Tag: cyberratting writes stuff

Okay but also, consider aftercare with reaper/76 and mccree/hanzo or w/e combination of???

have aftercare mchanzo with wolf!McCree because ya’ll seem to like him so much lol (and because in my mind wolf!McCree is the tamest, sweetest little puppydog)

McCree was still whimpering when his cock stopped jerking and Hanzo carefully loosened the tight grip he’d had around his knot and the warm cloth he’d wrapped around it. His insides were feverishly hot, clenching and suckling on Hanzo’s fingers with sated, almost dreamlike slowness. 

Hanzo gently kept fucking him on the four digits; rocking in and petting his tender, swollen knot at the same time while carefully watching the scruffy face and the sulfuric glow beneath heavy eyelids.

“Okay?” Hanzo asked, voice pitched low, hand switching from the oversensitive cock to McCree’s hairy thigh to rub against the strong, twitching muscles there.

McCree whined high and canine, body shivering once, then trying to squirm away from the gently rocking fingers. Hanzo hummed tunelessly and pulled out slow and careful, fingertips rubbing against the loose, relaxed muscle in farewell as he stood up from the bed and walked around to look at the man.

McCree looked serene in a way he never did outside of their little games. His mouth was bloody, one tip of a fang still peeking out from beneath his upper lip. When Hanzo started loosening the thick leather straps from around his wrists, he whined once more; pitiful and near-scared.

“Hush,” the archer murmured, helping him pull his arms down and draping them across the man’s hirsute belly, because McCree didn’t have the coordination to do so – and because Hanzo enjoyed caring for him when he was disoriented and out of it; seeking blindly for warmth and reassurance.

McCree never was more animal than when he let Hanzo take him apart; openly begging for affection.

Hanzo rubbed fingertips through the wild tangle of his unkempt beard, sitting down on the side of the mattress.

“For just a moment,” he warned with a voice pitched low, eying the drying mess on McCree’s abdomen. “I will need to wash you.”

McCree turned around, blindly nuzzling his face into Hanzo’s hip before placing a gentle, affectionate bite there. Hanzo sighed softly and petted his unwashed hair with rare tenderness.

Oh but what about reaper going through with his threats and lending soldier 76 to others and by others I mean Roadhog. BUuuttttt then he gets so jealous at the pathetic whimpering and sobbing 76 is doing so after RH is done he just fucks into 76’s filthy used up hole to show him who his real papi is

“Come here. Let me see.” He grabs 76′s belt and drags him closer with an impatient snarl, sharp claws making short work of the fastenings of his pants. The soldier stiffens in protest for a second, then relaxes once more.

Reaper can hear him breathe harshly behind his mask. He grunts softly when Reaper pushes his hands into the back of his ruined pants, and still doesn’t protest the rough handling; only moans softly when broad, rude fingers nudge against his hole and test how well prepared he is. Reaper can feel him against his thigh; already hard as a diamond. He makes a sharp, little sound when Reaper pushes in two fingers without warning out of retaliation for the old asshole being so… so…

“Okay. Get your ass in there, slut,” he hisses, feeling agitated and on edge for no reason at all.

76 hesitates, stumbles a step back and looks around the parking lot like he’s seeing it for the first time, then starts turning towards the ruined warehouse.

“What. Are you so hungry for cock that you’re forgetting your manners?”

The soldier hesitates, then rasps, “Thanks, papi.”

Reaper shudders and watches him make his stumbling way inside, one hand holding his ruined pants up.

.o.

Gabriel had followed the progress of the junkers for some time; not because he had had them in mind for this little tete-a-tete, but just because he found them entertaining.

It had taken watching them work up close for his new obsession to form. They were rude and dirty and disgusting. Perfect for what he had in plan for the golden boy.

.o.

It was strangely less satisfying than Gabriel had anticipated; squatting on a rusty beam and watching the proceedings through a broken window; listening in to Jack’s little sounds of distress and slutty need that became progressively louder with the amount of cock he was forced to take.

From what he had observed, it hadn’t needed much convincing at all; Jack letting his ruined pants fall down to his knees and showing off his hard, bobbing cock with an air of almost pathetic hope to what clearly were absolute strangers.

Fawkes didn’t touch him, even; just lounged around and made a couple crass comments before his attention got pulled elsewhere. Rutledge, however… he seemed more than willing to get a taste.

Gabriel could hear the nasty, animal sound of their fucking; the wet squelching as the massive man pushed inside, large hands clamped around 76′s arms just above his elbows, pulling him back onto the meaty cock in a leisurely but relentless pace.

The soldier was taking his fucking wordlessly – but not passively. His booted feet had shuffled apart as wide as possible, ass hiked up into the grinding, deep thrusts. He was… eager.

Gabriel grit his teeth and refused to acknowledge the angry pounding of his erection; or the way Jack fucking sounded. His rough voice started to climb in register – became high and pathetically needy as he let himself get used, helpless in Roadhog’s huge arms.

Reaper could see the occasional drip of sticky fluid between 76′s thighs and it was making him unduly angry; to know that the huge man was probably pummeling right against the soldier’s prostate, trying to milk him dry.

Gabriel was horny and angry and he couldn’t fucking stop watching as Overwatch’s pet soldier got wrecked on a huge, dirty cock and begged for more with inarticulate, dumb babbling.

Fucked stupid in a dirty warehouse by a grunting hulk of a man while being watched by a giggling maniac. It should maybe be disgusting – but all Reaper could think about was that Jack was doing this in the first place because he had ordered him to.

.o.

“Dios, you’re a nasty slut, aren’t you?” Reaper grunts as he slams Jack over some crates and hectically fumbles with his fly. “I watched you, soldier. Couldn’t fucking keep your pants up for even a minute, could you? Just let them drop and let them see what a nasty whore you were. You had luck they obviously don’t have standards.”

Jack is clawing at the wood of the crate and probably driving splinters into his fingers. He doesn’t seem to care; he is whining and arching his back. Presenting. Showing off the dark, soft gape of his ruined hole and the warm, thick cum oozing out.

His cock hung heavy between his thighs. He hadn’t come himself – Rutledge had used him like the old toy he was and then thrown him onto the dirty ground.

Jack had whined and begged; hectically crawled around to lick at Rutledge’s sticky, softening cock, trying to get another rise out of him; get him to finish what he started… but the large man had simply stood like a rock, enjoying the desperate attention, and eventually pushed 76 away like he was nothing but a yapping dog.

They were gone now, the two insane assholes, and Reaper had swooped in with something he was loath to admit was eagerness.

He could feel it burn beneath his skin; making his blood boil.

“Had luck they were willing to take the next best cunt that offered itself to them,” he growled, his wet, warm breath making it hard to breathe behind his mask. Fuck, he wanted to take it off; bite at Jack’s throat until he could taste blood gushing onto his tongue.

But that was not how things worked.

76 made a sound like a wounded puppy; his eyes were glazed over, mouth wide open and panting. Reaper had no idea when he even lost his visor. He looked like he was in fucking heaven even though his cheeks were flushed a ruddy red in embarrassment.

“Were you gagging on their stink while he fucked you?” he breathed low, sinister as he pushed in; felt the soft spongy walls welcome him in, the slide in made pathetically easy by the creamy cum already deposited. “Did you love how unwashed they were? Did you like taking a nasty, dirty cock and licking it clean afterwards?”

Jack jerked against him. He was choking on his own excited breaths, eyes clamped shut tightly. Gabriel could see tears glistening in his lashes.

“Y-Yes. Yes. God, yes, I did,” Jack hiccuped through the short, sharp thrusts Reaper was starting in on. He grit his teeth, eyebrows drawing together in focus as he snapped his hips; getting Rutledge’s cum to froth around the rim.

“What do good boys say?” Reaper growled, voice deep and ethereal, black mist wafting out of the sides of his mask. He felt like he was starting to slip; like he was starting to actually go mad for Jack fucking Morrison.

“Th-Th-Th-” Jack’s teeth were chattering. He was trying to tighten up for Gabriel’s cock and failing miserably after the fat cock that had reamed him throughout the last half hour. He was openly weeping, arching his back and clawing at the wood with bloody fingers. “Thank you, p-p-papi.”

“Damn right. Damn fucking right, little nasty whore.”

He had to bite his lip to stop babbling, fingertips digging into Morrison’s hips, eyes feeling like they were about to spring out of his head so he wouldn’t say anything strange. Anything irresponsible. Anything about how proud he was of his boy and how papi had loved and hated seeing him getting dicked down by another man.

McCreeissohairybecausehe’aawerewolfandheKNOTSandiscuteIdon’tmaketherulesbye

Hanzo is contemplating the full moon when he hears the crunching of soft footsteps on the rooftop behind. The cadence of their steady fall is familiar – almost comforting.

McCree’s scent curls around his nose even before the man slowly sits down next to him, legs easily dangling above what would be a certain deadly drop. He always smells warm and of clean sweat, but on these nights, the scent is even deeper; a note of damp dog hair that Hanzo is helpless but to react to – nipples hardening and the hairs on his arms standing at attention.

He watches McCree out of the corner of his eyes. He seems calm. Happy. The wild scruff of his beard has crawled up a little higher on his gaunt cheeks; a hint of fang glints between his lips when he opens them and breathes in deep – scenting the air.

McCree suddenly tilts his head, sick yellow eyes throwing Hanzo a cheeky wink. The archer pretends like he isn’t flustered; like his perusal of the man next to him had been purely coincidental. He turns back to the moon and huffs.

McCree snickers – a deep, rumbling sound somewhere from the back of his throat – and leans in closer to press his nose right beneath Hanzo’s ear and sniff at him. Goosebumps prickles down his body and he pulls in a sharp breath.

The tip of McCree’s nose nudges against the point of Hanzo’s jaw.

“Have you finished your stargazing? Hunting you down has made me… hungry.”

Hanzo’s eyes flutter close, fingers curling tight into his loose hakama. When he feels the quick dip of McCree’s tongue cheekily taking a taste of his salty skin, he can’t help but groan softly.

McCree’s hand is on his; untangling his fingers and guiding his arm over – letting him feel the big, living bulge in his crotch. A knowing push of fingers lets him feel the tender swell at the base of the fat shaft even through the thick material of the jeans.

They both groan in tandem.

“Ah wanna breed,” McCree drawls right against the shell of Hanzo’s ear, and the archer is shamed to admit how the crude demand fans his shy need into an acute want.

He gingerly squeezes his fingers around the swell he can feel, and has trouble swallowing when he imagines how it’ll feel inside him. Heavy. warm. Filling him up and binding him to the spot without any hope of escape in the near future.

“Come,” he rasps. “Quick.”

I think 76 would have a huge humiliation kink and that’s part of the reason why he and reyes are so good together. The first time 76 came was from Reyes stepping on his cock with his steel toed shoes.

The heck :O I was just starting to write more-or-less-cute Reyes coaxing virgin!Jack to rut against his goddamn thick thigh and then you come along with this nastiness and I’m totes into it.

I’m such a leaf in the wind, you peeps. A slutty leaf in the wind. I can’t. I’m just so weak.

“Don’t look at me. Hands behind your head.” Reaper slowly rounds 76, a thrill of dark power coursing through him as the old soldier does as he is told; pressing his forehead against the dirty ground and putting his hands against the back of his neck.

“You’re pathetic. You come crawling to me just to vie for a fuck like a cat in heat. What makes you think I want some old, broken toy like you? Last time had been nothing but a pity fuck. You weren’t that good.”

He watches the long, scarred line of the soldier’s back; the tight globes of his ass. Between his sparsely haired thighs, his cock is fattening up in eagerness, even pressed against the cold, dirty concrete as it was.

Reaper slowly makes another half circle, boots thudding heavy against the ground, and watches with interest as the soldier’s cock swells a little more.

“You should apologize for being so pathetic. I feel sick just looking at you.” Out of sight, he let one hand slide between his own legs – gave the hard ridge of his cock a loving squeeze. His belly felt hot; as if it was filled with liquid metal.

76 shifts slightly, toes dragging against the floor, shoulders flexing gingerly without taking his hands from the back of his neck.

“I am sorry.”

Reaper nearly groans. he stands still and stares down at his prey.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For… being pathetic. For asking you to fuck me.”

“You weren’t asking.”

“For begging.” 76′s voice was wobbling and rough. Difficult to understand. When he swallowed thickly, a distinct scratch of someone near-tears added to the mix. “Please fuck me. I-I-I need it so bad. I tried to… – but I couldn’t come.”

“What did you try?” Reaper says – whispers, almost – reverently, gaze wandering from between the heavily scarred shoulder blades down, down, down…

“F-Fucking myself.” The soldier spits it out as if ripping off a band aid – doing it quick to lessen the pain. Reaper can feel his cock pulse in the tight confines of his pants. When he squats down, he can feel a bead of pre-cum seep into his underwear, mixing with the sweat of the skirmish they had before.

He clinically pries 76′s ass apart and stares at the wet, little muscle.

“Sí? Did fuck yourself on a toy, did you? While others were out on missions, trying not to get killed, the good little Soldier: 76 was in his bunk and fucking himself on a toy he squirrelled away. Useless slut.”

He listens to 76′s harsh, excited breathing, and doesn’t miss the jerk off his balls when he briefly touches one sharp metal claw to the shyly winking muscle.

He stands back up quickly, lest he give in and just mount the man right then and there; fuck into him just to feel the warm, needy clench of his body. Again, Reaper reaches between his thighs; rearranges his cock and indulges in a little squeezing just to take the edge off.

“Do they know you’re a cheap whore? That you’re fucking off to the enemy every chance you get, just so I can use you like a sloppy toy?” 

He kicks the soldier’s legs farther apart, noting his muted sound of pain when hard metal connects with his shins in the process. When he nudges against 76′s swollen cock, the man cries out softly and digs his forehead harder against the concrete. He is sweating bullets and his back is flushed in aroused shame.

“Yes,” Reaper muses, eyes on that little, winking muscle that the soldier must have abused earlier, “You’re a used up toy. Maybe I should try and whore you out. At least get a few bucks from strangers fucking an old man on the street behind some stinking dumpster…” His underwear feels tacky, clinking uncomfortably to his dick. He wants to loosen one of his belts that is digging against the swollen head but he doesn’t want 76 to notice how excited he has gotten by all of this.

There was a certain… ritual to their weekly meetings that Reaper was clinging to desperately.

He swallows thickly and nudges an unfriendly foot against the soldier’s swollen balls.

“Well? How is it? Would you put out for random drunk bastards if I told you so?”

76′s voice, when he answers, is nothing like his usual, harsh growling. It’s high and weepy. Almost childlike. 

“Yes.”

Reaper groans, head falling back briefly, chest heaving in harsh, excited breaths. He needs to get himself back under control before he can say with an obvious scratch in his voice, “Of course you would. Useless cum dumpster. Fuck, you are so pathetic. I can’t fuckin’ believe they picked you to be the face of Overwatch. Got a goddamn three dollar hooker as their so-called golden boy and left me standing in the fucking dust.”

He is barely registering what he’s saying; watching himself put his boot against the swollen, flushed cock pressed uncomfortably against the ground and grinds down against it with measured, careful pressure.

Jack is crying out; broken and pathetic, hands finally losing their spot on the back of his neck to scrabble helplessly against the dirty floor. He is whimpering and jerking without pulling away and Gabriel wants to… he wants to fucking… he wants to kick him until he’s black and blue, wants him to suffocate on his god damn cock, wants to choke him while fucking him until he’s passing out.

He wants to stare at Jack’s tired, sad face as he grunt fucks him right in front of the noses of his brainless little gang.

When Jack has stopped moving and is just breathing harsh, blowing up clouds of dust, Gabriel takes his boot away and watches the puddle of cooling cum on the floor.

“Th-th-thank you,” Jack finally jerks out. He sounds out of it; voice small and kind of far away.

Gabriel makes a sound of disgust and gets the thin blanket he put on the far away table, shakes it out and puts it over the body on the floor.

“Jackass,” he murmurs low, lingers and tells himself he is not waiting for a sign that Jack was coming back into his own head, and gets even more angry with himself when he admits that it was exactly that what he was doing before he makes a hasty retreat.

Okay I’ve been thinking about the little comic where Ana shoots off the cookies and junkrat being so happy. So may just what about Ana spoiling the fuck out of junkrat till he becomes her new pet just like she did to Reinhardt. Like she teaches him to just stay still for a minute and gives him a cookie until it escalates to her petting him gently as he eats Reinhardt out as she coos out instructions.

Jamison was such a lovely – if very confused – young man. Ana did suspect that for the first few weeks he’d followed her around out of some misguided notion of grandmotherly love, however, she never quite had had the inclination to inquire further.

Having him sprawled across her lap, letting him nuzzle rudely between her breasts, that wide, loud mouth searching for a warm, brown nipple, might have worsened those misfiring thoughts in his head – but she couldn’t bring it over herself to shove him away.

He was a horribly crass and undisciplined punk that talked too loud and fast, and did most things out of sheer shock value – yet she couldn’t say that she disliked him. Quite the contrary.

Ana liked to watch and observe; like she enjoyed seeing Reinhardt laugh boisterously and clap Jesse so hard on the shoulder that he sagged sideways from a chair, just to turn on a dime the next second and become a sweet lap cat for her – gentle and careful when he brushed fingertips along her cheek just beneath her eye patch and press a prickly kiss against the side of her neck.

It was not hard to see the primal hunger for affection in Jamison – or his contrary animal fear of it; but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

How easy it was to shame him almost to tears with a harsh word, or to coax out a well of pathetic happiness when she brushed a hand across his dirty hair and pulled him against her chest; let him nuzzle and press close until it hurt.

“You can be a good boy,” she had told him once, sitting behind him, brushing a brown hand down his shivering, painfully thin back. “And I’m not saying ‘if you want to’. When you’re with me, you don’t need to think about how you need to be. I will think for you, precious boy.”

Her slippery fingers slip between his meager cheeks, fingertips slipping across the little, vulnerable hole she finds there. He makes a startled sound, jerking forwards and against the restraint of Reinhardt’s thigh – unyielding like warm, living rebar.

“Sshhhh,” she soothes, fingers circling and petting; never trying to dip in. His muscles are fluttering like a little bird’s wing. “You just need to let me mold you. I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you. You can be such a good boy, and I can help you… Just stay calm for me. Ease. That’s all I’m asking.”

She coos when Junkrat calms down, the desperate clutch of his skinny arms around Reinhardt’s thigh relaxing into something that could be called an easy sprawl.

“Very good,” she sighs and leans down to kiss the knobs of his spine. “Good pets always get a treat.”

She watches Reinhardt’s big hand cup Jamison’s jaw and guiding him forward and between his legs.

Jamison doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t talk. He simply goes with the motion, body still taut but secretly trusting between them as he gets with the idea and pushes his face in close to the warm, dark space.

Reinhardt’s long sigh and deep rumble tell her that her boy’s tongue had started a warm, gentle lap.

“That’s it. That’s it. And when you’re done, I’ll have you service me,” she promises huskily as she drags her cunt against the firm line of his thigh just to let him feel her excitement.

Jamison shudders, then relaxes a bit more.

And throwback to that catch me if you can au, where hanzo was still goading reaper. Imagine reaper getting a phonecall from hanzo, untraceable ofc, and mccree is on the other side moaning and begging for Hanzo’s dick. And hanzo telling mccree how much he likes it and Gabriel is fucking FUMING

Hanzo harshly flicks the very tip of McCree’s ear, making him flinch and howl in enraged indignation and pain.

“No, dog. I haven’t given you permission yet.”

He watches McCree in the mirror ahead; the way he gingerly moves his jaw, teeth clacking on the metal bit Hanzo forced between them earlier. He is tilting his head blindly, cheeks flushed a dull red beneath the blindfold.

Hanzo curls the reins once more around his fist, watching how it pulls McCree’s head back; showing off the strong line of his jaw, liberally peppered with stubble. He would need to shave him if he were to sample the dog’s mouth between his legs again, but for now he had other ideas.

Carefully – silently – he places the phone on the floor in front of his stolen treasure.

McCree whines when the motion brings them closer together; Hanzo’s cock slipping into the crack of the dog’s ass, leaving a wet smear at his tail bone before he pulls back once again.

McCree huffs like a stallion and lowers his head, putting its weight on the reins in Hanzo’s hand. Hanzo can see the way his ribs expand with his careful, deep breaths. He delights in how vocal McCree is, and hopes his commander hasn’t hung up yet.

(He doubts he has. Reyes was obsessive enough to want to hear the degradation of his former toy.)

“Do you want this, dog?” Hanzo accompanies the leering question by slapping his cock against McCree’s ass. The mutt shuffles his knees farther apart, back arching down to try and open his ass up farther. Hanzo was quite sure he would have spread his cheeks for him, had his arms not been bound behind his back – pure safety measures.

And as lovely as the sight was – the knowledge that he’d broken the American dog down enough to get him to display like a bitch in heat – it would not do; no, not at all.

Hanzo jerks at the reins, and slaps his other hand against McCree’s thigh, connecting with a loud, satisfying smack.

McCree’s head rears back, a startled shout ripping out of his throat. His head tries to swerve from side to side, disoriented, blood that had rushed from his face, coming back to suffuse his cheeks as his shout dwindled into a moan, lips wet and swollen around the bit digging into the corners of his mouth.

“I asked you a question,” Hanzo goads, voice silky and dripping with venom. He pets a hand down McCree’s sweaty side in a parody of affection, then curls it around his cock once more to help himself slip it through the crack with slow, sensual thrusts. “Do. You. Want. This.”

His fingers tickle McCree’s bound testicles; feeling how warm and swollen they are. Filled with warm, thick cum that the dog had been collecting for a week now.

McCree looks feverish, even with his eyes blindfolded. Drool is slicking down his bottom lip, teeth gnashing on the bit as he shakes his head against the tight reins without any relief. Hanzo’s fist is curled tight around the leather, not giving an inch.

“Yesh,” McCree mumbles, voice wrecked and deep. “Pleashe… gi’ me… gi’ me…”

Hanzo’s fingers trail further up, easily dipping into McCree’s hole; soft and accepting from days of relentless fucking. It feels hot; the rim puffy and nearly inflamed looking. A pretty little thing mouthing weakly at the tip of his cock whenever he deigns to give it to him.

McCree sobs when he feels his captor’s fingers invade his exhausted body; it’s an animal sound; raw and beautiful. Hanzo feels his cock flex at the thought of what it had to do to his commander.

Oh how he wished to be a fly on that particular wall – wherever Reyes had holed himself up, trying to figure out where Hanzo had squirreled away his boy.

Unfortunately for him, a dragon was very skilled at hoarding his treasure.

“You’re so open, still. A few weeks of good use and your body is gagging for cock. You did not have this in your old life, yes? Nobody to take care of your needs. Utilize you like your body craves.”

He is jeering, and he can see the dog’s hackles rise for just a moment before the fight seems to entirely go out of McCree. His voice is cracked, and weepy when he begs, “Please give me your cock? Please, I need your cock; need you to fuck me, need… need… p-p-puh-lease, master?”

He was barely intelligible, his blubbering only adding to the bit between his teeth – but Hanzo felt like the message had been clear enough. 

Oh – had it been clear enough.

“Good dogs do get a treat.”

He stares down between them as he starts pressing forward; feeding his cock inch by inch to the hungry, soft hole hugging him warm and tight the deeper he slips.

McCree is groaning mindlessly, weight hanging onto Hanzo’s fist as he starts sagging and not caring about the bit pulling painfully against the corners of his mouth.

It seems like he had finally broken this particular stallion in.

Hanzo fucks him slow and easy. There is no rush and no need for further needling – McCree, trapped in darkness, riles himself up better anyway.

He howls softly with every new gentle nudge inside, body sweating and shaking as he tries to anticipate whatever could come next.

When Hanzo lays his left hand on his right hip with a gentle pat, the dog nearly jumps out of his skin and needs to be – quite literally – reined back in.

He is drooling on the phone, Hanzo realizes dimly, however he is loathe to move and push it farther away. He just hopes it is still working.

—

Reyes is gnashing his teeth, cock angry and hard in his combat pants, fingers digging into the arm rest of his rickety armchair.

He would kill Shimada when he finally got his hands on him. He would kill him slow and painful; make him cry like a babe for his mamá.

But not before fucking his toy in front of his bloodied nose, and showing him how it was done.

He strains before her – a mountain range moving and heaving; straining against nothing but his own desire to please her.

“Oh God,” he groans, abs clenching and hips jerking. He chokes when the motion drags her fingers against his prostate, and she eases off; watches his throat bulge beneath the thick growth of his beard.

“You look gorgeous,” Ana promises him, neatly kneeling in midst the jerking sprawl of his legs, fingers sliding out of the warm, little slit of his hole to reapply more lube. She leans down, silver hair sliding across her naked shoulders, and breathes warm across the wet tip of his cock.

Reinhardt jerks violent enough to rattle the whole bed. His good eye is wide open in panic as he digs his heels into the mattress and twitches his hips up involuntarily – big cock slapping meaty and wet against his belly when Ana smoothly leans out of the way.

“Please! Please, I… Bitte. Bitte lass mich-” He tends to lapse back into German when he’s agitated and she can’t help but find it endearing.

She hums, eye only half open, watching his desperation in lazy contentment. His deep, booming voice has become reedy with his anguish but not less appealing. When she sits down between her ankles, she can feel it vibrate through the bed and against her very core, tickling her wet folds and teasing her own desire.

She waits until he has stopped spasming, then reaches forward and drags the tip of one finger against the sensitive head and along the swollen, feverishly hot ridge. She watches more clear liquid ooze out.

“No,” she purrs simply – voice not unkind; yet Reinhardt sobs, body shaking and balls moving beneath her carefully watching gaze. “You can hold on longer for me. Age hasn’t helped your patience much, has it? But I can assist you. My pretty treat.”

She watches a string of sticky pre-cum stretch between her finger and his cock, and rubs the wetness into Reinhardt’s hipbone. When she reaches to the side, her small, high breasts rubbing against his thigh, he starts whimpering, hips moving and broad chest heaving. When she leans back up and starts attaching the toy to her harness, he suddenly moves in primal, animal fear; the big behemoth of a man pulling up his knees and putting them together; shielding his weeping cock and sweet little peach of a hole from her surprised gaze.

“You’re a stubborn one today, aren’t you?” Ana muses. She is not overly concerned – quite the contrary. The sight of Reinhardt shivering and vulnerable before her is like an aphrodisiac. She can’t help but touch herself; pull on the tight buds of her nipples and slide fingers through the slickness of her slit.

He isn’t answering, but she can see the flush of embarrassment on his face. He looks chagrined like a little boy. Ana presses a kiss against his hairy chin and laughs at him. Reinhardt can’t help but grin a little as well.

“Did you think you would come without permission?” she wants to know, small, strong hands on his ankles, thumbs rubbing against the tops of his feet. He squirms; then nods.

“Ahhh but you needn’t be afraid. I know you wouldn’t have disappointed me. You give yourself too little credit. I’ll show you, my sweet little treat. C’mon. Open up, now.”

She tugs on his ankles and he lets himself get arranged; pliant as a kitten as he watches her with simple, open adoration. Ana rubs her hands along his thighs, feeling the stone hard muscle and coarse hair beneath her fingertips.

She had never lacked confidence, but slowly sliding her toy into the warm clench of his body, seeing the needy greed as his eye takes in the sway and bounce of her tits, Ana can’t help but feel flattered.

Ooooh?? What about reaper or 76 being manhandled by roadhog? And they’re not used to being tossed around so much because usually they’re the big ones. But roadhog can bc he’s MASSIVE

Anonymous said: “Could you maybe write something with Roadhog and someone OTHER thank junkrat? I just feel like he doesn’t get enough love on his own, you know”

Teensy Reaper/Roadhog for you two ❤

“This is not going to happen. Get away from me.” Gabriel grits his teeth, staring up at Roadhog. He already pulled his mask and cloak off and he hates it because Mako is still in full combat gear.

He is huge and imposing, dirt caked and sweaty, and actually fucking steaming in the relative coolness of the showers. Roadhog looks raw and vital and Gabriel doesn’t want to be as turned on by it as he is. He doesn’t want to love how Mako can simply push him up against lockers and hold him there with huge hands and a large, firm belly.

He doesn’t want to imagine kneeling before the mercenary and letting him fuck his meaty, sweaty cock into his throat. He does it, anyway. Gabriel Reyes always has been fucking weak and having died and come back seemed not to have changed anything in that regard.

He bares his teeth in a snarl that transforms into a wheeze of pain when Mako pushes forward and squishes him against the wall. He is silent; staring down on Gabriel with the stitched-on grin on his pig mask, and it chills Reaper to the bone as much as it turns him on. He claws at Roadhog’s huge arms, easily drawing blood, and all that elicits is a low grunt that almost sounds amused. Pleasured. Intrigued.

He almost fucking whines when those huge hands with chipped fingernails painted black easily pull him away from the lockers and turn him around. And if that wasn’t something. Getting manhandled and shoved around like he was nothing but a little brat. Like he had no more substance than a dainty woman in her prettiest Sunday dress.

“No!” he growls, talons digging into the lockers and denting the thin metal. “Fucking gross pig, go take a shower at least…”

They were both high on post-fight adrenaline. He could hear Roadhog’s heavy, excited breaths behind him; could feel the fumble of a huge and impatient – but surprisingly gentle hand – at his pants, trying to pull them down.

After another grit of his teeth, Gabriel helps him; cock feeling swollen and feverish in his tight combat gear, muscles clenching in anticipation.

God help him, but he was looking forward to getting mounted by the huge, sweaty man, and fucked until his eyes were tearing up with how deep Roadhog drilled into him.

Yo. FUCKIN’ yo. @crimsontentacles was like… harassing me with lewd headcanons about stripper!Hanzo and stripper!Reaper and I was a helpless victim…

basically this is a lot of smut and choking and I haven’t proofread it but you get to read it anyway. it’s all @crimsontentacles‘ fault who watched the whole process and was a horrible enabler.

The light dims, music lowering to a mere background murmur; low and throbbing with drums that seem to mimic a beating heart. The crowd is still talking – vying for drinks and the occasional lap dance alike. It is not quite certain where in the room the bustle starts to cease and heads start to turn towards the rhythmic metallic clinking coming from behind the dark curtain, but eventually, everybody settles in, fingers drumming nervously and knees bouncing – tonight, nobody is new to the club, and the anticipation of what they knew was going to come is palpable.

The music lifts into a harsher, more prominent rhythm when the curtain twitches open to allow the two dancers on stage; the metallic clinking louder and more melodious as they make their way down the catwalk in slow, measured steps, the chains binding them dully reflecting the moody, soft light in the room.

The air – thick and warm from too many excited bodies and bad air conditioning – suddenly almost feels oppressive. Nobody talks. Eyes follow the movements of their bodies; the rigid lines of their proud backs.

Reaper’s strides are long, eating up ground and putting himself in front of his partner within just a couple steps. Soon, he yanks on the chain binding their wrists together. He seems impatient. Ill-tempered. His body is a coiled spring, muscles tight and rigid in his shoulders, and the swell of his biceps.

Hanzo stumbles from the sudden jerk. He doesn’t make it look like stumbling, though – a graceful lunge of his slim, prosthetic feet that enables the narrow, long cloth covering his crotch to flutter and give the audience tantalizing glimpses of his cock. When he rights himself, his  dark eyes are narrowed and boring into the broad back of his partner.

The onlookers can’t figure out whether the two genuinely hate each other or whether it is just an elaborate, well-trained act.

Maybe both.

They start a tight, dance-like circle that has their half-naked bodies almost touching; predators looking – waiting – for a sign of weakness in the other. Their wrists subtly flick in time with the music – sending the chain to jingle again and again as they move, shoulders round with muscle and rolling as if preparing for a fight that only Reaper really looks equipped for with heavy boots and protective mask. The thick muscles of his thighs bulge and shift against his fishnet stockings.

Next to him, Hanzo looks shockingly naked and vulnerable; body on display other than the length of silk binding his hair and the narrow strips of fabric in front of his cock and ass, filigrane lengths of metal around his hips keeping them in place.

His muscles are shifting in the light; he looks full of barely restrained power – small and compact and not to be underestimated.

Reaper has the height advantage, though. He is boring down on his partner, mask glinting like bone in the diffuse light, body big and overbearing, boots heavy next to the positively delicate synthetic feet as he forces Hanzo to retreat before him; makes him take one small step at a time.

Hanzo’s eyes are narrowed, the corner of his mouth lifted above the snarl of his teeth as he is forced to take yet another step back, shoulder blades almost brushing the pole Reaper tries to trap him against.

Their hard stares bore into each other, the music thudding around them as Reaper suddenly surges forward while simultaneously yanking on the chain binding them, forcing Hanzo into the hard lines of his body, their heaving chests pressed closely, nipples tight and excited despite their murderous looks.

Their audience stares in silent, conflicted arousal.

.o.

Every time Hanzo squirms, Reaper pulls the chain tighter around his neck. His range of expression is limited due to the mask, yet dark satisfaction is rolling off of him in dizzying waves as he tilts his head and presses close to the other dancer in a parody of comfort.

Hanzo’s back is arched, leaning against the man behind, face a little red from lack of air. He has one arm up, hand clawing at the side of Reaper’s hood – he is not struggling against the chokehold his partner has on him, despite the chain binding their wrists together digging visibly sharp into his windpipe.

Their bodies seem to be convulsing with the music; slow, undulating waves as Reaper lets his free, unbound hand wander across Hanzo’s chest; squeezing the pecs and cupping them for their audience’s viewing pleasure. He is showing Hanzo off with a kind of self-indulgence that is almost more obscene than the act itself – an owner presenting their pet.

When he pinches one tan, oval nipple, he stoically takes Hanzo’s needy backwards arch, his heavily booted feet planted wide for better purchase.

He is standing like a rock; expressionless and terrifying as he pulls on the chain again and gets Hanzo to convulse like a snake when his throat gets crushed cruelly, and his breath shuts off completely for just a few precious seconds. Reaper takes the struggles of his partner’s compact, strong body, free arm curling around his waist, dark hand splayed on the quivering abs of his belly – as possessive a gesture as it is weirdly comforting.

The music starts to dip, the heavy beat softening into a more sensual roll of dark tones as Reaper’s hand starts turning, heel grinding against Hanzo’s belly, until long thick fingers point down towards the other dancer’s crotch, drawing the gaze of the enraptured audience lower… lower… towards the lift of the small cloth Hanzo is wearing, his cock tip perfectly outlined beneath the thin material; made see-through by the wetness seeping into the fabric. It is clinging to the head of Hanzo’s cock, slick and obscene, showing off the swollen shape as it flexes for their entertainment, lifting the cloth up enough to give a little glimpse of his swollen, ripe balls.

Hanzo’s lips are moving, eyes staring at the ceiling sightlessly.

When Reaper’s hand slides lower, the palm rubbing across the wet outline of his cock with an air of total possessiveness, Hanzo jerks once again in one powerful, smooth wave, the machinery in his calves hissing as he rolls up unto the balls of his feet, just so he can fuck against the broad, brown hand.

Reaper pulls his head back for a second – changes sides so he can use his chained hand to almost lovingly card through the thick, loose hair at Hanzo’s temple. He looks sinister as death himself, large and dark, towering behind Hanzo with an indifferent face of bone white metal.

He seems cool and aloof even when he curls his hand around the other man’s cock, broad thumb rubbing firm – almost painfully so – over the wet tip peeking pink through the eggshell color of the fabric. The music is low by now – nearly non-existent, so the soft tinkle of their connecting chain can be heard as Reaper keeps petting his partner, wrist flicking to let the links clank together – never letting anybody forget the power he holds, even as he is benevolent enough to let Hanzo fuck into the cup of his hand. (Benevolent enough to let him breathe without pain, and swallow without bruising himself up.)

Hanzo’s chest is flushed beneath the warm, yellow light shining down on them. It’s heaving and shiny with sweat, his mouth dropped open as his abs quiver and clench, hips curling forward into Reaper’s large hand.

His fingers are still clenched in the man’s hood, pulling in mindless pleasure until Reaper rears his head back and shakes it like an unwilling hound while simultaneously taking his hand away from Hanzo’s crotch and placing it on his hip instead – giving the dark room full of anonymous faces a perfect view of the man’s cock lined out beneath the wet material clinging to it.

Only when the desperate clench of Hanzo’s body relaxes, hand losing its grip in favor of reaching for Reaper’s hip like the other one, does the other man resume; fingers dancing along the wet dick beneath the cloth, dragging along the prominent, fat vein and circling the swollen head until the audience can hear the breathless cry coming from the dancer.

Reaper’s shoulders shake in obvious mirth. His hand stops petting Hanzo’s hair and slowly reaches for the short length of chain. He drags his movements as long as he can, obviously revelling in the sudden tension in the room; how their audience seems to hold a collective breath in preparation for what is to come. Hanzo’s eyes glaze over in the dim light. Large and black and shining like polished onyx as Reaper strangulates him with slow, perverse pleasure and presses his large hand against the jerking line of his excited cock.

The music has stopped. The wet sounds of Hanzo’s desperate fight for oxygen are loud and horrible and gorgeous in the sticky room. His abs are clenching, the large muscles in his thigh shivering as he fucks frantically into the loose tunnel of Reaper’s hand, the cloth covering his dick sliding wet and clinging along the slick skin of his cock.

When he comes, he does so silently; mouth open and body one long, quivering string, fingertips digging into Reaper’s flesh with bruising strength.

Reaper laughs. A low droning sound straight from a nightmare as he pulls his hand away and shows the room Hanzo’s shame soaking into the fabric of his cloth.

It is only when Hanzo starts convulsing again, drool slicking from the corner of his mouth, that he suddenly slackens the tightness in the chain – does, in fact, curl it from around Hanzo’s neck, a pretty ring of bruises circling the man’s throat like a collar as his shaking legs can’t keep his body weight up and he collapses to the floor.

Reaper stands impassive above him; silent again. Watching predator like as the shorter man tries to get back to his feet – to get himself back together – and fails miserably.

Music starts bleeding in once more in heavy, hypnotising beats. Uncertainty starts to bleed through the room, people shifting in their seats, casting little glances about – until Reaper moves again; drawing gazes back and arresting them with his sheer presence.

He slowly crosses his arms across the width of his muscular chest,legs shifting closer together, knee lifting minimally as he shoves his left foot forward and nudges the steel cap of his toes against Hanzo’s shoulder… collar bone… throat… uses it to tip the man’s chin up until Hanzo is forced to stare into the darkness behind the lights surrounding the stage before he turns his head from the staring eyes with a dull flush creeping through his cheeks.

Reaper places his boot down in front of him. He seems to be waiting for something and, when nothing happens, he suddenly lifts his other leg and lowers his foot onto the nape of Hanzo’s neck, forcefully pressing him down.

Only the people in the front row can hear the low, aggressive hiss of “Do it!”. There is another second of hesitation, Hanzo struggling half-heartedly and weak as a kitten against the boot pressing him down without mercy, before he stops and closes his eyes in something like relieved defeat.

When he starts to do it – starts to lick the steel cap and black leather of Reaper’s boot without a doubt – he applies himself to the task with single-minded determination.

His eyes are closed, lashes lying dark and pretty against his sharp cheekbones as he first just licks, then kisses, then rubs his cheek against the warmed, wet metal like a cat seeking affection.

Reaper is impassive above him, head tilted, mask watching the proceedings, and only the prominent bulge in his tight, skimpy shorts showing off his interest in what he was seeing. When he pulls away, Hanzo chases after him, pink tongue out and eyes snapping up towards his mask. He almost looks out of it – his aloofness and almost feline pride having given way to a submissive kind of desperation that couldn’t be part of the act… could it?

The beat surges and Reaper rounds Hanzo, arm held in deference to the chain connecting them, powerful leg swinging across Hanzo’s hip until he is standing above him, watching, assessing, head tilting slowly from side to side as he seems to contemplate how to continue playing.

In the end, he drops to his knees, free arm reaching beneath Hanzo’s belly to hitch him up, get his round ass in the air and on display for the audience who watches, struck silent and with stuttering breaths, as Reaper starts moving; a slow, dirty grind of his crotch against his partner’s ass, rutting him like an animal to the beat of the heavy warm beat of the music.

He fakes at fucking Hanzo, yet it still seems more obscene than the real thing; thick muscles bulging against the restraints of the fishnets, sweat on his back gleaming as he curls it into his thrusts, hips snapping forward and driving against Hanzo with selfish, sensual finality.

The chain is rattling with his violent movements until Reaper grabs a hold of it with an air of impatience, bound hand splaying between Hanzo’s shoulderblades and pressing him down to the floor, making him rub his face against the dirty stage as the other arm around his hips keeps him hoisted up for the faux fucking he is receiving right there on the stage.

Hanzo looks blissed out, arms, when he tries to stem against the tide, shaking fiercely until he simply curls them around the pole next to his head and holds on for dear life. Reaper snarls behind his mask and stands one boot up next to Hanzo’s knee with a heavy, dull thump, body slicked in sweat as he pulls himself up higher, and practically mounts his partner like an animal, fingernails digging into Hanzo’s back and slowly scratching him up as Reaper gets more and more into the act.

The rhythm of the song picks up – and so do Reaper’s movements. He is leaning forward, head hanging low as he seems to fully concentrate on the task of drilling Hanzo into the stage, make him take a cock that wasn’t available for the taking, grunting low and fierce with every sharp thrust that presses his poor cock against the lush curve of Hanzo’s ass, squeezing it painfully, deliciously.

The sweat pours off his shoulders, tickles down his back, and his toes curl in his boots, wondering what the boss would say if he simply said ‘fuck it’ to everything and pulled his cock out; shoved Hanzo’s ridiculous little cloth piece covering his ass to the side and shoved in deep where Hanzo was warm and ready; loose from earlier and…

The music stops abruptly, and so does Reaper, chest heaving, eyes wide behind his mask, staring down at the back of Hanzo’s head (staring at the way Hanzo slowly, almost shyly drags his tongue across the floor as if fucking missing Reaper’s boots).

The room is silent, charged with a kind of feverish, mad lust as Reaper makes his protesting muscles move and forces himself up, arm imperious as he jerks on the chain and forces Hanzo to rise from his breathless, powerless sprawl on the floor to a more-or-less firm stance on all fours, and then, after another little encouraging tug, urges him to slowly rise unto his feet.

Reaper leaves. Slow, cadenced thumps of his boots, not unlike his solo shows when the music hasn’t started yet and he enters the stage with overbearing confidence. The chain pulls taut between them just once – then Hanzo starts walking, face flushed but impassive; as if the front of his little crotch piece wasn’t soaked with cum, clinging to the tantalizing swing of his cock.

Only a few more steps. Only a few more fucking steps and then Reaper would be able to slam Hanzo against the next best wall and finally drive into him like he pretended to do on stage.

Only a few more steps.