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miabbh · 1 month ago

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Princess Skin 💈

husband!Baekhyun x reader

Synopsis: that your husband is a starved man when the matter is you, nothing new; sometimes, though, you need to remind him that you have a princess skin and it's sensitive & he needs to shave. it's okay to dely his morning banquet, you try to tell him; it actually is, he conforms, you're there to help.

Genre: playfull banter, slice of life, quite ⚠⚠ explicit smut ⚠⚠ (oral sex–fem!receiving) | ~2,5k words

A low, hoarse sigh escapes Baekhyun's lips, resonating from deep within his chest, filling the quiet intimacy of the bathroom. The sound lingers, blending into the golden warmth of the wall lights as you gently tilt his head to the side.

He obeys without hesitation, his eyes fluttering shut, his hands resting firmly on your thighs. His grip is steady, grounding, hungry, fingers curling slightly over the hem of your oversized T-shirt—the one he used to wear but now lives permanently on your side of the wardrobe and makes a familiar sense of pride burn on his chest.

With careful precision, you trace the line of his jaw with the razor, your movement slow and deliberate as the white layer disappears to give way to his beautiful skin tone. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and the faint scratch of stubble yields easily to the blade in a dry sound.

You focus, the rhythm of the task drawing you in so you don't cut him. Or at least, you try. Maybe, you do focus—on the closeness of his body, his breath soft against your wrist, the way the tips of his fingers play with your skin, that threatens to distract you.

You take the blade to the basin full of water on your left, leaving the foam and the so short dark hairs floating in it. You can feel his eyes on you, following each movement with his gaze as your breasts gently sway beneath the fabric. The height difference is not significant, even with you sitting on the counter, but your gaze is slightly above his as you side eye him, arched eyebrow.

Those dark brown chocolate eyes melt slowly as a smirk grows on his lips, the fire beneath them burning slow, low and that oh so well pretended good behavior of his.

It had all started that morning, not long before this moment, when you were stirred awake by the faint, bristling sensation of his stubble against your neck. The warmth of him pressed against your back was the first thing you registered—the solid weight of his chest rising and falling in the slightly accelerated rhythm you've learned to know too well its meaning. Half-asleep, you instinctively raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing over the rough texture of his unshaven jaw hidden in the tangle of your hair.

A warm kiss pressed against your neck, right where the steady pulse of blood thrummed beneath your skin. His lips lingered, soft yet deliberate, coaxing your breath to hitch as the warmth of his mouth sent a gentle shiver cascading down your spine.

The sheets rustled as he shifted beside you before the soft moan leave your lips fully, the faint weight of them pulling away leaving you more exposed to the cool morning air.

You stirred, your body half-claimed by sleep, yet acutely aware of him. His hand slid along your thigh, the touch slow and unhurried, a silent request you couldn't deny. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he repositioned himself between your thighs, his movements purposeful but tender. Fingers brushed against the fabric of your shirt, the hem riding higher with every inch he claimed until his right hand cupped your breast, squeezing it with the whole palm.

Your back arched against the touch as you looked for a more comfortable position, already feeling a pleasant tingling in your stomach, your breathing quickening in anticipation, too drowned to him, to his touch, to all the things you knew he was caplable of doing and still surprised you every single time.

Your mind, intoxicated by expectation and not fully awakened sleep, took a while to register the muffled words coming from under the sheets. Before you could think to ask, the pressure from your panties on your hip bone as he pulled them to the side made you open your close your eyes again.

The tips of his fingers moved ever so slightly over your already wet clit, a gasp getting stuck in your throat. You could already imagine it—his face focused, his eyes wide and bright as he licked his soft pink lips, preparing to devour a feast. And oh my- you loved seeing him so hopelessly starved of you first thing in the morning.

You fought the instinct to close your legs when his index and middle finger slid between yours wet folds, caught by his teasing. Although, the soft satisfied sound that left your lips quickly turned into one of frustration, his fingers no longer touching you, the stubborn elastic of your panties covering your clit again.

The soft light from the room illuminated his face as you lifted the sheets, peeking at him. A wave of heat burned your cheeks as you caught him with both fingers on his mouth, lingering just against the tip of his tongue as he looked up at you.

Any complaint has left your being. You left him be, laying back down, his image stuck in the back of your mind.

But then you felt it—the rough scrape of his stubble, this time against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The contrast was exquisite, a deliberate tease that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Baby…" you murmured, blindly grabbing his hair as a shiver runned down your spine on a not-so-satisfying feeling.

He didn't seem to listen, his touch unrelenting yet gentle, his hands steady as they coaxed your legs further apart as his lips met your warmth, sucking it gently. A soft, low hum came from him, a sound that vibrated against your skin, reverberating through you.

You held back a melodic ah as the kisses and hickeys spread your leaking wetness, his teeth too teasing you, parted only enough to let the warm breaths of air chill you a little more.

You knew he had lost the patience to wait when both hands grabbed you, one by your thigh and the other by the curve of your butt, holding your panties with the thumb right before his tongue sinfuly make its way from your entrance up to the clit.

The sensation hand you shivering, the brown strands intertwined tightly in your fingers. But then, a burning sensation took over.

"Baek..." a slight frown wrinkle your forehead as you spoke. "You're scratching me."

He paused for a moment, just long enough to let the anticipation build, his warm breath fanning over your exposed skin.

"You’re really making me stop to go shave?" he murmured from beneath the sheets, the rough edge of his stubble grazing your inner thigh again as be leaned on the elbows.

You tilted your head back against the pillow, your voice barely steady as you tried to pull your leg away.

"You already know my opinion on that."

You could feel him smirking against your skin, pressing another lingering kiss just above your knee.

"If I even grow a beard someday, will you keep me away from you sweet pussy for at least three weeks 'til the beard no longer sting?" he teased, his hands sliding further up your leg, his touch igniting sparks which were all concentrated between your legs.

You tried to form a witty reply, the warmth of his breath and the deliberate hoarse words against your bare skin making it impossible to think clearly for a few seconds.

"Most likely." you managed to say, the mental image of a Baekhyun with a beard being difficult to conceive.

Baekhyun let go of your thighs, the warm sigh—more like a laugh—that left his mouth got you weak, and for a moment you almost pulled him back to you.

Reappearing from under the sheets scratching his chin, he looked at you. His lips found their way to yours, his whole body weighing you down against the mattress.

You could feel your taste on him, the growing hardness in his pyjama's pants pressing against you.

"Wanna help me?" he whispered, his voice low, thick with that sweet, convincing manipulation he wielded so well. His gaze moved down from your eyes to your lips, down to your neck—his thumb running through your clavicles. "Can't have my breakfast getting cold while waiting for me…"

And that is how you ended up here—perched on the counter, your legs parted to frame him as he stands between them. His gaze follows your every movement, dark and unwavering, as you dip the razor into the basin and wipe it clean on the towel.

The room is quiet save for the faint sound of water droplets and the soft scrape of metal as you carefully slid the blade down the line of his throat. His pulse steady, though the faint rise and fall of his chest betrays a quiet anticipation.

His adam's apple shifts, slow and deliberate, as he swallows under your careful touch.

You pause for a moment, your thumb brushing over the smooth skin you’d left in the razor's wake. His eyes flick up to meet yours, holding you there with a look that is equal parts trust and something deeper—something raw, burning hot and leaving you nervous.

The corner of his mouth tug upward in a slow, lazy smile.

"You like this, don’t you?" he teases, his voice soft, playful.

"You seem to be enjoying it more than me." you murmur, and his hands tighten ever so slightly on your thighs, moving further.

You roll your eyes, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrays your pretended annoyance. Carefully, you tilt his chin higher, exposing more of his neck, your fingers brushing against the sharp edge of his jaw. The moment is intoxicating, the intimacy—his surrender, your sense control, the quiet tension crackling between you like static electricity.

You can feel the tiny, slippery puddle forming in the marble under you, your panties—left somewhere you'll probably only find out after you get back from work— no longer being a protective barrier.

"You know…." he says, his voice low and gravelly. "...we could make of this a routine; I let my beard grow a little more than usual, you get all upset and bossy because I scratch your princess skin, and you get to see my face up this close while I-" he slides his thumb over your wetness, making you pull the blade away. A smirk grows on his face. "-til her royal highness authorize the presence of my mouth between her legs again. Huh? What do you say? Good deal?"

You sigh, spreading your legs slightly more. You try to disguise it, wiping the razor clean again, but the gaze is mischief enough for you to know you got caught.

It's not like he's in a place to speak: you could literally see the entire outline of his dick against the pants, his shoulders tense in an anticipation that you know too well. He's as needy as you, but his patience begins to inhibit itself—something you grow used to for good and for bad since he returned from the military.

"Stay still. I'm not done yet." Your eyes flicked back up to his, locking onto the dark intensity there.

A single line of shaving cream remained, stretching from his chin to the base of his neck, and you couldn't help but let your lips curl into a faint, teasing smile.

"My only intention is not to get all scratched up." you add, your voice light with a hint of mischief.

His smirk was slow, deliberate, and maddeningly confident. His falsely shy fingers slide into your folds with a mix of restraint and indulgence that, he knows, leaves you aching for more. Looking into your eyes, he slowly curls them up against your sensitive walls.

"I think we both know you don't mind a little scratch." he says, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

You shift on the counter, your buttock slipping on the cold marble due to that messy puddle you forgot about. Baekhyun grabs your hip with the free hand, steadying you in place.

"Eager, baby?" he teases.

You narrow your eyes at him, looking down at his left hand under your shirt. With a silently warning—to which he responds with a firmer grip the stillness of his fingers and hiding the lower lip, stretching the chin skin—you take the razor's next glide, slow and steady along the smooth curve of his chin.

"Keep talking and I might 'accidentally' nick you." you warn him, though the way your thumb lightly brushes him betrays the care you are taking, trying not to squeeze his fingers, sinking them deeper.

His Adam's apple bobbed again as he swallowed, the movement deliberate.

"I'm not worried." he replies as the blade leaves his skin as you make him tilt the head back again to light, checking your work. His tone a mix of trust and something more playful. "You'd never risk ruining your masterpiece."

You snort softly, dipping the razor back into the water and wiping it clean on the towel.

"Such confidence in me." you mutter, shaking your head, trying to deny the warmth curling low in your stomach at the way his gaze hadn't left you for a second. Only the grip of his on you is keeping you from moving by now.

He leans in slightly, just enough for the edge of his stubble to graze your wrist as you adjust his chin again.

"Confidence, or just faith in you?" his voice a low rumble seems to vibrate through the small space between you. He digs his fingers into you, his thumb finding the pressure point just above your clit and moving in small circles. "You're my beloved wife, aren't you? So committed to keeping me in line... or at least keeping me smooth."

You pause, the razor held just above his skin, your breath catching as you close your eyes. For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you thick and warm.

"Baek..." His nickname falls from your lips in a barely audible whisper, the sound trembling in the quiet space. Your eyes flicker upward, struggling to meet his intense gaze as you steel yourself. "Lemme finish this and I'm all yours."

Baekhyun smirks, the curve of his lips both wicked and knowing. He shifts slightly, the smallest movement sending his thumb grazing over your clit—just enough to steal your breath and make you falter. Then, just as quickly, he pulls away, leaving a warmth that lingers long after his touch is gone.

"Go ahead." he murmurs, his tone laced with amusement.

And then, with deliberate care, you resume your work, the corner of your lips lifting ever so slightly.

"Not an easy job, to keep you smooth." you put down the blade, holding up the towel to clean his skin of any remaining cream and opening the moisturizing cream bottle. You apply a gentle layer of it on his skin, proud of your job, but it's quickly forgotten. "And it's probably over now…"

He grins.

"Of course it is." he leans against you again, his lips moving against yours as your hips are grabbed against his with a fast movement, taking you away from the counter. Your legs instinctively intertwine around his hips, you hands finding home on the back of his neck and hair.

The sensation is maddening, his lips finding their way downward, planting feather-light kisses along the curve of your neck, each one slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth and want in their wake.

"Let me have my sweet treat now." he murmurs before making his way to the bed, sinking you into the pillows and crumpled sheets.

His body towers over yours, his broad shoulders pressing on your thighs open. His lips meet your stomach in a slow pace, his tongue pressing against your skin before sinking into your pussy again.

You glance down, your breath hitching as your eyes meet his—hungry, desperate, and unwavering. His starved gaze locks onto yours, the raw intensity in his expression sending a wave of heat coursing through your body.

The sounds of his tongue and lips working against you fill the room, unrestrained and unapologetic, echoing through the space with an intimacy that makes you see stars for a moment.

A moan escapes your lips, drawn out by the relentless rhythm of his movements. The sound seems to affect him too, and he answers with a low groan of his own, muffled against you as his hips press into the mattress beneath him. The sheets rustle under his weight, his movements restless, insatiable.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, tangling in the dark strands as his name falls from your lips in a breathless cry. He doesn't stop, doesn't falter; if anything, your touch spurs him further, his focus entirely on you, on this, on the unspoken connection binding you together, and on the way he seems go never get enough of you.

His hands roam over your skin, your thighs, your hips, your waist. His touch is almost frantic, fingers digging in as though he's anchoring himself, or perhaps losing control altogether.

You catch the faint glimmer of tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust, his face flushed and utterly consumed by the moment. And oh... you're thankful you're also a pillow princess.