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ssa-sugar-tits · 4 years

Text

sweetest sins

summary: spencer reid finds that his ex girlfriend-- who happens to be the chief of police on a case he's working-- is now married, sparking past feelings.

content warnings: lowkey hate sex lol, jealousy/possessiveness, affairs, swearing, fingering, penetrative sex, public sex/risk kink, degradation

a/n: i'm 100% acab, anti-cheating, and condone safe sex but... it's for the porn.

The tangle of wild love and lies between you and Spencer Reid started the way any other day did.

JJ glided past the bullpen humming and announced the always familiar words. We've got a case. It hadn't truly been a day to remember until they arrived at the precinct.

The blonde liason extends her fragile hand to greet you and gives you a friendly yet professional grin, her pearly white teeth sparkling.

"I'm Agent Jareau, we spoke on the phone." you nod and smile. "This is Agent Morgan and Doctor Reid, the rest of our team went straight to the crime scene."

Shaking hands kindly, the agents standing beside you look to each other one another seeing Spencer shake yours without hesitation. He lingers, gaze dropping to the expensive wedding ring on your hand.

Bitter, dark chocolate jealousy is all he tastes.

You turn away and escort the profilers to an empty room.

"It's good to have you agents, you can set up here. If you need anything just let me or one of my officers know." you chirp before leaving.

Spencer's left staring at you as you walk away, watching the way your hair, that he'd give anything to lock his fingers between, spreads on your tight black top and how your legs move gracefully beneath the white skirt you wear.

"You two know each other kid?" Derek questions.

"Something like that." he breathes out, lowly.

Know each other? Loved each other. And never once did he imagine it'd end or that you'd move on so unabashedly. Never once did he think you'd stop loving him.

And you didn't. Contact with Agent Jareau meant you knew the BAU was coming, you knew Spencer was coming. You'd kissed your gentle husband goodbye, knowing you were about to show off how your clothes hugged your curves and how your wedding ring shines like a star on your well kept hand. You'd never worn a skirt that short to work before, it sits mere inches above your knee exposing the skin of your thighs. The skin you wanted his bites of love to be covered in.

You never intended on acting on any old feelings.

"Did you know?"

Speak of the devil. You're interrupted by the handsome doctor's flustered voice and messy curls.

"Know what, doll?" You ask innocently. He shuts the door behind him, carefully as to not bring any attention to your office.

"Is this really what you want Y/N? To taunt me? During a federal case nonetheless."

His voice sounds like heaven rolling off his sweet tongue. Your innocent attempts to rectify the past with jealousy turn to a devious test of loyalty. Loyalty to your husband or Spencer? You're not sure. What you are sure of is the lustful stare in his caramel eyes when you lean forward, giving him a full view of your cleavage.

"What do you want Spence?"

Drops of sweat prick his forehead and his clothes are suddenly much too tight.

"Nothing to do with you," he lies sternly.

You look him dead in the eye as you slide your ring off your finger and let it clink to the floor. Standing slowly, you walk up to him and smirk at his desperately heavy breath. Inches away from his face, you pull him by his jaw and whisper.

"No fun," you pout and trail a finger down his chest. "Come on, know-it-all, why don't you tell me instead. What do I want?"

His hands find their rightful place on your hips and he answers you, playing into your antics.

"You want me to feel bad, like I'm the one that ruined our relationship."

You hum in agreement, your hands playing with his curls as he continues.

"You want me to act like I wronged you which in all honesty would have been more likely. Women are more likely to be loyal to an individual, it's primitive instinct."

He keeps going when you only chew on your red glossed lip in response.

"You want me to pretend we're in love."

That caught your attention.

It's the worst lie he's told if he's going to say he doesn't love you.

"We are in love Spencer." you correct.

"You call this love?" he scoffs.

"I do," you nod, "It just doesn't burn brightly enough for us to be together."

Cradling your hair and stroking the crook of your neck, he looks into your eyes in terror of what hes about to do.

"I don't understand,"

"That's a first." you scoff.

"I thought you moved on," he begs for you to turn away, say you can't do it.

He knows it's wrong, he'd be doing what you did to him.

"I did move on," you confirm.

"Oh." is all he musters before he screams at himself not to give in.

Fuck this. Who can say no to you?

There's a second where he wants to turn away but he cuts away his own chances when he presses his soft, hungry lips against yours. Closing the gap between the two of you makes you fist his button-up and moan deeply into his warm mouth. He lifts you, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you explore each other's mouths again after so long. A growing rhythm creates wet and lewd sounds while you dance a passionate dance for dominance.

"You are such a liar. I may be the one that fucked up," you gasp between needy kisses, "but you're lying more to yourself than I ever did to you. Saying you don't want me."

He slams you onto your desk, knocking over sensitive case files and decorative frames.

"And what if I do Y/N? That ship has sailed." he growls, once more shoving his tongue blissfully into your mouth as if it's the most delicious taste he's ever had. Pushing him away only to tease him, he bites your lip ravenously as if to tell you not this time. His hands find themselves wandering among your thighs, pooling with wetness already.

"God Y/N, if I knew I still made you such a mess I'd have come running back a year ago."

"Shut up and touch me," you command and he complies, slipping a swift finger inside of your soaked core. You bite the soft skin on his shoulder to stifle a deep moan prompted by his curling fingers.

"It takes an average of 13 minutes for a woman to orgasm, Y/N. The way you're clenching around my fingers makes me think I can get you faster."

"Mm," you cry into his neck as he curls his fingers inside of you like an artist, moving quickly and fucking beautifully. The orgasm comes quickly, so much better than the man you married could ever pleasure you.

"Does that husband of yours get to see you like this? He can't make you cum like I do, can he? You teased me since the moment I got here, answer me."

"Ugh no Spence," you whine pitifully. "Not a single other person can touch me like you do." He smirks, satisfied with that answer and takes his fingers out of you, sucking your dripping juices off of himself slowly.

"Off the desk," he moans, still tasting your cum and worshipping it like a tropical smoothie on a hell hot day. Bending yourself over without instruction, he hikes your skirt up and you shiver at the sound of him unbuckling his belt. A sound you haven't heard in far too long. You yelp when he enters you and sigh in pleasure as you adjust to his length.

"You feel so good Y/N. Even better than I remember," he moans and thrusts slowly, sensually. His hands leave marks on your ass and you push out willfully.

"God," you take in the feeling and then laugh softly. "Don't you have a whatever memory? Shouldnt you remember exactly what this is like?"

Now, you know exactly what his eidetic memory consists of but why not toy with him? As if the risk of getting caught by an entire precinct isn't enough fun. Your inability to stay serious even in a passionate moment like this only irritates him, making him thrust harder and faster into you.

"Is this it? You want me to fuck you harder for being stupid?" He growls, skin slapping louder and louder and you struggle to keep your moans quiet.

"Yes," you stretch out with your eyes closed, unable to form words anymore.

"You are stupid. If intelligence could be quantified, you'd be an idiot." His pace inside of you screams with heavenly pleasure and rage. "A stupid, lying, slut. All you've ever been."

"Mhm, yeah," you babble, never wanting the moment to end.

"Fuck, come for me like the slut you are," he instructs and you let go, moaning loudly. His thumb shuts your mouth, stroking your lips and letting you taste remnants of yourself. Soon after, he explodes inside of you too and fills you with the final act of what you've done.

Panting with your hair sticking out and moistened with sweat, you sit up and pull your skirt back down, smoothing it out. You lean into Spencer's side and sigh.

"I missed you, princess," he mumbles.

"I know you did, Spence."

Hopping off the desk, you fix your hair and stop inches from the doorknob.

"You coming?" you smile, not glancing back at him.

"You forgot your ring, idiot."

Shit. You smile back at him anyway, still bursting with confidence.

"Thanks."

Slipping it back on, you exit the office and join the profilers back in the room. The glances tell you they have a slight idea of what happened.

And the glances fall back down to the ring on your finger.

The glances, the sneaking, the lying.

It's all just part of it.

Part of the sweetest sins you've ever tasted.

masterlist

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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the-odd-job · 4 years

Text

Up in Flames chapter 4 - Cogs (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Skywarp, Rumble, Frenzy, Vortex, Onslaught, Thundercracker, Starscream, Swindle Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 3144

( Previous )

“Ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Sideswipe grinned back at Skywarp. The Seeker was standing respectfully right outside the door to their quarters, not stepping in because he hadn’t been invited.

Wasn’t everyone here just so polite. Though, a part of it might’ve just been self preservation instinct, if Skywarp possessed some of that. The twins had slagged him more times than anyone would care to count, so did he really want to give them a reason to do that again by overstepping his boundaries, or something?

Though that might be giving himself a bit too much credit, Sunstreaker thought. He knew he had a reputation, well earned one, but expecting the likes of Skywarp to take heed of it was just… A little too far out there.

So maybe the damned wing thing just had actual manners.

But he had promised them a tour of the Victory, and apparently they were going to get it. Skywarp nodded to Sideswipe’s agreement, then gestured them along and started down the hall. “This part of the ship has quarters in three decks and several hallways. This is the lowest deck of those. Seekers’ quarters are on the highest deck of the three, and combiner teams have the middle deck.”

“So we’re just kinda the… Overflow?” Sideswipe asked as they walked. Most of the Decepticon forces on Earth were either Seekers or combiners, with just the odd mech that didn’t fall into either category. They expected that the majority of the quarters around theirs were empty.

“Kinda, yeah,” Skywarp shrugged, but continued chipperly right after, “But don’t let it get you down! You’re as important as everyone else!”

Sideswipe laughed. Sunstreaker huffed. “More than, if we fought for Megatron,” he growled. Skywarp’s wings flicked, but he didn’t seem confused so maybe he got the point.

Point being that even Megatron had acknowledged they were some of the best warriors still alive. If they’d fought for Megatron… Pits, maybe they could’ve turned the tide of the war, at least here on Earth. The Autobots and Decepticons had been pretty evenly matched with them on the Autobot side. How would those scales tip now that they didn’t fight for the Autobots?

How would they have tipped if they’d started to fight for the Decepticons?

But that wasn’t happening. He might’ve been carrying the fragging warlord’s offspring, and that may have forced him to desert the side he’d fought for the length of the war so far, but that hardly meant he held any loyalty for the mech, or had any desire to risk his life for him.

Even if it meant they didn’t get to fight.

Who knew, maybe their desire to battle would eventually win over, and they’d fight for Megatron just to get to fight.

But on waiting for that day…

Instead of going up the ramps like they’d half expected, Skywarp instead took the ramp down.

All the way down.

“This is the lowest level of the ship,” the Seeker told them as they came to the bottom of the ramp and were greeted with a hallway even more dimly lit than the rest. The air was musky, heavy with the scent of spilled energon and misery. “The brig is here, as well as Vortex’s, uh… Workspace.”

Torture chamber, in other words. The brothers shared a glance. They’d heard enough about the rotorflier who was a terror just on the battlefield—nevermind in a space where he was in absolute control and you were at his complete mercy.

You needed to be one big time masochist to find that fun.

“Seriously, you don’t want to end up here,” Skywarp said before he turned around and ushered them back up the ramp.

“Just the brig or..? ‘Cause we know brigs pretty well. They’re not so bad,” Sideswipe asked even as they climbed back up.

Skywarp snorted. “You’re lucky if it’s just the brig you get.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but it was Sideswipe who spoke up again, voicing their pulse of disquiet. “Wait, you mean we have to worry about Vortex too? Even though we’re on his side?” That was… A disturbing thought, to say the least.

But Skywarp confirmed it with a nod. “Megatron doesn’t mess around with punishments, is all. And Vortex enjoys it, so…”

…Right. Welcome to the Decepticons where you could get tortured by your own side! Wasn’t that just a cheery thought. What did that spell for them? Known troublemakers?

Sideswipe was hard at work reevaluating his priorities and the worth of making as much of a menace of himself as he’d been among the Autobots. The Autobot punishments were rarely that much of deterrents. They were all softies, and it showed in what they thought were appropriate repercussions.

Decepticons, from the sounds of it… Followed more in the footsteps of the Pits. It made sense. Many of the Decepticons at the start of the war had been Pit fighters. Didn’t it pretty easily follow that the mannerism and culture of the Pits would travel over? Punishments included?

And they knew a thing or two about the kind of punishments the Pit masters had thought appropriate.

Sideswipe was chewing on his lip thoughtfully, but when they got to the top of the next ramp, there were others who were headed for it.

A certain rotorflier and his team leader.

But they were the ones to step out of Skywarp’s way, rather than the other way around. That was… Surprising. Although, Skywarp was trine to the Second in Command. Did that make him rank higher than even Onslaught?

Pit if he knew, but he got the impression that the Decepticons were pretty serious about pecking order.

Vortex’s rotors were twitching in a way that looked a lot like amusement. Sunstreaker glared at him, and they twitched harder.

Onslaught, meanwhile, inclined his helm at them. “Allow me to properly welcome you to the Decepticons, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker.”

“Thanks?” Sideswipe hazarded, and was Onslaught amused now too? Slaggit but why did everyone need to be wearing both visors and masks? Just one of those wasn’t enough? Had to hide your expressions entirely? If they hadn’t bothered to control their fields at least, but neither Vortex nor Onslaught was letting a hell of a lot be read.

The Combaticon leader landed his attention squarely on Sunstreaker next, that much he could tell just by where his face was directed. “Defecting was a tactically solid maneuver, let me say. I congratulate you for the smart move.”

Sunstreaker frowned. Tactically solid? Smart move?

Had he had any other options?

“Are you teasing me?” he growled, rounding in on the tank. Skywarp’s wings flicked up and he glanced at Sideswipe, but when Sideswipe didn’t react, Skywarp seemed to relax a bit too.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t a smart move, antagonizing Onslaught of all mecha. He didn’t have a lot of chances of winning against him in a fair fight.

Maybe if he glitched..?

Something to consider.

But Onslaught didn’t take offense. In fact, his field, this time, actually flared with amusement that he didn’t bother hiding.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “Stop being a fragging coward and show your face. Let’s see what kind of a slagging smile you’re wearing under that mask.”

“Feisty,” Onslaught commented. “I can see why Lord Megatron likes you.”

“I really don’t give a frag about how much Lord Megatron likes or dislikes me,” Sunstreaker growled back, his servos balling into fists. Just where should he hit to make the biggest point? He couldn’t reach Onslaught’s face, although cracking his visor would have been greatly satisfying.

“Maybe you should,” the tank rumbled back, never losing that damn amusement. “You’re protected as long as you remain in his good graces, but what of if you don’t? You refuse to fight for him. What good are you short of an entertaining berth toy?”

Crotch. That’s what Sunstreaker chose to hit. Onslaught’s interface cover dented pleasantly under his fist, and although the tank didn't make a sound, he jerked in surprise.

Good enough.

Skywarp made an alarmed sound behind him, but Sunstreaker stared up into Onslaught’s visor without a trace of fear. The red band flashed at him, but Onslaught straightened without returning the gesture. “Hm. Prove me wrong, won’t you, Sunstreaker?”

With that the tank turned to leave. Vortex was chortling, wiggling his digits at them in parting. “Do make sure to come to visit me at some point, twins. We’ll have so much fun,” the rotorflier giggled before following after his team leader.

“Man,” Skywarp breathed once the two were well out of sight. “You have a spine of steel, Sunstreaker? You know he could probably slag you.”

“I’m aware,” Sunstreaker growled. Sideswipe stepped over and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

“That’s Sunny for you! More anger than good sense,” his twin giggled like some cracked Vortex copy. Sunstreaker rolled his optics.

“Uh-huh,” was the sound Skywarp made, by all appearances not in disagreement.

They headed up the ramps next, and Skywarp pointed out the other hallways with living quarters, but didn’t turn to any of them. Instead he led the way down a different hallway. “I think you visited the repair bay already? It’s right over there, and this part of the ship also has labs and storage areas. Most of those are off limits without permission.”

Reasonable enough.

Higher still they went up a different set of ramps. “Here’s the offices,” Skywarp said as they turned a corner and nearly ran into Swindle. Their fellow grounder danced out of the way and a collision was avoided.

Then his brother and the damn swindler were already grinning at each other, bumping fists in greeting. “Sideswipe! My good friend, I was wondering when I’d see you around.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Riiiight. Don’t kid, you’re just sad you don’t have a contact in the ‘Bots anymore.

Swindle shrugged. “True, I feel like I lost a good business partner. Unless you’re still willing to strike some deals?”

“Now why would I?” Sideswipe grinned. “We’re on the same side now, ain’t we? If anything, we should start working together. Talk some humans out of their goods, eh?”

“Isn’t that a thought.”

Sunstreaker facepalmed as the two businessmechs started to talk money. If the Autobots had known Sideswipe regularly struck up deals with Swindle… Well, they had never been the most loyal ‘Bots there were. And it wasn’t as if Sunstreaker hadn’t benefited from that. Both Swindle and Sideswipe were rather proficient at procuring goods for entirely unfair prices. Sunstreaker had gotten quite many things for himself thanks to what the two could accomplish.

And now they wanted to work together.

The humans wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Let’s talk more when you have the time,” Swindle said in parting, and Sideswipe gave him a thumbs up before they set to follow after Skywarp again.

“You did deals with him even when you were Autoscum?” Skywarp asked curiously.

“Ayup!” Sideswipe confirmed, a bit proudly. “And no one ever found out.”

“Cool.” Was the Seeker a little impressed? Well, he had reason to be. Semi-regularly going behind the command’s back without them ever becoming none the wiser to what Sideswipe was up to… Yeah, that took some guile.

“Anyway, you were in the rec room already, it’s right here. Entrance to one of the engine rooms is down that hall. And up here–”

Another ramp up, partway down the hallway, “–Is the comms room. You were here too already, right?”

“We were,” Sideswipe confirmed, but they peeked in anyway. Soundwave was present, not much of a surprise there.

But so were Rumble and Frenzy, and the two looked up and waved at them cheerily. “‘Cons didn’t have enough twins already!” Frenzy cackled at them.

“How’s the Megadick?” Rumble asked, and then both of the nutjobs laughed even harder.

“Pretty good. You’d die from it,” Sunstreaker commented, giving a meaningful look at the cassettes small stature.

“Sure would!” Frenzy agreed.

“How about you?” Rumble asked, this time clearly addressing Sideswipe, and still grinning like a total loonie. “Gotten a taste of it yet?”

Sideswipe sighed dramatically. “Nope, I’ve been denied. Maybe one day, though!”

The smaller set of twins laughed even harder, and seriously, did they find absolutely everything hilarious?

“Rumble. Frenzy. Return,” Soundwave spoke up, and Sunstreaker could’ve sworn he was beyond exasperated despite the flatness of his field and voice.

“Aw, but boss–!”

“Return.”

The two grumbled but nevertheless did as they were told. Soundwave opened his chest for them and his symbiotes folded into their altmodes and entered. The TIC’s chest compartment closed tightly after, and he went back to work without another word.

Righty.

Skywarp snickered before the led the way further. “Here’s Megatron’s throne room–”

“Seriously?” Sideswipe interrupted their guide at that, glancing at the Seeker incredulously. “He has one? I thought that was just a baseless rumor.”

Skywarp blinked at them, equally confused. “What, the Prime doesn’t have one?”

“Nooooo?” Sideswipe ventured, question marks practically dangling above his helm. “OP and thrones barely fit in the same sentence.”

“But… He’s the Prime,” Skywarp said—argued?

“ Yeah,” because that much was true, he was the Prime, “but like. He’s super big on being on the same level as everyone else,” Sideswipe responded. And wow, wasn’t here just a bit of a difference between the leaders of the factions. Not that they hadn’t known about it already, but… Throne room. An actual, legit throne room on a goddamn ship.

That really just drove the whole point home. Optimus wanted to be on an equal footing with his troops, as little as that worked because everyone still stupidly looked up to him, but Megatron? Didn’t seem to make any effort in that direction.

Rather it gave the impression that Megatron was very willing and even eager to establish himself as the sovereign ruler, and remind everyone that that was what he was.

“That’s weird,” Skywarp noted, and it sounded like he really meant that. Sideswipe shrugged. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but… Yeah. Optimus had never really been the most traditional Prime. Even the Decepticons had to know that much, but apparently they hadn’t realized just how true it was.

“Anyways,” the Seeker continued, coming to an open doorway. “Here’s the command center.”

Starscream and Thundercracker glanced up as they peered inside. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the Ark’s command center, just… Bleaker.

“Isn’t it the carrier,” Starscream sneered at them. Thundercracked shot his trinemate a disapproving look that the Winglord entirely ignored.

“Isn’t it the screechybird,” Sunstreaker returned, smirking at the way Starscream’s wings hiked up in offense.

Starscream didn’t entirely take the bait, though. “You know he is just going to cast you aside after the sparkling emerges,” he said instead, looking back at his screen like he didn’t care.

But if he didn’t care, he would have shut his mouth. He didn’t, though. “You mean nothing to him.”

“I know,” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms. “And he means nothing to me. How is that a problem?”

Thundercracker looked a bit surprised, although Sunstreaker couldn’t guess what for. Was it any secret he and Megatron were nothing more than a fling? They enjoyed each other’s frames, and now Megatron had added interest in him because of the new life he was nurturing, but that was it. That was all it had ever been.

And frankly, he had no interest in turning it into anything more than that. He was here because he had nowhere else to go, and who knew what would happen once he was no longer chained down by the sparklet in his frame, but he didn’t need Megatron in his future. The sparkling did, however.

And it was his sparkling too. He wanted it to have a future, and it would have one with its sire. Probably. Not that he knew what Megatron actually had planned for it.

Chances were it would be better than the alternatives, at least.

“It isn’t, I suppose,” Starscream conceded, still refusing to look at them. Skywarp stood to the side a bit awkwardly. Thundercracker was frowning, as was Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe didn’t look to have a care in the world, as he rarely did.

“Then we’re not in disagreement,” Sunstreaker said, and walked off back the way they’d come.

“Drop it, Star,” he could hear Thundercracker say over an aggravated whine of thrusters that probably belonged to Starscream. Sideswipe followed him, and after a pause, so did Skywarp.

“Thanks for the tour, ‘Warp,” Sideswipe said once they’d reached the intersection of the particular hallway, giving their guide an easy grin.

“You’re welcome!” Skywarp chirped back, apparently putting the command center incident behind him already.

Sunstreaker had a question, though. “Is there something between Megatron and Starscream?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Skywarp answered with a shake of his helm. “I mean, they interface sometimes, like’s only natural, but there’s not like, feelings there or anything.”

“So he’s just an asshole for the sake of being an asshole, and not out of jealousy?” Sunstreaker cocked an optical ridge.

“You’re kind of an asshole for the sake of being an asshole too, aren’t you?” Sideswipe snickered at him. Skywarp tried hard not to smile, but Sunstreaker wasn’t about to take offense. That was the truth, wasn’t it?

But when Skywarp answered him, it was with, “I’m not gonna say he’s not jealous, but he just doesn’t like sharing attention, and you have a part of Megatron’s attention now.” The Seeker shrugged, with wings and shoulders both. “It’s not ‘cause he’d have feelings for Megatron or anything like that.”

“With how poorly Megatron and Starscream get along during battles, I’d have thought he’d be pleased to not have all of that attention on him anymore,” Sideswipe said, tilting his helm.

“They don’t get along, but they’ve got this… It’s weird,” Skywarp tried to explain, gesturing with his servos without much clarifying anything.

“It’s weird, gotcha,” Sideswipe nodded. They absolutely did not get it, but sometimes relationships fell in a weird, unexplainable area. If they got to observe it some, maybe they’d get it eventually.

Skywarp opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted. “Skywarp!” Starscream’s voice came from the command center. The purple Seeker straightened and glanced that way, before giving them an apologetic smile. “You’ll find your way back, right?”

“Yeah, we will,” Sideswipe smiled back, shooing him off with his servos. “You go see what Screamer has for you.”

Skywarp snickered, but bid them goodbye and jogged back down the hall. The twins stood in place for a while before Sideswipe shrugged and headed back towards the ramps. Might as well hit the rec room, not like they had anything better to do. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to get to know their so called comrades some more?

Sunstreaker wasn’t so sure about that, but agreed to the plan regardless.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #sideswipe #skywarp #starscream #thundercracker #swindle #soundwave #onslaught #rumble #frenzy #vortex #fic #2020 #up in flames #ashes

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

Number Cannot Be Reached

Part Five of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Naughty, Naughty Smut!

You stood in front of the door, biting your lower lip and staring at the message on your phone. You'd been up for hours debating whether or not this could wait until morning. Waking up Steve Rogers in the middle of the was not something you wanted to do. Still, every instinct in your being screamed to do something.

Taking a deep breath, you rapped on the door a couple times and stood back to wait. It only took a moment for Cap to open the door wearing old sweatpants and a tank. He looked half asleep until he got a look at you. His eyes perked up and he stood a little straighter.

"Y/N," his voice sounded rough with sleep. "Are you okay?"

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but I just need to..." you stalled, not sure how to explain the problem without opening a can of worms.

“Wait,” he stepped aside. “Please, come in. Sit down.”

Moving over to the sofa, you lowered yourself onto the edge of the seat. “I’m really sorry to wake you, Steve.”

“It’s alright.” He joined you on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

“Okay,” You rubbed your forehead. “I know that I don’t have clearance to know what Bucky is doing on some of his missions.”

“I don’t really care what he tells you. I trust his judgement.” He shrugged.

“Thanks for that.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. The frown returned quickly. “Thing is, I don’t know what he’s doing this time or where he is. I need to know if you do.”

“Why?”

“We’ve worked out keeping in touch. Codes for texts. Call times.” You turned in your seat to face him. “This morning he didn’t answer. I send a message, but he never answered. Then he never called when he was supposed to call tonight.”

“Y/N, I’m sure that...”

You cut him off. “Steve, when I tried to call after he didn’t call me, I got this message.”

Showing him the phone, he read ‘This number cannot be reached. The number may have been disconnected or is no longer in service.’

“I know enough about Tony’s infrastructure. That message would only show up if someone deleted his phone from Stark’s database, if the satellite is totally down, or if someone is ghosting his communications.”

Steve handed you back your phone, his face growing hard.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Something is wrong.” You found yourself holding the phone close to your chest. “Bucky would have told me if he was burning his number. He would have sent a message. Hell, we have a plan for that.”

“What?” Steve stood up to get his own phone from the kitchen counter. “What plan?”

“If I need him and he’s not supposed to communicate, I have a burner phone that I’m supposed to use to text him a bogus confirmation. If it’s medical, I send a prescription refill confirmation. If it’s something here in the tower, I send a spa confirmation. If it’s something else and I need him to call, I send a package delivery confirmation. He uses the same ones, but if he’s going off the grid, he sends me a cancellation of services confirmation. If we use C to confirm in the message, then we can call the burner phone. If we use a number to confirm, then there’s no contact.”

“Wow. You guys have it covered.” Steve dialed the two numbers he had for Bucky. Both kicked back the same message. “Okay, yeah. Something’s not right.”

“Steve. I’m not supposed to know. Bucky wasn’t supposed to set up our communication like he did.” You slumped back into the seat. “I know you’re going to go do everything you can, and I don’t want to put you in a bad situation-”

His hand rubbed your shoulder. “I’m going to make sure you’re kept in the loop. In fact, I’ll go have a talk with Tony about your clearance.”

“Thank you.” You got up and he held out his arms for a tight hug.

“Try to get some rest. Keep those phones close.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”

As soon as you left, Steve threw on some clothes before leaving for the command room. The halls were empty and dark, only the building’s AI lighting his way. Upon entering the command room, default start up protocols began booting computers and turning on monitors.

“Good morning, Captain.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filled the room. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I need an update on Bucky and Clint’s mission.”

“According to their last communique, they tracked Mihov to Tasucu, Turkey anticipating he would lead them to the target within 24 hours.”

“Can you reach Barton?” Steve leaned on the smart table.

“Agent Barton’s telephone has been deactivated.”

“Other means?”

“No, Captain. His computer’s satellite connection is offline. There are no other mobility devices assigned for this mission.”

“Dammit.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., begin bio-locator protocol for Agency Barton and Seargent Barnes, authorization Rogers two-one-papa-six-juliet.”

“Yes, Captain. Search in progress.”

He moved to the window, looking out at the night sky. Twenty-four hours. They’d dealt with longer periods off line. At least they had a solid time frame of their disappearance, thanks to the communications arrangement Bucky set up. Still, a lot of ground could be covered in that amount of time.

“What the hell has you up at this seriously un-godly hour?” Tony walked in.

“Clint and Buck are missing.” Steve frowned. “Somehow their phones, everything are totally unresponsive to the network.”

“What?” Tony called up a virtual screen, flying through data and system architecture at a pace that made Steve dizzy. “Son of a bitch.”

Cap just gave him a ‘what’ look.

“They weren’t destroyed. I have a damage report protocol on all our toys. They’re not just powered off. I can power them up from here. They’ve just been, wiped. Whoever did this knew what would trigger an alert and how to make them unreachable.” Tony turned fully to Steve. “How did you know?”

Steve lowered himself in a chair. “Y/N.”

He explained the system you and Bucky worked out. Tony chuckled. “Well, the Doc has it down.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “We need to talk about her security clearance.”

“Hey,” Tony held up his hands. “I’m the last one to bitch. Do you have any idea how much Pepper knows? That woman could run the world if she wanted to. I’ll back you. Whatever you want to let her in on.”

“We’re going to need to send in an extraction team as soon as we have a location.” Steve chewed his lip.

Tony sighed. “You take care of it. Take whomever you need. I’ll give Rhody a call and we can take care of the Senators.” He tossed a sarcastic grin. “I’ll take them to lunch and watch them have a coronary when I act like I’m going to slide them the bill.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, Cap.” He typed in a few more commands on the interface. “This will kick of the detailed analysis of their mission so far. Locations, contacts, all of it. If you run into anything F.R.I.D.A.Y. can’t provide, have her call me.”

“I will.”

“You going to tell the Doc what’s going on, or wait until you have something?”

“I think she’d rather deal with the facts than be left wondering.” Steve sighed. “I’ll call her.”

o o o o o

You curled around Bucky’s pillow, but sleep would not come. There could be no doubt that Bucky was counted among the most dangerous people in the world, one of the greatest survivors ever. If something bad happened, every logical argument could be made that if anyone would, survive, Bucky would. You should not be so worried.

Flopping over on your back you stared at the ceiling. Waiting sucked. Doing nothing sucked worse. You weren’t a soldier, or a strategist, or even a technician. Being a doctor proved to be no help in this situation. Waiting sucked balls.

Giving up on sleep altogether, you got up. Pulling on your yoga pants and one of Bucky’s sweatshirts, you moved to the sofa and flipped on the television. It turned on to one of the movie channels. You smiled at the scene.

Inigo Montoya fought Wesley, as the Dread Pirate Roberts, on top of the Cliffs of Insanity.

You’d shown Bucky this movie a few weeks ago. He laughed at the Pit of Despair and thought Wesley should have just killed Humperdinck. Even explaining it was essentially a children's story, didn’t make a difference. The Prince should have died.

It’d been a great night, relaxed, and curled up on the sofa. He’d always been fine with casual touches in public, a hand on your back, touches on your shoulders, even a chaste kiss. But when you were alone Bucky had two speeds, full on fuck me mode or endless cuddles, No in between. You really wanted to be wrapped in his embrace.

Lost deep in thought you physically jumped when the phone rang. You answered immediately. “Steve.”

“Hey, Y/N. You were right. The mission went sideways. I’m pulling the team together. If you want to hear what’s going on get up to the command briefing room. Do you know where?”

“Eighty-sixth floor. That’s all I know, I don’t have clearance to be up there.”

“You do now.” Steve assured you. “How long will you be? I can meet you at the elevators.”

“I’m leaving the apartment now.”

As you stepped off the elevator on the high security floor, Steve wrapped his arms around you again, whispering in your ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him home, no matter what.”

“Thanks.” You squeezed him back.

“Come on.”

You walked into the room where Sam, Natasha, Wanda and Vision waited. They all looked at you with a bit of shock, all except Sam. He got up and met you half way across the room, giving you a brief hug. “Hey Doc, how you holding up?”

“I’m... okay.” You sat down in the seat Steve held out for you.

“Captain Rogers,” Vision spoke up. “I was not aware that Dr. Y/L/N held a sufficient security clearance for this briefing.”

“Vision.” Wanda shook her head with a roll of her eyes. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“She does now.” Steve answered Vision. “In fact, her clearance has been increased beyond this briefing.”

“Very well.” Vision nodded a greeting your way.

Over the next hour you learned everything about the mission, who Bucky and Clint were chancing down and why. It turned your stomach to think they were searching for someone who was selling reverse engineered space weapons to the highest bidder. Apparently, things went wrong somewhere on the coast of Turkey approximately nineteen hours ago.

“Captain Rogers.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice interrupted. “I have narrowed down the location of Agent Barton and Sergeant Barnes.”

“Report.”

The AI projected satellite footage of a small town, on the outskirts of which were a complex of modern warehouse and ancient stone buildings. It was approximately one hundred miles inland from where they were last reported.

The team listened to a detailed breakdown of the area and all potential threats. They asked questions, formulated a search and extraction plan. You barely heard any of it. Your eyes were focused on the image. Bucky was there somewhere.

“Suit up.” Steve stood. “We leave in fifteen.”

He stopped at your seat, “Y/N, do you want to come with us? You can stay at the safe house.”

“Okay.” You stood up, taking a deep breath. “I may not be a trauma doctor, but I could be of use in a pinch.”

“It’s not going to come to that.” Steve squeezed your shoulder.

o o o o o

You paced around the room. The clean minimalist design gave you nothing to focus on. Out in the middle of nowhere, Stark’s safe house looked like any other rich industrial mansion, but the interior held secret garages, a quinjet bay, and subterranean levels full of labs, storage and medical bays.

A tone alerted you to the landing of the quinjet. You ran down to the bay entrance, waiting for the jet to land and the outer doors to close. As the rear ramp to the quinjet lowered, you ran out.

Natasha and Wanda pushed Clint out on a stretcher. He was unconscious, filthy and had several fresh trauma dressings applied. Steve and Bucky came down next. Your eyes looked on him. A trauma dressing was wrapped around his right arm.

His blue eyes went from confusion to an unreadable intensity. He strode forward taking your face in his hands and kissing you hard.

“Doc!” Natasha yelled. “Barton needs help!”

You pulled away from Bucky, eyes locked on his. “Med Room! I’m coming!” You turned and followed them at a run.

Natasha helped you cut away the clothes from his wounds. He had a gunshot wound to the left shoulder and wound to the back of his head. Evidence of restraint and abuse littered his body.

“The shoulder is a through and through.” Natasha reported.

“Okay, let’s focus on the head wound.” You checked his pupils, they were even. Good. Beginning to pull out the mobile scanners, you directed Nat to help you get set up. Soon you confirmed he was lucky. No sub cranial swelling. No skull fractures.

You had Nat start him on an IV while you began suturing up his head wound. All you could do was stabilize his shoulder and temporarily close up the wound.

“Y/N?” Steve came in.

“He’s going to be fine. Lost a lot of blood. He should come around now that we’re getting fluids in him. No lasting head trauma that I can assess with what I have. I’ve immobilized the shoulder, he’s going to need an orthopedic in there sooner than later. He will be okay to fly as soon as we get his pressure back up.” You reported.

“Good.” Steve stepped a little closer. “As soon as you’re done your other patient won’t let anyone else touch him.”

You looked up into Steve’s eyes. Something between worry and amusement looked back at you. “He okay?”

“He thanked me for bringing you, and told me he was going to beat my ass for doing it.” Steve half smiled. “He’s going to need his arm cleaned and taped up until it heals. He wouldn’t let me do it.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” You pulled off your latex gloves.

You found Bucky in a room down the hall. It was just like any other basic examine room with an exam table, a wall cabinets, a counter with a sink and more storage. There were no windows, being underground. You locked the door when you came in.

As soon as the lock clicked over, he was on you.

Bucky’s hands buried in your hair. His mouth crashed into yours, desperately drinking down your kiss. Tongues and teeth, you met his need with your own. He smelled of dirt, sweat and gunpowder. Still, you wanted to drink him down.

His powerful body pinned you to the door, thigh pressing between your legs and practically lifting you off your feet. You pulled at his shirt, desperate for even more contact. Bucky leaned back enough to pull the shirt over his head.

“Your arm.”

“Later.” Bucky growled as he tugged your clothes off. “Need you.”

His mouth latched onto your neck. Your breasts pressed into his chest, skin hot. The sound of his breath, the feel of skin, the press of his body, it anchored that he was safe. He was here, in your arms, setting you on fire.

Bucky dropped to his knees, laying wet open mouth kisses across your belly as he undid and pushed down you pants. You toed off your shoes and he tossed your clothes away. The intense look in his eyes, as he ran his hands up your thighs, over your hips, your breath hitched.

He guided your right leg over his shoulder and growled as his mouth descended on your wet cunt. Bucky’s tongue delved between your folds, lapping up your honey. He sucked roughly at your clit, causing your back to arch and mewls of pleasure to pour from your mouth.

“Oh shit, Bucky.” You panted. “Need you. Yes.”

He suddenly stood, lifting you off your feet and planting your ass on the table. Bucky didn’t even loose the rest of his clothes, he just released his cock. You reached down, stroking him hard. He moaned, pulling you by the hair to possess your mouth again. Hitching your leg over his hip, you rubbed the head of his cock against your wet cunt. He growled.

Grabbing your ass, Bucky pushed into you. Inch by inch, you savored every sensation. The stretch, the weight. Your hands gripped his hair, teeth nipped his lip. “Fuck me, Buck. Hard.”

A raw feral sound erupted from his chest. His fingers dug into your ass, cock slamming into you with raw power. Yes. You just held on. Bucky’s groans and growled breaths filled your ears. “Fuck. Yes. Mine.”

“Yes!” Fear, worry, anger exploded into overwhelm need. Pleasure tinged with pain swirled through your core, flooding your body in heat. Legs shaking. Fingers pulling at his hair. Skin slapped on skin. Your orgasm hit you hard, fast, sending a flood over Bucky’s cock. He pound into deep as you clenched around him.

“Oh, shit, yes, Doll.” He panted. Buck press into you hard, hold you against him as he came. “Oh, fuck, yes!”

You clung to each other, not wanting to let go. Your breath slowed. Bucky’s lips trailed gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder. Tears you’d been holding back began to fall, only now they ran down your cheeks with relief.

Still holding you tight to his chest, Bucky whispered. “How are you here?”

“Steve.” You sighed, rubbing your nose along his neck. “I went to him.”

“I need to thank him,” he breathed. “Then I’m kicking his ass for bringing you into the field.”

The laugh bubbled up from your toes.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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laylacooke · 4 years

Text

Enter the Werewolf || Miles & Layla

timing: Towards the end of July. parties: @ofmyownpack & @laylacooke summary: Miles and Layla have a training sesh that doesn’t go quite as planned.

She had googled the address on her phone and knowing that Indy was just fine with Ulf, Layla had decided to set out to Miles’ house for their overdue training session. It hadn’t taken her too long to get there. And when she arrived, she could already smell his scent from outside the house. Walking up to his front door, she knocked softly and waited. The last time she had seen Miles had been at the birthday party, but they hadn’t spoken. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to many people that night. But that was in the past, and today, she was here to learn and to grow in her skills as a werewolf.

Duke gave a couple of alert barks that someone was at the door but quietened as soon as Miles gave a firm ‘thank you’. He’d been expecting Layla, but you still couldn’t be too careful with all the hunters around, so Miles paid close attention to his senses as he approached the door, confirming the scent of the person outside before opening it to let her in. “Hey, how’s it going?” Duke got up to sniff too, greeting Layla politely. “Did you wanna talk about what you’re having trouble with? I got water or soda too if you want something to drink…”

Layla heard the barks from the dog residing just inside Miles’ house, and it wasn’t long before the door was open, and she was being greeted by the man and his dog. She hadn’t interacted with Miles much before this but knowing he could teach her things that she had yet to experience and learn was important, “Hey, Miles!” Seeing Duke come towards her, she smiled, “Hey Buddy. Who are you?” His question had drawn her attention from the dog, “Well, I guess I just want to be better and more capable of escaping, if I ever get into a situation that I might not be able to get out of. Luke had mentioned parkour. And maybe self-defense. I got caught by a vampire a while back, and luckily someone was there to save me, but I guess I’m just really lacking in knowing how to escape. And, uh, maybe water for later? Thanks.” She chewed on her bottom lip. She felt awkward bothering Miles, knowing their initial interaction hadn’t been the best during the Wolf Pack meeting, but she had hoped this would give them something to bond over.

Capable of escaping. Oof. That was never a nice thing to hear. It struck Miles with the gravity and reality of their situation; that there were those who would cage them at best and kill them at worse. “Parkour?” Miles gave a friendly chuckle. “Course his lil skinny ass would mention that. I never done anything like that myself, but I know how to run, and I know how to fight.” Miles ushered her fully inside, closing the door behind her and locking it for good measure. Couldn’t be too careful with everything going on. He took a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and headed downstairs with her, into the soundproofed and extra-reinforced basement. There was a bunch of workout equipment and mats around, but the gym wasn’t exactly the basement’s primary use.

“You can’t just lock yourself up every full moon or the wolf’ll go crazy, but I use this place for some transformations. We can train here for a bit before we start using the trees.” Miles positioned himself in front of her on one of the big, open areas of the basement. “Pretend I’m coming at you. Show me what you’d do.”

So, parkour was out of the question, but probably for the best. And if it really came down to it, Layla could always use the flips and things she’d learned as a cheerleader. She would make that skill come in handy somehow. “Running and fighting is probably better anyways. Plus, I was a cheerleader for almost five years. I can figure something out.”

She followed Miles through the house and down to his basement. Seeing how well prepared and reinforced everything seemed to be made her feel safe. If hunters, besides Kaden and Rio, were ever after her, she knew exactly where she’d probably go. “I...I learned that the hard way.” She didn’t want to get into it considering it was one of the many reasons she had let the fidget spinner take control of her life, “I went running with Ulf and Ari on the last full moon, and I think it helped.” There had been plenty of times before she had even made it to White Crest that she was sure she had changed and ran free, but she couldn’t remember it. Her mind had blocked it all leaving her in the dark about more than she probably ever needed to know. However, his request brought her back to the mission at hand; defense training, “Uh...okay. Well normally I just run, but when I’m scared my claws come out and my fangs, sometimes. I think my eyes change color too, but I’m not sure.” She hadn’t felt threatened or any sense of heightened emotion, so forcing the minor changes in herself, the tricks she had picked up when she was hypnotized, wasn’t working for her now.

"You were a cheerleader?" Miles asked. "That's cool. It's got a lot of the same skills as being a gymnast, right? Like you gotta be agile and flexible. That could come in handy for getting out of tight spots." He wasn't exactly the best-placed person to teach her how to adapt her cheerleading skills to lycanthropy, but he knew it was possible. Better for her to focus on something she already knew.

"That's good," he answered as she spoke about Ulfric and Ari. "Having someone with you is usually safer. That way if you get into trouble or lose control, you've got backup. Or someone to put you in check." He nodded, chewing the inside of his lip. "Okay, what you're talking about is involuntary transformations. Full disclosure, I was born a wolf, so it's nowhere near as bad for me, but we can work on it, if you want. You gotta get worked up though. It's tough to simulate that terror response."

“For my entire high school career. Even went to nationals at Disney World.” Layla laughed thinking back at that weekend. It was one of the highlights of her short life, especially considering her parents had let her go. Werewolf hunter training had taken precedence over most of her childhood and teenage years, so being able to feel normal for once had meant something more to her than most people her age. “And you’re right. You do. I could always show you a few things if you wanted me to.” She smiled. Maybe a Werewolf Cheerleading class was something she could offer up for her wolfy friends.

“I don’t know what I’d do without Ulfric and Ari.” She was grateful for their friendship. She had done a poor job of showing it, but she was working on making it up to both of them. “Involuntary changes. That’s what Ulf called it. He told me to be careful when that happens, and that it was the reason not chaining yourself on a full moon was important, so you don’t lose control before that time during the month.” Layla was wanting to take every step she could to keep everyone around her safe and to be a more aware and better version of herself, including the animalistic part of her being. “I just want to become a Zen wolf okay? I know I’m never going to be able to control myself quite as much as you, Luke, Ari, Ulf, and all the other born wolves, but I just want to be able to find peace with what I am and be the best version of a bitten wolf that I can be without being a threat to anyone around me.”

"They have cheerleading contests at Disney World?" Miles asked, flabbergasted. Sometimes the world beyond White Crest amazed him. He couldn't even picture how that would look. "I think I'm too heavy and bulky for cheerleading, unless I was the guy on the bottom of the pyramid or something," he chuckled. "I'd love to see what you got though."

He nodded as she spoke about Ulf and Ari. "We're built to have community around us. A pack. Ours might not be the most strictly structured, but we're there for each other, right? That's what counts." A Zen wolf. Now that was a hell of a thought. "Winn's a bitten wolf, ain't he?" Miles pondered. "He has decent control. Not... great, but he's got some practice under his belt. Maybe you'll never be able to do it quite the same way, but we can work on it."

“That they do. It’s like a really big deal, too.” Layla laughed when he mentioned being a cheerleader. “We had some guys who were really good. I think a few of them might have gotten scholarships, too.” She smiled thinking back on the day her friends from cheer had found out, but the smile soon faded with the reality of her situation. Thankfully Miles’ request pulled her from her own thoughts, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” It had been a while, and she was probably a little rusty, but it would give her something to show him when they started training.

“Yeah, we’re like the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph. But I guess it’s still a pretty special thing, right? To be able to have a pack?” It was one thing she had longed for after being shunned for so long by the wolves she had encountered before coming far enough North that most people didn’t know about her family and their legacy, “I think so, yeah. Is it true? What they say about the transformation, that it’s always going to be more painful for bitten wolves than born wolves?” She didn’t know if Miles knew the answer, but she had to ask.

“Well, good for them,” Miles answered with a casual smile as she mentioned the male cheerleaders. “Fuck gender roles. Do what makes you happy.” But that wasn’t really the topic at hand. With the threat in White Crest currently at an all-time high for wolves, Layla needed all the help and support she could get. “Yeah,” he answered sadly as she asked about the transformation. “Bitten wolves never have it quite the same as born ones, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live a perfectly happy life, okay?”

He brought her to the center of the room, making sure she was ready before getting in position to spar with her. He couldn’t exactly go full send with a teenager, but he wanted to test her reactions, see how her instincts were, see if he could make her inner wolf come out. Only then could he teach her how to stop it.

“Right? I’m pretty sure they’re living it up right now.” Layla could only assume, but she was still happy for her friends from back home, nonetheless. Miles’ news for her wasn’t so pleasant though. In fact, it brought her mood down even more knowing there would never be any relief in sight. She was doomed to feel the same excruciating pain repeatedly every month for the rest of her life, “I guess.”

Following him to the middle of the room, she knew whatever was about to happen was what the older wolf was preparing for. She could already feel her heart beating a little harder and faster just at the sense of him preparing to attack her. She didn’t know how or when he would start, but she already knew her wolf senses and skittishness were kicking in. After being out on her own for quite some time, fight or flight was something she automatically resorted to in situations instead of thinking logically about things. She could remember the day Ariana had found her in a dumpster in town, and the first thing she did was growl; the feeling of being able to take the smaller girl something she felt quite confident in. However, with Miles, it would be a different story.

It wasn’t the ideal situation. Miles was terrified of hurting her, but he buried that so he could focus on what had to be done. Layla wasn’t going to get through this if someone didn’t push her. He started sparring with her, giving little test jabs to test her response, seeing if she could block him. “Try harder,” he said, voice firm but fair. “Focus.” Another little jab, and another. He danced around her like they were in a boxing match.

When they started, Layla hadn’t expected the jabs so soon. The first one caught her off guard, but she soon started to catch on. She was a little rusty from having been out of training mode for so long, but as soon as she got the rhythm, she was blocking him left and right; her mind instantly going back to doing stuff like this with her father. However, he wasn’t fair. He had just been firm with her and a lot rougher. Putting on a concealer to hide bruises had become an everyday thing for her.

As Layla started to get into the sparring, Miles upped his game, moving quicker and making his movements more unpredictable. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to push, just enough to get her to react, to get the wolf in her to come out.

Layla somehow managed to keep up, even though she could tell things were getting harder. She didn’t like fighting. It went against everything she believed in, and one of the only fights she had been in had been with Ariana, under the influence of a cursed fidget spinner. Every other altercation had been one sided with an outcome of leaving her injured or nearly left for dead.

Miles increased his speed and intensity, letting the wolf lead him. A guttural growl left his lips as he fought her, landing a few solid blows then grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the wall, pinning her there. “Fight. Back.”

Layla didn’t expect to be pinned and when it happened, it took her back to the night she was bitten. Flashbacks held her paralyzed. What started out as something that was supposed to help her become a better wolf, left her on the floor begging for him not to hurt her, “Please stop! STOP!” She cowered in fear as tears seeped from the sides of her eyes. What she had hoped would happen, didn’t. No self-defense. No wolfing out. Just a reminder of what she had become.

Pushing him off her with her own wolf strength, she crawled over to a wall to catch her breath. Any other time and her claws were out, eyes golden, and teeth ready to rip, but any other time hadn’t been with another werewolf (aside from Ariana, when Layla wasn’t exactly herself).

Miles did as she asked, stopping and stepping backwards. He caught his breath, scanning her body for any partial transformation. There was none, but he could feel her panic. Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, loud as a drum. “I’m sorry,” he said, catching his breath too, stepping back and wiping his brow with a towel. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Her eyes were shut tightly. She just wanted to calm down and forget about everything that had just happened. And she wanted to suppress the past. Once she was calm enough to breathe, she raised her head, eyes now open and focused on Miles, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” It was all she could say. All she could do. At this rate, Layla wasn’t sure she would ever be able to survive as a natural predator or even just as a human being.

#para: enter the werewolf #ofmyownpack #wickedswriting

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ceruleanchillin · 4 years

Text

Sandalwood (Bakugou x Reader)

A/N: I haven’t gotten super far into MHA, so I’m still learning the characters. I’m also reading the manga. I haven’t officially seen Dabi or Toga’s characters yet, so I’m going off what I’ve read in other fics and a little careful wiki browsing.

I also posted a chapter breaking down the AU on AO3, I’ll probably post it here later.

AO3

The water ran so hot, it began to fog up the small room and disperse the smell of sandalwood throughout it. You eagerly grabbed your loofah, and began scrubbing yourself sudsy. Every pass at your skin, and you felt your humanity being restored. Over your neck, down your arms, across your ribs, everywhere you touched turned to a patch of saccharine velvet.

You hummed, something more akin to a moan actually, and did another full pass just to feel the scalding warmth again. Eyes closed, and toes curled in your shower slippers, your relaxed mind pondered if you had enough time to really style your hair. Afterall, what girl didn’t enjoy a comforting bath ritual?

“Now serving number 1!”

Of course, other’s pampered bathing rituals probably didn’t take place in a supermarket bathroom near dawn.

The bakery section’s automated ticket taker had cut through your hazy thoughts like a knife, and you nearly dropped your loofah. If they were already beginning to receive more customers you didn’t have the bathroom to yourself much longer.

You scrambled to cleanse yourself of all suds, and drained the sink, hoping that would begin to reverse the fogginess.

Shoving all your toiletries into your oversized hobo bag, you ducked into a stall, and began to shove yourself into freshly washed

clothing.

God bless 24/7 laundry mats. Great for junk food dinners, plastic chair naps, and soft, detergent scented kisses with Bakugou at 4 am.

You were pretty sure your sweatshirt was on backwards, and your hair was still sloppily piled on top of your head, waiting to be deconstructed, but you didn’t care to fix either. You’d wasted your safe time, and didn’t want to risk being walked in on. One report by a disgusted customer, and you could kiss your current safe spot goodbye.

You ducked out into the tiny hallway of the restroom area, and smoothed your sweatshirt over your leggings, trying to appear less frantic and out of place.

‘Another successful bath day.’ you smiled, slipping your bag over your head. ‘I’m getting the hang of this.’

You checked the minimal amount of cash you had left, and figured it’d be enough for two muffins and maybe a shared coffee. You had earned it, and you knew your boyfriend would be happy to hear about your appetite balancing out.

Following the warm scents to the bakery section, you remained conscious of the fact that Bakugou would want what was left for gas, and picked with that in mind first.

The feeling of doing something so wholesome, so domestic, as picking up breakfast for your partner hit your person the same way indulging yourself in the bathroom had.

“Eww.” a cruel whisper-laugh made you instinctively turn to look behind you, and regret washed over you almost instantaneously.

Two girls your age stood behind you, eyes trained on your feet. You knew why immediately, but looked down anyways for confirmation you’d forgotten to trade your shower shoes for your slip ons.

‘They can’t know that I..’ you didn’t even finish your thought. Dirty from use as protection from unknown floors, they served their purpose, but betrayed you all the same.

‘Should I change them?’ you wondered, but could only imagine what looks that’d garner, no matter how discreet you could be.

You met their cold eyes, and couldn’t help but think they looked like porcelain dolls.

Three dolls stood at an impasse. Two, very expensive and impossibly perfect, that’d you display for envy. One, lovingly stitched, but you’d forget her in your toy chest.

You quickly turned to face front as your ticket was called and got your purchases. Hurt coursed through you, its white heat branding your insides, and undoing every good thought and feeling it touched.

Retrieving your purchases, and stuffing them into your bag, you headed for the entrance. It wouldn’t be long before Bakugou came to pick you up.

‘He wouldn’t have put up with that’ you thought sourly, frustrated with yourself once again for not possessing the bottomless well of anger your boyfriend pulled his strength from.

You may scold him about it, but you couldn’t deny that at times, it was an asset. However, that just wasn’t your person. You didn’t want to hurt, or be hurt for that matter.

You fought off your tears successfully, but at the cost of stinging sinuses and a minor headache. Wincing as natural light conquered artificial, you stepped out onto the pavement. The parking lot was coming to life compared to when Bakugou dropped you off, and you plopped on the curb to quickly swap out your shoes.

“Cute bag!” a cheery voice chirped, and you noticed a girl next to you.

Had she been there the whole time? You didn’t see how you could’ve missed her, but you had been upset. Blonde spacebuns, dark purple fishnets, and...jesus was she that cold? A heavy red that stretched from cheek to cheek.

You looked at her, thought her eyes looked a little crazed, and then instantly felt bad. Had you not just been shamed based on appearances?

“Thanks.” you responded shyly, trying to straighten your hair. “Thrifted it.”

“Nice!” she screeched, uncaring of the hour. “My stupid friends never wanna go to thriftstores.”

You winced at the volume, but still found her amusing. “You’ve gotta go to Moon Over Mona’s , she’s got the best stuff.”

The girl mouthed the store’s title and rolled her eyes up as if burning it into her brain, before she widened her grin and turned her glazed over eyes back to you. “Noted! I’m Himiko.”

“(Y/N).” you smiled gently

“Oh wow, me too.” she patted your bag softly, as if it were a child, or perhaps a cat.

You tilted your head in question at her odd statement.

“Homeless silly, there’s no hiding things from me.” she rolled her eyes to emphasise the ‘duh’ in her tone. “I mean, I couch hop sometimes, but yeah…..”

You cringed and looked out over the parking lot. You didn’t like to use that word, it made your circumstances seem so ugly, and sounded like something your parents would say to shame you back into their home. But wasn’t that what you, and mostly all of your friends, were?

“It’s not a sweeeear word.” Himiko nudged your knee with her own. “It’s whatever to be free right?”

“That is a...perk I guess.” you chuckled, your inclination towards happier thoughts easily being indulged by talking with the girl.

“Exactly!” she slapped your arm, neon green nails standing out in stark contrast to her threadbare black hoodie.

“Sooooooo listen,” she pressed her pointer fingers together, blush intensifying. “Can I hold a dollar or two? My friend is picking me up here soon, and he’s a super stingy bitch. I want to eat something today.”

She dramatically flopped on the concrete behind her, hands rubbing her thin stomach.

You chewed your lip. Bakugou hated when you were ( a free handed sucker ) too generous. You really should save that remaining 10 dollars to give him for gas.

Himiko popped up onto her knees and gave you puppy eyes. Before long, she began imitating a dog altogether. She panted and lolled her tongue until you were laughing at the display and the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Ok, ok. “ you laughed, reaching into your bag for your wallet. Neon green nails appeared in your view before they seized the entirety of the wad of bills from your wallet.

The girl bolted the moment her fist clenched around the cash.

“Hey!” you screamed, chest exploding with anxiety, as you took off after her.

One of your slip ons came off, and your bag’s contents took turns beating into your sides every time it came back against your side.

The girl had bolted across the parking lot, and she was faster than you by far. A pickup truck on the far end of the parking lot roared to life, and she’d hopped in by the time you caught up.

“I really do love your bag!” Himiko screamed out of the window as it peeled out of the parking lot.

You dropped to your knees, frantically trying to figure out what just happened.

‘You got robbed you idiot.’ anxiety had wrapped its vice grip around you, and now your thoughts sounded like a drill sergeant with a hard on for you. Had she been planning that all along, or had she’d seen something in you once you started talking? Had she been watching you since you’d gotten dropped off? Your mind raced with the hows and whys, until you thought of your boyfriend.

Once you realized how angry and disappointed Bakugou was going to be, the tears you’d tried to ward off came spilling forth. He was always breaking his back and risking his freedom for what little money you two held between you, and you’d stupidly gone and gotten it stolen. How many times had he’d told you that this wasn’t the first day of kindergarten? How many times had he warned you about befriending strangers?

He was going to finally realize you were more of a burden than a compliment and drop your sorry ass. Your most feared thought only made the tears come harder, and you clutched your bag to yourself pathetically to ground yourself in the swirl of panic.

People warily watched you, taking in your sad appearance. The feeling of their eyes giving you the same looks as those girls was almost too much to bear. Worry, but more so disgust, for the teary eyed girl with one shoe and messy hair. The girl with her life in her bag, crying over money they’d likely spend in their first few minutes of shopping.

“What’s wrong with you goddamned animals!? You see a girl crying in the street and you stare? Braindead, mouth breathing-” the rest of the swear laden rant was lost to you as you leaned into the familiar strength that yanked you from the ground.

“Katsuki.” you murmured appreciatively as he slipped your missing shoe on your barefoot.

“Come on baby.” you knew he was burning with questions, and they would go stalled, not forgotten, as he wanted you away from the now sufficiently shamed onlookers.

The smell of caramel surrounded you, and the morning’s chill began to dissipate in light of the car’s heat. Home.

By the time you were settled in the mustang’s passenger seat, your tears had slowed, but you were still in the trenches of dread.

“Who the hell hurt you?” Bakugou slammed his door, but made no moves to leave the area. You knew he wouldn’t until he got answers.

“What did they do baby? Give me a description of em’. Did you catch a name?”

Your cheeks glistened in the rising sunlight, and for a moment he was struck by how beautiful you were, but that only served to make him madder. He gripped the battered steering wheel, open..close..open...close, so he could try and ease the tremors in his hands. All he could picture was punching some faceless guy’s face into paste on a pavement, and...why the hell weren’t you talking?!

“(Y/N)!”

“It was me!” you cried. “I-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” his scowl scrunched into confusion, before it returned to its previous state. “Don’t you dare start that blaming yourself shit. If somebody hurt you-”

“I tried to give this g-girl two dollars, and she snatched all I had and ran. I think she planned it, there was a p-p-pickup truck. ” you hiccuped, hating every second you had to spend retelling the encounter.

Bakugou stared at you, eyes wide and unbelieving for a moment, and you wished your seat would swallow you whole. It could spit you out anywhere so long as it wasn’t there.

“You what?” he growled lowly.

“Katsuki I-I swear I’m sorry.” the hiccups continued. “I’ll make it back-”

“Dammit (Y/N)!” he slammed his hands on the steering wheel, and another scuff joined the rest. “How many times have I told you?!”

“I know.” you sobbed. “I just...she was so nice-”

“Manners of the fucking year robbing you and all!”

Unable to meet his heated crimson gaze and you leaned against the window. The chill outside pressed against the glass, begging to compete with the heat being generated inside of the car. You pressed your warm face further into its chill, trying to ignore the charged energy emanating from the seat next to you. He must’ve really been pissed not to scold you about doing that to his car baby.

“I’m sorry Katsuki..I just felt like shit and wanted to help somebody.” your words were muffled due to half your mouth being mashed into the glass, but he didn’t ask you to repeat yourself.

He didn’t say anything until a few minutes had passed, and it was you who had to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said...I said I’m getting you a bus ticket home.”

He’d done it. He’d voiced the thing you’d wanted to hear least. You’d rather him yell for hours than talk like this.

“Katsuki...” you peeled yourself from the window and turned to face him. “No!”

“ Yes .” he turned his gaze to you, the red roiling with anger still, but sharing its space with sadness now. “It’s selfish of me to keep you out here, you don’t belong on the streets.”

“I belong wherever you are.” you implored, turning your whole body towards him.

You didn’t like the way he was talking at all. He would sometimes say something about sending you back to your parents, until you’d remind him you were grown and shut him up with a kiss. This felt more final however, and you couldn’t stand it.

“You were crying in the street over 10 damn dollars (Y/N). I’m supposed to take care of you!” Bakugou’s entire being was threaded together by his pride and his word. The whole situation was killing him from one end to the other. His mind was relieved you hadn’t been attacked, screaming at him to find the girl and whoever else was involved, and demanding he scrounge together bus fair and get you the fuck away from him.

“You do!” tears bloomed in your eyes again, this time for entirely different reasons. “ Baby , you do.”

You scrambled into his lap, ignoring your inner thighs getting battered by the console in your haste to surround your man. Bakugou didn’t fight your intrusion, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze again either.

Slim fingers threaded through his wild, ash blond spikes, tugging until he was forced to look you in the eye.

“I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me leave, I won’ t .” you thumbed his cheekbones. “Tell me you want me gone.”

He didn’t and you both knew he wouldn’t say that, not like that. A frustrated sigh fled his lips as he flexed his fingers. Of course he didn’t want you gone, he barely wanted to leave you alone to take a piss most days.

The fingers of one hand danced across your back gently, before firmly bringing you closer to him. His other hand grasped your chin and so he could press his lips to yours in a kiss. It was angry, but you wanted it all the same, understanding the anger wasn’t for you. You got what you wanted, which was physical comfort and putting to bed any silly ideas of separation.

“I don’t want to see you like that again.” he murmured against your lips. “You deserve better than that. I need to give you better than that.”

“ I need to be with you, that’s what I deserve.” You cupped his cheeks initiating another kiss.

“Yeah, yeah.” he kissed a path over your face, stopping when he reached your temple. “You’re a dumbass for staying, and I’m a dumbass for letting you.”

End Note: This once happened for real, sort of. A girl was having a full on cry fit on the floor of Walmart’s entrance and nobody helped until my mom stepped in and asked what she could do for her. So yeah..if you were wondering why no one helped the reader, I guess sometimes people don’t.

#reader insert #bakugou x reader #BNHA #MHA #Au #mha au #bakugou katsuki

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seekthemist · 5 years

Note

Pynch 50. “C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.” ((Bless you for these prompts!))

@purrincesscatitude said: Numer #42 for Pynch!

“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.” + “Just let me finish this/this level and i swear ill go down on you until you cum at least three times.”

YEAH OKAY COME FOR MY LIFE, WHATEVER.I decided to merge these two prompts because they’re perfect together, also the result is STUPIDLY long because you should understand how much, to quote one memorable Discord chat, “I live and die on the altar of lapsitting”.This shit is long (under cut), a lot of teasing, cuddling, but we still rate it E in which world I can resist to the call of rimming, let’s be honest

Other Raven Cycle fills: Ronsey #29 ; Pynch #21 ; Adansey #11

From this prompt list!

Late in spring, the Barns were inundated by light and heat even as the afternoon trickled down into the evening.

The Long Barn where Ronan had been working on his dreaming had steadily gotten warmer by the hour. The contrast with the inside of the main house was chilly in an heavenly way, but the sensation of sweat cooling down on his skin didn’t make Ronan feel completely like a human being again.

“Parrish, the book fucking ate you already?” Ronan called over across the hall, towards the living room, while discarding shoes and pieces of clothing along the way.

“It grew teeth and I gagged it with the muzzle you threatened Opal with,” Adam’s voice called back, absolutely deadpan.

Ronan barked a laughter, feeling a bit less worn out already–in a well-loved place, with a well-loved person. “Business as usual, then, I’ll be down in a second.”

There was just an agreeable sound following Ronan upstairs–a clear sign that Adam was already back into his studying-machine self. That’s how Ronan found him ten minutes later, entering the living room in just a pair of boxers, a towel around his shoulders and a random protein bar that he found on the way–which might have been Declan’s, so of course Ronan had to eat it.

The biggest concession Adam had done to the fact that he had been studying for at least three hours straight was that he had moved from the dining table to the armchair. Adam never exactly invade, ever–even if he could, even if Ronan would want him to, he moved carefully around every space, neatly there and gone a second after if needed. But today, instead, one of his notebooks was lay abandoned among other books he had stacked neatly on the table, and he had brought a smaller volume with him, opened against the armrest and a tiny notepad covered in pencil writing. He was slouching, even, and it meant something.

“You gonna be done with that?” Ronan asked, staring a bit too much at the picture Adam painted, relaxed in a shady corner, barefoot and in causal clothes.

“Mmhn, in a bit.” Adam looked up over his own murmur, without losing the slight frown of concentration that accompanied him in his tasks. “Why are you naked?”

“I’m not, should I be?” Ronan argued, half-suggestive in his question, as if boxers and towel were an everyday outfit. “I just showered.”

Adam smirked, looking at Ronan for a couple of long seconds before pointedly going back to his book. Yet, he kept talking, “You’re allowed on the armchair, then.”

It was a blatant reference to the rules for Opal and also as good as an invitation. Ronan swallowed dry and went to join him, sitting down on the free armrest. He was still sort-of-sore from the stillness and stiffness of an afternoon of dreaming and everything was diffused, a bit surreal.

Everything could be a dream, if he blinked for too long.

In retaliation against the concept itself, he opened up the protein bar packet and bit half a third of it of. Then, already less instinctive, he offered it to Adam.

Adam didn’t even properly look away from the book, but he leaned with the full span of his back against the backrest and took a bite. It should have been ridiculous, to find him attractive as he chewed–and yet Ronan did.

“This is sickly sweet,” Adam commented, clicking his tongue against the taste distractedly.

“Blame Declan, I think he buys this on purpose,” Ronan complained, but finished the last of the bar.

“You’re still eating it, the tactic is not working,” Adam pointed out, and took a couple of notes, his handwriting impossibly small in pencil.

Ronan humphed. “I’m not that easily derailed.”

Adam’s serious expression softened into a little smile. “Yeah, I can see that,” he murmured.

Than he reached over to grab onto Ronan’s elbow and drag him sideways.

The gesture was so sudden it took Ronan by surprise, sending him to slide down the armrest and right against Adam–barely grasping on the backrest last minute to avoid smashing them brutally together.

“Parrish, the fuck?” he recoiled, casting him half a glare with a part of his brain already looking forward to the scuffle that could follow.

Instead, Adam just wrapped an arm around Ronan’s waist and pulled. It was a weird sensation, intimate in a familiar way and yet foreign because of the setting. Still, Ronan ended up shuffling, just a bit, until his whole side was fully pressed against Adam’s chest, his legs on top of Adam’s and his knees pressed against the armrest to the side.

“I thought you weren’t done…” Ronan murmured, a bit lower. Adam’s hand was warm and dry against his naked skin, the press of their bodies so known. Could someone really blame him, for getting ideas?

“I’m not,” Adam confirmed, and just moved book and notebook to rest against partially on Ronan’s own knees partially on the other armrest. “You can sit on my lap until I’m done, instead of jittering around me like a fly.”

“Fuck you,” Ronan replied, reflexively, but the hot feeling under his skin only increased. It was the position, and the sound of Adam telling him to stay on his lap, and the insistent proximity.

Despite his grumbling, he lowered his arm and circled Adam’s shoulders. With all ease in the world, Adam just tilted his head forward and let Ronan adjust before leaning back with his nape against the bent of Ronan’s elbow.

Something twisted in Ronan’s belly, that insistent feeling that he would get when the possibility of sex was so close he could taste it. He wanted it, from zero to hundred in a second. Infuriatingly, Adam was seriously back at reading, as if it was nothing, as if they weren’t close enough to feel each other back. He even turned a page. It drove Ronan crazy.

“Until I’m done depends a bit on you not jittering, you know,” Adam notified him, without even looking up.

“Or you could be done now,” Ronan suggested, tightening a bit his arm around Adam’s shoulders.

“Would you prefer to leave the room?” Adam asked, deceptive, even as he leaned agreeably along the contact. His cheek touched Ronan’s naked collarbone, and Adam readjusted before abandoning the weight of his head on Ronan–maddening, very much so.

“No,” Ronan admitted. It was so weird, and yet somehow a significant part of what he wanted at the moment.

Adam hummed his approval and get back at reading and taking notes, while Ronan underwent the monumental effort of trying to be still–even as Adam’s left hand slowly traced his side. Goosebumps rose and got stroked back in alternate touches, but Ronan felt increasingly warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

“Parrish…”

“Mmhn,” Adam murmured, noncommittal in the face of Ronan’s rising excitement. “You’re so damn heavy.”

It didn’t carry much weight–certainly not as much as Adam probably had on himself, considering Ronan’s bulk–when Adam was all-but-cuddled against Ronan, looking somewhat comfortable in his sunken state in the armchair.

It wasn’t so usual, especially in some days, for Adam to be comfortable, so Ronan grumbled something, not even attempting an argument, and subjected himself for this weird study-wait treatment.

Adam turned more pages and took more notes. His caresses expanded, along the span of Ronan’s back, aimlessly tracing the black paths of the tattoo even though he could not possibly see it in this position. Sometimes, he adjusted his head on a better reading angle on Ronan’s shoulder, especially if Ronan brushed the dark blond hair at the back of his head.

For as much as Ronan did try–to stay still, to not jitter–at some point he arched in half a shiver, when Adam lingered too much in slow circles on his lower back.

The caresses stopped, just long enough for Ronan to relax back. Ronan almost assumed this was done with–especially when Adam shuffled around. But then he flipped yet another page, took a couple of indiscernible notes, and then went back to touching, the tip of his fingers skimming between Ronan’s side and stomach.

“Parrish, Jesus fuck…”

“Not my fault you’re hanging around naked,” Adam pointed out, as if it was an impeccable argument. He took thirty seconds of pause just to turn his head around and actually look at Ronan. His eyes had the same concentration he had reserved to the book, but he kissed the curve of Ronan’s collarbones instead–just once. “Let me finish this. And after, I won’t stop until you come at least three times.”

Ronan twitched bodily at the sound of it alone, so close to his ear, and Adam held him even tighter, just to mark a point.

“Christ.”

It was as good as a promise. And Adam was usually incredibly true to his promises.

Ronan tried, in all seriousness, to just stay quietly on Adam’s lap as Adam studied–and toyed with him while studying. It would have been boring in any other occasions, but instead it was an extreme case of multitasking that kept Ronan on edge, constantly–even more so with the evidence that Adam was working, this was not just for show. The spot where Adam was still resting his head was overly warm, and Ronan’s heaving breaths echoed in the pressure between them.

He was so hard in his boxers it was making him space out, knowing there was nothing to do but wait.

Adam’s hand brushed all the way down his waist, to the top of the thighs, the thumb digging in the point where Ronan’s leg met hips, and then–still pressing–all the way to the dip of his hip bones.

After so many light touches, this was so intense and playing so heavily on sensitive spots that it felt like a trigger.

Ronan bucked before he could help himself, with a small choked sound, as his cock twitched in his outrageously tented boxers. When he blinked again, Adam was staring at him directly, uncaring of the fact that Ronan had misplaced his book and notebook and covered his line of sight.

“I’m done,” Adam said, with the faintest smirk.

Ronan pulled him forward, quenching his own stream of profanity against Adam’s mouth.

They kissed deep, a bit messy in their reciprocal eagerness, and Ronan’s heart just thumped louder. When he shuffled a bit on Adam’s legs, his thigh brushed Adam’s own erection and Ronan swallowed down the low hum that ensued with a wicked satisfaction.

There was no warning, again, when Adam sneaked a hand inside Ronan’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around Ronan’s hard cock with something too self-assured and proprietary not to be hot as hell.

At the first stroke upwards, just tight enough, light sparked behind Ronan’s eyelids, unwarranted.

“Wait, I’m close…” Ronan murmured, separating from their kiss with a wet sound.

“Three times,” Adam reminded him, and then he kissed Ronan again.

He didn’t even bother to get rid of Ronan’s boxers at all, just stroked him with the hushed fury of a young teen about to get caught. It was weirdly appropriate with being in the same living room he had grown up in, and even if it weren’t Ronan was too turned on to hold own any longer.

He broke the kiss without meaning too, moaning and trembling–stumbling into an orgasm just by virtue of finally getting touched rather than teased.

Adam got his hand out of his boxers almost immediately–though Ronan wouldn’t have minded being touched some more–and snatched the towel that Ronan had brought from the shower to clean his hand, carelessly.

“Adam…” Ronan murmured, his skin still tingling and his cock barely sagged down from his hardness, as if confused over such a sudden release.

Adam kissed him again, with a satisfied hum. And then, only then, he pushed Ronan off his lap. They both sort of toppled over to the floor, between Ronan being caught again by surprise and Adam’s legs being likely half asleep after having been so long after Ronan’s weight.

There was something endearingly uncoordinated in Adam–something that usually spoke of excitement. He barely took time to put down his book and notebook, leaving the pencil to roll around abandoned on the floor, before pushing Ronan face down on the armchair seat.

“Jesus fuck…” Ronan stressed, very emphatically.

It was good, to have Adam so demanding, devoting the same laser-sharp focus to Ronan as he had devoted to the book before. It was better, even, to see that he had fallen victim of his own little game of toying around with Ronan.

Without saying a word, Adam kneeled behind in on wobbly legs and pushed Ronan’s boxers all the way down, leaving them pressed at the bent of Ronan’s knees.

Ronan felt him shuffling, his well-loved hands taking a tight grip on Ronan’s ass, and then there was a tongue licking at him.

“Fuck fuck fuck…”

Uttering under his breath only served to make Adam lick him harder, his thumb pressing on the skin beside his rim to try and wiggle his way inside.

The shadows were longer now, as the sun settled slowly over the hills, and Ronan grasped at the armchair cushion as Adam eat him out in the middle of the living room.

He was so hard again, so taken by having Adam’s full attention–another project for Adam to perfect.

Not even squirming relented Adam’s insistence, only gaining Ronan a couple of warning hums the vibration of which reverberated on his whole and made everything worse–better.

Everything spiralled in the tightness of Ronan’s chest once Adam slid one finger inside, wet with spit. His tongue came right beside him, and it was impossible not to feel himself clenching. He could have touched himself easily, just like he desperately wanted to, but instead he reached back and held onto Adam’s shoulder, the fabric of his t-shirt creasing under Ronan’s grip.

Adam got his finger completely in, his tongue tantalising in its insistence, and then he curled it to touch a spot that always set Ronan ablaze. They lingered there, with Ronan’s gasps filling the air around them.

It seemed as if Adam would keep him there forever, enjoying everything the verge of pleasure had to give him. And then, just as abruptly, Ronan’s body tensed, clenching around Adam and keeping his finger in a glorious, glorious spot that made him come all over himself.

It was difficult to come down from the high, even more difficult still because Adam kept tonguing him as if nothing happened.

“Adam…ah…Adam!”

Adam paused with two seconds of delay, as if even registering that Ronan actually called for him rather than just moaning his name was difficult.

“What?” he asked back, his voice wonderfully hoarse.

His tone seemed to say, I’m not done, and it made Ronan shiver in itself. Adam just kissed at the bottom of his spine, distractedly, while he waited for Ronan to gather his breath enough to reply.

“Can we fuck?” Ronan managed, at the end, clenching reflexively around Adam’s finger at the sole thought of it.

Adam bit down on one of Ronan’s cheek, evidently turned on by the situation, by the proposal. He gave a couple of experimental thrusts with his finger, and the friction was surreal, wet with spit and nothing else. It felt tight.

“We have to go upstairs,” Adam concluded, grabbing Ronan’s hips one handedly to keep nibbling at him rather than let Ronan squirm away at the sensation.

“Nh…yeah fine…”

“You only came two times.”

“I don’t give a sh…ah!” Ronan’s rebuttal cracked on a moan when Adam curled his finger again, just at the right time. “Adam c’mon…”

Adam opened his mouth again and trailed a path along Ronan’s ass, going back slowly and wetly towards the crack. “When you get hard again…” Adam said, and again it sounded like a promise, “…we’re going upstairs.”

“Yeah…fuck yeah…”

Whatever Ronan tried to elaborate devolved in another low groan, as Adam resumed rimming him to hell and back. With his cock twitching as desperately as his ass, Ronan dropped his forehead on the cushion and took it–and took it–as the sun set, pooling everything into darkness.

#the raven cycle #Pynch #ronan x adam #My Writing #ALL THE PROMPTS

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differentworlds-fiction · 6 years

Text

30 (Part II)

TARIN

While shrouded in darkness, my lips went in search of his.

Contentment coursed through me when the smooth, plump flesh of his lips pressed to mine. The corners of my mouth hiked up, producing a meager grin as Hill nibbled and sucked on the fullness of my bottom lip. In an instant, I was rendered breathless, while, internally minimizing the dreaded moment Hill pulled away to rest back onto the herd of pillows, all at the same time.

In an effort to lessen the bit of space between us, I settled against him.

Words were failed to be exchanged as we delighted in the quelling silence pervading the suite. Nothing but the barest hints of his even breaths sweeping past his lips were heard when he pulled me close and sluggishly guided my head onto his damp chest. As our bodies remained sparingly covered by the wrinkled sheets Hill had enveloped us both in subsequent to his return from the ensuite, our fervent hands set into motion, exploring depths we’d just previously worked up the courage to touch; areas in which I hadn’t had the gall to roam on another individual in years.

Hill’s calloused hand moved toward my navel, inciting me to release a hollow noise that sounded more like a timid moan than a muffled breath.

The roughness of his fingertips teased me throughout the instinctive parting of my weakened limbs.

“You were my first,” my confession came out in a dreary sputter, “...in a really long time.”

Upon hearing my admission, his eager hand ceased from moving another inch; the pad of his fingers halted at the junction between my thighs.

“How long?” He prodded.

I gulped, and he snickered when hearing my long, audible swallow.

“Damn, Tarin. That long?”

“Before you, I used to dodge men like the plague.” I divulged, nibbling on the corner of my bottom lip. “It would be easier to base my actions solely on the fact that I’m a parent who has to be super critical of the people I engage with. And while that may be true, I had no desire to involve myself with anyone. Not sexually. Not emotionally, either. Up until recently, I realized my kid wasn’t the reason for me not wanting to date or to allow myself to get to know someone. I was.”

“Why?” Hill queried.

He shifted and maneuvered my frame on top of his.

“My heart still belonged to someone else, Hill.”

For a moment nothing but the sound of his breaths sweeping past his parted lips were heard.

“Ayla’s father.”

“Ayla’s father,” I confirmed barely above a whisper, “-- my love for him hasn’t minimized, after all these years. I’m not sure it ever will. If anything, it’s manifested into something I’m not sure I can even make sense of.” I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and released it seconds afterward while further ruminating on my sentiments. “I think it’s unhealthy; carrying on that way -- the way that I have. Grieving prevented me from possibly developing relationships with men. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Bearing another loss. Maybe even dealing with a little rejection, too. We’re all somewhat fearful of that, aren’t we?”

He moved a bit, guiding my tautened body coated with sweat along with him.

Hints of the earthy musk he sported wafted into my nose with every subtle shift we produced together. And soon, it resonated that the scent was as potent on me and the sheets we were encompassed by as it was on his skin. “To an extent, yes. It comes in different forms, under different circumstances. But, we have to deal with it in some capacity since it’s pretty much inevitable.”

I couldn’t see his expression nor fully make out his face, albeit, I lifted my head anyway and brought forth my hand that once idled below his waist.

Subsequent to resting my palm against his cheek collected with minimal scruff, Hill released an exasperated breath.

Within seconds, his hand latched onto my wrist and prevented me from moving it any further.

“My way of dealing with the loss wasn’t the healthiest, for me or anyone in my life for that matter. I’ve mourned in waves that have spanned over the course of several years.” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “And for that reason alone, getting close to someone has been pretty much an afterthought.” I rambled, releasing a hearty sigh while tugging the duvet over us both. “I wasn’t ready to put myself out there again. Maybe I was guarded and protecting myself from experiencing another heartache.” I admitted barely above a whisper. “The possibility of somebody else making an abrupt departure out of my life at any moment petrified me.”

“It still does. I can tell.”

“Of course.” I retorted. “I need to work on that though. I have to accept that there will be people who’ll not only enter my life but possibly leave for whatever reason.” A timid scoff swept past my bare lips upon further pondering on my words. “You’d think I’d be well versed in handling all that by now.”

My utterance was met with a prolonged lull; a silence that I begrudgingly chose to sustain due to my reluctance of being the first to speak.

Only briefly did my head remain planted atop his chest as it evenly rose and collapsed.

In the recesses of my mind, I couldn’t help but feel burdened by a sudden onset of apprehension -- worry that my recent romp in the sheets with Hill Dawson was nothing more than an impulsive act that would be going nowhere fast and he too would leave.

Under other circumstances, of course.

Pulling me out of those disparaging thoughts was the image of Hill standing by the door of my office, equipped with flowers in one hand and breakfast in the other. The mere memory of him flying across the country on a whim prompted me to lower my head back onto him.

I smiled meagerly against his skin and trailed over the spot on his chest riddled with bold, indelible markings I’d soon be able to examine once day broke over Nevada.

The hand that had previously remained enclosed around my wrist began to toy with my tendrils that were once woven into bountiful braids, lightly tugging them by the ends and allowing the shaft to straighten from the formed crimp they had been manipulated into. Fighting the incessant urge to give in and allow sleep to finally pervade me, I pursed my lips together and kissed his open palm; his fingers weakened against the timid peck.

The subtle gesture prompted Hill to stop toying with my hair altogether and caress my cheek instead, brushing over the embankment of my lips in light strokes.

“It’s been days since I’ve dreamed about him.” I whispered and tucked a lone strand behind my ear, “and, I’m not sure what to make of that. Usually, he visits me often. Some dreams are far more intense than others. Sometimes, I’m left dealing with a mix of emotions. Other times I wake up and just cry because I have to constantly relive that summer he left me all over again.”

“I remember you telling me about the last one you had...” He murmured. His palm continued to graze my cheek, swiping it in smooth motions that threatened to lull me to sleep. “You mentioned how different it was from the others ones you’ve had before. The communication between the two of you felt rushed, you said.”

“Yeah.”

The onslaught of nerves that happened to settle and resurge throughout the duration of the day had made its timely revival yet again.

This time they hadn’t stemmed from me pacing the bathroom of McCarran International minutes after hurrying from the jet bridge, nor was it the same flutter I felt in the pit of my stomach that rapidly developed the moment I wandered the halls of the hotel beside Bria Dawson in search of her brother’s room.

My current case of butterflies flourished subsequently to hearing him recount what I had divulged previously.

“In your dream, you called after him and that he kept walkin’ away. He left you standing by some house and headed in the direction of this corner store...without you.” Hill spoke in a low, almost hushed tone. After a few beats of silence, he shifted upward and spoke, “Do you know what that sounds like to me.”

“What?”

Subsequent to my inquiry, Hill guided my leg to drape over his.

With this tip of my finger, I trailed over the crook of his neck.

“That,” he paused to let out a deep breath and exhaled, “that sounds like closure, baby.”

***

Among the concise follow-up reporting of salacious happenings that had taken place over the weekend, and the recycled human-interest stories emblazoned by differentiating headlines, news of the Pratts’ over-elaborate nuptials infiltrated the news cycle. Throngs of bloggers took to their respective platforms to publish the cellphone images of the reception held at the Plaza Hotel from an anonymous source, while other credible pop culture pundits covered the lavish affair by citing guests’ recounts of the star-studded ceremony and reception.

While chewing the last pieces of my breakfast sandwich within the confines of the CS conference room, I perused the uploaded entries as they emerged by the dozens onto my social media feed, falling in awe of the glimpses of Mya Evans -- presently known as Mya Pratt -- clad in her gown, celebrating her union amongst the reported fashionable ‘it’ girls of the moment who were simply famous for reasons uncertain, famed recording artists, and industry executives who attended. As stated by various ‘close sources’, the Pratt wedding occurred without incident and was being prematurely considered to be the wedding of summer.

By the time I perused through the assortment of shotty pictures, I hadn’t noticed Cara nor Cheyenne take their seats at the table.

“Care to share what you’re so immersed with this fine morning?” Cara queried. The question prompted me to tear my eyes away from the phone screen.

“Nothing,” I retorted, “-- just these low-quality pictures from the Pratt wedding. Great job, by the way. From what I was able to see, you did well.” I added and offered a meager grin. “Another Cara Santos wedding for the books.”

At that, she too smiled and reached for the bottle of Fiji water set before her. I proceeded to engage in small talk with Cheyenne briefly, exchanging silly speculations of where the newlyweds were heading for their honeymoon.

How was Vegas?” Cara interrupted. Over the bottled water’s rim, the tiniest hint of a smirk played about her lips, threatening to broaden into a full-blown grin. Cara’s mouth settled, however, when she finished taking generous sips and placed the bottle beside a pile of papers she’d brought into the conference room and the leather-bound daily planner she toted everywhere she went. “This morning, I was scrolling through Page Six and saw you with the boxer,” Cara muttered, dragging out the reference of Hill in a peculiar way. Her neatly arched eyebrow rose, assessing the poker-face I maintained.

Quickly, she stood and removed her smartphone from her pants’ pocket, and reclaimed her seat at the end of the conference table before darting her eyes towards a confused Cheyenne.

For what felt like an eternity as opposed to mere seconds, I sat through the painfully awkward silence and made eye contact with Cheyenne a total of three times before Cara decided to put me out of my misery.

Sporting the same smug grimace, the encased cellphone around to unveil a clear snapshot taken outside of the MGM Grand Hotel. The image of Hill and I sharing an embrace while surrounded by suited security personnel idled the screen.

“Vegas,” I cleared my throat and averted my stare elsewhere, “Vegas was...alright.”

Fine furrows grooved along her forehead as her eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you were meeting with the singer this weekend, no?”

“Haneef and I met Friday afternoon after I left the office. I could’ve sworn we ran into each other on my way out and I told you that I wouldn’t be coming back for the rest of the day.” I aimlessly shuffled through the papers pertaining to a curated menu for a last minute celebratory brunch event she needed assistance with. Glancing downward at the list of pretentious dishes prepared by an executive chef Cara had reached out to personally seemed to hold more of my interest than attempting to continuing the conversation. Cara Santos was, in fact, teetering on the bounds of simple small talk and baiting me to discuss my personal business. “I plan on meeting with Haneef Parker again soon.” I remarked.

Yesterday, the R&B crooner departed to Miami to kick off his four-city tour. To further promote his forthcoming album and garner a bit of buzz surrounding his comeback, it had been rumored that Haneef and his team had put the last minute tour together for major cities his shows received the most revenue. Via an email sent to me by a member of Haneef’s management team, the singer would be returning to New York later in the week and planned to meet then. In an effort to make some headway with the planning of the baby shower, I sent photos of two potential venues to the private email Haneef himself provided prior to leaving the studio last Friday.

“Great...” Cara said before sifting through the small stack of papers resting before her.

Our morning followed with Cheyenne briefing us both on our separate schedules for the remainder of the week, as well as meetings pertaining the joined effort Cara and I were working on together.

“Notify the executive chef about the curated menu. And if that’s all Cheyenne, then we could get a move on it and…”

Eyes belonging to Cara peered longingly out toward the foyer.

Through the massive glass wall separating the conference room from the general area, a lone man stood, clad in a khaki uniform and matching hat. Cara’s eyes narrowed further, her scanty palms cupped the conference table’s sleek ridge.

“...Either of you expecting a delivery?”

Cheyenne sat forward, twiddling the ballpoint pen between her forefinger and thumb. “No.”

Their stares shifted in my direction.

“I’m not.” I said.

Cara glanced at Cheyenne, nodding in the direction of the receptionist area.

Without uttering another word Cheyenne departed swiftly from the room and returned just seconds later.

“The delivery is for you, Tarin. Don’t worry, I signed off on it for you already.”

I stuffed my phone into my jeans pocket, a peculiar glare etched its way across my face when I looked out toward the foyer just as the elevator doors parted; a team of men -- five in total -- stepped off the elevator, each of them carrying roses enclosed with purple wrapping paper and white bows. Lifting her hand, Cheyenne pointed in the direction of my office and, immediately, I rose from the conference table and gaited behind them in quick strides.

Floral arrangements comprised of vibrant red roses were placed around the room; on the end tables separating the two wingback chairs by the windows, on my desk between scattered papers and photos of Ayla, and, on the console table closest to the door. My fingers grazed the blooming petals; the softness of them brought a smile to my face; one that I couldn’t disguise in an attempt to conceal my slight embarrassment for the affectionate gesture. My bottom lip embedded itself between my teeth as I brought my hand and reached for one of the delivery men who’d failed to keep up with the others who were already ambling back down the hall.

“If you’ll stick around for just a sec, I’d be happy to give you guys a tip. Um, maybe you can call them back in here for me…”

I started towards my desk and felt a hand lightly tug at my forearm.

“Ma’am, that won’t be necessary.” The delivery guy expressed, sticking his hands into the khaki pants he wore. “Our tips were covered beforehand.” He explained prior to exiting the office subsequent to Cheyenne entering with Cara following closely behind. “Have a nice day.”

“...Thanks, you too.”

Upon the man’s departure, I rushed toward the stark white office desk and began removing the lavender wrapping paper from the bottom of the floral arrangement; the familiar fluttering manifested deep at the pit of my stomach, bringing me to pause altogether and clutch my stomach firmly once I discovered a small note card peeking between the roses. Heaving a sigh, I resumed with unveiling the vase and firmly grasped the card.

“The boxer?” Cheyenne inquired.

I bashfully confirmed with a hesitant head nod, allowing my stare to drift toward the floor as I twiddled with the notecard seconds before reading it.

I’ll be in town Sunday. Hope to see you then, beautiful.

-Hill

“Hmph,” Cara muttered and turned in the direction of the hallway, “how romantic...”

#Different Worlds #Different Worlds Fiction #Fiction

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vaguely-concerned · 6 years

Text

Overwatch fic - I hope that I don’t fall in love with you

PG-13, Hanzo Shimada/Jesse McCree, 7400 words, young McHanzo. Jesse and Hanzo are stuck in an airport overnight because of a snowstorm - drinks and shenanigans ensue.

On AO3

Outside the huge windows the snowstorm kept howling like the tantrum of some weather god whose idea of creativity stopped at ‘just turn the dial up as far as it will go and call it a day’, a shifting wall of white rushing by behind the glass.

Inside the airport it was quiet, though, like the snow had settled in here too and was dampening all sound. Everyone moved with the weary yet unflappable tranquility of people who had accepted the truth that they were stuck here until the forces of fate and air traffic control saw fit to release them. Even the baby that was invariably crying somewhere in the distance sounded like it was mostly phoning it in for the look of the thing at this point. With the darkness pressing in on the airport it felt like being trapped in a high-tech cave of glass and concrete, the lights kept low and lulling.

Jesse was aching for a smoke, but the lady behind the bar had that ‘overworked and ready to commit murder with a cocktail strainer’ look about her and he wasn’t ready to stand outside in the roaring gale again until the bourbon had properly thawed out his bones. So instead he fiddled with the corner of the coaster and idly kicked his heels against the leg of the bar stool, keeping half an eye on the holo-set in the corner showing some kind of soccer game and otherwise watching the slow trickle of his fellow waylaid travelers flowing past.

He glanced away from a thrilling 0-0 draw — Jesse wasn’t big into sports that didn’t involve horses at the best of times, and found that having to watch grown men aim for and fail to hit such a big target for ninety minutes straight was like sandpaper over his soul — to see Hanzo Shimada standing in the middle of the terminal, glaring at the flight information display screen. Jesse felt an instinctive twinge of amusement; there was no mistaking him, no other man could have so eloquently stared at a defenseless piece of technology like it had personally offended him and his entire family back several generations.

Hanzo looked no different than he had when they parted ways twelve hours ago, job well done and encrypted info on illegal weapons technology duly exchanged. Even in everyday clothes — well, what passed for it for him, anyway — he seemed… sharper than the people around him, like he’d been carved out of the world differently. Jesse leaned his cheek in his palm and took the opportunity to watch him without having to think about being watched back. Yeah, no, there really was nothing the clothes could do to hide the broad shoulders or the way he moved like he knew precisely where every part of his body was at all times. You could stick a hoodie on a wolf, but it wouldn’t make its teeth any blunter.

With his hair down and a look of peevish outrage on his face he looked younger and infinitely less forbidding, though, like said wolf caught using the drawstrings as a chew toy.

After a while he seemed to spot Jesse and stood for a moment completely still, as if making up his mind about how to react. Jesse decided to leave the choice to him and pretended he hadn’t seen him, instead taking a sip of his drink.

A minute or so later there was the sound of Hanzo clearing his throat, and Jesse glanced up to find him standing close by, snow melting on the shoulders of his coat.

“Oh. Hey there.”

“Hello again,” Hanzo said, letting his bag fall to the ground with a thump and the tiniest hint of clanking metal — Jesse tried to keep out of his mind how many lethal weapons he could keep stowed in there, security be damned. Not that he needed them to be the deadliest guy in the airport. Any airport.

“We keep meetin’,” Jesse agreed, tilting his head to the side. “You having a drink?”

“Why,” Hanzo asked, sitting down on the bar stool next to Jesse, “are you buying?”

Jesse let out a surprised huff of laughter — now there was a tone he’d never heard from him before. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that that was a touch of playfulness.

“Sure,” he said. “If the next round’s yours.”

“Of course. Have they said anything over the intercom?”

Jesse shrugged. “Nothin’ encouraging.”

Hanzo gave a dissatisfied grunt and ordered a drink after a perfunctory scan of the list. He checked his phone while he waited, his brows drawn together irritably.

“Good luck with that, the only forecast you’re likely to get is ‘disappointment with a chance of confused meteorologists’,” Jesse told him. At Hanzo’s surprised blink he added: “Checked it before. You know you’re fucked when they ain’t even had the time to give the storm a name before it hits. We’re right on the outskirts of it as it passes, though, so with a bit of luck we’ll be good to go before noon tomorrow.”

That same impenetrable blinking for a few seconds and then Hanzo gave a breath of laughter and put the phone down, accepting his Old Fashioned with a short ‘Thank you’ when the lady handed it to him. “I see.”

“Guess we’re stuck here at least overnight, huh,” Jesse said.

“It would appear so,” Hanzo sighed, running a hand through his hair to push it away from his face — it fell sleekly over his shoulder and down his back. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were still pink from the cold outside.

Strangely enough the confirmation that they were indeed trapped seemed to calm him down more than anything. He took a sip of his drink and wrinkled his nose, though it didn’t stop him from going in for another straight after.

Hanzo shrugged the coat off and rolled up his sleeves, the tattoo clearly visible on his left forearm. Jesse found himself wrapped up in the design, tracing the interlocking patterns with his eyes when Hanzo wasn’t looking — he’d been trying to get a better look ever since that first time he’d noticed it, when it had been way too dark to make out details and a smear of blood had obscured parts of it. Now that he could study it freely he decided the design suited the man, stark and bold and wound tightly in on itself in ways that didn’t look entirely comfortable.

Eventually Hanzo seemed to sense Jesse’s gaze on him and raised an eyebrow, glass halfway to his lips.

Jesse tore his eyes away and cleared his throat, leaning his elbows on the table. “You gonna get in trouble with your folks over this?”

“Hm?”

“We were already runnin’ kinda late before. Can’t imagine they’ll be happy with this little delay.”

“I… may have some explaining to do when I get back.” He stared into thin air, as if contemplating this, then grimaced and knocked the rest of his drink back in one go, waving for another even as he swallowed.

“Whoa,” Jesse said, equal parts impressed, perturbed and feeling his throat burn in sympathy.

Hanzo gave an acknowledging shrug and started in on the new drink with infinitesimally more restraint, sipping it like a man on a grim quest to escape the dingy shallows of sobriety. “It has been… a long day. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have no one back home to answer to?”

Jesse made an indifferent sound. “Sure, but so long as I get the job done they don’t care much one way or the other how I get there. Would probably start askin’ around for me if I didn’t turn up in a week or so, though. At least I’d like to think so.”

“...an interesting way to run things.”

“I’m a bit of a special case,” Jesse admitted, shrugging. “And I’ve earned it, too. We’re not all charmingly free spirited mavericks like me, though, believe it or not; some of the guys actually do numbers and spreadsheets and shit.”

“Thank heavens,” Hanzo said, “I am not sure the world is big enough for more than one of you.”

When Jesse looked at him there was a smile playing on Hanzo’s lips even as his eyes were drawn and weary, a disarmingly charming expression just from how pleased he looked at his own joke.

“You know, like in your movies? ‘This town isn’t big enough for the both of us’? Dramatic duels at dawn?” He made the most deadpan finger gun Jesse had ever seen and lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I, uh, I thought I caught your reference there,” Jesse chuckled, swirling his drink around in his glass. “You have watched a few Westerns in your time, then? You been holdin’ out on me?”

Hanzo gave a grunt and took a sip of his drink. “None that did not involve assless chaps and only the R-rated kind of riding. No horses involved, though.”

It was a near thing that Jesse didn’t snort bourbon through his nose. Hanzo’s smile widened almost imperceptibly.

If you’d asked Jesse before tonight about Hanzo Shimada’s defining qualities, his sense of humor would not necessarily have come up. The aloofness might, as well as the way he walked and talked like he knew, in a disinterested, blasé sort of way, exactly the most efficient way to kill anyone he set his eyes on if needed — the sparkling repartee, not so much. Jesse had always felt that slinging jokes in his direction was like appealing to a vaguely condescending brick wall. Well, more fool him; one on one and devoid of any business to discuss the guy could be hilarious, not even unintentionally, in a way that careened merrily between the sharply observed and the delightfully mean, though the worst of the nihilism eased once he started in on the third drink.

“So you’re telling me,” Jesse said, squinting at Hanzo’s face, “that you had to stay in character as a delivery boy for a month before the guy finally let you in?”

“It was the only way to get close enough to him,” Hanzo shrugged. “A deeply paranoid man. Rightfully so, of course, he had made some powerful enemies through his stupidity and greed.”

“Wow, Mr. Shimada, tell us how you really feel.”

Hanzo made a little face that clearly said ‘Eh, what can you do, there’s no helping some people’. It was the kind of expression that held the ennui and world weariness of a much older man — Jesse suspected Hanzo had been born with it already preprogrammed into him. “If he had been as willing to learn to cook for himself after divorcing his wife as he was setting up diabolical and deadly security systems… I might have had a lot more trouble. He used his last words to complain he had not ordered pepperoni.”

Jesse had a vivid, inexorable mental image of Hanzo dressed up as a pizza boy scowling daggers under the cap; he had to rest a hand over his mouth before he made a sound he might regret, though Hanzo picked up on it anyway.

“I am glad you seem to find it funny. I did not see the humor in it at the time.”

“I can see how you wouldn’t,” Jesse said, strangled. Pushing his luck he asked: “You keep the uniform, at least?”

Hanzo grimaced into his drink. “Perhaps you and Genji should get together some time and create your own comedy act. He asked me the exact same thing when I got back.”

“I knew that kid was alright,” Jesse beamed. “Good instincts.”

“Apart from having to endure your comedy it was a temporary indignity only and the job went smoothly from there. I did get a commendation from my employer several times,” he added, as if he’d only just remembered. “Had to all but fight off a promotion before I left.”

“Well then, at least you know you got a job waitin’ for you if this industry goes tits up in these peaceful Overwatch times. More than you can say for some of us. Ain’t got too many marketable skills outside of… this whole deal,” Jesse said, catching himself before saying ‘shootin’ people in the head’ as the bartender passed by on her way to another customer.

Hanzo made an unconvinced sound in his nose. “Oh, I would not be so sure of that. One does a lot of people watching in our line of business. You develop a knack for working people out, which is usually half the battle. Take that one,” he said, gesturing discreetly in the direction of a corner table with a lone businessman whose only crime, as far as Jesse could tell, lay in a supremely bland taste in ties.

“What about him? You find his fashion sense personally offensive?”

“Obviously, but beyond that he is clearly having an affair.”

Jesse squinted at the guy, finding that despite looking gracelessly and resignedly middle aged there was no lipstick on his collar, literal or figurative. “Oh, clearly.”

Hanzo, taking this as a challenge, held his head higher and appraised the man as a renowned art critic might the results of a ‘Watercolors For Complete Beginners’ course. “Hm. The first thing he did after sitting down was remove his wedding ring. Two phones, two separate credit cards, which — oh, how embarrassing, he still mixes up on occasion, so this fling might be a recent development…”

The guy sat there mortified while the server reset the card machine; Hanzo rested his chin in a studiously dispassionate palm and kept going.

“Generally surreptitious and flighty manner, so perhaps very recent at that, could be he is not entirely sure his new flame will show up — a newly bought and expensive if, hm, inadvisable outfit, a rather sad attempt at styling what remains of his hair, but I suppose there is something to be said for the nobility of doing what you can with what you have…”

Jesse bumped their shoulders together, chuckling despite himself at the sheer unfiltered disdain. “Okay, Sherlock, I get it. You can stop showin’ off.”

Hanzo shrugged and abandoned the theatrical thinking posture, sitting up straighter again. “Of course most cases are not quite so blatantly, pathetically obvious.”

“You really don’t like this guy, do you.”

A stiffening of his back, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t paying attention — perhaps he thought no one was. “I dislike disloyalty. If you have made the decision to devote yourself to something or someone, you stay true to it.”

“Well, I dunno. I’ve seen too many people stay loyal to their own misery. To bad places, or bad times, or bad people. Sometimes you gotta know when to fold ‘em and walk away, y’know?”

Hanzo glanced at him with sharp, dark eyes from behind the curtain of his hair, something written nakedly in his expression that Jesse didn’t know how to read.

“Not that goin’ behind the back of someone you’ve promised the whole ‘to have and to hold’ thing to isn’t a certifiably shitty move, it ain’t the way a man oughta treat his partner,” Jesse clarified, holding his hands up in easy concession and leaning back to show he didn’t mean to make an argument out of it. “Just sayin’ that there are some things that loyalty doesn’t… well. You see enough shit, it makes you wonder.”

“Hm.”

The corner of Jesse’s mouth wanted to twitch up — he’d known the man for almost a year now, and those little ‘hm’s still remained completely opaque to him.

Hanzo touched his arm and tilted his head towards their new friend with the bland tie. “Ah. Observe.”

The guy was still fiddling with his two credit cards when a woman — slightly younger than him and looking excitedly nervous in high heels — came over to his table, and in his rush to hide them away he almost ended up putting his mouth on her nose when she went in for a chaste kiss.

Hanzo gave a little ‘ta-dah’ wave with such withering sarcasm that it was a miracle the guy didn’t collapse on the spot. “See? He may be unfaithful, but he respects his wife and her intelligence enough to go out of his way to hide it. Touching, in its own way. Perhaps there is something to salvage there yet.”

Shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, Jesse brought his glass to his mouth but had to put it down again before he spilled booze all over himself. “You’re a cynical, cynical man, Mr. Shimada.”

“As cynical as any man who endeavours to see the world clearly.”

Jesse nudged his knee against Hanzo’s under the bar, inclining his glass towards him. “What’s that thing ‘bout how… behind every cynic there’s a disappointed idealist or whatever? Is there really no romance in your soul, sir?”

Hanzo quirked a strange little grin — he glanced at Jesse out of the corner of his eye and held out his glass too. “An odd question to ask a man who studies swordsmanship in this day and age.”

Jesse tipped his head to the side in acknowledgement and touched their glasses together with a clink, taking a sip. In his precise, certain way Hanzo pushed his hair away from his face, still that look about him like he was entertaining some private amusement.

“Such incisive commentary is enough to have me worryin’ what you see when you look at me,” Jesse said, meaning it as a joke. “Starting to think I’ll have to plant some red herring backstories to keep you off my trail. On an unrelated note — I ever tell you ‘bout how I was found as a baby by a circus elephant and was raised by a happy triad of clowns, knife throwers and fire eaters? The good ol’ ‘secretly a Russian princess all along’ ditty? How I got this scar?”

“You,” Hanzo said, the slightest slur to his words now when he didn’t watch it, “are… strange, mostly.”

When he finished laughing Jesse said: “Yeah, I’ve been reliably informed.”

Hanzo pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking at him with what seemed like honest curiosity. “It does not trouble you, then.”

“If it did I’d be nothin’ but troubled all the livelong day,” Jesse said. “Lotta effort, low payoff. Not like I’m ever gonna pass as anything but what I am for any length of time anyway. Might as well work with it.”

Hanzo smiled, his cheeks flushed with the booze and dark hair loosely gathered over one shoulder. He looked different when he smiled for real, almost surprised, like his face had just received an unexpected but not unwelcome visitor.

Jesse found himself smiling back.

“You, uh, you hungry?” Jesse asked after a while, without quite knowing why. “‘Cause I could murder a burger right about now.”

Hanzo blinked slowly at him. “...it is nearly two in the morning.”

“It sure is,” Jesse agreed. “You can have some of my fries, if you’d like,” he added, in the name of sweetening the pot.

After a moment of deliberation Hanzo shrugged. “Who am I to refuse such a deal. Lead the way,” he said, hopping down from the bar stool and gathering up his things.

———

After they finished eating they drifted aimlessly through the terminal for a while before settling down on a bench in an isolated corner, Jesse giving up on what remained of the ketchup splotch on the thigh of his jeans and tossing the paper napkin in the trash. He felt full and warm and oddly at peace with the world at large, and not just because of the booze or the fact that he’d gotten to see Hanzo Shimada — a man whose name was whispered with fear and deference in certain parts of the underworld — make fun of his smoking habit by way of creative application of a french fry not ten minutes ago. The image of Hanzo holding the fry between his fingers like a cigarette and giving a bad imitation of Jesse’s drawl would keep him warm on cold and lonely nights.

Their conversation had petered out to become a comfortable lull, and when Jesse glanced over at him Hanzo was glaring intensely at the opposite wall — almost, Jesse noted, like someone desperately fighting to keep their eyes open.

“Y’know,” Jesse ventured, having observed this internal battle for a while and taking pity, “you can have a snooze if you’d like. I’ll keep a lookout for any questionable characters headin’ our way.”

“Hm?”

“When life gives you jetlag, make a night shift, right?” Jesse said, waving at what he felt sure were the impressive dark circles under his eyes. “I’m not gonna be sleepin’ anytime soon anyway.”

Hanzo blinked in consideration for a while, then gave a ‘fair enough’ head tilt and leaned back. If he was anything like Jesse he probably had the chip with the data they’d traded somewhere on him, close to the skin, but he made a loop with the shoulder strap of his bag anyway and hooked his foot into it. Then he settled into perfect stillness with uncanny immediacy, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face like he was preparing to offer Mr. Sandman an offer he couldn’t refuse — since Hanzo’s eyes were closed anyway Jesse allowed himself a grin.

He rooted around in his bag to fish out the holovid, booting it up and navigating his way to the giant trove of video files he’d downloaded — extremely illegally — when he was eleven and had kept around and up to date ever since for occasions such as this. His logic had always been that should the war break out again he’d better be able to watch every decent Western ever made before the nuclear winter finished him off.

Hanzo drifted off quickly, if the way his breathing changed to be calmer and deeper was any indication, though he still looked stiff and tensed up. Occasionally he would let out a small, hilariously dainty sniffle as he shifted; Jesse was delighted to learn that even while far off in Dreamland he managed to look faintly peeved.

Jesse started the movie and let his brain slide into the comforting groove of the familiar plot. Sinking down on the bench he settled in, crossing his legs at the ankles and stretching out as much as politeness allowed.

When the first movie ended he put on the next one, whistling to himself under his breath as the title screen flashed to life. In his sleep Hanzo slid down the bench until his temple rested on Jesse’s shoulder — for a couple of mad, serene moments Jesse’s body acted like this was the most natural thing in the world. In fact it decided to just sit there for a while, smiling faintly down at the top of Hanzo’s head. They were close enough now that he could smell him, warm and clean and strangely graceful even after what must’ve been a couple of days of travel and half a night in the airport bar. Maybe the mystical mumbo-jumbo the Shimadas shrouded themselves in wasn’t all smoke and mirrors after all and the man was actually magic. It was either that or a really well picked aftershave.

(Jesse might’ve had more to drink than he’d thought at this point, he recognized absently.)

Huh.

…wait a fucking second.

Jesse’s brain felt a slow, indomitable wash of horror as it realized that what his body had meant to do was pull Hanzo in closer where he’d lie more comfortably and securely against his side before turning back to the movie.

Jesse stared into the middle distance for a long time. At one point an elderly lady walked up to him and asked him in hushed tones if he was feeling well.

“Never better, ma’am,” he said hoarsely, realizing too late that he’d sort of leaned back into Hanzo’s weight as if to seek out something sure and steady under her mild, concerned gaze.

She patted his knee. “I get like that myself,” she said wisely. “Put away enough gin beforehand and you’ll sleep through most of the flight anyway. I’m sure your young man won’t mind if he knows you get that worked up about it.”

Jesse made a strangled sound in his throat and nodded, smiling a fixed, manic smile.

As she winked at him and walked away Hanzo sighed in his sleep and turned his face further into Jesse’s shoulder — a soft, trusting gesture that had Jesse dizzy because...well, you wouldn’t know it to look at him, would you, that there could be that kind of easy sweetness in him. Normally you got the impression that he was the kind of man whose most pressing reason, at any moment, not to stab you to death was the potential dry cleaning bill, and nothing about that could prepare you for this.

Some locks of hair had fallen into his face, silky over sharp features. Jesse kept very still and watched him.

You deserve better, Jesse thought nonsensically, out of the blue, Hanzo’s face as he talked about loyalty flashing through his mind. Was loyalty really the word for it when you gave them everything and they seemed all too happy to take it and give nothing back?

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Hanzo gave a low sleepy sound and seemed to come awake. As he stirred he tilted away; Jesse hurriedly inched away before Hanzo’s eyes blinked open, desperately trying to pretend that his side didn’t suddenly feel very cold and lonely. He crossed his legs at the ankles and sank back against the bench, staring fixedly at the holovid as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

With a grunt Hanzo sat up, rubbing at his neck with a pained expression.

“Welcome back,” Jesse said, hoping his grin seemed natural enough to hide the fact that everything inside him was currently one long incoherent scream.

Hanzo smiled slightly and rolled his shoulder, working out the stiffness. “Thank you. Happy to be here.”

The scream in Jesse’s head rose to a violent crescendo at the easy sarcasm. Hanzo glanced down at the holovid for a second with an unreadable expression, then squinted at the big hologram clock over by the entrance, moving his neck like he was smoothing out a crick. He looked over at Jesse. “Hm. It is still only four.”

Jesse’s heart gave a thrill at the barest indication of a raised eyebrow, the invitation slyly offered and easily ignored if unwanted. “Ah, the night is still young, then. You up for another round, Mr. Shimada?”

“‘Hanzo’ is fine,” he said, getting to his feet in one mesmerizingly sure, fluid movement. “And absolutely. I have nowhere else to be.”

———

The bartender seemed both amused and unimpressed to see them again, but she acquiesced readily enough when Jesse grinned and told her to leave the bottle.

“Promised to buy you a drink, right?” Jesse said, waving Hanzo off when he started to say something and pushing a glass towards him. He felt sure he needed to be much drunker if he were to survive the night in this state.

Hanzo tasted the admittedly dirt cheap bourbon and wrinkled his nose. “...interesting,” he said, with the very faintest veneer of politeness the human voice could bestow to cover up the disgust.

“A free drink is a free drink, ain’t it?”

Jesse noted that Hanzo’s expressions changed after a few drinks — normally he looked like he meant to constantly school them even if the results were varying, any flicker of emotion the result of a momentary slip-up and immediately, angrily squashed, but tonight that mask had definitely fallen off somewhere along the way. It looked good on him, that new unrestrained expressiveness. Now that he knew the signs to look for Jesse was pretty sure he could start to pick up on them in a sober Hanzo too. “An excellent point. I apologize for my brashness before, keep it coming.”

“You got it, friend,” Jesse said and topped up his drink.

The nap seemed to have given Hanzo a second wind. There was more of a swagger to him now, a tiny lift of his chin. They talked shop for a while, in a vague and euphemistic dance to avoid saying anything that’d have someone in the bar calling the cops on them, then somehow ended up derailed enough that they were talking about the history of their respective countries in the eighteen seventies the next time Jesse checked in with himself and realized he was having fun. In his surprise he ended up stuttering to a halt; when Hanzo gave him a questioning look he floundered for something to say.

“Y’know, I keep meanin’ to ask,” Jesse said, hoping it covered for his momentary distraction and current existential horror at how charmed he was by Hanzo explaining, in his sardonic, clipped manner, the finer details of the military reforms of the Meiji restoration. “What’s the deal with the sword ‘n the bow ‘n stuff? Not that you’re not pulling it off like nobody’s business, but isn’t it a little… old fashioned?”

Hanzo wrinkled his brow thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his glass. He looked Jesse over from boots to hat and back again; Jesse fought the urge to squirm under the inspection. “...was that a serious question?”

“Huh?”

That private half-smile from before returned, something brightening in his eyes. “Apparently it was. Hm. I suppose it is a little old fashioned, at that. But you never know — perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms.” He blinked slowly — well, he did have a few drinks under his belt at this point too, built like a brick shithouse though he was. “It is also a smidge quieter and more discreet than the hand cannon you carry around.”

“I’ll not sit here and listen to you besmirch my gun just ‘cause your taste skews more medieval,” Jesse announced. “Peacekeeper’s served me plenty well through the years, thank you very much.”

“I am sure it has. And I am even more sure that my ‘medieval tastes’ would still have you beat every time.”

“Would it, now?”

“In fact I am perfectly willing to put money on it,” Hanzo said, leaning forward, a glint in his eye that made Inner Jesse whimper. “Any contest, at any time.”

“Oh ho ho,” Jesse said, casually pushing his hat back on his head as his heart raced against his ribs, “you better believe that all that stands between you, an empty wallet and complete humiliation in this very moment is the laws of this land frowning on firin’ guns in public places.”

Hanzo gave a faux-haughty huff, eyes glittering. “A pitiful excuse.”

Jesse felt the grin bright on his face and leaned forward too. “Hey, gimme a time, place, and somewhere to dump the evidence and we’ll see ‘bout that.”

“That can be arrang — ” Hanzo stopped, a frown appearing on his brow.

“What’s up?” Jesse asked after a while, realizing suddenly how close their faces were now.

“I just had a strange feeling that — ”

Hanzo’s phone called out shrilly, a dozen times or so in quick succession. With the air of someone stepping up to the scaffold and giving the hangman a meaningful look to get it over with already he checked it.

After a few moments he picked up his drink, finished it in one go, poured himself another and then leaned forward to rest his forehead against the bar, the image of a beaten man.

“Uh…” Jesse said, tentatively resting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“My feeling was right,” Hanzo murmured, holding out the phone without lifting his head. “My brother is indeed disgracing himself and our entire family as we speak.”

“What, your Genji sense was tinglin’? You felt a great disturbance in the Force?”

Hanzo gave a mirthless bark of laughter. Jesse stared at the bared line of his neck, stumbling over the fact that he could barely remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted to brush his lips there, to hear a breath of real laughter in response. The physical contact before had woken something inside him that had slumbered for a long time; he couldn’t remember ever longing for anyone to just… touch him before. It was easily the third most pathetic he’d felt in his entire life, sitting there yearning for what was likely one of the most dangerous men in the world to rest a hand on his shoulder, even for a few seconds.

He felt vaguely that his brain had broken or something.

Taking the phone he glanced down at the screen, then flinched back like he’d been stung by a wasp.

“Dear lord,” Jesse said, tilting the phone and then his head to try to make more sense of the image, morbidly fascinated. “The hell’s he doin’ with that lobster? How would that thing even fit down the front of his… huh. Well.”

Hanzo just whimpered, burying his fingers in his hair. “Keep going.”

Jesse flipped through the next few and whistled under his breath. “Well, someone’s havin’ more fun than us tonight, at least. Didn’t even know they made drinks with that many colors. Who’s the young lady with the… ”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Fair enough, that’s — whoa there,” Jesse said, hurriedly skipping one. “Don’t mean to be rude or anythin’, but that’s, uh, that’s more of your brother than I ever needed to see.”

“I know the feeling,” Hanzo said. “For what it is worth I think he sent that one by mistake. My name must be close to one of the girls he is… dating in his contact list, it would not be the first time.”

“‘One of’, huh. One of those situations.”

“Enough of ‘those’ to fill an entire four act comedy of errors.”

Helpless against the depths of resigned despair in Hanzo’s voice Jesse chuckled. “Sounded like you saw this comin’, somehow.”

“It is a special instinct I have developed,” Hanzo told the tabletop earnestly. “I can feel Genji shaming every single one of our ancestors from half a world away.”

Jesse snorted, squinting to make out an image distorted by blurred lights and excessive photo filters and deciding it might be a nightclub actively, literally on fire.

“Of course it is partly a matter of always being prepared to expect it,” Hanzo continued vaguely, sitting up. “Statistically I usually turn out to be right. Mathematics. You know how it is.”

“Least he’s kept his pants on in this one,” Jesse said philosophically, flicking through the last few messages to find that Genji had gone the extra mile by making a holo gif so the nipple tassels could have their full, animated effect.

“Sometimes,” Hanzo said, in a way that suggested he wouldn’t have done so sober, “it feels like he does it specifically to spite me. To get a rise out of me, rubbing it in my face just to show me that he can. Which is naturally ludicrous because I doubt he has ever thought that deeply about anything in his entire life, but it does not stop it from being… annoying.”

Jesse put the phone down, intrigued by the minefield stretching out before them. “Is there anything in those,” he waved towards the phone, “that you’d actually want, though?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hanzo snapped, though Jesse didn’t take it personally as the ire was clearly not actually directed at him as much as the very concept of the question. “It’s pathetic. But he stands free to do anything he wants and chooses to squander it on…”

He stopped himself, looking down at his hands tightly curled on the bar. With deliberate movements he unfurled his fingers, though the tension still ran through them like piano wires — some part of Jesse, having already barrelled through the first stages of grief and resting now in depressed acceptance, recognized that his hands were extremely nice, strong and sure and well shaped. He wished he could have managed to dwell in the tranquil valleys of denial at least until boarding his flight, but there you were. “No matter.”

“Hey,” Jesse said. “He’s just bein’ young and dumb. When’s the last time you saw each other?”

Hanzo shrugged. “Weeks ago. Half a month or so, maybe. Why?”

“You call him in all that time?”

“No. I doubt he would pick up if he knew it was me.”

“Maybe he wanted to get your attention somehow and thought actin’ like a dumbass was the way to go about it,” Jesse offered. At Hanzo’s blank, uncomprehending stare he quickly added: “Hey, what do I know, though, I’m just some random idiot with a neat hat.”

Hanzo, in a very un-Hanzo move, looked unsure. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, staring into the middle distance.

“I never know why he does what he does,” he said finally. “We… do not speak much anymore.”

“You used to?

Hanzo shrugged again, a tight, constrained little gesture. “Some. More. When we were boys. Before — hm.”

Jesse nodded, watching him out of the corner of his eye — he’d ducked his head again, as if going into hiding behind his hair, shutting himself off. There was an ache in Jesse’s chest, some puzzle pieces falling into place and making a pretty sad picture in his head. It seemed weird now that he’d found the guy so inscrutable and overbearing in the beginning. Considering where — who — he came from, it was maybe a wonder he had any urge left to connect to anyone else at all.

“Should I…” Hanzo furrowed his brow as if doing complicated calculations in his head and looked up. “...answer him?”

“Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You saw the nipple tassels, why would you underestimate him like this,” Hanzo said immediately, but he was tapping something out on his phone with a thoughtful expression. “I — would asking him to stay safe count as nagging, do you think?”

“Just like that? Shouldn’t think so.”

Hanzo made an absent-minded sound of gratitude and kept writing. There was something horribly endearing about the way he picked each character like he was setting down important messages in stone that people would see and judge for generations to come.

For a while Hanzo stared down at his finished message, a doubtful downward curl to his mouth. Finally he mumbled: “Perhaps I should not encourage…”

“Hey,” Jesse said, touching Hanzo’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it too hard. Just send it.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” Hanzo said sardonically, though there was a grin lurking in his voice.

“As someone who ain’t never thought too hard about anythin’ in my entire life,” Jesse agreed, bringing his free hand to rest over his heart, “you’d be surprised how often it works out.”

Hanzo chuckled, letting his head fall to one side. After a moment he pressed ‘send’ and put the phone face down on the table, giving a small sigh. “There.”

“And would you look at that, the world didn’t even end,” Jesse beamed, snickering when Hanzo aimed a cheerful kick at his shin.

He had his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo wasn’t shaking him off, wasn’t even acting like it was strange, just looked at him with eyes that were tired and soft with booze and still warmed by a small, rueful smile.

There was a chime of longing in Jesse’s chest, at first unbearably gentle like a bell struck by butterfly wings, but deepening, a call that couldn’t be silenced because it rang through his bones.

Fuck, Jesse thought, giving Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling his hand back. I am so screwed. Twenty years of nothin’ and then I just had to go for the gangster ninja assassin. Sure. Splendid. Why wouldn’t I do that. Completely in character, if nothin’ else.

Hanzo’s phone buzzed again, only twice this time; he snorted as he checked it but wrote an answer before sliding it into his pocket. He turned back to Jesse. “My brother apologizes for accidentally mentally scarring us both. You do not have siblings, do you?”

“Not that I’m aware. I’ve known some of the boys long enough that it’s kinda the same thing, I guess.”

“It is, as they say, a mixed blessing,” Hanzo said. “On the one hand I have been in a constant state of worry for close to twenty years now, on the other… actually no, there is no other hand. That’s it.”

Jesse grinned into his drink. “Sounds like maybe I dodged a bullet there.”

“...I would not go that far.” There was a quiet, fond lilt to his voice Jesse had never heard before.

Fuck.

Maybe — maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad. It wasn’t as though he’d ever act on it, Jesse told himself. Just because he knew it was there didn’t mean he’d have to do anything about it. It could just… stay a background thing. A, what was the word. No, a less embarrassing word than that. A crush, perhaps. His heart could do its whole newfound pitter-patter tap dance routine now and then, backstage where no one could see it, and otherwise he’d keep it under wraps and act like the goddamn professional he’d been scrambling to pretend to be all these years. Topsy-turvy with the booze and the low lights as he felt he wasn’t dumb or mad enough to think that Hanzo would welcome any advances with anything but, at best and simultaneously worst, pity. This was not a knife edge he was eager to test his throat against.

And yet… even as he thought it the part of him that was always watching itself and was wise to his particular brand of bullshit braced itself for the inevitable hurt.

He did a mental shrug. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Anything that was worth doing was worth doing with panache and gusto, even if that thing was crashing and burning. “Can I interest you in more of the house’s finest damn disgusting swill, Mr. Shimada?”

“Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said, “I thought you would never ask.”

————

When the storm ended Jesse didn’t even notice for a while. It was first when Hanzo glanced over his shoulder to the windows and gave a small sound that he realized how light it was out, and that the low but constant howl of the storm had faded somewhere along the way.

Hanzo got up and stood by the huge windows, arms loosely crossed over his chest.

“It would seem the worst has passed,” he said, black hair outlined by the sharp clean light of the dawn. He glanced over as Jesse came up next to him. In the distance they were clearing the runways for snow at a fervent pace, though the inside of the airport had only just started to move out of its torpor. Soon it would be a real mayhem as people scurried to their new gates — but for now it was quiet.

“Seems that way,” Jesse lied blithely, watching his profile, the curl of his mouth.

They paid for their drinks — Jesse hissing between his teeth because well, he’d known it was gonna smart but he’d been trying to keep it out of his mind — and wandered off again, drifting idly through the terminal. Jesse was still tipsy enough that everything felt light and warm, all the sharp edges worn off the world. Hanzo was muttering something under his breath about the architect’s taste in dramatic floor tiles and looking enchantingly snippy while doing it.

Then the departure board updated and Jesse gave a grunt as his phone buzzed with the alert too. “Well, that’s me, I guess. Better get a move on. Thanks for the company, by the way,” he added, reaching out a hand before he could think better of it. “Saved me from being that weird guy getting shitfaced alone in a corner. It was fun.”

Hanzo blinked at him in surprise.

“Y’know, fun?” Jesse prompted. “Surely you’ve encountered the concept before?”

“Hah. McCree,” Hanzo said, taking Jesse’s outstretched hand and shaking it — you could sense the strength in his fingers even under such a controlled, careful gesture. He was grinning. “I… hm. We will keep in touch.”

“You better, we got a bet to settle now,” Jesse said, feeling mildly delirious. “Come at me whenever you’re ready for a taste of humility, I’m always ready to defend my gun’s honor.”

———

A couple of hours later he sat sleepless and hungover in the window row, leaning his head back against the seat as he replayed Hanzo’s startled laugh in his head again and again.

Part of the Scoundrels and Thieves ‘verse, which can be found here!

I would like to thank @callmesherly for helping me with what kind of drink Hanzo might go for if sake was off the table, and to @solivar and @bananamilk for lending their expertise on cowboy innuendo for Hanzo trolling Jesse! On another note — ‘leaving the bottle’ does not seem to actually be a Thing outside of movies and/or very special circumstances in most places, so let’s just assume that the bartender heard our two wonderful boys talking ~*inconspicuously*~ and was smart enough to go ‘haha I’m *not* getting paid enough to argue with international crime syndicates, if this weird kid with the hat believes the shit he sees in movies I’m not gonna be the one who corrects him’. (They did not finish that bottle by themselves, btw, the dialogue would have ended up a lot less coherent otherwise lol)

Also feel free to imagine, years down the line, Sombra finding Jesse’s old… holovid account or whatever they call it and just rubbing her hands together because surely there’s some embarrassing porn in there, there must be, he’s been updating this playlist all through his teens and young adulthood… only to find that no, it really is just every Western ever made, regardless of quality or merit, scrupulously organized like literally nothing else in his life has ever been. Which is, of course, also deeply embarrassing, but in a way that’s hard to exploit because he has exactly no shame about it and he always has at least one backup squirreled away so she can’t even threaten to delete it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Lastly: There might be nothing funnier to me than the idea of Hanzo doing the social stealth part of the whole ninja bit. Entirely competent (because he would never allow himself to be anything less) but also wearing the most long-suffering FML face once the dupe’s back is turned? — yes good. Title is from a Tom Waits song because I am incorrigible and none of you can stop me.

#overwatch #mchanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #young mchanzo #my writing #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse #I'm really sorry if the @s don't go through -- I tried my best but I can't get them to work I think?? thank you guys anyway <3

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years

Note

psssst...if you're accepting prompts then you should totally write something for demon!alex *backflips out window*

CAREFUL, PLEASE DON’T HURT YOURSELF

Being a demon, ahunting animal in every sense of the world, Alex’s fight or flight response wasone of his strongest instincts. And right now, as he sat on the bed watchinghis girlfriend pace back and forth across their small bedroom with the phonepressed to her ear, her expression tense and shaky as she said those words- I’mpregnant…again- every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run and runand not stop.

But he’d promised.He’d promised on bended knee, with too many emotions to count bubbling in hischest as he kissed her stomach again and again, he’d promised to be here forher whatever she needed.

Even if it might endwith him being killed slowly and painfully.

Eliza’s expressiongave nothing away, he could only imagine what was happening with the other halfof her conversation as he watched his Betsey nod and make vague noises ofagreement and mumble half replies.

“No, we didn’t…itwasn’t exactly, no…of course…I know, Dosia, I’ve thought about it carefully…yeah…thanksso much, we’ll be there soon…I love you too.”

After an agonisinglylong wait which Alex spend trying to calculate how much damage his demonic bodywould realistically take on if he jumped out of the window right now, Eliza gavea nervous sigh and held the phone out to him.

“She wants to talk toyou,” she murmured apologetically, trying not to look like she was handing hima grenade ticking its way gradually and inescapably down towards exploding,though that was how it felt.

Alex accepted thephone hesitantly, taking a deep breath and trying to remind himself forcefully anything for Eliza, anything for mychildren, anything for my family.

“Your majesty?” hetried carefully, thinking it was best to start out very formally and politely,seeing as he was dealing with his boss’ wife, the Queen of the Crossroads andone of the most powerful demons in history.

And his Betsey’s bestfriend.

“So,” he tried andfailed to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice, “Eliza told you the goodnews, huh? New little bundle of- “

“Alexander Hamilton,”Dosia cut across him, her tone so cold and flat it left Alex feeling like he’dbeen dumped alone and naked on an Arctic ice floe, “Are you a complete andutter moron?”

Alex bit his lip,eyes silently begging Eliza for help but even his beloved couldn’t save himnow, “I like to think I’ve at least got street smarts- “

“Don’t interrupt, “Dosia snapped, no louder but there was a force behind it, an echo that turnedhis guts to lava, “Because I see no other way someone could watch the personthey loved, the very delicate and breakablehuman, whose already been through literal Hell for them, struggle to carryand give birth to one of their half demonic babies…and then accidentally knockthem up again!”

Alex trembled, “Um…Iknow and I’m sorry but I talked to Betsey and she says she s-still wants to gothrough with it…”

“Is that so?” thephone felt like it was getting hotter in his hand, uncomfortably hot in fact asDosia’s voice climbed and grew more fiery, trembling with the depth of Legion, “After500 years of existence, is something as simple as putting on a condom really thehardest thing you’ve ever had to do? Would you like me to explain it to you,for crying out loud? Here, so don’t open the damn thing with your teeth andthen take it between your thumb and forefinger…”

Even Eliza could hearit as her poor Alex received a sex ed lesson from a demon queen at fullstrength and volume, perching on the bed and watching with a fond, helplessexpression as he winced and held the phone at arm’s length, Dosia’s voice stillringing clear and powerful.

She did her best notto laugh at his misfortune, her hand resting soothingly on her belly where thenewest addition to their family was tucked up safe, the surprisingly tinylittle thing who was causing all this trouble. Usually telling your friends yourfamily was growing by one wasn’t a life-threatening task but their situationwas a pretty rare one, she had to admit.

Maybe rare was evenbeing too generous, unheard of was closer to the mark. Humans and demons didn’treproduce as a rule, let alone two times in as many years. Nor did they worktogether or date or live together or genuinely love each other the way Alex andEliza did, especially after facing everything that stood in the way of theirrelationship, so maybe all in all, having a baby wasn’t actually the weirdestthing they’d ever done?

Either way, a littleuncertainty was something Eliza was well used to.

She wasn’t all thatworried, Dosia had promised she’d just chew her Alex out for a while, leavinghim untouched. And as Eliza thought back to the twenty-six hours it had takento bring their son into the world, she couldn’t help but feel like he deservedto be strung up just a little bit?

She promised himselfshe’d put him back together with hugs and kisses as soon as he was done, gettingto her feet and wandering out of the bedroom, leaving Alex’s very angryeducation to be muffled by the door closing behind her. Shaking her headfondly, she wandered down the hall towards the nursery, the one where littlePhilip slept but would soon be turned around and redone for the new baby.

Philip had taken thenews that he was going to be a big brother very well, better than Alex andEliza could have hoped, especially when they told him that they’d be moving inwith the Burrs (so Eliza could be under their protection while she was in hervulnerable condition) which of course meant being even closer to his bestfriend in the whole world, little Theo.

He swallowed all thatchange and disruption with nothing but enthusiasm and yet the prospect ofgiving up his room for the new baby was what had shaken him to his little three-year-oldcore. So, Eliza wasn’t all that surprised when she found him sat ratherforlornly on the nursery carpet, like he was making the most of every secondthe room was still his, idly hugging his toy giraffe.

“Hello there, littleman,” she smiled, sinking onto the floor next to him, wondering how much longerit would be before her pregnancy made such simple movements impossible, “Youlook thoughtful.”

“Thinkin’,” Pipconfirmed, nodding so hard his mop of curls bounced.

Eliza stroked herlong fingers through his hair. Looking at little Pip as he was now, you’d neverbe able to tell what he was or, rather, what half of him was. Sometimes shefound herself unconsciously studying him, how he interacted with the othertoddlers they encountered at the park, looking for any signs or little ticsthat might put her precious baby in danger. Most of her nightmares these daysplayed out the things she couldn’t let herself even consider in daylight,namely what might happen if people knew the truth about her son. People meaningjust about anyone, more vitriolic hunters, demons looking to get one over onher boyfriend, even just ignorant humans doing their usual hideous thing withthings they didn’t understand. From her world, from Alex’s world, Eliza strivedto make sure her little lion cub had no idea of the myriad of dangersurrounding him from all sides.

She didn’t think thenightmares were going to get any easier, though, as her second baby grew.

“What are youthinking about, love?” she murmured, trying to shake those thoughts out of hermind.

Pip wrinkled hisnose, scrunching up his smattering of freckles, “Um…dunno?”

Eliza chuckledgently, “That’s okay…are you maybe thinking about what Pops told you yesterday?About the new baby?”

His sweet little heartshaped face flushed a bright pink as he admitted, “Maybe.”

She’d expected asmuch, gently lifting her son into her lap, holding him as close as she couldwhich never really seemed to be enough. As she did, she guided his pudgy littlestarfish hands down to her lower stomach, not for any particular reason, justthinking that the action seemed to soothe Alex and maybe it would work forPhilip too? But it turned out to be a very good unconsciously made decision.

As soon as his palmstouched down on his mother’s skin, Pip’s already large eyes widened even more,his mouth opening in a little O of surprise.

“Mama!” he whisperedreverently, “There they are!”

“Oh?” Eliza blinked,charmed by the expression of bewildered excitement on his face.

“Can feel them!” Pipwas practically vibrating with excitement, the demon side of his genes showingthrough in the restless energy that visibly buzzed through him, “Can feel them glowing!”

Of course. Alex couldpick up on the baby’s energy as they grew in her womb, from the way it wasentangled with his own, a part of him as much as it was a part of her. Whycouldn’t Pip do the same?

“Can you really?” Elizagrinned, with only a little touch of jealously. Why did she have to wait untilthat first kick when it was her body the baby was inside? Stupid demon powers…

“Uh huh!” Pip beamedback at her, the gaps showing in his teeth, “They’re green! Nice green, greenlike grass and flowers and…and frogs!”

Eliza snorted withlaughter at that, cupping Philip’s face lovingly in her hands, running herthumbs over his soft cheeks, “That sounds very lovely, little man.”

“I swear, if you puther life on the line just because you can’t keep it in your pants one more time, Hamilton, you lose yourdick privileges, do I make myself clear?” Dosia snarled down the line, probablycausing some of the wires and transistors along the way to burst into flames.

“I wouldn’t go thatfar!” Alex yelped defensively, his nature getting the better of him, “She’llhave you and Maria like last time, I don’t think her life’s in dangernecessarily…”

He realised immediatelythat this was the wrong thing to say as a horrible silence, somehow worse thanher words, filled the space between them, stretching out until he was beggingfor her to start yelling at him again.

“Uh…Dosia?” heventured in a mouse-small voice, wondering if she actually had fried theconnection.

“Alexander,” came theicy reply, “Have you ever had to carry a ten-pound weight in your stomach andthen push it out of, in your case, your ass? Because if you have a burningdesire to do so, I do have that power you realise and am perfectly happy tooblige you from this distance…”

The rumble in Alex’sstomach at that point was most likely a complete coincidence, the effect of thesoda he drank earlier (he wasn’t one for moderation) or something elsecompletely unrelated to Dosia’s threat but it still struck terror into him.

“No, no, no!” he gavea little scream, gripping the side table, “No thank you, your majesty, allpowerful and merciful queen of the underworld, I feel like I can empathise withmy girlfriend sufficiently without that, thank you and also I kind of want toactually live to meet my child?”

Dosia made a derisivenoise but thankfully, nothing happened to Alex.

“Listen, I’m nothappy about the fact that Eliza has to go through that mess again,” he groaned,running his hand through his hair, “But she wants to do this and I respectthat. For the whole nine months, I swear, I’ll be right by her side and doevery single thing I possibly can to make it even a little bit easier on her.And, for your information, I’d be saying that even if you hadn’t yelled at meso…so, yeah.”

Realising he didn’thave a good end to his argument, Alex just kind of trailed off, his hand fallinglimp by his side.

There was anotherharrowing pause before Dosia spat out, “Congratulations,” and slammed the phonedown on him.

That was when Alexdecided to run.

Philip and Eliza werestill sat in wonder as Alex sped into the nursery, skidding to a halt as allhis fear fled and expression softened at the scene in front of him.

“Can feel the baby,Pops!” Pip shrieked delightedly before his father could even open his mouth, “They’rein there!”

Alex chuckled, comingand taking a place by his Betsey so she could lean her head on his shoulder,taking the opportunity to wipe away a few emotional tears as she did. He’dreally hoped his little one would get that particular power of his, the onethat brought him so much peace, to know for sure that his loved ones were closeand safe.

“He’s been telling meall about them,” Eliza explained, smiling tenderly, wrapping her arms aroundAlex’s, “How they’re feeling, what mood they’re in, he can sense all of it.”

“No way!” Alexgrinned, it sounded as if he was even more perceptive than his father, “That’sso cool, you go little buddy!”

Pip flushed withpleasure, demonstrating his power proudly as he carefully examined his mother’sstomach, her shirt pushed up for his hands, “Very green, green and happy. Kindahungry. Lotsa love.”

Eliza gave a gentle,happy little sob into her palm, snuggling close to Alex, “Oh…”

Alex found his girlfriend’shand and squeezed tight, his own voice thick with emotion, “And can you feelhow much they love you, mijo? How much they love their big brother?”

Pip puffed his littlechest out, eyes as bright and human as you could hope, “Yes! Love for me, too.”

Alex smiled, rufflinghis son’s hair. Maybe they didn’t fit into one category or another, maybe theywere breaking a few rules. But it sure as hell felt worth it.

#I love this #demon!alex au #its the best au #thanks for the prompt!#spn au #hamliza #alexander x eliza

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