#Richard Armitage is FINE to this day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

legolasbadass · 9 months ago

Text

Office Hours, Part 31

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: E

A/N: Hi everyone! It feels like I blinked and suddenly I haven't updated this story in over 7 months, ooops 🙈 I moved abroad and went back to school in September to start a postgraduate degree, so I've had very little time to write over the past few months. I hope you can all forgive me and are still interested in Lorelei and Richard's story! If you are, I've tried to make this chapter extra special... 😈

Before I know it, the spring break is over, and I am drowning in emails, deadlines, and assignments to correct. Thankfully, however, the telltale signs of summer bloom across Oxford as the term unfolds. The air, once crisp, now carries a gentle warmth, accompanied by the hum of bees and the fragrance of blooming flowers along the banks of the River Cherwell, which beckons scholars and locals alike to punting excursions. Days lengthen, inviting late-night strolls through narrow cobblestone streets while the evening sky blends into hues of soft pastels. The fast-approaching exams threaten the leisurely atmosphere of the city, but when I walk through the sunlit streets with Richard’s hand holding onto mine, I feel as though time stands still; there are no exams, no piles of unmarked essays on my desk, and Richard is here, and he is not leaving. Not now. Not ever.

I try to be happy and excited for him—I am—but with each passing day, it becomes harder and harder to imagine being thousands of miles away from each other. But we have many things to look forward to; in a few days, we will officially be on summer holiday, and I will move in with Richard. That is what I need to focus on. His imminent departure looms over us, but it does not change the fact that we love each other and are determined to make this work. A year ago, I was offered a lecturer post at Exeter College. It was more than I had ever dreamed of, and I thought life could not get any better. Little did I know I would meet Richard and fall in love with him. The past few months have been a whirlwind, and it still surprises me how fast things have progressed between Richard and me—how quickly he has come to mean the world to me. The thought of losing him terrifies me, but we have been through so much already, so I have to believe that we can get through this next year.

“Lorelei?” A knock and a familiar rumbling voice pull me back to the present moment.

Richard stands in the doorway to my office, one hand resting against the aged wooden frame as he smiles at me. The unbuttoned collar of his white shirt draws my attention to his throat and the patch of hair peeking through. Just like the first time we met.

“Hey,” I say with a smile.

“Lost track of time?”

“What?”

“It’s half past four.”

“Oh,” I breathe out as I glance at the time on my phone. “Sorry—I completely lost track of time, yeah. Hope you haven’t been waiting for me too long.”

Richard shakes his head as I throw my laptop and notebooks into my bag, then rush to the door, but he blocks the way with his arm. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, smiling at the concern in his voice. “Just have a lot of things on my mind.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the tender look in his eyes tells me he is thinking of kissing me, but the hallways are busy with students and professors, all rejoicing at the end of the term.

“Good or bad things?” he asks, his hand lingering on my jaw for a moment longer than it should in this environment.

“A little bit of both,” I reply, but when he merely continues to watch me, I sigh. “There’s still so much to do before the move. I haven’t packed any of my clothes or anything from the kitchen—”

“Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you pack. Don’t worry about that.” I nod and offer him a grateful smile. Then he frowns. “That’s not what’s bothering you.”

Sometimes, I wish he did not know me so well. “It’s just the move combined with research deadlines and all the exams I’ll have to correct in a few days,” I say, not wanting to bring up the true cause of my discomfort. I do not want him to feel guilty—he should be excited about this research opportunity, and he deserves nothing less than my unwavering support. “Have you gotten any news on that flat you were interested in?” I ask a few moments later as I lock the door to my office before walking towards the main staircase, trying to appear unphased.

“Not yet, but it’s still early in Boston so maybe I’ll get some news later.”

“Right,” I say with a smile, but it hits me all over again that we will not only be separated by an ocean but by time as well, and the thought of needing to wait hours for a text or call from him when he wakes up each day claws are my heart.

“So I told Michael about Harvard’s offer.”

“How did he take it?” I ask, knowing this was difficult for him as they have been friends and colleagues for many years.

“He took it well. I mean—it’s not like he could do anything if he didn’t like the idea of me leaving for a year; I’m allowed to take time off from teaching for research. That being said, he told me he was happy for me and that it would be great for the department and the college to have one of their professors working with a famous scholar like Stanley Griffin.”

“Just as great as it is for Harvard to have one of their professors working with you, I imagine,” I say, looking up at him.

Richard chuckles skeptically. “Lorelei, he’s Stanley Griffin.” He speaks the scholar's name almost as if he were talking about Shakespeare himself. “His anthologies are used in most English departments.”

“Well, only one of you is a professor at what is arguably the most prestigious university in the world.”

“I guess,” he replies with a sheepish smile that warms my heart.

The sun burns bright in the sky above the dreaming spires, casting long shadows on the cobblestone beneath our feet as we walk through the main quadrangle toward Broad Street. All around us, students rejoice in their newfound freedom, lounging at cafes, iced coffees in hand, discussing summer plans while cyclists whizz by, their wheels clicking against the cobbled paths.

“I can’t believe it’s so warm and sunny today and we have to spend the whole evening indoors for the staff party,” I groan as I step into Richard’s car, throwing my bag on the backseat.

“We don’t have to go,” he says, closing his door and buckling his seatbelt.

“Of course we have to go.”

“Lorelei, these things tend to be really dull. They call it a party but it’s just a room full of tired academics who’d rather be at home or locked in their offices, and they serve ridiculous canapés that leave you starving at the end of the evening. Although, admittedly, there’s always an open bar.”

“Alright, then let’s stop and get burgers on the way and stay close to the bar for the duration of the not-so-party party.” Richard chuckles as he steers out of the parking spot. “Come on, our presence is expected. And it might be the last time you get to see some of our colleagues before you leave.”

He does not say anything for a while, then he reaches out to squeeze my thigh, and I know he, too, is thinking of the long months of loneliness ahead.

In an attempt to change his mind, I intertwine our fingers and smirk as I say, in a light, sing-songy voice, “I bought a new dress for the occasion that I think you’ll really like. It’s navy, and sleeveless—I just hope it’s not too short…”

Richard shakes his head but fails to hide his smile. “I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” As we stop at a red light, Richard notices my expression and sighs. “Alright, let’s go to the stupid party—but we’re not staying too late.”

***

It took longer than expected to get ready at my flat. Despite agreeing to attend the event, Richard prevented me from getting dressed with languid kisses and lingering caresses, but eventually, we managed to tear ourselves from each other and leave.

The city is submerged in the sun’s golden farewell to the day when Richard and I arrive at an imposing, Jacobean-style mansion near The Queen’s College, and as we walk through the tall wooden doors and into the main hall, I cannot help but gasp and look up at the ceiling high above us, causing Richard to chuckle.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, squeezing my hand as he leads me toward the grand staircase.

I nod. “I think I’d prefer to just walk around the building instead of going to the party,” I begin playfully, but Richard shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, letting go of my hand to hold my back and push me forward. “You practically dragged me to this thing so you better not leave me for even a second.”

I bite back a smile. “What if I need to go to the loo?”

Richard chuckles. “Okay, you’re not leaving me except to go to the loo.”

The hubbub of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air as we step into the grand room lit by the setting sun and the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. I spot familiar faces in the crowd while we make our way to the bar, but most people I do not know, so I am grateful for Richard’s reassuring presence, and I already dread having to attend events like these without him next year.

“So here we are,” Richard says dispassionately after we order drinks. “Now do you believe me for saying these things are boring?”

I shake my head in amusement, then bite my lips, suddenly feeling shy.

“What is it, sweetheart? You’re blushing,” he points out with a curious smile.

Hesitantly, I lean in and speak in a soft voice only he can hear. “Would it be less boring if I told you I’m not wearing knickers?”

Richard laughs, but then he catches my eyes and gulps heavily. “Are you—you’re really not—?”

I shake my head, slowly gaining confidence as his eyes darken. He laughs again, the sound deeper and hoarser, telling me exactly how he feels about my styling choice.

“This is a work event!” he playfully chastises me, and I giggle as he brings a hand to my back.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure this party wasn’t too dull for your tastes.”

He smirks. “I now suspect I’ll be feeling unwell or tired rather soon and you’ll have to bring me home earlier than planned.”

“Oh, yes? And how will we spend the rest of the evening once we’re back home?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Well, for starters, you’ll take off that lovely dress and bend over—”

Heat rises up my neck, and I nearly choke on my drink when, just at that moment, someone calls out to us, forcing us to pull apart suddenly.

“Richard, Lorelei!” Professor Bennett greets us with a kind smile. “I was beginning to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t be joining us.”

Richard glances at me, a cheeky grin illuminating his slightly red face, before turning back to Professor Bennett. “Last-minute outfit crisis,” he replies teasingly, squeezing my waist.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the tingling in my belly caused by his last words to me.

“And this is what you landed on?” Professor Bennett says playfully as he looks Richard up and down, causing me to laugh.

“Well, not everyone has your fashion sense, Michael,” Richard responds with a chuckle.

“Maybe we should start being evaluated on that; that way, I might stand a chance against you and win the teaching award for once.”

Smiling, I look up at Richard and then back at Professor Bennett. “Richard was voted favourite Professor again?”

“He sure was!” he says, raising his glass to Richard.

“How amazing!” I exclaim, momentarily resting my hand on Richard’s chest. “Congrats, love!”

Richard’s grateful smile is made all the more endearing by the faint blush blooming on his cheeks.

“But don’t tell anyone—I haven’t sent out the official announcement yet.”

Professor Bennett then turns to greet a passing colleague, so I lean into Richard. “I know one person who for sure voted for you,” I whisper with a teasing smile, thinking of Jane Taylor and the stars in her eyes when she speaks to him.

“Shut up,” he responds, though he fails to hide his smirk as he pinches my waist, causing me to giggle.

“Hey, there you are!” Natasha’s familiar voice interrupts us, and I turn to see her squeezing her way around a couple of Ph.D. students. We all greet her, but then she notices Richard and seems to hesitate for a second before she says, “Apparently, congratulations are in order!” Richard smiles shyly. “Working with Stanley Griffin—that’s exciting!”

“Yeah, it is,” Richard replies with a nod, though he momentarily tightens his hold on me.

“I must say, thank God for you, Lorelei,” Professor Bennett begins, causing me to frown in curiosity, “under different circumstances, I’d be worried about losing Richard to Harvard forever, but I know as long as you’re in Oxford, he’ll be coming back,” he says with a fond smile.

I chuckle, then try to come up with a playful response, but I cannot ignore the heaviness in my heart. How can I miss him already when he is still here, holding me tight?

Thankfully, Richard steps in. “Don’t worry, Michael, you won’t even get a chance to miss me. I’ll be coming back periodically to check in on my postgrad students—that sort of thing…”

“Yes, sure. For the students, of course,” Professor Bennett says teasingly, and from the corner of my eyes, I notice Richard staring at me longingly, and heat rises to my cheeks.

As they continue to joke around, Natasha catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her. I reassure Richard I will be right back, then step aside, concerned by the frown on her face.

Once we are far enough from the others, she reached out to caress my arm and asks, “How are you feeling?”

I gulp, suddenly understanding her previous hesitation. “I’m fine.”

She nods slowly, biting on her lower lip. “So he’s leaving for a year…”

I nod, struggling to gather the strength to respond in words.

“That must be really tough for you.”

“Yeah, it is, but… we’ll make it work.”

“So you guys aren’t—aren’t breaking up or anything, are you?”

“Oh, no!”

She lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! When I heard the news earlier today all I could think of was…” She trails off and laughs nervously. “You guys can make it work. I know you can.”

I smile. “Yeah, I hope so.” Then my smile widens. “Actually, I’m moving in with him.”

“Really?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up in genuine happiness.

“Yes! We want to make the most of the time we have together before he leaves, and this makes it a little easier to reassure ourselves that we’ll get through this together.”

Natasha nods and squeezes my arm. “I’m so happy for you two!”

“Thanks,” I reply, grateful for her friendship. Then I notice Richard eyeing me from the bar, but before I can say anything, Natasha smiles in understanding.

“Alright, go back to your man,” she teases. “I just really wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll go see if I can find Sarah somewhere.”

I give Natasha a quick hug before making my way back toward Richard, who is now conversing with two men I do not know. As soon as he notices me, he excuses himself from the conversation and, wrapping one arm around my waist, pulls me slightly to the side of the bar, away from prying ears.

“Everything okay?” he asks in concern.

“Yeah, Natasha just wanted to check in and make sure I was alright given… you know…”

Richard nods, then looks down at me with an exaggerated pout. “You left me alone when you said you wouldn’t.”

“So needy,” I tease as I rest a hand against his solid chest, my fingers absently playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “You were talking with Michael so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, new rule: when we’re at an event and you tell me you’re not wearing any knickers, you have to stay within arm’s reach.”

I burst out laughing, though heat rises to my cheeks at his rumbled words. “Alright, I can abide by that rule.”

“You better.” He smirks before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm against mine, sweetened by the wine he has sipped. I can feel passion simmering deep within him, and when I reluctantly pull away sometime later, all too aware of our surroundings, Richard groans quietly. He then takes one quick glance around the room before leaning in conspiringly. “I think we might be able to sneak out of here for a little bit,” he says in a quiet voice, then gulps, and I am momentarily distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You know, to explore the building like you wanted.”

“Right. To explore the building,” I repeat, smiling innocently. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, then winks as he takes my hand to lead me out of the crowded room.

The sound of our shoes against the polished stone floor echoes through the long hallway as we search for a more private place to continue the evening, failing to contain our laughter as we try door after door, in vain. We have nearly reached the other end of the building when we finally stumble upon an unlocked door. We cast furtive glances around us to make sure we are alone before slipping inside what turns out to be a small reading room with bookshelf-lined walls and a few rows of desks, illuminated only by the lamposts in the street below. The sweet, earthy scent of aged paper and leather-bound tomes fills the air, but then Richard wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, laughter lingering in his eyes, and the familiar smell of his cologne surrounds me. I can still hear echoes of the party in the distance, but it all disappears when, with a soft smile, Richard leans in to rest his forehead against mine. One of his hands is now tangled in my hair, holding the back of my head and pulling me closer as we share our breath, lingering in this moment, allowing ourselves to pretend that the rest of the world does not exist.

When he finally claims my lips in a hungry kiss, I let my eyes flutter close and, standing on my tiptoes, circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to me as I drown in his passionate embrace, content to pretend that my only worry is knowing we will eventually need to pull apart for air. We move against each other out of instinct, ignoring the time and place, fuelled by an evening of flirting and lingering touches and our impending separation. He lets go of my lips to trace a path along my jaw, down my neck toward that sensitive spot below my ear, and the warmth of his tongue combined with the rasp of his beard sends heat spiralling down my spine. My hands are now buried in his hair, tugging on the soft curls, and he groans into my neck before reconnecting our lips.

Without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly lifts me into his strong arms and sets me on one of the desks, spreading my legs apart with his body. Already, I ache for him; heat swirls through me, buzzing incessantly between my legs, and when he squeezes my left thigh with one of his large hands, I cannot help but buck towards him and whimper, the desperate sound of desire echoing through the room.

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” Richard murmurs against my lips, and a rush of arousal floods my core.

As his hand slides higher up my thigh and slips under my dress, I cannot help but chuckle. “Are we really doing this?”

Richard grins. “Don’t act innocent; you knew we’d end up in this situation the moment you decided not to wear knickers.” I giggle into the kiss at the deep, unbridled lust coating his words. “I can’t resist you.”

He pulls away just enough to watch my face as he teasingly slides two fingers over my folds, coating me in my arousal. Biting my lips, I wriggle on the desk to grant him better access, and when his fingertips brush against my clit, the whole room seems to pulse with the intensity of the pleasure tingling through me. Richard knows my body by heart now—he knows exactly where and how to touch me to have me panting in his arms in no time. He sets up a languid pace, alternating between drawing circles on my clit and slipping a long finger inside me, only allowing himself to increase the pace when I latch onto his shoulders, my hands pulling on his tweed blazer. My breath hitches in my throat when he slips two fingers inside me, crooking them and almost instantly finding the spot that has me arching my back and whimpering his name. My legs are now wrapped around him, my thighs pressing into him as he catches my mouth, taking the breath from my lungs and the moans from my lips.

My release washes over me in a dizzying wave, pulsing through every fibre of my being, leaving me hot and panting as I cling to Richard while he continues to pleasure me, not stopping until I collapse in his arms. A car horn echoes in the distance, reminding me of our surroundings. Even so, as I look up to meet Richard’s lust-darkened eyes, desire flares in me again, and the warm weight of his hardness pressing into my inner thigh reassures me that this is far from over. Licking my lips, I raise a hand to teasingly caress him through his trousers, revelling in the whimper he fails to hold back. One of his hands returns to my hair, gently tugging as I slowly reach for his belt buckle—

The door creaks open.

In an instant, Richard and I pull apart, and I hasten to tug my dress back in place and press my thighs together just as a security guard steps inside. His eyes flicker between Richard and me, his expression a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

“Er, sorry, guys—this room is supposed to be closed. You can’t be in here.”

Too mortified to speak, I turn to Richard, and he smiles sheepishly at the security guard. “Apologies, we didn’t realize. I was just showing her around.”

The security guard nods, then steps back to let us pass. My face burns as we mumble apologies, but he walks away as quickly as he first appeared, leaving us to stand awkwardly outside the reading room.

“I guess we should stick to our offices,” Richard muses playfully.

My heart still hammering in my chest, I look up at Richard, biting my lip, but then my eyes drift down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, and I burst out laughing.

“That man certainly won’t be losing any sleep trying to decipher what you meant by ‘showing me around’,” I giggle.

Richard looks down and tries, in vain, to adjust his trousers. “Do you think he noticed?”

“Well, I hope for his sake he doesn’t make a habit of staring at strangers’ crotches. But if he does, then yeah, he definitely noticed.”

“It’s all your fault,” he replies with a grin. Laughing, I wrap my arms around him and look up to meet his tender gaze, but he quickly takes my arms and reasserts a more appropriate distance between us. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” I chuckle as I straighten his blazer, not wanting to let go of him.

“Oh, yes—you look very sorry.”

“How about I make it up to you instead?”

Richard grins. “Does that mean we get to go home?”

“Yeah, I think sneaking away sounds like a good plan.”

The ride back to my flat is filled with stolen glances and lingering touches. As soon as we arrive and lock the door behind us, he pulls me in for a passionate kiss, and I melt in his arms. His touch is tender and possessive, and with each kiss, each caress, we reassert our love for each other, surrounded by the boxes that signal the beginning of our new life together.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters or added to my tag list, let me know!

#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

32 notes · View notes

mistresskayla-blog1 · 8 months ago

Text

Awkward & Sweet

A John Standring Fic

Lyn's Writing Event Day 9 - Week 2

May 9th: Week 2: Pluto

Characters: (“Modern day” Alt) John Standring x OC Felicity Boies (scottish)

Fandom: Richard Armitage – John Standring – Sparkhouse

Sparkhouse character, John Standring was created by Sally Wainwright (adaptation of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights)

***Just proof that there’s a fan girl in all of us. Never forget that writing allows you to inspire others to write ***

Location: Date at the Planetarium – West Yorkshire / Leeds area UK

Word count: 2.1k

Timeline Prompt: What if John had met someone before Carol’s father had died, and she came back?

Warnings: angst, pining, awkwardness, first date stuff, kissing, shy male, social masking.

John walked up the street to the grocer, as he did every Friday morning after working at the factory. He got his bread, and some veg and a few other things, nothing much varied in his routine. But he kept going every Friday because of one other thing, to see Felicity. She was tall, lean and sweet natured, her hair kept in a ponytail for work, and John wondered idly as he stood in queue what it looked like down her back, long and blowing in the Northern winds.

Her playful Scottish brogue, warmed his heart on this cold fall morning, as she said, “Morning John, how do you fair?”

John stuttered a bit, smiling, “Good, ya? And you?”

Felicity looked at the backed-up queue behind him, “Just fine. I’ll be off soon, got to go to the doctors”. John shifted to a look of concern, “Oh? Is anything the matter?” Felicity rung through his choices and clicked the register for a total. John thrust a hand full of notes into her hand, with come coins. Felicity answered briskly, “No, just my regulars, you know,”

John responded in kind, “Yeah, sure of course. Well, have a good day then, Cheers”. John grabbed his bags and started towards the door, turning back a second, the next women in line looking at him slightly annoyed. “Look, if you have some time, I’d like to take you out, maybe tomorrow?” The women in queue looked down realizing John’s advance on Felicity.

Felicity paused, but not unflatteringly as she smiled at John, “Yeah. Sure. Come back around, I’ll give you my number”. John smiled broadly and nodded, “Yeah, sure. Of course”. And went back into the line. The line of patrons now smiling at him. John tried his best to look inconspicuous, but it wasn’t going to work that morning. Felicity kept smiling towards him, as his turn in queue inched forward for the next few minutes. When he finally was in front of her again, she scribbled her name and number on a scrap of receipt paper and placed it in his hand.

John asked plaintively, “Where do you fancy going?” Felicity winked, “how about the Planetarium, there’s a show on this weekend”. John nodded, “Right. Yeah, of course”.

Felicity touched his hand again, “ring me tonight?” John nodded, smiled and walked out of the grocer. Felicity smiled too, as he stroud out of the store.

John was a nice man, she always thought so. He had been coming to the store on Fridays since, she started working there, she thought, but probably longer. He’s a creature of habit, she imagined, and Felicity needed more consistency in her life. She had her own apartment, and she lived in the city, she wasn’t sure if John did too. She only saw him at the shops on Fridays, and hardly any other time around town. Felicity finished her shift and headed for the doctor’s office on foot.

John returned to his house in town, put away his groceries and sat at his kitchen table, having some cold muesli with milk. The crunching and chewing sounds filled his ears in the quiet of the flat. That chewing was hypnotic as his mind carried back to Felicity’s smile and his future engagement with her, “engagement,” he scoffed outloud, “I sure hope I can manage to not make a fool of myself at the Planetarium”. John found the pages and looked up the phone number for the Planetarium. A women answered and he asked about the schedule for the event.

“It starts at 7 pm, its about 20 pounds per person, at the door, day of the show”. The registrar said. John thanked her and hung up. John was a traditional sort, and figured offering to pay for her ticket, even in this day and age was still appropriate. John made arrangements to buy them online with his mobile phone, a ratty little Nokia that he didn’t do much with. Who was he going to call, he didn’t have many friends, he just kept himself, kept his head down and worked nearly everyday.

---

At around half 6, John rang Felicity, sitting in his living room, still surrounded by knick knacks from his grandparents. It had that quaint lady’s touch, but it was far from modern. The phone rang out twice before she answered, “Felicity?” John asked.

“Yes?” her Scottish lilt made him smile.

“Its John from the shops”, he looked down at the floor a second, catching his courage.

“Oh, yes, John. How are you?” Felicity replied.

“Good, good, ya. Just wanted to let you know about the planetarium, um date you asked about”.

“Yeah, sure. So how much is it? I just wanted to make sure I could cover it”, he could hear her smile over the phone.

“Oh, no worries, I can cover it, if that’s ok with you?” John offered.

“Oh?” Felicity paused,

“You wouldn’t, you know be owing me anything. I wanted to do this right and take you out, proper”.

Felicity visibly relaxed, “That sounds nice, John. Thank you”.

Smiled, “Great! Well the show starts at 7, can I pick you up at half past, or do you want to grab a bite before at the pub?”

Felicity wavered, “You can pick me up here, that’s fine,” she looked around her flat then, trying to figure out how to straighten up in time, “you can pick me up John, I’ll text you the address”.

John smiled, “Great, that’s great. Ok, well I’ll see you tomorrow, then, and Felicity,”

“yeah?” Felicity responded.

“Thanks”. John grinned eagerly as he hung up the phone. He went to his closet and tried to find something intelligent to wear. After about 30 minutes most of his wardrobe was strung over his bed and he just stood in front of his mirror looking dumbfounded.

---

Felicity started to clean up her apartment and set out an outfit for tomorrow night. What would she wear, she wondered. John is a nice, stand up guy, not like some of the scrubs she dated before. She had to try harder to look nicer. Her auburn hair and blue eyes were striking as she picked up a cobalt blue blouse, it buttoned up to a high collar, “Maybe a little too high?” she spoke to her mirror, she tried it on, and left a button undone, feeling a bit more certain. She found a skirt, with pockets, and some leggings. Heeled boots finished off the ensemble, she looked herself over in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door.

“Yeah, that should do it”. She put everything on her desk, next to her bed, the boots on the floor, in front of it.

---

John was standing in front of his mirror at the same moment. He had picked out a decent dress shirt, and lean trousers, sensible boots. John looked confident in that moment, and removed the clothes, slowly, folding them neatly for tomorrow, and setting them on his bedside chair. He re-dressed on his pajamas and started his dinner for the night and watched some telly. A program was speaking about the incident of declassifying Pluto, John sat up a little bit, wanting to learn more, maybe this was the clue to impress Felicity. He didn’t know anything about planets otherwise. John watched it until he fell asleep on his grandfather’s old chair.

---

(I will add to this, just ran out of time. Comment if you want more. thanks)

@evenstaredits @legolasbadass @sweetestgbye @middleearthpixie @lathalea @riepu10

If you want to be added to tag list, pleaae PM Me.

Lyn's Writing Event 2024!!!

#richard armitage #fanfiction #romance #first date #john standring #sparkhouse au #social awkwardness #richard armitage x oc #lyn's writing event 2024 #sweet fluffy fluff

14 notes · View notes

daveeddiggscurls · 2 years ago

Text

I am in my ELEMENT right now

Richard Armitage has been my BBC show crush since the Robin Hood days. He’s aged like a fine wine and he’s just released a spicy Netflix TV series which is 18+

#obsession Netflix #richard armitage #Robin Hood #bbc #Netflix

40 notes · View notes

firsttarotreader · 1 year ago

Note

"hi fellow anon, if you are who I think you are we already have crossed paths here last year (when the subject of Michael and Pedro being april 2 aries was brought up). I am also a huge Michel Fassbender fan and I just wanted to add my opinion that Michael filmography as a whole is the type of filmography I would loooove for Pedro to have. Perfect blend of commercial and indie and indie but commercial succesful movies." Hi fellow Fassy anon. I 100% concur with you (especially with my Indie and the disappearing mid-budget bias). I want to have options with Pedro like I had with Fassy in which I could skip a more mainstream film (haven't watched any of the X-men movies to this day) because I have the indie or the commercially successful indie option. I was looking forward to the Almodovar film (which disappointed me, although not as much as my other fellow Nonies and our lovely admin), and I am really looking forward to Freaky Tales and a couple of other indies. As for the erotic thriller... Please let it be good! I am still traumatized by Netflix's Obsession, which was a remake of one of my favourite erotic thrillers, Damage. (And it featured another favourite -and queer- actor as a star, Richard Armitage, so another disappointment here!). Maybe "Shame," but more bisexual (My bisexual bias! LOL)

I would be more than fine with the Basic Instinct remake to be honest. 🥵🥵🥵🥵

1 note · View note

darthstitch · 2 years ago

Text

the professor wet cat fandom

Imagine that you're a Rose Walker fan.

You remember the first time you saw her book Into the Night on the shelves of your favorite bookstore. Let's face it - the intriguing cover art and the title caught your attention. The synopsis on the book jacket and a quick skim of the first chapter made you bring that book to the counter. Something about the story just resonates with you, the aching sense of loss and grief that Briar, the main character, had felt, the headlong rush into adventure that was a means to escape that sorrow, beckoned by the enigmatic King of All Night's Dreaming.

You read that book in two days. And then you read it all over again. Rose has just opened up a universe that you don't want to leave.

Then the audiobook is released. The voice who did the reading is incredible, a voice that's deep and resonant, like the voice inside your head, seducing you into the very heart of Night.

Everyone thinks it's an actor like Richard Armitage or that other guy with the cheekbones whose name everyone just loves to mangle, Betadyne Carrotene or whatever but he's not credited at all. Either way, you're all in agreement about this.

It's the voice of the King of All Night's Dreaming, the voice of the Prince of Stories.

Fine, you and everyone else just fell in love with the antagonist of Rose's novel. He's not really evil, more a neutral entity than anything else. But he was a bit of a bastard to poor Briar, even though you can understand the reasoning behind his manipulations. He's described as beautiful and mysterious and very charismatic.

Of fucking course he'll be internet catnip. Edward Cullen whomst? Tumblr and Twitter are fighting over their new precious blorbo. There's meta and fan art based off Rose's description of him in the novel and yes, you're among those who check AO3 every day for brand new fan fiction.

You end up trying to find all the articles about Rose Walker. She's a lovely young woman who looks around your age and she talks about going back to university and continuing her studies. She's all mysterious about her voice actor, only saying that "he wants to stay anonymous and really, I got him to promise that he'll read the next book for me!"

And everyone in the fandom rejoices because Rose just officially confirms that there's a sequel.

You're among the first to hit the bookstores when the sequel The Prince of Stories comes out. The cover art is gorgeous, somewhat reminiscent of Yoshitaka Amano or Ayami Kojima, a rendering of the Prince in glorious detail - the fantastic costume in black and gold, the wild black hair, the pale skin, the fine features and the brilliant blue eyes.

On second look, the Prince looks strangely familiar.

Rose Walker doesn't disappoint. The sequel is just as good as the original, expanding a little more on the character of the Prince of Stories. There's also a new character joining Briar and her brother in their adventures all over the Land of Night's Dreaming. He's something of a rogue and adventurer straight out of medieval England, charming, mischievous but ultimately quite noble and kind.

You start chortling at his scenes with the Prince, which are so obviously charged with UST. Everybody to kingdom come is going to start shipping those two. You hit Tumblr and already, there's a goddamn ship name. Oh, this is going to be fun.

You scroll through the blog posts, enjoying the fan art, the fan fiction and the meta and then you see this post:

Is the Prince of Stories based on a real person?

And there's a screenshot of a dedication on Rose Walker's book:

For Uncle Dream, our Prince of Stories.

Oh, come on.

So out of curiosity, you do a little more digging. Rose Walker also has a blog, in which she entertainingly talks about the writing process, answers asks with humor and wit and occasionally, she talks about her family. The antics of her little brother are hilarious. There are also stories about her great-grandmother Unity, who she had tragically only known for a short time, and then stories about her recently found "Uncle Dream."

You can see why the other blog poster had started to blur fiction with reality. Rose's descriptions of her Uncle Dream oddly matches up to the King of All Night's Dreaming, with some added extras, because obviously, magical anthropomorphic personifications of dreams and nightmares do not wander around in Real Life.

Apparently, he's also an adorkable wet cat of a man who unfailingly helped her with the writing process, giggled with her brother over his superhero comics and was completely gone on his husband the history professor.

Hang on a minute. Some of the details sound really familiar.

"Uncle Dream" also teaches on occasion at university, keeps a raven as a companion and is known to talk to him like they really understand each other, outrageously flirts with his husband the history professor in Middle English, in iambic pentameter and in Shakespearean quotations, even if said history professor loathes Shakespeare...

You suddenly raise your head up from your phone because your literature professor just walks in, holding on to a copy of Rose Walker's newest book.

Holy shit. No way.

"Professor Murphy, we didn't know you were a fan of Rose Walker," one of your classmates say.

Professor Murphy has a proud smile on his face. "My niece has quite the story to tell. I've been looking forward to reading her next book."

You can't help it and now, hearing his Voice, you're also suddenly dead sure who Rose Walker's audiobook reader is too. "You're Rose Walker's Uncle Dream?!"

Eventually, you all get to explain to Professor Murphy why you want his autograph as well as his niece's on your books. He's still a little confused about that but he's fairly gracious about it.

He's amused and is barely able to contain his laughter when everyone starts asking if the dashing rogue "Captain Gadlen" is based on Professor Robert Gadling. For once, Professor Murphy neither confirms or denies anything.

-end-

#dreamling #rose walker #dream of the endless #hob gadling #professor mysterious and professor wet cat #in which rose inadvertently launches dreamling in universe #i crack what i want #the professor cryptid wet cat fandom totally becomes a Thing #but they're all protective over their professor dream so it becomes an in campus thing #shhh nobody tell neil

267 notes · View notes

lathalea · 3 years ago

Text

Let Armitage Summer Splash Begin!

The summer is almost here so it’s about time to have some fun! Are you a writer or an artist? Have you seen at least one movie or series with Richard Armitage? If so, @fizzyxcustard and @lathalea would like to invite you to join us in our little creative event! Our mission this June is to show some appreciation to this great actor!

☀️ THE MASTERLIST: 💦

🍧 WEEK 1🍧 WEEK 2🍧 WEEK 3 🍧 WEEK 4 🍧 WEEK 5 🍧

🏖 RULES 🏖

It’s all pretty straightforward. Every Sunday (starting May 29th) we’re going to post a set of 7 RA-related prompts for the upcoming week of June. We are going to send the prompts a few days in advance each week so that everyone has enough time to prepare. Posting starts on June 1st. There is going to be one prompt for each day of June consisting of three elements: a trope, a quote, and an image. You can pick one of them, two – or all three of them, whatever inspires you the most. Feel free to create works (fics and ficlets, art and sketches, drabbles, moodboards, gifsets and so on) for all 30 June prompts – or just pick the ones you like. It’s up to you! And now – the details:

☀️ 1. Like and reblog this post. ☀️ 2. Choose a RA character to go with the current prompt of the day, and create a work inspired by it.

☀️ 3. Post your work optimally on the day the prompt belongs to. If you can’t make it, make sure you post between June 1st and July 7th latest.

☀️ 4. Tag each work with #Armitage Summer Splash and with the name of the character you picked. Oh, and please tag both @fizzyxcustard and @lathalea as well so we can see your work!

☀️ 5. We will shower your post with reblog love as a part of our RA Summer Splash celebration!

☀️ 6. At the end of each week, please fill in this form and let us know about your posted works. We will include them in our masterlists for the event!

☀️ 7. If you complete all the 30 prompts, let us know at the end of the event via a DM - we’ll have a little something for you as a thank you for participating!

☀️ 8. We gently encourage you to, share, comment and reblog works of others creators taking part in this event. Let’s cReAte some buzz and appReciAte all the wonderful creators! ☀️ 9. Have fun, be kind, and stay positive 💙

☀️ 10. And remember, normality is cheese sandwiches! 🧀🍞

🍹 FAQ 🍹

💦 Do I really need to write one fic/create one art every day in June? Not at all! You can choose to use as many prompts as you like. It can be one prompt a day, one prompt a week or one prompt in total — whatever feels best for you. The only requirement is to post the final works not later than on July 7th. We encourage you to post your works on the days they belong to (so it’s best to post a fic for June 1st prompt on June 1st) , but we know everyone’s lives are busy so it’s okay if you happen to post them a bit later.

💦 How long should my fic be? How detailed should my art be? Because of the nature of this little event, we chose to leave this decision to you. It’s a busy month for everyone! Your work can be as long (or short) and as detailed as you like. No requirements. Your fic can be one sentence long and your moodboard can contain two or three images, including the one in the prompt, and it will still be fine!

💦 Can I write fics/create art in advance? Of course! We only ask you to post it in June (preferably on the prompt dates). In case you are a bit delayed, make sure to post your last works on July 7th latest so we can add it to our masterlists.

💦 I want to write a fic about Thorin, but the prompt feels like a Modern AU to me. Can I write modern!Thorin instead? That’s a great idea and yes! Any AUs are allowed, go wild and write spaceship captain Raymond de Merville, victorian Lucas North, pirate John Thornton, inquisitor Father Quart, bodyguard Thorin - whatever your imagination throws at you. As long as these characters are unmistakably themselves, all is good! (And yes, Everyone Lives AU is also a valid choice!)

💦 Can I create a NSFW piece? Yes, of course you can. Just please remember to tag it in an appropriate way and use all the usual tumblr precautions for posting NSFW content.

💦 I don’t want to miss out on any announcements for the Armitage Summer Splash. Can you tag me in your posts? We’ll be happy to! Just let @lathalea or @fizzyxcustard know and we’ll add you to the taglist.

💦 Can I use the image from your prompt in my work? Feel free to do it! You are welcome to use it as an illustration for your fic or as a part of your art. We don’t own the images – all the credit goes to their respective owners. Thank you, Pinterest!

💦 And what about you? Are you going to sit back and just read our fics/look at our art? No! We’re going to take part in this event too, along with everyone else. Apart from that, each week we’ll create a masterlist of all the fics/art created in this event by the participants!

💦 I have another question… Feel free to send an ask or DM to @lathalea or @fizzycxustard.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️ Armitage Summer Splash ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️ Weekly Prompts/Masterlists:

🍧 WEEK 1

🍧 WEEK 2

🍧 WEEK 3

🍧 WEEK 4

🍧 WEEK 5

Please let us know if you’d like to be added/removed from the taglist: @legolasbadass @linasofia @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @sketch-and-write-lover @dumbassunderthemountain @enchantzz @justfollowtheroad @thewarriorandtheking @guylty @knitastically @guylty @mezzmerizedbyrichard @jassy2101 @sweetestgbye @shrimpsthings @estethell

118 notes · View notes

fizzyxcustard · 3 years ago

Text

Birthday (Armitage Summer Splash. Day 25)

As part of @lathalea and I’s Armitage Summer Splash, I present to you, day 25.

Masterlist of fics for Summer Splash

Prompts: “I'm sorry.“ / Birthday trope.

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Angst, insecurity.

Summary: Amy has been stood up by Lucas on her birthday.

Comments/Notes: If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please say. This story doesn't run in line with the previous ones of Lucas and Amy; it's purely stand alone, but does have some connections to Covert Eyes.

This was Amy's first birthday that she would have since starting a relationship with Lucas. They had been together a grand total of three months. Everything seemed fine from what Amy could tell. They were practically sewn together at the hip with Lucas informally living with her at her maisonette flat. The only thing that ever seemed to be an issue was his job, as a police officer. Sometimes he would get called out for night shifts, or have to bail on her in the middle of a romantic dinner. But Amy had always accepted that.

This, however, made her stomach churn with anxious uncertainty. It was just past seven, the evening of her thirty third birthday. Lucas had been gone since the evening previous, twenty four hours now. No word. No Happy Birthday text, no present. Nothing.

Amy's colleagues at the local JobCentre had shown more interest. Her team had put money together in a collection to buy her a cake and gift consisting of art supplies as Amy was quite the budding artist.

There was nothing for the rest of the evening, and rather be a nagging pest, Amy decided not to text Lucas and bother him. Obviously whatever he was working on was taking up all of his time, and it was more important than wishing her a happy birthday.

The next morning was grim. Rain was bouncing off the pavement as Amy walked down the street, umbrella in hand. The weather was reflecting her mood: dark and dreary. Still no word from Lucas.

The cafe that Amy normally frequented a few mornings a week, was quiet. However, as she stepped inside, she saw a familiar figure, sat at their normal table towards the back. Was that a candle she saw flickering?

Amy approached, bile, anger and sadness raging in her throat and chest. Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks, but she soldiered on and sat down opposite Lucas, not breaking eye contact with him. "Morning," she said, her voice stern.

"Aim, I'm sorry," Lucas sighed. He reached across the table to scoop up her hand, but she moved it away and dried away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. Her dam had been broken. "I know I can't make it up to you."

Amy's eyes fell upon a muffin that was in the middle of the table with a single lit candle in the centre of it. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a second, trying to gather her breath and thoughts. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to break her down in just a moment? Why couldn't she be angry with him?

"I wanted to be with you yesterday. So much," Lucas began. "I...I need to tell you something. I can't do it here in public, but I need to be honest with you. I'm not really a police officer. And this is why I couldn't be in contact with you yesterday."

Amy crossed her arms. "Lucas, I want you to tell me now, please," she said, assertion raging in her voice. "It doesn't have to be a war and peace story, but I need to know what's going on."

Lucas glanced around and leaned in towards Amy. "I work for MI-5."

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @linasofia @guardianofrivendell @meganlpie @knitastically @sketch-and-write-lover @lilacpulse @rachel1959 @msjava1972 @spidergirla5 @asgardianhobbit98 @medusas-hairband @enchantzz @luna-xial

Richard Armitage tag list: @eunoiaastralwings @cryptichobbit

#Lucas North #Lucas North x OC #Spooks #MI-5 #Fanfiction #Richard Armitage #Armitage Summer Splash.

45 notes · View notes

sorisooyaa · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 456 times in 2022

That's 456 more posts than 2021!

63 posts created (14%)

393 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-did-not-mean-to

@fizzyxcustard

@linasofia

@sorisooyaa

@middleearthpixie

I tagged 405 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#armitage summer splash - 137 posts

#other people's awesome work - 113 posts

#richard armitage - 100 posts

#thorin oakenshield - 45 posts

#soriyaa graphics - 43 posts

#the hobbit - 35 posts

#raymond de merville - 27 posts

#angel's writings - 27 posts

#fizzyxcustard - 27 posts

#haldir - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#sleepwalker is always gonna be a movie that stays close to me as i have experienced sleepwalking before

My Top Posts in 2022:

Birthday - June 25th

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea

“I’m sorry,” Thorin whispered gently into your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “I’m certain this wasn’t how you would celebrate your day of birth in your world, amrâlimê.”

The both you of were currently seated at the edge of the forest, near the cliff he had first found you, during his quest to reclaim his home. You were a shivering mess on the ground and bare feet, with nothing a fine thin dress that wrapped around your figure.

He had taken you in, a stranger he found so endearing and in need of help. You were sure, he if had left you that day, lost in this unknown world, you would have been long dead by now. But he took you in, accepted you for who you were, a human from another world that can be mistaken for a dwarrowdam.

He had learned to love you, as you had learned to love him. Day in and day out as the quest continued the depths of those mesmerising sapphires he possessed would haunt your dreams. You had never seen anything as beautiful as his eyes, there were so pure and raw, an enchantment that forever pulled you into its depths.

“You’re mistaken, my love,” You turned your head to pressed your lips softly against his bearded jaw, “It was more than enough... I’m here with you, in your world, with your people. What more can I possibly ask for you?” You whispered to him, as you rested against his chest, sighing in content.

Your world wasn’t always kind to you. It threw the worst of the worst at you, and you would have to climb with your bare hands and teeth, while everything pulled you down.

Here you laid content, safe and happy with everyone you loved around you. Bombur had even taken the opportunity to bake your favourite cake, it was only his first try and hence it was a small one, but it was his hard work that counted, presenting you with something you missed from your world.

Fíli and Kíli of course hadn’t stopped addressing you as their auntie and Dís loving you as her own sister. This is what you received, a family that loved you and a husband that believed in you greatly with so much faith and love.

There truly wasn’t anything more you could possibly ask for...

109 notes - Posted June 23, 2022

See the full post

122 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Haldir

See the full post

140 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Body Swap - June 21st

Characters and Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield and Thranduil / Thorin x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea

AN: Ok, Thorin, Thrandy plz don’t come at me, this was just a joke!! Love you both!! 😂 @i-did-not-mean-to this is what I meant Angel! Also, I’m sorry no graphic for this, and I’m really busy for the next few days. Ok bye bye, Haldir is whining for my attention again! 😂 - Haldir: Shalini! Get off that thing and look at me chasing my tail or I will chew your slippers again!

See the full post

144 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Looming Anniversary - June 27th

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea

A/N: Dedicated to all of us that desperately wants to give Thorin a hug!

You sighed and made your way over to your king and husband. He hadn’t been listening to a word you were saying for some time now. You had even left the room a few minutes back. He had not noticed your exit nor your return.

He sat there, on the chair of his study desk and gazed off into the distance. His eyes forgetting the present and being immersed in whatever his mind played as he gazed out into the outside. The cold draft blew in through the open doors of the balcony and he hadn’t even moved to close it, he simply gazed out into the view it gave him, but it wasn’t the low clouds or the wind that danced with the tops of trees, and bristles or fallen leaves he watched.

What he watched was in his mind’s eye and made him fade away from this world, mentally, because physically, he was still here. But how can one truly be here without bringing themselves to feel and react to the emotions a moment in time had brought forth?

You carefully placed your tray on his desk, and the aroma of the strong tea and freshly baked biscuits filled the room, but it was only when your hand had accidentally brushed against his did he awake into the moment again.

“Amrâlimê...” It was a heavy whisper laced in light shock as his eyes travelled to you, taking in both yourself and your movement. You smiled softly at him and grabbed the chair he had always set aside for you.

Sitting down carefully, you rested your hand on his, allowing your thumb to caress his strong calloused hands. These hands travelled through battlefields with the tight grasp of heavy weapons, powering through, channelling his bravery through every fight, but they also loved and caressed those close to his heart, one he cherished. So, you should know, for these hands held you tenderly close at night, keeping you warm and safe, made you come undone with their gentle but fast and firm strokes, caressing your skin as if they were silk on silk, and wiped away every tear that ran down your cheeks.

“I thought you would like some tea,” You said, cheerfully and grabbed the teapot. This time Thorin watched you, carefully, as you poured the tea into the mug, you were well known for those clumsy hands throughout this kingdom. They weren’t strong and made for heavy lifting like every other dwarrowdam, for you were half-human, inheriting all but your height from your mother.

You placed the mug carefully on the table and brought his hand towards it, he willingly let you, before he grabbed it himself and took a long gulp. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth, a little worried, hoping it wasn’t too hot to burn his insides.

“Don’t,” Thorin scowled, releasing your bottom lip from the hold of your teeth. The habit teased him endlessly and once he dove himself forward to release your lip with his own teeth, before pulling you in for a heated passionate kiss that led the both of you into bed for a night of ecstatic moans and whimpers.

Today, however, there seems to do much weighing on his mind to even think of making love, even though he would still gladly grant you the permission if you requested. But you didn’t, knowing it was the comfort he needed right now, rather than a release, the both of you can set that once aside for later... or after.

“Alright, but will you tell me what plagues your mind, husband?” You asked as you dipped a piece of biscuit into the tea and brought it to his lips.

He took it, the taste of it bringing little to no comfort to him, then, Thorin had signed out, “Nothing, dearest.”

You frowned, but it slowly turned into a light glare and you cupped his face gently, turning him to you, “Don’t lie to me,” You spoke the words sternly, “We are married, your bearings are also mine, husband. Do not keep yourself locked up from me,” You said, your thumbs caressing his face, and he hung his head down in shame, but your brought his gaze back to you, “I’m your one, know that I’ll never judge or dishonour you, for you are the breath of my life. I love you just the way you are, and I would like to comfort you in your time of need, just as you do for me.”

Suddenly, a broken sob reached your ears, and your heart sank, shattering at the sound of your strong dwarven king and husband breaking down in your arms.

“Husband? Thorin?” You pleaded, trying to brush past his tears and address whatever was their cause.

“The days are nearing to that time once again,” Thorin released his words in a strangled sob, a part of him shamed to allow tears near his beloved; allow him to destroy the walls he kept high and let you see the broken dwarf behind it all, but you were his one, his wife and queen, if he dared to share a tear or any broken part of himself, it would be with you, for he trusted you with everything within himself.

“Tell me, what days are nearing again? Thorin?” You gently brushed his hair and wiped away the tears streaming down his face and over his bearded cheeks.

“The days my grandfather was killed, how we lost so much and more during the battle of Moria, the disappearance of my father... everything!” He growled out, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Oh, Thorin!” You immediately stood, and wrapped him to you, letting him bury his face into your body as you gently rocked him and ran a hand through his hair. He snaked his arms around your waist, gripping you tightly as he released a sob, that he had been trying to hold in. The sight fractured your heart into tiny pieces it was almost impossible to put it back together, at least not until you saw your husband smile again. You know by ‘we’ he had meant himself and his sister.

“Oh, my love,” You whispered. You wanted to ask for how long he had been holding this in, shoving it down into the pits of his heart like it did not matter and keeping up the appearance everyone expected of him.

But that was now important right now, “It is alright, their souls are safe. They have lived and taught you everything they possibly could. They are proud of you. You have come a long way. You, Thorin, my dear husband, raised your small family of your sister and her sons, reclaimed your once lost home, gave meaning to your nephews’ lives, and allowed your sister to seek out happiness again, with Dwalin. You have done so much, and more,” You held him closer, and kissed the top of his head.

“When my mother passed,” You began slowly, remembering the day how she had grown weak and frail; the final moments before humans had passed into the unknown, “My father told me, ‘when you loose someone... you gain a star, and they will look over you, shining in the sky for you’ live by that Thorin,” You whispered, holding him tenderly close.

You had dearly wished that Thorin and yourself had found each during those times. Therefore, from the very beginning, he could have sought the comfort he longed for. In all honesty it was Fíli and Kíli, that found you in the old human village, lost and in need of a blacksmith to strengthen your father’s sword.

They had led you to their home, a small wooden house at the end of the road. There, your future beloved was sitting on the couch just returning from his work, and Dís was within the kitchens trying to cook. Then, almost every day of the week you travelled to the other side of town, something drew you to him, and a part of you knew darn well, but could he take you, half-human and half-dwarf in?

While Dís and yourself had become quick friends, in seeing that you were close in age, only a few years younger than herself, with Thorin ,it was harder to befriend, even though you had caught him watching you from afar many times.

See the full post

175 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

5 notes · View notes

astrovian · 3 years ago

Text

Richard Armitage tweets (13/09/21):

To the new owner, I’m delighted that Gizzy’s jacket found a new home. Thank you for sharing the beautiful story about your parents and for your generosity…here are some answers to your questions:

Question #1 from NJO (New Jacket Owner):

While he was filming Hannibal as Francis/Red Dragon, did he recall that in one of the first few Spooks episodes he was unpacking a box of personal items to decorate his new flat and one of the items was a photo of the Red Dragon and that Lucas was a fan of Blake’s? Question: Do you believe it to be simply a bizarre coincidence you were asked to play Francis or perhaps, could it have been kismet? Have there been any other similar kismet-like occurrences in any of your other works?

Re; Hannibal and M15 (you’re in the US!!!) I use William Blake a lot for research and inspiration but it was a coincidence.

Question #2 from NJO:

I’ve often thought that performing any Shakespearean play on stage would be quite a challenge in part due to the length of the monologues and soliloquys. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if Shakespeare had a hatred of actors, despite having done some acting of his own, and that writing these lengthy passages was an intentionally devious act to make life difficult for actors. RA has commented that he would like to play Richard III. Question: If you were put on the spot, say in an interview or a dinner party (presuming you weren’t too far into your cups) could you recite the opening soliloquy of Richard III by heart?

I absolutely could recite the opening soliloquy to R3. Probably would get a bit ‘paraphrasy’ according to how much I’ve imbibed!!!

Question #3 from NJO:

In almost every movie/TV show I’ve seen RA in, at some point, he picks up and carries a woman somewhere. Most of the time he’s carrying them to a bedroom. (How truly gallant of him to carry these women that are apparently so drowsy they cannot walk on their own to the bedroom to go to sleep?) Must keep this G-Rated. Question: So, Mr. Half-Century man, how is your back holding up?

My back is just fine. Looking for someone to carry me in my next role.!!!

Question #4 from NJO:

As we know, RA likes to write bios for his characters to help him realize the characters’ persona. The director of The Stranger, Danny Brocklehurst, took some of those ideas and added them to the series. While promoting it, RA stated that one of the story lines in the show was something that Richard had experienced himself. Question: Would you be willing to share what experience you and Adam had in common?

Adam Price has a conversation with Johanna Griffin (the amazing @SFinneranTV ) he tells a story about how he met Corrine; the story was peppered with real details about a time I was working in Africa. (Strike Back)

Question #5 from NJO:

RA has been filmed extensively on horseback. Actors often comment on how hard it is to get a nag to hit its mark while filming. According to the “Equine Actors Guild, **” (EAG) these beautiful stallions are well trained in their craft and their hooves do NOT miss their mark. The EAG suggests it is perhaps the fault of the actor on the back of the steed and not the mount itself. Question: Have you ever had trouble getting your hirsute, four-legged thespians to hit their mark? What about the two beautiful Borzoi in Oceans 8?

With regards to horses hitting their marks. I’ve had great experiences and made some firm equine friends on film sets. I did, however, ride a thoroughbred for a short time on Robin Hood, he knew showbiz was a step down from racing, and decided one afternoon to bail…

He tore the bit, and sped off with Gisborne on his back riding with only one rein. So the jacket might have some ‘sweat’ stains, but also I agree with the horse. Racing V Showbiz? No contest!!!

Question #6 from NJO:

WikiFeet, which I didn’t know was a thing until a minute ago, ranks RA’s feet 4.77 out of 5.0 compared to other famous people from Leicestershire. I am not a foot person and do my absolute best to not draw attention to my own feet and quite frankly I don’t notice other people’s feet, including RA’s. Question: How do inane “news” stories and rankings on such stupid things sit with you? As a shy(ish) woman, it would make me uncomfortable, and quite frankly, would chap-my-ass be I in your shoes – pun intended. At this point in your career, are you numb to the idiocy of this and can ignore it and move on with your day, or does it chap-your-ass as well, or do you adhere to the adage that all publicity is good publicity?

I rarely read anything written about myself, apart from items that are brought to my attention (by very kind friends). I try to keep my brain full of the useful stuff; there isn’t that much room for anything else.

#@njo if you follow me i know you probably wanna stay anonymous #but can i just say #well done 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼#and also #I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU BROUGHT UP WIKIFEET #me reading that artivle about WikiFeet before I posted it: wow this is groos I hope RA never finds about this #🤣😭#@RA I swear we're not all weirdos okay #richard armitage

34 notes · View notes

darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

And the Woman Clothed With the Sun...

3x09

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, nightmares, talk of children and having them

Author’s Note: I really really liked this episode. I love playing with dynamics SO MUCH. I hope you guys like this?

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: As the search for Francis Dolarhyde (Richard Armitage) continues, Will starts imagining himself in Dolarhyde's tormented psyche -- and asks Hannibal for help with the serial killer's profile; a new woman (Rutina Wesley) enters Dolarhyde's life.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

“That’s the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court,” Hannibal said. He turned around slowly, acting as though he were not surprised to see you and Will together. The thin line of glass between the two of you Hannibal seemed so thick.

The truth was, you had never truly gotten over Hannibal. You had pretended to, for the sake of Will, but you had never really stopped thinking about what he could be doing. There was a link that the three of you had with each other that was unexplainable. You had started a new life. But your old one still called your name.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” Will said simply. He was contained. You fed off of his energy to keep yourself in check as well.

“Hello, Will. Y/N.” He stepped closer to the two of you. “I believe congratulations are in order. I apologize I couldn’t make it to the wedding. Alana gave me some pictures, to taunt me presumably.” You smiled. You thought about Hannibal holding the pictures of you and Will laughing, beaming at each other. “Did you get my note?” You nodded.

“We got it. Thank you,” you said simply. You and Will stood close together. He had his coat draped over his arm and you held the papers from the cases.

“Did you read it before you destroyed it? Or did you simply toss it into the nearest fire?” Hannibal asked. You scoffed a bit.

“We read it. Then he burned it,” you promised. He nodded.

“And you came anyway.” Hannibal eyed you. “I’m surprised you let that happen.”

“We all falter in some ways,” you said simply.

“I want you to help me, Dr. Lecter,” Will said to break the conversation. He still didn't trust Hannibal with you. Reminiscent of the days you used to work with Hannibal.

“Yes I thought so. Are we no longer on a first-name basis?” Hannibal asked.

“I’m more comfortable the less personal we are,” Will said. Hannibal looked over at you, eyeing your entire body. He made note of the scent. The scent off of both of you.

“Your hands are rough Will. I smell dogs and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion.” He looked at you. “Did you steal that perfume from my home?” he questioned. You stiffened. You had gotten some perfume from his home as they cleaned it out. You ended up liking and buying another bottle over the years.

“I’m here about Chicago and Buffalo. You’ve read about it, I’m sure,” Will said.

“I’ve read the papers. I can’t clip them. They won’t let me have scissors, of course. You want to know how he’s choosing them,” Hannibal commented. You held up the case file.

“Thought you might have some ideas.”

“You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself Will? Or your wife?” Will let out a sigh.

“I expected more of you, doctor. That routine is old hat.” Hannibal nodded stiffly.

“Whereas you are new people,” Hannibal said. “Let me have the file. An hour, and we can discuss it like old times.” You nodded happily at that, pleased he would help. You shoved the file through the document tray and into the cell. Hannibal came close to collect it.

“Thank you,” Will muttered.

“Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can.” He took the papers. “You’re both family.”

Will grabbed you around the waist, eager to leave. Your eyes lingered on Hannibal’s for a moment longer before you and Will left the room, swallowing his true words.

You looked around Alana’s office. You hadn’t seen it since she had moved in. It looked better than when Chilton had run it. Perhaps that was just because you liked Alana more. The problems you once had with each other had mostly scabbed over. She was maid of honor at your wedding. Interesting, considering the fact you had once fought feverishly over Hannibal.

“It’s good to see you looking well. But I can’t help wishing you weren’t here,” Alana said. She sat on her couch. Her suit was pristine, her hair perfect. You admired her.

“You aren’t the only one,” you commented.

“I was surprised Jack came back in one piece,” she said. You nodded, running a hand over your pants before sitting down on the couch beside her. Will stood up, looking out the window.

“You weren’t the only one,” Will said, turning to both of you.

“How did it feel to see him again?” she questioned. You looked at the ground. Will sat down beside you, in between you and Alana.

“Like Hannibal was looking through to the back of my skull. Felt like a fly flitting around in there. I had the absurd feeling that he walked out with me. Had to stop outside the doors and look around, make sure it was just Y/N,” Will commented.

“I know that feeling. At least Jack Crawford’s pleased.” You pursed your lips but stayed quiet.

“He showed me pictures of the families. I looked at Y/N and couldn’t say no,” he argued.

“Damn my presence,” you joked softly. Will slung his arm around the couch behind you, his fingered brushing your shoulder.

“And Jack was counting on it.”

“Are you still with Margot?” you asked, eager to change the subject. She took a deep breath and nodded, thinking fondly of her wife.

“Yes. We have a baby. A Verger baby. A son,” she said. You smiled. You and Will had talked about kids. You wanted one. You were working for one when Jack spiked both yours and Will’s stress levels.

“Good for Margot,” Will said.

“Good for me. I carried him. He’s my son. He’s the Verger heir.” You smiled.

“Then what are you doing here? You’re set for life,” you pointed out.

“There are only five doors between Hannibal and the outside. And I have the keys to every one of them,” she said. A daily ‘gotcha’ to Hannibal. Will admired that. “Hannibal has never been great with boundaries. ‘He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon’.”

“I am not letting him in, Alana. Don’t worry about me,” Will said. She looked at you sympathetically.

“Last time, it didn't’ end with you Will.”

“I want you to stay here,” Will said, standing outside Hannibal’s cell door. He hadn’t stepped inside yet. Hannibal could not see him. You scoffed.

“We’ve been over this. I follow you, even if you say no.”

“This time, I mean it. I think I’ll get more out of him if he isn't’ distracted with you.” You raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you aren’t jealous?” He gave you a look. “Fine, fine. Please be quick.”

Will stepped into the room, leaving you outside to wait. Hannibal looked up at him from his desk.

“This is a very shy boy, Will. I’d love to meet him,” Hannibal said. He looked around. “Just us?”

Will nodded.

“Just us.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he’s disfigured? Or that he may believe he’s disfigured?” Hannibal asked.

“That’s interesting.”

“That’s not interesting. You thought of that before.” Will nodded.

“He smashed all the mirrors in the houses, not just enough to get the pieces he wanted. The shards are set so he can see himself. In their eyes. Mrs. Jacobi and Mrs. Leeds. And their families,” Will said. Hannibal pulled out the picture of a dead Mrs. Jacobi.

“Could you see yourself in their eyes, Will? Killing them all?”

Will instantly regretted leaving you outside.

The two boys imagined themselves in the crime scenes, looking across the dead bodies of the families.

“The first small bond to the killer itches and stings like a leech,” Hanibal said. “Like you, Will, he needs a family to escape what’s inside him.” Wills head shot up but he did not look at Hannibal. “You know a fair amount about how these families died. How they lived is how he chooses them.”

“How is he choosing them?” Will asked.

“I was surprised to hear you actually married Y/N. Not because I thought you weren’t a match made in heaven but it made more sense for you to start a family from scratch. No one that had even an inkling of me in their eyes. Find a mom with a stepson or daughter, not having to breed. You know better than to pass the terrible traits that you fear the most,” Hannibal said. Will did not look at him. Hannibal continued. “But Y/N wants children with you. How will you stand to look at a child you may have ruined before they were even born?”

Will desperately wished he hadn’t left you outside.

“Why are there no descriptions of the grounds? I see floor plans, diagrams of the rooms where the deaths occured, no mention of the grounds. What were the yards like?” Hannibal continued, satisfied with how he had shaken Will’s personal life.

“Big, fenced, with trees. Why?”

“If this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it before he tidies himself up. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors, hmmm? Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will?”

Will suddenly saw himself in place of the killer, naked, drenched in pitch black blood.

Will snapped back and nodded quickly.

“Thank you Dr. Lecter,” he said before stumbling out of the door. You sat on the outside in one of the waiting chairs. Will looked over at you and seemed to relax but not completely.

“Will?”

He grabbed you and you stood up quickly, hugging him tightly. He buried his head in your neck and you let him, rubbing your back.

“This is why you don’t go without me places,” you muttered. He scoffed but his breathing was already evening again. “What did he say?” He moved back and shook his head softly.

“We’ll talk about it later. I want to see the backyards.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, I suppose.”

He walked out of the asylum, holding your hand tightly. Freddie snapped a couple pictures from the bushes.

“Have you come to wag your finger?” Hannibal asked as Alana entered the room behind him.

“I love a good finger-wagging.”

“Yes, you do. How is Margot?” Alana ignored the remake as she gleaned down at the picture of her as Botticelli’s Fortitude.

“Your cogs are turning, Hannibal. I can hear them clicking.”

“Click, click, click, boom,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re planning with the Grahams. But you’re planning something. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve already cracked the lid, can’t resist peeling it back.”

Hannibal pursed at the name. Alana noticed this.

“You can’t comment on her last name anymore you know. They’re married. She is, in the eyes of the law, a Graham now.” Hannibal stiffened.

“They came to me,” Hannibal said, ignoring her words.

“Yes, they did.”

“I advised them against it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have Y/N and Will’s best interests in mind?” he asked. Alana scoffed.

“I’m stating it as a fact.”

You stepped into the room with Hannibal’s cage. He looked up, quite surprised to see you. You held your purse in both hands, stepping closer to the cage.

“Hello love,” he said quietly. You let his words fall off of you like rain. They stayed for a moment, dripping down your arm before hitting the ground. “I don’t imagine you’re here to talk about the murder cases.” You shook your head softly. He walked up to the glass quietly. You stepped close to it, so you were really only a couple of inches apart.

“I came to yell at you,” you said. He raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever for?” You smiled gently and shrugged.

“Lots of things. Firstly, you didn’t kill Jack when you got the chance. I’ll never forgive you for not feeding him to me in soup.” His eyes went wide.

“Careful Y/N. Alana watches these tapes.”

“She would probably agree with me.” You took a deep breath. “Secondly, not coming to my wedding. I know you were otherwise indisposed but I thought it was rather rude.”

“I thought it was rude of you to get married.” You shook your head playfully. The same banter. Joking with a cannibal serial killer. Just another Tuesday.

“Third, I told you to leave.” The air seemed to calm.

“Does Will know you’re here?”

“No. I didn’t tell him.”

“Did he tell you he’s scared of his own children?” You raised a finger, shaking it gently.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Will is no longer my boyfriend I dated a couple of months. He’s my husband. You can’t wedge yourself between us no matter how hard you try.” You wanted to put your hand against the glass but you didn’t. “But I miss you.”

“Where do you work nowadays?” You shrugged.

“I had to get another secretary job but I’ve mostly worked up enough to take this amount of leave. My last employer wasn’t exactly the best reference.” He laughed.

“I suppose you’re right.” He paused. “Eating well?”

“Better. No people in the diet these days.”

“Pity.”

“Will!” You broke Will out of his thoughts. You were standing in the back of the Jacobi house. Will had just found a small sign on one of the trees. He was about to get into it but you had broken him out of his mind. “It’s Freddie.”

Will walked out from the trees and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Now are you just keeping America clean or is that evidence?” Freddie asked.

“You’re trespassing, Freddie,” Will said sternly.

“I was trespassing before the blood dried. When did they call you? Interesting to see The Bloody Valentines back at action. Beautiful ceremony by the way.”

“We aren’t talking to you,” Will said, grabbing your arm. You followed him.

“We’re co conspirators, Will. I did for you and your cause.”

“You didn’t die enough. You came into my hospital room while I was asleep. You flipped back the sheets and shot a picture of my temporary colostomy bag,” Will said, turning to her.

“Covered your junk with a black box. A big black box. You’re welcome,” she said.

“Justly so,” you argued carefully.

“You culled us the ‘murder threesome’. Little crude, don't you think?”

“You did run off to Europe together. Doesn’t help that the two of you ended up getting married. How does the Tooth Fairy compare to Hannibal Lecter? Haven’t seen anything like this since the Massacre at Muskrat Farm. Funny thing about that massacre. Not only did Dr. Bloom survived, she got rich. Lecter’s living in the lap under her care. What kind of arrangement you suppose they have?” Freddie asked.

“A complicated one,” you said sternly.

“Couldn’t be more complicated than your relationship with Hannibal. Both of you. You paid him a visit? Before you lie, know that I know that you did,” she said quickly.

“Good-bye Freddie.”

“I read your note before my office forwarded it to the Grahams,” Jack said, standing in front of Will. Hannibal swallowed, understanding.

“To whet their appetite or yours? You’ve placed him back in the pot and you’re letting him cook.”

“We’re all in this stew together.”

“Arguable considering how close Y/N is to drowning you.”

You stepped into the hotel room where Will was already sitting on the bed. You ran a hand through your hair and let the chilly cold wash over you as you entered the warm room.

“How are the dogs?” he asked.

“Good. The dog sitters said they were missing us but other than that, they’re okay,” you promised. You looked down at the dog that was laying on the ground beside the bed. “She’ll be right at home with them.”

You sat on the bed and Will sat up, putting his arms around you from behind. You smiled about him, happy to see he was feeling better.

“I’m worried about the kids,” he whispered.

“The kids who don’t exist?” He laughed gently.

“Yeah. I don’t want them to end up like me.” You nodded slowly.

“So that’s what Hannibal said that got you worked up.” You took in the information. “If the kid isn’t like you I don’t think I’d be able to love them as much as I love you.”

It was his turn to take in the information.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nope. I’m serious. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I’ve had the pleasure of loving you Mr. Graham.” He kissed your neck gently and smiled to himself.

“I love you too Mrs. Graham.”

You let out a small sigh of relief.

Will screamed as he sat up quickly, sweating aggressively, blankets flying. You got up just as quickly, turning to him but he had already gotten up, rushing into the bathroom. You followed him, sleep that had just taken you over long gone.

You practically ran up to him. He was looking at himself in the mirror, fear in his eyes at his reflection. You grabbed him quickly and he turned to you, wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask questions. You just held him as close as you could get him.

Nightmares had come back. Neither of you had had those in a while. You rubbed his back and let him breath.

3x10

#will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

187 notes · View notes

legolasbadass · 2 years ago

Text

Office Hours, Part 13

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 5.3k

Rating: T (some chapters E)

A/N: For those who have been asking: Oxford University is made up of different colleges, Exeter (where Lorelei and Richard work) being one of them. So they are not quite the same, but that's why sometimes they will say they work at Exeter, and other times at Oxford. Hope this clarifies any confusion!

Thanks to @middleearthpixie for helping me with this one💙

Warning: Some angst (I’m sorry)

Read on AO3

When I knock on Richard’s office door the next morning, I feel as though an immense chasm has wedged itself between us, and in the seconds before his deep voice invites me inside, a sudden urge to walk away takes hold of me.

Soft, grey light illuminates the room from the large window behind Richard’s desk. Outside, rain soaks the city in a cloud of mist, and though the old stone walls let in a chill, warmth fills me when Richard’s gaze meets mine. His hair is all tousled, and exhaustion veils his eyes, but I cannot tell if the pile of exams before him is to blame or if it is the same gnawing feeling that has settled in my heart.

“Lorelei,” he says, sounding surprised, though he offers me a tired smile.

“Hey,” I say, my hand still wrapped around the doorknob. “Are you busy?” He shakes his head, and I immediately shut the door behind me. “Did you get a lot of work done last night?”

“Yeah, not bad actually. You?”

I shrug.

“Are you alright?” he asks suddenly, worry now marking his handsome face.

“I don’t know….” I sigh, then press my lips together as I try to gather my thoughts. “I’m sorry—I know I shouldn’t be here, but … I just wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? What for?”

“I’ve been so inconsiderate,” I say, shaking my head. “I was so anxious yesterday at the thought that Natasha might know about us that I didn’t even take the time to ask how you were feeling.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Richard says with a frown as he stands and walks around his desk to grab my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s alright.”

Looking up into his deep blue eyes, I gulp. “Is it though?”

Richard’s frown deepens.

“I’m not ready to tell people about us, but are you really okay with that? I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about this. I want you to feel comfortable with the situation.”

The gentle touch of his hands against my cheeks as he cradles my face chases the morning’s chill from my body, and at last, I allow myself to reach out to him and wrap my arms around his waist.

“I’ve told you since the beginning that I will wait until you’re ready. I meant it.”

“But last night you cancelled our plans and I just worried that maybe it was because—”

“I had a lot of work to do, that’s all,” he reassures me.

I nod slowly, but my heart still feels heavy. Then, with a low sigh, Richard closes the space between us and leans in to capture my lips in a tender kiss as comforting as a warm cup of tea on a chilly day. When he pulls away, I hold onto him more tightly, as though afraid of what might happen if I let him go, and a soft smile creeps beneath his beard.

“I promise you everything is fine.”

I let out a deep breath I had not realized I had been holding and smile back at him.

“Okay,” I reply, pressing my lips together. “We can cancel our dinner with my parents this weekend if you’re too busy—”

“No, it’s fine,” he replies immediately. “I mean, cancelling would give them a very bad impression of me.”

“Yeah, okay,” I chuckle, but for some reason, his answer leaves me uneasy, so I stand on my tiptoes to press my lips to his, hoping his kiss will offer me the reassurance I need.

***

On Saturday evening, Richard pulls into the driveway of my parent’s house. I sit still for a moment after he parks the car, looking up at my childhood home and the overgrown rose bush that has begun to crawl up the brick walls. No roses are blooming at this time of the year, of course; now, there are only dried branches, all intertwined as though shielding themselves from the chill.

“Are you okay?”

Sighing, I turn to face him. He tried to tame his wild hair, but a stray lock has escaped and now hangs over his forehead. “Just a bit nervous,” I admit. Then, hesitantly, I ask, “Do you think we could … not tell them we’re colleagues?”

All week, I hesitated to ask this question. Since we realized that Natasha might know about our secret, there’s been unspoken tension between us, and I’m afraid of making it worse, but I also desperately want to avoid unnecessary confrontation with my parents.

A heavy silence reigns in the car as Richard stares back at me. “You want me to lie to your parents?”

“Not telling them is not lying—not technically,” I say, then shake my head as I realize how childish I sound. “Look, it’s just that my parents’ won’t approve—they’re a bit traditional like that. And they really won’t like it that you’re older than me, either. So let’s just let them get used to that first. They’ll get to know you and once they see how great you are, then neither the age gap or the fact that we’re colleagues will matter.”

Another silence ensues, and with each second, my heartbeat grows heavier. Then he nods. “Fine.”

And with that, he steps out of the car. The slam of his door when he closes it leads me to think that perhaps it is not fine, but he is already walking up the steps to the front door, his hands buried in the pockets of his dark wool trench coat. Guilt twists my insides, but there is no time for me to utter an apology or a reassurance before he rings the doorbell. Almost instantly, the large wooden door opens, and I find myself standing face-to-face with mum.

“Lorelei, darling! Finally, you’re here!” she says with a wide smile, and I rush to hug her tightly before she invites us inside.

“Sorry, we’re a bit late. There was traffic,” I explain as mum closes the door behind us, but her attention is fixed on Richard. “Uhm, mum, this is Richard. Richard, this is my mum, Heather.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Browning,” Richard says with a kind smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“That makes one of us,” mum replies with a disapproving glance in my direction. “It’s lovely to meet you, Richard. Here, let me put away your coats.”

A few moments later, she leads us into the sitting room and offers us wine, which we gladly accept. As mum apologizes to Richard for the nonexistent mess, I look around.

“Where’s dad?”

“He had to go back to the shop because he forgot to buy carrots,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be right back with the wine,” she adds, then disappears into the kitchen, from where hints of sage and rosemary reach my nose.

My parents painted the sitting room a pale cream colour in the summer, but otherwise, it looks just as it always has. The old grey sofas, misshapen from years of movie nights and afternoon naps, the floral curtains over the bay window, and the old telly they refuse to get rid of. A fire burns low in the hearth, filling the sitting room with its gentle crackling. Through the large window at the back of the room, I glance into the backyard, where the trees are bare and leaves of all shades of red and orange cover the grass. Near the willow tree stands an old swing set; every year since I was a teenager, my dad has refused to get rid of it, and the thought brings a smile to my lips.

“I can see where you get your love of literature,” Richard says suddenly, and I turn to see him gesturing to the overflowing bookshelf tucked in the corner of the room next to the stone fireplace.

“Yeah,” I chuckle as I move to stand next to him. “Those are my dad’s books. He loves medieval history, as you can see. I’m sure he’d love to talk about Richard III with you.”

Richard wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes my arm reassuringly. Then, he leans in and points to an old picture frame on one of the shelves. A young girl with bushy hair wearing overalls and a bright green t-shirt smiles at the camera while holding a heavy book in her arms.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I reply with a laugh. “Small, socially awkward Lorelei.”

Richard chuckles. “And is that—”

“Lord of the Rings in my hands, yep.”

“How adorable!”

At that moment, mum returns from the kitchen with three glasses and a bottle of wine. She smiles as she glances at Richard’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I suddenly wonder if perhaps I was scared of this evening for no reason.

“So, tell me,” she says as she sits on her favourite powder blue armchair and begins to pour wine into our glasses, “where did you two meet?”

As I open my mouth to reply, the front door opens, and dad’s voice echoes through the house. “I’m back!” I hear him take off his coat and boots, then he steps toward the kitchen, grocery bag in hand, but he halts when he notices us in the living room. “Lorelei, hi!”

“Dad!” I exclaim as I rush to hug him.

Holding me tight, he says, “Finally, you’re not too busy for your old man!”

“Very funny!” I reply, shaking my head. When I pull away, he turns toward Richard, and I don’t miss the way his eyes narrow. “Er, dad, this is Richard. Richard, this is—”

“Mr Browning,” dad interjects with a curt nod.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Browning,” Richard says without faltering despite dad’s glare as he holds out his hand.

Dad doesn’t say a word as he shakes his hand, and an uncomfortable silence seizes the room. Mum’s eyes flick between Richard and me while dad continues to stare at Richard.

“I was just admiring your book collection, sir,” Richard hesitantly attempts to break the ice, but it is no use, and now the ice becomes lodged in my throat.

“Oh, right. I’ll just go put this away in the kitchen and I’ll be right back.”

“Lovely,” I mutter when he is gone, and mum reaches out to caress my arm.

“I’ll go talk to him,” she says, then offers Richard an apologetic smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

Sinking back into the couch, I let out a deep sigh and try to block out the hushed whispers spilling from the kitchen. I feel the weight of Richard’s body as he sits down next to me, then one of his large hands squeezes my thigh. When I turn to face him, he hands me my wine glass, which I gratefully accept.

“I’m sorry about my dad.”

“Well, at least your mum doesn’t look like she’d accuse me of witchcraft if given the chance.”

I chuckle at that, then lean against his broad shoulder. “Still, I’m sorry.”

When my parents come back into the sitting room, Richard takes his hand off my thigh.

“So, you were just about to tell me where you two met,” mum says as she takes her place on her armchair.

“Right,” I say, glancing at dad as he leans back on the other sofa. I don’t remember ever thinking dad looked as intimidating as he does now. “We, er, we met when I first moved to Oxford. Richard offered to show me around, and here we are.” I briefly glance at Richard, who is looking back at me. Not technically a lie, right?

“Oh, how lovely!” mum replies, and I smile in relief. “Lorelei knows this of course, but that’s how her dad and I met. I had just moved up here from Brighton after being offered a teaching position at the elementary school just down the road. We bumped into each other at the shop and we instantly hit it off. Isn’t that right James?”

Dad merely leans forward and glares at Richard. “So what do you do for a living, Richard?”

Even mum rolls her eyes at his tactlessness.

“He’s a professor, too,” I hasten to say as I feel Richard tense next to me. “At a different college, of course.”

“Is Richard unable to answer for himself?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, growing increasingly annoyed by dad’s behaviour. Not that I expected any different, of course.

“So what do you teach?”

“Er, literature, as well. Shakespeare, more specifically.”

“Dad, you like Shakespeare, right?”

“Who doesn’t?” he retorts, and I don’t bother to hold back my annoyed sigh. But I will not give up so easily.

“Richard did his master’s at Birmingham just like you. Isn’t that a cool coincidence?”

“Oh really?” Richard says in surprise.

“Class of 82,” dad affirms. “What about you?”

“I graduated in 94, sir.”

Dad nods slowly. “So that makes you twenty years older than my daughter, doesn’t it?”

We walked right into that one, didn’t we?

“Almost twenty, dad—”

“That’s splitting hairs and you know it,” he answers, his disapproval now clear in his narrowed eyes, and I cannot deny how much it hurts. Mum puts down her wine glass and rubs her forehead.

“Dad, come on! We’re both consenting adults!” I retort, my voice growing louder than I intended. “And quite frankly, it’s none of your business—”

Richard interrupts me, his hand coming to rest reassuringly on my thigh. “Mr Browning, I can understand what you might think. But you must know, I care about your daughter so much—more than words will allow me to express. I have never felt the way I feel about Lorelei about anyone before. From the moment we met, I knew there was something special about her, and it quickly became evident to us that the age gap between us doesn’t matter. It changes nothing to how we feel about each other.”

Deeply touched by his words, I reach for his hand and squeeze it tight. He responds by intertwining our fingers, and the gentle brush of his thumb against mine is like a warm blanket on a cold winter day around my heart. Dad remains silent for a long while, pondering over Richard’s words as mum and I exchange an uncertain glance. Then, just as the log on the fire pops, dad sighs.

“Lorelei is my daughter. My only daughter. And I know she’s almost thirty now, but to me, she’s still the little girl who always stayed up way past her bedtime to read a book that was probably heavier than she was at the time.” Mum chuckles at this, and when dad’s eyes meet mine, I notice the softness shining in them, and, despite everything, I offer him a small smile. “I am just trying to protect her. Maybe you mean well, but I can’t know that for sure because I don’t know you. And I do not give my trust to just anyone.”

Richard’s fingers tighten against mine. “I respect that, sir.”

Dad nods and sinks back into his chair, now directing his attention to mum. “Dinner smells delicious, love.”

Mum smiles. “It should be ready soon. I just need to set the table,” she says. “Lorelei, darling, could you help me with that?”

“Er…” I glance at Richard hesitantly, but he nods to let me know he will be fine. “Alright.”

Once in the kitchen, I take plates out of the cupboard, then bring them into the dining room, which overlooks the backyard, now submerged in the starry night. A dark linen tablecloth, which I gifted to mum a few years ago for Christmas, shields the antique table from spills and adds just the right touch of coziness to the panelled room. When I turn around to go gather utensils, I find mum standing in the doorway. The low, orange glow coming from the pendant light above the table softens her face, but I don’t miss the slight frown creasing her forehead.

“Don’t be too hard on your dad for tonight.”

“I rather think he’s the one being too hard,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. “Richard did nothing wrong, and yet dad acts as if I invited Grendel over for dinner!”

She tilts her head, telling me my joke was not well received. “Twenty years is a big age gap, darling.”

“Oh, not you, too,” I groan.

“Lorelei, please,” she speaks in a voice that tells me I ought to be silent and listen. “I am just looking out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Biting my lips, I think of the difficult week I just went through. The agonizing tension between Richard and me. The fragility of our secret. But I also think of all the precious memories that have warmed my heart for the past two months. Our first date, cuddling while watching telly, reading together in bed, our trip to Bath. Every single moment spent with Richard has been more perfect than I ever could have imagined.

“I’m happy,” I reply with a smile. “ I’m happy with him.”

Mum smiles in return. “Then I’m happy for you.” A huge weight falls off my shoulders when she hugs me tight. Then she steps into the sitting room to invite the others to the table, and I take a deep breath to prepare myself, hoping my dad will warm up to Richard soon.

Richard’s hair is slightly more tousled when he comes to sit next to me, telling me that his nervousness has not yet passed, so I reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Did I mention I’m sorry?” I say, causing him to chuckle. Then, biting my lips, I lean in closer and whisper in his ear, “I’ll make it up to you.”

He squeezes my arm in response, but further discussion is impeded as mum asks me to bring the veggies and mashed potatoes to the table. Once everything is set and everyone seated, I eagerly dig into my meal, grateful for the distraction it brings.

“Everything is delicious, Mrs Browning,” Richard says, and mum smiles warmly.

“Thank you! And please, call me Heather. ‘Mrs Browning’ makes me feel so old,” she says, causing Richard to chuckle. “You know, we are so happy to have you here. It’s been so long since Lorelei introduced us to a boyfriend of hers.”

“Mum!”

“What? It’s true,” she replies with a shrug, seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment. “You and Jason broke up years ago and there’s been no one since—”

“Mum, I am begging you, can we please talk about anything other than my dating history?”

“Alright, alright,” she says, then takes a sip of wine. “How’s work then?” she asks as she hands me the mashed potatoes.

“Great!” I reply, grateful for the new subject. “I’m swamped lately because of finals, but I love correcting assignments so I don’t mind it that much.”

“I wish I could get you to correct things for me,” Richard says, causing me to chuckle.

Mum laughs and then shakes her head. “How long have you been teaching at Oxford, Richard?”

“Eight years,” he replies as he puts down his wine glass. “I still can’t quite believe how I managed to get where I am.”

“Richard is too modest,” I say, reaching out to caress his arm. “He’s earned his place at Oxford; he’s a top researcher in his field … and all his students love him.” Those last words earn me a dirty look from Richard, but he fails to hide his smirk. “Just last week, we were in Bath for a Shakespeare conference where Richard was the keynote speaker. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anyone get so many research proposals and invitations to conferences.”

“That’s wonderful!” mum says with a genuine smile on her face, causing Richard’s already deep blush to darken.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell him hastily, squeezing his shoulder. “He gets embarrassed when I praise him like that but I can’t help it.” I look up at him once more. “I’m proud of you.”

Mum’s smile softens, but dad still seems less than impressed.

“Why don’t you tell them about your new project?” Richard suggests.

“What new project?” dad asks.

“A colleague and I are organizing a conference at the college—dedicated to otherworlds in medieval literature. We actually just got the news this week that the college approved it all and would give us the funds we asked for.”

“That’s amazing, Lorelei, congratulations!” mum exclaims.

“Your mum and I are very proud of you,” dad adds, and I smile all the more.

“Thanks, dad. That means a lot.”

“You have every reason to be proud of her,” Richard affirms. “She really is a brilliant scholar and professor. Everyone in our department is impressed by her.”

I turn to face Richard, and I melt under the softness in his deep blue eyes. I usually get embarrassed when he praises me like that, but now I’m simply grateful for his unwavering support.

“‘Our’ department?”

I frown. “What?”

“You said ‘our’ department,” dad says, glaring at Richard.

A pause.

“I thought you said you worked at different colleges?”

Fuck.

Richard glances at me, then sighs, ignoring the look I give him. “No, we work together. In the same department at Exeter.”

“Richard—”

“Is that true?” mum asks, and when I notice the disapproval in her eyes, my heart tightens in my throat.

“Yeah, it’s true,” I admit in defeat, pressing my lips together.

“Why didn't you say that before?”

I try to remain calm, but the words tumble from my lips with an edge. “Because I knew you would make those faces!”

“Can you blame us?” dad retorts, his face twisted into a deep frown. “Aren’t you worried about what might happen if you two break up? What does your boss think of this?”

“We aren’t breaking any rules or laws, I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” I say, though I know I don’t sound convincing.

“So your boss is okay with this?”

I find myself unable to meet his gaze as I say, “We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Why not?”

I can’t answer that. Not here. Not now. I can feel Richard eyeing me from aside, and though his hand is right next to mine, he does not reach out to hold me.

“You’ve worked so hard to get where you are,” dad goes on, “are you really willing to risk that for him?”

“Of course not!” I reply before I can think twice about my words. “But … it’s not about that—”

“No? It seems perfectly clear to me that you are jeopardizing your career by dating him! I mean, really,”—his fist bangs against the table as he looks at Richard— “you claim to care about my daughter, but you let her lie to her boss for you?”

“Dad, you have no idea what you’re talking about! It’s not his fault—”

“Sir, believe me, the last thing I want is for our relationship to get in the way of her career,” Richard interjects, his voice soft despite the storm I can feel brewing inside him. “ I kept my feelings hidden for a long time because I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but there is no doubt in me now that it is. We do intend to let our boss know about our relationship in due time, but we chose to wait—”

“You should have told your boss right away. It’s the right thing to do,” dad interjects, now looking down at his half-eaten dinner.

“Your dad is right, darling,” mum says, her voice calm. “It’s not a good idea to lie to your boss when it’s your first semester at the college.”

I want to respond with something clever and unassailable that will convince them that I’m not acting unprofessionally or putting my career at risk, but the truth is that I cannot even convince myself of that fact.

The realization hits me like a punch straight in my chest, and I take an uneven breath as I rise from my seat and mumble, “I need to, er, powder my nose,” before rushing out of the dining room.

Once the bathroom door is locked behind me, I lean against the sink and let out a deep sigh. My head is pounding, as though my mind is trying to escape the chaos inside me. I’m sick of this secret��sick of disappointing Richard, but I’m too scared of what might happen if we reveal our relationship to the world. I don’t even have the courage to go back into the dining room and face my parents again. All I want is to go home and let Richard hold me until I fall asleep.

A knock on the door startles me, then Richard calls out my name, instilling both relief and unease inside me. When I open the door, he towers over me as he leans against the door frame.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a strained voice as he scratches his beard.

I shrug. “Sorry I left you out there. I just— I just really needed a break.”

Richard nods, then raises a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “Your mum says dessert is almost ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Okay.”

“We should just go, I think,” I say, looking down at my feet.

Not waiting for an answer, I take a deep breath and walk back into the kitchen, where mum and dad are putting the dishes in the dishwasher. They exchange an uncertain glance as they notice us, but I speak before they can say anything more.

“We’re gonna get going.”

Dad crosses his arms over his chest as mum says, “Oh no, I was just setting the table for dessert.”

I offer her an apologetic smile, but I don’t need to say anything more for her to understand. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Of course,” she replies, smiling hesitantly. “And Richard, you are welcome back anytime.”

I recognize guilt in her voice, and if I didn’t feel so awful, I would have appreciated that at least she was remorseful for how poorly they had treated Richard.

After a quick goodbye, Richard and I step out into the cold, dark night. It has started to rain, and as we hop into the car, water streams down the foggy windows. Neither of us says a word for a long time as we drive away. The mere sound of my shaking breaths feels too loud, and I press my lips together, trying to swallow all the emotions clogging my throat. It’s strange, really, how quickly things can fall apart. Just last weekend, we were in Bath, and everything seemed perfect. But now … now everything feels astray . I want to believe him when he says that everything between us is fine, but I know him well enough to sense that tonight, something has changed. And it terrifies me.

“Lorelei, talk to me,” Richard breaks the silence in a pleading voice.

I shrug. “What do you want me to say?”

The trees on each side of the narrow road create a tunnel that seems to be slowly closing in on us.

“I don’t know … Are you okay? Are we okay?”

The worry and insecurity in his voice pull at my heartstrings, yet somehow, I find myself saying, “Why did you tell them?”

“What?”

“Why did you tell my parents we work together?” I groan.

“It just slipped!” he replies, raising his free hand. “Wait—you’re not actually blaming me for this?”

“No, I just—”

“What does it matter if they know?”

“What does it matter? Don’t tell me you enjoyed being put on trial by my parents?”

“Of course not but—Christ, Lorelei—you really would have preferred that I lie to your parents? Are you that ashamed of our relationship?”

“What—of course not!” I hasten to say despite the knot forming in my throat at his raised voice.

“No matter what I do, you’re never ready to take the next step. It feels like you’ll never be ready to tell people about us.”

His words, sharp and unexpected, are like a claw around my heart, and suddenly I feel very alone.

“I asked you just a few days ago if you were still alright with this—with us being a secret. And you said you were! You said you would wait until I was ready!”

Richard tightens his hold on the steering wheel as we enter Oxford via High Street. “And I meant it! But it’s one thing to want to keep our relationship secret from our coworkers and another thing entirely to ask me to lie to your parents. And you didn’t even tell them about us at first. I just … I want to be with you, but lately it feels like I’m more invested in this relationship than you are.”

I stare at him, feeling small in the face of his rebuke and my eyes shining with unshed tears. My heart tears further in my chest, and I wonder how I could have failed to see the depth of his insecurity until now. These aren’t words he has thrown suddenly and carelessly at me; these are feelings that have festered inside him for a long time.

“Richard…” I take a deep breath past the painful constriction in my throat, but my voice remains brittle. “I know I haven’t always been the best girlfriend but … but I want to be with you! I’m just not ready—”

“I get it, alright?” he snaps, and this time I can’t hold back my tears. “You’re not ready to tell everyone about us. You’ve said that a thousand times before.”

Suddenly, the car stops, and I belatedly realize that we have arrived at my flat. The street is deserted, but in the distance, I can hear loud music and the cheers of partying students.

“You’re not coming in?” I ask when I notice that Richard isn’t moving. He simply stares back at me, his eyes filled with tears, and I swallow hard. “Richard, please, come in. We can talk about this in the morning—”

“Be honest, Lorelei,” he interrupts me, his voice thick with emotion, “Are you really just worried about what our colleagues might think about us? Or are you just not willing to commit to this—to us?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

“I’m asking.”

I blink, trying to clear my blurred vision. “Look, I’m just trying—everything is still so new to me. This city, this job—everything! I’m still figuring it all out!”

“Then maybe this isn’t the right time for us. Maybe you need to figure it out before you’re ready for a relationship.”

“Don’t say that,” I hasten to say, shaking my head. “You don’t mean that.”

At last, he reaches out to hold my hand, and I cling to him desperately, even if I know he will let go before I’m ready.

“Lorelei…” His voice cracks as he speaks my name. “I just … I can’t do this. I can’t keep holding on when you won’t even fight for us.”

“Please … don’t say that,” I plead, no longer caring about the tears streaming down my face. “Please, I want … I can’t—”

I swallow back my words when he shakes his head, and lets go of my hand. And just like that, I know. I know no matter what I say, it’s over.

I stare at him a moment more, as though hoping he will gaze back at me and pull me tightly into his arms to kiss me, but of course, he does no such thing, and before I lose control entirely, I grab my bag and haul myself out of the car.

Standing on the pavement , I watch him drive away, my hand tingling from the memory of his touch, and a sob breaks free from my trembling lips. A few months ago, I was terrified of getting hurt, but in the end, I am the one who hurt him.

—

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist or tagged in future chapters💙

#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x you #richard armitage x reader #professor au #office hours

32 notes · View notes

mistresskayla-blog1 · 8 months ago

Text

Reclaiming Purity

Lyn's Writing Event Day 8

May 8th: Week 2: Andromeda (plant – Lily of the Valley – white bell shaped flowers in spring)

Characters: AU - Dr Mikhel Astrov x OC Cassandra (18+)

Fandom: Richard Armitage – Plays – Dr. Astrov (Uncle Vanya)

Dr Mikhel Astrov character was created by Anton Chekhov in a play called Uncle Vanya

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: age play, angst, kissing, natural decay, smut,

A young woman, with wavy brown hair is laying in a field, lily of the valley surrounding her in the warmth of the sunny spring. She ties up her hair from her face with a scrap of string from her bound books. Her journal lay open in the grasses, pencil holding its place among the pages. The breeze was warm and it smelled of flowers and blooming grasses.

Cassandra rolled back to her book, and started sketching again, the blooms of the flowers she was drawing blowing in the breeze. She sipped some water from a travel jug, and set the stopper back into the hole, making a suction sound. Birds chirped and flew overhead, playing in the afternoon breezes busy with their chores. Cassandra smiled up at the sun kissing her cheeks. When she brought this back to the Doctor, she knew he would be pleased. But would he be so pleased that he entertained more with her?

----

Gripped by anguish Dr Astrov sits at his desk and weeps openly. The trees in his forest are dying, dying from some organism he cannot control. Mushrooms are creeping up all over the forest, bright red and shelf like at the base, indicating a rash of what the dendrologist called, “heart rot”.

He couldn’t believe it. He had worked months tirelessly with his assistant Cassandra replanting the fields and protecting the larger deciduous trees from this plight. Dr Astrov felt helpless and utterly broken. He pulled the cork out of the bottle on his table, and poured it into a glass, nearly overfilling it, then just gulped down the fruit bearing liquid directly, putting his lips to the bottle. He took a gasp as the brandy burned down his throat. And coughed a bit, rambling as Cassandra came into his study.

She moved the bottle as he went to grab it again, “mm No, that’s mine” Astrov slurred. Cassandra shook her head and took it across the room, “No, that’s enough. We cannot fix this issue with drinking. You know that doctor”. He smirked at her, “well then can we fix it with something more fun than drinking”. Cassandra smiled coyly, “Not, -- look what you have been doing to my notes, its all” she acted disgusted, as she cleaned off the desk and removed her journal from the desk. Dr Astrov turned to her as she wiped her journal off with her skirt.

“I was reading that”, Astrov said, growing slightly annoyed, “And I think you may be onto something”. Cassandra looked amused, “Oh, do you? Is that the brandy talking?” Astrov burped and stood up, “No, no, no look, look,” he snatched the book from her hand, “Its all in here, the way you drew the bells on this plant, if we let them grow around the bottom of the tree like a girdle, than maybe we can prevent the rot from even touching the root of the tree”.

Cassandra looked at him, with endearing grace, “I know that, I wrote it”.

Astrov looked at her, smiling broadly, “Its brilliant!” he grabbed her face between his hands, squishing her cheeks and placing a triumphant kiss on her pursed lips.

He dropped his hands straight away, and stepped clear of her, “I,… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” he walked back over the desk, trying to busy himself with his papers, running his hand through his fallen brown locks.

Cassandra still a bit stunned, leaned against a bench and looked down a moment, “Its, fine, really” she tried to hold back a grin. She had wanted him to kiss her for a long time now. Cassandra had worked with the doctor, training under him for about 18 months now and this was the first time he had seriously touched her.

Astrov turned back towards Cassandra, leaning against the desk, “I, just wanted to say, (looking at his feet, than back up to meet her gaze) I have really appreciated your help this past year, and all the work you are doing, trying to sort me out (he scratched the back of his neck, looking back at his desk)”. Cassandra nodded, “Of course, yes. I am honored to do it, Doctor. Really”.

Astrov looked at her, moving towards her again, “But, its not appropriate for me to take advantage of your; virtue and grace, when, I” he trailed off, and held himself back from touching her, while Cassandra stood in suspense desperate for him to touch her.

“Doctor” Cassandra, “Mikhel?”

Astrov looked at her, “my name on your lips sounds, (smiles) beautiful, Can I kiss you?”

Cassandra nodded.

Astrov moved towards her again, taking her face in his hands more gently, and when there lips met, the lightest brush of skin and heat to skin. They both held their breaths, then sighed gratefully into each other’s mouths. Astrov pulled her close with his hands around her waist. Cassandra’s hands moved into Astrov’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Astrov deepened the kiss in response, and then lead her back to the desk. He pivoted his body, carrying her against his chest, and boosting her into the desk. He swept things off of it with a crash of papers and tools, and leaned over the desk, kissing her neck and moving towards her skirts, her knees rising up.

---

Cassandra was panting and excited. After waiting so long, he was finally going to touch her, in the way she had been fantasizing about, been writing about (thankfully in a separate journal). Her head was swimming with thoughts and anticipation. Astrov continued his kisses, moving down her throat, and reaching for the buttons on her blouse, muffled he groaned into her breast, “You smell like those flowers”. Cassandra smiled, holding his head against her breast, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she breathed.

Astrov came up from her cleavage, her blouse opening further, her belly exposed to the open air of his breath, “You… wanted me?” his voice was a question in between his heart thundering in his ears. Astrov looked over Cassandra, “The first day I saw you, I was hooked, and then you shared with me your mind, and your comfort, I… I never thought, I”. He kissed her passionately again, and Cassandra ran her fingers through his soft hair.

Cassandra spoke through her kisses, “I.. never.. thought.. you would..” Her hands digging into his hair deeper, as they kissed. Astrov kissed down her neck again, and into her soft and inviting cleavage. His beard tickled her soft sun kissed skin and she giggled. His lips trailed down her belly then, moving lower. Cassandra’s need was palpable, her core throbbed at his every touch.

“yes” she bid him, as he looked up at her again, heat in his eyes, as he moved to her skirts and moved them up against her thighs, his hands slowly moving in season with his lips. He started at her ankles and up the slope of her calf, and he nibbled behind her knee, and she let out a gasp, looking over the billow of her work skirt. He chuckled, “you liked that?” She sighed a ‘yes’. And he continued onto her inner thigh, Cassandra’s breath gulped in a nervousness, and Astrov felt her tense. He paused, “I can stop, if your not,” he trailed off, resting his head against her thigh, seeing the curls damp against her knickers.

Cassandra whimpered, “I want you to,”

Astrov groaned under his breath, and licked the inside of her thigh, all the way up to her knickers. He scooped his hands under her bum and slid them down, discarding them casually on the floor, as he shifted onto his knees, and buried his face in her nubile curls. His breath toned husky, as he took in her scent and kissed her folds softly. Cassandra cried out at the delicateness of it. Astrov’s hands caressed her ass, and her thighs, moving in to touch her, but for now, he wanted to just taste her. Drink in her essence, his cock twitched in his trousers as her scent hit his sharp nose. He nudged his nose against her sensitive clit, and she moaned beautifully.

There she was spreadeagled on the desk, her skirt billowing over the Doctor, on his knees before her, in total submission to his cause. He moaned against her sex and licked playfully parting her sweet folds with his tongue. It played at her entrance, and pushed his way in a little, feeling her tightly wound around his tongue. His cock strained against fabric even more. He pulled her closer, deepening his kiss and his tongue into her core. Cassandra moaned a little louder, grinding against his face with her burning need. Her core was swimming in this sensation, wanting to build this over and over again. Cassandra was so excited she barely noticed the wave overcoming her. Astrov moved his tongue faster, and rubbed her clit with his thumb, strumming her along, knowing exactly how to make her complete her ascent into madness and relief, his breath against her mound, “Tell me..” he panted. Cassandra sat up on her elbows, pushing her skirt out of her way to look at him, “Please doctor, I want you inside me”. He smiled broadly and sucked on her clit, pushing his finger inside her, as he stood up, hunched over her and worked at getting his trousers off. She climaxed against his finger and he groaned in acceptance, pulling out slowly as she shuddered, her cunt wet and creamy now, ready for him.

Astrov teased at her entrance, stroking his cock in his hand, making it slick, at the tip. Cassandra mewed at him, her legs gripping at his hips, drawing him closer, “Easy, easy my dear,” he cooed back at her in his deeper voice. Astrov leaned down between her legs and kissed her mouth again, her flavor mixed with the brandy on his breath was intoxicating and she caressed his hair again, keeping him close. Astrov moved and pushed into her entrance, Cassandra gasped as the stretching of her flesh against his intrusion, had her seeing stars. Her pussy gripped his cock so tight, Astrov shuddered and gaffawed, sliding deeper, Cassandra’s tongue entered his mouth and danced with his. They were joined now, and their hearts thumped in unison. Astrov began to stroke into her slowly and shallowly, easing it in and out, she adjusted well and still she clung to him with limbs and cunt. His arousal was at its peak and he wanted to thrust faster and harder, but he steeled himself to continue to go slow, for her benefit.

Cassandra, panted against his ear, as he held steady, letting her pussy throb around his shaft,

“Please, please,” she begged, “Please more”.

Astrov did not hesitate, he sunk all the way in and she cried out her legs gripping him harder, her hands digging into his shoulders and hair. He shuddered again, “God, you feel so good,”

Cassandra smiled playfully, as she whispered against his beard, “harder”.

That pushed him over the edge and Astrov started to pump against her pressure, building them both to the summit, to the wave that would inevitably crash against both of them in bliss. The heat inside his loins was growing and growing. And inside her core, Cassandra was overwhelmed by all the sensations, her body simply reacting to his, and in righteous chorus of expletive joy. Astrov kept at it, moving faster and faster, a little harder, and a little faster. Sweat was gathering at his brow, he tore his shirt open, and she clawed at his chest. He looked at her, deeply as he came close to his edge. Cassandra’s walls clamped down on him and he seized, pulling out quickly and spilling himself onto the floor. She clamped against the emptiness, for mere seconds, as his fingers slid into her and he pumped again and again as she shuddered over him.

Astrov dropped to his knees again and feasted on her, licking her clit and making her scream against her sleeve, biting down, as his fingers and tongue and lips just suspended her in utter pleasure. She shook on the desk, as he held her legs over his shoulders. His tongue quieted to languid licks against her folds, and peppered her thighs with kisses, before he replaced her skirts, and helped her up to a stand. He stood, above her, and kissed her sweetly on the mouth, his hands cradling her face again. Cassandra looked up at him with sleepy eyes. He smiled as he looked at her, “Such a treasure, I’m so glad to have the wonder of all of you, thank you, Cassandra”. Cassandra was still swimming in her waves, but she was stable in his arms, and that is what mattered. He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, lying down next to her, still half dressed, there limbs lying softly with each other. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheek, and finally her mouth. Her eyelids drooped heavier, and he whispered against her forehead, “Rest now”, in his soft and sultry voice.

Raspy and confused Cassandra mumbled up at him, “What.. what happens now?”

Astrov looked at her, “you mean with the trees?”

Cassandra burbled up a giggle,

Astrov smirked, “oh you mean with us,”

Cassandra nodded,

“Let’s just learn to grow together” Astrov smiled and kissed her again, gently. And held her close to him all night.

END?

Tag list:

@legolasbadass @middleearthpixie @riepu10 @evenstaredits

@scariusaquarius @sweetestgbye @lathalea

#richard armitage #fanfiction #romance #richard armitage x oc #dr astrov #virginity #doctor #uncle vanya #Lyn's writing event 2024 #smut #oc is a virgin

15 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 3 years ago

Text

I posted 1,054 times in 2021

224 posts created (21%)

830 posts reblogged (79%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.7 posts.

I added 2,189 tags in 2021

#the hobbit - 359 posts

#thorin oakenshield - 280 posts

#hobbit fic - 202 posts

#fan fiction - 201 posts

#hobbit fanfic - 200 posts

#au - 200 posts

#the hobbit fan fiction - 196 posts

#thorin fic - 193 posts

#thorin x oc - 182 posts

#richard armitage - 176 posts

Longest Tag: 118 characters

#did not road rage at the person who insisted on driving 10 mph below the speed limit the entire time i was behind them

My Top Posts in 2021

Garage AU ~ The Chance You Take

Modern Spin on The Hobbit

Summary: When your car breaks down, there is only one garage in town - Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs. And sometimes, they do more than just tune your engine, check your oil, and top off your fluids…

Pairing: Modern!Thorin x reader

Warning: A little fooling around, a hint of prophecy…

Word Count: 5,914

This is another installment and homage to @laurfilijames (who is an awesome writer, terrific friend, all around good egg) and her way hot and spicy Garage AU (go, read it now! And also read @i-did-not-mean-to’s installment ‘Nother Time) And keep an eye out for @fandomfaeryreads, who is also working on an installment!

This fic can also be found on AO3

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover

It was almost dark and you breathed a sigh of relief as you managed to coax your old Ford into the lot. Bluish smoke wafted from beneath the Mustang’s exhaust and from beneath the hood. Now, you were no mechanic by trade, but even you knew that couldn’t possibly be anything good. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

The sign over the bay of garages read Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs in rather old-fashioned looking gold script, and the doors were closed. To the right of the bays, there was a door and above that door, another sign, in the same old-fashioned script, read Office and from within, a light blazed. Wonderful. Hopefully that meant a warm body lingered inside. Please, please let there still be somebody there. You only barely knew where in town you were, and you weren’t even sure this tiny little town had an actual name.

The Mustang rolled to a stop and you were pretty sure it actually wheezed as you killed the engine and yanked the key from the ignition. Whatever was wrong, it was going to cost a small fortune to fix. You didn’t even need to be a mechanic to know that.

To top everything off, it was raining. No, raining was not the right word. It was fucking teeming out. Rain hit the windshield so hard and so fast, the garage lights were fuzzy-looking blobs that didn’t resemble anything other than fuzzy-looking blobs. As for the other cars in the lot? You could only assume they were cars. They were just darker, fuzzier-looking blobs through the raindrop spattered windows.

No one came to the door. Wonderful. That meant you had to sprint though the deluge, which would have been fine, had you not chosen to wear a white v-necked tee shirt that day. Too bad it looked so cute with your ripped jeans and the weatherman made no mention of rain at all. Now, if you didn’t move fast enough, you were going to give whatever warm body you happened upon a nice show.

You waited a few minutes more. Maybe someone inside just moved slowly and would be out in a minute or two. Or maybe the rain would let up. No on both counts and actually, the rain fell harder now. Even the weather was against you at the moment. Damn it, why was Mother Nature such a bitch sometimes?

“Fine,” you muttered, taking a deep breath as you reached for the door handle, “it’s run or sit here all night.”

The door swung open with a creak of old steel hinges and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the rain, then forced yourself to get out of the car. The urge to kick the car was a strong one, but not only were you wearing sandals and would probably only succeed in smashing the hell out of your foot, but the rain came down in buckets now, so you’d probably drown if you tried it. Instead, you settled for slamming the door. Unfortunately, when you did, the rear driver’s side window promptly slipped halfway down. Old cars were awesome to look at, but could be a bitch to maintain and this one was the queen of all the bitches. Icy raindrops pelted you as you unlocked the door, yanked up the window, and held it in place from the outside as you slammed the door shut once more, then booked across the lot to the office.

You might as well have saved yourself the trouble and just strolled leisurely across that damn lot because by the time you reached the office, you were soaked to the bone anyway. Your hair was nothing more than wet strings now as you shoved it out of your eyes. Then you looked down. A mistake. The white balconette bra seemed like such a sensible choice when you got dressed this morning. It was cute and more importantly, it was comfortable. However, while most of each boob was covered, the cleavage created by that cute little bra was not so well hidden. Wonderful. All you could do was hope that whoever was still in the building wasn’t the least bit interested in boobs at all.

Your car keys dangled from your hand as you offered up a silent prayer to whatever power—if any—might be listening, and grabbed the knob. It turned easily, and as the door swung open, a bell tinkled merrily to alert anyone lingering in there a warm body was out here.

“Shop’s closed!”

The voice emanating from the back was a smooth baritone that actually sent a shiver along your spine, and that was something that never happened before. It was, without a doubt, the most sinfully deep voice you’d ever heard and you could only imagine the man behind it.

But, now was not the time to be ogling a voice—if such a thing was even possible. Your car was dead. You were stuck. So, unless you wanted to sleep outside in said dead car, you had to hope you could get a pity look at it, if nothing else.

However, you were now even painfully aware of how the cold, wet tee shirt stuck to you. You tugged it away from your boobs, only when you let go, it just slapped back against you, feeling even colder and wetter now. Wonderful.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” you called back, shoving your wet hair out of your eyes, “but I’m kind of… stuck.., here.”

A low sigh rolled up front, followed by the squeak of leather and the whir of wheels across the floor. A moment later, you saw the owner of the voice and all you could think was—

God help me…

He was gorgeous. Absolutely, utterly, totally gorgeous. And he practically filled the damn doorway—all broad shoulders and wide chest that looked even broader and wider in the black tee shirt bearing the words Durin’s Garage in gold over the left breast. That damn tee shirt was stretched so tightly across those broad shoulders, across that wide chest. So much broad. So much wide. Topped off with beautiful pale blue eyes and long, wavy, silver-streaked black hair caught loosely at his nape, probably to keep it from getting caught in a fan, or anything else, in an engine compartment. Normally, you didn’t find bearded men all that attractive, but if they all looked like this one bearded man? You’d fall on your knees and convert at that moment to join the Church of the Bearded Man Worshippers.

“Stuck?”

You nodded, trying to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “My car is dead. And I mean, like really dead. I just barely got it into your lot and I’m pretty sure it is not turning over again. And I know you’re closed, but please? I don’t even know where I am really, and now I’m stuck here with this dead Ford POS.”

Probably not the smartest thing in the world, admitting you didn’t know where you were, but at that point, you didn’t care. Your car was deader than dead and you were stuck.

To your horror, his gaze dropped. He caught himself, but you still felt it, and when a slight smile lifted the corners of his lips, you contemplated just leaving the car there and hoofing it out of town as fast as possible. At least, you would unless the floor opened up and swallowed you whole, but the odds of that happening were slim to none.

To his credit, his expression remained utterly businesslike, as if women in wet, white tee shirts came into his shop every day of the week. Of course, seeing how fucking hot he was, it was entirely possible that happened all the time and this was nothing new to him.

Don’t think about that. Just. Don’t.

He came around the counter. “Dead how?”

“Dead as in not running.”

Those laser-beam blue eyes rolled. “I figured that much out on my own. What happened?”

“I don’t really know. I was about three miles from here when I noticed blue smoke wafting from the hood and the tailpipe. I just managed to sweet talk it into rolling into your lot, where it wheezed once and died. Trust me, it. Is. Dead.”

“Blue smoke. Blue smoke is definitely not good.” He strode past you to the window and peered out into the thickening darkness. “Which one is yours?”

Dear God, he filled out Levi’s like nobody’s business, and that made you feel even more like a drowned rat. Water dripped from your hair to soak your tee shirt just in case you’d forgotten you were soggy. “The metallic blue Mustang in the middle of your parking lot.”

The bell jingled merrily when he opened the door and a moment later, he let out a low whistle. "What year is that? Sixty-eight?”

“Sixty-seven, actually.”

“Damn.” He looked over his right shoulder at you as he tugged an umbrella from a bight orange bucket that said ice melt on the side. “You’re driving a fifty-four year old car and you’re surprised it died on you?”

“I happen to like that fifty-four year old car and no, sadly I’m not surprised at all. It’s just I can usually fix what goes wrong with it because it’s mostly minor stuff. But this time, I’m pretty sure it’s beyond my capabilities.”

He arched one brow, but said nothing as he popped open the umbrella and splashed out toward your car. Yes, driving it could be a challenge at times. It took forever to warm up in the winter and sometimes stalled out for absolutely no reason no matter what time of year, but this was the first time it up and died on you in years. And honestly, you didn’t even want to think about what it would cost because blue smoke and a dropping gas gauge probably meant blown cylinders.

You were already soaked pretty much to the skin, so what was a little more rain at that point? You followed him out, trying like hell not to notice that he’d popped the hood and now bent over to peer into the engine compartment with a flashlight and it was only dumb luck that kept his ass from bursting into flames because you could not help but stare at it. Damn… good genes or time well spent in the gym, or maybe a combination of both. Either way, you didn’t really feel the rain any more and in all honesty would not have been surprised to see steam wafting from your wet clothes.

“Yeah,” he straightened up and carefully pushed the hood back down with one hand, “I’ll have to get it into the shop and take a look, but I have to warn you, I’m thinking the problem is with the cylinders, Miss—”

You told him your name and then sighed, leaning against the fender and lifted your face up to the rain. With any luck, you’d drown right there and then, or you’d melt or something. “That’s what I was afraid of. Dare I ask how soon you can look at it?”

“We’ve got a few cars ahead of you. It hasn’t been a good couple weeks for ladies traveling through town. At least not a good week for their cars, anyway. I’m not so sure they’d complain.”

You rubbed your forehead with one hand. The last thing you wanted to hear was about his escapades with these unfortunate souls who probably weren’t quite so unfortunate to be stranded at this particular garage. “Not to be that person, but how many is a few? And I guess my next question is, where is the closet hotel, motel, or B and B?”

“Let’s get this into a bay and I’ll go see what’s on the schedule for tomorrow.” He closed the umbrella and handed it to you. The backs of your fingers brushed the backs of his, and you’d swear you heard a snap of electricity at the contact.

He, however, didn’t seem to notice, just as he didn’t seem to notice the rain spattering him. He moved to open the driver’s door. “Put it in neutral, you steer, I’ll push.”

“I know the routine. Remember, it’s a fifty-four year old car. I’ve done the you steer, I’ll push more times than I care to think about.”

He smiled and when you lowered yourself into the seat and tucked your legs in, he pushed the door closed. You shifted the manual transmission into neutral, waited for him to open the bay door almost dead center from where you sat. He came back around and when he yelled, “Ready?” you told him yes and tried unsuccessfully to ignore how your jeans stuck to your legs and to the seat at the same time.

It took a little effort first, but then the Mustang rolled relatively easily into the bay, and the bank of doors behind you lit up red when you stepped on the brake pedal. You set it back into first gear, and with both hands, pulled the emergency brake, which was a lever located under the dash on your side. Two hands to tug as hard as you could and it locked into place.

You got out and watched him tug down the bay door and twist the handle to lock it. Then, he came back over to you. “It’s a nice car, even if it is dead right now.”

“I’ve had it since I was fifteen. My dream car was a sixty-nine Mach I, but this was what I could find. Not quite the same, but I’ve gotten kind of attached to it over the years.”

“You must’ve to keep it on the road this long. You don’t see too many old cars on the road nowadays, which is kind of a shame, really. I miss working on them. They’re so much easier to tinker with, even if getting parts can be a bitch at times.” He stepped closer and you couldn’t help but notice the way the overhead lights played along the silver streaking his wet hair, the way they glinted off the ornate-looking silver cuff holding his hair at his nape. A hint of motor oil and grease hung in the air, but as he drew closer, there was something else. Something clean, with a hint of cedar to it. You didn’t know if it was his shower gel, or cologne, but it gave you the urge to lean in and inhale deeply. And that would be weird, so you tried to ignore it as you leaned back against the Mustang’s door.

Of the four bays, three were occupied, one being your car. The other two cars were far newer models. A radio played in his office, the faint but unmistakable strains of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir floated toward you. You weren’t much of a Zeppelin fan, but you liked this particular track. “Is there something I should fill out, or an envelope to drop my keys into?”

“I can take them.”

“I don’t even know your name,” you told him, smiling as you tilted my head just a little.

“Sure you do. It’s on the sign.” He stepped closer. “Thorin. Durin. It’s my garage.”

Thorin. An unusual name, but it certainly suited him. With a smile, you held out your keyring. “Okay then. Now I feel better about handing my keys over to you, Thorin Durin.”

He held out a huge hand, palm up, and as you dropped your keys into it, you couldn’t help but notice the grease ground into the lines of his palm, how rough his hand looked. Working hands. Skilled hands. His fingers were long and thick and that was exactly the wrong thing to notice about this gorgeous man, because now you wanted to know what else was long and thick and as you looked up at him, you’d swear he could read your mind. His eyes darkened just enough that it sent a shiver along your spine. How many times were women told not to talk to strange men? And there you were, locked in a garage with one.

God help me.

But, you didn’t think you were in danger. At least, not much beyond your senses being totally rattled, any way. Mr. Thorin Durin didn’t give off a creeper vibe. Rather, if he gave off any air, it was one of a guy who didn’t quite seem to know just how hot he was, or what effect he had on women, and that didn’t seem at all possible to you. How could he not know? How was that even possible?

Because he most definitely had an effect on you. With each step he took closer, your heart beat that much faster. The air seemed charged. Your belly did strange little flips and all you could think about was pushing up on your toes and letting the tip of your tongue brush along the curve of his shoulder, up along his neck, to his ear to see what it might lead to.

Give me strength.

“Let me get you a towel,” he said, winking as he added, “You look as if you could use it.”

“Just a little.” Your hair dripped onto your chest, lay in loose, wet coils on your shoulders, spilled down your back, and the rain brought a drop in the temperature so you were also cold as well. Thank God your cleavage-inducing bra was padded or else he’d really be getting a show.

“Weatherman lied.” His voice carried across the garage as he went into the back office. “Said it was supposed to be clear and dry tonight.”

“And they go to school for that, you know.” you called back.

A low chuckle rolled her way, followed by, “Right? Like I can’t do the same job by poking my head out the window and looking up.”

He emerged from the office with two small hand towels and seemed almost embarrassed as he held one out. “It’s not much, but it’s clean and more importantly, it’s dry.”

“Thank you.” You took the rough yellow towel and draped it over your head to scrub your hair as best you could.

“Where are you from?” His voice broke through the noise of terrycloth against your hair and you peered out from under it to find him standing only a few feet from you, the second towel about his neck.

“New Jersey, actually. I’m new here.”

“A transplant, eh?”

You nodded. “I am, kind of. And don’t ask me why, because I can’t possibly explain it without sounding completely crazy.”

He caught the towel by both ends, and his gaze remained steadily locked on yours, but somehow that just made you even more aware of how your wet tee clung to you, how the swells of your breasts—damn you, cute balconette bra—were almost as visible as if you’d stood there in just that damn bra in front of him.

“Try me.”

“I’d never even heard of this town,” you dabbed at the rainwater trickling along your temple, shaking your head as it sounded nuts to you to admit this, “but I needed a change, so I basically closed my eyes, hit a bunch of random keys to enter into Google, and this town came up, so here I am.”

“And here you are.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve heard crazier things.”

“Really?” You looked around at the cars in his shop and just imagined their owners, wondering if they were all women, who stood in front of this gorgeous man, who positively radiated sin and sex and danger, and wrestled with their inner selves to keep their hands to themselves. Or maybe they didn’t wrestle anyone and just threw themselves at him. Stranger things happened. “I’ll bet you have.”

“We get a lot of people who are just passing through. You’re the first who’s moving here, though.” He slid the towel from his neck and wadded it up to toss onto the work bench along the wall across from the line of cars. The surface was fairly clean, considering it was a garage, and she gathered most of the tools had been stored away in the large fire engine red upright tool boxes. He pointed at his shirt and then at you. “You want something dry to put on?”

“Oh.” You fought the urge to fold your arms over your chest, since it would be pointless anyway. “No, thank you. You know what? I should probably just get a cab and find the nearest motel. You want to go home, I’m sure and I’m really just about done in, so—”

“Don’t worry about a cab. I’ll drop you off.”

The thought of being alone in the close quarters of a car—or truck—with him rattled your senses in a way they hadn’t been rattled in years and it was something you hadn’t realized you missed, either. At least, you didn’t until now. Now, your stomach did a queer little flip and your heartbeat sped up. Now you folded your arms because that little flip, coupled with how cold the air swirling about that garage was, meant your nipples were thisclose to betraying you.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t.” He turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a grin. “But there’s only one cab company in town and they’re a little… shady… I’d feel better if I gave you a ride.”

Oh, Mr. Durin, I’d feel better if I gave you a ride.

Your back stiffened. Where the hell had that come from? Not that mattered, because you meant every word of it. You pressed your lips together as he disappeared into the office once more. Get a grip, you told yourself in the sternest voice you could muster. Men like him are never interested in women like you. He is giving you a ride—er, a lift home, such as it is. That’s it.

But you couldn’t ignore it. The low pull of his voice, his gorgeous blue eyes, his absolutely perfect face and body ignited something in you. Something you’d thought was long dead and buried. And it left you feeling more than a little reckless.

He came back a few minutes later, a black Durin’s Garage tee shirt in one fist. “Here. Before you catch pneumonia. It’s all I’ve got, but it’s dry.”

You stared at it, then took it. “Thank you.”

Thorin stepped closer. “It’s a small. I’m out of mediums and I think the large will swim on you. But this should fit. You’re pretty tiny.”

Compared to him, you were minuscule. But that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. The fluttering in your stomach worsened as your gaze focused on his lips. Would his beard be soft or scratchy? Would it leave red marks on your skin—along your jaw, down your neck…

Along your inner thighs?

What the—?

You stiffened, unconsciously pressing said thighs together. Part of you wanted to just whisk the wet shirt over your head and see what he’d do.

But the other part was afraid he’d laugh or worse, turn away with disinterest. After all, men like him did not notice women like you unless it was when you were in high school or college and they needed help passing an exam or writing a paper. Then, and only then, did they know you existed.

That reckless feeling rippled thorough you again. This might be your only chance to ever do something like this. And what was that old saying?

Oh, right… you never regret the chances you take as much as you regret the ones you don’t take.

Thorin towered over you, all broad shoulders and wide chest. “You can go in the office and change if you want a little privacy.”

You swallowed hard and tried to ignore just how fast your heart beat right then, because it was enough to make you dizzy. Things like this did not happen to you. Men like him never noticed you at all. And yet, he gazed at you intently, your keys still dangling from his right hand. His huge right hand. He noticed you, all right. But, what he thought about you might have been a totally different story.

“I—I’m okay right here.” You don’t know where the words came from but they were out there now, just hanging in the small space between you. He was close enough for you to feel the heat wafting from his body. Close enough for you to smell his clean, almost woodsy cologne.

Close enough for you to see the silver threads wound through his beard as well. This was no boy before you, no kid. He was most definitely a man. And from the looks of him, a man who would know what he was doing.

“You’re staring at me.” His voice was a low, rumbling purr, almost like you’d imagine a tiger’s purr would sound like, if tigers purred. You wondered if they did for a moment, then mentally slapped your forehead for it. Tigers? Really? For fuck’s sake, who cared? You had far more important things to worry about at the moment.

“You must be used to that,” you said without thinking, because surely women stared at this man with the same look of longing a starving person would cast toward a thick ribeye.

“What makes you say that?”

“Have you seen yourself, Mr. Durin? Because if you have, you cannot seriously be asking me why.”

He folded his arms and a wry smile lifted his lips. That smile did the oddest thing to you. You prided yourself on remaining cool and in control and now, this gorgeous man had you holding his stare as you slowly tugged the wet tee shirt over your head, right there, in front of him.

When you emerged, a hint of triumph shot through you. HIs eyes had visibly darkened, the pupils wider now, a hint of sin and promise crept into that wry smile. You held his stare easily as you let the wet shirt hit the grease-and-oil stained cement floor with a soft splop.

Daring him to do the same hovered on the tip of your tongue because all you could think about was what lay beneath those Levi’s and that black tee shirt. And you would not mind seeing what lay beneath his clothes at all.

You couldn’t help it. You drank in the sight of his muscled arms, the way his biceps stretched the tee’s short sleeves, how muscle roped his forearms, which were shadowed with dark, downy-looking hair. You drank in the sight of his thick thighs hidden beneath perfectly faded denim. Dear Christ, he was just so overpoweringly male, and you were in the mother of all dry spells. How could you not be wondering what it would be like to just fuck him right then and there?

He just stared at you with those mesmerizing eyes.

You’d heard the term eye-fucked but never experienced it.

Until now.

Because that was exactly what he did to you. His gaze roamed over you slowly, and you just had that feeling he liked what he saw. He hadn’t even touched you and yet, the cotton lining of your thong was damp. Your nipples were tight little beads and you could tell yourself it was from the cold air in the garage all you wanted to, but it was a lie. It was because his gaze might as well have been an actual caress, one that touched all the sweet spots and lingered there until your body responded to it.

You had to look away before you melted right there, on the floor in front of him. Over his right shoulder, you spotted the cork-board on the wall, covered with news clippings and photographs. You were too far away to see much detail - two dark-haired men and one blond, standing in the same garage. Father and sons? Brothers?

He leaned toward you and your breath caught as he just brushed his lips along your jawline, fainter than a butterfly kiss, moving toward your ear, where he whispered, “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

You swallowed hard. His voice was like black velvet dragged over sin. His beard was both soft and scratchy and you didn’t give a damn what kind of mark it left on your skin because that caress alone sent fire streaking through you. Your eyes closed and somehow, you managed to whisper back, “Do what?”

He swept his lips along your neck now. Your head lolled to the left. You bit down on your bottom lip as he slid an arm about your waist. As that arm tightened. As he pulled you flush against his big, solid body.

“Take on a customer after we’ve closed.” His breath was so warm against your skin, as much of a caress as his words were. You let your hands come to rest on his hips, the denim warm from his body heat. God help you, it was all you could do to keep from twisting your fingers into the bottom of his damp tee shirt with the intent of whisking it from his back.

“I don’t usually do this, either.”

“What’s that, love?”

Love? Oh, have mercy. His cologne teased your nose, mingled with the garage scents of oil and sweat and grime, and without thinking, you nuzzled him. His breath hitched. Both hands curved on your hips.

You turned your head to answer, only his mouth found yours instead, his lips warm and soft, his tongue thick and slow and teasing as he thrust it between your lips. You opened your mouth wider, let your tongue caress his. He kissed you slowly, deeply, his beard scraping along your sensitive skin in a unique caress of its own, until your head spun. He kissed you as if he already knew exactly how you liked to be kissed—soft and teasing, drawing your tongue back into the wet heat of his mouth. Oh, you did indeed like to be kissed this way, it sent the most delicious warm pleasure spiraling through you, made you forget your wet hair and your sodden clothes. It made you forget everything except wanting to feel more of it.

Now, you leaned into him, your fingers folding into the damp cotton stretched so nicely across his chest. Heat wafted from him, and the tee shirt was thin enough that all you felt was thick, firm muscle through it.

The arms about your waist tightened. He lifted you and the next thing you felt was the cold steel of the Mustang’s hood bleeding through your damp jeans. It didn’t stay cold for long and neither, for that matter, did you.

He slid a hand up along your waist, his fingers just brushing the outer curve of your left breast and just that slight touch was enough to make you suck in sharp breath, enough to make you arch your back, and he got the message, for a second later, his huge hand cupped your breast, his thumb found your nipple despite the padding in your bra, and very slowly slid about it. Fire darted through you, hot enough that you couldn’t hold back your mewl of satisfaction.

Your fingers tightened of their own in his shirt, and you tugged it free from the waist of his jeans. You slid your hand beneath it, skimmed it along hot, smooth skin layered with solid muscle. You squeezed it. No give at all. None. He was rock.

He angled his hips between your knees. Without thinking, you pressed your thighs against him, pulled him hard against you and you moaned in unison at the feel of his erection grinding up into you. You ached at the pressure, ached with wanting to tug on his black leather belt to unbuckle it and pop the fly on those Levi’s to see what he kept hidden, to see if he was every bit as perfectly proportioned as he felt. You waited with bated breath for him to unhook the fool bra and let it fall to the floor to join your tee.

Your fingers brushed warm leather, only to have him catch you by the wrist. “Wait,” he growled, gently pulling your hand away from him, “not here.”

Disappointed crashed over you as if the ceiling itself had fallen in. You were breathless and achy with desire, and he wanted to stop? “Why?”

He offered up a smile that was almost shy and he was more than a little out of breath as he murmured, “I don’t usually do this.”

“Take on a customer after you’ve closed?”

His eyes sparkled and a low chuckle rolled toward you. “Well, yes, but that’s not really what I meant, either. I meant this.” His hands came to rest on your thighs, and he squeezed them gently as he added, “I don’t normally fool around with my customers in the shop.”

“But outside the shop is okay?”

To your surprise, he actually laughed—a loud, husky laugh that was almost as arousing as his deep voice was. “I prefer it, yes.”

Then, to your surprise, he slid an arm about your shoulders and pulled you against him. “Tell you what, I’ll get to your car first thing in the morning and tomorrow night, I’ll take you out. Have dinner. See a movie. I don’t care. We’ll just go do something.”

“Thorin, I don’t even know where I’ll be tomorrow night. I’ll be living in a motel until I find a place. And I still have to find the motel.”

“I know where you’ll be.” He pulled away far enough to smile down at you. “You’re coming home with me tonight.”

“Um. Come again?” You winced. Poor choice of words, at least as far as you were concerned.

He didn’t seem notice, as he offered a boyish grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “We’ll stop on the way and grab something to eat and then maybe we can watch a movie and hold hands or something.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack, love.” His eyes grew as serious as his voice as he said, “I have to prove to you I don’t go around seducing women on the hoods of their cars, don’t I?”

You didn’t really know how to answer that, so you eased down from the fender and crouched to swipe your ruined tee shirt from the garage floor. As you stood, it was to find him gazing at you with serious blue eyes now. “You can trust me, you know.”

You held that gaze easily and somehow, you just knew you absolutely could trust him. You couldn’t explain it. You just felt it. Even so, that didn’t stop you from quirking one brow. “Can I?”

He bent and brushed your lips with his. “Absolutely and I will prove it to you. You’ll see.”

“I’ll see what?”

“You aren’t here by accident, you know. This was meant to be,” he murmured. Then, he drew in a deep breath and added, “You’re my soul mate. I’ve been waiting for you.”

53 notes • Posted 2021-11-23 11:49:01 GMT

The Cellar

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at short writing, which is a skill I’m still honing, so I hope this isn’t too terrible. Please, reblog if you will and let me know what you think about it - good or bad. Thank you!

Summary: Pre-Quest for Erebor:

Dwalin is working as a bouncer and Dezana Ashmane is the bartender he’s had his eye on, but is surprisingly too shy to approach. At least, he is until one night, when he finds himself trapped in the tavern’s cellar with her, seeking shelter from a sudden, violent storm.

Pairing: Dwalin/Zana (Female OC)

Characters: Dwalin, Dezana (Zana) Ashmane (Female OC)

Rating: E

Warnings: Forced togetherness, cheap whiskey, soul baring and unexpected confessions.

Word Count: 3,173

Zana had never seen such ugly weather.

It teemed, raindrops hitting the Dancing Frog’s windowpanes, both small and large, with enough force, she didn’t know how the glass remained intact. For the last two days, rain and wind swept through the Blue Mountains, but over the last several hours, the storm gained strength. Wind lashed the eaves, threw open the tavern door more than once, and just in general wrought havoc all through town.

The storms themselves didn’t bother her, but the wind threatened to drive her mad. Wind was a monster that destroyed roofs, ripped down walls, blew in windows. And nights such as tonight were ever the reminder of that.

The tavern was dead, the weather far too terrible for even the most desperate of drunkards to venture out. They’d had one patron in the last hour and he’d finally taken his leave minutes earlier, staggering off into the storm despite her best attempts at getting him to stay by offering to put him up through the night on the sofa in her tiny flat above the tavern. Only she and Dwalin remained. The men and dwarves who provided security for the Dancing Frog took turns staying with her until she finished closing and tonight, he’d drawn the short straw and didn’t look at all happy about it. He remained over by the front door, arms folded, expression bland, bordering on annoyed. He was generally quiet, which made him far more intimidating than even his considerable size did. Tall for a dwarf, he was also all muscle, and not at all shy about using that muscle when the occasion arose. More than once, she’d seen him bodily lift Men off their feet to casually toss out the door as if it required no more effort than emptying a tankard or flagon.

The wind screamed around them, like some great beast determined to rip the roof from its moorings and devour them whole. She didn’t relish the thought of going up to her flat, of getting that much closer to the wind, silly as that was, since of course the wind had no top nor bottom nor sides. It was all encompassing. And angry. So very, very angry, it seemed.

The howling rose in pitch, the air pressure increasing until she had to swallow to make her ears pop. Something hit the tavern door with enough force to blow it open and Dwalin threw himself against it to slam it shut, then threw the bolt. Debris pelted the walls, the windows, and with a resounding screech of tearing wood, the door blasted open, ripping the lock clear out of the molding. The entire building shook as if a giant gripped in its fist, determined to shake them clear out of it.

Dwalin came around the bar, grabbing her by the wrist. “We need to go into the cellar. It’ll be safer there.” Another crash shook the tavern and he pulled with enough force to practically jerk her arm from its socket. “Now.”

She offered no resistance, and allowed him to pull her down past the dark kitchen, past her dark, cluttered office, and to the cellar door at the end of the corridor. He threw it open, guiding her around him. “Take care and don’t fall.”

“I know these stairs well enough,” she told him, pausing to pluck one of the flickering torches from its sconce Even so, she gingerly placed her free hand on the splintered railing, taking care not to run her hand along it.

It was slow going down that somewhat rickety staircase. Two risers were loose, so she took extra care not to stumble on them. Setting the tavern on fire would really put a crimp in everything.

Just beyond the staircase, empty sconce awaited the torch. The flame danced wildly at first, casting long, equally dancing shadows along the rough stone walls. Then it calmed, and gave off just enough amber light to show how dusty, cobwebby, and all round untidy the cellar really was. But, as Dwalin said, it was safe and that was what mattered.

The wind’s howls grew louder, more guttural, followed by the dull, hollow thunk of something hitting the front of the building. Glass shattered, crashing above them to send dust filtering down from the exposed ceiling beams and underneath the staircase.

A long, low craaaack rent the air, followed by more glass shattering. Dwalin grabbed her around the waist, basically tackling her to the damp, uneven stone floor as more debris filtered down upon them. He flattened himself over her, a dwarf shield, as one of the beams split and wood shards rained down. The wind went from a howl to a roar and she squeezed her eyes shut as the entire cellar lit up as lightning forked the sky. There was only one small window, high up on the back wall, but the lightning was that fierce, it needed nothing bigger to be seen.

Another crash, then the winds died down to a moan instead of a howl. Dirt, wood, and various other bits of debris sifted off Dwalin’s back as he carefully eased off her. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded slowly. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

He sat back with a nod, brushing the remnants of everything from his shoulders. She leaned over, pressing two fingers against his cheek, just above his dark beard, explaining, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s but a scratch.”

“I don’t think so,” she leaned closer. The gash ran the length of his cheekbone, narrow, but bleeding freely. “How do you not feel it?”

“It stings, is all.” He jerked back. “Leave off. As I said, it stings.”

“Let me clean it. It looks as if you’ve some dirt in there.”

“It’s fine. Truly.”

But she pushed away and got to her feet. On the far side of the cellar was where the wine and beer casks were stored. On the row of somewhat dusty shelving were leather bottles of port, cognac, and various whiskeys. She grabbed one of the whiskey bottles, even as he said, “I need no fussing. It’s fine.”

“Stop being a baby,” she told him as she knelt before him. She pulled her lace handkerchief from the pocket of her trousers, and carefully tugged the cork free from the bottle’s neck. The whiskey was strong, its heavy oaken scent almost stinging her nose. Whiskey was never her drink of choice—it burned her nose and stung her throat and when it hit her stomach, it was like a fireball exploding through her. But, both Men and dwarves enjoyed it, so she made certain to keep a decent selection in stock.

This one was one of the less popular whiskeys, though, and so she didn’t hesitate to pour some into the handkerchief and press said handkerchief to the bloody gash.

“Aye! What’re ye doing?” Dwalin knocked her hand away as he jerked back and glared at her.

“Cleaning it. Now, do hold still and let me finish.”

“It’s fine the way it is. And—” Thunder shook the building and the winds rose to a roar again, effectively silencing him. She took advantage of it to lean in and gently dab at the cut on his cheek once more.

“Are you always so difficult?”

He glared at her, but this time didn’t try to pull away. “I need no fussin’ over me.”

“It’s not fussing. I just rather not see you die from a simple infection.” She poured more whiskey onto the handkerchief and pressed it to his cheek once again. “I need you here. You scare everyone into not brawling all over my taproom.”

To her surprise, he actually laughed. He rarely smiled, never mind laughed, and now having heard it, she wished he did both more often. His laugh was like a double black scotch—smooth and smoky and very easy on the ears.

“There.” She drew the handkerchief from his cheek. “I think you will live.”

“Thank the Maker for that, eh?” He took the bottle from her and without preamble, lifted it to his lips for a long pull. Then, he lowered it to say, “It sounds as if the storm’s come back.”

She nodded, glancing up at the ceiling as if she could see through the planks, through the ceiling and the roof, which of course, she couldn’t. Rain still pounded down, thunder rumbled, and the wind picked up to a low roar again. “I dread going up there and seeing what that crash was. There is no way it was anything good.”

He held out the bottle. “Sounds like the front windows. And no, nothing good at all.”

“Thank you.”

“Take a nip. You won’t mind so much, then.”

She hesitated, but then took the bottle. Bracing herself for the fire and flame, she swallowed.

A mistake. The whiskey scorched a path across her tongue, down her throat, and when it hit her belly, she let out a low, “Whoooof !” as the fire filled her.

He chuckled, taking the bottle from her. “Not much of a whiskey drinker, are ye?”

Zana shook her head, waving her hands as her eyes watered and her entire mouth burned. “N-no,” she managed to choke, “n-not at all, r-really. Oh, that is awful!”

“Aye, it is hardly the best I’ve ever had.” He sank back against the wall, gesturing to her with the bottle as he said, “I hope ye give 'em doubles for the price of singles when ye serve this.”

“No one ever asks for it. And now I can see why.”

“So why keep it, then?”

“I keep it for Nori, believe it or not.”

Dwalin just stared at her. “Nori? You’re joking?”

“I’m not. He is very sweet, but his taste in whiskey is appalling. And I’ve caught him trying to steal my steak knives, so I suppose he deserves terrible whiskey.”

“I’ll say. This could be used to strip the paint from a wall.”

She chuckled as he lifted the bottle again. “And yet, you’re drinking it.”

“My face hurts. I’m allowed.”

She sat back with a sigh. “If you wish to go home, I’ll be fine. Just be careful out there.”

“No. I’ll stay. If the windows were broken, ye never know if ye’ll end up with ruffians who’d think it a lark to help themselves to your ale.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. If this tavern closes, I’m out of work.”

“You’d find something elsewhere.”

“Perhaps,” he held her gaze steadily, “but I like it here.”

She’d never noticed how blue his eyes were until that moment, and she also noticed that she needed a sip of the rotgut whiskey, for the look in his blue eyes was one she’d never seen before. Reaching for the leather bottle, she said, “I take it I am not so terrible a shrew to work for?”

She brought the bottle to her lips, bracing herself for the sting and burn. They didn’t disappoint. Her face reacted of its own accord, which made Dwalin chuckle even as he said, “No, you’re not so terrible a shrew.”

He took the bottle back, rolling it slowly between his palms. The silence stretched between them, making her all too aware of how the storm intensified around them. Rain rapped against the glass in that small window like someone was throwing handfuls of nails at the pane, meanwhile the wind blew with enough force to rattle the iron bars across that small windowpane. Thunder rolled through the heavens above as if a giant somewhere shot marbles, and every now and again, the entire cellar lit up from lighting forking across the sky.

She tried not to let her thoughts dwell on the mess awaiting her above. Rain. Wind. Broken glass. Shattered wood. The tavern only broke even these days. It was entirely possible the cost of repairs would far outweigh her income and then she’d be left with no choice but to close.

No. She’d think about that later. Instead, she gazed down at the large hands rolling that fool bottle. The back of both hands bore tattoos in black ink, but she couldn’t tell what the tattoos were of, and normally he wore gauntlets over his wrists and hands, just in case. But, his hands were huge, with equally huge, somewhat battered and slightly crooked fingers. Somehow, she didn’t think he was a stranger to brawls of any sort and in fact, often seemed to simmer with an energy that suggested he only wanted to find exactly that.

But not now. Now, he was almost pensive. And that was an expression she didn’t often seen on anyone, let alone him. He’d worked for her for nearly three months now, and this was actually the most she’d ever even spoken to him, for he rather kept to himself when not needed on the floor.

“Is something the matter?”

“Why would you think yourself a shrew?”

She sat a bit more upright. “Because I suppose I have to be. A woman owning and operating a tavern in a town of dwarves and Men? If I was anything other than a tough old bird, I’d never survive.”

“Shrew. Tough old bird. Is that how ye see yerself?” He shook his head as he handed her the bottle. “A shame, that.”

This time, when she sipped, it didn’t seem to burn so badly. In fact, she took a second one, and that one went down smoother still. “Why do you say that? You don’t even seem to like me all that much.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You never talk to me. You always seem to be glaring at me.”

“That is just my face, lady. I canna help it. Trust me,” he took the bottle back and tipped it almost completely upside down, set it down with flourish and finished with, “you are anything but either one of those and I like you just fine. And that’s the problem.”

Her cheeks grew warm and a nervous energy fluttered through her, so she jumped up to fetch another bottle, and regretted her decision as the whiskey shot to her head and the room seemed to to sharply to the left.

“A problem? How so?” She managed to right herself, lurch to the shelf, grab the last remaining bottle of Nori’s dreadful whiskey, and plunked down across from him on the damp, dusty, stone floor.

“Because I work for ye.”

She unwound the wire from over the cork and tugged. The cork stuck fast in the bottle’s neck, despite her best efforts. “So,” she said without looking up as she wrestled with the cork, her hand growing sore as she fought with the bottle, “you cannot like me because you work for me?”

“Aye! A man shouldna lust after his boss if he can help it.”

That was not what she expected him to blurt and it was a shame that the cork chose that same moment to cooperate, for she lost her grip on it and it went sailing off into the far corner and out of sight. Thankfully, the bottle didn’t do the same.

“Wh-what was that?”

To her surprise, he blushed. The big, tough, hard as nails dwarf who could lift a grown Man off his feet and not even break a sweat, actually blushed. The flush spread up from his dark beard, along his slanted cheekbones, up into his wide forehead and even the top of his shiny bald head went pink. It seemed like the only thing stopping it was where his hairline began—at the middle of the back of his head, where thick, dark hair fell below his shoulders.

“Aye, now ye know.” He roughly shoved up from the floor to stalk across the cellar, to where the wine casks were stacked. “And now ye know what a fool I am as well.”

She set the bottle gently on the floor and scrambled to her feet. “Wait… Dwalin…”

He didn’t look at her, but kept his back stubbornly to her, and his shoulders stiffened as she laid a hand just over his left shoulder blade. “I don’t think you’re a fool at all,” she told him softly, her fingers curving into the solid muscle layered over his back. “I always thought you didn’t care for me all that much, but I pay well so you put up with me.”

“Lady,” he slowly turned toward her, “you’re wrong. I would work for you if you paid me slave’s wages.”

They were almost the same height, he was just far broader across the shoulders and chest. “Oh, well, if I’d known that…”

It was a risk, and for a moment, she thought perhaps she’d made a mistake. But then, his eyes softened and a smile curved his thick dark mustache. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” he growled.

“No,” she shook her head, letting her hand come to rest on his chest, “you shouldn’t have.”

With that, she leaned in and her lips met his. At first, he didn’t respond, but then he slid an arm about her waist, tightened it to pull her flush against him, and his lips moved against hers, soft and gentle. Then those lips parted, his tongue equally soft and gentle as it caressed hers. Despite the chill from the dank cellar, her blood warmed her entire body, one heartbeat at a time, and each heartbeat lasted an eternity as he then wrapped both arms about her. For the first time in her life, Zana felt safe. She felt cared for. Nothing could ever hurt her in those arms, as he’d shown time and again in the taproom, when he’d come to her assistance in dealing with an unruly patron. With him, she would always be safe.

He broke the kiss with great reluctance, his lips still brushing hers as he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for the longest time.”

“I’ve been wanting you to do it for the longest time,” she whispered back, smiling as his eyes widened slightly. “But I thought you didn’t like me, remember?”

“And I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“You’re wrong, dwarf. There is plenty I’d like to do with you.” She winked, then burst out laughing as he blushed again.

That’s when Zana realized the world had gone quiet. The storm had blown over and calmness reigned once more. A shame, really, for now they had no excuse to remain in the cellar, and right then, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

He kissed her once more, just a light, teasing, almost playful kiss, then said, “Let’s go see how bad the damage is and while the tavern’s closed to renovations, perhaps we might find some way to pass the time.”

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan.” She slipped her hand into his and didn’t let go of it as they made their way back to the taproom.

The End

60 notes • Posted 2021-09-04 16:07:56 GMT

The One Where Dwalin is Totally NOT Jealous...

Author's Note: This was request from @i-did-not-mean-to and it took me a while, but here it is!

Summary: Pre-Quest for Erebor:

Dwalin has finally had enough of William (AKA Ol’ Moonface), the final straw being when William makes a pass at Zana right in front of him.

Pairing: Dwalin/Zana (Female OC)

Characters: Dwalin, Dezana (Zana) Ashmane (Female OC), William

Rating: M

Warnings: Table Sex

Word Count: 2,120

Khuzdal Translation: Amrâlimê - My love

Tag List: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm

Additional Information: If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

Zana sat at the bar with William, going over several work orders and she couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice as she said, “You’ve pushed the end date back by nearly five weeks now. I want this work finished so I can reopen my bloody tavern.”

“Take care, Miss Ashmane. There is no need to be upset,” William replied evenly, his expression neutral. Between his bald head and his perfectly round face, he truly fit Dwalin’s description of Moonface. Dwalin had no use for him, but Zana absolutely needed him, since she had a devil of a time getting any contractors in the Blue Mountains to even speak with her, never mind do business with her. She was of Man, and therefore offered more side-eye than anything else. William was a bit of a weasel, and she couldn’t fault Dwalin for disliking him the way he did, but to his credit, at least the workers talked to him—more or less.

“Don’t tell me to take care. I want this done. My doors have been closed since the storm and that was almost six weeks ago. I’ve had to let go of my staff and—”

“So, why is he here?” William nodded toward the far end of the bar, where Dwalin sat, nursing a tankard of ale and glowering at them.

“He is here because he is with me, as I’m fairly certain I’ve explained before.” She tapped the topmost work order, then gestured to the front windows, which bore wicked spiderweb cracks spanning almost the entire wide of the glass. “Now, tell me where my glass is to repair my cracked windows?”

“I’ve told you, the glazier is—”

“Incompetent,” Dwalin broke in, shaking his head. “As are most the lads ye’ve suggested.”

“I do not believe this is any of your concern, Dwalin.”

Dwalin’s blue eyes narrowed. “That’s Mr. Fundinson to ye, laddie. I dinna give ye permission to use my name.”

Zana rolled her eyes, tapping the parchment again. “The glass?”

“I’ll pay him a visit in the morning and see if I can’t get him to move a bit fast.”

As he spoke, his hand came to rest atop hers, which made her back stiffen, but she bit back the retort tickling her lips. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed William to run the interference needed to get the work done, although he was only slightly quicker than the contractors she needed.

“If you would, I’d be grateful.”

He smiled, his thumb skimming along the back of her hand. “Would you, now? How grateful?”

She tugged her hand free and from the corner of her eye, she saw Dwalin stiffen as well, his eyes mere slits. “I would, yes. Now, if we might…”

“Perhaps we should go and talk about this over supper somewhere?” William swept up the parchment to tuck into his satchel. “Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

“I think we’ve discussed it all we need to,” she told him. “I have no desire to keep discussing unless I see results and so far, I haven’t.”

“Oh, these things take time, Miss Ashmane.”

“Too much time,” Dwalin grumbled as he climbed down from his barstool and came around to grab William by the upper arm. “We’re done here, Moonface.”

“What—what’re you—let go of me!” William sputtered as Dwalin dragged him off the stool and across the sloped pine floor toward the front door.

“Gladly,” Dwalin grunted, then actually lifted William from his feet to toss him out the door, where he landed in the street with a thud loud enough for her to hear, then he jerked the door shut behind him.

“Dwalin! What are you—you threw him out!”

“Aye, I did and I’ll do it again if I see him pokin’ his nose around ye that way again. Only, I might break him over my knee first.”

“Poking his… are you mad?” She had to jump down from the stool because she was too short to just ease off the way both men could. “I need his help, Dwalin! You cannot just go around tossing people from this tavern.”

At his long look, she amended her statement. “Tossing sober people who aren’t doing anything wrong from this tavern. You knew what I meant.”

“Isn’t doin’ anything wrong? He was coming on to ye, right in front of me. Laddie’s lookin’ to die and I wouldna mind helping him out a bit.”

“This is what I mean! You cannot keep doing this. He is helping me get the work done that this place needs so I can open the doors again. How am I to do that, if you keep throwing him out of here? Besides, he knows I’m with you. I’ve made that very clear.”

“So, he’s none too smart in addition to being mostly useless. I shoulda thrown him harder.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown him at all, Dwalin!”

“I regret nothing. He doesn’t care about helping ye. He’s tryin’ to woo you.”

“Trying to woo—do you hear yourself? That is insane.”

“Is it? He touches ye every chance he gets and ye don’t seem to mind much, either.”

“I don’t seem to mind…” She shook her head as she crouched to scoop up the scattered papers that fell out of William’s satchel when Dwalin grabbed him. “I just want my tavern opened and I am not having much luck on my own.”

“So let me deal with the contractors.”

“And have you hitting or throwing everyone who dared put a foot wrong?” She gave him a long look. “I don’t think so.”

“Why? Do ye honestly think I will hit ’em? Have ye seen me hit anyone?”

She paused. “You dragged him bodily out of here and tossed him into the bloody street!”

“He had it coming. Puttin’ his hand on ye. He’s lucky I didn’t lay him out flat right here.”

“You are mad sometimes. Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yer mine and no one touches what is mine.”

“I’m what?” She glared at him.

He glared right back. “Ye know what I mean.”

“I’m yours? As in, you own me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No! Do I look daft?” He caught her around the waist. “But ye don’t see what he sees when ye look at ye.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, he wants to get ye into bed. And I am no’ sharin’ ye.”

As he spoke, he brought his free arm about her waist as well, and tugged her up against him. “And if that means I throw a man bodily out of here, so be it. I can do what he does. And,” he added before she could say anything, “wi’out hittin’ anyone.”

“Dwalin…”

“What?”

Her irritation drained as she let her hands come to rest on his shoulders. The thick bands of muscle across his shoulders was still tense, there were still hints of anger in his blue eyes, but at the same time, she had to admit, there was something about seeing him so quick to defend her. “You are mad.”

“No, I’m not.” He bent to her, brushed her lips with his. Then he did it again, harder this time.

And that was it. She let her fingers graze his nape, smiling as he shivered against her. “Oh, amrâlimê,” he growled, his voice low and husky, “ye have no idea what ye do to a man. No idea a’tall.”

“And what’s that I do?”

He lifted her easily, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “If he knew ye the way I do? He’d be thanking Mahal for making him a man, love.”

“I think that is an exaggeration, dwarf.”

“Oh, no…” He set her on the nearest table, clasped her by the hips, and pulled her hard against him. “As I said, ye have no idea…”

He bent toward her, capturing her lips with his, and she melted against him, winding her arms about his neck to pull him as flush against her as possible. His kiss came gentle at first, but intensified. She parted her lips, her fingers curling into the back of his rough-hewn henley to tug when his tongue swept along hers.

Heat spilled thorough her as he moved down along her neck, his fingers almost frenzied as they caught the bottom of her tunic to shove up. She didn’t try to stop him, but lifted herself just enough for him to whisk it over her head, and then she pulled him back to her.

Her own fingers were just as hurried, twisting harder in his henley, inching it up as he kissed his way down along the inner curve of her left breast. Her back arched, her teeth clamping about her bottom lip as he caught her nipple to tease. It was all so primal, the way his hands moved over her, the way his lips, his tongue, claimed her, and it sparked something inside her that made her want him just as badly.

She tugged, whisking his henley over his head finally, and let it drop to the floor behind her, her fingernails raking along his back, his shoulders, as he moved down, smoking a trail of kisses along her belly. His thumbs hooked in the waist of her leggings and the breeze came warm upon her skin as he wrestled them off.

“Dwalin!” Her hoarse cry echoed off the walls as he sank to his knees, draped her legs over his shoulders, and bent to her. His breath came warm upon her sensitive skin, his tongue soft and gentle as everything inside her began to heat up. Knots, tight and sweet, twisted within her, rendering her senseless as pleasure swamped her. He knew exactly where to touch, where to caress, and how rough or gentle to be and with the first brilliant flash, she arched her back, her fingernails scrabbling across the polished, albeit scratched and scuffed wood beneath her as he brought her to that amazing peak.

Her climax came hot and hard and left her writhing beneath him, and when he pressed a kiss into her inner thigh, she was fairly certain she actually purred. Then, he came up and a second later, he was inside her, arching hard and growling, “Oh, amrâlimê… what ye do to me…” as he offered up a hard thrust.

She melted around him, her legs curling about his waist as he fell into a hard, driving rhythm. The table was the perfect height, and with each thrust, she melted around him a little more. Harder and harder he surged into her. She trembled, her head spinning, dragging her fingernails up toward his shoulders, her voice little more than a husky whisper as he arched hard, went rigid, and growled, “Zana…”

He slowed, sinking against her, fighting for air, his head coming to rest against her breast. With a trembling hand, she let her fingers skim along his hair, surprising soft and silky. “Oh, my…” she whispered, her heartbeat slowing back to normal. “Oh, love… that was… what brought this on?”

“That’s what you do to a man,” came his whispered response, followed by a tender kiss sweeping over the inner curve of that breast.

He lifted his head and gazed at her with heavy-lidded blue eyes. She reached down to trace her fingertip along the flow of his beard. “I love you, you jealous fool.”

He managed a smile. “I am not jealous of ol’ Moonface. He’s not the one here, with bloody scratches down his back.”

“Oh, are you complaining?”

“Do I look tha’ dumb?” He straightened with a wince, then caught her by the hand to draw her up as well. As she leaned in and pressed a kiss against his chest, he wrapped his arms about her and whispered, “I love you, too, Zana.”

“And you are lucky this table held me up. The last thing I need is to start replacing those as well.”

He grinned, kissing the top of her head. “It woulda been absolutely worth the sacrifice.”

It would have been, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Just like she wasn’t about to complain about his jealous streak. Sometimes, she didn’t mind the feral side of him so much, and this was definitely one of those times.

“I need to get back to work, love,” she told him.

He gazed down at her and her stomach tightened at the glint in his blue eyes. “Ye know, I think ye can take the rest of the day off, amrâlimê. There’s a few tables here I want to test out first.”

62 notes • Posted 2021-10-27 20:36:57 GMT

The Getaway

Summary: After BOTFA - Everybody Lives AU. I

You and Thorin have gone away for what you hope will be a romantic ski weekend in an attempt to save a relationship that seems to be on the verge of falling apart. But things don't go quite as you'd planned...

Pairing: Thorin/FemElf!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Bickering, Makeup Sex

Word Count: 4,125

A/N: I put a bit of a modern spin on this and the story idea was inspired by @lathalea and this post. This is one of the few short pieces I've ever written (writing short is a skill I'm still working on) and I hope it isn't too terrible... If you like it, let me know or reblog away. :D

You and Thorin had planned this getaway for some time now, a nice break from Erebor in the middle of winter, away from the stress of trying to restore the city to its former glory. Thorin worked so hard, from early in the mornings until late at night, and as a result, he had little free time, and you thought your relationship suffered as a result. Even when he managed to make time to be with you, he was too tired to do much more than cuddle a bit before the fire. His exhaustion fired his temper, your exasperation with his temper fired yours, and lately, it seemed you argued more than anything else.

The reservations in the Blue Mountains had been made weeks ago—four days and three nights at the Blue Mountains Resort. You couldn't wait, as it had been years since you last skied and although Thorin confessed he'd never so much as tried to ski, you knew he'd pick it up in no time. After all, dwarf legs were powerful, so many were natural born skiers. At least, that was what Balin had told you when you first ran the idea past him. Either way, if nothing else, at least you would both have a chance to simply slow down and escape the real world, even if only for a short while. You both needed it. Sorely.

Finally, there you were, in your cozy room at the resort. A fire had been set on the hearth, the flames crackling and dancing against shiny black marble. You hurried through the room and out to the terrace, where a stone fire pit was ready. All it needed was to be lit, and then you and Thorin could sit out in the fresh mountain air and admire the views and feel its powers of rejuvenation. All around you, mountain peaks jutted up, pink and purple and deep blue in the early morning sky. The winds were light and gentle, carrying on them the scent of frost and juniper. You’d been there only minutes and already, you were relaxing. You couldn’t wait for that first run.

Footsteps sounded behind you and you smiled as Thorin eased both arms about your waist and pressed a kiss into the back of your head. “Where are you?”

“Out on the slopes already.” You turned toward him, sliding your arms about his waist. He bore only a hint of a scar on his forehead from his battle with Azog the Defiler. The ones on his lower belly were far more visible, but you didn’t like to think about them if you could help it. Those weeks following the Battle of the Five Armies were still so fresh in your mind. He’d come so close to perishing, but at the same time, had he not been run through by the Defiler, you would never have met him. It was a bit incongruous, to be thankful for something you were also so horrified by. You worked with him, helping him regain his strength and mobility, and even as he cursed you out for being a slave driver, it brought the two of you closer together.

You looked up at him. Normally his eyes were almost equal parts blue and gray, but today they seemed very blue. Blue, but tired. Faint purplish smudged ringed beneath those blue eyes. A vacation, no matter how small, was just what you both needed.

“Are you ready?”

He shrugged. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”

“We don’t have to—”

“No,” he cut you off gently, leaning toward you, “I look forward to the challenge.”

With that, his lips brushed yours. His soft beard tickled against your jaw, as always, and while at first, it made you laugh, by now you were used to it. Now, it was just part and parcel of kissing your dwarf.

His lips were soft as they moved teasingly against yours and without thinking, you tightened your hold on him, your hands flat against the wide plane of his back. Those soft lips parted, his tongue light and teasing as it met yours. He certainly knew how to kiss—long and slow and deep—and sometimes it alone was enough to make you want to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. It felt like weeks had passed since the last time he kissed you this way, and you realized how much you missed it. How much you missed him.

He broke the kiss. “We should go because in another minute, we won’t be getting anywhere near those slopes.”

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him that was fine with you. After all, it also felt like so much time had passed since the two of you were intimate. And in all honesty, being cozied up in bed sounded like a perfectly acceptable alternative.

But since it seemed he would rather ski…

“Very well.” You reluctantly pulled out of his arms and you both went back inside to get into your boots and to grab skis and poles, and then made your way out to the slopes.

At the foot of the trails, you placed one foot on a ski, and bent to fasten the leather bindings, then did the same with your other foot. From the corner of your eye, you saw Thorin watching how you did it. An offer of help hovered at your lips, but you thought better of it. Instead, you pretended to double check the bindings, all the while watching him. Just in case.

But he seemed to have his boots securely fastened and as you straightened up, you looked over at him. “Perhaps we should take one of the easier trails?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Unfortunately, you realized this a minute too late. His eyes narrowed. “I will be fine. As Balin said, it should come naturally.”

You weren’t so sure, but you didn’t want to risk another fight. It had been happening too much already, the fighting. And over the silliest things.

“Very well. Intermediate, then?”

“Fine.”

Neither of you said much as you made your way to the trail head. There were fewer obstacles than on one of the more expert runs, but was neither as wide nor as flat as the beginner trails. You looked first at the trail, then at him. “Ready?”

“I am.”

“Very well.” You Just remember, being able to stop is probably the most important thing. You can do it this way,” you demonstrated angling both skis in the same direction, “and lean back to slow yourself, Or, you can—”

“I think I will be fine with just the one.”

“Are you—” You stopped yourself as he just stared hard. “Very well,” you began, “are you ready to go?”

He nodded, sidestepping to the trail and then, with a push of poles into powder, he was gone. You followed, and then crouched slightly to increase your speed. As you shushed by him, a low laugh carried toward you, followed by his teasing, “Show off!”

That he seemed already to be enjoying himself brought on a sense of relief. Perhaps he’d be just fine on that run. You shot past him and as the trail curved, you leaned into it, took it clean. As the trail leveled off, you shifted your weight to slow and then stopped, then carefully stepped aside as you waited for him.

He came rocketing through the turn, arms waving wildly, up on a single ski. Then, he lost his balance in grand fashion, hitting the snow hard enough to send powder up while his poles went in opposite directions and the bindings on his skis popped loose. One ski continued on, the other went careening off into the woods and he tumbled to a stop not far from you.

“Thorin!” You popped the bindings on your skis and hurried to kneel beside him. He lay on his back, his hair almost pure white with snow, his eyes glazed over with confusion. You lumbered over to him and sank to your knees alongside him. “Are you all right?”

“What happened?”

“You took a spill. Here, let me help—”

“I don’t need any help,” he growled, shoving you away as he stood up. “Where’s my ski?”

You pointed down toward the fencing at the end of the run. There, up against it, was one ski. “Perhaps you should try a lesson or two? Just so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Perhaps I should just forget it entirely,” he snapped, trying his best to storm away. Unfortunately, the boots were designed to keep his ankles from moving, and so what he might have meant to be a stomp looked more like an awkward lurch and you had to fight back a laugh.

But, apparently, you didn’t fight it back quickly enough, as his eyes narrowed at you. “I’m glad you find the humor in this,” he growled. “And I’m glad I am your amusement for this vacation. Tell me again why I agreed to this? If I wanted to be aggravated, I could have simply remained in Erebor.”

“Thorin, if you would just take a lesson—“ You reached for his hand.

But he jerked it back. “I’m going back to get some sleep. I’ve had enough of this winter fun.”

And like that, he stomped over to collect the things he’d scattered and limped the rest of the way down the mountain, while you tried to go after him, calling, “Thorin, wait!”

But he made his way along the pathway through the trees and you couldn’t ski that, so you had no choice but to finish the run.

By the time you reached the bottom, your legs were tired and your heart actually hurt. This was suppose to be a romantic, fun getaway and now, Thorin was angry with you. No, not angry. He was furious. He thought you made him look like a fool and you knew his pride was wounded.

Back in the room, you found Thorin sitting out on the deck, in front of the blazing fire pit. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge you’d even stepped out into the frosty air.

“Thorin?”

“What?”

You almost took a step back at the coldness in his voice. It was a tone you’d never heard him use before. Maybe, instead of salvaging this relationship, you’d driven the last nail into the coffin, and the very thought made your heart hurt once more. It was all going horribly wrong and you really weren’t at all certain how to fix it now.

“Are you all right?”

He didn’t look at you, but kept studying the flames, cheek resting against his fist. “I’m fine.”

“I—I thought it would be fun.”

He shifted. “Your idea of fun differs from mine.”

You came around to the far side of the fire pit, trying not to sigh at just how handsome he looked in the glow of the fire. There were so many women in Erebor, in Dale, who would give their eyeteeth to trade places with her. So many who gave her the side eye because their king found himself with an elf. Dwarves didn’t trust elves. Elves didn’t particularly like dwarves and yet, Thorin was the love of your life.

But were you his? You thought so, but lately, he seemed so distant and while at first, you told yourself it was simply he was exhausted, now you had no choice but to wonder if he’d simply grown tired of you.

You sank into the chair across from him. “I though you would enjoy this. Balin said—“

“I know what he said. Apparently I am not quite up to snuff at skiing. I was exhausted halfway down. My legs refused to hold me up.” He let out a low sigh and shook his head. “How long will it take for me to heal completely? Until my legs won’t betray me? Until I do not make a fool of myself in front of y—”

You pressed your lips together at his unintended confession and shook your head. “There was nothing foolish about how you did on that slope. You’ve never skied before and you did quite well, since most beginners don’t leave the the beginner’s slope.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see it that way.”

“Why?” You moved to skirt the fire, to crouch down beside him and let your hand come to rest on his thigh. The thick muscle was like granite through his trousers, the heat rising from him almost as much as it did from the fire. He didn’t say anything at first, so you gave that thigh a gentle squeeze. “Thorin?”

“We need to talk.”

Your stomach clenched at those words. Nothing good ever came of those four words. Your mouth went dry, your hand went still, and for a moment, it felt as if your heart stopped beating. You had to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth and even then, all you could manage was a whispered, “We do?”

He nodded, and then he looked over at you, his long, wavy dark hair spilling over his shoulders as he shifted. “I know you thought we needed this getaway, that I’m far too occupied with what needs be done in Erebor.”

“You have been so busy, I thought—”

He held up a thick-fingered hand. “Let me just say this, please.”

You sat back, your heart hammering your ribs so hard, you thought you might actually vomit from it. Was he about to blindside you with a breakup? Had he met someone else?

Your stomach knotted sharply enough to send a sour taste up to flood your mouth. Was he already doing… things… with that someone else?

Still, you nodded and swallowed hard against that brackish taste. “Go on, then.”

He lifted his head, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes were so beautiful, so blue and set off so perfectly against the fall of dark hair. “I don’t like skiing and I have no desire to ever set foot on another slope.”

“I won’t ask you to go skiing again,” you managed to whisper, almost wincing at how weak your voice sounded. Your eyes stung. You just knew this conversation was going to end terribly.

His chair creaked as he rose and moved to stand before you. His hands came into your view, those thick fingers linked with yours. A gentle tug, and he pulled you from your seat. “Good. I’m glad we understand one another.”

“Thorin, I—”

“And I know I’ve not been around much these few weeks and when I am around I am either too tired to do much or we seem to be fighting all the time and I don’t wish to do that any longer.”

The roar of blood rushing through your ears muffled his voice, but you still nodded. “It’s no way to live.”

“So,” he let go of your hands and this time, those massive hands came up to curve against your face, his fingers rough as they grazed along your cheekbones, “I have no desire to fight with you, love.”

Your eyelids felt so heavy with each light flutter of his thumbs along your cheekbones. It had been a long time since he’d held your face like this, since he last looked at you with such tenderness in his eyes. And now, was he about to end it entirely? This was not how you thought this weekend would go.

He leaned over. His lips grazed yours. Just a graze, but you felt it all the way to the center of your being. Your eyelids grew so heavy, almost as heavy as your heart as he drew back. His eyes were also heavy-lidded. Heavy-lidded and filled with invitation, one you hadn’t seen in a while.

His mouth slashed over yours, lips parting, tongue hot and slick as it grazed yours. His fingers tightened against your cheeks, his fingers stretching into your hair. He threaded them through it, twisted to angle your head to give him deeper access to your mouth.

You melted against him, your fingers curving about his upper arms, almost tingling against the thick band of muscle wrapped about them. You wanted this kiss to last forever, wanted him to hold you this way forever, if at all possible.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours with each word. “And I’ve no wish to fight with you any longer, amrâlimê.”

Your eyes closed, your head falling back as he kissed his way over your jaw and down your neck. His hands fell to your waist, easing beneath your warm tunic, skimming along your ribs. Your head spun slowly form the sensations coursing through you. He knew just how to touch you, how to kiss and caress, until you practically forgot your own name.

Cold air swept across your skin as he whisked your tunic up and over your head, but you didn’t care as you melted against him, as your hands caught his tunic to do the same. It landed atop yours and when he tugged you flush against him, the soft dark hair sprinkled across his broad chest tickled your breasts, your nipples tightened from the friction.

“We should go in,” came his hot whisper against your ear and he didn’t wait for you to reply, but backed you into the room, away from the prying eyes of anyone else staying nearby, and closed the glass door behind him.

Inside, he spun you about to pin you against the cool glass. You couldn’t keep your eyes open as he kissed his way down your neck, along the inner curve of your left breast. The tingles swelled, spread through you, your blood rushed so hot through your veins, you wanted only to strip off every last stitch of clothing and feel his bare skin against yours.

As if he could read your mind, Thorin hooked his thumbs in the waist of your leggings and you smiled as the fabric skimmed along your legs like a caress. But, he didn’t give you time to step out of them, sinking to his knees before. His breath came warm upon your womanhood, and forget heat—fire filled you at that first slow, silken stroke. You couldn’t think, could barely breathe, your head spun so badly from the absolutely delight coursing through you. All you could do was sink your hands into his thick hair, twist and hold on, as the wave built and rushed toward the shore.

It gathered power, rising higher, cresting, washing over you—

“Thorin!” Your mind went blank, the fire sweet and sensual as it engulfed you. He held you there, as that wave crashed, with another one at its heels, and a third one still. Each one washed over you, threatened to sweep you out to sea and drown you. And just when you were ready to cry quarter, he rose and wrapped you in his arms.

He lifted you to meet his kiss, then spun you about to spirit you to the bed, where he pressed you down, covering your body with his, his hips rocking to meet you. Then his trousers were gone as he settled easily between your thighs.

You fought to keep your heavy-lidded eyes open as he devoured your throat once more, whispering, “But I didn’t get to—”

“Next time, love,” he growled, easing a hand between you. “For right now, I just want you.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t hold back your cry as he eased inside you and slowly thrust. He filled you, inch by teasing inch, stroking every single pleasure center along the way. The only thing better than the first thrust, was the next. And the one after that. Each thrust was sweeter than the last, his rhythm smooth and easy, and without hurry.

You folded your legs about his waist, smiling as he sucked in a sharp breath, let out a low moan, and thrust with increasing speed, increasing depth. Your moans matched his as your body tightened around him, as your climax steadily built. He moved faster now, surged deep, his fingers twisting in the quilt beneath you as he fought for leverage to go deeper still. You lifted your hips and that was it. The first ripples came soft, but with each more powerful thrust, those ripples intensified, the pleasure hot enough to sting and sweet enough that you didn’t care if it sent you up in flames.

You trembled around him, which made him moan louder and thrust harder and without thinking, you sank your fingernails into his shoulders as the white-hot flash erupted and you came in fiery burst once more, throbbing all around him. He arched hard, his entire body tensed and your name rose to his lips in a husky growl as he surrendered to the moment as well.

He sank against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his head coming to rest in the curve of your shoulder as he managed to whisper, “I far prefer this over skiing any day, love.”

You couldn’t hold back your breathless laugh, reaching up a hand to brush his hair away from his face. Without thinking, you curved your hand against his cheek, his beard softly-scratchy against your palm. “As do I.”

“I have missed you, amrâlimê.” He drew back enough to gaze down at you.

“I’ve missed you as well, but I understand,” you told him, grazing his cheek with your thumb. “You’ve been so very busy.”

“That is no excuse.” His eyes grew serious as they held hers. “But, there is something I wished to discuss with you and while this probably isn’t the best place to say it, I don’t feel I should wait.”

The peaceful glow that always followed making love with him drained away and your mouth went suddenly dry. So dry, you had to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “What is it?”

“I’ve grown tired of trying to sneak away and steal a few moments with you, and when I do manage to, we seem to only fight. I don’t wish to do that any more, either. Surely, you must be tired of it as well.”

“I—that is—I—” You really didn’t know how to respond because while the truth was, you were very much tired of it all, you still thought what you had was worth saving.

“You can be honest, love,” he murmured.

The silence stretched out between you, thick and somewhat awkward, especially when he eased off you and stretching out alongside you.

“Yes,” you finally admitted, “I suppose I am tired of it as well, but—”

“So, the solution is simple—we need to be under the same roof, so to speak.” He reached over to trace the tip of his forefinger along your cheek. “So, I suppose I’m saying I wish you to marry me, love.”

Your heart stopped beating. You were certain of it. There was no way it hadn’t because you had to have died. “Wait… what?”

He smiled. “Will you marry me?”

“But, I thought…that is, you said…” You frowned as your lips and tongue refused to form coherent sentences. But then your lips quivered, trying to curve upward instead of down as he caught you and tugged you atop him. “Are you serious?”

“Think you I ask women to marry me all the time?”

“Well, no, but…”

“So?” He gathered your hair in both hands and let it slip through his fingers. “You’ve not given me an answer.”

“Of course I will,” you said, dipping toward him to brush his lips with yours. “I’m not completely mad, you know.”

The quilt rustled softly as he rolled to pin you beneath him. “What did you think I was going to say, that you stumbled over your answer?”

You gazed up into those blue eyes you loved so much and whispered, “I thought you were going to say you didn’t think this would work out, that we shouldn’t see each other any longer.”

“Never.” He dipped to kiss you, his lips brushing yours as he added, “I’d have to be mad to walk away from this. And I am not mad. Although, I would happily walk away from skiing for the rest of our time here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“As long as we can stay right here,” you replied, trailing your fingernails down his back in the way you knew alway made him shiver against you.

He didn’t disappoint, and even let out a heavy sigh as you did it again. “Love, right here sounds absolutely perfect to me.”

63 notes • Posted 2021-09-12 19:39:19 GMT

Master List

So... I write things. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. If you'd like to be tagged in any of them, let me know!

Requests also open, if you're feeling squirrelly! :)

Also, if you enjoy something, please reblog to your heart's content! Comments are always welcome as well!! <3

You can find my stories here and at AO3.

Multi-Chapter Works

The Hobbit

~Thorin~

More Than Meets the Eye ~Thorin x oc female Arielle (Post- BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Thorin x oc female Seren (The Hobbit, Slight AU)

In Time ~ Thorin x oc female Amara (Post-BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)

One Shots/Drabbles/Shorts

~Miscellaneous Shorts~

How Will I Know ~ Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Kili, Fili, (Modern AU) ~ This ties loosely with In Time, and The Cellar & Other Stories.

~Dwalin~

(Oldest to Most Recent )

Durin's Garage AU - Good Trouble - Part 1 | Part 2

The One Where Zana Faceplants

The One Where Dwalin is Totally NOT Jealous

Meet the Fundinsons

The Morning After

The Cellar

~Thorin~

The Getaway -Modern!Thorin x reader

Monday - Modern!Thorin x reader

Durin's Garage AU ~ The Chance You Take - Modern!Thorin x reader

82 notes • Posted 2021-08-16 22:05:30 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

2 notes · View notes