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Love compendium

Chapter Text

Gabriel patted discreetly the little velvet box that was on his Blackwatch uniform’s pocket, making sure that it hadn’t vanished from the same place that it had been occupying for the last six months.


 After so many years with his sunshine at his side, after the torture of the SEP, after stopping the Omnic Crisis, after going to Hell and back together. After baring their souls and bodies to each other. After all of that, the Blackwatch commander had entertained many times the idea of proposing to Jack, to make it even more real and everlasting that it already was. This time, in one courage surge he had even bought a ring that he thought could fit his brighter half rather nicely.


Now he had to only pop the question.


And what a question it was.


He had been carrying the damned box everywhere for nearly half a year by now. Each day that passed, its weight became heavier, like it wanted to rush him. And he did want to do it, to tell Morrison those four words give himself to him in every sense he could think of. But he never found the perfect moment for it, it seemed. There was always a more pressing matter, or one of them was too tires, too stressed, too busy… 


But, he thought to himself, today was the day. He was going to burst into the Strike Commander office, sweep him off his feet, treat him to a nice lunch on a nearby restaurant he already had a reservation for, and finally ask Jack Morrison to marry him. If fate didn’t want to give him a perfect moment for it, he would fabricate it himself. 


He was crossing the main corridor that led to the main commanding offices, his footfalls sure. He was going to this, yes, he could do this! 


He never made it to the door. 


Suddenly everything that surrounded him became pure chaos. The blue walls crumbled with a deafening explosion, giving in to flames and rubble. The door that had been in front of him a second ago had vanished completely. 


His las coherent thought was “Jack” before an enormous piece of concrete smashed into him and his full body was engulfed by the roaring fire. 


The old wraith opened his eyes to a mouthful of white silvered hair, which made him smile warmly in his still sleep dizziness. He nuzzled his nose in that hair that smelled like plain soap and faint vainilla, before letting his head fall again against the pillow and hugging closer the other body closer to his chest by the waist. 


It had taken them years to find each other again. Even more to trust each other again, to clear the air between them. 


But they had managed it. They had made it into the other’s arms and they were together once again. 


In his dreamlike state, Gabriel remembered that pesky little box he had been able to salvage from the ground zero of the Zurich exploded headquarters after everything had settle down and he could slither his smoky form through the rouble without arousing any alarms. 


He had preserved the ring all those years. He had taken solace from it when he thought its destinatary was dead. He had found courage within it while they battled they pasts and mistakes. It had been a reminder of what once had been, of what could be again. 


And now, almost a decade later, here he was again, struggling to find the way to actually put it on the finger it belonged to. 


He inhaled deeply and hugged even tighter the warm body in front of him. 


“Hey, sunshine, are you awake?” He murmured against the other’s nape, leaving a feather light kiss on that soft skin. He felt Jack stir awake and arch his back to press it flush against his chest, hugging Gabriel’s arms over his own body. 


“I sure am now…” The old Strike Commander mussed before yawning and cuddling even closer to the other one. 


“C’mon, cariño, don’t be like that” Reyes chuckled lowly, his tone barely a whisper, “I want to ask you something.” 


That  seemed to catch the other’s attention, because he felt the younger man turn in his arms to face him and he found himself suddenly observed by curious baby blue eyes accompanied by a little grunt signaling him to continue.


“Well, truth is… I’ve had this for a long time, but  I didn’t know when… “ As he began struggling to find his words, he pulled out the titanium silver ring with little blue and golden flowers traced into the metal. He was going to get to the good part, he was about to say it... But those blue eyes looking at him opened like Jack was going to have a heart attack, and before he could realise it, the other was squirming away from his embrace. 


For a moment he felt raw panic freeze his already cold veins, until he realised that his lover was looking frantic into the drawer from his nightstand and turn back to him with the same bewildered expression on his face, but this time showing him in the palm of his hand a ring not so unlike the one he had just offered to the old blond, except this one was black with silver sinuous details engraved. 


“Don’t you dare ask before I do” Was the stunned answer Morrison practically shot at him. 


The looked at each other in complete silence for a brief second before they dissolved into a laughing fit, hugging the other like it was the first time they confessed. As soon as the nervous laugh died, it was replaced by kisses, more and more passionned each time, and bands were placed where they should have been for a long time.


Yes, maybe it was long overdue. And yes, maybe he hadn’t actually literally asked those four damned words. And yes, maybe it wasn’t in the Overwatch they had built all those years ago, but a quite different one.  But the rings had found their rightful owners once and for all. 


They were finally truly together as they had wished. 


And this time, Death would have a difficult time doing them apart. 

Chapter Text

Genji’s mind had three stages. The phases that he drifted from one to another with quite difficulty.


The first one was the beast.


After his demise at the hands of his brother, Genji had fallen into a hole of violence and death. Every time he closed his eyes he could still feel the blade of his brother's katana slicing him, cutting his flesh with the ease of a hot knife on butter. The dancing light behind his eyelids became the blue glow of the twin dragons that tried to resist attacking him, the host of their dragon sister, but had to obey their masters command nonetheless. 


He was haunted by that night’s events in his own mind, and so in his waking hours he tried to drown them in an spiral of blood, rage, coldness, mercilessness … He was a wrath filled mindless monster, barely contained by a thin leash of command. A blade that just needed pointing in any direction and left a path of destruction in its wake. 


The second one one was the clear state of mind.


Some people would argue that this one was the worst of the three stages he had to face. 


While in this state, he could recall clearly all the horrors he had done. He could remember the warm but professional presence of the Angel of Mercy that had saved what was left of his charred flesh, and how he had dismissed her with harsh demeanors, not exactly grateful for her efforts. 


In this state of mind he was aware of how he had taken more lives without a second thought in the first state of mind than he would have ever had to if he had stayed and obeyed the Clan’s wishes. He was painfully aware of the viscera still caked under his nails even after scrubbing his fingers raw. 


During this state of mind he hated what he had become to be able to overcame his own death and resurrection. 


He never stayed much in this path of his own mind.


The third one was his own self.


This were the hardest times. 


During this phase, he could remember, not only the horrors and trauma of his later years, but also who he really had been. He could evoke the wind hitting his bare face while jumping throughout Hanamura’s rooftops, bright green locks of hair tickling his forehead. He could recall the times when he would go to share a Rikkimaru’s ramen bowl with his brother. He remembered being happy. 


It was those times when he would feel trapped like some kind of ghost into a tin can. Sometimes he couldn’t even recognise the few flesh parts he still had as his owns. This got a little better after he was giver his white carbon fiber armour, the less wires exposed the better chances he had of ignoring the bite of metal where it joined with skin. 


All of this states where on a thin balance during his stay in Blackwatch. The presence of an authority figure as Reyes keeping him in check, and the still jovial personality of McCree at his side helped him to maintain a semblance of stability most of the time, even though it was on his beast state of mind. 


But even that security broke underneath his own feet, and sooner than he could realise he found himself member of nothing more than a pile of ashes and rubble. Alone. He belonged nowhere and no one was expecting anything from him. 


He found himself lost. 


And so, he began to walk. 


He started traveling, hunting every member of the Shimada Clan he could force into his path of blood. His ultimate goal always being his brother’s head. 


But after what felt like ages for him, he stumbled by sheer chance into a little nepali temple, inhabited only by monk omnics. 


At first he didn’t want to stay. He didn’t have anything to do with them. They were the pure description of balance and peace, and him a swirl of chaos and instability. He needed to get out of there, fast. 


But a furious storm of snow had other plans for him, isolating him within the confines of the temple. Upon seeing his predicament he looked for the most reclusive corner in the full monastery to curl into a tight ball, ready to endure the unforgiving cold weather… Until he heard light humm of metal graviting on the air near him. The first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was a softly glowing golden orb floating just above his head and, in front of him an omnic that seemed to just levitate in thin air, hovering over a small bundle of blankets topped with an still steaming cup of what looked like tea. 


“We have more comfortable accomodation for people like you inside the temple, in case you decide to not battle a storm like you would battle a sparring enemy” He said in a rather neutral tone, not giving any sign of going away after delivering the blankets. 


“I am no people, omnic.”  He bit back, “And how did you find me?” His voice hard.


“No omnic could have a storm in their soul like the one that reigns over you. I merely found the roaring sound of thunder plaguing you and followed it.” 


“As I said, I am no human, I do not need it. Now go away, your help is not required here, monk.” 




Nani ?”


“Zenyatta. It is my name, not ‘monk’ “ 


“All right, Zenyatta , now go away. I just need to let this blizzard pass and I will disappear again. You can return to whatever duties you are neglecting.”


“It is going to be a long week for you, then.” Genji could have sworn there was a smugness in his voice that irked him. 


“A week?”


“The time for the blizzard to pass, of course.”


“I am not staying in here a full week.”


“You are more than welcome to battle mother nature in all her force with that sword you clutch so tightly.” 


And he was right. One week morphed into two and into full months, always finding a way to convince himself he was staying there just because they needed him for the most mundane tasks as reaching the inner sanctum for cleansing or keeping the tracks free of snow… 


It wasn’t until summer reached the monastery that Genji could actually admit that the reason he had stayed was the sense of belonging again, not only from the community of monks but mainly Zenyatta. Having him at his side was like the calming sun battling the inner storm of his core like the real sun had battled that first blizzard. 


Quickly, once he was able to admit that to himself, Zenyatta turned into Master, Genji into Sparrow. The first time he heard the omnic calling him by his childhood nickname he absolutely froze, and if a tear rolled down his cheek nobody could see behind his mask.


Zenyatta taught him how to make peace with his new body, reminding him at every turn that he was, still human, despite how much metal he relied on. He showed him the path of forgiveness toward his brother, how to see he had been nothing more than a puppet from their elders. 


The monk had taken under his care a mindless, furious animal, more scared from himself than anybody else, and had cured his mistreated soul enough for him to see, for the first time, the man he could become in the future and not just the boy he had been in his reckless youth. 


Eight hands, some more physical than others but all equally gentle, had taken his heart, repaired it into working again. And if it wasn’t returned he really didn’t mind, it now belonged to Zenyatta either way. 

Chapter Text

When Hanzo had arrived the first time to Watchpoint: Gibraltar he was a rather reclusive man. For the first couple of months he felt like a foreigner intruding into the team dynamics, like he didn’t belong with those people that surrounded him. 


Swallowing up the guilt he felt every time he saw his brother, and trying to mend their relationship was only one of the big milestones he was struggling with, but it wasn’t definitely the only one.  


For starters, he had spent close to a decade completely alone, only being able to rely on himself and his own skills to survive on the job and from the numerous assassins that were sent his way. And now he found himself surrounded by and absolute mismatch of people, all quite adept on their own field, asking him to rely on them for protection and team strategies. That always made his head spin. But the actual living with them, all cramped into the Watchpoint was the most challenging thing. They would do movie nights, and big team meals, and even crowd around the Song girl for her bigger streamings of video games. 


And so, every time, he just excused himself and practically barricaded the door of his room to flee from those gatherings. 


He was there as his brother’s guest. Nobody really wanted him there, a kin killer. He had to remember it.


Until the most chaotic element of them all started to try to collision with him. 


It started one afternoon. As any other, he was alone in his room while sharpening his arrows when a knock on the door startled him. Frowning wondering who ti was, he got up and went to open just to be greeted by the resident cowboy of their base.


“Howdy, there” He drawled in his thick accent. 


“Do you require something of me, McCree?” Straight to the point, cutting. 


“Truth is, now that ya’ mention it, that the little pink rascal’s tryin’ to get me ta’ play some of her games and since ya’re the only other fella on base right now we wanted ya to join us… An’ maybe help me a little here, pardner, I ain’t exactly handy with those things she plays” He added the last part on a lower tone, like an embarrassing confession, topped all with a disarmingly charming smile. 


The simple and domestic request caught his so off ward that he didn’t even realise he had agreed to it until he was seated between the korean and the cowboy on the couch, controller in hand. 


It had been the first, but definitely not the last time that the american had knocked on his door with a seemingly random excuse to lure him out of his hermit cave of a room. Some time it was that Ana wanted to share some tea brews and he was the only one that knew how to difference a tea leaf from a whole damn common bush, apparently. Other times it was a need of someone to match his marksman skills on the range, which ended up being a quite common occurrence, helping them to also be a better team on the real battlefield. 


Every time, the requests came with a side dish of that charming smile, that seemed to be more and more genuine with each passing day. 


It was dangerous, he tried to tell himself, he was getting involved, attached even, and that was a one way trip to demise. But he couldn’t help it. Every time he saw the american smile at him, really smile at him, a layer of his carefully constructed ice walls shattered under its warmth. 


That was how he found himself agreeing to ridiculous tasks only because McCree had asked him to, and he wanted to feel that warmth in his chest. 


One time, when the other knocked on his door, he brought a bottle of sake with him, claiming that someone had mistaken Mei’s plum liquor with it and now they didn’t know what to do with it. He took the bottle from him, but before he could turn to leave, the archer stopped him.


“Wait” He looked to the bottle in his hand and took a step aside of the door, “Would you like to try it with me?” 


That simple question shattered completely the other’s composure. It was the first time he had made any kind move to actively sick someone’s company, instead of just letting the other drag him around.


“Surely do, darlin’. Always good ta try new thin’s” His stunned response came. 


From that evening they got some kind of routine. They would compete on the range after dinner, and when the sun set, they would go retine to their rooms, just for McCree to come back knocking on Hanzo’s door with some kind of drink, alcoholic or otherwise, and two glasses. 


It was one of those late nights, both seated on the archer’s bed, head foggy with some cuban liquor they had acquired on their last mission, that Hanzo couldn’t resist anymore aching need of the others warmth he felt and, slightly sloppily, kissed him. He could feel the  shock on the other’s reaction, but quickly felt a hand on his cheek, cradling his face with utmost reverence. 


The cowboy had tried to lure the dragon out of his liar with any kind of bait, not ever realising that the most powerful bait he could set was himself and his purely good heart. 

Chapter Text

Angela’s teeth were chattering so hard that the noise was audible through the full plane, even over the engine's rumble. She pulled tighter the thin blanket that was wrapped over her shoulders, trying to suppress at least the shudders that made her full body tremble. 


It had happened during a mission in Denmark. She had been gliding over a seemingly frozen lake when her valkirie wings had faltered, making her plummet to the lake, breaking the ice layer in her fall and ending up completely drenched. She had gotten herself out and continued fighting along her team, but the temperatures she had to endure in her wet armour had made her end up on the verge of hypothermia on their way home. 


The ride back to Zurich seemed to her like a full year. 


She knew that her team had requested medical assistance for her back on base, but what she wasn’t expecting was that, as soon as they touched the ground a lanky and tall figure stormed into the plane, practically steaming with fury. She draped a big and fuzzy purple bathrobe over her shoulders that on Angela almost touched the floor, just before glaring at everyone on the plane. 


“This is why you can not have anything nice. You can not even take care of one person” Moira spat at them, just before sweeping the swiss doctor in her arms and storming off the plane. The blonde just cuddled closer into the warmth the other woman emanated. 


She felt herself be guided to her own room.


“I took the liberty of preparing a hot bath for you. It should help you regain some of your former composure”, she started while helping the swiss unclasp her wings and the drenched blue coat of her uniform. 


“I-I am fine, M-Moira…” She tried to argue with her, to say she could do it herself. But her arguing fell in deaf ears when she realised she could barely stand up from her trembling. She sighed and, for one, let the ginger do as she pleased.


“You are almost as blue as your coat and your lips are getting purplish, I do not think anybody here would categorise you as “fine”, aingeal…”


“Y-you are ov-ver reacting…” 


“Or you are underreacting.” 


Once she had finished taking off her uniform, she carried her to the bathroom, were a steaming bathtub the smelled like lilies was waiting for her. She let out a pure bliss sigh as soon as the water covered her, closing her eyes.


Moira sat down beside the bathtub, on the tiled floor, taking some shampoo and starting to wash the golden hair smeared in front of her. 


“D-don’t you ‘vant t-to join?” Angela struggled to say, though her tone was a little more firm than a moment ago. Moira just chuckled while scratching her scalp with her nails and the bubbly soap.


“Not today. You need to raise your core temperature and get you to improve.”


“‘Vhy are y-you so mad?” She asked curiously, just a thread of shy voice.


“Because they do not take care of you.” Her sharp reply came, “You are the one that makes sure they return to base in one piece, but they seem completely unable to just look out for you in return in case you need aid” Her rant finished with her rinsing the soappy hair and looking for a towel. As soon as she found it and came back to the other’s side, she found herself watched by two bright blue eyes.


“‘Vere y-you really s-so ‘vorried?”


Moira just swallowed hard, “Yes”. She had actually been terrified when she had seen the blue tinge on her skin, her lips more purple than even her own modified hand. She could never fathom an scenery where the lively medic wasn’t as bright, sincere and pure as she was. 


She helped her out of the tube, wrapped her tightly in the thickest towel she could find, dried her hair with the utmost care. Thankfully, the younger doctor wasn’t shivering anymore. 


Once she made sure she was dry, she brought the blonde over to the bed, cladded her with her fluffiest pajamas, and sat her on the bed, were the irish produced a thermos or hot cocoa she had prepared earlier. 


“You couldn't have time to prepare all this…” Angela exclaimed, practically calling bullshit. 


“I work quickly.” 


She just huffed a light laugh and took the offered cup, shaking her head slightly. Moira served herself another cup from the thermos and sa down on the mattress beside her, resting her back on the headboard and offering her side to the girl so she could lean in on her. She took the cue and leaned over, letting the older woman drap her arm around her shoulders. Her eyes closed in comfort, sipping from her mug, feeling how the hot beverage warmed her from the inside. 


They stayed just in silence, enjoying the sugary drink and eachother company, Moira’s hand rubbing the younger’s arms and back to try to chase away the cold in her. 


Once the mugs were empty, the geneticist collected them and was about to get off the bed to retire for the night when a cold hand grabbed her by her wrist, retaining her. 


“Please, stay?” Angela asked her, already half asleep from all the warmth and coddling she was receiving. How could the irish resist to such a request? Easy, she couldn’t. The little angel was her soft spot. She nodded and stood up just to get undressed, folding neatly her slacks and shirt on a chair nearby. Once she was just in her undershirt and underwear, she returned to the safety of the covers, where the blonde squirreled herself in between her arms, that Moira wrapped all to happy around her. “Thank you, liebes ” 


Moira just sighed and cradled her even closer. “Anything for my angel.” Said practically whispering against her lips before kissing her tenderly.


For Angela, this freezing experience was absolutely worth it, only for having her usually distant lover fret so much around her and consent her. She loved the older doctor with her hole heart,, but sometimes it was too difficult to her soft heart.

Chapter Text

 Two people living in the same quarters was always a nightmare. Two old ass men full of their own oddities and quirks was an utter chaos. But two old ass men that, a part from all of the already mentioned problems, had the tendency to bicker like the old married couple they basically were, was just a full blown recipe for the asylum. 


This time, it had been the logistics of their accommodations. Also known as “Where the fuck did you hide my shotgun shells, Morrison?!”, accompanied with a side dish of “In the same place you lost my side pistol last week, you ghosty asshole!”, and followed usually by diverse and colorful threats and swear words in two different languages. 


While this may seem like an interesting substitute for the Netflix subscription Winston had denied the team, the novelty and entertainment of the marital disputes between the old commanders soon washed off, transforming them more into a loud and annoying occurrence.


On the current case, any kind of discussion had been completely shut off by the former captain Amari storming into their room, grabbing each of them by the ear like schoolboys, and forcing them to buy something called a Björksnäs, who isn’t the long lost cousin of Torbjorn, but just a chest of drawers for organizing their belongings like reasonable human beings. 


Due to bad fortune on their part and everyone on the near vicinity, when the aforementioned pide of furniture arrived, none of the Lindholm Clan was available to aid them with the assembly of it. But of course, the pair of overconfident bastards decided that, if they could mount and dismount rifles and diverse weaponry with ease, a damn drawer cabinet wouldn’t be that difficult.


They were absolutely wrong.


They were on the mess hall, the biggest open area they could think of that wasn’t part of anybody’s workshop. At the far end of the room, perched on one of the big cafeteria couches, Ana observed them in silence, sipping her tea with feign disinterest while she pretended to read a small paperback. 


“Are you sure this screw goes over this slate?” Reyes huffed at the other, trying to fit the aforementioned piece in a wood with a hole clearly too small for it, all while squinting his eyes in an effort to make any kind of sense of the instructions on front of him. “Are you sure this thing is even in english to begin with?  ‘Cause I don’t remember so many damn points over letters back in highschool.”


“Of course they are, it’s you that can’t understand it”, answered the soldier taking the paper from him, “I don’t know why I let you try in the first place, you can’t even read a map…”


“It was almost forty years ago, Jack! Are you gonna remind me of that every day of my life?”

“You threw us in a tank over a cliff! I barely got to have a life after that day!” He threw his hand in the air with dramatism, cabinet forgotten momentarily. 


“It wasn’t my fault! I know how to read a fucking map and that one was wrong!” The wraith defended himself more dramatically if that was possible, “And I was also inside the tank!” 


“Which shows you can’t even interpret instructions to save your life. I’ll read, you build.” Finished Morrison, grabbing the instructions brochure by each side, spreading it completely and looking at it intently, “Pass me the… How the hell I’m supposed to pronounce that?”


“I told you, they are not even in English!” He exclaimed, trying to take back the paper and getting his hand swatted. 


“Hush! I think... “




“I think I understand some words… Maybe one out of ten…” 


“A part or including the articles?” 


“Shut it, Reyes.”


“Make me, Morrison” 


Followed, of course, by the ex Strike Commander launching himself over a still unassembled piece of furniture to tackle the other man to the ground, who ghosted through him and rematerialised sprawled over him, making him faceplant on the floor they had been seated on.


“One they I’m gonna kill you…” Jack mumbled against the tiles, a fake defeated tone in his voice.


“But before or after actually building the damn cabinet to organize our shit?” Retorted with sass, chuckling.


“Before, I don’t think I even actually know how to use an allen key, to be honest” He confessed, starting to laugh like a madman. Soon both of them were cackling like loonatics, only interrupted momentarily by Gabriel letting out an undignified yelp when the other threw him off his back and to the floor.


“We’re gonna have to wait until Torb takes pity on us and builds it himself, right?”





Chapter Text

Ana had always been a lone wolf. She was a sniper, she didn’t need a team to do her job, she had her bionic eye for that. 


Still, she had been enough of a good team player to climb herself to a rank of captain in the Egyptian army. She was good at her job, there was no denying that, but she would never be known for her warm manners and people skills. 


When the UN contacted her to join the newfound Overwatch organization, full of extraordinary people like actual super soldiers she didn’t think it twice before joining. 


And she should have. 


As soon as she started to work with them it was clear she had problems working as an actual team. She didn’t get close to her teammates, didn’t take time to really know them. She was like a panther, always waiting in a corner ready to strike. Not even the most charming and extrovert blonde of the group could get her to loosen up a bit. 


She knew that her attitude was in detriment of the team and their efficiency, that she had to trust them and learn to work with them, but something prevented her to actually interact with them like a normal person. 


That was, until he came. 


After a couple months of her being in the organization, an enormous man crossed the entrance door, not without difficulty. His blond mane shining like gold practically blinding her. 


Hallo, new brothers and sisters! I’m Reinhardt Wilhelm and I’m going to be your new crusader knight!” The husky man’s voice boomed around the room, and probably around the full compound. He then neared each and everyone of the presents greeting them with a smile as big as him with a hug included. As soon as he got to her, she got paralyzed at the hug. Where the hell did the UN find that overgrown child, again?


She really hoped she was wrong about him, because that scar in his eye and his overflowing confidence in himself tond her a story about too many risks on the battlefield and a reckless personality to have to look after. 


And she wasn’t wrong. On their next missions she got the pleasure of witnessing him charging face first against hordes of omnics with only her, the team assigned team medic, to cover for him from the backlines. She had to admit the first time she saw him ram against a line of bastions she had been so terrified that she screamed at him for half an hour on their way back. 


But all in all, even with all his recklessness, each time she saw him enter the battlefield hammer in hand and face their metal enemies with the solemnity of a true noble knight from times long past, something in her chest stirred, something between pride for being able to fight alongside him and awe at the mere sight. 


But it wasn’t until she was the one to make a mistake that something actually changed on her perspective.


It was a relatively easy mission. Jack, Gabriel, Reinhardt and her had been deployed to take care of some wayward assault units that were terrorising a small town in the north of France. She had fallen back, covering their backs while the three men decimated the robotic lines with ease. On the comms, the quips and jokes flyed freely, between the three, only cut from time to time by one of her sharp comments. 


Everything was fine, until she heard a whirring engine just over her head. The sniper practically had no time to turn her head back before a metal fist collided with her sternum, sending her flying to the floor. She tried to regain her composure, but her odds were alarmingly bad. She had been too far away from her team for them to be able to reach her in time, and her rifle was too long to let her actually aim at such a short distance from her assailant, that was practically on top of her. She was going to die samshed because she had stranded too far from her team. 


Or so she thought. One second, a murderous omnic was about to cut her so pieces with a white hot blade, and then she was being picked up at top speed by a massive hand that clutched her against an armoured chest. They stopped half a square away from the omnic, the crusader pulling up his shield to cover them. 


“Are you alright,captain?” Reinhardt roared over the now incoming fire. She took a moment to asses the situation, still cradled in one hand of the german with her rifle clutched for dear life. 


“I think so” Was the only thing she could think of, massaging the point of impact from the earlier punch. She looked back to the omnic that was currently shooting at them, then back at Reinhardt, and started climbing the man until she reached his shoulder, perching herself there, “Maintain your shield, I will cover us until we join the others. Go!” She instructed him while aiming from her new mobile spot. One shot and the head of the machine blew up. He got the cue and started advancing towards the spot the rest of their team was still defending, any enemy in their path getting efficiently disposed of. From that point on, their mission was quickly cleared and soon they found themselves on the plane back to headquarters. 


During the flight, Ana replayed the scene in her head over and over again. How, if it hadn’t been for the german, she would have died for her own stupid stubbornness and hardheadedness. But, more surprisingly for her, her own thoughts, instead of berate her, just circled over and over how to thank her savior. 


When they reached the destination and everyone was out of the plane, she neared him.


“Wilhelm, may I speak with you?” 


“Of course, captain! Is anything wrong?” 


“Not at all. Just… Could you get down a second, please?” She stated, making him a gesture like she wanted to tell him something in confidence. He looked a little strange but took a knee in front of her to get on her level. “You were my knight in shiny armour today, Reinhardt, and I thank you for that.” She said with a softer voice than what she commonly used, then she neared him and gave him a light peck on the cheek. His face reddened significantly at the kiss, looking at her with the eyes of a deer in headlights.


“A-always a pleasure, mylady…” 

Maybe she wasn’t the best at teamplaying, but she could try. And she had a feeling that the husky, larger than life, man in front of her would help her adapt, and maybe gain a knight in the process.

Chapter Text

Brigitte had always heard about the tales of princesses and princes rescuing them from dangerous dragons. She had always enjoyed them, the fairies, the horics, the “lived happily ever after”... Who wouldn’t like it? Plus, growing up with an honest to God knight as a godfather would make you inclined to like that sort of thing. 


But she had always admired Reinhardt and wanted to grew up to be like him, a true knight. She didn’t want to be the  girl in distress, she wanted to be the one to rescue the princess and ride to the sunset with her in her arms. 


As she grew up, she started to lose interest in those kind of fairy tales in favour of taking care of her reckless of a godfather, who had taken her as his shieldmaiden and engineer for his armour. Her focus became her work, saving people, creating things, patching up his armour, improving her own…. 


She completely forgot about her romantic childhood dreams until they were called back to Overwatch. 


She had been using one of the large garages as a workshop for her engineer part of the job, having both armours hanged for storage and easy access to them. But that day, when she entered the room, the first thing she saw wasn’t he massive dark grey armour she had been repairing again, but an enormous pink look-like robot on the far other end of the garage. Next thing she noticed was the clanking sound of someone working inside. 


“Hello?”She asked tentatively. It was too big and too pink to be one of her father’s creations, but she didn’t know who else on base could be tinkering down there. At her call, a little brunette head emerged from behind the hood, smile smeared with black oil. 


Annyeong!” A high pitched and cheerful voice answered her, waving at her from her new perch on one of the robot’s arm. 


In that moment, all coherent train of thought left brigitte’s head at once, and all she could think of was the beautiful little princes in front of her, cladded in mechanic uniform and with the black makeup of work. 


She cleared her throat, trying to come back to her senses, and approached the other girl. “Are you new here?” 


“Yes, just arrived from Busan this morning. Was doing a little check up on my MEKA to make sure everything is cool after the flight here.” 


“Busan? That’s a long way from here… Are you from there? And wait, what’s a “meka”?” She started asking, looking curiously at her machine. 


“Yes, I’m part of a special task force of the Korean army that uses exoskeletons. That’s what my MEKA is” She explained proudly. 


“Oh! It isn’t that different of what we use, then! I am an engineer in charge of the last functional crusader armour existent. They are mechanised wearable suits, technically speaking. I actually reverse-engineered my own shield and armour from the original ones of Reinhardt” She started to rant without much of a thought. 


“Hey! if you are an engineer maybe you can give me a hand with the maintenance of my MEKA, right?” 


“S-sure! I would love to” The swedish stammered, a little taken aback by the others energy.


“By the way, Hana!” The asian cheered still from her perch, offering her hand.


“Excuse me?”


“My name! I’m Hana, but everybody calls me D.Va on the battlefield”


“Ah, eh, true… I’m Brigitte, and   that’s what everybody calls me, I guess…” 


“Nice to meet you, Brigitte!” Exclaimed with a weird accent to the name while shaking hands. 


And that had been the beginning of the downfall for Brigitte. Like the little korean had enchanted her with her fiery personality and cotton candy sweetness. Long hours working on the MEKA together merged into tight dynamics on the battlefield. Acquaintance became friendship, friendship became crush.  And sooner than both of them realised, the korean had made a habit of falling into the other woman’s arms every time she exploded her MEKA; each night they would crash on one of their rooms after playing video games… And nothing really changed when before entering battle, Hana would kiss her lightly on the lips before entering her suit and rocketing off. 


Brigitte always would look at the green light of the MEKA’s thrusters with a sappy smile on her lips before wondering how had she managed to find the perfect warrior princess that had enchanted, even bewitched her with an oil smeared smile, her beautiful pink bunny.

Chapter Text

Everybody that met Zenyatta thought he was a frail, delicate being. And in a sense, it was true. He wasn’t built with mass or volume in mind, nobody would say that his metallic body could withstand much stress… 


He was fine with it. 


Even back with his Shambaly brothers, he was never tasked with any extenuating work, such as cleaning snow or bringing supplies from the nearby village, and more with delicate duties such as cleansing the temple with incense or going to talk with the children of the village. 


Zenyatta just went along with it without say anything.


At the beginning, Genji had thought the same as everyone, that the omnic was too delicate. But time had proved him wrong, and now he knew  better. 


The first shock had been back when the cyborg was still a wrath filled man on his recovery path. He had been on a meditation field trip with his newly named master to a nearby forest of the temple when his meditative state had given into pure rage. He was already calculating how to get far from the omnic to not hurt him by accident, when one of his orbs collided with his hand near his katana. The shock of the impact only fueled him, making him face the offending omnic. Zenyatta just stayed levitating in front of him, unwavering. 


He had charged against him, hoping to show him a lesson of humility, but the other just danced around him with fluidity, using the ninja’s own momentum to make him fall to the floor. Genji recovered quickly, launching himself against him, filled with white hot fury, throwing precise blows to what he knew were vital points of the robotic anatomy. Each blow was stopped by an orb mid air. The monk didn’t attack him once, he didn’t like violence after all, but held his ground against the trained assassin with an unexpected ease, tiring him to the point of blacking out in the woods. 


When he had woken up, he had found himself back in his room at the temple. Disoriented, he had gone to look for his master, more calm now. He found him meditating at the edge of the mountain fall, or so he thought until he could see the floating orbs stir around the monk’s form when he approached and sat beside him on the floor. 


“How do you feel, sparrow?” His calm tone was a little off in Genji’s ears.


“Like a monk just gave me the beating of my life” He answered plainly, “Nothing is broken, if that is what concerns you.”


“It calms some of my concerns, yes” 


“How did you do it?” 


“Do what, exactly?” 


“Do not give me that look of innocence, you know what I am referring to. You basically out did me, a killer trained since birth.” Genji looked at him trying to read him, “You are no delicate  flower as you let everyone believe. Why do you do it? Are you not bothered by it?”


“I am what people need me to be. In the temple they need someone clamer, more spiritual, a fragile being that everyone can feel acomplisshment by taking care of. So that is what I became for them. You needed a stable figure that doesn’t let you stride down the path of violence,” The monk finally turned his head to look at his pupil, “and I would understand if, after my display as of yesterday, you wanted to seek another master in the temple. I am sure any of my brothers would be honoured to have you at his side, just as much as I do. Only, before that, I must apologise. My actions were not of a worthy master, but fueled by my incapability of seeing you fall back into that destructive path and hurt yourself yet again. I could not bare it, and so I acted on impulse even though I should not have…” The omnic, for his customary calmness, was practically flowing with regret, and even the most unperceptive eye could have seen it. 


“Wait, what?” He cut him off, raising his hands to make him stop talking, “Why would I want to change you for any of the others?” His brow furrowed in confusion behind his mask, “Yesterday was the first time that I felt safe in years! Knowing that you can control me if my mind turns against me, that I do not have to fear hurting you or anybody near me because you can stop me, that felt like lifting this whole mountain off of my shoulders!” He exhaled what was almost a chuckle, before launching himself to hug the omnic with heartfelt relief and affection. “I do not need a frail guide, I need someone as strong as you, master. If you still want me as your student.”


The omnic was taken aback by the sudden gesture, not even being able to recall at all if someone had hugged him before. He felt how pleasant sparks shot from some of his nervous sensores, that one was new. His concern of losing his apprentices forgotten, he wrapped his arms around the cyborg. Maybe Genji was right and he was mistaken all along, maybe it was his strength, his true self, and not the frail persona he had created for the others, what the ninja needed at his side. 


“You are always welcome by my side, my sparrow.” 

Chapter Text

Widowmaker was walking down one of the hallways of the Overwatch headquarters when a cheerful music got her attention. 


The new Overwatch ensemble had captured her some months ago, and after being under the intensive care of one Doctor Angela Ziegler, they deemed her in vias of regaining her own free will again. She had been given permission to roam the facilities around two weeks ago. During all her time there, everyone had come and gone to see her, old faces, new faces, everyone, but one face had been more persistent than the others. It was none other than Oxton, the british pilot. The minute girl had been a little cautious at the beginning, given their shared history on the battlefield and how the french had almost made a hole in her trying to get to the omnic Mondatta. But as soon as the treatment had started to show it’s effectiveness, her disposition towards her had changed to friendly, welcoming even. 


She had been the first one to take her out of the medical bay, accompanying her to the exterior.  They had sat on a bench outside the building, surrounded by vegetation until the sun had set and they were instructed to go back inside. Her visits had become almost a daily occurence to look forward to as the treatment progressed. Dr. Ziegler was a kind woman, but her professionalism towards the sniper was bordering between polite and outright rude, so she didn’t find her such as an entertaining company as the energetic british. 


It was almost midnight, and the band music coming from one of the gymnastics rooms was puzzling her. She approached the door, noticing that the music was slipping from the inside because the door was ajar. She pushed it a little more, only with the intention to peak to whoever was inside, sate her curiosity and then go to bed. 


But what she saw inside the room left her completely fascinated. 


She had seen Lena dance before, some uncoordinated thing that she liked to call Charleston, but never with such a passion and energy. She was buzzing from one side of the room to the other, no chronal accelerator needed for it, only her feet and the music to gide her. 


She stepped inside of the room without even noticing she had started walking again, at least not until the british stopped dancing to look at her, flashing her a bright and warm smile upen recognising her. 


“Heya, luv’! Watcha doing here?” She asked curiously, pure innocence in her voice. “Are you lost? I can get you to your room if you want”


“No… I just heard the music and…  I didn’t know you could dance like that…” 


“Oh! I wouldn’t call that dancing! more like just jumping and moving with a little music, that’s all!” The girl blushed a little from the feeling of being scrutinised. 

“Then I liked how you “jumped” to the music” She answered with a little more security in her tone. 


“T-thank you…” She gulped some salive to pass the sudden lump in her throat, “so, do you like Swing?”




“Yeah, the music, the dance, it’s Swing. Do you like it?” 


“I… I don’t know… I think I do.” 


“If you want you can dance with me! You were a ballerina, right? I’m sure you are a real dream dancing this, luv’!”


“I don’t think this is what I used to dance back when I wasn’t blue” She chuckled lightly at the idea.


“Well, now you are blue and you are going to dance Swing with me!” The hyperactive girl jumped, grabbing her by the hands and starting to move her feet at the music’s rhythm in a way that the other woman could do the same. The french followed suit, reticent at the beginning, , shy even, but as the music advanced, the movements Lena made were easier to follow, like spinning her or getting into dancing posse, with the british taking her by her waist with one hand and the other clasped in her own. 


They throttled and spinned and moved together along several songs, laughing at Tracer’s faces and jokes. Until one of the song ended with the little ilot deeping her so much their faces were so close it was a miracle their noses didn’t collide at first. For a second, the world stopped. The only thing that existed was just them both, Lena, her big pure eyes, her brighter than the sun smile. Her arms were secured around her neck to help her maintain the position and not to fall both of them. The seconds passed. 


One heart beat.


Two heart beats. 


She had a heart beat again, right. She had almost forgotten the sensation, how it could pump so madly it felt as if it would burst out of her chest. She remembered that and she decided that she liked it. She had been in love once, back when she was still Amélié, now it was different for her, but she liked the sensation in her chest very much. 


And so, she bent a little forward, just enough to close the gap between both their lips.


It was barely a caress. A light feather kiss more to enunciate what was happening than to actually satiate anything. 


As soon as it ended and they parter, her partner helped her to stand upright again, looking completely smitten. 


“I think it is getting late. I should retire for the night.” She bent enough to reach the others cheek to leave another soft peck there, “Thank you for the dance, chérie.” She added before turning away and going for the door and back to her room. 


“Y-you’re welcome…” Was the barely audible answer of the completely petrified pilot, that was left in the middle of the dancing room, touching with the tips of her fingers her lips as if to make sure everything had been real. 


Yes, thought Widowmaker, it wasn’t her old loved ballet, but maybe she was fairly certain she liked Swing too.

Chapter Text

It was plain mid winter on the Overwatch base. Angela had actually clocked out reasonably early for once in her life so she could have time to shower after a really long day in the laboratory, working on her nanite technology and her staff and all those thing that were so important for her. But those weren’t the only important thing in her life, at least not from her perspective. 


For the young doctor, there was always a taller, slender priority, with bright ginger hair and mismatched eyes that spoke of adoration for her every time they were alone. 


Yes, she undoubtedly loved her mad scientist of a girlfriend, hence why she had scurried off of her work earlier than usual to make herself presentable, or at least to get whatever chemical remains were still adhered to her skin. 


The older woman had been due to return from a rather long mission with her Blackwatch team that same afternoon, and the both had decided to book each other's evenings to finally spend some quality time together. Also known as throwing themselves onto the couch to binge watch whatever medial absurdity they could find and scream to the holo screen like it was the most passionate football match of history. 


She existed her own room cladded in her most comfortable pastel light blue hoodie and warm white leggings, to find her irish mad woman. She  got to the door, knocked and waited. 


She had always considered Moira to be an elegant woman through and through, always with her slacks, shirt and tie, she had even seen her a couple times with her  dar version of the Valkyrie armour and she looked almost regal. So her surprise was understandable, to say the least, when the woman in question opened the door to her quarters cladded with the most hideous sweater to ever grace the face of the planet Earth. It was a wool cloth, mainly done in a too bright gree, with the most horrible celtic inspired pattern in fosforescent yellow all around her torso. 


The blond gawked at her for a second, confused by the “fashion” display. 


“V’hat in Heaven’s name are you ‘wearing?” She deadpanned, too stunned to react. The older woman just slumped her shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. 


“Good evening to you too, aingeal. Yes, dear, I have missed you too. Oh, yes of course, please, enter, be my guest. It’s been almost two weeks since we saw each other…” She started, tone dripping sarcasm. 


“Oh, yes, sorry… It is just… The colours took me a little by surprise” She defended herself with an apologetic smile, entering the room and going straight for the couch. 


“Then, if I  wear the sweater my sister knitted me, because it is bright, I do not get even a  kiss?” She asked amused, closing the door and following the other woman to the couch, grabbing a couple blankets on her way there.


“Your sister? She made it for you?” The younger asked, feeling guiltier by the minute. 


“Yes, grá , I do have a sister, and a mother and a father still pestering me from Cork, in case you were wondering. I did not sprout fully formed from the ground, or crawl out of a witch’s cauldron, as some of my most creative team mates seem to think.”


“I do not think that, Moira!” She couldn’t help but laugh at her explanation, “but I ‘vill talk with McCree if you ’vant about still calling you ‘vitch. Better?” She chuckled, smiling at her warmly. 


“If it was any inconvenience, i would have gone to Reyes for him to do his job and take care of his children.” She answered, throwing the blankets over them and opening her arms so the blonde could recline on her. And she was clearly going to do it, but as soon as she saw the offending sweater pattern, she just dissolved in a fit of giggles. 


“Sorry! Sorry” I’m so sorry, liebes . It is just that it is so…” 


“Ugly? Yes, I know, but I like it. I think it has a unique personality to it.” She defended herself before moving her hands around the young doctor’s waist and practically bringing her in top of herself. “Now, stop talking about my wardrobe choices and the idiots i have been co-living with for two long, tortuous weeks, and come here.” The other went along with the movement without any resistance, though she was still giggling lightly. 


As soon as they were settled, and the pertinent documentary was on, Angela could feel how the lanky body beneath her relaxed, going practically boneless just by her caressing the forearm that was draped over her torso. 


She had to admit that, with the blankets and her girl’s limbs covering her, the warmth sipping from their clothes and the absolute softness of the hideous sweater, she relaxed almost immediately, falling to the domesticity and comfort the other woman brought her. 


But even though the absolute plushness of the sweaters wool, she still hated that damn pattern.

Chapter Text

Brigitte was taking a walk just outside the old Overwatch base they were staying at. It was almost Christmas, and in the far north of Germany, that meant snow. Lots of snow. 


It was this kind of situations that made her slightly homesick. She missed her mom and siblings, the hot cocoa, her little sister doing snow angels, their Christmas tree... At least that year she was with her father in Overwatch, and not stranded God-knows-where with Reinhardt. 


But still, the bittersweet taste of the whole situation was in her mind, strong and clear to everyone who took the time to look. That was one of the reasons why she had gone outside to take a walk. The snow calmed her, reminded her of home, of all the times she had to shovel her way out of her house in Sweden. The memory brought a light smile to her lips.


She continued walking around the white powder, completely lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even register the snow ball flying towards her until it impacted directly against her. 


She looked confused around her, scrutinising the snowed street at her sides, but to no avail. After a couple moments trying to find the culprit of her attack, the mechanic relented and resumed her walk. 


This time, when the snow ball came, se actually expected the projectile, dodging it with battle reflexes and spinning to look just in time to see a soft pink scarf disappear into the snowed landscape. Her smile was almost instantaneous. Of course. 


She decided to play along, seemingly returning to her promenade, now completely aware where the other woman was. 


The third time a snow ball flew in her direction she dodged it again and launched herself into the snow, colliding with the little woman’s mid section. The girl squealed in surprise and hugged herself to the mechanic’s shoulders, giggling like a maniac.


“I got you! I got you!” The little korean chanted once they hit the snow, tangled together.


“You are a danger, little missy!” She laughed with her, putting a handful of snow into the others face over her scarf. 


“Hey, that’s not fair! At least I did it with aim!” She protested, trying to take all of the snow out of her face, taking down her scarf too with it, and squirreling herself out of the others grasp. Brigitte tried to grab her again, but the other swatted playfully at her, getting up and preparing to throw her another snow ball, backing quickly from her. The swedish sat up in the snow, gathering white powder around her as so to get ammunition, rounded a perfect ball and raised up to her feet in pursuit of the younger woman. 


The asian ran backwards, giggling while dodging the ball tossed in her direction. The other woman went after her, full intent on catching her again, while Hana skidded through the snowed, throwing her snow balls whenever she could. 


“You can’t run forever, bunny princess…” She chanted, taking cover of the incoming snow attack behind a tree.


“I can!” 


“No you can’t!” She started to move around the snow to ambush the pilot, taking her by surprise and lifting her in her arms effortlessly. “I got you!” She laughed. Hana squealed again in surprise, dropping the snow in her hands and bracing herself on the other’s shoulders.


“You are cheating! Let me down!” Even though she was protesting, she wasn’t clearly bothered by the whole situation. The mechanic lowered her a bit, getting her at her eye level, but not letting her go just yet. 


“You are pink from the cold” She laughed lightly, “You are so cute with cheeks pink.”


“I’m a war heroine! I’m not cute!” 


“Yes, you are. You are my cute princess bunny” Brigitte affirmed just before looking at her with pure adoration and leaning to give her a quick peck in the lips. The girl turned completely red up to her ears, hiding her face on the older woman’s neck. “See? Cute~”


“Definitely cheating, no fair…” 


Yes, Brigitte might have missed her homeland and her family, but there she had her girlfriend and snow too.

Chapter Text

If someone had told McCree that dragons existed, back when he was till a baby faced seventeen years old pup in Deadlock, he would have had laughed so hard he would have probably burst a lung going at it. 


Later, after all the weird shit he had seen being in Blackwatch, when a Genji Shimada waltzed into his unit with some extrange green light trick claiming that it was an actual spirit dragon that helped him chop his enemies like a good filet (not in so many words, mind you, but he got the message pretty clear still), he really didn’t question it much and just rolled with it. The guy already sounded ready for the asylum ninety percent of the time, one thing more or less wouldn’t make much of a difference. 


He had to admit, he didn’t give it much of a thought after the fall of Overwatch, too preoccupied with surviving and avoiding the bounty hunters as the price on his head grew larger and larger. 


But with the Recall… Well, he would have quite the food for thought over the topic.


It hadn’t passed three months since he had answered the recall and presented himself in front of WatchPoint: Gibraltar, when another man figuratively knocked on their door. 


Hanzo Shimada. Genji’s brother. Archer. Probably more traditional inclined than his walking green discotheque of a brother, judging by his clothes. And, of course, claimed to wield, not one like his brother, but two spirit dragons. 


McCree laughed. And then, when he saw them tearing apart a full Talon unit, roaring and mowling everything in their wake, then he didn’t laugh so much. 


But he didn’t really meet one of the aforementioned creatures until much later, when after many battles and drunk nights in the observatory tower, he and Hanzo had started to consider themselves as actual friends, and not just merely teammates. That Jesse was actually harbouring a major crush on the archer was a subject for another time. 


The cowboy had been mending a hole in his dear poncho when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a quick flash of blue go under his bed. Confused and curious, he set aside his sewing labour and sat cross legged on the floor in front of his bed, peeking under it. As soon as he lifted the dangling covers, the blue lightning dashed from under it, and started circling him, as if to size him. He tried to follow it with his sight, but couldn’t make out it’s silhouette until it stopped in front of him. It was softly glowing creature, similar to a long cat but with antlers and metric whiskers. It was a goddamn dragon, looking at him curiously. 


“Howdy, little fella” He greeted him for lack of a better thing to do. What he didn’t expect was for the creature to actually answer him. 


You are an extrange choice.” The deep male voice of the dragon sounded in his head.

Holy…! Ya’ can talk!” 




How did ya’ enter into ma’ room? Wait, scratch that, why did ya’ enter into ma’ room? Do ya’ have a name?” He started rambling.


My master named me Somen, and I am here because I was curious. Now I am no more, therefore I would like for you to take me with my master. ” The dragon explained calmly. 


“Yer master? Yer blue, Imma guess yer talkin’ ‘bout Hanzo, right?” The creature nodded solemnly. “Gotcha.” He said, offering to the dragon his hand, it crept over to his forearm, nestling itself there like a serpent. 


McCree got up and marched to the archer’s room, knocking on the door. The other man didn’t take much to open.


“Greetings. Did I forget an appointment with you for the training range or something similar?” 


“Nah, sugar, everythin’ peachy in yer memory. But, ya know, I think ya’ lost someone” Joked the cowboy, lifting his arm so the other could see the dragon draped over it. Hanzo’s eyes opened comically wide upon seen the scene, the tips of his ears turning deep pink, turning to look inside his room, where there was a big fluffy cushion with only one blue form napping on it. 


“Ah I… My apologies… I do not know how he ended up bothering you.” He murmured, taking the creature from the other’s hand and practically flinging him into the bed, glaring at him. 


“It ain’t a bother. Little fella’s cute.” 


“But he should learn manners and to behave himself. Thank you for bringing him with me.” 


“No problem, darlin’” 


And maybe it wasn't a problem, but it became a common occurrence that every morning, the two blue dragons appeared in his room, watching him wake up. He would greet them, and take them back to their master’s room, smile early in the morning because he at least had a valid excuse to see first thing if the day the archer. And every time, Hanzo would pick the pair from McCrees arms with a pink tinge on his ears. 


Then, the dragons started manifesting when they were together, having their customary drink after their training sessions. They would appear and star circling the both of them, and even though Hanzo would chastise them for some extrange offense that the cowboy didn’t understand since he talked with them in japanese, he really enjoyed seeing him interact with them, he showed a more domestic side of him that he thought nonexistent in the archer. In one of those times, he learnt that the female twin dragon was called Udon. 

But it wasn’t until much much later, that McCree actually gathered the courage to ask about the dragon's behavior. 


“Hey, Han, can I ask ya’ somethin’?” asked while scratching one of the dragon’s head. 


“Of course. What is it?” 


“I’ve been thinkin’ an’ I dunno why yer little buddies here seem ta follow me everywhere. I mean, they’re yer guardians, right?” Hanzo tensed visible at the question.


“They must think you are interesting. Or maybe it is because you are my friend.” He tried to shrug it off. 


“But  why me? Yer friends with other  people here, like Hana or Satya.” 


“But that is different. They are different. It is not…” He started rambling, not quite sure how to explain it. 


“Different? How?” Did the dragons know how he cared too much about their master? 


“They are different. That is the only thing you need to know.” 


“I ain’t gonna drop this. I wanna know what I’m doin’ to be different from the rest of yer friend so much that yer dragons follow me everywhere.” 


“You should drop it.”


“But I ain’t droppin’ it.”


Hanzo sighed, defeated.


“They follow you because they are protecting you for my sake. They know about my… Feelings for you…” He confessed, not daring to look up, “I always feel nervous when they show themselves to you because they only manifest in front of someone their master… Me… loves.” He finished in the smallest of voices. 


McCree’s brain had short circuited halfway into the speech.


“You…? Really? Then the dragons… It means…” 


“I do not expect you to reciprocate anything. I did not want to say anything about the dragons as not to burden you… I do value our friendship over this.” 


At those words, the cowboy snapped back to reality, letting all the information sink in. He extended his flesh hand to touch Hanzo’s face, making him look directly into his eyes. 


“Honey, you can’t really expect me ta have a pince like ya’ in front of me and not ta’ fall for ya’” He answered him, closing the distance between them and pressing a tentative kiss to his lips.


He wouldn’t care to pay the price of two ferrety dragons worming their way into anything in his life, as long as the dragon prince they had for master accepted being his life.

Chapter Text

Ash. It had been a recurrent thin in his life, time and time again. 


The first time it had been his father’s ashes. He had died when Jack was only thirteen, and it had been a hard blow. His mother had been devastated and he had to support her, become the “man of the house”. He had to fill the void that the great man his father had been left. His ashes were always over the main fireplace, keeping him comfort. 


The second time, it was his first cigarette. He had been just recruited for the SEP, eighteen years old, baby faced Jack Morrison that had never done anything wrong in his life. When he entered his new room, his bunkmate was already there, lounging languidly on the top bunk. Jack had been shaking so much that the man had offered him a drag of his cigarette to calm his nerves. He accepted. At the time he didn’t know how important that first ice breaker cigarette would become for him, that first drag that tasted like ash on his tongue, mixed with the taste still lingering in the filter of his new bunkmate, Gabriel Reyes.


He forgot about ash until everything around him became it. 


Zurich, Overwatch headquarters. He was in his office, his hair starting to whiten due to the stress. the then Strike Commander had been working when the blue walls surrounding him transformed into pure fire, rubble falling left and right. For a moment he had thought he was going to die, and worst, he had wanted it to be true. 


But it wasn’t. 


He rose up from the ashes of his life’s work, covered in the grey dust that had been the building where everybody thought he had died along with the man that had accompanied him to hell and back, the man that had shared his bed and dreams, the man that he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 


He had wallowed in the cinders off his old life, swearing to avenge his and Gabriel’s life. 


But that wouldn’t be the last time ash was a central piece in his life. 


Years later, when he thought everything of his past life was just that, past, a black smoke ghost came to haunt him. He had fought him tooth and nail, blaming the organisation he represented of his demise. He had been wrong, and as soon as masks fell, his pulse rifle followed, and soon tears too. His knees had buckled under the weight of realisation and pure relief and he found himself sustained by the same pair of arms he thought he would never feel again, embracing him. He had raised his hand to touch the other man’s face, to make sure he was real, and saw how his fingers got stained with ash from his cheek. He didn’t care. He just needed to kiss him again, to make sure that smoking creature was his beloved Gabriel and not just a trick of his mind.


And now… Now ash is still something ever present in his life. It is the first thing he tastes in the morning in Gabriel’s lips, what he breathes every night as he embraces him and buries his nose on the crook of his neck right before going to sleep. 


He lives with ash every single day of his life, but he doesn’t care, because ash had never tasted so sweet.

Chapter Text

Ana was at the limit of her patience. She had been throwing hints the size of full headquarters to Reinhardt for over two months now. The man usually showed that he was undoubtedly interested in her, but as soon as she started actually close to him, he shied away and practically run (one time he literally run across the full extension of the training grounds practically in panic because she had purposefully shedded her technical shirt in favour of only her sports bra in the middle of training). For a man that usually charged against killing machines facefirst and without a helm, he was practically terrified of actual interested women. 


She had tried to be a good girl, to let him take it to his own pace, but oh God, she was starting to think that if she didn’t take the first step, he would never do it. 


This time they were in the locker room after training. She had noticed that he had started to overgrow his golden mane, so se neared him with a little wicked grin. 


“I think it is time to get a haircut Wilhelm” She started, grabbing his ponytail and giving it a playful tug. What she didn’t expect was the loud pleasure moan that escaped the man’s mouth. He tried to cover her face with his hands to retain the sound, but it was too late. Ana’s pupils blew wide, her mind usefully supplying her how much fun they could have with this new discovery of hers. If only he would let her show it to him… But that reaction, that moan, it had parked every fiber in her body, and she wasn’t going to wait anymore. She knew what she wanted, and it was a two meters tall blonde german knight on her bed. The sooner the better. 


She waited until after dinner. She knew Reinhardt’s routine by heart by now, having accompanied him many times. That was how he knew how to intercept him in an empty hallway. She walked up to him, some tight black leggings and a brief top that left little to the imagination. 


“Wilhelm!” She called him, nearing him with firm steps. He turned to look at her, his overgrown mane waving from the movement.


“My lady! What a coincidence to find you here!” He greeted her with his booming voice. 


“No coincidence at work here, lieutenant. I was looking for you…” She caught up to him and started to back him against a wall with here mere presence.


“L-looking for me?” He was starting to get nervous, not knowing where to look and raising his hands as if he was afraid to touch by accident. 


“Yes…” She backed him completely, pinning him with her own chest to his ribcage. She put her hands on his chest and started moving them upwards towards his hair. “I have been looking for you for quite some time now, actually…” 


He was trying to think of something to answer to her, but the only thing he got out was a loud moan, since she chose that exact moment to pull one of the strands of hair she had been twisting between her fingers. As the first time, the mere sound ignited her, making her need more of him. He tried to cover his mouth with one hand while the other one went to her waist, bringing her closer without even realising it. She stood on the tips of her feet to reach the now bent head of the man to speak to his ear. 


“I’m going to give you one chance to back away. After that I have full intention of finding out if those hands of yours are good for something more than hammering omnics…” She said on a low tone, dripping with lust. He turned to look at her and moved the hand he still had on his mouth to take her face and dive to kiss her, holding her with his other hand tightly against him. She did an appreciative sound at his response. Finally. 


She took the strand of hair again and pulled, making him break the kiss and moan again, leaving his throat exposed for her to give a tentative bite. His response was to grab her fully by the ass, pressing her flush against his hardening erection while whimpering in lust. 


“I-I believe this is n-not the place for y-your intended activ-vities…” He got to mutter while her hands started exploring his torso just below the hem of his shirt. 


“I have to agree with that” She said against the sensible skin of his neck, eliciting a sudder. 


“My quarters are closer” He breathed, picking her up by her ass with one hand while with the other guided her face to keep kissing him while he navigated by memory the short trek to his room. On the door she slapped her hand on the hand scanner, since being capitan meant she had an override permit to enter anywhere. 


As soon as they passed the threshold, she unwrapped her legs from his torso and jumped to the floor in front of him, pushing him to the bed. She made him fall to the mattress backwards and climbed him like a feline watching her prey. He could only look at her completely transfixed, and help her when she tried to pry his shirt off. 


Once he was bare chested she started nipping and biting every centimeter of skin she could see, leaving clear red marks behind. He grabbed at her ass, letting her do as she pleased with him while he moaned and gasped, feeling his pants tighter and tighter by the minute.  His hands started going upwards, sliding her top off of her, revealing she was braless. Now, when she bent to keep biting at his chest and neck, their skins pressed together, turning their nerves even more on fire than they already were. 


Her trail of bites went downwards, through his abs and navel. Once she reached his pants, she hooked her fingers and pulled them down, revealing how well proportioned the german was in his nakedness. She couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation, giving him a thorough look over. She really liked what she was seeing. 


He felt self conscious for a moment before regaining his composure, and starting to explore what little skin he could reach while she devoured every centimetre of his tights, making him grab the sheets and for his erection to get impossibly hard. 


Once she had made sure he was completely taken care of on the tight department, she climbed him again, losing her leggings and underwear in the process and sitting in his pelvis, straddling him. He admired her from his perspective, a pure egyptian goddess devouring him. 


He couldn’t keep his hands still, of course, so one of them went to her back to make sure she wouldn’t fall, while the other slipped between her tights, making her yelp in surprise when a digit slipped into her, practically effortlessly because of how wet she already was. As a “vengeance” she bit his chest harder than before, and relishing the sound of pure pleasure he let out.  


He then slipped a second  finger into her, grabbing her ass and encouraging her to ride his hand while one of hers moved backwards to grab his hardness and start pumping him. He let his head fall backwards to the bed, closing his eyes to control himself. 


But it didn’t take him much to need more than just a hand on him, so he motioned for her to ease off of his hand. She bent to retrieve a stack of condoms that she had brought in her pocket, opened one and dressed him. She retook her position over him, aligning herself before starting to sink down, taking him in, his hands on her hips to stabilize  her. Once fully in, she took a moment before moving experimentally once, then twice, and then setting a pace to ride him while he grabbed one of her breasts to play with it. 


Her pace was starting to get frantic, her hands looking for any leverage at the same time his free hand helped her slam down on him every time by her hip. The air of the room filled with moans and lustful sounds. Their movements more eclectic with each passing second. 


Her muscles were tightening in her underbelly dangerously, until he pinched her nipple between his fingers at the same time she sank down, breaking her. As she rode her orgasm she found purchase in a long strand of golden hair and pulled, taking him over the edge with her. 


She fell on top of his completely bitten chest, panting. His arms came to embrace her, even though the man had a hallucinated expression on his face.


“That.. That  was…” 


“If you are going to say something like “incredible”, then yes, it was” She helpfully supplied. 


Ja... “ He agreed. He then helped her off of him and disposed of the evidences, but before she could get out of the bed he stopped her by circling her torso and pulling her close to his marked chest, “Will you stay the night?” He asked with the most pure of sincerities. She was floored by how, after giving her a magnific round of rough sex, that man was still a knight in shiny armour that believed in love and romance. 


She couldn’t but nood, “Of course, Reindhart, as long as you want” She smiled at him and pulled the covers over their naked bodies, letting the massive man engulf her with his body. 


“That is a dangerous thing to promise, mylady.” He mumbled against her hair. 


In that moment she really reevaluated her options and decided that there, buried in the man’s muscled form full of her bites, wanted, cared for… She could really get used to that.

Chapter Text

There was a black legend about a sniper so skilled she had killed the most famous sniper in the world shooting her through her own scope directly into her eye. A woman so cold that the people said she only felt anything in her dead heart whenever one of her bullets ended a life. A creature of exotic curves and blue skin. A spider monster with the visage of a doll. 


Her name? Widowmaker.


But after the legend disappeared, Amélie Guillard came. A sweet woman that was, little by little, rediscovering herself. Not widowmaker, but a widow that retook her maiden name instead of maintaining the remnant of her first life. She still had blue skin and golden eyes, yes, but they would see the world through sunglasses and photographic objectives rather than rifle scopes. 


If you asked the new Overwatch roster, they would tell you she was a little shy in social situations, not much talkative but firm in her beliefs, a woman that looked distant but recovering from a great trauma. 


But there was a second legend only Tracer spoke of. A legend of an Amélie surprise kisses and letting her girlfriend braid her long hair. An Amélie that, while everybody knew she could bake, few had seen her actually sing ancient Edith Piaf songs while doing it. A woman that, even though she emanated security in herself, she only let Lena see her without makeup, and still rushed every morning to the mirror to put on a generous amount of creams and colours on her face to reassure herself. 


The legend talked about how she loved romance and flowers, specially forget me not’s. How one time, while they were having a walk around the Headquarter, suddenly it started pouring and, instead of get mad and curse as everybody would have done, she let the water drip all over her face and started dancing at the rhythm the water drops marked as they falled, like the regal ballerina she was. How she loved stealing Lena’s oversized sweaters to sleep in while she was away on a mission. 


Yes, there were two legends, them both talking about the same woman and completely opposite from each other. And both of them were true.

Chapter Text

If there was something that described McCree’s life, it would be wild. 


He was just seventeen, a runaway, a dangerous guy with a gun and he had the most dynamite of a woman beside him. Or well, for him to follow. 


He had met Ashe a couple years before, a rich girl too aggressive to fit into the princess like role she was being forced by her parents. She had escaped her mansion to practice her aim, he had heard the shots and went to find who was shooting. He had given her a run for her money, since he already handled his six shooter with ease, and since then she had shown an interest in him.


Too late, he had discovered she was basically an adrenaline junkee. 


She had convinced him to start a gang, Deadlock. At the beginning they were just goofing around, but soon people had fallen under her leadership skills like flies, and they had found themselves with an actual gang of people, full grown adults, looking at them for instructions. 


That was when Jesse had left his home, to live on their liar in the arch famous route 66 for the gainings they were making from pillage. 


Soon, they started doing actual hits. Organized robberies where both of them would lead a little band of goons to steal the gold reserves of some rich guys of maybe even rob a bank, always covered by the imposing figure of B.O.B at Ashe’s back. And that was exactly where they were in that exact moment. 


They had entered the main bank of a big enough city to have actual security in it. Ashe had concocted a plan to get them in and out of there, but they were too naïve and ended up in a shooting against the local authorities when they were exiting the building. 


“Ya’ shoulda checked the darn robots fer silent alarms!” He shouted at her from behind a car that had been parked just in front of the main gate of the bank and that he was now using as cover from the police shots. 


“And you should have gotten me the damn EPM I asked!” She countered from the car beside him, looking through the shattered windows to their bikes, just 50 meters away from them, but behind the police lines. He scoffed at her, reloading his gun and making sure the bag with the money was till i place at his side.


“I ain’t a merchant, sugar! My job’s shootin’!” 


“Then fuckin’ shoot!” And shoot he did. He got slightly up fromm his cover, enough to be able to fire his six bullets into the pilice lines, getting down two agents, wounding another three and busting the engine of one of their cars. 

“See? I’m shootin’ alright”  


“Yeah, whatever…” She dismissed his cocky grin by swatting her hand in the air, “just listen to me, I’ve  gotta plan.”


“You’ve said that already an’ didn’t end much good.” He joked, used by now to being shot at. 


“McCree, shut up.” She glared at him, but the effect was lost by the smile that was breaking her way into her face, “okay, I’m gonna send a couple of boys in each direction, then we go front guns blazing and we run for the bikes.” 


“Sounds like a plan…” He agreed, reloading again. She nodded and started making signs for the rest of the gang members to follow the plan.








And all hell broke loose. 


Two of their gang members went as if to flank the police from the right, while the other remaining two went from the left, causing the line of policemen to split in half, each side going for one of the pairs. Meanwhile, B.O.B barged through the main door of the bank, charging against the police cars that barricaded the exit for them. Behind him, Ashe and McCree rose from their respective covers and, back to back, started shooting right and left, running though the path of destruction that the omnic was leaving in his wake. 


They made it to their bikes, just in time to see how a stray bullet left Ashe’s bike completely useless. 


“Come with me” He gestured her to mount on the bike behind him, at what she leapt on the seat and hugged his waist, with her bag of money still on her hand. He started the bike and drove at top speed between the remnants of the police barricade. At some point she took his revolver from it’s holster and started shooting at the officers trying to pursue them, laughing like a madwoman when she saw the cars stray from the road. 


As soon as they couldn’t see anymore sirens hot on their tail, she returned his revolver to the  holster and hugged him back, leaving a kiss behind his ear that made him shudder. He could feel her exhilarating mood just by how her hands grabbed at him, and also because he could see from the side mirror her shit eating grin. He just shook his head, letting out a light laugh and fell slightly backwards to meet more her hug. 


Yes, their life was wild, and she was crazy by any description. But he loved his wild life, and she was his crazy girl to take care of.

Chapter Text

It was the 31st of december and in the Overwatch WatchPoint: Gibraltar, people were celebrating it. 


For the first time in a very long time, longer than he could remember, Jack had been on board with the idea of decorating the place. It had been a hard year on the whole team, so maybe bringing a little of the jolly spirits of the festivities would help the people relax  from the crisis they were living.


While Gabriel, back in the day, had been all about Halloween and decorating the base with  spooky skulls, cobwebs, bats and all that crazy stuff. He had even got their teammates to agree to a costume party for a couple of years! But, while that had been Gabriel’s passion, he had always prefered Christmas, but not in the exactly same full blown out way. For Jack, celebrating Christmas was something quiet, intimate, it was a time to spend in family, to watch a bad seasonal film while snuggled with a loved one on the sofa, to use horrible sweaters and drink hot cocoa, to go out when it snowed, to exchange thoughtful presents…


So yes, he wasn’t a big fan of the flickering lights all over the place, the big over decorated trees… But this year, when Lena, Hana and Lucio had suggested it, he had completely agreed with their idea. He liked the idea so much he had even helped decorate the place, to everyone's surprise. 


That had been almost two weeks ago. The idea had worked, the spirits of the team had lifted significantly. They had lifted so much that they had even organised a New Year’s party. 


And so, they had over decorated the mess hall, put their Christmas tree in there too. They had each contributed to the big table of food with a dish made by them to the best of their capacities, and even thrown in there an eggnog bowl and a couple other drinks. 


The old soldier was sitting on one of the most reclusive sofas from the room, watching with a bittersweet sentiment the picture playing before him: he could see Tracer, McCree, Fareeha and Brigitte goofing around like the young people they actually were, Ana was talking animatedly with the japanese brothers and Mei, probably about tea blends, though he couldn’t be sure since he didn’t enjoy that dirty boiled water, Hana and Lucio were doing something in a piece of technology he didn’t even pretend to understand… It was a beautiful domestic picture, happening in front of him, with a soundtrack of old Christmas carols and jazz, but a picture he was not really a part of. 


He was aware that his time had come and gone already, and he was fine with it, but sometimes, just seeing that kind of happiness and life and not being part of it was just like a punch of reality in the gut. 


That was, of course, until a pair of calloused dark skinned hands appeared on shoulders, sliding down to his chest to embrace him. 


“You look like me on a bad day, cariño… Everything alright?” Asked Gabriel practically to his ear from behind while looking in the direction Jack had been looking to. 


“Yeah, just thinking, that’s all.”


“You sure? ‘Cause I  just talked to Jesse and he told me you actually helped with this Christmas thing. So I have two theories: or someone has supplanted you, in which case, I’m really sorry, Mr. extranger, for banging you so hard last night…”


“Reyes!” He exclaimed with a laugh and a slightly pink tinge on his cheeks. 


 “Or something is in your pretty little head.” 


“Ok, everything is fine, it’s just that I thought this thing, decorating, the party, would be a good idea for the team, but I’ve never been a fan of this type of celebration and you know it.”


“That’s true…” He pondered for a second. He stood up from his bent over position to hug Jack and surrounded the sofa to stay in front of him with a hand raised, “Wanna dance?” 


“Excuse me?”


“I think your old age is getting to your ears, Jackie. I said if you wanna dance.” He said matter of factly, “I mean, how long have we been together? Twenty years?”


“Twenty three since we actually pulled our heads out of our asses.”


“And we have never danced before! So come here…” He said while motioning for him to go to his arms. 


The old soldier hesitated for a second, but finally caved in, standing up and putting his arms around the other man’s neck as he surrounded him by his waist. 


They stayed like that for a moment, until a new song started. It was a slow jazz song, with the rhythm so calmed that they could just move lazily following it. Their foreheads went to rest against one another, creating an intimate atmosphere between the both of them. Jack closed his eyes for a second, and as soon as he did it, he forgot everything outside of their bubble, the adornments and decorations, the party, their team, the social awkward sensation… There was only Gabriel in his world at that moment.


He wasn’t a fan of big Christmas parties, no. But nothing was bad while he had Gabriel at his side to help him enjoy it in his own way.

Chapter Text

Moira had always known she was a misfit. 


From her most youngest years, she had never had the same inquietudes as the other children around her. For starters, she had inquietudes. She preferred to keep the little insects she collected, locked in crystal flasks to observe them, instead of just smashing them or burning them with magnifying glasses as the rest of her class. 


Her appearance did never help her much. Her heterocromia was an oddity, that much was clear, but the fact that she always favoured the smart, more manly clothing to dress her soon too tall and lanky form gave her all ki8nds of nicknames, and didn’t exactly collaborate to her fitting into the picture. 


Not that she ever wanted to fit in.


Since she noticed other people labeling her as a freak, she took pride on it. Everyone that surrounded her were idiots on her eyes, so why bother trying to be like them? 


Easy, they were more.


Too young, Moira saw her naïvité stripped away from her by the constant abuses of her classmates. The day that she only ended up covered in mud or locked with the cows in a barn were the lucky ones. But she never relented. She was a genius, she had more brains than all her classmates and teachers combined, she knew it, and she also knew that probably, when she got the opportunity to flee from her natal Corck to a university in a real city, she would be better, find people that were more like her. 


She was wrong. 


On her first quadrimester into the genetics degree, in Dublin, she had already been labeled as a disruptive student, prepotent, saying she dressed like a teacher to feel she was more than her peers. The fact that she preferred the female company rather than the male one was only an add on on her long list of oddities. 


During her four year endurance of the university campus she actually involved herself with a couple of girls that she shared a couple classes with. She was never very much invested in them romantically speaking, but just saw them as actual friends with a touch of intimacy. But she never really felt those acclaimed butterflies in her stomach or became completely brainless in their presence, as she had seen many other people do throughout the years. Her lack of romantic attachment was always attributed by her to her clear psychopathic tendencies. She thought she could live with that.


But still, it always hurt her when they left. Those girls weren’t assertive enough to actually engage with her on a debate, or stand their ground around her. They were too fragile to handle such a strong character as hers. And so they left, one after another. Leaving her alone time and time again. And if there was even a little piece of innocence and kindness, it was hardened by then.  


But this time, she could really manage alone. She had personal challenges to develop. She had work to do. 


For the next decade she threw herself into her studies, her work. Even when the world had only showed her distrust and hurt, she still wanted to do right by it. She wanted to help people advance, to develop groundbreaking discoveries that could make the human race better, to improve their life quality. Genetics had that power and more. 


But then again, when her discoveries and inventions were shown to the scientific community, she was labeled as a monster. Not ever the people that should have understood her better were able to see eye to eye with her, to really comprehend her thinking and how her  work could change their reality for the better. How she only wanted to improve the world for everyone.


She fell in disgrace. Nobody wanted to hire her, to give her patronage for her experiments. 


No, not anybody. One day, a crudely looking man, claiming be called Gabriel Reyes, knocked on her door, offering her a job. Blackwatch. A Black Ops branch from the famous Overwatch organisation that had won the Omnic Crisis and now kept world peace. He wanted her to continue with her research, the organisation would finance her, in exchange to acting as the medical officer for the team. It was an offering too tempting to pass up. 


The only downside was that she would have to share a laboratory with one of the other high class scientist while some high up authorised the building of her own scientific wing in the headquarters. 


Or so she thought it would be a downside.


The first day she got there, as soon as she crossed the threshold of the laboratory, a bright eyed blonde girl came to welcome her with a warm smile and too much candour. She hated her. She was the living image of the perfect dolls everyone had always loved, everything she wasn’t. 


But as soon as she started to actually work alongside her, that impression faded quickly. The girl, Angela, was a mind as bright as her own, always working on something, never at rest. She could actually call her on her bullshit, whenever Moira started to throw her intellect around just for the sake of making everyone in the room feel inferior. Angela could debate with her for hours and the irish actually enjoyed her company. She was an equal, and opposite but at the same level as her, the other side of a battered coin as her. 


If she had been any less socially nul, she probably wouldn’t have been so surprised when, after an accidental touch in the lab, the skin that had been in contact with the blonde was left tickling and a slightly warm sensation. Or when she discovered smiling after recalling  their latest conversation, in the privacy of her quarters. 


The geneticist tried to ignore the evidences as long as she could, but finally, she had to admit it at least to herself: she was falling in love with the little angel of mercy that worked with her. 


And it hurt. 


It hurt more than anything had hurt her in her life. Because she knew she would never have what she desired. Moira was too bitter, too harsh, too lonely, too old, to tainted… She was the complete opposite of Angela, with her purity, her sincerity, her ability to make everyone adore her… It was like a moth attracted to the light. And Moira knew that, while moths loved light, the light never even acknowledged the moth. She accepted it quickly and moved on. 


For the next months she went to work hoping to make the swiss’s day a little better, help her with some of her projects, maybe even impress her with one of her own. She could feel how her heart clenched every time the other doctor laughed at something she said, or even only smiled at her. And that, that was enough for her.


It wasn’t until St Valentines that everything changed. 


Moira had, as every other year, forgotten about the date, and was rather surprised when Angela came at her  with her hands behind his back and a nervous demeanor. 




“Yes, Angela? What is it? Do you need me to proof read something for you again?” The older woman looked curiously at her.


“No! No, it’s not that… It’s just that… “ She stammered a little while producing a small bouquet of lilacs from behind her back, “Happy Valentine’s?” She asked with just a thread of voice, offering her the flowers.


Moira Just looked at her like she  had grown a second head and it was singing Bollywood themes all of a sudden. 


“A-are you alright?” She asked confused and worried for her lack of response. 


“Ahm… Yes? No. I think I am…” She tried to snap out of it. “You… You brought me flowers… On Valentine’s Day…” 


Ja … I remember you saying once that this ‘vere your favourites, aren’t they?” 


“They are, yes. What I do not understand is why.”


“Because it’s Valentine’s day, and you give flo’vers or chocolate to someone you ‘vant to have a date ‘vith, right?” 


“A date… You… With me…” 


“It’s alright if you don’t ‘vant…” She started to lower the flowers, but Moira got them in time, taking them with tentative hands. She looked at them as if they were the most fascinating thing she had seen in her life. 


“I would love it very much. To have a date with you, that is.” 


“Really?” The eyes of the young doctor opened surprised, looking at her like she had just given her the world. Moira, took one of the lilies from the bouquet and tucked it behind a strand of blonde hair, securing it there. 


“Absolutely, aingeal


So yeah, she might have been a misfit all her life, but  that didn’t mean she couldn’t find someone that accepted her without fitting anywhere.

Chapter Text

Jesse was only seven years old when his father had taken him to the middle of the desert, put the old family revolver in his hands and instructed him to shoot the beer bottles he had laid on the floor a few feet away from them. 


Seven years, in  it had only taken the young kid three tries to hit them all. Of course, he had liked it. 


Throughout the rest of his childhood, it was a common occurrence that the young boy would take that same revolver and go target practice to the outskirts of the village they lived in. 


That was, more or less, how he met the rich kid Calamity, also known as the Ashe girl. 


He was fourteen at the time. He was going to his favourite shooting spot near an abandoned cabin for some shade when he  heard the shots of a bigger caliber than his old gun. Curious as to who would be there, in the middle of nowhere, he neared the noise only to find a white haired girl with a damn pink ribbon in her long ponytail, dressed in blouse and jeans that looked more expensive than his whole house, parents and siblings included. 


But despite how she looked, the woman was pure fire, even at sixteen as she was back then, and quickly got him into her wing, claiming him his only true friend she had, since he was from outside her posh background. 


When, three years later, she started talking about founding a gang and living the outlaw life, he laughed at her at first, but six months into it, and she had him actually giving shooting pointers to a bunch of guys  that actually wanted to follow them. 


But he wasn’t the idiot. He knew she only saw in him an accurate gun and a pretty face, but he was alright with it, as long as  it enabled him to move out of his too crowded home and live on his own. 


Everything was beautiful and fun, doing hits, living like gangsters on the road. They even had a liar in route 66! But everything went down in flames for him when an actual military team entered into their territory, and no matter how much aim he  had, he knew they were doomed. 


He was lucky. Someone decided that, for some reason, he was more valuable alive and took him prisoner. But as soon as the military plane took off and he saw he was alone in there with only two other gang members, he knew that Ashe had abandoned him to his own demise. As he always knew, she could get another gun like him anywhere. 


But that day, he was lucky two times. Apparently,Reyes, the commander, of the unit that had busted his gang had taken into consideration his impressive aiming skills and, after an argument between Reyes and someone that he didn’t know but that it finished with “He is fucking seventeen, Jack!”, he was offered a position within the unit. It was either that or not seeing the light again in his life. 


He joined in a heartbeat. 


At the beginning he felt exactly like had been with Ashe in Deadlock, just a gunslinger that was there by mere chance, replaceable. But soon he noticed that, as it was a little group mainly of misfits and outlaws, the team actually worked almost as a family. Reyes took him directly under his wing and for the most part of the years that he  stayed there, the man showed him how to be a good commander, how to lead people and encourage them so they would actually like doing their jobs. He saw the real potential that the cowboy teenager had in him and nourished it so he would become the best version of himself. During those years he also got him to train with one of the best snipers in the world, and even seeing how he liked six shooters, he gave him a custom made one for him, Peacekeeper. 


But then again, it ended with a bang. Quite literally this time. 


The headquarters of his organisation blew up, taking Reyes with them. The rest of the team, as they were basically illegal, scattered through the world. 


And so, he found himself completely alone. 


For a moment he  entertained the idea of going back knocking to Ashe’s door, but after so many years of being treated like a real person and not just an asset, of being the good guy. He couldn’t.


So, for a decade, he became a bounty hunter. He used all those infiltration and tactician skills he had learnt from his Commander, his “jefe” as he would call him, and haunt all the bad people he knew of. That gained him quite a bounty on his own head, but he wouldn’t be  doing his job, dispensing justice alright if he didn’t. 


He got hardened, he got paranoiac, but he still kept his cowboy hat and his Peacekeeper to remember from where he came, the  kid that he had been, the montours he had had. 


When McCree received the message from Winston activating the Recall, he didn’t hesitate and jumped in. 


Soon, he realised that the team that was gathering under the new banner had anything to do with the mismatched Blackwatch he knew. Here they had cheerful Tracer, their physician didn’t look like a modern day Frankenstein and more like the angel of Mercy she was, the old guard like Reinhardt mixed with the new generation as Lucio or Brigitte. Even his friend from the Blackwatch days, Genji, was completely different from what he remembered, more calm thanks to the monk he called master. 


Though it was a more cheerful and good hearted group, not everyone easily blended in. Jesse noticed this, and took it upon himself to help them integrate. 

One that was especially difficult was Genji’s older brother, Hanzo. 


At the beginning he had been a little suspicious of the archer, since he knew very well what had transpired between him and his brother, and the aftermath of it all. But it didn’t take him long to realise that he was the first to hate himself the most for it. In that moment he decided that it was going to be his mission to get the archer the redemption he needed, and also show him how he could still be part of a family like Overwatch while doing it, even though McCree himself was the first one struggling to get back in tune with working so closely with people. 


He was liking the feeling of helping someone. Every time he got the moody man to smile, he would get a happy feeling tingling inside of him. When he agreed to do ene the most idiotic things with him, at one point realising that it was just for the sake of it. 


The first time that Hanzo actually asked him to share a bottle of Sake (that the cowboy had actually procured for him even though he didn‘t want to admit it) Jesse got shocked for a moment, being aware for the first time, that the archer might consider him a friend. 


After that it only went downhill. They started meeting more and more, and for the  first time in his life, McCree felt like someone wanted him around for his idiotic, childish self, and not just because he was a competent gunslinger. It was an intoxicating feeling for him. 


But it didn’t feel completely alright until one night, both of them tipsy from a cuban liquor they had bought on their last mission. They were talking (or more, McCree was talking while Hanzo listened) when the archer suddenly turned to him with an intent gaze and just dived for a kiss. At first, the cowboy’s mind had blanked completely, but as quickly as he could, he caught up  with the program, reciprocating the kiss with all the intent he hadn’t realised he had until that very same moment. 


Yes, he was a gunslinger. One of the best there were, in fact. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be appreciated and loved for more than that.

Chapter Text

If someone was leaving a tread in this world, even at her young age, it was Hana Song. 


She had started in the professional gaming word young, too young maybe. Her StarCraft career had been a complete boom since the beginning, skyrocketing her to fame and into the military for the MEKA program. 


Being a professional gamer had been fun. She just streamed and made her favourite hobby her way of life. But being in the MEKA program, that left a tread on her. They made them into a soldier, trained her to hold a real pistol, not only a controller, they took away her childish innocence and made her an idol ready to die for her countrie. 


During her time in the korean army, fighting wishins that attacked the country, she saw devastation, she saw destruction, she saw carnage, she looked in the face of death and had to smile at her because all her country was looking at her. She was a symbol. 


She knew her real only friend at that time, Dae-Huyn, was a little jealous of her fame. He was always asking favours of her, and even though she knew he genuinely liked and cared for her, is always reminded her she was an idol, a public figure without the  right of a private life. She didn’t know how her MEKA teammates did it, fight by day, party by night, oblivious to the horrors that awaited them the next time the had to suit up into their exoskeletons. 


When she got the news of a reforming Overwatch she wanted to join right away, but she couldn’t. She had a duty to her people, to her team. It wasn’t until she got the approval of her team that she could fly to Gibraltar to join the new guard, despite the disapproval of her government. 


She was excited. She was going to join a force of people that actually wanted to make a difference, not just play with big toys and have fun being popular. 


The first one she got to meet was Winston. The enormous gorilla definitely left an impression on her with his manners and politeness. 


The second one, was Brigitte. 


The mechanic had given her quite the scare while she was checking up her MEKA, but her pure curiosity, her good natured heart had melted her right away. The last point to make her perfect had been her mechanic skills. 


Hana had actually started asking her for guidance for upgrading her pink MEKA, and they had started bonding over that. She was funny, adorable and loved cute things like cats! And more importantly, she made Hana forget. 


One night, after an especially bad mission, the petite korean had a terrorific nightmare that made her wake up screaming names she barely even remembered for fallen comrades. Her first instinct in that dazed state she was in, was to grab one of her bunny pillows and march to Brigitte’s room practically without realising it. 


She knocked on the door, and after a moment a sleepy, pajama cladded swedish mechanic opened.


“Hana?” She asked, confused, rubbing one of her eyes “Is everything alright?”


“Yes! Just… “ She answered, not really sure what to say. The other quickly realised the nervous state she was in.


“You are shaking!” She exclaimed, putting an arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders and bringing her inside the room and onto the bed, to sit her and wrap a blanket from there over her, taking a sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”


“It’s… It’s just a bad dream…” She answered a little unsure, hugging her pillow. 


“A bad dream?”


“A nightmare, I think… Part is memory…”


“About what?”


“About the war, the robots, the people… Today… Seeing how all that people looked at us like we were their last hope… It reminded me of home… The destruction…” 


“Hana, you are not alone in being a beacon of hope for your people now. We are in Overwatch, that means that they look at us like that because of the symbol we carry, not only for being us. We bring them hope, yes, but you are not alone like before doing it. We can do more together, help more people, and you don’t need to shoulder everything yourself. You don’t need to always be the perfect bunny”


“It’s hard to remember I don’t have to take all the responsibility of the team’s victory alone like I did back at home…” Brigitte hugged her, trying to calm her a little.


“It’s alright… If I say you can always count on me to be be your side, will you believe me?” The korean just nodded, burrowing into the other girl’s embrace for comfort. 


And Brigitte, true to her word, never left her. In battle, before she could ask for any repairs, she already had her patching her MEKA up; is someone was flanking her, a shield would bash into her assailant, followed by a mace; and if  she needed to bail out of her suit, as soon as she touched the ground, a yellow armour would already be there to cover her. 


Hana had left a tread into her pop culture, into her army and into her country, but nobody could compare the tread Brigitte’s care and love had left on her.

Chapter Text

It was the first hours of the evening. The sky was starting to turn ambarine from its previous stark blue that had graced the old city of Ilios.


The Overwatch team was warding the archeological team that was digging up some important artifact that Talon looked hellbent into getting. The team was composed by D.Va, Tracer, Hanzo, Genji and Zenyatta. 


They were already wrapping up everything to call it a day and go to dine when a swarm of black cladded men with red helmets appeared out of nowhere, surrounding the digging site with the guns at the ready. The team quickly positioned themselves into a fighting stance, with Genji and Tracer at the head, Hanzo disappearing into some sniper nest he had probably looked up earlier, and D.Vs staying back with Zenyatta to provide cover for the archeologists.


Everything was fine, they were making the offensive troops retreat, they had practically everything under control. Genji finished scouting the high ground and jumped off of a ledge, landing beside his master to check on him. Or so he thought he had finished. 


A shot rang, louder than the rest. High caliber. Sniper. 


Following sound was a metallic impact and Zenyatta falling to the floor, all his orbs rolling away from him. 


“MASTER!” He screamed in pure panic, putting himself between the monk and the direction the shot had come from. “SNIPER, BE WARY!” 


“Sniper taken care of.” His brother’s voice rang through the com a second later. Knowing that the threat had been eliminated, he turned frantically, to Zenyatta, who was starting to move in an attempt to sit up. 


The cyborg kneeled beside him and began to search him looking for a bullet entry, all with the utmost care in his touches. Zenyatta caught his hands and in his own and, very calmly, forced him to stop. 


“I am not  harmed, sparrow” He told him, to what Genji looked at him confused. The omnic, still seated on the ground, let go of one of Genji’s hands and reached for the nearest orb that had fallen from his usual levitating circle, showing it to his pupil. “I stopped it” he answered, pointing out the bullet still embedded into the orb. “It did not hit me, but startled me enough to break concentration and make everything fall, including myself.” 


“You are intact, then?” He asked confused, to what the other only nodded. 


“I am” 


“In that case, lets continue” He said, offering a chivalrous helping hand to help him rise, taking the omnic’s hand with the delicacy that brought pure adoration. 




Later that night, both of them were having a calm stroll through the blue and white desertic streets of the new part of Ilios when Genji caught sight again of the damaged orb. 


“I’m sorry for failing my task this evening. I should have scanned the rooftops better” He apologised without even looking at his master.


“It was not your fault, my dear sparrow, nor is it anybody else’s” The ninja opened his mouth to protest, but the monk raised a hand, silencing him. “We all do our best when faced with adversaries like the ones from today, and I would still trust you with my life.”


“So you say… But I will perform my duties in the battlefield double as I do now, and I would do it into a third if with that I knew I would keep you safe.” Hi stopped for a second, passing some silva, “Today… Today I could have lost you.” His voice broke at the end. 


The stroll stopped beside a library, with Zenyatta putting a tender hand on his face to make him look at him, “I said I do not blame you. You already do your best.” At his words Genji nodded, but launched himself to hug the omnic, who reciprocated the embrace softly but with intent. 


“You are right, but please do not scare me like that ever again, please. “ he almost whispered in the cold night air. He had been terrified to lose Zenyatta and he wasn’t embarrassed in the least of showing it. 


“I will try” Came de reverent answer. He moved slightly away from his pupil, enough for being able to look at him, one of his hand going slowly for the faceplate of the cyborg to release it. The other gave a nood and the faceplate unlatched with a light hiss, revealing his scarred face and a turf of green hair on top of it. And panic, devotion, love..


“I cannot lose you, master, you made me whole… You still make me whole.” He admitted, pressing his forehead to Zenyatta’s. 


“You cannot lose me anymore than I cannot lose you, my dear sparrow.” his soft answer came accompanied by a tender hand in Genji’s now bare cheek and a feather soft kiss to his lips.


No amount of hidden treasures that were in that god forsaken island could ever compare in Genji’s eyes to the treasure he had at his side, floating, helping everyone he could, but loving him. His treasure.

Chapter Text

Jack had always been a haunted man. The ghosts of his family, his friends, his SEP comrades, his fallen fellow soldiers… All of  them accompanied him on a daily basis. 


But some of his ghosts were a little more real than others.


He was sitting on his bed after a shower, dressed in one of his horrible flannel pyjamas, reading the  folder of the latest mission run by his Overwatch teammates with his only source of light being his night stand lamp. . Out of the corner of his eye, out of the angle of his reading glasses, he could see how a shadow moved beside the window. He didn’t pay it any mind and continued reading. 


Again, a suspicious movement near the closet. Just a slight shift in the light absorbed by the shadows. Again, the old soldier just ignored it in favour of his report.


A more obvious woosh of darkness started nearing the bed, accompanied this time with a rush of cold and a windy sound. 


Jack sighed, slumping his shoulders slightly. He put down the tablet for a moment over his legs, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it in a gesture of lost patience. 


“Gabriel, stop your Halloween shit and bring your ghosty ass to bed before I make you an actual, permanent ghost.” He deadpanned. Then, at the other side of the bed, Reaper’s form coalesced, already in black sweats and a black t-shirt with a carved pumpkin printed on it. 


“Sometimes you are no fun at all, Jackie…” He practically whined, getting in bed beside him. 


“You should try harder to scare me if you want for me to be “fun”, as you say” 


“Oh, you will see, cariño , you will see…”


Jack just sighed again, turning off the tablet an putting it and his glasses aside in favour of looking at Gabriel. “Please, no property damage to the base…”


Gabriel faked indignation at the accusation, “When have I done that?”


“For Halloween? Do you want the list in alphabetical or chronological order?” He teased him. 


“Oh, like you have memory enough to do that.”


He just took Reyes’ pillow and as an answer fake-choked him with it. He ghosted through it, laughing. 


“Okay, message gotten, soldier!” He said between laughs still, before giving him a light kiss on the lips, “Good night, amor …” The other returned the kiss and turned off the light. 


“Good night, love” He murmured, lying his head on his pillow and burrowing in the blankets. A couple of seconds later a pair of cool arms wrapped around him torso, embracing him. 


Yes, Jack Morrison was a haunted man. But he was fine with it.

Chapter Text

Moira was never a traditional sort of woman. But, and there was always a but, she knew that Angela entertained that kind of thing. Hence why she had brought the present that was currently in her pocket. 


She was currently waiting for the Swiss doctor to exit her office in her laboratory. Not long ago, Moira had been given her own Blackwatch laboratory in the black operations wing of the headquarters, meaning she didn’t spend as much time with her blonde aingeal as she would have liked. 


As soon as the doctor appeared through the door with a smile to greet her, the Irish woman felt some kind of calmness wash over her. The younger woman walked straight to her and pecked her on the lips for a greeting. 


“It is good to see you too, angel” She said in response, straightening herself from her propped up position against a nearby wall. Angela giggled a little and laced her arm with the other’s. 


“Shall we?” She asked, looking at Moira with her big blue eyes.


“Of course.” 


And like that they went directly for the door and directly for the restaurant where they had already a reservation for lunch. 


They were seated and taken their orders. Meanwhile their conversation began with work related subjects, but quickly stirred to lighter subjects for them, like the latest paper published by some idiot doctor or the weirdest theories the had listened that week from their respective teams. 


They were well into their second course when the conversation lulled to a stop enough for the geneticist to remember the present she had brought. 


“Angela, I brought something for you. But first of all, I do not want you precipitating into any conclusions before I explain myself, alright?” 


The woman nodded, “Sure. ‘Vhat is it?”


“It is a ring, more precisely a Claddagh.”


“A ring? I understand you aren’t asking me to marry you, are you?” She joked, to what the geneticist smiled lightly and denied with her head. 


“No, I am not. That is why I asked you to not precipitate yourself into thinking anything.” She told her, retrieving said ring from a velvet little bag that was on her pocket and putting it into the doctor’s palm. The ring was a silver band, representing a heart with a crown and two hands clutching it, and though it was shiny and clean, the metal looked battered and old. 


“It’s beautiful, Moira. How did you said it ‘vas called?”


“A Claddagh. It comes from an ancient Irish tradition and legend. Apparently, at the end of the XVII century, there was a jeweller who loved a woman that was waiting for him back at Galway. But the man was captured by pirates and sold as a slave, where he remained many years. Story says that even in his predicament he ended gaining the favour of the king, who fourteen years after his enslavement, granted him his freedom once again and offered him the hand of his own daughter in exchange of the man staying as the royal goldsmith. But the man refused, because in his fourteen years of slavery, he only wanted to come back to his woman in Galway. And so he did. The tradition tells that, to commemorate his love tale he designed these rings, the Claddagh. The heart is obviously the love, the crown is the loyalty and the hands are the friendship between the lovers. If you look on the inside you can still see engraved “Let love and friendship reign” which the lesson of the legend.” 


She stopped for a second, feeling completely out of her element with so much feelings being debated in her speech. “Nowadays, this rings are given usually between the teenagers and young people to promise each other fidelity even if they get separated for going to university or some absurd thing like that. I know this is a childish thing, and completely out of my logical usual path of reasoning, but that Claddagh belonged to my mother. I recently found it between my belongings, I do not know why I kept it all this years since I did not have much relationship or things in common with the villager woman, but finding it made me think of how missions and now working in different spaces sometimes prevent us from being with each other. And I thought, since you usually entertain this sort of traditions, that you might like it.” 


Angela looked at her, speechless for a few seconds. She looked over the weathered ring and without thinking it twice she slided it onto her finger, going to grab her girlfriend’s hands right after. 


“I like it very much, liebling .” She smiled warmly at her, “It’s a beautiful tradition and I don’t think is childish. I think it’s lovely.” 


“I am glad you liked it, grá .” 


“But I have a question,” She started with a knowing smile, “Follo’ving the story you told me, does this ring mean that you ‘vant to marry me one day?”


The geneticist laughed at her question and tone, but spoke with absolute security, “Do not doubt it for one second.” 



Many years later, a Doctor Angela Ziegler, code name Mercy, was looking over her teammates of the new, reassembled Overwatch. Some were old comrades, others were new faces that fought alongside one another. They were playing cards and bantering, bringing some young energy much needed for the old guard present there. 


She knew some of the presents there had personal matters, broken relationships looking to mend, not only with the friends that were seated beside them, but with the foes awaiting on the other side of the battlefield. 


In an unconscious gesture, her thumb stroked the silver ring that laid under her glove. She had kept the ring and her part of the ancient promise that it represented, and she still hoped that, one day, Moira would come to make good on her end of the promise.

Chapter Text

Ana was sure, one of her biggest mistakes mistakes in life was to try and outdrink a german man around ten times bigger than her. She could hold her alcohol rather well, but no one over the face of earth, and without inhuman modified genes, could be a match for Reinhardt when spirits came into play. 

Hence why she was in her current predicament: in her words, she was just “a little dizzy”; in Reinhardt’s opinion, she was completely inebriated. And to support his opinion, the woman was currently trying to crawl into his lap in the middle of the mess hall, with almost all of their team in differents states of intoxication too. 


“My lady, please, I think you are not thinking clearly” the german commented, slightly confused at her behaviour, while trying to get her off of him as delicately as he could and onto her own seat. 


A snort beside him made him look away from her for a second, “She’s hammered, man, she isn’t thinking shit right now” chuckled Reyes, looking quite amused by the scene. Reinhardt looked back at the sniper still trying to get her off of him. 


The sense of chivalry instructed him to protect his lady’s honor, even from herself. And so, he stood up, taking her into his arms, bidded farewell to his companions, and marched off to get the egyptian to her quarters. 


As soon as they got there, he opened the door, having been granted permission by her not long ago, and put tried to put her into her bed. But she wasn’t in a collaborative mood, apparently, since she decided to hug the neck of the german to try and retain him. 


“Aren’t you going to stay the night?” She asked tugging him down. The man sat down beside her on the bed, both feet firmly planted on the floor, and sighed fondly.


“I will stay if that is was you want, but you are not yourself, you should sleep.” He answered sternly. She blatantly ignored him and crawled into his lap once again, but this time, instead of pushing her off, he hugged her against his chest making her paw at his broad musculature in a vain attempt of moving at all. She soon caved in and fell limp in his arms, just letting him cradle her. 


“I don’t understand you. I know you want me, why not take me again? It wouldn’t be the first time…” 


“Because you are in no condition, milady. I would never tarnish the honor of a woman, much less yours.” 


The woman snorted sarcastically, “Honor… I’m a sniper, a killer, honor is not something I have.” 


“I see honor when you fight to protect you friends. You bring honor to yourself honoring them and their crusade.” The german solemnly told her, to what she slumped in his lap, looking deep in thought.


“You are too kind with me… Too good…Too soft… I am not soft… I am not kind with you… I want to… But…” She couldn’t finish the sentence because a large, calloused finger landed on her lips to silence her. 


“I don’t want to know anything you would not say any other time.” He told her, but  when he looked down, she had already fallen asleep with her head in his chest and his finger still on her lips. He looked at her with a soft smile, thinking that it was the only time he had seen her without an expression ready to kill somebody. 


He moved her to the bed, tucking her in, went to the  medicine cabinet for some painkillers and a glass of water for her in the morning, leaving everything on her nightstand. After giving it a thought, he decided to curl up all his enormous body into the little couch beside her bed, since  she had asked him to stay with her and he didn’t want to fail his word. 


The next morning, Ana woke up with the most hellish headache she could remember and a patchy throat. She sat up in her bed, looked at her night stand and frowned, not remembering having prepared those painkillers the night before.  She had been so out of it… 


She took the pills and the water, just as a stifled yawn alerted her of another presence in the room at the side of her bed. She looked in time to see how Reinhardt unfolded himself from her small couch beside her. 


“I don’t know how the hell you got here, but next time use the bed…” She whispered with a wince. He stretched over the piece of furniture. 


“I was not going to invade you…”


“It wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed. This one is no different.”


“You were undisposed. I stayed because you asked me.”


“And I said a lot of embarrassing things too, I would bet?” She asked, clutching her head with her hand. 


“You only got to say that I was too kind with you before falling asleep” He half lied, not wanting to poke her. He was fine with the way she was, he didn’t want to guilt trip her into anything. 

“Well, you sure are too nice with me, habibi …” she commented casually. At the endearment, he looked up at her, with an expression of awe. 


 “What… What did you just call me?” 


“I… Ehm… Habibi …” She answered, a little startled herself.“It means…”


“My love…” He interceded. 


“Yes… That…” She sighed deeply, “I know I am not the warmest woman on earth… But I… I want to try… If you want, of course” She started looking down at her hands, but before she got to finish, two big powerful arms swiped her into the tightest embrace she had ever felt.


“I am yours truly, my lady.” He answered her, completely convinced. “I know you are not warm, I can be for the both of us! If I wanted a delicate princes to save I would not have come to the fiercest warrior I have ever known!” He practically roared of pure euphoria, to what he got a playful smack on his arm.


“My head is still throbbing, you big blond savage” She chastised him, though it lost all the efect with the big smile she had on her face. 


“My apologies, my lady” He whispered, barely containing his own voice. She rose up one hand to cup his face, looking with a soft demeanor into his remaining blue eye.

“My foolish faris …”