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owlwithanapple · 5 months

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Only you.

Part 02

Jack Morrison x reader x Slightly Genji Shimada

After leaving Jack's office, you went to the cafeteria to get a sandwich and find a seat. At this time, you are thinking about how to deal with the task. You will go to Samoa on a mission the morning after tomorrow. As for how long it will take, it is not clear how much the situation will change. The document says to inquire about Eddy Swarn, but how to get close to him? You were thinking with your eyes closed, and suddenly remembered that Jack just touched your face.

"That bastard." You blurted out in a low voice.

"Who are you talking about?" Suddenly someone asked in a low voice.

"Ahhhh! You scared me! Why do you stand quietly next to me? Genji!" You are scared by Genji.

"I'm sorry, I saw you want to say hello. What are you thinking about? " Genji said with a smile.

"I'm really scared of you, Mr. Ninja. Don't be so quiet in the base. " You complain.

"It's a habit. I'm sorry." Genji bowed and apologized.

"Don't apologize, it's making me a fuss. But you are so awesome. You are obviously a cyborg, and you can appear quietly. " You look at Genji admiringly.

"Hahahaha, professional habits. Can I sit? " Genji asked.

"Ah! That's right! Come on, please sit down!" You watch Genji sit in front of you.

"Have you received the task?" Genji looked at the documents in your hand.

"Ah, that's right. It's quite sudden. I have to leave the morning after tomorrow, so I have to think about what to do." You sighed.

"It's really sudden. You didn't come back until this morning, so soon to carry out the next task? " Genji asked curiously.

"This task requires my skills. There's nothing I can do." You sigh.

"You should have a good rest and refresh yourself to meet the task of the day after tomorrow." Genji said.

"Emmmm, I know. You can't do it without thinking or rest. What a contradiction, right, Genji? " Ask Genji.

Genji kept staring at you and there was no response. You poked Genji on the shoulder a few times before he reacted to you.

"Sorry, I'm distracted. What did you just say? " Genji bowed his head and said.

"No, it's not a big deal. Don't worry about it, it's just my own contradiction. How are you, Genji? It's rare to see you distracted. " You look at him worriedly.

"I'm fine. I'm just thinking." Genji smiled.

"Oh..." You look at him doubtfully.

"Don't you like tomatoes?" Genji looked at your plate and asked.

"Ah? Ah, right. Wait, Genji, didn't you just get distracted by thinking if I don't like tomatoes? " Ask him jokingly.

"What do you think?" Genji tilted his head and asked you back.

"Gen~jiiiii." You look at him with pitiful eyes.

"Haha, I'm sorry, I won't tease you. Have a good rest. I'm going to the training ground. If you need my help, you know where to find me. Goodbye." Genji got up and left.

"That Morrison is already strange, and now even Genji is strange. Or... am I strange?" You ask yourself doubtfully.

You were about to get up and leave when you found a small green bag in Genji's seat. It says to Y/N. When you open the bag, you find a note that says, "This is an amulet. I pray for your safety - Genji." You were stunned. It's incredible that Genji sent you an amulet. You immediately hold the amulet in the palm of your hand, close your eyes and pray for Genji's safety.

"That guy... It's really good at doing small tricks. " You said with a smile.

Then you get up and go back to your room, lock the door, take off your clothes and walk to the bathroom. Adjust the water temperature and open the shower head and let the water sprinkle on your body to remove the dirt from your body. The sound of water makes you unconsciously think of the picture of the war at that time. At the beginning, you were the enemy of Overwatch, but now you actually joined them.

"I didn't expect that I really joined Overwatch." You said it.

After turning off the water, you put the towel around your body and walk to the bedroom. After drying your body, you go to the wardrobe and choose the clothes you want to wear. At this time, there was the sound of someone calling you and knocking on the door. You knew it was Zenyatta when you heard the sound. Put on your clothes immediately and go to the door to open the door.

"Hi, Y/N." Zenyatta said.

"What's the matter? Come to me at this time?" You asked.

"Have you decided what you want to prepare for dinner?" Zenyatta asks you.

"Dinner? Me?" You read the calendar that today is you and Zenyatta in charge of preparing dinner.

"You forgot, didn't you? Seeing that you didn't come to the kitchen, I came here to find you. If you are tired, you can rest, and I will tell them. " Zenyatta said gently.

"That's right, I remembered. Dinner is prepared in turn. Wait for me. I'll put on a coat and go down with you. " Hurry up and put on a coat before you leave the room.

"Y/N, you will carry out a new task the day after tomorrow, right? Remember to rest more tomorrow and don't work hard." Zenyatta asked.

"Yes, thank you for your concern." You answer with a smile.

"Y/N Have you decided what to cook for dinner? Because I'm a machine and don't need to eat, it's more appropriate for you to decide. " Zenyatta looked at you and asked.

"Actually... I didn't expect it. Let's ask everyone's opinion then. " You are smiling awkwardly.

"Y/N, with all due respect." Zenyatta said seriously.

You immediately stood still and looked at Zenyatta's back.

"Did I offend him? Does he hate me? Yes, he is a pacifist, but the machine is also emotional. What's more, I used to be his enemy, and it's not surprising that I suddenly joined them and was hated. " You think.

"Zenyatta, I understand. You don't have to force yourself to be good to me. I used to be an enemy. I know what you mean. It doesn't matter if you want to abuse me. I can accept it. " You say it frankly.

"Nonono, you misunderstood. I never had that idea. I'm really happy for you to join us. It's my honor to have more friends and comrades-in-arms. " Zenyatta explained.

"Ha? Really!? Don't you hate me!?" You asked nervously.

"Nonono, I really don't hate it. You are very funny, lively and likable. Compared with before, you have indeed changed a lot and proved your ability. Don't be uneasy about yourself. When you feel any uneasy, you can come to me to meditate and calm down. " Zenyatta's explain gently.

You knelt on your ground and breathed a sire relieved, but tears suddenly fell down unstoppably. You wiped away your tears in a panic. At this time, Zenyatta calmed down, put her hand on your head and gently stroked it as if to comfort you. The long-beared guilt suddenly surged into your heart in an instant, and your tears couldn't stop at all. I really want to tell everyone that I'm sorry that I shouldn't have hurt everyone at the beginning. Now I really appreciate their acceptance of me as a sinner.

"What on earth should I do... Zenyatta. " You said in tears.

" I understand that human emotions are very complicated and always have doubts about their choices. Now I see that you are stronger than before, and you have a lot of opportunities. Please cheer up. Everyone will be waiting for you. " Zenyatta said comfortingly.

"I... No, I won't say too much about the speech. Thank you, Zenyatta." You get up and look at Zenyatta with a smile.

"Genji is right," Zenyatta said.

"Hmm? What did he say? " You looked at him doubtfully.

"Nothing, hahahaha." Zenyatta left.

Zenyatta is a naughty avoidable topic. You gave up and didn't ask...

Arrived at the cafeteria--

"Hi, beauty. Hey! What's wrong with your eyes? " Cassidy asked in surprise.

"Hi, cowboy. It's okay. It's just the dust in my eyes. " You answer.

"It's not good to lie, Y/N." Zenyatta smiled.

"Then tell me about Genji just now!" You asked Zenyatta in a hurry.

"Oh my God! Y/N, what's wrong with your eyes!" Mercy and Tracer shouted.

"I'm really fine. Don't worry about it. It's really nothing. It's just dust. I'll go to the bathroom to wash my face first. " Hurry up and run to the bathroom.

You ran so fast that you accidentally bumped into the person coming from the corner. You feel someone holding your hand, you immediately look up and find that the person in front of you is Jack.

"I'm sorry! I didn't notice you coming." You immediately bow and apologize to Jack.

"I'm fine. Are you all right? Where did you get hurt? Wait, what's wrong with you? Why are your eyes so red?" Jack pulled you close to him.

"I'm fine. I just got the dust on my eyes. I'm going to the toilet to wash my face now. Could you please let go of my hands? " Ask Jack.

"Is it really just dust?" Jack clenched your hand and said.

"Really, Jack. I have to prepare dinner. It's a little urgent. " You said with a smile.

Jack let go of your hand and looked directly at you, and you looked at him with a smile. When he was about to speak, suddenly interrupted by Gabriel's voice.

"What are you two doing standing here?" Gabriel asked.

"I wanted to go to the bathroom, but I was stopped by the captain. Save me Gabriel!" You hide behind Gabriel and say.

"Hey! Fuck you." Jack shouted.

"Are you all right? He didn't do anything to you, did he?" Gabriel looks at you.

"Hey! Gab, what can I do to her!" Jack defended.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" Gabriel looked at you and said.

"She said that the dust got her eyes. It's a bad reason." Jack replied.

"You don't believe it, idiot Jack Morrison." You complain about him.

"That's how you talk to your boss!" Jack said seriously.

"That's enough for you two! Don't put me in the middle and quarrel, okay? Y/N I order you to go to the bathroom to wash your face and then go to the cafeteria. Now! Immediately!" Gabriel ordered you.

"Yes!" Hurry up and go to the bathroom.

Jack looked at your back and sighed.

"She's gone. Have you seen enough? Pervert." Gabriel mocked.

"Gab, you see her eyes just now. No matter how you look at her, she has cried. Why did she use this reason to perfunctory me?" Jack told Gabriel.

"Jack, if you want to care about her, you should catch up with her. But now she doesn't want to tell the truth, and you can't force her. Don't force her to say it. " Gabriel persuaded him.

"Gab, didn't she believe me so didn't tell me?" Jack asked Gabriel.

"You think too much. If she doesn't trust you, she won't take the initiative to be your subordinate. Don't forget that I invited her to join my team, and she was very reluctant. She told me that she must join Jack Morrison's team. I just recommended her to you." Gabriel said.

"Maybe. Forget it. I hope she's okay. " Jack whispered.

"But Jack, you have benefits today." Gabriel said with a smile.

"What benefits?" Jack asked doubtfully.

"Today, Y/N and Zenyatta are in charge of dinner. I don't know what dinner she is preparing?" Gabriel replied.

"Can this be regarded as welfare?" Jack said seriously.

"That's right. She didn't cook for you." Gabriel mocked Jack.

"Fuck you,Gab." Jack patted Gabriel shoulder and laughed.

You arrived at the bathroom--

You turn on the faucet and soak your hands in the water. Wash your face with some water and look in the mirror.

"Fuck, my eyes are so red. I have to cheer up." You pat yourself in the face and leave the bathroom.

You stand in the corridor, take a deep breath and walk in the direction of the cafeteria . When you arrive at the kitchen and find that Zenyatta is already preparing the ingredients.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" You hurried over to help.

"It doesn't matter, Y/N, don't worry." Zenyatta comforted you and said.

"Y/N, I'm looking forward to dinner today." Genji waved to you.

"Hey! Genji. What do you want to eat?" You asked.

"Eh? Me?" Genji looked at you doubtfully.

"Actually, I haven't figured out what dinner to prepare, so I want to ask your opinion." You answer him.

"Let me think about it, is ramen okay?" Genji asked.

"It's too difficult. I can't do it." You answered awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect it." Genji's awkward answer.

"It's okay. I can learn to cook next time when I'm free." You reply with a smile.

"Okay, thank you." Genji replied.

At this time, you open the refrigerator and check each ingredient. Zenyatta said something quietly near Genji, but you didn't care about the conversation between the two.

"Genji, you're right." Zenyatta whispered.

"What did I say? Master Zenyatta." Genji was confused.

"Her smile is very beautiful." Zenyatta replied.

"Master Zenyatta, you didn't tell her, did you?" Genji asked in a panic.

"I didn't say it. You should tell her these words yourself." Zenyatta comforted Genji and said.

"Thank you, master." Genji replied.

"Zenyatta! How about hot pot dishes? We can add any ingredients we like." You shouted.

"Good idea. Then I'll prepare the soup base. Could you please prepare the ingredients? "Zenyatta asked.

"Let me deal with it." You answer enthusiastically.

You take some ingredients from the refrigerator and put them on the table. When I was about to cut the ingredients, Genji stood by and looked at you. Although you bow your head, you can feel that his eyes are looking at you.

"Ermm... Genji. Go back to your seat first,it will be very uncomfortable for you to stand here and look at me. " You whispered.

"I'm sorry for being rude. I want to ask if there is anything I can do for you?" Genji explained.

"It doesn't matter. I can do it." You answered with a smile.

Genji turned his head and walked away in the direction of Cassidy, who was waving with him. You continue to prepare your ingredients, cut the ingredients neatly into pieces and put them on the plate for later use. Suddenly you smell a very fragrant smell, which is the taste of the soup that Zenyatta is preparing. You clean the cutlery and go to everyone's seat, then put the ingredients on the table.

"Hot pot?" Ana asked.

"That's right, you can put in the ingredients you want to cook." You answer.

"Good idea, beauty. Simple and elegant." Cassidy said.

"Hahaha, thank you, cowboy." You said.

"Hahahahahahaha! What a fragrant smell! What's for dinner today?" A proud voice said.

"Hi! Uncle Rein! Welcome back!" You run to hug Reinhardt.

"Oh, my God, cutie! You are finally back! The sudden loss of contact scared me to death. I almost rushed to find you. " Reinhardt laughed and raised you high.

"Uncle Rein, let me down! It's dangerous!" You are panicked.

"Hahahahaha, why are you lighter than last time? Are you full?" Reinhardt laughed and said.

"Put Y/N down quickly, Reinhardt. You're scaring her." Ana was trying to persuade Reinhardt.

"Hahahaha, I'm sorry. When I saw the little cutie, I couldn't help but want to raise her high." Reinhardt put you down gently.

"Uncle Rein, dinner is ready. You can find a seat and wait." You answer with a smile.

"Reinhardt, you really, you will scare her if you lift her up like this. What if she get hurt? " Ana said seriously.

"Hahaha! Isn't it with you? Y/N is very strong, she won't get hurt because of this. " Reinhardt said.

Ana shook her head and followed Reinhardt to their seats. You find that Jack is looking at you. Thinking that he just touched your face and hand, you shyly lowered your head and walked to help Zenyatta.

"You look so perverted. " Gabriel complained.

"Shut up, Gab," Jack replied.

Part 02 The End.

Characters : Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes/Genji Shimada/Mercy/Tracer/Ana/Cassidy/Reinhardt/Zenyatta

Part 03 To be continued….

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rwac96 · 8 months

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Type: Ask

AU: Original Male Stud AU, Fusion AU: Crossover AU

Fandom: Dragon Ball x Overwatch

Summary: What happened when Lena tell that because she liked and dated girls doesn’t mean he is safe from her sexual predation as “Tonight…You” wasn’t a joke but a warning and a promise for what is about to happen to him.

Meme: Tonight You Meme

Tracer: *blinks in front of Gohan* Hey, luv!

Gohan: *cornered* GAH!

Tracer: *lowers her eyelids slightly* Tonight...You.

Gohan: *confused* Aren't you Gay--?

Tracer: *leans in towards his face* Did I bloody stutter?

#answer #answered #answer post #crossover #crossover au #crossover shitpost #dragon ball #overwatch #son gohan #tracer #lena oxton #blink and rice #blink & rice #blink and rice (son gohan x tracer)#tonight you meme

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

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Hi, when you get the chance I would love a romantic Overwatch matchup!

I go by they/them but I'm pronoun apathetic with a dislike for feminine terms, omnisexual with a preference for more masculine presenting people

I can be pretty chill but I have severe ADHD and all those not so fun little quirks, once I am passionate about something I am deep in that interest for a while, I'm the therapist friend but I would really like someone to comfort me after everything is said and done, a lot of self doubt but to others I seen pretty confident and outgoing, I'm often found listening to music (I'm all over the place with genres so here's my playlist if you'd like to take a look💕 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jN2o9ifTehuehJHauYgIg?si=Lw70wjgOQ4-HTlVOLIcK4A&utm_source=copy-link ) , I'm very clingy and physically affectionate but I also love giving thoughtful gifts that are handmade most of the time cause I love crafts and little projects.

If you have the time it be really cool if you could make a mini fic for my matchup

Thanks again for letting me know requests were open!

omg hi!!!! im so glad you could get a request in and of course!! i really wanted you to get your matchup in here because i never get overwatch requests lol. I think I have a great character for you though it took a lot of deciding lmaooo

the character I chose for you is...

TRACER!!

you both have almost the same energy, however, she is a little more hype

you both have ADHD (at least im pretty sure she does, i dont know if it was confirmed though) and are able to relate and actually help each other when things get really rough

she presents herself in a very masculine way through her outfits and hair, so I thought it would be perfect!

she loves to listen to you when you get hyperfixated on something

literally had heart eyes when you start going on and on about something you love

she will go to you for comfort when she is feeling down or just outright exhausted, but she will 100% be there for you too listening to everything you need to tell her

she will hype you up all the time telling you how good you look or how amazing you are and it makes you blush and makes you 10x more confident

if you make her a handmade gift, she will cry because it means so much to her

please be clingy because she's the same way and you two will literally be hugging everywhere lmao

just know that she loves you and will care for you all the time

and per your request, here is a little fic :)

MINI FIC

"I'm tired," you heard Tracer's iconic British accent as she walked into the room, her hair a complete mess. "y/n, hold me."

She blipped over to you and fell into your arms as you giggled, falling on the couch behind you. "Tracer, babe, you could give me some warning next time before you teleport into my arms." But you hugged her anyway, pulling her closer into your lap. "Long day, babe?"

Tracer just nodded into your chest, holding you close like you could run off at any second. "Tired."

Her voice was muffled in your chest, so you just ran your fingers in her hair, feeling her fall asleep.

"I love you, Tracer." You said under your breath, kissing her on the forehead.

"Love you too." Tracer's sleepy voice said, her eyes still closed with a smile.

~~~~~

matchup rules --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

#i hope you like it!#i was a little hesitant about this one because of tracer in canon #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #<3 #but i went for it and hope you love it!!#tracer #tracer x reader #tracer overwatch #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 x reader #ow #ow x reader #ow2 #ow2 x reader

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gosiksmallspace · 2 years

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reveal your watch and rewatch drama list

tagged by @godotismissingx

I’m mixing dramas and movies:

-> currently watching:

Vincenzo – I watched the first episode yesterday and going to continue.

One Piece – it's a weekly tradition with my brother. We are watching it and complaining about peacing. The story is so engaging. And the animation has gotten really good recently.

SPY X FAMILY – every Saturday. Read manga first, and it was awesome. Love the found family trope. Besides, the Forgers are hilarious trying to be a normal family.

Crash Landing On You - I stopped on episode 5 almost two years ago. Hyun Bin and Son Ye-jin managed to get married. I need to finish it.

Leverage (Korean version) – I'm watching it occasionally. I prefer the US version, but Korean is not bad. Currently on episode 11.

Bridgerton – started watching from season 2 because adore the enemies to lovers trope. Now I have to watch season 1.

Book of Fish – watched two first minutes and needed to stop because I had to do a task for Uni. Need to go back to it. Sol Kyunggu waits for me.

Escape from Mogadishu – Similar to the Book of Fish. Watched the first 7 minutes, and life called me. As well need to go back for it. Because of Koo Kyo Hwan.

-> Rewatch:

The Merciless – always ready to rewatch that movie. It’s my life now. I accepted it.

D.P. – there are only 6 episodes? And it’s soo good? I want season 2.

Beyond Evil – mostly rewatching episodes 1, 8, and 16. But the whole show was incredible.

Leverage (US Version) – my comfort show. Always good to go back to it. Group of thieves scamming bad people. I love it.

-> to watch list

Tracer – Im Siwan. I need to watch it now that all episodes are out.

Kinnporsche – the gifs on tumblr are teasing me. Also, mafia BL? I’m in. And the bath scene. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

Pachinko – the premise is interesting. And the opening is great.

The Uncanny Counter – on my list for a long time. Need to watch it finally.

The Crowned Clown – Yeo Jingoo. And period drama.

Semantic Error - BL

Tinted With You – BL

Peppermint Candy – Sol Kyunggu. And from the interviews, he is very proud of that one. So I need to watch it.

Kingmaker – Sol Kyunggu won Baeksang for it. I was supposed to watch it a long time ago. Min recommended it to me.

Rikidozan – Sol Kyunggu as well.If someone knows where to watch it let me know.

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance – And Shin Hakyun. In minty hair.

I have bingo with Sol Kyunggu movies. I want to watch them all. My to-watch list has over 50 titles so I will stop here.

Tagging: (I don’t know who was already tagged, sorry) @daxianme, @verochkasnightmarecorner, @yardmargs, @fridayvelvet, @sofarraway, @igonecrazy, @requestomaestro and who wants to and I forgot to mention!

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jinjeriffic · 3 months

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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #dc domics #batfamily #no beta we die like danny phantom #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic #congrats bruce it's a boy #clockwork loves melodrama

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jayflrt · 2 months

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yours forever in 786

PAIRING ▸ private investigator!jay park x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), smut, fluff, angst, mystery, drama, enemies to lovers au, college au, rich kid au

SUMMARY ▸ after being blackmailed into accepting an assignment, jay park, a young private detective, is thrown back into college. this time, though, he’s at an ivy league and tasked to follow you to uncover what dark secrets your old money family is hiding. in doing this, jay must fraternize with your inner circle by joining a secret society called the "order of kryptos.” what he doesn’t realize is that the deeper he gets into his mission, the more he starts to lose himself.

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slowburn, alcohol/drug consumption, portrayals of addiction, sexual jokes, sexual content, betrayals!! backstabbing!!, toxic relationships, order of kryptos isn’t a real secret society but heavily inspired by the ivy league secret societies, emotional cheating (BOOOO! not from mc or jay tho), jay and mc have a small age gap (2 years), most of the characters are pretty toxic so please note that this is not attune to their real life personalities at ALL

UPDATE SCHEDULE ▸ every day

PLAYLIST ▸ still sane by lorde • this is what makes us girls by lana del rey • too good by troye sivan • paparazzi by lady gaga • old money by lana del rey • i was never there by the weeknd, gesaffelstein • prisoner by the weeknd, lana del rey

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i’m back with another smau but this one’s less lighthearted and more heavy ? sort of an experiment let's see how it goes, but hope u enjoy and lmk what u think !! ♡

CHATROOMS !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

ACT ONE: THE TRANSFER

01. skip tracer to millionaire pipeline

02. besties with testes

03. who the fuck is princessyuna

04. the world of the elite

05. please don't the tom nook

06. standing on business (vlog boycott)

07. friend (noun.) not heeseung

08. boo boo the fool

09. professional haters debut

10. 21 jump street for nepo babies

11. how to not bleed to death

12. jay/n train

13. leather jacket

14. no goodbye sucks or fucks

15. ugly truths

16. girlfriend but the girl is silent

17. justice for stress shitters

18. alcohol shortage when

ACT TWO: THE INVITATION

19. attention seeker

20. and there was one bed

21. every boy for himself

22. rhymes with loona

23. out-testosteroned

24. white lies

25. heart-to-heart

26. the athenaeum

27. sock sock shoe shoe

28. group ass fucking

29. post defamation dinner date

30. final verdict

31. do you have time to talk about our lord and savior

32. tap to get tapped back

33. mad as fuck (the remix)

34. in too deep

35. change my world

UNCUTS !

TBD.

ONGOING 4/27/24

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen smau #jay smut #jay smau #jay imagines #enhypen social media au #jay x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios #jongseong smut #park jongseong #jay park #jay hard hours #enhypen hard hours

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thetriumphantpanda · 3 months

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LOST IN OUR VICES | ONE

Chapter Summary | A chance encounter with a handsome stranger sets off a chain of events that could all end in disaster. It's hard to say no when it feels so good though.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader

Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus tells a lie, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of academia, academic failure and strained parental relationships, gratuitous descriptions of London because I live here and I love it, some heavy making out and some heavy petting, no use of y/n.

Authors Note | WELL HERE SHE IS. I have no idea how to tell you how much I am loving this so far. Professor Pike has well and truly rotted my brain so y'all have to suffer with me okay? It's gonna be fun, I promise. I would LOVE to know what you all think about this so feel free to scream at me incumbents, reblogs and asks! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and making sure it isn't utter tripe. ILY. And to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s seen her there every day he’s visited the past month. Sitting on the bench, looking up at the same sculpture - a woman carved from marble - sketching into a notepad. He stands this time and watches as her finger tucks some hair behind her ear, brushing it out of her face. She looks up and tilts her head a little, eraser end of her pencil sitting between her teeth as she thinks, tracers a portion of the statue before her head is back down, looking at the page as she continues to draw.

She’s beautiful, there’s no denying it, she’s been beautiful every time he’s seen her. There’s something lonely about her too, the way she sits there on her own, artefacts and artworks for company. She’s just like him really, uprooted from a life he was no longer satisfied with, four years of a PhD and now the letters of Dr before his name. Moved to London, a new city, a fresh start as he’d coined it to his family, but he’s been here three years now, and not one thing that he wanted from his move have materialised. He knows the therapy was good for him, he knows that his haste to find someone was probably what was making him scare people off, but he doesn’t much like the other side of the coin either - a modest flat in London to himself, a small group of friends who sit around and drink beer and droll on about their academic passions, but no-one he can really call his own right now.

Dr. M Pike. Professor of Art History. That’s what his doorplate says, one of many in the small corridor at UCL. Three years and he’s still not quite sure how he made it here, or if it’s really what he wants, but it beats whatever he was doing back in D.C. that’s for sure. It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time, but when Lisbon had told him she wasn’t coming, everything about it seemed wrong, soiled somehow, by the life he’d built in his mind being torn up by someone who, looking back, had never really wanted him in the first place.

He thought about talking to her the first day he’d seen her, but then realised he was actually here to prepare for one of his teaching seminars, so squirrelled himself away to another room instead. The second time he’d seen her, she’d looked too engrossed on whatever she was working on, and then every other time, he’s convinced himself she’s here for peace, not to be bothered by some random man. But there’s something about the way she is today that makes the pull harder to resist, so he says fuck it, shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and walks over.

“You come here often?”

It’s an American accent that pulls you from your work. His voice jolts your hand, makes you press your pencil into paper too hard and at the wrong angle. You suck in a deep breath, try not to think about the hours of work he’s just ruined by startling you. You’re about to turn around and complain when he comes into your vision.

He’s tall, broad shoulders covered in a light dress shirt, two buttons undone so you can see a flash of tanned skin and a smattering of hair. It’s tucked into dark jeans, a belt keeping them tight to his trim waist. And then there’s his face - a beard, but only just and friendly brown eyes, a full mouth too. He’s handsome, there’s no way around it.

“Sorry, that was awful,” The mystery man scratches the back of his neck, “I just come here a lot and I think I’ve seen you here every time for the past month.”

You smile at that, that you’re someone he’s been picking out amongst the crowd of tourists who always come here, someone familiar to him, even if he’s not the same to you.

“I’m just working on something.” You shrug, letting your palm slyly cover the sketch you’ve been making.

The man walks in front of you slightly, takes a seat on the vacant spot on the bench and looks up at the woman carved from marble, “She’s beautiful.” He muses.

“She is.” You agree, looking over the curves of her hips, the way the marble has been carved to make it look like her clothes are wet, sticking to her breasts like she’s just climbed out of the Aegean Sea.

“You like sculpture then?”

“I do,” You nod, turning your body a little towards him, “It’s not my first artistic passion, but I’m studying for my PhD at the moment and it’s all about the female form in marble.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” He smirks a little at you, “Sounds interest though, where are you studying?”

“UCL,” You beam, because you’re proud, it wasn’t easy, you’d been rejected for your first choice research project the first time around, encouraged to choose something else from the feedback, but you were there now, and that’s what mattered, “What about you?” You ask, “What do you do that means you have to be here as much as me?”

He shrugs a little, “I teach.”

It’s vague but you don’t press, he owes you nothing, so you let it lie. You turn back to the sculpture in front of you, when your stomach grumbles. You look down at your watch. It’s 2pm and you’ve not eaten anything yet.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.” You reply meekly.

“Want to grab something to eat?” He asks, “I know a great Italian place in Soho if you fancy it?”

You look at him, eyes tightening a little. It’s been so long since anyone has shown you an ounce of interest, and now the beautiful man in a shirt and dress pants wants to take you for lunch, it all seems a bit too good to be true. But, you can hear the voice of your therapist tell you to say yes to more things, take more risks in life because not all of them are going to turn out to be bad, so you flip the front of your notepad over to cover your drawing and reach down to pick up your backpack.

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t disappoint. Over the course of a glass of wine and a bowl of olives, you coax out his name. It’s Marcus. He’s got a PhD in Art History and moved to London from D.C. three years ago. He lives alone, near Notting Hill, he likes it because he can go searching for antiques on the weekend. He wants a dog, but he spends too much time out of the house to justify one. He likes to read and he can cook, but prefer eating out or ordering in because he’s not mastered the art of cooking for one.

When a waiter sets down your second glass of wine and your food - gnocchi with pesto and bacon for you and carbonara from Marcus, he turns the conversation back to you, sipping wine as he ask you where you live - Willesden Green, so not far from you - who you live with - myself, my dad was so proud I got into my course he pays for my rent, it’s the only way he can show he loves me - what you like to do with your free time - free time? When I have it, I read, or I walk, or I sit and draw sculptures in museums.

You don’t know whether it’s the wine or not, but the dark winter sinks in, outside cloaked in black, lights dimmed inside, and it makes him even more handsome than he was before. He makes you laugh, with his stories of his own PhD stress, how he would walk the streets of D.C. at 3am to get coffee and pancakes on his way back from the library and then collapse into bed and sleep for two hours until his alarm would wake him up and he would go all the way back to the library to do it again.

“If I ever get to that point,” You muse, stabbing a piece of gnocchi onto your fork, “I don’t think I’ll have the will to make it through.”

“You seem far too organised to me to fall into the bad habits I had.” He shrugs, looking at you over his own glass of wine as you take a bite of your food, too busy watching him to really notice the angle of your fork, green sauce smearing on the corner of your mouth as you fight it into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to reach down and grab the napkin from your lap, Marcus is reaching over the table, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray sauce away. It’s something that under any other circumstance would make you feel uncomfortable, but all it really makes you want to do is kiss him, especially when he apologises profusely for being so forward.

He pays for dinner, insists on it really, hidden behind the excuse that he knows how hard it is to live whilst studying. He takes you for cocktails at a bar on the end of Old Compton Street - orders himself an old fashioned whilst you opt for an amaretto sour. The bar is dark and busy, the only seats are in a corner, sat so close together your knees are touching and your shoulder is slightly leaned into his side.

“So, you said you got rejected from your first choice course?” He muses, taking a short sip of his drink.

You shrug with a nod, “I wanted to research the impressionist movement,” You start to explain, “I love Monet and Renoir but I think my research application was too broad,” Sipping your own drink you carry on talking, “There’s a great academic at UCL, Professor Pike, I was desperate to have him as my supervisor, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

You turn your head a little, watching as Marcus swallows on nothing, quickly taking another sip of his drink.

“It’s okay,” You hasten to add, “I guess if I’m not writing thousands of words about it, it won’t make me hate what I love most.”

“Smart,” Is what he says with a smirk, “You would have given him a run for his money anyway.”

“Do you know him?” You ask, “I know all of you academic types are familiar with each other.”

He swallows on nothing again, “I’ve heard of him but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

You both order another drink, sit around talking about nothing much at all, slowly moving closer as the bar gets busier, you tell yourself it’s just so you can hear him better, but he smells good, some kind of musky cologne that suits him really well, so you don’t complain about soaking it up.

When it gets late, he offers to take you home, keep you company on the tube. You know it’s not really necessary, you’ve never felt particularly unsafe walking home from the station, but if it means spending more time with him, then you don’t really mind. He lets you take the only free seat on the tube, standing in the aisle just in front of your knees so he can keep talking to you, and when you reach the other side, he walks close to you, puts a hand on your lower back which you can feel through your jacket when a group of people walk past you a little too close. He even insists on walking you to your door.

It’s quiet in the building, like it usually is. It’s only recently been built and you think you’re one of only a few people who are currently living there. You pluck your keys from your coat pocket when you reach your door, leaning your back against it.

“This is me.”

“Nice place.”

“Yeah, although I usually prefer places with more character.”

He’s stood right in front of you, rocking on his heels, that same nervous hand on the back of his neck as this afternoon, “I know this might seem weird, but would you like to go on a date sometime?”

You can help but snort a laugh, shaking your head a little, before you meet his eyes, “This wasn’t a date?” You ask coyly.

He smirks a little, cheeks flushing a little, “Did you want it to be a date?”

“I wouldn’t have let you take me for lunch if I didn’t,” You say, “But there is one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah?” He hums, “What’s that?”

Instead of speaking, you take a step forward, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as you press up onto your toes and plant your lips on his. It’s clumsy and it’s impulsive, but you’ve wanted to do it all day. You can feel his arms wrapping around your back, dragging your body flush to his as he opens his mouth against yours right as you do the same. He tastes like mint from the gum he’s been chewing and the whisky from his drinks - it’s all you can think about as he walks you back, presses you against the door as his tongue meets with yours.

You’re thankful no-one is around. Your arms move from his jacket to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there as you tilt your head to one side, a slight smacking sound from your lips as the disconnect, only to come back together seconds later. He’s good at this, you think, as his hands drop from your back to rest in the pockets on the back of your jeans, palms warm through the material. You can feel him squeeze you there a little, and you’re so close to saying fuck it and inviting him in, because if his lips are this good against yours, you can’t imagine what they’d be like in other places.

Marcus is the one that pulls away from you, resting his forehead gently to yours. You’re both breathless and you’re itching to press your mouth back to his.

“I should go.” He breathes against your mouth, pressing his lips to your in a chaste kiss.

“Yeah,” You agree, “You should.”

He steps back, takes the warmth of his palms with him, but reaches in to his pocket and hands his phone to you, “Put your number in here and I’ll call you.”

So you do, press the eleven digits into his phone along with your name and then kiss him once more before he’s turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you with a dull ache between your thighs that you’re working on relieving within five minutes of getting inside. You’re fucked.

Marcus curses himself as he settles into the seat on the bus. It’s late enough that it’s not too busy, no-one sitting next to him as he leans his head back and runs his hand over his face. He already knows he’s fucked up. The words Professor Pike and rejected from my first choice spinning around in his brain as he watches parts of North London flash past the window on his ride home.

Why hadn’t he stopped it then? He knows the rules, knows that even though he doesn’t teach her, any kind of relationships with students, no matter how mature, are off limits. And how is he supposed to keep the facade up now? It’s only a matter of time before she puts two and two together and figures out who he really is.

You’re sweet and you’re smart and you’re fucking beautiful and the best kisser he thinks he’s ever met. You have so much in common with him that it actually hurts him a little and one stupid choice to keep lying to you and the fucking ethics policy are going to keep him from something he thinks would actually be fucking good for him.

He thinks for a second, pulling out his phone and looking at your contact card that he should probably just delete your number. It’s for the best for everyone. He could avoid the museum for a while, keep his head low on campus, he knows he can avoid you. But with his finger hovering over the delete confirmation, he finds he doesn’t have the strength to do it. Stuffs his phone back in his pocket and tries to will his mind to forget the way you’d gasped into his mouth when his hands had squeezed at the swell of your ass, or the way your lips had been soft against his when he’d kissed you.

Then, led in bed, frustrations sorted by his own hand, he picks up his phone and damns himself to hell with a single text.

How about a walk around the National Gallery and dinner this weekend?

#Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fic #Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike au #pedro characters #pedrostories

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diejager · 1 year

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A Fantasy

Pairing: YANDERE Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, DARK, non-con, dub-con, non-con drugging, somnophilia, creampie, possessiveness, obsessiveness, breeding, marking, blood, biting, Stockholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 9.8k

(A/N): FYI, Tracer’s (Overwatch 2) the reader’s mentor.

Requested by : @oyasumimosura

What stood before you was a great field of devastation and ruin, burned and broken buildings that used to be warm homes, lively parks that were turned to ashes, trees and plants laid wasted around dilapidated cars with broken windows and bent metal. People, young and old, laid motionless on the scarred ground, burnt black or left intact in a pool of their blood. Some were holding hands, a family, friends, a couple. Others were alone, forgotten, and left to their sad deaths.

One minute you were rushing through a portal, behind your mentor and besides your teammates, the Cavalry, as she liked to say. Rushing through fights to protect humanity and omnics and its future. The mission was like the one yesterday, the preparation, the meeting, the briefing, and the deployment, but the fate of it changed. A portal malfunctioned, it sent you elsewhere, far away and lost. This wasn't your world, this wasn't your universe, but now, you were in someone else's universe, playing their game.

The clock had struck and time felt meaningless on the battlefield, the sounds of beating aircraft blades, the booming shot of guns and the shockwaves of grenades were all people could hear. Soldiers were the only ones left, fighting against the other side - the enemy, the traitors, the terrorists - until one came out victorious.

While purposeful, the deaths and ruin of this Occidental village were regretful, families shattered, memories lost, and homes destroyed. All you could do was run around, trying to find the source of those cries you heard. A little girl's, whose tears welled for the mother she lost in the tirade of war.

The longer you ran, the closer you got to her. The girl's purple shirt and jeans were dirtied with soot and ash, dark from what was left of her village. You blinked, fazing through time and space to get to her more quickly. Rounding broken walls and jumping over fallen debris, you left a blue trail behind you, blinking your way to the crying kid.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest when you got to her, recalling to your previous position with the girl, behind a brick wall. She clung to you, eyes red and swollen, lips bit red and her cheeks puffy. She looked like a seven-year-old child, alone, lost, and miserable without her parents or protection.

"Don't worry, love, " you used the words Tracer often used when she saved someone, her reassuring and calm voice. "I'm here."

Those zigzagging lines of light lingered in his mind, a shadow of a woman making her way through the abandoned town. The spring in her steps and the flexibility of her movements, jumping higher than any man should've been able to and changing directions so easily. She was fast, vanishing in a line of blue light and then appearing once more meters away.

Ghost saw her save a child, no older than an eight-year-old - or so he thought. A lone child on the battlefield was dangerous, a death wish for the kid if his enemies got to her first. Fortunately, the athletic woman got to the kid before anyone could, swiping her into her arms and disappearing in a blink. Seconds ago, she stood next to the pole, now all that was left was a blur of blue. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

He picked at the memory constantly, powers, it seemed, were her thing, speed and agility of which no one should be able to wield, but she did and she used it to save a child. Although he admired that from a stranger, the question of her being a danger to them was still left unanswered. Whether she could be trusted or an unknown enemy that would tip the scales in the enemy's favour.

However, months later, after the war ended, there weren't any sightings of her, anywhere on earth, as if she had disappeared - again. He remembered her, though, the determined glint beneath blue goggles, her hair tied in a ponytail, flowing through the air, and her pretty lips.

She could still be in Europe, she probably was, or so he hoped. It would mean that he could run the chance of meeting her, to quench his gnawing curiosity. It would be difficult - near impossible - to find her in the millions living in Europe, but he would keep his eyes open, he had questions and he wanted answers.

He wasn't a believer per se, nor was he an atheist, he had a veto in what he put his trust and belief in. He wouldn't curse others for not believing in a God or gods, he wouldn't scoff at those who believed in them, and everyone had their rights. At this moment, however, the thought of God helping him had crossed his mind.

He had dared cross his limit, entering a small cafe - or a bistro, he wasn't sure - blocks from his flat. It was small and homely, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and tea and the place welcoming with the smiling faces of the cafe's workers.

He sat far into the shop, his back against the softness of the booth's couch, bored eyes observing his surrounding for any danger. Even off duty, the habits that ensured his safety still stuck to him, following him wherever he went.

The waitress, a young-looking woman, with striking eyes and hair pulled in a bun, walked his way. Her face looked familiar, lashes framing her pretty eyes, blushed cheeks and beautiful full lips. He knew those lips, and those eyes, and her build, short and athletic, but strong.

It was the child-saving vigilante he saw, only without her blue goggles and her tight bodysuit, blue and white that emphasized her muscles (it was probably made for usefulness, sticking to her body without any stray cloth when she ran, it made running faster and easier.). Wearing a chemise and black pants, instead of the standard skirt the other women wore, her shoes clicked as she approached him, hand pulling out a pad from her black apron's pocket.

He froze when her hand disappeared into her pocket, the items inside were unknown to him, and the content could be dangerous to him. He had to remind himself that she was a civilian at the moment, not an enemy vying for his head. She was safe, as long as she didn't attack him. He waited for her to speak, her pretty lips forming the words she wanted to tell him.

"Good morning, sir," her voice was melodic, soft and inviting. He craved hearing her speak to him with the soft lull of her tone. "Have you decided?"

Decided? What had she - you - meant by "decided"? Then he remembered he was in a cafe, people walked in to order food and drinks, to go or to eat there. He couldn't drift off like that, he couldn't disappear into the darkest depth of his mind. It was a dangerous place.

He cleared his throat, blonde lashes fluttering as he blinked, staring at your face. You were pretty. His words rumbled out, slightly muffled by his black mask: "No." He neither spoke more nor less, blunt as a hammer and sharp as a knife.

"Would you like more time to decide?" You were polite, smiling at him although his only spoken words were brash. He didn't want you to go yet, he just found you, heard and spoke to you,

"Anything you- uh... you recommend?"

You perked up at his question, seeing a more approachable change in him. Your smile widened, brighter than before as you listed off the menu by heart. Your optimism reminded him of Johnny's, expressively happy and grinning. The cafe - Ma's cafe, he learned from you - had its famously brewed tea latte, a mixture of earl grey and vanilla latte.

He took your recommendation, and you left with a skip, apron bouncing with each step. He watched you walk behind the counter, shuffling around with cups and the machine - he thought it was a coffee machine, those with pre-made coffee in its tank - meticulously, knowing well what he ordered.

You came back minutes later with a smoking mug filled with a milky brown liquid. It was fitting its name - London fog - with the white swirls that mimicked the fog that filled the cool, morning air until early evening when the sun started heating everything.

"Thank you...?" Ghost tried, wanting to know your name, you didn't have a tag on your apron.

You gave him your name with the smile you gave everyone, a customer service kind of smile that would assure that you wouldn't get any complaints about your service. He repeated your name a few times in his mind, memorizing every syllable and the way it sounded so well.

He wanted to repeat your name, whisper it lowly, but he had to make sure you were farther away from him, or you'd hear him obsessively call you. It rolled off his tongue amazingly, a perfect symphony with his deeper, raspy voice. He'll get to know you better, he planned on visiting more often, to learn your schedule and watch over you.

He pushed every intrusive thought back, bringing the mug to his lips (he had pulled down his mask to drink). It was sweet, slightly bitter from the coffee, but sweet nonetheless, perhaps a bit too sugary. He savoured the drink you made him, breathing the warm aroma of your mix. You'd made it, you had it, and served it. It was made for him, with your care and smile.

Ghost came by the next week, wearing the same black hoodie and dark jeans. He sat at the same booth and waited for you to walk by with the same smile as the prior week. You did, eyes wide with recognition when you caught him staring at you from the corner booth. You made your way to him with a grin, clad in a similar uniform and a serving tray under your arm.

"You came back," your calming voice reached his ears, giving him something to cling to in the cafe.

He liked habits, familiar things and usual occasions, but he hated the new and the unknown. They were dangerous, and deadly in his line of work. You expressed your gratitude at the tip he left you, way over the usual price other usual clients would.

"I never got your name."

He hadn't given you his name? That's right, he didn't for fear of people finding out his true identity, a broken man hidden under the mask of a monster - a Ghost. Trust issues stacked with insecurities and his introverted tendencies had made forming relationships much harder, making friends complicated with the backlash of his many blunt comments and irritated huffs, and letting people in from the fear of being betrayed, backstabbed, beaten and abandoned.

You were a vigilante, you saved a girl, you smiled at him and greeted him like you would a friend. You didn't shy away, nor freeze at the mere sight of him. You were new, but you were good - or so he thought you were. To him, you could be the achieved unachievable, a friend made from dust, a relationship formed from miracles and normalcy.

He blinked, mumbling lowly his name, low enough that it only reached your ears. You cocked your head downward, your smile widening as you repeated his name.

"Nice to see you again, Simon. I'm happy to see you again."

He nearly shuddered from hearing his name roll off your tongue, so melodically spoken. He wants to hear you call his name again and again and again, as many times as you could until he got sick of it (he probably wouldn't, he was already addicted to the way you spoke).

He dozed at your words, that you were glad he came back. He was glad too. He wanted to come by the day after his first visit, but it would seem too strange, perhaps dangerous to see him every day at the same spot, at the same time of day. He was a man of schedules, organized and neat planning.

He figured he would start by buying once a week for a month or two, then change it to twice a week for the following months, until seeing him every day would become the norm for you. He would kickstart the routine and make it a usual appearance in your life. He would make *him* a usual appearance in your life.

"Same as last time, Simon?"

God, he loved hearing you say his name. He simply nodded, he would make it his usual, a hut sweet, but enough to drown the bitterness in his soul.

The leaves turned darker, shrivelling and dropping dead to the ground. The mellow sky grew gloomy, and colder with each passing day until it dropped so low that Ghost had to wear a thicker jacket over his usual hoodie. Autumn was at an end and winter crawled ever so closer.

He was back from deployment, on a temporary leave to "relax and diffuse" as Laswell said. Everyone was back home, Price with his cigar and Nik, Gaz back home with his girlfriend, Soap with his rowdy family of seven and Roach went home to open arms and warm welcomes from his parents.

Ghost only had an empty apartment - or he used to, he moved to a house on the quieter side of town - and the cute, dazzling waitress that served at Ma's cafe. That's where he was going, he texted you before he left, letting you know that he was back and ready for a hot cup of London fog and brunch.

You read his message, replying with a "Copy that, Lieutenant". It became a running joke between you after he told you about his work, nothing classified or too detailed, but enough to let you know he was built to fight and survive.

The bell rang when he pushed the door, seeing you peer out of the kitchen once he stepped in. He was hit with a warm embrace, the cafe's heater worked well, warming the place and making it cozy enough to eat with only a t-shirt on. He gave you a nod, finding his way to his usual spot, the one he sat at for the past months.

How many months have passed since he first stumbled here? He couldn't remember everything became a blur when it was associated with you. His moments with you were warmer and calmer than at the start. You opened up to him, walls crumbling down and letting yourself build something out of it: a friendship with Ghost.

He liked being friends - for now. He had plans to make a move, to push farther, into unknown territory and try his luck. He had a feeling you'd say yes, he loved you so much and you showered him with adoration and smiles, you had to be in love with him, no? Of course, you were, he wasn't delusional, he was of sound mind, careful.

"Welcome back, Simon," you strut to him so casually, the same clothes, the same smile. "How was your deployment? Soap and Roach got into any trouble?"

He spoke fondly of his TF, they were his family, and he felt proud when he talked about them to you. He invited them once, and they all loved you as much as he did, you were sociable and easy to talk to. Though Price and Soap had the biggest effect on you, they reminded you of someone. You told him about your friends, chaotic like his TF, but a family. It sounded like an ops team, he wouldn't be surprised. He remembered the first time he saw you, it was still fresh in his memory.

"Soap stirred up some shite again," Ghost huffed, sloshing his shoulders to appear more relaxed in your presence, to make him seem less threatening than he was. "No casualties, everyone made it out fine. Bit bruised but alive."

"That's the main objective, no?" You chuckled at Ghost's indignified groans about Soap and Roach behaving like children high on sugar.

You stuck around longer now, gracing him with a bit of random chatter. He got to know about your days, your activities, your wishful thinking and your goals. He discovered something new every day, whether it came from your lips or from his own time.

You stood by his table until the chef rang the call bell. You winked charmingly and turned to get his order, he hadn't ordered yet, but he came by so often, ordering the same that the employees knew what to make when he walked through the door.

He liked the normalcy, where he came by once every two days when he was on leave. If the Task Force was sent on a mission, he could be gone a few days, a few weeks or a month. It always varied, but he made it work with his hate of the unknown, the unpredictable.

"Are you free tonight, love?" Ghost asked, eyes gazing from your hands to your lips.

He found that open-mouthed expression at his question. You seemed hesitant to answer him, thinking about your reply to the man who tipped you well and was as close as a friend to you; or perhaps you were simply shocked that he finally asked you out, and wondering if you had time for him.

You nodded, a smug smile replacing your shock: "How 'bout eight? I finish at seven tonight."

" 'S fine, eight at the bar down the street?"

"It's a date then."

His heart almost broke his ribs, beating wildly against its cage when the word "date" left your lips. He had a date with you tonight, he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps you meant as a date between friends than one between lovers, but at that moment, all he could think was how your hands would feel between his, how your soft, plump lips would feel over his and how your body would feel against his, below and over him.

He dove into his delusional mind, imagines and dreams swimming freely, jumping from one to the other. He had dreams for once, a wish that he hoped you'd indulge, and a family he wanted but lost.

Everything seemed to go the way he planned, you waved at him when you saw him waiting outside the bar and giddily joined him. He found a quiet and mellow corner at the bar, a table pushed against the wall with two stools.

The bartenders knew him, he drank here with the others, and they didn't bother him and served and usual. Some were surprised he brought a friend - a woman - with him but left him to his own.

You sat down and downed a few beers while he drank his bourbon. You spoke sporadically, hands waving enthusiastically with every word. Your cheeks were flushed, slightly pink and warm from the alcohol, but you were lively, animated and happy.

It made him happy, seeing you so mirthful around him, being able to let loose from your stricter atmosphere at Ma's cafe. Your tense shoulders were looser, your back relaxed from its ramrod-straight position and your voice felt more invigorated. The alcohol might've played a part, running through your system and making you bolder.

The first time always played well, just as he imagined, and the thing that solidified everything was your parting words: "Next time's on me, Simon!"

You drank together every week, from friends to drinking buddies, there was nothing more intimate than that, to trust someone with your drunk self and your loose tongue, spewing words and thoughts the second they crossed your mind.

That boosted his confidence, the feeling that he could confess, and tell you his deepest and darkest thoughts and wants. You'd know what kind of man he was, broken and messily put together, like a DIY project made by a child gone wrong. He had sharp edges and missing pieces, a cracked personality and dangerous thoughts. He was a SAS soldier after all, once you become one, you see some twisted shit.

Like the week before, you walked out together, your legs shaky but still able to walk home, accompanied by Ghost. He helped you to your apartment, his broad shadow looming over the door, silent as always. When your shaky hands were able to unlock the door, turning the knob and opening the door, you turned around to bid your drinking buddy good night.

Lips parting to say the words, until he cut you off, his chapped lips met yours. His gloved hands caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing under your wide eyes as he held you in place. His lips were warm and plump, but chapped, a scar running over it.

His eyes were closed, lips on you for a few seconds longer until he pulled away, a dazed look in his eyes. While he expected a reaction from you, he hadn't envisioned shock and sadness, one that made his gut plummet. He winced at your expression, unable to understand what he did wrong. He thought you loved him.

"I- Simon, I- I can't, I'm sorry," you hushed out sadly, head turned down to stare at your feet. You were unwilling to gaze into his disappointed - probably heartbroken - eyes.

"Why?" He rasped, voice hoarse as if he hid cried for hours, or was on the brink of tearing up.

"I just can't, Simon," you persisted, feeling much more sober than the last few minutes. His surprise had severed you up - willingly or unwillingly. "I don't mind staying friends, but I can't get too attached. I won't be here much longer."

" 'Cause you're not from here?" He scoffed, but it didn't hold any resentment or irritation, simply sorrow and distress. " 'Cause you're from another world?"

You whipped your head to stare at him, your mouth agape and fearful shock glazed over your eyes. How could he have possibly known? While your identity was fabricated work, you know how to make a believable fake ID, Genji's knowledge helped you. You stepped back, hand reaching for your door knob, unsure of what Simon would do to you now that the secret was out.

He turned and ambled out, shoulders slumped slightly without a word to you. His world shattered once again, God seemed hellbent on making his life a misery.

He stopped coming after your "altercation", you felt horrible, but you couldn't let your heart run wild when you know Winston would find a way to fix the portal in a year or two. One had already passed and you couldn't overindulge in this world's pleasures and leave when you got too attached.

Yet, grief at being relieved that he never appeared again clawed at you, he knew you weren't from his world. It was dangerous information, especially in bad hands, but you couldn't do anything about it. This world had different rules and standards, it worked differently and you weren't book-smart like Winston or Torb. You were a simple agent working under Tracer.

You did, however, regret letting Simon leave so abruptly, he was an amazing friend, the perfect drinking buddy and would probably be a caring lover, but couldn't risk it. Even if you wanted to text him, and apologize over and over until Simon would talk to you again, you knew how to respect people's boundaries. If he left so coldly, never passing by, texting or calling told you enough. He needed time to calm down and clear his mind.

You went back and forth between your home and the cafe every night, your original routine - before meeting Simon - felt alien to you. You'd been so used to seeing Simon at the back of the shop, a hot London fog in his hands and crepes on his plate with melting butter. It was foreign to see the spot occupied by another client, or the cold spot in your chest when it was vacant.

You disliked it. You hated it. The cold, the silence, you wanted to see him at least once.

Can we meet? Usual place. was the sudden text you received from Simon during your shift. It was dated today at 5:39.

Without a second thought, you replied, affirming the date and time, tonight, right after your shift on Friday. A weight was lifted from your shoulder, the silence from Simon was broken and he finally reached out to you. Your break to let him calm down had worked it seemed, the let him cool down and clear his mind.

It was late by the time you got to the pub, around nine. You had returned home and fixed up your depressed look for a more lively one, hoping it would make Simon feel better. You caught him at your usual place, head hung low and demeanour shut off from the world around him. You took hesitant steps towards him, he didn't look exactly sober from the number of cups decorating the table, nor did he look drunk, from his sharp, hooded eyes.

"Simon, " you greeted him slowly, nearly flinching when his brown eyes washed over your smaller figure. Chills erupted through the ends of your nerves, fingers twitching at the sudden burst of danger you felt from your friend. You had no reason to be scared, wary of his demeanour, but not scared or hateful. He'd yet to act out violently or malevolently.

He gave a curt nod, emotions bleeding through his eyes. He was a stoic man, but his eyes were extremely emotional, pain, regret, grief, hate and joy were some you'd seen flash in those pretty brown of his.

He had a whole bottle ordered in advance, the cap still tightly screwed onto the bottle's neck. He poured you a cup, of rum straight out of the bottle without ice or any accessories.

Thanking him, you sipped on your drink it felt hot and heady on your tongue, it burned your throat. You hadn't drank since you'd last seen Simon, weeks ago, and you could see - feel - its effect. You coughed slightly but still downed the rest.

"You wanted to see me?" Your question left an odd sensation on your tongue. He hadn't spoken a word since you walked in, always the brooding, silent menace. He stared, fixated on you or something on you, it was perturbed you.

"I wanted to apologize, love."

You missed that low hum in his voice, and the caring way he said you "love". You'd been used to it since most British you knew always called someone they cared for "love" or "dear", loving terms of endearment used publicly. Now, however, you knew it weighted, an undertone to its meaning, a special significance in his heart.

"Didn't mean to jump you like that," he continued, regret painting his rough tone. "It felt right; to me. Guess I was more plastered than I thought."

He was human and alcohol coursed through his system. It made him bold and erratic, he acted out without a second thought. You could forgive him for the influence his bourbon had on him; you were going to forgive him anyway.

Although you felt better with his apology, forgiveness for his sudden move wasn't what you prioritized. You wanted answers. How did he know? Was it a sudden, incomprehensible blurb that he spat in a spike of hate and pain? Or was it conscience wording from his drunk mind?

"Do you remember that night?" You lost your smile, pursed lips and hardened eyes at your questioning - interrogation of him.

"'Course I do."

"Do you remember what you said? About me coming from somewhere else."

He nodded, eyes levelled to stare straight at you, unwilling to hide or lie, he spoke honestly, "Another world, love. Didn't forget."

"How'd you know? I'm not exactly showcasing it to everyone in bright colours. So how?"

"Saw you save that girl, lil babe crying for her mother," his answer was slow and purposeful, giving you what you wanted to hear. He recalled the event that occurred months prior, everything aligned with your own experience. "We don't - can't - have shite like that, too developed and powerful. Nothin' like that's possible in this era. So I figured you weren't from here. "

His reasoning made sense, his wording was careful, and it seemed like he had time to think about it. The time you gave him had helped. You kept your doubts to yourself, questions you had that he probably didn't have the answer to. A way back; a way home; an escape. All things he had no answer to.

So your shoulders relaxed and asked Simon to pour you a second cup, to which he obliged. You drank and smiled, back to the trying times when you just started drinking with him, the unknown and the awkwardness that lingered in the air stung.

You don't remember how many cups you had, or how many bottles you finished. Did you even finish the first one? Did you get halfway through before your vision started blurring and your mind dazed into mumbles of incoherent words? Simon hadn't touched another cup since the world around you blurred, the corners of your eyes turning black and your movement slowed to a slur.

He paid for the drink on his tab, slinging your arm over his shoulder, hand holding your waist as he walked out. You were drunk out of your mind, but something felt different, you don't remember being this inebriated the last time you drank half a bottle of rum. Was there something else in it?

Simon dropped you in the back, buckling you in before he made sure you sat upright. He was close, his neck bare and sweaty, his musk smelled strong and heavy, smoke and gunpowder weighing at the back of your throat. Although your vision was faulty, you could see the tight muscle of his neck and shoulder tense as he worked.

His scent stuck to you as he closed the door and drove home, the air in the car smelling like him. Whatever had drained you, lulled you to sleep, taking comfort in the familiar warmth even if a small part of you started panicking.

He had you, in the basement of his house, soundproof and padlocked from the outside. Any risk was accounted for and any escape plans were foiled prematurely by his quick mind.

Ghost laid you beneath him, on the soft, plush bed he bought and built for you, queen-sized for the times he'd spend cuddling you. He had you splayed, body limp and limbs pliant to his every desire. He admired your sleeping form, how your lace fluttered lightly and your lips perked, thinking on the corners as if you were wincing - a duck face - and your peaceful expression. You were adorable.

Your shirt came off first, pulled over your head and thrown over his shoulders, then your bra. Without his gloves, your skin felt soft, hot to the touch. Kneading your breasts, he held one in each hand and felt the fat. You twitched and mewled faintly when he pinched your nipples, hardened by the cooler air hitting your drunk-induced heat. He kissed them, lips closing around your nipple and sucking loudly. He gave each one the same amount of attention, pulling off with a wet pop.

His fingers trailed the lines of your abdomen, strong and athletic, but not too burly like anyone in the army. He admired your figure, half-naked and unconscious on his bed, in his home. He kissed down your stomach as he took your pants off, sliding leg after leg out, leaving you only in your panties.

You were beautiful: your skin - soft, your hair - silken, your lips - wonderful to kiss, and your eyes - gems. You were breathtaking to look at, a treasure to his eyes solely. You were an unblemished canvas, unmarked by other men - in his mind - by sin, and your scars were trophies, won through difficult times. He wanted to be the one painting you, displaying you prettily for his eyes alone. Pieces of works were kept secret like Michelangelo's love poems and sketches.

His eyes wandered the expanse of your body, groaning when he saw the wet patch, your body had reacted to his caresses, your arousal turning the spot over your cunt darker, wet. He pushed his nose to it, breathing in the tangy musk. His fingers hooked under the string and ripped it off with a harsh tug. You wouldn't need underwear anymore once he was done with you.

Ghost's pupils dilated, wide, blown eyes as it keyed on your slick cunt. He adjusted your legs, moving them over his shoulders to have better access to you. He gave a testing lap, running the flat of his tongue over your rim, prodding your clenching opening and leaving at your pulsating clit.

You tasted delicious, he growled and dove back. Tongue circling your button, sucking loudly, lifting the protective hood to let it swell and throb. He held your hips tightly ad you squirmed and moaned, but you never awoke. The drug he gave you was potent, tested on bigger, stronger military men. It could knock them out, so it would pull a stronger reaction from you.

It weighed on his mind, that he resolved to drugging you and bringing you home to be able to show you just how much he loved you. He'd preferred if you were awake, he wanted your first time together to be wonderful - fantastic - in all ways, but you would've protested, fought him and left him once more. He couldn't risk losing you completely, it hurt.

He had no other choice and felt guilty, but he couldn't let his mind wander when he had you under him, ripe for the taking. He pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on you, his needy girl.

His tongue returned between your leg, cheek nuzzling into your sweating thighs. He alternated between sucking your button, lips enclosing around it, and dipping his tongue into you, groaning anomalistically at your tensing walls. He pushed his forefinger in, joining his ravenous tongue. His nose bumped your clit, jerking you each time.

A second finger joined the first and his tongue left to give attention to your neglected clit, pumping to the third knuckles and curling upwards. You arched off the bed, hips buckling into his open mouth as he stretched you open with a third finger. The sound was lewd and wet, loud in his ears.

His cock twitched, straining against his pants, the fabric tight and inflexible, nearly painful. He wanted to relieve the tightness, that burning ache deep in his guts, but his needs came second to yours.

He flickered his tongue and pushed his fingers deeper, curling and panting against you. You spasmed, legs closing around his head, squeezing him as you came. His fingers eased out slowly to savour the taste of your arousal, mouth covering your fluttering hole and slurping the slick that drizzled down your ass.

He loved how you tasted, sweet and salty, like a healthy, ripe fruit ready to be bitten into, juicy and perfect. He almost lost himself, dazed by your essence and his anguish; if only you'd accepted him early, you would've been awake and conscious of this act, and you'd be able to love and embrace him as he did to you. He wouldn't have to wait so long, in pain and regret, for not wooing you enough. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty.

Snapping from his hazed thinking, he lowered your legs and climbed off the bed to undress. He peeled his hoodie and shirt, which stuck to his skin by sweat, and he dropped his pants once he unbuckled his belt. His cock bobbed, slapping wetly against his navel before it hung heavily between his legs, the head achingly red and swollen. His balls felt heavy, and tight from all the neglect. They were big and full, ready to pump his seed into you.

He cradled you, pulling your legs over his elbows and slotting his hips to yours, his cock over your slit. He moved his hips, slicking his shaft with your juices, groaning at the wet warmth under him. When it felt slick enough, he dipped the tip in, your labia stretching to swallow his uncut head. The sound was downright filthy in his ears, the squelch and your strained moans.

He watched himself inch deeper, sinking into your depths with unrelenting hunger, panting and growling until he bottomed out, his balls sitting snug against your ass. His bulbous tip kissed your cervix, nudging it as he rolled his hips, testing how deep he could reach and how strong he could fuck.

He slowly pulled out, hearing the wet noise of his cock slipping out to the tip, and slammed in, his balls slapping the roundness of your ass. He rocked wildly, groaning each time he bottomed out, feeling the heat of your walls clench around him like a vice. Your spasming walls wrenched low moans from him, as often as you whimpered and mewled.

"Fuck- you feel so fuckin' good-" he pushed out through his clenched teeth, his cock twitching when you tightened around him.

Your legs shook, your back arching slightly and your voice keening loudly. He covered your body with his, lips meeting yours in a hungry and possessive kiss, tongue diving into your mouth and committing it to memory. His hand found your clit, thumb rubbing your sensitive nub, urging you towards your end.

Keening, you came, gripping him with a vice. He grunted, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his peak after yours, breathing in your neck with dazed, hooded eyes. He swore, thrusting as deep as he could and came, his seed rushing to fill you.

"Fuck- fuck-" he gasped, rocking a few times into you, riding off his edge until he calmed down.

White globs leaked from your stuffed cunt, rolling down your ass and leaving a trail. His chest rumbled happily, bending down to kiss you slowly, soft and adoring compared to the last. He slid out when he softened, his cum oozing out of your gaping heat, the plug keeping everything in left.

He loved watching you full, oozing of him, asleep and satiated in the bed he bought for you. You were both coated in sweat and cum, hair sticking to your glistening skin. Your dishevelled and panting aroused him, his soft cock jerking upwards, hardening moments after he just came.

"We're not done yet, love."

You felt heavy and warm, a heat - a body - held you tightly, fingers carding through your hair and caressing your back. It smelled like sweat and smoke, a familiar musk. You opened your eyes, seeing a pale, burly chest, Simon's naked chest. You froze, body tensing, shoulders squaring and arms ready to push him back.

"Morning, love," his voice was raspy with sleep, deep and calm as he greeted you, his lips meeting your hairline. "Slept well?"

You frowned, legs moving, jutting out from between his knees as you struggled to free yourself. Your body felt sore, the peak of your discomfort coming from your heat, a pulsating and warm pain. You feared the worst.

When you looked down, you were covered by only a shirt, a big, dark grey t-shirt that smelled like Simon, it reached your knees. You winced, seeing your nakedness and Simon's pants hanging low on his hips, flashing the sharp dip of his navel and his sculpted torso. It left little to imagine, the red blemishes on your neck and shoulders, slightly faded from his careful handling and bruises the size of his fingers around your thighs.

"You-" you coughed before you could day anymore, throat dry and scratchy, alcohol dehydrated people faster.

"Drink," he held you up, back to his chest, arms slipping around you too comfortably to hand you a cup of water, cool and fresh.

He had expected this, he wasn't as delusional as he first seemed, and he was prepared. You took it, gulping it down carefully, counting the seconds - minutes - that would pass until the drug kicked in, if he had diluted any in your water.

He hummed happily, his chest vibrating as he wrapped his arms around you, nosing the collar of your neck, he placed fluttering kisses on your open shoulder. The collar of his shirt slipped from one side, exposing your skin. His teeth grazed you, teasingly nipping you with warm puffs of air.

You gulped, gathering whatever wits you still had after this whole kidnapping situation. Your mind was running miles per second, eyes gleamed over with tensions and tiredness, and your body sore from Simon's perverse affection.

"Where am I?" your voice was small, still raspy from - what you assumed - moaning and mewling.

"Home," he mumbled, latching onto your skin and sucking a dark spot.

Home? It neither meant your flat nor safety. It was *his* home, a prison he built for you. You looked around. You thought it better to get to know the place he decided to keep you captive, to learn and discover its secrets, anything you could use against or for you.

It was like a studio apartment, everything was open apart from the bathroom, it had a small kitchenette with a fridge (probably in case he left for a while, deployed in another country while he kept you here.), a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a desk pushed to the side. He'd forgone leaving you with a television, a mobile device, a phone or a computer, all were risks of you getting out.

The walls were painted over, bare of windows and stairs lead to a door, locked from both sides. He locked you in his basement, beneath his house and every other neighbour's nose. No one would come to your rescue if you screamed. No one would hear your cries of anguish or your pleas for freedom.

He bit down, teeth pressing onto your skin, denting the scarred flesh with his teeth marks. You yelped, the area hot and painful, his strength leaving an almost skin-deep bleeding, fiery and red. It was irritated and swelled in seconds. He moved from one patch to the other, determined to mark up your shoulder before possibly moving on to the next one.

You squirmed on his lap, trying to free yourself from his restrictive hold. You gripped his hands, digging your blunt nails into his forearms. He scoffed, nuzzling the bites he made, tongue lapping at the bleeding lines.

"Ghost," you gasped, legs kicking and body struggling.

Clicking followed every kick, the distinct sound of metal rattling in a disorderly way. You looked down your leg, catching the cuff around your right ankle, a long chain kept you jailed in the basement. It was long and winding, enough to comfortably walk laps around your new accommodation but too short to reach the door.

You stared at it incredulously, the utter rage and disgust that burned in your gut that he planned to keep you as if you were a glorified pet or some sort of prize he scouted and obtained.

You knew he liked you before, it was a simple and innocent crush, like finding your first one and not knowing how to react. That, and the fact he was a soldier, scarred by time and marked by warfare made him so standoffish. You thought it was simple, but now, it was too late to forget, to not look, to let bygones be bygones.

He was obsessed, not necessarily sane, but not crazy either. He wasn't delusional, by everything he set up as a precaution, but he let his darkness fester, grow and crack the surface of his calm and stoic persona. He was still calm and meticulous, but it was a different kind, storming ideas for your imprisonment and wishes he wanted to make true. Ghost and Simon overlapped, neither good nor evil, he was simply letting the monster rage uncontrolled.

His pent-up emotions drove him to the edge, and your rejection pushed him over, tipping the scale of his sanity. That's how you ended up in your current situation, his hands wandering over your thighs, dipping between them and down to your knees. He still nipped at your skin, biting and pulling the collar down the other shoulder. His teeth sunk into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, warm fingers slipping under his shirt to knead your chest.

You winced, flinching when he plucked your nipples, pulling on them until you let out a pained whine.

"Stop-!" your hands followed his, clamping around his wrists and dragging him out, but he stayed firm, unmoving to your will as he twirled your mounds. "Fucking stop!"

He huffed, hands dropping to your lap. He mumbled into your bitten skin, groaning in complaints about not letting him care for you. His complaints came with hot breaths on your nape, mouthing the back, turning silent and unmoving.

His quietness was familiar to you, his penchant for sifting through his thoughts in utter silence. Then he moved, draping the covers over your body, tucking you in. He stood at your bedside, expression lighting in a gentle smile. Under the dim lighting of the room, he looked like a beautiful angel. A gold halo hovered over his blonde locks, framing his pale skin and warm, brown eyes.

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering a few seconds longer as he took in the calming moment. He had you, he had you in his home.

"How about breakfast? Fried eggs and bangers, how's that sound?"

The normalcy of eating breakfast in bed, to wake up and be greeted with a British breakfast made by Simon. He liked the idea of such normality, it was romantic, domestic even. To be able to cook for you and serve you the food he made, he'd eat at the table in the middle of the room, seated opposite from you.

He left before you could give him a piece of your mind, or your reply to his question. Fried eggs, you knew what that was, but *bangers*, what the fuck was that?

The stairs creaked lightly, bending under Simon's weight, but his steps were silent - dangerous. The lock clicked when it was unlocked, and he left you alone, the door locking behind him. Gone was your escape, gone was your freedom, gone was your life with the door locking before you.

Time seemed endless, it went by in a blink or in long, painful moments that left you angry. He hadn't given you a clock, and without anything technological (the microwave didn't have the time, whatever Simon had done, worked. Time never played on the four-letter screen.), you couldn't tell day from night, seconds from minutes and minutes from hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly, the only clue was Simon kept a pattern: three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper before going to bed with his arms wrapped around you.

How long you've stayed here was unknown. You couldn't know and Simon didn't want to tell you. He changed subjects or glared at you until you dropped it or he decided to drop it. You had no link to the outside, no way of knowing if you'd been announced missing or if anyone was worried. Simon had cut all your connections to the world around you, just outside your reach, on the other side of these walls that confined you.

You desperately needed to know about your case, if they knew, if they filed a missing person report if they were searching for you. It pained you to be ignorant of everything but your small world, the things that happened in your small room. Everything you knew was Simon.

His horribly, soothing words in his deep voice, speaking into your ear or your hair, whispering his dreams and his hopes, his love and his adoration. His wandering hands, raking the tension from your shoulders, the knots in your back, your worry from your eyes and lips, and the pleasure - forced - he brought upon you.

Entertainment was brought through him, or through the books he left for you, most were erudite, both old and new novels. Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Silence of the Lambs and The Heart of Darkness were a few of the novels you'd caught on the bookshelf.

He also fed you. Most days, he'd stay until it was time to eat, he would leave - sometimes half an hour or a whole hour, it ranged between depending on the meal - and come back with warm plates. They always smelled good and they tasted better.

It surprised you how skilled he was in cocking, as he was in infiltration, sniping, abducting and killing. Perhaps he took the time apart from you to forge his plan, to learn to cook and to care.

You ate, slowly and contemplatively. He stared at you eat, always making sure you took the first bites before digging into his own plate. It weighed heavy in your gut, like a reluctant gift you were bestowed, and Simon made sure you ate everything.

You felt dazed, gone, after eating, as if a cloud washed over your mind that made you slower, and sluggish with everything you did. The food was drugged, you were aware of that when you first felt lethargic. It made you less testy, less bratty as Simon grumbled, you were more pliant to his whims and easier to move when you tried fighting him.

Though it eased the nausea that wracked your body in the mornings, the sudden discomfort in your abdomen and the heaviness that the ache gave. You rarely needed to move from the bed if the urge to vomit came up, Simon kept pills for that. If you did, he'd comfort you, holding your hair back as the content of your stomach surged upwards.

Your time spent with Simon was time spent organizing your thoughts, Winston was smart, engineering-wise, he was amazing. Then there was Mercy with her medical breakthrough and Torb with his ingeniously brilliant machines. If they came together, found what went wrong with the portal you went through.

Trace would be so worried if she wasn't already dead worried. She was a caring and responsible mentor, taking you in before and after the fall of Overwatch. Nearly twelve years under her and this was the first mishap. You spent nearly two years in Simon's world - you counted the time your could count, the days you spent working and enjoying life as much as you could in a different place - and your heart never stopped missing your family.

You missed Jack - Soldier: 76 - when he would openly laugh, and Gabriel, when he was still the man he was. You missed Tracer's fussing, blinking around with so much energy, and Reinhardt's proud standard when he loomed over his teammates with his Barrier Field. You missed them horribly, they were the glue that kept you hoping for freedom.

It happened when you nearly conceded to Simon's whims, bending to his will and words, letting his hands wander your body and feeling pleasure - genuine. His confessions were parroted, and his I love youwas returned.

You ate less, however, the lump in your gut grew by the days, weighing heavier and heavier. You had weird cravings, followed by nausea most mornings, gripping the toilet bowl with your head hung low. Simon held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back, bemoaning about your pains and cramps.

He left a few times during your period of captivity, vanishing for long periods - usually a week or two - and had you manage everything on your own. He had cameras set up, watching your every move, connected to whatever device he decided to watch you.

He was deployed a week ago, his steps never walking to the door during the week, but now, you could hear his booming steps around the house. They were loud and intentional. Dread always filled your body when you learned he came back, he was clingy, handsy and obsessive when he came back, growling that he would burn down the world if couldn't have you; or that he was thinking about you - constantly - and that the video feed on his phone was never enough.

You picked up on his pace, hurried and panicked. They stomped around the house in search of something before it stopped at your door. Your ears perked on the clicking of the lock, straining to listen to his heaving breaths.

Crack

You jerked forward. Something behind you cracked, the loud cracking filled the air as you turned. A blue swirl cracked the shift in reality, like glass fracturing and breaking into pieces, it glowed with every line. It pulsed calmly, the swirls capturing your attention. You felt drawn to it, your hands twitching with the urge to touch it, to let your fingers swim in the infinite pool.

"(Name), are you there?" a voice called from the other side, small and feminine. It was dripping with worry and exhaustion. "Luv, are you there?" she cried a second time, a hand emerging from the portal.

You knew the voice, the warm, familiar voice that called out to you with love and compassion. A friend. A mentor. A family.

You reached out to it, hand inches from hers. Then the door to your cage burst open, his screams echoing in the basement. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, mask still on his face as he reached for you. His gloved fingers grasped the air for you, rushing towards you with immense worry and fear in his eyes.

Mere seconds behind you, his fingers grazed your back as you fell into the waiting arms of your mentor. He was too late, he fell on the vacant bed, watching the portal close behind you. He clutched the bending, the place you sat moments ago. It was still warm, your heat and smell still mixed into your sheets.

He spun lies about your absence, about your sudden disappearance from his world. You moved away after your breakup, you distanced yourself from him to make the move easier on your heart and his. The TF had accepted the excuse, solemnly nodding about your leave and wishing they could have said farewell to a good friend.

They moved on with life, still smiling nostalgically when you were brought up, but Ghost was left heartbroken. He knew something was wrong that day, the itch in his brain about something happening at home. That's why he was in such a hurry, in a panicked frenzy to get home - to get to you. He was too late though, seeing you being pulled into a portal. Dooming was the effect on him; devastation was the pain in his heart; shattering was the sorrow of his soul.

He poured everything into keeping you, only to lose you. Now, he poured every second of his life into work, never letting his mind wander to the bump on your stomach or the subtle relinquishment in your actions to him.

He was deader than dead, colder and more stoic than before. They saw the change, they understood, but never blamed you. Everyone had fallouts, Simon just had more than the rest of the world. That's why he played Ghost more often than before, building his walls higher and his appearance darker.

Yet somehow, Soap was enthusiastic enough to rope him into playing games on his console (he used to play more before finding time between deployments to jump into a match with the others). Overwatch 2, an evolution of the first made better. Soap promised it was good. His spiel about the characters having a profound background and the gameplay being fun. Ghost was doubtful, he and Soap didn't have the same definition of fun, they were associated with different things.

He liked Soap, though, so he humoured his sergeant. He downloaded it on his console, watching the white line charge until it became playable. Soap had mentioned a few names: Genji, Sombra, Reaper and Zenyatta, he even joked about Reaper resembling him, the skull mask and the dark drapes. He'd also gushed - like an over-enthusiastic gamer - about a new character, a woman, the sole student of this Tracer.

He scoured through the lists of players, eyes skimming over the faces before he spotted a familiar one. It was more cartoonish, drawn in gentle lines and beautiful shades. Your face, it was your beautiful face. He nearly dropped his controller, hands shaking and body heavy.

Was it guilt that washed over him? Was it pain that washed over him? Was it sorrow and melancholy that washed over him? Or was it his world that came crashing down on his shoulders?

The world dulled, his breath became stagnant and shallow as he stared at your hero. You were standing proud and fearless, guns held in your hands with a bright smile. He watched you emote, your character moving as it was coded. He scrolled through your skills and perks, some he remembered you use. You blinked and recalled, moving back and forth between time and space, breaking the fragile shift in the world.

Soap was right about the new hero, you were interesting and lovely. In a flurry of emotions, he opened up your biography - or a snippet of your backstory. Every word bled his heart, every act and every situation wracked his body with sadness. The more he read, the more his tears threatened to fall.

You kept your - his - child, a beautiful kid with his blonde hair and your eyes, a round, yet sharper face like his. You kept him, you hadn't aborted the child. You gave birth and he wasn't there. You took care of your kid and he wasn't there. You watched him grow and he wasn't there.

He cried, body closing on itself. His shoulders shook, his vision blurred and his face streaked with tears. A broken sob broke through his throat, restricted and pained with waves of emotion, deep and harrowing sadness of his loss.

"I miss you, love," he rasped, his fingers gripping his hair, nearly ripping out the seams. "I miss you."

#ghost mw2 #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader smut #yandere ghost #simon ghost riley #yandere cod #cod smut #mw2 smut #ghost call of duty #simon riley smut #ghost mw2 smut #yandere mw2 x reader #yandere mw2 #overwatch 2 #overwatch

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lovedrruunk · 1 month

Text

‘Awkward meetings ❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Venture (Overwatch x reader)

Authors note!! ＼(＾▽＾); second venture fic!! Tbh I just rlly rlly rlly hated my last one so I’m giving it another go bc I’m actually just so in love with them.. If you see me pocketing the HELL out of a venture mind yer damn business. also im having a pretty tough time coming up with scenarios so id rlly appreciate some ideas!

This was new. Sloane wasn’t nervous; they weren’t the nervous type! They’re bold, and fun, and eccentric (in a good way!) and they most definitely weren’t nervous! So why was it that each time you came around they seemed to trip over their words?

“Young love…” Tracer and Angela couldn’t help but smile, looking at the two of you from a distance as they were enjoying their coffee in Gibraltars HQ lounge.

Any regular person would call them crazy for seeing anything romantic about your awkward short interactions, but knowing both of you when you’re apart tells them everything they’d need to know.

“Yea!... I like your nails! They look… aesthetically pleasing…”

“Oh, thank you! Yea um- painted them myself!”

“Really? Wow! That must’ve taken like… a billion years!”

“Haha!...Yea!”

In the distance, both women were heavily facepalming. They couldn’t help but cringe at the conversation, and as cute as the two of you were, awkwardness had its limits and you two seemed to hit it a while ago.

Sloane didn’t plan on the conversation going this way, they promise! It’s just each time they try talking to you their palms start to sweat and their knees start to wobble and the only thing they can focus on is your face and your voice and trying to think of the right joke to make you laugh and suddenly all those late nights of coming up with scenarios in their head of what to say to you while giggling and kicking their feet are left completely forgotten. All the diary entries describing exactly what they would say and do in order to at least be your friend have now gone to waste.

To be more than an acquaintance to you, that's all they’re asking for, they’ve lowered their standard and yet they couldn’t even reach it!

With a heavy sigh, they turn to look at you, wanting to give the conversation one more try. “Look… I’m really sorry for how lame I'm being. To be honest, I just think you’re really cool and it feels like I have no idea how to approach you!” They smile as they feel their nerves calm now that they’ve confessed to their nervousness. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy they had decided to break the ice first.

“Oh gosh okay, I’m so glad I’m not the only one who felt that way!! I’ve always thought you were cool and funny, honestly I just really wanted to get to know you.”

At this point, you were both smiling and it seemed like the heavy atmosphere had completely vanished now that you were both being transparent.

In the background, Tracer and Angela celebrated quietly, proud of the two of you for finally being able to act normal around one another. You two spent the next couple of minutes warming up to each other as you laughed and joked making plans to hang out, a warm feeling now in your chests.

“Y’know I don’t even know why I was so intimidated in the first place…”

“You could sense my gay agenda.”

#I DONT LIKE THIS ONE THAT MUCH EITHER EURHEHH #guess ill have to try try try again...#venture x reader #overwatch x reader #venture overwatch

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amphibiahawks321 · 3 months

Note

Can you do Widowmaker x Male Reader pls?

Widowmaker : Niiiice~

Tracer : Hey widowmaker!

Widowmaker : Huh?! What?! Oh yes Tracer?

Tracer : What are you looking at? You've been using your scope to look at something for the past 10 minutes

Widowmaker : W-whaaaaaa? I was just testing my scope that's all!

Tracer : Oh okay..... Oh! By the way! Winston wanted to talk to you about something in the headquarters

Widowmaker : Really? Okay

Tracer : I'll guard your sniper for you!

Widowmaker : Oh okay thanks tracer

Tracer : No problemo!

[Widowmaker leaves the scene]

Tracer : Yeah I definitely wanna know what she was looking at...

[Took a peek on the scope]

Tracer : Let's see what she was looking at-.....

Tracer : .....

[Reveals in the scope to be Y/N jogging]

Tracer : widowmaker you absolute-

#male reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #reader x overwatch #widowmaker x reader #reader x widowmaker

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owlwithanapple · 5 months

Text

This is my first original fanfic. I am not very good at English, but I will try my best to learn it well. If you have any suggestions or comments, please let me know in the comment section. Thank you for your patience in reading my fanfic. I hope you like it 😘———————————————————————————

Only you.

Part 01

Jack Morrison x Y/N x Slightly Genji Shimada

The story of your relationship with Jack Morrison and Genji Shimada after become Overwatch member.

In the cafeteria of Overwatch headquarters ——

"Y/N! Thank you for your hard work on this mission!" Mercy said excitedly.

"Thank you. I didn't expect this task to take so long." You said.

"Honey! Your sudden loss of contact really scared me! I thought you couldn't come back!" Tracer said nervously.

"Don't say such unlucky words, Tracer!" Mercy complains.

At this time, I saw Ana coming towards me.

"Ah! You are here! Agent Y/N. Jack is looking for you. Is it convenient to meet him in his office now?" Ana said with a smile.

"Is he looking for me? What's the matter?" You whispered doubtfully.

"It seems that he is going to assign you a new task." Ana said.

"Please wait a minute, Y/N just came back from the last mission... Is it going to be on a mission so soon? Jack is so damned. He doesn't give you any rest. " Mercy said doubtfully.

"Ana, can anyone else take over?" Tracer asked.

"That's right, but it's strange that this task actually indicates that Y/N should be dispatched. I'll talk to Jack to see if can change someone else to take over the task." Ana said.

"Well, everyone, I'm fine. I believe that Jack is suddenly in a hurry to ask me to go on a mission he has his reason. " You said with a smile.

You waved goodbye to Mercy and Tracer, then followed Ana to Jack's office.

Knock.knock.

"Captain, are you looking for me?" You knock on the door and say.

"Please come in, Agent Y/N. Welcome back to the team and thank you for your hard work on the last task. And Ana, I'm sorry to trouble you." Jack said seriously.

"It doesn't matter. Then I'll leave first and let you two talk slowly." Ana said with a smile and left Jack's office.

After Ana closed the door ——

"Why are you still standing stupidly? Sit down, Sweetheart." Jack said with a smile.

"Can you please stop calling me "sweetheart", Morrison? It's inexplicably funny from your mouth." You sit down and say.

"Hahahaha, I'm sorry. You know I'm not very good at flirting." Jack said with a smile.

"But I found that you like to flirt with me very much." You answered teasingly.

"Hmmmm. Okay, okay, I admit that I like to flirt with you. Would you like a drink? Sweetheart." Jack asked with a smile.

"Sweetheart?" You ask him with a smile.

"Is there anything wrong?" He replied.

“Well, forget it, at least you don't call me sweetheart with a serious expression. Give me a glass of orange juice." You said with a smile.

"No problem, sweetheart." Jack replied with a smile.

At this time, you watched Jack take out a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator and pour it into two cups.

"This guy has an unexpectedly good figure. What on earth can he practice to be so strong? What the hell am I thinking about! Damn it! Damn tights! Damn orange juice! He used to be your enemy, and now he is your boss!" You think shyly.

"Are you all right? Why is your face so red? Is the room too hot? " Jack asked doubtfully.

You didn't notice that Jack was standing in front of you with orange juice and ready to hand it to you.

“Shit Morrison.” You accidentally blurted out.

At this time, the office was calm, Jack stood still and looked at you dumbfounded.

You just came to your senses, found Jack standing next to you and looking at you with two glasses of orange juice.

"Holy shit! Sorry, Morrison! I didn't mean to! I'm distracted by other things!" You immediately stand up and bow to him and apologize.

"Hahaha, it's okay. I thought I had annoyed you when I called you sweetheart. It seems that I didn't. I'm relieved. " Jack smiled and handed you the orange juice.

"Thank you, Morrison. Blame me for being distracted." You awkwardly lowered your head and took the orange juice from his hand.

"Haha, I didn't expect you to be distracted. What are you thinking about? Jack asked curiously.

"Nothing!" You shouted shyly.

"Oh... All right." Jack said and took a sip of the drink.

You glanced at him and took another sip of the drink. At this time, Jack also looked at you and smiled.

"Why do I feel that the current atmosphere is a little wrong... Is it my illusion?" You whispered.

At this time, Jack smiled and waved to you in front of you.

"Are you all right?" Jack asked.

"Ah! Uh hmm! I'm all right! Thank you, Morrison. Let's talk about the task first." You answered awkwardly.

"Hahaha, then I'll say it directly. The task this time is for you to explore this person." Jack said and handed over the document to you.

* Eddy Swarn, 45 years old, Owner of Sea Shell Hotel. It was reported that mercenaries and several military transport vehicles went in out of his villa and several hotels in the middle of the night. *

"Wow, mercenaries and military transport vehicles. It seems to be a big deal. The two act together at the same time. There may be something in that transport that needs to be escorted by mercenaries. Could it be money, gold, drugs or... guns?" You replied.

"It's possible that the other party is not an ordinary hotel owner. There is no need to do this to prevent thieves." Jack replied.

"Morrison, so why are you in a hurry to find me for this task?" You asked calmly.

"Your face has never appeared on public occasions, so he doesn't know that Overwatch has your existence. If this mission is dispatched by me or Ana, our action will be discovered. This task is just to find out and take action unless it is necessary." Jack said.

"Do you mean to ask me to get close to him?" You asked.

"You have had this kind of experience. Can you do it?" Jack asked with a smile.

You took the document, crossed your feet, pondered for a moment, and sighed.

"Morrison, you are the most hateful boss I have ever met. Arrange such a difficult task for me, but I will take this task. Remember to pay me more." You replied sarcastically.

"My dear Miss Y/N, when have I treated you badly? I gave you a lot of rewards. It's just that you don't have a good rest for this time." Jack replied with a smile.

"Damn it. So where to go? The hotel he runs is not just one." You asked.

"There is a place worth paying attention to, location Samoa. He opened a hotel there. According to the report, only the hotel in Samoa did not receive a notification that had seen military transport vehicles or mercenaries. Maybe that's where he made the deal." Jack replied calmly.

"What time and when do I have to leave?" You asked.

"The plane at 9 a.m. the day after tomorrow. Can you get up early?" Jack asked with a smile.

"Morrison, you bastard! Why are you so smart and hateful! Suddenly, I have to leave the day after tomorrow! It's only a day and a half to rest!" You shouted at him.

"Thank you for your compliment. Samoa is a good place, the beach and seaside are good places for a vacation. It just so happens that you can go there to work and take a vacation at the same time." Jack said with a smile.

"Jack Morrison! I went there to work, not on vacation. How can I be in the mood to play?! You are an idiot." You complain angrily.

"Okay, okay, I'll give you a good rest after you come back." Jack replied with a smile.

"Jack Morrison, if there is a chance in the next life, I will be your boss and bully you to death. It's a good thing that you came up with such a bad plan. " You answered with an evil smile.

"Hahaha, okay, okay. Don't be angry. Let's work together happily?" Jack got up and stretched out his hand and asked.

"You are such an asshole." You replied angrily.

"Sweetheart, your answer is...?" Jack asked doubtfully.

"Deal, you bastard." You stood up from the chair and held his hand and answered him.

"You will leave the morning after tomorrow. Go back to your room and have a good sleep. I will deal with other things, so you can go on vacation at ease." Jack said with a smile.

"You really owe me..." You said with a sigh.

After an argument, you and Jack looked at each other for a long time. Jack let go of your hand, then left his seat and walked in front of you. He gently put his hand on your cheek and stroked it.

"My God! This guy's hands are so fucking warm!" You think about it.

"If..." Jack said in silence.

"If?" You look at him and ask.

"You..." Jack whispered.

"Jack?" You asked shyly.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm distracted." Jack answered awkwardly.

"Oh! Yes! Then why are you touching my face? You asked shyly.

"Because... look at your skin so dry. You didn't take good care of your skin." Jack said with a smile.

"Fuck it! You bastard! How can I take skin care products with me on a mission!" You get up and walk towards the door.

"Hey, Y/N." Jack whispered.

"What! Bastard!" You turned to him angrily.

"Hahaha, it's nothing... Just... thank you for putting up with my waywardness." Jack said.

"I just... I didn't accept your waywardness. You are too much of an asshole." You turn around and leave the office.

Jack stood still and looked at the back of you leaving the office and giggled. Thinking that before you joined the Overwatch team, you were an enemy, but now you have become his subordinates and friends.

"Fate is really wonderful... At the beginning, you were still my enemy, but I couldn't help choosing to save you, and you came to work with me. It's so strange... Hahahaha." Jack whispered.

At this time, there was a knock on the door... Jack came to his senses and noticed Gabriel standing at the door.

"Are you thinking about your little sweetheart? What a sweet smile, Jack." Gabriel said sarcastically.

"It's okay. I just told her about the task and had some quarrels. After all, it is inevitable that there will be a little quarrel about the sudden task." Jack replied.

"So... don't you confess to her?" Gabriel asked.

"Ha! No, thank you. Work is already annoying enough, and I can't stand any more troubles. " Jack returned to his seat and said.

"You clearly have her in your eyes..." Gabriel said softly.

"Oh, no! I can't stand Y/N." Jack replied perfunctorily.

"But I didn't say Y/N. " Gabriel said.

Jack raised his head and glared at Gabriel.

"If you're not here to talk about business, but to talk about my gossip, then don't do it. I still have a lot of work and reports to assign. Do you want to help me?" Jack asked seriously.

"Okay, okay, I'm here to talk about business. Let me know if there is any result about you and your sweetheart. There is nothing to gossip about now." Gabriel complained.

"Hahaha, Gab, you are a fucking asshole." Jack replied with a smile.

Part 01 The End.

Characters : Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes/Mercy/Tracer/Ana

Part 02 To be continue….

———————————————————————————

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l0serloki · 1 year

Text

Rivalry

Hanzo Shimada x Reader

Summary : You come from a family that is in competition with the Shimadas. Little did you know that saving Genji would lead to a different fate..

CW : SMUT, choking, degrading, fingering (f! receiving), fem!reader, dirty talk, rivalry/”hate” from Hanzo, not fully proofread

A/N : I wrote this a long time ago and just found it in the docs.. Let’s hope it’s not too shit. The separations I made were timeskips as well. Enjoy!

Masterlist

You hated the Shimadas. Or so you thought. Your families had always been in a competition, reaching out to take the crown for themselves.

“Don’t ever associate with the Shimadas, Y/N. Am I understood?” Your father berated you as you wept on the ground. “Yes, father. It won’t happen again.” The man hummed in agreement, walking away.

How would you have known that the poor boy was a Shimada? And why did it really matter?

Your eyes trailed down the road, finishing up a job for the night. You noticed movement from beside the trash can and got closer. You couldn’t have any witnesses to your ‘cleaning job’, never wishing to bring dishonor to your family.

“Who’s there?” You called out and then noticed the bloody body. He seemed as if he were on his last breath, his face almost unrecognizable from the wounds. “Oh heavens. It’s okay..” This man wasn’t one you had beat up, and there was no way he witnessed the scene in his condition. “Look, let’s get you help. I’m going to pick you up. Okay?” The man couldn’t respond, his feeble twitches alerted you of his life.

You carried the man for what seemed like miles, finally finding a clinic to take care of him.

The nurse rushed toward the door, taking care of his limp body. His blood seeped all over the white stretcher as they took him back.

“What happened to him? Can you fill out a form?” The head nurse waved you over, passing a clipboard to you. “I really don’t know. I just found him like that. I don’t even know his name. Will he be alright?” You questioned and the lady shrugged. “We don’t know yet, I’ll tell you when I hear the news. Waiting room is all yours.”

You waited for a while before you got the news. The nurse tapped your shoulder and you turned. “I’m sorry miss, he will live but he needs dire medical help. We are sending him to a trained professional. He gave me his name and number while he was still conscious.” She handed you a little paper slip. You could feel your heart drop.

Genji Shimada.

You had helped the Shimada clan?! Not only one of their henchmen but the second in line.. You were in for it now..

———

That was two years ago now and yet you still wondered what happened to the poor boy. No matter how many things were drilled into your head you never saw them as ‘inhuman’.

Genji had been a change in your life, showing you the true way to use your powers - to save. Your talents in weaponry had proved useful, landing you a new spot on ‘Overwatch’. You had heard of the protocol across the news but never really looked into it. A sweet girl named Tracer tracked you down in Osaka and made you a deal.

“Look, we could really use agents with your skill set. You’ll have a lot of new friends and missions to grow. We will provide whatever necessities you need as well, Y/N.” She rocked back and forth on her feet, giving you time to think. You decided to help, wanting a new adventure away from home.

“Hey darlin! Welcome to the team.” You were slapped lightly on the back by the ‘cowboy’ as Tracer called him. He introduced himself as Cassidy and showed you across base.

Waving goodbye to your new friend, you sat down to eat. It had been a long day of socializing and you were worn out. Eyes glazing over, you let your body relax.

A loud cough behind you shuddered you out of your little nap, quickly turning to face them. It felt as if your eyes could pop out of their sockets, there was no way…

“You’re Hanzo.” You deadpanned and his eyebrow raised.

“So the scary Y/N knows basic knowledge. Seems you’re not as stupid as I thought.” His scoff made you roll your eyes. He’s annoying but you didn’t wish to stick to the past hatred.

“Thanks. You’re pretty handsome for being annoying, I guess.” You brushed off your clothes, winking to the man as you made your exit.

If Hanzo was here then maybe you could ask about his little brother.. Or get to know him a bit more.. You shook the last thought off, making your way to finish the work day.

——

That morning you had run into Hanzo yet again. The two of you just shared a simple glance across the table, continuing to eat breakfast.

“Oh, Y/N! You’ve met grumpy pants! That’s great - works out perfectly. I have to go deal with a few issues so I can’t train with you today. Hanzo’s schedule is cleared though! You got this big man.” Cassidy slapped his shoulder as he waved goodbye.

Was he joking? It had to be a set up… Right? You met his eyes and he seemed to be seething. Quiet sighs filled the silent void as you continued to pick at the fruit.

“Are you done with breakfast? Let's get this over with.” Hanzo stood, beckoning you to follow. You cocked an eyebrow in surprise, setting aside the plate to clean.

The two of you walked down the elongated halls, an air of awkwardness sitting stagnant. Hanzo stopped at the training room door, opening it for you.

“Thanks.” You mumbled and he just hummed as the two of you got in position.

Kick after kick, blow after blow, the two of you fought. You could feel sweat drip down your back, breath leaving in hard huffs. You hadn’t had such a formidable partner in such a long time.

“Good job, Y/N. This hasn’t been bad.” Hanzo addressed, adam’s apple bobbing as he drank water.

You could feel your body hum in excitement at the praise. He looked absolutely gorgeous in the light, his sweat making him sparkle.

“Thanks, Hanzo. Not too bad yourself.”

The two of you awkwardly shifted, waiting for the other to speak. You didn’t want to ruin the moment but you were genuinely curious about what happened with Genji. Before you knew it, the words spilled out of your mouth.

“Hanzo, what happened with Genji? After I saved him that night?”

You watched as his face contorted into questionable horror, a hand rubbing across his brow.

“I-I don’t know. You were the one who saved him?” Hanzo’s voice was feeble, sounding much like a little child.

You had assumed Genji knew who you were, but then again, you never reached out after that night. You nodded, hand reaching out towards his wrist. His arm tensed at the touch - foggy chestnut hues meeting yours.

“Thank you for saving my brother, Y/N. Maybe I thought wrong of you.”

Your heart broke at the sight of such a strong man clearly broken. You didn’t know what happened in his family, but if it was anything like yours, it wasn’t good. You knew what it was like to live with that trauma - even if your clan was long gone.

“Hanzo, can I hug you?”

It took a few minutes but eventually the hardened man agreed, your arms wrapping around his taut muscles. You stood there for what seemed like forever, relishing in the touch. His body was warm, muscles finally relaxing against your own. Maybe he needed this just as much as you did.

His hot breath fanned against your neck as his nose dug into your flesh. You gripped against his shirt, your body warming up even more. Your finger traced down to his lower back, running circles in the indent.

“Since you saved my brother, I’ll give you anything you want.” His deep voice whispered into your ear, fireworks shooting out from your nerves.

“Anything?”

His hands yanked you even closer, bodies touching.

“Anything.”

No words had to be exchanged for him to understand what you wanted. Your hands dusted on the waistband of his pants, snapping it against him. Hanzo’s grunt only warmed your core up more, practically pleading for him. He backed you against the cold training door, fingers making their way into your shirt.

“Hanzo, stop teasing.” You breathed out as the rough pads of his fingers trailed your thighs. His hum was the only response you got as he continued to tickle your soft flesh.

It didn’t last long as he was about as ready to combust as you were, hands finally ripping at your underwear. A shiver ran down your body at the cold air revealing you, Hanzo’s abyssal orbs taking in your nude form.

“Good.” Was all the man said, his fingers rubbing against your wet folds. You threw your head back as he pushed two digits into your sopping hole, hands gripping at his neck.

“Fuck, just like that.” You crooned, his pace picking up.

“Don’t tell me what to do. You hear me?” Hanzo’s voice went stern, hand coming to grasp at your throat. You nodded along as he continued to curl his digits into you.

It wasn’t even a full minute later that you felt the string inside you ready to snap, your cunt convulsing around his fingers.

“I can feel you about to cum. Let it go, flower.” Hanzo’s thumb came to circle your clit, only adding more pressure to your oncoming orgasm.

“F-Fuck! Hanzo, I-I’m cumming..” You moaned, eyes rolling back as you reached your high.

Hanzo gave you a few seconds before you felt his hard member brushing against your throbbing hole. His voice letting out low groans as he rutted himself into you.

“Can I push in?” The man panted, arms grasping on to you for dear life.

You shook your head in confirmation, body shaking as you felt his length move in. He was just the right size and you couldn’t help but think that you wouldn’t last long. He had already given you a mindblowing orgasm and you didn’t have much stamina left.

His pace was brutal, hands yanking at you to stuff you full. Only the lewd noise of slapping and his grunts could be heard throughout the room.

“Your cunt feels so good around me. You were built to take me.” Hanzo barked out, your body clenching at his nasty words. He took this as a good sign, continuing his dirty talk.

“Bet you love this. Look at you, whoring yourself out to me.” His hand yanked you to look in the workout mirror, watching as he completely obliterated you. You could only moan as he opened your mouth, shoveling two of his fingers into it.

“You like that. Be a nasty bitch and cum. I know you’re close.” Hanzo’s breath puffed against your ear, the overstimulation too much. Your body shook as you reached your second orgasm of the night, creaming around his member. It wasn’t soon after that Hanzo came, decorating your stomach in ribbons of white.

After a few minutes the two of you reclothed and got ready to leave. Hanzo made his way to the door, turning back to meet your eyes.

“If you ever want to do that again... My door is always open.”

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