Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Outback was a dire, disgusting wasteland for everyone. But no matter how bad a day it was in the life of an everyman, it’d be ten times worse for an Omega.

The radiation from the obliterated fusion core still lingered. People got sick. The amount of Omegas decreased drastically in the following years, especially the number of healthy ones. They became treated less like people, more like prizes to be won. Status. If you had an Omega, you were Important.

Junkers were bad, with their groping hands and wild eyes. But even worse? The cunts who trade human lives rather than scrap.

When the “traders” came, they wore greasy smiles, as false as their namesake - slavers was what they truly were. Sell your daughter to us, they said. We'll look after her. Find her a strong Alpha. She'll have a good life. Nobody in the room believed it was true.

Your family fought for you. Their only daughter. You loved them for it. But you'd heard the stories. Clans who refused to give up their children, brothers, sisters. And the slavers had simply come back in the night and took the Omegas, and burned their homes - along with their families - down to the dust, to be swept away by the gusts of the Outback.

So despite your family’s sobs and wails otherwise, you let yourself be taken. Money was exchanged and they ushered you away. Your family could have probably gotten more for you, if they were the type to bargain for a person’s freedom. The slavers reasoned that you were damaged goods. When your family had to fight for their land, you wouldn't just sit on the sidelines. You'd be manning the guns with the rest of them. You'd lost your leg to it a few years back. An Omega with a full body could have earned them a pretty penny, the slaver sighed, rubbing a strand of your hair with his greasy fingers. Shame, this is what happens when Omegas are allowed to do as they please.

You didn't let anyone see you cry. It was best to go without a fight, you thought, as you stepped into their caravan.

The dirt of the Outback was bumpy, and the journey silent. But when the slavers’ convoy stopped to refuel, they dragged you to where you'd be spending your time with them. A cage. Thank god that your family hadn't seen this.

The vehicle you were in was full of cages. Some of them were occupied. The place reeked of other Omegas. You were slammed into a cell next to a boy, about your age. He jumped back for a moment whilst they locked you in.

“Are you th’ new one?” he asked, when it was just you, voice trembling. Stereotypical cowardly Omega, a spiteful voice in your head butted in, but you shook it away. How could anyone not be scared here?

“I'm Damien,” he near whispered. You looked him over. He was scrawny, and almost entirely perfect - apart from the milky film which clung to his left eye, the telltale sign of blindness you'd unfortunately become all too familiar with. You softened, even though terrified, and told him your name too. And for a moment, you weren't alone.

*

How long passed? Hard to tell. The caravan you were in was covered by heavy sheets, making it hard to tell the time of day save for the heat that slammed down on you. They kept you fed and watered but you were, no matter what, prisoners.

When your heats came they came together. Even for the new Omegas added after you, you quickly synced up with others of your type. The nights of full cages, Omegas in pain calling out for help, release - they burned into your mind. Through the gaps in your cages, you and Damien held hands, sobbing and choking, just trying to survive.

The slavers seemed to be under specific instructions not to touch you. There had been an incident, when the group was coming into heat, when one of the Beta slavers had stumbled into the room, piss drunk and horny enough to smell. He pushed his face up against Damien's cage and attempted to grope him.

“Yer a pretty one, ain't ya… tell me, you desperate? You want my Beta cock in your sweet Omega mouth, eh?” he slurred. Damien winced and tried to move away.

“Leave him alone,” you growled. The slaver turned his face to you, pink and bulbous from the sun. He sneered.

“Why, is he your little boyfriend, bitch? Maybe I should let you out and have you fuck, I bet we'd all love that -”

He reached for you. You took his hand and bit down on his fingers. You didn't stop, even with the screams. You clenched your jaw tighter as the taste of blood flooded your mouth and you felt the bone began to crack under your teeth. Muscle sinew was no match for your abhorrent rage. With one last clamp, your molars tore flesh from flesh, and with a satisfying crunch you ripped your head back and along with it his fore- and middle-fingers.

The slavers gripped his hand and screamed as the blood pumped forcefully into the air from the two stumps where his fingers used to be. You felt the warmth of it trickle down your chin, and you were still very aware of the digits sitting in your mouth, like some sort of trophy. The other slavers came running, a cacophony of shouts. It was a commotion, until the leader came in.

He was a broad man, hair cropped to his head. He surveyed the scene, seemingly ignoring the garbled screeches of his employee, pleading with him to kill you in the worst ways.

The boss looked at you, then the slaver. He snorted with something akin to amusement.

“Don't want it to happen? Don't aggravate the merch. Now get the fuck out.”

The slaver moaned in pain and scurried away. The boss held your gaze for a second, before saying,

“If you pull this shit again, I'll fucking scalp you and leave you in the dirt. Understand?”

He looked at you, eyes cold, and you felt something far more potent than hatred stir in your heart. He didn't leave until you nodded - yes, you understood.

Then the caravan was silent, dozens of Omega eyes on you.

You spat out the slaver's fingers into the middle of the floor. And, before they were shushed a couple of moments later, the Omegas went wild with applause.

*

When every cage was filled it was just as soon time to unload them. The reek inside the Omega caravan was unbearable by then. You still couldn't tell how long you'd been kept in there, but you hadn't had a proper wash since you'd been taken, only the occasional slosh down with a bucket of questionably clean water. Sweat and filth stuck to the air and clung to your nostrils. It wasn't as bad as it could be. A couple of times, it had been too much for the weaker Omegas, and you'd also had to deal with the stench of death until they were cleared out. Those nights you'd always weep for your fallen companion, and for yourselves.

But even the putridness in the muggy air couldn't disguise the stink of population. The sound of a city roared outside. Your hand found Damien’s, and you clung to each other for dear life, even as the slavers brought the cages out.

The sunlight stung your eyes. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen it, the full belt of the thing, apart from when little trickles of the stuff seeped into the carriage through the holes in the tarpaulin cover. As your sight readjusted you saw the lumpy shapes of people watching you all. Of course this trade wasn't legal, but it was profitable, so when the right money greased the right palms suddenly a blind eye was turned.

You heard the boss make his announcement to the sizeable crowd which had gathered. You didn't hear it all, but the words “fit, prime Omegas for the taking” bullrushed their way into your head. The scent of the crowd was overwhelming. So many Alphas, more than you'd ever encountered in your life. And you were angry, and terrified, but there was still a detestable part of your Omega which stirred with the smell of it all.

One by one your companions were taken away. The prettier undamaged ones went first. Some choked on their sorrow, some screeched until they were restrained, and some were just silent, their eyes deader than Damien’s.

The day drew on and more of you were peeled away. You didn't want to face the worst possibility of all until it happened. But you knew Damien would be sought after. So pretty and young, so in tact. You didn't care about yourself. You cared about him.

A junker bought him, and quite a wealthy one too, if the chains around his neck were anything to go by. As his cage was being lifted he screamed for you, pushing himself against the bars to try and reach out and grab your hands. You stretched for him, but your arms were smacked brutally with a metal pipe, clutched by a slaver with three fingers and a savage smile. All you heard of poor Damien was his cries of your name, a plea for you to help him.

But what could you do?

The sun was setting. You should have been thankful for the respite from the heat but all you felt was fear. The only Omega left. The slavers had tried to pass you off, but people had taken a look at how disheveled you were, and your missing leg, and stopped taking an interesting.

“Well, girlie, seems like you're the scraps left over. Looks like we'll be having some fun tonight,” leered a slaver. But before you could fight back, verbally or physically, someone cut in.

“Wozz goin’ on here?”

You looked up. A man stood near the closing market. He was hunched a bit, and missing an arm and a leg. He was an Alpha, but not as potent by far as some of the others you'd seen that day. He peered at you, then the slaver, who promptly straightened himself up as the boss made his way over.

“Omegas, sir. Fresh Omegas is what's going on here. You in the market?” asked the boss with a smile which on anyone else would be charming.

The Alpha hobbled over. His gait was uneven, probably due to the prosthetic at the end of his knee. He put a hand on the top of your cage and squatted down.

Many people had admired you during the day, like they were looking over a piece of meat. But this man just caught your gaze and looked at you. His eyes were… piercing.

He gave a little tic, probably involuntary, and a giggle escaped from the back of his throat - almost as if he couldn't quite keep these things held in.

“Could be,” the Alpha reckoned at length, and left a smear of grease from his finger as he rubbed his chin. His eyes didn't leave yours.

“Come sir, we'll give you a discount. Last one of the day. Besides, you match!” said the boss, jovially, and motioned to your peg leg.

The Alpha’s eyes flitted downwards for just a second, as if… almost as if he were trying not to be intrusive. When he met your stare again there was a determined set in his jaw.

“How are you with explosions?” he asked, to you, voice as quiet as you imagined he could get. There was a manic glint in his eyes.

“What?”

“Come on, come on, Sheila. Answer us,” said the Alpha through gritted teeth, eyes darting over to the slightly confused slavers.

“Fine?” you hazarded. His hand retracted from where it had been on your cage. In its place he left a little, blinking device.

“Brace yourself,” he giggled, and grinned, with an enthusiasm which bordered on lunacy.

It happened quickly. There was - well, less of a “boom”, and more of a pop! as the tiny explosive went off and sprung the rickety cage apart. You barely had time to shield yourself from the shower of sparks raining down before you felt a hand grip your wrist and you were lurched forward.

There was shouting, but you kept planting one foot in front of the other, metal and flesh making different thuds in the sand, as you kept pace with the manic Alpha.

He tossed something over his shoulder. You didn't check to see what it was - heck, you tried not to notice anything, especially the agonising pain of running after being cooped up for however long.

There was an almighty noise as the bomb went off. The warmth and power of the explosion almost carried you further into the maze of the city. People sprung apart from the two of you to give you room to scramble away.

The Alpha turned into an alleyway. There was a motorbike parked there, far too big for him to fit comfortably. Nevertheless he hopped on and revved the thing into life.

His head snapped to you. “Well?! Come on!”

For the first time, you paused. You had no idea what you were doing. You'd just run. Was there any chance that the life this Alpha was taking you off to would be any better than your previous state of being?

Then you heard the shouts of the slavers and thought, fuck it, if push comes to shove I could probably take this Alpha in a fight.

You jumped onto the back of the bike and wrapped your arms around his waist instinctively, without a second thought. He gave you no further warning as the motorbike sped off - you didn't know where, your eyes tightly closed - but there were screams around you as you hoped nobody got hurt.

The screams died down. The ride kept going. Eventually you opened your eyes, squinting in case of the dust storm you'd inevitably kick up on this thing.

You saw outback. Stretches of it. The man giggled again but didn't say anything.

With no more options you held on.

*

Perhaps time telling had slipped your grasp since you were sold, but in tried and true fashion you didn't know how long you were on the back of the bike for. But you were tired and thirsty when eventually the Alpha began to slow down, and drove the bike into what looked like it used to be a large, functional garage. You blinked as your eyes tried to adjust to the light.

The Alpha kicked the bike off and dismounted, running his hands through his hair and shaking out some loose sand. You wondered which of you would speak first, when a third person made themselves known.

“‘Rat, did you get the - ”

A large man plodded out from one of the side rooms, some sort of engine part in his hands. He paused when he laid eyes on the two of you. Or you assumed he did, the gasmask covering his face made it hard to discern.

“Yeh, I picked up the battery ya needed, dirt cheap too if I do say so myself -”

“Rat.”

“- well of course I had to haggle a bit, which became a lot easier when the bloke saw the bombs I had strapped to me, an’ -”

“Rat.”

The Alpha paused.

“Who is this?” asked the large man. The Alpha - who you guessed was called Rat? - twitched.

“She's… erm…”

The man walked over to you, and you froze. Rat gave a little nervous giggle as he passed. As the man got closer, you could smell the Beta on him. Odd, maybe, most would assume that a man like him would be an Alpha. Maybe that was judgemental on your part. Either way he stopped just short of you, and took in a deep, rattling breath, typing you.

Then he let out the long, tired sigh of a man who had been through too much bullshit.

“Wait here,” he asked, and then put his hand on the back of Rat’s neck and steered him from whence he'd came, and said to the Alpha, “Let's talk.”

You waited for five minutes. Then ten. You hopped off the bike and massaged your sore thighs, unaware of how uncomfortable the journey had been on your body. You looked around the place. Spacious, with bits of metal either rusted away or fallen off, but good cover. Not a bad place to live. Scrap all over. Clearly a junker’s place.

You had a walk round the place whilst the others were off “talking”. Machine parts you couldn't identify, machine parts you could. Whilst the place was messy it looked… well, harmless. Just like someone's house. You'd heard horror stories of Omegas being dragged off to sex dens, hooked on substances until they were soft and pliable and too doped to fight back. This place maybe the worst you'd get on you was grease.

There was a shuffling and the two junkers came back out. Rat looked at his feet, like an awkward school child. His big friend had his hand clasped on his shoulder, steering the smaller man forward.

Rat cleared his throat, and you stood awkwardly to attention.

“ ‘m sorry if I scared ya. This was far from my intentions,” he drawled - clearly reciting something he'd been made to rehearse, but with a sort of odd sincerity to it, “please allow us t’offer ya a place to stay for the night and and you can leave in the morning.”

As he finished, you saw his friend’s grip relax slightly on him, and Rat let out an involuntary giggle.

“I… accept your apology,” you replied, scuffing your shoe on the ground. There was an awkward silence before the big guy asked,

“Is there anything you don't eat?”

You blinked, surprised at this turn on questioning.

“Erm… no?”

He nodded and headed over to a corner of the workroom, rearranging what you assumed was a pile of junk - and, well, it was - but revealing a makeshift kitchen area. He lit a little portable paraffin stove and put a dinged-up pot on it. You only realised you were watching so intently when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Spinning round, Rat was suddenly oddly close to you, and he jumped in surprise when you jumped in surprise.

“Sorry! Just wanted t’ give you the grand tour,” he giggled.

“Umh, sure,” you replied, not quite sure how to act in this situation.

Your eyes followed him as he took the lead. He hunched over too much. Part of you, the nurturing Omega, wanted to tell him to stand up straight, he would do his back a mischief if he kept standing like that. But you bit your tongue, he was not your Alpha.

You didn't have long to think about it because there was only really one place to show you, as, “Hog’s room is over there, but I'm not allowed in.” Hog, you guessed, was Rat’s companion. How apt.

Rat showed you to an enclave off of the main room, with a raggedy sheet curtain acting instead of a door, a hose on the side of the wall and a drain in the middle.

“This is the bathroom,” he said, and flourished his hands. You tried not to comment on the fact this place did not have a bath - nor was technically a room. Also not mention your surprise as it looked like this man had never seen a shower before in his life.

“You can, er, use it if ya want. I won't look or anythin’,” he stuttered. You were going to politely decline, when you realised how long it had been since you'd managed to wash yourself. So you nodded and Rat grinned, maybe glad he was able to offer you something helpful.

“Here's a towel,” he shoved a piece of fabric which might once have been vaguely towel like into your hands, and hobbled towards the door. “I'll, er… y'can shout if you need me or anythin’.”

The curtain fluttered shut behind him. After a few minutes of intense listening to make sure he was in fact gone, you began to peel off dirty, sweaty layers and dump them to side of the room. The water wasn’t cold but it was refreshing as it pelted down on your bare skin. You massaged it into your flesh, and when it seemed like the grime wasn’t going to budge, began to scratch at the hardened patches with your cracked nails. You felt yourself rubbed raw, and at some point you realised that you had started crying, but you didn’t stop, you just kept scrubbing, and let the tears wash away with the rest of the water.

Though it wasn’t pleasant to put on your unclean clothes again, when you left the room it smelt pretty good outside. You sniffed, and wondered for a moment if it was an Alpha’s scent – before you saw that Hog was dishing up piles of steaming stew into some mismatched bowls. Rat stood next to him, fidgeting, and when he noticed that you had emerged he swiped up a bowl and hobbled over to you.

“Food’s ready!” he said, with a manic grin, pushing it into your hands.

“Oh… thanks,” you said. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, and just as the silence was on the verge of becoming awkward, Hog sighed and said,

“Heading in for the night. Rat, don’t bother the lady.”

Rat giggled and Hog made his way to the place you’d been told was his room, shutting the door heavily behind him.

Then there was just the two of you.

You wondered if you should be nervous. An unbonded Omega, in the company of an Alpha, possibly slightly unstable? You didn’t want things to turn sour, but as shit as it was, you had to be ready for anything. But then you suddenly felt yourself shiver as you realised just how late it had gotten, and how much the cold had settled in. Rat’s eyes opened wide.

“Hooley Dooley, you must be freezin’! Come over t’ the heater,” he said, and put a gentle hand on the small of your back to steer you back over to where the stove was still chugging its flame out powerfully. When he made contact with you though, you froze for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean ta…” he trailed off, and giggled instead. You managed a smile, despite your panic.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry. Just sorta jumpy,” you laughed, a little forced. But you went over to the fire anyway and sat down on what looked to be a lawn chair which had been unfolded. Rat followed you, scooping up a bowl of his own, perching on a little wooden stool which was far too small for him. Two battered sets of cutlery had been left to the side, one of which you picked up, but Rat had already started eating directly from the bowl. You picked gingerly at the food with your fork. Upon the first bite you realised it was actually pretty good. Soon you had finished the first serving and were digging around in the pot for seconds, not realising how ravenous you had been.

When you looked up, Rat was staring at you. You swallowed your mouthful of food. Then, at length:

“I never said thank you. So, thank you,” you said.

“What for?”

You scanned his face to see if he was joking or not. All you were met with was genuine sincerity. You pushed around some scraps in the bottom of your bowl.

“For… rescuing me, I guess.”

“Oh! Don’t hav’ta say thanks for that. I was just helping ya out.”

“I…” you faltered. “It was more than that though. You saved my life.”

It could have been your imagination, but when you said that, you could have sworn that his chest puffed out a bit.

“Well, I mean, if ya want t’ say I’m some sorta hero, I won’t stop ya…” he said, and made a motion that could have been a hair flick if he had longer hair. You giggled, with sincerity this time. It was nice. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a genuine smile on your face.

“You know, for someone who talks a lot, I don’t actually know your name,” you remarked.

“Oh, I’m Jam- Junkrat. Call me Junkrat,” he flashed you a toothy smile.

Junkrat. Hmm. You couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than just ‘Rat’.

“And what’s yours?” he prompted. When had he gotten so close to you? You could have sworn that you hadn’t heard the stool move, and yet there he was, suddenly only a couple of feet away. You flushed and stammered out your name. He repeated it a couple of times, like his own personal mantra.

“So,” he said, and rolled your name around in his mouth once again, “how did a place like you end up in a girl like that?”

You burst out laughing. Junkrat processed what he had just said, and giggled.

“Sorry, sometimes m’ brain jumbles the words before I say ‘em. You know what I mean.”

You felt a bit bad, and without realising it, reached over and put your hand reassuringly on his knee. The two of you paused for a moment before you realised what you had done, and you pulled away. Why were you suddenly being like this? Months of flinching whenever someone came near to you, and now here you were, acting all familial with this Alpha. You tried to pin it down to instinct. This was the longest time you’d spent with an Alpha that hadn’t treated you like a piece of meat. Of course your inner Omega wanted to pander to him, warm him up to you. Encourage him to protect you. And when he was this close, you could really smell him – not just his general, well, smell, but his scent. It was hard to place, but it was a warm, reassuring sort of scent. One of a good, strong Alpha.

“Well, Junkrat, I ended up there the same that all Omegas do. The slavers came to my family and bought me, and if my family had fought they’d’ve killed them.”

You could condense it down to basically nothing when you put it like that. It was miserable, really. You looked into the dancing flames and realised you’d become very still.

“Will ya go back to ‘em, do ya reckon?” asked Junrkat, the softest you’d heard him. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’d have to find out where they are, and how to get to them. And you know, what if it just happened again? I don’t want to cause any more pain.”

“Don’t be silly, Sheila. They’re ya family. They love ya.”

“Hmm,” you sighed, but didn’t say anything more committal. When you felt a heaviness on your shoulder, and realised it was his metal hand warmed from the proximity to the fire, you didn’t say anything. You just… let him touch you. The part of you that was an Omega was comforted.

And hey, maybe the part of you that wasn’t an Omega was comforted too.

“We can blow somethin’ up if it’d make ya feel better?” Junkrat offered. You smiled and finally pulled your gaze back to him.

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough explosions for one day, ta. I’m kinda tired.”

“Right. Yeah, ‘course,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “I’ll show ya to your bed.”

He began to hobble over to a ladder on the side of the wall. You followed it upwards with your eyes and saw it led to a sort of mezzanine area, an overlook that went round the whole perimeter of the building. When you had followed him up you saw that there was a slightly grubby mattress perched on one of the corners, which you watched Rat throw some sheets over. He tittered to himself a little bit.

“S’not five star, but hopefully it'll do,” he said, avoiding eye contact, perhaps ashamed he couldn't offer you anything nicer.

“I've slept in a cage for the last however many months, y’know,” you tried to make it a joke, but it came out sort of sad. “Thank you Junkrat.”

“S’alright,” Junkrat replied. “I sleep on the bottom floor, so I’ll try not t’snore…”

He alighted the ladder and began to climb down, but just before he popped out of sight he locked eyes with you once more.

“Goodnight, Junkrat,” you said, a smiled. He returned it, a little unsure of himself.

“G’night,” he replied, and then slid down the ladder and landed at the floor a little too hard to be comfortable.

Your head hit the pillow. You expected it to be more uncomfortable. But just as you hadn’t realised the extent of your hunger neither had you realised your tiredness. Sleep took you.

You didn’t know how long you slumbered for, but it couldn’t have been for more than a couple of hours before you stirred in your sleep, naturally. A little noise however kept you awake. You sat up, as quietly as you could, rubbing your eyes. In the stillness of the dark your eyes settled on what was causing a stir.

Having lived in near darkness in the caravan, your eyes had become exceptionally good at seeing in the lowlight. And what you saw was on the bottom of the room Junkrat lying in his bunk on the other side of the wall. His metal hand was clamped over his mouth to force himself to be quiet, and his cock was out of his shorts, painfully hard, his fingers wrapped round it as he pumped himself. He squirmed and despite his best efforts let out a little moan as his hips twisted up into his own grasp.

Your fingers gripped the edge of your sheet as you watched him. Something stirred in you. The pit in the bottom of your stomach felt alight. You crossed your legs as you felt the overwhelming urge to touch yourself, just watching him. The way he struggled against his own instincts to cry out, the sight of him thrusting into his own palm, head thrown back in ecstasy. In fact the scent of him from even up here was mouth-watering. But if you joined in there was no way he wouldn’t smell a horny Omega, so you just watched as his movements became more erratic and his knot began to swell before he came in thick white rivulets all over his stomach.

He breathed heavily, hand collapsing from off his mouth and falling limply at his side. You couldn’t tear your gaze away, just watching him come down from his own orgasm was intoxicating. With a sigh he slung his legs over the side of his bed. You couldn’t be sure if he saw you before you hit the deck to hide, but you listened as he paused for a moment before scuffing over to the bathroom.

You lied back and listened to your own breathing. And all that crowded your head was the thought that, fuck, that had been hot.

Oh, boy.

Chapter Text

For the first time in months, you woke up of your own accord, not to the jostle of a caravan or shouts of slavers, but simply because your body had had enough sleep. The mouthwatering smell of a fry-up breakfast caught your nose as you stretched out to shrug the morning doziness off. You hopped to the ladder and descended to the main room.

Hog was back at the little stove, poking something in a pan. The spatula in his hand was so comically small for his size that you had to try not to laugh.

“Morning,” you called, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He looked up a little at you, and raised a hand in greeting. “Where's-”

“Rat’s outside. You'll hear him,” Hog replied, before you'd even finished your sentence.

“Oh- okay. Thank you,” you said, and he grunted in acknowledgement. The building didn't have a door so much as a hole in the side of it, so you headed out into the sunshine, squinting. You didn't have much time to focus on how bright it was before you heard a boom in the distance. You guessed that was Junkrat, then. You followed the sounds of explosives round the back of the place, and when you were closer, the manic giggling in between each detonation.

You found Junkrat in what could roughly be called the backyard of his home. Even more piles of scrap and various metal knickknacks were scattered over the dirt - maybe for some experiment, maybe planned to be used for something someday and simply forgotten. Junkrat stood in the midst of this mess, a frag launcher gripped tightly in his metal hand. He loaded a new round of bombs into it and fired off at a mountain of waste metal. Small explosions rocked it, and there was a small avalanche, which made Junkrat titter even more.

“Morning,” you said. Junkrat clearly didn't expect it as he let out a little shriek and fired a bomb directly up in the air. You watched it fall back down towards him in horror, but with a swift kick of his prosthetic leg he sent the explosive back at the pile with its brothers. There was another muffled detonation and the scrap pile shook and smouldered.

“Mornin’!” grinned Junkrat, as if he hadn't almost blown off another limb. He lolloped towards you but stopped, brow furrowing. “Ya look glum, Sheila. What's the matter?”

“Huh? Oh,” you hadn't really been paying attention to it, but maybe you had been looking a bit down. “I don't think your tall friend likes me very much.”

“Oh, Roadhog? Don't let him upset ya none, doll. He's just not big on talkin’. He likes ya just fine,” Junkrat reassured you.

Roadhog. Roadhog and Junkrat. Cute, you thought, and you found yourself smiling at him. And was it your imagination or was that a blush on his cheeks? He coughed into his hand and tried to regain his composure.

“Didja sleep alright?” he asked, and then it was your turn to be embarrassed as the memories of watching him fuck himself flooded into your mind.

“Yeah, like a log,” you lied, recalling how difficult it had been to get back to sleep after that as your cunt had been lit up, aching to be touched by someone.

“Good. So have ya...” you hadn't really experienced him being reluctant, but you were sure that this is what this was, as he put his hand on the back of his neck, “have ya thought about what you'll do now?”

You opened your mouth to answer but before any words could be formed the clanging of a bell signalled in the distance. You looked over towards it, coming from the main building.

“Ah, that means food’s ready,” Junkrat said, dropping his frag launcher with far too little care for your liking. No, don't do it, you scolded yourself, you can't tell him what to do. He isn't your Alpha.

“You comin’?” he asked, not noticing your discomfort with how he handled his weapons. You nodded and made the short walk back to Roadhog, listening as Junkrat explained how he liked to practice shooting in the morning (you felt he used the term “shooting” very liberally) to clear his head. “I didn't wake ya, did I?” he asked, voice bordering on concern, but he tried to play it off as just a throwaway question.

“Nah, I was used to much louder stuff in the caravan. Much worse explosions than yours.”

“Oh really? That sounds like a challenge to me…” Junkrat said, snickering a little. You rolled your eyes as the two of you got inside, where Roadhog was serving breakfast up on plates. There was some bacon on two, but mostly eggs on his own. Junkrat hobbled over and grabbed a serving for you, bringing it over with a wonky smile (and a spoon, clearly they'd run out of cutlery). It was sweet. He probably didn't realise what he was doing, but it was a very natural Alpha thing for them to bring Omegas food when they were trying to court them, to make sure they were well looked after. Junkrat probably had no idea he was doing it. You took the food and thanked him.

“Roadhog, this is really good,” you said, wolfing down the bacon. “Thank you.”

Roadhog grunted in response, but he sounded please.

“But if you're a veggie, you don't have to cook meat for me ya know,” you said, frowning a little at where Junkrat was licking his plate clean.

“‘S fine. That one needs protein,” Roadhog replied, gesturing at Junkrat. “He forgets to eat.”

“You forget to eat?! That's awful!” you scolded the smaller man. Junkrat twisted in his seat.

“I don't forget, I just don't need to,” he grumbled. You took your spoon and dug it into his ribs, causing him to flinch and giggle. Ticklish. Interesting.

“You'll end up all bones if you don't eat. One good explosion’ll rattle you apart.”

“Awight, I know. But I think I'm built of sturdier stuff than ya reckon.”

Roadhog let out a little noise and it took you a moment to realise it was a laugh. It made you smile. Junkrat looked a bit offended that he was apparently being ganged up on, before his face softened and he grinned too.

“So, Shiela. Didja come to a decision?” he asked. “What are ya gonna do?”

You put down your now empty plate, fiddling with your hands. “I, erm. Well. Seein’ as I don't really know where I am or anyone around here. I was wonderin’, could I maybe stay with you?”

The question hung in the air like the outback heat. Junkrat looked to Roadhog.

“With us?” he asked, flabbergasted. You nodded.

“Well. You're the first people to treat me like a human for a long time. And it's just be until I have a plan. Just I don't wanna go off on my own. Because if the slavers catch me again I'm fucked,” you confessed. “Plus. I like you guys.”

Yes, “like”, you thought, eyes flitting to Junkrat. You sat quietly and waited their judgement.

Junkrat glanced at his friend again. Roadhog gave just a little shrug.

“Look, Sheila, the thing is -”

“No, sorry. Don't worry. It was a stupid question anyway,” you tried to deflect it, turning on your heel so they couldn't see the hot tears that threatened to spill. But a strong hand grabbed round your wrist and you looked to where Junkrat had detained you. Your eyes met his and he dropped you quickly, stammering:

“It's not that I don't want ya t’ - it's not that we don't want you t’ stay,” he quickly corrected himself, “it's that… what we do is sort of… erm…” he dropped his hand to his side and sighed, before gesturing to the far wall. You followed his path and you saw something you hadn't noticed before.

Two wanted posters, each priced at twenty-five million. With the sketched mugshots of your new comrades on them.

The room was silent except for Roadhog’s breathing and the sound of your footsteps as you walked up to inspect them. You sighed.

“Wow, Roadhog. They didn't do you justice here,” you said, at length. “But you… well they got down to a T, didn't they.” You squinted at the picture of Junkrat. It really was uncanny, down to the little smoulder they had coming off of his hair.

“So what are you wanted for?” you asked when neither of them spoke any further

“Erm. Theft, murder, treason, arson. A lotta arson,” Junkrat confessed as he counted his crimes on his fingers. “It's just… what we're tryin’ a say, Sheila, is it'll be dangerous.”

You nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“Eh?”

You turned around to face the pair of Junkers.

“I said ‘okay’. I've been traded round like I'm livestock for the last few months, and before then I had to help my overprotective family keep their land safe. So am I used to danger? Sure. And danger’s the worst ya got? I say okay. Bring it.”

Junkrat looked up at Roadhog. Roadhog looked down at Junkrat.

Junkrat turned, and he smiled.

*
“Hey, can ya pass me the… thing?”

You glanced up from your task to where Junkrat was holding a hand out to you, his eyes still settled on the contraption on his workbench.

“What thing, Rat?”

“Ya know. The thing.”

“The… spanner?”

“Close. Erm. The…” Junkrat moved his hand up to his ear and snapped a few times, face scrunched, as if he was trying to ignite a memory. “Hammer!” He settled on, smiling grandly.

You passed one of the spares over to him, trying to ignore the fact he was using that particular tool on some kind of bomb. Your fingers brushed and the two of you sprung apart, busying yourselves with your work and staunchly looking at anything but each other.

Bless him, he admitted that the irradiation had made his brain go a bit “wobbly”, but you were getting better at filling in the blanks in his sentences. Maybe you'd never be as good as Roadhog but then again Junkrat could simply say “can you pass-” and his friend would hand him the exact right thing every time.

You flexed your fingers when you separated, and you noticed his doing the same before he went back to tinkering. You weren't sure if he was aware of it or not. It had been four weeks since you'd taken a place of residence with the Junkers, and he'd been weirdly… respectful. Guarding himself almost, as if he knew that if he didn't his instincts would kick in. He didn't touch you unless you gave him express permission or instigated it first, and the matter of your Typing hadn't even come up.

You were sure he'd had… urges though. You'd had them at least. Looking at the way he'd be silhouetted in the powerful little firelight of the paraffin stove, his teeth glinting, and wondering what it'd be like to be marked by them. A couple of times the Junkers would head out somewhere, and when you were left alone you'd desperately bury your fingers in your cunt until you were left a gagging mess, and then quickly shower to wipe the smell of horny Omega off. It was a bit easier to hide since they'd gotten you some new clothes (all of them were the wrong size and some had burn marks on them, but you appreciated the sentiment).

But you wouldn't push it. He was your friend, and you didn't want to make things awkward by suggesting something he'd be uncomfortable with it. Besides you weren't even really sure of your own feelings. Did you like him, or was it just because of the fact he was an Alpha who was there, and not a complete asshole?

You shook your head of the thoughts and finished casting the batch of bullets, trying to keep the molten metal away from Junkrat. Before your family had admitted that they needed you on an active fighting position when intruders came, you had one job - and that was making ammo. And damn, if you weren't good at it.

You'd have to wait for the metal to cool, but you removed the heavy duty gloves you wore and wiped your forehead. From the other side of the room, Roadhog looked up at you. You shot him a thumbs up and he returned it. Any bullets that were off shape - which, judging by the last batched you'd made in these crappy mouldy was usually about half - would be used to go into his scrap gun. It was a mutually beneficial thing.

“You boys want dinner?” you asked. Roadhog nodded, but Junkrat was engrossed in his work. You cleared your throat loudly, making him jump, twitchily.

“Rat. Food?” you repeated. He blinked a couple of times, bringing himself back into the room, before smiling.

“Awh, yeah. Bonzer,” he grinned. Well, at least some things were getting better. ‘Don't think he's ever eaten so regularly,’ Roadhog had commented once, when the two of you had been alone. That made the Omega in you feel warm, stupid thing, for helping to look after the Alpha properly. Either way, you lit the stove and began to peel some potatoes from a rough hempen bag. Soon a soup was boiling away and you watched your two companions clean up their work. As they approached, Roadhog elbowed Junkrat (albeit gently), and Junkrat’s face lit up as he remembered something.

“Oh! Right! Sheila, we had an idea,” he said. The Omega in you perked up a little, and you swatted her down.

“We were just wonderin’, as you've been with us for a while n’ all, if ya wanted to come on a heist?”

That wasn't what you'd been expecting, but you'd been lying if you said it didn't please you.

“Oh, fuck yes!” you agreed, and your excitement was clearly contagious, because Junkrat was hopping where he stood.

“Awight! And ya can give the Big Girl her first run,” he grinned. You clapped your hands together and almost dropped the spoon in the soup. The Big Girl was… well, your pet project. It was a Gatling gun you were experienced with, back when you'd protected your family's lands, so you'd been trying to make yourself one from various scrap and leftover parts around the junkyard. It was a crude thing, only firing lose gravity-fed bullets with a hand crank, but goddamn it, it was your gun.

You couldn't sleep that night, just going over the plans in your head. Some traders were coming back from selling pure metals to an Outback’s warlord, so they'd be carrying a lot of cash on them. Ambush the outfit, lift the loot. It was all so simple when Junkrat explained it but now you just couldn't drift off to sleep, so instead stared through the hole in the corrugated metal ceiling up at the stars.

“Hey,” you heard a loud whisper from the other side of the room. You turned to see Junkrat lying on his bunk, arms crossed behind his head.

“Hey,” you replied.

“Can't sleep?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Nervous?”

“Don't know. Not any more than spending all my nights in a slaver’s cage.”

“You'll be swell, darl. Wouldn't have invited ya if we'd had any doubts, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know. Still though,” you sighed. There was a pause before Junkrat began to venture:

“Ya know. If it helps any. I can always come and hold your ha-”

“Will you two shut up,” rumbled Roadhog’s voice from the other room. The two of you fell into silence before you both started giggling, like kids that had been caught being naughty.

“‘Night, Rat,” you said.

“Yeah… night, doll.”

You tried to settle down into the mattress. Maybe you didn't have anything to worry about.

*
The explosion went off violently about thirty feet behind you.

“Fuck! Shit!” you screeched, throwing yourself to the ground before it could push you there, trying to shield yourself from as much of the blast as you could.

You were stupid to assume that the marks wouldn't have tried to protect themselves. Of course they were expecting the possibility of an ambush. This was the Outback. It would be stupid not to be ready for it.

It was hard to really get much of a sneak up on them. The Outback was, most of all, flat. Even the cover of darkness that had come with all of the travelling you'd been doing didn't do a huge amount to conceal you from someone who might be actively looking for attackers. Roadhog was on the bike, Junkrat in a side car, and you were clinging onto Roadhog for dear life behind him. Something had flashed in Junkrat’s eyes as you'd wrapped your arms as much as you could around his friend. If you hadn't known better perhaps you'd have said that it was jealousy.

Either way, the Big Girl was attached on a little trailer to the back of the vehicle as well, and you'd spent however long just listening to the roar of the bike, only stopping occasionally so one of the three of you could have a drink or take a piss.

When you'd finally spotted your targets you couldn't be sure how long you'd been on the road for, but they were ready. As your little group made a route for their trucks you were aware of projectiles coming towards you.

“Hog - !” you'd began as a warning, but he'd already seen them and veered sharply left, leaving the grenades to explode on an empty space. Zigzagging out of harm’s way - by a hair’s breadth sometimes - Roadhog didn't let up on the acceleration as you got closer to where the artillery was being fired, and smashed through their guns on the bike, scattering bits of weaponry and the people operating it.

Roadhog kicked the bike off and readied his scrap launcher. There were panicked shouts as traders scrambled about, clearly not expecting this level of brazen upfront assault. Junkrat leapt out of his sidecar like a jack-in-the-box, giggling gleefully as he primed his frag launcher. You kept pace as the two of them barrelled through the surprised traders, Roadhog letting off rounds of ammo into anyone still shooting. You saw where they were making a beeline for - one truck was far more heavily armoured than the rest, and a walking target. Junkrat slammed one of his bombs on the side of it and stood back, detonating it. There was a big old dent made in the truck doors but nothing more substantial. He swore loudly under his breath and began to unpack himself of more explosives.

“Rat!” Roadhog shouted from next to him, trying to cover your position. You fired a few shots from the handgun you had with you, but with the amount of armour these people had, it couldn't rip through assailants like Roadhog’s weapon could.

“Yeah yeah I know!” Junkrat screeched, his mouth full of a block of C-4 which he was tearing handfuls out of and moulding into the gap between the doors on the truck.

You looked from your partners to the traders, who were picking up some sort of heavily artillery.

“I'll cover you!” you shouted, dropping your now empty handgun and legging it back towards the bike.

“Wait, Sheila - !” called Junkrat's panicked voice from behind you, as your enemies launched their first explosive.

So that's where you were now, flat on your front and crawling desperately to the Big Girl. There was a terrible ringing in your ears but you didn't let it stop you as you pulled yourself up to your gun, kicking it into life.

As your hearing returned you could begin to hear the shouts around you. There were a couple of traders staring at you, cocking guns. You could make out some of what they were saying when you picked up on the fragments “is that an Omega?” and “good to fuck”.

The Big Girl chugged into life. You turned it at them, grinning wildly, and their faces wore a mask of horror for a split second, just long enough to realise they'd underestimated this Omega, before your row of bullets shot through their stomachs and almost tore them in half. Blood and some thicker, fleshier bits tore off from them before they slumped to the ground. You let out a “yahoo!” before turning your gun to the other attackers closing in on Junkrat and Roadhog.

“Don't touch them!” you hollered as you fired round after round off. It got to the point where you couldn't quite see what was going on, a fine mist of blood fogging up your goggles. You heard another explosion and Junkrat’s “aha!”, and just as you were about to wipe your eyewear you felt the heavy presence of Roadhog behind you as the bike roared into life.

“Keep shooting!” Roadhog yelled back at you. Vision clear, you could see whatever was left of the party getting into their vehicles and giving chase. You planted your feet firmly and held onto the Big Girl for dear life. Your shots weren't glamourous but they were powerful. Bullets tore through windows and bonnets, some taking out tires. Your arm hurt from cranking to fire, but soon the last pursuer fell, and all you were left with was the sound of the bike and your own manic breathing.

You didn't stop until you were home this time. You removed your goggles and hopped off, not even caring about your sore thighs. Junkrat extracted himself from the cart, bringing with him a giant bag which clinked gently. The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

“How was it?” he asked. You let a laugh bubble past your lips, one you didn't realise you'd been holding in until now.

“Phenomenal,” you whispered.

They couldn't show you where they kept their loot until they could trust you. That was fair, you weren't angry about it. But you were annoyed that it had been right under your nose the whole time.

You hadn't been in Roadhog’s room. It was a decent size, with a bed and a desk as well as a crammed bookshelf - you made a note to ask him if you could borrow something someday - and just enough room for him to drag the bed over to the other side of the room and reveal a trap door under it. You watched as Roadhog clicked in some numbers onto the rusty dial and heaved the thing open. Junkrat hopped towards it and began to descend the ladder leading into the bowels of the building. You swallowed, for some reason a little nervous, and followed him.

The undercavern of this place was gigantic. At least twice the size of their warehouse. And piled in every corner you could see was mountains of gold. It was dotted with the odd gem or priceless artefact but more than anything, gold. You'd never seen anything so shiny.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, and noticed Junkrat wipe away a line of drool that was dripping from his mouth as he surveyed the treasures.

“Yeah, I think the same every time I see it,” he agreed, emptying the bag of loot he had from your mission onto the pile with a satisfying river of clinks.

“You guys must be the richest people in the Outback,” you mused as you let some coins slip through your fingers.

“Nah, doubt it. Probably some arms dealin’ arseholes makin’ a pretty penny more’n us. Until we come and part them with their ill-gotten gains,”
Junkrat giggled.

“If you stole it, wouldn't your gains then be ill-gotten?” you asked.

“I… huh,” Junkrat paused, his face a twisted picture of contemplation, before he gave up wrestling with the question and launched himself onto a pile of treasure. You were sure it hurt but he didn't show it, continuing to grin manically and make a snow angel in the coins. You laughed, letting yourself enjoy watching him be so carefree.

“Stop making a mess,” Roadhog rumbled from his position at the top of the ladder. Junkrat sighed as his body flopped. Without a second thought you offered him a hand and he took it, letting you pull him to his feet.

The two of you looked at where your hands were connected. Your eyes run up along his arm - you'd never quite noticed what firm muscles he had - and into his eyes. He was staring at you with the most intense gaze you'd seen on him - yet somehow he seemed quite… calm. For a moment it felt like there was something to be said. But neither of you did.

The moment passed.

Awkwardly, you both split apart before climbing back up to the main warehouse. You took an early night.

*
The next morning you woke up late judging by the position of the sun. Sitting up you felt a wave of heat and nausea rush over you.

Oh fuck.

“Christ,” you muttered, holding your head in your hands. You forced yourself to climb down to the main floor where you'd clearly missed breakfast as Roadhog was sitting at his work table and not standing at the stove. However Junkrat had your portion on a plate and hobbled over to you with it, a grin on his face.

It was wiped off when he got close to you.

“Jeez, Sheila. You look -” he took in a breath, “you smell…”

“I know,” you groaned, trying to keep your distance from him. He pushed the plate of food at you insistently but you waved it away.

“Not hungry.”

“Come on! If you're getting to… that… time, ya gotta eat!” Junkrat insisted, looking over to Roadhog for backup, “doesn't she?!”

Roadhog sighed and looked up at the two of you.

“If you're not hungry don't force it. You'll make yourself ill,” he stated. Junkrat didn't look happy with it but another wave of dizziness wracked your body, forcing you to take a seat. You could feel your breathing was heavy. When you opened your eyes, Junkrat was biting his lip.

“Mako, she doesn't look good,” he called. It took you a moment to register who Mako was, but as Roadhog trundled over, you heat-addled brain worked out of course his birthname wasn't Roadhog you dunce. Your big friend looked at you.

“We'll take your bed underground. Coolest place we have,” he stated. You let yourself be shepherded and soon found you were surrounded by glittering treasure. As you laid on your relocated mattress you did agree it was a lot cooler here, but your heat was still noticeable.

Junkrat dropped to one knee next to you, putting a hand on your forehead. You let out a little sound and then clapped your hands over your mouth, embarrassed. He looked up at his friend.

“Awight, doll. I'm gonna go and find ya some pills,” Junkrat said. You reached out and grabbed his hand without thinking.

“No don't leave me,” you whined. He looked torn but gently and firmly removed your grip from him.

“You ain't thinkin’ straight.”

“I am, please Junkrat, don't leave me here. I need you.”

“No, ya need some meds and ya need ‘em now,” he sounded more decisive than you'd ever heard. But when he saw your face was laced with anguish, he added - “I'll be right back.”

“You swear?”

“I swear. Look - ‘titties’,” he said with mock-sincerity. Despite the increasing haziness you were feeling you still giggled as he stood up.

“Oh, and…” he added on, “it's Jamie. If you wanna call me that. I wouldn't mind.”

As you rolled the name over in your mind you heard Roadhog say something about “take the bike” and Junkrat scampered away. When he was gone, Roadhog got down to talk to you.

“When he gets back. Do you want me to let him come and see you, or make sure he doesn't bother you?”

“Thanks Roa- Mako,” you corrected, “but he can see me. He wouldn't… do anything I don't think.”

He patted your hand with surprising gentleness and nodded. “I'll get you some water.”

Then he left and you were alone.

A day passed.

And another.

It was hard to tell the time downstairs, but Mako checked on you regularly. Your heat hadn't yet peaked which gave you time to consider things… you hadn't had one this bad in a long time - or at least one that had come on as fast. Of course the slavers never invested in suppressants but then again they'd all been Betas. It was probably the fact you'd been in such close proximity to an unbonded Alpha that had set you off. Now Junkrat was away for a while, you had a chance to cool down as it were.

It didn't last

Three days, four.

You tried reading a book Mako gave you, but you couldn't keep concentration to read for more than five minutes at a time. Eventually all you could do was lie there. You could feel the pressure building up between your legs as slick began to form, your body crying out for someone, anyone to fuck you. A couple of times you almost begged Mako to help you out when he came down to give you water and try and make you eat something, but you knew that wouldn't cut it. So you buried your fingers in your cunt and pumped desperately, coming but not feeling released.

So you held on.

Five days.

Had he forgotten?

You didn't hear the bike return, but you did hear Roadhog and Junkrat’s discussion.

Well, argument.

The trapdoor slammed open and Junkrat hopped down the ladder. You forced yourself to sit up and watch him. As he got closer you gasped.

“Sorry Sheila, got a bit held up,” he laughed humourlessly. He had a black eye, and fresh cut on his forehead. His metal leg was bent out of shape meaning he limped worse than normal. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two crumpled packs of suppressants. Top market ones too, but you didn't concentrate on that.

“What happened?!”

“Awh, had to make a few stops to find someone who'd be willin’ to sell me anythin’. Got in a couple of roughhouses on the way back. Had to take the long way. Sidetracked,” he tried to pop out some pills from the packet but his hand was shaking. When he looked back he saw tears were running down your face.

“What's up, darlin’?”

“I asked you not to leave and you were gone for five days,” you choked.

“I'm sorry, it's just -”

“I thought you said you'd be back quickly. And we didn't hear anything,” you knew it was ridiculous but the Omega in you felt abandoned, and scared.

“I wanted t’do what was best for ya -”

“If you cared you would have stayed here with me! What would I have done if you hadn't have come back? What if you'd fucking died, Jamie?!”

“Well Roadie woulda looked after you,” Junkrat tried to reason.

“What! Like I'm some fucking mangy cur you took pity on?! I'm not a fucking dog, Jamie! I'm -”

You were going to beat on his chest with both fists, anger trumping your heat, but two things stopped you. First was that if you had pursued that line of action you would have sounded like a sappy heroine from one of those old rom-com films where all the women had the personality of a wet dishrag.

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, was that Junkrat very calmly took your hands in his, leaned forward, and placed his lips on yours.

And that was enough.

Out of relief, or maybe happiness, you let yourself fall into his arms and sob as he kissed you. Your mouth opened and he brushed his tongue against yours, pushing you back onto your mattress. Already a wave of thankfulness washed over you, getting some form of gratification.

Gently, Jamie pushed you onto your back and came with you so he was over you, still kissing you. You grazed his bottom lip with your teeth, catching it just a little, and he moaned above you. His mouth left yours and before you could protest you felt him kiss your jawbone, then your pulsepoint, and your neck, and down to your collarbone. You gasped and bucked up towards his touch.

“I'm sorry. I'd never leave you. I'm sorry I scared ya,” he made promises with the kissed he pressed into your hot skin, and you sobbed between them. He held your face in his hands so softly, kissing the tears away.

“Come on, stop that, ya silly thing. I'm here now. I'll make it better,” he promised. You nodded and sniffled away the last of the sobs, concentrating on how warm both of his hands were, even the one made of metal.

He began to pull off your top, and you let him, allowing him to press the skin of his bare chest up against your tattered bra. It wouldn't take much to come off but he still unhooked it gently and placed it to the side. Despite the overwhelming heat your body felt, your nipples still perked up upon contact with the coolness of the air. Jamie pressed a kiss on either of them and continued to make his way down your stomach with his mouth-worship, getting to your pants. His fingers rested on the clasp.

“Do you want me to do this?” he asked, earnestly. It prodded at your heart. You could see how hot he was for this, least of all because of the growing tightness in his shorts, but he was still holding back. Still making sure it was okay.

It made you trust him all the more.

You nodded, and he removed the last of your clothes - not that you'd been wearing much anyway. You felt the slickness between your legs and went to pinch them together to hide it, embarrassed, but Jamie put a hand on either knee and kept them apart.

“You're gorgeous ya know,” he said, gently, “you're the most beautiful thing down in this basement.”

Before you could answer his tongue licked a stripe along your cunt. And, if you weren't embarrassed before, you were when that one simple action brought you over the edge. Your hips darted upwards and almost hit him in the face. You covered your eyes with your hands and groaned.

“Jamie, I'm sorry -”

But his mouth was back on you, his tongue at your clit like a crazy man. You could feel his face getting covered on the slick you'd just produced, and when he raised his head to push his hair back, the sight of him covered in your juices made you moan. When he heard you he got a wicked look on his eye and went back to what he was doing with twice the gusto. You bucked and squirmed under him, and it wasn't made any easier when he shoved two fingers into you. Your body didn't even resist, they just slid right in. You mewled as he scissored them in and out at you, and brought you to orgasm for the second time with his tongue and fingers. The pressure built in the pit of your stomach and as you rode on his fingers you felt him insert a third one. You didn't realise you'd been drooling from it until you felt a line of saliva pass your mouth and drip down but you were too fucking horny to care.

Jamie removed himself from you and you began to complain, but stopped when you saw it was so he could unbutton himself. It was made difficult by the fact he couldn't get a grip on his buttons because of the slick covered his hands, but he managed in the end, freeing his cock.

Your mouth watered. It was long, and thick, and just the thought of it inside you almost made you fucking come again. The velvety head of it was already leaking precome with vivacity to match what you were producing. He stroked it a couple of times, coating himself with what he still had collected of your juices, before he positioned himself back over you.

“Are ya sure?”

“If I have to hold on for you any more Jamie, I might die,” you growled. He laughed.

“Well then consider this an emergency operation,” he giggled, and you managed a little chuckle despite everything, and then he pushed into you.

There was no resistance. He just sheathed himself in you, and it was perfect. The hot throb of his cock filled you perfectly. You gasped, not out of shock, but from relief, and you heard Jamie mutter something you couldn't quite articulate.

Your hands went to his back to feel the strong muscle there, running your fingers over every little scar you'd seen over these past weekend and wondered in your mind’s eye what it'd be like to touch. When he began to move it was ecstasy. Every ridge of him going in and out of your cunt almost made you scream, especially as he dragged over the sweet spot inside you. You clasped down on him and he nuzzled your scent gland, pushing his face into you and inhaling, and he sped up as he scented you. He went harder too, and you heard the slap of his balls against your skin and the unflattering sounds of slick being pumped.

“Fuck, Jamie,” you hissed, nails digging into him as he fucked you impossibly faster. His teeth run up and down the side of your neck, his hands going under your thighs to lift you up so he could sheath himself in you even deeper. He didn't reply but just let out some primal Alpha noise which made you moan.

You felt his knot swell. He didn't let up. You grabbed a handful of his hair and made him kiss you, cleaning him of the taste of you.

“Knot me,” you pleaded, and with a roar he let himself go, bringing you to ecstasy with him, as you felt hot pumps of spunk barrel into you. He kept thrusting, more erratically and less powerful, until he'd finished milking his orgasm.

The two of you laid there, connected until he deflated, and you didn't say anything - you just let Jamie hold you and spin you to lay on top of him, feeling the heave of his chest and beat of his heart, and get the first decent sleep you'd had for five days.

Chapter Text

You wake up the next morning - well, you assume, there’s no way to track time down here - and what you notice is that you’re not boiling for the first time in ages. The second thing you notice is arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight to someone’s chest. A familiar smell of burning and soot hits you as you breathe in deeply, and you turn round in Junkrat’s embrace to face him.

He’s still asleep. It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him be. When you shared the main warehouse as bunk buddies, you’d almost always hear him tittering, or talking to himself, or getting up for a walk, restless. But now he’s just laying there calmly. You want to leave him alone, but the urge to press a kiss to his lips is too overwhelming. He stirs a little under you and his metal arm clamps you back down against him, earning a squeal from you. A little smirk plays on his face as he groggily opens his eyes to look at you.

“Hi,” you say, lamely.

“G’day,” he replies. “How d’ya feel?”

“Better,” you confess, “not like I’m burning up. Umm… thank you.”

“Don’t have t’ thank me, doll. It was my pleasure,” and he winks and it makes you go all giggly, against your better judgement. He seems to like it though, brushing his fingers up your arm. You sigh and address the elephant in the room.

“Last night was… amazing, Jamie. But if ya only want it to be a one time thing I get it. Just a friend helping a friend, or whatever.”

His eyes go wide, and he reaches up with both hands to cup your face. He makes you look at him and he runs a thumb over your cheek, hot skin on skin.

“You don’t think ya just a fling, darl?”

You shrug, genuinely unsure. He pulls you down to kiss him again, and it’s sweet, and gentle. And then he says, “what I said last night. I wasn't joking. you’re the most beautiful, valuable thing down here ya know.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” you say with a snort, casting your eyes over to what you’re pretty sure is the Crown Jewels from England buried under a pile of novelty gold tits. But once again he gently brings you back to look at him, and he’s not laughing.

“I mean it.”

He kisses you again, and this time it isn’t so innocent. You open your mouth as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, moving a hand into your hair. You run your fingers down his hard, lean muscles and he makes a little noise of contentment.

He plants more kisses along your body, and when you moan into his touch it encourages him. A nibble on the collarbone, a lick down your cleavage, tasting the hot sweaty skin there. You can feel yourself getting wet and he knows it. His hand dances downwards and dips between your thighs. As his fingers brush your clit you thrust up embarrassingly quickly into his touch. He chuckles, spurred on, and dips two fingers into you without warning - but you’re more than prepared for him.

“How does that feel?” he asks, running his tongue along the shell of your ear. You can only moan in response and he looks elated at this impact he has on you. His fingers brush inside you, just missing that sweet spot his dick massages so well. You’re mewling in his arms and finally can’t deal with it any more, taking his dick in your hand. It’s hard and hot and perfect, and you run your grip up and down, enjoying the feeling of the coarse hair at the base. Jamie grunts and nuzzles into your scent gland.

“If ya keep that up I won’t be able to control myself,” he growls.

“Then don't,” you whisper, a devilish grin on your face.

And you find yourself with your legs over his shoulders, a hand gripping either thigh with such ferocity that you know there will be bruises. He jackhammers into you and you hear the repetitive slap of skin on skin letting you know that this isn’t lovemaking, this isn’t like last night - this is fucking, pure and simple, a release of all the tension you’ve been building up. When he comes he roars and the feeling of him filling you up with hot jets pushes you over the edge and you crescendo right after him, almost sobbing with the relief of it.

He falls down next to you, trying to catch his breath. You wipe a sweaty lock of hair from your forehead.

“We’re gonna need to clean up at some point, y’know,” you mutter, rubbing your face into his neck.

“Yeh, that’s a problem for later,” he mumbles, and begins to kiss you again.

When you eventually resurface Roadhog doesn’t seem surprised. He glances at the pair of you, dishevelled and sweat soaked, sighs, and goes back to his book. You and Junkrat giggle like naughty teenagers and head off to the shower.

And like that… you’re together. Junkrat is your… well, he’s yours.

And it’s… maybe unsettling isn’t the right word, but enlightening. Because as time goes by you find yourself slipping away from the the things you planned when you got here. You do search for your family to start with. But they never really used maps, and tracking them down is tricky, and then you reason that well if you do go back you’ll just end up being more trouble for them than you’re worth as an unbonded Omega, so it’s far more sensible to just… stay here. You enjoy it. The people you care about are here.

But no matter how many times you fuck Junkrat, and it is a lot, you still don’t bond with him. You’re sure he wants to because what sort of Alpha who was in this deep with an Omega wouldn’t want to bond, but he never asks you no matter how much he nuzzles your scent gland. He’s respectful. If you want to bond then you’ll ask him. And it isn’t that you don’t want to but… you can’t quite find it in yourself to do it yet. You hate yourself for it. Because there isn’t a reason not to, and you’re pretty sure you want to stay here, but it’s almost like giving yourself a back exit just in case.

When you first started your life with the two junkers you took meticulous note of the passage of time, making sure to check what day it was and scratch a little calendar into the wall. You didn’t have that luxury when you were in the caravans and now you didn’t want to waste it. But you become complacent as time goes by, and as you find yourself settling, tracking time seems less important. So you can’t be quite sure how long has passed until you see Damien again.

You were in Junkertown. Junkrat and Roadhog aren’t allowed in, because of course they’re wanted criminals, but nobody really gives a fuck about another random amputee who’s on suppressants so strong it’s like typing doesn’t even exist. You’re haggling with a dealer for a fridge - it’ll be nice, you insisted to the boys - when you hear your name being shouted. You swung around, heart in your mouth, scared you’d get into a fistfight in the middle of the city.

And then you see him.

Just as skinny as you remember, but no longer does one of his eyes sit milky and useless in his head. A brand new cybernetic implant glints from its socket, a piercing green in this wasteland of rust.

You drop everything you’re holding, which earns an angry shout from the shopkeeper, but you don’t care. The two of you run and collide, throwing arms around each other’s bodies.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, and you can feel him crying into the crook of your neck. You take his face in your hands and look at him, amazed you’ve found him again.

It takes a while for the two of you to separate, simply astounded that each of you have found someone who was so important to you again. Eventually you end up leaning against the side of a building in the shade, sharing a glass bottle of soda. Catching up on what had been happening since you’d last laid eyes on each other.

“So, how’s the eye?” you ask, taking a swig and handing the drink over. Damien reaches up and taps it with a fingernail and you he laughs as you shudder.

“‘S good, actually. Remember that first Alpha I was with? He bought it for me. He was… kind,” he chooses his words carefully. It’s sad, that he’s grateful for such a small human nicety. “He was a junker in charge of a gang. And then his second in command mutinied and killed him, and she took me too.”

He peels back his shirt collar and you almost gag. There is what looks like a fresh bite there and it’s festering. You can’t imagine it’s comfortable for poor Damien, discoloured flesh sitting round his scent gland. A clear sign of a neglected Omega.

“Fuck, Damien,” you whisper. He grimaced and covers it again, taking a drink.

“Yeah. She’s… not good. She didn’t let me out of the base when she first marked me. But now she realises she can always find me because we’re bonded, and if I run she always says I’ll regret it…” he chews his lip.

You stare at your friend. And you make a decision.

“If she died, though…”

He looks up at you from where he’d been lost in his own thoughts.

“How long would it take her to find you?”

*

Roadhog lent you the bike. It’s ridiculously big for you but you can ride it just fine, and with Damien clinging to your back you’re driving more carefully than usual. It took a while to convince him. But you were insistent, now you’d found him you wouldn’t let him go back to some abusive asshole Alpha.

Junkrat comes to the door to greet you when he hears the bike, and looks confused as you dismount with someone. You kiss him in the cheek and say, “Jamie, this is Damien.”

His eyebrows skyrocket.

“Oh, Damien? Damien Damien? I’ve ‘eard a lot about ya, mate,” he says, nodding. Damien hasn’t gotten off the bike. He looks terrified.

“That’s… Jamison Fawkes,” he stammers out.

“You know me? I’m flattered,” Junkrat laughs.

“There’s… wanted posters all over the city…”

“He’s fine, I promise,” you say, and Damien seems ready to dismount of his own accord until Roadhog joins you and he squeaks and falls off.

It takes a while to calm him down, and a while longer to explain the situation to Junkrat and Roadhog. You know time is precious. With each moment that passes, the closer Damien’s Alpha is to tracking him down. But they agree to help, because that’s who they are, your boys.

“How many people you reckon she’ll bring with ‘er, bruce?” Junkrat asks Damien as he loads up his frag launcher. Damien is trying to load a gun with inexperienced fingers. He drops a bullet and squeaks.

“Erm… hard to say, Mr Junkrat. Ten, twenty?”

“‘Mister’! Oi Hog, didja hear that?” he laughs. Mako lets out a noise that you’ve come to recognise as a chuckle. “No need for that. Any friend of our Sheila’s is a friend of ours.”

‘Our Sheila’. You like that, you think to yourself.

“Twenty ain’t bad. We’ve done more than that with just two of us. Ya ever fired a gun, Damien?”

“N-no, Mr - ah, Junkrat.”

“You get used to it,” you say to him, patting him reassuringly on the back. You’re not sure if you mean Junkrat or the gun. Either way Damien sticks staunchly to your side for the rest of the day. As evening draws in he begins to nod off, and you keep him close as he ends up falling asleep whilst you and Junkrat are on watch. You gently pull your hand out of his once you’re sure his breathing has settled and move some hair out of his eyes. Jamie looks over to you.

“D’ya love him?”

The questions shocks you so much you can’t respond for a moment. Jamie’s face is a little bit resigned, almost melancholy in the low light of the fire.

“I wouldn’t be angry if ya did, y’know. The two of ya went through a lot together.”

“Well yeah, I love him. But not love love. I mean, I love him like a brother. I love you like…”

You trail off. How do you love Jamie? You count the ways. You don’t want to say you love him with the blind obedience of an Omega, but no two unbonded can mate so often and not develop certain feelings for each other. And you don’t want to say you love him because he saved you, because what sort of indebted foundation is that to start a love on? But you do love him. And you’re not sure when it started, but it’s there, nestled in your heart. And you’d not have it any other way.

“I… love you,” you end, lamely. But his face lights up, and he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close.

“Yeah, I love ya too.”

You stay like that for a while, just next to each other, until the sound of a car revving perks you up. Well, a pack of them. They kick up dust in huge bilious clouds as the grew closer, coarse and repugnant in their noise.

“Company,” you mutter, and Junkrat grunts in agreement. Junkrat hobbles off to make the last minute arrangements you agreed on. Roadhog makes his way out of the building to find you. As the noise builds Damien wakes, his face turning from a contented sleepiness to fear.

“I didn’t think it’d be so soon,” he whispers, face gaunt. Roadhog silently passes you a gun, loaded and ready to fire.

“You’ll be fine. Just stay behind me, alright?” you say. Damien nods, but he looks sick. As the war party draws closer Junkrat joins you again, and the four of you face down.

The cars - well, that’s what they were once, now with all the ‘modifications’ they resemble small tanks - screech to a halt, blowing a cloud of dust at you. Your face remains impassive as they begin to get out of their vehicles. From the one at the front out climbs a woman, large, weighed down with armour. She spots Damien behind you and grins; the sick grin of a hunter whose prey has nowhere to go. Damien stiffens behind you.

Her crew assemble. There’s maybe twelve, fifteen of them? You’re outnumbered.

You’d be worried if you and your junker companions were any three other people.

The Alpha approaches, stopping about twenty feet away. She has a shotgun clenched tightly in her dirty hands. She uses it to point at Damien frozen behind you.

“That’s mine,” she states.

“He’s belongs to nobody but himself.”

She barks out a laugh, and you see her rotten, jagged teeth. You repress a shudder at the idea of her marking Damien.

“Oh, what are ya? Some sort’ve Omega liberation squad?”

“I’m gonna give you one chance,” you reply, voice level. “If you say you’ll leave Damien alone, you can walk away with your life.”

“Go to hell!”

She raises her shotgun. You’re faster. You grab the scrap launcher from your side and fire a round. Shrapnel explodes into her chest. Most of it doesn’t come out again and her eyes gloss over as blood runs out from her mouth. She takes one last look at Damien before she slumps to her knees, and then the floor.

“Junkrat, if you will,” you said, reloading the weapon. In your periphery you see him raise a hand and press a remote with a big, red button. If you know to listen out for it you can hear the gentle click in the air. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind -”

One of the backup gets into his car and fires it up, desperately pulling away. He makes it maybe twenty metres befores he hits the first landmine. His car explodes, flipping upwards into the air, exploding the gas tank in midair. The others watch in slack-jawed horror.

“... as I was saying, if you wouldn’t mind putting down your weapons and handing over your valuables. My associate here has just activated a minefield which spreads out over our property, so leaving will almost definitely end in your death.”

One of the goons aims at Junkrat, who giggles. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, come on. Y’don’t think we’d set up a security system that can be deactivated just by pressing a button, do ya? You’ll never get out if you shoot us dead.”

He can’t tell if you’re bluffing. They look at each other and then slowly begin to drop their guns and money. You grin, widely.

“Good. Now if you’ll all step into a nice line, we’ll let you go one at a time.”

You’re as good as your word. They don’t seem particularly loyal to their dead warlord, hopping into their cars and leaving as quickly as they can as soon as you allow them. The last one hangs back. He looks young, not much older than Damien.

“Ah, ma’am?”

Ma’am. You might like that even more.

“What?” you snap, cocking your gun. He winces.

“Erm. The traders. The ones who bring the Omegas. They’re uh… they’re coming around Junkertown tomorrow. I thought you might wanna know.”

You completely freeze. Your bravado drops, but Junkrat has your back. He claps a hand on your shoulder and moves you gently behind him, saying to the boy, “Noted. Ta for letting us know. Now, piss off.”

He doesn’t need telling again, and soon the only people there are the four of you.

Damien whoops and throws his arms around you. You can feel his wet tears leaking into your shirt as he thanks you over and over, his words becoming one long chain. And you hold him back but you can’t stop thinking about the last thing that was said. Jamie sees how distracted you are, and waits. When you’ve looked at Damien’s bonding mark and see it’s already begun to fade, and he settles down to sleep, your junkers take you aside.

“You wanna go, don’t you?” Jamie asks. You nod.

“I can’t let them just leave. Not now I know they’re there.”

“‘Hog?” asks Jamie, waiting for his friend’s reaction. Hog breathes slowly, and then nods.

“If that’s what’ll make you feel better, I’ll kill them all myself,” he says. You hug him. Mako, the old softie.

You aren’t tired but manage to sleep in Jamie’s arms. Just being near an Alpha calms you, even though there’s still adrenaline in your veins, and fear. Fear from the idea you might come face to face with your captors again.

You don’t know how long you rest for but eventually you feel Jamie jostle you awake, the bike loaded up and sunlight pouring in. Mako has even managed to dig another side car out of somewhere for Damien. Speaking of, the other Omega is bustling around, loading bullets into guns. He looks determined, but for some reason there’s tears in his eyes.

“What’s up?” you ask, approaching him softly. He jumps a bit when he hears you, and as you turn you see that the bite mark on his neck is amazingly almost gone. He cuffs away his tears.

“Oh, it’s a natural Omega thing. My Alpha died so my body’s gone into chemical overdrive. I’m really not upset. I just… my eyes won’t stop crying,” he sighs. You nod but look down at his shaking hands. He laughs.

“And, y’know. I’m scared shitless,” he laughs. Yeah. You are too.

The four of you pile onto the bike and its companion cars, and Mako kicks the pile of scrap into life. It’s you and Jamie in one car, Damien with the guns at his feet in the other. You hope there isn’t a stray rock which will make the whole thing go off. Stealth isn’t really an option in this thing but you’d like to get the beast headway you can.

You sit behind Jamie. It’s awkward, this sidecar not really being built for two, but you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his shirtless back. Your hands clasp over his heart, and his own comes to hold them. For a moment you pretend that you’re not riding into war.

Junkertown isn’t far. Maybe this would be more dramatic under the cover of the moon, but as it is everything is brightly lit from the sun in the cloudless sky. It must be high noon when you spot the caravan in the distance. It makes you retch.

You hear the familiar sound of the bike slowing as you approach. You recognise a couple of the traders, one very prominently missing two fingers. They go to their guns as you pull up.

“Stop right there,” calls one of them, stepping forward. It's too late because you have stopped, and Mako is standing up. “That’s far enough, mate.”

“He’s not your mate,” calls Junkrat, following suit. When he leaves your grasp you panic, but find yourself also rising to your feet.

“Sale isn’t open until this evening, and - hey, don’t I know you from somewhere -?” he squints at Junkrat, trying to place him, and then over his shoulder he spies you. His eyes open and nostrils flare as he picks up your scent.

No more time for subtlety.

You see Damien throw Mako his scrap launcher from the corner of your eye as you go for your handgun. Couldn’t bring the Big Girl, that’d done more harm than good, but having weapon in your hands feels nice. What your shots to the chest don’t do Mako’s rounds finish off and the two of them lie dead in their own blood.

The bullets start to fly from there. There are more traders than you remembered from last time, and you panic, and you desperately try and keep the fight away from where the Omega’s caravan is. You can only imagine what must be going through their heads, and when you see the bullet holes torn in the tarpaulin, your heart is in your throat.

Damien has never fired a gun, but his finger is hitting the trigger like it's the only thing he knows how to do. They might have numbers, but you have surprise, and two very angry Omegas. Soon, in the bloody dust, only one is left. One you saw early on in the fight. He’s on his knees in amongst the corpses of his crew, hog tied so he can’t move. His hair’s grown since you last saw him. Good. It’s something to grab.

The Boss stares at you with beady eyes. The others hand back. They know you need to do this.

“Do you remember me?”

“No. There’s been hundreds of you,” he spits. You sniff.

“If there’s been hundreds, didn’t you think this would eventually happen?”

“Even if you shoot me I’m not the last caravan,” he laughs and you see his black teeth.

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

He tries to hide his genuine surprise.

“The last thing you said to me was, ‘if you pull this shit again, I’ll scalp you’.”

His eyes go wide as Jamie hands you the knife.

He kicks and fights but he’s tied, and you have the adrenaline of someone exacting your revenge. You get him to the floor, a knee in his back, fingers so tightly in his hair you’re almost pulling clumps out. When the blade bites into the skin of his forehead you make a moan that sounds almost orgasmic. The cutting is tough, like skinning animal hide, but you keep digging your knife back, delicately severing hair from bone, pulling up as you go, until his fight subsides. When you finish the job his head drops down heavily into the dirt. You’re breathing hard, and your hand is covered in blood, and you’re crying.

After a moment you feel Jamie take your hand with the knife.

“Shall I take that back darl? Do you wanna talk to the other Omegas?”

You nod, slowly, and stand up. You let the grip go slack in both hands, releasing the knife and the scalp. You feel a sense of… guilt? You can’t be sure, but you use a water canteen to wash the blood off.

You go into the Omega caravan. There’s maybe eleven of them, and they all look terrified. As soon as they see you you burst into tears.

It’s Damien who explains that you all aren’t here to hurt them, that you’re here to free them. You help unlock the cages and bring them out into the sunlight. You watch them embrace and sob. One of them comes up to you.

“You’re the one who bit his fingers off, aren’t you?”

“How’d you know that?”

“He liked to complain about it a lot.”

The two of you laugh, then he asks,

“What now?”

And you know.

Mako and Damien help to clean everyone’s wounds and feed the hungry, and you and Jamie walk for a little bit. Away from other ears. You’re sure he’s noticed how you’re acting, you’re sure he knows what's coming.

“How’d it feel?” he asks, at length. You look to where crusted, dried blood hasn't quite washed off your hands.

“Unnecessary,” you confess. He nods.

“Well, ya blow up a moment like that in yer head it’s gonna be like that. Hah. Blow up,” he jabbers.

“Jamie, I -”

“I know,” and there are tears mounting in his eyes as he stares out into the horizon, and specifically not at you. It breaks your heart. “I know. You’ve gotta help ‘em. They need ya. More than I do. And if I came with ya it’d cause trouble because it’s your fight and not mine… But can we just… pretend for a moment?”

You slip your hand into his. And nobody bothers you in this silent way if saying goodbye, but when you come back to the camp you aren’t touching any more.

“Everyone, I’ll try and find you your families, if that’s what you want,” you announce to the Omegas. “If not. There are plenty like us, all over the Wasteland. If you’re willing to fight for them, we can make a difference. Damien?”

Damien looks at Jamie, then you. Then he nods.

“Yeah, I’m in.”

As the other Omegas pledge their allegiance to you, you hear the bike start, and you hear it leave. It covers the sound of your shattered heart.

Chapter Text

It had been two years since Junkrat had last seen your face, and six months since he’d been asked to join Overwatch with Roadhog. He was still pretty surprised by both of these things. Why would Overwatch want them? They were world renowned criminals, after all. But maybe Winston saw in them a challenge, something to mould into a semblance of goodness. Plus the pay was good, and it offered a better place to live than the Outback.
You crossed his mind every day. Sometimes it was as simple as seeing a piece of clothing you might like and you’d flit into his thoughts, other times he’d try to remember your smell when we was on a rut, thrusting desperately into his hand and coming over his own fingers, pretending they were yours.
He hated himself for it but he couldn’t remember your face. He tried to summon it up when he lay there at night in the far-too-quiet base, but your eyes were always too big, or your lips weren’t quite that shape. It would always end with him swatting the vision away, and burying his face in the pillow in defeat.
Yes, every day he thought of you. And every day it felt like a part of his soul was fractured off.
The only reason he paid attention to the letter was because he never got any letters. But for the first time since they had joined Overwatch the postboy stopped at his door, depositing a busted-up envelope in his mailbox. He ripped it open, only to find himself faced with a long string of numbers. It took him a moment to realise they were coordinates. They were in Australia.
It took a little bit of convincing to get Winston to lend him the plane. He argued, if he could get you on their side, you’d be a valuable asset to Overwatch. Eventually Winston relented but on the strict instruction that if anything happened to the jet it would come out of Junkrat’s salary.
“D’ya want me to come?” Roadhog had asked. Junkrat shook his head.
“Nah. I think… I think this has gotta be between me ‘n her.”
He got the jet to stop a couple of miles from the coordinates he’d been given, hobbling through the sand of the Outback to get to you. It wasn’t long before he saw where he was going.
A great, terrifying stronghold jutted up from the ground. It looked like it had been pieced together from whatever scrap could be found - no different from anything else in the wasteland, he thought bitterly. As he approached in his mismatched lollop there was a shout of warning, and suddenly heads popped up from over walls and behind shields. At least twenty guns were trained on him, and he giggled and raised his hands.
“Stand down,” called a voice Junkrat recognised. “He’s with the boss.”
The guns were hesitantly lowered, and the whole fortress seemed to rumble as its door opened - they were barely distinguishable from the rest of the wall with the crude metal they were made from.
Damien walked out. He had lost his other eye some time ago, so now his sight rested solely on cybernetics. He’d also gained a lot of muscle. He was hardly the same terrified Omega Junkrat had met all that time ago. With a huge machine gun strapped to his side he walked up to Junkrat and warmly clasped his hand in greeting.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Damien, genuinely. Junkrat found himself returning his smile.
“Yeah, you too, mate.”
The doors were firmly sealed behind them as they made their way into the town. Even with the ridiculous amount of suppressants he was on, Junkrat was still bowled over with the smell of Omegas. Every single person staring at him, polishing their guns, standing guard - they were all Omegas. He drew more than a few looks as Damien escorted him through what appeared to be a sort of courtyard.
“You've been busy,” Junkrat giggled, slightly nervous.
“Yeah, it’s been a non-stop drive,” Damien admitted, “just when we’d return from one rescue party, we'd get word of another band of slavers. It just never seems to stop. Though, it does seem slavers have been declining recently. She thinks we’re at the final push now.”
Damien led Junkrat into what appeared to be the main building - the largest, sturdiest shack there. As Damien spoke quietly with the guards Junkrat watched two Omega children laughing and chasing each other, wrestling the other to the ground. When they got near enough they stopped dead, looking at him with terror in their eyes. A small smile from him caused them to run in fear, and he realised just how little had changed.
It was a lot like Overwatch’s mission control in Gibraltar, just a lot more rudimentary. Everything looked like it was bound to fall into piles of scrap at any moment, but Junkrat didn’t see any of that.
He saw you across the room, surrounded by personnel. You were giving orders as if you were born to do it. Yes, older, more scars, but you.
When you smiled at him he felt his shattered soul glue back together.
“Hi Jamie,” you said quietly.
“Hiya, doll.”

**

That night he fucked you as if he was a dying man. His fingers sunk into your - not so soft any more, strong - muscled body, and he jackhammered against you until you were crying out so loudly the whole base probably heard. You kissed him fiercely and he felt tears on your face but a smile on your lips.
Afterwards you lay with your head on his chest, listening to his heart. He stroked patterns in your back lazily and nuzzled into your hair. You told him everything - the past two years of tireless effort to save Omegas across the country, this base of 1500 strong where those without families could come and live safely. The countless attacks from outsiders you’d fended off. The friendships you’d wrought, allegiances you’d made.
The way you missed him every day. The way Damien knew he’d one day need to take over, and that he was ready. The way you knew Overwatch was scouting you, and you could do a lot for Omegas if you were part of its ranks.
The way you needed to be with Jamie, because, shit. He was your soulmate.
So Junkrat popped the first of two questions.
The answer to the first one was yes, of course, and the two of you left for Overwatch in the morning, even with a teary goodbye to Damien.
The second one, well. You said “I do” to that some time later at an altar, a faded bitemark on your neck, and then Jamie’s lips pressed to yours.