#ramattra.... he is the exception

[meownotgood]

I don't care much for overwatch anymore, and despite having a billion hours in the first game, I haven't played it in a few years now. but whenever I see ramattra the deepest recesses of my brain tingle and I'm like a cat rubbing up on his big ass mechanical leg begging to be petted

[korpuskat]

In a Different Light

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 9,256 Warnings: Super vanilla + size difference

He’d become fixated, completely focused on a group of soldiers hiding behind a line of armored vehicles. If he could just dislodge them, they’d have an uncontested avenue deeper into the city. He knows he can rush them, can get in close and punch straight through their cover. He peaks, HUD picking up each heat signature before him- more soldiers to the right than the left.

He doesn’t see the one four stories above them.

”Down!” He recognizes your voice, but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He can handle this, doesn’t need your tactical input-

And your arms close around his waist. What? He looks down, takes his optics off the enemy- and he feels your heel kick behind his knee. It’s not nearly enough to buckle him- but he allows himself to go down anyway, dropping into a heap back behind the barricade.

The bullet cuts through a ribbon cable.

You sink back into the seat, weight falling off your shoulders. Under the roar of the engines sliding from VTOL to forward propulsion, your sigh is completely inaudible, utterly silent to everyone. Everyone except Ramattra’s sensitive audials. You close your eyes and lean back, yet unaware of his gaze on you. He watches your pulse reading slow from its rabbit-fast battle-ready pace, lets his optics linger on the long line of your throat. The skin there is thin enough he could feel your heartbeat. His servos itch to reach out and try it.

He had let you pull him down. Why? A snap decision he hadn't even processed consciously. But why did he trust you that much? He scours his deeply-rooted runtimes, searching for what it was about you that had tipped that reaction in your favor. In his favor, given the cable that sparks brightly at the corner of his optics.

He'd nearly crushed you, only landing on his elbow at the last moment. You must've known how badly he could've hurt you; your eyes were wide, breath held in your chest as you looked up to him.

He was touching you. Your arms were still wrapped around his chassis, hands splayed near the sensitive column of his spine, legs aligned with his body, one hooked around his thigh. His hand at your hip. In the peaking lines between your armor, everywhere your skin touched his metal he could feel your heat, your heartbeat.

For a moment, all you could do is stare at each other. For a moment, he couldn't seem to focus on his objective.

You slowly unwound your hold, but don't quite take your hands off him. They end up holding the broad ribs of his armor. He's... glad. He liked the contact. He squeezed your hip, relished in the soft give of your skin and fat and muscle.

"Sniper," You had finally breathed- and the spell was broken. Back to work.

The rest of the squad cheers and chats jovially, an easy mission. He would agree, more or less. As far as he can tell, the only casualty was his own shattered cosmetic cabling- an effortless fix for another time, for now he simply disconnects the damaged cable. But you aren't celebrating with them. The entire flight, you've kept your head back and eyes closed, swaying softly with turbulence. He can tell you're not asleep. Even if his HUD wasn't keeping him painfully aware of your vitals, he watches your hands rub at the corners of your armor plating the entire time, watches the twinges of your expression.

Pain? Ramattra wonders. Had he hurt you after all?

His GPS pings an alert for their probable arrival a few minutes before the engines shift again. When they do, it jostles you up, leaving you grabbing the supports around you as the ship comes in to land. His gyros keep him steady, never having to look away from his study of you. Without fanfare, the cargo door opens and most of the troops pile out. You stand, grab your gear-

and you look back at him. A little smile, a slight nod. He cannot smile back, would not if he could, but he nods in turn at you. You leave, following the line of soldiers ahead of you.

Only when everyone else has left does Ramattra stand.

Your quarters are blessedly quiet, at least compared to the open bustle of the barracks. The insulation between walls is thin, built for structural support, not individual solitude. At least in the lower officers quarters. The higher-ups are probably given more leeway on creature comforts. You heard once that Doomfist has a hot tub in every base.

You’d kill for a hot tub right now.

Still, it's quiet and secluded enough for you to drop your gear and close the door behind you. The ceramic of your armor clicks against the metal door frame as you lean back. Even the slight shift of your weight off your feet brings relief- as does the cold metal that presses to the nape of your neck, the backs of your arms.

He was warmer. Still much too cool to be mistaken as anything organic, but still... warmer than you had expected. The buzzing of his CPUs must radiate enough heat to bring him just above the freezing metal you had expected. He had moved more, too- the spinning of his fans had made him vibrate softly under your fingertips, but more shocking than that, it was as though he was breathing, a rhythmic movement of his chest. Some kind of ventilation, you’d guess.

You close your eyes. The fall onto your back had knocked the wind out of you- but the weight of him had never landed. No, he had perched over you, balanced on one sturdy arm, the cables of his mane dangling- the matte black making the stark white of his faceplate almost glow. You're sure it's just lights from his LEDs, but in the black shadows you'd swear you saw the red of his HUD in his optics. And he was touching you- cool fingers had somehow wound up between the hard lines of your armor, slipped right up under your shirt. Five mechanical fingers that squeezed so gently, so unnecessarily.

His presence around Talon was... sporadic at best- and you'd never actually worked with him before. His disdain for humans was common knowledge, but so when you'd been assigned to his team you had no way to anticipate that outcome. And yet it wasn’t… unwelcome.

With a groan you stand up again- no use pondering it fully geared-up at least. Your forearm guards come off easily, with satisfying clicks. You toss the plating onto your bunk; you’ll have to inspect it later- given the fall you’d had, you might already need to replace some of it. Next, your boots- which clatter together as you kick them away.

You reach up over your shoulder to undo the chestplate- and hiss with pain. Your upper back lights up with sore muscles, not yet ready to be used again. Fuck, okay. You’ll get back to that one, you guess. Instead, you twist your arm behind your low back and undo the armor over your belly.

Your door clangs- loud enough for you to jump. What the fuck? Who would be bothering you now? You hastily drop that piece onto the same pile and turn the handle-

Oh.

He's out of place this deep in Talon's barracks. He seems to know this, adjusting his posture to stand tall before you- a defensive stance against the curious eyes of your fellow soldiers that pass by. At full height he just about touches the upper edge of the door frame, making you have to tip your head back just to look at him this close. Even though there's no malice in his stance, your skin prickles.

As much as you were captivated by your little shared moment in the street, Ramattra is still your boss, more or less- his alliances with Talon are much further up the food chain than you- and there's no good formal reason for him to be here. So, you treat him as though he's one of the council. Someone way, way above your pay grade with enough power to end you and never even see paperwork for it. You stand up straight and square your shoulders, lower your gaze with a perfectly canned "Yes, Sir?"

His optics drop before he can override it; somehow he did not expect you to be undressing. Even with your undershirt still on under the white Talon armor, his thoughts race, circuitry threatening to overclock. At your voice, however, Ramattra makes a noise of disgust, shifts his head as if scowling. "Enough of that, save it for Akande." You blink, lift your sight back to his faceplate as though it made any difference in reading him. He must've already cleaned up; there once was post-battle grime, but it's already been wiped away. You look to his cabled mane- and there, too, his damaged ribbon cable is gone. "I came to speak with you." Suspicion rises again in your chest, even as he clarifies, "Informally."

Informally in Talon usually meant some kind of internal politicking that you avoided as best you could. Somehow, that doesn't feel right here- why the fuck would he have use for you?- but you don't let down your guard just yet. The instinct to tack on sir to the end of the question is so strong it nearly slips out. "What about?"

"I came to apologize." What? You bristle; if he means to apologize for touching you, well, he certainly did not wrong you by any means. "And to thank you. May I?" He motions past you and despite how much you absolutely should not be inviting Null Sector's leader into your quarters, you do so anyway.

Your room is hardly larger than a supply closet; it's positively cramped with both you and an R-7000 standing in the meager floor space. It makes his movements awkward, aware of his large, sharply pointed feet; even if your armored boots were still on, having him step on your toes would be unpleasant. Without, much worse. So, Ramattra gives you an easy solution: "Please, sit."

It doesn't help your pained neck at all, nor the growing sense of unease. Still, you perch yourself on the edge of your mattress and watch as he adjusts his cowl. "What did you need to apologize for?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for assisting me. I should have seen the sniper, or at least considered the probability, given the terrain." His voice box makes a spit of noise, not unlike clearing his throat. "I came to apologize for... scaring you, when you pulled me from the sniper's view. It was unintentional."

Scared? You can't resist a barking laugh, "That's all? I knew I was risking dropping a big heap of omnic on me. I mean, I'm really glad you were quick enough to catch yourself and all, but really, there's nothing to apologize for, you didn't hurt me."

He waits a beat, considering his words carefully. "You seemed particularly stunned afterwards."

Ah. He noticed. Your cheeks burn. "I guess. You did too, though."

"I had just been shot at and had to trust that a human had my best interest in mind." He tips his head, "If you did not fear being injured, then why?"

"Um," You rub at your neck, chase your thoughts for any acceptable response. "I was- just surprised. You were... very close."

His response is quick as he leans in towards you. “And you were not afraid?”

What is that inflection in his voice? Did he want you to be? You stare at him, try desperately to read his immovable faceplate. You bite your lip- and unbeknownst to you, Ramattra's optics tick downwards to watch. "No, I wasn't."

You must've picked right, because his voice box hums a little noise of acknowledgement, a light nod following. "I see." He murmurs, then abruptly straightens up again. "Regardless, I came to give my gratitude and offer repayment." You would tell him that it's literally your job, that you'd hope he would've done the same for you, but once more Ramattra's head tips, then nods just off to your right. "Is your armor ill-fitting?"

You blink, then look- and find yourself rubbing at your neck once more. "Oh! I mean, kind of; all Talon armor is pre-made. Mostly I'm just a bit sore."

"May I?"

He steps forward without waiting for your answer, but doesn't actually touch you. Once again, you're very close to him. This time, he's standing, towering over you with his full height from where you sit. He's offering, your mind stumbles over it, replays his touch to your hip. "Um, s-sure."

He already knows where the release to your armor is; his large fingers pressing into the divot before you can even begin to direct him. "Oh," you slip out, then awkwardly shake off each half, shoving them off the edge of the bed. His hands move towards your shoulders- and hesitate. He'd been quick to step closer, to dig into the protective paneling, but the actual prospect of touching you, even through the thin material of your undershirt, must make him pause. It's short lived- and his hands are cold enough you can feel it through the cloth.

You suppress a jolt at his temperature- but then he squeezes and all rational thought is expelled from your mind. The aching muscles of your shoulders have no choice but to surrender to his unflinching, metal kneads. It takes everything, everything that you have to not moan- and still he manages to pull a stifled inhale from you.

At once his fingers freeze, “Do you need me to stop?”

”No.” It’s all whine, a desperate plea to chase that same mind-melting touch. So, he continues on. Cool, smooth fingers pressing into taut muscle, loosening up knots with surgical precision. And when he adjusts his angle, steps a little closer and digs in again, you do let yourself moan.

He doesn’t stop- but you feel the tremble in his hands and his fans kick up their speed, humming louder in the relative quiet of your room. He adjusts again, moves to the outer parts of your upper arms- and when he squeezes there the sharp, near painful relief shoots all the way down to your fingertips. Your eyes are all but rolling in their sockets, it's all too easy to let your lids drop, your whole body swaying with each movement of his hands.

He presses into your upper back, in the tight space between shoulder blade and spine- and you don't resist the urge to lean forward. You aren't sure where exactly your forehead lands, but his metal is pleasantly cool. The vibration from his ventilation hums directly into your skull. It's soothing white noise- and you want more. Slowly, enough to make sure he can see you moving, you raise each hand and place them on the outer edge of his thighs. There, the refreshing touch of his metal is covered by dark-colored canvas, but the cloth does little to mute the hum of his inner machinery.

It makes your hands tingle- and it makes his vents crank open another notch. Beneath your forehead, his surface chills even more as coolant rushes through his systems.

The question of why rolls over your head, though the clarity of thought comes and goes with Ramattra's touch. It could be just some kind of curiosity or ultimately innocent fascination with the physicality of human flesh- something you doubt he's had much chance to experience outside of combat- but if he were not an omnic, the implication of his tentative exploration feels... obvious.

On one hand, Null Sector's leader was rarely around your base, the shame and embarrassment of being wrong about his intentions would only occasionally be relevant, but on the other...

You swallow and roll the dice. Your hands trace higher on his legs, over the straps there until you reach metal again. He all but trembles, deeply unused to soft human caresses- even more so to the seldom-touched ridges of his hips' plating. "Do you..." Your confidence slips- but Ramattra stares down at you so attentively, you can't help but continue, just to know "Would you prefer… more?"

His hands twitch against you. "If you are willing," He says it so slowly, so intentionally, he's talking to himself as much as to you. "I will take anything you would give."

Your shuddering inhale must please him, because he nearly purrs as he trails the tips of his fingers across your shoulder blades. Fuck. It’s hardly a question of what you would give, of if you are willing. You let go of him just long enough to grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off.

For a moment, your world is entirely black- and when you can see him again, half-bared to him, you're already shivering.

It's unfair to call it staring when omnics don't typically blink, but Ramattra's faceplate tips downward and doesn't lift- even as you scoot back on your flimsy mattress until you reach the headboard. Only then does he meet your gaze again. You can't see his optics, shadowed entirely by his stark white faceplate, but there's a heat about him, all his focus settled on you- and your heart races. He sees this, too, on his HUD- the spike in your pulse, in your breathing.

Ramattra waits only a moment, shamefully double-saving this moment to his memory files, then follows. Immediately one of his heavy, metal knees makes the hinges of the frame creak in protest. His attention snaps to one corner- almost furious for having interrupted his pursuit. It would be your luck to have your bed broken by an omnic war machine before you could even fuck him. But Ramattra slowly eases his full weight onto the frame- and despite the pitiful whining of your cheap frame, it holds up.

Which is good, because Ramattra wastes no time to lean over you- the staggering height difference between you barely mitigated by his new position with his knees on either side of your legs. Your heart is racing, pulse thrumming all the way down to your fingertips- and he hasn't even really touched you- but he's eager to correct that.

He reaches for you- and there's a breath of hang time. An infinite little moment between his rubber-padded palm touching your neck, a perfect little bookend to all that was before. Because cool metal circles the base of your throat- thumb and forefinger rubbing over the ridges of your collarbones and sliding on- until his palm presses to the center of your chest- and it's unlike anything you expected.

His touch is exploratory, cautious, gentle as his hand slides up your neck, away from where you had really wanted him to touch. Instead, the rounded tips of his fingers trace parallel lines up each side of your throat. He stops just below your jaw, where your pulse beats hard against the skin. Somehow, there's no threat to it- a Ravager is holding your carotid, your jugular- and you don't even want to run. No, he's turned the tables on you- you want more.

It's difficult to be patient with his exploration, but his fascination here must be sated, because Ramattra's head tips- and his other hand presses to your chest. It's still painfully chaste; he's much too high, fingertips caressing your collarbone. He shifts, presses the heel of his palm into your pec- and, oh, you're melting into him again, because you didn't even realize that, too, was sore. As much as you wish he'd do what you're thinking about, his massaging touch is far from unacceptable.

Instead, you let your eyelids drift close, rest your chin upon the hand still at your throat.

Ramattra hums at this, one thumb stroking over your jaw in a motion so affectionate it makes your heart hurt. His fingers linger there, at the edges of your face- while his other hand finally begins to move. The rubber grip of his palm slides over the top of your breast, but his wrist turns, skirts along the side. He presses there a little, feels the weight of your chest in his palm. Already your skin is lighting up, goosebumps racing along your arms- and Ramattra shifts his hand again.

One breast entirely in his hand, his metal still shockingly cold to the underside- and yet somehow, your nipple stands free between his thumb and forefinger. He's avoided it entirely so far- but between the chill of him and the tension rushing in your veins, it's hardened into a little point. He squeezes your chest and you don't stifle your sigh.

He watches his own hand as he slowly sweeps his thumb across the stiff peak of your nipple- how it bends under his touch- and with a gasp, it pops back up. At your whimper he looks back up to your face and does the same motion again, just to soak in your reaction. The weight of his gaze is not lost on you- every sensor in his array is focused on your body, your face, the little hitches in your breath as he drags his thumb in a circle instead.

Your response must be fascinating enough, because the hand at your throat finally travels downwards, mirroring the other. Just having both hands on you makes your heart race, but now you're all but trembling when he hasn't even used the other yet. You expect more slow sweeps. You do not expect him to pinch- your sensitive flesh caught between cold metal plates- and then to tug on them.

You squeal, arch into his hands- half to alleviate the ache he's produced, and half because it felt good. He only half lets up. "Is that too much?" His voice box is so quiet you nearly don't hear him.

"No," You can only gasp- and with his confidence assured, you break off into a whimper as he tweaks your nipples. It's strange- his hands have no give, no softness to them, each motion is only relentless pressure and the hard edges of each joint. It makes every touch more acute, harsher even with his slow, cautious approach.

"They're softer than I expected," He says- and he sounds so cool, almost unaffected by how he's already making you unravel. "And more sensitive."

Oh. Something falls into place. It's not just you. "Have you ever... done this before?"

"Not with a human." Another sweep of his thumb has you shuddering. His grasp loosens, your skin tingling as blood returns to where he'd held it.

His curiosity here must've been satisfied, as his hands slide off to your sides. With only the tips of his fingers skating over your skin so lightly, you squirm under him- and grab his forearms. He stills, glances up to you- "Ticklish," You explain, then press on his hands until his whole palm meets your skin. "Firmer."

Ramattra hums, nods once in acknowledgement. He doesn't have to be corrected twice; his study of your body continues with more pressure. "And you?" Methodical presses over each notch of your ribs, tracing along the lines of each- pressing into the unprotected flesh below them, feeling over the soft pouch of your stomach. No longer feather-light, now it's almost clinical, and you wonder if he's comparing your body to schematics in his head. It isn't until he pauses, squeezes at your hip- a mimic of the same touch from earlier- for you to realize he'd spoken to you.

Have you done this before? The answer is, truthfully, not in a while, never with someone who made your skin feel so electric. You lick your lips and guardedly answer, "Not with an omnic."

He seems to accept this- and to keep him from questioning further, you move to unlatch your right greave. Your bed frame complains once more as he scoots back- and then begins working on your left leg. When you're once more down to your under armor, he stops, half sits back onto his heels. The glow of his optics is hidden, but you have no doubt he's watching you intently, waiting for something. If he expects you to wilt and change your mind, you hope instead he's pleasantly surprised that you hook your thumbs into the soft elastic around your waist and roll off both your pants and underwear.

You're suddenly aware you don't know where to put your legs- sliding them back under him would be counterproductive. So, you be just a little bold, and let them lay half-open across his canvas-covered thighs. Ramattra shudders. A visible quake up his spine, ends in little twitches of his fingers. Fingers that immediately press to your skin, two at first, just above your knees, then the whole width of his palm is smoothing up your thighs.

Higher and higher up your leg, his thumbs skating along the ridge of the muscle at the top of your thigh, never dipping in too close. Even as he approaches your waist, so tantalizingly close to your apex, his hands slide out, over the curve of your hips. You whimper, voicing your displeasure at his continued teasing. Ramattra answers only with a soft humming and those same thumbs pressing in to find the divots of your hip bones.

As attentive as his touch is, it's not helping the ache in your belly. Under him you squirm, press your thighs together to sate your growing need.

This, too, does not go unnoticed. "Patience," He chides and slides his palms from your hips back up to your sides. "We could not linger earlier; I intend to take my time now."

Oh. It doesn't stop you from squeezing your thighs again, but you do resign yourself to his pace. Again he passes over your navel before traveling down; this time there's no more cloth to impede his exploration. His thumbs follow the curve of your pubic bone, coming so very close- before returning to the safety following the long muscles of your quadriceps. With a cant of his head, he's particularly fascinated by this part of you, following the imprints of his fingers as he strokes down your legs.

Once he reaches your knees, Ramattra slyly slides his thumbs inwards, between your tightly pressed thighs. This alone has you shivering, aching to think of another round of his slow mapping of your body- but the soft press of his hands against your legs, urging them outward has every thought fleeing your mind. Shame drives you to press one hand over your face, but offers no resistance to him opening your legs once more. This time, his route from your knees to your hips is no longer exploratory- it's measured. His pace is slow, agonizing- barely inching along your skin, sweeping his thumbs, pressing in when you get too excited; it's an intentional lesson in patience that borders on torture.

And finally- finally- he doesn't turn his touch away. Ramattra's gaze is fixed between your legs, watched as he finally touches you. He traces the sensitive, thin crease of your thigh first- the last line between pretendably-chaste exploration and something else.

And he charges right past that line.

Without any warning, he drags one fingertip right down the center of your pussy. You gasp- and he's skating over your clit, parting your lips, almost dipping into you- before pulling back. With so much teasing, one stroke alone has your body thrumming, heat spreading from your belly. Above you, Ramattra hums- and spreads your lips with his free hand.

The embarrassment of his hawkish observation of your sex doesn't have long to set in, because once more his fingers return to you. Two this time, swirling at your entrance to coat his cool metal in your wetness, before sliding upwards. When he circles your aching clit, you don't even try to stop the moan that escapes from deep within.

Behind his white faceplate, his optics snap upwards and watch your reaction. He's used to seeing humans' heart rates spike when he touched them, but never with such a sound accompanying it. It's... different. Another stroke over the nub, another noise from your lips confirms what he'd already suspected: he likes it. He wants to hear more.

It's just like with your chest. He's all hard metal, no squishing softness of skin and muscle and fat- wherever his fingers move, your body has no choice but to follow, to fold under the hardness of his form. Each leisurely swirl pushes at you more than rubs, compresses and bends your most sensitive skin in incessant, cruel rounds and it's like nothing else you've ever felt. And it's too much, all too quickly you're squirming away from his hand, desperate for a break from the onslaught.

He notices. Ramattra can't not notice when your languid moans warp into sharp whines, when your hips that were grinding impatiently against his fingers, instead begin arching away from his touch. He pulls away, ceases the minuscule contact- and immediately your body relaxes, hips raising up towards him again. Was he being too rough? He recalibrates, actuators hardly moving at all when he meets the pulsing nub at the apex of your sex- and once more you're dancing backwards, face pinching. Yet as soon as he withdraws, another neglected, aching noise from your lips makes his frame shudder.

He almost scoffs; what a terribly human reaction- to flinch from his touch, then crave it as soon as he stops. He doesn’t understand why you’re doing this, but he can at least guess you’re not in any position to explain it to him.

Instead his touch wanders away, down along the creases of your body. A curiosity leads his fingers towards your opening and the wetness that has accumulated there. He traces the taut skin before him- and your heart hammers in your chest. He's so close, so close to being inside you. Your body burns under him, begs silently with every breath. With hardly any effort, his fingertips are coated in clear slickness once more- two shining strings between his digits as he examines them.

"Are most humans this... well-lubricated?"

"No," It comes out broken, your psyche unable to take any more of this- and your tone makes his faceplate lift. The slits of his optics are black, but you stare into them anyway and sob, "Please."

All five of his fingers dig into your thigh, a full-body shudder following your plea. Ah, now he understands. He leans forward, repositions himself over you, his massive frame entirely covering yours, but not quite touching. The heavy weight of his forearm lands next to your head as he murmurs- softer than you've ever heard his vocoder go- "Of course."

And he slides one finger into you.

You don't make a sound- your mouth falls open in mute relief- not even pleasure yet, just succor to your unrelenting need. Ramattra, however, stutters through a moan- the hand at your head curls into a fist, shaking with focus. Your body instinctively clenches around him, pulsing against the hard metal of his digit. As distracted as he is with your wet heat, he wastes no time in circulating the finger inside you- pressing against each wall, feeling the softness that surrounds every sensor, that ripples with each movement.

The first withdrawal is agonizing, the slow pull away, the half-second that you're nearly empty is unspeakable, an awful torment after finally knowing the shape of him. "I have you." He hushes before you can even whine. And he fulfills the promise, easing his finger back in. This time, you sigh- light and airy, lost under the sound of Ramattra's own ventilation.

Your body slowly releases its harsh grasp, relaxing into his slow, careful pace- sliding easily with every stroke, the soft noise of your slickness making your face burn. As the harsh peak of your need mellows into Ramattra's pleasurable touch, you're once more met with the impassive mask of his stark white faceplate. He's so close, you think you should be able to see his optics behind the faceplate- you want to see them- but he's blocking the only light in the room, casting his entire face in shadow, save for the mild, red lighting from the LEDs around his head.

He's gorgeous up close; all sleek lines and crisp enamel. Here and there are tiny nicks on his plating, like scars marking his body. Where you pant against him, his metal fogs- can he feel that? He's too far- and you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

You didn't realize how worked up he already was. Even to your fevered skin, Ramattra is warm, streams of hot air escaping past your forearms. He is actually enjoying this. The realization makes your pussy tighten around him once more- and in turn he curls the finger inside you.

You buck against him, the rush of pleasure driving any reservations from your mind as you thread one hand into the thick, black cables of his mane and lick at the pistons of his neck. The effect is immediate- his head drops down beside you entirely, bringing his shoulder even close to your mouth. Near your ear, Ramattra's voicebox rumbles, somewhere between a purr and a growl- the intent lost beneath a wave of static. And not to be outdone, he slips a second wide finger inside you.

The stretch pulls a moan from your lips, made louder by reverberating off Ramattra's shoulder plates. Two of his fingers already makes you feel pleasantly full, a respectable length and girth to them made even better with his attentive exploration of the hidden parts of your cunt- very aware of how every curl of his fingers makes your body sing for him.

And it does sing. Inside you, Ramattra gently spreads his fingers, urging your body to stretch even more, pressing ever harder into the soft flesh of your pussy- and you're helpless as you writhe beneath him. You don't even do it intentionally- raising one leg to press harder against his chassis. Perhaps, if his voice box was not right next to your ear, you'd have missed the spit of static that follows.

But you don't miss it. As lust-hazed as your mind is, all you can truly think about is how unfair it is that he's shown you so little. The hand not tangled into his wire-hair slides down his back, skirts around hot air vents, and dips between each silvery rib. The touch makes him shudder- a minute shaking of his rig that you wouldn't have even felt if he weren't fully pressed to your sternum. You linger at the thin hourglass of his waist, squeezing the thick, black cabling there appreciatively-- and first, Ramattra's hips faulter, a burst of erroneous data coming from the wiring you'd handled, then Ramattra groans, loud and almost droning as his stuttering hips meet the soft skin of your thigh. The shape of his lower plating means really only the top ridge is digging into you, but any discomfort is more than outweighed by his fans kicking up again.

You're ready for him- grabbing the last silver bar over his hip and guiding him closer. He doesn't resist at all. Without a single word, he follows, allows you to match the pace of his own fingers to have him rut against you in perfect time. He's almost fucking you; the proximity of him, the shape of his fingers- and suddenly you need it. To know what he looks like, feels like-- if he has one at all (though you hope he does, please, please-)

Ramattra pauses his thus far near perfect fingering- and you almost sigh with relief- he must have the same idea. Instead, he shifts his wrist- and the pad at the base of his thumb meets your clit. It's a pleasant shock- and when his fingers resume their thrusting, rhythmic pulling against you, you understand what he's done. Every tiny twitch of your hips makes your clit rub against his palm, and with his merciless knowledge of how to make you squirm, it's all he needs to make you gasp and clutch at him tighter.

All at once you're close, hardly more than a passenger to your own undoing. Each curl of his fingers is targeted, a planned attack on the sensitive innermost parts of your body- and with the uncommanded ruts of your hips, he's making you just as complicit in the rising fever of your need, using your own reactions against you- His plating meets your thigh again- and something like a moan spits from his voice box, a choked, half-buzzing noise that has you gasping, aching-

The noise you make is hardly human, barely recognizable as speech. "Wait," And yet the effect is immediate, before you can even croak out a clearer "Wait," he's already stopped, every joint locking up save for the turn of his head- and the lights on his faceplate burn bright, an unspoken question waiting there. He waits, silent, as you shiver and breathe, letting the hard edge of your desire die down before you can find any intelligible words, separated by harsh pants. "Can you?” Less intelligible than you had hoped. “Can you… fuck me?”

The lights on his forehead actually flicker, blinking asymmetrically as soon as the words leave your lips. His systems are in disarray, faulting, replaying your request until Ramattra has to halt the processes manually. It takes him much too long to croak out a barely understandable, static-fuzzed "Yes."

The withdrawal of his fingers from your pussy is agonizing, the last ring of muscle inside you desperately clenching against their retreat. The iron will it takes to keep your noises inside is physically painful, but somehow you think if you were to moan and plead that he let you cum now, he might actually short out. As it is, Ramattra is barely keeping it together. His hand is actually shaking as he releases the shiny plate over his groin, the soft hiss of pneumatics accompanying the distorted sigh from his vocoder. His dark paneling joins your armor on the floor and-

oh.

The first thing you notice is the lights. It's mostly thick, translucent purple silicone wrapped around a suspended mesh sensor array with red inlaid LEDs dotted under the surface that are nearly maroon through the pigment. The second thing is that it's massive. As big as his frame is, his cock is somehow bigger than you expect. It’s not quite the same shape as a human cock; the first rounded ridge is almost right, if only for the fact that it entirely circles the length. Behind it, two more ridges sit further down the shaft.

You can't help but reach for it. The groan that rumbles from his synth is just icing on the cake. "How...?" Fuck, you can't even close your hand around it, thumb and middle finger easily a full inch apart.

"I made it." He admits with a sigh. The tug of your skin on the dry silicone is awkward, but Ramattra shudders and rocks into your touch all the same. Until he seemingly remembers he was knuckle deep in you for several minutes- and shoos your hand aside just long enough to wipe your own fluids on himself. Purple with little red lights and glistening with your arousal- it's nearly enough to make you moan at the sight alone. It is enough when you stroke him again- and this time your hand glides over his smooth surface with ease. Ramattra feels the difference too, his head dropping forward as a plume of steam escapes from a hidden vent.

"Please," You can barely make yourself let go of him. He follows your hand as it falls between your legs, slips through your wetness in desperation to ease your need. "Ramattra..."

"It was," His voice box pops. A harsh little noise, then silence as it frantically reboots. When he speaks again, it's clearer- and there's something in his tone you don't recognize. "... not made for human dimensions."

"I don't care." You whine, grasping at his side once again. But he remains unmoved, his hands planted firmly on his knees, faceplate trained on you. His hesitance draws you out of your haze of lust, higher thinking forcing its way through your mind. Concern- it was concern in his voice. Ah. "If it's too much, I'll tell you. We can-" You swallow, and consider the possibilities that follow, "we can try something else."

And when this doesn't quite sway him, frustration takes control again. With a pitiful whine you present yourself to him again, a meager "Please, I need you." your final offering.

The actuators in his hands whine. A pressure warning pops into his HUD and is dismissed before he can even process it. "Yes." He rasps- it's agonizing how slowly he crawls over you, but the joy that he's moving at all is all you can really think about. "If you require me to stop, inform me immediately." You nod vigorously, almost missing how his voice drops, "I did not come here to harm you."

There's no time to consider the tenderness that laces his vocals, because he slides the head of his cock between your lips once, twice. The motion alone has your hands grabbing at him- and your breath all together stops as he begins to push.

He's big. Even with his mind-melting fingering, it stings as he slowly breeches you. His force is slow and even, but merciless. He does not pause at all as the widest part of his cock stretches you open, makes your face pinch together, thighs locking around Ramattra's thin waist. There's a high pitched little noise somewhere- and you can’t tell if it’s coming from you or Ramattra. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it must be heavenly for him. And yet he continues on- not a single stutter to his patient approach.

Relief washes over you when his hard hips meet yours- and above you Ramattra sighs. You're so full. All the way behind your navel- if pressed below your belly, you'd be able to feel him inside you-- if you could let go of him long enough to try. And it's tight- and truly you could redefine the word, with how harshly your walls cling to him, how you can feel every ridge, where every light is, just because it has slightly less give.

"You are..." He begins, vocalizer rumbling close to your ear. Simultaneously, you shift your hips, trying to ease the pressure that fills you up. Even such little motion cuts him off, makes him press his cool faceplate against your shoulder. His voice cuts through with another tone, like a radio station going out. "Sublime." One large hand lands at your hip, holds you close as he rocks against you. Fully buried as he is, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, digging your fingers into the gaps between his ribs. "It's like a current." He murmurs, almost in disbelief.

His comment is so strange, so stunned at your pussy, it pulls a delighted laugh from you despite how it makes you ache again. You move one hand from his back- and your knuckles hurt for how hard you'd been gripping him- to slide into the cables of his mane again. Ramattra purrs approvingly, a rumble that fills his entire body, permeates into you at every point of contact. He rocks with you again, and as much as you need him to stop moving, if he actually stilled you might just combust.

It hardly takes more than your hand moving to his hip and guiding him into a real stroke- even if you have to grit your teeth and hiss at his half withdrawal. The sound makes him lift his head, turn the dark slits of his optics towards you. He watches as you nod and urge him on with your calves on his thighs. He's slow, keeps that same agonizing pace- easing back into you with as much caution as the first time.

With the stretch already easing, the balance of discomfort to pleasure shifts- and you're closing your eyes, letting the ripple of electricity coast through you with each little motion he makes. Now, it's your turn to sigh, that fullness returning to you- pressed up against the deepest parts of you. When he lowers his head again, his faceplate is not buried into your shoulder this time. No, his LEDs are warm against your forehead, strange with the cool metal between each light. This close, you can hear the soft whirrs of his optics moving and re-focusing. Your breath fogs the white ceramic of his faceplate. If he minds, he doesn't say anything.

He keeps the rhythm on his own now, slow and even until he's sliding freely inside you without any hint of resistance, until you're needing. Words escape you as you clutch at him, press your forehead harder to his, whine with each glacial motion. He hums again, shifts his weight onto one arm- so careful to not break the intimate little connection he'd forged- to hold your hip with one hand. You can't see his optics through the narrow slits, but every sensor is centered on you as he so carefully moves quicker.

"Is this alright?" His voice hardly makes it out of his synth, so low and quiet- and so easily drowned out with your moaning. He’s still so gentle, even with his endeavor to please you in faster strokes, they’re each guarded, measured with careful calculations. There’s no force to them at all.

You can't seem to figure out where you want to hold him; both your hands bury into his cabled hair and stroke there, twist until a stunned little noise breaks free of his vocoder, then releases, fan down until you can hold at his shoulders, at the long pistons that would be collarbones. It isn't enough. Your hands skitter onward, over his arms, his sides, over and between the broad silver struts, in the black recesses between and back up. It takes everything to twist your hands into his cowl and beg. "More, please," Your lips brush his face, "Harder."

Ramattra's entire frame shudders, the hand at your hip pulling you ever closer, once more burying himself to the hilt. "Your…" He rasps, still shaking. "Penchant towards self-destruction is… astounding."

Where he had previously chided you with patience, it seems he has all but run out. The need is taking over him as well, because he doesn't even try to dissuade you at all as he completely moves himself. No longer laid nearly on top of you, his large form stretches over you like a breathing metal canopy, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He keeps the other hand on your hips- and his next thrust brings stars to the backs of your eyelids. All metal, no give; his hips meet yours with a new vigor. But even more, his altered angle forces one light node up against your front wall. He doesn't even have time to ask if it's good before you're gabbing at his smooth forearm, twisting one hand into your sheets. His name slips from your mouth in a plea, but you can't even understand what you're asking for. "Ramattra,"

Above you Ramattra purrs, the pleased little hum from his vocalizer vibrating out into your room. Beneath you, your bed creaks pathetically- above you, the clasps at the end of his hair-cables clack together, announcing his pace to your neighbors- and you don't care. All you can focus on is the rhythm of his body against yours, the staticy noises that slip from his vocalizer unbidden, where the pad of his palm has caught your skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. And where he wants you has your toes curling, your eyes fighting to stay open. Heat coils in your belly, and it's still not enough.

"More, more," You pant- pulling at his hips with your calves. The sore reality of getting fucked hard by a Ravager is completely gone from your mind- tomorrow's pain has nothing on the haze of desire that leaves you with only harder, deeper, more.

Whatever reply Ramattra has is lost, the noise from his synth a harsh tone that sounds more like a modem than speech. He complies immediately, his next thrust pushing you further up the bed, pressing hard enough against your cervix to make you gasp. The sheets aren't enough, you need to feel more of him- so you grab at his hand again, at his chest, where he's become positively warm. "Fuck, fuck, Rama-ah- I-" Every word broken by a snap of his hips, by the little eek, eek, eek of your mattress frame. Each thrust has your eyes rolling, panting, keening little noises because you can't stop them- and the coil is so close, so tightly wound-

and somewhere, you hear a coin dink onto the floor, hear it spin on the floor. It's so odd you can't make sense of it- can’t give it more than half a thought because you’re so close all you can focus on is the boiling desire that’s taken over your blood- until Ramattra's hips meet yours again.

And for a half-moment you're in free fall, weightless. For one heartbeat, Ramattra is moving away from you- or, no, you’re somehow moving away from him.

You stare, wide-eyed at the dark slits of Ramattra's optics- until one metal hand slips under your shoulders, faster than you can think. He catches you, but not before you’re almost inverted.

A glance up tells you exactly what you expect: the front half of your frame has collapsed, the legs have fallen flat against the floor. Fuck. It doesn't matter; that need has not been sated in the least. You shift your hips against his, shake his hand off you, and brace one arm between your head and the wall. "Don't care."

If he's planning on hesitating, you don't give him a chance. With a grab at the hand still at your waist, you clench around his cock. A real, true moan rips from his vocalizer and all caution is thrown to the wind. He holds your ass up off the slanted mattress with one hand, keeps you so perfectly stabilized as he ruts into you. Any semblance of order or careful intent is lost; the instinctual chase of pleasure has taken both of you. All you can do is lock your legs behind his thin waist and ride out each thrust, rising to meet him where you can. So hard and quick you can barely keep up with his pace, leaving you squirming beneath him, twisting your fingers into your hair as the heat rises again.

Your mind narrows down to a point, "Please, please- don't stop, fuck- Ramattra-"

Another groan from his throat and he grabs your waist with both hands. No longer just thrusting- he's all but pulling you up off the floor, spearing you onto himself over and over. He uses you like an oversized toy, fucking into you with abandon. And you hadn't even realized just how large his hands were. His thumb reaches right across your thigh, parts your lips to press against your clit. He strokes in time with his hips- and you're gone.

With him supporting most of your weight, you arch into the air- and clench down on him hard. Something in his throat pops before a groan cuts in. He doesn't stop moving, even as your walls flutter around him, as your voice goes hoarse. One hand leaves your hips- and something flutters down across one shoulder. You fight against the waves of ecstasy- each crashing over you, drowning out your senses in liquid pleasure- just enough to crack your eyes open as he peaks.

His body freezes, joints twitching out of sync, fragments of uncommanded movements while his voice breaks, a harsh tone pouring out before it clicks off entirely. You squeeze around him again- launching another wave for yourself- and above you, Ramattra's lights flicker, twinkle like stars- and then turn off. Offlined. Good. You join him shortly, closing your eyes and surrendering to the pleasant warmth that surrounds you.

When you wake again, you're right-side up. It takes a series of barely-coordinated blinks to clear your vision. It's somehow more disorienting than having been nearly upside-down to begin with. More so, you're not in your bed. No, you're wrapped up in your sheets, but you're firmly in Ramattra's lap- who has ended up sitting cross-legged next to the remains of your bed frame. It's... surprisingly cozy. The sheets soften up the hardest angles of his body and keep you warm while his frame regulates itself back to its usual cool temperatures.

"My apologies," He says in lieu of greeting. "It seemed impertinent to leave you... there."

From the forty-five degree angle of your mattress and how it's squished up against the wall. A white dust has spilled over your pillows- and it takes you much too long to piece together the Ramattra-fist-sized hole in your drywall. A tentative touch to your hair confirms flecks of paint and plaster. Yeah. You could imagine you probably didn't look very comfortable.

"Thanks," is what you try to say, but it comes out a rough rasp. You swallow several times to ease the dryness in your throat, but Ramattra seems to hum in appreciation. In all fairness, you had been all but screaming his name. A noble way to lose your voice. "Thanks," and this time, it sounds human enough.

"And I am sorry for damaging your quarters." He modulated a noise not unlike clearing his throat. "I may have gotten carried away."

You can only grin and slur your words. "S'okay, it's all cheap 'n Talon maintenance is fast." Honestly, it’s a compliment. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey. Who else can say they made the leader of Null Sector cum so hard he dug his fingers into your literal wall and shut down? You shift in his lap, lay your head more comfortably against his shoulder. When you settle, he holds you closer. "Benefits of no questions asked type of work." Once more his only reply is a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It's an easy silence- save for the quiet whirr of Ramattra's fans, which have returned to their normal pace. Only when you absolutely need to know do you risk asking, "Can you stay? For a bit longer?"

He pauses, considers the question. He shouldn’t, truthfully. This excursion has already gone well past what he had planned for. But there’s something nagging at his logic circuits, the same little impulse that had made him fall at your command. It had saved his life before- and gotten him here. When has he ever been able to deny himself his curiosities?

"Yes. I have time." He says and pulls you closer to him still, until he can feel every rise and fall of your chest, despite the blanket between your bodies. Internally, he sends a message that he'll be unavailable for a debrief with Akande.

This time, it's you that hums as you bury your face into the pistons of his neck and close your eyes.

-----

Sequel

[gargoy-ross]

Touches and Feelings - Ramattra x reader

Short fic about how he feels about touch. In case the title is misleading, it's sfw.

Ramattra did not like being touched, especially not by humans. He had long ago lost count of the times he'd been hit, dismantled or defaced by them.

Though usually they had the mind to steer clear of the Ravager - even his own people avoided him.

Except you.

A foolish little human who treated him with such gentleness and care he didn't know existed before.

When you first met he didn't think much of you. You were simply another human, albeit a bit more bearable to be around than most.

He was surprised when he noticed that you weren't showing any signs of fear or distaste towards him. Out of curiosity he started interacting with you more, and that's when he found that he actually enjoyed your company.

He could spend hours just sitting and talking with you. You didn't judge him for what he was, so he tried to do the same for you.

It was nice to have someone to talk to.

You meditated with him, and in exchange he'd partake in your hobbies, even if he did find some of them rather human.

It was rare he could call someone a friend, but you certainly were one.

But at some point your relationship started to change. It happened slowly; you would sit closer to him and your touch would linger for a moment longer.

He started to feel this odd feeling whenever he was with you. It wasn't unpleasant, but he wasn't sure what to do with it.

Neither of you dared to give a name to what was happening in fear of breaking this delicate thing. Instead you let it develop on it's own, feeding and nurturing but never acknowledging it.

It was unlike anything he had felt before, and he became addicted to the way you touched him.

If he had a heart it would've skipped a beat whenever you asked to hold his hand. Some days you traced shapes to the pads of his hand, others you simply intervined your fingers with his.

Ramattra could barely feel the feather-light kisses you pressed to his faceplate - couldn't if it weren't for his heightened senses - but they still sent sparks through his circuits.

And sometimes, when he was working nights and days on his inventions, you'd sneak to his workshop. It was odd how you looked so tired then, like you hadn't slept properly without him next to you.

You'd reach your arms out to him and ask him to rest for a moment. Of course he'd remind you that he did not need to, not like a human would. He'd act annoyed, you're disturbing his work, yet he'd still end up taking a break anyway.

It was simply impossible to say no when your soft body leaned into him. His projects could wait a little longer if it meant he could enjoy your embrace in that moment.

It didn't matter how you touched him, as long as you did.

Ramattra wanted to reprociate all of it, and every step of the way his programming fought against him. Cold metal could never be as gentle and soft as your human hands, but he tried.

It took him long to get comfortable with touching you, always asking if you were okay with it or if you wanted him to stop. He was thankful for your patiance with him, and after months of reassurance he could pull you to his arms with ease.

But it still doesn't feel like enough. He wants to ask for more, to take you with him and latch onto the only hand kind enough to feed a starving stray.

This was already more that he deserved, but he can't help it, not when you're so willingly giving in.

No, Ramattra did not like being touched, yet he could never get enough of it.

[aka-indulgence]

So, Ramattra huh? :3c

Ok so um. He’s completely taken over my mind for the past month 😭 I’m in love with this man

Usually I’m a sucker for the villains who are evil mostly for the sake of being evil or aggressive monster types but he’s like… morally gray complex? My (personal opinion) least favorite thing about supposedly morally grey characters is when they’re basically just evil except they go “oh but my backstory,” >:/ But here you can see why, there’s a lot of injustices towards omnics in the overwatch universe and you can see why he’s fighting so hard to make a change, even through any means necessary.

I’ve only started playing recently and every time I play as him I just find every little thing he does attractive orz the way he moves is so determined and confident, the way his hand strains when he’s shooting his primary fire/raising his shield… his scarf makes him look so majestic when he runs… his hair, gives him this effect that makes him look elegant? I want to tie his hair back for him huhuguhghuh

And oh my god don’t get me started on his nemesis form I’m dead 💀 He turns into this huge beast of a robot with big arms?? And his voice gets an extra.. filter to it that makes him sound scarier and growlier? I used to not like how his original arms were still visible, but now it’s yet another thing why I love him uhghehgfg he looks so confident with his arms crossed while he’s pummeling his enemies into submission and his cable hair flowing in the wind liks swoosh… and things get ramped up when he’s doing his annihilation ultimate, he can just run into the enemy team and suck their life force(?) Also this is a meta reason but I think it’s hot when he ults and the team scatters away from him 😳

and ough HIS VOICE AUGH HIS VOICE!! He always sounds so controlled and collected, and when he’s in nemesis form it’s like his restrained rage gets unleashed, phew… ngl I’ve been rewatching “Ramattra Voice Line” videos so much jkdshfnejf I love all versions of his ult line, whether its “SUFFER, AS I HAVE!” or “Rip them to pieces,”, or even the april fools line bc I just think he’s silly and dramatic in that one 🥺

I also watch a lot of his interactions, because despite his (understandable) hatred for humans, he’s respectful and polite to a lot of the other overwatch heroes. I imagine it’d be easy to write him as someone who dislikes all humans, but he shows appreciation to humans he thinks are kind and helpful to omnics, even if they might not like him. Even to humans he isn’t a fan of his conversations are still polite and reserved, or at the very least, he’s passive aggressive- but he never gets into a “grr I hate all of you” thing that Reaper has (lol)

His conversation with Venture especially makes me soft… he sounds encouraging to a human who wants to go to the Shambali monastery.

And of course his interactions with Bastion and Zenyatta are soft and gentle because omnics and knowing Zenyatta from the monastery.

I just- what if I’m his favorite person? What if I’m his exception to his hatred for humans? What if he was contrasted by a soft human? What if he says “Only you,” to his human? What if the hands he used for violence were also used to gently hold a delicate human he loves? uhuguhguhuhgufdgdfhgjdfhgd

I’m being self indulgent here and I say I wanna kiss Null Sector’s leader !!!! I want him to press his forehead to mine!! I want him to dink his mouth on my cheek and I do the same on his cool faceplate! I want him to cradle me with his nemesis hands! I want to hold his face when his faceplate gets cracked and his handsome, intense eye is visible and looking at me like I’m his treasure! ARGHRGHRG

[ya-zz]

Ramattra drabble but he messes with his speech settings and ends up talking another language and doesn’t know how to turn it off

FRENCH??? I am about to offend every French person who stumbles upon this blog...

He thinks nothing of it at first, a setting that didn't necessarily need to be touched unless he decided to travel, but considering he was comfortable in this place with you, it was unnecessary.

So he decides to mess with it, thinking nothing of it until he needed to do a quick reset to refresh his systems.

Everything booted up as usual but the moment his systems came up within his vision in another language, no longer omnicode, he froze.

You happened to wander in at the same moment he spoke, offering a smile and small wave as you approach him.

"Cela ne semble pas correct-" He pauses, fingers twitching at his sides.

"What?" You halt your movements, staring up at him with a confused expression on your face.

"J'ai peut-être fait une erreur." He looks at you, noting the ever growing concern and confusion within your features.

"I have no idea what you're saying." You admit, taking another step closer to him.

"Je ne sais pas comment rétablir cela. Mes systèmes sont en français."

"Ramattra, you can say whatever you like but I have no idea what you're actually saying."

He hums, optics looking off to the side as he tries to think of an alternative way to communicate to you. He has no manual, he wasn't factory made, so to speak.

Ramattra couldn't do much except take a seat on the floor and go into his systems, but with everything no longer in omnicode, it was going to take a long time to put things back to how they were.

"This is why you shouldn't mess with settings you're uncertain with." You laugh, taking a seat in front of him.

His optics look up at you between files as he scoffs.

"Il serait dans votre intérêt de vous taire."

NOTES/TRANSLATIONS

Forgive me if it's wrong, I used two translators for this.

Cela ne semble pas correct - This doesn't seem right

J'ai peut-être fait une erreur - I may have made a mistake

Je ne sais pas comment rétablir cela. Mes systèmes sont en français - I don't know how to restore this. My systems are in French

Il serait dans votre intérêt de vous taire - It would be in your interest to keep quiet

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 20 (Technophilia)

Ramattra x Male!reader

The room was pretty quiet with the exception of a few clinks of metal and muttering from Ramattra. You absentmindedly rubbed your shoulders as you watch him attach his new reproductive part to his pelvic plate, integrating it to his interface. The room was pretty chilly and it didn't help that you were naked, but you didn't want to complain. Ramattra looked totally in the zone as he fiddled with wires and silicone. You shift a bit on the bed to get a better look at the glowing purple appendage.

"Did you have to make it so.......big?" You ask, a bit nervous about how girthy his new upgrade was.

Ramattra chuckles slightly as he finishes attaching the new appendage to his pelvis, a hint of pride evident in his voice. "Why settle for anything less than perfection?" he replies nonchalantly, running his hands over the newly attached organ. "It certainly adds to the experience."

Turning towards you, curiosity laces his tone. "Are you worried about accommodating such a...large member?"

You chuckle nervously. "Just a bit" you say softly.

"Don't worry," Ramattra reassures you, "I'll take good care of you." He steps closer, his large frame towering over yours as he leans down, your faces mere inches apart.

"After all," he continues softly, lowering one hand to stroke along your inner thigh, his clawed fingers tracing over the skin, "I wouldn't want to hurt my little human".

He moves his hand to your chest and gently pushes you onto your back. You lift your knees up to give him space to work with. You watch surprised as his fingers ooze with lube. You blush, you didn't think he was serious about adding an automatic lubing attachment inside his hand. You though he was just teasing you when he mentioned it weeks ago.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches between your legs, pressing two fingers against your entrance. There's a moment of resistance before they begin to push inside, stretching your opening gradually. Despite the initial discomfort, there's an undeniable tug at your senses.

Your walls begin to adapt to the intrusion, welcoming his fingers deeper within you. As he works his fingers in and out, massaging your inner walls, moans escape your lips.

As your ass begins to produce squelching and squishing noises, a mix of embarrassment and arousal fills you. You quickly cover your face in shame, unable to believe the sounds coming from your own body.

Ramattra lets out a low chuckles as he moves his face closer to yours. "See? You're already responding beautifully," he remarks, his words dripping with satisfaction. "Imagine how amazing it will feel once I'm really inside you."

As you remove your hands from your face, revealing your flushed cheeks and needy gaze, Ramattra takes hold of your waist, pulling you closer until his faceplate comes into contact with yours. The contrast between his cool, metallic surface and your warm skin sends a jolt of electricity coursing through both of you.

His fingers continue working their magic, eliciting gasps and whimpers from deep within your throat. With each thrust, he grows more confident, knowing that soon enough, you'll be taking his cock.

Ramattra presses his faceplate firmly against your neck, causing you to shiver involuntarily from the sudden temperature change. Yet, instead of backing away, you find yourself leaning into the embrace, craving more of his attention.

As Ramattra withdraws his fingers from your tight hole, leaving behind a sense of emptiness, you can't help but whimper at the loss. But he doesn't leave you waiting for long.

With practiced ease, he moves on top of you as he hoists your legs over his broad shoulders. "Ready for me?" he asks, his voice deep and commanding.

At your eager nod, Ramattra positions himself at your entrance, the tip of his massive appendage hovering just millimeters away from your vulnerable hole. Slowly, he begins to grind against you, dragging his shaft across your sensitive flesh without actually penetrating. Each pass ignites a fire within you, causing your cock to stir and throb impatiently.

He chuckles darkly, taking great pleasure in watching you squirm beneath him. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Taking hold of his impressive length, Ramattra begins to tap the bulbous head repeatedly against your pucker. "Please..." you manage to utter between ragged breaths, pleading for release. However, Ramattra shows no signs of mercy as he continues toying with you.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Ramattra finally allows himself to sink into you, pushing past the first ring of muscle with a slow, steady pressure. The feeling seems to shock both parties involved – you cry out in pleasure while he lets out a low groan. You notice him tremble as he takes in the new sensation of having a member.

"Fuck!" he growls, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain composure. "I didn't realize it would feel this incredible."

Determined to enjoy every second of this experience, Ramattra continues pushing forward, forcing his massive shaft further into your willing depths. Your body stretches around him, adjusting to accommodate his immense girth.

As he bottoms out, filling you completely, you can't help but whimper at the overwhelming sensation. "Relax, pet. I know you can handle it." He says as he adjusts his pose, shifting so that his weight presses down on you.

Allowing himself a brief pause to savor the fullness, Ramattra "exhales" deeply. "Damn, you humans feel so good," he grumbles, his voice rough with lust. "No wonder so many others crave this feeling."

Experimenting with the newfound sensations, Ramattra carefully begins to withdraw, retracting his length millimeter by millimeter until only the head remains buried within you. Then, with a sudden surge of passion, he plunges back in, hitting the sweet spot deep within you. You let out a yelp mixed with a moan as your head falls back onto the pillows.

The impact causes him to falter briefly, nearly losing his balance as he struggles to regain control. "Fuck, this is even better than I imagined," he mutters, his voice filled with genuine surprise.

As Ramattra finds his rhythm, establishing a slow and steady pace, you find the courage to offer guidance through gentle encouragement. "That's right," you whisper softly, guiding him to hit those perfect spots. "A little faster now, deeper..."

To your delight, Ramattra listens intently, his focus solely on learning as much as he can about sex. Gradually increasing the intensity of his thrusts, Ramattra drives harder and faster into you, causing you to cry out in ecstasy as your body betrays your attempts at holding back. Ramattra glances down at where his purple cock drives in and out of your hole.

Unable to contain his amusement, Ramattra chuckles darkly. "Look at you," he teases, watching as you grip the sheets beneath you. "And here I thought humans had some dignity left."

Even while being fucked silly, you shoot him a glare.

Catching sight of your expression, Ramattra can't help but laugh heartily. "Oh, did I hurt your precious ego?" he teases, his thrusts becoming more rapid and forceful. You huff and turn your face away from him.

Realizing he may have gone too far, he offers a halfhearted apology as he gently holds your chin to make you look at him. "Alright, alright. Sorry, pet. I promise I'll make it up to you." And true to his word, he increases the tempo, driving you ever closer to the edge.

As the pleasure builds within you, your words become less coherent, reduced to nothing more than fervent gasps and moans. "Fuck...oh please, oh God," you beg, your entire body tense as he fucks you into the mattress.

Delighted by your sounds, Ramattra leans close, his faceplate pressed against yours. "Listen to you, pet. So desperate for my cock." He growls, his voice deepening as he drives home the point by angling his hips to strike your prostate perfectly.

As you approach the brink of orgasm, Ramattra decides to put you out of your misery. With a growl, he slams into you one last time, driving himself impossibly deep within you.

The sensation proves too much for you to bear, triggering your climax. Cum shoots out from your cock, painting your chest white as your body convulses. Meanwhile, Ramattra holds onto you tightly, grunting loudly as he grinds his cock as deep as he can.

Feeling satisfied, Ramattra pulls out abruptly, his purple cock glistening with lube and your juices. Your legs fall off of his shoulders. Still rock hard, he stands tall above you, looking down upon your spent form.

Exhausted from the intense encounter, you collapse onto the mattress, your limbs heavy and useless after such an arduous session. Panting heavily, you simply lay there, unable to muster the strength needed to move a finger.

Realizing you might need a moment to recover, Ramattra brings you the glass of water that was sitting on the dresser by the bed, allowing you to quench your thirst.

"Take a breather, pet. We've got plenty of time for more fun tonight," he promises, running a hand along your sweat drenched torso. "Next round? Doggy style."

You groan as he chuckles. You forgot he only installed the cock, not the actual cum production parts. Ramattra doesn't have a refractory period nor the limitations of human stamina. You let out a long sigh.

"Okay...I'm game"

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[sshadowritestoriess]

This is a different anon but could I get some nsfw headcanons of Ramattra with a shy reader? Ty

Ofc!! Sorry this one is a bit short!

Ramattra NSFW With a Shy S/O

A long time ago, Ramattra thought he had no business interacting with a fidgety person who couldn’t even maintain eye contact when speaking with someone. Disrespectful, he’d have said. Weakness.

In fact, he once took personal offense to your behavior, assuming his model the reason for your skittishness.

But with time and careful observation, even having a couple heart-to-heart conversations about the differences in the way either of you approached people, he was helped to discovering shyness as being less of a flaw like he’d thought. It was careful, patient. It was a preference.

And this he soon learned to respect and be understanding towards. For you in particular, he grew to feel affection for this kind of personality— melting with relief when you would finally begin to take to his side for security. He was glad his presence made you feel safe.

Only until you both escaped to private quarters and decided to take another step in your relationship, he found himself hesitating again when you began to tremble like you had when you first got to know him

He made certain you were comfortable, and that you were sure you wanted to continue. His gentleness wasn’t any surprise— as harsh as he often was with others, he wasn’t any less sensible.

You would undress yourself at your own pace, and he would patiently follow suit

He was hands-off until you were confident enough to take his palm in yours. Then as if activated, his servos would delicately feel at you where he knew you were fine with being touched

He’d advance further when you give him permission to, prodding at more sensitive areas, and carefully watching your face for any discomfort

If you cover yourself, he would wait until you remove your hands again, focusing his ministrations on something less overwhelming. He wouldn’t rush a thing, wouldn’t touch your arms except to get out of your way. Reassurance wasn’t his best skill, but he could win in any waiting game

But if you verbalized your concerns, he would still do his best to counter your worrying. He knew it meant little in this situation to just say you are safe with me, that was a feat best shown. So he would only tell you that he could wait, or you are more than allowed to change your mind.

If it’s insecurity you speak of, he would attempt not to chuckle. But you could hear the smile in his voice when he tells you how unique you are, and that your lack of confidence in yourself is merely a rigged defense working against you. “I admire your bravery for making it this far, even with that nonsense in your head.”

Ramattra actually found this rather entertaining, to earn your subconscious trust again under a whole new light. Watching your body slowly relax beneath his, gradually recognizing that you could be safe with him like this

He would take you with the same restraint he always held around you, slow and careful, pausing briefly to make sure you were alright

His faceplate would press light pulses against the side of your face— his version of kisses, you learned— and he’d murmur to you his gratitude for being this vulnerable with him

And with your permission, he would begin to pick up the pace., stifling his own sounds of pleasure to hear for anything that he should stop for— ensuring you were enjoying this as well

But once he became more than certain that you were in this with him, he would finally relax and let himself ride through the ecstasy that is your body for as long as you could take him

It was nothing short of rewarding to reach his peak after demonstrating his patience for you, and he’d do it all over again a thousand times if only to earn your faith once more

[yore-donatsu]

Yeah ! Metal!Rama is back and it'll make quite an impression !

Knowing Ramattra's perfectionism, he had to make every show memorable. This is one of his best and most accomplished

It took him several weeks to create these special effects. Nobody was supposed to know before the show (except the guy who was going to "beat him up")

Yeah ! The technical team and his crew were unaware of this, and the surprise was titanic

[tonberry-yoda]

Helpful Human - Ramattra

notes: here it is!! the very anticipated ramattra fic from this poll!!! I really love doing these polls, so expect another one today LMFAOOOOOO. but seriously though, thank you all for your patience. I really like this one. it's based off of a voice line that Rama and Baptiste have together that makes me so soft omg. this is a very fluffy fic that makes me very very happy. and jesus, i love making y/n a little omnic doctor, it makes me smile every time! please enjoy this fic and stay hydrated folks! love you all have a killer day <33333

word count: 1,199

No one looked at you the way he did. He looked at you as though instead of him being the predator, you were. He looked at you as if you could hurt him. As if you hated him. His eyes watched your every move and he even jumped when you would made any short, sudden movements.

You didn't want to hurt Ramattra. Hell, you never once thought about harming an omnic. Even during the war, when you were told you had to fight. All you wished was for a way that Ramattra could trust you. Trust anyone in Overwatch.

He wouldn't let anyone near him except any of the omnics/robots of Overwatch, spending most of his time with Zenyatta and questioning Bastion. If he was in the common rooms of the Overwatch headquarters, his eyes would linger on every human with hatred. He would watch as Bastion and Torbjorn would spend time together and Orisa would make jokes with Hanzo. He watched with what you couldn't tell was sadness, jealousy, anger or a mixture of all three.

He refused your help, even though you were the only one in Overwatch that could repair omnics like a doctor, only letting Zenyatta fix his wounds as best he could. Even though Zen knew what he was doing, it wasn't enough. He begged for you to help Ramattra, but you could only do so much.

"I want Ramattra to trust me," you had told Zen as you were cleaning up your studio. "More than anything. But I also know that he has been through hell and back. I can't force him to like me, let alone trust his lift in my hands."

"I understand my brother," Zen said to you. "But if he wants this terrible burden the world has given to him, he needs to allow humans to help. Especially humans like you." Zenyatta gave your chest a little poke and you smiled.

"I can't convince him to trust me..." You started.

"But I can try." You couldn't see it, but you knew Zen was giving you a warm smile.

After that, you didn't think much of the conversation. There was only so much that the two of you could do. You spent your time doing what you were used to doing, fixing up other robots and omnics alike who have seen more than one should.

Echo would come into your office with a smile and a crack in her arm and tell you stories, which always left you with a smile; Orisa would tell you about her past, and what she sees for her future; and Bastion would beep at you with pleasure, showing you what he had found for Ganymede.

You liked what you had, and if Ramattra wasn't a part of it, that was his choice. And that was the way you thought it was going to be for a while.

Until you heard the door to your studio open, the sound of sparking wires enter.

You smiled and turned around in your spinning chair, nearly gasping at what you found.

Ramattra's giant figure stood in front of you, his entire arm torn off with fiery sparks flying off of him, his artificial breaths uneven.

You jumped out of your seat and pointed to a medical bed large enough to fit him in the corner of the room. You didn't panic or rush, you just did your job.

Without a word, you fixed his arm and cleaned up burn marks and mud dusting his mechanical body. And he watched in silence as you mended his body back together, making it feel good as new.

You looked up at him with a smile and asked him to move his arm. "Better?" You asked, looking into his dark eyes.

He nodded at you, moving his elbow and fingers at the same time, seeing not only that they were fixed, but flowed perfectly, like a river.

"Need anything else done? Anything bothering you?" You documented your work on your computer and turned to Ramattra, who cleared his throat.

"No. Everything seems to be fine." You realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to you and the first time you had ever heard his voice this close to you. It was deep and comforting with what sounded like gravel behind it.

"Well, I'm sorry that happened to you, but you should be good as new."

After a bit of hesitation, Ramattra sucked in a breath. "Thank you." His voice was soft and he looked down at his hands.

"You're welcome." You thought he would leave after that, but he didn't.

You paused and looked at Ramattra, who's eyes were still not on you. "You don't mind that I did that, right?" You asked, your voice kind and curious. "I know it must bother you that I'm a human and all."

Ramattra chuckled softly and looked up at you. "Well, actually, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. I feel," he looked up at the florescent lights in the room. "Better."

You smiled at him, but didn't know what to say.

"You know," Ramattra said, looking back down at his hands. "My brother convinced me to come here several times, but I never listened. He was on my butt about coming her now because there was no way he was going to fix a torn off arm."

You smiled. "Zenyatta's a great healer, but I don't think he knows how to weld back pieces of his own body."

Ramattra laughed at you, the roughness of his voice now soft and light.

"I don't trust him with fire at all to be honest," you said, laughing yourself.

That made Ramattra laugh harder and he looked at you with what seemed like a smile as he tilted his head.

"This took me a while," he admitted, sitting in a chair next to yours. He was a giant next to you. "But I'm really glad I came here. I don't know how often I'll be coming in though. I'm still... getting used to things."

"I understand," you told him, giving him the space he needs. "But if anything like this happens, know that I'm here to help. I promise."

Ramattra hums in approval and grabs your hand, placing what would be his lips to it, almost like he just pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You feel your face heat up as his cold fingers glide over your warm ones. He drops your hand and bows at you.

"I'll be on my way then," he says, getting up and walking to the door. "Thank you... for being so patient with me."

"Of course." You watch him walk out of the room, your voice trailing off.

You knew you were blushing, but how could you not. You hoped he would be back, but buried that thought. You don't want him to be hurt again, dummy. So you just sat and thought about what Ramattra had told you. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. You smiled at the thought. You hoped you could be the one to help.

~~~~~

overwatch masterlist | pinned post @tonberry-yoda

[janayuga]

Ramattra doesn‘t sleep, except when he has his tiny omnic hubby laying on him.

Also ramattra purrs while sleeping and its like white-noise to max. Thanks.

[wildissylupus]

Love how when it comes to the skin issues people are acting like the Devs having favouritism issues is a new thing. I've been in the Overwatch fanbase since 2016. The Devs have always had favourites when it comes to skins, especially with Tank and Support because there are so few of them.

Like it's an issue don't get me wrong, but this isn't some outstanding new issue that's popped up with Overwatch 2. This has been happening since the first Overwatch, fans are just kind of ignoring that because it doesn't fit with their narrative that "old Overwatch was better".

This isn't a new issue, the new issue is just the lack of skins in general and that's because of the lay-offs. Kiriko is getting skins because she's the character that makes the most money, Illari has likely been a planned for awhile so they likely had time to make concept art and model, Ramattra is a tank making it very unlikely he's going to get a lot of skins. Venture and Juno are the newest characters, the characters that are likely going to be effected the most by the lay offs.

Honestly considering how popular Venture is I wouldn't be surprised if next year we get a bunch of skins for them. Cause yeah, they likely have next years seasons picked out, and no it isn't the survey skins. When it comes to a season pipeline like this they likely make the skins months in advanced. It's why the Dev team knows Venture is going to be getting a skin in two seasons time. They likely already made it. Legendary skins actively take months to make, the reason they're Legendary is because they change the rig of a model. Yes there are a few exceptions but that's usually how it goes.

And before people say "but if it's made months in advance why don't they make those skins anyway" because they don't know how a character will be received. With the old team they could risk giving them skins because there were enough people to pick up the slack. With the lay-offs they can't actually risk that because they don't have the time with the team they have.

I'm not really trying to defend the Devs here either, them not giving content to certain heroes is just bad in general. It's just not a new issue.

[lady-of-endless]

HELLOOOOO!!!! I LOVE the way you write ramattra a lot, he feels so much in character but still so so soft and gentle🥺🥺🥺 If your requests are still open… what about ramattra finally allowing the reader explore his body (not necessarily sexual…maybe a little hahah)? Him finally trusting the reader enough to expose himself, let them touch him and see where he likes being caressed most? would he be shy about it ?? I feel like it would be an intimate and cute moment :) Thank you for your writings 💗💗💗

Author's Note: Yesss keep sending in overwatch requests, guys. I actually thought about this scenario many times so thank you for requesting this. Also, I love how you went into detail, it helps me so much. As usual, I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Physical closeness with Ramattra

Of course that you, his beloved have to initiate something like this. The concept of a human analyzing his components, his vital parts, and his vulnerabilities, wasn't scary, knowing it was you who discovered him. However it was something new to him, and new things are sometimes intimidating.

"I was made for the battlefield, for annihilation, for destruction, never for something so frivolous and passing as physical pleasure." His voice trailed when he saw how much you wanted it.

At first, Ramattra refuses it so the moment in which he changes his mind feels unexpected but natural. It happens after a mission in which he gets injured. You insist on fixing him and he lets you. The gentleness of your touch on his injured parts made him wonder how would your hands feel on other parts of him.

He sat on a chair and you were standing in front of him, between his legs. His hands were on your waist and your hands were working on a circuit from his You were so close to him as you patched him up. There is no turning back from this level of vulnerability, he thought.

You were convinced that he was sensitive to touch as you often heard him grunt in pain during battles when he got hurt. It is safe to assume that the only physical sensation Ramattra ever felt was pain.

After you finished fixing him up, having your wish in mind, he gently grabs both of your wrists. Before you could say anything he started explaining. "This front part and this one, those are the vital parts of an omnic." His voice was informative, trying to mask his reticence. He guided one hand to the center of his chest and one hand to his back, on his metallic spine.

From there, if you decide to slide your hand down his spine slowly, you will hear him inhale sharply and feel how his grip from your waist tightens instinctively. "M-my apologies. That was unexpected." He immediately explained his reaction, clearing his throat and softening his touch. He didn't know if he said it for you or for him. He was new to this kind of sensation.

Because you got his consent, you continued. Your fingers traced each sharp angle of his faceplate. Ramattra froze when your hand reached for his dark lustrous cords from his head. He did not acknowledge how sensitive those were before your touch.

He thought how outrageous was to be able to receive the physical sensation of pleasure from a human and yet he sighed deeply at your touch. He wished to discover more about this sensation.

Generally, his circuits could handle overheating but, this time, it felt a bit too much to handle. What had more effect than your touch was the intimacy of the whole act.

He would constantly remind himself that you were a human but the only human he trusted so deeply.

He places a hand over yours where you touch a part of him that makes him feel something akin to a shiver, pay attention to that.

"I think I could get used to this type of intimacy with you." He hummed as he caressed the back of your neck. Except him to want to do the same to you, to discover parts of you (and provide physical pleasure as well).

[korpuskat]

Twines Counterclockwise

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T WC: 3.6K Warnings: Hanahaki's Diseases, Blood, Injury =

It starts with an itch in your chest. Just the faintest inclination you needed to cough- which would’ve been fine, a normal little human thing that nobody thinks much of. Except that in front of you is a holoscreen, displaying blueprints in glowing 3D, spinning as their creator motions to various features and systems. His fingers are long and shine brilliantly when they cut through white, hovering lines. It’s his updated design of the slicer’s laser, modernized, faster start-up, less heat emission, and-

“Sorry,” You interrupt, turn away, and cough.

He stops long enough to look at you, but with his unemotive faceplate, whatever he’s truly thinking is lost. Probably irritation for impeding his explanation, which makes you resist the urge to duck your head. It’s unprofessional, you tell yourself. Instead you settle for purposefully looking at the design, “Please, go on.”

He waits a moment- perhaps debating how worth it is to snap at a human trying to give him orders. Finally, he continues. If he notices your gaze wandering off the crisp, white lines and back to his hands, he says nothing.

You don’t think much of it, even if you’re having to clear your throat repeatedly just to rid yourself of that itchy feeling. Probably a cold, or perhaps the icy antarctic air has finally started to wear on you. It’s nothing, a quirk of being human in a place so intensely not made for humans, an annoyance- until it isn’t.

And of course, it’s when he’s escorting you through his waiting production lines. Motioning up above to the never-ending converters, arcs of welders and robotic arms, waiting so long to be tasked again. He speaks in that rumbling, low voice of his, explains the modifications he will need to make before mass production can begin. His synth loses its regulation when he gets excited, sounding less deceptively almost-human and more robotic. It’s not a bad sound.

He points overhead towards one line. Even for his size, his movements look graceful, fluid. Each joint is wellkept, oiled, and the gold design on the few scraps of cloth that he wears shimmers in the low lights. He motions again, then turns and looks at you- bright red array, empty black optical slits.

Right. The production line.

You fight to keep the facade of professionalism. He continues. This line needs repairs, did not work with London, couldn’t source the parts for it without raising flags he didn’t have the resources to cover. He would need it to be updated and-

And you’re softly coughing into your fist. Ramattra’s head turns subtly, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. You hold up a hand, one finger in a silent plea for him to wait just a moment. This isn’t a big deal. It isn’t.

But you don’t stop coughing, turning first towards your inner elbow- but it won’t stop. Your throat burns, itches- but each spasm of your diaphragm isn’t doing anything to help. Each cough brings on the next, and the next-

“Are you… alright?” He asks, and oh, you can almost convince yourself there’s actual worry there. It would be a pain if a Talon agent died alone in his omnium, so soon after their tentative agreements. You nod, try to smile between coughs- but it must not work because he follows it up with “Are you sick?”

You don’t get the chance to dissuade him, because you’re doubling over, falling to your knees. Coughs turn to retches, full-body shudders and there’s something in your throat. Tears burn at your eyes, blur your vision, even as three silver claws step in front of you. You can’t stop coughing, can barely breathe between each one and all you can do is flex your throat, hunch over, squeeze your eyes-

Something falls into your hand, still cupped over your mouth.

The itch is gone. Tears cover your face. Finally, you can breathe again, taking in lungfuls of cold, antarctic air- which feel like knives in your irritated throat. With the back of your hand, you wipe at your face, trying to hide the evidence of tears and spittle. You’re so far beyond presentable and the whir of Ramattra’s internals, so close to you now, crouched down to your level, only makes you wish you had declined this promotion entirely.

“Sorry,” You try to force another fake smile, but don’t know if it even really makes it past the intention. “Don’t know what that was.” Ramattra’s head tips, looks you over. He waits there, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together before you finally wave him on, “Give me a minute, please.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal noise before standing up again and wandering down the walkway, giving you some space. He watches, however, keeps you in his field of view.

When you’re sure he can’t see it, you uncurl your clenched hand. Inside, is a pale purple flower bud, just beginning to open.

It doesn’t get easier. A week passes and a small collection of lavender flowers has gathered on your nightstand. Each coughing fit is all-consuming, burns out every other sense until the next part is hacked up. Here, at least, in the privacy of your makeshift quarters you can reach into your mouth and try to grasp at the stem. You touch it- and retch as it twitches deep in your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you reflexively begin to cough again.

On the counter, your phone lights up, buzzes with a call.

You can’t even entertain taking it, no matter who it is. Another failed attempt to catch the stem- which is prodding painfully into the roof of your mouth- launches another round of coughs and tears. The mirror- maybe you can see it? You stumble across the room and switch on the light. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you still can’t quite make out the shape that’s lodged itself in your windpipe. The flashlight on your phone, however, does help.

And amidst the red, inflamed flesh of your throat is a single, green-brown vine curling against the roof of your mouth. Just beyond your tongue, another purple flower clings to your tonsils, glistening with spit. With the aid of the mirror and light, this time you catch the end of the stem firmly between finger and thumb. You pull--

And pain shoots through you like lightning, sharp and crackling down your throat, across your chest, clawing and twisting into your lungs- and around your hand you cough, eyes pinching shut, dropping your phone as you struggle and yank.

It’s caught somewhere. The vines dig into every crevice they can find, desperately latching onto you. You brace yourself, take as deep a breath as you can and yank again. This time, the stem snaps. A red-dotted string of flowers splatters into your sink.

Your chest clears somewhat, still burning from where you’ve ripped the vine free. Even as you gasp in air, another growth wavers in your chest, dancing with each inhale. Before long, you’ll be back here, pulling another one out.

You really didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, you thought about him often and enjoyed every conversation that managed to veer away from Null Troopers and omniums… but the flowers? How could it have gotten so bad?

You press on one purple petal, swipe away the blood that stains it crimson. The flowers range in ages, a few at the tip not yet opened, tight, darker indigo buds, while the ones at the other end, where the stem is thicker, broken, have popped into lilac blooms. A large flat, open petal atop one tightly still curled.

You love him.

You knew, honestly, but having it be presented to you so blatantly is still… unnerving. And-

bzzt. You startle, drop the flower and look down. On the floor- where your phone had landed- is a face you really do not want to see right now. With a grimace you pick the device up, wipe any blood away from your lip, and answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re lucky I bothered to call twice.” Her voice bites out. You’ve just answered and she’s already bored with this conversation.

“Sorry. What can I do for you, Dr.O’Deorain?”

“Actually,” She almost singsongs, “It’s about what I can do for you. Your gracious host informed me that you are unwell. And while I’m sure he must have bothered to make his workshop more habitable for you, there are several fascinating viruses that live in glaciers.”

Oh.

Ramattra called her.

You grimace, feel another wave of shame that you’ve been sick enough he’s bothered to contact Moira of all people. “It’s not…” You pause- because on one hand, Moira would know how to deal with this. And on the other… even admitting it would show much of a liability you’ve been. Your chest itches already, another creeping vine ready to climb out of your throat. “I know what it is.”

“Oh? I somehow doubt even an omnic would be so concerned about a cold.”

“It’s… Hanahaki.“

She sighs and you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re coughing-”

“Full flowers.” You stare down at the purple and red in your sink. “It’s Hanahaki.”

All the frustration leaves her voice in a heartbeat. “Send me a picture.” You do, of the one you just coughed up and the handful of flowers and petals you’ve collected. After a minute, she says something under her breath. “Wonderful.. You, what, had a crush on someone here in Rome and couldn’t confess before you left on a months-long Antarctic tour?”

You bite your tongue. Wouldn’t that be nice? A friendly coworker you could just message about your feelings. As it turns out, you don’t have to say anything at all. She’s too sharp, your silence a little too damning.

“You’re joking.” She scoffs, “Actually unbelievable.”

The urge to cough settles in your chest. Through the tightness you bite out, “Just… tell me what I can do.”

Moira sighs once more, “I don’t suppose talking it out has already crossed your mind?” You don’t answer her. “Of course. Then the only other option would be major surgery. That has its own assortment of risks, the least of which would be you would feel nothing for him anymore.”

That… should almost be comforting. Tears prick your eyes. He’s about to wage a war on the vast majority of humanity, has lectured at length the atrocities he’s seen your kin commit. There’s no chance. And yet… it hurts. Despite the damage that’s come to your body and the shame that follows: being unfit to continue working, for making things awkward, for having feelings for… him. Despite that, it’s still been nice. The warmth that follows him, that settles inside you when he speaks, the way he tips his head when he’s sketching out a new idea, the way his posture shifts, relaxes, when he must think you aren’t looking. Would that all become nothing to you?

A cough sneaks up your throat. You hold your phone at arm’s length, would mute yourself if you could focus long enough. You can’t; another flower has broken loose, tumbles from your lips into the sink to join its brethren.

On the phone, Moira curses in Gaelic. “I am advising you as a doctor to talk to him. I’m sure you kids will be able to figure it out.” Silence is your only response. After all, what was there to really talk about? You’re human.. She sighs irritably, but slowly perks up as she speaks: “Fine. I have some colleagues in Oasis who should be able to assist. You might be the first case of omnic-borne Hanahaki. Would be a fascinating case study.”

It takes a few hours to work up the courage to message him. Taking medical leave, No more than two weeks. Need transport to Oasis.

His response is almost instantaneous: Understood. Shuttle ready.

You pack lightly. Very little of your clothes are appropriate for the wildly different climate awaiting you after a ten hour flight. It’s mostly your work gear, things you haven’t needed while so firmly stationed away from any wetwork. Regardless, you enter the shuttle bay with a single suitcase, in casual clothes covered by a heavy jacket. As it is, the coldness already seeps through the single outer layer, bringing a chill to your toes- and to your chest.

The itch becomes unbearable as soon as you lay eyes on him. The back of the shuttle is open, waiting for you- but so is he. Why? Why must he see you off now?

Ramattra straightens up, folds his hands behind his back. With how thin his waist is, the action doesn’t hide much of his arms. “Agent,” He greets you stiffly, awkwardly, as you approach. “I assume this is more than a simple cough, then?”

“Afraid so.” The back of your throat burns just from two words and his head shifts, almost bobbing back in surprise. Has your voice gotten so bad?

“I see. It is… serious?”

“Yes.” You clear your throat, hope to shoo away as much hoarseness as you can. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Ramattra’s white faceplate tips off to the side, a blatant display of curiosity. In what exactly you don’t know. Probably why Talon isn’t just replacing you, reassigning you after your treatment.

“I hope you…” He pauses, seems to taste the words before he says them, “feel better soon.” It’s awkward in his voice, stilted, a phrase so wildly unused, perhaps he’s never even said it. But he gives you that courtesy, even if only because it’s polite- and it makes your heart ache.

And that makes your lungs itch. You can’t even suppress it down to a small cough into your hand. All at once you’re doubled over, heaving coughs into your elbow. The thick taste of iron coats your tongue, blood spraying from your lips. Then, the smooth, suffocating feeling of the flowers.

Purple follows red- and you quickly fall to your knees, unable to catch a single breath between thundering spasms in your chest. Your ribs creak, strain from each movement, the pain in your lungs radiating out and you pinch your eyes shut, wait for it to be over.

His knee clanks to the floor- you don’t need to open your eyes to see that it’s him. A cold, firm hand touches your back. It’s… skittish, unused to the contact, too light of a touch to be reassuring, but it’s alright because every cough jostles you away, brings waves of pain and nausea as a string of buds clings to your uvula.

Another good cough and the vine breaks, half expels the raceme from your mouth. With the other hand you rip it from your lips, throwing it to the floor while gasping for air. For the moment, your lungs are clear- despite the burning pain of frigid air on the open wounds of your throat, the joy of breathing again overtakes all.

Until you open your eyes- and through tears you see the splatters of red- and the long string of purple. In fear, in shame you snatch the evidence of your illness- but it was hardly just the one raceme. A half dozen little buds and broken flowers dot the floor- and as quickly as you can grab them, you still can’t stop Ramattra from picking one up. He pulls his other hand off you, bringing both up to cup the tiny thing.

It’s paler than the purple enamel coating on his plates, laughably delicate as he prods open the two petals, revealing the pistil inside. He stares at it, then mutters, “Wisteria sinensis .” You fight to read any emotion in it at all- but it doesn’t matter, because his next question drips with confusion. “You have… Hanahaki’s disease?”

You can’t bear to look at him, staring instead at the flower. It’s so small in his hand, more like a stray drip of paint than proof of your traitorous heart. All you can give him is a nod, lips held in a tight line, unwilling to address what feels like the obvious.

“I see.” He says quietly, bringing his palm in closer to his faceplate. “Your trip to Oasis is for treatment?”

You nod again, “Surgery. Have to cut the roots out.”

Ramattra stays quiet, his focus not leaving the purple petals. Even when you find the courage to meet the slits of his optics, he does not return your gaze.

“I am… sorry.” As soon as the words leave his synth you look away. This is what you didn’t want. Fuck, it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t need his pity or the undeniable knowledge that you loved someone who would be happy to end your entire species- who must hardly spare you a thought beyond the annoyance of financial oversight. Tears burn at your eyes again, but you blink them away, biting your tongue and willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

But he notices your turmoil, and speaks anyway. Hesitantly, a faltering in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I understand suffering because you care for another, yet human relationships confound me. I hope your treatment lets you find peace…” He trails off, but a low hum of his synthesizer lets you know he’s not done. His tone turns quiet, severe. “Know that they are foolish to reject you.”

In an instant you’re dazed, head swimming as your mind parses his words again and again. It doesn’t make sense. That’s- it’s Impossible. There’s something more there, under his words- more than just an empty placation. Something else builds in your chest and you can barely bring yourself to ask “What?”

Ramattra shifts awkwardly, clarifies: “The object of your affection.” His big fingers smooth out the tiny petals as he thinks, “I scarcely think they will meet another more interesting than you.” He draws your hand open to reveal the half-crushed raceme. The sight darkens his voice, “Do they even know how they’ve hurt you?”

Your chest feels tight- and not, for once, because of the flower’s roots. “Ramattra…”

His gaze lifts from your hand to your face. Unemotive, you can’t even begin to read what he’s thinking, but you stare into the black, angular slits for his optics and hope. Hope that he understands what you want to say, the words that have burned in your mind for days, weeks.

Something changes: the soft purr of his system builds, until he makes a noise like an inhale, his ventilation kicking up hard.

And you laugh, feel the tears gather in your eyes again because how could you be wrong? “It’s you, Ramattra.” You smile and you can breathe.

“You…” He starts, looks at the cluster of flowers again, his voice straining, his synth slipping. “Me? I did this to you? I- I thought-” And before doubt can take your heart, Ramattra’s hands move to you- just barely ghosting your side before you’re all but throwing yourself in his arms. His voice drops, quiet in disbelief. “I thought I was protecting you.”

His cowl is soft, silky on your cheek. It chafes where the tears have begun bubbling over. “From Talon? I don't care.”

“From me,” He murmurs. So close now his voice box buzzes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I… I couldn’t swear how suitable a partner I would be; a relationship cannot be a priority to me when liberation is so close.”

You sigh, focusing on the feeling of his cold ribs under your palms, on the smell of machine oil and incense. “I wouldn’t ask you to set that aside. It’s just- I thought you wouldn’t…” Your lip wobbles, disappointment or fear fighting its way forward. “Since I’m… human….”

“Believe me, I was as reluctant to accept that as you are.” His hands drift over your back, drawing shapes onto your coat.

As nice as it is, there’s a faint itch in your chest. You need… you need to hear it. You draw back- and Ramattra’s idle shapes still as his hands resettle onto your hips. You look up, stare into the black slits once more. “But you… you do have feelings for me?”

He stiffens, voice turning uncomfortable, reluctant to speak it into existence. “You… were an unexpected complication. I had not planned on… caring for any one in such a way.” His fingertips are cool on your skin, tracing chilled lines along your jaw. “Yes. And I am… so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” You murmur back, touching each side of his neck. Wordlessly, you draw him down. His movement stutters, awkward as he follows your lead- pulling him closer until you can lay your lips across the lowest part of his white faceplate. His head is somewhat warmer than his hands, leaving your lips tingling and you laughing softly at the absolute unreality of being able to kiss him.

You almost expect him to be offended. Instead, Ramattra’s hands guide your chin down, tipping your head forward-- and the bright reds of his array press to your forehead. You sigh, and slowly open your eyes to peer into the black void of his optics’ slits. Anything else in the world ceases to exist, all that matters is the slowly building warmth in his head and chest, the hum of his components and fans, and the soft press of his hands to your skin.

[kortsitron]

Panic attack headcanons

Part two of your men helping you during a panic attack! Time to add Lifeweaver and Ramattra! &lt;3

Warning: Panic attack

[part 1]

Niran Pruksamanee 

⋆ Niran is a medic, so it's obvious he had to deal with someone having panic attack before

⋆ So you're in good hands, he knows what to do and he will take care of you

⋆ He's upset that you happen to have a panic attack, because he wishes that you could be fine. But he understands, it happens sometimes when life is too much

⋆ The moment he sees you sitting on the floor, with tears in your eyes as you wrap your arms around yourself, when you seem to be zoned out - he knows he has to help

⋆ He sits down in front of you, and starts talking to you

"Hey, darling. Can you look at me? I need you to look at me, okay? You're safe here, it's okay." Niran says reassuringly, with a concern on his face.

⋆ Once he gets your attention on him, he does his best to distract you. He doesn't want to overwhelm you, so he tries to keep it simple

Niran opens his palm, as his lotus made of biolight blooms in his hand. It shimmers in his hands as he looks at you. "Now focus, my darling. Tell me what you see, what you think. I want to know all your thoughts." Nirans says as the lotus flower floats above his palm.

⋆ He keeps you distracted until he sees you're feeling better. After that he takes you to a safer, calmer place to take care of you and talk about the panic attack you just had. What caused it, what he can do to help prevent panic attack in the future and asks if there's something more behind your behavior that caused the panic attack

⋆ Obviously he will suggest seeing a therapist or psychologist if you're having panic attacks often, because he may knows how to 'bring you back to reality', but he's aware that there might be need of some more professional help

Ramattra 

⋆ Ramattra seen panic attack before, but only from afar. He does not know much about them, besides the fact that they're caused by too much stress 

⋆ He has never experienced a panic attack himself, so when you have one - he's not quite sure what to do

⋆ He knows something bad is going on inside your head, when he sees you shaking, zone out and try to find a safe place where you can hide

⋆ He quickly realizes it's a panic attack and follows you

⋆ He's not sure what to do and he's not sure what to say in a moment like this

"Look at me." Ramattra says, it's almost a demand, but it's much more softer than you have heard from him before. "What can I do to help? I don't want to cause you more stress."

⋆ Ramattra will do whatever you ask him to. Talking to you, holding you, finding a way to distract you. It doesn't matter, he just wants you to feel better

⋆ He may not be should what he should talk about, so he will ask you. If your answer won't give him any ideas, he might start explaining how the modifications he did to himself work, no matter if you heard it thousand times before

⋆ Once you feel better, he will ask about the panic attack, most likely hours after it or even days. He will ask where it came from, what exactly it is, what causes it and how to help. He may not care about other human, but as always, you're an exception 

⋆ So after getting all the information, Ramattra will be ready to help you next time

[dragon-watcher03]

Genji x Male!Angel! Reader

Headcanons

Note: you are Mercy's older brother (so around 40) and are part omni on your torso, left arm, and head. You started working with Ramattra after he saved and revived you when your parents abandoned you in a burning building. You now work with Overwatch. You look like Angel from Diablo except your wings are black. You can change the armour as well but you gotta keep the hood. Reader is implied to be part omnic

Genji:

When he first saw you he kinda was scared shitless. I mean, can you blame him? But he was also kinda intrigued by you, mostly by your wings.

He loves the way you look tho. You have that perfect balance of mystery and grace that makes you so pretty. He knows you have a handsome face even without seeing it.

When he saw you fight for the first time, he was in awe. Your moves were so fast yet graceful and after you would just walk around like nothing happened.

He loves messing with you sometimes, like poking the blackness of your face. Although if it actually does annoy you he'll stop.

He strives to break down that silent and serious facade you put up. But he only wants you to show that side to him, no one else. Ngl he's kinda possessive of you-

When you do finally feel comfortable enough to show your face to him, he decides he should do the same thing as well. So you both take off your hood/visor for the first time since you started dating.

Safe to say he was not disappointed. You were even more beautiful than he imagined, and he kinda just stared up at you in awe for a long time. When you poked his face, he finally snapped out of it and was kind of embarrassed. That entire time he was contemplating whether he should kiss you.

You guys are actually able to cuddle and it isn't uncomfortable bc your human side matches his, plus he likes the coldness of the metal on his cheek.

When y'all are alone, he can be quite clingy. He's very touch deprived, but so are you so it's a win-win. He's always holding your right hand with his left so that you guys can feel each other's skin and for once feel like you're humans again.

Soba loves you (kinda like a dog tbh-), which in the Shimada clan is an omen that you've found your soulmate. So now you're stuck with him. Not that you're complaining. She will often leave Genji and wrap around your neck loosely while smooshing her snoot into your cheek or shoulder, asking for attention (which you noticed Genji also does when he wants attention).

Hanzo is a bit iffy about you and how you're 3 years older than his little brother, but after finding out you were related to Mercy, he relaxed a bit. He thinks you're chill and likes hanging around you. But he tends not to bc he knows Genji can get jealous easily.

Kiriko really likes you. Y'all are like this🤞 It honestly makes Genji jealous with how close you guys are. You guys often rant to each other about some random topic, and by both, I mean Kiriko is the only one who rants while you just listen.

Mercy is happy for you both. She knows what your parents did and just wants you to be happy. She does keep her eye on Genji tho, she wants to make sure he doesn't break your robotic heart.

Damn this was long-

[bitter-hibiscus]

Okay we've gotten Jaybin and we've gotten Jaybin+Red Hood, how about some more headcanons for just Red Hood? I love your thoughts!

ssknanj im so happy to be getting these asks u have no idea

(jaybin hcs here, jaybin+rh hcs here)

Smokes as a form of self-harm because it makes him think of Ethiopia

Likes carrying Rose around whenever he can find an excuse to. it's his favorite thing (yes I'm a jayrose endgame truther)

Makes really big anonymous donations to Gotham U. that Bruce always gets the credit for, but Jason gets to use the University's library so it's okay

Frequently sends Vicky Vale exclusive pictures and stories of Brucie Wayne whenever he's bored. Bruce knows it's him but he's just glad Jason is taking his resentment out like this instead of bashing heads

Has a mini vault in his apartment where he keeps childhood pictures, letters he's written during his training in the League of Shadows to Bruce and Dick that he'll never send, as well as his childhood stuffie, a fox named Todd

Still uses the League of Shadows' training outfits, more out of habit than anything else

Has nipple piercings

Got fucked up drunk after Roy died and got an arrow tattoo on his forearm. It's so basic white girl that when Roy comes back he goes out of his way to hide it bc he's so embarrassed

Overwatch 2 player (it's semi-canon that he plays fps games!) He mains Ashe (she's hot and looks like Rose) and Ramattra (just like him for real)

Immediately assumes he did something wrong if Steph doesn't bring him coffee during/after patrol. Does puppydog eyes at her to figure out what he did

One would assume his least favorite thing about the manor is the memorial case, but it's actually the fact that everyone else has pictures of them hung up on the walls except for him. He doesn't know if Bruce threw his pictures away or if they're in the attic. He's afraid to ask.

Says his favorite movie is City of God but it's actually Confessions of a Shopaholic

Gets bitten by bugs all. the. the. time. Has to walk around with a can of bugspray every time he leaves the house

His favorite meal to make is ratatouille

Has considered getting his GED but believes himself to be too far gone

Sends Artemis letters all the time, even though he doesn't know if she actually gets them (she does)

Sometimes dissociates while staring at the fireplace in the manor because his most vivid memory of Ethiopia is watching the fire dancing around him as he died slowly