#like going half feral over it in my little ten minute window of freedom

[king-finnigan]

Play With Fire - part 9

Sorry that it took a while to update! It’s exam season at the moment and I’m too stressed to write a lot.

By god I’m going to make y’all soft for these two assholes though

Masterlist!

***

He lets go of Jaskier’s hand, leaning on the kitchen table, a sense of determination coursing through his veins like he’s never felt before. “Promise me,” he says.

Jaskier looks at him, confused, curious, fire kindling in those icy eyes.

“Promise me that you’re not gonna walk away from me the first chance you get. Promise me I’m not throwing away the last ten years of my life and my freedom of guilt for you to leave me behind.”

Jaskier blinks, then smiles at him, bright and joyful. “Love, I would never. I would sooner kill every person on this damned continent than leave you behind. I would sooner kill myself than walk away from you.”

And Geralt sees nothing but the bare, honest truth in those ocean eyes. He nods. “Let’s get going, then.”

---

He shows Jaskier where he’s stored his knife set - somewhere at the back of a kitchen cabinet, once bought in the naive hope that he might cook his own meals every night, when he’d first bought this house, before being put away and forgotten over the years. They’re still sharp and clean, and he leaves Jaskier in the kitchen, marvelling over the blades, running a gentle finger across the edge, almost cutting himself - while Geralt goes back to the bedroom.

He takes the duffelbag from under the bed, along with the plastic bag of money. It’s not a lot, only a few hundred bucks, and he considers raiding his own bank account before finding De Vries and Stregobor. He sighs, stuffing the money in the duffelbag, along with half his closet. He supposes they won’t have the time to go shopping once they’re on the run.

A burst of adrenaline explodes in his veins, and he feels dizzy for a split second as he’s sitting there, crouching next to the bag. He’s really doing this. He’s running away with a serial killer to evade going to prison for something that may or may not be his fault - depending on the person you ask.

He’s about to become a fugitive.

He’s about to become a criminal.

He’s about to become an outlaw.

And, as daunting as the idea should be - as daunting as it is, he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his face. Yes, they’ll have the rest of the world against them, but at least they’ll be on each other’s side.

He stuffs the clothes, the money, his handcuffs, and his gun in the bag, zipping it closed. He barely remembers to put on his shirt and shoes before slinging the bag over his shoulder, leaving the bedroom for the last time.

Jaskier looks up. “Ready, love?”

Geralt frowns, blinking a few times. “Not entirely.” He hands the bag to Jaskier. “Put this in the car, dear.”

Jaskier smiles at him, crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes as he nods, turning around, snatching the car keys off the living room table, heading out of the front door.

Geralt, in turn, goes to the garage. He was supposed to clean out the mess at some point, supposed to make room so he can park his car inside instead of in the street, but he never got around to it. He digs under a few piles of useless rubbish, pulling out three jerrycans of gasoline. He’d once stored them there, just in case he forgot to refuel on his way back from work one day, but he never did, so they just stood there for years, gathering dust and cobwebs.

And now, he finally has a use for them. Just not in a way that he had expected.

He starts with the first one, emptying half of it in the garage - there’s so many wooden planks, bought for building things he never got around to building, he’s sure the fire will catch on soon, here.

He empties the other half in the living room. The other two are spread out over the rest of the ground floor - he supposes that, if the ground floor is completely destroyed, the top half of the house will follow suit. He realizes he never used any of the rooms upstairs. It doesn’t matter anymore, no one will ever get the chance to use them.

He does a mental check, snatching his passport and wallet from his bedroom as an afterthought, just in case. He takes a matchbook from the kitchen, walking to the front door. He lights a match, taking one last look at his house, before staring into the flame, letting it burn up the match until the fire nearly touches his fingers, before tossing it onto the carpet.

He closes the door behind him, just as the first flames start catching on, the gasoline accellerating the fire at a terrifying speed, and as he walks to the car, he can already see the flickering shadows of the windowframes, cast by the flames.

Jaskier looks at him, smiling, as Geralt gets into the driver’s seat, turning the keys in the ignition, starting the car, driving away from the burning remains of his house - the ruins of his life.

---

Going back to the prison is painfully familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time. Sure, he’s done this countless of times before, taken these turns day in day out, but never like this - never with someone else sitting next to him, never with any other intention than just doing his job and cashing his next paycheck, never with the knowledge that this is the last time.

He glances at Jaskier next to him from time to time, smiling at the way the brown curls whip in the air coming through the open window, at the way he basks in the sunlight, at the way he looks perfectly relaxed and happy.

And when he gets the overwhelming urge to tell Jaskier that he’s beautiful, he doesn’t hold back, for once.

He stops at the bank on the way to the prison. He looks up as Jaskier says: “Let me.”

He frowns. “Let you what?”

“Get the money, empty your bank account.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Geralt’s almost tempted to just let him, without asking why. Almost.

“They’re gonna suspect something’s up when a stranger empties my bank account.”

Jaskier smiles at him triumphantly, blue eyes shining brightly as he turns around in his seat, facing Geralt. “Exactly! You see, love, I’ve been thinking. They already know I’m a murderer, but they don’t know we’re together now. If I empty your bank account, they might think I’m either holding you hostage or that I’ve killed you and burned your house down. That way, if we ever get caught, you can feign innocence!”

Geralt hates to admit it, but it’s a pretty solid idea. However- “Who says I want to feign innocence? Who says I don’t want to stick by your side if you go to prison?”

Jaskier sighs, reaching forward to softly cradle Geralt’s cheek in his left hand. “If I go to jail, at least let me have the knowledge that you’re still free, love. Let me at least have that.”

Geralt sighs, and even if he’s still reluctant, he can’t say no to those pleading, blue eyes. “Fine.” He takes his wallet, handing it to Jaskier. “Just be careful, dear.”

Jaskier laughs, reaching into the back seat, zipping the bag open and taking the gun out, tucking it into the back of his jeans before he takes the card from Geralt. He’s still grinning as he presses a kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “Love, you know me. I’m never careful.”

Adn when Jaskier leaves the car, Geralt remains seated, hands tightening around the steering wheel, engine still running. And when he sees the younger man walking into the bank, he feels a jolt of adrenaline and deep-rooted arousal coursing through his veins at the sight of the gun sticking out from Jaskier’s waistband.

And when there’s no movement or sound coming from the building for a good ten minutes, he waits patiently - he trusts Jaskier to come out of there unscathed. And when he hears a gunshot ringing out through the street, he jumps a bit in surprise, but keeps his eyes trained on the bank.

And when there are no other signs of life inside the building for another ten minutes, he does start to worry a little bit. Just a little bit.

And when he hears police sirens in the distance, he does grow a bit impatient, a bit more worried.

And when Jaskier runs out of the building with another duffelbag full of, presumably, money, grinning wildly, something  feral in those blue eyes as he jumps into the car, slamming the door behind him, Geralt sighs in relief and takes off at full speed, in the opposite direction of the sirens.

“Everything okay? I heard a gunshot-”

His sentence is cut off when Jaskier pulls his face towards him, kissing him deeply. Geralt smiles, before pulling away, looking at the road again. “I assume that means you’re fine.”

“It does, love. Everything alright.” He sounds out of breath, unbridled joy and wildness on his features. “Was just a warning shot. No one got hurt, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Geralt nods, slowly relaxing into his seat as he takes a detour around the police sirens, to the prison. 

“So,” Jaskier mumbles after a while, “what’s the plan, love?”

Geralt shrugs. “Go to the prison, use the system to find De Vries and Stregobor, pay them a visit, run away together.” He frowns for a bit, letting another idea run through his mind. “Maybe get a dog?”

Jaskier laughs, head thrown back, sunlight bright on his skin, carefree, happy. It’s the most beautiful thing Geralt’s seen in his entire life. 

He takes a mental note, photographing this moment in his mind, storing it away to be remembered until the day he dies - just the two of them, the whole world at their feet, at their mercy, the future bright and wide open for them, full of possibilities.

He never ever wants to forget this moment. He doubts he ever will.

***

Tag list babey! (if you want to be added, just send me a DM or an ask, or put it in the comments, whatever suits you):

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @noobtiedoo, @foddle-the-fiddler, @thenameislion-dandelion, @skai6, @thesmileyplant, @hysteria347, @pensandknittingneedles, @freak-fee-blog, @whenrainbowsend, @flustratedcas, @negatjazzy, @bridgehampton, @lookinforsomeabsinth, @dandelion-and-the-wolf, @sweetiepieplum

#play with fire #part 9 #part 9 already??? #how the FUCK #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #uhhhhh #bank robbery? #bank robbery #idk if that needs a tw #discussions of murder #can't believe i'm saying this but there's a lot of foreplay for the murder #maybe next chapter someone finally dies #maybe not #guess you'll just have to stay tuned wink wink #i'm rambling don't mind me

[oswaldsleeping]

Series: The Strange Case of Mr. Shimada

Chapter Title: no one said living in the forest is a good idea

Chapter(s): 2/3  Rating: E Wordcount: 5461 Warnings: sex, blood, gore (the three things that make life interesting jk) Summary: it’s their own little slice of paradise Author’s Notes: someone needs to get mccree a bandaid

  “Do not give me that look.” Genji frowns. He's got a light-up collar in one hand, the scruff a very big, very hairy, very whiny wolf in another. His jacket and boots are soaked, snow sliding down his neck, “I told you if you did it again, I would make you wear this.”

The werewolf in question whines again, practically pouting. But he sits still as Genji slips the collar on, pressing the “On” button. Bright blue begins to shine around the collar's center. “If you did not attempt to attack me every time I came back, you would not be wearing this, McCree.”

Jesse makes a cacophony of grunts and whines, trying to explain his point without using his words.

Well...speaking with a muzzle must be pretty difficult, Genji will give him that. Besides, he can make out the gist of what Jesse's saying.

“That may be, but I do not need to be “kept on my toes”,” he leans down to gather the tossed-away jar of peanut butter. The oranges have rolled down the front steps, “If anything, you are the one that should be practicing, you mutt. You're getting lazy.”

Jesse snorts, plucking the cluster of bananas from the bushes and trotting into the cabin. They make quick work of it together, getting the groceries off the ground and into the kitchen. The eggs are (mercifully) intact, even if the cereal is a little worse-for-wear.

  In this form, Jesse may trot on the ground, but he can stand on his back legs should the need arise. His front paws can still open doors and manipulate handles (however, he's pretty poor at delicate tasks – he's broken plenty of forks this way). This comes into handy when Genji hands him the last bag of groceries and turns to to put the kettle on the stove.

“I got another request,” He says after a moment, listening to Jesse struggle to put a bag of rice into the rice container (they have containers for everything – cereal, rice, coffee, milkbones – a place for everything and everything in it's place, right?) Jesse huffs, deeming the rice to be a lost cause and trotting back to Genji with the half opened bag.

“Get me the tea box, won't you?” Genji takes the bag and puts it aside, turning back to the kettle. The water has begun to bubble, “I am glad they appreciate my work. I'll have to send word to Zenyatta, I keep forgetting to send his in the mail.” He takes the tea box (in reality, a particularly pretty box that once held papers and is now holds little tin boxes of loose leaf teas) from Jesse's jaws, searching over the little containers for the right one. Jesse huffs again, laying besides the stove, his feet tucked neatly underneath him (he looks very much like a cat when he does that, Genji thinks).

One ear perks, his tail beginning to thump against the ground. It's been awhile since Genji's spoken of his old master.

“He mentioned visiting the next time he gets to the states. It would be nice to see him again.” Genji pulls the desired tin out, measuring out the leaves and taking a clean mug. The peppermint leaves crackle in the hot water, “Would you like to?”

Jesse gives a soft woof and a yawn, his tail still thumping against the floor. Years and years ago, he'd met Genji's former teacher and good friend Zenyatta. Jesse mentions him from time to time - the monk had made quite the impression.

  Genji takes his tea to the front windowsill, settling in to watch the snow. From the side of his eye, he can see Jesse's back leg shaking – he looks like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to fly.

  “Do not leave for too long.” Genji says, taking a sip – Jesse gives another woof and barrels out the door.

  - - -

Mating season for North American werewolves starts in the middle of winter, when the forests are quiet and the nights are cold. It's a kind of twofold effect: fertile werewolves will produce litters in the late spring and it creates a tight bond between the mated pair. Things are...different for werewolf/non-werewolf partners. There's a slim-to-none chance of litters being produced. The few that are often are born too early and born sick. Furthermore, most non-werewolf partners have a hard time keeping up with their more energetic partners.

Ergo, most of these partnerships don't work.

But, clutching a cup of steaming tea and watching Jesse frolicking in the falling snow (actually frolicking - considering he's a full grown werewolf, this looks just as silly as you think), it seems so worth it. Genji sits against the windowsill, one leg tucked under him, the other swinging back and forth. He gets a weird sense of joy seeing Jesse chasing shadows, his collar a streak of bright-blue in the ever growing darkness. If you'd asked him ten years ago if he thought he'd ever feel so at home, he would have have laughed in your face.

They'd built the cabin by hand, cut every log in this house, sanded every surface smooth. It was theirs, theirs, this little slice of paradise. A cabin with two floors, located in the center of the forest, right across from the river. A tiny garden in the back, the stubborn pine littering the back steps with dark-green needles. Together, they sustained themselves and were happy with the life they'd chosen.

  Jesse could run around without fearing he'd become someone's rug and Genji...well Genji had peace and quiet. And that's all he'd ever wanted. It wasn't “loneliness”, like the townsfolk insisted, it was freedom. Jesse leaps, catching a particularly big snowflake between his jaws, falling back and rolling. The whole scene is really very cute, very...Jesse. It's hard to believe there's a late-thirty-something man under all that hair.

  Genji sits the cup in his lap, goosebumps rising on his arms. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the chilly glass.

    - - -

  “Come with me.”

  That's all he'd said, reaching his hand out. It must have looked so funny, this tall, burly, beast of a man standing over this tired, morose looking shell of a person, “Ain't nothin for either one'a us here.” Genji remembered the day. Hell, he could tell you the exact hour, minute, and second. The leaves were falling, the wind had been particularly nasty that day. Dressed all in black, clutching a photo yellowed at the edges and cracked on one side. Autumn smelled like rain, the ground soft and pliant and so very, very cold. He couldn't make himself turn around, couldn't make himself look at that fucking tombstone...

For a moment Genji had hesitated. He wasn't stupid, he knew how dangerous werewolves were. They were unpredictable, they were ruled by instinct, they were wild animals. This was stupid, fool hardy and practically signing his death warrant.

  “Do you trust me?”

  That was it. The thing that made Genji throw every fear, every worry, every unseeable detail out the window, because yeah, he did. He really, really did.

He trusted Jesse more than he trusted everyone else, because Jesse was real. He couldn't be arsed to lie about useless matters, had a pretty poor filter, and acted with his heart rather than his head and, Genji never felt the need to hide around him. He could be himself, giant gaping flaws and all.

So in the night, they left. Left appropriate letters to their families (well to Jesse's family; Genji didn't have anyone else) and decided to start anew.

  - - -

  And here he was, years later, sitting by a windowsill and watching his partner play in the snow. How time flies.

  His eyes flutter open. Jesse's not out front anymore, instead stomping into the house, his fur dotted with snowflakes, his tail wagging madly. Before Genji has a chance to stop him, he shakes the water from his back, sending freezing droplets everywhere.

“YOU MUTT!” Genji shrieks, nearly spilling his tea. Well, that certainly spoiled the mood. He's soaked, the flannel not doing much to keep him warm (hey, only so much one shirt can do). The almost-dead fire in the fireplace is finally snuffed out.

Jesse actually looks a little ashamed of himself, tucking his tail between his legs and laying his ears against his skull. He pads to Genji, giving a pathetic whine.

“Do not start with me. Why can you not do that before you come inside?!” Genji glowers. He feels like his mother, scolding his wayward brother and himself for something silly, “How many times must I to tell you? Not. In. The. House.”

Jesse lays his head against Genji's thigh. He gives a low grunting noise.

“You are ridiculous.” Genji pinches the bridge of his nose. Jesse pushes his head into Genji's thigh again, whining even louder. He taps his paw against the ground, nuzzling his muzzle against the inside of Genji's knee, “No, you are a grown man, I am not falling for that.”

Jesse plants first one paw on the windowsill, and then the next, raising his head to press it against Genji's chest. “Use your words.” Genji grumbles. His hands find those soft, sensitive ears, scratching in just the perfect spot. Jesse's tail begins to wag, “I would not get upset with you, if you did not shake in the house, mutt.”

Jesse gives a growly-whine, tail wagging furiously. His head drops onto Genji's shoulder, one paw swatting at Genji's shirt.

“Don't be rude.” Genji gives a him a firm tap on the nose, “Go get more firewood.”

Jesse gives another swat, ignoring Genji's request. There's something in his eyes, a feral mischievousness that Genji's oh-so-knowledgeable of. He smirks, taking the werewolf's head in both hands and holding it still, leaning down to press his nose against Jesse's cold, wet one.

“Get the firewood,” He murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “Be a good boy and go get it. And then you'll get a treat.” Jesse's off like a shot. Genji laughs, places his cup aside and walks upstairs – wolfish, indeed.

  - - -

  There's something nice about sleeping with a dog. Well, Genji knows better to call him a “dog”. Jesse's really not into that, but he's into praise, so it all evens out in the end.

It's awkward, but Genji reaches behind him to scratch one of those soft, floppy ears. Jesse huffs in appreciation. He shifts his hips, the thick knot inside of him still hot and heavy. Jesse grunts, one paw-like-hand clutching Genji's firm hip and keeping him in place. Genji has a tendency to squirm during their sessions, which pulls painfully on Jesse's knot. It takes the fun out of the afterglow!

“You were enthusiastic tonight,” Genji grumbles snuggling back into the werewolf's broad chest. His fur is thick and full, and so wonderfully warm, “Full moon have anything to do with that?”

Jesse grunts, one lazy ear flopping forward. He's not keen on “moon” jokes either, but Genji can't help himself. You can't just let these opportunities get away!

“No matter.” he yawns, eyes fluttering shut, listening to the soft thump thump thump of Jesse's tail against the bed. He's such a puppy sometimes, even while locked together with his mate, “It was nice.”

Jesse laves his tongue against Genji's neck, his tail still wagging against the bed. Something about the chill of winter gives him such a boost of energy. It's put to good use.

“We'll have to go hunting in the morning,” Genji says, half awake, “Maybe when the snow settles. I hate hunting when it's sleeting, the deer are getting good about hiding.”

    - - -

  There's a puff of auburn fuzz in the holly bush again. Genji sees it in the morning, standing on the back porch with his coffee, watching the storm progress. Jesse eyes the fuzz for a moment, eyes narrowed and ears pulled back. With a breathy woof, Jesse trots into the forest.

Genji flicks the puff away. Little puffs have been showing up all around the house – it must be the deers.

  - - -

  “Were you rolling around in the pines again?”

  Jesse shakes his head no, pine needles falling every which way. His fur is mattered with sap and he looks particularly...sticky.

“You're an awful liar.” Genji plucks him by the scruff and begins dragging him to the bathroom.

This is where the fight begins.

You need to understand – when he's human, Jesse is actually fairly good at these things. Takes a shower every other day, attempts to keep his beard in presentable order, tries to look like a normal human being.

As a werewolf, he's subject to werewolf whims. It's a far cry between a man's brain and a canine's – Jesse the Man knows not to roll in the pine sap and track mud into the house. Jesse the Wolf will get into the garbage and not give a damn.

Jesse had attempted to explain it awhile ago - "'s not like I can help it - somethin' 'bout strong smells is just so appealin'." They'd gone over the subject for a good two hours and in the end, Genji was just as clueless as he was in the beginning. Jesse summed it up as "it's a werewolf" thing and left it at that.

Learning to balance the two takes practice. Sometimes, it's like having a dog, especially when Jesse makes a high pitched howl and takes for the door.

Genji's faster; launches himself and catches Jesse around the middle, planting his feet on the floor. It's pretty difficult to wrestle a full grown werewolf into submission, but Genji's stronger than he looks. It's a slow, laborious process – Jesse trying to escape, Genji trying to get him into the bathroom. He's going to throw his back out, if this keeps up.

Genji gets them to the bathroom (after prying Jesse from the doorframe) and sits back, taking a deep breath. Jesse sits, pouting in the bathtub, his ears flopped over his eyes. This is his workout for the day, Genji decides as he rolls up his sleeves, he's taking a fucking nap after this.

The moment the shower head springs to life, the fight begins once again. Jesse yowls as Genji “calmly” reminds him that if he didn't thrash so much, he wouldn't get soap in his eyes.

  - - -

  Jesse's better for the hair dryer. Which is relieving because there was no way Genji has enough towels to dry him. Jesse pouts but stays still and only complains for a moment when Genji blows too close to his ears. It's actually very nice to see him clean – there's a multitude of colors in Jesse's coat that only appear after a good wash. He's got a good amount of red in him, flecks of yellow, and silver in his chin that make him look pretty distinguished. Jesse darts away when Genji deems the entire process complete. He's rolls in the laundry, trying to get his scent back in his fur (there's something so embarrassing about smelling like baby powder).

Genji drops into bed, pulls the covers over his head, and takes the best snooze he's had all month.

  - - -

  “It's been three days,” Genji says quietly, watching the snow fall. The storm's taken a liking to their home and has decided to stay. Genji's pretty happy he managed to do some grocery shopping in town before they ran out of meat, “Are you stuck?”

At the foot of the bed, Jesse sighs, his body curled into a tight ball. His muzzle nestled into his bushy tail. It seems like he's fast asleep, but Genji knows better. His left ear is slightly raised, his mane not entirely settled. It will be midnight soon, the fourth day just over the horizon. Genji's patient. He knows Jesse needs time. He'll wait but...well, no one likes the waiting game.

“I'm not in any hurry.” Genji says, before he rolls over and falls asleep, “But I would like to speak with you again someday.”

    - - -

      Lacing up his boots, it's hard not to laugh. Jesse's always excitable before the hunt, bouncing about like a fresh whelp. He gives a short bark, pacing at the front door, the bow in his mouth.

“Stop rushing.” Genji murmurs, looking over his equipment and picking up his quiver.

The bow is...a sensitive subject. Not something he likes to dwell on, a moment passed down from a long dead brother. There's etching on the side, neat, tiny kanji that Genji conveniently never reads and sometimes he wonders what his brother would think if he saw his precious bow now. Genji likes to think he'd be amused.

He counts the arrows before strapping the quiver to his back and tightening the holster around his combat knife. Genji takes the bow from Jesse's mouth and steps out into cold, the werewolf bolting around him and into the forest. The snow still falls, the storm calmed considerably but lingering within the pines. He can see a flash of a red tail between the trees.

God bless the hunt.

  - - -

  It's...a little bizarre seeing how Jesse changes while at work.

He goes from goofy and silly to serious at the drop of a hat. His ears are pricked forward, eyes narrowed and searching. Nose to the ground, he quickly picks up a scent, Genji following behind him as fast as he can.

Genji's job is simple. If Jesse can't take his prey down, then it's up to Genji to head it off, distract it, and incapacitate it until Jesse can catch up. It's a dance he's well versed in, one he prides himself on. They compete with one another, who will take down the strongest prey, the most prey, the weirdest prey. The house is rarely without meat.

They make a good team. Jesse is heavy, strong, keen on what's moving in the darkness and Genji is quick on his feet, quick to react, and a well trained killer.

“You'd make a good wolf, Genji.” Jesse had said once, dragging their kill back to the cottage – they'd spoken on it once or twice. Werewolf venom isn't what you think it is – it's not a “one bite and you've got fur” kind of thing. It's actually pretty dangerous – as the species evolved, the werewolf's venom grew more and more toxic. Plenty have died from the venom alone and those who don't often turn feral within the first few moons and must be put down. Some propose that was the whole reason for the venom turning so lethal. Too many werewolves who went feral too easily, too deformed to mesh with packs, and too unstable to sustain themselves. It would make sense that biology would become selective.

It takes a careful hand to transition a human to a werewolf and it's...quite the commitment. Not one to be taken lightly. They'd categorized as a “we'll cross that bridge when we get to it” and left it at that. Still, there were days where Genji wondered what color his fur would be...

    - - -

  Werewolf body language is an art all it's own. It's like any spoken language that's ever existed, it's changed in so many ways and in so many ways stayed the same.

Werewolves naturally walk on all fours – ultimately, it's more natural to them and is faster. Werewolves aren't really made for mortal combat - They can fight with best of the magical creatures, but they don't prefer to.

Much like their four-legged counterparts they're hunters at heart. Speed is a surefire friend when you need to eat.

  In all honesty, it's always slightly unnerved Genji how fast Jesse switches from two legs, to four legs, back to two. There's distinct differences between the two, differences he's learned how to watch for. A werewolf that walks on all fours is a calm, relaxed one. A werewolf that stands on it's back legs is...well, it's not great, but it's not the worst thing. It's usually a curious one, a nervous one, things of that ilk.

But when a werewolf stands on two and puffs his mane out?

That's bad.

  That's a “this is my place and you need to leave” and a “I have no problem fighting” signal.

Werewolves have thick manes for that reason alone - it's a barrier against teeth and claw and a status symbol (many compare them to lions in that aspect - Genji would argue they're more like peacocks)

  Genji stops the moment he hears that low, deep growl. Jesse's mane is fully bristled at this point, his claws unsheathed. It doesn't take long to see what's got him so upset: another werewolf, stands not 30 feet away, it's own mane ruffled to it's fullest.

This normally isn't a problem. Jesse's let traveling werewolves pass through his woods before – hell, he invites them to the cabin and gives them a meal.

  But this is very, very different. This isn't a traveler, this is a conquistador – a werewolf trying to take his territory. It's something of a rite of passage for fledglings, challenging an alpha. They test their teeth against a well aged fighter and, if they lose, learn what to do next time.

Here's the thing - it's standard procedure for fledglings to challenge alphas with packs. If they lose, they integrate themselves into the pack and learn from said alpha and his family. Pack alphas lead the tribe, train the children, and sure up the numbers for safety.

Solo alphas are an entirely different ballpark. Pack alphas have their tribe to fall back on to defend their territory, solo alphas are just that - solo. They don't have secondary ranks to fall back on, just their own claws and teeth. Solo alphas rarely take in fledglings and especially rarely take in fledglings that challenge them.

Goofy as he can be, Jesse's been the alpha of this forest for well over two decades, since he was a pup. It goes to show, there's a reason for that. In any other case, Genji would consider coming up against him suicide.

The new werewolf's tail wags low and straight, giving his mane a good shake. Sometimes it's all posturing – it's happened once or twice, an upstart pup who thinks he's hot shit and thinks he can take down a king.

Genji readies his bow, eyes trained on the new werewolf - he's only seen a fight get bad once and he'd rather not see it again. Jesse snaps at the air, snarling. The new werewolf responds in kind, stepping forward. They're getting closer and closer, growling and snarling.

  “Go home” Genji snaps over the barking (he never could keep his ever loving mouth shut) “There's nothing here for you.”

Jesse bristles even more (if possible), his muzzle swinging towards Genji as a signal to “shut up”

Genji's too busy staring at the other werewolf - he's finally noticed the human and the grin he gives makes Genji's hair stand on edge.

It happens so fast Genji can't tell you how it started. A flash of fur and teeth and the sharp clack of claws and suddenly they're fighting like their lives depend on it.

  Genji backs up, pulling the arrow back and steading his hands. His eyes try to track their movements. They're moving so fast, the other werewolf's teeth buried into the crook of Jesse's mane, Jesse kicking with his back legs, trying to tear the other's stomach open. He gets a good kick in, fur going every which way. The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice, digging his claws into Jesse's chest.

Genji wants to leap in the fray, to tear the werewolf off of Jesse, but he knows better. In this moment, Jesse's mind is one track and simple - get rid of the problem. Genji leaping in would get them both killed - so he steps back, plants his feet, holds the arrows still and waits.

Jesse gives a yelp as the other werewolf grabs a hold of his left ear. There a horrible ripping noise as the skin tears - Genji could cry. Jesse's ears are so sensitive, the new werewolf must have picked up on that.

He lets the arrow flight – it makes it's mark. The other werewolf rears back, howling in fury. The werewolf snarls at Genji and Jesse takes the advantage, sinking his teeth into the werewolf's flank. The werewolf trashes, still howling. Jesse flips them both, his teeth still buried in the werewolf's flesh - with a well placed kick, the werewolf launches Jesse back.

  Jesse launches himself again, but is flung back by the younger werewolf. The other one is gaining the upper hand, he's fast, he's...tricky. He grabs hold of tender areas and shakes his head fiercely to cause the most damage he can. In an awful way, it's actually pretty fascinating, the science of a werewolf fight. If it wasn't Jesse fighting for their (their) lives, Genji would actually watch nature play it's part.

  The other werewolf grabs Jesse by the scruff and flings him into a tree and suddenly Jesse just...stills.

The panic begins to rise in Genji. He's no lightweight, he can take down magical creatures quick as you please but...a werewolf riding on hormones and blood lust is outside of his ball park.

He can't leave Jesse. He won't leave Jesse, that's out of the question. The second werewolf licks his chops, slowly advancing on him. Genji rips arrows from the quiver, beginning to fire in succession.

He's no marksman, but the arrows find their marks, sinking in deep.

The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice them, too high on adrenaline, ripping the one still lodged on his arm out and careening towards him. With a howl, it leaps at him, throwing them both a good few feet away. They roll together into a clearing, struggling in the snow. Genji thrusts the body of the bow out, catches the werewolf's jaws between the solid wood. The bow's sturdy stuff, reinforced with steel but he can feel the material beginning to creak under the werewolf's back teeth.

  Struggling, Genji can feel the werewolf's soft underbelly with his feet. He gives a good kick, scrambling back when the beast gives a howl of pain (from the sound of it, he struck lower than intended). The arrows fly everywhere and in the darkness of the forest, he can't find them quickly. He rolls away, one eye still on Jesse's still form.

Genji snatches the combat knife from within it's holster – an anniversary gift from Jesse, believe it or not. He's used to working with stronger stuff, but beggars can't be choosers.

The werewolf snarls at him, lips pulled back all the way. He's beginning to froth, the white spotted with dark red. It's...almost reassuring – Jesse wasn't able to kill him, but he sure as hell was able to hurt him. The corners of it's lips begin to pull upwards. It's a macabre, unnerving smile, his eyes glinting bright yellow. They dance around one another, sizing the other up. The werewolf is obviously unimpressed, smirking.

“you've got spunk,” He snarls around blood-stained teeth, “no wonder he fought so hard to keep you.”

Genji doesn't respond to the taunt, dodges as the werewolf slices forward. It's a dance he knows well – keep them moving in circles, keep them on their feet. Genji's faster, he's agile.

The werewolf steps wrong, twists his left arm forward to strike at nothing and Genji swings, swings twice. Sprays of blood splatter the ground, the smell stinging his nose. The werewolf rears back and Genji gets him on the muzzle. The werewolf howls in pain, stumbling back to grab his nose. The fight's starting to take a toll on him – red meat drips behind the auburn fur. The beast's got murder in his eyes.

“No one keeps me.” Genji snarls, leaping back as the werewolf attempts to launch forward. He bounces off the tree behind him, onto the werewolf's back, fingers sinking into the blood-soaked mane. The werewolf bucks, trying to toss Genji off. Genji holds fast, crawling up yanking the werewolf's own left ear and slicing it off. The meat gives way like butter, the werewolf shrieking in pain.

  An ear for an ear.

  The werewolf slams his back into a tree. Genji swears he can hear something snap in his ribs. It's like a punch to the gut, the wind being sucked from his lungs, pain blooming immediately. The werewolf slams him again, Genji falls to the ground, his knife clattering away.

He's trying to catch his breath, his hand still clutched around the werewolf's ear. It's a weird moment of stillness, both of them trying to recover.

Genji pulls himself across the ground, seeing the tell tale glint of metal in the darkness.

The werewolf stalks to him on all fours, limping. Blood gushes down his mutilated face – he huffs, bloody, frothy saliva running down his jaws.

  “i'm going to enjoy taking his land.” He chokes, grabbing Genji by the leg and pulling him back. Genji tries to kick at him again; the werewolf bats his foot away, claws sinking into his thigh. The werewolf looms over him, the paw on his leg transferring to Genji's head. He pushes his face into the snow, his muzzle pressed against Genji's cheek, “but first i'm going to fuck you in front of him. gonna fill you with my pups on his territory.”

Genji growls, struggling. The werewolf stinks of gore, his hot breath starting to make him nauseous.

“gonna keep you for a good long time. make you keep my pack in his home – how's that sound?” The werewolf huffs a chuckle, torn lips pulled into a sneer, “c'mon chatty-kathy, whatcha say to that?”

Genji grumbles something into the ground – The werewolf gives him a good shake. He picks Genji up by the head, ignoring the gasp of pain and turning Genji to look at him, “speak up.”

“I said,” Genji grins at him, mouth bloody, “You're easily distracted.”

Jesse roars, ripping the werewolf off of Genji. It's not a fight this time – it's a massacre. The werewolf doesn't stand a chance and, as Genji leans against a tree to stand, it's a true reminder why Jesse's an alpha.

It's a flurry of fur and claws, bits of flesh, pink and raw. The werewolf's gone from growling and roaring to whimpering and screaming in pain.

Jesse slams him on the ground, forcing his head to look at Genji.

“APOLOGIZE.” Jesse snarls, claws sinking into the werewolf's skull. His voice is raspy and deep and a strange wave of terror washes over Genji. He's never heard that voice before. A spark of mortal panic leaps within Genji for a moment, this horrible thought of That's not Jesse, That's a beast, That's not Jesse, That's a beast ringing in his ears.

Genji can just make out the tiny “i'm sorry” beyond the broken jaw.

  Genji doesn't look away when Jesse snaps the werewolf's neck. It's really very merciful – the forest isn't kind to the weak, after all. Genji quells that spark of mortal panic - if he was "a beast", Jesse would happily keep him alive, let him suffer. Werewolves heal fast, it would be so easy to keep him alive enough to begin to recover and then return to re-injure him.

  Jesse is no beast.

  He heaves a sigh, sitting back on his haunches. He runs a paw through his mane – he's a mess. His fur matted with blood and snow and dirt and mud. His torn ear drips, the flesh hanging limply by a thread. He looks considerably older, Genji thinks.

They've got to get home, get them both bandaged up. Jesse looks like he's been shoved into a meat grinder.

Genji's in no better shape. He's no stranger to setting bones, but he'll need some help with his ribs. The blossoming pain is starting to make his vision swim.

He pushes away from the tree, stumbles to Jesse. Jesse accepts him easily, holding him close, tongue laving out to lick the cuts on Genji's cheeks.

“We are so lucky werewolf spit heals.” Genji grumbles into Jesse's chest.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.” Jesse buries his muzzle into Genji's neck, eyes squeezed shut. Jesse's mane has deflated, his fur hanging and he looks so...tired. They trudge back to the house, leaning heavily on one another. Jesse drags the dead werewolf behind him.

  The hunt ends.

#chitter chatter #text #mcgenji #overwatch fanfic #char: jesse mccree #char: genji shimada #fic: TSCOMS #werewolves #werewolf!mccree #tw: violence #who is this interloper? no one knows~ #interloper is a good word btw #poor genji needs a fucking BREAK #and not the break he gets

[puckish-saint]

as you said i can request it so... i would like the hanzo and genji s/o inspired by the story of this song, in the case I refer to girl perspective(the name of the song is Muteki no Soldier) feel free to change anything to make easier to fit in the overwatch universe, but i would like if you maintain the principal aspect of this character, the regret of her own blindness for not see that her master dont intent to kill her and her becoming the new "invincible soldier"

Link to the songHanzo

The mind is a strange thing, prone tomaking the unlikeliest connections. The sight of blood doesn'tdisturb you, but left handed people do, always leaving you with anunshakeable hunch you're being deceived. Being confronted with youractions, good or ill, now impose dread never known before. You keepout of the public eye not out of humility but because you fearattention. Few people understand how to live with the constantpressure of thoughts traveling through a scarred network of neurons,getting lost or changed on the way. Only those who've experienced itfirsthand really know the feeling.

The point in all this is that whileeveryone else in the dingy bar remains oblivious, you recognise apanic attack when you see one.

The man sits in a corner booth, anuntouched drink in front of him, observing the other patrons. Nothingappears out of the ordinary, but that is exactly the impression he'strying to give. He moves too little, fears he'll flinch or twitch,stares straight ahead to avoid being seen darting furtive glances tothe exits and the throng of people. As a stranger, and a potentiallydangerous one at that, it would be unwise to approach him, but youhelp in your own way, diverting the attention of the waitress goinghis way and keeping an eye out for trouble.

Nothing comes forward and after a fewminutes he relaxes minutely and makes his way to the restrooms. Lateryou won’t be able to explain why you followed, why even the fear ofa set of piercing eyes on you - caught red-handed, you’re donefor, you can’t match his skill, not yet, you were supposed to havemore time - isn’t enough to keep you in the safe background.

He leans against the sink, handsunmoving under the water. He must have noticed you enter but doesn’tlook up, keeps gazing down at the stream with a faraway look. Fromafar he had an air of nobility contained in a flawless frame but upclose the cracks in the facade show. The clothes he wears must havebeen custom made but the hems are frayed, the fabric discoloured withstains that won’t wash out. He pulled his hair back into a strictponytail but it can’t hide the split ends and dullness that comesfrom a bad diet.

This is the last chance to slip awayquietly, to do the job that’s in front of you - forge your ownpath he said but how could you, with his legacy seeping away into thesoil beneath the fatal wound - and never think of this man, orany other, again. Instead you say, voice hoarse from disuse:“Areyou going to be alright?”

And what a picture this makes, when helooks up at you, startled and wide-eyed like a pup that fears theboot, you trying and failing to appear like you talk to people everyday, like this isn’t the first time you take a chance on someone.Both of you trying, and failing, to appear human.

“Excuse me?” he says, rememberingthe proper thing to do when a stranger approaches you in a publicbathroom, which is to act with incredulity.

“Panic attacks can be draining. Youhave money for food?”

He scoffs, turns off the tap and goesto dry his hands, turning his back to you but watching through themirror.

“Do not insult me.” he says andthere it is again, that layer of nobility imposed on a fragile frame.

“Suit yourself.” You hesitate andwonder why but in the end you give him the address of the apartmentyou’re staying at, giving away information you normally guard likea dragon guards its hoard.

You fully expect the offer to expirewithout ever seeing him again but at half past two in the morning,when you just dragged yourself to sleep, he taps at the window like aspectre come to haunt you.

“I have a door.” you say as you lethim in and suppress a yawn. He looks around, curls his lips in vaguedistaste at his surroundings.

“You don’t have anything. Iexpected better from a person with your reputation.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, tiltyour head towards the balcony with the clear message that you mayhave invited him in but you can invite him out just as easily.

“I inquired about you. They call youthe Invincible Soldier, say you’re the best in the business. All Isee is a lowlife and a squatter.”

It takes something, guts or arrogance,to insult your host while you take advantage of their hospitality,but something tells you he isn’t overly concerned with good mannersanymore.

“A lowlife who’s sleeping under aroof, thank you. You want your burrito warmed up?”

At his questioning glance you point toa paper bag with fast food, gone cold hours ago, a small batterypowered microwave next to it. He shakes his head.

Hanzo, as he introduces himself, eatswith the desperation of a man who has gone without burritos too long.He tries to keep table manners for all but ten seconds before heabandons all poise to shove food into his mouth like you’re goingto take it away if he’s not fast enough.

“There’s plenty of work for askilled marksman.” you say conversationally, surprised at how easyit comes. In a way talking to Hanzo is like talking to a feral dog,there’s little pressure and much gain.

“I may be recognised.”

“People are hunting you?”

He may have hesitated if he stoppedlong enough between bites. A flicker of a glare is all he gives youto work with.

Talking is overrated anyway and you canthink of better things to do than prying into his personal life.Going to bed for example.

He brought his own sleeping bag, whichcounts for something you suppose, and you extend an offer to stay thenight by throwing a spare pillow in his general direction.

Neither of you sleeps much that night,wary of the other’s movement, fearing an attack at any second.

Despite that he stays, despite that youlet him and before you know it you’re a team. Just like old times,a tiny bitter part of you thinks.

You accept the bounties, both of youwork together and share the reward. Weeks, then months pass and Hanzono longer looks hungry all the time and your voice doesn’t crackanymore when you speak. Just like old times, the phrase repeatsitself again and again, often in the middle of the night when you andHanzo watch each other, unable to find sleep.

“I knew an Invincible Soldier once.”he says on one such night, deep in thoughts as if he’s not talkingto you at all. “But he was not you.”“No.” you say softly.“He wasn’t.”

The question stays written on his face,clear and unspoken.

“I killed him.” you clarify,summing up in three words a story that would take a lifetime to tell.

“You regret it.” It’s not aquestion but you nod anyway.

“I do.”

“You loved him?”

“In a way.”

It’s fairer to say that he loved youand it destroyed him in the end, long before you could ask if hislove was that of a father, a brother or a man. Some part of youalways feared the answer. “I killed someone, too.” Hanzosays, offering a little bit of himself for a little bit of you.

“Someone you loved?”“In away.”

The night passes and you rarely speakof it, nor of the things you confessed. You reached some kind ofunderstanding, something that makes it impossible to leave. Forbetter or worse, and some days you’re not sure which, you’re tiedtogether now. Wherever redemption lies, you’ll have to go theretogether.

Genji

You buy him his first drink, yearsbefore he is legally allowed to.

“Perks of vigilantism.” you say asyou toast your lives, free from responsibility and full ofpossibilities. His family calls you a thief and a lowlife and younever dispute it, even when he tries to defend you.

“They’re right, I am athief. The only thing they got wrong is thinking calling me one wouldinsult me.”

Take the insults and choose to beflattered by them, that’s always been your way and Genji adopts itjust fine. Disappointment becomes his family’s problem when he nolonger makes an effort to live up to their expectations. It’s hardto feel bad for failing when you never tried at all.

He wears his heart on his sleeve andshares, over the first stretch of your friendship, everything thereis to know about him. When you get to the kissing part only weekslater he has no secrets left. You make up for it by keeping enoughfor two. That’s the way it should be, the way things work betweenyou. You’re the dashing rogue sneaking into his bedchambers, he’sthe spoiled prince dreaming of freedom. It’s easy to forget thatwith all his naivety and playful attitude he’s also cunning as theycome.

You forget, as he undoubtedly planned,and one day find yourself drunk and sprawling on his bed while he,only slightly tipsy, works to rid you of every story you never toldhim.

“Where’d you get that sword?” heasks, not for the first time, but knowing that now he’s torn yourdefenses down.

“Took it off a guy I killed.” yousay, stroking the fine leather of the scabbard.

“You killed a lot of people?” Hiseyes shine, eager to hear stories of your adventures. He fancieshimself a yakuza boss, despite never having done anything worthwhilefor his clan. He still imagines the world out there to be a story,nothing different from a video game or a comic.

“Sure.” You indulge him, at thatpoint still believing talking is your idea, and sit up to pull himinto your lap. He goes willingly, arches against you, offering youhis perfect body in exchange for a few measly stories. Had you been alittle more sober you’d have known he wants you more than you wanthim, but comfortably dizzy all you know is that the trade seems fair.

“Been a thief all my life. If somepeople fought back I’d kill them and steal their clothes, too.”

He laughs obediently at your bad joke,bats his eyelashes, making you feel like you’re the mostinteresting person in the world.

“And the sword? Who did you kill toget that?”

You shrug, clouding the memory with theusual mist of aloofness.

“Some guy I ran with for a while.Gullible fool, but he wasn’t too bad with the blade. Always went onand on about how I should make something of myself. ‘You’re abetter person than you give yourself credit for.’ Hah. Idiot.Took his sword and his name.” you say, scoffing and waving thememory away. It’s not worth dwelling on.

“Sounds like my father.”

“He was exactly like your father.Couldn’t see the truth if it mooned him.”

Drunken affection makes you plant a wetkiss on his cheek, before you fall back, pulling him with you. Themattress is soft enough to nearly swallow you whole, threatening themost comfortable suffocation death you can think of.

“You and I.” you say, pulling apillow under your head with one hand, holding Genji tight on top ofyou with the other. “You and I are the same. We’re adventurers.They’ll never tame us.”

Waking up with a hangover to match theGods has taught you a lesson or two about drinking in his company,but somehow he still manages to get the odd story out of you everynow and then. Never as personal, as intimate, as the story of how yougot that sword, of how you got the moniker that’s whispered in theright, and sometimes the wrong, circles. Invincible though they callyou, it’s not what you are when Genji finds you one night, out ofbreath and crying. He was the one to establish the rule of noemotional bonding but all the same you give him shelter and listen tohis stuttered report of overhearing the order the clan elders gavehis brother.

Kill your lowlife of a brother, theysaid and it must have been the same voice ringing in your mentor’shead the day he found you stealing. It never would have ended thesame way. Hanzo fights just as well with his left hand.

There’s little to do except run andrun you do, Genji and you, hand in hand and never looking back. Orrarely, anyway.

“Do you think he would have done it?”Genji asks once, when you’re so far away from Japan that speakingHanzo’s name no longer threatens to summon the devil to your home.

You nod. “Pretty sure.”

It’s not what Genji wanted to hearand by now you care for him more than you care for your reputation.When he averts his eyes you gently grasp his chin and make him lookat you.

“But he would have regretted it. Iknow I do.”

He glances at the sword, listens at thepart of the story not even lethal amounts of alcohol could flush outof you.

“He couldn’t live with my blood onhis hands. So he made me live with his on mine. It would havedestroyed your brother having to lift a hand against you. Maybesomeday he’ll realise that.”

For Genji and him there still is asomeday. And reaching it is worth using a painful memory as a lessonso that someday when the brothers reunite they will do it in thislife, rather than hoping for the next, like you have no other choicebut doing.

#overwatch imagines #hanzo #genji #reader insert #overwatch song recs #Anonymous