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Overwatch ENF: Doctor Knows Best	By : Meowshi Category: +M through R > Overwatch Views: 839 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch or its characters, Blizzard Entertainment owns those rights. I am not making any profit from writing this.

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Symmetra tried to keep her chin held high as her eyes fixed on the sea of expectant faces before her. The students donned masks and protective gloves, a clear indication that they had been warned of her contagious condition. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. As though her disease was a direct reflection of her character. The gnawing sensation of being unclean and unworthy clawed at her insides, making her wish for a way to disappear into the floor.
It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she has been a poor little brown girl begging for scraps in Hyderabad.
While most of the students seemed college-aged or near enough to it, Oasis’ unconventional attitudes towards scientific advancement and accelerated curriculums meant that many of them were considerably younger, with some even appearing to be middle-school aged.
Symmetra shot a look of indignant disbelief at Moira as she noticed this, but the older woman simply sauntered to the front of the room and cleared her throat, as if everything was perfectly normal.
“Good morning, everyone. As we begin today's examination, I want to remind you all of the importance of maintaining a respectful and professional demeanor. Ms. Symmetra is not only a patient entrusted to the care of the Ministry of Genetics but also a woman of science herself, after her own fashion. As such, we will not be using this as an opportunity to belittle or disrespect her in any way. Remember, we are all here to learn and grow as scientists, and that can only happen in an environment of mutual respect and understanding.”
Moira looked at Symmetra anticipatorily, as if expecting her to chime in.
"...yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor," the young Indian woman managed to choke out, her words strained with a forced smile. She couldn't help but feel that the preamble was complete bullshit.
"Excellent!" the geneticist exclaimed in a sickeningly chirpy tone. "Now, don't forget to pull out your tablets and scribble away. And don’t hesitate to voice any concerns, questions, or thoughts you may have during the examination!"

Moira began the examination by checking Symmetra’s blood pressure, measuring her height with a stadiometer, and palpating certain areas of her body for any abnormalities. These preliminary steps were done without incident, giving the Indian woman a false sense of security for what was about what was to come next. Besides the angry red welts spread across her body, Symmetra was perfectly healthy.
“Now if the patient would step on the scale, we'll record your weight,” Moira said with clinical detachment. "142 pounds, which is well within the healthy weight range for someone of your age and height."
Symmetra’s face reddened slightly as she had her weight announced in front of an entire room of people, but she was confident in her body. She wasn't a twig by any stretch of the imagination, but the clandestine missions she underwent for Vishkar required her to be fit, and so her high-intensity training regiment kept her body toned and her midriff flat. She began to step off the scale when Moira blocked her and turned to the students, “Did any of you notice anything wrong with this procedure?”
A little boy who looked no older than twelve excitedly raised his hand. “She’s still wearing all her clothes! Patients are expected to remove any bulky or restrictive clothing that might interfere with the taking accurate measurements!” he said in an admonishing tone, as though Symmetra had made some mistake.
Symmetra glowered at him, but he only beamed up at Moira as she clapped her hands appreciatively, “That’s right! It seems like our patient tried to get away with giving us improper measurements!” Moira playfully wagged her fingers at Symmetra, which caused the classroom to burst into laughter.
Symmetra's eyes darted nervously down to the pristine fabric of her dress as she was led back to the scale and asked to disrobe. An expected hush fell over the students, and she suddenly got the distinct impression that this was not a normal learning experience for them. She felt a knot form in her stomach as she placed her trembling hands on the hem of her dress.
It was the same dress she often wore during her espionage missions. The sleek dress was sleeveless and blue, embroidered with gold, and cut with high slits along the sides that revealed her toned, brown thighs. The dress had always filled her with confidence, and being asked to remove it now in front of a room full of people made her feel vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and began to pull the garment up over her head - slowly, hesitantly, all the while acutely aware of the eyes upon her.
The toned midriff of the Indian woman gleamed softly in the artificial light of the room, the smooth skin a rich shade of brown. Every contour of her abs was defined, a testament to her hard work and dedication to fitness. The muscles rippled slightly as she moved, emphasizing the curves and planes of her body.
She then removed her metallic high heels, figuring they would be the least embarrassing thing. Next came the tight black stockings underneath them. As she peeled the delicate garments down her shapely thighs, she couldn’t help but feel like some kind of cheap stripper giving the room a free show. Her thighs were noticeably voluminous, with a generous layer of fat contributing to their fullness. Despite their size, they were still firm and shapely, with a gentle curve at the top where they met her hips.
Symmetra paused as she was now wearing only a matching pair of black panties and a bra, and couldn't decide which to remove first. The undergarments were utilitarian and basic, designed for comfort and support rather than sexiness. Her uneventful dating life, which she often described as "going through a period of romantic recession”, didn't make her feel like she needed to put much effort into her unmentionables.
She mistakenly glanced at the class and saw a sea of eager young eyes staring back at her, and her confidence shattered. Her hands moved from her bra to her panties, back to her bra, and then back to her panties in quick succession. She was suddenly swimming in embarrassment and didn’t have a life preserver.
While standing before a room full of students, several of them kids, while wearing nothing but her underwear was nerve-racking, she felt confident that her body looked good. The real source of her anxiety was the unimpeded view she was now giving of the prosthetic arm that was cleanly attached to her naked shoulder. Although it was exquisitely crafted and beautifully painted, Symmetra was on the autism spectrum and preferred for things to be harmonious and symmetrical; the glaring difference between her natural arm and her prosthetic one was something she always considered an unsightly flaw.
She hugged the metal arm close to her body as she pulled down her underwear, trying her best to keep her legs closed as she bent over to deposit them at the pile of clothes at her feet. Moira raised an eyebrow at the decision to remove her panties instead of her bra but kept the unasked question to herself. The patch of black hair at the apex of Symmetra’s thighs was neatly trimmed, but also fairly full, providing a blanket of coverage that concealed her secrets from the eager eyes watching her.
Symmetra quickly covered her crotch with her metallic hand in an attempt to preserve her modesty, but soon realized that she couldn't remove her bra with only one free hand. Reluctantly, she let go of her lower half and unclasped her last stitch of clothing, revealing her second-most insecurity: the inverted nipple on her right breast. Another unsightly asymmetry that she couldn’t bear to look at. The students on the other hand couldn’t take their eyes off of her brown, tear-drop breasts; each one round and topped with puffy aroela, perfectly sized to fit in a palm.
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Overwatch ENF: Doctor Knows Best