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the-writerly-night-owl · 5 years

Text

A Different Kind of Proposal

Book: The Elementalists

Pairing: MC x Beckett Harrington

Summary: Beckett is planning something and Ellie has a feeling that she already knows what it is.

Authors note: you might already know what this is. I think I made this appropriately cute enough. Enjoy! Next up, a The Freshman book, with a twist.

Tag list!: @flyawayboo @queen-among-writers @cosigottahavefaith @am-i-invisible777 @countrymusicandncis-blog @fluffy-cat-whisper

Ellie only blinked as she stepped inside the Harrington home. It wasn’t what she was expecting, maybe something Victorian with darkened halls and antiques. Maybe even a butler with an English accent that would greet them.

Instead she found something equally as old, Beckett called it Edwardian architecture, and there was light everywhere. Countless rooms with wide windows to let in natural sunlight. The main living room had a sunroom attached to it. Their furniture and art simple yet elegant. Although their housekeeper did have a welsh accent.

“Your house is very pretty,” said Ellie as she looked around as she spied a baby grand piano. Someone played at least. “Different then what I thought.”

Beckett only cleared his throat as he sat down on the white leather sofa.

“Yes, my mother actually has a degree in interior design. She owns her own business,” said Beckett as he wondered if that would impress her. “She’s a fire attuned as well like Shreya, perhaps you two could be friends.”

“Are you trying to imply that your mother would like me?” asked Ellie as her eyebrow raised as her eyes settled on the bookshelf. She ran her fingers over a collection of Jane Austen novels on the top shelf. Pride and Prejudice had to be her favorite as she could see the well-worn pages. She actually met both of his parents already, she trying to figure out his game.

“I believe that you two will get along great,” said Beckett evenly. “And you can bond over the cooks amazing chicken alfredo, let’s get lunch first though.”

A bit suspicious she nodded as the maid was bringing her suitcase up the steps. Ellie let Beckett lead her to the sun room. Ellie just looked around in a bit of an awe at the set up of the home. It was rather beautiful as she saw the bay windows and bright colored walls. She could see herself living in a house like this.

They were seated at a table set up as the food was brought out to them. The chicken alfredo was amazing as she and Beckett starting talking about school and their friends. It was a comfortable talk that she could have with him.

“When we’re done with dessert,” he said as the maid took away the empty plates. “I can show you the amazing ways the rooms were done upstairs. You know the house was built in…”

“1918,” said Ellie finishing his sentence, he had already told her that. “If you just wanted to show me my room you could just tell me.”

She teased as she pushed his shoulder as Beckett grinned. He flushed proudly as the crème brulee was finished as he showed her around more. She just sighed as they stopped inside a room with a view of the gardens outside and her suitcase already unpacked.

Ellie also couldn’t help but note a queen-sized bed that took up the middle of the room. There was a canopy around the bed as she couldn’t help but love it.

“Okay something is up,” said Ellie as she swirled to look at him. “This room is amazing. You’re hiding something what is it?”

His eyes narrowed as Beckett straightened out his blazer. He wasn’t acting that suspicious was he? He just wanted to show his girlfriend around his childhood home.

“What makes you think that?” he asked as his heart raced a bit.

“Beckett,” she said a warning tone in her voice. This had to be something like a surprise or he was hiding something. This afternoon had been amazing.

“How about we talk in the gardens?” he asked as he reached to take her hand.

Instead Ellie pulled him over to the bay window as she sat him down next to her. It was quiet as the only thing they could hear was the grandfather clock in the hall chime. Whatever he was going to say he had to do it here and now. Her intuition that kept her guessing was down as this had to be something serious.

As soon as she felt that her heart skipped. No, they couldn’t… Would they?

“Please let’s talk down in the gardens,” he said desperation in his voice. It had to be in the gardens, there was a gazebo, a pond, and beautiful flowers. Ellie’s eyes raked over him as she tried to tell if he had a ring on him. She licked her lips in anticipation but saw no such bulge anywhere on his person.

“Alright, let me change first,” she said as Beckett nodded as Ellie took smiled sweetly at him.

Once she was gone Ellie took a breath as she slipped down the door. They just graduated two weeks ago and had their whole lives ahead of them. Was she ready for a commitment like that if he proposed to her? She had to admit the thought of Beckett marrying another girl, it broke on the inside, Ellie truly loved him.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have boyfriends before and Beckett had made it clear he had a girlfriend before too. They had their time apart from each other where it would feel natural. One day they’d want kids as she flushed. She wouldn’t say no if he ever asked.

Ellie found a pretty white flowered dress as she brushed her hair out before heading down to the gardens. Beckett was standing there already as they headed to the gazebo that overlooked a small pond. That was when she noticed that slight bulge in the blazer pocket.

Content with what her decision would be, she grinned at him as they found a spot and watched the water peacefully. A slight worry in her mind as she thought about how it was going to go next. She did have adventures that she wanted to go on first. See the world maybe find a good career.

“Beckett when you think of the future,” she said watching him closely. “Do you think of us together?”

He looked caught of guard as he seemed to straighten himself up quickly. “Yes,” he said not having to think about it.

“If you closed your eyes and pictured where we would be in ten years, what do you see? Don’t think about it I want to hear what you say naturally.”

To emphasize her point she put her hands over his eyes as he relaxed at her sudden touch. “Well I see us, sitting here together. The sun is shining, kids playing together with a dog, not too close to the pond. That’s it.”

She frowned slightly as Beckett could pick up a hint. “I mean you asked me what I saw, not what I was feeling or thinking or filling in the gaps in the time between.” Ellie didn’t say anything as Beckett slightly shifted unsure what to say before clumsily adding, “It was a cute dog, perhaps an Arylu?”

It was quiet as this time instead of a comfortable silence it was an awkward one. Finally, Ellie sighed as she had to break the ice. One of them did at least.

“Beckett…” she started as he stopped her.

“Ellie,” he said taking both of her hands. “I don’t think I could imagine my life without you in it. You’re special to me. I feel like I can be myself without all the added pressures or expectations that people put on me besides myself. I can see a future with us being together with children and jobs. I know life is supposed to be difficult and I want you by my side. I want to be by yours, Ellie.”

Beckett got on one knee as Ellie didn’t even bother to wait for the question.

“You don’t even have to ask,” she said before throwing herself into his arms. She kissed him as Beckett eagerly kissed back as his arms went around her waist as they rolled to their sides. The wooden floor of the gazebo not really bothering them.

Ellie found the ring as she slipped it on herself as she gazed at him, “I love you Beckett Harrington.”

��I love you Ellie.”

They held hands together as her eyes strayed to the house. “Are you sure you want to live here? I mean what about your parents? As much as you want to live here I don’t think we could just kick them out.”

Beckett only grinned. “Well my parents decided that they wanted a change of pace in warm sunny weather. They decided to move to Florida and become the Florida Harrington’s instead of the Boston Harrington’s. I heard that position is now available.”

“You know I would very much like that position,” she said giggling as Beckett kissed her again, this was perfect.

#beckett harrington x mc #beckett harrington #the elementalists #the elementalist #beckett x mc #playchoices fanfiction #playchoices #choices you play #choices: stories you play #choices stories you play #choices: the elementalists

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asbestosmouth · 7 years

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Are you still doing that prompt list thingy? Because if you are I have a request: Jaime/Brienne, number 38 :)

Prompt: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Brienne. That wench.

She pretends she doesn’t see him. There she is, being all sensible, and staring straight ahead, listening to the tour guide and definitely ignoring his amused asides, or smirk, or rolled eyes. Every so often he nudges her with an elbow to the ribs, and she merely takes the blow like the man she is.

Far manlier than the rest of them, it has to be said. Even manlier than Sandor Clegane, because he might be enormous, but he’s definitely a crier.

A hot summer’s day, and they’re in Dorne. The Water Gardens are, according to Oberyn, beautiful at this time of year. He invited a small group of his friends to visit, and they ended up traipsing across half a continent to make appreciative noises at fountains, or various Martell daughters, or the magnificent architecture of the second greatest of the Dornish palaces. Sunspear blows the Water Gardens out of the water, and Jaime snorted when he thought of that little comparison, but the capital is the seat of the prince, and Doran has an expensive-minded wife who remodels every two years. Of course it’s more impressive than Oberyn’s loving neglect.

Beric, wearing shorts and hiking sandals, and practically going native despite his neck getting more and more pink as they wander around, asks pertinent questions. He’s the sort of man who spent the flight from King’s Landing - in LannisterCorp Air Force 1 of course, because Tyrion hates commercial airlines as a strung out air steward once offered to fetch a booster seat for him - reading out ‘interesting’ facts from his Rough Guide to Dorne, and yammering on about Nymeria.

“How does he remember all of that?” Tyrion, hand in hand with Dany who looks ethereal in layers of chiffon that match her hair, frowns. “I can’t remember any of it.”“Because you’re drunk, my Hand.” The Dragon Princess squeezes his fingers. She’s given Tyrion a ‘Hand of the Queen’ brooch, but knowing her it’s probably an actual artifact from the hoard of Targaryen gold that lives in the Iron Bank of Braavos. Jaime doesn’t want to know what the Hand does with his hands or other parts of his anatomy when it comes to Dany.

Daenerys Targaryen is a weird weird girl. She suits Tyrion utterly, as she’s the only woman, apart from Brienne, he’s ever respected.

“Not drunk enough. I’m going to the bar. Oberyn promised me wine. I have no wine. His promise remains unfulfilled, and unless it is, I will be sober. I cannot deal with Beric Dondarrion while sober. His earnestness makes me vaguely nauseated.”

The bar. Brilliant idea. “I’ll come, too. Coming Bri?”“Hmm?” She glances over, too involved with the conversation between Beric and the tour woman. “Sorry?”“Coming to the bar? Nice cold tonic water, with ice, and air conditioning?” And him, but Jaime doesn’t give that as the best reason he can think of.“No. I’m fine. This is really interesting.”The dilemma yawns. Go and get pleasantly pissed with Tyrion and the others, who are edging away from Beric - he’s comparing R’hllorish temples and the Rhoynar edifices of the Nymeria-Martells now - or stay with the intellectuals and not leave his wench to possibly be seduced by the many handsome Dornishmen that obvious lurk, biding their time.

Or the Triumvirate, obviously. Since Oberyn landed up with both Ellaria and Willas as his partners, it’s commonly assumed that he’s going Full Harem on everyone.

“I’ll catch you up, Tyr.”

Tyrion stares, disconcerting with his odd eyes and his scars, tilts his head at Brienne who, thankfully, is pitching in with the far too scholarly debate, and smirks as only his little brother can. Tyrion is a colossal shit, and Jaime adores him above the vast majority of people, but, Seven, sometimes he deserves a slapping.

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll drink the place dry. Have fun, brother. After all, it’s only direct sunlight, one in the afternoon, and approaching one hundred degrees. Why do the Dornish use fahrenheit? Gorgeous people, but idiots when it comes to weather forecasting.”

It ends up as him, Brienne, and Beric, though Oberyn does emerge from somewhere and slide his arm about Jaime’s waist. He’s wearing white silk, and cream linen, and a really good hat. Bloody Martell and his dress sense. Everyone else dies in the heat, and their host remains cool and elegant.

“Ah Jaime. So handsome.”“No. Not joining your harem.”“While such temptation appeals, my hands are most full with my rose and my serpent.”

Considering Ellaria’s dangerous when wet curves, and since she lives at the Water Gardens she’s always soaked, perhaps he does have a point. Add to that an adorable and highly neurotic Tyrell, and yes. It’s a lot for even a man with the appetites of Oberyn Martell to deal with.

“Where are the others?”“Tyrion sobered up, took the rest back to the bar.”

“Yet you remain?”Jaime’s gaze flickers, helplessly, towards the woman at his right. Brienne’s in a blue shirt, the same colour as her glorious eyes, and she’s rolled the damned sleeves up so all he can concentrate on are her firmly muscled and lightly freckled forearms. At least she’s not in shorts. Seeing her in shorts might actually kill him; Brienne’s legs are the most incredible ladder to paradise he’s ever witnessed, and thinking about them warm and golden and slightly sweaty in the Dornish heat might do Things to him.

“Ah.” Oberyn pats his arm, surprisingly not mocking. “Shall I remove Beric from this triangle?” He’s the best wingman ever.

“I’d like to see you try. He’s gone pure architect nerd on us.”

A wink, a smoothness because Oberyn is nothing but oil and slinkiness, and he’s sliding a hand into Beric’s shorts pocket. Cupping. Definitely cupping of an arse cheek is involved.“Oh. Hi, Oberyn. I’m just blown away by how wonderful your home is-” Beric doesn’t respond to the friendly groping. Martells are far too pretty for his singular tastes.

“You are required.” He flirts a faint smile, and Beric sighs.“What’s happened?”

“Nothing much, but I require a man of your bulk to assist.”

The usual scenarios are thus: Ramsay Bolton biting someone; Thoros setting something on fire and invoking Azor Ahai while stoned; Tyrion being drunk and passing out because he’s surprisingly heavy to move; Jorah and Drogo having one of their obviously foreplay physical arguments again; Sandor punching people in the face for trying to nefariously touch Sansa or any of the women that they’re friends with. Since a) Ramsay isn’t here, thank the Seven, b) Jorah and Drogo are, even more thankfully, in their respective home towns and therefore nowhere near each other being wracked by homoerotic hatred, c) Tyrion’s not that lightweight and wouldn’t get pissed so quickly, and d) Sandor’s on honeymoon with Sansa somewhere in Lys, it therefore defaults to Thoros setting things alight. As normal.

“I’ll go and get the fire extinguisher.” Jaime almost feels sorry as those big shoulders slump, but Beric’s getting sunburned, he’s third-wheeling all over the place, and he can pester the tour guide another day.

The temperature rises even more. Jaime, fair-skinned even if he tans easily, feels the heat searing the tips of his ears, his nose, his arms. Unlike Brienne who grew up on balmy Tarth and seems immune to the blazing day apart from an attractive pinkness and a bit of sweatiness which, to Jaime, is seriously good on her, he spent most of his time in Lannisport. Sunny sometimes, sure, but the west coast is far rainier and chillier than the Storm Lands. Something to do with ocean currents. He doesn’t understand. Jaime and his dyslexia were never academic.

A drink. They’ll just do this bit, and go and have a drink. His head thuds with each compression of his heart, headache threatening behind his eyeballs.

This has turned into a war of attrition, of temperature and stubbornness.

Jaime doesn’t like being ignored, especially by the woman he loves. He’s damned sure she loves him back, considering she puts up with him, spends most of her free time with him, and has admitted to being very fond. However, they are also friends. Friends who plague each other, live to poke at bruises, and snark, and snipe.

The more Brienne ignores him, the more Jaime fights for her attention, the more pointedly she refuses to give him the time of day.

“We come,” the tour guide - one of Martell’s daughters, the blonde one with the look of a septa if you discount her debauched blue eyes - “to the Fountain of Spears. It was crafted in the thirteenth century by the brother of the ruling prince. As you can see, there are twelve spears. Each spear represents an hour, with water flowing from certain spear heads at certain times, and therefore this fountain operates as a rudimentary clock. The hydraulics beneath the fountain are a wonder of medieval technology, and represent the golden age of Dornish architecture-”

He nudges her again, and Brienne studiously ignores him.

Wench!

Nothing works as they trail up the Hall of the Almond, which is nothing more than an avenue of interlaced almond trees that, since they’re either side of a series of long broad ponds filled with carp, do nothing to encourage shade.

The drawl of the guide melts into a puddle in his head. It’s too bloody hot to be gallivanting around this obscenely massive complex in this sort of weather. Not that Jaime gets his hypocrisy; his father’s seat at Casterly Rock is as enormous, just upwards rather than outwards. Cold, and regal, just like Tywin himself.

“Bri.”

“Shh!”

The thudding increases in tempo, and he’s aware of a strange urge to pant. For some reason, his lungs don’t seem to be absorbing oxygen. For some reason the very edges of his vision dull, as if cloud covered and tending towards rain on this brilliant bright summer day. For some reason, he feels peculiar.

“Seriously. Brienne?”

“Jaime, please. We’re almost finished.”

The rush comes on all at once. He’s upright, and then he’s not. Slow motion. Sloooow. Knees refusing to straighten, he says something that doesn’t make that much sense, manages to smack his prosthetic into an ornamental orange tree and denude it of fruit, and then keels over sideways.

As he’s going down, hah, he’s dimly aware of someone grabbing him around the torso, and then he’s out like a light.

“-he’s an idiot.”

“I should have listened.”“Brienne. He’s an idiot. If he didn’t spend the vast majority of his time irritating you like an eleven year old pulling the pigtails of the girl he’s got a crush on, then you’d have realised. He cries wolf far too often for you to take him seriously when he actually needs something.”

Brothers are supposed to look out for each other, not comfort wenches. Tyrion remains, as always, a little shit.

He’s lying on some sort of couch, with a cushion under his head, and a cold compress across his brow. It’s nice. Cooler. Inside, the acoustics suggest, and without the murderous sun trying to make his brain explode.

“What happened?” His voice, ditchwater muddy, sputters from his mouth.

“Jaime? Are you awake?”“Mmmph. Yes?”

A hand rubs up his arm, all lovely and rough-skinned and massive. Brienne’s hands are a signature of hers, like her eyes, and muscles, and cropped blonde hair, and ridiculous sense of honour.

“How’re you feeling? You passed out with the heat.”“Did you catch me?”

“You fainted…straight into my arms.” She smiles, and the slight worry mark between her eyebrows digs guiltily at Jaime. “You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“The sun,” he croaks, and Brienne offers him a sip of water from a condensated glass. “I’m not built for hot weather.” For once this isn’t a ploy to get her to notice him. Everything feels shivery/aching, prickly across his back and shoulders, and the urge to beg for a hug to make him feel less awful tempts like some great hellish thing.“You are if you take precautions.” The acidity of Tyrion’s language suggests he’s been drinking for longer than thought, and Jaime scrubs at his face, winces at the suggestion of sun scorched skin. How long was he out?

“At least you caught me, wench. Faint heart won fair lady?”

Brienne considers him, as lovely and ugly-beautiful as always. The sun has pinked her nose.

“Isn’t it faint heart never won fair lady?” Jaime takes the opportunity to lob another cushion at his brother, missing by at least three feet. His left arm is rubbish at aiming.

“Piss off, Tyrion.”

“He’s obviously feeling better. I’m going back to the bar. If you need me, I’ll be up to my neck in Oberyn’s wine. It’s rather palatable, though rough. Quite like Dornish sex, so I’m told.” Tyrion deigns to pat Jaime patronisingly on the head, sending the thudding scampering through his nasal passages, before sweeping out in his always curiously regal waddle.

“Sorry.”“What for?”

“For ruining the tour.” He fumbles his hand out, touches her wrist. Even now Brienne’s turning the colour of weak tea, and her freckles have bred, like amoeba, covering every perfect inch of her skin.

“You’re more important than the tour. I should have realised that you weren’t feeling well.” She tugs lightly at his shoulder to get him to sit up, Jaime allowing the manhandling because, dammit, if he can’t let the wench throw him around a little, what’s the point of loving her? and Brienne settles on the settee. How she arranges herself allows him to lie back, head comfortable on her wondrous thighs, her fingers lightly stroking through his hair.

“Is this where you feed me grapes and look after me while I’m dying?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“If I was an idiot, which I am not, you’d not love me as much as you do.” Oh. Her touches are bliss, all short neat fingernails across his scalp, and careful caresses.

“Unfortunately, you are an idiot, and I do love you.”

His eyelids flutter open at that, and he catches the expression on her scarred pink-cheeked face. Tenderness, and fondness, and an all-encompassing exasperation that is purely Brienne.

“Love you too, wench.”“I know.”

Jaime stares. He feels so Princess Leia that it makes him wonder about his gender role in this almost relationship.

“Tyrion told me.”

“I’ll murder the little shit.”

All thoughts of slaughtering his hereto favourite brother chase from his mind as Brienne touches her ridiculously plump mouth to his aching forehead. Blessed coolness, and she needs to moisturise, and maybe she can borrow that lipsalve he likes. The one made out of beeswax and peppermint that sends his lips tingly? Kissing Brienne would be tingly enough, without the added frisson of natural oil and slick soft balm.

“We’ll have this conversation when you’ve not got sunstroke, Jaime. Have a nap.”

“Will you stay with me?” He plays up the patheticness only a little, which is an improvement on his usual needy manipulation, but he truly wants her to be there when he comes to.

A sigh, another gentle scrape of nails. Brienne should open a head massage place, but only cater for Jaime. Anyone else being near his wench with her fingers, and body, and Brienne-ness? No. Just him.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, even if your massive head is really heavy.”

It has to be love, doesn’t it? Every little snark, and grumble, and look, and touch. Every little complaint, and tease, and smile, and want. It’s so very much love that it sends his mind spinning again, heavy and wonderful, and making him dizzier than any heatstroke could hope to achieve.

#prompts #jaime x brienne #modern day au #tumblr fic

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