sunchime | [ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

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[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II
Part I (extremely NSFW) (it's very gross) (I'm sorry about everything)
Part II (NSFW post)

IT'S BACK, BABY

Imagine, if you will, that Drift is not a robot, but a gratuitously tropey half-demon hunter roaming around Boston killing demons in order to atone for his as a, well, killer for the demons. For all intents and purposes you can just assume this takes place in the same universe as Buffy (or something like it) for the sake of using a conveniently existing lore that I already really like. Maybe with an extra side of Kabbalah. whatever

HERE ARE SOME FACTS ABOUT DEMON HUNTER AU DRIFT:

Drift is half-demon on his father's side. He never really knew his dad, idk he like fucked off or got slayed at some point when Drift was young and he was mostly raised by his mother, who died of cancer when he was a teenager. It was real sad and Drift had no money and got pretty promptly kicked out of his mom's apartment shortly after her death. This made Drift a TRAGIC TEEN ORPHAN who was homeless on the streets for a while, and given his ~UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA~ it wasn't really very long before he fell in with a bad crowd. A demon crowd
Tragic teen orphan Drift got into drugs, specifically orihalcon, a potent substance derived from the refined blood of certain types of demons, because regular human drugs don't quite cut it for him. He was pretty knee-deep in the local demon community, partly because he didn't fit in anywhere else, partly because some of them knew his dad.
Drift spent a while as a homeless addict, barely scraping by, until he was recruited by Megatron, a powerful demon lord who saw much more potential in Drift and his untamed demon powers. He offered Drift a place in his ranks even though he was half-human, and helped him hone his terrifyingly natural talent for violence. For a while Drift mostly did it to feed his habit, but he began to enjoy the rush of violence and of releasing his DEMON SIDE way more than the drugs and eventually got clean.
He also inherited this sweet demon sword from his dad that Megatron apparently had handy. It is powered by his DEMON SIDE
Eventually though Drift's taste for violence got a little out of control and after pissing off some of his superiors for wildly disobeying orders in favor of MORE VIOLENCE, he fucked off and went into hiding. It was at this time that he met a witch named Wing from a smug hippie witch cult based in San Francisco. Wing offered him sanctuary and to teach him to better control his demon side by being ~~more in tune with the spirits~~. Drift took the sanctuary because he had nowhere else to hide, but wound up begrudgingly coming around to Wing's way of seeing things, at least enough to grow to care about him. Unfortunately for the both of them Drift's UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA led Megatron's forces right to the Wing's door and he got horribly murdered. Drift managed to get away but he was so tragically torn by the untimely death of his spiritual sensei that he swore off working for Megatron and decided to USE HIS POWERS FOR GOOD
Since then he's discarded the name Megatron gave him and returned to Boston as the newly-reformed demon hunter Drift. He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment in Southie and fights demons by moonlight in order to help people out and atone for his murder-filled past. He has fully embraced his former mentor's spirituality with a level of enthusiasm that, tbh, should probably be worrying. He believes (or hopes, at least) that what Wing taught him will not only help him keep his demon side in check (he is pretty much always concerned he will LOSE CONTROL), but also lead to his eventual redemption. Unfortunately Drift is still learning how exactly to have real faith in something because he is the world's biggest faker
He is Jewish because I know what I like and oh boy does he ever dabble in Kabbalah and a lot of other magical spirituality bullshit that mostly drives other people up the wall
Being half-demon has a lot of perks, SUCH AS: super strength/reflexes/stamina, accelerated healing, and being able to jump way higher than any human. He's obviously not as powerful as a full-blooded demon, but plenty powerful enough to be able to take them head on. He's also really good at fighting shit. Drift's swordsmanship is pretty solid, having been trained in Megatron's demon army, but also he has studied very seriously from a lot of kung fu and action films
He literally owns fourteen swords

PREVIOUSLY ON DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU:

Rodimus is this AU's equivalent of the Slayer, and Ultra Magnus is her Watcher. She and Drift are best buds who also make out a lot. Ultra Magnus STRONGLY DISAPPROVES of Rodimus spending time with someone with Drift's substantial murder past but Rodimus believes wholeheartedly in Drift's turning a new leaf.
Perceptor (Percy) is a talented witch and physicist who also serves as Drift's go-to for information about demon lore and magic. They go back a long, long ways, and is one of a handful of people Drift trusts implicitly.
Dealer was, predictably, Drift's orihalcon dealer when he was living on the streets. There were some bad (good) (bad) times that Drift would really love to never talk about, and Dealer loves to hold over his head.
Ratchet is a trauma surgeon whose family was killed by demons around the time Deadlock was active. After patching up Drift a couple of times, they fell into an undefined sort-of relationship that nearly came to an end when Ratchet found out just who Drift used to be. After taking some time and talking to just about everyone else Drift knows, Ratchet decided he still wanted to know Drift as he is now, though things between them are still uncertain.

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Pharma refuses to be rushed, but she's already onto the last slide, jotting down notes in arcane shorthand to be entered into the file later, when she isn't holding up a potentially thrilling evening. Ratchet doesn't waste her time. She likes that about him.

She pushes back from the microscope and puts on her glasses, collecting the slides in a neat sweep of her hand to put back into storage. "I'm ready," she says, unruffled. "See? I told you I was nearly done. I wasn't going to while away my entire evening in the lab."

She's already shrugging off her lab coat, picking up her purse. Now that she's ready to go, she is going. Chop chop. She glances at him over the rim of her glasses. "You must be at least as tired as I am."

"Uh-huh. And what were you planning to do after your labwork was done? It sure as hell wasn't 'go home and relax because you're done for the day'," Ratchet says, rolling his eyes very slightly, but he follows her out and to her car.

"I didn't spend eight hours in surgery today, for the record," he says mildly as he settles into the passenger seat, buckling in literally and proverbially, watching her right back. "Clinic isn't the same."

"It's not," Pharma agrees with a slight face. "It's more exhausting than surgery."

People tend to assume that, being a woman, Pharma must be better with patients than some of the other doctors. That she must have some warmth in her bedside manner and the patience to deal with the general public. Unfortunately, she absolutely does not. The car, a modest but far from shabby sedan, rumbles to life as the engine turns over. Pharma turns on the heat with a negligent gesture as she checks the rearview mirror.

"And you like clinic," she points out, but now that they're clear of the hospital she sounds less strained, less annoyed. She's always high-strung, but it varies by degrees, and she seems to relax somewhat, or at least come into a better humor. The corner of her mouth quirks up just slightly, wryly. She's wearing dark lipstick today. "So what's for dinner tonight? Or are you going to surprise me?"

"I find it less stressful than a lot of the other things the job entails," Ratchet says--he's not sure if like is the word he'd use, because he's in deep denial about how much it seems to recharge him, to be able to help that many people in such a relatively short period.

"Chicken and vegetables over rice," he says, shrugging. "Nothing fancy. If you want surf and turf, you've gotta call ahead."

"I'm not feeling particularly picky," Pharma says with a short laugh that's too dignified to be a snort. She can be incredibly picky, but she doesn't usually burden Ratchet with that. She's just very...particular about what she buys for herself. "Make whatever you like. I'm just glad not to be cooking tonight. I find that I lose interest in it after hour six or so."

Her hands are tired. After whatever entertainment ensues at Ratchet's place, she fully intends on soaking in a hot bath, hands and all. Okay, so she knows how to relax with like, one thing.

"What a relief," Ratchet says dryly, but his eyes are warm as he watches her watch the road and settles in his seat, finally feeling the tension in his shoulders unwinding slowly himself. The drive isn't long and Ratchet's place isn't quite as sterile as Pharma's, but it's cozy. He gestures once they're inside.

"You know where the cabinet is, mixers are in the fridge and for the weak," he says, going to wash his hands and start pulling things out of his fridge.

Pharma laughs at that, a real laugh, short and amused. She drapes her jacket and purse over the back of a chair and steps out of her shoes, and then she goes straight for the gin with a tumbler in hand.

"What about you?" she asks over her shoulder, screwing the cap back onto the bottle. She is not drinking alone.

Ratchet can't help smiling as she laughs, the expression softening his whole face before he looks back at the stove.

"Scotch, please," Ratchet says without turning around as a pan starts to sizzle. "I should probably wait until I've eaten, or at least until I'm done cooking, but where's the fun in that?"

"You drink like a man twice your age," she remarks over the edge of her glass, drowning another laugh into her gin. She gets another glass and pours him a generous two fingers before capping off the bottle. She holds it out to him, her own glass half-raised, and she smiles. Pharma's smile isn't particularly warm or soft; it's sharp, open, a little ruthless, unshakably confident.

"Yes, because you're notorious for finding the fun in every situation." Utter hypocrisy, but Pharma smirks anyway, giving the glass a gentle shake. "No sense in falling behind only to have to play catchup later."

"Thank you?" Ratchet says, poking at the vegetables in the pan with one hand as he takes the glass with the other. "And, you do not 'play catchup' with scotch I have in my cabinet. Or the gin, for that matter."

He does take a sip though, feeling it burn down his throat as he slides the chicken into the pan. "Make yourself comfortable," he tells her, tilting his glass in her direction. "This won't take long."

"Proving my point," Pharma says, taking a full sip. Warmth spreads down her throat, into her back. She shivers involuntarily, just slightly, and leans her hip against the counter, watching him. "You know if I really wanted a head start, I'd be pouring the Russian Standard. But I'm not interested in a race tonight."

It's almost certainly indicative of a good mood, despite how annoyed she'd been back in the lab, to deliberately not turn this into a competition of some kind. Well, for now, anyway.

Ratchet watches that shiver and turns his attention firmly back onto the food, nudging it around with his spatula.

"I know better, anyway," he says, shaking his head. "And this is supposed to be relaxing, not hangover-inducing. I'm sure as hell not waking up with a headache tomorrow if I can help it."

Pharma leans back and breathes in the smells filling the kitchen. She's a perfectly functional cook herself, but she'll admit privately to herself that Ratchet's cooking is good. Good gin and good food -- this is what she needs after today. Well, this and some good sex. That'll come in time.

"If you wake up with a headache after a single scotch, I don't have any sympathy for you. Besides, I'm here to relax too."

They are both absolutely terrible at it. But at least they're trying. Pharma wanders away from the counter, surveying Ratchet's familiar apartment with an almost idle scrutiny. The floor is a little cold on her stocking feet, but she doesn't mind it. She runs a finger along the spines of a row of books on a bookshelf.

"Read anything interesting lately?"

"What, in my abundant spare time?" Ratchet says lightly, already turning off the stove and opening the rice cooker to start sliding food onto plates. "Not lately, no. Come sit down and eat your vegetables."

He's fully aware that he's probably the only person who gets away with talking to Pharma like this--and even then it's not a sure thing--and it shows, his eyes and voice warm, his smile crooked as he pulls out her chair on his way to get utensils.

Pharma's lips twitch.

"I'm going to slap the teeth out of your mouth," she comments casually, taking another sip of her gin before turning and walking back toward the table with deliberate slowness. Just because she can, and because Ratchet patronized her. But she's smiling, see? Who ever said Pharma doesn't have a sense of humor?

"Don't you ever do anything for fun?" Pharma takes the proffered seat, brushing her hair over her hsoulder as she smirks up at Ratchet. "Besides me, of course."

"Going to make me tell everyone back at the hospital I walked into a door?" Ratchet says, his own voice exceedingly dry as he sits down, tipping his glass of scotch at her before he sets it down and picks up his fork.

"I have fun sometimes. And you're one to talk."

"You have a loose definition of sometimes." Pharma raises an eyebrow at him, smiling over her drink. "At least I read on occasion."

But then she's eating, falling into an otherwise unusual silence. She really does enjoy Ratchet's cooking, and even if she doesn't always say it aloud, it's fairly obvious from her face.

Ratchet hums dubiously around the bite of food in his mouth but doesn't press the matter further. They eat in comfortable quiet for a bit--Ratchet was ravenously hungry and he can't imagine Pharma was much better--but before long the food is gone and so is his scotch, and it's almost a struggle not to just melt further into his kitchen chair and pass out right where he is.

He pushes to his feet, instead, collecting his plate and rinsing it in the sink before pouring himself a glass of water and downing that, too, looking comfortably sated as he lowers the glass and watches Pharma with warm, half-lidded eyes.

"You want some water? Or anything else, while I'm up?"

Pharma is on her second glass of gin now, looking quite a bit more relaxed than anyone else at work has ever seen her, though there’s a tightness, a vigilance that never really goes away. She watches him over the rims of her glasses, her cheeks rosy with warmth and her lips slightly parted. She likes watching Ratchet. Just watching him move.

She sets down her glass and pushes herself to her feet, her stocking feet silent on the floor as she closes the distance between them. She slides a hand over his shoulder, a strand of hair falling over her face as she tilts her head.

“What I want,” she murmurs, sliding her other hand between them, her palm flat against his stomach as it dips down, “is for you to be up.”

Edited 2018-10-17 13:44 (UTC)

Ratchet shudders as her palm slides flat along his belly, his eyes half-lidded as he leans into her, their bodies close.

"That can be arranged," he says, a warm laugh thrumming in his voice as his lips brush her cheek, his arms curling around her waist and tugging her in tighter against him. "Though I suggest a relocation, in that case."

Pharma smiles, sharp as a razor's edge, white teeth catching the light. Her fingertips brush the hem of his trousers, just barely grazing the button.

"I'll lead," she murmurs, her breath warm on his neck as she moves against him, pulling him back toward her bedroom in a kind of dance, never quite parting her body from his.

"Don't you always?" Ratchet says, huffing a warm half-laugh against her cheek, leaning in to kiss her before she moves away, dragging him gently into the bedroom. He closes the gap once they're there, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him, his free hand curling against her cheek so he can kiss her properly, soft and hot and tasting of dinner and good alcohol. He makes a low, rumbling sound, his breath hitching just slightly as he pulls back, his eyes intense on her face.

"Well?" His lips curl at the edges, almost a smile as they brush at her cheek. "You're calling the shots. What's next?"

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[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

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