I'm bored and slightly high, and I'm gonna send you domestic stuff of Jesse and Hanzo being in a poly relationship because it makes me so happy that my cheeks hurt from smiling. I love this two idiots waaaay too much
Okay, Jesse, is the waaaay more touchy feely one. An arm draped behind you on the couch, a hand casually resting on Hanzo's thigh as you three watch tv. While cooking, he'll come up and cliche-like wrap his arms around you or Hanzo's waist and rest his head on your shoulder's. if either your or dragon bf do it in return to him, he gets the star eyes from Steven universe and smother everyone in kisses.
hanzo, is the bf your able to communicate with through a simple phrase or look of the eyes. "Jesse." "Yes, Hanzo, darlin'?" "When you finally see them, please, give them this look." "*gasp* the look of disappointment." - High key shit talks about people he doesn't like with you and McCree while going through the day. He may not be all that touchy feely, but he knows everything about his two loves. How you and McCree take your coffee in the morning, knows how to perfectly cook your fav foods,
Dragon man hanzo tends to stare when he likes something. It's a dead give away. Most people probably get a bit freaked out when Hanzo stares so intensely at McCree and you, He's staring because both of his partners are cute and hot at the same time and he doesn't want to look away. He doesn't get why people waste their time looking away from two rays of sunshines??Why can't everyone see how great you two look??lowkey Loves candlelit dinner dates. Nothing is better to him than a summer date night
You seduce me with these beautiful thoughts about my OT3, how dare you, how fuckin dare you I am....filled with feels....
I lowkey ship myself with those two hugely so I’m dying over here squirtle
The first thing I remember was waking up in an alley. It was dark. Unfamiliar. Terrifying. But the more terrifying thing wasn’t the place in which I woke up, but the fact that I didn’t even know who I was, not even my first name.
[This is an AU where Hanzo and Genji own and work at a brothel/pleasure den and the reader wakes up in a dark alley, having no memory of who they are or how they got there. After the confusion due to the reader being mistaken to be a customer, the brothers decide to help, letting the reader stay with Hanzo while you try to piece your broken memory back together.]
The air was cool when I woke up. As consciousness started to filter back into my thoughts, it was the first thing that I came to notice, eyes fluttering open as needy hands pulled tighter to the blankets nearest me. Though I could feel a breeze skimming along my face, it wasn’t nippy--just enough of a chill to draw my heavy, warm thoughts out of the darkness that I’d been so comfortably surrounded by. The weight of sleep slowly fell from my thoughts and, in its place, came a growing sense of consciousness and realization.
After what felt like hours of simply laying there, no longer asleep and not feeling entirely awake, I finally opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling above me. Though the cloying promise of warmth and darkness nagged at the back of my eyes, my mind’s pause on thoughts was coming to an end as memories--what little of them there were--began to pour back into place.
Hanzo. It was the first name that echoed in my head, a reminder that I had more than myself to think about. It was due to a man’s help and good grace that I had even a soft, warm bed to sleep in overnight.
There was no chance of getting back to sleep now that I was riddled with curiosity and consciousness, so I let out a sigh and shifted onto my feet. A glance around the room yielded no sight of a clock, so my sense of time felt a bit too muddled for my liking--all I remembered was passing out on the mat, so there was no telling how long I had been in such a rock-like, dreamless state of existence. The sun was up, and that seemed reason enough to step out of the room.
I pushed the thin, sliding paper door aside to the hallway and emerged a lot less exhausted, but no less overwhelmed with my overall situation.
The layout of the home was a maze, but all I wanted to do was retrace my steps back towards the front, where the entrance led right into an open, connected kitchen and dining room area. It didn’t take too long to find it, weaving through the semi-narrow hallways, passing a few closed doors before finally seeing the very man enveloping my thoughts.
Hanzo didn’t seem to notice me at first, huddled away in the counter-surrounded kitchen area. I could see him working on something behind the counter, eyes hard in their stare down at whatever his hands were busy with. His hair was up in a ponytail, carefully enough that I wondered how long the man had been awake. Just as the day before, he wore a loose, soft-looking, kimono-like outfit. It looked richly colored with dark, subtle fishscale patterns over the material.
It was a wonder how a man could look so casual and yet so fancy at the same time.
I stepped forward a couple steps more, just past the corner where the hallway ended and the large, open dining-room started.
That’s when the man finally seemed to notice me. His eyes glanced up from the kitchen, drilling into me for but a moment before realization or recollection kicked in. The gaze softened.
“だからあなたは最終的にを覚ましている,” He said, of course in a language I couldn’t understand, then glanced back down towards the counter. Logic dictated that it was a friendly greeting, so I tried to offer a smile.
“Good morning to you too, Hanzo,” I said, not sure if i was supposed to say anything else. It wasn’t like the man would actually understand me in the first place, so it seemed more like mandated pleasantries than anything.
There wasn’t all that much time to consider the sense of greeting each other without knowing the language, but that didn’t seem as much of a problem when hunger started worming its way to the front. It was a deep, aching hunger that hit my stomach like a hammer. It hit only harder when the scent of food--sweet and thick--wafted in my nose. If there was doubt before that he was cooking something wonderful behind that wall partition, it was surely gone then.
I approached the half-wall overlooking the kitchen carefully, bare feet on hardwood.
“....Are you making food?” I wasn’t sure if he realized that I was hungry, because I surely didn’t know the last time that I’d eaten. For all I know, I hadn’t eaten in days; that’s certainly what it felt like to me, one hand clutching uselessly at my stomach while I tried to peer over the counter and see what my new guardian was preparing.
Hanzo glanced up to me again at the approach, gauging my indecipherable words and expression with a look in his eyes I was getting far too familiar with already. It looked like a soft glare, searching for an answer he didn’t have but knew he could get--but I don’t see how staring me down would shed any light on the barrier between us.
“...ハングリー?” he asked slowly, one hand making a motion and raising to his mouth, as if popping something between his lips and chewing it. It took me a moment to connect the motion with the oddly-english sounding word (hanguri? hungry?).
“Yes!” I exclaimed, pointing at my belly, and then towards my mouth in what was hopefully the most obvious response I could give. Though the vague hand gestures made me feel more like a child than anything else, I was too hungry to care. After a moment more of frantic pointing and excited nodding when I felt somewhat confident that he understood, I stepped closer to the counter and peered down at what he was making.
The stove was on the other side of the short wall, and a single pot sat on one of the burners. I could see a thick-looking liquid inside of it’s dark, cast-iron walls, but I didn’t know what the oatmeal-like food was. I hummed and leaned my chin on the top of the wall partition.
I pointing a finger down to the pot.
“What’s that?” came my verbal question, despite knowing we would only understand the physical motions from one another instead of words. When he didn’t answer I became quiet, feeling a little dumb for even asking in the first place. I figured that he simply hadn’t heard me or hadn’t cared to try answering, but was proven wrong when he pressed a small bowl of the unknown food towards me.
“おかゆ. それはあなたの腹を記入します.” The man’s voice was gentle, but I couldn’t put past the slight tone of parental warmth that tinged the ends of his foreign words. Whatever it was, it was still food; I was plenty hungry to try anything at that point. I took the bowl in one hand and accepted the spoon-like utensil he handed me, then awkwardly stepped over to the low table that was in the center of the adjoined room.
There were soft-looking, low seats on the long side of the table, but I happily took the shorter side, sitting on my knees and gently settling the bowl and spoon on the wood. I could hear Hanzo still moving around in the kitchen, and figured that it was probably alright to start eating since he was busy.
There wasn’t much of a scent to the white gruel, and when I cautiously brought the flat spoon to my lips to have a taste, I found there really wasn’t much of a flavour to it either. It wasn’t bad, so to speak, but it was a bit odd--I could identify rice at the very least, and finally figured out what it was: rice gruel. Though not the most kind of ways to name it, it was still food and I didn’t mind taking a few bites more when my belly was quite happy with being filled at least.
Hanzo stepped out of the kitchen a few moments later, turning his gaze to me as I ate.
I felt my stomach drop a bit when he looked absolutely scandalized. Knowing absolutely nothing about having done something wrong, I drop both bowl and spoon back to the table, tensing up as he approached and finally knelt by the table on the other side of me.
He gave me a look, a hard one, and gently shook his head at me and pointed to my food.
I was left for a moment in mild confusion when the man finally opened his mouth to speak.
“あなたわ無知な,” he said, soft enough that it sounded more like a self-reminder than something for me to hear. He lifted his voice a little louder and slowly pressed his hands together in what looked like a prayer. “いただきます.”
I watched him for a moment, not understanding. He did the motion again, repeated the word a little slower for me to understand, and then it hit me; he was repeating the word and motion for me to do.
I suddenly felt a flush over my cheeks as I pressed my palms together, mimicking the motion he was showing me, and spoke. “Itadek--Itadeku….”
“いただきます,” He repeated again, even slower. I tried again, probably sounding rather stupid, but eventually managing to string together the right syllables well enough that he seemed happy with the sound. “あなたは最終的にそれのコツを取得します.”
The next couple minutes were spent in mild silence as the two of us focused on our food, with only the gentle sound of the spoons clicking against the sides of the bowls otherwise pittering the air with noise. It wasn’t entirely awkward, the situation, but it felt plenty so whenever I lifted my eyes up from my food to watch the man across the table. The first couple times, his attention was down at his food, gently eyeing up the bowl in his own mind of thoughts.
It was easy to note a few things about the man since I was so close.
His brother Genji had looked young, but it was hard to gauge Hanzo’s age. Though he seemed young at first glance with his gentle expressions and bright-looking eyes, I noted the soft streaks of grey on his temples, just subtle enough among the dark raven hair that it took a few moments to too-observant looking to even notice.
The light flecks of color could have simply been from stress from working. For lack of a better word if there was any, I didn’t suppose that working as a high-end prostitute came with it’s own sources of aggravation. Or perhaps it was FOR his job? Again, it wasn’t as if I had much knowledge or education when it came to being a classy sex-worker, so for all I knew it could have been something he did to appease customers.
It did look rather nice on him, honestly.
I wished there was a way to ask him about it, to bar away the linguistic difference just so I could learn a little more about him, if only so I didn’t feel so awkward in accepting his unending, almost parental kindness.
I was somewhere in the middle of my thoughts when he finally flicked his gaze up to meet mine, as if he felt me watching him entire time and finally felt curious enough to see for himself if that was true.
I let out some sort of garbled noise of embarrassment, less of any coherent word and more of a gasp or cough to hide my discomposure of the moment. My eyes were glued to the bowl from then on, trying almost to count the pieces of mashed rice as if it was a rather important piece of information that I needed to note for later. Regardless of how he took my staring, the man said nothing. I heard the sound of a spoon clinking against a bowl from the other side of the table and I, silently, let out a breath of relief.
I don’t know how long the two of us sat like that, eating without speaking, but by the time I was nearly finished with everything in the bowl he was already finished and shifting to stand up. He collected his own dish, and then stepped over to me. Assuming that he meant to take the dish, I gently put the spoon inside and gently handed it up to him.
Hanzo cast me a curious look again, though it was firm enough that I could figure what his issue was with relative ease.
“[I barely gave you any],” He said, pointing at my bowl and then to myself. “[Eat the rest of it first].” He motioned with the spoon in his own bowl, pulling it up to take an imaginary bite before pointing, again, to me and my food.
Ah. Well, it wasn’t as if I could say that Hanzo didn’t care about my health, or perhaps was he just a stickler for finishing everything? Regardless, I finished what was left in the bowl with no shortage of embarrassment tinting my cheeks, then hurrying into the kitchen to give him the very empty bowl and escape before he had anything else to say of the matter.
While he was busied in the kitchen, I quietly decided to remain in the living room, sitting politely next to the table with my knees tucked beneath me, unsure what to do with my hands than fiddle with my fingers. There wasn’t any desire to return to the bedroom, and...well, what else was there to do but wait until Hanzo escorted me out and back to the brothel?
There was an abrupt end to the sound of dishes in the kitchen. Curiosity stilled my bored thoughts and turned my eyes to see why, and I saw him over the partition, meeting my gaze.
I blinked at him.
He continued to stare for a few seconds more before moving his gaze to something above me. I turned to see what it was Hanzo seemed interested in on the wall and--Oh, a television. I’m not quite sure how I missed that one. It was a fair sized screen, but definitely big enough that one could figure Hanzo was, at the very least, a well-off man. I stared at the blank screen for a time before it suddenly erupted with light and sound, making me jump and let out a little noise of surprise.
Hanzo chuckled behind me. I turned my head again and found him still in the kitchen, a remote in his hand as he leaned over one of the counters overlooking the living room. Even without words, his amusement was more than clear in how he glanced at me before returning to whatever he had been before.
At least the air wasn’t so silent anymore, which was rather nice. A lot less awkward to sit alone and confused when there wasn’t so much silence stifling the air. Whatever Hanzo had turned the television onto was, of course, in Japanese. I had little hope if any to understand what was going on outside of the visual cues, but it was nice to have something specific to throw my attention to than stare stupidly down at the table or my fiddling fingers.
It looked to be some sort of news station. A woman sat as the featured subject of the screen, at a desk and looking as professional as any other news anchor might. There were boxes of text around her, and what I assumed was the time down in the corner of the screen. Outside of the numbers ticking in the corner, the rest of the screen was foreign.
“最近の報告は確認されていません,” the woman said, peering down at the papers in her hand for a moment as if to double check the words. “しかし実行可能な証拠の不足のために、警察は数週間前誘拐の後ろに任意グループの確認することはできません。.”
There was a solemn look on her face, not blank, but a sort of calm that I figured she earned through years of reporting. A few pictures flickered over the screen after a moment, but they were merely signs of words I couldn’t read, or footage of people that had absolutely no context. Police officers, a couple people speaking at a podium--
The channel changed after another moment, and I didn’t bother to run my head to see if Hanzo was the one who changed the channel at that point. Cartoons of some sort took up the screen and, while I still couldn’t understand a single word, it was a lot more interesting than monotonous news. If I could understand what she had been saying, it still would have been boring.
I couldn’t make all that much sense of what was going on, but at least it was colorful. Bright characters, emphasized jokes, and a fervent lack of explanation for why the main character had bright ocean-blue hair. It was rather peaceful regardless, I simply put together my own attempt at a background in place of what I couldn’t pick up (which was a lot to begin with).
By the end of the episode Hanzo seemed finished with his task, and he stepped out of the kitchen and back into the living room.
“Time to go?” I said with a smile, anxious to finally leave the apartment and return to the brothel, where Genji was probably already getting some information for me. Hope bubbled up in my belly at the prospect of having some answers to the dozens of questions plaguing my situation, but Hanzo waved me to sit back down when I started to stand up.
“あなたがここに滞在必要があります,” he said, explanation lost in the foreign language. He pointed down, at the ground, and then set the remote control on the table beside me. “私は今日数時間働きます.”
My brows pulled together as I tried to stand up again, he only pressing my shoulder so I sat again.
“Do you have something else to do before we leave?” A show was made of my confusion, head tilt emphasized as I pointed from him, to me, and then finally towards the front door. “Leave? Like, going to the brothel to see Genji?” Maybe the name would help the information click. “Genji help.”
I stared at the man, and he stared back, both of us locked in a moment of confusion to make the other understand what we were trying to say.
Eventually the silence hung a little too long. Hanzo took in a breath, peered around him a moment, and then stepped over to the computer desk on the far side of the living room. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from one of the drawers, and then returned to me, kneeling down close enough to I could see what he was drawing on the blank sheet.
After a moment of messy doodling, I could see that Hanzo had drawn a clock. There weren’t any minute or hour hands on it, but the numbers were universal enough that I was starting to get an idea of what he might be explaining.
“私は11で作業を開始します,” Hanzo murmured, circling the 11 on the clock. “...私は別のシーンを今日起こしたくありません.“ He then made an obvious line, a curve moving through the other numbers until he reached the 4 and then circled it just as obviously as the first number. Beneath the two connected numbers, he started doodling a square, then added a handle and a few silly scribbles of details.
Ah, it was a briefcase.
If I didn’t already figure he was going for symbolism, the picture would have confused me more, but it came across surprisingly clear.
“You work from 11 to 4….” I began, pointing from the first to the second number, and then to the briefcase.
“Yes,” The man agreed, as if I used a word in English he seemed to understand but had forgotten. “Work.” He pointed to the numbers again.
I glanced up towards the wall, and in the space next to the television was a clock; it read a bit past 10. Upon the return of my gaze to Hanzo again, he was standing up, adjusting his clothes and looking down as if waiting for me to try standing again.
My eyes narrowed a bit at the unspoken, probably unconscious challenge.
“I’m not staying here alone for five hours,” anyone could have probably hear the mild annoyance in my voice when I did just that, I stood up and let out a huff in the man’s direction. “Do you honestly expect me to watch TV for that long?”
Well. If I could have understood it, maybe it would have been a slightly different story. When there were answers out there to how I came to be in Japan and not remember anything beforehand, I was going to figure them out regardless of whatever Hanzo’s reason was to keep me in place.
“いいえ,” He said simply, pointing a finger back down.
“I’m going with you,” I argued pointedly. “You can’t stop me, I kinda know how to get back to the building.” I made a point of my rebellion by stepping around the man and finding my shoes--the same ones from yesterday, even though they were a little worn and worse for wear. Hanzo must have removed them after I fell asleep. I felt appreciation for the gesture even as I was yanking them on my feet, ignoring his grumbling.
There was a moment or two of expectation that Hanzo might try to stop me, but he never did. I watched as he carefully slipped on his shoes and then waited for me, his eyes more curious than disapproving
He looked really nice like that.
I stood up a few seconds later, shoes on and mostly ready to start the day in public. My hair felt alright, my clothes looked fairly acceptable, good enough to get through another day. My lips widened with a smile in Hanzo’s direction and I waited for him to lead the way,
He didn’t return the smile, but there was a defined softness in his hazel gaze as he opened the front door and lead the two of us out of the apartment.
I really hoped that Genji had a few answers for me.
I'm Overwatch trash, thanks to @lastfallentimelord I wrote something for her and thought I could share it with you. "Jesse, we gotta talk." You crossed your arms and looked at the mercenary. "What is it?" He asks as he come strolling in your shared bedroom, seeing you hovering above an open drawer. "What's this?!" You demanded with raised brows, making McCree looking closer at the objects you pointed at. "I mean, seriously?" You threw your arms into the air and let out an exasperated sigh. Seeing what you were talking about, your boyfriend chuckled. "That's where I keep my belt buckle." He stated the obvious and you shot him a sharp glare. "Singular? Jesse, that are at least a dozen in there." You stated your problem but he just nodded. "Yeah, I case I break the one I'm wearing. You wouldn't believe it but it happens quite often." You closed your eyes in defeat. You knew that you couldn't argue with him about that anymore. You would lose. "Why am I even putting up with this?" You muttered to yourself. "'Cause you love me?" McCree offered and came closer to you, placing his arms on your shoulders. "Probably." You muttered and opened your eyes, only to lock them with his. "I'm glad you do." He smiled at you and you couldn't help but do the same. You placed a hand on his cheek and McCree leaned into it. You chuckled lightly. "How couldn't I love a BAMF as you?"
