#reapermaker

so these are my OTP’s in overwatch I have several different sets of ships

set number 1

Mercykill (Mercy x Reaper)

Meihem (Mei x Junkrat)

Pharaties (Pharah x Babties)

D.luca (D.va x Luceo)

Hanzomaker (Widowmaker x Hanzo)

Somji (Sombra x Genji)

Anaheart (Ana x Rienhart)

Sioma (Moira x Sigma)

Birgfist (Doomfist x Brigitte)

Mcash (Ash x Mcree)

Oristan (Bastion x Orisa)

Echob (Bob x Echo)

Set number 2

the people and ships I don't mention are just the same as set 1

Mercy76 (Mercy x Soldier 76)

Pharrat (Pharah x Junkrat)

Reapermaker (Widowmaker x Reaper)

Mcsombra (Mcree x Sombra)

Trenji (Tracer x Genji)

Monzo (Mei x Honzo)

extras  these ones are just ships that don’t have a set

Mcwidow (Widowmaker x Mcree)

Genjimaker (Genji x Widowmaker)

she doesn’t object when he moves her out of her pathetic state, crumpled on the floor of her washroom and wasting away her precious life. instead, she is pliant and malleable for him -- more for him and his precious feelings than her own safety while he swept her across the hallways and into his room.

as much as she’d hate to admit it, the widowmaker felt a sliver of caring flood through her restless mind as she lies there in his arms, breath slow and steady as to not disturb him. 

he’s heavy, and he’s cold, and he’s all these things that seem to pile up over and over until they topple, those claws of his that sparked danger in her abdomen are replaced with cool, calloused fingers. the deep guttural noises from behind his mask are so harsh and broad in comparison to his raspy breaths echoing in the shell of her ear. 

there’s a part of her that just wants to vent, to let this softness be appreciated and cherished for once in her dreary little life. 

another part wishes he would take pity on her and cut her throat as she slept, but the widowmaker knew she couldn’t be so optimistic. 

Widowmaker x Reaper aesthetic for anon. I hope you like it!

“I want to have with Amélie what you and Reinhardt have.”

Ana had been fumbling around in her deerskin handbag for her keys when he said those words. Even at seven in the morning, it was pitch dark out, and underneath the light of the street lanterns the fog was thick, palpable almost. His breath came out in visible puffs. She glanced at him from her peripheral, half of her arm swallowed up by her bag.

He’d scraped his throat then, embarrassed, and took out his pack of cigarettes, flicked open the lid and pulled one out.

widowreaper text messages Yaaaasssss