Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Hanzo has faced more than his fair share of trials and tribulations in his life.

Those, however, pale in comparison to where he stands now—injured on the doorstep of someone he had selfishly abandoned years ago. It hurts his pride that he was even in this position. He knows he’s damn good with a bow and arrow. He spent years honing his skill, doing everything he could to take back the honour he lost. But it wasn’t enough to fight against a machine.

Though he could treat his injuries himself (he always does; when you are alone, all you have to turn to is yourself), these are too much for him to deal with by his lonesome. He’s not sure what hurts more. The cuts and bruises steadily marking up the skin of his torso or the emotionless stare you’re giving him. He deserves it, he supposes. He’d left you behind without so much of a letter, gone under the radar and never contacted you again. At the time he thought it was for the best. Without anything left to his name, having been stripped of all he had, he didn’t deem himself worthy of you. He was too caught up in his hurt and completely disregarded you, the one who loved him, cared for him—

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it,” you speak up, tone laced with impatience and remnants of anger. “Just come in.”

Hanzo tries not to wince as he follows you inside your home. It’s different from what he remembers—it feels… bleak, barely lived in. He doesn’t have the time to mull over what he’d done to you when you’re pulling him by the sleeve and urging him to sit down. He’s left by himself for a few moments as you disappear into a room before reemerging with a sleek glove in your hand.

You don’t say a word as your hand presses against his chest, a faint white-yellow glow emerging from the glove as pleasant tingles surge through his system. Without knowing it, he closes his eyes and lets himself succumb to relief, his pain and tension leaving his body with each touch.

“A friend of mine gave this to me when he visited.”

The mention of this friend has his eyes snapping open. There’s something akin to irritation—envy—stirring in his chest, but he begrudgingly lets it go. After all, what right does he have to feel possessive of you?

“I’ve been volunteering at the hospital as a nurse. They’ve been understaffed since the last Null Sector invasion.” You’re not even looking at him as you talk, instead focusing on treating him. After a glance at the holopad by your side, you withdraw and step back from him. “What are you doing here?”

“I…”

“There’s nothing for you here, Hanzo.”

His heart sinks. It constantly dawns on him how no apology will ever make up for how he left you—he’d taken a piece of your heart and broken it beyond repair.

“Instinct,” he finally says. “My heart led me here.”

You roll your eyes, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Five years late?”

He knows you don’t owe him forgiveness. Hell, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Still, seeing what used to be love in your eyes turn into resentment hurts him more than any blade ever could. The walls you’d let down for him were built back up, stronger than before, and there’s no way he can possibly get through.

“You’re still living here after Null Sector’s invasion?”

“Some of us can’t just leave things behind to go on our own,” comes your response, quick and snappy. You sigh, your tense features softening just the slightest. “I have friends and family here. I have to help where I can.”

“I… am sorry. I hope they are safe.”

“Sorry enough to help?”

Your words are hauntingly familiar, reminding him of yet another loved one he failed—the young shrine maiden who’s turned to a life of vigilantism to do what he couldn’t. He bites on the inside of his cheek, his eyes downcast. For a man who’s spent years with the most beautiful of words, all of them are lost to him under your glare. Guilt, regret, sorrow—feelings that are even more familiar swirl in his chest, drags him into the depths of the dark.

“I’ll let you stay. It’s late.” You sniffle, and his heart sinks. “But I want you gone by the morning. I don’t care where you go, just… don’t come back.” Then, in a barely audible whisper, you continue, “Please.”

All he can do is watch as you disappear into a silhouette walking down the corridor, leaving behind nothing but faint sobs in your wake. How many tears have you shed because of him? How dare he expect your forgiveness when he has done nothing to earn it? Your agreeing to help him had already been unexpected—miraculous—enough. A selfish part of him wonders if he can ever make it up to you, take away your hurt by being a better man for you.

Hanzo no longer dreams. There is nothing to wish for, nothing he will ever get back. But for you, he dreams that you’ll find it in your heart to look at him the same way you used to again. He’ll do anything to make amends and treat you better if you consider him deserving of a second chance.

For now, he’ll do as you wish and leave just like he did all those years ago. He can’t bear hurting you anymore.

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• “Come on, buddy. Let's go!”
  Based off of this voice line, I like to think Lúcio has a habit of saying his thought process out loud! Not in the way that’ll jeopardise the mission, but rather for the more mundane things like when he’s tinkering with something, or when he wants to sound out a new lyric.
• In a similar vein, based on his Valentine’s voice line, he stutters and stammers when he’s nervous. It’s harder to hide it when he’s around you. Really, he wants to be cool, but when you smile at him, it’s like every line he was rehearsing the whole morning just leaves his brain!
• While his songs usually fall under the techno or electronic music genre, he actually listens to a little bit of everything. That one band you like that you think no one cares about? He knows about them, and he’d love to rave all about them with you.
• It doesn’t take much to make him flustered. Compliment him once and he’ll be thinking about it the whole day. Whether it’s because of the compliment itself or because it’s from you, he’ll never tell. (It’s not like he’s subtle about it, but don’t tell him that!)
• He’d love to have one of those cliché roller-skating dates with you. He gets to show off his sick moves, impress you, and hold your hand as you skate together? As far as he’s concerned, it’s his biggest win.
• Sometimes you have to repeat things once or twice to get his attention. His mind is constantly flowing with new ideas, so he tends to get lost in them.
• He knows a lot about music and will ramble about its history the moment you give him the get-go. He gets very animated talking about it, his eyes practically sparkling when he does so. He might get sheepish midway, but with some encouragement, he’ll get back on track.
• Huge fan of slap bracelets and glow-in-the-dark trinkets. He can’t quite explain why, he just likes them. He likes collecting souvenirs from places he visits as well. Vinyls, CDs, old music players, anything vintage, you name it.
• Overall, he’s a great guy to be around. He’s positive and optimistic, very encouraging and a good listener. If you don’t have plans for the day, tag along with him for a day out in the city! His spontaneity can lead to fun activities you can do together, like laser tag! With Lúcio, you won’t ever feel down. For him, being with you makes him feel the same way.

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• Lucio’s so well-attuned to you that he just knows how you’re feeling without you having to tell him. He understands sometimes it’s hard to get words out, which is why he never pressures you to talk. It’s just how he is in general.
• This time around is no different. The moment you come home, he pulls you in for a warm hug and tells you that if you need a shoulder to cry on, he’s here for you. But if you don’t feel like talking, that’s OK too — he’ll hold you for as long as you need.
• Your routine becomes integrated with his routine. Caring for you comes like second nature to him, so he’s always there at your beck and call. He does the best he can to make sure you’re feeling well, physically and emotionally.
• If you need it, he’ll play a softer, calmer version of his healing music, just to help soothe your aches and pains.
• He sits with you in Mercy’s office when you have follow-up appointments or checkups. Holds your hand the whole time, asks her all the questions he has about how to help support you, etc. He’s a bit of a worry-wart so he might come off as pushy sometimes, but he means well!
• If at some point you ever feel like he’s being pushy, you can tell him and he’ll back off, though a bit reluctantly because he just worries. He’ll be less pushy, but he’ll still check in from time to time to see how you’re feeling.
• All in all, he’s very involved and does everything he can. He wants you to know that you can confide in him about anything. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to do, but he’s always here for you. He wants you to know that.

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You don’t think Cole realises just how affectionate he is.

A pat on the back, a gentle clasp on the shoulder after a job well done, a noogie if he’s feeling playful. He’s changed a lot over the years, but he’s still the same man you love. He’s carefree, keeping tension off the air with his chatter. He’s close to the rookies, putting up with Hana’s teasing jabs or going through one of Zarya’s ‘easier’ regimens. He trains at the shooting range with Fareeha every Thursday. He tries to help Baptiste with whatever he can, even if he’s more distracting than helpful.

He’s not shy with physical affection—that much is obvious. He’s more careful with his superiors (as he should be, you think bemusedly) but with you?

Total free rein.

He kisses your cheek every morning, greeting you with a good morning, sugar that never fails to elicit a reaction from you. He kisses your forehead every night, holds you close against his chest as his fingers dance across your skin until you both fall asleep. He likes having his arm around your waist, loves letting your hands brush together when you walk side by side.

Soft is the very last word he’d use to describe himself, but you know it for sure: your Cole Cassidy is a total softie.

If it were any other time, you’d tease him for it, but your love for him consumes your being entirely. You let the innate desire for him to be yours, heart, mind and soul, grow stronger every time he glances your way. You want to be the only one who gets to see him like this—asleep, at peace, at home. He’ll call you a sap if you ever say these things out loud, but the redness at the tips of his ears will betray him. Much like the smile on his face will.

The morning sun shines and peeks through the gap between the curtains as the day begins its course. Cole grumbles something in his sleep, not quite ready to start the day just yet, and languidly pulls himself closer to your body. You can feel his chest against your back, rising and falling with each breath he takes. It falls into a rhythm that lulls you into a state of tranquillity, but as much as you’d like to stay here, there’s a lot of work to catch up with today.

Begrudgingly, you push yourself into a sitting position. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can rest, right?

“Cass,” you whisper, gently shaking him awake. “Get up.”

He blinks one eye open, his brows furrowed until his gaze lands on you. Relaxing and sinking deeper into the sheets, he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you back down. An endearing chuckle rumbles in his chest at the surprised yelp you let out.

“It’s our day off, sweetheart.” Sleep is still evident in his voice as he speaks. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “Work can wait.”

You sigh in mock exasperation, though you don’t make an effort to pry his arm off your waist. “You promised to help out Torbjörn and Baptiste today, remember?”

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Cass.”

“Hmm.”

You bite back a smile. “You’re gonna prove Hana right, y’know. About you being a lazy bum.”

“Can’t I just spend the morning in bed with my partner?” His complaint is more playful than it is of genuine upset. With how close you are to him, figuratively and literally, you can just tell that he’s in a good mood. “Come on, sweetheart. Five more minutes.”

And his five more minutes will turn into ten more, fifteen more until someone inevitably comes to look for one of you and rings the buzzer at the door. It’s never five more minutes with him, but as he peppers soft kisses from your neck to the curve of your shoulder, you think you don’t mind spending the entire morning like this.

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Could a machine know how to love?

The question rings in your mind once again as you stare into where Ramattra’s eyes would be. Cold fingertips cup the side of your face, caressing your skin with a fondness you haven’t felt since you’d left home. Blood rushes beneath the surface of your cheeks, warming the steel pressed against you just the slightest. He towers over your frame with ease, which would intimidate you any other time, but with him, you don’t feel that way. You feel safe, protected.

It’s hard to think of what he is to you. It’s harder to think of what you mean to him. You’ve lived a life of uncertainty, and moments like these are no different. Somehow, you don’t feel as rigid. There’s no need to put a label on what you have with Ramattra. You know you hold at least some meaning to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have let you stay for this long. He wouldn’t tell you to wait for him to return if you meant nothing. He’s straightforward, though he speaks to you without vitriol.

You suppose you have your teetering the line between machine and human to thank. Even your peers don’t know how to classify you. All you know is that you’re some sort of freak, a misfit, someone so incapable of becoming part of a community no matter how hard they try. You’re too withdrawn yet you talk too much, wearing out whoever you speak to. You’re kind yet you’re too unapproachable, your face stone cold in every happening. Things out of your control led you to become an outcast.

Solitude was all you’d known in your entire life, but the ache for companionship never quite goes away. The desire to be loved as you are feeds into the ache instead of suppressing it. It’s an innate desire for all humans, you think, and it’s one you can’t seem to get rid of. You always question him—asking him why he keeps you around, why he treats you differently, and not once has he ever had an answer for you.

Something burns behind your nose, creeping up to your eyes as tears brim their corners and slide down your cheeks. With trembling hands, you clasp them over his and allow a choked whimper to leave your lips, overwhelmed by every sentiment possible. You try to speak, but your throat closes up and your mind goes blank, forcing you into silence.

That’s fine. He never forces you to talk. He knows how difficult it is to be vulnerable and put into words all your thoughts and feelings, even if speech comes so naturally to him. The quietude that blankets over the both of you is comfortable. The wind whistles in the forests outside and snow falls to the ground, but you can hardly feel the chill in your bones. The cloak he draped over your shoulders is more than enough to shield you from the cold despite its roughness against your skin.

You nuzzle your face into the palm of his hand and sigh. The tempest in your mind won’t quell. It never has. You’ll always question everything again and again just to wind up dissatisfied with the outcome. You know that better than anyone. And you know you’ll eventually have to address whatever your situation with him is, but as you melt into his touch, you wonder if you really have to.

Maybe you don’t need that answer. Maybe it’s fine to let things be as they are.

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You enjoyed what you did. Becoming a researcher at one of the most sought-after companies in the country — it was so much better than what the younger version of you hoped for. You met like-minded people, made new friends and new connections that helped your career significantly. It was challenging but usually bearable; it wasn’t anything you couldn’t do.

However, sometimes, you clashed with people. You didn’t think it was a terrible thing. You knew from the start that there was bound to be people you didn’t get along with. You were amicable and easygoing, so staying on good terms was no difficult feat. Socialising came like second nature to you and you took pride in that. But today’s client was so stuck-up and condescending, undermining you just because of your appearance and deciding he wanted a different person to lead his project.

Though you wanted to get away from this project as much as he wanted to get away from you, the head researcher decided you were the perfect fit, and so you kept the job. That meant you’d have to meet this idiot intermittently and talk to him and hope he wouldn’t find anything about you to pick on for the day.

After parking your car in the driveway, you trudged to the front door and opened it with a heavy sigh. The scent of pine and sandalwood welcomed you warmly. Siebren must’ve wanted to try the candles you bought some time ago. The fact that you always came home to him was enough to alleviate the burden on your shoulders just a little.

Following the sound of music, you made your way into the living room where Siebren sat on the armchair with a book in hand. Upon hearing your footsteps, he looked up and beamed, sliding the bookmark in before walking over to you to greet you with a kiss. You relaxed in his hold and slumped against him when he pulled away, a pout forming at your lips once again.

“Rough day?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you grumbled, nuzzling into the softness of his sweater. “I hate working with this man.”

He chuckled. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m fine,” you replied, “I just want to be with you.”

Siebren smiled and gently ran his fingers through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp while you practically melted against him. He was so warm, such a stark contrast to the crisp winter weather outside, and you never wanted to let go. He bent down to kiss the crown of your head comfortingly, humming a tune under his breath.

“Siebren?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think I’m unpleasant to be around?” A frown tugged at the corners of your lips. It was a stupid question — you knew that, and you hated that you let this man’s words affect you this much. You weren’t the most confident when it came to a sense of self. “He… said a lot of things about me today. Hard to ignore something like that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have married you if I thought so.”

You giggled softly, giddy at the reminder. Right. You married him, spent the entire wedding day in bliss with your dear husband. You had fallen asleep in his arms, the tears on your cheeks drying up as he told you all the things he loved about you. He never changed since that day. Reassured, you wrapped your arms around his waist and sighed, content.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, dear.”

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✦ I imagine Venture is a naturally physically affectionate person. This is emphasised when you’re around. There’s a lot of things they like to do with you: nuzzling their nose with yours, swinging your joined hands back and forth, so on and so forth.

✦ You’ll always feel loved with Venture. They love being close to you, and they’ll be overjoyed if you invited them for a cuddling session. They’re content being the little spoon or the big spoon. Either way, they have to be touching you in one way or another. Absolutely loves to bombard your face with kisses until you’re giggling and laughing with them.

✦ They tend to drape their leg on top of yours. They also love to face you when you cuddle. You can see their expressions so clearly this way—the twinkle in their eyes, the big smile on their face. It’s impossible for them not to smile when it comes to you.

✦ They’re not ashamed about staring at you at all. They only grin when you start getting flustered or playfully swat at them, telling them to cut it out. Venture already looks at you with so much love and warmth in their eyes, whether or not you notice it.

✦ Cuddling time is also the perfect time for the both of you to catch up. They’ll tell you about their day, any interesting finds, and any fun things that happened at work. They’ll listen to you ramble, too. Accidentally interrupting each other is a regular occurrence—don’t fret about it. It’s one of the little things they appreciate about your relationship.

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“Quite late for you to be awake, isn’t it, darling?”

Moira is in front of the hologram screens with a clipboard in hand, checking off the tasks to complete for the day. As late as it is, she doesn’t appear to be the slightest bit fatigued. You, on the other hand, are fighting to stay awake. Your gaze drifts over to meet hers and you offer a smile, doing your best to hide your drowsiness.

“I missed you,” you say softly, leaning against the table. “You’ve been so busy lately.”

“You’ve been busy yourself,” she chuckles. “Always running about. Akande’s been working you to the bone, hasn’t he?”

“I can handle it.” You stifle a yawn. “Will you come to bed soon?”

“Just one more report to fill.”

Resting your cheek on folded arms, you watch as she continues to work. It’s not the first time you’ve awoken in the middle of the night to come to her lab. She tends to come to bed when you’re asleep and be gone by the time you wake up. Being a higher-ranked agent of Talon has granted you some liberties, and though Moira is at the top, that doesn’t seem to be a luxury for her.

“Do you ever miss me?” A part of you hates yourself for asking something so vulnerable, but you’re too tired to think of anything else. Emotions you’d like to avoid are always within reach when you’re exhausted. Still, you need to know. “Like, when you’re away from me?”

“Of course I do,” she replies, lips curling into a small smile—a rare sight. “You’re my wife.”

A giggle escapes you, giddiness rushing into your system. “You can’t just say things like that. I wasn’t ready.”

“We’ve been married for years, darling.” She lets out an amused huff before shutting off the screen system, extinguishing the blue lights. “Shall we?”

You take her hand. Lacing your fingers together, you walk down the darkened hallways until you reach her quarters. Already being in sleep clothes, you don’t hesitate to crawl into your side of the bed while she changes into something more comfortable. She joins you on the bed soon enough, urging you to shift closer to her.

A content sigh leaves your lips as you curl into her side. She traces the side of your face with her fingers, smiling to herself when you melt into her touch. Your eyelids flutter closed, the sleepiness catching up to you quickly. Before you drift off, you hear her distant voice speaking to you gently—

“Sweet dreams, my love.”