who is he? - twelve days of rowaelin '22.
ao3 || masterlist || twelve days of rowaelin ‘22 masterlist
prompt: fake dating because ex will be there.
word count: 1118
trigger warnings: language, sexual themes
tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt
“Elide, no. Please. Don’t—don’t make me go over there. I will embarrass myself, truly. Don’t make me do this, I’m begging you, one spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past to another spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past. Don’t. Make. Me. Do. This.” Aelin tried to turn, but both of Elide’s—admittedly small, and yet so super strong—hands were pushing her forwards. Not allowing her to turn, nor twist.
It was rather annoying given the nine-inch height difference between the two of them. But maybe their weights were more evenly matched—or maybe Elide’s was higher, due to those big ol’ tits of hers.
“Alright, so if you’re such a coward that you can’t go up to the hot man, whom you’ve been staring at for half an hour, we need to come up with a plan of action. By the way, I want full credit at your wedding for getting the two of you together.” Elide’s smile was wicked and cunning, and she put her index finger and thumb on her chin, and stroked like she had a beard, and some crazy science machine.
“I don’t know, Elide, don’t think that if I knew, I’d be over there scoring myself a Christmas-tree-farming husband, who’s tall enough to put the star on my tree without a ladder.” Elide’s eyes sparkle, and Aelin does damage control, “And that was not an innuendo nor a metaphor for him being able to find my clit, or g-spot, without a how-to. Get your mind out of the gutter, Lochan.”
A fake gasp from her best friend, and then an evil laugh. Aelin truly did consider the likelihood that her best friend was the wicked witch of the west. She decided not, but Elide interrupted her thoughts with a shriek (again, with or not?) and a hand wrapped around her bicep. “I know how you’re going to get with him.”
“Oh, do you now. Let’s hear it, then.”
“He’s gonna be our fake boyfriend to the party that Dorian’s hosting for Christmas eve. It’ll be perfect. You’ll tell him that Dorian’s your ex, and you’ve told him you have a new boyfriend, for the party and therefore you need a fake boyfriend. Christmas Tree Man is perfect for the job because he’s independent, tall, and muscular. Whilst Dorian, who’s your fake ex-boyfriend, is short, lanky and still on his father’s tit. And insecure about it. Christmas Tree Man will make him jealous, and you want that because he hurt you.”
“Let me get this straight: he’s going to be my fake boyfriend, to a party hosted by one of my best friends who is going to be my fake ex-boyfriend, who I’ve fake-told I’ve got a new boyfriend, because he is the epitome of everything my ex is not, and that’s a sore spot for him. Which means my presence with Christmas Tree Man will hurt and offend him, which I want to do because my fake ex-boyfriend hurt me, and I now want to hurt him.”
“Yeah, wow. You’ve caught on quickly. So, down this,” she said pushing a recyclable cup of mulled wine towards Aelin, “for liquid courage and go get your man.”
“Elide I was fucking pulling your leg. I am not going up to some man who I find attractive and lying to him about relationships I’ve never had, and then cornering him into being my fake boyfriend. I refuse. That is, just so wrong on so many levels. If I can’t gather the courage to go up to him, and ask him out for drinks like a normal person, maybe I shouldn’t be going with him.”
Elide’s face crumbled, like a high school note they had passed, and she pouted. “Aelin, you’ve not taken your eyes off that man for a second—not even during this conversation. You need to go up to him, ride the horse, and go! We’ll put aside this whole lying thing, just be honest and tell him that he’s the most attractive guy you’ve seen in years, and that you’d like to go out to dinner or drinks or party with him.”
Aelin shook her head but was secretly considering it.
“Aelin, if not for you, do it for me. I’ve found that tall men group together. So, he will likely have a tall friend whose size will directly correlate to his size. If you know what I mean.” She winks, and Aelin had to laugh, she couldn’t not, “I’ve not had good dick since freshman year of college—and I’m twenty fucking four. I’m desperate.”
“Fine, I don’t think I’ve had good dick ever, so maybe Christmas Tree Man won’t disappoint, if everything is proportionate. But he does still have to know how to use it. What if he doesn’t, Elide, what if he thinks having a big dick is eno—”
“—Aelin, I swear, go to that man, and find us both a big dick, and hopefully a relationship. Love you, Bye!”
She unfolded herself from the picnic table, and shook off her nerves—mentally, she can’t be seen jumping around by her future something. Her eyes settled on Elide still, whose eyes she noticed were large and round and surprised. Instead of questioning her clearly crazy best friend, she turned, only to bump into the chest of a rather tall man.
Tall.
No, she thought. It can’t be, she wondered. No way, she placated.
“Firstly,” he said, in a voice that had her panties wet already, “I would’ve agreed to your crazy plot, princess. I would have doubted it, but I would’ve agreed, and gone to your fake ex-boyfriend’s party, on Christmas eve which I normally spend with my friends and not a random but gorgeous blonde, as the epitome of his insecurities. Just to hurt him, because I knew the second I saw you, that any man who hurt deserved to be hurt right back. Where it hurt the most.
“Second, I could put the star on your Christmas tree without the help of a ladder—and I mean that in both possible ways. This means that, third, I know how to use my dick, even if I do consider myself to be proportionate. On that topic, apparently tall men do group together because I’ve got a friend taller than me, for your friend who’s shorter than you, who I believe is also proportionate but in the same boat as me when it comes to Christmas trees and stars.
“And finally, whilst I don’t mind Christmas Tree Man, I have just told you that I’ve got a big dick, know where your clit is, and can give you g-spot orgasms, so please, call me Rowan.”
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