#moira o'deorain x you

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 2

Part 2 of 4

Ana

It’s been years since she did something as simple as holding someones hand. Her hands are deceptively soft despite her age. Warm to the touch, firm when she takes your hand. She can sense your hesitation and is more than happy to take your hand in hers first. Firm, commanding but in a comforting way.

Cassidy

Oh, he’s a smooth son of a bitch. He takes your hand gently, bringing it to his face to kiss the back of it. You feel the tickle of his beard and the shadow of a cocky smirk on his lips as he does so. He intertwined your fingers with his and winks. His hand is rough, but his lips soft. You melt at the contact paired with his southern drawl.

Moira

She takes you by the wrist, firm and commanding as her eyes meet yours, reading your reaction as sharp nails skim along your skin. You shudder at the sensation, a smirk on her face as she continues to run them over your palm, claiming your hand, long slender fingers winding with yours as she tugs you towards her. One hand is smooth, and the other has such a defined texture of her scaring decay. You don’t shy away from either.

Mauga

The man is charming and confident as he offers you his hand with an eyebrow raised, wind blowing his hair as he gives you a sly grin. He waggles an eyebrow when you place your hand in his and he pulls you against him. Believe it or not he’s big into hand-holding, likes to see the size difference between you both, loves to see how you fluster at the look on his face. Booming laugh as he leads you by the hand. Probably into trouble.

Zenyatta

He likes to hold hands. He uses it as a form of affection towards his brothers, his friends, those close to him as well as the person he loves. A simple holding of the hand when talking or greeting. How he holds someone's hand and his relation to the person varies. With you he likes to hold your hand. He liked to rub his thumb over yours when connected. He gently runs his fingers over your knuckles, committing everything about the moment and how your hand feels to memory.

[kiwi-on-ice]

Favourite pictures of you headcannons with Ashe, Moira, Ramattra, and Lifeweaver with fem!reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: mixture of nsfw and fluff, mentions of sextapes

Notes: Surprise! A small little treat before kinktober arrives and you all get sick of me posting.

Ashe:

Lets get the horny thoughts out the way, she definitely has a few pictures of you that she keeps in the private folder of her phone.

Her favourite being a photo of you on your back against the silk sheets, hair messy and slightly sticking to your forehead. Your lingerie is half torn, bra pulled hastily down so your tits are spilling out, inner thighs parted and glistening with your arousal. But what Ashe loves the most; the red lipstick marks scattered all over your skin, painting you in beautiful salacious brushstrokes.

But she has more sfw ones too. Taped to her new motorcycle was a picture of you both, a candid shot from a bar when deadlock were celebrating a heist. Her arm was around your waist, keeping you pressed against her side. She was giving a smile to the camera, red lips illuminated, but you. Your eyes were firmly on her, gazing at her with such adoration, it gives her a fuzzy feeling in her chest whenever she sees it.

Moira:

she doesn't have a lot of photos period, she finds it unnecessary, society’s need to document everything. So the photos she does have are deemed important for her to keep.

Moira has exactly one photo of you in her lab, framed and away from any chemicals or corrosive materials. It's of the two of you at a scientific gala, her wearing a crisp suit and you wearing a form fitting dress that matched her. You’re holding on to her arm, nails gently pressing into the material of her sleeve, and she loves how relaxed your body looks against her.

You're the one who has more pictures, candids of her while she works. But when you introduced her to your polaroid camera, she's curious.

That's how she ends up with her other favourite picture, tucked away in her wallet. A polaroid of you on your back, her hand wrapped around your throat. Your neck and collarbones are littered with marks and bites, but its your eyes she loves. Despite her choking you, holding your life in her hand, your eyes are bright and excited as you gaze up past the polaroid at her.

Ramattra:

Omnics have photographic memories, incapable of forgetting something they've processed. Because of this, initially he makes fun of you humans and your petty memory cortexes, needing a physical copy to remember in detail.

It's only when you attempt to explain it, that it's not about forgetting but about remembering, of reminiscing, of the feeling the photo gives you, that he starts to understand just a little.

He demands to see your phone, to look at the many pictures you have of eachother, but one photo caught his eye. It's of you on his lap, or more specifically his thigh. The angle of the selfie only serves to exemplify the size difference, making you look so small and puny.

Printing it off, he keeps a small version of it on him at all times, gazing at it when he's alone.

Lifeweaver:

Oh this man is always taking pictures of you. Always.

His phone is always pointed at you, taking snaps of you, posed or candid. Now don't get me wrong, he's always taking pictures when you're dolled up for a date, capturing you in the best lighting to accentuate your dress and makeup. But he especially loves taking pictures of you in your pyjamas, sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hoodie underneath your messy hair. Anytime you look casual, he thinks you're the most beautiful woman on the planet.

His personal favourite of these is you watering a lily he'd bought you, wearing his hoodie that reached the middle of your thighs.

And when he actually bought a proper camera? The reels were just completely you (and the occasional flowers he likes to grow).

But god if you'd let him, he'd 100% be into recording a sextape. He just thinks you're so gorgeous, why would he not want to replay how you look in ecstasy over and over again.

Although his favourite is a teasing selfie you took while he was fucking you from behind. His hands are grasping at your tits, while you're giving a cheeky smile to the camera. He loves it so much he'd have it as is lock-screen if society didn't deem it so inappropriate.

[pink-valkyrie-writes]

Mercy, Moira, Kiriko, Junker Queen and Sombra relationship hc’s

- reader is kept gender neutral

-warnings: fluff, some angst, nsfw

-I am very gay for these women so why not write about them:) This post is also gonna be a long one so hop in fellas

-Sombra’s is a little longer due for backstory reasons

-part 2!

Mercy

- ah yes, the earth angel herself who has had my heart since 2016 <3

-Angela is very loyal and loving to you but her role as a medic gets in the way most of the time. She feels bad every time she has to leave during the night (especially after making love to you, she doesn’t see it as just sex), during date nights, or even on her days off that you planned for her to de-stress

-but even with all that, you stay by her side and help get rid of that fear. You love how she is dedicated to her job and how amazing she is at it

- I could imagine from the crazy hours she works, she is sleep deprived. She gets maybe 3 hours of sleep at most. When she comes home to see you on the couch, she slips off her shoes and coat to come lay on top of you and sleep.

-She loves when you come and visit her at work!!! Whether you work for overwatch or not, spending her lunch break with you, with food that you bring for her, always puts a smile on her face

-Though you love her, you do find yourself sad or disappointed a lot because of her work. You know this isn’t her fault and she always makes it up to you, but you do get lonely. You would find yourself crying to sleep at night. Yes, you’re not hero, but a regular person who was lucky enough to get with this angel of a woman, but at what price?

-Every relationship has their arguments, yours doesn’t get too heated cause you both are rational, but you two do find yourself arguing in the beginning of her always work and how you feel lonely in a place you both share and call home. When she first saw you cry during an argument due to this problem, Angela felt her stomach sink. She never intended to make you cry or be upset. She’s able to calm you down, also expressing her fear of you leaving her

- You both come to an agreement to always let the other know how you feel and try to understand where they are coming from. Angela actually starts looking for assistants to train! She would like to have help around the office to get work done faster but also means she can spend time you with.

-She also wants you to become well acquainted with them as well in case you ever needed help from them and vice versa. A huge strain was lifted off of your relationship and she found herself more at home with you <3

-Pulling away from the topic of work, Angela loves to cook meals with you! Specially if they meals are from her home country.

-Whenever you made a traditional swiss dishes for your anniversary, she teared up and thanked you over and over again. It’s hard to get a meal from home whenever your work is crazy, she’s thankful you thought of her love for her country

-Spa day!!! She loves when you run her a warm bath with her favorite scented candles of pomegranate, red berries, and patchouli (totally not the candle I have in my room)

-Angela loves doing face masks with you to detox <3

-Idk why I see her as a handy person??? Oh you got a new desk?? Oh s/o let her build it for you. Got a new shelf? Don’t worry, Angela can do it

-Angela loves to show you off to her coworkers. You’re the light of her life, her loving s/o. She would go to the ends of the earth for you

nsfw

-Doesn’t matter what you identify as, she tops. End of story. There are a few occasions she bottoms. 

-She always has to take care of people but whenever she takes care of you sexually, she feels the same fulfillment after a days of work

-Doesn’t mean she sees sex as a chore or job!!! she just loves being able to take care of her baby <3

- Event though she wears a strap, she loves to watch you suck the dildo that’s in the harness. She can’t feel anything but just seeing you looking up at her with your sweet eyes her mind goes blank and can only think of how beautiful you are. Loves to receive and give oral <3

-Will absolutely play doctor with you but she slips in medical terms you don’t understand lol

-Her breast is definitely sensitive- so when you are relaxing on the couch and you slip your hands up her shirt to massage her chest, she’s putty in your hands. Holding onto your wrists and she leans her head back and moans for you

-Loves when you ride her- when she looks up at you, you look absolutely ethereal riding her strap

-When the few times she does bottom, she finds herself slipping into her native language, switching from english to german, especially when she’s getting close. Even if you don’t understand german, you picked up on a few phrases yourself

-Like I said, my gal is sensitive, so vibrators are a good friend to have! She loves when you look her in her eyes when you control the vibrator, making her look into your eyes when she cums <3

Moira

-my favorite “un-ethical” genetic engineer (aka my lesbian lover)

-Moira is definitely hard person to come around due to her intimidating presence. But that didn’t stop you from pinning for her

-When she notices people, she takes subtle mental notes. When she first met you, she isn’t thought how cute you are, adorable even

-The first few times she interacted with you it was strictly about work, But over time you noticed how she would make little jokes to you like:

“did you also notice how that guy is wearing his tie wrong?’

“Hello y/n, did sombra contact you today about lunch plans? Are you going to her little...festivity?” (she prayed you would say yes)

“Y/n, would you like to come get coffee with me?”

-That was her first time asking you out and you loved it! She took you to her favorite cafe that happened to be anime themed and slowly she would tell you how her drink inspired from Naruto was the best and the plot line of the show

-When your relationship starts, Moira will put her work above you. Sorry not sorry, it’s the truth. Science is her entire life, she cares and adores you, but her first love is science

-It does pain you she chooses science over you. Date night? Oops sorry, I forgot, I was caught up with work. You cooked dinner? Sorry my love, I’m caught up at work right now so don’t stay up for me. Sometimes you find yourself crying to sleep and when you wake up with puffy eyes, Moira points them out but you brush it off.

-One night it came to a halt. You were getting ready to leave for the day and went to go grab your lover for home time. When you called her name she didn’t answer, You repeated yourself and she snapped for you to leave her alone and that she’s busy. You tell Moira that you’ll be cooking dinner tonight and she went on with her favorite sentence, “Sorry my love, I’m staying late tonight, you don’t have to wait up for me okay?”

-Something snapped, you started to yell how she gives all her attention to her work and never you. How at this point you were just someone she could have company with. Moira scoffed, “Why do you have to act so childish? I already told you from the beginning what your place is,”

-Childish? Your place...? Without saying another word, you slammed her door, storming to the car to get home. As soon as you arrive you burst into tears crying while getting undressed to go to bed. The sheets and blanket smelled like her, which made you cry harder. You decided to take an old shirt of hers and put it on a pillow, grab a round throw pillow, and made a makeshift model of Moira. You kissed the pillows cheek and whispered a goodnight.

-She come home that night upset, mad at you and herself, why couldn’t you understand her work? Why couldn’t she be a better girlfriend? She quietly reheated leftovers you made and eat in silence. God she hates this silence.

-When she came into your shared room her heart ached. Were you so deprived of her you had to make a makeshift version of her? Now she understands how lonely you truly feel. She changed and climbed into bed, removing the pillows from your grasp. You woke up a bit and she shush you to go back to sleep. She held you to her chest as she confessed how bad she felt from earlier, how she was wrong for underestimating your feelings and how she was in the wrong, not you. You began to cry softly at her words, and she shushed you, kissing your forehead and reassuring she loved you.

-That morning you woke up in her arms, but she was already awake watching you sleep. She kissed you good morning and told you she called the next few days off to be with you and make up for lost time. She apologized once again but this time you kissed her to let her know you forgive her.

-all right let’s move onto happy stuff!!

-When she is at her apartment with you, she loves to watch anime with you. If you’re an anime fan, good, she loves that! You two can talk about your favorite shows, compare theories, and even show each other new animes to talk about

-At times, she catches herself feeling embarrassed since anime is typically “for kids and young adults”, she’s an older woman and feels a bit insecure about it. Please comfort her!! Tell her it’s okay to have interests

-She has little figures of her favorite characters on a shelf in her room idc- definitely cosplayed once or twice and will cosplay with you!

-Since Moira is busy, take-out and delivery services are your best friends!

-Moira has never felt this much of a connection with someone before and she doesn’t want to lose it. She loves when you kiss the knuckles of her corrupted arm, showing love to the science she has done. That arms also tends to hurt from time to time so heat packs!! Loves the lay in bed with you with you hold the heat pad to her arm to help her relax

-Moira is a sucker for being a little spoon but won’t admit it, please hold her too!!

nsfw

-Another top! Moira needs to dominant everything she does, including you <3 but she does bottom is you beg nicely

-another proud strap user, isn’t one for receiving oral but loves to use her mouth on you. She also loves to look at you while doing so to make you shy

-loves missionary! she loves to see all your facial reaction whenever she goes fast, rough, slow, or soft

-a secret of hers is she wants you to dress up as her favorite character for her <3 and if you do she is caught off guard but enjoys herself either way and will thank you after (maybe ask you to do it again some time)

-Moira isn’t above of dragging you into her empty lab and fingering you (don’t worry her middle and index fingernails are press on and can be removed) The risk of getting caught excites her, but she always keeps a hand over your mouth just incase

-I see her as the type to have a flogger or whip, she loves to see how your body reacts to the slight pain and how you vocal you are when you have your ass and thighs slapped by her

-latex lady. I won’t elaborate 

-I am part of the “calling hot woman ‘daddy’ committee. She feels powerful when that word slips out of your mouth. She does lean to the androgynous side, she does expect to hear ‘mommy’ at most, which you have called her, but she actually prefers daddy

-play with her breast and suck her nipples. Small boobs are the best and always melts when you play with her. She gets sensitive and lets out breathy moans which makes you go wild <3

-When she bottoms, praise her! She isn’t well liked among her colleuges or really anyone at Talon, so when you tell her she’s amazing and doing a great job, she will cover her face (uncover her beautiful face )

-totally down for you to finger her while she reads her books <3

Kiriko

- my little fox hehe <3

-Kiriko is definitely an outgoing person! She’s involved with her community, and you admired her for that!

-She met you at a festival and couldn’t help but stop and stare when she saw you. How beautiful and cheerful you were made her turn her head

-Though she is outgoing, doesn’t mean she’s confident when it comes to asking people out. She feels super shy and she definitely doesn’t want to mess up at all

-When you two are on a date and you see how almost everyone knows who she is and is all smiles when Kiriko passes by, you knew she was a good person to be around

-Kiriko knows sign language and will teach you if you ask! If you are deaf, it wouldn’t faze her. She just sees you as another person, not your disability. 

-You love to see how she interacts with kids. If you ever want kids in the future of your relationship, she would be all for it. Kiriko also loves to see you interact with the little girl in her cinematic! Seeing you interact with the child makes her heartbeat faster (in a good way)

-Since you’re with Kiriko, be prepared for her mother and the Shimada brothers. Her mother wants nothing but the best for her, you need to prove that you are strong enough physically and mentally. You never know what can happen.

-Hanzo and Genji are the other ones you have to look at out. Genji is more laid back, a “cool older brother” figure who only wants you to prove you are always going to be there for Kiriko. Hanzo on the other hand is the protective older brother figure who agrees with her mother. He silently judges you with her mother, like he does most people, but with you it feels more frequent, and you can’t help but snap after built up tension

-This pressure from people outside of your relationship builds on you. You admitted to Kiriko about this, and she felt conflicted. Yes, she trusts you and knows you care about her, but she will always listen and respect her elders and defend them at first

-You felt bad for being upset, knowing this is her family worrying about her but there is only so much criticism you can handle, specially from people you want to make a good impression on. You tell this to her and she understands completely where you’re coming from. She doesn’t want to upset you more, but this is her mother we are talking about. You cry to her how you don’t feel good enough for her and constantly worried of doing the wrong thing, knowing her mother or brothers are waiting till you slip up to point it out.

-The two of you go back and forth on this multiple times till you come to an agreement. You train with her mother and Hanzo but they have to take it easy on you and let you prove that you are just right for her. Though she is an adult, she’ll always be her mother’s baby and Hanzo’s little sister

-Kiriko loves going on rides on her bike (as a voice line indicates) and will take you on a ride! Either if you have your own or if you hop on hers. She loves taking you to different places on her bike hehe <3

-It’s definitely your job to help her eat REAL meals, not just donuts and junk food. (which her mother praises you for)

-Will tell you all the stories of the fox spirit and her personally experiences <3 specially likes it when she can lay her head in your lap and go on and on about her stories

-she will be more than happy to teach any martial art moves to help you in combat! She is your number one supporter and will always be there to cheer you on

-she can’t wait for the night where her mother invites you over for dinner and talks to you, not giving you glancing or make subtle comments on your lack of fighting skills

nsfw

-A switch but I can def see her leaning towards being a bottom, but more of a bossy bottom

-She loves to receive oral but she always returns the favor, she always whines whenever you when use your tongue

-Definitely a hair pulling. Either it be when you give her head or if she if pulling your hair back when she is fucking you

-Since she is blessed by the fox spirit, I know she has sharp canines and I know she loves to bite and mark you for others to see. After your session, she always treats your bites and make sure you’re okay

-will be down to fuck after training, especially if the two of you were sparring and being physical with each other. She will be on top for these sessions, her adrenaline is already running and wants to be rough with you

-will keep going till she out of energy, she’s an all nighter while the others on this list can go for 2-3 rounds

-She loves to play soft music in the background while you two fuck, it enhances the atmosphere, and she loves to be fucked by you to her favorite songs

-favorite position would be cuddle fucking, she can’t place her finger on it but having you close to her while you slowly grind into her, filling her up, she feels so hot and bothered.

- She loves the way you whisper into her ear as you lift her leg up to fuck her deeper, you always manage to take her breath away. Kiriko really love this position for morning sex as well

Junker Queen

-waaaa my muscular wife

-Odessa loved being the queen of Junker Town-she’s a strong ruler, knows what’s best, and can handle her own...but it does get lonely at the top

-Doesn’t matter if you’re a junker or an outsider that happened to stumble across to Junker Town, you catch her eye immediately. You stand out to her, even if she is fighting again in the reckoning to keep her title as queen

-She would come stop you were ever you were and talk to you. Of course, you were intimidated by the 7-foot-tall woman in front of you, but you were able to keep your composure for the conversation

-Odessa was blunt with you and told you that you caught her attention, in a good way of course, and how she wanted to get to know you better. Though she is tough as steel, she still gets a bit nervous of fear of being rejected

-Once she has made things official with you, she introduces you to her people as the other queen of Junker Town. Of course people were surprised she dated but they show you the same amount of respect. 

-They know if they were to ever hurt, disobey, or disrespect you in any, not Odessa, but Junker Queen will personally beat the shit out of them and toss them to the wastelands 

-Though you appreciate her standing up for you, the violence to you is too much after some time. when you try to talk to her about this she yells how she does it for you, it’s all for you. She makes into a one-man screaming battle, but she’s a lover by heart and will come to you after a few hours and apologize. She gets on her knees and hugs you by your waist, head resting on your chest

-At this point she opens up to you about her time in the Wastelands and how they have forever changed her. She cares for you like she cared for family, fighting every day to live in the harsh outside world of Junker Town. She admits she is scared to death to lose you and fights for you like how she fought for her loved ones. Odessa also admits to having nightmares in your shared bed but never wakes you up because she needs to have strong image and doesn’t want to be seen as weak

-By the end of this confession she is crying into your chest. You rub the top of her back and you comfort her. You remind her that you may be with the Junker Queen, you’re also with Odessa Stone

-She now is rational with her decision making and you tell her to ask for your help when need be, you told her it’s okay to ask for help. Hell, everyone her people noticed an attitude change when you came around, you’re great for her!

-Odessa loves sharing everything she has with you, especially music! She loves to blast her rock music in her chambers with you, jumping on the bed you two share and going into laughing fits together

-Your girlfriend is a very handy and resourceful person, you have to be to live in Junker Town. She will make you special weaponry and armor <3 always craving her and your initials into the metal

-I feel Odessa can do your hair! From cutting it to dying it, your girlfriend will do anything to help you feel beautiful with your appearance, even though you’re already so beautiful to her <3

-You are also in LOVE with her accent, she already a pretty rough girl and her voice is *chef’s kiss*. Sometimes when she’s mad and goes full aussie you can’t really understand her unless you yourself are aussie

nsfw

-She’s a total dom, no bottoming for her. She loves when “you please your queen”

-the only thing she’ll really “bottom” for is receiving oral. She loves how tiny you look compared to her and think you look sweet when you eat her out. She loves to eat you out but LOVES when you sit on her face. None of that hovering shit, she wants the full thing. She’s a big girl and can handle it!

-Odessa loves when you sit in her lap and bounce on her strap, she has a size kink and plans to utilize it. Not even just sexually, she loves how small you are and because of your size, she will fuck you standing up. She loves the amount of power she holds outside and in the bedroom.

-She also plays music during sex! But she plays music from time to time when you guys have sex unlike Kiriko who plays music during sex pretty often. there’s something about fucking you hard to the beat of her favorite songs, since her favs are metal, be prepared to be banged to the drum rhythm 

-she will bring in Gracie from time to time. She mostly uses her to cut your clothes off your body but if you are comfortable with it, she will carve in her name into your thigh. She always makes sure to clean up and clean your cuts effectively, so they don’t get infected 

-Throne sex! Throne sex! Throne sex! She doesn’t even care if people see or not, she finds it so hot that you are so willing to please her in a chair that represents her power and dominance over you and her people

-Her favorite position is doggy style. The way you look back at Odessa and moan her name like a prayer always does it for her. Slapping your ass to watch it jiggle, making you look back at her, pulling you by your hair...all of the things she loves other than you as a person <3

Sombra

- my silly hacker who also has had my heart since 2016<3

-Oliva kept herself in the shadows, she needed to so she can protect her identity as Sombra. She always needed to know everything about everyone, no matter what.

-As another night passes, another person’s skeletons in their closet are found by Sombra. She looks through the picture of the businessman she planned on exploiting next, but something caught her eye. In the picture of what it seems to be a faculty group photo, she spotted you in the back row. She zoomed in and couldn’t help but admire how pretty you are, now her focus was on you. For the next few days she tries her best to find everything about you. Where you live, your childhood, the college you went to, hell even your internet browsing history. And she wasn’t doing this for her own benefit to expose you, she was obsessed with you

-For the next Talon mission, they were able to break into the companies building and she was able to have a chat about ‘business matters’ with your boss. As a deal, he transferred some employees, including you, for ‘business opportunities’ to work for Talon in fear of his dirty deeds going public

-You were comforted to know that you fellow employees were there with you to comfort you in with this change. You’ve heard of Talon and what they stand for and feel like you have to walk on eggshells there. Though you didn’t interact too much with the head council, Sombra seem to have an eye on you

-Yes, she would mess with your co workers but never seem to do that with you. With them there was some malicious factor behind it but when Sombra teased it you it was like you two have been friends for years. After a while, Sombra was finally close enough to you to ask you out, which you accepted. She was super happy to know that the efforts worked out in her favor, they always did

-She would come visit you when you would work and keep you entertained while you slaved away to the paperwork in front of you. Massaging your shoulders, whispering compliments into your ear, and kissing your cheeks were her favorite thing to distract you with while you worked.

-You were close with your old boss and kept in contact with him. After a long phone call, he had admitted that Sombra threated him to give him employees or else he would be exposed to the public. He mentioned how Sombra was very adamite about you coming with her more than the others, saying it was like she knew you, wanted you, and had done this to get you.

-You felt frozen, was this true? Was this whole shift in not just your career life but your social life due to the fact your girlfriend just wanted you this whole time? This whole thing was planned out? 

-On a war path, you stormed to her room and started to yell at her of how she could be so selfish and how you were just like a pretty china doll she could keep for fun. Sombra was so use on never being called out on her manipulative behavior. She couldn’t really defend herself know that you knew the truth. it was worse when you began to cry, sobbing into your hands.

-”What was this for huh?! You just wanted a “pretty girl” to call yours because you thought I was good looking?! YOU have changed and put my life in danger for YOUR benefit!”

-Not Sombra, but Olivia sat you down and confessed. For the first time she admitted her wrongs and she didn’t know how to do it. She tried her hardest, but you kept crying harder and left. After a few days, Olivia came to your room and wanted to talk, you agreed. She confessed you she was wrong for only seeing you as a pretty girl, not thinking about what being apart of Talon means for your life. By the end, she was crying though tried not to. You sighed and gave her a hug where she cried harder. When her crying stopped, you pulled back and gave her a kiss on the lips, which she happily accepted. 

-You made Olivia promise to only stay by her side if she could protect from anything that came your way. You really did like her and honestly didn’t want to leave her. Olivia accepted and from that day on she has been 1000% honest with everything with you

-Now with the sadness out of the way, let’s focus on happy stuff!

-Sombra loves to cook with you! As Mercy, she loves when you cook meals that are home to her country. You always apologize in advance if it doesn’t taste like the “real thing” but she doesn’t care, she loves your cooking and your meals bring back memories of Dorado

-In a voice line interaction with Moira, she talks about the carpel tunnel in her wrists. When you two are laying down together, you always rub her wrists and fingers to drain the fluid build-up in her hands. She loves these soft, caring moments with you

-I bet her posture is really bad (just like mine) so whenever she is sitting in a chair, you always put a pillow between her back and the chair. She already had messed up hands, you can’t let your girlfriend have a messed up back too!

-Olivia loves to play with your hair, you let her try different style but do you trust her giving you a haircut?...not so much. Sorry Olivia, but Amélie has told your s/o of the time she cut her hair as a “prank”...which didn’t end well

-speaking of Amélie- her, Gaberial, and Moira asks you constantly how you can put up with her shenanigans. You shrug, they wouldn’t understand how you understand Olivia’s charm

-Dating Olivia you also become good friends with Siebren! Olivia makes it her job to watch out for him so he isn’t tested on, so if she isn’t around, you can watch over him! To some it seems like babysitting, but you end up really close to him! Olivia is happy to know that <3

nsfw

-my girl is a switch, 50/50

-Olivia loves watching you give her head, she thinks you look perfect between her legs. She also loves to eat you out, maybe one of her favorite things about sex with you tbh, she just loves watching you enjoy yourself and feel good

-With your permission, she has recorded some sessions with you. Whenever she goes away for missions and you aren’t around, she fingers herself to videos of her fucking you. she has also gave you videos to keep for yourself whenever you feel lonely with he gone.

-Olivia loves risky sex. Unlike Moira, she doesn’t cover your mouth and does it in a spot anyone can walk in. If someone happens to walk in and try to tell other people? Their social security and credit card numbers are already leaked for other hackers in the world to use

-Like Angela, if she is bottoming, she will start speaking to you in spanish but with her she will continue to speak in spanish until she is finished <3

-Olivia works with her fingers all day, you know her fingering game is good

-She is a hair puller when she’s on top, not so much for her when she is on bottom cause of the wires in her hair, have to be careful. So instead, she prefers it when you put her face into the mattress 

-Favorite position is lotus. It’s a very intimate position and she loves to hold you in her arms as you ride her strap or vice versa. She loves to take her time and show you how much you mean to her. Her life is filled with craziness, but this sharing a moment like this with you will always be her favorite.

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Thank you so much for reading!! I had a lot of fun writing this :00

likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

part 2 coming!

[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. 

[weeping-statue]

also if u don't mind,,, could i ask a small hc or drabble of ditzy reader who's also moira assistant... mutual pining but moira wayy too 🙄🙄 to admit it so moira is alll forlingering touches and glances... even protective is someone tries their advances with u

do u see the vision cos im giggling and kicking my feet

I see it and I’m here for it!!!

“In a crowded room full of people I know, my eyes will always look for you.”

Contains; a lot of fluff; Moira can’t come to grips with her feelings; pls be patient with her;

Moiras lab partner was to put it nicely, uncoordinated. They always thought you wouldn’t last five minutes with her. Oh were they wrong, especially since Moira actually enjoyed your company, and help. Sure there were times when you’d drop an important vial and the toxic liquid inside would burn a hole into the floor, making it so she not only had to start over but also fix her once nice floor. Yet behind all those mishaps, were quiet times, and yearnings for one another.

Moira can’t come to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, she cares about anyone other than herself.

It sounds crazy to her, that she adores your nervous laughs when you accidentally drop something again. And it kills her when you trip, adding another bruise to your legs, along with another gray hair from worrying about you.

She’ll be as silent as she wants to, as poker faced about it, but no one can deny the soft spot she has for you.

Even when she sees that you’re branching out, she’ll gently coerce the others away, making it so you’ll come back to your rightful spot next to her. But she won’t say a word about it when you wonder why they don’t stick around to hang with you.

In reality, you didn’t think you were hiding your crush behind your shy or clumsy behavior. Unknowingly to you, Moira can’t really tell if you’re just nervous around her like most are or if you want to kiss her as gently and as passionately as she does.

While the back and forth of, do we have something or do we not, go on, Moira will take any physical touch or time you give her and cherish it forever.

Sometimes she’ll replay the memories in her head whenever you’re not there or if she sees something that reminds her of you.

Moira wonders if you’ll ever let her hold your hand in private while she reads a book. Or if you enjoy cuddling, and if so do you dream of being in her arms?

So many questions and not enough answers.

As a scientist like herself, she strives for results, and soon she’ll get them when she finally musters up the courage to act on her longing desires.

So sorry that it took me this long to finish it, I’ve just been busy and tired <3

[acradelius]

hi! could you do a dom, giving moira and sub, receiving fem reader? i love how you write her :) maybe some action in her office/lab with a strap too ? tysm!

"Let's See How Well You Handle This One, Coinín~"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Moira O'Deorain x Female! Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: MDNI, Implied Non-Established/Possibly "Secretive" Relationship, Scientist / Scientist Assistance Relationship, Female x Female Relationship, Female Pronouns For Reader, Dominant! Female x Submissive! Female, "Mean, Punishing"! Moira, Possessive! Moira If You Squint, Strap-on Usage - Giving! Moira/Receiving! Reader, Clit Teasing, Nipple Play, Silicone P in V, Orgasm, Teasing With Cock-warming.

Word Count: 768 Words

Notes: This piece is technically considered to be a sequel part to this piece: "Quite The Punishment, Isn't It?"

If you'd like to be tagged for all posts, for certain fandom posts, or certain character posts then feel free to message me!

Those neat stacks of paper of research from the laboratory assistants that had taken quite some time to go through and essentially grade were now a disheveled mess amongst the floor, yet, Moira didn’t necessarily care for that at this moment. Why would Moira need to worry about some feeble papers about research that she was probably already aware about when she has something better presented in front of her? Despite that she was completely flustered, her skin slightly flushed from the situation at hand, that (Y/N) still looked absolutely stunning laying bare naked on Moira’s desk, clothes tossed aside on the floor to be forgotten about for the time being. “You did such a job well done, my dear Coinín~ While I would state that I’m surprised that you made it through the presentation without completely losing yourself to the immense please, you’ve been alongside me for quite some time now, so possibly you’re growing familiar to the punishments that I put you through~”

Moira could essentially state anything that she wants in that moment, but (Y/N)’s too preoccupied with the sight in front of herself despite laying on the desk to actually give a response. Especially since it was finally there for (Y/N) to actually view, for her to actually get to touch and experience with, that special gift that Moira had been hinting at for the last couple of weeks now. A custom made strapon. Being seven inches in length and three inches in width, colored with swirls of a glittering gold and an enigmatic purple from the tip down to the base of the cock. How it’s snuggly strapped onto Moira’s hips to rest against her pelvic, and how it just naturally blends in with Moira’s persona and aesthetic. Even for a moment (Y/N) swears that she could even see the cock throbbing, but it could be the arousal that was overtaking her mind.

There’s a brief moment where she proceeds to close her eyes in a moment of pleasure that courses throughout her body as Moira teasingly brushes the tip of the silicone cock against (Y/N)’s clit, chuckling softly. “Such an easy one to tease, such an easy one to please, aren’t you my dear Coinín?~” Watching as (Y/N)’s thighs twitch, clenching together slightly whenever that brief overwhelming rush washes over her body. Moira’s fingers trailing across (Y/N)’s skin, leaving lingering trails of an arousing fire, stopping amongst the various imperfections upon her skin as moreso a sign of reassurance that Moira loved (Y/N)’s body no matter how it looked. Gentle pinching and pulling at her nipples until they begin to perk and harden. Such a beautiful canvas waiting to be made into something more personal by Moira herself~

“More, please, Moira!~ F-Fuck, feels so good!~” (Y/N) manages to speak the words in between relentless moans and desperate whines, all those noises leaving her due to Moira’s rough, fast paced thrusts. Moira doesn’t mind that her thrusting is causing the desk to scrape against the floor, creating a loud scratching noise to echo throughout the air and scuff up the floor, she’ll get that fixed later. How (Y/N)’s fingers are tightly gripping the sides of the desk so much that they’re turning white, a feeble attempt to keep herself positioned on the desk despite moving quotes often from the force. A shiver courses throughout (Y/N)’s body at the additional sensations of Moira entangling her fingers within (Y/N)’s hair and firmly giving a yank followed by her other hand harshly smacking (Y/N)’s ass, a grin forming on her lips as the handprint, begins to form bright red and slightly irritated. 

 “Fuck!-” It’s quick to overcome and cause haywire to all of (Y/N)’s senses, the intense orgasm that finally unravels within (Y/N). How her body begins to tremble against Moira’s while her cunt flutters and proceeds to clench and unclench around Moira’s cock. Closing her eyes, (Y/N) lays her head amongst the desk as shaky breaths make way from her lips, basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. Only Moira knows how to give her pleasure beyond what she could imagine, and therefore, Moira is the only one that (Y/N) strives to be with, especially in moments as intimate as this one. “Such a job well done, (Y/N)~ Giving me excellent results as always~ Now, my dear Coinín, let’s see how long you can last keeping my cock warm while I grade the rest of these papers~”

[mekakitsune]

could you do some moira romantic and nsfw headcanons? she got me in a chokehold frfr

moira nsfw hcs || cw: mind breaking, power imbalance, dom/sub dynamics

moira looks after her experiments, you mustn't disobey her rules for you, she knows whats best and always has.

follow her orders and you will be rewarded. shes patient, allowing you to fix your mistakes, but you must not make the same mistake again.

if you happen to disobey her? she will ignore you. ignore your pleas for her to touch you, use you, even speak to you. takes it too far, by the time she decides you are ready for her words, you are a mess, tears streaming down your face as you sit pitifully at her feet, muttering apologies.

you want her to speak? so be it. she will remind you of everything you did to make her angry, calling you names, reminding you of your place. breaking you down with venom in her voice.

-

"after all i do for you...what a shame" she spits, fingers laced in your hair. "get up."

she tugs your hair as she pulls you to your feet. you are standing in front of her fully clothed form, while you are completely bare.

"sit." she gestures to her lap. you hesitated, straddling her with a false hope of affection.

her hands find your hips, and you want to cry again. her fingers are mean, pressing bruises into plush skin.

you want to fall foward, into her chest, but you know not to touch without permission.

"if you want to cum, do it yourself. right here." her voice is low, making shivers run down your spine at her tone. you feel her thigh move between your legs, pressing harshly against your exposed cunt.

whining at the contact, you move your hips, humping her thigh as she watches you closely. she doesnt say anything, only deep exhales coming from her as you ruin her slacks.

"i-im close...please" you sob, needing her to do something, anything.

"already? arent you pathetic.." she coos. suddenly she stops you, moving her fingers past your hip, allowing them to dip into your pussy. you cry out in relief, hips bucking as you ride her fingers. her thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles that push you over the edge.

"cum then. go on little one..." she removes her fingers from your dripping hole, focusing her attention to you throbbing clit. she rubs hard and fast as you fall into her chest, sobbing as you are pushed over the edge, cunt spasming painfully around nothing.

shes ruined your orgasm, but you cant say you care. the neglectful behaviour made you greatful for anything she gave you. crying softly, she moves you onto a table, lab equipment falls to the ground as she towers over you.

"i wont remind you again. listen to what you are told, or i will find someone else to play with." her fingers grip your chin, eyes dark. you nod dumbly.

nobody knows you like her. she knows what you need. she will always take care of you. you just need to listen to her, or pay the price of disobedience.

[tonberry-yoda]

Yo Tonberry! Could I get some Moira smooches? Please and thank you! :D

OMFG YES!! Sorry for it being late, you sent it to me right when I was getting to bed last night lol, but I am so so happy to do this for you (I'm not gay, but godamn Moira, why you built like this???) Thanks for the request!!!

You had this scientist wrapped around your finger. The woman who refused to come out of her shell, the woman who never had emotion, the woman who was unethical, impractical, and a villain.

The woman who was now yours.

"Moira," you gasped when she stepped down the stairs, a shiny black dress clinging to her body. "Moira, dear, you look beautiful." You kissed her hand and helped her down the rest of the steps. You admired her in all her beauty. You rarely got to see her all dressed up like this.

"It's nothing, really," Moira chuckled and looked at you. You were just as dressed up as her. "If anything, you're the beautiful one here, rabbit."

"Moira, don't. You can be happy to be in a dress every now and again."

Moira jokingly rolled her eyes, but looked at herself in a nearby mirror. Her eyes lit up, to your surprise.

"See, love," you said, wrapping your arms around her waist. "You look beautiful."

Moira blushed and turned to you. "I suppose I am.... just a bit though."

She pressed a kiss onto both of your cheeks and tucked your hair behind your ear. "You're the stunning one here, y/n."

You wrapped your arms around the back of her neck and pulled her closer. Moira placed kisses up and down your face, making you giggle before pulling you to the car to go out for dinner.

~~~~~

if you want smooches, just send in a character name and i gotchu!

~~~~~

[forestfan69]

Doomed medieval yuri

[cezgez]

Maturing is realizing how hot Moira is. Her new voiceline?? Degrade me some more why dontcha Dr.O’Deorain

𖥔 𓄼 ࣪⠀ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ ᳝ ࣪ 𓄹 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪⠀. ִ ་ ּ

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Characters Love Languages P2

Genji Words of affirmation make him feel valid and whole again. He never asks for anything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t crave anything. Just tell him how you feel, give him the reassurance he needs but will never ask for.

Hanzo Acts of service. You love him? Prove it to him. He’s too tired and done with people just messing around. He doesn’t want money, dinners, gifts. Just simple acts that can mean the world. Maybe he’s not eaten today and you make him sit and have food. Things that let him know he’s cared for.

Junkrat Gifts and Pshycal touch. The boy is attention and touched starved. He’s like a needy puppy that demands attention every few seconds. Wants to hold your hand or literally try crawl all over you. Just wants to be close, wants to prove to people he can get someone to love him. He sadly doesn’t understand personal space. And, of course he loves to give his partner little trinkets.

Lucio Quailty time is his big one. You could be having a day thats packed with a thousand things or a day that's just led on the couch together listening to music. Both are just as good and mean the world to him. Just be there with him and he’ll have a smile on his face.

Moira Acts of service Moira is a complicated but also simple in her needs. Words with no weight mean nothing, gifts are worthless. She’s so self sufficient she doesn’t need much. But if a coffee showed up on her desk unprompted or a stack of paperwork gets tidied up to make her life a little easier? She won’t voice how much it means to her, but you’ll start to notice the same level of sneaky kindness in return.

[anothersoulless]

Egoist {Moira X Reader}

You knew who she was, what she was. Even in the black suit with the purple tie and under those gloves, the long nails of her hand were always visible, the way her right hand was thinner, veiny while her other one looked healthy, her face plate always adorning her left eye, even when not working. When she left to work, you knew where she was going, what she was doing. But when she looked at you, the way she held you, you just couldn't let her go. You loved her. But maybe, she did not.

It was unusual for her to have enough time to accompany you to one of your outings with co-workers, like on holidays, bit you were glad that today, this random Friday evening she did have time. Usually she worked from early to evening, always looking to find the key to life. And yet, she would always come home to you, she would lay down in your bed and talk with you if you were awake or tucking herself into your side when you weren't. You were lucky if you saw her everyday in a week, but you didn't mind too much, what she was doing was important, no matter how you disliked her cruel ways of researching.

It was a fromal event in a restaurant, a celebration of one of your co-workers birthday. Moira hadn't stalled around much to get read, she simply opened the closet and pulled out her neatly stored black suit and a purple tie. You watched as she got dressed, her nails digging into the expensive, sensitive fabric, somewhow avoiding it getting ripped. She looked stunning, like an absolute professional - as if she was a chef of a very high ranking firm. She wasn't, she was a researcher, a fighter, a member of Blackwatch, but no one else needed to know. Today, Moira was simply a scientist - and your wife. She had tried to cover her damaged hand with gloves, even tried cutting her nails, but they didn't want to be cut, so she ended up with broken gloves, nails raking out. Hopefully no one would mind her weird appearances.

They did.

Of course they did.

They were confused and you let Moira explain - some sort of terminal generic illness she got by being exposed to too many Experiments and fumes. A lie, of course. But they believed it. That was all that mattered. After you came home that night, she unbuttoned her blouse and opened her tie, letter Ng them dangle aroung her ill frame and falling into one of the chairs, exhausted from this day full of work and the meeting. You had smiled at her, tried to help you relax, but with a quick flick of her now ungloved hand and a curt "No" you retreated to bed, leaving her alone.

You don't think she joined you that night. Maybe she did, but you were definitely not in your arms. She was just tired, nothing else. It was fine, after all, she was a hard working woman.

You stood up early next morning, making her breakfast in bed and even making her lunch to bring to work with her, one that she'd probably forget to eat again. Her mood was better when she woke up, coffee and food ready, she thanked you, gave you kiss and left no food on her plate and no coffee to cool.

You didn't register when she started to change up a bit, when she would watch you closely, not with love, like she had before, but with curiosity. Maybe it was after you had been diagnosed, doomed to live only a few months. Maybe it was when she made you the proposal.

"I can fix you. I can fix you, like I fixed myself, like I fixed all of them"

Maybe it was after you had said yes, or when she started to expirment on you. You were unsure. But the experiments hurt, even though she held your hand, held you close in her arms when you cried, nestled safe on her lap or even when she kissed your tears away, her low voice in your ear.

"You are doing so well, Love. Just a it more, okay? Stay strong for me"

Maybe you should have declined, died with her love still intact for you, before you switched from lover to experiment in her eyes. Maybe it would have avoided this outcome. You were cured, yes. But the pain was unbearable. No matter what you did, there was a surge of huge pain following your movements. After a while you got better at hiding it, accepting it. And yet, no matter what you did, even after it felt like simply thinking was painful, nothing could describe the empty hole in your chest, when you saw her pack her things.

"Where are you going, Honey? Is everything alright?" She had looked at you, her red eye piercing your soul

"Of course, Love. Everything is just fine. Blackwatch just needs me to leave for a mission, that's why I'm packing a few things"

"Why?"

"They need me, that's all. I am the only one able to tend to my fallen comrades, after all-"

"No. Why are you lying?"

She looked at you then, turning around to face you and her cold expression made you shiver. That wasn't your Moira. This was Blackwatchs' Moira. Talon Moira. Crazy-Scientist-Moira. Where did she leave to, you wondered.

"I wanted to safe you from the truth. You are awfully sensitive recently. An unexpected result of the Experiments, I believe. But it seems you have unfortunately kept your attention to detail."

You looked at her, confused. "Sensitive? I mean, you have barely talked with me, these past few weeks, you and I, we're married! We should talk a lot, sleep in the same bed! You loved me before all this and that has changed! I just want us to be like back then again. Wher eyou go to work, come home and we sleep, Where we talk in bed and I get to enjoy your company, your arms. You have been distancing yourself from me, and I don't know what to do, I'm devastated! Clueless! Not sensitive!"

Her expression fell for a moment, just a glimpse pat's that cold exterior revealing pity. "It's your fault you believed you were worth anything to me, actually. You were simply entertainment for me, nothing more." Moira turned around, grabbing her suitcase. You tried to stop her, tears falling onto the floor. "No, you don't get to leave me like this! You don't get to walk away from me with all the damage you just caused! I love you! How can you say you never loved me, when you married me?!"

"Like I said. It's your fault. I never wanted to make that impression" She pries your hand away from her arm with her long nails and opened the door while you followed her close behind, words falling out of your mouth to stop her, none of them sinking into either of you. She turned around one last time, before opening the door. "I suppose I should apologize. But you have no use for me anymore. The experiments conducted on you have brought no new revelations and your body is already at it's limit. So impossibly weak, no wonder you wouldn't be able to make it into any of our Organisations."

She handed you the key to the house.

"I never told you I was a good person. You convinced yourself I was. I told you from the very beginning what I was. I've always been an Egoist.'

The door slammed shut as you fell to the floor, crumbling.

[pink-valkyrie-writes]

Hi! Can I request reader getting comforted by Mercy, Ashe, Junkerqueen, and Moira? Maybe they fell while out on a walk or something and needs some love from their girlfriend? Or you can do what you want, I don’t mind. I’m just in love with these 4 😭

this is so cute 😭thank you for requesting! My computer has been a little wack but the problem is fixed! Hopefully I can get out some fics sooner!!!!

Mercy, Ashe, Junker Queen and Moira comforting their s/o

Mercy

-Angela sat in her office, filling out paperwork and typing numbers on her laptop. She barely noticed when you opened the door and called her name

-You decided to visit her office after a hard day. Your computer was still messed up from the last week IT promised you they would fix and you spill your coffee all over your desk with important paperwork. After waiting almost 2 hours, your computer was fixed but you were now swarmed with work

-After getting angry phone calls all day and sending emails, you just wanted to spend time your girlfriend. The last thing you need was to trip over your own shoes. You looked up and recognized some of Angela's assistants...that just watch you trip over yourself. They seem to be giggling while walking away

-That was your breaking point, eye stinging as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. You got up and speed walked over to her office, wiping your face hurriedly while sniffling

-When Angela looked up from her laptop, she saw that you were in tears, "Liebling, what's the matter?". You couldn't answer her, you just put your face in your hands and cried. It seemed her just asking what was wrong was the last thing to make you break down

-"Oh my baby...Come here mien schatz," She whispered, stretching her arms out for you to come sit on her lap. You immediately went to her and sat down. She rubbed your back, "Let it out, tell me what happened," she asked

-Through tears and sobs, you told her your day. The last bit of her of her assistants ticked her off, "I'm sorry about your day liebling...and I will say something to those two, don't you worry," she promised, moving your hair out of your face

-You gave her a smile, "Thank you baby, you're an angel," you said, giving her a kiss on the lips <3

Ashe

-Elizabeth was having B.O.B run errands as she filled out some paperwork. Being head of a gang isn't easy work physically, but also financially

-You walked into her office unannounced, this annoys your girlfriend but after the shit you had to deal with? No, you need to be with her

-Earlier while training, you hurt your shoulder while shooting off a shotgun. What made the pain worse was her gang was laughing at you, pointing and rubbing it in

-You almost wanted to cry, the tears sat in your eyes, but you sucked it up and kept going. Even after training you were still teased, "I could see you were about to cry", "You were acting like a little bitch, it doesn't hurt that bad!", and "You're such a crybaby"

-The last comment hurt the most, you're not a crybaby...you just got hurt and it was a natural reaction to pain

-Ashe looked up from her work, "I told y'all to knock- Oh, hey sugar, what's wrong?" she asked, putting her work down. You shook your head, holding your shoulder, "I hurt myself.."

-"Aw pumpkin.." she got up from her seat, embracing you in a hug, "Tell me everything that happened," she cooed, kissing your forehead. As you explained the story to her, she cut you off, "What do you mean they were making fun of you?! I'll gut them like fishes!" she yelled, grabbing your hand and dragging to your shared bedroom

-Elizabeth had laid you down and put a heating pad under where you hurt shoulder is. She kissed your forehead, "I'll take care of this baby, you just lay here and I'll take care of ya. But for right now, I have some business to take care of.." she mumbled, kissing you before leaving the room

-You laid comfortably in bed, warmth embracing you as you heard you lovely, sweet girlfriend yell and scream at her gang in your honor <3

Junker Queen

-Again, again, and again. You were trying to weld two pieces of metal together but kept failing. For a couple weeks now you have been making your own armor and weapons

-You wanted to show off your own work and prove to the people around you that you are handy and can live in your junker town, but to also you're useful

-The sparks flying kept hitting your skin, making you more frustrated by the minute. Your forearms were almost burnt for sure due to the heat you were working with you. A stray spark flew and hit your shoulder, causing you to jump in pain

-Groaning, you threw the torch down and removed your mask. You were officially over this. You got up, almost stomping away like a child. You found your girlfriend slouching in her throne. Without saying a word, you sat in her lap and hid your face in her neck.

-"Woah..Hey babe, what's the matter?" she asked, awkwardly resting her hand on your lower back. You went on and explained your frustration, "I've been trying so hard, so hard...And I can't.." you choked, tears of built up frustration coming out.

-She wrapped her arms around you, "Aw baby...I know it's really hard, I never could do it in the beginning and that stuff does take practice. But for now take a break and relax, I got ya.." She whispered, kissing your temple

-Odessa let you sit in her lap and relax. She kept kissing your head and whisper comforting words you till you fell asleep. She decided to lay you down for the night. When you're in bed, Dez kisses your forearms, hoping her kisses would make your skin feel better

-When you woke up the next morning, you saw your armor that was barely assembled, built completely. You got up to examine the work, Odessa definitely saw your concept sketches and finished it for you <3

Moira

-Her lab was extra quiet today, nothing and no one was bothering Moira with her test. This was heaven... unlike her door opened

-She would've told that person to leave right away but she heard you pained voice, "Dear...why are you crying?" she asked you as you made your way towards her

-You were obviously crying, holding a towel over your hand, "I-I was making lunch and.. I cut my hand really bad and it's bleeding.." you sobbed. Moira saw the red stain on the pristine white towel

-"Oh gosh.." she mumbled, immediately taking you over to a clear table. She sat you up on the table, removing the towel, "You cut deep, no matter, I can fix what is broken..". Using her biotic grasp, she held your bleeding hand in her damaged one as the normal one sprayed out a yellow healing "spell"

-You felt a slight sting at the first but soon you started to feel more relaxed. You looked up at your lover, seeing her focus at her work

-"Thank you Moira.." you mumbled, feeling small as she meets your gaze. "It's my job to take of you..." she said, pulling away to dispose of the bloody towel

-You rubbed your now healed hand, "I know, but I still am thankful for you taking care of me...and I did interupt your quiet time," you smiled at her. She couldn't help but smile back, making her way back to you. She stood between your legs, her hands cupping your face, "I couldn't let anything happen to my one and only favorite person," she teased, leaning down to kiss you. "Now I can also spend of my 'quiet time' with you,"

-Moira picked you up, went and sat in her personal chair, and held you in her lap. It was hard for her not to go back to work, but she decided for now at least, she would hold you in her arms <3

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Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3 :)

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — LION TAMING (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — here you are again. there she is. but at what cost? and just who has she become while she's been so far away? and worse yet, what happens if it just doesn't seem to matter?

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, explicit and substantial age gap, mentions of bodily wounds + war .

#. word count! — 4.4k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

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

It’s been a long time since you last saw Moira, —before the fall of Overwatch, before the world divulged into more madness than anyone knew what to do with. It’s been years since you were taken off duty, but not a day has gone by that you haven’t felt like a soldier. Wherever you go, the memories linger, and they tie you down like cinder blocks always trapped around your feet. You’ve tried therapy and medications, yoga and meditation; even flew out to some tropical island unmarred by the vestiges of war for a while, only to find that it wasn’t a matter of where you were or what you were surrounding yourself with.

No, in the bitter end, the truth was that it was you.

You and your mountain of feelings that no psychologist could shave down, because you didn’t know where to begin. You and the itch that lingered during times of peace, because you yearned for conflict, even if you’d spent too much of your life now trying to snuff it out. You and your incessant inability to thrive without feeling like a time bomb.

Now, the scientist you first met when you were both younger and a bit less wise, stands before you. . . Or, above you anyway, leering down at your form, taking your face in as if she’s trying to recall where she knows you from. She’s as intimidating as ever, those sharp, dual-colored eyes and that scarily pointed stare directed right at you. Once upon a time, it felt nice to be the center of her attention. You were fresh faced and newly twenty one, and she was a few years over forty, though she didn’t look it. You stood with your back painfully straight, posture perfect, eyes directly ahead, and she’d seen right through all the training and the uniform you wore with such a stupid amount of pride.

Her tone is much the same as it was back then as she leans down now, crouching at your side.

“Long time no see, luch beag.”

You can’t help but scowl at the nickname. You never protested it before, content to be her precious, foolish little mouse when the barracks got too full for your liking and you’d shack up with her in the Overwatch laboratories. She’d go on and on about new discoveries and shimmering breakthroughs, —and you’d sit there on the edge of her desk, just listening and nodding along. Your skills were in reconnaissance, mostly, though you had an okay eye for sniping if it came down to the wire, and your close combat was acceptable in spite of its mediocrity. A few times, you’d even done espionage missions with varying degrees of success. All of that to say: Moira’s work was above your pay grade.

Still, you never minded giving her an audience. She was good at putting on a show, so endlessly enthusiastic about her work and all the ways she was bending the world around her. You wish she’d have been even half as enthusiastic about the way she wore you down.

“Talon?” You question, venom in your tone. “Really?”

You’re disappointed, but can’t say you’re surprised. Moira always had an uncanny ability to move through the world like it was hers to mold and snap and kiss just right under dim computer lights—

“Spare me the lecture,” she answers bluntly. “You’re hardly in any position to be passing judgement.”

Her eyes trail from your face to the wound you’re clutching on your abdomen. When the first of many explosions had gone off, you’d been separated from the rest of your group. It was some stupid vigilante sector working to take back control of Oasis. A pointless pipedream, and you knew it, but you needed the rush, needed to be out on the field again, working, doing something. Discharge had left you stir crazy, and you were done trying to find yourself in tattered self-help books that insisted drinking more water and spending more time with the friends you didn’t have would make you happy enough to leave this life behind you.

That was the problem, really. . . You didn’t want to leave it behind. You liked the adrenaline and the thrill of knowing your life was on the line, and even now, with some big chunk of metal embedded in your stomach, you enjoyed this. In some strange, twisted way, this was where you felt at home.

“You never did know when to quit,” she tells you, a smirk pulling at the edge of her lips.

“Oh, and you do?” You retort.

Her smirk fades, and you almost wish you hadn’t said that.

“I at the very least have a sense of self-preservation,” she answers plainly. “Something you still seem to lack. Severely.”

“Whatever, Moira,” you mutter, letting your tired head drop back onto the rubble behind you.

“Very mature,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.

Even now, a part of you wants to lick it off.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?”

You huff a little, staring up at the late evening sky. Stars have timidly begun to emerge from behind whisping clouds, and you’re reminded that this little unit you traveled here with couldn’t have cared less about you. They held no loyalty to you. You were expendable. . . And worst of all, you don’t even have the energy to be upset about it.

“Like a six,” you shrug.

You’ve definitely been through worse.

She raises a brow, reaching out to gently pull your hand away. The jostling, slight as it may be, makes you wince.

“Okay, Jesus, maybe a seven,” you correct, taking a sharp breath in.

The air is chilly against your skin, and especially so against the jagged gash in your clothing that gives way to the explosion’s cruel momento lodged in your skin. Moira’s nimble fingers gently explore the area, making use of whatever shreds of daylight are left. A sizable piece of metal is embedded in your stomach, roughly an inch above your belly button. The wound is angry and inflamed with dry blood crusting around the edges. She doesn’t ask how long you’ve been stuck here, and you’re trying not to think about it.

Moira sighs in both frustration and what you can only assume is concern. Maybe it’s all frustration and you’re just holding onto the past, —but either way, she looks toward your face again to speak.

“It’s obviously not fatal, but I can’t imagine it feels very nice,” she states.

“No, it feels like there’s metal in my stomach,” you answer sarcastically.

“Lovely to see your sense of humor hasn’t gotten any better since we last spoke,” she comments.

“Oh, so sorry,” you roll your eyes, “it’s just that if I laugh, I think this fucking thing might puncture one of my kidneys.”

“Small intestine would be more likely.”

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling, and once again you’d really like to think there’s something just short of fondness flashing in her eyes.

She moves with clinical precision, checking you over, trying to do as little damage as possible in the process.

“You always did have a knack for finding trouble,” she comments, tone a curious blend of amusement and camaraderie.

For a minute, it’s almost too easy to pretend like you’re still that young recruit seeking shelter from your training and the gossip of the barracks in her lab, or the corporal who snuck away to lie in her bed at night. Those were really the glory days, —when your life was always in the balance, hanging by a thread, waiting to be snapped by either an enemy bullet or a quick slice from one of Moira’s long, pointed nails.

“Trouble has a way of finding me,” you muse, offering a half-hearted shrug that sends a twinge of pain bursting through your abdomen.

You grimace, then find your voice again.

“I’m just trying to keep it entertained.”

She laughs, low and from the chest, shaking her head.

“You’ve certainly excelled at that,” she remarks.

There’s a brief silence as she continues to check you over, assessing the damage. As she so gracefully pointed out just a bit ago, it’s not fatal. It’s not deep enough to leave you bleeding out, —but it damn sure doesn’t feel nice. Aside from that, you’re no doctor, but you’re pretty certain a wound like this open in a war-torn city is just a recipe for utter disaster, especially given its placement.

“So then,” she muses, “how’d you get yourself in this position?”

“Take a wild guess,” you reply, gesturing to the blown up buildings and roadways around you.

“That much is obvious,” she answers. “I’m asking why you’re even here in the first place. You must know how dangerous this area is. I’d like to think you’re not naive enough to have been working with that ragtag bunch of so-called rebels.” 

You frown. It’s hard not to when you know she’s right. You’re better than this, —better than putting your neck (and apparently your abdomen) on the line for people who would leave you behind without a second thought. Nobody came back for you. Either they all failed and were blown to pieces in record time, or they’d gone on without you and couldn’t have cared less about the person they left sifting through the wreckage to survive.

“We all make choices,” you mumble bitterly.

“Clearly. I just never pegged you as someone who’d make such a stupid one.”

You don’t answer.

“Did you really miss all of this so horribly? Enough to come out here, underprepared with a pack of morons who don’t have two braincells to rub together between them?” She questions.

“I needed something,” you snap a little. “I was losing my mind. Call me what you like, but I’d rather be here with this shit stuffed in my gut than be back home doing nothing. It doesn’t even matter what I’m fighting for anymore, just as long as it scratches the itch. I thought the chaos might give me some goddamn purpose, and I feel like you of all people should be able to understand that.”

She looks unimpressed by the reply.

“And now?” She presses. “Found your purpose, or just more chaos?”

You purse your lips into a tight line for a moment.

“Definitely more chaos, and not even the good kind,” you admit. “At this point, I’m less of a person and more of a walking disaster. Just a casualty of my own recklessness.”

Moira seems almost sympathetic as she regards you now, for whatever that’s worth coming from her.

“You’re not the first to fall for the high of it hook, line, and sinker, and you won’t be the last,” she says. “War has a dastardly way of distorting motivations. You’ve turned your personal desires into misguided ideals. But. . .” she pauses, offering you the slightest hint of a smile, “you’re still alive and breathing. That has to count for something.”

“Can’t say it feels like much right now,” you answer honestly. “Just look at me. A heartbeat away from strung out, left for dead by the same people I knew along would turn and run with their tails between their legs from the start. Some accomplishment.”

“Yes, well. . . I’m not sure I’m the right person to be offering you any comfort,” she stands to her full height again.

“I get it,” you reply. “You’re disappointed in the person I turned out to be. That makes two of us.”

Moira shakes her head.

“Let’s get you up.”

“Huh?” You utter, dumbfounded by the mere insinuation. “Up? Do I really look like I’m in any condition to be going anywhere?”

“Well I can’t very well kneel here and pull that thing out with my bare hands and no medical equipment, can I?” Moira questions in return.

“You could.”

“It would be foolish,” she states plainly. “In any case, will you be taking your chances here on your own, like this, or would you rather give yourself a fighting chance and come with me?”

“To where?”

“My laboratory,” she replies.

You’d have laughed if you’d been certain it wouldn’t drive that piece of metal into your small intestine.

“Talon gave you a laboratory?” You question. “And just what have you been up to for you to have worked your way into their good graces like that?”

“Nothing that proves to be of any concern to you,” she answers coldly.

Well then.

That’s certainly a far cry from the woman who used to enthusiastically usher you into her little realm in the late hours of the night to have you perch on the corner of her desk and listen as she rattled on and on about anything. It’s a far cry from the Moira who used to sneak her hands beneath your shirts just to feel the warmth of your skin beneath her palms.

“Are you coming with me, or would you prefer I leave you alone to lament in the rubble?”

The choice was easy. She helped you to your feet, let you lean on her slender (but surprisingly sturdy) shoulder, and by the skin of your teeth, you managed to make it back with her before that so-called seven rose to a ten. At the very least she had the decency to try and numb the area before carefully pulling the shrapnel from your gut and cleaning the unpleasant wound it left behind. You knew that look she wore on her pretty face and kept your mouth shut as she worked.

This new lab of hers is sterile, —a stark bit of contrast to the chaos outside. It’s hidden underground, but it was easy to forget that once you stepped inside with all the sharp, fluorescent lights that shone in the halls. The tech and machinery is wildly different to the type Overwatch had provided her with. You couldn’t be sure, but you were definitely willing to bet it was something close to state of the art. The air smells heavily of antiseptic now as she sits you up slowly, pausing when you wince as pain shoots through your abdomen.

Looking up at her now, there’s a clinical detachment that wasn’t there before, and you can’t say you like it.

Lost in the motions, she doesn’t seem to notice the way you stare, and you’re thankful for it. Her hands move with practiced precision, but you can’t shake the memories that have wriggled back up to swallow you whole, feasting like maggots on whatever rot she’s claimed inside you. You’re both different now, but this proximity, this touch, —her eyes raking over your skin. . . It all feels strangely familiar.

For the briefest of moments her eyes met yours, and you could almost swear you caught a glimpse of something beyond the stiff exterior she was presenting you with. Whether it was regret or desire, well, that was still up in the air. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced by the mask of composure she chose to don like armor, even in your presence.

“Try not to move too much,” she murmurs, those nimble fingers adorned by prettily painted nails tracing the edges of your jagged injury as she wound bandages around your waist.

The contact was cold and dispassionate, but you couldn’t shake the lingering sense of intimacy that persisted, dancing between what was and what could have been. Maybe if she’d stayed a little longer after Overwatch fell, things wouldn’t have ended up like this. Maybe if you’d been less destroyed by the disbandment, had perked up earlier, —things would have been different. But here you are, Moira nursing you back to health again. . . And it feels nice. As nice as it can be to have a woman you loved once (and quite possibly still do, albeit differently now) taking metal from your gash and patching you up in the wake of it.

There was tension now between yourself and her that just didn’t feel quite right. You felt the weight of all the loose ends you never thought you’d have the opportunity to tie up, and it made the silence all the more palpable.

“Do you ever miss it?” You inquire, though you’re not sure if it was spurred more by curiosity or by the desire to put a cap on the quiet. “The time before Overwatch fell.”

She pauses, in the midst of winding some unused bandage wrap back around itself to store it away.

“You know my opinion on that organization quite well,” she answers markedly.

She’s right. You do. Overwatch had provided you with an outlet, had awoken something difficult to manage inside you, —but something they fed so deliciously everytime they sent you out into the field. For Moira, though, she felt they stunted scientific progress and refused to let her ideas thrive, skimping on resources for the research and experimentation teams. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say she loathed Overwatch, and you always knew she wasn’t sad to see it go.

“So no,” she adds. “I can’t say that I do.”

It’s probably not as personal as you’re taking it, but hearing her say that really throws a wrench in the whole ‘I think I’m still in love with you’ thing you’ve got going on.

“Still,” you say, voice cautiously casual, “do you ever think about it?”

In the time it took you to find the nerve to speak again, she’d finished wrapping the bandage and had begun reaching for the kit she claimed it from.

“Nostalgia is a luxury we can seldom afford in times like this,” she comments. “And I prefer my conversations more to the point. Just what is it you’re trying so hard to ask without asking?”

Her response leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The time before was far from perfect, but it was such a delicate mix of pain and pleasure. Now, it just feels far too much like Moira is determined to bury both beneath the rubble of the present.

“Just. . .” you hesitate, feeling the words die in your throat the minute she meets your eyes.

You swallow their corpses like bile and try again.

“What we had. . . Did it mean anything to you?”

Oh, joy. Now you’re fairly certain that you’re just coming across like some lovesick little girl who never got over her first crush. It’s embarrassing enough to make your insides churn a little, although thankfully only in a metaphorical sense, because you’re pretty sure that would have hurt fairly badly on its own, and that pain would only be amplified by the wound on your stomach.

“What we had?” She echoes, one of her thin brows arching.

A part of you is almost expecting her to laugh at you, but she doesn’t.

“It served its purpose,” she shrugs, tone even.

“And that’s all?” You press, even though sirens are going off in your brain, begging you to reel the conversation back in or try to steer it in another direction entirely.

There just has to be something more beneath the surface.

“We both got what we needed, did we not?” Moira questions. “You got to rest your weary head on a warm body, and I had someone to speak with, —even someone to take some frustration out on. Nothing more, nothing less.”

What she said was true, but it still made your chest ache to hear it out loud.

“And now?”

“Now what?” She inquires.

“What’s our relationship now?”

Moira pauses, her gaze lingering on your face as if she’s weighing her options in real time. The sterile air of the lab seems to thicken with your anticipation, and you brace yourself for her reply. 

“Now?” She muses, tone cool and detached. “We’re. . . Acquaintances, of a sort.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Acquaintances. It’s a word that feels more distant than the war-torn landscape outside, and it shreds your stupid little heart like it's been raked over a cheese grater. It fucking stings. A woman you used to run to seeking solace and what always felt like protection is now something less than even a friend. You’ve been reduced to some kind of footnote in her life story.

At this point, all your pride has gone out the window. Or, it would have done so if this place had any, but being underground, that wasn’t exactly a reasonable ask. Instead, it’s wilting in front of you like a discarded rose, shriveling up all the more when you decide to open your mouth again.

“Do you ever think about it? About me?”

Moira stills for a moment, as if the question caught her off guard.

“What’s there to think about?” She answered your question with one of her own.

“Us. What we had. How it felt.”

Silence lingers, stretching into uncomfortable territory before she finally fixes her tongue to say: “I try not to dwell on the past.”

She’s diplomatic, even in her evasivness.

“Dwell on me then,” you dare. “I’m here now, aren’t I? That’s hardly what I’d consider a thing of the past.” 

She busies her hands with something on a table nearby.

“I try not to dwell on any one thing for too long,” she revises. “Lots of things require my attention. Stagnancy is hardly a luxury I can afford.”

You can’t help it that her vague replies make you well up in frustration,

“You can’t just pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“I could,” she states, letting her gaze rise to snag yours. “But I didn’t. I told you; what happened between us served its purpose. Now, it’s time to adapt and move forward.”

“Adapt and forget?” You challenge.

“Adapt and survive,” she corrects.

“Neither of us are exactly the type to just want to survive and leave it at that,” you remind her. 

Moira drops the tool in her hand and looks at you pointedly. You flinch at the noise it makes as it clangs against the table.

“What exactly are you fishing for?” She questions, frustration seeping into her tone. “Some kind of senseless confirmation that you were more than just something familiar?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something like that,” you admit, and immediately a part of you wishes you hadn’t, and yet you continue. “Maybe I just wanna know that it meant something to you beyond serving a purpose.”

“You want to hear me say that I loved you.”

Your blood sort of runs cold, but you don’t bother to deny it. That is what you’ve been clawing for this whole conversation, —you just hadn’t expected her to put it so bluntly, even if that’s just within her nature. Still, there’s a vulnerability on her face that you hadn’t quite expected.

“Love. . . Love is a complicated word. It carries weight, and expectations, and a host of things we never explored. What we had was different. But in saying it’s different, I don’t diminish the significance. It’s a differentiation, but not one I feel matters more than the facts at hand. It was mutually beneficial, and I have a great deal of fondness for you as a result.”

“A deal great enough to think of me as an acquaintance,” you say.

“At the moment,” she states. “But in the past, which I’m still not keen to be dwelling on, —we were something more. I don’t let mere acquaintances sleep in my bed.”

“In the past,” you echo, seeming almost disenchanted by it all now.

“Things change,” she tells you. “You and I know that better than most. Circumstances evolve. I’m not negating or denying what we shared, —I’m telling you that the present demands a different perspective.”

That’s a hard pill to swallow, to say the least of it.

“So what now then?” You ask. “You stay here in this lab alone, and I go back out there? Maybe we cross paths every once in a blue moon, and we stay acquaintances forever?”

“If that’s what you need to give yourself some closure on the matter, then I suppose so,” Moira replies.

“I don’t need closure,” you tell her. “I don’t want it. What I want is. . .”

You pause. What exactly do you want? Something close to what you shared with her those few years ago? Something more, something less? Maybe it’s just that you miss the way she’d kiss you, because nobody has done it since then. Maybe you’re just touch starved and feening for the only woman who ever knew how to push all your buttons in all the right ways.

You swallow, steeling yourself to finish.

“What I want is you.”

Moira’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“You always were stubborn,” she notes.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, not bothering to bite back a grin.

“And you think it matters now?” She asks.

“I think it matters now more than ever,” you answer, tone earnest. “I miss what we had, Moira. I miss you.”

She studies you for a moment, as if she’s weighing the sincerity of your words. Finally, she breaks the silence.

“You do realize that things won’t be the same, correct?” She questions. “I don’t know where you’ve been or who you’ve become in the time we’ve spent apart. Not that I’m unwilling to learn, —just to say that it won’t be exactly how it was. Not now, not for quite a while, and perhaps maybe never.”

“I know things won’t be the same,” you confirm. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe this can be something better.”

Moira can’t deny that the possibility intrigues her. She loves a good hypothesis, after all. Her analytical mind seems to weigh the pros and cons, calculating the risks involved and the potential for something grander than what it once was at its inception. Something more than a stifled set of hookups and entangled nights. A hint of a smile graces her lips.

“I’m willing to take the risk if you are,” she concedes. “But I make no promises about the end result.”

You remove yourself from the table, feet hitting the cold floor of the lab, emboldened by the diluted pain and the urge to be closer to her now more than ever. She nearly opens her mouth to advise you to sit back down, but doesn’t in the end.

��I don’t need promises,” you insist, reaching out to take her hand. “I just need a chance.”

She smiles honestly, and it’s like watching all her sharp edges soften. Her free hand cups your cheek, cold to the touch even as it warms your heart. Her thumb caresses your skin gingerly as she leans down slightly, speaking softly.

“Granted.”

[weeping-statue]

˗ˏˋ ୨Tea time with Moira!୧ ˎˊ˗

ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི

Goes terribly wrong ❤︎

“My dear, have you never had this blend before?” Moira asked you, with a tilt of her head. Brining the cup of fresh chrysanthemum tea to her pale lips.

Earlier that day you had walked in on her pulling out a box of dried chrysanthemum petals, and steeping them with a bit of sugar. Moira had then offered you to join her for some tea and a chat. You couldn’t deny, mostly out of respect and a bit of fear, but the underlying love you had for the powerful woman definitely persuaded your answer.

“No, I haven’t. But I quite like it, especially since it’s made by your hand. An excellent job I must say!” You responded cheerfully, bringing the cup to your own lips now. Taking a healthy sip, and letting the taste dance on your tongue.

Moira had set her tea down, hands under her chin as he focused on you immensely. She then smiled a bit at your praise. It’s not like she needed your approval, no, it was the other way around and she knew that.

“___, your too sweet. Such a nice little thing you are. It’d be a shame if your drink happened to be spiked.”

Your eyes widen and your body started to feel weird. You also feel as if you pulled all nighters for a week straight and the lack of sleep is finally catching up. “What..?”

Moiras smirk widens, as she stands up. “I know how you feel about me, my lovely girl. And I might hold you to the same light, if you’re good during these next sequence of events.”

Your eyes start to droop and your head hits the table with a small bang. Rattling the dishes with the impact.

You look up at her pathetically. Unable to speak, so she does it for you. Walking around the table and putting her nimble hands on your shoulder, she whispers,

“I have plans for you. Wonderful ones. By the time I’m finished you’ll be mine, and so much better than you were before. A few altercations to your dna, then you’ll be as strong as ever. You’ll be perfect.”

A whimper escapes your lips, as you try to keep your eyes open. To fight against this. But the thought of being hers sounds really nice. Nice enough to let the drug take over, making everything go black.

———————————————————————

My inbox is open! I hope you enjoy <3

This was written with Yandere Moira in thought but could also be regular Moira as well!

[skeletondoge]

Mini art dump

Hoping 2 start using Tumblr a bit more but I'm ALOT more active on my twitter lol