repost from my deactivated blog. female reader. yoru's is explicit. | from my one in a million multiverses | requests are not being taken, but i'm always happy to hear your blorbo thoughts!
KAY/O is almost unsettlingly still as he lets you press your palm against the cool metal of his, touch curious and almost reluctant. Something dangerously close to feeling urges him to wrap his fingers around your hand, holding it firmly. He supposes he’s way past the ‘robot developing feelings’ phase—he’s been with you long enough to have learned what they entail.
“So…” you start, lighthearted and mischievous. “What are we?”
Well. That wasn’t in his programming.
“You are attempting to provoke a reaction out of me,” he replies. If he had eyes, they would narrow at you.
You give him a shameless smile. “Well, is it working?”
He pauses, recalibrating and thinking how much he should reveal to you. You’ve never pushed anything out of him—not until just now, at least—but as jokingly as you had said it, he could sense underlying insecurity.
“You know I’m not equipped for… this,” he says, almost hesitantly. “I don’t feel in the same sense as you do.”
Your smile softens. “But you’ve had a comrade before. So what do you feel?”
He falls silent again. You can hear the fans under his chassis whirring and regulating his temperature just enough to be comfortable against you. The quiet is killing him inside, too—some days, he regrets not being able to give you immediate answers to questions like these.
“You are more than a comrade,” he says at last. “You are important to me. You are mine. And I… I am yours.”
The way you light up at his response nearly makes his system crash. Delighted, you lean forward to kiss the screen on his face, free hand resting on the nape of his neck. The subsequent action briefly causes a lag inside him, hundreds of analyses running through his head as the sign on his screen switches to a heart without him even realizing it.
“Yeah,” you giggle. “I like that. Remember that, okay?”
He dips his head into your hand, almost nuzzling into it. “Of course. I will.”
Pleasantly full, you’re lying on Gekko’s bed with him on top of you, nails gently scratching his scalp. He melts into your hold, the tension easing out of his shoulders as you lovingly caress him, quietly humming a cheesy pop song.
“Mateo,” you speak up, biting back a smile.
He glanced up at you, cheek pressed against your chest. “Yeah?”
“What are we?”
He blinks. “Huh?”
“What are we,” you repeat, looking down at him. “Like, what does this make us?”
“Babe, what?” He pushes himself up, eyes wide in surprise as his grip on your waist tightens. “What do you mean? You’re my girlfriend.”
The urgency in his tone immediately makes you break character.
“I’m joking, it’s okay,” you laugh out, pulling him down to kiss his temple. “It’s just a trend I saw online. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not mad at you.”
Gekko takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, shoulders relaxing with the action. “Don’t do that,” he mumbles, dejected, almost as if he had turned into a crumpled up piece of paper. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, kissing the same spot again. “You’re okay. I was kidding. You’re my boyfriend and I love you very much. I owe you an all night long cuddle session now, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Cuddles and kisses.”
You gently pull him away so you can properly press your lips against his this time, smiling into it. Wrapping your arms around him, you top all of it off with yet another kiss to his forehead. His lips are turned in a pout, which isn’t something he regularly does, but you’ve come to realize that he’s been feeling down lately. Your hand pats his back in a steady rhythm while you coo at him, guilty yet still amused.
“So… we’re okay?” he asks.
Your lips curve into a reassuring smile. “More than okay.”
The first rays of light peek through the gap between the curtains, illuminating the room in certain spots among the shade. It’s warm through the dark fabric, but you find that it’s a pleasant kind of heat—refreshing and needed, adding to the domesticity that comes with the scent of breakfast being made.
And you, despite your groggy state, have a burning question.
As Tejo places the plates on the table and sits down across from you, while you sit in his home wearing his clothes and drinking his coffee, you ask him plainly—
“What are we?”
He doesn’t even bat an eye. “No.”
“No?!” you repeat, affronted. “What do you mean, no?!”
He sighs, lips twitching in amusement like he’s deciding whether to entertain your antics first thing in the morning. He calmly sips from his mug, eyes drifting from the window to you with ease.
“Look at yourself, cariño,” he says, a hint of fondness slipping into his tone. “You’re wearing my clothes. Eating my food. Living in my house. You think this is casual? You already know we’re not.”
You open your mouth, then close it, immediately out of arguments.
“Well, I had to check. Maybe you’re hiding other women from me,” you say, trying to recover (which you’re not doing very successfully). “Maybe someone else has worn this shirt. Sat in this chair. Breathed your air inside your home.”
He exhales a laugh and shakes his head in mock exasperation, though he indulges you regardless.
“So what if there were?” he counters, placing his mug down. “Who’s sitting here right now?”
You pause. You hadn’t expected that.
“Me…”
He nods, raising an eyebrow. “So?”
“Whatever,” you grumble as you pick up the cutlery and return to eating, cheeks warm and heart pounding. “This trend is dumb anyway. You didn’t even let me continue.”
“We can start again if you’d like, princesa,” he offers.
“Don’t bother!”
You’re still catching your breath, chest rising and falling as you squirm and twitch, body heating at impossible degrees. Your hand is in Yoru’s hair—for once bare and not holding ridiculous amounts of gel—and you tighten it into a fist absentmindedly, slowly coming out of a daze.
He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes half-lidded, hands still caressing your body as you return to him. He only pulls away when you swat his hand twice, hips jerking beneath him. The lower half of his face is glossy with your release that he wipes away with the back of his hand, letting out what seems to be a breath of fulfilment.
More conscious now, you meet his gaze. There’s a softness in it that he’d surely deny if you pointed it out, and the sight makes your lips curl into a small, timid smile. He comes back up to kiss you, letting you taste your arousal from his lips before pulling away with a wet sound. Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbones. Then, without hesitation, you ask—
“What are we?”
Whatever ease that was in his face is immediately replaced with an unimpressed look. His brows come together in a frown, eyes narrowing in an attempt to figure out whether you’re joking or being genuine.
Regardless, his response to it is the same:
“What.”
You hold back laughter, dimples deep in your cheeks. “What are we?”
“I just—” He interrupts himself with an aggravated sigh. “You think I do that for just anyone?”
“Don’t get mad at me,” you say, holding your hands up in surrender. “I’m just asking the real questions here.”
Your legs come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer until the tent in his pants brushes against your sensitive folds. A cheeky giggle leaves your lips as your restraint breaks, the light and giddy sounds filling the room.
“I’m kidding! I’m just kidding,” you laugh out. “You’re my boyfriend. Unless…”
“There is no ‘unless,’” he mutters, irritated.
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” your voice lowers into a purr, “now… let your girlfriend take care of you.”
