#killdroid x reader

Three more months pass, the bland chaos of a new year and a long, viciously cold winter coming at you with the speed that makes it hard to focus on anything at all. Fresh snow powders the area outside of your house, and it's expectantly cold when you open up your garage in search of a part to fix your heater with. It's even colder when you step barefoot onto the concrete, walking past the now permanent mark of your visitor to grab the part. 

Then, a distinct, radiating warmth. Like something moved to stand just behind you without invading your personal space. You nearly jump out of your skin and send your fist flying into a steel wall, wrist being caught roughly by a machine. In response to your act of violence, the chamber of a very familiar weapon is aimed directly at your face.

["It is within your interest to be nonviolent for the remainder of this interaction."]

The machine's voice is just as blunt and commanding as you remembered it being. You can feel your skin begin to bruise, so you pull away from the robot and rub your wrist to soothe the ache.

The rocket launcher remains fixed onto your position, feeling like a petty glare rather than a threat. You glare back, crossing your arms expectantly. It's then that you catch a small trail of smoke leaving through one of the vents on it. Looks like something is broken again.

"Is this gonna be a recurring thing?" You ask, motioning between yourself and the robot, "Because if it is, you're gonna have to pay up. I told you you could come back if you had the correct part, not for me to fix any brand new problems you caused for yourself."

It doesn't react graciously to your complaint, grabbing your arm and pulling you straight towards it— your face pressed directly against the barrel of the launcher hoisted upon its shoulders, engine heat radiating just below your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation for your brain (and house) to be scattered.

["It is clear you have misunderstood the nature of this arrangement."] It says, mechanical voice sharp, ["You will repair what needs to be fixed, and I allow you to live in exchange. That is your payment."]

And then it lets you go.

You let out a quiet breath (less relief than irritation) and cross your arms again, glare sharpened through the fear for your life.

"Fine. What'd you break?" 

It takes a seat on the stool you haven't moved, and removes the plating on its abdomen with a click.

"Jesus." You sigh, "What the fuck did you do to your coolant reservoir? Detonate a bomb inside of it?"

As brash as you sound, it looks like the tank decided to give its best impression of a pressure bomb inside of this damned machine's chest, and now bits of plastic shrapnel are melting against the overheating internals. You're not even sure you have a tank that could fit inside of such a small cavity.

... How are you even gonna get in there without getting a billionth degree burn?

Considering the weather... Having this thing go roll in the snow for a bit could be an option—but then everything would be wet, and it's not a very sustainable solution since the engine appears to be electric. It'd be a bad idea to accelerate any rusting, and this isn't a very strong engine to start with so something would probably crack as well from the sudden temperature change.  

You sigh and motion for the robot to wait, circling behind your car to grab an old heavy-duty fan you use on days where the sun asks your garage to do its best impression of hell. It takes a moment for you to wrestle it out in front of the machine, and an even longer moment to untangle the cord from itself for you to plug it in.

After a moment of perilous untangling, you get the cord just long enough to plug into the wall without any issues. The fan itself kicks on with a frightening stutter, before blasting air at your valued client with enough force to make it lean back just a bit.

"You gotta cool off before I even think about stickin' my hand in there. I'd recommend blasting your internal fans also, since it looks like you got em." You say, leaning against your work desk, "Tell me when your temperature isn't flesh-melting."

It takes an hour, about as long as you expected. Once its temperature starts becoming acceptable enough for you to put your hand in, you start looking into your collection of unusual parts you couldn't find a use for. 

The search is typically fruitless. You never really have a use for any of the odd parts you hoard like treasures, but you can't bear to toss any of them out, as most things you hoard either don't get manufactured anymore or are extremely expensive to buy. Not only are you an extremely frugal person, but even with a job that pays well it's just a pain in the ass to spend $600 on shipping for a part that's the size of your hand.

You're about ready to gleefully tell this war machine you've got nothing to replace the destroyed part with, but right as you open your mouth to kick it out, you spot it.

Just barely peeking out from behind the rest of the backwash you collect, covered in dirt and dust from sitting and waiting for its moment to shine. A disappointed sigh escapes you as you reach back beyond the bullshit to grab it, inspecting the canister with a distasteful glare.

It's not an uncommon part by any means. In fact, the origin of it makes you hold in a slight snicker. 

You return to your ungrateful visitor with the tank in hand, kneeling slightly in front of the robot to look at the shape of what remains of the prior tank.

It's the exact same, down to the small notch on the inner curve of one side. 

"Well you're lucky enough to have the exact same parts as a forklift," The chuckle escapes you involuntarily, "Seriously lucky. These things aren't rare or anythin', it's just a pain in the ass to get."

The robot doesn't acknowledge you.

With a slightly disappointed sigh, you go ahead and take out the exploded surge tank with some mild struggle, eventually managing to tear it out of the cavity cleanly. You attempt to pick off as much melted plastic from the internals as you can, carefully avoiding any parts covered in hazard lines, and begin your work on installing the replacement.

Around a quarter of the way or so through the replacement, you realize this is going to be a lot harder than you thought, so you attempt to make small talk. Even if your bedside manner needs a bit of work.

"Come through town much?" You ask.

It doesn't seem to want to engage in conversation, but after a moment it decides to "humor" you.

["No."]

"Visitin' a lover?"

["You know why I am here."]

You resist the sudden infuriated impulse to rip all of the wires out of this thing's body and sell its parts on Ebay, but you control the rage and direct it towards tightening a screw.

"Can ya at least pretend you don't wanna kill me?"

["It is not within my discretion to 'want'. I am simply doing what I was programmed to do."]

Huh. 

You slow your repairs down a bit, looking up at Ruby Red here with a bit of intrigue. In response to your suddenly slowed pace, it nudges you with the barrel of the rocket launcher now rested upon its forearm. You get the memo.

"It'd help if I could at least get a name out of ya..." You mutter.

You should know better than to speak to yourself around something holding you at gunpoint though.

["I am not named. I am only referred to with a serial number."] It says, shifting slightly when you dig your finger into a valve to pry it open.

"And what could that be?"

["K_01000100."]

What a mouthful.

You chuckle dryly, confidently wrangling a connective pipe out from its backwards position to connect it against the tank.

"What did they make you for?"

["They wanted to make something that could protect civilians."]

You attach it to a spot on the radiator, the hose limp with a lack of coolant. You raise an eyebrow in thought as you assemble the rest at an unremarkable pace.

"Like a bodyguard?"

["That is an adequate comparison."]

You twist the tank into its rightful spot, snug and secure. A satisfied look plasters your face.

"So what went wrong?"

["You will not be continuing this conversation."]

You sigh and swear under your breath, not wanting to push your luck with the armed machine pointing its gun at your head. "Saved by the bell. There's some antifreeze on a shelf over yonder for you to use if you wanna replace what you lost, just be sure not to overfill or next time you're gonna have to rob a forklift company for me." 

["Your service is acknowledged."]

It leaves without replacing the lost coolant.

You're left with more questions than you started with, and you still have to fix your heater. The cold becomes irritatingly prominent the moment you remember why you even entered this part of your house in the first place.

You had been a mechanic for the longest time as a sort of hobby turned job. First it started with teenage you fixing some toys or consoles for your friends then you took it a step higher, helping your neighbors with their cars and eventually making your own little automatons. You also, unfortunately, found yourself in a strange realm just like the other survivors or civilians trapped in whatever the hell this endless death loop is, and thus busied yourself with your contraptions and gizmos to keep yourself sane.

Flash forward a year or so into this whole debacle and you found yourself an unlikely rocky ally-ship with the Killdroid. He didn't speak much, at least not to you, only stating matters of fact and various scans or kills he'd gotten or picked up that day. You never minded it, and at one point regretfully enjoyed his company, which brings us to where you are now.

You tinkered and chipped away at a new project you'd been meaning to finish for a while since you've been busy making traps and fixing other such inventions at the request of the other civilians stuck in this hellscape with you. You were lost in thought, your mind swirling with ideas and questions that in the end always circled back to Killdroid. The realization made you shake your head. You couldn't REALLY be so fond of him as to...

[Y/N] Killdroids automated tone waved over you from behind, causing you to stiffen. It was like whatever twisted trickster gods ran this fucked up place just WANTED you to die of embarrassment rather than getting killed in various ways.

"Y-Yeah, Killdroid? What uh- what do you want?" You called back, not bothering to turn around as you heard him shuffle in and plop himself on your work-table.

[I AM BROKEN, AND IN NEED OF YOUR SERVICE.] He called back, tilting his head with a calm whirr as you turned around to see that he looked terrible. His left arm was dislocated and hanging off of the joint by the wires, his right hand was stripped of all outer casing leaving the endoskeletal clawed visage free for all to see, his chest was gashed, one of his shoulder launchers was missing, overall it looked like he got beaten with a bulldozer.

Your eyes widened in shock and slight worry as you ran over to him, grabbing a toolbox and kneeling down to begin working on his legs.

"Jeez, Killdroid did ya get in a fight with a steamroller what happened?" You laughed playfully, glancing up at where his face should be, being met back with the silent emotionless X pattern staring back down at you.

[THE CIVILIANS WERE MORE PREPARED FOR MY ATTACKS TODAY THAN I HAD INITIALLY ASSUMED.] He tilted his head again, headphones threatening to fall off from the motion. You nodded, making quick work of fixing his legs, since they seemed the least damaged. You got up and walked to a nearby cabinet, rummaging around haphazardly for any extra parts that could replace his missing shoulder launcher.

[YOU DO NOT NEED TO REPLACE THE ROCKET LAUNCHER. A SIMPLE REMOVAL OF THE BROKEN PIECES WILL SUFFICE.] He watched you intently, feeling his gaze bore into your back. Turning back around you wandered back to him, some sheet metal and paint in your hands instead.

Hours waged on as you tiredly fixed up Killdroid, sighing in a drowsy victory as you looked at him. He looked as normal as ever now, save for the missing launcher.

"Good as new, buddy." You yawned out, stretching and feeling your muscles relax, bones popping comfortably.

[THANK YOU, Y/N. I AM IN YOUR DEBT FOR THIS SERVICE.] He nodded to you, getting off the work table and walking over to you.

"Anytime, Killdroid." You opened your eyes to be met with Killdroid's featureless face staring down at you, causing your heart to race as you back up a bit instinctively. He stepped closer, head tilting again, much slower this time. Like a predator.

"Uhm... Buddy? Getting a little spooky there." Your shaky voice and higher tone made him pause for a moment, various motors whirring in place before he continued walking towards you.

[YOUR HEART RATE IS RISING.] He lowered his head, looking over your body. To say you were a bit scared was an understatement but you just couldn't bring yourself to run or fight back. Your back met the wall with a small thud, your shoulders tensing as Killdroid stalked up to you until you were eye-level with his chest. He looked down at you, a cold hand coming up under your chin to keep you from looking away.

[YOUR NEURAL SIGNALS ARE TELLING ME YOU ARE NOT AFRAID. YOU WANT THIS. DON'T YOU?] He backs up a bit to lower himself down to be eye-level with you, your heart rate slowing slightly as you weighed what he just said. You knew he was right, you DID want this. And part of you hated it.

You turned away from him, nodding rather sheepishly. Killdroid made a small humming noise in response, leaning over and hoisting you into his arms, causing a small yelp from you.

[GOOD. BECAUSE I TOO WOULD LIKE TO REMAIN WITH YOU.] He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours gently, you assume it's his way of kissing you since he doesn't have a mouth so you reach your hand up to pull him closer, not even noticing him carrying you through your home up to your bedroom. He tosses you on the bed rather carelessly, quickly crawling over you to keep you from getting up.

You stared back at him in minor shock, feeling his cold hands slip under your shirt and tenderly grasp at your hips.

"Wait right now? I mean that's a bit forward- a-and do you even have a-" You were quickly cut off hearing a distorted laugh coming from Killdroid, jolting with a whine as he gripped your hips tighter.

[IF YOU DIDN'T WANT THIS. MY SENSORS WOULD HAVE TOLD ME BY NOW. I HAVE BEEN SCANNING YOUR NEURAL SIGNALS SINCE I CAME HERE. AND YES, I HAVE THE NECESSARY PARTS FOR THIS, ALTHOUGH ARTIFICIAL, I DOUBT YOU MIND MUCH.] His words rang with a correctness that made your cheeks flush with embarrassment and your rational sense spring with the hatred at the fact that he's right. Your thoughts are interrupted hearing a loud hiss coming from a panel on his crotch.

You were in for a long night indeed.

((Tee-hee get cliffhangered mfs /silly))

((No but srsly if you want me to continue this with some juicy smut I can certainly oblige it if asked! Hope you enjoyed the read!))

Killdroid was convinced you had done something to him.

Maybe you had messed with its internals while it was asleep, or maybe you had hacked into their system somehow. While those two options were unlikely, it didn't stop him from questioning everything.

While its original programming was meant to assure the protection of civilians, that's not the case anymore. They despise humans with every circuit in their body, and it hates humans enough to kill whichever ones it comes across.

But if that were true—if that was what he had kept in his code—then why were you still around?

Unlike the other civilians it had come across, Killdroid didn't kill you. At first, they constantly told themselves "not yet." He wouldn't kill you just yet—surely, it was just a short malfunction. You weren't perceived as a threat just yet, but once you were, you would be killed without hesitation.

Months later, they were still waiting for said killed without hesitation.

Despite the obvious fact that Killdroid is a killer robot, you don't seem to mind. You treat it as if it were a normal robot—maybe even human.

He didn't want to be treated human. It didn't want to be treated like those pathetic, weak flesh-covered things that always make its job way more difficult to do.

That description is what flashes in their controller whenever they think about or see humans, but when it comes to you, it's different.

At first, all that popped up in his sight was your name—a simple analysis of who you were and nothing more. You were just another human to them that they happened to spare for some reason, and they were convinced that's all you would ever be.

But then more things started to appear in its vision whenever you were around. It was no longer just your name, but other words or sentences.

{CUTE}

{SWEET}

{NOT AFRAID OF ME}

He ignored them, at first. It was a mere malfunction in their system, and they would fix it later on.

That was what it told itself until more "malfunctions" started to appear.

Whenever you were around, his internals would grow hotter. It wasn't weird for their internals to be warm, for Killdroid was practically a murder machine. The complexity of its robotic insides and with how active it was meant that it was bound to radiate some heat, but when it comes to you, it feels like it's about to explode.

The robot couldn't even wear its jetpack when you're around because it found itself having to constantly open its back panel to cool down the inside, for smoke would start to rise from every crevice of his body if he didn't.

Their vision was eventually filled with random words whenever you were around—so many to the point where they could barely see until they managed to get rid of it all, at least for a moment, that was.

Everything that was going on was why Killdroid was convinced you had done something to it. But why? Why would you mess with his code? Why did the malfunctions only happen whenever you were around?

The sound of the front door unlocking made their attention shift, and they looked over at the door to notice you standing in the doorway.

And you noticed it standing in the middle of your living room.

[YOU ARE BACK.] He said while he ignored the words that were popping up in his vision.

You nodded at his statement as you slowly closed the door, and you gave Killdroid a smile. "And you are in my house. How did you even get in?"

[YOUR BACK DOOR WAS UNLOCKED. WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE IT UNLOCKED? IT IS DANGEROUS.]

"Because a part of me had a feeling you would stop by, and I would rather my door not get blasted off again." Your tease went unnoticed by Killdroid, for they just tilt their head before questioning.

[HOW COULD YOU FEEL THAT I WOULD VISIT YOUR HOME?]

"Nevermind."

You walked fully into your house, setting down the things in your arms onto the coffee table while Killdroid watched. The words in its vision cleared, and it examined everything that was cluttered onto the table: keys, a phone, and oddly enough, a magazine.

And on the corner of that magazine said "Think you're in love? Turn the page and—"

The rest of it was stained with a sort of liquid—one that appeared like coffee, or at least to Killdroid.

They lifted their head to watch as you walked off toward the kitchen, and they lifted a hand to gently hit the side of their head in hopes the words that were appearing would go away.

When you were out of sight, he looked back at the magazine before hastily snatching it.

Their action was done out of pure curiosity, or it would've been if they could feel curiosity. Killdroid wasn't supposed to feel anything but hatred, but even then, maybe it really only understood hatred—it didn't feel it.

But if he wasn't supposed to feel anything, then why did he pick up the magazine that was talking about love?

The magazine in their hand was flipped, revealing the page that the cover had talked about. It was titled Think You're in Love? and the subtitle below it said that the following symptoms listed were a clear sign of love.

It seemed idiotic to keep reading from there, for there was no way Killdroid could feel whatever symptoms the article was talking about. It was a robot, and like it reminded itself earlier, it wasn't supposed to feel anything.

But then his gaze skimmed over the first symptom listed.

— You feel hot whenever you're around them.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to read a bit more of the article.

— You find yourself thinking about them constantly.

— You find yourself thinking of certain words whenever you're near them.

Maybe that was enough reading.

The magazine was shut and tossed back onto the table—just as you entered the room, and you looked at Killdroid in confusion before looking at the magazine.

"Did you read anything interesting—"

[I WILL BE LEAVING NOW.]

You opened your mouth to question them, but before you could even get a word out, they were rushing to the door. It reached for the lock, only to realize that it was already unlocked, and it opened the door before looking over its shoulder.

[...START LOCKING YOUR DOORS.]

The door slammed behind him as he exited the house, and he continued down the path from your house before stepping onto the sidewalk.

That magazine was written without any knowledge behind it, Killdroid told itself. The magazine didn't know what it was talking about.

But it made sense.

It wasn't his code. It wasn't a change that was making him malfunction.

You were the malfunction.

You were the reason why they were feeling this way, and not because you messed with them or things like that. It was just your presence.

But if you were the reason for the words in its vision and the abnormal temperatures, then did that mean you were also the reason why it didn't necessarily mind the fact that you were the cause of those things?

And that how you got into this position, with your ass up and your hole got thrusted with his length. You don't know how program him to do this, but you will got more overwork to fix this—

“A-ah! S-slow down!”

On top of that it also like to play rough with, with how much harder and faster they thrusting you wouldn't be suprise if someone hear you from outside the room.

Clearly someone who design his length don't know how much average civilian can handle, because the length is to wide with long size—you literally have to open up your hole so much for his length to go in, even then is still half his length.

You literally can't do this anymore, your brain feels foggy—you can't think clearly. And when you feels like you about to come it take his length out—making you look at your back to put it back in.

Before you event can request that, they already put it length in with so much force that all of his length is in your hole and with that you squirted all over his length and the table that you in.

And with that, you take your time to regulate your breath. You swear to whatever the to find who responsible to this.

•••

Reader : What do you means you don't you program it to have sex!?!?