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He went back from work and settled down into the routine of home life🍃

drummer jeonghan  for  acmé de la vie

me trying not to be dramatic over this stupid guy challenge : impossible

guys... I'm in trouble

GUYS..😭

(WIP)

My sweeeeet sweet sweetie pie

caught babygirling in 4k

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。RIGOR — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. mild injuries (al-haitham), established relationship, fluff, really bad banter, al-haitham is left handed because i say so

notes. literally just 2k embarrassing words of you taking care of al-haitham after he’s injured from a trip to the desert. yeah.

“that stings,” al-haitham hisses, glaring at you—which earns him an equally as harsh glare back. “why don’t you just pour the entire bottle of antiseptic down my arm at this rate?

“don’t yell at me,” you hiss back, scowling as you dab at the (already clean) wound some more, “i’m not the one who came back with this. why didn’t you get it checked?”

to your utter dismay, al-haitham comes home from a visit to the desert injured. gravely.

well, truth be told, it’s not really grave. that’s just how you see it because anything beyond a scratch is enough to throw you into a fit of panic. he’s not really used to coming home to someone fretting over him like this—standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, dabbing ever so gently at the small (and hardly deep, he’d like to point out) cut on his arm.

running into eremites is an inevitable part of most visits to desert ruins. usually, al-haitham manages to come back unscathed, but sometimes, things don’t always go accordingly. in his defense, he’d thought he’d be able to dodge the blade of the eremite he happened to be fighting. al-haitham has the precision and athletic ability to not only manage, but excel at dodging things that are thrown at him. but still, even he has his moments of miscalculation, and just by a hair, he feels the sting of a blade’s edge tearing through the surface of his skin.

it’s unfortunate, but it’s not a big deal—at least, that’s what he thought. apparently, but not unusually, you have a tendency to disagree with him on most things.

“i was going to check it myself,” he says simply, “it would’ve been fine.”

“oh, i didn’t realize you graduated in linguistics and biology,” you raise a brow.

al-haitham is a well rounded man—he reads books from just about any subject so long as it’s informative and offers him new knowledge that can assist him in being well versed in any topic. more importantly, al-haitham rarely loses arguments, and in order to be able to always win said arguments, his understanding of most subjects is required to be thorough.

he knows how to treat a small wound or two, especially with as often as he lands himself in small fights as he explores ruins.

he looks up at you with an unimpressed stare as he mumbles, “i’ve taken at least a few classes from every darshan.”

“i hate you,” you huff. he exhales tiredly.

“it’s only a cut,” he argues, “there’s no need to be so worried—”

“i’m always worried,” you sigh, staring dejectedly at the injury littering his arm. no one should ever leave a mark over his skin—unless it’s you, and that’s only in a very different context. “does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

a small part of him feels guilty that he’s worried you over his well being, that he’s come home harmed even the slightest bit and disrupted your peace. but the larger and more rational part of him reasons that injuries of this nature are common and inevitable in trips to the desert like this, and he’s skilled enough to ensure that nothing serious ever happens.

still, for your sake, he mumbles, “no.”

it’s a bit of a white lie—it does sting a bit, and the antiseptic you pressed just a few moments ago didn’t exactly help, but admitting to you that he’s in any sort of pain is only opening up more avenues to making this into a larger deal than it really is.

al-haitham is fine, and he’s doesn’t need anything for the slightly inconvenient but not serious laceration on his skin. he’s sure of that.

but then, you cup his cheeks and press a small kiss to his forehead as you murmur, “my poor baby,” with a small pout, “i’ll feed you dinner, okay? they got your left arm.”

he wants to tell you that his motor skills are good enough that he can function with his non dominant hand—being left handed in a world catered for right handed individuals forces you to acquire functionality in both hands. but before he can open his mouth, you kiss down his cheeks, tracing your lips along him until they map out his jaw.

it distracts him for a moment, making hie eyes close and his breath hitch as he lets your warmth settle into the deepest crevices of his skin.

“don’t worry, haitham, i’ll take care of you until this heals,” you murmur sweetly.

and just like that, al-haitham is a bit conflicted now. in his two plus decades of life, he has always been an independent and capable individual—more than most his age. he doesn’t need the assistance of anyone, nor has he ever really needed the assistance of anyone. but you’re making it very hard to resist with the way you’re doting on him with affection.

“i’m fine,” he tries to argue, “really—”

“i should run you a bath,” you mumble, cutting him off. he gets the strong feeling you’re taking more to yourself than him. “and i’ll wash your hair for you too.”

even with the self control someone like him has, even he can’t help but sigh in content when your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the strands and scratching gently at his scalp. it’s a bit nice—he has to admit that being taken care of, even as minimally as fingers in his hair, is nice.

“you don’t have to do all that,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you moving that arm,” you huff, “would it kill you to stop acting high and mighty for once? most people would take advantage of being spoiled.”

“i don’t enjoy taking advantage of others like most people,” he shrugs.

“you know what i mean,” you glower, rolling your eyes.

it’s a common understanding to most that al-haitham is a bit difficult—you don’t think you ever remember a time where he hasn’t been. he’s stubborn and always believes his views to be correct, and he’s not ashamed of arguing his point no matter who it is. you’re surprised that mouth of his hasn’t landed him in trouble yet—although, you suppose he’s not exactly in the good graces of most at the akademiya.

and as the akademiya’s acting grand sage, you admire his unwillingness to back down. but, as your boyfriend and the man you love, you wish he’d just compromise sometimes—and maybe let you wash his hair and hand feed him dinner for a bit as you nurse his injury back to health.

just this once….and maybe just a few more times later on too. you don’t ask for much, you like to think.

“i’ve gotten injuries like this before,” he reasons, “i’ve survived.”

you look at him with that delicate look of yours, the one that makes him feel like maybe he’s been living his life wrong this whole time. that it only became correct once his life involved you.

he thinks that’s might just be the case when you grin slightly, pinching his nose as you lean down, pecking his forehead and mumbling, “you don’t always have to just survive. you can indulge a bit, you know.”

“is that so?” he raises a brow, his good arm snaking around your hips.

“yes,” you hum, “if you give it a try, you might just enjoy indulging here and there,” you grin, stroking a thumb over his cheek as you admire his features, relearning every curve and every angle of his face. you don’t think you’d ever get bored like this—just standing in your bathroom, staring at him. you think you could comfortably stay right here like this forever.

maybe longer.

“i see,” he says slowly. al-haitham has always had a strong sense of control. but that was before you—he’s now forced to admit that his resolve is a bit weaker, just a bit shakier after you’ve come along. “does this begin with washing my hair?”

“and feeding you dinner,” you nod, tracing your thumb over his brow, letting it wander along the hook of his nose. “do you want me to kiss your arm better too?”

“is that really going to help?” he asks in amusement, making you giggle.

“oh yes,” you tease, “it was in a class i took from amurta. you probably didn’t take it—it’s far too rigorous for you.”

“oh,” he nods playfully, “of course. you’ll have to excuse my lack of understanding. not everyone can be as advanced as you.”

“here,” you grin—and it’s wide, and it’s warm, and it’s far too bright to ever be dimmed by the light of your bathroom as you stare at him, “i can demonstrate if you want. hands-on learning is always the best.”

“i must ask—have you ever learned hands-on like this with anyone else?” he raises a brow.

“and if i have? would that make you jealous?”

“perhaps a little,” he admits, fighting desperately to keep his own smile hidden. it’s hard not to smile when you’re around—how could he not when you swallow the sun with your lips every time they curve upwards in that honeyed way that they do?

“don’t worry,” you giggle again—and god, he thinks, he really loves that sound. he watches you lean down and kiss softly along the edges of his wound, tracing the cut slowly as you say, “you’re my only academic partner now.”

“i’m most grateful.”

“well?” you peck his shoulder, “a kiss helps, doesn’t it?”

“it does,” he chuckles quietly, “maybe you can show me a bit more.”

he’s given into you completely by now—you can tell by the way his body is relaxed on the edge of the bathtub. you can tell by that easy grin plastered on his usually blank face. you can tell by the way he leans into your touch every chance he gets. you can tell by the way he asks you to kiss his wound some more—the same wound he didn’t think you needed to care about.

but you always care, and he’s starting to understand you always will. so he stares at you hopefully, expecting just a few more presses of your lips.

so you do, kissing along his arm, peppering scattered pecks along his shoulder, pressing your lips gently along the column of his neck as he sighs softly and closes his eyes.

maybe being taken care of isn’t so bad—maybe he’s been missing out all this time….but then again, he thinks it’s just that he’s always been missing you. like he was born to find you. like he was made to be yours and you were made to be his and you both were made for each other if nothing else.

if nothing else, al-haitham is glad to be yours.

“does it still hurt?” you ask after some time.

“just a little,” he lets himself admit, “it’s nothing i’ve never dealt with before.”

“you really worried me you know,” you breathe quietly, making him squeeze your hips in reassurance, “don’t hide next time you’re hurt.”

“and will you kiss me back to health if i tell you?” he hums, leaning his head back to let you kiss his jaw easier.

you smile against his skin, letting your touch linger for a moment before you mumble, “of course, it’s only the best treatment. only those who take rigorous classes would know that.”

“good thing i have you to teach me.”

“yes, you’re really quite lucky,” you say with a cheeky smile.

there’s a warm bath waiting for him after this. and a hand fed meal. and perhaps a few more gentle kisses. but most certainly a lifetime of you—that much he knows.

i feel like i’m borderline violating myself by posting this bc it’s so self indulgent but here u go

⑅ ۫ . ෆ ˟ ໒꒱ KAMA SUTRA: PRINCIPLES OF LOVE it’s silly, al haitham thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind.

al haitham x sub!f!reader ౨ৎ . . . nsfw — mdni ໒꒱ ⋆˚✩. established relationship / clit kissies + dry humping / foreplay heavy! / praise + petnames / cervix fucking / creampie / al haitham is only a teeny bit teasing + vewy sweet / 2.7k wc. feedback + comments supa appreciated!

“you’ll never hear the end of it if kaveh catches you with that.”

you paw at the thick book al haitham has laid over the thigh that you aren’t occupying, shying into his neck at the image painted on the cardstock page he’s flipped to— one of a man and woman adorned in fine jewelry, gold silks tumbling off their limbs as they embrace each other in what appears to be a rather compromising position.

truth be told, you’re not exactly sure what led your lover— someone who has rarely ever indulged in the pleasure-oriented faculties of life— to pick up such a text about sex and eroticism as the kama sutra, but the mere thought of it is enough to have heat swirling in your tummy and your legs squeezing around the thigh you’re straddling.

“there’s far more to the kama sutra than just… fornication. it’s more so a guide to living well and the nature of love. a whole section is dedicated to finding a life partner—”

“awh, does that mean you’re gonna…?” you giggle, wagging your ring finger in front of his face playfully.

al haitham’s ears tinge red at your insinuation, but he carries on with the faintest of smirks on his lips that he’s trained to remain invisible. “— and there’s another chapter solely demonstrating when and how to commit adultery.”

and just like that— your toothy smile turns to a frown, nose twitchy as you anxiously toss your hair. “better not be reading that chapter, hmph.” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knit cutely as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turning your head away from his when he attempts to face you. he blows out a sigh, chuckling sweetly when he catches you and lays a delicate kiss to your cheek. “never said i’d be paying that part any mind, sweetheart.”

when you respond by wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and bury your face in his shirt, he can only bring himself to smile and shake his head as he feels himself enter a bit of a daze that’s full of yearning and craving. unnatural, for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

and so, he gently spreads your legs to slot his hips between them, hiking a thigh over his shoulder before lowering his face to the crotch of your panties, skirt pooling flimsily at your hips. “when a woman reproaches a man, but at the same time acts affectionately towards him, she should be made love to in every way.” he quotes from the book.

the warmth of his breath reaches through the thin cotton and your cunt begins to weep, clenching and oozing out slick in a silent plea for his fingers, his tongue— anything to relieve the weight of desperation that settles heavy on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, alhaitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit. 

you tremble at the sudden heat, soft features overcome with a dazed expression as if that alone is enough to knock all the thought out of your pretty little head. “‘h-haitham, what’re you doing…”

“putting theory into practice.”

and then he’s licking up the length of your slit, collecting your sugary slick in the dip of his tongue before letting it dribble past his lips in a mix of saliva onto your swollen clit— giving it another kiss, and another, and then some— until your chest begins to heave with pitchy whispers of his name, candied with a burning behind your eyes from how badly you need more of him.

“patience, darling …” lips are replaced with a growing bulge as his face levels to meet your own, sapphire-tinged emerald dancing across your features, from the delicate pinch of your brows to the flex of your neck. al haitham presses into you deeper, your bare and puffy folds moulding to the shape of his cock through his slacks, drenching the fabric with your milky cream.

his crotch catches onto your clit and in an instant, you’re curling your fingers woefully into the linen of his shirt, puffing out hot air against his jaw as you sweetly keen into him— f-feels good, ‘haitham, feels s’good.

oh, he thinks you're so pretty like this— clinging onto his bicep and painting his ivory skin with crescents of red, every slow grind of his clothed cock against your achy cunt drawing another eager, desperate whine from your throat. and you only fall more lightheaded as he nuzzles into your ankle dangling off his shoulder, kissing the bone before making quick work to remove the noisy anklet adorning it, because all he wants to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; he's sure they're the sweetest sounds to grace the earth.

“w-wan’… kiss…”

“what’s that?” he whispers against the inside of your knee, the swell of your breast, the hollow of your clavicle as he travels lipwards— covering every inch except the place you need to feel him most.

“i wanna kiss on my lips, ‘haitham!” you throw a tiny fit, and it’s nothing short of adorable when your tongue does a poor job of biting back your impatience. the uneven pout of your lips and the twitch of your nose have his veins aching with such a strong need to dote on you, tend to you until he rids you of the pain of your burning desire and all you’re able to voice is 50 different whimpers of his name.

“but if i kiss you here,” al haitham teases as he runs a thumb over the dainty curve of your mouth, stopping it at the swell of your bottom lip before releasing a strained laugh, chest knotted up with half-pleasure and half-pain, for all he wants to do is kiss and suck and lick and nibble the soft flesh— feed on it, even— and with a generosity wherein you’re ready to offer anything, everything, he’s almost positive you’d let him. “i’m afraid i won’t be able to stop.”

“don’t want you to stop… never ever.” your eyes are hazy with the light of the stars and you’re looking up at him with so much ardour, busying your lips with soft suckles on his finger while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. and his gaze stays on you all the while— because you look so pretty like this and your words settle in the deepest depths of his soul and he thinks he could just devour you whole.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes warm with mirth. you shiver and twitch under his gentle hold, where he kisses the corner of your parted lips, nosing along your cheek to place another on your brow, a final one against the hot lobe of your ear. his breath fans over your neck as he teases your little cunt open with his leaking tip, and you feel him smirk against your skin when you obediently spread your legs wider to accommodate his size. “you wouldn’t be able to eat or drink anything ever again.” 

it’s almost tragic— the soft, dreamy lulls of your head, the cute whimpers of his name, the saliva that pools and spills around the thumb he pops out of your mouth— he’s barely gotten the flushed head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle and you’re already so complacent, pliable for him. 

“don’t care… s’long as i have you,” you sniffle, fingers grappling weakly at the tufts of platinum and sage that curl around his neck, trying to lean up and nuzzle your nose against his. “please, kiss me?”

and it’s in the way you ask him: with dew clinging to your lashes and a timid quiver to your breath that makes him submit all at once, because what kind of a person would he be to deny his lover when she asks so sweetly?

and just as al haitham’s lips meet yours, he’s reprimanding himself for not giving you a kiss sooner. because on your tongue he tastes the spice carried through the sumeru wind and zaytun peaches and all the fluttering pieces of romantic prose you eat and gosh— alhaitham is the furthest thing from a poet— but surely, he doesn’t need any kama sutra to teach him about the love he holds for you in his heart.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you some more— smirking against your lips when you sigh happily and melt into the palms that smooth up your waist. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?

“uh huh, wanna be everything for you,” bringing your other leg to rest atop his shoulder, you respond wetly through the spit bubbling at your mouth and the blood that flows straight to your brain as he begins to fuck you languidly with his tip, watching your slick drip and ooze around the bulbous, red head.

he shushes your sobs sweetly, the pads of his thumbs dipping just at the edges of your eyes to collect any tears before they have a chance to be shed. “shhh— f-fuck— s’okay, you’re doin’ so well— doing so well for me.”

you begin to pant against the hollow of his neck as he eases his full length into you, all the ridges and veins decorating his cock that you’ve come to memorize over the months perfectly snug against the tightness of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against your shoulder, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, all the way until he’s knocking at the sponge of your cervix and his pubic bone is flush against your clit.

your hips jerk at the sharp pulses of pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of ‘h-haitham, ‘haitham, s’big flood his brain because he’s deeper than he’s ever been, with the backs of your knees sticky against the bridge of his shoulders and your body quivering under him from how full you feel.

he does all he can to wash away the ache in your tummy— sliding a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses over the apple of your cheek as he continues drawing his hips back and forth.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy hearts on the puffy nub, and— oh, it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven?” he’s asking, charmed by your guileless wonder as you wrap your arms around his neck and meekly tug his face closer to yours, rubbing your nose against his cheek like a puppy endeared to her owner.

“mhm, feel you here, ‘haitham… in my tummy,” you giggle in ecstasy, at the thought of his cock twitching wildly in you and his cum filling you up there, hot and sticky and oozing like sweet milk down your thighs— you want it so bad; you want it everywhere. to have him mark you with his seed as a proclamation of his love, fuck, you think you might cry.

and you do, because you want him— all of him so, so bad.

you sniffle when you feel the tears rush down your face and al haitham can only groan at how overwhelming everything is: the wild pounding of his heart against his ribs and the starry night reflected in your eyes and your walls hugging his cock so tight like it loves it. 

“h-hey now, ‘m gonna cum if you keep sucking me in like that— f-fuck.” 

he’s worked you up to that soft, dreamy headspace— where you’re hiccupping on shallow breaths and your bambi eyes are glazed over with honey and the words come tumbling out of your pretty lips before you have a chance to think them through. “cum in me— pretty please, wan’ your cum in my tummy, wan’ it everywhere—oh!"

it’s all so much, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of numbing pleasure through his head, down his chest to his cock— and then he’s cumming— thrusts jerky before he plunges into you completely, spurt after spurt of thick white ribbon filling your womb, flushing your limbs full of warmth. and you’re right there with him, as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that spot nestled deep in your cunt and his thumb continues its assault on your clit, gravelly voice spewing sweet nothings into your hair while you keen for him sweetly.

you’re so pretty when you cry, so pretty when you cum— he tells you as he clears your face of any stray hairs before thumbing your tears away. the next few moments are silent and he takes them to admire you, the heave of your chest as your breath steadies, the almost doll-like pout of your lips, the precious way you suck your cheek in between your teeth to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide your smile from me.” the most tender smile graces his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the softest of petals. “so long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

another passage from the kama sutra, you presume. the delivery of the line, words thick and dripping affection like molasses would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the mere fact that it was al haitham saying them. in a failed attempt to suppress the onslaught of laughter, you suck you bottom lip into your mouth, only for al haitham to tut you with a playful roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

“i suppose such poetry is unbefitting for me, huh?”

your legs slot under his arms to wrap around his waist more comfortably, heels resting against his back dimples and fingers tracing hearts over the dips and grooves of his biceps. he’s picked it up as one of your habits— something you do when you feel particularly endeared to him. “you should leave the lovey-dovey stuff to me.”

perhaps you’re right, he tells you through bated breath— perhaps he’s the furthest thing from a poet, a romantic, but there’s no denying how you make him feel like he could compose the greatest love story in all the universe— and it’s silly, he thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind. 

perhaps al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet, but if you were to tell him he was your world, he would tell you that you’re everything that makes the world good and beautiful and pure. tell him you’d die without him, and he’d tell you that he could still exist without you, but that’s all he’d ever manage to do. you can say that every day spent with him is like a story, and he’d tell you that you make him feel like he’s living in a fairytale— every second of every day.

but al haitham is a scholar, not a romantic, and such poetry is unbefitting for him. right?

from coco ๑‧₊˚ ෆ i squealed a whole lot while writing this .. my littl baby boy my prince my moon my sun my stars my everything ! i lov u so much so much so much so much foreva n’ eva n’ eva ;;n;; ! comments + reblogs + feedback of any kind ! r supa ! dupa appreciated !! thankies a billi for reading ໒꒰ྀི∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩꒱ྀིა

kaiser x motorcycle!

HI MAY seung brainrot incoming LMAO

IM ABSOLUTELY SOBBING OVER FASHION WEEK SEUNGMIN I LOVE HIM SM he looked so nervous while at the show BUT HE SERVED SO HARD HE’S SO PERFECT I LOVE MY LOEWE BF!!!

and then of course i had to be horny about it so I’m just thinking about taking care of him when he gets back to the hotel room or wherever… his dick in ur mouth while u make him feel good and reassure him that he did so well and that ur so proud of him 🥹💗 all loving and shit like this boy needs to cum so hard he passes out fr!!!!!

heather I have been writing all night and your message just made me go absolutely bonkers so I wrote this in half an hour before I pass out

I’m also so stupid proud of him, sweet bean, but oh my GOD he looked so nervous and awkward and who can blame him?!?!? Fashion shows seem like a nightmare, honestly.

I …. changed this a lil bit …. like it's still soft but ... something about him ranting while you suck him off …… just got me

🔞 1.2k words, messy blowjob

“Lime green,” he breathes out with a scowl that turns into a drawn out moan when you run your tongue up the velvety underside of his cock. “Who, fuuuck, decided that lime green would be a good colour?!”

You look up at your boyfriend, his pretty face pulled into glower, his lip pulled between his teeth as you run your hands up his thighs. He’s also rock hard, big and heavy and pink and leaky, boxers around one ankle where you’ve haphazardly tugged them, t-shirt rucked up enough to expose the soft expanse of his toned stomach.

“I think you looked incredible,” you mumble before you do it again, swirling your tongue around his cock, little kitten licks all the way up his shaft that have his hips jumping off the bed slightly. You give him a more solid lick and he groans, lets his head drop back into the pillows.

“So did everyone else, by the way,” you continue, gently tonguing at the little spot right underneath his head until his hands are fisting the sheets. “Stay, the press, fashion magazines.”

“I looked like an idiot,” he breathes and you punish (reward?) him by suckling his tip between your lips, the salty taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue.

You pull off enough to be able to mumble “you looked so fucking sexy,” before sinking back down and sucking him further into your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, your mouth,” he babbles, one of his hands winding into your hair to keep you steady as you give him tentative little bobs, laving your tongue around his sensitive head.

“Fuck, I felt so awkward. And it was so loud and I barely understood what anyone was saying to me oh, shit, God, yeah, just like that.”

The most beautiful moan tumbles past his lips as you take him further into your mouth, teasing him until he starts hitting the back of your throat. You bring your hand up, wrapping it around his spit-slick cock and pull away, making him mewl unhappily.

“Everyone looked absolutely charmed with you, baby,” you tell him, your hand tightening around him until he groans. “They loved you, you could see it on their faces. I’m sure they don’t often get to meet someone so interesting at these events.”

A bead of pre-cum beads out of his slit at the praise.

You lean down to lap it up, and he digs the back of his head into the pillows.

“Please, baby, your mouth …” he babbles, and you comply, letting spit pool in your mouth before sinking back down on him entirely. Your saliva dribbles down his shaft, and he moans, his nails dragging over your scalp.

“Oh fuck but … oh my god,” he gets distracted again, “the lady I sat next to? Her outfit?! She had her whole … you know, her whole … chest was out. Like it could’ve slipped and boom.”

You giggle, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue.

“You don’t usually have a problem saying the word tits,” you tease and watch him blush, impatiently wiggling his hips before wrapping your lips back around him.

“Yeah, when I’m fucking you, not trying to get my picture taken with some random model twice my age. I saw my entire career flash before my eyes.”

“Seungmin, baby, love of my life,” you rasp out, your throat already raw with use. You stare up at him from between his legs, making his pupils blow wider. You keep pumping his cock, wet and sloppy with your spit. You know you look positively debauched.

“You were the sexiest, most handsome man there, today, and I’m willing to bet money that you were also the most interesting, the most talented …” you trail off, lean down to dip your tongue into his slit, making his back arch a little, “I checked Twitter, I checked Bubble, everyone is so proud of you and absolutely in love with you. Did you hear everyone scream for you?! You did great.”

He blinks down at you so cutely you want to eat him up. You do the next best thing and wrap your lips back around his cock, your hand trailing down until you can massage his balls.

“Now, let me reward you and stop talking about another woman’s tits while I have your cock in my mouth,” you say before swallowing him all the way down in one go, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat so he can slip deeper and deeper.

“S-sorry,” he gasps out, “oh, baby I’m sorry, you’re so … oh, so good to me …”

He groans again, laces his other hand into your hair as well and starts gently pushing and pulling you up and down on his cock, just the hint of it, allowing you to keep control if you want to. But you relax into his hold, hum to show him it’s alright, and then he grips you harder, tugs you up and down at a desperate, but unhurried pace.

“W-wish I could always t-take you with me,” he gasps out. “You always know how to turn my b-brain off.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, despite the ache in your jaw, the tears spilling from your eyes. You would let him use you over and over if it meant you would be the only one who got to see him like this, all undone and with his heart on his sleeve.

He’s chanting your name now, a litany of beautiful little gasps in between, until his grip tightens, and he tugs you lower and lower.

“I-I’m gonna … baby, please, oh, please …”

He’s still begging, babbling sweet nothings as he pushes you down, buries himself into your throat and releases.

And it feels like it goes on forever, his body arching and twitching underneath you, his fingers carding through your hair, trying to ground himself while his body is racked with waves and waves and waves of pleasure.

When he’s finally done, you carefully pull off and tug his discarded boxers back up his legs. Apparently it’s not fast enough because he whines, makes grabby hands at you, pulls you close as soon as you let him, straight into his chest, cupping your face and kissing you so sloppily you just know it was a good orgasm. All the pent-up energy from earlier melted from his bones.

“I’ve never come so hard in my life,” he slurs out when he pulls back, his eyes at half-mast as he stares at you. But he can’t mask the love.

You hum happily, give him another kiss on his soft, pliant lips, before you make to get up. He lets you go hesitantly, but when you turn around, you see he’s already starting to doze off. So you tug down his shirt, and pull the sheets up to settle around him, before you get up to get yourself some water and brush your teeth.

When you return, he’s snoring lightly. You turn off the light and slide under the covers.

His arm finds your body, and he pulls you against him, still asleep, a happy little hum on his lips.

You’ll tell him all of it again tomorrow.

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

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my fav lawyer

That’s how they made Billy’s son. Billy came out a “bag” and then he came out a bag aswell.

this is how im choosing to interpret the ask

DOES HE KNOW IM INSANEEE

Rare feeling bs 🥶

I went so hard on this piece 🤤