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parvulous-writings · 3 years

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When you get stressed //Various Overwatch x reader

Request: Hi! It’s me again and so basically I had a rough day today. The gist of what happened is that a pallet of frozen food was all wonky and I was pressured yesterday to push it in otherwise it will completely default causing it to shift and lean on another pallet. Come to find out that the people who are supposed to take stuff out of that freezer were not too happy as they basically threw me underneath the bus with the managers at my workplace. That almost cost me to have a panic attack in the freezers. Could I get a comfort fanfic one shot of McCree, hanzo, soldier 76, reaper and whoever else you think will fit. Coming across there s/o struggling to stay calm in a stressful situation that is out of their control kind of the same situation I was in but maybe a agent is being unfair and is pushing them too hard? I could use some comfort to be completely honest here.

Requested by:@wolvesbrigade

Summary: So I decided to do this as more of a headcanon list with the different characters, I hope that’s alright with you!

Warnings: Vague mentions of extreme stress.

Notes: The reason I did this as a headcanon list for the separate characters was for a couple reasons; one it’s a lot faster! I tried to get this out as soon as I could, but I apologise for the delay nonetheless! Secondly; it allows me to look at each character individually, with more focus on them! My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Jesse McCree

Not my gif

-At first, Jesse doesn’t entirely notice your stress. He’s standing behind you, looking rather impressed at the agent giving your squad a firm talking to It takes him a fair while to notice you’re getting overwhelmed and are struggling to cope. -But as soon as he does realise, he steps forward to stand beside you, subtly taking your hand in his own, to give it a reaffirming squeeze. It isn’t much- he can’t exactly sass back a commanding officer- but it’s the best he could do at the present scenario. -When you eventually get released from your lecture, McCree slowly lead you to the cafeteria, getting you a mug of your favourite beverage; the cafeteria is usually pretty quiet and empty during the middle of the day, people often eat in their quarters. -Occasionally when the cafeteria’s too full he’ll take you back to his quarters, and swaddle you in a poncho to help you feel a little more comfortable. At least he hopes it does, you’ve never really complained about it before. -Usually he offers you a lot of reassurance, giving you whatever you ask for, or whatever you need. He wants his partner to be happy, but he doesn’t always know how to make that happen.

Hanzo Shimada

Not my gif

-Hanzo wasn’t with you when the other Overwatch agent was chewing you out for something beyond your control. He found you afterwards, when he went to check on you in your quarters. -For a moment he didn’t really know what to do- he is wise in many things, but trying to help someone else deal with stress is unfortunately not really one of them. -His first instinct is to sit by you, wait for you speak of your own accord. He doesn’t want to push you and make the situation worse. He may be a rough man, but with you- especially when you’re in a vulnerable state such as this- this is not the case. -When you do open up to him about what happens, he carefully asks you how he can help- he doesn’t want to bombard you with offers and promises. He wants to know what you want or need to feel safe and calm. -Sometimes he’ll let you have some of his sake :)

Jack Morrison (Soldier 76)

not my gif

-Morrison will immediately start to talk back to the agent who’s putting you under so much pressure for something that wasn’t your fault. He is not one to shy away from those giving others the guff that is uncalled for. He did hold the position of Strike Commander, after all, he commands respect above all else. -He will make it very much known that that kind of unnecessary stress is unacceptable, and not tolerated. -He will then pull you to the side, to ask if you’re okay; if there’s anything that he can do to help you calm down. He’s quite formal about it, but the hand on your shoulder lets you know he means well, and wants you to feel safe and comfortable in the complex. -Later on, when he’s not on duty, he’ll bring you your favourite drink to try and make up for the overly harsh agent- nothing too fancy, and he expects the special treatment to be kept under wraps.

Gabriel Reyes (Reaper)

not my gif

-Reyes... Reyes is not a man who will get “soft” easily. Not at all. If he sees you getting stressed or overwhelmed, he’ll ask you to step to the side, take a few minutes to calm down, but other than that doesn’t really provide much help. -He’ll give you a few check up conversations every so often, when he knows you’ve had a tough day or rough week. It’s nothing much, but hey, at least he cares. -However, if he finds someone chewing you out, he will get defensive on your behalf- pushing them away to give you some space and ordering them to get lost. He may not have had the same title as people like Morrison, but he commanded respect and fear in his own way.

#ourcree #mccree x reader #jesse mccree #jesse mccree headcanons #jesse mccree x reader #overwatch #mccree overwatch #overwatch x reader #hanzo x reader #overwatch hanzo #ow hanzo #hanzo shimada #hanzo headcanons #soldier 76 #soldier 76 x reader #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader

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oceanera12 · 4 years

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The Medic

Finn remembers the first time he met the man. It was a little more than a few weeks after escaping Crait. The Resistance was in tatters which meant recruitment was a huge priority. Finn had been sent to Maz’s (or what was left of it) along with Poe and Chewy to try and set up a secure meeting for sympathizers.

The man hadn’t looked like much. His hair was long, draping past his shoulders, his clothes torn and ragged. A few pieces of white and blue armor were on his arms and he carried a blaster (and looked like he knew how to use it). Maz had been talking to him when Finn and friends entered the room. The man appeared almost angry at her, downing his drink before asking for another. Maz had obliged, but was clearly not happy about it. Her attention was drawn away by Chewbacca, leaving the man to his drink.

Poe followed the two of them into the back and Finn had been planning to join them but... Something inside him tugged him away from backroom, to the bar, and to the man.

He doesn’t remember most of the interaction, if you could even call it that. Finn had introduced himself to which the man had grunted and downed another drink and ordered another. Finn tried talking about the weather, rumors about the Resistance and the First Order, the weapon the man carried (”Looks like an older model, ever thought of an upgrade?), but all he received were grunts. Most people would have left it alone and Finn did try to leave several times, but his gut told him to stay, keep trying, this is important.

Poe signaled Finn finally, telling him the meeting was scheduled and he was headed back to the ship (and Finn should too or he’d leave him behind). Finn hesitated but got to his feet and turned to leave.

The words came unbidden and he had no idea why he even said them. They were blurted out, clear as day. “FN-2187.”

The man at the bar choked on his drink, spitting and coughing for almost a minute. Finn didn’t move, something telling him to stay put. The man looked at Finn (for the first time) eyes wide and as clear as they could be with that much alcohol in your stomach. “What?” the question was sharp, confused, and Finn thought maybe a little fearful.

“FN-2187,” Finn repeated. “That’s the name the First Order gave me.”

The man’s eyes turned angry. “I see.” He turned back to his drink and downed another. Finn sensed he was done here at the moment and left without another word.

*************************************

The meeting took place a week or so later. Poe was the main spokesman with Finn acting as a witness of sorts. He had seen first hand what the First Order did and what it would do. He explained his story and how his friends had helped him leave it behind. Poe returned to the stand, reminding everyone about General Organa’s days in the Rebellion and called anyone able to join the fight.

It had gone surprising well, with two dozen recruitment’s and a few hundred credits in funding. Finn had been thanking one particular generous donor when he saw him.

To be honest, Finn didn’t recognize him at first. His hair had been shaved completely off revealing a head covered in tattoos (One read, “The only good droid is a dead one,” which was weird to have but okay). His armor was cleaner and there was now a chest piece and utility belt that Finn hadn’t seen because of the poncho (which was now gone). The man marched up to Finn (and Poe, but Finn was pretty sure the man was there for him) and stood at a very stiff attention. A stance Finn was all to familiar with.

“I’d like to help,” the man said and only then did Finn recognize the voice and who it belonged to.

Finn reached out a hand and the man took it. “Glad to have you...?”

“Kix,” the man gave a sad smile, as if remembering something. “Kix.. Fivofist.”

Poe took it from there, asking about the man’s experience and his skills. Apparently, Kix was a field medic and knew quite a bit of combat (he never mentioned names of battles, just described facing a lot of enemies with not a lot of friends). Both Poe and Finn came to the same conclusion about the same time:

Kix was a deserter.

***************************************

Finn never asked about Kix’s time with the First Order. The medic had a lot of other things going on.

For one, he was unfamiliar with a lot of the medical equipment, or at least the big machines and what they did exactly. The first time he saw the bacta suit, he had examined it for two hours, mumbling something about how it would have been handy. He also wasn’t up to date on several procedures, using several older methods and personal experience. Sometimes that was better than the “new” way. Other times, it wasted valuable equipment and didn’t make the situation “worse” necessarily, but didn’t make it better either.

Medical had mixed feelings about him. On one hand, he was the only one who could keep Rey in the med bay. Heck, he was the only one who could treat Rey, somehow giving her shots, stitching up a few wounds and even treating some old ones (”I’m sorry? you broke your leg at the age of ten and never had it set?)

On the other hand, Kix was very aloof from most of the Resistance. He spoke very little, only commenting on patients and some medical know-how. He never spoke of his past, never asked about anyone else’s, and politely refused to any kind of therapy that Finn suggested (it had helped him). His relations were strictly professional.

The only person he would “hang” around was Finn. And even then, there was little talking from him. Finn would talk about his missions, Rey, Poe, Chewy, a few stories from the First Order, even some tales about his squad. Kix would only listen, smiling and laughing when appropriate but mostly somber. Finn never asked Kix questions. He was fine with it and happy to have a friend that wasn’t quite so eager to run head on into battle (*cough cough* Rey and Poe *cough cough*).

********************************

When the transmissions started coming, everyone panicked. The Emperor? Alive? The Resistance scrambled around trying to find the source, get troops ready, looking for weaknesses. They thought they’d have more time to build their ranks up and prepare. They were wrong.

Finn found himself whisked from mission to mission, chasing every lead he could find. It was several weeks later he was given a chance to breathe and return to base. His first stop was the medical bay to see Kix.

Which was why he was confused when he didn’t find his friend. According to the rest of the doctors, Kix had locked himself in is room and hadn’t come out for several days. Most agreed he was having some kind of mental breakdown or maybe he had been working to hard. They took him food, which had been mostly untouched and a few had tried to talk to him but had gotten nowhere.

Finn found Kix lying on his bed, curled up in a ball, unmoving. He swallowed down the panic that rose up and moved to sit on the cot. “Hey, Kix. Sorry I haven’t been around.”

No answer.

Finn hesitantly told the man about his missions, the stupid arguments he and Poe had gotten into, a few close calls, etc, etc. Kix didn’t move the entire time, his breathing heavy and slow. Finn’s throat was dry from talking after an hour or so, leading to a long space of silence. Finally, Finn let out a long sigh and gently asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Silence for a moment. “He should be dead,” Kix’s voice was full of venom, spat out in between a growl and a roar. “Why isn’t he dead?!”

Finn swallowed, “I don’t know.” He didn’t need to ask who they were talking about. Those very questions had passed through most everyone in the galaxy mind’s over the past month. “I don’t think we may ever know, but we’ll get him.”

“Kriffing, sithspit--” Kix finally turned around to face Finn, his face streaked with dried tears, eyes angry and gritted teeth. “That kriffing laandur shabuir should be--” Finn was unable to follow the rest of Kix’s thoughts because of the sudden language switch into something he didn’t recognize, but he got the gist of it. The words were harsh, most likely wishing death or worse upon Palpatine. They were growled and spat out for several minutes before the words began to slow down and turn into something more sad and easier to follow. Eventually, it was just a few words repeated over and over again as Kix sobbed into his cot.

“Ni ceta, vode... ni ceta... Ni hutt’un... ni ceta, vode.”

Finn put a hand on Kix’s shoulder, unsure of what to do exactly but wanting to help. Kix placed a hand on top of Finn’s, squeezing it tight, his voice finally breaking. “Ni ceta, Jesse. Forgive me.” And then he just cried.

Finn doesn’t remember pulling the man up and into his arms but suddenly he was hugging the medic, who clung to Finn like his life depended on it. Kix cried and cried, allowing himself to finally break after weeks of the Force knew what was going through his head.

************************************

Finn remembers the last time he saw Kix. It was just before he left with Poe and Rey, off to find a way to the world of the Sith (there’s something he never thought he’d say).

The medic looked better. More determined. He was working at the time and Finn determined it would be best to let him stay that way. There’d be time to talk again.

But something in Finn’s gut screamed at him to stop, turn around, and go talk to Kix. So he did.

Kix was happy to see him, hugging him in greeting. Finn returned it, gave a quick run down on where he was going and wishing Kix luck. Kix nodded, told him to be careful and he’d see him soon.

Finn bid farewell and turned to leave--

“CT-6116.”

Finn froze in place for a moment. He turned back to the medic, who forced a smile, a tear sliding down his cheek. “I thought it was time you knew.”

Finn found himself unable to speak so he did the next best thing. He came to a stiff attention and saluted the man. Kix returned it, the smile returning for a moment.

*************************************

The Emperor was dead. The galaxy was safe. Finn returned to base to the sights and sounds of celebration. Friends embraced friends, families were reunited, and songs filled the air. After finding Poe and Rey, Finn excused himself, racing off the medic tent.

One of the doctors stood waiting for him. She didn’t say anything to him, simply handed Finn a holodisc and walked away. The disc was a list of casualties.

Kix Fivofist - KIA

**********************

((Whoops, my finger slipped. This was supposed to be about Kix and Finn talking about their pasts and it was supposed to be fluffy and fun. And then I realized: what would Kix think about Palpatine being alive? ... Oh well. I think I may write Kix’s POV at a later date, what do y’all think? And yes, his “last name” is 501st, so sue me.))

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littleshebear · 6 years

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Destiny fanfic; Unbreakable

My writing muse totally deserted me for a bit there because I was having trouble with this piece but I finally got it done. I feel cleansed. Maybe I can get to writing other stuff now too. I’m back on my Steelponcho bullshit.

Hawthorne left the triage station in a hurry with the metallic tang of blood in her nostrils. She resisted the urge to run, there was enough fear and misery to go around without the refugees seeing her like that.

She reached her quarters and slammed the door. She stripped off, pausing for a moment when she realised her poncho was torn at the sleeve; one of the injured had grabbed on to her and refused to let go until he had finally passed out. She decided she'd clean it up and patch it later, she was too tired and heartsick to bother mending it tonight. She tossed it aside and headed for a tiny shower room which was cordoned off by a ragged curtain. She turned on the water, the pipes shuddering and groaning in protest before a weak spray of water emerged. She gasped as the freezing water hit her skin. She forced a slow breath from her lungs, making herself adjust to the cold. The water gradually became a bearable lukewarm and she relaxed. She had bathed in far colder during her time in the wilds, this was comparative luxury.

She pressed her palms and forehead against the stall’s tiles and she closed her eyes, replaying the evening’s events. How she had sat by the radio, waiting in vain for her scouting party to report in, how she had removed herself to a viewpoint above the Farm to watch for their return. How she had to swallow down panic when she saw what was left of them being brought in on sparrows, by Guardians who had obviously intercepted their cries for help, cries that had been dampened from wider broadcast by the Cabal.

She opened her eyes and watched the water swirl around the plughole at her feet, gradually turning from pink to clear as the last of her colleague’s blood was rinsed from her body. She gave in to the tears that had been threatening since she’d seen her friends, her charges, laid out on those operating tables, bleeding their last. She had hoped it was safe in here, that the water could disguise her weeping but the angry, frustrated tears ran far hotter than the shower.

After drying off and getting into some clean clothes, she scrubbed the bloodstains out of her poncho as best she could then made her way to the firepit on the edge of the farm. She spread out her poncho to dry, wrapped herself up in a blanket and set to drinking a jar of bathtub gin. The denizens of the farm all had the good sense to give her a wide berth. All but one.

She knew it was him without looking around. Dev knew to leave her alone, Cayde would have led with a well-meaning but misplaced quip and Ikora would have got straight to the point. The hovering at a distance and the polite throat clearing could only mean him.

‘What do you want, Zavala?” She asked before taking a swig of the burning liquor.

‘We have some information on the arm of the Red Legion that attacked your people. I thought you might be interested.’

Hawthorne took a deep breath and tightened the blanket around herself. ‘Go on.’

He approached slowly and spoke in a gentle tone of voice that dripped with sympathy. It made her grind her teeth. There was no need for this sort of kid gloves treatment, she wasn’t that delicate.

‘The description your scouts gave before they…” He paused.

‘Before they died,” Hawthorne filled in for him.

Zavala sighed and closed the remaining gap between them. ‘May I sit?’

‘It’s a free farm,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m not stopping you.’ The alcohol was most definitely having an effect. What was left of her sobriety knew it was unfair to speak to him so harshly. None of this was his fault but she was angry and he was there. The increasingly intoxicated part of her justified it by saying he should have known to leave her alone.

“The descriptions your scouts gave match reports we’ve been getting about a Red Legion general who calls himself Thumos The Unbroken.”

‘The Unbroken?’ She snorted derisively. ‘Someone’s got an ego. What do the reports say?’

‘He’s one of Ghaul’s blood guard, high ranking, ruthless.’ He paused, looking between Hawthorne and the jar of moonshine in her hand. ‘That’s the gist of the communications we intercepted.’

‘What do they say?’ Hawthorne fixed him with an icy stare.

‘I’m not sure the details are-’

‘Tell me.’

‘Hawthorne, please don’t take this the wrong way but how much have you had to dr-’

‘Don’t coddle me, Commander!’

Zavala sighed deeply. ‘As best Cryptarchs can translate from the transmissions we discovered? He heralds his arrival with something like this: Hail Thumos, you who are fated to fall.’ He paused before finishing his report. ‘And then there’s just screaming.’

Hawthorne nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore the lump in her throat that was making itself known again. She kept nodding, as if that would stave off any need to address the other physical reactions that what she was feeling right now. ‘I see.’ She took another quaff of her drink. If any more tears appeared she could blame them on how strong the booze was. ‘Is there anything else you needed, Commander?’

‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘Oh yeah, i’m fine,’ she replied, her lips curling into a snarl, ‘An entire scout team is dead because of me but yeah,’ raised her glass to him in a mock toast, ‘I’m just dandy, thanks for asking.’

‘This wasn't your fault.’ He held her gaze for an uncomfortable beat.

‘I gave the order, I sent them out there,’ she grumbled, turning away to stare at the fire again. ‘Let me guess,’ she snapped, ‘You’d have done things differently? Did you come here to impart your wisdom, tell me what I did wrong?’

‘No,’ he replied, sounding a little taken aback. ‘No, not at all.’ She shot him a baleful look and he shrugged, ‘I…’ He hesitated, ‘In actual fact I’m impressed by you. I’ve nothing but admiration for what you’ve achieved here.’

‘People died because of me,’ she said before turning away again. ‘I don’t expect you do understand. You’re a -’

‘A Guardian?’ He interjected.

‘Don’t pretend you know what’s like, because you don’t! Dying over and over but coming back every time isn’t the -'

‘That’s not true.’

‘Dying over and over but still coming back isn’t the same as-’

‘It’s not true.’ Zavala didn’t shout but there was something in his voice that overruled her desire to interrupt him again. ‘Are you a student of history, Hawthorne?’ He asked after a tense silence.

‘No,’ she shrugged, ‘I didn’t pay much attention at school.’

‘Look up the Great Disaster, when you have time. The Battle of Mare Imbrium.’ There was no acrimony in his voice, just regret. ‘We lost hundreds in that one sortie. I know what it’s like to lose people, I know what it’s like to lose them on my order, believe me.’ he looked on her not with anger but compassion. ‘That’s command, Hawthorne. You make judgement calls. The ones that go well, you never think about but the ones that don’t work out…’

‘How do you deal with it?’ She whispered.

‘Try to learn from it. That’s all you can do. You did the best you could, there’s no point in punishing yourself. It changes nothing.’ Hawthorne looked at her feet. ‘But you will, I’m guessing. It’s what I always do,’ he said after a brief pause, that normally sonorous voice of his coming out as little more than a defeated rumble. ‘That’s command for you. When you start to stop caring that’s probably when you should step down.’

Hawthorne looked up at him with bleary eyes and felt her lips twitch into a faint smile for the first time that day. “Sucks, right?”

Zavala didn’t smile in return but he nodded. “It surely does.” He gingerly rested his fingertips on her wrist and said, ‘Do me a favour and don’t drink any more? It’s not a healthy way of dealing with this.’

‘You’re not the boss of me,’ she protested, pulling her hand away from his, sloshing some of the liquor over herself in the process.

‘Hawthorne, please.’

‘Fine,’ she acquiesced but held back from giving him the glass. ‘On one condition.’ She stared him down, holding the jar between them. ‘You have a drink with me. Then I’ll stop.’

He rolled his eyes and took the glass from her. ‘One shot. And then that’s it.’ He tipped the jar up delicately, as though it were a crystal champagne flute rather than a scuffed old jam jar. ‘To absent friends.’ He took a drink and screwed his eyes shut, before swallowing hard. He coughed and spluttered. ‘Well. That’s certainly. Something.’

‘Good huh? We make it out back,’ she gestured toward the barn.

‘I’d have more but my ghost is significantly weakened. I fear if I went blind, she wouldn’t be able to heal me.’

‘Wuss,’ she sniggered. ‘Okay…’ She got to her feet, swaying a little as the full effect of the drink hit her. She got a corner of the blanket caught under her feet and staggered backward right into Zavala.

‘Easy,’ he intoned, gently grasping her upper arms and righting her. He rucked the blanket up around her shoulders to keep it away from the ground.

‘M’poncho,’ she looked around, knowing she’d left it somewhere nearby to dry but couldn’t quite remember where.

‘I have it,’ Zavala reassured her. She stumbled along beside him, gripping on to his arm for support.

She couldn’t remember much about their trek across the farm, she didn’t remember anything about how she got back to her room and into bed. She woke the next morning with a bone dry mouth and what she could swear was a Cabal drill pounding inside her head. She sat up, waited for the dizziness to abate and reached out for her shoes and poncho with shaking hands. Her poncho. She stared at it in confusion for a few moments. It was clean, sitting neatly folded on a table beside her bed. She picked it up to see the tear had been expertly sewn up. If she didn’t already know it had been there, she probably never would have noticed any evidence of a rip.

When she finally ventured outside, she made a beeline for the command centre in the barn. Zavala looked up from his maps and reports when he heard her approach.

‘How are you feeling?’ He asked, glancing at the bottle of water she had clenched in her hands. She was grateful for him keeping his voice down, anything louder than a whisper would have set that Cabal mining crew in her skull off again.

‘Been better,’ she whispered. ‘Listen,’ she glanced around to ensure they had a modicum of privacy before speaking in a stilted, staccato manner. ‘Sorry. About last night. Had no cause to talk to you like that.’ She flicked her gaze up at him then immediately away again. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ Zavala replied in that low baritone that Hawthorne’s delicate senses suddenly found soothing. ‘You’d had a bad day. Happens to the best of us.’

‘Did you,’ she hesitated, her confused and alcohol impaired brain feeling the need to make two attempts at the question. ‘Did you mend my poncho?’

‘Yes, I did, I noticed it was ripped,’ he answered simply.

Hawthorne raised her eyebrows and felt laughter bubbling up. “You...embroider? You?”

Zavala didn’t smile but there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “Crochet is more my speed but I have a basic understanding of needlepoint.”

‘Oh. Okay.’ She scrambled through her addled memories trying to piece together what happened after they left the fireside. Since seeing him again this morning, a dim memory of him helping her take her shoes off and getting her into bed began to coalesce. She stared at him, suddenly remembering how he tucked the covers around her but more than that she remembered what he said to her before leaving her to sleep, that’s one thing she remembered so clearly.

‘He’s Thumos the Unbroken. Not Thumos the Unbreakable. We’ll get him, I promise.’

Zavala frowned at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah!’ She replied a little too quickly. ‘Just zoned out for a second.’ She gave a brief, self deprecating laugh. ‘Hungover. I’ll be fine. See you around. Thanks for…’ She tugged the sleeve of her poncho.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ she mumbled, turning away and heading for the steps that lead to Louis’ perch. She told herself that the dizzy, off-kilter sensation she felt every time she thought of his words to her was just the hangover, nothing more.

#destiny fanfiction #my writing #commander zavala #suraya hawthorne #zavala x hawthorne #steelponcho

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