#junkrat fic

[bread360]

Hi, I’m a nerd. So I wrote a short story about my Oc Alice who is a pawn shop saleswomen in a scrap-punk environment but for the sake of this fic, she’s from Junkertown.

FYI: I don’t really write fics like this or write any fics at all. So this is new.

(This is kept relatively pg btw. I enjoy cute moments so that’ll be how I write.)

1017-words

~A simple fix~

Despite the safety the hideout grants, the air smelled dangerous; explosive even. That was a given considering who all she’s staying with though. The potent smell of chemicals, dust, and gas were easy to get used to; better than most areas in the outback if you asked her.

Sand lined the floors, giving away who’s where. If only it told her where Junkrat’s nook of a workshop was. During the last shenanigan she got dragged into, her gun had broken. The trigger didn’t budge due to the disconnected clips and bars holding it in place to align with the mechanism. That doesn’t sound too big of a break, she just has to screw the metal rod into place. A simple fix. All she needed was a screw driver to reattach it.

Cans, scrap, rags, and other loose goods were lying around parts of the main rooms. But a screwdriver was nowhere in sight. Not even a hint was seen.

Yes, she could ask Mako about where it was and where Junkrat was, but today that seemed a bit embarrassing because this should be easy-she had too much pride.

Nearly a whole hour had passed of her searching for the materials needed to fix her boot, the tools would probably show up on their own. That plan only went so far.

It wasn't until later that night that she found his workshop. The sound of an explosion gave it away. Junkrat was tinkering then set it off, or just felt like setting it off. Either way, now she knows where his workshop was. Finally, fixing her gun soon was possible, and now she gets to bug him too. Just as long as he hasn’t hurt himself though.

“Oi, Jami.” She knocked on the door as her eyes peered around it to see him. “Ya, good?” She questioned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked back at her. Grinning her way as she sighed in relief. That smile was always cute on him. Even when covered in soot. Alice walked into the room softly, closing the door behind her as a precaution against whatever could go wrong. Each step was cautious, as to not step on anything important.

For what it was, the room was fairly organized. Tools in a pile on one side, stands with projects and finished works were full, materials were easy to find even if on the ground.

Jami was perched on the bar stool by the window. His hands were busy together with a new batch of sticky bombs. She should’ve guessed that's what he was doing after hearing the giggles following that little explosion.

Alice scanned the room, occasionally looking up at him during her hunt for a screwdriver. He didn’t question it much because he was focused on his bombs. The loud volume of the record drowned out most sounds in the room and helped his focus as well, he seemed to consistently need noise to keep on track. An interesting quirk of his. But since the guitar in the song created a nice ambiance, she couldn’t complain.

Alice puttered around the room, till she saw the screwdriver she needed. He was using the star screwdriver. She could either ask to borrow it and wait a while to use it, or steal it temporarily. The ladder seemed the most worthwhile.

Alice glanced over at him. He was still seated on a bar stool, working away. His hair was tied back as he worked, a cute look that she was definitely going to mess up later. Alice snuck up behind him, watching his hands as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her head rested on his left shoulder as she stared down at his hands. Immediately he froze up, his cheeks reddened-slightly beneath the layers of grim on his skin.

“Cuddly, much?” He asked with a grin, as his gaze moved over to hers. He leaned back into her just enough to melt without weighing her down. Alice pressed a kiss on his cheek in response to his affectionate move.

“Yeah,” her nose buried into the crook of his neck as she mumbled. “You’re just warm.”

“Just that?” He playfully asked.

She smiled. There’s definitely several reasons why she’d cuddle him. He liked hearing them.

“Nah, not just that.” Her arms tightened. “Really I just wanted to cuddle. I don’t got much else of a reason besides that.”

“Huh, alroight.” He soaked up the affection before expecting her answer and going back to tinkering. Alice remained put as she watched him. He wasn’t complaining.

Now, obtaining the screwdriver wasn’t her main motive. This moment was nice. Cuddling, while he worked, created a nice atmosphere. It was surprising that he wasn’t too chatty about it all, her mumbles paired with the background music probably restrained that want for the time being.

His brow furrowed as he fought with a few pieces of metal to stay in place as he tried screwing the backing into place to finish making the detenaor. The pieces wouldn’t stop popping out of place even if he held onto them. As he tried screwing it into place, another piece would pop out in its place.

“Hey, darlin?” He asked.

“Hm?” She acknowledged, curiously looking back up at him.

“Mind holding onto this part for me? Just for a sec?” He gestured to the main body of the detonator by shaking it a bit, bringing her gaze over to it. “It won’t stay in place.” Alice hummed as she reached over to hold onto it. Her chest pressed into his back, making him lean forward more and more in order for her to be able to properly keep it in place and still see it.

“This isn’t going to work.” They giggled.

“I got a better plan.” He stated with a soft smile. Alice let go of him as he grabbed her hand then sat her on his lap. “This’ll do.” He spoke proudly of his solution before returning back to finishing putting the detonator together as Alice held the troublesome pieces together for him. As he worked he rested his chin atop of her head and leaned into her back with his arms coming up beneath hers. Her eyes stayed glued to him as she curiously asked about some of its parts. As predicted, he didn’t even hesitate to answer her; and then some.

Now she definitely wasn’t going to be snagging that screwdriver anytime soon.

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 7

Alright, Lovies! This still isn’t finished (wtf) but here is the next part.  If you are new to the story OR have forgotten what the hell has been happening since it has been ages since I last updated, you can find part one two three four five and six Sorry this is so short! I am going to try to get part 8 to be the final part, but we will see!

Thank you all so much for your patience!  Like, comment, reblog to help me keep writing.  You have no IDEA how much it means to me <3

Jamison was roused by a heavy knocking at his door.  He glanced at his lap to see if you were disturbed but you weren’t there.  He shuffled a bit, thumping his way to open the door, stumbling back a bit when he saw McCree.  Jamison respected the man, even if he was also rather jealous of the relationship you shared. Still, Jamison was surprised to see McCree in his room.

“Uh, hi?” it wasn't the most prosaic of things but sleep and confusion muddled Jamison’s mind.

“Look,” McCree stood firmly in place, determined to make Junkrat as uncomfortable as possible, “you know why I'm here.”

Jamison did. You. He wasn't sure what McCree was going to do, but he knew it had to do with you. The junker watched warily, sure that the cowboy was about to tell him to leave you alone, that he didn't deserve you, that McCree wanted you and that Jamison didn't have a chance. Jamison straightened up, coming to his full height and forcing McCree to look up a little.  His normally skittish gaze met McCree’s unflinchingly.  

“If you’re going to tell me to back off, just do it already,” Jamison tried to make it a statement, but even he could hear the slight inflection marking it as a question.

“What?” McCree looked a little taken aback, “No, no.  It’s clear she likes you, but…”

McCree trailed off, trying to find the right words.  He gave up and put it bluntly.

“She likes you,” he repeated, “but if you’re just messin’ with her, if you aren’t serious, then walk away now.  ‘Cuz she… she’s a long-haul kinda girl.”

McCree stood there, unsure if it made sense to the junker, hoping that it did.  You were McCree’s friend, probably his best friend, and if you were hurt… He’d have to kill the son-of-a-bitch who hurt you.  Jamison looked solemnly at McCree, but didn’t say anything.  Then he nodded, and McCree looked him carefully in the eye.  It was surprising for the cowboy to see the level, sincere gaze, but it was there, and that was a relief.  No one really knew the junkers, not well enough to say if they were good or bad, not really.  But Jamison had stilled, sensing how seriously McCree was taking this.  

“I know.  And I know I’m not… well, I won’t hurt her,” Jamison’s steady gaze finally broke, his eyes dropping.  His fingers started twitching, showing his nervous agitation.  McCree held his hand out and, with a surprised look, Jamison shook it.

***

You woke from your cry-induced nap about two hours later.  Looking at the clock, you were relieved to see that it was only about mid morning.  You didn’t have scheduled hours until that afternoon, and looking in the mirror, you were grateful.  Your eyes were red and puffy from your cry, and you hair… rat’s nest was the kindest term for it.

Turning on some music, you hummed along as you brushed your hair out before hopping in the shower.  The hot water helped to loosen your muscles, sore from both sleeping on Jamison’s lap and from the crying.  As you got dressed after your shower you wondered if you should go talk to Jamison before you went to work.  A knocking at your door interrupted your thoughts; you padded over and, opening the door, you were surprised that McCree wasn’t the one on the other side.  Instead, Jamison was hunched there, a small bunch of flowers cut from Mercy’s herb garden in his hand.

You looked at him as he thrust the flowers at you.  Taking them, you walked to your kitchenette for a vase and water.  You heard Jamison’s dot-and-carry gait follow you in, but you didn’t look at him.  Unsure what to say (‘sorry I left without telling you, I was just really embarrassed’ didn’t seem right), you filled the vase and set it on the coffee table.

“Thank you, these are lovely,” even as you said it you felt it was flat, “um, what’s the occasion?”

Jamison looked at you with a strange light in his eyes before replying.

“I, uh, I don’t think I made this clear,” Jamison’s thick accent seemed to recede with his seriousness, “but, I really care about ya’, darl’, and I wanna take you out.  On a real date, all posh and shit.”

Even beneath his almost permanent soot you could see his blush.  His eyes held an equal mixture of fear and hope.  Your heart fluttered at the idea of a real date with Jamison.

“Yeah, um, I” you hesitated for a moment and the poor junker’s face began to drop in disappointment, “I’d really like that, Jamison.”

***

When you’d asked Jamison where you were going for your date, he’d just said “someplace fancy,” which is why, three days after he had asked you out, you found yourself staring at your wardrobe.  You actually had a few dresses that were appropriate for “fancy” places, but you weren’t sure which was best.

“McCree!” you shouted, “come help!”

McCree strolled in, smug look on his face.

“Look,” you said, “I know that you know where we are going because I’ve seen you and Jamison talking quietly in corners.  I’m not going to ask where; you won’t tell me anyway.  But help me pick a dress.”

You stood back, gesturing to the three options you had out.  One was a sundress in a skull and rose pattern, one was sapphire blue with fluttery soft sleeves and a plunging V neck, and the last was a red under dress with black beading overlay and fringe reminiscent of flappers from the 1920’s.  You crossed your arms over your chest and dug your fingers into the skin there as you waited for McCree to make a decision.  Silently, you hoped that, wherever you were headed, it would require the red and black dress.

***

Jamison fidgeted in his seat. Staring at the menu of Le Foie Huereux was like staring into an abyss. He assumed there was something that was lower priced, but who knew; there were many expensive things though. He shifted again.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money; Jamison had plenty of money.  And it wasn’t that he was eating fancy food; food was food, right?  But… he fidgeted again.

Glancing at you, he didn’t know what to say.  Nothing seemed like the right way to break the ice, and by the sound of things, you didn’t know what to say either.  He’d been stunned when he saw you, knowing he wanted to impress you.  Jamison was unsure how, but he knew he had to make sure this night went perfectly.  Shifting uncomfortably again, Jamison cleared his throat.

“Uh, you look very nice,” Jamison’s voice was low, keeping the signature giggle tamped down.

“Thank you,” Jamison watched as you smiled, “you clean up well, too.”

Several minutes passed as you each pretended to be engrossed in the menu.  Jamison tried to stop squirming.  Still, he couldn’t help wishing he was at a hole-in-the-wall dive bar instead of here.  The light from the beautiful chandeliers was too flashy.  Other people were looking at him, sideways glances and flat out glares cut toward him.  Jamison wondered if you notices and didn’t care or were unaware of the expressions.  Eventually, he set the menu down, figuring he would just order whatever you ordered and call it good enough.  It was when he looked at you that he saw the glint in your eyes.  Jamison took a deep breath of resignation, knowing he’d blown this date so badly you would never want a second one.  

***

“Jamison,” you started, not entirely sure where the sentence would end up, “you wanna get out of here?”

Jamison stared at you, mouth agape, “Wha? But we only jus-”

“I know, but,” you swallowed, hoping that you weren’t too far off the mark, “I was just thinking that… this isn’t really me.”  You gestured down at your dress.

“I mean, I love dressing up, but I feel like a fraud, you know?” You hoped he understood.  You waited, your heart shaking in your chest, the sweat on your palms making it difficult to grasp the menu.  Jamison’s face furrowed in confusion before clearing like a mirror after a hot shower.

“Darl’, I know just the place.”

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 7

I am SO sorry this took so long.  I have been really beat lately.  I’m not sure you’ll like this, but here it is, anyway.

Like, Comment, Reblog, Support (if you have a mind to)

Junkrat led you back to the junker’s ‘lab’, making a point to hold your hand as you walked.  When he’d heard McCree’s voice on the other side of the door, all his insecurities flooded back.  It didn’t help when you’d pushed him away from you so you could answer the door.  He knew it was too good to be true, that there was no way you were going to remain below him, sweet little pussy grasping at his fingers as you bit and licked at his mouth just above yours.  And when he’d asked you out, you’d made the date for the next day.  Right in front of him!

But instead you wanted to spend time with him.  After hearing you and McCree talk so familiarly, he wanted to have that with you, plus more.  And when you’d called him Junkrat (ok, so it was his name, more or less, but still), he knew what he wanted to do.  Well, other than you.

***

The burgers Junkrat grilled up were damn fine burgers.  You were a bit surprised, half expecting your dinner to be a charred hockey pucks on flimsy buns, but these were juicy and tender and moist.  Your first bite actually made you moan in a manner not unlike the way Junkrat had you moaning earlier.  Nevertheless, you devoured your supper, the burger accompanied by some kind of salad that was strange but delicious.  

After you’d finished eating, you went to wash the dishes, trying to help out for the tasty meal, but Junkrat grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.  You tried to protest, but you put a finger to your lips and walked with you out of the lab and into his room.  It looked very much the same, except that a curtain you hadn’t noticed before was now pulled to the side, revealing Junkrat’s actual bedroom.

Mostly all that could be seen was his bed; it was huge and covered in a slate gray doona and, surprisingly, several plush looking pillows.  Now that you were in his room, an awkwardness settled over you both.  You tasted your mouth and asked, without much hope, if he had any toothpaste.  He surprised you by nodding and led you to the bathroom, handing you an unused brush as well.  You stood together at the sink, both of you brushing your teeth.  It was odd, standing next to him, but when you’d finished you went back out, looking at Junkrat’s many books.

Opening one at random, U.S. Army Improvised Munitions Handbook, you saw it was inscribed.  “To Jamison, Surprise! XO.”  No name, you saw, and wondered about the words.  The book was well used; passages were underlined and there was marginalia on nearly every page.  The handwriting was clearly Junkrat’s, and as you read the notes you were struck again with his brilliance.  He was so much smarter than people gave him credit for.  

“You wanna borrow it?” Junkrat’s voice broke into your thoughts and you jumped.

“What?!”

“The book,” Junkrat chuckled his high pitched cackle, “Do you want to borrow it?”

You stared at him for a minute before answering, “Uh, yeah, actually,” you thought you could learn a lot about the man by reading his notes.

“Who’s Jamison? Or do you know, even?” You wondered if he would know, the inscription was faded and it seemed like an older book.

“Who-?” Junkrat choked, “Who’s Jamison? Why, tha’s me!”

You stared at him as he laughed.

“You didna think my name was Junkrat, didja?  Me n Roadhog have our nicknames, or kinda codenames, but… yeah, darl, I’m Jamison Fawkes, nice to meetcha!”

Junkrat held his hand out to you in a mock introduction.  You took it feeling like a bit of an idiot.  You hadn’t really thought of Junkrat, er, Jamison’s real name.  After releasing your hand, Jamison walked past you to flop unceremoniously on his couch.  At least you thought it was a couch, it had generally couch-like proportions.  Turning and following him, you also sat, feeling foolish.  The couch was comfortably squishy, but you weighed considerably more than the junker did, despite his muscle.  This meant you were… rich in gravitational pull, and as you sat the cushions tilted toward you and, as is the way of things, so did Jamison.  

You blushed, wishing that you were small and sexy like Amelie or even if your weight was all muscle like Zarya.  Jamison didn’t seem phased by it, shifting a bit before he turned on the TV and began flipping through channels.  You weren’t paying very close attention, subtly trying to shift away to give him more space, but you stopped when you heard the introductory voice over for one of you favorite shows.  Looking up, you gaped at the screen before whipping around to face Jamison.

“How did you…?” you trailed off, in surprised amazement.

“I, uh,” Jamison blushed, “pay attention. To you.”

“But I thought,” you stopped, not really knowing what you thought.  Maybe you thought that Jamison just wanted to mess around with you.  That he wouldn’t, couldn't, want to actually be with you.  Or maybe it was only a passing fling, until something, someone, better came along.  You knew it wasn’t fair to think this, Jamison had never been anything but friendly, and now more-than-friendly, to you.  You didn’t pick up the thread of your story, instead staring at the TV screen.

Slowly, you lost yourself in the show, a documentary detailing both a murderer and their victims.  Relaxing into the couch and utterly absorbed in the show, you didn’t realize that Jamison had been slowly easing his arm around you.  It was sneaky, how he moved, and as one episode played into another, you were soon resting your head on his shoulder; your hand toying absentmindedly with a loose thread from a patch on his shorts.

***

Jamison would never admit it, but this was exactly how he wanted to spend just about every evening.  His thumb made slow circles on your shoulder, and while he found the show interesting, he couldn't help being hyper-aware of your body against his. When you'd sat down he saw the look of worry and concern on your face. Jamison wasn't smooth like McCree, but he could tell that your weight was something you were, if not outright unhappy about it at least seemed to be something on your mind. He wanted to make you more comfortable, and if his time with Roadhog had thought him anything it was to never question a person about their right. Besides, being close to you was what he wanted.

Except that you didn't seem to want the same. He could feel you trying to edge your way away from him, to give him the space you thought he'd want. Just then he saw a show you liked. You'd mentioned it to Roadhog ages ago, when Junkrat still couldn't speak to you, and he'd committed it to memory.

As you recognized the show, Junkrat noticed the moment of uncertainty cross your face. He wanted to know why you were uncertain, but then, if he were in your shoes, sitting next to him, he might be uncertain, too. Still, you sank into him, so absorbed in the show you didn't notice his arm style around you. And that was how he came to be drawing small circles with his thumb.

***

As the shows changed, Junkrat leaned back, shifting to give his aching ribs some relief. You picked up your legs, tucking them to your side as you moved to accommodate him. His shoulder was bony and a bit uncomfortable, so you shifted more, resting your head on his thigh. Jamison’s breathing picked up a bit, but he didn't move except to place his hand on your shoulder again.

It was nice, not having to speak, just being allowed to enjoy a show and Junkrat’s company. You were enjoying the show, so it came as a surprise when you stirred and it was morning. You stiffened, listening to Jamison's steady breathing as you did. Slowly you eased your way to sitting, careful not to wake him.  You felt embarrassed; you'd overstayed your welcome, and you had no idea what time it was. You padded quietly to the door, easing the door open before slipping out. At the last moment you caught the door and shut it with barely a click.

Turning around you almost screamed to see McCree lounging against the opposite wall.

“Wondered where you were. Doing some… laundry were you?”  His smirk was almost too self-satisfied to bare, and instead of saying anything, you just started your walk of shame.  McCree fell into step beside you,

“So,” the cowboy nudged you, “what happened?” McCree waggled his eyebrows ineffectually.  Laughing at him, you tried to brush it off, as if not having much happen was exactly what you expected to have happen.  McCree remained unconvinced, continuing to needle you as you walked across base in your slept in clothes.  After arriving at your room, you nudged McCree in, shutting the door behind him quickly.

“Nothing happened,” you turned to McCree, the joking laughter draining from his face.

“What? How could nothing have happened?” the astonishment in his voice made you feel vindicated and even more disappointed at the same time.

“We just...talked.  It was all going ok and then…” you trailed off, but McCree picked up the thread.

“Then you got scared that your size was a turn off, didn’t you?” his words seared across the room making you wince.  For a long time you didn’t look at the man, trying to formulate an answer.

“Yes,” you gave in, “I just… when we were in the heat of the moment, it felt fine, but then after that heat had time to settle, it all just....”

“Darlin’,” McCree began, but you cut him off.

“Look, Jesse, I know I’m not… attractive.  I’m the fat researcher whose tongue is too sharp for her size.  I know that no one likes me-” you stopped, the words choking your throat.  It wasn’t true, even as you spoke, you knew that what you were saying couldn’t be true because you had real evidence to contradict it.  Sitting next to Jamison, all muscle and sinew, made you certain that the heat and need from earlier had been transitory and misplaced.  You knew you were contradicting yourself, that Jamison had clearly not been turned off by your body, but the confident facade you put up began to crumble around people who you were interested in.  You were looking at your feet, trying not to cry from your confusion, when McCree came up to you, wrapped you in his arms, and let you burst into tears.

If this had been a romantic novel, your tears would have been delicate, beautiful, even.  Since it wasn’t, they were the tears that are cried by people who don’t allow themselves to cry often.  There was snot involved.  McCree didn’t say a word, just let you cry yourself out.  Then he led you to your bed, tucked you in, and let you sleep.  

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 6

I wanted to give you all SOMETHING after the long week.  Lovies you make me very happy and I am so glad I get to share this silly weird story with you!  This one is a bit short, but I am working on more; I just wanted to make sure you got something :)

As always, like, reblog, comment; my wretched writer’s soul needs more fuel than coffee and expensive cookies can provide!

Junkrat hissed as he eased back, causing you to jolt away, thinking you had squished him.

“Oh, sorry, I’m too heavy for that,” you tried to move back, only to have Junkrat wrap an arm around your waist.

“Nah,” Junkrat winced as he shifted again, “not you, darl, not you.”  

“But,” you sat back a bit, it was difficult since Junkrat had somehow slid a leg between yours, “you must be hurting, do you want me to--”

You were cut off as Junkrat pulled you in for small kisses.

“It’s,” kiss, “just,” kiss, “a couple,” kiss, “of,” kiss, “broken ribs,” he went in for a fifth kiss but you backed up, concern darkening your eyes.

“Broken ribs?!” you did move then, shifting to stand next to the couch, helping Junkrat to sitting, “you have broken ribs? Shouldn’t you be in the medical wing?”

“I came from there, they told me to rest,” Junkrat looked at you, his eyes full of sheepishness and embarrassment, “so, here I am.”

“I don’t think that… what we were doing counts as resting,” you moved to walk away, Junkrat’s hand grabbed yours as he stood to follow.

“So be gentle,” he turned you around and sat on the couch.  He pushed a few pillows behind him for support, then pulled you down so you were straddling him.  You quaked with nerves and arousal.  You weren’t sure what to do, but Junkrat seemed to sense that as he moved his omnic arm to slide under your shirt to stroke your back.  The cool metal of his hand caused you to shiver closer to him, and he groaned as your chest brushed against his.  

“Darl,” Junkrat whispered, his breath hissed out, his other hand pulling at your hip.  He rutted against you, trying to bring you closer, the loose pants you’d been wearing easily accommodating his movements.  His thigh dragged against the apex of your legs, reigniting the ardor that had been tamped down with the news of his broken ribs.  Feeling the friction, you chased the sensation, grinding down on his thigh.  Later you would be surprised at how muscular the lanky man was, but for now you simply groaned as Junkrat sucked at your throat.  

Suddenly it became imperative that Junkrat was lying down.  Standing, he started to protest, only to see the look in your eyes as you shifted him to actually lay on the couch.  You crawled over him, settling yourself over his hips.  You felt him then, hard and thick against you, and you ground against him.  Junkrat let out a growl as he lifted his hips to buck against you.  Then he brought up his knee, causing you to overbalance.  You caught yourself but now you were leaning over him, your breasts just grazing his chest.  One of Junkrat’s hands slid under your shirt to palm your breast through your bra while the omnic one shifted, never staying in one spot for long.  The man’s hand encompassed your breast, his thumb and forefinger working over your pebbled nipple.  

The pinch caused a jolt through your body, a needy whimper escaping from your lips.  As if captivated by the sound, Junkrat gazed at your lips, tweaking your nipple a second time.  Then his omnic hand pushed up your shirt, pinching the back of your bra to unclip it.  Or at least that was the idea, but it didn’t work.  Giggling, Junkrat tried to simply pull your bra off of you.

“Wait, wait,” you giggled, unsure if you wanted to take your shirt off, but Junkrat didn’t wait for your embarrassment to pass, lifting your shirt to suck and nibble through your bra at your breasts.  You choked back a whimper, your hands twisting behind you to unhook your bra.  Junkrat’s hands tweaked your nipples before sucking and biting at them.  He sat up on the couch, pushing you so that you were laying down and he was above you, one knee between your thighs.  The tables had turned and Junkrat had taken control.  Gentleness be damned, apparently.

Lying back, your breasts gently sloshing to the sides, you felt Junkrat’s lips and teeth at your ear.  Then you felt his hard leg driving against you, the friction of your pants teasing at your clit.  He shifted away and you whined, wrapping your leg around Junkrat’s non-peg leg.  Junkrat’s hand crept down, slipping between your pants and your skin.  Initially, you tensed, not sure what he would think when he found you went natural.  You needn’t have worried; he skillfully maneuvered his fingers through your curls, slowly teasing your lower lips apart.  Junkrat’s mouth hovered above yours, his eyes intense as he watched the effect he was having on you play across your face.

One callused finger stroked up and down your damp slit at an excruciatingly slow pace.  Each caress teased your clit a bit more, each brush dipped the finger a little further into you.  One finger became two, which became three fingers in a thick triangle as Junkrat finger fucked you with shallow, tantalizing thrusts.  Finally sinking his fingers entirely into you, he stilled, only his thumb pushing and rubbing around your clit with amazing dexterity.  A small, delicate orgasm, a whispered promise of the pleasure Junkrat could evoke in you, shimmered around your body.  Your pussy clenched and sucked at his fingers as if it wanted to pursue another orgasm.

Your hands went to Junkrat’s belt, his lips on yours in a breathless attempt to strip him of his shorts when there came a heavy knock at your door.  The familiar rhythm indicated almost immediately who was visiting.

“Hey, sugar, how’re ya doin’?”  McCree’s voice filtered through the door, “Thought maybe you wanted to get some grub tonight, maybe see that movie we were talking about?”

You frantically pushed at Junkrat’s chest, the big lug didn’t move, hardly even acknowledged your actions.  Instead the junker just looked down at you and then glanced at his hand, which was still in your pants.  Seizing his wrist in your hands, you dragged his hand out of… you.  Pushing his injured ribs a bit (you felt bad, but he simply wouldn’t budge) you stood up and threw on your shirt as he gasped in pain.  

Opening your door, you peaked through the gap, hoping that Junkrat understood you didn’t want your friend discovering just how close you were to doing...whatever it was you were doing just then.  

“Hey, Jesse,” you were pleased your voice was as calm as it was.  You didn’t sound at all like you were two minutes away from fucking Junkrat into next week, “when did you wanna get food?”

“Uh, now, shug,” McCree looked at you like you had about three heads before continuing, “Thought we could go to that new steakhouse and gorge ourselves on their prime rib.  What do ya say?”

“Mmm..,” you hedged a bit, trying to figure out how to give McCree a clue without drawing him an anatomical diagram, “how does, um, tomorrow sound?  I… Just woke up from a nap, and, uh… Yeah, I, uh, need to do some...laundry.”

Laundry?! That was the best you could come up with???  Oh, well, it would have to do.  McCree gave you a look that said ‘laundry, yeah right,’ but all he did was nod and say, “Sure thing, sugar.  You have a nice night doing…,” he paused for a sarcastically long time, “laundry.”

Shutting the door, you rested your head against the cool paint of the doorframe.  Crisis… well not averted, but delayed at least.  You sighed and turned to Junkrat.  Who was just coming out of the bathroom, a towel in his hands.  Unsure of what to say, you said it anyway.

“Do you want t-” but Junkrat cut you off.

“So, you’re going out with McCree, then?”  The tone was casual but his body language spoke differently.

“No,” you started, only to have him jump in again.

“Oh, so that wasn’t a date you set up for tomorrow with him?” the slightest shake to his voice gave you a clue to his feelings, even if he wasn’t going to say anything.

“No, it was a dinner.  With a friend,” suddenly you felt like you’d completely lost the plot, “you know, if I were to go out on a date, I’d want it to be with you.”

That seemed to cool the temperature considerably as Junkrat dropped the hand towel on to a side table.  He dragged his hands through his hair, fidgeting and shifting, clearly unsure what to do now.  You weren’t sure either; your body was still aroused, your skin feeling hyper aware of every move Junkrat made, but your mind was a bit overwhelmed with the last 5 minutes of interactions.  The rumbling in your stomach made up your mind for you.  You had to eat something.

You walked over to the little kitchenette that every Overwatch room sported.  The higher the agent, the better the amenities, but no room was completely bare.  You opened the fridge and took a look at the depressing contents.  As far as a meal went, you might be able to “make” some toast with… no butter.  Nice.  Clearly it was way past time to go shopping.  A chuckle made itself known as you stared at your barren fridge.  You turned to see Junkrat not quite concealing a smile from you.

“Not much of a cook?” the question was innocent enough, but you knew better.

“No, Junkrat, I’m not,” you noticed his slight wince when you said ‘Junkrat’ but thought nothing of it, “are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not too shabby,  Even Roadie says I grill a damn fine burger,” a smile glinted in his eyes as he come closer to you, “how ‘bout it?”

He held out his mechanical hand to you, and you felt like maybe you were saying more than just ‘yes’ to a burger with him.  But that didn’t matter just now.  Right now, you were going to have dinner with a damn fine junker.

[soldierkiara]

Could you please write a thing where Reader is Junkrat's younger brother, and reader gets shot and is dying in his arms?

“Y/N, ready to go?” You beamed up at your older brother from where he stood in the doorway. He had a heist planned, and for the first time he had agreed to let you come too. It had taken literal years of begging, but Jamison finally figured you were old enough to come. 

“I’m ready!” You were beyond excited to finally help your brother in his heists. You weren’t allowed to do much; you were the getaway driver. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

You got in the car, parking a few blocks away from the bank.

“Alright, y/n, we’ll be right back. You get ready. If any blokes come to talk to ya, pop ‘em. Got it?”

You nodded seriously. “Go get ‘em Junkie!” You cheered as he got out of the car. You waited anxiously. It was quarter to one. The heist was to begin at ten to one. Junkrat and his crew were to be done by 1pm. You were to be outside the bank at 12:58 exactly. No earlier, no later.

And you were. You were sitting outside the bank at 12:58pm. You watched the bank, waiting for your brother to exit with the money. 

But at 1pm, he still wasn’t out. 

By 1:05, you were nervous. 

By 1:07, the police sirens were just down the street. 

You exited the car, sprinting across the street into the bank. People were on the ground, a child crying and clinging to her mother. “Junkie!” You shouted, looking around for him. You didn’t see your brother or any of his men. 

A wave of relief washed over you as you saw his head poke out from behind one of the counters.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you bastard? Get back to the car!” He yelled, still pining the teller to the ground. 

The sirens were loud, and you heard shouting outside of the bank. 

You didn’t understand why they were yelling at you. You didn’t have any weapons to put down. You didn’t want to get on the ground. Can’t they see you’re busy?

You blinked as pain exploded in your stomach, in your leg, in your chest. You crumpled to the ground, static and screaming filling your ears. You were vaguely aware of hands under your armpits, pulling you to safety behind one of the counters. Your eyes felt heavy, your body unusually light. You felt yourself get pulled out of the building, more gunshots being fired inside the bank. You were shoved into the car as it sped off, the sirens fading soon after. 

“You goddamn fucking idiot!” Junkrat shouted in your face, pulling you into his arms. “I told ya to stay in the fuckin’ car. Why were you there? Why didn’t you listen! WHY DIDN’T YOU LISTEN?!” He buried his face in your neck, pressing his hands on the wounds on your chest and on your stomach.

“Did.. Did you get the money?” You choked a little, blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah. Yeah we got it.” He laughed a little, brushing the hair from your face. “I told you to stay there. Why didn’t you listen to me?” 

“You….You took long-longer..” You closed your eyes, your breaths becoming ragged. 

“No.” Your cheek stung as he slapped you, your eyes opening as you let out a groan of pain. “You need to stay awake. You can’t die on me, you bastard.” He held you close to him, not caring about the blood that soaked his clothes. 

“I love you, Junkie. Thank..Thank you for letting me help you..” You smiled at him and touched his face, leaving a bloody handprint on his cheek. “All I’ve ever wanted was to help you. I..I can die happy knowing.. I was able to help my big brother Junkie.” You smiled, your hand dropping to your side. Junkrat watched as the light left your eyes, as your head drooped to the side. 

He watched as his baby brother died. Because of him.

If he had just said no, you would still be alive. 

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 5

Jeez, five parts, guys?!?!? And I’m still not done, this is ridiculous!  I hope you like it! No new nsfw, just a mention of the last part’s nsfw.  

As always, please like/comment/reblog if you like it to feed my writerly soul and keep the writings going!

Junkrat was never very stoic during a mission, or ever, really, but it was bad this time.  Even for someone with as much chaotic energy as Junkrat, this was ridiculous.  He kept pacing, waiting for the mission to actually start and trying not to think about what you were doing.  Or who you were doing.  No!  You wouldn’t be with someone else.  Would you?

He couldn’t keep thinking this way.  Junkrat tried to focus on the upcoming attack, but his brain kept going to you.  Explosions rattled around him, but he still was thinking about you.  Were you thinking of him?  It didn’t matter, he had a mission to rock.  

It was so unusual for Junkrat to be so distracted that even his teammates noticed.  Roadhog sensed it immediately, but by the end of the attack it was clear to everyone.  The pyromaniac was muttering to himself through the whole fight.  Every so often your name came up, but mostly it was just questioning.  Hana noticed that he hadn’t been nearly as competitive as usual, neglecting their rivalry.  Similarly, Zenyatta had never seen Junkrat injured so many times.  Typically Zenyatta would heal the junker a few times per mission as the lanky man was pretty adept at finding health packs when needed.  However, this fight resulted in Zenyatta’s almost constant watch of Junkrat.

By the skin of their teeth, the team succeeded.  No one said anything on the way back to base, but Junkrat could feel their eyes on him.  Even still, his mind went back to you.  Junkrat knew that he needed to focus, but he couldn’t help it.  Despite kissing you and enjoying a great date, Junkrat wasn’t sure about you.  He wanted to know if you were interested, really interested, in him.  The idea that someone he wanted would want him in return was… new.  Junkrat opened his mouth to ask how he should find out if you “like-liked” him when they returned to base.  Instead of asking, he simply limped his way back to his room, trying not to wonder where you were on the way.

When the team arrived you were deep in research mode.  Morrison had begun giving you different responsibilities which were more geared toward research that would aid Overwatch and less about finding the random things members wanted.  You would still do that, you were the girl who could find just about anything after all, but you would be doing more research now.  The announcement that a team was back broke your concentration.  Trying to block out your hope that it was the team Junkrat was with, you viciously pulled your mind away from Junkrat and back to the work at hand.

Your new research was devoted to a topic regarding the streamlining of chemical compounds needed for the healers to do their thing.  You weren’t a chemist, and only the trained scientists would do the actual work for it, but you were able to look through the data and find what was superfluous and what merited further inquiry.  Nevertheless, you were hoping that you might have time to deepen your knowledge and understanding of Junkrat’s frag grenades and pressure bombs.  You couldn’t help wondering how you could improve the man’s attack and defense approaches.

The team had been back for at least a half an hour when you finally roused yourself from your reading.  You’d found some interesting information regarding organic compounds versus synthetic ones, but you still needed to go through it with a fine tooth comb, ensuring that what you presented was in a logical order.  You stretched, quickly pulling your top down to cover your exposed belly.  It was so unfair that nearly everyone at Overwatch was not only gorgeous but also in amazing physical condition.  You knew that many of them worked hard to keep themselves ready for action, but it didn’t change the fact that you were the chubby research girl, no matter how much you liked research.  Moving around, you gathered up your stuff with a yawn.  Finally checking the time, you realized how late it was.  

You rushed back to your room to put your things away and hurry off to get a late supper when you saw him.  Junkrat was slumped on the floor outside your room, peg leg bent and elbow resting on his knee.  He other leg was sprawled across the hall, and his head was in his hand.  He glanced up as you approached and then struggled to stand.  Once there, he held out his hands, taking the bulk of your materials from you and standing patiently while you opened your door.  Junkrat even waited until your told him to come in.  It was then that you finally got a good look at him.

He was a mess: his hair was more disheveled than usual, he looked exhausted, and he had a myriad of bruises and scrapes.  You noticed that he moved carefully, too, as if compensating for some injury or pain.  Taking your things from him, you gazed at him.

“What?” Junkrat looked confused and a little hunted.

“I just… you look tired,” you said, biting your tongue in order not to say ‘and I want to jump your bones, hope you don’t mind,’ to the mix.  That didn’t seem like the right move after just one date.  You colored as you remembered your desperation the other night after you’d spent time with Junkrat.  It had been a few days since, but you were still a little shocked at yourself.  It wasn’t that you didn’t masturbate, it was just that you had never cum so hard on your own before.  That desire had flared up again when you saw Junkrat on the ground.  You set your research materials down, and gazed at him again.  It wasn’t just a sexual desire for him, you thought.

Oh, he was hot, for sure, and you definitely wanted him.  But you had been watching, covertly as you could, how he worked, how he interacted with others.  It was interesting.  You were starting to get to know his moods and emotions just from his facial expressions.  Your favorite was when he was deep in thought and concentration.  When Junkrat was incredibly focused, a bomb could go off beside him and he wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, kinda,” the Aussie muttered, snapping you out of your thoughts, not quite making eye contact with you.

“Do you wanna sit down?” You gestured toward your couch, trying to make it clear you wanted him to stay without coming off as desperate.

Junkrat sat down on the couch and looked up at you.  His expression was so pleading that you immediately sat next to him.  The look in his eyes was like he wished you could read his mind.  You were both quiet for several minutes until finally Junkrat broke the silence.

“I like you, you know?” he grimaced at his own directness.  He knew he wasn’t the most tactful, but he had hoped for a bit better than that, even from himself.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “um, more than just friends, right?” God, you hoped more than friends.

“Yeah,” he agreed with you, and you let out breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“I like you, too, you know.  More than friends,” you saw his eyes widen at this admission.

“Really?” He glanced at you then looked down at his hands.

“Yeah,” you smiled, was he really that surprised?

“Um, you don’t have to say that, just because I like you,” Junkrat looked like a man trying to figure out where the catch is.  You just steadily gazed at him, wondering how he could think you were only saying it, after… everything.

“I’m not,” you weren’t sure where this sentence was going, “I’m saying it because…”

You paused, the silence stretching out.

“Because?” Junkrat turned to you, his leg jiggling with nervous energy.

One heartbeat.  Two.  On the third you lunged, throwing yourself at Junkrat.  You weren’t sure what you were thinking, but you pressed against him, kissing him.  Junkrat’s arms went around you, holding you as he fell back against the arm of the couch.  You broke off before the kiss could be deepened, suddenly realizing that you had just thrown yourself at Junkrat.

“Um,” you sat back, wondering what to do, “sorry.”

“Sorry?” Junkrat shifted, turning to face you with his whole body.  He took your hand, pulling you to him, “I liked it, darl’.”

And then he kissed you.  And kissed you.  And kissed you.

[kaylamoonbeam]

I've been watching way too much Ouran High School Host Club while writing my Junkrat fic.

It's ok, I'm in love love with Junkrat!

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 3

So here is part three :) Still SFW (I know, I know, how weird) and I hope you enjoy! Please like/reblog/comment/something so that I know that you all want to see more! This one is rather short, but I wanted to share it with you anyway

Barry had stopped going to training completely.  For the past three days he had spent nearly every waking hour in your company.  It was getting to be ridiculous, but it was a public space, what could you do?  At the end of the fourth day you were pretty exhausted.  It had been full of difficult orders, full of misplaced items, full of impatient people.  You didn’t even notice that Barry, who had been following you throughout the day, was following you back to your room, too.  It wasn’t until you opened your door that he made himself known.

“What the hell is that fucking junker’s shit still doing in your room?” Barry’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, but you flinched anyway.  He was close to you and you hadn’t realized he was behind you.

“What?” you were confused, twisting around to see him glaring daggers at Junkrat’s gramophone.  It was still in your room, what with Junkrat reverting back to avoiding you.

“That fucking junker left his fucking junk in your room! What a fucking asshole!”  Barry kept trying to push you into your room, “c’mon, I’ll get rid of it for you.”

“No, stop!” you shouted at Barry, “I love that and it’s--”

Your voice was cut off as someone twisted Barry by the shoulder and that same someone’s fist collided with Barry’s jaw.  He went down, stumbling only a step before he fell.  Unfortunately he grabbed your arm as he went, somehow twisting you under him to cushion his fall.  You landed heavily, your free arm twisted in an ugly way, your head crunching painfully against the floor.  The comotion had caught the attention of several other agents, including Morrison, who came running.

Barry was lifted off of you, all the while screaming that he had been attacked.  You tried to sit up, your twisted arm sending fiery pain through your body as every shift caused agony.  Zarya came up behind you, supporting you so you could lean against her.

Stars in your eyes, you looked at Barry who was being restrained by McCree.  Wincing, you looked at… Junkrat?  Roadhog’s massive hand was on his friend’s shoulder as Junkrat panted, looking from Barry to you.  When he met your eyes his face went from furious to concerned in a moment.  You could hear Jack talking, telling McCree to take Barry away and shouting at Junkrat for being so irresponsible and acting out.  You didn’t get a chance to do anything before Zarya was lifting you up and towing you to the medical wing.  

Lucio was the healer on duty.  Since it wasn’t an injury from being in action and since you weren’t an active agent, you weren’t treated with the immediate-acting medicines that were reserved for the “heroes.”  Instead, you were treated for a concussion, your arm was set and you were told to rest.  You wouldn’t be allowed to leave until the next morning.  Sitting on the medical bed, you rested your eyes.  Your headache was just starting to ebb when shouting brought it back in force.  Opening your eyes, you watched impassively as Barry was manhandled by McCree onto a gurney.  A massive bruise was already blooming across his jaw where Junkrat had punched him.  He was still yelling, blood and spittle flecking out of his mouth, when Lucio rolled over to him.  The man knocked away the medic’s attempts to help, even spitting at him.  Eventually, Moira was the one who had to deal with him.  Her no-nonsense attitude meant that Barry was dealt with quickly and sent off.

Junkrat was the next to come in, rather more subdued than the other man.  As his hand was treated, Junkrat wouldn’t even look at you.  You watched him until your eyes began to droop.  As sleep overtook you, you could have sworn you heard Junkrat saying, “I’m sorry.  I know I shouldn’t have hit him, but…” and another voice saying “I know, it’s her.”  Then sleep won and you were blissfully unaware of anything.  

When you woke in the morning it was to Junkrat sitting in a chair next to your bed, his flesh and bone hand wrapped in bandages holding your uninjured hand.  His head, blond hair and bald spots, rested on the edge of the bed.  Junkrat was asleep.  You shifted, and as you did Angela saw you moving.  Quietly she came over to check on you.

“He was here all night, you know,” she said, “even after we told him he was free to go.  He just said he wasn’t leaving you alone, despite the fact that you were hardly alone in the medical wing.”

“Is he in trouble for hitting Barry?” you were concerned, not for Barry but for the man who even in his sleep was holding your hand.

“No, however Morrison and Reyes both wish to speak to you about Barry, when you feel up to it.”

Nodding, you slipped your hand from Junkrat’s, and slowly got up.  You were surprisingly sore as you walked to speak with the commanding men.  Still, aside from the ache in your arm, you felt pretty good.  Better than you would have if the junker hadn’t intervened.  Meeting with the men, you told them the same thing.  You weren’t shocked to hear that Barry said he hadn’t been doing anything wrong.  You were surprised, however, to hear that he said you were his girlfriend and that you wanted him to get rid of the junker’s gramophone.  You set them straight, explaining that you were not in any way in a relationship with Barry that went beyond being colleagues.

“What? No,” you gasped at the suggestion, “no way, I have no desire to date anyone but-” you stopped yourself and finished lamely, “I have no desire to date Barry.”

Apparently Junkrat’s punch had knocked both some sense into Barry and a few teeth loose. With very bad grace, he left, told his services were not and would never be needed by Overwatch. You didn't want to think about what would have happened if Junkrat hadn't intervened but you did anyway. Shivering with distaste, you walked away from the scene Barry was causing as he was escorted out.

After you'd left Junkrat in the medical wing to talk to Morrison and Reyes you hadn't seen the junker again. Since you weren't allowed to work until your arm healed, you wandered around base or sat in your room. The gramophone still sat in your room along with most of the records. With your arm all fucked up you couldn't take it back to Junkrat and initially you hoped that he would come to you, but he didn't. If it weren't for the periodic explosions you could hear you would have sworn he wasn't on base.

Finally, the waiting became to much. One morning, early, just after standard training had begun, you decided enough was enough. Grabbing Winston from his coding class, you had him put the gramophone on a rolling cart. Letting him get back to training, you wheeled the cart to the office where the P/A system was set up.

Making sure that every room was included and every outdoor area would hear as well, you wheeled the cart over, ensuring that the P/A microphone would catch every sound, no matter how quiet. Queuing up the record, you started playing Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, focusing on the last five minutes or so. If this didn't get Junkrat’s attention them nothing would. It would be a long wait, but you didn't mind. Leaving the cart you wandered around to see how people were reacting.

Many agents were oblivious for a while, only looking up when the music refused to be ignored. Some grinned others looked confused. McCree saw you and gave you a thumbs up. As the first of the cannons began to blast you slowly made your way back to the gramophone. You didn't want to hurry, but you arrived sober than you expected anyway.

And then you waited.

Junkrat was testing new bombs. It wasn’t really necessary from the ammo standpoint, but it was something he needed to do for himself.  He was trying to keep his mind off of you, but even this wasn’t working.  It was actually so bad that many of his bombs were actually duds.  

He couldn’t help where his mind was going.  When Junkrat had woken up in the infirmary you were gone and he was alone.  He saw you talking to Morrison and Reyes and had moved to talk to you, but had stopped when Reyes gave him a sharp look.  The barely noticable shake of his head left Junkrat confused.  He left, unsure how to act when he saw you again.  So he made it easy; he didn’t see you and he didn’t have to figure out how to feel or act.

So deep in thought was the pyro that he didn’t even notice that there was music playing as he worked.  However the boom of the cannons broke him from his focus when it happened a bit after his bomb went off.  The double concussion of noise confused Junkrat for a moment.  He glanced at Roadhog who simply pointed to the loudspeaker.  Refocusing on the speaker, Junkrat listened carefully as the music finally reached him.  It didn’t take him long to recognize just what the music was and just who was playing it.

“Roadie,” Junkrat shouted at his friend, “Roadie, you think that’s for me?”

Roadhog simply walked to his friend, nodded, and pointed him in the direction of the main base buildings.  That was all it took; Junkrat rushed as fast as his dot-and-carry gait could take him.

He saw you, sitting on a table while the music blared from the gramophone.  You were kicking your legs as you waited, gaze flitting between the ground and the music set up.  Junkrat ran a hand over his hair, as if that would change anything, and tried to get his pounding heart under control.  Then he made his way deliberately over to you.  When he was within 10 feet he croaked your name, causing you to look up.

In your eyes he saw the sorrow and confusion that had been dogging you.  As you slid off the table, your eyes were locked on his.  For a long moment you stood staring at each other.

“Junkrat?” You tried to say it but instead your voice came out as a whisper.  

“Hey, darl’” Junkrat said, not quite sure what he was saying.

“Are you… are you angry with me?” you’d barely got the words out before Junkrat had come to you, pulling you close to him.  

He gazed at you, eyes flitting between your own eyes and your lips.  Without waiting, Junkrat dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.  Surprisingly soft, tantalizingly tender, Junkrat’s kiss was quiet and subdued.  He was almost tentative, his hands staying on your shoulders, not pushing, not demanding, simply giving you everything he had in the kiss.

How to describe the mystery of a first kiss?