Overwatch ? Reader Insert Oneshots

Roadhog // Scars

      Junkrat rolled off the bed to lay next to you on the floor. "Nah, you just got us some action. Blew that one jack's brains out." He threw his hands into the air as he spoke, his pitch rising with every word. "I swear, bits of him flew far enough to get to Australia and back."

     You stayed quiet. It didn't bother you that some cops had been killed. They were just obstacles for Junkrat and Roadhog to overcome, after all. You were, however, upset at yourself for not playing your part. You failed to disable the alarms, and didn't have the capabilities to fight alongside Junkrat and Roadhog when the authorities arrived as a result.

     Junkrat's gaze fell upon your hands, and he let out a low whistle. "Why're you using your fingers to tighten the bolts? What happened to your wrench?"

     "Fell out of my bag. Lost." You continued tweaking the little details on your project.

     "Hate to break it to you, but your hands are swollen and your finger is bleeding." He pointed at your hands expressively.

     "Cut it by accident," you explained. "No big deal. You were on fire earlier. Much worse."

     Roadhog moved from the bed, walking toward the two of you and leaning down to peer over your shoulder. You were compliant as he took your hands and pulled them away from the machine you were working on. Calm and deliberate, he turned your hands over in his, studying the swelling of your fingers and the blood beading on the pad of your thumb.

     Tilting his head towards the bed, Roadhog gestured for Junkrat to go lay down. Junkrat complied, hopping up and flopping onto the old mattress with a wobbling bout of laughter.

     "Doesn't hurt," you reiterated. Your voice was small, but you were sure in your words. "Not tired either. Want to keep working." Roadhog's silence wasn't broken, but he didn't release your hands. You sighed, slightly frustrated. He wasn't going to let up. "Fine."

     He lifted you off of the floor before carrying you and setting you on the edge of the bed. It wasn't rare for him to pick you up-he towered over you at a height of seven feet, three inches, and it took little effort for him to lift and move you where he needed you to be-but he typically only did it when you needed rescuing. He'd carried you out of the crumbling remains of the prisons you'd been trapped in every time you'd been broken out.

     You watched curiously as he reached into his bag and pulled out an unopened box of bandaids. "For me? Why?" You pointed behind you, where Junkrat was already dead asleep. "Gets hurt a lot. Never gets bandages."

     Roadhog tore the box open, uncaring of the dozen bandaids that fluttered to the floor. He offered a vague grunt as he opened one and wrapped it gingerly aroud your thumb. You noted how one of his hands could easily envelope both of yours, and you felt safe. You loved the size difference between you and either of your compatriots. You felt protected whenever you were around their massively tall frames.

     "Lots of burns from explosives," you insisted, reclaiming your hand and studying Roadhog's handiwork. "He hurts more. Save first-aid supplies for him."

     Roadhog spent a few moments looking at you and then sighed. You cocked your head as he reached up and started tugging at his mask. In all the years you'd known him, you'd never seen him without it on.

     "People like you and I get scars." His voice was gruff as your eyes found his. Angry red scars marred the left side of his face, the skin around them taut and rough. "He doesn't."

     You reached up, catiously cupping his face with your hands. His damaged flesh felt textured and odd under your hand. You liked it. "Save them for you."

     Roadhog didn't brush you off as you fingers trailed around the disfigurements. "I don't care if I get a few scars. It's you I'm worried about."

     "Makes me feel bad." You leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on his cheek, where one of the more prominent cuts were located. "Want to make you feel better. Want you safe." You withdrew a bit, eyeing the abandoned pile of scrap you'd been toying with. "Also want to work. But want you to feel better more. Maybe sleep?"

     He chuckled, a reluctant smile flitting across his face, and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before reclaiming his mask. You squirmed in place, face hot. Physical comfort wasn't something you recieved very regularly, especially not from somebody as gaurded as Roadhog. "We should sleep," he agreed.

     You rolled onto the bed, taking your usual spot in the midde. When you had first begun staying with Junkrat and Roadhog, you'd insisted on sleeping on a floor or couch, away from them. But one night, after a particularly gruesome gladiator fight in Junkertown, you'd been shaken enough to crawl between them and doze off. Since then, you couldn't sleep if you didn't have them on either side of you. It made you feel safe.

     You sighed with contentment as Roadhog crawled into bed after you, one of his arms finding its way around your waist. Through Junkrat's obnoxious snoring, you focused on Roadhog's steady breathing, allowing it to lull you to sleep. They were your home. They were your shelter.

     And you'd just have to wake up early to finish working out the details of your latest invention.

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Author's Note: This was actually so fun to write? Based off of how Roadhog and Junrat's psychologies and speaking patterns were affected by the events in Australia, I wanted to write the reader with some quirks to hint at psychological issues (IE a trauma induced speaking disorder, hyperfocus, and anxiety). I've only written her character type for a single oneshot, but if anything happened to her I would shoot everybody in the room and then myself. Also I know the dynamics between the reader, Junkrat, and Roadhog were odd, but I felt their backgrounds warranted some sort of weird dependence on each other?

And wow I can't believe this was originally going to be a oneshot for Junkrat?