/breaks down door/ Can I get a ficlet with Lucio trying to heal the s/o he hasn't confessed to yet but like the wounds aren't closing up quickly because ~complications~ and it's too severe. Like, Needs-Mercy-miracle-severe. You decide whether the s/o dies or not but I just need a whole lot of angst and aaaaaah. But uh, only if ya want. Please and thank. Also, I love your writing! Keep up the good work. /sheepishly puts door back up/.
Hi yes I enjoy pain. I was wondering if you could make a mini fic or some headcanons (I’m not picky I just need more of everything in my life) where Lucio’s S/O ends up seriously hurt on the battlefield, possibly loss of limbs? Thank you for making the light of my life suffer <3
Lúcio knows he has it bad. When you stalk the social media of someone who’s sitting right next to you, you have it bad, period. And he’s three years deep into your photos. One wrong like could ruin his life. He throws you a glance from the corner of his eye until his nerves get the better of him and he turns back to his phone, pretending he isn’t harbouring the biggest crush he’s ever had.
Before you all took off for the next mission, Hana advised him to just grow a pair and flirt with you already.
“You’re a superstar.” she has said, and still gives him pointed looks over it. “People are lining up to get a piece of you.”
And that’s true and it’s not like he doesn’t know he has qualities, he does. He has skill, good looks, has accomplished some pretty major things in his life. But at the end of the day he’s still just a musician. You are badass. You’re a professional hero, you’ve been saving the world ten times in the time it took him to help out his favela, and even that he didn’t do alone. For all the things he’s got going for himself, there’s just no way he can compare to you.
You touch down on a field at the fringes of a small Russian town. Or what remains of it. Zarya and her people have hunkered down somewhere in the smoking ruins, holding the line until Overwatch reinforcements arrive. Every few seconds a red floodlight gleams through the smoke and disappears just as quickly.
“Tracker units. They are searching for human survivors..” 76 says. He wears a grim frown as he looks over the all too familiar battlefield. Lúcio swallows, turns away from the place. The snow falls heavily and muffles all sounds, but there should have been screams and shouts. Gunfire, from omnic and human soldiers alike, as they fought over the terrain and the civilians. But there’s nothing. Those tracker units are searching for survivors in a town once inhabited by almost a hundred thousand and find none.