#thank you for letting me be cheeky and giving me permission to reblog but thought this would be easier !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mermaidxatxheart · 3 years

Text

Better Together Chapter 2

Pairing: Poe x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of lackluster sex, paranoia, Poe being adorable. Probably swearing.

A/N: my works are not to be reposted on this site or any other site without my knowledge and permission. Reblogs are, of course, welcome. If you'd like to be added to my tag lists, please send me an ask and let me know which tag list you'd like to be added to.

Series Master List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

You slowly blink your eyes open in the darkness of the room. Bryce’s big arm is snaked tightly around you, self satisfied snores reverberate softly in your ear. Your entire lower half aches as you stretch and try to sit up. Bryce holds you tighter, pressing his chest into your bare back. His hand snakes up between your breasts as he clings to you.

Carefully, slowly, you roll him over, easing his hand off your skin. You place it back on his chest and slide off the bed, gathering up your clothes. You quickly get dressed and head for the hangar to meet Poe.

You’re feeling off this morning. You wish the commissary is open for some caf, you wish you had been able to sleep in; you wish Bryce had… well. Nothing you can do about that now.

Your go-bag previously stored in the ship, you head there now, trying not to wince with every step.

“Hey, partner.” Poe greets, smiling wide. His smile falters when he sees your empty hands. “You didn’t bring me a caf?”

You groan, walking towards the on-ramp. “I didn’t even bring me a caf. Don’t start.” You mutter.

“Well, lucky for you, I have a friend in the commissary staff.” He says, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and stopping you in the entryway.

“If you have something to say, just say it.” You complain, closing your eyes. He’s way too happy this morning, being awake before the birds are.

“Boy, you’re a grump this morning.” He teases, covering your eyes with one of his big warm soft hands.

“Poe.” You whine.

“Hold out your hand, gorgeous.” He says ever so softly in your ear, his breath on the outer shell making you shiver, making you wish last night had been more satisfying.

Shakily, you hold out your hand, palm up. He leans in close around you, broad chest pressing into your arm and, Maker, he’s so warm. He sets something circular and heavy in your palm and waits.

“Open those pretty eyes.” He prompts. You do and there’s a big cup of coffee balancing perfectly in your hand.

You smile slightly to yourself, grateful to your friend, and you try to shake yourself out of this slump. “Thanks, Dameron.” You step further into the ship, changing your grasp on the cup. “How’s your head?” You ask.

“Just fine. I didn’t end up drinking last night.” He studies you as you head for your bunk. “Okay, what’s the matter with you?” He asks, following after you.

“Nothing. Just tired.” You dig your bag out and rifle through for your favorite sweatshirt. Space is cold and you naturally have a lower body temperature.

“Didn’t you see your loverboy last night? Shouldn’t you be in a better mood?” He teases and you feel your shoulders tense against your will.

“I’m fine, Poe.” You toss over your shoulder, pulling the thick fabric on.

“Oh, did Mr. Prick not live up to the hype?” He continues as you head for the cockpit.

You want to tell him to let it go, that it’s none of his business if you didn’t… but there’s no way to say anything without giving everything away.

“That’s exactly it.” He surmises easily and you do your best to hide your quickly flushing face. “Yikes. If only there was someone who warned you that he wouldn’t be worth your time.” Poe ponders and you roll your eyes.

“If you’re done poking fun at my anticlimactic sex life, maybe we could get going? It’s gonna be a long week together.” You prompt, sliding automatically into the co-pilot’s seat and leaving the pilot’s seat open for Poe.

“I have so many questions.” He sighs.

“If you value keeping your tongue in your mouth, you won’t ask them.” You warn and he groans. “We need to do flight checks.” You half rise out of your seat before he catches your arm.

“Nya already did them.” He says and you roll your eyes.

“Right. Like I’m trusting my life to her.” You scoff and head out of the little room to check on everything yourself.

Nya is probably the worst person on this Resistance base. Maybe even in all the galaxies. She’s rude, condescending, petty, moralless, and you have a sneaking suspicion she’s not really here for the cause. She hates you, and you hate her. No way in all seven hells are you trusting your life in her hands.

You shimmy down the engine hatch, checking all the gauges, valves, pumps, and anything else that she might have tampered with. You’re excruciatingly thorough. Just as you’re about to finish, Poe’s exasperated sigh reaches you.

“Done yet?” He calls and you roll your eyes, taking just a little longer to properly annoy him. “Y/N, do you trust me?” He asks and you sigh.

“Probably against my better judgment.” You admit.

“I was with Nya when she did them. My name is on the list.” He says and you head back over to the opening and extend your hand.

“You promise you didn’t let her ample… personality… distract you?” You ask as he easily hauls you back up to him.

“Promise.” He holds out his index finger and you press yours to it.

“Okay. I feel better.” You nod and he chuckles, draping a muscular arm around your shoulders.

“Good, now let’s get going. Oh, and if you need to… take care of business,” he pauses to wiggle his eyebrows at you, “I won’t judge.”

You smack him in the chest, hard. “Fuck off, Dameron.” You slide back into your seat and start the engaging sequences. He laughs quietly, rubbing his chest where you hit him.

***

“Landing gear.” You say you assume pointlessly. Poe Dameron doesn’t need you to remind him to extend the landing gear, and yet here you are.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at you, he hasn’t even blinked for the last five minutes.

“Poe. Landing gear.” You repeat, a little louder. Still nothing. You grumble and start to lift out of your seat to reach across him and flip it. Naturally, that’s when he starts to move.

“I’ve got it.” He huffs, lifting your arm out of his face and toggling the switch.

“Clearly.” You roll your eyes. “Lost you there for a second.” You hint and he glances at you, his skilled hands flying over the console now without thought.

“Sorry. Daydreaming, I guess.” He rolls his head, easing some tension out of his neck.

“About being anywhere else?” You tease.

“Absolutely. I can’t stand being here with you. Don’t know how you stand being around yourself.” He huffs, glancing out the window, trying to ease the ship down without knocking into too many branches.

“Unlike you, Dameron. I don’t have a choice.” You reply.

The unanswered question of his daydream is dropped as he lowers the ramp and stands up. “Come on, partner.” He says, grabbing his bag and draping it across his chest.

You follow, grabbing your holopad, and double-checking for the third time that you have everything you need. Following Poe, you slip easily into work mode. He closes the ramp after you and waits while you pull up your coordinates on the planet.

It’s densely covered in trees as tall as the clouds, so big around the base that fifteen men could stand holding arms outstretched and probably not be all the way around. Thick foliage covers the ground, threatening to trip you even if you’re careful of where you step. Bright flowers are scattered in the green light cast down from above. Massive branches are over your head, big and sturdy enough for both you and Poe to lie down on. Gnarled, twisting roots rise up from the ground, sprawling across the floor. Roots from one tree can end up ten or fifteen feet away, and they seem to follow you, creaking and creeping up behind you.

The air is muggy, damp with condensation from the water being evaporated under the tree canopy. After just a couple minutes, you feel like you’re drinking the air rather than breathing it.

Focusing, you pull up the map construction on your holopad and hold it up, scanning the area surrounding your ship. You glance at Poe, already seeing little droplets of sweat gathering at the edges of his dark curls. He’s looking around, head on a swivel, hands gripping his rifle, as you work.

“Alright. Pick a direction.” You nod, letting him know you’re ready to begin.

“Left.” He says, stepping in front of you to cross your path.

“Hey, I know it doesn’t need saying again, but we know nothing about this place. Try not to touch too much, and for Maker’s sake, don’t lick anything.” You roll your eyes and that charmingly cheeky grin is back.

“I make no promises, gorgeous. You know I love to lick things.” He smirks and you just wanna smack him again. You could have done without the innuendo.

You follow him to the left, which is actually east, scanning and recording. Every so often, you stop to pick a flower for a sample. It goes into a sealable bag to examine back at the base. If you’re going to live here, you need to know as much about the local plant life, what’s poisonous, what’s okay to eat or smell.

You wipe your hand across your forehead, already feeling your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your shoulders. Poe doesn’t complain, so you don’t, either.

A creaking behind you makes you halt and half turn. It’s been about an hour since you left the safety of your ship, and so far, only giant bugs to report.

“What is it?” He asks, turning to look at you.

“I just thought I heard something.” You shake your head, brushing off your own paranoia. “Probably just one of the branches settling.”

“They’re massive, aren’t they?” He peers up at them. “Try not to get crushed by one.” He jokes, but it’s half-hearted. The good mood from takeoff is quickly wearing off.

He turns back around to keep moving forward, but you catch him just in time. “Poe!” You wrap your hand around the front of his shoulder, pulling him back against your chest before he can walk right into a butterfly the size of an eagle.

“Thanks.” He lets out a breath, squeezing your fingers reassuringly.

“Ever hear the story of how Makimbo walked into the flight path of a moth and it got stuck in his ear for three days until the medics could get it out?” You start and Poe stops again, slowly turning to face you, beautiful brown eyes wide in disbelief.

“You’re shitting me.” He says finally and you laugh, feeling better now that you’ve shaken off some of the silence.

“Nope. Walked right out the door from the dorms as a moth was flying to the light and flew right into his ear canal. Swears to this day he can still hear flapping in there.”

“Unbelievable. Only Mak could do something like that.” He shakes his head, turning back around.

“Can we take a break? I think we should have some water.” You say, your legs throbbing. They were already sore from your time with Bryce, but hiking through this impossible forest is killing you.

“Yeah, of course.” He says, coming back up to join you. “Feeling okay?” He asks, watching your eyes as you ease down onto one of those gnarled roots. It’s almost at chair height.

“Yeah. I probably should have just gone out with you to the bar.” You sigh, unscrewing your canteen.

“Probably would have had a better time.” He agrees, and you’re nodding before you can even think to stop yourself.

“At least my legs wouldn’t hurt this much.” You admit and he groans.

“Please tell me he’s not a ‘lay back and let you do all the work’ type.” He rubs his face with a handkerchief.

“There’s nothing wrong with a girl being on top.” You huff.

“No, yeah, of course. One of my favorite positions.” He holds out his hand to stop you. “But not for the whole time. And especially not if she doesn’t finish.” He says vehemently. “Always knew he was a selfish prick.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Something isn’t right. “Poe?” You start quietly. Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Sorry, I know you don’t like when I complain about him.” He waves and you’re trying so hard not to panic. You feel eyes on you, dangerous and intentional.

“Poe.” You say with a little more urgency. He finally looks at you, confused. “There’s something behind me. I can feel it.” You say, barely moving your mouth.

His eyes scan diligently over your shoulders. They search every inch of the exposed woods behind you until he shakes his head. “There’s nothing, sweetheart. Just leaves.” He says, sounding very sure. “Come sit by me.” He says, scooting over and patting the spot next to him.

You quickly cross to him and he wraps his arm around you, despite the uncomfortable heat. “I feel stupid, but I swear I felt something watching me.” You sigh, leaning against him.

“Maybe an animal.” He says, not dismissing your feelings at all. You’re grateful that he doesn’t tell you it’s nothing, but offers a possible solution. “If the bugs here are giant, can you imagine the predators?” He shudders, but you tilt your head.

“Actually, if the bugs are so big, there shouldn’t be any predators.” You frown, your anxious stomach settling a little bit. “Because size is equivalent to speed, the bigger they are, the slower they are. So, if the bugs can’t outrun the predator, they die off.” You press your lips together, feeling like you’re rambling.

He turns to look at you, appreciation in his eyes. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?” He says and you grin.

“I do. It’s about time that someone else sees it.” You reply and he laughs.

“Alright, noodle legs. You ready to keep going? We should try to find somewhere to camp soon. The days on this planet aren’t exceptionally long.” He says, and you nod, putting your water away.

“You’re right, let’s get going.” You stand up, picking up your holopad once more. Poe shoulders his rifle, head turning every which way as he leads you through the trees.

“Tell you what.” He starts after an immeasurable amount of silence.

“What’s that?” You croak, your voice sticking in your throat after not being used for a while.

“If we do settle this planet, we’re gonna need some serious air conditioning. My curls are not holding up in this heat.” He says, purposely messing up his dripping locks.

You laugh, flinching away from the flying moisture. “Agreed. But if there are no predators, as we’ve theorized, it could be pretty perfect.”

He turns to glance back at you, his forehead wrinkling in concern. “How are you feeling?” He asks again.

“I’m fine, why?”

He takes you by the arms, his big hands burning into your skin as he guides you to sit down. “You’re really flushed.” He comments, holding his bare wrist to your forehead. “And very warm.”

“It’s a million degrees out here. Of course, I’m warm, Poe.” You look up at him, appreciating his concern.

“Am I flushed?” He frowns.

“Who can tell? You’re perfectly tan all year round. How do you do that, by the way?”

He cups your face gently and tilts it up to him to see better. “I do this thing called going outside.” He says, gently pulling your lower eyelids down.

“See anything?” You ask, only half teasing.

“Nope, no soul in there.” He replies, letting go of you all together and suddenly you miss his hands on your face. They were warm and comforting and you felt safe.

This forest is messing with your head.

Another creak behind you has you up and moving around Poe. He catches your arm, making you slow down.

“Sweetheart, we should eat. It’s been all day. I didn’t realize how much time was passing.” He says.

You shift from foot to foot nervously, looking behind him. Your eyes scan the foliage, looking for any sign of movement. You don’t want to stop, too wound up to eat, but you know he’s right.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He promises. You acquiesce and let him guide you down to the ground and back against the base of a tree.

“I don’t know why I’m being such a weirdo.” You sigh, digging into your pack for your rations.

“Maybe you’re sensing something I’m not.” He shrugs, sitting across from you. From down here the ferns and other ground plants tower over you, creating its own little world. “Maybe it’s the idea of being somewhere new, unfamiliar. Maybe it’s the thought of being the only two people on an entire planet, so certain noises you would hear from other people, you shouldn’t be hearing. There are a million reasons. But don’t brush them off. You have a good gut instinct, Y/N. Use it. It might save us later.” He reaches over and squeezes your knee soothingly.

“Thanks.” You say, feeling a little better. You eat slowly, looking around, but mostly watching Poe. His dark hair is disheveled, curling into his heavy-lidded eyes. You’re grateful to Leia for pairing you with him. She could have picked anyone, and she picked the one person you get along with best. It’s easy to get along with Poe Dameron. Easy as breathing. Even when he’s being difficult, pushing people away after everything he’s seen, he has never once tried to push you away.

“You’re staring at me.” He comments and you drop your gaze instantly.

“Sorry.” You mutter, rubbing your forehead. “Just thinking.”

“About what I look like naked? Don’t feel bad, everyone on base has wondered.” He grins and you laugh.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” You nod, pushing the rest of your food back into your bag. Your stomach is too tense to really eat anything.

He knocks his knee against yours. “Tell me.” He prompts.

“Just thinking about how we’re friends.” You shrug and he waits patiently for you to continue. “You… you don’t always… make things easy for other people. You argue with Mak, or Hana, or Setti. You sometimes seem to enjoy pushing them away because you do it so often.” You stumble over your words, not wanting to really screw things up. “But you’ve never done that to me.” You avoid his gaze for as long as you can stand it before finally looking up at him.

He’s smiling. “You’re funny.” He says eventually. “I did try doing that to you. At the very beginning. And sometimes it’s easier to have people be mad at me; to take all of it in and feel that instead of… other less pleasant things. And yeah, they get pissed at me, call me a jerk, or whatever name they like. They storm off and hate me for a while. And it feels good.” He nods, clearing his throat and looking around, away from you. “But not you. Never you. I’d pick a fight with you and you would stand your ground, fight me back until I was the one storming off. Then you’d show up at my dorm, or in the woods, or wherever I happened to be hiding, give me a cup of hot chocolate. You absolutely floored me that first time, telling me I could fight you all day long and you’d be there every time, not letting me lose myself.” He inhales sharply, disguising a sniffle. “I think you knew before I did. You just see through me, constantly.”

You're quiet for a long time, thinking over his words. He never says it out loud, never admits that he could use help. Never gives his nightmare a name. But you feel it, weighing on his soul; and yours. “Poe.” You start and he looks up at you expectantly. “I only said those things because you had my favorite book in your bag and I wanted it back.” You say quietly and he laughs loudly, grabbing your arm and pulling you into his lap, hugging you tight.

“Can’t push you away, no matter how hard I tried. You’re too stubborn.” He sighs, rocking you from side to side as you let your forehead rest in the crook of his neck. “Sometimes, I wonder if the bullshit I say will do it. Like the sex talk, or the time I told you I masturbate five times a day just to see what you’d say.” He chuckles, his breath skittering down the back of your neck. “You didn’t miss a beat, just said ‘I believe you. You look like the type’ and moved on.” He grins.

“I just thought you were a really open person.” You admit, pushing back from his chest, seeing his eyes shine with laughter. “We should keep going, you weirdo. There are some cliffs up ahead, I think. We can probably find a cave to sleep in for the night.”

“Agreed.” He pushes you to your feet, and you pull him up right after you. His hand lingers in yours for a long second before he takes it back to adjust his rifle position.

Chapter Three

Everything Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated @psyched2b @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @elliee1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @scarlettwitcher @thirstybitchqueen @stuckonjbbarnes @barnesandco @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee @lexshead @gambitsqueen @lokisironthrone @imanuglywombat @also-fangirlinsweden @ravenesque @murdermornings @tinymalscoffee @countryrockmama

Star Wars Tag List:

@shinycollectivesuit @bookishofalder

#star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #poe x you #poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x y/n #romance #angst #mermaidxatxheart-writes #mermaidxatxheart #reader insert #y/n

140 notes · View notes

chuckbass-love · 4 years

Note

Hi lovely, I’d love to request a Loki x Male Reader writing if you’re up for it! One where Loki reads the reader’s mind and finds out that he’s attracted to him and that he has a kink for his long hair. So, before making any moves to get with the reader Loki uses magic on his hair to make it even more beautiful and much longer in order to tease the reader. This might range on the “weirder” sides of requests but honestly I’m a sucker for a pretty man with pretty hair haha. But if you don’t feel inspired by or comfortable writing this then obviously no hard feelings! I’ll enjoy anything you come out with in the future! 💚💚💚

Hey. Thank you so much for this request i am in love with it. I was more than happy to do this for you.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Male!Reader

Warnings: Fluff central and a sprinkle of cheekiness from the man himself because let’s face it he is evil but in the best way.

Word Count: 1,970

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @0goddammitloki go check them out ❤️

Just Like Magic

If there is one thing people should know about you is that you’re not captivated or taken easily. Especially when it comes to crushes. But with Loki. There was an instant attraction, on both parts.

Not that either of you have ever done anything about it though. It’s a known fact to you both that feelings are there and Loki has pretty much made it his mission to tease you every time you’re around him.

The one thing he doesn’t know though, is the effect his long black hair has on you. The way you fantasise about running your fingers through it, about pulling on it when things get heated. But that will never happen. He’s too complicated for commitment apparently.

You make your way over to a café, you made plans with him for lunch today. He was desperate to get away from his family and you were more than happy to be his distraction. Despite it not being in the way you imagine. It’s still something.

As you take your seat, you pull your book out, a classic. Romeo and Juliet, if you’re going to wait for him, you might as well do some reading. Feed the brain and all that business.

“Always got a book in your hands” you hear, moving the book down slightly and just showing your eyes. It’s him.

“Always late”

“Touché”

He takes his seat, glancing over the menu whilst you return the book to your bag before doing the same. Once you’ve come to the conclusion of what you want, you order. Plus drinks too, of course.

“So, what is it you’re reading this time then?” he asks, showing as much enthusiasm and interest as he usually does. He always likes to keep up with you and what you’re doing.

“Romeo and Juliet” you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s about to say to you, you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

He runs his fingers through his silky smooth locks as he opens his mouth to respond “again? how many times is that now?”

You just roll your eyes at him, refusing to answer. But the truth is, you’ve lost count. You can’t help it, you love what you love. Being a hopeless romantic is incurable, not that you would try to cure it if you had the chance.

“Let’s just eat, shall we?” you raise a brow at him and he does as you suggest, digging into his food instantly, as do you.

During lunch, you ask him about the latest with his family. He tells you all about Odin favouring Thor again.

You can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s always tossed aside, like he doesn’t mean anything. You wish you could help that, rectify it but you can’t. All you can do is be there when he needs to talk. You still remain the only person in his life that he can open up to. That’s saying something, right?

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear whilst flicking another strand out of his face. That hair is your literal weakness.

It’s something you simply cannot explain. But it does things. Things that you could never repeat out loud.

Especially not to him.

But little do you know, Loki can hear everything inside that pretty little head of yours as he watches you eat. The way you’re sitting back into the chair, one leg over the other. So well put together, so graceful but your thoughts are far from it.

In fact, he’s known about your dirty fantasies for a while but he chooses not to say a word. Mostly due to the fact that he wouldn’t know how to bring it up but also because he would never want to embarrass you. He cares for you.

Deeply in fact.

So he waits around for the perfect timing to say something in the best way he can.

Whilst he waits, intruding on your thoughts. You think some more.

About all the ways his hair turns you on, all the ways it could come in handy in the bedroom.

His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, catching your attention.

“What’s that smile for?” you ask, kicking his leg gently.

“Oh, nothing really”

Something tells you, that’s a lie “no, it’s clearly something? Tell me”

He just shakes his head, denying you the pleasure of the reason behind his smile. You just pout, hoping it’ll help but it doesn’t. Unlucky. You finish eating and both stand up ready to say goodbye and part ways. He pulls you into a hug, making you feel small compared to him. He’s so much taller.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“How about we have lunch at my place?” you suggest, nervously gritting your teeth and awaiting his response.

“Sure” he agrees before turning on his heels and walking away. You feel weak in your knees as you rush back home. Time to continue reading.

Loki gets home and as he stands in his mirror, brushing his hair. He’s reminded of your thoughts, the way you were practically drooling just looking at his hair.

The way you were flustered.

What if he could intensify that? Have you begging to touch it, feel it in your hands.

Wait. He knows a way that he can make that a possibility.

He racks his brain for a couple second before remembering a spell.

Once he gets it mastered, he puts the spell into place, on his hair. Causing it to grow a couple more inches, it’s now just to his chest. Not much longer, but a noticeable change. One you’re sure to love. Just what he wants.

He cannot wait for tomorrow now. This should do the trick intended.

---------------------

You rush around, tidying after yourself and the mess you made yesterday after lunch. You don’t want Loki coming in to a mess. Not that he’d judge.

The second you finish, there’s a knock at the door, making you jump out of your skin. You pass the mirror on the way to the door and you check yourself out before opening up to reveal the man himself.

“Afternoon” he grins, stepping in and waiting for you to lead him to the kitchen where all the food waits. As he takes his seat, you glance at his hair, it’s longer. Sexier somehow. You don’t recall it being that long yesterday.

How does he do that? How does he have you so captivated? Not even just because of his hair. But because of how he carries himself, how he speaks, how he walks. Everything about him draws you in.

“You okay?” he asks, a smug tone in his voice, on purpose. He can hear your thoughts once again. The spell is definitely paying off. Nows the time.

“So you like my hair then”

You almost choke on your water, looking up, your eyes meeting his “what?” you ask, wanting to know if what you heard was correct.

“My hair? You like it, don’t you?”

You feel your cheeks heating up, the panic filling you. You can’t deny it.

“I do, why?” play it cool Y/N.

“Why do you like it?”

You widen your eyes, standing up to bring some more food to the table and filling your plate “it’s just really nice”.

He chuckles, clearly not accepting your answer.

“So you don’t wish you could touch it? Tug on it in let’s just say, intimate situations”

Okay, now you’re mortified.

What could possibly give him that impression? How does he know that?

“Have you been reading my diary? How could you possibly know that” you blurt out, regretting it right away and covering your mouth with your hands.

He gets up from the table “your diary?” he asks, walking past you and into the next room where he spies a book on the coffee table. He wastes no time in picking it up, all whilst you’re trying to retrieve it.

He starts reading it out loud.

“Dear diary,

What am i to do about this?

What am i to do about Loki? That man has all this power over me and i’m struggling to be mute about my feelings, about the things i want to do to him”

You jump up, screaming at him to give it back but he just holds it higher. Not letting up.

“Loki, stop. Please”

He brings it back down to your reach but before you can even take it, he pulls it behind his back “not so fast. When were you planning to tell me all of this? What sort of things were you talking about?”

“That’s private”

“It’s about me pretty boy, i think if it concerns me then i have a right to know”

You gulp, twiddling your thumbs as you avoid his gaze.

“I just meant that um, if there was ever a situation where um, we would kiss. That your hair, would be great to tug on. I’m sorry, i’m so embarra-”

Before you can finish the sentence, his lips are on yours. The last result you anticipated. But boy is it just how you imagined it to be. Actually no, that’s a lie. It’s a million times better.

You wrap your arms around his neck, he drops the diary to the floor and his hands grip your face. Your lips fit together like two puzzle pieces. Like it was always meant to be.

You break away, your hands find purchase on his chest, your pinky fingers touching his hair.

And that’s when your whole body shivers. His forehead rests to yours, his breath fans your face.

“That certainly took a different turn” you let out a deep breath.

He seconds that “a turn that is most welcome”

He pecks your lips once more “why didn’t you tell me about all of this pretty boy?”

The name turns you on.

“Nerves mostly, not wanting to ruin the friendship and besides you made it clear you weren’t ready for anything” you explain

“But for you, that would have changed”

“Am i dreaming right now? Pinch me please”

He can’t help himself, his right hand glides down to the spot just above your ass. He takes his finger and thumb, doing as you asked and making you squeal.

“I’m sorry, was you not serious?”

You shove him playfully and attempting to walk away, not so fast though.

He pulls you back, attacking your lips in a less than family friendly way. More of a make out session.

A lip biting, tongue battling kiss. All consuming and breath stealing.

The kind of kiss that everyone dreams of having with their crush. The kind of kiss that just like in the movies and books, leaves you seeing fireworks or stars.

The way his lips move with yours, so effortlessly and so soft against each other.

His hand remains on your lower back while the other still cups your face. You lean into him as a whisper like moan fills his mouth, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands finally get to run through his hair. And boy does it feel good to tug at it too, pulling him deeper into the kiss, if that’s even possible.

This is everything you could have wanted.

----------------------

General Tag List: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @rockyrogers

Feel free to tag anyone that would enjoy this fic.

148 notes · View notes

kitkatd7 · 4 years

Text

Forgiveness and a Little More

Summary: You thought Sebastian was out drinking last night but turns out it was something totally different. (Sorry that’s not specific, I can’t give it away haha)

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Characters: Anthony Mackie

Warnings: Maybe a curse word? Besides that literally none. It’s all fluffy :)

Prompt #22: I’ll tickle you (Will be in bold)

Word Count: 1013

A/N: This is for @angelinathebook‘s 300 Follower Writing Challenge! I hope you like it boo! I know I haven’t finished a story in a while, so I’m actually really proud of this one! I know it’s not as good as it could be but it’s something :)

Likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo greatly appreciated! My stories are not to be posted anywhere without my permission.

Masterlist

Part 1

---------------------------

“Baby, baby wake up!” Sebastian shakes you gently, pulling the sheets down slightly so he can see your beautiful face, pulling you more snugly against his chest simultaneously. “Babe, you gotta wake up. It’s time to get ready.”

Mumbling incoherently you try to pull the sheets over your head, failing thanks to Sebastian pulling it back down again.

“Ready for what?”

“It’s a surprise, just trust me.”

You groan, muttering a soft ‘no,’ before closing your eyes again.

“C’mon babe. Or I’ll tickle you.” Sebastian whispers playfully, his hand sliding to your side where he knows it bothers you most. “Okay! Okay, I’ll get up.”

He watches as you roll out of bed, your hair a tangled mess as you walk towards the bathroom muttering, “I still don’t forgive you.”

“You will,” he whispers, smiling to himself.

An hour and a half later you're sitting in Sebastian’s black 68 fastback Mustang. Your makeup and hair is as perfect as you could get it and you’re wearing your favorite dress; Maroon with white and light pink flowers on it, thin straps across your shoulders. It hugs your curves perfectly, the hem hitting halfway up your thigh, paired with matching maroon heels. You don’t dress up often but Sebastian insisted, saying you would see why later. Not that you could see anything thanks to the blindfold he asked you to wear.

“Is all of this really necessary?” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest and attempting to glare at him through the blindfold.

“Would you stop questioning everything I do?” He chuckles, glancing over at you.

“Everything you do is questionable!” you say, laughing.

You can practically hear his pout. “Not everything.”

“Oh, of course, there was that one time,” you snark, smirking.

You don’t have to see him to know he’s rolling his eyes and smiling at your sass.

Several minutes later you feel the car roll to a stop but you have no clue where you are.

“Stay there, babe,” Sebastian says, getting out after taking the keys out of the ignition. A few moments later you hear your door open and Sebastian helps you out carefully. You chuckle as he guides you gently; one hand resting on your lower back and the other on your forearm. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see soon, sweetheart.”

“That’s not a real answer.” You pout, making him laugh, but he still doesn’t answer.

You feel grass tickle your ankles for a moment and then the dull thud of your shoes hitting… wood? “Sebastian- where are we going?” you ask again, your eyebrows drawing together.

“Hang on. Stand rigghht- there,” He says, guiding you where he wants you before moving away.

“Sebastian?” You reach out, trying to grasp him but finding nothing, the only sound is the soft wind rustling through the spring leaves.

A little worried now, you ask, "Where are you?"

You jump slightly when you hear his voice not far in front of you; "Now you can take it off."

Peeling off the blindfold, you gasp, your hands flying to cover your mouth in surprise as you take in the scene before you; Your standing on a dock overlooking a gorgeous lake with Sebastian down on one knee in front of you, a box open in his hands and a glittering ring staring back at you from inside it.

"Seb…"

"Don't say anything. Let me talk, okay?"

You nod your head mutely, tears pricking your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he looks at you intently. “I didn’t love you the first time I saw you… I didn’t trip over my words when I first talked to you, my heart didn’t beat faster the first time I heard you laugh, I didn’t have you on my mind every minute after the first day we spent together- I fell in love with you little by little, day by day. I slowly fell in love with your smile, and your laugh gradually became my favorite sound. I didn’t topple head over heels the first time I heard you speak, but I grew to love the gentle tone of your voice. I was pulled in by the different sides of your personality; How gently you talked to kids, how fiercely you defended your friends and how passionately you talked about the things you love. I love how messy your hair is on Sunday morning and how outgoing and wild you can be on Friday night. I didn’t love you until I saw every side of you, and now that I’ve seen every side of you, I can’t imagine a day without you. I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Sebastian…” You trial off, unable to speak.

“Well please don’t say no, I put a lot of work into that,” He whispers; His words are light but there’s an underlying pleading tone- Like he almost expects you to say no.

“Of course I’ll marry you! Nothing would make me happier.” You're glowing as he slips the ring onto your hand before standing to pull you into a giant hug; Picking you up and spinning around.

Setting you down, he loops his arms around your waist, his forehead resting on yours while your arms circle his neck.

“That’s why I was out so late last night- I was getting Anthony to help me pick a place,” he confesses quietly, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I wanted to be home bu-”

Sighing, you pull him closer, pressing your lips gently but fervently against his, silencing his apology.

Pulling away after what felt like only a second, you rest your forehead on his again, enjoying the moment.

“WHOO!!” Someone yells from behind you and you whip around to see none other than Anthony with a video camera in his hands, dancing around like a mad man. “They’re getting married! They’re getting married!” He yells excitedly at the top of his voice, probably scaring any nearby strangers half to death. You both burst out laughing before practically being tackled by Anthony’s bear hug. “So, I’m gonna be the best man, right?”

-------------------------------

I hope you liked it!

Taglists are OPEN! Send an ask if you would like to be added to one :)

Permanent tag list:

@lovesmesomehiddles @saiyanprincessswanie @kind-sober-fullydressed @remibarnes22 @starspangledseb @angelinathebook @star-spangled-beard-burn @itsunclebucky @teenagereadersciencenerd @chaotic-fae-queen

Crackheads:

@mr-skyline-r34 @buckys-other-punk @hermionesalvatore84 @chaoticpete @cheeky-foxx @babygurlbarnes @msgreenverse @maddeningmentalmess @sebastianisdaddy13 @mmm-tatre-tots @js3639 @peterpanfromlemonland @bonky-and-steeb @c-emma098 @bonky-and-steeb

#lenas300challenge #kits writing #Forgiveness and a little more #Sebastian Stan x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian x reader #fluff #This doesnt mean i forgive you pt 2 #sebastian #stan

168 notes · View notes

all1e23 · 6 years

Text

Heart & Soul [Pt.21]

Chapter: Burn

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Everyone waits to hear word of Bucky’s fate.

Warnings: Some angst. Just read it. ;-)

A/N: ***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

Y/n couldn’t remember the ride to the hospital, She didn’t remember getting into the car or who put her, maybe Steve. She thought Steve had held her at one point, but she couldn’t be sure, and then someone had helped her into the back of one of the squad cars. She briefly remembered Tony joining her, but she had no idea what he said to her or if he said anything at all. It was all covered in a thick fog and the only thing she could hear were her own pleas, her begging Bucky not to leave her. Maybe that happened, maybe it didn’t. Tony did like to talk so if he talked the entire ride, she wouldn’t be shocked. Y/n did remember watching his lips move, a few smirks, and empty chuckles. None of it was heard. Y/n imagined whatever Tony was whispering to her, was intended to keep her calm or their attempt to get her to prove to them she was still alive and breathing.

She wasn’t really so she didn’t need to pretend for their sake. There was nothing they could do or say. Nothing would help. The only one who could help her was gone and she couldn’t get him back no matter how much she begged.

How she ended up in a hospital room surrounded by two nurses and a doctor she truly couldn’t figure out, it was like a huge chunk of time was missing. Though, it didn’t matter. No one was listening to her, it was doubtful they would answer any of her questions. Y/n had begged till her throat was raw to be taken to Bucky, she told them he was her Alpha and needed to be with him. When that didn’t work she tried to scare them, telling them how furious he would be that they kept her from him. Not one of them fell for it, they cut her off at every turn and refused to give her any details on his condition.

Well, If they wouldn’t let her see him than they weren’t allowed to touch her, every time they asked to examine her arm she responded the same way, "You need to speak with my Alpha before you can touch me."

They have spent the last thirty minutes going back and forth and she had the same response yet again. Yes, she knew it was childish and irresponsible but Y/n didn’t care. She would do whatever it took to find out if Bucky was okay, which included being difficult.

“I've already told you. No, if you want to examine me you need to speak with my Alpha first and let me see him.”

The poor emergency room doctor groaned and ran a hand down his face in agony. He’s spent the last twenty minutes explaining, in five different ways, in normal situations he would speak with her Alpha before ever trying to touch, but she doesn’t have a legal Alpha. Therefore her care is in her own hands and she can make that decision and it is actually against the law for him to discuss her injuries with anyone else.

The Beta was seconds away from completely losing his mind.

“Would you let the doctors do their damn job?”

Y/n looked up to find Tony standing in the doorway to the examine room they were holding her hostage in and tears immediately filled her eyes at the sight of her friend. Tony quickly ushered everyone from the room (not that one of them minded, they needed the break) and walked over to her wrapping her in his arms, cuddling and comforting her in a way that only another Omega could.

“It’s going to be okay. Take a deep breath,” Tony whispered against the side of her head. Tony couldn't calm her the way Bucky could if he was here, but he hoped he could provide her enough comfort to calm her.

“Where is he?” She gasped out between sobs. “Have you seen him? I tried to find out where he was, but they made me come in here and they kept saying over and over he didn’t have an Omega and I couldn’t see him.”

Tony cursed softly and tightened his hold around her, he couldn’t wait till these damn laws changed and mates would be recognized regardless of bonding. He pulled back and examined Y/n, taking stock of the bruise on her wrist and patches of blood staining her skin. Her bloody clothes were piled in the corner of the room for them to take as evidence. It was most likely Bucky’s blood but if the Alpha was here, he would tear Tony apart for not making sure it wasn’t hers.

“Are you hurt?” Tony asked softly, trying to spot any injuries he could from the

“Tony are you listening to me!? I need to be with him--“

Tony put a finger to her lips and sighed heavily; if this was what the doctors had to deal with it was no wonder they ran out of the room like it was on fire.

“Listen to me. I need to make sure you’re okay before I take you to him. So tell me if you’re hurt anywhere so I can bring the doctors back in here to clear you.”

He waited, watched his words settled in her head and eyes before he slowly moved his finger off her lips once she seemed to approve of his plan.

“You’re - you're really going to take me to see him?”

“Yep. I swear on Steve’s sweet ass.” Tony grinned at her eye roll and nodded to her wrist. “Broken? Can you move it?”

Y/n shook her head and flexed her wrist several times as proof.

“It’s fine. Brock grabbed too hard when I tried…”

Y/n closed her eyes to try and force the images that were flashing through her mind out, but all she could see was Bucky laying on the floor covered in his own blood. She wasn’t even aware that she had started to cry again until Tony nuzzled her cheek with his nose and wiped something warm and wet from her cheek.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? Natasha grabbed some clothes from your place. After all, you don’t want to go see your Alpha seeing you like this now do we?”

Her eyes flew opened and she saw the cheeky grin he was wearing and she suddenly felt embarrassed for what she had said to the physician.

“Oh… you heard that?”

“Mmm. Bet your ass I did. The whole hospital did. I wouldn’t be surprised if people three blocks away heard you. I’ve got something that belongs to you.””

Tony’s grin widened as he dug around in his pocket and slowly pulled out her necklace. Y/n gasped as he held it out before her. she thought Brock smashed it when he ripped it from her neck but there it was. In perfect condition. Just the way it was when Bucky had given it to her.

“I had some spare time while I was waiting around… I fixed the chain.” Tony stepped behind her and slipped it back on her neck, securely locking it around her neck.

Her hand immediately reached for it and she pressed the stone so hard into her chest it was almost painful. It felt different than it had when Bucky placed it around her neck. It was heavy and hot, it felt like a lump of hot coal digging into her chest and leaving her with a painful brand to remind her what she could have had but would never again. Y/n could feel tears filling her eyes again, so she shut them and took a shaky breath in the hope her voice wouldn’t give her away, it did.

“T-thank you. I thought I had lost everything.” If I lost Bucky at least I have this, She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, letting it be real.

The grim faces that were on everyone standing in the hallways did nothing to ease the tension Y/n was feeling. It only made her tighten her grip on her necklace as she passed through the hallway filled with nearly the entire 84th precinct. Everyone was there. Clint was huddled up to Natasha. He looked worse off than the rest of the group and that was when she realized, he must have been the one to treat Bucky on the scene and in the ambulance. Natasha whispered something in Russian in his ear, but he barely nodded and burrowed his face further into his Alpha’s neck.

Y/n’s eyes fell on Sam who was pacing back and forth in front of a worried looking Maria. She’s never seen the Alpha’s hands shake like that before, it wasn’t something she would ever care to see again. Tony rested a hand on her shoulder and urged her towards Steve, who was standing outside Bucky’s door as if he was the guard dog, keeping watch on everyone who came and went.

It was simply Steve being Steve, keeping a close eye on those he loved.

A large wall of muscle stepped in front of her causing her to come out of her clouded daze. She looked up at Steve and he was just stoic as ever. He wasn’t showing any emotion, but she remembered the way he scented at the warehouse. Y/n knew how truly worried he really was and it only added to her own.

“Y/n, how is your wrist?” Steve asked, forcing a smile for her.

Y/n shrugged carelessly and eyed the door to Bucky’s room, suddenly feeling unbearably queasy. If she walked in there and he was gone… Well, she didn’t really know what she would do, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t be coming out on her own two feet.

“Is he... Did they have to take his arm?” She asked Steve in a soft whisper.

Y/n had heard the doctors shouting when they had wheeled him in from the ambulance, talking about blood loss and a dead limb but she was pulled away before she could ask any question or hear any more whispers.

“He’s stable for now and no, they didn’t have to take his arm but he isn’t awake. He lost a lot of blood and we won’t know the full extent of the damage unless he… until he wakes up. Go on in. We will all be right out here if you need anything.”

Steve set a warm, comforting hand on her lower back and nodded towards the room. Letting her know it was okay and they would all be right there if she needed anything at all. Y/n took a deep breath, finding the courage to step towards the door when a nurse came barreling out of his room, nearly slamming into Y/n. The Beta narrowed her eyes at Y/n and blocked her path into the room.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I--“

Y/n felt her bottom lip quiver as the words caught in her throat, she only wanted to see him. Why did she keep getting blocked at every turn? It shouldn’t be so hard to see her Alpha.

“I w-wanted to – to go see my – my –“

“You can’t go in there.” She cut Y/n off before she had a chance to finish and glanced down at the chart in her hands, Y/n’s heart instantly sank and she could feel her anger building. She was going to beat this nurse’s ass in the middle of the hospital if she said what Y/n thought she was about to say.

“You’re not his Omega. He doesn’t have one.”

And there it was.

Steve stepped up behind Y/n and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to calm, catching the anger and despair building in her scent. Y/n could throw a few punches and may even make it in the room, but she was an Omega and it wouldn’t last long. She needed to put her trust in someone else for a moment and let Steve help her where he could.

“With all due respect ma’am, she is his Omega and she is going in there. If the doctor has a problem with that, he can discuss it with me, but for now. She’s going in that room and no one is getting in her way.”

The nurse looked around at all the Alphas no longer leaning against the wall, slouching on the side of vending machines or slumped in chairs, all of them were standing firm, ready to jump in and defend Y/n if they needed to. She huffed and pushed through the crowd, stomping towards the nurse station. Steve really didn’t care who she brought over, no one was keeping Y/n and Bucky apart after everything they had been through. He would fight every single Alpha in this hospital if he had to and he knew every cop on the floor felt the same.

“Thank you, Steve. I-- thank you.”

Steve nodded.

“Go on. He needs you.”

The darkness of the room felt like a tomb, there was a chill in the air that was colder than the rest of the hospital and the only sound was an annoying beeping that pierced right through her heart every time it hit stung her ears. It was a constant mocking of what she lost, what was right in front of her but she was too scared to speak up and take a chance on. It was a harsh reminder that once again she made the wrong choice and the rest of her life would be filled with nothing but what-ifs and what could have been.

Y/n slowly made her way over to the bed and her eyes moving to the bandages wrapped around his left shoulder and spreading over his chest from what she assumed was emergency surgery. Her fingers gently ghosted over his shoulder and down the length of his arm until she reached his hand. She gingerly climbed into the bed on his right side and laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady, albeit light thudding of his heart. From the moment, she was separated, she had this aching pull of their bond tugging at her heart and she wasn’t foolish to think that feeling it settle now that she was next to Bucky was a coincidence.

Whatever damage Brock caused between thankfully had not changed the fact that Bucky imprinted on her and she on him, Y/n thought that would bring her some peace, but it only made the ache she felt worsen.

If there was a way for her to trade her soul for his, she would. Y/n would go back and tell him everything that she was holding back in her heart, she would gladly trade the rest of her days for his because there was no way she could live in a world where he didn’t exist. Y/n didn’t know how to live in a world where he wasn’t there to love her.

It wasn’t possible

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I was scared that if I said how I felt it would all be real and then when it all fell apart it would hurt that much more. ” Y/n sobbed against the bandage that was wrapped around his chest, tightening the hold she had on his right hand when she finally stopped holding back.

“I love you. I love you so much. I should have said it every minute of every day since the moment I knew. I should have made sure you knew how much I love you. I’m so in love with you. Please don’t go. You can’t leave me because I love you Bucky. I love you.”

Y/n carefully nuzzled her face into his neck, scenting him to silence her panic and in desperate hope, it would cause him to wake. The longer Bucky stayed still, the longer there was no change and the more minutes that passed of that incessant beeping the angrier she became. Bucky simply wasn’t allowed to leave her like this! This wasn’t going to be their story. Y/n leaned up enough to see his expressionless face and that was when she truly lost it.

“I forbid it!” She cried angrily, but her anger did nothing to wake and the more she went on the less angry her words became and the more frightened and heartbroken they sounded.

“I know, that’s completely backward but we never do anything right do we? I forbid you to leave me because you’re mine and I’m yours. Please don’t leave me Alpha. I need you.” Her entire body sagged against him and nose fell back into the crook of his neck as she came apart next to him, weeping inconsolably.

“Please don’t leave me Alpha. Please,” She repeated, whimpering against his skin, hoping to catch some of that sweet heat that was muted by the smell of the hospital.

“Say that again.”

A deep-voiced rumbled from under her as a gentle hand landed on the back of her head, making Y/n jump up to find Bucky smiling, it was a sleepy smile and his eyes were heavy but there he was staring back at her. She stared at him, mouth agape and unmoving as if she was waiting for this to be some dream. When Y/n realized it was no dream and he was awake, she choked out a gasping breath and fell back onto him, wrapping her arms around him as best she could without hurting him. Bucky chuckled weakly and wrapped his good arm around her, clutching her against his chest.

“No need for all those tears. I'm not leaving you,” Bucky into her hair, smiling at the scent of her lavender shampoo. "If I had known I needed to end up in the hospital to hear all that I would have let Stevie kick my ass weeks ago.”

She laughed and leaned forward capturing his lips whispering between each kiss, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have held back. I was just scared. I’m so sorry. Bucky brushed her hair out of her face, cupping her cheek with his right hand and shook his head.

“It’s okay. We never do anything the right way remember?” He smiled, watching the way she avoided his eyes, he was mirroring her words from before which meant at the very least he heard the last part of her confession. His thumb gently tapped against her lips, a soft admonishment. Bucky wanted to see her pretty eyes shining back at him and she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Maybe you didn’t say the words, but I knew you did the moment you said you trusted me. I’ve watched you give out your love freely, but your trust? That’s a different story, darlin’.”

Y/n smiled and leaned forward kissing him, frantically trying to pour all she felt for him into one small kiss. They didn’t have time for more, he needed to see his doctor and she needed to hear that he would be okay. Not to mention there was a hallway full of their family, waiting for word that he was awake and okay. She sighed into the kiss and slowly pulled away letting her forehead fall onto his.

“Say it again for me?” He rumbled against her lips, making her shiver despite her confusion.

Her brows furrowed. Y/n wasn't entirely sure what he meant but the smile on his face gave it away and she grinned in response. She bent down and gently peppered kisses along his jaw until she reached his ear.

“Alpha,” She purred softly into his ear. “I love you, Alpha.”

Bucky closed his eyes, letting those honeyed words soaked deep into his heart and soul. He tightened his arm around her and placed a kiss to the side of her head.

“I love you too ‘Mega.”

Previous // Epilogue

#alpha!bucky x omega!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #cop!bucky #alpha!bucky #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o au #a/b/o verse #a/b/o #alternate universe

2K notes · View notes

disasterdeacy · 5 years

Text

Forbidden Fruit Part Two

A/N: Here we go my dudes! I set myself a goal to get this out and posted by the 4th of July, so 2 days later isn’t too bad! Australia is amazing and I’m having a blast, but I’m still sorry this took a little long to get out to y’all! I might make a few more in this series, but as of right now this is the end of Forbidden Fruit! Thanks so much for reading and loving it, remember to reblog and comment, they genuinely make my whole day when I read them! Disclaimer: I do not own Lady Chatterly’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence Word Count: 7.2k Pairing: 1998!Brian May x Younger Reader Summary: The 4th of July has come to Windlesham, and Y/N is ready and fed up with Brian’s teasing. Willing to risk it all, the two mismatched lovers spend the day making their own fireworks while trying to avoid being caught. Warnings: Infidelity, Age Gap, 18+, Unsafe Use of Kitchen Furniture, Don’t Fuck Beside Food Plz, Definite FDA Violations

Brian had never seen as sight more beautiful that the one in front of him when he walked out of the patio door the next morning. Y/N was sat in the porch swing, a red sundress covering the body he’d spent the whole night dreaming of. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower he’d heard her take a few hours earlier. She was like him in that respect, last one to bed and first one to wake. The older man didn’t know if it was a normal occurrence, Y/N staying up until 4am, only to wake at 6:30, but he hoped that it wasn’t. Not because he was concerned for her health, which he was, but for much more selfish and indulgent reason. He hoped, desperately; almost pathetically, that Y/N had been kept awake with thoughts of him, just like he had been kept awake by thoughts of her. But not even in his wildest, most realistic dreams from the night before did the young woman look this beautiful. The sun hadn’t bene up for very long, only an hour tops, but the orange light was directly behind Y/N, casting her in an ethereal, seemingly heavenly light. Her arm was bent at the elbow, clenched fist supporting her head which was buried in a book. Her legs were also bent up beside her in the swing, tucked nicely under the fabric of her sundress. She just looked comfortable, relaxed.

Brian stood in the doorway, simply watching, no, admiring, the young woman in front of him. She looked so innocent, so much her age, no evidence of the actions from the night before present on her. If anyone outside of Brian had seen Y/N that morning, they’d just think that she was a beautiful, relaxed young woman...not the sexual temptress and goddess that Brian knew her to be. Y/N could feel Brian’s eyes on her, had been able to feel them since he had come out of the damn house and onto the patio. She didn’t want him to know that she knew he was watching her, she wanted to see how long it was going to take him to make a move. Brushing a damp strand of hair from her shoulder, Y/N sighs a little, adjusting herself so her legs are flat out in the swing, her dress riding up until it’s barely covering her thighs. She smiles a little into her hand when she hears Brian’s little intake of breath followed by the patio creaking a little under his feet as he makes his way to her. Only when he is standing directly in front of her does she tear her eyes away from her book, wide smile in her face as she takes in his appearance. He was dressed very similarly to how he’d looked the night before, black athletic shorts paired with a tank top of the same color.

“Good morning Mr. May, how did you sleep?” She knew exactly how he’d slept, she could hear him tossing and turning all night, much like she had. God, she just couldn’t get the image of him jerking off, his face buried in her panties, out of her head. Even if she couldn’t see it happening, she knew exactly what had happened when he’d come back down to the pool 20 minutes after she had left him, hair wet, dressed in pajama pants and a Bart Simpson t-shirt that looked vaguely familiar. The two hadn’t said another word to one another the rest of the night, Y/N electing to spend some time with Louisa and Emily, Brian locking himself in his studio, neither one wanting to risk a fumble in front of Anita or the kids. Brian laughs, moving her legs onto his lap as he takes the seat beside her, hazel eyes warm and gentle. “Morning love, would’ve slept better if you were beside me.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to her neck, his dark curls tickling the delicate skin.

Y/N almost drops her book at his actions, shock coursing through her body, mingling with excitement and arousal, creating a cocktail of moisture in between her legs. Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, just trying to steady herself, Y/N laughs gently, moving her head backwards to lay against the back of the swing, giving Brian permission to continue his ministrations. “Then why didn’t you come crawl into bed with me?” She knows its cheeky, a little bratty, and its just what Brian needed to hear based on the sigh he releases against her neck, arm moving to rest behind her, pulling her closer to him.

Picking up his head just a little, he brushes a bit of hair from her shoulder, smiling at the book in her hands.

“Read to me, if you don’t mind”

Brian’s words are as soft and gentle as his eyes, making Y/N blush harder than she had the night before. There was just something so intimate about the way he was sitting with her, arm loose around her shoulder, head nearly leaning against her’s. She couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his eagerness, her heart fluttering like the hummingbird that had been keeping her company all morning.

“Are you sure? You might find this kind of book a little boring.” She’s teasing, knowing that the paragraph she was about to start reading was anything but boring.

His laugh mingles perfectly with the calls of a morning bird, making Y/N’s blush deepen as he places a delicate kiss to her shoulder blade, voice warm and teasing when he speaks. “If I’m not mistaken, this little book was banned for obscenity and indecency for 30 years darling…” His lips are suddenly less sweet, harder, needier… “So I sincerely doubt that this is going to be a boring read..”

He smirks into her neck, his own heart beating like a bat in a birdcage “Besides… if it means I get to hear your voice, I could listen to you read a phone book Y/N.” The way he says her name, barely a whisper, more of a plea to hear her voice than anything else. She blushes hard under his gaze and the feel of his lips on her skin, stammering a bit as she begins to read.

“His body was urgent against her, and she didn’t have the heart anymore to fight…” Her voice hitches in her throat, Brian’s teeth had decided to make an appearance as she started to read. “She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. She was giving way. She was giving up…” Brian’s hand inched its way from her knee upwards, grazing the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

“B-Brian, what are you…” Y/N trails off, voice breathless, eyes glassy with arousal. It’s not like she didn’t want this, god did she want it, but they were on his back porch, and his wife and kids, including her goddamn best friend, could just waltz out at any fucking moment… and she was pretty positive that seeing his father with his hands up his best friend’s skirt wouldn’t have the most positive impact on Jimmy. Brian chuckles into her neck, his calloused fingers dangerously close to her naked core… fuck, she really should’ve worn panties.

“I’m going to make you regret what you did last night baby girl… making me cum twice in less than 10 minutes.. giving me your soiled panties to sniff like a dirty fucking slut…” His voice is so calm, steady, and had it not been for the context of his words, Y/N would’ve thought that he was just asking what she wanted for breakfast.

“If you stop reading one more time, I’m not going to let you cum honey.. got it?” For a threat, it was whispered awfully soft and kind, but Y/N understood perfectly and just nodded her head, chest heaving, legs spreading involuntarily.

Her voice is shaky as she continues to read. “She had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree, like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted eyes…” Brian’s fingers are extremely close to her dripping core now, gently running along the crease of her inner thigh. It takes everything in her body, every single ounce of self-control and restraint in her body to keep her from ceasing her reading.

“He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her.” Brian moans at the words that Y/N was reading, how soft and weak her voice was. Fuck, she was the epitome of an angel, a creature sent to earth to bring good will to man, and based on the way his cock was training against his shorts, begging to be touched by the soft skin of Y/N’s hands.

“Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity.” Y/N squeezes her eyes shut right when Brian’s fingers finally slip inside of her sopping wet cunt, the noise obscene and completely out of place against the soft morning glow that was cast against the two. She keeps reading though, the threat of Brian not letting her cum prevalent and weighing heavily in the back of her mind.

“This was different, different. She could do nothing. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit and she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone.” Brian can’t help but let out a hard moan against Y/N’s neck, sucking the area behind her ear as hard as he possibly could, almost as hard as her cunt was clenching down on his fingers. She felt like heaven on a Saturday morning, tight, wet, insanely hot, and unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his 51 years of living. Her legs were completely spread wide, cunt on display for the whole world to see if they so pleased. Brian had to resist the insatiable urge to drop to his knees in front of the swing and suck the juices that were running down his hand straight from the source… but he knew he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t risk Anita or any of the kids running downstairs and seeing him eating Y/N’s young right pussy.. no, he had to be smart, disciplined..

“Whilst all her womb was open and soft, and softly clamouring, like a sea anenome under the tide, clamouring for him to come in again and make fulfillment for her.” Much like Lady Chatterly herself, Y/N was close, so desperately close to cumming around Brian’s fingers, her walls clenching him like a vice, desperate to be pushed over the precipice. Yet, she never stopped reading, even when Brian’s fingers sped up, free hand moving to grope her breast through her dress, and his teeth began to nip at her jugular, she persisted.

“She clung to him unconscious in passion, and he never quite slipped from her, and she felt the soft bud of him within her stirring, and strange rhythms flushing up into her with a strange rhythmic growing motion, swelling and swelling til it filled all her cleaving consciousness, and then began again the unspeakable motion that was not really motion, but pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling deeper and deeper through all her tissue and consciousness, til she was one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, and she lay there crying in unconscious inarticulate cri-” She clenched tight around his fingers, book falling to the ground as her arms reached over involuntarily, wrapping themselves tight around Brian’s shoulders, mouth wide no noise escaping her throat despite the obvious throws of pleasure she was experiencing. She knew it was cliche, to say that she saw stars, that she felt her entire body constrict into itself… but she did, his fingers were still inside of her, pressing hard into her g-spot, prolonging her pleasure. Brian’s lips halted their harsh assault on the young woman’s neck, instead opting to place gentle kisses to the area, not wanting to overstimulate her too much. He couldn’t remove his fingers from inside of her if he wanted to, her muscles still clenching him tight as her upper body went limp, her head dropping to his chest, mouth open and heaving heavy sighs against his exposed armpit.

“B-Brian.. I..” Before she could even get a word in, the sound of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen caused the two lovers to spring apart, Brian’s fingers slipping from Y/N’s cunt so fast it made her head spin. By the grace of whatever deity was looking down on them, Y/N somehow managed to fix her skirt, grab the book, and look semi presentable by the time the door opened and Emily darted out, wide smile on her face.

“Dad! Y/N! Anita wants to know what you want for breakfast.” They both breathed a sigh of relief that it was only Emily, because had it been any other member of the May family, the flushed faces, heaving chests, and general disheveled appearance of Y/N and Brian would’ve given them away. Brian just smiles, hiding his glistening hand behind Y/N’s shoulders.

“Whatever she’s making would be lovely honey, just go tell her to make sure to cut Y/N up some of that cantaloupe we bought yesterday!” Emily giggles and nods, running back inside to yell her father’s words at his girlfriend. Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in as soon as the door closes, dropping her book back against the patio as Brian lets out a loud rumbling laugh. She jolts at the sound before joining him, completely dumbfounded that what had just happened actually happened..

“Mr. May, I swear to god, we’re going to get caught if you’re not careful…” Her eyes are wide, full of mischief and excitement.. she loved this, the whole forbidden nature of their relationship, or whatever they could call it. The risk that they were taking was a big one, and the fear of getting caught was only making her want it more. Brian just laughs, leaning over to place a chaste kiss on her lips, hands moving to cup her cheeks. He winces a little when he realizes that his fingers are still wet with her cum, frantically pulling them away from her to try and wipe them on his shorts. “Shit, I’m sorry love, you probably don’t want that o-”

His words are cut short when Y/N reaches forward with lightning quick reflexes and grabs his wrist, pulling his soiled fingers into her mouth where she licks every single drop of herself from him, eyes never leaving his. Brian almost cums right there, watching this beautiful young woman do something that he hadn’t seen done in 30 years. He lets out a little whimper, making the young woman smile when she grazes her teeth over the long digits as she moves to stand, her free hand reaching into Brian’s shorts, squeezing his cock before turning her back and walking towards the patio door, pausing for a second to send him a teasing wink.

“Be a good boy today Mr. May…”

Breakfast passes relatively without incident, save for Y/N purposefully dropping a grape down her sundress, her eyes never leaving Brian’s as she pulled it from her bra, popping it into her mouth, allowing her fingers to run over her bottom lip as she pulled them from her mouth. Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cock standing straight up in his shorts, the mesh fabric not exactly helping to keep his issue inconspicuous. It isn’t long after she takes the final bite of her cantalope that Y/N stands from her seat, smile on her face as she darts her eyes between every member of the family before landing firmly on Brian’s, mischief playing in them as she spots his crossed legs, a feeling of pride blossoming in her chest. “I’m going to go ahead and get the grill started if that’s okay Mr. May, wanna make sure that its nice and hot by the time we decide to lay everything down.” Her tone is light and polite, and to everyone else at the table might’ve seen like the innocent declaration of a young woman who just wanted to help out. However, Brian knew exactly what she wanted, could see the unspoken request in her eyes as she played with the delicate rings on her fingers. He was about to offer to come and help her, to make the excuse that he just didn’t want her to get burnt, until Emily shot out of her seat, latching herself to the older girl’s side, begging her to show her how to light the grill properly. Y//N tried to hide the disappointment on her face at the interruption, but she just slaps on a smile and wraps her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Just promise you won’t stand too close to the fire okay? We don’t need you losing any eyebrows before school starts back.” Emily laughs and nods enthusiastically, pulling Y/N towards the door, not even giving her an opportunity to look back at Brian. The sight is one that makes him smile and laugh a little, Y/N was as kind and giving as she was h gorgeous, always giving his youngest daughter as much attention as she did his oldest. Jimmy laughed at the two, popping a strawberry in his mouth as he turned to his dad, eyebrows furrowing at the fond look on his face. He had noticed the way his best friend and dad interacted the afternoon before, the way his dad’s hands just couldn’t seem to leave Y’N’s waist after he pulled her from the pool, how they lingered on her back during dinner, how her eyes never left his during breakfast... hell, he would’ve been a complete dumbass if he hadn’t noticed the bright red flushed cheeks that adorned their faces when they returned from the patio that morning. The oldest May child knew that something wasn’t right, that something was going on between Brian and Y/N, but he trusted his best friend and his father, trusted them not to do something TOO scandalous. He wasn’t a naive idiot, he knew how his dad was, he knew about his proclivities, about his lifestyle. However, he also knew that Y/N wasn’t some lovestruck groupie. His best friend was smart, had a good head on her shoulders, and wouldn’t do anything that would potentially hurt herself or her friends and family. So, Jimmy keeps his mouth shut, munching on his breakfast as his dad clears his throat and pushes himself from the table. “I’m gonna go write up some emails before we start cooking.” Meanwhile, outside, Y/N and Emily were having the time of their lives lighting the grill. Anita, Louisa and Jimmy had joined them a few minutes after they’d first exited the house. Emily was currently brandishing the starter fluid, soaking the charcoal while Y/N laughed and held the matches tight to her chest. “Alright pyro, keep that up and we’re gonna blow the hot dogs into the stratosphere. The five of them stay outside for a bit longer, Y/N getting more and more restless with every second that passes. After a while, the young woman stands and announces that she’s going to head inside and start working on the ice cream, adamantly refusing any help, citing that it is a “secret family recipe”. The three May kids and Anita laugh at her antics, and wave her off, causing her to breathe a sigh of relief as she heads into the house. Making a bee line for the freezer, Y/N removes the bag of ice, cream, and milk before lying it all on the counter, dragging the machine she’d brought with her from York onto the counter beside the ingredients. Plugging in the machine, she pours all of the necessary items into the mixing cylinder, emptying the ice bag into the bucket before furrowing her brows, trying to find the rock salt that Jimmy had brought with them. Upstairs, Brian was actually genuinely trying to type up emails, however, his brain just wouldn’t allow him a moments peace, constantly showing him images of Y/N’s lust wracked body, writhing underneath him as he pounds into her tight young pussy, the noises obscene... He pushes his glasses off of his face, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he sighs. Just as he was about to say “fuck it” and pull out his already half hard cock, he hears a commotion in the kitchen and smiles. If lady luck was on his side, it would be Y/N standing in there, red sundress straps teasingly falling off of her shoulders. Pushing himself from his chair, he heads out of his office, which was conveniently located a few doors down from the kitchen, and rests his shoulder against the doorframe, cock hardening at the sight in front of him. Y/N was bent over looking in the cabinet beside oven, a noise of triumph falling from her lips as she spots the rock salt container, reaching forward to take it. Brian seizes his opportunity, moving forward before he can stop himself, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her up into a standing position, his cock rubbing into her ass. The young woman lets out a small gasp of shock before it dissolves into one of pleasure when she realizes what was going on. “Mr. May, I-” She doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before his lips are on her neck, cock thrusting hard against her ass. “No love, no talking, not after that little show at breakfast this morning.” His voice is low, dangerous, and teasing. “Dropping grapes in your top, licking your spoon...made me get a fucking hard on right there at the table.” She lets out a breathy chuckle, proud of herself for having such an impact on him, but Brian didn’t find it funny at all. Moving his hand upwards, he grasps her throat tight, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention. “You think that’s funny do you love? Think its funny that you almost made me cum in my pants in front of Anita and the kids? God, you’re such a dirty little slut Y/N, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard today...gonna make you regret your little cheekiness..” Giving his hips one last thrust against her ass, Brian places a gentle kiss to her neck and unravels himself from her, just in time for Jimmy to come barreling through the door asking for the shrimp and veggie burgers. The grilling of the food took no time at all, with Anita, Louisa, Emily and Y/N staying inside the whole time fixing greek salad, potato salad, baked beans, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans, and so much more. Before long, everyone is sat at the table, bellies full, plates empty, wide smiles on their faces. Y/N and Jimmy were joking around about one of the archaeology professors and trying to convince Louisa to go to York so they can get a better flat. This goes on for a good hour and a half before Brian gets tired of waiting and decides to move things along a little bit. Smirking, he slides off his flip flop and moves his foot under the table to rub against Y/N’s calf, causing her to choke a little on her Rekorderlig. Jimmy claps her on the back a few times, laughing out something about her having one too many. Y/N just laughs lightly, eyes meeting Brian’s in a kind of challenge which only causes his smirk to deepen and hands to grip the sides of his chair a little hard. Darting his eyes from Y/N’s to the kitchen window, he smiles widely when she nods and stands. “Ice cream should be done by now.” Her voice was light, not at all betraying the anxiety inside her as she stood up, hands brushing off the crumbs from her sundress. “Oh, I’ll give you a hand l-“ Anita didn’t even get the words out of her mouth before Brian had risen from his chair, a small smile on his face as he made his way over to Anita, pressing his hands into her shoulders gently, keeping her in her seat. “You’ve helped make every single thing on this table today, let me give Y/N a hand.” The younger woman had to physically stop herself from moaning out loud, bringing her thumb to her mouth and biting down just enough to cause her enough pain to keep her body from reacting outwardly to the way her internal organs were physically dissolving into a mushy mess. Instead, she smiles, an innocent wide eyed look overtaking her face as she gazed over at Brian, her hands clasped in front of her. “Oh, Mr. May, you don’t have to...” Brian just smiles at her, walking around the table, standing beside her before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “You’re our guest, and you’ve lugged a 30 pound contraption from York to Surrey, just to make us ice cream Y/N. The least I can do is help you scoop it out into bowls.” He hopes it’s not obvious to the others, the way his eyes are burning with lust, the way his adam’s apple is bobbing up and down as he attempts to swallow back the moan threatening to escape at the bead of sweat running down the valley of her breasts. And while it might not be obvious to the rest of the May family, Y/N was all too familiar with the look that Brian was giving her. It was a look which caused heat to pool between her legs and wetness to coat her inner thighs, one that made her let out a shaky chuckle before heading towards the door, wanting to get away from Anita and the kids before she pushed him to the ground and rode him in front of them. Brian caught on to her not so subtle signal, and immediately followed after, holding the door open for the young woman, hand lingering on the lock for a split second before he decides not to go for it... he would just have to be careful. Y/N immediately goes over to the ice cream machine, her bottom lip pulled tightly into her mouth, teeth digging into the plump skin. She was trying desperately to not smile or moan out in anticipation, only wanting Brian to come over and fuck her like her life depended on it. She was trying to distract herself, not wanting to seem too overly eager, like he had been. Y/N wanted Brian to come to HER to show HER how badly he wanted her, and she didn’t have to wait long. As soon as she pulled out a bowl from the cabinet, Brian’s hands were on her hips, pulling her hard against his chest, his cock digging into her backside. It was so much like what had happened a few hours earlier, but now... now the two were going to fuck and be fucked, come hell or high water. Neither one of them had enough self restraint and care to even think about what would happen if someone walked in on them, the scandal that would ensue. They only cared about one thing, and one thing alone. Brian’s cock, sliding hard and fast into Y/N’s hot cunt. “M-Mr. May! P-please, I need your cock.. Please..” She didn’t usually beg, didn’t class herself as someone who would EVER beg, however, in this moment, the man she’d been lusting over for years standing behind her, cock hard and throbbing against her backside while his entire family sat a mere 10 feet away behind a door...she was willing to get on her goddamn hands and knees and kiss his feet if that’s what it took. Brian lets out a whimper in response to Y/N’s begging, and the way her ass was grinding into him. He’d wanted this since he’d pulled her out of the pool the day before, wanted to have her in his arms like this, completely at his mercy. Bending his head just slightly, Brian latches his lips to her neck, biting, kissing, sucking, doing absolutely anything he can to leave marks and claim her as his. Because that’s what he wanted, he wanted this young, gorgeous, intelligent, incredible young woman to be his and his alone. Consequences be damned, he’d never felt so much unbridled desire to be with someone before in his life, and he was going to do whatever it takes to make sure Y/N stayed with him. “We don’t have a lot of time, certainly not enough time for me to do all the things I want to you..” He trails off, his heart leaping a little when she leans back and rests her head on his shoulder, her own lips moving to the delicate skin of his neck. “B-but I need to fuck you Y/N. I need to feel your right cunt pulsing around my cock. Fuck honey, I need this like I need fucking air, and I want to make you f-feel so good.” His words go straight to Y/N’s cunt, causing her to let out a little moan against his neck. “Then fuck me Brian, fill me up with your cum baby, wanna feel it filling me up.” She had never allowed a man to cum inside of her before, but at this point she didn’t fucking care. “Fuck honey, you can’t tell me things like that...” Bringing his shaky hands to the hem of her dress, Brian pushes it up around her waist, groaning loudly when he sees her bare ass. “No panties? Did you plan this honey? Did you fantasize about me bending you over against this counter,” To drive in his words, he presses her against the countertop, pushing her face into the cool marble. “Pushing my cock inside your tight young cunt while my children and partner sit outside and eat the food that we made especially for you..” While talking, he’s pushing down his pants, just far enough so that he can get his cock out and fuck her properly. Y/N’s hands are tightly gripping the corner of the counter, her eyes trained on the window in front of her. She could see the entire patio, the way Anita was silently eating her salad while Jimmy and Louisa threw pieces of hot dog bun at Emily. “B-Brian, they’re gonna s-see us.” Her voice wasn’t scared or timid, but breathy and full of anticipation. She wanted them to see, or at least she wanted to be able to see THEM while Brian pounded into her relentlessly. The older man just chuckles, leaning over to place a kiss on her exposed shoulder blades. “Let them see love... let them see how fucking hard I am for you Y/N.” He grips the base of his cock, slapping it hard on her exposed entrance causing both of them to groan at the feeling. “I haven’t been able to get this hard, this many times, in 5 years darling... and it’s all because of you.” He pulls her ass hard against him, groaning almost pathetically when she grinds into him eagerly, a gentle moan falling from her red bitten lips. “Please Mr. May... need t-to feel you inside of me now..” She isn’t embarrassed at how needy and wanton she sounds, loving the way her words and moans cause his cock to twitch against her. “You’re so fucking needy for me honey, so desperate for my cock.” Through gritted teeth he speaks and slowly guides himself into her hot and wet center, causing her to gasp as she feels the delicious stretch of his cock inside of her for the first, and certainly not last, time. His calloused fingertips are hard as they dig into her hips, giving him the leverage he needs so that he can thrust into her as hard and fast as they both needed She grasps hold of the windowsill, having decided that the countertop just wasn’t giving her the necessary grounding that she needed to keep up with his hips. “M-Mr. M-May, you feel so fucking good inside of me! Goddamnit, stretching me so good..” His arms come up, wrapping around her waist as he pulls her upwards until her back is firmly pressed against his chest. He can barely think straight, his cock sliding in and out of her so fast that he’s glad the ice cream maker is still going, because the sounds from their skin slapping against one another hard and fast... it would draw attention. “God, you’re bloody perfect angel... s-such a tight, b-beautiful pussy!” He moans, his pace beginning to hasten, his breath hot on her ear, his teeth nibbling gently on the lobe. Loosening one of his hand’s hold on Y/N’s waist, he lets it fall toward her pussy, his fingertips finding her clit immediately. He doesn’t waste a single second of time, his orgasm is already approaching, and he refuses to cum first. Y/N whimpers as he plays with her with one hand, the other coming up to hold her by the throat, just keeping her pressed to his chest, not wanting her to fall against the counter. His hold is gentle but firm against her throat, and she tilts her chin enough for her to place her head into the crook of his neck, but it isn’t there for long. Brian moves his hand up a bit more, grasping her chin gently, forcing her to look out of the window at his family. “You like knowing that I’m fucking you in my kitchen while my family sits outside? Look at them Y/N.. look at how happy and excited they are out there, waiting for their ice cream...” She whimpers, head trying desperately to fall back against his shoulder, but Brian won’t let that happen. “But here we are, my cock buried deep in your weeping little cunt, completely ignoring them.. god Y/N I would leave my partner if 12 years for you, to have this cunt in my life for the rest of time..” His words shock him a little, but he means them. He and Anita had been having some issues for quite some time, and this, whatever it was with his son’s best friend, just solidified the fact that his romantic relationship with her was over. Y/N is also a little shocked at his words, but the pleasure building inside her belly knocks the words she was going to say right out of her head. Instead, she rather pathetically whimpers out, “I’m almost there! B-Brian.. Please!” Her hips are moving hard, rolling to meet his own impatient thrusts. His fingers moving faster against her clit as she jerks her head from his grasp, turning around quickly and wrapping a leg around his waist, propping the other on the counter top. She knows she’s going to be sore as all fuck in the morning, but the way the angle changes sends her into an earth shattering orgasm. Brian’s eyes widen at her movements, and the way her hips never leave his, how his cock unsheathes from inside her cunt. Whimpering himself, he tightens his grasp on her waist, pulling her as close as he can against him as he pounds into her. “Cum for me Y/N, p-please honey, I wanna feel you l-let go against me..” His teeth are gently nipping at her ear as she breathlessly moans out his name, mouth falling open when he latches his lips against hers, tongue slipping in uninvited but not unwelcome. “Go on love, let go... please!” His voice is desperate against her lips, weak and pathetic. He’s so close, so painfully close to painting her walls with his cum, his fingers moving against her clit at the same breakneck speed as his hips slamming into her. She doesn’t need any other encouragement, her breath hitching in her throat as she sobs out a moan that sounds vaguely like Brian’s name, shuttering against him as he whimpers into her mouth. Feeling her clenching down like a vice on his cock, feeling the tears of pleasure run down her face, it sends Brian over the edge into the most intense and blinding orgasm he’s had in decades. His cock throbs and spurts wave after wave of white hot cum into her waiting cunt. His thrusts start to slow just slightly as the both of them ride out the high that washes over them like a goddamn cold bucket of water, his hand moving from her clit to join his other one grasping her hips. He groans and she moans into his hair as she tries catch her breath, but with his cock still moving in and out of her sensitive cunt it’s almost impossible. “B-Bri.. c-can you s-“ Before she can even get the words out, he’s slid out of her quivering cunt, causing her to let out a gasp of shock at the sudden emptiness she feels, and the abruptness at which he’s just left her. “Wh-“ She furrows her brows, but upon hearing the patio door open, her eyes widen and she hastily throws her sundress over her lap, moving to stand beside the ice cream maker, bowl in her hand as she looks over into the mixer, back turned to whoever has just entered. “Now what’s taking the two of you so long? You’ve got three very sugar deprived children outside waiting!” Anita’s voice is light and full of amusement, and Y/N sucks in a shaky breath before letting out a little laugh, not daring to turn around as she speaks. “Oh! It just needed a few more minutes to get nice and thick. Should be ready any second now!” Brian has propped himself up on the counter beside Y/N and the ice cream maker, elbows propped up against his knees in an attempt to disguise the still half hard cock he had just managed to get back into his shorts when Anita had opened the door. God, he was eternally grateful for looking out the window when he did. “You go on back out and we’ll take care of the sweets doll.” His tone is light and not at all betraying the actions he’d just been involved in not even 30 seconds earlier. Anita smiles at them and nods her head, heading back out the door, telling Emily, Jimmy and Louisa that it would just be a couple more minutes. The sound of the door closing causes Y/N and Brian to both let out loud sighs of relief, the two lover’s eyes meeting for a second before they dissolve into a fit of laughter. Brian hops off the counter, wrapping his arms around the younger woman, his head resting against her shoulder as she threads her hands through his hair. Y/N couldn’t believe that she’d just done that... that she had fucked Brian May, her best friend’s father, against the counter in his goddamn kitchen while his partner and children ate basically in the next room. “Jesus fuck Brian, that was too close for comfort.” Her words are a bit shaky, the gravity of the situation crashing down on her. She didn’t want to ruin a family, and she certainly didn’t want to lose Jimmy, but... whatever she was feeling for Brian was more than just lust, and she knew that. Plus, what he had said to her about leaving Anita.. that was probably just heat of the moment words, but she couldn’t help but think otherwise.. Brian laughs lightly, sitting up just enough to look into her eyes. “We’ll just have to be more careful next time then won’t we..” He brushes his hand through her hair, eyes gentle, a small smile on his face when he sees the shock on her face. “N-next time?” Her brows furrow, butterflies erupting in her stomach at the possibility that he wanted the same thing she did... to keep this going for as long as possible. Leaning down, Brian places a deep and finalizing kiss to Y/N’s lips, his hands cupping her cheeks, her’s moving up to hold his gently. The kiss said more than he ever could, that he wanted this, wanted her, it confirmed to Y/N that she was getting into something bigger than herself, and that she was about to enter into a world of insanity and secrecy. She couldn’t wait. Brian pulls away from her just a little, smiling as he rakes his eyes over her figure, taking in a shuttering breath when he sees the white liquid that he’d squirted into her a few moments earlier, running down her leg. Dropping to his knees without a second thought while Y/N begins to scoop the ice cream into bowls, Brian licks a stripe from her calf up to her cunt, sucking up every single drop of his cum that had managed to escape her pussy. Y/N is completely unprepared for the sudden feeling of his mouth against her sensitive cunt, moaning lightly as he cleans her. Placing a delicate kiss to her clit, he pulls away after he was certain that she was as clean as she could possibly be, aka clean enough that she wouldn’t drip in front of the kids or Anita. Brian drops a kiss to her nose before turning to the ice cream bowls on the counter, taking a bite of the creamy frozen vanilla treat, moaning at the taste, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s lust blown ones. Smirking, he takes 4 of the bowls from the counter, leaning in to drop a kiss to her lips before moving to whisper in her ear.

“You’re sweeter.”

Tags: @meddows-taylors @doubledeaky @toomuchlove-willkillyou @rogerina-deacon @leah-halliwell92 @goodoldfashioned-rogerboy @brianmayoucease @rogertaylors-lipgloss @mariekuuuuuh @unofficialbillnye @stephydearestxo @danamaleksworld @dereones98 @glasgowkisschelseasmile @awkwardangelshezza @bellamy1998 @psychosupernatural @warren-lauren @womanwithahotdogstand @oujiacallme @simonedk @ellywritesfics @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @sam-mercurry-sixx @toomuchtellyneck @asgardianvamp21 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @amore-libre @marvelstuck @softboydeacon @a-queen-on-her-throne @horrorsinwonderland @roger-bang-the-drum @frannyxc @mrsmazzellotaylor @reedusteinrambles @drowseoftaylor

#brian may x reader #brian may #queen #bohemian rhapsody #1998 Brian May #my writing #brian may x you #brian may x oc #series #brian may fanfiction #queen x you #brian may imagine #queen x reader #queen imagine

256 notes · View notes

prettieparker86 · 6 years

Photo

There’s A Woman || Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4a Part 4b part 5

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Drug use, implied abuse history

Gif Credit: @carol-danverse @awhiteshirt @drogons Thank you so much!

Tag: @theskinofmyemotions @3eyeddame @vikifirman @reyloshipper-starwars @londoncharlotte88 @megnificent07 @mafaldaz @deactivated-veen @justmehanav @i-shouldbepainting @dermittts @stylesbooze Please let me know if I forgot someone

Note: I’ve finally figure out the plot to this thanks to the lovely @lainey-lane and @twistedrunes. Thank you friends! I couldn’t have done it without you. This story will have a few more parts. The John part is all @xxdearlybeloved her latest imagine inspired my need for it.

And this is very long! My apologies. As always Reblogs, Likes and Comments makes this the best Friday!!!

Tommy doesn’t respond to your request to learn about the business for so long you think he made up his mind to pretend you never asked. But then he surprises you and slowly pieces of information trickle out. Mostly at night, after you slip into his room or waking up in your special spot in his bed. First, he tells you he learned a lot in the war, all vague and unrevealing, but slowly more substantial details slip free…

That he plans to expand the family business. How he acquired the guns and how he hopes to use them. That you should strike when your opponent is weak and that’s exactly where he estimates Mr. Kimber is… Weak. And he intends to do something about it.

You tell him you want to help him, but Tommy only scoffs. And yet, he keeps talking, night by night, whenever you find your way into his bed. His voice low and deep against the silence that holds steady through the rest of the house. His words like bedtime stories, weaving tales against the dancing flame of the candlelight, and suddenly you realize, you’re getting exactly what you wanted.

When Tommy told you he’d teach you to shoot you were expecting he’d actually be the one to do, but like so many others things in Tommy’s life, he has more important matters to take care of and designates the job to John instead. Which you don’t mind really. You adore John, closest brother to your age and more lighthearted than the others. In all honesty, he’ll be less intimidating to learn from than Tommy and all his silent stares, and long looks that suck you in as you try to figure out what he’s thinking.

“John, you’re gonna teach Vera here how to properly shoot a gun while I take care of a few things with Charlie.” Tommy informs his younger brother as the three of you make your way through Charlie’s yard on a quiet evening as the sun slowly dips closer to the horizon.

“Right Tommy. Come ‘ere you.” John calls with a wiggle of his brow, cheeky as ever. You smile back at him as you leave Tommy’s side. John takes you to the far end of Charlie’s yard, trekking through mud and soot. Trying not to get your heels stuck in it.

John takes you where the guys come to let off some steam with a few rounds and a few drinks sometimes, out near the back of the yard, down near the canal. When he stops, you spot the small tower of boxes not far from you, broken bottles lining the top. You wait for him as he wanders over to it, tossing the broken ones into the mud and pulling intact ones from the crate beside it, lining them up in a row before he returns to you.

Pulling the gun from his holster, John hands it to you. “Take it,” He instructs gently with an easy smile, teeth gleaming at you past the pick between his teeth. No doubt trying to ease the nerves he sees in your eyes.

“You’re gonna point it over there, ya?” He tells you, pointing to the short tower of boxes and bottles atop as you glance that way. You figured as much, but you nod just the same.

“Good,” John tells you, spitting out the stick in his teeth as he comes to stand to your side, drawing your arm up, and pointing the gun directly out in front of you. You feel your back bump into his chest as he moves behind you a little, reaching for your other hand, drawing it up to wrap around the revolver as well.

“Right, now cock it with your thumb.” John says, his warm breath fanning the hair on the side of your face and tickling your ear as you resist the urge to laugh. He releases your arms and you feel one of his hands settle gently at your waist. You glance down at his touch and John’s eyes follow the turn of your head a moment after.

“Shit - Sorry love, force of habit.” He tries to explain as he lets you go, but just as quickly your reaching for his hand and pulling it back with your permission.

“No, I don’t mind, really.” You tell him encouragingly, as if having him there is somehow comforting and reassuring as he lingers behind your shoulder, following your eyeline. You pull the hammer back until you hear it click.

“Right,” John answers, clearing his throat nervously, his fingers twitching slightly against you.

“Now line up your shot as best you can. Try to go with your stronger eye, whichever you see better with…” You feel John appraising, feel his eyes sweep over your stance, your arms, and back out to the bottles before he speaks again.

“When you’re ready, take a deep breath and pull the trigger before you release it.”

You follow John’s steps, line up your sight, mark your target bigger rather than smaller, take a deep breath… Your heart racing a little faster as you slowly pull the trigger and a loud bang erupts. Growing up in Small Heath, you’ve heard gun fire nearly as many times as you’ve heard the whistles blow at the factories, but something about the sound coming from you, makes you jump a little as the gun jerks in your hand. You feel John instinctively squeeze at your waist as you startle, grounding you.

“That’s good,” He praises you, but as you look over, all the bottles are still standing. You glance back over your shoulder at him with a disappointed frown.

“No need for the long face.” John says, pinching at your chin playfully.

“It was a good first try. You got part of the box. Give it another go.” He encourages, and you do, exactly as he showed you… And you miss again. And again. Slowly getting closer, but still not a direct hit. You’re so discouraged by the time you finally hit one of those damn bottles you almost can’t believe it. Not sure if you should squeal or check to make sure John didn’t do it behind your back to stop your suffering.

But he clearly didn’t as he encourages you to go again, make sure you really got it. And when you break two more bottles in a row you’re beyond elated. Excitement and disbelief racing through your heart that was so discouraged a few moments ago.

Putting down the gun, you spin around to John and find a smile waiting wide on his face for you as if he’s proud of you too. That smile of approval means everything to you as you crash against him eager for his praise. Wrapping your arms around his neck in gratitude and celebration, you place a chaste kiss against his lips before hugging him tightly. You realize you may have caught John off guard with your overwhelming display of gratitude as he stands frozen and unreceptive for a moment before his arms wrap around you for a hug in a return.

You pull back a moment later, but as your eyes meet, you realize John’s not smiling as he was before. His gaze sweeps over you in a way you’ve never seen him do before. In a way you’re not sure how to interpret, but it leaves your own smile falling fast with the sight of it as you stare back at him in confusion, not sure what your sensing from him.

“John?” You ask open endedly.

The sound of your voice seems to snap him out of it. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone as John’s face falls from yours, his hand running up the back of his shorn blonde hair as an easy laugh spills free from his lips. He slowly shakes his head to himself as if lost in his own thoughts, before he glances back up at you and it’s the John you know and adore. He pats your cheek playfully, drawing a smile from you too and the moment feels right again.

The sound of slow clapping hands calls both your attention as you glance over to find Tommy standing there, giving your success a round of applause. Watching you silently, his icy unreadable gaze dancing between the two of you, surveying the scene before him.

“How’d she do, John?” Tommy asks, his eyes never leaving you as you let yourself get lost in the beauty of them for a moment.

Moving around you, John retrieves the gun as you listen to him loudly clear his throat. He pulls another pick form his pocket and pinches it between his teeth before he speaks.

“This one’s fuckin trouble, Tommy.” He comments.

“Am not,” You disagree, watching the exchange between the brothers as John places the gun back into his holster.

“Don’ I know it, brother. But that might just prove useful yet, aye Vera?” Tommy agrees, pulling at the cigarette dangling from his lip as he sends you a crooked grin, your gaze returning to the hold of his. John’s the easiest going among them and Tommy needed to see if Vera could rattle him too. He needed to know it wasn’t just him, you could do it to someone else too. A trick he’s starting to think you’re not entirely aware of, but could prove to be quite useful if channeled properly.

“Arthur’s got his fuckin hands full…” John remarks, glancing back at his brother, but Tommy’s eyes haven’t left you.

“Come ‘ere,” Tommy beckons you on a low husky breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Still working to keep his hooks in you. Not past Arthur, he’d never betray his older brother, just enough to ensure he has a way with you, the way you do with him, though he’d never admit the latter. The power of his gaze reels you in every step of the way. Tugging at some undefinable place deep in your belly.

“Ya have fun learnin’ to shoot?” He asks, almost as if talking to a child and perhaps you should protest, but you don’t, because you can test him too.

You find yourself smiling back at him, offering him a cheeky little grin you struggle to resist in his presence as you nod. “Maybe I’ll teach you teach a thing or two.”

Tommy chuckles lowly, and it’s the most lighthearted sound you’ve heard him make in a long time before he turns his attention to John.

“Come on, let’s head back to the house before it gets dark.” He says, with a slight tilt of his head as he turns to leave, ignoring your play on words. Understanding even better than you do how dangerous it is. You follow their muddy foot prints through Charlie’s yard as John looks over at Tommy and nods back at you.

“Aye, Arthur know about this?”

The new copper from Belfast doesn’t waste any time stirring things up, making his presence known, and making it clear he’s out for blood. John says he’s got a fuckin hard-on for Small Heath the way he tore through the place while the boys were away at the fair. You snicker at John boy’s humor even though you know you shouldn’t. No one else does, but he flashes you a lighthearted smirk, pleased at least you got it. The boys barely have a chance to catch their breath and chug a print after the long ride before Polly sends them out to the streets to show everyone who still runs this town.

That copper may be showing his reach of power, but Polly isn’t about to be undermined in her own backyard. Neither is any other Shelby for that matter. As Arthur and John, and the rest of the crew head for the streets, Tommy stays behind, someone has to take the horse he just won in a coin toss over to Charlie’s yard to be stabled. That’s the excuse anyway. A feeble one at best. One you’re not sure Arthur buys wholly, but he doesn’t protest either.

You can see it in the silent exchange between Polly and Tommy, there’s more to be discussed here. You linger behind, leaning against the chopping block in the kitchen, trying to become a wallflower, but Polly isn’t mistaken. There’s nothing she doesn’t miss. Before you can learn anything of value, your hopes are dashed as Polly asks for a moment alone with Thomas.

You hold her gaze, feet unmoving as you fumble. You’re trying to think up an excuse to stay. You don’t want to be shut out of the business anymore, and to your surprise, it’s Tommy who comes to your rescue, beating you to the punch.

“She already knows.” He informs Polly.

The look in Polly’s eyes as they fly to Tommy is guarded, but surprised. She’s holding it together. Her cards close to the vest. No one does it better, but you’ve known her long enough to see she’s alarmed by this turn of events. Most women were traditionally kept in the dark about the most sordid of details. That factor excluded, Polly’s also very protective of you.

She knows what you’ve been through, the pain and the loss, and she cared for your mother deeply. Growing up, she was like an aunt to you, and then a mother after yours passed. In Polly’s mind, there’d would be no reason for you to know about the guns unless Thomas was getting you involved in something she didn’t approve of.

Reluctant as Polly is, she gets to it as if sensing you won’t be leaving anytime soon. Sharing what she’s learned, which was usually more than most. Talk of this new copper in town, revolution, and the guns - everyone wishes you knew nothing about. You stand next to the back wall. You don’t make a sound. Trying not to give a reason to be dismissed. You just listen and learn. It’s one of your better skills.

They chatter and banter, two of the strongest, bravest people you know. You look up to them, idolize them, and you think that if you listen and watch long enough maybe an ounce will rub off on you too.

Polly tells Tommy what he wants to here… That this new copper knows he’s the boss and wants to meet him, but when she asks if he will, Tommy answers no with a smooth subtle ease, shaking his head slowly. Like he holds all the power in the world in the palm of his hand as he pulls away at his cigarette utterly untouched from the blow they received today.

“An’ why not?” Polly inquires, with an edge of impatience you identify right away. Not seeing the logic behind his motives, but you do.

“You don’t parlay when you’re on the backfoot.” You hear the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. Tommy’s voice echoing in your head word for word from one of your many improvised lessons while lying in his bed late at night or while practicing your aim at Charlie’s yard.

Polly’s face turns to you in a flash as if suddenly remembering you’re even there, but it’s the approving smirk that curls at the corner of Tommy’s mouth that catches your eye. It’s so rare to see these days, it’s like a beacon in the dark, your eyes can’t help, but be drawn to it. The sight of it makes your heart race a little faster, and like any true addiction, as soon as it’s gone you want to see it again.

You’re learning, Tommy thinks, you’re catching on. But Polly doesn’t look nearly as amused.

“An’ who I am speaking with now, you or Tommy?” She asks crossly.

The stern look on her face the same one she would wear when she’d scold you as a child, as if she can already see your words are not your own. Her eyes flash between the two of you, undoubtedly noticing the smirk edging on Tommy’s face before it disappears. Her gaze ultimately settling on you, looking you straight in the eye as if she doesn’t know who you are at all. And for a woman who’s the closest thing to a mother that you have left, it stings.

“She’s right Pol,” Tommy speaks up, clearing the air, drawing the heat back onto him and away from you as you slink back into the shadows.

“We’ll strike a blow back first.” Tommy announces his plan as if it’s settled, as he stubs his cigarette out and begins to move for the door.

You take that as your cue this little meeting is over and escape as quickly as you can, pushing open the double doors that lead back into the betting shop. There’s things you want in this life, things you’re not sure Pol will understand, but her approval still matter to you. She practically raised you in so many ways, saved you in your darkest hour, that can never be forgotten.

As Tommy moves to follow suit and tend to the horse, Polly cuts off his advance. Moving directly in front of him before he can take another step, her eyes stare boldly into his own.

“What the hell do you think you’re you doing?” She practically hisses at him.

“She wants to learn about the business, Pol. She’s curious.” Tommy answers with a shrug, his detached ease only serving to rile up everyone around him. As if nothing in the world can touch Thomas Shelby if he doesn’t allow it.

“She’s been through enough.” Polly admonishes, trying to press upon his better nature. The part of Tommy that’s known Vera since she was child. The part of him that knows she’s suffered enough, even if he doesn’t know everything.

Tommy glances down at her, unpersuaded and unaffected. “You’re the one who’s always sayin’ she’s family. Well this is the family business, aye?”

“Yes, an’ she’s your brother’s wife, Thomas. You’d be wise to remember that.” Polly warns, her tone low and unamused.

Her words pierce through Tommy’s coat of arms. Polly always knows how to reach him, she has since he was just a mischievous boy, even when no one else can. And the guilt her words bring only infuriates him more. It’s easier for Tommy to turn his guilt and shame into anger than to face any real emotion head on. The war taught him well.

Because it’s as if Pol’s onto him, as if she already knows the illicit thoughts he has about Vera when he’s alone in his room late at night and the smoke from his pipe has already flooded his veins. Thoughts that haunt and eat at him, because she’s Arthur’s, his brother’s wife. As if Polly can see the urges he battles to resist.

Tommy’s gaze drifts forward with the pull of his mind, finding you seated across the near empty betting shop, helping Scudboat count the coins. Your eyes look up as if you feel him too, smiling softly at him as they meet, unsure what the look in his eyes means. It reminds Tommy of the smiles from his dreams, where you sneak into his room, move over him the way you did the night before, only this time you don’t move off and it doesn’t end there.

Heart pounding a little harder, Tommy swears Polly sees right through him, to the darkest, most selfish trenches of his mind. The walls move in closer and Tommy knows he has to get out of there. He reminds himself he has the horse to stable and he wastes no time ripping his gaze from yours, leaving Polly at his side and storms out the front door.

Storming out into the crowded noisy street of Small Heath, Tommy finds his mind drifting to the day he came back home from the war and his thoughts fill with images of you. When he left, you were just a young thing, more child than woman. What Arthur had done, taking your hand, had been a matter of necessity.

You had written to him throughout the war, you wrote to them all from what Tommy heard. A scattering of things – poems, the weather, news of the family, and your thoughts on the war, but in his mind, you were still the young girl he briefly said goodbye to at the train station before the war.

But Tommy will never forget the day he came home. Stepping off that train with his brothers on a cold winter day, spotting Polly, Ada, and Finn clustered around John’s herd of little ones in the crowded sea of people, frantic to see their loved ones. Before noticing the young woman standing at Polly’s side, holding Finn’s hand and John’s youngest in the other.

He hadn’t even recognized you at first as the steam from the train and the cold winter wind whipped around your hair and skirt like you were something ethereal in a sea of heartache and desperation that played out around you on the platform. You had hugged them all individually – meaningfully. John snickering and jabbing at the dumbfounded look on Arthur’s face as he got a good look at the woman his wife had become.

When it was finally his turn, Tommy found he couldn’t breathe as you came close, smiling up at him as if you were everything untainted left in this God forsaken world. No reservations, no caution as you held his gaze as if you could see he was broken, but still weren’t afraid. You welcomed him home in earnest, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you had the others.

When Tommy thinks of it now, he can still remember the feel of your arms around his neck, the warmth of your body pressed against his uniform. The sweet smell of you engulfed his senses as his arms dangled at his sides before they slowly found their way around you, embracing you like a lifeline when lost out at sea.

And in that moment, as Tommy let you hold him close and he breathed you in, his heart began to race. The first real sensation his numb soul had felt since descending into the hell of those tunnels. So foreign to him, he’d nearly forgot how it felt and he remembered thinking, maybe if he just melted into you, you’d resurrect him yet.

But as quickly as the thought hit Tommy, he then remembered you were Arthur’s wife and he quickly let you go… fighting a war with himself over you and what exactly it was he feels about you ever since.

“Is that how you fall asleep these days?”

Tommy’s eyes shoot up, heart pounding as he’s ripped out of his reverie by an unexpected voice.

“Vera,” He growls, jaw tight as he spots you standing in the crack of his door. His eyes sweeping quickly over your tousled hair, the strap of your slip hanging dangerously at the edge of your shoulder – threatening to fall, skimming down to the fabric that sways just above yours knees.

Tommy swallows hard, throat bobbing. “You must learn to knock.”

You send him a tired crooked grin and slip inside his room closing the door quietly behind you.

“Everyone’s asleep. Thought you wouldn’ want me to wake them.” You shrug, unfazed by his cold welcome.

Taking a seat beside him on the edge of the bed, Tommy’s gaze follows you like two sapphire orbs, his face an unreadable stone mask.

“Knock, knock.” You say quietly, playfully tapping your fist against his bicep like he asked. Offering Tommy a truce as a mischievous little grin winds up the corners of your mouth, trying to break through the steel of his face.

Tommy stares back at you unamused, like a guarded fortress no one can enter without his permission. You linger until you take what feels like a cue you aren’t going to win him over tonight and rise from his bed once again, moving to leave. But you don’t get far, only a step or two before you feel his hand reach for yours as it dangles at your side, halting your retreat.

You glance down at your hand with the feel of his rough callused palm intertwining with your own. His touch subtly electric. Your gaze drifts back at Tommy over your shoulder as you bite at your bottom lip, resisting the urge to smile in your triumph, but the sight of it still sends Tommy’s heart racing.

He doesn’t say a word as he draws you back to his bed, your eyes locked in a dangerous undefinable flame that makes your belly flip and clench in the same breath. He releases your hand as you take a seat beside him on the edge. Returning to his task, he retrieves the tar from the discrete tin he keeps it hidden in.

“It helps you sleep?” You ask as you watch him work. Diligently, delicately preparing his pipe as he nods absently at your question, but never looks your way.

“The nightmares too?” You continue as you watch each move he makes with curiosity, the dance of his fingertips you just felt on your palm a moment ago, now roll a dark dough between them.

“Sometimes,” Tommy answers, and you get the feeling you’re seeing a side of him he doesn’t reveal to most. The weakness in him that needs abating, the dragon inside that must be lulled if he is to find any rest.

“Would it help with mine?” You ask with curiosity. You see so much of yourself in Tommy. A similar kind of pain. If it can calm his demons than perhaps…

Tommy turns to you swiftly, the power of his determined blue eyes swallowing you up as they take ahold.

“You’re never to touch this, Vera. Not with anyone. Ever. Understood?” Tommy’s voice is firm, unwavering in its delivery. It has to be. In Tommy’s mind he can already imagine what could happen if he smoked with you, alone in his room, his mind hazy and unchained, blissful and warm inside, and completely undisturbed by anyone else in the house… No, that can never happen, Tommy tells himself as his blood pumps a little harder with even the thought of it.

The heat of his eyes, the determination of his gaze, you nod in agreement without thinking.

“You’ll fall asleep after then?” You ask as he turns back to his bedside table.

“That’s the plan.” Tommy answers distantly, distracted once again as he brings the tar over the flame to burn just the outer edge.

“Will ya help me fall asleep too?” You press on, watching as he delicately places the tar to his pipe.

“Yeah,” He nods absently, distracted until your reach for his undershirt and then you’ve earned his undivided attention. Grabbing at the seams as your tug his undershirt up his body.

“Arms up,” You instruct the same way you do with John’s kids when you watch them.

Tommy obeys, but protests the entire way.

“Vera-“ He starts by never finishes until you’ve got it over his head. “Fuckin hell-“

He snatches at your wrists as soon as he’s shirtless, his grip unmoving as he looks dead into your eyes, diving into your soul.

“Your Arthur’s wife.” He tells you as if you don’t already know, but knowing men as you do, you know he’s saying it as much for himself as for you.

“I know,” You answer meekly, twisting the shirt in your hands as your face drops. Your heart heavy with everything you wish you could be. Everything you wish you could give Arthur. Everything he deserves. Before you glance back up at Tommy.

“No one knows that better than me.” You assure him.

Staring into your eyes, Tommy feels like he understands what you and Arthur share even less than he did before as he lets your wrists go. You look away to break the unease that edges between you, slipping the shirt over your head and nightdress, letting it fall down your body. You draw his shirt up to your nose, breathing the distinct smell of Tommy deep into your lungs, Irish whiskey and burned tobacco. You let the shirt fall from your nose and hands as you find Tommy watching you, his gaze heavy in a way you can’t define.

“The smell of it makes me feel safe. Same with Arthur’s.” You tell him quietly. Trying to explain the reasoning behind your madness.

“Do you know what you’re doing or does the effect it has men escape you?” Tommy says, finally questioning your intent, his tone not harsh or accusing. No, his question is far more inquisitive and dangerous.

You hold his gaze and contemplate the question. Choosing your answer wisely. You know you’re not like the other wives you see. You know you do things that others would frown upon a proper young woman engaging in, but you don’t know how to stop that. Sometimes it just comes out and you don’t realize you’re doing it until it’s done.

“I’m not a fool Tommy, but it’s not intentional. It just sort of… happens.”

“That’s what I thought…” Tommy nods.

“If you could learn to control it, to use it, it could make you a force to contend with, Vera. Men wouldn’t stand a chance.” Tommy says, his gaze capturing you in the relentless hold of his iridescent blues, in the calling of his gaze. You feel it deep in your belly, he’s showing you how you can be a weapon. A weapon not even he’s immune to. This is the only time Tommy scares you, when he makes the room inch hotter as you clench your thighs.

Tommy’s heart pounds as he quickly looks away from you. His lesson done for the night. His fuckin pants suddenly feeling tight as he reaches for his pipe. If you were anyone else sitting on the edge of his bed, draped in his shirt, looking at him the way you just had… Anyone but Arthur’s wife.

You scoot to the far end of the bed, opposite Tommy, creating distance, feeling unsure of yourself. Tommy broke it first, you knew he would, that’s why you trust him, but still you need a little space as you find your safe spot on the mattress and burrow into it, away from Tommy.

Tommy tries to forget you’re at his back as he returns to his pipe. Blowing out a long heated breath to cool down, you are far too dangerous to get close to in any way. He knows he should just kick you out of his bed and send you back to Arthur, but he can’t. As dangerous and incendiary as you are, you’re the only thing that’s made him feel anything since he came home from the war. He craves that feeling as surely as he does the tar he’s just placed upon his pipe.

Tommy bring the pipe to the flame and breathes in deep. Letting the smoke fill his lungs with a gentle ease, a warm embrace. He takes a few more hits, slow and steady, letting you drift from his mind like everything else, until he feels as at peace as he can since the war.

Placing his pipe to rest against the dresser, he lays his back down against the mattress in his haze. You reach for him as if the last few moments never happened, snuggling to his side, your arm across his bare chest as your face settles against his shoulder and the crook of his neck. Tommy reaches for you in a daze, running his hand against the side of your face, his fingertips slipping into the edges of your hair.

You ask him what he dreams about and in the high of magic smoke, he tells you quietly about shovels and tunnels, mud and enemies at every corner, just beyond a thin wall of earth waiting to attack. As his mind slips between here and somewhere else, he finds he isn’t afraid to tell you. He thinks you might even understand.

“What do you dream about?” Tommy asks you absently as his hand runs up your arm and slips back into your hair.

You snuggle closer to him with his question. You aren’t high like he is. The truth is still very real and tight within your chest.

“Churches,” You whisper, so close your lips practically brush his ear.

“Sounds lovely,” Tommy huffs quietly, and it does as his hand slips down your scalp, moving along the slop of your neck. You feel so good this close to him, it almost scares Tommy. Almost as good as that day on the platform all over again. If he had common sense he’d push you away, but he’s too lost in the haze of delirium to do anything he knows he’ll regret.

“You’d think so.” You admit quietly, letting the warmth and feel of Tommy sooth you as your heart tightens. It still lives inside you, like a parasite you can’t dig out. But beside Tommy, as he drifts away in the only relief he can find, you at least feel understood in your broken edges.

When you come down stairs early in the morning to help with breakfast you find Polly tending to Arthur’s busted and bloody hands. Watching them seated at the table, you stand frozen in the doorway as their eyes find you. Your heart clenches tight in your chest with the sight of Arthur’s blood as he meets your gaze.

Moving for the kitchen, you waste no time to retrieve a rag and soak it in cold water before returning to give Polly a hand and tend to your husband. You press the wet rag to the cut dried on his eyebrow as Polly tends to the scrapes on his knuckles. Arthur hisses in pain, groaning lightly as you both work on him, cleaning out his cuts and battle wounds. The sound of his discomfort rattling through your like a mortar shell exploding as you bring your other hand to his face and gently stroke your thumb against it to comfort him.

You could ask what happened, where he’s been, but the answers always the same. Tommy and John call it the flanders blues, bouts of rage, bouts of sadness. When he hadn’t come home last night you naturally assumed it was just booze and whores again, but the explosions Arthur is capable of are always hiding just under the surface, though it’s never been a rage he’s directed at you. Remnants of the war you’ve been told, an answer that offers as much comfort as it does solutions.

Once you and Pol have patched him up the best you can with meager supplies and medical knowledge, you insist on bringing him to bed and Pol couldn’t agree more. Dawn has already peaked on the horizon, the others will be awake soon, but Arthur needs rest. You’d venture a guess he hasn’t slept all night. You ask Pol to keep the others at bay the best she can as you take Arthur’s hand and leads him upstairs.

When you reach your bedroom, you make a point to lock the door, before turning your attention to Arthur fully. You help him disrobe. And while the action is unfamiliar to you, Arthur looks so vulnerable and beaten down, you can’t resist. Unbuttoning his shirt that reeks of spilled booze, you tug it from his arms.

Reaching for his trousers, you take a deep breath and you remind yourself you’re his wife before you unfasten the buttons, while he kicks off his shoes. His trousers fall and Arthur steps lazily free of them as you strip the robe from your body, eyes on each other, but never meeting. You take his hand and lead him back into the bed you share. He notes the rising sun peeking through the windows as he settles in against the tick mattress. But you have an answer for that too, as you pull the blanket over your heads and settle in beside him.

“No one will find us here.” You whisper to him as if it’s some big secret you must keep from the rest of the world.

Arthur offers you a soft smile, the exhaustion on his face struggling to form it.

“You didn’t sleep here last night.” He finally speaks after a moment, pointing out an all too obvious truth. The bedding as cold to his skin as it is to your own. No warmth from a body that dwelled in it any time in the recent past, but you find there’s a slight edge that rises within you to his statement.

“Neither did you.” You answer back, regretting your defensiveness almost as quickly as you let it slip.

Arthur rolls onto his back, staring at the blanket pulled over him as he runs a battered hand over his tired face.

“Are ya sneakin around with Tommy, Vera?” Arthurs asks on a long sigh. His words nearly steal your breath as soon as you hear them and tears down all your defenses. He doesn’t even sound mad, which only hurts worse. You knew this question was coming. And staring at Arthur’s profile you find you can’t lie to yourself. You don’t know what you feel for Tommy, but you can’t deny you feel things. At first you thought you just saw yourself in him, a mirror, but when you’re alone with him lately, you feel it’s more complex than that. It’s not definitive, as shapeless as it is nameless, but you can feel it’s presence within you just the same.

While your marriage remains unconsummated, you always knew if you offered Arthur wouldn’t turn you down. Which only makes his question that much more painful… To think his own brother has been dipping into the honey pot that belongs to him, but he can’t sample. Arthur isn’t wrong on either front, you can see it in the way Tommy looks at your sometimes… he has feelings of his own. But that’s why you feel safe with Tommy, he’d never act on them anymore than you would.

Arthur isn’t looking at you, so you reach for him, grasping the stubble of his cut chin as you turn his face to look at you.

“No, I’d never betray you in such a way, Arthur.” You promise. “An’ neither would Tommy.”

You run your hand gently up along the ridge of his face, thinly layered with dirt and time worn lines. Along his cheekbone, tall but not as sharp as Tommy’s, and into his long hair that’s matted with dried blood and rain drops that fell long ago.

“You’re my family, Arthur.” You tell him softly, just above a whisper. Your throat tightening with the words and the way they ring true in your heart. Without Arthur, without his sacrifice, you’d have nothing. Be lost in a world that didn’t care about little orphan girls, except what they can take from them.

“I’m sorry not a better wife. I’m sorry I’m not what you deserve, what you need.” You voice breaks as your words trail off, tears fill your eyes even as you try to hold them back. You feel so much guilt about Arthur. Guilty over everything you wish you could be for him, but can’t without sacrificing everything you want in this life. Lying here with him, just the two of you as the cold bedding gives away both your secrets and unspoken truths… You wish you could be everything he needs or disappear completely.

Arthur rolls back onto his side to face you, the old bed creaking under the weight as he reaches for your cheek to touch it softly.

“None of that now. I won’t have you speak of yourself like that.” Arthur tries to console you. His voice soft and gentle, so different from the man who comes alive within him when his fists get bloody. He’s always gentle with you. You move to him with his softness, resting your head upon his shoulder as he rolls on his back and wraps you in his arms.

You lay there silently for a moment, listening to the rhythm of his heart as you hold him close.

“After my father died and my mother didn’t know how we’d survive, there were days we’d lay in bed, just like this, hiding under the blankets. We’d dream of places we could go. Where things would be easier… better… Where’s your place Arthur? Where could we disappear to?” You share with him quietly. Inquiring where he would escape to if escaping where more than just fairytales told to get through the hardships of the day.

Arthur holds you close as you listen to the gentle melody of his long deep breathes and beat of his heart. An easy tune that lets your eyes drift close as you sense Arthur is pondering your question.

“The black patch, I suppose.” He finally answers after giving it some thought.

“When we were kids our mum use to take us up there-“ He starts to tell you as you hang on his every word, but there’s no peace in this life and certainly not in this house as his words are silenced suddenly by the distinctive sound of shoes clipping down the hall. It’s as if you both knows it’s coming for your door. Come to steal away your thunder.

You glance up at Arthur and swear you see the same answer shining in his orbs you feel in your heart… Its Tommy come to fetch his soldier. There’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done.

But the tired look on Arthur’s face as he gazes down at you, knowing the night he’s already had, spurs a protectiveness inside you didn’t expect.

“Arthur,” Tommy’s distinct voice calls through the door. You know Arthur will go if Tommy tells him to and sure enough, with Tommy’s call Arthur sits up in bed with a long sigh. The sound of it leaves a fire burning inside you. Determined not to let that happen, you find yourself pushing Arthur back down on the bed, he lets you as your hands firmly press against his chest and you move atop him for added measure.

“He’s busy, Tommy.” You answer back instead, calling out to the door.

“Doin’ what?” Tommy protests with a lack of patience. You both jump with a start when the door handle starts to jiggle, the man has no sense of personal space, and you figure it’s too late to go back now. Your mind races with Tommy’s stubborn persistence. Thinking fast, you lean over Arthur to grab the brass bedframe, knocking it against the wall gently.

“Me,” You call back on the best desperate sigh you can muster on a whim.

As if you had fired a gun, Arthur practically shoots up in bed with your outburst before you can push him back down. His eyes wide in disbelief beneath you as you flash him a wicked smile and a chuckle rips from his lips before you clamp your hand down over his mouth to silence the sound.

“If he hears you laughing, he’ll know it’s a rouse.” You whisper, leaning down on Arthur, your hand still silencing him as you both sit in silence waiting for any noise outside the door.

“Arthur,” Tommy growls with a lack of patience, the door handle jiggling a few more times, but the lock holds.

“Go away, Tommy!” You call breathlessly. Doing your best impression of a woman lost in the throes of passion as desperate gasps pitch off your breath, knocking the bedframe against the wall a few more times for good measure.

“Fuck sake, nine o’clock, Arthur. Be down by nine. There’s business to be done.” Tommy calls back on an exasperated breath, slamming his hand against the door once more, before his shoes can be heard steadily moving against the floorboards a little faster with frustration.

You’re not sure he bought it. Not sure anyone would, but he left and that was your goal, to let Arthur get some rest. Only then does it occur to you the means it took to reach your success and the precarious perch you find yourself trying to achieve it from.

Your eyes slowly, cautiously wander down to Arthur lying beneath you, your thighs spread across him, your slip riding high enough to reveal your creamy skin. The morning light steams in from the window, shining on Arthur’s gentle face as he stares up at you. Only then do you consider how your little show may have sounded to his ears. How it must have felt for Arthur listening to the lust filled cries of his beautiful wife, having never heard her make those sounds before.

There’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before as Arthur reaches up to gently cup your cheek. Making your heart pound a little harder, unsure of what’s about to happen.

“You’re an incredible woman, Vera. As beautiful inside as you are out.” Arthur tells you, his voice low and deep. The sound of it makes your breath shallow, and for the first time ever you think Arthur might actually kiss you… But he doesn’t, he speaks instead.

“You’re going to make some man very lucky one day. An’ if that’s Tommy… it’s a’right… As long as he makes ya happy, you have my blessing.” He continues as he smiles up at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Don’t say that,” You plead with him, your head shaking against his palm as your voice breaks right along with your heart. The bedding suddenly cold around once again as if your bodies hadn’t warmed them at all. Begging him to stop, because you can feel the impending doom building tight in your heart, like a bomb about to drop.

“I met a woman.” He confesses to you. The word rattling through your head and down to your heart as Arthur stokes gently at your cheek. Not a whore, not a barmaid… A woman.

Moving quickly down the stairs and into the betting shop, Tommy spots Polly as he readies to head out.

“Pol, when Vera comes down tell her I’ll be back around half past noon. If she wants to go to Charlie’s today, she’s to be ready.” He says in passing, pulling on his jacket and snatching up his cap.

Leaving her tea at the table, Polly rises. “Thomas, whatever it is you’re cooking up, I want you to leave her out of it.” She tells him, her approach much more soft in her attempt to convince him this time.

Refusing to help Tommy corrupt the girl she loves like a daughter. She loves Tommy like a son. She loves all the Shelby children like they were her own. Raised them as such after their mother died and her drunken brother ran off like a philandering fool. But she’s not going to sit by while he tarnishes Vera in the name of his unquenchable ambition.

Stopping at the double doors that separate the betting shop from the rest of the house, Tommy meets Polly’s gaze, halted by the insinuation of her statement.

“She’s not a child anymore, Pol. She can make up her own mind and this is what she wants. Thought you believed in women’s rights and all…” Tommy corrects, an air of defensiveness on his breath, as if no one gets a rise out of Thomas Shelby, except perhaps Polly.

Feeling her patience wear thin in a way Tommy so often manages to incite since the war, Polly takes a step toward him. Her voice low for discretion but direct. “Has she told you why she married your brother? Why she ran away?”

“No one wants to stay in those homes.” Tommy shrugs, not taking the bait, but behind icy blue eyes the wheels start to slowly turn and no one knows how to get them spinning quite like Polly does.

Tommy has had his suspicions for some time now about the origins of your behavior though he never much dwelled on them. Why Arthur had to marry you. Why you have a provocative, almost seductive nature though he still isn’t sure his brother has ever laid a land on you. Why you lost your faith and dream of churches. But Tommy is starting to see the pieces to fit together quite nicely once they’re aligned.

“You’re a far more clever man than that, Thomas. If you care about Vera at all you’ll leave her be. She’s been through enough. You’re only going to hurt her more.” Polly cautions, pressing upon the heart she hopes is still somewhere inside him.

Before the war he had a big heart. Was capable of kindness, mercy, but barely home from the war and all she sees in his eyes these days is distance and a hunger for blood. She doesn’t tell him she knows Vera sneaks into his room more nights than could ever be explained as anything other than inappropriate. She just prayers he cares enough about you to make the right choice.

Tommy meets Pol’s gaze, holding it as if to press upon her the seriousness of this words. “I won’ hurt her, Pol. I know what she means to you.”

Polly purses her lips, that isn’t the answer she was pressing for. So she applies a little more pressure. “An’ what does she mean to you, Thomas?”

Staring back at his aunt, Tommy gets the sense once again that she sees right through him. That she knows Vera comes into his room though no one’s ever said it aloud. She knows he lets her stay, because he can’t get her out of his fuckin head no matter how hard he tries. That he desires things from her and to do things to her no man should ever desire of their brother’s wife. Things he would never say aloud. Things he would never act on, because he’s loyal to his family first and foremost. Because he loves Arthur.

“I’ll be back shortly after noon, do pass along the message, eh?” Tommy finally speaks, evading her question entirely as he fastens his signature cap onto his head and adjusts it low on his brow, before heading for the front door.

Last Note: In case your scratching your head... Yes, Vera has Massive Boundary and Impulse control issues when it comes to her and men.

#Tommy Shelby #thomas shelby #Peaky Blinders #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

314 notes · View notes

goingknowherewastaken · 7 years

Text

Convergence

Title: Convergence [Part 7/Final]

Fandom: Star Trek

Relationships: Scotty/Reader

Warnings: n/a

Prompt: the Reader gets pulled into the Star Trek universe and confusion ensues over the incident

A/N: I can’t believe that this is the last part :( I wanted to have this posted yesterday, but over the weekend I just wasn’t pleased with the half-done chapter I was working on. Monday morning I actually had a new idea and immediately set about writing it; only finishing it earlier today. I really hope you all enjoy it!! :)

And I just want to quickly thank @hesgonnalovethis for the prompt and everyone else who has read, liked, and reblogged this! You’re all awesome :)

Convergence || Part Seven [Final]

“This is beautiful.” The statement emerged as a whisper from your lips, just barely disturbing the silence of the Observation Deck. You heard Nyota shift briefly from where she sat on the floor next to you, but you didn’t pull your eyes away from the viewscreen.

The nebula outside the ship was nothing short of breathtaking. Blues and greens, reds and oranges, yellows and browns all ghosting together into an indescribable spectacle.

“It is, isn’t it?” She murmured. “I never get tired of them, no matter how many times I see them.”

You hummed at her comment before allowing the silence to blanket the two of you once more. Several minutes passed by before it was broken.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Her question lodged itself in the lump that had formed in your chest during the past few hours. When you didn’t respond, she added, “We’ll help you know matter what you decide.”

A deep inhale and slow exhale was your response.

Do you stay?

Or do you go?

A chime jolted you out of your thoughts. Blinking and giving your head a small shake, you pushed your Padd off onto the sofa and went to see who was outside. Of course, you already had an inkling of who it was.

He always showed up after his shift.

"You know you can always just come in; you don’t have to ask,” you grinned.

Monty rolled his eyes, but returned your smile. “Aye, Lass, I’m aware,” he assured, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you. Your own arms reacted on instinct, encircling his lean torso while you buried your nose into chest.

Even after a month of dating and having repeated spoken permission, he still did his best to respect your privacy.

As the door closed behind him, he softly questioned, “Have a good day?”

You snorted at the sensation of his breath tickling your neck. Wiggling away slightly, you moved your arms to rest on his shoulders and rose up onto your tip-toes, making yourself the perfect height to gently press your lips against his. “Hmmm, better now.”

Tightening his arms around your waist, he tipped his head forward to claim another kiss. “In that case, [Y/N], ya should have Commed me earlier. Woulda brightened your day a lot sooner.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes at his smug tone, but a smile played along your lips. He definitely would have, but... “Then you would have been a distraction.”

Monty quirked his brow and spoke with feigned offense. “Distraction?! As if!”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” you hummed before breaking away from him. Grabbing his hand, you lead him over to the sofa. “Studying Nyota’s modules about proper Andorian grammar is bad enough without my handsome, doting boyfriend occupying the same space as me.” You swiped up your Padd and, when he finally settled down, you settled down against him.

“Oh, so I’m a hindrance then,” he teased, pulling you in while you snuggled closer. “A handsome, doting hindrance.”

“Absolutely! And you would have been a welcome one.” You glanced up at him with a cheeky grin.

The Engineer snorted. “You’re really don’t like the language studies.”

“Nooooo,” you groaned. “She made it sound so interesting, but the guy speaking is dryer than a desert.”

Another snort. “Eh, I don’t doubt ya there, but,” he squeezed your waist. “It will be worth it in the end.”

You sighed. He had a point.

Three months ago, and one month after the switch, Starfleet Command had held a tribunal to decide your fate. If it wasn’t for the Enterprise crew standing as solid pillars of support, you’d surely be rotting away in some prison instead of having legal documents proclaiming you a Federation citizen.

You owed the crew a lot over these past four months. In them, you found new friends - a new family - that stepped up and helped you adjust to your new life. They didn’t completely fill the void inside your heart, but they reminded you that you were not alone.

And you supposed that you helped ease their pain of losing Angela. Emotions were mixed when everything was finally announced to the rest of the crew, but the majority had come around. Eventually.

Besides, they did more than just fill your need for companionship. It was with quick thinking, sound logic, and an abundance of charm that managed to persuade Command to allow you to proceed with your studies aboard the Enterprise.

Who better to teach you than Starfleet’s brightest minds?

Tipping your head back to better see his face, you requested, “Think you could tell me about - I don’t know - some sort of engineering fact? I need a break from these modules; they’ve been causing me to zone out.”

“Aye.” Intrigue then filled blue-grey eyes. “Zoned out about me?”

Your lips quirked. “Actually, my decision to stay.”

The affection that bloomed across Monty’s face caused your heart to squeeze. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” he said softly.

A relationship with Montgomery Scott was something you’d always dreamed about. Even after getting thrown into this alternate universe, you never imagined it to become true, but time changed that. You grew closer to the crew. Grew closer to Monty. Soon it felt like your heart was going to split in two every time you saw him. But, you never said anything. There were too many factors to consider. So you pushed it down and hid it behind a facade. You should have known that you wouldn’t be able to hide anything from this crew.

Especially when your Captain and friend is Jim Kirk.

He saw through you like a spotless window. You wanted to be mad when you found out he was interfering with your love life, but when it resulted in the man of your dreams admitting his own interest? Well, Len aided you in your quest to order a nice bottle of whiskey as a ‘Thank You’.

“Believe me, Monty, I completely agree.”

You didn’t know where your relationship - your life - would head, but something told you it was good things form here on out.

Because while the dream was nice, it had nothing on reality.

The End.

With the conclusion of the Convergence series, the Convergence taglist will be deleted. If you wish to join my permanent taglist, just let me know :)

Convergence Taglist: @hesgonnalovethis @pokeharvest @texasblues @theriumking @geek13freak @youre-on-a-starship @nymphadora-blurryface @fangirl570 @bubblegum-star-trek

Permanent Taglist: @wonders-of-the-enterprise @igiveupicantthinkofausername

#fanfiction #star trek #montgomery scott x reader #scotty x reader #reader insert #montgomery scott #scotty #fanfic #convergence #goingknowhere #goingknowherewastaken

87 notes · View notes

poisonousfey · 8 years

Text

spun sugar peace [2/2]

Thrall and Jaina, and the rare moments of peace after the third war.

dedicated to a couple people: for @kiango: an extremely belated birthday gift, my bad I'm sorry lmao for @wckm-reblogs: thank you for letting me talk w/ you about this and keeping the thraina fire going strong and for the author of "gallows humor": I don't know if you'll ever come across this, or if you're still interested in warcraft at all, but if you ever find this, I want to you to know that your writing has been a huge inspiration for me, and is what prompted me to start writing seriously in the first place. I know that that fic has long since been taken down, but it'd been a favorite of mine for years, and it was something I always came back to over and over. thank you.

---

Naturally, no one is happy about his little excursion.

The portal is barely gone a minute and Jaina with it, before a frantic shaman bursts into his chambers, accompanied by several harried-looking Kor’kron.

“Warchief!” they cried. “You’ve returned!” Thrall does his best not to freeze in place like a frightened deer, but he’s not sure that it works so well; the Kor’kron are looking supremely irritated, and him looking like they caught him red-handed probably does nothing to help, because they did, in fact, catch him red-handed. Nearly, anyway.

“Where have you been?” the shaman demands, pulling down their wolf-skin hood. It’s one of the younger ones, baby fat still rounding out their face, and eyes looking a little wet and bloodshot. He does feel a little bad at that, but really, he couldn’t have been gone for more than a couple hours; all this fuss is really unnecessary.

“I just went for a walk,” he tells them. It’s not a lie, technically, but one of the Kor’kron still looks like she’d like to strangle him.

“Warchief, there was a sudden pull of magic coming from your chambers, and when it dispersed, your presence was gone. We couldn’t sense your presence again until just now, when the same pull of magic returned,” the shaman continues, and it’s a truly impressive amount of effort to keep his face impassive during this.

“Listen,” he explains. “All I did was go for a walk. I’m sorry to have caused you such distress, but I’m alright. I just needed to get some fresh air.” The same Kor’kron who looked like she wanted to strangle him still does, apparently, because her face twists further in agitation.

“You don’t get to do that,” she snaps after another moment. He blinks, surprised, and she looks a little surprised with herself too, but she keeps going. “You don’t- you don’t get to just disappear like that and then act like it wasn’t a big deal. You’re Warchief, you don’t get to be this irresponsible- you’re too important.” She’s shaking, a little bit; probably fearing reprimand for speaking out of line to the Warchief himself, echoes of the old ways still ringing throughout this new horde. He’ll have to do something about that.

“No,” he starts. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have wandered off without telling anyone, and I apologize. Please forgive me,” he says gently, bowing his head slightly. The effect is probably lessened slightly by the fact that he’s taller than most, and in fact can see over the top of the Kor’kron’s head, but he thinks he got the point across, shocked disbelief spreading over the features of both the teary-eyed shaman and their Kor’kron escort, including the one that had stood up to him.

“Just don’t do it again,” she grumbles. He smiles, a little resigned, knowing fully well that this is just going to make matters more complicated.

---

It doesn’t take long for rumors to circulate.

People learn relatively quickly that their Warchief did indeed sneak out for a couple hours, and managed to do so by completely disappearing from the sight of his guards, somehow. There’s some whispers that he was taken forcibly, but those ones die down just as soon as they spring up. He was quick to say that it was voluntary, after all, and there’s not many that would question his strength should he be cornered by an enemy. However, there’s still a question of how he could slip away from his guards so easily, and some of the shrewder ones start to suspect that magic was involved. Maybe not the elements, who might be able to mask his presence but not snuff it out completely, but arcane, which was apparently very capable of doing that, and it’s not long for those same discerning gossips to put two and two together.

Predictably, it does absolutely nothing to help the situation, and his staff all have very strong opinions about it, even if some of them happen to never share those opinions.

At the next couple council meetings, it becomes extremely apparent what they all think about it, even if the topic is never confronted directly. Kroshka and Tez’lipo both side-eye him a little exasperatedly, but it looks as if the thought of confronting this is too exhausting to actually do so. Makhan is looking very much like the cat that got the canary, and his smugness about it grates on Thrall ever so slightly, not enough to actually be problem but enough to be a constant annoyance nipping at his shrinking patience. Balmani, the Tauren councilor, is thankfully neutral, or at least blissfully unaware, because she acts no different than how she would normally. She doesn’t seem the type to be oblivious, though; there’s definitely more to her than she lets on, quiet and gentle but incredibly sharp. She doesn’t appear to care, either way, and it’s mostly because of her that the meetings can continue as they should rather than be interrupted by any of the others, regardless of their intention.

Nazgrel looks like he wants to smack him around a little bit, if only to “knock some sense into that dense head of his,” and tells him so.

“You could have been seriously hurt, you know that?” he gripes, loudly. This isn’t the first time he’s said this, and it probably won’t be the last. “If you want to go run off somewhere with that Proudmoore woman, fine, just at least tell us, first.”

“Are you giving me permission?” Thrall asks, incredibly exhausted with the whole thing and really not meaning to tease, but Nazgrel still responds like Thrall’s being cheeky: with a smack to the head. It’s not hard, mind (not that hard, anyway), but it still startles him, and he’s swearing colorfully under his breath not moments later.

“Don’t be a wiseass,” Nazgrel grumps. “What if you actually had been taken and no one knew how to find you? What if you had died? This new horde’s still too young and untested; it’d fall apart without you.” Thrall squints at him, back of his head still smarting. He can’t even respond before Nazgrel goes, “Yes, it would, don’t fight me on this, you know it would. Give yourself a little credit, Warchief.” The emphasis on ‘Warchief’ is entirely unnecessary, but he gets the point he’s trying to make. The thought of it scares him a little bit, that they’re still so fragile that he being gone would make the whole thing fall apart.

“And besides,” he continues. “None of us want to see you go down if we could have prevented the whole thing to begin with.” The older orc isn’t happy with him, obviously, but it’s becoming clear that it’s less that he’s mad and more that he’s incredibly, incredibly worried. He’s more hurt than angry, and Thrall once again feels bad for, admittedly, running off like some stupid kid.

When he apologizes, Nazgrel just grumbles at him, but it seems to appease him nonetheless. The other councilors, however, are not so easily satisfied. Makhan even makes it a point of bringing it up at a council meeting, the only way he knows how: by circling it passively the entire time without actively confronting his main point.

“This whole affair has really brought to light how lax our security is as far as magic goes,” he says, perfectly reasonable. “I think we should set up some kind of arcane blocking field around Orgrimmar that limits where people can teleport into the city.” Kroshka for once agrees with him, to her slight disdain, and Thrall waits for the other shoe to drop.

“He’s got a point. How are we supposed to defend ourselves if just anyone can teleport themselves to Grommosh Hold’s inner chambers?” she points out, and Makhan nods, continuing. No one says it’s Jaina, but they are absolutely thinking it’s Jaina, Kroshka looking irritable and Tez’lipo sitting between that and odd amusement. Balmani is peaceful as always but there’s a wry sort of glint to her eye, and Makhan is inexplicably pleased with himself.

“Exactly. It leaves us open to any assortment of attacks.” Tez’lipo tilts her head, thinking.

“The Darkspear have users of the arcane among us, but I’m not so sure dey would be willing to share der secrets,” she explains. “I will speak to Vol’jin about this.”

“Thank you, friend,” Thrall tells her genuinely. “Please send Vol’jin my regards as well.” She nods, temper soothed somewhat by his sincerity. It is immediately kicked back up again not moments later, when Makhan says:

“That is a decent start, but I think we have some options that we’re not looking at, here.” Thrall suddenly has the abrupt, sort of resigned understanding that the metaphorical other shoe was going to drop any second now, and there wasn’t really anything he could do to stop it. He looks at Makhan, and he just knows shit’s about to get real weird, real fast.

“I think that we should seek help from our other allies as well,” he says. “To further strengthen our bonds.” There’s a drawn-out pause.

“…What do you mean?” Kroshka asks, eyes narrowed. She looks like she knows exactly what he’s getting at- and she doesn’t like it. Asking him directly was probably a last attempt to get him to rethink what he was thinking. It is absolutely not going to dissuade him, and she knows it. They all know it.

“What I mean to say is that,” he starts again, seemingly drawing it out as long as possible for no reason other than to fuck with Thrall, specifically. “I think that reaching out to the Lady Proudmoore herself would be a wise decision, given that she is an expert on the arcane.”

And there it is, the other shoe. Things are quiet for about four seconds, before:

“Are you out of your mind?!” Kroshka demands, just short of actually yelling. Thrall had been expecting the noise so he doesn’t flinch; there’s that small mercy, at least. He’s pretty good about not recoiling nowadays, but there were still a couple of fun times where he wasn’t, and was quick to make up for it by raising his voice as well to reaffirm his strength in the eyes of his peers. He hates raising his voice, however, and it is painfully apparent to everyone around him for how quick his rage bubbles up after that, hating that he has to do this and hating that he flinched in the first place.

It was something that Grom had picked up on quickly, not that he had to try too hard for how embarrassingly obvious it was; Thrall, who was not yet twenty, hackles raised and defensive, and not just fury in his eyes but fear, making him look wild and unhinged. He doesn’t even remember what Grom had been talking about, just that he’d gotten a bit too loud and something about it skirted too close to a not-yet buried instinct to recoil back like Grom was going to throw something at him, and Thrall hesitating a second too long before reacting. He noticed it, he knows he noticed it, and instead of ridiculing him like he’d expected (like what had happened many times over before, with others, orc and human alike), Grom just never addressed it.

He noticed, after that, that Grom never got past a certain volume with his anger, at least not with him. He’d watch him explode at other people, but that was something Thrall never received. He could see it, too; he could see Grom very nearly vibrating with the sheer amount of restraint it took not to blow up at him, too, but he never did, not past a certain point, anyway. It was equal parts touching and frustrating, glad that Grom was being oddly considerate but frustrated with his own weakness. He shouldn’t have to cater to him at all, yet still he did.

Kroshka eyes him briefly before moving her attention back to Makhan. At some point, his staff have picked up on it too, Kor’kron included, and he’s not really sure how he feels about that. He’s sure that Grom didn’t say anything to them directly, at any rate, because he never told Grom anything directly. He didn’t really have the capacity to. Not yet, anyway. He might have later, had Grom lived long enough. The thought stings more than expected. He swallows his grief back down.

He was apparently stoic enough that his councilors didn’t notice his brief moment of inattention and continued with the argument. Kroshka’s got her focus fully on Makhan now, reflexively baring her teeth even when she isn’t speaking.

“The Lady Proudmoore is our ally, and has the expertise we do not on this matter,” he goes on to explain, in a manner that he probably sees as calming but Kroshka definitely hears as patronizing.

“I know that, councilor, do not mistake me for a fool,” Kroshka snaps. “I just don’t think it wise to entrust this entirely to her when we know next to nothing about it, and she will have the advantage of learning every weakness in Orgrimmar’s defense just to set up the stupid thing.”

“Theramore is our ally- we must be willing to trust that she won’t,” he persists, meeting her glare head-on, very deliberately calm. “Besides- do we not already know Theramore’s weaknesses, from taking the city back from Admiral Proudmoore? Is this not just an equal exchange, the defense of her city for the defense of ours?” The growing friction between them unsettles the rest of the room little by little, the guards fidgeting at their posts. As much as Thrall hates to admit, whereas he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jaina would never use this knowledge against them, they’re right in being suspicious. It’s too precious a thing to just give blindly, and while she might not even think of it, someone else might. The thought is exhausting.

“We don’t have to make the decision right now,” Balmani reminds them gently. “We could just ask for advice- and for help if we needed it. But she and her Archmages don’t need to see every corner of the city for just some simple advice.” The two arguing orcs manage drag themselves away from their impromptu stare-down, and regard her thoughtfully. Tez’lipo, who’d been pensive for the most part, grimaces.

“And we can bring in the Darkspear arcanists, too- see what works best for us,” she adds. Tez’lipo purses her lips, and remains silent another moment.

“…It be a fair compromise,” she admits grudgingly. Thrall blinks, surprised. Kroshka looks absolutely betrayed, and Makhan looks about ready to swoop in for the kill, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “I will contact Vol’jin as soon as I can.”

“That settles it, then,” Thrall states with a note of finality, before Makhan tries to push for more and starts an actual fight between himself and Kroshka. Kroshka looks at him, alternating between pleading and infuriated, but ultimately gives. She makes no attempt to hide her displeasure, and Thrall would’ve called it pouting had she been much younger. Makhan goes to open his mouth, but Thrall shoots him a warning look, and it snaps shut right quick. For once, he is glad that he has the sort of misplaced reverence that he does, if only to solve squabbles quickly. He’ll get used to it eventually, he muses.

---

Because life is the way it is (and how it seems to enjoy being especially difficult and spiteful as of late), no sooner do they start to set up meetings to discuss construction of the barrier- not even the construction itself, just the talks to start the stupid thing- does yet another thing get dropped into his lap. Emissaries arrive from across the sea to contact him and other horde leaders in hopes of forming an alliance. However, the thing about these emissaries is that they’re all undead.

“I come representing Lady Sylvanas Windrunner and the Forsaken,” this one says, her Orcish remarkably articulate given that her jaw has clearly been replaced, the stark, bleached white of the bone standing out against the dingy grey of the rest of her exposed skeleton. Objectively, it’s not really that much- just the jaw and her arms from the elbow down- but the fact of the matter is, there shouldn’t be anything exposed at all, and this coupled with the rest of her appearance- skin pallid and corpse purple, tips of her finger bones still sharp as a ghoul’s, topped off with glowing yellow eyes- makes for a truly unsettling sight, indeed.

He’d caught them right as they’d been approaching the front gates of Orgrimmar, more out of sheer dumb luck than anything else; he’d been riding back from the little village the Darkspear set up on the coast, and had come upon them attempting to convince the guards to let them pass a message, presumably onto him. The guards visibly bristle at her presence, but she merely waits patiently for his response, her own guards standing at attention and the flagbearer fighting not to fidget nervously. There is a white flag in one hand, but the banner they carry in the other (ragged but clean, stitched up and faded and lovingly put back together from scraps by careful hands) bears the painted image of half a humanoid face, a mask perhaps, accented by arrows and dark feathers. It’s by no means any faction he’s heard of or seen. He doesn’t say as much, not wanting to offend something that could easily just be a scourge offshoot, but he doesn’t appear to have to.

“What is it that you want?” one of the guards asks warily. It’s the same one who had wanted to strangle him, and she’s not leaving her post but her hand is firm around her spear, ready to defend at a moment’s notice.

“We wish to speak with your Warchief,” she replies. “We wish to extend the hand of friendship and if possible, pledge our allegiance to the Horde.” Thrall quirks an eyebrow at this, surprised. A forward statement, that. She glances towards him, assessing; probably trying to figure out if he’s the one they’re meant to be appealing to, here. The armor is probably what gave him away.

“What use do you have for an alliance with a faction an entire sea away from you?” he asks, not unkindly. Especially your former enemy, he does not say. The emissary swallows and seems to dig her heels into the ground below her tattered shoes.

“The Forsaken seek friends and safe harbor here,” she replies. “Just as we can give you the same in Lordaeron.” Thrall pauses and thinks it over for a moment. He doubts they’re some offshoot of the Scourge; the gesture is too sincere, the request too desperate. He does not deny that there is something about them that sends a prickle of tension up his spine, something about them that grates just enough for to be unsettling. The elements whisper warnings of trickery from creatures like these, stuck in a half-life with nothing much to lose, but their existence doesn’t seem to be an easy or happy one, and he knows that the elements tend to take black and white stances on matters such as these. They often took some convincing if something didn’t quite line up with their absolutes.

“We will consider it,” he says after some time has passed. The emissary mostly succeeds in containing her relief and keeping her composure.

“Thank you,” she says, politely curtseying, dark robes clutched delicately in her sharpened fingers. A noticeable amount of his guard seem confused at the motion, the very idea of it incomprehensibly foreign. “We will return to our camp, then, until you give us the word.” Thrall nods, humming his consent.

“Farewell, Warchief,” she says, bowing her head.

“Take care,” he replies, and surprises himself with how much he means it.

---

Predictably, when Thrall first brings it up to his council, not one of them is happy about it.

“How can we trust them?” Makhan asks, sharp and surprisingly direct with his intentions. No spells rise from his fist or mouth but Thrall can recognize the unseen crackle of energy beginning to gather around him. He supposes, out of all of them, Makhan trusts dark magic the least. “How do we know that the Scourge hasn’t come for the Horde as well?” The room is relatively quiet, murmurs of assent circling around the table, until Kroshka breaks the quiet with an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“They deserve a chance,” she says, her voice at about half the volume it usually was. “We should consider them,” she adds, firmer this time. Tez’lipo looks at Kroshka a little exasperatedly, but not nearly as much as Makhan, who has carefully schooled his expression into one that doesn’t immediately scream, “I’m going to murder you in cold blood with my bare hands.” It’s probably not as successful as he hopes.

“This shouldn’t even be a question,” he asserts. “They are dark creatures of dark magicks. We have no reason to trust them, let alone ally ourselves with them.”

“We aren’t so much different on that matter, ourselves,” Kroshka points out, guarded, red eyes narrowed and gritted teeth glinting. “If they broke from the shackles of the Scourge as we did the Legion, then how are we to say that we’re too good for them?” Makhan’s expression shows no visible changes and yet a dark, quiet sort of fury passes over him like storm clouds. They stare each other down for a breath too long, neither backing down.

“We should at least consider their proposal,” Balmani says, breaking the tension at least for the moment. “See what good can come of it, if any. What is your opinion on this matter, Warchief?” she asks, firmly placing attention back on him. Wordlessly, one right after the other, they look to him, waiting for his decision, each of their expressions carefully guarded.

“Let’s at least take the time to look over all aspects of this,” Thrall says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “It took them a lot of courage to walk right up to the gates of Orgrimmar and ask to be let in. We owe them that much, at least.” Balmani nods in agreement, and Makhan is barely hiding a petty grimace.

The rest of that first meeting finishes with the expected bumps and bruises, along with a few more that he honestly should have expected. But they get through it, and that’s the important thing to consider, he supposes. The next couple go a little bit better, but that’s probably less because of his councilors coming around and more that so much happens so quickly that they’re too exhausted to try and fight it as hard as they normally would. What happens as follows is that one: the Darkspear lose the Echo Isles in a last-minute betrayal from one of their own, two: more Forsaken emissaries arrive on the doorstep of both Thunderbluff and the newly constructed Sen’jin village on the coast, and three: the Druids succeed with building a second world tree, for better or worse.

The first two he’s neck-deep in right as soon as they happen, receiving messages from Vol’jin first about Zalazane’s treachery and asking for his people to be cared for, and the latter they discover long after it had happened.

The Darkspear’s already-small numbers shrink further still in the wake of their betrayal, fleeing the Echo Isles before they could fall under the sway of the mutinous witch doctor. This is another cut into Vol’jin’s still-healing wounds, the hurt from the death of his father not even scabbed over.

“We knew this was going t’ happen,” he tells Thrall, voice hoarse. “When we were young. We both had visions of this. Just.” He pauses, trying not to choke. “Just didn’t think it was set in stone.” It’s nighttime in Grommash Hold, closer to morning than not when Vol’jin arrived with a throng of displaced Darkspear in tow. The sky is still very much dark, but not quite the total inky blackness of night, paling with the creeping arrival of the sun. Thrall hadn’t even been sleeping when he’d arrived, staying up a bit later than he’d originally intended to converse with Jaina over the gossip stones.

(He tells the guards that arrive at his door to wake him and instead find him already awake that he’d been having trouble sleeping, and it’s only a half-lie. This does not assuage the guilt and embarrassment pooling in his stomach at nearly being caught.)

He and Vol’jin are in the war room, a smaller room off to the side of the throne room, and it’s just the two of them and two Kor’kron, a couple more roaming the halls but the majority of them Thrall had ordered to help make accommodations for Vol’jin’s people. The only source of light is a lone torch, not bothering to light the other ones when it was just going to be the two of them. Truthfully, they didn’t really know each other that well yet; not really. They worked together when needed, sure, and worked together well at that, each complimenting each other’s strengths and covering each other’s weaknesses, but they hadn’t really spent much time together outside of battle or politics. Even this isn’t outside that realm, but this had been made much more personal with how vicious a treachery it had been.

“What happened, exactly?” he asks. He’d been given a basic understanding of it prior to this, but none of the details.

“Didn’t get to look at him for too long before he started enslaving us, but. Think he’s being mounted by a loa. Not one of ours; probably one skulking around the island long before we got there.”

Vol’jin goes quiet for a bit, thoughtful, and Thrall isn’t sure what to say to this, at first, reaching at straws.

“Can he be reasoned with?” he asks hesitantly. It’s not the wisest thing he could have said, and he realizes this immediately when Vol’jin turns and his eyes are burning with anger.

“Don’t you think I would’ve done that already if I could?” Vol’jin snaps, revealing large, sharpened teeth with an angry smirk. “He was my best friend. What could I have done to stop this that I hadn’t done already?” Thrall’s mouth shuts with an audible click, and the room goes agonizingly silent. Vol’jin’s anger melts away wax-quick, leaving fatigue in its place. He’d always been a moody creature; at least for as long as Thrall knew him. That might not have been a fair measure of him, granted, seeing as the two of them have only known each other in times of turmoil.

“M’ sorry,” Vol’jin tells him quietly. “I just. I’m so tired of this.”

“I understand, Vol’jin,” Thrall tells him gently. “I know.”

“Why can’t we just live in peace,” he mumbles a little wistfully, and Thrall’s not sure if that was meant to be out loud, the troll staring into the middle distance as he says this. Thrall bites back a bitter chuckle and doesn’t say what they’re both thinking: We haven’t earned it yet. We’ve both come from empires of war and blood; we have not yet earned the privilege of peace.

Vol’jin however, does not, laughing grimly in the dark seemingly at nothing.

The sun is just starting to crawl over the horizon when they finally finish their plans- for accommodations here, for the additional construction of the village on the coast so the Darkspear weren’t trapped within the walls of a city and culture that wasn’t theirs, and for the counterattack- and they’re both tired, obviously, but things are a little easier, now, between them. There’s a comradery that wasn’t there before, and Thrall can see it in the thankfulness of the troll’s words, the mischievous gleam returning to his expression before too long. Their hands brush more than once over the map on the table, plotting out their strategies, and Vol’jin doesn’t recoil like he normally would, fussy as a cat. At some point he makes himself at home, stretching out his long legs under the table, one of feet next to Thrall’s with nary any space between them. Thrall is a little surprised that he, himself, is not recoiling, either. When he finally is able to rest that day, sleep comes easily for the first time in days. He hopes it comes easy to Vol’jin as well.

In order to accommodate the sudden population jump, he furthers construction in the western part of the city, plotting out buildings around the trickling stream flowing through there. No one’s really too happy about this- they had just about finished everything before this, and it’d taken them months, over a year at this point- but there’s not really anything to be done about it. The Darkspear need a place to live, and they’re Horde. Orgrimmar will make one for them. It’s that simple.

The orcs don’t view this as charity in any measure, as humans would; it’s not that it’s the right thing to do, it’s just something that needs to be done. The Darkspear are Horde, and the Horde protects its own. It’s nothing more complicated than that. And besides, it’s not as if the Darkspear don’t lend a hand in the construction of their own homes. They make a point of it to, both in Orgrimmar and in Sen’jin.

Vol’jin decides to stay in the city for the time being. He trusts his old master to watch the village well enough, and besides that, he wants to keep an eye on his people in the city. Wants to see how this Horde really works, as he says. The village is only a couple hours’ ride away over land, and even faster by wyvern, so there’s no real worry if he does have to head back home quickly. He does appreciate the Valley of Spirits being there as a place to lay his head, however.

This whole thing takes up so much of Thrall’s time and attention that he almost doesn’t notice the nightelves’ pointed retreat away from the edge of Ashenvale. It’s rather strange, however, because there’s hardly any sign of them anywhere, anymore. He makes sure not to let the Warsong move further into the forest than they already have, not wanting to upset their agreement with the Kaldorei, even if that upsets the Warsong, but it’s just so odd to suddenly not have eyes in the forest on them at all times.

Then, scouting reports from the other end of Ashenvale finally come in; off the coast, in the horizon, suddenly appeared the silhouette of a truly massive tree. The druids must have succeeded, then. He wonders if Tyrande allowed them or if they did this of their own accord. Probably the latter, he thinks, a half-hearted, bitter smile curling the edges of his mouth. They hadn’t really directly communicated by any means since Hyjal, admittedly, but he does hope she’s alright.

He doesn’t miss, however, the Forsaken’s further attempts to warm up to the Horde as a whole. Shortly after the betrayal, more emissaries appeared, offering their services to the Darkspear as a show of goodwill and sympathy. The Darkspear, being the suspicious bunch that they are and rightfully so when faced with a combination of one their worst enemies and a dark, ancient magic they’d just barely managed to sever themselves from, react surprisingly calmly; they thank them for the offer, but firmly send them on their way.

The Forsaken have more luck with the Tauren, strangely enough, who welcome them in like they’re taking in strays from the cold. It isn’t too long before he starts receiving messages from Thunder Bluff, specifically from their druids, who apparently took it upon themselves personally to aid the Forsaken in their plight to restore their humanity.

The Horde is nothing if not safe harbor for the lost and the cursed, the Archdruid writes in his surprisingly small, neat print. In my time spent with the Forsaken, I have only seen an unfortunate people struck with a fate worse than death who only seek to cure themselves of it. They are no Scourge, by any means; they deserve all the help we can give them.

Thrall does not deny that the Forsaken don’t really have anything to offer them; sure, a safe link back to the Eastern Kingdoms could prove useful, but how useful is it, really, when they had left in the first place to cut themselves off from the plague, not to mention the humans and the Alliance. However, he doesn’t deny that the Forsaken desperately need an ally, either, and that the Horde could be that ally. So when the question is brought up again to his council, he says:

“We should give them a chance, at the very least.” At this, the looks he receives are tired and wary, but they don’t argue with him.

“If that is what you feel is best, Warchief,” Makhan replies, brow furrowed more out of fatigue than anything else. He rubs his temples with one hand, sighing.

“Make sure you tell dem that,” Vol’jin says to his right, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to, presumably, where the emissaries have made their camp outside the walls of the city. “Gettin’ a little sad watching them perk up every time a guard walks past,” he continues, smirking. Thrall does his best to glare at him, but it’s clear, to Vol’jin at least, that he’s trying not to laugh. Vol’jin kicks him under the table. It’s playful, mostly.

All the same, the emissaries are all too happy to be let in, finally, even if the city guard still looks wary of them. They’ve grown reasonably used to them by this point, but there’s a bit of a difference between seeing them on a daily basis outside the city walls, and seeing the undead roaming the city streets. The common folk are a bit wary as well, but if their hesitance bothers the Forsaken in question, it doesn’t show. He realizes with a strange sort of sympathy that they’re probably used to it by now. Nonetheless, they make themselves quite at home in the keep, descending upon the quarters given to them with gusto.

Admittedly, Thrall wasn’t expecting to have the guest quarters of the keep taken up so quickly. He knows it’s desperation, mostly, that drove the Forsaken into the arms of the Horde, but it’s still surprisingly pleasant to see other factions vying for their favor rather than condemning them. It’s probably a pleasant surprise to them, as well, to be welcomed in like this. Still, should this go well, he should probably look into setting up a proper embassy.

The emissary, Margaret Appleton, is surprisingly not out of place when sitting at his council table. She almost pointedly chooses to sit beside Balmani, who pulls out a chair for her, and glances at everyone sitting around the table, skeletal hands folded placidly in front of her. This, unfortunately, puts her on Makhan’s other side, but if she senses his suspicion she doesn’t show it. Makhan to his credit keeps it to himself for the most part, knowing exactly when to keep himself in check. She tips her head at him, and Thrall’s come to understand that, without the luxury of having lips, that’s meant to be a smile. Makhan returns the gesture.

She lays out their suggested terms in remarkably short order, though he supposes at this point, they’ve had months to prepare for this first meeting. If she’s nervous, she does a good job of hiding it, keeping her shoulders back and her head held up high. Obviously, going through and finalizing the terms isn’t nearly as quick. The first meeting goes surprisingly alright, but it is, without a doubt, the first of many; it actually surprises him how much the Forsaken ask for, and what they offer in return. It’s a bold move on their part, though he suspects that they had figured that this first meeting would make or break any potential alliances between them. Better to have their intentions laid out before them right from the start than say that they didn’t try their hardest, he supposes.

---

Time marches on, as it is wont to do, and it isn’t too long until finally, finally, the base construction of the city is fully completed. It’s a little strange now, to go outside the keep and not hear the constant noise of building, the work of wood and iron.

He tries to keep in touch with Jaina the best he can, and it’s a little easier with one of his major concerns taken care of for the time being. However, another major concern- the Forsaken and their possible place within the Horde- seems to be making things harder for them both. He had assumed that the Forsaken, in their going up to everyone’s doorstep and ringing the bell, had gone to Theramore, as well. Jaina had not even heard of them until her own scouts had come back with reports of the undead somehow having made it to Kalimdor. Apparently, they hadn’t even bothered with her.

She contacts him in a panic, whispering frantically into the gossip stone as if she had left in the middle of whatever she was doing to tell him this, and given that it was the middle of the day and the sound of other people talking was in the background, this is entirely likely. When she had called, he had just happened to be in his chambers at the time, out of coincidence more than anything else. He can’t even remember why he had gone there in the first place, reason lost upon hearing the hum of the rune stone resonate through the room.

“Thrall,” she whispers, a little muffled like she’s cupping her hand around her mouth. “There is something extremely important I have to tell you, that you need to know immediately.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, anxiety spiking, thoughts racing to fill in the gaps with horrible possibilities.

“My scouts discovered a Scourge caravan travelling through the Barrens,” she tells him gravely, fear lacing her breath. She’s moving, he thinks, there’s rustling and the background noise of people talking is slowly getting quieter. “There’s not that many of them, but this can’t be the only group. We have to take care of this as quickly as possible. I don’t know how they could’ve gotten over here without us noticing them for so long.”

“How many exactly?” he asks, already calculating what they would need to take care of this, how quickly they could gather forces and when.

“No more than a dozen, at least in the group my scouts had found,” she explains. “We think they’re ghouls, but we’re not sure; their behavior was extremely bizarre.”

“How so?”

“They seemed to actually have some kind of coherence and cognizance, but none of them bore the armor of a death knight,” she continues, voice strained. “A few of them were holding banners, but it didn’t look like any Scourge regalia we’ve seen before.” Thrall blinks. Pauses for a minute.

“Jaina, could you- did your scouts happened to see what was on it?” he asks carefully.

“Um,” she starts, swallowing, trying to remember. “They didn’t get too close but from what they could see of it, it looked like some kind of face with arrows sticking out of it. Why? What of it?”

Thrall takes a deep breath.

“Jaina, I believe your scouts have come across the Forsaken,” he explains. “They’re undead that’ve splintered away from the Scourge and formed their own forces to combat them.”

Jaina went silent for a solid minute, and every second that passed was agony, until finally, Thrall could take no more and continued, despite her shock.

“They had come to Kalimdor to try and curry favor with whoever they could; I had. I had assumed that you would be included in that.”

“…Did-” She hiccups. “-Did they come to you?” Jaina asks after another moment, voice cracking. He hesitated in answering.

“Yes,” he replies finally. “And the Darkspear, and the Bloodhoof.” It was silent again, the words ‘but not to you’ going unsaid, but hanging in the air, just the same. She’s finally gotten to a quiet room, it seemed, because no noise lingered in the background save for her muffled, uneven breaths. All he can hear is that, and it’s somehow deafening, clenching his jaw too tight while anxiety’s choking fingers worked their way around his lungs and heart.

“They don’t mean us any harm, I’m pretty sure,” he says finally, dragging the words out of himself. “They just were looking to find friends where they could.”

“Well, yes,” she replies sarcastically, voice thick with held back tears. “And obviously they’re not going to come back to the people that abandoned them.”

“Jaina, no,” he starts. “You couldn’t have known this would happen.” Jaina inhales shakily on the other end, the sound gutting him.

“I didn’t-” She cuts off, sniffling. She catches her breath, trying again. “I didn’t really try that hard to stop him, either, did I,” she continues. “All- all I did was just-” She cuts off again, interrupted by her own tears. “-walk away. I didn’t even t-try to talk to him. If I had just-”

“Jaina, stop,” he interrupts, unable to take any more. “You couldn’t have stopped Arthas. You couldn’t have known this would happen. It’s not your fault.” At the mention of his name, Jaina goes quiet, save the shuddering breaths he could hear coming through the line. Neither of them spoke for an uncomfortably long moment, and Thrall just lingers on his end, unable to speak but unable to sever himself from this. Irrationally, he feels like his throat was closing up, worry tightening its grip on him. Eventually, Jaina speaks again, after having calming herself enough to be coherent.

“I appreciate it, but,” she says, voice flat with the sort of apathy that only comes from emotional exhaustion. “I don’t think I can really believe you right now.”

“Jaina,” he says, again, as if saying her name enough times, mumbling it like a prayer, would somehow get through to her. “It’s not your fault. I know you. I know that if you had known about this, you would have done everything in your power to prevent this or help.” His heart is big and hot in his closed-up throat, pounding rapid-fire against its constriction.

“You didn’t abandon them,” he tells her. “You just didn’t know. Believe me. Please.” Jaina is silent, still, and it kills him.

“Jaina,” he says again, begs, a holy word falling from his lips. “Please.”

“…I’ll try,” she replies, finally. Relief floods through him. “That’s the best I can do for right now.”

“That’s fine,” he says, a little too quickly. “That’s- that’s fine.” She pauses, breathing in slowly.

“…Would it be alright if I came to visit you later this evening?” she asks softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t kidnap you again. We can just, um. Meet on the beach outside the city. I can meet you there, rather.”

“Yes,” he replied. “That’s fine. That’s just fine. Please, just. Don’t blame yourself for things that were never yours to control.” Jaina snorts quietly, and he knows it’s a bit hypocritical coming from him. He knows. It’s also how he recognizes it in other people, Jaina included.

“Just humor me, here,” he asks, laughter creeping into his voice as the tension finally works itself from his body.

“Alright,” she relents. “I’ll try to, anyway.” Thrall sighs, relaxing gradually.

“I should get back,” she says. “I’ll see you tonight, alright?”

“You weren’t really specific when you said where. How are we supposed to meet up?” he asks.

“Don’t you worry about that; I’ll be able to find you, wherever you go,” she replies, a half-hearted attempt at humor. Her words don’t quite have the intended effect, he thinks; he can’t quite laugh.

“See you then,” he tells her. The line goes dead, and he becomes acutely aware of his own pulse, resonating through the stone in his hand. Her words remain with him the rest of the day, warmth prickling through his fingers.

The rest of the day is spent with a low grade anxiety buzzing in the background, worried about her current state, mingling with an off-and-on anticipation of seeing her in the flesh for the first time in months. He hasn’t seen her since- since she kidnapped him, actually.

Shortly after supper- after somehow convincing his guards to let him leave for the evening- he makes his way to the shoreline, moonlight gleaming overhead. The sky is clear and the stars are bright, the ocean a comforting white noise on the edge of his periphery. True to her word, he doesn’t wander around for too long before she appears, the very visage of the land warping and tearing a hole for her to delicately step through, announcing her presence with soundless blue light and dissipating once her feet touch the ground. She’s not quite as animated as she usually is, slow and sluggish as she brushes the dust off of her cloak and gets herself in order. There are pronounced bags under her eyes, and while they’re not bloodshot, they’re still a little pink, like they were just recently.

“Glad you could make it,” he tells her sincerely. She smiles briefly, a shy little thing hidden behind her hand while she tucks her hair behind her ear. She doesn’t reply for a moment.

“Thank you,” she says. “For making time for me.”

“It’s really no trouble,” he assures her.

“I know how busy it gets,” she points out. “And I know I haven’t really… been there, as of late.” She sounds drained. “I haven’t been there for you as much as I should have, and I’m sorry.”

Her words from before linger, still, and warmth pools in his ribs.

“You’ve done far more for me than you give yourself credit for,” he tells her, the words oddly heavy on his tongue. She doesn’t quite grimace at this; she probably tried to hold it back and did for the most part, but couldn’t quite help the first bit of it slipping through.

“If you say so,” she allows. “Shall we, then?” He nods, and they start down the shoreline. It’s some time more before they speak again, taking solace in the simple peace of the ocean lapping gently at the shore, in the light of the two moons rippling on the surface of the churning sea.

“I thought about it for a while,” Jaina starts, breaking the silence between them. “It’s funny, actually- after I came back from talking with you, and told my councilors how it would be safer to wait on planning an attack until we gathered more information, suddenly all they wanted to do was talk about improving relations with Orgrimmar, and work on the parameters for the spell shield.” She smirks, a frustrated twist of chapped, pink lips. “I’d been trying to get it approved for weeks. It’s incredible, really.” Thrall rubs his temples, a headache starting to brew.

“How terribly convenient,” Thrall mutters.

“Isn’t it, though,” Jaina adds, salty. “It’s not enough that we were very nearly destroyed by something that saw us as little more than insects and could’ve slain everyone with a single thought; no, there has to be a constant fear of annihilation to get this truce to work.” Thrall chuckles grimly.

“Well if it works, it works,” he replies, bemused. Jaina laughs.

“Anyway, um,” she starts again. “We did end up getting more scouting reports back after I had talked to you, and confirmed what you said. My councilors are, uh,” she trails off.

“They’re not too happy, I take it?” he asks, tone apologetic.

“Oh yes, obviously- but about what, I’m not sure,” she replies. “I can’t tell what they’re the most upset over: the fact that Lordaeron’s natives never left their homeland even though they shuffled their mortal coils, that they started courting the Horde without our knowledge and the Horde began reciprocating, or that they didn’t even bother to try to contact us at all, even though I’m almost completely certain that if they actually did come to our doorstep, my councilors would have shooed them away.”

“Honestly, they’re just- they’re so transparent, and fickle, and are only just now considering this alliance to be a serious investment now that they’ve realized that we will probably die without it.” Jaina stares listlessly at the ground and sighs.

“The point I’m trying to make is… even if this doesn’t work out, somehow, between Theramore and the Horde and the Forsaken, or everyone and everyone, really…” She trails off, ponders a bit on what to say.

“I’m going to try harder,” she decides on. “I’m going to work harder to make this work, so if it doesn’t, I can least say that I tried. I’m not going to just leave everything to you while my councilors try and hold me hostage in that god-damned tower with arbitrary political nonsense while innocent people suffer from our indecision.”

“So here’s what I’m going to do,” she continues. “I’ve started drawing up some plans on an Inn I want built in the marsh. It can be a way-stop for everyone, regardless of faction. It’s a small step, I know, but small steps are better than none, at this point. Besides, it’s only fair. We weren’t the first ones in the marsh, and we shouldn’t just ignore the ones that actually were here first.” She takes a breath, turns and looks him in the eye.

“So, what do you think?” she asks, biting her lip. “Do you think it’ll work?”

Affection for his friend surges, along with a peculiar sort of ache that blooms under his breast, unfurling under her tired, gentle gaze, strangely sweet for all that it throbs. He manages a nod.

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” he tells her, and another shy little half-smile graces her lips. Her face comes into focus- her smile seems brighter, somehow, eyes bluer, and he can't quite swallow down the dry heat trickling up his throat.

---

Surprisingly, for the next couple of months, things actually go according to plan.

The barrier is planned and erected with little resistance (unsurprising once it became clear that the forsaken’s existence gave everyone a nice little reminder that the Legion and the Scourge are really only a hop and a skip away, ocean or no ocean), and the inn goes up at the side of a little dirt road trailing through the marsh. Jaina had expressed interest in widening this road, to hopefully make it a main trade route between Orgrimmar and Theramore, and this, too, happened without much resistance.

The Forsaken continue their courtship with the Horde, easing themselves into a niche carefully carved out just for them and taking root. Despite himself, Makhan takes a shine to the ambassador, Appleton, who more than once comes to his aid in debates with the others. They seem to have similar methods of achieving their ends, as well as similar ends themselves, the once-ghoul just as sharp and calculating as he is. It’s probably why she was picked for the job.

Appleton orchestrates a visit from the Lady Sylvanas herself- with approval from the rest of the council, of course- one wherein all the leaders of the Horde would sit down at the same table to welcome her into the fold. Now, this one makes everyone a little nervous, and for good reason. The Forsaken are loathe to let their queen wander into the fortress of a faction they’d previously hated and were just now starting to get to know, and the Horde isn’t too pleased about the leader of faction they’d previously hated just waltzing in like nothing happened between the moment the dark portal opened and now.

They arrange for the Lady Windrunner to arrive via mage portal, this being yet another of Appleton’s many talents, apparently. The weather is well enough on the day she arrives; the sky is clear, and the sun is beating down on them like they’ve come to expect in Durotar. Thrall and a few of his personal guard are standing outside the main gate, waiting for Appleton and her assistants to construct the portal. She lays down the rune work herself, carefully tracing lines into the earth below them with a long staff and the large crystal attached to one end, and with the help of her two aides, conjures the portal into existence. The aides maintain the portal while she steps through, and after a few minutes, she returns with Windrunner in tow, helping her keep her balance as she steps through the portal.

Sylvanas Windrunner is about as intimidating as he expected she’d be. She’s a fair bit taller than any of her guard, and while he realizes that this is almost certainly because of her being a high elf, she’s still a fair bit taller than high elf he’s seen. She’s skinny as a whip with long limbs, long fingers, and with wiry muscle rippling under dusty, grey skin. This, coupled with her hair, coarse and drained of color, gave her an unearthly appearance. But the most intimidating thing about her had to be her eyes, red flames burning out the furnace of their sockets. This, coupled with a withering glare and a grimace that revealed a hint of sharp teeth, was what made a prickle of unease work its way up his spine. But he does his best to be cordial, as always; after all, he presents a rather intimidating visage himself, he realizes, towering over her with ease.

“Welcome,” he says in Common, and she can’t hide her surprise completely, glare losing a bit of its bite. “It’s good to finally meet you, Lady Windrunner.” He extends a hand for her to shake, and this surprises her, too, it seems, taking it tentatively.

“Thank you,” she replies softly, shaking his hand. He tries to be gentler, aware of the strength in his grip, but she meets him with a death grip, fingers wound tight around his. He cracks a smile at this. “It’s good to be here, Warchief.”

He and his guard escort her to Grommash Hold, and he takes note of the various buildings they pass as they make their way through the city. It took a long time to get Orgrimmar to this point, and he’s proud of it, proud of his people for building it. Sylvanas doesn’t reply back all that much, but she listens intently, looking to what he points out with a genuine curiosity. Appleton helps with this as well, adding stories of her own experiences with the city to the mix. It seems to help solidify this for Sylvanas, make it that much more real.

He’s not sure what she was expecting when they finally reach the hold, but this seems to impress her the most, a massive fortress of stone and clay built in record time, and as he leads her up the front steps and into the hold, she examines it a little more obviously, looking around the high ceiling. They already have a chair set up for her in the war room; by the time they get there, Cairne, Vol’jin, and his councilors have already arrived and gotten comfortable. Cairne pulls out her chair for her, easily done as it’s set next to his, and gestures for her to sit with a wave of his massive hand. She takes it, thanking him quietly, and her guard takes their place behind her, Appleton sitting on her other side.

There’s a moment where Thrall gets a little nervous; Vol’jin and Sylvanas regard each other from across the table, and it feels distinctly like two dangerous predators sizing each other up. He knows the evils that the trolls and elves have done to each other across the generations. He knew that there was very little chance of their first meeting not being nerve-wracking for everyone involved. But to his pleasant surprise, Vol’jin backs down first from their impromptu stare-down, breaking into a crooked grin. Sylvanas’ gaze softens, and she doesn’t quite smile back, but she nods her head at him, acknowledging it.

“You know, Warchief,” she starts quietly. “When my ambassador had come back to the Undercity regaling tales of your kindness and courtesy, I had assumed she’d been exaggerating. Orcish warlords haven’t really known for their compassion.” Thrall chuckles, and when Appleton quickly translates this to Orcish for the rest of the table, Cairne snorts and Vol’jin snickers loudly. “I’m glad to have been mistaken.”

“You’re lookin’ at the nicest fucker here,” Vol’jin says, gesturing to Thrall with a wide sweep of his hand. Sylvanas looks to Appleton again, and Appleton, despite looking exasperated with his crudeness, translates it effortlessly. Sylvanas allows herself a smirk at this, and for the first time in a very long time, he thinks that maybe things are going to work out- that things are actually going to be alright.

---

They do end up making a better memorial for Grom.

Thrall re-finds the canyon that he’d died in, easier now that the night elves have for the most part relocated to Teldrassil, and asks permission for a monument to be erected where he fell. Tyrande, surprisingly, gives it. It’s the first time they’ve communicated since the tree first fell, and he’s admittedly a little shocked that his messenger actually managed to make it through without being shot at or killed.

Anyone who could down a pit lord single-handedly deserves to be called a hero, Tyrande writes back. Thrall wonders if it would be worth it to send back a “thank you” or if that would be too risky, considering the danger risked sending it the first time around. They were not enemies anymore, true, but they certainly weren’t friendly. Or at least, the Horde and Darnassus as a whole weren’t friendly.

They end up constructing a large, stone monolith, with the runes of his name carved on all sides, and a message that Thrall writes himself. It is far more difficult choosing what words to leave behind than he could possibly imagine. In the end, he chooses to leave only a few, but Grom probably wouldn’t have wanted a manifesto to his memory, anyway. He would’ve kept it short, sweet, and to the point, and so, Thrall did.

They have a ceremony commemorating Grom, and their cities, and the peace they’ve achieved with his blood and others, to which Thrall invites all to attend. Very nearly the entire Warsong clan attends, including Kroshka, proudly wearing her clan’s emblem and colors. Cairne comes, and brings damn near the whole Bloodhoof tribe. Thrall hadn’t any idea that he’d had so many descendants, but his eldest is here, Baine, along with his wife and children, and all his siblings, and their spouses and children. Vol’jin follows suit, bringing his wives and their children, as well as what seems like the whole Darkspear tribe. Both of his wives seem to be hell-bent on embarrassing him, from what he can tell, gossiping with Cairne while he dandles one of his grandchildren on his knee and laughs while Vol’jin laughs as well but looks at them pleadingly. Tez’lipo and Balmani are lingering nearby, the troll doing her best not to laugh but failing miserably, and Balmani making no attempt to hide her chuckling whatsoever. Jaina comes late, because of course she does, arriving with a small guard squadron who look as if they would very much like not to be here, but they’re here, and that’s what counts. Curiously, there seems to be night elf dutifully following her around, no matter where she goes.

Sylvanas does not attend; he understands. She’s across the ocean, after all, and does send her usual representative in her place, along with a few others. Margaret Appleton takes her usual place among his councilors, along with her guard, chatting animatedly with Makhan, she wearing the Forsaken’s colors, and Makhan wearing the Shadowmoon’s.

Tyrande attends. This was not something he had expected at all.

He had sent an invitation yes, as a show of good faith and friendship, but he honestly hadn’t expected her to attend. She arrives with a throng of sentinels in tow, as well as Shandris Feathermoon. She’s as radiant as he remembers her being, shining with a fierce beauty that pierces through all that gaze upon her. He supposes being the living avatar of their goddess probably had something to do with that.

“It is good to see you,” she tells him, taking both of his hands in hers. Relief washes through him.

“And you as well,” he replies. “Thank you, again, for allowing me to do this.” She nods her head.

“We must do all that we can for peace,” she says, and it would be somber if not for the warmth emanating from her expression. He smiles, despite himself.

With Tyrande’s arrival, they start the ceremony, lighting candles around the monolith and leaving offerings there- small trinkets, mostly, with assumedly personal meaning, and Thrall recites the eulogy that he’d practiced many times but still could not get through without his eyes getting watery. Miracle of miracles, he manages to stave off the tears until after the baby-faced shaman lights the bonfire they’d built behind the monolith, in replacement of the pyre Grom could not have. If the Kor’kron noticed their Warchief staring silently into the fire while he blinked tears out of his eyes, they did not say a damn thing. It hurt, still, far more than he’d realized. Grom carved out a space for him to be, and Thrall still felt out of place, nearly two years of him being gone.

Afterwards, they have their feast. It had been tense at first, at the start of the day, but now, people were talking, and laughing, and enjoying themselves. He can hardly believe it’s happening.

Jaina finds him about three-quarters of the way through it, long after the sun has gone down and the only lights are that of the bonfire and the torches temporarily set up around the area. It hasn’t really quieted down at all, especially now that drink has been available for a while. Speaking of, Jaina is holding two cups in one hand and a bottle of whiskey under one arm as she tugs at his arm to get his attention.

“Look what I got for us,” she says conspiratorially, and he can’t tell if her cheeks are rosy or if the warm glow of the fire is making them look that way. “Managed to sneak away from Pained, finally.” She looks over her shoulder quickly, making sure of that, no doubt. Pained seems to be preoccupied with arm-wrestling the guard that wanted to strangle him.

“Oh, is that the name of your new shadow?” Thrall teases.

“Hey, shut up,” she replies, grinning even as he laughs in her face. “Do you want some of this or not?”

“Of course,” he says, and doesn’t even finish before she’s pouring them each a cup. “So who is she, anyway?”

“That would be the bodyguard Tyrande assigned to guard me during our stint at Hyjal,” she replies. Thrall thinks about this a moment.

“…Has she literally been following you around since Hyjal?” he asks. She grimaces exaggeratedly, nodding.

“Apparently, since Tyrande never technically relieved her of duty, she saw fit to just come home with me, no matter how many times I’ve told her that she’s allowed to leave,” she explains, exasperated and fond. “She’s nice enough, she’s just…”

“Relentless?” Thrall guesses.

“Well, that’s one word for it,” Jaina mutters, grinning when he breaks into laughter. “Come on, now, we can’t let this go to waste.” She hands him his cup. He’s tempted to tease further but lets it slide.

“Alright, cheers!” she exclaims, clinking her cup against his before downing it in one shot. He follows suit, the burn of the whiskey trailing all the way down.

“Well, we did it,” she says. The profundity of her words seems to come over her slowly, eyes going wide with the realization. “We kept the peace. Holy hell, we did it.”

“We did it,” Thrall agrees, and when Jaina grins at him, wide and affectionate, his pulse stutters.

“We started out a little rocky, yes,” she admits. “But we’ve managed to pull it off for this long.” She looks at him for a moment, strangely nervous, and he can’t quite stop looking at the firelight reflecting off of her irises, both anxious and excited at once.

“I’m glad it was you that I did this with,” she tells him sincerely. She weaves her fingers through his the best she can, and his pulse jumps again.

“I’m glad it was you, too,” he replies, reciprocating in kind as gently as she can. She grins at him again, open and warm, squeezing his hand while the firelight dances across her face, and his heart threatens to burst from his ribs.

He thinks- he thinks that this whole thing, between them, between the Alliance and Horde and Nightelves and Forsaken and whoever else comes to be part of them, whoever it may be- he thinks that it’ll be alright. They’ll make room for whoever wants to be here. They’ll work out just fine.

#warcraft #warcraft 3 #thraina #thrall #Jaina Proudmoore

29 notes · View notes