#feeling awfully syrupy sorry sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magical-beans · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: The Suicide Squad (Danganronpa x Reader)

(The chapter title is a movie reference only.)

(G/N) = Given Name

(N/N) = Nickname

Possible trigger warnings: mentions of guns, panic attack (nothing graphic)

~死~

Not long after the Office Incident -- merely what Kokichi is calling it now as a short term solution. He needs a better name than that to retell his much more enthused, dramatic version of the story -- Kokichi called an official DICE meeting.

To be honest, the call was kind of a shock to the other nine members. They don't often get together anymore now that business is booming, and someone has to supervise. The only time they really see each other is for heists, and those are only after throwing around several ideas about the next location. The only things filling their text thread currently are awful memes and check-ins.

It was even more of a shock to discover why he'd called.

~死~

Hearts — Shinzou Yuu — is monitoring the Chinese base of operations when he receives the call from Kokichi.

"What's up, Boss?"

The call isn't necessarily unusual: Kokichi often likes to call Yuu and complain, lamenting about this and that. Yuu's used to it by now.

"Shi-chaaan! You have to help me! I'm traumatized! Someone attacked me with a big, bad gun, and it was sooo scary!"

This should be alarming.

It's not.

It might have been if his voice wasn't whiny and drawn out — if he attempted to be serious for once: but he hadn't. Things don't scare Ouma Kokichi. Not anymore, at least.

Yuu sighs, prepping himself to deal with the worst of Kokichi's dramatics.

There is an odd shuffling sound, and Kokichi's mocking laughter follows. It spills through the speaker on Yuu's end, muffled, as though Kokichi has pulled away from his phone. Yuu thinks nothing of it.

"That's horrible, Boss." Yuu humors him with his words, but his tone is monotonous. Thankfully, that's all it takes to avoid Kokichi's obnoxious crocodile tears. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"Hurt!? Of course not! I'm the Great Supreme Leader of DICE! I have people who would become my human shield if I so much as lifted a finger!"

This is true, but they both don't like to think about it.

The laughter rings out again on Kokichi's end, muffled once more and followed by a playful "Shut up, (N/N)-chan!" Now that is odd.

"Boss, you got someone tied up on your side?"

"Yup yup! That's actually why I called! I got myself a professional human shield! They're awfully grumpy, though, so I might have to kill them before they can do their job!"

His voice is still playful, but this isn't a laughing matter. There hasn't been a case in the last four years of Kokichi finding an orphan interesting enough to introduce to his closest friends. The innermost group of DICE — the heart of it all — is exclusive. They had built DICE from the ground up, and that's special in their hearts. To have someone join that...an outsider, well...

Yuu breathes in deep, closing his eyes momentarily, then sighs. If Kokichi wants to meddle, it's not his problem.

There is a reason Kokichi had called Yuu first.

"I'd love to meet them, Boss," Yuu says, and he knows his voice sounds tired. "Be careful. We trust your judgment, but some of us can be hardheaded."

"Thanks, Shi-chan. When you wrap up business in China, head on back, 'kay?"

Kokichi's voice is softer now, more fond.

Yuu smiles slightly. This new person must really be something special.

~死~

"Hey, Love, what's hangin'?"

Jack — Ippanjin Mayumi — has picked up the phone in Argentina, her syrupy sweet drawl traveling smoothly through the long-distance connection. She traps her phone between her ear and shoulder before continuing to paint her nails.

"Nishi~ Yumi-chan, there's someone I'd like you to meet!" Kokichi giggles.

Mayumi grins. Two can play that game. And she would admit, she is a little curious.

"A romantic partner, Dear? Don't you think it's too early for them to meet your parents? You should know better than to move too fast." Stepping into the role of Mom isn't so hard: playing it for four years will do that to you.

Kokichi giggles some more and then drops his voice into something akin to earnest.

"They might be the one, Mom."

Mayumi stills, nearly smudging the deep purple on her nails.

"Oh?" She tries carefully, concealing any emotion in her voice. "Is that so?"

"Could you come back to meet them, Yumi-chan? I think you'll like them."

He sounds a little nervous. He must have known this would be a tough call. Adopting is cool and all, but it is also a big decision. Mayumi isn't sure how she feels about adding another person to their tight-knit group. Kokichi seems certain, though. That should be enough.

Mayumi sighs into the phone, resuming her nail painting.

"All right, then. See you in a few weeks, Love."

~死~

King and Spades — Osama Akihiko and Suki Ryuunosuke respectively — race for the phone when it goes off. There's a flurry of limbs and blows, each one trying to hinder the other from reaching it first.

The phone is on its last ring when Ryuunosuke reaches out to grab it and answer triumphantly, Akihiko sprawled on the floor with a pout.

"Heya, Boss! This is Super Evil Demon Number One speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hey, how come you're number one?" Akihiko whines petulantly from his spot on the floor, and Ryuu sticks his tongue out at him.

"'Cause I got here first, Dumbass!"

Kokichi giggles at their banter.

"Well, my loyal servant," Kokichi begins, a haughty tone possessing his voice, "I need to speak with your lesser demon as well."

Ryuu grins. "Lesser Demon indeed!" He says into the phone before turning to Akihiko. "Get up, Hiko. Kichi wants to talk to you, too."

Akihiko sniffles a bit before getting up, wiping his nose, and Ryuunosuke puts the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Kokichi," Akihiko sighs into the phone, the dejectedness palpable.

"That's no way for a prince of Hell to be speaking, now, is it? Be proud of the havoc you wreak!"

Akihiko sniffles again, but this time it's followed by a smile.

Ryuunosuke frowns.

"Why is he a prince and I'm not!? I thought you said he was my lesser demon!" Ryuu whines.

"You're the High General, duh!" Kokichi says brightly. "You have way more power than he does, commanding armies and stuff. Akihiko just has his gross libraries." A faux gagging sound comes from Kokichi's side of the line.

Akihiko huffs, trying to seem both offended and arrogant, but he's proud of his new title. Ryuu can't blame him: High General is pretty freaking cool, too.

"Your Majesty, Sir, how can I be of service to this kingdom today?" Akihiko asks, bowing even though Kokichi can't see it. Ryuu snorts, jabbing him in the side. That earns him one back. That starts a tasing war.

"It's a big request. Are you sure you can handle it?" Kokichi challenges teasingly. Ryuunosuke salutes the phone, as a High General should, and Akihiko snickers. Ryuu tases him harder this time, and Hiko bends over, clutching his side. Serves him right!

"Of course we can, Sir! We won't let you down!" Ryuu is practically shouting, still in salute position.

"Have faith, My King." Akihiko is upright again, composing himself and smoothing out his blazer. "There is nothing we cannot do."

Kokichi's deep breath is audible through the speaker, and both boys tense. If their leader is nervous, it must be something big.

"Someone will be joining your legion soon. I'd like you to return to the castle and train them as soon as possible."

It takes a second, but another grin cracks across Ryuu's face and a soft smile dusts Akihiko's. That's all?

"I don't know why you're nervous, Boss. If you picked 'em, I'm sure they'll survive our impossible training!"

"Under our care, they will be nothing short of perfect. Rest easy, Your Highness."The pair looks at each other, and smiles widen. Ryuu bumps shoulders with his partner in crime (one of them, anyway).

He's not expecting Akihiko to frown.

"What makes you think you can touch me? Me, a prince?"

"I'm a High General! I command the armies!"

"I am royalty, you swine!"

With an angered growl, Ryuu tackles Akihiko to the floor and another wrestling match begins. The phone is discarded, forgotten, and Kokichi's laughter trickles briefly through the speaker before it's cut off, call ending.

~死~

The last five minutes have just been the two of them shouting and elongating each other's names across the phone.

"Taaaaarou!"

"'Kiiiiiiichi!"

Kokichi finally breaks down in giggles.

"Tarou-chan! I miss you!"

Dealer — Diira Tarou — is in America.

Specifically, he's gorging himself on a pound's worth of McDonald's' cheeseburgers and about three large cartons of fries in the safety of DICE headquarters, New York, but details, shmetails.

"Well, I miss you, too, Boss," He says around a mouthful, "Wha'd' ya need?"

"Why would I need anything, Tarou-chan? Can't I check in with my subordinates like a good boss?"

"Well sure, but ya wouldn't call. Is it something big? I can try smuggling these fries back home. It'll be tough, but I guarantee the amount of salt is worth it. This is the kind of heart attack that's worth it."

"Tarou-chan!" Kokichi scolds, but Tarou can picture the smile on his face.

Tarou's laughter is full-bodied, and it shakes him in his entirety. He leans back in his plush swivel chair and props his feet up in the one across from him.

"Can't say I'm sorry, Boss, but I respect your decision. What'cha got for me, then?" Tarou snatches another cheeseburger, chowing down.

"Y'know, I made a friend recently."

"Oh?" Tarou reaches for a fry.

"Yeah. The day after I met them, they ate a whole pizza. A whole one. All by themself. In, like, fifteen minutes. It was gross."

Tarou laughs again but pauses when he hears commotion on Kokichi's end. His boss is snickering, and another voice — one Tarou doesn't recognize — is audible. The voice sounds exasperated, though its words are unintelligible.

Tarou understands, now, why his boss had called.

"Ya'know that if they can't beat me in an eating contest, they can't stay, right?" He says jokingly, a soft smile on his face. Kokichi, though, gives a sage hum of acknowledgment.

"I'll start starving them right now."

The person in the room starts to yell, and Kokichi laughs out loud, nothing like his signature giggle.

Tarou knows already that this person is here to stay.

~死~

"Emi-chan, I want to try on all your new dresses when you get back."

Queen — Ojoou Emi — has been stationed in France, dealing with most of Europe. (Even though there are two of them, King and Spades never get anything done.)

"I was planning on it, Ko-chan! There is this cute purple one that you'll like! Oh, and I got this pair of shoes to go with it and I love them!" Emi sing-songs.

"But your feet are too big, Emi-chan! I can't wear your shoes because my feet are dainty! Ogre shoes won't look any good!"

"I don't know, Ko-chan. You need something to balance out that enormous head of yours." The banter is playful, familiar. Emi doesn't know why Kokichi called, but she's glad he's okay.

"I don't know what you mean, Emi-chan! I'm cute, small, innocent, and perfect!" Emi giggles. She agrees, for the most part, because he is cute and small and perfect (innocent, though? That's a stretch), but she can't say that to his face. She isn't wrong about his head; it can't take any more inflating.

"Although..." Kokichi trails off, and he says something else, but Emi can't understand him. He must have lowered the phone, but she can't imagine who he could be talking to. "Aha! They do have feet bigger than yours! They're taller than you, though, so I don't know if they count as Ogre Feet."

This makes Emi pause. Who is he talking about?

"Aw, Emi-chan! Can't think of anything to refute this fact that your brilliant leader has presented you with? It seems I've gotten smarter in your absence! I didn't know idiocy was infectious! It must be like STDs, Emi-chan! Now you have to warn someone before you engage in intercourse; otherwise, you could get sued! I should sue you, y'know, for infecting me with your stupidity. I can't afford to get dumber: the world needs me!"

"Who are they?" Emi whimpers softly, shaking with the effort of holding in a whine and ignoring his jabs at her intelligence. She feels heartbroken, like something special she once had is now no longer her own. The tears pricking at the corners of her eyes sting.

Kokichi's monologue stops, and when he speaks next, his voice matches hers.

"They saved my life, Emi-chan. They ran into machine-gun fire to save my life and the lives of probably a hundred others. They're ten, and they're in so much pain, too much pain. And they've never taken a life, no matter how hard life gets. I'm pretty sure they can't take a life. And Emi-chan-" he pauses briefly, listening to Emi choke on a sob before continuing.

"Their smile is the most beautiful thing you'll ever see, Emi-chan. You're going to love them."

Emi sniffles, the tears slipping down her cheeks hot and shameful. She's jealous. She knows she shouldn't be.

Kokichi takes a different approach to calm her down.

"They haven't cut their hair in a long time. If you ask nicely, they may let you play with it, scissors and everything."

Emi's hiccuped laugh is gross but relieved — one short chortle.

Kokichi doesn't even attempt to hide his sigh of relief, breathing out his nervous anticipation.

"I think you'd have a lot of fun dressing them up, too. They don't have a lot of clothes, so they'll have to trust your fantastic fashion sense."

She's smiling now, small and content despite the ugly feeling rolling in her gut.

"Okay, Kokichi. I can't wait to meet them."

"You'll always be my twin, Emi-chan. No one can replace you."

The gross feeling begins to fade. Ouma Kokichi is rarely so soft, so kind, so quiet. Emi loves him like this. Maybe this additional person won't be so bad if they're worth his heart.

~死~

Clubs — Karabu Nobutoshi — is out on the water off the coast of Sydney, Australia when Kokichi calls. He grins.

"You caught me at a good time, Boss. Just made it past the pier. What's going on?" One hand on the wheel, he turns his small schooner downwind, and Nobutoshi grins wider at the thrill in his stomach at the feeling of gliding over the water. Sailing is the best.

"No fair, Toshi-chan! You're having fun without me!" Kokichi whines, and Nobutoshi can see his pout. "Now you have to take me sailing when you come back!"

He laughs, throwing his head back and adjusting the wheel slightly.

"It's cold in Japan right now! You'd have to wait a bit." Then he realizes. "Wait. Come back? Did something happen? Are you all right?"

"Aww, how nice of you to worry about me! You're so sweet, Toshi-chan!"

"Seriously, Kichi. Is it an emergency? I can book a plane ticket home for tomorrow if-"

"Relax, Toshi-chan." Kokichi's playful tone disappears, and he instead adopts a more genuine air. "I'm okay, but I want you to head home once you wrap up business in Australia."

Nobutoshi sighs in relief.

"... Could you tell me why?" He asks, now more curious than worried but still a little hesitant.

"Well..." Oh no. Toshi can hear his grin. "There was some trouble. There was a gun and-"

"A gun! Kokichi, I swear!"

Kokichi laughs.

"Yup! A gun, Toshi-chan, and the evil villain who had the gun wanted me dead!"

"You literally just told me to relax, then you spring this on me. C'mon, Kokichi, I'm getting old! My heart can't take this!"

Forget about sailing, this little gremlin takes up all his time! Nobutoshi clicks on autopilot and rubs his face with his now-free hand. He would need the entirety of his focus for this conversation.

"What!? You're only sixteen, Toshi-chan! Don't worry about me, we need to worry about you!" Kokichi exclaims, sounding not the least bit concerned. Toshi smiles into his hand.

"Well, now you gotta tell me," Nobutoshi says, "because if you leave me on the cliffhanger, I will die of a heart attack and you'll need to dig my body out of the middle of the ocean."

As if he's mulling it over, Kokichi hums, then says, "Well, I guess we can't have that, so I'll tell you. There was a gun, but someone saved me! They beat up the big, bad villain and broke his gun! That's why I'm calling, Toshi-chan: because I want you to meet my savior!"

Okay, so that took a turn at the end. Nobutoshi was not expecting that, not in the slightest.

"Someone new, huh?"Kokichi pauses before he answers. "Yeah. They're a total dork like you, Toshi-chan, so I think you'll get along well."

Nobutoshi forces his brain to work again, forces himself to process the conversation, forces himself to breathe right.

The first breath is too harsh, making noise as it rushes out his nose.

It feels like so long ago now, but after running away from his latest orphanage with Tarou, Kokichi had found them on the streets. At first, they talked. For a long time. About anything and everything and nothing in particular. And then Kokichi brought them back to an abandoned building. It was old and dirty and warm and cozy and everything that home should be. They both stayed the night. And the one after that. Then suddenly they were family, him and Tarou and the small boy with a doll's face and his ragtag bunch of friends.

Family isn't born on a whim.

But then again, Kokichi found them all, so...

Toshi looks out over the calm ocean, drinking in the expanse of blue, and breathes again, slowly this time.

So maybe he should trust Kokichi's judgment. Toshi had trusted him this far; he could go a little further.

"Yeah, maybe we will."

~死~

Trick — Damasu Airi — is surprised to feel a buzzing in her back pocket as she's racing through the outskirts of the Congo Rainforest. She stops for a moment to answer, settling into the nook of a gigantic tree and catching her breath. When she sees the caller ID, she smiles and quickly picks up.

"Hi, Nii-chan," she breathes into the phone, so ecstatic to talk to him.

"Hi, Airi-chan," he says just as softly, and Airi squirms with a feeling of satisfaction, her smile widening. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good, Nii-chan. The trees are pretty and soft here." And it's true. The people are also really nice, especially when she brings food and supplies. Even though they can't understand each other, they are always so eager to help.

"That sounds like fun!" The smile in his voice makes her smile.

"Mhm."

Airi is content to just listen to Kokichi breathe into the phone, and they sit in silence for a bit before he speaks again.

"Airi-chan," he begins, oh so softly. She loves him. "I called to talk to you about something important."

He sounds serious. Airi freezes. Did she do something wrong? Is he getting rid of her? Is she never going to see him again? What's-

"Can you come home? I miss you."

Oh. Yeah, she can do that.

"I miss you, too, Nii-chan."

"I wanted to warn you, though. There is a reason I'd like to see you again." It's okay, a warning doesn't mean anything bad for her, he misses her-

"There's someone I want you to meet."

No. No. Someone new? No way. This new person will make him realize that she doesn't do anything, that she's useless. This new person will take him away from her. He'll leave her all alone and she'll get hurt again and everything will be so cold. She's so useless. Why couldn't she help him? Make him want to keep her? Why can't she stay and be loved and warm and have no new people and-

"Airi-chan." Nii-chan's voice sounds so grainy through the phone. It's another reminder he's not here with her. "I need you to breathe, Airi-chan. Please?"

She can do that. But maybe she can't. Her breath stutters, and it's so hard to get it through her nose and-

"Good job, Airi-chan. Can you do it again for me? Nice and slow."

She loves the way he says her name. She can do it again. For him.

"Good. Keep breathing for me, okay? Can you name five things you can see?"

She can do that, too. When he tells her she's done well, the warm and fuzzy feeling comes back in her chest. She likes that.

"The moss... the leaves... a bird... the dirt... and... the tree branches."

"Hmm, now four things you can hear?"

He goes through the rest of the sequence with her, slow and patient. They've perfected this through all the times it's happened before, and now she's breathing evenly again.

Okay, someone new.

"Their name is (G/N), and they like to protect people from bad guys. They protected me."

Airi likes the way their name sounds, this stranger, so soft and round as she tries it out on her tongue. And they like to protect. Are they like Nii-chan? She might like them if they're like Nii-chan.

"Okay."

Kokichi knows what her word entails, and that's enough.

~死~

Diamonds — Naiya Ren — calls Kokichi first.

"I'm not surprised you called me last," is the first thing he says when Kokichi picks up.

Kokichi hesitates for a moment. Ren takes advantage of his silence.

"If you want to know how I know, Mayumi called. She said to be ready. I figured I'd make the first move."

Kokichi stays silent. Good, that means he's willing to hear Ren out.

Ren has been with him since the beginning. The very beginning. As is, the time where DICE was still a fantasy in Kokichi's head. Back when he would share his dreams with Ren while they would play chess with their makeshift set of rocks and chalk and beat-up checkers pieces.

Kokichi's bleeding heart has always been tempered by Ren's calculated indifference.

"I have no issues with employing people around the world to do office jobs and run service counters," Ren says, "but I have told you I don't like it when people get too close to you. You are in a very high-risk position, Kokichi; you're a high profile target. Anyone could want you dead."

"They know who I am." With none of its usual mischief and lightheartedness, Kokichi's voice is lifeless. "They knew who I was when they saved my life."

"Which you, Kokichi?" Ren already knows.

"Does it matter?" He sounds close to tears.

"Of course it matters. Joker is not the same person as Ouma Kokichi and you know it."

The tears are streaming down Kokichi's face now. Ren can't hear them, but he knows.

"I'm making an assumption here, but I don't understand why you told them about DICE, the true DICE, and mentioned nothing to the rest of us. I get that this is your organization, your idea, but I can't help but feel that this is something that belongs to all of us." It almost hurts to say this to him, to treat him like he doesn't feel the same way the rest of them do about this entire thing, but it needs to be done.

"It does. Belong to all of us, I mean. I can't take all the credit, you know." Kokichi's typical speech patterns without his mischief to play along make his words sound eerie and robotic. It's a wonder how he can speak so calmly through his most emotional moments.

"I never meant to imply that you did." That's a lie. "But it belongs to us. Not someone who doesn't know the value of what we've built. Who doesn't understand the journey from the bottom to the top. Who can't appreciate it the same way we do. It doesn't feel fair. This may be petty of me, but I may be the only one who will say this to you. You're too smart to have called us all without expecting this reaction, this feeling."

"I think you're wrong. About the journey. Maybe not with DICE, but they know. And they'll know DICE, too."

Ren sighs. If this is enough to bring him to genuine tears, and enough to keep him fighting after hearing all this, perhaps Ren can hear him out.

There is one question that weighs heavier than all the rest in his mind.

"What makes them so interesting?"

He knows Kokichi. Better than anyone. Playing round after round of chess will do that to you. You get to know how a person's mind works, how fast it works. Kokichi is the smartest person he knows. He doesn't like things that bore him easily.

"What about them is so mysterious that makes you want to keep them around."

Because that's what it's always been. Each person Kokichi has picked up off the street has something more to them than their tragic backstory.

"Their smile."

Shit.

He's getting teary over a smile?

"Fine." Ren gives up. He wasn't sure he would even win this argument in the first place. "I'll meet them. I make no promises about what happens after that."

"Thank you. That's all I ask."

Damnit.

He got played, didn't he?

~死~

As Kokichi puts the phone down for the eighth and final time, he turns to face you with an enormous grin on his face.

"Now," he says, a mischievous smile on his lips, "We wait."

You look at him, trying to decipher what that smile means, whether it's genuine, but give up after a few seconds. You can't read the perfect mask on his face.

At least, not yet.

~死~

I’m actually really surprised that I managed to get this chapter out so soon.

Finally made it to DICE! I hope you enjoyed their characters as much as I enjoyed writing them. This is my take on DICE, and if you disagree, that’s fine, let’s agree to disagree. I’ve seen other representations of these characters before, so I thought I’d try my hand. I also tried my best to write a panic attack, so I hope I did okay on that, too.

Thanks for reading! I’ll be back next week.

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #ouma kokcihi #danganronpa x reader #x reader #dice v3 #my take on DICE #original characters #i tried i swear

19 notes · View notes

until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years

Text

Ingénue: Chapter Four

-Read Chapter Three-

-Ingénue Masterlist-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, in later chapters Natasha Romanov x Reader, and Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You take a job as a showgirl in an illegal speakeasy owned by two of the most notorious mobsters of New York City in 1921. Caught up in the glamor and mystique, you go spiraling into a world a little more dangerous than you had originally thought. 1920s AU.

In this chapter, you spend an afternoon with Wanda and trouble brews in the evening.

Warnings: Smut, cursing, daddy kink but not really. I use “daddy” as a term of endearment, which was a term used in the 1920s differently than it is used today.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello!! thank you all for the continual love and support with this fic. i’m sorry i’ve bee a little absent, i’ve been really busy with school which has just started up again! but i hope you enjoy this chapter! a little bit of Sam, the love of my life, in this chapter as well as a tease of Wanda!! please let me know your thoughts!!

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

The phonograph spins on and on as jazz slides from it easily, filling the room with upbeat, infectious music. You’re a little tipsy from tequila that Sam snuck you only an hour or so earlier. You dance freely in the open space of the parlor of the manor, moving to the beat of the music swiftly and smoothly, your dress flashing prettily under the dim lighting.

Bucky lounges lazily on the couch, moonlight casting him in quicksilver, wolf that he is, watching you dance and spin with hunger in his eyes and a drink in his hand. His legs are spread invitingly, splayed for you, blue eyes devilish. He likes to watch you like this; carefree and wild, hair a mess and hitching your dress up high. He likes you here, in his house, dancing like this for him and for you.

Sam laughs with you now, twirling you around in his arms; he’s a real smooth dancer, managing to keep up with you just fine. You’re having fun, Sam’s giving you the love and attention you like- the sweet kind that makes you sing. The kind Steve gives more often, but he’s out working tonight, won’t be back until much later. Sam whispers something in your ear with a crooked, familiar grin and Bucky watches the pretty flush crawl over your cheeks, wants to chase it down your neck and chest with his lips and tongue. You glance at him, doe eyes pretty and fluttering.

The song dwindles into the next, something slow and raunchy, dirty and crooning. Sam immediately takes you in his arms, sets a slow, grinding pace with body and hips. He pulls you flush, flattens his large hand on your stomach to guide you, lips brushing your ear, at your neck.

You catch Bucky’s eyes as you lean back into Sam, holding his gaze for a long moment. Maybe to make him jealous, sly little grin touching your lips before you turn into Sam’s embrace. You wind your arms around his neck, dance close and smooth with him. You’ve gotten bolder recently, a new flare of attitude that surfaces; feisty and a touch bratty.

It drives Bucky wild with you, caught between wanting to spoil you further or take you over his knee. He watches the roll of your hips against Sam, watches the way you toss your head back and laugh with him, burning like the little flame you are.

You’re enrapturing, a constant presence that Bucky can’t get enough of. And neither can Sam, it seems. He pulls you right down into his lap when the song softens out and rolls into the next one. You sink into his chest happily, letting your head loll back against Sam’s broad shoulder.

Sam’s hands are on your waist, on your thigh, moving upwards slowly. Bucky catches Sam’s eyes over your head, blue glittering darkly, as they snag on him. And Sam knows that look, too.

“You seem awfully snug over there.” Bucky says to you with a slow grin, no malice or jealousy in his voice, but there is something seductive to it. Something that draws your eyes to his curved lips, to his lap.

“I am,” You chirp back with a pretty smile, arching your back a little into Sam’s palms.

Bucky laughs darkly, the sound sinking low inside you and coiling. your bravado flickers then winks out, only leaving you with the sudden, quick burn of neediness for him. It’s unfair, you mourn, with how quickly and seamlessly he manages to unravel you. You try not to pout at him.

As if Sam can feel your sudden shift, his nose skims the line of your neck, nuzzles there as if to soothe you or placate you.

“Brat,” Bucky calls you, watches the way you squirm slightly in Sam’s arms. “You’ve gotten quite the attitude lately, bunny.”

“Leave her be, Buck, she’s just having fun.” Sam murmurs into your neck, flashing him a slightly teasing smile. And you melt against him, syrupy and sweet-eyed and soft and Bucky just wants to wind a hand in your hair and—

“Get over here,” Bucky then says, voice dipping into a command that immediately makes your eyes flutter to him. You blink, cheeks warm, a little drunk on the warmth of Sam.

“I’m not gonna say it again, doll.” Bucky presses, eyes dark on you and sending a thrill through you.

You slip from Sam’s arms, stand on suddenly coltish feet. Your stomach flutters, warmth curling inside of you eagerly with the look in Bucky’s eyes.

“No,” Bucky says and you halt before you can take another step. “Crawl to me.”

Your stomach falls way, heart suddenly jumping and heat scorches up your spine. You feel your face warm, too, nerves pulling at you because it’s Sam that’s watching, too and—

You lower yourself to your knees, watch Bucky’s eyes, predatory and hungry follow you all the way. You can feel the soft burn of Sam’s eyes, too, and it shouldn’t make you want to whine and beg and roll over easy and pliant for them but it does.

In a haze, you crawl over to Bucky; it’s lewd, it’s dirty but it’s a little freeing, letting your lips part and eyes shine for him. Letting yourself go, little wild thing on her hands and knees for him. The thought strikes you deeply, down into your core, and you lean into it.

You slink over to him, until you kneel between his spread legs prettily, back arching.

“Good girl,” Bucky purrs, sinking a hand into your hair, his eyes burning.

He casts his glance to Sam over your head, whose chest is rising and falling a little harder.

“You want Sam to touch you?” Bucky then asks and the question guts you seamlessly. You can hear Sam’s intake in breath. Feel your own heart stutter and tumble inside your chest. You look up at Bucky with wide eyes, searching his face.

“Is that okay?” You murmur to him, your palms sliding over his knees, up his thighs.

“If you want it, it is.” He responds easily, stroking a hand through your hair.

You glance back at Sam, heart swooping before you nod quickly, blush rising high on your cheeks.

“Use your words, honey.” Bucky croons just to torment you.

You throw a glare at Bucky, pouting slightly, petulant little thing between his legs and his fingers tighten in your hair a fraction, daring you to disobey or talk back.

You don’t, instead you draw in breath.

“I want Sam to touch me.” You get out softly, petal lips open and pink as you peak at Bucky through your lashes.

“Atta girl,” Bucky praises again and now he looks back at Sam. “You wanna undress her?” Bucky asks him, and then a smirk, devilish and crooked pulls at the corner of his lips, “Or do you want her to strip?”

Your breathing comes in quick, cheeks flaming again, small fingers tightening in the fabric of Bucky’s pants, a twinge of nervousness creeping in.

As if Sam senses it, he moves to you.

“I’ll undress her,” Sam responds, dropping to his knees, too, so his chest is pressed to your back, a strong and gentle presence behind you. Soft, broad hands on your waist, steadying you. He dips his head to place warm, open mouth kisses to your neck.

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, nose nudging your jaw, your overheated cheek.

You sigh delicately, lean into him, into his hands. You trust Sam, can feel his affection and tenderness for you in every press of his fingers, every brush of his open palms as he slowly rids you of your clothes.

And then you’re bare, kneeling between Bucky’s spread legs, Sam pressed behind you and you can feel your breath hitching, the slow roll inside of your core.

Sam kisses the nape of your neck, the line of your shoulder, so sweet and gentle with you.

Bucky’s hand fists in your hair rough and domineering, though.

You make a quiet noise of surprise, but your eyes flutter back up to Bucky, who's watching you darkly. He works his pants off with ease, the sound of his zipper cutting through the air, Sam’s calloused fingers along the underside of your breast.

You part your lips, let Bucky guide you to where he wants, his other hand cradling your jaw surprisingly gentle as you take him into the warmth of your mouth. He groans slightly, hips hitching upwards.

It’s Sam who murmurs, “Such a sweet girl,” While his lips burn a path over your shoulders, a sensitive spot on your spine. His hand crests over the line of your hips, down to your inner thigh. Your eyes flutter shut at the first glide of his fingers, the low hum of his voice, all silk and honey against your throat.

“God, she’s so wet, Buck.” Sam gets out, fingers pressing, seeking, gliding through you. You moan, broken and soft, around Bucky. “And I’ve barely touched her.”

“She’s always eager,” Bucky gets out, eyes hooded as he gazes down at you, not bothering to be particularly gentle with you tonight. Your eyes water with another firm press of his hips into your mouth, and you let your glittering eyes glance up to him.

Another pass of Sam’s fingers and you let your own hips arch into his touch, excited, desperate. And Sam, unlike Bucky, even unlike Steve sometimes, gives in easily to you. He seeks out how to make you squirm, finds the bundle of nerves and sets to making you sink into his arms. You keen, pulling off Bucky to breathe, a tear slipping down your face that Bucky greedily presses into your skin, fascinated and eyes gleaming.

“Sam,” You whimper, push back into him.

“You like that, babygirl?” He coos, warm and you can feel the smile tugging at his lips against your jaw. Proud of himself, eager to give you whatever you want, fingers slippery wet where you’re soft and tender and aching.

You nod pitifully in Bucky’s hands, who suddenly squeezes at your jaw, forcing your lips into a pretty pout. “With words, bunny.” He husks, watching as you squirm desperately between the two.

“Yes,” You gasp out, just as Sam’s fingers curve sweetly inside of you, lips parting, which Bucky takes advantage of again. Eager to please him, you take him back into the heat of your mouth, sighing with his fingers in your hair.

There’s nothing and no one but them, but the pleasure they give and take and bring you to. It’s intoxicating, to let go and be a creature born only out of this lust and love and bliss, eager and breathless to please them. Bucky falls apart with a curse, spills down your throat and you warm with a base, raw satisfaction in his pleasure.

Sam’s praises curl around your heart, make you glow sweet and pliant in his hands until he manages to break you, wringing pleasure from you until you’re boneless and crying and he tells you that you’re everything, perfect and precious and presses kisses into every inch of your skin. Overabundant and giving, Sam holds your body to his with a love and gentleness you can nearly feel in your bones.

He kisses your mouth, open and sweetly and you let yourself fall further into his warm embrace.

Bucky ends up carrying you to bed not long after, leaving you bare as he curls around you and makes sure you’re okay with gentle, murmuring words. You fall asleep as he drags a hand over your shoulder blades, sated and exhausted, and brimming with a warm, dewy happiness.

Steve returns home much later into the night, drained and aching but, sighing when he finds you and Bucky asleep in his bed. Peaceful, sleep warm bodies that he presses himself to when he finally slides into bed.

You raise your head, blinking blearily in the darkness, heavy with sleep.

Steve’s smile is fond for you, though, with your messy hair and dreamy face, even as he murmurs, “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay, Stevie.” You sigh, curl yourself closer to him, hooking your leg over his waist and promptly dropping back into the deep, soothing cradle of sleep.

Steve follows after you, holding you dearly, heart beating for you in the wide, warmth of his chest.

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

The morning brings your smiling lips, brushing kisses over Steve’s neck and shoulders to rouse him. You rub your cheek to his bearded one, before your lips settle into another flurry of kisses along his jaw. Steve cracks an eye open, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you squirm closer to him.

Bucky’s already gone, slipped from the bed at some point, probably set off to get a few things done this morning.

But you’re there and still warm, naked skin soft and lovely against his. He stretches, reaching an arm above his head and your fingers thread through the hair along his chest.

“‘Morning, Daddy.” You murmur, lashes tickling his cheek as you press your lips to his skin again.

Steve smiles softly at you, curling an arm around your lower back, fingers drifting over the curves and lines of your body. “G’morning, doll.”

Your eyes glitter in the peach light of morning, casting you in honey gold as your lips hitch upwards in a crooked smile that would’ve knocked Steve flat onto his back if he wasn’t already laying down. “Wanna spend the whole day in bed with me?” You almost purr, rolling onto his chest with ease.

And it’s tempting, with the press of your body to his, the way you fit yourself so snugly to him, and with your fingers sliding over his neck, into his beard and then his thick hair.

His hand drifts lower, down below the line of your lower back, hitching into the crook of your thigh and dragging your leg higher. “As tempting as that sounds,” Steve starts, “I don’t think I can. I’ve got work to do this afternoon.”

You pout, squirming against him, “You always have work.” You whine, burying your face in his neck.

“I know,” Steve sighs, dragging a hand through your hair, “But I’ve got some time now.” He then murmurs, drawing you close, pulling you deeper into the muscles of his body.

Your legs shift to straddle his waist, still pressed chest to chest. You can already feel him against your inner thigh; warm and smooth and hardening. It forces a breath out of you, makes you squirm in his lap, until your face is pressed to the crook of his neck.

His hands are rough in texture but gentle and coaxing in touch, broad palm full of heat and tenderness. A hint of command as he guides you over him.

He reaches around, fingers digging into the skin of your inner thigh, before suddenly gliding through your center.

You mewl desperately, flush rising because—

“Oh, you’re already so wet,” Steve murmurs, nudging his nose against your cheek. The pad of his finger moves slow and thoroughly, teasing out a sweet whine that is muffled in the crook of his neck.

“You need me to fix that, honey?”

You nod, digging your face deeper into the line of his shoulder, as if you could burrow and hide there, where he’s warm and smelling like cedarwood and soft cotton. Though your heart is tempestuous and quickening, you feel safe here, tucked against his broad chest and in the circle of his arms.

You feel him shift more than you see him, breath catching in your throat as his fingers fall away and he gently, slowly pushes, prods until there’s a sweet sort of ache. You’re slick and weeping, burning, and your small fingers tighten in his hair, in the sheets until your body yields to him.

You release that breath, sigh as he fills you completely, as if it’s where he belongs. Snug and tight, you nuzzle into his jaw and he turns his face into you for a kiss.

Another sigh from him now, his hands settling on the curves and dipping lines of your waist, the rustle of bed sheets, then a soft keen from you.

And then you’re moving over him, guided by his hands, so large and calloused and loving for you. Morning light, coral orange glow and heaven’s gold that spills over you, makes you seem angel, otherworldly in Steve’s eyes, like the first night he saw you.

Serene eyes, hooded lids, peach stung lips that part for him.

It’s slow; he forces you to stay languid and gentle even when you pout, shows you the kind of love that pulls you under it’s waves, the kind of pleasure that just makes you sing.

He thinks he could spend the rest of his life like this; with you, the traces of Bucky still on your skin, so proud in the light of dawn. With you and with Bucky.

He pulls you down for a harder kiss in the end, so desperate for you to know, to push and pack all of that adoration and love and tenderness for you down your throat, into your ribs, your heart so wildly beating.

And you take it all eagerly, give back twice that and weep tears of happiness and joy and love, right onto the pale pink of his cheeks.

You shower afterwards, let the steam and the water soothe any aching muscles. You can’t seem to part with Steve.

You pout at him after being wrapped into a fluffy, downy towel by him before he reaches for one himself.

“Why can’t you take a day off?” You ask with a flutter of your lashes.

Steve smiles slightly, a little amused, “I’m sorry, doll, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not? You’re the boss, aren’t you?”

Steve does laugh now, soft, a breath, “Yeah, but if anything, that means I have more responsibilities to take care of.”

You lean up onto your toes, press the line of your body to his pointedly, and give him your wide, loving eyes that you know he has a hard time denying. You wrap your arms around his neck sweetly, “Stevie,” You sigh lightly, blossom soft and silky. “Stay home with me?”

Steve’s eyes darken a fraction, like maybe he will, wars with himself, before ultimately detangling you from him. “That won’t work today, baby.”

You rock back down onto your heels, shoulders slumping.

And then you pout, petulant, spoiled girl that’s always gotten her way, never really been told no by them before--

He touches your cheek, “Why don’t you invite Wanda over?” He suggests, placating and encouraging, “Spend the day by the pool. Sam will be around to keep an eye out on you, too.”

You huff lightly, despite it sounding like a swell idea. And you adore Sam a great deal. “Fine,” You reply just to be a brat, though.

Steve’s lips lift into the barest hint of a smirk, “Easy on the attitude with me, princess.” He warns lightly, before adding, “I’ll be home briefly before your shift tonight.”

Then he kisses your cheek, lips still warm and soft, before he disappears from the bathroom to finish getting ready for his day. You let loose a breath, glance at your reflection in the mirror which glitters back at you with shining, happy eyes. You’re near glowing, can practically feel it bursting forth from within you.

You let yourself smile, before bounding off to go phone Wanda.

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

Wanda and you lazily drape yourselves over one of the lounge chairs by the pool, afternoon sun spilling over you warmly. You’re both pressed close to fit onto one chair; she’s on her stomach beside you, feet languidly kicking in the air. You’re on your back, in your little, white swimsuit. A scoop neck that bares your chest to the sun, then a little, frilly skirt as the bottoms, allowing your legs to tan under the sun, too.

Wanda’s in a similar one, but hers is black, the neckline dipping into a vee, and her skirt is trimmed with red and white. Her pale, porcelain skin is already beginning to pinken, but it’s sweet and you can tell she’s content in the sun beside you, too relaxed and happy to move.

Though, she does pick her head up from her folded arms to look at you. “Are you living here now?” She asks, and the ends of her hair tickle your neck, your cheek.

You flutter your eyes to her, squinting in the sun for a moment before settling on her. “Not technically, I suppose.” You answer, then bite your lip in thought.

Her eyes follow the movement, then return to yours.

“But I spend much of my time here now.” You press on, “Bucky and Steve want me here, with Sam or Natasha or them. For my protection, I guess.”

You don’t know if that’s something to be more concerned about, something that might make Wanda worry, but you speak openly with her anyways. You fear little right now, tucked away in their garden, a gem they’ve hidden and protected.

Wanda hums a moment, eyes dancing in the sun. Her fingers, nimble and soft, skim over your shoulder as she draws a languid, small pattern into your skin. It tickles, but you don’t dare move, tilt your chin slightly to be closer. Just as she sighs, “It’s beautiful here. Like a dream.”

You nod, letting your eyes shut again as her fingers trail over your collarbones, touch growing bolder, wider, but still so soft and fluttering. She’s a dream.

You can hear the birds twinkling in the distance, the soft lap of water from the glittering pool, Wanda’s small breaths. It’s so soothing, so lovely that you feel heavy and heady with it. The sun, Wanda’s touch, the sparkling world around you.

“Do you love them?” Wanda breathes and you open your eyes to her once more.

And you smile, unrestrained and vibrant, “I feel like I’m in love with everyone and everything lately.”

“With me?” Wanda asks, a hint of a mischievous smile gracing her lips. It’s beguiling, enamoring, that curve of her cherry lips--

“Yes, of course with you!” You laugh, ducking your face closer to hers, and she laughs with you, soft, sighing giggles. You reach out with seeking fingers, brush a strand of her hair from her face, “You’re my dearest, Wanda.”

Wanda smiles as if she’s won something, and bathed in sunlight, she is ethereal and glistening. Her fingers touch your neck, knuckle gliding along your jaw. “And you are mine, darling.” She exhales happily, before leaning forward and brushing a kiss to your sun-warmed cheek.

And that is how you spend the afternoon, pressed close and talking happily together, teasing each other and sharing secrets.

She pulls you into the glittering, blue diamond pool at one point, and you shriek before you hit the water. It’s crisp and cool, but refreshing, reenergizing after lazing in the sun. You splash and giggle and laugh with each other, young and glistening in the water. Naiads, mythical girls, flushed with joy and mischief. You wrap your arms around each other, press wet cheeks together and throw your heads back and laugh and shout and sing silly.

And when you get out, you return to the same lounge chair, pressed close again and dozing under the sun once more, speaking frequently, touching languidly.

Steve returns as the afternoon bruises into evening, just as he promised, and he steps outside to greet the pair of you. Wanda is straddling your waist, tickling you until you’re breathless, giggling like mad girls when he emerges. You both pause, laughter quieting as you twist your heads to look.

“Havin’ fun out here?” He asks with a fond smile, moving to sit at the end of the lounge chair beside the both of you.

“Yeah,” You tell him with a smile, sitting up beneath Wanda slightly, “It’s been perfect.”

“Seems like it.” Steve responds, just as his eyes catch Wanda’s, who's still firmly seated atop you. She makes no indication of moving.

“Hi, Steve.” She says with her own smile, as if she has a secret.

“Hi ya, Wanda. How’ve you been?”

“Very well.” She muses back, her smiling eyes falling back over you, bewitching and lovely. “I always love keeping your girl company.”

“I can see that,” Steve replies, almost dryly, but there’s still a glitter of amusement in his blue, blue eyes. Wanda and you share a smile, another slight giggle, before she finally eases off of you and allows you up.

Though when you sit up beside her, you wrap your arms around her as you face Steve, draping your arms over her small form. She brushes her cheek to yours, smitten and affectionaley.

You watch the way Steve’s eyes track the pair of you, skimming over the lines of your girl soft bodies, damp swimsuits clinging to your curves. His eyes darken a fraction, tongue darting out against the pink of his bottom lip. He almost looks--

“Where’s Bucky?” You ask to try and stop a flush from overcoming you, “Is he home, too?”

Steve shakes his head, as if clearing his head, and also to answer you. “No, not yet. I’m going to meet up with him soon, and we’ll then pick you up from the Valkyrie after.”

“Okay,” You sigh dreamily against Wanda’s neck, turning your face there and smiling against her skin.

She reaches to touch your cheek, “We should leave soon for the Valkyrie.” And then she gains an impish smile, “Otherwise Natasha will scold us for being late.”

“Can’t have that.” Steve agrees with a gentle smile and you blink at him slowly from Wanda’s neck. He gazes back with affection, despite the undercurrent of heat seeping into his eyes. To distract himself from the enthralling image of you, pressing yourself so close to Wanda, so sweet and joyful, he glances down at his wrist watch.

He lets loose a sigh, “I need to be leaving soon.” And he moves to stand, stretching upwards with long arms and a sturdy, muscled torso. “I’ll see you after your show tonight, dear.” He then adds, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, but you turn your face to his and catch his lips in a sound kiss.

Wanda giggles mischievously. It’s brief and fleeting and soft. His lips are warm. When he pulls back, you lean in quickly and snag another kiss to his cheek, just as Wanda presses a kiss to his other with a curling smile.

Steve’s brows raise as you both laugh together,’ light twinkling sounds that are like music to his ears.

“Nice seeing you, Steve.” Wanda tells him with her wide, glittering eyes and Cheshire smile.

“Bye, Daddy.” You hum sweetly and a grin, dumb and in love and full blooming strikes his features like lightning.

“Bye, honey.” He says, already excited to return to you, “Bye, Wanda.”

And he leaves the pair of you, giggling and light hearted and dizzy with the sun and each other.

—————

Just as promised, Steve and Bucky wait backstage for you after your last performance is finished, caught in the blue, shadow light of the theatre as you bound over to them. You launch yourself into Bucky’s arms first, who laughs as he wraps his arms tight to you and lifts you clear off the ground. His lips, warm and seeking, find your cheeks almost immediately.

You giggle as he presses them to you eagerly.

“Missed me all day?” He asks and you shriek a little as his fingers wiggle and tickle your sides playfully.

“Yeah, ‘course I did. You’re always so busy.” You respond into the thick muscle of his shoulder. When he settles you back onto your feet, you turn and jump up onto your toes to greet Steve in a brief, fluttering kiss.

Steve steadies you with a huff of laughter, “Easy, doll.” He murmurs, the safety of his broad palm on your lower back heavy and warm. You lean into him, nearly let all your weight go to press against the solid form of his body.

“We’re thinkin’ about grabbing a bite, princess, how’s that sound?” Bucky asks, fingers skimming your waist, the curve of your side.

“Sounds swell, Bucky.” You respond with a flutter of your lashes, a tilt of your head towards his and naturally he leans in, kisses the swell of your cheek before he takes your hand and guides out of the speakeasy and into the balmy night.

Sweet, dark air. Fragrant and rich and warm, the city is alive and thrumming on a beautiful night with the flowers wide and blooming underneath the clear moon and darling stars. You sing to yourself, to Bucky and Steve on the way, happy and humming and silly.

Steve smiles sweet when you serenade him teasingly. Calls you songbird, starlet, little dove.

Bucky laughs when you twirl in his arms on the sidewalk playfully, dress flaring and glittering wide beneath pale streetlights like the whole world is your stage. He calls you canary, calls you moonbeam and pearl.

The restaurant they guide you to is a hole in the wall type of joint; open all hours, hidden away because they serve alcohol- wine house made in basements, the way they do back in Italy- with some of the finest food in all the city. Bucky and Steve know the owner, like they seem to everywhere. Their connections are far reaching and wide. They get special treatment; treated like Kings, royalty of the streets, and the owner, Paulo, whose wide and jolly and loud with his heavily Italian accented English. He calls you bellissima and makes you giggle under candlelight.

“What’s a gem like you running around with these dogs, huh?” He teases with a smile, “They better be good to you!”

“They’re very good to me.” You respond earnestly, leaning into Bucky’s side as his hand finds the small, sensitive spot of your lower back. He strokes until you sigh dreamily.

“Seems like it, if they’re bringing you to Paulo for a meal!”

And you all laugh, until his wife, Donna is brought out to meet you, too. And she fusses and gushes over you, pinches your smiling cheeks and eyes the boys; warns them about treating you right. Keeping you safe.

Bucky and Steve, their eyes twinkling in fondness, reply respectfully with “yes, ma’am”s and bows of their head. It makes you admire them tenfold; for two of the supposed most powerful and feared men in the city, maybe the state, they seem to have good and strong relationships with everyone. People seem to love them, look up to them not out of trembling fear, but genuine adoration.

You’re seated in a back corner, tucked away and in a booth. The gold of candles is warm and flickering in the dim lighting of the restaurant; it’s cavernous, underground. There are no windows, but it’s cozy, almost. It’s warm and glowing and full of heavy, mouth-watering scent of herbs and meats and spices.

Plum dark wine is brought to your table, split among you until you’re light headed and flushed warm. Rich cheeses, salty meats, and herbed olive oil that drips down your chin is given to you. Bucky swipes it away with his thumb and a roguish smile. There’s a love and an ease between you three, conversation that does or doesn’t flow is comfortable and amiable.

Your first meal isn’t even brought out when there is a commotion towards the front of the restaurant, thought; Paulo’s voice gains an edge, lacks the good nature he greeted you with. Donna ushers some of the wait staff in the back. Once happy and content customers now pale in worry, eyes darting down or away or tracking too tightly onto the group that arrives.

“We got company, Steve.” Bucky says, just as Paulo declares he doesn’t want any trouble, but he’s easily brushed aside and the man who replaces him is cold and imposing. A statue of a man; blond hair streaked with silver, dark, probing eyes, and a perfect posture. Ice fills you, all that warmth suddenly gone from you as if a north wind had pushed into the room and stricken you.

Steve eases in front of you slightly, an edge of his shoulder in front of you and quickly, you duck behind him, your small hand wrapping around the muscle of his broad bicep. You peak over his shoulder, catch another man shouldering his way over to you three.

He’s much more familiar. The man Natasha had pulled you from; Rumlow. He looks more menacing now, somehow, maybe it’s the shadows of the candlelight falling over his features, turning him into a creature of that darkness. Or maybe it’s simply that he’s also followed by others, piercing eyes and outlines of guns at their hips.

The once romantic and charming atmosphere is replaced with something ghoulish, your nerves prickling in worry. A hush has gathered, and no matter how much other patrons pretend not to watch these newcomers approach your table, all eyes and attention are on you.

Steve stands, rising to the full, towering height of him. He’s intimidating, with the way his face hardens in a way you’ve never seen it before. His shoulders roll back, as if he’s ready for a brawl.

“No need to stand,” The elder man states diplomatically, “We’ll be quick.”

And with barely a glance, one of his henchmen is hustling him a chair, sliding it on the open side of the table and across from Steve. He slides into it with poise and grace, whereas Rumlow comes to stand beside him.

“Well,” He hums when his eyes fall to you, voice slithering around you, “Look who it is. The little doll from the speakeasy that your Widow was so keen on keeping away from me.”

And now the blond man turns his own frigid, dark eyes on you. You shrink back into the booth, shoulders curling inwards. “Ah,” He exhales as if he’s realized something quite important, “The one this city is so enamored with.”

He tilts his head, peers deeper at you and you turn your profile to him, lashes fluttering against your cheek as if that will somehow shield you from his gaze. Bucky’s hands clench into a tight, balled fist with all the attention suddenly on you. You can feel the coil of his thick muscles, agitation in his shoulders, the way he might just bare his teeth at the next wrong word; aggravated, territorial wolf ready to pounce.

Steve, though, is rather calm. Still and calm and hard.

“My apologies,” Continues the man, “Where are my manners?” And he extends his hand to you across the table in offering;

“I’m Alexander Pierce.”

The name sinks down deep into you, settles into you the way stones settle in the bottom of rivers, dragging down all they’re attached to.

Another notorious mob boss, one that isn’t as adored as Bucky or Steve. Known for crooked, cruel darkness, the name only uttered out of fear. Your heart pounds with the revelation, you can feel it, deep and thundering in the pit of your chest.

You glance outwards, catch all of his men milling around, with their lithe bodies and loaded, heavy guns tucked at their hips.

And you become keenly, horribly aware of the danger you’re in; like staring down the unhinged, dripping jaws of a predator, ready and waiting to bite.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x female reader #sam wilson x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #stucky x reader #stucky x female reader #stucky x you

80 notes · View notes

talesfromthefade · 7 years

Text

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus || SFW || Post-Trespasser || 2461 words

“Doooooorian,” greets a delighted, sing-song voice when exhaustion finally overtakes him.

“Go away,” the mage replies dismissively. Has he not yet earned a little sleep in peace?

“Now, now,” the demon tsks. “Bit rude, don’t you think. Dismissing me already. Perhaps I should go talk to your lover instead,” it taunts. “I’m sure June would be more accommodating. T’would be almost too easy, his mind is so troubled, you know. Anger… fear,” the demon continues shifting its shape to reveal its true form- a fear demon. “I’d prefer a mage, of course, your connection to the Fade, using Lyrium, makes you mages taste so delicious, but I’m sure I could make do. A strong body like his could carry me some while, even disfigured,” the spirit laughs menacingly.

Dorian wakes with a start, immediately checking the bed beside him where June still sleeps, seemingly peacefully, at least for the moment. The demon’s taunts, it seems, may have been only that, an attempt to get under his skin, perhaps amuse itself. Even so, Dorian can’t go back to sleep now. Won’t risk leaving his lover unprotected. Needs to be here, ready to rouse and comfort him at the first sign of distress.

The demon’s words and laughter echo menacingly in his head, so Dorian does his best to reply and focus on his lover’s instead.

Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. I love you.

Words that were spoken only yesterday, though it seems almost lifetimes ago now, echo in his mind as Dorian watches him sleep- the still heavily bandaged stump a reminder of the elf’s recent trauma. He should have brought him with him, the mages think bitterly, internally scolding himself. Should never have left him for so long. Even in writing nearly every day he had missed him terribly, had missed so much. How long had been suffering like this, tortured by flare-ups of pain and bursts of energy from his mark? Would he ever have told him if fate hadn’t brought them back together like this?

No, Dorian thinks frowning at June’s back where he lies beside him, he wouldn’t have. His lover wouldn’t have wanted him to worry, wouldn’t have wanted to to be responsible for tearing him away from what he was doing to try and better his homeland. But for what? What good was any of it if he lost him before he could ever show his lover the land he loved? June has not yet set a foot in Tevinter, but, the mage wonders briefly, would it even be home- even matter to him- anymore without him? He cannot pretend he hasn’t hoped that one day… But June had responsibilities, things left to see through here, just as he had in Tevinter. And, though Dorian is less than eager to admit to it, he had worried.

Growing up Dorian had never really thought twice about the slaves and servants of house Pavus, even if at times they as much raised him as his own parents had done. It was simply the way of things. Now he can scarcely fathom it, shudders to think what his lover might have thought of him if he had met or known him then as a younger, more ignorant man. June, who has seen and experienced both how his people live as undesirables in city slums, and as vagrants eking their way off the land- and seen altogether too much of how ugly humans can be towards them. Returning home he’d been able to see little else, with every Elven slave he saw, Dorian’s thoughts always turned to June.

Tevinter would crumble without slaves in its current state, of course, but Dorian refuses to take any himself. Only a single servant, whom he pays as handsomely as he can afford to. He refuses to and openly criticizes his peers who would get ahead through practicing blood magic and wears his status as something of a pariah amongst his fellow countrymen as a badge of honor. He works hard, tirelessly, writes endless letters and papers, and talks on the Senate floor at every opportunity he can find as a lowly Altus, and he hopes- Maker he hopes- that he is making his lover proud.

A dozen times if it happened once, Dorian thinks of writing to him, of asking June to come join him. He misses him awfully. But he worries. Never has anyone been so important, so precious. Never has he had something he was so afraid to lose, and his homeland and its people are difficult, unyielding at the best of times, even ruthless. He is not important, not really, not yet anyway, but he is loud and there will always be those that wish or may try to silence him. He cannot bear even the thought of June being made to suffer because of him or what he’s doing, so he holds back- as much as he can without coming off unfeeling- with his letters. His lover is safer in Ferelden, back at Skyhold amongst allies and dear friends. Or he had thought so at least, the mage thinks staring once more at the stump of his lovers left arm.

He should have been here, been with him. Maybe he could have done something- anything- to help, to stop it… And it’s not about his arm, though he knows better than to think June has completely accepted Dorian’s insistence that he doesn’t care and still loved him as fiercely as he’s ever done. It’s about the pain and suffering the now absent limb have caused his Amatus that make his chest ache, and his blood boil. Not that it’s about him, but it’s difficult trying to let go of the sense of having failed him. He won’t do so again, the mage resolves as he slowly allows himself to sink back down on the bed beside the elf, spooning him once more as he recovers, even if sleep for himself remains elusive.

“Come with me, the mage whispers between soft kisses when his lover finally stirs a few hours later. It’s entirely possible that he’s begging now, which is horrifyingly syrupy and entirely undignified, but Dorian can’t be bothered to care much yet.

He has to go back to Tevinter and within a reasonable period of time now he’s received the news if he wants to accept his father’s seat in the Magesterium. It would be madness not to. After everything that happened Dorian never expected him to keep him as his successor, but having a seat will make his and Maevaris’ battle for reform significantly easier. But, he reasons, he doesn’t have to go back alone.

“Come back with me, Amatus,” he tried again. June makes to prop himself into a sitting position with a hand that’s no longer there before realizing his mistake, his brow furrowing in a mix of anger, frustration, and embarrassment. He rolls over to put his weight on his remaining limb to sit up instead. “We don’t have to stay long. Not yet. Just until I get my father’s affairs in order,” Dorian continues as June continues to frown softly, studying his lover silently. “This business with Solas, it can wait that long, can’t it?” His lover’s frown deepens at the mention of the other elf, not that Dorian can blame him. “Amatus,” Dorian continues, perhaps a bit desperately now. "If he’s really bent on ending this world, I don’t want to waste any more of the time we’ve left apart from you.”

“We saved the world from certain destruction before,” June croaks, voice still a bit hoarse from his shouting in pain, and subsequent tears after losing his arm.

“Precisely,” Dorian agrees. “At some point, we must be pressing our luck and I don’t–” the mage begins, before the words are choked off with too much emotion, silvery eyes watering as he meets June’s amber and brown ones. “I can’t lose you, Amatus,” he confesses, shaking his head.

“You said it wasn’t safe. Coming with you to Tevinter,” his lover reminds him.

“You had your own work to do. And I thought you would be safer here,” Dorian replies mournfully. “ I’m sorry, Amatus,” the mage adds, voice scarcely louder than a whisper as he acknowledges his failure.

“It wasn’t your fault, Vhenan,” June replies quietly, shaking his head at his lover’s apology.

Dorian’s chest clenches, heart seizing a little at the use of the Elven endearment. It’s a silly thing to be getting so excited about, but the first he’s heard it since June came back through that blasted mirror. June had broken down after losing his arm, crying silently- throat too shredded for sobs- until exhaustion had finally won out. He’d finally let Dorian hold him then, but offered up only weak and disbelieving smiles at Dorian’s terms of endearment, whispers of ‘I love you’ and desperate reassurances that it would be alright. Little wonder then, with the man who’s come to mean everything to him, introduced Dorian to a world and love he’d never dared to hope for, that demons should visit the mage’s dreams. Solas it seems may already have begun to take apart his world as he knew it.

But he is still ‘Vhenan’, and the single Elven word fills him with renewed hope.

“Perhaps not, but I am sorry all the same,” Dorian insists, slowly drawing the elf up in his arms once more and holding him close. “Come back with me. There’s no one I trust to watch your back as closely and protect you fiercely as I will, besides at my side I can spoil you absolutely rotten.”

“Watch my back? Or my backside,” June teases with a raised eyebrow and soft smirk, and Dorian feels the weight that’s been threatening to crush him lighten a little. June has lost his arm, but not himself, not entirely. He is not beaten or lost to him yet.

“Can’t it be both,” Dorian replies with a playful shrug and soft chuckle. “Would that be so bad?”

“Dorian,” June begins, voice taking on a more serious tone now, frowning ruefully in that way Dorian can scarcely bear to see.

“You want to say yes,” Dorian interjects softly as his lover seems to search for exactly what he wants to say. “I know you do. What’s holding you back?”

“I do- want to go with you- I always have. But what about the other Magisters,” the elf asks concerned.

“What about them?”

“I’m an elf, Dorian,” June replies plainly, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Dorian concedes with a nod. “But you’re so much more than that…”

“Maybe to you, but even if that’s true your fellows likely won’t see it that way,” June replies unconvinced continuing before his lover can dispute his real or imagined level of importance. “You are- well, you will be- a newly instated Magister. Surely your position within the Senate will be precarious enough without people whispering and talking about…”

“I don’t care,” Dorian interrupts. “No, hear me out, I’m not just being petulant,” the mage continues. “I want to fix my homeland, show Tevinter it what it could be instead of always trying to recapture what it was. The Imperium fell because it was flawed because it needed to. Convincing my countrymen to let our old ‘glory days’ go was never going to be an easy task,” he admits. “But I want to build- to live in a world where I can stand at your side. Always. No matter who’s watching. That won’t happen by keeping you hidden away or my running away to see you like some dirty secret. In the first place, you’d be a poorly kept one. Plenty of people whisper about me, about us, back home already,” the mage smiles fondly. “But more importantly, I’m not ashamed of us. I’m proud. And why shouldn’t I be? You led the charge to save the whole of Thedas,” he chuckles as June smiles softly, a slight tinge of pink blossoming at the tips of his ears. “To the Void with what any of them think,” the mage proclaims, perhaps a little louder than is probably necessary. “They’ll have to get used to the fact my husband is an elf eventually.”

June is quiet for a moment, taking it all in before his last words finally sink in, and his ears twitch in concern as his brow furrows in confusion, pupils growing wide. “Your-” he begins, but Dorian is already sliding off of the bed, walking around to the other side and gently clasping his lover’s remaining hand between his own as he kneels beside the bed.

“I had a far different plan for how this was going to go,” Dorian admits, a tiny bit sheepishly, “But then people had to keep messing things up- my father, that dead Qunari, Solas turning up… damned annoying, frankly,” the mage continues with a wry smile. “But that’s not important. You, this is,” Dorian continues with a gentle and entirely fond smile up at his lover as his thumbs stroke affectionately over the back of his hand. “So, marry me Amatus,” Dorian asks, fighting back any sign of the tremendous amount of nervousness he actually feels waiting for his lover’s response, while affectionately squeezing the hand he holds between his own.

“Vhenan,” June breathes awestruck as he stares down at the mage. “Dorian, I- I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes,” the mage suggests helpfully.

“I’ll hold you back,” June frowns softly, gaze briefly flitting to the stump of his arm.

“Never,” Dorian insists, immediately rejecting the argument. “June, I want to wake up every morning beside you. Spend my nights with you, or afternoons if we wish it,” he smirks mischievously. “I want- everything,” Dorian concludes-perhaps a bit lamely as he shakes his head. Because it’s true, and now he’s trying to put it to words it’s less that he doesn’t know what he wants now, and more there’s simply too much to know where to start. “I want to spend the rest of our lives making you smile and hearing your laugh, and fighting whatever comes our way as we always have since the day we met- together. Including this,” he adds, shrugging to his arm. “We’ll get through this. I know we can.”

“Okay,” June relents. A smile breaking softly across his face, perhaps one of the first truly genuine ones since he lost his arm. “Yes. Yes, Dorian, ma Vhenan, I will marry you,” he whispers, falling into his lover’s arms, Dorian catching him gratefully and sealing his mouth over his.

#June Lavellan #tales:june #pavellan

20 notes · View notes

libraryscarf · 7 years

Note

emperor's new groove au where yato is kuzco, hiyori is pacha, and father is yzma

“I’m sorry, but you’ve thrown off the emperor’s groove,” the parti-colored guard said to Kofuku, who was then summarily tossed out the third-story window.

“You can’t just destroy my village to make room for some…some animal theme park!” Hiyori growled. Yato gasped in horror.

“It’s not just an ‘animal’ theme park. It’s Capypa Land!”

“What the hell is a ‘capypa’?!”

“Well,” Yato sniffed, “it’s more important than you, that’s for certain.”

Fujisaki admired his nails from atop his towering throne, an expression of perfect contempt on his face.

“It is no concern of mine whether your family has–what was it again?”

The villager stuttered out: “F-food?”

Fujisaki let out a bark of laughter.

“Ha! You really should have thought about that before you became peasants!

“Ah, how shall I do it?”

Fujisaki contemplated how to most efficiently kill Yato while Yukine waited patiently in the background.

“Oh, I know.” He rubbed his hands together, an evil expression twisting his features. “I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives…I’ll smash it with a hammer!!!”

Fujisaki approached Yukine, who was busily arranging salad forks before the beginning of the fateful dinner.

“So,” Fujisaki said casually. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

Yukine straightened one of the egg cups. “Oh, yeah. I thought we’d start off with soup and a light salad, and then see how we feel after that.”

“Not the dinner,” Fujisaki growled. “You know…”

“Oh, right.” Yukine slapped his forehead. “The poison. The poison for Yato, the poison chosen especially to kill Yato, Yato’s poison.”

He paused.

“That poison?”

(In reference to Yato, a freshly minted llama, passed out on the dining room table.)

Fujisaki: “WHAT? A LLAMA?!?! HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!!!”

Emperor Yato, collapsed and weeping against the fountain, was a spectral and disturbing sight for the confused Hiyori.

“I’m an ugly stinky llama!” Yato wailed. “Llama faaaaace!”

Hiyori took a step closer.

“Um,” she said. “It’s. It’s okay–”

“Did you turn me into a llama?!”

Yato turned on her, his tear-swollen eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“You were awfully uncharitable about capypa land. Is this”–gesturing to his fully realized llama body–“your sick revenge?!”

Hiyori burst from the water, coughing and spitting. Immediately she looked around for her llama companion–and found him unconscious and rapidly sinking. Dragging Yato to shore, she muttered:

“First with ‘Capypa Land,’ then with the criminal accusations, and now this–”

Flopping Yato’s body onto the ground, Hiyori knelt to listen for a heartbeat. The thick fur muted her hearing, but she could make out a dull, uneven thump. She had no idea what a llama’s heartbeat sounded like, but that seemed promising.

“Wake up,” she commanded, shaking Yato’s head from side to side. “Wake up! Come on! Wake up!! Dammit, I’m not going to–”

Hiyori froze. What if she had to?

She looked down at Yato again. He remained stubbornly not-breathing.

He was the Emperor, and in most cases, a divinely handsome–albeit selfish and conceited–man.

But he was also a llama.

She couldn’t think it. She closed her eyes.

A few moments later, Yato’s opened with a snap. Hiyori’s face hovered above him, her face suspiciously red.

He noticed this before he began heaving water up out of his lungs, emptying a good portion of the river out of his airway.

“What…did you…” he wheezed.

“Nothing!” Hiyori shrieked. “I did nothing!”

“They don’t allow pets in this restaurant,” Hiyori noted, pointing at the sign above the door.

“You know what that means,” Yato said. Hiyori thought at that moment he looked as evil as a bedraggled and half-starved man-boy-llama possibly could.

The waitress seated them at a window table. Under his bushy faux mustache, Hiyori could tell Yato was grinning like a demon.

“Thank you,” she muttered miserably.

“Yes, thank you ever so much,” Yato cooed. “We’re on our honeymoon, after all.” He fluttered his eyelashes across the table at her and Hiyori cringed into the depths of her menu.

“What’ll it be?” asked the bored waitress.

“Oh, you already know what I like, darling,” said Yato in a syrupy tone that turned Hiyori’s stomach.

“Two specials, please,” she whispered, reluctantly allowing Yato to clasp her hand in his gloved one on top of the table.

After the waitress left them alone, she knocked his hand away.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she hissed. “First, don’t ever ask me to order for you again, and second, next time I will let the jaguars finish what they started.”

“I’ve been turned into a cow,” said Kazuma. “Can I go home?”

“Sure,” said Fujisaki.

“Wow, can you believe that after all that trouble, my dastardly advisor would get turned into a harmless kitten?” Yato asked. When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he nudged Yukine meaningfully.

“Not really,” Yukine said with a somewhat torn expression on his face as he cradled a wide-eyed Fujikitten.

“Or that all this time I was an extraordinarily handsome and compassionate Emperor in the guise of a pitiful llama?” Yato continued.

“Not really,” Hiyori replied, turning as red as the sunset and refusing to make eye contact.

“Or that capypas are, in fact, the most beautiful creatures to grace this green earth?”

“Not really,” said Hiyori and Yukine in unison.

#i had to make yukine into kronk #because the Possibilities #myrkks #scarfwrites

20 notes · View notes

besidemethewholedamntime · 7 years

Note

Fitzsimmons + ' 35) things you said that made me feel real' (p.s: i love your fics

Okaaaaaayyyyy, on this one, I really went to town on the whole angsty thing but it does have a sweet ending so I guess that counts for something, right? I wasn’t too sure about this one, mainly because I sometimes try to get all of my ideas down before I forget them and my writing ends up becoming one disjointed mess but anyways, I hope you like it and send me more prompts if ya want to - I’m having so so much fun! Lemme know if you want me to put these on ao3, because my lazy self went and finally created one. Thank you so so much for your prompt, anon, and I hope you enjoy. Also thank you for your lovely comment, and I love your kindness too

Things You Said That Made Me Feel Real

He doesn’t remember much of what happened.

He remembers Jemma leaving with Davidson to find AIDA. He remembers working on the computers. He remembers hearing footsteps and thinking that was an awfully quick time for them to be away. He remembers hearing a voice saying, “I’m sorry, Leopold.” He remembers the instant darkness.

And then he remembers nothing.

He doesn’t remember waking up in the Framework because it wasn’t any different to him there; it was just another day. He doesn’t remember feeling out of place in there as if everything was just too shiny and perfect. He doesn’t remember how he came to be who he was in there, he just knows he was. He doesn’t remember the rise.

But he sure as hell remembers the fall.

He wishes he could forget, but the memory is actually bloody imprinted on his brain. He’d do anything to forget the look on Jemma’s face when he told her that he had no idea who she was. It was like her entire world had come crashing down and was now in flames around her feet. He remembers how it hurt his heart oh so much and he had no idea why. He remembers that – of course he bloody does; the feeling of looking at a stranger and in your soul knowing that you’ve known them all your life.

Sometimes he wonders about his replacement; did he feel real? Because the real Leopold Fitz doesn’t feel much of anything at the moment and he idly wonders if that’s part of being real – not feeling anything at all. It’s human to hurt, but AIDA could hurt. It’s human to cry, but he overheard Jemma mention that his LMD had welled up. It’s human to have desires, yet May’s LMD had the desire to get close to Coulson. But he wonders if it’s a uniquely human feeling to feel absolutely nothing and know you’re feeling it and to yearn for anything to fill that hole within yourself.

He remembers discovering that he wasn’t real, or at least this version of himself wasn’t real. It had come in crashing waves that fell over his mind and had expelled one word from his lips: Jemma.

He doesn’t remember much of the fight to get home, but that’s because he’s tried to forget it. He knows that he leant on Jemma and that she leant on him too.

“Jemma,” he whispers in her ear, “how do you know what’s you?”

She turns to him and allows her eyes to dance over him (and his stupid haircut). “What do you mean?”

“How do you know where this ends and where you begin? I’m not real, Jemma, I’m not real.” The whispers become more hysterical and she quietens him with a kiss. She tastes like cherries and he knows this is a lie because his Jemma tastes like the ocean.

She smiles. “You aren’t, but neither am I. We’ll get home and you’ll know that you’re all you then. We’ll get home.”

“How do you know we’ll be the same? How do you know that I’ll be the real me? How will I know that home is real?”

She brings him close and their foreheads touch. “When I have a bruise on my head right here, and a knife wound in my leg and when I tell you that you taste like that candyfloss you snack on all the time, then we’re real. Then we’re home.”

Sometimes he’s still not sure. This doesn’t feel real but then before the glorified, hellish version of The Sims, he never had anything else to compare it too. He swore in there that he was real as real could be and that turned out to be a lie. He needs to know if he’s alive; that his made up of cells with cytoplasm and ribosomes and DNA, not wires and fake syrupy blood that Jemma’s away still trying to scrub off her hands now. Because what if he’s another LMD? What if he’s like May and is unaware that he’s not real? He thinks surely not but after everything that’s happened he’s just not sure anymore.

Jemma comes to sit beside him and places a hand on his knee. They’re scrubbed red raw and bleeding in some places. He wants to hold them, to ask her what has she done, but he’s afraid he’s not real and he doesn’t want to hurt her more.

“Fitz,” she says gently. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know where I begin and where I end. I don’t know if I’m real or if I’m just another robot sent to hurt you all. I don’t know.”

Almost instantly she tells him, “Look at me.” When he does he instantly notices how drained she is, how tired she looks and he opens his mouth to ask did I do that to you? But she shushes him before he can.

“Fitz, I have a bruise right here,” she says gently, allowing him to touch it softly and quietly flinching when he brushes an especially tender area.

“And I have a knife wound right here.” He allows his fingers to fall to her leg and sees the white bandage through the rip in her jeans that is decorated with a red blossom.

Then she kisses him and it’s soft and slow and perfect. This is his Jemma Simmons; she tastes right.

“And I’m telling you that you taste like that candyfloss that you always snack on,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed and her hands gripping on to his shirt. He barely hears her whisper.

“We’re real.”

Her brings her close to him and encircles her with her arms. She’s drifting off to sleep so he kisses her atop of her messy hair and finishes for her.

“We’re home.”

#fitzsimmons #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #fanfiction by moi #fitzsimmons fic #fitzsimmons fanfiction #leopold fitz #jemma simmons #thank you so so much - you're too kind!!

36 notes · View notes

strawbebehmod · 7 years

Text

Revenge

Another big brother William one shot. Enjoy.

It all started with an experiment. That was it. A harmless little test with a bit of misplaced curiosity. Neither William nor Edward realized how far it would go. It was a monday morning when it all began. Edward was passed out on the Couch, a book covering part of his face and half a blanket draped over his stomach and left leg. The rest of it had pooled on the floor in front of the sofa. The teenager snored loudly, his mouth hanging wide open. It was the only indicator that he was not as dead to the world as he appeared. His older brother watched with amusement from a short distance away. The idiot had fallen asleep researching again. This was probably the third time this week. He sighed as he walked over to his younger brother. He really had to talk to him about pushing himself too much. He would just let him sleep, but the kid had to report to the colonel’s office in roughly an hour, so he had no choice but to rouse the tired teen from his slumber and face his morning grumpiness. “Hey,” William said, roughly shaking his shoulder, “Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to get up.” Ed’s bleary eyes opened and he pulled the book off his face to glare at Will. He groaned and turned on his side. “No…” he muttered, “Need sleep. Go away.” “Sorry pipsqueak, can’t let you do that,” he said, leaning on the couch, “You gotta meet with the colonel in an hour.” Edward glared at him again before pulling the blanket over him more. “Don’t care,” he grumbled, “Sleep is more important.” William raised an eyebrow before pulling the blanket off of Edward. “Well then you should have thought of that before staying up until two in the morning researching,” he retorted, causing Ed to sit up and grimace at him. “Come on, brother,” Al said from where he was washing dishes, “Will and I made a really nice breakfast for you! It’ll get cold if you wait any longer.” Edward huffed before yawning and stretching. “Fine…” he muttered as he got to his feet and shuffled to the table, muttering as he did so. Alphonse handed him a plate of eggs and a bowl of oatmeal with honey. He mumbled a thank you to him as he started stirring the sweet, syrupy substance into the oats. His head bobbed a few times as he blinked to try and wake himself up more. “Hey Will?” he said, “Is there any coffee left from last night?” “Yes, but I warn you, it’s cold,” he said as he moved to the fridge. “Don’t care,” Ed said, not even looking up as he took the first bite of his meal, “Need caffeine.” William smiled mischievously. “Alright then,” he said as he pulled a container from the refrigerator that neither younger sibling could see the contents of it. He quickly poured it out into into a cup and handed it Edward. The boy didn’t even glance at it as he brought the cold brown liquid to his mouth as he took a sip. He immediately did a spit take as his squeezed his eyes shut in disgust. What the hell was this?! It was definitely not coffee. It tasted like chocolate, which he didn’t mind, but there was a distinctive other taste to it. One he hated above all else. “Brother? Are you alright?” Alphonse asked, worry clear in his voice, “What’s wrong?” “WHAT THE HELL?!” he cried, glaring at his brother who was snickering at his reaction, “What the heck was that for?!” “Sorry, Ed,” William said still looking very amused，“I wanted to see if you’d be willing to drink chocolate milk instead because it doesn’t taste like milk.” “Of course it still tastes like milk! It’s milk!”he said, “Just because you try to hide it behind chocolate flavoring doesn’t mean I can’t taste it! Ugh!” He brushed his tongue against his shirt sleeve, trying to rid himself of the taste. “Why did you have to do this when I was half awake of all times? That’s just mean!” “It was kind of a dirty trick, Will,” Alphonse said. “Well would you have tried it if I told you what it was?” his brother asked, pouring him a glass of actual coffee, “I don’t think so. Besides, it woke you up didn’t it?” Ed just glared at him, causing the older brother to chuckle slightly. “Alright, fine! I’m sorry,” he said, bringing the glass over to him, “Here’s your real coffee. Happy now?” “No,” Edward said, taking it from him, “I’ll get you back for this, you know.” Will rolled his eyes. “Sure you will,” he said before turning back to him with a devilish smirk, “By the way, you do know that caffeine stunts growth, right? Maybe you should cut back on the coffee.” Will snorted as he had to dodge Ed’s spoon that came flying towards him. Alphonse sighed at his brothers’ behaviours. …. Edward continued to be angry with Will all that morning, avoiding him for the most part. Will supposed he deserved it a little, but it was annoying nonetheless. Alphonse was also a bit annoyed by the situation. Ed was being a little childish over the whole situation, but he supposed half of Ed’s foul mood towards his brother was his sleep deprivation. He was being a little grumpy towards everyone to be completely honest. However, about half way through the day, Edward’s tune changed as he seemed bit more upbeat. Once he had gotten back to the dorm, Alphonse noticed a small grin never left his face, even when he was focused on research. “You seem awfully happy today brother,” he noted, “Did something happen over lunch to cheer you up?” Ed smiled wider as he looked to him. “I suppose so,” he said, “I just had a really great idea.” “Oh really?” Al said sitting up, “What was it about?” All of a sudden, William walked in, carrying the groceries in with him. The boy in the suit of armor couldn’t help but notice the mischievous glint in Edward’s eyes as he glanced at him. “You’ll see,” he said in a low voice. Alphonse couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread at that statement. “Hey Will,” he called, “How was the store?” The older blond paused as he was taken aback by Edward’s apparent change in demeanor. He blinked before smiling. Looks like he was finally over the whole chocolate milk incident. “Good,” he said, “I managed to get a few good deals on fresh vegetables, not that it matters too much considering your salary, Ed.” He then noticed there was a tea kettle on the stove. He noticed there wasn’t any steam rising from it anymore but one touch to the spout told him the tea wasn’t quite cold yet. “Hey, mind if I have some?”he asked. Alphonse saw Ed’s mouth twitch slightly before he said, “Go ahead.” The suit glanced between the kettle and Edward nervously before leaning down and hissing to him, “Ed! What did you do to the tea?!” Edward blinked up at his younger brother innocently, still smiling before sitting up. “Nothing!” he whispered, before picking up his own cup from the table, “I just wanted some tea, is that so wrong?” He then took a sip from the cup to prove his point that he didn’t tamper with the liquid. Alphonse still eyed him suspiciously before glancing back at his eldest brother with worry. William had already poured himself a cup and had grabbed two sugar packets from the container on the table before ripping them open and stirring them in. Once he had done so, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip…only to immediately spit out the drink again, sputtering and gagging to get the taste of salt off his tongue. Edward laughed in the background at his older brother’s misfortune. “What’s wrong, Will?” He sneered, “Not sweet enough for you?” William turned to glare at his little brother. “What the hell Ed!”he snapped, marching up to him, “What did you do to the tea?!” Edward gave him a faux offended look. “What?”he cried, “How could you say something like that? I did nothing to your tea!” He picked up his own glass, taking another drink. William’s eyes widened in realization before they narrowed. “You little brat!” He growled as his fists clenched, “You switched out all the sugar in the packets for salt!” Edward glared at him. “Don’t call me small!” He hissed, “And don’t get mad at me! You started this! Nots so fun getting tricked into drinking something is it?” Edward rose to his full height. The two glared at each other with equal animosity, daring the other to make the next move. “Guys! Stop this!” Al cried, moving between them, “There’s no reason to fight over this! Can’t you just call it even?” Both brothers backed off, calming down considerably. “You’re right,” William said with a sigh as he crossed his arms, “I kinda had this coming. I should just let it go.” Alphonse relaxed at his words before he suddenly smirked. “Too bad I suck at letting go of thing,” he said with a wicked smirk, “There’s no way I’m letting you get the last laugh here, Ed.” He then leaned down slightly to look Ed dead in the eye. “Prepare yourself, pipsqueak, because I’m taking your little tea stunt as a declaration of war!” “What?! No! Please tell me you aren’t serious!” Alphonse cried, but neither listened to him. Edward grinned in response, determination clear in his eyes. “Do your worst,” he responded, crossing his arms. Alphonse sighed as he looked between the two stubborn blonds, realizing there was nothing he could do. … And so the great prank war between the two commenced. It started out small with things like Ed dying William’s hair green in his sleep or William washing Ed’s white gloves with his red coat, but quickly escalated: Ed transmuting the croutons in William’s salad into baking soda so they would fizz out all over his meal when he poured vinegar over them, William filing down the platforms of Ed’s shoes so he’d lose an inch in height, Ed making all of William’s pens write only in invisible ink, William telling Armstrong that it was Ed’s birthday so he would try to hug him, and so on. After a while they seemed less like pranks and more like actual attacks in some sort of weird battle… Alphonse hoped they would stop this before it went too far, however his hopes were in vain when he came home from the library one day only to find William, looking absolutely furious, attempting to chase down his brother while only wearing a towel around his waist and he was dripping with some kind of brown substance. “GET BACK HERE RUNT!”he shouted as Ed lept over the couch and ran towards the door. William stopped before he accidentally ran out into the public hallway and glowered at Ed who was smirking evilly at him from just outside the entryway. Al glanced between them both in fear and confusion. “Stop smirking like that! It’s not funny!” He snapped. “You’re right,” Ed said with a chuckle, “It’s hilarious.” “Grrrr!” William growled, trying to grab him and pull him back in side, “Get in here, you little shrimp!” “I’m not a shrimp!” “Guys stop it!” Al finally shouted, “What on Earth has gotten into you two?!” William pointed at Edward accusingly. “The kid put gravy powder in the shower head!”he explained, “I got doused in the stuff when I turned it on and now I’ve got no way to clean it off! I’m going to smell like gravy for days! I can’t even put clothes on without getting grease all over them!” “That’s what you get for sicking the Major on me!” Ed retorted. “Oh come on, that wasn’t that bad! He probably would have hugged you anyways,” William argued, “This is far worse than that, and you know it!” “I beg to differ!” “Stop it, both of you!” Al shouted, “This is gone on long enough. Please, can’t you just and this stupid war already?” Both were silent for a moment before Will spoke up. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll end it.” Alphonse sighed in relief. “I’ll end it with one final attack.” Alphonse raised his hands in questioning and frustration. “THAT’S NOT ENDING IT!” he snapped, “That is the exact opposite of ending it!” “No it is,” William said, a devilish smile spread across his face, “Because it will be so devastating, you’ll never want to get back at me again for fear of something worse!” Al looked at his brother nervously, feeling the need to back off at his malicious look. Ed, however, merely scoffed as he smirked back. “I doubt that,” he said. “Brother! Don’t egg him on!” Al hissed to Ed. “Oh believe it,” William warned, “You’re gonna regret that little shower thing. Trust me.” He said before stalking back to the bathroom. Edward would never admit it, but he was mildly troubled by the evil look in his eyes. However, he felt if he just kept on his guard he’d be fine. And for a while he was. The days came and went and nothing seemed to happen. He kept his guard up for a full two weeks before forgetting about the silly little war, and it appeared that William had forgotten too…That was, at least until Lieutenant Colonel Hughes dropped by East City. Edward sighed as he half listened to the man rant about his family. He had been going on for a full fifteen minutes, talking about the girl’s second birthday. “Look at this one!”he said, “Look at her using the fork to eat her birthday cake! Isn’t she just adorable with that frosting on her nose?” “Yeah…Sure…” Ed said rolling his eyes. They then lit up as they caught sight of William walking towards them with a satchel. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he didn’t have to suffer this alone. Hughes was a great guy, but sometimes he wished he would stop his motor mouth for a bit. “William!” He called to his sibling, “Good to see you. Care to join us?” He gave his brother a pleading look. William smirked wickedly in response, which confused his younger sibling. “Oh of course,” he said, “I was actually looking for you, Hughes!” The man looked surprised while Ed furrowed his brow. What was he up too? He didn’t have time to ask, as he immediately sat down on the opposite side of Maes Hughes. “Really?”he asked, “Why was that?” “Oh I had something very special to show you,”he said, evil smirk never leaving his face, “After all, you show us so many pictures of your family I thought it was high time I showed you some of ours!” Maes gave a slightly confused but intrigued look while Ed looked alarmed. What was he talking about? What pictures? His alarm suddenly turned to horror as he saw William look him directly in the eye as he pulled out a very familiar baby blue binder. The one his mother had compiled all of his and Al’s baby photos in. “W-Where did you get that?!”he questioned, eyes fixated on it. “Oh, I just asked Pinako to send it up!”he said innocently, “She’s kept it in great condition, you know. I don’t think there’s a single one missing.” He then turned to the black haired man, “So would you like to see them?” “Oh sure!” Hughes said. “No DON’T!” Ed shouted trying to reach over the table to try and grab it. Will moved it slightly out of reach and Edward found his small body half splayed over the table. The cafeteria suddenly became silent as all eyes were on him. He glanced around and mentally cursed as the many pairs of eyes on him. Crap. If he drew too much attention to them, he’d have more than just Hughes getting a peek at those pictures. “Its there something wrong Ed?” Hughes asked, clearly worried. Ed suddenly moved back into his seat before laughing nervously. “Oh no! It’s nothing!” he said, “But William, do you really want to pull out such an…important family album on this dirty cafeteria table? The photos could get ruined.” “Nah, they’ll be fine,” he assured, “They’re all laminated. Nothing’s gonna hurt them.” Edward glared darkly at his brother as he flipped open the album. “Now let’s see…Where to begin,” he said as he flipped through it until he found a page, “Oh look! Here’s Ed when he was two! For Dad’s birthday he tried to make him a pie..out of mud. Needless to say, neither Mom nor Dad were happy when he tried to bring it inside to serve, but it’s the thought that counts.” Edward blushed furiously at this, looking away. “And here’s him when he was three!”he pointed to another picture of the little boy in oversized clothing, “He was going through a pirate phase at the time, so he decided to dress up as one. He ended up borrowing my boots and Dad’s jacket for his outfit. He couldn’t find an eyepatch so he made one for himself out of a tube sock.” Maes gave an amused look at the photo of the extremely proud looking boy with a sock tied over his eye. “Aww…” he said, “That’s adorable…” Ed on the other hand did not think so, as he was gritting his teeth, glaring daggers at his older brother. “And here’s him on his first birthday…” he pointed out the picture of the boy eating his cake, “How he got frosting in his hair I’ll never know…” Edward groaned as he continued, hiding his face in his hands. “And this is him bundled up for his first snow storm back in risembool! You can’t even see his face under all those scarves!” Maes chuckled at that, only furthering the boy’s embarrassment. This continued for what felt like hours until Ed finally couldn’t take it any more. He got up all of a sudden and marched out of the room. “Ed?” Maes asked, “Where are you going?” “Far away from here!”he growled, trying to hide his face as he was still blushing furiously. Maes raised an eyebrow as he watched him leave before turning to William in concern. “Is he all right?” he asked. “Oh he’ll be fine,” William said, a very satisfied smile on his face as he flipped to the next page. … Edward avoided his older brother all day. He didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself from punching him if he did. He couldn’t believe he had humiliated him like that. It had left him in a sour mood for the rest of the day, even after he had gotten back to the dorm. Alphonse had tried to ask him what was wrong, but he didn’t tell him. Instead he opted to pretend to do research on the couch so that no one would bother him. He had remained undisturbed until his brother came home a few hours later. He had briefly glanced up at him as he entered through the door before glowering and looking away. “Hey Ed,” he said walking up to him and sitting next to him on the couch, “How’s it going?” “How do you think, asshole?”he growled at him, “After all you did a pretty fine job of ruining my day! I hope you’re proud of yourself.” He then turned away from him. William frowned. “Really? That ruined your whole day?”he questioned. “Of course it did!” Ed cried, rounding on him, “You humiliated me with that stupid scrapbook!” William frowned slightly. “Oh. Sorry,” he responded. Ed gave him a baffled look. “Sorry?! How are you sorry?! You PLANNED this! You wanted to make fun of me in front of the other military personnel!” He roared. “Not I didn’t!” William argued, “First off, my goal was to embarrass you, not humiliate you. There’s a fine line between those things. If I wanted to humiliate you, I would have shown that album to Roy or Archer, or someone else besides the lieutenant colonel.” “And secondly,” he continued, “I wasn’t making fun of you. That was never my intention. Not for a second.” Ed gave him a confused look. “Believe it or not…All those moments I showed Hughes are actually ones I hold pretty close to my heart,” he admitted, throwing the boy off, “I adored you two back then. I still do. You and Al are some of the most important things in the world to me. I knew those things would embarrass you, but I was never trying to make fun of you.” Ed studied his brother’s expression for a moment. He couldn’t find any hint of lying but that still didn’t heal all of his hurt feelings from the situation. “Alright…” he said, “But you’re still an asshole. An evil, sadistic, asshole.” William chuckled and crossed his arms. “Fair enough,” he responded, “You can call me asshole all you want. So long as we finally drop this whole prank thing…and you admit I won.” He smirked at his brother and Ed rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he responded. William smiled before ruffling his hair, to which Ed swatted the hand away. William then got up to take a nap. Ed lied back on the couch as he decided to take one of his own. His mind felt much more at ease now that this stupid fight was over. “AHHHH!” Ed smirked, not opening his eyes as he heard the telltale sign that will had found the garter snake in his bed. Yes. Now he truly could rest easy.

#fullmetal alchemist 2003 #alphonse elric #edward elric #Human envy #True form envy #Big brother william au #strawbebehfic

23 notes · View notes