suburbanjunkening
Next Door Junkers
Self indulgent RoadRat x Reader fics inspired by other Tumblrs' ideas.
19 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
begumls
Begüm Leman Sarı
hvidberglohmann16
The Love of Kring 684
junivivefrance-blog
Junivive Fr
xupxylxg
I'll Give You The Sun
Photo
Look at this art! it is adorable! Moreover, llook at that fic-link - it’s even MORE adorable! If you like RoadRat, you should maybe (definitely) think about giving it a read!
@roadratsecretsanta
I was @armatages ‘s secret santa ! I know you requested cuddly stuff but then I saw you were the author of one of my favorite roadrat fics Gaining Experience and I just HAD to draw something for it! I hope this is fluffy enough (if it’s not have no fear I plan on drawing more for this fic)! Also I gotta say I had fun imagining what their little avatars might look like. I don’t play many games outside of overwatch so I hope I did the designs justice.
914 notes
·
View notes
Text
idk if y’all americans and that know this, but in Australia instead of snow at christmas we get these lil shiny bugs everywhere and they’re attracted to the christmas lights and we call them christmas beetles
and despite being australian they don’t bite or anything they just crawl around on your hand and it’s such a good and pure feeling and yeah
114K notes
·
View notes
Text
Iron Man
Fear is learned. (warnings for references to past child abuse -- reader is very early teens here)
You weren’t used to the idea of fearing Omnics and Junkrat never thought to explain why you should.
The first time, you were hanging out near the entrance of the building Junkrat has currently scrounging in. It had been a long day, but at least you could sit in the shade this time while you waited. The sun was starting to go down and you knew your junker would be back soon.
You caught movement from the corner of your eye and flinched. Junkrat had told you over and over how dangerous other junkers were. You already knew how depraved “civilized” people could be, you didn’t want to see what might happen if some crazed, radioactive fuck got ahold of you. You scrambled to your feet and started to whistle out the alarm, but stopped yourself when you saw what it actually was.
It was an omnic. The model was different - it looked a little bulkier than you were used to and a lot more weathered, but it was still an omnic. It wasn’t a threat.
You watched as the omnic slowly approached you - it was missing one of its arms, the poor thing - and it never took it’s gaze from you. You wondered if it needed assistance and why it wasn’t speaking to you.
“Songbird?” From within, Junkrat sounded closer than you thought he’d be.
“It’s okay,” you called back softly, hating the way your voice echoed off the empty walls of places like this. “False alarm.”
He muttered as he made he way to you, but he sounded relieved under the frustration. You smiled a little. Junkrat was an odd one, but easily one of the coolest people you knew. He was -
Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of sun heated metal clamping around your upper arm. You yelped and tried to jump away, but the unforgiving grip held you in place.
It stood there, holding you prisoner as it did the omnic equivalent of staring you down. A whine started up from it’s chest area, like an engine reving up, and you answered it with a whine of your own, starting to feel panic build at the back of your throat.
“Oi! Hands off!” You had never heard Junkrat sound that viscous before and it only fed the fear building within you.
The omnic turned to face Junkrat and, as if it was responding to the aggression in his voice, its grip on your arm tightened painfully.
Junkrat skidded out into the open just as you cried out. There was something feral in his eyes and he only hesitated a moment before he launched himself at the machine.
The omnic released you immediately and the momentum of Junkrat’s impact carried both of them into the street a few feet away from you. You scrambled back into the doorway of the building you’d been waiting by before, eyes searching the streets for any signs of further threats.
Junkrat snarled and cursed as he tumbled with the machine, finally pulling himself free and flinging himself in your direction.
A bomb went off with a bang that reflected off the empty walls of the city, followed by the faint tinkling of metal bits raining down to the ground, and then the only sound left was the two of you panting for breath.
Junkrat scrambled to his feet and launched himself at you. His eyes were still wild and you couldn’t help but flinch away from him. He backed you up against the nearest wall, but the hands that ran over you were gentle. He lingered over the bruise forming on your upper arm, but seemed satisfied otherwise.
“You said it was clear. You said false alarm.” His voice was tight, his words were stilted. It was so unnatural for him to be so quiet.
“I - I - I didn’t -” Your words choked up in your throat, your pulse just as rapid now as it was when you first realized that the omnic meant you harm. Was Junkrat mad at you? Was he going to hurt you? You didn’t know! You didn’t -
Junkrat jerked you into his chest and closed his arms around you. Your hands clung to his harness and you released a shuttering breath.
“I didn’t know.” Your voice sounded so small. You had to make him understand. You wouldn’t survive out here without him. You didn’t want him upset with you. You didn’t want him to leave. “I thought... I thought it was just - just an omnic.”
“It was.” One hand, his soft, human hand, released you and started running through your hair. “Was an omnic. It’s dead now.”
“I didn’t know,” you whispered again, desperate to understand.
“I know,” Junkrat’s voice was a little more calm now, but his grip was still tight. “You do now, though. Next time you see one of them death bots, you high tail it out of there, you got me? You send up the alarm and you do whatever you have to do to get out.”
You nodded and shivered in Junkrat’s arms, tightening your grip on his harness. You weren’t used to the idea of fearing Omnics, but you were always a fast learner.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rhythm of the War Drum
It’s gonna get darker and less healthy the further it goes (no violence directed at reader, but possessiveness and encouraging/manipulating reader to be dependent - I’m trying to see what I feel comfortable writing)... (also looooong, but I couldn’t figure out where to cut it)
“For now” seemed to stretch on and soon months had passed.
Junkrat taught you how to survive - food, water, shelter, and scrap. He showed you what was good, what was bad, and what was never to be messed with. You were a quick study, and it helped that you were clever. The only thing you had trouble with was water. You were always thirsty, it seemed, and it took a while for it to sink in that most water you came across, even rain water, was lethal.
You weren’t keen on touching him, at first.
He respected the boundaries you set up, only breaking them to keep you safe, but he tried to warn you, too. You weren’t dressed for the Never Never, day or night. He built up the fires as best as he could to fight the surprising cold that nights brought, but they didn’t always last and you were always so cold by the time dawn came.
He was more than happy to start cuddling with you at night. He was a furnace of heat and didn’t mind letting you rest your head on his shoulder, either - you were finally able to get some decent rest.
Junkrat didn’t mind the cold, himself - he’d lived out in the wilds so long he didn’t remember anything else. No - what got to him was how good it felt, to be touched willingly, gently, affectionately.
Growing up in the shadows of the corpse of the Omnium was rough. Junkers weren’t a soft people and while he’d had vague memories of what his mum and dad had been like, experience had taught him that touch was like any other commodity - hard won and usually at someone else’s expense.
Welcomed touch, freely given physical affection - it was a luxurious concept to Junkrat. It was something he became addicted to fast.
Junkrat wasn’t stupid. He knew that being an ass and making demands wouldn’t do anything to encourage the affection you were starting to show him. You still weren’t talking much, but you were smiling more freely now and he didn’t want to loose that.
He started small, seeing what you’d allow him, but always asking before touching. He stuck to what you gave permission for and backed off when you denied him. He didn’t like that, being denied, but he was surprisingly patient when he had to be.
He did everything he could think of to encourage you to touch him more. Nights you were more agreeable, he was more generous with his share of food and water. If you were generous in the morning he would deliberately take routes that were more shaded or stop for rest breaks more often.
Gradually, you started relaxing more around him and he relished every sign that you were.
His breath caught in his throat the first time that you laughed. He drank in the sound of your happiness, the way the light shone in your eyes, the way you leaned on him while you struggled to catch your breath.
After that, he made it a mission to make you laugh as often as he could - greedy for every reaction.
Best of all, though, was when you sang.
More than the words, it was the way your voice sounded - the stories you told and the emotions you showed. Your voice was so gorgeous. Any time you sang it left his heart beating hard in his chest and his gut feeling tight in the best of ways.
There wasn’t a single song you sang that he knew, but he didn’t seem to care. You had his full attention any time you wanted, doubly so if you were trying to teach him the lyrics.
Singing was a great way to get anything you wanted, from him, really. A favorite food, no matter how hard it was to come across, more water, an actual bedroll - he even got you ice, once.
The only thing he wouldn’t do, no matter how much you begged or how hard you cried, was take you into the settlements.
“ ‘S too dangerous, Songbird,” he would murmur, stroking his soft hand over your face or through your hair before pulling you close. “You don’t understand what junkers are like. ‘S dangerous enough for me and I know what I’m doing here, yeah?”
“Junkers are vicious, nasty cunts,” he’d muttered to you another time, wincing while you used what meager supplies the two had to patch him up. They had jumped him on his way back to you and while he hadn’t lost anything, he wasn’t in very good shape.
“Anything you have that might be worth something, they’ll take it from you - and everything’s worth something out here. If you’ve got anything you want to keep, you’ve got to hide it away and be willing to die protecting it because sure as fuck there’s some drongo out there willing to kill ya for it.” He hissed as you doctored a burn he’d taken from one of his own bombs.
You frowned and looked longingly in the direction he’d just come from. You were the closest he’d ever allowed you to come to a settlement and the fact made him nervous as fuck, but he wasn’t going to risk you leaving cover until it got darker.
He felt something twist in his chest at the expression on your face. He hated that there was something you wanted that he couldn’t give you, but he couldn’t bring himself to back down from this one rule.
He felt around in his pockets until he found the treat he’d been so careful to save. You froze as he brought the cookies out, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and awe. You hadn’t had anything with sugar since before the plane crashed.
“Figure my Songbird deserves something sweet every now an’ again.” Junkrat played at being casual even as he felt his face heat up. His heart pounded and that tightness in his chest loosened up as the sorrow left your face.
You were so careful, opening the package, and you offered the first one to him. His heart stuttered in his chest.
It stuttered again when you all but moaned around your first bite.
Junkrat’s eyes were intense on you, mouth suddenly dry.
There was no question in his mind, you were the best, softest, most pure piece of anything that he had ever been able to call his own and he would do anything, anything, to keep you.
Junkers were viscous, greedy cunts, after all, and they kept what they scavenged.
#Songbird#OC#Junkrat#Junkrat/OC#pre Roadhog#possessive#unhealthy relationship#Rhythm of the War Drum#Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drum#A Perfect Circle
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Get Free
Not everything can be fluff, right? Sometimes it feels good to ache a little. Junkrat’s pov here, reader is male/queer (I don’t have it sorted out tbh). Inspired, as always, by the art of folks much more talented that me. (I’ll link them as I find them again)
It was a plane crash that started it - a great mechanical beaut that fell right out of the sky to land at Junkrat’s feet like a prezzie. He was close enough to have first dibs, a rare event for him.
He wasn’t expecting to find any survivors, but there you were, sitting in the dirt, staring at the fire and the wreckage, oddly calm in a way that set him on edge.
“Strewth, you alive, mate? Nothin’ broken? Dunno how you managed that!”
You turned your face to him, but the action was slow. Shock, then, he decided as you blinked up at him. You looked scuffed and bruised, sure, but he didn’t see any blood anywhere and nothing on you looked like it shouldn’t. He didn’t figure he’d be much help to you, even if it was something else.
“ ‘M gonna go poke around, see what’s left that’s useful in there. You give a holler if you see anyone else headin’ our way, ok?”
Being first on site meant he got his pick of the best bits, charred around the edges though they were. It was a good haul, but rather than take off immediately (the crash was bound to draw the bigger, meaner fucks sooner or later) he found himself lingering.
“Oi, mate? Think you can carry something?”
He could bring back even more if he got you to carry some, too. It wasn’t because he felt funny leaving you on your own out here. It was just business. You’d help him with a bigger haul and he’d make sure you were somewhere you might actually survive when he parted ways with you. Just business.
You followed him all day. You weren’t very fast, especially as the day got warmer, but you didn’t complain and you never asked to stop for a rest, so Junkrat wasn’t going to complain either. He filled the silence with chatter and jokes and songs, when he could remember them. All the noise seemed to do you some good - by the time he stopped to make camp, you were alert enough to look at him when he made a point to grab your attention.
“I was running.” Your eyes were hollow, locked on the fire he’d built up, and your voice was cracked.
The way you said it, something ugly sat heavy in Junkrat’s gut. You couldn’t be more than a few years younger than him and he was somewhere near seventeen, himself. He didn’t ask what it was you were running from. You didn’t offer the information and he didn’t want to know.
“The name’s Junkrat,” he broke the silence that tried to settle over the both of you. “You can tag along with me, for now.”
#Songbird#Junkrat#OC#hurt/comfort?#Get Free#Major Lazer#pre Roadhog#buckle up#this is gonna get dark pretty fast
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
good shit: when a character with a reputation for being selfish and uncaring gets injured while doing something to protect others
good shit: when they pretend they’re not injured and did nothing to protect anyone, because they want to keep up that selfish reputation
good shit: when the characters they were protecting only find out about any of this when the character collapses from the injuries they’re trying to hide
80K notes
·
View notes
Photo
106K notes
·
View notes
Photo
Non-Binary Roadhog Icons
(These are free to use credit appreciated but not necessary!)
67 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Jack: “Did you come here to die?”
Junkrat: “Nah mate, I came ‘ere yesterdie-”
Based on this. XD
And that’s how they got thrown out again…
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Junkers (i)
Head canons for our Junkers’ pov (because it was either this or never write again)
The heat from their latest heist was bad this time and they needed somewhere inconspicuous to cool their heels for a good while, maybe as long as a month or two.
Your neighborhood was perfect, few residents but respectable enough to be overlooked for any type of manhunt. Roadhog had an idea of which homes were more or less abandoned, but it was Junkrat who picked the place.
Seeing you out front of your place, mowing your lawn in shorts and a tank top had everything nothing to do with that decision at all.
Roadhog was Not Pleased, at first, but Junkrat seemed too preoccupied with figuring out your schedule and trying to catch glimpses of you to work on his explosives overly much, so ve decided the situation was acceptable.
Junkrat would not shut up about you. Would Not Shut Up. Roadhog was pretty sure ve could draw a picture of you based on Junkrat’s discriptions alone after a while. It got old fast, but the smaller junker was always rattling on about something - at least this way Roadhog could use your sleeping habits as a reason for Junkrat to keep relatively quiet at night.
It was Junkrat’s turn to bring in the trashcan from the curb - he had insisted on it. He had been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you and failing spectacularly for a whole week now. The sun had long gone down, though, and he had passed out waiting for his chance, so Roadhog figured it was up to ver to bring it in now.
Neither one of you had flashlights, but ve was used to working with minimal light and you weren’t. You weren’t paying attention, tripping over an upturned corner of sidewalk and surprising them both when you fell into vis massive gut.
Ve caught you out of reflex, hands gentle. Your eyes went wide and ve couldn’t help but notice how they sparkled in what little light was available. There was no fear in them, only surprise.
Ve righted you. You dipped your head and gave a little laugh, laced with embarrassment and gratitude. You thanked ver, apologizing for being clumsy, and there was just enough light for ver to catch the blush that crept across your cheeks.
Ve gave you a nod in response to your words and watched while you dragged your own trashcan back into your garage, glancing back at ver over your shoulder with curious, friendly eyes more than once. Ve waited until you were safe inside, completely out of site, before ve finished vis task.
Ve mulled over your reaction as ve reentered the house. You were polite and friendly. Your voice was lovely and your body language adorable. Most importantly, though, you hadn’t shown any fear of ver. Roadhog honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone ve bumped into in the dark hadn’t shown at least some nervousness. Ve felt an overwhelming fondness for you begin within ver and smiled behind vis mask.
#Next Door Junkers#Junkrat#Roadhog#pre RoadRat/Reader#Reader insert#NB Roadhog#head canons#because I wanted the junkers pov#but they wouldn't let me write a normal story#more to come
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Head Canons
(okay, here’s the thing - i LOVE reading from the junkers’ povs, but i’m having a very hard time figuring out how to write from their angle, so..... hcs are good? maybe i’ll come back and rewrite this later? no promises)
#Next Door Junkers#head canons incoming#because sometimes writing in that direction just doesn't work#will be more posts coming#soon i think#i hope#who knows
0 notes
Text
Trading gifts (iii)
The next week or two was rough for you. Two of your coworkers quit without warning and if felt like you were the one picking up all the slack. You pulled double shifts with short lunch breaks, on top of coming in on what should’ve been your days off. You dealt with so, so many customers who never cared how many hours you had already worked or how tired or hungry you were, they still expected you to be at your brightest and friendliest. Your feet started aching all the time and most days you were so exhausted by the time you got home that you barely had the energy to eat and shower before falling into bed. You didn’t even care about all the over time that was coming your way any more.
The little gifts you kept finding on your doorstep - they kept you from falling apart, if you were being honest with yourself.
Flowers one day, a little doll the next - a bracelet, the day after. Each day was something new. Some were made of soft, warm cloth, carefully stitched together. Others were beautifully sculpted metal. The flowers were always fresh - so bright and fragrant. Your neighbors had taken so much time and effort to to be kind to you, you could see the care that went into crafting or choosing each treasure. You felt so bad that you didn’t have the time to answer them in kind, but it was already so hard holding yourself together for work.
The last day of hell, the day the new hires had completed their training, you came home to two gifts.
On your door mat sat a plushie and a little crown. The plushie was an onion with a happy face and several squid-like arms. You had seen them before - you were pretty sure your youngest cousin watched the show they came from religiously, but you couldn’t remember what they were called. The fabric it was made from felt almost velvety under your hand and it was just the perfect size for you to cuddle. You pulled it into the crook of your arm, relishing the softness, before you lifted the crown into the light of the streetlamp. It was like a tiara, but more feral. The metal wasn’t the shiniest - there were spots that looked tarnished or maybe smudged with soot - and there were parts that looked sharp, almost jagged. There were other parts - like the wires that curled like vines or the careful placement of what might’ve been little shards of glass - that looked graceful and almost organic. It was beautiful.
It was too much. Both of them, they were just too much.
Your eyes stung as you sat down heavily on your front porch. Your breath kept catching in your throat as you clutched your two newest presents to your chest, but you weren’t crying. You weren’t the kind of person to get so worked up over such a little thing. Or things. Not that they were little, either - these gifts. And not just these two, but all the gifts they had been leaving.
You took one more hiccuping breath and pressed the plushie into your face, inhaling the faint smell of smoke. It didn’t count as crying if no one saw the tears, right?
#Next Door Junkers#Reader insert#Roadhog#Junkrat#but off screen#hurt#emotional distress#comfort is coming#sometimes we are strong#only until presented with kindness#life is a little rough right now#but it will get better#it has to#right?#Trading Gifts
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trading gifts (ii)
Two days later you were able to leave another treat for them - two small loafs of banana nut bread. You wrapped them up, waited for the sun to set, and then snuck over to their house. Just as you placed your newest gifts on their welcome mat, you heard what had to be their voices. One was pitched high, a little on the scratchy side, but loud and full of energy. You couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he must’ve been talking about a mile a minute. The other voice was lower than low, a deep rumble that you felt more than heard. It was impossible to make out what he said, but the other voice responded with a what could only be described as a cackle. You hid your grin behind your hand, as if it would give you away, and knocked loud on the door. The voices inside went silent and you sprinted back to your door as fast as you could. You giggled the whole way.
#Next Door Junkers#Junkrat#Junkrat's voice#Roadhog#Roadhog's voice#reader insert#so much fluff#but wait!#there's more!#Trading gifts
1 note
·
View note
Text
Trading gifts (i)
Three days after your introduction, you woke up to the cutest little sculptures on the welcome mat of your front porch. They were all made of bits and pieces of metal and wires, but one was a little pig and the other was the cutest mouse. There were no signs of anyone out and about on the street this early in the morning and the house next door was dark and silent, but it still left you grinning for the rest of the day.
#Next Door Junkers#Junkrat#Roadhog#but being sneaky#Reader insert#Trading gifts#not enough time for a big post#more to come
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
New Neighbors
It was a whole week before you realized anyone had moved in next door.
The area you lived in wasn’t great, not anymore. It was probably real nice, once upon a time. The homes were solidly built and the lawns were big. It wasn’t too far away from the city, either, so the commute wasn’t horrible, even though the hunt for parking spaces always was. Still, something must’ve changed, because the area was all but abandoned now.
Not that you were complaining, though. Non-prime real estate made for cheap, cheap rent, which meant you could afford to pay for necessities and student loans AND the occasional splurge.
Still, you were getting a little lonely. You’d been living out here for two or three months now and and you didn’t get many visitors. Your family and friends lived in the same metroplex, of course, but on the other side of the city, so visiting required having extra time, gas, and the patience to deal with the monstrous traffic that seemed to exist no matter what time of day or night you braved the highway. You had social media and text messaging (and phone calls and face time), of course, but it just wasn’t the same.
These neighbors, they were the first new people to move into the area since you got settled here and you were hoping that they’d be friendly.
You looked at the cookies you’d made and worried your lower lip between your teeth. Your mom would’ve had an extra basket to put them in, or at least a disposable tin. You hadn’t thought of that, though, so all the cookies were piled up in a clear, gallon sized plastic baggie. It was hard to bake for people you didn’t know, but the sour cream chocolate chip cookies (simple and not too sweet) had been your dad’s go-to any time your family had to bring treats to a function, so you figured they’d serve you well here, too.
Gathering your courage seemed to take a stupid amount of time (what if they weren’t interested in being buddy-buddy with their neighbors?), but you managed to make your way over to their house just after dinner time. The sun was starting to set as you knocked on the door and you let your eyes wander around the porch, taking in the similarities and the differences to your own. You glanced at one of the windows just in time to meet someone’s eyes - golden? - and the curtain fell back in place just before you heard a soft crash inside.
Your eyes widened and you brought a quick hand to your face to hide the grin that was forming. Someone must’ve slipped.
Just as you raised your fist to knock on the door again, it opened, revealing a giant of a man. He was big every which way - tall enough that he probably had to duck down to get through the door frame and wide enough that you were a little worried about how he got into the house in the first place. His hair was white, pulled up in a ponytail high on his head, and his tan skin looked weather-worn. He wore a white undershirt that barely covered his massive gut, what looked like cargo shorts, and his face was hidden behind shades and a surgical mask.
You blinked up at him and felt your cheeks start to warm up before recognition kicked in and you found yourself grinning again. “Oh! Sorry about the other night, didn’t mean to trip over you.” You ducked your head, remembering how clumsy you were. Luckily, the big guy had caught you easily enough. “You’re really stealthy, though, and I wasn’t exactly being smart, not using a flash light, huh?”
You waited a moment for any kind of reaction and were rewarded with a slight tilt of his head. Feeling encouraged, you pressed on.
You introduced yourself and held the out the bag of cookies to him. “I would’ve brought something over sooner, but I didn’t even realize anyone had moved in to this place,” you explained. “There’s not a whole lot of people living on this street, but I think it’s good for us to at least introduce ourselves to each other. Just, you know, to be friendly?”
This earned you a nod and one of his (huge) hands reached out to carefully take the bag of cookies from you.
“They’re sour cream cookies,” you beam up at him. “So they won’t be super sweet, but I added chocolate chips. If you like them, I can make them again. I put walnuts and pecans in mine, but I have a friend who likes them with blueberries, and honey instead of sugar.”
You realized you were rocking back on your heels and had to laugh at yourself a bit. It was a nervous habit of yours. You weren’t actually nervous, but this guy was a little hard to read and you weren’t sure if you were making a fool of yourself or not.
...Maybe you were a little nervous.
“Anyway, I live right next door,” you point out your house. “So if you need anything or you just feel like visiting, just stop by whenever. I’m usually home in the evenings.”
This time you got a thumbs up and you couldn’t help, but grin.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around, then? Have a good night!”
You got a nod for your troubles and he watched you walk back to your house. You glanced back to wave at him before you went inside and saw another person standing next to him.
This guy was almost as tall as the first, but all he wore was what looked like a worn, dirty pair of shorts. He was blond and much thinner than his friend, and looked like he could use a good bath. Maybe he was working on a project of some kind?
The new guy already had a cookie is in mouth and, when he saw you waving at him, his eyes got big and he seemed to freeze. The big guy waved back at you, though.
You let yourself into your home and covered your face with both your hands as soon as you closed the door.
You might be in trouble. Both of your new neighbors were cute.
#Next Door Junkers#Junkrat#Roadhog#Reader insert#New Neighbors#making friends#by the power of sour cream cookies#fluff#being shy
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
First Crime
Four... five... six... eight... twelve... shit.
You glance across the wide, empty space of the bank lobby. All the hostages are still grouped together at the teller station and omnic parts and scorch marks litter the floor. Jamie stands over by the entrance, where the doors have been flung open, alternating between peaking outside at the steadily increasing police forces and ducking back behind the wall to snicker.
“Ja- Junkrat!”
The tall, lanky man spares a glance and a wicked grin for you, then motions for you to join him.
You feel your smile grow to mirror his and run to him, careful to stay as much out of sight as you can. You’re a little short of breath when you reach him, but that‘s more from excitement and adrenaline than from physical effort.
As soon as you’re close enough, Jamie pulls you into a hot and soul-wrenching kiss and you forget all about breathing. You feel dazed when he pulls away, but not enough to miss the smirk on his face.
“Gotta stay professional on the job, sheila!” He’s peaking around the door frame again, but that doesn't hide the grin in his voice. His flesh hand is still tangled in the collar of your shirt, and his knuckles brush back and forth along your collar bone.“Ya can holler my name all ya like once we get back ta the safe house.”
You feel your face heat up, but a flash of moving color outside the door way reminds you of why you wanted his attention in the first place.
“The left side is swamped with cop cars!” Jamie’s attention is focused on you again and you don’t know why you’re smiling as you tell him the bad new. Maybe it’s because his own grin hasn’t faded yet. “Omnics and human,” you add. “They have the whole street blocked off.”
Jamie’s face lights up and he makes a sound that falls somewhere between a snicker and a giggle. “No worries, darl’.” He brings his knuckles up to trace your jawline, but doesn’t let go of your shirt to do it. “Exit strategy’s already in place. We’re just waitin’ on our ol’ pal ‘Hog ta finish up his part.”
You nuzzle his hand, wishing he couldn’t see how red your face is - wishing you weren’t as nervous as you are. It's not that you doubt their abilities - after all, the two junkers had done this more than enough times after you were added to the equation, never mind before - but you...
“I’ve never been arrested before.” The words spill out of your mouth without your permission and your face is burning with embarrassed now.
“Aw, she’ll be apples,” his voice softens some and his eyes are almost gentle. “We won’t let no one make a freshie outta ya, you’ll see.”
You give him what you hope is a confident nod. “Have... have you and Roadie ever been caught?”
“Sure, mate.” You blink while he shrugs, as if it’s no big deal that the two man apocalypse has ever been brought down, even temporarily. “We been at this for a while now, been through heaps. But...”
Jamie glances outside again and you hear the snap and crunch of one of his traps going off. Jamie cackles while someone outside screams in pain and surprise.
“Yeah, we been caught by the jacks a time or two,” Jamie giggles, pulling you in close again. “But I catch them much more often.”
#Next Door Junkers#RoadRat/Reader#Junkrat#Reader insert#Crime#Affection#Established relationships#Nongraphic violence#Kissing
5 notes
·
View notes
Photo
That`s my boy ♥
923 notes
·
View notes