Chapter Text
On Tuesday, Widowmaker decides to be bold. She storms to Reaper’s room and nearly breaks down the door. She doesn’t care how many Talon grunts see, nor if they scurry off to gossip with each other.
Reaper was trying to fall back asleep, a terrible nightmare had been plaguing him relentlessly. It was always the same; gold eyes burning with desire, a choking sensation, then falling into nothingness, before waking with a start. The sudden banging of Widowmaker’s fist on the door sends him bolting upright. Not now… Reaper growls quietly, but lets the Spider enter nonetheless. She graces into the room as if she didn’t just try to take down the whole city with her knocking.
“Fantôme, come with me,” she practically barks at him, arms folded and lips pursed. Reaper tries to avoid looking at her form, but is instantly mesmerized. She’s not wearing her usual get up. Widowmaker shifts under his gaze, she can tells he’s studying her. No amount of time could allow for Reaper to fully take in the sight before him. Her hair is in a low braid, her skin tight suit is substituted by a lilac knit crop top and black workout leggings, and remarkably, she’s still wearing heels. I’m fucked.
“Why would I want to go anywhere with you?” He chokes out, his voice betraying his true feelings. Widowmaker sighs and shifts her weight to one side, feigning annoyance. Despite the pounding in her chest, she stands firm and stares Reaper down.
“Because we both know that letting our muscles go soft will lead to a decline in our performance on missions. Now come, I want to train.” She holds out her hand, hopefully for him to take. Unfortunately, luck does not seem to be on the Spider’s side. Reaper’s eyes do not leave Widowmaker’s midsection as he stands; his gaze roams over the curve of her hips and dip of her navel as he leans down close to her face.
“Fine.” He growls, a smirk hidden behind his mask. Widowmaker flushes a deep blue and shoves his masked face away with her hand. That was way better than him taking my hand, mon Dieu! Reaper sputters a harmless threat; now it is his turn to blush.
“So what is this, Spider? Hand-to-hand?” Reaper stares at the lithe frame of his partner, patiently waiting against the wall. Widowmaker flicks the lights of the training room on, and hums in approval when she sees that the training dummy’s corpse has been cleared away.
“Precisely. No rules, just no real damage to each other, yes?” She motions to her side, the faintest scar lingers on her blue waist. Widowmaker saunters into the middle of the room, and slowly begins to take her crop top off. Reaper chokes on air. What in the hell is she doing?! “Why are you so surprised, Fantôme? This is knit wool, it would become very uncomfortable as we sparred, or do you have a crush on me?” The words leave the Spider’s mouth before she can process that she said them. She spins on her heel to hide the flush that encompasses her whole body, and quickly rips the crop top off. She has to commit to the show now. For a moment, Reaper is speechless. The Spider, nearly topless in nothing but a sports bra, tight leggings, and heels , just asked him the very words he didn’t want to be asked. He stutters, tries to collect himself, stutters again.
“A-and why would I ever have a crush on you? What? No way, Spider.” He manages to blurt out. His faces burns, well, more than usual. “Let’s just get this over with.” He is lying, Widowmaker smirks to herself, que c’est mignon. Without another word, the Spider strikes. She rushes up, feigns a right hook to grab Reaper’s left arm, and yanks down hard. Reaper, caught off guard by her swiftness, is like putty in her hands. He’s thrown off balance just the way she wants him to be, as she uses her free elbow to send him to the ground. Smirking, she steps back before he can swipe at her legs.
“What is this? The Great Reaper is bested so easily?” She quips playfully. Her eyes burn with a sort of hunger that Reaper cannot place. He ghosts to his feet, and cracks neck. No mercy for the Spider today. He doesn’t make a sound when he charges her, which frightens Widowmaker for some reason. Oh no, did I really upset him? Is all she can think before she feels the impact of a fist to her stomach. She keels over in inescapable pain, the wind knocked out of her. He looms over her, satisfaction hidden by the owl-like mask.
“What is this? The ‘illustrious’ Widowmaker is bested so easily?” He mocks, a hint of anger hidden in the words. Reaper cracks his knuckles as she kneels before him, utter silence. Then, without warning, there’s overwhelming pain as the Spider brings her fist up to connect with his dick. Reaper collapses on instinct, perfect. As he doubles over, Widowmaker stands and brings both of her hands to the back of his head. With a resounding crack, Reaper’s face meets Widowmaker’s knee plate. She doesn’t skip a beat as she cups the side of his cheek, smirks with a soft hum, and slams his head against the wall.
“I do not like to lose, Fantôme, but it seems that you do. ” Every hint of playfulness is gone from Widowmaker’s tone, only the desire to win remains. She does not move away from him, but stands at the ready for his next attack. However, she doesn’t expect him to tackle her to the ground. Before she knows what hit her, she’s on her back and fighting for her freedom. With eyes seeing stars, she wriggles and flails to get away from the Ghost’s grasp. He growls into her ear, low and rough, and it sends electricity up her spine. Reaper sees the Spider’s hesitation and pounces on it. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore, the drive to be victorious taking over all thoughts and actions. He pins her arms above her head with both hands, both knees forced between her legs, he has her.
The two stay there for a moment, panting hard and sharing breath. Widowmaker struggles to find a way to get free, and Reaper struggles to conceal his growing erection. He leans in close despite his newfound boner, and whispers soft and slow,
“I win.” Widowmaker decides to be risky, and before he can withdraw his face, she places a kiss on the nose of his mask and snuggles her hips as close as she can into his knees. Reaper is sent reeling. He recoils in surprise, his hold on the Spider faltering, as he chokes on the breath he didn’t know he was holding. His crotch only grows hotter. Widowmaker chuckles before springing into action, so predictable. With lightening fast speed, she rolls onto her knees pushing Reaper off her and onto his ass. Before he can get his bearings about him, she is on his stomach. She pins both of his arms above his head with her left forearm, and closes her fingers around his throat. Her eyes burn with determination and her lips quirk into a smile laced with smugness. She leans down to whisper back to him,
“Non, ma chere. I--” In a swirl of purple smoke, Widowmaker finds herself alone. Reaper appears just on the other side of the door, panicked and horny. She can hear his heavy breathing, and his hurried footsteps. He needs to get away from her. NOW. Widowmaker rocks herself back onto her knees as the footfalls disappear and stares at the door dumfounded.
“I win…”
--
On Wednesday, Widowmaker feels guilty. I should not have toyed with him like that. He is clearly upset... I should apologize. She stops outside of Reaper’s room and glares at the door. What would she say? What could she say? Sorry for using your crush on me as leverage in a training fight? Widowmaker huffs in frustration at herself. Je suis terrible… At least she dressed for modesty today; no need to add fuel to the fire. She eyes her oversized black sweatshirt and purple leggings, clicking her tongue in annoyance at her metallic heels. As modest as I can be. She raps her knuckles on the metallic grey door, no response. She does it again, no response. A third time-- the door flings wide open. Widowmaker jumps and lets out a surprised yelp as she is faced by a rather imposing Reaper.
“What. Do. You. Want.” He growls out, his free hand bunched into a fist by his side. Widowmaker winces at how he hisses out ‘you,’ and she can feel the anger coming off of him in waves. She holds her left arm with her right, and her eyes never leave the floor.
“I… I want to apologize… About yesterday… May I come in?” Reaper says nothing as he sidesteps out of the way and gestures Widowmaker to enter. She nods her head slightly in thanks and bites her bottom lip anxiously. Reaper simply leans against the door, patiently waiting for the Spider to begin her supposed apology.
“I… Was not kind to you yesterday. I was not fair. I know that our line of work does not require us to fight fair or honourably, but you are my partner. Mon fantôme-”
“Don’t call me that if you don’t mean it, Spider.” Widowmaker shrinks as the scathing interjection falls on her ears. He really is hurt, mon Dieu, she thinks as she turns to face the Ghost. She can see the tension in his body. The way he clutches his biceps and pushes himself against the door is as clear as any indication of how uncomfortable he is by all this. Widowmaker licks her lips and steels herself, cocking her hip to one side and grasping onto her arm even tighter.
“I… think I know what has been plaguing you these past few days, Fantôme, and I should not have used it against you in our match. But if it is any consolation, I think I have been... plagued by the same thing.” Widowmaker blushes as Reaper cocks his head and steps from the door. No turning back now. He silently takes the few steps towards her agonizingly slow, despite the overwhelming need to rush into her arms. With one clawed hand he tilts her chin up and smirks, using his other hand to take her right one.
“And how do I know you’re not lying to me? Being cruel is one of your specialties after all. And besides, who would ever want to love an ugly thing like me?” He’s taunting me. Widowmaker hears the smile in his words, but she sees the desperation and anxiety through his facade. He’s scared of my rejection, yet he acts like he can push me away… Widowmaker squeezes Reaper’s fingers and brings her left hand to the cheek of his mask. She can feel the warmth spreading over her from his touch, and she instinctively bows her head into the hand under her chin.
“I would. I do not know if I do, but I would. You make me feel alive, mon Fantôme. Mon Dieu, you make me feel, period! And I know that we are cruel and horrible people, but maybe we can try to be horrible together? Because NO ONE has ever made me feel the way you do, and I want to- I want...” Widowmaker stumbles in her accidental speech, taking a step back to collect herself. Reaper is left speechless. She sounded so much like Amelie… And… “I think, for now, I just want you.” She wants me too? Widowmaker grabs Reapers left hand with both of her hands and squeezes. Her eyes burn into the eyes of his mask, begging for an answer. “We do not have to be together. We could be, how do you say, “friends with benefits,” but please, Fantôme-”
Within an instant, Reaper’s mask is off, and he’s kissing her deeper than anyone he’s ever kissed before.