. “So tight. So fucking mine right now.”

I clawed at his back, biting down on a moan as he pushed deeper, slower, dragging every sound he wanted from me.

“You like it messy, huh?” he murmured, voice hot against my ear. “Books on the floor, your legs wrapped around me, taking every inch like a good girl.”

I gasped, digging my nails into his skin. “You’re—ngh—such an asshole.”

He chuckled, breath ragged. “And you’re gonna come all over my dick anyway.”

God help me, I was.

 His hands, his mouth, his voice in my ear saying everything I didn’t know I needed to hear.

“Let go,” he said, thrusting deeper, “Come for me. Make a fucking mess of this desk, sweetheart.”

And I did.

Hard.

Everything shattered..breath, thought and my body curling into his as he held me through it, kissing my shoulder, my jaw, murmuring, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He came right after, groaning into my skin, pulling me down with him into a heap of tangled limbs and breathless laughter.

We stayed like that for a long minute—skin slick, hearts racing, the outline forgotten, pages scattered like snow around us.

He kissed the top of my shoulder and whispered, “We should really finish that presentation.”

I huffed. “You ruined my books. This is war.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Then let’s call it makeup sex later.

fin

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