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froggibus · 1 year ago

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Got Me Up All Night - Ramattra

Pairing: Ramattra x fem! reader (reader uses female pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Ramattra is used to putting you to sleep when you can’t, but he’s found a far more effective way now…

CW: slight somno (consensual), size difference + size kink, thigh riding, overstimulation, edging, fingering, Ram has a cock, spanking, dom! Ram (that rhymes lol), sub!reader, possessiveness, insomnia, unprotected sex (but he’s a robot so idk how that even works lol), creampie but not really (^)

guys I am so down bad for this guy rn it’s not even funny…trying to focus on my comp games but he’s standing there being this sexy and ugh

It’s well past three am when you’re rolling out of bed and padding down the halls of the monastery. It’s been a while since you went to sleep at a reasonable time, most nights you tossed and turned until you gave up and resigned to wandering around until you found what you were looking for. Or rather, who you’re looking for.

You find him in his office, legs propped up on his desk while he studies a map. Though he doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, you know he knows you’re there. He says nothing even as you approach him slowly and climb into his lap.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle your head into his neck.

Ramattra freezes at your touch. He’s not an affectionate being by any means—he’s never really understood why humans are so caught up on it. But having you drape yourself across him, your warm body against his cool metal, he almost understands it.

He wraps an arm around you, large hand settling on your back. “Another restless night?”

You hum in agreement, nodding your head. The skin of your cheek brushes his and if he was capable of blushing the way humans did, he would. Something about you just gets into his head, and while he’s never cared much for humans and their antics, he cares for you.

“Do you want to discuss it?” His thick fingers tangle in your hair, gently tugging on the strands.

“Just wanna sleep,” as if on cue, you yawn.

He nods, going back to studying the map on his desk. Still, even as he concentrates, his hand still plays with your hair and rubs your back and brushes your fingers.

You can’t help but stare at how much bigger he is than you. Ramattra, the omnic warrior who could crush you with one hand, but he’s being more gentle than anyone has ever been with you in your entire life and a part of you just melts. Ramattra, who you thought hated you and your kind until he lulled you to sleep in his office and carried you to bed. Ramattra, who can’t communicate his feelings for the life of him—but why would he want to have feelings for you? You’re just a human, after all.

As soon as he notices your heart rate steady and your breathing soften, he’s scooping you up in his arms and carrying you down the hall. He’s as careful as he can be, supporting your body with just enough strength so that you won't wake up.

He lays you down in your bed but your arms don’t loosen from around your shoulders. A quiet whimper leaves your lips. He tilts his head in confusion. You were asleep a second ago, and he was so careful.

It doesn’t seem like you’re awake though.

He sighs and lays on the bed next to you, letting your body weight drape over him. It’s a good thing he finds your sleepiness endearing.

You subconsciously wrap your arms around him, slinging one of your legs over his muscular one. You’re completely draped over him, and though the omnic could remove you at any point, he thinks it’s a good excuse to stay the night with you.

He relaxes with you, letting his thoughts wander from Omnic supremacy for a minute. He thinks of you, laying like this underneath him, showing him things he’s always been curious about. Of course, it doesn’t last long. Not when you’re suddenly whining and rubbing up against him.

He can feel your heart rate pick up too, the steady thumping growing uneven. He’s not sure what to do—are you having a nightmare? Are you in pain?

He scans you over, looking for any reason for your sudden change in attitude. He grips your shoulder and gently shakes you awake.

Your eyes flutter open, squinting to adjust to the dark. “W-what?”

You try to gather your bearings. You were having a dream, a really good dream. It’s then that you notice the dampness in your underwear and the way your legs are wrapped around one of his.

“S-sorry!” You stammer, and go to pull away your leg, but he grabs your hip and keeps you in place.

He’s so big, so strong—his fingers reach almost to your belly button while his palm is on your hip, and he effortlessly holds you still. “What’s happening? Are you in pain?”

You bite your lip and shake your head, trying to keep your eyes away from his. Your pussy is still gushing and you fight the urge to keep rocking your hips against him.

“No. I’m not hurt, I—I just…had a weird dream.”

Ramattra looks at you curiously. Your body temperature has gone way up, you can’t look him in the eye, and he can feel a warm wetness in the crotch of your pants. He’s heard of these symptoms before but he’s in complete disbelief. There’s no way you’re aroused, is there?

He holds you still with one hand while he slowly trails the other one down your side, slipping it into the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brush your swollen clit and you whine, trying to clench your thighs around his thick fingers.

Your reaction confirms all he needs to know, and then he’s withdrawing his hand from your pants and rubbing circles on your thigh.

“R-ram,” you whimper.

He finds your pleas endearing. You’re so frail and desperate beneath him, straining your hips against his grip to try and get the friction you’re so desperate for. Still, he holds you in place.

“Tell me what you need.”

You whine again, looking at him with desperate eyes and trying to rub your hips against his thick metal thigh. “P-please, let me just—”

He releases his grip on your hips and you let out a whine as you get the friction you’ve needed. You roll over so you’re somewhat on top of him, gliding your hips up and down his leg. He keeps a hand on your hip to guide you along, occasionally pressing you into him in a way that makes you lick your lips and roll your eyes.

He’s in utter disbelief. He never thought he’d be close to a human, let alone having sex with one. But you look so fucking cute, and he loves how he has complete control over you. How he can give you so much pleasure or take it away at will.

You look up at him in utter want and he knows what you’re trying to say—you need more. He rips the fabric of your shorts and underwear apart in one fluid motion, discarding them somewhere on the bed. The cold night air hits your aching pussy and the skin to metal contact is delicious.

You go faster, rolling your hips up and down in waves, the knot inside of you building. You know you won’t hold out much longer, and all you want is to finish.

Ramattra considers stopping, lifting you up and ruining your orgasm. But he’s not that cruel. At least, not for the first one. He wants to see you come undone, he wants to see how fucking pretty you’ll be when you cum for him.

It only takes a few more seconds before you’re clenching around him, muscles spasming and pussy gushing. He holds you still during it, large hand stroking your head, trying to keep you calm while you thrash around wildly.

You let out a sigh of relief, rolling off of him. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I wasn’t really thinking straight and—”

Ramattra is on top of you, caging you in to the bed with his body above yours. “Who said I was done with you?”

You swallow hard. “I-I don’t think I can take another one.”

“You can,” his hand trails down your stomach, thick fingers starting to work on your clit, “and you will.”

You suck in a breath, your legs spreading against your will. You’re so wet and warm and waiting for him, your pussy practically begging to be opened up by him. He circles the tip of his finger around your entrance, admiring the way you clench the air in anticipation.

He slips his finger inside of you. Just one of his fingers is so thick, so long. He reaches places you could never dream of reaching on your own, filling you up so damn good. He works you open, watching you writhe beneath him and whine from the sensitivity.

It doesn’t take much to stretch you out enough to slip another finger in, the omnic pumping in and out of you at a brutal pace. You’re thrashing around so wildly that he keeps a hand on your stomach to steady you, pushing down and creating a pressure against the fingers he has inside of you.

He can feel your muscles starting to tense again, hear it in the way you’re whining. He knows you’re not going to last long. He curls his fingers inside of you, trying to get you closer to your orgasm.

You’re so close, you can taste it. You thrust your hips into his hand, desperate to finish. You can feel it, your whole body is begging for it.

And then he pulls out.

You don’t waste a second in trying to shove one of your hands between your legs. Ram catches your hand before you can even touch your oversensitive clit, grabbing both of your wrists in one of his hands and pinning it above your head.

“Do you want to finish?”

You nod furiously, looking at him with your messy hair and pleading eyes. “Y-yes, god, so fucking badly.”

He trails his other hand up your thigh, going so painfully slow. You arch your back, whimpering. Just before his fingers can slide back into you, just before he touches you, he pulls back.

“R-ram!”

He squeezes your wrists in warning, reminding you who’s in control here. “You finish when I say you finish. You want to be good for me, yes?”

You nod.

“Good,” he sounds pleased with your answer, and trails his hand back up your thigh.

His finger barely grazes your clit but you shiver, arching your back off of the bed. He can’t help but laugh at your desperation, the way you’re so whiny and needy for only his fingers. The way you’re so desperate to be fucked by an omnic almost double your size. It’s so dirty, he loves it.

He finally shoves two fingers back inside of you, returning to his earlier pace without letting you adjust. That burning need to cum mixed with your sensitivity from earlier and the way he’s so lost in your pussy is all too much for you. It only takes a few thrusts before you come undone around him.

This time is way more intense than the first, walls spasming around his fingers. He releases your wrists, letting you arch your back and whine beneath him.

He waits for you to catch your breath for a minute before leaning in close to your ear and whispering, “do you need more?”

You shake your head. Your skin is already feverish and sweating from cumming twice, and your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you can take much more.

Ramattra slaps your pussy hard, staring at you expectantly. “Do you need more?” He emphasises each word with a slap, admiring the way you gush with each one.

You like pain—he’ll have to remember that.

“Y-yes!” You gasp out, clenching your thighs together. “I need more. I-I need you.”

He hums in satisfaction, happy with your answer. “That’s the slut I know.”

His words fluster you, making your head even dizzier than it was before. It’s so brash, so unlike him, but you love it. You love how he’s treating you like an experiment.

Ramattra gets onto his knees in front of you, messing around with the plate just below his abdomen. Omnics aren’t built for breeding, they aren’t meant to procreate. But through years of the evolution of technology and omnic-human relationships, modifications have been made.

You’re shocked to see Ram remove his plate, revealing a tentacle like cock made of the same organic metal as his body. It’s long and thick, and it’s bigger than anything you’ve tried to take before, but all you want is to feel it inside of you, stretching you out.

Ramattra laughs at the size difference. He’s already much bigger than a human, and he knows that extends to every part of him. He knows that by fucking you he’ll be ruining you for every human man after, but he doesn’t care. Those human men can’t have you—no one can. They don’t deserve you.

He lines up the tip at your entrance, rubbing his cock through your folds and gathering up your juices on his length. It’s such a funny feeling for him, you feel nothing like he expected but he loves it.

He slowly pushes his way inside of you, feeling your gummy walls stretch around him. You whimper, desperately wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He pushes his way deeper, his cock stopping just past halfway.

He frowns. “You can take more than that.”

You shake your head, toes curling. “Too deep,” you protest.

He pulls out and slams back in, trying to force more of his length inside of you. He’s so much bigger than you, so much bigger than anything you’ve taken before. He completely stretches you out, reaching places you never knew were there.

He picks up his pace, slamming his hips against yours in a way you know will leave bruises tomorrow. He’s so deep inside of you, you can hardly take it. Regardless of the pain and the stretch, you find yourself lifting up your legs to give him easier access.

Ram uses this as an excuse to force himself deeper, hips colliding with yours with every thrust. He trails his hand down your stomach, squinting when he feels the slight bulge in your abdomen. He looks at it in shock—is he really that deep inside of you? Are you really that much smaller than him?

It only drives him to fuck you harder, throwing your legs over his shoulder in a mating press. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, crying out so loudly he’s sure half the monastery can hear you. Good, they’ll know who you belong to.

You’re almost sobbing from the pleasure, alternating between squeezing his shoulders and burying your head in his neck. Everything is so hot and sensitive, and he’s so big and so deep you can feel him everywhere. But you want more. You need more.

You moan out his name and please like a prayer. You’re not even sure what you want, what you need. Your brain has practically turned to mush at this point, and you’re getting close to the edge.

Ram can feel it too, and his cock vibrates in response. The feeling makes you shiver, only begging him to fuck you harder. You’re so close, so so close. All you need is a little more…

His cock pulses again and you come undone, tugging him close to you while you cum. Everything is so hot and wet and the faint feeling of him fucking you through your orgasm only drives you even more.

Your orgasm is enough to bring him close to his, cock vibrating steadily as he thrusts into you sloppily. He’s so desperate, collapsing on top of you in an attempt to get as deep as possible.

Finally, he lets go. There’s a hot warmth spreading through your stomach, and you look up at him through teary lashes. “Did—did you just…?”

“Organic nanites,” he explains, smoothing your hair back.

You nod slowly. It feels so good you don’t care, he could keep fucking his nanites inside of you all night as long as he makes you feel this good.

It’s not long until you’re starting to drift off to sleep again, your head on his chest and a leg around either side of one of his. Ram strokes your hair, admiring how fucked out you look. There’s still more that he wants to try with you, but there will be plenty of sleepless nights for that in the future.

#overwatch 2 #overwatch #ow2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #ow #overwatch fic #xreader #overwatch headcanons #ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra smut #Overwatch smut #overwatch ramattra #x You #ramattra ow

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nsf-watch · 2 months ago

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RAMATTRA SEX HEADCANONS

!! 18+ • MDNI

!! gn! reader, DomTop!rammy, SubBottom! reader, degrading, rammy w/o p and w/ p because :3, not proofread but does it have to be if its hcs? (it had to be)

!! guys I wovb him..

RAMATTRA WHO...

Doesn't quite understand why humans are so desperate to cum.

I mean he wasn't built with that intention in mind, obviously. So he isn't equipped with those parts.

But he does enjoy watching you come undone in his large hands.

Fucking degrading ass tease.

Slowly pumping his cold fingers in and out of you as he goes on about how stupid it is.

How desperate you are some such a simple action and some degrading words.

He gets turned on from it though, you can 100% tell.

His metal heats up, you can hear the fans go off.

His voice seems off too. Like whatever makes him speak seems to malfunction

I'm 1000% sure he, at some point, will install himself a dick.

One that syncs with him and allows him to accurately understand what it's like.

Will he tell you where he got it?

Don't even try finding out behind his back. Will not work.

Surprises you with it one day while you're particularly desperate from him working you with his fingers.

"You're so pitiful. So weak for something so simple... Let's see how well you can handle this.."

But the moment he slips his big cock inside you, and his sensors fire like crazy, it clicks.

He gets it.

He really gets it.

Man gets overwhelmed at first and he has to take it slow

Of course he tries to make it seem like he's going slow for your sake, but you can hear his voice module start fucking up a little.

How shaky it sounds, how low it's dropped.

But he tries to play it off.

"This is what you get off to? This is what drives humans to insanity..? Pitiful."

Ramattra definitely grips you tight enough to leave bruises too as he slowly thrusts into you.

The less overstimulated he gets, however, the faster he goes as he chases his high with you.

When you plead for more, he scoffs.

"You humans are never satisfied, always begging for more, always seeking your highs.."

But he gives in because he can't stop fucking you.

He loves the feeling of you around him, loves how you tighten every time he hits the right spot.

He's addicted to you.

And when he finally cums (because you better believe he has one that shoots a substance similar to human sperm) he short circuits a little.

He literally has to reboot after he does aftercare.

Holds you in his arms as he does. And when he's back online, he gets embarrassed when you start lightly teasing him.

"Okay, I get it. Maybe it isn't.. as bad as I thought it'd be."

#ramattra overwatch #overwatch #overwatch ramattra #ramattra #antis dni #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #mdni blog #18+ mdni

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kiwi-on-ice · 2 months ago

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Favourite pictures of you headcannons with Ashe, Moira, Ramattra, and Lifeweaver with fem!reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: mixture of nsfw and fluff, mentions of sextapes

Notes: Surprise! A small little treat before kinktober arrives and you all get sick of me posting.

Ashe:

Lets get the horny thoughts out the way, she definitely has a few pictures of you that she keeps in the private folder of her phone.

Her favourite being a photo of you on your back against the silk sheets, hair messy and slightly sticking to your forehead. Your lingerie is half torn, bra pulled hastily down so your tits are spilling out, inner thighs parted and glistening with your arousal. But what Ashe loves the most; the red lipstick marks scattered all over your skin, painting you in beautiful salacious brushstrokes.

But she has more sfw ones too. Taped to her new motorcycle was a picture of you both, a candid shot from a bar when deadlock were celebrating a heist. Her arm was around your waist, keeping you pressed against her side. She was giving a smile to the camera, red lips illuminated, but you. Your eyes were firmly on her, gazing at her with such adoration, it gives her a fuzzy feeling in her chest whenever she sees it.

Moira:

she doesn't have a lot of photos period, she finds it unnecessary, society’s need to document everything. So the photos she does have are deemed important for her to keep.

Moira has exactly one photo of you in her lab, framed and away from any chemicals or corrosive materials. It's of the two of you at a scientific gala, her wearing a crisp suit and you wearing a form fitting dress that matched her. You’re holding on to her arm, nails gently pressing into the material of her sleeve, and she loves how relaxed your body looks against her.

You're the one who has more pictures, candids of her while she works. But when you introduced her to your polaroid camera, she's curious.

That's how she ends up with her other favourite picture, tucked away in her wallet. A polaroid of you on your back, her hand wrapped around your throat. Your neck and collarbones are littered with marks and bites, but its your eyes she loves. Despite her choking you, holding your life in her hand, your eyes are bright and excited as you gaze up past the polaroid at her.

Ramattra:

Omnics have photographic memories, incapable of forgetting something they've processed. Because of this, initially he makes fun of you humans and your petty memory cortexes, needing a physical copy to remember in detail.

It's only when you attempt to explain it, that it's not about forgetting but about remembering, of reminiscing, of the feeling the photo gives you, that he starts to understand just a little.

He demands to see your phone, to look at the many pictures you have of eachother, but one photo caught his eye. It's of you on his lap, or more specifically his thigh. The angle of the selfie only serves to exemplify the size difference, making you look so small and puny.

Printing it off, he keeps a small version of it on him at all times, gazing at it when he's alone.

Lifeweaver:

Oh this man is always taking pictures of you. Always.

His phone is always pointed at you, taking snaps of you, posed or candid. Now don't get me wrong, he's always taking pictures when you're dolled up for a date, capturing you in the best lighting to accentuate your dress and makeup. But he especially loves taking pictures of you in your pyjamas, sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hoodie underneath your messy hair. Anytime you look casual, he thinks you're the most beautiful woman on the planet.

His personal favourite of these is you watering a lily he'd bought you, wearing his hoodie that reached the middle of your thighs.

And when he actually bought a proper camera? The reels were just completely you (and the occasional flowers he likes to grow).

But god if you'd let him, he'd 100% be into recording a sextape. He just thinks you're so gorgeous, why would he not want to replay how you look in ecstasy over and over again.

Although his favourite is a teasing selfie you took while he was fucking you from behind. His hands are grasping at your tits, while you're giving a cheeky smile to the camera. He loves it so much he'd have it as is lock-screen if society didn't deem it so inappropriate.

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gargoy-ross · 8 months ago

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Hold me - Ramattra x reader

Quick fluffy drabble thing, no warnings

You sift and turn on his lap - even with the pillows and the blankets it was a hassle to find a comfortable position against his metallic form.

"This cannot possibly be comfortable," he sighs after you've settled down.

"Not particularly," you hum.

"And why do you insist on this?"

"Because it makes me feel safe."

An amused chuckle reverberates through him. "Being held by a Ravager makes you feel safe?"

You look up at him, displeased.

"Being held by someone I love makes me feel safe. If that someone happens to be an omnic of a certain model, then I suppose it does."

Ramattra goes quiet, and for a moment you fear you've overstepped.

"Ram?"

You hear your own voice play from his voice box. "Being held by someone I love makes me feel safe."

He recorded you.

"You- Hey, that's unfair."

He tilts his head in a teasing manner. "Why? You meant it, yes?"

"Of course I meant it."

Gently his arms pull you closer and he rests his head on top of yours.

"Then I shall hold you for as long as you need me to."

#ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra overwatch #ramattra #overwatch x reader #overwatch #ramattra ow

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jailbird-junkrat-writes · 15 days ago

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Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 1

I just wanted to do something simple and cute to fuel my soul.

Part one of four

Ramattra He isn’t used to showing affection let alone PDA. The way he would hold your hand is simple. He would gently nudge your hand with his, brushing his pinky against yours, hoping you get the message and that he doesn’t need to ask for it. His grip can be a little harsh so he favors you wrapping your hand around one or two of his larger digits. You enjoy the cool smooth feel of his hands. You know this is a big step for him and you don’t outwardly make a fuss. Simply take his silent plea for the contact.

Hanzo Hand-holding is something he thought was silly, childish. Something lovestruck teenagers did. But after you took his hand a few times, he decided it was far from silly and he found that he enjoyed how your hand felt against his. You would hold his, waiting for Hanzo to take your hand fully in his, a mumble of half-hearted complaint under his breath. He might pretend to protest but you made him feel worthy and he adored it.

Roadhog You didn’t think he would be the type to want to hold hands, he was rough and fearsome. A reputation as a fighter, a criminal. But holding your hand reminds him of better times, of the man he used to be, the good man he was before the world changed and he was forced to change with it. His touch is surprisingly gentle, his hand feels warm, rough skin. He likes to place his over yours when you are sat together.

Junker Queen She pulls your arm damn well near off as she grabs your wrist and yanks you towards her. She smirked down at you, wondering how small your hand looked in hers. Rough skin and even rougher grip as she holds tight. Your hand will ache for a while after but you decide it's worth it. Everything about her is rough around the edges and how she lovingly crushes your hand is no different.

Venture They love to hold hands, soon as they see you, their face lights up and their smile streches into a big toothy grin as they make grabby hand gestures before taking both your hands in theirs, spinning you slightly as they laugh, content to be in your company. When walking hand in hand they can’t help but happily sway your arms back and forth as they chat excitedly at you.

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diorkittys · 3 months ago

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yoga lessons ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ teacher!ramattra + [human] reader

synopsis : being late to your teachings with your bhikkhu wasn’t unbeknownst to either one of you. though, maybe you should’ve studied up a little more on your poses. it’s okay, your teacher will remind you lazy work does not go unpunished. maybe that’s not a punishment in itself.

—TW : smut , female body parts , mentor and student (not an age gap, i promise) , size difference , hittin it from behind , dom! ramattra , exhibitionism , slight dumification , slight overstimulation , yapping

‘sleeping in’ was a foreign concept in the monastery of the monks. you were expected to be up ‘before the arrival of surya’—the sun himself. Although, that wasn’t necessarily a problem anyone there faced; an unspoken rule of awaking at 4:00, meditation until 5:00, and chanting before 6:00… all to be fulfilled to begin your day.

early mornings didn’t phase you anymore, it was to be assumed regarding the fact you live with the monks. And so whilst everyone finished their routine, you had an extra step: teaching. Bhante Ramattra took you under his wing as his novice 6 months ago, when you had fled to the monastery in search of spiritual guidance and inner peace… as most do. He was a stoic mentor with a gentle soul; and he was always gentle with you. you figured he, as a bhikkhu, however, was like that to most. it was still nice to perceive it as your own.

“Namo tassa bhagavato arahato samma sambuddhassa.” you finished your daily prayer, taking in a deep breath, and standing from your place on your cushion. in about 5 minutes you would be late to your lessons with your bhikkhu.

you hurried to put on your robes and make your way to the gardens of the monastery. you passed by various monks walking the halls, taking a quick bow with your hands together to each one. you finally reached the scenic path to the gardens, feeling the cold cobblestone nipping at your socks. bhante ramattra sat on an intricate-patterned mat in a clearing of grass. his back straight and turned against you. you approached quietly, seemingly tiptoeing on the meadow.

“late again, my lotus?” you cringed, scrunching your nose. how could you sneak up on someone who’s practice is higher understanding? and his endearing nickname only seemed to make you more awkward.

“only by a minute or two this time. you can’t blame me if my reasoning is prayer.” you sat on the mat draped in front of him, noticing his loose robe showing off his chest plate. you let your eyes wander for a brief second.

“a moment delayed is an opportunity for patience and reflection… have you practiced either of the sort during your travel here?” if ramattra’s eyes shown, they would be staring deep into yours, quizzical and smug.

“well, what about you? you weren’t very patient for my arrival..”

“in questioning, we uncover the path to wisdom. in your case, i see no benefiting outcome in questioning me, besides a failing grade.” ramattra folded his arms.

“since when am i graded?” you giggled.

“i am your mentor; i grade you by progress, not by numbers.” at this point, ramattra has begun his dhyana mudra practice, joining his thumb and index together as a way to get rid of the headache in front of him. “now, have you rehearsed your yoga poses i gave as homework. i would hope you took this seriously as today’s lesson encompasses the custom.”

“yes, i think i have them all perfected.” you started on your warmup stretches, pulling your leg, then the next, to your sides. “excellent. are you confident to demonstrate your teachings?” you nodded and even with an expressionless face, ramattra seemed pleased.

you started with a simple locust pose to begin—balancing on your stomach, neck bent upwards, and hands stretched behind your back. your bhikkhu hummed in contentment, “very well, my lotus. now form into a cobra stance.”

again, the pet name only made your body stutter and for a moment you had blanked on how to do such a pose. ramattra is observant, he was taught about even the smallest body language from an early start of his own teachings—he noticed.

your black out didn’t last more than a second, though, and you pressed your pelvis to the floor, steading your weight on your hands. the omnic watched as you faced the sky, adam’s apple bobbing when you swallowed.

again, ramattra hummed, watching the muscles of your back push together. “you’re doing well. i see my instructions didn’t fall on deaf ears. switch into fish pose.”

“you know,” you strained, falling onto your hands and rolling on your back. “these names don’t have any correlation to the pose itself. who came up with them?” you propped yourself on your elbows and awaited a response.

“matsyasana. that’s the original sanskrit name. we haven’t fully completed your language lessons yet, so we will stick to the westernized name of the position.” the omnic looked a bit displeased with the naming himself, but he was considered more traditional, so you assumed he didn’t like the newer adaptation.

“but how does it resemble a fis—er.. matsyasana? all i am doing is arching my back—what matsyasana have you seen do that?”

ramattra let out a raspy chuckle, and it brought a sense of pride that you could get that out of him. you liked the sound… even if it was a bit robotic and rough; almost like it was new to him too.

“you seem to keep ahold of your humanistic, logical ideals; embrace the current of life’s flow with a light heart.” your bhikkhu sighed, “but, if you must know, the pose resembles the graceful arch of a fish jumping out of water.”

ramattra stood to sit at your side, placing a metal hand under the palm of your back; he put his other on the cavity of your chest, gently forcing your rib cage to stick out. “like this.”

you looked up at your mentor, he looked down at you… and for a moment you could’ve sworn you both couldn’t look away. but in the second he was above you, he was now back to where he sat. it was probably—most likely, in your head.

the pose was difficult and hard to keep. your breathing wasn’t very steady as your body contorted in almost 180 degrees. “try not to focus on the position, instead focus on each exhale, releasing your struggle.”

“…easier,” you huffed, eyebrows furrowed, “…said than done.” ramattra tried to think of another way he could find you strength, but something in front of him was blurring his thoughts…

your breasts were perked up by the way your back stretched, laying on your chest oh, so perfect, and so vulnerable. something inside ramattra was whirring—electronic signals zapping circuits and tangled his wires.

he’s never… he’s never felt so hot before; maybe it was a malfunction.

but your chest kept heaving as your breathing deepened. your mouth was slightly agape as you tried to hold together, on a tiny thread. and your little noises were only stirring on this… feeling inside him even more. no, it couldn’t be a malfunction; he knew his sensations were purposeful. but, by devine presence, what kind of monk would he be? still holding onto the chains of lust, how foolish.

and yet, here he was, allowing himself the pleasure of watching you, watching you struggle, watching your body with desire. so lost in his own selfishness, he didn’t even hear your pleas.

“bhante ramattra? bhikkhu? please… am i finished?”

you were so strained. maybe this was a test? why else has your bhikkhu let you hurt without lesson?

ramattra snapped out of it, now feeling slightly guilty for letting you writhe in pain. “my apologies, lotus. you may lay out of pose.” he didn’t have to tell you twice. letting your body drop to the floor in exhaustion.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

you let yourself calm down before continuing, “i’ll admit, i didn’t practice that position as much as i should have.” your mentor shook his head. “learn from this experience, and with a sincere heart, your efforts will blossom.” although, ramattra knew it shouldn’t be you to take the blame.

…

“are you restful enough for another demonstration?”

you nodded. ramattra was satisfied.

“marjaryasana.” he spoke, finding your readiness to speak more sanskrit endearing.

you remembered from previous teachings that ‘marjaraha’ meant ‘cat’ and you understood it to start a cat pose.

you planted yourself on the ground with your hands, balancing on your knees and lifting your head to the sky. you expectingly awaited your bhikkhu’s approval… but he said nothing.

“you’re missing something.”

“this is a cat pose, is it not? marjaraha?” what could you possibly have done wrong? you may have messed up your last instructions, but you were certain you had this simple one down. your continuous practice the night before being a witness.

“your sanskrit is correct; i’m proud of your remembrance—but your posing is lacking.” ramattra stood from his spot to come kneel behind you. “allow me to help.”

the large omnic loomed over you. from an outside perspective, it looked as if a wolf engulfing it’s prey.

but ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature, at least, from your understanding.

he took two big hands and gripped your waist, bunching up the fabric of your thin sanghati; ramattra would have to have a word with you next time on wearing the correct number of robes.

“bend.” he commanded. gesturing to the small of your back. you obliged. you were warm all over besides the chill of his metal holding you in place, which hardened your nipples through your clothes.

you wondered if this explicit position was all but innocent… surely, your wise mentor didn’t have any further intentions; you couldn’t hold yourself to that high regard… that didn’t stop your lustful thoughts. and anyone with common sense could stumble into the garden and most certainly view it just as suggestive as you… right?

you kept silent, letting the bigger man behind take the lead and guide you. he pressed against your skin until your arch was just to his standards.

you were almost positive that you could feel warmth radiating from how close his crotch was from your ass… that is, if a robot could emit such a thing.

“perfect.” he finally spoke. the bhikkhu admired his work from above.

you were afraid to respond… partly because you didn’t want to scare him away, and partly because you felt that if you opened your mouth, a long, suppressed moan would come out instead.

so you sat there, on all fours, back arched, unmoving, trying—desperately trying to squeeze your thighs together as best as you could to maybe satisfy this need you craved.

biting your lip, you stifled a pathetic whimper as ramattra’s thigh grazed over yours. how wrong this must be. a novice lusting over their bhikkhu… in a place of respect and religion. siddhartha, guide you now…

ramattra noticed your quietness, bending down closer to your head. had he made you uncomfortable? were the tensions thick for you too? he’ll admit his grip on your waist was rather tight; the plush skin beneath your garments was enticing.

you were… small compared to him. you allowed him to touch you and you obeyed his words. very obedient. and now comes the remembrance that you were practically all his. his novice. his responsibility. his student.

and you were a very good student.

“what’s wrong, my lotus?” he asked, hovering over you. “is this pose too much for you than the last? i would’ve expected this one to be easier.”

you shook your head. your shoulders were stiff now, especially with that whirring, raspy voice his speakers emitted behind your ear.

“in silence, we give, but in words, we convey. should we revisit that lesson again?”

his words were teasing. ramattra slid his metallic fingers up your torso, just enough for the skin of your back to peak out.

you shook your head again. he squeezed.

“no…” you shivered, berating yourself for the unsteadiness of your words.

“no, what? perhaps a deeper dive into honorifics sometime the-“

“no, bhante ramattra.” you blurted before he could finish. “…sorry, bhikkhu. i didn’t mean to come out disrespectful.”

“mistakes are life lessons. now listen to your teacher once more and bend down on your arms.”

this craving could not be denied any longer. ramattra should listen to his… perhaps, vile instincts and have you here, right beneath him. how foolish he has accepted himself to be in this moment of need, because he did, in fact, need you. his star novice; much to learn, but he knew you had so much to give.

where in his circuits he’d be wired to lust, who knows. but after all, sentience was a gift to be held… and to be cherished. no amount of enlightenment could take the selfishness out of living.

it was clear now to the both of you that this was not so unrequited. that this back and forth game, that no other monk and apprentice shared, was not out of the blue, but a slow burned 6 months.

of course, you did not disobey your bhikkhu. you, ass up, face covered by elbows, awaited ramattra’s instructions, or actions.

the large omnic let his hands travel down the small of your waist, down below your naval. his other hand let way, bunching your beige attire into a fist. but he stayed a second longer, observing.

“tell me, lotus, are humans naturally this sensitive? i’ve barely touched you and you’re quivering as if it were snowing.” ramattra chuckled.

it was true. a simple graze was enough for you to be fully at his mercy. embarrassing, really, but one look from this monk could have your knees buckling. did he not realize how enticing he truly was? you can only imagine how many yearn for his attention—but no villager has ever had it; he’s been to busy teaching you.

“just… cold.” what a believable response.

“cold? the sensors in my fingers speak otherwise; you’re burning up.” he continued, “a lie is temporary refuge for a simple answer. you’ve been rather deceiving today—something you did not learn from me.”

“how have i? i know better.” you furrow your brows. this is… frustrating. speaking when all you want to do is scream the omnic’s name. waiting when he knows exactly what he’s doing. was this really a time for discussion?

“you should have told me sooner that you have had selfish thoughts. these are things that will lead you astray from your higher path.”

“i-“ he cut you off.

“i am no fool; i see how you look at me. how you react to the small things i do. how you stutter and play with your fingers when i look down at you.”

ramattra slowly slides his middle fingers along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. you stifle a whimper, burying your head in your folded arms.

“for thoughts like those, you could be casted out of the monastery. it is frowned upon to hold a bhikkhu in such low regard.”

long fingers split you open and felt you inside. each circle on your swollen clit was a jolt of hot pleasure through your body. your sounds were lewd—moans rolling off your tongue like your prayer this morning.

“it’s a good thing i like you so much; otherwise, your consequences wouldn’t be so… nice.”

does he ever stop talking? isn’t it apart of monk code to be listening instead of boastful? his voice is sexy though, you thought. as long as he keeps reassuring this was not at all one sided, it’s not a problem.

ramattra was toying you, using your venerable feelings as a way to touch you the way he wants. touching and pressing—and you could’ve sworn his robotic fingers had a sort of buzz to them. but this was torture, and he knows it; you needed him elsewhere.

“bhikkhu… please.”

“please what, lotus?” his movements were slower now, giving you just enough to want more.

“what do you need?”

“you,” you huffed, “inside me… please.”

ramattra dragged his long digits across your pussy, stopping at your hole and pressing down. you let out a guttural moan, shoving your ass forward for him to continue. he slowly pushed himself inside you, basking in the way you choked on your voice. whole body tensing and then relaxing all in a second.

“right here?”

“right there.”

he pumped in and out, curling into the spongy spot that had your hairs sticking up. his other hand pushed your garments out of the way, feeling you up—goosebumps littering your skin from the cold.

you slightly swayed from his movement, fingernails pressing into the rug below you so hard it almost hurt. but, you couldn’t focus on anything besides the full feeling you got from his fingers knuckle deep inside you, and then that empty, needy—pleading feeling your pussy sent all the way to your head when he pulled out. a back and forth that eventually fried any coherent thought you could have formed; sensory overload that made your skin buzz and toes curl.

your previous nervous and shameful scenarios of anyone being able to find you like this—to see one of the most disgraceful acts performed inside a sacred monastery, still stuck somewhere in the back of your mind. by divine presence, how awful! you would surely be cast out—you and your bhikkhu, just like he said. could even buddha be enough to guide you back astray?

and yet, here you were almost worry-free. for some reason that hadn’t been discussed, you felt as if… protected—safe with your bhikkhu behind you. as though bhante ramattra truly wouldn’t allow anything to happen to his precious student—and you were the most precious in this moment.

ramattra’s free hand moved from the fabric of your robe to the mound of your breast. he lingered beneath your nipple for a minute, almost like hesitation… too much for his artificial hormones to handle. after all, this was fairly new to omnics—like testing the waters to see how far he could make it before short-circuiting.

he let the quiet air sit still for a brief second, hearing the ever-present squelches sounding from beneath the two of you, and your breathless noises, before speaking.

“i would be deceitful to say you were the only one sneaking lustful glances, my novice… i have… wondered… how you must look coming out of the shower, or behind closed doors when we say ‘goodnight’. i’ve pictured you bare, as dishonorable as it sounds.”

another pump inside you.

“although, you leave nothing to the imagination when you don’t wear your proper attire—i assume there’s more than just me whose thought of you like that… but, i wonder… if you dress like that just for me.”

his voice lowered; it sent a new chill down your spine, and a new whimper out your plush lips. ramattra leaned even closer to your ear, hunched over you.

‘ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature’, you thought, but right now, you worried he might actually devour you.

his movements slowed. again, keeping that tortuous pace that barely gave you what you need. just enough for you to whine and groan.

“i wouldn’t put it past you; i’m surprised you haven’t begged me onto you before now—so needy, you are… practically clung to me.”

he lowly chuckled, in his own robotic, whirring way.

“and my teachings can’t be that good, no… my lotus… you’ve needed me.” “ah!” you sharply gasped, teeth digging into your lip when your bhikkhu hit a particularly sensitive spot.

the monk’s hand now pushed past his previous hesitation, coming to grope your breast, fondling the plush skin. you heard the slightest grunt come from his speakers, if at all. his middle and index capturing your nipple and pinching.

“oh, fuck!” you moaned, furrowing your brows.

ramattra, again, chuckled, “i haven’t heard you curse since the beginning of your teaching… might i add that to the list to revisit?”

you groaned, “is this really—erugh!—the time for judgement?” the monk shook his head, “there is no place for judgement at any given moment; i do not judge you, my lotus, far from it. i admire you.”

ramattra curled metal into the tip of your cervix, slightly spread his fingers, then curled again.

“is that not obvious?”

maybe you were see-through—had he made that comment in a normal circumstance, you surely would’ve stumbled on your words. picturing it now with heat blooming across your pretty cheeks, nervously toying with your pinkies as if that’s the highest regard anyone could’ve held you at.

prized student, but now also, ramattra’s worship.

the omnic switched from fondling your sensitive breasts to trace his hands over the skin of your chest… then your waist, then below your navel, pressing ever-so-slightly to feel the indent of himself inside you. it was almost like he was trying to remember you; perhaps, scared that this might be the last of this lesson—that he’ll never get to see his student like this again, so he will savor it.

the metal of his thumb stretched out to your clit, pushing on the bundle of nerves to see how’d you react, which you would respond with a mewl of his name and he’d take that a sign to continue.

he started carefully, then gradually began the same pace he was fucking you with. ramattra huffs and holds onto you a little tighter when your once coherent moans turned into a mess of crying, whining, and blurts of ‘bhikkhu!’.

you felt a familiar, sickly sweet feeling bubbling in your tummy, flowering to your chest, and burning your inner thighs. your desperation had a mind of its own, and you arched your back farther than you thought you ever could. your pretty ass pressing more into your mentor’s crotch, fingernails bracing yourself. your blissful noises shortened and choked on each other as your mouth hung agape.

with another teasing pull of ramattra’s fingers, coming almost all the way out before shoving back inside your dripping cunt, you tipped over. that sweet, hot, white feeling coating your entire body, prickling the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. you orgasmed… hard, coming undone right beneath your bhikkhu, all for him to see.

your knees quivering, body too heavy to carry now, but ramattra had a firm hand to your navel, keeping you up for him to pump his, now cum-coated, fingers through your high. and when the slightest graze to your g-spot had you jolting, he stopped, setting you down gently and running his hands down the sides of your waist once more before sitting back on his knees.

you heaved your breaths, sweat glistening in the sunbeams through the trees, clothes tousled almost purposefully around you. ramattra would mutter a comment about how you look celestial, astrology hanging from the droplets in your hair.

it took a moment to get your bearings, and even 5 minutes later, you’re still tired and sore and hung up on the fact your teacher, who you no idea reciprocated your feelings, had fucked you so hard and passionately next to a statue of aurora ten feet away.

ramattra placed a hand on your back—the same one used to pleasure you, would you ever look at it the same?—but, nonetheless a hand and you were grateful it was made of metal, cool to the touch.

“yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam.” ramattra muttered, quiet and soft. you wondered how an artificial intelligence could muster up something so human sounding.

you peek up at him, the side of your face still pressed against the mat. he dragged a finger down the disks of your spine, tilting his head. you question, “i’m sorry, bhante ramattra, i haven’t gotten that far in my studies; i don’t understand.”

“and i wouldn’t expect you to, my lotus. but in unknowing lies the seed of understanding—soon, lotus, you’ll be able to read between my lines—like a flower holding the promise of fruit. i will teach you much more.” he promised. you stare at him; he stares back.

suddenly, you pushed yourself up with your hands, gathering your disorganized fabric to cover your chest. you were in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. you fucked in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. “oh, siddhartha—oh, shit!”

“what is it, novice?” ramattra watched as you frantically dressed yourself in your sanghati. you turned to him with wide eyes and a flustered face. “we just fucked in the gardens!” you whisper-yelled.

your bhikkhu did not respond in the panicked way you thought he would’ve. no. instead, the monk began to laugh, more of a chuckle—well, more of a buzz—whatever noise equates an omnic laugh.

“i assure you, lotus, i will not let harm or discrimination come your way. you’re safe with me. besides… the clock strikes the time for afternoon prayer; no one must have walked our path.”

and that lifted a weight off your shoulders. was your entire public display lewd and dishonorable? absolutely. but something tells you this is one of many more lessons to come… and you’ll simply have to get used to it.

notes: “yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam” - “i’ve needed you as much as you’ve needed me”

#ramattra #ramattra smut #overwatch #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #overwatch fic #overwatch 2 #overwatch smut #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ow2 #ramattra overwatch

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yore-donatsu · 4 months ago

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Oooooooh ! I'm free him and you can look our husbanbot 💜

And let's vary the skin color so that many can identify ^^

#Overwatch #Fanart #Ramattra #video game #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #Ramattra x sona #Ramattra x oc #digital art #illustration #artist on tumblr #I told you it was safe !

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korpuskat · 4 months ago

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Metal in Flesh

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 4.4k Warnings: None, it's pure smut & fluff. A special thank you to @statuetochka for indulging my silly ideas & drawing his hands so much. ===

He tastes like his machine oil. Freshly cleaned, not a trace of dirt between his purple-painted joints. It’s hard not to flex your tongue against him, to explore the little creases in his plates that tease the side of your tongue.

But the hand on your jaw and the precarious placement of his fingers- two under your tongue, his thumb on top, keep you still. He’s exploring. Though it’s not your tongue itself that he’s examining. He drags his thumb down, making the object of his obsession spin- a particularly strange feeling that is still novel even after so long healed.

It’s only taken him a few months into your relationship to notice- or at least to ask about it.

“…Why?” Is the particularly succinct question he comes up with.

“Becath aylikith”

Ramattra’s gaze lifts ever so slightly, from your pinned tongue to your face. Reluctantly, he lets go. You push saliva over your tongue, wetting it before you try speaking again.

“I said, because I like it. I like how it looks.”

“Aesthetics?” Ramattra tips his head, looks down to your lips. You obligingly open your mouth again and present the jeweled rod again. This time, he just looks at it, rather than trapping the muscle for investigation. “I would think that should hurt rather badly just for aesthetics.”

“It did.” You confirm. “When I first got it, it hurt a lot, I couldn’t even eat the first day. But it’s all healed now. Doesn’t hurt at all.” To prove it, you catch the bead on your top lip and pull your tongue sideways, making the entire piercing rotate again. “Besides, you’re in no place to judge; I know you also changed stuff on yourself for how it looked.”

He scoffs, “That is hardly the same. Repainting my enamel coat isn’t remotely painful, nor did it impair such a basic, important function as eating.” He touches the purple plate at the back of one hand with the other. It’s more subconscious than anything, but you still watch his hands with that same fascination. “Besides, my modifications aren’t exclusively aesthetics.”

You grin widely. That kind of stubbornness, the mild disdain in his vocoder… It’s so easy to goad him. “Neither is mine! It has a very good use, actually.”

Ramattra’s head actually bobs as he modulates a disbelieving noise, “Really? Exactly what functional purpose does a metal rod in your mouth serve?”

Excitement washes over you and you don’t bother trying to hide it. “I can show you! I’ve kind of been meaning to for a while, actually, but you keep insisting I don’t have to.” This alone makes his head twitch to the side, perplexed, intrigued. You reach for his hand, and he happily allows you to take it and bring it back to your face, much too curious.

Here, you pause and stare up at the dark slits for his optics. His huge fingers caress over your cheek, cool and firm against your skin as you gently kiss the circular rubber pad of his palm. Ramattra hums softly- which breaks into a stuttered, staticked mess of a noise as you lick that rubber pad. He can feel it, you’re almost sure given the twitching of his fingers against your cheek. Those pads are sensitive, meant for traction and precision- you know he must feel the warmth, the softness of your tongue completely surrounding the hard point of the piercing’s ball. Even with your spit, the metal drags against rubber, catching on the textured ridges.

“You--” His voice cuts out, glitches sharply as though gasping. It’s a rare treat to see him worked up, indulging his own desires, so you bask in the roughened sound of his voice and the dull hum of his ventilation system ramping up. “I should have known it would be that...”

You grin again, then kiss his palm innocently, as though you don’t feel the warmth that’s now radiating from him. “I did want to use it sooner. You’re too selfless for your own good.” You pull on his arm and he allows you, lets you trail kisses up the smooth plate of his forearm. “Can try it now, though.”

His nod is sharp, firm enough to jostle the endcaps of his mane. “Yes, perhaps I would… enjoy that.”

You snicker, but don’t comment on the breathy tone his voice takes, already dysregulated from a single lick, don’t comment on how quickly he sits on the bed that he’d gotten for your sake nor the speed with which he releases the latches on his pelvic plate. Air rushes from his vents again, almost like a sigh as his cock bobs freely.

You might never get used to it, knowing that he made something so obscene just for you… The thrill of it- of all of him- rushes through you, makes your belly heat. But you set that aside for now, instead pushing the golden joints of his legs apart and lowering yourself down to your knees. Which only makes your growing desire ever worse.

Like this you’re so very, very aware of how big he is. Built for war, he dwarfs you in every way. Beside you, his thin, bird-like legs are almost up to your shoulder, just barely giving you enough room to comfortably lay your arms on his thighs. Looking up at him… He sits so stiffly, one hand curled into the previously pristine sheets, the other is curled across the lowest part of faceplate as though obscuring his mouth. Shy, maybe, you think. Would make sense- he doesn’t particularly enjoy receiving one-sided attention. So, you smile up at him, rub your hands soothingly across his canvas-covered thighs and hope that soothes him.

Finally, you let your eyes wander back down his body. Slowly, you ease your hands in from his legs until they brush the base of his cock, where the silicone meets his inner frame. Without any lubricant it’s a dry, sticking feeling, but it’s still enough for you to hear the hum of his fans pitch up in anticipation.

He’s been so patient, so nice to finally let you try this, so you only tease him a little more. You straighten up and stare up at his faceplace, hands moving firmly onto his cock as though you’re going to take him into your mouth immediately. He tenses, waits the sudden onslaught of your mouth around him-- and finds instead your soft lips laying against the smooth head, pressing a delicate kiss to the silicone. Ramattra’s legs twitch,, a little whiny noise coming from somewhere inside him-

And you lower your head down, dragging the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up. His ventilation kicks and a staticked gasp slips from his vocoder. With only the tip, not yet letting him feel the jewelry, you lick at him, you flick your tongue against the soft ridge at the head of his cock until you think you might break him.

Ramattra hisses your name, somewhere between a plea and a threat. Desire surges in your core again, but you think he's been patient enough. Slowly, deliberately letting him watch as you move- you open your mouth and ease his tip past your lips.

Immediately, Ramattra groans, both hands twisting into his sheets as he processes your warm, soft mouth on his cock. He's big enough that even just his tip makes your jaw twinge in annoyance, but you relax your muscles and urge him further in. His body bursts with heat, already struggling to keep up with the hot air that’s soaking his processors- but that's not quite the reaction you were expecting. So you press your tongue firmly against the underside of his tip- though you aren't sure if Ramattra's cock is particularly sensitive here too- and drag the piercing over the ridge.

A high-pitched noise spits from his vocoder, almost a yelp as his whole body flinches. You'd almost worry you hurt him, that the metal was too rough on the silicone, except for the rough, rolling gasp that comes after. For Ramattra it's a distinct feeling- your mouth all soft and inviting and one firm bead of resistance that pushes back against him, that emphasizes each stroke of your tongue along his cock. It's addicting, one tiny piece of metal in all of that plush flesh. His hand lifts- nearly burying itself in your hair unbidden, but he kills the impulse- tries desperately to be still for you.

You gently bob your head, working up to a slow rhythm. With each motion you keep your tongue moving, sweeping across the silicone. Each time you move down, you try to take in more of him, slowly inching his cock deeper until he's prodding at the back of your throat. The first touch makes you gag, your mouth tightening around him as spit floods your mouth- and Ramattra's hips jump, momentarily fucking you mouth- and he moans.

You clit throbs at the single rough thrust, at the absolutely musical noise from his speakers- his need completely betrayed with the strain on his synth, the first touches of static to his voice. A desperate whimper escapes you just knowing that you're the one making him feel like that and Ramattra sucks in air in turn, his fists curled so tightly you can hear his actuators whining.

Even just listening to his pleasure, knowing you’re the one causing it-- it's all too much. You take him in deep again, sucking his cock with purpose, but you slip one hand between your legs. Trying to keep your focus on him is nearly impossible when you can hardly think with how badly you need to be touched. You shove your pants down and the first touch on your clit is near ecstasy. Sucking his cock, hearing his appreciation alone has left you swollen and soaked, trembling with pleasure as you moan shamelessly around his cock. You circle your clit and shiver, the pace of your tongue on him stuttering-

And this time, Ramattra doesn’t stop the impulse. Ramattra's fingers curl into your hair. You expect him to push you down, that his self control is broken, that he'll fuck your throat and-

he pulls you up. Your scalp stings softly, but you can only mewl in confusion, in desire- how must you look to him? Your own spit covering his cock, eyes glazed over in lust, one hand working yourself with a desperation- and Ramattra catches your arm with his other hand. You whimper, a mindless plea of no, please don't stop- as he pulls again, draws you up, up off the floor-

And you think for a moment he's going to fuck you, to get you in his lap-

“Come here.” His voice is almost unintelligible, harsh with static. He doesn’t even let you comply, dragging your body onto the bed with him as he lays back. Your head spins, too clouded to understand what he wants- which is fine, because he moves you exactly how he's thinking. He pulls you on top of him, legs spread wide over his broad chest and then spins you around so you're looking at his cock again.

That's all the prompting you need. Still spit-slicked, you take him into your mouth again. The new angle is different, unusual- his cock arcs down towards your tongue, making it easier to take him deeper-- and making the press of your piercing into him all the more intense. Ramattra makes some noise behind you- and you would try to squeeze your hand beneath yourself to keep rubbing, but with your belly pressed to his, it’s too tight a fit. The metal of his chest would dig into your wrist too much. But your clit aches, too needy to be ignored. Desperate, you rut your hips against his chest, hoping to find any friction at all against his hard bands of armor-

And Ramattra's big hands land on your hips.

He pulls you back- back as far as he can without dislodging your mouth from his cock. You want to ask, can't seem to understand what he's doing- until each thumb slips between your legs. You moan softly, try to question what he’s doing, but if he hears you, he makes no response. Ramattra parts your folds, revealing your pussy. Warm air washes over your sex- another rush of his ventilation- and you whimper, twisting in his hands at the embarrassment of him looking at you so closely.

You don't expect the press of cool metal directly to your clit.

The temperature makes you jolt away from him, but his hands keep you still, keep your clit trapped right against his faceplate as Ramattra moans. All crackling and ruined, his voice is vibration right against your clit- and you finally understand. You bob your head again, determined to keep those noises coming from his synth.

You sink down on him, taking as much as you can. Ramattra purrs against your pussy, a low rumble that makes your hips twitch, rutting back against his face, your clit rubbing delightfully on the divot between his faceplate and jaw. It’s so primal, needy-- and Ramattra’s grasp on your hips shifts, pulling you towards him again, urging you to keep going. You’re so close already it’s hard to hold any rhythm, but he helps, pushing his mouth against you each time you come up on his cock- and each time your piercing catches the tip he moans, a bolt of static pleasure rumbling directly into your clit.

You can’t help it. You dig your nails into the coverings on his thighs, try desperately to focus on him, on making him cum- but the sound of him, the taste of his cock, and the incessant buzzing of his moans against your pussy are too much. Your rhythm breaks entirely as he pushes you over the edge. Your own noises are muffled, lost to the silicone in your throat. Metal hands keep your thighs spread as they twitch and try to close around him, forcing you to feel as he moans, praises you indistinctly through your orgasm- the words lost against the overwhelming feeling of the continued vibration of your clit.

You can’t think, the pleasure too sharp, too strong- you try to squirm away, to get any relief, but his grasp shifts, one arm now wrapped around your waist to keep you still. The other presses to the back of your head. His hips lift- and he as fucks your mouth desperately.

Ramattra moans, all static-garbled and needy, still rumbling against your pussy. And still you work your piercing against him, match his careful pace with hard licks of your tongue- and each panting, growing moan you can feel him getting closer, every Ah, ah, ah- buzzing harder into your clit as acute pain- a raw overstimulation that only builds into whimpering, twitching second wave that makes your whole body tremble in his hands-

And it’s your hips throat twitching around him again that makes him gasp- the rushed intake of air and firm press of his face against your pussy in a long, droning note as he overloads entirely. His hips thrust up into your mouth one more time before steam rushes from his vents, fills the room with hot air and every joint in his body goes lax.

For a long time you lay there, shivering and boneless. His arms are a pleasant, heavy weight across your back, a good counterpoint to the weak shudders your body gives from time to time. Your clit and throat ache, but it’s a monumental task to move yourself just enough to no longer be choking on his dick or have your over sensitive clit pressed to his firm metal. It takes three tries on your shaking arms before you can manage it.

You lay there, limp and much too tired to try to extricate yourself further from the heft of him. Instead, you close your eyes and enjoy the silence, letting your body relax and cool off until the soft harmony of Ramatta’s internals returns. First, the hum of his processors, then the fans of his ventilation resume, much quieter than they had been before- then his lights return. Positioned as you are, you don’t see his array’s lights, but you do watch as the indicator lights in his cock turn from a yellow- muddied by the purple tinting in the silicone- to green, to finally red.

Ramattra’s fingers twitch on your back, and you laugh slightly as he mimics clearing his throat. He gently lifts your hips and helps you roll off of him, but with a limp waving request of your hand, he then helps you to turn around and lean against his broad chest, half on top of him again.

If you had any energy left at all, you’d be embarrassed- or perhaps aroused again- at the sight of his faceplate; he’s soaked. Everything between his optics down to the tip of his chin is coated in your wetness.

And yet when he speaks, “I apologize I was… overly enthusiastic.” It’s all contrition. One hand touches the side of your neck, a silent voicing of fear of injury.

Instead, you press your face to his hand and he meets you halfway, stroking along your cheekbone with unspoken reverence. “But you liked it?” While his voice has been perfectly reset, yours is still rough, rasping from the strain on your throat.

“I…” He starts- and immediately his fans hum louder again. Your lips barely crack into a knowing smile before he admits it, “Yes. It was… enjoyable.”

“See, more than just aesthetics.” You say, melting onto his chest more, idly stroking at the long pistons mimicking collar bones.

“I suppose I have to agree. You can hardly see it to begin with.”

“Maybe you should give me a piercing you can see, then.” You say it offhanded, a little joke-

“What? I couldn’t.” Ramattra shoots back immediately, “I have no experience with that.”

And his rejection only makes the idea more appealing, more real. “No, wait, think about it! You could research how to do it and where. Your hands wouldn’t shake, you’d be able to center it better-- I bet you could even design it yourself…” You grin and look up at the dark slits for his optics, half pleading. “Come on, at least you’d be saving me money and a trip out.”

Ramattra’s hands on you stop moving, but he doesn’t pull away. So completely motionless, you know he’s processing it, mulling the idea over. “You… want me to pierce you?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess? I mean I like piercings and I think you’d do a good job… and…” You blush softly, finally averting your gaze from his as though this is somehow more intimate than sucking his cock until he overloaded and cumming on his face twice. “Maybe I kinda… like the idea of having jewelry that you made, that you put there…”

His design on your body. It’s not just intimate; it’s possessive. A silent, private mark of your relationship… If you weren’t not so thoroughly spent, it might bring another wave of heat between your legs. He must have come to the same conclusion, because something shudders in Ramattra’s chest.

“I see.” He says coolly, as though you don’t feel the streams of hot air that again slip from his vents. “Then, I will look into it.”

In all, it takes Ramattra three days. Three days before he’s guiding you into his workshop and lifting you up onto his desk. The thrill of how easily he picks you up- big hands cradling your rib cage as he sets you onto the metal surface- always makes you a little giddy. Even more so is the little purple velvet box that sits nearby. You reach for it-

And Ramattra snatches the box up with a tut, “No peeking.”

“Fine.” You sigh exaggeratedly, watching as he skims over the tools he’s acquired in the last half week. A bottle of antiseptic, forceps, a marker-- and your eyes wander to a small package of needles. Your stomach tightens a little just seeing them, so you look at him instead, distracting yourself as Ramattra finishes his preparations. “Where did you decide?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead gently putting one finger under your chin and turning your head away. His other hand drifts over your ear- and eventually catches the little flap in front of your ear canal between thumb and forefinger. “Here.” His hands abandon you, turning back to his tools and grabbing the marker. “It is called the tragus.”

You hum in acknowledgement, but otherwise keep still as he focuses on your ear. Carefully, methodically- Ramattra touches the tip of the marker to your skin.

He draws your chin back towards him, examining the dot he’s made from the front before retrieving and handing you a mirror. “This is… acceptable?” He prompts as you look at your reflection. You could almost laugh; the ink of the marker is perfectly centered- likely is, mathematically. You knew he’d be good at this.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You look at the mark a moment more, picturing jewelry in its spot. It is… a strange location. “Why’d you pick this one?”

Ramattra pauses, his turn towards his tools a little too intentional. “If you wish to remove it later, any scarring should not be too disruptive.”

Something tightens in your chest. You reach out to him, gently touch his forearm. His head only slightly turns back towards you, just enough for you to see the corner of one slit. “I’m not going anywhere.” You say it, squeeze his arm again and hope he’ll internalize it this time. His only response is a small hum, an acknowledgement of the words, if not their meaning. So, you redirect him. “Can I see the jewelry now?”

Again, Ramattra hesitates, but caves with a halting, “Yes, I suppose so.” He holds the box a second too long- so tiny in his big hands- but offering it to you.

You don’t even hide your ecstatic grin as you take it- too excited at the possibilities. His designs are always so sleek, but you don’t know what he would choose for you to wear. You crack open the box- and the first thing you recognize is the color. Purple- the exact shade as his accents, as his jaw. But it’s not just his paint- you hold the tiny box closer and squint. It’s almost an inverted teardrop shape, but not quite. There is a silver dot embedded in the lower half, the point that would be sharp is clipped, a notch taken out of the wider top… You look at it for a moment longer- and your excitement melts into something warmer, recognition.

“It’s your chest plate…” You murmur and reach for him again. Only the lower half is visible under his tan cowl, but Ramattra stands still, lets you lift the soft fabric to reveal his own inverted teardrop- the purple latch right in the center of his chest.

“There’s more…” His voice falters, rasping through a whisper, strained with the same feeling that’s twisting in your throat.

You look back to the jewelry, unsure how there could be more meaning lain into it- but you take it from the little velvet cushions that hold it in place- and understand. The back of it is green with tiny golden lines etched into it. A circuit board. You brow pinches for a moment, dragging a nail over the back- feeling the protective coating over the circuits. It’s too small, too clipped to be functional. Just decorative, symbolic?

“When I…” He starts and stops, stepping closer to you- laying one hand on the outside of your thigh. “When I installed…. that I also had to replace and redesign some chips that were in my hips for functionality. I… kept the originals.”

“This is… you?” You murmur, tracing the tiny golden threads again. An actual chip from his body… “Or, was part of you?”

Ramattra nods stiffly, watches as you examine the tiny thing. “It’s… acceptable?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle, “I love it, Rama…” then hurriedly put the jewelry back in its box and shove it back towards him. You rub at your watering eyes and force out a tight, “Hurry up and pierce me before I cry.”

Ramattra nods again, shifting easily into his practiced movements. He swaps your ear with antiseptic and dips the piercing into the bottle, laying it on a sheet to dry as he picks up his tools. You focus on his faceplate and stare up at him as he steps in front of you. He waits there a moment- soaks in your gaze before touching your chin and urging you to turn your head just as he had earlier.

You close your eyes, don’t look as he clamps the forceps down.

“Breathe.” His voice rumbles, so close to your ear. You shiver, but obey- taking in the cool air of his workspace, the scent of his oil, relax into the warm proximity of him-

And as you exhale he pierces you. Hot pain washes over the whole side of your head. You clench your teeth, try not to flinch as he moves quickly, replacing pieces with a smoothness that you should’ve expected from him.

“Good,” He praises, still low and quiet and so close to you- and finally he pushes his design into the backing.

Ramattra steps away, but you grab at him- hands landing on the silver handles at his hips. He stops, turns towards you- and the tears you’d managed to suppress before being stabbed boil over.

“Does it hurt? I-”

You’re crying before you can even wrap your arms around him.And realizing you’re crying into his cowl- your face pressed right up against the exact plate he used as a design makes you weep harder. But he steps right up against the table and shushes you, strokes your back with an affection no one else has even seen in him.

“I love you,” You manage between shoulder-racking sobs- and something inside Ramattra shudders.

So quickly he adjusts, no longer holding you to his broad chest, but near doubling over, half lifting you off the table to press his faceplate into your shoulder. He buries himself in the warmth of your body- and shudders again as your grasp scrabbles over his back, no longer cinched around his tiny waist, but sliding up under his cowl, grabbing at the long bars of armor and holding yourself up against him.

“I love you so much,” You murmur to him, half broken by sniffles- and he squeezes your ribs in turn.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra x y/n #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you

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nekovmancer · 4 months ago

Text

Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face.

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were.

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?”

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire.

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act.

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him.

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue.

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware.

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this.

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury.

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him.

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done.

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it.

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price.

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra x oc #overwatch ramattra #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #reader insert #overwatch smut

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jackthepeeper · 2 months ago

Text

English is not my first language, I've never written a fanfic before

Ramattra x GN!Reader

CWs: Slight NSFW(?)

Summary: Ramattra enjoys having repairs done to him way too much

You cautiously reach deeper inside, with your hand disappearing up to the elbow in his chest cavity through a small opening in his midriff, each section of his "abs" detachable if need be.

There's enough room to wiggle your soft flesh without touching the surrounding machinery. You're sat in his lap, with his visors burying holes in your forehead from underneath the emotionless plate of his face. The pressure is driving you wild, and you lose yourself briefly trying to decide which is hotter: his insides, where the scorching wind from his fans licks your skin, already sleek with sweat, or your cheeks, flush with embarrassment.

You're not an engineer. Far from possessing any meaningful prowess in mechanics, only having fixed house appliances a couple times in your entire life. But you're the best thing he can count on, and the task is more than simple: you just have to replace an extremely distinct knob just under his shoulder blade, easily accessible from the inside if you are lucky to have hands small enough to fit through the access hole. He sighs, flexing his giant palm idly. If he wanted, he could've closed his fingers around your thigh with ease.

You locate the knob, feel its melted form and unscrew it as carefully as you can while the edge of his armor digs into your skin, drastically reducing the freedom of movement you have. With your fingers tiptoeing around a ruined part of his, your eyes track every movement of the rest of the omnic's body. You don't trust him, just as much as he doesn't trust you. He sighs, his giant frame shuddering, vents creaking open and fans whirring louder as his head comes to rest against the wall he's leaning onto. You continue.

The knob falls into your palm eventually, and you can almost feel his disappointment of being empty as you retrieve it, completely pulling your hand out of the oven of his chest. He puts a heavy hand on your hip - a gesture you interpret as him making sure you don't run off without installing the new part in place of the ruined one. You shift against his thigh, and he grips harder as you plunge your hand back inside, bolder now than before.

Rough movements of your palm, metal being dragged against his insides as you try to insert the new knob where it belongs, failing miserably. He groans, and you feel every single one of his slender fingers dig into your flesh. You are sloppy, way too confident, a stray wire catching onto your finger as you screw in the knob. His heavy breathing replaces all your senses, leaving only the task at hand and the heat enveloping your body. Why would an omnic breathe anyway?

This time you can't even get your hand out without trouble. You're stuck in a rat king of his inner workings, your fingers slithering along the edges of his machinery, tracing thick wires in an attempt to find a way out of the endless loops, and to your horror you feel him tighten around you, heavy breaths turning into gasps and whimpers as you become more frantic, trying to free your hand from the scorching hot trap. Your lower body comes flush against the plate covering his groin as he drags you with both hands now, moving your flesh closer to his metal torso, deliberately grinding against the softness of your belly - you are too scared, too concentrated on the wires ensnaring your wrist to read him. You think he is in pain.

Your ass is the perfect size to fit in his palm, meat squeezing between his fingers as he holds you in place while his hips buck to meet your welcoming curves. He moans, silver caps on the ends of his flat cable "hair" clanking against his shoulders as he throws his head back and relaxes as suddenly as if he'd pressed his own power button.

You remain in his lap, playing with the limp wires until he wakes up.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you

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badyan · 10 months ago

Text

The clanks

"oh-…i can move, you don’t have to sit on the floor"

"I prefered it." he answers simply, not bothering himself to explain anything more than that. His metal feet clanked against each other as he sat on the floor nearby the bed where you were laying, doodling nothings in your sketchbook — the thing you have made a habit to do when you’re hanging out in his quarters while he’s busy.

And you have never seen him this busy before. Hours standing still at his workbench, staring down the poor blueprints, then pacing through the room, his steps more calculated than the clock’s clicks. Nights follow days and the first sun rays always wake you up because there’s no curtains or anything that can make this place cozy at its bare minimum — except for the soft cushions and pillows and blankets on the bed which he has gathered only for you, only because you asked, only because you wanted to spend more time with him.

The bed was giant, clearly made for two, but there wasn’t a chance in the last few days for you to feel the familiar weight sliding closer in the dark of the night, spooning from behind so carefully, his hands gently finding their rest on your waist. Something was haunting him for too long now and you wouldn’t mind waiting for him, no, never have you, but you simply started to get worried about his state — and you’ve approached him with that but was gently turned back to your rest. You knew that he wasn’t going to listen to you anyway — but you also knew you couldn’t just let him be in this alone. So, you’re staying with him for a while. Even if he barely talks to you, he could never deny your company.

And now you’re relieved to see him sitting down nearby to meditate a bit — for the first time during this whole time. You move closer to him, hand gently sliding onto the broad shoulder.

"You should take a rest now, hun…"

"I truly don’t have much time for that." he grunts, though he knows you’re right. And the constant feeling of your attentive eyes was the actual reason why he actually forces himself to set aside his work and go take a breather. Even if he can’t actually breathe nor focus on the meditation itself.

"I…understand.." you reply reluctantly, fingertips brushing along his long collarbone pistons in a little affectionate way. He relaxes his schoulders slightly, subtly giving you more room to caress, and interwhines his hands together in the meditation gesture.

You continue to glide your hand against his metal, almost trying to calm down its unusual warmth — countless hours of mulling over his duties must have caused him to overheat. Mindlessly, your fingers wander further, over his ribbed chest and up to his neck, where they stumble upon the shiny ends of his cable hair. And that soft clank of them gives you an idea.

You sit on the bed, right behind him. An unusual angle — were his shoulders and back always this wide…and somehow heartening to look at? Like you could lean on it and feel the safest in the whole world… He sit on the floor and you still have to slightly raise your hands to carefully grasp his hair, moving it all back. You can feel him flinch just for a bit and you can’t help but smile at him being startled by such a simple touch.

"What are you doing?"

"I’ll just put them up for you," you say softly, shuffling through the thick cables in your hands, feeling their pleasant weight and quiet clanking. He almost scoffs at your offering.

"There’s no need for that-"

"Hush now." you insist, hands brushing through his cables length. "I know how it feels when they start to clutter around and piss you off. Just let me help you a lil’ bit."

And he modulates a sigh, returning to his meditating posture. That’s where you take things into your own hands — and with that, you start to work. Carefully combing his hair, then parting down the center, then starting to weave some cables together in the order only known to you. Your hands go slowly, taking strand by strand so carefully, like it would hurt him otherwise — and Ramattra can’t help but to concentrate only on your movements, feeling every subtle tug and twist you made with his cords, but oh with such care, it makes his circuits warm up…

"What are you planning to make?" he asks after a few minutes of pure silence and, suddenly, you can sense something new in his quiet tone. A hint of hesitation…but in a good way. Oh, it clicks for you immidiately and you can’t help but to chuckle softly.

"Just braids" you murmur, leaning in to give him a sweet little kiss on the top of his head. Such a simple tender gesture, yet it almost makes him falter.

"Braids?..." his head tilts in confusion — and you have to grab it by the sides gently and turn back up.

"Hey, stay still! They’re gonna look great on you, trust me…" your adorable reassurance doesn’t leave him another choice but to surrender. Though, he does find himself enjoying this whole unnesessary braiding thing…Your presence so close and your gentle little hands doing some magic with his hair, these bulky cables following your lead, not without some struggling first, but still. It’s you — you’re doing something for him. You’re here, by his side, all this time…It’s enough to finally let all these irritating thoughts begone. His mind fills with nothings, sweet nothings indeed: your hands playing around with his hair and your breathing quietly making the peaceful rythm of the moment. You are with him.

Is this…the tranquility Zen is always talking about?

He doesn’t realise how long you two were sitting like this. He simply doesn’t care now — everything seems to matter less and less the more you’re tangling your hands in his cables. But eventually, you make the final tugs and withdraw from him.

"Here you go.."

"Already?" he asks too quickly, with an undertone of longing. The moment dissapears so fast, no matter how hard he hopes it to last just a little longer.

"It took me nearly an hour!" you laugh at his question, hands running down your little piece of art. Two thick french braids go from the upper corners of his faceplate down along his head, slightly resembling dragon horns which reach up laying on his shoulders where your hands carefully move them. The weaving was quite simple but made so thoroughly the ends don’t even need something to tie them up — the rubbery texture and the tight neat braiding hold the cables together without any additional knots.

"Now, turn to me."

He slowly does so, feeling how the movements of his head became freer. It feels almost like getting your body part replaced. The same, but somehow still different. He doesn’t feel like he dislikes it, he just isn’t used to the sensation, doesn’t know where to place it within his system — but when he sees himself in the mirror you brought up to his face, he understands it immideately. Love.

Not with the braids, though he does like the way they look on him. He is in love with you. That unconditional, utter feeling which makes his circuits overheat and that electric pulse go haywire till the HUD flashes with a bunch of new warnings. That feeling he thought he never ever would be able to share with someone…

And there are you, looking at him fondly, while being so busy adjusting the way the cables twist around his faceplate.

"You’re gorgeous…You already knew that, don’t you?"

"I-…" his voice stutters into a static — clearly from your sweet words — and he tilts his head slightly to admire your work. "I love it. Thank you, babe" his faceplate lowers to gently press against the crook of your neck, soft vibrations in omnicode expressing the whole of his feelings that he can’t quite place in words now, mimicking the tender kisses. And the way you slightly shy away from his touch, giggling and whining playfully that it’s ticklish — it only makes him fall for you even more, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body in a tight embrace, letting himself nuzzle into your neck and get lost in your charming laugher.

A half an hour goes by unnoticed in the sweetest cuddles for the last week, accompanied by cute little pecks here and there, the soft sounds of your whispers, his quiet murmurs and the clanks of his cable braid’s ends when you playfully nudge him in the chest. Yet, suddenly, your eyes flash with an another idea and you pull away, leaving him puzzled and eager to just grab and move you back there for more cuddles.

"Now, you stay here." you lean against the wall and grab your sketchbook, opening it on the new page and biting down on your pencil, looking thoughtfully at your dear omnic, admiring the way confusion stirs within him.

"Why?"

"I need to capture your beauty" and you can hear him steaming from your words.

~~~~~~~

thank u for the idea, @statuetochka <з you make me feel so inspired with your art, hope this lil piece will make you smile

#ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra #overwatch #hiiiii !!#i'm new there and barely know how to tumblr :D #i've been reading ya'll on this tag for about several months now and i'm IN L O VE WITH YOUR WORKS #thank u all so much for fuelling my need for this roboboi i--#i hope this lil piece will make you feel hugged #also english is not my native lauguage so srry if something is messed up #i'm just so happy to finally publish this arwrarwra-#badyanings

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froggibus · 1 year ago

Text

Just This Once - Ramattra

Pairing: Ramattra x f! reader (reader uses f pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 955

Summary: Ram needs a little stress relief while he’s working, and who better to do it than his beloved pet?

CW: cockwarming, cervix fucking, overstim if you squint, Ram calls you pet, dom/sub dynamics, Ram is kinda mean, unprotected sex (but he’s an omnic so idk), creampie (but he’s an omnic so idk), Ram has a cock, mentions of aftercare :)

hi i absolutely love this man and it’s been too long since I got to write about him so what better time than day 3 of kinktober? cockwarming has been on my mind for a long time and doing it with Ram is just >>>> enjoy!!

Kinktober Masterlist

“R-ram!” You whine, shifting your hips forwards.

Ramattra’s one hand grip on your waist is bruising. He barely uses any strength to hold you still, all of his focus remaining on the holopad in front of him. He pays no notice to the way you clench around his cock.

You bury your face in his neck, closing your eyes and trying to think of anything other than how good his cock feels inside of you. He’s so big that he fills you up to the brim, your poor pussy struggling to make room for him. It doesn’t help that he has you sitting perfectly still, either.

“Please,” you beg and try to roll your hips again, only for him to tighten his grip and hold you in place. “I just—I wanna feel you.”

“You can feel me perfectly fine now.”

His words bring tears to your eyes. You ache desperately for more friction, the frustration starting to overwhelm you. You push your face further into the nook of his shoulder to hide your desperate sniffles and whines.

Ram rolls his eyes at the feeling of your wet tears. “Don’t forget, pet. You were the one begging me for this.”

“I-I know but—”

“But nothing,” he tsks. “I have important work to finish.”

You sigh and let yourself fall against him completely. Your pussy still clenches and throbs around his cock, juices dripping down onto his thighs. You tighten your arms around his shoulders, the pressure giving you something to focus on other than the pulsing between your legs.

Ram only works for a few minutes before he notices that you’ve gone completely still. He tries to ignore it, but your perfect stillness and even breathing get the best of him.

He strokes your back, waiting for a reaction. You don’t move, a dead weight on his chest. Ram grips your hips and lifts you up, slamming you all the way down on his cock. That gets a reaction out of you.

You whine and tense up, looking up at him with teary eyes. “So mean,” you mumble.

He keeps his grip on your hips, thrusting in and out of you at a devastatingly slow pace. “Mean?” He scoffs. “Mean? I’m so nice to you.”

Your knuckles turn white from gripping his metallic shoulders, trying to force a faster pace. Ram doesn’t let you, though.

“So needy,” he hums. “Couldn’t even let me finish my work.”

He releases you from his grasp and crosses his arms behind his head. You desperately pull yourself up with his shoulders, nails scraping against his back, before letting yourself drop onto his length.

He stretches you out so well, cock pulsing in your pussy in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You don’t care about how desperate and needy you look—you just want to feel him.

Ram watches as you fuck yourself on him, each thrust punctuated with a squelching noise. You look so small and weak in front of him, so cute and helpless.

Your eyes roll back, lashes coated in tears. You look up at him desperately, rocking your hips faster in your frustration. Ram sighs.

He must be getting weak, because he would have let you get off this easy otherwise.

He lifts you off of his lap, bending you over his desk. “Alright, pet,” he bottoms out inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. “But just this once.”

You drool at the way he fucks you, bottoming out with every thrust. You stretch your arms across the desk and grasp the edge—anything to keep your mind from turning to mush.

His pace is brutal, his cock only leaving the tightness between your legs for milliseconds before pushing back in. Your legs shake, giving out and leaving you flattened against the desk.

The heat that’s been building in your stomach threatens to explode, all of your muscles quivering in anticipation. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching up around his cock as your orgasm washes over you.

Ram keeps fucking into you, your pussy fluttering around him with every thrust. He knows you came from the juices that splattered his stomach and dripped down his legs, but he hasn’t.

The heat from your orgasm doesn’t dissipate, sensitivity overwhelming you. Your pussy aches from the overstimulation, every movement of his cock enough to make your head spin.

You tighten your grip on the desk and pull yourself forward—whether to ground yourself or escape, you’re not sure.

Ram grabs your hips and pulls you back into him, prying your hands off of the desk. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Your words fail you, washed away in the waves of pleasure from how he’s fucking you. He grabs your wrists together, pinning them behind your back. Your cheek presses into the desk and the cold wood feels like bliss on your hot skin.

He uses your hands as leverage to keep fucking you, his thrusts getting sloppier each time. You know it won’t be long now. He drives you into the desk, the wood starting to slide across the floor with every thrust. The impact of his thighs against yours is hard enough to bruise, but the pain feels so good.

“Such a good pet,” he groans. “Such a good cocksleeve.”

His cock twitches, hot liquid filling you up. You go limp on the desk and let him finish pumping inside of you. Your pussy aches when he pulls out, clenching around the air.

Ram strokes your head, “are you alright?”

You nod weakly. Your whole body is warm and sore, and you’re sure walking will be next to impossible in the morning.

He wraps his arms around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#overwatch 2 #overwatch #ow2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #ow #overwatch fic #xreader #x you #overwatch ramattra #ramattra ow #ramattra x you #ramattra overwatch #ramattra x reader #ramattra smut #ramattra #ramattra x reader smut

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 2 months ago

Text

Coupling

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: None

art by @/JackThePeeper on tumblr and twt | Ao3 crosspost

“Come now, human. Make yourself useful.”

It is no surprise he takes control of the situation by commanding you. Orders are easy to give, easy to follow, they do not require you to think as all thinking is done for you. This he knows you will appreciate given the situation.

This arrangement has been weeks in planning; though on his side he spent months gathering the necessary information for this. It is only natural for a human to want intimacy, it is a basic need that can range from mental to physical connections. Ramattra is aware that you are discovering these needs, learning about yourself beyond the armor your consciousness can connect to. You know only of metal, killing, and the code that binds you to honor.

You find comfort in compliance, in how you knee between his open warming legs, your hands lacking experience as you take his cock and grasp it. It obviously is modeled after a silicone dildo, you are fascinated by the attention to detail to be pleasurable to the person receiving insertion... Will he enjoy this too?

“Gentle, this is no sword to wield.” His even tone keeps you from acting out of your character. You do not shy away yet you want to as you lack skill in this field.

“One hand will be enough. The rest you will use your mouth.”

Orders. You follow them to the letter as you use your mouth to take in what you can, pushing yourself to take more even when it makes tears build up at the corner of your eyes, your hand moving up and down.

“You have no practice with this sort of task.” Ramattra is not saying it as an insult but rather an observation, it is no surprise. Ramattra has never coupled with a human, the few videos he watched with omnic and human enacting sexual actions were… Limited. He has to guess the rest and create the purple silicone cock. It is optional for both himself and you, though seeing you struggle to take over half of it makes him consider reducing its size.

“Does it feel good for you?” You ask while gathering your breath. You heard the pick up of his fans, the static of his voice module as you believed he groaned, but you had to be sure.

“It does. You require practice but this is enough to lubricant me.”

You nod as you stand up and undress. There is nothing sexy about how you undress, it is only efficient and carefully folded on the floor. Ramattra can see the many scars, some old and some new, it is a reminder you know nothing but suffering. Forced to be a soldier and then tossed away when there was no use for you. Ramattra knows well your mannerisms in the years you have been around him, though you stand before him bare and at attention as if for inspiration, your eyes are looking away as his fingers touch your scars. He had caused some of these when the two of you were enemies— Strange how you told him you did not see him as an enemy but an opponent as enemies implies an emotional component. You held no hate towards him, you found yourself more often agreeing with him.

“I apologize for not maintaining a more desirable skin.”

“This is desirable, (Name).” Ramattra is quick to tell you. “Do you enjoy this?”

You nod slowly as one hand, his thumb, rubbing and flicking your nipple, “... May you… Hold me?” Being touched is… Different. You are not sure if you want to stop or keep coming, but you know you need him to hold you. Ramattra stops to allow you to join him on the bed with your back against his chest, his cock rubbing your ass. “Continue.” Soft, nervous, your hands grip his thighs as he guides you to open your legs. It is strange the vulnerability of this, it has your heart racing yet the way Ramattra touches you with extreme care as if you are made of glass makes you feel… Loved.

Weapon to weapon, he had thought you to be a new type of omnic made to fight for human masters. One that bled, a semi-organic robot. No, your warframe is part of you, the way a sword is viewed as an extension of the wielder. Using what is called Transference to dream of not what you are but what you can be. A weapon forged from childhood, forced to slumber and dream of killing.

There is a saying ‘Misery loves company’, Ramattra found the shared misery a comfort and you used it to build a bridge between him and you.

Your moans are not loud, they are breathless and pitchy at times but not loud. The stickiness between your legs as you shiver as he keeps going until you are struggling to handle the force of your orgasm. It is like a storm wrecking everything in its path, Ramattra delights in the display as he guides you through it until you slump against him looking completely ruined.

There is more to be done, more to explore and experience, you feel on fire and eager with newfound fascination. You appreciate Ramattra's patience and how he turns you around to face him, he is careful and yet makes sure not to be so gentle you will complain. You groan when his hold is firm, you tell him while high on endorphins that you want his mark all over you. You kiss his face plate, grip the back of his shoulders, bottom lifted as he positions you. His fingers did well in preparing you, he made sure to research human anatomy just for you and how to make a first-time experience pleasant, there is no pain though there is the oddness of being filled in a unique manner.

Is this what it means to be connected? To find the matching piece of your soul? You might cry if you continue thinking about it, you tell him to move with clear fascination in your voice. The wonderment of being made for another, you feel made for Ramattra. It is an honor adding to the pleasure shared, your voice louder inspiring him to lay you down on your back.

“Ramattra,” His hand pinning both your wrists above your head, “More, Stars, more.” You want every inch of him a part of you, if possible to link with him using the Transference— Yet you know doing so is impossible and invasive for him, you would not mind him within your mind.

The pace is faster, metal on flesh, the ambiance of his fans and voice along with your rising voice and skin is something you envy him to be able to record. To capture everything with accuracy rather than emotional alterations, you do not want to forget. You want to do this every day until it is imprinted onto your very being.

You do not last long, you take note to work on that, as your orgasm has you writhing and calling out the only being that matters in this moment. Ramattra takes a bit longer as he has gone through every possible outcome and adjusted to adapt to be satisfying in bed. Oh, he is proud of himself to have you a mess under him, other positions taken to see how far he can go until your mind is broken. His systems are quick to regulate as your body starts building up the bioelectricity, without your Volt frame you could burn the bed. Ramattra can handle the low-grade shock but the bed cannot. He eases you to calm down, to grip him as he has you now laying on your side facing him with your leg hooked over his waist.

The warning message, static, your spark is edging him to an end he is trying to avoid, he wants to prolong this for a moment longer. But he is not given it as your third release has both you and him fall to darkness.

You wake in another room staring out a window overlooking a city then realize you are in your warframe in the workshop. It is embarrassing that you blackout so hard you are linked to your frame. It is not hard to go back to your physical body, which is done after placing the warframe in a meditation pose, you are just flustered.

Waking yourself back in your physical body and being heavily aware of the position has you sore primarily in your legs. Not to mention the synthetic cum inside of you is dipping out of you as Ramattra's cock returns to its sheathe. You hate having to move as you find this like moving after an intense sparring sensation with Genji. You at least can say you feel happy, you hope Ramattra does too or at least relaxed. Moving his body is rather humorous as he had shut down completely, yet it is emotional as he is completely vulnerable. You sit on the bed watching his body start to reboot, eyes following the sounds of his systems then at his face plate as the lights on his head glow then his optics making sounds of adjustments.

“(Name).” Seeing you watching and then smiling at him.

“Are you well?”

“A question I should be asking you,” He remains lying down as his body needs to do a scan after your electrical shock and orgasm have overloaded him. “I will be fine in a moment.”

“I am well,” Then you shake your head realizing that was very formal sounding, “I enjoyed it.”

“As did I.”

“It would probably be best to do this with the frame next time to reduce likely short circuits.”

Silence then Ramattra speaks up, “Your frame has the capability to—”

“No! Uh… Not at first… I modified it in case you would find our coupling more…Pleasurable that way.”

Ramattra had not thought to use your warframe given the way you used it only for combat, a mindset for battle you slip into. Here he had made his anatomical adjustments and so did you. “Only if you wish to do so. This however is preferable.” His hand comes up to cup the side of your face that you tilt your head towards with appreciation.

#reader insert #ramattra x you #ramattra x reader #ramattra #overwatch x reader #overwatch #overwatch x you

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