#moira o'deorain reader insert

[pochipop]

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

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

#. characters! — moira .

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

#. word count! — 4.4k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long time no see, luch beag.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, and you do?” You retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like a six,” you shrug.

You’ve definitely been through worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Small intestine would be more likely.”

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

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

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

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

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

You grimace, then find your voice again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We all make choices,” you mumble bitterly.

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

She looks unimpressed by the reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moira shakes her head.

“Let’s get you up.”

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

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

“You could.”

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

“To where?”

“My laboratory,” she replies.

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

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

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

Well then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow their corpses like bile and try again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There just has to be something more beneath the surface.

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

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

“And now?”

“Now what?” She inquires.

“What’s our relationship now?”

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

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

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Us. What we had. How it felt.”

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

She’s diplomatic, even in her evasivness.

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

She busies her hands with something on a table nearby.

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

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

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

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

“Adapt and forget?” You challenge.

“Adapt and survive,” she corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow, steeling yourself to finish.

“What I want is you.”

Moira’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“You always were stubborn,” she notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Granted.”

[peaxhxhair]

Raising Kids with them - Overwatch Heroes

Featuring: Cassidy, Mercy, Moira, Roadhog, Junker Queen Warnings: Moira. A/n: this isn't exactly the official setting for each character - but this is fanfiction so we're gonna ignore it lol Navigation Overwatch - MASTERLIST Consider becoming a member! <3

Odessa Stone (Junker Queen)

She wouldn't be into having kids at first - thinking that something so small would make her weak.

It does - but she refuses to admit it.

You both decided adoption was probably the best option - adopting a sweet baby girl.

I think Dez would be all about teaching her kids to fight.

Even before they've learnt to walk.

"C'mon kiddo! I was fighting at your age!"

Sometimes you would find her playing with your baby - making it look as if they were both boxing.

It was quite a funny sight.

You'll come home from work and find them watching wrestling or something.

Probably swears around your kid.

Your babies first word is probably 'cunt' or 'fuck'

You're usually the one to take your daughter to school, but on the off chance Dez does - the rest of the parents are scared of her.

The kids adore her though.

She'll struggle doing stuff like diaper changes at first - as anyone would

~~~

As your daughter gets older - she grows into a mini version of Dez.

She wont call her 'mom' - instead calling her something silly like 'cunt' or 'fuckwit'

Dez gets a real kick out of it - and does the same.

Dez would be a little disappointed if your kid didn't want to fight, though she'd still be supportive - even if she didn't really understand.

Cries on your daughters wedding day - but tries to hide it.

"I'm not crying cunt, you're crying"

Mako Rutledge (Roadhog)

I think Mako would be really good with kids-

Big brooding dad & cute tiny daughter combo type vibe

Maybe she's really talkative, and he just listens.

He'd let her put clips in his hair and paint his nails.

It's giving Gru when his girls are doing ballet.

He's always the one to hold the kids when needed - since he barely has any issue.

His hands are just so big.

Even if you had like - 4 kids he would have no trouble carrying them all.

You were grateful that you could have some time alone sometimes, as Mako is a very competent father.

'crane's hand back while driving when kid opens snack' dad

Your kid might pretend to wear his shoes - and they can barely even stand properly in them, let alone walk.

Moira O'Deorain 

Does not want kids.

Only agreed because you would make a face at her whenever you saw a baby.

test-tube baby fr

Literally will not go to another doctor about her kids health.

Does she know anything about kids? No.

Does she think she knows more than the QUALIFIED children's doctors? Absolutely she does.

MIGHT agree to taking your kid to see Angela - if you're not too keen on her doing science on your kid.

HATES being called mom.

She's fine with your kid just calling her by her name.

This was weird on the first day of school - most parents thinking your kids other parent wasn't in the picture.

She was fine with that idea - meaning that you 'left' your old partner for her. Narcissist.

~~~

Your babies first word was definitely her name.

but in the cute baby way.

'Moiwa'

When your kid gets a little older, maybe they'll ask about Moira's arm.

"This is what happens when you smoke"

Your kid will never even THINK about smoking ever again.

It isn't until they're 30 that they realise that wasn't true.

Prefers to keep her kids away from science - as much as it was important to her.

She'll barely talk to you about it either - which may be hard if you're also a part of Talon.

Having to bring your kids to work with you is definitely SOMETHING.

You'd prefer for them to be with you rather than with Moira, though.

Your kids are NOSY, so you have to bend the truth a little bit.

Just to make sure they don't view their mom as the ruthless geneticist that she ACTUALLY is.

"Why is miss Amelie blue?"

"She didn't eat her vegetables"

Angela Ziegler (Mercy)

BIG on consistent check-ups.

Sometimes she'll do them herself, but she prefers the professionals.

She doesn't specialise in child care, but she does make sure that your child is going to the best doctor in the field.

Definitely enjoys shopping for baby clothes.

Works with baby on lap - letting the little guy play with her fingers.

Aeroplane noises while getting the baby to eat.

does NOT let the kid eat candy until they're like 10.

This was hard for you - because it meant you couldn't have candy in the house.

Secret stash of sweets hidden somewhere in your car.

One in Overwatch HQ too.

ALWAYS prepared.

Baby needs a snack? She's got cut up grapes in her bag.

Always has wipes and diapers.

"Hey babe? Where's their bottle?" She's already retrieved it from the drying rack.

Tiny first-aid kid in her bag at ALL times.

~~~

If your kid wants their ears pierced at Claire's. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Angela is panicked at any idea of infections - especially when it comes to your kid.

Your kiddo is made to wear clip on earrings until they qualify to be pierced by a professional.

Will always make sure places are baby safe before you take your kid there.

~~~

She's calm 90% of the time - she just cares about general safety and health.

Matching onesies with your kid.

Chilli and Bingo core :)

Angela would LOVE doing Halloween costumes for your kiddo.

They're always so CUTE.

If she has the time, she'll put together matching family ones.

Cole Cassidy

Baby carrier dad.

Like he'll just carry your baby everywhere.

Gets upset when he has to put the little guy down.

"We're just fine over here. No need to pull us apart"

Your child definitely prefers him to you - which you're fine with.

It's just so cute seeing them play together.

I'd say he's a girl dad - the type to teach her how to shoot, or play football with.

9 times out of ten, he'll fall asleep while reading her a bedtime story, so he always just ends up sleeping in your daughters bed with her.

The two of them cuddled up on the tiny mattress - he's holding your little girl so protectively.

~~~

The moms at the nursery you take your daughter to all think Cole is hot.

Too right.

They just need to learn to keep their hands to themselves.

Your kid is very protective of him - and your relationship.

If you're married, she'll be like;

"Daddy, show her your wedding ring!! Isn't it nice?"

It makes Cole chuckle every time.

Cole didn't even need to shut the women down - your kid was doing all the work for him.

~~~

Definitely the dad that all of your kids friends like

"Your dad is so cool!"

He's always invited to their little tea parties and stuff.

Yes, he will put on the crown and princess dress.

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 2

Part 2 of 4

Ana

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

Cassidy

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

Moira

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

Mauga

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

Zenyatta

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

[matchaxberries]

hihii idk when you’ll get around to this, but could you write something about Moira from Overwatch comforting a very upset reader?? not really upset about a specific thing, but the reader is distraught

thanks ^^

Táim Anseo Dhuit

Moira O'Deorain x GN!Reader

Warnings: Maybe OOC Moira? Short, no actual warnings tbh

Being with Moira was, far from easy. Her personality was difficult, and often Angela would come to you asking you to please reason with her for a multitude of reasons. You sit on your two's shared bed, as she works away in her office the room over. You hated how others spoke of Moira, even in front of your face knowing you two had started something official recently. Sometimes the whispers get to you, you can’t help it. You read through the Overwatch agencies group chat, and spot Moira's name from Angela. You read over the not kind words shared between her and others. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, and you lock your phone. A sniff escapes from yourself, and you bring your sleeve up to your eyes attempting to wipe away the tears that threaten to spill.

Moira works away in her medical office, reading and flipping through a clipboard of papers with a small sigh. Her eyes narrow as she sits the clipboard down, pinching the bridge of her nose. She decides to take a small break, and leaves her office dropping her white coat onto the floor behind her. She shuts her lab door, and makes her way into her bedroom where you sit on the bed. As soon as she walks in she can sense there's something wrong. "(Y/n), is something the matter?" She smoothly questions, bed dipping in where she sits by yourself. You look at her with slightly teary eyes, shaking your head no, even though that's obviously not true. She gives a small hum, leaning closer to yourself taking your face into her own hand at the chin, tilting your head up at her; as she sits a bit taller than you on the bed. "A ghrá, if you do not wish to tell me what troubles you that is fine, though do not lie to myself." She places a small kiss onto your lips, eyes staying narrowed with an unreadable expression as she pulls away.

You sniff a bit, leaning your face into Moira's hand that rests at the side of your face, against your cheek. You stare into her bi-colored eyes, and she stares back, not breaking the gaze. She uses her thumb to wipe away tears from your eye, as they slow down to a stop. She gives you a small, half smile, though it looks more like a smirk on herself. “Whenever anything is wrong, (y/n), you may only ask for my help, yes?” Her hand leaves your face, and comes to your hand, she intertwines her slender fingers with yours, and uses her other hand to pet your hair softly, smoothing it out. As her hand sinks into your hair, your worries fade away, the words you read from others leave your mind, and Moira continues her petting at your hair, running her fingers through it, combing it back. You give her a smile, “better now?” She questions yourself.

You nod to her, and squeeze her hand that is interlocked to yours, playing a bit with her fingers. She lightly pulls you forward, herself falling back into the plush mattress you two had been sitting upon, pulling you onto herself to coddle you kindly. It feels uncharacteristic, though you know how her sharp edges soften for you. You lay, head against her chest as she keeps a hand in your hair, her other hand rests at the small of your back. You blink slowly for a moment, then close your eyes shut, beginning to let yourself drift off in Moira’s arms.

© matchaxberries

[You do not have permission to repost, edit, or claim my work as your own/share it on any other platform. Only reblogs are okay.]

Character count: 3,150

A/N: This was so much shorter than I intended, and I know you said reader has no reason for being upset but my brain had an idea and I ran with it 😖 I hope you enjoy! (Also the title means “I am here for you” it’s actually one of her voice lines from the game!)

Masterlist

Request Rules

[ya-zz]

I have a quick question if you don't mind me asking. Can you please do one where a gender neutral reader is a secret singer? Like they walk on stage and their partner recognizes them even with a costume and makeup. Can I please request Hanzo, Genji, Moira, Lucio, Ramattra, Zenyatta Junker Queen, Junkrat, and Roadhog to be the ones who are the partner who figures out that they're dating a popular singer.

There was a lot to this, but I hope it's okay! (I also haven't slept when I upload this, so I apologise for any mistakes or errors.)

I'll add everything under the cut, but here is a main scenario you can use or make your own up;;;

You had been dating your partner for a few months now and things were healthy. Everything was as it should be, though, you had a secret you couldn’t exactly tell them. Fear was holding you back - you did not know how they would act, whether they would use you or leave you.

HANZO

He was three drinks into the night when the act started.

At first, he didn’t care until the voice resonated within his ears. 

Looking up, his eyes adjusted to the spotlights shining down amongst the crowd before they dimmed and the main stage lit up. 

Their voice was something ethereal. Something that Hanzo recognised instantly. 

Despite the outfit they were wearing, behind all of that make-up, Hanzo recognised the person instantly. 

Shock was present on the archers face, but that was quickly overcome with astonishment.

He couldn’t believe it. His partner was the most popular singer in Hanamura. 

Hanzo couldn’t stop staring, watching the way they performed so effortlessly.

Their hips swaying in time with the song, lips wet and shining in the spotlight, voice angelic as the day he first hear them. 

His heart flutters, flush appearing on his cheeks and not from the alcohol he had already consumed. 

When his eyes met theirs, a smile forms on their face, a wink directed to the man seated within the booth. 

Hanzo could feel the heat rise in his body as he smiled back, tipping his glass towards his partner. 

There were several emotions running through him, from love to lust, Hanzo couldn’t quite wrap his head around why you kept it a secret. 

Nevermind though, he was already planning on making you sing for him privately.

GENJI

Genji had made plans that night with a few friends he had made during his playtime in Hanamura all those years ago. Some form of a “catch up over drinks” he called it. 

Sitting in a circular booth close to the stage, the ninja looks up at the presenter talking about the opening act, a name he recognizes but had no face to put it to. 

When you come out on stage in all that make-up and wearing an outfit that catches everyone's eyes, Genji can’t help but stare either.

It took him a moment between blinks for it to register that the person on stage was his partner he had been dating. 

His jaw practically drops, hand clasp tightly around his drink.

Eyes were blown wide, either from lust or from pure adoration at your singing ability. 

Genji felt his entire body flare up in heat, something so secretive only turned him on more. 

His friends that surrounded him made their remarks but he didn’t pay them no mind.

His entire focus was on you. 

Genji could only sit there and stare. 

The moment you lock eyes with him and give a playful wink accompanied with a smirk, the dragon inside stirs. 

Oh you don’t get to play this game.

The night was still young and the ninja had so many ideas in mind.

MOIRA

The Irishwoman would have rather been anywhere else tonight, but after a week of failed experiments, what other choice did she have?

The bar sat across from the stage was where she was situated, and her phone lay on the countertop in silence. 

You hadn’t even bothered to check in on her today which only fueled her rage more.

She needed time to herself, however. Perhaps the night will go in her favour of some peace. 

Just when she finished her second drink, the ice rattling in her glass, she turns to face the stage. 

The act had already started, singer atop the stage in sparkles and glitter. 

Moira felt something familiar but couldn’t quite place her fingers on it. 

Then there was that turn you did, one that the scientist recognised instantly. 

It was you singing your heart out. Not only that, but in such an establishment? She couldn’t quite believe it. 

No wonder you had been distant today, you were here preparing for this. 

He anger at you dies out instantly as she watches on, admiring the way your voice sounded along with the music. 

She knew you could sing but this was an entire new level. 

Moira clapped when the song was over, smile as wide as her face met yours to which you bashfully hid away.

Questions have answers and she was going to get them, one way or another.

LUCIO

It wasn’t his first time in the venue and it sure wasn’t going to be his last.

He always had a seat at the VIP table just in front of the main stage, and tonight you were suppose to join him.

When his calls went unanswered, a sinking feeling grew in his stomach. There were many faces already staring at him on his own.

He tried to drown his sorrows with a few drinks, hopelessly texting you, wondering where you are. 

Then the announcer calls out a famous singers name and Lucio can’t help but feel somewhat hurt that you’re leaving him like this. 

He stands to leave and when a voice starts singing, a perfect harmony that his ears twitch and listen to, he spins around. 

Immediately he recognises you, he knows the frequency of your voice, they perfect, sweet noises that come from your throat. 

It was you. 

You hadn’t stood the artist up, no, you were here with him. 

He takes his seat and watches you sway in time with the music. 

Eyes meet and he can’t help but grin. No wonder you were so secretive. 

When the song was finally over, you didn’t waste anytime in jumping from the stage and sitting beside Lucio. 

His hand holds yours as he compliments you, placing a kiss to your temple. 

He didn’t mind, it’ll be all over the papers tomorrow regardless.

RAMATTRA

What was an omnic like him doing in such a place like this?

The only time he had a need to being here was to strike deals that suited his arrangements. 

A questioning invite made him wander into the place, suit hugging his body as he unbuttoned the blazer to sit down. 

He crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair as he watched the stage, an opening act that did not pique his interest at all. 

When a familiar voice rang through several minutes later, his receptors picked up the frequencies, instantly looking up to the figure on stage. 

His optics adjusted to the light, a smirk coursing through his wires as he watches his partner, their hips moving to the rhythm. 

He couldn’t help but stare, system flaring up as he records the show for later.

When his partner finally stops singing, their vocals now a slow murmur against the next act, Ramattra watches them make their way to his booth. 

“You finally came through.” He spoke, matter of factly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I knew.” 

Of course he knew. He had everything about you saved within his systems. 

“Plus your secret wasn’t exactly secret with me.” He muses. 

ZENYATTA

The omnic had planned this little date with you months prior, an exquisite date fit for someone like you.

Little did he know, that the place you were currently seated in had regulars there that recognise you instantly. 

At first you passed them off, Zenyatta staying beside you throughout it all. 

He was confused until some older looking person came and pulled you away from your partner.

You laughed, brushing him off before eventually being pulled onto the stage, microphone in your hand. 

It all came naturally and the tilt of Zenyatta’s head made you smirk. 

Your voice hit his receptors just right and the monk could feel his wires warm up as he watches you perform for everyone else. 

When the show was over, applause ringing loud throughout the venue, you make your way back to him. 

“You put on quite a show.” He admits with a chuckle. 

His optics met your eyes, looking at how they glistened under the warm light. 

“How long have you kept this secret?” 

“Too long.”

Zenyatta brushed his thumb over your knuckles as he held your hand before bringing it up to his faceplate, planting a makeshift kiss against it. 

“Perhaps you could tell me more as the night goes on.”

JUNKERQUEEN

It was a normal night for the queen.

Junkertown bars held karaoke nights each weekend, the establishments packed with drunks and Aussies alike. 

Some nights, upon the queens request, does she have private shows before her on her throne. 

Several acts lay before her, the music was loud but when her eyes set upon an almost familiar figure, everything heightened. 

Their voice was angelic, something she recognised instantly as they sang their hearts out. 

Odessa thought hard about where she recognised their voice, it was just there…

The moment their eyes lock, it hit her, the one singer she had adored for years, the one partner she had loved for months. 

It was the same person. 

Her smile became something feral as she stood, practically marching her way over there.

Upon reaching her partner, hands laced together as her lips brushed against your ear. 

“Who knew you had such a voice.” 

She felt your cheeks flush against hers, a devilish smile caressing her face. 

Odessa now had several ideas whirling inside of her head.

“Your queen would enjoy a more… private ensemble.”

JUNKRAT

The Aussie was head over heels for you, that much was plainly obvious by the way he would talk about you and show you off. 

There was something about you though that rose suspicions.

The way you would sneak off and come back late at night. While he knew you weren’t screwing around, something unfamiliar settled in his stomach. 

One night, he followed you, the nighttime heat on the back of his neck. 

Upon entering a small, unmonitored establishment, Jamison could feel the hairs on his arms stand up. 

He peered around the back, eyes searching for you and when your voice echoed through the dimly lit room, tones changing quickly as you sang, did the junker find his heart fluttering. 

His partner, the love of his life, the one he trusted everything with… 

You were singing for others, but never for him. 

He wondered why, but when he realised that you were the most sought singer in the entirety of Junkertown, he understood. 

Time passed before you eventually came home, seeing Jamison sleeping on the bed. 

Lazily, he cuddled up with you, hand stroking your stomach as he mumbles out sleepily; 

“You have the voice of an angel.” 

ROADHOG

Nothing could’ve prepared him for such a relationship between him and you. 

Never had he thought someone would love him the way you do, so when you invited him out on a date several weeks into the relationship, he was almost startled. 

For once, the man dressed up nice, smart suit and tie and he made his way over to one of the more prestigious places in Junkertown. 

By almost begging the queen, you managed to get him in unharmed, guards escorting him into the building and standing around to keep a watchful eye on you. 

At first he was confused as to where you were, but when a familiar voice sang out, stage lit up beautifully despite half of the bulbs flickering, his ears perk up. 

He looked up, eyes widening as he witnessed his partner, the one singer he had on repeat for the last few months, was there on the stage. 

He couldn’t believe it at first, but the subtle smiles and winks you passed to him was all the confirmation he needed that it was indeed you. 

He was dating one of the well known and renowned singers in all of Junkertown. 

It makes his head spin, the excitement taking over as he can’t help but stand and applaud when the act is over. 

Mako grasps you firmly, pulling your body flush to his as he wipes the bead of sweat from your cheek. 

“You have kept this from me?” His voice was low, gruff as he watched you. 

“I had no choice.” 

He huffs, shaking his head. 

“You sound wonderful.” He admits. 

His hand squeezes your side. 

“I’d like to hear you again.”

—

KOFI

[gl0v3s]

The Sacred Pen

Pairing: Moira O'Deorain x Reader

Summary: You lost your favourite pen, and it turns out it's with Dr Moira.

As you observe Dr. Moira from your hiding spot, a chill runs down your spine, recognizing her as one of the most intimidating figures you've ever encountered. Her presence exudes an aura of authority and power, making you feel small and insignificant in comparison.

'So what are we doing?' Kiriko's unexpected whisper startles you, you can't help but yelp in surprise, drawing Dr. Moira's attention towards you. The way she turns her head, her gaze piercing through the shadows, sends shivers down your spine, and you instinctively duck behind the desk, hoping to remain unnoticed.

You shove your hand on Kiriko's shoulder, annoyed that she almost caused you to get caught. Watching your frown, Kiriko chuckles softly and furrows her eyebrows at your preoccupied attention, her kitsune bandana glimmering in the light.

'Wait a minute....are you stalking Moira?' Kiriko widens her eyes, exaggeratingly, but you don't answer her, causing your best friend to let out a frustrated groan.

Your frustration mounts as you watch Dr. Moira casually pick up your pen, your most cherished possession. It's not just any pen; it holds sentimental value and significance beyond measure, a symbol of luck and protection. Seeing Dr Moira handle it with such disregard fills you with anger and dread.

A grimace forms on your face as your eyes follow the doctor's movements. An idea forms into your head and you slowly and eerily turn to Kiriko, who is grumbling beneath her breath at how its rude to ignore your best friend and that she won't be sharing with you any doughnuts anymore. She sees your eerie grin and widens her eyes.

'Kiri...can you do me a favour..' You ask sweetly, which leads to Kiriko narrowing her eyes but sighs with a whisper. 'Fine, what do you want?'

'I need you to teleport to Dr Moira's desk, grab my pen and teleport back,' You place your hand behind Kiriko's neck and force her to peek at Moira who is casually using your pen without a care in the world. You clench your jaw in annoyance. Clearly, the doctor has no respect for such a beautiful special pen.

'I love you, Y/n, but I'm not that crazy,' Before you can react, Kiriko teleports in a blink, leaving you alone with the person you dreaded most. Your heart pounds in your chest, and a sense of impending doom washes over you. How are you going to retrieve your pen now?

The best solution would be to get the pen when the doctor won't be here anymore. However, for some crazy reason, she is always in the lab. Like, go eat or something!

'You have permission to come out from your hiding spot,' You hold your breath and swallow harshly but remain hidden. Dr Moira was probably talking to someone else. Which makes you unnecessarily curious. Could it be you weren't the only other person who forgot something in the lab?

'I'm speaking to you, Y/n, not the ghosts in the walls.' Hearing the deathly calm tone In Dr. Moira's voice, you bite the inside of your cheek. So she knows it's you and your name. You don't remember ever speaking to her except hearing about the rumours circulating about her, mainly from Kiriko.

However, you're too scared to exit your hiding spot. You peek just a bit at the desk, but you don't see Dr Moira anymore. But a towering and overbearing presence makes you turn around and your eyes lock onto Dr Moira who has a perfectly raised eyebrow as she stares down at you.

She is watching you, holding your pen in her hand like a trophy. You feel a pang of secret admiration mingled with fear. Despite her intimidating demeanour, there's something undeniably captivating about her, something that draws you in despite your better judgment.

In her hand is what you've been after the entire time. Your pen. Which Dr Moira seems to be enjoying as she twirls the pen and elegantly waves it at you.

'How childish can you be for such a mundane object. Pathetic.' Even though it might seem trustworthy, you purse your lips at the insult. Scraping some of your dignity, you stand up from your position, and as expected, the height difference is large since you have to tilt your head to stare at Dr Moira in the eyes.

You fix your clothing and dust off imaginary dust.

'I fell.' You lift your head, trying to show Dr Moira that her analyzing attention on you didn't affect you in the slightest. Which, of course, you did, and by her obnoxious smirk that she directed to you, she knew how her presence affected you.

You clear your throat. 'Excuse me,' You muster your most confident tone and leave the lab. Although a few steps outside the lap, you mentally facepalm yourself as you realise you still didn't have your pen.

---

Entering the lab with your head held high and a straight face, you walk towards Dr Moira, who holds your pen in a way that she knew you would come back for it either way.

As you stand before her, trying to maintain a façade of confidence, you can't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Beneath the fear and resentment lies a hidden attraction, a forbidden desire that you dare not acknowledge, even to yourself.

Dr Moira's smug smirk only serves to fuel your frustration, but deep down, you can't deny the thrill of being in her presence, even if it scares you to admit it.

'Thanks..' You force out and grab your pen, walking out of the lab.

'If you wanted an excuse just to speak to me, all you have to do is ask..' Her voice echoes through your ears. However, you don't pay her any mind and continue to walk as she chuckles darkly.

As you walk away, her taunting words echo in your mind, leaving you torn between attraction and repulsion, longing and fear.

[starlightocelot]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Reader Characters: Moira O'Deorain, Reader, Angela “Mercy” Ziegler (mentioned) Additional Tags: Gender-neutral Reader, Autistic Reader, Autism Spectrum, Autism, Domestic Fluff, Kissing, Awkward Conversations, Toothbrushing, sensory issues, Mentions of Blood, Fluff and Humor, No use of y/n Series: Part 2 of Moira and her Autistic!SO Summary:

In which, Moira discovers one of your bad habits and does everything she can to (reasonably) alleviate you of it

(First fic back after nearly 2 year hiatus, les go)

[astarlow]

hi! may i request moira x fem reader with these protective prompts? maybe moira and reader got separated and reader's been hurt? ty!

“ i’m on my way. ”

“it’s alright… it’s okay… i’m here now. i’ve got you.”

“ don’t worry. everything’s going to be alright… ”

Character: Moira Word Count: 1202 Form: Writing Prompt Warning: Mentions of wounds and blood Synopsis: You got hurt and Moira is nowhere to be seen A/n: I changed a little bit the prompt but in their context, it's relatively the same. I'm also going to make an announcement post in a few hours so if you're curious about where this blog is heading, please give it a read. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Moira doesn’t go on the field often. She is used to staying in her lab. There are more efficient people to go out there than her, she could name more than a few. Though, from time to time, she could be picked to go on a mission. It is a rare occasion she and you are paired together. This is one of these times. 

You are going through the details of the mission one last time, files in your hands. You weren’t told who would be accompanying you but you trust your superiors. Your face lits up when you see Moira approaching you, all geared up. She has her hands behind her back, staring at her surroundings. Once she notices you, one of her brows raises. 

“You’re part of the mission?” 

“I am! So are you it seems! We’re going to kill it then.” You’re glad to know she is accompanying you. At least, there’s a more than familiar face.

“If you stay focused, we will be.” 

“Ah, so the two lovebirds are here?” Sombra places her head on your shoulder, smirking from ears to ears. You glance at her with a smirk matching hers. 

“And our great hacker is joining us, hm?”

“A swift victory it will be.” Moira joins the ship while you discuss with Sombra a bit about your approach toward the mission. 

The journey is going according to plan. Moira and Sombra get out of the ship first, to get a better sight of the land. You’re landing last with the remaining of your comrades. You stay focus on the mission once you’re landed. You go out with your team to get the package, Moira and Sombra are not part of the front team, meaning they’re not here with you. You know they’re nearby so you don’t worry.

“Looks like trouble is nearby.” You hear Sombra talks in the comms.

“What does that mean?” You ask as you grab your weapon tightly in your grip.

“Who else other than Overwatch? They sent some agents to the package already, there’s going to be some confrontation.” You inform your teammates about the pieces of information Sombra just gave you. You make a formation with your teammates, you aren’t in the frontlines of your formation but you’re near it. You hide behind an obstacle, taking cover from the incoming fires.

“How many are there?” 

“I see at least 5 of them!” One of them answers between shots. You peek and fire at will when you see one of your enemies. 

“Hey there love!” You turn around and meet eyes with one of your nemesis. Tracer empties her rounds of bullets on you and you barely manage to escape some of them. You know you’ve been touched more than once but you endure the pain. You aim at her and return the bullets. She blinks away with her abilities, avoiding your attacks. 

“Dammit.” She disappears from your sight quite easily and you notice you’re far from retrieving the package. “This is not looking good.” You mutter as you feel the blood starting to pour out of your wounds. They are quite small but they are numerous. 

“Sombra, hack their comms while we attempt to retrieve the package. You can do that, can’t you?” You hear her chuckle.

“Of course, you’re talking to the best hacker in the world amigo.” Your captain discusses with her and you’re only focusing on your own for the moment.

“Moira, think you can get to my position?” 

“Wounded?” 

“Yeah, unfortunately, yes.” There’s silence until she responds.

“I’m on my way.” 

“(Y/n) hold the position while we retrieve the package, understood?” You grit your teeth as you reload your weapon. This is going to be painful but you had worse. 

“Aye, aye captain.” You change position so Tracer wouldn’t know where you are. 

“Easy in, easy out. You got yourself 10 minutes to get that package while their comms are dead.” You cover your teammates as they rush in to get the package. Although Overwatch cannot communicate with each other, they still defend their position. Shouting over the crossfire to warn their comrades. You shoot at the man holding a giant shield to break it. From the corner of your eyes, you notice a shadow coming straight at you. Someone dashes at you and you use your weapon to block their attack. 

Moira described her former comrades to you. So you instantly recognize who is that cyborg in front of you. He left a cut on your arm, deep enough to make the blood gushes immediately. You almost let go of your weapon but you know better than to do that. You shoot at him but he deflects the first round of shots with his blade. You’re too close to him and you know if one of his shurikens lands, you’d be in big trouble.

“I need some help here-” you’re cut off when he throws a row of three shurikens at you. You duck and backed down to create some distance. He rushes at you, weapons in his hands. He dashes once again and this time he hits you behind your head. The last thing you hear is the sound of bullets.

You know you’re in pain. That’s not something you can ignore. Your whole body is throbbing, you’re exhausted and your ears are ringing. You painfully open your eyes and notice you’re laying against the wall. And the spot under you is red. You soon notice it’s your blood. 

“Shit-”

“(Y/n)? Are you there?! You scared the hell out of me amiga! What’s your situation?” 

“I’m hurt… Badly. I don’t know, I’m so confused…” You take breaks between your sentences.

“Moira is coming your way-”

“Wait- someone’s approaching-”

“Fuck, I don’t know if she’s going to be on time.” The Overwatch agent approaches you, gun pointing at you.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright.” Strangely, you feel like this hasn’t been transmitted with the comms. You don’t see her anywhere though. The agent falls and behind, you see the silhouette of Moira. You smile but it turns into a grimace because of the pain. 

“H-hey Moira. Couldn’t be m-more happy to see you.” She throws her healing orb at you, kneeling to see your wounds. “How am I looking?”

“It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s okay.” She attempts to lift you and Sombra appears just beside you, helping Moira to get you to the ship. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.” You eye the body of the agent and you see they weren’t spared. 

Another agent steps in, firing at you. They drag you out of the way, hiding behind a wall. Sombra tilts her head, waiting for Moira to say something and she does. Her face is grim. 

“I’ll take care of that. Hopefully, it’ll be the last bits of trouble for the day.” You can sense the annoyance in her voice. She throws her other orb at them, stealing their life away. She glances around her, satisfied when she sees no more enemies. You head back to the rendezvous point while she heals you. Once you’re back to the base, Moira takes swiftly care of you, forbidding you to go on a mission for the incoming weeks. Something you understand.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Hello! Could I ask for your hcs on how Moira would treat her shy s/o? Also, how would she react to finding out her partner REALLY likes it when she speaks Irish? (I recently got back into OW and remembered I'm in L-word with Miss O'Deorain) Tysm <3

HMMMMMMM. Let's see!

Warnings: Sfw but a liiitttle suggestive at parts, Reader is gn

__________

Shy little things normally aren't her speed. Moira doesn't have time for people who squeak and guffaw at the littlest of things. Thankfully, the shy that you are is fairly simply of that you just get flustered if she touches you or says something specifically to you in a tone. And of course, for some reason, when she speaks Gaelic. At least, you seem to listen more intently to her when she does.

Moira treats you much like a bunny at first. You seem skittish and shy. But eventually she learns she likes you and well. One thing at a party leads to a hand around your mouth and your eyes rolling back and now here you are. Able to enter her office whenever you please and make yourself at home.

Moira is a woman of science. She tests her theory on you listening to her when she slips into her mother tongue. Sometimes when telling a story she'll drift off into it, watching you quietly out of the corner of her eye as you rest your chin in your hands. Pink hearts practically floating around you. It's...interesting to say the least.

She'd keep testing in new places. Simple conversation, goodnights and good mornings, and then finally the bedroom. With a clawed hand over your mouth and crooning, "Mo choinín beag," to make you squirm and whimper.

Like everything Moira does, it would be used against you. But, because she LIKES you, it's used in Good ways against you.

[andimpink-on-ao3]

Chapter 21 of As You Wish is up!

Chapter 21

Guess who isn’t dead? Finally got around to being motivated enough to finish up this chapter. I’m aiming to finish this story before the summer is out. So keep an eye out for updates if you’re following the story. I’ll drop the link for chapter one here as well, for anyone who might be interested in this Princess Bride AU. Enjoy.

Chapter 1 - As You Wish by Andimpink (Overwatch, Gabriel Reyes x Reader)

Summary: Everyone was always saying that true love was truly the greatest force in the world, but you could not believe a single word of it. How could you when the only man you’d ever loved was gone from this world? Five years ago, you might have been able to agree. That was the last time you’d ever seen, held, kissed him-- your farm boy, your Gabriel. Princess Bride AU

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — MISERY BUSINESS (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — moira is many things, and your lover. . . is almost one of them .

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, canon-typical unhealthy relationship dynamics .

#. word count! — 2.6k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

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

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? title/description subject to change, wrote this on a whim lolol

Moira likes you in the way a cat likes a mouse. There’s layers to the fun, and you’ve been in the “playing with your food” stage for a while longer than you’d have been willing to admit to anyone on the outside. In here though, where she’s free to run about and experiment to her heart’s content, well. . . You don’t have anyone to explain yourself to anyway. Talon wasn’t your first choice, to be clear on the matter. In fact, before the fall of Overwatch and the subsequent destruction that waged on your city in the wake of it, it probably wouldn’t have been an option at all.

But you know better than most that sometimes things just don’t work out the way you’d hope. This was one of them, though there’s plenty of times when you’ve been able to swallow that fact a lot easier than you can right now. It’s not always so drab or hopeless, and the feelings come and go as they would if you were being holed up anywhere else. You try to soothe yourself by insisting that this place isn’t any worse than those well-protected shelters out there that monitor your food intake and your whereabouts at all times. In that sense, you’re sure you might even have more freedom than those subjected to those so-called havens spread across the world’s face.

You’re less stifled here than you probably would be at any of those safe spots, even if danger is more liable to lurk around the corners here. It’s give and take, —unlike this twisted thing you’ve got going on with Talon’s most notorious geneticist. That’s just give. Give, give, give until you’ve spread yourself so thin that there’s nothing left to offer, and then give some more, because she asks it of you. But she still cares in her own way. . . At least, you think she does. Or, maybe you’d just really like to.

It’s been a few days since you last heard from her, which isn’t particuarly unusual. She’s a grown woman, after all, with her own endeavors that she often gets so lost in that time becomes a meaningless construct only serving to interfere with her work. Beyond that, she’s a top choice for field combat at Talon, despite much preferring to stay in the labs where the both of you have long agreed she belongs. Her, because it’s a preference, and you because it’s easier to ensure that she hasn’t gotten herself killed on the battlefield when you know exactly where to find her.

She didn’t tell you she was leaving this time. You chalked it up to a midnight ushering of her out of bed and off to some other place in need of defending for now, stifling worries that she’d just chosen to up and leave without telling you beforehand. Every other time, she’s mentioned it in advance, even if it always seemed more like a casual slip into a conversation than a true heads up for the sake of your sanity.

It’s not like you’re naive to what’s going on between you. As cold as many assume her to be, she’s not some repitlian creature posing as a woman in human flesh. She’s just as much a person as you, albeit quite a different one, —and sometimes she gets a little lonely. So when those cravings seep out and she’s in need of a fix, you’re the one she reaches for. But all the same, you’re replaceable.

“Doctor O’Deorain isn’t in.”

You pause in the hall, looking over at the man who’d spoken to you, —mid thirties, by the look of him, scraggly facial scruff and tired eyes. If he hadn’t said what he did, you’d have deduced as much by the exhaustion written all over his face. When Moira’s away, someone has to be there to pick up the slack.

“I don’t know when she’ll be back,” he explains, as if having read your mind.

Though you don’t recognize him, you’re sure he’s seen you come and go from her personal office every now and again. Nobody has ever dared to question it, granted, but you’re certain they must be curious about what happens behind that closed door. It’s none of their business, but human curiosity is seldom concerned with what it needs and needs not be piqued by.

“Okay, thank you,” you answer simply.

He seems confused when you keep walking down the hall toward the labs, but doesn’t bother to question it actively. Being part of Moira’s “in-crowd” must give you some kind of special privileges down here that you hadn’t been previously aware of.

The button on the outside of the door takes a lot more force than one might expect to press it inward, but you’re used to it by now. The two iron slates pull apart and give you access to the main lab, —one that branches into several other rooms, all of which have identical doors to the main entrance. These, however, are all guarded by fingerprint recognition software, and your hand only offers you access to a single one. . . That aforementioned personal office of Moira’s that, as far as you're aware, has only ever seen your face and hers since she took over its residency.

The main lab is empty, save for a few test rodents in their various containers. You pay them the same kind of attention you would if they were on display at a pet store and not sitting in wait to be experimented on. All white fur and red eyes, you whisper little greetings to them in the same way Moira has poked fun at you for in the past; only this time, she’s not around to snicker at you just under her breath. You kind of wish she was, though. It’s a dull ache, but not one that you can completely ignore in this nearly silent lab.

Hand against the sensor now, you wait for it to recognize and authorize your identity. When it does, the second set of iron slates come apart, granting you access to the small room behind. It’s nothing grand, in spite of Moira’s well-known status amongst the rest of the staff. As far as you know, she’s the only one who even has an office at all though, so its size isn’t much indicative of its importance.

It’s just as neat as it always is, —papers mostly filed away, and the few left on her desk neatly aligned and set off to the side. To be honest, you’re not completely sure why you even came down here in the first place. You could just as easily have gone to her apartment just a few blocks from Talon’s base of operations. She gave you a key a few months back after deciding that you could probably make more use of it than she did most days. That’s probably why you’ve found yourself here rather than there. . . The sheets of her bed smell more like you than her, but the lab coat draped across the back of her chair is rich with her fragrance; a little musky, a little citrusy, but still so feminine and divine.

You might often chase after Moira like a feline on the prowl, but make no mistake, —you will always be the mouse. No matter how many times you all but purr beneath her fingers, no matter how many times she has you mewling at her touch, you are and always will be the shivering little rodent to her devilish lioness.

“Am I really this foolish?” You mumble softly, a bitter laugh catching in the back of your throat.

You are. It's a rhetorical question, —you already know the answer, and you've known it perhaps since that very first kiss. No matter how often or in what manner, it's always nice to be wanted by her. . . To be desired by the kind of woman that lives and breathes on what often feels like a completely different plane of existence. Sometimes she speaks and it's like the world has caved in at her will, and you feel yourself crumble into pieces at her feet. She can look your way and leave you stuck with thoughts of her for hours, even days, to come; until she decides you're once again important enough to spare another glance at.

So yes. Yes you are really that foolish.

You stand around in her office for a while, fiddling with things you know she wouldn’t mind you touching, like her excessive collection of ballpoint pens and the fake succulent she keeps on her edge of her desk to “liven the place up.” Even if she isn't there right now, a part of you feels more connected to her here than anywhere else. It's where she beckons you to whenever she has an itch to scratch, —where she pushes you against the off-beige wall and kisses you until you're not sure what it really feels like to breathe anymore. It's where she sits in a variety of odd positions very befitting to her long legs and talks with you about the progress of her work, about the grievances she has in her day-to-day life, and sometimes, even about her past as a part of Overwatch.

It doesn't hurt that your opinion of the organization is about as positive as her's, which is to say it's rather low, all things considered. You found them to be undeniably underhanded and the fall of the organization was simply all too convenient, leaving people like Moira to pay the final resting price. . . Leaving people like you dispersed from the only real home you'd ever known.

So you made a new one amongst the rubble and destruction, and it's fucking beautiful. All smooth skin and ginger hair, —dual-colored eyes with lips like fire that set your heart ablaze.

You're thinking too much, you've concluded by the end of it, so you snag her lab coat and make your way through the winding halls of Talon's base. You're just another civilian they've taken in, convinced that because you survived the wreckage, you must be useful for something. . . That you were strong enough to make it out, and wise enough to accept their help. You're not sure how true you really believe that to be, but at least you're not alone sometimes. The quenching of your lonely ache might even make up for the various acts of horror you’ve been instructed to perform that you’d much rather forget about and pretend like they never happened at all.

When you’re with Moira, it’s a lot easier to pretend that you’re still an innocent. She wears the remnants of her perhaps more nefarious misdeeds on her own augmented arm, —always an angry shade of purple with protruding veins, and she never holds you with it. You still hold out hope that she might one day, when you’ve both grown much too used to one another and she doesn’t swallow “I love you”’s down like bile. You’re holding onto hope that one day she’ll call this what it is.

You flash Moira’s key at a Talon operaterive who asks where you’re going on your way out the door. Question answered, and she doesn’t even ask why you’ve got the good doctor’s lab coat clutched in your grip like a vice. Nobody has to say their worries out loud for you to know they’re festering just under the surface. They choke back warnings to be careful, to be mindful, to not let yourself get swept up in Moira’s game of life.

But the truth is, this is all you’re getting, and you don’t even feel like you’re settling. It could always be worse, and for whatever it’s worth, you feel pretty damn good when she’s around.

And when she’s not, you manage. Some times are better than others, though. This time, you’re somewhere in between lost and peaceful, okay with the quiet, but disconcerned with the lapse of warmth in her absence. So you’ve found yourself here again, that spare key in the lock of her door, letting it swing open to this all too familiar place of near nothingness. Moira spends more nights in the lab than she does here, but there’s little traces of her splayed around, —like the bottle of red wine on the counter, or the few books she has on an otherwise barren shelf.

Past the wine and the books and the coffee table littered with syringes, you enter her bedroom and find yourself pausing, just looking around at everything (though you’ve likely seen it a couple dozen times before by now.) Her lipstick sits on the vanity shoved over in the corner, a reddish-orange color that you’ve watched her apply through half-lidded eyes in the early hours of the morning. That same color has stained your whitest shirt collars, and you’ve chosen not to wash those marks off just yet.

Pencil eyeliner, likely once sat right beside the other cosmetic, has rolled nearly to the edge now. She’s just as precise when she adds it to her eyes as she is when she measures chemicals in her lab. A little collection of nail polishes sit off to the side, —black, red, white, and the half-empty shade of deep violet that you see her don most often.

Her closet door is half open, slid away from the wall just enough that you can see a sliver of her collection of white button-ups hanging down from the rod inside. You wonder if they all smell as much like her as the lab coat in your hands, but you doubt it.

There you are again.

Foolish little you, wrapped in her sheets that hardly have a scent at all beyond the detergent she uses to clean them, her lab coat positioned just so that you catch hints of her with every breath you take in. You close your eyes and let lethargy win. It’s hours before you stir again, awakened by the rustling of Moira stealing her coat away from your grip. You don’t bother to open your eyes, letting her take it away and slip it on her lithe but surprisingly muscular frame. It’s hers, after all. . .

You imagine she must look tired, —but you know it’s not enough to make her stay. That’s never been enough of a reason. So you don’t ask for it. She’ll go from this apartment to her lab, and she’ll stay there for hours upon hours, from the early hours of the morning to egregious hours of the night, and somewhere in between, she might call upon you to stop by so she can tease you for taking the coat from her office, for sleeping in her bed while she was away, for stopping to wave to the test rodents, —and then she’ll press your back to that beige office wall, slit her knee between your legs, and take your breath away again.

Like she always does.

And you might even ask why she didn’t tell you where or when she was going when she left this time. She might even reward you for your nerve by cooking up some half-baked reply about responsibilities and authority and blah blah blah, all those things she’s told you a million times before in lieu of just being straightforward. You’ll take her explanation with a grain of salt as you always do, and she’ll sense your apprehension just in time to nip it in the bud, —hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at her, asking if you trust her.

You’ll say: “Yeah, of course I do. . . You know that,” even when that’s flimsy at best.

She’ll give you a smile that’s more reminiscent of a smirk before leaning in to hold you captive in her kiss. You’ll give, give, give, and give some more. . . Because she asks it of you.

Your thoughts still when she rests a hand against your head, smoothing it over your hair, petting you like a kitten.

But you’re still the mouse.

“Sleep well, darling.”

[peaxhxhair]

a sequel to love hate would be sooooooooo sexy i loved that fic sm 🤤🤤 me when mean woman

Love/Hate Relationship (PT.2)

A/n: How long will it take Els to finish a request? Answer- over six months apparently?? Time flies or whatever. Anyway hope you enjoy teehee.

How long have you been stood in this doorway for? Probably far too long. Did you care? No. Not when the view was this good.

It was almost endearing, the way she ignored you. You wouldn't expect anything else from her, yet here you were, watching her work in probably the creepiest way possible.

"You look good without your lab coat, too" Your joke did not receive a laugh, though it did kind of get an annoyed sigh from the redhead. The silence that followed confused you, usually she would offer something of a greeting when you appeared in her office. It did often happen so be some form of insult, but you liked it that way. This time? Not so much as a glance your way.

"Something on your mind, doc?" You push away from the doorframe to journey further into her office - stopping behind her chair to look over her shoulder. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on her desk, well, it didn't seem that way to you. You weren't all that versed on all of her science stuff.

She leans back as your chin rests on the back of her chair - your heads now closer together than you had expected them to be. Moira turns her head towards you - that same unimpressed stare looking back at you. Though, she didn't tell you to move, and you had no intention of doing so.

Your eyes locked for way longer than you had ever expected from her. Why wasn't she saying anything? That was the worst part - not knowing what was going on in her mind. She had a brilliant brain, always thinking of something. But this time, was she thinking anything at all? She had to be - but what if it was bad? No- usually she'd speak her mind if it was negative. Then does that mean-

"You're overthinking" Her voice startled you, though it was nice to hear. You gulp - throat feeling all too dry now you had stared into her eyes for so long. She was right - as always - you were overthinking.

"Trying to know what you're thinking.." You whisper, and for a second she laughs at you, her eyes creasing at the edges as she chuckles.

"Your mind is not enhanced enough to figure it out" There was a slight teasing to her tone, but you knew she meant every word. Your mind was enhanced enough to know she just called you stupid - and it was a little pathetic that you laughed at it.

She raises her hand after a second - shushing you. "Hush now, some of us are working" Ah, there it is. For a second you thought this was a bonding moment.

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Characters Love Languages P2

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

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

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

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

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

[sp00kworm]

Dressed to Kill (Reaper/Female Reader)

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

Word Count: 6787

Rating: E

Summary:  Reaper finds himself somewhat repulsive, and struggles often to see the good in himself. The only good thing left in his life is his lover, hidden away from Talon and his ventures, the only piece of normal left in his life. Stealing some new electric field technology goes wrong and Reaper spends time listening to the rumours spouted outside of his containment field. With his spinal nodes upgraded and fixed, he goes to make sure his lover is happy with him and his 'condition'. 

Please read on Ao3 as the story is too long to properly format here. See link above.

[tacticalvisor76]

a/n: wanted to write some soulmate au headcanon's with some Talon ladies, so here we are. i think that this is also my first post where i’m giving Widowmaker and Sombra some love. 

shame on me. i love soulmate au’s i might do more of them whenever i can sit down and focus. 

Sombra: 

Uses the safety of other’s Soulmates against, them after all not a single person wants to return to a world of black and white. It’s the perfect leverage against several people with less than stellar human beings. 

Know’s who her soulmate is, she’s well aware of what you are and what your profession is that of a police officer, but sometimes she will catch herself tracing your name on her wrist. 

But like some cliche romance novel, she runs into you after finishing a mission. You are an officer, and she is the hacker you’ve been asked to track down. Sombra is quick to ‘vanish’ and bolt away from you. 

She could feel your confusion, questions and hurt through your bond, and you could probably feel her’s. Feel how she knows who you are and what you are to her even though you just met. 

While she avoids encountering you in the field, Sombra will use her skills as a hacker to make sure that you are kept out of harm's way. 

And maybe a few years down the line, she’d send you a message to go out for some coffee. 

To her surprise, you accept with the simple reply of ‘okay’ and ‘the cuffs and uniform are at home, can’t arrest you when i’m not an officer now can i?’’

She knows that you can arrest her, but your attempt at a joke did make her laugh. 

Moira: 

Moira is unsure of what her particular ‘soulmate’ identifier is. She can see colors, there is no name written anywhere on her body, that red string isn’t tied around her ring finger, she lacks any sort of markings on her skin to have a soulmate tattoo.She didn’t see anything noticeable that screamed ‘soulmate’. 

She decides that she just doesn’t have one, that she’s one of that lucky 0.0001% who was spared to have someone they were tied to. 

Immediately sets about experimenting on herself. 

It’s only when she meets a new lab assistant, bearing similar scars to her own does she realize that oh no it was the transferring of wounds. 

When she experimented on herself you were wounded, taking her pain and scars onto your own body. 

Will probably never tell you what you are to her and what she is to you. 

Just having you near her is enough, but she will be somewhat possessive of you. Expect for her to chase off any Talon member who show’s interest in you. 

Widowmaker: 

Amelie had found hers, Gerard, but the moment she killed him everything in her world was black and white, but his blood a bright and haunting red to the colors slowly draining away. Leaving the red to be the last thing she saw. 

Even sounds seem to fade away into the background along with her ability to see colors or feel emotions. To feel anything. 

But her world never truly becomes entirely black and white, but some sort of muted colors with a grey tint. 

She believes it to be the brainwashing that Talon did to her, after all, you can never fully expect what a soulmate could do when brainwashing someone. 

During a mission, she was blended into the crowd. Sent to assassinate a high ranking member of a church whom no longer supported Talon. 

That’s where she bumped into you, a civilian wearing a robe for those who live at the church. 

Her world exploded into color once more, her first instincts were to shoot you, to make sure that you would not compromise her mission, but the moment she heard the words ‘beautiful’ fall from your lips, she ran away. 

Cares, but it is so far buried in her memory that all she can do is watch you from afar, and avoid ever going near that church again.