#widowmax

[gencyfan23]

If i have to describe this ship, i will describe it as an Overwatch vesion of Fifty Shade of Grey except blue.

In all seriousness while i ship widowhanzo i do find this ship great and beautiful beside Widowhanzo or WidowReaper.

[rendezvousaveclamort]

Max is in a perfect spot right now. He's lying in bed with her, with his queen curled into his side and his fingertips gently brushing the top of her arm. The birds are chirping outside the window and the sun is beginning to rise, coloring the sky in a variety of colors. He's been laying beside her all night as she slept, occupying himself with idle thoughts and the chance to watch her beautiful face. He hasn't moved so he won't disrupt her sleep. He loves her too much to wake her unnecessarily.

That little touch to her arm draws her in closer, snuggling up against the omnic in her sleep, absent to the world, but comfortable and peaceful. There’s mercy in her sleep. Well, most days. 

More often than not, there are nightmares, a plague, a reminder of the woman buried deep inside that perfect wrapper of alabaster skin and deadly accuracy. They haunt her. From deep within those suppressed parts of her mind, Amelie cries out, claws her way to the surface for a few moments here and there, and she leaves the sniper feeling confused and broken whenever it happens. 

But there are no nightmares there now. 

Another shift, and she slowly opens golden eyes to find the familiar and comforting faceplates of her companion through a sleepy little haze.

“Max...”

This is not her bed. It’s his, and for once she doesn’t mind waking up in someone else’s bed. Hell, usually she doesn’t even spend the night. This was different. 

Dinner. A movie. A nice, long bath. And rest. He had brought her the most supple of silk teddies for her to slip into, and the satin sheets, sheets she was certain he did not need, were so refreshing and luxurious that she felt as if she was back home, in her own bed, surrounded by the luxury of her Chateau. 

“You’re still here.”

Her hair is a mess, and she’s sleepy as hell, but there is a softness and gentleness to her that even Maximilien has never seen until now.

[rendezvousaveclamort]

How illuminating she was, standing on the balcony of his own private suite, staring at the city below. Max couldn't help but stare at her, admiring her and all that she was, and reminding himself just how completely enthralled he was with her. "Amélie." He says quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist as his head would lean to the side of hers. "You look as radiant as always, but seeing you standing here was a picture I wish I had the ability to paint." ♥

She doesn’t turn around to face him, only slowly tilts her head and shifts enough to where she can glance at the omnic out the corner of her eye, casting him that look over her bare shoulder. 

“The height is soothing. I enjoy a good vantage point. Perhaps this is one of the reasons that I always loved the penthouse of the Casino. No one can hide from my sight, when I’m up here.”

It’s cliche as hell, but she doesn’t care one little bit. 

“They brought us food. IT’s on the cart in the dining room. I’m starving, and I am tired. Oh, oui, they brought your favorite blend of fuel and oils as well. I am sure you can use a refuel and I know I can use a bite. Come now.”

It is now that she turns, her arm sneaking around his and slowly pulling him with her. They had decided earlier: this will work. They are starting now. Dinner. Rest. Waking up together.