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I feel like I’m underwater and when I come up for air Heeseung is going to be back. None of this will be true. But if I am being honest…I knew something was wrong. He hasn’t looked happy. Something was so subdued about him and I was hoping it was just a phase. We all go through down times…

I wonder if he just was not willing to go all in on the vampire concept? It sounds like he created a lot of releasable stuff that perhaps did not fit the group conceptually, but why would he need to leave to make it? Yeonjun made a ton of music solo as part of TXT and Yeonjun is like one of the biggest names in 4th gen…

I feel like part of this had to be Heeseung’s decision… Which leads me to question WHY would he make this decision? Were they trying to give his stuff to other groups or soloists? There is no question he has the ability to be a soloist, the group in made up of incredible talent. But why would he choose to be alone? Truly, what aren’t they telling us…

#heeseung #enhypen #lee heeseung #enha #when I say I’m devastated it’s an understatement #I’m adrift

hyuckzcult

Keep it a Secret (or try) | 08. unfortunate live tweeting

synopsis you kinda (literally) catch your brother’s best friend touching himself and can't stop thinking about him after that. He doesn't make it any easier when he starts teasing you.

pairing brother's bff!heeseung x reader contains kys jokes; suggestive jokes; little age gap (19&22); profanity; a lot of dick jokes; Rei being so into Jake (obviously fake don’t take it seriously).

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hyuckzcult

Keep it a Secret (or try) | 06. clueless flirting

synopsis you kinda (literally) catch your brother’s best friend touching himself and can't stop thinking about him after that. He doesn't make it any easier when he starts teasing you.

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hyuckzcult

Keep it a Secret (or try) | 05. stolen glances - written

synopsis you kinda (literally) catch your brother’s best friend touching himself and can't stop thinking about him after that. He doesn't make it any easier when he starts teasing you.

mars' note let me know how you like this written chapter :))) reblog, comments, and likes are always appreciated <3

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“No, literally get out.”

Jake ignores you as he slides the door open into the backyard with ingredients on his hands. "I come here in peace, I swear."

"You're not bribing us, dude."

You say, splashing water on him. He jumps back and laughs, "yo, I'm getting into the water anyway."

heedimples

love bite | lhs

ʚɞ summary - you were never supposed to be the girl at the gallery. just the annoying little sister. a background character, the stubborn omega with her scent locked away and her life carefully contained. but ninety unguarded seconds is all it takes for lee heeseung—your older brother’s best friend—to catch a trace of jasmine and rain and spend a year chasing a ghost. but what he doesn’t know is that his ghost lives down the hall, pretending not to hear him searching. and when the clock finally strikes and he realizes the girl he’s been hunting is the one he’s been fighting for a decade, there’s no glass slipper or fairy godmother—just your thighs around his waist, a bite mark that brands, and a line you’ll never be able to step back across ever again. ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, brother’s best friend, a/b/o dynamics, somewhat cinderella-esque, alpha!heeseung, omega!reader, reader is beomgyu’s sister, true mates, penetrative sex (p in v), knotting, mating ʚɞ w.c - 8.5k

heedimples

playing dangerous | psh

“everybody knows i’m a good girl, officer,” - lana del rey, playing dangerous

ʚɞ summary - back in your hometown for christmas, the last thing you wanted was to be pulled over for speeding. you’re freezing and desperate to get out of a ticket—but the cop in front of you is park sunghoon, the nerdy boy you used to tease in high school. and you’ll do whatever it takes to make him let you go, even if it means letting him handcuff and bend you over in his cruiser like he wanted to all those years ago. ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, hard dom!sunghoon, police officer!sunghoon, authority/officer kink, car sex, handcuffs, gunplay, power imbalance, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie ʚɞ w.c - 3.9k

“License and registration, please.”

The voice was flat and professional in the sub-zero December air, and it came from a figure silhouetted against the blinding red and blue strobes of the patrol car’s light bar, casting long, accusing shadows across the frosted asphalt of the old county road. You fumbled with the glove compartment, your fingers numb from more than just the cold.

“I’m sorry, Officer, I was just—”

“The limit is forty-five. Radar clocked you at sixty-eight.” The voice cut through your excuse like a knife. It was familiar, in a way that scraped against a memory you’d buried years ago. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”

A gust of wind whipped through the open door as you complied, the cold biting through your thin holiday sweater. You squinted against the flashlight beam he pointed at the ground, finally getting a look at his face as he stepped closer.

The sharp line of his jaw, the severe set of his mouth, the dark, intent eyes under the brim of his patrol cap—

Holy shit. It was all Park Sunghoon.

But… it wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. The lanky, awkward boy with glasses and wonky teeth who’d trailed after you in high school calculus, whose notes you’d borrowed and never returned? That boy was gone. In his place was a muscular man carved from duty, his broad shoulders straining against the dark blue of his uniform shirt, his posture rigid with authority.

“Sunghoon?” The name left your lips before you could stop it, a disbelieving whisper.

His eyes, which had been clinically examining your out-of-state plates, snapped to yours. A flicker of something—recognition, then immediate, intense suppression—passed through them so fast you might have imagined it. His expression hardened further.

“Ma’am. This is a traffic stop. Your license and registration.”

The formality was a slap, but you handed them over nonetheless, your mind racing. A speeding ticket. A court date. A mark on your clean record, all while you were supposed to be home for a peaceful, boring Christmas. Your parents would love that. The humiliation of it, especially in front of him, of all people, boiled into a reckless, desperate ache in your chest.

He took the documents, his gloved fingers brushing yours. A static shock jolted up your arm. He didn’t react, turning to walk back to his cruiser to run your information.

“Wait.”

He paused, half-turning, an eyebrow arched.

You took a step forward, closing the distance. The flashing lights painted his face in alternating waves of blue and red, highlighting the harsh beauty of it. It was almost funny how once upon a time, you’d wielded all the power over him. But now—he held it all. And the only currency you had left was the one you’d always had over him, even if you’d never deigned to spend it.

“It’s really you,” you said, your voice dropping, losing its panicked edge and gaining a low warmth you didn’t have to fake. The cold made you shiver, and you hugged yourself, not entirely for effect. “Park Sunghoon. I—I can’t believe it. You look…”

You let your gaze travel over him, slow and appreciative. Over the badge pinned to his chest, the heavy utility belt laden with tools of control, the way his uniform pants fit his lean hips and strong thighs. You looked your fill, and you made sure he saw you doing it.

His jaw tightened. “Please return to your vehicle.”

“Do you remember? Senior year, in Mr. Henderson’s class?” You took another small step. “You always let me copy your notes before the tests. You saved my GPA.”

“That was a long time ago.” His voice was gruff, but it lacked the robotic certainty from before. He was looking at you now, really looking, and you could see the conflict in his dark eyes.

“It was,” you agreed softly. You were close enough now to see the rapid pulse in his throat. “You’ve changed so much.”

“So have you.” The retort was automatic, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your mouth, the way your chest rose and fell with each quickening breath.

“Have I?” You smiled, a little sadly. “Still getting into trouble, apparently. And you’re still… helping me out of it?”

“I’m not helping,” he ground out, but he hadn’t moved back. He was rooted to the spot, a statue of conflicted authority. “This is the law. You were speeding, and there are consequences.”

“Are there?” you murmured. You reached out, not touching him, but letting your fingertips hover just above the hard plane of his chest, over his badge. “What if I appealed to the officer’s… discretion?”

His breath hitched. A visible tremor ran through him. “Don’t.” It was meant to be a command, but it sounded like a plea.

“Don’t what, Sunghoon?” you whispered, leaning in. Your lips were inches from his ear. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Don’t remind you that you used to dream about this? That you’d stare at the back of my head in class and wonder what I smelled like?”

“This is wrong.” He hissed the words, a mantra for himself. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists. But his eyes were locked on your mouth.

“Then give me the ticket,” you challenged, your voice a low, daring thrum. “Write me up. Send me to court. Do your duty, Officer Park.”

You saw the battle rage in him, but at the end of the day: he was just a man. A man who now had the object of every teenage fantasy shivering before him, offering herself up on a silver platter of transgression.

With a sound that was almost a growl, he snapped. One hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck with a firm grip. It was the answer you’d been gambling on.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, his voice a rough, dark thing that sent a lightning bolt of pure, liquid heat straight to your core.

“Which one?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

His eyes blazed. “Mine. Now.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey. He guided you, his hand on your neck at a steady, uncompromising pressure, to the passenger side of his patrol car, then opened the door. You slid inside. He followed you in, slamming the door shut, plunging you into a weirdy intimate silence, broken only by the idle rumble of the engine and the muted flash of lights through the windows. The barrier between the seats was down. He was right there.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. The control was slipping, cracking, and what was emerging from beneath was terrifying and thrilling. “You think you can just walk back into town and play your little games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m still that pathetic kid you could twist around your finger?”

“I don’t know,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “You tell me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, he leaned over you. You thought he might kiss you, but he didn’t. He reached past you, his body pressing yours into the seat, and popped the glove compartment. When he pulled back, he was holding a single item: a pair of standard-issue metal handcuffs.

He held it up between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You want to get out of this ticket?” The question was a gravelly challenge.

You nodded, your mouth dry.

“Then you’re going to be very, very quiet,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders and having them followed. “And you’re going to do exactly as I say. This is my jurisdiction now. Understood?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, what?”

The correction was immediate and sharp. You felt a fresh rush of wetness between your thighs. “Yes, Officer.”

A low, ragged breath escaped his lips. “Hands together. On the dash.”

You obeyed, shifting in the seat to press your palms flat against the cool, textured plastic of the dashboard. The posture arched your back, thrusting your chest forward against the thin fabric of your sweater. You heard the metallic click-clack of the cuffs being readied, then the cold, unforgiving circle of steel closed around your left wrist. He was efficient. He pulled your right hand down to meet it, the second cuff snapping shut with a definitive snick that echoed in the quiet cruiser.

He sat back in the driver’s seat, his eyes raking over you, before he finally reached over, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned off the engine. Now, you could only hear the frantic drumbeat of you heart.

“This is so wrong,” he murmured again, but this time it wasn’t a refusal. His hand came up, and he removed his patrol cap, tossing it onto the console between you. His hair was darker, shorter than you remembered, slightly mussed. It made him look younger, and somehow even more dangerous.

He tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time, the action slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, and dropped them onto the floor. Then his hands, now bare, found the hem of your sweater. He didn’t ask. He just tugged it up, the wool scraping softly over your skin. You lifted your arms as much as the cuffs allowed, and he pulled the sweater over your head, leaving you in just your simple lace bra. The cold air in the car kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps, your nipples pebbling instantly into hard points against the delicate fabric.

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing the brown of his irises. He stared at your chest, his breath coming quicker. One hand rose, and he traced the lace edge with a single, blunt fingertip. The touch was electric, smooth and cool against your feverish skin. “You used to wear those tight little tank tops to school,” he said, his voice a rough scrape. “Drove me fucking insane. I’d get headaches from trying not to stare.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” His finger dipped under the lace, brushing the soft underside of your breast. A jolt shot straight to your core, and you gasped. “‘Please, Y/N, could you cover up? I’m trying to learn about trigonometry but all I can think about is how your tits would feel in my hands’?”

It didn’t matter how crude the words were—spoken in his low, controlled cop-voice, they made you throb. You arched into his touch, and he answered you, unhooking the front clasp of your bra with a flick of his fingers. Your tits spilled free, full in the intermittent light.

A choked sound escaped him. He shed his gloves, tossing them onto the floor. His bare hands were warm, slightly calloused. He palmed your tits, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples in slow, agonizing circles. The sensation was maddening, the contrast of his work-roughened skin against your sensitive peaks making you whimper. He leaned in, his hot breath fogging in the cold air, and took one bud into his mouth.

Fuck.

His mouth was searing hot, his tongue flat and firm as he laved the tight bud. He suckled, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling a deep, needy ache from somewhere inside of you. You cried out, your cuffed hands curling into fists against the dash. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, his free hand massaging and kneading the flesh he’d just abandoned. You were panting, little white puffs in the cold air, your head falling back against the headrest. The world narrowed to the wet heat of his mouth, the demanding pull of his lips, the rough caress of his hands.

He pulled back, his lips glistening, his own breathing harsh. “Still so fucking perfect,” he growled, more to himself than to you. His hands left your breasts and went to his utility belt. Your eyes widened as you watched.

This was it. The point of no return.

He unbuckled it, the heavy leather sighing as he pulled it free, then laid it carefully on the passenger seat beside your hip, the weight of it making the cushion dip.

His focus dropped to your jeans. He popped the button, dragged the zipper down with a slow, torturous rasp. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your panties and peeled them both down your thighs in one strong, relentless motion. You had to lift your hips, helping him, the denim and cotton catching on your shoes before he tugged them free and discarded them into the footwell. You were completely exposed now from the waist down, the coldness of the seat biting against the backs of your thighs, the warm, wet center of you utterly vulnerable.

Sunghoon’s eyes drank in the sight, but, much to your frustration, he didn’t touch you there yet. Instead, he unbuttoned his own uniform trousers and freed his erection. Your breath hitched. He was thick, long, veined, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth pooled with drool.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice guttural.

You did, the cuffs clinking softly as you widened your knees, offering yourself to him. He moved between them, his body crowding yours in the confined space. One hand braced on the seat back by your head, the other finally, finally touched you. His fingers slid through your slick folds, and he groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Fuck. You’re completely soaked. For me?”

“All for you, Officer,” you moaned, pushing your hips up against his searching fingers.

He circled your clit, once, twice, in a teasing way that made you sob with frustration. Then he plunged two fingers inside you, curling them expertly, taking almost no time in finding the spot that made you see stars. He pumped them, in and out, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, every gasp, every helpless contraction of your inner muscles around his digits. “You used to laugh,” he said, his voice thick with a dark, vengeful pleasure as he fucked you with his hand. “Laugh at me in the hallways, whisper with your friends about how pathetic I was, chasing after you like some lovesick puppy. Remember that? How you'd flirt just enough to string me along, then turn away with a giggle.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the apology ripped from you, half-sincere, half just a plea for more. “I was stupid.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He withdrew his fingers, shining with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Be fucking quiet.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you. He didn’t push in. He just held himself there, letting you feel the insistent pressure, the promise of fullness. “You want me to fuck you right here, in my cruiser?” he breathed against your lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

He didn’t ease into you. He drove in with one hard, deep, conquering thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight, welcoming heat.

You screamed, the sound muffled as you buried your face against the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt. The stretch was immense—he filled you completely, it felt like he was carving out a space for his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re so—hah—fucking tight, Y/N.”

Then he began to move.

The leather creaked. The handcuffs bit into your wrists. The world outside the windows—the empty road, the falling temperature, the reason you were both here—ceased to exist. There was only the slap of skin on skin, the raggedness of your breaths, and the deep, wet sounds of you taking him inside.

His thrusts were powerful, each one driving a gasp or a moan from your throat. He was in control, and it made your mind drift pleasantly.

One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises. The other hand came up to tangle in your hair, holding your head still, forcing you to look at him. His face was painted with fierce concentration.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “Handcuffed in my car. Taking my cock like you were made for it. You think your little high school friends would believe this?”

But you were lost, utterly gone. “Hngh—ngh—Sunghoon” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a broken prayer, over and over as his cock plunged deeper, stretching you out. “Sunghoon—oh, hngh—please—hn...” Your body arched, helpless.

He fucked you harder, faster, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. You were climbing, a tight, coiling tension gathering at the base of your spine, spreading through your belly. You were so close, teetering on the edge, the friction of him dragging over your most sensitive spots with every deep stroke.

But then, suddenly—

He stopped. He pulled out of you completely, leaving you empty, aching, and bereft. A whine of protest escaped your lips.

“Not yet,” he panted, his own body trembling with the effort of stopping. His eyes were wild, burning. He looked away, to his utility belt lying on the seat, and your heart stuttered as his hand reached over.

He bypassed the key of the handcuffs. For a second, you thought he was going for something else—his baton, his radio, you didn’t know. You couldn’t guess. But his fingers closed around the textured grip of his service weapon. He didn’t draw it from the holster. He simply unfastened the strap and lifted the entire belt, holster and all, placing it on your stomach. The weight was heavy, and the coldness of the holster’s hardware pressed into your skin.

Then, his eyes holding a dark, challenging gleam, he slowly drew the pistol from its leather cradle.

It was black and matte. He held it by the barrel, offering the polymer grip to you. “Touch it,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

Tentatively, with your cuffed hands, you wrapped your fingers around the grip. It was cool, the texture rough.

“Now,” he instructed, taking the gun back from you. With his other hand, he guided his cock back to your entrance. He pushed in, just the head, a shallow, teasing penetration. Then, holding your gaze with hypnotic intensity, he brought the cold, blunt tip of the pistol’s barrel to your lower lips, just beside where his flesh disappeared into yours.

You flinched at the touch.

“Hold still,” he commanded. He began a slow, shallow rhythm with his hips, rocking into you just an inch or two as he simultaneously used the gun’s barrel to trace your outer folds, to circle your clit, to press gently against your sensitive skin.

It was taboo. It was terrifying. It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.

“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your hips bucking helplessly, trying to get more of him, more of this impossible sensation.

“You like that?” he breathed, his own control fraying. He increased the pressure of the barrel, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit while he continued his shallow, fucking motions. “You like having a cop’s gun on your pussy while he fucks you? While the cop you used to think nothing of fucks you good?”

“Yeah—hngh—oh, fuck—Sunghoon—”

The combination tipped you over. The coil broke. Your orgasm crashed through you like a filthy wave of raw ecstasy, your pussy clenching and spasming wildly around his thick, bare cock buried deep inside you. Juices gushed out in hot, messy squirts, your walls milking him greedily, sucking at his shaft, begging for his seed, every pulse a dirty, desperate throb that made your thighs quake and your toes curl. A fleeting thought flashed through your mind—he was fucking you raw, no condom, he could knock you up right here with his hot cum flooding your womb—but you didn't care, not one fucking bit. The pleasure was too overwhelming, his cock stretching you so perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot, making you feel alive and used in the best way. Your cuffed hands strained against the steel, the bite of the cuffs digging into your wrists as you yanked futilely, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back. It was so intense that it flirted with the line between pain and pleasure, the sharp twinges from your bound limbs and the cold metal still pressed against your throbbing clit amplifying everything a thousand times. The wrongness of it only made the release dirtier, hotter, your cries turning into whimpers and moans as wave after wave ripped through you, leaving you a trembling, soaked mess impaled on his unrelenting cock.

Sunghoon watched you come apart, but the sight of your ecstasy, the feel of your inner muscles pulsing around his cock, must have been too much, because a second later, with a ragged shout, he came inside you.

You felt the hot, wet release of him inside you, spurt after spurt, filling you, marking you. He slumped forward, his body shuddering, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breath scalding hot against your neck. The pistol, forgotten, clattered onto the seat beside you.

There was only the sound of your labored breathing mingling in the cold air, and the occasional soft click of the handcuffs as you tried to shift your numb wrists.

Slowly, he pushed himself up. He looked dazed, wrecked, his uniform shirt crumpled, his hair a mess. He looked down at where your bodies were still joined, at the evidence of what you’d done smeared on your skin and his. His expression was unreadable, and it made you feel strangely insecure.

Without a word, he pulled out of you. The loss was physical, a sudden hollow coldness, and you shut your legs together quickly. Sunghoon tucked himself back into his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Then he reached for the small silver handcuff key on his belt loop. He leaned over you, his scent enveloping you once more, and unlocked the cuffs. The metal fell away, and you brought your aching wrists to your chest, rubbing the red marks left behind.

He gathered your clothes: your sweater, your bra, your jeans and panties from the floor. He handed them to you, his movements stiff, his eyes avoiding yours now. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice hoarse but already edging back toward the flatness from before.

You dressed in silence, your limbs feeling like lead. The sweater felt scratchy now. Your jeans chafed your sensitive skin. You were shivering again, but this time it was from the aftershocks, the adrenaline crash.

He had already straightened his own uniform, re-buckled his utility belt, holstered his gun. He picked up his patrol cap from the console but didn’t put it on. He just held it, staring at it.

Eventually, he looked at you. “Your license and registration are on the dash.” He nodded toward them. “The citation has been voided. Consider it a warning.”

You just nodded, unable to speak.

“Drive the speed limit the rest of the way home.”

“I will.”

He opened the passenger door. The freezing night air rushed in, a brutal shock to your overheated skin.

“Go.”

vaheempire

are we ready 👅👅👅👅 vaheempire is so so back!!!!!!! taglist r open mwa

mssishipi

this is shi, speaking <3.

do you read fiction? yes. do you enjoy fanfiction? also yes. are you responsible for what you choose to read and engage with? absolutely.

are you allowed to dislike certain genres, including noncon? yes—preferences are personal, and no one is obligated to enjoy everything.

however, are you allowed to spread hate toward people who write noncon or shame those who enjoy it? no, that’s where the line should be drawn.

here’s why. fiction is fiction. it exists as a space for imagination, exploration, and storytelling, not as a direct reflection of someone’s morals, beliefs, or real-life actions. it’s important to broaden our understanding of how literature works and why people consume different types of content. these discussions can be debatable, and that’s understandable, but they should still be approached with respect.

writing or reading certain themes does not automatically mean that a person supports, endorses, or promotes those themes in real life. many works of fiction explore dark, uncomfortable, or controversial topics precisely to examine them or to understand them better —not to glorify them. readers engage with stories for many reasons: curiosity, emotional processing, or simply enjoyment of complex narratives.

at the end of the day, everyone has agency over their own reading habits. you are free to like what you like, dislike what you dislike, and set boundaries for yourself. what you are not free to do is weaponize those preferences to shame others or discredit their intelligence, morality, or character. respecting different tastes in literature is part of respecting people themselves.

this is the last time i will speak about this. i’m asking, genuinely, again, that we widen our understanding and apply our morality where it actually matters. discourse is important, yes, but it loses its purpose when it becomes performative outrage aimed at fiction instead of real harm.

let us redirect our attention to issues that are actually happening in real life, issues that are causing tangible harm and affecting real people right now. while we argue about fiction and personal taste, the world continues to face systemic violence, ongoing wars and displacement, exploitation of workers, gender-based abuse, human trafficking, environmental destruction, and widening gaps between the privileged and the marginalized. these are not narrative devices—they are lived realities for millions.

morality should not be selectively applied. if concern is truly about ethics, then it should extend beyond fictional material and into the real structures and behaviors that perpetuate suffering. it is easier to criticize stories than to confront truths about society but the latter is where meaningful action actually matters.

fiction will always remain fiction. real-world issues, however, demand our attention, compassion, and accountability now more than ever.

heemunch

IN YOUR DREAMS ❤︎︎ 이희승

𝑨𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⸺ even four years of built up resentment can’t put sexual tension in the grave.

l. heeseung x ƒ. reader smut college au enemies to lovers fake dating forced proximity toxic heeseung character dev micro angst dom heeseung pet names teasing fingering ab riding cream pie ✶ 4000

“i’m so tired of this shit,” you whined to jungwon, slamming your laptop shut. university life, you’re tired of the relentless nagging from your parents to find a serious relationship.

they always compare you to others, such as your cousin who’s already engaged. “like seriously, why do they make me feel like my life is incomplete without a partner?”

“we’re already in our last year of college, and they’re still complaining?” jungwon flinched a little at the sudden snap of your laptop. “at this rate, i think they’ll arrange a blind date for you..”

a familiar, deep chuckle caught your attention. as you twisted in your seat, you spotted heeseung’s tall frame leaning against the bookshelf closest to you. he was studying you and jungwon with an amused expression, clearly having overheard the tail end of your conversation.

you scowled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. of course, he would show up at the most inconvenient moment. “what do you want, heeseung?”

pepshee

First Place

when you make a bet with your best friend—loser is forced to do what the winner wants—but his demands for you aren't exactly what you expected, but you're fully willing to comply.

Pairing - heeseung x fem!reader

Genre - friends with benefits, friends to ???, smut

Word count - 2k

Warnings - p in v, creampie, cliche, degrading (he calls reader a slut), fingering, mentions of other enha members, Mario kart mention, stripping, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N - I was gonna lowkey abandon writing but here I am.. back again... again, sorry if it's bad, and thank you to the anon in my inbox who gave me writing advice! i dont feel like using capitalization in this one so im not gonna... anyways.. enjoy! also yes im aware its kinda cliche

MDNI 18+

heeseung was always your best friend; he was always there when you needed him and vice versa. meeting him in high school was the best twist of fate ever. those four years would've ended up miserable had it been someone else.

there was a decent amount of girls after him, but that was never a bother. in fact, he was always your wingman, helping you find ways to ask out your crush without looking like a complete ditz. he had a couple of girlfriends throughout high school, but they never really lasted.

he was able to tell when you were upset and was somehow always able to pinpoint the reason. you'd never thought of him in a romantic light, although he was extremely attractive. it was like a forbidden fruit, something you were too scared to explore.

after graduation, applying to the same college as one another seemed scary. what if only one of you got in? what if neither of you got in? those worrying questions quickly disappeared when one day you both opened your results and found out you were both accepted.

he made new friends, and so did you, but one thing was that you never forgot each other. you both still regularly hung out and went to your usual coffee shops or shopping malls.

heeseung and his friends are at his dorm, and he had given you permission to come and go in his dorm without asking whenever you wanted whether he was there or not. his roommate, Jake, was hesitant about this at first, but just agreed to avoid drama, however, he grew to not mind it.

jongst4r

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ chapter 1 — fade into you

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎prev | masterlist | next

contents 7.4k words. mentions of alcohol, creepy behavior from a man (doesn't escalate), light flirting, brief description of sensory overload, themes of social anxiety and feeling out of place, strong language.

you wipe down the counter at the cozy corner café, the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingles with the faint vanilla from the pastries in the display case. it's a slow afternoon, the kind where sunlight filters through the large windows, casting warm glows on the wooden tables scattered with laptops and half-empty mugs. you like it here — it's predictable, always the same, quiet, a bubble of calm in the busy, noisy city. as a barista, your days blend into a comforting routine: steaming milk, pulling espresso shots, chatting lightly with regulars who know your name but not much else. you're not one for crowds or chaos; introverted by nature, you prefer the soft hum of the espresso machine over blaring music or flashing lights.

euphormiia

@jayflrt this week while enhablr was in shambles

jaeyundazed

#staged a play and she was playin all the parts

heejamas

enhablr be like

heelovesmeknot

This is truly a case of Virtual Munchausen Syndrome for real. I don’t think she ever intended to deactivate the first time, but people were starting to get suspicious. She was crazy, but she wasn’t careful. Deleting her blog was a Hail Mary into the end zone that Alice fully intercepted and ran back for a touchdown.

Still you gotta admire the energy though. She was out here singin both parts of the duet and she was in the audience too. Never let it be said miss si3rren couldn’t commit to the bit.

#Alice aka jayflrt you will always be famous #sussy si3rren strikes herself in the face #some people need to be the fanfiction I guess #this child was willing to destabilize the peace of an entire fandom so she could stage her own pity party #enhypen

heedimples

I saw u had asked for asks so I'm sending my very first ask ever on tumblr to u . Can u please do a VERY freaked out fic for sunghoon , I genuinely don't know what trope I want but something related to husband and wife would be nice 🫶🏻

hai cutie super honored to be ur first ever ask :0 i hope u like this !! ^^

super freak ! | psh

ʚɞ summary - there’s only so many times you can test your husband’s limits until he finally breaks. ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, hard dom!sunghoon, bratty reader, penetrative sex (p in v) unprotected sex, spanking, edging, crying during sex, pwp ʚɞ w.c - 4.8k

The coffee maker gurgled its last drops into the carafe, filling your apartment with its rich scent. You stood in your pajamas, leaning against the kitchen counter, and watched it. Sunghoon’s favorite mug, a heavy black one with the gold rim, sat clean and empty next to the machine. A small, wicked smile touched your lips. You reached out, filled your own floral-patterned mug to the brim, added a splash of cream, and left his sitting there, pristine and untouched.

You heard his footsteps in the hall, and he appeared in the doorway, already dressed in tailored black slacks and a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His dark hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and his sharp features were set in a look of focused concentration. His eyes, usually so warm when they landed on you, scanned the room and settled on the coffee maker, then on his empty mug, then on you, sipping from yours.

A flicker of confusion passed over his face, quickly replaced by a soft, questioning look. “No coffee for me today, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice still morning-rough, a low timbre that made your stomach flutter.

You took an exaggeratedly slow sip, meeting his gaze over the rim. “Oh, did you want some?” you asked, your tone all innocent surprise. “I figured you were in such a hurry, you wouldn’t have time for it. I didn’t want to get in your way.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. He moved toward you, his hand coming up to brush a stray hair from your cheek. You leaned away just an inch, turning to place your mug in the sink. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping. “You’re never in my way, baby,” he said, his voice dropping. He stepped closer, his body heat radiating against your back. “C’mere. I didn’t get my good morning kiss.”

You busied yourself rinsing the mug, the water running loudly. “You were on your phone the second you got out of the shower,” you said, not looking at him. “Seemed like you had more important things to do.”

He was silent for a beat. You could feel his stare on the back of your neck. “It was a work email,” he said simply. “It’s a big deal today. You know that.”

“I do,” you said brightly, finally turning off the tap and turning around. You offered him a breezy smile, patting his chest. “So you’d better get to it. Wouldn’t want you to be late.” You ducked under his arm, which had been poised to encircle you, and padded out of the kitchen toward the bedroom.

You felt the tension you left behind him, thick and palpable. The game had begun.

You didn’t let up, even as the day unfolded. When he called you from his home office at lunch, asking if you’d ordered in, you told him you’d already eaten—a homemade sandwich, all by yourself, while watching a TV show. You didn’t ask if he wanted anything. You heard the quiet sigh on the other end of the line.

A couple minutes later, you grabbed your phone and opened your messages with him.

hi baby! hope work is going well, don’t forget to eat! you sent, adding three heart emojis for good measure.

Almost immediately, you saw the three dots indicating he was typing. But before he could respond, you muted the conversation and set your phone face down. You made your way to the living room, where you sprawled out on the couch with a book, leaving the TV on low for background noise.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with his reply: Thank you, baby. I’ll make sure to order something. What are you up to?

You read it, smiled to yourself, and ignored it, leaving him on read. Instead, you got up and started tidying the apartment, humming softly to yourself as you flitted from room to room. You made sure to pass by his office door a few times, your footsteps just loud enough to be heard but not enough to warrant a comment.

When he emerged from his office an hour later, looking for you, you were nowhere to be found. He called your name softly, but you stayed in the guest bedroom, rearranging drawers that didn’t need rearranging. You heard his footsteps retreat back to his office, and you grinned.

You waited another hour before sending another text: hey, just saw this cute pic of us from last weekend. made me smile. You attached a photo of the two of you at the park, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, both of you laughing.

Again, the three dots appeared almost instantly. I miss you, sweetheart, he replied. Come see me.

You typed back, busy rn, maybe later, and left it at that. You could practically feel his frustration through the screen.

Later in the afternoon, you put on a soft sweater that clung to your curves and a short skirt that showed off your legs. You wandered past his office a few times, each time catching his gaze lingering just a little too long. When you finally ‘accidentally’ needed something from his desk, you bent over to retrieve a book from a low shelf, knowing full well the view you were presenting. When you straightened, you caught his eyes darkening, his fingers pausing over his keyboard.

You gave him a wide, guileless smile. “Just getting my reading material. Don’t let me distract you!” You sashayed out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

But you weren’t done yet. A little while later, you sent him another text: forgot to ask, do u want anything from the store? i might run out.

This time, he replied immediately: No, stay here with me.

You paused for effect before responding: oh, never mind then :) ill just go anyway

You didn’t leave the apartment, of course, but the anticipation in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. He was starting to catch on, but you weren’t ready to let up just yet.

By the time he emerged from his office just after six, you could see the tightness around his jaw, the controlled set of his shoulders. The easy affection he usually wore at the end of a workday was gone, replaced by a simmering intensity.

“We’re going out for dinner,” he announced, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn’t ask; he stated. It was the first sign of the control beginning to slip, to reassert itself. “Get ready. Wear your black dress.”

A thrill shot through you. The black dress was his dress—backless, sinfully short, the fabric so soft it felt like a second skin. He loved it. He loved the way people looked at you in it, loved the possessive pride it gave him to have you on his arm, loved even more taking it off you later. You put it on without a word, feeling the silk whisper over your hips. You saw his reflection in the bedroom mirror as you fastened a necklace. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching you, his arms crossed. His gaze was a physical weight, traveling from the nape of your neck down the exposed line of your spine to where the dress ended on your thighs.

The restaurant had low lighting and intimate booths, and you were the picture of a charming, slightly ditzy wife. You flirted with the sommelier, laughing a little too brightly at his jokes about the wine. You let your foot ‘accidentally’ brush against Sunghoon’s calf under the table, then pulled it away when he shifted. You took tiny, deliberate bites of your food, moaning softly about how delicious it was, licking your fork clean with slow, sensual swipes of your tongue. You were a living, breathing provocation.

Sunghoon played the part of a perfect, attentive husband. He ordered for you, refilled your water glass, asked about your day. But his responses grew shorter, his smiles tighter. His knuckles were white where he gripped his steak knife. The conversation became a duel.

“The filet is incredible,” you purred, cutting a piece and holding it out on your fork toward him. “You have to try a bite, baby.”

He looked at the proffered fork, then at your lips. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice low.

“Oh, come on,” you coaxed, leaning forward, letting the neckline of your dress gap just slightly. “Just one? For me?”

His eyes dipped to the shadow of your cleavage for a fraction of a second before snapping back to yours. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He leaned forward and took the bite, his teeth closing over the tines with a quiet, definitive click. He chewed slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Satisfied?” he asked, the word loaded.

“Mhm,” you chirped, turning your attention back to your plate, a victorious little smile playing on your lips.

The drive home was silent. The air was thick, but you hummed along to the radio, tracing patterns on the fogged-up window while Sunghoon drove with a focused, almost brutal precision, his hands firm on the wheel. You could feel the energy coming off him in waves, and it made you want to burst out laughing.

He parked in your building’s underground garage. The engine cut, and the sudden quiet was deafening. You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

“Wait.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was a command. It stopped you cold. You turned to look at him. The interior light was off, his face illuminated only by the eerie glow of the garage’s security lights. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned: they tracked over your face, down to where your hands were clasped in your lap.

He got out, walked around the car, and opened your door. He didn’t offer a hand. He just stood there, waiting. You slid out, the dress riding up dangerously. He didn’t comment. He simply closed the door, locked the car with a beep, and turned toward the elevator. You fell into step beside him, the click of your heels echoing loudly in the concrete space.

In the elevator, he pressed the button for your floor. The mirrored walls reflected the two of you—you, looking flushed and slightly breathless, him, a portrait of restrained power. You watched his reflection as he watched yours. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, to the swell of your breasts against the black silk. Your own breathing hitched.

The elevator doors pinged open.

He strode out, and you followed. At the door to your apartment, he unlocked it and held it open. You walked past him, and as you did, your shoulder brushed his chest. You felt him go utterly still.

The door clicked shut behind you, the deadbolt sliding home with a final, ominous thunk.

That was when he moved.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he swept you off your feet. A small gasp escaped you as his arms hooked under your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry. He didn’t look at you. His face was a mask of intent, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the hallway leading to your bedroom. He carried you as if you weighed nothing, his steps long and deliberate. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

He shouldered the bedroom door open, crossed the room in three strides, and deposited you firmly onto the center of the bed. You bounced a little, the silk of your dress murmuring against the duvet. Then Sunghoon stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at you, finally meeting your eyes. All the pretense, all the civility, was gone. What remained was hunger.

“All day,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “All fucking day, you’ve been testing me. Pushing me. Denying me.” He began to unbutton his cuffs, rolling the sleeves up higher with slow, deliberate movements. “No kiss. No coffee. Flirting with strangers. That little show at dinner.” He took a step closer. “You think it’s funny, baby? You think teasing your husband is a game?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your brattiness surging one last time, fueled by adrenaline. “Maybe,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d notice.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I noticed.” He reached down, his fingers hooking into the hem of your dress. In one sharp pull, he yanked it up over your hips, bunching it around your waist, exposing your panties and your bare thighs. The cool air hit your skin, making you shiver. “I noticed everything. But now, baby, you’re going to learn what happens to brats.”

He leaned over, his hands gripping your waist, and flipped you onto your stomach with effortless strength. Before you could react, he was straddling your thighs, his weight pinning you to the mattress. One large hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down. The other landed on your ass.

The first spank was a loud, stinging crack that echoed in the quiet room. Heat bloomed instantly under your skin.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice devoid of all warmth.

You jerked, a gasp tearing from your throat. “Wha—?”

The second spank landed, harder, on the other cheek. The sting was sharper, blooming into a deep, throbbing heat. “One!” you yelped.

Smack. “Two!”

Smack. “Three!”

Each blow was measured, deliberate, designed to sting and brand. Your skin grew hotter and hotter, the pain a bright, clarifying fire. You squirmed beneath him, but his hold was unbreakable, and with each number you choked out, the humiliation and the arousal began to twist together, a confusing, potent mixture. By “seven,” your voice was shaking. By “nine,” tears of frustration were welling in your eyes.

The tenth spank was the hardest yet, a brutal impact that made you cry out, your body arching against the bed. “Ten!” you sobbed, the word muffled by the duvet.

Sunghoon's hand hovered for a moment after the tenth strike, his palm resting possessively on the heated skin of your ass. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, the way your body trembled beneath him. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed his fingers down between your thighs, brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped as he pressed there, right over your soaked core, the thin material clinging transparently to your folds.

“Look at you,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, laced with dark amusement. “Dripping like a desperate little slut after just a couple of spanks. I can feel how wet you are, baby. Your pussy's practically begging for it, isn't it? Soaking through your panties.”

You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks even as your hips twitched involuntarily toward his touch. The humiliation burned, but it only made the ache between your legs worse. Instead of submitting, you twisted your head to glare at him over your shoulder, your voice coming out in a defiant whine. “Yeah? Well, I bet you're hard as fuck right now, aren’t you, Sunghoon? All worked up from smacking my ass?”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. He yanked your panties down in one rough pull, exposing your glistening pussy to the cool air of the bedroom. The fabric caught briefly on your thighs before he tossed it aside, leaving you bare and vulnerable on your stomach. His fingers returned, this time skin on skin, parting your slick folds with ease. You were drenched, your pussy lips swollen and puffy, slick arousal coating his fingertips as he traced the length of your slit. He circled your entrance, dipping just the tip of one finger inside before pulling back, making you clench around nothing.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he growled, delivering a light smack directly to your exposed pussy. The wet sound of it echoed, sending a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain straight to your clit. “You think you can mouth off after I just punished you? Keep teasing, sweetheart, you know what’ll happen.”

You squirmed, pushing back against his hand despite yourself, your bratty facade cracking just a little under the building need. “Oh, please,” you shot back, though your voice wavered. “Like you’d last. You’re probably throbbing in those pants, dying to shove your cock in me. Admit it—you spanked me because you were desperate to touch me.”

Sunghoon chuckled darkly, withdrawing his hand entirely. The sudden absence made you whimper, your pussy throbbing emptily. He shifted behind you, the mattress dipping as he knelt between your spread legs. You heard the zipper of his pants, the rustle of fabric, and then he was free, his thick cock springing out, heavy and rigid. It was long and girthy enough that even after years of dating and a year of marriage your mouth still watered at the prospect of it stretching you out.

He gripped the base, guiding it toward you. The first contact was a firm slap—his cock smacking down against your pussy with a lewd, wet thwack. The impact made your clit pulse, arousal splattering lightly against his skin. You jolted forward, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the sting mingled with overwhelming heat.

“That’s for talking back,” he said, voice rough with restraint. He slapped it again, harder this time, the broad head landing right on your sensitive folds. Your pussy quivered, lips parting slightly around the underside of his shaft as if trying to pull him in. Slick coated him immediately, making each subsequent slap slide a little more.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets. The teasing friction was torture, his cock heavy and hot against you, but not pushing inside. You rocked your hips back, trying to grind against him, but he held you steady with one hand on your hip, controlling the pace.

“No,” he scoffed, slapping his cock against your entrance now, the tip nudging your hole without entering. Precum mixed with your wetness, dribbling down your thighs. “Why would I give it to you, baby? You haven’t learned your lesson.”

He dragged the length of his shaft up your slit, slow and deliberate, the veined underside bumping over your clit with every inch. Your pussy clenched visibly, inner walls fluttering as arousal leaked out in a fresh gush. He did it again, sliding from your entrance up to your clit, pressing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges but pulling away before you could hump against him.

“Fuck, you’re so needy, baby,” he mocked, his free hand kneading the reddened flesh of your ass. “Pussy's all puffy and pink, begging to be filled. But you're still acting like a brat. Tell me, baby, how bad do you want this cock?”

You whined, the sound high and needy, but your stubbornness held. “I—I don’t,” you lied through gritted teeth, even as your body betrayed you, hips circling desperately. “I don’t care. Bet you couldn’t make me beg if you tried. You're just dragging it out because you're scared you’ll cum too fast.”

His response was immediate—a hard slap of his cock right on your clit again. The sharp sting radiated through your core, your swollen nub pulsing with electric pleasure. Then he slid down again, the bulbous head catching at your entrance, stretching the tight rim just barely, enough to make your inner walls flutter in anticipation, before he pulled back with a deliberate slowness. Your pussy sucked at the air, the hole winking open and closed, glistening with fresh arousal.

He repeated the motion over and over, up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices until his shaft glistened like it was oiled. Each pass dragged the thick veins along your inner lips, parting them obscenely and sending sparks of frustration through your body. Your clit throbbed under the relentless pressure, hypersensitive and begging for more direct contact, but he kept the rhythm torturously light, teasing glides that built the ache without granting release.

Sunghoon's control was ironclad, his hips rolling with precision to keep you on the edge. He leaned forward slightly, one hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple hard enough to make you arch. The bud was already pebbled from the cool air and your arousal, and he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, tugging just shy of pain. “Keep mouthing off, baby,” he taunted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your back. “Let’s see how long you last when I play with these pretty tits too.”

You gasped as he squeezed your breast fully, kneading the soft flesh while his cock continued its maddening path along your folds. He switched to the other nipple, twisting it sharply, the sensations making your pussy clench harder around nothing. More and more slick gushed out with each contraction, soaking his length and dripping onto the sheets below. Your thighs quivered, muscles straining as you fought the urge to spread them wider, to beg him to just shove inside.

But he wasn’t done. His free hand trailed down your spine, fingers dipping into the dimples at the base of your back before skating over the reddened curves of your ass. He spread your cheeks slightly, exposing you further, and let the tip of his cock nudge against your puckered hole for a fleeting second, just enough to make you tense, before returning to your pussy. The brief tease there sent a thrill through you, but he focused back on your dripping slit, slapping his heavy shaft against it once more.

“Fuck, look at your greedy little hole,” he murmured dazedly, watching as your entrance fluttered desperately. He pressed the head there again, circling the rim with slow, shallow dips—barely breaching, just stretching the outer muscles until they burned with need. Your walls rippled inward, trying to pull him deeper, but he withdrew every time, leaving you emptier than before. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the frustrating tease building until tears of need pricked your eyes.

Sunghoon's breathing grew heavier, his massive cock twitching against your skin. He shifted his weight, reaching around to your front again—this time targeting your clit directly. His fingers parted your folds, exposing the swollen nub, and he flicked it lightly with his thumb while his cock dragged upward along your slit. It had you keening, your hips bucking wildly, but he pinned you down with his body, controlling every movement.

“Always so sensitive,” he whispered, pinching your clit between his fingers and rolling it gently, then harder, alternating the pressure to keep you teetering on the brink. Your pussy spasmed in response, inner lips quivering as more cream leaked out, coating his hand. He brought those slick fingers up to your mouth, pushing them past your lips. “Taste how wet you are for me, sweetheart. Suck them clean while I decide if you've earned my cock yet.”

You obeyed despite yourself, tongue swirling around his digits, the tangy flavor of your own arousal flooding your senses. It only heightened the humiliation and desire, making your core throb painfully. He withdrew his fingers with a pop, trailing saliva down your chin before returning to your breasts. This time, he pinched both nipples simultaneously, pulling them outward until you whimpered, the sharp tugs sending jolts straight to your clit.

He ground his cock against your entrance now, not entering, but rutting the full length along your pussy, the underside pressing firmly against your clit with each forward motion. Your folds hugged him, lips wrapping around his girth like they were made for it, and you could feel every ridge and vein pulsing hot against your most sensitive spots. Your neck arched as he nipped at the skin there, teeth grazing your earlobe before sucking the lobe into his mouth. His tongue traced the shell, hot and wet, while his hand snaked down to trace circles around your navel, dipping lower to feather over your inner thighs—everywhere but where you needed him most.

Tears welled up fully now, spilling over as the edging dragged on, your body a live wire of unfulfilled tension. Your pussy was a sopping wreck: lips puffy and dark pink, entrance gaping slightly from the constant teasing, clit erect and aching. You rocked back futilely, chasing any friction, but Sunghoon’s grip on your hip tightened, holding you still. He slapped his cock against your ass cheek now, the impact making your skin jiggle, then brought it back to tap repeatedly against your clit—light, then heavy, over and over until you were sobbing into the pillow.

“Still holding out?” he challenged, his voice rough with his own building arousal. He leaned over your back fully, chest pressing against your spine, lips brushing your ear as one hand cupped your throat gently, tilting your head back. His other hand delved between your legs again, two fingers spreading your folds wide while his thumb strummed your clit in feather-light strokes. His cock hovered at your entrance, the head kissing it softly, dipping in a fraction—your walls clamping down hungrily, sucking greedily—before he yanked back again with a chuckle. “Your whole body’s begging for it, sweetheart.”

You whined frustratedly. “Y-you’re being so mean,” you managed, voice hoarse and broken. Your hips circled again, grinding air, the emptiness inside you a torturous void.

He laughed lowly, rewarding your sass with another teasing thrust—the tip breaching halfway this time, stretching your tight channel around his girth before he pulled out completely. Your skin flushed hot, every nerve ending alight, the prolonged denial pushing you to the razor's edge of sanity. But finally, after what seemed an eternity of this exquisite torment, Sunghoon leaned over your back, his chest pressing against your spine, lips brushing your ear.

“Still wanna act up, baby?” he murmured. “Your pussy’s so wet for it. So tight, just waiting to milk my cock. But I want to hear you say it. Apologize for being bad. Beg your husband to fuck you.”

The word sent a shiver through you, amplifying the ache. You tried to hold out, biting down on the pillow, but another slow drag of his cock—pressing firmly against your clit and grinding—shattered your resolve. “Please,” you mewled, voice breaking. “Sunghoon, I'm sorry—sorry for being bad—hngh—I need it—need your cock inside me, fuck me, please.”

He hummed approvingly, but didn't give in yet. One more teasing slide, his tip circling your entrance, stretching it teasingly. “Louder, baby. Tell me what you want.”

"Fuck me!" you whined, pushing back futilely against his iron grip. "Please, please—hn—please, baby fill me up. I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I’ll be good, I swear, just fuck me—” you wailed.

That did it. With a guttural groan, Sunghoon lined himself up and thrust in, hard and unrelenting. His thick cock speared into you in one brutal stroke, the head breaching your tight entrance and stretching your walls to their limit. You screamed, the burn of the intrusion mixing with the fullness as inch after girthy inch sank deep. Your pussy gripped him like a vice, inner muscles rippling around his length, sucking him in until his balls slapped against your clit.

“That’s my girl,” he panted, pulling back almost to the tip before slamming forward again. The force jolted you up the bed, your ass cheeks jiggling from the impact. Each thrust bottomed out, his cockhead kissing your cervix, the veins dragging against your sensitive walls.

You clawed at the sheets, moans tearing from your throat as he pounded into you. Your pussy squelched obscenely with every plunge, arousal foaming at the base of his shaft. He reached around, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles, making your walls flutter wildly around him.

“Gonna breed this tight little cunt,” he growled, hips snapping forward with bruising force. "Fill you up, baby. Pump you full until it takes. Is that what you want? Want your husband’s cum dripping out of you?"

“Yes!” you sobbed, the words spilling out between gasps. “Fill—hngh—me up, Sunghoon—please, cum inside. I need it—”

He fucked you harder, the bed creaking under the assault. His free hand gripped your hip, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, ensuring he hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your pussy clenched, milking him as your orgasm built, walls contracting around his girth. When you came, it was shattering—your body convulsing, pussy gushing around him in hot spurts, soaking his balls.

Sunghoon didn’t stop, driving through your climax with relentless strokes. “Fuck,” he grunted, burying himself to the hilt one final time. His cock pulsed, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt. He held you flush against him, grinding deep as he bred you, ensuring not a single drop was wasted, and the warmth spread through your core, your pussy overflowing, cum leaking out around his shaft.

Only when he was spent did he slow, but he didn’t pull out, staying seated inside you, his hand stroking your back possessively. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Did so good for me. I love you, baby.”

cherry-lala

Two Peas in a Pod

Pairings: Omega! Jake Sim x Alpha! fem reader Wordcount: 17k+

Summary: You love Jake, but believing you are a Beta who can never truly satisfy his Omega nature, you push him away only to realize during a dramatic twenty-first birthday presentation that you were his fated Alpha all along.

Warnings: Omegaverse/ABO Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Emotional Angst (Insecurity/Guilt/Separation), Miscommunication, Bullying (Past/Childhood), Late Presentation (Female Alpha), Heat & Rut Cycles, Pheromone Influence, Possessive Behavior. Smut F/M (Female Alpha x Male Omega), Internal Knotting (Vaginal Locking), Mating/Claiming Bites, Begging/Whining, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Scent Marking, Raw/Unprotected Sex, Mating Bond.

A/N: so uhhh I saw a Jake edit at work and wrote this at work 😭even though I see him as a soft dom I really wanna take care of him! Anyways hope you guys enjoy this. It was supposed to be a short Drabble I SWEAR IDK WHAT HAPPENED. Like always Please Like, Reblog and Comment! They are very appreciated.

[Masterlist]

The day the Sim family crossed the border into the Silver River Pack territory, the sky was the color of a bruised plum. It was late autumn, the air crisp and smelling of damp earth and decaying leaves.

You were five years old, a scrap of a thing with scraped knees and your father’s stubborn chin. Being the daughter of the Head Alpha meant you walked with a certain swagger, even in your light-up velcro sneakers. You felt like you owned the woods.

endoll

HOW SWEET

don't you know how sweet it tastes, now that I'm without you?

pairing soccerplayer!sunghoon x sororitysister!yn

synopsis When your sorority president volunteered the house to work with the soccer team for fundraising, you didn’t know how you were supposed to react. Not when your assigned partner turned out to be Park Sunghoon, the vice-captain and your worst enemy since grade school.

featuring chaewon (LESSERAFIM), sophia (KATSEYE), yunah (ILLIT), ENHYPEN’s hyung line, and MORE! — xinyu (TRIPLES) as your faceclaim

content warning kys jokes, sexual innuendos, drinking, swearing, yn is stubborn, sunghoon is rizzful, sunghoon and Haruna (BILLLIE) are dating and shes rly bitchy :/

note NO HATE TO ANY IDOLS INVOLVEDDD its just a story guys and i dont wanna hear serious hate about the idols only their characters in this story AT MOST!!!!

profiles

AOII GIRLS KUS SOCCER SQUAD

chapters

(OO1)

(OO2)

(OO3)

(OO4)

(OO5)

taglist. OPEN!!

🏷️ @ewstain @clearlyhoonie @iiunique @aewon @miajojojo @12e45

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