#shut up tully

[trashcornertully]

getting brain damage thinking abt Damien monsterprom getting pet on the head* and leaning into it and purring like a cat

*by Zoe? Milo? the heist guy made of water from Roadtrip? it doesn't matter

[atopvisenyashill]

not to keep harping on but definitely the complaint i see that really sticks in my craw is that the only reason or the main reason robb planned to banish catelyn to seaguard was because of their argument over jon. it’s certainly a factor but they have spent the entire war arguing over every decision robb makes! ned tells robb “keep your mother in your council” but robb really does not! he has her there, yes, he lets her speak, yes, but oftentimes he will disregard her advice without any appeasement, misstep badly, and be worse off politically in the exact way she warned him of. she’s not the only person he blows off - he’s not exactly nice to edmure either, for example - but cat is right when she suspects there’s an element of “kings are not supposed to have mothers” and “wedded to his war" and she clocks this long before the argument over jon! robb tries to get rid of her at the beginning of a clash of kings when all cat has done is urge him to continue peaceful negotiations with the lannisters!

robb is angry because he’s in over his head and he knows it, and it's got very little to do with jon! robb is losing this war and his best friend was the son of a man who crowned himself and lost the war!! robb knows exactly what’s going to happen to the north if he loses and despite everything, he cannot seem to win despite being a near prodigy in battle tactics. and here his mother has been this whole time, fighting him on every front - just like the lords but he cant punish them for disagreeing can he? - and being so frustratingly right about more things than his lords, and now they’re picking at this wound in their family that has never been allowed to heal and a lot of resentment that both robb and catelyn are feeling at their general situation gets focused in on each other. this is such a tully thing too (pls remember these are canonically unpleasant people!) because look at lysa projecting years of resentment onto sansa, look at the entire cat, hoster, edmure situation, or even hoster & blackfish’s relationship. family is so important to them but in times of stress, “doing everything for family” becomes an anchor pulling them down, until the only thing left is to lash out at each other.

most of the lords are happy to let this nonsense play out! catelyn does not even have the privilege maege & dacey mormont do at being head of their own house - she’s just a wife, just a mother, just a first born daughter. when she disagrees, they don’t see an equal arguing with them, they see a woman sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. they do not give a single solitary shit about like, ~the plight of bastards~ they just believe, like robb, that sansa is currently “tainted” by her marriage to a lannister and can’t be allowed to inherit, that arya is dead, that the boys are dead, that jeyne is not yet pregnant, and a bastard boy castle raised who looks like ned is better than no boy at all (see edric storm, addam of hull, and larence snow). these men have not spent the last fourteen years cooking in their resentment over this situation the way catelyn and robb have!

jon is a reason. but so is rickard karstark, jaime lannister, willem lannister, tion frey, renly baratheon, walder frey, and theon greyjoy. ned is a reason as well, and bran, sansa, rickon, arya, hoster, edmure, perhaps even lysa and sweetrobin. jon is the final straw but robb isn’t (only) sending catelyn away because of some righteous fury on his brother’s behalf! he’s sending her away because she is an easy, socially acceptable target for all his frustrations and failures and fears that he can project on, and punish, in a way he cannot punish his enemies, his lords, or himself.

and catelyn is as always very aware of the deeper motivations in her son’s mind, and resentful that she doesn’t have the power to push back; she’s just a mother, after all.

[eye-candy-film-enjoyer]

If yall can relate to Patrick Bateman, I can relate to these mfs

[catoswound]

condescending fuck. bro thinks he's priam

cicero, murena 60 // cicero, ad fam 15.6

[jessmalia]

respect to oscar tully for holding his own against daemon

[silusvesuius]

i think elly would be very much into luxury fashion she'd be the #1 birkin bag collector and has an entire closet for them; she only wears designer stuff to go outside and has every best anti-aging skin care product line ever lined up in her bathroom. also she'd run an mlm like it's the navy (it's her side gig she's still torturing people full-time)

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)

read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!

Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.

He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking.  You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.

That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you.  Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?

Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer.  Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.

But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue.  Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.

I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…

He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably.  And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you.  Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?

And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.

As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.

“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud.  “You want it, baby?  It’s all fucking yours.”

He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier.  Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.

You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off.  It was still true, but more specific than necessary.  He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too.  But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.

“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now.  It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.

He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…

His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm.  “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”

He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close.  Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge.  His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.

It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment.  The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.

His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you.  He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.

When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.

No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.

It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind.  After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers.  (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)

Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless.  He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.

Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.

He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.

Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut.  As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.

Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention.  “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.

“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”

The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.

For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you.  He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual.  Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.

Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake.  Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.

The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.

Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top.  Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.

“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”

“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not.  Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter.  “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.

“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized.  “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”

“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”

“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”

The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.

“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile.  Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next.  “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”

He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion.  “What— what does it say?!” “Read it, Kountze!”

“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.

Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered.  “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh.  “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”

“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.

“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away.  He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned.  “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”

Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away.  The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.

He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you.  You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling.  But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.

Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.

Is this what love feels like?

//

It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more.  Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?

But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you.  Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders.  Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—

Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.

You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him.  Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.

For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz.  It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.

Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent.  His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough.  Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party.  Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.

And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you.  He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.

“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed.  “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”

He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away.  “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.

“Tell me what?”

“You remember Brian Stevenson?” 

“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur.  “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”

“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.

“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously.  “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”

“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed.  You nodded.  He looked away.  “Right— that’s… cool.  That’s cool.”

You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden.  “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”

“Right,” he interrupted sharply.  “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know.  That it wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.

“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen.  “Did you even mean that?”

“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously.  “That’s… that’s just something people say…”

He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you.  He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.

“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor.  “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply.  “It’s— you know, it is what it is.  It was just one of those things.”

“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded.  He didn’t.  And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.

“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.

“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.

Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands.  That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad.  Not devastated.  Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun.  You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.

//

It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party.  Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail.  There was a lot more alcohol, though.

You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on.  Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.

Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back.  “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him.  Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up.  It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable.  He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.

You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race.  Who, after all, would he be racing against?

For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably).  He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.

Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly.  “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”

You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.

Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.

“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious.  Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even.  You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.

“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.

“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him.  “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”

“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again.  “Fucking idiots…”

Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you.  “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?

Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.

“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.

“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.

“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.

“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.

A brief moment passed.  “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.

“Jesus,” you hissed.

“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained.  “We were so good together.”

“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”

“No— it’s not.  It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced.  “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn right I’m not!” he spat.  “You’re all I could think about, for months!  Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head!  And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything.  Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”

“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.

“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you.  “Does he make you feel special?  Does he make you come?”

“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay?  I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you.  But… but what about me, y’know?  He doesn’t need you like I do.”

Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.

“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t?  But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you.  I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid!  You’re my dream girl!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain.  “That’s a fantasy!”

“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side.  “It’s so real, you know it is.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that.  You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.

And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless.  He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian.  You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.

He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other.  You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment.  Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.

Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so.  But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did.  And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.

//

You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement.  You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him.  He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?

“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.

“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.

“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.

He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.

“It was a mistake,” you decided.  “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go.  And if you didn’t tell Brian.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly.  “I wasn’t gonna tell him.  But I still think you should dump him.”

“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

“I know,” he breathed.

You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.

“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened.  “I fucking love you.”

“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.

“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded.  “I know how I feel, okay?  When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”

You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench.  Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed.  “You love me too, don’t you?  I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it?  It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”

He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again.  “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”

“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained.  “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”

“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this.  I want to really be together,” he replied.  You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again.  “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”

You shook your head.  “No, you can’t do that.”

“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized.  You smiled, but shook your head again.

“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.

He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground.  “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”

“What?!” you blurted out.  “Angus, no—”

“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms.  “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown.  You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”

“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”

“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.

Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment.  “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little.  “You can do a lot better than a state school.”

“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously.  “My grades are kinda… inconsistent.  And I went to so many different high schools—”

“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed.  “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here.  You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”

He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.

“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him.  “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”

For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face.  “Wait— is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.

You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him.  Instead of answering directly, you just stammered.  “Well, y-you’re young, and—” 

He cut you off quickly with a laugh.  “Oh my god!  You think I give a shit about that?”

“No,” you shot back, “but you should.  You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge.  “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with?  What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without?  Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”

“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently.  “It’s your first love.  It fades.”

“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen.  “God, I don’t want it to.”

You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before.  In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact.  It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.

When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek.  “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please.  Tell me it’s not going to end.”

“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest.  “It has to end, someday.”

You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.

Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.

There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end.  And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good.  That hope had only ever led to pain before.  But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.

So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday.  Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings.  Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave.  Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless.  Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.

Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive.  Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again.  Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.

The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter.  It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful.  He loved you.  Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special.  His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.

When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away.  “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it.  You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable.  After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different.  I trust you.  I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try.  I’m sorry.  I’m so glad I met you.  I’ll never forget you.  Please don’t let me go.

Somehow, you felt like he heard each one.  Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.

//

Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long.  You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.

The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets.  Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels.  You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.

Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.

“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.

Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh.  “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.

“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.

“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed.  “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” he shrugged.  “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much.  “Not here.”

“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even.  You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee.  After a few moments, though, you spoke again.

“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”

“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave.  You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass.  Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.

When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside.  Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

[almightyellie]

i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script. 

at least, he thought they did. 

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus. 

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware. 

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?” 

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong. 

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two. 

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship. 

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail. 

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it. 

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally. 

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial. 

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be. 

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously. 

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

[bellarkeselection]

Hey could you write for Daemon targaryen like while he's being haunted in harnehal he finds his comfort in a prisoner and falls in love with her targaryen type of love and obsession and he married her like his second wife something he listens to her obeys her admires her while he fights war for rahaenya right guess she isn't happy with their marriage but have to accept as he's crucial for her but later on when they're leading she asks him her head so they both escaped with caraxes alive to anywhere you want

His Compass of Harrenhal

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie

This request will have a couple of parts to it so enjoy and if you want to be added send that below in the comments 😊

I could hear footsteps slowly coming through the castle that I was forced to be a prisoner in. Not physically but mentally inside my mind for years and years to come. Sneaking through the hallway near the kitchen I raised my sword until I jumped around the corner feeling the cold tip of a sword against my throat. “Show yourself you ghost!”

“Not before you reveal yourself first!” I heard a deep man’s voice shifting my gaze up to meet his purple eyes that could only belong to a Targaryen.

I gulped slightly nervous that I must still be having another nightmare. “What is your name, ghost?”

“I’m no ghost, strange woman. I am Daemon Targaryen. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Now who the hell are you!” He growled under his breath glaring his eyes deadly in my direction.

The tip of my sword was pointed up against the fabric of his tunic shirt while he had his sword end up against my throat. Both of us never lowered our weapons while we spoke to one another. “My name is Y/n, Y/n Tully. I was wed to the late lord of this castle until I started hearing and seeing things that didn’t make sense. I’ve been attempting to escape ever since he called me a witch.”

“He’s named you a prisoner then?” Daemon raised a brow at me.

Shaking my head, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “I’m not quite sure anymore. I haven’t been able to trust my own mind to tell me what is real and what is fake for far too many years. Why are you here, if you’re truly here.”

“Have you known any of these ghosts you see to ever have a sword pressing against your throat.” He questioned me.

I replied, beginning to lower my blade off of his chest. “I can’t say that they ever have.”

“Then we may not be alone in whatever is going on inside this dreadful castle.” He placed his sword back in his belt, walking into the kitchen and I followed him knowing it was probably a better option then going back alone to my old chamber room. I couldn’t stand the idea of being a prisoner here anymore than I already had because I feared I wouldn’t make it through another night on my own. Not without Daemon by my side.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been staring into the burning flames of one of the candles I was holding in one hand and my sword tightly clenched in the other. The rain hadn’t stopped at all during the day and I didn’t believe it was going to stop throughout the night either. Hearing footsteps coming into the chambers I scrambled to my feet I spun around aiming my blade towards the shut window until someone put their hand over my mouth causing me to go into fight or flight mode. “Get your fucking hands off of me - gah!” I screamed attempting to cut the ghost with my blade.

“Gīda ilagon. Gīda ilagon, issa klios ābrazȳrys ( Calm down. Calm down, my fish wife ).” I sucked in a breath feeling the tension in my body beginning to fade recognizing the voice that spoke in my ear.

Closing my eyes I paused lowering my sword asking him a question. “Issi ao se vala nyke call issa zaldrīzes dārys? ( Are you the man I call my dragon king? ).”

Daemon’s voice whispered in my ear, hot breath framing on the side of my neck. “Kessa, issa byka ābrazȳrys ( Yes, my little wife ).”

“Daemon!” I squealed out in such a relief flinging my arms around his neck letting my sword clank to the floor without a care in the world knowing that he wasn’t in fact another ghost attempting to haunt my mind night after night.

He wrapped his arms around my waist clinging onto me like he needed me to physically breathe. He buried his nose into my hair barely letting some tears be shed from his eyes. “Y/n.”

Unaware of how long we had been there together we had come up with our own secret code system that we made sure no one else knew except for the two of us and us alone. He was fluent in high valyrian and very few people who weren’t a part of the Targaryen family could speak it. So he would teach me every chance he could when he wasn’t trying to raise an army for his queen and former wife Rhaenyra.

“Touch me, Daemon.” I muttered under my breath barely pulling away from his embrace. Needing just a tiny bit more proof that it was truly him.

He moved his hands up to cradle the sides of my face in his own hands , crashing his lips down onto mine in a very deep kiss leaving me breathless when he broke it. “I’m here, Y/n. Your dragon husband is right in front of you.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck I drew him in for another long kiss. He threaded one of his hands into my hair drawing out a moan from me. We remained attached to one another making our way back to the bed where I collapsed onto my back with him hovering above me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I went to kiss him but a loud knock came from the other side of the door. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

“I’ll go tell the asshole to leave.” Daemon got up from the bed, flinging the door opened seeing the caretaker of Harrenhal. “What the hell do you want this late hour!”

The man extended his hand holding out a letter. “A letter from Dragonstone, my king.”

“Who’s it from?” I asked him sliding down off the bed walking over to him, taking it from his hands and tearing it open. I began reading it aloud since Daemon seemed to be in no mood for any company tonight except for me. “Dear Daemon, I have been wondering how the search for men for my army is going. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard anything from you so this is me asking for an answer. I need more men to secure my throne and my birthright. Keep your word and loyalty to your queen and wife , Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“You’re first wife. She’s the one the late king Viserys named his rightful heir right?” I asked him sitting the letter down on the nearest table.

Daemon lowered his purple eyes to meet my gaze. “She’s actually my second wife. My first died on her horse, then her until the night I met you in this castle. I need to give her an army to help her take the throne back.”

“You’ll need the support of the Riverlords. House Tully controls how loyal they are. I can speak to Lord Grover for you.” I draped my arms over his neck and he put his hands on my hips bringing me closer to his body.

Daemon smiled widely down at me, kissing me deeply a second time not caring the lord was here. “Brilliant and beautiful I certainly won with you Lady Y/n Tully.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a fic with Jacaerys x sister! Reader where they are at a gala/feast and ppl keep flirting with reader so Jave gets jealous and stuff. So when they go to their room at the end of the feast Jace makes her ride his face and makes sure she’s loud enough for everyone to hear that she’s his.

warnings: typical canon incest, jace x sister!reader (father is not specified), no dance of the dragons au, 18+ minors DNI, jace hates aemond in every universe, everyone lives au!!!, jace eating u out like a man starved, nyra and daemon giving kris jenner vibes???, cursing, the targtowers and targaryens are besties (kind of)

For your younger brother Lucerys’s name day of ten and five, your family decided it would be best to throw a feast for him.

He was becoming older and would soon inherit Driftmark, he needed a celebration to show that he is becoming a man and no longer a mere child.

Since your mother became Queen and your older half-brother became her heir, many people were interested in the lives of the royal family, so Luke’s name day was flooded with people from all over Westeros.

You were all dolled up in a fancy gown, you hair was braided so elegantly and intricately, and you moved with such grace that most eyes were on you throughout the night.

Luke joked to Jace that you may be able to find a lord husband tonight, but at his suggestion, Jace tensed up and his face hardened.

You sat with your family at the elevated table, you mother was in the middle, Daemon next to her, his daughters on his side of the table, you sat between Jace and your mother, and then sat Luke, Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon.

You watched in awe at the celebration, only imagining how grand a wedding could be.

People danced, wore lavish clothing, gorged themselves in the food, and occasionally approached the table to offer up gifts to your brother for his name day.

It was about halfway through the night when highborn men started to approach you, which was uncommon up until recent.

Every since you had turned ten and eight, and became more developed in certain places, you were consistently approached for your hand.

Lord Oscar Tully was the first to approach your table, you smiled gently at him, knowing his new situation.

“Hello, Princess. You look lovely tonight.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, a dark color dusting your cheeks, he was quite the charmer, and not bad looking either, “Thank you, Lord Tully. I heard about your grandsire, I offer my deepest condolences.”

He nods solemnly, “Thank you, Princess. I may have lost my grandsire, but I have gained a deep power and a great kingdom… one I hope you will consider in your future.”

You smiled gently, “I heard the Riverlands are beautiful, I would most definitely love to see them someday. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I just wanted to come and offer you some company, if you’ll have me?”

You looked to your mother who smiled at you, knowingly. You looked back to the young lord and nodded, “I’d love to.”

You came around the table, taking his arm in yours as he led you to the floor to dance.

Jace’s gaze hardened and he downed his cup of wine, slamming it down on the table harsher than intended. Luke and Joffrey giggled at him, Viserys and Aegon following their older brothers’ actions.

Luke leaned over to his brother, “Careful, your face might get stuck like that.”

“Shut up, Luke.”

“I’m just saying…”

“He’s not good enough for her—”

“You say that about every man and I could hardly agree with you, most of the Riverlands looks to House Tully for direction and leadership; she would be in a great position there as their lady.”

“Do you want me to leave the table and kill myself?”

“All I am saying is that maybe you should focus on yourself instead of our sister… you need to wed as well, create heirs for the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jace rolled his eyes, “You sound like Mother.”

Rhaenyra whipped her head to her sons, “I think he is right, Jace.”

“Of course you do.”

“You are too invested in something that does not concern you Jacaerys. Perhaps you need to start looking for your own Lady Wife.”

“I do not wish to wed.”

“I hate to tell you, but your wishes do not matter to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jace sighed, moving his gaze back to you and Lord Tully. You smiled as the two of you danced. Jace’s jealously only grew as he watched.

Oscar Tully was not good enough for you, no one is good enough for you… except Jace himself.

As the song ended, a new one started. Luke left the table with Rhaena, Joffrey and the twins were led to their chambers to be put to bed, your mother was in an intent conversation with Corlys and Rhaenys, and you had just been approached by Gwyane Hightower.

From the look on Gwyane’s face, Jace knew Gwyane was being smug with you, he scoffed, thinking that you would never be charmed by him, but when he saw you smiling, standing too close for comfort to him, he almost puked his supper all over the floor.

You danced and flirted with Gwyane Hightower for a bit of the night, making Jace more and more jealous.

As you finished with Gwyane, you returned to your seat, a big smile on your face.

“Enjoy your dance?” Jace asked, venom lacing his tongue.

“I did, as a matter of fact, Gwyane is… such a lovely knight. He’s a knight… did you know?”

Before Jace could respond, you were hugged lightly from behind by Helaena. She kissed you gently on the cheek, “Quite the collection of suitors you have assembled tonight.”

You giggled lightly, “I know! Quite fun, to be honest.”

Jace grunted from beside you, making you and Helaena both turn to him, “Are you alright?”

“Just fine,” he held his lips in a thin tight line.

You went back to your conversation with Helaena about her uncle, Gwayne and Lord Tully, when you were finally met by another suitor.

“Sister. Niece. Nephew,” Aemond stood in front of you, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Uncle,” you looked at him with raised brows.

“I was just wondering if you would join me for a dance. I’ve seen all of these useless men that call themselves suitors and figured you needed a more distinguished partner, such as a prince.”

You blinked slowly at him, Helaena nudged you with a smile. You quickly glanced at Jace and thought he looked like he was about to roll over and die.

You stood and came around the table to meet him, you took his offered hand, “Let’s see how well you dance, Uncle.”

Helaena watched the two of you walk away, “A great pair, the two of them, they’ll be fantastic together,” she took a grape off your plate, popping it in her mouth and walking off.

This was Jace’s last straw, seeing you dance with Aemond might have been the most painful thing he’s ever done in his entire life. After watching for just a couple moments, he could not stand it any longer.

His mother rolled her eyes, watching him seethe, “Jace.”

“What?”

“Go get her.”

“What?”

“Go. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jace stood, rushing down to you and grabbing your arm, stealing you away from Aemond.

You followed him, shocked at the sudden behavior. He yanked you to his chambers, leaving the doors open.

Once in his room, you pulled away from him, “Jacaerys! What is the meaning of this?”

“You! You are the meaning of this!” His yelling made you take a step back, he stalked up, putting his hand on either side of your face, holding on tightly, “You think you can tease me like that? Taking any man who offered his hand?”

“Jace-”

“You know they are no good for you. They may be nobles, but are they heir to the Iron Throne? You are simply doing this to upset me.”

Your voice became small, “I did not mean to upset you.”

You could feel wetness pooling in your small clothes beneath your gown. He shoved his face into yours, harshly smashing his lips on yours.

You stumbled back at the forced, you pushed him back to take a breath and think about what you are doing. After a couple deep breaths, you rushed at him, nearly mounting him.

He groped and grasped at every part of you, you doing the same to him. His lips moved down to your neck, sucking lightly at it.

You threw your head back as his teeth grazed the sensitive area of your neck. The two of your shuffled your way to his bed.

“Jace… the doors, someone might see or hear.”

“I hope they do.”

“But—”

He pushed you on his bed, “I want them to hear how good your brother can make you feel, how they will never be me, how they will never taste you.”

He spread your legs, pulling off your underclothes. He grabbed your thighs, flipping you to straddle his face.

You fell forward, steadying yourself up with your hands. You pushed yourself up back in a sitting position.

Jace yanked at your legs, pulling you further down onto his face. You felt his nose buried into your cunt, rubbing against your sensitive bud.

You were about to voice your concerns about suffocating him, but you suddenly gasped out as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe down your maidenhood.

He thrusted his tongue in and out of you roughly, you screamed out for everyone in the hall to hear, “Gods! Jace!”

Visceral animalistic sounds came from the back of your throat, sounds you had never heard before.

In the hall, the attention of the crowds was taken by your yells, guards grabbed at their swords, you mother rose suddenly at your scream, Daemon was on his feet and ready for an oncoming attack.

One of Jace’s personal guards came rushing into the room to promise that no one was in danger and that the two of you were… together in his chambers.

Your mother and Daemon’s faces instantly reddened. They shared a look of embarrassment and pride. On one hand, as your parents, they wanted to kill you both, but as the Queen and King Consort, they knew the realm would be in their children’s hands at their demise.

Tears rolled down your face as Jace fucked you with his tongue. You had never felt such pleasures in your entire life. It made you understand why lowborn men seek out such endeavors at the disloyalty of their wives.

Jace couldn’t get enough of you. You tasted sweeter than anything that’s ever touched his tongue. His tongue moved faster as you panted, moaned, and groaned above him.

As his pace quickened, you felt a tight coiling in your lower stomach.

“Jace… fuck!”

At your vulgarity, he quickened his pace. You came fast and harder than you ever thought you could. Jace took all of your juices into his mouth, not leaving a drop of your sweet release.

You collapsed next to him, panting outrageously. He lay next to you, breathless, laughing to himself. You grabbed a pillow, hitting him the face with it. He took it from you, tossing it on the ground.

He came to hover over you, trapping you beneath his figure. You leaned down and kissed your lips gently, you could still taste your arousal on his lips.

You stared at him with a smile, “I suppose you think making the entire Keep believe we were under attack is funny?”

“It was not I that made them think we were under attack. If I am not mistaken, it was you screaming your head off.”

“You were the one who yanked me away from the celebration.”

“Yes, but you were the one who made me.”

You scoffed, sitting up against the headboard, “Made you?”

“Yes, dancing with that Tully, the fucking Hightower knight, and worse of all, Aemond.”

“Mmm, sounds like you are jealous?” You taunted him sarcastically.

“They are not deserving of you.”

“And you are?”

“I am the heir to the Iron Throne and your blood. I am the most deserving.”

“So are you suggesting I should become Queen one day?”

“Hmm, I do not remember offering my hand to you to wed…”

You hit him in the stomach with the back of your hand, “You just had the entire Seven Kingdoms hear my screams while you were buried up my dress. I would slaughter you and become the heir myself if you did not ask for my hand after that.”

He took your hand in his, kissing the back of your palm, “I shall talk to Mother in the morn.”

You stared at your intertwined hands, “We should return…”

“You think we are able to return after the little show we put on?”

“I suppose you are right,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He got up, leaving you on his bed. He walked to his chamber doors, locking them.

He returned to you, laying on his back, “Perhaps we should just rest now, we shall deal with our consequences tomorrow.”

You lay with him, resting your head on his chest, he brought his hand to rub your arm, coaxing you to sleep.

He pressed a couple kiss to your hairline, “You will be my wife soon enough, dōna tala.”

[trashcornertully]

Tully dumb thought: Dahlia Aquino should have more body hair sometimes. it's a nice colour it creates contrast. I am being normal and would feel very normal about it

[sorcerousundries]

Running just as fast as we can, Holding on to one another's hand.

Dragon-riding with Jacaerys

Inspired by I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany

Warnings: reader is a princess of house Arryn, reader is betrothed to Jace, Tyland Lannister slander, reader wears a dress, Jace is taller than reader

Translations: Naejot Māzīs - come forward | Sōvēs - fly

You felt eyes on you from the moment you stepped into the great hall, your mother and father walking dutifully by your side, your fingers gripping and fidgeting the silky sky blue of your dress.

Even during dinner you felt them as if they were trying to burning holes through your dress to look upon the skin underneath, you looked up during the dinner to try and catch the eyes of Jace with his dark curls and amber eyes but the view of him was blocked by Tyland Lannister, out of sheer politeness you had to disguise your disgusted sneer with a strained smile instead. You shivered as he looked away to gorge himself on the view of other unsuspecting noble ladies, you almost gagged at the image of his greasy hair and overly cocky expression.

Even after he had set his sights on a Tully lady you still felt the burning rays of eyes on you, everything felt tight and constricting. The embroidered falcons on your dress felt itchy, the hairstyle your handmaidens had pinned into your head was pulling at your scalp, your hands felt clammy.

You knew you had to leave the hall before you burst into tears, whispering to your mother, she nodded in understanding allowing you to go as you pushed your seat away from the table and darted through the side door leading onto the ramparts, you nearly smiled at thought of being away from the stuffy air of the great hall before your joy was cut short by the stench of sweat and must filled your nose, you couldn’t resist the scrunch of your nose.

“Where are you off to, if I may ask my lady?” He grins wryly, his breath worse than his body odour.

You force your mouth into a smile “I’m just in need of some fresh air, Ser Lannister” you grit through your teeth, he seems to not pick up on the strained nature of your words and extends his arm “well it would be l crude of me to allow a princess of the realm to freeze out on the ramparts, allow me to accompany you my lady” the pungent smell of his underarm sweat hits you in the face, forcing you to restrain your gag, “I’m afraid I have to decline, I am already betrothed, it would be inappropriate for me to take your arm”.

you hoped the prospect of you being betrothed would be enough for him to back away, men like him tended to only back away when another man was involved but you were wrong, he only let out a scoff “I’m sure your betrothed wouldn’t mind, after all he let a maiden as fair as yourself out into the cold of an autumns night alone”.

Your eye twitched at that before you could speak the familiar scent of salt and sea air with a touch of smoke surrounded you as you felt a firm shoulder bump yours and a hand snake around your waist “my apologies Ser Tyland but the lady has already asked me to accompany her” he speaks plainly, the politeness of his words covering the poison he spoke them with.

Tyland hummed “the apologies are all mine, I did not know that the princess was accompanied” liar, you thought gripping onto Jace’s sleeve, the silk material of his tunic grounding you.

He forces a smile, similar to how you did before escorting you around Tyland and through the doors, you take his hand in yours, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles.

“Are you alright” he asks, pulling you into him you walk, you smile “I’m better now, the thought of Tyland Lannister escorting me alone sends shivers down my spine” you reply, jittering at the end making him laugh.

“I meant at dinner, you looked like you were about to combust at any second” he says, his observant nature would never fail to stunt you, you open your mouth and shut it again, lost for words at being clocked immediately.

“I suppose it was getting a little..stuffy in there” you sigh, “I know the feeling, sometimes the only time I truly feel free is when I’m with you” he mumbles, his head leaning down to rest on yours before it shoots back up, “come with me” he says, interlacing his fingers with yours and darting off, you squeal at the sudden jerk of his arm pulling you, you struggle to keep up with him, his long legs eating up the ground as your shorter ones only take up half the space.

Your surroundings are blurs as they rush past, only when you finally stop and rest your hands on your knees do you realise where Jace has lead you. The dragon pit. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he walks a few steps and extends his hand to you, you take his hand and follow him down the cavern.

The pit is dark and almost gloomy a torch is lit every few paces but it doesn’t give much light in the cavern, you cling to jaces arm as you hear the growl and rumble of dragons.

He stops walking at an area of the pit and you stand behind him “Naejot Māzīs” he calls, you hear the rhythmic click of Vermax, you’ve seen the dragon from afar many times but never up close. You hear the shuffling of wings before he comes into the light, bigger than you remember. Heads taller than you now his green and red scales glinting in the light. He clicks affectionately at Jace.

“Will you fly with me?” He turns and asks you, his eyes seeking yours hopefully, you breathe in looking at the dragon, the idea of flying on a dragon was exciting to you but the anxieties still rushed through you..“yes” you agree. Jacaerys smiles, climbing onto Vermax’s saddle before extending his hand to you, you take it, climbing on and sitting behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and leaning your head onto his warm back.

He grips the reins “Sōvēs”, Vermax churrs, flapping his wings a few times before shooting upwards into the air, you feel the wind rush past you and clutch onto Jace tightly holding onto him as you feel Vermax tilt downwards before levelling out, Jace taps your arm and you reluctantly open your eyes.

The night stars twinkle above you as you feel the light spray of sea water beneath you, soaking the hem of your dress, your arms loosen as you look around, the castle blazing with light and figures dancing around the windows, you swear you can briefly see Tyland getting slapped in the face by a noble lady and you giggle, feeling the air rush past your face and muss your hair.

You lean forward planting a kiss on jaces cheek, “thank you” you feel his face warm at this before the stretch of his lips makes his cheeks push out “anytime” your heart warms at the little comment.

you don’t mind being stuck at overly fancy dinners if this is the end result.

[anyarose011]

Christmas Time is Here {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Christmas (FINALLY) has arrived! What better way to spend the day full of cheer than with your family (and the boy you previously didn't really care for until just a few days prior). It'd be better if you could spend it in Boston as well...

Part 7 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Making out, swearing, talk of sex, and jokes about pimping out one's father.

Heyyyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeeeee. So...okay, long story short, I got back from strudying abroad and have been using this summer to just readjust to America (it's been rough, low key). So I just want to apologize for the long wait, and I hope this chapter is worth it. Also, because the main characters in this story (reader and Angus) are minors, I WILL NOT be adding smut. Still, thank you guys so much for your patience!

Word Count: 6.4k

You thought you slept in at first, until you glanced at the clock on the nightstand and read ‘7:30am’. Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your face when the realization hit you: It was Christmas!

That’s what caused you to leap out of your bed and immediately look under it, pulling out the three horribly wrapped gifts in newspapers tied with a twine ribbon. Before you could do anything else, a light knock on the doorway made you flinch.

“Yeah?” You whispered.

“Are you decent?”

Giggling at Angus’ use of your words from last night, you said. “Not really, I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Get dressed, I wanna show you something.”

You snorted. “You’re not gonna kill me or something, are you?”

“No, but on an unrelated note, we’re going off campus.”

“Wait,” your face dropped. “seriously?”

He snickered. “No. It’s just in the theater.”

You shook your head. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

His footsteps echoed outside, and you decided to give him his gift early. After changing into a long-sleeved shirt and pants, then your socks and boots, you slipped out of the door whilst hiding the present behind your back.

“What’s behind your back?” Angus immediately asked once he saw you.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You teased. “It’s nothing.”

“Amy…”

Sighing overdramatically, you held out the gift. His eyes grew to the size of the moon (both things that you still think are beautiful) as he took it from you. “I…what is this?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “it’s a present, but you kind of have to open it to-.”

“-No, I mean…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want anything.”

“Hey-.”

“-Ordinary people say ‘thank you’ and open the damn thing.” You smirked.

He mirrored your expression before tearing the newspapers. It was almost funny to you how Angus Tully looked as if his breath was stolen from his lungs just at the sight of Little Women in his hands.

“This is yours.”

“Well, it’s yours now. That’s kind of how gifts work.”

“It’s your favorite though.”

“Who told you it’s my favorite?” You tilted your head, as if challenging him.

You’d never seen a face whiter than the snow outside. “I-I, um, shit.”

“No,” you shook your head. “you’re telling me you kiss me so hard my lips turned blue in the kitchen-!”

“-Hey, hey! Shut up!” He tried to be serious but only ended up laughing.

“But you can’t remember what my favorite book is?!”

Taking a deep breath, Angus then said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

A smile pulled onto your lips. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Thank you.” A giggle fell from you. “Oh god, I hope my dad didn’t hear that.”

“I checked his bed, he’s out somewhere.”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “escort me to the theater then.”

He grinned from ear to ear as he led you through the halls. Unashamedly, you were a bit disappointed; you wished he’d taken your hand. Still, despite the sun being out, to your knowledge, you were the only two people awake. You wouldn’t blame Mary for sleeping in, and it was Christmas, no way Danny would waste his time with you three; that man had family in Worcester.

When you and Angus made it to the theater, you both walked up the steps to the stage and after he set the book down on the floor, he leaned against the piano.

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Mr. Tully, you better not serenade me.”

“I’m not singing.” He tried not to smile.

“So, there is a God.”

“Quit it.” He snickered. “Sit down, I’m gonna teach you how to play the piano.”

Raising your brow, you said. “You told me you hadn’t played since you were ten.”

“I hadn’t taken lessons since I was ten. We have a piano back at home, so I still play sometimes.”

“Never here?”

“Never here. Come on.” he tilted his head to the bench.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down, placing your hands on the keys. Angus came to stand beside you. “Okay, you know the alphabet?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Perfect.” He scoffed, then pointed to the white keys. “So, you only have to know ‘A’ to ‘G’. If this,” he pressed the white key in the middle of the piano between two black keys. “is ‘D’, then what is this?” He hovered his finger above the white key to the right of it.

“E.” You said simply. “I do know that this ‘B’ key is out of tuned though.”

You reached over his arm and played the ‘C’ an octave above, bringing your face just a little closer to his. He smiled. “Okay smartass, you do know what the alphabet it.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know how to play anything, that’s all.”

Angus took your right hand in his hand (fucking finally), and brought your fingers to play the ‘E’ and ‘D#’ a few times before then ‘B’, ‘D’, ‘C’, and ‘A’.

“Know that one?” He asked.

“‘Fur Elise’.” You grinned at the name. “And you’re sure you wish I was your first kiss?”

He answered plain and simple. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you decided to keep toying with him. “what comes next? And I’m pretty sure I have to use my other hand at some point.”

You expected a retort from him, but he only went behind you and grabbed your left hand. Gently, he pressed his fingers over yours, and guided you to slowly play the piece by Beethoven. It was peaceful to say the least; well, as peaceful as it could be while your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest.

As his chest hovered against your back, you decided to soothe your own worries.

“Son of a bitch, you just wanted to hold my hand!” You teased.

The music stopped as he pressed his face against your shoulder while laughing. It should’ve made you uneasy how just at ease he was around you; but perhaps you both had already acted like this before you kissed. Perhaps, with only being around him for a week, you had come to know him as a close friend (even with how much you loathed him at first).

He took his head off your shoulder and looked at you, his nose practically against yours. “And what if I did?”

This was the part where you were supposed to say something smart in return and make him feel just a bit stupid. But…were his eyes always that brown and beautiful?

You were just a girl; no one should blame you for immediately throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

Luckily, unlike the night before, he was less surprised this time. His arms were around your waist, and whether he meant to or not, he pulled you down to the floor with him when his own legs gave out.

Still, even though the sudden shift of your body caused you to squeak out in surprise, your lips didn’t leave his as your hands soon carded through his hair, and his moved further down your hips.

“I don’t want to do anything more,” you said quickly between kisses. “I don’t want to do anything more!”

His lips moved down to your neck, one of his hands came back up to cradle your jaw tenderly. “Me neither.”

“Okay.” You answered, your voice slightly pitched as he kissed your neck. Angus laid you down as softly as he could on the stage and hovered above you; his kisses never leaving your skin. His hand found yours and held it above your head as he brought his lips back up to yours. Even with it being clumsy, nothing in your whole life had felt so…good.

You wondered just how anyone on earth could get anything done after being kissed like this for the first time.

Perhaps it is because they hear their father calling their name.

At the sound of your father’s voice echoing through the halls, you and Angus froze. With one look, you both immediately pulled away, and he got off you, sitting on the piano bench and putting his hands on the keys.

It was quite comedic how that was the first time you heard him play; and he was quite good at it.

Luckily, you managed to get up and lean against the piano the moment the door to the auditorium opened and soon slammed shut. Angus stopped playing, and you both looked up and saw your father, huffing as if to catch his breath from running around everywhere.

“Merry Christmas.” Were his first words, and after both you and Angus repeated his sentiment, he then asked. “Where the hell have you been?”

You shrugged. “Just here.”

His eyes traveled to you and then to Angus, who, like any nervous teen boy who’d nearly been caught after making out with the teacher’s daughter, waved. Your father simply nodded. “Well, come on. I have something to show you two.”

He left through the doors he came in, and after you and Angus glanced at each other, you both followed; Angus picking up the book of course. Your father took you both to the dining hall where Mary had been waiting, and proudly presented a frankly shabby Christmas tree with some wrapped gifts to you.

“No ornaments?” Angus asked.

“Oh,” your father sighed. “I’m sure we can round up some ornaments somewhere. Uh, now.” He picked up one of the gifts, handing it to Angus. “This is for you.”

The boy glanced up at him as if he handed him the best thing he could receive that day (next to your copy of Little Women of course). He tore it open, and it was revealed to be another book.

“‘Meditations.’” Your father read the title. “by Marcus Aurelius. For my money, it’s like the Bible, the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita all rolled up into one. And the best part is not one mention of God.”

Mary huffed, obviously not a fan.

“And this,” he handed her the other package under the tree. “is for you.”

She opened it, revealing another book of ‘Meditations’. “So, you just give this to everyone?”

“And.” He gave her the other gift under the tree; that being a horribly wrapped bottle of whiskey.

That got her to smile wide as she took it. Your father, grabbing the final package under the tree, then handed it to you. “Yes, it’s a book, no, it’s not ‘Meditations’.”

Smiling, you unwrapped it and stood absolutely still in shock before exploding into a cheer. “Where did you get this?! I couldn’t find even in Boston!”

“The day trip we took to New York for Thanksgiving? Found it while you wandered off in the bookstore.” He joked.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

“What is it?” Angus asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Maria,” you answered. “by Mary Wollstonecraft. She’s Mary Shelley’s mom.”

“Like, Frankenstein Mary Shelley?”

Oh, how much you wanted to kiss him just because he knew the author of a popular book. Still, you didn’t know how many men even knew a woman wrote one of the most iconic stories of all time. Still, your father and closest woman you had to a mother in years were watching you, so you settled on shoving him.

“That’s right; maybe you’re not that stupid.” Before he could verbally respond, you were almost out the door. “I got something for you guys, be right back!”

You felt like a little girl again as you ran through the halls and up the stairs into the infirmary room before taking the shittly wrapped presents off your bed. You slid down the main staircase railing before barging back into the dining hall where it looked like barely anything had changed.

“What was my time?” You asked your father, a huge smile on your face.

He gave a look. “You didn’t ask us to time you.”

“Happy Christmas.” You handed him his gift, then repeated the same action and sentiment to Mary.

Your father was the first one to open his, and a pleasant smile spread upon his face while holding it up to you; a coloring book of ancient Rome.

“How’d you know I wanted this?” He joked. He had perhaps almost every single book on Roman history, so you had to get creative.

You shrugged. “Oh, you wouldn’t stop talking about it, remember?”

Mary opened hers next, grinning from ear to ear once it was unwrapped. A pink pocket-sized prayer book. “How’d you know I lost mine?”

“Because you told me.”

She hugged you, pinching your cheek when she pulled away. “You’re an angel.”

“Oh, Angus,” Your father took the forgotten envelope out from under the tree, handing it to the boy beside you. “this came in the mail for you.”

He opened it, and glancing over his arm, you saw cash stuffed inside of the card with “Greetings of the Season and Best Wishes for a Happy New Year” printed inside, with the only written words being: “Love, Mom and Stanley.” Not any personalized notes or words of adoration anywhere to be found.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, give him any traditional sense of comfort; yet you weren’t ready to explain to your father and mother figure about the both of you…you weren’t dating, but you were something. So, instead, you merely pushed yourself against his side and acted annoying.

“Fuck, you’re loaded.” Mary scoldingly said your name, but you continued. “Well, he is! Yeesh, you should be paying off my father’s retirement if you hate him that much.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Emma Woodhouse.” You father rolled his eyes.

Angus, fortunately, snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Mary placed her hands on her hips. “now who’s hungry?”

As usual, the four of you had a lovely breakfast; although, this time, per Christmas tradition, you each had a little piece of chocolate with your pancakes she made. When helping her with the dishes, you saw that only one Christmas cookie you left out the night prior had remained.

When the dishes were done, you and Mary pulled the men into the teacher’s lounge.

“So why are we being held against out will?” Angus joked.

Your father sighed. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”

“And?”

“Charlie Brown!” You cheered, plopping yourself down on the carpet in front of the TV to turn it on.

“It’s the one tradition we have each Christmas,” your father explained and lowered his voice to Angus and Mary. “and one I wouldn’t mind getting rid of.”

“If you want to go drink alone while reading Agatha Christie, go ahead.” You announced, not turning to look at him as you flipped through the channels.

Mary and Angus merely laughed, and you proudly sat down on the couch. Your father mumbled incoherently, but before he could take a seat beside you, Mary grabbed his arm.

“Now, now, come help me make popcorn for the movie.”

Sighing, he let her lead him out of the teacher’s lounge and into the kitchen. Angus soon sat where your father would’ve if not for Mary. You smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He grinned, and there was silence (as always) between the two of you. One that was broken with. “Thank you.”

You tilted your head. “What for?”

“Just…” He laughed. “for liking me I guess. Also, for what you said about the stupid card and everything.”

Smiling, you glanced up to see if your father and Mary were close by. When you determined they weren’t, you took his face into your hands and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, dumbass.” You pulled away, looking back at the movie as little children start to sing Christmas Time is Here. “Just don’t bitch for the rest of the day.”

He snorted. “I’ll try my best.”

And he did. The four of you watched the movie, and after that, you and Angus went back up to the infirmary and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. Definitely not kissing at all; for sure not.

When you weren’t reading, you were either talking about stupid shit-.

“I thought I heard somewhere that plants can feel pain, do you think that’s true?” You asked, looking up at him while you laid at the end of his bed, your feet by his head.

“…I just want to thank you for letting me peek inside your mind and to see how weird it is.”

Or, surprisingly emotional conversations.

Angus nodded as he laid on the bed, you at his side. “Yeah, I mean…I had a good childhood, it just felt…weird sometimes.”

“I get it.” You rested your head on his shoulder as you both stared at the ceiling.

Still, it was perhaps the longest and most intimate interaction you ever had with a person up until then. How strange it was with a boy you hated only days ago.

Hours later, Mary called you both down for supper (luckily what was reheated from the previous night), and despite there only being four of you, you felt less lonely than when you had at the party. You sat beside Mary, not minding when the smoke of her cigarette tickled your nose.

“Thank you Mary,” your father smiled at her once he was finished. “that was just lovely.”

“Oh, is that an actual compliment?” You never heard Mary sound so surprised. He sighed heavily, and you didn’t bother holding back your laughter.

Angus set down his silverware. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real family Christmas like this. Christmas dinner, I mean, family style, out of the oven, all the trimmings. My mom always just orders in from Delmonico’s.”

Mary nodded. “She’s got the right idea. Next year, I’m ordering from Delmonico’s.”

“Anyway, thank you, Mary.”

She winked at him, then turned to you. “Well? You got something to say?”

You squinted your eyes mid-chew. After swallowing, you replied with. “The meat’s a bit raw, don’t you think?”

“Oh, none of that today!” She scolded you as everyone else giggled. “Ungrateful child on Christmas.”

“It’s great, Mary.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Your father rose a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my two unlikely companions on this snowy island, to my lovely daughter, and to our absent friends and family.” There was a pause much obviously for your mother and Curtis as if they were at the table with you. “I realize that none of us is here because he or she wants to be, so if there’s anything I can do to make the holidays a little cheerier for any of you, just say the word.”

“Copenhagen.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Try again next year, Josephine.”

Angus shrugged. “Boston.”

“Boston?” Your father wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Why not? I want a real Christmas. I want to go ice skating. I want to see a real Christmas tree with ornaments, not that stupid thing.”

That was what you couldn’t take (as a joke, obviously). “How dare you. You put some respect on that tree my father grew with his blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids.”

Whilst the adults groaned your name in disgust, Angus stared down at his plate, his body trembling with repressed laughter.

“You both said it was nice.” Your father reencountered.

“It is nice.” Mary defended.

Angus, after recovering from his amusement, continued. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s have a real holiday.”

 Your father huffed. “We’re not going to Boston. It’s out of the question.”

“You just told the kids ‘anything’. So, if Copenhagen doesn’t work, then why not Boston?” Mary argued.

“Mary, we’re not allowed to leave campus or the immediate environs.”

Well, it was your moment to shine. Now, here’s the trick: Usually, the ‘puppy dog eyes’ only work on parents from the ages of birth to nine. Sometimes, but not in your case, it can go on longer into the early 30s (that is, if your parents are total pushovers, or you’re a master manipulator). So, what do you do instead? Well, if it’s with your father, you do this:

Glance at him one last time as if to make a final plea, but then act as if you already know the answer and look down as if you’re trying not to show your sadness. You cannot be angry at all, just sad and disappointed so that he can assume you’re judging all of his life choices that he had made previously to lead him to this.

…It’s not easy, but it certainly gets you what you want (…there was like a 76% success rate last time you calculated it).

“But,” your father sighed upon looking at you and Angus. “I suppose we could call it a field trip. A field trip would fall under the ambit of additional academic pursuits. There’s even a fund set aside for additional academic pursuits.”

Despite him looking annoyed, you had a feeling deep down, he wouldn’t mind getting out of Barton. Angus gleefully rose out of his chair.

“I’ll go pack!”

You knew you couldn’t chase after him excitedly, so instead, you focused on your father.

“Now wait a minute,” you scowled. “so you not only listened but also let him persuade you into having us go to Boston, but you didn’t even bother with Copenhagen? That’s really sexist of you.”

He sighed, exhaustedly saying your name. “You’re a smart girl, so you should know that there’s a difference between a ten-hour flight across the world, and a-!” Of course he stopped when he saw your shit eating grin. “…and you’re a smart girl because you played me like a fiddle.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, papa!”

He waved you off with a smile as you gathered up your dishes and glass, then went into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. You dashed up the stairs to the infirmary, to which you were greeted by Angus’ arms entrapping you.

Laughing, you reciprocated. “Why’re you like this?”

“I’m just happy, is that so shocking?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away only to then cup your cheeks in his hands and bring your lips to his. You sigh into his mouth, kissing him back.

“Does it ever stop?” You asked between kisses.

“What?” He led you to lie on the bed.

“You kissing me all the time."

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” You meekly threatened, pulling him back down.

Neither of you started packing for another fifteen minutes; not until you heard your father’s footsteps in the hallway.

You surprised yourself by how well you slept that night. Usually, before an exciting day, you are restless. Yet, you actually jumped out of bed to get ready once your father came in to wake you up.

After a quick breakfast and an hour of waiting, the four of you were in the car on the way to Boston. A curse that you never thought possible is that you could not read in the car without throwing up; so, that forced Angus to read aloud (something that wasn’t a curse).

“‘That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn’t he?’ said Amy.”

“That’s not what Amy sounds like.” You said matter of factly, laying almost flat in the backseat.

Angus sighed. “Well, she does today.”

“Mr. Tully,” your father looked in the rearview mirror. “is she implying that Amy usually sounds different?”

You grinned. “Yes I am.”

“Oh?” Mary arched her brow in interest.

“I’m not doing a voice.” Angus immediately retaliated.

Sighing dramatically, you stuck your bottom lip out. “Just this one line? Please?”

He stared at you as if you had him under a spell; either that, or your face was a monstrosity so terrible he couldn’t look away. It’s nice to think the first one. So, breathing heavily through his nose, he pitched his voice up.

“‘That boy ith a perfect thyclops, ithn’t he?’ said Amy.”

Needless to say, the car erupted into laughter.

You can’t quite remember what else was discussed between the four of you on that long drive. All you can recall is that you never once felt sorrow or pain from your mother’s absence. It was…lovely actually.

Soon, the car stopped outside Peggy Lamb’s triple decker apartment in Roxbury neighborhood. You hadn’t been there since you were thirteen for Thanksgiving. When, after your mother passed, Mary and Curtis invited both you and your father to dinner for the holiday. Then, just all of a sudden (much like Miss Crane’s Christmas parties), you stopped going.

“Here we are.” Mary announced.

“That’s an awful lot of stairs…” Your father trailed off.

“Probably icy too…”

Nope, not going to give your kissing buddy (what was Angus Tully to you? What were you to him?) a clue.

“Mr. Tully.”

“Right.” He nodded once he finally took the hint from your dad. He smiled. “Mary, can I help you with your bags?”

“Yes, please.” She smiled, and Angus got out of the car.

You leaned against Mary’s seat. “Mary, may I help you with your bags.”

“You may.”

You heard your father prod at just why you would want to go into the cold air and help Angus carry the bags but paid him no mind. You did though when it was Angus who asked.

“What’re you doing out here?” He popped the trunk.

“Mary asked me to help too.” You pulled out the large suitcase with all your strength. “She knew your noodle arms couldn’t handle it all.”

Scoffing, he took the hatbox and closed the trunk. “Seems like you’re handling it perfectly.”

“Of course, I am.” You did your best to hide the ache in your arms already forming as you led the way.

Mary, with her window rolled down, stopped you at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, why’s she carrying the suitcase?”

“She said she could handle it.” Angus replied.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

“Yeah, Angus.” You taunted as if him only carrying the box was his idea.

This was certainly not the first nor the last time you’d make his jaw drop from your wittiness. Sighing, he held out his hand for the suitcase, and you traded it for the hatbox.

“And be careful with the box,” Mary called your name. “Knowing you, you’ll drop it.”

You just stuck your tongue out playfully and continued up the stairs, Angus lugging the suitcase. “What do you think she packed in here, rocks?”

“I’d tell you, but you’d make a joke about how much women need to pack even though ‘We’re only here for a few days’.” You said in an accent that any man with low self-esteem would deem offensive.

He scoffed, stopping on the first floor. “Yeah, maybe.”

You tutted. “Ah, ah, ah, one more floor up.”

“What?”

“Peggy lives on the top floor.”

Angus sighed all the air that was left in his body before taking a deep breath. “I should’ve let you carry the damn bag.”

“But ya didn’t.” You smirked, leading him, once again, up the stairs.

When you both finally got to the top, you didn’t even need to knock on the door before Peggy and her husband came out to greet you.

“Oh, my goodness!” Peggy wrapped her arms around you once you set the box down. “It’s been too long.”

You laughed, hugging her back. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away, but still holding your arms. “Never apologize, honey. And who’s this with you?”

Obviously, she was looking at the scraggly, 6’1 white boy behind you. Still, smiling, you introduced him.

“Angus; he goes to school at Barton and has been spending the holidays with us.”

“Aw,” Peggy shook his hand. “it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded, grinning. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” she looked at you. “where’s that sister of mine?”

You tilted your head over ledge, and she and her husband walked over, waving and calling Mary’s name. Peggy turned back to you.

“Well, it’s been great seeing you again. If you ever need anything, you’re always welcome here.”

You nodded, smiling unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a Happy New Year.”

She repeated the pleasantries and hugged you one final time before you and Angus started descending the stairs. When you passed by Mary, wishing her goodbye, she stopped you.

“Not yet, now you’ve gotta help me up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Angus offered her his arm. “sure thing.”

You resisted. “I already said hi to Peggy, am I excused?”

“I guess so.” She sighed as if you annoyed her.

Happy with her answer, you hugged her tightly and rushed into the front seat of the car, enjoying the warmth. In the corner of your eye, you saw your father arch his.

“You and Mr. Tully seem to be getting along finally.”

Glancing over, you nodded. “Yeah. He’s still a bit of an ass, but he’s not so bad.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Time.” You shrugged, hoping your years of (somewhat) lying paid off. “I guess forcing us together for a week in the cold really helps.”

He hummed, turning back to look at the front as if there was anything eye-catching about the road. Thankfully, it didn’t take Angus that long to walk Mary up the stairs, and he was soon in the back of the car.

Your father drove into the city centre of Boston, and parked outside of the hotel you three would be staying at. Of course, you had a room all to yourself (although, you only had a single bed and not a twin, but you were happy nonetheless).

After twenty minutes of getting situated, the three of you went out to explore the city (a city the three of you had been to multiple times but was still just as beautiful as the first day you saw it). You went through more parks you could count, streets that almost all looked the same but still something unique about each of them; it was just nice enough to walk and talk with your companions.

“Alright,” your father lit his pipe after the three of you had lunch. “it’s about one-thirty right now, what’s one thing everyone want to do today?”

“I have two things.” You said.

“One for now, Josephine.”

“Brattle’s Books.”

“Very good, even though you already have too many. Mr. Tully, what about you?”

He shrugged. “Just ice skating, honestly.”

“Wow.” your father released his breath. “I must say, I am impressed with how simple both your suggestions are.”

“What do you wanna do?” You asked.

“The Museum of Fine Arts, of course.” He began walking. You and Angus sighed as if it was the worst convenience in the world. Your father defended. “Oh, quit your bellyaching, both of you! This is still technically a field trip. Okay, what’s the second thing you want to do?” He asked you.

“A milkshake and fries.”

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose. “That disgusting concoction, is it?”

“Yes, and it’s not disgusting, you’re just a picky eater.”

Angus chimed in. “It doesn’t sound that appealing.”

“Who asked you?” You questioned.

Your argument ended there as the three of you made the journey to Brattle’s Book Store. Just as you did in the car, you talked about nothing and everything at the same time; perhaps that’s why those little moments of transitioning matter the most to you.

When you made it to Brattle’s, you spent a little time inside the actual store, but more of it outside in the large empty space between the two buildings. It was like it was another floor on the old bookstore, several upon several shelves hugging the walls, and smaller ones creating aisles on the floor.

You primarily were by yourself, keeping a mental list of more books to buy for later, and lose yourself quickly in between the pages and old smell of them. You hadn’t even noticed it’d begun to snow until Angus was beside you.

“So, you’re telling me it couldn’t have snowed all the times we were indoors?” He joked.

You looked up. “Of course not, God’s angry at us.”

“Why?”

Smirking, you nudged him. “Kissing outside of wedlock.”

“The worst of all sins.” He played along.

“Above heresy, even.”

“Hi there handsome,” a woman’s voice penetrated the air. “got a cigarette?”

Neither of you wanted to turn around to see who she was talking to (or acknowledge her if she was talking to Angus). So, communicating with just one look, you stayed put.

“No, sorry. I smoke a pipe.”

Well, so much for staying still. At the sound of your father’s answer, both you and Angus turned slowly. A woman with red hair tied up in a messy bun wearing the ugliest shade of yellow and a raggedy fur coat graced your presence.

“How about a date, then?” She tried again. “You want a date?”

“No thank you.” He took the pipe out, smiling nervously.

“Oh, come on, let’s go somewhere warm!”

“Go ahead.” Angus teased. “We can wait here.”

Jaw on the floor, you couldn’t even say anything at first.

“See?” The woman stuck her hands in her pockets. “They can wait here, read some books. They don’t mind if daddy gets a little candy cane.”

“Thank you, but I never really liked candy canes.” Your father picked up a book. “Plus, I’m prediabetic.”

She scowled, and turned over her shoulder, leaving. Angus leaned over the bookshelf in between the two of you and your father.

“You know, if you do want a little candy cane, I won’t tell anyone.”

You swatted him, finally. “Stop trying to pimp out my father, you…you…”

“What?” He grinned from ear to ear. “What am I?”

“Papa, cover your ears.” You looked at him.

“Mister Tully,” he said instead. “for most people, sex is ninety-nine percent friction and one percent good-will. Call me old fashioned, but I place value on physical intimacy, and so should you two.”

“I never-!”

“-You know,” Angus interrupted. “if it wasn’t for your kid in front of me right now, I would’ve thought you never had sex.”

Again, you struck him; this time, enough to leave a bruise.

“Ow!” He cradled his arm.

“You know,” you used his words. “if it wasn’t for your mom sending you to private school, I would’ve thought you were a cheap, common whore.”

Instead of scolding you, your father laughed. It’s not as if he never did, it was always just...a rarity and almost a blessing to hear him be so carefree.

“Mr. Tully, cover my daughter’s ears, would you?”

Angus followed through and you let him.

“Believe it or not,” your father continued. “there was a time when the fire in my loins burned white hot.”

“You’re full of shit.” Angus snickered.

“No, the details would curl your toes.”

“Okay, then let’s hear.”

He shook his head. “Whatever happened between my wife and I is none of your business; especially our daughter’s.”

“She can’t hear anything.”

“Yes, I can.”

His hands left your ears, leading both men to laugh. Nothing more was (thankfully) said about your father and mother’s sex life. It was after another ten minutes outside when your father announced it was time to go; not before having to use the bookstore’s bathroom. So, that left you and Agnus by yourselves for the first time since arriving.

“You’re horrible.” You playfully kicked his feet.

“You hit me!”

“You deserved it. God, you’re such a man.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, with a smile, he reached into his coat pocket and brought something out. In his hands, he held a somewhat worn copy of The Little Prince, and two different colored ribbons.

Freezing where you stood, you could only stare at them. “What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Looking up at him, your parted lips couldn’t form words to express just the…surprise of it all. So, Angus continued.

“I bought it; the book at least. I found it inside, asked your dad for the money so I could get it for you, and that was it. The-the ribbons, I got one that was your favorite color, but then I remembered my mom would talk about how there’s some colors that look better in a girl’s hair, so I got one I thought-.”

You threw your arms around Angus and held him so close to you people would think you were using him for warmth. He froze at first before immediately melting into your embrace. You brought his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling away and taking the gifts into your hands.

“Holy shit…you’re too sweet.” You giggled, flipping through the book.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you like it?”

“I love it, you idiot.”

“And if you find the book at your house when you go back-.”

“-I’ll keep this one too.” you cut him off. “You’re thoughtful, you know that?”

Angus stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking the snow at his feet. “It’s nothing.”

“Fuck you, it’s everything.”

“Well,” he shrugged, smiling. “since you said it so eloquently.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful grin, then held up the colored ribbon he deemed (and was correct about) would look good in your hair. “Can you put this one on, please?”

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “sure.”

You handed it to him, turning around. It wasn’t the first time he put his hands in your hair, but this time, with your back to him, it felt strange. Strange in a good way, but perhaps there wasn’t anything sensual about it, it felt that way.

And it was nice.

The feeling of it anyway; other than that, he had no idea what he was doing.

“What do you want it as?” He asked.

“Half-up, half-down.” You took a hair tie off your wrist, holding it our for him.

“What?”

“Like, instead of an actual ponytail, just make the top of my hair one, and leave the rest down.”

You didn’t even have to look at this man to know there was nothing going on inside his head trying to figure out what the hell you just said.

Thankfully, your father came out of the store.

“And what’s going on here?”

Angus looked over his shoulder. “I uh…”

“Step aside please, Mr. Tully.”

He did, and your father snatched the hair tie you were holding. “Half-up, half-down?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded.

“Do you know how to braid hair, Angus?” He asked, tying the hair tie around the ponytail he made.

“No.”

He hummed disapprovingly, sliding the ribbon into the hair tie and beginning to make a bow. “You should; it’s quite an important skill for a man.”

[prozacwhorehouse]

begging for something soft and sweet with angus. maybe a lil smutty because he's so needy and he just wants to feel... but like... shakjhdkfl i'm begging for fics or drabbles or anythign FEED US

a little something for my angus fans 🔥🔥 teensy weensy bit of smut if you squint

“christ, angus!” you whisper yell at him, pulling him by the arm into your room, carefully shutting the door behind you. “it’s the middle of the night,” you speak softly now, your tone tinged with annoyance.

“i know, i know,” he rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets before plopping down on the end of your stiff school issued mattress - no matter how many blankets you piled on top couldn’t shake the feeling of sleeping on plastic. “I just wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” he smirks, raising his eyebrows at you, jutting his pocketed hands outwards as far as his jacket will let him in defense.

“whatever, tully,” you plop down next to him, smoothing your nightgown. “your life, your demerits.” he huffs a laugh, playfully rolling his eyes and softly nudging you. you meet each others eyes, you’re seated so perfectly on the edge of the bed, so angelic, the way the moonlight is illuminating your figure through the window, snow falling outside- he just can’t help himself. he learns in, pressing a kiss to your lips. your hands move to his shoulders, his release from his pockets to plant comfortably on your waist. you bring one leg up on the bed, making it easier to face angus. he tugs on your thigh, pulling you into his lap, knees straddling both sides. your hands thread through his curls while his hand snakes up under your nightgown.

“careful, tully,” you tease. he hums and catches your lips again, swallowing your soft moan as his rolls his fingers over your nipple. as much as you’d love to play, the Christmas party was rough for everyone. sleep was the only thing on your mind.

“If that’s all, I’d really like to go to bed now,” you whisper. he softly groans at the loss of contact, reaching back out for you.

“can i stay? I’ll be out before wake up call. scouts honor,” he puts a hand over his heart and the other pledging beside him.

“angus..” you begin to protest.

“I said scouts honor! can’t break that,” he raises a brow, and of course, you give in.

“fine, you freak,” you crawl to the top of the bed, flipping over the covers. you playfully groan, “get in.”

he slides under no hesitation. your back is pressed to his stomach, his arm snaked around your waist. you interlock fingers with his hand that finds yours, resting comfortably against your chest.

“I really like you,” he mutters into the back of your neck.

“I’d hope so. youre in my bed.” his laugh tickles your neck, the last moment before you drift off to sleep in his arms.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.�� Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

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[moolovesyou]

finals week | angus tully x reader

a/n: just finished my last final, i have a massive headache, but i must do this or else the voices in my head will get me.

s: its time for finals and angus tully is not a very good study buddy.

w: sex mention, no actual smut.

wc: 1.7k

"Angus Tully, I swear to god if you don't walk away in five seconds, I will hurt you in ways the KGB couldn't even imagine."

You were just trying to study. You went the full mile, going to the public library for complete and utter silence. Unfortunately, Angus had spotted you from the Barton courtyard and followed you with the false intention of "also studying".

You rubbed your temples, staring at the chemistry book intensely in hopes it'll radiate into your skull. You could feel Angus's stare on you from across the table.

"I just wanted a pencil." He mumbled, scratching his scalp and adjusting his curls. "If I don't have one then I can't work, and then I really won't shut up."

You groaned loudly, erupting a sharp 'shhhh!' from the librarian on the other side of the library. You reached into your bag, grabbing a particularly dull pencil and basically launching it at Angus. He picked it up, analyzing the lead tip.

"This-"

You glanced at him with a glare that no curse word could've amounted to. With a single lift of your finger, you pointed him to the pencil sharpener on the wall, never taking your eyes off of your book.

"Thanks, angel." Angus winked obnoxiously.

You and Angus had a weird relationship. He would call you every pet name in the book and behave all chivalrous, opening doors and giving you his seat at fundraisers. You were a blushing mess all the time. You weren't as straightforward as him, but you had your ways. Angus would get flustered whenever you touched his hair or wore your uniform with one or two buttons left unbuttoned on purpose.

You two had something going on, but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it. Especially not now, during finals week. However, you couldn't deny the cloudy fuzz of seductiveness forming in your brain. When you were supposed to be thinking about atoms, you were thinking about Tully.

You looked up from your book with curiosity. It had been too quiet. Angus was stood at the pencil sharpener, standing incredibly still, staring at you with wide eyes. As soon as you noticed him, he perked up. He was waiting for you to look. He signaled the sharpness of the pencil, pretending to stab himself with it. He sprawled his hands out, leaning against the wall with a small 'thud'.

You couldn't hold the small chuckle from your lips. It egged him on. He sprung from his feet, marching stiffly like the royal guards to his seat in front of you.

"Are you gonna study now?" You scoffed, a small smirk playing on your lips.

He pursed his lips. They were chapped and slightly red from how much he chewed on them.

"Sure." He looked down at his book, realizing it was upside down, and proceeded to flip it and open to the first page. Not even one second past, before he opened his mouth again. "Can you help me here?"

"First of all, you are astonishingly smart. We both know this. Second of all, that's the table of contents." You sighed.

He nodded as if he was still trying to understand.

"Oh, you misunderstood." Angus reached forward, grabbing your free hand. He brought it to his chest and placed it directly over his heart. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. "I need your help here."

You could feel the thumps of his heart. Thump, thump. It was a speedy rhythm, which makes sense because Angus uses his nerves to deliver comebacks that George Carlin would holler at.

You grinned, "Oh my, yes you do." You spoke in a sarcastic, yet sultry tone. "Your heartrate is irregular. I reckon you have 1 more hour to live if the heart attack gets to you before I do."

He laughed, dropping your hand to the table. You faced your attention back to your book, writing your notes on your journal beside you. You had finished the chapter on the atomic structure, finally feeling some sense of relief. All that's left is the periodic table.

From under the table, Angus inched his foot closer to yours. He nudged your shoe slightly, then shoved it forcefully. You narrowed your gaze at him, moving your chair backwards for more legroom. It didn't seem to matter as Angus kept nudging you with his feet, trying to pull you forward by clamping one foot in between his legs and yanking backwards.

The chair screeched loudly and you almost slipped off your chair. Another 'shhhhhhhhh!' was heard, this time uttered with more silent rage.

Your gazes connected. His face was plastered with this look of feigned innocence. His face tilted forward, resting on the palm of his hand. He looked at you through his lashes, darting his tongue out to lick his lips. A small smile grew on his face. If he wants to play, we'll play. You took your chances and slammed your foot in between his thighs. Of course, you didn't actually castrate him right then and there, kicking low enough to hit the wooden chair. Yet, he took the message, immediately sitting up straight with a red tint all over his face.

You continued with your studying. The words were blurring together. Lectures were more your thing. Nothing was retaining. Every morsel of information was blocked by a big wall of boredom. It was frustrating.

From in front of you, Angus could tell you were struggling. He was going to offer to help, but his hubris urged him to push you to come to him for help. It was diabolical, but you were going to break soon. You just needed one more push.

You turned the page, pinching the bridge of your nose anxiously. Your brain felt like a foggy, humid morning. Then, interrupting the beautiful 6 minutes of silence since Angus spoke, a whistle. A whistle in the tune of 'Build Me Up Buttercup' by The Foundations. A song Angus listened to and thought of you so much that he began to taunt you with it.

It started off slow and barely above a whisper. But then, it grew gradually. He looked everywhere but you, minding his business. It got so loud you were about to call over the librarian like she was the national guard.

Then, it happened. You snapped.

You lunged your hand forward, scrunching Angus's cheeks together. The whistling stopped abruptly. His brown eyes widened. With your other hand, you reached it forward slowly. It hovered over his pencil, before you flicked it off. It rolled under the desk.

You kept your hand on his face, preventing any cheeky quip from spewing out. Your eyes never left his. He kept glancing between your face and your hand, as it moved over to your pencil. You picked it up slowly, raising it in the air, before dropping it to the floor.

"Oops."

You gave him one last glance before letting go of his face. You stood from your chair crouching down under the table. Angus practically threw himself off of his chair, banging his head on the desk in the process. He was on his hands and knees, trying to fit in the small space. You sat still.

Even in the dark, you could see the paleness of his face and that sculpture-worthy nose. Many times you just wanted to trace his nose with your finger. His eyes flickered between your face and the floor.

"Is this it? Are we doing it? I don't have a condom but I can pull out." He nodded excitedly.

"I needed a private place to hurt you. I want to pass this test before I get arrested." You gritted your teeth, picking up your pencil and holding it to his neck.

"Are you sure that's all you wanted to do? With the way your hands were on me, I think we could've covered a few more bases, angel."

Your lips formed a thin line, rage dissipating into exhaustion. You brought your knees to your chest, hugging your legs.

"I can't do this. I accept defeat. I'm gonna fail." You spoke with monotone.

Angus scooched closer, "Hey, you're gonna pass." He rested his slim hand on your knee, rubbing it softly. His act had dropped, he couldn't stand seeing you like this. "You're so smart, you're just a little tired. I can help you."

"Really?" You raised your head. Angus nodded with a smile, tilting his head cutely. His curls covered his face slightly. "I owe you."

"You don't have to do anything." He said in a soft whisper, eyes never leaving yours, sending pangs of exhilaration into your heart.

You bit your lip.

"What if I want to?"

He sat up immediately, hitting his head on the bottom of the table. He hissed, rubbing his scalp.

"Angus Tully," You leaned forward and you could feel his breath on your face. "If you help me, I'll go on a date with you."

"Really?" His face lit up, eyes squinting as his grin covered his whole face. "Next Friday? After finals?"

You nodded.

"Seal the deal." You whispered.

He put his hand forward, but you pushed it back down. He glanced back at you, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You leaned forward slightly, hoping he would take the hit. Angus let out a single nervous exhale through his nose, before closing the small gap slowly. Your lips interlocked for a soft kiss. His chapped lips were smooth and meshed with yours perfectly. You reached your hand forward, placing it onto the back of his skull. You scratched his head, and he leaned impossibly forward, applying pressure with more fervor.

You both leaned back, faces red with blush.

"Careful, before they actually think we're having sex." I warned. He ruffled his curls nervously, playing with the tie around his neck.

You handed him his pencil that had been forgotten. The both of you popped out from under the desk, earning a few curious glances from other studying patrons.

Angus hurried over to your side of the desk. He scooted his chair as close as possible to you. Your shoulders and knees touched. The two of you couldn't stop the smiles from showing on your faces.

"So, chemical reactions, huh?"