The rest of the building thinks it's a defective unit, a freak amongst the service androids that work here, but you're kind of fond of him.
Sure, the fact that your work building is shared with a morgue is strange enough, but the real oddity is that the actual morgue is run almost entirely by service androids. Something about the droids being better at the delicate tasks of funerary make-up and it being cheaper than getting human professionals, but it's not your business to know the why or how's of that part of the morgue, you really only care about visiting your unusual friend in his work area.
It's probably not healthy, mentally at least, to lie on the cold metal table in his work area while you talk with the android. But you're surprisingly comfortable as you watch him pull on fresh gloves. It's strange, unlike the other androids, he lacks the synth skin over his hands and instead chooses to wear the standard sterile gloves, the black nitrile moving easily across the mixed polymer of his hands as he turns towards you.
He's talking about the last person he had worked on, tracing the path of his work on your face, talking about how he had to remake the nose and brow area almost from scratch.
These conversations, the way he moves and acts, are what make people think he's defective; it's like he actually enjoys his work, not just programmed to complete it. Closing your eyes, you ask about anything else he's worked on while you were away over the weekend, listening to the click of the shoes the morgue makes him wear as he moves around the room, humming and asking questions here and there as he describes the other major works he had done. For a service android you find him strangely comforting, you'd only admit to yourself in the dark of night that you also find him attractive in a strange way, but that's for you and the 2am dreams of a very different kind to know.
When you open your eyes again, he's leaning over you, the lenses of his eyes focusing on your face visibly.
It's not unusual for him to do this; you think he likes to take in the shape of your face, storing the image in his data banks for reference purposes. If only you knew how many of these images he takes, storing them in folders for personal enjoyment or as much enjoyment as a droid such as he can have.
Perhaps one day he will leave the morgue, follow you up the steps into the warm upper levels and remove the thorns of your coworkers from his path and get more of your time, or maybe he will bring you down here, to his level in the cold and the dark. You seem a perfect piece on the metal of his work table, moving, breathing, talking, and so very human in a way he feels must be envy for, yet in another second his inner processors stutter, envy isn't right, droids don't want like that, no, he wants to catalogue what makes you so human to him, what makes his code loop the images of you over and over again.
All of his inner directories and logic paths lead to one definition...
warnings; mdni/18+; dubcon, implied forced insemination/breeding, detail + prose heavy, social ridicule and commentary
wc; 2,444
dividers; @/strangergraphics + @/cafekitsune
a/n: this is an older piece to a 35k android x reader oneshot I plan to repost on ao3 eventually.
if you enjoyed, I'd absolutely love it if you could reblog + share your thoughts with me!!!
He had a face structured to be unimaginably beautiful; the sort that you'd never tire of looking at, finding something new to admire and touch every time, yet it saddled your mind with some inexplicable discomfort and set the hairs on the back of your neck straight like needles. Over time, that feeling had never fully subsided, simultaneously becoming one you craved at every instance he entered a room, like Pavlov’s dog trained to salivate to a bell.
“What is your preference this morning, Maker?” Elio announced himself from the kitchen once your first heel struck the bottom of the staircase. His voice was liquefied velvet, mellifluous with enough depth that you swore even the simplest words spoken could make your heart tremble. “Maker? Are you well?”
You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar as the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable through obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have it installed there.
Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, to perform anything asked of him flawlessly, and respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma.
“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained. He was supposed to memorize it, but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”
Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious that nothing inhibited his ability to store your morning preferences.
“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio explained in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”
Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it.
What's more, he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand.
“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked how they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy distribution throughout the day. I have a very extensive database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”
You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact.
“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor were around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio, and he did not laugh.
His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffers from similar afflictions: lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, and gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species.
“All this to say, my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this, and to conclude, please consider a couple of slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on Fifth and Lowe, where you'll consume around one hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine, and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”
“Holy shit.” You had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on the gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”
Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge of your routines and have noticed you're at an increased risk of different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”
Truthfully, you weren't so sure. Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades' worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically, yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker, not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure.
You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim or if it was any real reason for concern at this stage, or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.
The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation and Researcher Kim’s good graces.
This, of course, was all contingent only if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest deviation from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately.
You didn't do that.
You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes, and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day.
That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’clock in the morning when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull.
You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”
“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting at shoulder height on you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion.’ Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”
“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”
“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking in height so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”
“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”
“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours? Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish, and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll remain.”
You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the company—in Researcher Kim—you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect.
“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.
Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours, and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with, but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed about what it'd be like, he felt completely natural against your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing to seek out the fire on your skin.
In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.
Humans wanted to be wanted, adored, and cherished, and to belong. Such was a natural behavior predating all written records; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation, and avoidance within the same species.
Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.
His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him.
You tried to keep in your mind, amidst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your core, that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.
“You're beautiful.”
“I like you like this.”
“Moan louder for me.”
“Cum for me.”
“I love you.”
Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.
“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moved lightly behind your ear.
“Another part of my purpose,” he said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones so velvety as though divulging a well-laid secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant of certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”
You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed and redressed. He did not return your clothing to you; instead, he piled it under his arm and turned left for the bathroom down the hall.
Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?”
Your jaw felt as tight as your throat as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”
He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk.
“Very well. I think eucalyptus would be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”
You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movement within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a sliver of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline, even if the price would be ungodly and the consequences treated equivalent to murder.
In a world where humans could no longer love each other and chose the embrace of complex circuitry and delusion, even the testers needed to contribute to society somehow.
Summary: Every time your robot boyfriend goes shopping, you are in for a treat. He texts you about his new appliances and how you need to get home ASAP. You are very busy, but well… electric play and a bunch of sex toys do sound pretty fun.
Robot x male!reader || sex toys, electric play, overstimulation, (very light) size kink
It always starts the same way, with a mechanical: “I’ve been shopping.”
It happened so many times before that you can feel your dick getting hard inside your sweats just by the thought of it. But this time there’s something different about the way your android boyfriend says it. There’s an extra edge to his tone. A special giddiness that has you on the edge of your seat and looking at him expectantly.
“Now?” You ask him, and he nods in your direction.
Whatever it’s in the box he’s holding has him ready to fuck you dumb right now? Hell yes. You are rushing to the room, shredding your clothes as you go, and smiling when you hear him picking them up.
Soon you are down to your underwear, your dick hard inside the fabric and your boyfriend’s eyes fixated on the bulge. “I can do something about that,” he says in the worst possible porn innuendo ever. You smirk at him, crowding him against the wall and kissing him mirco-chipless while his hands grope your ass.
...
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robot!character being obsessed with how squishy / soft you are and strangely reverent with you, too, until you find out it's because they believe you to be fragile—easily marred and hurt and broken.
robot!character experimenting to discover precisely how much pressure they can apply before it's too much, before they leave dark constellations of bruises on your skin. meanwhile, you're having the masochistic time of your life.
you, who can't mark up robot!character in the same way because they don't bruise. so instead, you leave little lipstick kisses in random places on their body and hope they'll one day miss a mark and announce to the world exactly who they belong to ♡
robot!character cautiously opening their panels after you mentioned a curiosity to see inside them. your fingers probing around motors and metal plates to brush delicately along colourful tangles of wires. murmuring, "you need better cable management," as a joke and tugging on a bright red one. expecting to hear their usual laugh in response but instead comes a harsh, broken moan smeared in static as though your fingers are interfering with their ability to even think.
robot!character overstimulating themselves and accidentally rebooting because their systems got overheated. you're super confused when they slump dead-weight on top of you -> stupidly amused when they come back online and tell you what happened. like what do you mean you just made a robot black out with your pussy?
when you're being feral with robot!character but they take it in stride, like it doesn't bother them at all. you're acting like a crazy person—hands smoothing over their artificial body, muttering inane horny nonsense—and they're just like "okay, come here. leg over mine, please. back to my chest. can you spread them a bit wider for me? that's it. good," and manhandling you into a better position while you're slobbering on their fingers.
