𝔘𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔩

it was an oasis of a sort, being able to do such. being a parent often felt like a never-ending overstimulation of every sense, but putting at least one at bay, even if only for a while, felt like a recalibration of the others. in the hammock of your backyard, there were no cries or fussing amongst two children, just the morning calls of a flock. no pungent smells of putty and spilled drinks, just the scent of grass and earthy moss. no hurried steps against the clock shared between you and your husband but rather........soft ones....slow....? accompanied by the low click of the.....patio door?

your eyes fly open to meet the tired ones of your husband, who groggily steps off the burnt orange patio to near the hammock. his steps, just as your ears had picked up on, are almost lethargic in how they move before planting themselves in front of the cotton material. he offers a pout in his delicate features that makes your chest ache with a sliver of guilt.

he does not yet verbalize the plea his expression offers. only wears a look of gentle sadness to accompany his disheveled appearance, with ruffled honey-blond hair and loose-fitting pajamas.

even as the guilt pinches at your heart with a pang at his expression, you can't say you truly regret slipping away for a glimmer of peace before the day truly started. in fact, you find yourself rationalizing it, already knowing what he would say. "morning, ki," you say, offering a soft smile. "i'm....sunbathing."

his voice slips into the chorus of songbirds in a low tone, gravelly and deepened from the slumber he's been summoned from in lieu of your absence. "g'morning, hun....." he utters, pushing his fingers into his sleep-mussed hair. then a quick glance at the cloud-draped gradient sky before turning back to you, he let the words spill from his lips. "...there's hardly any sun at all."

if the brown eyes of his that peered at you under the trickle of soft light weren't enough to undo you alone, his morning voice almost certainly had done the job. and if you weren't in desperate need of relaxation outside of the home, the booming voice could have easily coaxed you back into the bed from which you snuck out of. wrapped in his arms and the warmth of it alone. "i'm....cloud-bathing, then."

a humorless chuckle tumbled off his lips, temporarily breaking the pout embedded upon them. "baby....." he says, the pitch of plea in the word somehow still as deep as his usual voice. "don't think the clouds are letting up anytime soon today."

that, was unfortunately true. what had also been, however, was the fact that the moment your girls got up, they would be as persistent as the weather itself. would likely keep you on your feet until you'd been greeted by the eventual roll of the sunset. even if implied you could come back later, the chances were paper-thin.

and with each day nearing the formal beginning of summer, you'd want to soak in as much of the gentle breeze of spring as you could. for in a matter of days, you'd be unable to lie in the hammock around the same time of day without the glisten of sweat to complement your features, the humidity sweeping in the place of the breath of spring; sun beaming rather than sprinkling along your body.

"i know, ki," you say, nearly letting your eyelids drop to slip back into serenity —and because it was easier to avoid the plea in his gaze that way— "i just.....i wanna stay a while."

a knit between his brows appears. "stay with me, hun," his voice croaks as his nimble hand reaches past the blanket to take your own. "come back to bed."

your resolve starts to slip at the way his gentle words slip from his lips. and as your eyes manage to remain open long enough to capture his state, you think for one moment, it may just crumble. even amidst the cast of subtle shadows along his sulky expression, in the white tank and navy pajama bottoms he stood in; nothing seems to undo you more emotionally.

post-day break of the morning looks good on him. it's a miracle that it's one of the few things that don't shift with time, nor is it stolen by a season. countless years could pass, and you'd know this to be true. the beauty of his angular features belonged to you in every quiet pocket or glimpse of light for days to come; you'd vowed it, hand in his on that fateful day years ago.

it's why a comfort rests in your chest upon the recognition that no change outside of the variables of life itself could affect the way you saw him. not the touch of age along smooth skin, nor physical or mental scars brought by challenges from the outside world.

the same, however, could not be said for spring. the season was within mere moments of being wiped clean, only to bring about its beauty on the other side of the calendar. it's why you gently tug away from his grasp, offering another soft smile, and a gentle pledge. "i'll join you in a bit, hm?" you say. "ten minutes."

riki's hand only tightens around your hand, the pout finally slipping out of his features to offer something more incredulous in a cock of his brow. "seriously?"

there's hope in his voice, but it's tinged with some quiet disbelief. you want to believe the words yourself, but deep down know they are more a consolation than a promise. sometimes ten minutes blurred into twenty; others longer than that. it wasn't that you were bad with time; just that he'd been ever the perfectionist, especially when it came to waiting along the bedside for you.

perhaps it's why you can't bring yourself to offer confirmation of your words; offering a new set that feels better. "maybe.....fifteen?"

fifteen, you reiterate in your mind. fifteen sounds good. fifteen could get lost in the moment, yes, but under the dappled sunlight you weren't sure what number couldn't.

but the number isn't as golden to him. because with a drop of his brow, he slips out of his slippers before steadying the hammock. his large figure moves to climb into the structure, warmth engulfing your body as he slides next to yours. "fifteen, hm?"

you anchor the soft smile, lifting up the knit blanket to assist him in getting comfy. because the truth was, no matter what you said, he'd known and you'd known the truth. that the point at which you would truly return to the shared mattress was dependent on you being guided there by a gentle hand.

so you silently thank him as he presses kisses along your forehead, as if to read every thought held behind it. marriage did that after a while, and upon having the warmth of it alongside the comfort of the season, you couldn't be more grateful.

he shifted himself into a position so as not to heavily disturb your own, settling into the deep pocket to keep your body upon his chest. amidst the sea of kisses he'd planted, you feel his hand drop to the waistband of your string-drawn nightwear, tugging at the fabric. "i can think of a better way to spend fifteen minutes."

his voice is dripping with suggestion, and while the premise is tempting, —and deeply so— you did not want to cause anything to disrupt the quiet bubble around you and riki and the yellow and lavender singed sky. "and what about little chaos?"

"fast asleep," he said, then another kiss. "should be for a while."

you lifted a brow at his optimism. if not for the window he'd thought out, then for the confidence he'd had in sneaking back inside without causing a bump within it. you were astonished he'd managed to slip past the patio without awaking the flood to begin with. "that's...generous."

his brow lifts at the irony of your sudden punctuality. "at least thirty minutes," his hand slips momentarily, as if once again reading your mind. "s'that why you didn't want to come back to bed?" his fingers bring your chin up toward him in a nudge. "hm?"

you nod slowly. it had been the partial reason, of course, though most certainly enough to keep you lying within the capture of cotton.

"baby..." his chest rumbled, the honeyed tone of his morning voice stirring in your core. "y'know i'd take care of it."

"i know, i know," you breathe as the gentle air drifts with his finger across your cheek. and you did. but hadn't wanted to make the request, nor sic the kids on him on one of his few off days, especially rena. the girl had been a menace lately, nonstop berating about how the backyard desperately needed a treehouse.

and in the early morning, amidst the break of a cool day before the solstice, it seemed like the perfect time to do so. no need to break anyone out of their routines. "just figured....you'd want to rest up is all."

his dark eyes drop to your lips as his tongue darts out to moisten his. then, a dip in his voice as he places another kiss, slower, along your head. "i'm fine, baby." then, a cock of his brow. "but.....s'that what you need hun? to relax?"

your eyes nearly flutter closed at his words, sinking into them like the truth they behold. another nod is offered against his chest, your voice trickling with the very need as you utter, "mhm."

at your hum, a somewhat hungry expression adorns his features. a pinch falls between his blond brows, though it's out of veneration this time rather than a pout. "yeah?" he asks, the sleepiness leaving no trace in his voice as it drops to the natural octave. "c'mere, then."

obedience sends your lips towards his, just as it does ripples of want in your core. and when the buttery-soft pair move against your own, you feel yourself nearly melt in the same manner. the kisses sing with a weight heavier than the lighter ones he'd placed about your features.

you break apart in chopped sets, merely for breath. the smacks of passion between deep, heavy kisses itch at a desire you'd long had for a while. you let out a moan as the craving etches its way out of you, long buried beneath the sea of responsibilities amidst parenthood.

the feeling is shared, as based on the way riki props himself among the cotton fabric, moving ever so slowly as to not disrupt its gentle sway. his hand finds that of your waistband again, tugging at the material with eager fingers.

you break the kiss to look up at him, want evident, but held at bay by the pressing thought. "maybe we should wait, ki." you whispered. temptation of making out in the hammock was in no way something you'd ever negate, but with where it was quickly heading, you weren't sure if it had done more soothing than building another —and far louder— ache.

his lips take yours again, bringing about the gentler, soothing kisses as he mutters words along your skin. "trust me, mamas." another kiss, just as soft but longer along your lips, as if savoring the taste. "turn around for me?"

it's an easier feat than one would imagine, flipping around in the swing. your body twists so that your back is pressed against his chest in a matter of seconds, his hands ghosting along your figure as you do. the hyperawareness of his action and presence sends a shiver through you, almost as viscerally as it does when he snakes his hand past the waistline of your pants.

you let out a gasp as his fingers tease the undergarment along your sensitive skin, earning a grasp at his arm in shock of the touch. "ki," you whisper, raking your fingers along the pale skin.

"relax, baby," he coos, continuing to press kisses along your skin, this time in the dips of your shoulders from behind, along the erogenous zones of your neck. "can you do that for me?" another kiss, wetter along your skin, then a nibble at your ear. "hm pretty?"

you nod slowly, easing into his touch as you loosen the grasp at his arm in quiet submission. the worries of all that could go wrong creep back into your mind, but not before the evident perception of your husband, who seems to have read it again.

he tugs at the knitted fabric of the blanket, as if to provide reassurance with the very gesture that what occurs below it remains solely between you both, husband and wife. that anything that could not be hidden behind the large wooden fence that enclosed the yard would be, by the comfort of the cloth. anything within the walls, too. "should we have any interruptions," he releases the blanket. "i'll handle it, okay?"

it's only when you nod that riki's hand returns beneath the slip; and a breath of fresh air fills your lungs. the long fingers continue to dance along the slim fabric of your underwear, earning soft sound from his lips when you finally lean into his touch. "that's it, baby." he coos, fingers plucking at the strap of your panties. "can i make you feel good?"

a flush of heat dresses your face at the understanding he has no intention of returning to the house, or even unbuckling his pants, no. he plans to do with you what your beloved season of spring does to the cherry blossoms of trees, right on the cusp of a burning summer: and with his fingers alone.

you bite your lip in anticipation, willing your voice not to quiver as he traces teasing circles along your clothed mound. "mhm," you mutter, letting your racing thoughts slip as one with the wind. "yes, ki." you hum back.

you can hear the smirk in his voice just before he places kisses along your shoulder, a low rumble in his words. "atta girl," he coos. "stay quiet for me?"

the question is the only warning you get before his slim fingers pull the thin fabric of your panties to the side, and he runs a single digit down your clit. the touch is light, enough to ignite a heat in your belly, but not quite the friction required for deep pleasure. the gentle tease sends a ripple up your spine, a gentle gasp etching its way out at the stroke.

the noise from your throat does little to encourage the shifting of pressure along your nerves. he only continues pushing toward and past the hood, shallowing your slick lips in slow touches, agonizing strokes.

you spread your legs as much as the hammock allows, throwing a calf over his to provide more space as his fingers move. but the manner in which his fingers dip into the entrance of your pussy before tauntingly gliding along the slit suggests he's got no need for extra space. he simply wants to see you squirm a bit. it's shown rather quickly how much he craves it in the form of his hardening member pressing along your back as you chase the feeling only his hands can bring.

bashedly, the wish is granted when you clutch his arm, offering a plea between gasps for him to apply more pressure. "ki......" you moan gently, clawing at the pale skin. "need more," a pathetic whimper escapes at the flick of his finger. "please, i need—"

the warmth of lips meets a spot on your cheek, gently as he applies slight depth to his touch. "mm, i know, mamas," he speaks, the vibrations humming along your skin. lust blooms in your chest at his words. "gonna give you everything you need, okay?"

the words sound like a vow, ones that ring so true that it's a miracle you're actually surprised when he acts on them seconds later. he sinks his middle finger into the depths of your pussy in one fluid motion, earning an unguarded moan from your lips. in the heat of your walls, his finger feels like bliss as he drags it along the ridges in a slow motion.

your eyes squeeze themselves shut in pure reaction to the feeling as your cunt twitches with each movement. "sh.....shit, ki," you clutch his arm harder, something between a low whimper and a poorly hushed moan leaves your lips. "mph, f...uck,"

the sounds of moisture beneath the blanket build in volume as he begins to move; each thrust of his long finger pushing in and out of your sopping cunt at an agonizing pace. riki hums a low warning along your ear amidst your crumbling disposition, a smirk still evident in his voice. "easy, baby." he nibbles along the flesh of your lobe. "you gonna stay quiet for me?"

"ngh!" you cry, peeling your hand from around his arm to slam it across your lips. you can't even get out an acknowledgment beyond a muffled moan in response; a further display of your undoing.

this unraveling is encouraged by him pushing another finger into you, rocking both at a faster pace as his wrist rests below your belly. your other hand slips from his arm, clutching the blanket that hides his knuckle-deep fingers moving rapidly within your walls as you attempt to ground yourself.

the attempt is futile, of course. so much so, that you drop your other hand from your mouth, expelling a series of shaky moans from as riki finger fucks you. "shi......it......ki." you cry, chewing at your lips to try to stop what pleasure-weakened hands could not. "feels......so.....fuckin' go.....od." a breathy whimper frees itself as he moves. "fuuu....ck"

the once gentle sway of the hammock shifts into something more urgent as riki toys about the sensitive depths of your body. pushing in with deep strokes before sliding all the way out, he drags your slick along your clit in devastating circles that make your feet curl and heart stir.

amidst the somewhat stifled high-pitched moans of your own, riki, brushing plump lips along your neck, spends kind words upon you as you twist in pleasure. "shiiiit," he hisses, the breeze only aiding in the chill along your skin that his voice provides. "pussy's so damn tight around me,"

an involuntary spasm around his fingers echoes this truth, and your eyes roll back just as uncontrollably as he plunges even deeper before pulling his fingers out. the same devastating motions of him finger-fucking you before rolling your clit around in juices is enough to blur all rational thought. moans of pleasure slip out freely, as though their suppression had been ill-fated to begin with.

"fuck, baby," riki's voice spills with want as his dark eyes under pinched brows watch you twist about. "look so fuckin' pretty like this."

his body can't seem to contain its own expression of pleasure, his slender figure grinding against yours in every subtle tremor, shake and twist you emit. the press of his hard cock against your ass nearly sends you over the edge as he runs and rolls his fingers along the silk of your pussy. he uses the hand that props up his shoulder to tilt your face toward his again, and the image of him —plump lips parted in awe at your undoing— proves to be nearly too much.

the heat in your belly may as well be an inferno as it expands, lighting up every nerve along your pussy as he flicks, fucks and rubs your twitching cunt. your chest grows heavy with short breaths as you attempt to steady the ever-growing high that threatens to spill over. "ki," you moan pitifully, unable to keep his gaze as you turn and twist about in the hammock. your head falls against the cushion of the pillow, putting your sight in line with the string of fabric you clutch at. "i'm gonna.......i'm......go....."

"aw, pretty," riki coos, using the hand propped underneath you to pinch at your clothed nipples. "you're gonna what, hm?"

your eyes squeeze tightly as you near the end of your coil; vision blurring in pleasure in the brief moments they can stay open. the daffodils that surround the hammock turn into mere specs; yellow dots, adorning the yard, the same way casts of shadows do along the verdant oasis. in a moment of bliss, your eyes fall upon the cloudy sky that parts to offer a slight speck of the sun. and as it finds its way through trees to hit your face, you feel as if you've never truly seen the light before then.

a shudder races through you as the coil snaps, sending waves of euphoria about your body. you succumb to the feeling of bliss as riki's rhythm slows to meet the tempo of your high, rubbing away gently as your senses peak. "fuuuck," you moan out, a spasm of nerves sending your body into a frenzy. "fuck, fuck, i'm coming!"

you only hope the birdsong is enough to drown out your wails of pleasure as you tighten and pulse around his fingers. a sharp buzzing sensation floods your senses from your head to toe, every echo earning light shocks. "shiitt, ki, fuck!" your moans twisting into a string of hushed breaths between swears.

"shitttt, baby." riki groans as he brings your body closer to his. he grinds himself along you as you ride out the high, as if feeling the same sparks of pleasure of release he'd given you. "that's it, hun."

"mph, ki," you whimper, gently pushing at riki's hand that's slowed to the same teasing pace from earlier. the delicate touch you'd once squirmed for now stings with the bite of overstimulation, making your legs tremble with each gentle flick.

but it's only when your tremors slow to light twitches that he tugs his fingers from your pussy. you watch in awe as his tongue glides along his slick fingers peeled from your underwear, as if licking a nectar brought about from the prettiest flower he'd known. one that would endure the fleetingness of a spring day or the eventual sting of summer. and based on the unwavering look in his eyes as he suckles along the digits, it is one ever so sweet.

heat decorates your face as you break eye contact in a flutter of your lids. marriage had claimed many things over the years: responsibilities, long stretches of time, at times even your own volition. one thing it never seemed to steal was butterflies. and as you lie in the hammock with them swimming in your chest, you can't help but crack a shy smile.

riki drops his hand to place gentle kisses along the edges of your lips, the taste of your essence remaining on his. he hums a low rumble of pride as he brushes a finger along your sun-sprinkled cheek. "feel better mamas?"

you nod slowly, sinking into his depth. the hammock returns to it's gentle sway, the spring offering it's remnants of relaxation in the form of a gentle breeze. "mhm," you croak, voice tired with pleasure. "i love you, ki."

riki's voice booms with a laugh as gentle as the wind. "love you too, hun."

you pull his fingers from your face, interlacing them with your own. a chuckle then bubbles in your throat; your lips twisting in the familiar apology usually belonging to the bedroom. "i don't think i was too loud......right?"

riki's eyes slim with a knowing look, and you feel your heart stir. the answer almost makes its way from his lips, then decides to reveal itself in the form of another noise. the slow hiss of the patio door opening, followed by the pinch of it closing shut.

in a flash, the low-lidded expression of his face disappears, replaced by one of quiet urgency. he spends a series of kisses along your skin as he steadies the swing. "i'll take care of it, okay?" he whispers, offering a deeper, parting kiss as he prepares to leave. "rest up. take all the time you need, hm?"

you nod slowly as he slips out of the hammock, and into his slippers. the joys of parenthood tear at the shared moment in the form of the pitch of your eldest, rena as riki emerges from the slip. and just like that, he is a father again, the paternal tone in his voice stirring about something wild in your chest. "hey, little chaos." he coos, crossing up to the burnt orange stairs to meet his girl. "join me inside?"

thumps sound along the patio, and you can almost picture the young girl bouncing excitedly as riki takes her hand. and when she asks about where you are, you hear the hiss of the door slide open, followed by the boom of your husband's laugh as he likely guides her into the shared home. "mommy's…..out of commission right now."

the door clicks shut within seconds, and you let the chuckle fly from your lips. because amidst the trickle of light and the low hum of a buzz along the skin, she is, in fact, very much so.

still, as the cascade of light dons your features, you find yourself gripping the knit blanket to toss it aside. the breath of spring sings with melodies you'd long miss when the time comes for it to slip away. quiet shaking of leaves along the trees above, ghosts of hushed sessions along strings of cotton in the backyard, and gentle chimes of warblers. it is, however, the loudest of them all calls from beyond the sea of daffodils and dandelions, within the home you share. this melody, though at times trying, is the one that resonates with the undeniable clarity of a love that extends beyond the ever-changing seasons alone.

it's why the time you take does not get to melt into fifteen, nor twenty minutes. it's spent in a matter of seconds as your feet swing over the edge of the hammock, slipping onto the bed of grass before finding your shoes. because if there's anything more melancholic than watching a season slip away, it is allowing a day to do so without loved ones.

He doesn’t reply, partly because he’s too focused. Partly because he doesn’t know what you could possibly want more.

“Heeseung” you whine, tears threatening to fall.

You need him close, you need his attention.

He just thinks you want more and spreads your thighs further apart as he licks and sucks at your pussy. 

“Heeseung!” you whine again and tug on his hair, wanting his attention.

He presses one last kiss to your clit before pulling back.

“Mh? What’s wrong? “ his lips glisten with your juices. 

“I need you close” your voice shakes.

His brows furrow for a second before pulling himself up so he’s on top of you.

He immediately coos at the sight of you, tears spilling from your eyes, cheeks flushed, messy hair and your hand crumpling the sheets next to you.

Firstly, he grabs your hand and kisses it before pinning it next to your head.

“You need me close?” he repeats as he kisses you gently.

He doesn’t wipe your tears as they give him a weird sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.

You nod as you look into his eyes, trying to memorize every part of him.

He kisses your neck and smirks to himself.

He loooves how vulnerable you get during sex. Like you physically need this closeness to feel full and loved by him. Maybe it’s fucked up, maybe it’s unhealthy, but that wouldn’t be a first in your relationship. 

He gives his already hard cock a few strokes before lining it with your hole.

You're so wet and ready for him, already clenching like you’re trying to suck him in.

“Fuck-” he groans as he sinks into you.

You whimper, slightly oversensitive considering how long his face was between your thighs earlier.

He grabs your calves and lifts them so your thighs are squished against your chest and he can go deeper.

You immediately moan “oh my god” as you arch slightly, your arms going around his neck.

He buries his face in your neck and starts thrusting, fast and powerful.

You whimper and dig your nails into his neck.

He groans, but doesn’t get mad, knowing you’re feeling extremely sensitive right now.

“I know baby, I know,” 

“C-closer” you beg, needing him to invade every part of your body, your mind, your soul.

He grunts as he plunges deeper into you. “Baby I don’t think I can get closer than this.”

You whimper and more tears fall. You sniffle “I c-can’t,”

He pulls back to look at you and chuckles.

“You’re so sensitive, baby. C’mon don’t cry.” he presses kisses all over your face as his thrusts slow down.

You sniffle and he looks at you.

He wraps your legs around him so his pelvis grinds against you with every thrust, then he wraps one arm around your waist and leans down so your chests are touching.

He starts moving again, slower. Each powerful thrust sending shocks to your brain, making it feel all fuzzy and warm. He doesn’t stop looking at you as he watches your brows arch and your mouth fall open.

He feels you claw at his shoulders and just continues his slow, deliberate thrusts that knock the air from your chest.

“Better? Hm?”

You can’t possibly reply. You just roll your eyes back and arch into his chest.

“So fuckin’ needy. Do you get it now when I say no one else can handle you? Hm?” 

You whimper, more tears falling from your eyes and into the mattress beneath you.

“It’s okay baby,” he kisses your neck. “Just means you're mine.”

“Heeseung-” you try to warn him you’re close but he interrupts you.

“I know. You’re- fuck- squeezing me so tight baby.”

He feels your grip on his biceps tighten and your legs lock in around him.

“Cmon hold on a little longer,” he smirks, basically pulling out until only the tip is in.

Poor y/n. Still getting teased, even when you’re crying, sweating, begging him for more.

Your head lolls to the side, letting more tears roll down your face.

He loves that.

“Look at me y/n,” his voice is soft,even though his actions speak way louder.

His actions being the way his dick is barely still inside you and he’s completely neglecting your pleasure.

You don’t turn your head and you cross your arms as well, giving him the full brat treatment.

“Seriously, baby?” his thumb goes to lazily rub your clit, making you clench around him.

He pushes back in slightly and your head tilts back.

“You were being so good. So communicative.” He leans in to suck a fresh hickey on your exposed skin.

You whine but don’t dare to push him away.

You try to roll your hips, attempting to get a sliver of pleasure from his firm thumb pressing against your clit and his cock half-inside your pussy.

He immediately pins them down.

“Y/n,” he warns.

Your arms go from crossed to covering your face.

He can barely see if you’re crying but hears the familiar sniffles and whimpers of all the other times he was in this situation.

“Cmon don’t do that now-” he tries to pull them away but you shake your head.

He sighs and smooths his thumb over your wrist, right under where your palm is covering your eyes.

“Baby. C’mon,” he repeats, stuck between "I took it too far” and “she’s a dramatic brat”.

He sinks back inside you, finally, pitying you.

He starts picking his pace up again, thrusting shallowly but rubbing circles on your clit.

It really isn’t hard to gain his compassion.

You’re feeling good again and your arms fall back above your head. 

When you meet his gaze it isn’t warm. But not cold either.

He’s just...watching you.

The smudged black streaks of mascara falling down your face and your red, teary big eyes staring up at him like you’d do anything for him.

He plunges himself deep inside and you cry out.

He knows he should be going easier on you right now, but he just can’t resist when you fall apart around him.

In between your breathy moans, he buries his face in your neck and you swear you can hear him groan as you clench around him.

He presses soft kisses there as his dick slides in and out of your puffy pussy.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.”

That makes your legs tighten around him and pull him deeper.

You moan and let out a soft “‘m so close” in his ear.

He doesn’t stop this time.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” he praises, knowing exactly how to push you over the edge.

“That’s it. Cmon. Let go for me.”

It’s like his words have the magical effect of controlling what your body does, cutting yourself from the decision.

You feel like an elastic snap in your stomach and throw your head back as you call his name, repeatedly.

“I know, I know, fuck-” he speeds up, using your pussy as his personal fleshlight as he feels his own orgasm arrive too.

You whine as you look up at him.

All you want right now, in your post-orgasm blissful haze is to see him cum too.

You tug on his hair. “Please baby,”

That has him groaning as he bottoms out inside you with a final thrust, filling you up.

“Oh God,” he basically moans in your ear as his dick spills more cum inside you.

“Fuck-” he thrusts a few more times before basically falling on top of you, finally making you feel that closeness you were asking for in the beginning.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

When he pulls back he grabs a tissue on the nightstand and admires the sight of his cum leaking out of your pussy, before cleaning it all up. 

“You okay?” he asks after giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

You nod and look up at him as he smudges the mascara stains under your eyes.

“Sorry I cried,” you chuckle.

He chuckles back. “I didn’t mind. As long as you don’t shut me out.”

In fact, he loved it. Loved it so much he was already planning on how to tease so much you’d be crying in his arms. But that was for next time.

You nod as you play with his hair absentmindedly, unaware of his evil plan.

"y/n." his voice comes out rough. "You still up?" The words struggle to leave him as you stare up at him, a dozen different responses crowding your throat. Instead, the only thing that comes out is "you forgot" You watch as the guilt in his eyes deepens. And his brows knit together.

Only then does he pull his phone from his pocket. You watch the exact moment realization hits him as his eyes scan the screen, taking in the unread messages, the missed calls, the time. His expression tightens and he lets his head fall back with a quiet sigh. "Shit." the curse slips out under his breath. And somehow that makes you even angrier.

Because he forgot. How could he just forget? “Babe, I-” "Hee..." You cut him off, your voice coming out softer than you'd intended as all the exhaustion bleeds through your frustration. "Do you know how worried I was?" You shake your head before he can answer. "You can't keep doing this. Do you know how it feels sitting here for hours, completely unable to reach you? Not knowing if you're okay, if you've eaten..." a humorless laugh escapes you. "It's driving me insane."

He doesn't interrupt you, doesn't rush to defend himself or offer some half-hearted excuse. He just stands there, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of your words, staring down at the floor as guilt settles across his features.

"I know, baby" he says quietly. "No, I don't think you do" your throat tightens. "Because if you did, you would've called, or texted, or done literally anything, especially with how crazy your job is." His jaw flexes. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is dies down before it reaches his lips. "I was going to," he finally admits. "Every time I picked up my phone, I thought I'd text you in a minute. Then something came up, and I kept putting it off."

The confession only makes your chest ache more because it sounds exactly like him. He always assumes there will be more time. More time to call, more time to explain, more time to make it right…until suddenly there isn't.

His eyes finally lift to meet yours, and the guilt there is enough to make your anger waver. "I'm sorry," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I really am.” The apology hangs between you, but this time it doesn't soften the ache in your chest. You stare at him for a long moment before looking away, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than the guilt written all over his face.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Heeseung." His expression immediately falls, but you continue before he has the chance to respond. "I spent the entire day worried sick. I called you seven times." A bitter laugh escapes you as you shake your head. "Seven…and the whole time I kept telling myself you probably got caught up with work or maybe your phone died." your throat tightens.

"But then I'd open social media and there you'd be." His brows raise ever so slightly. "I saw clips from your fan accounts, pictures from earlier today, even asked your staff to speak with you but got turned away. I had to look at your fan accounts posting where you were and what you were doing just to make sure that you were okay." you let out another humorless laugh.

"Do you know how insane that feels? Sitting here wondering if you're okay while strangers somehow know more about your day than I do." something shifts in his expression. "I had to find out you were okay through other people..." the room falls silent as the enormity of your words sink in.

Immediately, you regret saying it, not because it isn't true, but because it is, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it too. "You know I don't care that you're busy," you continue, your voice quieter now. "I knew what I was getting into when we got together. I knew there'd be schedules and tours and interviews, I knew there'd be days where I barely saw you…that's never been the problem."

Your eyes burn as you force yourself to meet his gaze. "What I didn't expect was feeling like everyone gets access to you before I do." His eyes drop to the floor. “I wasn't asking for a three hour phone call, I wasn't asking for some elaborate date or grand gesture, I would've been happy with a text, Heeseung. Just one text letting me know you were okay."

For the first time all evening, you can see him understanding that this isn't really about tonight. It's about every time he's looked at a notification and thought he'd answer later. All the times he's promised himself he'd call when things settled down, convinced there would always be more time.

"I kept meaning to answer," his admission is quiet and helpless. "I really did” his shoulders slump. "Saw the messages, the missed calls too." He runs a tired hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side. You close your eyes. Of course he did because that was always the answer, he kept choosing later.

Later, when he had a second, later when he finished this one thing, maybe when he was away from all his demanding fans. Until suddenly it was after midnight and you were sitting alone on the couch wondering why the entire world gets to have your boyfriend before you do. Your eyes burn as you force yourself to continue.

"I know your job is demanding. I know people need things from you constantly. Your crew, your managers, your fans. I understand that. I've always understood that." You swallow around the lump in your throat. "I just..." you exhale sharply, dragging a hand across your face. "I don't know how many more times I can have this conversation.” The words hang heavily between you.

When you finally look at him again, he's already watching you, his eyes filled with something that looks dangerously close to panic. "Do you know how humiliating it feels having to check fan accounts just to make sure my boyfriend is okay? Watching strangers post updates about where you are while I'm sitting here wondering if something happened to you?" You shake your head. "I shouldn't have to do that."

His gaze immediately drops. "You're right." His voice is rough. "You're right," he repeats quietly. "You shouldn't." You stare at him, no excuses coming from him but somehow that hurts too…because if he knows you're right, then why does it keep happening?

Heeseung seems to realize exactly where your thoughts have gone because his shoulders sag even further. "I don't have a good excuse," he admits. "I wish I did." He sounds extremely tired, not only physically, but emotionally. Like he's disappointed in himself too. The apartment falls quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock that had been mocking you all evening.

You stare at him, taking in the dark circles beginning to form beneath his eyes and the way he's still standing by the door as though he hasn't quite earned the right to come any closer.

"Did you eat?" you ask finally. The question seems to catch him off guard. "What?"

"You heard me" A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips despite himself. "Yeah”

"You sure?" He nods making you narrow your eyes. "An actual meal?"

“Yes” his smile grows slightly. You raise a brow suspectingly, "Something that wasn't coffee?" A quiet laugh escapes him. "Yes" For the first time all night, the tension eases, just a little. You hate how easy it is. How one stupid laugh can make your anger crack around the edges.

Heeseung notices too, of course he does. He's always been annoyingly good at reading you. Slowly, cautiously, he takes a few steps forward and you don't stop him. By the time he reaches the couch, he's close enough that you can see the exhaustion written across every inch of his face. For a moment, neither of you say anything, he just stands there, looking down at you with that same guilty expression that's been etched onto his features since he walked through the door. You hate how tired he looks…how easily your concern always manages to worm its way through your frustration.

His gaze drops briefly to your hands before flickering back up to your face. And the movement is so quick you almost miss it, almost. A breath leaves you through your nose when you catch him eyeing your wrist. "Don't." you deadpan. "I didn't do anything." his lips twitch. "You were thinking about it." "Thinking about what?" You level him with a look and his smile grows. "You are unbelievable." You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you and the tiny smile is all the invitation he needs.

Before you can stop him, he lowers himself onto the couch beside you, careful to leave a few inches of space between you both and the distance is almost comical considering how attached and handsy he usually is. You glance at him but he's staring straight ahead…very intentionally. As though he's trying to convince you he isn't currently fighting the urge to throw himself into your arms. The realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest and you turn to face him.

"You can stop looking like a kicked puppy" you watch him. "I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugs. "Heeseung, i'm serious." You're met with the least convincing expression you've ever seen. A laugh slips out before you can stop it and the relief on his face is immediate. It softens something in him, his shoulders relax, the tension leaves his jaw. For the first time since he'd walked through the door, he looks like he can breathe again. Slowly, cautiously, he reaches for your hand, not grabbing it but just resting his fingers against yours, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

When you don't, his thumb brushes over your knuckles once, twice, a familiar gesture. One he's probably done thousands of times without realizing it. "I'm really sorry, baby." You stare down at your intertwined hands and sigh. "I know." And you do. You know he loves you, sometimes you think he loves you so much that he assumes you'll always be there to tolerate it silently, waiting patiently while he sorts everything else out first.

It's a terrible habit. One he needs to break. But you can't help the way your heart melts at the sight of him looking so at ease. “Wanna cuddle?” you shoot out the question and it catches him off guard. For a second, Heeseung just blinks at you as if he isn't entirely convinced he heard you correctly. The surprise on his face would be funny if you weren't half as annoyed anymore.

"Really?"

A laugh escapes you despite yourself. "Don't make me take it back." The look of relief that washes over him is almost immediate. Then he reaches for your hand, not cautiously this time, just naturally. Like he's been wanting to do it ever since he walked in. His fingers intertwine with yours and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, tired but genuine.

"Come here." You barely have time to process the words before he's gently tugging you toward him. Before you can say anything else, one of his arms slips around your waist while the other hooks beneath your knees making your eyes widen. "Heeseung-"

"What?" He looks down at you, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Put me down." Instead of listening, he simply adjusts his hold on you and starts making his way toward the bedroom. "No”

"You're ridiculous" You roll your eyes. "And yet you still like me" You roll your eyes again but your arms find their way around his neck anyway. The apartment is quiet and the moonlight shines through the glass windows as he carries you down the hallway, his steps slow and relaxed. Even now, after the argument, after the guilt and the apologies and the hurt feelings, he still gravitates toward you as naturally as breathing.

By the time he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot, you're no longer fighting the smile threatening to pull at your lips. The second he reaches the bed, he carefully lowers you onto the mattress before climbing over you. "You're so annoying." A sleepy grin spreads across his face. "And yet here you are."

His hands settle on either side of your head as he looks down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. Up close, you can see just how exhausted he is, the faint shadows beneath his eyes making your chest tighten despite yourself. "I've been sitting on a couch stressing over you for seven hours. You should be glad I haven't leaked your baby pictures yet."

"Exactly why I need to take care of you tonight." Before you can roll your eyes, he presses a quick kiss against your jaw. The smile threatening your lips is impossible to suppress. His expression softens the second he catches it, like he'd been waiting for it all night. For a moment, neither of you say anything. He simply looks at you, his gaze moving lazily across your features as though he's trying to memorize them all over again.

There he goes, staring. "Stop."

"What?" he asks, already smirking. "The staring" A quiet laugh escapes him as you smack his shoulder. "I'm looking at my girlfriend"

"You always do this"

"Do what?" he grins. "Look at me like that" His brows lift innocently, "Like what?" You groan and cover your face with your hands, earning another laugh from him. A moment later, his fingers curl around your wrists and gently pull your hands away. "You know," he murmurs, thumbs brushing absentmindedly across your skin, “I better make it up to you since you're threatening my life."

"I wasn't threatening your life"

"You were definitely threatening my life."

"I said I was going to expose your baby pictures” you smirk. "Exactly" he winces. A laugh escapes you as you attempt to shove him off of you again but he simply smirks, grabbing your wrists before easily pinning your hands on either side of your head.

You realize what he's doing and you feel the blood rushing to your face. “I have a lot to make up for” he whispers against your ear, causing a shudder to roll through your body. His lips trail down your neck as his knee pushes in between your legs, pressing hard against your core. He kisses his way to your chest, his mouth hot and desperate against your skin. You grind down on his knee just enough that he presses harder and the electric feelings spreads through your veins, your legs trembling helplessly.

He pushes harder and a sharp gasp escapes you, your back arching off the bed. Heeseung pulls back to look down at you, his eyes drag up your legs, settling in between them and he watches for a second. Watches how you press your eyes shut, breath shaky as you grind down on his knee, a wet spot beginning to form on the fabric of his pants. At this point you didn’t even care anymore, you needed to come. After hours of feeling so neglected, you needed a release.

He watches you breathlessly, completely mesmerized as the days and weeks of frustration reflected in your efforts. He moves his knee slightly, pulling out a tortured moan from you and it makes him snap. He doesn’t waste any more time with modesty, tugging at your clothes until he can press his hot, wet mouth directly against your skin. He sucks your nipple hard, his tongue swirling around the peak.

“I've been neglecting you baby, haven't I?” You didn't have time to answer before he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and pulling them off with a single, sharp tug. He tosses the lace aside, no longer of any interest to him as his gaze falls to the heat radiating from between your thighs. You suddenly feel more hyperaware, your blood burning with want, and the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears.

“I've got to taste you” he says, more to himself and suddenly you're being jerked towards the edge of the bed, where he drops to his knees and his head disappears in between your legs. “Hee- w-wait!” your words are suddenly lost as you let out a loud, broken moan, your head falling back against the cushions. “Oh my- f-fuck” his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he lifts your legs over his shoulders. Goosebumps break out over your skin, your breaths turning erratic as he looks up at you, his dark gaze nearly tipping you over the edge.

You shudder underneath the touch of his tongue, climbing higher and higher with every slow lap he takes, his tongue slipping into you before gliding over your clit. Your moans echo across the room, causing him to multiply his efforts until your thighs are shaking around his head “Heeseung I-I can't it's too…it's too much” He ignores you, holding you in place as he takes his time licking you, quiet groans leaving his throat like he's doing this for his own pleasure rather than yours.

He swirls his tongue over your clit again, you writhe, mind completely gone, vision hazy, and nails finding purchase in his hair, gripping tight, but even so, he doesn't falter. Your whimpers get louder as Heeseung begins to thrust his tongue inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and the telltale sparks of an orgasm flutter through you. “Hee…I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum” you gasp, writhing uncontrollably as he presses you down, holding you still and forcing you to feel everything he has to offer.

He sucks your clit into his mouth before releasing it with a loud pop, “Hold it” it isn't a request, not a suggestion either. His eyes meet yours for a split second, your juices running down his chin, the unhinged look burning wild behind his dark lidded eyes before his arms wrap around your thighs, lifting them off his shoulders and pushing them back until your knees are by your ears and your gaping hole is leaking your juices down your ass and onto the sheets. “Fuck…” he curses, his gaze unfocused as he watches you spill for him.

“Hee…please, please no more” you cry out, tears welling in your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure rolls through your every nerve. You feel so sensitive as if even the slightest breeze can set you off. You're still caught up on focusing your attention onto anything and everything else as you teeter on the precipice. His heavy gaze already riding you on the edge, and you don't notice his closeness until you feel the hot sweep of his tongue again, his nose brushing against your clit with every lick.

A loud gasp escapes you and then the moans and cries that leave your lips are no longer under your control, you don't even realize how loud you're being until he lazily presses a hand over your mouth, the salty tears running down your face drip down your cheeks and onto your nipple, leaving you even more sensitive.

He starts French kissing your pussy, the wet sounds pulling out a scream from you, “Hee- s-stop” The feeling is instantaneous, you sense your ruin and you don't know if you can handle it, panic overtakes your senses, you gasp, your hands clawing at the sheets as you try to escape his touch, the hands around your thighs only pulling you back and forcing you to feel. “You can take it baby, c'mon give it to me,” he murmurs in between his licks, your fingers dig into your hair, helpless and shaking as you cry out, hands clawing at your scalp.

The tension builds and builds, his tongue never falters, his gaze burning into you as your mouth falls into an “o” and suddenly you're falling, you're falling hard, you're crashing.

Lights burst behind your eyes, the sweetest venom ignites through your veins and a warm stream builds at your core and then your body is no longer yours, you arch into his mouth and explode, cold air prickles your skin and you feel a warm liquid spray against your thighs as you scream his name. “Shit, Fuck…Fuck that's it” he slips two fingers into you, pressing and probing until he hits your sweet spot, making your eyes widen and you cry out helplessly as he drags out your orgasm, lapping at your juices, he doesn't let up until the evidence of your arousal is coating his lips and dripping down his chin.

You pant heavily, still coming down from your high but reality sets in and you feel the blood rushing into your face as you begin to pull out of his grip. Heeseung's gaze darkens, and he leaves one more kiss on your pelvis before climbing over you. “That was fantastic” he has a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he grins down at your embarrassed face. His gaze is lazy and dark as it trails down your body again before lifting up to meet your gaze.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks before he kisses you, softly tugging at your bottom lip. “You just had your tongue inside me, I think you've got the order wrong” you laugh breathlessly while he smiles against your neck. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you a little closer until there's barely any space left between you. “How about? I fuck you” you whisper in his ear, you see the surprise on his face, his eyebrows raising slightly before he laughs underneath his breath and flips you over till he's leaning back against the headboard and you're straddling him.

Heeseung looks up at you, curious eyes and the impatience in his breaths. You feel him tense up when your hands slide underneath his shirt, tugging at the hem teasingly. He pulls it over his head swiftly, his eyes never leaving your own as you lean forward, pressing your lips against his throat, his hands feel around your body and you feel the disturbance between your legs, grinding your hips down on him, the pressure so delicious against your clit as electric currents zap through your body with each of your movements.

Heeseung looks up at you, completely mesmerized, the sound of his breathing growing louder as he watches your movements. You place your hands onto his toned shoulders and almost immediately he tenses up, feeling your fingers trail down his chest before settling at his navel. “You're driving me crazy” his dark lidded eyes lock onto yours, a smile etching its way onto your lips while you tug at the waistband of his pants.

He reaches out for you but you push him away. “I want you inside me” you tug them down gently. He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening while you wrap your hands around his length, lips pressed against his ear and he watches you eagerly as you rub the head of his dick against your folds, already hard and leaking with precum before you sink down on him, using his chest for leverage. Heeseung lets out a hiss, your walls clamping down on him and it takes everything he has in him not to roll you over and pound into you until the only thing left in your brain and coming out your lips is him.

A shudder rolls through you, a breathless sigh escaping your lips as you begin to rock against him. No matter how many times you had sex with him, you had never fully gotten used to his size. He was so big and you always felt so full, consumed and complete. The delicious ache gives way to sweet pleasure and in this position you’re pretty sure you can feel him in your bones.

No longer able to control himself, he grips onto your hips guiding you into perfect rhythm as a loud moan climbs up your throat. “Hee- f-fuck you're so deep” wetness gushes in between your legs, his lips latch onto your nipple while his fingers find their way down to your clit, rubbing slow and torturous circles until your thighs are shaking and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Baby you're making a mess” he groans into your neck, trailing his lips down your throat. Your head falls back, arms clinging onto him and the feeling is almost instantaneous. Your orgasm crashes into you, waves and waves of pleasure washing through every nerve ending of your body, your rhythm falters as you clench around him, the cries leaving your lips are swallowed by his kiss and before you know it he gently grabs onto your waist, never pulling out and turns you over till you're trapped beneath him.

Your response is a whimper, arching off the bed as you push against his chest. The new position fucks with your senses, he's so deep, too fucking deep that you can feel him pulsing inside you, the sweetest sensations pooling in your lower belly again. He lays on top of you, his dark hair falling over his eyes as his dark gaze searches your face. “Hee i-i can't- so d-deep-” his lips press against yours before you can finish and he starts moving again.

He fucks you hard. Fast. The headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust, his lazy eyes fixated on you as he increases his speed. One leg slung over his shoulder, and it somehow seats him even deeper inside you. “You're so fucking wet” his gaze locks down on where you're joined, his dick pumping hard and fast into you as you leak around him, no longer able to control the tears streaming down your face. Heeseung grabs your other leg, lifting it over his shoulder as he doubles his efforts, his lips press against yours, growling against your kiss when you clench harder. His sweet scent floods into your brain, overwhelming and heightening your senses.

“Such a needy girl” one of his hands finds their way around your neck, his fingers wrapping tight around your throat while the other stays firm against your hip. “You get all jealous and bothered when I'm away from you, huh?” your nails dig into his back as you scream his name. “You just want me all to yourself, don't you?”

“s-shut up” your eyes roll into the back of your head when he hits that spot again.

“you take it so good”

“such a good fucking girl”

“Look at how you spill for me” Heeseung has such a filthy mouth and it shows even more in bed, dirty words spilling past his lips all crude and commanding as he draws another moan from you, his thumb finds your clit again and before you know it you're coming around him, it's intense and violent, sending you arching into him as a scream rips out of your throat.

He grips your hips bruisingly tight, pinning you down into the mattress, fingers tight around your throat as your mind drifts and your arms fall limp. His jaw tightens, never once looking away from you as you're completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Your toes curl by his ears, and you entirely lose yourself to him, writhing and thrashing as he holds you down, forcing you to feel. It takes a while for the tingles to subside and when you open your eyes, you find him looking down at you, watching you through dark lidded eyes, his lips slightly parted as he focuses on controlling himself.

“You're so pretty when you come for me” he whispers. Still completely unable to form a coherent sentence, you gaze up at him breathlessly and his hand leaves your neck before he swiftly flips you over again. Pressing your cheek against the cushions. “I'm gonna fuck that jealousy out of you…you'll feel me for days before you start acting up again” Your entire body buckles when he pushes into you again, sliding in easily because of the juices running down your thighs. “Shit…I can't get over how wet you are” he says with a groan, pulling out to the tip, your juices leaking down his length before he slams into you again.

“Hee! I c-can't take anymore…” you cry, ignoring the salty taste of your tears as you push back to meet his thrusts. “Fuck- yes you can, you're doing such a good job princess” his praises wash over you “I don't know how to get it through to you that I'm yours, and that you're mine, all fucking mine” your cries grow louder as each word is emphasized with a thrust. “I c-can't I can't come again-” your words are cut off as he hits your G-spot over and over again, your legs nearly giving out underneath you.

You grab at the sheets, overstimulated beyond control, desperately trying to escape his touch but he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back into place. “You can take it" “you take it so good for me” his hand finds its way between your legs again, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit as the sheets muffle your moans and cries. “c'mon baby, you can do it…give it to me” the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the room and your legs give in. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest, his breath fanning your shoulder and his woodland scent clouding all your senses.

When your orgasm rips through you, the world goes black, stars burst behind your eyes and you clench around him so tight, pulsing hot splashes of cum running down your thighs. The last thing you register is the sound of his groan as he cums, emptying his release deep inside you. Heeseung slowly releases you and you collapse onto the bedding, turning around to look up at him when he pulls out, his cum runs down your thighs. His eyes meet yours before falling to the puddle between your legs and his pupils dilate.

“You got one more for me?” a smirk climbs onto his lips when your eyes widen and this time, you really try to make a run for it. Heeseung chuckles locking a hand around your ankle. He drags you back, settling between your legs and pulls you towards his mouth. “One more, baby”

“Hee! Are you t-trying to kill me?” You cry, the soft feeling of his tongue swirling against your hypersensitive clit sends you shaking, and it's only a matter of seconds before you're crying his name and your juices flood into his mouth. He presses one last kiss against your clit before climbing over you. “You're incredible” the words are followed by a kiss, his gaze burning deep into your soul. “So beautiful when you cum for me…” The words are whispered but it still manages to send the blood rushing to your face.

He stays like that for a minute, wiping away the tears staining your cheeks before he kisses away the embarrassment evident in your face. He kisses you for a minute but when his hands begin to wander you push him off of you. “You're actually insane, you know that right?...you're like- not human” You're staring at him in disbelief as he shoots you a grin. “What can I say? It's not my fault that I have a sexy girlfriend” he shrugs, pulling back on his sweatpants before he rolls onto his back.

“Come here.”

He reaches out for you and you hesitantly move closer, snuggling up against his chest. How he has all this stamina is beyond you. After all the schedules, interviews, and endless work that comes with his job, Heeseung was almost always exhausted. But the moment he got his hands on you, he acted like a starved beast, never stopping until you were begging him to let you be.

You press your head against his chest, immediately relaxing at the familiar scent that clings to him. One arm settles securely around your waist while one of his legs tangles with yours beneath the blankets. His face finds the crook of your neck and, somehow, he keeps inching closer. You swear he's getting closer.

You narrow your eyes. Slowly, experimentally, you scoot a few inches away. Within seconds, Heeseung follows. You try to turn over, but he only follows, pulling you even closer. "Hee." A sleepy hum vibrates against your skin. “I can barely move” At this point, you're fairly certain he's attempting to merge the two of you into a single person. His arms simply tighten around your waist, pulling you a little closer until there's barely any space left between you. "You do realize we're on a king-sized bed, right?" Another hum before he presses a lazy kiss to your neck.

"You move too much" he murmurs. You sigh dramatically as he buries his face further into your shoulder, letting out a content breath. "Tired?" you ask softly. His response takes a second. "Mhm”

"That tired, huh?" A laugh escapes you. Another hum follows. "Lee Heeseung."

"hmm?”

“Are you sleeping?” When you tilt your head to look at him, you immediately regret it. Big mistake, his eyes are closed, his hair is a mess, his cheek is squished against your shoulder and he somehow looks completely content. The sight melts whatever irritation you're trying to hold onto. "You and your stupid face," you mutter. A faint smile appears on his lips.

"You love my stupid face" You roll your eyes and lightly smack his arm. "I think you're annoying." "You think I'm handsome." he retorts. "Whatever." The smile pulling at your lips ruins any attempt at sounding convincing. "You are so lucky you're cute." "I know." he grins proudly, the confidence in his answer making you laugh.

A comfortable silence settles between you after that. His fingers begin tracing absentminded patterns against your side, the movement lazy and instinctive. You don't even think he realizes he's doing it. "Do you have plans tomorrow, baby?" he says, eyes still shut, but his fingers remain tracing your skin. "You know," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair, "for someone so tired, you sure do talk a lot." His response takes several seconds.

“I like hearing your voice." he whispers. “Plus I want to take you out tomorrow” your heart immediately betrays you, the butterflies in your stomach going absolutely feral. "Y-You are not allowed to say things like that when I'm trying to be annoyed with you." A quiet laugh leaves him before dissolving into a yawn. You feel his body sink further into yours as the last bit of tension finally leaves him. The more relaxed he becomes, the heavier he gets. Your own personal weighted blanket.

"How are you this clingy?"

"Mhm"

"That wasn't even an answer."

"Mhm"

You can't help laughing.

Beneath the blanket, his hand finds yours and automatically intertwines your fingers together. The gesture is so natural, so thoughtless, that it makes your chest ache. "You still mad at me?" he asks after a moment. The question catches you off guard so you pretend to think about it.

"A little" you sigh, "That's fair" he nods.

"A lot, actually." you gaze at him out of the corner of your eyes. "That's also fair." The immediate defeat in his voice makes you laugh, and the sound instantly earns a sleepy smile from him. "I was really mad at you, honestly."

"I know." He presses a small kiss against your shoulder. "You made me worry. You ignored my messages."

"I did."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you even listening to me?" One eye cracks open. "Listening." The eye immediately closes again. You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head in disbelief. Somehow, despite everything, despite the argument and the hours you spent worrying yourself sick, he's already halfway asleep in your arms. The realization should annoy you. Instead, it makes something warm settle in your chest. "You're impossible," you mutter.

A sleepy smile tugs at his lips, the kind that tells you he heard every word. For a while, neither of you say anything. His fingers remain intertwined with yours beneath the blanket while his breathing gradually slows against your shoulder. Every now and then he shifts closer, somehow finding a way to close whatever tiny distance remains between the two of you. You honestly don't know if he understands that it's physically impossible for the two of you to get any more closer.

"You know" you murmur, tracing your fingers through his messy hair, "most people apologize with flowers." A quiet hum is your only response. "Or chocolates…and maybe a heartfelt letter." This time he cracks an eye open just enough to look at you. "I can do that"

A laugh escapes you."No, you can't" His brows immediately furrow "Yes I can."

"Dude…you're literally falling asleep." You giggle. "I'm multitasking," he scoffs. The response comes so quickly that you can't help laughing. His smile widens instantly. "There it is" he whispers to himself underneath his breath. You glance down at him "There what is?" "That laugh," his voice is softer now, rough around the edges from exhaustion. "I love it."

Your heart immediately betrays you. You spent the entire evening lecturing him, reminding him how upset you are, and somehow he's still the one making your heart flutter. You continue running your fingers through his hair while he remains curled against you, his arm secure around your waist as though he's worried you might disappear the second he lets go.

Eventually, you notice his responses stop altogether, his breathing deepens as his body grows heavier against yours. You glance down to find him completely asleep and a fond sigh escapes you. Tomorrow you'll make him charge his phone, tomorrow you'll remind him that apologies only matter if they're followed by change and you'll probably scold him all over again.

But tonight, with his face tucked into your shoulder and his arms wrapped around you, like you're the most precious thing in the world, you simply press a kiss into his hair and close your eyes. And for the first time all week, the both of you are truly at peace.

-> made by @taexvan

●RULES ●MASTERLIST ●TAGLIST

Baelor becomes obsessed with making your nameday perfect and not only celebrating this day but every day you were deprived of celebration. So when your nameday does roll around Baelor distracts you from the lack of gifts or letters from your family with dates, taking time away from his duties as Hand to the King to spend time with you and take you on dates on the lead up to your nameday. And on the day Baelor wakes with the sun to complete his duties to the King quickly and joins you to break your fast together and gives you the first of a series of expensive, often imported luxury gifts, he showers you with gifts throughout the day and at the end of the day he whispers love confessions to you under candle light, determined to make you understand how loved you are.

Maekar

In the first year of your marriage Summerhall throws a nameday feast in your honour. Maekar is his usual downcast, grumpy self throughout, though you know from the happy, almost giddy way he gifted you jewellery and silk from Lys that morning that he was happy and proud to see you celebrated so joyfully.

Though he is furious upon seeing your family enter, seeing you rush to them only to see them empty handed and slightly dismissive, eager to drink and eat at his expense while devoting little of their attention to you. Even his sons Daeron and Aerion managed to put on a better show of respecting you and giving gifts. He manages to hide his discontent until he sees the way in which it has dampened your mood, your smile not disappearing but certainly dimming at their disinterest. After stewing for some time at the high table he begins forming a plan to brighten your smile again, and two days later he surprised you with a trip to Dorne. He take you to Dorne and shows you Sunspear, introducing you to his family in House Martell and giving you a tour of everywhere him and his brothers would play when they were visiting as children and showing you the water gardens.

Lyonel

It is a well known fact that Lyonel Baratheon loves to party, and he sees no better reason to celebrate than the birth of his love. So for your nameday he lights Storm’s End with thousands of candles, fills the castle with music and floods his halls with risch food and sweet wine for what will be several days of celebration in your name. Lords and ladies from across Westeros are invited and Lyonel pens the invitation to your family home himself, inviting them to a joyful celebration of your nameday, they never attend.

He is confused at their lack of attendance at first, and upon seeing your mood dampen at their noted absence he rushes to reassure you he had invited them, he had penned the letter to your house himself. Hearing you explain it is a common occurrence on your nameday, to see they have forgotten or otherwise show little effort he grows furious, how could they not wish to celebrate you?

He suppresses his fury a to not dampen your joy or destroy the spirit of your nameday feast, instead he distracts himself by partying alongside you, he indulges in wine and dancing with you until the early hours. But his anger never leaves it festers until he next see them.

Aerion

Aerion does not care for your family or your house, so when he consults you over preparations for your nameday feast he has an odd reaction. He does not view you as a member of their house your married to him you are a Targaryen so he sees a slight against you as a slight against him and House Targaryen. But he knows you love and care for them and would not wish to see them harmed.

It annoys him, he cannot kill them, so he banishes them, unofficially, he refuses to invite them and does not wish for them to see you, they have lost all favour with the prince. Instead of turning murderous, Prince Aerion turns all of his attention to you, showering you with expensive gifts, silks and jewels from Lys and the richest, flashiest gold pieces.

Valarr

He doesn’t notice their disinterest you have to tell him, you tell him when he comes to you asking for your opinions on his seating plan for your nameday feast. Forget? You? How? Lover boy is thoroughly confused and deeply upset on your behalf when you tell him rather flippantly about your family’s track history when it comes to celebrating your nameday.

He doesn’t notice the lack of letters from your family on the lead up to the big day, he is too busy balancing his duties to the realm and his preparations for your nameday. Valarr worships his love and sees your nameday as the greatest excuse to publicly shout his love from the rooftops for the realm to hear. He worships you, showering you with expensive, personalised gifts that show his deep love and affection for you and act as a physical reminder of it. And though his time is often eaten up by duty, Valarr forgoes the responsibilities and duties of the heir’s heir, throwing his princly façade aside for you, to dedicate time for you on your nameday.

Daeron

Daeron sees you crying, upset over a letter you received from your family. He runs to comfort you and allows you to open up, he listens intently while you explain their history of forgetting your nameday or just not bothering to celebrate you when they do and they had once again failed to wish you well on your nameday. Daeron is heartbroken to see it is your own family that has caused you hurt but he is immensely understanding he also understands how complicated families can be, not having a particularly good relationship with his own family, especially his father.

After cheering you up Daeron decides to surprise you with a date, celebrating your nameday together, alone away from court life and away from distractions from each other. You celebrate with good food and imported sweet wine and a selection of your favourite cakes in a flower field away from family and politics.

Dunk

Poor sweet Dunk cannot understand your family, he is bewildered by the fact they have something as sweet and valuable as you, but they forget to celebrate you. Though he does not voice his disappointment he does not wish to make you feel worse, though his concern is written across his face for all to see.

Instead he distracts you with constant and genuine affection and reassurance, he wishes more than anything to be able to afford to shower you with all the riches of the known world. Was he as rich as a Lannister you would want for nothing, but he makes do with what he has, and his every action is done with overwhelming devotion. On your nameday he cooks you a special meal over the fire, having saved up to get the best cuts of meat and the freshest vegetables especially for the day and, collects flowers for you, hand picking wildflowers and tying them together with twine to make you a humble but beautiful bouquet and for days before your nameday when you were sleeping he carefully carves out a little wooden trinket by hand and surprises you with it, blushing wildly when he gifts it to you.

sending lots of love <3

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He's sitting on the front steps of his building when you pull up.

Dark red jacket over a black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, a thin chain at his throat catching the streetlight. The white streak at his temple is uncombed, pushed back by his own hand one too many times.

His elbows rest on his knees, the silver band on his right thumb glinting when he lifts his head and spots your car. The rigid set of Valarr's jaw—the clenched, held-together look he gets when he's keeping himself contained—eases, just barely.

He climbs in, the sleeve of his jacket brushing your arm. Cedar and vetiver underneath tickles your nose, the expensive cologne Jena buys him every Christmas, and beneath that the sharper, rawer note of whiskey and cold air.

"Hi," he says quietly.

"Hi." You glance at him. "Seatbelt."

His mouth twitches, but he puts on his seatbelt without a word.

You drive him to the diner on Aegon Street, the one with the cracked leather seats and the jukebox that only plays songs from the nineties. The one you've been going to since you were fifteen and he first drove you here in his mother's borrowed car, both hands on the wheel, serious about it, careful.

You order him black coffee and a plate of fries he doesn't touch and you sit across from him in the corner booth and you wait. Because you know Valarr, because you've known him since you were ten years old, and you know that when he's ready to talk he'll talk. Pushing does nothing.

A Stark knows how to wait.

He wraps both hands around the mug. The silver band presses against the white ceramic. His eyes—brown on one side, pale blue on the other—fix on the surface of his coffee, heavy-lidded, unfocused, and the fluorescent overhead light makes the white streak at his temple look almost silver.

You take a picture.

Can't quite help yourself. Phone in your hand, angled low against the table, tapping the shutter while you pretend to be checking your messages.

A habit you've never examined too closely, because examining it would mean admitting that your camera roll contains over four hundred photographs of Valarr Targaryen doing absolutely nothing remarkable, and that you add to it weekly, and that sometimes you lie in bed and scroll through them with the tender ache of a woman building a private archive of someone she won't allow herself to want.

He's easier to photograph tonight. Looser. The whiskey has softened the edges of his composure, dropped the calibration by a few degrees, and the effect is devastating.

His gaze stays on your mouth a beat too long when you speak, his knee pressing against yours under the table and staying there, no apology, no careful repositioning, just the steady warm weight of him against you through denim.

He talks.

Eventually. Halfway through his second coffee, staring at the fries neither of you is eating. His voice is low enough that you have to lean in to catch it over the jukebox.

"Margaux told me—at the end. When we were ending it. She said—"

You go still. It's been three weeks since the breakup.

You know this because you've been counting, silently, the way you've spent a decade cataloguing this man's availability without admitting to yourself you're doing it.

Three weeks since the text from Matarys (val ended things with margaux btw) and the savage, cold pulse of triumph that flooded your ribcage before you could stop it.

"What did she say?" you ask carefully.

"She said I was the most attentive man she'd ever been with. That I remembered everything. That I made her feel important." Valarr's throat moves. The chain shifts against his collarbone. "And that none of it mattered because I was in love with someone else and she could feel it every time I touched her."

The diner hums around you. Valarr's hands rest wrapped around the mug, the ring catching the light.

"She wasn't wrong," he adds, almost inaudible. His eyes find yours across the table. Brown and blue, stripped bare, the composed golden surface of him cracked clean through. "Was she?"

You don't answer. You hold his gaze across the cracked leather booth and let the silence do what silence has always done between you and Valarr: fill itself with the enormous, patient, decade-long thing neither of you will name.

And you take another picture. You can't help it. Your thumb moves on its own, tapping the shutter with your phone still angled low. Because his face right now, open and wrecked and so painfully honest that looking at him feels like pressing on a bruise, is a confession you need to keep.

Proof that you didn't imagine the way he looks at you.

He catches you.

Valarr's eyes drop to your phone. To the angle of it. To the screen, where his own face is frozen mid-confession in the frame.

Then they come back up to yours.

His expression changes. The rawness doesn't leave, instead it sharpens, gains an edge, the final tumbler in a decade-long lock falling into place behind his eyes. Recognition. The look of a man who's just been handed confirmation of what he hoped but never dared trust—that you want him back.

That you've wanted him back this whole time.

You lower your phone. Set it face-down on the table.

Your heart is slamming so hard you can feel it in your wrists.

Valarr reaches across the table. Long-fingered, the silver band glinting, the vein along the back standing in faint relief as he wraps his digits around your phone. Turns it over. The screen is still lit. The camera is still open. The last photograph is still there: his face, mid-confession, the washed light caught in his floppy hair.

He looks at it.

He looks at you.

"Come with me," he says, voice low.

The register he's used maybe four times in your shared history. Always at moments when the performance drops away and what's left is just Valarr, raw-voiced and silky.

He slides out of the booth. You follow.

Valarr's hand finds the small of your back—the place, his place, the spot he's been touching since you were children—except tonight his fingers curl against the fabric of your shirt, pressing, pulling slightly, and the possessiveness of it sends a jolt of heat through the base of your spine.

He walks you past the counter, past the kitchen, past the corridor with the payphone nobody uses, to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Single-stall. Lock that sticks.

He holds the door. You go in, forcing your breath to stay even.

The lock clicks behind him and the light buzzes overhead and you turn to face him. The room is small and too bright and Valarr is leaning against the door with his hands at his sides, breathing carefully, his chest rising and falling with the controlled rhythm of a man who is holding himself in place by force.

"Tell me to go home," he says.

"No."

His eyes search your face. A flicker in them. Surprise, or hope, or the sharp bright edge of a want he's been keeping under glass since he was old enough to understand what it was.

He lets out a raspy, huffing laugh. "Tell me this is a bad idea."

"It's a terrible idea." Your voice is steady. Your heartbeat is not. "I'm not going to tell you to stop."

"Why not?"

You push off the wall. Cross the two steps between you. Close enough to see the faint damp at the corner of his jaw where he's been clenching. Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, warm and sharp under the coffee. Close enough to see the fine tremor in Valarr's hands when he pulls them from his pockets.

"Because I've been waiting, Val," you tell him. Quiet, measured. The truest thing you've said in ten years. "I've been waiting to see if you'd choose me."

His face cracks open. The composure fractures along every fault line he's spent fifteen years reinforcing, and what's underneath is just Valarr, raw and looking at you with ten years of accumulated want so visible on his face that it has a physical weight.

You feel it settle against your chest.

"Choose you," he repeats, his voice hoarse. "I chose you when I was nine. I chose you before I knew the word for it. Every girl I've ever been with has been a—a placeholder for a place I've been saving and you know that, you've always known that—"

You take the lapels of his red jacket in both hands and pull him down and kiss him.

His mouth is warm. It tastes like whiskey and coffee and underneath both of those, purely and unmistakably, Valarr.

The boy who walked you home from school with his hand at the small of your back, the man who sat beside your bed for four days after your grandmother died and didn't speak and didn't leave, the man who slid a silver band onto his own thumb a week after his father's funeral because you'd pressed it into his palm and said I need you to keep this for me, I need a piece of mine on you and he'd worn it every day since without ever asking why.

You feel that ring now.

His right hand comes up to cup the side of your face and the band presses into your cheekbone. Smooth, blood-warm from his skin, the weight of it so familiar from a thousand casual touches that the intimacy of feeling it here, now, with his mouth on yours in a diner bathroom with the buzzing overhead and his breath ragged against your lips, makes your knees dissolve.

Valarr kisses you the way a man kisses a woman he's been rehearsing kissing for a decade.

There's nothing tentative in it. Every late night and remembered preference and hand at the small of your back has been foreplay, and the foreplay is over, and his hands are shaking against your face. Actually trembling, the fine barely-visible vibration.

You bite his lower lip. Catch it between your teeth and pull, the soft inner flesh of it caught against your incisors, and the groan that rips out of Valarr vibrates through your own mouth and settles low in your stomach.

You release it. Suck it back in—slow, greedy, your tongue dragging along the swollen swell—and Valarr makes a sound that has no composure left in it whatsoever. Guttural and raw, broken at the edges.

Your hands are still fisted in his jacket. You shove it back off his shoulders, dragging it down his arms, and the red fabric catches at his elbows.

Valarr shakes free of it without pulling his mouth from yours, the jacket crumpling to the tile floor behind him. He's in the black shirt now. Just the black shirt, the chain at his throat gleaming against the dark cotton, the first two buttons undone, the hollow of his collarbone visible and flushed.

You hook one finger under the chain. Tug.

Valarr growls.

His whole body jerks forward, his hands clenching on your hips, and the sound that comes out of him—high, fractured, disbelieving—is the sound of a man whose composure has just been yanked out of him by the throat.

His eyes fly wide. Brown and blue, the pupils blown so dark the colour is almost gone.

"Again," he breathes. "Please."

You wrap the chain around your index finger and pull him down to you, slow, steady, the thin metal digging into the back of his neck, and Valarr follows it like a man on a leash.

His mouth crashes into yours, his hands scrabbling at your waist, your ribs, the curve of your hips, desperate and graceless, nothing like the measured careful composure of fifteen years of friendship. He's groaning into your mouth between kisses, a continuous low sound, and his hips grind forward against yours.

You feel the full hard length of him through his trousers and the heat of it sends a spike of want so sharp through your centre that your vision swims.

He lifts you. His hands slide under your thighs, helping you up, and you settle on the edge of the sink counter. The cold of the porcelain bites through your jeans and you don't care, you can't care. Because your legs are wrapping around his waist and his mouth is at your throat and Valarr has a decade of repressed longing cracking open inside him and every fracture shows.

You feel it in the way he goes at you. Teeth first, the scrape of them down the tendon of your neck, followed by the hot drag of his tongue, the seal of his lips sucking hard enough to leave a mark that will still be there in the morning.

He doesn't linger. He moves, roams, claiming. His mouth travels from your throat to the hinge of your jaw, open and wet and hungry, and then down. First the dip of your collarbone, the arch of your neck, the pulse point below your ear where he presses his tongue flat and drags and your hips jerk forward against him involuntarily and the sound that comes out of you is one you don't recognise. Raw. Startled.

Your hands fly to his silky hair, twisting into the dark strands, and you pull. Hard. Valarr's head yanks back, throat bared, the chain pulled taut against his adam's apple, and the gasp he makes, ragged and shocked, grateful, echoes off the tile.

"You," he pants, staring up at you from the angle your grip forces. His eyes are wet. The flush has spread from his throat to his cheekbones, and the white streak at his temple is disordered, damp at the root. "You and your—god. Do you know how long I've—do you have any idea—"

You yank his mouth back to yours.

The open-mouthed, tongues sliding, the wet heat of it making your thighs clench around his waist.

You suck Valarr's tongue into your mouth—hard, a sharp sudden pull that drags him deeper into the kiss—and Valarr makes a sound against you that is barely human.

His hips slam forward, grinding the hardness of him against you through fabric, and his whole body locks, rigid, trembling, a punched-out groan vibrating between your mouths because he's close.

He's close from that, from the suction of your mouth on his tongue, from the obscene wet pull of it, and his hands clench on your hips hard enough to bruise as he forces himself to hold still.

"Fuck—" he chokes against your lips, shaking, his forehead dropping to yours, and filth sounds good in his usually overly polite mouth. "Fuck. I almost—you can't—I nearly just—"

You don't let him recover.

You grab the chain and yank his mouth back to yours and kiss him again, slower this time, deeper, your tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that is filthy and designed to take him apart.

Valarr groans into it, and sucks your tongue back, matching you, the wet sloppy heat of it filling the space between you. The kiss is a mess. Messy, consuming, all teeth and tongue and the slick obscene sound of ten years of want.

His hands are everywhere. Your ribs, curve of your waist, your thighs, your ass, pulling you to the edge of the sink so you can grind against him, and you do. You grind into him, rolling your hips forward, seeking the friction of him through his trousers, and the pressure of his cock against your centre wrenches a moan from you that breaks the kiss open.

You can't get close enough.

Your legs lock tighter around his waist. Your hands drag him in by the chain, by the hair, by the collar of his black shirt, and it's still not enough. There's still fabric between you and that's unacceptable, and Valarr seems to arrive at the same conclusion in the same instant because his hands are at your jeans, fumbling at the button with fingers that are shaking badly enough that it takes two attempts.

"Off," he rasps against your swollen mouth. "I need these off, love. I need to feel you, please—"

You help him. Both of you pulling, yanking, graceless and urgent, your jeans and underwear shoved down your thighs and kicked to the tile floor. His hand slides between your legs and the sound Valarr makes tells you what his fingers have found.

"You're soaked." His voice comes out wrecked. Awed. He drags two fingers through the slick of you, slow, feeling the evidence of what he's done, and the pad of his thumb grazes your clit and your spine arches and a gasp tears out of you that has nothing controlled in it, nothing northern, nothing composed. "You're—god—you're dripping, sweet girl, you're so wet—"

Your hands go to his belt buckle, your fingers slipping on the metal because your hands are shaking now too.

Your hands are shaking.

You almost laugh. Your famously steady Stark hands are trembling because Valarr's fingers are still between your legs, circling, pressing, his thumb working your clit in slow devastating passes while he watches your face with that fixed intensity, and the heat building in your core is a wildfire. Every ounce of composure you've spent a decade constructing is crumbling under the focused, determined weight of a man who has ten years to make up for and is making up for them right now.

You free him. Wrap your hand around him. He's hot and impossibly hard, the head slick against your palm, and when you stroke upward Valarr's hips buck into your grip and a moan grinds out of him. Deep, agonised, the sound of a body that's been starving.

His fingers are still on you, still circling, still slick, and the dual sensation—your hand on him, his hand on you—makes the air between you feel combustible.

"Sweet girl." The endearment breaks out of him like a confession, a hoarded thing finally released. His right hand comes up to your face, cupping your jaw, the silver band pressing into the curve of your cheekbone, his thumb leaving a streak of your own wetness against your skin, and the intimacy of that makes your vision swim.

"I need to be inside you," he whispers. Valarr's forehead presses to yours, his breath ragged and hot against your mouth, his eyes open and locked on yours from so close the brown and blue blur together. The chain at his throat hangs between you, swaying with each shudder of his breathing. "I've needed—god—I've needed this for so long. So long. I need you. More than anything. Please."

You guide the flushed head of his cock to you. The first press of him against your entrance makes your breath hitch and his jaw clench, the muscle at the side of his throat jumping. You hold his gaze.

"Then take me."

Valarr doesn't need to be told twice. He sinks in.

Slow, easing into you, stretching you open for him. Every inch deliberate, his forehead staying against yours, his breath stuttering out of him in pieces.

The stretch of him fills you up—the thick, aching, devastating fullness of him finally inside you—and your lips part. Your fingers tighten in his hair and a sound comes out of you that you didn't give permission for, low and helpless, the sound of ten years of wanting finally being answered.

Valarr watches your face with those mismatched eyes. Lashes damp at the corners, his mouth hanging open, cataloguing every micro-expression, every shift, because this is the first time he's inside you after a lifetime of wanting and he's building a permanent record that he will never, ever discard.

He bottoms out, and you both go still.

His arms come around you. Tight, clutching, pulling you to the edge of the sink so there's nothing between your bodies. Your chest presses to his, cold metal and hot skin between you.

Valarr's forehead stays on yours. His breath bursting out in shallow, shaking pulls, and his hands flatten against your back, spread wide, holding as much of you as his palms can cover. You can feel the ring against your spine. Can feel the chain against your sternum.

You can feel him inside you, hot and pulsing, and your thighs are trembling around his waist. Slick with your own want, thrusting into him, and the composure you've worn like plate armour since you were fourteen is in pieces on the tile floor with your jeans.

"Oh," he says softly. "Oh."

You cup the back of his neck. Press your nails in, gently this time. Feel him shudder.

"Move, Val."

He moves.

Long, deep strokes that drag out of you slow and drive back in hard, each one measured, each one hitting a place inside you that makes white light bloom behind your eyes.

His hands grip your hips, pulling you into each thrust, and the sink edge digs into the backs of your thighs and the sound of skin on skin fills the small tiled room. His mouth finds your throat and stays there. Biting, licking, sucking bruises into the tendon, working his way down to the ridge of your collarbone where he sets his teeth and bites, and the sound you make is throaty, snarling and hungry.

Your nails rake down his back under the black shirt and your hips roll to meet him and you're so wet you can hear it—the slick, squelching evidence of how thoroughly he's fucking you—and the sound of it makes his rhythm falter.

"Fuck," he breathes against your collarbone, that golden boy act in pieces at the taste of you. "I can hear—you're so—my love, you're so wet for me—"

Valarr's mouth drags down the open neck of your shirt. His lips find the swell of your breast above the fabric and his tongue traces the edge of it, hot and starved, and then his teeth close on the skin and he suck. You jerk against him, grinding down onto his cock, and the grinding pulls him deeper and Valarr moans against your chest, the vibration of it buzzing through your ribcage.

You fist his hair and yank, clenching around him on purpose. Valarr gasps, his rhythm stuttering, and then picking back up harder, meaner, his hips snapping forward with a ferocity that rocks you back against the mirror.

"You're mine," he groans against your ear, and the words tumble out of him silky and dark, half desperation, half certainty. "You've always been mine. Since we were kids, since before that, you've always—"

And his sheer, unguarded, insatiable want—the enormity of it, the years behind it, the way his voice cracks on always like the word itself is too small to hold what he means—melts you.

The ice in you. The wolf. The decade of holding yourself still and steady and contained because a Stark doesn't yield. Because wanting him back felt like handing him a weapon and trusting him not to use it. It melts under the heat of Valarr's body and the desperate clench of his hands.

You cradle the back of his head. Draw him close. Press your lips to his temple. The white streak, the damp silver of it, and whisper against his skin.

"I know, Val. I know. You've always been mine too."

He shudders. His whole body, a full-length tremor, his cock pulsing inside you.

"My Valarr," you whisper, and your voice is soft in a way you never let it be, the girl under the wolf, the tender centre you guard with teeth. "Just mine. Only ever mine."

A broken, gorgeous sound rips free from him. His arms tighten around you, crushing you to his chest, and Valarr's face buries in your neck and his hips drive forward in a deep, shaking thrust that grinds against your clit, making your vision white out.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and presses firmly. Focused and circling in time with his thrusts, and the combination of the fullness of him inside you and the pressure of his thumb and the sound of his ragged breathing against your throat unravels the last thread of your control.

Your head falls back against the mirror and a moan rips out of you that is loud enough to be heard through the door, through the corridor, through the whole godforsaken diner, and you don't care, you can't care.

"There," Valarr breathes, and his voice is dark and triumphant and shaking. "There you are. There's my girl."

He pulls back to look at you. His hands come up to cradle your face—both of them, the silver band pressing into one cheek, his bare palm warm against the other—and he holds you there. Holds your gaze. Brown and blue eyes, wrecked and blazing, pinning you in place while his hips keep moving, deep and devastating and steady.

"My love," he rasps, and thrusts into you so deep your breath shatters. "My love, my love, my love—"

Each repetition punctuated by the snap of his hips. Each one driven into you like he's trying to etch the words into your body, brand them along your spine, carve them so deep they'll live under your skin forever.

His hands cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, the ring pressing warm circles into your flushed skin, and his mouth finds yours between each thrust. Not kissing so much as breathing you, his lips brushing your lips, sharing air, the taste of whiskey and coffee passing between you in tiny, warm gusts.

You break.

The ice cracks open and what pours out is a decade of held-back tenderness so concentrated it burns.

You wrap your arms around Valarr's neck and pull him in until your foreheads press together, your noses brushing and you can feel his lashes against your cheekbones, damp and fluttering. You whisper to him—soft, fervent, the words tumbling out of you in a rush because you've been holding them so long they've built pressure.

"You're so good, Val. You feel so good. I've wanted you—I've wanted this—you have no idea how long I've—"

"Tell me." A ragged plea, his hips stuttering, pulsing inside you. "Please. Tell me."

"Since I was fourteen." Your nails drag through the hair at his nape. Your lips brush his, his breath searing against your mouth. "Since before I had a name for it. Since every time you touched my back and I wanted to turn around and climb into you and never leave."

Valarr's hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, and his arms wrap around you so tight your ribs creak and his face presses into the curve of your neck and he clings—desperate, greedy, shaking—and you hold him just as tight.

Your legs lock around him, your hands in his hair, and you give him what you've never given anyone. The softness under the wolf. The yielding.

"My Valarr," you whisper into his hair. "Just yours. I've always been just yours."

He drives in deeper, bruising, fucking into you while he holds you down.

His mouth covers yours, and it's messy, desperate, tongues sliding, and you suck his tongue into your mouth again, his hips stutter violently.

Valarr groans against you, shaking, fighting the edge, refusing to go over because he's not done with you yet. He pulls back, gasping, and kisses you again, and you suck his lower lip, biting it and he sucks your tongue back and the kiss is sloppy and consuming.

You can feel the vibration of his moans through your teeth, and your legs tighten around him. You grind into him, rolling your hips in a slow, mean circle, clenching around him, and the friction of his pelvis against your clit combined with the depth of him inside you pulls a whimper from your throat that surprises you both.

You can't get close enough.

You hook your heels into the small of his back and drag him in and Valarr comes willingly, eagerly, pressing himself against you until there is no space at all, until you can feel his heartbeat through the wall of his chest, the frantic gallop of it, and his hands slide under your thighs and grip.

His mouth finds the spot below your ear where your pulse is hammering and he licks it lazily, breathing against the damp skin, mine, mine, mine.

You turn your head. Press your mouth to his ear. "Yours," you whisper, and feel him shake. "Always yours, Val."

You drag your nails up his spine under the black shirt again, ten lines of fire along his back, and Valarr hisses between his teeth, driving in deeper, his voice breaking apart. A man standing at the edge of everything and tipping forward.

"I'm going to fill you up." Low. Shaky. His mouth pressed to the hinge of your jaw, his hips snapping forward with a desperate, mounting urgency. "I'm going to come inside you because you've always been mine, you were mine before anyone else ever touched you, and I should have—I should have done this years ago—"

You close your hand around the chain. Pull it taut.

Valarr loses his mind.

His hips slam forward, burying himself to the hilt, and a keening, desperate sound fills the bathroom.

His hands clamp on your hips hard enough to bruise and he fucks you in earnest now, every pretence of control abandoned, just raw frantic need, the wet slap of it echoing off the tile, and you're dripping. You can feel it on your thighs, on the porcelain beneath you, the evidence of what he's done to you, what he's still doing, and his voice keeps coming, broken and streaming.

"More—I need—please, I need more of you, I need to take you apart, I need—" Valarr's forehead presses hard against yours, his breath coming in sharp gasps that burst hot against your parted mouth. His eyes are open. Wet. Burning with agony and worship in equal measure. "You're so—you're so perfect, you feel so perfect, I want to stay inside you forever, I want—"

You come first.

The orgasm crashes through your body with a violence that bows your spine and tears a sound from your throat that you will never, under any circumstances, admit to making.

You clench around him, pulsing, your nails sinking into his shoulders hard enough to draw half-moons into the muscle, and the contractions of your body around his cock wrench a moan from him. Needing.

You kiss him through it. Deep, consuming, your tongue sliding against his, and you bite his lower lip again. Harder this time. Your teeth sink in until you taste copper—the bright metallic bloom of blood on your tongue—and Valarr moans against you, a ruined sound, his whole body jerking like he's been shocked, his rhythm turning ragged, his hips stuttering.

"I'm—" he chokes, pulling back just enough to gasp, a thin thread of blood on his lower lip, his eyes wild. "I'm so close, I can't my love, I'm going to—"

"Come inside me." You hold his chain, hold his gaze. Your other hand cradles his jaw, thumb tracing his bloodied lip, gentle now, so gentle. "Fill me up, Val. Come home."

His hips drive in one last time and stay and his whole body draws tight at the same time. Every muscle locked, the tendons in his throat standing in sharp relief, his mouth open in a soundless gasp.

Then the groan breaks out of him like a wave, long and guttural, shuddering, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep, the spill of him filling you up while his hands cradle your face and his forehead presses so hard against yours that you feel the ridge of bone under his skin.

"My love," he gasps, still coming, still shaking. "My love. My love."

You hold him through it. Both arms around his shoulders, your legs locked at his back, your fingers threading through his hair, stroking the dark strands, finding the white streak at his temple and tracing it the way you've wanted to for years.

You press your mouth to his cheekbone. His jaw. The corner of his eye, where his lashes are wet and clumped.

"I'm here," you murmur. "I'm right here, Val."

He comes for a long time. Shaking against you. Small, involuntary thrusts, each one punctuated by a broken exhale, his face crumpled with pleasure so intense it looks like grief.

You hold him and you let him feel you holding him and the wolf in you lies down and the girl underneath. The one who's been in love with this man since she was fourteen and too proud to say so.

You press your mouth to his temple and breathes him in.

He stays inside you.

His face drops into the curve of your neck, his breathing ragged and damp against your skin. His arms come around your waist, wrapping tight, pulling you off the edge of the sink and flush against his body so there's no space left between you at all.

The chain is warm against your collarbone. The silver band on his thumb traces unhurriedly, absent circles against the bare skin above your hip where your shirt has ridden up. The unconscious gesture, the one he does when he's checking the ring is still where you put it, that it's still where it belongs.

He's checking that you're here.

"Val," you say softly.

"Mm." Muffled. Wrecked and content.

"You're bleeding." Your thumb finds his lower lip. Traces the small split where your teeth broke the skin. A bead of red, already drying, sits at the corner of his mouth.

He opens his eyes. Brown and blue, soft and dazed and so full of love that your chest physically aches.

He catches your thumb. Kisses the pad of it, tasting his own blood, and his mouth curves into a slow, wondering smile.

"Worth it," he murmurs against your thumb.

You study him. Your best friend. Your Valarr. Just yours. The boy who walked you home with his hand at your back. The man who wore your ring on his thumb for years without asking why, because you asked him to, because you needed a piece of yours on him, and that was enough.

"Take me home, Val," you whisper.

His arms tighten around you.

"Yours or mine?" he murmurs.

"Yours."

He kisses the corner of your mouth. He picks his jacket up off the tile floor. Drapes it over your shoulders instead of his own as you both readjust your clothes. The red fabric is warm and smells like cedar and him. His hand finds the small of your back, his place, and he walks you out of the bathroom.

Past the corridor, past the counter where your coffees sit cold in their mugs, and out into the night.

You leave the photos on your phone.

———————

Ever since you were a child you had been fascinated by dragons. To you, they were the most beautiful creatures that had ever existed. However, you had never actually seen a dragon. You would see pictures of them in the books you’d read and dreamed of getting to see one in person.

As it turns out, your wish would be granted. After King Viserys’ death, a struggle for the crown would begin. In order to gain new allies, Queen Rhaenyra proposed that you would marry her oldest son, Jacaerys. Your father eagerly accepted the offer and just like that, you were shipped off to Dragonstone.

Jace was kind and respectful towards you, not to mention he was absolutely gorgeous. He told you he didn’t expect you to blindly obey him and that he would never command anything of you without reason. Infact, he only set one rule, no dragons.

You tried to protest, saying that you didn’t even need to be so close to them, that you simply wanted to look from afar but he would not even allow you that. His rule came out of a place of concern, he was worried for your safety. Dragons could be incredibly dangerous and as the days went on, he got to know you better and fell even further in love. He became even more protective.

So instead, you would stand by the windows and watch as the dragons flew around. The claimed and unclaimed alike would fly all throughout the day, far up in the sky, it was as if they were in their own world. But everyday, multiple times a day, someone would be tasked with flying around Dragonstone to patrol the area. Some days, it would be Baela on Moondancer. Others it was Rhaenys on Meleys. Sometimes it was even Lucerys and Arrax.

Your favorite thing to do was sit outside, either on the rocks or the sand and listen to the different roars of the dragons as you watched. You noted that Caraxes sounded much different from the others and you wondered if it had something to do with the beast's long neck. You were never outside for long before Jace would find you and ask for you to come inside. Sometimes, if he was busy, he would send Luke or Rhaena. He had asked Baela once but she told him if she went out there, she’d take you for a ride on Moondancer. He went and got you himself that day.

You had been sitting on a large rock outside like any other day when Daemon approached you. He was getting ready to patrol on dragonback.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, making you look up from your book.

You smiled, nodding your head, “Your grace.”

He smirks, “I wish to ask you if you’d accompany me to the dragon pit today, I see how you admire the dragons from afar but wouldn’t it be so much better to see one up close?”

You can’t help the way you perk up at his offer, but you instantly sigh remembering your bethrothed’s one rule, “I would love to, your grace—“

He holds his hand up, cutting you off, “Please, we are to be family soon, call me Daemon.”

“Daemon,” you clear your throat, “Prince Jacaerys has made it clear that I am to avoid the dragon pit… for my safety.”

He rolls his eyes, “Jacaerys does not control you, besides, I will be there with you, no harm will come to you.”

You nibble your lip, “He really does worry…”

Daemon clicks his tongue, “Did I not just say that I would not allow you to be hurt? Now, would you like to see Caraxes?”

“I would love to…” you breathe out, still worried about Jace.

“Then come now,” he offers you his hand, when you hesitate he smiles and speaks teasingly, “don’t make me command you as your king.”

“Māzīs Caraxes, māzīs,” Daemon called out into the dark. [Come Caraxes, come.]

Slowly, Caraxes stepped into the light causing you to gasp. The dragon lets out a roar and Daemon chuckles.

“Incredible…” you mutter before clearing your throat, “his roar… it’s uh, much different from the others I’ve heard, is that due to his neck?”

Daemon grins at you, “You’re very clever,” he then turns his attention back to his dragon, “lykirī Caraxes, demās, demās.” [be calm Caraxes, sit, sit.]

Caraxes complies with the commands Daemon asks and sinks lower to the ground, breathing out a huff of air, you can feel the warmth even from your current distance.

Daemon approaches the dragon, bringing his hand up to the side of the beast's head, he whispers to him in High Valyrian. You could not hear what he was saying and even if you could you wouldn’t understand but you assume it was more reassurance.

After what feels like ages, Daemon steps away from Caraxes and looks at you, “You may approach.”

You take a deep breath and take a few slow steps forward, annoyed by your speed, Daemon grabs your wrist and drags you forward, making you yelp.

He holds your wrist near Caraxes’ snout, “Allow him to learn your scent.”

You remain as still as possible, watching Caraxes’ expression as he sniffs your wrist. You can feel the warmth of his breath on you, it’s nearly scalding. Caraxes lets out a noise and Daemon chuckles.

“He’ll allow you to touch him.”

“Are you sure?” you squeak out, shocked.

He nods, “Yes, very.”

Shaking slightly, you raise your hand to the side of Caraxes’ head just as Daemon had done moments ago. You then raise your other hand to the other side of his head. you let out a giggle when the Blood Wyrm lets out a breath, pushing his head further into your hands, trying to touch his head to yours.

“He likes you,” Daemon murmurs.

You hum, “I am glad, my betrothed would be sad if I was eaten.”

He chuckles, “He would be,” Daemon pauses as a smirk begins to creep onto his face, “Tell me, Lady Y/N, how much do you know about us Targaryens and our dragons?”

“Not much…” you mumble, petting Caraxes’ scaly skin, “just that you bond with them, communicate in High Valyrian, and can ride them…”

He hums, stepping a bit closer, gesturing towards your stomach, “Well… when the prince puts a babe in you—“

Your face immediately flushes at his vulgar words and you let out a squeak making him chuckle before continuing, “a bit before you give birth, he will pick a dragon egg for the babe… the child and the egg will share a crib, allowing the two to form an even stronger bond.”

You clear your throat, trying to find your voice, “That is…interesting, informative…”

Daemon chuckles and Caraxes huffs out more air, almost like he was communicating with his rider.

“He’ll let you ride him.”

Forgetting your previous embarrassment, you drop your hands from Caraxes, laughing a bit as he tries to nudge his head towards you, you’re shocked as you stare at Daemon, “Really?”

He nods, “Would you like to?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Jacaerys announces his arrival, his hand on the hilt of his sword, “she would not.”

“Jace—“ you begin but are cut off by Daemon.

“Jacaerys, that question wasn’t for you,” Daemon smirks, clearly glad to have gotten under the boy's skin.

Your betrothed glares at Daemon before looking at you, his gaze softens just a bit but you can still see the fire in his eyes, “My love, I have been searching for you, please, come with me now.”

Caraxes lets out a noise that sounds as though he is annoyed. Daemon quickly calms the dragon and you shoot him a small smile before taking Jace’s hand and allowing him to lead you out of the dragon pit.

When he finally let go of your hand, you were far away from the dragon pit and in your chambers.

“My prince, is this proper?” you ask quietly.

He practically scoffs, “I have told you many times to call me Jacaerys or Jace, there is no need for such formal titles since we are to be wed- which might I add, is why my being in your chambers is not so improper.”

“Are you…” you take a breath, “are you angry with me?”

Jace sighs and brings his hand up to your cheek, speaking softly, “No, my love, I was simply worried… I know I should trust Daemon but I don’t like you being alone with him, that’s not mentioning the fact you were so close to a dragon… ”

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“I know, dear, I know,” he pulls you into a hug, holding your head to his chest, “you find the dragons beautiful… and I, I am very protective…” he pulls back and presses a kiss to your forehead.

You frown slightly, using your hands to cup his face, “It is not just the dragons, Jace… I want to understand the bond you have with Vermax, I want to understand your culture… I want to understand you.”

Feeling shy, you look to the ground. Jace is silent for what seems like hours before finally answering.

“I suppose it is true I should have introduced you to Vermax long ago.”

You look up at him, a hopeful glint in your eyes, “Really?”

He hums, “I can not keep you from him forever… and there is an old belief that dragons can feel their riders ‘mates’, that they become just as protective of them as they are with their riders.”

A small grin finds its way to your face, “Then I suppose I’ll have two overprotective dragons looking after me.”

“I suppose you will,” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Jace introduced you to Vermax soon after, the dragon immediately took a liking to you. He nuzzled against your hands, bumped his head on yours, and would cry when you’d leave. It was clear that the dragon had instantly bonded to you and that became even more abundantly clear when the beast began to seek you out.

You had been sitting in the grass, reading when you heard Vermax roar from above you. Normally he would simply be flying around Dragonstone with the others but today he was looking for you. The dragon landed near you causing the ground to shake. For a moment you were fearful, but then you remembered how Vermax had previously behaved with you and that fear dwindled. He began to crawl towards you and once he was close enough, you reached out to touch the side of his head. Vermax let out a sound of content and laid down in the grass. The dragon began to curl his body around you, there was no doubt that you would smell like dragon later.

Vermax dropped his head near your leg, careful not to crush you under the weight. You opened up your book and began to read once more, you hadn’t even realized you had been outside for so long until Jace found you. Actually, you hadn’t realized he had approached until he spoke.

“I’m beginning to think you’re only marrying me for my dragon.”

You look up at him, “No, I’m marrying you because my Lord father commanded it and I was given no choice.“

There’s a moment of silence before you begin to giggle, much to Jace’s relief, “I’m only jesting, Jace… Perhaps… it was simply out of duty at first but… I find myself more in love with you with every day that passes.”

Warmth begins to creep up Jace’s neck and onto his cheeks, making you laugh again.

You pat the ground next to you, “Come, sit with us.”

Vermax lets out a rumble as Jace sits next to you. The dragon puffs out air, seemingly annoyed.

“Now I’m starting to think he likes you more than he likes me.”

You bump your shoulder against Jaces, “Don’t be silly, my love, he is only protective.”

“He should be protecting you from threats, not me who simply wants to see his beautiful bethrothed.”

“Well, maybe he’s the jealous type… they do say dragons often display behavior similar to their riders.”

Jace huffs, “I was not jealous, regardless, it is almost time to sup, we must be going inside now.”

The prince stands up and offers you his hand and when you take it, Vermax lets out a whine.

Jace chuckles at his dragons clingy behavior, although he knows he shouldn’t. After all, he behaves the same way.