any opinion on the masked men from Overwatch? (Soldier 76, Reaper, Roadhog, Genji, Reinhardt) Can also include the omnics (Zenyatta, Ramattra, Bastion) since they don't really have human faces
As someone who's been obsessed with Overwatch since it first came out i love all these guys. This might be a long one since they've introduced a few more masked men in the game so it'll be under the cut.
Darling Dilf Soldier 76 Jack Morrison, he's your classic super soldier archetype. I've always found him hot, he's had some really nice skins over the years (His Slasher 76 skin is my icon!) He's gruff and Jaded Mr "There are no more heroes anymore" But he just can't help himself.
8.5/10 There's no breaking those hips no matter how hard i try
Edgy Mc'Edgelord Reaper Gabriel Reyes himself, he's always been a favourite of mine mainly because his voice very hot. Even under the mask he's pretty hot which is fun, even if he's all dead and grey under there. (Thanks Moira)
7/10 What else has he got under his cloak?
Ah Roadhog, Mako Rutledge. Big ol fat masked man with a pig theme. What an absolute treat he was when he first got introduced with the og game, another one with a sexy voice too.
7.5/10 I wonder what else is big...
Genji Shamada, god what else can i say about him that hasn't already been said. What's hotter and cooler than a Cyborg Ninja, i would like to thank the genius at blizzard for letting this guy be in the game. It's very funny that he wears clothes now because it just implies he's been naked the whole time.
8.7/10 Mada Mada
Oh Reinhardt Wilhelm, big massive german Dilf in a suit of armour. I'm wet just thinking about him, it's like he was made specifically for me. What an iconic character, it's no wonder he's had a million skins.
8.5/10 He's got precision german engineering alright...
Mizuki Kawano, one of the newest characters they've introduced and i do really like him. Love his big hat and the chains, he's very cyberpunk. which makes sense cause he's currently running around with Kiriko's group but he's also a double agent for the yakuza so he's got their vibe going too.
6/10 It's always the twinks you gotta look out for
beloved Zenyatta, i've always loved the robot/omnic designs in overwatch. He's always been a fascinating character because of just how mystical he is even when overwatch keeps pretending the world has none of that. He's a floating robot monk that shoots magic balls at people, it's iconic.
7.5/10 I would join him in the Iris
Oh Ramattra, an absolutely gorgeous robot man. He's big, has a cool staff, flowing cable hair and gets to turn into a four armed massive robot. He's got a sexy voice too, he's husband material. Now yes he's a "Terrorist" and forcibly trying to save his people to the Cloud but not everyones perfect.
8.9/10 I support omnic rights and omnic wrongs
Bonus Ram Pics
Beloved Bastion, baby that can't do no wrong ever. Yes they may have killed a few humans in the war but they didn't have a choice, that was all Anubis! Look though, they have a little bird friend so they can't be all bad.
What if Adhabu Ngumi took the offer to join the original Overwatch team?
Reyes held strike commander rank with Morrison as second and Ana as third, largely because of seniority and program pedigree. Ngumi's proven solo combat record against omnic hordes — arguably unmatched by any founding member — could have earned him a command or lead-combatant role, shifting internal team hierarchy and potentially altering who the lore treats as the "face" of Overwatch's success.
This is the biggest lore fork. Ngumi's refusal meant Nigeria fought its worst omnic incursions largely without him being pulled away, and he ultimately died defending it just before the war ended. Had he joined Overwatch, Nigeria would have lost its singular gauntlet-wielding defender during the crisis's most intense years, likely resulting in far greater civilian and territorial losses there, since Anubis kept escalating troop deployments specifically because Ngumi kept repelling them.
Ngumi's death in Nigeria and the gauntlet's mysterious disappearance-then-reappearance with Akinjide Adeyemi is a deliberate mystery thread in Overwatch lore. If Ngumi instead survived as an active Overwatch operative, that entire Doomfist succession — Adeyemi as "the Scourge" and eventually Akande Ogundimu as "the Successor" — might unfold completely differently, since it's unclear whether the gauntlet transfer requires Ngumi's death or defeat.
In canon, Ngumi remained in Africa, became Nigeria’s “Savior,” died holding the line, and his gauntlet later passed—by an unexplained process—to Akinjide Adeyemi. In this alternate timeline, Overwatch gains an extraordinary frontline hero and globally credible African founder, but Nigeria loses the individual who had been personally forcing Anubis to commit more and more resources to that front.
That creates two broad versions of the timeline:
●Ngumi joins but returns to lead African operations: most plausible “best case”; he becomes Overwatch’s African theater commander and retains much of his homeland-protection role.
●Ngumi stays attached to the central strike team: darker version; Nigeria endures greater devastation, and Ngumi may emerge from the war burdened by guilt or distrust of the UN that redirected him.
Talon's origin predates the Omnic Crisis, so Ngumi joining Overwatch would not erase it. But Talon’s later rise depended substantially on instability, the public collapse of faith in Overwatch, and the power vacuum created when Blackwatch killed Antonio Bartalotti during the Venice/Rialto operation.
Ngumi could make Talon’s plans harder in several ways:
●He gives Overwatch a major public hero from the Global South, making it harder for Talon to paint the organization as Western military power with a humanitarian logo.
●His experience confronting an escalating omnic campaign would make him an influential voice against Talon’s preferred strategy of manufacturing perpetual conflict.
●His presence could provide a counterweight to the increasingly militarized, secretive culture around Reyes and Blackwatch.
●As a renowned Nigerian defender, he could help prevent Talon from exploiting African insecurity and postwar reconstruction networks for recruits, contractors, weapons, and political leverage.
●But Talon could also target him aggressively. A living Ngumi would be both a battlefield problem and a symbolic threat: proof that a powerful warrior can stand for protection rather than Talon’s doctrine that humanity improves only through conflict. Akande’s eventual philosophy directly aligned with Talon’s conflict-centered worldview.
Akinjide’s canon importance begins with inheriting Ngumi’s gauntlet and becoming the second Doomfist, “the Scourge of Numbani,” as well as a Talon mercenary and war profiteer. If Ngumi lives, Akinjide almost certainly does not receive the gauntlet on the same timetable—or perhaps at all.
Canon Akande lost his right arm during the Omnic Crisis, struggled to find purpose afterward, and was recruited by Akinjide; he ultimately killed Adeyemi, seized the Doomfist title and gauntlet, and rose as Talon’s calculating leader. Ngumi’s survival changes the emotional and symbolic foundation of that arc.
The optimistic branch
Ngumi becomes precisely the mentor Akande never had: a famous African combatant who also understands disability, prosthetic adaptation, postwar displacement, and the temptation to define oneself only through battle. Since Akande came from a prosthetics-development family and lost an arm in the war, Ngumi’s gauntlet could represent not conquest but survival and responsibility.
Ngumi might recruit him into Overwatch’s reconstruction, security, or defense-tech work. In that version, Akande could become:
●An Overwatch-aligned African defense strategist.
●A Numbani or Nigerian reconstruction leader.
●A difficult but fundamentally heroic successor to Ngumi’s legacy.
●A political critic of Overwatch who remains outside Talon rather than becoming its war-making champion.
The tragic branch
Akande could instead resent Ngumi. If Nigeria was devastated because Ngumi departed for Overwatch, Akande might see the older hero as a man who chose global celebrity over local duty. Talon could exploit that resentment, framing Ngumi as the “approved” African hero serving international institutions while Akande becomes the uncompromising nationalist or revolutionary alternative.
In this branch, Akande may still become Talon’s leader—but likely without the Doomfist identity at first. He might steal the gauntlet from a living Ngumi, defeat him publicly, or acquire it after Ngumi’s later death. That would make Akande’s villain origin more personal: not merely killing a mentor, but corrupting and usurping the very protector Africa revered.
Overwatch was eventually shut down after the UN investigation, Swiss HQ’s destruction, and loss of its key leaders; its former agents became widely distrusted and the organization disbanded. Ngumi’s survival gives it a stronger chance of becoming a durable reformed institution instead of collapsing altogether.
Ngumi’s war experience may give Overwatch a voice that understands both sides of the Omnic Crisis: the terror of omnic armies and the fact that not all omnics are the same. That position could complement Mina Liao’s scientific perspective and Aurora’s sacrifice, making Overwatch less likely to slide into reflexive anti-omnic policy.
If Overwatch survives the Swiss crisis, it can respond to omnic civil-rights abuses earlier and more credibly. That does not guarantee Null Sector disappears, but it could reduce its recruitment base: fewer omnics conclude that violent liberation is their only option.
If Ngumi’s absence devastates Nigeria, human survivors may become even more anti-omnic. Overwatch could gain a powerful “the machines destroyed Africa while international leaders looked away” constituency. In that timeline, Null Sector might radicalize earlier, find broader human hostility, and become more militarized long before its later global assault.
summary: there was something eerily familiar about soldier: 76, but you could not for the life of you figure out what or why. you were almost certain you knew him. but how?
content: 18+ MDNI, age gap, older man/younger woman, incest, father/daughter, p in v sex, no use of y/n.
w/c: 2.3k
a/n: this was the first explicit fic i ever wrote, back in... 2019? i deleted it from my original blog some time ago and rediscovered it only recently (through wattpad, if you'll believe it lmao). i've been inspired by my dash lately, so i decided to rewrite it and fill it out a bit more, and now here we are lmao
Soldier: 76 was about to leave for a mission when you decided to confront him. The mission would take a couple of days at most, but you didn’t dare wait on the off chance that it didn’t—or in case he didn’t return at all.
You pushed the man back into his room and locked the door behind you, slamming your hand against the wall where you knew the door panel to be. Pressing forward, you forced yourself closer, well into his personal space and well aware that he was letting you do this of his own accord. If he wanted to stop you, he would have, and it frustrated you that he didn’t.
Why didn’t he?
Because there was something, wasn’t there?
Something about him, his presence, his demeanor. Something that pulled at the strings of familiarity, a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you couldn’t quite place.
You knew him.
You knew him.
But how?
It was all at the tip of your tongue, every question, every suspicion, every little detail you wanted to pull from his brain.
But you said nothing.
It all remained caged within you as you instead groaned in frustration, turning your back to him and dragging a hand through your hair.
“Fuck,” you swore under your breath. Then again, a little more firmly, “fuck.”
What were you even doing? This was Soldier: 76, for Christ’s sake! Never mind that he was your senior; he was a wanted vigilante and could easily knock you out cold if he wanted to.
The courage it had taken to get you here quickly turned into regret, and the harsh confrontation you had prepared spiraled into hasty apologies.
Your jaw clenched as you turned to face him once more. “I’m sorry,” you managed, but you couldn’t meet his eyes, didn’t dare to look at the red visor burning into your skin.
You felt like you were going insane.
Every time you saw him, every time you spoke, it was there, always present in the back of your mind.
Nagging, needling.
A sense of something that wouldn’t let go.
Again, and again, and again.
“I’m sorry—” you continued, again.
He knew you were, just as he knew you were hurting.
It was as obvious to him as the difference between night and day; obvious in the way he had always been able to tell, in the way a father always knows his daughter.
And it broke his heart to see you like this.
It pained him to know that you hurt, but it was no one’s fault but his.
And how was that any fair?
How was it fair to you that he let the very real ghosts of your past continue to haunt you when the solution was really quite simple?
Without giving it a second thought, or any thought at all really, his mask clicked open.
Your words came to a sudden halt as you froze altogether. Then, pain flashed across your face.
He was older, torn and rugged from years of struggle, but despite the new scars and wrinkles, despite the years, there was no world where those blue eyes weren’t familiar to you.
“Dad—?” you croaked.
Too many feelings hit you all at once. You wanted to leave, laugh and cry all at the same time. The emotions came in waves, each pulling and tearing in a different direction, leaving you bare until the only remaining answer was anger.
Was he fucking serious?
You’d mourned him, struggled to find a purpose without him, all of which had seemingly been for nought, as the man in question stood right before you, alive and breathing and very much not dead.
There was little room for him to speak.
He hadn’t meant to hurt you, surely you could understand that?
All he had wanted was to keep you safe, to protect you from the dangers that his lifestyle inevitably engendered, and was that really so bad?
He wasn’t the same man anymore. He wasn’t proud of the things he’d done. No, he couldn’t possibly begin to tell you because if you knew even a fraction of the crimes he’d committed, you’d probably never want to see him again.
You refused to hear any of it, too caught up in the fact that your father was alive and had kept it a secret from you for all these years.
The more he tried to explain, the less you listened. What could he possibly say, what could he possibly do?
He didn’t have time for this. There wasn’t enough time—
His arms wrapped around you in a sudden, ironclad hug. He held you tightly enough to feel his strong arms flex around you, pressing your face into the material of his compression shirt as he buried his nose in your hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said at length. “I’m so sorry.”
Then, as if the strings had finally untangled, you melted into him. Anger gave way to tears, and you sobbed into his chest, inhaling his scent as you fully sank into his embrace.
It all became so obvious, then. He could live with the guilt of what he’d done. Hell, chances are, he’d do it again. He could even live with knowing so many of his friends had died and fought for his cause, but you? You, he could never live without.
His hands gently cupped your cheeks, attempting and failing to dry your tears.
“The worst part was always losing you, sweetheart,” he said, voice cracking. “Not a day has gone by without the thought of you crossing my mind.”
He kissed your forehead, then your tear-stained cheeks, and, for a second, his eyes flicked to your lips. It happened so fast, but you noticed.
Your eyes snapped to his. A sheepish apology was on the tip of his tongue, halted by the realization that the look in your eyes wasn’t one of disgust or disapproval. Instead, he found the opposite. He saw need and desire, laced with the question of whether he would do it or not. It was a dare.
You were daring him to do it.
He raised an inquisitive brow. When had that developed?
You wet your lips, shrugging
The two of you inched closer, your heart beating so fast you could hear your own pulse pounding in your ears. The calloused skin of his fingers brushed against your jaw as you leaned toward one another, both of you waiting to see how far the other was willing to go in a twisted version of ‘gay chicken’.
A series of rapid knocks on his door broke the spell.
You broke apart instantly as if caught red-handed.
The look he gave you was apologetic. “I have to go,” he said gruffly, frustrated, as if the world had wronged him yet again. He tapped your chin with his thumb. “Don’t wait up.”
He pushed past you, snapping his mask back in place. You bit your lip, watching as the door hissed shut behind him. You prayed to whatever forces that he would come back safe.
The mission took two days. But to you, it felt like an eternity had passed before Soldier: 76—Jack—finally returned.
The engines had barely cooled before you stood at his door, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. His hands were on you the moment the door opened, pulling you inside by the fabric of your shirt. A small squeal escaped you, and Jack grinned, his visor already discarded along with his signature leather jacket.
“Cute,” he said, all boyish charm.
His lips crashed onto yours. You moaned softly, surprised by its intensity.
“Dad—”
He silenced you by deepening the kiss, stealing your breath as his mouth moved against yours, his stubble rubbing against your skin.
“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips. Had missed you for a long time, he thought distantly. He wasn’t making that mistake again.
The momentum of his pull carried you through the room, his hands finding your hips as the two of you swayed towards his bed. His fingers traced the hem of your pants, finding the button on the front and popping it open with experienced ease.
You stumbled in your step and fell onto the bed, your back landing softly against the mattress. Jack followed shortly after. His weight settled upon you, his intentions abundantly clear as you felt his hardening cock poking against you.
“So good for me,” he murmured, his hands stripping you from the waist down. You bit your lip as he kissed the inside of your knee, as his lips traced up the insides of your thigh, until they landed gently on your mound, his blue eyes boring into yours.
Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers threading through his white locks as his mouth dove into you with a ravishing passion. He moaned against you, a hand digging into the flesh of your thigh as he forced your legs apart. “So fucking good,” he repeated, though the meaning had undoubtedly shifted.
You fell apart on his mouth, your nails digging into his scalp as your back arched off the bed and pleasure crashed over you in waves.
Before long, he stroked the length of his cock, holding it at the base as he aligned himself with the wet heat of your cunt.
In a single thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, his cock hot and snug against your walls.
“Dad,” you gasped, brows pinched as your lips parted in pleasure, the stretch a pleasant burn at your core.
His body curled over yours as he rocked into you with slow, deep thrusts. His hands dug into the sheets above your head in a desperate attempt to reel in some of his super soldier strength, to cage some of the emotions rushing to the surface.
“Fuh-uck! Missed you so much, sweetheart,” he all but whimpered, his face buried and moaning into your neck. “Daddy missed you so much—”
You squirmed beneath him, arching into his chest. A pathetic whine bordering on desperation escaped your lips, and your fingers dug into the back of his shirt. “Please,” you cried, unsure of what exactly you were asking for.
With a grunt, Jack peeled his body apart from yours, his thrusts steadily moving faster, gentleness slowly fraying at the edges. “So good, baby,” he cooed. “So warm and wet, all for me.”
You nodded, unable to find your voice between the moans and gasps escaping you. Tears welled in your eyes, wetness clinging to your lashes as his large hand cupped your cheek. You blinked the tears away, focusing solely on the man above you.
“You can take more for me, can’t you, sweetheart?” he asked, not unkindly. “You’re a strong girl.”
You nodded again. “Please,” you repeated, this time certain.
“Good girl,” he rasped.
He sat back on his heels and hooked your knees over his thighs, lifting your hips to angle himself more firmly within you. The new angle made your ears ring. With every thrust, his cock nudged just right inside you, making you spasm in his hold as you clenched around him.
The sound of skin hitting skin echoed throughout the room—wet sounds turned wetter, loud moans grew louder. You begged, pleaded, and every word you said made his body burn with desire.
How twisted was that?
His own daughter, half dressed, drooling and begging for his cock?
He fucked you harder.
He didn’t rightfully know what wires had gotten crossed for this to happen, but he knew with absolute certainty he was never letting you go again.
Jack swore, primal lust and desire flooding his senses. He needed more of you, all of you. Any care for his strength was long gone as he pounded you into the mattress, each bodily response from you goading him to take you harder, faster, setting a brutal pace that had you seeing stars.
A string of incoherent chants passed your lips, songs and praises meant solely for him, and him alone.
You jerked as his calloused fingers found your clit, rubbing along with the rhythm of his thrusts.
Pleasure coiled in your gut, winding tighter still.
“Dad, dad—” you choked. “Dad, I’m gonna—”
“Fuck, yes.” His pace was erratic now. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you—”
Your moans pitched, your toes curled.
Everything snapped.
Your ears rang as pleasure washed over you, lighting every nerve on fire as it rolled through your body.
Jack swore as you clenched around him, making his hips stutter, feeling the familiar pull low in his gut.
“Baby, where—?” He asked, but you both knew he wasn’t pulling out.
Not that you wanted it anywhere else.
“Please—”
He didn’t need to hear anything else.
His balls flexed as he came harder than he could ever remember doing before. He felt your tight cunt clenching around him as he spilled inside you, milking him of every drop he had to give.
His hips came to a slow stop as the pleasure subsided, chests heaving and breaths escaping you in heavy gasps.
After a moment, Jack caught his weight on one arm, the other cupping your face. He leaned down and kissed you once more, slowly.
In between kisses, you thanked him. “Thank you for coming back to me,” you cried softly, voice raw.
“I’ll always come back to you,” he responded, voice rough.
“I love you,” you said.
Jack sank onto you and moaned against your lips. He sure hoped that was true, because all those chemicals they pumped into him had made him more than just a little virile, and Daddy was far from done with you.