shes-claws-deep:

Junkrat, Genji and Lucio with dom fem s/o. but guy feels uncomfortable enough to use safeword. Cue comfort and cuddles.

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Junkrat

He giggled even as he pitched the idea to you, of trying to burn his energy through flogging.

You had raised a brow at the time but agreed. It wasn’t the strangest thing he had ever asked of you, but perhaps it was the tamest. So you went about strapping this flaming giraffe-rat to the St. Andrews cross, the both of you giggling as he fit the frame completely.

While you laid out your implements, you piped up that a blindfold might help him drop into subspace, especially since it was his first time. Jamie seemed to tense a little, and you could see the apprehension on his face as he tilted it back to eye you out of the corner of his eye.

The hesitation was obvious, and you opened your mouth to say that wearing a blindfold wasn’t really necessary, but he beat you to it and grinned in that maniacal way.

“Let’s go for it, luv,” he giggled. “I’m all yours!”

A smile crossed your lips and you slipped the simple silk blindfold over his eyes, tying it gently in a knot behind his head.

(This man is a giraffe so you end up climbing over his back to secure it.)

As you warmed him up, you could feel him relaxing bit by bit, until his jittering slowed and he was nearly slumped over in the cross as you began to pick up speed and strength.

The thicker floggers had the meat of his shoulders a warm red, contrasting well against the golden tan, so much so that you drew close to drag your nails over it.

You whispered in his ear gently, caressing the throbbing flesh and muttering praises.

So good, you’re so good Jamie. So obedient. You look so good taking my whip.

He pants and giggles, his mouth trying to form words. He shivers under the scrape of your nails, the sensation heightened by the ache of his muscles.

Then you decided to stop playing around and picked up a slender whip, cracking it in the air by his shoulder. Jamie tensed, and you eyed it sharply, unsure of whether it was because of the sound or something else. But as he remained quiet and he relaxed, you let out a relieved sigh.

You check in with him, and he gives you the go ahead with a thumbs up and a cheeky grin on his face.

“C’mon darl’, you ain’t done yet, are ya?!”

You scoff playfully, and immediately snap your wrist to land a sharp blow to the meat of his shoulder blade. Jamie jumped with a yelp, and began to tremble.

Another blow. Another snap. Another.

Soon welts began to form on his back, light and barely visible.

Suddenly, Jamie shook uncontrollably, his prosthetic clattering on the wood floor and you freeze, arm still reared back.

“A-Aussie!” he gasps and you toss the whip into your toybox, darting over to press yourself against his back. You supported him against the cross, fingers deftly undoing the knot of his blindfold.

You call his name loudly, one arm going around his waist even as the other released his hands. He slumped against you, his body still twitching and his chest heaving as though he were hyperventilating.

Whispering reassurances, you guide him to the ground and tug over a blanket you keep nearby for this very purpose. Quickly, the blanket was wrapped around the man and you cradled him in your arms.

You shift and sit with your back to the cross, Jamie between your legs and burrowing himself into your chest. The whole time, you mutter nonsense to him, about Soldier being paranoid about checking for mines in the track field, about Winston and his insane addiction to peanut butter, anything you could think about.

Soon, Jamie relaxes completely and his breathing returns to normal.

Quietly, you wonder if you should ask what that was about.

Luckily for you, Jamie pipes up on his own.

“M-maybe the blindfold and whip weren’t – uh – weren’t the best combo,” he stutters quietly.

“Bad memories?”

“Kinda.”

You don’t pry any further. So instead you nudge him aside to snag a water bottle you kept nearby, urging him to drink. Jamie did so with halting sips, hands wound tight around the plastic. He might have gotten over the panic, but the fear was still there.

So with a flick of your fingers, soft soothing music filtered into the room from the small stereo by your bed. You mutter quietly to him that he was safe now. Here, in your room, in your arms, he was safe.

And so Jamie let out a soft sigh and burrowed deeper into your embrace.

Yeah, only a drongo would dare to attack him while his mistress watched over him.

---

Genji

You were sure you had asked him if he was sure about a thousand times now.

Rope you could do. No problem. Hell, you could wrap that pretty neck in rope in the time it took for him to draw his shuriken. No, rope wasn’t the problem.

The knife he offered you definitely was.

Take a cyborg ninja who had nearly been hacked to death, tie him up, and threaten that scarred skin with a blade, and you potentially had a disaster on your hands.

He laughed off your worries though, telling you that he had done this countless times in his youth.

Yeah well, that ‘youth’ was a long time ago, you reminded him. He hadn’t tried anything like it since he received his new body, and there was no telling how he would react.

This aggravating man only sidled closer to you and teasingly told you that your ropes would have to hold him fast then.

You know what, you’d teach this smug ninja a thing or two.

So that’s how you ended up in bed, Genji under you with his arms secured behind his back in a prayer formation. His legs were spread and tied to the bed posts, and his waist pinned to the mattress by a combination of your weight and the thick cords running over his flesh and under the bed frame. Yeah, he’d have to strain to get out of this one, he wiggled his brows at you.

You rolled your eyes in response and picked up the kunai you pilfered from his stash. Twirling it around your fingers adroitly, you catch the gleam in his eyes as he locked gazes with you.

You leaned down, tracing his sculpted lips with the flat of the kunai. How twisted it was, you began, that a man like him so loved to be vulnerable before one who wielded a blade. As you dragged the tip across his ruined nipple, you could feel his erection stiffen beneath you.

A pretty pet, meant for pain, for pleasure…your pleasure. As you spoke, you increased the pressure and scraped at unblemished skin, cooing at the white raised lines you left in your wake.

Mmm yes, all yours to do with as you wished. If you wanted to mark him permanently as your property, you could. His heart thudded beneath your palm, and his lips fell open to emit soft pants. With every scrape, his hips juddered beneath you. With every soft exhale that chased the slight pain, he whimpered.

Then, as you angled the kunai over his heart, you caught a sudden surge of panic in his eyes. Mere seconds later, you felt his chest begin to heave as he fought to drag air into his lungs.

Your safeword fell from his lips a heartbeat after, and you quickly tossed the knife away.

Gently, you tell him to breathe and concentrate on you as you reached for your safety scissors. Every action you took was accompanied by a soft reassurance, from snipping away his restraints, to pulling him atop of you, to stroking his hair softly to calm him.

The remnants of the rope were brushed aside, and you pulled the comforters over the two of you, wrapping him in warmth to bring some sensation back into his trembling body.

You kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly. His hands, though weak, grasped at your shirt to pull you closer.

Genji burrowed his head into your neck, taking deep breaths to inhale your scent. It grounded him, calmed him, and you both stayed quiet as he slowly came back to himself.

It took a while, but then you could feel him start to nuzzle into your neck. A sign that he had pulled himself out of whatever memory he had sunk into.

Quietly, you ask him if he wants to take a walk in the gardens, and his nod made you smile. You roll the both of you out of bed, away from the blades, the rope, the smell of sweat and fear.

With your hand clasped in his, you led him into your backyard, where he dropped down onto the grass and pulled you with him. His heart still pounded under your hands, and you slowly wrapped yourself around him again, muttering quietly.

“I’ve got you.”

---

Lucio

You think Lucio’s beginning to regret asking to cum.

When you began, the singer was gleefully begging and writhing in his bonds, your hands working their magic on his painfully hard cock.

After all, you had forbidden him from orgasming or even stimulating himself while he was on tour.

So when he had the chance to have your hands wrap around his needy cock, he, needless to say, jumped on it.

With his hands and ankles secured to his thighs, and his knees held apart by ropes, Lucio couldn’t wriggle too far even if he wanted to.

Oh, you were so sure he wanted to.

A small anal plug was nestled into his ass, vibrating away at his prostate. Another vibrator was tied to his balls, and a cock ring fastened to the base of his penis.

The slick sounds of your hands gliding up and down his shaft, combined with the buzzing of the vibrators and his whimpers and moans drew him ever closer to release.

He begged, begged so hard and so pitifully in that beautiful voice.

“Please please let me come! I’ll do anything!”

Ah, you remind him, he’s already doing something.

He shakes in his bonds, mouth open to groan as you slow your strokes again. Again he begs, and again you set an irregular pace.

Until finally, you think you’ve had enough of teasing him, and you quicken your strokes.

Lucio almost screams in thanks as you bring him to the edge. Your thumb flicks across the head, gathering the pre-cum that’s already flowing steadily, and press deep into his slit. That sends him over, and his eyes almost pop at the orgasm that rips through him

He shudders, you tighten your grip. He writhes, you increase your pace. He screams, and you laugh in his face.

Soon, his jerks are involuntary as you use both hands to wring another orgasm out of his poor cock. Semen splashes over his chest, overlaying the seed from his previous orgasm. The contrast of cum against his dark skin is one you adore, and you smear it over his firm belly even as you continue to squeeze his cockhead.

Lucio was almost breathless at this point, as you took your pinky and dip it into the slit of his cockhead, stretching it. His hips jerked and he pushed his ass deep into the mattress as though to escape your grip, only to push the toy deeper against his prostate.

It was like being stuck between a wall and a hard place, he groaned out almost unintelligibly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.

Oh yeah? You would show him being stuck.

So you brought your head down and swallowed him deep, the cock ring keeping him hard even as his energy flagged.

The singer’s jaw dropped in a silent shriek and his back bowed sharply as he came for the third time.

You kept your pace up, refusing to let him go until a stuttered word reached your lips.

His safeword.

You let up immediately, hands wiping themselves on the sheets before you reached for the vibrator and plug, turning them both off.

Lucio’s sigh of relief was nigh imperceptible as you slowly ease the plug out and remove the cockring and vibrator. You let him relax for a moment more, then began the slow process of untying him, careful not to touch him more than necessary.

The column ties came away easily, and you massaged his ankles and wrists gently, coaxing his blood back into his extremities. His quiet thanks made you smile, and you kissed his cheek as you undid the ropes holding him to the bed.

Manoeuvring his limp limbs into a more comfortable position, you wiped him down with a warm, wet cloth, taking great care to avoid being too rough with his deflated cock and sensitive balls.

The man was almost dozing at this point, still stuck somewhere in subspace and dreamland, but you wedged yourself between him and the headboard and pulled his head into your lap. Even if he was sleepy, you weren’t going to skimp on his hydration levels. Almost like a child, he sipped at the cup you offered him, propping his neck and head with your body.

Only when the cup was half empty do you take it from him, shifting to move his body between your legs so he could rest his head on your belly.

“Doing ok?”

“Yep,” he piped up quietly, turning to bury his head into your stomach.

Good, you thought, and tugged the blanket over him and snagged a book from the bedside table. And with a hand tangled in his dreadlocks and another resting on his back, you felt him drift off as you begin to read aloud.

Such a good boy.