#i wish i could hear you tell me you loved me again even if you didnt mean it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeyunluvbot · 3 days ago

Text

i love you, i'm sorry

this is part one to my series emails i can’t send

note .ᐟ ermmmm so this one is actually based on my kind-of-situationship with my ex bsf and it actually hurt so bad to write so i hope yall enjoy :p

Subject: (no subject) To: (unsent)

Dear Heeseung,

This is so stupid. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I know I can’t say it out loud, not to you. I like this. Whatever this is. It’s fun, it’s easy, and I don’t have to overthink it when I’m with you. But sometimes, I catch myself wishing it were more. And then I remind myself that it’s not. I know we made rules and we both agreed, but I can’t help wanting more. I can’t be the only one feeling this. When you look at me like that, when you stay just a little longer than you should, when you text me first for no reason at all, I wonder if you ever think about it too.

Anyways, I’ll probably never send this, but it feels good to get my feelings out.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 2:13 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: It’s fine

To: (unsent)

Heeseung,

You didn’t even hesitate. I know we’re not actually together but how could you be so sure in your words? That girl, that gorgeous girl who’s probably a way better fit for you than me, asked if you were seeing anyone and you said no so quickly. Right in front of me too, you didn’t even hesitate. You even laughed, I know it wasn’t personal, but is the idea of us being together so laughable to you? I guess it’s true that you’re not seeing anyone, that you’re not mine. Maybe you never were, but for some reason, I convinced myself we had something real. Maybe you were just afraid to acknowledge it, or maybe you just weren’t ready for something like that. I know now that I was wrong, so why does it feel like I lost something? Anyways, I don’t know what else to say, my feelings are immeasurable and somehow simple at the same time. I know I’m foolish but I’ll always be yours, even if you don’t want me.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 11:48 PM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I don’t know what I was expecting To: (unsent)

Today I asked you if this meant anything to you. You looked at me like I had just said something awful, and I knew at that moment, I had ruined everything. You said it wasn’t supposed to be serious and that we both agreed there would be no feelings involved, but I still fell for you. I suppose it couldn’t be helped. For a moment there, a perfect moment, I thought maybe you’d smile, and tell me you loved me too, that it was ok that I’d fallen for you because you’d fallen for me too. That was stupid of me, I know that now, but at that moment I really thought that all our late night conversations meant something to you. I wish I could hate you, or put you out of my mind, I wish I regretted it. But the worst part is, I don’t. I love you, and I think I’ll always love you, even if you never speak to me again. This is getting really depressing so I’ll leave it here, I just wish I could say this to your face.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 3:27 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: (no subject) To: (unsent)

It’s been weeks since we’ve talked. I don’t even know why I still write these. Maybe because if I don’t, I’ll say it out loud. And if I say it out loud, it’ll be real. It’ll ruin everything more than I already have. I miss you. I don’t miss the way we ended, or the way you left. But the way you laughed at your own jokes before even finishing them. The way you always sent me songs in the middle of the night. The way you lingered, even when you didn’t have to. I know you don’t miss me, I saw you with that girl yesterday. I know you’ve moved on. But a small part of me hopes you’ll hear a song that reminds you of me and remember that I exist, and that I love you. I would’ve given you all of me, and I like to think, with some time, you could’ve done the same for me. I won’t send this because I know you won’t reply. But I hope, somewhere deep down, you miss me too.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 1:04 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I should stop writing these To: (unsent)

It’s been six months. Not that I’m counting or anything. I moved into a new apartment last week. It’s small, but it has these huge windows that let in so much sunlight. You would’ve liked it. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. I don’t really know anymore. I feel like maybe I never knew you. I got a job too. It’s nothing special, but it keeps me busy. That helps. I don’t think about you every day now. Only sometimes. Like when I pass by that convenience store we always went to at 2 AM. Or when someone laughs the way you used to. Or when I hear that one stupid song you kept putting on repeat. It’s funny, we weren’t even together and yet I still feel like maybe I once had a part of you like you had a part of me. I should move on, I think I’m moving on, but sometimes it still hurts. It hurts like it did when you were still here, when we’d spend all night talking and you’d leave in the morning. It’s weird though, the pain is comforting in a way, like a reminder that it was real, that you actually existed in my life. But it’s better now. I’m better now.

Love,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 10:22 PM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: No, but seriously, I should stop To: (unsent)

I ran into Sunghoon today. He asked me how I was doing, and I lied. I told him I was great, just busy and tired from work. He gave me this look, like he knew. We didn’t talk about you. But I could feel it there, hanging between us. You must’ve told them what happened. Or maybe you didn’t say anything at all, and that’s why it feels so much worse. I hate that I’m a stranger to you, someone you kept secret, when all I wanted to do was be with you, to show you that we could work, even if you were scared. I wish I never met you. I wish I didn’t give you the power to hurt me like this. It’s even worse because I know you aren’t doing it on purpose, I know you’re a good person, and that we just weren’t meant to be, but still, I wish I’d never let you in. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I should stop writing these.

(Draft saved at 12:37 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I think I’m finally okay.

To: Heeseung.

I don’t know why I’m still writing these. I think it’s just a habit now. It’s weird, when I think about us, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. It’s like looking at an old photograph, you remember the moment, but it doesn’t feel like you’re living in it anymore. Like some kind of fucked up coping mechanism. The fact that you’ll never see these also helps, I can be honest and say everything I’m feeling, everything I could never tell you, or anyone, for that matter. Anyways, I finally started dating again, and I don’t compare everyone to you. I think that means I’m okay. Or at least, I’m getting there. This will probably be my last time writing one of these, since my therapist told me they weren’t doing me any good, and that I should try to completely stop thinking about you. So I guess this is goodbye, even though you won’t see this, I hope you’re doing well.

Love,

Y/N

(Sent at 1:58 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I don’t know what to say From: Heeseung

Y/N,

I don’t know if you meant to send that. But thank you. I think I’ve read it a hundred times already. I keep wondering if you wrote it in a moment of weakness or if you’ve been holding onto those words for a while. Either way, I don’t think I deserve them. I don’t think I deserve to know how you’re doing. But I’ve wanted to ask for so long. I wish I could say I’ve been okay too. That I’ve moved on the way you have. But the truth is, I still find you in the smallest things. The songs I skip on my playlist because they don’t sound the same without you humming along. The space in my bed that’s too big now, even though you were never supposed to stay the night. The way I feel when I catch a glimpse of a girl who looks like you in public. I’ve told myself a thousand times that we weren’t meant to last. That what we had was temporary, built on borrowed time, that we were never serious, never real. But it never felt temporary to me. Not really. I guess I was scared, scared to let you in, and scared to get hurt. I thought that if I never let you get too close, it wouldn’t hurt as much when we inevitably fell apart. I was wrong. I should’ve let you in, I should’ve shared myself with you like you did with me. I regret it everyday. I should’ve reached out and said something, or I should’ve just been honest from the start. But it’s too late now, you’ve moved on, and I guess I have to as well. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Maybe I just miss you. Maybe I always have. Take care of yourself, okay? I hope you find happiness in someone who’s not afraid to love you openly.

Yours,

Heeseung

(Sent at 8:21 AM)

#jaeyunluvbot #kpop smau #kpop #y/n #enhypen #heeseung #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung smau #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen texts #heeseung angst #lee heeseung angst #emails i can't send #enhypen angst

114 notes · View notes

silent-stories · 2 days ago

Text

Bestfriend!Noah thought:

Noah sits cross-legged on your bed, flipping through an old magazine you found buried in your drawer as he listens to you talking about your last date.

He knew this would happen. That you would start seeing other guys. He had just hoped it wouldn't happen so soon.

“It was awful, Noah. I swear, if I hear one more guy talk about himself like he’s the main character of the universe, I’m going to lose it.” You groan, dropping your head back against the pillows. “He didn’t even ask me one thing about myself. Just went on and on about his job, his car, his gym routine—like I care about his fucking gym routine.”

Noah watches you, his fingers absently curling into the fabric of the magazine. He doesn’t say anything at first, because all he can think is: I would care. I would ask. Even if I already know everything about you. I would ask just so I can hear you talk about things you like and see you being happy doing it.

“And then—get this,” you say, sitting up straighter. “At one point, I mentioned how much I love going to concerts, and you know what he said?” You pause for a moment. “That it’s a waste of money. That if you’ve heard the song once, why would you pay to hear it again live?”

Noah can't even believe it. Are you kidding me? His mind instantly floods with every concert memory the two of you have shared. A waste of money? It’s one of the things that makes you happiest.

You shake your head. “I knew right then it wasn’t gonna work. I mean, can you imagine? If I dated him, I’d have to go to concerts alone.”

Or with me, Noah thinks. Like we always do. Like I wish we could always do.

You shift, hugging your knees to your chest. “And he didn’t even compliment me. Not once. Not when I showed up, not when we left—nothing.” You shake your head. “Like, I put in effort, you know? It would’ve been nice to hear something.”

Noah exhales slowly, his grip tightening on the magazine before he lets it fall to the side. He wants to tell you. I would have noticed. I always notice. I would’ve told you the second I saw you. I would’ve told you how amazing you looked, how you always do, even when you don’t try.

“Was it that bad?” he asks instead, forcing his voice to stay light.

“Yeah. It fucking sucked.”

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Well… at least now you know what you don’t want.”

You huff, rolling onto your side to face him. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a pause before you add, “You’d tell me if I looked nice, right?”

Noah’s heart stutters. The words are right there, clinging to the back of his throat. You don't look nice. You always look fucking beautiful. You could be wearing pajamas, messy hair, no makeup, and you’d still be the most stunning person in any room to me.

But he doesn’t say that. He just swallows the ache and shrugs, offering a small, lopsided grin, leaving you wondering if what he's saying is ironic or not. “Obviously. But I don’t need to, because you always do.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “Shut up.”

He laughs, but he's already wondering how he'll ever mend his heart if, one day, your date goes well and you come back happier than you ever were with him.

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian #x reader

92 notes · View notes

ashblooddragons · 3 days ago

Text

Better Me For You

This request was made by an Anon

Summary: When Daemon decided to stay in Pentos he never expected to find live again. He only wanted to make his girls happy. But in the end he figures put how to do both.

Word Count: 5873

Warnings: Daemon being Daemon, pretty much pure fluff, slight angst but only at the beginning, memories of past loved ones, tell me if I missed anything

Driftmark

Daemons pov

I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling thinking of all my mistakes. I mean Seven hells I fucked Rhaenyra on the beach the night of Laena’s funeral. And it was disappointing to say the least.

It wasn't anything like I built it up in my head. It was the exact opposite. Seems having three sons by that giant of a man stretched her more than I thought it would.

I stretch my arms out before resting them behind my head. The sound of waves crashing the shore reminds me where Laena is. That she's gone and all I could think about the night of her funeral was where I could put my cock the quickest.

I truly am a monster of a man. I think with a long sigh.

But just as I decide to turn on my side to let sleep take me does a quiet knock come to my door.

“Kepa, can we stay with you?” I hear the tearful voice of Baela ask.

I climb out of bed and walk towards the door. I hear their sniffles, more than likely a mix of their Mother’s death and the events of tonight. And when I open my door I'm greeted by my two little girls, my whole damn world and they have tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes as they cling to each other for dear life.

“Come here.” I say holding my arms open for them. And without a thought they run towards me jumping into my arms.

I start walking towards my bed kicking the door shut before dropping them on the bed and a little giggle falls from both their lips. But that only lasts all but a second before their solem looks return.

I climb into bed, them both curling up beside me as if trying to have some semblance of their life before Laena’s death.

“We want to say sorry to Prince Aemond. But I don't think he'll accept it.” Rhaena says before wiping her runny nose.

“He probably won't, but it will help him in the long run.” I say knowing my girls didn't truly take part in maiming the boy. But they did start the argument and they feel awful that their grief disabled someone even if it was someone they don't know.

“I just wanted a chance to claim Vhagar.” Rhaena sobs and I feel her hot tears against my chest.

I stroke her locks and kiss her brow in hopes of calming the storm that has overtaken her little heart.

Always so sensitive to others emotions, so much like your Mother. I think with a sad smile knowing that it is a blessing and a curse for her.

“I didn't expect Jace to pull the knife. I wanted to stop him, Kepa, I swear, but I was so scared he would turn it on me or Rhaena.” Baela says her own tears rolling down her cherub cheeks.

Always the protector, so much like me. I think as I whisper how it wasn't their fault. That they didnt do anything wrong. But I know they won't care for my words. The guilt is too large and the grief too crushing.

“I want to go home.” I hear Baela say next and I can't help but frown.

“We are home, Westeros is our home.” I say a bit too sternly if their tensed shoulders are any indicator.

“Westeros is your home. We don't know this place, we don't know these people.” Rhaena says and I can't help but agree.

They have never met these people who mourn their Mother, never met these children that try and play with them and be friends. They have no ties here.

And neither do I, not anymore. I think as my choice of my girls future starts to solidify.

“Let me think on it, many people wish for us to stay. I don't wish to anger them, but I also don't want to tear your worlds apart more than the gods already have.”

I feel them nod their heads and within a couple minutes I hear their soft snores fill the room.

Unsurprisingly the next morning my brother wants to talk.

“Have you thought about my proposal?”

I don't respond, only look him up and down taking in his hobbled and run down state.

There is truly nothing they can do, they can only make him comfortable. I think before clearing my throat.

“I have, and I'm afraid I must decline. Though I miss home, I can't destroy my girl's lives more than the gods have.”

He stops almost seeming caught off guard before a smile takes over his face.

“I understand, please do come visit though. Perhaps even let Rhaena find another dragon egg or attempt to claim a beast.”

All I do is nod before turning to look at my girls who to anyone else would seem to be talking to the young Prince Aemond. But I know what they are doing, they are apologizing with every fiber of their being in hopes of at least attempting to right their wrongs.

“Mayhaps a betrothal is in our future. One of your girls with one of my sons?” Viserys suggested playfully nudging me with his elbow.

“The only way I would agree is if one of my girls would be Queen.” I say turning to him and I see the way his eyes shine with understanding.

“The Prince Jace isn't yet betrothed.” He says but I scoff, turning on my heels to watch the waves my late wife used to call home one last time.

I look down at the sea thinking of all the stories Laena told me of her childhood.

"When I was a little girl I loved collecting seashells by the shore. The waves lapping at my feet, the smell of salt filling my lungs, the sound of clanking from my little wicker basket from all the shells I had collected so far. It was my perfect day, I once asked my Father to let me do that for my Nameday. He let me, for a little bit before the feasts took place.” She says her fingers intertwined with mine as her head lays on my chest, wild curls even more rustled from a vigorous lay.

“I was hoping to speak with you Uncle.” I hear Rhaenyra say from behind me. Her voice is set in that sultry whisper and hum that she used last night. I can't help the smirk of amusement that rises to my lips.

It hardly worked last night, it most definitely won't work this morning. I think before schooling my face into cold indifference when she comes to stand next to me.

She stares at me waiting for me to speak, but I won't. I have nothing to say to her, not anymore.

“Laenor will be useless now that his sister is gone. Though he was before that as well.” She starts searching for any reaction but I know she will find none. “I need a husband who will defend me against the Greens. One that will be as fearsome as I.”

I can't help but chuckle and from the smile she gives me I know she thinks I'm laughing at Laenor and not at the thought of her ever being fearsome.

“And what does this have to do with me?” I ask but I already know, Rhaenyra never was good at being discreet whether with her actions or words.

“Let us wed in the tradition of our house. Like Aegon the conqueror and his sister-wives.”

I try to see if there is any jest in her tone but from her stern face I know she is being serious. And I can't help but laugh.

“What? What is so funny?” She demands in that tone she always had had she doesn't get her way.

Gods, she has three sons and yet still acts like a spoiled three year old. No wonder they thought an insult was reason enough to take another eye. I think as I wipe a few stray tears.

“No.” Is all I say and by her bewildered face I can tell she will want more.

“What do you mean no?”

I snicker before facing her fully with an amused grin.

“No, I will not marry you. Because I do not want to. We fucked, Rhaenyra, nothing more nothing less. And if I'm honest, if you didn't throw yourself at me I probably would've just gone to a brothel.”

I watch as her face turns red in fury. The way her hands clenched into fists until her knuckles are white. But I don't stop smirking at her in the most condescending way I can.

“I thought you wanted me.” She hisses out tears rimming her eyes but not from heartache, pain, betrayal, or even sadness. These tears are pure rage.

“I did, key word being did.” I say before saying the words that will bring the nail in the coffin. “I'm going back to Pentos. Don't come and visit, my girls are already afraid of your boys. I don't need your hellions invading the only place they've ever felt safe.”

And with that I walk over to my girls who wait for me in their riding leathers.

“Will Caraxes be able to fit all of us?” Rhaena asks concerned but not because she fears being cramped, but because she worries we will all be too heavy for the beast.

“Yes, just because he isn't as large as Vhagar doesn't mean he can't handle me and two little rug rats for girls.” I say pretending to growl which makes them laugh.

And I can't help the heart ache at hearing it. They haven't let themselves laugh, truly laugh since their Mother passed. So hearing it now, it means all the world.

“Alright, say goodbye to your grandparents. And don't worry they will visit soon, in a moon's turn I believe.” I say eyeing Lord Corlys and my raven haired cousin Rhaenys.

“Yes, and I plan on bringing Meleys, perhaps you can fly with me and your Father. Perhaps a race?”

I watch as their eyes sparkle with pure joy, and a soft, kind, even genuine smile rises to my lips.

Pentos

Your pov

I walk through the market eyeing the produce for dinner tonight. I may be a Lord's daughter but my Mother was low born. She had to cook for herself and she instilled this craft in me from a young age.

“We may have wealth now, but it could all crumble away. And I will not have my little girl be helpless in a world where men thrive off of suffering.” She always says.

I remember the first thing I cooked, or I should say baked. A blueberry pie, I was three Namedays old and all I wanted was a blueberry pie. So my Mother got the ingredients and had me and my Father in the kitchen with her as we baked them. My Father always messed his up, one was burned to the point there was no jam or sauce, and another was so raw the blueberries were still cold. Though he swears he had them in for the same amount of time.

But Mother stood next to me, helping me mix the crust, her hands over mine as she helped push into the dough. She then helped me make the filling. Then we poured the blueberries into a warm post with a bit of lemon juice and water. And once everything was done and baked she pulled it and it was perfect.

I remember thinking it was the best Nameday ever. And ever since we have always baked desserts as a family for my Nameday. And today will be no different, especially since I am now a woman grown. A woman of ten and eight ready to find a husband, is what I know my Father would say.

“May I have a dozen red apples?” I ask the merchant who quickly nods before choosing the best options.

I turn around looking at the other stalls deciding which to go to next.

“I need cinnamon, maple syrup, and lemons.” I whisper to myself when excited chatter catches my attention.

“Come on Rhaena, the sweets are this way!” I see a little girl with wild curls, soft brown skin, and violet eyes say to another girl who has many long and thin braids through her hair, the same skin tone, and instead of violet eyes she has a soft periwinkle almost pink.

“I'm coming Baela! I just want to make sure Kepa can see us.” The other girl I assume is named Rhaena says as she picks up the skirt of her baby pink dress as she runs after her sister.

I can't help but smile at their antics. I always wished for a younger sister but alas I am an only child. My parents didn't go into it much but from what I understand my Mother almost died birthing me, it was such a tragic birth the Maesters said she could never have more children. Now she drinks Moontea once a week.

“Here you are, My Lady.” The merchant says holding out my crocheted bag now filled with apples.

“Thank you, sir.” I say as I pay him before putting the bag into my large wicker basket.

I then turn to watch the two girls buy their sweets, but instead of a smile coming to my face a look of horror does. I watch as a group of men eye the girls before looking back and forth to make sure no one is watching them. I start to move closer to the girls before I practically go into a sprint when I watch one start to move towards them.

By some miracle I get to the girls before he does and I touch their shoulders saying. “There you two are, how are my favorite girls. Let's go find your Father, hmm?”

The girls look up at me confused so I bend down to whisper in their ears.

“There is a group of men behind me, they are from slavers bay. I swear I will jot leave your side until we find your parents.”

They both look at each other wide eyed before looking behind me and I watch as fear takes over their faces when they see the group of men.

“Alright, I was hoping to see Father anyways.” The one called Baela says as she holds my hand and makes sure Rhaena takes my other one.

We quickly turn and start walking away from the men. I whisper to the girls not to look behind them. And thank the gods they listen.

“What does your Father look like, or perhaps your Mother.” I say looking around for anyone who looks like them.

“Muna's dead, the baby killed her.” Rhaena says with a sad look and I can't help the guilt that rises in me at opening an already painful wound.

“I'm terribly sorry.” I say as I run my hands down their heads as I look around for any man who seems to be searching for his children.

“Kepa has light skin, it's not like ours or yours. It's almost like milk. His hair is silver, and his eyes are the color of lilacs.” Baela says as she searches for their Father as well.

I nod my head remembering my Valyrian studies from when my Father was making trades with Volantis. He wanted at least one person in the house to sort of understand the language.

“Then I suggest we look for a man who is pretty much the embodiment of the color white.” I say which makes them giggle.

But just as quickly as I say my jest does a man call out for the girls names.

“Baela! Rhaena!” I hear, someone can tell the man is in pure panic if only from his voice alone.

Kepa!” The girls call out and within seconds a man matching their description pushes through two merchants and stares down at the girls.

“I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.” He chastises as he kneels down and holds them close in a bone crushing hug.

“We're sorry.” Rhaena says in a tearful voice.

I can already tell she is a girl who feels her emotions and isn't ashamed of it.

A good trait to have. I think with a smile.

“This nice lady saved us. Bad men tried to steal us.” Baela says looking up at me.

“Bad men? What?” The man asks as he stands up and eyes me.

“Five men from slavers bay, I barely got to the girls in time.” I say as I eye the man.

They never said he would be so attractive. I think fighting a blush that demands to rise to my cheeks.

He has long white hair that reaches just past his shoulders. His eyes are the shade of lilacs so much so I swear the scent fills the market square. But what stands out is his strong build. His arms are strong yet lean, his chest clearly has been sculpted by the finest artists for I just know once he takes off his clothes it will be like looking at a god made flesh.

But I quickly snap myself out of it when I see him smirk and hold his hand out in greeting.

“Thank you, my lady, not many would look put for two rugrats like these two.” He says and I can't help but smile when the girls make noises of offense.

“It is no problem. I know I would want someone to do it for me.” I say taking his hand in mine and I can't help but gasp at the Shockwave that goes through me. And from the way his eyes widened he felt it too.

“Well I wish I could repay you, so name your price.” He says looking around the booths.

I think for a moment before looking at the little girls who stare up at me as if I hold the moon and the stars in the palm of my hands. And I quickly know what I want in return for helping the girls.

“Though I don't need anything for saving these sweet girls. I will ask that you join me tonight. Today is my nameday, I turn eight and ten. There will be a small feast and I would be overjoyed for you three to join.” I say and I already can tell they will be coming from how the girls gasp and turn around to beg their Father to say yes.

“Alright, alright, calm yourselves.” He says to the girls who grin up at him with victorious gleams in their eyes. “We would love to.” He says with a smile.

“Good, I'll give you the address, but I will need your names for the guest list.” I say eyeing the man hoping he doesn't have some horrible name like Earl.

“Daemon, Daemon Targaryen.” He says and I freeze when I heat his name.

Well at least it's a good name, but it's owned by a very feared man. I think before nodding.

“Which makes you two, Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.” I smile when they both quickly nod their heads with such enthusiasm I swear they may snap.

“Well I will see you tonight then.” I say turning and leaving to try and remember what exactly I came to the market for.

I stand in front of my mirror. I don't think I've ever spent more time choosing a dress. In the end I chose a darling blue dress that has some silver embroidery.

“I've never seen you so meticulous about a dress before.” I hear my Mother say from behind me.

I turn to see her in all her stunning glory. Deep tan skin that is more like honey in color than my Father's olive tone. Her hair is loose dark brown curls that cascade down her back. And her eyes are that of emerald green.

When people hear my mother was a low born comman girl they are always shocked. Because for some reason the only beauties of the world can be of noble blood.

“I invited someone, someone important. And I want to make a good impression.” I say as I look down at the two necklaces I'm stuck on.

One is a pearl choker with a deep amethyst in the middle. And the other is a gold necklace with sapphires engraved into it. Both are lovely, but neither will impress a Prince.

“I say the choker, it compliments your eyes best.” My Mother says as she reaches for it and gestures for me to lift my hair for her. “Who did you invite that could be so important?” She asks as she gently clips the necklace before stepping back to see her handy work.

“Daemon, his name is Daemon Targaryen.” I say and I hear the gasp that leaves her lips.

“And you only thought of telling me this now? Gods, I still have flour on me.” She scolds as she starts wiping at her face furiously.

I can't help but smile at her antics.

“You look perfect, Mother. Stop worrying.”

She sighs at my words and holds my hands in hers with a smile etched into her face.

“Well then we best get down there, don't want to leave a Prince waiting.”

I can't help but laugh at her obvious jab.

Maybe I should've said something sooner. I shouldn't have let my nerves get the best of me. I think as we walk down our winding staircase.

I hear the chatter of men and the clank of wine glasses hitting another. I can already tell most of Father's friends have come.

“Remember to smile, I know some are obnoxious but we need to make a good face.” Mother says before taking my hand and entering the ballroom.

I force a smile on my lips as we pass some of the more…unsavory men in my Father's group. I see the way they look at me, with intent, with hunger, with desire. And that isn't what bothers me, I've had these looks thrown my way for years. It's the fact they don't even try to hide it as their wives have their arms wrapped around theirs. As their children beg for their attention.

The ways of men truly are disgusting. I think as I hold my head high and make sure they don't see even a fraction of a reaction cross my features.

“Ah, there are my darling girls!” Father says and I can't help but giggle at his unadulterated joy.

He has never, not once, held back from showing the world how much he adores me and my Mother. He oftentimes will even brag to other men how we are his whole world. To say seeing the love he has for my Mother has made me have high standards in the eyes of nobility would be an understatement. But my Father has sworn to me I will not be wed off until I find a man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel adored, makes me feel loved !and who I love in return.

“Here we are.” My Mother says in that soft lilting voice that she only ever has for my Father. I already know she is looking at him as if he is the very sun that warms her skin.

My Father goes to speak when our announcer calls out.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, of house Targaryen, and his daughters Lady Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.”

Everyone freezes as we watch these gods made flesh walk into the room. And I don't blame them.

Baela is wearing a deep rich navy blue dress that is covered in pearls, diamonds and gold embroidery. Even her hair has gems braided into her darling little bun. And Rhaena out did herself as well, wearing a magenta dress with gold embroidery of dragons and waves, and the sleeves and bodice of the dress are covered in pearls and diamonds. And her hair is still in those small braids all along her head, but now they have little gold clamps in place with rubies in the middle of each clip.

But it is the Prince that holds my attention. In his black jerkin that seems to have scaled sewn into the shoulders and chest. And he wears a deep crimson linen undershirt that also holds golden dragon embroidery. And at his hip lays the famous blade called Dark Sister.

I feel my heart skip a beat as I watch him look around the room in search of someone. No, not someone, he's in search of me.

“M-My Prince, what brings you here?” My Father asks and before the Prince can answer my Mother gets on her tiptoes and whispers in my Father's ear what I had forgotten to inform them about. “I see.” He says, eyeing me in a playful glare before facing the Prince who has made his way towards us.

“It seems in my daughter's excitement for her Nameday she forgot to inform us of your comings, My Prince.”

I feel my heart beat rapidly, it almost feels like it's going burst from my chest. But I force myself to calm before anything truly happens. And to my relief the Prince chuckles.

“No worries, My Lord. It was a last minute invitation.” He says, eyeing his daughters who excitedly whisper to the other as they look up at me.

“Ah, well then I'm not too upset with her then.” Father says, giving me a playful wink as he nudges me with his elbow.

I go to respond when I almost fall over by the two girls running towards me huddling my skirts.

“Will you play with us?” They ask at the same time.

I watch as their Father tries to reel them telling them I have many things to do, but instead of letting him ruin theirs or my own fun I look down and ruffle their hair.

“Tag!” I say tapping Rhaena's nose before turning around and running off. I hear them yell how it isn't fair before I hear Baela groan and I already know Rhaena turned and tagged her.

And for most of the night I spent laughing with these two little girls who followed me around as if I held the whole world in my palms. I don't know why they gravitated towards me so, but what I do know is I won't tell them not to. Not after they told their Mother had passed.

But what I didn't see was the way their Father looked at me. Like I was a blessing from the gods sent to save him. If I saw that then I wouldn't have been as shocked when he started courting me a week later.

It's been five moons since I met the Prince, and since then there is hardly a day we don't see each other. Whether it is a simple walk through the gardens or a dinner with the girls. I see him each and every day.

And now isn't any different, I feel the cool breeze of the spring wind against my skin as we walk through his estates gardens. The scent of oak trees and roses fills my lungs.

“So tell me, how did your parents meet?” He asks me and I hide my smirk when I catch him eyeing my cleavage.

“She was the daughter of a sailor, she is from here, just like my Father. But they didn't meet until she was five and ten and he was seven and ten. His Father wished to use my Grandfather's ship for a trade deal. And well let's just say the rest just fell into place. That is at least the story they tell me.” I say with a smile.

He hums nodding along with his own smirk. “They are a perfect pair. I don't think I've ever seen two people so devoted to the other since my Mother passed.” He says matter of factly, but I see the pained look in his eyes. The way they almost seem far off, like he is looking at something he desires most in the world but it's out of reach.

“They are, many people think they are newly weds when they first meet them. But they are far from it, married twenty two years.”

He looks at me and I can see something brewing in his mind. Though I don't say anything, if he wants to ask or tell me something he may in his own time.

“Rhaena's dragon has yet to hatch.” He says abruptly.

I look over at him in confusion, I never understood why it mattered to him so much. She is still young and can claim a dragon like he did but for some reason he needs this egg to hatch.

“I am aware, she is quite saddened by it.” I answer in a tone that shows my confusion.

He sighs, nodding his head. “I know, and it kills me every day that it doesn't hatch. It has yet to turn to stone but it just won't hatch?” He says in a confused tone his features morph into one's of pure frustration.

I freeze looking at him fighting my anger.

“I have noticed something, you spend quite a bit of time with Baela compared to Rhaena. I tried day and night to figure out why. But one day it hit me, you had brought me to watch her train with Moondancer.” I say in a calm tone that I know is more menacing than kind.

“What are you on about?”

“That you avoid your daughter because she has no dragon. Something she has no control over. And if I am to continue to be courted by you, and possibly marry you. Then I need you to be better for those girls.”

I watch as he freezes in shock, perhaps because no one has truly told him of his failings. Or perhaps it is because he hadn't realized that I had put thought into marriage with him. Either way he is wide eyed now and is opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

“The hour is late, My Prince, I will leave you to think about what we discussed.” I say before turning around and walking away towards my family's wheelhouse.

I didn't think he would truly put thought to them, that he would take action to be better. But the next day I was invited back to his estate, much to my shock. But instead of being greeted by him I stand alone in front of the dragonpit.

I turn to look at the guard that guided me here.

Surely he wouldn't jest? I think as I eye the stern-faced man. But just as quickly as the thought comes, does a loud screech reaches my ears.

I instantly look up to find the Prince's dragon Caraxes flying towards me. He doesn't slow down which makes me wonder if he sees me until he dives to the left and lands with a loud slam that shakes the very earth.

“That was amazing!” I hear and look up and see Rhaena grinning from ear to ear.

She wastes no time climbing down and running towards me.

“Did you see me? I got to use some commands!” She says hugging me around my middle.

“I did, but I didn't realize that was you.” I say with a grin of my own.

“She's a natural.” We hear and both look towards the Prince who smiles back at us.

Rhaena giggles at the compliment before a frown comes to her face when her Father tells her to go inside.

“Will you stay for dinner? We're having lamb roast.” She says with such pleading eyes that even if I wanted to say no I couldn't.

“Of course I will, but I believe you should ask your Father that question.” I suggest but she only gives me a mischievous grin.

“He does what he's told.” She says before skipping towards her guard who helps her into a wheelhouse.

I look back at the Prince who has his head thrown back laughing.

“She isn't usually so sassy, I guess flying boosted her confidence.” He says with a chuckle as he walks towards me.

The smell of suffering and charred meat fills my nose. It is a smell I originally disliked, but now find comfort in.

“Seems so.” I agree, waiting to see what he says next.

He stops for a moment, as if thinking over his next words. And I allow him to do so. No point in pressuring him to speak when he isn't ready.

Finally after what seems like an eternity he finally speaks.

“You were right, I do neglect Rhaena. I don't mean to, but I think a part of me doesn't know how to. They are so young and pure, and I'm a villain. With Baela I have the chance to at least talk about dragons with her. But Rhaena…it's just different.” He says and I can see this took a lot of courage to admit.

“You are not a villain, My Prince–” I say but he cuts me off.

“Daemon, call me Daemon. No need for titles.”

I freeze when he says this, for there is truly nothing reason to use his true name. Especially without the titles.

I decide to nod and clear my throat trying to recoup myself.

“You are not a villain, Daemon.” I say feeling the way his name leaves my lips. It feels like it always was supposed to be this way.

“And how do you know that?” He retorts in an almost enraged tone.

“Because name one villain who would try to be a better person just to see their daughter smile? Name one villain who would go to a girl's nameday party after only just meeting her. Name a villain who has chosen their children over their own lusts and desires?” With each sentence I step towards him until our chests are only a breath apart.

“You don't know all the things I have done.” He breathes out as if truly saying it will make me demand to know.

“I'm sure I don't, but I would love to. And even then, I will tell you that you are not a villain.” I whisper back as I look into his deep lilac eyes.

And within seconds his hands reach to hold my face in his soft yet firm grip as he devours my lips.

I can't help but whimper when his tongue slips into my mouth. The taste of bitter wine fills my pallet.

“Marry me.” He whispers between kisses. “I swear I'll be a better man, a better Father to the girls, a better me for you.”

I am stunned by his words. I want to respond, need to. But the words escape me. So instead I kiss him as fiercely as I can, pouring all my hopes, dreams, wants, and desires into it.

“Yes.” Is all I whisper before kissing him again.

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @themoonlitquill @technicallylegendaryenemy @athzhowakar @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @thelastemzy

132 notes · View notes

yara0546 · 1 day ago

Text

Nct dream reaction when leave voicemails for you while they’re away

Anonymous asked : hi can i request what types of voicemail, 7dream would send to you while they're away?

୨୧ Pairing : nct dream x reader

୨୧ Genre : Fluff,Romance,Humor,Slight Angst

୨୧ Word Count : 600–700 words.

୨୧ Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

Mark

"Hey, it's me... Mark. Uh, I know you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to call and check in. I miss you. Like... a lot. Tour is great and all, but it’s not the same without you, you know? Anyway, I hope you're eating well, sleeping enough... and not staying up too late watching those dramas without me. Save the good ones for when I get back, okay? Call me when you get this. Or text me. Or just... yeah, you get it. Bye."

Renjun

"Jagiya, why aren’t you picking up? Are you ignoring me? I know you saw my message. Sigh. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you. It’s been a long day, and I could really use some of your energy right now. Also, please tell me you’re not skipping meals. You always do that when I’m not around. If you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll be really mad. …Okay, maybe not mad mad, but still. Call me back, alright? I love you."

Jeno

"Hey... just checking in. I know it’s late over there, so you’re probably asleep. I just wanted to say I miss you. Today was kinda hectic, but thinking about you made everything feel easier. Ah, that sounds cheesy, doesn’t it? Don’t tease me about it later. Just... take care, alright? I’ll call again soon. Sleep well."

Haechan

"Yah, why aren’t you answering? You know you should always pick up when I call. I’m the highlight of your day, aren’t I? Laughs. But seriously, I miss you. A lot. Don’t go falling for any other handsome guys while I’m gone, alright? I know I’m irreplaceable, but still. Anyway, I’ll bring you something cool when I get back. But only if you answer my next call! Love you, dummy. Byeee."

Jaemin

"Baby, are you asleep? I bet you are. You always doze off early when I’m not there to keep you entertained. Chuckles. I just wanted to hear your voice, even if it’s just your voicemail. I miss you so much. You have no idea. Everything reminds me of you here, and it just makes me wish I could teleport back to you. But soon, okay? I’ll be home soon. Until then, keep dreaming of me. I love you."

Chenle

"Ayo, my favorite person! I’m calling because I know you miss me. Don’t even deny it. I bet you’ve been pouting all day because I’m not there to annoy you. Laughs. But really, I miss you too. It’s kinda boring without you around to tease. Make sure you’re staying safe and not doing anything reckless without me. I need you in one piece when I get back. Okay? Okay. Now call me back before I leave another voicemail."

Jisung

"Um... hey. It’s me. I, uh, don’t really know what to say, but I just wanted to hear your voice. Even if it’s just your voicemail. Nervous chuckle. Today was kind of tiring, but I kept thinking about you, and it made things better. I hope you’re doing okay. And... yeah. I miss you. A lot. Call me when you can? No pressure though! Uh... okay. Bye."

80 notes · View notes

youokaybucky · 5 hours ago

Note

Oh PLEASE what if Buck had been the one to lose it in the Stalag PLEASE

Hehehe your wish is my command besties 🤭

This is just me playing around with my unhinged love of Gale holding a gun... but this time instead of him pointing it at a child. Well, you'll get the idea from the snippet. 😌

“Buck! Gale! Wait!”

Even with Bucky’s longer legs he struggled to keep up as Buck stalked towards their hut. When Bucky reached their little room’s door it had just swung shut with a resounding bang, the sound echoing through the wooden structure. He wrenched the door open again and took a step inside.

Upon hearing someone enter, Buck had circled round on himself to face the door. Bucky stood motionless, his muscles tight and frozen in response to the scene in front of him. Buck was indeed facing him, his normally light blue eyes darkened yet also aflame with anger, his skin paler than usual giving him a ghostly look, but his stance was at an angle. The same stance one would adopt to ready themselves towards a target.

Buck had a gun, held in his right hand. It was a simple handgun, German issue, a Walther P38… and it was pointed right at Bucky’s head.

A thousand thoughts flooded into Bucky’s mind. Why the fuck did Gale have a gun? Where the hell did he get it from? How had he managed to keep it hidden? And more importantly, why was the gun aimed at him?

On instinct Bucky brought his hands up to either side of his head. He opened his fingers so his palms were showing. Anything to show to Buck that he wasn’t a threat. But how could he ever be a threat to Buck? They were each others’ rocks in this hell-hole. Everything Bucky did everyday was to try and improve Buck’s life as a POW. And he did it all gladly. It was all he could do. He’d run around the camp collecting various scraps for Buck’s makeshift radio, stood guard as Buck tinkered until it worked, he’d traded his precious cigarettes for a warmer sweater for Buck when the weather got colder. The same navy sweater Buck had on now.

“Buck it’s me.” Bucky started slowly, his hands ever so slightly dropping from where he was holding them up by his head. Even from across the room he could see the small tremor of Buck’s hand. He couldn’t tell if it was from anger, or if Buck was scared too. A quick glance up to Buck’s eyes again confirmed the former.

The normally reserved, calm, collected Major Gale Cleven was pointing a gun at his best friend.

“Hey…” Bucky continued, taking a small, hesitant step forward. Buck didn’t react, keeping his stance firm and arm held out straight in front of him. Seeing this, Bucky took another careful step, hands still held up but now they were flanking his shoulders.

“Gale, I need you to put the gun down for me.”

:) classic anna brain rot I'm afraid. But still a bit of fun.

#ask game #my writing #mota #clegan

34 notes · View notes

luckypunklemonade · 2 days ago

Text

| Again

| "You, you'll get close, but you'll still miss / standing right next to it / You're not gone, but you're far from there / I would have showed, but you didn't care / It’s life, it’s heavy / tears at your sleeves sometimes / it’s gold, it’s glory / after the battle lines / and you’ll love too soon, too soon it’ll be removed / Let's go at this again / again and again."

[Smut MDNI 18+; friends to lovers; oral (fem receiving); sequel?; post-sex pollen; not proofread, lol; 5k words!?] Pt. 2 to Temptation Greets You. Stiles Stilinski is grappling with his guilt. Good thing you're there to reassure him.

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

Stiles felt like he’d been shot clean through the stomach. From exhaustion, from embarrassment, from guilt–holy shit, the guilt. Every question he had, of which there were millions, felt rotten in his mind. No way he’d ask. He was sure it had happened, that the memory might never leave him, but he wished it hadn’t. No–he wanted it–but… not like that. He didn’t remember his head being this heavy. He could still feel the fatigue, the headache, the vanishing and unrecognizable pain, or maybe just discomfort. He’d read somewhere that when the human body goes through unprecedented pain, it has to forget to keep living. Hell, he wasn’t even remembering the feeling of pain correctly, but he still felt the ache of you. He’d gotten almost an hour of sleep after you took him back to his house. You asked if he wanted you there, and he said no. He actually looked at you after everything and said no to your sweet, concerned, caring face. He crashed into his bed and slept a pitiful amount solely due to tiredness from the comedown of the pollen.

It was waking him up, though. He swore he felt your lips pressed against his shoulder, the warmth of your breath alongside as you mewled underneath him, but he leaned towards the phantom feeling and was met with cool sheets and more shame. You helped him; you more than helped him. Sure, he would’ve survived in pain in the woods if you had listened to him and driven off until dusk, but what you did was as good as saving his life. He could blink away the image for a few seconds, but he couldn’t brush your hands off of him or the feeling he let spill out as he kissed your neck in a desperate tribute. He thought he’d forget the feeling, the discomfort melting away and replaced with an unmanageable amount of emotion, but, god, it’s like it won’t go away. His nails dug into his palms, and the humiliation got to be so intense he thought he might throw up.

No, he was really going to throw up.

All the thoughts, they were indecent and unreal, and he wasn’t sure you’d ever really forgive him. He couldn’t take you at your word, standing outside of the Jeep, holding his face and telling him it was okay. Sure, you understood, it was consensual, it was something he’d dreamed about. He would’ve loved the images of you grabbing his arms erratically and the disbelief he experienced hearing you say his name in the kind of tone guys like him dream of. Really, you were good. But something wasn’t right about how it went down, even with your reassurance, you wiping his tears, you kissing him, making sure he was okay to spend the night alone—anxiety still encircled him, coming to a head as his hands felt the cold tile of the bathroom, and did the closest thing it could to gutting him. Truly, it was because he lost control with the one person it mattered with. After the Nogitsune, that was something he might never forgive himself for.

Your hair between his fingers, empty air between his teeth, trying not to be too rough, it all seized him at once. His cheek dizzily met the tile, taking the minutes he could to cool off. He shut his eyes, cursing himself for being so attentive, for noticing everything you did, said, and breathed. It couldn’t have been as nearly as ruining as he was thinking if you comforted him like that, right? Stiles couldn’t clench his hands in fists anymore. They were shaking too much. As mortified and despondent he was, he wanted you to walk in and fix him. Sit him up, smile at him, and find a way to calm his nerves and mind. He wanted to feel your hands again, hear your voice answer every question he was sure he was never going to ask. You’d go the extra mile for him. You always did. He needed that reassurance right now.

He could smell your shampoo. Or was it body wash? Perfume? He wasn’t sure, but he was kind of freaking out, and you were too busy being a good person to notice. Cookies. You brought him cookies and your own controller, suggesting you could both play one of his favorite video games. You’d remembered how he was complaining to Scott about not having time to do fun things. You’d remembered the brand of chocolate chips he preferred because they were perfectly shaped for cookie-to-chocolate ratio, an actual debate between him and Scott that ended in a mathematical equation with consultation from Lydia. You remembered to bring them in a Tupperware container you had borrowed a few weeks ago. He wondered if you remembered him kissing your neck.

He cringed again at the memory. Him mumbling desperately, thanking you. He wondered if that made you uncomfortable. Crowding you into him selfishly and muttering nonsense into your ear. He couldn’t help it, right? He wasn’t himself; it was the pollen. He wanted to test it out and be close to you again, but he wasn’t sure you were ever going to let him that close after last night. Whatever happened to your friendship felt suffocating, but you were standing in his kitchen, unloading the cookies.

Stiles awkwardly stood, looking at the wood grain of the chairs and the corners of the counter instead of your fingers zipping up your bag or your constantly reassuring smile or your piercings or your neck where he wished, regardless of how it would haunt him, he’d left a hickey.

“We should talk.” The words made his heart drop. “The other night, when you told me to leave…I didn’t respect what you wanted. I didn’t listen. And since I value our relationship, I need to tell you everything I felt. I was selfish.”

Stiles’s demeanor was still awkward.

“You brought me cookies.”

You tilted your head, making it a little easier to look at you. Stiles’s eyes circled the container of cookies, drawing your attention to it as well. “You brought me cookies, and you’re telling me you were selfish.”

“I crossed a line,” You pinched the hem of your shirt in between your fingers. “and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you being upset after…”

You took a deep breath. Stiles’s eyes followed the line of your bra strap to the dead end under the collar of your shirt.

“I didn’t think about why you would be upset until last night after I dropped you off. You weren’t able to make a decision like that and I just–”

The same type of anxiety he experienced last night. It doubled when he heard your voice crack. You took a deep breath, “I can’t stop thinking about you being upset— I can’t stop thinking about how I could have hurt you. You’re my best friend.”

Stiles swallowed, walked a few feet to you, and, in that specific way that he always seemed to speak up, he murmured. “I think you’re too good of a person. That’s why I was upset.”

Why he was crying.

“Because you saw me hurting, you put the pieces together, you knew what was happening, how I felt, what the choices were, and you chose to stay. I was…” He turned his cheek to look anywhere but you; he needed to get this out first. “I was crying because I thought I ruined everything. Because you’re perfect, everything was perfect, and I kept my distance. I wasn’t thinking right because of the pollen and—“

“And you made a mistake.”

“And I acted on urges I’ve been ignoring for months now. The only real mistake was being stupid enough to accidentally inhale something I found in the woods. Everything else was just me doing the first thing I could think of: calling you. When you got there, I thought it was fine because of how little there was and…I saw you, and I couldn’t tell what I wanted. Then, I thought I had hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I had hurt you. That’s why I was upset.” Stiles made the conscious effort to look at you, eyes watching you fret, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I feel like a shitty person.”

He smiled and looked down at his hands. “I can’t complain. A guy like me manages to get a girl like you to do something like that for him? I should be bringing you cookies.”

You tried to shut down the laugh, but it came out softly anyway. ‘A girl like you.’ You wondered what he meant by that and why it didn’t make you feel better.

“The cookies are cause I don’t regret anything.”

Stiles let his eyes meet yours again, drawn to what your microexpressions could tell him. You pulled at the inside of your lip with your teeth, and he questioned one thing: “Not even anything I did?”

You confidently shook your head. In the time he took to really think the situation over in the context of you being okay with it–really okay with it, even liking it–you had worked yourself up so much that the room was spinning. His face fit so easily in your hands that you felt a little numb when it caught his attention. It might have been the most awkward and scary step you had ever taken if not for how the surprise on Stiles’s face made you feel. At first, he was a little scared of the contact. You knew he would be in his head all night, not just for making a mistake, but for the feeling he had when he lost himself. You knew he’d never want to feel like that again. Then, his eyes softened to searching. Questioning what he was supposed to feel from this. That’s when you wanted to kiss him the most, so you tried leaning closer. Testing the waters, you made a point of going slow. There was a pulse of anxiety in Stiles that made him need more air, and before you could kiss him, he had to speak. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, close enough that the tilt of your head was enough to press your lips to his. His eyes snapped shut quickly, only relaxing when you first moved your jaw. His hands coaxed yours from his face and squeezed them softly. When you pulled away, taking seconds to do so, it took him a minute to open his eyes again. You had spent all night researching what kinds of pollen there were, rituals, tribes, and covens. Trying somehow to stifle your guilt and confusion with productivity. Thinking it’d be easier to forgive you for kinda-sorta crossing a line and maybe ignoring that you kinda-sorta liked it if you could give him information. His words were hot against your neck, even at the desk in front of the computer. How could anyone blame you, though, really? Years of friendship, getting closer, and surviving awkward life events and supernatural trials. It built up a sort of emotional scar tissue, so when that line was finally crossed, whatever feelings got through had to be honest. That look on his face, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, made you want to close your eyes, too. See it how he’s seeing it.

You swallowed, realizing his eyes were open, and your voice was so quiet it rasped a little at the first word. You had this look on your face that told him you were about to be so, so good to him. “Can we try again?”

You found yourself yielding more of your rigidity to Stiles while he guided you into his room. It was more like you were guiding him to his room, the way you held his hand and offered reassuring glances. He looked at you like he wasn’t really sure how it was going to happen. As if, even without the pollen, it still wouldn’t turn out how it should. But his confidence grew as you shut the door and placed his hands on your hips. He had to lower his shoulders, and he had to breathe. Mumbling an “okay” to calm himself down, he looked at you to try to stay in the moment.

“I’m gonna do this right.”

You opened your mouth to stop that thought. You wanted to tell him that the other night, it wasn’t ‘wrong,’ it was different. Sure, every time you’d imagined sleeping with Stiles, which was admittedly far too often, it had nothing to do with a weird ritual sex powder, but that didn’t mean that, since you both were on the same page, you couldn’t try again. You wanted him to see just how willing you were to be on the same page as him. To say something like, “I’d do it again.” Before you could work up anything to articulate that, he shook his head, already seeing the protest in your face.

“I gotta make it up to you.”

You stopped thinking to play the sentence back, and you looked up to see him smiling a little. Not in a cocky way, but one that made damn sure you knew what he meant. He stammered out the rest of his nerves, “Remem–remember?”

He didn’t want you to think he was uncontrollable or desperate like he was the other day. That’s how he felt with you in the moment, but he could do better than to lose it. He had to remember that it was always easy with you. He was always talking, but with you, it felt like he never had to find a time to stop or a time to start again. He never had a version of himself to maintain in your eyes. You always spoke your mind for him; he never had to do the work of wondering. Inside jokes, sleepovers, weekend road trips into the cities, awkward conversations, growing into more of yourselves and more excited to find out what these versions of yourselves thought about each other.

You had said that, with each other’s best interests in mind, neither of you had to worry. And you always had his best interest in mind. From when you dragged him, tipsy and loud, out of another underage party to sober him up for the ACT in the morning or when you gave him the pep talk he needed to apply for the college he wanted to go to instead of letting him worry about the town or his dad or leaving his friends, to shaking him by the shoulders to recite good things about him when he started to sink into dark places and making sure he never felt like he was losing his mind during dark times. He knows your voice by heart, especially the tone you drop to when you find him in panic attacks. He knows because he replays it in his head at night when he wakes up, grasping for something real and counting his fingers.

To you, he wasn’t scrawny; he was lean and fit. He wasn’t just sarcastic; he was ribs-hurting-embarrassing-laugh funny. He wasn’t annoying; he was informed and passionate. You made sure to tell him preseason lacrosse conditioning was doing wonders, especially since the new routine Coach put them on, because you knew how he could fail to see his own improvement. You saw something in him that made you comfort him after making a stupid decision that led to him doing something risky. Something that made you okay with that. So, when he saw the smile on your face telling him you remembered how he had insisted on making it up to you, he felt his chest lighten. Even if you looked just about as nervous as him, though you looked up at him with a promising curiosity. Stiles’s fingers found your bra strap where it curved over your shoulder and hooked his fingers underneath in an attempt to soothe you. There was a more assured look in his eyes. His hands were gentle, constantly asking you for the authority he took so intensely before. It felt more like you were really giving him something, not just letting him have it. He liked this more.

Then, he paused. It settled in. That night, when he was sweating the remnants of the pollen’s effect out on the tile of the bathroom, he wasn’t really sure if he could figure this out in a way that your friendship remained. The pollen made everything more intense, so he still wasn’t thinking straight, and his mind wouldn’t let him explore the possibility of what he’d do without you. So, he just didn’t. Now, you had held his hand and kissed him and touched him all in a world where he’d done something wrong. And he wanted to lean into it. His blank face as he realized this made you falter, head tilted at him.

Stiles broke out into the biggest smile you think you’d ever seen as he leaned forward, cupping your face in order to catch your mouth in his ardent attempt to kiss you. He couldn’t stop grinning against your lips, clashing teeth and messy grazes that called for a break just so that he could rest his forehead against yours and laugh. He was really gonna lean into this.

You grinned back, impatiently staring at his lips. You felt his thumbs come up to wipe the corner of your mouth. “That’s my bad.”

”There’s nothing bad about you,” You softly retorted.

He looked up at the ceiling, chewing on the smile that his humility wouldn’t let him show you, “You saying that says more about you than me.”

You had a proud kind of grin on your face, just like the one you had that first lacrosse game he scored in. He slowly guided you onto his bed, leaning you back and kissing your neck, migrating back up to your mouth. When you pulled away to take a breath, his head followed, taking a few kisses for himself as you breathed. His hand seemed to find yours without trying, like he’d had enough practice or thought about it enough to know exactly where it would be. Your hand, entangled with his, brought his to the hemline of your shirt and, before he had realized, snuck his hand underneath. Stiles pushed out a breath. “I thought you were gonna hate me.” He whispered as he lifted the fabric slowly.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you.” You felt his hands go on without yours up the expanse of your torso, just ghosting his fingertips across your ribcage. “I think I was waiting for something to happen between us. I wasn’t expecting something like that, but…I actually wanted something to happen.”

Stiles’s hands were paused on the cups of your bra, listening to your voice nervously fluctuate. “I know that might make me a bad person, but I think I’ve felt like our friendship was more for a while. Not like I was yearning or anything cause, well, it was perfect. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Stiles’s eyes were on you.

“I was comfortable. We were already close, and we were busy enough. I was just scared to change anything, so it felt right to let it be. I liked it when you tried to make me laugh, and when you tried to braid my hair, and how you always cheered me up, and when you invited me over to watch movies as soon as you had free time, and that was it, I guess.”

“Me, too.” His smile hooked downward in a smile, almost surprised to hear himself say it while he felt the pattern that lined your bra. He started to broaden his smile when his fingers felt skin. You mirrored him with your own unique smile, the one you wore in the picture of the whole friend group in summer that he’s got saved in his phone. The first time you wore a bikini in front of anyone, but that wasn’t why he spent so long looking at it. Well—partly— but it was because that smile was one he didn’t have too many pictures of. He was lifting you up from behind, antics the group had been up to all day at the lake, and you were laughing so hard you didn’t fight back. You knew he’d set you back down safely because you trusted him. It was every other boy who would have thrown you off the dock, but not Stiles. That smile meant trust and comfort.

“And,” He mumbled, eye line shifting to your shoulders as he pulled your shirt over them. You hummed, and he tried to keep talking even though he could finally put an image to the feeling of your bra. “I like it when you wear low-cut tops.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes at the sound of him continuing, “And when you come over just to drag me out of bed and make lunch with me. And when you sing in the car. And when you do your makeup, and I get to watch.”

You felt the intensity deepen as Stiles tilted his head and kissed the curve between your neck and shoulders. “I like it when you try to make me feel cool for wearing Star Wars T-shirts. I like…”

His tongue pressed warmly against your skin as if he was distracted and needed to do it quickly before he lost the chance. “I like it when you fix my hair and let me drive and laugh at my jokes. I like when you get defensive for me and how, when you talk, you look at me like you care what I’ll say back. I like how good you are to me and–”

All said while he lapped at the column of your throat and his hand cradled your head. Your hands softly reached down and, provoked by the vigor of his kisses, slid underneath his waistband. It shut him up in a verbal sense, but his mouth opened wider if anything. He moaned against your neck as you palmed at him, more bold than even you anticipated. But once you could feel him, you felt need when you swallowed and blinked and pushed your hips up. It got worse when he started to grind against your hand, inspired by the way your palm pressed against his happy trail. Willing himself to take the initiative, Stiles sat up on his knees. His eyes took you in as a whole, not in bites. He was more vocal, animated, curious rather than desperate and determined. He was still smiling down at you, though it faded so he could seriously ask if he could take your pants off.

“Unless that’s not–”

“Stiles, don’t make me beg.”

Nodding vigorously, his hands pulled you by your waist closer to him and began sliding your jeans off. Once they were inside-out on the floor, Stiles had to think before deciding it was okay to let his eyes wander. You wanted to let him have the time to think everything through, but he didn’t realize his knee was pressed against your underwear, and you had built up a demand for him. Your thoughts were flooded with his actions that night, but worse because of how different it could be this time. With his gentle hands and nervous excitement. He’d get to take his time, and you’d get to appreciate it. You grinned at the potential and breathed out the words so he could hear them, maybe get him out of his head.

“You can touch me.”

As you pushed your hips up, trying to get his attention, Stiles’s eyes fell, audibly approving of the dark spot between your legs. It felt like you were giving him a gift, not like that night, but he wanted this much, much more than perfect cookies. He went straight for his reward, pressing the pads of his fingers against the wet fabric, echoing your curiosity, and slid his thumb underneath the side of your underwear to find the source. He’d never been more focused–or harder–in his life. Your voice caught his attention. A needy “take 'em off.”

“I like it when you tell me what to do.”

You had a proud kind of grin on your face, just like the one you had that first lacrosse game he scored in. Bringing his head up, Stiles kissed your neck again, migrating back up to your mouth. When you pulled away to take a breath, his head followed, taking a few kisses for himself as you breathed. His hand seemed to find yours without trying, like he’d had enough practice or thought about it enough to know exactly where it would be. He trusted himself now, at least more than he would have an hour earlier.

Once your underwear was buried somewhere in the mess of discarded clothing, he paused. He wanted to try something, justifying it before your eyes. The gears turned, deciding he’d try his best to really thank you. Gently leaning down, Stiles rested his forehead on your chest and spoke with heavy breath, “Y’can stop me. F’you want.”

Adjusting his body so he could move down to his goal smoothly, he began kissing in a pattern so anticipatory you weren’t prepared for when you felt him press his tongue into your clit. Your breath hitched, not having much time to breathe before he was fully committed. Stiles liked this way of thanking you, not just the taste or the way you felt gasping for more air to moan out, but because it felt like an altar. It was a physically fitting position to thank you. Sure, he wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but from your reactions and his view of them from between your legs, he could do some inferring. He had an urge, he acted on it and watched to see if you liked it. You liked it. A lot. You were sucking in deep breaths while his hand reached up to find yours and encourage you to keep whining his name. He was sucking and licking and pressing his mouth into you, looking up every so often. His eyes found yours, and you let your head lull back.

“Stiles—“ you whimpered.

Without thinking, he asked, “Hm?” against you, eyes shooting up at the view as you whined needily. Curiosity was one of your favorite things about Stiles. He was always studying things like everything was something yet to be taken apart, learned, and put back together. With a hand gently set on his head, you asked him to stop. His head bolted up, “Why?” But you were already pulling him back to you. He eagerly complied, kissing you again, his head clearing when he realized what you could taste on his lips. “Oh, fuck.”

Stiles had himself lined up with your entrance, eyes jumping from one place to another. He was halted above you, looking into your eyes. He could see the need you were radiating, but he needed a little more than a look. “Stiles?” He could hear the fear in your voice. That he was having second thoughts or changed his mind.

“I need something.” His hand brushed back and forth on your thigh, comforting you.

You nodded, “Yeah?”

“Tell me you want this.”

Your face softened, taking your next words very seriously. “Stiles, I want this. I really want this. Please.”

This time, Stiles was focused on more than how it felt to be inside you. He watched your face contort, then come to rest with your mouth open in pleasure, lips wrapped around his name. He started to smile, leaning down, letting his arms slide beneath you, getting rid of the space between the both of you and tucking his face beside yours. You could hear how deep his breaths were, how they hitched when he mumbled, how they mixed with his words along with whines, so it all came out as needy as he felt. As needy as you felt. His smile was concentrated as he remembered he could just kiss you. He could just move his head above yours and kiss you, the pace he set with his hips undemanding until he swallowed one of your moans at the feeling of him pausing so deep inside you.

Stiles was no doubt awkward in most things, but his keenness to just know things was what made him so good at sex, you deduced. He’d study something for hours, noting everything. He did the same as his fingers found motion just above where he pumped himself into you slow enough so that he could also focus on how much pressure you liked. Even with this knowledge, you still didn’t feel like an experiment. You think it was because he kept looking up into your eyes, including you, arousal pooling in his nervous mouth, held open and ready to groan when you inevitably clenched around him. It was definitely because he wouldn’t shut up. The first time, because of the pollen, he was silent, driven, guilty. Now, he was a mess of words, thanks, and curses. This mix of behavior, words, and sensations had you closer and closer to finishing than you could vocalize. Stiles watched you watch him use his thumb to swipe more of your slick up and down your clit, his thrusts still slow and steady. He smiled and applied more pressure, still fascinated by the way your back arched and your mouth opened every time. When it did, he murmured without thinking.

“You like that?”

It was innocent–genuine–but the implication made your head spin. Your whines preceded a very positive answer before your grip on his arm got tighter, and you urged him to move faster. The way your voice pitched up a little and your words lost the spaces between them, Stiles obeyed and braced himself with an arm, stiff from holding his position above you. His stomach tightened when you came around him, unaware of how your muscles would squeeze him, and he came with an unexpectedly deep groan. His chest was heaving as if he was monumentally tired and content with why. He nosed himself into hugging you, fully pressed against you, pressing would-be kisses into your shoulder, your chest, your jaw. Thankful for the condom you messily rolled on him, you let your hands gently explore his back, digging a little bit as you felt him pull out. Gently ghosting your nails up and down his torso and shoulder blades, he hummed as the feeling made him shiver.

“I should,” he didn’t have the strength to kiss your cheek, so it was more of him pressing his face into yours. His voice was a half-assed pronunciation of what he wanted to say. “Help clean you up.”

To be fair, you felt just as tired, yet you responded. “I think I’ll take a shower. Might need you to carry me, though.”

He laughed, making the conscious mental and physical effort to sit up. You closed your eyes when his weight left the bed, relying on sound to tell you that, down the hall, he started a bath. He came back and offered one of his T-shirts, which you let him put on you before pulling him over you for his warmth. He’d found his boxers and his other T-shirt, wrapping its softness around you and letting you both give in to the exhaustion so comfortably multiplying by the minute. He knew you’d probably be asleep by the time the bath was full, but having you cling to him felt like the greatest idea in the world. He resolved himself to the idea of just carrying you to the bathroom when the time came and washing your half-asleep body if it made you happy. Knowing your standards, you’d never forgive him if he just let you forget about washing yourself tonight. The sun was setting behind his curtains, and you felt him slide his arm underneath you.

#stiles stilinski #dylan o’brien #dylan obrien #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski x reader #smut #friends to lovers #✰lucky writes

35 notes · View notes