FIRST THREE IN MY INBOX GET KISSES/DISSES | @ninjastrike​

   ❛ STOP ME IF YOU’VE HEARD this one before —— ❜

   ( he doesn’t pull punches anymore. jesse likes to think it’s a mutual understanding they’ve reached, that their skins are as thick as the chromed metals and leathers they wear, resistant to a solid potshot or two, words wrought out of boredom these days just as often as they are out of spite. it’s a mixture of both, in jesse’s case; running his mouth gives him something to do while he waits for his prosthetic to come in. helps him blow off the steam that churns and surges to blistering every day he’s stuck playing second fiddle as the new guy takes point. takes his role, his spot. angela had told him to keep his mind active, and lately, jesse exploits the ambiguity.

     genji’s attitude singes. it’s cold to the point of burning, ruthlessly absent. untouchable. most days, jesse thinks a conversation with him is nothing more than a prolonged match of chicken: how long can he make it before his patience blisters, ruptures wide open and aches for the attention of someone who might actually give a damn.

     jesse doesn’t pull punches anymore, but sometimes he doesn’t have the energy for the wind up anyway. the wisecracks come out bland, half-hearted as the one that’s tumbled out of his unperked mouth. he’d always meant to say something sooner, but when jesse’s callused fingers wrap themselves around the ribbon streaming from genji’s headpiece, he’s thinking the design is flawed. his thumb smooths an inch of the cascade and now he knows the material is revoltingly soft to the touch as well. deceptive, considering what it’s attached to.

     he’s anticipating losing his remaining arm too, and that’s just fine at this point — torbjorn already has his measurements, and angela’s requested even more of his blood type be kept in storage. so when he yanks on the cloth, swiftly and with force, jesse is expecting worse than when his lip collides with the keen edge of genji’s visor, skin splitting between the ridge of his teeth behind it and the metal ahead. the blood burns warm as it wells out of the burst, and it’s only when he pulls away, neck craning stiffly, that jesse realizes he’s hurt. he sees it in the spate of red along the visor, feels his teeth grow sore.

     his hand rises immediately to wipe the blood from his chin, knuckles dampening, collecting color. his brow creases deep, gaze drifting towards unreadable as it lingers downward, but a quiet, dark humor picks up in jesse’s voice. )

   ❛ —— but you’re a right pain in the tail, kid. ❜