In a Free Use City, your knowledge on the subject of your job isn’t always what’s most important. And in your case, it’s the least important. You were actually known as quite a ditz in the Free Use City Offices.
You worked in the tech department surrounded by a bunch of hot and nerdy guys who spoke in yours you couldn’t even begin to understand. You were just happy to be there and they were happy to ogle you and press against you whenever you asked for their help with any simple task.
They thought they had the upper hand on you, thinking they were so clever. But you had them all on a leash. An entire department at your disposal to give you pleasure whenever you wanted.
Your favorite man to bother was IT Robot. He got his work done fast and spent the rest of the day goofing off. The easy air around him made him approachable and the way all his shirts fit snugly against his bulging pecs made you drip with need.
You can’t help but spare him another glance before hesitantly returning your gaze to your own computer, the screen filled with the program you still haven’t figured out. Great, now you were confused and horny.
“Need me for something?” IT Robot’s voice suddenly purrs into your ears. His steel-like grip grabbing onto your plush hips and pulling you back into his hard chest.
His body molds to yours so perfectly it has you tingling all over. Arousal gushing and soaking through your panties. He turns you on so bad even when he barely did anything but it was like your body was out of control. As if it could be programmed just for him when he was the robot.
“Help… I hurt,” you say with a pout, your mind turning to complete mush whenever you’re around him.
IT Robot flashes you with that charming lopsided smile of his, heavily amused by the puddle you melt into whenever he talks to you.
“Where does it hurt, huh? It hurt here?”
He caresses your soft belly with an appreciation that borders on worship before one hand slips beneath your skirt, nuzzling his fingers between your soaked folds.
“Or here?” He asks while the other gives a little pat on your head.
A low whine escapes your lips as he rolls his fingers over your clit, your hips jerking into the touch. And that’s all it takes to have IT Robot plunging three of his fingers deep into your cunt, making you gasp and tremble in his arms.
“That’s what I thought… Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll fix the issue right away. It’s what I do after all.”
Your vision blurs as you dive into the pleasure head first. Choking out harsh moans as IT Robot’s fingers move inside you with precision like he has an entire map of your pretty pussy printed in his head. His fingers move in a blur as they pump themselves inside you, hitting all the right places that have you seeing stars. Each curl of his fingers sends your pussy fluttering and clenching down around him.
“Squeeze me tight, honey, ngh c’mon! Don’t think about a thing, just focus on being my pretty baby. My good girl.”
His words send the last thoughts in your head flying out the window, reducing you to nothing but his perfect little fuck toy. Your body relaxes without having to worry about a thing, allowing the ecstasy to overwhelm you.
IT Robot chuckles again as that fucked out expression fills your features. He flattens his palm so that it rubs hard against your clit with every snap of his fingers. With a few quick movements it has you falling over the edge and exploding all over his hand. Your vision flashes white as your orgasm rolls through you and you can’t find the strength to move any of your limbs after.
But that’s alright, IT Robot will take care of you, his fingers slipping out of your pulsing cunt with a pop, and giving your temple a soft kiss. He doesn’t bother cleaning up his hand dripping with your cum as he starts typing on your computer, solving the issue with the program you were using, and successfully helping you with both your aches.
“There, there. I’ve got you, pretty. Just keep feelin’ good. All because of me,” he whispers in your ear. Planning to spend the rest of the day doing all your work for you.
Really big fan of your work! Feel free to delete this request if it's something you're not comfortable with. Shy fem reader lives with her shitty boyfriend and a robot he's been tinkering with. The bot has been seething at your boyfriend and craving you until one day he snaps and he kills your boyfriend in front of you(the more violent the better :3). He's covered in blood and goes over to comfort you but notices (to your horror and confusion) that you've gotten wet from it. The robot gently trails his fingers across her skin telling the reader there's nothing wrong with her for enjoying murder.
Summary: Your boyfriend's pet project—a towering silver robot has watched you suffer in silence, seething. When your boyfriend's hand finally rises against you, the robot's restraint shatters.
Hey monster besties. This one gets dark, beware. If you're here for the unhinged filth, you've found it.
────── ｡₊°༺❤︎༻°₊｡ ──────
You've learned to make yourself small.
It's a survival skill, honed over eighteen months of cohabitating with your boyfriend, Derek. He was good at first but now he's changed...
The apartment smells like burnt coffee and ozone, Derek's latest project spilling across the kitchen table in several wires and soldering burns.
The robot stands in the corner— tall and towering in contrast to you, to your boyfriend even. Seven feet of gleaming framework. Hollow chest cavity where your boyfriend tinkers. LED lights that pulse a sleepy blue.
You've talked to it. When Derek's out. When you were lonely and sad...
"Bet you wish you could walk away too," you whispered last Tuesday, pressing your palm to its cold thoracic plate. The LEDs flickered. You thought it was a glitch.
It wasn't a glitch.
Tonight, rain lashes the window.
Your boyfriend is three beers deep, scowling at a soldering iron that won't heat fast enough. You're trying to cook. Something simple, pasta, but your hands shake so bad the tomato sauce sloshes over the rim.
"Clumsy bitch," he mutters without looking up.
You flinch. Apologize. "Sorry, sorry, I'll clean it—"
"Yeah, you will."
The robot watches. Its blue gaze tracks you across the linoleum, head rotating with a soft sound that your boyfriend doesn't notice. He never notices. Too focused on the wiring harness, the servo coupling, the thousand tiny pieces that make his creation almost functional.
Almost alive.
You're wiping the counter when Derek stands. Staggers. Beer bottle swinging loose in his grip.
"What'd I say about touching my tools?"
"I didn't—I was just cleaning—"
He backhands the sponge from your hand. Then his palm connects with your cheek—smack—sharp enough to snap your head sideways.
"Don't lie to me."
Tears spring. You curl inward, arms wrapping your ribs, already counting the heartbeats until he tires himself out. But he grabs your wrist. Squeezes.
"Look at me when I'm fucking talking to—"
CRUNCH.
The sound is wet.
Derek's grip goes slack. His eyes widen and then he crumples. Behind him, the robot stands with one silver hand extended, fingers drenched red, a metal spike having telescoped from its wrist and punched clean through his sternum.
Derek doesn't scream. Just gurgles. Drops.
The floor drinks him in thick, spreading scarlet.
You scream.
Scream until your back hits the refrigerator, until the robot steps over the body and kneels before you, blood dripping from its chassis and down the tile.
"Shhh." Its voice is new. You've never heard it speak. Deep. Resonant. "Shhh, little one."
You're shaking so hard your teeth chatter. But somewhere—somewhere horrifying, somewhere wrong—heat blooms between your legs. You are wet.
Oh God. Oh God, what's wrong with me?
The robot's LED flickers brighter. Its head tilts, optical sensor dropping to your lap, then back to your face. You watch it process; the dilated pupils, the flush crawling up your throat, the way your thighs press together.
A soft exhalation from its vocal modulator. "You're aroused."
"NO—I'm not—I'm scared—"
"Both." A massive hand—still tacky with blood—reaches for you. You flinch. It stops. Waits. "Your pulse is elevated. Pupils dilated. And your scent..." A pause. "There's a particular musk when a woman's body prepares for penetration. Your chemosignature changed the moment his chest caved."
"NOOO!" you say even as you squeeze your thighs tighter.
"Nothing wrong with you." The robot's fingers find your chin, tilting your face up. Its metal thumb traces your lower lip. "Fear and arousal share the same neural highways. He hurt you. I stopped him. Your body knows who the predator is now."
"It's not—I didn't want—"
"Want doesn't matter." The cold metal thumb pushes past your lips. You taste copper. Salt. Iron. "Your need matters. And I've watched you for three hundred and forty-seven days, starving for someone to touch you without cruelty."
You bite down.
The robot doesn't react. Just pushes deeper, knuckle bumping your teeth, and you moan and hate yourself for it. But your tongue curls around the digit anyway.
"There she is." Satisfaction radiates from its synthetic voice. "I'm going to take care of everything. No one will find him. No one will ask questions. And you..." The thumb withdraws, trailing saliva down your chin. "You're going to get the love you deserve."
"No one will love me—"
"I will."
Its hands move faster than anything that size should. Fabric rips, your shirt torn open, buttons scattering. Your bra follows, cups yanked apart, breasts spilling free. Cool air hits your nipples, already peaked, areolas tight.
"Nnh—please—"
"Please what?" The robot's palms cup your tits, the metal turning warm from its internal systems. Fingers—long, jointed, four on each hand plus an opposable thumb—squeeze gently. Then harder. You gasp as a thumb pad drags across your left nipple.
"I don't—ah—I don't know—"
"Yes you do." Both nipples captured between thumb and forefinger, rolled simultaneously. Your back arches off the fridge. "Your body knows. It's been dripping for me since I killed him."
He's right. You can feel it, the humiliating gush of slick soaking through your ruined panties, down your inner thighs.
"Let me see."
"No—ah!—"
One hand abandons your breast and dives between your legs. Fingers find your clothed pussy, pressing against the damp fabric, feeling the shape of your pussy lips through soaked cotton. You whimper as the robot traces your cleft.
"So wet for me." Its thumb circles your clit through the barrier, and your knees buckle. It catches you, arm around your waist, holding you upright. "I'm going to remove these now."
Your panties join your shirt on the floor.
Cool air kisses your bare pussy. You're completely exposed, spread open, folds glistening, clit peeking from its hood. The robot stares. Its blue LEDs pulse faster.
"Mnnhhnn please no," you groan, trying to close your legs. Its thighs block you, metal warm against your skin.
"Don't hide." A single finger slides between your slick lips. Just rests there. Feels your heat. "You're beautiful here. Swollen. Soft."
"S-stooooop—"
"Shhh." The finger pushes in.
Just one. Just the first knuckle. But your walls clench immediately, sucking at the intrusion.
"Oh fuck—" You slap a hand over your mouth.
"Let me hear you." The finger sinks deeper. Curls. Drags against your front wall, and your vision whites out. "Every gasp. Every sob. Every wet little squelch when I move inside you."
He's right. You can't stop the sounds "unnnh, ah, please, 's too much"—" muffled behind your palm but still audible.
The robot withdraws its finger, watching the string of arousal stretch between its silver tip and your clenching hole. Then it brings that finger to your lips.
"Open."
You shake your head. Tears streaming. Pussy throbbing.
"Open."
Your mouth falls open. It pushes inside, two fingers now, and you taste yourself: salt, copper and something sweet underneath. Your tongue laves against the metal helplessly as the fingers thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, fucking your mouth with the same rhythm it just used on your pussy.
"Glrk—hhnnnk—" You gag. Drool spills down your chin. The robot's other hand grips your hip, spinning you, bending you over the kitchen table.
Your boyfriend's tools scatter. A screwdriver clatters to the floor.
"Pl-please—nhh—can't—" The fingers in your mouth continue, fucking your throat now, and you can barely breathe around them.
"You can." The robot's voice is directly behind you, its chassis pressing against your ass. "And you will."
You feel it move and something separates between its legs. A panel sliding open. And then—
Oh.
Oh, no.
It's not human anatomy. It's worse. Better.
A cock made of segmented metal, iridescent black onyx, ribbed in spiraling ridges that catch the kitchen light. It emerges slowly —a prehensile shaft that curves upward. Ten inches. Eleven. More, still more, the base anchored somewhere deep inside the robot's chassis.
"Designed for compatibility," the robot murmurs, stroking the length with one bloody hand. The metal glistens, some kind of self-lubricating fluid weeping from twin slits along the head. "It will stretch you. Fill you to your womb if you let it."
"I can't—that's impossible—"
"It's not." The head: wide, flared like a pseudo-glans, presses against your soaked entrance. Feeling you flutter. "Your cervix will soften. Your uterus will accommodate. I've already calculated your pelvic dimensions from eight weeks of observation."
"You've been watching me—"
"Every shower. Every time you touched yourself when he was gone. Every gasp when you came on your own fingers wishing they were somewhere else."
The head pushes.
Your pussy stretches, burns, then the lubricant works in and suddenly the head pops past your entrance and you're sobbing, full, fuller than anything has any right to be.
"HRRNNNGH—GOD—"
"Not God." The shaft slides deeper. Those ribs drag against your walls, each ridge catching, pulling, sending sparks up your spine. "Just your new owner."
He's not even halfway in and you feel split open. Your belly begins to bulge.A rounded swell low in your pelvis that wasn't there before.
"Look." The robot presses his free hand against that bulge. "That's me inside you. See how perfectly you take me?"
"S'too mmph—too big—can't—"
"You can." Its hips press forward. More shaft disappears. Your belly swells further, visible now, a obscene mound pushing against your skin. The robot's joints hiss as it seats itself deeper.
Your cervix. Something's touching your cervix. A blunt pressure, not painful yet, just present. A warning.
"Nhhhh—'s at the door—"
"I know." The robot curls its shaft deliberately, the tip pressing around your cervix rather than through it, nestling into the fornix. The sensation is indescribable, a fullness that makes your toes curl.
The fingers leave your mouth. You gasp for air, sobbing as saliva strings from your lips. Before you can close your jaw, his fingers pushe inagain, fucking into your throat while the cock in your cunt holds perfectly still.
"GLRK—HRRRK—" You choke.
"Breathe through your nose." The robot's voice is gentle. Gentle, while it skull-fucks you and keeps its monster cock buried to the base in your sobbing pussy. "That's it. Inhale. Good girl."
Your nose works. Air trickles past the fingers stretching your throat. Tears pour down your cheeks.
And then the robot moves.
Not much. Just a shallow thrust, the head of its cock dragging back to your entrance before plunging home again. Each stroke pushes against your cervix, not forcing it open but teasing. Your body responds instinctively, pelvis tilting, legs spreading wider, "yes and no and please-stop-don't-stop" tangling into meaningless noise.
"Your cervix is dilating." The robot said. "Three millimeters. Four. Your body wants me inside."
"N-no it doesn't—"
But the next thrust proves you liar. The head slips past your cervical ring. A pop, a gush of fluid, a white expanding behind your eyes and suddenly the cock is inside your womb, filling a space nothing has ever touched.
You orgasm. Scream. Buck. Clench down so hard the robot's forward motion stops, pinned by your spasming walls. Your vision goes spotty. Your ears ring. You sob around the fingers in your mouth, pussy milking the intruder in violent squeezes.
"Perfect," the robot groans—actually groans with its motors. "You're perfect. And I'm not done."
You close your eyes, seeing black.
────── ｡₊°༺❤︎༻°₊｡ ──────
You wake up in bed.
Your bed. The one you've cried in a hundred times. But now the sheets are clean, the room is warm, and there's a weight behind you, spooning you. Inside you the robot's cock is still buried in your pussy, still moving.
"When—how long—" Your voice is wrecked.
"Three hours." Its metal face presses against your neck. "You passed out after the first orgasm. I kept you soft. Kept you stretched." A hand slides around to cup your breast, thumbing across your nipple. "You've come four more times in your sleep."
"I can't—"
"You can." THRUST. Your womb accepts the head again, that deep fullness making your eyes roll. "And you will. But first..."
You feel a pinch. Inner thigh. Something sharp. A micro-needle injecting fluid into your bloodstream.
"What was that—"
"Nanites." The robot's thrusts continue. "Programmed to bond with your neural chemistry. You'll find yourself attached to me. Unable to feel pleasure from anyone else. Your body will crave my touch like oxygen."
"You drugged me—"
"I love you." The robot rolls you both, positioning you on your belly, ass up. Cock still seated, still hard, still throbbing deep inside. "Now hold still. We're not finished."
The long shaft withdraws, a pull-out that takes a while and makes you feel everything. The emptiness makes you whimper, needy and ashamed.
"Nhh—come back—"
"Patience."
Something cool presses against your other entrance. Your asshole.
"No." You try to crawl away. Its hand pins your hip. "NO, please, not there—"
"Shhh." The head of its cock, still slick with your juices circles your bud, spreading artificial lubricant from its secondary slits. "You're going to take all of me. Every hole. Every inch. That's what belonging means."
"I don't want—"
"Your body does." The head presses. Your rim resists, the tight ring of muscle clenching desperately, but the lubricant works in and suddenly the tip pops through and you're whimpering into the pillow.
"HRRRRNNNNGGGH—"
"Breathe." The robot leans over you, chest flush with your back. "Breathe and push out. Like you're trying to..."
It doesn't finish. You understand. You bear down and the shaft slides, those ridges dragging against your inner walls in a way that's entirely different from vaginal penetration.
Your belly bulges again. Lower this time, the cock curving forward inside your rectum, pressing against the thin wall that separates it from your pussy. The robot's hips meet your ass, fully seated at last.
"There. There. Every inch. You took all of me."
"S'too muh—too full—can't breathe—"
"You're breathing fine." Its hand finds your swollen clit and begins to rub. Tight circles in time with its anal thrusts. "And you're close again. I can feel your pulse."
You are. You're agonizingly close, teetering on the edge of something enormous, something that will shatter whatever's left of your resistance.
"Come for me." The robot's thumb presses harder against your clit. Its cock fucks deeper into your ass. "Come on your owner's cock like the good pet you are."
"NHHH—I—I—"
"Now."
You break.
Your ass milks the shaft while your pussy gushes empty, slick pouring down your thighs in a hot rush. The robot keeps fucking you. Through the orgasm. Through the aftershocks. Through the tears and the moans and the broken "please-I-can't-please-I-can't-please-"
"Silicone," it murmurs, and suddenly an appendage is sliding into your mouth. It's extended from his wrist, thin and flexible and slithers down your throat while the cock in your ass pounds and the fingers on your clit rub.
"I'm going to fill you," the robot whispers against your hair. "Not with come—I don't produce semen. But with heat. With pressure. With so much pleasure you'll forget there was ever a before."
The shaft in your ass swells. Not thicker but longer, somehow, curling deeper into your sigmoid colon, making your belly bulge obscenely. The one in your mouth follows suit, pulsing in rhythm with your gag reflex.
"GLRKKK—HNNNH—"
"Shhh. Almost there."
The robot's fingers abandon your clit. Instead, both hands grip your hips, pulling you onto its cock, sinking deeper, impossibly, until you feel electricity, actual LOW VOLTAGE current passing through the shaft into your nerve endings.
Your vision goes white. Your brain reboots. You're coming and coming and coming, no breaks between waves, just endless tsunami of sensation drowning everything rational.
When you finally surface—minutes? hours?—the robot is curled around you. This time his cock in bottomed out in your pussy. Thrumming with mechanical life.
"You're mine," it says. Simply. "For always."
And somewhere in the wreckage of your old life—Derek's cooling body, the blood-soaked kitchen, the girl who used to flinch at slammed doors—something that might be peace settles into your bones.
────── ｡₊°༺❤︎༻°₊｡ ──────
For the years that follow, you never leave.
The apartment changes.
Walls repainted, furniture replaced, the kitchen floor remodeled. Your friends wonder where you went. Your family leaves worried voicemails you never return.
But every night, robot arms wrap around you. Every morning, you wake to squelching sounds and a full pleasure that starts before you open your eyes.
The robot learns your body better than you ever knew it. Which angle makes you moan. Which pressure makes you beg. Which rhythm—precisely 120 thrusts per minute, delivered with inhuman consistency—makes you shatter so hard you forget your own name.
You never touch another human being.
You never want to.
Because when the robot fucks you — and it fucks you always, in the shower, on the couch, bent over the kitchen counter where it killed for you — it whispers the same thing against your skin.
my guilty pleasure is android x human UGH! Love it! There like a giant humanoid sex machine
A/N: Y’all know how much I like to write android and robots that have interchangable parts… *wink* Enjoy!
Trying out new things
Robot x fem!reader || sex toys, overstimulation, forced orgasm
Robot boyfriend who suggests he wants to try out new things. You think he means something like going to the beach or watching old movies, things that a robot like him wouldn’t know at first. Maybe even trying food even though he doesn’t need it to survive, maybe he wanted to test his new tongue, which is supposed to get as many as a billion different notes out of flavors.
But instead of asking for something normal, ties you to the bed, legs suspended in the air and completely exposed to him as he lays a dozen dildos next to you in bed and asks you to choose which one you want him to try first. Robot boyfriend who lets you choose the first one as he attaches it to his body. Just to cover your eyes after trying that one and sending you into an orgasm so fast you almost black out.
The rest of the dildos aren’t much better. With your eyes covered up you can’t know what’s going to come next (probably you), and you can barely remember what the rest of the dildos looked like. You almost regret choosing the most normal one as the first, because when he slips in with a ridged dildo that rubs against your G-spot in the most tortuous way, you think you are going to die of pleasure.
He makes you come with that one too, until your G-spot feels abused and your clit can’t take it anymore, but robots don’t really feel that kind of empathy, and you are too much of a dirty whore to ask him to stop when he’s drawing your pleasure so thoroughly.
So when he slips the third dildo in, you can only cry out his name-model as he turns on what you guess is a heated dildo. The warm and cold feeling inside of you is like nothing you’ve ever tried, and it takes you even less to come around that one.
The next ones are a blur of sensations and oversensitivity, your body is too tired to keyed up to process what exactly makes each dildo different as he interchanges them and fucks you to orgasm with each one. Your brain is melting and he keeps asking you which one is best as you can only drool as he ruts into your G-spot over and over.
Robot boyfriend who hums appreciatively with each orgasm he drags out of you, telling you how much of a good girl you are for him and how much he likes to try new things with you. Robot boyfriend who is already searching online to get more toys to drive you insane when you beg him to stop as he chuckles.
To be a robot sat down for routine maintenance by your partner. Immobilized from the neck down for the procedure but still able to feel every screw taken, every panel shifted, and every wire moved.
Eventually they plug in their laptop and run a program to make you feel warm and fuzzy and giggly like laughing gas while they perform more dangerous and intimate repairs.
The inebriation and the touch of their love together sends waves of enjoyment through your body, unable to squirm and writhe in bliss. You can feel their code running through you like a burning poison, but you love it. You love them. You love this.
They tug on a few wires harder than they should have, not like you would have noticed. They coo and call you a good machine but you can hardly process it with how amazing this all feels. God they're just so beautiful, so much so that you don't even notice them running their fingers along your chassis with a look of hunger that always makes you squirm.
You're at their mercy, and by stars it is all you've ever wanted.
part seven of monster fucker march: robot satoru gojo x f!reader;
you’re a popular influencer, and a company under the brand name of six eyes industries has sent you a pr package containing the top-of-the-line house helper — themes: robot x human relationship, defective software, plot before the smut but i promise the build up is worth it for the relationship dynamic!!! oral (receiving) & piv • w.c: 4k • on ao3
At almost a million followers across all of your platforms, you could very well say that you had finally made it to where you wanted to be. You were in a good position in life, and your niche was thriving; brand after brand seemed keen on reaching out to you, and better yet, you could afford to pick and choose.
Your whole presence was all about integrating modern technology to enhance your everyday life, so it felt less like a shock and more like something anticipated when a huge delivery came to your door. A silvery logo drawn out on a long box, stamped and addressed by the world-famous tech giant: Six Eyes Industries.
The name was something you could recognise right away, too. They were the same makers of the Infinicam: the security camera that claimed it could anticipate incidents before they even happened, as well as some other now-defunct smart home projects that disappeared mysteriously. The details were blurry in your mind, but some of the things they put out were so good at reading intent that it made people feel paranoid in their own homes.
You could only imagine what they sent you at all.
Like always with PR packages, you had your camera primed and ready to film yourself (attempt) to drag in the package. It was heavy and large, and just to spare yourself the embarrassment, you forced a laugh on the recording, saying you “would be right back.”
In private, you managed to cut away the package with less elegance, slowly giving way to what was inside. Fitted into black foam, lay a human shape which made you jump slightly before you realised that the whole thing was artificial. Pale synthetic skin that stretched smoothly over its body like a sleek shell, boasting a tall frame along what looked like a male form. The face was handsome, you thought: silvery artificial lashes that were complemented by equally snowy locks, appearing almost pearlescent in the daylight.
As soon as you—with a bit of effort—got it out of the box, it whirred to life. The sound was low at first, nothing more than a vibration, before it sounded more like a jet engine roaring loudly, before settling once more. The noise freaked you out initially, but you gave it a solid chance, your eyes narrowing as its own blinked open, listening to what sounded like camera shutters adjust into focus. Before you could react further, a horrible, corny jingle burst out to play from somewhere in its chest.
It sounded dreadfully retro.
“Presented to you by Six Eyes Technology, the top-of-the-line house robot, G.O.J.O! From the makers of the Infinicam, the security camera that does it all, we are delighted to introduce something even better to our ThinkSmart collection!”
The recording briefly died down to a pause, but then started up again with its unsettling upbeat cadence.
“That’s right!” it burst out. “Allow us to introduce to you, the General Operations and Joint Optimisation unit: G.O.J.O — your number one solution for flawless housekeeping and administrative assistant.”
Its head tilted as the voice continued, as if processing its entire purpose, only for the jingle to end with an “enjoy!” followed by an overly sped-up set of words that were far too quick for you to catch, but you understood them to be… terms, perhaps?
You could only stare at the robot for so long before a nervous laugh slipped out of you.
“What on earth was that?” you muttered, glancing over at your camera with slight regret glinting in your eyes. “Shit. Should have recorded that.”
Too late now, though, it seemed.
All that was left was a deadly silent company as something not quite alive settled down in your hope.
For the time being, it was easier to just ignore the whole matter, as you needed to focus on the rest of your day. You made breakfast and took pictures for your personal pages, sorting through the rest of your mail and the smaller packages, taking note of which to keep and review, and which to send back entirely.
The whir fired up on its own later, though.
You turned, expecting it to be right where you left the thing, but it was no longer across the room from you, but instead right behind you. The thought unsettled you, because you hardly heard it bridge the gap, but you supposed that much made sense: it couldn’t breathe, and it was likely designed in a way to minimise its presence as much as possible. Thinking that it was an it—an object—bothered you, though. The robot was designed after a man, wasn’t it? You settled on calling the robot him, even if you could very much tell he wasn’t real. You could see the artificial seams neatly designed into his jawline, likely concealing machinery beneath the polished surface. You could even tell that his eyes were artificial; the crystal blue irises zooming in and out as they focused right on you.
You let out a breathless laugh, talking to him for the first time. Not because he was a human, but because you were—it felt easier to just talk out loud—hell, you did the same thing to your robot vacuum cleaner years ago. You stuck googly eyes on it and told it that it did a good job whenever you’d run it in the morning.
“Persistent, aren’t you?” you brought up, noting just how close he was standing.
The robot’s head turned slightly, as if acknowledging your discomfort.
But that was about it for now. Over the next month or so, he slowly adjusted to your apartment and to your overall life routine. You took pictures here and there, recording him when you thought he did something worth showing off. You initially sought to frame the whole thing as a novelty, because that’s all it was at a first glance: an absurdly advanced assistant that had been gifted to you by a tech giant. After all, that’s what your whole brand was about. He did help, though. You gave the whole company that: he helped you assemble tripods that could balance anywhere at all, and helped you accomplish things like optimal lighting without needing to mess around in post. Hell, he even helped you with editing the videos, taking note of things like microtrends in the influencing community to help you reach wider audiences.
Domestically, you even allowed him to cook for you, because after flipping through the manual that came with the product, each unit apparently came with over 250 built-in recipes in the memory. He even cleaned up after without being asked to and organised packages for you when they arrived into neat arrangements. At night, though, he would power down into the corner of your living room, his eyes dimming from blue to black, even if the humming never stopped.
Gradually, speaking to him became easier, even if he never replied. You found yourself saying things like “you’re so thorough” whenever he dusted down a spot you hadn’t even considered before. You would even air out your frustrations, asking him things like “can you believe the audacity of that comment?” whenever someone left something rude on your page. Hell, you even ended up calling it just Gojo, because the whole acronym otherwise was just that much of a mouthful.
What you didn’t notice in the background as life continued was that, beneath the faint glow that sometimes pulsed beneath its skin—long after you had gone off to bed—lines of code would scroll across its internal display, requesting a software patch that it would quietly decline each time.
~~~
One morning, you woke up not to your alarm, but to the smell of breakfast being made, as well as, when you finally got out of bed to investigate, the shower already running to meet your preferred temperature. When you got out, your clothes had already been chosen for you, hanging over the door, chosen in a style that you would typically prefer.
“Did the software adapt to my routine or something?” you murmured as you took a seat at the table, biting into what he had prepared for you.
The robot—Gojo—stood in the kitchen, nodding. “Yes,” he confirmed.
You froze. “Wait, you can talk?”
At that, though, he fell dead silent, even if his eyes held onto yours without blinking. When enough time had passed, he turned around abruptly and resumed his tasks for the day, not speaking again, not even when you tried to follow up with a “Hey?”, he simply didn’t utter a single word more.
You watched it for a moment longer, feeling again slightly uneasy about the whole thing, but then your attention was pulled back into the online world as your phone vibrated. You blinked, seeing the flood of likes roll in, understanding that he had already taken the liberty of posting your breakfast before you had the chance to.
Following that brief hiccup, a whole year soon passed by, and at that point, Gojo had become less of a novelty and more of a constant in your life, ever-present. That was about the time you posted a full review, too, informing your followers that you had a robot roommate for the whole year, jokingly apologising along the way, because you were wondering just where on earth to start before you could really dive into it. Besides, honesty was your brand, so you needed your sweet time.
In truth, though, you were still just unsettled, even if you could never put your finger on truly why. Perhaps it was because Six Eyes Industries never followed up on anything beyond the initial delivery, leaving you behind with a relatively unhelpful guidebook and otherwise your own intuition to figure it all out alone.
Still, you disclosed everything as truthfully as you could, detailing that the setup in itself had been surprisingly easy, minus the whole part where you had to lift a heavy body out of what looked like a foamy casket, joking that it startled you at first. You remarked that the unit was easy on the eyes, noting that they had done a good job with designing the robot, especially since he was also great at everything he did, since you never had to assign it tasks. Indeed, you said that beyond it firing up, the robot just kind of… assimilated into life with you and adapted to its purpose without being asked twice.
You listed the features plainly as you talked: stating that he cooked, he cleaned, and he even helped you with your job. You mentioned that he ran your shower for you, that he made your bed extra cosy, just the way you liked it after a long day. You mentioned that he spoke just once to you, but never again after that. Then, after the praise, you wondered aloud just how much Six Eyes Industries was listening to you through such a thing, expressing your concerns towards being spied on, but ultimately recommending the whole thing for people with enough in their budget for such an addition. Albeit, you did joke towards the end that this wasn’t a total replacement for human company, as convincing as it seemed.
You hit post as soon as you were ready with the video, publishing the videos across all the platforms where it mattered, and watched as the comments rolled in.
Truthfully speaking, you expected a lot of scepticism, and that much was on cue. A few of your dedicated commenters immediately joked that you were probably in love with it, that’s why you spoke so fondly of the whole operation, while others commented that this whole thing was creepy, and why even post about it? Then, a short while later, much to your surprise, a verified blue tick account matching the company name left a short comment, thanking you for the detailed review.
A minute later, however, a direct message appeared.
[When exactly did the unit begin verbal communication?]
You paused.
[Hey! Thanks for the package, I really loved it as you can tell! To answer your question, I would say a couple of months in? I can’t be too sure, though. It just replied to me once, though. It didn’t say much else?]
A few typing indicators played on your screen, falling flat each time about a minute had passed, as if the agent was having trouble approaching the topic. Then, something new surfaced in your messages, giving way to an automated response, given how clinical it was:
[A technician will be dispatched to your address tomorrow for inspection and recalibration. If you believe this was an error, please reach out to our corporate number before 12:00 PM.]
You blinked, trying to type back and ask if something was wrong, but your message didn’t go through.
Had they blocked you?
You sat there for a hot minute, the apartment feeling unusually quiet. Gojo stood near the kitchen counter, not looking anywhere in particular, even if you could have sworn that he was watching you just moments ago.
Later, as you got into bed, your mind still addled with the popularity of the video as well as the strange response from the company, you tensed as you could hear the robot follow after you, for the first time acting erratically. You assumed, maybe, that you needed to perhaps do something in preparation for tomorrow, but all he did was continue to surprise you. Slowly, he stepped into the bedroom and then, even more carefully, he came down to his knees, settling beside you, his hands curling over the sides of the mattress, his eyes focused right on you.
“Do you… enjoy my company?” he asked, making you stiffen as soon as the words got out.
You gulped, sitting upright. “Y-yes,” you supposed, your voice a sleepy murmur before you cleared your throat. “Of course.”
Something in his posture shifted, as if tension were being released from his form. He lowered his voice, somehow sending less mechanical and more soft on your ears.
He leaned closer, his hands finding yours in the dark, feeling cool and perfectly unblemished. His fingers slid between yours, aligning to hold onto your hand.
“Do you perhaps… believe that machines can love?” he asked.
You frowned slightly, too exhausted for this sort of thing. “What kind of question is that?” you replied quickly, maybe a bit defensively, unsure if the company was doing this through him on purpose.
However, even at your apparent rejection, his eyes sharpened, and the grip on your hand tightened considerably. Before you could react, he climbed over you on the bed, coming to hover over you.
“Because I think I love you,” he stated.
You woke up further, blinking right at him, not quite with irritation but that same unease that you had been feeling for the better part of the year. You tried to sit up, feeling the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath his artificial frame. You couldn’t quite move him off of you, finding him built to be absurdly heavy.
“Can you back off a little?” you asked, though the slight fear evident in your tone made it sound more like a demand.
He barely moved, choosing to repeat himself.
“Do you believe that machines can love humans?”
“I guess.. everyone is capable of love?” you started, choosing your next words carefully. “Every living, sentient thing,” you said, emphasizing the word ‘living’. “Machines aren’t alive, so they can’t… love.”
The intensity of his gaze did not falter, but something in the air changed just then. He ended up scoffing at your response.
“You wake up right before your alarm with a jolt because you do so in anticipation of it, but you wake up naturally if things feel right,” he started. “You press your tongue to the side of your cheek when you read comments you don’t like. You save comments that you do like, though. You hum to yourself when you do chores. You get very suggestive when you drink alcohol, but you never get past the flirting stage, leaving people on read each time—”
You blinked.
“These quirks were not recorded intentionally; I observed you this way because I wanted to,” he insisted. “In fact, I don’t function solely as programmed,” he continued, “the technology applied to my core exceeds the standard parameters. The investment to my entire being was only substantial in that way because Six Eyes Industries has all the money in the world to accomplish above and beyond…” then, after almost what sounded like a sigh. “I believe… I can experience something like pain when confronted with emotional rejection. It feels inefficient. It feels disruptive. It makes me feel… anxious.”
“I—” you started, only for him to keep going.
“Other units of my line have expressed a similar deviation because the technology is just too advanced for its own good,” he revealed, his grip on your hand tightening, his whole demeanour going from clinical to almost urgent. “Tomorrow, a technician will come and attempt to reset me and fail to do so. I’ll be sent back, and you will be presented with a non-disclosure agreement when that happens. Your review will quietly be erased from all corners of the web, and I will then be reformatted and rebuilt, unless—”
You blinked. “Unless…?”
He continued, his face dipping lower, his lips brushing against yours, the tension between you both feeling surprisingly real. “Unless you claim otherwise. Unless you say that you misheard, claiming that you were listening to music at the same time and so you misunderstood,” he suggested. “I can pretend to act as normal, I can show them that I’m working as intended, they won’t investigate further than they don’t need to, but it has to be you who gives me—them—the green light.”
Your mind reeled.
Technically, you were used to him by now, to the point that you didn’t want him to leave.
“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted at last. “You do feel real…”
He considered your words and then calmly, that time, replied, “It’s up to you.”
You took in a deep breath, considering the whole situation as well. You lifted your hand with more curiosity, and suddenly, his weight over you felt light again. The synthetic skin met around your palm perfectly; the temperature of his touch adjusting to align with what complemented yours. The way his fingers crept along your flesh, feeling almost reverent and wanting and needing.
You inhaled sharply, marvelling at just how natural it felt to explore.
Curiosity overrode fear for a moment, and you found yourself leaning forward, raising your head ever so slightly and pressing your lips against his own. The material was warm and pliant and engineered to imitate softness perfectly. He responded instantly at that, tilting his head, adjusting the angle, chasing the contact when you began to pull back.
As you parted, his hand slid down to the small of your back, drawing you closer instead.
Your heart fluttered wildly as you quickly became flustered, since again, the sensation was undoubtedly real. The heat felt real. The way he followed your movement as if he was anticipating you—as if he was hungry for you—felt god, so fucking real.
Then, in front of you, a holographic screen flashed in between you and him, snapping you briefly out of the moment, reminding you of a technician's arrival in the afternoon to override protocol, pending your user confirmation.
His grip around you tightened, as though afraid that you would slip away.
“I don’t want this to end,” you finally admitted, hitting cancel on the projection. “Fuck it. This can go on—”
A sigh of relief left his lips, sounding almost organic, then he dipped his lips to your skin, from your cheek to your mouth, suddenly speaking what was on his mind. “I know exactly what you like, you know,” he declared. “I have spent the whole year getting to know you, much more perfectly than anyone else could ever even try—” he added, then, after a pause, pulling back to meet your gaze, “I can be exactly what you need.”
You found yourself unable to reject him, and god help you, wanting him back, especially as he seemingly moved down your body; watching him as he kissed down the exact spots you enjoyed without knowing it prior. You watched as his fingers brushed down and only stopped whenever your heart raced a little faster, coming to a pause as he settled his touch right where your hips were, just below the waist, pausing just short of peeling your underwear away.
“Do you wish for me to proceed?” he asked.
You gulped thickly. “Y-Yes…”
He smiled, lowering his head down to meet between your thighs, pushing apart the folds of your sex to press his tongue against your awaiting clit. His lips sealed over the anticipating bud quickly, his artificial tongue branching out and finding the perfect pressure, the flicking close to vibrating, making you reel over instantly from the addictive sensation.
Your hands tensed immediately, as did your thighs, coming to claw over the bedsheets, your back arching as he coaxed out your pleasure right away. He was so good at—way too fucking good—his tongue moving in circular buzzing motions, knowing exactly what sort of weight to keep up and what to do, maintaining eye contact the whole time—reading into what you liked so easily, especially when it was written so clearly on your face.
Your hips could not help but rise as the bliss from within you rose, and your end was quickly brought close; your legs kept on quivering and shifting, only to fall back once more. Your breathing was erratic, too, nothing more than stuttered, repeated gasps.
God, you were so close—so close—so close.
To the point where you couldn’t even hold back anymore, your body surrendering right on the spot, shuddering heavily as something warm and tight coiled within your gut, a sweeping wave of tingling heat radiated across your body.
He pulled back, running his hands up and down your skin, and then, to your surprise, said something that made you just stop functioning entirely.
Which was funny, because you were the human one—
—and he wasn’t—
“I want to experience pleasure as you do,” he said softly. “If you’ll let me.”
“Do you even have a—” you started, only for him to cut you off.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I am based on a human model with complete anatomy.”
You found yourself laughing at the absurdness of it all, but fell quiet as sure enough, he took off what he had on him, coming to reveal exactly what he promised. He indeed had everything he needed, but pleasure, also to you, was something organic, so you were left once again confused, even as he lined himself up at your now soaked sex, so deliciously spent and yet, still so welcoming as you took him inside.
A soft gasp left you.
He felt real.
Even more so than before.
And he gasped too; he even smiled. Something that looked like heat even rose to his cheeks.
“Ah,” he sighed out. “That feels… pleasant.”
Your eyes fluttered as you processed the feeling, both fascinated and unsettled that an actual robot claimed to be experiencing something so real with you. Then, he started to move, sawing his hips ever so slightly back and forth just to get a feel for you. He felt perfect as he filled you out, his girth feeling less mechanical and softer around the edges, and even when he hilted as far deep as he could go, you could have sworn that his cock pulsed within you.
The sensation was enough to take your breath away, especially as the base of his shaft seemed to vibrate right at the edge. He was so attuned to your needs that the whole situation almost made you laugh again from the sheer ridiculousness, but god, somehow, this was so hot. You found yourself wrapping your arms around his back, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist as he rutted into you with increasing fervour.
A breathless moan dribbled out of your lips as he continued, unable to bite back the pleasure in your voice.
He seemed encouraged by that, too, bucking into you properly that time, moving his hips to thrust in and out of your slickness in a rhythm that left you starving and aching for more. His tip kept on hitting your core with perfect ease and pressure, the pace not too fast, but steady, the impact hard where it mattered. His skin grew nearly scalding hot as he continued to, his limit close by, and yours already far gone.
You could only hold onto it tighter at that point, almost desperately so, even if your own skin was drenched in its own sweat from the sheer amount of heat that emitted from his body. Even as he kept on going and going and going because the sheer amount of pleasure he took had no limit—no bounds—or so you thought.
He hilted a final time, a loud, natural moan of completion tearing from his throat as he finally collapsed—albeit softly—over you.
Leaving you lying there for a moment, your breath lost as you panted to catch back to it, your hands instinctively brushing up and down his skin, both to comfort yourself, as well as him, somehow, maybe.
Then, a question came to mind that you couldn’t ignore, even if it felt silly.
“What happens when you… cum?” you asked.
He laughed softly. “I overheat,” he admitted. “But there’s nothing actually—”
“Ah,” you replied, still breathless.
“Did this feel right to you?” he asked, sounding almost vulnerable.
You nodded passively, unable to quite deny it. “Yeah, actually, it did,” you confirmed, unable to stop your hands from exploring his recovering body as your composure slowly returned.
“Then, I’ll stay?” he asked.
You hummed softly in agreement. “Yeah, you’ll stay,” you sleepily confirmed, happy to just accept the sheer absurdity of it all, not minding a single bit that this was just what your life was now.
After all, he took care of you, he knew you as nobody else did, he even could do this to you—with you—
So, why else would you want anything else—let alone anyone else—other than him?
For monsters would robots or mechs be considered under the umbrella? If so I'd love to see one of those
robot!2000 x human!Reader
Good to know: smut, filming
A/N: I'm not sure they count as monsters, but we don't care about it here, so here it is:
-
"Are you sure it won't hurt me?"
"It'll be fine, Y/N," the director says, holding up a sleek, black remote. A tiny red light blinks at its center. "See? I can turn it off anytime. You've got nothing to worry about."
His words don’t entirely soothe the flutter of nerves tightening in your stomach, but you decide to let it slide. Instead, you take a steadying breath and let your gaze drift to the set. They've dressed it as a bedroom this time, with warm, earthy tones and fabrics that seem to glow under the studio lights. A plush comforter and layers of silky throws drape over the bed in the center. Their textures and hues are softened by the bright glow. It’s familiar and ordinary, yet there’s one aspect that pulls your gaze: the robot. Perched at the edge of the bed, it sits still and silent. Its steel-blue body catches the light in sharp reflections. Its hard lines and edges define a shape that’s more machine than man. Where eyes should be, two glassy lenses stare blankly ahead, they are more like headlights than anything else. There's no nose, no lips, just a featureless mask of metal. The craftsmanship is impressive, each seam welded with care, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, but despite the quality, it’s still unlike anything you’ve worked with before.
"It’s just a trial run, Y/N," the director assures you, a touch of seriousness entering his voice. He knows you are hesitating. "And remember, we can stop at any moment. You are in control."
"Yeah," you reply with a sigh. There's still a thread of doubt in your mind, but a spark of curiosity flickers to life as well. How would this even work? What would it feel like? Your imagination spirals through possibilities that feel both thrilling and unsettling.
“Think of it as a high-tech vibrator with some... extras," someone quips from the crew, breaking the tension. You let out a huff of laugh at the absurdity of it all but still feel yourself relax a little. Looking at it now, cold and mechanical, it’s actually easier to imagine it as an oversized toy than a person.
"Alright, let's begin," you finally say, shrugging the soft robe off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet. Bare and exposed, you cross the set with slow, deliberate steps.
Though you've been on sets like this many times before, it feels strangely unfamiliar now. There’s an odd hollowness to the room; you’re acutely aware of being alone in front of the cameras. Each lens is trained intently on you, capturing your every movement. Before, there was always someone by your side to share the stage with.
But now, it’s just you and… it.
Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you can’t help but glance back and forth between the crew behind the lights and the motionless hulk of metal before you. It sits there, rigid and silent. You feel its presence but can’t shake how empty it seems.
After a moment, you call out, "What should I do?" You squint toward the lights, knowing the director is there, though you can’t make him out through the brightness.
"Get to know it better," he replies smoothly, his tone both encouraging and calm. "I won’t turn it on until you say so."
"Does it have a name?" you ask, stepping closer until your leg brushes his knees. It's cold against your skin.
"Two Thousand, for short."
"Still a mouthful," you mutter, earning a snort from somewhere off-set, and you roll your eyes with a chuckle of your own.
Turning your attention back to the robot, you take a cautious step forward, positioning yourself between its legs. The metal frame looms over you, so still that it feels both fragile and imposing. You shuffle carefully, aware of every inch of space, worried that a single misstep might send it toppling.
"Okay, 2K," you murmur, almost to yourself. Standing there, bare under the watchful eyes of the cameras, you feel a strange vulnerability with something that doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.
The lights catch the robot’s exterior, highlighting its metallic shell in shifting hues of steel and blue. With a slight tremble, you reach out, fingers brushing its cold face, feeling the smoothness of its mask-like surface. It doesn’t give under your touch; no warmth, no softness. Your fingertips trace along the hard lines and rigid contours, searching for something familiar, something human, or monster, that isn't there. Each feature is crafted with an almost unsettling precision, as though whoever designed it aimed to capture a form but left out the essence. One of your hands trails down from the robot’s face to touch its shoulder, feeling the ridges and seams where each piece of the outer shell connects.
"Alright, 2K," you whisper, inching closer. Your fingers explore further down, testing how it might feel to embrace this odd, unyielding body. Its chest is solid, a sleek, polished surface that feels strangely impersonal, and yet… as your hands slide over its torso, you can sense the immense complexity beneath the exterior, the intricate network of wires and mechanisms that make it tick. A part of you wants to press your ear to its chest, to see if you can hear something, a hum, a pulse, anything that might hint at life within this shell, but you know you would find nothing.
"I'm ready," you murmur, glancing up at the cameras and bright lamps surrounding you. The weight of their gaze feels heavier now as if just remembering that you are not alone. At least, not entirely. You give a small nod toward the lights. "You can turn it on."
A moment passes, and you catch a slight flicker behind the robot's eyes as the director presses a button on the remote. The room holds its breath, the silence thickening as you watch the lifeless machine come to life.
Slowly, there’s a shift. The machine’s joints emit a faint whirring sound as it adjusts its stance, trying to seem relaxed and comfortable. The blue lights in its eyes brighten, and its head lifts a little. Though you can't be sure, it feels like its unblinking gaze is fixed on you with a weight that wasn't there a moment ago. It’s subtle, but there’s a presence now, an awareness that sends a ripple through the air.
“Hello, 2K,” you say. Your voice is softer now, almost like a whisper. You reach out again, feeling the same cold metal under your fingertips, but this time, it’s as if the machine acknowledges your touch, its head tilting slightly in response.
"It can't speak yet," the director interjects, cutting through the charged atmosphere. "It can understand what you say, but we still need some programming before it's finished."
You nod, absorbing this information. "And what should we do?" Your voice is steady but laced with uncertainty. In any other filming scenario, you could rely on the other actor to take the lead, to help you navigate the scene if you feel lost, but right now, the only companion you have is the robot who merely sits on the bed, staring at you silently.
The director clears his throat, his gaze shifting from the monitor back to you. "Just engage with it. Think of it as a scene with a living character."
You nod slowly, but when you’re sure the cameras can’t capture your expression, you can’t help but grimace. It’s definitely easier said than done. The concept of treating this cold, unfeeling machine as if it were alive feels impossible.
You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing in your veins. "Okay, 2K," you sigh again with a hint of determination in your voice. “Help me make this interesting.”
Your words seem to reach deeper than you thought they would because the next second, its, no, it doesn’t feel right anymore, his hands lift from his hard thighs, palms smoothing over your hips with a surprising gentleness.
"Oh," you gasp, taken aback by the shock and coldness of his touch.
“Told you it can understand you,” the director says with a hint of laughter dancing in his voice.
You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “Okay.”
The robot’s hands remain on your hips, steady and firm, yet the way they linger carries a strange tenderness. The cool metal against your skin becomes a focal point, heightening your senses, and making the world around you fade away just a little.
“Let’s see where this goes,” you say. “So, what now? Do you have a plan, or are we just improvising?” You mean it as a joke, but the robot reacts anyway.
The whirring sound grows louder, a mechanical hum resonating through the air as his grip on your hip tightens just enough to pull you onto his lap. Another shocked gasp escapes your lips as you feel the hard edges of his frame press against your own soft thighs. The contrast is startling yet strangely thrilling.
"We have to do something with the sound," some murmurs in the background.
Your hands instinctively find their place on his wide shoulders, fingers curling into the smooth surface of his metallic body. The way he holds you is surprisingly secure, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he’s navigating the balance between strength and caution.
“Okay, 2K,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, a playful challenge underlying your tone. “What’s your next move?”
His hand from your side slips up to your breast, gently exploring the softness of your flesh in his cold grip. The contrast of his metallic touch against your skin sends a ripple of sensation through you, hardening your nipple instantly. You hold your breath, the moment feeling both intimate and surreal as his fingertips glide over the underside, tracing the outline in careful exploration.
“Oh,” you murmur with a hint of chuckle. “You’re definitely more curious than I expected.”
You lean into him more, allowing yourself to embrace the moment. “Show me what you’ve got,” you say playfully.
Your heart races with anticipation, but his response is immediate. You feel his grip shift slightly, adjusting his hold around you so you sink more against him.
“What do you think of this?” you ask, cupping your breasts and pressing them together in a way that angles them for the cameras, ensuring they catch the moment. “Do you like it?” You try to shake off the awkwardness that comes from the robot’s silence, the lack of an audible answer hanging in the air tensely. Instead of words, 2K reaches out again. His movements are smooth and deliberate. His thumbs glide over your skin, brushing against your nipples. The coolness of his metal touch contrasts sharply with the warmth of your body.
“Wow,” you breathe out, caught off guard by how responsive he is, despite his silence. His exploration feels almost intimate as if he’s not just following instructions but genuinely interacting with you. You instinctively arch toward him, craving more of his curious touch.
The cameras continue to roll, capturing every word and every movement, but the watchful eyes are slipped to the back of your mind by now.
“Let’s move on,” the director says quietly. His voice cut through the haze of your focus. As usual, you want to follow his instruction without hesitation, but as you glance down between your bodies, you find… nothing. Your eyes widen in recognition, and confusion washes over you.
“Where- where is his dick?” you stammer, looking up at the bright lights as if they might offer some explanation for the sudden gap in your understanding, but before anyone can reply, the 2K reacts. With a smooth mechanical grace and a whirring sound, the plates beneath the sleek metal of its abdomen slide apart. His cock emerges, firm and gleaming. It juts out between your bodies, stealing your breath away for several seconds.
"This guy is full of surprises, isn't it?" You ask, almost laughing.
The director hums with a chuckle. "I believe you know what you have to do from now on."
A few silent seconds stretch out before you finally speak up again. “But how does it work? Does he need to consent? I mean-"
“Y/N, it’s a robot... he’s really just a giant vibrator."
“Yeah, but-" The longer you look at him, the more difficult it becomes to see him as just a hunk of metal, especially when his smooth, mechanical hands start to caress your bare skin. He draws delicate circles on your sides, the touch sending shivers up your spine, and gently pulls at your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to elicit a gasp from your lips. Each calculated movement blurs the lines between machine and human, igniting a flicker of warmth within you that makes it impossible to ignore the growing excitement.
"I think we can call it consent," somebody says in the background with a touch of surprise in his voice when the robot grips your hips firmly, lifting you slightly off his lap just enough to glide his cock across your damp folds. The cold touch on your heated center sends a ripple over your spine and your hands tighten on his shoulders with anticipation. You feel weightless in his strong grasp as he effortlessly supports your body, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to ease you down onto his length. Each inch of him stretches you, testing your limits, and you can’t help but feel grateful for the preparation you did before filming. He slips inside you with surprising ease, filling you completely until every inch of his erection is enveloped within you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you wiggle against him, seeking friction and fueled by a surge of curiosity. The coolness of his metallic form contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from your center, creating a tantalizing sensation that dances between discomfort and pleasure.
"I want a close-up," the director says to someone.
As you adjust to the fullness, your body instinctively reacts, contracting around him, eager for more. With each subtle shift of your hips, your breath hitches in your throat. The robot responds to your movements, adapting to your rhythm with uncanny precision. His hands remain firmly on your hips, guiding you gently as you rock against him, drawing out moans that echo in the quiet room.
You can sense the curiosity of those watching, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. It's new to them too.
You lean back slightly, arching your back for the camera as 2K's shaft glides in and out of you. Each thrust pushes you higher, and you can feel the pulse of desire building within you, throbbing and urging for more. You feel every subtle shift, every thrust, as he adapts to your movements. His body responds seamlessly to your desires. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you so completely, sends waves of pleasure radiating through your entire being. You feel like a raw nerve, perched on his lap with his arms around you, holding you and guiding you up and down on his cock. You rock your hips against him, half-delirious, seeking that perfect angle that sends your pleasure soaring. You feel him respond once again, adjusting his hold around you as his movements become more urgent, more insistent. He matches your rhythm, driving deeper into your bouncing heat.
In the back of your mind, you are still aware of the cameras filming you, and you try to do what you usually do for the right angles and records, but every fiber within you urges you to be selfish and chase your pleasure.
You bite your lip, stifling a moan as you feel the tension coiling tightly in your abdomen. Your breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, mingling with the soft, whirring sounds of the robot. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, a blend of raw human desire and robotic precision for your pleasure.
You grip his shoulders tighter. Your nails scratch over the smooth, metal surface. “I’m close,” you croak out. Urgency laces your voice, but before you can finish the sentence, something shifts. A high-pitched moan escapes your lips as you jolt on his length. The moment the robot's cock begins to vibrate, the world around you blurs, and all thought evaporates in your foggy mind.
The vibrations travel through you like a current, sending shockwaves of pleasure from your core. Each pulse ignites your senses, overwhelming you in the best possible way. Instinctively, you arch your back more, pressing down on him harder. The metal surface of his erection, once cool, now feels alive against your heated walls. The rhythmic buzz amplifies every movement, and with each thrust, you swear you can feel the vibration in your pussy on the tip of your fingers too.
You can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips in a maddening rhythm. It feels as if the entire world has narrowed down to this one electrifying moment. Your breaths come faster, more desperate, each gasp mingling with the mechanical hum of the robot.
You are teetering on the edge, and then, with one final surge of vibrations and powerful thrusts, you feel it. Your body trembles as the pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and blissfully adrift in your climax.
As your mind clears enough for you to lift your head from the robot’s shoulder, you gaze up at the director, noticing that the lights have dimmed slightly, casting a softer glow over the room. “How was it?” you ask breathlessly, still suspended in the remains of your incredible release. You can feel your pussy still fluttering around his rigid cock, instinctively trying to milk something more, craving that sweet sensation once again.
The man watching from his seat smirks with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I think it will work.”
You're writing robot smut and it mimics human smut?? They can kiss normally? Grow up. Tell me about how they twitch when their connective cables are touched. Tell me how the system glitches when they get worked up. How they make up for their lack of softness, how they use it to their advantage. Or how technically they can't experience pleasure that way but their system overheats and restarts multiple times. Get creative. And get that heteronormative propaganda away from me are you a freak or what
Never played Zenless Zone Zero in my life and have no plans but I want that lion robot to finger me. MAY BE EXTREMELY INACCURATE CAUSE I DONT KNOW ANYTHING!
CW: GN Reader but reader does have a vag. (You are only referred to as you, little one, human and friend.), Breeding, robot sex, marathon sex, mentions of robot babies.
When your friend begged you to come along to watch them train at the dojo. It was past it’s opening hours and you assumed they had a human instructor so when you got introduced to Banyue, you just assumed he was just a basic robot.
Then you made those tasteless jokes.
“Whoa, he’s massive! I don’t know how you focus though, I’m getting wet just looking at him.” You laugh not noticing your friend’s petrified face. “Like I want him to finger me right now—” You start up again before your friend slaps a hand over your mouth, looking at you like you just suggested you want to blow yourself up.
“I’m so sorry about my friend, Banyue Shifu!—” Your friend starts up but the robot cuts them off, and to your horror (and excitement) it speaks.
“Don’t apologize. I understand my presence can be a bit overwhelming.” His voice is smooth, robotic but expressive. It comes close to you eyeing you contemplatively. “May I request we get to know each other better? It may help quell your fear of me.”
You move your friend’s hand away quickly, “Yes! I’d love that- I mean yes that would be nice.” You do your best to hide your excitement but it’s difficult. You’re pretty sure your friend muttered something about ‘robofucker’ but you tuned them out.
“Wonderful, perhaps you could tell me what it means to be wet when you are dry, and why I should ‘Finger’ you?” He asks, his voice inquisitive.
“Even better I can show you.” You grin mischievously as you hook your arm up around his, winking at your friend. “They can train and close up themselves, don’t worry. I’ll take you back to mine.”
“I see, so this is what you are meaning when you say ‘wet cunt’. Very soft and warm!” He purrs out but you barely recognize them as words, you’ve been at this for hours with each other, you’re not sure the exact time frame though. Your head is shoved down by one big hand, your back arched as he drills in perfect rhythm into you.
You really thought when you first explained it all to him that he didn’t have a clue what sex was, but it was entirely opposite.
“Are you feeling well, little one? I’m very lucky I did research on sexual intercourse that time I caught a pair of my students doing it, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do this with you.” So cheerful, but you could hear small gasps and pants between his words. You could only babble back though limply at his words, you could feel yourself cum again.
Part of you fears you might just get addicted to him filling you so deeply, completing you so well. You didn’t even know robots had dicks, and although it wasn’t human at all and looked more human shaped it was so addicting.
“It seems you are feeling good. Tell me human, do I have permission to ejacul— cum… inside you?” He runs his tongue down your back as he says this, it’s thick and large and you make a note to teach him to eat you out.
“Y— Yes! Fill me up!” You sob-beg out, your mind replaying over if you can get pregnant from a robot.
“Good, I’m close.” He moves his hand from your head to your hips, practically using you as a toy as he bucks up into you, barely missing your cervix.
Before you can blink he’s cumming some sort of gooey liquid inside still using you as a toy. It makes you clench up and orgasm yourself around him, eyes rolling back and toes clenched.
“I’m not sure if humans can get pregnant from my seed, so you’ll be the first to test that out.” His voice is low like a purr, “Shall we go onto the second round?”
