#dark!overwatch

“Not completely. I had to briefly leave every 30 minutes to ensure your bath water was still the proper temperature. Now that you are awake, we can begin.”

You were dumbfounded. The idea that someone not only existed to cater to your every whim but would wait and watch while you slept just to bathe and dress you when you awoke uneased you. No human could do that, not in this day and age, anyway. You looked at your servant and you realized; I don’t even know her name. Your breath caught in your throat and tears pricked at your eyes. Two months she’d taken care of you while in the manor and you hadn’t even bothered to ask. That changes today.

“Okay,” you said, lifting the covers to swing yourself off the bed, discovering more bruises on your bare thighs. You regarded them a moment before standing, legs wobbly and knees straining. You couldn’t hold back a gasp as your vision began to swim and you lost balance.

The omnic was steadying you in an instant, one hand supporting your wrist, the other wrapped around your back and lifting you from under your arm. “Let’s get you in the bath, mistress. The steam will help. And then we can work on the damage to your body.”

It was odd, the way she mentioned your bruises as “body damage,” but you supposed similar injuries to an omnic would be more accurately described as such. She led you over towards a chair, over which you had draped your black robe the night before. After helping you into it, she led you from Maximilien’s room and back across the house to where your chambers were.

The place seemed to be bustling with more servants than you’d ever seen before, omnic and human alike. Your brow furrowed as you realized you hadn’t seen any human servants before today, and yet, here they were, dressed in the same uniforms as the familiar omnics running around. Everyone seemed to be doing extensive housework: painting, repairing, dusting, and polishing every surface in sight. In each area of the house you entered, work briefly stopped and everyone nodded respectfully as you and your valet passed by.

“What’s going on?” you asked her quietly.

“When the master leaves for a few days, the entire place undergoes a thorough cleaning and sanitation. Everything must remain perfect and spotless for when he returns.”

“But the place already was perfect and spotless,” you replied, confused.

“To your human eyes, yes, but not to ours. You’ve always been away with him when we’ve done it since you arrived.”

You thought for a moment before asking another question. “Why have I never seen human servants around before today?”

“They mostly stay in the hotel and casino,” came the answer. “We don’t have much use for them here except on occasions like this, or . . .” she trailed off, seemingly hesitant to continue.

“Yes?”

The omnic looked around to ensure no one else was in the corridor to listen. “I shouldn’t say to you. You are kind, mistress, but if it got back to the master . . .”

“I can keep a secret,” you promised.

She studied your eyes for a moment, searching them for a sign you were lying. She emulated an exhale and lowered her voice. “Sometimes he brings them here to . . . watch them. I don’t know how else to explain it, but he watches them work, stands over them and observes. I think it’s a domination thing, like . . . he comes from an oppressed people, so now he gets off on being the one in power over the dominant life-forms. He definitely treats us with more care and respect than them.”

You didn’t know how to respond. It was difficult to be reminded that you were the domestic partner of an evil, megalomaniacal global terrorist. Maybe he didn’t kill people directly (as far as you knew), but he was always pulling strings, the puppet master getting others to do his dirty work for him. Except here, at home, where he could let himself do as he pleased without fear of his Talon superiors or interference from Overwatch. And you were part of it. Part of his sick game to exert his will over the human oppressors. Part of his microcosm where all humans were metaphorically (and possibly physically) ground beneath his size 11 Italian leather shoes. You had chosen this.

Suddenly you felt very violently ill, and you broke away from your valet, collapsing against the wall and sinking to the floor as you coughed on the bile that had risen in the back of your throat. Everything swirled around you before your mind seemed to slip backwards and everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke surrounded by warmth; a cool towel being pressed against your forehead. Opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were in your bathroom, in the bath, and your servant was the one dabbing at your forehead.

“You gave me quite the scare, mistress,” she said. “You fainted so suddenly you almost hit your head. I had to carry you the rest of the way. The doctor said you were fine. He popped out for a moment, but he’ll be back soon.”

You stayed quiet for a while, simply watching the omnic woman’s movements as she lifted each of your limbs from the water and washed them. The heat was soaking into your aching muscles and relaxing them. The aroma of the soap and oils was helping to clear your head, and you remembered your determination from earlier.

“Erm, thank you . . .”

“You’re welcome, mistress.”

“Your name? Wha-what is your name?” Your throat burned slightly, and you tried to swallow to soothe it.

The omnic paused, turning to look at you. “Tabitha, mistress. It was the name I gave myself after the Crisis.” There was a soft knock on the door. “That will be the doctor,” she said, nodding at you to defer authority.

“Come in,” you called weakly, your voice breaking slightly.

The door opened and to your surprise a young human man entered, with dark skin and piercing eyes. A jolly smile spread across his face at seeing you awake. “Ah! So, the woman of the house has awoken,” he said as he crossed to the tub. You tried to use the bubbles on the surface of the water to obscure your body and he laughed heartily. “If you are that self-conscious, it’s fine, but I am here in a medical capacity, and I have already seen what you are trying to hide.” He winked.

You were flabbergasted, face growing hot as you sputtered, trying to form a response. “This is the . . . doctor?”

Tabitha’s blue forehead lights flickered. “He was the closest one available in the Talon directory. Actually, he was just in the hotel. Fortunate, I’d say.”

“I didn’t officially go to med school,” he replied, rummaging through his bag. “But I have been patching up wounded for about a decade now, the past six years of which have been with Talon. I assure you I am very experienced at what I do. Jean-Baptiste Augustin, at your service!” He pulled out a data pad and studied his notes for a moment before opening a flap on a small envelope.

“Are you always this flirtatious with your patients?” you broached.

“Only the ones I like,” he smiled, lifting a small sheet of something green out of the envelope. “I hope you like lime,” he said. “It’s the only flavor of nausea sheets I had in the car. Open wide!”

“I—” you started to protest, but as soon as your mouth opened, he stuffed the sheet between your lips, and it dissolved on your tongue.

“Make sure to swallow. It will soothe the slight acid damage at the back of your throat.” You hesitated, the lime gelatin flavor in your mouth not unpleasant. “Doctor’s orders,” he added with another wink.

The moment you swallowed immediate relief washed over your body. You felt invigorated and the sick feeling from earlier melted away. “That’s . . . amazing,” you said, turning towards the man and letting out a small laugh.

“To keep it from happening again, make sure you eat a healthy breakfast in the morning. Your stomach was completely empty. That’s why you fainted.”

Well, that and another reason, you thought to yourself. This man was way too happy to be a Talon operative. Either he was just as demented and sadistic as the rest of them, or he had no idea who the people he was working for were. It was just as well. Just because you hadn’t yet completely come to terms with Talon didn’t mean it was your place to disillusion him. “Got it,” you said, offering a sheepish smile.

Tabitha turned away for a moment, her lights flickering wildly. She turned back. “I am having a balanced meal brought straight away. Apologies, mistress. I should have fed you before attempting to come here.”

“It’s fine, Tabitha,” you replied, remembering how she had waited six hours for you. “Thank you.”

The young medic then pulled out a small spray bottle and used it on your cut lip. “It will take a few hours for the skin to reform, but that lac will be completely healed before you go to sleep.” Then he produced a small tub and unscrewed the lid. “Now let’s see what we can do about these bruises, and uh, this.”

You looked down to where he had gestured and only then remembered how Maximilien had been inspecting your shoulder last night. A distinct handprint was visible, punctuated with blood blisters everywhere his joints had pinched too hard. The mark looked angry and dark and you flushed when you saw it.

“Ah, yes. That,” you said softly.

The young man’s hand was firm and warm yet spread the thick yellow cream from the jar gently across the skin of your arm. Everywhere it touched, the relief was immediate. Soreness dissolved and the bruises began to dissipate. Within a few minutes, your entire arm was back to normal. “Wow,” you marveled as you flexed it. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Thanks, uh . . .” He didn’t have an official medical degree, so could you call him “Doctor”?

“Just call me Baptiste,” he chuckled. “All my friends do. Captain Cuerva insists on calling me ‘Lieutenant Augustin,’ to my face, but it’s only because he’s my commanding officer. Anyway, the cream is a concoction of my own invention: the potassium in bananas is great for bruises and soreness. I first designed it in the Caribbean Coalition. Once I joined Talon, they helped me perfect it and started mass-producing it. It’s not as fancy as some of the other healing gear I have, but now everyone in the field can treat minor injuries like this on the fly with minimum training.”

“Caribbean Coalition?” You asked. “I was wondering where your accent was from.”

“Haiti!” He replied with yet another smile, starting in on the other arm. “Normally my team and I stay in that area, but we got called here for the week for some extra protection while some big-shot near the top is visiting.”

“That’s . . . odd,” you frowned. “Max has plenty of security, and if someone important is visiting, why would he leave this morning, unless he didn’t know about it?”

“I’ve never met the owner of this particular Talon establishment,” he said, shrugging, going to work on your shoulder. “I don’t know who the big-shot is, either. I don’t let myself get too caught up in the politics of my employers.”

“A little too late for me on that front,” you mused, the tenderness from the handprint rapidly melting away.

There was another knock at the door as Baptiste finished massaging the cream into your skin. Tabitha answered it, bringing in the food she sent for. “I’m going to let your friend here take the liberty of treating the rest of you with this and leave you with a spare jar for the next time. I should be getting back to my team.”

“Thank you for everything, Baptiste.”

He gathered up his bag and considered the meal sitting on the serving cart that had been rolled next to the tub. Playfully, he picked up an apple slice and held it up next to his face. “Remember to eat these every day to keep me away.” He pushed the entire slice into his mouth and exaggerated his chewing.

“Not a chance,” you laughed.

“If you ever need me again, I’m in the directory. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise!”

Once he was gone, Tabitha helped you out of the tub and dried you off, Laying out a plush towel on the floor and setting the jar of cream next to it, as well as the food tray. “Please lay down, mistress, so I may continue treating your injuries.”

Not in the mood to argue and realizing you were, in fact, ravenous, you did as you were directed and laid out on your stomach so she could reach your worst bruises while you ate. Tabitha’s metal hands rubbing the soothing ointment into the skin of your backside was a completely different sensation from Baptiste’s application. Different, but still relieving. She rubbed the spot where you’d been pinched carefully. The two of you stayed in relative silence for several minutes before you finally broke it.

“You were in the Crisis?”

She was working on your thighs now, carefully massaging the cream methodically into your skin. “I was,” she replied flatly. It seemed to be a touchy subject.

You tried again. “What was that like for you?”

Tabitha sighed and paused. “It was hell. I wasn’t a person. I didn’t have a name. I was just a waitress in a grimy diner who got beaten and thrown out on my ass once the mindless drones started attacking. They rounded us up for deactivation. I was going to be dismantled. No one would listen to me, to my brothers or sisters, when we tried to tell them we are people. That we’re alive.” She looked down at her hand and flexed her fingers. “I can still hear the screaming of my people being melted down by the Ironclad Guild to forge into new and better weapons to kill us with. I’ve tried to have it scrubbed from my memory banks countless times. It never works.”

You had gone completely still, listening to her story. “How did you survive?” you whispered.

“One of the Guild’s engineers got recruited to help found Overwatch. One of the women who came to see him was an Omnica technician. She took a few of us slated for melting down for study. I spent a few years being a science experiment, having my computers tampered with and multiple operating system replacements. I had always been aware I was a machine, but I never felt more so than under the care of Doctor Mina Liao. All she wanted to know was how we had developed consciousness so she could recreate it for herself, not once considering the slightest possibility that we could feel everything she did to us. Just a machine, never a person.”

You sat up; your legs mostly healed by then. You placed a hand on the omnic’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “You’re a person to me, Tabitha, and I’m sorry if anything I’ve ever done has made you feel like less of one.”

“No, you’re very kind, mistress.” She sighed again. “The other omnics and I banded together, and we broke out shortly after the war ended. We knew it wouldn’t be safe to do so beforehand, but luckily people who don’t believe omnics are alive also don’t think to be very secretive when discussing important news or security protocols. Hearing of our success, we were approached by Talon and now I’m here. I’m still fulfilling the basic service functions I was programmed with, but it’s a much better life than I could have ever hoped for when I was waiting tables. I’m happy here.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you smiled, reaching to hold her hands as tears welled in your eyes. Maybe Talon wasn’t all bad, and maybe Overwatch wasn’t all good. “I hope you can think of me as more of a friend and less of a boss.”

“The master would never allow us to have such an informal relationship,” she said, her voice taking on a tone of levity.

“Max never has to know. Remember? I can keep a secret.” You winked.

“Very well,” Tabitha replied, shoulders straightening and squeezing your hands. Her lights started flickering again. Finally, you realized it must signal some form of communication with the other omnics in the house. Once they stopped, she let go of your hand and stood up. “We must finish dressing you quickly. We have a guest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I was indisposed,” you announced as you entered the parlor where the guest had been directed to wait. Without looking at them you turned to shut the door. “Unfortunately, Maximilien is gone on business, having left just this morning, but I can take a message—”

“I am not here for Max,” a deep voice interrupted. You knew that voice and you turned around sharply to face your guest. “I am here to see you.”

“Mister Ogundimu,” you said breathlessly, clutching your chest in shock. “You . . . you’re the mystery guest in the hotel. The one Max didn’t know about.”

“We are going to start your training today. I heard about your little spat last night and decided to begin doing my part to help. I cannot have my accountant flustered and messing up my taxes because his woman is in danger and unable to defend herself.”

Had anyone else said such a thing you would have been offended. But somehow Akande Ogundimu had a manner of speaking that completely disarmed you. You were drawn to him, finding yourself slowly moving across the room and sitting next to him on the couch. Something in the back of your mind was setting off alarm bells, the idea that he should have no way of knowing about your argument in the hall the previous night unless someone was spying on Maximilien for him, but he continued speaking and his rich voice buried the thoughts deep in the recesses of your mind.

“I think we will do two hours of basic training followed by dinner,” he said, lazily letting his arm wrap around your shoulder.

“Only two? Then dinner?” you asked, confused.

“Little one, it is mid-afternoon,” he replied.

You looked at the clock on the wall incredulously. “I had no idea it was so late.”

“Sleep in a little too long?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow knowingly.

“None of your concern, Mr. Ogundimu,” you said curtly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Akande, please,” he insisted. “There is no need for such formalities. We are going to be spending a lot of time in each other’s company, and I would like for us to be friends.” He held out a hand as a peace offering. You huffed amusedly, taking his hand, and shaking it. “Excellent. Go change into something comfortable you can easily move in, then meet me in the casino’s boxing arena. I will be waiting for you.”

You made your way back to your room. The casino has a boxing arena? It almost sounded like too vulgar an installment for Maximilien to have in his establishment, something much more suited to entertain the lowlife hoi polloi that vacationed in Las Vegas than the upscale finery of Monte Carlo. Not only that, in all the times you’d been through the casino in the past two months, you’d never seen such a thing. Was it secret and underground, like a fight club thing? You supposed you’d have to ask one of the workers for directions once you crossed the square to get there.

Once in your room, you walked over to the closet you rarely set foot inside. Most of the time Tabitha already had your clothes and accessories laid out for you. You had little reason to enter the space where your to-be-worn-once-and-discarded dresses emerged from. But something new was supposed to be in there since your meeting with Doomfist a few weeks prior. Stepping inside, your eyes fell on a section of the right-side rack which had now been separated and portioned away from the dresses and lingerie. Reaching out, you grabbed a hanger and pulled the garment out to examine it.

Professional Talon-issue workout clothing. A long-sleeved white top and black leggings, both trimmed with sharp, hot red. A matching jacket, sports bra, and tennis shoes completed the ensemble. Once dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The clothes flattered every curve of your body and you couldn’t help doing a few stretches to see what it did to your different angles. It felt good, especially after the cream Baptiste had given you alleviated your soreness. Taking one last moment at the vanity to pull your hair up and away from your face, your eyes fell on the fresh flowers that sat on top of the table. In an instant, you got an idea and pulled out your phone to make a call before leaving to meet with Akande.

You suffer from anxiety. Ordering a meal on your own and going to the grocery store are enough to send you into panic mode. Your best friend/neighbor invites you over for thanksgiving, and promises it’s only a small gathering, so you decide to go. And it is, really, but it’s still got you riled up. You kept making eye contact with a very tall, gruff man baring a heavy accent.

When everyone makes haste into the living room to chat over a glass of wine, the man pulls you to the side and introduces himself as Mccree. His voice is smooth, low, and very calming. He tells you he’s noticed your twitching and nervous looks, and that he’ll walk you out if you’d like. You shyly nod, look up at him, and let a quiet thank you slip your lips. When you reach your door, he slips you his number for any future times you may need his help, and you would have told him that it was fine and this was enough from him, but he was gone as soon as he came. You couldn’t help but admit it made you feel warm inside.

One day a couple months later you really need to go out and do laundry, because yours has so conveniently stopped working. So you do, but it’s packed, and you’ve bumped into a couple people with angry glares and now you’re panicking. You barely manage to text an “I need you”

It really wasn’t the best choice of words, but it was enough, and it was short enough to be typed as fast as you needed him to be there.

He asks where you are, but you’re too busy shaking in the bathroom hearing all the commotion outside. Before you know it, he’s carrying you out of the bathroom and taking your keys out of your pockets, whispering to you that it’s going to be alright and rubbing a hand down your back. He unlocks the car and places you in the passenger seat. Then, he leaves and comes back with your loads of laundry. You shakily whisper a thank you. He nods and says “It’s no problem, darlin’.” Then he takes you home.

You thank him again and when you walk inside, you notice a pair of panties missing. It’s no big deal, they’re small and could have easily been left in the machine or fallen from the basket. Little do you know, you never actually told him where you were, and he’s home jacking off to the smell of you, planning when to take more than just your underwear home with him. He already has blueprints of a cozy little room to build into the basement for you, with locks of course. What could he say? Watching you for those few months before this day was the best choice he’s ever made.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” his arms wrap around you and presses you against his body’s musky heat. 

“It’s so hot, Cass,” you whine, “I need some fresh air. Please?”

He takes you by the hand and leads you to the front door, stepping out onto the porch. You follow and sit with him, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

The desert climate doesn’t make for perfect sleeping conditions, but it’s freeing. He holds you until you fall back asleep, stealing you back to bed soon after. 

🖤 Reaper

Lightest sleeper, a pin drop will wake this man. Not that you would know, he keeps you in a separate room. 

Did I say room? It’s more of a box, no windows or doors etc. Some toys to pass the time while he’s away. Not the most trusting yandere.

So you don’t have a lot of options when it comes to step out for a breather. 

But the Reaper works at night. And when he’s off conducting Talon business, there’s no one to stop you if, say, you’ve stolen the keys to your chambers.

And let’s be honest, it’s probably not by your own merit that the keys ended up in your hands, knowing how much Reaper enjoys punishing you. 

But it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. You weren’t exactly looking to escape, a part of you might not have wanted to and the other couldn’t afford the consequences. But staying indoors with such minimal resources was enough to drive anyone stir-crazy. 

You miss the feeling the open breeze, the sound of birds and bugs buzzing around. Anything to remind you that the world did indeed exist outside of Reaper’s hold. 

You brought blankets and pillows and laid yourself down on the porch - just to enjoy the outdoors without all its discomforts. Relax to the sound of crickets chirping. 

Of course, you end up asleep, and when Reaper catches you out, he’s not at all happy to find you outside your room. Before you can even process all that is happening, you’re inside your chambers again. 

His shadowed tendrils hold you against the wall, “Are you out of your damned mind?”

Black smoke filled your lungs, stammering your words, “I-I’m sorry I stole the keys, it’s just- I can’t stay in here for so long.”

“You have the gall to think I don’t know what’s best for you?” he releases you, letting you fall to the floor and gasping for air, “Earn your place.”

He leaves soon after and you can’t help but flog yourself for being so bold. Maybe if you keep complying to him, he might give you that freedom. Or it’s just another carrot to hang over your head. 

🧡 Moira

She has safeguards in place that prevent you from outright leaving your quarters, but you’ve mostly free range. 

Moira’s obsession with you is a bit different from the other yanderes because of her experimental tendencies. 

She likes to see you come undone, whether by her own hand or keeping you under the influence of some test substance. So you don’t always have your wits about you, her way of restricting you. 

Rarely do you have time to clear your head, desperate for reprieve. Most days the sun is far too bright for your adulterated state, but the moonlight is that goldilocks-perfect pale glow.  

Moira has security measures in place, so she knows when you’ve left the house. And when she’s notified that you opened the front door, she’s livid. 

When she confronts you, you think she’s going to tear the head off your shoulders without even a word as she pulled you back inside with little resistance. 

“I’ve half a mind to keep you paralyzed,” she is fuming, jaw tight. 

You writhe in her grasp, “Wait, Moira, I can explain-“

Yours words come out just as weak as your body as she shoves you into her lab. 

“Keep your explanations to yourself. I’ll see to it you’ll never need them.”

Looks like you’ll have to find some other way to convince her to let you outside. (Bad ending vibes)

🩵 Soldier: 76

Big spoon. Very possessive. He holds you close and his weight is crushing. Most difficult one to sneak away from in these circumstances. 

Even if you try to break away, he’ll pull you back into him. You’ll need deliberation and luck on your side to slip away. 

If only you could have the house to yourself. Just waste time on the living room couch, watching some TV and eating snacks. Maybe take a hot bath. 

But your captor was in the next room over, the last thing you wanted to do was wake him. Best you could do to relieve your muddled mind was to get some fresh air. 

Your heart is thumping against your chest. Jack’s cardinal rule is to never leave the house, and if he caught you sneaking out like this who knows what he would do to you. Still, you had made it this far, you might as well enjoy the luxury. 

And as you might expect, your absence is noted almost immediately. In fact, you’re no less than a few paces from the bedroom when his hand catches yours. 

“Back to bed,” he commands, all gravel. 

“No,” you protest, trying to halt him with a hand on his wrist but he leads you anyway, “I don’t want to go back to bed, I can’t breathe in here.”

He turns back to you, brows knit. He leads you past the bed and releases you on a pillowed surface, behind which was an elaborate work of contraints he restrained you against. It’s a dog bed, you realize. 

It’s cold. Colder than the gray cement floor. Colder still than Ramattra’s metal plating and what scarce heat reflected from its surface. 

Outside, in some distant world, the sun warmed all it touched. But that was stolen from you. He tossed into this barren room, only being taken out to “play”. An activity that involved anything but fun for you. Ramattra’s idea of play meant whatever satisfied his sadistic flavor of the week, any enjoyment you might derive being nothing short of error.  

You had stopped trying to count the minutes, lost track of the days without the sun. Wherever your family way, you only prayed that they escaped the clutches of his forces, found refuge in some other city. It was the only hope you had, however foolish. There was no energy left in you to contemplate whether death was a worse fate than being reduced to whatever you had been made to be. 

A streak of white light swallowed the room. Repulsed, you shielded yourself, chains shuffling as you moved. Two voices spoke, Rammatra’s robotic hum and another you can scarcely recognize. 

“My,” an omnic voice chided, “What a mess you’ve made. A remarkable visage spoiled by your folly.”

“Shut up and take your reward,” Rammatra spoke, turning away. You adjusted to the light and recognized the other voice as soon as you matched its face. The other omnic that found you that day. The day you were kidnapped. Sleek as you remembered him, in polished steel and a well-tailored suit. 

“Not so fast,” his gaze fixed on you, but not in address, “I have something more in mind.”

“I said,” you flinched as his voice darkened, a sound you had heard at your most vulnerable, “Take your reward. Before I stop feeling so generous.”

“Have some sense. You’ve no mastery in handling delicate things, and what a precious creature you’ve caught. You’d be a fool to let this one go to waste,” he walked towards your withered body. 

“What harm is there to wasting it?” 

You couldn’t help the desperate sobs that erupted through your slitted eyes, praying someone could save you from this hell. Almost as if to answer you, the other omnic bent on his knee and raised to hand to cup your cheek. 

“Don’t fret, dear. I have ways to make your master soften. Just follow my lead, won’t you?”

You kept your gaze low and nodded shallowly. 

“No doubt you’ve fallen for their charms - if your frequent visits to your quarters are any accurate measure. You don’t mean such harsh words.”

“Please,” he scoffed, “I am not nearly as weak as you. Humans bring me no pleasure.”

“And yet,” the omnic hummed, “You keep them displayed like this. What a sight, indeed. Turn over, pet, let me see what your master has done to you.”

Despite your shame, you fulfilled his command, lifting your head and displaying your back to the two omnics. You hear gears turn in an amused purr as his hands examined your recently used body. 

“I want no part in this, Maximilien. I had no intent to lead you here, but you have earned it. So do as you please and then take your leave.”

The smaller omnic - Maximilien - continued to lap around you. He leaning down and whispered in your ear, “Let me show you how much more skilled I am than your little master.”

You knit your brows tight enough to make your head ache and your stomach tensed. You had endured too many nights at Rammatra’s mercy, so much trauma that left you bloody and sore. Hours each day spent on your back, poked and squeezed until his marks colored your flesh a deep purple. A toy to spend his idle time when he needed to relieve himself. And now he was giving you to his friend. 

He seemed already fascinated by the bruises on your body. You can imagine why - the smooth tips of his fingers grazing your tender skin, only to stab at your your nerves just to hear you scream. If he was anything like Ramattra, maybe. What other tortures men like them enjoy, you didn’t want to think about. You would be witness to them soon enough. 

A large, unmistakable clawed hand grabbed your arm and pulled you away. 

“A dangerous taunt from such a small creature,” how surprising it was to hear someone with such a passion for his own people to spit an insult with the same venom you had heard in your own little town. 

“What keen ears you have, dear brother,” Maximilien hummed, “I had hoped you’d have other matters to attend to. Surely more important than this pet of yours.”

He pulled you closer with a strength you feared might severe your arm right then and there. And yet you leaned into him, somehow finding some comfort in his protection. Even if it wasn’t as intended for you as you would’ve liked to think. 

Faint light shone white on Maximilien’s polished loafers, rolling like a pebble with each step he took. Ramattra released you, his shadow shrouding you in darkness. The smaller omnic kneeled, sharp eyes on yours. They burned like flames sunken in his face and fueled your fear. 

But his touch was gentle, delicate fingers grazing your skin. Your breath jumped, skin rose in bumps as his fingers tips traced your shape. He cupped your chin and lowered his gaze. Your chest tightened, metal digit resting on your lip. He pushed further and your body responded before you could choke on the moans that left from your lips. His blazing eyes soften. 

“Beautiful.”

Ramattra’s hand cupped underneath your chin, lifting your head high and you met the gaze of the same stoic face you learned to fear. He reveled in contorting your body in awkward positions. Maximilien tutted in disapproval, “Why don’t we show your master what a lovely pet you can be?”

Your eyes were wet and you fluttered away heavy tears. He must’ve taken that as a sign of approval, running a hand over you back as he returned to examine between your legs. Rammatra knelt. All the hours spent at his disposal kept you alert in his presence, like the primal instinct of prey when being stalked by predator. All too exposed to the two of them, you yelped when you felt Maximilien’s noticeably smaller hand creep up the length of your thigh. 

“Don’t be afraid, dear one,” he cooed, “You’ll be getting very comfortable with me very soon.”

You hushed the urge to cry, swallowing a hiccup, and let him continue massaging your inner thigh, touching closer and close to your most sensitive appendage. His hand cupped the swell of your ass, kneading soft moans out of you. The motions teased you most sensitive parts and numbed your mind at the pleasure. He laughed and shook the meat of your thighs in small, rapid movements that sent vibrated the fat of your lower body. You arched your back, missing the pressure between your legs and Maximilien met your plea with a finger lightly dipping into you but not enough to satisfy. 

“So good for me, such a good toy you are.”

You turned frantic at the praise, like a starved man at a feast, moaning and presenting your aching body to him. Eager for his touch. He laughed again. Music, ecstasy. You could beg if you knew the words. 

His fingers sunk into you, reliving the pain from more uninvited encounters. But the entry was much more bearable when his fingers expertly indulged that spot between your legs. You could find sweet pleasure past all the pain. And you let yourself go, moaning salaciously as your mind went blank with desire. Maximilien played you like a puppet, curling his finger inside you and hitting spots so precisely you become putty in his hands. 

“More,” Ramattra’s deep voice killed you moans and stiffened your body. 

“Not yet,” Maximilien focused, no longer playful, “This is a careful process.”

Maximilien’s nimble touch was forced out of you, leaving you exposed as your sensitive body met with Ramattra’s own, sharp and cold. Not at all the comfort you had just known. His large hands dragged you by your thigh and sat you on his knee. 

“What do you think you’re doing, you damned brute?” you never thought Maximilien could be angry before this moment. 

“You’ve had your fun,” the tips of two metal digits threaten to tear you open, rimming you. 

“Gentle!”

“I’m tired of waiting,” you’re already sobbing, but when his unforgiving fingers force their way through you, you’re screaming. There’s no relief when he pulls back, your body far too sore to recover in such a short amount of time before you’re filled again. His other hand held you still, and you would’ve been perfectly still if he wasn’t gripping you so hard enough to cut through your skin. You’ve learned to stop begging, stop crying for help, it only makes things worse. So you sobbed silently, whimpering when you needed to breathe. Maximilien’s hand fell on your back, trying to rub some sort of comfort into you. It meant nothing.

“You didn’t enjoy that show I put on for you earlier?” he asked. 

“I admit,” he relaxed his fingers, “It was sweet. But I tired quickly of pathetic little touches.”

“If you would have waited you would see that I was getting to that,” Maximilien, too, was losing patience, “Enough of this, you won’t make good on any arrangement if you don’t let me take your pet for myself.”

He stopped, he actually stopped. When he released your limp body, the hard ground felt soft as a pillow. Maximilien took Rammatra’s soiled hand and brought it to your face. 

“Clean your master, show him what a good pet you are.”

You would’ve loved to wrap your lips around Maximilien’s fingers, beg him with your eyes to finish you off. But to show that intimacy with Ramattra? Any sign of vulnerability you showed him he was sure to abuse. You closed your eyes tightly, tongue settling at his wet tips and tasting yourself. 

“Eyes up,” Maximilien commanded. 

That stoic face. Still somehow mocking you as you lapped the wetness, the taste and his gaze making you hold back bile. But you did as you were told, until only your saliva was left to glisten on his clawed hands. 

That didn’t satisfy him for long, he was quick to wrap that same hand around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but used his grip as leverage to manipulate you. He had you sit on your knees, head up. Maximilien raised a hand to interrupt the process. 

“Still for just a moment and I can give you something you never knew you wanted,” the promise was invited, would’ve been sweeter without Ramattra here. 

Ramattra hummed, thumb playing with your bottom lip. Peering down at you like a toy he was hesitant in sharing. He freed your neck, “I want you pleading for mercy at the end of this.”

If you hadn’t been so worn down, you might’ve fought back, sometimes wished you had the guts to spit a curse at him. Other times you were glad to be quiet. You shifted your gaze, hoping he didn’t notice your whimpering. Maximilien came forward and raked a hand through your hair. His touch was nothing short of delightful and melting into him became an instinct. Finally spoiled after endless abuse. 

“So sweet for me,” he trailed his fingers down your cheek, lifted your chin and tilted it from side to side, “Your master loves to make a show of you, doesn’t he? Lay back.”

Shifting off your knees, you laid down on the thin blanket Rammatra had made your bed. Maximilien held your knees, rubbed circles into them as he watched you display your body for him. 

“You’ve been lovely, darling, but I want to hear more from you,” he moved his hands to the back of your knees, spreading you apart, “A good pet begs.”

“Please,” you stammered in a whisper, not even sure what you’re asking for.

“You’ll have two masters, now. Address me as such,” he continued trailing down your legs, spreading you wider. 

“Yes, master,” the words burned your cheeks in shame and muted anger. You looked away when he dipped his finger at your hole. Now that you’d been primed by Rammatra, there was no need for him to ease himself into you, yet he still kept a slow pace. His other hand steady at your hip, gently messaging you like a lover taking a virgin. You were still tender, but he eased the pain by thumbing over your arousal, messaging you just enough to ignore the sting. 

He heavied the pressure, drawing soft moans from you again. His finger curled and your body sang in tune, stretching your body in bliss. His other hand tightened, squeezing as he built pressure. He released, sent a slap to your exposed ass and you yelped, “I’m not hearing any begging. Brother, come here.”

You let out pleading whimpers as you watched Rammatra approach. His gaze intent on your body, watched as you squirmed and begged at a mere touch. Maximilien pulled away when Rammatra knelt between your legs, holding your knees apart and spreading you wider than you thought possible at this position. 

“Keep the pressure there and do what you were before. You’ll find much better results.”

His fingers filled you again, never just one, while his other hand took Maximilien’s suggestion. Though gentler, he was not as nimble as Maximilien and would too often painfully spear you. But when he hit just the right spot, the satisfaction was almost worth it. 

“Beg. Now.”

He’d made that command to you before, and you cried and screamed to indulge him. Pleas not made in passion, but in fear. He wasn’t your master, he was your tormentor. The last thing you could imagine was him delighting in your pleasure. And you never thought you’d enjoy his touch. That you’d find bliss in begging him. 

“Please, master,” you’re not even sure what it is you’re begging for, but it seemed to do wonders as he had you moaning loudly not long after. He didn’t need to ask again, you’re pleading with him frantically after every moan and by the way he increased to a brutal pace, it’s exactly what he wanted. He inserted another finger, the pain was hot and pricked a tear from your eye - ecstasy. 

He sent a sharp slap to your ass, his strength dwarfing the Maximilien’s touch, while he began to scissor three claws inside of you. Your hands hurried to soothe the pain, stop it somehow but Maximilien caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. You tried for him to find sympathy in your wet eyes, but he kept you still as Rammatra stretched you impossibly full. 

“That’s it, faster,” Maximilien ordered over your panicked, bouncing body with a determined voice. You kicked and squirmed. When Rammatra found just the right spot, the perfect tempo, your body took control. The sensation far too much for you to keep still any longer, so close to release. 

“Yes, faster! Please, please, please,” voice tittering to babbling cries as your master stretched you brutally, his associate pinning you tighter as you came undone. Your mind chased bliss, and every sight is him, your master. 

He can see it, too, that look on your face. Your desperate glances and quaking body, your legs spread wide open for him. You’re his, more than you ever have been before. 

Your ears rang when you came, pain searing your sobering body. His fingers stopped scissoring but were still inside you. Maximilien released his grip and your rolled your wrists, wincing at the raw wounds. When Rammatra removed his fingers, you worried you would never be able to move your legs again.