Scourge of Overwatch (Junkrat X Reader)

1: Ladies an' Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.

...

'I'm certain that this will be an easy job to land. It shouldn't take more than five minutes to blow the competition away for this role.' You ponder this as you tinker with small metal gears. You watch silently as a group of medical experts cross in front of you.

'I am an engineer whose name is renowned worldwide. Mediocrity is something I don't associate with.' You glance about the lobby of Overwatch headquarters, inspecting every detail. There were marble floors and monochrome aesthetic furnishings, painting the tone of elite prestige.

'I suppose this organization is as top tier as I am. I'm sure my future coworkers will be just as impressive as their interior decorating.'

"Excuse me, Miss?" the receptionist at the front desk chirps. You look up at her with a smile. "Mr. Lindholm will see you now."

You try to refrain from exerting too much excitement. Torbjörn Lindholm is one of the prime reasons you became an engineer in the first place. He used to be the overhead engineer at Overwatch before transferring to their artillery team.

----

As if it wasn't a surprise, you impressed Torbjörn greatly with your quick and precise skill of modifying weapons. As you exit his office which overflows with scrap metal and hunky sentry turrets, you are greeted with a faceplant. You collapse onto your bottom and rub your eyes. For some reason, your clothes and face are now dirty with ash and soot.

"Oof! What in the 'ell?" you recognize the annoyed Aussie's voice almost immediately. You glance at him as he stands up and straightens his back with a groan. It's Jamison Fawkes, Junkrat. The tips of his strawberry blonde hair are singed, rows of explosives line his leather straps, and of course his peg leg is a dead giveaway.

"Watch where the fuck ye' goin', mate," he looks down at you with an unhinged scowl.

"I-I'm sorry, really, I didn't see you," you stutter as you attempt to apologize. This isn't like you, you aren't one to cave into small things such as this. Why is this any different?

Jamison flashes a toothy grin, exposing his prominent gold tooth as he looks you over. He bends down on his peg leg, snickering and placing his hands underneath his chin.

"I u'nerstand, sheila. You won't see much of me, on ye' knees. 'Cept my fat cock, maybe."

Your brows furrow as you stand up in infuriation. You inch closer to him, poking him harshly at his chest.

"Don't talk to me like I'm some filthy girl, you don't know me."

"I do know ye' are one sexy submissive. I like taking control. I am a demolitions expert afta' all, I fuckin' love it." He laughs and forces you closer to his frame.

"Don't touch me!" You slap him across the cheek and huff, proceeding to stand in front of him with balled fists.

He chuckles and smiles smugly down at you as he straightens his posture, the ever evident difference in height intimidates you slightly. He rubs his reddened cheek.

"You're a feisty gal, give ye' tha', certainly on my radar." He let's out a manic laugh as he tilts up your chin, inching his lips near your ear. "It just so happens tha' gals like you, know how to please blokes like me."

You frantically look away in fear and embarrassment. Your cheeks feel hot and your legs are wobbly. Did he just imply that he wants to fuck you?

Jamison pushes himself away from you with a sly bounce. He gives you a half-hearted smile before backing away. He screeches over his shoulder, stuffing his hands into his olive cargo shorts.

"If ye' feelin' up to it, my riptire's always ready for a good ride. Don't disappoint me whateva-ye'-name-is."

It's not even 12:00, and you we're already offered sloppy sex with the famous Junkrat. You're not sure whether you're excited or confused. One thing is for sure though, this job may be the most interesting career choice you have taken up.

----

Sorry if this isn't exactly up to par, haha, I haven't written any fan fiction in a while. Hopefully this draws other Junkrat lovers in :)

-Amanda