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Are You a Poet Too?	By : Meowshi Category: +M through R > Overwatch Views: 411 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch or its characters, Blizzard Entertainment owns those rights. I am not making any profit from writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-Are You a Poet Too?
- 2-Of Rats and Pigs
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- 2
Her poems were beautiful. There was simply no other word to describe it. Hanzo was no expert on the written word, mind you, but he could tell that she was talented. Far more talented than he had ever been in his youth.
As he scrolled through the works on her personal datapad, he noted that her poems weren't frivolous or whimsical. They were cheerful, yes; but utterly grounded in reality. Her poems spoke to the horrors of war, the importance of hope; feelings of loss, grief, exultation, and camaraderie. She didn’t burden her writing down with complicated rhyming schemes or strained metaphors, she wrote simply and elegantly, cutting to the heart of whatever topic she was exploring. There was also a relatability to the way she wrote, an ever-present sense of humor that permeated even the works that touched on darker themes. He could tell that many of her poems were based on the adventures she had experienced traveling alongside Reinhardt Wilhelm. Hanzo had only spoken to the man briefly and considered him to be somewhat loud and grating, but the girl’s poetry portrayed him in a completely different light. The Reinhardt in her poems was a proud and honorable man, yes; but there was a sense of pain and loss behind his boisterous bravado. And an everpresent sense of honor that spoke to Hanzo's warrior spirit.
As he continued reading through the girl's poems, he encountered a few passages that he suspected were about him, and these were touching enough to almost bring a tear to his eyes. The man she described in those passages was not the man he saw himself as, but the man he wanted to be. Someone who had moved passed his trauma to become a positive force in the world. Brigitte wrote about him as an aspirational figure, as though he was someone worth looking up to. The sort of man who could speak to his brother without feeling the crushing weight of guilt pressing up against his heart. How could see so easily see in him what he could not?
Brigitte, normally warm and self-confident, had been nervously avoiding eye contact with him as he read her poetry, concerned that he would think it was cloyingly sentimental and overwrought. Occasionally she would look up at him expectantly, but then her gaze would quickly dart away.
“Your poetry … it is perfect,” Hanzo finally admitted, fixing the girl with a hard stare, “You should not feel ashamed to show this to anyone. The real shame would be to keep this all to yourself.”
The girl stared at him for a second, the beginnings of tears welling up in her hazel eyes.
“That is so kind! Thank you!” she said excitedly, his kind words bringing a broad smile to her lightly-freckled face.
“Ah, what is this one?” Hanzo asked, scrolling down the datapad to a folder marked ‘Of Rats and Pigs.’
A look of surprise and horror suddenly swept over Brigitte’s face and she stammered out, “N-no, don't read that one!”
But it was too late. Hanzo had already clicked on the folder and brought up the story inside.

Of Rats and Pigs
By: B.Lindholm@A03
Jamison Fawkes felt his breath catch in his throat as his portly companion ran a bulbous finger up the length of his quivering thigh. His body ran hot, like the Australian sun overhead, but Mako Rutledge was used to the heat. Blood rushed to the parts of him that were still flesh and bone, causing the pyromaniac's skin to inflame like a blushing schoolgirl. It was an utterly new sensation for Jamison and he wanted more. He stretched out his naked body in a shameless display of wanton desperation, silently beckoning Mako’s large fingers to explore every inch of him.
“Not yet,” Mako grumbled from behind his breathing apparatus, his gravelly voice like quarry rocks grinding against each other.
Jamison moaned and mewled at that, gesturing down to his waist. His engorged member drooled with pre-ejaculate, as desperate for a release as the rest of him. He wasn't known for his patience. Come to think of it, outside of Junkertown, he wasn't known much at all.
“Aw come on, Roadhog ‘ol buddy, me detonator is just about to go off!” Jamison insisted, wrapping his one remaining organic hand around the underside of his shaft and stroking himself.
“Not yet,” Mako repeated, slapping the smaller man’s hand away, “Finish plantin' the damn bombs!”
Jamison crossed his spindly arms and pouted in response, but reluctantly lifted himself up off the Junker Queen’s bed all the same. He had never felt sheets so bloody soft and her pillowcases didn’t even look like someone had tried to wipe their ass with them! It was the most comfortable bed he had ever slept on! The enigmatic "explosives-enthusiast" surveyed the room, trying to figure out where his bombs would make the prettiest boom when they went off. As he walked around the room, his erect cock still spewing precum, he was forced to gingerly step over the maimed corpses of the Queen’s guardsmen. Mako’s haphazardly-constructed scrap gun had made an absolute mess out of them, ripping through armor and flesh as easily as any modern pulse rifle. Jamison sighed contently; Mako's brutality was just one of the many grisly things that he loved about him.
“It’ll be a roight shame to see this fine palace go up in smoke, eh buddy?” Jamison declared as he placed the last bits of explosive at the foot of the Queen's bed.
“She deserves it,” Mako gnarled menacingly.
Their sort of love had been outlawed by the Junker Queen, on account of the Outback needing to repopulate after the Omnic Crisis, but they were anarchists and criminals. What did they care about the law? If anything, Jamison wanted to thank her; the danger only made their moonlit trysts all the more exciting. Still, she had to answer for trying to come between them. Stealing her hoard of gold was just business, but blowing up her beloved Summer Home? Now that was personal.
“Alroight, all done mate,” Jamison announced and clapped excitedly. The prospect of blowing something up always left him feeling excited. And horny. “Now are you going to finish me off before we finish this place off?”
“On your hands and knees, Soldier!” Mako chuckled darkly, harkening back to his days in the Australian Libertation Front militia.
Jamison eagerly complied with the order, collapsing to the ground after a quick salute. He felt something pressing against his back entrance and spread his legs as far as they would go. He started to turn around, but Mako grabbed his chin and forced it forward.
“No peeking, little rat.” Mako grumbled playfully.
Mako lifted up his mask and spat into his hand, his saliva as thick and viscous as pudding. He rubbed the unhealthy sludge onto Jamison's backhole, eliciting an excited giggle from the smaller man. Jamison felt the pressure against his asshole growing as something large and meaty began trying to wrench its way inside of him. With a look of determination, he braced himself for a rough ride.
“Are you just knocking on the door mate, or are you gonna invite yourself inside?” Jamison teased back. He knew that poking the boar was dangerous, but he couldn't help himself. Some men just had to stick their hand on the flame, no matter how many times they got burnt.
He got his answer when Mako’s thick cock speared into his hole, splitting him open like an overripe tomato. He gasped wordlessly at first, momentarily silenced by all the air rushing out of him at once. But soon he was grunting and heaving like a rat that had been caught in a claw-trap by its tail. “Uugh! Auugh! Nng! Ahn!”, he shrieked, feeling as though his insides were being wrenched out of him every time Mako bucked his hips.
Jamison clenched his cavity-ridden teeth together, grimacing as his asshole was pulled in and out of his body by his paunchy companion's mutated cock. People tended to assume that Mako was nothing but a soft blob of flab, but there was hard muscle beneath the layers of accumulated fat, and Mako was utilizing every one of them to slam into the smaller man. Sweat dropped off of his chest in big, languid drops; splattering against Jamison's naked back. The lavishly-decorated bedroom was soon filled the wet, squelching sound of meat slapping against meat. The filthy sounds of their lovemaking were punctuated with the yelps and cries of Jamison as his asshole was demolished and ruined by the thick cock reaming him out. His screams of agony were loud enough to be heard throughout the entirety of the Queen's Summer Shack, but fortunately, the two of them had already murdered every guard on the way up, so there was no one to burst in and interrupt their fun.
Jamison didn’t bother to push back against Mako’s sizable girth, knowing that his companion liked to take control. He simply buried his head into his arms and allowed Mako to wrap his meaty fingers around his bony hips. Mako plunged himself deeper and deeper into the smaller man’s ass, like an excavator plowing through the dirt. Jamison slid up and down Mako's fat shaft as if he had been asked to polish the thick rod with his anal cavity.
Mako's corpulent body shuddered as he slammed his hips into Jamison, picking up his pace as his body neared its crescendo. He bent over and nuzzled Jamison's naked back with the nose of his pig-mask. Jamison writhed under the intimate touch, unable to keep his giggling pleasure at bay. The pain in his rectum was still present, but it was a good pain. A pain that made him feel like he was alive. A pain that made him feel like a broken toy that was only good for being used and thrown away. “Steady on mate, O'i don't wanna be able to shit right for weeks!”, he hissed as Mako's bulbous fingers dug into the meat of his hips, imprinting themselves in the pyromaniac's suntanned flesh.
It didn’t take long for either man to reach their climax. Jamison wailed as his cock bounced up against his stomach and finally spasmed, spraying his goopy seed all over the Queen’s pretty floors. Mako followed closely behind him, like always, roaring in jubilation as his thick cock erupted inside of the smaller man. Jamison felt a burning sensation as his insides were pumped full of wad after wad of irradiated, Wastelander semen. But like Mako, he was used to the heat.
The two men collapsed in a sweaty heap, wallowing on the Queen's floors like two beached whales. They panted as they tried to catch hold of their breaths, sweat covering their naked bodies like a clammy sheet. A flood of dirty, white sludge was pouring out of Jamison's yawning asshole, and the young man silently wondered if the Queen kept any adult-sized diapers in her summer home as he felt his distended anus plop out of his body.
An hour later the two were running off into the sunset, with the blown-out remnants of the Queen’s Summer Shack still smoking in the distance. Jamison ran with an awkward wide-legged gait, as he hadn't quite recovered from the merciless fuck-session that his brutish companion had given him. Still, he looked happier than he'd ever been.
“Not bad for a so-called 'junk rat' and 'road hog', eh buddy?” Jamison boasted as they hurriedly fled into the Wasteland, the sounds of shouts and gunfire ringing out in the distance, “Not bad at all!”

Brigitte rushed to turn off the datapad, but Hanzo was one of the world's greatest archers. He was eagle-eyed and perceptive, trained to perform a quick visual sweep over objects in order to assess targets and threats. Before she managed to wrench the datapad out of his hands, he had already read enough to get the gist of what the smutty story was about.
“What is the meaning of this?” the scion of the Shimada family asked incredulously, completely stupefied by what he had just read.
“I-it’s nothing! Just a personal project!” Brigitte cried out, her freckles disappearing into her blushing red cheeks.
“Is this … 'personal project', also part of the works you mean to show to the famous DJ?” Hanzo asked with a curious tilt of his head.
“Of course not! This is just … just for me and my friends online!”
“Online? You mean you have convinced other people to read this? Willingly?”
If Brigitte's face had been flushed before, it was now as red as a tomato.
“I noticed something else before you closed the page,” Hanzo noted, placing a finger on his chin as though he was lost in thought, “There was a second story tagged as 'Brigitte Lindholm/Lúcio Correia dos Santos' at the bottom of the folder. That wouldn't happen to be a story about you and—”
“—OHMYLOOKATTHETIMETHANKYOUFORLOOKINGOVERMYPOETRYI'VEGOTTOGOTHANKSBYE!” the young girl interrupted him mid-sentence and unceremoniously darted out of the room. Which was odd, because they had been sitting in her personal quarters.
Hanzo sat alone for a while, contemplating what had just happened. Before long he was smiling to himself, and soon those smiles transitioned into a series of light chuckles. The awkward social interaction reminded him of how much he missed being around people. It felt good to share a real human moment with another person, even if it had been completely bewildering. “Man isn't meant to suffer and toil alone,” the aged archer whispered to himself and decided at that very moment that his days of quiet isolation had come to an end. He stood up with a determined look on his face, preparing to finally visit his brother in the Gibraltar training room.
The End
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Are You a Poet Too?