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beating-beetle-heart · 1 year

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Writing Practice: X Reader Based - Robot partner

NSFW

I've never really done an explicit work before. I'm trying to get better at it, so I'm going to start doing some one-shots to help grow.

I decided to make this one more short and sweet between the two, which means next one will probably be extremely kinky, to keep the balance ;). Hope you enjoy!!

Minors DNI

You sat on a bed full of plush pillows and weighted blankets that needed re-distributing. Instead of a nice layer of warmth, the blanket's beads were lumped into two hard corners. Luckily, and quite confidently, you were certain your partner would sort the lumps out by morning. He was adorably sweet like that. Rather everything he did was adorable. You smile, honeyed memories oozing slow, delicious warmth through your chest. Years really do pass quickly when you spend them with care and happiness. You nestle into the bed, velvet smooth, laced with sheer curtains hung up with beads. The walls are a striking bombay mahogany, decorated by pictures of their life framed by gold with white detailing, while several potted plants cradled in rope hang from the ceiling. The room paints a picture of wealth turned comfort. Money used not for unwanted abstract paintings and empty spaces ready for a photo shoot, but for personal taste and awakened dreams. Looking at it all gives you a swell of pride, just as it did when it was first finished. You sigh, content, a smile so big on your face that your cheeks are starting to hurt, but a gentle whoosh interrupts you from your thoughts.

Heavy footfalls grow gradually closer until they're at the foot of the bed. You turn, still smiling, to greet your partner. "Evening, Fuir."

He tilts his head and gently shakes his plating, rumbling with his version of a laugh. He stands six and a half feet tall. While that would normally be an issue, your blessed genes had made you six foot yourself, a perfect match. Fuir's plating was a beautiful snow white. His design consisted of an open spine, enticing lights running down its length. Layered plating made his chest, opening to more spacey armor strips nearer his torso, and thick, black duo cables (almost like a gas mask, connecting underneath the plating of where his jawbone would be) ran loosely to his back. Those were fun. Fuir brought his hands up to rub your shoulder. His hands was large, but not disproportionately so. They had long fingers, black on the underside, with black highlights around his palm and joints. They weren't completely smooth, being interrupted by ridges and more spacey armor in a beautiful combination. You feel your breath pick up speed. You blood runs a little faster, faster, and you roll over, propping on an elbow to give him a full look-over. You can picture yourself, eyes narrowed in sharp lust, mouth parted just a little as you reach up to grasp one of the cables. His rumbling stutters and he lets out a delicate sound of surprise. You feel the hand on your shoulder tighten, scraping the fabric across your skin. You nearly whimper when it brushes across your nipple.

"I didn't realize you'd be merciful enough to give me such a greeting," his voice echos. You smile, knowing full well his kind doesn't feel urges to fuck like humans. They enjoy it, oh how they do enjoy it, but they don't feel a need to chase it if its not offered or in their lives. Fuir hadn't been sex-starved while you slept, but you enjoy how he plays it as such. Especially at times like this, where your body is begging to grind. You stroke the cables, smirking at Fuir's little gasps. His hand comes to stroke your jaw. You lean into it.

"N-not hungry?" he inquires.

"Only for you." You crane your neck, guiding him the rest of the way with little tugs that elicit the familiar whirring of his fans kicking into gear. You snicker. "You're adorable." You nip around the cable's connection points and brush against receptive neck wires. Fuir grasps your back with both hands, sending rolling shivers down your spine. You groan and arch into him, a different, more personal heat comes on, born from the way Fuir holds you, careful to not hurt, from the way he fondly allows you to pull him closer despite being indescribably strong enough to stop it.

"Y/N," Fuir's voice hitches. Static fuzzes the words.

"Come over here," you breathe. Fuir's plating shifts, expanding to allow as much access into his seams as possible. You catch one of his neck cables in your mouth and suck, laving tongue over warmed material, coating your saliva onto it, marking. He whines, high and loud, the sound laced with static. You feel a growing wetness stain your underwear. He's shaking now as he climbs on top of you, messily trying to keep your mouth at his neck. He's careful, but his plating still pinches in a few places. Each time you give a small squeak, breaking apart to share a laugh and quick "sorry". You stare up, heart thrumming as he looms over your soft form. The light catches on him, drawing your eyes to the angles of individual plates. His winter expanse is overtaken by scattered rainbows. He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. To be together, each the others, was more than you thought possible, a dream come true.

Your fingers run along the top of his chest. They follow well-known paths and dip into seams that spark roars from his fans. Your teeth nip harder at Fuir's cables. He gasps, body jerking. You let the go cable go, eyes boring into him in amusement. "I know you want to say something, Fuir."

"Hha..." He shivers, plating groaning in its attempt to open wider. "Harder." He pushes his head closer when you don't move. "...Please," he groans.

You'd be lying if you said having Fuir, so much stronger and more resilient than yourself, than any human, beg wasn't a delicious ego boost. "Such a good play-toy," you tease.

"You'll r-regret that."

You close your eyes when he pushes you against the sheets. "I'm counting on it." Baring your neck, you moan and clutch at him when you hear the telltale sounds of tendrils extending from compartments along his upper back. "Show me," you whisper.

Fuir's multitude of thin cables wrap around your legs, heated metal nearly uncomfortable against the already-risen temperature of the room. Beads of sweat begin to run down your thighs, mixing with your wet arousal. Your legs quiver when the tendrils widen them, giving slow, swirling strokes as they inch closer to your groin. You buck against him. Fuir leans down and lets his main coil duo rest against your face.

"Suck," he commands, a deeper reverberation commanding his voice.

You dutifully take one, than the other, into your mouth. The tendrils suddenly slap the inside of your thighs and you have to bite down, lest the electric mix of pain versus pleasure make your mind too groggy to remember your task. A pitiful whimper escapes your mouth. You slide your tongue against the cord's ridges, working on stroking the seams along his back in tandem, your tugging of wires rewarded by Fuir's quivering and fuzzed sounds of pleasure. His tendrils begin to stroke faster, the tips stimulating both of you, winding your heady whimpers with his stammering engine, a mix more lustrous than the best music. Your bodies wound around each other, an orchestra of desire guided by a conductor of love.

Your noises are nearly loud enough to match his fans. Your hips push into Fuir's tendrils, relishing his succulent, desperate noises, his eagerness punctuated by quicker strokes and growls. He digs his helm into your neck and your eyes squeeze shut. A burning heat in your gut roars louder, the brink's edge so close you can hear it, see it, taste it from the coil in your mouth and the heat in the air. "You're beautiful," you gasp at Fuir, having just enough oxygen left for those two words before the two of you are grasping at each other, screaming into the other's void and coming together, two black holes colliding in a storm of fervor. You're still clutching him, and he you, many minutes after, all through the wind down of his systems and the after-sweat of yours. Fuir nuzzles against the soft skin of your neck, allowing you to simply close your eyes and breathe, and be. You bask in the fog shrouding your brain, nearly laughing from its tingling effect, Somehow, in all the world and worlds beyond, you had found someone. You had found someone to love, to cherish, and to trust that the person loves and cherishes you back. You make each other happy, the most anyone can ask for in life.

You snuggle into him, wanting, knowing, that the moment will never end. You will always be together. Happy and safe as the universe intended.

#exophilia #nsft #robophilia #robosexual #robot bf #monsterfucker #x reader #writing #robot x reader

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beating-beetle-heart · 1 year

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X Reader Writing Practice

I’m here with another robot x reader. This one is for my friend, they commissioned it and gave me permission to post it. It’s a very personal issue for them, and maybe for some of you as well. It deals with self-image and dermatillomania.

Female reader, male bot.

Set in a loose college system

The day was young. That's what people say, Y/N mused.

The day was young.

Everything around her felt old.

University has a way of doing that. It wasn't a bad start to a day. It was sunny, and it was young. Her dorm gave her a nice view, and everyone outside was young, too, including herself. Fresh twenty, the kind of age where people say you look your best, the best you'll ever be, and your beauty is at its peak. Your body is at its peak. For Y/N, she'd been waiting for her twenties her whole life. Now, half a year ago, it showed up just as planned, only the plan ended there. The day after she'd turned twenty, Y/N had done what she'd been trying to break since the middle of her high school life.

Y/N had reached a hand up till her fingers found skin on cheeks and chin, then those fingers searched, exploring for any bump, rough patch or mark. And then those fingers had begun to itch, and did not stop. So there she was after her twentieth birthday, numb and unaware to what she was doing till the skin was peeled off and the gentlest of washing felt like rivers of lava punishing her for her illness. She woke the next morning with red patches surrounding her face, and, by miracle, she had no classes and no plans while her roommates did, so she stayed in all day. She saw her features in the mirror and sighed, and went to make breakfast. Oatmeal, oatmeal raisin cookies, eaten in pajamas, washed down with sweet tea.

Half a year later, Y/N woke up, and as she'd thought an hour before, the day was still young. With nothing going on, accompanied by precious time alone (the most difficult thing to find she'd discovered since moving into a dorm), Y/N began scrolling through her phone. Brilliant sun shone through the open windows. The beams bounced off a flickering, glittering thing on the corner of a desk. Y/N glanced over and squinted. It was the dress of her roommate Monique. The sight clutched up an old memory of Monique shoving armfuls of clothes into different places as Y/N entered the room. Monique looked up, a mad sparkle in her eyes, and vehemently declared "I'm making a give-away pile for my clothes! I have so many after all, I hardly use some of them," and at that, the mad sparkle twinkled down to allow the shimmer of sadness to push through, but Monique was not deterred in her task. "Here, you can look through it if you want," she declared. Y/N had politely declined. Most of Monique's stuff was dresses, short and sleeveless, but Y/N had never worn a dress in her life. It would be odd to start now she'd thought, but she was alone in the dorm, and new things weren't looking so bad. Not when others can't see you trying them anyway.

Y/N searched for Monique's number. She shot a simple text, to the point. Monique quickly responded with a wave and a smile, ecstatic in emojis as well as voice. With that, Y/N loped over to the pile of clothes and ran her hand along one of the dresses. The material was rough, and when she held it up it was full of what she assumed to be stylish wrinkles. Y/N slung it onto her arm and walked to the bathroom. Her pajamas dropped to the floor and she studied looked over her body in the mirror. It wasn't a bad body. It was small-breasted, but had a good ass and was slimmer-framed. It had a substantial amount of armpit and leg hair because shaving, and general care, was often just too much for her tired soul to bother doing. She showered and made sure not to smell, but the little things along the way was too taxing most nights. Her hips, thighs and knees were covered in stretch marks. She traced over their textured dips, marveling at their change of color depending on the angle. Years ago she would have watched in shame, as her skin did what was normal in bodies but distasteful to the eyes. Now, she smiles at their appearance. She held up the dress, turning it around to see its back, then promptly struggled for several minutes trying to get it on. It was strapless and short, barely covering the end of her butt, and a ruffle ran down the left side of its front. It clung to her curves, but the lack of straps or hold above left her feeling like it would slip down any minute. Y/N had to admit, though, that it looked quite nice on her. She turned, analyzing her different angles. Y/N figured she'd definitely have to finally shave if she wore it out, but that was unlikely. It wasn't as though she were going to parties every week, or at all honestly. She was more prone to chill clubs and city walkings, it was a lovely kind of community she'd gathered. She ran fingers through her long, silken hair. It fell around her shoulders, so darkly brown it was nearly black.

She slipped off the dress and went to grab another. The next had a large hoop on the front, right under the boobs, which strips of fabric hung on. The top was textured in glitter. As soon as she managed to get it on, however, she pried it off in hate. Whatever type it was -or maybe it was the hoop- did not work on her. The third one was the best so far. It was more a very fancy, slightly longer than average, tank top. A collar of fake gems spanned a pattern across the top. It was a favorite so far. The first one would be a favorite if it wasn't so itchy in places. The fancy tank top she felt like she could chill in her dorm with. Y/N retrieved her phone and held it up to the mirror, twisting, angling, vaguely hopeful. The series of pictures she took only proved her nicely-shaped body, but all of them except for two, managed to hide her face. Whether it be the camera hiding it, or only taking pictures from the neck down, either way. She clicked out of the camera and wavered over Monique's chat. Y/N picked through the photos with a slow, critical eye, her fingers tapping rappid-fire against the back of phone's case till she settled on a few -none of the face, none of the face- to send. She then moved to her partner's number. Her glorious, gorgeous, new, partner. They'd only been dating a mere four months or so. Not long at all for a relationship. Was it too new to send more...? They'd never had sex, and so far neither had sent any lewd photos. Y/N's fingers hovered over the camera icon while she moved into different positions with jerky movements. In the end she took no other photos, but rather ended up sending him one of the two photos that didn't hide her face, and one that did.

A message notification blipped up. It was Monique. They look so cute on you, where are u gon wear them?

Y/N responded Not sure, I don't think I have anywhere to wear them rlly

Why are u trying them on if u aren't gon use them

Y/N's hand reached up.

It was rather stupid to try them on, she realized. Y/N could feel her heart pick up the pace, could feel the down-turn of her face. She registered, vaguely, her nails scratching, her skin peeling. The simple joy of seeing yourself in a more special look sank, replaced quickly, quick as a trigger, by a deep thumping in her chest. Every thump gave waves of overlapping, overbearing, pain. Y/N wasn't going anywhere she could use this kind of clothing, she felt foolish for even bothering to try, even worse for thinking she'd just take some of the day to feel nice in new outfits. It was a childish attempt, and she hated herself for feeling like a child at its end. Another message blipped. Y/N glanced to the floor, barely registering it was her partner's name. Revve, with two dots above the v's, so that it looked like a smiley face. A jagged, cute pumpkin-ey smiley face. Y/N reads it from the notification rather than the app.

That dress looks very cute on you. Then, When did you get it?

Y/N's hand is finally brought down to type. It's monique's. They let me try it out! Her hand hovered over the screen. I'm glad u like it. I think it looks nice :D. Next, even though she wished to stop, I guess it was stupid to put it on huh, dresses aren't my thing.

Revve's side took a moment of silence, leaving Y/N the chance to start scraping again. She just couldn't stop no matter how badly she wanted.

I didn't think they were, you never showed any interest in dresses. Even so, I think they suit you. You look amazing. Do you know if you'd be comfortable wearing it in public?

Y/N snorts. Alone in a bathroom is one thing, but public a whole other that comes with anxiety, doubt and lack of privacy. I don't have anywhere to wear it, she responds. They went on dates sometimes, but wearing something more revealing could be an offer. She sighed, chest loosening. Revve wouldn't do that. He'd ask, but he wouldn't pressure, that's who she knows him as. Y/N sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. It wasn't sex itself Y/N was afraid of. She'd had that before, twice with a girl in her junior year of high school, but it had proved utterly disappointing. Granted, they were both virgins who didn't have a clue how to touch other's bodies. Still, it had left her with an utter lack of care towards sex, and she felt not the need to seek it till a Robotic had offered when she was a freshman in college. He'd been great, and the friends with benefits had actually ended well both times, that's how she liked it. The part that gave her weird tingles, and a clench in her chest, the part that gave aversion, is the new angle sex would have. With a romantic partner, it would have to mean more. It would have to mean more than she thought she was ready to admit.

Do you have any other pictures?

There's a couple of other dresses I haven't tried.

You should. My class starts very soon, I have to go. I'll miss talking to you.

The students (including Y/N) loved Revve, they had nothing to say about him but "great teacher" and "fair grader". With the contact over, Y/N took another look at herself. Her eyes flicked across her shoulders, her chest, unable to stay still as guilt bloated her stomach. Lifting her eyes to her face was a salmon swimming upstream, always trying, but always accompanied by a huge weight forcing them back.

Sure enough, Y/N's skin was splotched an angry, tomato red. It gleamed only because of the exposure of too new, raw skin. Flakes fell to the floor, drifting past her vision like snow when she moved her head. Her body, though, was nice. She went to get another dress.

In a half hour she'd tried on several outfits, and taken pictures of all of them. She sent a few pictures to Revve, moving to put the phone down before a beep surprised her.

My students are not feeling very student-y right now. I'm giving them a short break. Y/N smiled, shaking her head, but her mouth despondently down-turned at Revve's next message. Why are you hiding your face in them?? Two question marks, not a good sign. Worry isn't what he needs with a class in session.

Just trying a new photography style, it adds mystery.

Do you need me to come over? I can, it's alright.

No, u have class! Panicked tears threatened to spill from frightened eyes. Why didn't she add emojis? A text without emojis from Y/N is a sure-fire way to tell a wrong day, Revve knew that bright as day, had figured it out really rather quickly. Using emojis in these thralls of emotions just didn't feel right, however, and she'd forgotten to put them in. Her nails dug into her nose bridge, she blinked back blurry vision and wrangled, wrangled with a need. It would be selfish asking for help during his work time. Selfish, selfish, to even need help for this, only that isn't true she tells herself. It isn't true, but it feels true and that, forever, trumps her responses to everybody.

Her hands itched, her face hurt, and her fingers twitched. Y/N wanted nothing more than to tear all her skin off. Tear it off and throw it in the garbage.

Fingers knocked clumsily against her phone, trying a hurried I just don't like my face in photos, u know that.

Your face looks nice, too!

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Alright.

I mean it :). I'll come over in ten minutes, I won't be long. My class is rowdy today, it's okay.

Y/N slipped to the floor, cursing herself for the relief sprung from those words. She sat down, tears her only companion, but she got up and wet a towel, wet her face with the wet towel, hissing at the burn. Y/N got out of the dress and stood with hands gripping the sill, breathing in and out, deep like a yoga session. She grabbed a black shirt, a pair of smooth black pants, and waited, occasionally trying to fix up the damage to her face. It wasn't eight minutes till a knock pulled panic towards the surface of already-stirred waters. Y/N rubbed her hands and closed her eyes, drawing her hair over her ears to hide what little she could. The knock sounded again. "Is Y/N in here?" Revve's deep voice reverberated clear into the room, despite the door in his way.

Y/N's vocal cords, all they could manage under everything, was a stifled "I'm here."

"Can I be there?" He asked, voice low and sweet, almost teasing, if you looked past the skitter when he spoke. It was near indecipherable, but it was there. Y/N shook her head, got up, and walked to the door. She rested her head against the frame. The hands of a clock in someone's room ticked on, and on, and on.

"I don't want you to see me," Y/N whispered.

"I can turn my optics off."

Y/N's eyes stared sorrowfully at nothing. "No, you don't have to do that." Her hand reached for the knob, slowed by the screaming in her body, mind, her soul, screaming to run. "But thanks." The knob turned little by little, till the door clicked open and Y/N turned to walk anywhere but towards him. She wrapped her arms around herself while he followed steadily after.

"Did someone upset you?" His volume lowers, careful of an animal ready to flee.

Y/N shakes her head. "Not... It's..." She laughed, a bitter thing to hear. After several stumbled starts and stops, she simply motioned him to follow and went into her room. She'd been lucky enough to procure single-room dorms. In there, they sat upon the bed, but he did not touch her. It made her heart ache, but she did not know how to ask for it, even after all these months, so she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Immediately a warmth permeated the air. It made her skin tingle, and that tingling spread till it gently ghosted over every inch of skin, a pleasant, invisible blanket. Y/N tilted her neck and smiled into Revve's armor. The hum of his fans filled the air, sweeter than a lullaby. His large body shifted to allow her more ease against him. Though he had no visible eyes, she knew he was looking down at her, and the thought was the most comfort she'd felt all day, yet it still made her want to shrink, because right now is the least time she wants to be looked at. "Do you want to tell me anything, web?" His hand came up, metallic fingers resting against Y/N's jawline. She flinched and he pulled away.

He took to massaging her shoulders instead, to which she gladly leaned in, and like that they sat for near ten minutes, encompassed by the sound of his engines. She swallowed, took a breath, and said in a strained timbre, "I'm so tired."

"Y/N, I don't know what happened today, if something did happen, but I want to know. Please," he urged, "I want to help." His thumbs rubbed circles into the back of her neck. "I want to help, but I don't know how. You need to meet me halfway, even if only to tell me to shut up and stay here," he pleaded. His pistons whined and clanked, and his voice was soft and despaired.

Y/N's hand moved to Revve's, thumbing over the metal, but she couldn't help the call woven into her bones. Into her skin. It drew her fingers up and she began to subtly, lightly scratch at her skin, drawing with it a deep, looming sense of self-hatred. Revve's fingers quickly curled around Y/N's hand, engulfing it entirely. "You look beautiful," he breathed, voice glitching slightly, "you shouldn't be harming your skin, or any part of your body."

Y/N snorted. "I know that," she snapped. Her voice was suddenly too loud for the room, and too quickly brought to heat. Embarrassment swam in her stomach. "I know," she started again, quieter this time. "I know. I've tried to stop." She took a shuddering breath. "I've tried to stop so many times, but it never sticks." She closed her eyes, turned her head deeper into Revve's body. "I'm so tired. I want to tear all my skin off and throw it in the trash."

Revve traced his cool fingers against her jaw, running up and down, cupping her face so comfort clashed with her current hate. "I...I didn't..." Y/N blinked as a couple tears ran down silently. "I knew your skin was damaged occasionally, but I didn't realize it was this bad," Revve said. "How long has it been happening?"

"A long time," Y/N laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, more like if a rain cloud trying laughing. It came out more like thunder. "Since...Damn, since I was a mid teenager I think."

"Have you been to anyone?"

"No." The idea of a therapist, because there are for such conditions she'd learned years ago, never appealed as an option. To her teenage mind it seemed so frivolous, to be so distraught as to go for help for her appearance, and when she'd learned to go beyond that more, she'd been too grown and stuck with other responsibilities to bother setting time to go.

Revve made a sound, then stopped. He idled for a few minutes, then said "It's amazing. Even with what's happened to your skin, you still look gorgeous." More tears ran down. Y/N shook her head. "It's too true for you to deny, you know." His voice took on a happy, fluffy tone. "You still look amazing to me. You jaw," his fingers kept moving along her jawbone, "your nose," and here they moved up, one finger gently scratching the bridge of Y/N's nose, and so on, till he'd named every part of her face and so cradled each part. A warm hum sung across Y/N's chest. For a minute, she let herself believe him. Believe that she looked, truly, beautiful to someone. Perhaps she could even look beautiful to herself. But then the feeling began to sink, and all that was left was the painful ache of her face. "I know you don't believe it," Revve stated. "I can see it even on our dates, and when mirrors catch you on some days. Not always," a thoughtful hum entered his voice. "Sometimes you look into mirrors you pass and you smile. It truly makes me feel great to see you prideful of yourself. It gives me this warmth and great joy, because I know it isn't easy for you, even though you deserve self-love enough to fill the moon." His head bent down, rubbed against Y/N's hair. "I know you deserve more than what you give yourself. I think you know that, too."

Y/N's sniffled. It was true. Part of the self-hate was borne from the fact she knows she deserves better than what she gives herself. She was better, she could smile into mirrors now. She was fine with flaws she used to hate. She'd gotten better, but she still had days like this. Y/N stared at nothing, eyes wet and puffy. She'd gotten better, and she'd still get better, she reasoned. With Revve, it somehow felt more possible than it'd ever felt before. Maybe, just maybe, he could help her get through.

He wrapped his arms around her slim body. "Whether you have a bad day like this, or the best day of your life, you'll always be radiant to me. You're as radiant as light, refracted against dew clinging to webs in the morning air. I'm going to help you see that," he declared. "You're going to get help, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled, an odd, rushing feeling suddenly lifting her tears to true laughter for the first time that day. It might have been the dedication in his voice, the poetry of his words, the hands calming her body or the heart in his actions, or the trust built between them, that somehow, somehow made it all seem possible. Y/N had gotten better on her own, but now she didn't have to. Revve would be there. Someone would truly, really be there.

She'd get better. She'd learn to love herself. With him beside her, it felt more than possible. It felt like a certainty.

#Robophilia #robosexual #x reader #exophilia #robot bf #dermatillomania #skin picking disorder #robot boyfriend #terato #sfw

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