#moira: y-

[doodling-robot]

Moira in "Lurid Sensation"

I love her. She's one of my favorite Overwatch characters, both in lore and to play. I'd let her cure my lactose intolerance and anything else she finds wrong with me along the way.

[eye-of-the-hawk]

Familiarity

[pochipop]

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

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

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

#. word count! — 6.1k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s quite captivating.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does a grand sound fair?”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“S-Sorry?”

“Two?”

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

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

“Certainly,” Moira nods decisively.

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

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

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

“Ugh!” You groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel bad that sometimes you wish it was.

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

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

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

“And mine isn’t?” You counter.

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

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

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

She frowns.

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

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

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

You still offer one anyway.

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

Her expression hardens, a shield silently snapping into place.

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

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

“Progress requires sacrifice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

“I do,” you say softly. “I know.”

She nods.

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

“I know,” you repeat. 

Moira sighs.

“You’re still angry with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there’s nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m leaving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A job offer?”

“Something like that.”

You frown.

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

“I’m going away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff.

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

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

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

“How is this any better?” You demand.

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, bitter and sarcastic. Her frown deepens. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Our past?” You interrupt.

She runs a hand down her face in frustration.

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

“You’re harming me right now!”

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

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

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

Her gaze hardens.

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

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

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

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

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

But she doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moira.”

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

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

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

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

[hangesfavles]

idk what the fanfic meta is ngl 😞

[soficierva1734]

¡Noooooooooo! ¡Meleagrooooooooooooos 😭! ¡Tan solo mató a sus tíos hinchapelotas! ¡Tampoco es tan grave! 😭😭😭😭 ¡Hubieran sido una pareja tan linda él y Atalanta... 😭😭😭 ¡Chingen a su madre Altea, las Moiras y Artemisa! 😭😭😭

[herederadelosdunsirn]

Un cuadro con una hermosa mujer japonesa con un dragón oriental detrás.

[areislol]

A shopping spree

►— pairings. genshin men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. slightly suggestive, slight spoilers for the movie guardians of the galaxy? (nothing much really), not proof read.

►— synopsis. albedo created a machine where it would bring back their creator, who was stuck in another world, back to where they belong. but instead of bringing you here to them, it brought them to where you were.

►— a/n. i’m really enjoying this series sm 😭 and i’m really glad you guys are too!! makes me super happy i can’t even sjsnskwnaka BUT YES i hope you guys enjoy this!! ❤️

►— wordcount. 5.1k

✧ part one | ✧ part two | ✧ part three | ✧ part four | ✧ part five | more tba.. NAVIGATION

recommended to listen to: moon - siggerr or mabagal - daniel padilla & moira dela torre or flashing lights - kanye west

Previously..

“It’s silent and dark with only the sound of the softly humming fan. Everybody is awake and you knew it. You could hear the soft breathing of Al-haitham and Dainsleif coming from both sides of you. Soon, a thought and realisation pops in your mind.”

“Wait, you guys didn’t go shower yet.. right?”

“….Yeah..”

“You sighed, knowing that you would probably have to go shopping tomorrow for clothes and sanitary products aaaand probably go broke.”

Today was a new day as the sunlight seeped through the blinds, lighting up the room with a golden hue. Groaning softly you squeezed your eyes shut and stretched out your arms and feet when you suddenly felt two arms tightening their grip on your waist.

Your eyes snapped open and turned your head to the side and found Al-haitham nuzzling his face in your neck while Dainsleif snaked his arm your waist as tightly. No wonder why you felt so warm, and although your waist did hurt you didn’t complain at all.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as the realisation dawns on you. Two.. handsome muscular men.. hugging you in bed. And the more you really took a look at their faces and scanned their features did you really start to grow hot. Your body tenses up as you took a deep breath to calm down.

It’s okay Y/n, just breathe… breath in.. and breath ou-

Dainsleif’s arm around your waist tightens even more, and as he does this you realise something. His arm was resting on your bare stomach. I mean if you had a t-shirt on or something covering your stomach it would be okay but your stomach was being revealed, meaning that Al-haitham and Dainsleif was touching you bare..

Okay Y/n that sounded very weird.

But before you could’ve done anything you look up above and see Childe looming forward, smiling at you.

“Good morning snookums! How did you sleep? Terrible right? Since you weren’t sleeping with me.” Childe questioned before eyeing Al-hai Tham’s and Dainsleif’s arm snaking around your waist. A look of disgust forms on his face.

Although his thoughts differ from his face, he puts on a fake smile and offers to pull you out of this mess, although you really did like being sandwiched between them in the warmes they created, you really should get up as you had plans for today.

“Mhm, it is getting kind of hot being in between them..” you mumbled, face hot from embarrassment and also from the hotness.

Childe nod his head and placed his hands on your waist (while pushing Al-haitham and Dainsleif’s arms away) and hoisted you up. You yelped as you felt his sort-of cold hands on your bare skin and your hands latched onto his arm.

He set you down on the floor, the sounds of discomfort could be heard from the bed as their warmth was being taken away so abruptly. You felt bad for them but at the same time the way their face scrunched up and their arms scoop the empty space, trying to hold you but to no avail.

“Thanks Childe.. where is everybody else?” You asked, looking around your bedroom and seeing nobody else except for you, Childe, Al-haitham and Dainsleif.

You were sure one of the two would wake up early as they didn’t seem like the type to sleep in but considering they were still dead asleep, you changed your mind. (Truth was they do wake up early but since it was so warm and cozy they slept for a little longer)

You walked towards the bathroom and yawned, rubbing your eyes as you dragged your feet to the bathroom to get ready. From last night you knew that you had to go out shopping the next day, which was today.

Sighing, you began to brush your teeth while staring at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how much you were going to spend, you had to buy clothes, toothbrushes and food as well.

After spitting out the toothpaste with water you washed your face and walked back into your room and found Childe, Al-haitham and Dainsleif gone from your room, they probably went out to your living room.

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find a perfect outfit for today, but soon you realised that you weren’t going out on a date or somewhere big, just going out to buy necessities.

Grabbing a white tee and black shorts, you put it on before slipping on some socks. Once you checked how you looked in the mirror you flattened your hair a bit before walking out of your room and making your way to the living room.

“Good morning everyone” you greet, grabbing the plate with pancakes on them that Thoma handed over to you and thanked him.

Everybody greeted you back, some even getting up from their spots and walking up to you, wanting to eat next to you and feed you before anyone could.

“You look like you’re about to go out somewhere, are you?” Zhongli asked as he eyed you up and down, Neuvillette and Tighnari nodded, agreeing with Zhongli.

You began to stuff pancakes into your mouth and nod your head. “Mhm, waisht-“ you said with food still in your mouth. After gulping down the food you spoke again.

“Well I have to buy more toothbrushes, food and clothes for you guys as well, you can’t be going on about your day staying here wearing the same thing everyday right?”

They all hummed in agreement, going back to eating their pancakes. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, I’ll probably be back in an hour or so.”

All the while, Xiao walked up to you and stared at you intensely. Your eyes widened at him and smiled. “Yes Xiao?”

“Can I.. feed you too? I-I mean-“ his awkwardness and his blushing cheeks made your heart pound faster. He was adorable. “Of course, Xiao. I would love for you to feed me!”

You can see how Xiao’s cheeks flushed red when you agreed. Inside, his heart was racing 100x faster, and also from the happiness of feeding you first and beating the rest.

Opening your mouth, you wait for Xiao to feed you—and as he picks up the pancake with the fork, he placed it inside of your mouth, your mouth closed and you began to chew, somehow, it tasted even better when Xiao fed you.

“Mhm~ tastes even better..” you moaned, swallowing before opening your mouth once again to be fed. Xiao blushed some more as you opened your mouth, indicating that you wanted to be fed again.

And so that’s how Xiao ended up hand feeding you everything while everybody was glaring holes into the back of his head.

And Xiao knew this, but it didn’t affect him—not even the slightest. All he cared about was making sure you were being fed.

One by one everyone placed their plates in the sink, some washing their own dishes by their own to save Thoma some time while some didn’t (ahem wanderer and the fatui except for Pantalone and Pierro ahem).

Once everyone was done eating and the plates had been washed by Thoma with the help of you, you grabbed your bag and keys, making sure everything was in the bag.

“Okay, my keys yes, my purse yes, my pepper spray yes.. okay I’m ready!” You mumbled to yourself and put your shoes on before unlocking your door, not even a step outside—Zhongli called for you.

“How about some of us come with you? We need to make sure you’re safe and protect you.”

At first you refused to let them come, I mean they would attract so many people because of their peculiar clothings and their hair and everything!! But the more you thought about it the more you accepted it.

“Eh.. sure why not? But maybe just- uh, here come with me..” you closed the door behind you and took off your shoes and walked to your room. Zhongli along with Kaeya, Ayato and Neuvillette trailed behind you.

They entered the room and found you going through your wardrobe. “My friend gave me some of his shirts this one time, and I kept it. Thankfully I didn’t throw them out or something.. here, try these on in the bathroom.”

It was just a plain, simple t-shirt, nothing out of the ordinary. They all nodded and took the shirts you gave them, after a few minutes of everyone taking their turns using the bathroom they came out in a white tee shirt and grey sweatpants.

Honestly it was a miracle that you had enough clothes for them to use that were in their size. You had to admit, they looked quite fancy despite wearing something to simple, they looked like models.

“Alright, we’re done, we should go out now.” Zhongli nodded and let you walk out first. Reaching the door, you put on your shoes again and unlocked the door before turning around and waving goodbye.

“I’m off you guys! Remember, Dainsleif and Albedo are in charge, don’t make a mess!”

As you made sure everybody nodded their heads, you turned away and clicked the lock on your door before the others following right behind you, and with the sound of the door clicking closed, Wanderer, Childe, Xiao, Diluc and the fatui began to glare at each other.

It was only a couple minutes walk away to the closest mall, as you left the house, you could hear Kaeya gasping in awe. That’s right, ever since they arrived at your place they haven’t been out, so it would be their first time out in public.

They all looked around their surroundings, observing everything, from the tall buildings and the people on their skateboards, to the small lizards scrambling away from the pigeons.

“Oh, that seems interesting. What is that device they are riding on? That looks dangerous.” Zhongli points out, admiring how they did flips and tricks on the skateboard. “Oh that? That’s a skateboard, people use it to ride around the area and stuff like that.”

Zhongli hums when Ayato points out the large and tall buildings. “What do they even hold in that blue tall building?” He says, pointing at the building.

“For work and stuff.” You replied, walking on the path towards the mall. “For.. work? Wow..” Neuvillette makes sure that he walks side by side next to you.

They were all totally unaware of the people glancing at them, you couldn’t blame them, they looked like models. But you couldn’t help but feel a bubbling sensation of jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

Zhongli, Kaeya and Ayato walked up to you and Neuvillette, following right beside you.

You finally arrived at in front of the mall and smiled. “That’s the mall!” You point at the large, white building. “That’s a mall? It’s huge..” Kaeya mumbles to which you nod and smirk.

“That’s what she said.”

They all cock their heads to the side to what you said, you have never felt so embarrassed in your life before. “Oh no it’s nothing.” You quickly shut your mouth and began to make your way into the mall.

During the — what you called — a shopping spree (because you have never went out to a mall for so long before), you smiled many times due to the cuteness of them being in awe and amazement at everything.

Although you frowned as well due to the many stares coming from multiple people. You could literally feel them staring at them, and when you turned your head around you could see groups of girls giggling to themselves before looking away, still giggling.

You were fuming in the inside but couldn’t show it, I mean it wasn’t like you guys were dating or anything so what was there to be jealous about?

But it was almost like they could sense your jealousy, so as you two were just walking to the clothing shop, Kaeya wrapped his arm around your neck, pulling you in close to him.

“Kaeya? What are you doing that fo-“ “shhh, just relax, where are we going now?”

“To Uniqlo… a clothing shop.”

Kaeya hums and you two made your way to Uniqlo. Before you knew it, Kaeya had his arm around your neck, Ayato holding your hand as Zhongli and Neuvillette trailed behind you.

As you all walked into the clothing shop, you were greeted by a helper and as soon as she laid eyes on the four men you were accompanied with, you noticed how she batted her eyelashes at them, maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you.

“Hello, welcome to Uniqlo! Are you guys looking for something in particular? Perhaps i could give..” the worker looks up at Zhongli. “You a discount.”

You step in between them and smiled. “Excuse, it’s not just him here you know? And we’re fine by ourselves, thank you.”

The lady seems taken aback from your sudden appearance even though she could literally spot you with them all. Forcing a smile, she nods her head and apologised.

As you squeeze Ayato’s hands tighter, you dragged him deeper into the store. They all gave each other a look of “what just happened back there, is it what I think it is?”

But before any of them could question why you sounded bitter and jealous, you already let go of Ayato’s hand and Kaeya’s grasp—walking over to shelves full of clothes.

You spent the next hour making them trying on clothes, holding up the hanger with the shirts on them and pressing it against their body.

“Eh.. that should fit! Go inside the changing rooms and then come out, we can judge then. And also tell me if it fits.”

And so after spending a few minutes of changing in and out of the changing rooms and finding some shirts, jackets and pants for them (you really struggled with trying to find the right size for everybody.. especially Itto. So you just bought two pairs of each size.) you walked to the counter and bought everything.

“And your total is $150.47 cents!”

“… s-sorry come again?”

“Your total is $150.47 cents? Cash or card?”

You held your purse and stared at the screen that clearly read “$150.47”. You paid and left the shop absolutely bamboozled and crying on the inside—so much money was spent.. even your purse was crying.

While Zhongli, Ayato, Kaeya and Neuvillette followed you from behind, watching you sulk. “$150 is nothing, don’t you think?” Maybe they’re overreacting a little bit?” Ayato whispered to Zhongli.

“Hm, I’m sure their currency is different than ours and the value.” He replied, watching you walk so… sadly. If that was even a thing. Neuvillette nodded, agreeing with Zhongli.

All of the sudden you stopped in your tracks and turned around, looking at them. It almost gave them a heart attack.

“Food! I forgot to buy food and snacks! No time for sulking I’ll go sulk later!”

You quickly grabbed the hand of the person closer to you—which was Neuvillette (which caught him off guard but he held onto your hand tightly nonetheless) and began to walk fast to wherever you were going to.

“It’s almost 3 pm, we should hurry up, I don’t want to leave them for too long.. oh! We should go to a food court and just buy take away instead of buying ingredients, I’ll do that another day.” You rambled.

Entering the food court, they all looked around in amazement but also.. somewhat disgust? It definitely looked dirty and it would be downright weird to eat in a place that is unhygienic.

“Lets buy some sushi and rice.” You stated, holding onto both Neuvillette and Kaeya’s hand and walking to the sushi bar.

“Mm~ it certainly smells amazing! Are we going to eat this for lunch or dinner?” Kaeya asks, mouth almost drooling from the smell of sashimi. You nod your head and chuckled. “Of course, eat it whenever you’re hungry!”

After ordering everything you needed, you all walked out of the mall with at least one or two bags in a hand. But it wasn’t a long walk from the mall to your home so it wasn’t that bad.

While walking, they had all offered to hold your bags but you refused, replying with “I’m fine it’s not that heavy” or “it’s okay really, my hands don’t hurt at all.” And honestly, they just wanted to help you and make sure you go about your day not having to hold anything or put it in the energy.

I mean of course being a dependent person is where it’s at but, they just want to prove to you that they were a strong and capable man. But you already knew that.

Unlocking the door, you twisted the door knob and pushed the door open with your arm. “We’re home~ did you guys have fun?”

You asked, leaving the door open for Zhongli, Kaeya, Neuvillette and Ayato to come in. After closing the door you locked it again and made your way to the kitchen, placing the bags down on the counter with them mirroring your actions—placing the bags on the kitchen counter.

Venti, Heizou, Kaveh, Childe, Itto and Gorou sprung up from the floor, as if they were anticipating your come back. “Y/n!! You’re back, what took you so long?” Itto asked, running up to you and engulfing you in a warm and tight embrace.

You were somewhat suffocating, although you couldn’t really complain because your head was in between his man-boobs. What a dream..

Ayato placed his hand on Itto’s arm and smiled menacingly at him. “You’re suffocating Y/n, you know?” Itto immediately looked at you and you smiled sheepishly up at him.

“Awh.. we’ll okay then..” Itto pouts and lets you go reluctantly, you heaved a great sigh and thanked Itto. “Sorry for leaving you guys for so long, we had to buy many things. Oh and we bought sushi and other stuff to eat for dinner!”

A collective hum, and “yum!”’s could be heard from everyone, some started to get up and move to the kitchen, taking a peek inside the bags or just grabbing whatever was inside and taking a closer look at everything.

While everyone was doing their thing, you took your shoes off and began to walk to your room to go get your clothes and shower.

“Nothing happened right? Nothing broke nor any fight broke out..?” You asked, peeping out of your room and eyeing everyone.

It was silent.

Venti, Dainsleif and Cyno and everybody side-eyed Childe and Wanderer to which Wanderer scowled at. “What are you guys looking at?!” Cyno rolled his eyes and replied with a quiet “nothing”.

It was obvious some fight did break out but they didn’t dare ruin your place so they didn’t throw any hands (because Dainsleif, Al-haitham, Capitano, Kazuha and Pantalone wereholding them back).

Sighing, you grabbed your pajamas and entered your bathroom, stepped inside and locked the door and began to take a shower and just relax.

And relax you did. The hot water hitting and running down your hair, back and chest immediately relaxed your muscles, this is definitely what you needed after walking all day surrounded by people in the mall.

After giving your non existent crowd a spectacular performance and concert, you finished up your shower and dried yourself and pat your hair dry—putting on your pajamas before leaving the bathroom and exiting the room with a small towel wrapped around your hair (head?? You were going to let it air dry and dry it later).

The smell of fresh sushi filled your nose as you walked into the living room. You could see Kaeya, Lyney, Venti and Xiao sitting down at the kitchen counter—plates filled with sushi on them in front of them.

In fact, you could see everybody already eating and enjoying their sushis, smiling at the scene before you, “eating without me already?” You joked, seating yourself down beside the coffee table where a plate with sushi on it laid in front of you.

“We wanted to wait for you but some people just couldn’t wait..” Cyno sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The ones who already began to eat froze. Dropping the sushi in their mouth and placing their fork down. “Y/n- I swear I didn’t mean to but-“ “what? It was just a joke.. did you think I would be mad at you guys for eating without me?”

Itto nod his head and looked guilty. “Oh.. well I’m not mad okay!! I understand if you can’t resist the hunger” you laughed, popping a sushi in your mouth and chewing on it.

“Mhm!! Sho shgood! Eat you guys!!” You said with food stuffed in your mouth—shielding your mouth with your hand.

They nod their heads and began to eat their own sushi, also moaning from the taste and enjoying it as much as you did.

Thankfully you bought more, as some started to ask for seconds. Once you were full you laid back on the couch, watching a few continued to eat more sushi.

“Full? So am I.. it was certainly delicious Y/n! Thank you so much for everything..”

The sudden voice of Albedo snapped you out of your trance, you smiled softly and shook your head. “It’s nothing Albedo, I’m sure it must be hard to be away from home..” you frowned.

Albedo hummed. “I guess so but, being with you is much better.”

His words made you feel things, warmth spreading across your body and cheeks. “Oh- well, that’s something.” You chuckled nervously, looking down to avoid his gaze.

Looking back up, your gaze wandered off to the clock. 5 pm. Still early, you thought. While thinking of what you all could possibly do, a sudden thought pops up in your mind.

UNO. A simple but fun card game that is somewhat similar to TCG so it should bring some comfort to them. Not only that but… it could maybe bond you all closer?

“Hey, how about we play some UNO after everyone is done eating? It’s pretty easy I can explain everything to you guys.”

Albedo smiles, “that sounds lovely.” And so after everyone had finished eating their sushi, you grabbed the pack of UNO cards and sat everybody down in your living room. Honestly, how was everybody going to sit in one giant circle and reach to place their cards down? Seems like you would all have to be throwing them in the middle.

“Okay so, we are going to include stack here alright? Stack is when you stack the cards that have the same number — despite different colours — or pluses — when you make the next person get two or four cards —, reverses and skips.”

After explaining the rules, everybody got the grasp of the game and began to play. At first it was confusing, but soon after they got the hang of it it became competitive, only because Kaveh, Wanderer, Childe, Itto, Kaeya and Pantalone made it competitive.

After a few rounds the winner was announced. But the thing was, it was tied between Cyno and Al-haitham.

“Ugh, every time I play TCG with them they always seem to win or tie!” Kaveh groans, clutching onto his wild cards. “I will win one day!”

Al-haitham sighs, putting down his cards. “You’ve said that a million times now, when will it really happen?”

But there seemed to be a few people who were not willing to lose of the grand scribe.. (Childe.) and demanded for another round but by now it was 6 and the sun was setting.

Wanting to use the time to bond, you (again) decided to watch movies with them. As it seemed last time they really enjoyed it.

When you suggested the idea of watching another movie, an immediate “yes please!” Was heard from many. Switching off the light switch, darkness soon enveloped the room with only the light of the TV illuminating onto everybody in front of it.

You seat yourself down on the floor this time beside Ayato and Xiao (much to everyone’s dismay, they wanted to sit next to you.. sigh..)

After snuggling beside them and tucked yourself into the blankets, you had already began to chew on your popcorn. “Don’t you think you should save those for when the movie really starts, Y/n?” Ayato chuckled, patting your hand to stop you for eating.

You blushed and nod your head. “Mhm, okay.”

And again, the whole movie was a roller coaster. You, Kaveh and Freminet were left in tears, you were a total mess from the middle of the movie to the end. The plot twists and emotional scenes made you bawl your eyes out.

“Tissues, Y/n.” Xiao said, offering you a box of tissues as he watches you cry your eyes out. He then found his palm against your cheek as he wiped your tears with this thumb.

“Remember what you told us Y/n, this is all fake and not real, try not to cry so much, your eyes will get red and puffy.”

You sniffled and pat your eyes dry and blew your nose. “Mhm, y-you’re right Xiao.. thanks.” You softly said, giving him a tiny smile, and that was enough to make his heart explode.

During the movie, you began to feel sleepy. With how warm you were, how the room was dark, with the soft glow coming from the TV and illuminating on your face made you all the more drowsy.

You fought to stay awake, wanting to finish the movie to the end and then sleep but your heavy eyelids said otherwise, because soon you were knocked out cold, and if not for the soft snores escaping your lips, they wouldn’t even have noticed until the end of the movie.

Ayato could hear your soft snores and turned to look at you, smiling at your sleeping face before gazing at the clock, 7 pm. You normally didn’t sleep at that time but considering you were already asleep, Ayato decided to put you to bed anyway.

Slowly getting up from his spot, he removed the blanket from your body and carefully wrapped his arms around your back and legs, hoisting you up into his arms—carrying you bridal style.

The others turned and looked at you before looking at your sleeping figure in his arms. “Y/n’s already sleeping already?” Tighnari whispers, eyes focused on you, the answer was clear but he asked anyway. Ayato nodded.

“I’ll be taking her to bed, if anyone wants to go sleep early with them I suggest you go now.” Ayato states before turning around and walking off to your room.

He could hear people hastily getting up and scrambling to be the first in your room. Ayato could only sigh before setting you down onto your bed and covering you with your blanket, tucking you in.

Cute, I’m going to be the one sleeping with you tonight.

Ayato checks to make sure you’re looking comfortable before walking to your bathroom, grabbing one of the toothbrushes (that you had opened for everyone and write their names on it) and applied the toothpaste before beginning to brush his teeth.

He could hear the others whisper-yelling over who was sleeping with you this night, Ayato would make sure to scold them later for arguing in your presence later.

After finishing brushing his teeth, he walked back into your bathroom and made his way through the people fighting to sleep next to you.

He slipped inside your covers and made himself comfortable. When he opened his eyes, everyone was staring at him in confusion and anger.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sleeping with Y/n of course, what else?”

“Ugh I’m gonna kill yo-!”

“Sh! Y/n’s sleeping, remember?” Ayato shushes them, pointing at your peacefully sleeping figure. Your face buried softly pressed against his waist.

The others groan at yet another fail of fighting to sleep with you and glared at Ayato who ordered them to go brush their teeth.

But even as they complained they obliged and walked one by one into the bathroom and brushed their teeth.

Soon, after a few minutes everyone from the living room walked into your bedroom and was immediately ordered by Ayato to go brush their teeth, all the while their eyes almost popped out of their sockets after seeing you sleeping beside Ayato.

“Also, I’m going to be choosing who else will be sleeping beside Y/n.” Ayato states, yawning. “Why you? Who decided you could?” Wanderer asked while scowling at Ayato in distaste.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just for one night, don’t worry Wanderer.”

Ayato then chose Kazuha to be the one to sleep beside you, he wasn’t as big as Itto so he couldn’t suffocate you and seemed like a peaceful sleeper. He also didn’t snore like Itto.

Kazuha thanked Ayato and took off some of his clothes and changed into a plain white tee and shorts, it was.. definitely something.

He soon climbed into bed with you and laid beside you to your right, sighing in content. You were so warm..

The others began to settle themselves on the mattresses while the other walked out of your bedroom and into the guest bedroom, knowing that they would probably be sleeping there for a while until you picked them to be in your bed (or if something like this that happened between you and Ayato, to happen to them)

Dainsleif reached to the ceiling and turned on the fan, knowing that you liked to sleep with some background noise. Then, Venti, who was the closest to the light switch flicked the switch down, the room went dark.

They could finally peacefully sleep in the darkness of the room with the sounds of your soft snores and also because Itto was not in the room meaning no loud snores that would keep them up!!

“Anyone still awake?” Kaveh softly asked, waiting for a response. “Mhm.” Al-haitham, Dainsleif, Gorou, Wriothesley and Baizhu answered.

“A serious question, what do you guys think about Y/n’s world and house and everything? Do you guys like it here?”

There was a long, silent and deafening pause. Then an answer.

“Honestly, I really don’t mind being anywhere as long as our grace- I mean Y/n is with me, although I do miss teyvat and my home I also find Y/n’s house comforting and calm. Plus, I don’t have to fight any monsters.”

The remaining people that were still awake hummed and thought about Gorou’s response. It wasn’t false.

“Mhm, I agree, as long as I’m with Y/n I don’t care about where we are, even though we just met a few days ago, I feel so drawn to them. I don’t ever want to leave them.” Dainsleif chimes in, letting out a sigh.

“Agreed.”

note: RAGHHHHHHHHHH IM ENJOYING THESE SERIES SO MUCH EJSNSKSJSJSJS I HOPE U GUYS ENJOYED THIS 🫶🏻

Took me longer than expected I’m sorry 😢

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @hex-vx @saltylovetale @backintomykpopphaseagain @toramune @oreo-ren @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @amaizverydum @lovelive-animequeen1029 @roseapov @yuraasia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealamp @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanisty @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-sh @merormerry

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter!)

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[bringbackwendellvaughn]

The X-Men team profile from the original Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe. Compiled by Mark Gruenwald and Peter Sanderson with new artwork by Uncanny X-Men artist Paul Smith and the tech-y schematics by Eliot R. Brown.

There's a few mix-ups. Marvel Girl, Angel, Wolverine and Storm should be depicted in the costumes they were wearing when they joined the team and Kitty Pryde should also have a second listing under the alias Sprite. Arguably Multiple Man (who was working as Moira MacTaggert's assistant) could be included alongside the allies.

[lauriegraham01]

forever & always | erik lehnsherr

pairings: erik x reader, (cherik x reader if you squint)

summary: it's been years since erik abandoned you on the sands on cuba. when fate - or rather a friend from the future, logan - steps in and forces your paths to cross, what feelings will ensue?

w/c: 2,272

a/n: follows the events shown in days of future past, inspiration drawn from "forever & always" by taylor swift. been working on this one for the past week, apologies for the delay, life can be cruel but the storm only lasts one night.

The brightness of the sun was blinding as its rays bleed through the curtains of your room, shining in your eyes prompting you to wake up with a groan. Reaching out for Charles youre disappointed as you feel nothing but the cold sheets where his side of the bed laid empty. A headache settles in within your head, throbbing unforgivably. As you look over to your nightstand you read your clock.

2:47 p.m. Another day wasted away in bed.

You had gotten little sleep the night before. Scenes of sand plaguing you in your dreams echoing the trauma from all that you've lost.

You're on a beach in a Cuba. You don't know yet that it's the end of the world- the end of your world. Black spots cloud your vision. You're losing too much blood. Footsteps staggered as your breathing comes out labored- trying to make sense of what happened.

Erik.

Charles and you had been caught in the crossfire of his war against humans and now you both were paying the price for it.

"Erik?!" Your voice rings clear in his head. He exhales a shaky breath, one that he can't seem to breathe out enough. Charles laid in his arms paralyzed and betrayed. His heart broken at the pain he's caused and remorse washes over him as he sees the man in his grasp slips further away into a world of unfathomable pain. Leaving Charles within Moira's grasp he then makes his way to you. Discarding his metal helmet in the process.

"Y/N." Erik cautiously places his hands at your side. Taking in how much blood seeped through your suit.

“Erik what’s happened to Charles? Is he alright?" With eyes widened, you wait for him to bring some clarity to the chaos that happening.

“Y/N stop. You’re losing too much blood," Erik said carefully. Looking down he sees your hand pressed to your side. Carefully lifting it, he lets out a sharp gasp as he sees the tear in your suit where the bullet pierced your skin.

A choked cough escapes your lip as a bit of blood rushes through the side of your mouth. You feel your knees buckle underneath you and Erik catches you in time, placing you in his arms as you both sink to the sand.

“Erik?” Your voice rings within his head, even telepathically your voice sounds strained, hurt. “Did you do this?”

"I’m sorry, my love,'" it comes out a whisper. Even without your powers you knew exactly where his mind was at. By the solemn expression on his face and the distant look in his eyes you knew that he was leaving.

"Erik, please," you plead.

"I can't stay here. Look at all that I've caused."

"Erik, don't do this. Stay."

"I cant." He says through gritted teeth, the pain sharp on his tongue like a blade.

"You can. You have a family here, you have people who care and love you- I love you Erik."

His face was taut, twisted in a sea of emotions as he thought of the path that he was walking down- and the love that he would lose in the process.

"This is a war that I have to fight alone. I have to go down a road that you can't follow me on."

"Erik, please." You place a hand on his cheek and he closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. Burning the feel of your touch for what he believes would be the last time.

"I'm sorry my love."

He takes your hand and places a kiss onto it before walking away, fading into view with your heart breaking with every step he takes.

"Charles?" You call to him like a ship lost at sea.

"I'm right here. I'm right here darling." His voice rings out softly in your head. By the labors of his breath you know that he's fighting through his pain. You shiver as you feel a coldness drape over you, slumping further into the sand as exhaustion wins its fight over you.

“I’m scared.”

"Stay with me. We'll make it through this together." Charles voice fades out as your vision fades to black.

It truly was a miracle that you even pulled through at all. Hank managing to save you within an inch of your life. An unpleasant feeling sits deep in your stomach as you try to shake off the scenes replaying in your head. Before the guilt of wasting the day away consumes you, you rise up out of bed and make way for the kitchen. The halls were quiet now, faded were the days where students once roamed freely. When the war in Vietnam began, students and teachers alike were being drafted and many never returned home. Wallowing in his grief, Charles closed the doors to the school.

So you and Hank stayed behind in the mansion. Hank tinkered away on his own plans and research and you remained by Charles side as you both tried to process and move through each others grief. When Hank created a serum that gave Charles the ability to use his legs again you had thought things would get better, but time would reveal how wrong you were. Things ultimately took a turn for the worst, as Charles became dependent on the serum and became an alcoholic, he had turned into a version of himself that you never thought possible. He was short-tempered and full of rage at any given moment. Hank got the worst of it, and at times you thought about leaving but you knew that you wouldn't- Charles knew that you couldn't.

Yet, it would be wrong to put the entire blame on Charles for the way things were. The truth was that you too had turned to your vices to quiet the voices within your own head. Falling in love with little thin white lines and drowning yourself in the bottom of bottles, you too had spiraled into your own world of self-destruction just as Charles had. Your relationship hadn't necessarily been the most stable it's been either. It seemed that you and Charles were constantly at each's others throat nowadays but it wasn't always bad days. Despite the screaming matches, both of us turning to our vices, there was still something tethering us together-whether it be love or a trauma bond was becoming unclear as time passed.

As you enter the kitchen, you note the bottles and needles still littering the kitchen table. Charles must've been up all night-again. Fancying a tea you turn the stove on as you fill a kettle with water. you feel the house rumble just a bit. Looking towards the ceiling you can make out heavy footsteps as though someone were being chased. Just then a yell can be heard following a hard crash. Following the source of the disturbance, you enter the foyer where Charles, Hank, or rather Beast, and a strange man come into view.

"Charles? What's going on here?" Making your way across to the staircase where Charles sat on.

"Nothing darling this gentlemen was just leaving," with a scotch in hand he waves to the strange man.

"Afraid I can't do that because I was sent here for you." Taking a closer look at him you note that he's rather tall. He carries himself confidently, head held high in his brown leather jacket.

"Well tell whoever it was that sent you that I'm...busy," Charles trails off.

"That's gonna be a little tricky because the person who sent me here...was you."

"What?" Charles and I let out simultaneously.

"About fifty years form now. Look I kno-I know, stay with me," he pleads with us.

"Excuse me?" Crossing your hands over your chest you look over to Charles and you both share a puzzling look before facing the stranger in front of you again.

"Fifty years from now like in the future fifty years from now ?" Charles quips.

"Yeah."

"I sent you from the future," Charles asks amused.

"Yes, Charles," he says with a roll of his eyes, growing aggravated by our refusal to believe him.

"Piss off," Charles spits bitterly.

"Charles..." you place a hand on his shoulder.

"If you had your powers you'd know I was telling the truth."

With that you use your powers to enter his mind, not expecting what was awaiting you. Hazed memories of the man you now know is Logan, consumed your senses as you traveled within his world of memories. Fear melted on your tongue as you saw the horrors of the reality that the future held, pain and genocides lurking within every corner and within the midst of it-hope. Hope that the future could be rewritten. Voices and faces so familiar yet so unknown, as though you've known them, a version of them.

Leaving his mind, you stumble as you adapt back to this reality, piecing together the meaning behind Logan's memories. Charles immediately stands up to catch you before you fall.

"y/n?" Charles calls, voice shaky as he holds you. Your breath comes out shaky as you cling to him for support. "Charles he's not CIA." Looking up at Logan he meets your gaze with understanding eyes, grateful that now someone believes him.

"y/n-" Hank calls out doubtfully.

"Hank, I know what I saw," you affirm sternly.

"Are you alright? What are you talking about?" Charles desperately searches your eyes for some kind of clarity.

"I'm fine, Charles. He's not CIA or FBI. I got in his head and I-", the words seem to die on your tongue. How do you explain what you saw without seeming mental? "I saw you...but older. From the future."

You swallow the lump within your throat. Charles furrows his eyes in confusion, not knowing what to make of your revelation.

"Erik too. I saw all of us, together preparing for what I fear may be our doom."

From then you managed to convince Charles and Hank that Logan was indeed telling the truth and that he needed our help in ensuring the survival of mutants. The four of you ventured on the plan that Charles, from the future, had set out. Which led you to where you were right now, on a plane seated next to Charles with Erik in front of you. Breaking him out of the Pentagon had been no easy task, but with the help of a new speedster friend, the lot of you succeeded with somewhat minimal damage in the process.

"y/n I-"

"Shut up," you cut Erik off.

He puffs out a defeated sigh as he looks up at you with those pleading eyes of his. You had imagined what it would be like to see Erik again. You spent the best of years waiting for him to come back, to fix what he had broken. You knew you should've given up when news got out of his attempted assassination of the president, but it was moot. A part of you still loved Erik, a part of you still saw the good in him.

"Look I want to apologize for what I did."

"For what exactly? Cause there's a long list of things left unsaid," Charles shoots back bitterly.

"Charles" you mutter and he backs down. You know how hard this is for him too, seeing Erik. Having him within arms reach yet him being worlds away from the man that you two knew and loved.

"He's right," Erik says sitting upright in his seat, "I did things and people got hurt in the process."

Your eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of him, heart heavy with the hatred of his own beliefs and the pain that its inflicted.

“I’m sorry Charles for what happened, I truly am. Not a day passed where I let myself forget it, I never meant to hurt you."

The anger practically radiates off Charles as his leg anxiously bounces even faster. He then climbs up from his seat before storming off passing you and Erik until he disappears from view.

"He'll come around," you mutter.

"I know," Erik sighs. "Charles has a flair for the dramatics."

Your lips betray you as they curl into a small smile. Locking eyes with him you feel the guard you had fought so hard you built to distance yourself from him, rumble threatening to drop into ash.

"I missed you everyday, y/n."

"Erik please-"

"I couldn't escape you even if i tried. You know that better than I do."

"I thought I knew you, now I'm not so sure," you whisper barely loud enough for Erik to register.

Slumping further into his seat, the guilt settles deeper in his bones. He knows he'll never forgive himself for what he did that day on the beach. Yet, sitting here in front of you he wants nothing more than to be able to be loved by you again.

"I couldn't save you.." he croaks. Eyes glossy as tears began to pool his eyes.

"That didn't mean you had to go. Erik, we could've fought through it, together."

“I was too blind to see that I hurt the ones I love. I carry the weight of my crimes every day."

"You don't have to carry it alone." Hesitantly you reach your hand across to grab his. He's still warm to the touch just as you remembered, rubbing smooth circles over his knuckles with your thumbs, you savor the feel of him, having been deprived of it for so long.

"There's still time to make things right."

"I'd like that." Bringing your interlocked hand to his lips he places a kiss on top of your knuckles.

[vampirestookmydoubts]

The Prince's Debutante - Series

A/N: This is a series based and written on the ideas of @aninhatatu, I'm just the messenger, haha. Once again, thank you very much for the chance to bring your idea to life and for being the first person to proofread my texts, haha!

Prince Friedrich deserves all the love.

Summary: As the daughter of a disowned marquis and a common maid, you enter your debut season under the watchful eyes of your grandmother, hoping for a humble suitor, to secure your family's future. But your plans change when Prince Friedrich falls for you, sparking an unexpected romance.

Will you and Friedrich be able to find a way to unite love and duty, as you navigate the complexities of society? Or will your blooming love succumb to your family's different expectations and societal scrutinies?

Pairings: Prince Friedrich x Reader

Warnings: none

Chapter 1: A Debutante's Dilemma

The early morning light filtered through the delicate lace curtains right into the bedroom, casting intricate patterns on the wooden floor. You sat at your vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you tried to arrange your hair in the latest fashion. Today was the day you had awaited with equal parts dread and anticipation: you debut in London’s society. As the eldest daughter of your parents, your introduction to the ton was fraught with complexity.

Your father, Jonathan Withlock, was the son of the marquis of Thornewood, leading a comfortable life as a member of the rich and noble ton of London. Your mother, Moira, on the other hand, wasn’t part of the glamorous society your father used to mingle with. In contrast to his noble status, she was just a mere maid; and, to make matters worse, a Catholic Irish immigrant, who came to England to find a better life for herself after the death of her parents.

When your parents fell in love and eloped, despite their different social statuses, one could only imagine the uproar that went through Thornewood Manor and London’s high society. And, naturally, with that came your father’s disownment from his family, losing his title and money. But despite losing everything that came with his name, as well as the future title of marquis, your father always told you and your two younger siblings that he never regretted choosing your mother.

The only reason you were to be presented to the queen and to the ton today was your father’s employment as the king’s new physician. Through old friends and his talents as a physician to other noble men, the queen herself got word of your father’s competence. As a reward for his good treatment and discretion when it came to her husband, the king, she awarded your father a minor title.

Your mother, Moira, a woman with a fierce spirit, entered your room quietly. Sh approached you, her eyes softening as the got the sigh of your anxious reflection in the mirror. “Y/N, you look lovely,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to your nervous mind. “Do not worry. Today is the beginning of something exciting and wonderful.” You smiled weakly. “I am not worried about today. It is the entire season that frightens me. What if no one pays me any attention? Or worse, what if they do?” Moira placed a gentle hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. “You, my love, are intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Any man would be fortunate to have you.” You nodded, trying to draw strength to from your mother’s words. “I just wish you could present me to the queen. It feels wrong, going with Grandmother.” Your mother’s expression tightened slightly at the mention of her mother-in-law. “I know, darling. But the ton has its rules, and we must abide by them for now. Your grandmother has agreed to help, and we must be grateful for that. Your grandmother, the Marchioness of Thornewood, had gladly offered to present you to the queen, when you mother wrote to her. It was a move driven by her desire to reconcile with her estranged son and, perhaps, alleviate some of the scandal that had marred their family’s name. Despite her outward appearance of haughty indifference, you knew your grandmother harbored a deep sense of pride and duty. Tucking a stray lock of hair back into your updo, your mother squeezed your shoulder again, looking at your reflection in the mirror. “Everything will be alright.”

The carriage ride to Buckingham House was a quiet one. You sat beside your grandmother, Lady Clarece, who regarded you with a critical eye. “Sit up straight, Y/N,” Lady Clarece admonished. “You must look the part of a lady, even if you bloodline is tarnished. You are representing not only your father, but more importantly, the marquis of Thornewood.” You bit back a sharp retort, reminding yourself that this was the woman who held the key to your and your siblings future in society. Instead, you straightened your back and lifted your chin, trying to exude the grace and poise your grandmother expected.

Upon arriving at the palace, you joined a long line of debutantes and their chaperones, all waiting for their moment before the queen. The air buzzed with nervous energy, the scent of perfume mingling with the tension of dozens of young women about to face their societal debut in front of the queen. When your turn came, you felt your heart painfully pound in your chest. With your grandmother next to you, you stepped forward, each step felt both too fast and painfully slow. The grand hall, with its high ceiling s and opulent decor, seemed to close in on you, the present members of society blurring as your eyes fixated on the person at the end of the aisle: Queen Charlotte. The queen, resplendent in her regal and pompous attire, regarded you with a discerning eye. “Miss Y/N Withlock,” the messenger of the queen announced. “Daughter of Sir Jonathan Withlock. Presented by her grandmother, Lady Clarence, the Marchioness of Thornewood.” Your grandmother performed the necessary courtesies, and you followed suit, curtsying deeply and holding your breath, just like the hundreds of times you practiced before. A low murmur went through the crowd. Queen Charlotte’s gaze flickered with recognition at the mention of your father’s name, the renowned physician who had earned her husband’s trust. She gave a barely perceptible nod. “Rise, Miss Withlock.” You straightened your back, meeting the queen’s gaze with as much confidence as you could muster, despite the anxiousness rushing through your veins. The queen’s eyes softened just a fraction, and you felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps your father’s reputation might lend her some measure of acceptance. “You may proceed,” Queen Charlotte said, dismissing you and your grandmother with a wave of her hand. As you left the palace, your grandmother turned to you, her expression unreadable. “You did well enough, my dear. Now, the real challenge begins.”

The days that followed were a whirlwind of activities. You and your grandmother attended numerous teas, luncheons, and soirées, each event blurring into the next. Much to your grandmother’s satisfaction, you quickly learned to perform the art of polite conversation and the delicate dance of societal expectations. But, despite your best efforts, you remained on the fringes, overshadowed by this season’s more illustrious debutantes like Daphne Bridgerton and Marina Thompson. Something you didn’t mind, if you were honest. One evening, at one of many balls, you found yourself standing by the refreshment table, observing the throng of dancers swaying and waltzing to the music of the orchestra. You sipped your lemonade, suddenly feeling the weight of the season pressing down on you. So far, you had already managed to attract the attention of a few men of modest means, but no one of significant fortune or title. Nor someone you felt a connection with. “Feeling like a wallflower?” asked a familiar voice to your right. You turned to see Penelope Featherington, her kind eyes and warm smile offering a welcome respite from the sea of unfamiliar faces. Penelope - that much you already learned from the latest teas and get-togethers - was also often overlooked, but her sharp wit and genuine kindness had quickly endeared her to you. “Perhaps a bit,” you admitted. “It seems I am not quite like the diamond of the season.” Penelope chuckled. “Not am I, but I find it rather liberating. Less pressure to impress, more freedom to enjoy oneself.” You smiled, appreciating Penelope’s perspetive. “You are right. It is just difficult not to feel overshadowed.” Your conversation was interrupted by a sudden hush that fell over the room. You followed the gaze of the other guests and saw him at the top of the grand staircase: a young man with shiny light blonde curls and a noble aura, that gave away that he wasn’t some common noble man. He was a striking figure, tall and regal, with a presence that immediately commanded attention. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him. For a moment, everything else faded away. He moved through the crowd with an air of confidence, exchanging pleasantries with the debutantes and their chaperones, who swarmed him like moths to a flame. “That must be Prince Friedrich! The queen’s nephew. I heard he’s here to find a wife!” Penelope whispered under her breath in excitement. “He’s even more handsome in person, isn’t he?” You tried to remain inconspicuous, but your heart raced as he drew nearer. You watched as he spoke with Daphne Bridgerton, his smile polite but distant, before moving on to greet others. “Of course he has to exchange pleasantries with diamond of the season,” the redhead next to you mumbled to herself. You could only nod, your eyes following the prince as he continued his circuit around the room. The prince was a dream beyond your reach, and a harsh reminder of the societal heights you could never hope to attain. The moment that thought crossed your mind, your eyes met his across the room. For a moment, everything else faded away. You imagined to see some kind of curiosity in his gaze, and something else - a surprising and unspoken connection send thrills through you.

“Is he coming in our direction? He is coming in our direction, is he not?” Penelope’s nervous squeal brought you back to reality. Before you could evaluate the situation, the prince - who was indeed coming in your direction - came to a sudden halt in front of you. The room seemed to hold its breath as he stood there with a smile that made your pulse quicken. “Good evening, Miss...” he looked at you with a questioning air, a warm smile still painting his lips. Penelope gave you a sudden nudge that broke you out of your trance, and you curtsied quickly. “Miss Withlock, your Highness.” “Miss Withlock.” the prince said, his voice soft and accented. “May I have the honor of this dance?” You barely managed a nod, your voice catching in your throat. “Of course, your Highness.” As he smoothly led you onto the dance floor, your felt a mixture of exhilaration and terror. You had hoped for an easy and unremarkable season, but now you found yourself in the literal center of attention, dancing with a prince while a shocked murmur went through the staring ton. The music swelled around both of you, as the waltz began. “You dance beautifully, Miss Withlock,” Prince Friedrich remarked genuinely, his eyes never leaving yours. “You flatter me, your Highness,” you replied, feeling a searing blush rise to your cheeks. “You are a most graceful partner.” He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Please, call me Friedrich. Titles are for formalities, and I would rather this conversation not be so formal.” Your heart fluttered at his words. “Very well, Friedrich. But it would be only fair if you may call me Y/N.” “Y/N,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring the sound of your name on his tongue. “Tell me, how you finding the season so far?” You hesitated, then decided on honesty. “It has been... overwhelming, to say the least. But there have been moments of enjoyment as well.” Friedrich nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can understand that. These events can be quite daunting, even for those of us accustomed to them.” You continued to dance, the world around you fading into the background with each move. You felt a connection with Friedrich that you couldn’t quite explain, a sense of ease and comfort in his mere presence. “I must admit,” Friedrich said after a moment, “I find these gatherings rather tedious at times. It is refreshing to meet someone who seems to share the sentiment.” You laughed softly. “I imagine being a prince comes with its own set of challenges. Do you often feel out of place?” Friedrich’s eyes darkened slightly. “More often than I care to admit. There is a great deal of pressure to meet expectations, to play a role that is not always true to oneself.” You nodded, understanding all too well. “I can relate. My family’s... history make it difficult to navigate these waters. There are expectations, hopes and judgments that seem impossible for me to escape.” Friedrich’s grip on you tightened slight, a comforting gesture. “I know well what it is to carry the weight of family expectations. But I also believe that we must find our own paths, make our own choices.” You looked up at him, heart pounding at his honesty. “Do you truly believe that, Friedrich? That we can choose our own destiny?” He smiled, a light in his eyes. “Yes, I do. And I believe that it is worth fighting for.”

You danced in silence for a few moments, a feeling of belonging and mutual understanding between growing stronger with each step and twirl. You suddenly felt a sense of hope you hadn’t known before, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something extraordinary in your life. As the music drew to a close, Friedrich led you to the edge of the edge of the dance floor, his gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, Y/N. This has been the most enjoyable dance I have had in a long time.” “Thank you, Friedrich,” you replied softly. “I feel the same.” Bowing slightly, a smile played on his lips. “Until we meet again.” As he moved away, you abruptly felt the weight of countless scrutinizing eyes on you, and heard the whispering of the merciless ton around you. Lady Whistledown would surely have much to say about this encounter. “Y/N, you were magnificent,” Penelope whispered, pulling you away from the judging gazes, back to you shared spot at the wall. “He could not take his eyes off you.” You shook your head at her, trying to quell the rising tide of hope and fear. “It was just a dance, Penelope. Nothing more.” But even as you said those words, you knew they rang hollow in your heart. Something had shifted with you - a new, unknown path unfolding before you. The carefully laid plans for an uneventful season were crumbling and, as the evening drew to a close, you felt a mixture of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep, unspoken yearning.

Back home, as you prepared for bed, your thoughts kept returning to the prince. You wondered if you had the strength to navigate the treacherous waters of the ton. But one thing was certain: your debut had been far from ordinary, and your heart had been irrevocably touched by a prince.

[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.”

[sansaorgana]

— SECOND CHANCE

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — Long time ago, you made your choice not to follow Erik. It was a decision that you have been regretting ever since. Ten years later you finally see him again.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Finally, as I promised, another fic with Erik!!! And not the last one either! 😁 I have rewatched all X–Men movies recently and I have some ideas... 😊 Reader’s mutation is NOT specified.

WORD COUNT — 3,040

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SECOND CHANCE

Tight, black and yellow suit was hot to touch from the heat of the sun. You still remembered that feeling; the hot material underneath your fingers when you were trying to adjust the torn piece on your shoulder to cover your wounded skin from the upcoming blows and punches. You also remembered the fear, the pounding heart in your chest and the metallic taste of blood on your tongue from accidentally biting it after landing flat-faced on the ground when the plane crashed. 

And you remembered Erik’s steel blue eyes. He was surprised to see you even hesitate after his invitation to stand by his side. He felt like there was no need for words. Your loyalty was something he wouldn’t dare to overthink. But you didn’t move, you kept standing, petrified. And he kept staring at you and your lungs were starting to fail you. It was so heavy to breathe.

Even Raven left Charles’ side – his somewhat sister – and you kept standing in the same spot with a dry mouth because you had forgotten to swallow.

“(Y/N),” Erik’s voice was stern but you knew him well enough to know that it was a desperate plea more than a request. You had spent so much time together, he took you for granted.

“I’m sorry, Erik, I can’t…” you heard the words leaving your mouth but it felt like someone else had said them. It felt like watching a movie, it was certainly not real.

“(Y/N),” he repeated your name and his jaw clenched but you knew it was not driven by his anger. His world was tumbling down, everything he had known was turning into dust. You were everything he had known and the only person he had. And now you were betraying him… Abandoning him. Just like his mother did because she was just a weak human and couldn’t protect herself from the bullet. Meanwhile, you were a weak mutant – weak, because instead of admiring him, you feared him at that moment. He wasn’t a telepath but he could sense your apprehension.

“I love you…” you heard yourself saying and felt a tear rolling down your cheek. You had never told him that. That state of your feelings was obvious but you had never made that confession. “...but I can’t join you.”

Something told you already that you would regret your decision. You watched them all disappear but you let yourself burst out in tears only after being left alone with Moira, Charles and Hank. You didn’t want Erik to know how much this decision had cost you because then you’d expose yourself to his manipulations and sweet promises and you knew you’d give in.

But you didn’t want to give in and for the first time in your life, you made an important decision all by yourself. It was a tough decision, it was painful and difficult but it was morally good. You should have been proud of yourself but instead you were cursing yourself in your mind.

“Th-thank you,” Charles coughed out and you cracked a smile through your own tears.

You didn’t choose him. It wasn’t about him at all and you could feel deep in your bones that you would grow to hate him for your own decision just because it meant being separated from Erik.

You woke up abruptly and sat up in your bed while breathing heavily. You couldn’t see anything; it was the middle of the night. You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. Three am. You turned a small lamp on and wiped the sweat off of your forehead before sighing deeply and falling back down on your pillow.

It was raining outside, the sound was making you feel comfortable and somehow safe. Cold rain was a reminder that the hot, sunny day on the beach was far away. The dream was only a memory of something that had happened a long time ago.

“Stop haunting me, you bastard,” you murmured and turned your head around to look at the photograph on your night stand, right between the clock and a small lamp.

It was the only picture of you and Erik ever taken. You were wearing a new red polka dot dress that he had stolen for you in a store in Paris and the picture was taken by the Eiffel Tower. You had been living like Bonnie and Clyde back in the day, or like two superagents; always on a hunt. Chasing traces and clues, never spending more than a few nights in the same place. Back in the day, you had thought that once you’d capture your main target, you’d settle down with Erik.

“But you’re not dead,” you whispered and reached your hand out to caress the picture’s frame. “You’re not a ghost, so you can’t haunt me.”

It was your own heart haunting you with the memory of the day you two had parted. It was caused by regret.

You sighed and rolled over in the huge bed, feeling so small in the middle of it. Ten years earlier, the two of you had been sleeping in it together for a few weeks. It had been the longest time you had ever spent in one place. You had hoped it would become your home.

Your biggest regret was not even the fact that you and Erik were parted. Your biggest regret was that he was in jail now, deep under the ground. And you thought that it wouldn’t had happened… if only you were with him.

On the other hand, every single person that had joined him was dead – except for Raven. That was the argument Charles would often bring up whenever you whined about your current life.

And, God, you hated your life and you hated Charles Xavier. Well, not really. At this point you were like a dysfunctional family – but still a family – so you couldn’t say that you hated him. But he was an asshole, addicted to alcohol and that medicine that Hank had prepared for him. The mansion was dark and dirty, full of spiderwebs and dust. You only took care of your bedroom and the en suite bathroom. It wasn’t your job to be a maid of Charles and Hank.

At first your life hadn’t been so bad. You had been a teacher, you had your students and your schedule had been distracting you from thinking of Erik all the time. But now your life was full of long and boring days without any purpose and meaning. You were wasting your life away and you couldn’t even be with a man whom you loved. You spent most of your time reading books, taking walks around the neglected garden and taking long naps.

You turned the lamp off and formed a big roll out of your duvet to put your arms around it like it was a person. It would help you to fall asleep on nights like this.

“Are you thinking of me, too?” you asked quietly before drifting away to the land of dreams once again.

The arrival of that man known as Logan was the first exciting thing that had happened to you in years. And when he mentioned something about helping Erik to escape the Pentagon, you felt the mixture of anxiety and excitement.

The possibility of seeing Erik again was worth risking everything. Even if he wouldn’t want to look at you twice after all these years, after the abandonment and betrayal. You just wanted to see him again, look into his eyes, feel him being real and alive. You wanted the constant yearning and guilt to go away. You felt like you owed him the escape.

Of course Charles didn’t want to do it but it was about Raven more than about Erik, so he gave in. But he knew very well that you couldn’t wait to see your lover again so he kept giving you weird looks. And he wasn’t the only one.

“What is it?” you asked after spotting Logan in your mirror.

You were in your bedroom, preparing yourself to go with them all to find some mutant boy who was extremely fast.

“I’m sorry,” he emerged from the darkness and cleared his throat after properly entering your room instead of lurking inside through the ajar door.

“Don’t be sorry,” you shrugged your arms and fixed your hair. “I’m just wondering why are you scared of me. Or intimidated by me, I don’t know how to interpret your odd looks and why you’re avoiding me,” you explained and turned around to face him.

“Rule number one of a time traveller,” he cracked a smile, “is that you can’t reveal anything about the future.”

“Oh, so it has something to do with my future,” you cocked an eyebrow. “Now you have to tell me,” you insisted. “Are we, like, enemies?”

“It’s the first time I’m meeting you in real life,” he admitted and you furrowed your brows. “You’re more of a legend, I’d say. A myth perhaps.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that revelation. So, in the future you were apparently long gone. You only hoped that you wouldn’t die before making things right between you and Erik again.

“How will I die?”

“Perhaps not at all if we prevent Raven killing Trask,” he explained and you sighed with relief.

One thing you had in common with Charles was your hope – sometimes too naive and too innocent for your own good. But after finding out that this part of your future remains unwritten, for you it was like it wouldn’t happen at all. You had hope that you would manage to stop Raven. You were almost certain of it.

But still, there was some universe, some version of the timeline, where you had died.

“But when I died…” you started.

“I really don’t want to give you any details,” he shook his head.

“Just one thing, please,” you pleaded. “Was I with him again before that?”

Logan laughed a little and you furrowed your brow.

“So… That’s why Magneto is so dangerous,” he explained. “If I lost a woman who loved me so much, I would swear to destroy everything, too.”

You felt your cheeks heating up a little at that comment. It still wasn’t an answer to your question but it was enough – Erik loved you. Still.

“Let’s go,” you said and left the room to join Hank and Charles downstairs.

Charles decided it would be a bad idea for you to go to the Pentagon with the rest of them. You were supposed to wait for them on a plane – just in case they got into some sort of trouble, you’d be out of it so you could rescue them. That was Charles’ explanation. But in fact, he wasn’t sure of what you’d do after seeing Erik for the first time in ten years.

You were sitting in one of the seats, fixing your hair all the time, nervous of the way you looked. After all, ten years had passed and you weren’t as young as you had been on that beach when you had seen him for the last time. On your lap there was a bag with new clothes for Erik to wear so he wouldn’t have to walk around in a prisoner’s uniform. Your palms were sweaty and shaky as your heart pounded so loud that you couldn’t hear anything else.

There was a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach as you chewed on your lower lip. And then you heard a whoosh sound and all of the guys showed up in front of you. At first, you didn’t react, too shocked to do anything.

When you realized that it was, in fact, Erik standing in front of you – real and alive – you stood up abruptly as the bag fell down off of your lap to the ground. He made wide eyes at you, Charles probably hadn’t told him that you’d be waiting.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Charles and sat down in one of the seats. Logan followed him while Hank sat behind the steer. Erik and you were still standing and staring at each other.

He hadn't changed much. His hair was shorter and there were a few more wrinkles on his face, but that would be it. You hoped he was thinking the same about you.

“I… I’ve got clothes for you… To ch-change,” you crouched down to pick up the bag before handing it to him.

It felt so surreal to see him again that you couldn’t even say “hello”.

“Thank you,” was all he said and your fingers brushed when he was taking the bag from you. Your whole body felt like it had been hit with an electric bolt.

Erik walked past you to go to the bathroom and you turned around to watch his back disappear behind the door.

“Wait,” you breathed out and followed him inside. Both Charles and Logan turned their heads to watch the scene. It had to be entertaining for them.

But they couldn’t see anything anyway because you closed the door after walking inside the bathroom after Erik. You couldn’t control your own body, it was all impulses and instincts leading your actions.

“What are you–” Erik started but you clashed your lips with his before he could finish the question.

He was surprised and taken aback at first but eventually he placed his big hands on both of your cheeks and pulled you even closer. You tangled your hands in his hair and opened your mouth wider to let him devour you with a kiss.

Long time ago you had been laying in bed together, in one of the cities that you had only been passing by. You remembered watching some war movie on TV in a hotel room and you remembered the long on-screen kiss. Your head had been on Erik’s chest and you had looked up to watch his face as you had been wondering what it was like to kiss someone after such a long time. Now you knew.

He broke the kiss when he felt your wet tears on his thumbs. You both caught your breaths and he wiped your cheeks gently. His own eyes were glistening, too.

“I thought you were with him now,” he said.

You took a step back – as much as the small bathroom allowed you to.

“You asshole,” you clenched your jaw and turned around to open the door and leave but he locked it without even lifting a finger. And when you tried to unlock it aggressively, he kept locking it back again until you gave up with a sigh and faced him again. “First thing you do after seeing me again is accusing me of cheating?” you asked, disappointed.

“Cheating? That would mean we were together all this time,” he raised an eyebrow. “As far as I remember, you chose him.”

“I know you were fucking Raven,” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from crying more, “and that other woman, too, probably. Emma, that was her name, right? Angel, too, I assume. I don’t care. I didn’t choose to go with you, you were free to do whatever you wanted. But it doesn’t mean that I didn’t choose to go with you because of him. I chose that for myself. And I have hated myself for it every day since then. I wanted to be a good person and do the right thing but turns out I am not. I am not a good person. Because all I want is to be with you again,” you confessed and blinked a few times to dry your fresh tears.

“You weren’t looking for me. I was waiting for you to change your mind and join me,” Erik clenched his jaw like he was waiting for some complicated explanation. But the answer was easy.

“I was afraid of you. I was afraid of the man I had seen on that beach, Erik. All these years we spent together, you had never told me what had been truly hiding in your head. I always thought it was about hunting Schmidt. I never knew you shared his ideas,” you swallowed thickly and sniffled.

“I didn’t want you to ever be afraid of me,” Erik’s fingers raised your chin up as he looked deep into your eyes. “You know that protecting you is my priority, always. Even if it means destroying the world,” he confessed as your eyes widened. It reminded you of what Logan had said earlier.

“I know,” you cracked a smile and he caressed your cheek. You leaned in to kiss the palm of his hand and held onto his wrist for a moment while looking into his eyes. “Will you do everything right this time? For me? I don’t want you to destroy the world. I just want you to fix everything so we can get the second chance,” you explained. “In our old room in Charles’ house there is still a drawer full of your clothes and I still wash them sometimes, pretending that you are using them, pretending that you’re going to come back soon. I make up the bed on your side and I keep a razor in the bathroom in case you wanted to shave,” you kept talking and talking and you knew that you were blabbering at this point but after all these years, you had to let it all out, along with the tears rolling down your cheeks uncontrollably now.

Erik furrowed his brow as his eyes full of pain were watching your face. Eventually, he shushed you and pressed your head to his chest to give you a comforting hug. The one you had been craving for so long.

“I will fix everything,” he made a promise and rubbed your back before giving kisses to your temple and the top of your head. “But I don’t think I want to go back to that house. I don’t think I can share Charles’ ideas and optimism.”

“It’s alright,” you shook your head. Now it was time for you to make a promise, too. “This time I will follow you wherever you go.”

MASTERLIST

[kiwi-on-ice]

I found u on tik tok🤩 u said ur taking requests but if that has changed u can just ignore me. Could u do a F! Reader taking a nap in Moira’s lab while shes working. Maybe she gets distracted and they get freaky😏

Moira O'Deorain x fem!reader

Summary: When Moira allows you to stay in her lab while she works, you quickly find out how boring that can be. However, a surprise visitor and your outfit choice means the geneticist may not be able to concentrate on her work for long.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+ smut, kinda mean dom!moira, no use of y/n, spanking, fingering, degradation, slight somnophilia, slight overstim

Notes: got several requests for Moira which i'm glad about, I love my sadistic evil scientist gf

“Fine, you may stay in the lab. But you will not distract me in any way, do I make myself clear?”

That confirmation meant the world to you, as you gleefully accepted her conditions. You knew upon becoming involved with Moira that she put her work above all else. You admired it greatly; despite her disregard for ethics and morals, she was a brilliant woman who was truly pushing the boundaries of science. But it meant you’d become needy, needy for any sort of attention she’d give you. So there you were, spinning on a desk chair absentmindedly on your phone as Moira worked. Occasionally, you look up to watch her, her brow furrowed as she tries to solve a complex problem you most likely wouldn’t be able to understand the half of. But you can’t deny how stunning she looks while she does it, how in her element she seems.

However there’s only so much you can do in a lab, especially when you’ve been instructed not to touch anything or even move in a way that was distracting. You watched as she synthesised different formulas, injected a test rabbit with a syringe that you shudder to think of what it contained and typed some data into her computer. But you weren’t a scientist, so you just glanced around the room or went on your phone. Listening to music in your earbuds, watching youtube, scrolling though tiktok, staring at Moira’s hands as she works diligently…boredom starts to set in regardless. Spinning in the chair softly, your eyes dart to the lab door opening and your head tilts.

“How’s it going hermana?” came a voice from behind Moira, causing both you and your lover to jump. Glancing up, you recognise the hacker immediately. Sombra, that’s what you remember Moira had called her. She’d given you information on her colleagues at Talon, most likely not being meant to, but you appreciated it regardless.

“Peaceful, until you showed up.” Moira mutters curtly, returning to her work and causing Sombra to smirk.

“Ah no need to get tetchy, the boss just wants an update is all.”

You watch as Sombra speaks, her hands behind her back as walks, before her eyes fall on you.

“It is progressing as expected.” Moira replies, her jaw clenches when she sees the hacker’s eyes trace over you. When you’d shown up in your skirt that perhaps was a little too short for Moira’s usual liking, she’d not imagined anyone else seeing how delectable your legs looked. Sombra seemingly doesn’t care about the doctor’s response anymore, instead slinking over to you.

“Well look at this, didn’t tell me you had a cute mascota cooped up here.” Sombra coos, a little condescending as she looks at you. Before you have time to react or reply, Moira interjects.

“She’s just visiting.”

“Doesn’t look like it, she looks quite cozy hm?” she giggles, booping your nose. The unexpected action causes you to giggle softly in return, and the curling claws of jealousy unfold inside Moira as she watches you smile.

“You may tell Akande that he will have his results within the month.” Moira says, clearly trying to dismiss Sombra from her laboratory, and get her away from what’s hers.

“Aw, you’re always so serious. Loosen up a little doc.” Sombra replies with a smirk, giving you a little wink. “Alright, nos vemos.”

And just like that, the hacker disappears from view. Your eyes widen a little, glancing around.

“How does she do that?” you ask, marvelling at the technological prowess.

“She’s as much digital as she is human, bunny, it would be impressive if she wasn’t so irritating.”

You laugh softly at Moira’s dismissive tone, getting comfy on the chair as you fiddle with your phone. Letting your head fall back, you bring your legs up and cause your skirt to ride up higher. Moira certainly doesn’t miss it, her eyes glued to the exposed skin of your thighs before returning to her work.

“…I’m sure I won’t be long.” The doctor says, in a tone quite unlike any you’ve heard from her before, soft and almost impatient. Either way, you smile softly as you keep getting comfy. With the soft hum of the lights, and the gentle tinkering of Moira moving beakers and typing on a keyboard, it isn’t long before your eyelids flutter shut.

Moira likes to think of herself as a capable woman, a woman of strong conviction. But after about an hour of sneaking glances at your sleeping form, of the way your chest rises and falls and how that damn skirt of yours is riding up so high she can catch a glimpse of your panties, even a woman like her is capable of becoming restless. She sighs, rubbing her eyes for a moment. Your soft breaths seemingly call to her like a siren song, and she at last relents.

You stir softly in your sleep, before a sharp feeling causes you to jolt, eyes fluttering open. Moira smirks cruelly, her hand underneath your shirt before pinching your nipple again. A strangled whine escapes your throat, your back arching a little involuntarily as you adjust to being awake again.

“Good that you’re awake dear,” she says lowly, her thumb gently circling your nipple almost as a soothing gesture, “you look charming while you sleep like that.”

You make a soft noise of contentment at her praise, her eyes drinking in the sight of you so vulnerable underneath her. She snakes her hand back out from under your shirt, before tugging the garment off. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as she does; you’d forgone wearing a bra today, not thinking anything of it. But now you were in her lab, completely topless and on show.

Moira seemingly appreciates the view, groping at your chest for a moment before she stands at her full height. “Do you have any idea what you do to me bunny? So distracting in your slutty little skirt.” She sneers down at you, and you hate how much it makes you wet. Clenching your thighs together, she smirks before pulling you up by your arm and capturing your lips in a kiss.

It’s messy and controlling, but oh so perfect. Her tongue completely overpowers yours, dragging across your bottom lip before exploring your mouth. Tangling in your hair, her fingernails scratch at your scalp as she pushes you backwards, your ass hitting the surface. You go to hop up, before she pulls away and turns you around, bending you over.

“That’s better…a position a slut like you should be used to.” She smirks, flipping your skirt up. You quickly brace yourself, scrambling to hold on to the counter before she slaps your ass, pretty gently for her standards. “Having to work, while your little doe eyes stare at me so pathetically…it’s a wonder I got anything done.”

She slaps your ass again before hooking her fingers underneath your underwear, pulling them down slowly. Moira always loved a show. Revealing yourself to her, you can’t see the soft smile that graces her usually severe features as she slowly drags a finger up and down your drenched cunt. Your thighs shake a little, as she drags her finger up to your clit, circling it softly. You immediately try and grind against her finger, causing her to tut and slap your ass once more.

“If you can’t stay still, perhaps I should strap you down hm? Treat you like the little lab rat you are?” she threatens, gripping your hip firmly. You shake your head quickly, not wanting to test her when she’s clearly riled up. Humming, she seems to accept that and starts to circle your clit yet again, although not before spanking you once more for good measure. Laying over the counter, you close your eyes and focus on the gentle pleasure she’s giving you, sighing softly. Her touch builds, circling over and over again as her other hand strokes your hip. You can feel the slight change in texture of the fingertips of her right hand, the artificial decay she’d infected herself with altering the skin to have a slightly rougher quality. Despite your worry about her well-being, you can’t deny the feeling of something so different, so dangerous touching you like that makes your pussy clench around nothing and your breath become shakier.

Eventually she decides to relent, sinking a finger of her left hand inside you. Stretching you out quickly before slipping another one inside, relishing in your moans that escape. “Good pet, tell me how you feel.”

“Good…feel so good.” You manage to say, doing your best to keep your body still and to not thrust back onto her fingers wantonly. She pumps them in and out at a steady pace, curling them and feeling you shiver as she hits your g spot repeatedly. Nobody knows your body quite like her; you’re her experiment, a girl all for her that she can touch and push and pull to see the results of her stimuli, and to watch as you fall apart beneath her touch time and time again. But when she sees you like this, willingly giving yourself to her and letting her be as mean or as gentle as she wants…an all too familiar feeling seems to warm her chest.

Shaking those thoughts away, she returns to the experiment at hand, as she digs her nails into your hip to make you jump. “There we go pet, keep making those delightful noises.”

You nod and moan, wanting to please her as much as she was pleasing you. Back arching, you whimper out her name, knowing what she likes. If it’s a show she wants, you can certainly provide. She smirks at your attempts to win her over, dragging her nails over your hips towards your back, leaving fresh red lines in her wake. The added pain only serves to intensify the pleasure, clenching around her fingers as she continues to thrust them deep inside you.

“How silly you look, taking my fingers like it’s your job. Although I suppose it is. Here I am, advancing humanities understanding of the scientific process, with my pet who exists to entertain me in my downtime.”

Her words cause a flush to rise up to your cheeks, but you know you can’t deny them. Instead your pussy gets impossibly wetter, as you confirm her degradation. She smirks and pulls her fingers out before flipping you round so you’re facing her, before settling your back against the counter. Spreading your thighs, her fingers make themselves at home within your cunt once more, thrusting a little faster as he gazes at your body. With your wriggling and squirming, you’re worried that you’ll cause the counter to move but Moira doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

With this new position, being able to see her slender body bend over yours to touch you, means your orgasm builds suddenly. You gasp and writhe, her nails once again digging in to your hips before opting to hold your thigh apart.

“You know what to do pet, prove I’ve trained you well.”

You immediately know what she means, and you nod rapidly. “Please can I cum? Please I’ve been so good please…I need it please…” you beg and plead, hoping she won’t deny you like she sometimes does after a more stressful day at the lab. Instead, her smirk remains as she nods, her fingers holding your thigh trailing down to rub your clit.

“Good, cum on my fingers.” She says bluntly, but with her permission it isn’t long until you’re clenching around her fingers and cumming with a breathy moan. You never get tired of the intensity of the pleasure she gives you, always thrilling and all-consuming. She keeps going, wanting to see you truly wrecked before she pulls her fingers out slowly.

“Breathe.” She instructs, stroking up and down your thighs as you come down. You nod softly, your breathing deep and evening out slowly. You sit up when you’re more grounded, smiling up at her. Your affection for her is prevalent in your gaze, and it makes her…blush a little. Once she realises, she quickly leans down to kiss at your neck, lavishing it with her lips and tongue. Tilting to give her access, she kisses your pulse point before biting softly, creating a hickey on your skin.

“Can you give me another?” she asks you against your neck, and your clit throbs from the insinuation. Giving your confirmation, she bites at your neck again before trailing her fingers back down between your legs. “Good pet, always so eager.”

She circles your clit, and you gasp at how sensitive it is. She shushes you, biting at your collarbone before pulling away to watch you. Her decayed hand reaches to caress your tits, and you grab at her waist to pull her closer. If she were in a harsher mood, she’d have punished you for touching her without consent, but her mind strays to how you’d smiled at Sombra when she’d teased you, and her possessive need wins out. You want her, you’re her pet. Nobody else's.

With your closeness, she leans down to kiss you once more, eagerly caressing your tongue with hers as her fingers play your clit like a finely tuned instrument. She’s aware of how sensitive you can get, especially going again in quick succession after cumming, so she wants to make the most of this moment. Her hand slides up from your tits to your jaw, holding it and angling you so you’re looking up at her. Moments like this remind you completely at how tall she is, how she always looks down at you (physically and to an extent metaphorically). Blinking, your eyes focus on hers as she pulls away from the kiss. Her hair is out of place, her skin slightly flushed and her lips parted, you think she looks like a goddess. So you tell her, causing her to look down momentarily before deflecting.

“I’m sure I pale in comparison to the way you look at this moment, sweet pet.” She murmurs, never one to be good at taking compliments. Her fingers increase their pace, causing all thoughts to flurry away from you as you lose yourself in the sensations. Sweat glistens on your skin as you moan, her eyes hungrily taking you in as you near your second climax. Her hand cupping your jaw gently traces down to hold your neck, ensuring you can’t look away. She can feel your pulse through her fingers, as you start to shiver.

“Cum for me again…” she whispers, as you start to tip over the edge, “oh, mo chroí.”

Whatever she said makes you cry out her name, cumming for a second time before leaning against her. She drags out your pleasure for as long as possible, before you start to twitch from overstimulation. Removing her fingers from between your legs, she holds your hip with one hand before her other slowly massages your scalp. Being with her like this, it was always one of your favourite parts. How she’d treat you delicately, like you were some porcelain doll, even for only a few precious moments. You stay like that, your breathing slowing before she looks at you.

“Perhaps it was not such a good idea to have you stay in here at all, you were most distracting.” She teases lowly, eliciting a soft giggle from you. “Come on pet, we can go home now. I’ll set my computer to monitor the cellular generation I’ve synthesized.”

You watch as she goes over to fiddle with her device, while you get changed and do your best to look a little more presentable. With a final tap of the keyboard, she moves back to you, placing her hand on the small of your back as she leads you out of her lab. Although the curling of her fingers around your waist as you leave the building tells you that it may not be the end of your night after all…

Sombra listens from her seated position, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Hacking your phone had been child play, hoping she could hear anything she might be able to use against the geneticist. Instead…she got a lot more than she bargained for, not that she’s complaining.

She smirks a little as she saves the audio file, maybe it’ll be useful. Maybe not. Either way, it’ll be fun to replay later.

[lovedrruunk]

It would be so cool if you could write a venture x reader where Y/N is too nervous to speak to Venture so Mercy wingmans for them‼️

‘The best wingwoman ! ଘ(˵╹ᴗ╹)���☆

Venture (Overwatch) x GN reader

Authors note!; super cute request!!! Did I tell u guys I'm a mercy main…. DISGUSTING I KNOW!! But I also main Ana so it cancels out… also tbh there’s a lot of requests that I haven’t gotten to *YET* simply bc idk how to go about them :( but this one came to me rlly easily !! Ty!!! also finished this whole thing while listening to phantom of the opera on repeat for 2 hours (i need 2 write a moira fic omg...) UPDATE: HELLO??? THE MERCY MYTHIC? okok ill stfu now sry!!

Earlier today, you were dragged to a work party by your colleague and guardian angel, Angela Ziegler. You begged her to let you stay home, but she refused, saying she wouldn't be able to go without you since you were the only coworker she actually enjoyed spending time with. And so, being the amazing friend you are, of course, you agreed to go to keep her company!... Just kidding!

Angela knew you too well. Once she mentioned that the cutie from the Wayfinder Society was attending, you did a complete 180, now asking her what you should wear. She couldn't help but laugh at your reaction, amused at how predictable you were when it came to romance.

Sloane Cameron, also known as Venture, also known as the cutie from the Wayfinder Society, had quickly captured your attention ever since you first met them a couple of months ago when the Wayfinder Society was adopted by Overwatch as a sub-branch. Being the head anthropologist for Overwatch led you to spending a good amount of time with Venture and their team. Granted, it was just work and sharing data and all that, but you couldn't help but find them super intriguing. They were funny, lively, and so passionate about their work! But as badly as you wanted to get to know them, you just couldn't. Their confidence was a blessing and a curse, being the cause of why you liked them and the cause of why you were so terrified of talking to them.

Every week or so, you and Angela meet up at the cafeteria at Overwatch's headquarters to catch up while drinking your morning coffee/tea/whatever, which you of course just use as time to gush about your overwhelming crush on your new coworker. But last week... last week, you had decided enough was enough. You made a promise to Angela that by next week, you would at least ask them if they'd want to hang out outside of work. Feeling pumped and confident, you had excitedly gotten all dolled up for the party.

And now, here you were. The party was in an old Victorian mansion with lots of expensive art and chandeliers, nothing less for Overwatch, of course. The first time you had attended a work party, you were extremely underdressed, assuming it was a casual get-together, not at all expecting it to be an elegant and serious "ball" like party. You cringed at the memory before Angela snapped you out of it, handing you a glass of champagne.

"So? Is today the day?" she questions as she leans against the back wall you had been standing next to.

"I don't know, Angela..." you whined as you not so discreetly stared at them from across the room.

It was the first time you had seen them in formal attire, and you couldn’t help but admire how they looked good in everything.

"Go ask them to dance!" She suggested happily.

"What!? No way! I can't dance, especially not with them!"

“Oh, don't give me that! The worst they could say is no."

"'No' is definitely not the worst they could say. They could say 'get away from me' or 'why are you talking to me about something other than rocks' or 'your foundation doesn't match your neck.. and no I would rather drop dead than dance with you'."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious!- Wait!! Did you see that? They smiled at the new rookie! What if they like her!? What if they came here together!? What if they're dating!? Married!!? Oh my god, and now they're chatting it up with Tiff from communications! They're laughing, what's so funny!?"

"You have got to be kidding me..."

"Right!? She's not even funnier than me..."

Catching you off guard, Angela grips your shoulders, forcing you to face her.

"Shut up," she says sternly, fighting off the urge to smack you in the face. "Just ask them. You'll never know until you do... And if you don't, I owe that infuriating geneticist twenty bucks..." She murmurs the last part to herself angrily.

"Y'know what? You're right!"

You quickly finish the glass of champagne, putting it on the table next to you. Feeling encouraged by your friend, you take a deep breath before marching towards Venture... right before turning your heel and marching straight back to Angela.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up..."

"You haven't even said anything!!!"

After a bit of back and forth, Angela is fed up and tells you that if you weren't going to do anything about it, then she will.

As she makes her way towards Venture, you whisper yell at her, begging her to come back and let you give it another try. But knowing you, she decides to ignore your desperate pleas as she continues to happily strut towards them.

From the distance, you can't make out what they're talking about, and it's driving you nuts. Angela's back is facing you, but Venture's face lights up, so you decide to take that as a good sign. And just as you start to smile... Angela turns around and points at you.

You freeze in place for what felt like a year before your eyes focus again. Venture is grinning as they wave to you, and Angela uses her hand to call you over. You force a wide smile (not aware of how crazy you look) as you timidly walk up to the two of them.

"Y/N! I was just mentioning to our sweet Cameron over here how you love to dance! They've never been to a party like this, isn't that crazy!"

"Yeah!! Wayfinder never had the funding by itself to afford something like this! I've never really had a reason to learn how to dance, so I have no clue; was hoping you could teach me!?"

"Me? Oh, sorry! I don't know how to dance!"

"But... Dr. Ziegler just said.."

"I know! Poor little Angie... ever since her last birthday, her memory has been terrible!! Must've confused me with Lena!"

You could feel the death glare Angela was giving you, but you continued to smile innocently at them.

"Well... I guess this would be a good opportunity for us to learn, don't ‘cha think?" Of course. Of course, they would somehow find a solution to your excuse.

"Great idea!!" Angela claps her hands together happily. "Why don't you two head to the dance floor? You'll only learn from experience!"

"I agree!"

Before you can say anything, you're dragged by the hand of a very excited Venture, and although your palms are sweaty and your head is spinning, you can't help but feel so much excitement.

. . .

And so as the dancefloor clears and the two of you are making your way out to the gardens, you spot a grinning Angela and a scowling Moira putting away her wallet.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Sigma, Lúcio, Mei, Moira courting an intelligent reader who doesn't get their flirting/courting signs

Doesn’t Understand Their Flirting

Words: 671

Honestly he won’t realize his feelings for the first bit, only when Moira asks he comes to terms.

With him it’s pretty easy to forget about, everything really. It seems like he has experience pursuing people, but he really doesn’t.

Kinda shy and flustered during his confession, but he gets through and tells you.

***

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” “Are you okay Siebren?” His face flushed at your yours, eyes looking away for a second before returning. “I’m fine, but I need you to realize what you do to me.” Confused, you let him continue.

“Whenever you’re around everything seems to disappear, they go quiet and I can focus.” As the words fell out of his mouth, your own face flushed. “I believe I love you Y/N.” “Sibren…” Words unstable with your emotions. “I love you too!”

No one is really surprised that you don’t get his flirting attempts, they’re not even sure some of them can actually be counted.

His main attempts are music based; making you dedicated playlists, recommending some, and he’s even made songs based on you, even describing you in them.

In the end he’s flustered but confronts you about it, stuttering as you just stare at him.

***

“Would you want to uh – ahem, why is this so hard?” “Spit it out Lúcio.” He started hopping from leg to leg slightly, hyping himself up. “Não pare agora, Y/N, would you want to go on a date!”

Never stopping his movement when he looked at you, finding you paused in your work. Did he overstep? Read the signs wrong? “How didn’t I realize this?” “Wha–” Pushing yourself away from the counter and towards Lúcio. “I thought I was smarter than this, but yes.”

“YEAH! Oh – uh, sorry.”

She tries, really, but it’s likely that she’ll need to get help from the others.

Her style of courting is kinda subtle, which doesn’t help; spending time with you, inviting you out and even cooking for you.

Slowly builds her confidence, handing you a small box full of your favourite snacks.

***

“Oh, Y/N!” “Lena, what do you need?” “Mei here wanted to tell ya something!” “Lena!” Tilting your head slightly towards Mei, “You do know you can tell me anything?” As she took a deep breath Tracer left, leaving Mei to fend for herself, which had her sighing.

“I kinda wanted more time to prepare…” “Oh, we don’t have to do it now.” “NO! I mean – it’s probably better if I do it now.” Rubbing her hands together as she figured out her words, “Y/N, I– Snowball!” The drone had floated around until they bumped into you, dropping into your hands.

“Sorry about that…” “Mei don’t worry.” Grabbing her hand to guide the pair of you into another room.

This will not fly with her for very long.

While in the beginning she’ll find it entertaining, trying different ways to get your attention and for you to understand the signs.

When she eventually confesses, it’s blunt and straight to the point.

***

Today wasn’t your best, as if the world came together to collectly fuck you over. But now that the moon has risen and everyone (Most people, knowing this group.) had gone to bed, you finally had time to catch up on all your work. Stepping into your workshop to find, the previously scattered pile of paper was now neatly stacked, and filled out.

As you went through it the door behind you opened, revealing Moira. In her hand was a small slip of paper, passing it over to you when she was in range. “For someone so clever, you sure are dense.” “Excuse me?” “Not yet,” Stepping slightly closer, “You do realise I’ve been flirting, no, courting you?”

As soon as the words left her mouth you actually looked at the paper, on it was an address and a time. “Clearly you didn’t.” “Really?” Brushing off your response, “Please arrive at that address tomorrow.” “What about our work?” “It’s all taken care of.”

[herederadelosdunsirn]

El cuadro de la extraña mujer de extremidades metálicas.