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Pharah’s brimming with potent regret, radiating a fish out of water vibe. Ready to leave and she just got here. To her right, she has Hana, the one responsible for her current predicament, glowing and completely in her element. To her left, Tracer, who’s about to bounce up and through the club’s roof at any moment– sometimes that woman has so much energy it’s a wonder she doesn’t explode and launch herself all the way to the moon and back with the force of it. With Pharah’s current mood, she’d be internally grateful if the endlessly peppy Tracer would lend her some of that energy, so she can launch herself to the Moon, and stay there. “Go get ‘em, Tiger!” Hana playfully bumps into Pharah, grinning, and nodding over towards the bar.Pharah shakes her head. “No deal!” There are many beautiful and handsome girls here, she has yet to see one who she’d find unattractive. The problem is, she can’t flirt (she CAN, but very badly). The veteran soldier was trained to be the perfect aerial soldier, has ten different fighting techniques under her belt, with unparalleled leadership skills…Just because she’s a badass on the battlefield, doesn’t mean she’s one off it. No one taught her how to pick up girls, nor did she have much opportunity to practice. Rigorous training, bloody war, near flawless tactics were always the priority, not that she didn’t stumble into a fling or two in her time, girls tend to have to… fall into her lap in order for her to pick them up, or get a damn clue.Tracer’s phone buzzes. Quicker than a striking snake, she grabs it, grins, and proclaims, “Oh! She’s here!” And… BLINK, she’s gone. Gone to the front of the bar to meet Emily, who she hasn’t seen in a good month.Hana clamps her hand down on Pharah’s shoulder, strong and grounded for such a small girl. “Hate to leave you, but I’m leaving you.” She points over to the dance floor where a group of rowdy girls are beckoning Hana to join in. She doesn’t scoot out of the booth, rather hops up onto the table and leaps off of it and onto the ground. She looks back at Pharah over her dainty shoulder. “Never too late to join y’know!” Pharah smiles awkwardly and shakes her head, no way. She’ll remain with her butt planted, order some more drinks. Maybe with a few more in her system, she’ll gather enough courage to peel herself from the uncomfortable plastic covered benches.She observes the room, what other people would call people watching. For her, it feels a little more like seeing where all the exits are, both emergency and any others. Notices every person who looks are her once, and really notices all the people who look at her more than once. Takes note of who leaves with who, the new patrons that enter. Which people seem to be as uneasy and unsure about being here as she is.Then there’s you. You just walked in the door not two minutes ago, homed in on Pharah, her occupying an entire empty booth table by herself. Started making your way through the growing crowd on the dancefloor. You’re bubbly, dancing briefly with every person who throws some moves your way, moving on quickly. It’s when Pharah realizes that you’re headed for her table that her heart races, she can feel the nervous sweats starting up in her pits. You’ve looked at her exactly seven times now, the seventh time your gaze doesn’t leave her.You just fall into the booth seat next to her, all smiles. “Hey!” you shout over the booming music. “Been working my ass off out there, needed a break, your table was the closest!”Pharah shakes her head, tickled at the lame excuse you just fed her. “That can’t be!” she shouts back. “You just got here!”Your jaw drops open, gorgeous eyes widening. “Soo… you were watching me?” you say with a teasing giggle. Pharah’s taken aback, watching you as you lean casually back into your seat. “Mind if I join you?” you ask after you’ve already settled in, and asked the waitress to get you a drink, and another of whatever Pharah’s having.Pharah extends her hand to you. “My name is Phareeha, but you may call me Pharah, or Rocket Queen if you prefer, nice to meet you.” She mentally gives herself a high five, that was pretty smooth. Could your smile get any brighter? “Pharah! Pretty name!” You shake her hand, lingering your soft fingertips along her palm, tickling her skin. Introduce yourself before pointing to her eye. “I’m sure you get this all the time, but your tattoo is so cool!”Pharah’s beginning to feel… giddy, a feeling she’s not at all used to feeling. Yes, she has received that complement in different forms many times over the years, but rarely coming from a pretty girl like you. It sure sounds and feels a whole lot different coming from person to person. Coming from you, it sounds brand new.“Thank you!” Pharah says. You scoot in closer, body turned towards her, practically thigh to thigh. “Do you mind?” you ask pointing out the distance between you. “Makes it easier for me to hear you!”Pharah may not be able to flirt on her own, but she knows bullshit when she hears it, even if it’s cute bullshit. She purses her lips, throwing her arm up over the head out the booth, mere inches away from having her arm around your shoulders. She shrugs as naturally and nonchalantly as she can manage. “I don’t mind!”At every lull in the conversation, you bring up something new to talk about, all mostly about herself. Where she comes from, what her tattoo means, what she does for a living, how does she get her skin to look so damn healthy? Then the questions start to tiptoe into a different category. Did she come here alone? Is she taken by anyone? Does she live around here?Four drinks later and her arm has slipped off the seat and onto your shoulders. You lean your head against her strong bicep, figurative stars in your eyes as you listen to her talk about her military career.“Wow, what a life you lead!” You lean in so that you’re almost nose to nose with her. “You really are the Rocket Queen!”She nods. “The title was earned, not given.”Somehow you scoot in even closer. “So… what do I have to do?”Pharah’s furrows her brows. “I don’t follow.” “To get you to dance with me! …What do I have to do?” Pharah chuckles. “Ask nicely!”“Pharah ‘Rocket Queen’ Amari, would you dance with me?” You offer your hand to her, she takes it.“I’d love to!”
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Mercy
A very busy, and a very tired woman. She has abnormal working hours and could be called to duty at any moment. Mercy’s career redefines the meaning of “busy”.
Which means more interrupted dates than you can count on one hand.
Sometimes is a little forgetful of the little things (that aren’t so little to you). She can remember the steps needed to perform countless surgeries, but your one-year anniversary? Uh… oops.
Mercy is the type of person/girlfriend who leaves you nice little notes and likes to make sure you feel taken care of, making sure you know you were on her mind before she leaves for work.
She’s self-conscious that you might leave her– you’re not nearly that fed up with her.
All the dates cut too short, and her lack of free time makes the dates that make it through to the end all the more special.
She wakes you up when she returns home late, only because you want her to. You love greeting her and falling back asleep in her arms.
Moira
Moira’s a fine wine and dinner. You better get dressed up and ready for a night on the town. She always makes such a scene out of taking you out.
Often she supplies you with the outfits she thinks you’d look nice in, more often than not, you love what she selects.
The whole shebang too. From the top of your head to your toes. Jewelry, shoes, the dress, and the bag to match.
Being the mad scientist she is, she makes her own hours and her own rules. Often likes to have you sit in while she’s working, likes looking at you. Says it helps with her focus. You doubt it.
She gets called into different countries for her work, which means another vacation for you. Moira likes to keep you close.
She puts you up in the nicest hotels. Visits, and takes you around like a personal tour guide when she gets the chance (she knows about all the niche tourist spots, does tons of research on the countries she visits).
Ana
The veteran sniper is laid back with your relationship, so long as it’s clear that you are both on the same page. You’re her girl and she’s yours.
She feels it’s important to keep you out of her work life.
She has a huge bounty on her head, doesn’t want her enemies thinking they can use you against her.
She may not bring you to work, but she does bring home stories and looks forward to telling you all about them.
These days, there’s really nothing more that she looks forward to. Coming home, throwing back some good food, a drink or two, and cuddling up on the couch with you, is the perfect way to spend her free time.
She brings you back little knick-knacks and sends you postcards from her adventures with sweet, inspiring messages written on the back.
Brigitte
This girl is so cheesy. Remembers every special event, your birthday, your anniversaries. Makes a huge deal out of all of them.
Just try getting her to shut up about how amazing and beautiful she thinks you are, she’ll only get worse.
Brigitte brags about you, gives you public displays of affection a lot. She’s shameless. It can be embarrassing– but a giddy, blushy, downcast eyes, grinning, hand in front of your face kind of embarrassed.
She had a couple of cats before she met you, but the two of you go and adopt a couple of them together, and now have a little furball family.
You take care of them while she’s gone and make sure to send her lots of cute selfies featuring your babies.
The type to send you memes, fanart, silly videos as a means to let you know that she’s thinking about you and pays attention to the things that you love.
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“Poor form!” Zarya crosses her arms, shaking her head. She stares directly at your backside. Watches as it rounds out as you crouch into a squat, the lightly weighted squat rack bar on your shoulders. She steps forward, a sly smirk on her lips as she scrutinizes your method. Your thighs twitching from the exertion, you give her a look in the mirror that says, “Give me a break, babe.”
She approaches you from behind, helping you place the bar safely back where it belongs. She walks you forward. A hand placed on the small of your back, until you’re close enough to the large, clean, wall-length mirror for her liking. Towering over you, she grins. Snakes her strong, muscled arms around your waist, and leans forward, flutters her fingertips along the inside of your thighs.
“Use your thighs, not your back, myshka.”
She kisses your temple hard enough to leave your head swaying, grabby hands lingering between your legs for longer than is necessary to get her point across. Your thighs clench, and you fidget from one foot to the other. A daydream, here and gone in a flash, of her diving right into your leggings, right here, exercising your bravery. When you come back to the present, simmering, bright emerald eyes are staring down your heaving, lifted, and secured breasts, as you try and catch your breath. Your sports bra more fitted to be cute and flattering, than it is helpful. Something Zarya complained about at first glance, while the thing was still on the hanger, stating that the thing wasn’t “structurally sound,” but quickly changed her mind when she saw it on you.
“I know, I know, I’m trying.” Truthfully at this point, you’re too new to the scene to understand when you are, and when you are not, using your back to lift. You just know what hurts and what other methods hurt a little less, and you go with the less painful option, instead of the ladder.
She pats your butt, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Ready to hit the showers?” If Zarya is asking, the answer is always yes; you’re always ready to stop working out. If this were reversed, you wouldn’t even be asking. Zarya lets YOU know when she’s ready to throw in the towel. Just asking is an insult; does she look like she needs to rest? No– don’t make her laugh.
Once in the locker room, being the only ones occupying the space, she makes a spectacle out of watching you peel off your sweaty clothes and free your breasts from their cruel confinement with great interest. She sits on a metal bench, with her elbows resting on her knees. Just within reach, and fast enough to snatch the towel as you try and wrap it around your body.
She tosses it to the side. Grabs hold of your wrist, yanks you forward causing you to fall gracelessly into her lap. She kisses you, her hands groping all over your body. Focusing in on her favorite parts, the softer parts.
“Stop it, I’m smelly and gross.” You push fruitlessly at her hands, only for her to grip your thighs tighter. Hoisting you further onto her lap, and closer to her body. Your tummy flutters, warmth pooling down in your core. Your body just can’t get enough of the rough way she handles you… The way her hard muscles ripple and flex as she keeps you right where she wants you to be.
She growls at your declaration. Shoves a hand between your legs. Swoops in so she can lavish your neck with eager lips and a wriggling, hot tongue. She inhales your scent, moaning as she breaths out onto your neck. Curls her one free arm around your waist, locking you in, and easily reaches the gash of your sex. She teases you, just barely touching your folds, grazing your clit and it pulses at her touch.
You gripe about someone walking in, Zarya pushes your legs open, spits on her fingers and works them into the exposed space between your thighs. Shutting you up and making your jaw go slack. “You had better come quick then.”
She goes right for your sweet spot, curling her fingers inside you, thumbs your swelling clit and finds a grin spreading across her face when your body lurches, telling her that she’s found the special bundle of nerves within you. She strokes it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You curl in on yourself, feeling a mass of maddening pressure welling in your core. Zarya nibbles on your neck, focused on making you come and making you come fast. Because then, then she can cart you off to the showers where there are curtains, and the real fun can begin. The provisions manager, here at Overwatch HQ, really should have thought twice about providing detachable shower heads. She and you both know you’re not the only ones using the things as they were not intended to be used.
Suddenly, it hits you. Electric on your skin, and taking your breath away. You clamp your hand over your own mouth, Zarya too busy keeping you grounded and keeping you coming, to be able to afford the hand to keep you quiet too. You bite your lip, added protection against the slew of whorish noises trapped in the back of your throat. Once the biggest waves of pleasure start to dissipate, you reach down and hold desperately onto her wrist, encouraging her to keep going at it until you’re good and ready to let her have her hand back…
…But then a couple agents walk into the locker room. Chatting lazily, not privy to what’s going on on the bench just around the corner. You’re up in a flash, both shy about both your naked body and about getting caught with your girlfriend’s fingers buried in your pussy. You pick a shower and hide away in it. Wait there for Zarya, who isn’t shy in any way at all that you can remember, to join you.
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Imagine literal Goddess Ana Amari, going by Bastet. You visit Egypt as a tourist, and a shrouded woman gifts you with an amulet, featuring the goddess herself. You question why she’s gifting this to you… it looks really nice. She says that the necklaces are being given to everyone. Don’t you know?? There’s a celebration at hand! You believe her and take the amulet with a polite thank you. Though as you walk around, talk to more of the locals, you discover that the woman wasn’t exactly… lying, but your amulet IS much nicer than the one that is being handed out to others. There’s flat and made of cheap plastic. Yours? Three dimensional, heavy, naturally antique appearance, the goddess and a harem of cats engraved in the middle. Bastet is a general protector, a warrior goddess, as well as a goddess of fertility. Cut to a modern festival that celebrates the ancient goddess, you will learn all about this at the festival (if you can remember, there’s lots of drinking). So you go, and sport the amulet given to you by the mysterious woman. You wind up meeting this shrouded woman “by chance” at the festival. This time, she takes off the mask covering her face, and you learn that she goes by Ana. She’s much older than you, but you don’t mind when she takes you by the hand and starts showing you the right way to party at this festival. You feel really comfortable putting your night in her hands, wind up giggly and horny and drunk as hell at her place. Her place at face value is this really small, hole in the wall, barely even recognizable as an apartment. You don’t care. Her bed is big, soft, and warm… she too is so soft and so warm. You’ve never come so hard, or so much. Sleeping with this woman feels magical, otherworldly, you feel pleasure in places you didn’t know you could. You even lose track of time, it feels absolutely amazing. When the morning comes you have a new tour guide. Ana shows you around, tells you about the history of her home. You continue to fool around in various places while you’re at it. You stay a bit longer than you were anticipating because of her. The day you just HAVE to leave suddenly you have a bout of nausea. It keeps you from getting to your flight on time. Ana sticks around to take care of you, getting you water, she rubs your back and tells you about how she’s seen much worse. When you start to wonder out loud about what must be wrong with you, Ana simply states that you are pregnant. That statement is all kinds of ridiculous, with a healthy side of terrifying. You haven’t had sex with a man (to your knowledge), so you can’t be pregnant. This is when Ana reveals her real identity. Lets you know that being the fertility goddess that she is, she doesn’t need the equipment of a man in order to get a girl pregnant. You ARE pregnant, and you’re pregnant with her baby.