dilf ì”ì°ì€ đ fem reader Ë êŻđ smut, sugar relationship, vacation àŒą pretty heavy on the age gap, 16 year gap, dilf yeonjun, smut, size diff kink, spit, choking, brat taming, he gets off on spoiling, he also gets off on scent and perfume, fingering and mirror sex, dirty talk, lots of pet names, heâs 36, a bit of jealousy from both, a trip to hawaii, (barely) underage drinking, happy trail mention, unprotected sex, reader rlly is spoiled, financial domination
ash⊠i rlly just have been in a dilf kick in my soul lately so i hope everybodyâs on the same page or else that would be reaaaaal awkward⊠anyway, this is so fun and tropical and i hope everyone is ready for some summer!! this is a leftover from last yearâs summer event so thankfully itâs with us finally >_<
Choi Yeonjun is a man. In a broad pair of shoulders, the sharp coffee and black pepper that clings to his skin in lingering at the warm pulse points when you press your face there, and how he keeps himself put together in clothes without the wrinkles of a twice-worn wrinkled thing off the carpet like the guys your age, who you could ask if they do exactly that and they would shrug and tell you that they did. Not Yeonjun, though. None of that was what truly set him apart, or put that stamp of ratified man on his integrity.
That was in the opening doors for you. He insists on it. He doesn't want your hands on any car door handles, only wants to hear the click of the heels bought on his dime hitting the ground when you step out after him. And he wasn't afraid to tell you it, either. It was in how he took the burden of ordering for you at the diners he took you, with the warm crystal lights that hung low over your table as he'd thumb the back of your hand. In how that card of his was yours, too.
You were sitting in bed after a thorough, all brand new, skincare routine, when he proposed the flight to Hawaii. A face mask seeped into your skin as you gawked into the glow of the screen. If he had only see your face. He tells you it's the best part.
11:00pm [Yeonjun]: We have a suite booked in O'ahu for this weekend. Do you need anything for it, baby?
11:00pm [Yeonjun]: Pack light, you'll be coming home with more than you came.
11:01pm [Yeonjun]: How does that sound?
It was that part that made your stomach twist up like it was in there jump-roping. It always is the way he talks to you; because, what kind of question is that? He knew exactly how it sounded. His texting mannerisms scream older, succinct with an air of a man who knows exactly how off-guard this all still leaves you. He is so cruel, in the most savory way. It has long since been decided that men age like wine. They sit on a shelf and mature, until they're more rich and deep. Or at least until they've had their fun, their money, and are left with an itch to funnel it all into making something bloom pretty at his attention and spoiling.
Honolulu is so much alike the post cards, and in the same vein, so much different. It's a bustling metropolis with buildings that scrape the turquoise sky. The beach is within walking distance from your hotel, and that is just as peppered with tourists in cover-ups they probably bought right from the ABC store along the strip.
"Waikiki looks nothing like I thought it did," you say. A piña colada daiquiri sweats in your hand under the thick sun. It's hot here. Not like the bone dry heat of summer back at home, but instead it's thick on your skin like a layer of salt off the breeze. You fiddle with the tropical ribbons of your bikini bottoms at the swell of your hip. Lazy and pampered, and nobody could deny it. You wouldn't.
With his arms tucked behind his head on a tanning chair adjacent to yours, he grins. "What did you think it was?" He runs his finger around the rim of his own drink. He'd made you sip off it and found the wrinkle of your nose at the burn humorous.
Not full on city with the same beeping cars and traffic as home, perhaps. Your shoulders have long since turned pink. Your cheeks, a radiant burn to match. It tugs every time your face moves like the skin's just a bit too tight. "Like⊠When you think of Hawaii, the first thing you think of. That." It's about time you roast your other side. Or else you'll be glowing red on your front and springtime pale at the back. The cheeky bottoms of your bikini's ridden up with all your lounging, the soft spot where your ass meets thigh turned up this way around. Yeonjun doesn't look away when you catch him getting an eyeful. "That guy didn't even ID me." The spot where your nose presses to your pillow of crossed arms smells like sweat and coconutty sunscreen.
"He's not gonna ask you while I'm there," Yeonjun says. He holds one hand up like a visor over his eyes, looking at you under it. The shirt he'd changed into as soon as you hit the room There's a healthy glow set deep in his skin that leads you to suspect that, even if this is the first time he's taken you on a pretty penny vacation, it's not his first. It's a deep, bronze that speaks of a tan that's built on. You're not his first sugar baby. That's something you've come to terms with. It gets a little easier with a swipe of the card.
"Why�"
Thumbing the crease of your bottom, he supplies his answer with a hum. "It's his job to sell it. This whole city loves a dollar bill." Lifting his own glass, he adds, "And that kid's not trying to offend me by asking."
That kid. A guy somewhere near your age, give or take. It's always those little things that send a furious, brilliant storm of butterflies through your belly. The little ways he reminds you exactly what he is. They never come in grand gestures. More in the way he just moves through the world, and how it bends around his shape to meet him. He didn't ask the associates in the luxury stores he takes you shopping in to perk up and run to serve him, knowing he'll buy. They just do it.
A handful of girls three rows down laugh with one another over the holistic sound of the resort pools. Lifeguards, kids here on vacation with parents glad they're cannon-balling into the pools and bothering the group of twenty-somethings with palms over the mouth of their tumbler glasses to save themselves the misery of discovering how teal, chlorine water mixed with margarita. Sweat has glued your cheek to where it squishes against your upper arm. You keep your head oriented to watch him. "But can't they get in trouble for that?" Talking comes difficult. The heat makes you too lazy. You can hardly even summon the words.
Smiling at that, he answers, "If they get caught, yeah." The muscles dormant in his biceps ripple as he crosses his arms about his chest. He didn't hit the gym; not that you knew of. But he maintains that like he does. Another thing that seems to just come with the whole matured, better, older man package.
That felt topically ironic. Especially considering that you never do intend to be caught. You dread the thought so hard that you've learned to banish it the moment it springs up. It's easier this way. And way more fun. It's not like you never thought about it; toeing the line in the sand without ever really letting the tide rush in on you. "This stuff is so sweet. Should I have another one?"
That gets a kick out of him. "Yeah? You like it?" Yeonjun says. There's a languor dripping off the way he does, sticky like the air. "That's because it's rum, babygirl. All sugar."
Your throat goes all tight. Fumbling after words, you quickly say, "It taste like a smoothie."
"That's why you don't need another one." He laughs. "It hits you faster than you think it will. Especially with the heat." Then, picking up the drink, he drinks down what you hadn't gotten to you. Those expressive brows twist. "Shit, that's sweet."
You only smile and watch him cross his arms back. They look fit to throw you any which way, or even to carry all the bags he would snatch from you before you even got to try and carry yourself. "Okay, it's not that sweet."
Not in any hurry, never in any hurry, he gets that look on his face that you've come to know to mean that he's guiding the conversation a different way. He corrals you so easily that you tend to not even notice that you're on the next topic. He takes control of any conversation with such ease. On your first date, you had been a shaking, shy thing sat across from him. It didn't matter much. With a little steering you and a handsome smile as he listened to you answer his questions, the burden of even carrying conversations was off your shoulders. That was his job, he'd told you later on when you told him how terrified you were.
"I was thinking about heading back to the suite," he starts. The sharp lines of his eyes linger on you like he's plotting it all out in real time, and there's a prospective smoothness to his voice. As if he'd already playing it all out in his head, and he knows exactly what he has in store for you. "Getting dressed. No need to rush, we have all night. We're here to enjoy ourselves. And then head down to the beach walk, shop around, get you some things to try on for me." He doesn't even smirk. Nothing to justify the way your stomach swoops quick. "And I put a reservation in at this nice, low-key grill for us after. If we need to come back real quick to drop off your stuff, we can." Taking one last drink off his glass, he says, "Sound good, baby?"
Sound good? How could you have any objections? You blink at him for a moment. Up until yesterday, you'd never even flown overseas. Vacations meant twelve hour drives and scrapping with your siblings and the blankets and luggage for space in the car, just to end up squished against the door anyway. You were half lead to believe that things like this happened only on T.V. or for faceless people in a tax bracket you knew you'd never touch. And yetâŠ
"What? Do you have something else in mind?" His lips do quirk now, perhaps because he knows exactly what. "We can do whatever your sweet heart wants. No need to be shy with me. We're here for you. Me and Hawaii are good friends."
You rush to correct yourself. "No, that's, like, perfect." Pressing up to your elbows, still baking your backside, you say, "I've just never done this before."
He's heard that before, that first time you were intimate with him. You never imagined your first to be a man with sixteen years on you, who was not your boyfriend but instead something suspended in an awkward space between that and something else. Something that makes your blood rise to your ears and lie to everybody you know. A year ago, two, you would've turned your nose up at another girl for sitting in Hawaii on a man's money. After all, down to its core, it's only a trade, isn't it? The sugar in sugar daddy is the tan in your skin and the necklace at your throat studded, in the shape of a 'Y', in true diamonds. And in sugar baby, it was something much more coveted. Well, you couldn't sneer at yourself now; couldn't have known that it could come like him, and not in a sixty year old man who had to pay for sex because he wouldn't get it otherwise.
"Good." He leans back into his low pool chair, the perfect image of the leisure that is company to what he is. But he's got an airy, soft thing going on with his mouth as the sun rushes back over it. "Maybe we'll go out on a boat tomorrow, too."
He doesn't even have to ask to know the answer.
When Yeonjun means get whatever you want, he means that. Not metaphorically. Not loosely, not a ceiling that you might accidentally brush if you got overeager. There wasn't a budget. Not on you. You have your questions concerning where, exactly, he might have all this money. His Seeking profile didn't even tell. And when you asked, he kissed you and said, "I'm old enough to know that you don't really care about my job. You'd get bored to hell of it eventually. So let's not open that door anyway."
Whatever that meant. You gleaned enough from the dress shirts and ironed slacks that it wasn't anything too mystifying. It was, maybe, a bit overdramatic in the way he said it. Or maybe it was your own head that did the work of imagining some big secret.
Bushes with a deep, waxy green up against pink and white Plumerias with yellow blooming at their centers, stand opposite to the glowing warm storefronts which stud the sidewalk. Your hotel is right in the heart of it all. You step out, and you're right there in downtown Honolulu. Clearly, you two had the same idea as everybody else did. It must be the season back home. The streets are packed. Groups of girls walk with their elbows linked with Leis around their necks, probably coming from a restaurant where they were handed out, couples with kids and couples here hoping to get away from theirs, they all have the same essence about them as you feel in your chest. You feel like you're just gawking at stupid things with stars in your eyes like you've never seen a bush, or a lit-up tourist trap. But how did you even get here? Here, where something sweet hangs and makes the air even heaver. Maybe those flowers. Or the street vendors boasting cups of million-dollar pineapple chunks with the rinds still on and passion fruit stuffed in with papayas, and the way it overlaps with the salt from the water. The shoreline is close enough from here than you can watch the black water rush up and disturb the sand.
"You look beautiful," Yeonjun had told you when you stepped out of the bathroom. He didn't need any flowery enhancers to sound like he meant it. He told you in the simplicity that he was unafraid to use, and even more potently, in the lingering inventory he takes of the dress. His hands had flexed where they were shoved into his pockets in patiently waiting. Because he know more than any man, maybe, that patience paid sweeter. He didn't just enjoy the silhouette the sundress made, though you know he definitely did enjoy that. You're still suffering the echoes in your knees that the smolder in his eyes had made shake. But he made sure to enjoy the golden bangles that made feminine, sparkling sounds as you slipped into your heels. How they complimented the sunset pinks and oranges of the tropical floral fabric, and made the sanguine flush to your cheeks speak.
He had stopped, especially, at your neck. Traced the shape of that 'Y' as it glittered. And if anybody were to ask, you were certain that his throat had bobbed.
Now, he keeps one steady hand at your back and the other in his pants. He is an impossibly handsome man, in the most literal sense of the word. But night makes him something else. It cuts the lines of his face which had an angle to them that you could only attribute to aging. His eyes were slow and pleased and all over you and the view your push-up bra makes. "Do you want one?" he asks when your eyes linger on a stand selling Hibiscus flowers. The ones the grew well and didn't get too beat up by the elements, which tourists like to pluck off the bush anyway.
"I mean⊠They're, like, fifteen dollars." That was a good meal's worth, as far as you were concerned. You could go without. "That's crazy. People just pick them anyway."
"Fifteen dollars to look beautiful on you," he says, "is nothing. Do you know how expensive you look right now, sweetheart?" Passing the person running the stand a bill, he takes your chin with his thumb and tucks a yellow one behind your ear. It's huge, flirting with your eyes and brushing against your temples. Approval flashes over his gaze. "There we go. Now you look like you're in Hawaii."
God. Nothing about that should make your head go so dumb.
You make your way down the street doing pretty much the same. You dip in and out of stores, racking up bags in his free hand. He has no complaints to give. It's something chemical to him. Like foreplay, watching your eyes light up and your mouth go shy with every yes. Yes, yes, yes. That's his favorite word.
Of course you drag him into Sephora. The black-and-white storefront pulls you in with gravity amidst the high-end stores and the shops with the shot glasses and tees plastered with Waikiki beach regalia. He lets you browse and drop things into the shopping basket. You giggle when you catch sight of him, there in his fine muslin button down pushed to his elbows, veins peeking out with the strain, classy sunglasses pushing his hair off his forehead, balancing the damage you'd already done in one hand and the carnage that will ensue at checkout here in the other. With a playing smile on his face, he says, "Don't you want to do something you can't do at home?"
"I can't shop at Sephora in Hawaii at home." You take your lip into your teeth to fight a coquettish grin. A toasty lip liner lands in the cart with a plastic sound of the packaging. "I'm like a thousand percent sure they have stuff here that we just don't have at home." The one by your place is half the size, and even less stocked. You'd probably had a hand in that.
"You've gotten spoiled," Yeonjun says, and you think it sounds like lust. "I've made you into a little money monster. You used to be so shy."
You gasp with affront, coloring your words precisely spoiled. "Me? Not even close. You have to beg me to spend money on myself!" You did, in fact, used to be much more shy with him. It took a few dates to be able to look him in the eyes. It's that contrast between you that is so intoxicating. How you get all dressed up in girly outfits and ramble at him, and he has the answers for it all.
He nudges you around and aisle into the next. The cart is slowly filling up. When he had said you'd be leaving with more than you came, he'd meant it. "I do," he rasps. "I've never taken another girl somewhere who loved shopping more. You're a blushing, pretty hole in my wallet."
A throaty imitation of a laugh if all you can muster in response to that. It's not like you didn't know he had other sugar babies before yourself. Had probably taken them to Hawaii, too. The thought spirals out of control before you can stamp it out. Brushing the buttery petals of the flower at your ear, you consider if he's done exactly this, all of it, with another girl, too. He has the means to. And then you get to thinking what he could've done with those girls. Did he tell them how pretty they sounded like he loved so much to tell you? "You're mean," you say, empty banter. "I'm go back in the bowl and find a sugar daddy that doesn't bully me."
The harsh overhead lights cut his features and catch the way his jaw ticks. "Is that it?" His eyes flicker down the the basket you're filling. You don't know if it's pointed or him doing the math. "They couldn't afford you."
The next step you take is a bit more wobbly, a knot pulling tight deep in your belly and making your coordination all loose. He watches watches you flounder. Realistically, you are very aware you are outmatched. It doesn't stop you doubling down. Your low heels click against the tile floors as you shuffle toward a perfume display. Heavy glass with powdery vanillas and sharp, full black pepper and night blooming jasmine, you are a self-fulfilling prophecy and gravitate toward only the luxe stuff. Maybe that's what ruffles you. That he's right. You take a greenish bottle and spritz it into the sensitive insides of your wrists.
"How about this one?" you say, prim, and offer it up to him. "Is it pretty�"
Taking the offer up, his nose feathers against the skin. You suppress the thrill it gives you. A moment, a beat in the air exists in intimate tranquility, before you what you're about to say. He looks up at you through his brows as the scent profile hits him. Creamy banana leaf and flirty, fruity coconut that embodied everything that you were right now. His eyes drop to your mouth only long enough for you to see that he does it. "Buy it." He surrenders to one more drag of how it melts into the heat of your skin before straightening back up. You only ever remember that you have to look up at him when he does that. "I want you to wear that when we meet."
You've always known Yeonjun was more attuned to scents than other men. It was often the first thing he'd bring up when he entered a space, but it was also something he'd whisper into your ears, voice scraping, while he was behind you. So you know what you're doing when you pout your mouth and say, "Do you think the new sugar daddy will like it, too? Should I wear it for him?"
Whatever you thought he'd do, he doesn't. A scoff, or maybe a brisk, annoyed dismissal, you'd expected. Or maybe even he'd say something. But Yeonjun just pauses. Goes blank, with no playful retort to volley back. All you know is that his dark eyes, which had been so content on an indulgent walk down downtown and a nice dinner after, go severe. Darker with no trick of the light.
He only says, "Right."
That leaves you with nothing to say. You cap the tester bottle and take a real box of the perfume. Because now, you might really need that in your favor if the way he had been drinking it down was anything to go off of. Maybe it'll soften him. Your little makeup and perfume detour ends with a whimper, not a bang, as you stand beside him in line and then watch him pull out that wallet despite it. Two bags sit on the counter waiting for you to reclaim them. Full bags. But when he thumbs his credit card and runs it, a sleek, black, metal thing with weight that speaks for itself, it goes through with a ding. You toy with the frills of your little dress to expel the mortification somewhere, or even anywhere, that isn't a rambunctious ball in your chest. You open your mouth to smooth things over a few times, but decide against it. You can't claim to have not know that it would bother him, but it's too late for that.
A weird thrill shoots down your spine at the view. His shoulders rigid and sharp from the back, holding all the things in his head right now that you can only guess at.
The final act takes place in a shop, with him leaned up against a wall that separates the changing rooms from the rest of the place into its own little dim hallway. Obnoxious lights oppress the clothing racks and shoppers from a high, warehouse-like ceiling. A pop station closes in from a speaker in the corner of your dressing room. The clothes you'd rummaged through racks for hang on a gold hook on the wall, waiting for you to stop holding your breath. Even when you finally make yourself move to drop your clothes on the glossy floor below, you're elsewhere. The way his faced dropped? Not just that, but the fact that it wasn't even anger. You don't know what it was; maybe something new that the two of you had created yourselves, or something unique to the reality of what you were to each other.
Yeonjun's knock against the door pauses you. You can almost see it, how he'd rap the backside of his knuckles, head down. His mannerisms are so vivid and branded into your psyche that you could step out right now and you're certain that it's exactly how you'd find him. "Need help?"
The center of your shoulder blades burn because you'd been contorting yourself for the past few minutes to reach the strings behind you. You take your lip into your teeth and take a look of yourself in the mirror. You look expensive. You look like all the things that Choi Yeonjun touches: taken care of. "Uhhh." A part of you wants to deny him. To play the cards that you hold in this long game. He never fails to remind you how much power you hold over him and this arrangement. Why not test the boundaries? But you know what would be sweeter than that. Wordlessly, you pull the latch with a loudness that all dressing room locks seem to have.
Then there he is. His arms are crossed, the muscles there loose but still something that you have to take your mind off, or else you might start to think how they would feel under your teeth. You rove over the slanted height of him and how he still looks tall, even when he leans his head and shoulder into the frame. His eyes rove over you, too. Not a flicker. Not a quick assessment. No. God, no. Not with him.
The latch snaps shut behind him with a barely-there gesture. Your whole stomach drops to the floor and shatters.
It's a little showy. You'll give him that. And maybe you'll also admit that you grabbed this exact dress for this exact reason. A corner of your lip wants to twitch with satisfaction, but you have a plan to see through, and it starts and ends with him groveling for you. What a sight that would be. Even just imagining it and turning the imagery of it in your head, when he's the reason you can even live this life that you do, makes you a rapt little tease. Boys your age can't do this. They couldn't be him if they tried. You're beginning to think that he was a different species of man completely.
A beat passes, and then he runs the pads of his fingertips along the hem of your dress. It ends so, so dangerously; right about where your ass folds over at the sanguine softness of your thighs. The skittering brush of contact is straight electricity, and it's the littlest touch. His eyes meet yours through the mirror. Dark. Smoldering like pure wood smoke, erupting slow like the mountains on these islands that move slow enough to watch their molten greed come, but know that you can do nothing to stop it. It's no fair how he looks at you. Your knees go just completely useless.
Yeonjun completely disregards even pretending he was going to lace that skimpy back up for you. You swallow cotton. "Is it cute?" you ask, because you have a pretty good idea of what the answer is already.
The breathy gasp when he takes the soft fat of your hips into his hands with a greed that says he'd been thinking about them since you walked into this store and while he waited patiently on the other side of the door for this. Or before even that. He tugs your bottom to the front of his jeans and says, with his voice smooth like the scotch he sips, "Of course it's beautiful, baby. Do you want it?"
"Yes," you choke out around a thick knot of anticipation. Your own face meets you, palms braced on either side of the ornate gold mirror and your reflection giving you a show of how ditzy and pathetic he makes you. "But I don't know if I should." The syllables waver toward the end and belie your coquettish act.
He laughs like a scoff while he pushes the skirt of the dress up the swell of your hips, then past it until he can devour the bend of your arch. He taught you that form. And it looks like he has no notes on your technique, either. The pressure of him testing it makes your head go dumb. "When have I ever told you no?" he rasps. "You have no idea how expensive you are, baby. No idea. Your little shopping trip would've maxed out any other man's card."
There. That's the spot. You pout your mouth at him and catch him eating it up in his reflection. "I'm expensive? Am I too expensive for you, then?"
Of course not. Look at you. Look at where you are. His card is yours and you think that it's near bottomless at this point. You don't even have to ask. Yeonjun's tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.
Your panties hit the floor in one tug. The walls of the changing room become infinitely smaller as he wraps your hair up in his fist. The ache in your scalp brings a prickle to your eyes. "Is that what you think?" he says, that polished quality wipes completely raw. He tries to sound like he's not losing his mind, but it's there if you look past the lilt. "Do I need to buy you the island? The world?" It sounds like he would. Like he will. Instead of reaching for himself, he tests between your thighs for what he knows he'll find there, because of course you're soaked. You've been soaked since Sephora.
"Uh-huh," you say, because he's flicking your clit in little tests and every time he hits the sensitive underside of it, the nerves there send your heels clattering on the marble and your legs trying to find purchase. And because, what's dignity with a man sixteen years older than you who puts money in your bank account and fucks you in high-end boutique dressing rooms?
He likes that. But he doesn't give you anything real, doesn't reward the behavior you've been prancing around him with. His palm wraps around your waist to press into your belly and steady your scrambling legs like it goes without saying. The way his fingers stretch over the soft, doughy place there, how it eats up the expanse of your waist, makes you swallow hard. "God help the next kid that gets you. What's he gonna do with you? How are you gonna manage pizzeria dates and a one-bedroom apartment when you know what you have? What I've given you?"
You can't answer. His fingers curl into you, and he wastes no time finding the spot that he knows like muscle memory. The delicate anatomy of a woman's sweet spot seems like something that just came with the package of him. He doesn't have to search, and he probably never did. Sparks explode behind your eyelids like the fireworks they had been setting off on the beach in brilliant golds and teals. If he hadn't steadied you with the strength of his palm, you'd probably be crumpling down to the floor right about now.
"Hmm?" You can hear the condescending purr on his mouth, because you don't have the strength to pry your eyes open to see it.
You mewl a sorry imitation for the word, "Yes," and go back to trying to wiggle your ass into the incessant curling of his fingers. The sounds of him fingering you makes your ears and chest flush, each inappropriate, sloppy wet noise proving how easy you are for him. "Rightâright there, please." Your head drops as the first word breaks in the air. It's really a sorry excuse for words.
He listens so well. The angle of his two middle fingers, the width of them just enough to make you crazy and the finesse of how he uses them like weapons even worse so, twitches just up. It's as though he feels it himself somewhere inside of you that he's found it, because he finds it and you know you're royally fucked from that moment on. "Good," he says. "That way I know I get to keep you. Because you'll go and you'll try other men,"âhis forearm strains with how he forgets the soreness in it to fuck you on his fingers rightâ"and you'll be right back here. In my bed. On my money. My spoiled little mess."
The thought that maybe, beyond the pleasure he gets out of knowing he could give you anything, buy you anything, dressing you up in him, he likes you this way because it means nothing else would ever fill the spot he carved doesn't occur to you. Currently because your thighs spasm and shake and it takes every working synapse in your brain firing off to digest how he fucks you so good that it's a leash in and of itself. Hopefully you'll be here when he starts going salt and pepper, because what would sex be if not this?
Your choked, scraped whimpers get too loud for him. His palm over your mouth finally has your eyes fluttering open, and the sight that greets you back is potent enough to send the same molasses through your veins as the heel of his palm grinding down on your swollen clit. "Shh, baby." He grinds harder, because he's mean. "So goddamn whiny. What a princess you are; can't take what you were begging for all night. Why act up if you're gonna tell the whole store how I'm being mean to you?"
He gets your answer in a gone, strangled sob against his palm. Your own damp breaths where it seals over your mouth makes the air thinner. Each roll of his palm forward is met with a helpless push of your ass back on him. His wrist is practically pinned between the bulge in his jeans, because of course he's affected even if he'd like to pretend otherwise, and your bottom. It doesn't stop him one bit. The private sounds that his silencing makes is better than any reckless moaning. It's almost dirtier, almost wronger.
"Gonna cum?" he rasps, watching the trashy mess your face makes in the mirror like a god exacting justice. The weeping mascara lines pooling where his hand meets your face and the drooping eyes that want to roll back into your skull, the high pink of your cheeks and how he can watch himself give you this like he give you everything fucking else. You were close, but just the question winds you up tight enough to snap. That face of his goes patronizing with a furrow of his brows. Slick rolls in hot rivulets down the insides of your trembling thighs. "That's right. There we go. You need to grind that pussy on my hand? Grind it. Go ahead and see if I'm gonna give you what you're asking for."
You try to say something. You really do. To tell him that you'll do anything for it, that he's melting your brain like butter, or god, just anything. The backs of your eyes and your throat and the pit of your stomach all prickle and go tight at once. He probably hears something unflattering come out from behind his palm, something strangled and a fie on the decorum that a place like this deserves. That mirror that you'd been depending on to keep you at least somewhat planted where he's had you bent in half goes clattering against the wall behind it because you're grasping at it like it can help you.
He stops. Just completely, unfairly, cruelly stops. His fingers come out of you a mess and you have to pretend they weren't just in you as he straightens up, swipes a thumb through your blackened cheeks, and then he doesn't touch you again. You're left gaping at yourself in the mirror and wondering with a naked dissonance, like when something heavy hits metal and leaves it ringing, what the hell you're supposed to do with the knot in your lower belly now. You almost think to just rub one out after he steps out.
Tugging his collar looser around his throat, he works his jaw and lets you change back. It all feels too tight; the frills and the way you clatter uselessly out when you've finished and the neglected pangs of throbbing, so hard that you can feel the pounding of your heartbeat all the way up in your ears. You avoid eye contact when he pays for the dress up at the register. If the flushed face and the smearing of mascara that would give you away no matter how hard you tried to wipe at your cheeks and jaw didn't give you away, maybe the buzzing in your eyes would. He makes small talk with her and takes the bag and receipt as if he wasn't just knuckle deep in you. It's the antithesis of all things fair. You have to breathe with intention as he leads the way back out onto the streets. The air is thick and salty enough to swim through. It's no help up against clammy, salty skin itself. The only thing that keeps you kinda grounded as you stumble by his shoulder, because even now he's steepled your fingers together, is the sweet scent of the palm leaves touching the sky above you. Otherwise you're swimming through the honking and the weaving between bodies and the pulse of what he did to you.
You want to dig your heels in and demand he wraps his fingers around your throat and fix it. Or make a scene so big he has to. But you just blink dumbly the whole way back to the room, because you are nowhere near as gutsy as that, and half as coherent at the moment.
The door clicks closed behind you again in a pantomime of that stuffy, unreal scene you just left behind. You kick your heels off and wait. Wait to see what he does, to see if he'll pounce on you the way you ran over a generous hundred times on the way here. Yeonjun just steps out of his own shoes, drops the new dress off on a seat, and works his watch off by the night stand. The lamp there, a low warm ambience, lights the angles of him. The way his shirt stretches over his shoulders, and how he tapers out to something thin at the waist that lingers in your mind after you fuckâhow the stretch below his navel and the dusting of hair there gives way to the V, and how that gives way to his cock. When you first had seen it, he didn't even laugh, though he could've. You'd just stared like you were torn between running away from it and testing if it was as hard and warm as it looked. No; he held your face as he told you that it was okay, that he wanted you to become so familiar with it that you could feel the exact shape and curve of it in your haziest dreams. You press your thighs together as you struggle with the strap of your heel.
A metallic sound works, and then he sets the silver-faced watch down. Then his eyes finally, for the first time since he stepped into that dressing room, meet yours. Not through any mirrors. The weight of that is entirely different.
"Bend over the bed," he says. "C'mon, baby girl. I've been going insane over this all day."
The hinges of your jaw ache. "Why?" You're stumbling over to do just that, because you're more talk than you are brazen. "So you can just stop again? I have fingers, you know. I don't need you."
And then his belt makes a noise that tells you he intends to see it through this time. Your stomach does three full flips, ass in the air like the obedient lap dog that you'd be for him a hundred times over. Because if he groomed you and petted you and you were his one, favorite girl for it? What else could you possibly need?
"Huh." The belt comes loose in a rasp, somewhere behind you now. He'd circled the bed completely. "I could. We could sit here and do that all night, if we wanted. But where would be the fun in that?" he says, and then he bends over your back and speaks into the shell of your ear, "I have about a thousand other, more creative things I'm gonna do to you, sweetheart. And trust me; I've had a lot of time to think them."
The shudder he tears from you is so visceral, it's like he'd wrapped a hand around your throat. You choke your swallow down dry and say, "Please do it, do whatever you want. I can take it."
He presses a wet, biting kiss into that spot where your pulse meets jawline. And then another that lingers against the back of your shoulder, and then he kisses his way down and straightens back up to make a mess of your outfit all over again. "I know you can," he rasps, his own voice scraped down to something needy that reflects exactly what's burning between your legs right now. You can't tell if it should feel like a good thing, but it just raises a chill on your skin. Because if the same blistering things that's inside you is inside of him right now, then you don't know what you've signed yourself up for.
"You're still on the pill?" he says, and then when you hesitate to answer he takes a handful of ass. "Sweetheart. Please."
You nod. He takes that and forgets the condom in his wallet to let a line of spit fall down over your cunt from the back. As if you weren't wet enough. You don't know if you've ever been so slick in your life, so wiggly that you whine at him to, "Hurrrrry." The glob lands at the top of yout slit and follows gravity to your clit, and he goes quiet to watch it find its place on you. He takes his proud length and strokes it once or twice to feel it twitch, to give himself a pathetic teaser for what was to come.
Then he's pounding into you until stars shoot behind your eyelids, until you're making noises that would embarrass you if they were ever caught on tape. The come from your throat, and they practically stay there, bouncing with each collision of his groin against your ass and the backs of your thighs. You eat straight comforter as he braces one arm beside your hips to cant his hips up, right into the place he had fun with teasing earlier. It's probably pretty obvious to the poor neighbors what the grinding of the headboard against the wall might be, but you're too busy getting your brains fucked away to be a considerate neighbor.
"Mfh!" you tell the bedsheets. The laugh that he pants into your shoulder blades is pure, undiluted dirtiness and heat.
"So mouthy," he croons, though he's no better off than you. Each time you flutter tight around him, his fingers dig deeper divots into your hip. "And so pretty when you're split on my cock and can't talk. Isn't that right, baby?" He bends completely over your back, and you're forced to remember through the scattered thoughts of how he looked behind you in that mirror. His body ate yours up. It didn't matter if you were taller, if you were any other way. He'd make you look tiny anyway, just like how his fingers stretch over the small of your back and how he handles you with it. "Tell me what you need. I wanna hear that mouth go."
Breathing is a thing of the past. You shove your face to one side so at least you aren't suffocating in the sheets, face such a mess that you can feel it more than the twist of your brows and the pout on your mouth. Sweat beads at your temples and hair sticks there over your flaming cheeks. "Choke me, choke me," you say. It's the dumbified words of somebody who has about five words in their current arsenal and was using all their brain power for each. You choke and sob and bite whines into the air and meet every single one of his thrusts.
He's not gonna let you ask twice. The precision of his fingers is food for your brain, thinning your windpipe just enough to twist every nudge of his tip to your cervix into something more potent and overwhelming. Your nails bite into his wrist at your neck, skull digging back into his shoulder and hips being ground into the edge of the mattress every time he strokes with mindless, carnal rhythm. "Choke you?" he almost laughs, like his hand wasn't around your throat right now. "You're full of surprises, you know that? How's that for that sweet brain, baby girl? Huh?"
Your face twists up. "Uhâuh-huh!" You can't breathe, can't think, in the best way. Lips wobbling, you pant, "I like it!"
That has his hips coming down on you in a different way. He falls over your back and drags in the scent at your neck like he's huffing something stronger than the sweet scent of sex on your skin. But it does something electric to him. His abs tighten against your spine, grinding his cock into you like he could be any deeper than this. It feels like he's up in your stomach, you brain, dressing that up just like he does to the rest of you. "Fuck." His voice crumbles into tatters. "You smell so fucking good. Like candy." He kisses at the spot that you, even in this state, recall with a jerk to be where you had sprayed that perfume. It had melted into the warm pulse there, faded down into the base notes. The kiss isn't enough. He presses his tall nose right into it and grabs at you so hard that it aches. "I'm not gonna last long, baby. God, you're getting more of this stuff. I'll buy you more before weâ" His wet forehead falls into the soft spot between your shoulders and where your nape begins, every rolling thrust like he's staving off an orgasm coming just from the olfactory sweetness of you.
You've long since raked red-hot lines down his taut forearm, but a particular tightening of his fingers at your throat and a wet slide that hits just the right spot without you having to ask sends you over like a house of cards. The arch in the very angle of your back bows back against him. The suite falls away, all of Hawaii and your agreement follows, until you're just a girl under a man who knows exactly how to play you. "I'm cumming!" you say, all but stumbling over the warning. "Help!"
You don't know what the hell you're saying, and he's off the deep end too. He throws you up the bed and digs his knees in to gain purchase and something in that scent he caught, in the thoughts that had been festering in his head all night, comes alive. He rails you right into the sheets and takes what he needs as you claw at the pillows and sheets through yours. Because with him, you're gonna cum first if he has to grit his teeth and pull out just to make sure he doesn't first.
"That's it," he growls. "That's my spoiled girl." Then his own hips stop and each stutter of them as he fucks it into you, each pant and breath into your shoulders and kiss to the back of your head, tells you that he's followed you down. As his weight smothers you into the pillows, grounding you and suffocating you until you can come down and breathe again, he makes your hair into a loose ponytail to reach the soft parts of your neck that the tangle of it hid.
His heartbeat at your back reverberates into your chest. Speaking into your face as he takes the softness of your cheeks and watches them squish under his fingers, he says, "How's that for leaving you wanting?" There's a lazy, pleased light in his eyes. What else could a man need, more than a pretty girl glowing with post-orgasmic bliss under him, in a bed he put her in, in a frilly, rumpled dress that only he could afford? Nothing. He was living the life that other men loathed him for. He nips the turn of your shoulder and says, "You were put on this Earth to test old bastards like me, huh?"
You can hardly give him an enthusiastic smile. Probably.
ash⊠#needthat like i finished this in a haze at 4am before a shift so if that tells you anything about how i was feelingâŠ
đ° Kai is just so cute ââ you can't help but be a little mean...
â â â â â â â â nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ x bully!reader (f) bullying shy!kai reader is a little very nasty kinda perv!kai meandom!reader hair pulling humiliation kink she spits his cum back onto his face blowjob not proofread
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ who ogles you in class, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets as he stares at you. bottom lip trapped between his teeth, pen gripped loosely in one hand, he's all but focusing on the lecture, completely in trance by the sight of you reapplying that sparkly gloss to your lips.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ who trails aimlessly behind you in the halls, still keep a respectable distance as to not raise any questions. but you notice, how could you not? he was being so painfully obvious. "hey, perv!" you whirl around, a sneer already plastered onto your face and kai stumbles to a halt.
â â â â "fuck are you looking at?"
he can't answer that, obviously, because how could he explain that he'd been following you to catch a glimpse of your ass in the short skirt you wear? his ears glow a bright pink when you approach, his gaze dropping to his feet to avoid your scrutinizing glare. you scoff, smacking your sticky lips together as you roll your eyes, "weirdo."
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ who offers to do your homework for you. any means to get closer to you. and you let him with a shrug, dumping your textbooks into his lap before walking away, hips swaying dangerously with each step you take. kai brings the books to his nose, trying to catch your scent on them in vain.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ stalks you on social media, phone in one hand, cock in the other â he jerks himself off roughly, swallowing down the pathetic whines building in his throat. he swipes through picture after picture, innocent ones of you holding puppies, suggestive ones of you pushing your cleavage toward the camera â those always makes him cum right away.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ who follows you like a lost puppy, your finished homework in his arms as he tries to give it to you. but you're ignoring him? he's walked behind you like a shadow for ten minutes now, trying to grab your attention and failing each time. you're leading him down vacant hallways, finally slipping inside a small storage unit â and kai goes after you without question.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ doesn't understand why you're so upset. doesn't understand why you're shoving him up against the wall roughly and jabbing a finger in his face. "who the fuck do you think you are to approach me in front of everyone like that? you fucking loser." you seethe, and kai's cock jumps in his pants at the crude words.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ can't help but get so turned on by the way you talk to him, each insult sends heat straight to his groin and he has to reach a hand down to subtly try to adjust himself. but you notice, because of course you do. eyebrows shooting high on your forehead, the confusion lasts only a moment before your expression morphs into a sinister one.
â â â â "the hell? are you hard right now?"
that only makes him whine as he nods weakly, glancing toward the closed door like he was planning a quick escape route. but you won't let him off the hook that easily. the books are shoved to the floor as you take a step closer, breath so close that it mixes with his own.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ practically melts when you first kiss him, lips parting to allow your tongue inside his mouth without thinking twice. you're mean, biting on his lip harshly, pulling a pained gasp from his throat as he tries to pull back â only to be stopped by your fingers in his hair â tugging hard.
â â â â "pathetic bitch, you wanted this all along? is that why you wanted to help me? hoping I'd suck your tiny dick?"
kai wants to tell you no, wants to shake his head and deny the blunt accusation, but he can't. his cock throbs in his pants, hips jerking forward helplessly when your fingers hover above the zipper. you scoff, pulling away from his lips, now smeared with your sparkly gloss, "fine, have it your way."
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ nearly sees stars when you take him in your mouth. the storage room is dark but he can still make out your face, peering up at him through the shadows where you kneel on the floor. your skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing more of the skin he'd been so desperate to see all this time.
â â â â "you got a real tiny dick y'know?"
your lips are still stretched wide around him, tears glistening in your eyes when you force him deeper. "you barely reach the back of my throat." for a moment he can almost believe it, and the thought alone sends a shudder through him as he chokes on a moan, hips thrusting deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag around him.
"fuck, are you trying to kill me? you loser, can't even stay still for a blowjob." and kai nods helplessly, hands grabbing at your shoulders hard enough to bruise. his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw slack as he lets himself by shamelessly loud, not caring who might hear him.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ cums embarrassingly fast, cock twitching on your tongue before forcing his load down your throat with a whine. you don't swallow, and when you pull off you rise to your feet only to spit his release back into his face.
nerd!íŽëìčŽìŽ moans at the feeling of his own arousal dripping down his chin, eyes bleary when they find yours. he doesn't move to wipe himself clean, doesn't even bother tucking his soft cock back into his pants as he stares at you with a lopsided grin. you only roll your eyes, already reapplying the gloss across your lips.
â â â â "tell anyone about this and you're dead, you hear that, perv?"
then you head out of the storage unit, slamming the door shut behind you and leaving kai a spent, blissed out mess. his gaze flickers down to the books you had forgotten to bring with you, and he scrambles to gather his bearings â then he's rushing after you a second time that day.
PART 1 -- Addressing the deceptive behavior of leejenowrld
While some of you may know @/leejenowrld for her Sunghoon and NCT fanfiction or for her controversies, there is a far more significant side to her presence in this community to bring to light.
This isn't just another 'fandom drama'. It is a (poorly) calculated pattern of identity fraud, deepfaking, and plagiarism. It isn't the first time she's gotten exposed for lying; she's gotten caught and confronted for feeding other creators' hard work into AI and publishing the results, all while denying such actions.
Well, that exact pattern of using AI to steal and deceive has escalated from stealing written work to real human faces.
More sweet information here ->
https://docs.google.com/document/d/16QnFf4_DutoEfe0Eg_9Y1YZVcDF1Eq-dRBqvMOm53P4/preview?tab=t.a6zqasp6a50t
Part 2 is to come soon <3
With a sweet dose of passion,
Passionfrxitđ·
â¶ïč goodbye august often evokes a bittersweet blend of gratitude for summer's end and anticipation for autumn's arrival OR saying goodbye to something you don't want to end while still being excited for the new beginning. ïčâĄ
your relationship with lee heeseung had been short. but god, would you remember it forever, he was leaving, back to his life, back to his home and away from you. this was your last night together, and you planned on making the most of it. ážáž
The night had settled fully over the beach, wrapping everything in a soft, velvet darkness that felt almost too gentle for the ache building inside your chest. The air was thick with the scent of salt and distant bonfires, warm and humid like a final embrace from the summer that was slipping away far too quickly.
Heeseung had carefully laid out a large, faded beach towel on the still-warm sand, its edges fluttering slightly in the light breeze that rolled in from the ocean. The waves whispered against the shore in a steady, rhythmic hush, a constant lullaby that had become the soundtrack to so many of your stolen nights together.
You sat nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm draped heavily around your waist as if he could anchor both of you here forever if he held on tightly enough. His body heat seeped through the thin fabric of your sundress, familiar and comforting in a way that made the reality of tomorrow feel cruelly distant.
Above you, the sky stretched endlessly, dotted with countless stars that shimmered like scattered diamonds against black velvet. They seemed brighter tonight, almost mocking in their permanence, witnesses to a summer romance that had burned so brightly and was now flickering toward its inevitable end.
Heeseungâs voice was low and quiet, barely louder than the waves, as he spoke into the night. His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your bare arm, sending tiny shivers dancing across your skin despite the warmth of the evening. âIâll be heading back in the morning,â he murmured, the words heavy even though youâd both been dancing around them for days. âClasses start soon. The dorms are supposed to be alright⊠nothing fancy, but Iâll make it work. And youâ youâll be back here, taking those courses in the fall, right? Getting back into your routine.â
You nodded slowly against his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt soft beneath your cheek. The motion felt mechanical, like your body was going through the motions while your heart lagged behind, tangled in the memories of sun-soaked days and moonlit confessions. This summer had been a beautiful accident, a whirlwind of laughter, late-night adventures, and touches that lingered long after the sun went down. But it was never meant to last. He had his life waiting for him, full of new beginnings and responsibilities far from this sleepy beach town, and you had yours here, rooted in the familiar rhythm of classes and quiet days. Both of you had known it from the start, whispered it between kisses and tangled sheets, but acknowledging it now, under the vast open sky, made it feel painfully final.
A tight knot formed in your throat, and before you could swallow it down, hot tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over silently at first, then with quiet, shaky breaths that betrayed you. Your vision blurred, turning the stars into soft, glowing halos, and a small, broken sound escaped your lips, something between a sigh and a sob that you couldnât hold back any longer.
Heeseung tensed beside you, his gentle tracing stopping mid-motion. He shifted carefully, turning his body toward yours so he could cup your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that tracked down your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness. His touch was warm and slightly calloused, so familiar it only made the ache sharper. âHey⊠donât cry, baby,â he whispered, his voice cracking just a little at the edges, thick with the same emotions he was trying to soothe in you. He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours, and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against the sensitive skin of your neck. âPlease.â
But the tears kept coming, quiet and unstoppable, as if your body had decided to release everything youâd been holding in. Heeseung didnât pull away. Instead, he pressed forward, his lips finding the salty trails on your cheeks one by one; soft, lingering kisses that tasted like the ocean and the bittersweet weight of goodbye.
Each press of his mouth was slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin, the way your breath hitched, the tremble in your lashes. When he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes were glistening under the starlight, reflecting the same heavy, swirling mix of love and loss that sat like a stone in your chest.
You looked at him then, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell softly across his forehead in the breeze, the depth in his eyes that had always made your heart race and ache all at once. Your chest felt tight, heavy with the kind of longing that had no easy words, the kind that came from knowing this was it. The last night. The last time youâd feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, the last time his voice would wrap around you like this, warm and close and only for you.
And god, it hurt in the most beautiful, devastating way.
Heeseungâs hands stayed gentle on your face for a long moment, his thumbs still brushing away the lingering wetness on your cheeks even as new tears threatened to fall. The starlight caught in his dark eyes, making them look deeper, more vulnerable than youâd ever seen them during the bright, carefree days of summer.
He let out a slow, steadying breath, as if gathering every ounce of strength he had left, before sliding one hand down to find yours. His fingers intertwined with yours slowly, deliberately, like he was afraid the moment might slip away if he moved too fast. The warmth of his palm pressed firmly against yours, grounding and familiar, a silent promise that he was still here, even if only for tonight.
âListen to me,â he murmured, his voice low and soothing, barely rising above the gentle crash of the waves. He squeezed your hand, bringing it up between your bodies so he could press a soft kiss to your knuckles. âWeâll find our way back to each other somehow. I know it feels impossible right now, but⊠people do it. Long distance, timing that finally lines up, things like that happen. This doesnât have to be the end. Not forever.â
You shook your head slowly, the motion heavy with the weight of reality that had been pressing down on you for weeks. The tears kept slipping free, hot and silent, as you looked at him through blurred vision. âIt wonât work, Heeseung,â you whispered, your voice cracking on his name. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you couldnât hold them back anymore. âYouâll be there, across the country, building your life, college, new friends, everything that comes with it. And Iâll always be here. Stuck in the same town, taking the same courses, living the same quiet days. We both know how this ends. Summers like this⊠they fade. People move on.â
Heeseungâs expression tightened, pain flashing across his features for a brief second before he schooled it back into something softer, more determined. He knew you were right, deep down, he felt the truth of it like a sharp ache in his chest but he couldnât let himself accept it tonight. Not when the sand was still warm beneath you, not when your hand was still in his, not when the stars were watching like they might grant one last mercy. He needed to do something, anything, to quiet the hollow feeling growing inside him, to push back against the goodbye that was already creeping closer with every passing minute.
He shifted closer on the towel, his knee brushing against yours as he leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek again. His thumb traced the line of your jaw with aching tenderness. âThen tell me,â he said softly, his breath warm against your skin. âIf this was a perfect world⊠what would you want? No distance, no schedules, no real life pulling us apart. Just⊠us. What would you want?â
You blinked at him, confusion mixing with the tears still clinging to your lashes. âHeeseung, whatââ
He shook his head gently, cutting you off with the smallest, saddest smile. His eyes never left yours, intense and pleading in the starlight. âDonât overthink it. In a perfect world⊠what would you want?â
The question hung between you, heavy and fragile all at once. You searched his face, heart pounding in your chest as the words rose up unbidden, raw and honest in a way that made your throat tighten. âYou,â you breathed, the single word slipping out like a confession. âIâd want you.â
A soft, genuine smile broke across Heeseungâs face, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and lit up his features even through the sadness. He leaned in without hesitation, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It was gentle at first, his mouth warm and careful against yours, tasting faintly of the salt air and the faint sweetness of the soda youâd shared earlier. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingled with your own, unsteady now with emotion.
You kept going, the words tumbling out quieter, more vulnerable as you clung to his hand like a lifeline. âIf it were a perfect world⊠Iâd want you to stay. Weâd get our degrees together, side by side, late nights studying in some tiny apartment with too many books and not enough space. Weâd move in together properly, not just stolen weekends, but every day. Building a life, little by little. Cooking terrible dinners, arguing over whose turn it is to do laundry, falling asleep on the couch watching stupid moviesâŠâ Your voice grew sheepish, heat rising in your cheeks even as the tears continued to fall. You hesitated, biting your lip, but the honesty of the moment pulled the rest from you. âAnd⊠Iâd want to get married. Have kids someday. A future thatâs ours, not split by miles and different lives.â
Heeseungâs breath hitched, and for a moment he simply stared at you, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears that finally spilled over, tracing silent paths down his cheeks. The sight of them, of this strong, steady boy who had spent the whole summer making you laugh and feel alive, crying because of the future youâd just painted, made your chest ache with a fresh wave of love and loss. He let out a soft, watery laugh, the sound thick with emotion as he nodded slowly, his thumb still stroking your cheek.
âYeah?â he whispered, his voice rough and trembling just a little. âWeâd get married? And have kids?â The words came out almost reverent, like he was testing how they felt on his tongue, savoring the impossible sweetness of the dream.
You nodded, a small, tearful smile breaking through despite everything, your heart swelling and breaking all at once. âYeah⊠we would.â
Heeseung didnât let the moment linger in words any longer. The second your soft âyeah we wouldâ left your lips, he closed the small distance between you again, but this time the kiss wasnât gentle or careful. It was harder, deeper, his mouth claiming yours with a sudden, urgent hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilted your head just enough to fit his lips perfectly against yours. The tenderness from moments ago burned away, replaced by something raw and desperate, like he was trying to pour every unsaid feeling, every fear of tomorrow, into this one kiss under the vast, indifferent sky.
You gasped softly against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen it immediately, his tongue brushing against yours in a slow, heated stroke that sent a rush of warmth flooding through your body. The taste of salt from your earlier tears still lingered on both your lips, mixing with the faint sweetness of the night air and the undeniable flavor of him, something uniquely Heeseung that you had come to crave all summer. He kissed you like he was starving, like this was the last meal heâd ever have, and you responded in kind, your free hand coming up to clutch at the front of his t-shirt, fingers twisting into the soft fabric as if anchoring yourself to him.
The beach towel beneath you shifted slightly as you both leaned into each other, the sand molding around your bodies while the waves continued their steady, distant rhythm, oblivious to the fire igniting between you.
The makeout quickly grew heated, messy in the most intoxicating way. Heeseungâs lips moved with increasing urgency, nipping gently at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, then diving back in for more. His breath came faster now, warm puffs against your skin whenever you parted for air, only to crash back together seconds later. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your palm where your hand rested on his chest, matching the frantic pace of your own.
One of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, holding you close, while the other began to wanderâ sliding down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your sundress, then slipping lower to grip your hip with a possessiveness that made your stomach flutter and tighten all at once. He pulled you closer, half-dragging you into his lap so your knees straddled his thighs on the oversized towel, your bodies pressing together in the warm night air.
Above you, the stars kept their silent vigil, twinkling coldly against the black velvet expanse, but neither of you cared anymore. The world had narrowed to just this: the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his chest against yours, the way his thighs felt solid and warm beneath you. Heeseung let out a low, muffled groan into the kiss when your hips shifted instinctively against him, the sound vibrating through you and sending sparks dancing along your spine. His tongue explored your mouth with thorough, hungry strokes, coaxing soft whimpers from you that he swallowed greedily.
The kiss turned sloppy, lips sliding, tongues tangling, breaths mingling in hot, desperate pants between brief gasps for air. His hand on your hip tightened, guiding you into a slow, subtle grind against him, the friction building a slow, aching heat low in your belly that made your fingers dig harder into his shoulders.
He broke the kiss for just a moment, only to trail his lips along your jaw, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck. âGod⊠you feel so good,â he murmured against your pulse point, his voice rough and husky, laced with the same bittersweet ache that had started all of this.
His teeth grazed your collarbone lightly, not enough to mark but enough to make you shiver, before he captured your lips again in another searing kiss. The night air brushed cool against your heated skin wherever his hands or mouth left you exposed, a stark contrast to the fire building between your bodies right there on the blanket under the open sky. Every touch, every slide of tongue and press of hips felt heavier tonightâ charged with the knowledge that this was it, the last time youâd taste him like this, feel him unraveling beneath you, lose yourselves in each other before the morning light forced you apart.
Your hands roamed restlessly now, one slipping under the hem of his t-shirt to trace the warm, smooth skin of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed and jumped under your fingertips. Heeseung responded with another deep groan, his hips bucking up slightly to meet yours, the evidence of his growing arousal pressing insistently against you through the thin layers of clothing. The makeout session stretched on, heated and unhurried in its desperation, as if both of you were trying to memorize every sigh, every shiver, every frantic heartbeat.
The kiss deepened further, turning into something almost frantic, as if the weight of tomorrow had finally ignited the last restraints between you. Heeseungâs mouth moved against yours with raw need, his tongue stroking deeply, claiming every sigh and whimper you gave him. His hands, no longer content to simply hold you close, began to explore with purpose. One stayed tangled in your hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you anchored to him, while the other slid slowly, deliberately down the curve of your side. His palm glided over the thin fabric of your sundress, tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip, and then lower still, mapping the shape of your body like he was committing it to memory one last time.
You shivered at the heat of his touch, even through the light material, and instinctively pressed closer, your knees tightening around his thighs as you straddled him on the oversized beach towel. The sand shifted softly beneath you, cradling your bodies in its warmth, while the distant waves provided a steady, rhythmic backdrop to the growing urgency between you. Heeseung broke the kiss with a ragged breath, his lips immediately finding the sensitive skin of your neck. He kissed a hot, open-mouthed trail along your jawline, then down the column of your throat, sucking lightly at the pulse point that fluttered wildly under his tongue. The sensation sent sparks racing straight through you, pooling low in your belly as a soft, needy sound escaped your lips.
âFuck⊠you taste so good,â he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, vibrating through you. His teeth grazed your collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make your back arch into him.
Meanwhile, his free hand continued its slow, reverent exploration of your body. He ran both palms up and down your sides, feeling the way your breath hitched with every pass, then boldly slid them higher. His thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts through the thin sundress, teasing the soft curves before he cupped them fully in his large hands. The warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric, and he gave a gentle, appreciative squeeze, his thumbs circling slowly over your nipples until they hardened under his touch.
A quiet moan slipped from you at the contact, your head tilting back slightly to give him better access to your neck. Heeseung took full advantage, lavishing attention on the delicate skin with wet kisses, soft sucks, and occasional gentle nips that left your skin tingling and flushed. His hips rocked up subtly against yours, letting you feel how hard he was already becoming beneath you, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently through his shorts. The friction, combined with the way his hands kneaded and caressed your breasts, sent waves of heat curling through your body, making your thighs tremble where they straddled him.
Not satisfied with the barrier of fabric any longer, Heeseungâs hands moved lower again, sliding down your torso until his fingers found the hem of your summer dress. He paused for the briefest second, eyes lifting to meet yours in the starlightâ dark, heavy with desire and that same aching tenderness from earlier. When you gave the smallest nod, a silent permission born of the same desperate need, he didnât hesitate. His hands slipped beneath the light fabric, palms gliding up the smooth, bare skin of your thighs. The touch was electric, warm and slightly rough from summer days spent outdoors, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. He pushed the dress higher, bunching it around your hips, exposing more of you to the warm night air and his hungry gaze.
His fingers continued their journey upward, tracing the edge of your panties before one hand boldly moved back to your breasts, this time skin-to-skin as he pushed the neckline of the dress down just enough to free them. He cupped one bare breast in his palm, the heat of his hand making you gasp, while his thumb brushed teasingly over the peaked nipple. At the same time, his lips returned to your neck, sucking a little harder now, leaving faint, temporary marks that only the two of you would know were there tomorrow. His other hand stayed under your dress, stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most, teasing without quite giving you everything yet.
The makeout had evolved into full, heated foreplay right there on the blanket under the open sky. Every touch, every kiss, every shared breath felt charged with the knowledge that this was your last nightâthe last time youâd feel his hands mapping your body like this, the last time his mouth would worship your neck and breasts, the last time youâd both lose yourselves in the heat and ache of wanting each other so badly it hurt.
Heeseungâs breathing was ragged now, his forehead occasionally pressing against your shoulder as he fought to keep some semblance of control, but his hands and mouth never stopped moving, exploring, teasing, and adoring every inch of you he could reach.
Heeseungâs hands trembled slightly with restraint as he gently guided you backward, lowering you fully onto the large beach towel spread across the warm sand. The fabric felt soft and slightly gritty beneath your back, cradling your body as the night air brushed cool against your heated skin. He followed you down without breaking contact, his body hovering over yours, knees bracketing your hips as he settled between your thighs.
His dark eyes never left your face, filled with that intoxicating mix of raw desire and aching tenderness that made your chest tighten. With one smooth motion, he bunched your sundress higher up your body, pushing the light fabric all the way to your ribs so it pooled just beneath your breasts, fully exposing your lower half to the warm summer night and his hungry gaze.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he whispered, voice rough and low, laced with sweet reverence. âBeen thinking about this all day⊠about touching you, tasting you one more time. God, I donât want to forget a single inch of you.â
His mouth followed the path his hands had started, kissing a slow, wet trail down your chest. He lingered at your breasts, lips closing around one sensitive nipple while his hand kneaded the other, sucking gently at first, then with more hunger, his tongue swirling in lazy circles that made your back arch off the towel. Soft moans spilled from your lips as he moved lower, kissing and sucking along the sensitive skin of your stomach, leaving faint red marks that bloomed under his mouth like temporary claims. Each press of his lips felt deliberate, like he was trying to brand the memory of tonight into your skin forever.
When he reached the waistband of your panties, he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the starlight. âCan I?â he asked softly, fingers already hooking into the thin fabric. At your breathless nod, he slowly slid them down your legs, tossing them aside onto the sand. He leaned back in, pressing one delicate, lingering kiss right above your navel, his lips warm and soft against your skin. The tenderness of that single kiss, right in the middle of all the heat, made your heart stutter.
Heeseung sat back on his heels for a moment, quickly shoving his own shorts and boxers down his thighs, kicking them off completely. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and he gave himself a slow stroke as he looked down at you, sprawled beneath him with your dress bunched up and your body glowing in the moonlight. âFuck, baby⊠look at you. So wet for me already. You have no idea how much I need you right now. Need to feel you around me⊠one last time.â
You reached up for him, fingers brushing his stomach as you whispered back, voice shaky with need, âThen take me, Heeseung. Please⊠I want to feel all of you. Want you inside me so bad it hurts.â
With a low groan, he positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance. He rubbed himself along your slick folds a few times, coating himself in your wetness, before slowly pushing in. The stretch was perfectâ tight, hot, and overwhelming. He slid inside you inch by inch with a sharp, broken gasp, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your walls clenched around him. âOh my god⊠so tight, so perfect,â he breathed, voice strained. âYou feel like heaven, baby. Every single time.â
Once he was fully seated, buried deep inside you, he paused, letting both of you adjust to the feeling. His hand reached down to find yours, fingers intertwining tightly as he pinned your joined hands beside your head against the towel. The simple gesture felt incredibly intimate, grounding you both in the middle of all the heat. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in hot, ragged pants.
You squeezed his hand, whispering against his lips, âMove, please⊠I need you to move. Want to feel you so deep.â
Heeseung answered with a slow, deep thrust, his hips rolling against yours in a deliberate rhythm that made stars explode behind your eyes. âLike this?â he murmured, voice sweet and filthy all at once. âWant me to fuck you slow and deep so you remember exactly how I feel inside you? So youâll still feel me tomorrow when Iâm gone?â
âYesâ ahâ yes, just like that,â you moaned, your free hand clutching at his back, nails digging lightly into his skin. âDonât stop⊠fill me up, Heeseung. Make me yours tonight.â
He groaned at your words, the sound vibrating through his chest as his pace gradually built, each thrust steady and purposeful, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips.
Heeseungâs slow, deep rhythm didnât last long. The desperation that had been simmering beneath every touch finally broke free as he shifted his grip, both hands sliding down to firmly grasp your waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh there, holding you steady against the towel as his hips snapped forward harder, slamming into you with a sudden, powerful thrust that punched the air from your lungs.
The wet sound of skin meeting skin mixed with the distant crash of waves, creating a filthy, intoxicating rhythm that echoed in the warm night air. He set a faster, rougher pace, each thrust driving him deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again with devastating accuracy.
You writhed beneath him, back arching sharply off the towel as pleasure crashed through you in heavy waves. Your sundress was still bunched uselessly around your ribs, the fabric shifting with every forceful movement of his body. âHeeseungâ fuckâ yes,â you moaned loudly, the words tumbling out broken and breathless. Your hands flew up to clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body trembled and twisted under the intensity. âJust like that⊠harder, please, you feel so good inside me. So deep⊠youâre so big.â
Heeseung groaned deeply at your praise, his eyes darkening with raw hunger as he soaked up every word like it was fuel. His thrusts grew even more relentless, hips slamming against yours with enough force to make your breasts bounce and your body jolt on the towel. The grip on your waist tightened, almost bruising in its possessiveness, as he used it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every powerful stroke.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead, his hair falling messily over his eyes, but he never slowed down. Instead, he leaned down closer, his chest brushing against yours with every thrust, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.
âShit, baby⊠keep talking,â he rasped, voice thick and strained, clearly drunk on your moans and compliments. âTell me how much you love it. Tell me how good I make you feel. I want to hear every word while I fuck you like this.â
You could barely form coherent thoughts, but the praise spilled from you anyway, fueled by the overwhelming pleasure and the aching need to give him everything tonight. âYouâre so goodâ ahâ Heeseung, youâre so fucking good,â you whimpered, your walls clenching tightly around him with every hard slam. âNo one else has ever made me feel like this⊠so full, so perfect. Donât stopâ please donât stop. I love the way you fuck me⊠love how youâre pounding into me right now. Youâre ruining me for anyone else.â
Your words seemed to flip a switch in him. He let out a low, guttural moan, his pace turning almost punishing as he drove into you harder, the sound of your bodies colliding growing louder, wetter. One hand stayed anchored on your waist while the other slid up to pin your hip down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you so he could angle his thrusts even deeper.
You writhed and twisted beneath him, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as you took everything he gave you. Your head fell back against the towel, eyes squeezing shut as stars, brighter than the ones overhead, exploded behind your eyelids with every brutal snap of his hips.
Heeseung drank it all in, his own moans mixing with yours, low and broken. He pressed his forehead against yours again, eyes half-lidded and locked on your face as he watched you fall apart under him. âThatâs it⊠fuck, youâre taking me so well,â he praised back, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. âSuch a good girl for me, writhing and moaning like this on my cock. Youâre squeezing me so tight, babyâ feels like you were made for me. I could stay buried in you forever⊠wish I could.â
The praise from both sides only fueled the fire, turning the moment into something almost overwhelming in its intensity. You continued to whimper and moan his name like a chant, praising him endlessly, telling him how amazing he felt, how no one compared, how you never wanted this to end, while Heeseung soaked up every syllable, his thrusts growing sloppier, more desperate, yet still perfectly aimed to drive you higher.
The beach towel shifted beneath you from the force of his movements, sand sticking to your skin in places, but neither of you cared. The entire world had narrowed to the heat of his body, the relentless slam of his hips, the tight grip of his hands, and the raw, aching love pouring out through every moan, every thrust, and every whispered word under the endless starry sky.
The rhythm between you grew frantic, almost desperate, as Heeseung continued slamming into you with deep, powerful strokes that left you gasping and trembling beneath him. His hands gripped your waist so tightly it bordered on bruising, using the hold to pull you back onto his cock with every brutal thrust, driving himself as deep as physically possible. Your body jolted with each hard snap of his hips, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core until it felt like you might shatter from the intensity alone.
But beneath the raw physical pleasure, something heavier was risingâ the crushing weight of tomorrow, the knowledge that this was the very last time youâd ever feel him like this. Tears began to spill from the corners of your eyes, sliding down your temples and into your hair as you writhed and arched beneath him. They werenât just from the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you so perfectly; they were from the ache in your chest, the sharp, bittersweet realization that after tonight, there would be no more stolen nights, no more warm arms around you, no more Heeseung.
âHeeseung⊠ahâ fuck, Iâm so close,â you sobbed, voice cracking as another hard thrust sent sparks exploding through your body. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him, squeezing his cock in rhythmic pulses. âI love you⊠I love you so much. Iâm gonna miss youâ god, Iâm gonna miss you so fucking much.â
Heeseungâs thrusts faltered for a split second as his own tears finally broke free. They tracked silently down his flushed cheeks, catching the starlight as he looked down at you with dark, glistening eyes full of the same devastating mix of pleasure and pain. He leaned down closer, forehead pressing against yours, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants that mingled with your own. One hand left your waist to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing away some of your tears even as his hips kept moving, harder, deeper, more urgent now, chasing the edge right alongside you.
âI love you too,â he whispered brokenly against your lips, voice thick with emotion and strain. âFuck, baby, I love you so much. I donât want to leave you⊠donât want this to end.â His words dissolved into a low, guttural moan as he slammed into you again, the angle perfect, the pace relentless. âYou feel so good⊠so tight around me. Iâm never gonna forget how you feel. Never.â
You cried harder, tears flowing freely now as the coil in your belly wound impossibly tight. Your legs shook where they were wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back as you took every powerful thrust. âI love youâ Heeseung, I love you,â you repeated like a prayer, voice trembling and hoarse. âDonât stop⊠please, Iâm so close. I need youâ need to feel you when I come.â
Heeseung groaned deeply, his tears falling onto your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there between desperate, broken words. âCome for me, baby. Let me feel you. I want to feel you fall apart around my cock one last time. I love you⊠I love you so fucking much.â
The combination of his relentless thrusts, the raw emotion pouring from both of you, and the sweet, desperate âI love youâs finally pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal waveâ intense, shattering, and all-consuming. Your back arched violently off the towel, a loud, broken cry tearing from your throat as your walls clamped down around him in powerful, rhythmic spasms. Pleasure flooded every nerve in your body, making your toes curl and your vision blur with white-hot bliss while tears continued to stream down your face. You sobbed his name over and over, âHeeseungâ Heeseung, I love you,â your body trembling and clenching around his cock as wave after wave crashed through you.
Heeseung followed right behind you, the tight, fluttering squeeze of your orgasm pulling him under. With a deep, shattered groan that sounded almost like a sob, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he came hard. His cock pulsed and throbbed deep within your walls, spilling warm, thick ropes of cum as he held you close, his tears mixing with sweat on your skin. âI love you⊠fuck, I love you,â he gasped repeatedly, voice raw and broken, his body shaking with the force of his release while he stayed buried deep, riding out every last pulse together with you.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved. Heeseung stayed collapsed over you, still inside you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as quiet sobs wracked his frame and yours. Your hands clutched at his back, holding him as tightly as you could while the stars continued their silent watch overhead and the waves whispered their unchanging lullaby. The orgasm had been intense, overwhelming, and devastatingly beautifulâ the perfect, heartbreaking end to your last night together.
