English Is Not My First Language, I Have A Very Limited Experience In Writing

English is not my first language, I have a very limited experience in writing

CWs: none

Zenyatta/GN!Reader

Summary: fluffy description of you painting Zenyatta's portrait (you love him) (nothing much really happens, I just wanted to be nice to him)

"Zenyatta," your soft voice cuts the silence with way less certainty than you have in your brush strokes, "are you meditating right now, as I draw you?"

"I find it to be the easiest way to pass time while being completely motionless. So yes... Why do you ask?" You heard the sharp wheeze of his vizors' shutters opening and, even though his stature remained still, you knew he was, in fact, startled awake. Joints locked to hold the pose perfectly, he was the best muse you could've hoped for.

"I just thought that would be very in-character," your eyes scan the thoughtful expression he's permanently frozen in, and you catch yourself reading way too much into the emotionless faceplate, denying the omnic a chance to actually express himself. Humans love their assumptions. "You can stop holding the pose so diligently, you know. It's a portrait, not a still life."

Your words hang heavy in the air, accidentally bearing more meaning than intended. No matter how hopeful Zenyatta might be towards humans, there's still a soft pleasure for him in knowing that to you he's never been a "thing", something that he's been considered one too many times in his life. You care enough for him to always be a person.

The monk imitates a cough, rubbing the scruff of his neck as his joints click free one by one. He stretches, and you recognize him moving in a deliberately animated way to ease the tension. "I suppose I misunderstood the nature of having a portrait painted," his voice is calm, soothing even, "But if I move, wouldn't that interrupt your drawing?"

"I just want you to be yourself," you stumble on your words, trying to pick the right meaning, the snowball of your thoughts growing more and more dangerous the lower your eyes crawl along the shapes of the omnic's body. He's incredibly pleasant to look at, a perfect amalgam of form and function, the golden ratio personified. He looked effortlessly divine in every pose he chose, and drawing him felt like breathing - a need, something you'd die without.

You have to chase the fleeting thought as you note the way he tightens the grip on his knee, a pang of strictness that brings you back to reality. "...Just be yourself. I know you don't usually meditate completely still, do you now?"

He chuckles, bringing his fingers up to cover the place his mouth would occupy. "That is truly unlike of me. If you insist..." You track the orb he effortlessly levitates out of place as it makes its way around his arm, coming to rest a few inches above the pool of his palm. He toys with it, spinning the ornate object in place without touching it as he tilts his head to the side. Looks deeper into the magic he possesses, tries desperately to connect to the energy hidden beyond the interaction that looks so simple under his command.

There's warmth in your chest, a fuzzy feeling that somehow feels akin to the way a ray of sunshine hugs Zenyatta's form with upmost care. The composition of the portrait finally falls into place: your muse has always been so much beyond the expressionless metal flesh that a mere thought of his true glory makes yor heart swell.

Get me 50 likes and I will remove his pants

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

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

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

Just realized I've never posted my Ramattras here! I'm physically unable to draw robots but here you go

Chemistry

Inspired by art from @/jackthepeeper here

Rated: Mature | Warnings: Richard calls reader 'princess' but still gn (trust me in none affectionate way), reader calls Richard 'dick'

Richard Sterling is the classic beautiful knight, the sort to save a princess from a high tower guarded by a fearsome dragon. It is undeniable his beauty, storybook to the letter, yet you find yourself unable to trust a pretty face like most do. Most ladies would think you are being too cautious, clearly you should be swooning and falling over him. It is made to seem like something is wrong with you, which you are not going to feel about! Father says to trust your instincts; trust and verify.

Richard Sterling probably sees you as the princess in need of saving, Florian did too, but you are quite clear that his assistance will only be called upon if necessary.

As one who practices the art of escape as, once the great Houdini did, you have not always needed rescuing.

Jose Baden and you have come up with plenty of ideas of how to use your talents combined when dealing with the most difficult hunters to contain. A bit of confusion can do wonders against those like Ivy or Percy.

You are not sure Richard— Dick, you call him when he gets on your nerves— Gets it, yet your luck has been shit as he has been saving your ass far too much. Jose had thought he could tease you about it but you make it very clear to him to stop.

This last match would have nearly cost you if he had not stayed behind to save you from Discipline. It was risky but it got a tie.

“There is no need for thanks,” Bowing, “After all, any princess needs a knight.”

“Not a princess or prince, pretty boy.” Florian has a hero complex, easy to deal with. Richard, you think would be the same way but there's something off. Heroic deeds yet it is like he is playing a practiced role. Florian at least wants to save people though he seems to get off on it. Fucking weirdos all in this place, at least they put their differences aside to survive.

“My apologies for assuming. It could not be helped given your current circumstances of late.”

“We all have bad days… or weeks.” Mumbling with this pleasure, “Just have to go practice.”

“If you are in of company—”

“William is already joining me.” You cut him off, “See you whenever.” Going to the left of the intersecting hallway and heading to your room.

“Farwell, princess.” That last part is said with a sly smirk.

All of your lockpicks have been used, Jack is relentless, and Night Watch is quick with chairing. Duo hunters are always a pain in the ass to get through as certain hunter combinations make or break a match.

Both Jack and Night Watch's abilities are a great combo and there are only four remaining survivors…

The Knight is containing the hunters as they decide to tag team against the newest survivor. You use this opportunity to save Luca and Lucky Guy from their chairs, Luca has the crowbar but the dungeon location is a mystery currently on the snow version of the Arms Factory map.

You could leave Richard, he has helped you but he a dick about it as he calls you “princess”. Luca pings no dungeon where he went to and Lucky Guy pings the hunter is on him.

“Evening, princess.” Richard finds you decoding in the factory, you see the hunters did a number on him before both hunters saw Lucky Guy who shot Night Watch with a flare. Merc's armbands will only get him so far. “Might I request a touch from the fair nimble-fingered princess?”

“Ew, why do you talk like that?” You hate his laugh that makes him wheeze in pain, “Stop that. Here,” Handing him Demi’s Dovlin you bought, “Drink this it will help the pain.”

“Wine? Rather unwise to be inebriated in our current situation.”

“Dick, it will heal you. I don't know how but does so fucking drink it!”

“As my princess wishes. Perhaps after, we could enjoy a glass of wine later?”

You stare at so long enough to fuck up the cipher for a second, “Get us a win and maybe I will entertain that.”

Holy shit… A tie… You cannot believe the… Lucky Guy and Luca are cheering while you are completely flabbergasted. A two-person kite and the dungeon were found just in time.

Dick got his dinner and wine because that win was impressive. The dinner was added because you want food with your wine.

You figure dinner in the sunroom is safe. Though private and often reserved for tea parties, at night you found it to be the best spot to gaze upon the stars.

“Princess,” Dinner and wine, “There is no reason to shy away.” It makes you both too bold and stupid.

You have slept with Florian. He is attractive and you are weak for a man in uniform. Slept with Mike too, he made you laugh your first week here. Made out with Mary during a Valentine's Day celebration. In short, you are not surprised you are on the floor with the pretty boy playing knight. Without the vest, his blouse partly open, and his tight pants not leaving anything to guesswork; his is gorgeous.

“I'm not shy. You're just so much.” You open his shirt as he takes off his trousers and shoes. “A lot much.” Your fuzzy brain from drinking is not giving you the ability to form proper words or find the right one. You are not the type to drink, socially you drink rarely, so your tolerance is low. Especially given the vintage is from Antonio's secret stash he tries to hide in the wine cellar.

The food helped until the night grew longer and longer, more cups of wine poured, your inhibitions lowered, your tongue loose— There is an old saying ‘loose lips sink ships’ and boy was your ship sinking.

Richard seems to be able to hold his liquor, you envy him, he is so pretty and… Your mind is too fuzzy to figure out who leaned in first for the kiss.

By now, you both are on the floor near the large glass ceiling, two bottles empty, both glasses fallen and rolled somewhere, and both sitting under the stars. Romantic.

When he kisses you, it is the perfect kiss, you are swooning a bit. Perfect then demanding with his tongue in your mouth, his hands on your face keeping you in place so he can steal your breath.

The escalation was so close from how his hands wandered and groped you; your hands tugging at his clothes yet there was not much you could do in your current state. The kiss is hot and heavy, and you swear you are ready, then he stops. Not panicking or pushing you away abruptly, he is gentle and lays you under him.

“Richard?”

“As much as I would enjoy ravishing you,” You have no idea how he can speak so clearly with two bottles in both your systems, “However, I would much prefer our night of passion to be recalled not forgotten.”

And in the most gentle way, he did not sleep with you that night.

Princess. You hate being called that. You are no princess or prince in need of a knight. You see yourself more as the jester who struggled to amuse the crowd unless you were escaping impossible odds— Life-threatening ones often. Yet, to Richard, you are a princess running away from impossible horrors and narrowly escaping.

The a few ladies like him, a few of the guys, and you still believe under that facade is a dragon rather than a knight.

“Princess?” Answering the door surprised to see you there. The only visitors he gets usually is Vera (he likes her perfumes) and occasionally Margaretha (stress relief), and maybe Evelyn for a nightcap.

Here you are looking crossed with him, he does not resist when your hand touches his bare chest shoving him back, this allows you to enter his room and slam the door behind you.

“If you are looking to manipulate me into some alliance with you, well, you're a dumbass. Alliances will not help you. We have to all work together if we are going to survive this.” The rant is long as you jab your finger against his chest not noticing how he is allowing you to vent until you are out of words. You glare and then look down seeing where you are touching the knight.

It might not have been the best idea to corner him in a nice room that smells of perfume and is well organized— You pull your hand back realizing your hand is on his partially exposed chest. His usual fencing vest and sash are gone, his undershirt open making him look like a damn male lead of a romance novel cover.

You look away then point to the closed door in the heat of your anger about how things were different between you and him (he had even been in your room helping you with your hangover), you came upon him at an inappropriate time, “I uh, bye.”

“Wait,” Grabbing your hand and for the first time since that tonight over a week ago, you can feel his bare hand. “My apologies for being so forward; it lead to this miscommunication.”

You hate how eloquent he speaks, Norton might be rubbing off on you.

“You are correct about me seeking something from you, princess. We were close to it, however, it would be wrong for a gentleman to take advantage of a princess at their most vulnerable.”

“... You can just ask me for sex.”

He laughed, “How crude. Though I suppose a blunt request would have caused less stress.”

You roll your eyes, “Dick—”

“Richard, (Name).” His hand traveling up your arm, “I wish to bed you. If you wish, perhaps we can share our desires often with one another.”

You hum, “Friends with benefits?” Thinking it over for a second,  “Alright.” Not like there are strings attached or love involved.

Chemistry is just as vicious as love.

Desire can twist infatuation into obsession.

Sex with Richard is amazing! You were so sure the man was gonna chivalrously vanilla, not there is anything wrong with that but you have your tastes and thrills. Florian liked it when you poured candle wax on him, Mike liked how playful you can be, and Mary adored it when you let her use her mirror shard to slide against your skin (never cutting you). Richard is… Very experimental.

When his hand is wrapped around your throat; when his usual gentlemanly demeanor switches to this sadistic man who wants to break you; the fact he is thankful after the rough sex he takes care of you— Thinking about right now as you walk to your room is making you giddy.

You love it when he uses his sash to bind your wrists or use it as a leash, your next favorite is when he has you wear his helmet so you can not see making it partly difficult to breathe. It thrills, risks, and you both feel alive.

Sex is sex, the highly stressful situation and often traumatic matches, you find for a few hours it keeps you from attempting to set the manor on fire. It is a tool and the chemistry between you both is perfect. There is no love, Richard is a decent guy but not someone you can picture yourself in love with.

Even when the sight in your bedroom is him wearing his underlings and blouse, the seductive look of a promised bliss. The invitation of his finger beckons you to him.

And you go to him all too willing to have an hour or two of escapism, to pretend you are not in some hellish manor, to have your thoughts halted and voice made horse from saying his name rather than from terror.

“Good princess.” He is going to ruin you within these four walls, strip you bare, ravish the princess in need of saving.

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