#angst overwatch

[thinkingoflawrence]

The Missing Piece of Us

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——

Summary:

Gabriel and Y/N Reyes were happily married, until an event changed their lives.

Words: 1.488

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He was dead, he was really

dead. You were in front of his grave, which said, "Here lies Gabriel Reyes commander Blackwatch" with the Blackwatch logo above it.

It was a plate on the ground, next to Jack's grave. You still couldn't accept the fact that your husband was gone.

Tears start to fill your eyes again as everything hits you again. He really was gone—your husband, the father of your son, your love of your life—gone. The same thought swam constantly through your mind.

Your son hugs your leg, trying to comfort you, as a breeze of wind just flows by the two of you.

Memories start to flow through your mind of all the happy moments you shared with Gabe. Your first date was at some coffee shop, and even though he hated it, he did it for you.

Or the moment he asked you to be his wife after he came back from an Overwatch mission at your shared home. All these moments suddenly flood your brain, "I miss you, Gabriel... I miss you so much," you said before you broke down in front of his grave, as suddenly a hand touched your shoulder. You expected it to be the hand of your son, but it was Angela, a colleague of Gabriel's. She looked down at you comfortingly as she rubbed your bag and took you into her arms with your son.

"It will be okay, Y/N. Let it out," Angela said softly as she kept rubbing your back. "Shhh, it's okay." She herself had some tears in her eyes, she wished that she could've done something for Gabriel.

After you got calmer, Angela handed flowers to you and your son to place on Gabe's grave.

The two of you place the flowers on the gravestone on the floor and take a last look in silence. Before you take a photo of you and Gabriel from the day you gave birth to your son out of the pocket of your jacket and place it next to the flowers,

As you walked away from Gabriel's grave with Angela and your son, you couldn't help but reflect on the life you shared with him. The memories flooded your mind, both the happy ones and the challenging ones. You remembered the adventures you had, the battles he fought, and the love you shared. It was clear that Gabriel would always hold a special place in your heart, and his memory would continue to bloom and influence your life. Over the weeks and months that followed, you focused on being there for your son, just as Gabriel would have wanted. You became a pillar of strength for him, providing the love and support he needed to navigate through life without his father. It wasn't easy, but you drew strength from the memories you shared with Gabriel.

You made a commitment to keep Gabriel's memory alive for your son.

You told him about the missions and other stories from his father, showed him pictures, and taught him the values and principles that Gabriel held dear.

As time went on, you found moments of happiness and healing.

You found a new love—someone who brought that happiness back into your life. Of course, no one could replace Gabriel, but you found the strength to move on. You will always keep Gabriel in your honor and in your heart. Your son grew, and you could see glimpses of Gabriel in him, both in his appearance and his personality.

---

One rainy day, you walked back home from the cinema with your new husband and your son. The three of you had just enjoyed a family outing to watch a movie that your son had been eagerly anticipating. The rain had started to fall during the film, and as you stepped outside, the streets glistened with the reflections of streetlights on the wet pavement.

Luckily, you packed an umbrella right before you left for the cinema. You pulled the umbrella out of your purse and opened it.

Your husband offered to hold it for you, and you wouldn't say no to that, so you gave him the umbrella, and he placed his other arm around you, and you held your son close to you so you three could all fit underneath the umbrella.

The three of you started walking home, but you got the weird feeling of being watched or followed. You look around to see if you can catch anyone looking at you or following you, but you see nothing...

You kept walking until you finally arrived at the door to your apartment, but you still felt watched. You'd decided to ignore the feeling and thought you were just imagining it.

Your husband unlocked the door, and your son ran in, and your husband followed. You were about to follow too, but you decided to look behind you and saw a dark figure disappear in a dark alley on the other side of the street. Maybe you were being followed... maybe you were right...

You decided to just ignore it, close the door behind you, and get changed. Your son and husband were already out of their jackets and outside shoes on their way into the kitchen.

You took your jacket and shoes off and went to follow the two of them.

Time has passed since your son went to sleep, or you think he is sleeping he also could be playing on his computer, but you and your husband are on the couch watching some Bake Off that was playing on the television.

You were in the arms of your husband, relaxing, and as you looked over, you saw him fall asleep. You couldn't help but smile at his sleeping figure. You needed to get something, so you carefully stood up and went into the kitchen. You looked out the window and saw that it had stopped raining. Suddenly you heard a knock on your door, which startled you a little before you slowly walked to open the door, wondering who knocked on your door at this hour.

As you opened the door, you were greeted by... nothing. No one stood there, and you thought someone pulled a prank on you, so you looked outside left and right to check if there was someone, but... there was no one.

Before you could go back inside, you realized that two were lying on the door mat.

Curiously, you picked the items up, and you looked at them closely and saw that it's ... the photo you left at the grave of Gabriel and a note that reads:

"My flower, I want you to know that I will always love you. I'm very proud of you.

- Yours forever

Gabe"

The note was like a ray of hope in the darkness, and you couldn't help but be overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. The reappearance of the photo you had left at Gabriel's grave, along with the heartfelt message, left you both confused and elated.

You take the two items inside and close the door again. You go to your bedroom and open a drawer door to pull out a box, a box full of things from Gabriel.

As you carefully placed the items in the box with all the memories of Gabriel, you couldn't shake the feeling that there might be some truth to the note. The use of his endearing nickname for you, "My flower," and the loving message seemed too personal to be a cruel joke. It stirred up memories of the love you had shared and the unique bond you had with Gabriel.

After all that, you sat down on the bed and just stared at the wall, all the memories coming up again. You let the tears flow and covered your face with your hands as you kept on crying.

You didn't expect anyone to hear you, but you hear the door opening, and as you look, you see your son. "Mom, are you okay?.." he said softly as he slowly approached you.

You thought you finally got over his death, but all this made everything come up again, and the thought that he was still alive comes up in your mind again.

"I just... thought about your father again. It just came up... I'm alright.." you said with a shaky voice, trying to put on a fake smile for her son, but this couldn't fool him. "Mom, I can see you're not okay." He approached you and gave you a hug.

As your son wrapped his arms around you in a comforting hug, the tears kept flowing. You were no longer sure what to think, but the combination of grief, confusion, and hope was overwhelming.

Your son's embrace felt like a lifeline, a heartwarming reminder of the strong and loving family you had created with Gabriel, and that strength still prevailed. And always remember, you are loved.

[c1nnam00n]

me tweaking out trying to find that one good fanfic

[parchmentknight]

speedrunning this drawing but im still a day late to hanzo's birthday 😩 but i got so inspired and the original image was just so good:

[nanamis-princess]

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Night troubles

Synopsis: they wake up from a nightmare:(

Genre: angst with a hint of fluff

T/w: nightmares, possibly ptsd?

Multiple x gn reader (separate)

Nobody likes their sleep disturbed. Abruptly woken from a sickening nightmare, It just felt so real. Once they realized it was in fact a night terror, they roll over facing you. You’re peacefully sleeping, taking up most of the bed. They felt the weight leave their chest and let out a quiet sigh of relief. Deep down they’d never forgive themself if something happened to you, they don’t even want to picture what it’d be like without you. listening to your soft breathing and your movement against the sheets as you get comfortable again knocks them out of the thoughts of the dream. They very slowly & gently locks their fingers with yours, not wanting to wake you. They press a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting comfortable. The smell of your body wash and the mixture of the fresh sheets helps them drift back asleep.

-Nanami, Gojo, Yuji & Megumi (jjk)

-Aizawa, Fatgum, Midnight, Bakugo, Todoroki, All might (mha)

-Sanji, Zoro, Robin, Ussop & Koby (one piece)

-Mori, Kyoya, Hikaru & Kasanoda (ohshc)

-Cole Cassidy, Odessa stone aka junker queen, hanzo, Baptiste & Ashe. (Overwatch)

A/n: hello my loves, it’s been a bit since I’ve posted and sorry it’s like sad lol. But anyways don’t forget to do something nice for yourself today! Drink some water!

[the-prince-of-vos]

a soldiers guilt

[jackmeowison]

Don’t say fuck on overwatch, you will get permabanned 🫡

Old angst because I love putting r76 through the meat grinder (honey if you see this, I’m so sorry I do this to our boys, please don’t make me sleep on the couch,)

[opulentlightt]

Here’s some messy Overwatch fanart!

Besides that apologies for not doing drawing requests lately, requests are closed for now until I decide what I’m gonna do :)

[letternotekisses]

Gabriel Reyes who treasured you so sweetly even during the toughest times of Overwatch. Gabriel Reyes who cooked you hearty homemade meals and twirled you around to music in the kitchen when the sun came down.

Reaper who follows you home in a wisp of smoke at night - making sure you’re home safe but not being able to tear his eyes away from the empty space in the bed beside you. His space.

You must be so cold, without him there. But when he looks down at his freezing, clawed gauntlets - no longer the warm weathered skin they used to be - he surmises that you’d be safest away from the Reaper.

[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.

[grezzirossi]

Unable to feel anything at all...

[ukiyoebirds]

This is probably the most angsty thing I have ever made. My angsty inner twelve year old is appeased.

[unwishablestars]

Hi I’m not sure if you take this type of requests and if you don’t you can just ignore it. Could you do Cassidy, Hanzo, Genji, Lifewaever and Mauga (not sure if you writ for him) comforting their s/o after they got rescued from being kidnapped. Can you also add that the s/o was pregnant but had a miscarriage due to the kidnapping? If you don’t want to add the last bit that’s fine.

Thank you. 😊

I failed

Pair(s): Cassidy x Pregnant!Reader | Hanzo x Pregnant!Reader | Genji x Pregnant!Reader | Lifeweaver x Pregnant!Reader

Genre: Angst , Hurt/Comfort (little comfort ngl)

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags: Headcanons, Angst, Miscarriage, Multi-Character, uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

TWs: Miscarriage, Kidnapping, Angst, Mildly-described violence

Summary: Cassidy/Hanzo/Genji/Lifeweaver's partner get kidnapped while pregnant leading to reader's miscarriage.

A/N: HIIIII ANONNNN!!! Thank you so much for your request!<3 I'm really sorry about the delay since life got in the way a bit :( And sorry I don't write for Mauga cuz idk how yet--- fresh hero ykyk</3 I hope you like this though!! Sorry for the delay again :(

Cassidy

Even before joining overwatch Cassidy was already a pretty wanted man due to him being part of the dead lock gang

And it never really changed when he joined overwatch

Though this time he wasn't a criminal but he was still in a dangerous field, but you always loved him because you've seen him in all the ways he loves you.

He was swooned when he met you.

One cheesy love story later, BOOM, you're preggers.

Whether you were a civilian or an agent, Cassidy WILL NOT let you get involved with his work while pregnant.

So he was absolutely distraught when he couldn't find you in you're shared home.

He walks through the door calling out for your name, ready to pamper you for the night, only to get no response.

Suddenly, he sees the signs of struggle. Knocked over furniture, thrown books, and just a general mess of your home

He is frantic.

Starts yelling your name, running around the house trying to look for you. "..Fuck..FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK"

After a few hours, they eventually locate you. They waste no time at all.

The plan was simple, (maybe even too simple), just get you out of there. Unharmed.

Cole, with worry and adrenaline as strong as ever, finds you tied to a chair. Crying, distraught, and bleeding.

Now you lay on the base's medic bay, face showing numbness as you learned the news of your baby.

Everyone had left after attempting to comfort you. All except for you lover.

He held your hand as he felt a familiar pain of loss, holding back tears, he just wanted to make sure you knew you weren't alone. And that he is so sorry.

"Darlin.. fuck.. I'm so sorry.. I was supposed to protect you. Our child.. it's my-- I'm so fucking sorry, love. Please.. please don't hate me."

Of course you didn't hate him. But too exhausted to speak, you brought his hand up to your cheek and weakly said "Just.. stay.."

"Darlin.. I will never leave your side."

Hanzo

Hanzo has been hiding in the shadows and constantly on the run for years. Alone. Until you, of course.

You offered to give him a place to stay after seeing him about to doze off sitting on a bench in the park

"No, it's fine. I'm just resting." He was literally about to pass out--

He had eventually opened up to you after much persistence and kindness, and grew incredibly fond of you.

To him, you brought him peace.

For a while, he tried to lessen contact with you as to avoid any conflicts with the people searching for him.

But he was conflicted when he found out you were pregnant. He did not want to leave your side but he also did not want to endanger you, especially in this state.

After some reassurance, he agreed to stay and take care of you.

He had hoped he would lay low enough that not only would he have to worry about your safety but also be able to be a present father to his child.

But when he came to your shared home and the door wide open, he fuckin lost it.

Frantically looking for you in your home, swearing all sorts in his home tongue didn't solve the issue.

He couldn't find you but he did find an envelope containing you're whereabouts.

They've been planning this for a while, how long were they watching him? Why did they only strike when you're health was so critical.

Hanzo was livid realizing this.

He headed to your location and found you tied to a chair, sac over your head, in a dimly lit warehouse

He knew it was a trap but ain't no way he would let anyone put a finger on you.

After being roughed up himself, (but ultimately beating the shit put of a of em) he took a look at you and saw the bruises, the scrapes

and the blood down there

he held you close, forever blaming himself for what happened

Genji

Genji and you met during your time in overwatch while they were in their prime

He was emo back then but you liked that,

And when he realized he liked you're unconditional admiration, he liked you too.

He didn't admit it of course, neither to himself nor to you but whatever.

Years later, Winston sends the recall.

And he was pleased to find out you had come back,

With a new mentality, a new acceptance of himself, and a more open acceptance of your love.

This time he made the first move, trying to act smooth like his pre-overwatch days, but his stuttering and nervousness gave it away though.

He was worried you'd remembered him as the angry and vengeful man he once was, but you saw who he was deep down

Which is the exact reason why he fell in love with you.

Eventually, after feeling a bit of morning sickness he urged you to go Mercy or Bap or anyone to help you get better.

Only for you to find out you're pregnant.

You stayed away from missions for a while as Genji requested, at most doing paperwork and helping a bit around the base.

But when the base was suddenly attacked, Genji pinned, yelling at you to stayed back.

You tuned out his pleads and gripped your weapon to help the father of your child.

And you did, but you were knocked out and taken away. He was too weak to reach you.

They immediately set out to rescue you, fully aware of your vulnerable state.

Though they had insisted for Genji to heal up first, through his broken visor, he shot them a glare that wouldn't stop him from saving his love.

After finding you in a cell, bruises all over in a weakened state, unconscious, he carried you back to the ship and held you close, eye getting watery.

You woke up in a hospital bed in the medbay, the first thing you notice being the ache your body feels, and the pain in your stomach.

Then, you notice your lover hold you close and tight.

Followed by the sorrowful looks of the doctors.

They left to give you two some space.

"I'm.. so sorry.. please.. forgive me.."

With tears in your eyes, you held each other close, never wanting to let go again.

Lifeweaver

You had worked alongside Lifeweaver in his development of biolight,

He loved having you at his side.

Soon he took you dates, brought you gifts and food, too show appreciation.

Not realizing he was indulging in his growing love for you.

After giving him some clarity of his feeling with a bold kiss, you two were inseparable, even more than before.

After you had missed you're period, you showed your lover the positive test and he way beyond joyful.

He always urged you to rest and didn't let you lift a finger. He didn't want you to be stressed or worried, he saw such beauty in you.

But those you wanted his biolight saw opportunity.

He was out buying food for you and his future baby but he came home to an open door, silence, thrown trinkets and portraits.

In his panic, he wondered whether or not he would need to contact his family. Or Satya. Or Baptiste. Anyone.

He received a video file on his desktop.

Asking for the acces to his biolight as well as the information to it's creation.

He was shaking, he wasn't strong enough to fight them on his own, he needed help. He needed you. Please come back to me.

He cannot wait any longer. He caved. Only for you. And for them.

He had sent all the information they needed. And as breathed heavily on his knees. He heard a vehicle arrive at his estate.

He hurried out, even almost tripping in the process, he needed to see you were okay, that you were both okay.

He saw you being lead to the front gate, and the abductors lackey walking back to their vehicle.

Giving him a face of no remorse.

As he held you in his arms once again, the look in your eyes had told him everything.

You two stayed there. Just feeling the comfort of what you two still had. Each other.

[eye-of-the-hawk]

Conflicted.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 5 (Surgery)

Sloan Cameron x Male!reader

"Sloan...."

"Por favor...por favor no te vayas," Sloan sobbed out, their hands pressing down on your wound with as much pressure as they can muster.

There was too much...

Too much blood.

Not that you could see. You were too busy looking at the sky, wondering what kinda date night you and Cameron should have next Friday.

It should be something nice.

...something...

"N-Nice..."

"(Y/N)!" they screamed out, retreating one hand from your injury to repeatedly tap your cheek roughly. "PLEASE, STAY WITH ME!"

Your eyes flew open as a strangled breath forced its way into your lungs. "S-Sloan...gr...grab..." you struggle to choke out, your hand limply pointing at your broken healing kit.

Sloan looked at your kit, then looked at your stomach. Their breath quickened for a couple of seconds before letting out a frantic yell, scrambling over to snatch the kit and scramble back. Their hands fly to your wound again, making you grunt hoarsely.

"Sl...oan...." you mumbled, your lips sticking together as the blood dried on your mouth. You watch as Sloan opens the kit, rooting around its contents, frantically cursing under their breath.

"You can barely tend to a coffee burn, much less this," you mutter, unsure if they didn't hear you or if you never spoke at all. It was getting hard to tell.

You attempt to reach out to grab the kit from them before stopping. You raise your arm up, moaning as you try to get a better look at your hand.

It was bending the wrong way.

You look to your other arm, which was completely mangled, adding to the growing list of concerns you should probably worry about.

Before you can mentally organize that list into a beautifully organized form, complete with color coding, your shirt is ripped open, exposing your deeply sliced abdomen to the cold air. A jolt of pain rips through your flesh as a pained wail leaves your mouth.

"Mierda!" Sloan squeaks before retracting their hands from you and attempting to thread a suture. "msorry'msorry'msorry."

With the suture threaded, Sloan kneels besides you, so close that you can see their sweat-stained panicked expression. They let out one final 'm'sorry' before you're hit with blinding white pain. Your teeth clench as a scream tears through your throat. Sloan's hands grip at your wound, squishing the sliced ends together.

Your body bucks instinctively, trying to escape the pain, but Sloan presses their weight onto you, holding you in place.

At that moment, maybe it was a miracle, or maybe it was some other phenomena, clarity hit you like a truck. You raise your broken hand, holding it in a way that lets your pointer finger stick into the air.

"Ce...Center of....wound......through the..ee...edge," you cough out, waving your finger like a wand, showing Sloan the stitchwork. You can tell they are panicking hard, so you try your hardest to suppress your scream when they begin to sew your flesh closed.

"You're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine," Sloan repeat like a prayer, hands trembling as they tried to ignore the pool of blood beneath the two of you. After they close you up you'd be fine, right? The body makes blood pretty quickly, right?

You'd be okay.....right?

"Up...side down......dermis....throu...through the..ba..ba...base."

"You're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine."

"Nnnnn....knot on..top of....of wound."

"I'm almost done, you're gon.....please, please."

"..."

"....(y/n)?"

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[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. 

[froggibus]

Vermillion Flames - Blackwatch! Genji

Pairing: Blackwatch! Genji Shimada x f! Reader (reader uses female pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: angst, smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Genji is the newest addition to Blackwatch, and while he seems to be angry at everything, his anger seems to be clouded over by something else—his feelings for you

CW: dubcon, dark! Genji, Blackwatch! Genji, dom! Genji, sub! reader, dacryphilia, masturbation, marking, choking, possessiveness, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, overstimulation, breeding? kinda, violence, reader gets shot, mutual pining, Genji is a lil obsessive

THIS IS NOT THE HAPPY, WELL-ADJUSTED GENJI WE KNOW AND LOVE. THIS IS A DARKER, BLACKWATCH GENJI WHO IS STILL COPING WITH HIS THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS AFTER THE INCIDENT.

I’ve had this idea for a really long time and at one point was writing a full length fic about this, but I always lose motivation so here is the bite sized version lol. I kinda tried to keep his character here while also playing to the darker elements, especially his feelings towards himself and others after the accident. also I’m just super down bad for dark! Genji so enjoy <3

————

If there’s anything you’ve come to learn in your time as a Blackwatch agent, it’s how to know when you’re being watched. 

Despite stepping off of the jet into the cold Russian air, you feel the warm sting of eyes on your back. You glance over your shoulder—but the only people around are your teammates. 

Cole Cassidy isn’t even looking your way, his focus is on the holster attached to his belt and the Peacekeeper that sits inside of it. 

Gabriel Reyes has his holopad out, eyes narrowed at the schematics on his screen. He doesn’t seem aware of what’s going on around him, but you know Reyes—he’s always watching. 

Moira O’Deorain hasn’t even stepped off of the jet yet. Your best guess is she’s still gathering all of her equipment into a bag that she’ll force Cassidy to carry later on. 

So that leaves Genji. The mysterious cyborg is the newest addition to your team and he’s kept to himself the past few weeks. You’d be lying if you said he hadn’t caught your eye, but you knew better. Reyes and Cassidy had constantly reminded you that he was dangerous, unstable. Still, the dangerous air to him sends electricity arcing up your back.

You shrug it off. Maybe you’re just paranoid because you’re about to infiltrate a terrorist organization. You turn back to the terrain ahead. 

Genji Shimada can’t seem to tear his eyes off of you. Something about the sway of your hips, the swell of your ass, just captivates him. Dark eyes stare at you, shockwaves rushing through his system. 

It’s been so long since a woman has been able to capture his attention. Ever since he became the cyborg monstrosity he sees himself as, he hasn’t had time for women. Or more accurately, women don’t want a robot for a boyfriend. 

He suppresses a sigh. The group has already started trekking through the snow, and he has no choice but to follow. The cold air does wonders to suppress the heat rushing through him, and he’s grateful for his mask so that no one sees the red tinge to his face. He forces his eyes to look at the horizon, to look at the path ahead, to look anywhere but you.

The trek to the facility feels like an eternity, and you’re not sure if it’s from the eyes burning into you or the deep snow, or some combination of both. 

You shake it off. You can’t afford to be distracted on this mission, and Genji is off limits. 

—

Genji is less than enthused when Reyes pairs him off with you. He couldn’t help but notice the way you shrunk in on yourself when Reyes called his name. He hates how the sight sends blood rushing through him.

The two of you set out on sneaking through the vents of the facility, blindly feeling your way through the dark in hopes to find the lab. You can hear Genji breathing behind you and see the red glow of his armor reflected on the vents. Having him behind you now, nowhere to stare but you, only confirms what you thought earlier. He was looking at you. You’re not sure how to feel about that. 

You’re so distracted by his presence that you don’t realize the loose grate beneath you until you’re falling through it, tumbling towards the ground. You barely manage to brace yourself before you hit the rubber floor of the facility, using your momentum to roll. 

Unfortunately, your entrance was less than graceful and now the Talon agents in the room are staring at you. 

Genji groans, shaking his head at you. Great. He watches as one of the agents hits the panic button, and red lights and an alarm start blaring. He watches from the vent, waiting to see what you’ll do. 

The agents in the room flee, but they’re replaced by other agents in full body armor, carrying pulse rifles. You stand your ground, extending out your bo staff and spinning it in front of you with expert grace. 

If he wasn’t so pissed off at you, Genji would be impressed. 

He lets you fight off the first wave on your own, but as soon as the agents start to overwhelm you, he’s dropping out of the vent. He lands silently, the agents not even noticing him until he’s slicing through their ranks. 

You finish off the last of your agents and freeze, watching him fight. He’s a blur of silver and black and red, a gory mess but beautiful in the same sense a graveyard is. Watching him now, you see why Cass and Reyes had warned you about him—you can almost see the ghosts of his past following him through the fight. 

You’re so distracted, so infatuated, you don’t notice the stray bullet headed straight for you. 

Genji reacts before you do, diving in front of you and deflecting it into the straggling agent. The agent collapses to the ground, a hole burning in his chest armor. 

“T-thank you.”

Genji spins around, staring down at you. He’s not very tall, but he just seems so much bigger than you right now. You wait for him to say something, anything, but instead he just sighs. 

The two of you make your way through the facility as quietly as you can, blending into the shadows casted by the blinking red lights. Every once in a while, Genji grabs your wrist harshly to tug you along with him. You don’t need words to know he’s pissed at you. 

He’s so mad at you, so frustrated with your inability to focus. And yet a stupid part of him still wants to protect you.

The journey back to the jet feels like an eternity, made worse by Genji’s complete and utter silence. You try to make conversation with him, avoiding bringing up what just happened, but it only seems to make him more angry. He walks slightly ahead of you, refusing to let himself look at you. 

The emotions swelling in his chest are so confusing, he just wants to hit something. He’s so angry at you, and your stupid sunshine persona just keeps talking and talking. He’s half tempted to tell you to shut up, stop talking, but he knows he has to keep it together until you’re back to safety. And though he’s angry, another part of him isn’t.

It’s the first time in months he’s felt something that wasn’t riddled in angst and guilt, and he hates it. He hates that he wants to just look at you. Just stare at you for hours on end. He hates the way you make his heart race and the blood rush to his groin. 

Just before you make it to the jet, a few meters from where the ramp is down and you’re sure Reyes and Cass and Moira are waiting, you try to catch up with Genji.

You jog up to his side, trying to grab his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, I’m really sorry for—”

Genji spins around impossibly fast, catching your wrist in his metal palm. He squeezes it enough for it to hurt. You try to pull away but he keeps you there—a display of his strength, and the difference between the two of you. You hate the way it makes your heart speed up in spite of the pain. 

“Don’t.” He simply says, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist. 

His tone catches you by surprise. You’ve barely ever talked to him, and now he sounds so angry with you, it makes you shiver. 

You glare at him, waiting for him to say something else. He glares back, red eyes narrowing in on you. When your eyes meet, there’s that electricity again. You wonder if he feels it too. 

Then, as if nothing happened, he drops your wrist and boards the plane. You catch your aching wrist, rubbing at the sore skin, before following him onto the jet. 

—

You’re pulled into Morrison’s office almost as soon as you land back at HQ. Reyes follows you in, ready to both berate and defend you in front of his closest comrade. You stand the whole time, fingers fiddling with the foam head of the chair next to Reyes. 

You zone out while Jack yells, staring at the wall above his head, waiting for it to be over. Everything he’s saying is true—you were reckless, distracted, stupid. You could have gotten everybody killed, one more mistake like this and there won’t be a place for you within Blackwatch anymore. 

Genji listens from the other side of the door. He tried to stop himself, but the look on your face when Reyes started to guide you down the hall changed his mind. You looked so scared. He wasn’t going to let you face that alone. 

Everytime Jack raises his voice, Genji’s hand clenches the door handle, ready to burst into the room. Yet he doesn’t, because everytime, you just say ‘yes sir’ in that cute obedient voice that’s driving him crazy. 

At a particularly loud burst, he’s turning the handle when he hears the loud clicking of boots behind him. 

“Don’t,” Cassidy warns, “it ain’t worth it.”

He spins around, squinting at the cowboy. They’ve barely interacted, but when they have, it’s been brief. 

“Y/n made the mistake, y/n’s gotta pay for it. Simple.” 

Genji takes a deep breath. He knows he’s right, it’s none of Genji’s business. But something about being told to leave you alone, let you face this alone, makes him so angry. He can feel the blood rush to his ears. 

“I don’t know if I like you muckin’ about in their business, anyway.” He raises an eyebrow at the cyborg, “y/n’s a good person.” 

Though he doesn’t say it, the implication is loud and clear. You’re a good person, he’s not. Still, being told to stay away from you only makes him want to be with you more. He hates it. 

“Just,” the cowboy sighs, taking back his earlier judgment. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hallway, spurs clicking the whole way. 

They’ve been talking for so long that the meeting is almost over, and Genji only has a few seconds to dash down the hall before the door is swinging open. 

You tug on your hair in frustration, forcing yourself to keep your feelings in until you get to your room. You scream as soon as your door closes behind you, kicking a pile of clothes in frustration. 

You pull off your suit, toss it with the clothes, and collapse in a heap on your bed. You fucked up so bad, you really, really fucked up. And it’s all because of that stupid fucking cyborg and his stupid fucking attitude. 

You lay there in your underwear for god knows how long, sobbing out your frustrations for the day. 

Genji sits in his bed on the other side of the wall. He can hear you, and a part of him wants to comfort you. But another, darker part of him just wants to see you cry. He shakes his head—when did he get so fucked up?

Still, he can’t help but seethe. He’s the only one who should be making you cry like this, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be from him yelling at you. God. 

He tugs off his visor and slams it on his nightstand. He doesn’t even know how to deal with his feelings anymore. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything but this burning anger, and the combination of these emotions are driving him crazy. You’re driving him crazy. 

It’s like his attraction has dialed up to 11, and he doesn’t know how to cope. 

He can still hear your sobs from the other side of the wall, and he hates the way it makes his cock swell. It hurts—straining against the metal plate of his armor. 

He groans, part pain, part pleasure. He hates his body, he hates his stupid robot parts. And the fact that he can’t even get a hard on anymore without it hurting makes him hate everything even more. 

He strips out of his armor, peeling away the metal parts that he can, despising the ones he can’t. Still, he’s happy that his cock is free, the fresh air feeling amazing on his sensitive head. 

He spits in his hand, spreading out the moisture on the shaft of his cock. He focuses on the sound of your crying through the walls, shutting his eyes and rubbing himself while he listens to it. You sound so pretty, so weak. He loves it. 

He only wishes he was in there with you.

He speeds up his movements, thrusting into his hand. He can picture it so well—him pinning you to the bed, fucking you until you cry like that. Listening to you beg and whine and sob all night. 

He’s finishing in his hand before he can finish the fantasy, wiping off the cum with a tissue and tossing it in the trash. 

He lays back in bed. What the fuck is wrong with me? He was never like this before, never into stuff like this before. And he knows a part of him will never be the same since the accident, but he didn’t know it would be like this. 

He wants to protect you. He wants to avoid you. He wants to fuck you, he wants to make you cry. He wants to make you feel better, he wants to take care of you. It makes his head spin. He’s never been obsessed like this before. 

He shakes his head. He needs to stay away from you before this gets any worse. 

—

Genji avoids you like the plague after that. He always chooses to spar with Cass during training, he refuses to be your partner on missions, and when he is, he just ignores you the whole time. 

You’re not even sure what you did wrong. You know there was that weird, tense moment after you messed up that mission, but you didn’t think that was reason enough to hate you. The whole enigma of him makes your head spin, but it’s so alluring that you couldn’t hate him even if you wanted to. 

Sometimes you catch him staring at you, red eyes examining you like prey, but as soon as you notice it, it’s done. You’re not one to talk though—sometimes you catch yourself zoning out on him, watching his arms as he trains, watching his sweaty black hair falling in his face. 

The tension between you two is suffocating. 

So of course Reyes has to assign him to be your partner on an undercover mission in London. 

The mission starts off normal, but so did all of the other ones. Genji keeps a close eye on you, ready to make sure you don’t get distracted and fuck up again. Still, he’s the one that’s distracted. Ever since that day in his room when he got off on hearing you cry, his feelings towards you have only grown. 

He shakes his head and forces himself to focus. He can’t afford to get distracted here—not when either one of you could get hurt in the process. 

The rooftops of London are completely empty, and so are the streets, surprisingly. The two of you creep around, trying to make your way to the stakeout point so you can observe a secret meetup. The air smells of petrichor, the sky threatening to open up and pour down on you. You wouldn’t complain if it did. You need something to cool you off from the thoughts you’ve been having about Genji. 

You make it to the designated spot, setting up your stuff. You radio to Reyes that you’ve arrived at the vantage point and he radios back that the deal should be happening at any minute. 

Any minute, which is code for anytime in the next hour. You hope it’s sooner rather than later so you don’t have to deal with this awkward silence. You fiddle with your fingers, tapping them on your knees. 

Genji watches you closely. He watches the way you mess around with your fingers, watches your chest with every breath you take. That costume fits you perfectly, and he hates the idea that other people get to see you like this. 

The meeting happens only a few minutes after you arrive, a tall omnic dressed in a suit emerging from the shadows to deal with a scraggly looking man. Genji observes them closely while you take pictures, capturing everything they do. 

Something seems wrong, though. They’re not exchanging goods like the intel said they would be. In fact, it doesn’t seem like a secret meeting at all. Genji realizes it’s a trap a second too late, only managing to shove you down as a bullet rips across the landscape. 

It grazes your shoulder, a burning pain spreading through your body. You collapse to the ground with a whine, Genji landing on top of you. He presses his hand to your mouth to keep you quiet. 

You’re in so much pain—you’re not sure you’ve ever felt this way before. It burns and it aches and it feels as though you’ve been ripped apart. Genji presses down on the wound and a scream leaves your throat just as another bullet rips through the air. 

It just barely misses the top of Genji’s head. 

“Stay here,” he breathes heavily, suddenly pouncing to his feet. 

That’s the most he’s spoken to you in weeks, and it’s the first thing you’ve heard him say without that tone behind it. You watch as he stands up and draws his sword, challenging the sniper to shoot again. 

They do, and Genji is ready. He deflects it back perfectly, the clang of metal on metal replacing the sound of the shot. There’s a yelp from far away, and satisfied that he’s got them, Genji returns to your side. 

Only, you’ve lost so much blood that you’re barely coherent. “Fuck!” He taps your face, willing you to stay with him, but you drift off. 

—

You wake up in a hotel room, body aching in the clean linen sheets. Your shoulder burns, and then you remember what happened. You sit up quickly, tugging off your shirt to examine the wound. It’s been cleaned and bandaged, under a huge patch of blood stained gauze. 

You sigh in relief. You’re not dead—but you would be if it weren’t for Genji.

The hotel room is fairly clean, aside from your bloody uniform that’s laying on the ground next to the bed. You blink a few times. You were on a mission—where did you get a spare change of clothes? Did Genji go shopping?

As if on cue, Genji speaks from where he’s sitting near the closed curtains. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” you admit. 

He nods, clearly not in a joking mood. “They won’t be able to extract us until tomorrow morning. Reyes set up this room for us and sent the extra clothes.”

That makes sense. There’s no way they’d be able to get you two out of the streets without drawing attention, especially after shots were fired. 

You rub the seam of the gauze, trailing over the wound subconsciously. 

“We should change that.”

You follow him into the bathroom, awkwardly sitting on the counter while he pulls out a grocery bag of first aid supplies. You pull off your shirt, embarrassed at the prospect of him seeing you half naked. At least you were unconscious and didn’t have to deal with the humiliation last time. 

You don’t miss the way Genji’s eyes graze over your skin, tracing the outline of your collarbone. It makes you heat up, thoughts of him kissing you there flooding your mind. You shake them away—he’s just helping you out. It’s wrong to think of him this way. 

 He peels off the old gauze covering, discarding it in the trash, before dabbing alcohol across the wound. 

You watch him work, fingers knowing what to do without him even thinking about it. He traces the outline of the gauze after he places it on your skin, cold metal fingers settling the hotter parts of you. 

You shiver under his touch, looking up at him. Genji looks back, dark eyes meeting your softer ones. You offer him a gentle grin. 

His hand moves from your shoulder to your hip, squeezing it. He finds himself leaning in, and you find yourself getting closer. And then just before your lips touch, he pulls away like he’s been burned. 

“G-Genji?”

He shakes his head, storming out of the bathroom. You follow after him, not even bothering to tug your shirt back on. 

“Don’t come near me!”

You furrow your brows at his words. “What? What’s going on? Did I do something wrong? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks!”

He tugs on his hair, repeatedly shaking his head at you. You can see the way his muscles are tensing, see the way he’s trying to show restraint. But why? 

“Genji,” you step closer to him cautiously, like you’re approaching a wild animal. “What is it?”

He keeps shaking his head, eyes focused on the floor, ignoring you completely. You take another step, only inches from him now. 

“Genji.”

“I’m a fucking monster, okay?” His outburst makes you flinch but you hold your ground. “I’m not even human anymore, and I have all these sick fucking thoughts about what I want to do to you and—you should just stay away from me, okay?”

“What kind of sick thoughts?”

“You don’t want to know,” his eyes finally meet yours. 

You step an inch closer, standing on your toes so that your mouth hovers near his. “I think I do.”

“Y/n,” he warns. 

You ignore the warning. You ignore all of the red flags. You ignore the voice in your head that says maybe this isn’t the best idea. You jump into his arms, smashing your lips against his and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

He turns you around to slam you into the wall, being careful to avoid reopening your wound. He’s so hungry for you, so desperate. His lips nip at yours like a man starved, all he wants, all he needs right now is to have you. 

He carries you over to the bed, tossing you into it before climbing on top of you and ripping off your pants. You’re left naked, shivering in anticipation at what he’s going to do to you. 

You don’t know how deep his cybernetic parts run, you hardly know anything about him, but he’s all you want. You tug him to you by his hair, making him kiss you again. One of his metal thighs slips between your legs, giving you something to grind your wet pussy against while you make out. 

His lips move down to your neck, biting at the sensitive skin. Moans force their way out of your throat, the sting of his teeth breaking the skin making your eyes water. 

Genji pulls back, looking at your teary eyes. The thought of finally having you like this, so vulnerable underneath him, is enough to make him feral. 

His hand is slipping between your legs, shoving two fingers inside of you with ease. Your wet pussy gushes around him, begging him for more. You whine at his roughness—but it’s so fucking good. 

He shoves them in and out of you, curling them inside of you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. His mouth finds its way to your tits, biting your nipple hard enough to make you gasp. The sound has his cock swelling even more, straining against the metal. 

He slips a third finger in you, stretching you out in such a delicious, amazing way. You moan his name, trying to let him know you’re getting close, but Genji is too drunk on the feeling of you to listen. 

He keeps attacking your chest with his mouth, leaving bruises and bite marks across your skin. It’s his way of marking his territory, of showing everyone who you belong to. 

He’s wanted this for so long, and he’s going to enjoy every fucking second of claiming you. 

You cum hard on his fingers, and Genji stops just to watch how pretty you look when you cum. He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking off the juices and moaning at the taste. 

The sight of him is enough to make you horny again, and suddenly you’re thrusting your hips in the air, desperate for any sort of contact. 

“So desperate,” he teases. 

“I-I—”

He mocks you, popping off the metal plate from his crotch and stroking his cock. He rubs his head through your folds, collecting up your slick on his shaft. You’re already ready for him, your first orgasm prepping you more than enough.

He pushes his whole cock in, your walls straining to take him. He can’t quite get his whole length inside of you, so he pulls out and shoves it in again. He watches as he sinks in and out of you, the last two inches of his cock staying outside of the wetness he longs to be in. 

He’s bigger than you’re used to, and your pussy is already so sensitive. That doesn’t stop Genji, though. He keeps slamming his hips into yours, trying to force his cock inside of you. You whimper with every thrust, almost screaming when he hits that spot deep inside of you. 

Genji rolls his hips into yours, thrusting hard and deep. He grabs at your neck, strong hand gently squeezing. You gasp at the sudden feeling and the lack of oxygen, but the burning in your throat feels so good you don’t want him to stop. Everything starts to get fuzzy, and the feeling of Genji railing you starts to feel even better. 

You don’t even realize you’re cumming until he releases his grip on your throat and lets you breathe. The blood rushes to your ears. Your eyes have teared up from the choking, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. You go to wipe them away, but Genji pins your wrists above your head. 

The sight of you lying beneath him, whimpering and crying like he imagined has him going crazy. He keeps bullying his cock into your swollen pussy, thrusts getting sloppier by the second until he fully bottoms out and pumps his cum inside of you. 

“G-Genji,” you breathe. “Did—did you just—”

Genji’s too drunk on your pussy to listen, fucking his cum back inside of you. The hot mixture of his cum and your juices being fucked inside of you has you curling your toes. 

His pace is brutal, his mind only set on fucking you full and keeping you stuffed. He pushes your legs up into your stomach, fucking you into a mating press. 

Your vision blurs from the tears, your nerves overloading from the overstimulation and making you shiver. Genji fucks you through it, pounding into you, sure to get his entire length in every time. It’s not long before you’re cumming again, your body convulsing with your orgasm. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, but Genji holds them in place while he finishes fucking you. 

He reaches up to wipe the tears from your face, the sight of you sobbing only making him fuck you harder. God, he’s wanted this for so long and he’ll do anything to keep it. Anything as long as he gets to keep fucking you like this. 

“G-gonna finish inside of you,” he groans. “Gonna stuff you full. Y-you like that?”

You nod furiously, but you’re so fucked out that he could do anything to you at this point and you wouldn’t care. Genji cums with a string of moans and curses, cock twitching inside of you. 

He doesn’t pull out, instead, he lays on his side and tugs you so your back is pressed against his chest. He keeps his cock inside of you, holding his cum inside.

It’s not long before you’re falling asleep, Genji’s fingers tracing patterns on your stomach. For the first time in a long time, he feels like the anger and the darkness within him are sated, and for now, that’s more than enough.