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kaylamoonbeam · 7 years

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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.

#junkrat #junkrat fic #junkrat x reader #junkrat's 1812 Overture #I'm such a tease

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kaylamoonbeam · 6 years

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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.

#junkrat #Junkrat fic #junkrat's 1812 Overture #junkrat x reader #not sure how I feel about this one #next one will be better #promise

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