Hey hi everyone! My name is Jamie or Jay, whichever one you prefer. I'm a writer for Overwatch and have been in the fandom for a year now! I'm not new to Tumblr, but very new to writing on Tumblr.
I'm a DVA, Widow and Mercy main, and my favourite characters are Genji, Lúcio, Lifeweaver and Kiriko. I'm trans, questioning my sexuality at all times, and obsessed with Lúcio's thighs (real)
I am also on AO3- this is me! Most of my work is severely outdated, but I'm getting back into the swing of things.
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summary : it's not every day that lúcio finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place.
short gencio smut drabble featuring a small handful of kinks.
18+/PUBLIC/TRANS LÚCIO
this short fic is relatively old, and stolen from my ao3, but i wanted to post something so i decided to just throw this out there!
Lúcio’s hands are pressed firm and flat to the wall, back bent to curve his spine beautifully into the steady grasp of cybernetic digits. Oh, how he got himself in this situation, he does not know.
It started as every other mission, the ordinary, the usual. Lúcio had heard of Genji, though never met him in person. Steam had hissed from the sliding door, Athena’s voice a loud overhead beckon to attack. Yet, all Lúcio’s wallriding skills were good for was locating Genji. The second they laid eyes upon each other, it had been settled, and the DJ was fully, entirely captivated. As was the looming ninja on the enemy team. Inseparable, in love. Lúcio didn’t even hesitate to let Genji grab him by the wrists and drag him off from the horrors of battle that continued to rage on behind them. In that moment, nothing mattered, nothing but the sweet caress of his hands and the lull of his accented voice.
Genji’s hips rock against his ass, and he trembles, breathes hard at the cybernetic cock that pushes slowly yet deeply inside of him, the cyborg glued to his back, securing him by the waist. Had it not been for those strong, nimble palms, Lúcio was sure he would have already collapsed. He’s slow and sweet, taking his time, drawing out shy cries from the quivering musician. Every delicate thrust of his hips elicits another moan, Lúcio’s thighs quaking against the steady rock of cybernetic enhancements.
“You feel so good,” a Japanese voice murmurs directly behind his ear, soft and sultry, “you’re taking me so well, Lúcio.”
Footsteps approach, fade, then increase in number. Genji groans, doubles his efforts, ramming his cock deep inside of the hole that takes him so eagerly. Slick pools from where their bodies interject, gradually forming a milky white puddle on the ground. Every time the cyborg pushes back into him, it happens with a lewd, wet sound, Lúcio tightening around him ever so slightly. The DJ curls a hand over his mouth, digs his trimmed fingernails into his skin, presses his palm to wet lips to muffle his ecstatic pleas. Despite his efforts, he is still incredibly loud.
“Shhh.” Genji coos in a guttural growl behind him, scarred lips finding the side of his neck in light, loving kisses. Kisses quickly turn to teeth and tongue, the cyber-ninja working effortlessly to mark him all whilst Lúcio does his best not to make a peep. The ruthless stretch of Genji’s pounding cock certainly isn’t helping, but he cannot find it in himself to complain.
“Genji..” He moans desperately into his palm, eyebrows knitting in a deep furrow over his soft, dark, round eyes. The knot in his stomach pulsates ever so threateningly- as does Genji’s girth between his walls. He grows louder, whiny and frantic, body rocking back against that of the cyborg. The voices that linger behind them slowly disappear altogether, and Genji heaves out a breath, forcing his hips hard against the small man beneath him.
“That was close..” He murmurs, tugging Lúcio impossibly closer by the waist. His thrusts grow erratic and sloppy, no longer caring to draw out the moment. All he wants is to fuck Lúcio to completion.
The vocal DJ notices, and grips the wall with his free hand, releasing the suffocating press over his lips with a loud, relieved moan. The second the presence of people fades, he picks up tremendously in volume, body rocking in fervor in time with Genji’s thrusts, crying and wailing in lewd moans and desperate whimpers. “Genji, I’m so close..”
Genji’s eyes lift, scan the side of his face, then inevitably light up. “You gonna cum for me, my sweet kaeru?” The nickname rolls off his tongue without so much as a second thought, and he moans, growling under his breath as he feels the way Lúcio clamps down on his cock.
“Yes, oh Genji- yes!” Lúcio pants, lips parted as he turns his head sideways to gaze back at Genji, who meets his longing eyes almost instantly. For but a fraction of a second, time seems to still around them, focusing on nothing but the passionate thrill of their bodies locking together in such a dangerous array. Genji finds he cannot hold on for much longer, either.
“Fuck, Lú.. In or out?”
“Please, please inside..”
The cyborg needs not another plea of encouragement. He grips onto Lúcio tight, fucks him so hard against the wall that he starts to press him against it, his body locked between the merciless thrusts of the cyborg and the bricks at his face. All it takes for the DJ is one calculated brush of Genji’s cock inside of him for him to break, the knot in his stomach tipping over to result in what had to be one of his strongest orgasms in a very long time. Stars momentarily dance in his vision as his eyes tip into the back of his skull, releasing all over the stretch of Genji’s cock with a loud cry of his name. Every part of him winces and quivers, and the sight alone is plenty for the cyborg. With Lúcio clamping down on his pulsating girth, he too reaches his end, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of thick cum paint the insides of Lúcio’s pussy.
Heat explodes in his stomach, and the musician mewls, slowly beginning to go slack in Genji’s grasp. He feels full, spent, and exhausted. Genji’s cock throbs lazily inside of him as he rides out his climax, and it takes all of the cyborg’s strength to keep him upright.
“Oh, dear. How am I going to get you back to your team like this?”
Summary: Ramattra has never seen a human that glows as brightly as the sun itself. An instinctual decision to visit him after the tremors of battle lead to something else entirely. Never did he think he was capable of loving a human, but Lúcio quickly proves him wrong.
Ramattra x Lúcio Correia dos Santos
Smut, trans! Lúcio, voyeurism
Word count: ~6.2k
Ramattra’s metal feet sound like overhead thunder every time they come crashing down, stomping flat to the surface of Numbani’s soil. His team stands tall and proud behind him, his little soldiers, ready to wage a war that they will most definitely win.
“For now, we have a common purpose. Let’s… focus on that.” Were the words he spoke, stationed inside the blue team’s spawn room. Angela, Lena and Jack all gave him this judgemental side-eye that screamed, ‘are we seriously working together with Null Sector’s omnic leader?’. Of course, that was just Ramattra’s luck- being deployed with what had to be almost the entirety of Overwatch.
Not all of them ogled him with such foul hatred, however. No, one amongst them persisted the brightest, toothy white smile in his direction, rooting him with a few words of encouragement, despite his status, his reputation, his position.
“You’ve got this! Call out to me if you need any help!”
He was small, oh so tiny and delicately petite, luscious long dreads tied up in a high hairdo decorated with the brightest teal coils he’s ever seen. Everything about him was simply remarkable, the bright tones of jade and royal blue, the drum of internal music via the large speaker on his back, the luminescent glow of his skates that skid and scrape against the ground with every little bounce of his leg- Ramattra can’t help but be a little fascinated. By a human, no less.
Lúcio, was his name. Ramattra would not forget it.
Now, he stands, staff in hand as bullets fly overhead. He is ready, more so than he’s ever been before. A power surges within him, one that he recognizes all too well. Ready to bestow demise upon his enemies, ready to annihilate them with nothing but his brute strength alone. His team calls upon him their anticipation, and he nods urgently back at the loading of guns and the spark of caduceus. It is time.
Cogs and gears shift and turn and creak. His body stretches in size, forms a pair of massive arms that crawl from the cracks within his back. He steadies himself with a cross of his smaller limbs and strives forward, stumbles, then unleashes a horrifying growl that pairs itself with deeply synthesised words. Behind him, the sound of voices fades, drowns out over the static buzz inside his head, and his vision goes dark, sears with flashes of crimson all in his peripherals. His large arms flex, ball into fists, and before he knows it, before he can even comprehend where he’s going, he’s surging after the enemies, his stride massive and powerful and nothing short of devastating.
Something rides along, but Ramattra cannot comprehend what it is. Angela’s voice calls out, prompts the darting figure to move faster, circling the omnic’s moving ligaments, and just like that, he’s racing, bolting, one after another falling to the leeching force of his hatred, his furious fists. Each unneeded breath feels like a lurching burn and ache in his steel body, and as quickly as it began, thus it ends, Athena’s voice sounding loud over the speakers. Team kill.
His stature crumbles, gears shifting back into place as his large arms tuck away from where they once sprouted. His vision clears up, auditory processors picking up on the silence that now surrounds him, crimson staining both his hands and the ragged ground at his feet. The shriek in his mind dissipates, and he sinks to his knees, clutching two blood-stained hands over his ribbed shell. As though he cannot breathe.
A glow of teal swivels his perception, and his gaze haphazardly turns to the side to find the worried eyes of none other than Lúcio. The DJ hesitates, frowns, then reaches out, the padded surface of his digits tracing a reassuring rub on one of Ramattra’s broad shoulders. “Good job,” he coos, unable to resist the sheepish smile that tugs bright and comforting at his features, “seems a little speed does you good, huh?”
Ramattra can’t find proper words. He feels as though he’s staring straight at the sun itself. As though the Iris is embracing him in its warmth and tranquillity. The calm after the storm. His neck cranes, shifts, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning into the teeny hand that caresses him ever so affectionately. He can see the way Lúcio ogles him, calming and subtly prideful, as though he is some kind of well-trained mutt. Somehow, he cannot find the anger to be bothered by it. It feels wonderful to be praised for something that usually hurts him so deeply.
“I suppose,” Ramattra creaks in hushed words, “it was you, battling at my side?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ramattra can see it clear as day, the way he tenses up, bashful now that he’s addressed it- Lúcio looks as though he is about to combust from the acknowledgement. “Yeah, the uh, the boost seemed like it would help out, I didn’t think you’d notice-”
“Nonsense,” finally, Ramattra’s voice clears up, “I thank you, for your assistance. It felt different this time. Less bothersome.”
The look on Lúcio’s face easily makes all of the suffering worth it. The way his eyebrows frame his round mocha eyes, a concoction of sweetness and vulnerability that has Ramattra’s head reeling. A perfectly crafted creature, effervescent in every shape and form. It’s almost sickening.
“I’m.. glad to hear that.” The small musician at his side trills. They are roughly the same height now that Ramattra is kneeling. Never before has he felt such pleasant tension, especially not with a human. His touch is maddening, warm and so sickly different from what he is used to. Nobody ever dares touch him, yet this small creature doesn’t so much as cower before him. Weak and vulnerable, yet so strong for opposing him all the same. There is much Ramattra can learn from him.
The encounter leaves Ramattra’s mechanical brain fuzzy for the remainder of the match. Not a single second passes where he can think straight, every thought and every memory plagued by imagery of Lúcio swivelling around his legs, launching him forward into battle. What… an honour, to be assisted by someone as flawless as him. It fills his ribcage with indescribable warmth, leaving his body to sizzle against the scorching sun. Angela comments on his absent mind numerous times, but never does he manage to keep his head in the game. What is it about this bright DJ that troubles him so? Why does he feel so compelled to see him, to stay with him? They don’t even know each other, and yet, Ramattra feels a connection to this puny human that he has never felt before. It only serves to intrigue him all the more.
The mission goes relatively smoothly despite Ramattra’s inner turmoil. They win, celebrate with a collective series of fistbumps and high-fives, before Ramattra is forced to retreat back to one of many Null Sector camps, and Overwatch resumes back to headquarters.
That same night, Lúcio crashes into his dorm back at base. A long, fruitful day of battle and labour often leaves him exhausted, and he is more than happy to swing open the door to his personal chamber and shake out of his sonic technology to crash into the warmth and safety of his bed. He shuts the door behind himself, pulling loose the rubber band that keeps his coils up, his true hair falling down and over his shoulders. Next comes the abundance of armour, all around his shoulders and his chest and his thighs, each piece clattering to the floor as he works to remove everything. It's a hassle, but at least it keeps him safe.
He slides onto the edge of the bed, unclasping the tight restraints of his skates where they connect just below the knee. A hiss and a click, and the prosthetics slip right off, and are delicately propped up against his nightstand. With a relieved sigh, Lúcio scooches back on the mattress, lifting the covers with one hand and throwing himself down on his side. He makes sure he's tucked in, comfortable, and pleasantly warm. Slumber awaits him not even a few minutes later, his eyes fluttering shut to let the darkness slowly consume him.
He awakes to an odd shuffling noise just outside of his door. It's pitch black, and he rolls over to check his clock, perched atop his drawer; it is three in the morning, and Lúcio cannot possibly imagine someone who would be up at this hour. Forcing himself to sit up, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and reaches for his glasses, putting them on the bridge of his nose and directing his focus to the creaking door.
It opens, slowly, hauntingly, a deep purple glow emanating through the crack. The sound of scraping metal sounds, and Lúcio tilts his head to get a look as a familiar, large frame enters the confinements of his room. Ribbed metal, long black cords, violet palms. The figure in his room huffs out air– anxiously– although there is no mouth to support the action.
Ramattra.
"Rama?" The DJ instantly frowns at the sight of him, hugging the covers closer to his chest. Ramattra quietly shuts the door behind himself and saunters over to the edge of Lúcio's bed– he almost trips over the loose parts of armour on the floor, so the Overwatch agent quickly shifts to turn on a small bedside lamp. The room dimly lights up, enough to show all of its contents and decorations.
There are posters on the wall, 'Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Hero of Numbani', 'Numbani concert hall, 20xx', and various striking imagery of Lúcio advertising his tours. There are a few pictures, too– most of them framed with a silver border. Pictures of Lúcio when he was younger, long dreads and an obvious tooth gap, wearing knee and elbow braces, a hockey stick in his right palm. Other pictures display various children, the background showing the depths of Paraíso and the favela in which he grew up in. There's a record player in the far corner next to his setup, a wheelchair on the right. Records lay strewn about the floor, paperwork littering his workspace along with several pieces of equipment; his headset, a toolbox, and a small turntable.
Isn't it all so like him? Ramattra hadn't expected anything else. Music was his thing, was it not?
"What are you doing here?" Lúcio persists, peering up as the ravager approaches his side– somehow, despite having absolutely no facial features, he looks spent. "Did something happen? You gotta be careful, showing up here– it's way too dangerous, and if someone found out, they'd–"
"I had to come see you."
"They'd strike the– wait, what?"
"I wanted to… meet again. I could not possibly wait another day. Part of me worried that we would not cross paths again." The melancholy is so blatantly obvious, Lúcio feels it in his bones. "I know it is dangerous. But it is worth the risk if I get to spend even a fleeting moment with you."
An awkward silence falls. Ramattra is unsure if it is because of his words, or if it is because he simply caught Lúcio off-guard and he doesn't know what to say. Perhaps it was a mistake, coming all the way over here. Maybe Lúcio had no interest in seeing him, as they were designated enemies.
"Oh, Rama, that's…" The DJ shuffles further toward the headrest, the covers sliding down as he does so. Instantly, Ramattra's eyes lower themselves, and if he had human blood, it would have long rushed to his cheeks. He is shirtless.
Ramattra counts the lines forming his abs, the way they form into his chest, sprouting into two individual horizontal scars and a set of pecs. There's a pure black frog tattooed on his left arm, and his long locs fall perfectly over his shoulders. Never has a human captivated him this much– it feels almost out of character for him to show any remote interest. Yet, something compels him to extend his hand and touch. To feel soft skin against his metal palm, indulge in the sensors beneath the outside of his shell.
"You didn't have to." Lúcio finally says, turning his head to the side to hide his embarrassment. Ramattra peers at him from the edge of his bed, gathers his bearings, then leans down, his dark palm hovering over where the covers wrap around Lúcio's hip.
"My apologies if this seems… invasive, but may I touch you?"
The question visibly catches the musician off-guard. He looks around, obviously confused, before settling his gaze on Ramattra's hand, giving a curt nod. "Uh, yeah, sure.. go for it."
With the necessary consent, Ramattra presses his palm to Lúcio's abdominals, hot skin against his cold hand. He revels in the way the DJ shivers beneath him, drawing in a quiet gasp at the chilling sensation of his steel body. Carefully, the ravager shuffles onto the edge of the bed, lifting a knee to climb over to Lúcio, who lifts his eyes to stare at him as he moves. They're lidded, dimly illuminated by the bedside lamp.
"You are very warm." Null Sector's leader points out, head tilted as he drags his hand up Lúcio's chest, tracing the scars with his thumb. Lúcio leans back beneath him, hands finding purchase in the bed sheets, digging his nails into the fabric. Ramattra sits in front of him, tugging down the covers to where he can see the waistband of his briefs, opting to leave it at that. Mechanical eyes watch intently at the flexing of muscles, the trilling of hair on skin, horripilation spreading all over Lúcio's skin.
"Mmmh.." The DJ furrows his brows, parting plush lips as he digs himself deeper against the headrest, automatically causing Ramattra to scoot in closer. They subconsciously close the distance together, faces drawn close together. Ramattra's hand caresses one of his pecs, squeezing it in his hand, tugging a quiet, shy moan from the man beneath him. He's flushed and sweaty, the droplets glistening on his forehead. It's a sight he has never seen before.
"So attractive and soft… you are the most perfect being on this planet." Ramattra's other hand cups Lúcio's cheek, turns it sideways so that they are facing one another. "Amidst the horrors of the human race.. here you are." He is nothing like the humans Ramattra has been driving to extinction. Nothing like the ones he despises so, like the ones who killed his brothers and sisters. So different, so so different.
"Ramattra…" Lúcio moans with more courage this time, craning his head back and shifting his hips to sink down into the sheets and pillows. Ramattra's hands lower to grab him by the waist, flabbergasted to find his fingers connect when he squeezes both sides. Oh, he was so, so tiny. So tiny and fragile in his massive grasp.
"You look pent up.." The ravager rubs his thumbs over Lúcio's stomach. "Let me help you with that."
No part of Lúcio wishes to refuse that offer. Whatever it is that's come over him.. he wants more of it. With a shaky nod and a light palm covering his mouth, he spreads for Ramattra, eyebrows knitted closely together. It's embarrassing, craving a sensation so lewd, but he knows he cannot resist himself, not when Ramattra is so.. oddly attractive and interested in him. Showing up here, in the enemy base, all for his sake– it has Lúcio's knees weak.
"Good," the ravager trills, "I knew you would accept."
Steel palms push themselves down, feeling along the curve of Lúcio's hips, fidgeting with the waistband of his black boxer briefs. He takes note of the slender bones, the smooth, soft skin, and the snail trail of tiny curly hairs that rest just below his navel. He draws a cute mewl from the DJ as he traces the covered trail, hands gripping the fabric and pulling it down enough to catch a glimpse of glistening wet folds.
"So eager already? It hasn't been more than a minute." Ramattra chuckles, low and throaty, deeply synthesised to the point where his whole chassis rumbles. An elated, somewhat excited sigh leaves him as he works to remove the shorts entirely, pulling them off Lúcio's knees where they're promptly tossed to the carpeted floor. A full view of Lúcio, wet and needy, presents itself to him.
"Goodness…" Ramattra cannot bite back the aroused growl that escapes his voice box, enthralled by the sight. It visibly embarrasses the musician, who now lifts both hands to cover up his face, sinking down onto his back. The large omnic wastes not a second to shift over him, pinning him down to the mattress. From above, he is even smaller, petite beneath his massive overcast stature. No matter what happens, Ramattra must protect him.
"Jesus…" Lúcio peers up at him through his fingers, breath coming out hot and heavy between them. At this point, he's trembling with anticipation. "Please, be gentle with me…"
Ramattra leans down, pressing the division of white and purple on his face to Lúcio's forehead; an attempt to kiss him. "Do not fret. You are in good hands; this is my first time, so I will be cautious."
"Your first time? Like, with.. someone like me, or–?"
"You curious little thing," Ramattra laughs heartily, "no, my first time in general. Human or omnic."
"Oh," Lúcio swallows, "that puts some pressure on me."
"You? Is this your first time engaging in contact like this?"
"Uh, with an omnic? Yeah. But in general… no, unfortunately." The DJ lowers his hands, keeping them at his sides on the bed. He watches the way Ramattra stiffens, gasping when abruptly, metallic fingers run themselves over his plump heat, pulling one fold to the side. A wet, hungry slit opens itself wide from the contact.
"That is fine. But from now on, you submit to nobody but me. I am the only one who gets to have you. Understood?"
The suddenness is what catches Lúcio most off-guard, but the words send a flash of heat directly to his pulsating heat. "Oh, fuck… y–yeah, got it.."
"Good boy." Ramattra coos, cupping the side of his face with his free hand. His occupied fingers pull apart both folds, his middle finger running across Lúcio's slick slit, coating itself in natural lubrication. "I will make swift work of preparing your body for me. Patience is not my virtue when it comes to you. Simply irresistible, you are."
"Oohh.." Lúcio digs his fingers into Ramattra's arm, writhing impatiently. "J–Just hurry up then, would you? Too much talking.." He whimpers.
"Impatient," Ramattra bites with a purr, "I like it." If he had any shape of a mouth, he'd certainly be smiling.
Without further hesitation, he curves his finger, presses it against Lúcio's wet cunt, sinking it inside of him. The metal grazes textured walls, stuffs itself in suffocating heat, surprised to find just how agonisingly tight he is, even around one digit. He watches, mesmerised by the display, as Lúcio shifts and arches his back beneath him.
"Is that okay?" Ramattra murmurs, black veils pointing themselves at the DJ, mechanical eyes whirring beneath his metal chassis. Lúcio swiftly nods, arching his hips up and off the bed to gaze down at where Ramattra's finger disappears inside of him. There's a pleasant ache, though it isn't nearly as fulfilling as he wants it to be. He feels the pressure, the way steel caresses him, slipping knuckle deep into his dripping hole.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Lúcio grimaces as a second finger joins the first, squeezing in alongside the other digit to situate deep inside of him. His body resists at first, a difficult entry for Ramattra, but he's swift to relax and let the two fingers spread and scissor him, steadily fucking into him.
"Aahh.." Hungry eyes fixate themselves on Ramattra's arm, pupils blown wide against the dim light of the small lamp. Ramattra momentarily peers up, watching intently at Lúcio's facial expressions, astonished by how gorgeous he appears. And here he thought he couldn't get any prettier. Slick drips and latches between the ravager's fingers, a whole symphony of sounds erupting between Lúcio's heat and his digits. The musician is trembling beneath him, a singular hand coming down to press against his lower abdomen, eyes still transfixed on Ramattra's moving ligament.
"Do you think you are ready, my little frog?" Ramattra croons, voice low and intense. His fingers retreat with a slick sound, sliding easily out of Lúcio's slit. The DJ gasps, empty once again, spreading his thighs wide to desperately invite the omnic closer.
"Oh, yes, please… don't make me wait any longer."
With a content chuckle, Ramattra sits up, running a hand down his ribbed chest. The gesture does exactly what he was hoping for: Lúcio instantly glances down, brutally reminded of their sheer size difference. The ravager moves all the way down to the metal hatch covering his crotch, wasting no time in removing it. Within a fraction of a second, his cock springs free, presenting itself in a tall arch. It's the same colour as his dark iron body, and has ridges of glowing violet around every inch or so. It's as thick as Lúcio's forearm.
"Oooh.." The freedom fighter whimpers, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. "There's no way that's going to fit, big guy."
"Oh," Ramattra tilts his head, "no need to worry. I will make it fit."
Without much warning, Ramattra grabs both of Lúcio's thighs, yanking him down and against his own legs. The small man yelps from the suddenness, his entire face flushing dark as he rests perfectly aligned with Ramattra's hard cock. It rests over his stomach, stretching to just above his belly button. His heart is racing against his ribs, arms sprawled back behind his head.
"You can take it." Ramattra reassures, but Lúcio isn't even close to convinced. There was absolutely no way he could take even the first inch, not with how abnormally thick he was. It felt like he'd split apart trying to take any more of him.
"J–Just.. go easy on me. Slowly." Lúcio covers his face, lowering his other hand to spread his folds, exposing his wet slit to the ravager. Ramattra purrs, grabbing him by the hips and shifting his thighs to lower his cock and press it against his dripping pussy. With medium force, he begins to press, Lúcio's slit stretching wide around the pointed tip of his girth. The shaft pushes past his tense insides, slick and warmth enveloping him.
"What an… incredible feeling.." Ramattra pants, tilting his head sideways and downward to look at Lúcio. His lips are parted, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted together. His back is arched off the bed, shaking the more he flexes his muscles.
"Mmm…" The omnic steadily runs a hand up Lúcio's side, enough to catch his attention. His eyes flutter open, teary-eyed, but he meets Ramattra's gaze instantly. The hand on his side rubs reassuringly, and Ramattra sees the way he relaxes and loosens around the massive stretch of his cock.
Now that he's relaxed, Ramattra takes the opportunity to roll his hips, sinking his girth deeper and deeper inside of him until he's half leaning, towering over the small Overwatch agent. Each and every inch slips slowly but successfully inside of him, until there isn't any more Ramattra can give him, sheathed to the very hilt. There, he pauses and bottoms out, hands coming to support his weight on either side of Lúcio's head.
The freedom fighter lets out the most toe-curling, arousing moan he's heard in his entire life. His cock is a visible outline in his lower body, so large that he can see it. His hands are grasping, reaching for him, and the ravager quickly shifts to grab them, letting Lúcio tug at the enormous scarf around his neck, all the way up to his hair-like cords.
"Fuck!" The DJ gasps, tangling his fingers between the dark, rubbery extensions. A single tear wells up at the corner of his eye and slips down his cheek, walls suffocating Ramattra's thick cock as it throbs between them.
"I told you," Ramattra nuzzles his forehead, "you would manage."
"Nhhhaah.. Ramattra.." Lúcio whimpers, pushing a hand up his forehead to wipe away stray droplets of sweat. He threads it between his curly locs, quivering as the omnic pulls back his hips– slowly– and thrusts back inside of him– empty, half-full, full. Rinse and repeat. Ramattra sets a slow and steady pace, just as he'd requested, handling him with care and caution. It's so tender, and Lúcio already feels like he's about to explode.
"Ramattra– I'm–" He stutters, dragging his nails down one of the cords, grabbing it and squeezing it. Ramattra growls, a sound that rumbles the air between them, tension shuddering every wire in his steel body. Warning sensors would have long alerted him of overheating components, but he's lucky not to have any. There are no warnings for an omnic built to destroy.
Ramattra grabs both of Lúcio's hands and pushes them down against the sheets, digits suffocating his sweaty wrists in an iron grasp. Lúcio arches into him, connecting their hips, moaning feverishly as the ravager abruptly picks up the pace, snapping his hips roughly against his own. Steel on skin; it makes less noise, but the undeniable sounds of pure slickness between them are hard to ignore.
"Fffuck, oh!" Lúcio whimpers, tossing his head to the side. Pleasure shoots directly up his spine with every thrust, leaves him aching for more. Despite his sheer size, Ramattra seems to fit perfectly inside of him, manageable enough to where there is little to no pain. That, or he's too high on adrenaline and euphoria to feel it.
Just as Lúcio is about to announce his rapidly approaching orgasm, there's the vague sound of footsteps at the end of the hallway. Ramattra's hips instantly still themselves, burying himself to the hilt inside of the musician and hovering over him silently. Lúcio's automatic response is to slap a hand over his mouth, screwing his eyes shut at the full, satisfied feeling Ramattra's cock grants him.
"Lúcio? Are you okay?" The voice gradually approaches, soft in tone, a woman's voice. Ramattra shoots a glance down with looming mechanical eyes.
"I heard some sounds– it's late at night, I know you often work at this time, but something didn't sound right to me."
Ramattra's eyes stay on Lúcio. He looks both flustered and tense at the same time, as though he's… holding back. Then, as he shifts, the ravager muffles out a gasp at the sudden squeeze around his cock, and judging by the way Lúcio's eyes fly open, he's not oblivious to it, either.
"You're…. turned on," Ramattra whispers, "you… filthy little thing. Do you enjoy the idea of being caught?" His tone is teasing, and he knows he shouldn't– but this response was wildly unexpected, and he can't help but be a little intrigued by it.
There's no response from Lúcio– he's biting back every little noise that lingers in his throat to the best of his ability, gathering his bearings as fast as he can. It's taking too long; the door knob rattles, and the same voice worriedly calls out to him.
"Lúcio?"
"Y–Yes! I'm here…" Finally, he speaks, hands lowering themselves, where Ramattra immediately grabs them again. He certainly hopes Angela can't hear his ragged breathing from the other side of the door. "S–Sorry, I was just… rearranging some stuff, you know, as I like to do.. sorry for waking you up, Angela."
"Oh," Ziegler sighs, "I was worried! I thought it was an intruder for a second. It's quite alright, I wasn't sleeping anyway."
"Yeahh… I didn't hear you the first time.."
"Well, alright, Lúcio. Get some rest soon." Slowly but surely, the footsteps head back down to where they came from, until there is pure silence on the other end.
Without missing a beat, Ramattra ruts his hips deep and hard into him, eliciting a loud, surprised whimper from his little frog.
"What was that, just now?" The ravager hisses. "I felt the way you tightened around me. You enjoyed that."
"N–Nooo.." Lúcio writhes, lips parting with a shy expression.
"You did, didn't you? Sleeping with the enemy… oh, my little fighter, if they found out about this…"
Lúcio's head tosses back. If they found out about this.. Overwatch would discard him on the spot. That, and they'd stare with unbridled disgust. Someone like him, a strong advocate for peace, in bed with the leader of Null Sector. Polar opposites, and yet, Lúcio has never been treated better by any former partners.
"Moan like it, then," Ramattra growls, "let me hear how much you cherish the risk of being discovered with your greatest enemy."
"Shit…" Lúcio licks his bottom lip, glancing down at Ramattra's narrow waist as it curves and bends into him, his cock pushing in and out of him with aggressive momentum. And moan he does; he brings out a beautiful symphony of whimpers, mewls and grunts, an orchestrated masterpiece. Every time Ramattra thrusts, he moans, louder and louder and louder every single time. Where his orgasm had once faded from the abrupt presence, it now threatens his body once more, teetering on the edge of explosive relief.
"I–I can't… take much more of this…" Lúcio whines, abdominals flexing, thighs quivering. What was once a tight fit becomes an even tighter fit, Lúcio's pussy squeezing mercilessly around Ramattra's thick cock. He's close, so close, and they both know it. Ramattra has no desire to tease him and simply wishes to see him content.
"I know you can be a good boy for me. Let it out." His encouragement rolls like a drum through Lúcio's head, and with the increasing pressure between his legs, the occasional throb of his clit, he knows he cannot hold it in anymore. With a flustered moan, he arches his back off the bed, trembling as his body finally allows that sweet release he's been waiting for. The ache explodes, threads itself into a powerful orgasm, and with one calculated brush of Ramattra's cock against just the right spot, he's seeing stars, vision blacking out for a fraction of a second.
"Ramattra!" It's the loudest cry he's let out so far, no doubt heard over the entire level of the headquarters, but god, is it worth it. Transparent liquid gushes out around Ramattra's girth, rapidly soaking the sheets beneath them, and the ravager swiftly pulls out to encourage the stream, rubbing a thumb to Lúcio's clit.
Eventually, it ends, remnants of liquid sticking to the insides of Lúcio's thighs. He's dripping and gaping, his hole used but not filled. As he comes down from his high, he notices the way Ramattra is looking at him, catching his breath in deep gasps and huffs.
One leg lifts, spreads, and Ramattra perks up, looking between them to glance uncertainly at the DJ's heat.
"What about you?" Lúcio smiles. "Don't you think you deserve to cum, too?"
The ravager is speechless. He hadn't any qualms with granting Lúcio all the attention and leaving himself last, but it seems like that isn't going to fly. Lúcio actually wants him to finish. It's fair, that way.
"Inside." The freedom fighter presses a hand down his abdomen, seductively spreading his folds with his index and middle fingers. "Cum inside of me."
Ramattra has to gather his thoughts for a second before he nods, taking hold of his cock with one hand. He aligns it with Lúcio's wet and messy hole, shuddering as he slides back into him. It's much easier now that he's been stretched and thoroughly used, and Ramattra wastes no time in fucking him with unmatched vigor and desperation. He wants to cum. He needs to.
Now extra sensitive, Lúcio swings his arms over Ramattra's neck, pulling him in closer. He's going deep, throbbing so hard he can feel it between every thrust. It's arousing, and through the throbbing of his previous dwindling orgasm, he feels a second one rapidly building, tingling his senses worse than before. So much so that he feels his lower body going slack, at Ramattra's complete mercy.
"You are mine." The omnic growls, deep and guttural over Lúcio's head. There is no resistance. Lúcio is his.
"All yours.." Confirmation proves it. Ramattra owns him. His human, that aids him in battle. His human that loves him. His human that moans and spreads for him like a dog in heat.
"Please, fill me.."
It's all Ramattra needs. His hips buck, staggering, before he pounds and buries himself as deep as possible in Lúcio's sopping cunt. Warmth overwhelms his senses, scratches his components in all the right ways. The red array of lights on his forehead flicker, tuning to bright golden rays. Translucent golden arms arch from his back, curving and grasping and holding. A pair squeeze Lúcio's thighs while another pair cup his cheeks. He moans, loud and euphoric, as his cock throbs and twitches, emptying every drop inside of his human, just as requested.
At the exact same time, walls tighten for a second time as Ramattra pushes Lúcio to a second climax. This one is dry, unlike the first one, but just as intense. A blinding glow emanates from the ravager as he spills inside of Lúcio, bottoming out on top of him.
Once he calms down enough to think properly, he slowly slides out of Lúcio, watching haphazardly as thick cum drips out of him, sliding down swarthy skin and onto the bed. It's a wet mess, but neither of them care.
"I…" It's Ramattra who speaks first, still hovering over Lúcio. His transparent golden arms lower to rest at his sides, lights resuming their crimson colour. The DJ is sprawled out, thighs wide and arms behind his head, absolutely spent. Oh, it is something Ramattra can definitely get used to.
"And here you said you just wanted to see me…" Lúcio giggles– he sounds and looks exhausted, but he's content. The smile on his face is like the sun itself. That same smile he gave him on the battlefield the first day. "You could've said you wanted me when you walked in, you know.."
"Oh.." Ramattra's breath comes out slow. "This was.. not my intention. I did not mean for any of this…" Only then does the realisation really dawn on him. He is in Overwatch headquarters, in the bed of one of their agents. As much as he liked the teasing earlier– this is an incredibly unfortunate and dangerous situation. He has to leave, and fast.
"It's– I'm sorry, I should go.."
The smile on Lúcio's face instantly falters. Ramattra prepares to grab the protective plating to secure over his groin, but is promptly stopped by a small hand that grabs him by the wrist. His head snaps to the side, and he meets eyes with Lúcio, who gazes back longingly.
"Hey– please.. please stay." It's the first time Ramattra has had anyone ask him that. To stay. Normally, they fear him. Hide from him. Avoid him. But this brave little human wants him to stay.
"Why…?" Ramattra shakes his head. "I.. made a mistake coming here. This is enemy territory. It would be too risky, and.." He trails off, unsure of what else to add. Part of him does not want to leave either, but he knows he must.
"So you're just going to leave me like this?" Lúcio doesn't seem upset, more so disappointed. Melancholic, perhaps. Ramattra's presence makes him feel warm. Loved. Useful. All of his compliments, his genuine attentiveness, his care, his tenderness– it's everything Lúcio could ask for, and now that he's here, he doesn't want him to go anywhere. "One night. Please, stay with me for one night."
How can he possibly say no to that face? He'll have to escape in the morning before dawn, avoid the peering eyes of any waking Overwatch members, but.. Lúcio requests his presence, and he would be a fool to deny this precious being.
"... Fine. Just for you." Ramattra slowly inches closer, revelling in the way the musician lights up again. Oh, he is so gorgeous. There isn't a single human out there quite like this one. Ramattra never wants to let go of him.
"Thank you.." Lúcio trills, opening his arms wide to invite Ramattra closer. The ravager obliges, lowering himself onto the bed to sink slowly into his arms. They merge and cuddle, legs and hands intertwined to the best of their abilities. Lúcio is so little in his arms, and Ramattra is simply too big. An awful combination, but they make do with it.
"Now, seriously– did you only come here to bang me?"
"I already told you," Ramattra nuzzles his forehead, "I came here to see you. I had no clear intentions when I headed this way."
"Hm. Well, did you enjoy it?"
"Frankly… yes. Yes, I did. You felt very… warm. A little slippery and soft, too. It was a very human feeling."
Lúcio beams. "Well… I've still got some fight in me left. Want me to show you what else I can do?"
Ramattra gasps as a hand lowers to his soft cock, squeezing both of Lúcio's ass cheeks responsively.
"If you think you can handle me.. I encourage you to try."
HEY STINK!! YOU FINALLY GOT AROUND MAKING A TUMBLR FOR FANFICS AFTER MY BEGGING HUH. WELL I NEED SOME ANAHARDT IN MY LIFE SO HOW ABOUT THIS.
How about a cute little fluffy fic of Reinhardt being a bit dumb and Ana (who’s watching him) says something in Arabic, like ‘are you stupid?’ and Rein knows what she said cause he heard it a million times before. And then idk fluffy shit.
(Meanwhile Soldier in the background being very confused on how he understood her)
IDK BE FUNNY I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO GIVE YOU. MY SPECIALTY IS COD NOT OW HAHAHA
ANAHARDT ;; Reinhardt isn't the brightest tool in the shed.
Sweet Anahardt banter. Jack is an unfortunate witness.
Ana Amari x Reinhardt Wilhelm, mention of Jack Morrison x Gabriel Reyes
Tooth rotting fluff. Nothing but the best for my sweethearts ♡
Thank you for this request my bestie! I hope it is to your liking, you know how much I love the dynamic between these two ♡
Reinhardt's hammer clatters to the floor, bounces back, then falls still with a heavy thud. A lousy kick sends it propped against the wall of the lounging room, which is decorated in rusty medals and picture frames of various news articles reading Overwatch's many heroic achievements. The retired crusader stretches, groans, then drops to the nearest sofa, lifting two colossal hands to writhe his helmet off his head. It loosens with a loud pop, and he throws it haphazardly off to the side, where it rolls up to the feet of his most precious gem.
"Tiring mission, Reinhardt?" Ana coos teasingly, her eye drifting off to the side as Jack rounds up at her side, peeling his crimson visor from his features. It has been a long, long time since they were deployed together, and nothing feels quite the same as it did back when it was the four of them, but it somewhat soothes the nostalgic ache in their hearts. Overwatch still needs them, despite their struggles.
"Oh, yes!" Reinhardt whines, pushing his hands up his face and through his silvery white locks. He can already hear Ana chuckling, even as she stands a few feet away from him. Exhaustion has long kicked in for all of them, so it is not in her place to blame him. "I cannot feel my legs!"
"That makes two of us." Jack chimes in, a horrible litany of popping joints sounding as he strides to a small seat next to the large sofa; Reinhardt takes up too much of the surface for him to even think of sitting down there.
"Oh, grow up, you two," the elderly Amari strolls around the occupied sofa, throwing herself right on top of Reinhardt, "all we did was gather some intel. Are you two going soft on me?"
Wilhelm chokes out a surprised sound as Ana's subtle weight topples over his chest, but his large arms quickly support her tiny frame, maneuvering her around the sharp edges that make up his armour to ensure she is comfortable. "No, no such thing!" The tone in his voice begs to differ, but he refuses to give in to the fact that proper retirement might be the best solution. There is too much for him to still fight for, and too many wrongs he must make right. Yet, his body throbs and creaks and screams for him to rest and accept an easier life.
"Things have been tough lately. Can you really blame us?" Jack kicks off his shoes and does his best to ignore the overly affectionate display at his side- they have always been two saps dancing in a weird limbo, anyway. It reminded him too much of how he used to be with Reyes.
Ana hums in acknowledgement, tracing circles on one of Reinhardt's cheeks with her index finger. He makes a bit of a face, something akin to a pout, but the soft pink rushing to his face gives him away. He is not immune to her affection.
"Next mission, we will give it our best!" Reinhardt promises the both of them, smoothing his hands down Ana's back. She fails to look amused, no matter how hard she tries. "Next mission? You are off duty for at least a few months. Didn't Jack tell you this before we departed?"
"What?"
"Reinhardt, big guy," Jack visibly winces, "you broke your shield. Completely. It's going to take ages to repair."
"Oh, yes, yes! My shield! I forgot about my shield!"
The loud groan that Jack lets out perfectly describes Ana's exact feelings as well- sometimes, she wonders what goes on in Reinhardt's head. Not a whole lot, apparently.
"Ghabiun," Ana flicks her finger against his forehead, "you really are getting old!"
Reinhardt squeezes his eyes shut, making the most pathetically sad sound she's ever heard. It sounds like a kicked puppy whining in disarray. "Ana, meine Frau! I just have a hard time remembering things!"
Jack peers at them from his reclined seat, the confusion evident on every crease on his face. There was no way he just witnessed Reinhardt, with the brain capacity of a small goldfish, understand Ana's native Arabic tongue without so much as a moment's pause. The way his eyebrows knit and furrow over his blue eyes is truly a sight to behold.
"No way did he just understand you."
"Oh, he is like a little puppy," Ana practically beams, "I have said it so many times, he has no choice but to remember."
She cups Reinhardt's cheeks, soothing the frown off his face with her hands. He melts like putty in her grasp, making not a peep as she prods and pulls at his lips to purse them. "Isn't that right, you sweet little thing, you?" She grins.
"Oohh.. ohh, yes," Reinhardt strains, still a little offended, "I try my best to keep up. Sometimes, when she gets frustrated, she speaks to me, and I can't follow, and I do the same thing, and we realize neither of us understand a word of what we are saying." Bashfully, he turns his head to the side. Ana's hands drift peacefully along with the movement. "The language barrier is difficult, but we make it work."
"Hm." Jack raises an eyebrow. What love it must be; he has seen these two go from fleeting glances to secret kisses to growing old together. War separated them, left Wilhelm alone and longing without her presence, but now, they were reunited, and they were just as clingy as he remembered them to be. He was happy for them, really. There had once been a time where he indulged himself in much the same affection as these two did.
"Oh, who knows," Ana smiles, "before we know it, we'll be off on our next mission, the three of us. Maybe we'll even get Gabriel to join."
"Doubt it." Jack immediately butts in, his gaze fixated on nothing in particular. "He kicks up a fuss when he has to come see me. Let alone when he has to see you two." It took a lot of effort for Reyes, sneaking out of Talon's confinements to meet up with Jack. Secrecy was their virtue, and so far, they had succeeded in keeping it under the rug, though Gabriel never passed up the opportunity to complain. Somewhere, Jack knew he missed times like this, too. Though he had long strayed from their paths, and they could no longer share memories like they did before.
"Oh, I certainly don't blame him. I would be tired too if I had to see Reinhardt." Ana nudges one of her man's large arms, and he stares at her with the biggest puppy eyes he could possibly muster.
"You would be tired of seeing me?" He whimpers, squeezing her sides. Ana's bottom lip quivers, before she erupts in sweet laughter. "Oh, Reinhardt, my dear, I'm just joking! I would never grow tired of you!"
"Ana!" He squeezes her to his chest, hugs her close, nuzzling their faces together. "Do not scare me like that! I do not know what I would do without you.."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare to leave you ever again. You know that."
Reinhardt presses their foreheads together, keeping her as close as physically possible. As though if he were to let go now, she would disintegrate like she did years ago. He was not going to take that risk ever again, not now that he finally had her safe in his arms again.
"I know.. yet I still worry for you, Ana. My life is not complete without you."
"Chin up," Ana pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, "you will survive as long as I am here."
