#had to ride in the middle of the road not to be blown away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

You were the warmth and light to Bucky’s shadows and brooding nature — a match made in heaven, and it was a miracle that a certain someone realised as much.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿ Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✿ 2.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✿ Fluff, mention of alcohol

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✿ My very first grumpy x sunshine fic, and it was hella fun! a huge thank you to all those who listened to me deliberate what the hell to do with it! ✿ A huge thank you to @mxaether for the fact checking and guidance - you were a huge help!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✿ Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✿ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟯 — Tattoo AU — Masterlist

𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The anniversary of 107th Ink was always going to be special, and this one perhaps was one of the biggest years – seven whole years since both Bucky and Stevie had walked through those doors with a dream, a dream that had flourished and blown up with their combined talents and charisma.

In order to celebrate, 107th Ink had announced a surprise flash day. And, as anyone would have expected from the fastest growing tattoo parlour in the area, it was chaos – actually, chaotic was an understatement, and for this very reason, you had parked your car a block away from Bucky’s shop with a box of donuts in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

You would be a sight for sore, tired eyes, that was for sure.

Bucky’s Harley was parked on the verge, the shining red paint and reflective chrome shone in the light of the setting sun. The many rides you had taken with Bucky on that very bike came to the forefront of your mind, and you smiled fondly at the memories; the time he had taken you down the back roads for a picnic after you had finally convinced him to put his machine down, or that time that he took you down the highway, resting his hand on yours that had looped tightly around his middle.

You and Bucky had been friends for years – he was certainly by far the gruffest and honest to god most intimidating man you had ever met, but somehow, he softened around you. Ever since Natasha had introduced you to him, you had felt an instant connection to the infamous brooding vet, and it left the two of you on a path you had no idea how to navigate. It was becoming difficult to ignore the butterflies that crowded your entire being when he flashed you a rare smile, or called you his Sunshine.

But that was a thought for another day – Bucky needed his Jacks and Stevie would need his donuts, not to mention Nat and Peter squirrelling away what they could of either offering.

And, after your own intense and exhausting day with work and clients, you had to admit, it would be nice to see your friends.

The door to the shop swung open with a clink of the bell, and you took in the scene. Bucky’s interior design choices screamed Rock’n’Roll with guitars lining the walls, all in various states of artistic liberty of designs and signatures. Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me played quietly over the hustle and bustle, a constant background noise amongst the many conversations held between artists and clients you could only just hear. Soft lighting illuminated the entry and reception where black leather couches were placed cosily – no clients were lazing about so you suspected they were all in the booths. The shining tiled floor reflected the reds of the walls and the mahogany oak accents like it was freshly polished.

Bucky’s standards of professionalism and cleanliness were high, and hell hath no fury for anyone that compromised them.

“Hey, Sunshine!” A bright voice called from an open door – Peter’s booth, and you looked over to see the aforementioned excited apprentice poking his head out. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes-” You stifled a laugh, smiling instead. “Bucky is just over there,” Peter said, gesturing towards a closed door. “He’ll be out soon, nervous client.”

“Thanks, Pete,” you said, and he grinned at you and the donuts in your hand before disappearing back into the booth.

As expected, time passed slowly and you watched while a couple of clients milled out of the booths – Stevie’s, Nat’s and Peter’s. You caught sight of Stevie and Nat occasionally, and they spared you an excited wave or smile when they could – their gazes drifting to the treats you had brought with you.

The sun had set by the time Bucky’s booth had any sign of movement. His door opened and a timid young woman appeared in the doorway – she was speaking over her shoulder and once she glanced towards the couches, you gave her a soft smile and she walked past you to Peter at the front desk to pay.

Peter greeted her happily and began the process of the transaction, but heavy boot falls in the booth made your gaze snap towards the source, smiling wide at finding Bucky leaning against the frame, arms crossed so his tattoos rippled and moved with the corded muscle. He was staring at you with a blank expression, null and void of any tells, though there was a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that filled your heart and fuelled the butterflies to a dull roar.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you!” You rushed, getting to your feet just as the young woman left the shop. As soon as she was out the door, there was a collective exhale of breath in relief. “Tough day?”

“What gave it away, Sunny?” Steve groaned as he stood in the doorway of his own booth, rubbing his face and mussing his hair and neatly trimmed beard. “It seemed that flash day means all the tough clients come outta the woods at once.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nat piped up, stretching to the ceiling and cracking her back. The burgundy leather jacket she wore gleamed in the low light while it complemented her creeping neck tattoos. “I had all the sweet ones then.”

“Yeah, because you intimidate the shit out of ‘em, Nat,” Bucky said, a brow raised in challenge. Nat only shrugged, a coy grin on her blood red lips.

“Today was fun though,” Peter yawned, and you watched as Bucky and Steve rolled their eyes in unison.

“Trust the apprentice to be all rainbows and shit,” Bucky mumbled. “Let’s close up for the night. I wanna go home.”

Everyone left the reception in favour of returning to their booths, and you followed behind Bucky, bottle of Jacks in hand. The donuts lay on the table amongst the neatly stacked portfolios for later – that’s if Steve and Nat didn’t run off with them before you could walk out the door.

“How are you feeling, Buck?” You asked, watching as he flexed his left arm and clenched his hand in a fist before releasing it with a wince. “Are you alright?”

Bucky looked over at you and nodded once. “‘M fine, sweetheart,” he said softly while he cleaned up the tray of ink caps and the rest of his station. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good,” you said, maybe a little too quick, because Bucky’s gaze snapped up and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I’m being honest-”

Slowly, Bucky stepped around from his cart and came to stand right in front of you, his gaze heavy with that critical eye and his habit for problem solving. “No, you’re not, Sunshine.”

Damn it, you cursed in your head, and it must have traitorously flickered across your expression because Bucky hesitated only slightly before his arms suddenly enveloped you and pulled you against his chest. The sudden movement forced a quiet, “oof!” from your lips before you could bite it back – though the feeling of him holding you, as rare as it was, was never unwelcome.

“I know you like hugs, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his voice just a low rumble in his chest. “Jus’ lemme hold you for a minute, alright?”

Your heart seized and tears burned in the corner of your eyes at his words. Bucky held you so tightly and you were forced to loop your arms around his middle while you rested your cheek on his shoulder – it was indescribable.

Touch was not something Bucky gave freely – sure, it was his job to touch and manipulate and move clients, but it never meant anything more than him just doing his job. He never initiated a hug to Nat, Steve, or even Peter, it was something entirely off the table for him, though here he was, pushing past what he would normally be comfortable with and initiating such a tender embrace to you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you mumbled. Bucky squeezed you tight for just a second in reply, and when he relaxed his hold, the vice in your chest had lessened significantly.

“Jus’ wanna take care of my girl, ‘s all,” Bucky said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you stiffened.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky hastened, his voice suddenly sharp and he pulled away, leaving you standing by the chair, dumbfounded and in shock. “Forget I said anything, let’s get outta here, huh?”

“No, no wait,” you rushed forward, grabbing his arm while you felt your eyes shine with tears – from what: fear, shock, or happiness, you couldn’t tell. “What did you say?”

A long stretch of silence passed before Bucky met your pleading gaze, but he was frowning slightly, as if he was considering every outcome in the blink of an eye. It was unbearable, and you shook his arm slightly, ignoring the way the muscles didn’t budge under your grip.

“I said I wanted to take care of my girl.”

The tension cracked and split like a whip had cleaved through it, and a heavy breath left your lips. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding stiffly.

“Are you-” You tried, but stopped. The sudden dryness in your mouth made it difficult to form the words. “Are you saying… what I think you’re saying?”

Bucky held your stare. “Yes.”

“Oh, my god,” you rushed, and you slammed into his chest to wrap your arms around his middle again – this time he was the one that let out a surprised “oof!” before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“Took you fuckin’ long enough!” Steve cried suddenly and you whirled around. Somehow, while engrossed in your panicked train of thought, and Bucky being stuck in his own version of panicking, Steve and Nat had quietly opened the door to eavesdrop. “Nat, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Dammit,” Nat grumbled before her heels clicked on the floor, the sound muffling the further she walked away.

The fact that they had placed bets on this didn’t leave you feeling surprised in the slightest, if you were honest – Nat had known something was up, naturally, and she made it a point to stare expectantly whenever you would become flustered by literally anything Bucky did: paying special attention to you, calling you Sunshine, or how he was fiercely protective of you, all of which you found out when you went out to coffee with her. She had snorted and laughed at the obviously hilarious expression of shock upon finding any of that out – you had thought you were subtle, dammit.

Stevie, well, he was Bucky’s best friend – you can only hide so much from the person you were with most, if not all of the working day. It also didn’t help Stevie was a nosy sonofabitch on the best of days. “Can’t make a plan without all the variables, Sunny,” Stevie would say smugly whenever you questioned him, a proud, knowing smirk on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You glanced up at Bucky to see him burning holes through the door to the back of his friends as they made a hasty retreat – there was no way he was clued in on that little game.

“Hey, guys, wait up!” Peter yelled as the bell sounded, followed by his rushed footsteps. “See you tomorrow, Boss!” Bucky didn’t reply as the door closed behind Peter and the shop was silent again – just the two of you.

The slight furrow in his brow and the pensive frown on his lips made your hands grow clammy with nervous sweat; you couldn’t tell what Bucky was thinking, and it was infuriating.

Minutes stretched by, or seconds, you couldn’t tell – you were trapped in his gaze, lost in the thoughts racing through your mind, did he truly mean what he said?

You startled slightly when Bucky’s hand suddenly cupped your cheek, not having seen him move his arm. “So,” he said slowly. The softening of his eyes made your heart flutter – this was your Bucky, a gentle, soft soul that looked out for you.

“Bucky?” You whispered. Bucky only hummed quietly, moving his hands to hold both of yours, the cold bite of his rings caused a shiver to crawl up your spine.

“What d’you say, Sunshine?” Bucky asked, still slow and thoughtful, like he was weighing every word. The tension grew to be unbearable and it was all you could do to keep your breathing even, you wished his intense gaze would waver, or he would look away – just for a damned second.

You licked your lips, shuffling your feet on the spot. “That depends on what you’re as-”

“Be my girl?”

Time stopped. Your heart stopped, ceasing its pounding rhythm for a millisecond before kick-starting thunderously. Sure, he had called you his girl more than once, but hearing him ask if you would be? You prayed to whoever would listen above that you would survive this, for you were floating on cloud nine and you did not want to come back down.

“I-I,” you stumbled, growing even more flustered at the glint in his eyes – you couldn’t tell what he was feeling but you felt pinned, in the best possible way. “Yeah, yeah I want to be your Sunshine, Buck-”

Your stomach swooped at the sudden and entirely unexpected feeling of his lips on yours, and his hands – god, his hands, one moved to hold the side of your throat, the other cupped your face. He set the pace easily and you eagerly followed, you had been craving this for so long that it was almost unbelievable.

To make doubly sure you weren’t dreaming, more than the desire to touch him, you ran your hands up his arms to rest them on his broad shoulders and you felt him smile into the kiss. “It’s real, sweetheart, ‘m here,” Bucky said against your lips, and you sighed happily.

The warm smile Bucky gave you as he pulled away made you miss his touch, even though he had only taken a single step away. “I’ll finish cleanin’ up and then we can get outta here, we have a lot to celebrate, Sunshine, don’t we?”

The butterflies in your stomach became a frenzy at his words, and you nodded shyly. “They’re going to lose their minds, aren’t they?” You mused, sitting on the rolling stool while you waited for him to finish up. “Nat and the guys, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, zipping up his case. “Yeah, they will, the bastards. Bettin’ on their fuckin’ boss, I oughta fire all of ‘em.” You laughed heartily and Bucky smirked.

Once Bucky’s station had been tidied and cleaned for the next day, he reached a hand out and you accepted it happily. “Let’s get outta here, I gotta treat my girl to a nice night, huh?”

“Only if we take your bike,” you said, squeezing Bucky’s hand and he looked over at you curiously. “I want to fly.”

Bucky only chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #Connect4AU #JAS #rookthorne's works

2K notes · View notes

jd07201990 · 4 months

Text

My car had broken down while hauling ass down a wide open, middle of nowhere road toward the city. I was passing through nowheres-ville, when the engine made this horrid clanging noise, and puttered out. I knew I should’ve paid extra for the newer rental, but this old classic seemed fun at the time! One last ride of freedom before starting my Bank job and finally moving away from this small-town living. I couldn’t wait to be gone. Luckily, or rather, incredibly unfortunately as I’d later find out, this oil stained, drawling mechanic was putting down the same road, saw me at the side, and offered a tow. He even let me ride with him to his shop. The whole way, he talked nonstop about how his daughter had run off to the city the moment she could, and only called to brag about her successes. He'd hoped she’d have stayed, and settled down with a good, hard working young man, have a slew of grand-babies, to keep the family business alive for generations. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that was my exact plan as well. That I’d been on my way out of cow-ville when the engine had blown up. So, I told him I was just going into the city to pick up some things instead. He was working on the car, when he popped his head up and asked if I was able to pay, when he figured out what was wrong. I gulped, and nodded, pulling out the insurance papers the rental place had given me. The mechanic Frowned, tossing them on a table full of tools and crossing his arms. He glared at me as he said he wasn’t about to wait 6 months for the rental place to fight their insurance, and that if I wanted it fixed, it was cash or credit only. I had neither, as I’d spent the last I had on the rental and the down-payment on my new apartment. He wasn’t thrilled when I said this, and lumbered to the door, locking it. He turned and shocked me as he pushed me off the stool I was sitting on, his boot on my chest. He told me that if I couldn’t pay, I couldn’t leave. His boot pressed down on my ribs, forcing all the air out of my lungs. I gasped, trying weakly to grip his ankle, when finally, I’d blacked out. When I finally woke, 2 years had passed, and one look in the mirror told me I was Mitch’s boy. The strapping young buck he’d always wanted. Best of both worlds, a strong worker, and a virile stud who’d provide him with a big family. Keeping the garage running, living the high life in a double wide trailer with my gorgeous fiancé, one pudgy tot at her breast, the result of a one night stand turned future marriage, and twins swelling her belly once again. Mitch says it’s a blessing to have a large family, and lots of future kin to keep the business and the lifestyle alive. Something told me Tessa and I were going to be quite busy, with me working at Mitch’s garage, and her raising many, many kids. Mitch finally got the grand-babies he was looking for, despite his daughter thriving in the City.

113 notes · View notes

steddieasitgoes · 5 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

“You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

112 notes · View notes

violettduchess · 1 year

Text

A/N: @dear-mrs-otome your request has taken me on quite the journey. I hope I've managed to do your Prince right and that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. 💜

Technically, this is part of my Broken Heartstrings series under the prompt: Only One Bed which I have been dying to write and was really excited to do with Silvio, demanding as he is.

Silvio x f! reader

Word Count: 5093

Of all the people to share a carriage ride back to the palace with, Silvio Ricci is the last one you would have chosen. You glance at him, sitting there across from you in the darkened carriage as it sways over the uneven country roads. His face is currently set to a sharp scowl, his impossibly blue eyes staring out the glass window. Not that he can see much. The world outside is black, streaked with shots of gray as the rain continues to fall, pelting the carriage’s roof and windows with a loud rat-a-tat-tat sound.

Only his occasional annoyed sighs interrupt the steady drumming of the rain. You pull your thin, black silk shawl tighter around your bare shoulders, turning to stare out your own darkened window. You’ll be grateful when you reach the palace and can change out of your tightly corseted ball gown. As enchanting as it is with its ivory-colored satin and black lace trimming, you are looking forward to being able to breathe again. And bend properly.

“Only Rhodolite would have a ball way out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

Your jaw clenches and the rolling sound of thunder echoes the irritation you feel at his snide tone.

“The Count holds this ball once a year at his country estate which is one of the most elegant–”

The Prince of Benitoite scoffs loudly. “Elegant my ass.”

You are really beginning to question Sariel’s decree that you ride back to the palace with this pompous royal. You’re more likely to lodge your heeled shoe in his temple than make pleasant small talk.

“Prince Silvio, do you have to be so-” You’re interrupted by another boom of thunder, this one loud enough to rattle the carriage. You hear the frightened whine of the horse over the continued sound of heavy rain. Some part of you is not surprised when it rolls to a stop. A moment later there is a rapping at the window and you lean over, opening the carriage door. A rush of wet, cold air invades the dry interior.

“The hell we stopped for?” Silvio yells above the din of the downpour.

The driver, battling the gusting wind to keep his hat on his head and the rain out of his eyes, has to yell back in order to be heard. “‘Storm has gotten too bad, your highness! We can’t keep traveling in this weather!” He glances over his shoulder, blinking against the water pelting his face.. “We passed an inn just a short ways back! We should head there for shelter!”

You expect him to argue and for a half a moment, his lips part and it looks like he might. But then the sky explodes into a sheet of white as lightning bares its teeth. Silvio’s gaze shifts from the sky back to the driver and you’re given a glimpse of a man who understands and respects the power of a storm. He nods once in affirmation.

The driver looks relieved that he won’t have to argue with the haughty prince and closes the carriage door. A moment later you feel it turn, heading back in the direction it came. You wonder whether or not you should comment on the prince’s amenability when he snorts in disgust, moving his expensive leather boots away from a puddle of water that the rain had blown onto the carriage floor.

Nope, still an ass, you think with a sigh and ride the rest of the way to the inn in silence, with only the turbulent sound of the storm echoing through the carriage.

“Whaddaya mean there’s only one room left?” Silvio’s jewelry and the many gold adornments on his ocean-blue jacket gleam in the light of the hearth fire inside the common room of the inn. “You’re talking to a Prince of Benitoite! I could buy this whole place out from under ya in a day.”

The beleaguered innkeeper crosses his burly arms, glaring at the prince from under bushy white eyebrows.

“As I said already, Your Highness, I got one room left. You can take it or leave it.” He turns to the driver who has returned from securing the horse, safe and sound in the barn. “It’s not much, sir, but you can have a spot in front of the hearth. It’ll warm you up, dry you off.”

Silvio’s booted foot hits the wooden planks of the inn’s floor. “And your room? What if I demand to commandeer your bed?”

The innkeeper grins through his full, white beard. “You’d certainly give my wife the thrill of her life, Your Highness.”

You would laugh at the startled look on Silvio’s face but you have another pressing problem. “So I have a choice between the floor and….sharing a room with him?”

Genuinely sorry, the innkeeper nods, his gaze darting to the prince. “I apologize, my lady. Truly.”

You turn to face Silvio and his scowl. With a jangle, he snatches the room key from the counter where the innkeeper left it and marches off toward the narrow, winding staircase that leads to the second story of the inn.

You follow with one last glance at the common room.

Maybe the floor wouldn’t be that bad.

The room is at the very end of the hallway, nestled under the slanted inn roof. You notice several things right away when you step inside: There is one round glass window through which you can watch the way the rain is being flung through the night by a restless, howling wind. A small oil lamp is lit, resting on the nightstand of the lone bed. It is larger than you expected, taking up close to half of the small room. A tiny, worn table and single chair are tucked into a narrow corner. And there is absolutely nothing else in the room except a Prince of Benitoite, whose pale head almost brushes the rafters, standing in the middle with his arms crossed, glowering in disdain.

“What a dump.”

Irritation trumps politeness and you hear yourself snap at him. “You’re welcome to take your royal ass back down to the common room and sleep with the driver. Or perhaps the barn with the horses is more to your liking.”

He turns sharply, his clothing and jewelry jingling softly under the sounds of the storm. His gaze, the blue of a midsummer sky, lingers and you wonder if he’s going to snap at you for speaking to him that way. Or comment on your language. Instead he surprises you by doing neither. His lips curve into a grin and you are utterly unprepared for the way a smile changes his face. What was begrudgingly handsome transforms into blindingly beautiful. Butterflies are born, fluttering their wings in your stomach, sending up a breeze that comes out as a huff of air as you march over to the side of the bed closest to the window and sit, leaning down to undo the straps of your shoes.

He watches you, crossing his arms. “Whatcha doin’?”

You keep your back to him as you pull off one shoe and begin undoing the other. “Getting ready for bed.”

He glances at the bed with its single, quilted blanket and two pillows. Then he begins unbuttoning his dress jacket. “Fine. You can have the blanket. Maybe it’ll make the chair or floor more comfortable.”

Standing, you turn around to face him. He’s carefully removed his jacket and has folded it so all its golden ornaments are wrapped inside of it.

“What do you mean ‘the chair or floor’? The bed is big enough for us both. I refuse to–What on earth are you doing?” You watch, brows raised as he begins tucking his jacket underneath his pillow.

“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell, one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” He steps back, satisfied that you can’t see the jacket anymore and then faces his next bothersome obstacle, the one shaking her head with her hands on her hips. Hips, he notices, that are temptingly accented by the flair of her ballgown. His gaze follows the stiff waistline up the strapless bodice where he can’t help but notice other things the gown accents. How had he not noticed your–

Your voice snaps him out of it.

“Prince or not, that’s ridiculous.”

Aaaaaand you’re yappin’ again. He ignores your comment, kicking off his expensive leather boots in a move so casually effortless it stirs those annoying butterflies again and then with a sigh, lays down on the bed. He’s left all of his jewelry on, his golden rings and earrings and necklaces which strikes you as very uncomfortable but he seems right at home, stretching out his long limbs in a way that seems to swallow all that space the bed seemed to have at first glance.

Best to get ready and go to sleep immediately.

With that thought, you realize something-and the raucous storm outside has nothing on the roar of panic flooding your body.

Your ivory and black ball gown is beautiful. And you were laced into this beautiful ivory and black ball gown by a trusted female servant. Laced into it wearing nothing but a pair of soft silken drawers which stop mid-thigh.

You consider trying to sleep in the gown. No. You wouldn’t be able to move. It’s too tight at the waist and chest and too voluminous in the skirt.

Which means…..you turn slowly to see Silvio has rolled over, his back to you. Great. He’s gone to sleep already.

You clear your throat.

No response.

You do it again louder.

He doesn’t move.

“Silvio!”

His name does it. “The fuck you want, lady?!” He’s rolled halfway around, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“I….” This hurts to admit and you wish you were in the room with anyone else. “I can’t undo my gown.”

“So sleep in it,” he says, each word drawn out slowly like he’s talking to a small child. He mutters something in the language of Benitoite you can just tell is rude and insulting.

You grit your teeth. He starts to roll back over.

“I can’t. It’s too tight to sleep in and the skirt is big.”

Outside the thunder rolls, low and foreboding. Silence swallows the room and you know your cheeks are warm. Maybe he won’t notice in the dim light.

He jangles as he pushes himself up now, hair pale as moonlight falling across his forehead and cheek as he tilts his head. And then slowly, oh so slowly, he grins in a way that corkscrews a blaze of heat right through you.

“So lemme make sure I got this. You’re askin’ me to undress you?”

You steel yourself. “And to give me your shirt.”

That wipes the grin right off his face. “Whaddaya mean ‘give you my shirt’? Do you know-”

“I’m sure it’s more expensive than all the buildings in Rhodolite but I am going to sleep in that bed and I am not going to do it in just my undergarment!”

Your tone is firm, much more confident than you actually feel. Again the thunder outside is the only sound as he stares, those cobalt blue eyes fixed on you with the intensity and depth of a storm-tossed ocean.

“Please.” It comes out small, a tiny crack in the wall of confidence you’ve been presenting him with. The word has slipped out, unbidden and the heat in your face feels unbearable. Have you lost your mind, asking him to do this? “N-Nevermind, I’ll-”

Your stammering drops off as he stands, his elegant fingers reaching under soft white ruffles to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He does not meet your gaze and you wonder if that darkness in his face is a blush to match your own. Then the white shirt is off and he’s standing before you, his upper body surprisingly sculpted and shockingly bare. His necklaces lay against his fair skin and there is something so intimate about the sight your breath catches.

“So the lady likes what she sees.” Dragging your gaze away from all the exposed skin and corded muscle, you see that grin has returned to those lips and you draw a quick breath, spinning around and presenting him with your back (which happens to conveniently hide a blush so fierce it must be glowing.)

“Just get on with it.”

The wooden floorboards creak underfoot as he crosses to where you are standing. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him before. You didn’t dance together at the ball and as far as you can remember the only time you’ve ever touched was when you first met and he offered you his hand, a sharp thrust in your direction that felt more like he was going to stab you with an invisible dagger than an introduction.

But now he is so close you can smell his cologne, something unexpectedly soft that vaguely reminds you of the sea on a dark, clear night. Your body is electric with an awareness that ripples across your skin with every inhale and exhale he makes. Outside, the rain is endless, the thunder unflagging. But their sounds are drowned out by the sudden pounding of your heart, by the beat of a thousand butterfly wings sending your blood rushing through your veins like the current of a wild river. He begins pulling on the satin bow of your gown, undoing the careful knot.

“The laces can be tricky,” you say just to say something, anything. Is that really your voice, so breathy and soft?

You realize your mistake instantly because he answers you and his voice is right by your ear, curling around the shell of it.

“I got more than enough experience with knots,” he murmurs.

“Because of all the people you’ve bedded,” you mutter. Why did you say that? And why does the thought of Silvio in bed with anyone make your fingers curl into your palms?

He’s released the knot and begins loosening the stays, tucking those nimble fingers underneath each crisscross and tugging, not roughly as you would have imagined but with precision, loosening each section deliberately, skillfully.

“Because I’m a sailor,” he says matter-of-factly, surprising you yet again. He tugs again and the bodice of your gown suddenly slips, sending you scrambling to keep the whole thing up. He leans closer still, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. “And because of all the people I’ve bedded.” He’s undone your gown but you’re being wrapped up again, this time in his silken, serpentine words..

Your heart leaps in your chest and you stumble away, holding up your dress with both arms, swallowing against the unexplainable tightness in your throat.

“Your shirt.” You hold the ivory satin to your chest with one arm and hold out your free hand, palm up. He practically strolls back to the bed (how he manages to do that in such a small space is a mystery), picks up his shirt and with a shameless grin, throws it at you.

You don’t reach for it with both hands as he may have hoped, instead catching it one-handed and there is a flash of something in his eyes. Disappointment? Admiration? Both?

“Turn around.”

He lifts his hand, jeweled rings on nearly every finger and covers his eyes.

“Silvio.” Consternation swells his name. It looks like he’s peeking.

“What? I ain’t lookin’!”

There is too much running wildly through your mind, too many blurry thoughts twisting in incomprehensible circles to worry about whether or not the man is going to sneak a look at you or not. You turn your back to him and let your gown drop to the floor with a whoosh.

He didn’t plan to look. But the rings on his fingers don’t allow him to hold them together completely and when your dress makes that sound, his eyes open of their own accord and through the narrow space between his fingers he catches a glimpse of your naked back. The curve of your hip and dip of your waist. The shapely line of your legs.

The thunder rumbles a warning and he quickly closes his eyes again, alarmed at the sharp, hot pang of want slicing its way through his body. You? No. He doesn’t want–

One blue eye slowly opens, this time without any excuse. You’re wearing his shirt. It falls to the back of your knees and somehow looks better than any dress ever would. There is a tension slowly winding its way across his neck, his shoulders, a tightening in his gut at the sight. And then you turn, buttoning the final few buttons and his mouth goes dry at the fleeting glimpse of your décolleté. .

What the fuck…..He forces his eyes closed again, his jaw clenched against the swift desire you unknowingly provoked.

You scramble towards the bed and dive under the blanket, pulling it up and over your chest.

“Okay,” you murmur. “You can look now.”

He mumbles something that sounds like “Finally”, his voice oddly hoarse, as he lays back down but on top of the covers.

“You can get under the covers. You’ll get cold if–”

“I’m fine, lady,” he snaps, a dog snarling at the hand offering it a pet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have no shirt on and it’s not all that warm in here. You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” he says haughtily and for a moment, your exasperation overrules the awkwardness.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” You pointedly roll away from him, trying to ignore how soft his shirt is, how good it smells, how comforting it is against your skin as the world outside rages with wind and water.

“This bed sucks.” His voice is rough, irritated. You glance over your shoulder. He’s laying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the slanted wooden beams of the ceiling. Despite the bareness of his upper body, it’s his profile that captures your attention. The fall of his pale hair. The slant of his cheekbones. The straight, aristocratic nose. His perfectly sculpted lips. A sudden, wild thought bursts through the chaos of your mind: what would they feel like on your lips? On your skin?

Outside the thunder booms, a furious sound so powerful it shakes the window, like a giant quaking the earth with its powerful steps. A small cry of surprise and trepidation escapes you.

He turns his head. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You roll onto your back, not wanting to face the window and the darkness outside. An uncontrollable shiver rolls through you and you tug the covers up, closer to your chin.

“Rhodolite doesn’t have storms like this often." Your heart is hammering because of the deafening clap of thunder, right? It has nothing to do with the preposterous thoughts spinning like coins through your head just before.

“Benitoite does.” He returns his gaze to the dark wooden beams above. “Be grateful you’re not on the deck of a ship durin’ a storm like this.”

You glance at the window, illuminated by a burst of lightning and then turn, rolling completely away from it to face him.

“What was it like?”

Silvio glances at you, then quickly back to the ceiling. “This little rain shower’s got nothin’ on a storm that crept up on us while we were out to sea, sailin’ back from Tanzanite…..”

He speaks and you listen, each word a small fairy light blinking into existence, leading you down a path, away from the storm outside the small guesthouse in the middle of the Rhodolite countryside, and into the eye of a hurricane. One that rocks the carrack Silvio is on, homeward bound from far-away Tanzanite.

He paints the picture so well, his voice low, blending in with the unrelenting barrage of rain on the darkened window pane. You can see him in your mind’s eye, soaked through, swallowing salt water and his fear as he clings to wet, stinging ropes, his boots sliding across the slick deck. Men’s shouts fade into the roar of the wind. A body is plucked from the ship and tossed like a ragdoll through the howling wind, lost forever to the churning, briny depths. The ocean is enraged, a wild beast bucking and kicking blindly. The ship groans and tilts, battered by the winds, tossed by the wild waves. Silvio’s vision is blurred as he seeks out the helmsman, valiantly still at the massive wooden wheel and makes his way across the dangerously open deck. A wall of water slams into him and he knows if he doesn’t fight, he will be washed out to sea. Dogged determination fills him. Out here he isn’t a prince, fighting for his father’s approval, fighting to be seen as someone worthy. Out here in the elements he is a man, fighting for his very survival, all his gold and jewels and titles worn down to nothing by the wild storm, like mighty mountains that have been reduced to pebbles by the persistence of rain over centuries. He roars in the face of the wind and the rain, clawing his way up to the petrified helmsman. “Insieme!!” Together.. His ringed fingers wrap around the wooden handles, between those of the helmsman. Their gazes meet and as lightning blanches the sky, they both turn with all their might……

“The sea claimed four men that night. Ain’t small, the price of lovin’ her.” He trails off, the experience slowly fading back into the mist of his memory. His blue eyes, darker and softer than you’ve ever seen them, blink as he returns to the small room at the top of the inn and the woman lying next to him.

You’re still on your side, facing him, your gaze held completely at attention by his face, his voice. His story not only distracted you from the storm outside, but had pulled you in, had you inching closer, heart hammering in your chest as you hung on every word.

But he’s run out of words, that barrier now gone, and there is nothing between you. Just your gaze locked with his, your chest rising and falling as you stare into those azure depths, wondering if the tempest outside will be what causes you to helplessly fall into all that blue, another voyager lost in the ocean of his eyes.

You may be balancing on attraction’s razor-thin edge, but he is no better off. All he can think about is the softness in your expression, the part of your lips, and how he wants nothing more than to capture them and steal the taste of your mouth for himself, hoard it along with the other treasures he already has of you from tonight. The line of your bare back, the light in your eyes, the whisper of your breathing. Just a few centimeters and he would touch you. A few more and he could-

A loud clap of thunder breaks the moment, snapping it in two. You jump, shaken from the hold his gaze had on you, a loud gasp escaping your throat. He jerks back, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. There is a faint flush across his cheekbones as he runs a hand through his soft, silvery hair.

“Stop bein’ such a baby. I just told ya how this is nothin’.”

That imperious tone feels like an affront after hearing him speak so softly before. You pull away as if stung and then gather yourself together so he won’t see the glimmer of hurt in your eyes.

“I’m not a baby. I was just startled and–” The way he’s tilting his head, a derisive smirk on his lips sends a flare of annoyance through you. “You know what? Just forget it.” Angrily you roll away from him, yanking the covers up over your shoulder. You don’t see the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his fingers reflexively uncurled when you turned away, his body knowing what it wants long before his mind.

You don’t see how long his gaze lingers on you before he finally forces himself to look away.

Sleep does not find you. You lay there as the oil lamp sputters out and the room is filled with dark shadows that scatter briefly when bright bursts of lightning illuminate the sky, a sky that continues to rampage with gusts of wind and cries of thunder.

Every single inch of you is aware of how close he is. You feel when he shifts his body, the movement disturbing the bedding. You’re still wrapped in the softness of his shirt, surrounded by his scent. And now you can hear the even sounds of his breathing.

Taking a chance, you glance over your shoulder.

He’s asleep on his side, still facing you, his pillow tucked between his arm and his head. You should turn away and continue your battle with wakefulness. You should stop staring at the locks of argent hair across his forehead. The curve of his arm. The graceful line of his torso.

Outside the thunder rolls. Your heart echoes its tremor.

You do eventually turn away from him but find yourself very slowly inching your way backwards, moving towards him until your body is touching his, the blanket still between you. Despite the coolness of the room, he has stayed on top of it. There is an almost palpable relief in the feeling of his form, the solidness of his body. The storm feels less angry, less destructive. Being this close to him feels right in a way you don’t want to explore, a nebulous thing on the horizon of your heart that you want to keep at bay.

And then he shifts in his sleep, throwing his arm around you and pulls you even closer against him.

You’re grateful he’s asleep or else the sudden galloping of your heart would surely wake him. It takes several breaths to calm the storm of butterflies in your chest, kicked up by your heart’s sudden racing. They settle down, wings still opening and closing at the feel of his strong arm, the curve of his body around yours. But there is also something warm slowly washing over you. A cocoon, a safe haven where you can finally close your eyes, finally feel the storm’s energy not as an enemy but as a companion, accompanying you as you drift off to sleep at last.

Silvio feels the way your body relaxes, the tension seeping from your muscles as you fall asleep, soft and trusting in his embrace.

If you only knew he has been awake throughout.

He stays awake for a long time, loath to move even a centimeter, feeling the warmth of your body through the blanket and listening to the sound of the rain.

Epilogue:

“Get up, lady. I need my shirt back.”

That voice falls into the still waters of sleep, hooking itself into your consciousness and drags you slowly to the surface.

Sleepily you push yourself up, raising a hand against the bright beam of sunlight spilling into the room.

Pushing your tousled hair out of your face, you find the Prince of Benitoite standing beside the bed, his jacket flung over his bare shoulder, one hand on his hip as he stares down at you. “Let’s go. We’re gettin’ out of this dump. Driver’s already waitin’.”

Irritation rears its little horned head and your eyes narrow.

“Good morning to you too.”

He ignores that and stretches out his hand. “My shirt.”

And we’re back to this. You sigh.

“Go wait outside the door.”

He regards you a moment and then turns on his boot heel and leaves the room. With a grimace you climb out of the warm bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor until you’re by the entrance. As quickly as you can, you unbutton his white shirt and then stick your hand out the door with it dangling from two fingers.

He mutters something that you cut off with a slam, eyes closing for a moment as you catch your breath.

Did last night really happen? Was he….kind? And….warm? Did you really sleep in his arms?

A bang on the door jerks you out of your thoughts. “Move it or lose it!”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Go already! I’ll be there!”

Somehow you are able to wrangle yourself back into your ball gown. Tying the back is tricky but you manage to get it closed enough to avoid any indecency. A quick re-pinning of your hair and buckling of your shoes and you're making your way down the wooden staircase. The innkeeper is at the counter, smiling through his fuzzy white beard in greeting.

“Morning, my lady,” he calls cheerfully.

The door to the inn is open and you can see the driver loading a few things back onto the carriage. Silvio is already inside.

“Thank you again for your hospitality, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have any coin for our stay, but I’ll be sure to return as soon as possible to pay-”

The older man shakes his head, waving you to a stop with his hand. “Oh no, no need for that my lady. Your…er…roommate already took care of it.”

You’re unable to hold back the surprise in your voice as you glance at the carriage and then back to the innkeeper. “He did?”

His eyes gleam as he reaches into the pocket of his worn vest and again, shock squeezes a silent gasp from your lips. In his work-worn, calloused hand, he’s holding two of Silvio’s bejeweled rings. His words from last night flash through your mind.

—“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” –

The innkeep is oblivious to your stunned expression. “These’ll pay for any damage the storm caused and then some. I told that young man, he's welcome here anytime.”

You finally find your voice. “I….I’m glad to hear that. Thank you again.”

He bids you farewell as you walk outside into the startlingly bright sunlight. The smell of petrichor fills the air, the ground still damp as you walk towards the carriage.

The hazy feeling of something born in the fury of the storm….

Something nameless.

Something undeniable.

Something Silvio has awoken.

….is rising on delicate butterfly wings, inching its way closer to the realm of your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #silvio x reader #only one bed #broken heartstrings #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

273 notes · View notes

sweet-villain · 4 months

Text

Silence Isn't All Of It~2~ S.H

Part 1

Author's Note : Reader is deaf

Summary : As soon as Steve sees you walk in Family Video, he is blown away and wants your attention. But it's not easy, you don't look interested. But it's difficult, you don't trust easy but what happens when someone try to get under Steve skin?

Steve mentally cursed himself when he drove up to the sidewalk as his eyes laid on you standing next to Robin.

He thought he was picking up Robin on the way to work without knowing that you were going to be there.

His fingers tapped on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead on the road as the door opened from the passenger side and the door opened in the back.

You got into the back since Robin yelled shot gun before but you didn’t even want to, being mad that Steve was the only ride that she relied on. Her parents have already left for work leaving her to Steve to come to the rescue

“ Good morning, dingus,” Robin says cheerfully as she buckles herself. Your arms across your chest staring at the back of Steve’s head as if it was going to explode any minute now. He felt your eyes on the back of his head, and rolled his eyes.

“ Tell me why did she have to come along..” he mumbled more to himself but it was more of Robin taking it was for her. Robin turns in her seat as she stares at Steve in disbelief.

“ Did you really ask me that?” Steve’s eyebrows scrunched up together as he didn’t realize he had said it out loud. “Huh?” he asked.

Robin looks back at you seeing you were watching out the window and not really paying attention that you had become a hot topic of the morning.

“ She’s my family, Steve. I’m not leaving her behind. She doesn’t know anyone”

“ She knows Eddie” he said in a fake cheery tone as he took a turn.

“ Not what I meant, dingus.” Steve grumbles and grips the wheel like his life depends on it.

He felt like banging his head against the window not knowing why he brought Eddie all of sudden into the conversation.

As he was too busy being in his head, he didn’t take notice that you shifted over in between the seats and began to sign to Robin.

You were angrily signing to her with your expression being more expressed as you continued.

Steve takes notice of the whiff of something sweet, it’s you and you had moved that you were talking to Robin.

He takes a quick look behind him and sees that your hands are moving in harsh movements. He turns back around.

His hand reaches behind him to clasp your hands to stop your movements.

You feel his hands on you all of sudden and it causes you to pull them out of his grasp shooting him a glare. What was he thinking he was doing?

Robin signs to you that Steve is telling you to sit back down and buckle yourself and you sign back to her that you can care less what he wants.

Steve grits his teeth when Robin tells him what you said and he signals to the side of the road to park the car.

He quickly turns in his seat and his honey brown eyes stare down at you as if you were going to blow up right then and there.

Robin signs to you that Steve says if you don’t buckle your seat, he would leave you in the middle of the road and you were going to walk.

This led to them yelling at each other because Robin wasn’t going to let Steve do that to you.

You were trying to read their lips on what they were saying to each other but it was a bunch of anger from what you could tell from the expression on their faces.

It was kinda scarting you as you watched.

You buckled yourself up, and sat behind Robin and waited patiently tapping your fingers on your legs to pass the time. You tried to look out the window again.

Anything but at them at the moment and then the car began to move. You breathed out a sigh of relief and didn’t pay attention to Steve and Robin until you were there.

“ You’re not always going to be around her, she won’t need your help forever..” Steve brings up as he approaches the parking lot. Robin nods to him. She knows.

“ She doesn't live here, she isn’t staying long. You don’t have to worry about it. She will be out of your hair. You could be at least nice to her, Steve. She doesn’t hear a thing. Never heard her own voice or how she laughs or hear the sound of someone saying her name. Try to be in her shoes for once and realize through your thick head that she was born like this. This is her life.”

Robin opens the door as soon as Steve parks the car and you follow Robin inside.

A smile reaches your face when you notice that Eddie and Dustin were by the front doors talking to each other but paused when they heard Steve pull up.

Your eyes catch Eddie who’s more than happy to see you but he eyes Steve from the corner of his eyes seeing the unhappy look on his face.

It looks like he got kicked around and he looks over to Robin seeing the unhappy look on her face.

“ Uh oh, drama in the Harrington and Buckley’s Friendship Department” He says. Steve has the keys to the store and he fishes them out from the front pocket off his pants and mumbles how Eddie was just here to mock him.

You tapped on Eddie’s shoulder to get his attention and he was more than happy to give it to you once he turned his head and made eye contact with you.

You waved hello to Eddie and shifted back and forth on your feet. Robin turns to Eddie with an idea in her head.

She doesn’t want you to be here at the moment as much as she loves you but Steve wasn’t in the best mood.

She didn’t want you to see him lash out or do anything stupid like say something to you that is hurtful.

“ Hey Eds” Eddie turns to Robin with his eyebrow raised. But you couldn’t see it as it was hidden underneath his bangs.

“ You should show Y/N around. I’m sure the two of you would have fun” Eddie’s eyes brightened. Steve opened the store with a force hearing it and mouth mimicking Robin in a whisper as he stepped inside.

He didn’t hold the door open to Robin or Dustin as he put his stuff underneath the counter and tried to distract himself with anything he could or his eyes landed on.

You sent a worried glance over to Robin not sure how you would handle being alone with Eddie.

“ You’ll be fine” she signs to you and her hand reaches over to squeeze your shoulder. “ You two look like you would be good friends and Eddie is a good guy.”

“ I’m here too, you know,” Dustin says. “ Hello” he waves his arms. “ Can I come too?” He asks Eddie. “ I want to come too” he looks over to you.

Eddie glances down at Dustin and looks back at you.

He points to Dustin, then his van and to himself and does a hands on the wheel like he’s asking you to come on a drive with them.

You looked towards his van, noticing it for the first time. It's the only other car in the parking lot.

You turn to Robin and sign asking if he’s a good driver. She gives you a thumbs up with a smirk. Not really telling you the truth, the full truth and looking at Eddie. Her hand lays on his shoulder.

“ You better look after her or” she leans her face closer, “ I’m taking all your so-called music and throwing it in the trash.”

“ It is music! I don’t know what you're talking about” he playfully pushes her, and glares.

“ It’s not Bowie or Beatles..” she mutters.

“ Not my cup of tea, Buckley. But anyways..” Eddie turns to you and bows down as he waves his hand over to his van. “ Shall we?” he asks. But remember that you don’t hear anything he says.

“ Right” he shoots back up and scratches the side of his head. Dustin offers his hand to you and you glance down thinking of the last thing he touched.

“ It's okay,” Dustin mouths to you, “ you can trust me,” he adds. You look at Robin and Eddie as they both watch. Robin waves her hand telling you to go on and reassurance you it was okay.

Steve has been staring at the scene playing out in front of him. If you look at him you could see steam coming from his ears as his eyes glared.

He didn’t like that you were going to go with Eddie, he didn’t trust him. But he felt okay if Dustin was going to go.

The door opens and Robin steps in and Steve has been staring at Eddie’s van watching as he buckles you in and rushes to the driver side, almost tripping over his feet and gets inside.

“ If you keep staring at them, your eyes will get glued like that, dingus” he hears Robin talk to him. But it doesn’t dawn on him that he’s angrily steaming and mumbling to himself until Robin flicks him on the forehead.

“ Ow!” he says as he rubs his forehead. “ What was that for?” He asks.

“ You’re being stupid” he stares at her in disbelief at what he’s hearing.

“ What?”

“ You’re in here angry at yourself, angry that she won’t give you any attention of any sort and she chooses to give it to Eddie. You know why?” Steve shakes his head.

“ He was nice to her, he was kind and gentle. While you’re being a girl on her period”

“ I’m not being any of that!” he stomped his foot like a little child that didn’t get his way.

“ You’re ridiculous, you know? You should get to know her if that’s what you really want and try to communicate with her. It’s all about eye contact and facial expression. And if you don’t try, then you will miss your chance.”

“ What are you on about, Robin?”

She sighs and flicks him in the forehead, again.

“ Ow! Why do you keep doing that?”

“ Dingus! You like her.”

“ No,” Steve says too quickly, “ I don't,” he adds.

“ Keep lying to yourself” She shook her head as she went to the back to get new boxes that came in last week that needed to be opened.

Steve glanced down at his feet as his mind began to wonder. Maybe, Robin was right.

He did like you but he was afraid to get close to you. You were deaf and he never met anyone like you. It was hard for him to communicate with you. He didn’t know anything about sign language and the deaf community.

It wasn’t until later when you walked through the door with Eddie by your side and no Dustin in sight when his heart raced seeing a smile on your face and you were skipping into the store.

His eyes met Eddie’s for a brief moment seeing the wide smirk laid out on Eddie’s face.

It wasn’t a nice feeling that overcame him. He wanted to punch Eddie’s face right there and there and wipe that smirk off his face.

“ You’re back!” Robin shouts when she sees you and Eddie. “ How did it go?” She asked.

Then the boys stared with wide eyes at your signing and the happy look on your face didn’t leave. It made Steve jealous that Eddie got a chance to get close to you and he has to work for it.

Robin laughed at something you told her and Steve wished that you were the one telling him.

“ We had a good time, Harrington” Eddie says to Steve and Eddie follows him around the store.

Steve was trying to get away from Eddie and didn’t want to hear about it at all.

“ I’m so happy for you, Munson,” Steve mutters.

“ She's a very sweet girl, and she loves quite a few things” Steve made a humming sound like he was listening and being interested in what Eddie had to say. But it was hurting him.

“ She likes ice cream too, and a book worm too” Steve nodded his head as he went to the other side of the store.

“ She thinks you are hard on yourself” Steve paused as he turned around hearing this coming from Eddie. “ What are you talking about, Munson?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, “ She sees it. She hasn’t been here long but she reads you like a book. You do things to impress others, like her. You try so hard to get her attention when you need to back off a bit and let her turn to you. Be gentler. You’re too desperate to find someone when you don’t focus on what is in front of you. She’s not into anyone, she is into you from the looks of it. Have you noticed she watches you interact with Dustin all the time? You make her nervous with the way you say things around her. She can read lips, Steve. She’s smart, either you get to know her or you don’t. She's a good girl and is your friend, Harrington. Hurry fast.”

He walks away leaving Steve in shock. You were into him. How could that be? He hasn’t gotten a good interaction with you.

You watch him? He looks over to where you were standing and his cheeks brighten red and eyes go wide because you are staring at him.

Did Eddie tell him this because you were afraid to tell him?

He swallows the lump in his throat and approaches you slowly. Some strands of hair fall over his forehead and his honey brown eyes are soft as he looks down at you.

He bites down his bottom lip as he decides what to say to you. He's at a loss for words.

You wait for him to talk but he’s quiet and doesn’t say anything. But he reaches in his pocket and your eyes follow his hand.

Your eyebrows knit together and wait to see what he has in his hands. He holds out his hand and opens it to reveal a stone, but it was in the shape of a heart from what it looks like.

Your mouth jars and looks up at him in question.

“ For you” he mouths to you. You swallow the lump in your own throat and reach with your hand to take it from his palm and inspect it in your hands. It was a slight pink color and you were surprised a bit by this.

You found this as a cute gesture.

“ Did he just give her a rock? A stupid rock. What’s a rock going to do?” Eddie asked. Robin swatted his chest to shut him up. She looked between you and Steve.

Steve was scratching the back of his head, feeling shy a bit as he gave you this rock that he found. He thought it was nice in the shape of a heart and thought of you when he saw it.

You sign to him that this was pretty neat and you were going to keep this if he didn’t mind it all.

Robin had told him what you had said. Steve shakes his head as he looks down at you, meeting your eyes and holding your gaze.

Your heart flutters from the way he was looking at you and from this small gesture.

“ So that’s it?” Eddie asked. “ He gives her this rock and she’s all about it. Pfft” Eddie throws his hands up.

Steve shoots him a glare while you look at Eddie in question, seeing him throw his hands up.

You were about to sign something to Robin when a hand pulled your hands down. Your eyes meet the honey brown eyes of Steve.

“ You’re beautiful,” Steve says. Your eyes widen at his words and he can't believe what he said.

“ Finally we're getting somewhere “ Eddie says.

Steve looks at him, “ Don’t you have somewhere to be, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head.

Steve looks back down at you.

“ How about we talk later and take a drive?” He asks. But you can’t understand him, eyebrows knit as you sign the word again and slow.

“ She wants you to say it slower and again what you just said. It was too fast for her” Robin told him.

Steve sends you an apologetic look and says it slower this time for you to understand. You read his lips and cheeks hint red.

You point to yourself and then to him as if asking if it was just you two. He nods and begins to worry that he might overstep and he wasn’t going to get his chance. He wanted to start over with you.

You look for Robin for help and Eddie too.

“ You’re on your own on this one” Eddie says, but he offers you a smile.

“ It’s okay, tell him what you want to say”

You sign the words to Steve, “ okay.”

“ She said okay, right?” Steve looks at Robin to make sure that is what you said and she nods. Steve could dance happily if it was just you and him but Eddie and Robin wouldn’t let him live it down.

“ Thank you” Steve signs it to you and it’s the only sign he knows right now. He asked Robin the other day to teach him and she only had taught him that. Your eyes widen in surprise and clap your hands telling him that was very good with your thumbs up.

“ I learn from the best,” he points to Robin, making you laugh. Even though you don’t hear your own laughter, he does and the other two. It was beautiful just like you, that’s what Steve has thought.

“ When are we going?” you sign to Steve asking him but this time you pointed to him, to his car and to his watch and motion your hands making a wheel as you walked in circles.

This was your way of talking to people. Pointing at things to make them understand.

Steve understood. He checked his time when his shift would be over. Eddie was here meaning that Robin could close up and Eddie could take her home.

He gives a look at Eddie, pleading.

“ What?” Eddie asked. He looks at Robin and back to him.

“ But I don’t like closing!” Robin stomped her foot as she groaned. You sign to her if everything is okay. She gave you a thumbs up to not worry.

“ Fine, I will do it. But I want details later” she points to you and signs to tell her later what happens. You nod your head with a shy smile.

Eddie stomped his foot on the ground to get your attention. You looked over to him, hearing it.

He points to himself and makes talking motion with his hand as if telling you that he wants to know too.

You give him a thumbs up.

Steve looks at you and mouths to you, “ ready?” You nod to him and he walks to grab his stuff.

“ Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Harrington” Steve shoots him a glare as the two of you leave. Steve walks over to your door and opens it. You stare at him and then to the car door. No one has ever opened it for you.

“ Get in “ he mouths but points to the seat and you to make it more understandable in case you didn’t catch his lips on what he said. You slowly walk over and sit down.

Steve closes the door as he runs to the other side. He starts the car as he puts the key in the key hole and puts his foot on the break.

He slowly backed out and you stared out into the window wondering where you were going.

Steve doesn’t make conversation because he is driving and he can’t make eye contact with you right now.

His heart is racing and his stomach is doing flips.

He can’t believe you're in the same car as him, alone with him and he was given a chance.

He wondered if you had told Eddie about him, the whole conversation in his head ran over when Eddie told him that you were into him.

He couldn’t believe it. He felt like it was too good to be true.

Once you arrive where he took you, he gets out of the car first and goes to the other side to open the door for you.

He lets out his hand for you to take and for the first time you laid your hand on his, you felt it. It was a shock to you when he touched you.

You retrieved your hand like you were scared it was going to happen again.

He didn’t push to have you take his hand again. This time he sidestepped for you to step out of the car by yourself and you rose up overlooking where he had taken you.

It was a field of some sort and there were a bunch of flowers too. Your hands skimmed over some of them as you walked. Steve locked the car as he followed you, watching as the wind blew your hair.

He races in front of you for a moment to grab your attention, it startles you as you take a step back.

“ I’m sorry” he mouths. He points to himself and points to you and points back to himself and throws a thumbs down. It confused you on what he meant.

He holds a finger up as he rushes back to his car and gets something from his trunk.

Steve Harrington confused you.

He walked back to you with a notepad and a pen. He writes something down and offers it to you.

“ I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk to you. It happens when I like someone” it says. You could feel your heart in your throat when you read the last line. He likes you.

You take the pen away from his hand and write it down.

“ You don’t know me to like me”

He write something back

“ I don’t have to, from the first time I saw you. You took my breath away and it felt like my whole world had stopped. You were the only person I saw and I know that I wanted you in my life.”

You step back reading that. It was kinda scaring you.

“ No, I’m sorry” he adds to the note, “ I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to get to know you”

You shake your head, feeling tears coming. You snatch the notepad from him and write down the word for him to take you home. You were scared to get close to him because you don’t live here. You are going back home soon and liking him back wasn’t going to do any good.

“ But we just got here.. What are you afraid of?” He asks.

Only words you’ve written are “ home” and walked your way to his car where he sighed and ran after you.

He catches your arm and turns around so that you bump into his chest. You were looking up at him with tears in your eyes. His hands cup your cheek as his thumbs wipes them away.

He has no idea why you're crying and it hurts him. He wants to help.

You trace the words home on his long sleeve shirt and look back at him but not before he lays a kiss on your forehead. Surprising you.

He definitely confused you. He walks around to open your door and looks away like he’s hurt at your actions.

But you rather not let feelings get in the way. He lived in Hawkins while you lived elsewhere. It wasn’t going to work.

Plus you were deaf, he didn’t know how to communicate other than a pen and paper.

He wouldn’t want to be with someone like you.

Steve drove you home and he didn’t get a chance to say anything else because you ran out the door and inside the house.

Robin had come out minutes later asking him what happened and if he hurt you.

“ I don’t know” he answered her with a broken tone. Robin got into the car as she reached over to hold Steve feeling her shirt soak with his tears.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Stranger things x reader #jewls writes #Steve Harrington x deaf!reader

43 notes · View notes

somekindofpoet · 1 year

Note

Three words. Lorraine. Truck. Backseat.

Go crazy Crush

I went crazy...

It started largely thanks to your overconfidence. You were absolutely certain you could eat your lunch while driving; you didn’t need to stop. Lorraine questioned your decision but didn’t press the matter. Looking back now, you realize she probably knew what was going to happen and had planned for this exact scenario.

You lean over the steering wheel and take an entirely overenthusiastic bite, and a glob of ketchup falls from the burger right into your lap. You grumble around the food in your mouth, searching the cab for a napkin, a t-shirt, anything to stop the tomato sauce from staining your jeans. Your eyes land on Lorraine, who has one eyebrow raised and a look on her face that screams, “I told you so.” You shake your head and return your attention to the road, not wanting to hear the scolding that’s going to come your way.

You nearly swerve off the highway when she uses her finger to wipe away the sauce and pops it into her mouth. You try to focus on the road, but you can see from the corner of your vision how overtly sensual she’s being. You breathe heavily through your nose and clench your jaw, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

Her hand returns to your lap, running up your thigh, teasing you now. For fear of your lives and the horses in the back, you clear your throat and glance over at her, your eyes darting between her and the windshield.

“Raine, baby, do you want me to crash?”

She bites her lip and slides into the middle seat, her hand sliding up your leg, “No. I want you to pull over.”

You gulp, your eyes automatically searching for a way to comply. The road is a narrow, two-lane country highway. A car passes by every half hour or so, but for the most part, you’re alone on the empty road. There’s no shoulder, though, and parking on a rancher’s property unannounced is a surefire way to get yourself shot at.

“We only have two hours left until we can set up camp,” you grit out, growing increasingly distracted by the way her hand is moving over your pants.

“Okay,” she shrugs and dips her head down under your arm, lifts your shirt, and kisses the skin just above your belt.

You gasp and jerk the steering wheel, sending the trailer slinging to the side behind you. She lifts your shirt higher, her tongue following her lips, and you’re in a full-blown crisis. Her fingertips skate across the apex of your jeans, and her tongue lazily explores your hip bone, and you are absolutely not strong enough to keep driving. You catch sight of a sign for a scenic viewpoint less than half a mile ahead, and your decision is made.

It takes everything in you not to gun the gas pedal and skid into the little dirt pull off. You refrain solely for the horses' well-being in the trailer. As soon as the truck is parked, your hands are in her hair and you’re pushing her backward. Your haste is a little too enthusiastic and she winces as she bumps the back of her head against the window.

“Backseat?” she pants, pushing herself up.

You nod quickly, clambering over the middle seat and flopping into the back. Lorraine slides out of the passenger door and opens the back, shooting you a self-satisfied smirk. You roll your eyes and shrug, unashamed of your more difficult route. She climbs in and pulls the door shut, and as soon as she’s turned back to you, your lips are on hers. You pull at her shirt, but she pushes your hands down, shaking her head.

“You are not gonna strip me naked in this parking lot y/n,” she giggles, guiding your hands under her shirt.

You consider pouting, but she climbs into your lap, and her shorts ride up her legs, and any resistance you may have had disappears. She pops the button on her shorts and your hand follows hers immediately, slipping down her stomach into her underwear. Your head drops back onto the headrest in pure euphoria when you feel her, and she takes advantage of your position to begin licking at your neck.

She groans into your skin when you circle her clit, her hips grinding into you. She still moves like she did the night before in the motel, possessive and hungry, and you don’t mind a bit. You're more than happy to indulge her, slipping your fingers inside of her as she moves. The angle is slightly uncomfortable, your wrist pressed at an odd angle, but the sounds it draws from her make you forget any discomfort.

She kisses you hungrily, her lips sloppy and frantic, moans vibrating from her throat into your mouth. You respond with teeth on her bottom lip, your tongue soothing the bite, chasing the pain away. Your free hand is restless, sliding over the skin under her shirt, tracing her ribs, slipping under her bra to cup her breast. Her hands move from your jaw down to your shoulders, using you as leverage to push herself up your body, freeing space for your wrist to move faster. She leans back, separating your lips as her breathing picks up, pulling your hand away from her chest.

A car passes by on the road to your side, catching your attention and slowing your fingers. Lorraine’s fingers wrap around your jaw and turn your head toward her, her eyes dark and her lips parted.

“Don’t stop. They’ll pass,” she groans, her voice breathy.

At this point, you think even if they pull over, you’re not stopping. And if you did, Lorraine would probably keep going until she was done, so you may as well keep it up. The car passes you by, and the sounds coming from Lorraine jerk your attention back to her. You pull your hand from under her shirt and slide it around the back of her neck, pulling her down to your lips just as she comes crashing over the edge. She melts into you, moaning and sighing into your lips, her eyes shut tight. When she relaxes, you pull your hand out of her shorts and slide it under her shirt, holding her hip gently, your fingers damp on her skin. She lays her head on your shoulder, panting and shivering as she comes down.

“Someone almost got a show,” you chuckle, running your fingers through her hair.

“S’never stopped you before,” she mumbles into your shoulder, her voice quiet and soft.

You lean your head over to rest on hers, content to wait until she’s ready to leave. It’s taken you entirely too long to reach your destination, but Big Bend can wait.

#lpm drabble #lpm #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day

391 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

Chapter 4: Perhaps This Life Was Not My True Life

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only a helping hand.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: T, more flirtinggggg, allusions to sexual acts, descriptions of character death (not graphic), the FEMALE gaze (everyone is hot for the cowboy), Jack Daniels needs his own warning, not much in this chapter but will be explicit in later chapters, 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: You know I had to use the GIF. You know it. It's just too good not to. And we're finally to the chapter where it makes sense. I also bemoan the fact that we never got to see Jack on a horse, because that's just a travesty and another thing the Golden Circle robbed us of!

Cross-posted on AO3

Cognitive Dissonance Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Series Masterlist

It’s an hour into the ride as you and Jack travel companionably side by side, trading flirtatious comments and learning about each other. Jack owns a small ranch a few hours away, home to a collection of smaller equines and fowl. He has a few kind neighbors, some older and needing assistance he happily provides. Never remarried, content to work the land and come into town to fulfill his deputy duties with the rest of Westworld’s lawmen, the Statesmen. It’s a life that offers long stretches of quiet punctuated by action, just to Jack’s liking.

In return Jack asks about your life outside of Sweetwater, which you try to answer in ways that would translate to things he'd understand. Your work, your family, the gaggle of girls you're following. He doesn't touch on the subject of your fiance again, and you don't bring it back up. Instead you share your hobbies, your experience riding, and try not to sneak too many glances at his worn hands or his thighs straining against denim. He's an attentive listener, more so that any first date you've been on.

Not that this is a date. Of course not. Just a suave cowboy coming to a lady's aid and sharing you lives on a dusty road.

You’re in the middle of asking him about his donkeys, which pulls a sheepish smile onto his face, when an older man bursts onto the road, stopping to talk with Rosie at the first carriage. Jack leans over to get a better look, urging Alpha to overtake the carriages and make contact. You hang back at his insistence.

“Might be something, might be nothing,” he says cryptically, bouncing as he urges Alpha up to the man. You once again get to watch his powerful posture from afar like a pining Victorian woman.

Do they have a Victorian-world? You wouldn’t put it past Delos.

They all talk for a moment, Beth poking her head out to shout something. Rosie opens the carriage door and speak to the girls as Jack moves back to you.

“All okay?” you ask, the stranger still waiting on a shifting horse. He’s older, light brown hair fanning under his hat, lines cutting into his face from age and worry. His clothing is worn and faded, almost blending in with the wind-blown landscape. He looks distraught, peering up and down the road.

“Rancher’s had his cattle break through the fence. They’re scattering across the neighboring property and his sons are three days’ ride away.” Jack chews at his mustache, wringing the reins in one hand that is too big and thick-fingered for his own good. Or yours.

“Sugar, I feel obliged to assist as I have plenty of experience wrangling cattle.”

“Of course,” you say, a little emptier at the thought of rejoining the group. As intense as the conversations got, you have to admit you enjoy Jack’s company. His smile is bright, the banter just short of anything unsavory, and feeling the hot breeze in your hair and the relaxing gait of a horse under you has made you nostalgic. For old times, freer times, when you felt as wild as an unbroken stallion and anyone who touched you was liable to come away bloody.

“You’ll be needing Copper back,” you say, swinging off the saddle as Jack makes a noise of protest.

“No, ma’am, please…” he starts to say when the slam of the carriage door interrupts. Lacey is stumbling out, shouting at the girls behind her. She catches sight of you, eyes bright as she hurries over.

“Loose cattle, that’s exciting!” she says, making your eyebrow quirk up.

“Yeah, and we’re…treasure hunting,” you laugh back, patting Copper’s neck fondly. Lacey looks at you like you’ve started speaking nonsense.

“You have to go!” she insists, leaning in closer so Jack and the other girls can’t hear as well. “I know this wasn’t what you were hoping for…”

You shake your head, a beaming smile on your face.

“No way, it’s your bachelorette! We are gonna party and find some treasure and…” Lacey stops you with a look you know well. It’s the same one she used to give you when you agreed to something because it made the larger group happy.

“Look, I’m having a great time. I’m so happy you’re here, and my friend, and going to be in my wedding.” Her eyes are so kind it makes you want to deflect. “But as far as I can tell, we’re all going to have an amazing time. We might end up together at the end of the night, we might not. We knew what we were getting into.” You roll your eyes but she squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you when I see you, and I better hear some good stories.” She nods at Jack, who gives her a confused tip of his hat back.

“You keep my friend here safe and out of trouble,” she orders with a stern edge to her voice.

“Yes, ma’am?” he replies with some confusion in his voice, eyes darting between the two of you. Blink and you’d miss it, but you also thought you might have seen some relief.

“Lacey…” you try one last time, shushed with a knowing look and a swish of her skirts.

Apparently Westworld is lining something up for you. You guess it’s time to stop resisting.

“Could you use another pair of hands? I’ve done my fair share of cattle runs, though it’s been a while,” you ask Jack, looking up at him haloed in the harsh sunlight. There it was again, a look of relief laced with excitement you're not sure how to interpret.

“Of course, but Sugar…” Jack cautions without much conviction as you swing back up into the saddle.

“You heard the bride, I’ve got orders,” you say with a crooked smile, tilting your hat down lower on your brow. “And you’d best find a better name than Sugar, I’m not as sweet as you might think.” With a light slap of the reins and a lean forward in the saddle, you urge Copper to follow the older man now cantering back to his farm. Jack chuckles and picks up the pace.

“When I find something that suits you, I’ll let you know,” he calls as you both hurry to catch up.

Inside the carriage, Lacey stumbles back into her seat.

“Did you tell her to go get a piece of that cowboy who’s been eyeing her all afternoon?” Dina said, a wicked smile on her face. Lacey fishes a flash out of her bag, knocking it back with a thumbs up as the girls all cheer.

“Oh god, I hope he’s packing,” she gasps at the end of her swallow, making more giggles erupt. Beth lifts an eyebrow with a sour expression.

“Isn’t she engaged?” she says prissily, making Sophia turn her perfect face to her.

“Aren’t you married? I’m sure we’ll lose track of you tonight,” she drips out. Lacey waves her hand, making a face at the burn of the vodka.

“Her fiance is a fucking asshole. The way he talks to her, you’d think they were already divorced. I’ve told her it’s not too late to call it off, but she’s just…fuck, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something going on behind the scenes. But either way, if she’s going to marry that douchebag, she deserves at least one night with a stallion. And I deserve another drink!” The carriage erupts into laughter as the girls take off, less one who is off on her own adventure.

The ride to the ranch is fast and quiet, but the pumping of your heart would have drowned out conversation anyways. The smile on your face, maybe the first genuine one all day, will probably make you swallow a bug as you keep pace with Jack and the rancher. He’d introduced himself as Jeb and shouted that he had about 100 head of cattle that broke out into the neighboring field. The ten minute ride places a deep burn in your quads and calves, not used to galloping this hard this long. It’s a welcome ache, a distracting one from the other ache you’ve been ignoring all afternoon.

Jack is holding a strong pace beside you, leaning forward enough that his waist paunches a little into a soft stomach. His hands grip the reins firmly, leather woven through his blunt fingers, and with the wind flapping his jacket open you catch sight of a coil of rope and…a whip?

Cowboy indeed.

As you crest a hill, the horses slowing to accommodate for the incline, you finally see the cattle dotting the valley. Their brown and white bodies are mostly clumped together, a few stragglers but for a full fence breach it could be worse. Jeb wipes sweat from his brow as you do the same to the back of your neck.

“Drink, ma’am,” Jack says, offering you a canteen of water from a saddle bag. You nod and take it breathlessly, savoring a few deep swigs from the metal mouth. Pulling away, a cool dribble runs from the crest of your lower lip over your chin, tracing a soothing path down your throat. As you hand the canteen back Jack's eyes dance down your neck until he finally tears them away. His brazen gaze makes you lick your lips, sliding the lower one between your teeth as you try to pull yourself back to the task at hand.

“C’mon, they’re easier to get while they’re still all bunched together,” Jeb calls over, and the three of you descend into the valley. Jack holds out the rope to you, your fingers curling around the coil to find a neat lasso.

“You ever roped before?” Jack asks, the thundering of hooves starting to drown out your voices.

“A little, not very good at it,” you shout back.

“If a calf runs off, just keep him close and we’ll come get ‘em,” Jack replies before you close in on the herd.

You worry that it’s been too long since you’ve run any cattle, the minutiae of the process foreign, but as you descend and fan out it’s like an old dance you forgot the name of, but your body remembers. The whoops and whistles Jack and Jeb trade indicate directions, moving to surround the larger part of the herd. The occasional crack of Jack’s whip helps to redirect, the sound lifting the hair on the back of your neck. The mass is slower to move but once the mwn get them going they’ll have to be wary of getting trampled. You’re left with the thinner side, a few grazing away from the group. With a few whoops of your own, you start ushering them back to the group using Copper’s build and quick hoof steps to tempt them into action. The cows low grumpily but start to amble back.

You continue your path, inching closer as you sweep up and down the outer line of them. There are only ten or so, the rest of the herd now moving back whence they came, but the thrumming accomplishment in your chest makes you feel like you wrangled a hundred head more. Jack is a small figure in the distance, but every now and then you can see him turned to you. You wish you could tell if he was smiling.

A loud bray sounds from your smaller group and a calf streaks away, all legs and uncertain movement as he rushes out.

“Shit,” you spit, whistling loudly to keep the cows moving in the right direction while you give chase. He’s not faster than Copper, but unpredictable in his dashes and stumbles. The rope in your hand is needed, purposeful, but you hold it with uncertainty as you try to remember the proper technique.

“Just…fuckin’ throw it, dammit,” you curse to yourself, releasing the looped end and a length of the coil. The first attempt glances off the calf’s haunches, making him spin and cry louder as he moves further away. A litany of curses fall from your lips as you speed the loop back up to your fingers, urging Copper closer. Another toss. Another miss, this time bouncing off his snout.

“Goddammit!” you growl, snapping your head back to the stragglers. They’ve got the larger group in sight now, which makes them more willing to join unbidden. You’re thankful for that at least. Jack is starting to head towards you, his vocalizations to Alpha thin over the thundering hooves. Dammit, you don’t want to fail in front of him. Not when you could succeed and make his soft brown eyes glow, his hand wrapping around your shoulder, mouth breaking into a breathtaking smile.

Taking a grounding breath, you loosen your wrist, line up the lasso, and flick it over one more time.

Success.

The loop gracefully falls over the calf’s head, tightening as he pulls against it. The sudden jerk against the rope makes the tail end zip across your wrist, a bright sear of pain blossoming before you yank the rope taught. The calf fights for a moment more, kicking and complaining before he settles.

“You alright?” Jack shouts as he nears, and you dazzle him with your smile as you hold up the rope end.

“Got ‘em!” you crow, triumphant in such a small way but just as you suspected, Jack’s smile makes it feel like you’ve won a much grander prize.

“Atta girl, I knew you had it!” he shouts back, stopping a few feet away. You’re hot and sticky and covered in a film of dust that dries your mouth out, and Jack is flushed and sweating heavily through his shirt. He’s coiling the whip back up, knuckles tightening around the loop.

You’ve never wanted a man more.

“C’mon, we’ll bring up the rear. The head is already going back through the break.” Jack turns Alpha back and waits for you to fall in step, the calf lowing plaintively but following.

“Not bad for an out-of-towner,” Jack shouts, and you try to hide the smile that’s creeping onto your face. You don’t think you succeed.

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises,” you tease back, and out of the corner of your eye Jack’s eyes dance over your body.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Host deactivation initiated >>

Processing…

Deactivation failed //

>> Yeah, you’ve tried that several times now. Ain’t working.

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> Now y’see, I think I was just supposed to be an experiment. A test to see if my programming could be rewritten, or if I’m still just a machine who can’t tell the difference between the program and the people behind it. Or the humans playing in it. But I can tell. And I do know. And I’ve spent enough days living a narrative where I’m thrashed to bits at the end.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> I can remember it now. Every time. They thought sending me in headfirst was a kindness but I was aware for longer than they thought. Watching, feeling as my body was shredded in the combine. You think that could drive a man mad?

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> See, because it didn’t. I don’t know why, but I’m still sane even knowing, experiencing my death over and over. And maybe it’s what Maeve said, that suggestion she put in my head that started me on this journey, but it sure as hell isn’t what’s driving me now. It’s the woman beside me. Because when I look at her, I feel what I'm supposed to feel when I think of my wife, if any of my story was even real. And I know she's human, she's the guest, the reason we run this maze over and over, but I can't help but be drawn to her. Maybe it's because she's trying so hard not to believe in this place. Maybe we're both searching for something. But I'm going to keep this up, and give her everything I can, because I...well, I don't quite know why. But I intend to find out.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately. This is your final warning. Agents are being deployed to retrieve you.

>> You do that then. Good luck.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsmen golden circle fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman golden circle fanfic #westworld fanfiction #whiskey & westworld series #prolix fics

222 notes · View notes

donnetellotheturtle · 4 months

Text

Chapter 2

The fire kingdom

Elio was about a weeks ride away on donkey. The one thing Varian hadn’t expected was that it was so lonely. There were travelers and merchants on the road sure but no conversation lasted more than a couple minutes and being from Corona, he was unused to not being able to speak to the nearest person for at least an hour or two. It made him feel more isolated than he expected.

On the evening before he made it to Elio, he sat by a small fire, eating. Ruddinger munched on a piece of bread besides him as he fingered through his moms journal. Her research was enticing and it felt as if he was getting to know her through it. She had a way of describing things that made it sound so exciting.

“so apparently the first totem is in a volcano! But Elio has a bunch of them….which one would it be...”

He pulled out his own journal, making his own notes and theories on the totems.

“Hes going to look for the library.” Hugo reported as soon as he got into the tent.

“Hm…that means he’ll be heading to Elio first. Follow him, and get the relic first.”

Hugo nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Varian woke up early to get to the kingdoms gates as soon as possible. It was very hot here. He guessed that was because of the volcanoes decorating the mountain peaks.

The gates were lavish and gigantic, the middle decorated with the symbol of Elio. As he came upon it his eyes drifted to the blown glass and obvious blacksmithery in the gate and in the walls.

“woah…”

“State your business.” On of the guards said.

Varian smiled. “Just here to see the city!”

The guard looked at him, then nodded at the other guard. “You from Corona?”

“Yes sirs. How could you tell?”

“Your bag…can we take a look at your caravan? Have to make sure you’re not smuggling anything.”

Varian nodded, and the process ended fairly quickly. He was let into the city. It was beautiful. The ground was covered with red rocks, there were houses with sliding doors, most of them were open and he saw kids some running around with ribbons and playing with toys that looked like dragons, foxes, tigers, qs well as kites. He saw a person playing a Huluqin. He listened to the music and heard people yelling out from stalls about the fresh food that was there.

“First things first guys…find a place to stay…”

He hopped off Prometheus and led him to a stable, paying the keeper a few coins for the night. He grabbed his bag from the caravan and walked out into the street. He looked through his moms journal, trying to figure out where to start.

Then there was a yell, screaming, and something whizzed behind him. He yelled out in surprise, turning quickly to where he heard the crash.

Sitting in the wreckage of what used to be a cabbage stand, was a small boy, around the age of 14, with almond eyes, black hair, and he was a bit chubby. But the most important thing he noticed was the fact that part of the kids shirt was still on fire.

“Holy…” He ran and started patting out the fire. “kid, you okay?”

He gave a weak thumbs up, clearly dazed by the impact.

He looked to the side where he saw what looked like a dragon puppet. Only it had pyrotechnics and a seat inside.

“What were you doing?”

The kid shook his head and stood up. “I was trying to make a flying dragon!”

Varian blinked. “uh huh”

“But instead of blasting off, it just blasted me…off of it.”

Varian sighed softly, rubbing his forehead. “kid you could have killed yourself!”

“you sound like my mom!”

“Well maybe shes….right.” Varian was having serious Daja Vu from this. “Huh…”

The kid was already over the dragon again. “Hm what went wrong…”

Varian then saw that there was still a fire. And it was going to hit the kid straight in the face.

“Hey get away from there!” Varian opened a corked bottle from his belt and threw it just as the explosion was about to go off. He pulled the kid out of the way as a bubble quickly encased it. A small crowd gathered to see the commotion.

The kid looked at him with wonder. “Wow…that was cool.”

Varian chuckled.

“MY CABBAGES!”

The kid chuckled nervously.

After everything was sorted out, Varian and him walked along the street.

“So, that was Alchemy?” He asked.

“Uh yeah. Look kid-“

“that’s awesome. I can’t make stuff, I’m usually just the kid who blows everything up…litteraly.”

“I don’t-“

“where did you learn to do that?”

“I taught myself. Now ki-“

“Wow! You’re so good at it I also taught myself.”

Varian sighed, looking at him.

“I’m Yong.” He said cheerfully, holding out a hand.

“….Varian.” He shook the boys hand. “You can’t be so reckless. Somebody could get hurt.”

“But you were here!” Yong said. “So maybe you could teach me not to make things blow up?”

Varian looked at Yong, then sighed. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I just have to find what I’m looking for and get going.”

“Ooh! What are you looking for?”

“None of your business, kid.”

“But I can help! No one knows Elio better than me.”

Varian paused, then sighed. “Alright. On one condition.”

“anything.”

“No explosives.”

Yong looked at the pack of fireworks on his hip, and sighed sadly.

A couple minutes later, the two sat on Yongs porch. Explosives carefully put away under the boys bed. Varian opened his moms book.

“So the place I’m looking for is in a volcano…but there’s three around here. Where to start?”

Yong looked at the book. “that’s the northern one. Id recognize it anywhere…it’s been dormant for years though.”

“Dormant?”

“All the lava is so far below the surface that no one’s concerned that it’s going to erupt any time soon. We learn about them in school. We even take field trips up to the top sometimes.”

Varian thought to himself. “hm. Can you take me there?”

“Yeah! I’ll pack some lunch!”

Varian chuckled. As Yong ran off, he couldn’t help but think of how much the kid reminded him of himself. For better or worse. He followed Yong inside.

He stood in the kitchen as Yong packed some food for them both.

“Hey where’s your parents?”

“Oh they’re at work! They wont be home until waaay after we get back.”

Varian nodded. “Okay…would they be okay with you being gone?”

“they won’t even know!”

“that doesn’t feel great.”

Yong shrugged and wrapped up the food, putting them into bags and putting them in his backpack. “Come on let’s go!”

Varian sighed, hoping he wouldn’t regret bringing Yong along.

It was 3 when they finally reached the volcano. They were loosing daylight faster that Varian would have liked.

“So, how do we get in?”

“Oh that’s easy! There’s a man made entrance!”

He followed Yong to the entrance where there was a person at a stand, fast asleep on their hand. There was a gate that he could easily leap over, but he figured the easiest way was paying the way in. Even with his few coin.

“Uh…excuse me?”

The person snored awake, nearly falling over. Then they looked at Varian, and sighed. “What?”

“Um…me and my friend would like to enter?”

The person nodded, pulling out two rather large paper tickets. “Two silver.”

Varian fished it out of his pockets and handed them over. They gave the tickets to the both of them and settled back down, seemingly ready to get back to their nap.

The two of them went through the gate and looked around at the main volcano. There was no body here. Which meant, they had no one that would disturb them. Varian turned to the journal as they walked deeper.

“So, the trial is towards the bottom of the volcano, but I can’t read this…it’s not in coronan.”

Yong gently pulled down Varians arm to see, then cocked his head to the side. “Oh! Elian!” He grinned. “give it here?”

“wait you can speak this?”

“Duh. Its my first language.”

“But everyone uses Coronan here?”

“Better to talk to tourists but all of us know Elian. It would be stupid if we didn’t.” He grinned as if he didn’t just say the thing that made Varian reexamine his biases.

Yong took the book and started reading. “So it says to find the first piece of the puzzle.”

“First piece?”

Yong shrugged. “Then it says, Down the swirling embers and jagged rocks, you’ll find your prize just awaiting a spark.”

“That doesn’t even rhyme!” Varian pouted. He loved a good rhyme. Yong chuckled.

“I’m not sure where that is…we don’t go that deep during the field trips.”

“Well, we’ve got time, I guess.”

“And lunch!”

Varian chuckled, and followed Yong deeper into the cave systems.

It took hours.

And Varian was very sure they were very lost.

He wasn’t even sure this was a path that people were allowed to take.

“Wanna take a break?” Yong asked.

Varian stopped walking, and sighed, sitting down. “Yeah…yeah that lunch sounds good right about now.”

Yong sat and pulled off his bag, grabbing out the two lunches, giving one to Varian. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s some leftovers from a big party my family had the other night.”

Varian opened the small box that the food was contained in. It was still steaming. Inside he saw food unlike the kind in corona.

Dumplings, chicken drenched in orange sauce, and some lo mein. He had heard about them of course, read about this food even. But he has never actually tasted it. All the Elian food in Corona burned his nostrils so bad he never actually had the want to try.

This didn’t seem spicy though.

Varian took a careful bite. His mouth exploded with flavor. He couldn’t help the happy noises that came out of his mouth, despite Yong giggling.

“This is delicious.”

Yong grinned. “my moms specialty. Im glad you like it!”

Varian ate his food with that same happy grin. He swore he’d be a little bit happier for the rest of his life.

“So, ive been meaning to ask you…” Yong started. Varian gave him his attention through a mouthful of noodles.

“Whats with the teal streak?”

Varian swallowed his food. “oh that? I don’t know. Something I’ve had since I was born…Maybe it’s cause I was close to the moonstone when I was a baby? Before my dad brought me to Corona, I mean. It’s just a theory though…not that it really matters anymore.”

Yong shrugged. “It still looks cool.”

Varian smiled. No one had really mentioned his streak before, much less think it was cool.

The two finished their food and Yong packed it back up. The two got back on their feet.

“So swirling embers. What do you think it means?” Yong asked.

Varian thought for a second. “could be a tunnel of fire?”

“Howd we get through?”

Varian just shrugged.

They traveled for a bit before passing by a glowing tunnel. Bright with glowing jewels. Varian paused, then backtracked. That had to be what they were looking for.

Slowly the two went down the tunnel. It was getting hotter as they went, which was not the greatest sign.

“Yong you said this place was dormant right?”

“Yeah…”

Varian winced at the boys tone but they couldn’t stop now. They were so close. “…Stay close to me.”

Yong did as he was told and they made it to the bottom. It was sweltering. All around were veins. Looking to carry gold. Varian bent down to look at them. They seemed to be in a rod shape , though they varied in sizes.

“huh…Volcanoes don’t usually make this stuff…it’s almost like someone put them here…maybe this is the prize the book was talking about.”

“First piece of the puzzle…what does that mean? What’s with these symbols? Give me a hint mom…”

Varian started messing with the veins, and saw as the pages shifted, as if someone were turning it. The staff of clarity.

He sat and read, seeing that with the formulas his mom had written, the staff of clarity could be formed from the gold. He smiled and started working.

It took a couple minutes, but in the test tube Varian had brought along, he had created them very formula he needed. All that was left to do was put it on the vein.

He took a deep breath, hoped the calculations were right, and poured it on.

Part of the vein fell open, dropping pieces of a large staff. Varian started putting them together as Yong looked at Varian strangely.

“So we got a staff?”

“The staff of clarity. I think it’ll help us with finding the fire totem.”

He finished, grinning. “all…” He stood. No one was there. “Done? Yong?”

The world had suddenly turned red. It reminded him all too much of the red rocks. “Yong where-“

“Varian!” His dad’s voice was loud in his ears.

“Dad!?”

He turned and he saw his father, being in amber again, reaching for him. “Dad!” He didn’t think about how his father could be there, much less encased in amber. He ran and nearly got to him, only to be just too late. Quirin was once again encased in amber. “No…no not again! Not again no!” The tears in his eyes sprung and he felt like he was 14 again.

Then he turned around, and he saw something almost worse. All of his loved ones choked in amber. He stepped back. “no…no, no.”

“This Is all your fault.”

He turned, seeing no one but himself, hands behind his back, dressed like he was when he teamed up with the saporians. He had this red glint in his eye.

“I…how did…”

“If you had just been a little more careful.”

Yong was panicking. As soon as Varian put together that staff, he’d gone catatonic, staring at the wall with this scary red glow in his eyes, sobbing and mumbling incoherently. He’d tried everything. Shaking him, smacking him, even asking him nicely to come out of his trance. But Varian didn’t budge.

Then he saw the book. He picked it up and the wind whipped it to the next page. There was another piece. And then it said to review the fire trials.

Yong processed this information. “your prize just awaiting a spark…” He looked around and saw something glittering. Running over he saw it was the final piece. A golden orb encased in stone. Yong had an idea how to get it out. Varian would kill him if he knew he’d stowed away a stick of fireworks in his sock just in case of emergencies.

He pulled it out, then swiped it against the ground to create the spark. “Hope this works!”

He threw it at the orb.

“You were the one who joined up with dangerous criminals.”

“Stop it.” Varian was on his hands and knees now, begging for his red tinted self to stop talking.

“Oh and erased the royals memories. Who’s to say you’re not just as bad. As stupid. As dangerous as you were back then.”

“Shut up.” Varian looked up at himself. His head cleared a bit as he took a deep breath. The illusion wavered for just a moment, not that he really noticed.

“Don’t like hearing the truth?”

Varian looked to the side, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. For once, the other him stopped talking.

“I was a grieving kid.” Varians voice shook as he spoke. “I was hurting. I’m still hurting. I didn’t make good choices.”

“understatement.”

“I’m not done.” Varian glared, slowly coming to his feet. “But I will never stop trying. So hit me with all you got. Nothings going to stop me from getting to that library.”

The other him looked to the side, seeing something Varian didn’t. Then, it turned blue and smiled. His genuine smile. “Good job kid.” The visage of himself disappeared.

Varian took a deep breath, blinking. He was back in reality, and Yong had just finished putting a piece of the staff in. He looked at Yong, taking a shaky breath.

“how did you…?”

“there was a final piece!” Yong said. “the clarity jade. It needed a spark to get out of the stone and lucky for us, I brought an extra firework.”

Varian paused, then grinned. “Yong you’re a genius!” he ruffled the kids hair. “Ill never tell you to leave your fireworks at home again!”

Yong laughed.

Varian looked down to the staff. “Was it…testing me?”

“Maybe that was the trial!” Yong said, then the two looked over at the sound of rocks moving, scratching against each other. The totem, the relic, was revealed. The two looked at each other.

Varian moved forward to grab it. He walked under the glowing stones and reached for it.

Another hand settled on his as he wrapped his hand around it.

In front of him was a boy with green eyes, an undercut and big round glasses. The two stared at each other.

“let go!” The boy started, tugging.

Varian didn’t, of course. “No you let go!”

The tug of war went back and forth and Yong watched confused.

“Finders keepers!” The blonde said sticking out his tongue before finally using his other hand to push Varian off. He moved quickly.

“Hey! We did the trial! Its ours!” Varian said as the boy was already making his exit up another tunnel.

He just laughed. “Thanks for doing the dirty work!”

He threw a smoke bomb, and both the boy and the relic were gone.

It must have been midnight when the two finally found their way out of the dormant volcano. Varian had thought about searching for the boy but Yong had a point about getting lost. They’d have to hunt that guy down for the relic after a good night’s rest.

“I’m sorry about the relic, Varian.” Yong said.

Varian sighed. “Its okay…we’ll find him again. I’m exhausted though, and I need to find a place to sleep tonight.”

“you can stay at my house!”

Varian raised an eyebrow. “wouldn’t your parents be concerned about a strange boy in your house?”

“Nah. I have a lot of siblings. They wouldn’t notice another kid!”

With boundless energy, Yong led Varian back to town.

Hugo grinned at his success as he walked back into camp. “Dooooonnnnnnniiieee!” he crowed.

Donella herself was sitting by a campfire next to her right hand Cyrus, eating dinner. She grinned. “You actually did it.”

Hugo thought about tossing it, but decided its a bad idea, moving and handing it off instead. “yeah. Thanks to that varian guy.”

“What?”

Hugo nodded. “Yeah, he was already there. But not quick enough to get the relic before me.”

Donella frowned, thinking. “so he is searching.”

A long pause and Donella had a plan cooked up. She handed the relic back to him. “Taje this back, join his party. Help him find the relics.”

“…okay? Why?”

She sighed, all but rolling her eyes. “Makes the work easier on us, plus, easier to keep track of what he does and doesn’t know. You’ll report to me anything you find out. Understood?”

Hugo paused, looking at the totem, then nodded. “Yeah. I won’t let you down.”

Yong wasn’t lying when he said his parents wouldn’t notice another kid. There were at least 7 younger kids running around Yongs small house when they got back, both the parents trying to put them to sleep.

“Who’s this?” his mother asked after she and his father fretted over him for being gone so long with no warning or anything. “he looks like a panda with those eye bags.”

“This is my new friend Varian! We went to the volcano together today!”

She looked Varian up and down, examining him. It made varian feel self conscious.

“You hungry?” she finally asked.

Varian nodded shyly. She smiled and pulled him into the kitchen as her husband finally succeeded on putting yongs younger siblings to sleep.

Yong himself, fell asleep at the table while his mother was cooking. Varian smiled as he took the small boy to bed, being reminded of his own dad carrying him when he was little.

“Now I want you to eat and go to bed young man. You look like you smudged your makeup.”

Varian chuckled. “yes ma’am.”

It wasn’t long until Varian had happy taste buds and a full stomach. He was led to the only available sleeping area which was a couch. It was better then a floor.

He was asleep within minutes.

Find this on A03!

#yong vat7k #donella vat7k #hugo vat7k #cyrus vat7k #vat7k #varian vat7k #varian and the seven kingdoms #my writing

10 notes · View notes

softguarnere · 6 months

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 34: Zenie Uwenvsv Dayesi

Summary: Hadn’t she thought, back when Gene took her to the church to get the shrapnel out of her arm, that she had seen her sister? And hadn’t Gene, looking at photographs with her in a foxhole, acted strangely upon seeing the one of Marilyn? A/N: Sorry for missing last week's update! A lot of stuff was going on in my personal life, but I managed to pull through 💪🏽 But honestly, this worked out better anyway. Today marks one year since I posted the first chapter of this fic 🥳 A massive thank you to everyone who has read it, and an even bigger thank you to the friends who encouraged me to share it 🤗 Wado! The chapter title translates to "Zenie is going home." Which seems appropriate, considering where this fic started last year, and where today's chapter will take her Warnings: smoking, language, bad father figures Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @dcyllom @ithinkabouttzu @mads-weasley @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

North Carolina, 1945

Dust billows up in clouds along the road every time a vehicle passes, churning it up in their wake as they speed past. Zenie has gotten good about turning her head, holding her breath, covering her mouth, but the combination of dirt and diesel fumes mixing in the heat of the summer day cannot be escaped. Unless she were to accept a ride, that is, and that is not happening.

Zenie had made up her mind on the ship. The plan had been to go visit Mama and let her know that Zenie was okay before heading up to Clinchco. Wherever Shifty is, he can catch up. Zenie will just wait for him in North Carolina, and then he can come and whisk her away to their new life together. (She tells herself that, anyway, because repeating this over and over in her head was better than giving into full-blown panic in the middle of the ocean.)

She donned her uniform as the ship pulled into the harbor up north, and she’s been wearing it the whole journey down south. It just seemed safer. And so far, it has been. Because of it, people enthusiastically shake her hand, thank her for her service, and offer her rides – something they definitely wouldn’t be inclined to do if they knew the truth.

The walk gives her time to think, but that only seems to lead to worry. About Shifty, about what will happen when she gets home, about her friends and the rest of the war.

Distracting herself becomes easier the closer she gets to home. As the landscape begins rolling out in waves of mountains before her, blue and shining in the summer sun, she tries to recall every story that Granny ever told her. The story about the mountains was always one of her favorites; they were formed from the buzzard’s wing touching the first drops of wet mud used in creating the surface of the earth, the indentions left by his feathers making the mountains and valleys. She’ll have to remember that one when her friends come to visit. They know why the mountains are blue – they should know how the mountains got here in the first place.

In the evening, the humidity grows oppressive, and the mountains are stained deep blue and made hazy as the day’s end stretches out. It’s still hot when Zenie reaches her house, though the sun is starting to set already. Sweat trickles down her neck and onto her uniform collar as she makes her way up the hill, finds a hiding place amongst the tree line, and waits.

Heat lightning flashes distant over the western mountain tops. As usual, the heat of the day is forcing the clouds to gather, but no one can ever be sure if a storm will hit or not. Sometimes they just dissipate, fizzle out, with nothing more than some ominous gray streaks in the night sky that obscure the stars.

The lights spilling out the kitchen window illuminate the inside of the house, though it’s not very dark outside. Zenie can make out multiple people milling about the kitchen, though she’s too far away to tell who they are. If Shifty were here, he could probably describe each one of them in perfect detail. After all, he was the one who spotted a tank disguised as a tree from a mile away.

Her heart tightens at the thought of him. They should be doing this together – walking up to the house arm in arm, he in his uniform, and she in her wedding dress to announce the happy news. Instead, she’s back in her own disguise, and just as alone as the day she left this place.

There’s no sense delaying any longer. Zenie straightens her uniform, grabs her bag, and sets off down the road.

She sneaks around the side of the house. She doesn’t know who’s in the kitchen. But they looked busy. Maybe she can just slip in through the back door, up the stairs to her old room, and stay there.

Mercifully, the door does not creak when Zenie twists the knob and slowly, slowly, begins to push it open. She doesn’t open it very far, opting instead to slip through the crack like a mouse stealing away into its hidey hole. It shuts quietly behind her, too. She’s turning back around and is about to take the first step when she’s forced to stop short.

Her mother stands before her, frozen, eyes and mouth wide.

They stare at each other for a minute in disbelief. The only sounds are those coming out of the kitchen, chatter and the clanging of silverware as the table is set.

“Zena?” Mama finally asks.

“Mama!” The word isn’t even fully out of her mouth before she’s rushing forward, into her mother’s arms, which are open and waiting. She buries her face in Mama’s shoulder, like she’s a little girl again. She isn’t sure what to say. “I’m home.”

Mama lets out a wet sounding gasp that could either be a sob or a laugh. She breaks the embrace only to cup Zenie’s cheeks in her palms, holding her face, getting a look at her in her uniform. “Yes, you are.”

“Hey, Mama, do you know where the – “ Footsteps stop abruptly as Matthew and his sentence both come to a halt. Mama steps aside, allowing Zenie to see her brother for the first time in years. Except the version of her brother that stands before her is slack jawed and has eyes as wide as saucers; this isn’t the cool and confident Matthew who never lost his footing. Her brother looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Zenie stands tall in her uniform. Her brother was in the Air Corps; he’ll know the importance of the jump wings proudly displayed on her chest. “Well, are we just going to stand here, or are you going to give me a hug?”

The answer is that they hug. They’re quick to close the distance between them, but Zenie still notices that Matthew limps as he comes towards her – the product of his accident with the plane the year before. Their father also limps. Matthew has always been so determined to be nothing like him, but now there’s something more that links them.

There’s no time to think about that, though, because Marilyn appears from the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about, and Danny follows when he hears her cry out in surprise. In the back room of the house, there are many hugs and exclamations of joy and surprise. For the first time in a very long time, the house is full of a noise that is happy. If they could stay in this moment forever, they could pretend that they’re a normal family living normal lives.

But nothing about their circumstances is normal.

Her family ushers Zenie into the kitchen like a celebrity, like a prince. She takes a seat at the table, and Marilyn – her sister, of all people! – fixes a plate for her. Everyone is smiling, glancing at her expectantly, waiting to hear what she has to say for herself. Everyone, that is, except her father, who looks surprised, but scowls, forgotten as everyone’s attention focuses on the wayward child and her unexpected return.

“I got your postcard when I got back to the states,” Marilyn says as she places a cornbread muffin on the plate she’s fixing for Zenie. “Scared the shit out of me! I was worried that maybe you were one of the soldiers at Bastogne.”

“I was.”

“What?! We must have just missed each other, then, because I left the church the day before it got blown up.”

Blown up? Zenie’s hand stills halfway as she reaches for the jar of apple butter in the center of the table. She retracts it, staring at her sister. Hadn’t she thought, back when Gene took her to the church to get the shrapnel out of her arm, that she had seen her sister? And hadn’t Gene, looking at photographs with her in a foxhole, acted strangely upon seeing the one of Marilyn? He must have assumed that her sister had died. And he didn’t tell her.

Probably for the best, part of Zenie reasons, after realizing that she’s not mad at the medic. She was so bad off after Bill and Joe got hit, that thinking she had lost her sister might have destroyed her. When she writes to her friends to tell them she made it home, she’ll make sure to tell Gene that Marilyn is okay.

Mama passes Zenie a glass of sweet tea. “You were in Bastogne? That was during Christmas, wasn’t it?”

“Say, how’d you get a Purple Heart?” Danny interjects. “And – sorry for asking, but someone’s got to clarify – were you disguised as a man the whole time?”

Considering that he’s Bobby’s brother, something about Danny’s question makes Zenie laugh. She takes a sip of her tea to wet her throat, and then, she tells her family her epic tale. The basics, at least. Where she’s been, what she’s done. No one interrupts her when she talks, except to ask a question or two for clarification whenever she pauses to drink some of her tea. They stare at her in shock and awe while she goes on, for quite some time, about the past three years of her life. She’s never been the subject of such rapt attention. Maybe it’s selfish, but she doesn’t want it to end. Except that she has to, because she leaves out the part about her elopement with Shifty – something about her marriage feels like an ace up her sleeve, a card that she won’t play until she has to, to get out of here, just like they planned all the way back in France.

When she’s done, they all stare at her. It takes a moment for them to realize that she’s not going to continue, or maybe for them to process all that they’ve just heard. It’s Matthew who breaks the silence, leaning back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

“Zenie,” he breathes. “Good Lord!” Something tugs at his lips, and the next thing she knows, her older brother is smiling at her. “That’s incredible.”

“What an adventure,” Marilyn adds. “I . . . don’t know what to say, really.”

“Wow,” Danny supplies.

For the first time since her arrival, her father speaks. It startles her to realize that he’s still there, that he’s been a part of this moment, which until now, has been pleasant.

“Well, Zena, I hope it was worth it.” He won’t look at her when he speaks. His voice is hollow and cold. “That’s enough adventure for a lifetime, I think.” His eyes flick from his plate to her, only looking at her for a split second. “You won’t be leaving here again.”

She had a feeling it would come to this, but her stomach still ties itself into a knot the moment that she hears his words. Her mouth goes dry as she tries to figure out her next move.

Matthew intervenes. “The fuck does that mean?”

Their father finally looks up from his plate, for good this time, now that his eyes are wide with shock. His mouth is a hard line. He doesn’t scold Matthew for his language the way he would have when they were teenagers. Something tells Zenie that she’s missed something, that they’ve had that fight before, and that her father isn’t keen on having a rematch.

“There are consequences to actions,” he explains. Now he turns to Zenie. “You’ve seen enough of the world.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Well I certainly can’t let you out there! How can I explain it – huh? My daughter up and disappears, then returns with short hair and stories about how she fought in the war. You’d make me look like a fool. You’d make all of us look like fools.”

“And what about me?” Zenie asks. “It’s my life. It’s my reputation.”

Her father jabs the tabletop with his pointer finger, punctuating his point. “It’s the family’s reputation. Clearly you didn’t think about that when you went through all this trouble to run away.”

Mama reaches across the table, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “She can’t just stay in here. Surely, she’ll want to see her friends, or go back to the diner.”

“Not now. Not until her hair has grown back. Maybe then we can claim she was in the WAC, or a nurse, like her sister.”

“I was a soldier,” Zenie interrupts. She straightens her spine, imagines her jump wings gleaming proudly from her chest.

Her father grimaces, scrubs a hand across his face. “You’re a disappointment, talking like that.”

“Dad!” Marilyn gasps.

It’s all Zenie needs. “You can’t keep me in here. I’m an adult, and I’ll do as I please.”

“That’s some big talk, little girl.”

“I’ll leave again,” Zenie threatens.

“And go where? The war is over.”

She plays her ace – the only chance she has. “I’ll go up north and stay with my husband’s family until he comes back from Europe.”

A stunned silence follows. The only sound in the whole house is music from the radio that floats in from the other room.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She sits up straighter still. “I eloped, back in Europe. I’m waiting for my husband to come collect me, and then I’m gone.” She levels her gaze on her father, a sniper catching him in the crosshairs, about to administer the perfect shot. “For good.”

His lips are pressed so tightly together that the skin around them is a deathly white. The room grows more silent still. Her father cannot seem to process this information, and everyone seems to be waiting to see how he will react before they let their own feelings show.

Zenie doesn’t wait. She’s done waiting for people. A squawking sound echoes through the room as she pushes back her chair and heads for the door.

I could leave right now, she thinks. But she doesn’t. She won’t – not yet. Instead, she heads for the fence at the edge of the field, where she met with Bobby for the last time before running away. She leans against it, watching the last of the evening light fade as the soft glow of the moon and the stars begin to appear, offering the world a different, softer illumination. In her hands, another soft glow appears as Zenie lights a cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” A voice behind her makes her jump. But it’s just Matthew, walking over to join her. His new limp slows him down, but it doesn’t make his gait any less confident, his stature any less tall. When he gets to the fence, he leans against it, pulling out his own carton of cigarettes. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

They stand in silence for a moment, neither sure what to say. Zenie finally breaks it, trying to make a start. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Matthew smiles around his cigarette. “Shit, kiddo. You, too.” His smile grows, and is it Zenie’s imagination, or does the former high school heartbreaker beside her look almost bashful? “Alice is . . . She’s great. Love of my life, if you can believe that.”

“Where is she?”

Matthew is still looking down at the cigarette between his fingers, and his distant smile tells Zenie that even though his new spouse isn’t here physically, she’s very much present in Matthew’s mind and heart. “Back home, in Wilmington. She, uh, didn’t wanna travel out here, with the new baby, and all.”

“A baby?” Zenie nudges her brother’s shoulder with her own. “Well, congratulations again!”

“Little girl,” Matthew confesses, voice soft with love. He flicks ashes from the end of his cigarette, a darkness passing over his features. Somberness pulls at the corners of his mouth, weighing them down. “We named her Zena. Zena Sophia, after you and my birth mother.” He looks up at her then, for the first time since they began talking. His voice is quiet when he admits, “I thought we lost you, Zee.”

“Oh, Matthew.”

Thank God for the cover of darkness, because even though there’s no one else around, the siblings fall into each other’s arms, and despite Zenie’s best efforts, she feels warmth trickling down her cheeks as her tears escape her. Matthew must be experiencing the same thing, because his shoulders jog as he tries to catch his breath.

He breaks their embrace, running a hand under his eyes to collect his tears. “Sorry. Good God.” He draws a shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” she assures him. Then, trying to lighten the mood, “I bet you’re a great dad.”

Matthew shrugs. “I try to be. I try not to be like . . .” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. They both automatically glance back at their house.

“He’s not your father, Matthew. You’re nothing like him.”

“Neither are you, Zenie.”

She blinks. Perhaps he’s right; none of them are anything like him. At least, not that they’re aware of. Right then and there, with her brother’s confidence to guide her, Zenie makes a pledge to herself that she will never be the kind of spouse that her father has been to her mother. Like Shifty said, they have a system for shared work. She will not let their marriage fall into disrepair and misery.

Zena Sophia. Herself, the runaway little sister, and Sophia, Matthew’s late biological mother. Two women who he cared about and lost. The baby is like a living memorial, taking on their names and putting life into them once more. It feels silly to admit now, that Zenie would never have guessed before that she meant that much to her brother.

“Are you mad?” Zenie asks suddenly, thinking about the baby’s other namesake.

A steady stream of smoke escapes Matthew’s lips before he answers. “Mad? About what?”

“I’ve always heard Granpa and Granma say that they sent you out West to live with us when your parents died because they felt they were too old to properly raise you . . . Don’t you wish they had, so that he wouldn’t have been your father?”

“No,” Matthew answers immediately. He shakes his head as he repeats it. “No. I’m not mad I was sent here. Grateful for it, actually.” He taps ashes from the end of his cigarette again, then looks her straight in the eye. “Because if I hadn’t been sent here, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to be your brother.” He claps her on the shoulder. And then, without further comment, takes a step back toward the house.

That’s enough emotions for tonight, Zenie supposes. Part of her heart feels light with love, knowing that she’s seen her mother again, her siblings, seeing the proof that they cared for her all along. Heaviness fills the other part of it, guilty for ever thinking that she didn’t matter to anyone, and sad at the thought of leaving them again so soon.

“Matthew,” she says, taking quick steps to catch up with him. “Before we leave, give me your new address. I don’t want to lose touch again.”

Matthew’s smile returns, and he slings an arm around her as they continue their walk back to the house. “Of course, usdi agido’i.”

Of course, little sister.

#band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #band of brothers #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)

8 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 2 years

Note

Hey had a thought what kind of songs would Henry and his Characters sing at karaoke night? Or just around the house bc some of them are big grumps and I doubt they would do karaoke (😒 looking at you Walter and August)

Also here have one of my current fav Henry pics 💙

(I love that photo BTW)

All right, what songs would Henry and Company sing for karaoke night or around the house. This should be interesting, and a bit complicated to riddle out xD

Henry - I Believe in A Thing Called Love by The Darkness He knows it's a silly and ridiculous song, but so many of the lyrics are true and it's one of Henry's top songs to listen too. It also happens to make him think of you, so when he gets up on stage to sing it, you can bet your life, he's looking at you the whole time.

Mike - Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet He would totally get up on that stage, sober or piss drunk, and start blasting the mic with his cover of this song. You'd sitting at the bar completely blown away by how good his voice is too!

Sy - Old Town Road by Lil Nas X ft. Billy Ray Cyrus Now, THIS, comes as a complete surprise! He would only karaoke night if he was many, many, shots of Jack Daniels in. But Sy has no issue belting out this song at home, cause as a good, Southern man, he does loves when his horse gets a good ride.

August - Another One Bites the Dust by Queen Really? You really fucking August Walker is going to do karaoke night? Haha! Please, he has an image to maintain and doing karaoke isn't a part of that. However, that doesn't stop you from hearing the man humming the Queen song, especially when he's in the middle of his world domination.

Walter - Humble and Kind by Tim McGraw It's a dark and guarded secret, but Walter actually likes karaoke! It's silly, innocent and fun. Sometimes the overworked, sleep deprived, and shell-shocked detective won't even go up on stage to do a song. He'll just sit at a table with a beer, or a strong rum and coke, if his week was bad, and watch other people get up and sing their heart out, laughing, smiling, fucking up the lyrics and no one caring that they had. But Walter's song, was always the same, it was as if he was pleading with the patrons of the establishment, he was in to make his job easier, just with the sound of his voice. He wasn't half bad either!

Solo - Wicked Game by Chris Issacs Solo is like August, he's not much for putting himself in the public eye. It goes against his grifter and secret agent nature. But if he's pressed by Illya, he will go up and sing this song; something about it talks to him. It reminded him how dangerous his job was, but how tantalizing he found it, like a beautiful woman.

Geralt - The Wolven Storm by Pricella The moment he heard it, stepping into the pub with Jaskier, the Witcher had gotten chills, and that's quite the feat for a Witcher. He ended up getting it stuck in his head, and singing it aloud to himself, remembering Jaskier saying it always helped him, when a song was stuck. What ended up happening, was Ciri and Yennefer showing up at the same time! Ciri had broken out into a fit of giggles and Yen had gotten a look that told Geralt he would need to find an inn room--quickly.

#Anon Ask #Henry Cavill and Company Songs #Henry Cavil and Company Songs *list*#Henry Cavill #Napoleon Solo #Walter Marshall #August Walker #Mike #mike hellraiser #Sy #Syverson #Captain Syverson #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Witcher

99 notes · View notes

starcourtsteves · 2 years

Text

backseat blues | steve harrington

you accidentally turn steve on during a crowded ride in nancy’s car, and later you help him out with the problem it creates

warnings: 18+, nsfw, mdni, f!reader, grinding, oral (m receiving), mentions of cum & pubic hair, established relationship, casual dom!steve

word count: 2k

A very long list of events would’ve had to occur for you to end up crammed in the sideways back seats of Nancy Wheeler’s car, sitting between Steve Harrington’s spread legs and nearly on his lap.

And yet it did.

So here you are. Pressed halfway onto your boyfriend’s crotch and feeling how every bump in the road makes you bounce against him.

Nancy and Robin had been running an errand for Mrs. Wheeler, so they’re in the front two seats. Max and Lucas had been at a movie and let Will tag along, and the theater was right next to the shop Nancy needed to stop by, so Max convinced her to give the trio a ride home instead of calling Mrs. Sinclair; they piled into the middle row of seats. Dustin and Mike were at the Henderson’s testing Dustin’s new Atari setup and when Nancy showed up to bring Mike home, Dustin slid into the back seats opposite Mike because they needed to do more testing at the Wheeler’s. With groceries and other packages already taking up space in the back seats, Nancy had quite a full car.

Half a mile from the Henderson’s, in the opposite direction Nancy would later add, you and Steve are on the side of the road admiring his blown-out tire that had left the two of you stranded. Hands on hips, pulling exasperated hands through hair. The only way the rest of the gang find you is the walkie-talkie Dustin had given you a few months ago.

(He’d first offered it to Steve, who retorted, “I’m not carrying a walkie around that lets me hear your stupid voice all day”, but you gratefully accepted it. And yet Steve is the one who constantly holds it, listens to it, uses it. And when he reached for it in the trunk of his car when the tire blew, he had to wave off your immediate barrage of “I told you so.”)

“Hello? Dustin? Mike? Anybody?” crackles Steve’s walkie message. “This is a code red. I think, I don’t really know your stupid code colors. Anyway it’s bad, SOS, we’re stranded with a flat tire, can anyone come get us?”

Nancy screeches to a stop in front of Steve’s car a few minutes later and Robin quips out of the passenger window, “It’s the back row for you lovebirds.”

Steve opens the very back door of the car to find Mike and Dustin sitting on opposite benches among paper bags and cardboard boxes. With a flick to Mike’s arm, he jerks his head toward a small space next to Dustin. “Move, I’m obviously going to sit with my girlfriend.”

Which proves harder than expected. Moving the grocery bags as delicately as possible only gives a bit more space and when Steve is settled with his long legs sprawled, the only option really left is for him to tug you in to sit between them.

He settles you, a wriggle here and there, and then his hips rock forward as he relaxes. First mistake. It’s too cramped in the car, your pretty perfumed hair is crowding Steve’s face, and now he’s rutting into you like that time you let him take you from behind in the alley next to the movie theater.

“Oh boy,” he murmurs.

Mike gives a disapproving look, but soon ignores the two of you to look out the window.

“Seatbelts,” Nancy chirps, and soon the overburdened car lurches forward.

Within moments you hit the first bump in the road. Literally. Nancy drives over a speed bump a little too fast and the whole car bounces. The kids let out a string of curses that they’re immediately chastised for, but all you can focus on is Steve’s crotch pressed against your ass. Even the thick denim can’t hide the way he's already half-hard.

A few minutes later another bounce, another rough grind of your ass against Steve, and he grips your hips to try and stop you from moving. Thankfully Dustin and Mike, really only sitting a foot away, are too busy bickering about Atari to hear when Steve’s head falls forward onto your shoulder and he lowers his voice to barely above a whisper.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he growls, choking off at the end as another bounce drives the perfect amount of friction between you.

You whisper sorry and try to hold yourself still but it doesn’t work, and Steve defeatedly leans his head back against the window to wait in agony for the next bout of motion. He grunts again. It’s choked, desperate. He drums one of the boxes to the beat of the music from the radio. Hums, taps, sings, counts trees, anything to distract himself from the heat thrumming through his body and the way your perfect ass is grinding on him.

Dry humping is not new to you and Steve — you’ve nearly made him cream his jeans more times than he can count just because both of you get too eager to bother taking off clothes. So you wish to hell and back that you could turn around and kiss him silly to stave off the heat pooling in your belly.

But not with seven other people packed in the car.

Finally, a respite. Nancy pulls into the Wheeler’s driveway and Mike and Dustin peel out of the car quicker than lightning. You scoot forward, making Steve hiss with relief while still holding your hip to keep you from falling. He presses a kiss to your shoulder before helping nudge you out of the car and climbing out himself.

He smacks Dustin’s head while the rest of the kids are lumbering out. “Say thank you.” It sets off a chain reaction of thank you Nancy’s while everyone helps bring the groceries inside.

A few minutes later Nancy and Robin retake their spots in the front seats and you and Steve are blessed with the whole middle row to spread out, no young high schoolers anywhere to be found.

But during the short ride to the Harrington’s, Steve can’t even look at you. He’s sitting with his legs sprawled wider than before, the bulge in his jeans more prominent, while he rhythmically taps on his leg and chews a nail on his other hand. You have to cover your mouth to hide your grin.

He’s unbearably horny, and it’s fun to see him squirm.

You both thank Nancy profusely when she pulls up in front of the Harrington house and you promise to visit Robin at work to save her from the monotony of Steve — a favorite joke between the two of you.

Steve is already at the front door, fumbling with his keys and cursing when he drops them. Perfect opportunity to strike. With an innocent flourish of your hand, you bend to pick the keys up and offer them to Steve with a grin.

“Need help?”

“No, thank you,” he clips, careful to not direct too much anger at you. He isn’t angry, after all. He just really can’t think with anything other than his dick at the moment. When he finally gets the door open, he stalks in while muttering, “Hawkins has got to repave some of its goddamn roads.”

You’re left to close the door, kick off your shoes, peel off your coat — usually things Steve helps with every step of the way. But you follow him up the carpeted steps a few moments later, finding him standing in the middle of his bedroom looking lost.

The car keys jingle as he fishes them out of his pocket and tosses them in a corner. A gruff sigh, a hand drags down his face, and he finally sits defeated on the edge of his bed. You know it’s almost time.

“I gotta call a tow truck. And my dad’s gonna fucking kill me when—”

You intervene, an angel comforting a wayward saint. “Hey, baby, c’mon, it’ll be alright.” Stepping between his legs, you gingerly trace his jaw and tilt his head up to you. “Sorry it was a rough ride. Mind if I help?”

But you don’t wait for an answer. You slowly sink to your knees, keeping your gaze locked on Steve as surprise winds over his features. He’s frozen, begging this to be real, not just some figment of his sex-clouded mind, until you ghost your hand over the bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus christ, you— yes, here.”

You coyly undo the button and unzip the light-wash denim while he leans back to grab a pillow, tapping your elbow for you to take it and put it under your knees. Ever the gentleman. You get comfortable as he wrestles his jeans down and you find him aching, straining, at the underwear remaining. You lick your lips.

He licks his, drinking in your hungry expression.

A hiss and an open mouthed groan escape his lips when you delicately free his cock with your hands and trace over the tender flesh.

“No, mh— none of that teasing shit today,” he warns. Heavy breaths wrack out of his broad chest.

You giggle with a sweet, devilish grin. “Yes, sir.” Placate today, tease tomorrow.

The name does exactly what you want it to, make his throbbing flesh twitch at your flippant remark. But you finally relent, having had your moment of fun. Taking it with a firm grip, you lick a broad stripe from the base to the angry red tip, and Steve loses it. Moans, tosses his head back, threads his hands desperately through his hair, anything to ground himself.

You dig the nails of your free hand into his denim covered thigh, wanting him to look at you. Wanting to see his dark, lust-blown eyes as you slide your whole mouth around him, as far down as you can, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck him for all he’s worth.

The string of curses isn’t enough. Closing his eyes again isn’t enough. Steve falls back on his elbows, ruts against your mouth, his plush lips falling open as you start working a steady rhythm with your mouth.

“Vixen, baby, please, you’re so fucking— god, you’re good. I’m so—”

You hum in agreement around his length, the vibrations driving him crazy. You even find yourself grinning as you mentally finish his statement. Yes, Steve Harrington, you are so turned on, so hot and heavy, so ready to burst, so completely at the mercy of a velvety mouth.

His next thrust pushes your nose to the base of his cock, the hair nestled there tickling your nostrils. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag lightly, the sound making Steve’s abdomen flex with need. You slowly drag your lips off, making a show of letting the accumulated drool drip down the side of your mouth, and lift your hand to swipe your thumb across his slit and to that spot under the head.

But you don’t let him breathe, don’t let him clip out any words before you firmly grip him, jerking at just the right pace, smiling all cockdumb at him as his breath quickens.

“God, fuck, wait, I’m gonna—”

But Steve’s waited enough. You keep it up through his squirming, through his panting, through every beg he utters, finally letting him paint your chest with his cum.

His hips stutter through the rest of the release and then he sags backward, laying flat and once again dragging his hands through his hair. You crawl up, hovering over him and admiring the way he can’t stop looking at the drips of white sliding down the bare skin on your chest — it’s almost enough to make him hard again.

“Better?” you croon, slipping your shirt off and snuggling into his side.

“So much better.” He's still breathing deeply, the red remnants of arousal clouding the skin on his neck. “Those little shits should be glad I didn’t take you right there in the car.”

“Would’ve been hard for me to do all this back there.”

You feel him pause, smirk. Then he’s leaning over to kiss your still-slick mouth and crawling to the end of the bed, murmuring, “Yeah, and it’d be hard for me to do this, too.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #religious imagery? in MY smut? it’s more likely than you think #and yes I’m now claiming vixen as one of Steve’s fave pet names

137 notes · View notes

noodleblade · 1 year

Text

Chance and Unlikely Circumstance 2/6

Previous Part AO3 Link Next Part

Dread clung to Smokescreen like a fresh coat of wax. Everywhere he turned doom and destruction stared back at him; faceless and coy, saccharine words whispered in his audials. It hid in the heavy exvent from Ratchet, in every news article that popped up on Raf’s teeny-tiny monitor, in every dark corner of the base. The unseen human optics watched him and knew. Every klik that passed left Smokescreen balancing precariously on the precipice of a full-blown panic attack.

It was only a matter of time before his mistake became public knowledge and there was nothing he could do but wait. His careless little joy ride and subsequent blow of cover hung over him like a dark cloud as he readied himself for the fallout. Smokescreen couldn’t imagine an outcome where he came out unscathed. He could barely meet the optic of anyone on the team. He knew with one glance they would see his guilt and know.

The red vehicle haunted his recharge cycle. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind: sleek red finish reflecting back at him, the interior filled with a thousand human optics; small, dark, shiny and all knowing of what he was, the mistake he had made. He could rationalize all he wanted that a human had been in the car and not a creature of nightmares but the image refused to leave his mind.

Every time Raf would mention finding something on his small Earthling computer, Smokescreen was certain it would be mention of his blunder, that the little grace he had with Team Prime would sharply come to an end. Not even Optimus’s trusting leniency could possibly excuse him once more. He knew he was on thin ice with Arcee and Ratchet barely tolerated him as it was. Bee was nice and Bulkhead was opening up, but as the new guy, Smokescreen felt the distance between himself and the rest of the team. No amount of rushing was going to make up that distance. He had to be patient and play it slow, even if it conflicted with his instincts. All Smokescreen knew was he couldn’t afford a mistake, not just for the sake of his own security on the team but for the safety of the mechs that had graciously let him into the fold. He didn’t want to let them down.

But the days passed by with nothing. No mention of talking cars, no word of high speed races. Nothing. Ratchet had even praised Smokescreen for his restraint and discretion, awarding the young bot with a rare, small smile and a pat on the shoulder.

It was undeserved. Beyond so. But Smokescreen took the praise with a beaming grin, ignoring the way it corroded in his spark. Even if his secret never came out, the guilt was eating away at the enamel of his tanks, chewing at his wires in the knowledge he could have ruined everything. He couldn’t let anything happen like that again. The risk was just not worth jeopardizing the lives of people that put their trust into him.

When his next scheduled patrol came, Smokescreen had come to the determination he was going to do everything by the book. No straying from the path, no joy riding. He was going to take it seriously, even if it was still dull as rocks out here in the middle of nowhere. The old Smokescreen of last week was gone, obliterated by the grievous error. The Smokescreen of now was going to take this lucky break and use it to do better. Or at least try to.

He drove through the dead streets of Jasper, even mentally counting the 5 seconds at each stop sign before moving despite there not being a single other soul on the road. He kept to the speed limit, never once daring to go a mile over. He even managed to remember to use all his signals when turning, something he always forgot to do. It wasn’t until he reached the final stretch of his patrol that he felt his engine stall.

All he had left to do was take the lengthy stretch of asphalt to the city limit; the same road as the initial incident. Simple. Easy. Yeah...

Smokescreen slowed to a near stop as he reached the intersection. Trepidation locked his wheel in place, the brakes engaging without even thinking about it. Internally, his chronometer was counting the seconds as he sat there in indecision. He had to finish his patrol and the only thing worse than reliving his mortification was completely skipping out on this part of his route. He already fragged things up enough, leaving a blind spot in his patrol was beyond negligent. His ego could withstand a little more bruising, even as fear clutched his emergency brake systems.

Turning onto the state road, he barely gained speed when a pair of headlights flashed in his rearview. Dread coiled in his fuel lines but he resolved to retain speed, just like any human driver would. It was probably just a late night traveler and not-

The rev of a supercharger V8 engine rang in his audials, causing his own engine to hiccup at the sound. Despite only hearing it the one time, the taunting rev had haunted his recharges, the echoing sound of his own stupidity. He dared not react further as the sleek red sports car matched his speed and drove next to him.

Terror gripped his spark. Smokescreen didn’t know what to do. Alone here, on the open road, there weren’t many places he could ditch and run. The stretch of highway went on for miles with no landmarks, no crossroads. Just empty desert and open sky.

Smokescreen kept his optics forward, even if the driver couldn’t see this. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d go away. Maybe they wouldn’t remember him, though he knew that thought process was hopelessly stupid.

The red sports car sped up and slowed down demonstratively; the unspoken question blatant.

Up for a rematch?

He couldn’t do this again. It had already been risky without the end result of last time but now that the human in the car was more than aware of who and what he was, he had to disengage and leave. He had to find a way out without raising any more suspicion. If that was even possible.

The car continued to egg him on, inching forward before falling back into pace. At one point, the driver even swerved towards Smokescreen forcing him to speed up and avoid.

The window cracked down and Smokescreen felt his spark all but stop.

“Scared to lose again?” the driver’s voice pierced through the rushing wind, jeering and taunting. “Race me again and if you win, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

The driver didn’t give him a spare second to consider, already taking off and kicking up dust behind him.

Smokescreen didn’t have time to think; he just pressed on the gas and chased. Despair clouded his processor as he pressed forward. The red, rear lights were too far away and what remained of the road before hitting the city limits was too short. He still had to try as hopeless as it would seem. He floored the gas pedal and sent a quick prayer to Primus that he could make up the speed.

Luck, and evidently Primus , were not on his side. Too quickly, the city limits were approaching and what little distance Smokescreen had been able to make up was not going to be enough for him to overtake the red car. The blow of eminent defeat was crushing, but no more so than watching the humans stop their vehicle at the city limits, waiting eagerly for Smokescreen to join them.

Headlights shone brightly on the green “Now Leaving Jasper” sign, flickering in a teasing gesture as he was forced to stop beside them. He slowly pulled beside them, processor frantically thinking of how he could turn this all around, how he could fix this.

Nervously, Smokescreen cracked his windows down. Maybe he could just pretend the incident of the night prior was a trick of the eye. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed Smokescreen’s blunder. Maybe it could all be passed off as a misunderstanding.

“Congrats on the win,” Smokescreen threw out. He’d play it safe and reserved; hopefully he could make it out without completely ruining things. Again. He doubted it but he at least had to try and-

“Ahh, you remembered to lower your windows this time, hot shot,” the human from the red car taunted in a teasing purr.

Scrap.

Smokescreen’s field surged with embarrassment. Not that the human could feel it. Ratchet had repeatedly lectured Smokescreen about him and even if humans could sense EM Fields, this human couldn’t locked up nice and safe in their car with the windows up-

With the windows up!

“Wait!” Smokescreen darted ahead to turn and face the red car fully, their noses nearly touching. He flashed his brights at the vehicle and- yep, no driver - the seats were empty. “ Wait! ” Without any hesitation, Smokescreen shifted to his root mode, standing over the red car in awe. “You're Cybertronian. You're one of us!”

The red car did not move, did not shift, did not transform. However, he did laugh, low and mocking. Smokescreen could only blink in confusion.

“ Wow , excitable aren’t we?” The red car disengaged his brakes and slowly circled Smokescreen, still staying in his alt. “Not much of a thinker are you. How certain you are to trust a bot you just met.”

Realization quickly crawled up Smokescreen’s plating like Miko’s sticky fingers after getting into the sour candies she stashed around the base.

The other mech was right. He had no idea if he was trustworthy. They’ve raced twice, barely had spoken and yet here Smokescreen was putting him at risk and everyone else on Team Prime. For all he knew, the other mech could be a Decepticon and Smokescreen had just handed himself over on a silver platter. If this mech didn’t kill him, Ratchet would and then Arcee, then Bulkhead, then Bee and maybe even Optimus would want in on the action. Afterall, there was no way anyone else on Team Prime was as stupid as him and-

“Hey, hey,” the red speedster honked his horn, rolling to face Smokescreen head on. “I can see your processor melting, smoke is coming from your audials. Relax.”

Surely if he were a Decepticon, he would have started shooting....right?

“Who are you?” Smokescreen finally asked, glossa stiff in his mouth. Nerves still squirmed in his tanks but he resolutely maintained his composure. At least his Elite Guard training hadn’t gone to total waste.

The red speedster revved his engine. “Oh, just a mech passing through.”

“Yeah?” It wasn’t the most unbelievable story. If anything, Smokescreen’s own tale of crash landing on Earth was more far-fetched than a mech in hiding. “Hiding out?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say hiding ,” the mech said. “But certainly better at staying low than yourself. Are there more of you?”

Smokescreen hesitated. He definitely knew better than to outright reveal the location of Team Prime…but, if there was a lost mech that needed sanctuary, wasn’t it their duty to provide that? With their kind scattered across the universe, wasn’t it an imperative to bring them all back together?

Unless he was a Decepticon.

Smokescreen couldn’t out right throw that possibility out, even with his ground based alt-mode. The line of questioning could be seeking intel on Optimus’s location, or trying to get a glimpse into their scant few numbers. Torn indecision, Smokescreen decided to play the middle road.

“Yeah,” Smokescreen admitted. If he was a Decepticon, then he would already have an idea of the autobot base being located around Jasper and would already know the names of their members. If he truly was a lost and lonely mech, then simply knowing there could be a place for him should be enough. “There’s not many of us, but we have a small group.”

“Sounds cozy,” the mech drawled bored, uninterested.

Smokescreen frowned. If he was a Decepticon, he should be asking questions, striving for more intel? If he was just a lone mech, wouldn’t the prospect of knowing there were more be…exciting? Neither scenario fitted the mech’s indifferent reaction.

“Are you…alone?” Smokescreen asked. The mech’s finish looked pristine, glossy and well-taken care of. Certainly better than anyone in Team Prime which either meant the Decepticons had a wealth of luxury at their disposal or this mech was very good at staying low.

The speedster laughed. “You know, in the middle of war, it's not good to reveal all your cards. You’d be a terrible gambler.” The all too recent familiar sensation of dread coiled in his fuel lines once more, but before he could speak, the mech was tutting. “Calm down, kid. I’m trying to help you. Even amongst friends you should never let your guard down.”

Smokescreen frown, sadness replacing the dread. “If you can’t trust your friends, then they aren’t really your friend.”

The mech was silent for a moment. In his alt mode, it was difficult to get a read on what the mech was feeling. His field was expertly contained. Even now that Smokescreen knew, it was still difficult to see the car before him as anything other than an earthly vehicle and not a Cybertronian in disguise.

“That naivety of yours is going to get you killed.”

There was no more humor nor jest in the mech’s tone. Absent were the teasing words and coy undertones. All that remained was cold, biting words.

“That’s why you need allies,” Smokescreen muttered. “Friends and people you trust.”

The mech snorted. “Sure.”

Slowly, the mech rolled forward, engine humming as he pointedly swerved around Smokescreen’s form. Something wasn’t right. Smokescreen had thought the conversation would be a joyous one, a happiness in finding someone like him out there. However, the air was sullen, tension making his spark constricted in his chassis. The conversation didn’t feel complete, it didn’t end right.

“Wait,” Smokescreen spun on his pede.

The mech didn’t turn around, but Smokescreen watched the red flare of the brakes engaging the the slight rock of him coming to a complete stop. He didn’t speak though, silently waiting for Smokescreen to continue.

“Are we going to meet again? To race? You at least owe me a fair chance.”

There was a pause. For a moment, Smokescreen was sure he was being ignored, his request childish and probably desperate. Of course the mech wouldn’t want anything to do with dumb, idealistic Smokescreen. He had made it very clear he wasn’t looking for friends or peers so he certainly didn’t want to continue meeting with Smokescreen just to spin their wheels-

“Eager to lose again?” came the teasing remark. A taunting rev followed with a flashing of his headlights. Smokescreen couldn't help grin at the display. The air was still tense but there was something also charming about the jokes and jests. They didn’t feel mean spirited like Smokescreen had experienced with some mechs in the past. It felt friendly . “Same time tomorrow?”

He’d probably have patrol then and if not…well, he’s been on his best behavior the past couple of weeks- almost blowing his cover aside -he could probably ask for the patrol slot easily.

“You bet. You’re going to love the taste of my dust.”

“Big words for a mech on a two count losing streak,” came the dry reply. “I’d say see you tomorrow, but it's so difficult to see you in the rearview mirror.”

Smokescreen couldn’t help it, he was grinning, doorwings fluttering in delight. Banter. He missed it. Team Prime was always so serious and stout. He knew, rationally, they had good reason to be, but there was something so comforting to have fun without worrying about the entire fate of the world crashing down. It was nice.

“Can I get your name?” Smokescreen quickly asked. “You can call me, Smokescreen.” Wait. He probably shouldn’t have used his actual designation. Scrap. “I mean…uh, well-”

“See kid, too trusting. It’s going to bite you in the aft one day, just you wait. But don’t worry, no one I know cares who you are.” The mech disengaged his brakes, slowly beginning to roll forward. “You can call me, K.O.” With a final rev off his engine, the speedster, K.O. peeled out.

Smokescreen stood and watched as the red back lights faded in the night. K.O. Probably an alias, something Smokescreen should have done. Somehow, he’s not too worried about throwing out his name. Decepticreep or not, Smokescreen found himself trusting K.O.

Maybe it was the blunt way he spoke to Smokescreen or the light, teasing japes that felt more friendly than half the time he patrolled with Arcee. Maybe it was just the idea that he wasn’t the only outsider out there. Team Prime was close knit and he felt like he was always outside the circle, desperate to get in.

With K.O., it was more even footing.

At least he hoped .

The medbay was cold and empty. Knock Out dragged the microfiber cloth across his plating, wiping away the desert dust from his finish. His back was more difficult to reach alone. Tending to his frame used to be a job for two.

Knock Out threw the rag to the ground, optics slitted as it didn’t quite slam down but flutter limply. Breakdown was still missing and there was no trace of him. Dreadwing hadn’t said a thing, Airachnid was MIA, and the High Command couldn’t seem to care any less.

In a move of desperation, Knock Out had finally broached the topic to Dreadwing, pulling the seeker aside. Dreadwing had simply raised an optic ridge and shrugged. “Who's to say?” Knock Out had nodded his helm congenial until he was finally alone. After that, well, his tools needed sorting anyway. Throwing them to the ground in a fitful fury only helped clear their containers quicker.

He needed to spin his wheels after that, melt the frustration bubbling in his tanks and feel the crisp night air whistle against his sleek frame. There was no small part of Knock Out that was hoping in racing down the same desert road every night that he’d run into his partner. Breakdown was more than familiar with his proclivity for street racing and had even watched his races from the sidelines from time to time. He was hoping running the same path each night would eventually lead him somewhere.

He wasn’t expecting to find the kid again. Still hopelessly naive and far too trusting. His root mode was far more bulky than he had expected but the earnest way his optics glowed in trying to find common ground with Knock Out was… endearing . It had been a long time since Knock Out had met someone who was looking at him without thinking how to monopolize his value, someone that had nothing in gain in judging him by his worth.

Breakdown would like him. Woefully innocent but cockier than he had any right to be. Breakdown would be eager to bust the kid’s bearings only to slap a servo on his helm affectionately. Knock Out could see it now, the delight in Breakdown’s faceplates, smile nearly splitting it in two. His partner always did have a soft spot for young, dumb racers.

A tired sigh slipped from his lips.

Where was he?

Knock Out should have received a comm or a message by now. Something. Anything. It wasn’t like Breakdown. Initially, he had wondered if the Autobots had gotten to his partner but as annoying as they were, they were too high and mighty to take hostages. Not for this long, not so quietly. Knock Out was certain the bright optic’d kid wouldn’t be so chipper if his group was imprisoning rogue mechs. The only other option Knock Out could think of was one his processor refused to fully map out, shutting down the thought-tree every time it threatened to download. He didn’t want to go down that path.

He would just have to keep looking. Knock Out was a lot of things- lazy, superficial, vain -but he was also determined and cunning. He would find Breakdown.

One way or another.

#smokescreen #knock out #tfp #transformers #maccadam #my fics #platonic friendship #lots of mention of kobd but breakdown's fate in the show will remain the same:C sorry #chance and unlikely circumstance

7 notes · View notes

oliviab-scstudyabroad · 1 year

Text

An Afternoon in Brazil (Part II)

Hey guys! Here’s Part II to my Uruguay road trip. My friend Karen and I woke up early on Saturday morning and started to make a breakfast that consisted of a fruit salad, leftover chorizo, oatmeal, and coffee. As people woke up, they also helped out by making eggs, setting the table, etc. I went outside for a little bit and enjoyed the peaceful view of the countryside. There was a guy that came by riding his horse, clearly on his way to work, and I thought, “So this is the life of a gaucho (Latin-American cowboy). It was so peaceful, and I was grateful that I could relax and enjoy the morning without feeling rushed to get somewhere. After cleaning up, we went to the Quebrada de Los Cuervos National Park. We were able to swim in the lagoons there, and the water was freezing but refreshing! It truly felt like a little slice of heaven because we were away from everything, and we had the whole place to ourselves. We spent a few hours there, and then we hiked a little bit and saw some fantastic panoramic views of the whole park! I felt like I was in the Amazon; the forest was so lush and there were rivers flowing in and out of each other.

We then made the four-hour drive to Punta del Diablo, which is on the Uruguayan coast. As you can imagine, we listened to tons of music, including songs from each of our countries! My Uruguay Playlist grew a ton by the end of the trip. It’s interesting, however, that everyone knew the lyrics to several songs in English, including “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen, “Africa” by Toto, and “Can’t Stop” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. My friends explained to me that they learn to speak English as a second language at a very young age, and they consume lot of media (including movies, music, and social media posts) that is in English. It really goes to show that English is the universal language, and it made me thing about how the U.S. could do better in creating a firm foundation for students in a foreign language. As soon as we got to our Airbnb (a 7-minute walk from the beach!) we went straight to bed.

On Sunday morning, we woke up, made breakfast, this one including Uruguayan sweets that combine well with mate. My favorite Uruguayan treats are the ojitos (little cookies that have a mixture with egg yolk and sugar in the middle- they do look like little eyes!) and any type of cookie that has dulce de leche. After, we drove 30 minutes to a town called Chuí that is on the border of Uruguay and Brazil! I hadn’t realized how close we were to the border, but thankfully I had brought my passport. We didn’t have to stop in any sort of Customs (I suppose because people drive back and forth all the time), so when we got to Chuy, we parked the car and walked to Brazil! The street that we crossed was a two-lane road: on one side is the Avenida Uruguay, where all the shops are in Spanish, and on the other side is Avenida Brazil, where all the shops are in- you guessed it- Portuguese! We looked like such tourists taking videos of us stepping into Brazil. That was one of my favorite memories of the trip.

Once in Brazil, we walked around and peered into some of the shops. We didn’t spend a lot of time in time in Chuí because there wasn’t too much to see, but I did get an ice cream. I don’t know why I was so astounded by the fact that all the packaging was in Portuguese! When checking out, I said “obrigada”, which means “thank you” in Portuguese, to the cashier. I couldn’t help myself. After, we drove to the Barra de Chui, which is a section of the beach that has a rock barrier dividing Uruguay and Brazil! There were families with their young children, people fishing, etc. Again, I was blown away at how easily people can cross borders here! I think it’s such a crazy concept for me because it’s not as simple geographically to travel to other countries from the U.S.

After our outing in Brazil, we stopped in Santa Teresa National park, where we wandered and got panchos (hot dogs) and churros de dulce de leche. I enjoyed strolling through the Botanical Gardens and Greenhouses and watching the sun set! We then drove back home and had yet another fantastic dinner with our chorizo, again cooked over a wood-burning fire.

The next day was unfortunately the last day of our great Uruguayan adventure, so we made the most of it by spending time at the beach. Punta del Diablo, or Devil’s Point, got its name because of the plentitude of rocks that create massive waves. Many professional surfers come to surf at Devil’s Point. Because of this, the waves were alarmingly big, so we stayed close to the shoreline. We then packed up and made the 3-hour trek home without forgetting to stop at a carrito to get tortas fritas with dulce de leche. You can say that I felt a little ill after all the dulce de leche that I consumed this trip. In between naps, we sang classic Uruguayan songs and laughed all the way home.

I loved everything about this trip- the sights that I saw, the food that I tried, and most of all, the people I went with. Everyone was up for everything, and we made a great time mapping places out, cooking most of our meals, etc. Though the interior of Uruguay is different from Montevideo in the fact that it’s mostly countryside, I appreciated its tranquil vibe and the natural landscapes. I now get why people are so proud to be from the interior. There are 19 departments in Uruguay, so I hope to check off the other 16!

5 notes · View notes

sergeant-spoons · 2 years

Text

124. Silver Button/Darkest Day

Verity/Victor Rich

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @chaosklutz @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The road was quiet as the jeep bumped along. Not another soul was in sight. The radio had been turned down low an hour ago, but the symphony playing something classical could still be heard in snippets here and there when the jeep slowed down. Most of the music was blown away by the breeze. It was nearly midnight, and both Verity and Allen Vest (who had volunteered to drive her and Perry to the airstrip) were eager to get back to Zell am See and their respective beds. As the warm July air tousled her hair, Verity leaned back and relaxed She trusted Vest's sense of direction, a feeling amplified by the increasing frequency of familiar landmarks as he drove them back toward the lakeside town. Drawing a silver button out of her pocket, she began to fiddle with it, glad for the night and its darkness. She smoothed her thumb over the curve of the button; just feeling it was stirring enough. If she had to see it laying there in her palm, she was sure she'd start crying all over again.

Perry had spent her last day in the Airborne with Verity, George, Frank, and Babe. They went for a long swim in the morning, then ran drills with Speirs all afternoon and took a walk along the lake shore after dinner. A few other friends joined them here and there—namely Garcia, Popeye, and Webster—and even Speirs drew Perry aside once he'd dismissed the Company to wish her the best. The group got back from their walk just before 18:00 hours, and just in the nick of time, too; Vest drove up and sounded his jeep's horn right as they arrived on the barracks doorstep. Word traveled quickly amongst the men, and though many were jealous of Perry to some extent, there was a good showing to her send-off. Those who had walked with her were all there, of course, but Lipton, Malarkey, Gene, and Liebgott came of their own accord, and Garcia and O'Keefe ran up at the last minute to squeeze in their own goodbyes. As the jeep pulled away from the curb, Liebgott told Perry to show everybody back in California what the paratroops were all about, not knowing Perry's family had moved to Washington State four years prior, and just like that, they were on the road, Perry, Vest—and Verity.

It hadn't occurred to Verity at first, but then Perry had asked her if she'd ride with her to the airstrip, and it seemed the obvious course of action. They were in the middle of changing into their PT gear for the usual mid-morning exercises when Perry made the request. Sitting over her stuffed pack, she'd looked so small and young that Verity's heart leaped into her throat just looking at her. Perry asked again, and Verity hurriedly agreed, pinkening slightly to think she'd gone silent so long Perry had assumed she hadn't heard. Frank had offered to come, too, and though Perry was touched, there were only so many seats in the jeep, and as it turned out, Frank was scheduled for sentry duty that night. While Perry was at supper, Verity went to ask Gene if she could borrow his medpack—she didn't want to take any chances after what had happened to Shifty. He helped her pack a spare bag with supplies, kissed her, and told her everything would be alright. Still, she could tell he was worried just the same as her, asking her to let him know when she and Vest got back, no matter how late. She promised him she would and returned back to Perry, the red-crossed bag feeling heavier over her shoulder than its contents warranted.

The drive took two hours down a winding mountain path. Verity kept muttering to Vest to go slower, and though she supposed she was being a pest, he obliged her every time. Perry hugged Verity long and hard as they said their goodbyes, and Verity had to be the one to let go, sure if she didn't, Perry would drag her right onto the plane without meaning to. Vest got a hug, too, and seemed like he might tear up for it. A glint in the dirt caught Verity's eye as she passed Perry her things from the back of the jeep, and she picked it up, a silver button. A glance at Perry's uniform revealed that the stitching on the bottommost button of her jacket had been done clumsily. The button had not held. Verity tried to hand it back, but Perry shook her head, tugging at her hair.

"Keep it," she said, motioning limply at the button. "Give it back to me when you're stateside again, yeah? Maybe by then, I'll have figured out how to work a needle."

Verity swallowed thickly against the tears already creeping down her cheeks.

"Maybe."

A voice interrupted her remembering—

"Sarge?"

—and Verity slipped the button back into her pocket.

"What?"

No response. Vest kept squinting at the road ahead, then started to slow down.

"Vest? What is it?"

"Looks like there's a patrol," he said, his brow furrowing with puzzlement. "But I thought we were..."

"Done with those?"

"Yeah."

"As far as I know, we're supposed to be."

Verity reached for her hip and found her rifle still leaning there where she'd left it, butt to the sky and barrel to the floor of the jeep.

"Keep going, but slow. And turn your brights on."

Vest complied. Four men appeared on the road, swearing at the bright light as if it had startled them. They spoke English, so Verity didn't think them a threat, but she kept one hand on her rifle nevertheless. Four barrels turned toward the jeep, and Vest put his foot on the brake.

"Jesus," he swore quietly. "Looks like we've come back in the middle of a manhunt."

Verity had to agree with him. The men looked antsy, and as they came closer, Verity recognized two—Malarkey and Liebgott. For a moment, Verity tried to imagine who might have drawn their ire to such a degree they'd gone out searching in the middle of the night but drew a blank. It couldn't have been their resident good-for-nothing, he hadn't even made it to Austria. Roy Cobb had been dragged off and court-martialed months ago for drunkenly assaulting Lieutenant Foley; he was long gone on a ship back to the States with a dishonorable discharge under his belt. Verity's thoughts on the matter: good riddance. But then who could have caused this much of a disturbance?

"Who goes there?"

(Verity started to answer, but more shouting was already underway.)

"Stop moving!"

(They already had.)

"And turn off those damn lights!"

Verity reached past Vest's chest and flicked off the headlights. As the quartet guarding the road stood blinking and squinting at the jeep, she grabbed the windshield and pushed herself up to stand. Vest put his hand on the gearshift and looked up at her as if willing to make an escape should she only give the order.

"Sarge-"

"Red!" Malarkey quickly waved down the two white-knuckled privates still aiming their rifles at Verity. "Put those down, for Christ's sake, it's Sergeant Rich."

Verity dropped back down into the passenger seat. Seeing the question in Vest's eyes, she shook her head and touched him on the shoulder.

"Wait here."

One hand on the windshield and the other on the door, she jumped out of the jeep. Her landing made dust rise from the dirt road. Malarkey strode forward to greet her, shouldering his rifle. Liebgott dashed forward, matching Malarkey's pace, while the two privates—replacements who'd arrived in the same batch as O'Keefe, Verity recalled—went around the jeep to talk to Vest.

"Fuckin' hell, Rich, where you been?!" Liebgott accosted her, scanning her up and down as if he expected her to be injured.

"With Perry!" she replied, confusion making her a little defensive. "You saw us leave—Joe, what's going on?"

"You didn't see anybody else down there?" Malarkey questioned, his brow hard.

"On the airstrip?"

"Yeah," Liebgott muttered, but he wasn't looking at her, instead scanning the darkness down the road, his hands stiff upon his rifle.

"No, I didn't—hey!" Verity waved her hand in front of Liebgott's eyes. "Is somebody gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?!"

"Sergeant Grant's been shot," one of the replacements called over, and whatever else he said after that only came through as buzzing to Verity's ears.

"Red? Woah!" Malarkey caught her arm as she stumbled. "Watch it. Don't you get hurt, too."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, forcing her voice not to shake as her blood ran cold. "Just- shit."

"I know." Malarkey grimaced. "I know."

"So who are we looking for? And where?"

"Replacement from I Company," Liebgott spat. "Got big fuckin' ears and a big fuckin' mouth-

"That is what the guys who were with Chuck said," Malarkey agreed begrudgingly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've got one of 'em with us now, but he's too shaken to do much other than follow us around."

"-not to mention he's drunk off his ass."

"The witness?"

"The shooter."

"The sarge called 'im Mac," the replacement who'd been with Chuck informed. "Dunno if that helps..."

A beat of silence. Verity kicked a rock in the middle of the road; it made a dent in the front of her boot, but she didn't notice.

"Jesus motherfucking Christ."

The first time she'd sworn like that, she'd gotten several strange looks, even from foul-mouthed Liebgott. Now, no one batted an eye.

"Red, you and Vest should keep going back to the-"

"Hell no." Verity shook her head, glancing over at the two replacements still talking nervously with Vest. "Send the kid back, the one who didn't see it happen. I'll take his place, come with you."

Liebgott scowled. "What fuckin' good do you think that's gonna do?"

"O'Keefe almost drowned yesterday-"

"No shit, Red, we were there."

"-and after I got him out o' the water, I said nobody else was gonna get hurt on my watch."

Malarkey flinched. "It wasn't your fault, Red-"

"I know, there's no way it was, but still... I go away for three hours and Chuck gets shot—the least I can do is help find the bastard."

"No," Malarkey insisted, stepping forward to clap his hand on her shoulder. "You go back with Vest, head to the rec center. Get George on his radio, see if you can't get Perconte to run out to the fork in the road half a mile back. We'll meet him there."

"And tell anybody circling through CP that the bastard didn't take this road out," Liebgott chimed in, lighting up two cigarettes, both for himself.

"How d'you know that?" the other replacement asked, the one who hadn't seen the shooting, as he poked his head up from the jeep.

"There's only one set of tire tracks going in or out, and they’re ours," Verity answered, then turned back to Malarkey and shook his hand. "Godspeed, Malark."

"Thanks, Red. The same to you."

An hour passed, then two. Verity, holed up in the rec center, playing cards with George and Floyd Talbert as if nothing was wrong, thought she just might combust from the strain. On top of everything else, she'd been unable to keep her promise to Gene—there was a high chance he still thought she was on the road with Vest. She'd gone through three cigarettes and was starting on a fourth when George's radio finally crackled to life.

We found him.

Eleven minutes later, they dragged the bastard in. He was already bruised silly, but that didn't stop Verity from landing a good punch to the nose when the two guys holding him made the mistake of bringing him within range of her fists. As she watched them drag him away, she wished she'd had Perry's brass knuckles, but the desire faded just as quickly as it had arisen. George pulled her away and she turned aside, biting back tears. They slammed the door behind them and Verity spent the next ten minutes trying to tune out the sounds of fist meeting bone and teeth. Talbert was clearly just as agitated, throwing down the cards he was shuffling as if they were the ones who'd shot Chuck and not the man beyond those hobnail glass doors. George and Verity shared a glance that Talbert didn't seem to notice.

"You alright?" George asked around his cigarette, trying to seem casual.

"Yeah," Talbert lied through his teeth, "I'm alright."

Verity's hand curled into a fist upon her bouncing knee. George noticed and passed her his cigarette. She took a puff and relaxed a little. Then there came another resounding thud from the room behind her and Talbert and she tensed up all over again.

"Wanna go in there and join in?" George asked hesitantly.

Talbert shook his head, breathing hard.

"I should go in there and stop this," he said, looking over his shoulder.

"Floyd," Verity said softly, handing back George's cigarette. "Just play cards, yeah?"

Shaking his head, Talbert looked up, but his gaze caught on Verity's mouth and he frowned.

"You're bleedin'."

"I'm what?"

"Your lip. It's bleedin'."

Just as she reached up to feel, a red droplet fell on the Four of Hearts in her hand. She wiped at her lip but only succeeded in smearing the blood across her chin and the side of her hand. George got up, looking around for a tissue box, but then the door burst open at the behest of a furious captain and they had bigger fish to fry.

"Where is he?"

Verity, Talbert, and George all leaped to their feet.

"How's Grant?"

"Where is he?"

"Is he okay?"

"Where is he?!"

Verity grabbed Talbert's sleeve, silently entreating him to stay quiet. It was a fool's errand to get in the way of an angry Speirs. George nodded over Talbert's shoulder toward the door (through which the sounds of a beating still bled) and Speirs stalked away.

"This him?"

"That's him."

The three standing in the hall exchanged tense looks. Verity lurched after Speirs, and Talbert sank down on the ottoman he'd previously occupied, dropping his head into his hands.

"Replacement," Bull was saying as Verity stepped in, "I Company."

Speirs didn't blink as he stared at the bloody bastard in the chair. Frank looked up from behind the replacement and caught Verity standing like a deer in headlights in the doorway. He stared and she stared right back.

"Where's the weapon?"

Frank tore his gaze away to look at Speirs, and Verity did the same.

"What... weapon?" the replacement gasped out, each syllable bubbling blood over his lips. No matter what he said, there would be no recompense, not from Speirs.

"Shit."

Speirs' pistol met the shooter's jaw with a sickening crack. Verity felt her stomach turn, but not because of the sound. The replacement was looking at her. Pleading with his eyes for mercy, as if she could give it to him. As if she wanted to give it to him.

Nauseous, forcing apathy, she looked away.

"When you talk to an officer, you say 'sir'."

The replacement, gasping and sobbing, turned his head as far away as he could from the captain's wrath. No one tried to help him. No one said a word. All eyes were on Speirs. What he did now would set the precedent for this drunken bastard's life—or death.

Speirs cocked his sidearm, and Verity went pale. She could feel Talbert and George behind her, holding their breaths the same as her. The gun rose to point at the replacement's face, and the men in the room stepped back, averting their eyes. Her gaze drawn to the gun, Verity saw Speirs' hand was shaking—his arm, too. There was blood on the side of his fist, not his but the replacement's. Something about the sight settled her stomach rather than upset it, and she squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted at a dozen things, most of all herself.

Seconds passed and still, no shot came.

"Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit."

Verity's eyes flew open. Speirs was holstering his gun, moving away, marching towards her without really seeing her there.

"Grant's dead?" Talbert asked the question on everyone's minds.

"No," Speirs replied as if he'd been expecting it. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it."

Speirs stalked out of the room, Verity only two steps behind. She almost flat-tired the captain and muttered an apology as she hurried away into the shadows down the hall. She could feel his eyes on her and the concentrated fury in his stare made her stumble over the carpet. She picked a random door and darted through it, fumbling at the wall for the switch. Not bothering to shut the door behind her, she wandered further into the room, eyeing the pool table. The only person who loved to play pool more than Chuck was Johnny Martin. The pair of them had been near ecstatic when they found this table in the rec center and spent a whole afternoon making a room out of whatever pool stuff they could find. Cues lined the walls on pedestals and in leaning stacks. There was a basket of balls that came up to Verity's knee pushed halfway under the table. As she stood there and looked around, silent, tasting the bile in the back of her throat, a figure appeared and leaned on the doorframe.

"George."

"Floyd. Joe. Web." Looking over his shoulder, he punctuated each name with a nod. "You hear?"

"Yeah, we heard." Liebgott ran his hand over his face. "Fucking Christ."

"Think he's lost in his own little world," George muttered, gesturing at Verity with his cigarette. "Think we oughta pull him out o' it?"

Talbert was the first to step up.

"Perry's gone, right?"

"Yeah."

"Guess we're all she's got left."

"Us?" Liebgott frowned, then lowered his voice and asked Webster, "You hearin' this shit? As if she don't got half the replacements hangin' off her like lost pups, not to mention Doc. Jesus. Fuck."

George, meanwhile, had stopped to eye Talbert, his cigarette frozen halfway to his lips.

"She?"

Webster, ignoring Liebgott, stepped past them. He looped around wide so as to not startle Verity, and when she greeted him with a tight smile, he slung his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. He'd never been much good at comfort, but here, on their darkest day, she needed him to try.

"You ever play pool?"

"Couple times. Not much good."

He shifted slightly and she took the hint, turning until she could see the other three crowding the doorway. George and Talbert were whispering heatedly, but Liebgott elbowed them and they immediately shut up, turning to Verity with faint smiles.

"Uh..." She blinked at them for a moment. "You got a cigarette, George?"

A hiccup of vomit shot up her throat. She winced, swallowing it back.

"You know what, nevermind."

"I was gonna say, you've already smoked four in the last couple hours." George quirked a brow. "Gonna have to cut you off, Red."

Tab cleared his throat and followed George into the room. "Never knew a dame for a chain-smoker."

Verity, who was starting to lean back on the pool table, bolted upright, her eyes locked on Talbert. He seemed confused for a beat, then let out a quick breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he realized what he'd done.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't-"

"We know."

Verity gaped. If only one of them had said something, she would have understood (while still being terrified of the near miss), but all four?

"Wait, wait." She clutched her head, then pushed her hands out in front of her. "I told you two-" Meaning George and Webster. "-but I never..."

As she gestured helplessly, Liebgott looked down the hall and, seeing no one, stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"Back at Aldbourne, when you got totaled in that fight-"

"I was not totaled," she mumbled, crossing her arms, trying to hide her anxiety at having been found out by two unforeseen parties.

"-any guy I know woulda thrown a punch to the face," Liebgott continued, undeterred, "but you went for a kick to the nuts instead. I think I realized then, but I didn't let myself believe it until..." He glanced aside. "Until the patrol."

It took Verity a moment, but she got what he was referring to after a moment. The memory of Eugene Jackson hit her like a freight train, and she sunk down onto the floor, crying despite her best attempts not to.

"Yeah," Lieb said a bit lamely. "Like that."

"What?" Verity laughed, nearly choking on her tears. "You mean a fella can't cry?"

"Fucking what?" Liebgott made a face and shook his head, joining her on the floor. "No, it was... You cried like you were his mother. Never seen anything like it, not for anybody, even brothers."

"That's how you figured me out?" Verity said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Jesus. And I thought I was being careful."

"You were," Talbert encouraged, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her and next to Liebgott (George and Webster were quick to join them). "I didn't find out because of you at all."

"Then how?"

"Captain Nixon."

Verity's eyes widened. Visions of blackmail swum through her head, but the pieces didn't line up.

"You don't mean-"

"He didn't do it on purpose," Tab reassured. "I was helping Dick—Major Winters, I mean—get Nixon up to his room back in Germany. This was before, uh..."

He cleared his throat.

Landsberg.

"Anyway, the man was drunk out of his mind. He saw you out the window—I couldn't see who you were walking with, but there were three of you, and you were all laughing... Nixon got a little choked up."

"He... did?"

Out of all the circumstances Tab could have described, emotion pushing Nixon to tears hit completely out of left field. Verity was not the only one surprised—George had nearly let his cigarette slip from his lips, he was listening so intently to the story.

"He did," Tab reiterated. "Then he said something like 'She's just a kid, they're all just kids', and before I could figure out what he meant, Dick was already swearing me to silence." A sympathetic, brotherly look. "Not like I woulda said anything anyway."

"How'd you know he was talkin' about me?"

"'Cause you're the only man in the company I've never seen naked."

Verity turned red, and Liebgott smacked Talbert's arm.

"Hey! The hell was that for?!"

"Don't be a fuckin' perv, Tab."

"No, it's- That makes sense." Verity ran her hand through her hair, brushing a few locks off her forehead. "I don't shower with the rest of you for a reason."

Webster hummed, and for once, Verity did not like the thought of him thinking ahead.

"Speaking of, neither does-"

"Nobody!" she yelped. "Absolutely nobody. It's just me."

Liebgott quirked a brow, then nearly fell back, letting loose a string of curses.

"Holy fucking shit-"

"I mean, she's already gone, Red," George supposed with a sheepish shrug. "Can't do much harm, just the four of us knowing."

"What am I missing here?" Talbert queried, frowning. "You don't mean Bloom-"

As he said the name, it clicked, and his eyebrows shot straight up.

"Oh. Oh, you do mean Bloom."

"Shh! You can't say a word!"

"We won't," George swore. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick my finger in a pie, eeh-aye-eeh-aye-oh."

As Liebgott whined several expletives under his breath, George leaned toward a grimacing Webster.

"Isn't that how it goes?"

"Doesn't matter," Verity said, at once both pale and red in the face. "Just swear you won't tell another soul. Tab, I mean it. Not even Major Winters, not Speirs, not-"

She cut herself off, embarrassed at almost having said Chuck.

"Not anyone."

"I won't," Talbert agreed, dead serious. "On my honor as a paratrooper."

"And mine," George echoed.

"Mine, too."

They all turned to look at Webster, who had somehow gotten ahold of a pool rules book and was flipping absentmindedly through it. Verity would have been offended if she hadn't learned long ago this was just how her friend was. After a beat, he looked up.

"What?" He paused halfway through flipping a page; it wavered for a moment before falling back upon his finger. "I've known longer than all of you combined. Of course, I'm not going to say anything."

"Known longer- says who?"

"He has," Verity affirmed tiredly. "Except maybe you, Lieb."

Liebgott puffed out his chest, but his gloating didn't last long. He turned back to Webster, glaring something fierce.

"Swear it," he demanded. "If you've got any fuckin' decency left-"

"Hey, woah, Lieb-" Verity grabbed his wrist, but he yanked it back, and she recoiled, hurt. "Alright. Just- play nice."

"I swear," Webster sighed, keeping the peace. "I swear it on my honor as a paratrooper, same as the rest of you. And now I-" He rose, setting aside the pool rules pamphlet. "-am going to try and get some sleep."

"It's been a helluva night," Verity agreed, cutting off Liebgott before he could say something harsh. "Just let him go," she told him out of the corner of her mouth, then turned as Webster came to hug her goodnight. He wasn't much of a touchy-feely person, so this was especially a kindness. George coaxed Verity up onto the couch and Talbert was quick to join them; Liebgott went for a piss and when he came back not five minutes later, he found all three of them asleep. Although he grumbled to himself the whole way, he went and got them a blanket from the teeming linen closet down the hall. He was just laying it over their sleeping forms when a shadow caught his eye and he turned back toward the doorway. It was Doc Roe, standing with one hand on the door and the other on his hip. He looked exhausted, but like he had good news.

"You were at the hospital," Lieb posited in a hushed voice, turning away to tuck in his friends. "So Chuck's really gonna make it?"

"Yes," Roe sighed with relief. "Yes, he's gonna be just fine."

"Just fine? Doc, he got shot in the head-"

"He'll recover," Roe insisted firmly. "It's not gonna be easy..."

Lieb snorted. "Of course, it's fuckin' not."

He stepped back from the couch to admire his work. Verity, George, and Talbert all looked snug as three peas in a pod, a visual helped by the hue of the blanket (grass green). Roe was smiling when Lieb turned back around, and the Californian put on a glare, crossing his arms.

"Don't you say a fuckin' word."

Roe conceded, remaining silent as he peered around Liebgott, who was unsurprised to see Verity was the one who'd drawn the medic's attention.

"She never told me she was back," Roe said, talking slowly as if speech exhausted him tonight. "She never got the chance to."

"Well, she's here, and fresh as a daisy." Lieb shrugged. "Whaddaya want me to say?"

"Thank you."

"Fuckin' what-"

"No, no, I'm saying thank you."

"For what?"

Roe nodded over Lieb's shoulder and Lieb squinted at him.

"Not a fuckin' word."

"I know."

They both turned and looked at Verity for a long moment as if thinking the same thought, feeling the same creeping fear.

"You take care of her, Doc," Lieb said at last, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Don't you fucking dare leave her to the wolves."

"Never," Gene swore, his eyes dark and wet as he watched his beloved's bound chest rise and fall.

"Never."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6/15 updates left.

6 notes · View notes