6th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 3rd Fill

Reaper/D.Va – fingering, restraints, very slight medical kink, milking – DVa got Reaper strapped to a medical chair and fingers him for the first time. (consensual despite what it looks like at first)

He is working against her bindings like a wild animal. His muscles bulge and shift as he struggles, hands balled into fists, thighs shaking with the effort to pull his feet out of the tight bindings around his ankles.

“Hana,” he growls, voice vibrating through the chair she got him in and into the ground. She can feel it in her toes and it makes her giggle, swallowing down her nervousness. Sombra already said that he’s a big ol’ meanie when he’s horny and embarrassed, and she figures there’s little more embarrassing for a big guy like him to be strapped down on a gynecological chair.

“Open them,” he hisses. She can’t look him in the eyes because she is pretty sure they are glowing red which is always unsettling. Instead, she steps closer and between his legs. She pets his thighs and her heart thumps a bit harder at just how big and muscular they are.

“Come now. It’s only a game. You don’t want to be the loser, do you?” She will definitely not open the bindings when he’s in a mood like that. He roars at her, body forcefully coming up, trying to rip himself free, but ultimately having to lie back again. He looks petulant; his jaw working as he grinds his teeth and stares off to the side.

Hana lets him pout and touches his cock because that usually mollifies him. He’s got a nice big cock; heavy and thick with big balls that she can’t get enough off. They lie in her hand, warm and living and deliciously hefty.

He does relax, a bit. His knees slowly move apart, the muscles on the inside of his thighs stretching deliciously. God, but they are thick. She has to have him sit on her face one of these days. Let her suffocate herself between his cheeks.

She needs to work him up to it, though. Like her small fingers sneaking behind his big heavy balls, rubbing against the baby soft skin of his taint and watching him put his head back, thick neck exposed, chest heaving as he sucks in a long breath. He’s not yet realized what she’s about to do, but he’s no dummy.

He’s also sensitive; because when she does finally touch his hole, he jerks, head snapping up, staring at her incredulous, and Hana has to duck her head and just power through before she loses all gumption. She wishes Sombra was here to talk her through it. But alas.

He is raging again by the time she gently, carefully pushes a finger in. He looks like his eyes are going to bulge out of his skull. Like he needs a bit to chew on. She’s never seen him as mad as now; but he’s yet to dissolve into smoke and glide out of his constraints.

Only when the second finger is in does she start to fuck him. Slow and rhythmically; dragging the pads of her fingers along his walls and feeling just how hot and wet he is inside. Every now and then she can hear a soft hitch in his breath; a little stutter that bolsters her confidence.

She doesn’t say anything. She feels like he might snap if she said something smart now, so she just keeps quiet as she fucks him on two dainty fingers and gets all hot and needy at his sensitivity. She clenches her thighs together; tries to get a bit of pressure against her clit as she slowly, gently curls a hand around his cock that’s gotten hard almost like an afterthought.

Hana wants to praise at him and coo at him; tell him how sweet he’s being for her. But instead she bites her lips and just watches as his muscles relax and his voice becomes a bit breathy and high-pitched. He’s honest to God whimpering, and it is doing things to her. By the time the first drops of suspiciously thick pre-cum start rolling along the tip of his cock, he’s carefully, shyly fucking back on her, his toes curling in the air.

God, she wishes Sombra were here to play with him. She knows how to make him sing for them.

“you’re such a good boy” reinhardt/reaper please? <3

“You’re such a good boy.”

Reinhardt has to strain to nuzzle at Reaper’s cheek, big hand tightening around his thigh, keeping him close as he rocks into him from behind.

Reaper doesn’t have too much leverage lying on his side, but he still tries his best to get away when he hears Reinhardt cooing at him, the tips of his ears burning and his clawed fingers digging holes into the comforter.

“Shut up,” he growls. Reinhardt chuckles like it is the sweetest thing and rubs his bearded chin along Reaper’s shoulders. He gently nudges forward, pushing in deeper in a slow, unrelenting press that has Reaper groaning and wheezing, breath seemingly punched out by the mind boggling stretch of Reinhardt’s cock.

“Pretty little cocksleeve.”

Reinhardt glances down, watching the soft girth of reaper’s cock against his thigh; drooling out cum and making a mess out of everything; getting milked by the sheer pressure of Reinhardt’s massive cock pressing against his prostate and not moving more than a couple inches with the man’s almost lazy rocking.

“Letting me milk you like a good boy… You love it when I deny you your orgasms, don’t you?”

He kisses Reaper’s hot ear, eyes fluttering closed when that warm little hole clenches down tightly around him.

Hanzo/Soldier76

yo! the fruits of my just finished baby live-writing. Enjoy. Also for @francisxie who was thirsty for the ship and I wanted to help x3

Hanzo’s fingers are curled tightly into the lapels of 76’s jacket. The digits have become numb, and the synthetic nerves connecting his legs to his thighs are going haywire, making his feet twitch and his calves actually spasm.

He can’t remember when last he had felt that particular sensation; it was not unwelcome. The burn pulled up his legs and down his curved back to concentrate in the hot mess his pelvis region had become after the second orgasm stolen out of him.

His hips were a cup filled with lava, his cock feeling too tender and his balls aching in the most pleasant way possible; he felt wrung dry and sated, and still his hips were angled back – still he let 76 finger him sweetly, deeply, helping him calm down from the desperate high he had pushed him into in way too short a time.

Hanzo cants his upper body forward, one hand laboriously loosening its death grip on the dark leather to slide up onto one strong shoulder, and then further into the nape of the man’s neck. He nuzzles unthinkingly against the cool synthetic mesh fibre of the mask covering the man’s face.

“Take it off,” he demands in a sated slur, cheek rubbing against the material. The English words feel foreign in his mouth and he would have been surly about how much his tongue refused to curl around them, making him probably sound like a fool – but he can’t dredge up the energy to do so.

He feels calm. Mellowed down by the two orgasms 76 had given him with surprising patience; sitting steadfast on the rickety chair in the run-down little farm house they had chosen for their illicit tryst, not wavering once, no matter how wanton Hanzo moved atop of him, riding his fingers, twisting his hips in sharp, little snaps.

He’d been silent and watching – staring at him through the orange-red of his visor, eyebrows drawn slightly up as if in mild surprise… or amusement. He honestly couldn’t say; he didn’t know the man enough.

“No,” 76 told him, voice gruff but not unkind. His free hand slid along Hanzo’s thigh; rubbed across his hip, thumb testing the sharp edge of Hanzo’s hipbone. “One more?”

Hanzo groaned and shook his head ‘no’, but when he felt the fingers inside him start moving with intent once more, sliding, thrusting, gently circling, he merely presses his forehead against 76’s shoulder and lets him go at it, no matter the electricity sparking through his belly and right into his spent cock, and how on much on pain it is edging.

There is a small puddle of Hanzo’s cooling cum in 76’s lap. Hanzo can see it when he peeks down blearily. He made a right mess out of the stranger.

He can’t believe they only met a few hours ago on the outskirts of a village near Hanamura; a chance encounter, one in a million. He can’t believe he is letting this man do this to him; wreck him on nothing but a couple rough, broad fingers that circle his prostate with near loving care, prodding with soft, gentle fingertips at the ripe swell of it until Hanzo chokes on a cry and bites into the protective mesh covering the man’s throat.

He doesn’t even know his name.

He doesn’t know how he looks beneath his tactical gear. His mask. He doesn’t know whether he is cut, whether he has scars, burns, beauty marks. He doesn’t know whether he is hard beneath those heavy pants he’s wearing.

It’s been enough an hour ago – when Hanzo’s been desperate enough for touch, crawling all over him as soon as it had become apparent he wouldn’t be adverse to the advances. Throwing himself at him like a cat in heat, mewling for it in his own quiet way…

(Panting against the stranger’s ear, whispering about how very much he needed this; needed to get speared by cock and spread open and used like a harlot; all of this in a language he knew 76 would not understand.

How nice it had been of him to give in. How sweet. How accomodating. Letting Hanzo crawl onto his lap, naked and eager, coming down on him like a gentle, insistent storm, wanting all his desires fulfilled and seemingly getting his wishes – until those fingers didn’t pull away after pushing him unerringly into his first orgasm. Until they stay and enjoy the contractions and twitching before taking up their eager, deep exploration of his body yet again, making him groan and buck and hang on for dear life.)

And now it was no longer enough. Hanzo wanted to get at skin – wanted to claw his way beneath the thick leather of the jacket and bite into real skin instead of the protective mesh; wanted to fucking see his face as he rode his fingers.

“Let me see,” he demands, fingers scrabbling at the sides of the mask, useless and still numb, searching for the clasps to release it and grunting softly in frustration when 76’s free hand comes up and easily catches his wrists, pulling his hands down and away. Hanzo wildly wonders whether he used the right words – whether 76 even understood what he was asking of him. His brain goes haywire, not understanding that someone could refuse his demand.

His hips are jerking back, body shuddering, mouth dropping open, and he doesn’t realize he’s coming a third time until he is coming down from it, muscles slowly relaxing from their desperate, tight clench that took the breath from him.

He looks down his body, between the triangle of his caught arms – hands held against 76’s chest – and just stares dumbly at his cock. It’s not even hard; just chubby, vaguely interested, raw looking. His balls hurt gently. He didn’t shoot cum because they’re drained already; he came dry and his brain can’t comprehend the situation.

“One more,” 76 tells him, head dipping forward. Hanzo can’t see his eyes – he has no idea what their color might be – but he still feels like the stranger is searching for his gaze.

Hanzo lifts his head from his quiet perusal of his own cock and just stares back.

“One more,” 76 says again, a little slower this time, voice like sandpaper.

Hanzo doesn’t understand what he is saying until the fingers start moving again. His hole is fucked soft and pliant; clenching weakly as Hanzo’s mouth falls open. He is panting like a dog, and instead of the ‘no, no, no’s he wants to say, he is whispering pathetically breathy ‘ah, ah, ah’s, mouth open, drool slicking from the corner into his beard.

His eyes slant closed, cat-like, belly heaving as he bows his back and pushes it forward. His body is moving on its own, trying simultaneously to strain away and towards the fingers spreading inside him, testing the texture of the spongy, warm walls, scissoring open to lay around his prostate – the needy gland snuggled in between them as much as possible.

He feels like he’s never going to see this man again after this. 76 will drag this out of him, steal it out of him, and leave him a drooling, satisfied mess on the rickety cot in the corner of the rundown place.

He’ll leave on his way, wherever he came from, and Hanzo will wonder what took him to Japan in the first place.

He doesn’t know his name or even what his face looks like, and the sensation crawling up his belly from deep down in his pelvis, is so great, so all consuming, it is frightening. His head falls back and he stares at the ceiling, hips twisting, rocking, jerking. He is drooling and feels delirious. He doesn’t know what this man did to him.

He can feel his heartbeat through the thick material of his jacket where his palms are pressed against his chest by his own restricting hand. It is thudding quick and strong.

Hanzo wonders whether the stranger will think about this for as long as he surely will.

For the small prompts if you’re still doing it? How about Harry Hart training his sweet virgin candidate Eggsy for future honeypot missions, full of both rimming and hole spanking? Maybe even some humiliation kink if you’d like. Or even some praising? Telling Eggsy how good he is, how good he will be for all those unsuspecting marks in the future? Hope this helps! <3

“Fu-”

The fingers were pressing down harder onto his prostate in warning and Eggsy just about managed to stop the expletive with another one. “Bollocks!” he positively screamed, head falling down and drops of sweat flinging from the ends of his hair.

“I need… I need…” He hunched his hips into the movements of the relentless, patient fingers inside of him. He felt like he needed to… to take a dump or something? No. The feeling was insistent and right there in his belly; behind his pelvis. A pressure that has been increasing steadily until it was nigh unbearable. His balls were hurting and his cock felt like an overstuffed, hot sausage. He wanted to touch it but Harry was keeping him on his toes – pressing enough from behind that he had to actively brace himself, fingers digging violently at the floor.

“Harry, I need-”

“Hold on. Not yet.”

Eggsy felt like crying. His face felt hot and his muscles were trembling from exertion. He wasn’t even feeling horrified anymore – well, maybe a bit – at Harry simply rolling up the sleeve of his primly pressed dress shirt and telling him to drop on all fours. That his “… let us call it stamina is surprisingly abysmal, dear boy. And I feel like having you drop out of the training at this point just because of a lack of experience in the more carnal activities, feels like a dreadful waste of time and disservice to all of us.”

There already was a little puddle of cum on the floor beneath him and he was sure, absolutely certain that there wasn’t any more left in his poor, throbbing balls. Only that he also felt certain that he had to come within the next minute or he was going to go insane.

His prostate was suddenly a constant presence of which he was very aware. He was sure he’d never forget it again – that swollen gland that Harry had been manipulating with clever, long fingers. (He felt like he’d be able to find it again later; in the silence of the barracks he slept with everybody else when the others had already gone to sleep.)

Harry was, as always, infuriatingly calm.

“You are doing so very well. You are a fast learner, just like your father…”

And fuck him if having his father brought up in this situation – the man who had trained him fingering him deep and well – wasn’t making him even hotter; blood boiling and belly tickling with a strange, bubbling sensation that felt like pride and lust all mixed up.

“Sssshhh,” Harry soothed and one hand was gently rubbing along Eggsy’s sweaty back. He hadn’t even realized he was making sounds – a low, desperate keening that sounded so strained and forlorn, he nearly had pity on himself.

His knees were bending, hips bopping up and down. He hadn’t been able to stay on his knees for long; soon after Harry had begun circling his prostate with sure, even strokes, he’d gone up on the balls of his feet, unable to stay still for more than a second.

He could see Harry watching him in the mirror’s in front and to the side of them and he was sure he looked stupid as hell; face red and ass bouncing in the air, trying to fuck fingers that stayed lodged deeply; just tickling him with cruel accuracy from the inside. Eggsy wasn’t even properly getting fucked and he still had come like a train for Harry, and it was embarrassing and making him aggressive – but he didn’t have a breath to articulate it because he was making that fuckstupid bollocks keening sound.

Harry didn’t look put out with it. He simply watched with a poker face – maybe there was a light dampening of sweat around his hairline – and kept fingering Eggsy; milking him….

…and telling him he still had to hold on. Still had to stay put where he was and wait for Harry’s sign.

He could see his dick when he turned his head and looked in the mirror next to them. It was there below his belly, bouncing with him and looking red and chubby and like it hurt – because it did.

And suddenly there was Harry’s voice “Now.”, and his fingers were gone and nothing at all was touching him, and Eggsy could feel something tickling his cheeks as he screamed with a hoarse voice, tendons in his neck standing out as he came one last time.

(Later he realized he’d begun to bawl like a little kid; much, much later when he saw himself on the video feed they kept for a keepsake.)

It felt like he had to come in streams and streams, but in reality just a few watery-clear dribbles were bubbling from the tip of his swollen cock before his shaking muscles finally gave out and he sank to the floor, turning on his side and curling into a tight, shivering ball gasping for breath.

He could feel Harry’s soothing hand slowly petting his drenched hair and then down his side.

“Good boy,” he said and fuck if Eggsy didn’t feel another twitch in his plump, poor cock.