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hyukascampfire · 22 days ago

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𝖲𝖰𝖴𝖤𝖠𝖪𝖸 𝖢𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖭 연준

Yeonjun didn't know what to expect when he pulled into the makeshift carwash on your driveway. But $20 was not something easily passed up, especially not when they include you in a mini bikini.

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

chaebol!yeonjun x car washer!reader (f) 𐔌 🫧 𐦯 explicit content, dom!yeonjun & sub!reader, paid services, yeonjun is a perv & also a little handsy, reader is deliberately trying to be seductive, breast play, kissing, dry humping, yeonjun's an ass man, spanking (light), face sitting + oral (f.rec). not proofread !

彡 wc 2.4k

Yeonjun’s fingers drum against the steering wheel as he cruises down the nearly vacant street. The area, usually bustling with life, seemed eerily quiet today. But when he makes a left turn, he suddenly realizes where all the commotion has gone. — Lined up by the sidewalk are dozens of cars, all waiting in line for something he couldn’t yet see.

So naturally, Yeonjun joins. Eyes peering past the three cars in front of him, he manages to catch a glimpse of the driveway they were all longing to get into. A large sign made out of cardboard reads, ‘Get Soaked!’ Yeonjun’s lip twitches, hands curling a little tighter around the wheel as he settles back against the leather seat.

Why not?

The line is atrociously long — moving at a snail's pace with each car pulling up and out of the driveway. Then finally, after what seems like hours of wait. There’s a mere two cars ahead of him. By now he’s got a damn near perfect view of the girls working. All dressed in skimpy bikin’s, drenched head to toe in water and soap.

His eyes lingers on one of them, carrying a heavy bucket filled to the brim with a sudsy concoction. You stumble toward the car, flashing the guy in the driver’s seat a smile before pouring it all over his windshield. What little is left in the bucket, you tilt back to yourself, letting it pour down your chest as you grab a sponge.

Yeonjun swallows, eyes stuck to the shorts you wore, clinging to your skin like a second layer. He shamelessly ogles you, trailing your figure with each step you take — gaze glued to the curve of your ass when you bend over the hood of the car.

Another twenty minutes later and it’s finally his turn. His car pulls into the driveway, tires coming to a screeching stop on the concrete. He sees you, skin glistening under the hot summer sun. Your back is turned to him, your attention diverted to the other girls. The conversation between you is muffled, but then you turn on your heel — and Yeonjun’s breath catches in his throat.

Rolling his window down, he can barely contain his smirk as you approach, bending down to rest your elbows on the window sill, the scent of vanilla perfume invading his senses. “Looks like you’re our last customer for the day”, you say, your voice a sultry drawl.

Yeonjun chuckles, “Lucky me.”

You send him a half-smile, nodding toward the rest of the girls. “The others are gonna get to cleaning up, so it’ll be just you and me. Hope that’s alright.” Yeonjun’s gaze flickers between you and the remaining girls a few yards away. The thought of getting you to yourself, he could not be more pleased, “That’ll be perfect.”

He pays you in cash, and you accept the money gratefully as you shove it in the back pocket of your shorts. Then you get to work, pouring a bucket full of water and soap — making it run down his already spotless windshield before you begin cleaning. Your hands move slowly, sponge squeezed between your fingers as you lean over the hood of his car.

Relaxing back against the driver’s seat, Yeonjun is given a perfect view of your tits as they damn near spill out of your ridiculously small bikini. He licks his lips, adjusting himself in his pants as he tries to ignore the way he’d been aching for a taste since he’d first laid eyes on you.

You catch his longing glances, how could you not? And fuck, the smile you send him back makes him reconsider his morals for a brief moment.

You’re practically draped over the hood of his car at this point, one leg swung over the shiny surface. Back arched just perfectly when you sit back to squeeze the excess soap on the sponge all over your chest. The soap suds trail down your wet skin, taunting in the way they caress every part of your body, some slipping all the way down your stomach and past the waistband of your shorts.

Yeonjun tears his gaze away when you slide off and walk over to fetch another bucket, biting back a strained groan as he wonders what had compelled him to pull into the long line in the first place. But his gaze quickly finds its way back to you, watching with barely contained desire as you bend down to pour more soap in the bucket.

The last bit of his restraint snaps when you lean back up, moving in a way that made him pray the neighbors kept their kids inside. Without thinking twice he leans out of the window, his voice betraying how worked up he already was. “Hey, you do any detail work?”

With a slightly puzzled expression, you turn back to him — like you were making sure he was actually talking to you. “I…” You re-approach his car, stopping by his rolled down window. Yeonjun can sense the hesitation radiating off of you and before you can get another word in he blurts out, “I’ll pay double.” The proposal surprising even himself.

You bite your bottom lip at the offer, eyes darting toward the house where your friends waited for you to finish up. Then your attention returns to him, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “Alright”, you say as you extend an open palm — and Yeonjun’s already reaching for his wallet.

The leather of the passenger seat becomes soaked the second your wet body slides inside, but Yeonjun could hardly care. His gaze follows your every move. He can tell that you don’t know what you’re doing, hand sliding over the instrumental panel with a damp towel carefully — your posture a lot less provocative than it had been five minutes ago.

“So, you doing this for charity or something?” He asks, fingers trailing along the side of your arm absentmindedly. You blink twice at the question, clearly caught off guard by his advances. The quiet stutter of your breath makes him smirk. — “Yeah… Something like that”, you mumble, your attention not straying from the rug in your hand.

Yeonjun hums, but doesn’t pull away, instead his fingers inch higher until they’re toying with the strap of your bikini. You tense under his touch, audibly swallowing as you clear your throat. “Is there anything else that needs attention?” You wonder as you glance around the spotless inside of his car. Anyone could see that the vehicle was hardly in need of any touch ups.

Tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek, Yeonjun weighs his options for a moment. “Yeah”, he then says as he shifts in his seat, hand patting his lap, “Right here.”

Your reaction was everything he’d expected. Jaw slacked and brows raised high on your forehead as you searched his face for any hint of a joke. But what he hadn’t expected was for you to comply almost right away — wet legs maneuvering over the gearbox as you settle on his spread thighs.

Yeonjun bites back a snide remark when your hands find his shoulders, instead diverting his attention to your chest — mere inches from his face. Your skin is still damp, and Yeonjun bets he’d taste soap if he leans forward to lick the curve of your breast right now. He holds off though, fingers brushing against your jaw as he peers up at you with lustful eyes.

“You gonna pay me triple for this?” You ask, head tilted to the side as a small smirk plays on your face.

“Depends.”

You frown, “On what?”

Yeonjun’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, the motion slow and deliberate. “If I’m happy with your services.”

He leans forward, hand sliding down to grip your chin as he connects you both in a kiss. You respond almost right away, arms wrapping around his neck when you slip your tongue in his mouth. He keeps you close, refusing to break away from the moment of intimacy as he exhales against your lips.

When you grind your hips down on his clothed erection, Yeonjun can’t help but groan as his hands begin to wander. He feels every part of your exposed skin, fingers squeezing around your waist before trailing to your back as he finds the string holding your bikini top together. “Off”, he grunts into the kiss, sighing when you reach behind to undo the elastic.

He leans back to give you room, watching with intent as you slide the skimpy piece of clothing off — eyes immediately going to your hard nipples. He takes one in his mouth, doesn't bother asking as his fingers pinch the other one. The ragged moan he pulls from you is enough to tell him you want this just as bad as he does.

Tongue swirling over the expanse of your breast, he can taste the salty essence of soap on you — images of you pouring that bucket all over yourself flashing before him. His teeth drag along your skin, and Yeonjun fights the urge to not just sink them down as hard as he can, longing to hear you whine under him.

Your back bumps against the steering wheel, sending off the car horn as it echoes through the neighborhood. He feels you tense against him, your head snapping over your shoulder for any sign of your friends.

Straightening back up, Yeonjun pulls his mouth off your tits as his hand grabs your face — turning you back to him and forcing your lips to meet in another kiss.

“Fucking car’s too small”, he gruffly mutters under his breath, fingers fumbling for the button that would send the seat flying backward. When it does, you yelp in surprise, clinging on to him even harder.

The new position allows you to grind against him with more ease, your initial shock quickly subsiding into pleasure. Yeonjun’s hands roam your body, finally getting a handful of the ass he’d been staring at for so long. Fingers digging into your flesh under the pathetically small shorts, he pushes you down on him, groaning at the way you slid against his throbbing cock.

Suddenly the layers of damp clothes seemed like an ocean separating you, and Yeonjun impatiently began tugging on the wet material that hugged your ass. Quickly catching on, you reach down to undo the small button holding everything in place, allowing him to yank the useless shorts down in one go.

His eyes widen when his hands return to your ass, only to be met with bare skin. “Fuck, you’re not wearing any panties.” He murmurs, the statement followed by your sweet giggle as you nod against his neck, still grinding against his pants.

Yeonjun wastes no time in tugging you forward, making you squeal as you hold on to him. “Sit on my face”, he instructs to which you still against him. Head lifting from the crook of his neck, you send him a confused glance. Giving your ass an impatient slap, Yeonjun huffs, “Come on.”

You swallow before hurriedly complying, crawling along his sprawled out body. Knees sinking into the leather of the seat either side of his face, Yeonjun is given the perfect view of your exposed cunt, just as wet as the rest of you. His hands claw at your thighs, urging you close. “Sit”, he rasps, the command coming out more of a plea than anything else.

Doing as he says, you carefully allow yourself to sink down on his waiting face. Yeonjun practically moans at the feeling of you pressed against him, mouth open as he tries to swallow you whole in one go. You squirm when his tongue drags across your fluttering hole all the way to your clit, swirling around it a handful of times as he draws you closer.

Fuck, you taste amazing.

His hands return to your ass, kneading the soft flesh there as he devours your cunt. Above him, you whine, thighs trembling around his head as you fight to stay upright.

Yeonjun momentarily diverts his attention from your clit, instead working on pushing his tongue as deep inside of you as he possibly could. His eyes, previously closed as he focused on the sensations of you on his face, fluttered open when he hears you moan above him. You look absolutely divine like this, choked up by the simple touch of his tongue.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and Yeonjun swears he could’ve cum right there and then. You send him that same smile you had earlier, the one that made him ache for more, hips arching up into nothing as he grips your ass harder.

His brows furrow when he feels you clench around his tongue, your hips have begun moving on top of his face — clit hitting the bridge of his nose each time. “You gonna cum on my face?” He murmurs, the words muffled against your cunt. You nod, just barely uttering a breathless ‘uh-huh’.

The slap he delivers to your ass echoes throughout the car, making you whine. “Words”, he says in one short breath. He hears you gasp, thighs clenching around his head when you mumble out a quiet, “Please.”

Yeonjun smirks against your cunt, satisfied with your answer, his tongue moves back to tease your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to have you writhing on top of him, moans and pleas spilling from your lips when you finish. He drinks up every drop of it, mouth greedily moving against your spasming cunt like a man starved — desperate to satiate his cravings.

It’s not until he can barely breathe that he pulls back, chin and lips smothered in your arousal as he peers up at you. Your chest is heaving and your forehead is covered in a sheen layer of sweat. “Well?” You pant as you meet his gaze.

Yeonjun licks his lips, savoring the remnants of you. His hands give your ass a firm squeeze, “You’ll get the triple.”

With an amused giggle you carefully slide back down his chest, settling on top of his thighs as your fingers trail along the waistband of his pants. Toying with his belt, you send him that same fucking smile, “How about quadruple?”

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#okay so yes #it’s everywhere #ME AND HIM RAWDOGGING IN THAT CAR SOAP EVERYWHERE #lord have merthy #beomiracles strikes again

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hyukascampfire · 22 days ago

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candy floss

dentist!soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: the one where you love to tease your dentist. wc: 3.2k ✶ warnings: nsfw! oral (m!rec), shy but dom!soobin, oral fixation, throat fucking, finger sucking, choking, deep throating, cumeating, spit mention, semipublic? they do all this in his office space but doors are closed, mentions of dentistry and whatnot also soobin wears gloves, reader had tooth gems, ummm i think thats it sorry if i forgot any ><

an: hi so ive had this in my head for so long i dont know if i got it exactly how i imagined it but yeah >< also why am i only ever writing oral m!rec for soobin??? and why am i not upset bc if im so honest i need that badly-

[m.list] [summer collection m.list]

The last time you had been in the chair to get your cleaning done, you had gone straight downtown to get the little gems glued to your teeth. You hadn't brought it up with your dentist, not that you thought they would mind, the receptionist had been keen on telling you just how well they suited your lip gloss smile.

The little enhancement had done exactly what you had wanted it to do, bringing you attention to your lips, your mouth as you laughed. For a while, it had been hard to confess how eager you were to keep anything in your mouth, the fixation taking on a life of its own in the form of lollipops. They had brought attention, the kind that made your skin heat and your mouth water.

But when you didn't find the sweet treat on your tongue, you needed some kind of distraction, something to trace over when you were bored so that you didn't just end up chewing gum right before bed again and again. And the little gems had helped, kept you distracted, and they just so happened to look cute. Although they didn't keep you from the lollipops or the gum, because even sitting there in the chair waiting for your dentist to come in, you blew a pink bubble.

It was how soobin had walked in on you, sitting back in the navy blue chair all done up in pink, popping your gum, the candy never sticking to your lips when they were so glossed and sparkly, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the hem of your skirt. The angle of the chair had made the jean fabric bunch up around your thighs, creasing until he was sure anyone standing in front of you would have been able to see right up it.

The sight had made him stutter in his step, in his words, “n-no gum, miss,” he had checked your chart, once, twice over, the film of your dental x-rays giving little away about what he should have expected when he walked in. its not like its the first time hes had you in his chair, and hes sure it wont be the last but he never got over the fact that you were real, as if your chart had been a lie, replaced for someone elses just to tease him.

“Sorry, I always forget someone else has to check me out after my cleaning,” you mutter, giving a shy smile. You had done it so often, shoving a piece of gum into your mouth the second the room was empty, as if you didn't know the rules already.

“It's okay,” the words come out more of a breath now that he has your attention, undivided because of the small, intimate room of the office. Even the little TV usually playing the news or some cooking show had been left off, reflecting just you and him in the black of the screen.

He rushes to get you a cup to toss the gum into for the trash, and instead of taking it into your own hands, he watches as you slide the gum between your teeth, holding it in place like you're waiting for him to bring it closer to your mouth to spit. And he doesn't even question it as he does exactly what you want, lets his hand draw close until you drop the gum into the cup from your tongue.

You loved to play with him, you did it every time, as if he were something you could twist on the end of your finger, as malleable and elastic as the gum you spat out for him, “you know I'd just swallow it if you weren't always so nice to give me the cup,”

The blush on his cheeks is hot and instant; he doesn't even have his mask on yet, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he feels your stare burn into him like a warning. He had been working for several years, moving up from a hygienist to a regular dentist who just comes in at the end of the visit to make sure nothing was missed. It's exactly what he was supposed to do now, look over the work his hygienist had done during your cleaning and sign you out, and yet he's frozen like he's never worked a day in his life.

All because of that smile you kept trained on him.

He had seen tons of women in his chair and kept it professional without even thinking twice, and you, in a second, had twisted his insides and made him blush over a bit of gum and lip gloss. Never had he rushed to turn away like he was caught looking where he shouldn't have, as if his job wasn't looking at people's mouths, their smiles. You had always been the one to do it for him, made him second guess every step he made. teetering on the line of wanting to rush you out as soon as possible and keep you right there in his chair, looking up at him under your lashes.

But he was quick to look away, reaching for his gloves and mask to distract himself with a simple, monotonous task that would help regulate his emotions and make him feel less like a perv. Because that's exactly how he felt, like a boy who had walked in on his crush changing. Panic and arousal building up in a deadly cocktail of shame.

“Okay so you’ve already been cleared of cavities but just to double check, we'll do a quick look around, ill touch up anything the hygienist missed and we can send you back on your way,” he felt like he was walking himself through a reminder, his fingers slipping into the latex free gloves, the material slapping against his wrist before he pulled his mask into place under the weight of his glasses.

“I know the drill, you act like it's my first rodeo.” You lean back, lying out on the seat while soobin adjusts the light, bringing it down closer to your mouth. The gloss on your lips shines anew, and you know it brings soobins eyes right back in.

It wasn't as if you didn't know the effect you had on him, the way he had to readjust himself on the little stool next to you, his blush spreading all the way to his ears, his hands always taking a moment to calm their tremble after you teased him. You enjoyed the attention, and the tension built up after every visit you had.

And it never got any easier for him to have you in his chair, not when he asked you to open your mouth and you listened so well. But you never opened wide enough, not on the first go, not until he placed a gentle finger on your jaw and asked you, “wider,”

You would follow his instructions, and he would stick his finger into your mouth, run the digit along your bottom teeth, trace the ridges of your back molars like he had them memorized. And he might as well have. He fantasized about your mouth, not necessarily your teeth, but the way your lips had once wrapped around his gloved fingers. It had shocked him then, shaken him into thinking about acting professionally because he needed something to focus on instead of the way your lip gloss had made a shiny ring around his fingers, or how plush your lips had looked wrapped around anything at all.

He would dream about how you had flattened your tongue, how you would have let him keep his hand right there without a word because you had given him a look he never got out of his mind. And when he had stuttered an apology, you had only chuckled as if it was fun to toy with him.

Now he let his finger trace along your front teeth, the colorful gems. “Pretty,” it's the only word he could get out, his throat tight when you run your tongue over the spot he had just touched.

“You like them? I thought about you when I got them done,” you bit your bottom lip. It wasn't a lie, you had thought about soobin often, more than anyone should truly think about their dentist, but the way he acted around you only made you think about him more.

The first visit had been a lot of blushing and stumbling around, all the same things he found himself unable to conceal. But he was cute, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins running up his arms as he tugged on his gloves, his pants getting so tight when you laid your tongue out flat for him when he asked you to open your mouth. It was so easy to tease him, almost as easy as it was for you to decide you loved the reactions he gave when you pushed the buttons he left so easily on display around you.

“Of me?” he pointed at his chest like he was surprised, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You didn't need to see his mouth to know the words left him a bit dumbfounded. Because as much as you tried to make it known that you wanted him past the appointment, he never seemed to take your bait.

“Of course, I think about you a lot, especially when I have something in my mouth.” Just at the mention, he looked to your lips, the way they grinned from him, so coy it might as well rip him into pieces. He knows now that if anyone walked in, he was technically doing his job, but if they looked any further, they would see the way he was fighting back the pressure in his slacks. “You don't think about me, I'm sure, you have so many clients…”

“Of course I think about you-” he said it in a rush, as if he needed to prove himself, jumping to please you when you pouted over thinking of him thinking about anyone else besides you. But it was the truth, he had thought about you and you alone, the only client he thought about so often it hurt. He felt the ache of your memory every time he imagined someone under him and even more so when he imagined someone sucking him off.

He could almost picture your lips exactly as they were now, glossy and plush enough to pull him into a kiss with just a grin. He imagined the way they would look wrapped around him, imagined the way your eyes would water for him. Imagined how if he had looked into your mouth after having you exactly the way he wanted you, he would have surely left a bruise on your soft palette because when he thought of you, he never thought of being slow and sweet.

“Really?” Your hands twisted in your mini skirt, the fabric bunched up just enough now that he could see the flash of your pink panties, like you were begging him to look. “How often do you think about me?”

This was dangerous, he knew he shouldn’t play this way with you, knew it because he had thought of all the ways he could have you right on this very chair, thought about how he wouldnt be able to keep himself quite, not after one night of him fucking into his fist, lubed with his own spit, and moaning out the your name like he was asking for forgiveness. “Enough to know I shouldn't,”

Even that seemed like too much to give you, and he was right because you would make a mile out of an inch. He could see it in your eyes, see the way you looked down at his belt. “I could help with that, I'm sure once would get it out of our system,”

Fire, he could feel it slipping over him, his hands felt suddenly too empty, his body too exposed under your line of sight, and he couldn't deny it any longer when he had all but confessed to thinking about you when he shouldn't be. “I shouldn't-”

“But do you want to?” You tested the waters, your fingertips just brushing over his knee, his leg jumping inward, creating enough pressure against the bulge in his pants to make him whine.

It's an involuntary sound, the kind he only lets slip when he's at home with his eyes closed and he's imagining you, your mouth. And soobin had never claimed to be anything but a weak man; he doesn't even notice he's nodding until his hair is in his eyes, the loose strands making him blink back to the reality of the situation he's found himself in. “I can't- I'll be loud-”

You pout, a full bottom lip kind of pout that makes everything he had been considering denying impossible to turn away from. He had kept himself from thinking more for so long; every teasing visit, every lingering touch, every held look that passed over the line between work and intimacy. It made him ache to say no, and it ripped him apart to see your mouth any less full of him. “Fuck it,”

He tugs his mask off, gloves breaking with his harsh pull when he peels them off. You almost can't believe you've gotten him to cave, at least not until you're watching him loosening his belt and you're falling to your knees on the cold linoleum floor. You eagerly reach up to help him with his zipper, the sound of it mixing with the inhale Soobin took when feeling your hands so close to where he had dreamt.

For a long time you had imagined what it would be like to suck him off right in this very office, how big he would be, how fast he would finish, how long he’d let you keep him in your mouth. You had only just pulled the fabric of his pants down for them to rest low on his hips, the waistband of his Calvin Klein briefs clinging to him, when he stopped you, his hand cupping along the back of your skull, forcing you to look right up at him from where you were on your knees.

With his free hand, he pressed his thumb against your bottom lip and muttered, “Open,” the command echoing around you, his eyes trapping you below him as he looked down his nose at you. Without contest, you let your lips fall open for his fingers, the two slim digits followed by the second demand, “Wider,”

Without him asking, you flattened your tongue, letting him lay his fingers, still tasting of power from the gloves, against the space you had made for him. “Wider still, I might be a lot for you to fit,” he said it not in a proud way but as a warning, as if he was worried he might make your jaw sore, but it only made your mouth water, your body eager to have him in any way that you could.

He didn't even wait for you to listen to him this time; his hand holding your head pushed you forward on his fingers, letting them slide along your tongue as if testing the space he would soon fill. “Suck,” you closed your mouth, sucking and taking the length as he guided your movements, your tongue swirling as you blinked up at him and his half-shocked expression on his face.

You were so obedient, clenching your thighs, wet from nothing but having your mouth fucked by his fingers. Standing there, he could have forgotten himself if not for the way you whimpered, your hands reaching out for his thighs, nails digging into him like a plea for more.

When he pulled his fingers from your mouth, he placed them on his own tongue, tasting you as if he had pulled them from between your legs. And when you finally pulled him from his pants, he bit back a moan at the pressure you applied right at the base of him. It took so much of him not to use the hand he had on the back of your head to rush the process, to push you right down on him and lose control in the warmth of you.

His knees felt hollow the second your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the precum building up, your greedy, glossy-lipped smile biting into his resolve.

You leaned in, lips ghosting over his delicate skin, one hand holding him in place, the other circling his tip, as you kissed along his veins before licking a single stripe up the trail you had just created, your strawberry lip gloss making him taste sweet.

It was enough teasing for him because any more and he wouldn't be able to catch his breath, wouldn't be able to keep himself from embarrassment. The second your mouth was around him, he pushed you down, the warmth of your mouth making him groan low in his throat, the sound so hard to contain when it came from somewhere so deep inside of himself.

You sucked, the wetness of your mouth coating him when you tried to pull away, your hand pumping what didn't make it back between your lips. You blinked up at him, his mind foggy around the sight, his stomach twisting with a familiar pleasure he had never felt so fast before. Your cheeks hollowed around him until he was holding in his whimpers. And when you moaned around him at the sight of just how disheveled he was, he couldn't stop himself from pushing you farther down his cock without remorse.

He could feel the weak yelp echoing in your mouth at the shock of the movement, soon turning into a reverberating moan that raced up his spine and down his thighs, clenching and struggling to keep him upright at a time like this. You let him guide your head, let yourself relax your jaw enough for him to use you as he wished, because as soon as he felt himself slip down your throat, he was a goner.

It was enough to nearly make you gag, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, spilling and ruining your makeup, spit gathering on your bottom lip until it was a mess along your chin. He used both hands now, hips fucking into your mouth while he held you steady, while you took all he had to give you.

Glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, he clenched his eyes, the pressure in his gut tightening as you moaned, his stomach and balls clenching before he gasped out spilling streams of his cum onto your tongue without stopping his sloppy thrusts.

When he pulled away, you hardly had time to catch your breath, your lips a mess of spit, cum, and lip gloss. Lashes heavy with tears, you blinked up at him, his cock still hard between you two, the tip connected to your bottom lip with a fine thread of saliva, broken when he bent and cupped your throat in his grasp.

You clawed at his forearm, nails digging in as you tried to find yourself in the hazy, lust-filled cloud you had found yourself. His palm a welcome weight with just the right amount of pressure against your windpipe as he muttered, “swallow,” and he felt the action in his hand as you did exactly as he said. Soobin let his grip loosen enough to catch your jaw, pulling you into a messy kiss, tasting of strawberries and salt.

taglist 🏷: want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! @taegyutomorrow @izzyy-stuff , @felixleftchickennugget @filmsbyun @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @dawngyu @heesmiles @hyukascampfire @bamgyuuuri @xylatox @lickingan0rchid @no1likemybbgcharlie @demidelulu @boba-beom @bloomri @tyunningism @candigyu @soobabby

#yeah #heh…um…yeah #this just changed my heart toward dentist fics like i didnt think the concept could be sexy but i guess the combo of cam and soobin does it #But you never opened wide enough not on the first go not until he placed a gentle finger on your jaw and asked you “wider”#shut up no u can’t do that #and then him sayinf it again when she sucked him off YES GODDD

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hyukascampfire · 22 days ago

Text

﹒✶﹒ BREATH OF FRESH AIR 　⸝⸝⸝　

𝓘N 𝓦HICH y𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖢𝖯𝖱 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝖾𝖺-𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖸𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇’𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌-𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𖥔﹒ (🌊) . . . 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽!yeonjun & 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ⸝⸝ ︵ word cnt . . . 5000 ── smut mdni , cpr lessons , bimbo reader? she's trying to get his attention, mean yeonjun, choking, he spits in her mouth, he calls her a whore, etc. the first in my txt summer collection.

ヾ RAIN'S MIC IS ON : this first fic to my txt summer collections!! i hope you guys like this one :3

You’ve never had a medical emergency in your life; not unless you count that one time you chipped a nail opening a can of diet cola, but suddenly, on this particular Thursday morning, you’re convinced that knowing CPR is a life necessity. Which is exactly why you're peeling into the sun-bleached parking lot of Anchor–Crest Community Pool in your bright red convertible, top down, music blasting, and heart fluttering like a seagull caught in a beachy breeze. Beside you, Yunjin is wearing the same expression she wore when you convinced her to fake an allergic reaction in 9th grade just to get the school nurse’s hot nephew to carry you to the nurse's office. “What’s the lesson plan again?” she asks, popping her gum. She’s wearing her cat-eye sunglasses even though it’s not that sunny yet. She always commits to a bit.

You check yourself in the mirror, lip gloss shimmering like a tide pool, hair tossed by the wind in the kind of messy-chic way that only comes with irresponsible driving and good genetics. “Mouth-to-mouth,” you say dramatically, blowing a kiss to your reflection. “Chest compressions. Basic lifesaving. Heavy flirting.” She laughs, then scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.” You turn off the ignition and toss your tote bag over one shoulder, the one with your sticker-covered stanley cup, a hot pink journal filled with beach doodles and dramatic daydreams, and a cherry-flavored chapstick you plan on applying exactly thirty seconds before the lesson begins.

“I just believe in preparedness,” you say, sashaying out of the car like you’re walking a slow-motion runway. “And Yeonjun could save me any day. Did you see that picture of him carrying three kids and a boogie board?”

“The boogie board really sealed the deal for me,” Yunjin deadpans, trailing behind you as you make your way to the pool deck. Every girl in town has been talking about him. The new guy. The lifeguard. The walking heatwave who transferred from some fancy coastal rescue program in the city. Rumor is he used to model wetsuits. Like, professionally. Some say he’s a part-time EMT, or even a famous idol who is bored. Others say he only eats protein bars and speaks fluent Korean. You haven’t confirmed any of it. But what you do know is that his name is Yeonjun, and that name alone makes your stomach do the Macarena. And this morning? You’ve got a one-on-one CPR class booked with him. The pool is quiet when you arrive, early, obviously, fashionably but responsibly early, the water glimmering in lazy ripples and the air smelling like sunscreen and chlorine and mid-July possibility. You spot him instantly.

He’s at the far end of the pool, bent over slightly to arrange some CPR dummies on a towel, and wow, the rumors didn’t even do him justice. His hair is pushed back like he just came out of the ocean, sun catching in the strands. His tank top reads Certified to Save and it hangs just loose enough to show the sculpted curve of his arm. He looks like the cover of a romance novel and a Baywatch reboot had a baby. Yunjin whispers, “Girl. You’re gonna need CPR from CPR.”

You don’t respond because you’re too busy pretending to casually fix your top, even though there’s nothing wrong with it. You're trying to remember everything you read online about the recovery position and how to fake a faint without actually breaking a wrist. Yeonjun finally looks up. Smiles. Waves. It’s slow. Confident. Charismatic. You’re not even sure if you’re walking anymore or floating. “Hi,” he calls out. His voice is deeper than you expected, smooth, easy, a little gravelly like he’s used to speaking over crashing waves. “You must be my first student today.”

You beam and step forward, practically strutting. “That’s me.�� Then, with a dramatic sigh and a flutter of lashes: “I just really wanted to learn how to save lives.” Yunjin snorts. You elbow her gently. Yeonjun grins, oblivious or pretending to be. “That’s great. CPR is an essential skill, you know. Could be the difference between life and death.”

You nod solemnly, very serious, very concerned. “Mmm. Life and death. So important. Especially if someone, like, I don’t know, me, were to suddenly… collapse.”

“Oh no,” he plays along, folding his arms, muscles flexing under tan skin. “Well, I guess we’d better start with the rescue breaths then.” You glance at the CPR dummy and frown. “Do we have to use that? It’s not very… lifelike.” Yunjin is absolutely cackling now, but you’re too far in. The scene is set. The water is glistening. Yeonjun’s laughing too, not mocking, just amused, a little charmed, maybe even flattered.

This is going to be a very educational class. And you’re planning on being an honors student. Yunjin doesn’t say goodbye with words, she never does when she knows you’re scheming. She just lifts her sunglasses with two fingers and gives you the look. The one that says: Be good, but not too good. She mouths, “Don’t die,” with a wink and turns on her heel, her beach tote swinging behind her like punctuation.

You watch her disappear through the gates, and just like that, it’s you and Yeonjun. Alone. He claps his hands once, cheerful and efficient. “Alright,” he says, his tone sliding somewhere between charming and clinical. “Let’s get started.” You nod, reaching into your tote with an exaggerated rustle. Your fingers close around your lip gloss, strawberry shimmer, of course, and you twist it open with practiced ease. You glide it across your mouth slow, deliberate, a little theatrical. Not too much, but enough. Just enough to catch the light when you smile. Yeonjun pretends not to notice, but you’re no amateur. You catch the flicker of his eyes, the brief pause in his movement.

He kneels beside the CPR dummy, back straight, posture perfect. “Have you ever done CPR before?” he asks, glancing up at you through long lashes. “Not officially,” you say, lowering yourself to your knees across from him. You’re careful with the angle, making sure the neckline of your tank top shifts just right, just enough to suggest you didn’t plan it (you absolutely did). “But I have seen a lot of medical dramas. Does that count?”

He chuckles, low and warm. “We’ll count it as emotional preparation.” The heat of the sun clings to your skin as he walks you through the basics. Hand placement, compression depth, breath ratio, it all becomes background noise to the quiet hum of his presence beside you. He’s focused, explaining everything with calm precision, but you notice his hands, large, tanned, calloused, move with such ease it’s almost hypnotic. You’re trying very hard to listen. Really, you are. But the way his voice drops when he talks about rescue breath intervals and the way he says circulation like it’s a promise is deeply distracting.

“Here,” he says, scooting closer until your knees are almost touching. “Let me show you the correct form.” You lean over the dummy obediently, back arched just enough. Hands stacked the way he showed you, elbows locked. But before you can even press down, his hands, large, steady, slip gently around your waist. “Your posture’s off,” he murmurs. “Here, let me…” His fingers adjust your hips, soft but sure, and your breath catches for a second, just long enough for your heart to stutter in your chest. The heat of his palms lingers on your waist even after he pulls away, and you swear you can still feel the ghost of his touch.

“Better?” you ask, tilting your head with a sugar-sweet smile.

His eyes flicker, just briefly; down your body. Then back to your face, smooth and unreadable. “Much,” he says. But his voice is rougher now, slightly. Barely. You press down on the dummy like he showed you, but your mind is elsewhere, spinning with the way his gaze lingers, the barely-there glance at the hollow of your throat, the slope of your chest. He’s trying to be professional. You’re not trying at all.

“You’re a really good teacher,” you say, feigning innocence as you lean in closer. “Very… hands-on.” Your words are sultry, smooth.

Yeonjun clears his throat. “It’s important to be accurate. Lives depend on this stuff.”

You bat your lashes. “Of course. I’m taking it very seriously.” He smiles — this slow, crooked thing that makes your stomach somersault. “I can tell.” There’s a beat of silence, the kind that stretches in the sun like lazy waves, warm and anticipatory. You wonder what it would feel like to be rescued by him, not in theory, not on a plastic dummy, but for real. Like if your heart stopped just from looking at him too long and he had to bring you back to life with nothing but his hands and his mouth.

He breaks the silence, finally, leaning back on his heels. “You’re a natural.”

You grin. “Maybe I just have the right motivation.” His eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker there, a pause, a question, something that tastes like trouble and sunscreen and the start of something warm But then he stands, brushing off his shorts like nothing happened. “Alright,” he says lightly. “Let’s move on to the next technique.”

“Alright,” Yeonjun says, exhaling with a faint grin as he crouches back down beside the dummy. “Let’s move on to mouth-to-mouth.” Your breath hitches, just for a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse trip. Mouth-to-mouth. You drop to your knees beside him again, the concrete warm beneath you, your heart thudding a little louder now, a little harder, like it’s trying to break out of your ribs and sprint straight into his arms.

Yeonjun leans over the dummy and demonstrates, tilting the plastic head back, pinching the nose, pressing his lips against the cold rubber. It shouldn’t look good. It shouldn’t make your thighs press together. But it does. “See?” he says, straightening up and wiping the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to it. Just seal the lips, give two full breaths.” You nod, but your hands are shaky as you reach for the dummy. You lean in, try to mimic what he did, but it’s all awkward, your hands are slipping, your breath comes out wrong, your lips don’t form the right seal. You pull back, frowning, flustered and flushed.

“Ugh,” you groan. “This is harder than it looks.” Yeonjun’s watching you, not laughing, not judging. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something low and simmering just beneath the surface.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says gently, his voice a little lower now, a little slower. “It’s all about confidence. Commitment. You’ve gotta mean it.”

You glance up, lips parted, lashes heavy. “I always mean it.” That does something to him, you can see it. The way his jaw tenses. The flick of his gaze down to your mouth, then back up again. The silence stretches between you, tight as a rip current, ready to pull.

Then he says, casually, too casually: “We could try it on a real person. It’s more realistic.”

You blink. “You mean—”

“Me,” he says simply. His tone is professional, his posture easy. But his eyes, they’re dark, knowing. “If you’re comfortable, of course.”

Your answer comes without hesitation. “I am.”

You don’t wait. You leap at the chance; practically crawling across the towel, the summer air hot and sticky as it curls around your limbs. Yeonjun shifts onto his back, head tilted like the dummy, arms at his sides. His chest rises and falls with a rhythm too even to be calm. You hover over him, straddling the space beside his waist, trying to remember what the hell you’re supposed to be doing. But now you’re close. Too close. And his skin is golden and glowing beneath you, his lips parted slightly, eyes heavy-lidded as he looks up at you. It's…so hot.

You lower yourself slowly, fingers brushing against the side of his face, lips ghosting over his — and suddenly this doesn’t feel like CPR at all. It feels like temptation. It feels like every sun-drenched fantasy you’ve ever had cracking open like a peach in your palm. You press your mouth to his. One second. Two You pull back, but his hand finds your waist again, firmer this time, grounding you there. You let out a small gasp, barely heard beyond a breath but Yeonjun hears it.

“Try again,” he murmurs, voice husky. And you do, of course you do. This time it’s slower. Softer. Not medical. Not professional. You press your lips to his like a secret, but it breaks open into something wild. His mouth parts beneath yours, and your breath rushes out as his tongue brushes lightly against your bottom lip, tasting the gloss, the sugar-slicked strawberry of it. No longer are you practicing CPR — no, you’re kissing. Making out even. Hard. Sloppy. Addictive.

Your fingers bury into his hair, tugging gently. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping with just enough pressure to make your stomach coil. There’s nothing clinical about it now. Nothing educational. It’s heat and tongue and the sweet, desperate sound of your breath tangled in his lips are greedy, pulling you down, chasing you with every kiss. Your lip gloss is smeared across both your mouths, glinting in the sun as his tongue dips past your lips again, again, deeper this time. He groans softly into your mouth, and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard, raw, low, like it was dragged out of him. “God,” he whispers, voice rasping against your cheek, “you taste like candy.” You gasp against his lips, biting down gently, just to hear the sound he makes. His hands move up your back, sliding beneath your tank top now, fingertips dancing over bare skin.

“So sweet.” He grunts as you grind down on him, the feel of cock in his shorts sending shivers up your spine. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing, time has melted under the weight of it. The world narrows to his mouth, his hands, your breath and the way your name sounds when he says it between kisses like a curse he’s dying to say again. His hands are on you now, not just at your waist, but moving, sliding, claiming. One curls around your lower back, pulling you flush against the hardness growing beneath his shorts. You feel him; all of him, and the rush that floods you is dizzying. He groans into your mouth again, this time lower, like he’s fighting something inside himself. Like if he let go completely, he’d ruin you right here on the warm floor beneath you two.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, tugging at the roots, and he likes it, you can tell. The way his hips subtly lift into yours, the way his tongue swipes deeper in retaliation, wet and hot and relentless. Your lips are sticky from your gloss and his kisses, smeared and shining, the taste of summer tangled on both your tongues. You pull back just enough to look at him, really look at him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes blown wide and dark. His lips are pink and swollen, still parted like he’s not done kissing you. His chest heaves, rising and falling beneath you, slick with the thinnest sheen of heat and effort.

“You okay?” you ask, voice breathy, ruined in the prettiest way. He huffs out a laugh, dragging one hand up your spine, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades. “Not even close,” he murmurs. “You?” You shake your head slowly, rolling your hips once, slow, testing. His hands tighten instantly, his jaw clenches. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, tipping his head back.

It gives you the perfect angle, your mouth trails down his neck, lips dragging over his pulse, tongue flicking just under his jawline. He tastes like salt and sun and something wild. His skin is hot beneath your mouth, and when you suck gently, he makes a sound that shoots straight through you, half gasp, half groan, like it ripped itself from somewhere deep. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” he asks, voice husky, wrecked.

You smile against his throat, open-mouthed kisses climbing back up to his ear. “I have a pretty good idea.” He grabs your hips with both hands now, grinding you down into him. Your gasp is loud this time, sharp and breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders for balance. Every roll of your body against his is friction and fire, your thighs clenching around him as the pressure builds. His eyes are locked on yours now, wild and glassy. His breath is hot and hard, matching the rhythm of your own.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, but his hands say the opposite. They move like he never wants to let you go, like the thought of space between your bodies is unbearable.

“I won’t,” you whisper. “I won’t tell you that.” You kiss again, hungry now, desperate. The kind of kiss that isn’t about teaching or teasing anymore. It’s taking. It’s mouths open and wet and wanting. It’s teeth and tongue and the sweet, messy slide of it all. You taste like lip gloss and need, and Yeonjun devours you like he’s starving. “Keep going–”

His hand moves beneath your top, finding bare skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your chest. His thumb brushes under your bra, just enough to make your breath catch again, make your hips press harder down. He groans your name, one syllable falling apart in his throat, like it’s the only word he knows. “I want you,” he breathes, eyes searching yours, voice ragged.

Yeonjun’s hands are everywhere now. No longer tentative, no longer careful. His fingers are firm as they slide up your spine, splayed across your back like he’s trying to memorize every curve of you with his palms. He pulls you down again, mouth crashing into yours, and the kiss is all heat and hunger, messy and wet, your gloss now a distant memory smeared across both your mouths. You rock against him, hips grinding into the hard press beneath his shorts, and he groans, low, broken, like the sound was torn from somewhere raw. “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes against your lips. His hands find your throat, titling your head back as his lips attacked your neck.

Your hands slide under the hem of his tank top, fingers brushing over his abdomen, hard, cut, searing to the touch. His muscles twitch beneath your palms as you push the shirt up, exposing the smooth, sun-golden skin of his chest. He leans back, lets you take it off him completely, and when he’s bare to the waist, you pause for just a beat. He looks carved from summer. Tanned and toned, collarbones sharp, chest rising and falling fast. His neck is flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and drunk on you.

“You’re staring,” he says, but his grin is cocky.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Can you blame me?”

Your kisses trail lower this time, along his jaw, his throat, the center of his chest. You take your time, mouthing at his skin, tasting the salt and sweat and the sun that lives in him. He exhales sharply, one hand tightening at your hip, the other slipping under your top until it’s pushing up, up — “Off,” he mutters, tugging gently, voice hoarse. You sit up just enough to peel it over your head, your bra following after with a flick of practiced fingers. The air hits your skin and he breathes you in like you’re the first real thing he’s ever seen. His hands come up immediately, palms covering you like he needs to feel to believe.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs. His thumbs brush your nipples, and the contact is so sudden, so good, that you gasp, arching into him. He watches your reaction like it’s his favorite movie, then leans forward, mouth closing around one peak. You cry out softly, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue moves in slow, aching circles. He alternates between sucking gently and grazing with his teeth, and the way he groans against your skin, like he can’t get enough, sends sparks shooting down your spine.

The friction between your bodies grows unbearable, his erection pressing hard against your core through thin layers of fabric. You rut against him, chasing the pressure, and he meets every roll of your hips with a grind of his own, his hands now at your ass, guiding your movements, pulling you tighter. “Fuck, baby,” he pants. “You’re driving me insane.”

You smile wickedly, breathless and drunk on him. “Good.” Then he’s kissing you again, this time rougher, teeth dragging at your bottom lip before sucking it between his. One hand slips between your bodies, down past the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?” he murmurs against your mouth, already half gone, already pulsing with need.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word spilling out like a plea. “Please.”

He groans; the sound of restraint snapping, and slides his hand into your shorts, past your panties, fingers dipping into your heat. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re soaked.” You whimper as he circles your clit with slow, purposeful strokes, his fingers moving like he’s already memorized your rhythm. Like he wants to ruin you. Your head falls to his shoulder, breath hitching with every touch. He kisses the side of your neck, whispering filth between soft, open-mouthed kisses.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fucking grinding on me like a whore” You buck against his hand, moaning quietly, your fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. You’re close, already, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Come for me. Just like this. Wanna feel you fall apart right here in my lap.” You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut, and with a few more strokes, a perfectly timed press of his fingers, you’re gone, trembling, gasping, unraveling in his arms, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. He holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your shoulder, whispering praise into your skin like it’s prayer.“You,” he says, voice husky and reverent, “are unreal.”

You smile, lazily, sweet and satisfied. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Lie back,” he whispers. “Let me see you.” And something in the way he says it, voice hushed, reverent, makes you obey without thinking. You stretch out across the towels spread over the warm concrete, head tilted to watch the sky while he hovers above you like a storm. Yeonjun kneels between your legs, his gaze roving over you with something deeper than lust, like awe. Like he can’t believe you’re real. He leans down, mouths over the swell of your breast, the curve of your waist, kissing lower, slower, until his hands are easing your shorts down your thighs. He doesn’t rush. He peels them away like they’re delicate, like you are. And you are, in that moment. Delicate. Shivering. Wanting.

When he finally presses against you again, now skin to skin, the sensation is almost too much. His body is solid heat above yours, his mouth still trailing kisses along your shoulder as your fingers dig into his back, desperate to keep him close. He breathes your name again, broken and full of want, and you whisper his in return, like it’s the only word left in the world. There’s a moment where your eyes meet, wide and dark and blown open — and it hangs between you like a vow.

And then he’s sliding into you. The air leaves your lungs. It’s slow at first. Deep. Anchoring. Like the tide rolling in for you and only you. His body covers yours completely, every inch of skin meeting another, every exhale shared. He moves inside you like he already knows the map of your desire, like he’s not just trying to make you feel good, but trying to memorize you from the inside out. Each thrust sends sparks unraveling through your spine. Each whisper against your neck, each broken moan from his lips, tightens the coil in your belly again. You cling to him, hips lifting, nails raking, kisses swallowed, and he takes it all. Gives it all. “I can’t get enough of you,” he pants. “I don’t think I ever will.” You’re drowning in him, and you want to drown.

The pace quickens. His control frays. Your pleasure builds again, overwhelming, all heat and pulse and the sound of your name tangled with his. And when you come again, it’s together, a shared freefall, a tidal wave crashing down with a cry you couldn’t hold back if you tried. He buries his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you tight, like he needs you just to breathe. The pool sparkles beside you. The air is thick with chlorine and heat and the scent of your skin on his.

Your body is still singing. Every nerve alive and fluttering like seafoam against the shore, every inch of you attuned to the heat of him, his breath, his weight, the press of his hips as he stays inside you, unmoving, just holding. Like he can’t bear to break the seal between you. Yeonjun hovers above you, his forearm braced beside your head, curls damp against his forehead, lips parted as he stares down at you. And god, that look. Like he’s in wonder. Like you’ve unraveled something holy inside him.

He leans in, nose brushing yours, lips swollen and stained with the remnants of your gloss. “You’re dangerous,” he whispers, almost smiling. His voice is ragged, low, like it scraped itself raw just to reach you. “You come in here acting all sweet, all innocent, and now look at you.” His hand slides down your side, slow as a tide, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, your thigh. You shiver under him, legs still trembling from where they’re loosely wrapped around his back.

“You’re not done with me,” you murmur, your voice a soft dare.

His eyes darken. “Not even close.” Yeonjun rolls his hips just once, deep, purposeful, and you arch with a choked gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, fingers clutching at slick skin. The friction sparks again, slower now, drawn out, like he wants to make you feel every inch of it, every second, every breath. His hands yank at your jaw, drawing your mouth to his; it’s wide with a gasp, his mouth moving over yours and spitting. You’re taken aback; only slightly — before swallowing with a grin.

He kisses you again, not rushed, not frenzied, but consuming. A slow, melting kiss that sinks into your bones. His tongue strokes yours in lazy circles, his mouth open and warm and possessive. He tastes like sun, salt, and something that could ruin you. Your fingers slip into his hair, pulling gently, and he groans into your mouth, a sound so deep and desperate it sends another wave of heat crashing through your belly. He presses his forehead to yours, breath tangled with yours, your mouths barely apart. “I like you like this,” he murmurs. “All messy. Lip gloss everywhere. Can’t stop touching me.”

“I could say the same,” you whisper, your smile curling against his lips. He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. He just kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand tangling in your hair, the other sliding between your bodies to touch you where you’re already sensitive, already aching again. You cry out softly, and he swallows the sound with a kiss, his fingers moving with maddening skill, gentle and slow, like he’s savoring every tremble you give him.

The rhythm between your hips begins again, slow but relentless, his body rocking into yours with careful control, like he’s savoring this new version of you, wrecked and radiant beneath him, moaning his name like it’s the only word left in your mouth. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs into your skin. “So fucking perfect.”

And when you start to fall apart again, thighs trembling, lips parted, his name ghosting off your tongue, he holds you through it, kissing you like he means it, like this isn’t just heat or lust or summer madness. It’s something real. Something more. But the fire hasn’t gone out. Not even close. Because he’s still hard inside you. And you’re still clinging to him, gasping like you need more.

And Yeonjun; with his hands moving over your skin like he owns it, with that look in his eyes like you’ve rewritten something sacred inside him, he’s not done. Not until you’re breathless again. Not until you’ve forgotten where you end and he begins. Not until he’s undone you completely. Not until you can’t breath and he’s the only person here to give you the breath you need.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17 @yeonmuse @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry

#cracking this yeonjun ASAP thabk u very much #also yes he is a walking heatwave #the dialogue was so sexy and u know how dialogue is what does it for me #i’m locking myself away

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