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i need a guy who’s first thought when having a bad day is eating me out as a stress reliever.
long day at work, headache from colleagues, and the only thing he can think of is how he needs to taste you to blow off some steam.
i’m talking about mid afternoon sighing once he pictures his tongue flattening against your hole. hand steady on the steering wheel during rush hour wondering about your hand running through his hair with a little tug.
he’s sloppily lapping up your folds like some fool’s greed. his face is coaxed and smeared in your flush juices. you, dumb and sweaty, shoved into the plump of his lips and ball of his nose. the tip of it rubs roughly into the fat of your clit. supple thighs on either side of his head, bruised from his much stronger grip of you. the whole room is stuffy, congested, and hot. you’re moaning with little to no protest from how exhausted you are, they pour out more like defeat. the stubble on his chin itches a quiver in your legs. you think it must’ve been hours since he’s come up for air. he doesn’t relent past your first orgasm… or the second… or third. he keeps you sensitive cause that’s how he likes his baby. and he goes a little crazy for your cum on his face. but he’s quick to keep you still so he can have his much-deserved fix of you.
even as he pushes open the door to your apartment, the kink in his brow furthers as he nears you around the corner.
and right then and there he can get a good fuckin meal after the shit he dealt with today. just gotta pry you open to get to it.
somethin’ sweet before i go ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ vi + fem!reader
synopsis : when your arrest turns out to be an attractive, arrogant zaunite who’s, obviously, had a bad night, there’s one thing she asks for before being turned in. c’mon, can’t you give her something sweet before handing her to a cold cell?
—TW : kinda hate fucking , fingering , dom!vi , afab , post jinx attack
“hey, princess, any chance you’re sweet enough to loosen these up a bit?” your pinkette prisoner grunts, rolling a kink out her neck.
your expression is nothing short of unimpressed for the taunting games your newest problem has come up with. glaring up from your paperwork, you bit the inside of your cheek in frustration, “quit with the pet names—do you find your situation funny?” you turn around to face the arrogant zaunite, cuffed hands extended behind her back. you found it rather annoying how nonchalant she was—or worst, she found this amusing. “you are being detained for assault,” you continue, “that’s a night in jail, ‘sweet stuff.’” mocking her previous taunt.
she just scoffed, but it was far from being insulted. a sly smirk and dangerous blue eyes peaking beneath cherry strands looked up at you.
“ya’ think i’m sweet, princess?”
you hear the familiar clanking of metal rubbing against each other, bringing attention to her restraints.
“undo the cuffs and i’ll treat you sweet all nigh-“ her prurient statement cut off by the force of your forearm knocking into her chest, subsequently shoving her against the wall.
“you forget yourself, trencher,” your arm jabs in the smug, although rather charming (and quite attractive), outlaw’s chest, and her eye twitches in a wince. “you’re in my territory now—it’d suit you well to not make a fool of me; i’m sure you’ve been taught the same in that… mess of a city across the bridge.”
your tongue held venom as you almost seemingly spat out the insult like it was truly sickening to speak of. there’s an unspoken challenge being held between the both of your glares. you tack on a huff from your flared nostrils to seal the conversation and to warn the zaunite in front of you from talking back.
but as the tense silence subsides, the cherry-haired woman draws out a teasing smirk, scoffing again, “ever been to the undercity, sweet-cheeks?”
her question seemed more rhetorical than anything. you didn’t answer, clenching your jaw, keeping your eyes fixated on hers as to not give a look of submission. she took your quietness as a ‘no’ and raised a brow,
“thought so.”
she leaned her head in closer, as close as your arm would allow—although, there wasn’t much distance to set you apart anyways. her eyes lidded now as your confidence wavered from the almost predatory air hung around her; like when a lion, hidden in the tall grass, gets a perfect angle of their prey.
“they’d eat that pretty, little ass up as soon as you stepped foot beyond that bridge.”
you gasped, quietly, eyes widened at her obscene words. you could already feel your body betraying you, blood involuntarily heating up the plump of your cheeks.
the arm held sturdy against your prisoner was now weak, a second thought; not to her, no, that was accordingly.
calloused hands snaked their way to your waist, armored with enforcer gold, a symbol of integrity to wear, resolute.
your eyes flicked to the (god, she is attractive) woman near inches away; you were trapped in a lion’s den, she was already staring back at you.
“how di—when did you…”
so much for standing your ground—your stuttering voice gave it all away.
“what? get those things off?” she chuckled, motioning back behind her, “you were right ‘bout one thing, princess: i learned a whole deal in that ‘mess of a city’.”
she near whispered your quote, not hushed, but emphasized, troublingly so. her hands wandered, dangerously, coming to settle at the plush of your hips, hips that had you bent atop her. a deft thumb pushed pass your attire and gently circled into your bare skin.
“are you… are you gonna hurt me?” you pressed your lips in a fine line, apprehensively awaiting a dreaded answer.
but to your surprise, she paused, then snorted, and in a quick motion, she manhandled you to sit on her lap. you yelped in shock, your hands were rigid against her chest that you were so very close to now; stiff as a board as you feared for the worst.
“can’t a girl want somethin’ sweet before you send me to a cold, hard cell, huh?” now the finger in charge of exploring your supple skin came to swipe at your plush bottom lip. “but if you want it to hurt i can make that happen too.” her voice was sultry, thick with an insatiable desire.
your proximity gave you a chance to see the small initial tattooed on her cheek, “vi.” you spoke out loud, really only for you to memorize.
vi smirked, “yeah, princess? don’t wear it out just yet.”
your brows furrowed, pursing your lips; you tried to move, but vi had a firm hold on your hips that just wouldn’t let up… (not that you even tried that hard). “piltover station will be here soon… we can’t—i can’t be seen like this; this is unprofessional.”
“when’d you make that call?” honestly, vi was barely listening to your reluctance and excuses, busying herself with unfastening your gold belt that you hardly even noticed.
“an hour ago.”
“then we have an hour to ourselves. c’mon, do you really think ‘proper piltover station’ is any more worried about a call for an undercity scum than the rest of the hundred they receive a day? they’re preoccupied with the councilors after that attack… seems to me like they left you out the loop, hot stuff.”
you took offense to her insulting jab at your importance, disregarding her sing-song mockery of addressing piltover station. you reached for her wrist that was unbuttoning the blue fabric of your enforcer two-split skirt, “what is that supposed to mean?”
she took no notice to your grip and pushed aside the outer garment, glancing back up at you through that addictive, crimson hair. she gave a dry smirk, “didn’t mean to rile you up, princess—just meant that i could treat you better than them.”
that betraying flush tickled your cheeks once again, and you, rather hesitantly, let way of your grasp, allowing her to do what she needs.
she snorted, in an amused manner, tapping your thigh, “sit up.” how shameful it was for you, an enforcer, to take commands from anyone else—let alone an… undersider. yet, here you were, standing upright as she told you to, albeit a little more eager than intended; you hoped she hadn’t noticed.
she noticed.
her legs spread out on the chair, making her appear even larger than her stature gave her credit for. she bent over, resting her elbows on her thighs as she pulled at the hem of your khaki shorts. you assisted and looped two thumbs at the waistband to shimmy down your legs. your shorts pooled at your feet and vi leaned back to admire the sexy sight she had in front of her with a grin on her face.
a pretty enforcer, nervous as can be, with a half-undone uniform and pink, lace panties exposed just for her. what a contrasting view. you were captivating. already trained to take orders like a puppy, she’d think in her crude mind; you’d be her good girl for a while, you’d be so good for her.
with two fingers, she motioned for you to come sit back down on her lap; the way her legs manspread was inviting enough. you obliged, holding onto her broad shoulders.
those engrossing fingers came back to handle your hips, slowly moving to cup the mound of your ass and kneading. you huffed, painted nails digging into her trapezius.
“ya’ like pink, princess?” she mentioned your cute, lacey panties; although, now stained a darker shade.
your eyes flickered up to her hair before timidly searching anywhere else to keep your focus busy. vi found that cute, not admitting that that turned her on way more than it should.
“i don’t disdain it.” you purse your lips, “and quit calling me that.”
vi chuckled, “but you’re poised, like a princess.”
“you have no idea of me.”
“well, i know you’re risking your title just so i can get you off,” fingers go to trace the hem of your panties, her middle drags along your clit muffled by the fabric. she grins, “and by the looks of it, you’re enjoying the thrill.”
you gasp at the sensation, a feeling your pussy was aching for. “is it because you know we might get caught? geez, princess, you into that kind of thing?” she almost laughs at you, but not to mock you; she finds that hot as fuck.
adept hands push the annoying polyester to the side. fingers, rather spider-like, creep over your throbbing cunt; middle and index gather your pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your clit.
you bite your lip to suppress a moan. you find your legs begin to tremble, being forced open by her own, keeping you spread for her to do as she likes.
“i didn’t know topsiders could be so dirty.” this time she does laugh. she rubs at your clit long enough for your heart rate to pick up, long enough for your head to find stability on her shoulder, long enough for you to become a mess in her hands… but, not long enough for you to get off just yet.
vi reaches down to your neglected hole, pressing her index atop it, deep enough for an audible squelch to echo through your office, which in turn makes vi groan. you mewl, nails digging deeper into the muscle of her back.
“not so poised now, though.” she mutters, mostly to herself. with your dripping slick, it takes nothing more than a swift movement for vi to slide her index inside you, bottoming out knuckles deep. you keen, arching off her chest. the scratch from her bandages only added fuel to the fire.
“fuck.” vi’s grip on your hip strengthens, almost certainly leaving a prominent bruise later. “do that for me again, princess.”
and she didn’t have to ask because as she pulls her finger almost fully out, tantalizingly slow, she greedily shoves it right back in, curling the tip of it to hit in that, god, that perfect spot you know so well.
and, again, you keen, long and guttural—like a silent scream. subconsciously, your pelvis bucks into her hand, searching for more than you could even take.
after a few minutes of this, vi deems herself your voice and determines you’re ready for two. she pulls out entirely, much to your dismay, teasing you with a pause.
you brace yourself for something that never comes, and you huff, slightly pushing yourself up off her shoulder,
“vi… don’t st—“
and she stuffs her middle and index into your pretty, impatient pussy.
“ah!”
“who said i was stopping, pumpkin? we just started.” you slam your head back to its assigned spot.
vi thought she was right in this moment: you looked a complete and utter mess. it was one thing to fuck a pretty girl, it was another thing that she had a topsider, an officer—someone who, to piltover, was a woman of dignity and honor… a rich, privileged somebody who hated zaunites, found them filthy and worthless…hunched over her shoulder with a sopping cunt you were practically begging her to abuse. now that’s ironic. (and was you coming undone for her maybe a little bit of a victory for her hatred of topside, that she was degrading—fucking someone so noble?)
“shit, baby,” vi cursed, biting her lip. her whole train of thought did nothing but make her more horny, and she pumped extra hard this time, making sure even the graze of her knuckle filled you up.
“when’s the last time someone’s fucked you like this?” she chuckled—you hated her smug little laugh.
you sneered, just not before you moaned into the crook of her neck, breath fanning over her black-inked tattoos. “that’s, fuck, none of your concern, underside.” you spat, but, really, your words held no weight, not like this.
“hey, no need for the name calling, princess; if you’re a virgin too that’s totally fine—honestly kinda hot.” she teased, grabbing the mound of your ass to raise you up and slam back down on her fingers. you cried, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in that (rememberable) cherry hair.
“i’m not!—i’ve had—ugh! i’ve done this plenty of times… not that, ah, you should need to know.”
“oh yeah? you fuck a lot of your inmates then?… or is that just my privilege?” vi leaned into your ear, knowing that’d get you going. and what do you know? it did.
and you would’ve argued back, head picked up and everything, had she not curled her fingers the way she did or twist to find an ever better playing field or, god! even the lechery in her voice had you toppling over, had you right there! yes, fuck, right there!
“fuck, vi, right there! keep going! yeah, right there, ugh!” you moaned, legs shaking, trying desperately to close and hide away from how fucking good this felt.
you bucked into her hand and you didn’t have to tell vi twice because she was already pumping extra hard and faster than before, with a combination of her thumb rubbing circles into your swollen clit.
“shit, princess. almost there?” she already knew the answer. she was groaning as if she was fucking herself; just the pure sight of you, of this, was enough… although, she’d need to engrave this memory into her brain and use it later to get off herself (she could use this picture of you to get off for years it felt like).
“vi!”
you sang like gospel, pulling her hair like you’d fall if you hadn’t. you came hard, right on her bandaged fingers and she road you through it until the only thing you could hear in the room was the lewd, wet noises coming from your hole.
she stuffed you full of your own juices and at that point, you couldn’t tell if that or her hands were more filling.
you were both panting, one more than the other. vi hoisted your left leg over hers to hold you bridal style as you settled down. bringing her hand to the light, she pulled apart her middle and index to watch your slick web between them and she weakly laughed.
blue eyes looked over to the gold, industrial clock you had sitting on your work-desk, reading a quarter til’ 12. she sighed, picking you up with her before setting you on the chair you had originally handcuffed her to.
“looks like i gotta go, princess.” she feigned innocent, as if this whole interaction was a drive by. one by one she picked up discarded clothing and crouched at your legs to dress you back up. you, too tired to protest to being treated like a child, let her dress you like a doll, even buckling up your belt.
you watched as she went to write something on a piece of sticky note paper you had sitting by your confidential files before turning to walk out the door, running a hand through her hair.
“you can’t leave—you’re… you’re under arrest.” there was no confidence in your tone, just a fucked out raspy voice.
vi stopped before leaving, hands in her pockets, “tell ‘em officer kiramann already came to pick me up, they won’t give you trouble.” she threw the hood of her red jacket over her head, reaching for the doorknob.
“oh, and… meet me at my place if you wanna do this again… okay, princess?”
synopsis : being late to your teachings with your bhikkhu wasn’t unbeknownst to either one of you. though, maybe you should’ve studied up a little more on your poses. it’s okay, your teacher will remind you lazy work does not go unpunished. maybe that’s not a punishment in itself.
—TW : smut , female body parts , mentor and student (not an age gap, i promise) , size difference , hittin it from behind , dom! ramattra , exhibitionism , slight dumification , slight overstimulation , yapping
‘sleeping in’ was a foreign concept in the monastery of the monks. you were expected to be up ‘before the arrival of surya’—the sun himself. Although, that wasn’t necessarily a problem anyone there faced; an unspoken rule of awaking at 4:00, meditation until 5:00, and chanting before 6:00… all to be fulfilled to begin your day.
early mornings didn’t phase you anymore, it was to be assumed regarding the fact you live with the monks. And so whilst everyone finished their routine, you had an extra step: teaching. Bhante Ramattra took you under his wing as his novice 6 months ago, when you had fled to the monastery in search of spiritual guidance and inner peace… as most do. He was a stoic mentor with a gentle soul; and he was always gentle with you. you figured he, as a bhikkhu, however, was like that to most. it was still nice to perceive it as your own.
“Namo tassa bhagavato arahato samma sambuddhassa.” you finished your daily prayer, taking in a deep breath, and standing from your place on your cushion. in about 5 minutes you would be late to your lessons with your bhikkhu.
you hurried to put on your robes and make your way to the gardens of the monastery. you passed by various monks walking the halls, taking a quick bow with your hands together to each one. you finally reached the scenic path to the gardens, feeling the cold cobblestone nipping at your socks. bhante ramattra sat on an intricate-patterned mat in a clearing of grass. his back straight and turned against you. you approached quietly, seemingly tiptoeing on the meadow.
“late again, my lotus?” you cringed, scrunching your nose. how could you sneak up on someone who’s practice is higher understanding? and his endearing nickname only seemed to make you more awkward.
“only by a minute or two this time. you can’t blame me if my reasoning is prayer.” you sat on the mat draped in front of him, noticing his loose robe showing off his chest plate. you let your eyes wander for a brief second.
“a moment delayed is an opportunity for patience and reflection… have you practiced either of the sort during your travel here?” if ramattra’s eyes shown, they would be staring deep into yours, quizzical and smug.
“well, what about you? you weren’t very patient for my arrival..”
“in questioning, we uncover the path to wisdom. in your case, i see no benefiting outcome in questioning me, besides a failing grade.” ramattra folded his arms.
“since when am i graded?” you giggled.
“i am your mentor; i grade you by progress, not by numbers.” at this point, ramattra has begun his dhyana mudra practice, joining his thumb and index together as a way to get rid of the headache in front of him. “now, have you rehearsed your yoga poses i gave as homework. i would hope you took this seriously as today’s lesson encompasses the custom.”
“yes, i think i have them all perfected.” you started on your warmup stretches, pulling your leg, then the next, to your sides. “excellent. are you confident to demonstrate your teachings?” you nodded and even with an expressionless face, ramattra seemed pleased.
you started with a simple locust pose to begin—balancing on your stomach, neck bent upwards, and hands stretched behind your back. your bhikkhu hummed in contentment, “very well, my lotus. now form into a cobra stance.”
again, the pet name only made your body stutter and for a moment you had blanked on how to do such a pose. ramattra is observant, he was taught about even the smallest body language from an early start of his own teachings—he noticed.
your black out didn’t last more than a second, though, and you pressed your pelvis to the floor, steading your weight on your hands. the omnic watched as you faced the sky, adam’s apple bobbing when you swallowed. 
again, ramattra hummed, watching the muscles of your back push together. “you’re doing well. i see my instructions didn’t fall on deaf ears. switch into fish pose.”
“you know,” you strained, falling onto your hands and rolling on your back. “these names don’t have any correlation to the pose itself. who came up with them?” you propped yourself on your elbows and awaited a response.
“matsyasana. that’s the original sanskrit name. we haven’t fully completed your language lessons yet, so we will stick to the westernized name of the position.” the omnic looked a bit displeased with the naming himself, but he was considered more traditional, so you assumed he didn’t like the newer adaptation.
“but how does it resemble a fis—er.. matsyasana? all i am doing is arching my back—what matsyasana have you seen do that?”
ramattra let out a raspy chuckle, and it brought a sense of pride that you could get that out of him. you liked the sound… even if it was a bit robotic and rough; almost like it was new to him too.
“you seem to keep ahold of your humanistic, logical ideals; embrace the current of life’s flow with a light heart.” your bhikkhu sighed, “but, if you must know, the pose resembles the graceful arch of a fish jumping out of water.”
ramattra stood to sit at your side, placing a metal hand under the palm of your back; he put his other on the cavity of your chest, gently forcing your rib cage to stick out. “like this.”
you looked up at your mentor, he looked down at you… and for a moment you could’ve sworn you both couldn’t look away. but in the second he was above you, he was now back to where he sat. it was probably—most likely, in your head.
the pose was difficult and hard to keep. your breathing wasn’t very steady as your body contorted in almost 180 degrees. “try not to focus on the position, instead focus on each exhale, releasing your struggle.”
“…easier,” you huffed, eyebrows furrowed, “…said than done.” ramattra tried to think of another way he could find you strength, but something in front of him was blurring his thoughts…
your breasts were perked up by the way your back stretched, laying on your chest oh, so perfect, and so vulnerable. something inside ramattra was whirring—electronic signals zapping circuits and tangled his wires.
he’s never… he’s never felt so hot before; maybe it was a malfunction.
but your chest kept heaving as your breathing deepened. your mouth was slightly agape as you tried to hold together, on a tiny thread. and your little noises were only stirring on this… feeling inside him even more. no, it couldn’t be a malfunction; he knew his sensations were purposeful. but, by devine presence, what kind of monk would he be? still holding onto the chains of lust, how foolish.
and yet, here he was, allowing himself the pleasure of watching you, watching you struggle, watching your body with desire. so lost in his own selfishness, he didn’t even hear your pleas.
“bhante ramattra? bhikkhu? please… am i finished?”
you were so strained. maybe this was a test? why else has your bhikkhu let you hurt without lesson?
ramattra snapped out of it, now feeling slightly guilty for letting you writhe in pain. “my apologies, lotus. you may lay out of pose.” he didn’t have to tell you twice. letting your body drop to the floor in exhaustion.
“i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
you let yourself calm down before continuing, “i’ll admit, i didn’t practice that position as much as i should have.” your mentor shook his head. “learn from this experience, and with a sincere heart, your efforts will blossom.” although, ramattra knew it shouldn’t be you to take the blame.
…
“are you restful enough for another demonstration?”
you nodded. ramattra was satisfied.
“marjaryasana.” he spoke, finding your readiness to speak more sanskrit endearing.
you remembered from previous teachings that ‘marjaraha’ meant ‘cat’ and you understood it to start a cat pose.
you planted yourself on the ground with your hands, balancing on your knees and lifting your head to the sky. you expectingly awaited your bhikkhu’s approval… but he said nothing.
“you’re missing something.”
“this is a cat pose, is it not? marjaraha?” what could you possibly have done wrong? you may have messed up your last instructions, but you were certain you had this simple one down. your continuous practice the night before being a witness.
“your sanskrit is correct; i’m proud of your remembrance—but your posing is lacking.” ramattra stood from his spot to come kneel behind you. “allow me to help.”
the large omnic loomed over you. from an outside perspective, it looked as if a wolf engulfing it’s prey.
but ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature, at least, from your understanding.
he took two big hands and gripped your waist, bunching up the fabric of your thin sanghati; ramattra would have to have a word with you next time on wearing the correct number of robes.
“bend.” he commanded. gesturing to the small of your back. you obliged. you were warm all over besides the chill of his metal holding you in place, which hardened your nipples through your clothes.
you wondered if this explicit position was all but innocent… surely, your wise mentor didn’t have any further intentions; you couldn’t hold yourself to that high regard… that didn’t stop your lustful thoughts. and anyone with common sense could stumble into the garden and most certainly view it just as suggestive as you… right?
you kept silent, letting the bigger man behind take the lead and guide you. he pressed against your skin until your arch was just to his standards.
you were almost positive that you could feel warmth radiating from how close his crotch was from your ass… that is, if a robot could emit such a thing.
“perfect.” he finally spoke. the bhikkhu admired his work from above.
you were afraid to respond… partly because you didn’t want to scare him away, and partly because you felt that if you opened your mouth, a long, suppressed moan would come out instead.
so you sat there, on all fours, back arched, unmoving, trying—desperately trying to squeeze your thighs together as best as you could to maybe satisfy this need you craved.
biting your lip, you stifled a pathetic whimper as ramattra’s thigh grazed over yours. how wrong this must be. a novice lusting over their bhikkhu… in a place of respect and religion. siddhartha, guide you now…
ramattra noticed your quietness, bending down closer to your head. had he made you uncomfortable? were the tensions thick for you too? he’ll admit his grip on your waist was rather tight; the plush skin beneath your garments was enticing.
you were… small compared to him. you allowed him to touch you and you obeyed his words. very obedient. and now comes the remembrance that you were practically all his. his novice. his responsibility. his student.
and you were a very good student.
“what’s wrong, my lotus?” he asked, hovering over you. “is this pose too much for you than the last? i would’ve expected this one to be easier.”
you shook your head. your shoulders were stiff now, especially with that whirring, raspy voice his speakers emitted behind your ear.
“in silence, we give, but in words, we convey. should we revisit that lesson again?”
his words were teasing. ramattra slid his metallic fingers up your torso, just enough for the skin of your back to peak out.
you shook your head again. he squeezed.
“no…” you shivered, berating yourself for the unsteadiness of your words.
“no, what? perhaps a deeper dive into honorifics sometime the-“
“no, bhante ramattra.” you blurted before he could finish. “…sorry, bhikkhu. i didn’t mean to come out disrespectful.”
“mistakes are life lessons. now listen to your teacher once more and bend down on your arms.”
this craving could not be denied any longer. ramattra should listen to his… perhaps, vile instincts and have you here, right beneath him. how foolish he has accepted himself to be in this moment of need, because he did, in fact, need you. his star novice; much to learn, but he knew you had so much to give.
where in his circuits he’d be wired to lust, who knows. but after all, sentience was a gift to be held… and to be cherished. no amount of enlightenment could take the selfishness out of living.
it was clear now to the both of you that this was not so unrequited. that this back and forth game, that no other monk and apprentice shared, was not out of the blue, but a slow burned 6 months.
of course, you did not disobey your bhikkhu. you, ass up, face covered by elbows, awaited ramattra’s instructions, or actions.
the large omnic let his hands travel down the small of your waist, down below your naval. his other hand let way, bunching your beige attire into a fist. but he stayed a second longer, observing.
“tell me, lotus, are humans naturally this sensitive? i’ve barely touched you and you’re quivering as if it were snowing.” ramattra chuckled.
it was true. a simple graze was enough for you to be fully at his mercy. embarrassing, really, but one look from this monk could have your knees buckling. did he not realize how enticing he truly was? you can only imagine how many yearn for his attention—but no villager has ever had it; he’s been to busy teaching you.
“just… cold.” what a believable response.
“cold? the sensors in my fingers speak otherwise; you’re burning up.” he continued, “a lie is temporary refuge for a simple answer. you’ve been rather deceiving today—something you did not learn from me.”
“how have i? i know better.” you furrow your brows. this is… frustrating. speaking when all you want to do is scream the omnic’s name. waiting when he knows exactly what he’s doing. was this really a time for discussion?
“you should have told me sooner that you have had selfish thoughts. these are things that will lead you astray from your higher path.”
“i-“ he cut you off.
“i am no fool; i see how you look at me. how you react to the small things i do. how you stutter and play with your fingers when i look down at you.”
ramattra slowly slides his middle fingers along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. you stifle a whimper, burying your head in your folded arms.
“for thoughts like those, you could be casted out of the monastery. it is frowned upon to hold a bhikkhu in such low regard.”
long fingers split you open and felt you inside. each circle on your swollen clit was a jolt of hot pleasure through your body. your sounds were lewd—moans rolling off your tongue like your prayer this morning.
“it’s a good thing i like you so much; otherwise, your consequences wouldn’t be so… nice.”
does he ever stop talking? isn’t it apart of monk code to be listening instead of boastful? his voice is sexy though, you thought. as long as he keeps reassuring this was not at all one sided, it’s not a problem.
ramattra was toying you, using your venerable feelings as a way to touch you the way he wants. touching and pressing—and you could’ve sworn his robotic fingers had a sort of buzz to them. but this was torture, and he knows it; you needed him elsewhere.
“bhikkhu… please.”
“please what, lotus?” his movements were slower now, giving you just enough to want more.
“what do you need?”
“you,” you huffed, “inside me… please.”
ramattra dragged his long digits across your pussy, stopping at your hole and pressing down. you let out a guttural moan, shoving your ass forward for him to continue. he slowly pushed himself inside you, basking in the way you choked on your voice. whole body tensing and then relaxing all in a second.
“right here?”
“right there.”
he pumped in and out, curling into the spongy spot that had your hairs sticking up. his other hand pushed your garments out of the way, feeling you up—goosebumps littering your skin from the cold.
you slightly swayed from his movement, fingernails pressing into the rug below you so hard it almost hurt. but, you couldn’t focus on anything besides the full feeling you got from his fingers knuckle deep inside you, and then that empty, needy—pleading feeling your pussy sent all the way to your head when he pulled out. a back and forth that eventually fried any coherent thought you could have formed; sensory overload that made your skin buzz and toes curl.
your previous nervous and shameful scenarios of anyone being able to find you like this—to see one of the most disgraceful acts performed inside a sacred monastery, still stuck somewhere in the back of your mind. by divine presence, how awful! you would surely be cast out—you and your bhikkhu, just like he said. could even buddha be enough to guide you back astray?
and yet, here you were almost worry-free. for some reason that hadn’t been discussed, you felt as if… protected—safe with your bhikkhu behind you. as though bhante ramattra truly wouldn’t allow anything to happen to his precious student—and you were the most precious in this moment.
ramattra’s free hand moved from the fabric of your robe to the mound of your breast. he lingered beneath your nipple for a minute, almost like hesitation… too much for his artificial hormones to handle. after all, this was fairly new to omnics—like testing the waters to see how far he could make it before short-circuiting.
he let the quiet air sit still for a brief second, hearing the ever-present squelches sounding from beneath the two of you, and your breathless noises, before speaking.
“i would be deceitful to say you were the only one sneaking lustful glances, my novice… i have… wondered… how you must look coming out of the shower, or behind closed doors when we say ‘goodnight’. i’ve pictured you bare, as dishonorable as it sounds.”
another pump inside you.
“although, you leave nothing to the imagination when you don’t wear your proper attire—i assume there’s more than just me whose thought of you like that… but, i wonder… if you dress like that just for me.”
his voice lowered; it sent a new chill down your spine, and a new whimper out your plush lips. ramattra leaned even closer to your ear, hunched over you.
‘ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature’, you thought, but right now, you worried he might actually devour you.
his movements slowed. again, keeping that tortuous pace that barely gave you what you need. just enough for you to whine and groan.
“i wouldn’t put it past you; i’m surprised you haven’t begged me onto you before now—so needy, you are… practically clung to me.”
he lowly chuckled, in his own robotic, whirring way.
“and my teachings can’t be that good, no… my lotus… you’ve needed me.” “ah!” you sharply gasped, teeth digging into your lip when your bhikkhu hit a particularly sensitive spot.
the monk’s hand now pushed past his previous hesitation, coming to grope your breast, fondling the plush skin. you heard the slightest grunt come from his speakers, if at all. his middle and index capturing your nipple and pinching.
“oh, fuck!” you moaned, furrowing your brows.
ramattra, again, chuckled, “i haven’t heard you curse since the beginning of your teaching… might i add that to the list to revisit?”
you groaned, “is this really—erugh!—the time for judgement?” the monk shook his head, “there is no place for judgement at any given moment; i do not judge you, my lotus, far from it. i admire you.”
ramattra curled metal into the tip of your cervix, slightly spread his fingers, then curled again.
“is that not obvious?”
maybe you were see-through—had he made that comment in a normal circumstance, you surely would’ve stumbled on your words. picturing it now with heat blooming across your pretty cheeks, nervously toying with your pinkies as if that’s the highest regard anyone could’ve held you at.
prized student, but now also, ramattra’s worship.
the omnic switched from fondling your sensitive breasts to trace his hands over the skin of your chest… then your waist, then below your navel, pressing ever-so-slightly to feel the indent of himself inside you. it was almost like he was trying to remember you; perhaps, scared that this might be the last of this lesson—that he’ll never get to see his student like this again, so he will savor it.
the metal of his thumb stretched out to your clit, pushing on the bundle of nerves to see how’d you react, which you would respond with a mewl of his name and he’d take that a sign to continue.
he started carefully, then gradually began the same pace he was fucking you with. ramattra huffs and holds onto you a little tighter when your once coherent moans turned into a mess of crying, whining, and blurts of ‘bhikkhu!’.
you felt a familiar, sickly sweet feeling bubbling in your tummy, flowering to your chest, and burning your inner thighs. your desperation had a mind of its own, and you arched your back farther than you thought you ever could. your pretty ass pressing more into your mentor’s crotch, fingernails bracing yourself. your blissful noises shortened and choked on each other as your mouth hung agape.
with another teasing pull of ramattra’s fingers, coming almost all the way out before shoving back inside your dripping cunt, you tipped over. that sweet, hot, white feeling coating your entire body, prickling the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. you orgasmed… hard, coming undone right beneath your bhikkhu, all for him to see.
your knees quivering, body too heavy to carry now, but ramattra had a firm hand to your navel, keeping you up for him to pump his, now cum-coated, fingers through your high. and when the slightest graze to your g-spot had you jolting, he stopped, setting you down gently and running his hands down the sides of your waist once more before sitting back on his knees.
you heaved your breaths, sweat glistening in the sunbeams through the trees, clothes tousled almost purposefully around you. ramattra would mutter a comment about how you look celestial, astrology hanging from the droplets in your hair.
it took a moment to get your bearings, and even 5 minutes later, you’re still tired and sore and hung up on the fact your teacher, who you no idea reciprocated your feelings, had fucked you so hard and passionately next to a statue of aurora ten feet away.
ramattra placed a hand on your back—the same one used to pleasure you, would you ever look at it the same?—but, nonetheless a hand and you were grateful it was made of metal, cool to the touch.
“yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam.” ramattra muttered, quiet and soft. you wondered how an artificial intelligence could muster up something so human sounding.
you peek up at him, the side of your face still pressed against the mat. he dragged a finger down the disks of your spine, tilting his head. you question, “i’m sorry, bhante ramattra, i haven’t gotten that far in my studies; i don’t understand.”
“and i wouldn’t expect you to, my lotus. but in unknowing lies the seed of understanding—soon, lotus, you’ll be able to read between my lines—like a flower holding the promise of fruit. i will teach you much more.” he promised. you stare at him; he stares back.
suddenly, you pushed yourself up with your hands, gathering your disorganized fabric to cover your chest. you were in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. you fucked in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. “oh, siddhartha—oh, shit!”
“what is it, novice?” ramattra watched as you frantically dressed yourself in your sanghati. you turned to him with wide eyes and a flustered face. “we just fucked in the gardens!” you whisper-yelled.
your bhikkhu did not respond in the panicked way you thought he would’ve. no. instead, the monk began to laugh, more of a chuckle—well, more of a buzz—whatever noise equates an omnic laugh.
“i assure you, lotus, i will not let harm or discrimination come your way. you’re safe with me. besides… the clock strikes the time for afternoon prayer; no one must have walked our path.”
and that lifted a weight off your shoulders. was your entire public display lewd and dishonorable? absolutely. but something tells you this is one of many more lessons to come… and you’ll simply have to get used to it.
notes: “yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam” - “i’ve needed you as much as you’ve needed me”
a rock and their diamond ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ venture + [bimbo] reader {hcs}
synopsis : venture with a dumb, bimbo-ish, sexy gf… i mean c’mon it’s already canon
—TW : some nsfw hcs , slight exhibitionism , reader is very suggestively a girl , big tits (ahh boo!!!)
art credits : leesam_23
“oh cool! i had a friend obsessed with archeology back in high school; she told me i was a libra!”
“you mean astrology…?” dr. ziegler raised her brow.
“um… i don’t think it had anything to do with space.”
that was the moment sloane cameron knew you were the one.
you’re ditzy, beauty, sexy, (and tall)—quite the opposite to your venturous partner. and most could describe you two as the ‘beauty and brains’.
venture was enraptured the very second they laid their eyes on you. talk about the star of the show; everyone’s attention was focused on you the moment you walked into that dig site.
your tiny pink dress that hugged the curve of your waist so tight—barely covering your ass and most definitely straining against your tits (not that sloane was looking…). your long legs and plush thighs that made the archeologist gulp. tall, elegant heels which only put you on more of a pedestal. and if people weren’t already drooling over your body, your face definitely topped the cake. you were gorgeous through and through. a doll.
and, yet, through all sloane’s nervousness, they could tell you looked a tad lost.
“hi! sloane cameron. are you looking for something?” they reached a hand out which you gladly shook; venture noticing your pretty, pink acrylics.
“yes! my daddy works in the medical tent—any idea where i could find it? sure doesn’t look like a fun camping trip though.”
sloane shook the last comment off, saying they’d show you where the tent is. although the digger was dusty and smelled like minerals, you decided to follow close beside them.
that’s where they introduced you to dr ziegler. “are you a doctor too?” you’d ask. “oh, gosh, no. i’m one of the archeologists working here.” and there, the infamous moment took place.
౨ৎ
venture refers to you as various different gemstones, which you love. their go-to’s being ‘opal’, ‘angel’ (short for angelite), and, of course, diamond—your favorite.
^ “almost done w these soil samples. then omw home opal! xo” sloane would reply with to your needy texts.
^ “what’d you want f’dinner, angel?” they’d ask, wrapping scarred arms around you from behind.
^ “you look as stunning as always, diamond.” watching you give a twirl to showcase your outfit for tonight—something always a little teasing and small… not that venture had any complaints.
sloane worked late hours, fully devoted to their passion. you would usually find them hunched over at the table. slim fingers pressing circles into their shoulders, massaging away the tension. your partner would sigh, leaning back before taking your hand and guiding you into their lap. they’d explain their most recent endeavor and you would listen… even though the information went into one ear and out the other.
“ya’ know?” you, in fact, did not know, but gave a supportive nod anyways. sloane snorted, planting calloused hands on the plush of your hips as you straddled their waist. god, they wanted nothing more than to kiss that oblivious look off your face.
speaking of a suggestive kiss, does it come as a surprise that sloane just can’t get enough of you?
their hands are always on you, one way or another—how could they not? so much to grab, so much to play with.
they’d kneed your supple thighs, pinching the fat in awe. and they’d mewl as if it was their own flesh.
sometimes, venture would sit atop you in bed—spending time poking and prodding every part of you like a new toy… not caring about your excessive squirming, stifling little moans.
god, your breasts were the best part. sloane would do anything to be near them at all times. alone, the archeologist fondled your tits, squeezing your nipples between their middle and index and watching them harden. if you were a tease, sloane must be a sadist.
with you being eye candy, there was, of course, a lot of attention drawn to you. some would simply admire from afar, while others took a more brave approach.
venture isn’t a very jealous type… i mean, that’s what they’ve always believed about themselves. yet, seeing men flock to you like moths to a light—it was… irritating.
there was no such thing as ‘innocent’ conversations or ‘harmless’ touches when it came to you; everything anyone did was quite obviously intentional. and somehow, the cherry on the cake was always the follow up question, “did you come here alone?”
and as the men would compliment your hair, and subtly look at your finger for a ring, sloane would interject.
well… if you count standing a few feet away with a hot, red face staring daggers into the men’s eyes as interjection… then, yes, sloane interjected. but, the real problem solver was you, oblivious you. you, who knew you were pretty hot, but didn’t count anyone’s intentions as scandalous.
so, you’d see your partner in the distance and your eyes would immediately light up, waving your hand to call them over. maybe that’s all sloane needed, because as soon as they see that look of adoration in your face, all that anger would subside. you were theirs, after all.
don’t think those men would be off the hook, however. venture would most definitely slide an arm around your waist as you walk away… maybe slightly grabbing the round of your ass with a sly smirk on their face.
you loved to surprise your partner with visits at their job. you never minded dirt and grime and it mostly seemed like it avoided you all together.
venture would be in the middle of a log, wiping beads of sweat off their hairline after a long dig. “excavation log dash 2-3-3, this is sloane cameron speaking—my team and i just discovered a fascinating—“ “baby!!” you ran up to the archeologist, practically jumping on them as you curled your arms around their neck.
sloane would be startled before turning around and giving you an equally tight hug. others whisper about how lucky their coworker is since sloane’s face reached right between your tits. and to think your partner hated the height difference (not in the moment).
“okay, guys, hold that thought! i’ll be back!” your partner would wave.
speaking of surprises, you’d always come home with rocks for sloane. standing in front of your partner with hands behind your back, “guess.” you’d giggle. every night, the surprise was no different, but venture would entertain your enthusiasm.
“hmm… let’s see… is it… a flower?” “nope!” “candy?” “nuh uh.” “a perfectly preserved dilophosaurus spine fossil with all discs in tact?!” you looked around, “uh… i don’t think so?” venture would sigh.
you open your hands, revealing a smooth, brown rock about the size of your palm. “it’s a rock!” you smiled wide and sloane’s cheeks tinted red from how cute you could be. “thank you, diamond! i love it.” you’d sit next to them on the couch, holding onto their arm. “i found it on the sidewalk. what kind of fossil do you think it is? maybe a dinosaur one?”
sloane would pat your head, trying to refrain from explaining to you that most fossils are dinosaurs… and that you wouldn’t find one on the side walk. “angel, i think it’s just a rock—a cool rock nonetheless!” and that satisfied you enough.
honorable mention, but venture definitely buys packs of fossil dig kits for kids you could get at walmart. they keep them at their work station for when you visit because you love to be included in whatever sloane is doing.
sloane works on grid maps in their tent with you by their side, scraping down compacted sand to find your prize. “i did it!” you put down your tiny mallet. “good job, opal! what’d you get?” you pout your lips confusingly, “another rock?” venture, tiredly, rubs your shoulder, “it’s a fossil, opal…” you’re lucky, though, because this leads to a make out session.
when you do have your steamy moments in venture’s tent, it’s always the most passionate. maybe it’s the adrenaline of being caught, or the shameful thought of someone hearing you, either way, it’s exhilarating.
sloane would have you propped up on the table, pushing important papers to the ground. needy hands groping the plush flesh of your hips and your dress hitched up above your ass. your tongue grazing their chipped tooth and fingers tangling in brown hair.
of course, sloane would kiss down your neck reaching the cleavage of your breasts; their hands pushing them together, making the tops spill over the very tight fabric.
of course, you’d ask a dumb question about what if someone walks in. but, your partner is already pussy drunk and is looking up at you from between your thighs, shushing you and asking if you’d squeeze their head before going back down.
it’s very common to get odd looks when you’re both out in public. as previously mentioned, you two look complete opposites. you, in a matching pink track suit, tube top pushing against your tits, low rise sweatpants showing off the tramp stamp plastered on your lower back, g string imprinting on your hips with a cute navel piercing to go with it. you always have your makeup done, sunglasses atop your hair, and pink platform flip-flops… and venture!
venture with their hair a mess, tired eyebags from rarely sleeping, chipped tooth, a ‘we rock!’ oversized t shirt, baggy shorts that went to their knees, and old sneakers. two people you would never think you’d see together, yet holding hands and sloane pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever they could.
and, yes, it’s a little discouraging knowing no one thinks you would ever be with someone like sloane cameron. it’s an insecurity the archeologist keeps in the back of their head. but, without fail, you’ve always introduced them as yours… and that makes any doubts fade away—knowing you hold your relationship with pride.
of course, a few months into dating, venture would make sure you didn’t actually think archeology was astrology. “opal, you do know that zodiac signs are not archeology, right?” they’d raise a brow. “no, silly. i’m not dumb!” you’d giggle and sloane would sigh in relief.
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synopsis - “oh, hey, sentinels, didn’t—uh, see you there. lemme just—WABOW!” you twirled around, a finger gun holding your full-length mirror hostage. clementine couldn’t believe her eyes—seeing you fully costumed in her clothes, pretending to be her. oh, you were the cutest thing.
—TW - none rlly , the term ‘girlfriend’ used on the reader , tooth-rotting ‘i want what they have’ clawing at the walls fluff
now… you had a completely valid and understandable reason for this.
your girlfriend, as rushed as ever, had left in such a hurry—for something you couldn’t have possibly comprehended from her blurb of mumbled together words.
she’d been so quick! running around her apartment, scrabbling together everything she needed. her thoughts going a mile per second (you thought she’d overheat) that she forgot the two things she never leaves without.
the two things that she left laying on her bed.
the two things you stumbled upon on your way to sprawl on pillows.
her signature beige flat cap and red-ish-orange scarf.
it was only natural to be a little curious about them!
to wonder what to do with them.
to think for a moment about running after her, yelling ‘you forgot these!’. but she was definitely long gone by now and where’s the fun in that?
you had two things right in front of you that you never ever got to really touch, experiment with—not without them being glued to clementine.
of course your first instinct was to poke and prod at them—you’re only human, and that’s what humans do best, don’t they?
and one poke turned into a pet, and the hat that was once in your hands was suddenly atop your head, and one thing lead to another and-
“oh my god, this thing is soft.”
and warm. very warm. you’d expected the scarf to be somewhat itchy, but it felt just like a blanket.
you were curled up inside it, twisting it around your neck and letting the rest engulf your body. the cap was somewhat big, looking awkward on your head; though, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to wear something of clementine’s.
it was that moment of playing around with the clothing that you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a tea tray. you stared at yourself, holding the hat up to stop it from falling over your eyes.
you looked just like clementine… if clementine was human and wore oversized hats and scarves.
and that’s what led to your brilliant idea.
so now, here you stood, in front of a full-length mirror you carried out of the bathroom and into the living room.
accompanied by none other than your girlfriend’s scarf and cap donning your body.
and with the help of some old, worn, brown pants you found at a flea market a while back (and a marker to draw on her ‘kiss me’ tattoo), your look was complete.
you smiled at yourself in the mirror, twirling around to view your hard work. even the black boots you had tucked your pants into looked like something clem would wear… if she had actual feet that is.
but what you didn’t take into account, was the fact that your very own fashion inspiration could arrive home at any minute.
…
like how she was right now, with pixelized sweat dripping down her screen and tired eyes as she climbed up and into the bathroom window.
sometimes being a wanted criminal and having to board up your front door is very inconvenient.
but she manages.
with a gentle thump onto tile floor, clementine sighed, brushing away dirt from her pants. she had not expected her errands to take so excruciatingly long.
and the most annoying part was that all of her connections barely recognized her without her hat and scarf…
she made a ‘-_-‘ face at her frustration, screen glitching. god, how could she forget the two most obvious-
“oh, no, i have nowhere to go!”
she paused, a question mark replacing her expression. clem slowly approached the bathroom doorway, peaking out in search of the overtly fake voice.
from the moodily-light living room was her girlfriend, wearing-
wearing her clothes?
her eyes widened in surprise, watching in secret as you continued your make-believe show. you were faced away from her, hands on your cheeks in fake shock.
“whoosh!” you sounded.
“oh, hey, sentinels, didn’t—uh, see you there. lemme just—WABOW!” you twirled around, a finger gun holding your full-length mirror hostage.
clementine couldn’t believe her eyes—seeing you fully costumed in her clothes, pretending to be her.
oh, you were the cutest thing.
now, instead of her previous exasperation for leaving behind her hat and scarf, she was glad she’d went without them… because watching you play pretend was certainly better.
“gotta… escape… on the run… with my… awesome parkour moves…” you slowly ran over to the pillows on the floor, laying down and rolling over because, obviously, that’s some amazing parkour.
you got up, fixing your falling cap, and jumped over the round coffee-table… or more accurately used it as a boost to jump off.
oh my god.
clem wished she could record this moment—keep it forever… partially because it was so adorable… and partially because she would definitely laugh about it with the other outsiders.
you did one last epic parkour move by climbing up the latter on the bookshelf and hopping down in front of the mirror again.
you thought for a minute onto what to say next before grinning, hurriedly getting back into ‘character’.
“momo, doc, baltzyyy! good to see you guys—JUST KIDDING!” you retracted your hand from the fake handshake, pointing finger-guns at the glass again and-
“pew, pew, pew! fuck you guys, i’m the best outsider.” and you ran off to roll over furniture again.
clementine was sweating, trying her best to contain fits of laughter. her friends wouldn’t like this part as much, but she could argue this is the most factual and best scene of the whole thing.
… did you really think she was the best outsider?—not that it’s a competition or anything…
you were out of breath by the time you were back in front of your reflection—or should you say, clementine’s reflection. you fixed your outfit, flattening out the places that were messy after all of your exercise.
your eyes sparkled—something your girlfriend always loves to see… ‘reminds me of what the surface would look like’ she’d say—and you had your next scene ready.
“oh, my lovely girlfriend… you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i love you sooo much.” you rested a hand on the frame of the mirror, leaning in for a fake kiss.
“mwah, mmmmwah!”
lines appeared underneath clem’s eyes and she stared with a flustered, but smug expression.
she decided this had gone on long enough—long enough for her mainframe to spark and short-circuit.
she finally came out of hiding, moving to rest against the wall. not noticeable to you, however, as you were still puckering your lips to an animate object.
“lovely girlfriend, huh?”
and you jumped, yelping as you spun around so fast you were sure you got whiplash.
oh god…
oh god, oh god, oh god!
two words stuck on loop, screaming inside your brain—because only a few feet away from you was clementine… who’d seen an entire kissing scene between you and… her—you and you? though, you prayed she’d only made it for the end.
“clem—clementine! hi, haha…”
you were so hot, so utterly hot in the face. your cap fell over your eyes again and you thanked it from shielding you from the complete embarrassment you were experiencing.
but when you picked it back up and readjusted it on your head, your self-consciousness came back tenfold.
clementine looked purely amused, with a glitchy smirk on her screen and arms folded, beginning to walk over to you.
she disregarded your stuttered greeting, “i wouldn’t say lovely… maybe more along the lines offff…”
each step closer to you made you sweat and you were frantically looking away, anywhere but her. she made it kind of difficult, though, when she stopped right in front of you, towering over.
she flicked the beige hat off your head, dropping it into her hands, all while watching you, pixels lidded.
“goofy.”
she laughed, fixing the headpiece atop her monitor. you furrowed your brows, huffing about your stolen costume.
she pinched your cheek, “my goofy girlfriend.”
you groaned, gaining courage before asking the question you didn’t really want the answer to, “… how long… were you standing there?”
she glanced over to the brick she was leaned on and back to you, “there? a couple minutes.”
you sighed a breath of relief.
“the rest of the time i was watching from the bathroom.”
you groaned louder, dropping your head onto her torso. she smiled, rubbing your back.
“…you saw the whole thing?”
“i didn’t know you think my parkour skills are awesome.”
“clem!”
you picked your head up to glare at her, horrified. she chuckled, pushing you back a bit to unravel her scarf from your body.
“hey, i liked it! got the clothes spot on, hm?” she motioned to the brown pants and the red felt.
“it’s rude to stalk people in human morals.”
“not rude when it’s about you!”
you puffed and she shook her head, “it was cute.” that burning heat crept all over your body now, she simply smiled.
a thought popped back into her mind and she tapped a finger under her screen, “one question, though.” you looked up at her expectingly.
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how to make your robot gf jealous 101 ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ clementine + human! reader
synopsis : “could momo **** you like this?” her voice box warbled, smothered in envy, selfishness. “you think any of the other outsiders could make you fall apart like i can?” she slightly smushed your cheeks; your sweet, pitiful face drenched in those hot tears. “no, clem! o..only you!” pixelized eyes full of possessiveness, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was smirking. “that’s right, baby, only me.”
—TW : smut , fem! reader ( let’s go lesbians!! ) , fem terms , jealous clem ( oh my lord ) , possessiveness , fingering , the knee thing…
maybe it started when momo was being a little too touchy-feel-y towards you. his hand on your shoulder each time you made him laugh; how he hugged you just a second too long when you first walked through the door.
or maybe the first tick was caused by doc’s little pet names for you (as he does for most of his friends)—“oh, doll, you made it!” “whatever you say, hun.” “a fascinating discovery indeed, darling!”
zabaltazar most definitely struck a nerve when his full, undivided attention seemed to be solely on you all night—eyes on you whenever you had a story to tell and with input at the end to let you know he cared. even directing a different bot’s own conversation to focus on you once again.
whichever it was to push some buttons didn’t matter…
“a little bit of a baby? are you forgetting the time you screamed because you saw a rat? you didn’t let any of us leave until we scoured your entire flat to make sure there wasn’t any there!”
momo pouted, leaning back against the couch, “you’d be scared too if you saw one of those… things hanging around your living room!” his foot playfully hitting yours, which you returned by lightly kicking his shin.
momo pouted, leaning back against the couch, “you’d be scared too if you saw one of those… things hanging around your living room!” his foot playfully hitting yours, which you returned by lightly kicking his shin.
“it was a toy! it wasn’t even real!” you laughed, the other two outsiders by your side joining in with you. doc nudged your arm, smiling, “we better go ahead and check again, doll; he’s gonna get all paranoid with this memory resurfaced!”
you laughed harder at the comment, and clementine could’ve sworn she’d seen red in the moment. she hadn’t been amused in the slightest the past twenty minutes. and even with one of her favorite momo stories being told, she just couldn’t stop focusing on every little thing her friends did around you.
“doll,”
doc making you laugh.
zabaltazar not taking his annoying eyes off you.
momo now practically playing footsies with you??
oh, no—no way. this was stopping. now.
“this has been fun,” clem started, mimicking a stretch whilst yawning. everyone’s attention turned to her. “… but we should get going now—i’m sure, my love, here is also pretty tired.”
“but-“ your girlfriend cut you off with a tug of your arm to get you standing, “buuttt we’ll be back tomorrow! sorry to cut this so short!” she wasn’t at all; in fact, a weight lifted from her metal chest as soon as she had the door to baltz’ flat opened.
clem and you waved your goodbyes to the bots left behind—who all shared a question mark on their screens as they glanced between each other. with a slam of the door, you both made your leave (one was more reluctant).
“clem, what was that?” you puzzled, worriedly. though, instead of an answer, the outsider simply led you down the cascade of stairs in the apartment building; your wrist still tightly captured.
“clem? clem, talk to me, please.” as much as you were concerned about her behavior, you were also out of breath; clementine was practically dragging you towards your shared apartment.
and maybe if she opened up she would-
“please, slow down!”
but the notoriously stubborn outsider didn’t say a word, yet she calmed her pace… just by a little. it was enough for you to not have to jog to keep up. you had no doubt in your mind that she wouldn’t be opposed to tugging along your limp body had you lost your footing.
she swung open your flat’s door, giving you a chance to catch your breath as she locked it behind you. you had your hands on your knees, basically gasping for air—you must’ve been going as fast as a car back there, you thought.
and just as you repaired your lungs, standing up straight to turn and face her and say, “clem, what is going-“ your girlfriend pushed you back against the wall, her ‘kiss me’ tattoo right beside your head.
“‘what’s going on’? i don’t know—maybe you should tell me what was going on back there.” your previous words stuck in your throat at clementine’s aggressive tone.
you were trapped between wallpaper and narrowed eyes… and a shift in atmosphere. your mind replayed moments back at zabaltazar’s flat, but at no point could you recall doing anything wrong, really!
“what are you talking about, clem?” you furrowed your brows, trying to compete against her furious expression… although there was an obvious dominant side and you were sinking into your place underneath her gaze.
her voice box let out, what you’ve come to known as, a robotic scoff. and the pixels on her screen half-circled to simulate rolling her eyes.
“don’t play dumb with me—you saw exactly how they were treating you… like they wanted you all to themselves.” clem leaned in and before you could object, she placed a cold finger on your bottom lip to shut you up.
“did you want that too? wanted my friends to all have their way with you?” her voice lowered and she moved her hand down from your mouth, pushing up your shirt to rest on your bare waist; you shuddered at her cold metal.
“of course not, clem! i’m yours!” you held her head in your palms, looking at her with the most sincere expression.
she smiled, but it wasn’t her usual soft upturn of blue pixels she’d normally do when you said something like that. her eyes half-lidded and it seemed more as though you amused her with what you said more than anything. and suddenly, you felt like unbeknownst prey to a hungry lion.
“i know, baby. that’s why i’m gonna have to make you remember that.”
the companion shoved her knee between your legs and you sharply gasped at the unexpected friction. your hands that cupped her facial frame went stiff and eventually moved down to her shoulders to keep yourself stable.
clementine used the hand that was on your waist to push your hips back and forth. each grind against her metal had you lightly panting and at some point you started bucking your hips yourself—completely forgetting how this even started.
“i’m sure those guys would kill to see you like this… it’s too bad they’re not here to do it themselves.” she pushed her knee further into your cunt and watched as your back arched away from the wall.
you shook your head, finding it hard to talk like this, and clementine tilted her screen to mock you, still with that entertained look. “no… m’only want you, clem..”
“is that right? didn’t seem that way when you were practically begging momo to keep touching you.” and with that remembrance, albeit a little over-exaggerated, clementine’s previous annoyance and anger returned.
with an idea laced with malice and spite, she pulled her knee away. hearing you whine, almost whimper, for a piece of her back was something to behold; it certainly sent a wave of electricity through her mainframe, hearing you so needy just for her.
she would never let her friends get a chance to hear it.
“wait—please, don’t stop.”
she shushed you, cupping your chin to look up at her. “you want me?” she quizzed, looking you up and down; god, you already looked a mess… and just from her knee?
you nodded a slightly too frantic ‘yes’ and clem dropped her hand from your face, “then tell me how bad you need me, hm?”
oh, so that’s what it was.
clementine was jealous.
you scolded yourself for not noticing it sooner, as obvious as it was.
your girlfriend felt threatened—she was never any good at sharing. and now you thought back to earlier, how pissed she must’ve been seeing the rest of her group give you so much attention; you wondered how badly she wanted to dismantle the whole party for the way they were treating you.
you could see it all now—her patience slowly dropping with each affectionate action you were given. and a picture of steam visibly wafting from her vents materialized in your mind.
a heat burning between your legs and a guilt for not taking in account clem’s feelings decided that you couldn’t deny her her request—not like you had much of a choice anyways.
your cheeks burned at the bot’s awaiting eyes and clementine reminded you just how badly you wanted her by sneaking a hand to the curve of your ass.
“god, i need you so bad, clem!” you rubbed your legs together, with a little hope she wouldn’t notice (oh, she noticed). “i need you to fuck me—i need you to fuck me like i’m only yours.”
you grabbed at her arm, positioning it to sit on your inner thigh. clementine looked at you as if you were the most pitiful thing there was, and by the desperation in your voice, you probably were.
“i don’t want those guys, baby—i want you… please.”
she squeezed your thigh, a satisfied look in her eyes. “jump up.” is all she said and you knew exactly what she wanted. you used her shoulders for support as you hopped up and hugged your legs around her torso. she held onto the flesh of your ass and set you on the kitchen counter.
“oh, pretty girl, m’ gonna **** you so dumb you’ll forget the names momo, doc, and ******* baltazar.”
and just like she promised, she wasted no time pushing aside your skirt and shoving down your panties. cold, metallic fingers already swiping your slit, ripping a guttural moan from your throat.
you made a compelling case, clementine didn’t hold her jealousy against you. but every time she thought back on your time at the flat, she couldn’t get the image of you being gushed over by her friends out of her head.
now she wished the outsiders were here, standing at the door of her apartment… watching with wide eyes as clementine fucks you so good, you’re chanting her name like a broken record.
“oh, ah! clem!”
yeah, just like that.
the image of you sopping wet on a wooden counter with your companion girlfriend’s fingers rubbing against your cunt was utterly obscene. your pretty, little panties hung at your feet and two arms looped around a robotic neck; clementine’s body situated between your legs to keep you wide open and you were overheating far more than her computer head could ever.
“god, you’re dripping—and just from me. just for me.” she whirled, which was almost like a robotic purr.
your legs were absolutely shaking and you couldn’t keep your mouth from being agape. eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed; there was a sheen of sweat glossing your skin, which clementine has always thought was pretty—like glass (she has no idea why humans do it).
she put a finger underneath your chin, guiding it up for you to face her. “look at me, baby.” she cooed, head tilted with those same lidded pixels and smile—though, she stared at you much more in adoration this time… with a little lace of self-pride.
you were hers, just hers. just her little crybaby with wet, fat tears in your eyes. just her’s to fuck.
and while the other outsiders probably stroked themselves to the thought of you hopped up on a table, crying for them—she got to actually see it.
just her.
clementine just stared at you for a moment, forcing you to stare right back. and she smiled a little wider at the sight of you so desperately trying to keep those little eyelids open for her—because she said to.
and then she stopped.
she stopped her movements, stopped her artificial thumb from circling your clit, stopped her two other fingers from keeping your pussy open.
oh, and you whined. whined at the loss of her.
that picture of her friends watching her fuck you returned. they would be mortified. mortified at seeing you being undone by someone who’s not them. they would beg for a chance to be the ones who make you cry like that.
and she would just glance at them, with a boastful smile.
she stayed like that for too many seconds, you thought. just watching you, watching you squirm to get back that contact.
and then, all at once, she stuffed her large fingers into your puffy cunt, seeing your face contort in pleasure. and she pumped them in and out and in and out.
you were sure her hand was just as wet as you were.
the hotboxed room was filled with lewd squelching noises, noises she wanted more of, and your moans and whimpers.
her’s, her’s, her’s.
not doc’s, not momo’s, not zabaltazar’s.
her’s—clementine’s.
“could momo **** you like this?” her voice box warbled, smothered in envy, selfishness.
“you think any of the other outsiders could make you fall apart like i can?”
oh, god, and how badly you were falling apart—like she broke you down brick by brick until you were nothing but puddy in her big, big hands.
she slightly smushed your cheeks; your sweet, pitiful face drenched in those hot tears.
could you even respond? your voice would definitely be gone the next morning.
“no, clem! o..only you!” you practically cried.
pixelized eyes full of possessiveness, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was smirking.
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