|Dead Heart| Reaper x Reader

Chapter Nine - Masked

Art by @Bluemist_72 on twitter, and instagram. (links at end of chap)

I am attempting (heavy emphasis on attempting) to write and put out weekly chapters.  I currently have a chapter finished that I'll put out next week.  Not sure how long I can keep this up, but you'll be having some new chaps soon!

---

"Again!" Your new instructor barked, eyes worn in and tired, he seemed to already be sick of your grossly amateur form, even though you had just started today.

Not long after your encounter with the small group of men, you had decided to take them up on the offer of growing stronger, even if it was for a terribly malicious reason. You so deeply craved something bigger than yourself, even if that meant, killing, people. They told you it made a ludicrous amount of money, and if so, it was just a little bit closer to being worth it.

You grunted into yet another swing of your arm that flew into the side of a punching bag. The wrap on your hand skidding along the side, it was decent punch, but it could definitely be improved upon, and your instructor made sure you knew.

"No no no no, your form is all wrong!" he exasperated, hands making wild gestures as he quickly walked over to you, readjusting your form.

"Your stance should be wide, a bit lower," he moved your shoulders a bit, so your head was now down slightly, "and your other arm should be bent."

He straightened your form out, and told you to try again.

Doing as you were told, you flew another punch into the bag, the added confidence of your crafted pose nearly knocked the bag off the old chain, making it swing harshly.

"That was almost good," The man said, a smirk laying on his features, telling you that he was happy in your progress.

You smiled at him before resuming the exercise, brow knotted in your new found capabilities.

---

You winced as you peeled the wraps off of your hands, you'd waited until you got home to take them off in attempts of delaying the pain as much as humanely possible. The pain source mainly coming from fatigued muscles, calloused palms, and slightly bloodied knuckles. You'd need to wrap better next time.

The day was pretty eventful in terms of your normal routine. You had to run god knows how many laps around a track, lift all kinds of different weights, different muscle building exercises, and of course, how to properly box.

Your instructor thought it would be best for you to learn how to physically exert yourself, your limits, and how to defend yourself before you became trained in any sort of real weapon. You agreed for the most part, as when you wouldn't have a weapon, you'd of course have yourself.

Slumping onto your couch, you decided to turn on the tv, you didn't exactly have much to do, and your mind was much too active to even think about sleeping, so instead of letting your mind wander, you'd rather let it rot with television.

All of your pain, all of your rage, nearly felt erased with todays exercises, of course you didn't forget it, and you weren't completely calmed, but the stirring of negative emotions felt, a little more bearable

You sighed in an act of contentment, you felt somewhat freed, in a weird way. You'd definitely be going back for more training before work started so you could destress, and to get stronger, of course.

Truthfully, you still hadn't really come to terms with the whole, killing people thing, yet, but then again you weren't the most up to date in the worlds politics, hell, you hadn't even known who, reaper, was until you searched him up.

You huffed into a sip of water from your bottle, you hated the thought of taking innocent lives, but you hated being complacent, weak, and useless even more. The fact Reyes so easily left you only amplified this. You almost wanted to show off to him once you became strong, when you were finally capable.

After dwelling in your thoughts for far too long, you decided to go to bed and sleep on everything you learned, but you also went to bed so you could stop thinking about the man you loved to be around. You wondered if he thought about you just as much as you thought about him, you winced, thinking it was a stupid idea.

---

Reapers POV

Reyes sighed, eyes boring into the ceiling above him as he lay awake in his cot, mind restless from overwhelming thoughts. Every night, without fail, he would think back to you, whether it be out of guilt, longing, or some other emotion he couldn't quite place.

He never really wanted to leave you, but Moira, made him when he began to deteriorate from a fight. Whenever he became too emotional, or when he was hurt, his body would always struggle to hold onto his form, making him rot out from the inside.

Gabriel would never admit that he had began to loathe talon. He originally joined out of spite for overwatch, out of spite for Jack.  But all of that pain had been slowly subsiding, he had even began to try and forgive Jack for all he had done, which was something he thought he would never do.  

Talon was originally some kind of sick and twisted escape, something to keep his mind off of everything that was destroying him, but Talon had started to destroy him too, and he knew it was time to heal.

He turned in his sheets, crimson eyes drawn to his open window, the moonlight shining into his room, accentuating the emptiness he felt in his core, the shining light reminding him of that night.  No matter how much furniture, possessions, or partners he had, he could never feel whole in his day to day life, not even for a minute.

All he wanted in that moment was some kind of comfort, something to keep him grounded, and subsequently, you.

---

You sighed into a pass of alcohol to another patron, and a worried glance was shot your way. Ever since you broke the assaulter's jaw, people had begun to avoid you, to some extent. You didn't particularly mind as long as you could do your job, but you didn't exactly like the title of being an aggressive person, as ironic as that is.

You groaned into your hands, ever since training had started, and Reyes ditched you, going to the bar had become plain, and boring. No matter what conversations you had, or what kind of liquor you drank, you'd always be reminded of better times, whether it be training, or hanging out with Reyes.

As another customer waved you down for a drink, you tried with fruitless efforts to pull yourself out of your thoughts, but even the warm whiskey in front of you kept you trapped in your own mind.

"How ya holding up, (Y/N)?" a coworker said, a hand placed on your shoulder.

"Huh? oh-" you stuttered, a bit startled, "fine, I've been learning how to box so i can de-stress."

You stiffened at your confession, you were allowed to talk about training, but you had to be careful as to not reveal your true intentions, lest you get caught.

"That sounds good," they beamed at you, hair falling into their face, "And thanks, for what you did the other day."

They laughed, "it really saved my ass."

You returned a weak smile, your eyes feeling tired and hollow. You still felt guilty for breaking his jaw, how you were supposed to actually fucking kill people was beyond you, could you really go through with it?

A snap shook you from your thoughts, "Hey, you ok?"

Your eyes widened, and you gave them a curt nod before returning to tending to customers. You saw them grimace in your peripheral vision, but your heart couldn't take the pain of confronting your emotions, and therefore some trauma.

At least not yet.



Word count: 1359

https://twitter.com/Bluemist_72?s=20