#mccashe

[darknessringo]

Lonely Cowboy~

Commission for @mccreexashe

Interesting ship. But my favorite is the McPharah.

PLEASE DO NOT CHANGE THE PICTURE TO SOME IDIOT, RETARD, DISGUSTING PICTURE, THANK YOU FOR FUCK SAKE!!!

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[casecous]

I don't go here but @seehang gave me a prompt and I've been wanting to write so

you know you made me love you; mccree/ashe cross-posted to ao3 [x]

--

“You gonna get me back for tonight?” she asks him, a sly smile on her face, but still keeping her eyes ahead of them.

Their shoulders bump again and he slows, almost outside Ashe’s room. She would have kept walking to his if he hadn’t stopped. When she turns to face him, his eyes are bright, maybe from the whiskey. He winks and she thanks whoever is listening that the hallway is dim so he can’t see the red rush to her pale cheeks. Not like it matters, he knows her.

“Ashe,” he steps forward, crowding into her space, “you may have cheated every round and bled me dry, but the way I see it-” His hand reaches around to the back of her head and his deft fingers fan into her long hair. “I already got somethin’ of yours.”

She steadies her voice, breathing evenly like he taught her when she pulls the trigger, but can’t help the glance down to his lips. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

His fingers fan wider and then he grasps, firm and gentle, tilting her chin upward and baring her throat to him. His lips hover close and the scent of his last cigar floods her senses.

“So I can tell you and lose my advantage?”

“Here’s the thing, McCree.” She smiles and licks her lips. ”I only give what I want people to have. So any advantage you think you got? I made it that way."

He laughs then, goddamn him. Uses his free hand to tip his hat to her. Pulls away. She misses his hand in her hair, but doesn’t drop her chin.

“Goodnight, Ashe.”

--

She stands in the mirror, glaring at her hair, wishing she could feel McCree’s hands in it one last time. But he left, her heart with him, and if he were here now she’d be too mad at him to let him anywhere near her. A lie.

“I’m thinkin’ about cuttin’ my hair,” she told him the time they patched each other up after their sting went a little south. Her knees framed his hips while she sat on the bathroom sink.  

His eyes raked over her, the streaks of blood in her hair once bright enough to match the red of her lips, but mostly dried now. Superficial scrapes, ‘head wounds bleed more’ he told himself to calm the worry. He lifted his hand to tuck a strand behind her ear, run his fingers through the rest of it, the tips of them grazing her neck to her chest. Her eyes raised to meet his.

“Any particular reason why?”

She never answered him, kissed him instead, and he kissed her back until his lips were stained red.

She growls and jerks open the drawer so hard its contents rattle. The knife is sharp and it cuts a clean, angled line to her hair on one side at her jaw. No going back now. No more Ashe and McCree.  Just Ashe again.  At least she has Bob. She slashes through the other side and it feels good, the weight of it gone. Or maybe that’s just what she’s trying to convince herself of.

[nextdoorpotato]

McCAshe you say? That's them young deadlock teens

I say McCrAshe, b ecause they old and broke

[darknessringo]

"Ashe: Been a while. You promised you'd write.McCree: Well Ashe... I've been kind of busy."Omg, what the perfect ship is this!

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