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The Average Kid campaign was started in An obsession, really, and a dangerous one. Such were the thoughts that had been consuming her.
She sat in her office and carefully ran tests with her suit, self-reproach her only companion. She could not sleep. Her screen was flashing with a reminder: Ana on the practice range at four.
Just seeing the name there made guilt and anticipation coil in her stomach, shame following soon after. She carefully straightened up her desk, noticing how her hands shook, how her movements were sluggish.
Somewhere deep down she knew it was unwise to keep going like this, but that was an easy thought to ignore. She had made incredible progress on both the Valkyrie and Caduceus systems over the past weeks, and if she could just finish them, maybe then she could sleep.
Ana was already there; Angela could see her through the glass windows as she approached Ballistics Range Two. Her mentor was wearing a black tank top.
Angela took a deep, steadying breath, sternly ordered herself to focus, and scanned in. Instead of the usual fluttering in her stomach, though, Angela just felt exposed.
She was in a sorry state and she knew it, and she had no doubt Ana could see it too. Her fingers left sparks where they traveled.
Angela looked away, glared down the range at the bots lined up against the wall. She was supposed to be practicing. She could handle herself.
Then she turned away, suddenly businesslike. But rather than heading for the center of the floor, she walked toward the door.
When Angela hesitated to follow, she turned back, a half-smile on her lips. Something to get the blood flowing. Out the doors of the practice range, down the hallway to the stairs, and up three floors to the dorms.
She led Angela along, and Angela followed, even when she began to suspect where they were headed. Angela looked at the nameplate and found her heart beating faster.
Ana scanned herself in, offering Angela a little half-smile as she threw open the door and beckoned her in. Ana was inviting her in.
The furniture was military-issue, all sharp edges and bland colors. The bed was made, the desk tidy. Angela recognized the blue jacket slung over the desk chair.
There was a duffel bag in one corner. The only welcoming things about the room were the windows and the sun coming through. Angela stood there, frozen, unsure what was happening.
She was unprepared for Ana to understand her, much less for her to chuckle and raise an eyebrow. She found herself blushing, wishing the floor would swallow her.
Angela could not formulate a response. She gnawed at her lip and stood still, urging herself to answer yes, yes, please, Gott—.
She was not a teenager. She did not need looking after. Sleeplessness and arousal bled into anger as Angela stood there and looked at the woman before her.
Anger at Ana for trying this, and anger at herself for allowing it. Did nobody trust her to take care of herself?
Was she a child to Ana, as much a child as Fareeha? Ana remained unmoved in the face of her sharp words and creased brow.
She merely looked at Angela, her face blank and almost uninterested. Angela stared her down for a moment longer and then, realizing that she was indeed acting every centimeter the petulant teenager, strode into the little en-suite bathroom and closed the door harder than necessary behind her.
It felt good to wash herself off, to be clean again, even as the dull ache throbbed and throbbed in her chest. She felt the stupid urge, still, to prove herself, to assert that she was more than whatever she looked like.
But in the tiny shower, scalding water pouring down on her until the room was filled with steam, the anger dissipated as quickly as it had come.
In there, with nothing at all to focus on but her own thoughts, Angela remembered how tired she was.
She thought of the weeks past, a blur now of caffeine and endless work. People on the operating table. Her Valkyrie suit underneath her hands.
Reneau, eyes roaming desperately about the operating room but seeing nothing, nothing. She had joined Overwatch to save the world.
And she had told herself that she would be perfect, perfect, try as hard as she could. That life was within her hands if she fought hard enough.
Her superior was still there, sitting at her desk and working at her computer, when Angela emerged. She glanced over and then stood.
Angela accepted them awkwardly with the hand not holding her towel up and shuffled back into the bathroom, where she discovered that she was holding sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.
They were soft and comfortable and smelled like Ana. Angela just looked at her, annoyed but lacking the energy to do anything about it.
You do enough worrying about other people. Angela sat on the bed. Then, reluctantly, when Ana just raised an eyebrow and refused to move, she slid her legs under the covers and sat with her back to the headboard.
Ana smiled and shifted upright. She tried to think of something to say. Something that would make up for everything. But all that was there was the guilt and shame burning, always burning, in the pit of her stomach.
She was alarmed to find that her voice was thick in her throat and her eyes were stinging. She wished she could blame it on the sunlight, could blame it on fatigue, could blame it on anything other than the disaster of a person she was.
I was supposed to be able to look after myself. I—all of you are so strong. I wanted to be a hero too. Suddenly Ana was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring sternly down at Angela.
They were so close together. Angela could reach up a finger and trace the Wadjet where it curved along her cheekbone.
I know that, habibti. And I respect it. But this is Overwatch. We look out for each other. Angela looked away, blinking furiously, trying to get rid of the tears but succeeding only in sending them down her cheeks.
How she wished she could let herself believe the things Ana was saying. How she wished the guilt and shame coiled in her stomach like a venomous serpent would dissipate.
Their faces were very close together. Angela had already hit rock bottom. What else was there to lose? Months of flirting, of a body pressed against her own and a low voice murmuring in her ear, of two women pulling the trigger together.
It had been inevitable. Her heart was thrumming much too rapidly. She was finally doing it. She pushed her back into the headboard, their noses brushing, her arms keeping Angela safely in place.
It felt so perfect there, half-under the sheets, Ana Amari kneeling over her and holding her down as they learned the taste of one another.
Once she had gone, Angela slid down and buried herself in the sheets. They smelled like the woman she had just kissed.
She could sleep like this. An unfamiliar bed, yes, but one that reminded her of Ana with every breath. She thought it would take a while to calm down enough to allow for sleep.
Her cheeks were still flushed, and the uncomfortable dampness between her thighs made itself known every time she shifted. She replayed the kiss in her mind, over and over, and let her hazy thoughts travel slowly into more and more tantalizing territory.
It was in that way that she fell asleep, consumed by Ana Amari. At dinner, with Reinhardt and Jack on either side of her and the mess hall in its usual uproarious state, she was quiet.
She was paying no mind to the conversation. Her thoughts were all for the young doctor hopefully slumbering back in her room.
She thought of how Angela had looked on the training range, her eyes out-of-focus, wandering, lost. After dinner, the gym. It was even harder to keep herself distracted there.
In the morning, if Angela chose not to mention it, Ana would oblige. It was flattering, really, all the blushing and stuttering and worshipful eyes on her.
It was more than flattering. Angela had proven herself bolder than expected. And in the morning? The morning started earlier than she would have liked.
When Metis woke her at seven with an alert about a terrorist attack in the southeastern United States, Ana already had a headache.
She had breakfast with her daughter, as usual. Every time they had it, Ana felt it slipping more and more from her grasp, but this time had been particularly bad.
They had tiptoed around each other in the weeks since then. Forced politeness, deliberate avoidance of the argument, empty conversation. Maybe she frequently smiled like that for other people.
I got him to tell me a little bit about the moon, too. Letting her join Ana on base had been a calculated decision. She looked at her daughter now, across the table, and felt her slipping away.
Her headache persisted through the morning, which was spent mainly in her office, looking at reports. Jack wanted her to lead a strike in Russia next month, assuming they got U.
Some personnel shifts, agents reassigned to different bases. Ana had all but forgotten the night before when, a little after thirteen-hundred, there was a gentle knock on her office door.
It was Angela who entered, looking noticeably more put-together than she had the last time they had seen each other. She was in her lab coat again, but her hair was down around her shoulders instead of pulled up into its usual strict ponytail.
The look suited her. Ana leaned back in her chair, chin resting on one hand. She had some idea of where this was going. She was wearing a skirt under her lab coat rather than her usual slacks.
She was in heels, and they showed off the curves of her pretty legs. Shy, even coming here, doing this, peacocking herself for her superior even so embarrassed as she was.
Yes , Ana wanted her. She wanted the rookie who shuddered under her touch on the practice range. She wanted the surgeon who stared at and down and through her while sewing her back together.
She wanted Angela Ziegler on her knees in front of her, begging for more. It was different from the shyness. Better than the shyness. Ana sat back in her chair, keeping space between herself and the desk.
Behind her was a bank of glass windows. They were on the fourth floor, but even so Angela seated herself on the edge of the desk and began unbuttoning her lab coat with deft fingers.
Ana watched, comfortable, patient, as button after button fell open and pale skin blended into white lace, and it became apparent that the white skirt was not a skirt at all.
Neither woman spared it a glance. The chemise suited her. Was she wearing panties? It was impossible to tell. And then up, up the lacy patterns of the white garment and up to the shape of her breasts under the cloth, her collarbone a gentle slope against her skin.
All that skin, a canvas for the marking. So it was like that, was it? Ana could play along. Angela nodded and almost toppled herself from the desk in her haste to obey.
Ana caught her, hands on her waist, feeling her warmth through the cloth. She was reluctant to pull back, even as Angela lifted the chemise with one hand to show off her white lace panties and the outline of what was underneath them.
Ana moved one hand from her waist down to stroke her through the cloth. They were feather-light touches, teasing. She felt a tremor run through Angela.
She could feel dampness gathering under her fingertips. How much of that was real, Ana wondered, and how much a calculated performance? But more than that, she wanted Angela to say it herself, to ask for it, to beg for it.
Angela shook her head. The office was too warm. Ana flexed her calves, resisted the urge to rub her thighs together.
Those two words echoed in her head, beautiful, desperate. It took Angela a few moments to work up the courage to say it.
She seemed half-asleep, in a dreamlike state, slow to interpret and slow to respond. Maybe she was just trying to savor every moment.
Ana rolled her desk chair closer to press their bodies together. It was like a dam breaking. Suddenly Angela was nodding furiously, biting her lip, furrowing her brow, arching her back and forcing herself closer to Ana just as she had the night before.
Her thighs fell open, displaying herself once again. Ana took full advantage of the silent invitation. And what a sight it was. Sandy brown curls protected her soft, small lips, which were blushing red and damp already.
Her clit, pink underneath its hood, was firm. She was already so wet, the slick of it shining on her folds and smeared in her hair.
Ana wanted nothing more than to lean forward and taste it, all of it, to lick up every stray drop, to tease that shy little clit, to bury her tongue in the heat of her.
Ana knew patience well. Her knuckles were white against the wood. And Ana was feasting. Above her, another half-choked cry.
There was wetness dripping onto her chin, sweet and musky. Good girls stay still. Her desperation was so cute. Her cheeks were flushed pink with pleasure or embarrassment.
Ana chuckled and leaned in to meet her lips. Ana forced a hand between their bodies, her fingers searching for the place her mouth had previously occupied.
She twined the curls about her knuckles and flicked the clit waiting, hard and eager, for her. Angela was still soaking, gushing wetness the longer Ana kept her fingers moving.
She moaned into the kiss. She lifted her hand to show off her dripping fingers. So eager for me, Angela. Angela licked her lips. She looked like an animal like this, so desperate, lacking the poise and dignity with which she always carried herself.
She was lovely, every inch of her, trembling and obedient and open for Ana. An easy enough wish to grant. It was warm and hot and constricting around her, almost as good as her cunt.
Her whole body shook and shivered through the aftermath. She cast her eyes downward and shifted in place on the desk. Remember Me Forgot password?
Major Character Death Category: Overwatch Video Game Relationship: Angela builds up an idol and watches her fall. She told herself these things. She did not believe them.
The angel, here on the range, wielding a pistol and practicing shooting to kill. What pull does a teenager have? Fareeha made no answer but for the door slamming behind her.
She was always thinking about Ana, especially as she pulled the trigger. And they wanted her. His eyes fixed on hers momentarily.
You know, I volunteered to be your guide. The last meeting wiped all the others away. Then there was a hand on her shoulder and a smoky laugh filling the air.
Her awe of Ana Amari remained undimmed. Just sleep and surgery and prepping for the field? She was all right. I have more tact than that. I thought you might manage to scare that out of him.
She was not all right. Have you ever thought about About a woman who was a mother and a captain and an incredible shot and— And she did think them, and she did feel them.
But really, when was the last time you showered? Her tears were indistinguishable from the shower water except in her own mind.
She had embarrassed herself in front of Ana enough for one day. Feeling clean really did make a difference.
Ana looked back, no longer smiling. To make you see me like this. Angela closed the gap. Why not just adopt Jesse? You spend more time with him than you ever have with me.
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