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[airamsao3]

Truth Serum...?

drabble

pairing: talon interrogator reader/ramattra

words: 669

cw: stalking

✧ AO3 ✧

"He's all ready for you, tiger." Sombra is the only one there to welcome you to your stomping ground, and you give her a quick nod. The executives keep watch from a healthy distance-- lord knows what augmentations the leader of Null Sector has or hasn't disclosed to them. He's a danger. A maverick.

And you're there to find out exactly what he wants from Talon. From tailing your squad.

"Thank you, Sombra," you say, and enter the room, hearing the clicking of her clawed gloves behind you as she waves goodbye.

The overhead lights are bright and harsh, so harsh that even you are forced to squint under the intense glare before your vision adjusts. The light suffuses the silver of Ramattra's chassis with an almost ethereal glow, his bone white faceplate staring back at you like a skull. Despite his position, he exudes a raw, unadulterated power that demands submission and deference by virtue of his presence alone.

But you are not one to be outmatched, especially not in your territory.

You circle his seat, noting the soft whirring noise of his eyes as they track your every movement. "Tell me," your tone is accusatory and venomous, already convinced of his guilt, "what are you planning? An attack? A betrayal, perhaps? Has Talon not given you absolutely everything that you've requested?" You stop once you're face to face with him, and tip his chin upwards with your pen.

"No," he says, and a slim thread of steam wafts from his back. "No such thing."

"I find that hard to believe," you say, and make a signal behind your back to Sombra, who's watching from beyond the one way mirror. An answering code is flashed back to you, from the seemingly innocuous flickering of the light above.

 Is the code working?

Yes.  

You frown, incredulity and rage seeping into your expression. "Gathering intel, then? Trying to find our weaknesses?"

"No," he answers breathlessly, "I simply wanted to see you."

You physically recoil. "What?" An unbidden flush crawls up your cheeks, your blood running hot, then cold.

You sign behind you again, rapidly,

 What did you do?!

To your chagrin, Ramattra keeps speaking, as if a stopper has been removed. "I'm sorry," he says, but you cannot tell if it is genuine, his expression is unreadable, his body is completely still-- "I could not keep myself from you, not even whilst you were sleeping. I wished to commit every detail to memory, from the way your eyes moved underneath your skin, to the way your chest rose and fell with each delicate breath." It becomes increasingly difficult to remember the cipher to the code as the light dimly flashes in front of you, obscured by the thick, heavy steam pouring out of the omnic in front of you.

Ha. Ha. Ha.  

That brat!

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding all the more remorseful, "I am lesser than a beast. I could not help but wish to be close to you, to the point of obsession. Even now, I struggle to remain within these superficial binds, such that I do not lose myself in my passions, such that I do not ravish you where you stand."

You back away, your pen laying forgotten on the tiled floor, and still, he's looking at you with that same unreadable, intimidating gaze. Your hand fumbles for the doorknob, desperate to get out of the situation, and your heart rate doubles as he breaks out of his restraints and approaches you.

His hands slam into the wall behind you, and his face is so close that you can see his actual eyes-- the aperture is blown so wide they're almost a solid black. "Please," he says, madness and lust coagulating in his voice, ringing through the fog, "may I kiss you?"

And as you descend into nigh panic as you're stuck between your responsibility and a ravager, you can just dimly make out the two letters Sombra keeps signing to you over and over.

Lolololololol.  

[airamsao3]

you will never be able to leave again.

drabble

pairing: fallen angel ramattra/angel reader

words: 239

✧ AO3 ✧

"These clandestine meetings, do they not take a toll on you?"

"Yes, but..." your arms circle around his waist, and you press your face to his chest, "you are worth it, Ramattra. You know I would give anything to be by your side like this."

His hands rest on the small of your back, but one trails up to the junction where your skin ends and feathers bloom. "...I know," he says, but you can sense he does not mean it.

"What is wrong?" You pull away, just enough to look up at him.

He stays silent for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes. "I wish you did not have to leave me," he says, "that is all." His hands stroke over your plumage, preening you like he used to, when you were both...

You swallow thickly, and banish the thoughts from your mind. "I, too, wish for that."

"Do you?" he asks, and his hand roughly grabs a handful of feathers. You tense in pain, startled, and hot panic rushes through your veins. "Do you really?"

"Ramattra?" You try to pull away from him, but his grip on you is too strong, you can hardly move an inch. "R-Ramattra, my love, what--?"

He laughs, and there is no joy in the sound. "My light," he says, and a maniacal, predatory glint enters his eyes, something you've never seen before-- "you were foolish, to get so close."

[airamsao3]

home is here (in your arms)

NSFW

Pairing: Poseidon Ramattra/Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Following the Battle for Olympus ending exactly as expected, Poseidon retreats to his domain, defeated and dejected. Luckily for him, there is someone waiting there to comfort him...

1127 words

Content Tags: vanilla, sad soggy ramattra, pwp, dom ramattra, sub reader, comfort sex

Part 3 of The Pantheon

1  |   2   | ✧ 3 ✧ 

✧ AO3 ✧

"I'm sorry, my dear," he says. He looks defeated. Downtrodden. Your heart hurts, just seeing him like this.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you say, your tone soft and indulgent.

"I wished to lift you to the skies, to see you dance amongst the clouds. Does it not depress you, being down here, with me?"

"No, no such thing," you say, taking his face into your hands. He avoids your gaze, but puts one of his hands over yours, leaning into your touch. "If the ocean is truly as dark and depressing as you make it out to be, let me be the light that pierces through, the sunlight that plays upon your waves. Let me be the bioluminescent spots on your creations, in the deepest parts of your domain. And let me be the seafoam, the bubbles that float just as freely as the clouds. My love, don't you know? The sky is only blue because it loves the ocean."

And when he finally looks back at you, his eyes are wet at the corners. "My realm is dark, and so, very cold," he says, and he shakes a bit. "You are perhaps the only thing that is warm and bright in my life. I worry I will stifle you."

"Banish the idea," you say sternly, and press a kiss to his brow. “Your return to your home, our home is a joyous thing to me, even if it is without fanfare or news of victory. I hadn’t wanted such things in the first place.” You kiss his nose, then press your forehead against his, looking into his eyes. “I only wanted you home, safe.”

His breath hitches as you kiss him, slowly and meaningfully. Your tongue slips slightly into his mouth, brushing against his own before withdrawing. His hands hover over you, uncertainly, before wrapping you in a tight, desperate embrace.

You pull away, breathless, and smile at him. He looks at you like you’re the only good thing left in the world, right there on his lap.

“I love you, Ramattra,” you say, stroking the back of his neck. His eyes flutter shut. “I love you,” you say again, and press a kiss to his cheek.

“I am a craven beast,” he breathes, shifting so that his head is resting on your shoulder.

“And what makes you say that?” You ask, though you already know (and feel) the answer.

“Amidst your heartfelt comfort, and my own sorrows, I have failed to stifle my urges.”

“Urges?” Your voice lilts upwards at the end, teasing and testing him.

“My apologies,” he says, his tongue darting out and tasting your skin. Your hands settle on his shoulders for leverage, and you moan softly as he starts to bite and suck at your neck. “I do not think I will be gentle tonight.”

“That’s fine,” you say, your voice strained from pleasure. His hands have begun to rove your body, and your eyes flutter shut to savor the feeling of being dominated. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He chuckles, and while you can still hear some sadness in the noise, it’s vastly overshadowed by lust and determination. “I trust you will not mind if I take the lead, my love?”

You laugh, and lean back. His arms are around your waist as he lowers you onto the bed, his gaze transfixed on your smile. “By all means,” you open your legs for him, a clear invitation, “go ahead.”

“I need to feel you around me,” he whispers, and it sounds like a confession. His cock is in his hand hard and engorged with want of you. “Truly, there was no greater torture than being away from your side.” He leans down to kiss you, as he enters your wet heat. “My love, my treasure,” he groans, sinking into you with one, solid thrust. You meet his eyes.

They are blazing.

“You will know no rest tonight.”

He sets a rough, hard pace, thrusting into you with such force that your body jolts upwards, sending you closer and closer to the headboard with each harsh stroke. Noticing this, he puts his hands on your shoulders, holding you still and bearing down on you with his body weight.

You’re completely pinned down, unable to do much more than take what he’s giving to you with endless, ceaseless gratitude. “Ramattra,” you moan, your hands twisting into the silken sheets. ”Ramattra!”

He groans, deep and low, and changes your position. He shifts such that your legs are hooked over his shoulders, and leans forward to kiss you, swallowing your wanton exclamations of pleasure under the thunder of his waves.

You’ve spent so long without his touch that you feel oversensitive, too excited to last for much longer, and your fingers claw lines down his back as you clench down around him, spiraling into orgasmic bliss.

He fucks you through it, relentlessly chasing your pleasure as well as his own, bringing you soaring to new heights of rapturous delight.

And he makes good on his promise, again and again, before his stamina finally flags, as the heavy moon finally begins to sag into the horizon.

He’d come close to finishing, a few times now, but stopped each time in favor of prolonging the act, intent on satisfying you. His hips stutter again, sinking into you as he groans, panting and shaking from the exertion of holding back.

“Ramattra, please,” you say, cupping his cheek in one hand, “you do not have to prove anything. Not to me. Never to me.”

He all but collapses into your arms, cumming inside you with a long, broken whine. You hold him as he clutches onto you like a lifeline, both your bodies sweat slicked and trembling with exertion. Rapid breaths turn to long exhalations of exhaustion, and you groan, content to fall asleep then and there.

“My love,” he croaks, his fingers threading through yours, “how would you like to bathe with me?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” you reply, a smile playing on your lips. “You might have to take me to the baths, though. I don’t think I can walk just yet.”

“My apologies,” he says, having the decency to look a little sheepish. "Would you allow me to make it up to you?"

"In exchange for a kiss, perhaps." He chuckles, and obliges, kissing you with no little measure of love. You find yourself smiling when he breaks away, mirroring his look of pure adoration.

“Thank you,” he says, and it is your turn to laugh.

“For what, exactly?”

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, “being here. Being mine. Being you.”

“Those are hardly things you need to thank me for, my love.”

“I am grateful all the same.”

[airamsao3]

A Tryst With Thanatos

NSFW

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader, Reaper/Reader, Ramattra/Reaper/Reader, gender neutral reader!

Summary: It is unheard of for a mortal to avoid the touch of death for as long as you have. To amend this, you get acquainted with him… intimately.

3055 words

Content Tags: Bondage, Sub Reaper, Switch Reader, Dom Ramattra, Men Whimpering, Begging, Teasing

Part 2 of The Pantheon

1 | ✧ 2 ✧ |   3

✧ AO3 ✧

Seasons pass one after the other, and yet you and your love remain the same.

You've asked him about it, once or twice, but he's never given you a straight answer. He dodges the question, distracts you, does everything to divert your attention-- and you learn to stop asking.

But that doesn’t stop others from questioning your unnaturally long lifespan.

“Really, Poseidon, fraternizing with a mortal?”

Ramattra steps in front of you, shielding you from the view of the wraith. “Thanatos,” he says, his voice even and calm. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

The dark, inky smoke laughs, and the sound comes from everywhere at once. “Oh, nothing in particular…” Suddenly, it moves, lunging at you. You flinch instinctively, but Ramattra stops the spear-like darkness with a barrier of water, a vicious snarl on his lips.

“Thanatos!” A vortex of watery tendrils materialize underneath the wraith, binding him to the ground.

“You dare to threaten what is mine?!” You’ve never seen him so angry. Power thrums under his carapace, shaking and threatening to escape--

You put a hand on his arm. His head whips around, making eye contact with you--

His eyes are blazing white, incandescent with divine fury. He looks absolutely livid, but his rage quickly subsides, receding as he looks at you, takes you in. His eyes fade back to the beautiful cyan you’re used to, and he stills, his hand releasing his staff in favor of holding your own.

“Ramattra,” you say, trying to keep the unease out of your voice. “Who…?”

“Oh, how sweet.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as the voice comes from right behind you. Ramattra quickly twirls you around, securing you in his arms, and glares at the wraith. You glance at the watery restraints, left empty on the floor.

The wraith follows your gaze, and chuckles darkly. “Your petty parlor tricks can’t stop death.”

“Death?” You ask, puzzled, and look up at Ramattra. He has a pinched expression on his face, and hot adrenaline rushes through your body as you realize what exactly he’s here for.

Or rather, who.

Your grip tightens on Ramattra’s hand. He gives you a small squeeze, letting you know he’s here. “You may not take them,” he says. He’s more composed now, but you can tell he’s agitated. “The fates have accepted our union, and if you wish to take them from me, you must do so once I am dead.”

His voice steadily increases in volume as he speaks, ending in a thunderous boom that shakes through the foundation of his palace.

“So dramatic,” Thanatos says. The smoke shifts, shrinking-- coalescing. Eventually, it fades away, leaving behind a man of unnatural, otherworldly beauty. He looks like a statue come to life, hand-crafted by the most meticulous and inspired of artists, and you find yourself staring at him with more than just fear.

He notices-- how could he not?-- and stalks closer to you.

He smells like smoke and ash.

Ramattra clutches you even closer, a territorial, possessive growl ripping out of his body, but he’s quickly cowed by a soft soothing touch of your hand.

“Why are you here?” you ask, more confused now than afraid.

“Hmmm,” he ponders, his voice deep and gravely, “curiosity?”

You balk.

“That’s it?”

He hums, musing for a little, then his gaze flicks up to Ramattra. A smirk is on his lips, and in his eyes-- is that…? “Spite,” he says, and his expression is unmistakable.

Hunger.

Lust.

Suddenly, you understand.

You’re not the only one hopelessly in love with your dear god of the oceans.

They bicker, trading barbs back and forth, but you’re deaf to it all as you observe the god of death-- how animated and alive he looks as he argues with Ramattra. And how your husband, your king, despite the vitriol in his voice, is unmistakably… Excited.

“Ramattra,” you say, and your voice cuts through the din. His attention, and by extension, Thanatos’, is upon you instantly.

“What is it, my love?” Thanatos’ glare burns like hellfire, molten jealousy and unrestrained rage setting your body ablaze with arousal. To have such influence, such power over a deity--

It is exhilarating.

You smile smugly, glancing at Thanatos, and lean up to kiss your lover, delighting in the awful, strangled noise the wraith makes.

When you pull away, Ramattra is blushing, and a look of pure adoration is on his face. “My love, what…?”

“I think… we might have had a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” They both ask at once. Ramattra’s voice is confused, and Thanatos is more incredulous.

“Yes,” you say, pulling away from Ramattra. “Thanatos,” you turn to address the intruding god, “you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Thanatos opens his mouth, a retort hot on his tongue, but his words are stolen, replaced with shock as your hands reach up, caressing his face. “But you know…” Ramattra shifts, closing in behind you as he, too, begins to understand, “I can always share.”

His breath stutters, catching in his throat as your hand moves. You slide it down from his face, caressing his neck, his collarbones, and skating down his chest and abdomen. You hook a finger into the waistband of his pants, and use that as leverage to pull him close for a kiss.

You pepper his handsome visage with featherlight, worshipful kisses, taking special care along his jaw and the side of his neck, right at his racing pulse.

His hands snake around you, pulling your body flush against his, and you can feel his erection poking your thigh.

Frustrated, bewildered, and impatient, he growls, "on with it, mortal," and you tut at him.

"You should be more polite when asking for favors," you say, pulling away from him. His eyes bore into you, and under his heated stare, you're tempted to comply.

"It wasn't a favor," he says. "It was a command."

That sends a rush of warmth through your body, part indignation, and part arousal. You're not sure which is stronger, and as you ruminate on it, Ramattra steps to your defense.

"You will not speak to them in that way," he says, his tone imposing and stern. "This mortal is under my protection, and you will treat them with the same respect that you owe me."

At this, Thanatos laughs-- dark and diabolical, and the sound goes straight to your groin.

"You? Respect? Never," he says, a sneer on his gorgeous lips. Ramattra bristles in rage, but calms himself, and turns to you instead, ignoring Thanatos. He reaches out to you, extending a hand.

"Dear," he says, his tone soft and indulgent, "would you like to teach this dog some manners?" You smile and take his proffered hand with grace.

"Gladly."

With nary a twitch of his finger, your lover restrains Thanatos-- serpentine swirls of water surge forth and wrap around his body, forcing his hands above his head. “At your leisure, my love,” Ramattra says, and you flutter your eyelashes at him, a dulcet giggle coming from curled lips.

You slip your hand out of his, approaching the bound god, and hum thoughtfully. He oddly seems to accept this new position with grace, only moving slightly to test his limits within the restraints. Finding it unyielding, he settles down with a huff, and turns his eyes to you.

His gaze is defiant and challenging, and you feel a thrill rush down your spine.

You want to see him debased, debauched, desperate and begging.

The mental image of him panting, of sweat beading and rolling down his neck, makes your mouth run dry.

"Thanatos," you say, testing his name on your tongue while approaching him. You tip his head up by the chin, meeting his dark, tumultuous eyes. "Thanatos…" You hear a shifting of fabric behind you as Ramattra seats himself, content to observe.

Thanatos shifts again, drawing your attention to his rippling, taut muscles. Your eyes trace the curves and planes of his toned form, sliding down his biceps and drinking in the sight of his bulging pectoral muscles. His physique is immaculate, perfect-- each and every detail appears purposeful, like chiseled marble.

Softly, reverently, you take his face into your hands, and kiss him. Tenderly, you move your lips against his, basking in his beatific sighs and groans as your hands begin to rove his body.

Your hands dip below his belt again, and he gasps, bucking his hips into your touch. "Thanatos," you say again, but he interrupts you, this time.

"Reaper," his voice is deep and husky, betraying his lust. "Call me Reaper." Though the words come out as a command, the tone sounds more like a plea.

"Reaper," you say, and the resulting sound is divine.

"Yesss…" he hisses, rutting into your hand.

Seeing the effect that you have on him from words alone really gets you going. You sink to your knees, and your fingers nimbly open his pants. His erect cock springs out, nearly slapping you in the face. Ramattra makes a noise of displeasure behind you, and with a swish of cloth, he's beside you.

"My treasure needn't be on their knees," he says, and offers you a hand. You take it, and rise to your feet alongside him, confused.

With a wave of his hand, Reaper is on his back, his hands tied above his head, and his legs forcibly spread open. You swallow thickly at the sight of him splayed out for you to play with. Ramattra turns your head back to him with a gentle hand on your chin, lowering his voice to a purr. "Much better, don't you agree?" You nod eagerly. "Enjoy yourself, beloved," and he steps back again, giving you free reign.

You climb into the bed, settling in between his legs. Your fingers splay across his thighs, relishing in the way he tenses under your touch. He doesn't need to tell you he hasn't been touched like this in eons, his body does it for him.

Licking your lips, you lean closer to your prize. A small bead of precum swells at his tip, and you bring your lips to it, kissing it away. Your tongue flicks along his slit, and his hips jerk up, chasing the stimulation. Frowning, you tut at him, and hold his hips down with your hands.

He groans in frustration, throwing his head back into the plush pillows. "More," he says, caught between ordering and begging.

"What?" You ask with mock innocence. You give his shaft chase, short kisses, reveling in the way you steal his breath away with each touch. "Use your words, Reaper," you say, your lips brushing against his skin.

"Please," he says, through gritted teeth, "suck my cock." You hum thoughtfully, pulling away.

"I think you'll need to try harder to convince me." You lay your hand on his pelvis, lifting your hand to slowly stroke his cock. He lets out a stuttering sigh, cursing under his breath.

"Please," he says again, choosing his words carefully. "Please… use your mouth on me," he says uncertainly, unused to being so subservient. With a slight pause, he adds, "...Master?"

You laugh a little, and reward him for his efforts. You lick a swathe up the underside of his cock, making him strain against his restraints. The sound of him panting fills your ears, and you peer up at him through your lashes. "Better," you say, and take him in your hand, "we'll work on it."

Just as he's about to protest, you take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head. He moans, deep and low, and you flick your tongue against his frenulum. He gasps, jerking his hips forward, and you pull away entirely.

The resulting whine is wholly undignified.

You laugh, to his chagrin, and teasingly touch his tip with your index finger, running it along the slit. His cock twitches, and he flushes darkly with arousal and embarrassment. "Please," he says, sounding more sincere this time. "I need your lips around me, please."

Who are you to refuse him, when he asks so nicely?

You cradle his balls in one hand, and take him into your mouth. Slowly, you bob your head, taking more and more of his length into you. He tenses under you-- you can feel his muscles straining to keep himself still. You bottom out, your face pressed against his dark curls, and he all but mewls as your tongue teases the sensitive base of his cock.

Then, you pull back entirely, and his hips jerk up towards you, chasing the stimulation. "Please," he says, as you watch his expression dipping into anguish, "please don't stop!" His hips thrust upward into nothing, as you pull your face further and further away. You draw little circles into his hips with your index finger, then take his spit slicked cock into your hand with long, languid strokes.

You scoot lower on the bed to place your head between his thighs, breathing in his musky, masculine scent. You pepper kisses on his full, muscular thighs, licking and biting at the junction between his inner thigh and his crotch. He lets out the most lovely, pathetic whimpers you've ever heard. Cursing in between hard fought breaths, he fucks himself into your hand.

"You beguiling bitch."

You'd be insulted if he didn't sound so adorable saying it.

You take one of his balls into your mouth as you jack him off, rolling your tongue over the spongy, soft flesh. His moans increase in urgency, and he ruts his hips desperately into your hand. "I'm close," he warns, his voice tense and strained. You hum in response, and he swears as the vibrations bring him closer to the edge.

You can feel him tensing, his cock flexing in your hand, his testicles getting tighter as he prepares to release his seed, and then--

You take your hands off of him.

Smoke erupts everywhere, dark and heady, and you can see his eerie, red eyes tearing through the inky smog, wild, frustrated-- imploring. Begging.

And as suddenly as it appeared, it disappears again, wicking back into his skin, but not entirely. Small tendrils of smoke wisp off him, swaying with agitation. Recovering from the shock, you laugh, and climb on top of him. "If you're going to cum…" You use your hand to guide his dick to your hole. "Cum in here."

You sink down on him suddenly and without warning, your hips flush with his thighs with a soft slap.

Smoke pours off him in waves, his eyes flaming red. They bore holes into you, his gaze searing on your skin.

”Mi amor, mi ángel,” he groans, his voice scratching like gravel, “you’re driving me crazy.” Confidence rushes through you as you look down on the powerful man, brought to heel by your touch, your body.

His cock is delightfully thick and hard, just enough to feel stuffed full without uncomfortable. You lift yourself until he’s just barely in you, and slam back down, making the both of you gasp. You moan sultrily, and do it again-- changing the angle just enough to nail your sweet spot on his magnificent dick.

It leaves you breathless. You whisper praises and curses, intertwined and inextricable, as you ride him. You’re both close, so close, and you pick up the pace, just slightly--

But you stop.

The moment Ramattra settles behind you, you cease all movement, craning your neck to see him. Reaper is panting, his muscles straining and bulging against his binds, but he can’t move an inch without Ramattra’s permission.

Ramattra’s cock is in his hand, a lustful, needy look on his face. “May I kiss you?” He asks, and you smile.

“You never have to ask, dear.”

“I like to,” he says, and leans forward, moving his lips against yours slowly, tenderly. He shifts closer, his muscular chest pressed up against your back, and you brace yourself for his dick, only to feel…

Nothing.

Instead, Reaper gasps, his thighs tensing, and you pull away from the kiss to look down. Ramattra slowly rolls his hips, groaning, and Reaper all but thrashes in the throes of pleasure, smoke cascading off the bed.

Ramattra uses one hand to hold yours, and the other to grab your face, turning you back to him so he can kiss you.

You moan indulgently into the kiss and return to chasing your own pleasure. You lean back, using Ramattra’s body as leverage, and fuck the god below you savagely and unrelentingly, intent on attaining your own orgasm.

Your movement proves too sporadic for the kiss to continue, and you tilt your head back, tucking it into Ramattra’s neck instead.

His hands trail up to grab at your chest, playing with your nipples, and your whole body tenses as your orgasm finally crests, and crashes over you.

You reach climax in the arms of your lover, your walls convulsing on the bound god's dick as he twitches inside you, a shallow, broken moan coming from beautifully parted lips.

Ramattra kisses you, his hips moving for a while longer before stuttering to a stop as he, too, finishes.

The three of you are still, for a moment, catching your breaths as the afterglow sets in. Ramattra flicks his wrist, and the tendrils of water recede, freeing Reaper. Reaper groans, and throws an arm over his eyes, his thighs still trembling from exhaustion and pleasure.

He looks absolutely ravished.

His cock slips out of you as you climb over to his side, running a hand along his tired, sore arms. He subtly leans into your touch, and you smile fondly.

Ramattra lifts you and places you atop himself, pulling Reaper closer as well. You're both draped over him. You snuggle into his neck, giving him soft, appreciative kisses, and he chuckles. He runs an affectionate hand through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp.

His other arm snakes around Reaper's waist, pulling him closer. The wraith grumbles, but does little else to oppose his new position. With a tired yawn, he closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

"I love you," you murmur, pressing another kiss to Ramattra's carapace. He rumbles with delight, and kisses your forehead.

"And I, you, my treasure." With an adoring smile, you shut your eyes, and let the tide carry you to unconsciousness…

[airamsao3]

The Pride of Poseidon

NSFW

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader, gender neutral reader! poseidon ramattra!

Summary: Despite his endless trove of treasures and trinkets, there is but one person that he is truly proud to call his own.

3391 words

Content Tags: Vanilla, Fluff, Sub Reader, Dom Ramattra

Part 1 of The Pantheon

✧ 1 ✧ |   2   |   3

✧ AO3 ✧

You sigh, running your hands over your cold upper arms. Fall is fast approaching, and the evenings are getting colder, but the temperature doesn't dissuade you from your daily routine.

The sun dappled waves sparkle like scattered pearls, and it shines with peerless radiance.

You give it a longing glance, wanting to splash in the water like you did when you were a child, but it's far too cold for such a thing. You clamber onto a rock, your short nails scrabbling at the surface, and begin the trek to your secret spot.

It's a small out of the way cove, one that you'd discovered many years prior in your childhood. You once used it to stash your secret trinkets and treasures, but they've all since been reclaimed by the tide. You locate your seat of choice, a smooth, mostly flat rock, and with a long, labored sigh, you sit down.

You draw your knees up to your chin, and rest your arms on them. It's cold upon your perch, but you can't bring yourself to care.

Here, everything is perfect.

You close your eyes against the bitter wind, listening to the sound of crashing waves echoing off the walls of the cove.

You spend a long moment in quiet contemplation, letting the soothing sounds of the ocean wash over you.

 And then…

A touch breaks you out of your slumber. A hand, cold and hard, cards through your hair.

Blearily, you open your eyes, and look up to see--

Him.

Immediately, instinctively-- you know he is divine.

His eyes are a brilliant cyan, wisps of otherworldly flame flickering at the edges, and his blue skin-- it’s not really skin, it looks chitinous and hard, despite his humanoid appearance. A flowing white beard adorns his face, and transparent, turquoise aural fins sprout from the sides of his head in place of ears.

These details, combined with the imposing staff at his side, clue you in immediately on which deity this is.

“Poseidon,” you breathe, shell shocked. “I- my lord, what brings you to this place?” You lean away from him, putting distance between you two.

He frowns minutely, but doesn’t chase after you. His hand drops back to his side, and he turns his head, looking pointedly at the sky. You follow his gaze, and you’re met with a gorgeous, full moon.

When did it get so late?

“I- I have to go,” you stammer. You stand abruptly, only to sway, and lose your balance. The ground seems to rush up to meet you, and you shut your eyes in anticipation for an impact… that never comes.

Instead, you fall into a hard, solid chest, and a pair of arms encircle you. Your eyes open in shock, and you try to right yourself, but your legs have long since fallen asleep. Embarrassed beyond belief, you stutter out apologies and explanations, only for the god to silence you with his own voice.

“I’m the one who chose to catch you, am I not?” His voice, while not booming, has a commanding quality to it that quiets your worries. “You needn’t apologize, though…”

He takes your face in his hand, and brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I would like to kiss you,” he says, his gaze flickering to your lips, “may I?”

Your face flushes, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. It’s hard to formulate thoughts when you can feel his body pressing against you through your clothes-- can feel his rough, calloused fingers on your face, caressing you tenderly, intimately. “I- I don’t know,” you stammer. “It would be difficult for me to allow you to do that,” you admit, though it’s hard to say.

"I would tear the mortal realm asunder for a night with you, if that is what it would take,” he says, his tone insistent and pleading. “What must I do to convince you?”

You’re flattered by his attention, and to couple with a god is the highest honor you could ever imagine. He’s handsome, powerful-- and you feel so, so secure in his arms, but…

Your hand lifts, touching his own on your cheek, as you gaze up at him and tell him, "I… don’t know you very well, but…” You break eye contact in embarrassment. “I would like to, if you would allow me. But… I don’t want to be just another mortal to you. If you are to have me, I wish to have you as well.”

"Do you realize what you are asking for?" his gaze hardens, and his hand tenses almost imperceptibly. You swallow thickly, and nod.

"I know your kind is fickle. You move on from one mortal to the next, as rapid as rivers, receding like the tide, leaving nothing but sun bleached bones in your wake. And yet, I ask for you to abandon this part of you, to swear yourself to me. It's selfish, it's ignorant-- perhaps you may even call it disrespectful, but as a mortal, I cannot help but want such a thing. For you to be loyal to me, to look at none other than me-- that is all I wish for from you, in exchange for all of me."

"You could have power, riches, anything in my domain, I could grant you. Land, servants, treasures-- and yet, all you desire... is me?" His hands move, and clasp yours. Disbelieving, he searches your eyes for deception, and finds none. Blushing, you look away, but he turns your face back to him, insistent.

"...There is no greater joy, my lord," you admit bashfully.

The silence hangs heavy over you two, and you can hear your heart beating wildly in your chest. It feels like rejection, and you hang your head, ready to leave.

"Very well," he says, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. "For as long as you are alive, I shall devote myself to you. My body, my soul, it is all yours." His hand finds the small of your back, and draws you close. "It is rare to find a mortal so pleasing to the eye, and so daring…”

You feel a rush of warmth at his touch, and all but melt into his embrace. "Please, hold me, and only me," you say, your voice nary a whisper. "That is all I ask for."

He chuckles, and his hold tightens. "With how alluring you are, I hardly think that will be a challenge... I foresee us spending quite a lot of time in each other's arms." He tilts your chin up with a finger, and leans in.

You kiss him slowly, tenderly, and surrender yourself to him until the moon falls from its apex, and the sun peeks over the horizon.

It’s surprisingly easy, falling into routine while being courted by a god.

Every few days, he brings you gifts and trinkets, and spends time by your side conversing late into the night. He bequeaths upon you bolts of the finest silk, jewels of unparalleled luster, and flowers of unmatched beauty. Your neck, wrists, and ankles are never bare-- gems and pearls twinkle with every move you make.

His affections are immediate and apparent, but no less sincere. Despite how strongly he came onto you during your first meeting, he is surprisingly chaste, going no further than kissing your knuckles and leaning into your side.

It is simultaneously touching and frustrating.

A part of you is deeply appreciative of the way he respects your implicit boundaries, but another, larger part wishes he’d embrace you and kiss you the way he did on the night that you first met.

It is on one such night, when the moon is heavy and full, that you take initiative, and kiss him yourself.

At first, he’s shocked, but within moments his arms are around you, drawing you closer. He kisses you back slowly, cautiously, and the hunger behind his tentative touches both frightens and excites you. He’s careful to not go too far, and that care is what spurs you to action.

You brush your tongue along his lower lip, deepening the kiss, but you pause and pull away as you feel something moving between your fingers. His eyes are questioning and somewhat hurt, but all you can pay attention to are his aural fins.

Are they… wiggling?

You touch them experimentally, and he jolts under your hand. “I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly, “did I hurt you?”

A dark flush rises on his cheeks, and the fins wiggle even more, tickling your fingers. “No, no such thing,” he says, his voice strained. He looks rather embarrassed. “Please remove your hands. Please.”

Well when he asks so imploringly, how could you refuse? Your hands drop to his shoulders instead, and you peer up at him through your lashes, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he says, and breathes deeply in an attempt to calm himself. “I just got a bit too… excited.” Your cheeks heat up as you realize what exactly his reaction was.

“Poseidon, I-”

“Ramattra.”

“Ramattra?”

“I prefer it to the moniker you know me by,” he says, taking one of your hands into his own.

“Ramattra…” you test the name on your tongue, and nod in understanding. “Thank you, for sharing your name with me.”

He smiles at you, and draws you close again. “My dear,” he says, his gaze burning, “may I kiss you?”

You laugh, and lean in. “Of course, Ramattra.” His name is still unfamiliar, but you get the feeling you’ll have plenty of time to adjust.

Your eyes close as he kisses you under the moonlight once more, and a smile tugs at your lips as you can feel his fins wiggling once again.

--------------------------------

His bedchambers are opulent.

The various carved fountains in the room add a soothing background noise, and makes the air pleasantly humid. There's a large bed at the center of the cavernous room, fitted with luxurious silken sheets, and dark, heavy drapes that help sequester it from the rest of the room.

You've taken to sleeping with Ramattra lately.

The bed is so large that you could sprawl yourself out without ever touching him, and on your first night over, you could tell he fully expected you to maintain as much physical distance as possible.

It was a surprise, then, when you daringly and boldly snuggled into his arms, embarrassed but no less enthusiastic in your affections. He was shocked, but pleasantly so, and made sure to convey his joy with many, many kisses.

It’s routine now, for dates to end within his domain, and words of passing to be left unexchanged. Your own home is scarcely used, and you spend more time by his side than apart. It’s hard to imagine a life without him now-- and with his devotion to you, it’s even more difficult to imagine that it’d ever come to be.

You step into his bedchambers from the connected baths, clad in just a robe. You’re trembling, despite the room being the perfect temperature, and he’s quick to notice.

“Are you cold, my love?” He asks, rushing to your side. “Was the water not warm enough? Are you dizzy?” You smile fondly at his fretting, and shake your head.

“No, I’m alright.”

He gives you an incredulous glance before a playful spark alights in his eyes. Ramattra sweeps you off your feet, startling you, and carries you towards the bed. You squeal in surprise, your hands scrabbling on his body for purchase.

“Ramattra!” You say scoldingly.

He chuckles, and the sound reverberates through his body. It thrums and echoes inside you, making your skin buzz with delight and adoration at the sound. A smile unwittingly makes its way to your lips, and you swat at him playfully, having accepted your fate.

“This is no way to treat your lover,” you say huffily. He sets you down on the bed, and descends upon you, stealing your protests away with a kiss.

“My apologies,” he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest, “I’ll accept all due punishment with grace tomorrow morning.” A laugh bubbles out of you as he moves to kiss your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin.

You shift under him, your hands raising to lock behind his neck, and--

Your robe falls open, just a bit too far, and he stills. His gaze flickers down, then away, and he sits up and turns his head to the side, giving you privacy. “My apologies,” he says, and this time, it’s genuine. A light blush dusts his cheeks, and you sit up as well, equally embarrassed.

It’s now or never.

With shaking fingers, you undo the sash on your robe, allowing it to fall open. You shrug it off, and it pools around your body. You can feel yourself trembling-- with what? Excitement? Apprehension? You can’t quite tell.

“Ramattra,” you say, self consciously shifting to cover yourself with your hands, “you can turn back around now.”

He gives you a bit longer to make entirely sure that you’re decent, then turns back around, and physically balks at the sight. “I- you-” he stammers, his gaze flickering to and from your body rapidly as he’s unsure of what to do or say.

Now, it’s your turn to laugh. He’s acting so innocently for an eons old deity. “You can look,” you say teasingly, becoming a bit more confident.

Slowly, almost shyly, he takes you in. You feel like the most beautiful thing in the world with the way he’s looking at you.

“May I touch you?”

His voice is soft, nearly a whisper, and so, so tender.

You nod.

He approaches you slowly, as if a stray movement would scare you away. Gently, his rough, strong hands explore your body. They start at your face, stroking over your cheeks, and flow downwards to your neck, then your shoulders.

His thumbs rub soft, small circles onto your collarbones. With a slight bit of pressure, just enough to get the message across, he eases you onto your back.

You're so, so weak to his passionate, cyan gaze-- and you feel weaker still, now that you're finally bare in front of him, bereft of any coverings save your own hands. His eyes burn on your too sensitive skin, raking over your form with unrestrained hunger.

Your thighs press together as he looms over you, his body boxing you in. "I am not a gentle lover by nature," he admits, a hand finding its way to your cheek. "I worry that I will hurt you."

You shake your head fondly at him, affection shining wetly in your eyes. "I trust you, Ramattra," and something about the sweetness of your voice or the sincerity of your words makes him breathe in sharply. He leans down, lifts a lock of your hair, and kisses it reverently.

"Thank you, my treasure, for allowing me this," he says, nudging your thighs open.

You flush darkly as your arousal is revealed to his searching gaze. You shut your eyes in embarrassment, and turn your head away. You feel him shifting on the bed of silks as you wait for him to enter you.

"Please," his tone is imploring, "look at me, my love?"

You open your eyes, peeking at him through your lashes. He smiles indulgently, and reaches down to cradle your face.

“I love you,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion and want. You tilt your face to kiss his palm, pressing it closer to you with your own hand. “I love you,” you say again, and roll your hips towards him, brushing against his cock. Unbidden tears well up in your eyes, as you look up at the man you’ve given your heart to.

He leans down and kisses your tears away. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. The tip of his cock slowly spreads you open. You reach up and hug him, pulling him into a desperate, passionate embrace.

Slowly, torturously, he sinks into you in one long, measured stroke. You let out the breath you were holding when his hips are finally flush to yours. He pulls back to look at your face.

You give him a watery grin. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” you warble, lifting a hand to your face. He frowns, and pulls it away.

“My dear…” he says, concern evident in his eyes. “You do not have to push yourself. Not for me.”

“I’m not,” you insist, “I want this,” you say, conviction clear in your voice, “I think… I just want you to hold me.”

He obliges, and hoists you onto his lap again. You’re sitting on his thighs, on his cock, and with his arms around you. His hands rub soothing circles into your back. You slip your arms around him as well, and bury your face into his neck.

Everything is perfect.

You feel whole, complete with him slotted inside you like the final, missing puzzle piece.

Finally found.

Finally home.

“I love you,” you say again, shutting your eyes against his skin. “Ramattra, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, and his voice shakes ever so slightly.

You sit up straighter, and give him your best smile.

You’re happy, you know that now.

Your hands move to brace themselves on his shoulders, and with your new leverage, you start to slowly ride him.

You both gasp at the sensation-- it’s so much, too much. His hands settle on your hips and help you stabilize yourself. The pressure is comforting, and not overbearing. He’s letting you take it at your own pace.

Despite claiming to not be gentle, he’s softer and sweeter than any man you’ve ever known.

You lean forward and kiss him, luxuriating in the feeling of warmness and completeness washing over you.

A memory rises from the fog of lust and love, and you pull away, turning your head instead to his translucent fins. You lick one experimentally, and he gasps, his hips bucking up into you.

His hands tighten their grip, and you moan obscenely, your hot breath fanning over his fins.

He’s all but panting, shaking from the exertion of maintaining his ironclad restraint. “M-my dear,” he stammers, his voice uneven. “I- you can’t-”

“It’s okay,” you say, moving a bit faster, “I want you-- all of you. Please, give it to me.”

Your plea wrests a strangled noise from him, and his hips snap up to meet yours, interrupting your rhythm. His hands steady you, holding you still for him as he thrusts into your hole-- the pace he sets is frantic and unrelenting, but despite that, you can feel love behind his every movement.

It leaves you gasping and clinging to him desperately. Your hips feel like they’re melting-- going numb from the hot, molten pleasure running through your veins. “Ramattra,” you moan reverently, his name on your lips like a prayer, your hands clutching his body like a rosary, “Ramattra!”

His fingers dig into you-- they’ll leave bruises-- and he tilts your hips ever so slightly, just enough to alter the angle, and--

He hits a spot that makes you scream, then hits it again, again, and again--

Your walls clench around him as you cum, and he’s not far behind. He groans your name, his cock twitching inside your wet heat.

Your body sags, the weariness hitting you all at once, and you melt into his strong, dependable frame. “I love you,” you say, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I love you too.” Ramattra carefully lays you back down, and settles by your side. “Do you need anything? I worry I was too rough with you.” His fingers run through your hair, his nails scratching your scalp.

You shake your head, and shift closer to him. His arms wrap securely around you, and you lean up to kiss his cheek. You miss, just slightly, and your lips land on his fin. It flicks your face, like a cat’s ear, and you laugh. He groans a little, and shuts his eyes.

“I’m alright,” you say. “I’m… happy.” His eyes open, just a sliver, and he smiles back at you.

“I’m happy too,” he says, and draws you closer to him, your head resting on his chest. You yawn, and snuggle closer to him, tiredness seeping into your bones.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

[airamsao3]

Bruises That Bloom Purple

NSFW

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader, Moira/Reader, Ramattra/Moira/Reader

Summary: Ramattra gets a little too rough with you. With you (technically) being a criminal and him being the leader of Null Sector, finding someone to treat your injuries proves to be rather difficult. Luckily, one of his contacts is a doctor who knows how to keep her mouth shut for the right price…

5014 words

Content Tags: Aphrodisiacs, Sub Reader, Dom Ramattra, Dom Moira, Marking,  Double Penetration, Concept Art Moira (the one with tentacles), Tentacle Sex, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Cum Eating, Inappropriate usage of prehensile battle appendages

Part 3 of the Unnamed Agent series

1   |   2   | ✧ 3

✧ AO3 ✧  

“Hm.”

You flinch at the doctor’s tone. How is it possible for a short syllable to sound so judgemental?

“Dislocated leg, fractured pelvis, minor abrasions and tearing in the vaginal canal…” Your cheeks flush harder with each new prognosis, and you shift uncomfortably in your too breezy, too revealing hospital gown. Her long, long nails tap on the counter as she drums her fingers, looking rather amused. Her eyes slide down your body for a moment before slipping over to your partner.

“My my, Ramattra,” she says, a devilish smirk curling at her lips. “Whatever could have caused these injuries?”

To his credit, Ramattra looks completely unfazed. If you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t have guessed he was feeling nervous at all.

“It’s none of your business,” he says curtly, tapping his foot. “Just do your job.”

“With pleasure,” she says, setting her clipboard down. “But before I begin, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask to renegotiate my payment."

Ramattra crosses his arms and cocks his head, clearly displeased. "You know better than to test my patience, Doctor. Stop it with the mind games and just tell me what you want."

At this, Moira laughs. It's an airy, wispy thing-- so light, it hardly suits her personality. "Straightforward as always, I see. Very well," her eyes flicker towards you before returning to Ramattra, "what I wish for is an alternative payment, perhaps unorthodox, but plenty feasible and, might I suggest, actually quite easy to grant me." She walks over to the examination table where you're seated, and pins you with a spine chillingly predatory gaze.

"No." Ramattra says firmly, a dangerous edge seeping into his tone. "You may not have her."

"Have her? So she's yours to give away, is she?" Ramattra twitches, but gives no reply. He's already revealed too much. Moira studies his reaction before turning back to you. Beneath her gaze, you feel more naked than ever. "I don't want her, either."

Ok, rude.

"What I want is to observe and collect data from your coupling," she says, and while this request would sound perverted coming from anyone else, the Doctor's disposition makes you feel violated in a different way. You feel as though she wants to cut both of you open, see what makes you tick, then discard you once you're no longer of use to her.

She's terrifying.

…Is it weird to find that incredibly attractive?

Ramattra bristles openly, clearly agitated. "Absolutely not," he spits out, and turns to you, his arms already outstretched to pick you up. "We are finished here."

You let out a surprised “woah!” as he scoops you up, as gently as he can manage, and turns on his heel. “Wait- waitwaitwait--”

He stops and peers down at you questioningly, before turning his head and sighing.

“Right. Your clothes. I’ll send someone to fetch them later.” His tone is clipped, and you can feel the tension in his body. “Let us be rid of this miserable place.”

“So hostile,” Moira pipes up, saccharine amusement dripping from her tone. You crane your neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her. She’s leaning against the counter, resting on both her arms as she leisurely watches you and Ramattra. She looks like a lioness observing her prey.

Your throat goes a little dry. You’re so entranced by her that you tune out most of their senseless bickering and verbal posturing, longing instead to drink in as much of her handsome visage as possible.

Her black button up shirt is rolled up to just below the elbows, showing off her forearms, and is tucked into immaculately pressed white slacks. A blue tie-- the same color as one of her eyes-- hangs loosely from around her neck, and a few buttons near the top are opened.

Her hair is slightly disheveled, and you swallow thickly as you imagine running your hands through it yourself. As if feeling your gaze, her sharp, intelligent eyes snap to you, and her lax, confident smile widens.

She pushes herself off the counter, and ambles towards you at a sedate pace. This is her territory, after all, and she has you two right in her web.

“My my,” she croons, circling around Ramattra to get a better look at you. “You’re really going to leave her like this? Poor dear.” Her tone of voice indicates anything but sympathy for you. “You should really take me up on my offer. No doubt you were going to get back to fucking like rabbits the moment you left regardless of my intervention. Isn’t it kind of me to expedite your plans?”

You shudder, more in arousal than fear, and feel your cheeks warming as her eyes rove your body. Every word that comes out of her mouth is sharp and cutting. The way she enunciates the syllables is harsh and commands attention. It’s nothing like the gentle, guiding dominance of Zenyatta, or the playful, hardfought subservience that Ramattra wrests from you.

No, Moira is downright terrifying. Something deep and instinctual in you demands that you beg Ramattra to get you out of here, to leave and never look back, but the even baser, rudimentary parts of your psyche all desire the same thing.

To submit to her.

“I agree,” you pipe up, interrupting the argument that’d sparked up again. Ramattra shifts you in his grasp, satisfied, until- “with the Doctor.” He lurches and nearly drops you, causing you to yelp in pain.

“What?!”

Moira barks out a laugh. It’s mean and devoid of mirth. “Seems like one of you has some sense.” Hearing the praise, as slight as it is, has you shifting uncomfortably in Ramattra’s arms, a flush crawling up your neck. She quirks an eyebrow at that, her smile getting even meaner. “Oh? It seems your pet,” your body nearly seizes up at that word, “quite liked that.”

“Pet?!” Ramattra begins to argue with the doctor again, but your attention is elsewhere. You’re looking at her long, slender fingers, cautiously considering her sharp, dangerous nails, and curiously observing her rather prominent veins.

You glance up at Ramattra. He’s incensed-- livid on your behalf, but you hardly feel insulted. No, you feel…

The growing moisture between your legs is a bit cold, and you shift again in the omnic’s grasp, hissing a little as it aggravates your wounds. Instantly, both their eyes are upon you, and you find yourself sweating under their intense stares. “I- I’d like to get treated,” you say, coughing slightly. “I don’t mind the price, but…”

The doctor shifts her weight onto her right foot, cocking a hip. She looks at you haughtily, expectantly, as if she already knows what you’re about to say.

“Yes?” She speaks in an arrogant drawl, her body language loose and relaxed.

You muster up your courage and look up at Ramattra, then back at her piercing heterochromic eyes. “Would you like to… to join in? With us. During the uh…” you struggle to find a more elegant word for what you’re propositioning.

“Coitus?” She offers helpfully.

“Yes. That.”

“Hmmm…” She lifts a hand to her face-- the unmarred one-- and starts to tap her foot. She’s interested, you can tell. Getting data first hand must be like a dream come true for her. She tilts her head, and your breath hitches as you spot a mole on the svelte curve of her neck. Your eyes trace it down to another on her sharp, protruding collarbones, and--

“No.”

That single word shatters your daydream. “N-no?”

“No,” she says again, her tone musical and cruel. “Due to your companion’s combative attitude, I’ve decided that I reserve the right to deny service to anyone,” she says, and turns to walk back to the counter where she left her notes. “That is…” she opens a cabinet and pulls out a sealed vial. “Unless you can sweeten the deal for me. What do you say, pet?”

“She will do no such thing,” Ramattra says, having regained his bearings.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Moira responds smoothly, approaching you with the vial. “Though, I’m interested in how it would affect an omnic as well… Perhaps you could take it in her place?” She clinks the glass tube against Ramattra’s faceplate teasingly, leaning over you in the process.

Being stuck between both Moira and Ramattra is doing very, very bad things to your brain.

“I’ll take it! I’ll take it, so it’s alright, really.”

“Well met,” Moira says, and with a victorious air about her, stalks back to the examination table that you were sitting on earlier. “Bring her here.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Ramattra looks at you, concerned, but is appeased when you smile encouragingly for him, and rest a hand on his chest. “Won’t be that bad,” you murmur, loud enough for him to hear but low enough so Moira isn’t eavesdropping. “Honestly, I think it might be fun!”

He doesn’t seem too convinced, but it’s this or nothing, so he relents and sets you back onto the table.

Moira gets to work with her biotic technology, and you feel your aches and pains diminishing by the second. Soon, the only thing left is your dislocated leg. “Hold still,” she says, and you nod, bracing yourself for the pain. Her hands close around your upper thigh to get a grip on you before righting the limb, and you flush darkly when you notice her hand comes away wet, with a thin web of arousal connecting her fingers to your pussy.

There’s a veritable puddle underneath you, and she glances at it before her eyes flick back up to yours. Coyly, she brings the hand to her mouth, and licks her finger clean. “Excited, aren’t you?”

You nod quickly.

She holds your gaze as she reaches over for the flask. There’s a pink liquid inside it-- a suspiciously familiar pink at that… “Ready for your reward?” She swirls it in front of your eyes. The liquid moves almost hypnotically, sloshing around inside the glass.

You nod again, and she chuckles darkly. She uncorks it, and gently grabs you by the chin. “Open wide.”

You do, and she pours it into your mouth. It tastes sweet, and the flavor lingers cloyingly in your mouth after you swallow. “Good,” she says, and sits back to watch your reaction.

The effects are immediate.

Warmth spreads through your body, making your limbs grow heavy, and for a moment, you feel like you’re about to fall asleep. Then, it grows. The ember bursts into a smoldering fire, and you start to perspire. All of a sudden you're shivering, and you draw your limbs closer to yourself, the heat receding and turning cold instead.

The previously temperate room now feels like a snowy tomb. Dimly, you can hear Ramattra interrogating the doctor, can see him grabbing her by her tie, indignant and afraid, but it’s hard to focus on much of anything.

Your senses are all dulling, faster and faster, fading to black, and then--

They all come rushing back.

You scream.

Then, you cry-- but not before a pair of arms wrap around you, securely, safely, shielding you from outside danger-- but what’s threatening you comes from within. “Get it off- get it off of me!” You wriggle helplessly in his grip, and he’s bewildered, scared-

“Allow me.”

Like an angel (or perhaps a demon), Moira descends upon you, prying the omnic’s hands away from you, and releasing you from your scratchy, not-quite-fabric prison. You’re bared to her inquisitive, intrusive stare, but you don’t have the presence of mind for things like modesty.

No, you’re far more lost in how deliciously warm the doctor’s hands were, and you babble incoherently, reaching out to her, chasing after her body heat.

“Please,” you say, your tone wholly imploring without a hint of disobedience.

She chuckles. Brushes the back of her hand against your cheek.

“Sit back, and let me take care of you.”

You wish you could do that, but it feels like you're being devoured, consumed from the inside by whatever affliction she's besieged upon you. You feel as though you'll die if you don't do something.

You lunge forward, grasping at her tousled shirt, and kiss her in earnest. It's messy. It's a kiss with entirely too much tongue, and you click your teeth against hers more than once in your fervor, but you need this.

Greedy, desperate-- you drink Moira in like she's the oasis that will quench your fire, the salvation to your suffering.

She pulls you off of her, her black lipstick somehow still perfectly intact, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Effective,” she muses, and pushes you back into Ramattra’s arms as she draws up a holopad and begins to take notes.

“Quite the energetic one, aren’t you?” When she turns back to you, you’ve given into the drug completely. Your hands are busy trying and failing to pleasure yourself, chasing after whatever friction will relieve the itching sense of discomfort buzzing underneath your skin.

Ramattra can only watch in shock and dawning horror as he realizes what the drug is-- and who the manufacturer of the gas that’d started your relationship was.

Moira laughs. It’s deeper now, more resonant, and it echoes off her clinically white walls as she watches the two of you.

The sound all but reverberates through your body, vibrating in your bones and shaking you straight to your marrow.

You want her.

You need her.

You pant helplessly, your eyes locked pleadingly onto hers. The puddle of your own fluids has only grown larger, soaking through the thin paper atop the table that was there for sanitization purposes.

“Please,” you say again, just as desperately as last time. “Please.”

She hums, looking as happy as ever as her long, long fingers swipe and tap at the holoscreen. “You need only ask for my help,” she says, and dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

She stalks back towards you, self assured in every way, and her confidence is maddening.

Her nails skate over the skin of your neck, tracing your racing pulse down to your collarbones. The pad of her thumb brushes against you, ever so slightly, but you’re so sensitive that even her featherlight touch is enough to set you off.

Your whole body jerks towards her, your hands stopping as you tense up under her ministrations. “Fascinating,” she purrs, and trails her finger lower. The very tip of her index finger’s nail scratches against you, flowing between your breasts, dragging against your stomach, and stopping right at your pubic mound.

You’re all but hyperventilating. The world seems to close in around you as you focus in on that singular point of contact, shrinking to just a pinprick.

It dips lower, lower--

It stops moving, and you nearly cry out in frustration, but then the rough skin of her finger touches your clit, and everything explodes.

Your body convulses violently, writhing and thrashing in the throes of either pain or pleasure-- it's hard to differentiate when the two are so intrinsically linked.

"My, my." She says, her voice sounding far away. Your ears are ringing. "Having fun?"

She takes a step back and tuts, looking around the room. "You move around too much for my liking." Your vision blurs, and you whimper, backing up against Ramattra's hard, but familiar chassis.

He looks down at you, worried, and unsure of what to do with himself. His segmented fingers reach down, cradling your face and stroking your cheek. They're blessedly cold, and you lean into his touch. For a moment, you can ignore the heat thrumming in your veins, and the steady ache building in your loins.

“Not going to help?” Moira asks. You blearily lift your eyelids, and look over at her, your mind foggy from the drug. Is there a hallucinogenic effect, too? The doctor seems to have sprouted four more limbs.

“She’ll suffer much less if you lend a hand.” The prehensile tentacles are fitted with sharp, metallic ends-- reminiscent of claws. You shudder in fear of what they’ll do to you. “Besides…” They reach out and restrain your hands above your head. “Part of the deal was allowing me to observe.” She pulls you closer, and two more tentacles spread your legs open for him.

You tremble in her grasp. In a mockery of the tender gesture that Ramattra offered you, she grabs you by the face, forcibly twisting your head towards him. Her claws dig into your cheek. “Well?”

Ramattra is at odds with himself, caught between taking advantage of your clearly drugged out state (given that you’d consented earlier), and whisking you away from here to sequester you somewhere safe, where nothing could ever hurt you again.

But you know what you want.

“Please,” you say, rolling your hips towards him. The insides of your thighs are wet with want. “Please.”

And instantly, he is upon you.

He lays siege on your restraints, tearing them away in favor of using his own limbs to hold you close to him. His hands run reverently down your body, gliding along your sweat slicked skin until they grasp desperately at your hips.

Your heart is beating so fast and hard you can hear it thrumming in your ears.

Moira, not one to be outdone, reconfigures herself. The sharp tips of the tentacles slide inwards and disappear, leaving behind smooth silicone. They circle around to your waist, brushing against your skin lightly as they work their way up to your breasts.

Ramattra's cock ruts against your front, already coated in a mixture of your fluids. He whispers clandestine, sweet nothings to you as his hand drifts lower, grasping instead at the back of your thigh. Just as he's about to hoist you up, Moira stops his advance.

"How am I meant to observe what I can barely see?" she asks. She maneuvers you into a new position. Now, your legs are splayed apart, and you're sitting on his lap. Ramattra's weeping cock twitches underneath you, mere inches from your pussy.

The waiting is as torturous as it is arousing.

"Don't hold back on my behalf," she says, leaning back. "Go on," a smirk curls at the corner of her flawless lips, "amuse me."

In a single, smooth motion, Ramattra thrusts into you. You're hit by the sense of wholeness, completeness, and utter tranquility for but a moment as the world rights itself-- then, promptly shatters as he begins to move. His hands grip your waist, holding you still for him as he fucks into you from below, bucking his hips with wild abandon.

Somewhere, lost in the sounds of hissing steam and your own desperate wails, you can hear a chorus of apologies and praises spilling forth, like a burst dam.

He feels so good inside you, so perfect-- like all you've ever needed and more. Your walls clench down around him, his girth stretching you deliciously. You lean your head back into him, lost in the pleasure he's giving to you as warmness spreads from your point of connection and flows through your body, making your extremities feel ever so slightly numb.

You're reduced to a moaning, trembling mess, unable to formulate sentences beyond his name and praises to convey your jubilation. He ravishes you like a beast, his Nemesis arms taking their place on your waist while his omnic arms drift up to your breasts, pawing and groping at your sensitive flesh.

Just as you think you've reached the absolute peaks of pleasure that the human body has to offer, a set of teeth sink harshly into your neck.

You yelp in pain, but the sensitive, throbbing skin is quickly assuaged by a warm, soft tongue, and you open your eyes to see that the doctor has joined in.

She peers up at you with half lidded, dark rimmed eyes. Her mismatched irises are even more striking than they were earlier, now that they're darkened by a subsuming vortex of lust and desire.

Your lungs start to hurt from how hard you're breathing. Ramattra, sensing your distraction, growls. One of his hands grabs your face and turns it towards him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Your moans quickly quiet as you busy your mouth, kissing, licking, and nipping at his neck.

His thrusts stutter a little as he gasps, and steam rushes out behind him. Moira hums in interest. She slips a hand down to where you're connected, feeling the junction of your obscene union. Her fingers dance across your sensitive, stretched skin, and you cry. Your teeth sink into the unyielding metal of Ramattra's neck, making him groan.

Moira’s thumb finds its way to your clitoris as her other fingers tease your hole, and your body threatens to collapse inwards on itself. You unleash an ungodly, pained noise as you’re hit by another climax.

Pain, weariness, and pleasure wreak havoc on your senses and body-- your limbs have been tensed for so long you feel as though they’d give out. Stars swim behind your vision, little whorls of light spiraling into nothingness as they, too, are consumed by the maddening cocktail of sensation.

Ramattra’s thrusts rapidly become more erratic as you convulse atop him. Both sets of arms encircle you in a rough embrace, pushing Moira away from you. He roughly hilts himself inside you, and cums, murmuring incomprehensibly to your insensate, twitching body.

For a blessed moment, all is still.

Your breathing evens out, and you come down from the impossible high you just experienced within your omnic lover’s arms. With shaky, uncertain hands, you grasp at his arms and tug. He begrudgingly drops them, baring your naked, sweat soaked body to the room.

His cock slips out of you, and you shudder as you feel the odd, uncomfortable sensation of liquid seeping out of your thoroughly used hole.

The doctor tuts, and you hear a shifting of fabric before you feel her hands upon you again.

Her fingers brush against your folds, collecting the mixture of fluids before tasting it. Unlike earlier, there’s nothing coy about her expression. She’s clinical, and has an inquisitive, yet intimidating air about her.

Instinctively, you press your thighs together, but it’s all for naught.

With ease (that arouses you more than it probably should), she pries them back open, and leans forward again-- this time, it's her head that ventures between your legs.

Your entire body snaps back to attention.

Ramattra tenses as well, ready to jump to your defense, but you shake your head, and instead relax back into his grasp.

The doctor laps at you gently, her tongue dipping shallowly into your entrance before flicking upward to your clit. She sets a slow, sensual pace that has your thighs trembling, and your breath shaking.

With a soft, almost hesitant touch, Ramattra’s hands find their way back around your body. They loop around your waist and settle on your stomach, where his fingers rub slow, soothing circles into your heated skin.

Your hips stutter and jerk from Moira’s tongue, and with a displeased noise, her tentacles shift to hold you still against the table.

You lay there, trapped, as she eats you out, savoring and studying the taste left behind by your frenzied copulation.

Your next orgasm starts as a slow crawl, coaxed out by her nimble, persistent tongue as it flicks between teasing your clit and lapping up your slick. She pulls away right as you’re about to cum, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

In a move that has you flustered beyond belief, she takes her middle and index fingers’ acrylic nails into her hands, and yanks them off.

She licks her lips before delving back in, her mouth enveloping your clitoris as her fingers work you open. She sucks and licks the bundle of nerves viciously, lashing at it with her tongue as her fingers curl and thrust into you, stimulating your g-spot.

With a pathetic wail, you find yourself cumming again.

Her fingers slow as she feels your walls contracting around her.

Your body relaxes again, and you open your eyes to the doctor propped up between your legs, licking her fingers clean.

And that’s all it takes to get you going again.

You tilt your hips towards her, as much as you can with her still restraining you, and whine-- a wordless, submissive plea that has her looking more than just a bit amused.

“It’s more effective than I thought,” she says, licking a swathe up her thumb. “Whatever am I to do with you?” Her hands find their place on your thighs, her fingers drumming on your tingling skin.

“Fuck me?” you ask, hopefully.

She barks out a short laugh, and pulls back, sitting upright on the table.

“Gladly,” her voice is a deep, salacious purr. “You don’t mind if I have my turn, do you, omnic?”

Ramattra grunts in acquiescence, and shifts you in his grip. You’re back on his lap again, and his shaft slowly rubs against your dripping cunt. You twitch and shudder as the head brushes against your still-oversensitive clit.

With how wet you are, he’s coated in you in no time, and he shifts you in his arms again to slide into your ass.

You groan heatedly at the welcome intrusion, rolling your hips into him to push him deeper. Two of Moira’s tentacles snake forward, brushing between your legs and rubbing against your slit.

“Pardon me,” she says playfully, and thrusts one, then the other, inside of you. They’re both rather slender, and together, feel like a particularly girthy cock.

Then, they start to move. They undulate inside you, writhing and stroking your walls with their odd, flexible forms-- they manage to roll up against your sweet spots over and over, without ever pulling out.

You moan. You’re so, so tired, but it feels amazing, and you don’t want it to stop. Ramattra thrusts into you slowly and gently in contrast to Moira, taking his time to thoroughly enjoy your body. His hands are on your waist again, holding you up for him as he rolls his hips into you from below.

Moira’s mouth is on your collarbone-- biting and sucking, leaving angry red marks behind. Her hands play with your breasts, and the other two tentacles hold your legs open for her. The two draw low, plaintive moans out of you as they fuck you silly, reducing you to a limp puddle of limbs.

You’re close, so close, and as your breathing hastens and your whines become more and more desperate, Ramattra’s fingers drift down to your clitoris, and begin to vibrate. With a sudden burst of energy, you start meeting Moira’s thrusts, fucking yourself on her tentacles.

The knot inside you unravels, and you cum for the last time with a sobbing moan, grasping desperately at Moira’s body.

Your vision starts to dim, and your ears start to ring, drowning out the noise around you. You can only catch bits and pieces of the argument that starts up again as you slowly drift in and out of unconsciousness.

Ramattra’s panicked, angry voice sounds so, so far away.

 “What have you done to her?”

 “She’s just tired, she’ll be okay after a bit of rest.”

 “Surely you have something to hurry the process along? To make her feel better?”

 “Yes, but it will cost you…”

 “Name your price.”

…

…

…

Warm.

That’s the first thing you notice when you begin to wake up.

Wet.

Your eyes slowly open. Your head is resting against something hard, and the ceiling is white and bare. Steam curls and wisps away in front of your eyes, dancing in the insubstantial light. You dimly register that you’re in a bathtub.

Dark.

The overhead lights aren’t on, but there’s a dim, yellow glow coming from the side. You look over, and see a yellow biotic emitter next to you-- the kind that costs at least three odd jobs to get.

Ramattra.

You feel his segmented, metal fingers brushing through your hair. He sounds like he’s behind you.

“Ramattra?” Your voice comes out much weaker than you intended, and you cough to clear your throat.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything.

“Where are we?”

He takes pause, his hands stopping as well, before settling on an answer. “Home.”

You raise your arms a little, splashing the water. “I didn’t know you liked to take baths,” you said, smiling at the mental image of him in the tub.

“...I don’t.”

The realization hits you instantly, and your cheeks flush. Oh. Quickly, you shift the topic of conversation. “Where did you get this?” You tap the biotic emitter. It teeters, and he grabs it before it can fall. He shifts over to the side of the tub and rights it. You can see his face now.

“Moira,” he says, his tone clipped. He’s clearly not in the best mood.

You look down at yourself. You’re covered in bruises and marks from the session earlier. You trace the fingerprints on your waist, knowing exactly who they’re from. You sigh, and reach up to touch your aching neck, remembering the way the doctor bit you. She probably left a decent amount of hickies.

“That’s a shame. I’m gonna miss having all these marks on me, I think they’re hot.”

You can feel his gaze boring into your neck. “I’ll give you more later. For now, you should rest.”

Dirty images flash through your mind, but you’re too tired and worn out to get excited by them. You hum in agreement, and sink back into the warm water. “Okay,” you say.

Your eyelids feel heavy, and you sense yourself drifting off to sleep again. Falling asleep in a bathtub is an awful idea, but you trust Ramattra won’t let you drown.

“Ramattra?” Dimly, you can feel his hand on your head again.

He grunts.

“...Thank you.”

He remains silent for a moment, then sighs. “You’re welcome.”

And with a smile on your lips, you fall asleep.

[airamsao3]

Pet Human

NSFW

Pairings: Ramattra/AFAB Reader, Zenyatta/Reader, Ramattra/Zenyatta/Reader

Summary: Ramattra isn’t one to share, but for his brother, he’ll gladly make an exception...

4194 words

Content tags: Orgasm Delay/Denial, Double Penetration, Fingering, Safeword, Inappropriate uses of the orb of discord

Part 2 in the Unnamed Agent series

1   | ✧ 2 ✧ |   3

✧ AO3 ✧

Ramattra's arms are crossed imposingly over his chest, and he gazes at you expectantly. His Nemesis hands run down your body, caressing the now familiar curves as you squirm on his lap. Your breath catches in your throat as he squeezes your waist, testing his grip.

You wish so dearly that you could reach out and touch him, worship him, but your hands are tied-- literally. The rope is snug but not uncomfortable around your wrists, and up your arms, but when you struggle, it digs into your skin. It reminds you who's in charge this time.

“Come on,” he says encouragingly, and you take in a breath before lowering yourself onto his cock. You both let out appreciative sighs as he slides into you, and you take a moment to savor the feeling of being stretched open for him before you begin to move.

You enjoy the small bit of control he’s allowing you for now, and take your time to get him properly riled up. You roll your hips slowly, taking him in long, languid thrusts, interposed with shorter, faster strokes that make his breath hitch. 

You lift yourself until the tip is just barely brushing your entrance, then drop back down, making his hands dig into you with a sharp inhale. 

“Come on,” you parrot back mockingly, swaying your hips. “Give it to me.”

His omnic arms uncross and his hands find your face. He strokes your cheeks in a surprisingly tender move before shifting them to your back, gripping the ropes that’re restraining you. The hands on your waist shift a little before tightening, and they lift you up. The grip chafes a little, but the pain is more than welcome.

You gasp sharply as his hips snap into you, and he begins to fuck you from below. One of his hands find their way to your hair and you grunt at the dull pain. He pulls your head back, baring your neck to him so he can watch the sweat roll down your skin and your pulse race underneath your skin.

You can’t cum like this-- he knows you can’t cum like this, but that’s part of the fun: seeing how long you’ll last before you’ll be reduced to a desperate, begging mess for him. His cock slams against your cervix, making you shut your eyes and swear under your breath. He feels so perfect inside you-- like he was made to fuck you.

Your moans become increasingly urgent as he sends you rocketing towards the edge. You feel a featherlight touch on your thigh, and you whine as his finger starts to buzz-- just ever so slightly out of reach. You know what you have to say, but you’re reluctant to do it. The torture is part of what makes the release so satisfying.

You grunt as he tugs your hair, clearly impatient, but you haven’t finished having your fun yet. Exasperated, but no less enthusiastic, he acquiesces, and moves his hand away to play with your breasts instead. 

You stay silent for a while, save for delighted moans and sighs as your partner pleases you, until you feel yourself start to ache from teetering on the verge for so long. He’s worse for the wear too, steam hissing out of his back in a steady stream as he struggles to pace himself, unwilling to climax before you.

“Ramattra,” you begin, and you already feel his hand starting to drift down, “please-”

“Oh my.”

Ramattra all but flings you off of him, and you land a bit away from him on a conveniently placed floor cushion with a muffled noise of protest. Except, the cushion is a little bit hard. And floating. And is someone’s legs.

Bewildered, you look up, and your gaze is met by another omnic, whose expression is impossible to read. You stare, openmouthed, before regaining a sense of normalcy and flushing from embarrassment. You squirm, but instead of letting you go, the omnic’s arms cradle you closer, securing you against his chest.

“Brother! I- this isn’t-” Ramattra stammers, hiding his erection behind his sash.

“Brother?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Your struggling stops in favor of taking in this new side of Ramattra, and the one who is able to bring it out..

“Be still, brother,” the other omnic says. His voice is strangely melodic, and has an almost hypnotic quality to it.

“I’m so sorry- I should’ve checked to see when you were coming.”

“It is alright. If you would like, I may return at a later time, or perhaps, even a later date.” 

“Um.” You wiggle again in the omnic’s grasp, bringing their attention back to you. “Who is this?”

“Ah, how rude of me,” the omnic says, and tilts his head down to look at you. “I am Zenyatta.” His voice lilts upwards in amusement, and if omnics could smile, you have no doubt he’d be giving you one. 

“He is my brother,” Ramattra says, still embarrassed.

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” you reply, rolling your eyes at him. You look back up at Zenyatta, who has you in a rather secure (and comforting) grip. “Can you put me down?”

"But of course." He takes pause, and shifts you in his lap. He regards the room for a moment, before turning to you, confused. "I'm uncertain where to place you," he states, and you flush in embarrassment.

Curse Ramattra and his lack of regard for your comfort. Not like you don't enjoy being pressed up against him, though…

You shift in his arms, slightly disturbed by how comfortable it feels. "On… Ramattra?" You suggest, your cheeks aflame.

He hums in acknowledgement, and floats over to his brother. His arms shift around you, and lift you bridal style before he places you in Ramattra's lap. You can't help but find the way that he moves-- slow, purposeful, gentle-- fascinating, and… would it be odd to call it attractive? 

Your eyes rove his body, taking note of his lack of clothing, and his slight, lithe frame. He's very different from Ramattra-- where Ramattra is all carefully calculated intimidation and aggression, his brother is just… calm. He's serene and tranquil, as if nothing bothers him..

What would he look like, panting, desperate, begging? Debased, ruined, destroyed?

"Would- would you like to join us?" You blurt out the words before you're able to stop them.

“What?! You cannot be serious!” Ramattra, who’d accepted you back into his arms with as much grace as an omnic who’d be walked in on while having sex could, bolted back upright at your words. He looked at you, bewildered, before turning back to his brother, staring at him beseechingly. “Brother, I’m sorry- I will deal with… this. I’ll- I’ll escort you out-”

“And just leave me here?” You interject huffily. You’d cross your arms if they weren’t tied.

“I- no- I mean, yes?” Steam streams out of his back, slightly warming your skin. Oh? He doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. Rather, Ramattra just seems concerned with what Zenyatta might think. You turn back to the other omnic, expecting some sort of reaction to the situation, but he just levitates there, observing the two of you.

“Hmmm.” Is he actually considering it? Your heart rate picks up as you wait for his reply to your (frankly) inappropriate offer. Ramattra, too, seems to be waiting with a bated breath, not daring to speak.

“If you are both welcome to it, I would be happy to accept your invitation.”

“I- Wh- You cannot be serious, Brother!” Despite the tone of his voice, Ramattra’s body language conveys relief, and eagerness. His leg is bouncing, and he’s leaned forward imperceptibly. 

“Why not?” While the phrase would sound challenging coming out of nearly any other person’s mouth, Zenyatta makes it sound almost… philosophical? As if he were asking a question about the world, rather than the admittedly bizarre situation at hand. “Are you opposed to it, brother?”

“No, not at all, I just…” Ramattra flounders for an explanation, and you can’t help but find this side of him intensely endearing. “I did not think that you would… want to indulge yourself in something like this,” he says, choosing his words carefully.

Zenyatta comes closer to the ground, settling between your legs. “I do not blame you for that assumption. Am I making you uncomfortable in any way? I shall leave if my presence is unwelcome.” 

God, the way he’s so careful and considerate of every little thing that he does is doing a number on your heart rate. You want to watch him lose control. You want him to beg for you, to chase after you, to lose himself in you. You want to hear that dainty, melodic voice break into whines and whimpers, to deepen into low, sultry groans.

If Ramattra ruins this for you, you’re not sure you’ll forgive him.

“No, I… I’m sorry. Yes. I would… enjoy it if you were to stay, Brother.”

“Wonderful,” Zenyatta says, then turns his attention back to you. You flush under his gaze, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious. He drifts closer, and lifts your legs so that they’re resting on his own. You shift a little to get comfortable in your new position, and Ramattra helps to steady you with his hands. “Are you comfortable?”

“Very,” you reassure him enthusiastically.

“You must alert me if I go too far,” he says, his fingers dancing along your thighs. “Your comfort and pleasure are my utmost priority.”

You laugh a little, bemused, and lean back into Ramattra. Now this guy knows how to treat a lady. “I will.”

“Please choose a safe word for us, such that I may recognize it and stop immediately.”

You pause for a moment, thinking, then nod. “Null Sector,” you say cheekily, and Ramattra gives you a light slap on the arm for your choice.

“Thank you,” he says, considerably more at ease. “Now, then… Would you mind if I took the lead, Brother?”

“Not at all,” Ramattra says, seemingly content to sit back and watch.

One of his hands stays on your thigh, and the other drifts closer to your groin, stroking your skin along the way. Your breath hitches as his thumb circles your entrance. 

He goes slowly, gathering the remaining moisture to more effectively tease you. Your hips jerk involuntarily when his thumb slides upwards, passing over your urethra and teasing the sensitive underside of your clitoris.

His index and middle fingers return to the task that his thumb abandoned, teasing your folds while he makes long, slow strokes with his thumb. With how close you were to cumming earlier, it doesn’t take much to get you excited again, and your pussy is drooling on his segmented fingers in no time at all. “My my,” he says, amused, “you’re quite reactive.”

You open your mouth, about to snarkily ask him if that’s a good thing, but he silences you with a quick, circular stroke of his thumb, which makes you gasp. He’s still teasing you, and you’re starting to grow frustrated. “Can you just hurry up?” you huff, rolling your hips into his hand insistently. Unfortunately, that gets you nowhere.

“Is that how you ask for favors?” His voice is still even, but there’s a mocking undertone to it that tells you exactly where he wants this to go.

“Um… Please?”

“Please… what?” His playful dominance is a bit jarring, to say the least. You weren’t expecting him to be dominant at all, but the juxtaposition between his easygoing attitude and the absolute obedience he commands is rather exciting.

“I want you to finger me… please,” you say, unused to being the one begging.

“Hmm,” he hums contemplatively. “I think you can do better than that.”

You make a pitiful noise in the back of your throat as you wiggle your hips again, desperate for more stimulation.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts you, “Ramattra, hold them still for me, if you’d please.”

You feel Ramattra shifting as he activates Nemesis form again, and his larger hands come to a rest at your hips, holding them down.

“Wonderful,” Zenyatta says, and you curse under your breath at the unfairness of it all. “Language,” he warns, his hand stilling.

“Sorry,” you say, though your heart isn’t behind it. You’re an adult woman. You’re allowed to cuss. He seems to sense this though, and his fingers stay still, waiting. You shrink under his judging gaze, and relent. “I’ll… try to not swear as much. I promise,” you say, and that seems to please him.

“Good,” he says, and the way he nearly purrs out the word ignites a fire in your loins. “Progress over perfection is a good mindset to have.” His fingers start to move again, and you melt into his soft, attentive touch. It’s not enough to get you anywhere, but it’s still nice all the same. “Now, would you like to try asking again?”

You feel more up to it this time, and you nod. You swallow thickly, “Please, Zenyatta? I need you inside of me,” you plead, your cheeks burning. You try to maintain eye contact with the omnic, hoping he’ll feel your sincerity behind your gaze.

“Very good,” he says, satisfied. His fingers slowly slide inside of you, and you throw your head back and groan in satisfaction. It’s only two fingers, and they haven’t even started moving yet, but you already feel as though you’ve reached heaven. 

“Please,” you say, the word coming more naturally to you now. “I- I want you to move your fingers inside of me, please?”

“Yes,” he says, with a sudden burst of steam erupting from his back, and somehow his voice makes even that single syllable the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. His mechanical digits slowly stroke your walls, as his thumb continues its task of teasing your clit. 

You’re content with that for a while, luxuriating in his skillful ministrations as he slowly but surely brings you closer and closer to the edge. “Oh god,” you moan, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling. “I’m so close, just a little more-” and just like that, he takes his finger off your clitoris, and stills inside of you. “Please,” the word comes automatically, instinctively, “please!”

“You can do better than that, my dear,” he says, moving more slowly now. You gasp, your voice catching in your throat as you’re brought to the brink of climax again with just a few strokes of his thumb. Your entire body tenses up, and--!

He lifts his finger, just a millimeter, off your skin, and you’re left frustrated and wanting. “Zenyatta, Zenyatta please!” 

You’re desperate, but not enough. Not enough for him. It starts to come faster and faster-- two circles of his thumb, then one, then just half-- and eventually just a slight touch is all it takes to have you begging for release, but he denies you each time.

“Please! Please, please pleasepleaseplease! I wanna cum, please let me cum!” You’re like a broken record, just repeating the same phrases over and over, delirious from your lack of release. “Zenyatta!”

“Yes, my dear?” He looks and sounds as composed as ever, but the thick, heady steam hissing out of his back tells another story. You’re close to getting through to him, just a little more--!

“Zenyatta, Zenyatta! Please make me cum!” You half scream, half moan, and it’s finally enough. He sends you crashing over the edge, and you’re left gasping for air as you’re hit by the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. He fingers you through it, slowly, gently. And when it’s over, he… doesn’t stop.

“Wait- wait I’m still sensitive,” you say weakly, still winded from your climax. “Let me take a break, please,” you ask, as the telltale tension in your abdomen starts to build up again.

“You said you wanted to cum,” Zenyatta says mirthfully, feigning confusion.

“Not- not again! Not so soon!” you protest, starting to struggle.

“Ah, then you should have been more specific,” he says, as if it was self-evident. “What a shame.” His fingers don’t stop-- if anything they go faster, and you’re sent careening towards your second orgasm before you’ve had time to come down from the first.

Your walls constrict painfully around Zenyatta’s roving digits as he relentlessly attacks your g-spot, your orgasmic contractions only making the sensations stronger and more potent. And he doesn’t stop. He fingerfucks you through your climax, extending it for as long as possible. 

With each ebbing bit of tortured pleasure, he redoubles his efforts until you clench down again. Then, he backs off and slows down, allowing you a moment of bliss before diving back in, refusing to let your body rest. 

Throughout it all, he’s crooning praises and encouragements, bits of “just a little more” mixed in with “you’re taking me so, so excellently, my dear.”

You’re left a trembling, crying mess when it finally, finally passes.

“I-I can’t--” you sob, shaking violently in Ramattra’s grasp. You wriggle helplessly as Zenyatta continues his assault on your senses.

“I believe that you can,” he says, calm as ever. His finger circles your clitoris before swiping upwards in a quick flick that has you gasping and tensing up. “You are doing very well,” he praises, his sinful fingers stroking your insides. “Very, very well.”

You make a strangled noise and your hips dig into the floor, desperately trying to get away from the stimulation. “Please, pleasepleaseplease--” you hardly know what you’re begging for. You’re completely in the palm of his hand, playing into his every whim as he enacts his devilish designs on you.

“Good,” he says, sounding rather pleased with himself. Breathing starts to physically hurt from how hard you’re panting. “Just a little bit more,” but the reassurance rings empty as he said that another five minutes ago. 

A frustrated noise makes its way out of your throat as you writhe, getting absolutely nowhere with Ramattra’s arms wrapping you against his body. One of his omnic hands comes up to play with your breasts, and you gasp, screwing your eyes shut.

You look up at him pleadingly, tears in your eyes, and shamelessly beg, “make him stop, please make him stop!” even as your hips are bucking and your thighs are shaking on Zenyatta’s.

Ramattra chuckles and watches you, almost affectionately, as you’re being broken apart in front of him. “I think I quite like seeing you like this.”

"Fuck you!" You nearly scream. The frustration, the pain, the stimulation-- it's all too much, too much too much toomuch-- 

"Language." Zenyatta's words cut through the haze like a knife, and your attention is upon him instantly. "I believe you are in need of more discipline." This awful, evil, horrible--!

Before you can curse him even more, one of the orbs around his neck detaches and floats towards you, glowing purple. You try to process what that might mean, but a sudden spike in everything stuns you into silence.

And then you really scream.

Profanities, curses, vitriol, and madness erupt from you all at once as the feeling of feeling has suddenly become all at once unfamiliar and terrifying. 

Even Ramattra is caught off guard, as his hold on you slackens for just a moment before he's in control of your flailing legs once more, holding them up for Zenyatta to better access your body.

"I did not know the Orb of Discord had this sort of effect," Ramattra says, equal parts intrigued and aroused by the discovery.

"It was an educated guess," the monk replies smoothly, taking in your reaction. Your body is trembling all over, but you've gone slack again. You're crying a little, and your walls clench around nothing as you both miss and revile his deft hands inside of you. 

“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment, before his (still wet) fingers return to your crotch. You jerk violently as he returns to his earlier teasing-- drawing slow, gentle circles on your clitoris while his two other fingers just barely brush the entrance. 

To your oversensitive body, though, even these light, gentle touches are far, far too intense-- just bordering on painful. 

“Would you like to join us?” Zenyatta asks, pleased with your current state.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Ramattra replies. His voice is deep and husky, and you can feel it rumbling through his chassis behind you.

You’re allowed a brief respite as the soft sound of steam fills your ears. They both slip their cocks out, with a bit more maneuvering on Zenyatta’s part, since he was wearing pants. 

“Let us share in this pleasure together, shall we?” Zenyatta shifts, and stands up, beckoning. Ramattra stands as well, his Nemesis arms securing your body against his own. “Do you have a preference?” 

Ramattra turns you to face him, and takes in your expression. There are tear tracks on your face, and while you feel quite miserable, Ramattra obviously does not feel the same way. A puff of steam emits from his back as he commits every detail to memory, and softly-- almost tenderly-- hugs your body to his with his omnic arms and lowers you onto his cock.

You whine brokenly, pressing your face against his steel chest pieces. “I see,” Zenyatta says, chuckling. Using the remains of your juices on his hand, he slicks up his cock, and slides into your ass. 

The stretch is uncomfortable, but not unpleasant-- you’re not a virgin, to say the least. His hands land on your waist, stroking small, comforting circles into your sides. “Good,” he groans, leaning his face against your shoulder blades. “You’re doing very, very good, my dear…”

Your entire body buzzes with pleasure as they begin rocking into you. You feel oh so full with the two of them inside you, and with Ramattra now part of the action, Zenyatta has become more passive, allowing the other omnic to set the pace. 

Ramattra fucks you passionately and needily, pent up from having to hold himself back while he allowed his brother to pleasure you earlier. He mumbles sweet, possessive nothings above you, mixed in with soft swears and moans as he enjoys the way your oversensitive flesh coils and clenches around his length.

“You’re so wet and aching for me,” he groans, “so tight, so good.” Holding back for so long took a toll on him, and it shows. He’s even more enthusiastic to take you now than he was earlier, with you wet and wanting atop him.

It doesn’t take much for you to get close again, and from the sounds of it, they aren’t far off. You’re too tired to make much of a fuss when Ramattra starts to thrust faster, battering his cock against your cervix. You moan weakly, and your cunt tightens as the exquisitely painful pleasure reaches a tipping point and you cum again.

Ramattra murmurs something intelligible before your orgasm sends him over the edge, and he cums inside you, his cock twitching in tandem with your spasming walls. Zenyatta takes a little longer, rocking into you with long, languid strokes before he, too, finishes with a heated groan.

You’re all left tired and short of breath by the end, though you’re significantly more tired than them. You groan, and say, “Null Sector. My arms fell asleep and I’m really, really thirsty. Can I get untied, please?” 

Always quick on the uptake, Zenyatta has your arms unbound in seconds, and massages the blood back into your muscles as his cock slips out of you. “Of course, my dear.” 

While Ramattra’s residence is devoid of most human comforts, it is not devoid of human necessities. He has nonperishable food and water stored away for your visits, which have been growing in frequency. 

The omnic shifts you in his grip, his dick slipping out as well, before sitting back down and setting you in his lap. Their cum oozes out between your legs and begins to pool on the floor, but neither of you mention it as you catch your breath and recuperate in his arms.

Zenyatta eventually makes it back to the room with a glass of water and a jug in his hands. He brings the cup to your lips even as you protest, saying you can do it yourself. Ramattra chuckles and pokes at your arms, making you hiss at the pins and needles. “Let us take care of you,” Ramattra says, almost imploringly, and his tone is so uncharacteristically soft that you agree, though not without a lot of huffing and puffing on your part.

It takes you a while to come down from your high, but with both Ramattra and Zenyatta there to soothe and care for you in the aftermath, you couldn’t feel any safer. You sigh as Zenyatta cycles the purple orb to a yellow one that seems to make your aches and pains ebb away.

As you listen to the soft chimes of Zenyatta’s orbs as he meditates, and feel Ramattra’s hand petting your hair, you drift off to sleep in their shared embrace, with only one thought in mind…

You really wish Ramattra would buy a bed.

[airamsao3]

Ravage Me

NSFW

Pairing: Ramattra/AFAB Reader

Summary: Who knew sex mist worked on omnics too?

2352 words

Aphrodisiacs, overstim, brat/brat tamer dynamic, fingering, penetrative sex, power exchange, oh my!

Part 1 of Ramattra and the Unnamed Agent Series

✧ 1 ✧ |   2   |   3

✧ AO3 ✧

First time posting stuff on tumblr, sorry if I mess up the formatting! Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing :]

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in, get out, and drop off the cargo with the contact. You’d finished without a hitch, and yet…

“What have you done to me?”

You cough, trying to get rid of the cloying feeling in your throat. You glare at your employer, staggering away from him as liquid heat pumps through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” you bite back, kicking the spent canister towards him. It’s unmarked, save for a single, pink stripe down its dented side. The color is the same as the odd smelling mist that erupted from it when it fell from the dusty shelf.

You curse under your breath as you try to regain your bearings, but focusing proves to be a rather difficult task when the warmth in your body seems to be settling in one particular place… You cough again, more than just the dust of the derelict warehouse in your lungs, but it does nothing to displace whatever has infested your body.

“You filthy humans and your trickery...” You look towards him with a retort on your tongue, only to stop dead in your tracks at the sight.

The omnic’s body is practically vibrating with tension as he stands there, slumped against a wall. He has a bewildered, flustered air about him as he tries and fails to assess the situation, and his chest is heaving as his body attempts to flush out the foreign chemicals. Ramattra’s normally commanding and indifferent demeanor is nowhere to be found. Rather, he looks almost… pathetic.

It leaves your mouth feeling rather dry. Oh…

“Wow,” you say breathily, “I didn’t know omnics could…”

“Could what?” he prompts gruffly, clearly out of his depth.

“Could feel aroused.” You feel his gaze on you for a heated moment before he snaps his head to the side.

“I- we don’t. We have no reason to,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“Really?” You close the distance between you two, taking a perverse pleasure in how he freezes up, but doesn’t attempt to stop you or run. Your hands run down his chest, along his sides, and come to a rest on his hips. Steam practically pours out of his exhaust ports. “What do you call this, then?”

“I don’t know,” he says tersely, looking everywhere but at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so unnerved, and you’re starting to like it. “My body- it isn’t-” he stammers, his breath coming quicker and quicker. You keep one hand on his hip, and glide the other back up his chiseled form, making sure to caress every dip and curve. It comes to a rest at the back of his neck, where you grab a handful of wires. He groans, and the sound is simply divine. 

You lick your lips, and lean in. Your mouth finds his neck, and you feel him jolt underneath you. Pressed up against him like this, you can feel every sinful reaction he has to your ministrations. You lick and suck at the surprisingly warm surface, your tongue laving over the planes and divots. He’s all but putty in your arms now, his hands resting uncertainly on your biceps as he pants underneath you. You chance a bite, finding the metal of his body unyielding, but it gives you a reaction all the same. 

He gasps, and the lights on his faceplate flicker for a moment before he growls and grabs your wrists. “Enough!” he says, though the heat behind his tone is largely unthreatening given his current state. What is threatening is the fact that he’s activated Nemesis form. 

If you were in your right state of mind, you’d be afraid for your life, but all you can think about are the endless possibilities that four arms (and four hands) offer…

He flips you around and crowds you against the wall, resting his larger forearms onto the concrete behind you, and effectively trapping you with his hulking form. Your thighs press together in arousal as you peer up at him through your lashes. You can hear his fans working into overdrive as he pants, barely able to restrain himself. 

"You will cease this foolish behavior at once," he commands, but you can feel his resolve wavering. You lean forward and he jerks back, but not far enough to stop you from kissing his faceplate where a mouth would be. The sound of hissing steam fills your ears, and you smirk into the onesided kiss. You lock your arms behind his neck, a hand idly playing with his hair-like wires while you grind your leg into his groin. He groans, and his hands start to dig into the wall behind you in an attempt to hold himself back. 

"You vile creature…" he rasps. His voice is deeper now, husky and trembling with want, and he rocks into your touch.

"Tell me to stop," you say between kisses. "Tell me you don't want this."

He makes a breathy, needy noise as one of your hands slides down his chest, dipping between the metal plates and teasing the sensors beneath. You wait for a moment, but when it's clear that you've won, you draw back with a mixture of mirth and lust in your eyes. 

"Ramattra," you murmur, your voice a sultry whisper. "Come here."

He surges forward to retake the distance with a deep, reverberating growl, tearing off your clothes with his inhuman strength. Instantly, his hands are upon you, roving your warm, naked body. He roughly palms one of your breasts as the other tweaks your nipple, earning a low, appreciative groan from you. His larger set of hands dislodge themselves from the wall, bringing down bits of rubble with them as they slide down the curves of your body, coming to a rest at your thighs.

You encouragingly open your legs for him. Your pussy drools at the thought of his huge fingers working you open, but he surprises you by hoisting you up with his arms instead. He lifts you up, and your legs lock around his surprisingly dainty waist, your weight supported by his huge hands.

You grind your core against his pubic plate, relishing the friction. His omnic hands move down your chest, to your sides, then settle on your hips. His thumbs stroke your skin, his palms cupping the swell of your hips as you melt into his domineering grip. “God, yes,” you moan wantonly, pulling yourself closer to kiss him once again. One of your hands directs his towards your greedy pussy, trusting that he’d know what to do.

To your awe and delight, his fingers delve into you and begin to vibrate. The long, slender digits seek out your weak spots with a frightening veracity, and you’re rendered breathless within seconds.

“Your body…” he says, as you writhe underneath him in pleasure, “it’s so eager and pliable.”

Oh, his voice.

You thought it was hot before, but it’s absolutely devastating now. It was trembling with restrained passion earlier, but now it’s positively dripping with unbridled arousal. His unabashed interest in your body made your walls clench down around him all the harder.

You shudder in his arms, reduced to a moaning, mewling mess as he abuses your g-spot. He seems entirely enraptured by your reactions, spurred on by each appreciative noise you make. 

When his thumb finally, finally finds its way to your clit, you feel ready to explode.

“Oh god,” you keen, with all the desperation of a dying animal, “oh god, oh god I’m--!”

“Cum,” he says, and you shatter. The world goes whitehot as pleasure wracks your body, your walls spasming around his digits.

Your chest heaves, your breath coming out in rough, short pants. “Oh my god,” you say wondrously, your thighs shaking. “Wow…” You sag into his grip, already feeling spent. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his chest, and grip onto him like a lifeline. 

“Surely, you can manage more than that?” His derisive tone sends a new shock of heat through your body. The embers of arousal smolder in your loins, and you look at him with equal parts anticipation and fear. 

“You mean…?” The sound of hissing steam greets your ears, reminiscent of an exhaust port, but softer, more delicate and purposeful. You feel something brushing against your inner thigh, and a quick glance confirms your suspicions. “Oh wow,” you breathe, dumbfounded.

“Weren’t expecting something like this? You’re rather innocent for a girl so clever.” That gets you going. You grip the shaft with your hand, running a finger over the tip. It comes away wet, and you’re rewarded with a moan from your omnic lover. It tenses in your hand in a distinctly lifelike way. You’d be fooled if it weren’t for the clearly robotic appearance of the appendage.

Mentally, you thank whatever divine revelation inspired the creation of Ramattra. 

You tighten your hand around him, and begin to stroke his length. The angle is a bit awkward, due to the position that he has you in, but you couldn’t feel more in control as his confidence falters and wanes. Your mouth runs dry as the rough timbre of his voice gives way to sweet sounds of pleasure. He called you pliable? He’s practically rutting himself into your touch, and you’ve barely started.

You languidly run your fingers along the underside of his cock, and you feel his Nemesis hands tightening on your thighs. He holds another hand in front of his face, as if to stifle his moans, and you perversely notice that it’s the one that had been inside you.

“You like that?” You ask teasingly, already knowing the answer. His hands tighten even more-- to an almost painful degree. Another gout of steam erupts from his back, and he shudders, buckling under the strain of staying silent. “Tell me what you like,” you say, dipping your hand lower, grabbing him by the base. “No, tell me what you want.”

The tip is just barely brushing your wet folds. You roll your hips into him, marveling at his reactionary full-body shudder. You grind yourself against him, smearing your slick all over his cock as you tease him, jerking back as his hips futilely buck into you, missing the mark each time. He’s getting impatient, you can tell, and it’s thrilling.

“Enough of these games,” he says, his bravado still somehow intact.

“Aren’t you enjoying this?” You punctuate the question by rubbing yourself up against the underside of his cock. The head just barely snags at your entrance before you pull back again, relishing in the way he nearly chases after you.

“I- that’s-” He’s so close to the breaking point.

“You’re really saying you don’t want this? To fuck me? To ravage me?”

Now that sets him off. 

With the fuse finally lit, and the thin veneer of self control finally shattered, he hilts himself in you with one, glorious thrust.

Oh.

Oh.

He sets a harsh, brutal pace right away, rocking rhythmlessly into you in pursuit of satisfying his own carnal needs. The nigh rapturous pleasure washes over you in a deluge-- an unstoppable, unpredictable wave as his cock thrums and pulses inside you, exuding an otherworldly heat.

His mechanical fingers dig into your thighs with a bruising grip as he thrusts into you, drawing out a long, pleasured groan from your lips. Your legs lock around his waist, wordlessly urging him to go deeper, harder, faster--

And he grants you deliverance from your suffering.

He shifts you in his grip, changing the angle ever so slightly, and there it is. His cock drives into your g-spot relentlessly, making you see stars, and you let out a strangled noise between a scream and a moan that has him pausing in his attack.

"No! No, please…" you babble incoherently, rocking your hips against him. 

Now, it's his turn to be amused. 

"Please… what?" he asks, clearly enjoying the shift in power. The way his voice lilts at the end infuriates you to no end, but you deserve it after all you've put him through.

"Please… don't stop," you request, almost bashfully as your past actions have caught up to you.

"Don't stop what?" 

Annoyed, you clench down on him as hard as you can, and you both moan in unison at the feeling. "Just shut up and go back to fucking me already, Ramattra," you grit out between your teeth.

You don't need to tell him twice.

He practically revels in your weakness as he misses the spot once, twice, thrice-- then with a powerful snap of his hips, spears you and has you screaming his name. Your hands scrabble for any kind of purchase on his body, desperate to ground yourself as he fucks you savagely and unforgivingly.

You’re seeing spots-- stars-- nothing at all, as you feel yourself rocketing towards the edge. “My- my clit-- please…!” 

His blessed, wicked fingers find your clitoris and start to buzz, and the wave crests for one, glorious peak before it crashes down, sending you careening into a post orgasmic torture as he continues to chase after his own release.

Your hands fly down to his as you attempt to dislodge his hand from your groin, but he’s too lost in the pleasures of your flesh to listen. Your fists beat against him helplessly as you feel yet another orgasm coming. “Stop, stop stopstopstopstop! Oh my god, I’m--!”

You scream, too lost in the exquisite mixture of pain and bliss to process the fact that his thrusts have gotten rougher, faster, less precise. He finally moves his vibrating fingers away from your clit, and instead, he wraps his omnic arms around you, holding you as close as possible. He groans directly into your ear, a husky whine as he releases into you.

You make a noise of protest as his cock twitches inside you, stimulating your too-sensitive walls, but it’s lost amongst the sound of hissing steam.

----

As you part ways with Ramattra with more than just a slight limp, you think to yourself that this business relationship has just gotten a lot more interesting…