#Overwatch Imagines

[colemorrison]

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ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏᴄᴜꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ 'ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ

Pairings : Ramattra/Fem!Reader

Genre : Oneshot/Drabble

Warning's : NSFW featuring xmas lights :3. Cunt, pussy, slick used for readers genitals.

Summary :"How is this? Festive enough for you, my dear?"

"Yes."

"Ah, good girl. Already using your manners."

Word Count : 195

A/n : Christmas smut for the girlfriend with the one guy she loves more than me. Smh. @ya-zz

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The lights were tight around your ankles and wrists, he wanted to be festive but he also wanted to feel you clench on his dick.

"How is this? Festive enough for you, my dear?"

"Yes."

"Ah, good girl. Already using your manners."

Smooth metal found your clit, soft circles as he lined himself up with you, he wanted to slam into you. Destroy the pussy he knew was made for him but with the alcohol in your system he wanted to make sure you were okay.

"Please.."

"No, we go at my pace."

Ramattra watched you nod, one strike. Three strikes and you would be in for a painful night. You knew better, he had taught you better.

"Y..Yes sir."

Your hips moved involuntarily, pushing more of him inside, you needed him, you had been drinking and trying to get his attention all day. Now that you finally got it, he was taking his sweet ass time.

"Pet?"

"Hm?"

Watching your face carefully he slammed into you, knocking the breath out of you. The omnic watched your tits bounce as you tried to recover.

"Is that what you wanted? For me to destroy you?"

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[peydawgz]

🥺🥺🥺

my inbox is open to any of you sweet little gummy bears that are interested in hazard x reader content ,, and I’d like to see more venture too!! but mostly hazard,, I am thirsty 🥺

or if u want to slide in my dms and talk about how cute your blorbo is pls yes interact with me!!

[kortsitron]

You're such a tease

✮ PARING Genji Shimada × Reader, Hanzo Shimada × Reader, Cole Cassidy × Reader, Niran Pruksamanee × Reader, Ramattra × Reader, Mauga Malosi × Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS cockwarming (as teasing), 18+, gender neutral reader (no genitalia mentioned), mdni, nsfw

✮ SUMMARY They react to your teasing/punishment

✮ A/N Hey, apologies for not being active, I won't lie this year and the last few months have been terrible and my mental was (and perhaps still is) in shreds. I will try my best to take care of the requests I got, because I don't want any of you to wait any longer. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

Genji Shimada 

⟡ Genji is collected until instead of just cockwarming him, start moving your hips. The subtle movement cause his cock to twitch, but he still does his best to act like nothing is happening

⟡ Soon enough his hands find their on hips, gently squeezing them, as if asking for something more. Genji won't speak up unless he really has to, but once he does it's just quiet pleads, asking if you can finally move, because he needs you

Hanzo Shimada

⟡ Hanzo like Genji acts like he's collected, but you can see clearly that he's turning into a mess. The light blush, his breath becoming heavier. No matter how much he tries to hide it under his grumpy expression, you can see right through him

⟡ When you decide to tease him a bit more, moving slightly, you hear a soft gasp from him. He does his best to keep a frown on his face, but you moving more makes him moan. On the inside he gets for you to stop playing him

Cole Cassidy

⟡ Cole is unphased, the same smug smile face as he feels the familiar tightness around him. But soon enough, just a little movement has him shivering. Already using nicknames on you and trying to gently move

⟡ He can't help, but bite his lip, looking into your eyes as he tries to convince you to do what he wants

Niran Pruksamanee 

⟡ Niran is flirty from the start, giving you little touched here and there to convince you to give into his wants. His touches as always are subtle and delicate. His plan is to seduce you

⟡ When he feels you move, he can't help, but whimper quietly, quietly begging for you to keep moving your hips like that

Ramattra 

⟡ He doesn't understand the meaning of this, until you move slightly and all of his sensors are on fire. He almost jumped, already starting to feel overwhelmed. You swear you can see steam coming off him

⟡ Ramattra is not the one to beg, he himself shifts ever so slightly to get that tiny amount of friction. Hearing you complain about him moving, he will come up with so excuse that his cables are getting tangled up and he's just trying to prevent that from happening

Mauga Malosi

⟡ Will act unfazed, but soon is frustrated by the lack of friction. But soon enough he groans and growls your name, holding you in place as adjusts

⟡ He usually doesn't beg, he never gets, but if it’s the way for him to get what he wants - he will beg. He bites his lip and looks right into your eyes as he does so, hoping it would be enough. Obviously it's not, so he buries his face in your neck and whispers pleads into it, sending shivers down your spine

[letternotekisses]

nghhh your blog has made me think of the idea of Doomfist giving his assistant to Ramattra as a way of bridging an alliance between Talon and Null sector....Ram using the assistant as a little stress toy......help

Akande knows how to sweeten a deal.

He’s negotiated and bartered with so many powerful men that swaying them comes to be like second nature for him, but this time it’s a little different. This is no man and there’s no greedy human nature Akande can target. There is no weakness.

Your heels clack against the glossy mahogany flooring as you patter beside him, clutching important notices and valuable documents close to your chest like they might fly away. And you’re tittering away with a casualness that he’d let no another agent of his get away with, but Akande isn’t the only one listening.

Ramattra tilted his head with something that could only be described as curiosity. Such a small thing, you were. Surrounded by dangerous killers and meticulous assassins that would exploit your every weakness should you let down your guard, yet you led him through the halls with all the grace and confidence of a pampered feline pet.

Nothing you were saying was of any importance to the omnic, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away, intently listening to every word that fell from your soft, pouty lips. You were valuable to Akande somehow, special in a way that had Ramattra craving a personal insight.

“My assistant will help you get settled in.”

Akande smiles at him, both knowing and smug as he offers him a key to what Ramattra assumes is the room he’ll be staying in. It is then when the omnic realises he’s been caught staring, but Akande only seems all too pleased.

He’d found his bartering chip, squeezed into an all too tight skirt and a low cut blouse.

—

It’s when you take him to the hilt that Ramattra finally decides on his answer.

Such a soft, sweet little thing you are. Panting into the air as he splays a hand onto your lower back, digging his metal fingers into the fat of your hips to drag you down further. Humans, so malleable, so weak, so soft. Your cunt flutters around the silicone of his cock, sucking him impossibly deeper despite the already snug fit.

“Ambitious, aren’t you?” Ramattra snarls, shifting his hips forward to bump the fat tip of his cock deeper, to bully himself into the softest parts of you. You’re whimpering into the satin sheets like a bitch in heat and it urges him to break you, to cup the soft pudge of your tummy and force himself as deep as he could ever possibly go.

Ramattra had little need for pleasures of the flesh, but there was something all too gratifying about watching you urge yourself on something much too big for you to take. For someone so insignificant, Ramattra was all too tempted to indulge in you, after all, you’d all but been handed over to him on a silver platter.

“Please..” You whine, your begging quickly silenced by a powerful pump of his hips, the cables attached to his head falling past his shoulders in disheveled waves. He wants to tear into your softness. Bury himself inside you and never come back out. He’d give Akande all of the resources he could want just for a few extra minutes between your plush thighs.

He all but cackles, the noise deep and synthetic as he watches your cunt flutter greedily around him. Ramattra pins you down by the back of your neck, revelling in your heat as it bleeds into his hands, warming the metal when he thumbs your nape in a soothing manner.

“Come on my cock, little assistant,” He purrs, his voice staticky with want, “And I will reward your excellence.”

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 1

I just wanted to do something simple and cute to fuel my soul.

Part one of four

Ramattra He isn’t used to showing affection let alone PDA. The way he would hold your hand is simple. He would gently nudge your hand with his, brushing his pinky against yours, hoping you get the message and that he doesn’t need to ask for it. His grip can be a little harsh so he favors you wrapping your hand around one or two of his larger digits. You enjoy the cool smooth feel of his hands. You know this is a big step for him and you don’t outwardly make a fuss. Simply take his silent plea for the contact.

Hanzo Hand-holding is something he thought was silly, childish. Something lovestruck teenagers did. But after you took his hand a few times, he decided it was far from silly and he found that he enjoyed how your hand felt against his. You would hold his, waiting for Hanzo to take your hand fully in his, a mumble of half-hearted complaint under his breath. He might pretend to protest but you made him feel worthy and he adored it.

Roadhog You didn’t think he would be the type to want to hold hands, he was rough and fearsome. A reputation as a fighter, a criminal. But holding your hand reminds him of better times, of the man he used to be, the good man he was before the world changed and he was forced to change with it. His touch is surprisingly gentle, his hand feels warm, rough skin. He likes to place his over yours when you are sat together.

Junker Queen She pulls your arm damn well near off as she grabs your wrist and yanks you towards her. She smirked down at you, wondering how small your hand looked in hers. Rough skin and even rougher grip as she holds tight. Your hand will ache for a while after but you decide it's worth it. Everything about her is rough around the edges and how she lovingly crushes your hand is no different.

Venture They love to hold hands, soon as they see you, their face lights up and their smile streches into a big toothy grin as they make grabby hand gestures before taking both your hands in theirs, spinning you slightly as they laugh, content to be in your company. When walking hand in hand they can’t help but happily sway your arms back and forth as they chat excitedly at you.

[m-musings]

Headcanons: Overwatch Men Saying I Love You for the First Time (Pt 1.)

A/N: splitting these headcanons into 2 parts so that i can get the creative juices flowing for when i write the others. (hcs under the cut!)

(part 2 here! :])

Warnings: none that i can think of Word Count: 952

Baptiste:

Baptiste, being ever the spontaneous one, first tells you he loves you during the movie night you have about every two weeks.

The two of you were huddled underneath a large, fluffy blanket, the film you chose somewhat forgotten as you idly chat about whatever comes to mind.

As you go to lean against his shoulder, you can hear a small breath hitch in his throat as his sentence fades off.

With a concerned look on your face, you pause the movie before lifting your head to look at him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Baptiste nods his head in reply as he places a comforting hand on your arm.

"Yeah, I'm alright, it's just...You know I love you, right?"

Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before softening again as you sweetly smile at him.

"I love you too, 'Tiste..."

Cassidy:

Cole is almost always on charmer mode with everyone he knows and comes across. It's part of how he got this far in life and how he prefers to be seen.

But when it comes to his first time telling you how he feels after you've just started dating? Completely different story. He's an absolute mess.

Here he is, pacing back and forth in front of your door with a gift in hand as he debates on how to admit his affections for you.

As he hypes himself up to finally knock and just tell you, the door creaks open with you peeking out from behind it.

"Oh, hi Cole! What can I do for you?" You say, fully pulling the door open as you greet him with a grin.

"H-hey, darlin'... I- I, uh, made somthin' for you. Here." An unprepared Cassidy stutters as he hands you his present.

As you look down at where your hand meet, Cole pulls his away to reveal a braided leather bracelet with round wooden beads interlaced.

Letting out an excited gasp, you place it upon your wrist before throwing your arms around the cowboy.

"This is amazing, Cass, thank you! I love you!"

Cassidy then chuckles deeply, wrapping himself around you as he leans into your touch.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

Doomfist:

Akande is very in tune with what he wants for himself, so when he realizes how he feels, he won't hesitate to tell you.

He'd call you to meet him somewhere private in Talon's headquarters, where once you arrive, he'd instantly start flirting.

"Ah, hello my dear. Looking as wonderful as always."

"Oh, thank you, Akande! Is there something you wanted from me?"

He would shake his head in confirmation before tenderly grabbing your hand and placing a kiss atop it.

"Nothing too serious, I assure you. I simply wanted to tell you that I love you. I hope you feel the same."

With a flustered expression, you'd whisper a small yes before he places his arms around around your waist in an unusually soft embrace.

Genji:

Genji says it during a rare quiet moment at Gibraltar.

After preventing a Null Sector attack on a town not far from base, you were helping him repair some of his cybernetic parts that got damaged in the fight.

In the middle of adding a few adjustments to one of the mobility mechanisms, he heaves out a deep sigh which causes you to glance up at him.

"I can tell you wanna say something, 'Ji. You can tell me if you want."

With a shake of his head, he lets out another sigh as he places a gentle hand on your face.

"Just... thank you for everything you do for me, my beloved. I love you."

"Love you too, Genji."

Hanzo:

If anyone would be the one to plan something to tell you his feelings, it would absolutely be Hanzo Shimada himself.

Even if he isn't normally one for romance, your presence in his life would have changed that

Hanzo would make preparations to meet you somewhere special so he could not so subtly show you off in public.

After eating a fancy dinner at an expensive restaurant and going on a walk through a park, he'd turn to look at you with admiration swimming in his eyes.

"I just want you to know that I love you very much. Even if I don't say it often, I really do care about you."

"I love you too, Han." You'd grin before kissing him softly on the cheek.

Junkrat:

Let's be honest with ourselves, Jamison would have blurted it out within the first few days of being with you.

He'd probably be so focused on building a new explosive contraption that he wouldn't have even noticed he said it.

"Oi, could you hand me the thing? It's in the toolbox over there!"

You'd walk over, grab the thing he needs and go to give it to him with a few pats to his shoulder.

"Thank youuu, I love ya!"

You'd chuckle quietly in response and give his head a smooch before walking off to do your own thing.

"I love you too, Fawkes!"

Lifeweaver:

Niran will tell you he loves you when he hides out at your place after a group of hunters sent by Vishkar find him and try to chase him down.

After a relentless pursuit, he manages to escape and find his way to your house, needing a place to recollect his thoughts.

When you respond to the banging on your door, you look out to see an exhausted Lifeweaver on your doorstep.

"Could I bother you for a place to stay for the night?"

"Always. The guest room is already ready for you."

With a relieved sigh, Niran would hug you before pulling you back into the house.

"Thank you, I love you so much, darling!"

[shiroisotto64]

Mauga Headcanons

He’s a show off. He’s the type of guy to have his girlfriend sit on his back while he does pushups or planks. Like let’s be real. I could definitely see him brining his signature other to the gym with him.

He’s possessive but like in a chill way? Let me explain. Say you’re getting hit on, right? He’ll calmly walk up to the scene and wrap his arms around whoever was bothering you. And egg them on to continue on what they were saying about HIS partner. And if they managed to piss him off enough without a question he’d fuck them up. Don’t even worry.

Mauga likes to carry you on his shoulders and or arm. He’s big enough to do so and you weigh nothing. I feel like he’d like to be able to keep you near him and show off at the same time.

Super physically affectionate he’d love it more if whoever he was with was the same but would respect your boundaries if you’re not into PDA. But if you are..? Hugs and kisses galore. I could definitely see him slapping your ass and then wink like he didn’t just do it. 😞

He’s a big guy but like he said you can be tuff and still have taste. He would match pajamas with you. Yep. If you find something his style I doubt he’d care. It’s not like he gives a damn about what other people think of him aways.

[bruhhhh-huhhhhh]

Leave.

Cole Cassidy x reader

"You don't need me."

The words burnt your throat on their way up, each one more painful than the last.

Well, it was the words or the stomach acid. Either way, it still hurt.

Cassidy didn't even turn around to look at you. He was sat at table, taking sips of the whiskey that you bought him for your anniversary.

Just a few hours prior, the two of you had an argument over his sudden ignorance over you and your needs. He would come home from Blackwatch and not even look at you, instead getting whatever he wanted to eat and going to the spare bedroom in your shared apartment. He left for days at a time, doing God only knows what.

When you brought it up, Cassidy simply told you to just get over yourself. To suck it up and realize that he needed his time alone.

"You could at least tell me when, or why, or what I can do to make things better!" You shouted.

"Look at you, thinkin' you can just make everything better with a flick of the wrist. Well, news flash, you can't. This ain't something that you can just make better. I ain't somethin you can just make better," he spat back before storming off to the guest bedroom.

At that point, you cried. Not much. Never were the tears more than just a few drops that burnt your eyes as they rolled down your cheeks. You went to the room that you once shared and started to pack your bags.

All of your clothes went into the duffel bags and suitcases, along with a few mementos.

You stop at a picture of you and Cassidy on your birthday. He looked so happy. So in love with you.

What happened?

You stuffed it into the bag, knowing that you'd regret it when unpacking the bags. Still, you wouldn't get rid of it.

You couldn't.

As you were making your rounds around the apartment, making sure you picked everything up, Cassidy came out of the guest room with a bottle of whiskey and sat down at the dining table where you two used to eat dinner together.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he popped the bottle open and started drinking.

"You don't need me."

The words burnt your throat on their way up, each one more painful than the last.

Well, it was the words or the stomach acid. Either way, it still hurt.

For a while you just stared at him. What would you say? What would he say? What did you want him to say?

You didn't know.

"Cassidy."

Nothing.

"Cole."

Still nothing.

"I'm leaving."

Finally, something. The cowboy turned his head ever so slightly to look at you from the corner of his eye.

"When are ya gonna be back?" he asked calmly.

You couldn't help but laugh. It was cruel and mocking. All of the pent-up anger you had kept inside until this point came bubbling out.

"Never."

Cassidy made a small "oh," and went back to drinking his whiskey.

That made you angrier.

"Really, Cole? Just 'oh'?! No 'why' or 'don't go'? Jesus, I can't fucking do this anymore. I tried, Cole, I really fucking did. I stayed up for hours every night, waiting for you to come home. I set up dinner dates for us and watched as the food slowly went cold without even a single call. I called you over and over with no response for weeks. I did everything I possibly could. And this is all I get? Just an 'oh.' No, 'please don't go, I love you so much.'" At this point, you could feel tears welling in your eyes, burning them as they fell.

"I wanted you to be different. To be better. I wanted this to work. Because I love you, Cole. I love you so fucking much and you don't seem to give a singular fuck about me. Not one. To you, I'm no better than the dirt on the bottom of your boot. Hell, at least that has a reason to stick around. But I don't. It's been almost a year of this. Of neglect. Of no love. And I don't know why the fuck I didn't leave sooner."

Cassidy just stares at you. Not a word is spoken. Not one. And that's how you know that it really is done. That the relationship you put so much effort into is over.

"I did so much for you. I left my family. Got kicked out of Deadlock. Moved from place to place to visit you on your missions. Didn't go to school. Started working at a job that I fucking hate. All for you. And you won't even look at me for longer than a minute."

"I never asked you to do that."

You just stare. For a long while, you stare at him. You didn't know what to say. How to convey all the pain and anguish and fear and sadness that you were feeling.

So, you didn't.

Instead, you turned around and went to your bedroom, dug the picture out of your bag, and took it back to dining room. Cassidy barely looked at you as you walked in.

Without saying a word, you slammed the glass frame onto the groud. It shattered into thousands of little pieces and the picture of the two of you was covered in them.

"I'm done. We're over," you said before grabbing your bags and leaving.

After a few hours, Cassidy knelt down and started trying to clean the glass up with his hands. Before long he was bleeding all over the floor, the glass having cut his hands.

Deep down he knows he fucked up. That the only person who really cared about him just left.

But he couldn't find it in himself to call you back.

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — DON'T WASTE YOUR HEART IN MOURNING ME (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — left to grapple with moira's sudden departure from your life, you spend a harrowing afternoon reminiscing on the good, the bad, and the deliciously bittersweet . #. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, liberal use of curse words .

#. word count! — 6.1k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

The apartment feels larger now than it did before. It’s quiet in a way it never was when Moira was around, —always with her little tics, tapping her long, ever-manicured nails on the kitchen island or pacing about in one of the rooms. . . She did that latter thing a lot near the end, with more dramatic touslings of her hair than in the time before. For a moment, you fear the downstairs neighbors must be celebrating her departure, and the thought of it almost makes you laugh. The silence is laden with memories in every nook and cranny of this place, and it dawns on you now that it feels much like it did back when she and you were moving the first of many boxes in, ready to start a new life together.

Only this time, there’s no promise of eternal love or any of that other bullshit that she always warned you was a fool’s game to play with. 

Moira, Moira, Moira, ever the pragmatic one. . .

There’s a faint scent of lavender-heavy perfume that lingers throughout, reminding you that she wasn’t just some figment of your imagination. At one time, she’d been the love of your life. Or, she was who you thought would take that title, anyway. Nowadays, you just aren’t so sure, and perhaps that’s been the hardest pill to swallow thus far. The scent reminds you of her, —of the way her brows would furrow deeply when she was displeased, of how she always took her coffee black and poked fun at you for the additives you refused to drink it without. It reminds you of her arms wrapping ever so sweetly around your waist, her chin coming down to rest on the crown of your head.

You blink and try to focus on something —anything— else. It’s hard enough to deal with it all, but you’re just torturing yourself with it at this point. Your eyes sweep the room, the cream-colored walls, landing on a painting you’d created several years ago. It was lackluster now in terms of honed skill, but there was something so endlessly passionate about it, so full of vibrance and promise. Reaching out, your fingertips graze the glazed canvas, and it’s like you’re right back there again. . .

The gallery buzzes with excitement, the sounds of light, casual conversation and clinking wine glasses echoing through the wide halls. You stand before your own work, amazed that it’s hanging here in this exhibit of your prowess, even if this gig had been a long time coming. To see it actually displayed here made your heart soar. It was the biggest step you’d taken in your career since moving to this city and it felt so incredible that your sacrifices were finally paying off.

You’re caught up in the whirlwind of congratulations, thanks, and small talk, —but none of that is enough to keep your eyes from drifting over to her; a tall, ginger-haired, sophisticated woman standing a few feet back from one of your pieces, staring at it intensely enough to feel unnerving and intriguing all in the same breath. Dressed in a finely pressed suit the same color of the wine in her glass, her sharp, calculating gaze turns to you as you approach her nervously, feeling small both physically and metaphorically standing beside her.

“I can’t quite tell if you like it or not,” you muse, trying to sound playful, even if the real intent was just to have her offer her unfiltered opinion so you could stop guessing what she thought of it.

The way she was staring at it made you feel like she thought there was some kind of hidden message carved into the paint strokes. When her eyes flicker to you, you notice that they’re different colors, —one red, one blue, both deeper shades, and you get lost in them for a moment before she laughs softly, and you have something else to fall into. 

“Oh, I like it quite a bit,” she answers.

There’s an accent clinging to her words, but you haven’t quite placed it just yet. That doesn't stop it from making your stomach twist itself into knots though.

“It’s quite captivating.” 

You almost blurt out that you could say the same of her, but you let that sentence die on your tongue before it has the chance to see the light of day.

“I’m glad you think so,” you smile softly, “it was my favorite of the bunch. That’s why I placed it in the center of the exhibit.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” she nods. “How much would it cost to purchase?”

Your eyes widen. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for paintings to be arranged to be sold during these events, but that tended to come with recognition from the local art collecting scene that you just didn’t have at the moment. For you, this exhibit was more about reaching a wider audience and allowing the public to see your pieces than it was making any kind of profit. . .

“Um. . . I— I don’t know, how much would you be willing to pay?” You swallow, at the risk of sounding unprofessional.

She gives the painting another glance over, then turns back to you.

“Does a grand sound fair?”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“S-Sorry?”

“Two?”

Holy shit. All of this seemed to have gone from zero to a thousand (or two. . .) in the blink of an eye, and you have to take a second to collect yourself, lest you seem anymore clueless than you’ve probably already come across as.

“Does. . . fifteen hundred work?” You dare.

“Certainly,” Moira nods decisively.

You give her your information so she can send the money your way in a few days time when she comes to pick the painting up at the end of the exhibition. And when the time comes, you walk away with one less painting to lug back to your apartment, fifteen hundred dollars richer, and with a new phone number added to your contacts with her name attached.

It was almost funny. Maybe you’d have laughed if you weren’t already on the verge of tears. All of this has really come full circle, and you’re just not sure you appreciate the irony of it all in the moment. Here you are, standing in front of this goddamn painting, the one that had acted as a catalyst to meeting Moira in the first place. . . And it’s back in your possession, because she couldn’t even be bothered to take it with her. As much as you love it for what it represents, there’s a part of you that wants to pluck it off the wall and slam it out the window right about now. Or maybe beating it with a baseball bat or something would feel more satisfying.

Whatever the case, you’re getting tired of looking at it, so you avert your gaze elsewhere and let your back touch the wall beside it. Stupid painting. Stupid apartment. Stupid Moira and her stupid decisions that have plagued your life for the past five years, and those stupidly long nails that traced perfect shapes along your hip at night, and her stupid lips with that goddamn orangeish gloss that always stained yours when she’d kiss you—

“Ugh!” You groan.

All this reminiscing has reminded you of how electric it felt to be in her presence back then, how magnetic she’d been from the start. Those sharp eyes that matched her wit, those clever jokes she’d throw your way (some of which went over your head, admittedly), —and the sweetness of her voice when it came to you. She was kinder with you in subtle way, would place her hands on the small of your back in public, taking care to tuck loose strands of your hair behind your ears if the need arose. You hate that this fallout has left you wondering if it was ever truly affection at all, of if she was simply protecting her own self-image.

You’ve questioned a lot of things about her over the years, but whether or not she was genuine in her love for you had rarely been one. But now, that conversation is back on the table, and it’s woefully one-sided this time. 

One text lead to many. At first, it was hard to tell if she was simply interested in you as an artist or if that interest expanded to you as a person, but she quickly put your worries to rest when she began flirting with you in a way that even you, in all your obliviousness, had to acknowledge was more than playful banter between friends. Slowly, your life became intertwined with hers, and looking back, it seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. One late night date at a fancy bar and you were practically groveling at her feet, so desperate for her to see you as her equal. She spoke with you about science and philosophy, —her words acting as a forewarning for what was inevitably to come, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.

She was very hush-hush about her working endeavors, but you knew she was employed by Overwatch. That alone explained why she couldn’t divulge all the information of her duties to you, and you were okay with that. The secrecy got worse as time went on. Especially after she was publicly shamed for her “poor regard for the ethics of the scientific community” or whatever. The city isn’t small by any means, but it wasn’t large enough to spare you the fate of being tied to her name. You’d been seen attending various events with her, and many of the wealthy clientele that purchased paintings from the local galleries soon put two and two together. At that point, your paintings began selling at a much slower and much less financially liberal rate.

Moira insisted that it was okay. That it would pass eventually as she became involved with a different organization, —or. . . A different branch of the same organization? You weren’t sure. She never explained much, and you didn’t like to pry. If Moira wanted you to know something, she would tell you. Anything beyond that was best left alone.

Equally mesmerizing and maddening all at once, she insists that all is well. That everything will be okay. That all of this heat on her name is a fad, that once she proves herself, the tides will turn in her favor. . . And you believe her. You take smaller, more intimate jobs and refrain from showing your face at the local galleries for a while, waiting for the heat to die down. She talks you into moving in with her, taking you from your one-bedroom studio apartment to the top of the most affluent building in the city. You tell her it doesn’t feel much like anywhere you could call home, and she brushes your concerns away.

“It’s all the empty space,” she says. “We’ll decorate.”

You do, and somewhere along the line this apartment begins to feel exactly like you insisted it couldn’t. You sleep on sheets that smell like her, bury your face into her pillow to breathe her in when she gets up at ungodly hours of the morning to leave for work. She hangs that painting she bought from you about a year ago by now up on the wall near the kitchen and the living room, and she glances at it often when she sits at the counter. When she manages to make it home in time for dinner, you sit together and eat. . . Sometimes she’s just shy of talking your ear off, and others, she doesn’t say much at all.

She cups your cheeks and insists that everything will be okay when you get overwhelmed. She learns how to be gentler with you, learns how to be more sensitive. You learn how to trust her more and how to avoid stepping on her toes when her days are hard. Sometimes, you convince her to turn that magnificent brain of hers off and watch something stupid on the television with you, —trashy reality TV that she doesn’t really get, but likes to watch you giggle at more than anything else. If you’re lucky, she won’t wake you when you doze off in her lap, she’ll just gently massage your scalp and let you rest against her.

Slowly but surely, the apartment is filled with lots of things. Books, trinkets, little pieces of decor. . . Love. She doesn’t declare it often, but every now and again, she’ll get the urge to remind you. Usually it’s just before you fall asleep, her long arms pulling you against her chest, mumbling a confession so quiet only you can hear it above her heartbeat; like it’s a secret she’s keeping from the rest of the world.

You feel bad that sometimes you wish it was.

“Do you even understand what’s happening?” You ask one afternoon, frustrated and angered by her continued neutrality towards it all. “To me?” You add. “To us?” 

Those eyes that you’ve always loved so much flash with anger and a hint of something else, something you don’t really recognize on her. . . Guilt?

“What is there to understand?” She challenges. “My work is important. I thought you understood at least that much.”

“And mine isn’t?” You counter.

“I never said that,” she shakes her head. “I’ve never not supported your career choices, —need I remind you how we met?” 

She says that and gestures to the hung painting on the wall. You nearly scoff.

“It’s one thing to support me, Moira, it’s another to be proactive about it.”

She frowns.

“I’m sorry our relationship has caused you so much distress,” she hisses.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you bite back.

“Then what exactly are you saying, y/n?” She questions, but you can tell by the way she says it that she’s not really looking for an answer.

You still offer one anyway.

“I’m asking you when enough is enough, Moira.”

Her expression hardens, a shield silently snapping into place.

“Enough is never enough in science,” she says to you, like you’re some underling in her lab she’s giving a lecture to.

There’s a cold, detached sentiment in her tone, —one that makes your heart ache. Because you love her, in spite of all this.

“Progress requires sacrifice.”

You laugh, but it sounds so bitter that you hardly recognize it came from you.

“Sacrifice? You wanna preach to me of all people about sacrifice? —What about us, Moira? What about the sacrifices I’ve made, endless ones, mind you, to be here and stand with you and back the things you do? This kind of mindless complacency because I care, and I only ever want to assume the best of you. But what about me? What about the life we’ve built together? Does that mean nothing to you?”

Moira’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. Regret, maybe, or something like fleeting sorrow.

“Of course it means something to me,” she says softly.

You hurt her, and you can see it on her face. A part of you wants to reach out, take her by the wrist, kiss this better. . . But you don’t. The argument hangs heavy in the air, a chasm widening between the two of you. She turns away and leaves the apartment for a while. It’s nearly midnight when she returns, and she sleeps in the guest room for the next few days. You catch brief glimpses of her every now and again when one of you is coming or going, but there isn’t really anything to say. It’s a stalemate, and you’re both a little too stubborn for you own good.

Moira cracks first after four days, a rare showing of compassion on her part. You come home to a nice, home cooked dinner, and she coaxes you into sitting down and eating with her. It’s not like it takes much convincing. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her cook, but you’re reminded of how much you’ve missed it as you eat what she’s prepared. After some awkward small talk about what you’ve both been up to over the past few days, and you holding your tongue on any snarky quips, she sighs.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she tells you. “About us.”

In the back of your mind, a part of you steels for a breakup. For some dissolution of everything you’ve put your heart into, and somehow. . . It feels like something that was bound to happen. And that’s the worst part. Still, you nod and put your fork down, giving her your full attention as she speaks with careful measure. It’s the first real conversation you’ve had with her in over half a week, and you’re determined to make it count for something. 

“My work is very important to me. You must know as much by now. But I do understand your frustrations, and I’m sorry that my career has interfered with yours. There isn’t much I can do about it, but I acknowledge your frustrations, and if I could make this easier for you, y/n, you know that I. . .”

You sigh.

“I do,” you say softly. “I know.”

She nods.

“I also know that I can be difficult to be with at times. I know that I get so caught up in my experiments that I fail to leave time for anything else, but I try. Because I care for you very deeply, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose what we have together, what we’ve built. . .”

“I know,” you repeat. 

Moira sighs.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“I am,” you admit. “But I appreciate that you’re trying to make things right, and I. . . Should apologize to you too. For what I said. I know that you care about me, and about our relationship, and I’m sorry that I questioned that. It was wrong.”

She seems pleased with this, —more than willing to let it be water under the bridge.

Things admittedly don’t get much easier in the fallout. Not in terms of your career, anyway. Your works are tainted by the woman you call a lover, and your name is blackballed across the community. It’s a constant struggle to reconcile your own morality with the dubiousness of her’s, and yet you really can’t imagine life without her. So you stay, and you sleep in her bed; —your bed. The one you’ve built with her. You stuff it down and vent your frustrations to the walls of your painting room.

You glance to the door but make no move to go near it. God, all this shit those walls have heard over the years. . . You don’t even wanna think about what kind of therapy they’d need if they were sentient. It’s almost enough to make you shiver. This entire apartment, for that matter, is like some kind of twisted mausoleum of memories; good and bad. The bed you’ve slept alone in more nights than you can count over the years is the same one she undressed you so many times on, picking you apart like you were perfectly cooked ribs just sliding off the bone, and fuck it makes you so mad that she’s just thrown everything away like this. That couch you’ve cried on out of sheer overwhelming frustration is the one where she urged you onto her lap, the one she covered you up with a blanket on those times she came home to find you napping there.

It’s been three years since that argument was settled at the table. It’s been three days since she sat you down in the same chair, in the same room, at that same goddamn table, to tell you she was leaving. That she didn’t know when or if she’d be coming back. That Overwatch was just too stifling, that she needed to get away, to explore. . . And in the process, she’s left you alone. Again. The echoes of that last conversation haunt the empty space. You’re mad. You’re so, so angry that this is the way she left things, and it’s eating you up like boiling water in your veins.

All that time you’d spent making sacrifices, letting your art be devalued so she could search for some secret key to humanity’s shackles while keeping you chained in this fucking apartment. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling just didn’t fix everything the way it should have for the way it raised the rent of this goddamn place. You check your phone, knowing there won’t be any kind of message or call from her, but silently hoping there might be. That maybe, just this once, she’ll prove you wrong. . . That she’ll just come back and say she’s sorry, that she made a mistake and wants to make it right again.

But there’s nothing.  You choke back a sob and train your eyes on the apartment walls again. They’ve seen nearly everything from start to finish, and yet you just don’t feel like you can let them watch you weep now. They held your back when Moira pressed you against them, her hands traversing you with more muscle memory of you each time, and they held it again the night she said she was departing while you slid down it, heart heavy enough to pull you like gravity itself.

Now, these walls bear silent witness to your grief. The silence wraps around you like a cold, unwelcome blanket, frigid on your skin like her hands tended to be. It amplifies every thought in your head, every memory of her, all the things she’s just left behind now like it was easy. Like it was all meaningless fodder for her when to you, it was just shy of everything. It was what you fought for the hardest, what you sacrificed for the most, what you were willing to crawl on your hands and knees for above anything else. It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, just like that, but the absence of her presence now, the absence of her things, makes it all too real. 

You let your head tilt upward, catching the barest sight of the painting just up and to your left. The thing that started it all, the beginning of the end, and it feels like such a cruel joke now, —like a reminder of everything you’ve come to lose.

More than anything, you want to be angry. You want to tear this place apart with your bare hands, destroy every reminder of her, every piece of her that still lingers in this god forsaken apartment. . . But you can’t. You just can’t bring yourself to do it, and not just for the fact that the costs will be far too much to repay in the aftermath. Instead, you simply slump further against the wall, letting the tension melt into exhaustion, and letting all this weight crush your spirits in way only something uniquely Moira ever could.

The love you held, the love you received, the dreams you shared, —all of it and more is tangled up in this place, in the memories that permeate every room. You’re surrounded by it, but even if you leave, you know all too well that it’ll just travel with you. There’s no escaping this, and that’s the scariest part. Your hand drifts to your phone again, almost involuntarily, as if by some miracle there’ll be a message from her; something to explain that her hand was forced, that she’s sorry, that she didn’t want things to end the way they did either. Maybe there’ll be a goodbye that doesn’t feel so goddamn final, maybe she’ll ask you to wait for her because she knows you would if she requested it.

But there’s nothing.

Just the same void that’s been growing since she walked out the door.

The tears come before you can stop them this time, a pent-up release of all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down for three days. Anger, sorrow, confusion, frustration, all of it and more, mix together and spill out through your eyes as you curl up on the cold floor, folding in on yourself, trying to feel as small as possible in hopes that you might just disappear altogether.

You can almost feel her hand atop your head in a comforting gesture, the way she used to pet you like a cat because she wasn’t sure what else to do when you cried. You can still hear her voice ringing in your ears.

“We should talk,” she says, a sense of hesitation present which was wholly uncharacteristic of her. . . Moira wasn’t the type to hesitate.She never had been. 

Her usual confidence has been replaced by something tentative, and that cut deeper than any words ever could. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask softly, because something surely was, even if you didn’t know what just yet.

“Just sit, please,” she requests, and you do, ignoring the sense of deja vu.

“Moira?” You utter, and she cringes visibly at the desperation on your tongue.

“I’m leaving.”

Your mind stills. There’s no way you heard that correctly, or perhaps you just need to clarify what she means, maybe she’s going somewhere for a time, but surely she’ll return, surely she’ll come back—

“L-Leaving?” You repeat after a few moments of silence. “What do you mean leaving?”

She looks to the floor, like she’s searching the grooves of the tiles for the right way to explain.

“Overwatch. . . Has made a fool of me for too long. And I’ve stupidly allowed it for the sake of access to their equipment and their people, but no longer.”

This wasn’t news to you. She’d always shown a slight disdain for her employers, but her relationship with her superiors had gotten notably more hostile in recent months. She spit more venom when speaking of them now, scowled when she saw anything to do with Overwatch in the media. . . But you never thought it was this bad.

“So you’re leaving your job?” You seek to clarify.

“Yes, but. . .” she pauses. “I’ve been presented with an opportunity that I cannot pass up.”

“A job offer?”

“Something like that.”

You frown.

“This is way too cryptic for my taste, Moira, can you please just—”

“I’m going away.”

Another pause, this time from you as you let her words digest.

“. . . going where?” You ask eventually.

“I cannot tell you,” she replies decisively, and for the first time, you’re tempted to ask why.

For so long, you’d been fine to simply accept what she couldn’t divulge to you. It was what it was. But not this time.

“Don’t you think I deserve some kind of explanation for all of this?” You question, raising your voice slightly. “You can’t just tell me you’re leaving, that’s not how this is supposed to work, Moira, we’re partners—”

Her face tightens, uncertainty morphing into resolve. Her tone is pointed as she cuts you off.

“I know it’s not fair,” she tells you bluntly, voice steadier than before. “But this isn’t about fairness. This is something I need to do for myself.” This only makes you angrier.

“And what about me then? The person you’ve, I don’t know, —built a fucking life with? What about me in all of this, you can’t just throw me away and give me no explanation! If you need space, just say that you need space, you don’t need to play a cryptic game with me, I know you! Why the secrecy with me of all people?”

The woman you’ve always known to be so confident now seems so vulnerable before you, and it almost makes you feel guilty for being upset.

“It’s not about secrecy. It’s about protecting you, protecting myself and my work. . . If I told you everything, it would compromise too much. I will not put you in danger.”

“But putting the woman I love in danger is just fine by you?” You hiss. “Don’t tell me you’re protecting me, don’t make this out to be some noble act on your part. What are you so afraid of telling me?” 

“The information you’re after is something I cannot disclose to you.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a stranger meddling in your affairs, we are partners! We’ve been together for half a decade, we share a home, you can’t just leave!” You shout. “Don’t you think I deserve a proper explanation after everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve put me through?” 

“What you deserve and what I can give you are rarely the same thing, and you know this.”

You scoff.

“This isn’t about you,” she continues. “This is about protecting the things I value, which includes you, whether or not you believe as much right now. If I were to reveal details, it would jeopardize everything: my work, my safety, your safety, and I’m doing what’s necessary to prevent that. I’m not willing to risk it. Because I know you as well, and I know how stubborn you are. I’m doing everything in my power to keep you out of a situation that puts you in harm’s way.”

“And what about the risk of losing me, huh? The risk of losing everything we’ve built together? You’re just walking away without giving me any proper closure, —dropping this bomb on me and expecting me to take it in stride? Just swallow this like it’s not going to turn my world upside down?” 

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

“How is this any better?” You demand.

“It has nothing to do with you,” she retorts. “It has nothing to do with walking away from you.”

“Yes it does, because that’s what you’re doing!” You argue. 

“I am making a choice that I believe is best for my career and for both our safety. I’m ensuring that my choices don’t put you in danger. You of all people must understand that by now.” 

The silence stretches after her words and you feel the weight of them mix with your mounting frustrations. 

“You think you’re protecting me by shutting me out like this?” You question, hurt evident in your voice. “By just up and leaving without giving me any real explanation? How is this supposed to make anything better?” “I never said it was supposed to make anything better.”

You laugh, bitter and sarcastic. Her frown deepens. 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she tells you in earnest, but it’s hard to believe it in the moment.

What do intentions matter in this case if it hurts you all the same?

“What about us?” You question, voice breaking. “What about the life we’ve built together? You can’t just erase it all and pretend like it never happened. You can’t do that.”

Her eyes flicker with a brief flash of something like guilt, but she masks it quickly.

“My decision wasn’t made to erase our past—”

“Our past?” You interrupt.

She runs a hand down her face in frustration.

“My decision is not about erasing you,” she revises. “It’s about ensuring that my actions don’t put you in a position I can’t protect you in. I’m taking the steps to ensure that my choices don’t harm you.”

“You’re harming me right now!”

“And you can heal from this!” She snaps. “But there’s no guarantee you’ll heal from what could happen to you if I don’t make the choice I’m making right now. I’m taking the necessary steps to protect what’s important, and that includes making tough decisions.”

You feel your hands start to tremble. Because of what, you’re not sure. . . Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s anxiety, maybe it’s grief. 

“Don’t try to justify this to me,” you shake your head. “Don’t try to pretend like you’re doing this for anyone but yourself. After everything I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, you’re throwing everything away like it’s worthless? How is that protection?”

Her gaze hardens.

“You know well and full that I do not make uncalculated decisions. This is no different. I’m making a choice that keeps you safe, even if you don’t recognize that right now.” 

“It’s not about what I do or don’t understand!” You shout. “It’s about trust! It’s about being fucking honest with me! You’re not even giving me a choice in this, and that’s not fair! You’re making choices for the both of us alone that we should have been making together!” 

“I’m not asking you to like or agree with what I’m doing, I am telling you what’s taking place because I care for you, and I believe you deserve that much,” she states. “But this conversation does not change what has to be done.”

“So that’s just it then?” You question in disbelief. “You’re throwing me away and I don’t even get a say? You’re just gonna up and go and leave me to pick up the pieces by myself?” 

The rest is a blur. She gathered her things while you sit around in a daze, pinching yourself every so often, convinced that you’ll wake up and it’ll all just be a nightmare. You’ll tell her about it when you wake up and she’ll tell you you’re ridiculous with a lopsided smile on her face, and she’ll roll her eyes when you wrap your arms around her waist and bury your face in her chest. It’ll all feel better when she kisses the crown of your head and mumbles that she’ll see you when she gets home from work. 

But she doesn’t.

“Moira,” you practically whimper as she emerges from your shared room with items smushed into a travel case. “Don’t. Don’t do this.” 

She pauses, unable to meet your gaze completely. Like she’s ashamed in all of this, as much as she wants to hide that away.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” she tells you.There’s a twisted coolness to her voice, like she’s rehearsed these exact lines so many times before now.

“But I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing more to say.”

“Please,” you choke out, not caring how pathetic or childlike you sound as you beg for this woman not to exit your life and leave you high and dry. “Please don’t do this, don’t leave, please don’t go, we can figure something out—”

“We can’t,” she shakes her head. “I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll return. I don’t even know that I’ll be coming back at all.”

“But I love you,” you utter in desperation. 

“I know,” she says, her voice colder than you ever thought it could be. “But love isn’t enough right now. This is bigger than us, and I can’t ignore that.”

You reach out and grab the sleeve of her button-up shirt.“Don’t do this to me,” you plead.

But when you look into her eyes, all you see is resignation.

“I wish things were different,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, but still laced with that same finality. “But I can’t change what I have to do. This isn’t about us, it’s about something far bigger, and I need you to trust me like you always have.”

“Moira.”

Her thumb strokes your cheek in a tender gesture that feels like a cruel contrast to the words she’s saying. 

“You’re stronger than you think, and you’ll be okay,” she continues. “And maybe there’ll be a day when I can come back. But for now, you have to let me go.”

You feel sick to your stomach, hand clutching so tightly around her’s that it likely hurts, but you can’t help it. You shake your head as your throat squeezes and you open your mouth slightly to speak, but nothing comes out.

She pauses in the doorway, her back to you, and for a moment you think she might turn around. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply says, “Take care of yourself.” The memory fades and you feel hollow. Raw, like the wound has been ripped open all over again. It stings like it’s been covered in salt. You blink, realizing now more than before that you’re alone, on the floor in this cold, empty apartment. The echo of the door as it closed behind her for the last time rings in your ear, over and over, a sound you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. So you don’t. You sit and let it fester. And maybe you’ll wait around for her and she’ll come crawling back some few odd years later. Maybe you’ll move on and search for her in the face of every potential partner you sit across from at warm cafes. As you sit there, the painting looms in your vision, its once comforting brushstrokes now a bittersweet echo of a time when everything felt whole. It’s a reminder of what was and what might never be again and it makes you nauseous just to stare in its tainted direction. But you’ll keep it hung no matter where you go, and you know that. . . Because Moira loved it. And you love her. 

[prime-adeptus]

Uncover

You find yourselves in an unknown territory.

✧ PAIRING: Ramattra x GN!Reader

✦ CONTENT: Ambiguous relationships, not canon compliant, emotional hurt/comfort, no dialogue, non-sexual intimacy. Possibly OOC?? I did my best though q_q ~0,5k words

✧ NOTES: I've been yearning a lot lately 👹

AO3 | Masterlist | @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

Could a machine know how to love?

The question rings in your mind once again as you stare into where Ramattra’s eyes would be. Cold fingertips cup the side of your face, caressing your skin with a fondness you haven’t felt since you’d left home. Blood rushes beneath the surface of your cheeks, warming the steel pressed against you just the slightest. He towers over your frame with ease, which would intimidate you any other time, but with him, you don’t feel that way. You feel safe, protected.

It’s hard to think of what he is to you. It’s harder to think of what you mean to him. You’ve lived a life of uncertainty, and moments like these are no different. Somehow, you don’t feel as rigid. There’s no need to put a label on what you have with Ramattra. You know you hold at least some meaning to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have let you stay for this long. He wouldn’t tell you to wait for him to return if you meant nothing. He’s straightforward, though he speaks to you without vitriol.

You suppose you have your teetering the line between machine and human to thank. Even your peers don’t know how to classify you. All you know is that you’re some sort of freak, a misfit, someone so incapable of becoming part of a community no matter how hard they try. You’re too withdrawn yet you talk too much, wearing out whoever you speak to. You’re kind yet you’re too unapproachable, your face stone cold in every happening. Things out of your control led you to become an outcast.

Solitude was all you’d known in your entire life, but the ache for companionship never quite goes away. The desire to be loved as you are feeds into the ache instead of suppressing it. It’s an innate desire for all humans, you think, and it’s one you can’t seem to get rid of. You always question him—asking him why he keeps you around, why he treats you differently, and not once has he ever had an answer for you.

Something burns behind your nose, creeping up to your eyes as tears brim their corners and slide down your cheeks. With trembling hands, you clasp them over his and allow a choked whimper to leave your lips, overwhelmed by every sentiment possible. You try to speak, but your throat closes up and your mind goes blank, forcing you into silence.

That’s fine. He never forces you to talk. He knows how difficult it is to be vulnerable and put into words all your thoughts and feelings, even if speech comes so naturally to him. The quietude that blankets over the both of you is comfortable. The wind whistles in the forests outside and snow falls to the ground, but you can hardly feel the chill in your bones. The cloak he draped over your shoulders is more than enough to shield you from the cold despite its roughness against your skin.

You nuzzle your face into the palm of his hand and sigh. The tempest in your mind won’t quell. It never has. You’ll always question everything again and again just to wind up dissatisfied with the outcome. You know that better than anyone. And you know you’ll eventually have to address whatever your situation with him is, but as you melt into his touch, you wonder if you really have to.

Maybe you don’t need that answer. Maybe it’s fine to let things be as they are.

[nori-writes]

Hi there! May I request Cassidy with an s/o who can easily fluster him? Thank you in advance if you do this!

“You love it.”

Cassidy x Reader

W/C: 850+

A/N: YESS, I love Cassidy requests, sadly this is the last one I have (feel free to send more 👀) I’ve been obsessed with Overwatch recently especially Cassidy and Hanzo. One last funny little thing that I wanna share. So basically the way I write his accent is a just quietly talk to myself while I’m writing because I have a southern accent myself. Just thought it was a lil funny thing to share.

Also this isn’t proof read AT ALL. I wrote this in a couple periods of school.

Cole loves complimenting and flirting with you as often as he gets the chance to.

But as soon as you throw a compliment back at him he is a flustered mess.

Typically he's just fine taking a compliment from someone like another agent in Overwatch but when it's from you?

God help him.

Whenever he’s flustered he’ll pull his hat from his head to cover his face and take a moment to collect himself before even thinking about replying to you

It’s literally adorable.

Claims to hate it

He loves it.

He’ll glance over them and claim that your words don’t affect him

They most definitely do.

It was around midnight and Cassidy still hadn’t managed to find his way into bed. He had returned from a mission earlier and had meant to go home hours ago to change, shower, or even just to see you. God, he always missed you. Instead, he sat on a part of the counter in the base's kitchen, lights out, eating some cookies that Brigitte had made for all of Overwatch to enjoy and enjoy he did.

They were amazing, perfectly cooked but still a nice chewable, gooey texture to them with the perfect amount of chocolate chips and hit the spot at this time of night. If he was being completely honest though, he hadn’t realised how late it was getting to be. If he had he would’ve scurried his way home by now.

Though, the silence in the Overwatch kitchen at night was a weirdly comforting thing. The curtains were open just enough to bring in the perfect amount of moonlight to illuminate everything so that you weren’t tripping over stuff in the dark.

After a couple more cookies Cole had finally decided to pull out his phone and check the time which had read to be almost 1:00 AM. Determining that it was already far too late for him to be awake he decided on one last cookie before he would finally make his way to your shared bed for the night.

He pulled his last cookie out of the jar before taking a bite out of it as he realised your figure stood in the doorway, “Hey sweet pea, what’re you doin’ up at this hour?”

You left the doorway making your way closer to Cole. He noted that you were in pyjamas meaning that you had already been in bed as your voice came out in a groggy tone, “Someone had mentioned that you were back from your mission earlier today, I hadn’t seen you so I came looking for you. Missed your handsome face.”

He internally thanked that he had left the lights off when he came in here earlier, had he not the only thing to hide how embarrassingly red his face was currently would’ve been his hat. The hat which he wasn’t wearing currently.

There was an outline of a smile that came across your face, you weren’t able to fully see his reaction but you knew the effect that your words had on him. He was always the one who flirted with other people, never the other way around so when you threw his words right back at him the reaction was nothing but the best. He took a second to gather himself before he even thought about replying to you.

“Sorry, I hadn’t been lookin’ at the time. I meant to come n’ see you earlier. I kinda got caught up with Brigitte’s cookies, these things are amazing,” He praised the cookies while taking a bite out of the one he had grabbed before he noticed you were in the room.

You shook your head in agreement, hopping up on the counter next to him, laying your head onto his shoulder, “You thinking about heading to bed anytime soon?”

“Just ‘bout to after I finished this last cookie,” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement to his words looking up at his face, “Somethin’ on your pretty little mind sugar?”

You shook your head, “Nothing just you, all the time.”

All he could do was sigh with a smile on his face, the blush of his face much more visible with the closeness of the two of you, “Can’t be just sayin’ stuff that.”

“Yes I can, and you love it.”

As always if you enjoyed my masterlist is here

[colemorrison]

Your breath caught in your throat he looked damn good in the suit. He was going on some sort of business meeting, and it showed, what are the odds he could stand being a little late to this meeting.

"What? Why are you staring?"

Ramattra said as he looked back at you in the mirror, his fingers fixing his tie, his hands we're so sure of their movements. He knew what he was doing, smooth metal sliding down his tie, he was teasing you.

"You look very nice. But I'm wondering how likely are you to get in trouble if you're late?"

"What is it my dear? Are you in need of something?"

He walked over to you, his long legs eventually surrounding you, where you sat on the floor digging through drawers.

"I was just curious.."

"Mhm.. Come here sweetheart"

The omnic gestured to his lap, hands grabbing your ass to pull you flush against him.

"I'll take care of you before I leave. Don't you worry.."

————

@ya-zz

[peydawgz]

Could we mayhaps get a curvy reader x hazard pretty please 💕

Yes and you get bonus Ramattra because I am ✨bricked up✨

Hazard

Fin looks at you with his eyes and his heart. He is enamored with your beauty. If youve got a naughty side showing, say a tattoo or a piercing, some showy outfit, or serving the punk look, he’s like a moth to the flame.

He’s kind and gentle with you, and treats you like royalty. He’ll defend you till death, and probably spend all his money on you. He goes out of his way with everything in his life.

You’re so warm and cozy, and you fit so perfect in his lap he would rather cuddle you forever. He likes to rest his hand on your stomach while you lay together, and mmm your thighs are so squishy and tempting. (Literally how to spoon, tiddy in da hand, kiss ya neck, dick hard on the butt. Hell yeah)

He’s always touching your butt fr, like just a little pat sometimes when you’re ahead of him, but also when you’re in privacy he’ll just grope you for fun. He loves kissing your neck and cheeks, and kissing you anywhere in fact.

He would never ever put you down or have any negativity near your relationship. In fact, he’s more of your hype man. He loves when you dress up and play with your fashion sense. He encourages you to wear whatever you want though, and finds you very adorable and attractive in your comfy outfits.

He’s a big guy, and when he gives you one of his jackets you find you are swallowed in it. He loves you so much, he can’t help but squeeze you up into a hug.

He loves to hold your stomach, in any way. Picking you up and giving you a cute little spin around when he sees you, or just simply wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest.

I think if you licked him it would turn him on,, and fr he would do it back he’s such a cute weirdo.

Ramattra

Your kindness towards him drew him in. You treated him like he was any other, and just lived your humble human life. He learned that he must have a heart,, because you stole it.

Ramattra wants to protect you at all costs, because you are the best thing that could have happened to him. If anyone says a word, he will destroy them. He’s never desired an omnic/human relationship more than ever before you came around.

He is like an animal, although he is machine. He tilts his head in curiosity, when he sees something he likes. He approaches slowly, and is almost fearful at first touching you. Then, he is just leaning all over you and nuzzling you everywhere.

His cold metal hands explore every curve, sending you shivers. He is starving for your touch, absolutely melting when your fingers go for his coils of “hair”. Every receptor and sensor is tingling with sensation,,, like what one would call butterflies in your stomach.

You love when he is in Nemesis form, his larger arms surrounding you and making you feel so small and cute. He picks you up bridal style, nuzzling his faceplate into your neck and seemingly purring.

He falls in love with every inch of you, and cuddle time is usually spent with you on top of him. His hands hold your thighs pressed against his cool body, helping you relax as your head lay on his chest. He strokes your back, and maybe will him you a gentle song.

Omg kiss him!!! Smooch him everywhere for real!! He wanna kiss you so bad,, all he can do is nuzzle and touch you :(

[kortsitron]

Ok how would the overwatch cast react to y/n saying on a mission moments before it downpours “ hmmm.” ( insert sniffing noise ) “ it smells like it’s gonna rain. We could probably go inside or seek some type of shelter.”  And then forgetting that they grew up in the Midwest, as I am convinced that the people who can smell rain are mutants. 

Rainy weather

First of all, apologies for answering this so late. I admit I wasn’t sure about these headcanons at first, but after looking at characters I write for – I thought that I can make something fun out of this. And a little fun fact – I think I might be one of those people who can smell rain lol. Anyway enjoy! <3

Genji Shimada

☁ Genji can't really smell rain since almost all the time he has his mask on

☁ Once you say it's going to rain, Genji looks at you surprised

☁ Once you tell him that you can smell in the air, he chuckles 

☁ Then once it actually starts to rain, Genji chuckles again and apologizes

☁ Right after that, jokingly asks what other superpowers you might have

Hanzo Shimada

☁ Hanzo can't really smell rain, so he often got soaked in his life

☁ When you say it's going to rain and how confidently you say it, he looks confused and ask how you can tell

☁ He doesn't believe you at first, but after going to a shelter and sees that it starts to rain, he apologizes that he didn't believe you

☁ You play it off jokingly, because you can tell he's really serious about the apology and explain that everything is fine

Cole Cassidy

☁ I believe Cole is also the person who can smell that the rain is coming, he may even starts smelling the air before you do

☁ But as soon as he hears you sniff the air too, he looks up at you surprised 

☁ He does not argue when you say it's time to look for shelter

☁ Once everyone is safe in the shelter, Cole will ask about it and admit you surprised him, because he did not expect for you to be also able to smell rain

Ramattra 

☁ Ramattra obviously can't smell rain, but his sensors can inform him that there's a change in the air

☁ He will be surprised when he sees you sniff and says it's going to rain

☁ He knows how to kill and hurt humans, but he does not know much beyond that

☁ After finding a shelter, he asks how does human smell that and how common is it for humans be able to smell things like that

Niran Pruksamanee

☁ Niran is a plant mom, so he's almost always aware of the weather

☁ He may not be to smell the rain, but will most likely be aware before mission that it might rain

☁ Niran is confused by your conclusion, just by a few a small quick sniffs

☁ He asks if you're sure and when your answer is positive, he does does not plan on arguing and looks for shelter with you

[letternotekisses]

Bro I cant even think of specifics would you be able to write a Cassidy drabble i need him incredibly bad

save a horse...yk the drill <3 nsfw below da cut

Cassidy grunts softly, chewing on the end of his cigar as you make your way over with a disapproving look on your face, you're shaking your head and grumbling at the sight of his injuries. He could care less about his scuffed up state - not when it was you tending to him. Cole is quick to flick the ash away, chucking the cigar and stomping it out once you reach his side.

Cassidy proudly presents himself to you as if his injuries were a badge of honour, grinning to himself when you fail to keep your stern expression, a small smile gracing your perfect lips. You're quick to cut through the fabric of his shirt to get to the nasty gash beneath, and he exhales through his teeth once your warm palms ghost his skin.

He should feel guilty - really, fantasising about the sweet little apprentice medic just doing her job. But he just can't help himself, shifting a hand over his belt uneasily when his mind starts to wander to deeper territories.

Cassidy wonders if you'd scream for him when he speared you open on his meaty cock, crying out his name as he pins you down with his bulk, grinding into you as you grasp at the cotton of his bedsheets below. He wonders if you'd claw at his back, marking him up and scratching gently at the weathered skin as he bullies the fat tip of his cock into your needy hole.

He'd cup your jaw, holding your chin gently as if to guide you whilst you parted those pretty lips around his shaft. Would you look up at him with watery eyes, fluttering your lashes like the sweet thing you were? Or would you take him to the hilt, gagging messily around his cock like a little slut?

Would you beg for more? Would you drool into his sheets as he holds your thighs apart, watching the way his cock disappears into your hot, wet cunt?

Cole shudders, just the thought of your pretty little pussy enough to have him hardening in his trousers. You're too focused on mending the wound on his side - your touches soft and fleeting. He wants nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs, he wants to eat you out until you're whiny and overstimulated, he wants to hear you complain about the beard burn between your legs the morning after. He wants you--

You suddenly clear your throat, and his honey brown eyes snap to you with the same sleazy gleam you'd grown accustomed to. You gesture towards his side, all immaculately cleaned up and covered with protective dressing.

Cassidy grins, tipping a hat to you with the intent of asking you for a drink later. "Thanks, doc."

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 3

Part 3 of 4

Ashe You have to be the one to take her hand first. She might jerk her hand away, confused about what you want but then she softens, letting you take her hand. She watches the simple action with brows furrowed until she feels how nice your hand in hers is. How it feels right and she holds on tight. As if scared you might vanish if she lets go.

Baptiste  He enjoys holding hands. It’s simple but says more than words. He smiles and always offers his hand to you to take. He waits until you slip your hand into his before he closes his. His hands are rough and strong. Comforting and warm. He’s always last to let go, letting fingers gently slip from his touch, fingers linked for a second before you part.

Genji The ex-playboy never did handholding before, far too intimate of a gesture for those he was just seeing for a good time and now, with the way he is, the new him both body and soul. He’s self-conscious and hesitant both in his strength and in how cold his hand would feel to the touch. You need to be the one to take his hand in yours, let him know you want this, that the cold metal of his fingers mingled with your warm ones is perfect.

Junkrat He has no concept of how to act in a relationship, to show his love or his affection and when you go to hold his hand he jerks away and wrinkles his nose at you, holding his hand against his chest thinking you were trying to take something from him. You have to explain why you want to hold his hand and he seems dubious of your intentions, thinks you are going to trick him until you grab his hand and hold it, letting him know there is no trick. He decides he rather likes how your hand feels in his.

Sigma He loves the simple intimacy and connection of holding someone he cares about's hand. Be it romanic or platonic. He will happily chatter with you or at you as he takes both of your hands in his. Cupping his large hands over yours with a big smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkle with fondness as he holds your hand close to his chest. Wanting that simple human connection. It’s near impossible to hold his hand when he’s floating, maybe he gets one of those ‘can’t reach tall places’ grabbers for you to still hold his hand.