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otonymous · 3 years

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Prisoner Of Love (Ikesen Kenshin - NSFW)

Description: Can two victims of circumstance find their way to love? Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Spoilers for the first half of Kenshin’s MS. Potential trigger warnings: angst, imprisonment, mild mentions of injuries, self-harm and death, self-loathing, anxiety, possessiveness (it IS Kenshin after all 🤣), slight dub-con elements, profanity, vaginal intercourse, squirting Word Count: ~3100 words (~17 minutes of angst and smut) Author’s Notes: Sending out a super giant thank you to the incredibly kind and gracious @azuchi-princess for commissioning this Kenshin piece from me. I cannot tell you how honoured I am to have been entrusted with writing for your husbando! 🥰💕 It was an absolutely wonderful process working with you, and I’m so glad to have been able to indulge in my need for angst and smut at the same time!

(SPOILER ALERT!) This story takes place shortly after Kenshin has MC (read: YOU!) placed behind bars as his “spoils of war,” but I have taken creative license in altering the events that occur afterwards. Moreover, the perspective shifts between that of the reader’s and Kenshin’s in the hopes of delivering that optimal punch of angst 👊🏼🤣

Please note the warnings listed above — especially the potential triggers — and avoid this read if anything makes you uncomfortable. Otherwise, dear readers, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece! 💕

Chapter I (Kenshin’s POV)

Betrayal.

Cutting deeper than the sharpest blade.

Unforgiving like Himetsuru-Ichimonji, severing the red string of fate as quickly as it is drawn from its scabbard.

So why was it that Kenshin still couldn’t bring himself to hate her?

Footsteps echoing along stone walls in the bowels of Kasugayama Castle — the very place where he had her cast behind bars — Kenshin wanders, trapped in a hell from which there was no escape.

For the confines of the mind were impervious to even the God of War’s sharpened steel.

And in between each beat of his thunderous heart, he hears her: gentle tears rolling down that delicate face to fall on packed earth, the ground’s inhospitable chill reaching up through limbs to rob even the final vestiges of warmth from bone. Her every shuddering breath is a weight upon his chest, suffocating until Kenshin clings to the reins of reason holding him back from storming her cell like a madman, animated solely by the fire commanding him to see, to touch…

…to love her.

Hands clenching into tight fists, Kenshin’s knuckles blanch whiter than his already pale skin when he slows to a stop. Round the corner and there she’ll be.

Woman of the Oda. The Devil King’s own.

She, who had lied in the same breath that commiserated with him as they waited for Sasuke’s return. She, whose tears left him dazzled, catching the light of the fire like precious stones even as their salt stung, seeping into his open wounds. She, who had held his hand within her own, caring not about sullying her perfect skin with his tainted blood.

Because tainted is what he is. It is what he deserves.

And yet, he can’t help but see the moonlight in her gaze, shimmering like a spectre every time he closes his eyes. Can’t stop himself from desiring the tender warmth of her smile. Still wonders at her fearless bravado in the face of a man who brought nothing but death and destruction upon friend and foe alike.

Isehime.

No.

No, he will not see her, Kenshin thinks, gaze frosting over as he wills the ice in his veins to freeze a heart he no longer wanted to feel. He walks away, forcing himself to believe that the sound of her sorrow growing faint was nothing more than mice in the walls.

Chapter II (Reader’s POV)

Ethereal moons beckon from scrolls depicting each of the four seasons — resplendent colours discordant against the drab stone walls on which they hang.

Cherry blossoms flutter against gold-foil skies; delicate petals frozen in time as they float across a folding screen.

Even the futon in the corner of your cell seemed fit for a princess at court, much more luxurious than the one in which you had slept at Azuchi.

The Dragon of Echigo had took it upon himself to see that his spoils of war would want for nothing, and yet he would deny you the one thing you truly desired:

The man himself.

Sasuke, Shingen and Yukimura would visit — sometimes together, sometimes in turn — graciously sharing their company for which you were so starved. Your ninja friend swore with as much emotion as he could muster to do anything and everything possible to persuade his lord to release you, or at the very least, agree to see you. Yukimura couldn’t stop shaking his head, the expression on his face indignant to see you treated thus, ‘boar woman’ though you were. As for Lord Shingen, he likened you to a bird in a gilded cage, trying to tempt you with offers of freedom and a ready smile on his face that surely would’ve moved any woman to see it…

…any woman but you, that is.

For in your eyes, there was only ever Kenshin — the man who came to your rescue time and time again without knowing your true identity. Intoxicating like the finest sake, each and every moment spent by his side became a precious embrace of a memory, emblazoned in your mind until it was impossible to forget:

The black cape that flowed from broad shoulders like a powerful wave, trailing behind him that night he saved you from those thugs in Azuchi. The way your feet dragged behind his footsteps, moving slow just to watch him cut swift through tall grass with all the seasoned grace of a dancer. His porcelain skin glowing from within as if lit by the light of his own moon.

And in his eyes…sorrow as unfathomable as the sea was deep, rising like smoke from sapphire and emerald in those rare moments the Dragon of Echigo let down his guard. But alas, no more.

You had broken his trust.

How many nights have you lain awake, seeking out pinprick stars through the sliver of window high above your prison and thinking about how things might have been different? What if you had disclosed your relationship with the Oda at the very start? Would the press of the cold steel of his blade be more of a consolation against your neck than the heartbreak spreading from chest to limb every time you lay down to sleep?

Sleep?

No, that was not forthcoming these days — rest a luxury you couldn’t afford until the moment you could face Kenshin for yourself and tell him that you never meant to hurt him, never meant to lie. That though Nobunaga found you first, you had no ulterior motive in approaching Kenshin other than the fact that you…you…

…simply couldn’t stay away.

No matter what anyone tried to say about him.

For even on the battlefield, every nerve singed as the stench of freshly spilt blood filled your nostrils, you still couldn’t tear your gaze from the one they revered as the God of War. Like an immortal stepping from an unfurling scroll, Kenshin moved with the fluid grace of a master painter wielding his brush, completely at one with his sword as he dispatched his enemies with a precision that terrified and awed all at once.

And when he held you in his arms that night — the same hand which had claimed countless lives bleeding into your own as you clasped it in prayer for Sasuke’s safe return — you had felt no fear; only the wish that time would stretch into eternity so that you might forever have him near.

“Kenshin.”

You say his name once…twice…the syllables rolling off your tongue to echo down the hallway like a ghost, lonely and forgotten in the dungeons of Kasugayama Castle. What was freedom to you when you couldn’t bear to break the shackles chaining you to a god who would never look your way again?

Chapter III (Kenshin’s POV)

“Kenshin.”

Her voice halts him in his tracks, one hand shooting out to rest upon the cool stone wall as Kenshin bolsters himself against the sudden weakness in his knees. When was the last time he heard her speak his name? Had it always sounded so melodic, caressing up the spine to curl gently upon the lobe of his ear?

That she is calling for him at a time when she should’ve been fast asleep is a source of elation and anxiety all at once, She is thinking of me tempered by the dread in knowing that she wasn’t getting the rest her body needed. And slowly, slowly…the scales start to tip: if she didn’t sleep, she’d become too exhausted to eat. And without eating, she would…

…die.

The nightmare would begin anew. Except this time, it would be her blood on Kenshin’s hands, spilling crimson over the scars left behind by Isehime’s lifeless body.

She’ll slip away from you like the other, the voice in his head chastises, full of malice as darkness begins unfurling from the corners of his mind, tightening the vice in his chest. They come hard and fast, thoughts tangling one over the other like a labyrinth of vines from which there was no escape:

Poison runs through your veins. Loving her would only doom the girl to misfortune and regret.

If she is not yours, could you possibly surrender her to anyone else?

You cannot outrun your curse. All those you hold dear will end up like Isehime: sleeping in the cold earth.

No one must lay eyes on her beauty, witness her elegance, know of the rare flower blooming in the depths of this dungeon.

No one but you.

Fist pulling back, Kenshin releases the full force of his strength in a punch to the wall. Bruised bone and shredded skin send blistering pain to interrupt the cacophony in his head, silence reigning supreme once more until

“Kenshin?”

…she calls for him again, voice coloured with anticipation this time. He hears a shuffle, sees her in his mind’s eye — throwing off the covers of her bedding to press against the bars, straining to peek around the wooden slats that kept her from freedom. Kept her from him.

“Please, Kenshin…is that you?”

He knows not why he does it, body moving before his mind is even aware. Kenshin had managed to make his way to her cell undetected every night since he put her there, standing silent in shadowy corners just to watch her sleep, allowing the rise and fall of her breath to soothe him with the knowledge that she was still very much alive. But now, in a single moment of thoughtlessness, he had thrown it all away.

She gasps to finally see him and even the sound of that is beautiful, resonating clear like the note of an expertly plucked koto. His gaze falls on her tightened grip around the bars, follows the solitary tear gathering starlight as it rolls down her cheek. And when her eyes widen in horror to look upon the state of his injured hand, Kenshin feels it:

A shift deep within, barely perceptible but wholly significant, like ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen stream.

And the rush of waters that follows drowns the lovers in a flood from which neither was capable of nor willing to escape.

Chapter IV (Reader’s POV)

Perhaps he really was a god, answering every prayer that ever slipped past noiseless lips to materialize before you in that prison. His white kimono is pristine beneath that black cloak, as if emphasizing the sanctity of his being, the unalterable distance between Uesugi Kenshin and a mere mortal such as yourself. But then the rivulets of red run down that swollen hand to tell you otherwise; the revelation bittersweet because maybe now, there was a way for you to be together, complicated though circumstances were.

So you reach for him through the bars and he complies, watching as you lay kisses upon bruised fingers, feeling the familiar sting of your tears as they seep into wounded flesh and broken hearts — full of sorrow, full of joy…and impossible to stop.

“Push me away.”

His voice is soft for the hard edges of his words. Head lifting, you meet those striking eyes, focused and still. Yet, you felt the storm brewing in those blue and green depths, turmoil barely concealed beneath the ice of his gaze. And there, standing before the man whose very blood stained your lips, you refuse.

Lightning flashes in those eyes and suddenly, his fingers are curling tight about the sleeve of your kimono, Kenshin pulling you close through the bars in one swift motion until the stilted rhythm of his breath is dancing hot over your skin.

“Say it. Say you hate me, that you want absolutely nothing to do with me. Do it now or else—”

“No. Never. How could I ever bring myself to hate the one I love—”

The grimace on his handsome face cuts you off, the great Dragon of Echigo trembling at the very word, love, like it was dirty, taboo. And as the final threads of control slip from his grasp, Kenshin is moving once more without thought — his body a slave to the dictates of the heart. Yanking on the ring of keys hanging from his tapered waist, Kenshin throws open the door to your cell and in an instant, he is by your side.

“Fine. Then I’ll make you hate me.”

His whisper is a promise.

The keys clatter as they’re thrown to the ground, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, deafening with every pounding beat of your heart to feel his lips on yours for the very first time. The insistent tongue pushing into your mouth carries a hint of sake, the fervour of his kiss leaving you intoxicated and desperate for more.

Long fingers thread through the silk of your hair, Kenshin’s grip gentle yet firm as he angles your head to deepen the kiss, bringing you closer and closer until the end of his exhalation marked the beginning of your next breath. And hadn’t it always been this way, you forever chasing after the mystery that was this beautifully broken man? The intensity of his want is a spell that bewitches, inexorably pulling you into the crucible of his desire, passion matching yours flame for burning flame until all else was extinguished.

Good and bad, right or wrong.

Words insignificant like ash in the face of this all-consuming love.

“Hate me,” Kenshin begs, teeth sinking into your lower lip until the taste of your blood mixed with his. “Please…or else I’ll never give you up.”

Open-mouthed kisses now trailing wet along the column of your neck, your fingers find purchase in his golden hair, pulling hard as you yield to the sensation of his breath moving lower and lower still. Kenshin groans, the sound resonating from deep within his chest to send a rush of heat that dampens the sacred space between your legs.

Body ready and heart set, your mind had been made up long ago. So you grasp onto those shoulders — broad and strong — to pull Kenshin up before you. And in the silent space between the beating of twin hearts, you say with a conviction so strong there could be no doubt,

“I am yours.”

The sound that catches in his throat is guttural, almost feral as those eyes of emerald and sapphire train on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. A sea of emotions flit across that handsome face, subtly shifting until one finally wins out:

Need.

You barely feel it though it must’ve taken considerable force to tear your obi off, the sumptuous kimono he gifted you with slipping from your shoulders as the God of War sets you upon the futon fit for a princess. Elegant even in haste, Kenshin disrobes with the grace of snow falling on frost-covered pine, revealing porcelain skin stretched over perfectly sculpted muscle that beckons to your every nerve.

And before the dungeon’s chill could rattle your bones, he gathers you into the heat of his embrace. Skin to skin, the arms wrapped around you tremble when he whispers, “I’ve wanted you so desperately, I-I don’t think I can hold back.”

Head falling back onto your pillow, you will Kenshin to see the sincerity, the surrender in the darkened gaze that reflects his very image.

“Then give me everything. I want…all that you are.”

It tears a breathless gasp from your lips, mouth drawn open in a silent scream when Kenshin fills you to the hilt with a single thrust — the thick, hard heat of his cock testing the limits of your body with its size. Equally skilled in bed as he was on the battlefield, the God of War is a force to be reckoned with, the swing of his hips graceful even as they connect with yours, ruthless in speed and intensity.

He moves within your body like he belongs, pulling out only to dive even deeper into slick depths until pleasure bloomed pink along your skin, the hardened tips of your breasts so enticing Kenshin couldn’t help but take them into his mouth in greedy turn as he continued thrusting, harder and faster until your legs began to shake.

“Oh god, Kenshin! You feel…so…good...ahh!—”

Pants and screams echo down darkened corridors, the sound of your pleasure in being taken this way resonating in the corners of every prison cell until you think to bite onto the sleeve of your kimono. But Kenshin just shakes his head, the sweat of exertion glistening on his body as his fingers move towards your mouth.

“No, I want…hmm…to hear you. Every sound you make is…precious to me. Let it out.”

With that, he removes the embroidered fabric, lips pressing to yours to swallow every licentious moan for himself as he props your legs up against his shoulders. All of a sudden, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, the motion awakens sensations you never before knew existed.

Unable to scream with your lover’s tongue in your mouth, your body responds in the only other way it knew how: convulsing beneath Kenshin until he is forced to pull out, allowing a flood of your arousal to cascade past swollen lips, spilling down the insides of your thighs in a lewd display that wets the bedding beneath your entwined bodies. And yet,

“More. Please, Kenshin…I want more…”

…you were insatiable.

The sight, sound and smell of you so undone ignites a fire inside the warlord, his mind scrambled by lust. And when he slides into you once more, he fucks with absolute abandon, yearning for complete union even as he leaves you breathless to finally spill into your depths.

* * *

You awake to moonlight glowing soft beyond shoji screens and the rhythm of a heartbeat, measured and slow beneath your ear. The robe you wore was fresh and soft; vague recollections of Kenshin gently caressing your fatigued body with a washcloth filtering in and out of your thoughts. At some point, he must’ve carried you to his chambers, sleeping now as you were upon his chest.

Lifting your head, you gaze at your lover in repose. It fills you with affection to see him — heart tightening to bind you to this man. And as his muscular arm winds about your waist, you knew you would forever be a willing prisoner to his love.

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin #uesugi kenshin #ikesen kenshin smut #ikesen smut #my writing #commission #azuchi-princess #thank you again my dear!#you are lovely to work with

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gyromitra-esculenta · 7 years

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Days of Our Superhero Lives

Or how i wrote marvel telenovela. Somewhere along the lines it gained actual plot with complete convoluted backstories and moved away from prompts, so at times it might be a much more somber affair than the beginning. Lightly touched up, most of it except the ending is out of order here somewhere, but here you are - a full one.

I Am Not

In which there aren’t too many Tracers for once, Talon is still Hydra-like bunch of doofuses, a hero is kidnapped once again, and inappropriate superhero aliases are mentioned.

“This feels deeply therapeutic.”

To be perfectly frank, the only person he can put the blame on for his current predicament is he himself, so Jack resigns himself to suffering the overwhelming stupidity of being Talon’s hostage and the mind-numbing reality of having to deal with the usual level of intelligence the average Talon grunt is able to display.

“No, really, what do you want to accomplish with that particular stunt?” He inquires, with a long suffering sigh following after he sees the smallest out of the three goons almost glow and vibrate with emotion at being asked a question.

“We are going to take our revenge against Reaper, for the everlasting glory of Talon!” Right. He would massage his temples if not for the fact his hands are cuffed behind his back.

“Do you guys even realize that it was you who betrayed him?” Jack asks again, cocking his head to the side. “Just so you know?”

“That was a preemptive betrayal!” The second Talon goon answers with glee. Jack simply stares at him uncomprehending.

“There is no such thing as a preemptive betrayal. It’s just a simple plain betrayal!” All three goons huddle together to discuss something and Jack doesn’t even try to overhear. He is pretty sure that the groundbreaking revelation they will come up with will only break new grounds in terms of convoluted justifications that make no sense overall to anyone sane.

“We are pretty sure that he would have betrayed the glorious Talon in future so we betrayed him first,” the tallest goon concludes and Jack groans.

“Okay. So how are you going to avenge Talon,” he rolls his eyes here, “by holding me hostage?”

“You and Reaper are dating,” this time it’s the middle one. Under the suit and the mask this one goon is kind of vaguely woman-shaped, Jack decides. Vaguely being the key word.

“I’m not dating Reaper.” This is the truth Jack believes in with full conviction and he will repeat it however many times he has to. He is not dating Reaper, it is the other way around – Reaper is dating him – and to be more precise and use the proper terminology, he is being courted by Reaper. Completely different things, right? Disregarding, of course, the disaster dubbed the First Date, and then the subsequent eight other dates that were catastrophes of their own – mostly when Reaper started getting handsy. No, he was not counting, not at all.

“But you were kissing!”

“A trick of the light, that’s all. And the pollen season.” Jack certainly feels surprised that Talon masks are able to look crestfallen – those three manage to somehow pull it off – at the same time shifting dejectedly on their feet.

“But we already sent our demands!”

Great.

He is halfway through his cuffs – thank god for not throwing out that paperclip he probably picked up several months ago – when the Three Talon Stooges, as he has nicknamed them in their absence, return. Jack narrows his eyes at them. The vaguely woman-shaped one coughs and elbows the shortest goon.

“There was a change of plans. We are going to ransom you.”

“Ransom. Me. To whom?” In retrospection, when the answer is given, he was better off not asking.

“To Blackwatch.”

Jack cringes, internally and outwardly, because, Jesus fucking Buddha on a stick, that codename. It was deeply inappropriate, ha always felt, and incorporated into the history of ethn… non-caucasian heroes color-coding themselves. There was Black Panther, Black Ranger, Red Lightning, Yellow Lightning.

And Yellow Lightning guy was something else, he has to admit. He was a speedster but his name led to many electrocutions, both intentional and accidental, because most of the people associate lightning with electricity, not speed. Then he changed his name to Yellow Speedo to dispel the doubts pertaining to his powers. After much snickering, someone enlightened him to what exactly a speedo is. The whole affair was made even more disturbing considering the fact that Yellow Lightning was a third generation British citizen and there was no language barrier to speak of.

Anyway, the guy went off the deep end spectacularly, and it involved the yellow Borat-style mankini. The sight was still seared into his retinas.

“What?” Jack snaps at the Talon goon waving a hand in front of his eyes and the guy jumps back.

“You were pretty gone there…” Right. Whatever Gabriel wants to call himself, it’s his damn own codename, and Jack has no right to comment on it – excluding the incredulous ‘Are you nuts?’ the first time – however problematic or symptomatic he feels it is.

“Why Blackwatch? You’d have more luck with the organization as a whole!” Being a hero usually was no recipe for printing money, unless one found a way to monetize it, like Meka or Frog both did. Or that leather fetish bat guy.

“But aren’t you two, you know, an item?” Jack closes his eyes, sighs deeply and counts to ten.

“God, no, not… He’s with Wonder Boy.”

The Three Stooges cluster together yet again for a momentary debate. Then the tallest of them leans away to ask.

“But aren’t you and Wonder…” Nope, not even going there, he will never acknowledge there ever being any similarity between them, at any given point of time.

“No!” Because, damn this all, no-one and nothing will make him admit he might have been… anything like Wonder Boy. This time Jack certainly doesn’t have a scrap of sympathy for the Three Talon Stooges as they mournfully shuffle their feet together.

“Ma!” Someone calls from the outside. “The ‘tatoes are burning!”

The woman-shaped Talon goon shrieks in horror and runs up the stairs, bounding several steps in each jump.

After finally slipping off the cuffs (he should really leave them a note saying that they are not, in fact, one size fits all, his wrists are chaffed), Jack briefly inspects the small basement room and the cursory glance through the window reveals the fenced in backyard with a well-groomed lawn. And a pool. Apparently, being a goon to a vast criminal empire, while not reputable, does put the food on the table.

“Eat your broccoli, young man!”The shrill voice comes from the garden.

“But Ma…”

“And you too, Steven!”

“Yes, pumpkin.” He recognizes the cadence of the tallest goon.

Jack creeps up the stairs, but on the way, he swipes an old rusty wrench from the wall because, really, he deserves it for the inconvenience. Torbjörn likes vintage gadgets just like this one and it’s always great to be in good graces of your local fix-it-all, especially if you more often than not use experimental technology. The last time he asked for help from the Architect, Satya charged him through the nose, and the less said about the rest, the better. It should be enough to mention that percentage displays were not to be trusted, ever.

Besides, the Three Talon Stooges could have fed him, Jack would certainly be more amiable then, and less prone to grabbing old rusty wrenches from their basement. And just as he opens the doors…

“Oh, good, I don’t have to kill anyone.” The surprise makes him put his foot down a second too early and Jack cringes at the crunch that resonates up to his hip as he gracelessly falls down on his knee. Just figures. “Need help, darling?”

“No, I’m on all fours for fun,” Jack glares up at Reaper, whose strangely fond expression changes into something else.

“I’m not complaining, darling, the sight is tempting.” Damn his complexion – because he can feel his ears burning already. Why? What did he ever do to deserve this?

“Just… just shut up and help me stand up. It’s all your fault. You stood me up.” Reaper smiles a bit sheepishly – which in itself is deeply suspicious – while hoisting him up in his arms.

“Yes. I forgot that too.”

“You forgot you asked me out?” Jack stares at him incredulously, foregoing at the moment the question of why is he being carried exactly, it’s only a sprained ankle and he can very well limp on his own, thank you very much.

“No. I forgot there’s more than one Darbar, and you’ll go to the other one. Probably,” Reaper amends with haste.

“Really? What’s the other thing that you for…” There’s a click of a camera phone to the side and Jack freezes in horror.

“Yo, dudes, your old married bickering is, like, all hot and sweet, but could you, like, clear out, before the old bats notice he’s, like, missing?” The teen taps her foot expectantly. Jack abandons any remaining vestiges of dignity and buries his face in the crook of Reaper’s neck with a pained groan.

“Hit me with the files later.”

“Five hundred bucks.”

“Done.” Reaper somehow produces a card with his contact details and throws it at the girl.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Jack murmurs outside later.

“Of course, darling.” Reaper agrees.

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel, clad in his full assault gear, asks surprised.

“I live here,” Jack feels a little bit offended. After all, they are now in the communal rooms, and questioning his right to be here is downright mean.

“I mean…” The other man makes a strange gesture in the air. “I got the ransom note.” Roadhog chooses this exact moment to wave at them candidly. He is holding the teacup between his fingers like it is made from the most delicate china – it is not – and his pinky is outstretched. It looks ridiculously pretentious.

“Right. But what are they doing here? They are terrorists and mercenaries…”

“Yo, mate, I take offense at that! We are terrorists for hire!” Junkrat voices his immediate concerns from the couch. Like ‘terrorist for hire’ is any better than the ‘mercenary and terrorist’. And he is drinking his tea with a straw!

A subtle cough from above doesn’t escape Jack’s attention either and he cringes internally. Right.

“They delivered the ransom note.”

“Right. I got out by myself, I’m not some damsel in distress.” Gabriel just stares at him, his whole posture questioning, and the slight snicker coming from Reaper… Right. It would be more convincing if he weren’t just at the moment held in the bridal carry, and the traitorous blush creeps up his neck. Whatever happens, Jack decides, they are both certifiable arseholes. Maybe one more than the other. “I… I twisted my ankle because he startled me. When I was getting out. Out of the basement.”

“Nice suburban property for sale. They had a pool in the backyard,” Reaper interjects and Jack groans because he knows Gabriel…

“How far and how much? Do they have a listing?”

“For fuck’s sake!” He has had enough, Jack decides, pointing accusingly at Gabriel. “You are not thinking about buying property from Talon agents, and you,” he now glares upwards. “Just sit me down on the damn chair and bring me a fucking ice pack!”

“As you wish, darling,” Reaper declares quite loudly while leaving for kitchen and Jack buries his face in his hands. Why? Just why? What did he ever do to deserve all of this?

Jack casts a distrustful glance at Reaper and future Lena – both of them seem to be conversing lightly – and he, sure as hell, does not believe in their good intentions at the moment, not after the whole, ongoing, embarrassment. Not to mention he hears them both over Roadhog and Junkrat complimenting Ana and her tea. And the occasional slurping noises Junkrat does with the straw.

“That was so unfair, threatening me with Ems,” Tracer fumes.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Reaper sounds very self-satisfied.

“I wouldn’t eat the whole cake!”

“You’d eat almost the whole cake.” Lena scoffs at that.

“By the way, Reaps, why you still here, luv? You know how he is, he won’t talk to you tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for nothing,” Reaper chuckles.

“Miss wha…? Oh. Oh!” Tracer’s face lights up with a wicked smile. Yes, Jack thinks, he was very right to not trust them, because they are scheming something.

“I can hear you!” Jack hisses at them, ready to add more choice words, when the doors slam open and Wonder Boy saunters in, dragging Gabriel behind.

“I told you Old Fart didn’t… You!” The blonde stops, narrowing his eyes at Reaper, who, in turn, wriggles his metal talons at him.

“Hello, little shit,” the villain responds cheerfully. Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, preparing for the incoming screaming match he really would like to avoid right now. “Long time no see.”

Wonder Boy reddens like a tomato (damn their complexion, Jack muses) and seethes with malice through his teeth.

“See, the princess didn’t need rescuing by you.”

And for Jack, enough is enough – the whole ordeal and the humiliation has worn his patience paper thin, the fucking blonde dweeb deserves it undoubtedly because Jack had never done anything to antagonize him - so the ankle be damned as he stands up and takes a swing, not as strong as he would have liked, but apparently it is sufficient because Wonder Boy just drops to the ground knocked out cold.

Reaper grins like a cat that ate the canary, Lena throws confetti in the air and two mercenaries raise their teacups in congratulatory motion. Gabriel looks like he would like to say something but lacks words at the moment.

Jack stares at his clenched fist and clears his throat.

“This feels deeply therapeutic,” he says to no-one in particular.

#sometimes i write #superhero!au #overwatch #marvel telenovela in terms how convoluted this shit has become #there are diagrams involved #diagrams!#but the plot is done in a sense that everything is planned out #i'm still having fun with coming up with those #the sexy lingerie or dating simulators didn't make it into this one #but those are coming #r76 #reaper76 #lol i kno every1 is having fun with the comic rn

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