Silver Glory

Ah, my friends, what’s with all this standing around? There's glory to be won!

[silver-glory]

Reintober 2020

In an effort to encourage myself to draw and write more AND because October is my favorite month, I’m doing a Reintober. All related to my favorite Crusader and all self indulgent/MC-tastic. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Reinhardt drabbles, scribbles ahead! Probably won’t finish in the month of October but thats ok ❤ 

[silver-glory]

Reintober

Day 4: Pumpkin

Gender Neutral Y/N

The crisp bite of autumn air nipped at your skin as you walked through the festival grounds, the scent of spiced apples and roasting chestnuts wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The small village square was alive with golden lanterns, flickering candles nestled inside carved pumpkins, and the sound of cheerful music floating beneath the chatter of festival-goers.

And right beside you—a walking inferno of heat and muscle—stood Reinhardt Wilhelm.

Even in the crowded marketplace, Reinhardt was impossible to miss. His sheer size and presence commanded attention, his silver beard catching the amber glow of the jack-o’-lanterns as he rumbled with laughter at something an old shopkeeper had said. He was in his element here—celebrating, indulging, and basking in the joy of the season.

And yet… his focus never strayed from you.

"Ah, liebling," he murmured, placing a massive, gloved hand at the small of your back, pressing just enough to remind you that he was there. "Is it not glorious? The food! The games! The crisp air! I feel like a young man again!"

You barely had time to respond before his gravelly voice dipped into something softer, something only for you.

"But tell me, meine Liebe…" His fingers curled, tracing slow, teasing circles against your back. "What is it that makes your heart race most tonight? The festival… or something else?"

Your breath caught. That tone—low, possessive, dangerous in its intent.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him, only to find his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. He wasn’t talking about the festival anymore.

The crowd swirled around you, unaware of the way his touch lingered, how his body heat seeped through your clothes like a promise.

His thumb skimmed your hip, a feather-light touch that sent heat curling through your core.

"Tell me, liebling." His voice was thick with amusement, but there was an edge to it now, something more than teasing—something possessive. His fingers pressed, lingering, waiting.

Daring.

"Shall I find out myself?"

A shiver ran down your spine, but before you could answer—before you could fall deeper into the deliberate torment of his hands—a shout from the crowd pulled you both back into the present.

The Pumpkin Lifting Contest.

Reinhardt's smirk was slow, dangerous.

"Ah… a test of strength! How fitting."

His touch didn’t linger, but the promise in his eyes did as he pulled away, striding toward the circle of gathered spectators.

The pumpkin in question was monstrous. Easily twice the size of the others, its deep orange skin gleamed under the festival lanterns, looking almost too heavy for any sane man to consider lifting.

But Reinhardt was no mere man.

And as he rolled his massive shoulders, flexed his fingers, and sent you a knowing glance from across the firelit square—you knew, without a doubt, that this was still part of the game.

He wasn’t just lifting that pumpkin to win.

He was doing it for you.

To remind you exactly who he was.

And exactly what he could do to you.

A boisterous cheer erupted from the gathered crowd as villagers placed their bets, laughing and nudging each other as competitors struggled to even budge the behemoth gourd. A stocky farmer had managed to roll it a few inches. Another man attempted to lift it but nearly tipped over in the process.

Then came Reinhardt.

You didn’t miss the way the energy shifted as soon as he stepped forward. Towering over everyone, broad and imposing, he exuded raw confidence—the kind that sent a thrill down your spine. He stretched, rolling his massive shoulders, the movement making the thick muscles in his arms flex beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

"Ach! A fine pumpkin indeed!" He grinned down at you, then winked as if he knew exactly where your mind was about to go.

Oh, he knew.

Then, with no hesitation, he crouched down, gripped the enormous gourd—and lifted.

Effortlessly.

The crowd gasped, then roared in approval as he hoisted it above his head, biceps bulging, forearms tightening as if the weight was nothing to him. His fingers dug into the thick rind, veins popping along his forearms, his thighs flexing with sheer power as he held it high for all to see.

The whole festival erupted with applause, but your own breath caught for a different reason.

The way he looked—his raw, effortless strength, the way his muscles strained just enough, his sheer size dwarfing everything around him—sent your thoughts into dangerously wicked places.

You swallowed hard. A different kind of heat bloomed beneath your skin.

And then his eyes found yours.

The moment stretched too long. He should have been basking in his victory, playing up the crowd—but no, his gaze was locked onto you, heavy, deliberate, and laced with something darkly knowing.

Slowly, Reinhardt lowered the pumpkin, setting it down with a satisfying thud. You looked away, suddenly feeling very small as he made his way back to you. But instead of pulling away, he stepped directly into your space.

The festival noise melted away.

His voice dropped, rough and teasing, the deep bass of it vibrating through your bones.

"I could hold you just as easily, liebling…"

His fingers skimmed your hip. Not a full touch, not yet—just enough to send heat curling through your veins.

"Would you like to test it?"

Your breath hitched. The weight of his words, the undeniable challenge in them, sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

His smirk widened. He knew. Oh, he knew.

Reinhardt, for all his bravado, took his time watching you.

Savoring you.

The playful glint in his blue eyes darkened with something heavier, something that made your thighs press together involuntarily. His smirk deepened at the movement, but before you could say anything—before you could catch your breath—he was already reaching for your hand.

"Come, meine Liebe," he rumbled, his warm palm engulfing yours. "There is still much to do! And much more for me to prove to you, ja?"

Oh, he was enjoying this.

The shift in his grip—from playful to possessive—was subtle, but you felt it. Felt the way his fingers curled around yours, firm yet easy, as if daring you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you let him lead you toward the next game, the crowd parting effortlessly for him. People greeted him, cheered his victory, but Reinhardt barely acknowledged them.

His attention was locked onto you.

The pumpkin carving table was already set up, a handful of villagers chipping away at their own designs, chatting over cups of mulled wine. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and burning wood from the nearby bonfire.

You reached for a carving knife, but Reinhardt beat you to it—grabbing the largest blade on the table with a devious smirk.

"A warrior must always choose his weapon wisely," he declared, holding up the knife with exaggerated reverence.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh. "It’s a pumpkin, Reinhardt. Not a battlefield."

His grin was all teeth. "Ah, but you see—precision is key in both war and art! Perhaps you should guide me, hmm?"

Before you could protest, he moved behind you.

Close. Too close.

Heat poured from his body, a furnace against your back as his massive arms caged you in. His hands, so much larger than yours, settled over yours—his chest pressing against you, his breath warm against your temple.

And just like that, the game was forgotten.

He wasn’t paying attention to the pumpkin.

He was paying attention to you.

His fingers tightened, adjusting the way you held the knife, but his touch lingered.

"So delicate," he mused, voice thick with something dangerous, slow, and teasing. His thumbs brushed over your wrists, then lower, skating along your forearms in a way that had nothing to do with carving.

"So small… so easy to handle."

Your grip on the knife faltered. The pumpkin was the last thing on your mind now.

And Reinhardt knew it.

He pressed closer, his body a solid, immovable wall against your back, his hands sliding lower—just grazing the hem of your sweater.

Your breath caught.

The blade in your hand wobbled.

His chuckle was sinful, deep and indulgent, the sound reverberating through your spine.

"Careful, meine Liebe," he purred, his lips hovering just beside your ear. "Wouldn’t want to make a mess."

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the pumpkin…

Or you.

And judging by the way his fingers curled, teasingly, against your bare skin—he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your pulse was still hammering in your throat by the time you somehow managed to finish carving the pumpkin—or at least, you had made an attempt to.

Because while you had been focused on keeping your hands steady, Reinhardt had been focused on you.

The heat of his body still lingered, phantom touches burned into your skin where his fingers had wandered. The teasing rasp of his voice still echoed in your ears, that low, indulgent growl playing on repeat in your mind.

"Wouldn’t want to make a mess."

He knew exactly what he was doing.

And worse? You wanted more.

The festival continued around you, but the warmth from before had changed. There was a tension beneath Reinhardt’s usual boisterous nature now—a heat, a hunger just barely restrained beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he guided you through the stalls, in the way his hand never left you.

A palm at your back. A squeeze at your hip. A slow drag of fingers up your arm, as if he was memorizing the shape of you.

And when the two of you finally found yourselves near the bonfire, you finally found a moment of privacy. The crackling flames cast flickering shadows across his broad frame as Reinhardt turned to you with something wicked in his expression.

"Ah, liebling," he murmured, reaching into a basket of smaller pumpkins. He plucked one—round, warm, fitting easily in his massive hand—and offered it to you with a smirk that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

"A gift for my greatest treasure."

You giggled, shaking your head. “A pumpkin, Reinhardt? You shouldn't have.”

His arm hooked around your waist before you could take a step back, pulling you flush against him. A sharp inhale left your lips, swallowed by the solid heat of his chest, the feeling of his strength coiling around you like a knight safeguarding his most precious prize.

And he was not subtle about it.

The festival was still in full swing. Anyone could see.

And he did not care.

"I wonder, meine kleine Kürbis…" His voice dipped, the cadence intimate, slow, sinful. The words brushed against your ear, warm and deliberate.

"Would they notice if I touched you here?"

The first graze of his fingers against the inside of your thigh was feather-light. Barely there. But deliberate.

Your breath hitched.

You felt his chuckle more than heard it—deep, satisfied, smug.

"So responsive."

His fingers stayed there, teasing, dangerous in their patience.

You were out in the open. The firelight flickered. Laughter, voices, music swirled around you.

And yet, the only thing you could focus on was the way his touch burned through your clothes, the way his body caged you in like he was daring you to challenge him.

Daring you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

And his smirk?

It said he knew exactly how this night was going to end.

The festival spins on without you, voices rising in laughter, the scent of autumn thick in the air. But for you, the world has narrowed down to a singular force—Reinhardt.

You can feel it before he even speaks. The shift in the air, the weight of his gaze burning into you, the way his fingers curl just a little tighter at your waist.

Then—his mouth ghosts your ear, his breath hot and wanting.

"Come with me."

His voice is husky, low, threaded with something dark and unshakable. A command. A plea. A promise.

You barely nod before he moves.

His grip is firm, possessive, guiding you through the maze of stalls with effortless certainty. You weave past carved pumpkins and forgotten cider mugs, the flickering lanterns casting shadows against his broad frame.

And then, suddenly—you are out of sight.

A sliver of darkness between wooden stalls, tucked just behind the festival but still close enough to hear it.

Close enough to be caught.

Your back meets the rough grain of a wooden post, the faint scent of hay and autumn spice wrapping around you. But the only thing you register is Reinhardt—towering, caging you in, eyes molten with want.

"Mine."

The word rumbles from him like thunder, low and absolute, vibrating through your bones.

He presses closer, chest solid and overwhelming, trapping you in place.

"Say it."

You barely have time to draw breath before his mouth crashes against yours—hungry, consuming.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a claiming.

Heat floods through you as he devours, lips parting, his beard scraping against your skin with every desperate, greedy movement. His hands are everywhere—skimming your waist, palming your hips, fingers digging in as if to mark you through your clothes.

The festival noise is still there—faint laughter, the distant strum of a fiddle—but it is meaningless.

All you hear is his breath, his growl, the muffled sounds he pulls from you with every touch.

His fingers dip beneath your sweater, dragging slow, teasing warmth against your skin.

You shudder.

Reinhardt grins.

"Ah, meine Liebe, you are trembling…" His voice is silk-wrapped sin, a mixture of pride and promise. His hands tighten, pulling you even closer.

His mouth trails lower, hot breath teasing against your jaw.

"But we have only just begun."

His eyes traced over you, slow and thoughtful, the way a craftsman studies his finest work before making the first cut.

"Do you know what I love about autumn, meine Liebe?" His voice was lower now, rougher, the sound vibrating through your chest.

You swallowed, trying to focus, trying not to let the way he leaned in—so close you could feel the heat rolling off him—scatter your thoughts completely.

"The patience."

A pause.

"The harvest is never rushed."

His fingers finally moved, slow and deliberate, ghosting over the curve of your waist, not quite settling, just teasing.

"The best things in life, liebling… take time."

Your breath hitched. His touch never lingered too long, never pressed too far, but that was the worst part. He was testing you, watching you, waiting for you to react—waiting to see how far he could push before you begged for more.

"Reinhardt." You whined, the sound came out more like a plea. Your breathing is heavy. The distant sound of the festival wrapped around you both, but it barely registered. Not when his fingers dipped lower, grazing fabric and skin alike, tracing slow, absent-minded circles.

"So warm," he murmured, almost to himself.

Your hands gripped the stall behind you, fingers curling against the rough wood as you bit your lip, fighting the sound threatening to escape.

Reinhardt saw. He weaved a hand up your shirt, finding a nipple but, to your frustration, gliding over it with the ghost of a touch. You whine.

And oh, he liked that.

"Do you think anyone would notice, meine kleine Kürbis?"

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat through you—not just from their meaning, but from the way he said them.

Like he was already imagining it.

Like he wanted you to imagine it too.

His breath skimmed the side of your face, his fingers still resting on the edge of something dangerous, still not moving any lower, still not touching the places that needed to be touched, though you could feel the restrained strength beneath his grip.

"Not yet," he hummed, amused by your anticipation.

And just like that—he pulled away.

The absence of his warmth, his touch, was almost unbearable.

He knew it too.

Because when he finally stepped back, letting air rush between you, his smirk was entirely too pleased.

"Patience, liebling," he said, adjusting his coat like he hadn’t just unraveled you with a few whispered words. "The best things are worth waiting for."

Then, with one last glance, one last knowing touch to your wrist, he walked back toward the bonfire—leaving you breathless, flushed, and wanting.

Your heart was still racing, your skin still buzzing where he had touched you. And as you watched Reinhardt disappear back into the firelight—broad, smug, utterly in control—you realized something dangerous.

You had never wanted him more.

[silver-glory]

Reintober

Day 3: Daddy/Dress Up

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as you rummaged through your wardrobe, looking for just the right outfit. You grinned to yourself, pulling out a fluffy pastel pink dress and holding it up for inspection. It was frilly, with soft whit lace trimming and ribbons that added a cute, playful flair. Today was all about fun, and you were determined to bring Reinhardt into the game.

You twirled around in the mirror, the fabric swishing lightly around your legs as you giggled, imagining how Reinhardt would react. Just as you were finishing tying the last ribbon, you heard a deep voice behind you.

“What’s this, little one?” Reinhardt boomed, his voice full of amusement as he leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.

You turned to face him, hands on your hips, giving him a cheeky grin. “I thought we could play dress-up! You’ve been so serious lately with all your work and missions, so I figured you could use some fun.”

He chuckled, stepping into the room and looking you up and down with a playful glint in his eye. “Ah, so you wish to make me your royal knight today, yes?” His accent thickened as he took on an exaggerated, chivalrous tone, bowing slightly before rising again with a grin.

“Of course! Every princess needs her loyal knight,” you teased, handing him a small toy sword you had picked up just for this occasion.

Reinhardt took the sword with dramatic flair, spinning it once in his massive hand. “Then it is my duty to serve you, my princess,” he said, sinking to one knee and holding the sword out like it was a real weapon. “What task shall I complete first?”

You giggled at his over-the-top performance, stepping closer and tapping his shoulder with the flat of your hand. “Sir Reinhardt, your task is to protect the kingdom… and help me pick out my crown!” You gestured toward the assortment of hats and tiaras you had laid out on the bed.

He rose to his full height, scanning the bed with exaggerated seriousness, before selecting a sparkling tiara with large, glittering jewels. “Ah, yes, only the finest for my princess,” he said, carefully placing it on your head, his fingers surprisingly delicate for someone so strong.

You looked up at him, pretending to be serious as you adjusted the crown. “Does it suit me, Sir Reinhardt?”

He stepped back, his blue eye twinkling with mischief as he gave you a proud nod. “You look more regal than any queen I’ve ever known,” he said, his voice filled with warmth.

Laughing, you tugged at his sleeve. “Now it’s your turn! Every knight needs a cape!”

Reinhardt raised an eyebrow, looking down at the colorful, child sized cape you were holding up. “A bit small for me, don’t you think?” he teased, but you shook your head, insisting.

With a dramatic sigh, he allowed you to fasten the cape around his neck, the tiny piece of fabric barely covering his massive shoulders. The sight of it was so ridiculous, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“There!” you declared between giggles. “Now you’re ready to protect the kingdom!”

Reinhardt looked down at himself, then at you, shaking his head with a grin. “If this doesn’t inspire fear in our enemies, nothing will.”

You leaned into him, still laughing as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “Thank you, my knight,” you said with a smile, snuggling into his side.

“Anything for my princess,” he replied softly, planting a kiss on your forehead as the two of you stood there, basking in the moment.

[silver-glory]

Reintober

Day 2: Quickie

Reinhardt x afab!reader

18+ only

The sound of pen scratching against paper filled the room as Reinhardt hunched over his desk, furrowing his brow at yet another stack of reports. He muttered something under his breath in German, clearly irritated by the never-ending paperwork. His large hand swiped over his face, exasperated, before diving back into the mess.

You stood at the doorway, watching him struggle through the mundane task that seemed so out of place for a hero like him. For a moment, you just admired the way his broad shoulders and strong arms moved as he shifted papers, the muscles in his back flexing under his shirt. With a soft smirk, you made your way over, pretending you had a reason to interrupt.

“Reinhardt,” you called, your voice light, teasing. “I need to ask you something.”

He barely glanced up at first, sighing deeply as he signed another form. “Ja, ja… what is it, my dear?” His voice was thick with concentration, still too focused on his task to notice your tone.

You leaned forward slightly, arching your back just enough to accentuate the curve of your breasts, the movements slow and deliberate. You were finally close enough that he couldn’t ignore you for too much longer.

“You’ve been at this for hours. Maybe you could take a little break?” There was a lilt in your voice, something mischievous, that finally made him look up.

Reinhardt’s sharp blue eye met yours, and for a brief moment, he was confused by the sudden shift in the air. But it didn’t take long for the smile to creep onto his face when he saw the playful gleam in your eyes. He set his pen down, leaning back in his chair, his massive frame somehow looking even bigger in the small office.

“A break, you say?” he rumbled, his voice dropping to a lower, more suggestive tone. “What kind of break did you have in mind, hmm?”

You took a step closer, placing your hand lightly on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Something quick,” you whispered, your fingers trailing along the collar of his shirt, your intentions clear without needing to say more.

Reinhardt’s smile widened, “You always know how to tempt me,” he said softly, his large hand cupping your chin gently while the other slid over your bottom. His thumb brushed over your lips, his touch both tender and full of promise.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as he swiftly and effortlessly pulled you to his lap. His chair squeaked with the movement as you leaned into him, your heartbeat quickening as the space between you disappeared. His lips found yours, and what started as a soft, playful kiss quickly grew more heated. His hands, strong but careful, slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him, his breath warm against your skin as he deepened the kiss.

There was a sense of urgency in the way he held you, like every second was precious. You felt his grip tighten, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You moaned, you couldn’t help it. The feeling of his hard body pressed against you and the growing bulge in his pants straining against your ass was intoxicating.

His hands roamed over your curves, under your thin shirt until he cupped your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his hands, craving more of his touch. Reinhardt pulled up your top, revealing a lace bra and the swell of your cleavage.

"You're so beautiful," he growled, placing hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he suckled gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body as he continued teasing your breasts through your bra.

You felt the hard length of his erection pressing against your core through your clothes, and you couldn't help but grind against him, seeking relief for your growing desire.

Reinhardt chuckled, his warm breath tickling your skin. "Impatient, are we?”

“Y-yes—“ you whined, feeling your cheeks flush with pleasure at his words. His hand moved from your breast and found its way up your skirt, stroking the now soaked spot of your panties. You shamelessly ground down on his thick fingers, hearing him grunt in approval.

Reinhardt shifted you fully onto the desk, a hungry look in his eyes. Your legs trembled as he continued stroking the wet spot of your panties, before he finally pulled them aside with a hum. As he leaned in, his tongue flicked out to taste you. He licked you slowly, teasingly, from your entrance up to your clit, making you squirm with need.

"Oh God, Reinhardt..." you moaned, squeezing your eyes closed as he expertly worked you with his tongue, sliding a thick finger into your pussy.

He lapped at you eagerly, his tongue plunging deep inside you, then circling your clit with firm strokes. Your hips bucked against his mouth, hands gripping his silver hair as you struggled to stay balanced on the desk.

Your orgasm built swiftly, body coiling tighter with each flick of his eager tongue. With a cry, you came, your juices flooding his mouth as your legs shook uncontrollably. You fell back onto your elbows dazed and panting as you came down from your high.

Reinhardt stood, his face and beard glistening with your juices. "Such a good girl.” He praised, pulling you close. You rested against his chest a moment before you felt something hard poke your stomach. Reinhardt leaned close and whispered softly, “…but we're not done yet."

You nodded, spreading your legs and gasping as he positioned himself at your entrance. Your brain momentarily worried you were ready to take him yet, that you needed prepped more first. But then with one smooth thrust, he filled you, his thick cock stretching your walls deliciously.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his eyes clenched shut as he fought for control.

Worries forgotten, you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Harder, Reinhardt. Please fuck me harder."

He obliged, pounding into you with fierce strokes, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Your hands gripped his back tightly, nails digging into his skin as you rode the wave of pleasure building within you.

Reinhardt's pace quickened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Close. So close.” Before breaking into what you could only assume was German.

You moaned as your second climax built alongside his, body tensing as your neared the edge. "Yes, yes, yes!" You cried out as your pussy milked his shaft.

With a final, powerful thrust, Reinhardt buried himself deep inside you, his hot cum filling you as he roared in release. Your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking as you screamed his name.

As your hearts slowed and breathing returned to normal, Reinhardt withdrew, his spent cock glistening. He let out a chuckle as he collapsed back onto the chair, his large hand instantly reaching out for you. His eyes gleamed with that familiar mix of warmth and mischief as he gazed at you.

“You have quite the talent for distraction,” he rumbled, his voice softer now, “I may need more breaks like that.”

[silver-glory]

Reintober

Day 1: Caught

It was late in the evening, the lights dim in the training room where you and Reinhardt had been sparring. The cool night air seeped in from a cracked window, making the sweat on your skin feel cold as you slowed your breathing. Reinhardt, ever the gentleman despite his towering presence, handed you a towel with a soft smile.

"Well fought, my friend," he rumbled, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

You wiped your forehead, the adrenaline still coursing through you from the sparring session. "Thanks," you replied, your voice a little breathless. "But I think you went easy on me."

He chuckled warmly, his silver hair falling slightly into his face as he leaned down to look at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Perhaps a little," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours just a bit longer than usual.

There had always been something between the two of you—an unspoken connection that simmered beneath the surface. And tonight, it felt especially potent, like the tension had built to a point where it was impossible to ignore.

You stepped a little closer, your heart racing. "Well, maybe next time, you won't hold back," you teased, your voice quieter now, intimate.

Reinhardt's smile softened, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. His massive hand lingered near your cheek, the warmth of his palm making you lean into it slightly. "Next time," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone, "I won't."

The space between you seemed to disappear as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. He was so close now, his scent—a mix of leather, metal, and something uniquely him—filling your senses.

Before you knew it, your lips were on his, a bold move that surprised even you. But Reinhardt didn’t pull away. Instead, his strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. It was soft at first, tender, but it quickly grew more passionate as years of unspoken feelings rushed to the surface.

His hands were gentle despite his strength, one cradling the back of your head, the other resting on your lower back as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. You felt like you were melting into him, the world around you fading away as your heart pounded in your chest.

But the sound of the door creaking open shattered the moment.

"Reinhardt?" came a voice from the hallway, breaking the silence.

You both pulled away quickly, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now. The blush on your face was impossible to hide as you looked up at Reinhardt, who gave a sheepish chuckle, clearly unbothered by being caught. He winked at you, squeezing your hand reassuringly before turning toward the door.

"Ah, Brigitte!" Reinhardt boomed, his voice a little too loud as if to cover up the tension in the air. "We were just... finishing up some training."

Brigitte stood there, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face. "Is that what you call it now?"

You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, the moment broken but not lost. You shared a glance with Reinhardt, and in his eyes, you saw a promise—that this was only the beginning.

[sweet-hardt]

Omg, Reinhardt is a June baby????

[silver-glory]

He has an official birthday!!

[vinsbicoart]

Reinhardt practice portrait! I recently started playing a bit of Overwatch with my friends, and right now Rein is my fav character and my main! I'm a close combat girly I guess.

I wanted yo draw him so I made this quick, with the usual sky background that means I had no idea what to put there 😅😅 I still have a long way to go for him to look ok but I won't promise anything

[imcasty]

[silver-glory]

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[silver-glory]

Idk what the metal on his skin is but I dig it

[silver-glory]

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[silver-glory]

I discovered AI a few days ago and apologize profusely for the content that will follow.

also hi.

[dash-o-frost]

Some very lovely silver foxes form overwatch. Bit of practice

[verynefarious]

I thought it’d be fun if I collected some screenshots of Overwatch 2′s Reinhardt Wilhelm, because i love him more than it’s healthy……