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hellhound5925 · 6 months

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Alrighty, so as I have mentioned before, I am switching gears to write a Mandalorian fic. I have finished what I’m calling the Prologue for now (idk if I really like that) but its a little story from a time before the actual fic itself takes place. I hope you enjoy! There will be plenty more Din/Raven where this came from and don’t worry I’ll still write for Hunter from time to time!

Welcome to,

Cyare Verd *Beloved Warrior* The Mandalorian Edition (I know, I know, I’m not original but I suck at titles)

Prologue - The Encounter

Summary:

This is setting up a little backstory for the beginning of my new fic. There will be fun mood boards for each chapter created my both myself and my wonder friend @lune-de-miel-au-paradis who is hella talented! (Thanks girl 💖) I hope you enjoy and be on the look out for Chapters going forward! If this is something you would like to be tagged in please drop a comment, send me an ask, send a message, whatever fits your fancy 😊 I promise I’ll shut up and we get right to it!

Warnings:

Always gunna put 18+, violence and thats bout it for now. Smut will be in the actually fic itself but I’ll post the warning accordingly. Also, If I miss something I’m sorry, I’m not very good at warnings 😅 There will be Mando’a but ya girl always provides a translation so have no fear.

————

The entire time I've been looking for this bounty, someone else is a few steps behind me. How do I know? Well I backtracked and paid a bar keep to get ahold of me with any information about someone asking about the individual I had. The Twi-Lek contacted me only hours later with a description. She sounded worried but not for me when she said "All I know is he looked just like you." Two Mandalorians hunting the same bounty? Strange but not completely out of the ordinary. I mean a lot of our people resorted to bounty hunting, with our skill sets and love for getting into fights makes us the best at the job. I decided I would make my way back and tail him for a bit, seeing if he took the bait. Thanks to my cunning wit he did.

This must be the one the barkeep was talking about - I think to myself. A Mandalorian man walks a few paces ahead of me covered in mismatched pieces of armor topped off with a shiny chrome helmet. I chuckle to myself, knowing that because of my cloak he won't know who or what I am. He stops momentarily like he's aware of my presence but little does he know, I'm a master of hiding in the shadows. Spinning around on his heel he walks my direction, hand hovering over his side arm. I take the opportunity to slip further into the dark, down an alley. He stops in almost the exact spot I was only moments ago. Now that he's closer I can now get a good look at his stature, he's taller than me and definitely more muscular.

His shiny helmeted head slowly looks my way down the alley - so he's smart...I'll give him that. Taking a few cautious steps, he makes his way towards me. I climb up onto the rooftop of the short building next to me. He should paint that armor, he sticks out like a Bantha in the ocean of sand on Tatooine. Smirking to myself I wait until he is directly below me before clearing my throat. He immediately looks up, drawing his blaster taking a shot at me. Crossing both vambraces in front of me, the bolt pings off my armor, breaking the cold dark silence of the night with a loud crack.

As if time stood still, I jump down in front of him and one hand connects with the elbow of his outstretched arm causing it to bend, pointing his blaster away from me. Using my other hand, I free the blaster from his grip sending it somewhere into the shadows. He counters with a left hook which passes over my head as I duck, rolling back into the shadows. He loses track of me and frantically spins around preparing for my next move.

I slink around him in the darkness just out of his view, like a predator circling its prey. He reaches up in a slow careful movement, for his vambrace likely to change the setting on his HUD - I would do the same. To stop him, I crouch and in one swift movement of my foot I catch his ankle, pulling hard, and sending him to the ground face first with a grunt. Standing to my full height, I can't help the chuckle that escapes watching the large man hit the ground by my hand...or foot.

His head snaps in my direction and I'm immediately full of regret. Using his whip cord, he grabs my leg pulling me flat on my back into the light. I hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of me. Next thing I know, he's standing over me staring down at me through his visor. His body language shifts and I realize why, my hood fell while I was being pulled to the ground exposing my helmeted head. Slamming my fist and throwing my head back on the ground, a string of curses in Mando'a leave my lips. When I pick my head back up, he is still standing there staring down at me, the T-snapped visor is almost menacing at this angle.

"You could at least help a girl up" my sassy tone, exaggerated by my helmets modulator.

He offers me a hand, I take it and he pulls me to my feet.

"I'm sorry if I had known—"

"You weren't supposed to" I cut him off, my tone annoyed "Kinda the point of the hood." I'm not sure what annoys me more, his reaction or the fact he actually got one over on me. I brush myself off and straighten out my Kama. Looking up, I realize he is watching my every move.

I break the silence, getting right to the point "So you've been tracking me? Or my bounty at least. Why?"

"Quite honestly, I didn't know I was tracking you. You cover your tracks well." He compliments me and for a moment my pride swells. I didn't work this hard to become the expert I am just to have some di'kut (fool) ruin it. He pulls out a bounty puck from his pocket, showing it to me. It displays the face of the same man I'm hunting.

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I was here first." I say, poking him square in the chest plate. Now with how close we are and standing still, I can see how worn his armor is. It probably belonged to a family member of his or something. Although with the shiny shoulder pauldron and helmet, it makes me wonder if he's a foundling. They often use whatever armor they can find or are given until they can make their own. These days however, beskar is quite difficult to come by.

His voice pulls me from my thoughts, "How about we work together. Share the profits?"

I immediately scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and shifting my weight to one leg. "I don't think so. I work alone. Plus I'd be taking a pay cut."

"Your loss" He says monotone before turning to pick his blaster up before walking away.

I'm taken aback by his comment. Does he really think he's better than me? One of my biggest downfalls is people doubting me just because I'm a woman.

"You know...the last man to doubt me ended up with a broken nose and stitches."

He continues walking as if he didn't hear me, but I know he did. "Te jatne beroya kelir parjir (may the best bounty hunter win)" I whisper under my breath. Flipping my hood back over my head, I storm off in the opposite direction he went.

Cursing to myself in my native tongue, I take a few moments to collect myself from the encounter and get back to work. Before the Twi-lek had gotten a hold of me about my tail, I had tracked the bounty to a small village a few kicks due north. It's quite a distance to walk but I really don't feel the need to take my ship there. Thankfully I've stashed my speeder bike on board, it makes for tight living quarters but it works I guess.

Once I reach my ship, I give the bike a quick once over before dragging it down the ramp. Giving it a quick start, it seems to be running fine. I hop on and speed off towards the small down, in hopes my counterpart hasn't already caught on. Luckily for me, I paid the Twi-lek a little extra to send him astray.

———

By the time I make it to the village, the early morning sun is beginning to brighten the sky. The village also appears to be waking up which is perfect. A few people are milling around giving me strange looks and at first they are stand offish - which really is not a surprise to me...people seem to be afraid of Mandalorians. I approach an older woman who doesn't seem to be bothered by my presence.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm looking for someone and was wondering if you might help me?"

She doesn't stop what she's doing and speaks quietly, "Not here...follow me." She turns and heads between two of the small huts.

Leading me into a small hut that appears to be some kind of storage shed, she stops. "I figured it was better we talk here."

I cock my head at her. "The locals around here are uneasy about people asking questions. I think I know exactly who you are looking for. You see there have been mercenaries lurking around."

I don't move or say anything and she continues, "You look like a capable warrior....get rid of them." She must sense that I'm eyeing her.

"You must be wondering why I would trust some stranger...I've heard the stories about Mandalorians...it will be easy work for you and solve our problem."

I offer her a curt nod, "Where can I find them?"

———

Having followed the exact directions the old woman gave me which lead me to a camp just east of the village. I find a good scouting spot and perch myself at the top of a hill near some brush. Using my HUD's thermal scan, I get a read on how many are down there - 12...I've taken out worse...Leaving my perch, I walk towards their camp and they do exactly as I had expected. A group of 2 meet me at the road while 2 others stand guard.

"You lost?" One of them asks. I tilt my visor between the four of them, calculating my move depending on how this conversation goes.

"I asked you a question."

"I heard you" I sass.

Scoffing the man turns to the others laughing.

"Did I say something funny?" I snap, starting to lose my patience.

"This one seems to be a little slow" another one says, his tone mocking me.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, young lady" The first man says walking a circle around me checking out my armor.

I'd take him out right there but there's always a bigger fish. Not only that, he'll get what he deserves,

"No. I'm not lost. I'd like to speak to the one in charge, since it's clearly not you."

After he finishes his circle he stops in front of me with a disgusted look on his face, "Follow me." He leads me into the camp with the others trailing behind.

Stopping at the fire, and the man turns to me "Wait here." He disappears into their ship.

Looking over my shoulder, I make a mental note of where the other 3 are standing behind me. As I look around more come out of the woodwork, coming to a grand total of 10 - someone's paranoid and rightfully so. Just then the man from earlier appears followed by 2 more - one wearing the face of the man on my puck.

"I hear you asked to speak with me" he says, voice booming through the camp.

"There's a bounty out for you. I'm here to collect" my tone is flat, this group seems like one that would get spurred on by irritation.

The bounty takes out a blade and starts walking towards me laughing "Darling..." He starts and drags the flat side of the blade across my chest, to my shoulder, and around my back.

"Wonder how much we could get for armor like that? What'd ya think boys?" There's a series of whoops and hollers.

He stops dragging the blade and leans in to whisper, "or maybe I'll just keep it as a trophy."

I smirk to myself, "Be careful what you wish for" venom dripping from my words.

Sliding my hands down towards my blasters, I get ready to draw them. Just as I'm about to, their leader takes the knife and puts it to my throat, getting in close, "I don't think so."

Kneeing him in the crotch he drops to the ground in pain. Seconds after blaster fire begins to ping off my armor. I let out a low growl that sounded quite feral through my modulator. A few of the mercs begin to drop but not by my hand, blaster fire from an unknown source rings out through the air. The men in front of me look around in confusion and I take the opportunity to quickly restrain my bounty and knock him out. I then draw my blaster firing at the 3 closest to me and their bodies slump to the ground. Bending over I grab the blade - that was previously dragged across my armor - and send it flying through the air before burying itself into the chest of the man taunting me earlier.

Getting both myself and my bounty to cover, I make mental note of the direction the blaster fire comes from. Once I figure out where they are, I pick the bounty up - who thankfully is a small human man - throwing him over my shoulder, and racing to my speeder. Putting as much distance between me and the sound of the fight behind me as fast as I can.

Once I get there, I quickly throw him on before starting it up and jumping on myself. A blaster bolt flys over my head and a familiar modulated voice yells something that I can't quite hear over the speeder's engine. Annoyed, I whip my helmeted head around, to see the Mandalorian from last night running in my direction. With a smirk plastered on my face, I speed off towards my ship. Getting away with the bounty we both wanted.

"I guess we know who the better bounty hunter is."

Tags: @cloneloverrrrr @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @idoubleswearimawriter

@savebytheodore @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @jediknightjana @techs-goggles9902 @clonethirstingisreal

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allycryz · 3 years

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Fic Writer Meme

Tagged by @elveny and @kunstpause (thank youuu)

Name

Fandoms

Most popular multichapter

Actual worst part of writing

How you choose your titles

Do you outline

Ideas I probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice?

Callouts @ Me

Best writing traits

Spicy Tangential Opinion

Oh hey this got super long so putting under a cut

tagging all of YOU! Do it!

Name: Ally, allycryz, BountyHuntress16 on Ao3 which is a username I have carried from the early FF dot net and DA days

Fandoms: Currently writing for FFXIV, reading in everything. Do write some YYH with a friend and have written for Bioware games, MCU, DBZ (though I have not brought my DBZ fics over to Ao3) . Did some time on the Bioware kink memes back in the day (more about that later)

Most Popular Oneshot: Okay gonna do of all time and for FFXIV since FF is my current

Of All Time (Ao3 stats only)

Tetrad: Wrote on the high of CA: The Winter Soldier which is still one of my fave movies of all time and flung myself deep into Sam/Steve/Nat/Bucky fics. Also one of the first times I let myself explore some ~*feelings*~ I’d not allowed myself to before and would not really understand for at least another 3-4 years

Also my only G-rated fic on Ao3

Current Fandom

Ardent: Around HW time I was struck by the idea of “man I would love to do a fic where Haurchefant and Nerys are trapped in a cabin in a blizzard” and I finally gave in and did it, and it sorta launched everything I’m working on now

Also the first thing I had actually finished in a long time. This year has been a year of finding ways to finish things and learning to not fall into “if you write a snippet of any other WIP then you are BAD”

Most Popular Multi-Chapter: While I did some time on both of the big Bioware kink memes back in 2011-2013, I was more active in the Mass Effect one. A prompt caught my eye that intrigued me and I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I sat down to write and it just...poured out of me

I look at a lot of stuff I wrote in college and before and it is...honestly rough a lot of the times because college was a time of breaking away from some truly toxic and harmful ideologies. Every day I find a new pre-conception I need to shed

So I am honestly surprised that given the subject matter and my immaturity at the time, Galaxy’s Oldest Profession turned out as well as it did. I still really like it. Idk, maybe there is a reason it just...sprung out of me like it did with a bisexual heroine who wasn’t afraid of her body and her sexuality. And again, this was years before I let myself come out to myself.

Anyway that got extremely sentimental but even though a nasty, doubting part of me is worried I peaked then, I’m glad I wrote it and that people like it. (Also the Shepard in that is so different from the Paragon I played, both are extremely dear to me in different ways. I think my first tattoo will be a paragon symbol for **reasons** but this renegade-flavored Shep in the series is a part of me too.)

Actual worst part of writing: Getting started, feeling like you have a picture in your mind but what you write comes out as poo, worrying if it’s Bad Actually and you don’t realise

How do you choose your titles: Lately it’s been scouring the thesaurus for an hour and writing out about 50 titles before something clicks. I’ve gotten around the “summary problem” lately by doing a snippet in the description but titles are tough! The last one that didn’t suck was “This World of Trials” because I had the FFIII song “The Breeze” stuck in my head and it worked thematically so...picked a lyric

Do you outline: Not formally. I have tried this for larger projects to varying degree of success. When it comes to one shots (and right now I’m pretty much doing connected one-shots or one-shots broken into chapters for readability) I usually have scenes in mind I want to do and either figure out how they connect as I go, or dwell so long mentally that I have an idea of what’s coming as I write

Ideas I probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice? One abandoned WIP I don’t think I’ll return to is a cyberpunk-urban fantasy hybrid world I came up with for a McHanzo AU. Still enjoy reading about the pairing from time to time but I lost steam and haven’t picked up the game in a few years now. But maybe I’ll keep the world I made for something later?

I did have a story sorta planned for ME3 to make the Galaxy series a trilogy but the sequel, while it has scenes I love, did feel a bit of a slog at the end. Folks–and I think most of us are past this stage but just in case–it is a bad idea to put in a pairing you don’t really vibe that much with at a commenters’ request and then go back and forth with them about whether or not you are writing the character well. (Also I really had not spent enough time with Ashley to write her with confidence.)

I also had an AU idea I took a crack at where John Shepard is F!Shepard’s husband and they fell in love during the Akuze background where she saved him. Then a few years pass and she realises she has let him take all this credit for her work, thrown away a lot of her career for him, and when she is bypassed for Spectre for him...she needs some time away and takes command of a ship where she meets Garrus. But I just don’t know if I’ll write for ME again.

Callouts @ Me: Just you know *waves vaguely at how all my insecurities and need for validation can sometimes skew how I see myself as a writer* stuff. Also try to break out of the comfort zone I have found myself in with present tense and not describing enough

Best Writing Traits: I have some fun dialogue and do my best to tap into my big emotions. Also some of my metaphors and similes are cool

Spicy Tangential Opinion: I appreciate if you like my story but please do not start with “I normally don’t like OCs.”

#ally writes #writing memes

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dr-gloom · 6 years

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It’s Still a Good Life (Ch 2)

Yay! Chapter 2 is here! (we’re going to pretend this was posted before midnight)

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

@dead4sevenyears and @the-incedible-sulk if you wanted to like read this idk

This was based off the song Promiseland by Mika, which I actually used the lyrics for later in the chapter. I had kind of a hard time writing Logan but I hope it’s okay!

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: past logicality

Tags/Warnings: some swearing, some punching, uhhh, feels?, idk

Summary: Logan is trying to cope with the breakup and Virgil tries to be supportive.

Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

Logan awoke the next morning feeling numb. Awareness crept up on him slowly, first coming to him in the soft weight of the blanket draped over his legs and the pressure of Virgil leaning against his side. Then in the soft sound of the TV, as Netflix had closed at some point of the morning to be replaced by the soft droning of some talk show. The room was far more lit than it had been when he’d fallen asleep, sunlight flooding through the curtains and the kitchen doorway where the windows remained unblocked. He studied Virgil’s face, admiring the calm peace overtaking the usually dower expression.

Then Logan remembered why he was there in the first place and his heart crumpled. He’d thought Patton loved him. He thought they were happy, perfect. What happened? Why was he not enough? Who was it that Patton loved more than Logan, whom he’d been dating for almost a year? He just didn’t understand. It made no logical sense; who dates someone for that long if they didn’t really love them?

So many questions, and no answers; how frustrating. And yet….

And yet, he didn’t want answers. Not really. He didn’t want to know why he wasn’t good enough, or who Patton left him for, or whether Patton had ever actually loved him. He didn’t want to know. Thinking of the possible answers was only making him angry, and… He didn’t like being angry.

Virgil woke up to Logan seemingly disappeared. The blanket had been moved to cover Virgil, and the couch beside him was cold, meaning Logan had left a while ago. Virgil frowns, getting up and tossing the blanket off as he headed into the kitchen. It looked just how Virgil had left it the night before, tea kettle and all. He moves through the other rooms in his small house, thinking the further he went that Logan must have gone home. Virgil hoped he was okay… He didn’t even get to check on him before he left. Virgil checks his room, the last one in the house, with a strange sense of anticipation. When he opens the door and finds his room empty, he berated himself for getting his hopes up. Why would Logan be in his room anyways? He probably had gone home.

He’s heading back to the living room when he hears it. As he passes the garage door he hears the sound of impact and an angry shout. Curious (and slightly scared) he opens the door slowly, peeking inside. The light is on, and Logan stands on the far side of Virgil’s garage, punching the punching bag Virgil has hanging from the ceiling. He’s sweating, face red and twisted into the most terrifying expression Virgil thinks he’s ever seen. Logan is just going at it, one punch after the other with no form or rhythm, blindly hitting the punching bag and shouting angrily as he does so. Virgil takes a moment to calm down and realize that this is Logan, if he’s kicking the shit out of a punching bag then something is seriously wrong, and slowly enters the garage. Once he’s about two feet behind his friend, he speaks up hesitantly.

“Uh… Lo?”

Logan whips around to look at Virgil, that furious scowl still set into his features, and he must se how Virgil tenses, his mind screaming to run, run away now, because Logan takes a shaky breath and forces his face into a more neutral expression. “Ah, my apologies Virgil, I didn’t know you were standing there.” Virgil just nods dumbly, and Logan steps away from the punching bag with a small sigh. He really didn’t like being angry. He didn’t like to worry Virgil.

“Is there something you need?”

Virgil seems to snap out of it and he blinks. “O-oh, uh. I just- I thought you left, so I was- I was just looking for you. And now I’ve found you, haha. Worst game of Where’s Waldo ever, you weren’t even hiding.” Logan raises an eyebrow. That joke was just… Bad. Seriously.

Virgil must be freaking out.

And it was Logan’s fault.

Logan drags a hand through his hair, not missing the way Virgil flinches just slightly and watches Logan’s movements. “Well, here I am. Do you perhaps want breakfast? I wouldn’t mind cooking right now.” Virgil nods and leads Logan back into the house, perching on the arm of the couch as Logan heads into the kitchen. As he gathers the ingredients for pancakes and bacon, his thoughts wander.

He… was angry about what happened with Patton. He loved Patton, more than he thought he loved anyone. And he thought Patton felt the same… but apparently not. So, what did that mean for Logan? Were his own feelings a lie? Was he just so blinded by them he couldn’t see that Patton didn’t feel the same? He didn’t know. He hated not knowing. It made him feel helpless. In some part of his broken heart he felt almost indignant. He’d spent so much time, invested so much in their relationship, and Patton just… breaks his heart? Ends it like it’s nothing? But… he knew that wasn’t right. He’d seen how broken up Patton was about it. He’d noticed the tears in the other’s eyes, the way his voice cracked as he apologized. How he tried to stop Logan as he walked away, face carefully blank.

It would be so much easier to hate Patton, part of his mind tells him.

Yes, but the world would be so much colder, too, he tells it.

He finishes making breakfast in silence. Once he’s done, rather than tell Virgil to come to the kitchen he just grabs their food, a syrup bottle, and silverware and joins him on the couch. By this point Virgil’s finally relaxed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Logan comes in and smiles when he’s handed his food, and the two eat in silence. It isn’t until Virgil turns on the TV fifteen minutes later that either of them speaks. It’s Virgil who breaks the silence.

“It’s okay to be mad, Lo. He hurt you. No matter what his intentions or wishes were, he still hurt you, and it’s okay to be angry about that. Just don’t let it make you forget how you felt when everything was okay.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. “Thanks, Virgil.”

Virgil knocks on the door to Logan’s house before letting himself in. It’s been a few weeks since Logan told him that Patton ended their relationship, and Virgil made sure to visit his friend at least twice a week. He entered the home, carrying a couple bags of food to make dinner, surprised to find that the lights were off. He sets the bags on the counter and calls out into the still air, “Lo?”

When he gets no response, he frowns. Maybe Logan fell asleep? But it was four pm…. And Logan always stressed the importance of keeping a “proper sleep schedule” … Virgil heads back to Logan’s room, just to make sure.

Virgil always loved Logan’s room. The ceiling was painted to look like the night sky, a perfect blend of purples, blues, and black with white dots of varying sizes that actually glowed in the dark. It’d been a present from Roman when Logan moved into the house – sort of a housewarming gift. The walls were a calm neutral grey, only interrupted by a couple bookshelves and a single poster from BBC’s Sherlock. Logan’s bed was simple enough; a queen-sized bed with navy-blue sheets and a constellation blanket. A desk in the corner housed his laptop and a few other miscellaneous belongings.

Virgil wasn’t paying attention to any of that, though. Logan was sitting at his desk, leaning back relaxed in his rolling chair, his eyes closed as a song played from the speakers (which must be why Logan didn’t hear him, as it was playing a little loud).

-Prayed every night to a religion that was chosen for me

Sold my soul, broke my bones

Tell me what did I get?

Did my time, toed the line

Ain’t seen anything yet

Strike me down to the ground

You know I’ve seen it before

Make it hurt, I’ll eat the dirt

I just don’t care anymore

Logan was mouthing along to the lyrics, and if Virgil had to guess he’d say Logan’s been listening to this on repeat. He didn’t seem to realize that Virgil was there yet.

How could you break my heart?

Already played my part

I kept my promise man

Show me the promiseland

Don’t occupy my throne

Give me the crown I own

Lived like you told me how

Look at me now

Virgil frowned and silently sat on Logan’s bed. Did Logan regret his relationship with Patton? Or did he regret listening to his parents for most of his life? They’d had Logan convinced (up until he met the three of his friends) that he had to succeed in life to be worth anything, that he had to make something of himself to be worthy of love. Sometimes Virgil wonders if Logan thinks about what his life would be like if he’d told his parents to shove it up their ass. Virgil looks at Logan as he mouths the words to one of the lines, his face screwed up as if he were genuinely asking,

If I’ve never seen the good, how can it come to an end?

Virgil wasn’t sure why, but that actually… hurt. Not that he felt insulted, but he couldn’t imagine how Logan felt this way. He cleared his throat, feeling bad suddenly for spying on this private moment.

As soon as he does, it’s like the atmosphere of the room shatters. Logan’s eyes open and he rushes to pause the music, looking over at Virgil. He doesn’t get mad though, just asks, “How long have you been here?” Virgil shakes his head, looking at the bookshelves and reading over titles he’s seen a hundred times before. “Not long. Might want to turn your music down so you can hear people breaking into your house though.” Logan grins slightly and stands.

“Yes well, it might behoove you to get my attention instead of watching me, next time.” Virgil blushes slightly. So, he had known? Logan just shakes his head.

“Come on, you can help me make dinner and we can watch that cartoon you’ve been talking about. Sean’s Galaxy?”

Virgil rolls his eyes and follows Logan to the kitchen. “It’s Steven Universe, you uncultured swine, and you’ll love it.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction

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heyitsamorette · 6 years

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Top Five Fics Meme

Fic authors self-rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

Thanks for the tag @oceaxereturns !

My Top 5 6 Fav Fics I’ve Written

I’m doing six because I can’t follow rules. These were sort of hard to pick out because some of them I like because I think the writing is good, but some of them I like solely for the content and premise. Truthfully, as I scrolled through my Works on AO3 and scrutinized them, I realized I’m not satisfied with what I’ve written, and a lot of the things I LOVE are actually short drabbly things (which I tried not to include). I wish I could write the longer, plottier stories that live within me, but as usual, I will only say: one day.

All of these are in the Harry Potter fandom.

You cannot save people, you can only love them (Harry/Draco | E | 51,700)

Posted: Dec 2017— Upon returning for Eighth Year, there are so many strange things going on with Malfoy, Harry doesn’t know where to start. He won’t talk to Harry, but he’s talking to ghosts. He won’t apologize for his past, but the Black Family tapestry has crossed him off its tree. And the worst of it all, he still has that infuriating, snotty mouth on him that gets Harry’s dick hard as a rock drives Harry insane.

I like this one because I like the dynamic I wrote between Harry and Draco, and this is one of my closest headcanon Harry’s. There are a lot of things about this fic that I think could have been better and that I would change if I could, but I also like that the idea of it staying just as it is and being one of my “earlier” fics, where I look back on it one day after I’ve (hopefully) improved and can see where I used to be as a writer.

Death Grip (James Sirius/Albus Severus, endgame Teddy/James Sirius | E | 15,400)

Published Feb 2017— Death Grip Syndrome: When a bloke masturbates so much and so hard that his dick loses its sensitivity, and it becomes incredibly difficult to come anymore. — James is mortified by his problem, and even moreso when it seems like the only person who can help him solve it is his younger brother, Al. Neither of them could have predicted where this road would lead them.

I love this because it’s FILTHY. Like disgustingly so, and I love that LOL. There’s brothercest, submission conditioning of the super dubious kind, Slytherin!Al, and just all kinds of smutty stuff. And I am pretty happy I wrote this, honestly. My goal is to write more fics like this.

Dueling (Harry/Draco | E | 3,200)

Published: May 2016— Draco is an Auror trainee. They have dueling practice every week. All dueling really amounts to is a game of domination and submission.

I feel like this is part of a longer fic that I have inside me somewhere... Just like a lot of my one-shots. I think the reason I like this so much is because I wrote a Draco I believed in and head-canoned, and I’m always proud of myself when I do that. I haven’t re-read this since it posted over two years ago so I could very well look at it now and think it’s total crap, but in my memories, I like it :D

Summer Storm (Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald | M | 6,200)

Published: Sept 2015 — The story of a budding romance, and a steep decline.

I really need to re-write this one. It was supposed to have at least one more chapter, but I was tired of looking at it unfinished like that and I just marked it complete... LOL Which makes no sense since it needs more of a resolution (a theme in my writing, I think). I titled it after that German coming-of-age/coming-out movie called Sommerstrum (2004) because I wanted to capture that same dreamy, almost surreal vibe; plus all the coming-out feelings of the movie. I also experimented with trying to create a sense of romantic chest feels, since up until then I had only really written smut, and I just wanted to challenge myself and see if I could actually elicit romantic feelings with my writing. I don’t know how my experiment did since this wasn’t widely read, but personally, it is one of my favorite fics. I will make sure to re-visit and do some edits on this eventually.

I’m Worried About Harry (Hermione/Harry/Ron | E | 4,300)

Published: Sept 2015—Someone has to help Harry lift his bad mood, and Hermione is going to be the one, and not for totally selfless reasons because have you seen Harry? He’s gorgeous. And he’s hers. And Ron is gorgeous and hers. And she wants to fuck both of them, basically. That should really be the summary. Hermione wants to fuck them both. So she does.

This fic was all about female sexual autonomy for me. Expressing Hermione’s sexual desires. Making her the driving force of the sex. Giving her wants and needs to fulfill. Making her take take take the way I’d want to take from these boys (this is the closest I’ve come to writing Mary-Sue fic honestly). Even though it’s not perfect, I’m still very pleased with how it came out.

Neither Stone nor Iron (Rodolphus Lestrange/Ron Weasley | E | 10,780)

Published: Aug 2013—Ron becomes Bellatrix’ prisoner, but it’s her husband who takes a special liking to him.

For some reason, I have developed a strange fondness for this verse. It’s very early-years-amorette writing style but I still think it’s pretty cool. I always want to revisit this verse and expand on my Lestrange headcanon and just see where this story could go from here. I find it very flattering and rewarding that those who have commented seem to like it and also asked for a sequel, so I just get really happy about my writing whenever I think of this fic; hence it’s one of my favorites.

Primal Urges (Harry/Draco | E | 10,200)

Published: Nov 2012—An eighth year fic …er ... or should I say, a prehistoric fic? Draco gets hurtled back in time and meets caveman!Potter, who seems to like him much more than normal!Potter. Quite a bit more, actually.

This fic is so silly, it’s basically crack, but I also really love it for some reason. I think the reason I chose this fic is because I’m proud of the writing quality for it being one of my first fics ever. I also love the dub-connish content (obviously) while it’s still kinda fluffy and silly and humorous? IDK I’m just glad I wrote this lol. (And for career fair....LOL Because caveman and time traveler are totally careers, or at least I was able to convince the mods they were.)

The 5 people I am tagging are: @goldentruth813 @aibidil @erin-riwen @violet-clarity-blog & @writsgrimmyblog

#meme

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ao3feed--destiel · 4 years

Link

by InkOfEmrys (ironmessTM)

SO. This thing has lowkey taken me by storm, and after having written over 10k words within forty-eight hours, I decided that there was nothing stopping me from posting as I go.

This work is based on the work From Skin To Feathers by Dean_Centric, which was registered as uncompleted and last updated about a year and a half ago. I'll give a full summary in the first chapter area, or you can just the read the story before coming down over here, but for all intents and purposes, the even further simplified summary is that Dean is revealed to be a Seraph, a species of angel whose angelic traits are dormant until they come within proximity of their grace, and my work is born just after the plot point where Dean_Centric's story leaves us off.

I will tell you in advance that my story is definitely very different than theirs, differently written, differently approached, and differently characterized as well. Regardless, if you like the idea of angel crash courses, Dean dealing with what he is inside, and a heaping pile of what I hope is sufficiently descriptive writing, you're in the right place.

Thank you, and I encourage you to give me a shot, and leave a comment on what you think!

Words: 3169, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Crowley (Supernatural), idk how much Crowley but he shows up for sure

Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, idk how much destiel is really going to be a thing though, I'll update the tags whenever I figure it out

Additional Tags: Seraph!Dean, angel!cas - Freeform, Winged Dean Winchester, Wings, Wingfic, But not only a wingfic, Sam Winchester is a total little brother, Mother Hen Dean Winchester, Only now he has the feathers to go with the title, It has been actual months since I tried to post how does one tag, Word vomit but hopefully the good kind, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angelic Lore, Fluff, Lowkey hurt comfort but surprisingly not a lot of hurt (at least not yet), I like descriptive writing so this fic screamed party time, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Dean learning to be an angel, Dean Winchester Actually Deals With Feelings, Dean Winchester Has a Heart, Author Should Probably Sleep, Author regrets nothing, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Some light crack here and there (though I think it's mostly in the fluff category), Basically there's moments where everyone isn't necessarily dying inside, And they may or may not be worth a smile

via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'

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bold · 7 years

Text

Boy on the Bike

Read it on AO3!

Summary: Jeremy thinks he might be going crazy. That might be okay, though, because Boy on the Bike must be crazier. Crazy enough to get off his bike, wheel it up the driveway of Jeremy’s mom’s house, rest it against the house, walk over to Jeremy, and take a seat on the steps next to him.

“Why are-- What’re you--”

“You were sad. I’d feel bad if I just left you like that.”

(Or: Jeremy Heere, after having a very terrible day, meets Michael Mell, who inexplicably makes him forget there's any bad in the world at all.)

Notes: i had WAY to much fun writing this first chapter... these boys..... theyre gonna fall in love just u wait. this fic is prolly just gonna be jeremy and michael exploring smth neither of them have ever experienced before: ...............friendship (and eventually romance but shh theyre babies theyre just learning). idk how long this is gonna be but im excited for it

anyway i hope u enjoy this ride

Jeremy Heere is having a Pretty Shitty Day.

The morning began with a freshman spilling coffee in Jeremy’s lap on the bus. That should’ve been a warning sign, now that he thinks about it, that it was going to be a Pretty Shitty Day. Between second and third period, Rich Goranski shoved Jeremy into a locker and asked if he’d pissed himself. At lunch, Jeremy accidentally threw his math homework in the trash with the remnants of his lunch and had to go to class empty-handed. He mixed two chemicals incorrectly in Chemistry and the class had to move to a different lab so the room could be cleansed of toxins. At the end of the day, Christine Canigula bumped into him in the hallway and instead of apologizing, Jeremy gaped at her for three seconds before she walked away, probably creeped out of her mind.

After such a shitty day, Jeremy walked home from school and dug fruitlessly through his backpack for fifteen minutes before coming to the conclusion that he left his key in his room. He’s locked out. Of course, the one time he forgets his key is one of the rare instances in which he stays with his mom for the weekend, and that’s already terrible enough in and of itself. Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone (of course he forgot to charge it the night before, so it’s only at 21%) and sends his mom a text to inform her that he’s locked out.

He’s not expecting an answer, though.

It takes a lot for Jeremy to classify a day as a Pretty Shitty Day, because most of his days are spent uncomfortable and awkward as it is. Sometimes, though, things just stack up until he’s teetering on the brink of a panic attack before first period even ends, and that’s when the day earns the Pretty Shitty Day title.

It’s a stupid thing for him to cry over. Jeremy had been locked out of the house before, but now it feels like such a punch in the face. He has a terrible day and he can’t even go hole up in his room for the remainder of it. He feels even more like a loser than he thought was humanly possible as he sits on the front steps of his mom’s house and sniffles into the sleeve of his cardigan.

At the very least, he can take comfort in the fact that the only people who live in his mom’s neighborhood are old, deaf people. There’s no one around to watch him weep to himself like a fucking idiot.

That is, until Jeremy notices someone.

What looks to be a red speck bikes around the corner onto the street Jeremy’s mom lives on. The street is long and vacant, and the speck is rapidly becoming more identifiable. Jeremy doesn’t mean to stare, but he watches nonetheless as the person on the bike becomes a boy with black hair and a big, red hoodie. He’s not sitting on the bike, but rather riding it while standing, like some kind of dangerous hooligan. Jeremy’s eyes linger for a moment too long and the boy on the bike notices him.

Jeremy ducks his head, hiding his face in his knees in hopes that the boy will just keep going and not spare Jeremy’s creepiness another thought. He holds his breath and waits five, six, seven, eight seconds and just when he thinks the biker is gone, he hears a voice: “Hey.”

Jeremy whips his head up and, lo and behold, the boy on the bike is standing in the middle of the street, still straddling his bike, and looking at Jeremy very attentively. Jeremy blinks at him, jaw slack, and Boy on the Bike must take this as an invitation to continue: “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? No. Of course he’s not okay. He’s just had a Pretty Shitty Day, he’s exhausted, he’s sad, and he’s been swallowing a panic attack for the past seven hours. Is he gonna tell all that to some strange teenage boy he’s never spoken to before? Of course not.

“I’m fine,” Jeremy finally says, in spite of how puffy his eyes must look and how evident his trembling hands are.

Boy on the Bike doesn’t bite. “No, you’re not. You’re crying.”

Jeremy brings a hand to his cheek and finds that he really is still crying. He hadn’t even noticed. “I guess I am,” he says, mostly to himself, but Boy on the Bike hears him nonetheless.

“Are you okay?” Boy on the Bike asks again, and Jeremy doesn’t know what the fuck comes over him, but he answers:

“No. N-No, I’m not.”

Jeremy thinks he might be going crazy. That might be okay, though, because Boy on the Bike must be crazier. Crazy enough to get off his bike, wheel it up the driveway of Jeremy’s mom’s house, rest it against the house, walk over to Jeremy, and take a seat on the steps next to him.

“Why are-- What’re you--”

“You were sad. I’d feel bad if I just left you like that.”

Jeremy blinks at him and then, incredulously, bursts into a fit of giggles. Boy on the Bike looks at him, puzzled, and Jeremy wants nothing more than to stop laughing, but he can’t. “I’m sorry--” he gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- I’m not laughing at you, I promise--”

Boy on the Bike gives him a confused smile and waits for Jeremy’s giggles to die out. “You good, dude?”

“I’m…” Jeremy coughs into his sleeve and squares Boy on the Bike with a look. “I’m J-Jeremy… dude.”

Now it’s Boy on the Bike’s turn to laugh, which he does, hard and unashamed. Surprisingly, though, Jeremy doesn’t feel like he’s being laughed at. It’s not the same sly, under-the-breath giggle people do when they’re talking about him behind his back. It’s not the same harsh, sarcastic laugh bullies do when they’re calling him names. Boy on the Bike has a beautiful, contagious laugh. Jeremy can’t stop looking at him and can’t stop himself from laughing, too.

“Sh-Shut up!” Jeremy squeaks through his own laughter. His voice cracks on the “up” and that only makes Boy on the Bike laugh even harder. “You’re mean! I thought you were here to make me feel better.”

Only he’s already made Jeremy feel better.

Boy on the Bike eventually sobers up enough to articulate himself. “Jeremy, huh?” he asks, and Jeremy nods. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I’m Michael.”

Jeremy smiles at him. Michael. “Nice to meet you, too, Michael.” Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s a good name. “Thanks for, uh, y’know… stopping to talk to me. That was really cool of you. I could’ve been, like, a serial killer or something.”

Michael pulls a face and Jeremy is quick to inform him that he is not, in fact, a serial killer. “I didn’t really peg you as the serial killer type. I don’t know how many serial killers can be found crying and locked out of their houses.”

“How’d you know I was locked out?”

“Well, Jer,” Michael says sagely, but Jeremy can only think about the nickname he’s already been given. “I don’t know about you, but whenever I’m down in the dumps, the only place I wanna cry is buried under a pile of blankets and my own sadness.”

Jeremy sighs longingly. “That’s exactly where I wanna be.”

Michael places a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder (it’s heavy and warm and comforting and Jeremy inexplicably wants to lean his whole body against Michael’s and find out if the rest of him feels that way, too) and gives it a few small rubs as he speaks, “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“O-Oh,” Jeremy falters, momentarily incapable of forming words with his mouth. “I wouldn’t wanna bother you, Mi--”

“Dude, are you stupid?” Michael asks, with no malice. “I wouldn’t come sit with you if I didn’t wanna help you out, buddy. C’mon, lay it on me.”

Jeremy’s heart flips into his throat and he swallows hard before starting up on the tale of his Pretty Shitty Day. He tells Michael all about the coffee, Rich, his math homework, Chemistry class, and Christine. He tells Michael that he’s had a terrible day and he’s wanted to cry since seven in the morning and now he’s locked out of his mom’s house, which is so much worse than being at his dad’s because his mom doesn’t even care about him and--

“S-Sorry,” Jeremy says abruptly. Michael hasn’t stopped listening, nor has he moved his hand from Jeremy’s shoulder. “My mom’s, uh, a whole ‘nother can of worms.”

Michael nods and doesn’t press. “Next time, maybe.”

“Next time?” Jeremy asks, finding that his voice is suddenly too soft, too vulnerable.

“Next time.” He says it like a promise. He gives Jeremy a chance to steady his breathing before speaking again. “This is your mom’s house?”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t see her much, huh?”

Jeremy shakes his head.

“So you don’t live around here..?” Michael sounds almost disappointed.

“N-No, but I can give you my--” Jeremy catches himself. “Oh, my God, I was about to give you my home address. You’re, like, basically a stranger.” Michael doesn’t feel like a stranger, though. Michael feels like the closest thing he’s had to a friend in a long, long time.

“Oh!” Michael says, actually looking a little flustered at the notion. “No, I couldn’t ask for that--” He hesitates, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with his fingers before willing the words out of his mouth, “B-But I could, uh-- I could ask for your number-- Y’know, like, if you ever need to talk-- I just-- I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t want to--”

Jeremy bumps his knee against Michael, who looks up at him sheepishly. “Gimme your phone, loser.”

Michael fumbles his hand around in the front pocket of his hoodie before fishing out his cell phone (a clunky old Android, which Jeremy makes note to make fun of him for in the future) and handing it over.

Jeremy punches his number in and Michael peers over his shoulder as he types in “Jeremy Heere.” “You gotta put in an emoji,” Michael says firmly.

Jeremy looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “How come?”

“All my contacts have emojis. Don’t mess with the flow, bro.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but scrolls through the emojis nonetheless. “Android emojis are ugly,” he comments absently, earning an offended shove from Michael. Eventually, Jeremy settles on the video game controller emoji. “There,” he says, satisfied with his decision as he hands the phone back over to Michael. “Happy?”

“Very much so,” Michael says, almost as if he doesn’t realize it, as he pockets his phone. Jeremy’s heart flutters. “Now I know that you’re not only a friendless geek, but you’re a friendless geek who spends all his time playing video games.”

That one hurt a little bit. Michael's so cool, Jeremy could tell. Michael probably has lots of friends at whatever school he goes to and probably won't even bother texting a loser like Jeremy. Jeremy must have wilted, because Michael rushes to reassure him that he was just kidding. “I have no room to talk. I do the same thing. I’m the resident friendless stoner at my school.”

Jeremy straightens up. “N-Not anymore!”

“What d’you--”

“You’re not friendless. Not anymore.”

Michael stares at him and Jeremy thinks he’s going to laugh again, but then he does something much better. Michael lunges forward and buries Jeremy in a hug and Jesus Jewish Christ, hugging Michael is so much better than how Jeremy imagined it’d be. He’s warm and soft all over, and when Jeremy noses against Michael’s shoulder, he smells like pine and laundry detergent.

“Thank you,” Michael breathes. Jeremy’s thinking the same thing. He decides maybe it was worth having a Pretty Shitty Day, if he got to meet Michael.

#boyf riends #bmc #be more chill #meremy hell #jeremy heere #michael mell #my writing #sincerelyme.txt

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lesbrarians · 7 years

Text

Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 7

Things and Plans happen in this chapter and I just want to say, special thanks to @roseymoseyberry because I would not have gotten thru that planning stage without her amazing ideas and insights for how to handle Things. <3 Also thanks to @lacertae-dreamscape and @owlphallacies for letting me rant and bouncing ideas! There was a time in writing this where I just hit a massive wall when planning things out and idk if I would have gotten past it if I hadn’t had these three to throw my woes at, aha.

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

He knew it was a dream right from the start. He knew it was a dream, and that was the cruelest part of it. His traitorous brain couldn’t give him even a few short moments of blissful delirium. No, he was fully cognisant of the fact that he was not actually being fucked, no matter how real it felt in his dream. He’d yet to see Roadhog’s dick, but he’d spent enough time fantasising about it, enough time staring at the bulge in his pants and dreaming of x-ray vision, that he felt like he could accurately picture it.

He -- or rather, his dream self, the lucky sonovabitch -- closed his eyes so that he could focus his attentions, concentrating on nothing else but the sensation of Roadhog filling his mouth. Later, he’d marvel at how real the dream Roadhog’s thick cock felt, so solid and lifelike as it slid down his throat. It only intensified the aching urge he had every waking moment of his life, the desperate desire for Roadhog to just fuck him.

The dream Roadhog pulled away from him to pick him up. His fantasy of Roadhog coming in his mouth went unfulfilled, even in his dreams. He couldn’t be disappointed for too long, as Roadhog hoisted him up, sandwiching Junkrat’s dick between their stomachs.

Junkrat could feel the friction, his dream self thrusting against Roadhog’s ample belly. He got lost in the rhythm, the blurring image of the dream replaced by nothing but pure carnal sensation. The rocking of his hips was intoxicating. The picture disappeared, dream Roadhog and all, as the pleasure mounted. It consumed him, and--

He woke up to sticky shorts and a leg slung over Roadhog’s thigh.

“Nice dream?” Roadhog said, amusement in his voice.

It was with a mild degree of horror that Junkrat realised he’d been humping Roadhog’s leg in his sleep. He released the arm that he had been clinging to and rolled onto his back. “Yeah, actually, thanks fer askin’.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then craned his neck to grin up at Roadhog. “What say ya to makin’ it a reality? Might take a few for the ol’ sticka dynamite to be good to go again--” Roadhog snorted with laughter at the bad euphemism. If Junkrat hadn’t been totally sure that it would kill the mood entirely and reduce them both to fits of giggles, he would have made a quip about getting ready to explode. “--but that don’t mean I can’t get you started.” He wet his lips, glancing down at Roadhog’s crotch.

“Later.” Roadhog stood up and cracked his neck. “We have to leave if we want to do this tonight.”

“But-- but--” he floundered for the words. “Come on, I just wanna have some fun…”

“And you already did.” He laughed as Junkrat scowled up at him.

Junkrat groped for a bottle of water and a cloth to clean himself up with, grumbling the whole while.

“The sign said they open at 7 A.M.”

“Oh, is that what it said?”

“So we have a short window.”

They had planned on leaving for their heist long after the sun set, around the time that the last of the late-night bars closed and its patrons drunkenly staggered home. It left them with a few short hours before the early morning business owners arrived.

Junkrat left his grumpiness (“later,” Roadhog had said, and he planned on holding him to that) and the RIP-tire behind. He rigged the place up with a multitude of well hidden explosives and traps on the tiniest sliver of a chance someone tried to enter their decrepit home. He wouldn’t be able to wriggle through the basement window with it strapped to his back, and it would have been dead weight regardless, given that he was going to be loaded down with electronics.

They were a few blocks away from their destination when Junkrat suddenly drew up short. “Wait, stop! Stop, stop, stop,” he said.

“What?” Roadhog’s hand automatically went to his hook, but he dropped it when he saw Junkrat on his hands and his knees in the gutter. “What did you find?” he amended.

Junkrat thrust a muddy fist in the air triumphantly, a bracelet gleaming in his grip. “I got me some bling! I knew I saw something shiny down there.” He wiped the grime off on his jumper. It was a good thing Rosa had chosen black for him, because he had taken to using it as an ever-present napkin. Roadhog’s cream-coloured jumper wasn’t as adept at hiding stains. “Ooooh!” he said upon finding that the bracelet glittered with polished silver and jewels.

“You would hold up a heist because you found something shiny,” Roadhog grumbled.

“Hey!” Junkrat slipped it on over his bony wrist. “Don’t you judge me, you ‘ooh’ over shiny things too!”

“I wouldn’t stop a heist to pick it up.”

“Yeah, ya say that, but what if it was, say, a pig thing. You would definitely hold me up to pick up a piggy shaped... hair clip or somethin’. You’d look good in one of those,” he added. “We should look for one. Put it right by yer hair band thingo.” Junkrat liked Roadhog’s ponytail, and it could only be improved by more hair accessories.

“...I would,” Roadhog admitted.

“You would pick it up, or you would look good in it?”

“Both.” He touched his ponytail, as if envisioning what it would look like with a hair clip in it.

Junkrat’s face split into a grin. He loved it whenever Roadhog affirmed the things he said.

They hung back once they reached the electronics shop, staying out of the camera’s range. Junkrat popped out his frag launcher’s rack and filled it with heavy rocks, which he delightedly fired at the loosened camera until it fell off its perch.

He bent down low to look in the basement window that he was going to slide through. They hadn’t scoped out the alarm system, so if he could just pinpoint what they were going to swipe before they set off the alarms and had to act quickly….

“Uhh, ‘Hog,” he began. “About this break-in...”

“What, you’re getting cold feet? Chicken.”

“Oh, get stuffed, no-- it’s just that uh, someone’s beaten us to it.” He pointed. Roadhog bent down to see for himself. A slim Korean man with rimless glasses was working by torchlight, busy inspecting items before slipping them inside his backpack. He was dressed in all black and didn’t seem concerned about any alarms. If he was as intelligent as he looked, he had likely already disabled them.

“He looks like a professional,” Junkrat said. “Got himself in without a trace and everything. Think he might be interested in helpin’ us out?”

“No,” Roadhog said immediately. He went along with Junkrat’s plans the vast majority of the time, because they usually worked, in one bizarre way or another, and were always fun. But his sense of self-preservation was much higher than Junkrat’s. They had gotten screwed over by a suit the last time they had tried to partner up with someone.

“Oh, come on, what’s the harm in askin’?” Junkrat leaned in to get a better look, pressing his hands and nose against the glass of the window--

--and promptly fell through it, the pane of glass easily popping out and sending him tumbling into the room. At least that answered the question of how the other man had broken in.

Everything was pandemonium for a few moments: the glass shattering beneath Junkrat, the beam of light going haywire as their fellow criminal fumbled with the torch, the front door giving way as Roadhog shouldered it open.

The room was flooded with light as Roadhog flipped the switch, and everyone blinked as their eyes got used to the glare. Upon recovering, both Roadhog and the Korean man went for their guns: one sleek and elegant, the other large and clunky, with cutesy stickers that still sparkled beneath a layer of dirt.

Junkrat bounded to his feet, wincing slightly as the cuts from the broken glass smarted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s with the guns? We’re just like you, we’re all a buncha thieves here. We don’t mean no trouble!”

“Speak for yourself,” Roadhog grunted, his scrap gun still raised.

It was a standoff as the other man and Roadhog stared each other down. Junkrat laughed nervously, raising two pacifying hands in a last-ditch attempt to alleviate the volatile atmosphere.

“Heh, so eh, howsabout we all just… put the guns down? We can work together, strike up a mutually beneficial partnership, maybe? We can all walk out of here happy!”

After another calculating glance his way, the Korean man lowered his shaking hand, while Roadhog followed suit. “What do you need,” he said, suddenly all business. Save for a mild accent, his English was impeccable.

“What?” Junkrat said, giving him a blank look.

“Merchandise,” he said, somewhat impatiently. “Computers, sound systems, amplifiers, batteries… I trust you didn’t come here just to window shop?”

“Oh! Uh...” Junkrat looked at Roadhog for guidance. They hadn’t gotten quite that far in their planning. Their strategy was, as usual, to grab as many things as they could carry and sort it out later.

“Two computers and some hard drives. A mobile hotspot. Some kind of debugger.”

The man expertly picked out the devices. Junkrat examined each one to ensure that he wasn’t giving them duds. He wasn’t sure what, precisely, he was looking at -- his expertise laid with mechanical engineering, not electronic -- but they seemed fine. They weren’t receiving display models, at least.

“Programming?” the man asked. “I don’t suppose you’re hackers?”

“What’s it to you?” Roadhog said.

He puffed himself up to his fullest height, shoulders back and spine ramrod straight. “It’s what I do. Best on the black market,” he said, not even trying to keep the smugness out of his voice.

This got Junkrat’s attention. He jumped on Roadhog’s back, hanging over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. Roadhog turned around to give them a modicum of privacy. “Roadhog, mate, we gotta get him. We’re dead in the water otherwise. He seems like a nice kinda guy, maybe if we ask real nicely, he’ll...” He paused for effect, a grin snaking across his face as he reached for the hook holstered on Roadhog’s hip. “...hook up with us!”

“Stop that,” Roadhog said, not impressed in the slightest.

“Yer puns are just as bad as mine, you can’t pretend ya don’t like it, you great cunt!”

He poked the side of Roadhog’s mask before realizing that he was getting off topic. “I’m doin’ it again, ain’t I? Come on, whaddya say?”

“No,” Roadhog said firmly. “Do you want someone to find out about your little treasure?”

Junkrat considered it. They needed to do some heavy-duty programming if they wanted to make the god program usable, but handing a stranger the source code to muck around with was a horrible idea by anyone’s standards. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid since the night he left Junkertown behind. “No,” he admitted. “Good point.” He heaved a sigh and hopped off of Roadhog’s back.

They turned back around to face the Korean man, who had stood there and watched the entire exchange take place.

“Anyways,” Junkrat said breezily. “We should probably… leave.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Got what you needed?”

“Yeah, this is plenty!” Junkrat said, taking one of the computers and leaving Roadhog to carry the rest. “Thanks heaps, mate, you know yer stuff.” The three of them exited through the hole that once was the front door, the sad aftermath of Roadhog breaking it open.

“Good,” the man said, satisfied that his work was appreciated. “Where are we going now?”

After his conversation with Roadhog, just seconds earlier, Junkrat couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know how much he had overheard during his little pow-wow with Roadhog, but the other man seemed to have gathered that they were conducting some kind of illegal project, and he wanted in on it.

Roadhog was less amused. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said. “This is a two-man gig.”

The man calmly removed a chip from his vest (which struck Junkrat as unusual -- who wore a button-down shirt and a tie on a heist, even if they were all black? He guessed he couldn’t really pass judgment on unusual choices of clothing) and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d reconsider that, if I were you. There is some very choice footage of your break-in on here.”

“You’d incriminate yourself, turning that in,” Roadhog said.

“You underestimate my abilities.”

Junkrat lunged for the chip, but the man quickly shoved it into the pocket of his gun holster, which Junkrat eyed warily.

“He’s good, ‘Hog,” he said. He leaned in to mutter, “You can hook him if he tries to get away with that thing, roight?”

Roadhog grunted in agreement, then addressed the squirrely little criminal in front of them. “That’s blackmail.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never blackmailed someone before?”

Roadhog heaved a sigh. There was no use arguing the point; they were all just as bad as each other.

“Fair point,” Junkrat agreed. “Alright, I’m sold, you can come on board. Roadhog?”

“Whatever you say.”

They set off down the street, loaded down with their merchandise. “You’re a programmer for hire?” Roadhog asked. “You’re not getting paid for this.”

“Yeah, we’ve got an arrangement over here, fifty-fifty. It’s got no room for you in it,” Junkrat added.

“This is fine,” the slender man said. “Knowledge is its own reward. I just want to satisfy my curiosity.”

“You don’t even know what we’re doing,” Roadhog said. “Why?”

He shrugged. “My life could use more surprises.”

“I like this guy,” Junkrat said with a grin. He loved a good surprise. “What is yer name, anyway?” he asked.

“Jae-won,” the man replied, extending a hand for him to shake.

Junkrat looked at it as if he had never seen such a thing before. “What a weirdo,” he said. “You’ll fit in perfectly!”

---

They explained their objective in the vaguest of terms (“We’re gonna hack yer giant omnic!”). They failed to address the fact that they wanted to infect all omnics within a certain radius, civilian or otherwise. After all, for all they knew, Jae-won could have been an omnic sympathiser.

He did seem on board with their plan to infiltrate Yongary, but Junkrat had the impression it was more out of professional curiosity than anything else; he wanted to hack Korea’s “Monster from the Deep,” just so that he could say that he did.

He wasn’t terribly impressed with their accommodations, however. He hissed and jumped back when the three rats made their presence known upon turning on the light.

Junkrat gave him a look that said that he was personally offended. He was suddenly weirdly protective of the pests. “Skewer’s not goin’ to hurt you,” he said.

“Why,” Jae-won said, voice tense, “do you live with rats? In this... abandoned neighborhood? With trash everywhere?”

Junkrat actually was personally offended now. “Oh, oh, yeah well, we can’t all live in yer fancy apartment towers with no rubbish -- look at this guy, Roadhog, he thinks he’s so good because his place doesn’t have rats!”

“We’re just passing through,” Roadhog said, considerably less outraged than Junkrat was over the slight towards their living arrangements.

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Jae-won said, delicately sidestepping an empty water bottle. “You’re the traveling type; don’t stay in one place too long.”

“Why would we do that, anyway? Yer like sitting-- sitting--” waterfowl, he knew the term was some kind of waterfowl that he had never even seen, living in the baked wasteland of central Australia “--birds,” he finished. He had learned the phrase from Roadhog, but for the life of him, he could never remember how it went.

Jae-won smirked. “Not if you’re smart about it. I’ve been living in the same apartment since grad school, and you don’t see me getting caught.”

Junkrat scowled at him, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You callin’ me dumb? I am a fuckin’ genius, mate -- all those traps we had to disarm before comin’ in? Mine. I made those, me.” His hand twitched around the detonator in his pocket. He was pretty sure there was still a live mine or two in the pile near the smarmy little bastard.

“He does have a brilliant mind,” Roadhog agreed, his hand on Junkrat’s shoulder. It was part reassurance, but that death grip made it part warning as well. Junkrat tried to dial back his emotions. If they were going to make use of a programmer, and it was beginning to look like they definitely needed to, it wouldn’t do to alienate him right off the bat. He released the detonator. “When it’s not leaky,” Roadhog added.

Junkrat didn’t argue the point, he was fully aware of his brain’s failings. “It works where it counts!” He picked up one of his metal traps. “Mind like a steel trap!” He opened its jaws as wide as they could go and threw his own head back in laughter. Roadhog couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

If Jae-won was regretting his decision to join up with the two of them, he didn’t let on. He brushed off an overturned bucket and sat down on it, primly crossing his legs. “Disregarding all of...” He waved his hand in Junkrat’s general direction. “...that, are you going to enlighten me on what, exactly, we’re planning to do?”

Junkrat was beginning to see why Roadhog was so irritated by Jae-won’s continued use of we, as if he had been in on their plan right from the start instead of weaseling his way in out of a suicidal sense of curiosity. “No,” Junkrat said. “All you need to know is that we’re gonna destroy the shit out of that thing. Just gotta do some research first before we figure out all those pesky little details. That’s why we needed the computers, innit, ‘Hog?”

Roadhog grunted in agreement and opened one of the laptops. Jae-won did them the favour of setting up their wireless hotspot, and they had an information page on Yongary pulled up in mere minutes. Junkrat was consistently amazed at how much and how quickly they could get information online. He was self-taught when it came to mechanics and chemicals, learning through many a failed experiment and perusing the old, dirty manuals that he had used to hone his reading skills, which admittedly were still not as great as they could have been -- he could easily recognise all the words he was used to seeing in handbooks, but he still had to sound out most other words before they clicked. The learning process would have been a lot simpler if he’d had access to online videos. But then he would have been deprived of the glorious explosions that resulted from his many fuckups, so really, it was a win-win situation.

The video was, in a word, abrupt. The camera had been switched on after Yongary had already emerged and begun wreaking havoc, and it cut off mid assault with a burst of static.

Watching the video feed, Junkrat was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of a clip he’d seen once, several years ago. One of the Junkers had gotten his hands on a tablet with the capability to access the internet -- a rarity in Junkertown, so far removed from society and its conveniences -- and he had crowded around with several others to watch the Australian Navy fight a massive omnic in front of the Sydney Opera House. He never saw how it ended, having been shoved out of the circle around the time that a fleet of fighter jets joined the assault, but the image stuck with him. The omnic that rose out of the ocean on the tv screen didn’t quite resemble the one in Sydney Harbour, although they had likely come from the same omnium. Yongary was a cobbled together monstrosity, bits and pieces grafted on from cannibalised omnics and the wreckage it had caused in previous years.

The media hadn’t been lying when it said that Yongary adapted to attacks; a shield was welded to its left forearm so that it could fend off gunfire, while its right arm extended into a freakishly long limb that enabled it to bat fighter jets out of the sky. Junkrat would have been impressed if it hadn’t been a bloody omnic; that kind of adaptability was how one survived in the cutthroat society of the Junkers. He didn’t like thinking that he shared any qualities with an omnic.

They watched as Yongary crushed one of the Korean Navy’s ships. “Well that’s just plain rude,” Junkrat said.

Roadhog snorted in amusement. “Won’t be doing that much longer.” He paused the video, which froze on a shot of the colossal omnic staggering backwards. “You,” he said, pointing at Jae-won. “Can you write a virus to infect it?”

Jae-won rubbed his chin. “I could do a virus, yes, that part is easy -- when you’re me, of course.” Roadhog visibly rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his head tilted back in exaggeration. He was saddled with not one, but two, egotistical maniacs. “But,” Jae-won continued. “If we’re infecting it at the core level, it’s going to have to be physically uploaded. This is no god program, you can’t just alter its program remotely, not without some kind of link between the two.”

Neither Junkrat nor Roadhog managed to contain a snort of laughter. “No, no, yer right, go on! Don’t mind us.”

“What a ridiculous idea,” Roadhog said.

Jae-won narrowed his eyes, but it appeared to be more out of concern for their mental well-being than suspicion. The concept of creating and executing a god program was ridiculous, but it wasn’t that funny. “The easiest thing would be to use a drive, hard connect it to Yongary, then wirelessly transmit the virus and let it do its work. We can do that as long as we can get to it, but that poses another problem. See, the hardest part is--”

“--getting inside it,” Roadhog finished. “Worked that out myself, thanks.” Junkrat patted his arm sympathetically. Roadhog hadn’t wanted to bring in an outside programmer in the first place, and it was easy to resent the man for taking over their plan, instead of just doing what they said. “We’ll figure it out. Nothing ever stopped us before.”

It was true, they’d broken into places more secure than a giant omnic.

Junkrat rubbed his chin. “Has anyone ever tried blowing it up?”

“They did,” Jae-won said. “They dropped bombs on it last time, before it knocked their drones out of the sky. I believe that’s what ended it in another draw. The bombs made it retreat, but they didn’t defeat it.”

“But we don’t need to defeat it! Just gotta get a big enough hole in it to get one of us in there, roight? We can do that, easy!”

Jae-won gave him a skeptical look. “Do you really think it’s not going to have prepared for that this time? Look at it, it’s adapted to counter every tactic MEKA’s tried so far. Of course it’s going to be prepared for bomb threats this time.”

“They’ve never had me! I’m a demolitions expert, if I do say so myself,” Junkrat bragged. Was it bragging if he was just relaying facts?

“Not every problem can be solved with an explosion,” Jae-won said.

“If it can’t be solved with an explosion, then yer not doin’ it right!”

“That’d probably make it angry. We don’t want to make it angry, if we need to get close.”

Junkrat sighed. “Fair enough, then.” He plopped down on the floor. This mission suddenly was a whole lot less fun. “What do you suggest then, if my idea ain’t good enough?”

Jae-won didn’t have any immediate suggestions, which shouldn’t have given Junkrat as much satisfaction as it did. Roadhog unsheathed his hook, causing Jae-won to leap back in alarm and Junkrat to snicker. Their new partner could hold his own intellectually, but he was an outright coward when it came to physical violence. It was a wonder his shaking hand hadn’t dropped his gun during their brief standoff.

Roadhog either didn’t notice or didn’t care; he was thoughtfully running his hand over the length of chain that connected his hook to the spool on his hip. “Harpoon,” he said suddenly.

Junkrat glanced at the hook that was the inspiration and grinned. “Say, that’s not a half bad idea! Then do it like we did in Sydney?” For as upset as he had been about the CEO’s betrayal, he had enjoyed shimmying down chains and ziplining across wires. He would be thrilled to impale a giant omnic with a harpoon and scale the attached chain.

“It’d be easier to get in if we’re on it too, wouldn’t it? Just gotta cut into it, that’s nothin’ a blowtorch can’t fix...” His brain was already whirring, kicking into high speed. He rustled around in their belongings for a piece of paper and a pencil stub. He muttered to himself as he scrawled out his ideas on the back of a map.

Jae-won was already skeptical. “And you honestly think it’s not going to immediately knock you off and send you plummeting into the water?”

“Proper location and an EMP.” Junkrat gnawed on his pencil as he used a well-worn stub of an eraser to rub out a miscalculated number. “Now shut up.” He spat out the pencil and resumed sketching, his tongue poking out of his mouth in intense concentration.

Jae-won opened his mouth to say something else and promptly shut it when Roadhog shoved him. “Leave him alone while he’s working.”

Junkrat didn’t know how long he had been immersed in his fog when he came out of it, but judging by Jae-won’s look of utter boredom, it had been a while. He slapped the paper down on the ground in front of his two partners-in-crime with a triumphant “hah!” He didn’t know how decipherable the technical drawings were to the layman, but he was proud of the diagrams he had banged out, detailing the design and construction of a homemade blowtorch and electromagnetic pulse bomb. In the bottom left corner was a helpful doodle of a crudely drawn omnic, a pulse bomb exploding on its side with a “kaboom!”

Jae-won picked it up and studied it. “Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“Kinda missin’ the point here, mate.”

Roadhog studied his work. “Good job,” he said, and Junkrat glowed with pride as Roadhog put his hand on his head, ruffling his hair.

Jae-won heaved an over-the-top sigh. “If you think these little devices are going to help us get inside it and hard-wire it, then I’ll trust you,” he said, with the air of someone who thought he was being extremely magnanimous.

Junkrat’s fingers twitched with the desire to strangle him. “I don’t think, I know.”

“All right,” Jae-won said mildly.

Junkrat barely contained a strangled grrgh! of frustration.

Their first day together was a blur: everyone was too tired from their respective late night heists to get much actual work done. Junkrat kept nodding off into microsleeps until Roadhog forced him to take a nap.

He woke up to find Roadhog and Jae-won in the middle of a terse conversation.

“What do you even get out of this?” Roadhog was asking as Junkrat sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was still groggy, but Jae-won’s quirked eyebrow didn’t escape his notice.

“Personal satisfaction, recognition, glory... do you want me to go on?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You fail to understand the fame I’d get in my business circles if I was the one to hack Yongary. Regardless, I’d like to see if I can do it. I enjoy a good challenge.”

Junkrat listened in as he reattached his prosthetics, having taken them off to let his limbs breathe while he slept. He still never felt complete without them on, his phantom limbs aching with nothing to act as a stand-in.

“You better be able to,” Roadhog grunted.

“Oh, don’t doubt me. I’ve always succeeded brilliantly at my challenges. Now...” Jae-won steepled his hands. “I need more information about our objective here. Infect the omnic, overwrite its source code, and program it to...” He spread his hands wide. “...do what?”

Roadhog looked over at Junkrat. “Oh good, you’re up.” Normally Roadhog would have made some quip, hoped I’d get that peace and quiet for a little longer, but Jae-won was edging into dangerous territory. Junkrat was more than happy to provide backup, even though it usually proved to be hit or miss.

“Sure am!” he said, bouncing to his feet. “We talkin’ about our lil project?”

“Yes, I was just asking about what it is you intend to do when we hack into this thing.”

Junkrat rested his elbows on Roadhog’s shoulder and leaned heavily against his back. “Two things, really. We’ve got a program of our own, so one: execute it, no questions asked, no peekin’ at it. Two: make the bot off itself. Just...” he drew his thumb across his throat with a threatening noise. Roadhog tensed up beneath him, unsure of where Junkrat was going with this. His latter request wasn’t strictly the truth; they wanted Yongary to influence other omnics to kill themselves, but telling Jae-won this would expose their god program. The best they could hope for was to have Jae-won write the code to do so, shove it into their god program’s source code themselves, and pray that it worked. Junkrat patted Roadhog reassuringly, a silent trust me.

Jae-won’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You want me to run your program without knowing what it contains?”

“That’s the idea, yeah. Can you do that? Keep it so ya don’t have to go poking yer nose in it to make it work?”

“I mean, yes, it could function as a separate packet, but aren’t you... going to tell me what it is?”

“Nope!”

Jae-won folded his arms over his chest. “Just tell me, it’d make all of our lives easier.”

“Yeah, nah. Y’know, for a black market programmer guy, y’sure are nosy,” Junkrat commented. “You never have a client tell ya to do something, no questions asked?”

“That’s different,” Jae-won said. “They’re paying me.”

“We’re paying ya too! In satisfaction, remember?” Junkrat snickered.

Jae-won sighed, exasperated, but he caved. “All right, fine.”

Roadhog pulled Junkrat outside under the pretence of taking a leak. “We need him out of the picture,” he said bluntly. “Just for a bit.” He glanced at the door, apparently convinced that Jae-won was listening in.

Junkrat scratched the back of his head. “I mean, he’s gotta go home sometime, don’t he?”

It was cold enough that Junkrat could see the puff of air from the filters of Roadhog’s gas mask as he exhaled. “I already told him he could sleep here. Until the project’s done. Because I don’t trust him and he doesn’t trust us.”

“Yeah, that’s reasonable.” They were not a trustworthy duo. “But lookit him! A fashionable bloke like that’s not gonna stay in those clothes the whole time. He goes home, we take care of whatever we wanna do.” He could think of a few things he’d like to take care of, but he suspected Roadhog had more practical ideas in mind. “We got this!”

“Do we?”

“Hey, hey,” Junkrat nudged Roadhog in the side with his elbow. “Ya doubtin’ me, big guy?”

“No. Just wary. Something you could use a little more of.”

Junkrat blew a raspberry. “Pfft, wariness.” He made it sound like the most asinine concept known to man.

He hopped off the rubbish bin, but Roadhog stopped him before he could open the door to their hovel. “I’m not done. What are you thinking, asking him to kill off that omnic?”

“No, no, it’s okay, I got it all figured out! All we really need from him is the commands that’ll make an omnic want to kill itself. We just take those and stick ‘em where they need to go instead, and she’ll be right!”

With no facial expression to gauge from, he couldn’t tell whether Roadhog doubted him or not, but his tone was neutral when he said, “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Junkrat grinned. “Bloody oath, I am!”

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #overwatch #origins #voyages #my fanfiction

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bbuckyybbarness-blog · 7 years

Text

It’s Always Been You PT.2

Summary: You and Bucky had instantly clicked as soon as you arrived at the Avengers Facility, and soon became best friends. He trusted you implicitly and ever since heard you sing, he felt himself falling faster as the days rolled on. So when you start to pull away from him, he feels betrayed and upset. Thinking it’s something to do with him and his past.

Little did he know that it was nothing to do with his past, but your shame in your body, your feelings of self-loathing and your ever growing love for your best friend.

Bucky + Plus Size Reader

STORY TW: Weight Issues, Fat Shaming, Swearing, Violence, Smut (Maybe? Idk yet)

CHAPTER TW: Weight Issues, Low self-esteem, Swearing.

A/N: Hey! Thank you guys so much for the amazing response that part one received, I couldn’t wait to write part 2 and upload it! So here it is! Thanks Dolls! - Rae xo

PS. If anyone wants to be tagged in this do let me know! and if you have any requests or anything, my inbox is always open! Ok, I’ll let you carry on now! xo

Word count: 1188

PART 1

2: This Might Be Fun After All

Whilst brushing your teeth, you made the mistake of looking at yourself in the mirror. You soon found yourself studying your features, scrutinising every part of yourself. Your nose was too big, your eyes are too far apart, your lips are too thin, your eyebrows are completely different…you could go on for hours. You turned your attention to your belly, prodding and pulling it every which way, you sighed heavily and let your hands and head fall. You felt revolting, screwing your eyes shut to push the thought from your head, you spat out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth.

Ever since the breakfast incident, you hardly left your room, and rarely went into any of the communal areas at the facility. If you absolutely had to venture out into the world outside of your bedroom, you’d wear big baggy clothes to hide yourself with. This didn’t go un-noticed by your super soldier best friend.

“Why don’t you ever leave your room anymore Y/N?”

“It’s just easier that way Buck,” you gulped, not wanting to talk to him about this anymore, “People don’t have to see me and I won’t get hurt by their words or stares, it’s a win/win.” He didn’t believe you for one moment, and you knew it.

“No, it’s not angel. You’re cutting yourself off from everyone, it’s no good for you! You need to-“ he was cut off by a rather fast knock at your door.

“Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute please?” Stark.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m not wearing 40 layers, you might bring your lunch up if you see me this way.” You quipped back, still angry and hurt at the way he talked to you. You hadn’t spoken to Tony for a week, unless you were on a mission together, and even then, you kept it strictly professional. His eye roll behind the door was audible.

“Come on Siren,” he used your avengers title, “I’m not leaving until you come out, you can’t hole up in there forever! I’ll just hang out here until you answer me.” You knew he was serious, so with a huff, you stalked over to your door, and nearly pulled open off it’s hinges, startling Tony.

“What?” you spat at him. He gestured, asking for permission to enter your room, you rolled your eyes and stepped aside, allowing him access to your room. As you moved, you revealed that Bucky was standing there. Both his arms crossed as if here were a doorman at a club. Protecting you, you’d like to believe. The sight of Bucky the Bodyguard put Tony on edge as you could see him physically tense up.

“Does Metal Mickey over here always have to be by your side?” He nervously laughed, you didn’t find it funny, “Wow, tough crowd” He nervously scratched the back of his head, thinking of what to say.

“What did you want Stark?” Bucky broke the silence, his voice deep and menacing. You’d never heard his voice like that before…did it suddenly get hot in here?

“I, I wanted to apologise to Y/N for what happened the other day.” he stated, turning to you, “Y/N, what I said to you was wrong, it was beyond the realm of wrong. I was tired from the mission and cranky because I had so much to catch up on and I know that doesn’t excuse me being a colossal asshole to you, and I am sorry, I’m truly and honestly sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you in the way that I did, and I really want to make it up to you because I feel awful, I can’t even believe I did that to you-“ he wasn’t coming up for air, and you knew he wouldn’t stop talking until you’d forgiven him.

“Tony, Stop. You’re going to run out of breath,” you chuckled, “I’m not saying it’s ok, because it isn’t, what you said really hurt me but, I accept your apology” you smiled graciously at him, and extended you hand for him to shake. He took your hand and pulled you in for a hug.

“I am sorry Siren, honestly” his voice cracking, you almost thought he was crying.

“I know Tony, I know.” You patted him on the back and broke away from the hug. You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and started to feel like your old self again. You glanced over at Bucky, his eyes burning into the back of Starks head, but softening when his stare met you. “Right boys, if you’d excuse me, I’m gonna jump in the shower” you smiled, turning to go into the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll just leave then,” Tony pointed at the door and went to leave, before turning back around to both you and Bucky, “Oh! Almost forgot, There’s a party tonight. From the city in celebration of the work we do for it. It’s black tie, obviously” his eyes glancing over to your wardrobe, “You’re both coming, right?”

“Erm, no, I’m alright actually Tony, I don’t have a dress” you looked down at the floor, embarrassed to tell your friends the reason why. You never saw the point in buying dresses and skirts and things like that, you never wore them, so why waste your money on them?

“Seriously doll, you don’t own a dress?” Bucky chimed in, amazed at the fact that you had only just shared with him.

“No, I’ve never needed to before,’ you stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Without a moment’s hesitation you heard the billionaire call out into the air.

“F R I D A Y?”

“Yes Mr Stark, how can I help you today?” the polite voice called out.

“Get Nikki the stylist and her whole team over here, as soon as possible please. We’re giving Siren here a makeover”

Tony looked over at you and Bucky, meeting his eyes were two very shocked faces. You opened your mouth as if in protest and Tony hushed you with a finger and you shut up.

“I don’t want to hear it Y/L/N. This is my way of making it up to you ok?” you were about to open your mouth again but he cut you off, “OK?” he was a bit more firm with you this time.

“Ok Tony,” he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, you shouted down the corridor after him, “Thank you!” He waved it off and you smiled happily, it was nice that you two were on talking terms again.

“Looks like you gotta hurry up with that shower doll. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you!” Bucky laughed in disbelief at what was about to happen. He’d only ever seen you wear jeans or sweatpants and a t-shirt before, now you’re going be all prettied up! He was secretly curious about what you’d look like, “C’ya later Angel” he pulled you into a quick hug and pecked you on the cheek as he was leaving your room, leaving you to enjoy your day of pampering alone.

This might be fun.

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