Overwatch x Reader

Cassidy x Reader: Closure

No one said anything about making my fanfics shorter so you're getting over 8000 words of angst and a quarter cup of fluff lol

I remember meeting him for the first time, how simple introductions felt so insignificant and small. He tipped his hat at me, wearing a nonchalant half smile while holding a cigar between his lips. He was a cowboy in the flesh: a red serape, a big golden belt buckle, and cowboy boots with spurs that chimed as he walked down the marbled halls. "Names Cassidy, pleasure to meet you." He spoke with a southern twang, a voice deep yet smooth; unexpected for a smoker. Cassidy put out a hand clad in a leather glove, slightly worn from multiple battles. I took it, shaking it like I would with anyone. It was brief, his touch firm and warm. I didn't feel anything back then. I didn't look at him with heart eyes or stare into his golden-brown eyes until reality faded away. He was just 'the cowboy', not Cassidy. I thought I'd never see much of him after we met; he was one of the veterans from the older Overwatch and I was just some military-trained rookie. While he and every other agent shined on the field, I'd fade into the background. I was used to the notion of being a cog in a machine, something that could be replaced if broken.

There was the occasion where I'd wind up working with him. It was always some group mission. He'd talk to the group, holding this cocky stance as he lit up a cigar. I rarely spoke directly to him, just listened to other agents join into the conversation with ease. There was no desperate need to say something, just listening to his voice was enough. By the time missions were over, I'd fall asleep on the ride back to base before anyone could say anything. It was strange how avoidant I was of him, almost unconsciously. The world didn't line up, our schedules different and people dragging us in different places. Yet, I didn't feel that something was missing.

Soon, the planets aligned. I was requested to go on a mission with him as my partner. It would be only us, an infiltration. I had my doubts, all of them I kept to myself. He never took me for someone so vigilant and observant. As we snuck around the guarded room, he pulled me back towards him by my shoulder; an armed guard passed by the hallway. I looked into his eyes, how they seemed so bright despite the halls being so dim. There was a tinge I felt, a small cocoon shaking in my stomach. His hand left my shoulder, his eyes left mine as he scanned the room. I went back to the mission, and I felt nothing again. I thought this feeling wouldn't grow; it used to be so small that I didn't know what it was. But the more I felt, the bigger it got. I'd catch him walking in the halls, his friendly grin accompanied by a quick wink triggering a flash flood of emotions that I couldn't put to words. I'd give a nervous smile, an awkward wave. Then, I felt nothing again. My life would continue the same way it always did: I'd eat in the cafeteria for all my meals, train, go to the gym, hang out at the lounge with friends, and head back to my dorm afterwards. The only disruptions were work. Then, it became him. I'd find him in the training room around the same time I was. He jokingly called it a coincidence, said his schedule changed thanks to his mechanical arm requiring an upgrade as one of the metal parts was damaged on a mission. The piece itself is custom-made to fit his mechanic arm, the company being overseas. Although his arm was functional, it couldn't handle any more damage. My training time was his free time. He was bored, so he went to the shooting range.

"We could make your training more interesting." Cassidy suggested, putting his six-shooter to his side.

"It's training, it's not supposed to be interesting." Part of me didn't want to entertain him, as doing so might give me that feeling again. I was scared he might sense it.

"I bet I can prove you wrong." He held a clever gleam to his eyes, and I felt the feelings rise into my chest. They twisted my stomach into knots and undid those same ties simultaneously. I shoved it down, shaking my head.

"I bet you won't." A poorly built wall to shield his peeked curiosity. Of course, he pushed it to the ground. He lifts up his gun, aiming at the target of the poster taped to the wall. A bullet hits the center of the target; he lifts the tip of his gun to his mouth, puckering his lips as he blows out a gust of smoke. Lowering his weapon, his eyes gaze back to me. "Try one-upping that."