O

Overwatch Commission

D.Va couldn’t move. She couldn’t see herself, but she knew herself. She knew what the vulnerable body of Hana Song looked like, and she knew what it looked like when it was stripped down to nothing more than two pieces of lacey pink underwear and thick, heavily tied up with rope. It was total overkill. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself wriggling and writhing on the bed. She could see a shibari-style harness that criss-crossed over her chest, and she could see her arms behind her in such a cruel fashion as to force her chest further out. She had to bend, and wheeze, and move with her bindings; they dictated her options,