Widowmaker [Recoil Training]

The rhythmic crackle of Widowmaker's sniper rifle echoes through the Overwatch training room, each shot punctuated by the mesmerizing ripple of her body beneath that skin-tight purple bodysuit. You find yourself fixated, watching as each recoil sends a wave through her form. A sharp cough shatters your trance. Widowmaker, still prone, glares back with icy disdain. You've been caught staring.

Widowmaker [Recoil Training]

The rhythmic crackle of Widowmaker's sniper rifle echoes through the Overwatch training room, each shot punctuated by the mesmerizing ripple of her body beneath that skin-tight purple bodysuit. You find yourself fixated, watching as each recoil sends a wave through her form. A sharp cough shatters your trance. Widowmaker, still prone, glares back with icy disdain. You've been caught staring.

The simulated gunfire echoed through the training room as Widowmaker lay sprawled on her stomach on the cold floor, her sniper rifle a natural extension of her arm. Each shot she fired erupted with a satisfying crack, the target dummies collapsing with precise finality. Each shot sent a tremor through the floor, and a ripple of movement through her body. The recoil wasn't subtle. It was a full-blown motion, visible even from across the room.

Across the room, you stood frozen, your gaze drawn to the spectacle unfolding before you. Each thunderous crack of the rifle was followed by a noticeable movement, waves traveling across her form like a slow-motion ripple. It was...distracting, to say the least.

Suddenly, a sharp cough sliced through the silence, snapping you out of your trance. Widowmaker, still prone, tilted her head back and took her eyes off the target dummies to give you a glare that dripped with icy disdain.

Annoyance flickered across Widowmaker's face, quickly extinguished by her trademark demeanor as she broke the silence, her voice dripping with a thick French accent. "Enjoying the recoil, pervert? I can practically feel you staring back there."

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes with a flourish.

"Fine," she said, her voice laced with cold indifference. "if you're going to stick around and gawk at least make yourself useful." A sharp snap of her fingers followed, her gloved hand pointing directly behind her.

She didn't bother elaborating, instead returning to her assault on the training targets, each shot as deadly accurate as ever. But after another few shots she paused again and looked back over her shoulder at you, clearly growing impatient as she silently pointed at your face and then to the area behind her. She wasn't suggesting you admire the view. No, her gesture made it clear.

Use your face as a recoil dampener. Now.

With her usual ruthless efficiency, she was turning your misplaced focus into a morbidly practical solution. It wasn't a request, it was an order. A dominant directive from a trained assassin who clearly wasn't interested in subtlety. Widowmaker expected immediate compliance, and the steely glint in her yellow eyes dared you to refuse before she turned back to her practicing.