Overwatch x Reader

Reaper x Reader: What ifs

Chill with Reaper and ask some not-so-important questions, short read btw.

I plop down next to Gabe on the old couch, it's fabric a little frayed on the edges yet still holding up. He was taking a small break from the mission, Moira putting him on leave because of a new set of shots she administered to him. It was meant to help control his cells from rematerializing constantly, to help keep his human form. He's dressed in his favorite black lounge hoodie with his heather gray sweatpants, making a crochet ghost that I humbly requested from The Crochet Pattern Book of Spooky Friends, the book I bought him during the holidays. I leaned into his shoulder, appreciating the warmth on my cheek and smelling his musk that I've now grown to like. But not enough to put it into a candle. If Yankee Candle came out with a candle that was inspired by this smoking hot man, Yankee Candle would be buried alive for its creation. His musk is the orange juice of smells, you have to get used to it in order to like it. Only I can appreciate the sentimental value of Gabe's natural smell. It was sandalwood mixed with gasoline mixed with happiness and love.

"What?" Gabe raised a brow at me, stopping his crocheting to pay full attention to me: his partner who's selfish about his aroma and the possibility of it being marketed as the orange juice of smells.

"I love you." I grinned, seeing him smirk and roll his eyes.

"I know that." He continues making the ghost with his gun metal gray crochet needle. "Who do you think this ghost's for?"

I hummed, watching him loop the crochet needle around the cotton white yarn. You'd never take him for someone into crafts, but even for a guy known as Reaper, he sure likes making things as much as he likes destroying things. I find it cute; others find it very confusing. People found me confusing, but he gets me just fine. We don't need to explain things to one another as extensively as we have to the real world. We made our own little world in the comfort of our small apartment, watching garbage tv and listening to the spring rain pouring out the window. I can let my mind wander, and he can create whatever crochet creature he wants; well not right now, my ghost comes first.

"Actually, I do have a question." I smiled to myself.

"Sup?" Gabe asks.

"Would you love me if I was a worm?"

"...a worm? Were you watching those crochet worms on Instagram again?"

My lips went into a thin line as I looked away, "Maybe." That was when I wanted to try crochet myself and thought that worms were easy to start off with. I underestimated the type of stitches required to make a crochet worm.  "Still, you're not answering the question."

"Babe, that question shouldn't be considered a question." He chuckles.

"Well, are my looks all that matter? My physical form in this timeline?" I gesture to my face for emphasis.

"You are cute." He winks at me, "I do love your personality- although I have no idea how that would come across if you're a worm."

This brought up another thought, "Do worms have personalities?" I question out loud.

"You'd be the first worm to have one." He jokes.

"Hell yea." I giggled. "But would you love me though?"

He looks at me as if I had three heads, "Babe, I love you no matter what you look like."

"Even if I'm an ugly worm?"

He kissed my nose, "Impossible. You'd be the most beautiful worm ever."

I laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek as I snuggled closer to his side and watched some garbage tv. Then another thought came to my mind.

"What if I had no skin?"

Gabe sighed, "Babe- just no."

The end.