I can't decide of Tracer is wearing a bra or a shirt. Like, i was sitting that, studying the art cause that's how i do and there aren't enough wrinkles at the armpit so yeah, it's a bra. But then there's a collar and like, bras don't have collars like shirts?! I'm just so confused T.T
Inspired by the ever talented Sparklewds over on tumblr and their fanart of this. post/160959766771/overwatch-will-hear-about-this-oh-are-you . it's hot, could be interpreted as Drider!Widowmaker, buuuut, I'm not on that level of kink writing just yet; espcially when I care about the characters. Cheers and enjoy safely mates.
"Overwatch will hear about this–!"
"Oh, are you sure that's a good idea, chérie?"
Lena struggles once more against the absurdly strong spiderwebs binding her hands above her head; twisting and pulling until she settles for a huff of annoyance and the dirtiest glare she can muster. The woman is clad in nothing but a black, lace bra and matching panties while Lena hangs there still in her workout clothes.
Just her luck to run into Talon on her evening jog and just her luck for Widow to be the person to catch her off guard with a mine full of sleeping gas. And just her luck that she has happily dreamt of this very scenario in the past; not that she'd ever admit that to anyone.
Her eyes follow Widow who only needs to stand up from her loveseat to be within arm's reach of Lena, half a step brings her right up against her, hands and nails dragging up Lena's legs. In their wake is left skin that alit with electricity and a tongue dry in its refusal to give Widow any sort of satisfaction. Lena's lip between her teeth is the only thing that keeps her within some semblance of quiet.
Widow's fingers settle at the hem of Lena's shirt, teasing beneath it but not lifting it quite yet as Lena squirms under the feathery touch. Her smugness is the result of Lena's blazing red face and an anchor that pulses in time with the rapid staccato of her heart. Tell-tale signs of fear, embarrassment, and perhaps something more.
Suddenly, a squeak escapes her lips as she is pulled back. Widow's cool body presses against her skin that burns like a furnace, sending a shiver down scampering down her spine. Warm breath ghosts the shell of her ear with the sound of a clicking tongue. Every muscle in her body locks up, her mind a warzone of conflicting emotions and all she can do is stare at the hands that sneak under the fabric of her shirt.
Lena squeezes her eyes shut. The hands wander up and up, her shirt bunching at the pale purple wrists of Widow. She's trapped in her struggles to bite back another moan as the fingertips become nails scraping against gooseflesh skin and her back arches when they clamp painfully onto her nipples.
"You know our safeword, oui?" Widow purrs right into her ears and Lena's eyes snap open.
Another mess added to the pile of question for they had abruptly cut off their relations a full month ago since Mondatta's murder-
Widow's hands trail down, leaving her shirt bunched up above her breasts and edging at the waistband of Lena's leggings. Now is not the time to weigh herself down with the specifics of their strange arrangement, not when Lena's been so bloody horny for the last week and Widow knows just how to make her sing.
"Answer me." Widow growls this time. Perhaps Lena is reading too far into it, imagining it; for she hears a touch of apprehension nipping at the tail of Widow's words.
"'Course I do!" Lena snaps out when Widow travels lower still skimming over the fabric hugging her legs. She wonders if Widow would actually listen if she were to use it.
"Good."
Lower still and Lena tilts her head back to rest on Widow's shoulder, a low moan rumbling out of her chest. A sudden metallic click and panic flood into Lena's veins when she sees a pocket knife in the palm of Widow's hand. Widow's breathing chuckle fills her ears and Lena is unable to tear her eyes away from the gleaming blade dragging across her flesh just below her navel.
Intoxicated with fear and yet with no plans of escape. Somehow she believes that they are something more; a tiny part, but enough to grace Widow with something akin to the benefit of the doubt.
If Widow was planning to kill her, Lena wouldn't have woken up at all, but the knowledge lends no aid to calm the tremors that shake Lena's body.
And so Lena holds her breath behind a whimper as the back of the knife bullies its way between her legs. The cotton doesn't shield her from the cold metal pressing against her throbbing clit. It's the dull side, yes, but Widow presses hard enough to make it hurt; to make Lena buck and decide whether pull away or grind down.
Her body decides for her.
Not even to the second slow thrust of her hips and the knife is pulled away. Back up; to with a flick of Widow's wrist, the tip buries into the orange fabric of Lena's pants. Its sharp edge easily parts the clothing like a hot knife through butter. No time is wasted as Widow expertly slices away until the entire crotch of her pants is cut away and Lena's wet folds glisten in the light of the room without a single nick on her skin.
Lena can't decide whether she is disappointed or relieved.
"Have you missed me, cherie?" Widow asks coyly, tossing the knife to the flow in favor of running her index finger oh so gentle over Lena's slit.
"I-in your dreams." Try as she might, Lena's taunt come out more of a whimper, her hips instinctively snapping up to meet Widow's touch.
But Lena knows the mood Widow's in right now with all the teasings and the elaborate set up. It won't be anytime soon that she'll get any sort of satisfaction. A tease, a bloody fucking tease and Lena wishes that Widow would drop the charade and just fuck her already.
Widow makes another indiscernible noise in the back of her throat. With no fabric to protect her, Lena feels the full bite of Widow's nails digging into the insides of her thighs hard enough to leave red crescents. They hold her still as Widow slowly rolls her hips forward and she can feel the unexpected smooth length of silicon slip between her legs.
When did-
The thought flies out of Lena's mind when the bulbous head of the toy catches her swollen clit. She sags against her bounds, her knees giving out with a violent shiver coursing through her body.
"Fuck." Lena rasps out, already out of breath, out of her mind and trying to chase after the delightful sensation but the nails dig deeper, pull her flush against Widow's front. Her throat runs dry when she finally looks down and catches sight of the strap on. "Fuck, love, I can't take that."
It is no longer a question of whether or not she wanted to. The toy is not the one they used to fool around with. This one is slightly longer, thicker; in all actuality it's not much bigger than the original, but for the amount of time that has passed between them.
Fingers grip the sides of Lena's chin, forcing her head up and tilting it back, eyes pointed to the ceiling. She can't see it but she feels Widow's cock slide back and forth, maddeningly slow, her thighs pressing together in hopes to finding some sort of friction. The whimpers wrench their way from Lena's mouth and trickle out with every ragged breath.
"You can, and you will." Widow says with a snap of her hips, her pelvis slapping against Lena's bare ass..
Oohh fuck.
With knees like jelly, Lena staggers forward when Widow once again cuts all contact, half a breath as she's forced to try supporting herself on her own trembling legs. The smell of both their arousals is heavy in the air, bringing some semblance of comfort.
A faint whistle in the air is the only warning Lena gets before blazing pain stretches across her ass. Her entire body jerks forward and a yelp of surprise soars from her lips. Not a moment later, another whistle and a crack the riding crop strikes against the other cheek. It hurts, yes, but the pain is familiar with the warm afterglow like the shadow of the impact lingering on her skin.
The small swatch of leather drags across the hastily, reddening marks, winding Lena's gut tighter and tighter in anticipation of the next strike. It lifts, her breath is held, but the instruments is just brought down light as a feather onto the other mark as if tracing it; an artist with a brush that leaves behind strokes that sting.
Lena doesn't realize that the crop has been lifted until it's too late.
Another soft whistle, another strike this time across both cheeks.
"Ah-ah, fuck." Lena curses, sucking in air through clenched teeth and twitching lips. Her head lolls forward, neck relaxing and she closes her eyes trying to focus on the whispers that'll warn her of the next hit.
One breath
Two and she is torn between staying tense and relaxing for her legs are beginning to cramp and-
Whistle
Crack
"Love!" Screams Lena, still caught by surprise and feet reflexively bringing her forward to escape from the pain. She gets as far as the web will allow her before Lena buries her face into the crook of her arm, panting softly and trying to hear anything over the pounding of her heart.
"Had enough?" Widow teases with both her words and the tip of the crop tapping lightly against Lena's clit peaking beyond its hood; it's as close to a 'check-in' that Widow would ever verbally go.
"Would like a little warning, yeah." Lena mumbles, peeking back to see Widow's amused smirk. Her eyes dart down at the toy that still hangs between Widow's leg and she swallows thickly.
"Now where's the fun in that?" Widow says, a rare joke and she just continues to start at Lena's face.
It confuses Lena at first until the taps on her clit get harder with each passing one; not hard enough to really hurt but it takes everything Lena has not to give in and flinch away. That would be giving up satisfaction and the night is still young. With a slight hum, Widow switches from the light taps to holding the crop against Lena's slit; the flexible wand gives slightly but that just adds onto the pressure on such a narrow surface area.
Like the rubber cock before it, Widow slides the crop forward, a pause, before pulling it back until the switch of leather rests against Lena's clit. Wetness clings onto the entire length, enough to turn its surface shiny and drip down onto the floor. Lena's cunt clenches onto nothing and lord she wants nothing more than Widow's fingers inside of her.
That or…
"Use your words, cherie." Widow says, pulling the riding crop away and giving Lena's ass another smack. Ripped from her stupor, Lena tears her eyes away from Widow's cock with embarrassment from getting caught staring searing across her face.
She knows this game and knows what's expected of her. It always comes down to two things; pride and lust.
Her moment of hesitation earns her another sharp strike and once more her walls clench; wishing, wanting, needing. She chews her lip between her teeth, her tongue looser and allowing soft moans to tumble out when Widow keeps bringing the riding crop down alternating between her cheeks. Twisting away does nothing as they find their targets just as easily. The hot pain gets only a moment to ease away to warmth before another strike hits.
"Widow…" Lena groans out, her mind a haze of pain and arousal; of stubbornness and submission and dear lord-
"Ask."
Something so simple sounds so impossible.
"Please, love," the words get lost in Lena's throat with the return of Widow's hands roaming the tender skin of her ass; kneading, scraping, digging in before gliding to the front of her legs and pulling her back.
"Louder." Husky, low, right in her ear and so close that Lena can feel Widow's breath that is now warmer; a pulse beating harder and faster.
And the heavy dildo is sliding back and forth between her folds.
And Lena is grinding down, back, anything to get her more, more, more.
"Please, Widow. Fuck me, love," she gasps with her eyes entranced by the mind-numbing sight of the cock right there, so close to where she needs it and already coated with her arousal.
"Better." Widow says while teasing her hips back. After a moment of confusion when Widow pulls away for the third time, Lena braces herself to feel the toy bury into her but instead hears the familiar sound of a bottle being uncapped. She swears she doesn't need it, insulting, almost wants to berate Widow for wasting time. But it's a gesture and deep down a warm ache seizes Lena's heart. The head of the toy is back brushing against Lena's trembling snatch and Widow asks,"are you ready for me, cherie?"
She says it almost lovingly.
"Yes, yes, fuck. Slow, please." The words come bubbling out, half needy and half hesitant. It's daunting; a month of nothing but her own fingers and rutting against her pillow in the night. But eagerness is a decent substitute for confidence. She almost expects Widow to ignore her request.
Widow's fingers come around, their pads rubbing all along Lena's dripping sex as the head of her cock teases at her slit. Slowly, gently it begins to ease in, bullying its way past Lena's tightness despite how relaxed she is.
"Ohhhhhh-ah fuck," Lena's breath becomes a sigh, then a moan, and then incomprehensible noises as her mind becomes mush.
It's only the head and she already feels so full, the stretch is both painful and lovely. Centimeter by tantalizing centimeter, the solid rubber slips in. Widow's hand at the underside of her jaw, supporting her head up while the other rubs circles around her clit making the penetration more bearable.
"Fuck, fuck," she's cursing up a storm. It feels so much bigger than it looked, her arms jerking against the bonds out of reflex. "Love."
"You can take it." Widow murmurs into Lena's neck, the words as breathless as hers.
"That's not the problem," she quips back, a low groan rumbling from her throat when she feels Widow bottom out, pelvis flush against her tender ass. So much, so much; the situation, the feeling of Widow pressed up against her back with her cock buried in her cunt. And her with her arms tied up above her head, unable to defend herself; helpless at the mercy of Widow. "Fuck, love, better start moving if your don't want me to come like this."
Widow chuckles against her and Lena can't see how Widow's shoulders relax just a hair after the taunt. In half the time it took to sheath herself into Lena's blistering heat, the toy is withdrawn until only the head remains inside her before plunging back in. The angle is unfamiliar, Lena's feet and shoulders already aching, but fuck her back arches and teeth clench as stars dance across her vision.
In and out, the tempo rising, Widow's hips shifting angles, searching, until-
"Fuck!" Lena's moans at the top of her lungs, walls clenching hard when the strapon hits the right spot. "R-right there, love. Please-fuck."
She doesn't need to tell Widow twice, the angle now committed to memory and Widow thrusts hit their mark every time. Faster, harder, until the sensations transmitted to her clit build up, higher and higher. She can feel Lena's pulse, throbbing down the length; how her walls cling and try to pull her in deeper. The room is filled with the sounds of their moans, shallow breaths, and the lewd slapping of skin.
Teeth sink into the side of Lena's neck hard enough to leave marks, her hands grip harder into Lena's flesh, holding on for dear life. Widow works past the exhaustion rapidly settling into her bones due to her 'condition' and she grits her teeth to push harder. The coil in her gut winds tighter, tighter; a month of nothing, of denial, of…
"Lena," Widow gasps out, where embarrassment would be seated in her mind for getting this close this quickly, all she feels is...is. "Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi."
She says it knowing that Lena will never understand.
Her thrusts become jerky, unable to hold onto a proper rhythm and her hips snap to hold herself buried deep in Lena's sex. She can feel her own wetness coating the inside of her legs that shake as a shudder rips through her body. The waves crash over, their abrupt arrival knocking the air right out of her lungs.
The seconds tick by, punctuated by their soft moans and attempts to catch their breaths. As the afterglow begins to settle in, Lena shifts against Widow's grip. With a keening groan, she grinds herself down.
"You," Widow can barely say the word, her vision swimming and mind muddled by the exertion. "You haven't come yet."
"Don't worry 'bout it, love," Lena whispers high and needy as she tries to ride herself to completion. The position is awkward, the restraints keeping from moving very much and it becomes obvious that she isn't making much ground.
A sharp moan sounds from Lena's lips as Widow's hand quickly come back down to her clit. The fingers are clumsy at first, pawing blindly before a decent rhythm is found that Lena is able keep up with. One hand rubs and gently rolls the sensitive bud, sending tingles that burst outwards over frayed nerves. The other settles on either sides of the toy, spreading Lena's folds as Widow slowly resumes her thrusting.
The burn in her lungs is new, irritating and downright annoying; her heart feels as though it would suddenly stop beating and yet Widow presses on.
"You should rest," moans Lena, the suggestion halfhearted as dear fucking lord she is so close, she can feel herself clenching down hard, thrusting back with her sex aching for release.
"Do not tell me what to do," Widow growls back. The words take too much air and focus and she struggles to remain focused.
Lena's moans become higher, the words lost into a storm of half formed curses and begging. Right there, fuck, love, I'm so close please. Widow's fingers claw into Lena's skin just like the air that claws at her throat and every last dreg of her energy is poured into hitting the spot that makes Lena's back arch more, her toes curl tighter, her noises louder and louder until-
"Widow, fuck, Widow-!"
Lena almost lifts herself up by the bonds above her head but Widow's hand keep her planted and still as she keeps thrusting, rubbing, milking every drop of Lena's climax out. Until Lena begins to sag into Widow's grip, her pants growing quieter. The toy is eased out, extracting another string of whimpers and sighs from Lena's mouth. In the blink of an eye, the bonds are cut and Lena groans in surprise as her shoulders are finally allowed to relax.
Widow is there to keep her from falling. The once confident hands act as if they are lost, trying to ease her down as gently as possible. After a failed attempt, they shift and Lena finds herself being carried bridal style, face pressed up into Widow's collarbone.
She'd give a quip if her breath would just cooperate.
But she can barely keep awake between the swaying of Widow's steps and the slow thump, thump, thump of Widow's heart; a sound she wishes she could hear more often. Onto a mattress that she sinks into, and after a moment and the rustling of fabric, sinks beside her with an arm coming around her back to pull her closer.
"Hey, love." Lena mumbles out, the warm buzz of the afterglow settling in but her eyes stay open, question resurfacing against the drowsiness trying to drown her. Widow makes some kind of noise in the back of her throat but doesn't stir any further. "We should...talk about this…"
The words are hesitant and Lena can't believe that she has actually said them.
"In the morning," is the response murmured back above the mess of her hair.
Lena's eyes take a slow blink, a heaviness tugging at the bottom of her heart. Sleep is coming fast with the body pressed flush against promising an anchor to hold onto; even though she can barely bring herself to even wrap her own arms around her in the lightest of grips. As if fragile; but not Widow, no, the woman has gone through so much and yet she is here.
Fragile is this facade of theirs; the thread that keeps Lena tethered to this timeline. Fragile is everything that Lena touches where the blink of an eye can last for less than it is or for as long as a lifetime.
Sometimes both.
Sometimes…
But Lena closes her eyes, her hands fitting into the small of Widow's back and holding tight despite her reservations. She breaths in the scent that is here now, the feel of skin beneath her fingertips, the painted backdrop of security she feels wrapped up and in this moment.
Lena drifts off to sleep knowing that she will wake up alone as she always does.
When the sun comes, it blinds her as it streams through blinds that have been cracked open. Lena blinks once, twice, before groaning and wiping the sleep from her eyes onto her pillow. The sheets are tangled around her legs, kicking while asleep will do that. There's a bathrobe that she's now wearing.
The room is empty; but it's not the strange room that Widow had brought her to and ultimately laid to rest in. This bed is her own; the room and the neatly folded clothes that she had worn last night, the ones that are salvageable at least. This is was she expected, but hope is the weight that drags the pit of her stomach just a hair lower.
Her eyes glare at the glass door that leads to the patio, contemplating whether to close the blinds and return to sleep. Then she sees the silhouette that is seated outside on the chair that usually sits at her desk. The weight jerks upwards; hope, a dastard emotion, forever teasing.
She stayed
It sings, hope, soaring higher and higher, nearly bringing tears of joy to her eyes because this might be it. A step forward, a possibility, an unspoken promise. With steps both fearful and excited, Lens swings her feet over the side of the bed and makes her to the door. Running, perhaps in some sort of context, but in this case, she is running towards the fire.
Her hand finds the handle and slides the door open.
"Love?" Lena asks and it's the first time she's ever seen Widow jerk as if surprised by her approach.
Widow quickly stands even before Lena can step out and up to her. Instead, she wordlessly walks over, staring down to Lena with unreadable eyes. Between her fingers sits the burning stub of a cigarette on its last dregs; on the balcony sits three more extinguished butts. As far as Lena knew, Widow didn't smoke…
And again, wordlessly, Widow flicks the cigarette from her fings onto the streets below, leans down; with a hand cupped on the underside of LEna's cheek, she kisses her uncharacteristically soft. Her lips are dry and bitter with the taste of tobacco; Lena's lips are not much better off.
But it's them.
And it feels.
All too quickly, it ends and before Lena can formulate a response or anything close to a meaningful question Widow straightens back up. Tall and proud with eyes that tell a conflicting story. Her lips part as if about to say something.
She turns without anything else, her grappling hook deploys onto the neighboring rooftop. Lena don't know she has moved, doesn't register it until her fingers are wrapped around Widow's wrist to keep her there. Widow looks back, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.
"Stay with me." Lena says, begs, commands; anything that will turn the hope of fantasy into reality. But wordlessly, Widow gently tugs her arm back and Lena holds on for just a moment. She could fight it, fight for this.
They stare at eachother before a sigh and Lena's grip loosens. A choice. For a moment Widow stays, still staring, hope again renews in Lena's chest.
But wordlessly, Widow turns and launches herself off the balcony, swinging up onto the other rooftop. Pausing and standing while looking back at Lena.
It's so strange to see Widow in the light of day.
But wordlessly, Widow leaves and Lena is left with hope growing like a cancer on her heart.