The following story was created purely for entertainment purposes, and the author does not gain any profit from its distribution. While the events depicted are the original creations of the author, the characters are owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and all relevant partners. This story is in not connected to the canon of Overwatch. Please do not distribute this story elsewhere without express author permission and due credit. Thank you!
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Lena "Tracer" Oxton had just returned from another successful mission with the recently reunited Overwatch. Tracer was ready to peel out of the orange jumpsuit that was sticking to her sweaty skin, and hop into the shower. As refreshing and necessary as the task would be, Tracer let out a sigh, not of exhaustion from the mission, but the exhaustion she would no doubt feel after getting ready. Something as simple as a shower was an arduous process for the woman with a large metal, plastic, and god-knows-what-else device strapped to her chest.
She was grateful for her powers, as it allowed her to help more people than she ever could, and she had a lot of fun doing it, but the cost of having them was a constant annoyance. If the device wasn't powering down at the most inopportune times, having only enough juice to keep her tangible but not allow her to blink or recall, it was just getting in the way of daily life. For example, while the device was water proof, it could be difficult to clean the skin that was hidden beneath it. She also had to be careful while removing the buckles and straps to get her clothes off. It would continue to work so long as it was no more than three inches from her person at all times. Anymore and she would have to contact Winston to come help her. As close as they were, Tracer did not like having Winston see her naked after he affixed the device back to her.
Much to her surprise and delight, it looked like she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Sitting on the dresser of her temporary hotel room was a box, neatly tied with ribbon and bow, and a card.
Your presents are finished, Ms. Oxton. The first you shall find in this box. The other is back at your apartment. -Winston
P.S. I ate the peanut butter in the mini-fridge. I'm so sorry.
Tracer didn't care that she now owed $15 for the jar of peanut butter he ate. She was too excited about her presents. Opening the box in a flash, her expectations were met and the present she was hoping for was there: a new chronal accelerator.
This new device would be far less cumbersome than the chest-strapped one she was currently using. Winston had designed it to be fitted around the waist like a belt. Although she would still be bound to this device for the rest of her life, it wasn't nearly as in the way as the chest model. In what would be perceived as a flash to a third party, Tracer took out the belt and slung it around her waist.
"Aw, Winston, you made it too big!" she remarked in her British accent. When she took a look at herself in the full length mirror, she recanted her complaint. The belt was indeed too big to fit snugly around her. However, her wide hips and ample ass kept it from slipping off of her. It sat on her hips, slipping to her right, and accentuating her curves in that region. "Or maybe you knew exactly what you were doing, you damn dirty ape," she said to herself, giggling.
The power on the belt was left off until she started to take the chest model off. She wasn't sure what would happen if she had both operating at the same time, but she wasn't about to find out. In the blink of any eye, the chest plate was turned off, removed, and the belt switched on. Tracer held her eyes shut tight, gritting her teeth and waiting for her body to become incorporeal. Thankfully, it was a success, and so she remained in the proper timeline with her physical body.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, jumping in the air with a zip, and landing on her bed to continue jumping. Her laughter lasted several minutes before she fell back down onto the mattress with a happy sigh. Then she remembered the second gift Winston had mentioned. Tracer knew exactly what it was, as it was the reason she was in the hotel in the first place. With several flashes of blue streaks, all of Tracer's belongings were tucked away into her suitcase.
She considered taking that shower before she left, but knowing what awaited her at her flat, she didn't want to waste the opportunity. The concierge at the front desk was typing lazily at his computer when he heard a strange electrical sound, followed by a woman's laughter. When he looked up, money and a room key were sitting on his desk.
Tracer was thankful she didn't choose a hotel that was far from her place of residence, as it allowed her to blink across the roof tops to reach it, and not run out of power while doing so. Any further away and she might have had to use public transit to get home. She couldn't imagine going that slowly knowing what awaited her.
"Winston, I'm home!" she exclaimed into her apartment. No answer, and everything looked the same. She was a bit disappointed, until she saw the second letter Winston had left her.
Your apartment is now outfitted with chronal accelerator technology, running off a small generator I've placed into your laundry room. As we discussed, this will allow you to move about your apartment freely, without needing either personal chronal accelerators.
I hope you enjoy!
-Winston
"Oh Winston, you're the best!" she said to the letter, and gave it a big kiss since the scientist wasn't there himself to receive it. Tracer began to zip all around the flat, looking for clues to where these chronal attachments were so she knew never to disturb them. Winston had done a good job of hiding them, though, since she could find nothing. She did recall how he said he didn't want them to be in the way or obvious, so he spent an extra month on making them work to that regard. She tried to talk him out of it, but once he got an idea for some tech in his head, it wouldn't come out until he made it.
All the running around had caused her to add another coat of sweat to her already sticky body. Her face whipped away from her pit when she gave it a sniff. "Offensive!" she said about herself with a smile. The smile carried over to her now far more fun task of getting undressed.
Tracer started with her armguards. They fell with a clunk onto the ground. She was usually more careful with them, but today she was more focused on herself rather than her things. Next came her signature bomber jacket. Delighted in how easily it came off, she slipped it back on just so she could slip it off again. Taking a moment, she admired how her breasts looked, all snug inside of her full body track suit. The chest device obscured most of her chest, so she had almost forgotten how perky and full they were. A giggled echoed through her spacious flat while she cupped and measured their size and shape. Just a little over handful, though her lovers always had bigger hands than hers. A C-cup suited her just fine, though she often went without. It was theorized by some bloggers that Tracer showed off her ass so much because her chest was covered up by the jacket and the device, that she was compensating. She of course publicly denounced such crass theories, but they were right.
Standing in front of her tall mirror, she continued to undress after kicking off her running shoes. Tracer wanted to see her body, in all its finery, unobstructed by the device.
Well other than this cute belt,
