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notjustjavierpena · 1 year

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Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part I: Introductions

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Enjoy the beginning of a four-chapter fic, where a cute summer romance starts! This is the same universe as Hurried Morning but before! Chapter two and three are just waiting to be posted.

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. He has big strong arms.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120803500

Chapter One: Introductions

The house had been empty for a while when you had moved in. The location was good, somewhat quietly charming as the suburbs were, but the house’s neglect called desperately for a loving hand to bring out that charm again, which had been allowed to fade for too long. It wasn’t that the house had been willfully neglected by you, no you had wanted the house for a long time, but the whole scenario of you ending up here had been long and ridiculous: Your older brother had finally, out of the goodness of his heart, offered it to you, but only after a few years of having been in doubt about whether or not to move into it with his family. He had only gotten first say in the fate of the old place, because he was the oldest of the two of you, a thing that he liked to remind you of.

The house was overly suburban, missing only a wisteria bush and a fresh coat of paint, additionally, perhaps, a good amount of effort put into the garden as well. It was going to be a time-consuming summer project, but one that you were excited about because of its potential end result.

The house was all paid off by your grandparents, but after the passing of your grandfather some years ago, your grandmother had felt like the house was too overwhelming to live in all by herself, so she had found some place smaller and left the fight of inheritance to your mother, who had then passed it onto you and your sibling. The fact that you had now won that fight was ironic; you would end up alone in a house that your grandmother found too overwhelming to be alone in.

You step out of your car after parking it in the driveway, walking around its back to open the trunk and start unloading its contents. It is half your latest salary worth of a Home Depot haul.

You head to the garage door, knowing that your grandfather used to have a workbench inside and you need tools to assemble some of the things you have bought, amongst other a stepladder that you hope to build without too much trouble.

Though the lock at the bottom of the garage door is already doing its job of causing trouble, and you curse quietly as you have to put everything onto the ground at your feet to use both hands on it. The lock struggles for a moment but then clicks, and you finally pull up the garage door until you can duck underneath it with ease.

You get a feeling of someone watching you as you drag two buckets of white paint into the garage, following with a new set of brushes and paint rollers.

The feeling grows stronger as you reemerge from the garage and you start to hear muffled voices nearby too, but you ignore it due to how much you have scheduled for today. Additionally, you would admit in all honesty that you would be staring at the single woman neighbor too, if she was struggling with the garage door and making a fool of herself. You push your curiosity away and reach into the car trunk again.

“Hey,” it’s the voice of a teenage girl. You jump and nearly hit your head against the roof of the vehicle, and she chuckles a little in a way to seem cooler than she is, “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you, but you just looked like you needed a little help and I wanted to offer. Well, my dad told me not to.”

“It’s alright, I’m grown. I can handle myself,” you stand up a little straighter to properly look at the teenager, giving her a smile to reassure her that you’re cool too. She’s around fifteen, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in a girl her age, a mess of curls and her thumbs tucked into the belt loops on her jeans. She looks shy, but something tells you that she isn’t. You realize that you are staring, then hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

“I just moved in, inherited the place from my grandparents,” you add as the teen shakes your hand.

“I’m Sarah, we live just a house away. There,” she points to a nearby home, where a man is standing against one of the posts on the front porch. He has his arms crossed over his chest but you’re too far away to read his expression. Sarah continues, “Oh, right, that’s my dad. Yikes, that stance makes him look like a jerk.”

“Perhaps a little,” you laugh genuinely and Sarah beams at your approval. She raises her arm and waves her father over, who protests against it at first by waving his arms no, but then capitulates and walks over to you.

“Joel Miller,” he states as he approaches, holds out his hand and you repeat your name, trying to grab his hand for a shake, but it ends up the other way around with the size of his palm. Joel’s hands are huge and rough, calloused in a way that makes you guess that he doesn’t sit in an office all day. He has a firm grip, and you catch yourself watching the way that the muscles of his underarm flex when he holds your hand in what feels like an instant.

He doesn’t notice you staring at all, but you wonder if it’s because he is so used to it; Joel Miller is gorgeous, scruffy and sexy in his washed-out jeans and a simple army green t-shirt. You wish that you had worn something other than your dark blue t-shirt with a Batman logo, but a sundress would not have been practical for assembling stepladders and carrying tools.

“We were wonderin’ when we were gonna see someone move in,” he speaks with a Texan accent. It suits him very well, “I’ve wanted to paint the surface several times last summer, would be a shame to have it crack if you had the opportunity to save it.”

“I could use some help, honestly. My grandma moved somewhere smaller because it was too much work to be alone here,” you run a hand over your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear. Sarah looks from you to her father, and then back to you again.

“Maybe that’s our summer vacation!” She exclaims. Joel turns quickly towards her.

“Sarah, honey,” he warns but she just continues without a hint of hesitation, sporting childlike enthusiasm and innocence.

“But you said that we needed something to do together this summer, and we couldn’t afford a trip somewhere,” she reasons excitedly, “This is perfect. Very movie-esque, you know.”

“But it’s not our house,” Joel adds, smiles at you apologetically and makes your pulse spike.

“But she says she needs help,” she doesn’t let it go. It’s sort of sweet, “Come ooon, dad.”

“I do actually need help,” you back her up.

“You don’t have a boyfriend who knows how to swing a paint brush? Or who you’ll hurt by not letting him do the heavy lifting?” Joel asks casually. Sarah scrunches up her nose beside him.

“Nope, no boyfriend with a masculinity complex,” your cheeks blush a little as Joel chuckles, hidden by a smile as you shake your head no. You wish you did have a guy in your life, but right now only so you could see if there’d be any detectable disappointment on Joel’s face when you said yes.

Joel reaches up to scratch his beard. He looks like he is weighing the pros and cons, but a part of him also drags out the anticipation to tease his kid. He smirks, “Fine then, but you better be up early every day for a day’s hard work, Sarah Miller.”

“Oh, he used your whole name. You’re in trouble now,” you point out with a grin. Joel eyes you from beside you.

“Yes! Better than summer camp,” Sarah removes her fingers from the belt loops of her jeans to grab her father’s arm and press her forehead against it, “Thank you.”

“You’ve never been to summer camp,” Joel rolls his eyes but wraps an arm around his daughter.

“I sleep in though, so don’t come knocking at eight in the morning,” you point out.

“Dad sleeps in too, don’t worry,” Sarah keeps going.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?” Joel is the one who looks embarrassed now. He pushes her gently away, “Go back home, kid. Let the grown-ups sort out the details. You can call for pizza, yeah?”

“Ugh,” you hear her say to her father but she gives you a sweet smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sarah,” you reply but she’s already walking away with her back towards you. Joel, on the other hand, doesn’t move from his spot in front of you, suddenly stuffing his hands in his pockets and almost entirely mirroring Sarah’s stance from moments before.

“Tell me what you need help with?” It’s meant more as a question or a suggestion than a command.

“Right,” you wonder how long you have been staring at his mouth. It’s been a while since you’ve been kissed, so you allow yourself the fantasy of Joel Miller being interested in kissing you. His beard tells you that it’s been a day too many since he would normally trim it, and you can almost imagine the feeling of the hairs tickling your chin and jaw as he kisses your mouth and neck—

Stop.

“Well, I have some work to do on the house facade,” you blurt out after the silence has gone on for too long.

“Clearly,” Joel nods in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs a little where he is standing. Like this, he looks like he is a good listener, “I should see if I can find some cheap but good wood protection, looks like it’s going to be more expensive in the long run if it doesn’t get some kind of coat.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you give him a soft smile. It is confirmed then; the man is clearly not the office-type with how he talks about restoring the construction of the house to its peak.

He goes on: “Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m sure you can pay me with hot dinners for Sarah and I or something. I can do this, the work on the house, but I’m terrible at getting her to eat other things than takeout with my normal schedule.”

Suddenly very open. Interesting.

“I wouldn’t mind that, no. It’s going to be a lot of dinners though. I have a whole lot of ideas,” you reply, still trying to not drop your gaze to his mouth again as he talks, “Garden needs to be weeded out, replanted, lawn mowed— oh, you don’t have a lawnmower, do you?”

“Sure do,” he answers, nodding towards his house, “I can get it. You need help with that now?”

You blame the Texan sun for how breathless you feel as you have time to really look at him. He has his hands on the handle of his old lawnmower, gripping firmly to the point of unintentionally showing off his biceps in the form-fitted shirt that he wears as he pushes the lawnmower around the wild grass.

You are sitting on the back porch, legs crossed with a screwdriver in hand and the instructions to the, by now, stupid stepladder. You’re more creative than practical, and it shows in the way that you tighten one screw but the stepladder still wobbles as you test it out.

Frantically, you go through the instruction manual front to back and then back to front until you accidentally rip the thin paper, but you don’t feel any smarter about what you are doing. You throw the screwdriver onto the wooden boards beneath you, fighting the urge to scrape a bad word into the grayish wood.

You lean back on your arms and close your eyes almost all the way, soothing yourself by taking in the sun and letting yourself look at Joel work without him noticing too much. Your eyes travel down his frame, looking at the jeans that have green patches around the base of the legs before going upwards again. You try to convince yourself that looking at his clothes makes up for how you’re ogling him now.

Subconsciously, you stretch out your legs from underneath you, then cross one leg over the other and lean further back on your elbows instead. Joel’s knuckles are slightly white from gripping the lawnmower and his t-shirt has started to form a patch of sweat at the base of his spine, supposedly caused by sweat dripping from the back of his neck because the hair there is damp. You curl your toes a little, press your thighs together. You want to know how strong those hands are, how they work at his daytime job, which you guess by now has to do with construction work. It feels wrong to think these things, but you allow them as long as they don’t leave your head.

You close your eyes fully then, not needing to feel even more warmth prickle at your skin, radiating from your core instead of being caused by the sun. You lay like this until the lawnmower stops.

“Woah, what happened here?” Joel walks over and looks down at you and then to the crime scene you’ve left open on the back porch flooring. You stare at him with a sheepish expression on your face as he shields the sun from you with his body.

“It didn’t want to do it the way that I wanted,” you simply say.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he jokes and shifts where he stands until the sun hits your eyes again. You grin up at him, holding a hand over your eyes to not be forced to close them and miss how he looks as he smiles back.

“Thanks by the way,” you add a moment later, “I’m honestly happy that I don’t have to do it myself.”

“Yeah, no problem… Look, I’m gonna go back to Sarah, have a shower, then the pizza that’s probably cold by now,” he lingers for a moment before starting to move.

“Sorry about the pizza,” you say and start to get up again, leaving behind the mess of screws, ripped pages and stupid tools.

“All good, I think Sarah will forgive me. She likes you,” he waves back at you as he leaves. You wave after him too, something feeling like it’s about to implode inside of your stomach and you know what it is. It is butterflies. It is the beginning of a crush.

In the morning, you find the stepladder assembled to perfection on your back porch.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dilf!joel

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 3 months

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Flower power pall mall

A/N: Benedict’s flower waist coat made me do it… I mean look at it, don’t you just want to poke the embroidery? Set during season 2, episode 3. The Sharmas are visiting the Bridgertons and while everyone is set to win in a family with eight brothers and sisters, (Y/N) and Benedict are especially ruthless. (In my mind, (Y/N) is called Fleur which might give further context for the flower references.)

“Miss Edwina, you must know,” Benedict felt compelled to say with the typical crooked smirk on his lips, “that you should never place your ball anywhere near the one of (Y/N). Eloise is eager to win, but (Y/N) doesn’t even take notice of any one ball that is not her own.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at your brother’s comment. “Oh, please!”

“She’s already managed to make balls disappear on the roof,” Benedict continued, while he was circling you lazily. “And through certain windows.” The way you rolled your eyes at him merely made him pinch your nose.

“Once,” Colin added, “she even cracked mine in half with the force of her mallet.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” A slight blush crept over your cheeks as you glared at your two smirking brothers, quite embarrassed by them displaying your ruthless pall mall side in front of the Sharma sisters. To your surprise, they did not seem shocked in the least. Kate even nodded approvingly. “Then I shall manoeuvre your eldest brother’s ball quite close to yours at all times.”

You bit your lip to keep from barking out a laugh at Anthony’s expanse, but he was too busy glaring holes in your guest anyway. Benedict’s grin grew wide enough to reveal his “vampyre teeth” as Hyacinth tended to call them – quite the fitting description in your opinion, but one that had also incited your brother to attack his younger sisters in a fittingly vampiric manner. You had to smile at the memory of Hyacinth’s squeals whenever Benedict managed to blow a raspberry under her chin.

A mallet pushing against your shoulder blade brought you out of balance and made you stumble two steps forward, right into Benedict’s back. Exasperatedly you turned around to see Daphne put on an angelic smile. She merely raised her brows at your burning glare and put her mallet back down by her feet. “Would you make some space for Miss Edwina, sister! She gets to open the game.”

Grumbling, you made two extra big steps away from the field – and from Daphne – and pulled a disobedient strand of brown hair behind your ear. “You’ve definitely gotten meaner ever since you moved out!”

“Well, she no longer gets to tease you as often as we do,” Benedict pointed out, stepping closer to you and looking on as Miss Edwina Sharma got into position, exceedingly supported by Anthony.

“That must be really hard on her!” You said in a mocking tone, grabbing some of your dresses’ fabric to pull it out from underneath your shoes which almost led to you falling over had it not been for your brother’s stabilizing hand.

“I know it would be for me,” Benedict replied earnestly enough to make your lips twitch as you turned your head to look at the younger Sharma sister opening the game. He pulled you back slightly when the noise of mallet on ball rang over the grass and Miss Edwina’s ball got rather close to where you were standing.

“Are you holding her back?” Eloise chuckled, when she saw his hand on your arm. “Too scared she might run straight after the ball?”

With a disbelieving face you look looked up at him. “Are you??”

The laughing sound your brother made almost sounded a little scared. He let go off your arm immediately and raised his hands next to his head to show how innocent his intentions had been. “Of course not, I was trying to pull you out of harm’s way – the one you always somehow end up in! But by all means, get yourself knocked out by a pall mall ball next time!”

Benedict quickly moved away when you had to laugh at his words and tried to reach for him to restore the peace between you two. You chased after him for two steps, before you gave up, simply letting him jump back to Colin’s side, shaking your head at his antics and moving yourself to Eloise’s side.

The game had begun. And what a game it was. Daphne was too good to not earn her the conjoint mocking of you and Eloise, while Anthony was precise and focused as always, making everyone shake their heads at him. Benedict was too busy daydreaming and fooling around to have any real chance at winning, which was never truly his goal anyway. Colin was good enough at the game, but never gloated like Eloise did. You were getting on everyone’s nerves since you continuously held up your thumb for way too long to calculate the forces of the wind. You weren’t sure whether Edwina was having a lot of fun, while Kate seemed to be having the time of her life – especially, when Anthony was failing.

When you had the audacity to stretch out your thumb again the next time it was your turn, Benedict leaned over to blow air on your hand. You sent him an unimpressed look over your shoulder.

“Strong wind today,” he concluded with a shrug, making you extend your arm and push him against the chest.

“Remove yourself!”

Colin let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a bit harsh!”

“Are they always like this?” You heard Kate laugh, when Benedict tried to disturb your sight by holding a strand of your own hair in your face.

Anthony let out a long humming noise of agreement that managed to express not only many years of frustration caused by having you as his siblings, but also the deep affection that went with it. Kate sent him a curious glance.

“Stop it,” you protested and extended your hand to defend yourself, managing to brush a soft spot on Benedict’s stomach. He reacted with a little huff and quickly turned his upper body to the side, raising your attention. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit one of your flowers?”

The many flowers that were embroidered on Benedict’s waist coat had already given enough reason to ridicule him all morning, but they came especially in handy now that he was getting on your nerves. Actually, you thought them to be quite beautiful, but there was no reason to feed your brother’s ego all too much by telling him that. Instead you extended your hand again and aimed for another one of them, hitting your target and poking it with precision. Benedict’s “vampyre grin” expanded on his features as he couldn’t help but chuckle at the ticklish sensation your little attack provoked on his torso.

“(Y/N)!” He giggled, slapping your hand away, but immediately seeing himself forced to bend over again, as your fingers continued to single out every single flower available on his waist coat to subdue him to a continuous attack of pokes all over his middle. It made your heart feel warm inside your chest to hear cheerful cackles pour out of him like leaking water. “Stop it, that tickles!!”

“Aww, does it?” You taunted, fully aware of how ticklish your brother was and not exactly eager to stop your attack on his huge body that shrunk in on itself more and more. Besides, he didn’t seem particularly set on escaping himself; more like he was seconds away from falling over and curling up into a ball on the grass. Benedict was truly just a playful child, no matter his actual age.

Anthony looked on fondly, but cleared his throat meaningfully. “May we get on with the game then, dear sister?”

Your eldest brother’s voice kicked you out of the meditative state Benedict’s giggles had put you in. “Oh, uhm, sure!” You called out, noticing how everyone was looking at you expectantly. Of course, it was your turn and they couldn’t simply continue the game without you having done your shot. Benedict was shaken by a few more giggles after your hand had ceased its attack and slowly unbent himself to stand back up to his full size. To be safe, you took advantage of him still being tickle-wobbly on his knees and pushed him once more to make him stumble a few steps away from you, before you took your mallet into both hands and quickly aimed at your ball.

Kate chuckled good heartedly and called to you. “Make haste, (Y/N)! I think your brother seeks revenge!”

That didn’t exactly help you focus on your shot; and it got worse, when you recognized a very familiar growling noise behind you. A hysterical sound left your lungs, when you dared a quick look over your shoulder and saw Benedict roll up his sleeves and come closer to you again. “That demands satisfaction!”

“No, no, no!” You laughed, inching forward ever so slightly to get some distance between you two, without losing the control over your ball.

“Ugh, just hit it, (Y/N)!” Eloise sighed loudly, knowing exactly how this would play out.

But her advice actually made you act. You did as she said, you hit the ball. But in the wrong direction – towards your brother. Anthony and Colin burst out laughing, when Benedict got hit by your shot and took to wailing loudly. His mouth agape, he held his arm where your ball had stricken him and stared at you disbelievingly. “I cannot believe you just hit me!!”

Eloise had to hold on to Daphne’s arm to keep from falling over with laughter and Benedict’s glare in her direction promised certain retribution in the aftermath of this game. But for the time being, his gaze fell back on you. You, who were wise enough to having taken off over the field, before he could realize it.

“Oh ho ho, I see how it is!” Benedict yelled after you, a chuckle colouring his voice. Rubbing his arm, he turned around to the guests as formally as his playful soul allowed. “Excuse me, Myladies, I must quickly go after my sister and … retrieve her.” Anthony and Kate both raised a brow with amused expressions on their faces, as your brother turned around and immediately started chasing after you with a fear inducing sound.

You were already laughing too much to make wise steps on the grass with a dress that was constantly getting between your legs and underneath your shoes. The race that looked more like a stumbling newborn – you – being chased by a feral leopard – Benedict – could only have one possible outcome. The wind blew your hair in your face when you turned around to hold out your mallet and protect yourself against him. You saw Kate grinning at you two, while your siblings were getting on with the game, well acquainted with situations like these, where one brother would chase a sister.

Benedict’s blue eyes were glowing playfully as he extended his own mallet in your direction. “En garde!” Knowing full well that all that mattered was to keep him at a distance, you stumbled further backwards and threw your mallet at him to make him stay where he was. But he merely blocked the projectile with one arm and chuckled darkly at the attempt. “Now what?

You held up your hands and tried to form a normal sentence through your breathless laughter. “Now, let’s just talk about this!” But your brother preferred to snarl and bend over in a predatory way, before he ran right into you with his shoulder knocking against your middle to lift you off the grass. You squealed when you felt your feet leave the ground, your body slung over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you a sneaky little flower,” He chuckled as he turned around himself a few times, making your hands grab for the fabric of his jacket as the world whirled around you. Then he made himself fall on the grass on purpose, dropping you before him and rolling over you. “Let’s see how she likes being tickled!”

You kicked, hit, smacked, pushed and twisted as hard as you could, hysterical laughter taking your breath away, but Benedict managed to jab his fingers into your sides nevertheless. He knew exactly where it tickled the most, having put you in a similar position many times in your life. It was truly not fair, how you were already wheezing with laughter after two seconds. “NO PLEASE NO!”

“I protect you from pall mall ball attacks and this is the thanks I get?” He shouted over your bubbly laughter, smirking down at you, as his hands danced over your sides.

“You’re a – BABY!!” You exclaimed through your helpless laughter and tried to pull his hands away from your sides, which only led to Benedict searching for more ticklish spots on your ribs.

“You really don’t know what’s good for you, do you?” He gasped, quite impressed by your willingness to provoke him even further while he was in the perfect position to make you pay for it. You threw your head back and tried more frantically to push his hands away, when they started crawling over your belly, hitting mean spots that made you shriek with laughter.

“StOOOHP!!”

“Oh no, I don’t think my little flower has already had enough!” He taunted, trying push his head past your flailing arms to make his teeth’s nickname proud yet again. You protected your neck at all costs, but the fingers that wiggled into your weak spots distracted you too much to be successful. The laughter seemed to come straight from your heart when his lips made contact with your neck.

“BEN PLEASE NO!!” You squeaked with mirth, your feet hitting the ground behind your brother. He was ruthless with his raspberries, while your hands were pushing helplessly against his immobile chest. Benedict used that to his full advantage and let his hands wander to poke your sides untethered alongside the ticklish treatment of your neck. You were lost to helpless laughter. Benedict’s head moved up and away from your neck, a smug, tickle-drunk smile on his face. “Do you give up?”

You tried to free your hands from where they were pinned between the two of you, tossing your head from left to right to negate his question, but regretting it immediately when he shrugged good-naturedly and blew another raspberry under your ear. “OKAY!” You squealed. “PLEASE, I GIVE UP, I DOO!!”

You gasped in relief when your brother’s fingers finally slipped away from your sides and his weight shifted off you. Groaning he rolled over on his back and squinted his eyes against the sun to smirk at you wheezing next to him.

“Flowers,” he mused, “they are so delicate and sweet!”

You turned your head to glare at him and proceeded to hit his shoulder with your fist, but you had to laugh nevertheless. “If that were true, you could have never tickled me that hard!”

“Oh,” Benedict scoffed, tilting his head meaningfully, “that wasn’t hard. I was being gentle!” He poked your side again, making you yelp and grab for his wrist. You were about to protest, but then you recalled the times Anthony had tickled Benedict and you had to agree that Benedict had in fact been gentle with you…

Huffing about the two of you, you kept his wrist in your grip and put his hand on your stomach, wrapping both of yours around his. “What would I do without you?” You sighed, inching closer to his side and pulling at his arm to get it to move around you. He chuckled softly and did as you wished, pulling you close to him and keeping you there with his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“You would probably do just fine, (Y/N).”

“Yes,” you replied, before resuming the poking of the embroidered flowers on his waist coat, “but I would miss you terribly!”

Benedict twitched and threw his head back against the ticklish sensations that you were spreading over his middle again, little titters of laughter shaking him as he tried to get a hold of your hand. “No no, I can’t! Truce, truce!!”

Anthony’s voice rang through to you from the other end of the field. “Ben, (Y/N), are you giving up, or what?”

You stilled your hand and found your brother’s gleaming blue eyes.

“Never!!” You exclaimed simultaneously and stumbled to your feet, grabbing your mallets and returning to the others to resume the game. You would show him how delicate a flower you were.

But the way Benedict looked at you with fondness actually made you understand quite clearly: you would always be his little flower.

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x (y/n)#bridgerton (y/n)#little sister imagine #your are a bridgerton sister #bridgerton siblings #tickling #bridgerton tickling #ticklish!benedict #ticklish!benedict bridgerton #bridgerton tickle fanfiction #tickle fanfiction #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

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wannabe-fic-writer · 9 months

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Wanda Maximoff x Reader : Once Upon a Time

Summary: You are given the greatest gift you could ever receive. Covers the ‘Secret Santa/Gift Exchange’ square for Holiday Bingo.

Warnings: Some very minor langauge.

Word Count: 1k

* * * * * * * *

The night before Christmas. The scene was beautiful, perfect even.

Snow falls from the sky, coating the ground and roofs of houses in a beautiful, fluffy white blanket. The decorations and lights on your home and other houses leaves the entire street bathed in festiveness.

Inside your home, a fire crackles in the fireplace, two stockings hanging from the mantle, with the fully decorated tree sitting beside it. You and your wife had practically brought a pinterest board to life with the decorating you’d done and it turned out beautiful.

Your wife sits on the couch, curled up under a blanket, cheek resting in her hand as she focuses on the movie playing: White Christmas. It’s a Christmas classic she watches every year on Christmas Eve.

The film wasn’t exactly a favorite of yours but you’d gladly watch it so long as that beautiful smile lights across the Sokovian’s face.

Looking back at the pot on the stove, lips curled into an unfightable smile, you give it a few more stirs before taking down two mugs and filling them. Topping both with a pretty swirl of whip cream, you stick a chocolate wafer stick in the side, and carry them to the living room.

“Here, baby.” You say, grabbing Wanda’s attention as you hold the mug out to her.

She reaches out to take it, head tilting and eyes landing on you while a pretty smile forms on her face.“ Thank you, darling.” She says before taking a sip.

You reclaim your spot beside her under the blanket and she doesn’t hesitate to lay her legs over your lap. Hand soothingly rubbing her calves, you sip from your own mug and watch the movie.

Knowing that Wanda isn’t keen on talking during movies, you keep quiet, until the movie is over that is.

Empty mugs find a place on the coffee table and you both shift to complete another tradition you’d started since before you got married: exchanging one gift the night before Christmas.

You go first, passing over a fairly small rectangular box covered in snowman wrapping paper with a cute red bow on top.

Wanda does a giddy little wiggle in her spot as she accepts it, fingers daintily unwrapping the gift, then pulling the top off.

She freezes, eyes trained on the two slips nestled inside.“ Y/n,” she breathes out, hands shaking in the slightest as she raises one to cover her mouth and uses the other to lift the plane ticket up.

“I know that you’ve been thinking about going since the restoration projects were complete and I also know that it won’t be easy, but I’m gonna be with you every step of the way, baby.” You scoot even closer to her side, glancing down at the destination: Sokovia.

Her silence drives you a little mad. You aren’t sure if you’ve completely screwed up and she’s thinking of all the things she wants to tell you before she divorces you or if she’s so happily shocked she doesn’t know what to say.

Breaking the silence, you speak again,“ I talked with Tony and Steve about it. Tony showed me some of the photos his drones took and, Wands, baby it’s beautiful. From what Steve told me about what it looked like when he and Bucky went? It’s even better in person.”

Another beat of silence passes before her head lifts and watery eyes land on yours.“ I-” She stops herself, choosing instead to lunge herself into your arms, face buried against your neck as your arms encircle her waist.“ Thank you so much,” she sniffles,“ I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“I know baby, I know.” You mumble against her shoulder, leaving a soft kiss there.

“I love you so much.” She whispers, pulling back with another sniffle, then pressing a kiss on your lips.

The taste of her lips on yours is a mix of salty from her tears and sweet from the hot cocoa but beneath that, you get the familiar taste of strawberry that comes from the chapstick she uses. It stirs a feeling inside you that makes you want to kiss her until your lips are raw and you can taste nothing but her.

Instead, quite reluctantly, you pull away. Raising a hand, you gently swipe the tears from her cheeks with your thumbs.“ I love you too, Wanda.”

“It’s been so long.” She mutters, eyes yet again trained on the ticket.

While the trip to Sokovia is a part of the gift, the much bigger surprise awaits her in the country itself. A memorial, built in the very same place her childhood home once stood, of both her brother and their parents. You’d spoken to Tony and had it built. But she could know about that when you took her.

Wanda orients herself with a deep breath and a shake of her head. Cheeks and eyes tear free, she presents her gift to you.

A square box, covered in red and gold wrapping with golden ribbons tied around the corners.

“Oooooo, I wonder what it is.” You say playfully, holding it up and giving it a gentle shake.

A snort and laugh falls from Wanda’s lips and she smacks your arm.“ Don’t shake it. Just… open.”

You concede, settling the box on your lap before you begin opening it. The wrap and ribbon find a place on the floor, quickly accompanied by the top of the white box.

Red tissue paper sits inside with a book nestled in it.

‘The Story of Us’ it reads in beautiful silver letters.

Your bottom lip juts on it a pout as you take in the picture of you and Wanda on the front. You recognize it as one you’d taken on your six month anniversary, where you told her you were going to marry her someday.

Here you are, three years after that, married to her and living in your first home together.

A little, emotion filled huff sounds from you before you flick the book open.

It’s your story, you deduce rather quickly.

It looks like a legitimate story book, beautifully written words describing and mapping out the way you’d met, how you fought each other then inevitably fought for each other, and how you fell so deeply in love with each other.

Some pages are a mix of words and pictures of the two of you together or separate, some are full of words, and others are purely pictures.

The story isn’t long, major moments mixed in with equally significant minor ones like the first time you said I love you and the first time you’d binged a whole box set of Wanda’s favorite sitcom.

As you near the end, giggling softly at the retelling of your moving experience. You damn near had to pry Yelena off of Wanda, the younger Romanoff had grown quite attached to your, at the time, fiance.

When it reaches present day, the details of her giving this book to you on Christmas Eve aren't pinpoint accurate but still on point enough to let you know she’d planned this near perfectly, you expect that to be the end, but there are two more pages left.

“Oh? A little future telling, hm?” You quirk a brow at your wife, who’s been silent since the first flip of a page.

Knowing her lack of comment means she wants you to fully take in the next part, you focus on the book again, only to freeze as tears spring into your eyes instantly.

The second to last page of the book describes, in detail, a day you have not yet lived.

A day when you and Wanda come home, the brunette’s expression telling both how happy and how tired she is as she steps into the house, you following quickly behind her with a bookbag on your back and not one, but two car seats in either hand.

Your nose burns in the slightest as the first few tears slip down your cheeks and the lump in your throat gives way to a quiet sob as your eyes land on the last photo of the book.

It’s not of you and Wanda but instead, it’s a photograph of an ultrasound. You very briefly scan the words surrounding the focal point of the picture, noting Wanda’s information on it, before your eyes are deadlocked on the middle of the picture.

Seemingly sitting in the middle of two black circles are two, tiny, almost jelly bean shaped gray spots. You don’t have to guess what they are because the ultrasound photo clearly labels one as Twin A and the other as Twin B.

You swipe the tears from your cheeks before they can fall and stain the image staring back at you. At this point, you’re sure Wanda can actually hear how hard your heart is pounding. Hell, if she touched you, she might be able to feel the heavy thumps as it seems as if your heartbeats are traveling along with your blood through every vein in your body.

“Wanda.” You whisper after nearly six minutes of complete silence.

There’s a nervous glint in her eyes when you look up at her, tears still steadily escaping your eyes but you don’t let a single one fall onto the book.

“How long?” Is all you manage.

She sniffles, finger lightly swiping the fallen tears off the tip of her nose.“ Remember when I caught that stomach bug about 6 weeks ago?” You nod in answer.“ It wasn’t a stomach bug.”

You bite your lip, now tilting your head back in hopes of stopping the tears. They’re falling so fast you won’t be able to stop them from falling onto the book.

After a few deep breaths, and a few more tears sliding down your neck, you look back at her.

“Is this real?” You whisper, knowing full well it is but on the slight chance this is a dream, you don’t want your loud voice to yank you back to reality.

Wanda’s hand lifts, fingers landing on your earlobe where she gives a gentle but completely grounding pinch.“ It’s real, my love.”

At that, you shut the book, knowing you can’t protect it any longer from the stream pouring from your eyes. A sob falls from your lips as you push up onto your knees and pull Wanda up to match said position, your arms encircling her waist in a gentle but firm hug.

Children were always in the plan and you both knew you wanted them sooner rather than later. You’d dated long enough, seen the world and traveled during your years as Avengers, you didn’t need to wait long after you said “I do” to start planning the expansion of your family.

Doctor’s appointments had been made, all the needed preparations were done, and you tried for the first time. The in-vitro didn’t take and while you both were more than a little saddened and disappointed, you didn’t give up. You gave it three months then tried again this, the ultrasound of your twin babies, is the result of a second try.

“We’re having twins.” You whimper into the soft skin of her neck, feeling her warm breaths on the crook of your own neck.

She nods, lips and nose brushing your jaw and neck.“ We’re having twins.” She assures, hands clutching your shirt.

Through all the racing thoughts in your head, the ideas and hopes and dreams that fly a million miles per hour, you voice one very prominent thought.“ Thank you.” And you both know exactly why you’re thanking her.

You thank her for being your friend, for taking a chance on you, for loving you unconditionally and irrevocably, for sticking by you through everything. You thank her for letting you be a part of her story and for wanting to be a part of yours.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @blackxwidowsxwife @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @alotofpockets @storiesofsvu

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

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cleanroo · 3 months

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ltash · 2 months

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Forever

Ep-7 "The Valkyrie" SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

"I am a Valkyrie. And I will take the dead to the feast."

**Kabul, Afghanistan.

5 years Later:**

Special forces had been deployed to Kabul to restore order. Special Agent Activities Andrea Shepherd sat in a helicopter, her eyes scanning the barren landscape below.

"How long until we land?" Andrea asked the helicopter pilot over the roar of the engine.

"Just about an hour, ma'am. We're reaching the hills now," the pilot replied, his voice steady.

"Hmm," Andrea mumbled, gazing down at the sparse, rugged terrain.

The hour passed slowly, but eventually, the helicopter descended, touching down on the roof of a building. Andrea was the first to step out, her boots hitting the ground with purpose. A soldier approached and guided her to a corridor where her superior awaited.

Laswell, a white, middle-aged woman with short hair, stood with an air of authority. Andrea snapped to attention and saluted. "Agent Andrea Shepherd, at your service, ma'am," she announced.

"Andrea!" Laswell's voice was warm but firm as she shook Andrea's hand. "You're our most trusted agent. That's why you're here. Al Qaeda has become a significant threat. I know you won't hesitate to take action if needed."

"Thank you, ma'am. I won't disappoint you. I promise," Andrea replied, determination gleaming in her eyes.

Laswell nodded approvingly. "Good. Let me show you your room, Shepherd. Follow me."

As they walked through the narrow corridors, Andrea glanced at her watch. It was 4 p.m. The base was a hive of activity, soldiers moving with a sense of urgency and purpose.

"How's the situation on the ground?" Andrea asked, breaking the silence.

"Tense," Laswell admitted. "The locals are on edge, and the insurgents are getting bolder. We need someone with your skills to tip the balance."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Andrea assured her.

They reached a modest room, sparsely furnished but functional. "This will be your quarters," Laswell said, opening the door. "Settle in. Briefing is at 0600 hours."

Andrea nodded. "Understood, ma'am."

Laswell placed a reassuring hand on Andrea's shoulder. "We're counting on you, Shepherd. Welcome to Kabul."

"Thank you, ma'am," Andrea said, stepping into her new room. She set her bag down, the weight of her mission settling over her. There was no time to waste. She had work to do.

"It's your room. Inform James if you need anything," Laswell said, pointing toward a young soldier standing nearby.

"Okay, ma'am. Thank you," Andrea replied. She headed into her quarters, took off her coat, and tossed it onto the couch. Moving to the window, she looked out over the city, a mix of large and small buildings sprawled before her. The reflection of the narrow, muddy roads and bustling market filled her blue eyes.

The city was small, its bazaar filled with people scattered about, creating a lively, if chaotic, scene. Andrea took a moment to absorb the view, letting the reality of her new surroundings sink in.

Later, as she entered the briefing room, she noticed a group of Special Air Service soldiers. Laswell introduced them with a firm, confident voice.

As Andrea entered the briefing room, her eyes scanned the gathering of Special Air Service soldiers before her. A mix of anticipation and uncertainty washed over her. Each soldier embodied the raw intensity and determination that defined the elite unit. These were men who had seen the worst the world could offer, and yet continued to fight on, their spirits unbreakable.

Laswell stepped forward, clearing her throat to get their attention. "Everyone, this is Andrea Shepherd, our CIA field agent. She'll be joining you for this mission."

Captain Price, a seasoned veteran with a steely gaze, stepped up and extended his hand. "Captain John Price. Welcome to the team, Andrea."

She shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, Captain. It's an honor."

Beside him, a younger soldier with a focused demeanor nodded in greeting. "Sergeant Kyle Garrick. It's good to have you with us."

Andrea nodded back. "Likewise, Sergeant."

Laswell continued, "This mission is critical. We have intelligence on a Taliban compound where women and young girls are being held captive. Our objective is to infiltrate, secure the hostages, and extract them safely. Andrea will breach the security code and enter with the women, disguised in an abaya."

Price's face hardened with determination. "Consider it done."

Andrea appreciated the confidence in his voice. "I'll make sure the security systems are down before we go in. We won't have much time once we're inside."

Laswell handed out the mission details. "You'll need to be fast and precise. We don't know how many hostiles are in the building, so be prepared for anything."

Price looked at his team, then back at Andrea. "We move out in ten. Gear up."

The soldiers quickly gathered their equipment, checking weapons and ammo. Andrea followed suit, ensuring her M14 rifle was ready and her combat knives were in place. The weight of the mission pressed on her, but she channeled it into focus.

As they boarded the helicopter, the rotors cutting through the air, Andrea felt a sense of unity with the team. These men were her brothers in arms for the duration of the mission, and they all shared a common goal.

The flight to the target was tense but silent. Each soldier was lost in their thoughts, preparing for what lay ahead. When the pilot announced they were approaching the drop zone, Andrea tightened her grip on the rope.

Descending onto the roof, the team moved with practiced precision. Andrea's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her breathing steady. They kicked the door open and stormed into the building, Price leading the charge.

Inside, the chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the corridors as they engaged the militants. Andrea moved swiftly, her training kicking in as she neutralized threats with deadly accuracy.

Inside, one of the women wearing an abaya had gone to the bathroom. It was Andrea. There, she unbuttoned her long black abaya and removed her veil, revealing a black T-shirt and jeans underneath. She was armed with combat knives and an M14 rifle. Her mission was to rescue the captive women from the Taliban.

Silently opening the bathroom door, she emerged, ready for battle. As a trusted CIA agent, she was a lethal fighter who never hesitated to kill, yet she carried a deep sense of justice, especially for the women held captive and abused.

She began shooting the Taliban soldiers, aiming for their heads and chests. The women screamed and ran in panic, trying to avoid the bullets. This chaos was happening on the first floor of the building.

Captain Price and Garrick methodically cleared each floor, breaking down doors and neutralizing militants. As they reached the second floor, Price saw Andrea running down from above.

"Get them out of here," he shouted to one of his men, hearing gunshots from below.

"Who's down there?" he demanded.

"I don't know, sir," a team member replied.

"Let me see for myself," Price said, descending the stairs. He was shocked to find Andrea in the lounge on the ground floor, fighting the militants with incredible skill and agility.

"Holy shit," he muttered, awestruck. He had never seen a woman fight with such precision and ferocity. She moved like a seasoned warrior, dispatching the militants effortlessly.

Price took cover behind a marble statue, watching her in awe. Despite his admiration, he knew he needed to assist her. As he stepped out to shoot, his rifle jammed.

"Shit!" he cursed, expecting to be gunned down. In a flash, Andrea grabbed a sword from a fallen militant and hurled it toward an attacker. The sword pierced the militant's chest, killing him instantly. She used his body as a shield and shot another militant, eliminating both threats.

With the area clear, she stood with her back to Price, breathing heavily. Price emerged from his cover, stunned by her prowess.

"That was impressive," he said, his voice filled with respect.

Andrea turned to him, her expression unreadable. "We need to get those women out of here. Now."

Price nodded, signaling his team to proceed. Together, they escorted the rescued women to safety, ensuring no one was left behind. The mission was a success, but for Price, the real revelation was Andrea's extraordinary capabilities.

Back at the base, as the sun rose over Kabul, Andrea felt a sense of accomplishment. The war was far from over, but in that moment, they had made a difference. And for Andrea, that was enough to keep fighting.

Laswell stood in the small, windowless room, her attention focused on a series of screens in front of her. Each screen displayed a different camera angle, offering unique views of the mission unfolding before her eyes. The hum of electronic equipment filled the cramped space, punctuated by the occasional static crackle or murmured radio conversation.

Her eyes flicked from one screen to another, absorbing the details: the movement of soldiers, the flash of gunfire, the chaotic dance of a mission in full swing. Each screen told a part of the story, and she stitched them together in her mind, forming a comprehensive picture of the operation.

"Agent Shepherd is in position," a voice crackled over the radio.

Laswell leaned closer to the screens, her eyes narrowing as she watched Andrea move with practiced ease, dispatching enemy combatants with lethal precision.

"Good," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else in the room. "Let's get those women out of there."

On another screen, she saw Captain Price and his team advancing, methodically clearing each floor. Price's voice came through the radio next.

"Laswell, we've got heavy resistance on the second floor. Shepherd's engaging the hostiles on the ground level."

Laswell's jaw tightened. "Understood, Price. Maintain your position. Shepherd, do you copy?"

Andrea's voice came through, steady and controlled. "Copy, Laswell. Engaging hostiles and securing the captives."

Laswell watched as Andrea moved through the building, a blur of motion and efficiency. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained impassive, her focus unyielding. Every second counted, and she knew the stakes were high.

"Price, Shepherd, proceed with extraction," she commanded, her voice cutting through the static. "Let's get them out safely."

The room fell silent save for the soft, constant hum of the equipment. Laswell's eyes remained glued to the screens, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities, each one more dire than the last. But she trusted her team. She trusted Andrea.

The mission was far from over, but in that small, windowless room, Laswell held on to hope, her belief in her team unwavering. They would succeed. They had to.

As the team returned to base, Andrea felt a surge of satisfaction. The mission had been dangerous, but they had succeeded. She had proven herself once again, not just to the CIA, but to her team.

Price approached her as they disembarked from the helicopter. "Andrea, I've worked with many soldiers in my time, but you... you're something else."

Andrea smiled slightly, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you, Captain. Just doing my job."

Price nodded, respecting her humility. "Let's debrief and get some rest. We've earned it."

As they walked away, the sun began to rise over Kabul, casting a new light on the city and their mission. The war was far from over, but in that moment, they had won a significant victory.

The debriefing was a long and arduous process, but necessary for them to discuss the mission's successes, failures, and ways to improve their tactics for future operations. The team gathered in a small conference room, their eyes heavy with exhaustion, but their minds still focused. Captain Price stood at the front, while Laswell sat beside him, her gaze moving across the room as she listened to the different reports and observations.

Price cleared his throat, commanding the room's attention. "Alright, let's start with a rundown of the mission. Shepherd, you first."

Andrea leaned forward, her expression serious. "We breached the building as planned. Encountered heavier resistance than anticipated on the first floor. Managed to neutralize hostiles and secure the captives."

Laswell nodded, making a note. "Good work, Shepherd. What about the security breach? Any issues?"

"No issues," Andrea replied. "The code was simpler than expected. We were able to move quickly."

Price turned to his team. "Garrick, your report?"

Garrick rubbed his eyes, fighting off fatigue. "Second floor was a nightmare. More militants than intel suggested. We cleared it, but it took longer than planned."

Laswell interjected. "Do we know why there was an increase in numbers?"

Garrick shook his head. "Not yet. Could have been a recent regrouping or reinforcements we weren't aware of."

Price nodded. "We'll need better intel next time. Any injuries?"

"Minor ones," Garrick replied. "Nothing that would compromise future operations."

Laswell leaned back, absorbing the information. "We need to review our intel sources and ensure this doesn't happen again. What about the extraction? Any issues there?"

"Smooth," Price said. "Once we had the captives, we faced minimal resistance on the way out. The helicopter extraction was on point."

Andrea spoke up again. "The women were in poor condition, but they responded well to our presence. They're safe now."

Laswell made another note. "Good. We'll arrange for their care and debrief them separately."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed the debrief. Price broke the silence. "Any suggestions for improvement?"

Andrea glanced around the room. "We need better intel, as Garrick mentioned. And perhaps more support on the ground for unexpected increases in enemy numbers."

"Agreed," Price said. "We'll adjust our protocols accordingly. Anything else?"

The team shook their heads, too tired to think of more at the moment.

"Alright, get some rest," Laswell concluded. "We'll reconvene tomorrow to finalize our report and prepare for the next mission. Good work, everyone."

As the team began to disperse, Andrea caught Price's eye. He gave her a nod of respect, which she returned. Despite the exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline, there was a sense of accomplishment in the room.

Andrea sat in the dimly lit conference room, the quiet hum of the ventilation system the only sound breaking the silence. The mission had been intense, the rush of adrenaline now slowly ebbing away, leaving her with a sense of weariness that seemed to sink into her bones. As she replayed the events of the night in her mind, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her responsibilities as a part of her job.

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when Captain Price's voice broke through the stillness, clearing his throat to get her attention. Andrea looked up, her senses sharpening as she focused on him.

"Andrea! Can I have a moment?" Captain Price's voice was calm yet firm, the kind of voice that demanded attention in any situation.

"Yes, of course, sir," Andrea replied, straightening up in her chair. She was always respectful of Captain Price, admiring his leadership and experience.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair opposite him at the conference table. Andrea complied, her mind racing with thoughts about what he could possibly want to discuss.

"Why don't you join the task force with us, Andrea?" Captain Price's question hung in the air, his tone serious yet inviting. "Your father, General Shepherd, has founded Task Force 141—a team comprised of the best of the best. Judging by your skills back there, I'm amazed. You did a fantastic job. We could put your skills to good use."

Andrea's heart skipped a beat at the proposition. Task Force 141 was legendary in military circles, a covert unit known for taking on the toughest missions with unmatched precision. The idea of joining such a team was both thrilling and daunting.

"Thank you, Captain Price," Andrea responded, her voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within her. "I'll talk to my dad about this."

Captain Price nodded, a hint of approval in his expression. Andrea couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words. She knew that whatever decision she made, it would mark a significant turning point in her career—and possibly her life.

As she left the conference room, Andrea's mind raced with possibilities. Joining Task Force 141 would mean stepping into a world of secrecy, danger, and unparalleled skill. It was a challenge she was ready to face, knowing that her father's legacy and her own abilities would guide her through whatever lay ahead.

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kaiijo · 2 years

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WINTER ACTIVITIES — [GENSHIN IMPACT]

characters: kamisato ayato, diluc ragnvindr, tighnari, arataki itto, childe content: fem! reader, minor spoilers for ayato and childe’s backgrounds notes: happy 2023 and here’s to the revival of the blog!

kamisato ayato — building snowmen

ayato didn’t get much of a chance to have a childhood, given that he not only began training to take over the kamisato clan at a fairly young age but had to actually assume the role as head of the clan and restore it to its former glory not long after

so you weren’t super shocked when thoma told you that ayato never really participated in any of the winter fun when it snowed in inazuma. “milord always had a meeting to attend or paperwork to do,” thoma said. “all that, coupled with the fact that inazuma doesn’t get a lot of snow, he just never really had the chance”

well, this winter, inazuma saw the most snowfall it had in a long time, and you were determined to help ayato makeup for those lost moments of childhood

You were a little confused when you woke up to an unusually cold room. Usually, the estate was the perfect temperature in the winter, but today, it seemed like the few blankets you and Ayato slept under were no match for the chill air. You glanced over and saw that Ayato wasn’t beside you, which only added to your befuddlement. Wrapping yourself in one of your thicker sweaters, you slid on your slippers and shuffled out of the room, nearly smacking right into Thoma. “Whoops!” he said as he just barely avoided you. “Apologies about that. I’m just about to turn up the heat more.”

“It’s not usually this cold,” you said.

Thoma chuckled, “I guess you haven’t looked outside yet.” You raised a questioning eyebrow before you caught your husband at the end of the hall, gazing out the window. You quickly bid Thoma farewell, moving to stand beside Ayato.

A grin spread across your face at the white blanket of pillowy snow that covered the Kamisato estate from roof to ground. “Wow,” you said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen snow here.”

Ayato hummed, “The last time it was like this was the year my father began training me to become clan leader.”

You said, “Thoma mentioned that to me before. He also said that you never played with the other kids in the snow.”

“No,” Ayato said, “I suppose I didn’t. I don’t think I missed out on much.” Though he said this, you caught the wistful way he eyed the snow.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, which read just past seven in the morning. In about an half an hour, your husband would get himself ready for a long day of work. “Well, that won’t do,” you said. You tapped Ayato’s arm and said, “Get your coat on, we’re going outside.”

“Really? Right now?”

“Yes, right now.” He didn’t say anything further as you both returned to your room to grab your coats and slip on winter boots, making your way outside. You asked, “Was there any particular thing you really wanted to try in the snow?”

Ayato thought for a moment and replied, “Hmm, I was always rather fond of snowmen. I remember some of Father’s retainer’s children constructing them when it last snowed.”

You clapped your hands. “Perfect! Well, let’s get started then!” You showed Ayato how to pack together the snow and roll it forward, gathering more and more of the icy crystals on it until it turned into the large base of the snowman. Naturally, Ayato was a swift learner, easily creating the torso and head. You relished in the small, proud smile you caught on his face as he placed the head on top of the body.

“It needs its facial features,” Ayato said. “As well as a hat and arms, if I’m not mistaken.” You hummed in agreement and before you could go back inside to grab some of the things, Ayato was calling Thoma over to fetch them for you.

“I can do it,” you told Thoma.

He shook his head. “It’s my job, I don’t mind.” He returned with a carrot and an old top hat, handing them to Ayato while you found some pebbles on the estate. You handed some to Ayato, who carefully placed them to form eyes and a mouth before sticking the carrot in the middle of the snowman’s face, giving it a nose. He let you place the hat and arms and the two of you stepped back to review your creation.

Ayato smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “We should name him,” you said. Ayato nodded and finally answered, “Kenzo. That was my father’s name.” He motioned to the hat on the snowman. “That was his so I think it’s only appropriate to name it after him.”

“I think that’s perfect.”

There was a moment of silence before Ayato said, “That was rather enjoyable. Would you like to make another?”

You checked your own watch for the time and said, “I would but unfortunately, you’ll be called away for work soon.”

Ayato replied, “All those things can wait. I’d rather be out here with you today.”

diluc ragnvindr — shopping the winter market

every winter, an open air market took over the streets of mondstadt, bringing sellers and buyers from all across teyvat

diluc hadn’t gone in a while since he saw no need to wade through large crowds for wares he could easily obtain and had little use for, but since he started dating you, adelinde had dropped very un-subtle hints that he should take you there as it would be your first time experiencing it. “you can also get her a nice gift there,” adelinde said. “i remember that the jewels from liyue and sumeru were particularly beautiful.”

while he wasn’t a fan of the crowd or all the noise and chaos, he found that it was a bit more tolerable with you holding onto his arm with eyes sparkling with wonder

“Look, look, Diluc!” you said, pointing at a merchant’s stand to your left. The table was piled high with Inazuman delicacies like sandwiches and noodle dishes and a meal that was shaped to look like a cat, which, in Diluc’s opinion, was a little too nauseatingly cute. You tugged him over to the stall and asked, “Have you ever tried dango before?” you asked him, pointing at the skewers with tri-colored balls on them.

“I can’t say I have, no.”

You smiled at the merchant, an elderly lady who was looking fondly at the pair of you. “We’ll take two dango, please.”

“Of course, dear,” she handed them over to you and as Diluc got his wallet out to pay, she shook her head. “On the house today.”

“I insist,” Diluc said but she shook her head again.

“I won’t hear any of that young man. It’s on me, honest. You two just remind me so much of me and my husband when we were young. So, take it as a thank you for reminding an old woman of a nice memory.”

Diluc blushed and your smile only grew as you thanked her, taking the skewers and continuing through Mondstadt. The streets were packed with people and you held on a little tighter to Diluc as you chewed on your dango. “This is good,” Diluc said.

You nodded. “I know! I tried them when I visited Inazuma as soon as the Sakoku Decree was lifted.”

Diluc smiled warmly at you before another stall caught his eye — a seller from Liyue hawking intricately carved and decorated jade jewelry. He led you towards it, delighting in the way your eyes brightened at the pieces laid out on display. Your eyes drifted over a particularly lovely bracelet; it wasn’t overly intricate or as detailed as some of the other pieces but there was a phoenix carved into it that reminded you of your boyfriend.

“Do you like that one?” Diluc asked you.

“Yeah, it makes me think of you,” you said, pointing to the phoenix design. You laughed a little as Diluc’s face went pink and he handed the merchant his Mora.

tighnari — winter nature walk

given that sumeru was mostly rainforest and desert, it was expected that tighnari had never really seen or experienced snow. he was very curious to know what it was like though and he readily accepted your invitation to accompany you to dragonspine on a commission

on the way to the mountains, you two bought some wool-lined coats from a traveling snezhnayan merchant and tighnari was ever so grateful that you did since, the moment you two began approaching dragonspine, he immediately felt the blustering winds against his ears.

you finished the commission rather quickly and, rather than just leaving the mountains, you two decided to take a stroll to through one of the less monster and fatui infested areas

Tighnari blew out another long breath, watching as it hung in the air in a cloud of smoke. He looked up at the sky, awed by the dark gray of the clouds and the tallest peak of the mountain. You tapped his shoulder gently and he saw you holding a gray-blue shard of rock out to him. “It’s Starsilver,” you told him. “It’s only found here.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “I remember reading a book in the Akademiya that talked about the usage of Starsilver in Warming Bottles, which are supposed to mimic the effects of Warming Seelies.”

You nodded and he tucked it into a pocket in his coat, electing instead to take your hand in his. As you ventured through the mountains, you grinned at the way Tighnari’s ears would flick with every new sound they picked up. You loved the way he studied the new flora and fauna he found there. He looked over a mint sprig that poked out the snow, musing, “How can something like this survive in such a harsh climate?”

You two came to a clearing and found a fairly dry log to sit and rest on. Tighnari looked over at you and motioned for you to come closer. He reached out and brushed some of the snowflakes out of your hair and you laughed, shaking your head out. “Better?” you asked.

He chuckled and patted your head again. You leaned it against his shoulder and he stacked his atop yours. “Thank you,” he said, “for bringing me to such a beautiful place.”

arataki itto — snowball fight

you and itto were on your way to meet up with the gang for some meeting itto called, though you were almost certain it was more of a hangout than a formal meeting (as if there ever were any in the arataki gang)

it snowed for the first time in a long time on narukami island, so you and itto were taking your time making your way through inazuma city to go to hanamizaka. well, you were taking your time, your boyfriend was busy drawing caricatures of himself on every surface powdered in snow. suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you saw a white mass flying towards you and you moved out of the way just in time, letting it hit itto squarely in the back as he worked on another snow drawing

it wasn’t hard to figure out that it was one of the arataki gang members from the sounds of rustling and snickering and itto yelled, “you’ll pay for that!”

“Whaddaya think?” Itto asked proudly, turning away from the wall to reveal the newest stick figure he’d drawn of himself. You could make out the horns growing from the drawing’s head as well as his claymore sword but otherwise, it really didn’t look like Itto at all.

Still, you said, “Looks great, Itto!”

“Aww, you say that about all my drawings,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder and guiding you through the street. “Must mean I’m pretty good!”

You rolled your eyes playfully and said, “Sure.”

He scoffed, “What do you mean ‘sure’? Look, watch this!” He quickly broke away from you again and made his way over to one of the low stone walls, scribbling another cartoon with his finger. As he was bent over working on it, there was a small commotion that caught your attention. You glanced over your shoulder but didn’t see anything. Shrugging, you looked back to where Itto was still concentrated on whatever he was doodling but you kept your guard up. Just in case.

You were glad you did as you saw a white ball zooming towards you. You swiftly stepped back, the snowball missing you by a narrow margin and hitting your boyfriend’s back instead. He jumped up and whirled around, immediately catching his fellow Arataki Gang members hidden poor;ly behind shrubbery and suppressing their laughter. “You’ll all pay for that!” he yelled, lunging towards them and prompting the three to scramble away.

They weren’t fortunate enough, however, with Itto easily catching up to them. “We’re sorry, Boss!” Mamoru said as he struggled through peels of laughter. “We really a—” He was cut off when Itto launched a much larger snowball towards Mamoru. Mamoru ducked and the ball hit Genta instead.

“Oh, it’s on, Boss!” Genta hurled a snowball towards Itto, who retaliated with another two aimed at Genta and Akira.

You stood off to the side, watching the chaos unfold while shaking your head. Your boyfriend could be a lot but at the end of the day, you couldn’t deny the way your heart swelled as he laughed victoriously when he nailed Mamoru in the neck.

He packed another snowball together, wound his arm back, and threw it, though it wildly missed its intended target (Akira) and hit someone else instead: you. You wiped the cold snow off your face and your expression immediately dropped from affectionate to something more sinister. “I’ll give you three seconds, boys,” you said as you slowly crouched down, gathering snow in your hands.

Itto yelped and called to his members, “Retreat, guys, retreat!”

Beside the heavy snowfall, it was a pretty normal day in Inazuma City, the locals watching on in amusement as the men of the Arataki Gang sprinting towards Hanamizaka with you hot on their heels.

childe — ice skating

since getting engaged, childe decided it was time to finally bring you to snezhnaya to formally meet his family. he had gushed about you in letters to them already and you’ve even written a few yourself to them, but you never met them face to face though it felt like you all knew each other well already

as expected, childe’s family welcomed you with open arms and childe’s younger siblings were already begging you and childe to play with them and skate with them on the frozen lake a little ways away from the family home

you and childe gave in pretty quickly (as if there was any resistance at all) and you found yourself lacing up an old pair of skates childe’s mother gave you and wobbling on the ice with your fiance and his siblings

“Ouch!” you huffed as you tumbled onto the ice for what felt like the umpteenth time, and Childe had the audacity to laugh as he helped you up.

“I take it you don’t have a lot of skating experience.”

“Really?” you asked him dryly. “How could you tell?”

He just laughed again and took both of your hands in his, sliding to a stop in front of you and turning so he faced you. “Show off.”

“It’s easy when you get the hang of it, promise,” he said, starting to slowly skate backwards and pull you along with him. Tonia, Teucer, and Anthon whizzed by, the force of their speedy skating nearly knocking you off balance. You tripped into your fiance’s arms and he said, “Well, it seems like you’ve fallen for me.”

You made a face and said, “Get out of here.”

He grinned at you and started his slow backwards skate again as he guided you along the perimeter of the lake. “Just like that,” he said as you mimicked his movements. Gradually, he loosened his grip on your hands until he completely let go, skating further from you and opening his arms up. “Skate towards me,” he said.

“I would if you stopped moving!”

“That’s kind of the point!”

You pouted at him before focusing on your own movements, falling into the hypnotizing rhythm of skating and gliding. Before you knew it, you were sliding easily into Childe’s open arms, which he folded around your waist. “You’re a natural,” he said.

“I had a good teacher,” you replied, smiling at him. He leaned in and kissed you, which earned disgusted whining from Teucer and Anthon, and a squeal from Tonia.

When you broke apart, Childe stroked your cheek with a cold hand and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You pressed your face into his hand. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #ayato kamisato x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #tighnari x reader #arataki itto x reader #itto arataki x reader #itto x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios

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middleearthpixie · 5 months

Text

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Four

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Warnings: Some violence (nothing graphic)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard

@legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

@rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz

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@night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Although it had been a year since she’d been on the Long Lake, Sophie felt as if only days had passed since she lived there, in the drafty house with its leaky roof and rooms that all pitched to the left.

Roughly half of Esgaroth had been restored, and while none of the buildings were inhabited, according to both Thorin and Bard, Sophie knew she would find Sten and knew exactly where she would find him as well.

Their house had been at the southern end of Esgaroth, tucked between the fish market where Sten sold his catch, and another house and it was there that she stood, staring up at the new structure, finished save for windows. The scents of cedar and pine mingled with the cold, somewhat brackish smell of the lake water, and had she not been so nervous, she might have heard the gentle lap of the water against the new pilings and bulkheads. Instead, all she heard was the thundering of her heart.

A toolbox stood just to the side of the doorway, although the house had no door yet. Still, as she stepped over the threshold, she heard the sounds of someone moving about. The houses were all the same, the first floor was normally a mudroom of sorts, a place where oilskins, boots, winter coats and the like would be stored. A narrow staircase to her right would take her above, to the main floor. There, she would find a kitchen and great room combined, a small privy, and toward the rear of the house, two small bedrooms.

It took every bit of will she possessed to force her feet to obey and propel her up those narrow stair treads. As she emerged into the kitchen, she saw a familiar pair of boots in the doorway. Battered, scuffed, one held together with a strip of leather wound about it.

Sten’s boots.

Of its own volition, her hand found its way into the small satchel she carried, her fingers curling about the knife handle. She slipped it free, drew in a deep breath, and called, “I know you’re here.”

“Why?”

Her blood ran cold at the familiar, softly menacing tone of Sten’s voice. She’d learned that the greater his fury, the calmer he sounded, and while he didn't exactly sound calm, she was wary just the same.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Come here.”

“No.” She tightened her grip on the knife. “You come here.”

He appeared in the doorway between the great room and the short hallway that would lead to the bedrooms and she fought the urge to gasp at the sight of him.

Tall and handsome and blond and I thought he was utterly perfect. That was how she’d described him to Thorin and once upon a time, that had been true.

Once upon a time.

Now, however, Sten’s once-handsome face was lopsided, no doubt from its meeting with her cast iron pan a year earlier. He bore distinct burn scars on his face as well, although, in a darkened alley to a frightened little girl, they might not have been noticeable.

“Surprise to see me, are you?”

“Why are you here again?” She took a step closer, but made certain to remain beyond his reach. “What do you want from us?”

“I want my wife. My daughter.”

“Your wife and daughter. Don't make me laugh, Sten. You were going to kill me that night, weren’t you?”

“I was wrong, my love. So terribly wrong.”

“Do not call me that, for we both know it to be a lie. I don’t believe you, not a single word of what you say.”

“You should, for I speak true.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to will her arms and legs to stop quaking so badly. She didn't want him to see any hint of fear for if he did, he would pounce. “You need to leave us alone, Sten. I want you to leave us alone. I want you to give me a divorce and go on your merry way.”

“So you might continue thinking you’ll be queen of Erebor?” A chilly laugh followed his words. “Think you I didn't hear about that? That I didn't hear about you and the Mad King. You’ve exposed my daughter to that madman? I could not, in good conscience, leave Heather with you. Who knows what the mad king would do to her if I did.”

The very thought of Thorin ever harming Heather was a laughable one, but Sophie kept her expression neutral. She would not give anything away to him. Not any more. “The mad king? Hardly. We both know the only madman here is you, Sten. You need to let us go.”

“No. I will not let you go so you can go running back to that runt!”

“Why? You’ve made yourself perfectly clear in how you see me, in how you see Heather.”

“She is mine. You are mine.”

“No, Sten,” she shook her head slowly, “we are not yours. Heather deserves better than a father who does not trouble to hide his disdain for her.”

“So the dwarf can not only slip into your bed, but into my role as her father?”

“Thorin is good to her. He doesn’t yell at her for doing what children do, for laughing too loudly or being afraid of something. He makes time for her and treats her as she should be treated. Can you say the same?”

“She is weak and addled, like her mother.”

“See? And do you honestly wonder why I want out of this marriage? Because I do, Sten, and I will be free of you for once and for all.”

Some of the ice left his pale eyes and he took a step backward. “I’ve really ruined things, haven’t I? I—I don't even know why I said the things I did, or why I did the things I did…. I just… I just loved you so much, Sophie. And it always seemed that I could never give you what you truly deserved, the life you should have had.” He shook his head. “Do you know how that feels? To know the person you’re with deserves so much more and you’ll never be able to give it to her?”

For a moment, she almost believed him to be sincere. He certainly looked and sounded it. At least, he did to one who didn't know him. But Sophie knew him.

And believed not a word he spoke.

“It’s too late, Sten. I am not so trusting as I once was.” She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said, “I want a divorce and you will grant me one.”

He stared at her for a long moment, but then slowly shook his head. “I don't think I’ll be doing that, Sophie. In fact, I think I will come by Erebor ’round sundown and collect my daughter as well.”

“We are not going anywhere with you. And the idea of you forcing the gatekeeper to do your bidding is laughable.”

Sten offered up a slow smile. “Think rather highly of yourself, do you? Did you fail to notice I mentioned Heather and not you?”

With that, he stepped closer and she instinctively stepped back at the same time. “You are not getting within a league of her, Sten. So, whatever insane idea you have about how this will end will never come to pass.”

“It’s a funny thing about this lake, love,” he replied softly, shaking his head as if filled with regret. “People have a way of falling into it and never being seen again. Isn’t that what you told people? That I went out on the lake and simply never came home?”

He kept approaching and she kept backing up, mindful of the narrow staircase directly behind her. “You have no idea how I wished that would actually happen.”

“You tried your best.” He gestured to the misshapen side of his head. “But you failed. You’ve failed at everything you’ve tried to do, haven’t you? Failed as a wife. As a mother. As a woman.”

She slipped the knife from her pocket. “Do not take another step.”

He glance down at it, then looked back up, a laugh coming to his lips. “You haven’t the nerve.”

“Do not test me. I will do what I have to, to keep Heather safe, to keep her away from you.”

“Is that so?”

He dove at her, and she swung, the tip of the knife’s blade catching him in the shoulder. Not that it mattered, as he drove his shoulder into her stomach and sent her reeling backward. The knife clattered to the floor as Sophie made a frantic grab for the moulding about the doorway. Her nails scratched along the wood to no avail as she crashed down along the risers, pain bursting through her shoulder and her hip as she crumpled to the floor at the foot of the staircase.

Pain radiated through her, starbursts erupting before her eyes as she fought to keep them open. Above her, the stair treads creaked as Sten descended toward her. “You little fool,” he said, his voice low and flat. “A more worthless woman never lived.”

Her head ached. Her vision swam. Slowly, she untangled herself and tried to sit, scooting back across the fresh, smooth wood toward the front door. Sten held her knife loosely, but she had no delusions that she would be able to wrest it from him again.

Pulling herself up to her feet, she bit back a cry as pain burst through her right ankle and when she placed that foot on the floor, it refused to bear weight. She gripped the wall, sweat breaking out across her back as she stared at him.

“Why won’t you just leave us be?” Her words came more easily as her head slowly began to clear. “If I am so worthless, why are you even troubling with me?”

“Because you are mine and no man, not even the runt king, takes what is mine.”

The knife blade glinted as the sun reflected off the water and as Sten shifted to lower it, Sophie lunged for the toolbox, her fingers brushing, then curling about the somewhat rough handle of the hammer laying atop it.

She came up swinging with every bit of might she could muster and Sten let out a howl at the sickening crunch of the hammer’s head striking his. She caught him along the jaw, pain flaring through her hand, her wrist, but she held on, tightening her fingers about that handle as he stumbled back into the stairs, a hand clasped to his chin, blood dribbling over his bottom lip.

Footsteps thundered along the wood to the north and while she ignored them, Sten must have expected her to turn to see who was coming, for he dove at her once more.

Without thinking, she spun to her left and he shot past her, reeling forward to topple into the lake with a loud splash.

“You bitch!” he sputtered, swimming back toward the bulkhead. “I will kill you this time.”

He grabbed the edge of the bulkhead, but as he tried pulling himself up, she swung again. And again. And again. She kept swinging even as both Thorin and Dwalin came around the corner.

Thorin caught her by the wrist with one hand and around the waist with his free arm to pull her back. “Easy, amrâlimê,” he whispered as she tried to fight him, tried to keep swinging, “it’s over, love… it’s over…”

The hammer hit the wood at their feet and she collapsed against him, her tears infuriating but unstoppable as she buried her fingers in the fur of his coat and clung to him as if for life itself.

“Get her back to Erebor,” she heard Dwalin growl. “I’ll take care of what’s left of him.”

Sophie’s stomach clenched and curdled at the same time, a sour taste flooding her mouth. She fought down the rising nausea, shaking her head as she whispered, “He was going to take Heather… I—I could—I couldn't let—let him get h—her…”

“Shhh…” Thorin swung her easily into his arms and moved away from the edge of the bulkhead. “You’ve nothing to worry about now, mesmel. He cannot hurt either of you again…”

Exhaustion and pain wound together to make keeping her eyes open impossible, so she let them close as she tucked her head against his chest. A sense of relief swelled, taking some of the edge off her pain.

It was over.

Finally.

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as Narnerra gently prodded her swollen left ankle. “I beg your pardon,” the healer said as she looked up, “how did this happen?”

“I fell down a flight of stairs.” Sophie clenched her teeth as Narnerra continued her examination. She was so tired, all she wished to do was sleep, but Thorin was insisted that Narnerra look her over and told the healer so in no uncertain terms before leaving the infirmary.

He would not say where he was going, but he didn't have to. She knew. Esgaroth. Any moment now and Bard would be coming looking for her.

This time she had no doubt at all that she’d killed Sten. She might have failed the first time. She did not fail this time. And if she was honest with herself, she was not the least bit sorry, either. It had to be done. She had to protect Heather.

She had to protect herself.

“I don't think it’s broken,” Narnerra said, straightening up. “But rather a nasty sprain. We’ll splint it and I’ll recommend you remain off your feet for the next fortnight.”

Sophie nodded. “I can still work with Bifur, then.”

“No, you will rest, Sophie. I daresay Bifur and the others will all understand.” Narnerra moved to her supply cupboard, returning a few minutes later with what she needed to splint Sophie’s injured ankle.

“How are you otherwise?” the healer asked softly as she set to work.

“I’m… tired… and—and sore.” Sophie replied slowly, wrapping her arms about herself as a chill settled about her. “And I’m so cold… I can’t seem to shake it.”

“The stress of the moment.” Narnerra crossed over to the cupboard once more, this time returning with a blanket she draped about Sophie’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Narnerra’s blue eyes were sharp. “He had it coming, Sophie. Do not think for one moment you did anything wrong, for you didn’t.”

She shot the healer a look. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“You do. And if I were there, I’d have helped you.” Narnerra bent back over her ankle and no more words passed between them as she finished wrapping it.

“How does she fare?”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat as Thorin came into the room that served as the royal family’s quarters in the infirmary. Narnerra looked up and nodded. “She’s shaken up, but in one piece. Nothing is broken or fractured, just bruised or sprained.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Narnerra crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a moment to give you something for the pain, Sophie.”

Sophie managed a smile. “Thank you, Narnerra. For everything.”

Narnerra bobbed her head. “Of course.”

As the door swung closed behind Narnerra, Thorin came around to face her. “How are you truly faring?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admitted softly.

“I know.” He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. “I’ve been to see Bard. It seems there was a terrible accident out on the Long Lake. I’m afraid Sten Asharm fell into the water and drowned.”

“Thorin…”

“He’s gone, mesmel,” he murmured, curving his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along it. “This time, for good. He will not trouble you again.”

“I thought that once before.”

“Trust me. He is not coming back this time.”

Sophie pulled the blanket more tightly about herself. “And will I face any charges?”

“For his accident?” Thorin shook his head. “No. As Bard said, sometimes accidents cannot be avoided. And the lake doesn’t always give up its dead, so in all likelihood, no one will ever know exactly what happened to him.”

“Give up its dead.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the iciness that filled her with those words. “How do I live with knowing this?”

“You had no choice, Sophie,” he told her, his voice low and stern. “He would have killed you, had he gotten up on that dock. You did what you had to do. No one would fault you for that.”

“Still…”

“No,” he shook his head, “no still. You did. It’s that simple.” As he spoke, he caught her face in his hands, tilting it to his. “You had no choice, mesmel. None.”

“I know, but—”

“No. No but,” he cut her off gently. “You had no choice. And if you hadn’t have done it, I most definitely would have. No one lays a finger on you while I live and pays no price for it. No one.”

Tears stung her eyes at the quiet ferocity in his voice. “Thorin, I—”

“Let’s get you back to your chambers, mesmel. Heather is out in the paddock with Fífi, but they will be coming in for supper soon. What do you wish to tell her?”

“I don't know yet. I—I have to think about it.”

He nodded as Narnerra came back into the room. “I told her to remain off that ankle for a fortnight, Your Majesty.”

“And I will make certain she does.”

“Good. You need to rest, Sophie. You’ve earned it.”

“I will. I will.” Sophie managed to smile as her shock slowly eased. Thorin was right. Narnerra was right. She’d had no choice.

She’d done what she absolutely had to do and that was that.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 1 year

Text

Reflections

Chapter Three

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: none, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

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Mia marvelled out the car window at the house. The pictures didn't do it justice.

It was Tudor style; the white-washed daub between the timber frames, steeply pitched gables, and thatched roof made it easy to distinguish between that and other periods. Brick and pipe chimneys smoked merrily. The casement window glass gleamed with shine and a fresh coat of white paint.

Two years of Covid and a subscription to Home and Garden Television, along with Tubi and their shows on restoration projects across the UK, apparently imparted lessons that were paying off.

The door was kelly green with a white climbing rose clinging to the wall. The plant crossed the lintel and spanned the area above the house's main floor windows. Someone had taken great care of the garden, for flowers bloomed in veritable heaps of colour below every window before the well-kept yard spread out in a wash of lush green lawn, meticulously mowed.

Trees surrounded the property, but she could make out more buildings farther into the grounds, though Jacob - her driver - pulled up in front of the cobblestone path that led from the raked gravel drive to the door.

"It's bigger than I thought," Mia murmured, allowing him to get the door and her to step outside. The house was triple the size of anything she could afford back in Canada.

The fresh air was crisp and clean, and the sun peeking through the clouds was lovely. She stood and basked, eyes closed, taking it in momentarily before moving away from the car.

She couldn't help but smile at the unique roof and the fancy thatching. After hours of devouring the shows on home restoration for period properties, she had enormous respect for the men and women who could accomplish such an incredible craft. It was truly remarkable that, after hundreds of years, such material and labour were still used today.

Before she could touch the doorknob, already in love with the door's colour, it swung open to reveal a short, stout woman wearing a frilly apron. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes emerald green, but her cast of wrinkles bespoke her age. Still, her smile was wide and welcoming, if a little guarded.

“Camila MacAlasdair?”

"Mia, please," she smiled and held out her hand. "Mrs. Bailey?"

"Ock, we don't shake the hands of family," she huffed, grabbing Mia's wrist and hauling her forward into a hug that should have come from someone the size of Fergus. "Yer wee gran would 'ave taken one look at ye and known ye were Callum's girl. Ye've yer da's eyes."

Mia leaned into the hug - though leaned down was more accurate. "You knew them well?"

"I've been keeping house for yer grandparents since yer da was a wee lad. It was a shame what happened with yer mum. A true shame. Would that they had lived to see ye and tell ye all this themselves."

Grief tugged at Mia's heart for her lost family. "Yeah."

"Bah!" Mrs. Bailey set her back and lightly patted Mia's arms. "Here I am holdin' ye in the door like an eejit when yer probably puggled. Let's get ye a scran and settled 'afor I go talkin' yer ear off."

The woman turned on her heel and set off into the house.

"Puggled?" Mia murmured to Jacob, arriving with the first of her bags.

"She means tired," chuckled the very British Jacob.

With the thicker accents of the Scots she'd spent the last week with, it was a shock to have Jacob greet her in a voice that reminded her of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.

He'd been kind enough to help her decipher a few of Fergus and Ivy's more colourful sayings.

Your head's full of mince was one of them. Your bum's out the window was another.

"Ah," Mia nodded, wondering if there was an app for deciphering Scottish - and British - English as even Jacob caused her to blink in confusion when he asked if she were 'taking the piss' and had to explain himself.

She would see about that later. Fergus gifted her a fancy new phone with what he termed better encryption and security. It was also already attached to her household expenses and ran on the nation's phone service.

Mia stepped beyond the threshold and bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The low-beam ceiling was spectacular!

Dark wood separated by white dab spanned the spaces between beams that looked like entire trees held up the ceiling. The wood flooring had planks that were so wide they, too, looked like they came from a whole tree. The rich dark brown of the well-loved wood made the house feel so warm.

She stepped into a kitchen right out of a fairytale.

Expansive windows threw light across the floor, reflected off the pans hanging above the antique stove and glinted on cut crystal vases filled with sweet-smelling flowers. Pots of fresh herbs sat in the window sills. Butcher block countertops ran the length of all the cabinets and covered the island.

An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, but a pot belly stove sat in the center, glowing a merry orange with the cheerfully burning fire. The mantel was another massive piece of timber, upon which sat a host of - what Mia assumed were - ancient kitchen utensils. They looked neat, some dull or rusted with age, while others carried a dark patina and still more shone with copper.

Before the fire, a round rug of burgundy and cream anchored two forest green wingback chairs with a small round table between them. It was of caramel-coloured wood, the top a little scarred with age, but it held a tea tray with the most gorgeous bone china tea service Mia had ever seen.

The white china fairly blazed against the dark backdrop, while the purple thistle and green leaves caressed the curves of the china with delicate brush strokes.

A small but fancy chandelier hung over the sink, but recessed pot lights covered the ceiling and would likely add to the warm glow at night, though they weren't currently on.

Mrs. Bailey poked a few mounds of dough back down at the island into their bowls before covering them with sunny yellow tea towels.

"Is that bread?"

"Aye. I always make bread on Mondays." There was something in how she said it, almost as if she challenged Mia to say something contrary.

Mia toed her shoes off beside the door and drifted closer. "I always wanted to learn, but Colt said it was a waste of time."

Mrs. Bailey's sharp eyes jumped to her face and the bruises she attempted to tone down. It wasn't easy to hide, not without also covering her freckles, and Mia didn't want to do that anymore.

"Ye've quite the keeker. I've some salve to help if ye want it."

"Did you make that too?"

Mrs. Bailey burst out laughing. "Naw! I'm a baker and a cook, alright, but I'm naw chemist."

Mia grinned. "I'd love to try the salve. I'm not sure which is worse, the black when it was fresh or the sickly yellow-green it is now."

Mrs. Bailey's brows drew together, and thunder filled her face. "The bloke who did it, he gonna be a problem?"

Mia snorted. "No. I left him in Canada, and he has no idea I'm here."

Her face cleared. "Good. Would've given 'im a good hard smack with a pan for laying hands on a lady."

Mia laughed. "No one has ever called me a lady."

"Yer lady of this house now, so expect to hear it." Again, there was tension behind the words.

Mia wasn't always the best at social cues in the fancy circles Colt aspired to. Still, after years in the foster system, not that she'd lived in any genuinely horrible situations, she'd learned to read people and the tension in their bodies reasonably well.

Only one of her homes was a bad place where the father drank excessively. He never touched any of the kids under his care, but he often yelled, smashed things, and made threats. She learned quickly to go to her room and stay out of his way.

So when Mrs. Bailey's brows pulled together in worry, and she picked at a crusty bit of dough on the island, Mia attempted to put two and two together.

"You know, I was thrilled when Fergus told me the house and the people associated with it were taken care of," she said, attempting to appear like she was admiring the pots hanging over the stove and not about to freak out. "I don't know the first thing about a place like this other than it's gorgeous, and I still can't believe I get to stay here. I wouldn't want people to think I would come here and make crazy changes, like fire everyone. It's not in my nature, and honestly, after the last few years, I'm just happy to have a home."

The last came out a bit of a hoarse whisper as surprise tears seared her nose and throat.

"Ye've had a time of it, haven't ye, Mia?"

She made the mistake of glancing at Mrs. Bailey, compassion in every line of her face, and broke down in tears.

"There now." The older woman enveloped Mia in a hug and rubbed her back. "Been a hard road, but yer here now. And we look after our own. Ye have yerself a wee greet. Then I'll show ye the house and put the tea on."

Mia sniffled. "Does tea include fresh bread?"

Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Of course!"

Mia hugged her tight. "Excellent."

The house was a dream.

All the times Mia watched someone restore their period home on television, she'd sighed in longing. However, after the first time she pointed out how gorgeous the craftsmanship of those older buildings was, even the restored barns, Colt snorted in contempt and called them filthy she hadn't brought it up to him again.

Laying on her back on a beautiful wide bed with a thick white duvet, Mia stared at the crisscrossed ceiling and let the tears come.

She'd been so blind to Colt's faults, so desperate for love and affection after being alone most of her life that she ignored his red flags. Some, she even turned around and placed on herself as her faults. She'd accepted blame and tried to change herself when he was in the wrong.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but they didn't last long. She cried for broken dreams and lost love, but she wasn't cynical enough to believe that would be the end for her. Mia would love again, but she'd learned tough lessons and would guard her heart with higher walls next time.

For now, she would put Colt behind her and move on with her life. It was here, it was new, and though it was a little scary, it was also exciting.

She sat up, wiped her face, and took in the sun-drenched bedroom. A fire burned in a beautiful iron grate in a modest fireplace between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream club chairs offered a welcome seat to soak in the view or the heat. Antique dressers now held the clothing she purchased, as did the pair of wardrobes. And, of course, the same stunning floor of overly wide wooden planks felt like they'd been polished smooth with literal generations of feet.

Off the bedroom was a bathroom straight out of a fantasy novel. A clawfoot tub sat on a riser within the confines of an alcove beneath a large octagonal window. The plank flooring gave way to large slate tiles, slightly misshapen, clearly hand-hewn. Again, it felt polished beneath Mia's feet.

A double sink sat in a vanity that looked like an antique dresser, while the mirror above appeared hand-carved or made from the bones of old crown moulding. It was magnificent, with the small wall sconces glowing on either end.

In virtually every room, some potted plant or vase full of flowers added greenery to the space, and her bathroom was no different.

She wasn't sure what the leafy plant on the sink was called, but she was determined to learn how to care for them and help out.

As Mrs. Bailey - first name Cora - showed her around through receiving rooms, drawing rooms, her late grandfather's study, the dining room, and five guest rooms, she introduced Mia to Oliva and Skye. The young women helped with the housework, general cleaning, laundry, and the like.

Cora explained the two women had received the items shipped from Edinburgh, found the boxes with her clothing, and unpacked them into the master bedroom.

It felt a little weird moving into what once was her grandparents' space, but Cora assured her the mattress and bedding were new, changed out when they learned she would be coming to stay. Her grandparents' clothing and the like were stored in the attic until she decided what she wanted to do with it. They had yet to bother with the rest of the house, as Mia could add or edit as she pleased.

So far, Mia was under the impression that her grandparents had impeccable taste. The antiques were glorious and well cared for. What brick-a-brack she saw seemed well chosen and possibly of value. Clearly, her grandmother had a thing for Waterford Crystal, not that Mia blamed her.

Her grandfather - apparently - carved and painted wooden ducks. The gorgeous creatures were lovingly displayed in his former office, riding the plate rail that ran the room's circumference.

They had stored her art supplies, works in progress, and finished paintings there.

Mia vaguely wondered if that was where her talent came from before Cora shooed her along, talking about how the house was fully renovated right before Covid hit, keeping the old world charm while modernizing things like the insulation, the lighting, wiring, plumbing, heat and air.

She could only imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent modernizing the house while retaining its classic look and feel.

The house tour ended in one parlour where another potbelly stove glowed brightly beside a burgundy velvet sofa. Skye was there with the tea tray, Olivia a step behind with another of fresh bread, preserves, and a crock of whipped butter.

Mia intended to invite the women to stay, but Cora shooed them out, sat with a thump on the couch, and made to pour the tea, but Mia beat her to it.

She wasn't much for superstitions, but her mother always laughed and said, 'the lady of the house poured the tea unless she wanted to end up enceinte.' Mia was eight when she finally asked what the word meant, but she never forgot the way her mother laughed and explained about the silly old wives' tale. Still, it was one of the weird things that stuck in her brain and arose at odd times. Like now, when she realized this was her house. She owned it, lock, stock, and barrel.

It made her hyperventilate a little.

Then, as she handed Cora a delicate tea cup, the woman bluntly asked how she got the black eye.

It surprised Mia, but she told Cora the truth. When an ocean separated them, there was no point in lying to save face or protect Colt. But, as Cora poked a little at still raw feelings, Mia felt the fresh prickle of tears.

It was only a week—seven days from losing everything to gaining everything.

Cora made a displeased sound with her tongue and changed the subject, but the thunderous set of her brows said if she ever met Colt, he might become intimately acquainted with one of the cook's larger frying pans.

She asked instead about Mia's art, and happy to talk to someone about her joy, Mia ate three slices of bread, liberally spread with butter and jam, drank two cups of really lovely tea, and nattered on about what she did and why. She thought it might bore the woman, but Cora's eyes were excitedly bright, though a bit of confusion lingered.

"Well, ye've all the time in the world to paint now, love," Cora grinned. "Yer grandad had a woodworking shop near the barn that might suit ye if we clean it out."

The idea of it excited her when Cora encouraged her to have a walk around, but Mia returned upstairs to change first. It was roughly six degrees Celsius, and coming out of a Canadian winter when minus forty wasn't unheard of, six degrees was relatively balmy, but Scotland was damp in comparison. Mia learned quickly that you could get rained on at any time.

Thus, she'd ended up sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to adjust to the metamorphosis her life went through in a short amount of time.

Quiet laughter echoed in her head, and she closed her eyes as the gentle touch of a caring hand danced across her forehead.

Loki was patiently waiting for her to unpack his things.

Smiling, Mia looked around the room. The dresser across from the foot of her bed was long and low with a vase of fresh flowers but otherwise empty.

It took very little time to unpack and cleanse the altar and set everything back as it should be. Once finished, Mia admired her handiwork before rummaging through the bags brought up by the maids. A few pretty crystals and a pewter bowl joined her collection, as did two silver candlesticks meant for fat pillar candles. She bought two in vanilla, two in citrus, and two with a cinnamon kick.

For now, she placed the cinnamon-scented ones in the holders, and the others remained wrapped in tissue paper she tucked into a drawer.

Loki hummed his pleasure, the warmth of it like the summer sun glowing in her chest.

"I'm glad you like it. Thank you for leading me here."

Here is where you belong.

Mia grinned. Yeah, she felt that, too.

Next Chapter

#reflections #au tom hiddleston fiction #rpf #real people fiction #tom hiddleston

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