“Hah…” Zenyatta panted as he gripped the counter hard enough for it to creak.
He could feel his legs twitch, his toes curl oh so slightly, as his favourite little friend explored to its heart’s content. The green dragon as small as a ferret was currently wriggling around inside Zenyatta’s shirt, rubbing its nose and whiskers wherever it could.
“Udon…” he whispered in a half-hearted warning. If he was too loud, Genji would come to investigate and then discover them. The idea filled his chest with dread– but at the same time sent a thrill up his spine. What would Genji think… seeing Zenyatta being taken apart by his spirit dragon?
He had not expected Reinhardt to take
so readily to being a knight, though in hindsight? It was obvious
that he should have. Reinhardt took to the title with vim and vigor,
perhaps a bit to much but Mondatta found he liked it. It helped
distract from his worry about the Shambali being left without him,
even though Zenyatta worked to temporarily offer guidance until
Mondatta could return. That was the plan but who knew when that would
be possible. He had nearly passed to the Iris, someone tried to take
his life and that was not something to be taken lightly. Expected
perhaps, there were always some who sought to do harm but still
discomforting.
Hanzo’s hips still. His face is red, his chest heaving from exertion. He haphazardly pushes a lock of his hair out of his sweaty face before leaning down to mouth at McCree’s shoulder.
“Do you ever–” He punctuates with a roll of his hips, “Stop– talking–?”
concept : omega H.anzo getting his p*ssy ate by alpha G.enji
*cracks knuckles* ur in luck my friend (behind a cut because it got long but pls enjoy)
–
Heat hurts, Hanzo learns that quickly. The first time was the worst, his father had locked him in his room with only himself and his fingers to try and sate that biological, unquenchable thirst. He’d sobbed and cried into the sheets, twisting desperately and wishing for something, anything to ease the deep throbbing between his thighs. That had been a nightmare which haunted him to this day. He’d been young then, and Genji younger still. Hanzo had known, for all that he was –the first born, the shimada heir– that his presenting as omega had displeased his father enough to punish him in such a cruel manner.
Sojiro still tries to shut him away in his room, like he’s the family embarrassment for being this way, for not being able to control the way his scent flares up and slick drips between his legs the moment his heat strikes. Hanzo doesn’t even try to talk about it with him anymore, at least, not since Genji presented.
They’re family, Hanzo remembers Sojiro telling them, so they shouldn’t be affected by each other. The thought makes Hanzo want to laugh, remembering all of Genji’s furtive glances at him in the days after his heats, when he knows he still smells like sex and omega pheromones. Eventually they stop skirting around it, one night when Hanzo is tossing on his futon, four fingers buried deep in his cunt, face shoved into one of Genji’s t-shirts. It’s something that fills him with so much shame, but Genji smells like alpha, like home, and it makes the worst of his heat sickness easier to deal with.
Fandom: Overwatch Pairing: Zenyatta/Mondatta/Reinhardt Warnings: threesome, bad touch (dub-ish con if you squint), alcohol, dom/sub, (mon/zen aren’t technically brothers but perhaps #incest just in case), blowjobs Notes: Cyber was gracious enough to let me post my bonus that was part of her OW fic compilation! Please check it out if you haven’t already! Art included is also by kirinlust!
Summary: Every few weeks Mondatta disappears for the night. This time, Zenyatta follows.
Zenyatta knows by the desperate gleam in Mondatta’s eyes that tonight will be the night. He’s not sure how long his brother has done this, but he knows by the tightness of his face, the stiff, near undetectable tenseness of his serene demeanor, that he will go.
“You know we’re gonna get busted for this, right?”
Jesse’s voice is unusually hushed, but seems disproportionately loud in the quiet of the small conference room; and beside him, Genji rolls his eyes, pulling the half-burned blunt from his synthetic lips.
“No one’s used these interrogation rooms in months. Look.” He drags a finger across the top of the table he sits on, and shows Jesse the clean stripe through the dust left behind. “Besides–who’s going to come looking all the way back here?” He takes another drag, and closes his eyes as he holds the smoke in his lungs; when he talks again, it’s with a pale plume of smoke billowing past his teeth, framing his words. “It’s not like you to be so paranoid. Here.”
He leans forward to hand the blunt over, and Jesse takes it with a faint twist to his lips. “This new Overwatch…it ain’t like last time we was here.” He shifts his weight, more comfortably leaning against the table that Genji sits on. “Things are different now. We’re different.”
Genji watches him mildly, then reaches out to lay his hand over Jesse’s, letting their fingers loosely slot together. Jesse’s gaze snaps to him, smoke trailing slow from his nostrils–like a dragon, Genji thinks. He smiles.
“It doesn’t have to be entirely different, does it, Jesse?”
I felt bad for a variety of stupid reasons today, so I wrote porn to try and cheer myself up. idk how successful it was on that front, but I’m pretty pleased with it! Here’s a little hanyatta piece with mild dom/sub h/c elements thrown in there.
aaand here’s a v. short genyatta drabble feat. ex-sexbot!zenyatta. I probably won’t do much with this, but it seemed a shame to let it go to waste in my drafts!
The first time he sees Hanzo, he stands at mid-thigh. The little lord bursts into his father’s quarters, the only room the omnic has ever known. Lord Shimada is gone, and the omnic sits, his life of two states: Lord Shimada: present. Lord Shimada: absent.
The little lord sniffles, and the omnic watches him. Long, silken hair, like the late Lady Shimada, and deep brown eyes, like his father. Clear droplets collect at the edges of his eyes. Crying, his database returns. Another finding: the little lord is sad.
Seated as he is on a low couch at the edge of the vast room, adorned with fine robes, he wonders if the little lord even notices him. He is just another bauble, a piece of scenery. He remains still, so still, but he cannot turn away. He feels…something. A fluttering of his processors. A hiccup in his code.
Interested. He is curious.
So lost in this, new, frightening realization, he does not notice the patter of footfalls. Only when Hanzo’s arms close around his waist, his face buried in the warm chrome and silk at his chest, does he realize he’s been discovered.
The little one sobs against him, and the omnic knows not what to do. Lord Shimada never cried. Yet again, a newly familiar sensation of feeling.
His servos tremble as he wraps his arms around the tiny human, holding him softer than Lord Shimada ever deigned to hold the omnic in turn, and why should he? He is nothing. A thing.
The little lord burrows closer, crumpling into him when he feels hands at his back.
“I miss him.” Hanzo whimpers twenty three minutes and thirty nine seconds after the omnic began holding him.
Hanzo leans back, his chin balanced on the hexagon in the center of his chest. His tiny face is puffy, angry red from his tears.
The omnic says nothing. He knows not what to say.
“Who are you?” Hanzo asks, in a whisper.
Something whirs inside him. Accessing decades old information. He knows it is not necessary, yet he cannot deny this small being.
Genji withdraws with a soft groan, and he can’t help but thrust shallowly twice more before his synthetic cock slips free with a thick, wet sound. The sight of Zenyatta flexing and twisting with even the gentlest roll of his hips forever intoxicates him. Zenyatta moans weakly, faceplate pressed into the pillow, hands bound with silk to the headboard, loose and easy. He could tear the fabric if he wanted, but he doesn’t dream of doing so.
“You’re so beautiful, Zenyatta.” Genji breathes, filled with awe, like he’s seeing Zenyatta spread and leaking for the first time. His master chirps quietly, thighs twitching, valve contracting weakly around nothing, still recalibrating, process slow from the long, thorough treatment he had received.
Genji hums, dark eyes thinned and warm, and traces a finger into the slick mess beneath his master, smearing the mix of white and teal and watching it gleam on his hand. Then he cups Zenyatta’s inner thigh, the omnic sighing but not much else, and Genji dips his head.
“Itadakimasu.” Genji murmurs, and Zenyatta would give him a playful smack if his arms weren’t bound. Instead he gasps as Genji’s searing tongue descends on his valve, already swollen and pulsing from use.
“Genji.” Zenyatta cries, synth hoarse and cracking, hands twisting in the silk. He knows with four percent more force the fabric will tear beneath his servos, so he restrains himself as best he can, though it’s nearly impossible with the way his lover flicks his tongue so perfectly across his glowing, swollen node.
Genji pins Zenyatta’s thighs against the sheets as he suckles his clit, chuckling as Zenyatta twists so very weakly beneath his tongue, too tired to fight, not wanting to struggle, but everything is oversensitive and tight.
“Tired so soon, master? Perhaps you need more training.” Genji whispers between licks, suckling the teal nub before Zenyatta can protest.
“Hnn—cheeky.” Is all he can manage as he feels the telltale signs of his insides drawing tight, low lubricant warnings flickering within his processes. “You have ah-already drained me of my reserves.”
“I would have it all.” Genji says, voice sinking sinfully deep as he grows serious, sucking hard and flicking his tongue against him, kissing between his dripping folds when his master draws close, teasing him.
Zenyatta’s cock jerks, heavy and lazy against his chassis, endlessly interested in Genji’s attentions, leaking even as Genji focuses beneath it where his gleaming, spit-slickened nub resides. The monk chirrups, jerks, twitching against the flickering, capricious tongue, fluttery and weak, so weak.
How he wants to tear the silk, fist his fingers in his lover’s beautiful green hair, grind into that hot, giving mouth until he overloads for the fourth time, and Genji would praise him for it, lap up the rest of his lube reserves with pleasure.
Trapped beneath his lover for hours, low, so low on energy, he can do no such thing, not without falling into sleep mode, though he thinks that is Genji’s plan with how amorously he flicks his tongue, hot swipes sparking along frayed, overburdened sensors.
Slowly, the pleasure builds, crests, Genji’s mouth rhythmic, almost cradling Zenyatta’s lower half, and reality blurs, narrowing to the clench of his fingers, his thighs, his valve spilling over his lover’s synthetic lower lip. He can see Genji like he can feel the warmth of the Iris, without his array, his mouth, coated in teal, sucking, working at him, never tiring, always wanting, and Zenyatta gives and gives and gives, could never deny his student. His love. His sparrow centered in the endless expanse of sky that is his whole world.
Distantly, he feels his orgasm bloom, his whole frame quaking with the intensity of it. His systems crash as Genji whispers endearments against his silicone and chrome, hands stroking, endlessly touching. Zenyatta feels consciousness slip away, warm, loved, so safe in Genji’s embrace.
He delivers his revenge when he wakes to Genji rutting lazily against his thigh, whimpering as Zenyatta’s hand, free against the sheets, wraps teasingly along his cock.
Cyberrat Writes 