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bulliestrolls · 4 months

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A Streams Psyche [FLEEK AU]

Introduction to the Fleek AU and what's to come (this was so fun to write hiii)

Honestly, Creek’s never been a huge fan of Branch.

At first, it wasn’t personal at all, or at least he didn’t mean for it to be, he just didn’t like how Branch treated his friends. He was always such a grouch and he was such a downer at every given moment, and it was such a drag to listen to over and over again. If anything, Creek was grateful that Branch typically barricaded himself from everyone else, I mean, if he wasn’t going to be positive, then what was the point of having him around? And yet that never seemed to stop Poppy, her being the future Queen of pop and also his best companion.

Poppy always seemed adamant on having Branch join their crew and changing his ways. While he never really understood why she wanted to so badly, he couldn’t help but admire her attitude. Something about the peppiness always brought a smile to his face, and he always supported her decisions as a best friend should. Usually though, it never seemed to work in her favor. Branch always blew her off and gave a stink eye to her and everyone else, and quite frankly it got on Creek’s nerves.

He always did his best to cheer up Poppy whenever it happened, finding it strange how upset she gets over it. Why should she even care if he doesn’t? What was the need to show emotion over someone that didn’t even matter in the long run? Regardless of his thoughts, he succeeded often in bringing back her spirits, the gang usually partying together the remainder of the night as a result. Creek always greatly enjoyed their company, and loved to share his exercises with everyone, his life seemed perfect.

That was until the bergens attack on Pop village.

Even now, he remembered that day so vividly. Poppy had planned a gigantic celebration for the village to party over them being free from the monsters for so many years. Everyone was so excited to join in on the festivities, everyone except the one who he can’t even think about anymore without clenching his jaw.

Branch.

As usual, that damned troll was set on ruining the rest of their fun, claiming how they’re being far too loud and the bergens would get them. Same shit as usual, it was incredible how Creek didn’t gain a headache from the repetitiveness of it. He’s tried before to talk some sense into the troll, but Branch always shoved him away, seemingly as if he were more irate with him than anyone else, which was pretty confusing to Creek.

Branch, of course, had ended up retreating back to his lonesome bunker, and the rest of the group set up in preparation for the lovely party. And what a party it was, it would’ve been one for the books if the attack hadn’t happened right after. Before much notice, he saw the yellow beady eyes looking down at everyone, and all he can recall is the screams of his friends and the pleas for help which were left unanswered.

Next thing he had known, he and his buddies were stuffed into a back, shaking with fear and breathing hard, their fate unknown. He remembers not reacting as strongly as his friends had back then. Really, he remembered only thinking of how to relax everyone and for them to have an open and clear mind. How come he hadn’t really processed how awful the situation had been?

Whatever hope he had given his companions started to dwindle the more time went on, especially when everyone had been thrown into a cage, a bergen staring down at them. Even in that situation, Creek had been adamant on everyone remaining calm, and that help would be there soon. He didn’t know if he was even being honest with himself at that moment, he already knew how hopeless the situation had been. And the problem only cemented itself when he was grabbed to be eaten by the Bergens king.

The moment was instant, he remembered his friends shouting and crying out his name and it all became muffled as the world around him darkened. Originally he had thought he had shut his eyes only to realize he was inside the king's mouth. He was terrified, for the first time in his life, and he could do nothing but accept his fate. Only.. the king’s mouth didn’t do anything. He hadn’t chewed, or swallowed, and it left Creek puzzled.

He still had time! He let out a deep inhale before using all of his core strength to push against the walls of the mouth, letting out a guttural scream until he found himself falling out of it, being met with the two bergens, and the fear kicking back into gear. What was the plan at that point? They were skyscrapers compared to him, running was out of the question. All he could do in that moment was beg for his life, pleading mercy and willing to do anything to be granted such.

It seemed to have been a running thing through his life, the will to do anything he could in order to get what he wanted. In this case, that was making out of this alive.

And so, he had made a deal to spare pop village and everyone in exchange to live. He truly wished it didn’t have to be that way, not when he has achieved such a strong bond with the others, but he didn’t have any other choice in the matter, so he reluctantly agreed. The next time he had seen everyone, they were all ecstatic to see that he was still alive, and he couldn’t help but smile despite the circumstances. It was short-lived however, when his eyes traveled to Branch, who seemed shocked and… annoyed that Creek was there.

Really? Even after everything he was still acting like that? Before he had known it, Branch was exclaiming Creeks’ betrayal, his hair wrapping around Creeks neck harshly, cutting off his circulation to breathe. Relief overflooded him when Poppy had pushed Branch back and tried to talk reason into him. When everyone turned over to him however, he wasn’t quite sure of what to say.

He… didn’t want to lie so he told them the truth of his betrayal, but it was for good reason. He hadn’t been able to get another word in before Poppy was doing the exact same assault Branch was previously. That was expected from Branch, but from HER? His heart was shattering, wondering where his Poppy had gone. She would never have acted like this towards him before, this must’ve been all his doing. He must’ve been changing her.

Why?

Why was she acting like that towards him? Surely she would’ve understood he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he would die otherwise! He insisted that the other trolls would’ve done what he had to if they were placed in his situation. When Branch had resisted her, Creek’s head felt like it was going to blow when he saw him holding onto Poppy like that. What the hell gives, exactly? It wasn’t like this until only now, and it confused the hell out of him.

If anything, HE should’ve been the one to be angry in this situation. None of them had done anything to save him from his supposed doom, they all thought he was dead, after all. And, while he may not have enjoyed having to betray pop village, he felt a bit of sadistic glee when it involved Branch being part of the equation, especially now. After all, he made all of his friends hate him, telling them things behind his back. Things that showed Creek was the villain in the scenario, which he couldn’t help feel were ridiculous. SURELY they all would’ve done the same in this scenario, right? Right? Branch would’ve, definitely! He didn’t like ANY of them until only recently, apparently.

The thought of it all made his head spin, he hated it. He hated him. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for that fucker. Creek could’ve calmed his friends down about the betrayal if not for HIS outburst. He wouldn’t have already been rooted against if not for Branch, his friends would’ve believed him, surely. Maybe… maybe this all was for the best! Yeah, yeah that’s it! At least in this way, Creek could properly punish Branch for all he believed was his fault, and maybe, just maybe, he could change Branch to their side once and for all, a feat Poppy wasn’t able to achieve so he would do it for her instead. Then… everything would return to normal.

He had hoped at least that everything would return to normal.

Creek ended up returning to Pop village and doing what had to be done, which he felt sorrow for, at least that’s what he showed. It wasn’t really known how he was feeling about it all, but he did pity them all for being so weak and powerless in the situation.

Some time later he finds that plans went south, and he was rolling out of the bergens kingdom with their chef, who was on fire. It was yet another moment of blink fast and you’d miss it. That was also the moment he realized that he didn’t need to betray them at all and everyone was still alive, which gave him momentary happiness, only for it to dwindle at the fact that everyone was leaving him to die. All he could do at that point was to scream along with the other bergen until the fire was put out and she was dead. Except that’s not exactly what happened. For some reason, the fire hadn’t killed her, which was a bit of a shock to him. It might’ve been due to the rough and thick skin of the bergens, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Regardless, since she was out of it from the pain, he thought he could maybe make an escape.

That was until he felt her cold and bony hand grab him, preparing to finish the job and eat him herself. God, he was just going to die no matter what he did, huh? How was any of it fair at all?

The moment was thankfully short-lived, or at least so he thought, as he felt both of them falling down into a pit. The bergen had died almost instantaneously, sinking down into the stomach acid of the creature that had swallowed them both. He had more time to react than her about it, his small stature having him fall down at a slower pace. With quick thinking he gathered his hair strength to break out, but he still gained acid burns from being in there already. He screamt from the pain but was desperate to get out, to live.

He eventually had made it out of the monster's pit, gasping heavily as he had access to basic air once more, thanking whatever entity above him that was giving him a second chance at life. The troll had focused on tending to his wounds, letting out a hiss of agony at every touch, but it needed to be done. Once he had finally had a chance to think properly once more after his second near-death experience, it washed down on him like a dam.

None of them cared if he died, hell, it seemed as if nobody even realized he was gone. What could he do from here? He certainly couldn’t have returned to pop village, at least not right now. If they were willing to give him up to a bergen, then they’d likely execute him on the spot for his ‘crimes’. All he could do right now was prepare for his eventual return, knowing that whenever that may have been, there was no going back to the way things used to be. His relationship with them all had been completely severed, and the way he could feel about things felt more warped than ever.

In the months and the year it took until he returned, he practiced learning basic expressions, reacting to things suddenly and unreasonably to see their effect on others. How to truly react to things became null to him ever since that day, and it was a struggle to come across as normal afterwards. Nevertheless, he persisted, adamant on changing people's minds on him, and getting them to love him once more.

As expected, his return was at first unwelcomed, him being met with Branch yet again, who was right at Poppy’s side. He couldn’t help but scoff mentally at the fact he was replaced with THIS troll of all things, but he kept his calm and cool stature, claiming guilt and being apologetic to everyone, even though he still didn’t really believe he did anything wrong. It was a stressful situation after all, still, he let them know he was willing to repent for everything and do whatever it takes to gain back everyone’s trust once more. Branch’s face during that moment couldn’t help but creep into Creek’s mind, remembering its vile expression clearly.

For the most part, everything had been calm. He worked hard and dutifully, really gaining back his place back into the village. It was going according to his plan beside the.. Setbacks. For some reason, anytime he saw Branch, there was the unbridled and raw rage that built inside of him. Sure, he could just stay away from where Branch is, but it’s not that easy unfortunately. Not when he’s constantly walking behind Poppy like a mutt. That is also not to mention Branch had recently reunited with his family members, his brothers.

Oh great, there’s more of them multiplying. They’re like amoeba. Disgusting, filthy amoeba.

It seemed that no matter what Creek did, he was always met with Branch’s face in one way or another. Sometimes it got so bad that he lost sleep due to it. He’s also had violent spells on his lonesome just thinking about it all, punching at walls and ripping out his hair just to do something about the thing he had no control of. That was getting pretty old though, and he decided if he couldn’t get away from Branch, he should work on ways of getting rid of him.

There was one brother that Creek didn’t seem to mind, whose name was Floyd. Floyd was the second youngest brother, according to Branch, and was also quite the apathetic being. Creek never intended getting close or even talking to him, but one thing led to another and it turned out that they could connect pretty well. Floyd would always check up on him, and even started doing yoga, which made Creek overjoyed. Nothing else was expected of their partnership, that is until he had noticed how uncomfortable it had made Branch. Not only that, but Poppy even talked to Branch about how nothing could be done because Creek wasn’t hurting anyone. The comment of her not liking him either stung, but was quickly wiped once he realized what this could mean for him.

This was it. THIS was how he could fix his issue with Branch, it all made sense! Creek hated seeing Branch happy, and that must be where all of the rage came from! If Branch were in ruins however, then Creek could return back to normal, even feeling a bit of joy from it. His friendship with Floyd was enough to unsettle Branch, so why not take it a step further? He could start flirting with him, taking him out on dates, hell, maybe one day he could even ask for his hand in marriage. Oh, Creek bet that would kill Branch. The thoughts in his head raced with ideas for what he could plan with Floyd, and it made him positively giddy.

If only he had known what this all would’ve done to him, then maybe he would’ve rethought everything.

#dreamworks trolls #trolls fanfic #trolls au #trolls angst #trolls fleek #fleek #trolls creek #trolls floyd #fleekedup #fleekedup fr #fleeked up

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adventuringblind · 8 months

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Oscar The Matchmaker: Chapter Four

Summary: Lando wants answers, Charles gets more then he bargained for, The trio surprises in many ways

Warnings: Lando and Charles are in the room hiding, PinV, Porn with minor plot, oral, Dom/Sub, Established dynamics (Kind of), sub space, cock warming, marking, bruising, overstimulation

Notes: pure, filthy, shameless smut.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The following work is for 18 and older. Minors, please DNI.

Lando had wanted to surprise his teammate. The horrendous season they’ve had thus far was taking a toll on the rookie and he wanted to cheer him up. He’d grabbed Charles and somehow managed to nab his room key. He’d planned to take the Australian and his ‘best friend’ out to the bar.

Everyone knows him and the AlphaTauri rookie are dating. It’s obvious. What he couldn’t get his mind around was Max. His friend who’d been spending an awful lot of time with the two.

Max had done well to avoid his questions and change the subject. And his motivation to take his teammate out and get alcohol in him definitely wasn’t to get to the bottom of it.

It’s not long that the two are waiting. Charles absently scrolling through instagram and Lando texting Pierre and Carlos to meet them there later. The door handle starts jiggling and Lando is up and ready to do.

What he was not expecting was three voices. One of them very clearly Max’s.

Lando grabs Charles and they dive into the closet.

“I’m confused.” Whispers charles urgently. “Aren’t we going out?”

“Yes but this is better.”

“I still can’t believe I lost my room key.” Groans an unpleased Oscar.

“Yeah, kept us waiting a whole extra five minutes.” The female teases and tosses herself onto the bed. “You’ve already been teasing me all day. I thought you might have done it on purpose.”

“Careful with that attitude.” Max is already hovering over her.

“You were the one getting handsy in the hall, Max Emilian.”

“He’s just inpatient.” There’s a hunger and lust in Oscar’s voice the makes her flush hard.

Charles is tapping on Lando’s knees rapidly. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Shush, I’m finally getting answers!”

“Pretty sure you’re going to get more then that.”

“I am inpatient because you two and your race suits tied around your waists does things to me.” Max smirks. His lips press soft kisses to the females collarbone.

Oscar is quick to get behind Max and rid him of his shirt. Tossing it somewhere in the room to be found later. “Glad you’re enjoying the view. But I Reckon you’re probably on the cusp of giving up tonight.”

Max groans. “Please tell me you weren’t winding me up as well so I’d give you control.”

Oscar lays wet kisses to Max’s spine. “You’re to pretty for that. I think you like when I take it.”

“Holy shit.”

“No way.”

“Did you know your teammate could do that?”

“How would I know that Oscar has the ability to make Max fucking Verstappen weak in the knees?”

“I don’t know mate. Sometimes teammates just know things.”

“Plus I’m pretty sure you were in charge last week.” Reminds the female.

“This is a true fact. I couldn’t walk on Monday.”

“My hips were bruised and we both were covering the stupid rope burns.”

“And yet neither of you were complaining.”

“Doesn’t matter it’s my turn.”

“… now look who’s inpatient.”

Oscar rids himself of his own shirt and the helps the female out of hers. The room is filled with heavy pants and muffled moans and they kiss each other with no hesitation. Their clothes being discarded in intervals.

“I don’t want to be here for the next part.”

“Fifty bucks says Max ends up on top.”

“Can’t believe I’m doing this. Fine.”

“We could always share the role.”

“Maxy, you are far to stubborn for that and we both know it.” Oscar lands another kiss to his collarbone. “Plus I quite enjoy the look in your face when you come undone.”

She was on top of Max. Him already inside her. She’d been told not to move and she was keen on not getting in the middle of their feud lest she become a victim.

Max is already a mess. Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing. It has been a half hour and he’d successfully brought the Dutchman into some reluctant form of submission.

It’s a game played between the two. Another race of sorts to see who could get control first. She was privy to whatever happened and always ended up on the other side blissfully fucked out.

Both of them like having it. Neither of them like letting it go.

Oscar sets himself in between Max’s legs right behind her. His hands reaching down the front of her to toy gently with her clit.

She blames it on the fact that being good with their fingers is part of the job and that’s why it’s an addicting feeling. She bites into her lip to suppress a moan.

“Nu-uh, you sound to pretty. I want to hear you.” And then she can’t hold it back. The sounds he’s pulling from her are soft and gentle whines.

Max is once again getting inpatient. He’s attempting (and failing) at thrusting his hips into her. Alas, Oscar is pinning his waist with his free hand. The weight stopping Max from really getting anywhere.

Oscars fingers are speeding up. He lets go of Max’s waist to guid his hands to the females hips. She can already feel the bruises forming. It’s Max’s only way of attempting to restrain himself from losing any sense of control he has left over his actions.

Her rapidly approaching edge is only being escalated by the feeling.

Then somehow they both move. Oscar makes to attack her neck and shoulders with his teeth and Max’s leans upward and attaches his mouth to her tit.

It’s overwhelming. Every nerve in her body is being stimulated. Their skin rubbing agains hers intensifying every feeling. Their names roll off her tongue like it’s the only things she knows how to say.

“Cum for us, love.”

Every thought in her brain disappears. A silent scream falling from her mouth as she falls off the cliff. Her body goes rigid and the boys are continuing through her high.

She almost collapses into Oscar, but his body keeps her upright. Her ears are ringing and her chest heaving.

But she is well aware this is far from over.

“Mate we are definitely invading their privacy.”

“Well it’s to late to go now.”

“So far, you still owe me fifty.”

“I highly doubt they are finished.”

She regains her breath eventually. Neither of them have moved since she came down aside from gentle touch’s and the whispers of sweet nothings. She can actively feel Max relaxing and melting at Oscars flowery words.

Oscar set the pace of how she moves. Complete control over her body and actions. He’s calculating the timing of everything.

Max has officially given in. His hands are now bruising her thighs but he’s past the point of fighting anymore. He just lets Oscar guide them through it.

He’s grinding her body into his. Max is a moaning mess beneath her. Quite pleas grace her ears as Max begs for anything more then this.

Oscars moans are also picking up. He’d taken to moving her in such a way the her body also presses against his. He’s essentially grinding into her ass as she moves.

“Fuck- your two are so hot.” Oscar breathes into her skin. He quickens the movements, slamming her hips down into Max. She can see the Dutch losing his grip on reality. Her finger dig in his shoulders as his dig further into her thighs.

Then Max is beginning again. His back is arching forward and he’s tipping over the edge. Somewhere she can hear Oscars approval and his broken moans as they both finish.

Warmth floods her body and coats her back. It’s times like this she wishes condoms were not a necessity at that he actually finished in her so they could do things with it later.

Regardless, she’s yet to finish a second time and she thinks that the boys will pull her off. She is wrong and instead Max is finally getting his wish and thrusting up into her.

She can’t even warn them as she falls over the edge again. Her brain now empty of anything except feelings and sensations and her attraction to the males in the room.

“How many rounds do you think they’ll go?”

“No idea. How many have you gone before?”

“When I have the stamina for it, maybe six. You?”

“Maybe five, that I can count.”

“What do you mean that you can count?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never lost track before?”

“Unless I was drunk, never.”

“We should definitely change that.”

Oscar’s turn with her now. Her thoughts are completely lost and her body feels floaty. Almost as if someone gave her laughing gas. It only increases her sensitivity.

She can barely register what’s happening. Oscar is inside her and Max is down her throat. She suffocates and chokes on him but the feeling of the Aussie pinning her down with his weight and his hips snapping rapidly counteracts it.

Max keeps placing her hand on him somewhere so she can tap out of he’s fucking her mouth to hard or just needs air. But it keeps falling. Her brain to foggy to control her own actions.

It’s not long until she’s at the edge for a third time and the other two are still chasing their highs. She registers their praise in there somewhere. ‘Good girl’ and ‘perfect’ can be heard leaving their lips in between pants, moans, and swear words.

Oscars hips stutter agains her and Max is leaking down the back of her throat. The sensation is almost as if they are conducting a symphony of highs and lows. It’s mesmerizing and she could get lost in it forever.

“He still hasn’t been on top and honestly, I’m shocked.”

“I really didn’t think Oscar had it in him.”

“I think you just hate the idea that you’re the bottom between you two.”

“I am not! Why would you even think that anyways?”

“I don’t know, you just radiate bottom energy.”

Normally, they’d start with oral. Tonight, it’s how they are winding down.

Max is between Oscar’s thighs sucking him off. Oscar is between hers lapping unceremoniously at every fluid coming out of her. And she is just a writhing mess.

She’s lost her words and her brain. Reduced to a pile of flailing limbs and floaty feelings. Her hands are searching for a body she knows is there but can only find soft brown locks and the hands that are prying her legs apart.

She's lost count out this point how many times they’ve tipped her over that edge. She knows Oscar must be getting close again as well. The moans vibrating her core getting progressively stronger.

She's hitting the wall in her brain where she can't go any further. "Osc, I can't." She slurs. She could stop them if she wanted to. But then the floaty feeling goes away, and she doesn't want that yet.

"One more, love."

Oscar digs his fingers into her as Max brings him to his breaking point. She follows after him. The look is his eyes sending her fave first once again into the abyss of pleasurable fire.

She does scream this time. Her body contorts in ways she didn't know were possible. She doesn't register the tears sliding down her cheeks or Max's lips on hers, trying to get her to calm down. The taste of Oscar is still fresh on his lips.

Her whole body aches. All three of them are panting heavily, collapsing onto the bed ungracefully to catch their breathes.

She looks between them. How did she get so lucky? And how on earth are they both so damn pretty?

"Next time, I'm in charge."

"Must we go another round to show why that's not happening?"

Their voices are pretty, too. Swimming in her ears as she continues to look between them.

"We gotta get you cleaned up, lovely."

Her body spasms once again at the touch of her lovers, and she violently shakes her head no. She doesn't want to leave this head space. She wants to stare here in this blissful state.

The bed shifts as the two males get up. She whines in disapproval is attempts to get her body upright.

She fails miserably.

Then come back with rags. It's a normal routine for them, getting cleaned up the reassuring and cuddling and spending time with each other.

"I think we bruised her pretty good." Oscar admires his work and caresses her skin thoughtfully.

"Os, are there extra towels? You have like two in here that aren't already used." Calls out Max from the bathroom.

"Should have extras in the closet, I think "

"Of fuck."

"Maybe he means a different closet?"

The two males anxuisly await what could be their demise. The heavy footsteps of Max make its way closer.

"Do you want your sweats, love?"

"Yeah, actually."

The two waiting for their doom are so grateful that Max at least will be covered while he kills them.

Then the light from the room is burning their retinas, and the two are shielding their eyes.

"What the fuck?!" Max slams the closet doors back on them. "We're going to put clothes on, and then you are going to explain yourselves and hope I don't kill you both."

"Can I have my fifty bucks before I die because if you?"

"Absolutely not."

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sapphire-writes · 10 months

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Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 4 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Dresses, sails, and thunderstorms oh my! You and Aemond are forced to work together and tensions rise.

word count: 6.4k

rating: Mature

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, angst, p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise, kissing

note: hope you enjoy my loves!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected

You spent the days after you and Aemond’s conversation at the Wolf Den trying to avoid the Targaryen as much as possible. Which was much easier said than done. Both of you spent generous amounts of time helping Luke with Seasmoke, bickering with each other more than actually being helpful.

“If you just let me do it-” you’d said, grabbing the paint roller from him.

Aemond had pursed his lips together in annoyance. “Like you could reach with those short legs-”

“Don’t talk about my legs!” you’d angrily hissed, “Don’t look at them, don’t think about them!”

“Believe me I’m not-”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“You change your mind?” he’d asked, a sly grin on his face that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment.

“Get fucked,” you’d told him.

“Seems like you need it more than I do.”

Aemond had walked away from the interaction with paint splattered across his chest.

Needless to say, the tension between you two was palpable. Even Baela had begun to notice it.

“You really hate him, huh?” she asks while holding up a dark blue dress and looking in the floor-length mirror.

You, Baela, and Helaena had traveled into the city for the day, shopping for dresses for the gala. Though Baela already has a dress picked out, she can’t stop eying the one she currently holds. You’ve been looking at dresses for the past half an hour, unsure of which you like best.

Helaena’s the one who is truly enjoying herself, trying on various lengths, designs, and colors.

“Who?” you ask, picking out a gold dress. It’s nearly perfect, except for its ruffled collar with matching sleeves. You scrunch your nose with distaste, returning it to the hook.

“Aemond,” Baela says, dropping to an ottoman and pulling out her phone, “You seem to really bring out the worst in each other.”

“I don’t hate him,” you assure her, “He’s just….annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she says, scrolling through Instagram, “Can’t argue with that.”

You can feel your cheeks flush as you think back to your conversation with him at the Wolf Den. Was he seriously proposing a no-strings-attached situationship with you? And more importantly why? Though you can’t deny your curiosity. Floris Baratheon was clearly not happy that she wasn’t Aemond’s fuckbuddy anymore.

You’d run into her again a few days ago at the country club and the cheerful prom queen facade had been replaced with a much icier one. Clearly, she thought you and Aemond had something going on. Great.

“Oh shit,” Baela says suddenly, eyes going wide.

“What?” you ask, still flicking through gowns.

“Nothing,” she says, pressing her phone against her chest.

You tilt your head to the side as you turn to face her.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

“Bae!”

You reach for her phone, trying to wrestle it from her grip. Helaena rounds the corner, a dress in her hands before seeing the scuffle and turning quickly away. You grab Baela’s phone, even as she continues to insist you shouldn’t look.

It’s Will Tyrell’s Instagram, a group picture on a boat. He looks good; shirtless, wearing a captain’s hat with his arm slung around a pretty blonde.

Fuck.

Baela’s eyes are apologetic. “I didn’t know he was seeing-”

“Whatever,” you tell her, giving her phone back, “It's fine, it's cool.”

“Are you sure?” Baela says, chewing her lip nervously, “Cause you just-”

“Bae,” you tell her, laughing slightly, “I had one conversation with the guy. I don’t own him.”

“Still,” she says, eyebrows concaving together, “Will is a nice guy. Nice guys don’t give their number out and then run off with CeCe Lannister-”

“Wait, that’s Cece?” you ask, “Cece rosebush burning Lannister?”

Helaena has reappeared, dressed in the gown she was previously holding, and rolls her eyes.

“Why do I keep hearing her name?” she grumbles, “You know, you say it again and she’ll appear. Like Beetlejuice.”

Baela holds the phone out and Helaena raises an eyebrow. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Baela says shaking her head, “No one disses my girl like this!”

“Please, there’s no way they’re a thing,” Helaena says, smoothing her dress and turning toward the mirror to admire herself, “Tyrell and Lannister just don’t match.”

Helaena’s dress is beautiful; a strapless, silvery blue color that falls just below her knee.

“Cute,” Helaena says to herself, turning to the side to admire the curve of her ass, “Seriously, Y/N, shoot him a text.”

“You think I should?” you ask as Helaena bends over. Baela reaches over giving her ass a slap that makes Helaena yelp.

You shrug taking out your phone and sending a message. You watch the screen as the read receipt appears, along with three gray dots. You can’t help but smile, nibbling on your lower lip.

“He’s typing,” you tell them, happiness swooping through your belly.

Helaena smirks. “Told you!”

Two hours. You’ve been left on read for two hours.

God fucking dammit.

Helaena’s smile is apologetic from the rearview mirror as she catches your eye. It’s the twelfth time you’ve checked. Those three little dots appeared and disappeared with no response from Will.

“Guys are drama anyway,” Baela had said, “Who needs them.”

Easy for Baela to say. The girl hasn’t had a dry spell in years. But since your last one-night stand back at Honeyholt, you hadn’t hooked up with anyone else. And that was a while ago. Snow was on the ground. And you just couldn’t help but get your hopes up slightly with Will’s flirtation. No matter what the case, the rejection still stung.

Baela could tell. She turns to you from the passenger side, peering over her sunglasses.

“Listen to me,” she begins, “You’re a bad bitch. If Will Tyrell can’t see that, then it's his loss.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know,” you tell her, “It’s fine, seriously. I barely know the guy.”

Baela goes to say something else when her phone begins to ring. She holds it up and you just make out the name Dad when she answers it.

“Yeah?” she says, her voice cold. You can hear the deep voice of Daemon Targaryen on the line as Baela removes her sunglasses, tossing them onto the dashboard.

Helaena glances at Baela before turning the radio down. You’d been seriously vibing to Phoebe Bridgers. Baela brings a hand to her face, rubbing between her eyes. It’s a nervous habit of hers, one you often see when she’s got a big paper due or during finals season.

“I don’t know, Dad,” she says with a sigh, “I’m…okay. Yes. I understand.” She bites her lip. “Of course I do. Yup. Yeah, bye.” You faintly hear Daemon’s voice say something along the lines of love you before Baela hangs up the phone.

You don’t speak for a moment, driving in silence except for the low volume of Savior Complex humming through the speakers.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah,” Baela says, running a hand through her curls, “Would you be cool grabbing dinner with Hel tonight while I go to Dragonstone?”

You reach out to touch her shoulder. “Of course.”

“Ew no,” Helaena jokes, smiling at you through the rearview, “I actually can’t stand Y/N, you can’t leave me with her.”

“Hurtful!” you tell her, putting a hand on your chest in fake shock. Helaena snickers, but Baela barely cracks a smile.

“Rhaenyra wants dinner,” she tells you both, “With the whole family.”

A chill runs through you. While Baela had evaded dinner with her father due to the storm over a week ago, he clearly the kind of man who gets what he wants.

“Well not the whole family,” Helaena argues playfully, “Cause that always goes oh so well.”

Baela groans, placing her feet on the seat, and holding her knees against her chest.

“Trade places with me?” Baela begs her and Helaena shakes her head.

“Someone would notice cuz,” she says with an apologetic grimace, “Though maybe if I curled my hair?”

That earns a laugh from Baela, and she rubs her eyes.

“This is gonna suck,” she moans.

“Probably,” Helaena agrees, and you smack her shoulder lightly, “But you’ll get through it. You always do Baela-boo.”

Baela drops her hands from her face, looking at Helaena.

“Oh my god stop,” she says, though she’s smiling for real now.

“What?” Helaena asks innocently, “You don’t remember Baela-boo, and Rhaena-roo?”

“And don’t forget Helaena-hoo,” Baela says with a giggle, before turning to face you, “My mom…those were her nicknames for us. She thought she was so clever.”

“Which she was,” Helaena says, grinning, “Best nicknames ever. The boys were so jealous.”

“It was for the girls only,” Baela said, her smile full of emotion, “Laena-loo…Nyra-noo.” She clears her throat, looking down at her lap, “Silly.”

Baela Targaryen is one of the strongest people you know, in more ways than one. Your heart hurts watching how her lower lips wobbles as she plays with the rings on her fingers.

“It’s adorable,” you tell her, smiling at your best friend fondly. Baela misses her mom so much, you can tell.

“I think we can bring them back,” Helaena says with a nod, “Sure, we were nine when they were cool, but I think they hold up!”

Baela laughs and wipes a tear that’s fallen down her cheek. You squeeze her shoulder before giving her a hug, wrapping your arms around the passenger seat and her. It’s awkward, but Baela grabs your arm anyway, resting her chin on your forearm.

“Oh, I love this song!” Helaena says, turning up the volume as the next song begins to play.

You swing by Helaena’s house to drop off your dresses. She insists Alicent will want them dry-cleaned before the gala. After that, you decide to head down to the docks to see how the gang has been doing with Seasmoke that day.

You hadn’t expected they would get a lot to get done in your absence. Rhaena had been tasked with babysitting the littles on Dragonstone while Rhaenyra and Daemon saw Jace off. He was headed on a solo sailing trip to the Vale and would return in a few weeks, just in time for the regatta. Daeron had made his departure for Oldtown a few days ago, and Luke was clearly lost without his friend.

“Get anything good done?” Baela hollered up to the boys from the dock.

It looked like they were tidying up for the day, but Luke seemed agitated. Aegon was first to exit the ship, flashing a cheeky grin as he passed.

“Fuck, fuck!” Luke says, running a hand through his curls, as he walks down the ramp. Aemond follows close behind, an exasperated expression on his face. You’ve been here two minutes and are already annoyed with him.

“What?”

“Jace ordered the sails from Iron Islands, but they arrived at Pyke and need to be checked out tonight before Greyjoy ships them here,” Luke tells you.

“I’m not seeing the issue,” Helaena says, “Pyke’s a lot closer!”

Luke nods dramatically, tongue between his teeth. You think his right eye twitches.

“I can’t go to Pyke because of the stupid dinner!” he says, face flushing, “Goddammit!”

“Hold up, calm down. It's okay, Aegon will go,” Helaena offers.

Aegon frowns. “No, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” he answers, walking down the dock.

Luke holds his arms out in frustration and Helaena looks ready to chase her elder brother off the dock. It’s like Aegon senses her glare, burning into the back of his head because he quickens his pace.

“Okay, then I’ll go,” Helaena offers, but Luke winces, “What?”

“Umm, no offense Hel…but I want someone who…you know…” he trails off, muttering something about ‘knowing how sails work.’

Helaena rolls her eyes before letting them land on Aemond. He tenses, standing up straighter, sensing the direction this is headed.

“No,” he says immediately.

“Yes,” Helaena counters.

“No.”

“Yes!” Helaena insists, “Aemond this is your fault, you fix it.”

But Luke is shaking his head, eyes wide with panic.

“No way!” Luke argues, “He’ll sabotage me again, probably tear the-”

“Y/N will go with him!” Helaena offers, much to your surprise.

“What?” you and Aemond ask simultaneously. You shoot him an annoyed glare which he returns with one of his own.

“You’re unbiased, you’ll represent Luke and make sure Aemond’s not fucking around with anything,” Helaena says, “Come on it's perfect.”

Luke’s mouth twists into a frown, but he doesn’t disagree. You raise your eyebrows to your hairline.

“Seriously?” you ask through clenched teeth.

Helaena wets her lips nervously. “Look, Pyke isn’t that far. You can’t kill each other in that amount of time, I promise.”

“Oh, really? Can’t you come with us?” you beg, eyes wide. But Helaena shakes her head.

“Can’t, the bike only seats two,” she tells you with a shrug.

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Bike?”

“This is your ride?” you ask, as Aemond leads you into the garage.

Of course, stupid Aemond drives a stupid motorcycle. The bike is huge, shiny, and black, gleaming in the streams of sunlight that come through the garage doors.

“No, I’m stealing it,” he deadpans, holding out a helmet for you.

“So funny,” you tell him, snatching the helmet from his hand. He’s got big hands; while he could hold the helmet in one of his hands, it takes both of your own.

Aemond puts his own helmet on, straddling the bike before looking back at you.

“You getting on or what?” he snaps, patting the seat behind him.

“I’m going!” you tell him, hurrying to clip the helmet on your head. Your hands fumble with nerves, and you keep missing the clasp. You’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. Straddling the back of Aemond Targaryen does not seem like the greatest idea for your first ride.

Aemond groans, beckoning you forward with his hand. You scoot closer and he brings his hands to the clasps. You swallow, feeling his fingertips caress the skin under your chin as he secures the helmet. Your heart beats frantically in your chest as your eyes meet his.

“You couldn’t figure that out?” Aemond insults and the spell is broken.

“Fuck off Targaryen,” you snap, getting on the back of the bike.

The drive isn’t that long, but it scares the shit out of you. Aemond is a reckless driver. Though you wanted to remain cool, calm, and collected for the whole ordeal, you find yourself clinging to his back desperately, nails digging into his leather-clad pectorals as you press your face against him. He smells pretty good, an enticing mixture of cologne and the leather from his jacket.

He weaves through traffic like a man who doesn’t fear death, going over the lines and in between cars. Several people honk at him, one man even leans out his car window to shout obscenities. By the time you reach Pyke you’re trembling like a leaf.

Aemond turns off the bike, and you don’t release him.

“Hello?” he asks, turning slightly.

“Don’t!” you squeak, eyes still shut, “Don’tdon’tdon’t-”

“We’ve stopped,” he assures you, “Don’t be a baby.”

You open your eyes slightly, and once you see that you’ve safely stopped, unwrap your arms from around him, standing on trembling legs. You unbuckle the helmet tossing it to the side, as Aemond gets off the bike, using his foot to flip the kickstand.

“You asshole!” you yell as he removes his helmet, running a hand through his hair. His grin is impish as he takes in your flustered expression.

“What?” he asks, placing the helmet on the seat of the bike.

“You’re insane!” you accuse, crossing your arms.

“That’s unkind,” he muses, “You’ve hurt my feelings.”

“Do you even have feelings?” you quip and Aemond pokes his tongue against his cheek. You turn away from him, beginning to walk toward the small shop that lies next to a dock lined with sailboats.

You can hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you.

“Let’s get this over with,” you grumble and he chuckles behind you.

Dalton Greyjoy greets you once you’re inside, the owner of Iron Sails in Pyke. A smaller location than Iron Islands.

“The best in the west,” he boasts, grinning from ear to ear. His face is weathered from the sun and the sea.

You and Aemond check over the sails three times, making sure everything is in order for them to be shipped to King’s Landing the following day.

“Big beauty Seasmoke is,” Dalton muses, “You don’t see sails this size anymore.”

“Luke’s been working really hard,” you tell him, smiling politely, “He loves sailing.”

“That he does,” Dalton agrees, patting you on the hand. He pulls away, nervously glancing at Aemond. He’s been a little too friendly with you this afternoon, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You’re actually thankful Aemond is here with you. Dalton clearly thinks you’re together, which is why his advances haven’t gone much further. Scary boyfriend privileges without the boyfriend part. You hope Aemond doesn’t notice but of course, that isn’t the case. He points it out as you’re leaving.

“He was awfully friendly,” he comments, handing you your helmet. You place it on your head.

“Whatever,” you tell him, but before you can reach for the clasp, Aemond’s hands are there already. He clicks the strap into place adjusting it under your chin. Your cheeks burn and you blink rapidly at the kind gesture.

Aemond breaks away from your gaze looking up at the sky. The wind has begun to pick up and the air has a sudden chill to it.

“We better get going,” he says softly, “Storm’s coming.”

You barely make it back to King’s Landing when the rain begins to turn into a downpour. Aemond must have a remote control clicker for the five-car garage, because it opens automatically, sending warm light onto the driveway as you skid inside.

Even though the sky had just opened, you’re already soaked as Aemond shuts off the bike.

“Shit,” you curse, taking off the helmet.

The walkway is already flooding with water. Your eyes widen as lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

“There’s no way you’re making it to Driftmark,” Aemond muses, removing his own helmet.

Baela was supposed to swing by after dinner and grab you before returning to the island for the night. You reach for your phone, seeing a missed text from her and Helaena.

“What is it?” Aemond asks, stripping off his leather jacket.

“Um, just Baela spending the night on Dragonstone,” you tell him.

Aemond shakes his head, “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

“And Hel’s at Sara’s,” you finish. You watch him, neither of you moving.

“Come on,” he says, motioning with his head towards the door to the house. The garage doors begin to close behind you as you follow him inside.

The house is dark and Aemond turns on a light in the kitchen as you enter.

“Mom?” he calls, “Aegon?” There is no reply.

Aemond checks his own phone before shaking his head.

“They’re not here?” you ask.

“Aegon’s god knows where,” Aemond grumbles, sliding his phone into his back pocket, “Mum’s out. Just us.”

Just us.

You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Aemond scratches the back of his neck, eyes falling to the floor. You glance around the room, eyes falling to the empty podium that once held the bust of Maegor Targaryen.

Aemond moves to sit on the couch and you follow him. It’s large enough to fit several people and you sink into the cushions comfortably. Aemond leans back spreading his legs wide and placing his arms on the back of the couch. You can just spot his silver chain poking out from underneath his black t-shirt. He nearly catches you looking as he glances your way.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Helping with the auction stuff. She does a lot of volunteer work at the country club,” he tells you.

“That’s nice of her,” you tell him.

“Mhmm,” he answers.

It’s awkward, with nothing to bicker about. You find yourself wanting to fill the silence.

“Where do you go to school?” you ask, removing your shoes and tucking your feet up on the couch.

“Citadel University,” he answers, to your surprise. Of course, he’s from CU, as all pretentious rich assholes are.

“Figures,” you say with a snort, “You know what Honeyholt calls you?”

Aemond purses his lips, nodding for you to continue.

“Cunt university,” you snicker, even though it's not that clever.

“I see why you go to Honeyholt,” he says smirking.

Your jaw drops.

“It’s a great school,” you argue.

“Sure,” he mockingly agrees, and your blood begins to boil.

“What are you studying anyway?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Double major. History and philosophy,” he quips, “And yourself?”

“I’m undecided,” you tell him.

“You’ve got lots to figure out,” he says, holding your gaze. Your face warms, butterflies gathering in your belly.

Aemond doesn’t look away. His hand outstretched on the back of the couch suddenly seems too close like he could reach out and touch your arm with his fingertips.

“You’re so annoying,” you groan, laughing a little as you say it, “What’s your deal anyway?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head.

“This whole, thing,” you hold your hand up, referring to him, “The dick-sona.”

“Dick-sona?” he asks, a smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“What’s got you so fucked up?” you ask, “There must be a reason you’re so…”

“Forward?” he finishes your sentence for you. You hold his gaze.

He’s thinking of the other night too. You can feel it. His proposition weighs heavy between you.

“Yes,” you agree.

“I just know what I want,” he tells you, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.

You watch him, knowing there’s more to it that he’s not sharing. There’s a reason he’s being like this, keeping you and everyone else, at arm’s length. But you’re not going to push, no matter how curious you are. If Aemond Targaryen doesn’t want to share, that’s fine with you.

“Yeah,” you tell him, the back of your neck tingling, “So…”

“I can show you the guest room,” Aemond says suddenly, “I mean, who knows when the rain will let up. You’ll want to get some sleep if Baela’s coming for you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding, “That sounds good.”

You follow Aemond up the winding grand staircase, listening to the sound of rain pounding down on the windows. He leads you down the hall, opening a door revealing a large queen bed with a white comforter and several decorative pillows.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, heading further down the hall.

He disappears through another door, coming out with a black shirt in his hands. He holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says, “If you want to be more comfortable.”

You take it from him. “Thank you.”

He hums in response and you back into the room.

“There’s a bathroom too if you want to shower,” Aemond tells you as you nod.

“Um goodnight,” you tell him, pressing your lips tightly together as you close the door.

Holy shit.

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Stuck in King’s Landing. Alone. With Aemond. Your mind is racing, so you decide to take a long, cold shower to erase any dirty thoughts from your mind.

It’s not like you can fuck him. Right? The guy doesn’t even like you. You check your phone once you’re done with your shower. Yup. You’re officially spending the night. And no text from Will. Left on read. AGAIN.

You slam your phone with a groan. Fuck it. Maybe sleeping with Aemond isn’t the worst idea. Maybe you do just need to get laid. Help each other out, as he said. You chew your lip nervously.

You hold the shirt up in front of your naked form. It’s huge, clearly his. You bring it to your nose, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his cologne. It’s the same scent you smelled as you rode on his motorcycle, cheek pressed to his back. Expensive. Musky. Notes of amber. Fuck.

You slide it over your head, and it falls in the middle of your thighs. No panties though. You sleep without them anyway so what’s it matter? You hop over to the bed, sit on top of it, and cradle one of the soft feather pillows in your lap. You can’t help but nervously chew your lip, thinking of Aemond down the hall.

Screw this.

You get up, tossing your pillow behind you, and head toward the door. Throwing it open you’re shocked to see Aemond already standing in front of it, hand raised as though he was going to knock. You release a startled squeak, stumbling backward on the balls of your feet.

Aemond’s eye runs over your wet hair and scantily clad form, causing warmth to gather on your cheeks. You can’t help but do the same, eyes roaming the form-fitting white t-shirt he wears, down to the grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and back up to that fucking silver chain he wears.

“Hey,” he says, wetting his lips, “I was just-”

You interrupt him with a chaste kiss on his lips. You pull away quickly, lips tingling. Aemond blinks as though he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, a smirk curls onto his handsome face, and he lets out a soft, breathy chuckle before reaching down, grabbing the back of your neck, and pulling you towards him.

“I fucking knew it,” he growls.

He connects your lips, kissing you deeper this time; his tongue slipping through the seal of your lips with ease. Aemond’s hand remains firmly on the back of your neck, long fingers curling around your throat while the other reaches to slam the door shut as he backs you into the room. Then he’s on you, pawing at your waist, reaching down to cup the swell of your ass, and squeezing so hard you gasp into his mouth.

He’s a good kisser, much to your disappointment (well not really, deep down). You had hoped he wouldn’t live up to the cocky attitude he wears like armor.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, between kisses, his voice rough and seductive, sending a rush of warmth between your thighs.

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, feeling the sharp point of his nose press against your cheek.

“Super sure?” he breathes, lips ghosting against yours. He tastes like peppermint, like winter in the city.

“Yes,” you repeat, lips hungrily chasing his own in a desperate kiss, “I want you to fuck me, Aemond.”

He groans as you say it, pushing you back against the bed until your knees bend and your back hits the mattress. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his slim waist as he climbs on top of you, kissing you like his life depends on it. His lips are so soft and warm, you nearly whimper just from making out with him like it's your first time again.

You can feel him smiling against you as you drag your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen flex underneath your touch. He breaks away for a moment, holding himself above you with one hand, using the other to pull his t-shirt off his body, throwing it to a corner of the room.

You move to remove your own shirt- well his shirt- tossing it in the same direction. Aemond eyes your breasts hungrily, wasting no time bringing his mouth to your taut right nipple, swirling his tongue over the bud and sucking. You can feel the cool metal of his chain dragging across your breast, the juxtaposition driving you crazy.

You moan, digging your nails into his shoulder, and dragging them down his back harshly. Aemond gasps slightly, releasing your nipple and moving to the other, beginning to palm at the abandoned breast. His hand travels lower, slender fingers dragging down your sternum, over your belly button, and down toward your wet center. You can feel how drenched you are already, the stickiness that has formed between your thighs. You lift your hips, desperate for some friction, anything.

Aemond’s fingers part your slick folds, barely touching you, just enough to make you bite your lower lip in anticipation.

“Fuck,” he moans, jaw slacking, “You’re so wet.”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. Aemond smirks, sliding down your body to seat himself between your legs.

“All talk,” he muses, pushing your legs back against the mattress.

You’re spread out for him like a feast. He curls his fingers into the meat of your thighs, before bringing his mouth to your left one. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth skin, sucking harshly. You’re tingling everywhere, from the top of your head all the way down to your toes as he moves to do the same to your opposite thigh.

He kisses the delicate flesh where your thigh meets your hip, dragging his lower lip against it as he looks up at you. His violet eye is hooded, the pupil dilated with lust. Aemond grips your right thigh, pulling you toward his face with ease, his nose bumping against your clit, causing you to jolt.

“Aemond,” you whimper, and he moans in response.

“Oh I like that,” he murmurs, letting his tongue dart out to taste between your folds, “Say it again.”

Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, fire erupting in your belly with every swipe of his tongue against your slick folds.

“Aemond,” you whine once more, “Oh fuck.” He wraps his lips around your clit, suckling on the sensitive nub, tongue flicking out to caress it. His eye watches you the entire time, studying your way, the way you react to each gentle flutter of his tongue.

Your toes curl and your legs tremble at his attention. Fuck. Holy shit this is good. His tongue dips lower, momentarily abandoning your clit to prod at your entrance. Aemond releases his grip on your thighs to bring his hands to cup under your ass. He lifts you off the bed slightly, angling your upwards and plunging his tongue inside you.

A strangled cry leaves your lips as he works the smooth, wet muscle against your clenching walls. He moans as you cry out, squeezing your asscheeks harshly as he moves his face up and down, grinding his nose against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue. You’re nearly there, legs tingling with your impending orgasm, when he lowers you to the bed.

He replaces his tongue with his fingers, easing one slender digit into your throbbing core. Aemond finds your G-spot with impressive precision, stroking the rough patch in tandem with the movements of his tongue on your clit.

“Oh Jesus fuck,” you squeak, abdominal muscles clenching as he slips a second finger into your tight, wet heat. He crooks his fingers, pulling his mouth away from your clit momentarily to watch them slide in and out.

“You like that?” he asks roughly, chin glistening with your slick.

“Yes,” you answer, a broken cry, “Fuck just like that-”

“Just like this?” he teases, pressing his opposite palm on your lower abdomen as he taunts you, “Yeah, that’s good, huh?”

The added stimulation on your g-spot makes your vision blur as he drops his head to mouth your clit once more. The noises leaving your mouth are uncontrollable at this point, and you can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed because it feels too fucking good for you to care.

Your legs shudder and you tangle your hands in his hair as your walls clench around his fingers and you cry out as your orgasm washes over you. You feel a rush of wetness as you finish, hear the squelching of Aemond’s fingers and the low, throaty moan he releases as he continues his ministrations with his fingers and tongue so you can ride out your orgasm.

When your limbs have stilled, Aemond eases his fingers out of you, crawling on top of you once more, kissing you ferociously. You can feel his cock straining against his sweatpants and you move quickly, mind clouded by lust, fingers dipping below his waistline and freeing it. It's hot and heavy against your hand and you wrap your fingers around his thick length. You’re kissing him still, fuck you like kissing him, so you can’t see how his cock looks.

But you feel it, as you stroke down the shaft. It just keeps going.

You blink, pulling away from his lips, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking harshly in the smooth skin of your throat. You glance between you and him, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. Long, pale, and slightly curved upwards. Aemond Targaryen is well endowed. Aemond Targaryen has a perfect fucking cock.

This stupid bastard.

You almost want to roll your eyes in frustration but then he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and any thought of annoyance with the man on top of you fades from your mind.

“I have a condom,” he murmurs through a moan as you continue to stroke him.

“Do you want me to…” you begin, wanting to return the favor.

“Not tonight,” he tells you, kissing your lips, “Let me be inside you.”

“Yes,” you agree, bucking your hips desperately, “Please-”

Aemond sits back on his haunches, reaching for his discarded sweatpants. He smirks while removing a condom from the pocket. He tears the foil with his teeth, sliding it on his length.

“Please?” he teases, imitating you slightly, “You want my cock that bad?”

You’re breathing heavily, and nod. Aemond leans forward, his arms forming a cage around you. He guides his cock toward your center, dragging the tip through your slick folds.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and commanding.

“Please…I want your cock,” you whimper, cheeks aflame.

Aemond grins.

“Fuck that’s good,” he murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss as he presses into you.

The delicious stretch of his cock steals the breath from your lungs as you adjust to his size of him. Your walls spasm, pussy fluttering desperately as he sheathes himself completely in your tight, wet heat. And then he’s rolling his hips, dragging his cock out to the tip and slamming back into you and you lose your last thread of sanity.

Aemond pounds into you with long, hard, even strokes. The bedframe shakes, and he reaches up, holding the headboard to support himself as he thrusts into you.

“So fucking good…” he moans, “Perfect fucking pussy…fuck I knew you’d be perfect..”

You moan at his words, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. Aemond hooks his free arm under your lower back, lifting your lower body off the bed. He’s so deep inside of you, the curve of his cock sliding against your G-spot perfectly with each thrust. It’s hard and dirty and you’re living for every second of it, pleasurable tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

Aemond’s jaw is slacked, eyes glued to your tits bouncing with every harsh thrust he delivers. He slides his hand down from your back, releasing you down onto the bed and sliding your leg over his shoulder. The new angle has you spilling moans and whimpers with every thrust, causing an open-mouthed smile to appear on Aemond’s face.

Cocky bastard. And he was right. He is that fucking good. Especially as he brings his hand to play with your clit, the pads of his fingers working lazy circles around the sensitive button.

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks, his tone tantalizing, “You know you want to. Be my good little girl, yeah?”

“Fuck fuck!” you cry, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his thick cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as you fall apart for the second time with a cry, “Oh she’s a good girl after all, huh? Just needed to be fucked real good.”

“Oh shit!” you cry as he continues thrusting into you, the overstimulation making you see stars.

“Gods this perfect tight little pussy, fuck,” he moans, stuttering as he finishes into the condom. He kisses you as he cums, tangling his tongue with yours, dragging another moan from your throat.

Aemond stays inside you a moment, before unsheathing his cock. He rolls next to you, removing the condom and throwing it into the trashcan. He turns back over to you, pulling you against him. You’re dazed, blinking sleepily as his fingers stroke your upper arm.

“You need to go to the bathroom,” he murmurs, “And have some water. Then we’ll lay.”

You turn your face to him.

“Didn’t think you’d be into aftercare,” you tell him.

“It’s important,” he answers immediately, “For the chemical balance in your brain.”

“Okay Bill Nye,” you tell him, rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom.

You return a few moments later, climbing back into bed with him. He’s gone under the covers and you snuggle up next to him.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends with benefits,” you tell him, cheek pressed against his chest. Aemond releases a hum, the vibrations moving through you.

“Why not?” Aemond asks, fingers playing with your hair.

“We’re not friends, for one,” you tell him, bringing your hand to the one of his that lays on his stomach. You stroke your pointer finger over the back of his hand, tracing the veins. “And you’re annoying and irritating.”

“So?” Aemond asks, as though the statement doesn’t bother him in the slightest, “I just fucked your brains out.”

You feel the heat returning to your cheeks.

“I assume you enjoy getting your brains fucked out?” he asks, moving his hand to lace his fingers through his.

It’s your turn to hum in response.

“Alright,” you tell him, sitting up, “But if we’re doing this, we need some ground rules.”

“Perfect,” he says sitting up, “I agree.”

But just then, your phone lights up on the nightstand. You frown, reaching for it. You can still hear the rain and thunder outside, so you assume it's not Baela or Helaena. Your eyes widen when you read it.

“Oh shit.”

note: I just can't keep things uncomplicated can I?? its a curse

OLS Taglist: @talesofoldandnew, @diannnnsss, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @atherverybest, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @moonlightfoxx, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

@m1ndbrand, @sahvlren, @muthafuckingstargirl @herfantasyworldd, @sunna-fangirls, @carriellie, @elle4404, @fan-goddess, @jamespotterismydaddy

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

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inumkii · 7 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ how you got together - inumaki x reader

bullet pointed scenario

genre: fluff, f2l

wc: 1.2 ish

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ an: hii this is my first jjk fic!! this might be the only thing i ever post LOLL currently ignoring my massive hiatus on my kpop blog T_T anywayss i wrote this super quickly its prob not the best ;p

i feel like toge would be the type of person to have you make a lot of the first moves

like when you guys were just stupidly pining friends, he made it pretty obvious that he liked you but wanted you to actually confess verbally

it was mostly because he didn't want such a big milestone of starting your relationship to be texted or written by him but maybe like 20% of it was because he likes to be annoying

he's a little shit so if your the type of person to wait on the other person to make a move, good luck! because he’s making you do it

like there was a point were he was certain about both of ur feelings being mutual so he’d just play it up by being really touchy, making it obvious that he wanted to be right next to you, always clinging to you, etc.. you know,, making it obvious that he really does like you

but poor you because you were spending your time overthinking eveything. maybe he was just really touchyyy!! maybe he's extra comfortable around you!!! (i wonder why.)

it was actually driving your friends insane tho

maki’s last straw was during a training session out on the field, her and panda were sparring as you and inumaki watched on the steps

inumaki, as usual, was glued to your side, hands toying with the fabric of your long sleeve uniform

as maki landed her last hit on panda, you got up with their water bottles and ran them over to your two friends

toge followed closely behind, still attached to your sleeve

you were balancing both of the bottles in one arm since the other was being occupied as toges leash of some sort, but you approached the other two like nothing was out of place

this sight wasn't anything new to panda or maki so they kept their scoffs and eye rolls internal. it was mostly just driving them crazy that neither one of you had made a move. it was obvious you both liked each other so why aren’t you guys doing anything about it??

“nice one, maki!” you cheered as the two grabbed their respective waters, toge let out an ingredient of affirmation as well

“ah, that was nothing” she proudly boasted, part of it directed as being a playful jab toward panda. she glanced down at inumakis hand attached to the end of your sleeve as he seemingly refused to be more than a few inches apart from you

“anyways,, im planning on grabbing lunch after this, yn, you coming with?” maki turned towards you

“sure!! i didnt have any plans,” you mused and you and maki set off and away from the field, toge still trailing behind as if following you was the obvious route to go

“just me and yn today, inumaki. sorry man,, go do something with panda” maki had no problem brushing off your friend, she was trying to get you alone which was something that seemed more rare as days go by (cough cough toge let maki have some time with her friend)

he laughed and backed away in compliance before giving your shoulder a quick squeeze as the four of you split off

once he was out of earshot, maki finally groaned

“you need to make a move already, its so frustrating watching you two cling to each other without doing anything about it” she complained as you felt your face heat up

you were well aware of toge’s touchiness and couldn't ignore his potential intentions behind it,, but yet there was this looming fear of actually enacting a confession that stopped you from going further

“do you think he really likes me?” you asked pathetically. anyone’s answer would’ve been a loud yes,, but you still felt like you had to ask maki for some semblance of confidence

she stared at you, an incredulous look breaching her face

“i cant believe you're asking me that question” she scoffed out a laugh, “but since you need to hear it. yes, toge inumaki is one hundred percent in love with you”

she left it at that, causing a permanent fluster to torment you for the rest of lunch

your lunch with maki had left you a little more confident about where you stood with toge, however. she had begged you to do something about it soon, claiming she couldn’t bear to witness any more pining

you had to do something about it soon or else you’d continue to sleep on her advice, overthink it, and never do anything about your problem,,,, it was now or never

you shot a text over to toge and waited on a nearby bench on school grounds

a few minutes passed with you spending them painstakingly fumbling with your phone case, picking off the stickers that were already on their last leg

there were so many times within those short seven minutes where you debated sending a ‘never mind! something came up’ to him

he finally showed up fairly quickly, joining the spot next to you on the bench

immediately discerning your nervous state, he placed a hand over yours

his action didn't do much for your nerves but it gave a little more hope that your confession would have a good outcome

(you were painfully unaware that no matter what you did, you had a 100% success rate)

he voiced his concern, squeezing your hand as you turned to face him

it felt like your heart was about to explode out of your chest but you had to rip the bandaid off

meeting his concern gaze, you finally said it

“i like you”

okay

maybe not the smoothest confession,, but given your anxiety over the situation, it was a miracle it was even said

all toge did in response was reach up to cup your cheek and smile

his single expression gave you the answer you so desperately needed

pouring all his love and admiration into one expression, you hadn’t realized this was always how he had been looking at you

wordless communication though gazes and lingering touches had always been the way he was allowed to express himself

you had been overlooking it for too long, too caught up in your own mind to see the way he gazed at you like you were the only thing he ever needed to focus on, worthy of his attention at any moment you needed it

your heart melted on sight as you leaned into to press a kiss on his lips

it was sweet, brief but not hasty. toge had always been good at placing his emotions into his actions and he made sure you felt everything he was feeling

the two of you parted before you leaned back in to place two more kisses, one on each side of his mouth where his seals were placed

he leaned in to your touch, pulling you in for a hug. as he buried his face in your neck, he breathed out a sigh that wordlessly expressed ‘you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this’ and you laughed into his hair

it might've been way overdue, but he’s here now in your arms, this time without the weight of wondering if your feelings were truly requited

oh an maki just got a text from panda of a blurry, zoomed in image of the two of you on the bench together from the distance

“fucking finally” -maki

#inumaki x reader #toge x reader #inumaki toge #inumaki fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #inumaki x you #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #toge x you

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loveydovey-leviathan · 1 year

Text

iwaizumi x gn!reader

iwaizumi hajime is hopelessly in love with you, that much is certain- and it’s in everything he does for you. he lets you buy stupidly overpriced cereal that’s only priced so absurdly because of the little toys they have inside, and you already have an entire shelf of them at home. he always orders your favourite flavour of ice cream because you always ask for a bite of his food. he wears short sleeves and tank tops around the house because he knows you like touching his arms. he listens to everything you say and remembers the details of every single story, even if he couldn’t give less of a shit about the people in them. he loves you to heaven and back, you so much as say please and no matter how much he grumbles, anything he could ever give you is yours.

but maybe there is a limit to how much he can give you. maybe he’s spoiled you too much (he has).

“you're pretty,” you say with an innocent smile. like you haven’t been teasing him with this nickname since you both laid in bed. he doesn’t even try to turn his head to look at the time because he knows that whatever he sees won’t do him any good.

“stop it,” he grumbles, shoving his head further into your chest. he feels you softly combing your fingers through his locks, and he silently curses the effect you have on him. already, he’s starting to feel sleepy.

“my pretty princess~” you chuckle.

“go to sleep, [ ___ ]” his voice is muffled from his position, and his arms wrapped around your waist tighten as a warning, but he doesn’t do anything else to stop you. and apparently, that’s enough of a sign for you to keep going.

“my pretty little haji,”

“wha- little?”

“yep,” popping the ‘p’ at the end. “my handsome, gorgeous, beautiful hajime,”.

to that, his face starts to flush. and he turns his head away so you can’t see him.

it’s not as though he doesn’t like being complimented. of course he does, especially by the love of his life. he’s just a bit… awkward to say the least. growing up with a pretty boy, watching people gushing over how handsome oikawa was when he was right there didn’t exactly do wonders for his self-esteem.

“haji? you okay there?”

his thoughts are interrupted by your voice.

“m’fine,” he mumbles.

“besides, you’re the pretty one here,” he says in an attempt to woo you, and so hopefully you don’t pry into the topic.

it doesn’t work, for the most part.

“thank you, haji. but i still think you’re prettier,”

he knows you know what he was thinking. it’s one of the many reasons he fell in love. the way you always seem to know how to cheer him up. how you never take any of his harsh words to heart because you know he doesn’t mean any of them. the fact that you see all he does for you; he doesn’t need to write you love poems or speak sugary words to show how much he loves you.

and he sees all you do for him as well. when you finish the food he makes even if you don’t like it. how you make lunch for him every day because he always forgets. when you text him throughout the day just to check up on him or just to hear his voice. the little post-it notes you leave in the mirror before you go to sleep so he sees them the next morning when he gets ready for his early day run. he sees it all.

and he thinks life really couldn’t get any better, laying in bed with his lover late at night as they praise him endlessly- just because they want to.

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dcmainlybillythoughts · 1 year

Note

Consider if you will: Billy gets hit by some spell that sort of shows the gods who are in his head All the Time. Not exactly though, mote like misty gray human shapped blobs. Like someone took the Smooth tool in photo shop to them to erase all the details and faces. They still have different body shapes, postures, and voices though. Everyone can see all seven- wait seven?

Everyone there, especially those who don't normally have bodies of their own are Very excited to be there with Sort Of Bodies. Mercury immediately jumped on the table and started to sing while doing the Freestyle Dance Teacher dance. Atlas and Zues are brawling in the back and Hercules cheers. Achilles talking to Billy who is Not Responding while trying to figure out how to copy the dances Mercury is doing on the table. Solomon is simply giving some long winded lecture that Billy is already tuning out as he introduces each of his patrons to his coworkers and says, "and yes. They are always Like This. 24/7. Actually I'm surprised Hercules isn't trying to over power Mercury's singing with his own."

Hal points to the 7th and final figure who is yet to be introduced, A very small and skinny figure tucked between Marvel's cape and his legs, face to blurred and smooth to know but clearly glaring and body language frightening, and asks who this one is and what power they give. Thinking fast and maybe with a touch of help from Solomon sending a bit of extra power, Marvel says, "oh this? He's shy and doesn't like his name being given out. And he may not be the strongest or the bravest or the fastest, but he is undoubtedly one of the most important blessings I have. The Heart and Mind of a child. He keeps me honest and nags me about doing the right thing simply because it's The Right Thing. He also reminds me of the beauty and wonder in the world in small and simple ways. Like the time he got so excited about finding a 5 leaf clover that he made me preserve it and keep it in my pocket because the 5th leaf *clearly* means it's *extra* lucky. Or he'll point out things like how pretty the sun set is or how nice ice cream is on a hot day and just. All the little things that remind me of why I fight in the first place. He's a good kid, even if he didn't get to be a kid for very long." Billy feels a bit awkward patting his own(?) Head but he's got to sell the illusion.

Everyone is awwing almost enough to not notice when Murcury starts singing "FROM THE WINDOW, TO THE WALL!" And gets the the shit smacked our of him by Achilles before he can finish the next verse.

This is so cute. Imagine that when Cap was introducing Billy he put emphasis on his job by telling them "He is the only difference between me and Black Adam" because that is why Shazam picked him.

Also I am living for the chaos the gods are bringing to the table, or on the table if you're Mercury.

#billy batson #shazam #captain marvel #dc #dc captain marvel #does this count as divine Twitch Chat au #divine twitch chat #justice league #love this ask anon

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ziggyzolch · 21 days

Text

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: maybe bungled the medical stuff and process of being admitted, suicidal ideation, aftermath, descriptions of self harm kind of? its not like currently happening. Bulimia and what comes with it. Those r the main things I think.

----------------------------------------------------

-------the shame is manifest in my resistance------- ❅❅❅

“So they’re admitting you?”

You could feel the snow being crushed beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and your best friend was sitting next to you on a random curb, taking the pack of cigarettes from your hand.

It was mid-winter. The city streets bustled with the cheer of festive Christmas decorations and the harmonies of carolers. It almost makes you feel better. You never cared for Christmas, or religion in general, but the joy in the little kids’ faces at the snow blanketing the streets, and the laughing of teenagers having snowball fights was cute.

It helped.

You sigh, turning towards your friend, “No, I don’t think so. Most that’ll happen is I’ll be in therapy, I guess.”

She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm up, “I think I’d kill myself if I got caught. Kidding, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

You scoff, “Thanks,”

You snatched the pack from her hand, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You had gotten over the fear of throat cancer a long time ago. It’s more of an expectation than a fear now. Smoking and purging at the same time kind of makes it an inevitability. The thought of death didn’t scare you. Not that you were cripplingly suicidal. You didn’t desperately want to die anymore, you just wouldn’t mind if you did. If you died from all of these habits, it was fine, great even. If not, whatever.

Passively suicidal.

Tomorrow, you’ll have your long awaited psych evaluation. You were shocked that it wasn’t the first thing they’d done. You weren’t that big of a risk anyways. A week has passed since your parents caught you, and you’d been made to take a number of medical tests to determine the severity of your bulimia, or something.

The first one was a general physical assessment, the most simple yet most uncomfortable. You had been made to wear a hospital gown, which you felt was overboard but whatever. They wouldn’t be able to admit you just based off of a BMI measurement, you were sure. You weren’t very underweight, most bulimics you knew weren’t. In fact, most of them were normal, sometimes overweight, but you just assumed it was because they were bad at it. You didn’t feel anything looking at your weight. Numbers mattered, sure, but with every binge and purge, your weight fluctuated like crazy, so you learned to just look for signs of weight loss via mirror.

She read your BMI out loud, you knew it wasn’t low enough to be a concern. You internally celebrated, until you noticed her eyes glancing down to your arm.

Shit.

Burning was your preferred method of self mutilation. Cutting was unsatisfying, messy, and a pain in the ass. Burns look disgusting when they heal though, which was the only downside. The scars are easily passable as cooking accidents and such. When they’re still healing, though, charred, blistered, and disgusting, they’re almost impossible to excuse. Your mom had caught you once, with your worst burn nonetheless. One offer of taking over the chores for the day and she was off your back, already taking her place on the sofa.

The burns weren’t fresh, not at all. Most of them were years old, but you panicked nonetheless. You’ve seen how batshit they get at any sign of self harm. You watched as she glanced towards your arm, then turned back to her clipboard, writing something down. Subtly moving your other arm behind your back, you cover up the bruises on your knuckles.

You also had to go to a dentist appointment. Last time you went, you had just gotten your braces off and permanent retainers in. You still have glue on the back of your teeth from when your top retainer broke, they had never gotten rid of it. With how often it fell off, you were glad the dentist had given up on putting in replacements.

You were more worried about this appointment than the physical assessment. You couldn’t keep food down, smiling with your eroded teeth was uncomfortable, and your breath was horrible. The dentist would definitely notice something, at the very least that you were a smoker. Your mother would hate that more than bulimia.

Honestly, despite all of these effects, you got the benefit of barely having a gag reflex. Which, now that you think about it, doesn’t really matter considering you don’t even like men.

Surprise was clear on your face when your dentist complimented you on the health of your teeth and sent you on your way.

You didn’t really know what the other tests were, something about heart arrhythmias and electrolytes. You didn’t care, you were so over it. It was all bullshit. You weren’t sad. You weren’t suicidal nor were you a danger to yourself or others. You were just bulimic, not on the brink of fucking brain collapse.

All of this was bullshit.

❅❅❅

Wanda’s senses come back one by one. Her ears pick up the soft whirring of machinery and occasional beeping of monitors. The soft footsteps of nurses and patients walking past, the opening and closing of a door as doctors enter, the scratching of their pens against their clipboard. The lingering scent of antiseptic reaches her nose, and the bitter taste in her mouth makes itself known. Her fingers pinch the stiff material of her gown, and she can feel the IV in her arm. Finally, she opens her eyes.

Waking up in the fiery depths of hell would’ve been better than where Wanda was right now. She mumbled curses under her breath as she looked around, taking in the hospital equipment around her.

“Natasha?” She croaked out when she caught sight of her friend sleeping on the hospital chair in the corner of the room. Natasha jumped up, wiping the drool off her chin and rushing towards Wanda. “Oh, thank god.” She sighed, pulling Wanda into an awkward hug.

She pulls back when she realizes Wanda wasn’t hugging her back. “How do you feel?” Wanda cringes at the pity on Natasha’s face. “Peachy.” She turns away, not stopping Natasha when she reaches to grab her hand.

The widow sighs, rubbing circles into Wanda’s hand, making her fingers twitch slightly. They sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Wanda was glad Natasha had found her. She didn’t want to be found at all, but at least it was Natasha.

She was so stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. She should’ve just shot herself in the head, like a man. She’d read somewhere that men have higher suicide rates because they carry it out in more extreme ways. Girls usually go for lighter, prettier deaths. Overdoses, slitting their wrists in a rose petal filled bathtub, and such. More survivable, and less of a burden for whoever cleans up after them. Men don't feel the same obligation. So what if it's more work for the cleaners? A shotgun to the head is easier for them, that's what matters. They don't think about how puffy their face would get if they hung themselves, or how awkward they'd be positioned on the ground if they jumped off a building. They don't think about the possibility of surviving afterwards and dealing with the deformity.

Pietro’s lifeless body flashes in her mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wanda finally notices the iron grip she had on Natasha’s hand.

She didn’t want to talk about Pietro. Never. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her friend looks away, “You’re suspended until you get help.”

“What! No!” Wanda sits up, snatching her hand out of Natasha’s grip, “This was the first time! Bruce tried to kill himself, why isn’t he suspended?”

“That was before he even joined.”

Wanda sighs, “So, what like, therapy for a week?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, “Wanda, you tried to kill yourself. You need to be monitored.”

“I’m not a fucking child. Jesus, Nat!”

“It’s not up to me, Fury’s orders. Either get help or you’re fired, basically.”

“Don’t I need a psychological evaluation or some shit?”

“Wanda, you swallowed a whole bottle of whatever-the-fuck pills. I can evaluate you right now. You’re fucked in the head, babe.” Natasha attempts to joke.

She sighs in relief when Wanda huffs out a laugh, “So, you’re sending me to the loony bin?”

“Yup. It’ll be great though, perks of being an Avenger.” Natasha places a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“How long will I be there?”

Natasha grabs Wanda’s hand that’s picking at her gown, “Until you’re better.”

The sound of a girl yelling stops their conversation.

❅❅❅

“Inpatient would be the best option…”

The ringing in your ears blocks out whatever the doctor was saying. What the fuck. You were not crazy. So what if you were bulimic. You didn’t constantly starve yourself and avoid food so you were chill, but you also were not getting fat, so you were hot. It’s like a win-win.

You’re sitting with your parents, a doctor across from you. He must be a therapist, or psychologist…psychiatrist? Potato, Tomato.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Tears are pooling in your mothers eyes, your father is sighing into his hand. “What about my classes? My life!”

“Lower your voice. You aren’t being sent away to the fucking Alcatraz.” Your father grits out.

The doctor chimes in, “I’m sure you’ll be able to do your school work, most institutions let you have books and supervised computer time.”

You push your mothers hand off your shoulder. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She scoffs, “Me? Why are you doing this to yourself!”

“You can’t make me!” Passersby can hear your voice through the closed door of the office.

It was true, they couldn’t really. You were a legal adult, they couldn’t make you do shit. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to your father expectedly. You look back and forth between them with an eyebrow raised.

“We won’t support you anymore if you don’t do this.” He finally pushes out.

“What? As if you’ve ever supported-”

Oh. Financially. College and such. Housing and such. Food…and such.

You’re not that level of adult, yet.

“What the fuck-”

“Language!”

“No! What the actual fuck! I’m not sick!”

Your father’s face contorts in anger, “Did you not hear a single word the doctor said? Your potassium levels, electrolytes, and heart are all fucked! You could have a heart attack!” He takes a breath,

“You are killing yourself.”

“What?” You don’t know what to say. Why is your heart beating so fast?

You let out a frustrated shriek, getting up to leave. They don’t know what they’re saying. You storm out of the office, narrowly avoiding passing nurses and stretchers, trying to ignore the sense of dread building within you.

Heart attacks were a lame death. You could imagine how stupid you'd look; jaw wide open, leaning back in your desk chair, clutching at your chest. The door to your room is always locked, so your parents wouldn’t care to check for a while. They’d just assume you were isolating yourself.

Stiffening up in that position, rotting and decomposing. So lame, so ugly.

It didn’t scare you.

Your head ricocheting off a wall interrupts your spiral.

Natasha winces, peaking over the door to find you on the floor, rubbing your head. Wanda had asked her to check what was going on, and you happened to be passing by at the same time she opened the door. You push yourself off the floor before Natasha could help you up. Black spots appear in your vision and you start swaying. You must’ve stood up too fast.

Natasha holds you up as you fall into her for a second, before you regain your bearings.

“Get off me!”

She lets go immediately, raising an eyebrow when you double-take at the sight of Wanda.

‘She’s so skinny.’

Wanda looks up at you, confused when she takes you in. You could’ve been the same weight as her, if not a little more. She doesn’t read people's thoughts if she can help it, but yours were so loud. You blush when she makes eye contact with you, turning and stomping away.

Your footsteps fade as Natasha closes the door, making her way back to Wanda. The widow smiles at Wanda, poking her side, “I think she has a crush on you.” Wanda’s eyes widen, “No way; she said I was skinny.” Natasha tilts her head, “Like in a disgusted way?” The witch looks down at her hands.

She assumed it was envy at first, but you didn’t look like you weighed significantly more than her. Nor was it disgust, based off of how you looked at her.

“Not…really. I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs, “Well, it doesn't matter. We’ll fatten you up in no time.”

She winces at Wanda’s obviously forced laugh.

She didn’t like being skinny, but it was an effect of her depression. It wouldn’t be that easy to reverse. The only reason she was open to this treatment was so that she could go back to work. She’ll just pretend to get better, go back, and work until she can’t take it anymore. Next time, she’ll use a gun. Actually, would she subconsciously stop the bullet with her powers? The pills almost killed her, maybe she’d just lock her door next time. She could pick up smoking, maybe that’d be like a backup. A slow, eventual death could be happening in the background while she found short term options. Multitasker.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Wanda is taken out of her reverie as Natasha pokes at her stomach again. She smiles, shaking her head and curling up into the bed. The older redhead pats her shoulder, “The squad’s going to visit before you leave. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wanda groans, she didn’t need any more people up her ass.

She stiffens at the sound of sniffling, looking up when she feels her shoulder dampen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Natasha leans over her frame, hair masking her face. The brunette stammers, racking her brain for a reply. She’d never seen Natasha so emotional. It was like hearing Steve use slang.

She sighs, curling further into herself and ignoring Natasha. She wishes she could reassure her. Tell her that even the thought of trying again made her nauseous, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t live the rest of her life seeing her brother's corpse every time she blinks.

Living with the memory of Pietro’s death for the rest of her life was worse than any torture she’d ever endured.

She ignores the flashing images as her eyes drift close, falling asleep to the sound of Natasha’s sniffling.

❅❅❅

A/N: I lowk regret writing in in second person but yolo. reply to this post if u wanna get tagged in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @mathxa @nikkinss

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unformula1 · 8 days

Text

jealousy and regret (OP81 x LS2)

part 1 part 2: “eugh… alexander albon” oscar gets smacked in the face by his talk with logan and alex. w/c: 1576 day 28 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium (series masterlist) masterlist

“I’m sorry. Do you know where… Logan is?” Oscar quietly asks one of the engineers.

“Oscar?”

Oscar hears the all-familiar voice and turns around.

He’s met face to face with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed American.

“Logan!”

And just like clockwork, here comes Alexander Albon. The British-Thai 2019 rookie who honestly, Oscar has nothing against, other than the fact that he pretty much stole Logan away from him.

Alex slides next to Logan, hand swung around Logan’s shoulder, leaning onto him.

“Morning Oscar.” Alex says.

Oscar purses his lips.

Shit. Oscar shouldn’t be like this, he should be glad that Logan has someone to support him better. Oscar should be happy for Logan…

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his head and does his best to suppress them as Alex starts invading Logan’s personal space.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw.

“What brings you here?” Logan says with that wide smile on his face.

That makes Oscar feel slightly better, at least Logan still smiles at him.

“Uhm… you.” Oscar blurts out, clearly something didn’t go through a filter.

The silence in the room suddenly becomes louder, the awkwardness is tangible and the tension grows thicker.

Alex’s arm slides away from Logan’s shoulder, he’s still standing within Logan’s personal bubble though.

Logan clearly doesn’t read the room well.

“Oh… what’s up then!” He says, the excitement in his voice sharply contrasting the clear tensions building up right now.

“We should…” Oscar finally puts his words through a filter, “Talk. We should talk.” Oscar clears his throat as he finishes.

Obviously Oscar sounded awkward because Logan cocks up an eyebrow, which is something Logan does when he’s unsure of what’s happening. Oscar silently bets Alex doesn’t know that.

“I mean…” Logan chooses his words carefully, “Yea. Of course, I think so too. We really haven’t talked in a while.”

Oscar’s uneasiness fades off and he smiles, a small chuckle escapes too.

“We’ll get to talk later, sometime soon yea?” Logan thinks before saying.

Oscar nods, “Yep. Yep!”

“Right, so see you then?” Logan says.

“Alright!” Oscar says, internally cheering.

It all disappears in an instant when Alex and Logan walk off, being unbearably close as usual. However, something ruins it all, Alex leans into Logan, whispering something into his ear and Logan chuckles loudly at it.

God Oscar absolutely hates it.

The delicate barrier between internal jealousy and external jealousy shatters.

He’s so gonna get Alex out of this story. He’s so gonna get Logan back. He’s so gonna become Logan’s number one again.

Who did Alex think he was?

A few (admittedly painful) hours pass and Oscar sits in his driver’s room. Suddenly Lando’s murder plan doesn’t seem too bad now.

Speak of the devil.

Lando swings open Oscar’s door.

“Osc. You’re acting strange.” Lando says.

Straightforward, as always.

“How so?” Oscar says, hiding his misery with a fake smile.

“Don’t try that on me.” Lando says as he walks into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, “Spill right now.”

“I already told you. Williams drivers. Me and Logan.” Oscar says, his voice with a tinge of annoyance.

“Yea well usually you don’t dwell on it for too long, and haven’t you already talked to Logan?” Lando shrugs.

“Yes but it’s not that simple, Lando.” Oscar says, eerily monotonously.

“So… there’s something more?” Lando inquires.

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s gonna hate Lando for this.

“I hate how Alex is close to Logan.” Oscar admits.

“Woah.” Lando says, his hands raising up, “What?”

“Alex doesn’t deserve it.” Oscar, once again, feels the jealousy completely removing his filter.

“They’re teammates, they’re going to be close. Just like us!” Lando says.

“Yea well, he wasn’t there for Logan when Logan was crying on a hotel bed.” Oscar scoffs, “You know who was? Me.”

Lando’s taken aback. He processes Oscar’s words first before trying his best to phrase the next sentence nicely.

“That’s very pretentious of you.” Lando says.

And it’s like a slap in the face for Oscar, he finally realises what he just said. Shit. Then the past few hours of murder plotting hit him in the face as well. Double Shit. He’s really letting this jealousy take over him.

“Fuck.” Oscar whispers.

“What?” Lando asks, moving slightly closer to Oscar.

“I feel horrible. That was so horrible of me.” Oscar buries his face into his hands, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. These past weeks, it’s just been jealousy, jealousy, jealousy.”

Lando nods a few times.

“Well…” Lando thinks, “You should talk to Logan about this. Maybe apologise for being possessive too.”

It’s obvious Lando means it as a joke but Oscar feels like it’s a punch into the gut. He’s been insanely possessive.

“But seriously, talk to Logan about this.” Lando shrugs.

“Okay.” Oscar says as he stands up, brushing past Lando and walking out the room.

“I didn’t mean now… but okay.”

------

Oscar sees Logan filming Williams' media in the garage, right next to Alex. He suppresses the thoughts, constantly reminding himself that Alex deserves it.

They end shortly after and Oscar makes his way over to Logan. He, rather rudely, inserts himself into the picture, standing next to Logan.

“Hi Oscar.” Alex says, which prompts Logan to greet Oscar.

“Hey Osc.” Logan says.

“Can we talk… like right now.” Oscar says.

“I mean, sure, with Alex or…” Logan replies.

Oscar hesitates. Would that help?

“Okay.” Oscar says on instinct.

“Alright, cool.” Logan says and pats the seat next to him for Oscar to sit.

Oscar sits down, in between the two Williams drivers. He takes a deep breath before starting.

“Is this about Lando?” Alex jokes which prompts a laugh from Logan. Oscar laughs too, but with slight bitterness.

“No… it’s about you two.” Oscar says.

“Oh.” Alex replies.

“You know what, this is getting out of hand, I’m just gonna get straight to the point.” Oscar rambles.

“Why the hell are you two so close?” Oscar says, directing the question to Logan.

This question takes both Williams drivers by surprise, and seeing as though this question came without a filter, it surprises Oscar too.

“Because we’re teammates…” Logan says.

“Yes I know that but you two are… close close.” Oscar exaggerates his hand movements.

“Uhm…” Logan hesitates, “I guess Alex has been pretty nice to me, being a great person and all that.”

Oscar can feel his jealousy rising again, even more when Alex smiles at Logan.

Logan proceeds to tell his entire story about Qatar and all the races, along with how Alex helped Logan.

“Alex sat next to me while I cried, because I had no one else.” Logan says and it feels like he’s on the brink of tears.

Oscar’s jealousy gets replaced by guilt. He had no one else.

“Everyone hated me. Well, exaggeration but that’s how I felt.” Logan says and Alex places one hand on Logan’s thigh, “But Alex was there. So it was better.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Oscar can feel the guilt piling up.

And then it finally dawns on him. Alex deserves Logan, not Oscar. In fact, Oscar doesn’t deserve Logan.

He’s placed everything else above Logan in the past year. Logan and his friendship didn’t matter to him, he was blinded; and while he was gone, Alex was there, to sit next to Logan while he cried on the hotel bed.

God he’s been a horrible friend. Everyone there knows that. Alex knows that, Logan knows that too.

He let Logan go and now, like some brat, he expected Logan back again. He really was pretentious. He only cared about Logan once it got too late. He pretty much ignored Logan for the better part of the year, burying their friendship 6 feet deep.

Oscar can feel his regret building as Logan looks into Alex’s eyes. Usually it would be jealousy.

This was his second chance.

“Sorry.” Oscar manages, a sting in his throat preventing him from speaking.

“What?” Logan asks.

“Sorry Logan.” Oscar repeats.

“For what…?” Logan’s oblivious.

“Being a shit friend.” Oscar says as he stifles a sniff.

“No… definitely not.” Logan laughs, “You’ve been a great friend.”

“You don’t need to lie.” Oscar sobs slightly.

Alex pats Oscar on the shoulder.

“Sorry to you too.” Oscar says to Alex.

Confusion builds on Alex’s face but he doesn’t inquire further, which is to Oscar’s benefit.

“It’s alright mate.” Alex says.

Oscar falls into Logan’s embrace, they hug.

Alex winks at Logan and gets up, “I’ll see you two soon.”

“I’ve been nothing but horrible. Please… forgive me, please.” Oscar says, his voice muffled from burying his head into Logan’s chest.

“Mate… I really have no clue what you’re talking about.” Logan says, his voice laced with concern.

Oscar looks up into Logan’s eyes, sniffling. He takes another deep breath, cleaning away his tears.

“You will not believe the things I have been thinking about these days.” Oscar says, “I’ve been so… so horrible.”

Logan cocks his eyebrow up again.

“I’ve been jealous.”

There, he said it. Somehow it lifts a giant weight off Oscar’s chest.

“Of me and Alex?” Logan asks.

“Yes. Exactly that.” Oscar replies, “But I’ve realised. I’m a bitch.”

“Hey! Don’t say that about yourself.” Logan says, quickly hugging Oscar again.

Oscar struggles to get something out.

“I forgive you man. Let’s start again, yea?” Logan says while hugging Oscar.

Oscar nods, once again.

Logan pats Oscar’s head as they hug for a bit.

------ a/n: hope you like it lol. a little rushed but i tried to make it work.

EXTRA SCENE (Completely non-loscar related btw)

Lando have they talked? tell me they’ve talked Alex They have. Yes. Lando and they talked about their friendship right. Alex Yes Lan They did. Lando great! Alex I know. Who would’ve believed Oscar would be jealous. Lando me. i said it before Alex No one believes you anyway. Lando do you forgive oscah? Alex Yes. Because if I was him, I’d be jealous of me and Logie’s perfect relationship too Lando blah blah shut up. Alex Tell Oscar I forgive him And that Logan is all his again. I’ll still be a great teammate though. Lando Oscar says thank you.

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abiiors · 5 months

Text

under the mistletoe 🎄// ross macdonald x reader (pt 2 of 2)

twelve days of christmas - day 3

a/n: best friends to lovers? no. it's idiots to lovers. this is also part 2 of secret santa cw: kissing, alcohol, very tame and cheesy. there might be typos... wc: 3k

a cheer cuts through the chatter in the room and ross finds himself standing under a mistletoe, liv first in his arms, then standing on her toes and then they’re kissing—sweet, long kisses that make him smile despite the butterflies in his stomach.

butterflies that should have been a result of the kiss. instead, it feels more like a swarm of bees buzzing in his chest from anticipation.

ross doesn’t expect to be this nervous. more than that, he doesn’t expect to pull away from the kiss before she does. even when liv looks at him with slight concern.

he certainly doesn’t expect himself to be so hung up on secret santa. he has bought plenty of gifts for people he cares about before! good ones too; sure, he’s no pro at gift giving but he’s not entirely hopeless. but this time he simply cannot afford to mess up. not when it took him two turns to get the name he really wanted.

everyone looks festive in some shade of red or green on white—and one silver but charli really pulls it off. liv has a beautiful green velvet dress on, her curly hair piled on top of her head and gold hoops dangling from her ears. liv looks stunning!

it’s her that really takes his breath away—the girl who’s been his best friend for over a decade now. the girl who now stares at him with a tight smile on her face, cheering almost on autopilot with the rest of his friends. she’s in a classic red slip dress and matching red lipstick that contrasts her skin so perfectly that ross almost feels guilty for staring at her longer than necessary. he’s right next to his girlfriend for fucks sake. he needs to focus!

the excitement in the room is off the charts! everyone’s buzzing to get to the main event—the secret santa gifts—and he feels a tiny pit of nervousness at the centre of all his enthusiasm. what if she doesn’t like his gift? what if it’s something she already has or something that’s too personal… too intimate.

liv breaks his little spiral.

“you alright?” she slides onto his lap with an easy smile and pecks him softly.

“yeah, just excited about the gifts! i wonder who got my name.” even with her on his thigh ross can’t stop his knee from bouncing up and down. the weird mixture of anticipation and butterflies is something he’s rarely felt before—not since… well not since her last birthday when he’d gotten her two tickets to the play she’d been dying to go to.

(if he’s being honest it was not since she’d asked him if he’d like to go with her.)

“me too!” liv beams and it’s as if that’s matty’s cue to announce that they can all finally, finally move to the living room.

the living room is adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. a decently sized pile of gifts sits under the pretty tree—the current object of everyone’s interest. his nervousness aside, ross feels as giddy as the others do, still like a child on christmas morning about to get the long anticipated pokemon card collection.

matty gets to the pile and starts calling out names one after the other.

ross is barely even listening—his mind races with a million different possibilities. what if it’s a shit gift? what if she doesn’t like it or has something similar or doesn’t get the significance of it?

what if she thinks he put no thought into it?

he’s barely even listening when polly coos over the “cutest jumper ever!” or when george cackles over his gag gift or when matty almost goes misty eyed over the vintage book.

he only snaps out of it when matty calls out her name and envelopes her in a hug.

“it’s perfect,” he sniffles and ross burns with envy.

not envious of matty. never envious of matty but… a tiny, irrational part of him wishes she were his secret santa instead. that she spent days thinking about him, obsessing over finding the perfect gift just like he had.

that maybe she spent her nights in bed, wondering a thousand times over if her gift would make him smile (it would, ross thinks. she could get him a £10 bottle of wine and he would still cherish it dearly.)

“ross!” matty calls out and he startles a little.

matty looks at him with a slightly puzzled expression and wiggles a neatly wrapped gift in front of him. it’s square and thin with a small note attached to it.

he recognises it instantly—a handwriting he’s only recently come to know as liv’s.

liv. his girlfriend. his secret santa.

and he’s an awful, awful boyfriend for the feeling of disappointment that rises in him.

his fingers move deftly, tearing apart the wrapping paper until the gift inside becomes visible. the first thing he registers is the word “untitled” printed front and centre in big bold letters. and below it: “divine connection: the last unreleased album”. it dawns on him slowly—the band, their band. the last album from their band. just his and hers. and on autopilot, his gaze snaps up to her.

“ross?”

for the second time that evening liv’s voice cuts through his spiral and he turns around to see her standing at the door to the balcony with a half-drunk champagne flute in her hands. she’s beautiful, he thinks. she’s always been stunning but his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he looks at her.

“can we talk?” she walks in and stands next to him, shoulders brushing with his. it’s a cold night. it’s silly being outside but he’s in a weird mood. he even kinda prefers it here.

“yeah of course,” he clears his throat and tries to appear casual.

“did you like your gift?”

“i did. it was… it was perfect.” at least that much is true. at least that much he can say with 100% certainty. “thank you. really, i mean it.”

“i know you do.”

for a minute she doesn’t say anything but her eyes roam over his face—a scruitinising sort of a look that makes him want to shy away. she’s never been particularly intense but in the few weeks he’s known liv, she’s had a way of guessing his little tells. it takes everything in him to not look away.

still, he closes his eyes for a minute.

the scene is still so fresh in his mind—ross opening the gift and looking up. ross staring at her and not liv. ross murmuring “thank you. it’s perfect.” and smiling at her before he even remembered that the gift was supposed to be from liv.

ross only looks at her, his best friend. and she can’t seem to meet his gaze.

liv clears her throat and brings him back to the present. she takes another swig of her champagne and offers him the glass. ross studies her lipstick smudge on the rim and accepts the drink gratefully.

“you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

a second sooner and he would have choked on the drink or done a spit-take like a fucking idiot but the question leaves him so speechless that he almost drops the glass.

“who?”

“don’t play dumb now.” her tone’s a bit sharp but her words aren’t unkind and the thought of being scolded like that makes him blush slightly and straighten up.

he’s about to speak when she continues.

“i see how you look at her—how you looked at her when you opened the gift i gave you. you knew it wasn’t from me didn’t you?”

wordlessly, he nods his head.

“you knew i didn’t think of it. you were right though. i didn’t. i went to her because she’s you best friend.”

“and she told you about the band?”

liv clicks her tongue. “she handed me the record. turns out she had you for secret santa before we picked the names again.”

“oh…”

there’s another beat of loaded silence in which he struggles to maintain eye contact with her and not feel like an utterly shit boyfriend.

“liv i—”

“i know,” she smiles briefly. “but you can’t string me along, babe. look i like you a lot. i really do and i know… i know you told me you were trying to move on from someone but i assumed that was a past relationship. i didn’t realise you were talking about…your best friend.”

“i’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “i really am. i know that was shitty of me.”

“it was a little.”

none of them speak for a few minutes. ross looks at her champagne again, wishing he’d had a drink with him for this conversation. or maybe not—maybe a clearer head is what he needs. he is getting dumped, after all.

and yet… there’s no sadness. just a faint sense of disappointment.

“so this is it i guess?”

in one gulp liv finishes the rest of her champagne and nods. “yeah. this is it. for what it’s worth ross… i have no hard feelings.”

this time when she smiles at him, it’s open and sincere. much to his relief, it’s friendly. liv stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. it’s chaste and quick—a goodbye, one that he returns by hugging her tightly.

liv pauses at the threshold just as she’s leaving.

“why don’t you tell her?”

ross shakes his head in disappointment and feels the familiar ache settle bone deep. the night suddenly seems so much colder than before—no longer the cosy kind that makes you want to snuggle up with a loved one. this feels sharp and biting.

“can’t,” he shrugs, “i don’t want to ruin years’ worth of friendship.”

he expects liv to understand that. it’s a perfectly normal sentiment—to love someone enough that you’d rather have some of them than none of them. but she just shakes her head at him.

“wow…” liv sighs, “for a man so smart… you really are fucking dumb.”

and then she leaves him on the balcony, shivering and confused.

by the time he gets inside, there’s a lull in the party. everyone’s either drunk or loved up or both. well, maybe not everyone.

ross finds her huddled in front of the fireplace, absently staring at her wrist. at the pearl bracelet he got for her.

a near-perfect match to her beloved pearl necklace from her grandmother.

the fire casts a warm, golden glow on her—on her hair and the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, and down her chest. he stands transfixed at the threshold, waiting for something to happen.

maybe matty (passed out on the sofa) will wake up if he moves or polly might need something from him or george and charli might see them and he loves his friends but they have barely any concept of personal space after all these years. maybe he could just do it tomorrow when he’s not half-drunk, half-sober, and fully freaking out.

“ross?”

too late to hide now.

“why are you stood there? come on! it’s so cold!” she opens up her blanket cocoon—an invitation for him to join.

ross, startled by her voice, stumbles into the room. his cheeks flush with embarrassment and he clears his throat, trying to mask the awkwardness that has suddenly enveloped him.

fuck! she’s pretty. and yes he thinks that every single time he looks at her but it’s moments like these that really hit him like a gut punch.

liv’s words echo in his mind over and over again. for a man so smart… you really are fucking dumb. was she trying to say what he thinks she was? or is he just delusional and projecting his own feelings onto her.

her body is soft and warm when ross settles next to her, pulling her into his side and tucking her head under his chin.

“you were deep in thought.” ross teases a bit, not ready to broach anything serious just yet. what he really wants to ask is about the record—how she’d somehow known his perfect gift before he figured it out himself.

“just thinking about how good i am at gift giving,” she teases back. “matty was ecstatic.”

she's right but he can’t help but find a different meaning in her words.

“that you are,” ross murmurs in her hair, resisting the urge to press a little kiss there. it’s too much for him—this intimacy. something like that might just tip him over the edge.

for a while she doesn’t say anything and ross wonders if she’s fallen asleep. it’s quite late and they’re quite cosy, it won’t be the first time she's fallen asleep on him. maybe, if she is asleep, he might even press that kiss onto her head after all.

“liv’s not here?” her voice breaks his train of thought. it’s not teasing anymore—she sounds neutral and controlled and… and like she’s trying not to pry.

“we broke up.”

“what?!”

she almost shrieks and matty stirs slightly but goes back to sleeping again. ross feels guilty for just dumping it on her without any context.

“i’m so sorry,” she says before he has a chance to speak. “fuck, at a christmas party too! that sucks, love. are you alright?”

“it wasn’t like that. it was…” this is it, he thinks. his one chance to get it right. “i’m perfectly fine. i’m… i’m better than fine. it’s… well she–you… fuck okay!”

he cheeks grow warm. it’s worse now that she’s properly looking at his now, her face a mixture of concern and curiosity; that she’s now an attentive audience to his pathetic flustered words.

“let me…” he takes a big deep breath and squares his shoulders. “okay. let me get this right. for the next, i don’t know, two minutes, you aren’t allowed to speak, okay? okay. so! liv and i talked.” the skepticism on her face grows and ross tries not to let it deter him. “the gift, the record—”

“was it not good?”

“oi! no speaking, remember? two minutes.” ross scolds lightly and almost laughs at her sheepish face. “as i was saying, the record. it wasn’t her idea, was it? i asked her how she knew and she told me you gave it to her. for me! why didn’t you… why didn’t you give it to me yourself?”

for all her talking a moment ago, now she seems speechless. so much so that she can barely meet his eyes.

“it was a lovely gift, darling. maybe even one of the best and… i just want to know why, that’s all.”

her cheeks flush a subtle shade of pink, and she fidgets with the edge of the blanket. “i guess i wanted you to have something meaningful without making things awkward. i’d already bought the gift and i didn't want to complicate our friendship with something that felt so… personal, especially with liv being in the picture. and…fuck! if that’s what made you break up, i’m so sorry, i—"

“it didn’t,” he cuts her off firmly. ross can’t help but notice the small details of her face then—the tiny smudges of mascara from no doubt when she sleepily rubbed her eyes, the glitter on her eyelids reflecting the firelight. her big, beautiful eyes and dilated pupils.

her slightly smudged lipstick…

fuck, it’s the tiny lipstick smudge on the corner of her lips that makes him lose his ability to think straight.

“we broke up because… well there’s someone else,” he speaks in a low volume. subconsciously, she leans forward.

“someone else?”

the room falls into a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling fire. she waits, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he's joking or playing some elaborate prank. but the sincerity in his expression leaves no room for doubt.

“you’re my best friend,” he says, “and fuck, do i resent that! how am i… darling, how am i meant to pretend you’re just my friend when you’re the fucking focal point of my world?”

her breath catches so audibly that it’s almost a gasp. he waits for her to say something. anything. instead she leans in an presses her lips to his.

it’s so unsure at first, almost like she freezes and her brain can’t figure out where to go next. the kiss lingers, soft and tentative—both testing the waters of something uncharted. ross's mind races, trying to process the warmth of her lips against his, the subtle taste of her lipstick.

she pulls away before he’s even had the chance to kiss her back and hides her face in his chest.

“oh god, that was too soon, wasn’t it! that was–you just broke up and i—”

“love, don't hide your face, don't…” his hands gently cup her flushed face, making her look up at him once again even when she can barely meet his eyes and in that moment he realises he’s never seen someone so beautiful.

so this time when ross crashes his lips against hers, he makes sure to pull her closer. to hold onto her tightly. his arms are around her, her hands in his hair and oh she fits so perfectly in the crevices of his body. like a perfect puzzle piece.

by the time they finally pull apart, slightly breathless and grinning uncontrollably, ross hears her giggle.

“wow, that was my first kiss under a mistletoe…”

“we aren’t—”

“i know, but we’re next to one so it’s almost the same.”

he looks to where she’s pointing, to the little bunch tied above the fireplace.

“we could do better, darling.”

“yeah?”

“mm-hmm,” he murmurs, stealing another quick kiss from her. “let me take you home.”

and she agrees in a heartbeat.

lemme know what you think <33

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