ＳＡＵＣＹ ＴＡＬＥＳ 〈Overwatch Oneshots〉

armistice - doomfist x reader

A/N: Sorry for the wait, y'all. Thank you for being patient with me. Also, I made (young) Hanzo my poster-boy! Yaaaay!

Not suitable for work or kids.

Seriously. Y'all are really freaky in this story.

--

Being a Helix Security International agent scored you many perks. Especially when your alter ego was a civilian involved in the fashion industry. You were cleared to live a life of privilege, as long as your luxurious lifestyle yielded suitable outcomes.

If you weren't spending time at headquarters, you were either in grand casinos or prestigious nightclubs, entertaining big-wigs and entitled men. You made an effortless living by gleaning intelligence from the privileged population—in fact, it was this very skill that earned you a place in Helix's espionage team.

A bat of the eyes and a demure smile could render your target powerless, reducing him to a blabbering idiot as he'd try to win your affections.

Even several fellow agents have expressed their commendations, often turning to you for aid on intel-gathering. You were efficient. You made no lapses or slip-ups. You always got your job done.

But tonight... and last night, and the night before last...

You were set for something utterly new.

Akande Ogundimu was a dangerous man. The moment you set eyes on his powerful figure, you became uncertain—hesitant.

Two nights ago, you'd managed to find yourself trapped inside his hotel suite. You'd spent the hours of darkness on your haunches in a closet. You were fortunate he hadn't found you while you were snooping around his rented abode.

And last night, you were so shaken from having a near brush with death, you couldn't muster the will to approach your target. You hadn't even held a conversation with him...

Doomfist, the man who supposedly ran the deadly Talon organization.

"Bonsoir, ma belle," A gentleman with a dashing smile appeared in front of you, briefly removing your attention from your target. He took your hand, and planted a lingering kiss on it.

Determined not to lose Ogundimu in the crowd, you offered a smile and drew your hand to your side. Then, you replied with the worst-accented speech you could emulate, "Je suis désolée, je ne parle pas Francaįs."

"Oh, do you speak English then?" The stranger was persistent. You caught wind of the desire in his gray eyes, especially as he leaned forward.

Shit. You'd lost Ogundimu in the sea of people. The darkened atmosphere of the nightclub made it more challenging to sweep for your target.

Masking your irritation, you tucked stray strands of your hair behind your ear and answered, "Yes." You hoped your curt reply would turn him off, but he didn't take the hint.

"May I buy you a drink?" He said, planting a hand on the bar top behind you—his hand very close to your waistline.

"I'm- -"

"Sorry for my tardiness," A striking deep voice commanded your attention. It was Ogundimu in the flesh, up close and personal as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to him. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long, my sweet."