#in between building ikea furniture

[furbhii]

a piece i did for aleena over on twitter in lieu of stickers from my raffle, given that she already owns most of them LOL

they requested flug in the camp leader outfit from the Elmore short, and given that that's probably my favourite short i was more than happy to oblige!

(considering making that middle one into a sticker... he's just so cuuuuute)

[pretty-little-mind33]

dbf Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: Your dad sends Logan over to help you build some furniture in your new apartment, unaware you'll end up with Logan's head in between your thighs.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: swearing, mean!logan, dom!logan, sub!reader, possessive!reader, fictional age gap (reader is early twenties), praise, degradation, unprotected sex, mentions of not being on the pill, oral sex (f and m receiving), power dynamics, kinda dubious consent in the beginning but not really lol, sweet aftercare

~ i have no clue what i'm doing with his character 🥲 be kind pls ~

LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

"No that's what I told him," you chuckle, holding your phone to your ear as you struggle to open one of your moving boxes with the scissors in your other hand. Your friend on the other line returns your chuckle and continues to ask her nosey questions. 

You're interrupted by a sharp knock. "One second, my dad's here! He's helping me move some of my furniture around and also assemble them—" you say and leap over some other moving boxes to your front door. 

"Hi Da–" you exclaim, holding the door open only your voice suddenly becomes stuck in your throat when you see that this certainly isn't your dad. Your eyes round and your hand falters on your phone. The man before you is one of your dad's closest friends.

"Logan," you whisper, which earns a questioning remark from your friend in your ear and you press your hand over your phone's microphone.

Logan pulls his dangling cigar from his mouth, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips and heading for you. You cough and he smirks. He's towering over you, dressed in a casual pair of dark denim jeans, a thick gold-trimmed belt, and a white tank top that accentuates his muscles. You look away in an attempt to ignore that familiar stirring in your stomach.

"Your Daddy sent me." Logan's voice is hoarse as he looks you over. You feel exposed in the baggy shirt and tiny shorts you're dressed in. "I was in around anyways and he mentioned you needed someone's help with some furniture," he peers in behind you at the mess you'd made of your new apartment.

"Mm. Came round' to help a lady out—" he reaches over and hangs up your phone for you. He shakes it and smirks, "Rude to be on the phone when you have visitors, honey." 

You stare at Logan again, taking him in. Your stomach fills with familiar butterflies from your schoolgirl crush but if your dad trusts Logan, you should too. "That's very kind," you say honestly and let him inside, taking your phone and setting it on the counter. You pull up your shirt to cover more of your shoulder and curse your choice to go braless this morning. 

You point to all the boxes and the array of furniture in the living room as you walk. "Well, this is all of it," you say and turn to him, watching as his knuckles flex.

Logan hums as he looks around and then down at you. "Now why don't you fetch me a cold beer, sweet girl, so that I can start on this," he moves an Ikea box with his foot, "pink vanity," he smirks. 

You feel warmth in your cheeks but don't argue with him as you walk to the kitchen. You aren't gone for long as you come back with his beer. Logan stands directly in front of you, a screwdriver in his palm.

His lips curl upwards and you pray he hadn't heard you. "D'you have any more screws, honey?" he asks you simply, tilting his head.

You nod, looking through a drawer to find him some more screws.

Overall, it takes Logan only two hours to set up your vanity, desk, and some other shelves as well as move your furniture around just how you want it. You're sitting curled up on your couch, trying so hard not to stare at Logan's arms as he wipes some sweat from his brow, and finishes the last touch-ups on some of your shelves. 

"Shit," you suddenly jump up, "I'm late! It's Cam's house-warming party! I-" you're interrupted by a strong hand suddenly wrapping around your arm, causing a shiver up your spine, and your breath hitches when Logan roughly pulls you into him.

"Is that all?" he whispers, his lips near your ear, and you whimper. That only makes Logan tighten his hold as he leans down, his face in your hair as he inhales your scent and chuckles darkly, "I come here on my own time, to help you and you don't have the decency to say a simple thank you? Tsk, how disappointing."

"T-thank you," you say instantly, squirming as your cheeks warm and your heart pounds in your chest. You feel him pressed up behind you as he keeps you still. It's intoxicating and you're slightly scared. 

He knows it too. He can smell it on you.

Logan spins you around, his hand coming up to your cheek as he looks you over. 

"Has your dad never taught you any manners?" he asks calmly as he observes your reaction to his words. You feel small under his gaze. Logan looks so intimidating now as his hands find your hair and he pulls it back, smirking when you whine in pain. 

"No," he hums, "you're not leaving this apartment yet. Someone has to teach you a lesson in respect, you fuckin' brat." 

Your heart is pounding, staring at him with those round glossy eyes he loves so much. You feel your arousal pool in your stomach and shame consumes you. Logan's lips curl cruelly and he shifts closer, his body pressed to yours as his other hand crushes the sides of your mouth as he sees the tears stream down your cheeks. "You look much fuckin' prettier like this—with your eyes all glossy and dumb," he smirks and continues, "Now why don't you sit down like a good girl and tell me exactly how much cock you've taken." 

Logan drops your jaw and pulls out a chair for himself as you sink onto the couch again. He straddles the chair from behind, crossing his arms, and fakes a pout as he leans his chin on his forearm. "I wonder just how much can your pussy take, huh? Six inches? Seven?"

It feels mean. "Why are you doing this?" you ask, shrinking into the cushions. 

Logan smiles. "Because I can, and I want to," he shrugs, "And I think you want this too. No, I know you want this too."

"I don't want this, whatever this is! I'm telling my dad—" 

Logan chuckles darkly, "Your threats don't scare me," he tilts his head, "and do you know why, honey?" 

You glare at him, refusing to shake your head so he continues, "Because I know your cunt is dripping right now, am I right? I can fucking smell you from here," His words travel to your core and you squeeze your thighs on instinct. Logan sees this motion and smirks, "You can pretend all you want, but I know that look in your eyes. I've seen it enough times to know you're just like all the other girls; horny and desperate."

You feel overwhelmed as his words make you feel so good, your chest heaves as you watch him. Logan stands, smirking as he walks over and unbuckles his belt. He wastes no time, making a clicking sound to indicate that he wants you to unzip him. You just continue to stare at him, unable to wrap your head around that this is happening. 

"Hurry up, sweet girl, I don't have all damn day. Thank me properly."

"Logan—"

"Don't you pull the virgin bullshit, Y/n. I know you've been fucked. You're too much of fucking dirty slut not to have had someone's dick inside you," he chuckles deeply and earns a small whimper from you as embarrassment settles in your stomach. "Now make me feel good."

You sink to your knees, eyes still glossy as you fumble with his zipper. As much as you wish this wasn't hot to you, your pussy is screaming at you that she needs Logan. Logan seems to know because he smiles. 

"Your poor cunt needs me, huh?" he teases and takes himself out of his pants, stroking himself as pre-cum beads at his tip. "I'll reward her if you're good for me."

You lean forwards and he smears his cum on your lips, enjoying the look of you on your knees for him as you service him. He's impressive and every time he pushes into your throat, you cough a little and pull away, your eyes becoming watery. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper after a while, succumbing to him just like he wants as your voice quivers. 

Logan pets your hair, soothing his large thumb across your forehead. "Shhh, my sweet girl, I'll take care of you." 

And he means it because he wastes no time in having you sprawled across your new couch, legs spread wide as his tongue flicks across your clit, lifting the hood. He's enjoying the way you wail behind your hands, tightening your thighs around his head. He pushes your thighs apart, bruising them to his liking as he laps at your cunt. 

"L-Logan," you whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head. You need him. "Please," you say and attempt to sit up, your makeup smudged from his rough kissing and your hair a mess. Your mouth tastes like Logan's cum and your pussy is aching for his cock inside it.

"Fuck, you're such a mess," Logan smirks, licking your juices from his lips. "Thank me again."

"Thank you for helping me," you whine, arching up. "Please, need you."

Logan stands and strokes himself again, caging you in with his muscular arms and the tip of his cock glides over your clit and then your entrance. You mewl, nails gripping his arms as you cry from both the overstimulation and also the restraint he's shown. 

He grunts as he pushes inside, going inch by inch so you can feel all of him. He peppers kisses across your jaw andwhispers sweet nothings into your ear. You're a whiny mess, drool falling from your lips as your mouth is perpetually open as you moan, feeling the delicious stretch of Logan's cock.

How can something so wrong feel so right?

"Your Daddy will kill me, honey," he whispers as he kisses behind your ear, his thrusts starting slow and precise. "Defiling his baby girl like this—fucking her perfect cunt," he grins, "only you aren't his baby girl anymore, hm? You're mine. All mine." He sinks his teeth into your neck, grinning as he marks you.   

"Mhm, yes, I'm yours, all yours."

Logan's thrusts become deeper and harsher. "Fucked the brat right out of you."

His kisses continue as he's fucking you roughly, enjoying the sound of your small whines because he knows he's making you feel so good. Finally, you come around him and wrap your arms around him, tears staining your cheeks as you tremble. Logan follows, emptying himself inside you. 

"I'm not on the pill," you sniffle, too hazy to truly think of the consequences. 

Logan can't help the way his heart leaps with excitement at this information but he pushes it down. He can't do that to you. Not now at least.

He pulls out, thinking of the mess you'd both made later as he kisses your lips. He's tender this time and he strokes his hand in your hair again. "I'm going to run to the store and get you a plan B, m'okay?"

He sees how fucked out you look and he grins, caressing his knuckles down the apples of your soft cheeks. "My sweet girl, look at you, so messy."

You frown, eyes droopy. "It's your fault," you whine. 

Logan chuckles deeply and removes himself from on top of you, picking you up effortlessly in his arms. "I know, sweet girl, I know. You made your bed, hm?" he whispers and you snuggle instinctively in his arms. You nod. He kisses your forehead again, his body relaxing with yours.

"I'm going to take care of you now, honey—" he promises, "—you're mine. All mine."

[endlessthxxghts]

Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be. 

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did. 

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one. 

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place. 

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off. 

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did. 

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly. 

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts. 

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask. 

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered. 

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face. 

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face. 

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out. 

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in. 

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest. 

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?” 

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.” 

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at. 

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish. 

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh. 

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?” 

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you. 

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat. 

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.” 

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move. 

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud. 

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you. 

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated. 

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been. 

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird. 

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.” 

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened. 

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone. 

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds. 

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent. 

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?” 

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside. 

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you. 

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today. 

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core. 

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh. 

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin. 

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob. 

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs. 

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips. 

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.” 

“I can fucking build it later.” 

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear. 

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration. 

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?” 

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great. 

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind. 

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him. 

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more. 

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him. 

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager. 

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound. 

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact. 

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start. 

“Get up,” he cuts you off. 

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you. 

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself. 

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall. 

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already. 

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now. 

“Then bend over.” 

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own. 

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure. 

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards. 

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning. 

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.” 

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing. 

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go. 

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love. 

“Baby, please move,” you pant. 

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright. 

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.” 

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you. 

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass. 

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax. 

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end. 

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in. 

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you. 

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters. 

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch. 

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you. 

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth. 

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours. 

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully. 

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?” 

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him. 

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?” 

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between. 

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core. 

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright. 

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

[http-shield]

you offering?- bucky barnes unhinged!avenger reader x bucky

a/n: this was the first draft of smash (in a loving way) which is why some lines are the same.

Moving day swiftly degenerated into chaos as more and more boxes were unloaded from the truck. Theoretically, Steve and Bucky should not have that many possessions, seeing as neither of them had lived very long lives in the new century; however, as box after box is carried in, you realise you couldn't be further off base.

Steve shouts down the hall, alerting you of their arrival (having smacked headfirst into you with a box full of record hours earlier, you had developed the system of very loudly announcing yourselves before walking into narrow spaces). You turn to the hallway, ready to semi-jokingly tell Steve off for all the free labour he had managed to squeeze of you, but your brain short circuits as Bucky walks in. The long-sleeved shirt had turned up in has long since been discarded. Instead, he is sporting a black tank top showcasing a stunning display of his muscled arms and shoulders. Unable to look away, you follow the veins along muscled forearms, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun, vibranium fingers humming as they glide over the tops of the box, his hair pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

"You're drooling." You jump, startled by Steve's amused whisper, as he stands behind you, cast iron pot in his hands.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, smirk growing as he continues to tease.

"You need to get outta here before I punch you in the face." you whirl on him, warning through clenched teeth. "I will fight you, old man."

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. "Kids these days, can't take a joke."

-----

An Ikea flatpack sits on the floor of the living room. The name and instructions unreadable as the three of your stare a the unbuilt couch frame.

"You bought a box?" Bucky turns to Steve, brows raised as he gestures to the floor.

"It's a sofa, Buck. We just need to build it." the former sighs, crouching down to examine the slip of paper it came with. "We just need to learn Swedish."

Bucky follows suit and squats, grumbling something about knowing 30 languages but unable to put together a stupid piece of furniture.

You debate joining them, adding a new brain to the equation, but as if it were your turn to take that single cell passed between the three of you, you reach for your laptop and begin your search.

30 minutes later, the frame is complete. The cushions, however, are nowhere to be found.

"Did you not order them?" you ask, eyes still trained on the screen as the two super soldiers stare at the incomplete project.

"I didn't know I was meant to!" Steve is quick to defend his mistake. "If you buy the couch, it comes with it."

It's not a completely irrational thought. It's common sense really. You buy a couch it must come with cushions, so why didn't this one?

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we have one bed and couch frame? Where am I meant to sleep, Steve?"

"You can sleep with me." You mumble as you scroll through ikea website, searching for the accompanying pillows.

"Is that you offering?" Bucky asks, and for a second, you are confused by the question, but as you look up from the screen, you find both men staring at you. Ah, the super hearing caused by the super serum. Super.

"Offering what?" you play dumb, biting down on the tip of your thumb, hoping he can't hear your heart slamming in your chest.

"Just thought you were offerin' to have me sleep with you but I guess I heard wrong." Bucky smirks and shrugs. "Guess ill have to take all this " he begins to flex, making an obvious show of his muscles. "and sleep on the floor."

You bite down on your finger in a futile attempt to hide the smile that is forming. "Guess so."

Bucky frowns, sad, wide puppy eyes staring at you. "Come on, doll. Don't make me beg."

Heat flashes through you and your heart picks up speed again. "You can beg for it, Barnes, doesn't mean I'll let ya' " your voice shakes a little, but you can hide it behind a smug chuckle.

Bucky's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he begins to retort but Steve's cough stops you both. The Captain's face is crinkled in disgust as he stares.

"Could you save this till I'm not in the room?"

[springtyme]

Hi! I hope you’re having a good day/evening 🤍 im so excited for your flufftober thing and I saw that you are taking requests. I really love your 141 and König dad stories. I would love to get a story with one of the boys and pregnant reader (preferably Kyle or Johnny, but I’ll be happy with any of them) thank you! your fics are some of my favorites 🤍

𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡

Kyle Gaz Garrick x afab!reader || Masterlist || Kyle playlist

summary: You and Kyle are getting ready for your baby.

word count: 579

warnings/tags: Pregnant reader. Food/eating. Based on the Kyle parts of these; part one & part two.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟔) 𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐀 "𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞"

You stand in front of the giant, square building that houses IKEA, the bright blue and yellow facade beckoning you inside like some Scandinavian furniture wonderland. Kyle had dropped you off by the entrance, despite your countless reminders that walking is actually good for you and the little guy. “You’ll have to do plenty of walking once we’re inside, and I don’t want you to tire yourself out, love,” he had said, so now you’re waiting for him to find parking and come to you.

You put a hand on your stomach, an inattentive action, but one that brings an instant wave of consciousness to your growing baby bump. You’re more than halfway through your pregnancy by now, but it still feels somewhat strange to you, this perfect happy anticipation mixed with that unavoidable pang of anxiety as you realise just how much change is ahead.

Before your mind gets time to wander you spot a familiar figure. You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face as you watch Kyle approach, his gaze scanning the crowd until it lands on you. His features light up with recognition, and you can see the relief wash over him as he quickens his pace, a wide smile, mirroring your own, spreading on his face as your eyes lock.

“There you are,” he says as he comes within ear shot, his voice laced with warmth and affection. He jogs the last few steps to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace, careful not to press too heavily against your belly. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint musk of the car wraps around you.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says as you pull back. “Seems the parking lot was more packed than I anticipated.”

You roll your eyes playfully, a small smile playing on your lips. “Seems like we weren’t the only ones who decided to spend their weekend in IKEA.”

Kyle chuckles, his laughter dancing in the air between you. “I think you’re right.”

Together, you walk toward the entrance, your fingers intertwined. The moment you step inside, you’re enveloped by the soft glow of overhead lighting and the scent of cinnamon buns waft through the air from the café area.

Without you even having to say anything, Kyle begins to steer in the direction of the café. “If we’re gonna brave this maze, we might as well fuel up first,” he says with a grin, placing the hand that isn’t holding yours on your bump.

You smile at him, your heart flutters at the way the bright overhead light catches the brown of his eyes, making them gleam. “I like the way you’re thinking.” Kyle squeezes your hand and you can’t help but widen your smile.

After indulging in the sweet, sticky delight of your cinnamon buns, and after Kyle insisted that you finish his as well, ‘you’re eating for two, after all,’ as he reminded you, the two of you set out to find the things you need.

“How about we start with the crib,” you suggest, scanning the list you had written together last night.

Kyle nods enthusiastically, his grip tightening around your fingers as you navigate through the store, and as you walk through the various showrooms, hand in hand it all feels so much more real. You and Kyle are really having a baby together. The realisation settles in your chest like a warm, comforting blanket.

[futfemfantasies]

prohibited touches \\ Leah Williamson x reader

The first few months at Arsenal have been somewhat eventful. Thankfully, you national teammates and close friends Steph and Caitlin helped transition into the gloomy and overcast life that is London. Throughout the months, you’ve been training hard both on the field and in the gym and it doesn’t go unnoticed by a certain blonde defender.

The constant stares and eye tracking your muscles as they move and flex don’t go unnoticed by Steph, who eventually tells Caitlin. What they didn’t know is that the stares go both ways. You bend down to grab your water bottle when you see her.

Back muscles flexing.

Sweat dripping down her sports bra covered back.

Blonde hair sticking to her neck.

As you finish in the gym, you start to walk back to the locker room, only to bump into someone slightly taller than you. Her hands find your waist to steady the both of you and you look up to see the familiar blonde defender.

“S-sorry y/n” Leah stuttered out.

“No worries Leah, all good”

That’s how your first conversation with Leah started. The next is when you, Steph and Caitlin are talking about helping you build your new Ikea furniture a few weeks later. Leah sits next to your three and insists she comes to help, claiming ‘the more the merrier’. Steph, Caitlin and Leah come over to your new apartment that afternoon. Steph and Caitlin decide to start on the bed frame upstairs while you and Leah start on the tv unit. You open the boxes and lay all the pieces out before reaching over Leah for the instructions.

“Sorry” You apologise, realising you could’ve just asked for the instructions.

“No need to apologise at all” Leah mumbles as she moves a piece of stray hair from your face.

She looks down at your lips then back up to your eyes. You give her a slight nod and you both lean in before hearing two pairs of feet race down the stairs. You and Leah jump apart and Caitlin asks you for a screwdriver while Steph looks at you suspiciously as your arm is across Leah holding the instructions. A few hours later and the tv unit, bed frame and kitchen table and chairs are all finished. You decide to treat the girls to some pizza as a thank you for their help.

As you all get set up to eat, Leah sits next to you squashed up against you as Steph sits on the other side. You internally freak out as Leah is touching your bare thigh but remain calm. When the movie is over and everyone is full, Steph and Caitlin help clean up before leaving claiming they have to be up early in the morning. You and Leah look at each other, confused as you know there’s no game or anything tomorrow.

“How about some popcorn while you choose the movie?” You suggest.

“Sounds good, don’t take too long”

You walk into the kitchen and decide to quickly make the popcorn your mum used to make all the time. Heating the pot up, you pour in the oil before adding the kernels and putting the lid on. Just after you shake the pot, you feel two arms wrap around your waist and a head leaning on your shoulder.

“You took too long” Leah mumbles in your shoulder and you die a little on the inside at her cuteness.

“I thought homemade popcorn was fitting for our little movie night”

“You know, ever since you’ve come to Arsenal I’ve always had a small crush on you. But now I’m realising it’s more than a little crush”

You shake the popcorn again before turning in Leah’s arms. Her newly cut fringe hanging just over her gorgeous eyes, forces you to move it away behind her ear. You cup her cheek ever so lightly and pull her closer to you with your other hand. She whispers if it’s okay to kiss you and you answer by connecting your lips together. Leah pulls you closer to her, leaving no space between you too. A loud, alarm type noise pulls you both away from each other and the popcorn has burnt. You quickly turn the stove off while Leah attempts to turn off the smoke alarm. Both returning to the kitchen, looking at each other with a laugh.

“Microwave popcorn it is then!”

You put the bag in and Leah pulls you into her side, wanting to keep you close at all times. The bag is done and you pull it out and emptying the contents into a bowl before walking back to see a horror film on the tv. You groan while Leah chuckles and pulls you into her.

“No need to be scared love, I’m here to protect you always” Leah reminds you before kissing your cheek lightly.

All throughout the movie you hide into Leah’s side and you eventually fall asleep. The movie doesn’t even finish when Leah notices you’re asleep before carrying you up to your new bed. You feel a blanket being put over you and your eyes open to see Leah leaving the room.

“Lee?” The blonde turns around and smiles softly at you.

“I’m gonna get going love, it’s getting late”

“Please stay Lee” With the cutest puppy dog eyes Leah’s ever seen.

“Let me check the front door love, I’ll be back in a moment”

Leah kisses your forehead before jogging downstairs and coming back quickly. Leah wraps her arms tightly around you before leaning up and kissing you goodnight.

“Thank you for staying Lee”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else but here with you right now”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Leah have been dating for a few months now but are keeping it a secret for as long as possible. There’s no label on you two as yet, only because both of you keep getting scared right when one is about to ask. The bubble you two have created just isn’t ready to be popped yet.

The team figured out from day one that you’re dating with all the ‘subtle’ looks you two give each other across the locker room and the light but meaningful touches as you pass each other on the field. You’ve noticed the subtle hints Leah has been giving that she wants to announce your relationship.

Lia’s New Year’s Eve party is bustling with everyone either nursing a drink or finger food in hand. Lia is happy with how everything is going until she saw it was five minutes until midnight and no one was in front of the tv. Everyone gathers around the tv as the fireworks are set to go off very soon. Leah is standing on the side, kind of hidden from everyone but the tv still visible. A soft hand falls on the small of Leah’s back. She turns her head slightly and smile when she smells your familiar scent. Leah pulls you to her side and wraps her arms around you, resting her head on your shoulder. You squeeze her waist and Leah turns to kiss your neck affectionately. The countdown begins and Leah turns to stand in front of you.

“5!”

You pull her close and Leah moves her hand up to move a loose curl out of your face. You study her features for a moment and think just how lucky you are.

“Y/n/n”

“4!”

“Leah”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“3!”

Your faces are near millimetres from each other. Leah holds your soft cheeks in her hands, giving you a soft smile.

“2!”

You return the smile and your hands travel up her shirt, onto her bare skin. You feel Leah shudder and her eyes close temporarily.

“1! Happy New Year”

Your lips smash together without a care in the world. It’s like all your friends disappeared and you and Leah are the only people in the room. Eventually, you both pull away and have dopey smiles on your faces.

“So is that a yes then?” Leah asks with that sexy smirk on her face.

“Oh baby, that’s a hell yes. Happy new year girlfriend”

“Happy new year girlfriend. There’s no one I’d want to start the new year with”

You both turn to everyone and you find them staring at you both. Katie, Caitlin and Steph all silently high five before discussing who had the bigger influence in you two getting together. You and Leah announce your premature departure from the party and you are met with different boo’s from Kyra and Alessia and a ‘use protection’ from none other than Katie. You intertwine your hand with Leah’s and yell a thank you to Lia. Leah drags you out of the house and into her car, wanting to get home extra fast.

“Ready to start the new year with a bang?”

[pookietv]

moving in | george clarke

i love the idea of moving in with someone so :,)

four years into your relationship, you had decided it was time: between the two of you, you were a little sick of the lack of privacy in your relationship, despite the hilarity of kissing in the kitchen for a second and the awkward moment of arthur hill walking in on you, or being in your flat and falling asleep on the sofa together to the amusement of your flatmates, you figured it had been long enough now. so you were moving in together.

and you were so sure it was going to go smoothly...

until you actually had to move in, that was - between a sea of cardboard boxes that made no sense to you, making george carry everything (because what's the point of having a man around if not for manual labour?) and slight confusion of what furniture still needed to be ordered, you had decided that george could be left to try and build a tv stand in the front room whilst you tackled the bedroom.

however, what you had failed to realise is how awful you were at building flatpack furniture from ikea yourself, the double bed frame you were trying to build still laying in pieces on the floor like it was half an hour ago, your hands fiddling with screws and a feeble attempt to read the instructions for what seemed like the 100th time, so engrossed in your efforts that you barely heard george come into the room.

"need a handyman?" he teased, and you groaned jokingly as you looked up and turned your body slightly to face him.

"turns out i'm useless, george, i cannot even build the bedframe," you laughed to yourself, and he grinned and poked you slightly, asking you to move along.

"well, if you like, i can finish, or... you know, start, to build the bed if you start sorting out the clothes in the cupboard? you can manage that, right?" he said cheekily, and it was your turn to nudge him with a slight smile in return.

"okay, fine, you can live out your handyman dreams and i'll start on clothes," you smiled back, standing up to go to one of the many other brown boxes, opening one that george had packed, and beginning to get to work, folding jeans into draws and hanging up jumpers and t-shirts into an organised section for him in the wardrobe, occasionally looking back at george, who had made more progress on the bed frame in ten minutes then you had made in half an hour, and you had to admit that you were staring at him a little, 'cause he just made something as simple as building flatpack furniture look good.

when you got near to the bottom of the second box of georges clothes, you found a shoebox labelled 'sentimental' and giggled to yourself, causing george's head to turn and look at you.

"what's so funny?" he asked, as you smiled and pulled it out, showing it to him.

"what's hidden in here?" you asked with a grin playing on his face, and his face went slightly red, though he shrugged and tried to act nonchalantly.

"just old pictures and stuff, i don't know," he said, turning his attention back to the building in front of him in hopes his face would go a little less red.

you sat down cross legged next to him, putting the box in front of you, "can i look?" you asked with a hopeful head tilt, and he groaned a little and agreed.

so when you opened the box to what was practically a memorial for everything to do with your relationship, you looked back up at him with the biggest smile, lightly pushing his shoulder.

"george! you soppy boy," you grinned as you pulled out pictures of you guys from both when you started dating to recently, an old cinema ticket, a small lego man you had given him after making it at the lego factory after telling him very convincingly that it looked just like him, a small note you wrote him explaining why you had to leave his flat early one morning, and a collection of many other things.

his face was still a little red as he looked up, but he was grinning before he shrugged again, "just felt like i should keep that stuff, i like having it all in one place,"

at the bottom of the box, there was a small velvet bag, a black one, and you pulled it out with a quizzical look.

"what's this?" you asked curiously, and george's eyes widening with an even more bashful look made you giggle.

you opened it slightly, tipping it out into your hand to see a small pendant necklace, with a small golden sun at the bottom of it, and you look back up to george, your eyebrows slightly scrunched up.

"i, um... got it a little bit ago, never really knew when to give it to you, i just saw it and thought it looked pretty, and i thought it would look nice on you, then i just felt a bit awkward every time i was going to give it to you,"

a slight warmth spread through you, and your bottom lip stuck out slightly at the adorable gesture, "well, seems like the right awkward moment is now?" you laughed slightly, and he nodded.

"well, it's not a candlelit dinner but it'll have to do, right?" he joked back, and you nodded. "do you like it?" he asked, and you nodded.

"it's really pretty, george," you looked back down at the small pendant in your hand before looking back up at him, "can i put it on?" you asked, and he smiled with a nod.

"well, that's what necklaces are for, right?" he grinned.

"well, does it come with a lifetime commitment to building ikea furniture?" you laughed back, and he mockingly pretended to be thinking for a while before looking back at you with a feigned look of reluctant agreement.

"well, i suppose so, i mean god forbid if i had let you build the bed," he teased, "i have the fear the bed would collapse the second we got in it if i had left you to build it,"

you were just thankful that george was surprisingly helpful, putting everything together with no complaint, checking the water and the gas, pottering around and doing odd jobs with a content look on his face.

"george?" you pottered into the kitchen after finishing unpacking the bathroom toiletries, where george was unpacking a kettle and microwave, and he looked up at you and confirmed he was listening with a small 'hm?'

"should we order a takeaway? 'm thinking maybe we deserve it after all the hard work building furniture and moving?" you said with a smile, and he rolled his eyes playfully at you.

"our hard work?" he teased, and you gave him a small grin.

"hey, i built a quarter of the wardrobe!" you laughed back, and he nodded his head.

"oh, yeah, of course you did babe," he curled his lip in amusement, standing up and pressing a kiss to your forehead, "takeaway sounds good, just let me finish up quickly getting these in the boxes and we'll leave the rest for tomorrow? most of it is done anyways,"

"sounds good to me," you smiled, and walked into what was now the living room - a little bare still, but it had a sofa and a tv, and it would obviously feel more homely the more you were there. but right now it was still kind of surreal - you lived with george.

once the food had came and you had put on some tv show you both knew far too well in the background for noise, whilst you were eating you looked at george with a small smile.

"weird that we, like, live here now. like.. we live together," you said, and he laughed.

"yeah, i get no more late night cuddles with arthur and chris," he mockingly frowned, and you giggled at him, playfully putting your hand on his shoulder, feigning support.

"it must be so hard to move out from your boyfriends' house," you grinned, and he nodded, playing along.

"it is... and now i'm just stuck with you," he said with an amused look on his face, "being your live in handyman."

"oh, shut up, you wouldn't have it any other way," you jabbed him playfully before leaning into his side.

[the-offside-rule]

Jude Bellingham (Real Madrid) - Moving

Requested: yes

Prompt: Moving in with Jude Bellingham (this came at a good time cuz my fyp is FULL of Jude)

Warnings: cutesy shtuff

"Jesus, whys there so much books?" Jude asked as he unpacked a third black box filled to the brim with various schoolbooks. "University. I don't think I need to explain further." Y/n replied as she stacked the books onto the newly constructed shelf. "Yeah, but why so many? I thought everything was online nowadays."

Jude couldn't hide his excitement as he helped Y/n move into their new place in Madrid. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and laughter, creating an atmosphere of warmth and joy. Jude grinned as he lifted another box, "You sure you want all these books in our room, babe?" Y/n chuckled and took a few, placing them on the Shelf above their bed. "Absolutely! They're part of the charm. Plus, they'll have a good view from the shelf." AsAs they unpacked, memories unfolded. Y/n held up an old photo, "Look at us here! Can't believe it's been that long." Y/n stumbled upon another photo of them in the Camp Nou. Their first holiday as a couple. "Remember that trip to Barcelona? Our first adventure together." It was....ironic how he ended up going to the rival team but that was a funny story to tell in the future. She grinned, handing it to her boyfriend. Jude chuckled. "Yeah, and now we're making a new chapter right here in Madrid. Who would've thought?"

They set up a cozy reading nook, and Y/n teased. "Imagine the adventures we'll have in this little corner." She winked. "Behave. I won't bother you when you're there. I'll wait until you get out." Jude said, undoing another box. "We both know you're impatient." She smiled. "You're awfully rude, you know." He muttered. "You love me really Jude."

Amidst the unpacking chaos, they found a quirky souvenir from a past vacation. Y/n held up a miniature flamenco dancer. "We got this in Barcelona too, didn't we? Jesus, I nearly forgot all of these." She turned to see Jude holding a cinema ticket and a receipt. "What's this?" He asked. "Remember our first date to the cinema? I kept the ticket." Jude nodded. "Ah yeah. How could I forget? I spilled popcorn and pretended it was intentional, just to hold your hand." Jude chuckled. "You were quite the romantic back then." Jude held her closely and smiled down to her, just centimeters from her face. "I still am, especially when it comes to you."

"You still know how to make me blush." Jude chuckled. "You'd swear we were married for like 50 years with how you're going on." Jude laughed. "Oh but I love these little tokens. It reminds me of how we got here." She said, holding the ticket in her own hand now. "Our own little museum of love." He joked. "Oh shut up." They shared a playful laugh, turning mundane tasks into moments they'd remember forever.

In between assembling furniture, Y/n looked at Jude with a mischievous grin. "Remember when we tried to build that IKEA shelf? It took us hours!" Jude shook his head. "I still blame the instructions. They're like a secret code only IKEA employees understand." Jude said trying to connect the leg to the new desk. "Or the Swedish." They both burst into laughter, turning the furniture assembly into a lighthearted competition.

While setting up Y/n's study space, Jude couldn't help but express his pride. "You're going to nail uni, Y/n. I'll be right here cheering you on." Y/n playfully tapped his nose. "We cam be eachother's cheerleaders. Go team us!" She smiled. "But I haven't exactly been the best cheerleader, have I?" Jude said. "It's understandable." Y/n replied. "I don't think it is. It would have been understandable for you to not come to my games and support me but you still did. But it's my turn now and I promise I'm going to cheer you on louder than anyone else." Y/n reached out her hand and he took it, interlocking their fingers and kissing them. "I am so happy you're finally here." He whispered.

They shared a sweet moment, realizing that every challenge they faced only brought them closer together. "Come on, last box." Y/n said, handing the heavy box to Jude. He obviously underestimated how heavy it was because he nearly dropped it. "Don't you deadlift at training?" Y/n teased. "Come here you!" She giggled as she ran from Jude around the house, further delaying them actually finishing up the moving process.

As the day unfolded and the furniture set up, the items and memorabilia all set in their place, the couple sat by the pool with the fireplace ablaze, sipping on coffee, and enjoying the peace and quiet of eachother's company. "This is home now, isn't it?" Y/n said, leaning into Jude. He nodded. "Our safe haven. Here's to new beginnings, love." They clinked their coffee mugs, sealing the promise of countless more memories Madrid, in what would now be known as their home.

The day ended with laughter echoing through the halls, love lingering in the air, and the anticipation of countless tomorrows in a city that now held not just their dreams but their shared adventures and cherished moments.

[ariseur]

congrats on 500 followers! for your event could i request putting together ikea furniture with pre-nibelheim sephiroth please? seph doing mundane tasks is such a cute concept to me 😭

thank you!

“. . are you sure it’s supposed to be put together like that?”

you huff, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look back at sephiroth from behind you. you wouldn’t have minded some company from him any other time, but seeing the way his lips curled into a smile as he watched you struggle with the stupid nuts and bolts that wouldn’t fit in their proper locations, the hot sensation of frustration couldn’t help but prick at your ears.

“i’m trying,” you turn back to your project — maybe one that was failing a little bit but nonetheless still a project you wouldn’t give up on.

the size of sephiroth’s shadow grew as he made his way to crouch down next to you, the scent of bergamot and a fresh, woodsy cologne hitting you in the face as you look over to him. watching as he cocked his head, slit pupils darting along the set as he held a curious finger to his lips.

“would you care for me to assist you?” whether it was the close proximity or the way his voice lowered when he assessed the small instructional pamphlet that came with the furniture ( maybe it was a mixture of both ), but you couldn’t help but gaze at him.

truly a rare sight you had been gifted with. sephiroth no longer armor clad with the discomfort of his battles clinging onto him, instead you’re met with a white t-shirt perhaps a size too small as it hugs the firmness of his body. or.. perhaps you’ve just forgotten how strong he really is. it’s a nice change of pace, getting small notes of your body wash when he finally whips his head around to look at you.

he laughs, “let me rephrase,” the way his eyes crinkle with the soft chuckle you unintentionally evoke out of him is satisfying, you’d really like to hear it more often. “do you need me to assist you?” he alters the previous question. the way his eyes follow yours when you try to subtly avert his gaze is intense. he finds it cute, though — he remains still as he awaits your answer.

“i mean. . .” you trail off. you look back at the instructions and back at the screwdriver that lies limp in your palm, the redness of your hand still evident from how hard you were gripping the tool making you wince before you’re met with the cool hands of your beloved wrapping his around yours. his fingers curl around the tool before he uses his other hand to close your hand on his.

you look back up at him. he smiles once more. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

and you must admit, sitting on top of the couch while your boyfriend works at building this unnecessarily difficult desk chair you had been begging to go look at while he still had a day off, wasn’t so bad. you truly were spoiled by him, he thinks, but then again — he wouldn’t have it any other way.

your lips twitch upwards at the small sight of his pink tongue slipping through the corner of his lips in concentration, only darting out to moisten them a bit before they purse back into an assiduous pout.

“it’s not polite to stare, you know,” he mutters. you don’t falter, merely resting your head on your palm.

“i can’t admire the beautiful man before me?”

he lets a huff of amusement escape through his nose, maybe a combination between a scoff at how often you had managed to slip it in the conversation. he shakes his head at you fondly. “i suppose you could,” he mumbles.

you smiled as you tuck a silver strand behind his own ear, watching as he picks up another tool and gives you a half-smile from the corner of his peripheral. yeah, you thought, truly a rare sight you had been gifted with.

𐙚 join my taglist!! ; @snoopicle @ch3rryfiles

𐙚 dottie’s 500 follower event — 🍡 action prompt activity!

𐙚 regular requests are open — august second, 2024 [ 9:19 pm ]

[jolalibrary]

iii. build me furniture

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. illusions to smut. frankie builds you furniture, and like that deffo needs a warning.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for letting me bother you countless times about this.

wordcount: 3.7k

He knows he should check the calendar, but he doesn't.

Frankie, instead, throws his hat on the seat, phone into the cup holder, and shoves the key into the ignition before sparking his vehicle to life. Waiting, and waiting, until he hears the distinct beep of his phone connecting before his finger is seeking your name on the dash, pulling out of the car park.

The dial tone echoes through the bed of his vehicle. The silence between each allowing the sound of tyres crunching the road to fill his ears until your voice soon plugs the quiet.

It’s heavenly, all sweet, layered ever so slightly by an edge of sarcasm—What do you want, Morales?

After some back and forth, a slight deviation in his journey, you’re buckling yourself in beside him. His hat in your lap, your perfume filling the car as he pulls away from the front of your house.

He hopes it soaks into the fabric—clings to the interior of his car. A thought, he suspects he shouldn’t have, but allows to swirl and twirl in his mind all the same.

“Bit spontaneous of you, Mr Calendar.”

Shifting in his seat, he checks the mirrors, watching from the corner of his eye as you did your usual. It starts with checking his glovebox, for what—he’s never quite sure—to closing the vents, to fiddling with the station or volume of his radio.

If it were anyone else, he’d kick up a fuss. But, not you—never you.

“I can’t believe you was gonna ask someone else to take you to IKEA.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat—eyes doing that thing. Where they warm him, sizzle his skin under his clothes. “I wasn’t asking anyone, I was asking Will.”

“Still.”

“I thought you were busy. Your calendar was blocked out.”

“So, you’d have asked me first if I was free?”

It leaves his tongue teasingly, and a part of him means it as such. But another, a darker-tinged part—one forever covered in shade, where things fester, and happiness has wilted—means for it to be tainted with bitterness. The embers of jealousy brimming, licking, nipping at the words as they filter out into the air.

“You’re my best friend, Frank. Of course, I’d rather go pick out an entryway table with you.”

“Good job my day opened up then, isn’t it?”

You only hum. It being followed by a smooth, almost comforting silence that falls across the vehicle as he drives. His elbow leaning on the door, fingernails tapping against the window to the beat of a song which thrums through him.

He can’t help it, but his eyes flit back to you—finding you staring out the window, lips moving, whispering along to the words of whatever song filled the truck.

And he shouldn’t think it—shouldn’t even entertain the thought—but fuck you are something.

His hand gripping the steering wheel as the thought undoes itself, it opening itself up within his chest, releasing butterflies and confetti that, in time, will fall absently to the base of his stomach. Because—

“I don’t want anything too big,” you announce suddenly. Your head turns, rolling on the seat as you lift your leg up, present, but eyes unfocusing as you think. “Just near the wall, where the chest currently is—think it’ll look nice.”

Swallowing, he nods. “It will.”

He’s not sure what to do with the way you smile. The way you beam. Illuminating the world on what is already a nice sunny day, adding something extra to it. So, he does nothing. Letting the vehicle fall into silence again. Your foot occasionally taps the floor, muttering lyrics as he lightly thuds his fingers against the roof until he enters the parking lot, hunting for a space.

Frankie has been here countless times.

For his place, for yours—for ex-partners who over-romanticised a trip here. But, it was furniture. A warehouse full of pre-arranged rooms and ideas, accessories flowing out of bins and plants swirling around light fixtures in a zone they try to make look close to a jungle.

“You know what you’re looking for?” he asks, walking in step with you.

Shaking your head, you nudge him with your elbow. “Good job your day opened up, right?”

Nudging you back, he turns on the spot—facing you, walking backwards. “Shotgun pushing the trolley.”

“You’re such a big fucking kid, Morales.”

And, he’d let his cheeks burn under your words, but he sees the look on your face. The unfiltered delight, how it glides from you and lands straight in the centre of his chest.

He’d scribbled the aisle number on the piece of paper three zones previous.

Your fingers had been running over the display table—a little smile etching itself across your cheek as he flicked up the paper, writing the information he needed.

“The pencil looks tiny in your hand.”

Smirking, he stuck it behind his ear before poking your side. “It’s a tiny pencil.”

When you look at him, you’re smirking—a thought running, all restless in your mind. He can tell. Can practically hear your mischievous wheels turning in your brain.

“We done?”

“Nope.”

The ‘P’ pops intentionally, your body turning to face him, hand on the base of the cart—walking backwards, an unreadable smile spreading out over the place your smirk had just lived.

“Need candles, plants—and I would really love your opinion on a new throw cushion.”

“Fuck. Maybe I should have let Will bring you,” he grins, nudging the cart into your side as you laugh sarcastically.

If he was honest with himself, Frankie knows he’d spend all day in here with you. Get to play house in your two’s weird, twisted way.

Because he'd liked it earlier when you called him to come and look at a display kitchen, hand pretending to fry the plastic eggs in the pan as you tell him to check the fridge for OJ. From the twinkle in your eye, you liked it when he called you honey and asked if you wanted to watch the sports channel with him—you hovering in the doorway of the display living area, shaking your head.

If anything, though, it made the knot in his stomach tighten.

The one that’s been loosening and binding since the moment in your kitchen, the moment in his, the bedroom and your sofa.

“Frankie, c’mere.”

Pushing the trolley, he finds you—of course—in a sea of shelves filled with candles. Various shades, an array of scents, some more overwhelming than others, as you lift a left and then a right to your nose, before jutting your head.

“Smell this.”

Lifting the candle to his nose, he inhales, watching you—before his face scrunches, yanking his head back as you burst into laughter. It flows out from your throat to your eyes, nose scrunching, hand clasping his forearm as you lean into him, muttering in half-breaths and laughing that it’s awful, right?

The scent is, but the moment isn’t.

Composure sets in, wiping the joy from your face gradually as you place another back. His hand finding one, a white pot—simple, plain, glass. Lifting it to his nose, he’s immediately transported to your place. A candle he smells so often, it unlocks a host of memories that suddenly balloon inside of him—pulling a smile across his lips, before he tilts it to your face, watching your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently, softly.

“This is the one you usually buy, right?”

Flicking from the candle to him, he almost loses his breath. More so when you let a different smile grace your lips, one that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Y-yeah. It’s my favourite.”

Nodding, he forces a swallow, before he puts it in the bag inside the trolley—your brow arching, smile fading. “It’s mine too.”

“You burn candles?”

Smirking, he tilts his head, he grabs another, and another. “What? I don’t strike you as someone who burns candles?”

“No, Morales. You seem like someone who’d accidentally burn their house down.”

“Yeah, maybe. But, maybe I can buy these and keep them at yours.”

If you’re conflicted, you don’t show it. Staring for a second, and another, until you shrug. Something there, desperate to glide over your cheeks, but he knows whatever it is, it’s forced back. He can tell.

It’s a thing he’s about to point out and poke fun at you for—especially when the two of you haven’t stopped staring. Focused. Entirely too much, if the next second is anything to go by. Because you clear your throat, avert your eyes, turning—rather quickly—not seeing it, the other shopper’s trolley full of poorly stacked packages.

And it’s instinct, he thinks. Tells himself.

The way his mouth curls around your name, but his arm is already reaching out. Fingers first, then palm, until he’s wrapping his forearm around your waist and pulling, twisting you into him. His other hand all quick to follow his movements, grasping your shoulder with the other until your body is flush with his—head, avoiding the other person’s trolley full of long boxes.

Your gasp hits his ears, as your eyes land on him.

They’re wide, wild—painted in surprise, fright and amazement. Your pupils having swallowed all the colour—until you blink, and he realises his chest is falling and rising in tandem with yours.

“Should look where you’re going, querida.”

If at all possible, your eyes widen. His fingers release your shoulder, hovering, half-tempted to brush his knuckles against your cheek—but he drops them to his side.

Even if all he thinks is: this is nice—holding you this close.

It pulsating within him, until he lets go. Watching you step back—eyes still on him, all unreadable and surprised.

“We should…”

“Yeah. Let’s,” he replies, quickly.

Pushing the trolley in the direction you’re heading, feeling his cheeks burn, his ears following not that long behind.

Fuck he looks good.

Your mouth goes dry for the billionth time in the last five minutes. Having already found yourself needing the reminder that you have a glass in your hand—even more so when he looks up at you from his place knelt on the floor.

The two of you had chosen to also buy a set of drawers to match—ones that would fit in the corner, and store the six thousand candles you own. As though he hadn’t played a part in why that amount had grown.

“You listenin’ to me?”

Not at all. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the toolbox I made up for you?”

It’s easy to let your face fall into a two-step. For your brow to arch as his question pulls it, and your lips slide into your cheek. “Wherever you left it when you made it me.”

Your name falls from his lips—satiny, yet laced with disappointment—as he slowly gets up, leaving his spread-out instructions, many screws, and bits and bobs he’d laid out before he could even attempt to build it.

Frankie has always been more sensible—more structured. You’d witnessed him build things before, always following the same pattern, the same checks he’d do—to the point you wonder if he has an order when he flies. Whether he has a to-do list in his head he has to run through, one that doesn’t beat to the same drum as what is needed, but rather a curated one by him, just for him.

By the time he’s back, you’ve downed half your glass, finding—like the last—it does nothing to quench you. Not in the way you’d hoped, least of all when he removes his hat, throws it to the sofa, and you see the dampened edges of his curls.

Your brain betrays you. Reminding you—in vivid shades and high-definition, how you’d liked the feel of them in your hand. How he’d like them tugged, pulled when he was deep, his thumbs digging bruises into the back of your thighs—your hand all desperate for leverage, for something. You’d liked the home they found in his head, earning yourself the trophy of a groan that shot sparks through your already overstimulated body.

Blinking, you shake your head.

Trying to think of something, anything—

“I need to ask you something.”

His eyes lift, fixing on you as he kneels back down—all vast brown landing on you, coating you, smothering you in warmth that only he ever can.

“I’m starving, Frankie. Please, can I order us food?”

It takes a second, two at most. His face shifts into a frown before it smooths out, realisation dawning, crashing out over him.

“To say thank you,” you add, fluttering your eyelashes, face smooth.

Sighing, he licks his lips. “I’ll let you order, if you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you move from the floor. “Yes, Morales. Because cheese dripping down your chin really does it for me.”

Grinning, he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t know your kinks.”

Competency, you quickly think—almost hum it. Especially when he slides another wooden leg into place—not even glancing at the instructions this time. You, your brain follows up with, immediately banishing, forcing it away, storing it in some box marked do not ever fucking open.

His grunts as he builds being added to the same box as you order the food. They’re all punchy, low—and it sparks memories which shouldn’t be present when you’re ordering food.

Not if you want to keep a level head, because you’re not entirely sure what playing field the two of you are on tonight. Prior to today, it’s all been planned—blocked out in both calendars, clear, rooted in the rules the two of you had laid.

The boundaries all spelt out.

But this, today and tonight, is now two people—two friends—who are moving to the beat of their own drum. The same two who hung out like this before the entanglement had begun, and while you know this, something else whispers around the logic.

It isn’t drowned out when you’ve ordered, or when you’re hanging in the open doorway—watching him, ogling him, basking in how normal it is that he’s here.

“Can I build something?”

Smirking, he leans back on his knees. “You can build a drawer.”

“Because they’re the most important part?”

He smirks wider, more teeth—a flicker in his eyes.

Because you know why he’s left you with drawers. Your earlier mishaps with furniture building had set a rule that you should be nowhere near a hammer, nails or flat-pack furniture—especially if you wanted it to be usable.

“Or, you can pass me the bits I need,” he offers.

Simpler, you swear you hear him think.

So you do. You pass each tool, each fixing. Watching in awe as he slowly ignores the paper, not even bothering to turn the pages as the thing slowly becomes an entryway table—a thing which you can store and put things on.

In the time he builds, your face aches from smiling, and your stomach hurts from lack of food and laughter. So much so, you don’t realise the time until the pizza arrives—him standing, all but trying to force money into your hand until you kick him in the shin.

By the time the two of you are back on the floor, the box open, scent immediately filling your home, he’s still complaining.

“Bet I have a bruise.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Eat ya damn pizza, Morales.”

Grinning, he takes a messy bite.

And you know what you said earlier. Are distinctly aware that the thoughts you’re having are crossing all sorts of lines, even if the two of you never specified rules. Because, you want to trace your tongue over his chin, catch the sauce that’s sat there, climb into his lap, grind your lap into his—

“You’re staring.”

Blinking, you swallow. “Forgot what an animal you are when you eat.”

“You’re rude, y’know that?”

Grinning back, you take another bite. Aware of the way he’s staring now. Feeling the way it runs up and down your body, your fingers brushing against your thumb to remove the dust.

Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes. Focusing on a spot on the floor, toying with taking another bite. You’re so close to asking him why, when his mouth opens, and something falls out you don’t expect:

“You think friends build each other furniture?”

You pause because it’s unexpected. A warmth floods your cheeks when he lifts his stare back to you. Waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

Clearing your throat, you lean back, palm pressing into the floor—rooting you, keeping you stable. “Well. I was gonna ask Will, remember?”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even move to eat the last two bites of pizza in his hand.

“I think friends as good as us,” you say, needing to fill it—the silence, “can do lots of things together, and still be able to…”

“Reap the awards of unlocked benefits?”

“Exactly,” you manage to croak.

Feeling it again. The way the air thickens. Something charging, all electric, lightning and thunder.

“I meant it earlier—about asking me.”

“Your calendar is rather full, Frankie.”

Wiping his hand on the box, he shoots a smile. “Nunca estoy ocupada para ti.”

Your smile pulls itself across your face, chin dipping, ears warming. It settling, the meaning of his words, sweltering in the tension that seems to double until you ask if he’s done. Excusing yourself, mumbling about tubbing up the rest. Letting him continue, not much left anyway, he’d said. It’s why you take longer, tidying—putting things away that have lived on your counters forever.

Because this is new and foreign. All of it.

The way things are flowing inside of you, bubbles of feelings you want to ignore but find them rising up in the sea that’s suddenly ever-present and just fucking there.

“I’m done.”

Your hands spread over your kitchen counter, taking in the cold of them—the feel of them—as you let a big breath fill your chest. Whether for courage or strength, you weren’t sure. But it fuelled you to turn to face him, but not quite enough to settle the fluttering in your stomach as you walk back to him in the living room—finding him standing, admiring it.

Just like you should be.

But your eyes are on something else—someone else.

Lingering up and down. Seeing him differently, things all mixed up inside, jumbled, out of sorts.

“It looks good,” you whisper, aware your voice has dropped an octave.

Even more aware that your shoulder is close to his, a gap barely there between the two of you. And it’s hard not to stare at him. To not marvel at him. How he’s soft and muscular, firm and strong—how you’ve seen his arms flex when he’s between your thighs and when he’s building your furniture.

Licking your lips, you don’t blink when his head turns, and he meets your stare.

You don’t fight the way your eyes drop to his mouth.

Instead, you just move into it. Slanting your mouth over his, tongue brushing over his bottom lip as your fingers slide around his neck, burying themselves in his curls as you become aware that his arms are around your waist. Then, you’re kissing him hard, dizzying.

Heat, all bubbling and ferocious, grows inside of you—spreading, beginning at the base of your spine, until it’s curling up and around everything it can to lick at your throat. Every sense, nerve and thought orienteering and honed in on him. How his body feels pressed against yours, how his mouth feels on yours.

“Frankie,” you moan.

It escapes, his name passing your lips as he buries the sound with a groan of his own. But, you've opened the gate—it flung open now, more escaped syllables and letters following it.

Want you.

Wanted you all fucking day.

Think about you all the time.

Your fingers slide up the front of his t-shirt, darting the tips of them over his stomach, resting your palm against his hip as he walks you back to the wall—stability needed as his hips find yours.

Dios mío, eres tan sexy.

The words have barely washed over you, when you feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your chin, forcing you to hold his stare. Proving a chance to back out. A momentary break.

A get-out to keep the night friendly, rather than whatever the two of you now call the thing you do. But, if anything, you want—

“Bet that pencil would look real small next to your—”

“Shh,” he whispers, cutting you off.

His grin spreading, all large and not easily contained or bit back—ghosting it over yours, the tip of his nose tracing yours.

His fingers sliding further up your neck, his thumb catching your chin and the fire in his eyes almost makes you forget how to think, never mind breathe.

“Really want to fuck you on your new table.”

“You think IKEA build furniture to support how we do it?”

He ponders, you can see it. Sweeping his eyes up and down your frame. The maths running, there suddenly an array of equations in the blown pupils of his eyes as his fingers circle and swirl on your neck and hip. “If I break it, I’ll replace it.”

“You’ll be doing that forever, Morales.”

You see it bloom, his cockiness. It swallowing whatever remainders there were of the shy friend you used to know, replacing him with the cock-sure person who regularly makes your thighs shake and your brain empty.

“Building furniture gets you going, does it?”

The hand on your hip drops, finding a place along the tops of your thighs—and even through your jeans, you can already feel him. The strokes of lightening up and down your body, the way he makes you become putty.

The point is proven when he slides his hand between your thighs, a gasp escaping, easily kissed from your tongue by his lips.

“Not usually,” you whimper, his ministrations halting. “Just you building it. Apparently.”

And fuck, you swear you’re swallowed by lava, from both the look he shoots you and the way his mouth crashes back to yours.

chapter three ->

[copperbadge]

*movie trailer narrator voice* In a battle between a man with ADHD and an Ikea flatpack clothes wardrobe...only one can be victorious.

Depending on how you define victory it wasn't me. I go into any furniture build well aware I'm going to have to partially disassemble it at least once when I either install something upside-down or install the wrong version of two nearly-identical pieces (I did both in this case). But the damn thing got built, so at least there's that.

It's taller than the stack of storage tubs that used to be there and which Polk used to like to sleep on, so both the cats have been first freaked out and then irritated that they can't get on top of it. I've had to take the blanket pad off the chest of drawers on the left and put two small storage bins there so they have a stepping stone up to the top.

[ID: Three images of the office corner of my bedroom; in the first, a pile of slatted and solid wood pieces are leaned up against the wall and the open closet door next to it. In the second image, a wardrobe consisting of a shelf and an open space next to the shelf has been partially built; in the third image the wardrobe, complete with sliding door and hanger rack, has been completed, and fits the space nicely.]

[the-fluff-piece]

Moving in together

Finally, you found a flat and will live together!

How will this work out with monster three, Law and Smoker?

Modern world AU headcanon about moving and living to together. Sfw and funny

Also check out my masterlist

And headcanon masterlist

Zoro

Doesn't own furniture

He basically lived in Nami's closet, paying her full rent. One day he just left his stuff at your place and said "hope it's ok". Now his name is on the doorbell next to yours.

Cannot assemble ikea furniture. The orientation of wooden parts relative to the other parts is a mystery to him. The first week, you will sleep on a mattress on the floor

His clothes will fit in two drawers

He'll be running around the flat naked very often. You don't mind.

Will build a little gym in one corner and work out daily

Law

Previously lived in a basement, is overwhelmed by windows and high ceilings

Brings mostly generic furniture, but has a few Antique gems in his possession

Says things like "can't wait to have you in my bed for good" when you decide to sell yours and take his antique bed with beautiful wood carvings

Even though he doesn't seem excited about your big, fluffy blankets in pastels you'll soon find him as a blanket burrito on the couch

Cannot hide his grumpiness from you anymore, has to confront it by silently cuddling up to you

Sanji

All his stuff is second hand but in good condition, probably from flea markets

Has already planned your shared Home long before you brought it up

Has several breakdowns during moving because he is a perfectionist, needs lots of kisses and hugs and a cooking break to function again

The flat has an extra room which he loves to think of as the nursery, starting a loving family of his own is always on his mind since he met you

Luffy

Moves out from a strange flatting situation with his friends, basically brings them with him

Will hang the walls with posters of insects

Wakes up every morning full of energy listening to his favorite playlists, jumping through the flat. Since you taught him how to use the coffee maker, he at least serves you some coffee

your fridge is always either full of stuff - or empty. there is no in between.

Smoker

All his things are grey and generic. Except his old army stuff, that's army colored

he ist the most efficient mover ever. He carries your freezer up to the third floor without an elevator

He is confused by some of the stuff you bring with you. Why do you need all those stuffed animals? Shawls? Blankets? It's soft though. He likes to touch your soft things when he feels like no one's watching.

Other things openly excite him. Like all that underwear, your sexy outfits. Now he can look at all of them and suggest what you could wear for the next date...

[wileys-russo]

mb4 + "are you sure that’s right??” + setting up furniturefromhell ikea furniture

flat packs II m.bright

"do you think the grey or the charcoal mills?" you questioned with a frown holding up both pillows as your girlfriend sighed tiredly knowing too well the question itself was rhetorical.

"i like whatever one you like baby." millie mumbled as she had done over and over as you'd dragged her around ikea for the last three hours. if you asked her there was absolutely no difference between the two cushions you had in hand.

"mmm i think the charcoal. mill?" you glanced at her over your shoulder as the footballer only hummed, leaning against the cart with her chin resting on her fist making you smile. tossing four of the cushions in you returned to her side.

"i love you." you spoke, well aware that shopping was only really enjoyable for one of you and that was not your girlfriend. "love you too." millie sighed with a tired smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"i think thats everything. we just need to go and find the flatpacks in the warehouse bit and pay for it all, then i'll buy you some lunch grumpy." you teased, your girlfriend exhaling and straightening up.

"baby i'm gettin beyond grumpy and dangerously close to hangry."

~

"and you definitely don't want any help? not even from the instructions?" you hinted, waving the small stack of papers around in your hand as millie shook her head and laid everything out in front of her.

"baby. its a desk, i've got this easy! you're good at the buying, my strength is the building." the blonde flexed her arms with a smirk making you roll your eyes. "fine! call me if you need me." you bent down to peck her lips, sending her a glare as her hand shot out and smacked your ass as you walked off.

"it slipped!" she grinned twirling a screwdriver around in her hand as you hummed. "sure it did bright, sure it did."

an hour or so later you looked up from your book with a smile of amusement hearing yet another thud and a groan, some colorful language filling the air as you heard your girlfriend kick off for what felt like the tenth time since she'd commenced building.

"want a hand mills?" you called out with a grin. "no! i'm fine." the blonde huffed back and you could hear the obvious scowl of frustration in her voice as you shook your head at her stubbornness and tuned back into your book.

easily another hour and six or so chapters later your book was ripped from your hand and the defender towered over you with excitement plastered all over her face.

"i did it!" she announced proudly, marking your page for you and tossing the book onto the coffee table. "only took you...two and a half hours, not bad!" you teased making her eyes roll as she held her hands out to help you up.

"don't be cheeky." the blonde warned in her thick northern accent you adored dearly, pecking your lips a few times as you hummed and allowed her to drag you off to the study.

"ta-da!" she dropped her hands and wiggled her own at the desk, a slight frown curling into your features as you moved closer and inspected it. "what!" millies hands dropped to her hips as she stared down at you in annoyance.

"are you sure thats right? it doesn't look like the display model babe." you hummed, ducking down to inspect it properly as your girlfriend scoffed.

"well thats gratitude innit! slave away buildin this for ya after bring dragged round shoppin for hours on my day off, hardly any kisses and hardly any attention only for you to question if i did it wrong!" the footballer threw her hands up in protest.

"i was only asking! i am very thankful for you. my big strong brick wall turned builder!" you teased playfully, standing on your tippy toes to kiss her as her head swiveled away from you with a huff.

"you know its quite hot that you can do a flat pack baby." your hands crept up her top, nails scratching at her sides as her eyes dropped down to meet yours, smug smile on your lips and eyebrow raised as her face softened.

"i can do a lot of things." millie purred, bad mood melting away as her grin matched yours, hands finding refuge on your hips as she ducked down to connect her mouth to yours.

a small moan dropped involuntarily from your lips as her large hands moved around to grip your ass, a quick tap all you needed to jump up as she easily caught you, lips not even leaving yours for a second as your legs wrapped around your waist.

walking you backwards the defenders tongue made itself at home in your mouth for a moment before her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it teasingly as she sat you down on the desk and pulled on the hem of your shirt wordlessly asking you to take it off.

but before you could even move an inch there was a squeaking and suddenly the desk was giving in, legs concaving as you let out a yell and grabbed out for your girlfriend who yanked you up and off the desk right in time for it to fall completely apart on the floor.

"i told you it didn't look right!"

[magics-neptunes-things]

Blue Words (One Love 8)

Hi guys!

Some of you asked for it, so this is the new chapter for One Love.

Please be aware that this chapter isn't the happiest of all I wrote for this series, but I tried to add some fluff in it.

Also the Title is from a french song called "Les mots bleus" and this is the only song with the world "blue" i could find, with Lucy going to Chelsea. (Still hating it)

Thanks again for reading me ♥

TW : Angst, Sadness.

(1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7)

London has always been a city who was foreign for Ona. Even when she was living in England, she was in Manchester and all the teams here were just opponent. Unless Laia Codina who came there in 2023 and Mariona who will be here now, she doesn’t have friends here. There are Laia and Leila in Manchester still, but she didn’t have any reason to come back in England since she left for Barcelona.

Well, it was before.

Because now, Lucy is going in fucking Chelsea, a team she hated all her life. It would have been better in her eyes if Lucy went in Arsenal, at least she will be with Mariona. But no, she’s wearing blue and Ona can’t get used to it.

When Lucy received another call from the Barcelona’s staff, they were both in Cuba, their day just finish after strolling in the city during the afternoon. They were enjoying the swimming pool of the hotel, Ona inside water while Lucy was happily drinking a Piña Colada, sitting on the swimming pool with her feet in it. Ona understood very quickly that the conversation isn’t going the way Lucy hopped.

Because the English woman really wanted to stay in Barcelona. She loves the city, the people, the team, the league, the wins… And she loves Ona, of course. She never decided anything in football while thinking about her love life, but this time she wanted to do it. Life chose to be different though.

Lucy didn’t take a decision without talking to Ona before. Lucy wanted to play as much as possible, she’s not young anymore and she knows that her months are counted. She’s not stupid. But Barcelona couldn’t promise her that, now that everyone came back from the respective injuries. Lucy could have accepted less money if she was still able to play as much as she wants. But it wasn’t Barça’s plans. So, after a long discussion with Ona, she didn’t accept Barcelona’s offer, with sadness.

Only one day later Chelsea came to knock at her door, and after some adjustments, she said yes. It wasn’t ideal to be that far from Ona, but it’s better than Mexico or the USA who wanted her too.

Between their trip in Cuba and Ona’s training for the Olympics, Ona managed to find some days to come with Lucy in London to look for a flat.

They managed to find a duplex on the last ground of a building near a park, for when Lucy will have to walk Narla. It seems pretty good to be honest, but Ona has trouble to imagine Lucy here. She always has known her in Barcelona, in a sunny home. Not a rainy and grey one. It makes her sad, without any reason.

Ona putted a brave smile on her face during all her trip with Lucy, not wanting to damage any memories they could have here. Their time is counted after all.

She met some of the Chelsea players and she doesn’t really like them. She doesn’t like the way Millie Bright seems to find normal for Lucy to be here. She doesn’t like how some of the other girls are all flushed when they see Lucy. She talked a little bit with Julia Bartel who was playing in Barcelona while Lucy was talking with some of her teammates from England, but it was hard to keep smiling.

The day after, they went to Ikea to buy some furniture for Lucy’s flat, she already made come what she will need here with a boat. She bought a lot of candles from their favorite shop in Barcelona to have a little piece of Barcelona in London.

She took advantage of Ona getting a shower to put the last details of her decoration, before they have to leave to go to a party organized by Niamh Charles with a lot of Chelsea’s players. Lucy asked her if she wanted to go, and Ona returned her the question. When she saw Lucy hesitated, Ona mumbled something about creating a bond with her teammates and they decided to go.

But Ona would rather have time with Lucy only. Once again, she chooses to put Lucy’s feelings before hers.

She has the same false smile on her face all night, talking from time to time with some of Lucy’s new teammates, working on herself not to stick with her girlfriend all night. She knows how the English are different from the Spain about touching and everything.

“She will be great in Chelsea Ona, you will see. We’ll take good care of her.” Millie Bright told her with a big smile at some point in the evening.

Ona just smiled, asking herself what the blonde meant by that. She knows that Millie is straight or at least engaged with someone, but it’s still sound strange in her ears. She talked the most with Aggie Beever-Jones and Jess Carter, munching some vinegar crisps.

Lucy went to check on her several times during the night, but Ona always told her that she was fine, with the best smile she could give her. But Lucy isn’t fooled by Ona. She knows very well when her girlfriend is pretending, and it breaks her heart every time that Ona assures her she was fine and that they can stay a little bit more.

But at some point, Ona just feels overwhelmed. She’s not angry, or sadder than before. There is just too many feelings for her at that point and with the noise, the music and people blasting it’s just too much. She just has to cross Lucy’s eyes for the English woman to understand that it was time to go home.

“Come on” Lucy just says, reaching her hand for Ona to take.

The Spaniard oblige, following Lucy who pretends to be tired with the move and everything.

“Hope to see you soon again, Ona” Niamh smiles at the Catalan when they went to her to say goodbye.

“It will be hard but I definitively want her wagging in London for me” Lucy smirks, grabbing Ona by her hips to kiss her temple.

“Alexia will kill me if I wear a Chelsea jersey” Ona points with a small smile.

Lucy snorts and they say their goodbyes to the last people before leaving the heath of the flat. It feels good to breath fresh air, Ona closes her eyes two seconds while breathing intensely before turning in Lucy’s direction.

“Uber or walk?” Lucy asks.

“Walk? If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not”

Lucy smiles at her and Ona smiles back. Her smiles grow bigger when she feels Lucy passing her arm around her shoulders, and she let herself go against the bigger frame of her girlfriend.

“Better that way” Ona whispers, grabbing Lucy’s fingers with her hand.

Lucy hums, her lips stroking Ona’s hair softly. She can feel the younger girl’s trouble, but she doesn’t want to push her buttons and forced her to talk to her. But she feels like Ona might explode at some point, and it’s not in her habits to shut down her feelings like that.

She choses not to insist to much with Ona, using a small talk during their trip to her flat. They know Mariona is getting her things done during those days too, except that her girlfriend was already in London to find her a good flat. Even if it will be at St-Albans, Ona is glad to know that there is at least some people Lucy knows already.

She’s happy to find back Lucy’s flat, even if it doesn’t quite feel home, at least it’s Lucy’s.

“Are you tired or do you want to watch something with a last drink?”

“As you wish Corazon” Ona shrugs.

Lucy looks at her several seconds before deciding for a movie and a drink. She makes some tea while Ona is looking at something they can watch, grumbling when she realizes that a lot of the series they are watching in Barcelona aren’t watchable here.

“What did you make a choice?” Lucy asks with two fuming cups of tea. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Friend’s” Ona grumble, before throwing herself in Lucy’s front when she sits next to her.

Clingy Ona isn’t really new, but Grumpy Ona is, Lucy thinks. She play with her girlfriend’s long hair for several minutes, watching television with an absent-minded air.

“Are you ok?” Lucy finally asks.

“Sí, porque?”

“Because I don’t have the feeling that you are. You’re grumpy like an old man.”

“No, I’m not” Ona pouts.

Her face is so cute that Lucy can’t help but laugh a little. She hopes that it won’t make Ona even more grumpy, so to avoid that she starts tickling her.

“Yes, you are!” Lucy smirks while tickling her girlfriend.

Ona tries to resist the urge to laugh, but Lucy knows how and where she’s ticklish. It doesn’t take her more than ten seconds to have a laughy mess writhing under her.

“Stop, Lucy please” Ona manages to pronounce between two laughs.

Lucy finally stops and she looks attentively at Ona while the younger calm her laughters. She lets her take her breath, stroking softly and lovingly her cheeks. She lets five other seconds pass, during which she looks deep in Ona’s eyes.

“Come on, Bonita, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Ona sighs and look away, making Lucy frowns. She’s usually the one who is struggling to let her feelings and struggle out, not Ona. Ona talks to her, explain to her her thoughts without any fear to be judge or mocked.

“Hey” she adds after some times, turning delicately Ona’s face in her direction. “Come on, it’s me. You can tell me everything, you used to do that. Don’t shut yourself from me, please.”

Ona blinks several times, biting her lip, before finally deciding to open her mouth. She can’t refuse anything to Lucy when she talks to her this way.

“It’s just… I don’t know” she frowns in turn. “I knew what will happen, but this weekend is like the concretization of all of this. And I know that I push you to accept this offer, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to let you go.”

Lucy wants to talk, but she realizes soon that now that Ona has started to talk, she needs to get everything out.

“It’s hard to know that you will be here after everything we had in Barcelona. I hate coming home to have a reminder that you’re gone, I hate to see Coco looking for Narla, I hate not to find the toothpaste tube open with its plug next to it. I know it’s not your fault, but I miss you and it hasn’t even started.”

She really wanted not to cry, but she can’t help the tears rolling on her cheeks. Of course she knew, it doesn’t mean that it’s an easy moment to live. They were so delighted when Ona signed her contract in Barcelona, so far away to think that they will be in this situation again several months later.

“And this weekend, I really wanted to help you settle down and make your flat cozy and comfortable and lovely, but it’s like that damn sadness couldn’t leave me alone. It’s your flat, not ours. It feels so strange.”

Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, when she wipes harshly her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. Lucy needs to swallow the lump in her throat before talking, so she wipes herself Ona’s tears, way more softly than her, to have a distraction.

“I miss you too” Lucy mumbles before sitting, because she was still half lying on Ona. “It’s hard to imagine my daily life without your mess in it, but I swear on everything I have that I will come in Barcelona as soon as I have a day off, Ona. And I know you will come too.”

She stays silence for several seconds, during which Ona nods at Lucy’s words. Of course, she will come. Even if it’s mean catching a cold every weekend while freezing in the stand.

“And for the flat… Come on” she says suddenly, standing and grabbing Ona’s hand.

The Spaniard doesn’t have any other choice than following her to her bedroom. She frowns when she sees that Lucy has installed other frames, probably while she was showering before leaving for the party.

“This is the jerseys we swapped after the World Cup, but I thought it will be better to frame them together”

Lucy looks Ona when she gets closer to the jerseys while she’s talking. No one knows that they swapped their jersey that night and if someone just take a look at the frame, it won’t be easy to understand. But they both know and it’s enough.

“This one is a mix of the pictures we took when we won all our cups last year” she points another frame.

Ona gets closer of this one too, just to see a mix of official pictures of both of them, but unofficial pictures too. There is for example no way in the world that they posted picture of them kissing with the Supercopa cup, Lucy grabbing Ona’s waist while the younger has a bottle of beer in hand.

“And those are what I wanted to hang on other rooms too” Lucy adds while rummaging in one cupboard before taking out several other frames, of different sizes. “This one is for my nightstand (she shows a picture of them in Cuba), those are for my living room (there is a picture of Coco and Narla playing in the snow, one of them in Stani’s wedding, a selfie taking at Minorca and another one when Lucy’s family came to Barcelona to met the Battle) and I wanted to put that on my fridge (four photobooth pictures taking at Manchester, the first time Lucy came after they got together). Oh and this one is for the bedroom too (a picture of Ona with Lucy’s niece and nephew, playing on the beach).”

Lucy looks thoughtfully at the pictures before raising her eyes on Ona, almost shyly. Ona is still crying, (or again), she doesn’t even know. But this time, she’s smiling softly.

“You are not living here, but you are still part of that place Ona. No matter where I am, you are still with me. Forever.”

Ona almost crashes in her arms when she went for a hug and Lucy seriously think about writing to Jonatan because damn, those arms sessions for Ona worked maybe a little too much.

“I love you, so much” Lucy says again, Ona’s face in her neck. “I’m leaving Barcelona but I’m not leaving you. It doesn’t change the plans we made. I still want to marry you, we will have those little Ona running around in the house and everything we talked about”

“I want a little Lucia too” Ona objects weekly.

“My brother would probably say that it’s a terrible choice, but everything you want Bonita.”

Taking a big breath making her shivers, Ona finally leaves Lucy’s neck. She’s not crying anymore, and Lucy kisses her face almost ten times before talking again.

“I need you to talk to me when you are struggling like that. Can you promise me you will do?”

“Only if you promise too” Ona answers, looking at her expectantly.

Lucy rolls her eyes, which makes Ona smiles softly. They both know who will need to work the most between the two for that.

“Promised” Lucy finally says.

“Promised back”

Lucy kisses her on the lips that time, savoring Ona’s taste and Ona’s body against her. They didn’t talk about it, but Lucy will miss the lazy mornings in bed and having Ona around her like an octopus with messy hair. Ona stilling her clothes too. Talking about that…

“And I will leave half of the dressing for your clothes too, for when you will come to see me”

Ona smirks.

“I was hoping to leave every time with some of your clothes”

Lucy laughs this time and grab Ona’s face with both of her hands to kiss her one more time.

“Time to go to bed? I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Yes please” Ona mumbles.

They take turn in the bathroom, Lucy going to turn off the TV and the lamps in the living room before going in her bed. Ona follows her soon after, crawling under the sheets to snuggle against Lucy.

“We will be alright Ona, I swear” Lucy whispers in the dark.

“I know. I trust us” Ona whispers back.

She left her loving position to be able to kiss her.

“I’m going to miss the fan’s speculations about us being together after every game though” Ona smirks.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have an idea for that.”

Ona raises an eyebrow, questioning Lucy that way but the English woman just shake her head with a devilish smile before kissing Ona again. She managed to make her forget about what she just said, but the O. Battle jersey from Spain is definitively coming this week for her to wear during Spain’s first game in the Olympics.

[peskellence]

My Friends Call Me Richard

Part III

Explicit Content (18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: M/M, Workplace Romance, FWB, Humour, Awkward Encounters, Eventual Smut

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a bid to improve his partnership (and secret intimate arrangement) with Detective Gavin Reed, RK900 embarks on a noble quest to spice things up. The solution? A new biocomponent.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

(surprise at the end of the keep reading courtesy of @faxaway)

“What's the hold up in there?”

RK900 winced at the question. The transition from purchase to implementation had gone nowhere near as smoothly as hoped. He found himself locked in the bathroom, trying and failing to secure his new biocomponent.  

“I am beginning to question if this product is suitable for ‘self-installation’,” He mumbled critically, attempting to angle the phallus awkwardly between his legs. “Perhaps the store assistant issued the wrong product...” 

“Can you not cross-reference it against your dick database?” His voice was thin, dripping with impudence. No doubt reflective of his dwindling patience. “I mean, your scanners would flag if it was the wrong thing completely, wouldn't they?”

The android frowned, forced to concede that multiple checks had been completed—referring to both the product schematics and his own manufacturer details. None of this had shed any clarity on his current difficulties.

He sightlessly searched for a small circular slot at the base of his groin. Guiding nodules failed to adhere, clips gripping to nothing before slipping uselessly from his chassis.

"I am having issues adhering the scrotal extension to my lower access port.” He moved the component again, testing to see if a change in angle might reap greater success. 

Another failure followed, and fears emerged that the fault could relate to his own anatomy. Specifically, a factory defect he had previously been unaware of. 

With his options rapidly depleting, he turned to the crumpled instructional leaflet left abandoned by the bath. He scrutinised each step, noting multiple discrepancies between the printed text and the digital guidance displayed on his HUD. 

“Perhaps if you could offer assistance, then it would be easier to facilitate—” 

“There's a line,” Reed shot back, callously interrupting before he could finish. “Helping you clip on your junk like we're building IKEA furniture is where I draw it.” 

The rebuff was discouraging, as RK900 was left helpless—plagued by doubts relating to protocols and analytics that so intrinsically dictated his actions.

While his advanced processors should have been capable of determining a solution to the dilemma, they proved inexplicably incapable. Trapping him in a loop of trial and error.

He briefly considered contacting RK800 to see if he might be more willing to assist. This was before he realised there would be significant limitations on the support that could be provided remotely—and that Reed would undoubtedly be opposed to welcoming additional guests.

Despite logic indicating that surrender may be the only option, something inside him refused to concede. Attention locked on his primary directive, which dangled precariously at the forefront of his optics:

> ENGAGE IN SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH DETECTIVE REED.

It seemed callous to allow himself to fall at this final hurdle, no matter how staggering it proved. 

And so, he forcefully pulled himself from the despondent line of cognition. Determined to ensure that his efforts—and the current painful ordeal—would not be in vain. 

With parameters set and diagnostics refreshed, his system presented an updated list of prompts. Ones that sparked hope. Renewed faith that he wasn’t deluding himself or his partner on false pretences.

Following guidance, the android performed a precise 7-degree rotation of the component. He pressed forward, and for a split second, the attachment seemed to align—but the angle fell short of optimal. A prompt then advised that proper leverage was unobtainable from his current position.

To correct this, RK900 lifted one leg, calculating in real time the exact height needed. This elevation, as it transpired, aligned almost perfectly with Detective Reed’s toilet.

Foot steady on the edge of the bowl, he pressed again, slanting upward in another attempt to engage the clips. This time, with success, confirmed by a soft click which echoed through the room. 

The small noise provided unparalleled relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe the debacle was over. 

It was a blissful respite, if cruelly short-lived. 

The auditory cue had been deceptive. While alignment of the prongs had been achieved, their locking mechanism had not engaged, preventing adhesion to the connection point

A revelation that came too late. 

RK900 slipped back, and the attachments promptly folded, the intimate module tumbling down between his thighs.

Unfortunately, it seemed Detective Reed was geometrically opposed to lowering his toilet seat. The component struck against the porcelain dome, ricocheting like a pinball until it hit the base with a plop. Ripples of impact shook the water, and RK900 watched in despair as the flesh-toned silicone sank, engulfed by murky waves. 

His attention snapped to the door, where he knew his partner sat in wait. Listening closely, having undoubtedly heard everything that just transpired. 

“...What was that?” 

Thirium pumped in increased volumes through his circulatory system, pooling in his cheeks. His limited social directives were strained to their breaking point, faced with a sudden uptick in demand:

While Reed was far from preoccupied with good hygiene standards, he undoubtedly possessed some instinct to protect against hazardous waste. 

This left his next steps uncertain, as the android was trapped at an impasse. Painfully aware that some degree of deceit would be needed to placate his partner, but unsure how to achieve this with any conviction. 

“Richard.”

Then a confession slipped out, almost instinctively, before he could stop it:

“It appears I have dropped my phallus in your toilet.”  

Reed did not respond immediately, and while RK900 could not see his face, he could envision the disappointment etched upon it. The deep-set frown and contemptuous stare bore into him, demanding acknowledgement.

Then, a sound bridged the hush between the bathroom and bedroom. Auditory profiling identified the impact of flesh, as biophysical analysis confirmed no additional parties had entered the home.  

Reed had struck himself. Likely in the face—a ritualistic action performed during times of frustration.  

“ Why were you putting it on over the toilet?”

RK900 spoke quickly. An exercise in perseverance and self-preservation as much as it was an appeal to his partner. “There is no cause for alarm.” 

He then pivoted sharply, leaving the component submerged in the waste receptacle. The rubber tip reached for him, breaking the water's surface as though beckoning his return. 

Its pleas for assistance were ignored as he dropped to his knees, retrieving a discarded box from the grubby linoleum floor. The contents were cleared, save for a small drawstring bag containing samples of Cyberlife-issued cleaning supplies. 

“The component will be sanitised thoroughly before use,” the android said, a relieved sigh passing his lips. “I can assure you this incident will not impact our planned intimacy.”

“Like fuck, it won’t. I am not letting you put your toilet dick in me.”

The harsh retort struck like a slap and swiftly undermined any solace. Crestfallen, the RK unit returned focus to the toilet, gaze dropping limply to the prosthetic urethra staring up at him. A singular, narrow eye, which made him the subject of scrupulous judgment. Mockery. 

His grip tightened, reducing the box to a compact wad of cardboard. Then, his central processor whirred into overdrive, fervently seeking a solution to the current dilemma. 

“If preferred, we can return to the Cyberlife Store in order to—”

“ No .”

The fledging suggestion was cut down before it had any hopes of maturing. 

Despite this sweeping refusal of cooperation, Detective Reed eventually employed some degree of deduction. This was an innate reflex that existed beyond the parameters of conscious desire, culminating in the antipathic conceit he muttered under his breath. 

It was just barely audible through the wooden panel that divided them. Suggestions that it ‘didn’t matter’ if the extension was in mint condition, given the unsavoury conditions it would imminently find itself in. This, combined with allusions that he had accepted ‘worse’ from former partners.

The man capped the disgruntled train of thought with a more targeted instruction, spoken to the android: 

“Just make sure it’s clean enough , okay?” 

RK900 was appreciative to have been offered a compromise, accepting the conditions with a cordial nod. “My advanced debris detection will ensure the removal of all harmful chemicals and bacterial residue.” 

“...Debris detection?” the human questioned, snorting tersely as he did. “What are you, a fucking Roomba?”

“My operations are far more advanced than that of a vacuum cleaner.” 

This resulted in another burst of amusement—a childish snicker pelted against the wooden panel dividing them.

“Depends on the context…” This impish enjoyment soon subsided, followed by a return to thinly veiled criticisms. “Don’t rush; I’m having a blast . Nothing says ‘mind-blowing foreplay’ like waiting for your partner to disinfect his detachable dick.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Detective,” the android replied, imitating de-escalation tactics he had observed from RK800. “Your patience and understanding are greatly appreciated.” 

The man was far from enchanted. Clicking his tongue, he mumbled another suggestion under his breath. This time, admonishing insincerity, accusing the android of sounding like a ‘fucking complaints department.’  

“Just don’t expect me to go down on you. I'd rather not scrub my tongue with lemon zest bleach.” 

RK900 doubted this product had been used on the toilet with any recency. Nonetheless, he brushed the comment aside.

Supplies prepared, he rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and reached into the bowl to retrieve the lost component. As his hand became further immersed, the silicone base slinked back until it was wedged stubbornly in the U-bend. Enhanced manoeuvring was required to dislodge it, but after a few determined twists, it finally broke free.

With the phallus secured, he set to work on the sanitation process. The antibacterial spray was used until the bottle was nearly depleted, scrubbed with dutiful care into every moulded ridge and crevice. Unsheathed fingers were then swept across the length, assessing for any lingering debris trapped in the pockets. 

“Exterior sterilisation is at 99.8%,” RK900 concluded, as synthetic skin returned to his digits, “well above advisory levels for bodily insertion.”

“Sexy,” the human said dryly. There was a strange upward lilt that the android had come to recognise as synonymous with sarcasm. “Just try not to drop it in the shitter again.” 

Having learned from his previous mistake, RK900 lowered the toilet seat, establishing a more desirable platform for installation. He clipped the newly sanitised component back into place. This time, ensuring the fastening clasps had locked securely to his groin before receding. 

His operational software acknowledged the component and the installation of primary physical subroutines booted autonomously. Aesthetic changes also occurred, integrating the component into his wider physical form. 

“...Hey…Richard…?” The address came mingled with steady rapping against the door. “You’re a bit quiet. Just checking your engine is still running.”

RK900’s lips formed a response, but no sound escaped them. Instead, he was mesmerised by the ripples of movement materialising on the component. Iridescent patterns danced and shimmered, attempting to harmonise with the surrounding conditions.

He understood the device’s ‘complexion’ was predetermined and that a perfect colour match was not guaranteed. Nonetheless, it came close. Unsightly connection points smoothed almost seamlessly beneath a blanket of pale, freckled skin.

“... Richard ?” There was another bang. Louder and more insistent. “Look, I’m not expecting you to strut out of there like Cyberlife’s latest sexbot. If you can't get the thing on, it's fine. Seriously. Just stop messing around so we can—”

“External interrogation is almost complete. I’ll be out in one moment.”

RK900 dressed carefully, concealing his new feature beneath his work slacks in anticipation of a proper reveal. He wanted to avoid startling his companion with unexpected nudity, having learned from experience that such a greeting required meeting very specific criteria—ones he did not want to misjudge at this pivotal moment. 

As he opened the passage to the bedroom, the swinging door nearly collided headlong with Reed. He dodged to the side, cursing sharply, as one of the arms that had been habitually crossed over his chest moved to shield his face. 

“What the hell ?” he spluttered, tone brimming with accusation. “You nearly knocked me out, dipshit.”

“I did not anticipate you would be standing in such close proximity to the door.”

The sounds of annoyance trailed off as the man's disgruntled expression morphed into one of introspection. Suddenly aware that the action had revealed more than he intended.

“Whatever.” He grunted dismissively, drawing his arms back into their previous guarded position. “So, you done? Or do you still need to calibrate your balls?” 

“The component has been implemented in its entirety. Diagnostics are underway to confirm optimal physical functionality. Afterwards, I will be cleared to upload the related social protocols.” 

The human stared blankly as if the words had emerged as distorted, incomprehensible screeches. “I asked if it was on, not for a dissertation on the instruction manual.” 

RK900 recognised that he may have offered more information than necessary. In seeking to be thorough, he had unintentionally diminished a level of intrigue—the mystique that Reed wished to preserve in their impending intimacy.

“It is on and will be ready for use shortly. Apologies for the delay, Detective.”

Reed blinked again, his already furrowed brow pulling into an increasingly taut pinch. There was unrest that persisted around him, but it took a different form. More apprehensive than hostile. 

“Gavin,” he corrected. “I already told you, Gavin is fine when we're…” 

The sentence trailed off, wandering in line with his focus. It followed a path down the android’s form, inspecting every inch until it had locked onto the junction between his legs. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“How much longer is it going to take?” he questioned, motioning towards the concealed appendage in a loose circling gesture. “Have I got time to text Tina about how fucking insane this is?” 

RK900 took this impatience as a cue to progress the interaction. He leveraged all the research he had compiled, coupled with their pre-existing intimacy habits. This collective insight encouraged him to act assertively—while also imitating a degree of human spontaneity.

He advanced on the human, preparing to perform an action he had noted in several of the surveyed clips. Pressing a steadying hand to the small of the man’s back, he hooked his available arm onto the back of his thighs.

Gavin was raised in a fluid motion, resulting in a short, strangled sound—caught somewhere between a scream and a hiss. He was powerless to do anything but hook onto his partner’s neck, preventing unsteady weight from toppling back. 

Once adjusted to the sudden change in elevation, his lips parted, presumably to form words of protest. They were silenced pre-emptively by the firm, deliberate press of the android’s own.

It wasn’t long before the kiss was reciprocated. He engaged RK900 in a quiet chase, mirroring practised movements with tenacious enthusiasm. His heartbeat escalated, and the press of his mouth grew more insistent—matching each rumbled pulse that rattled his ribs. 

The android felt a flicker of satisfaction, his actions eliciting the exact response he had predicted. Ultimately, he pulled away, and mimicry ended as the man attempted to pursue the withdrawing contact.

“I can think of more entertaining ways to tolerate this delay...” 

RK900 paused, realising he was unsure how to proceed with this sentence. He took a moment to adjust his verbal subroutines, aligning them with the recently acquired licentious vocabulary. From this, he successfully crafted an appropriately alluring title of address:

“Hot lips.”  

This inspired a half-suppressed sound from his partner, akin to a deflating balloon. After a beat, breath was drawn back, hissed through clenched teeth, as the man sharply angled his head further into the room.

“Stop running your mouth and get a move on. Plastic asshole.”

RK900 was on the verge of reminding him that they had omitted the purchase of a silicone rectal cavity before understanding his meaning. He instead referred back to the audiovisual loops stored on his CPU, prioritising according to watch time and access frequency.

Feeling assured he had gathered all the necessary data for an optimal experience, he purposefully strode on. Approaching the bed before deftly sidestepping it and heading for the exit.

“Uh, where the hell are you going?” Gavin, still held in his grasp, attempted to resist his movement. One hand pressed against the solid foundation of his chest, pushing back in an action that had entirely zero impact. “The bed is over there, genius.”

“Your bed will not be required. This apartment has a balcony.” 

His partner gawped at him, lashes fluttering in confusion. If he were an android, RK900 was certain he would hear the whir of internal mechanisms—gears turning frantically, teetering on the brink of annihilation.

“Come again?”

Any excitement built during their kiss seemed to have fizzled completely. The android realised that while his data proved sound in a controlled environment, external factors undermined its practical reliability.

Memory banks cast echoes of the human's shuddering breath, slicing through the frigid winter air. The tip of his ruddy nose tucked into the folds of his hoodie as he attempted to shield it from the chill…

After reevaluating the situation, he stopped. His heels pressed firmly into the grubby carpet before angling upwards, prepared for reorientation. 

 “Of course, it is rather cold out. The bed will suit our needs for today.”

Retracing his steps, RK900 returned to his previous position at the foot of the bed. He held his partner over its surface before releasing his weight, permitting a descent into the linen. Despite the cushioned landing, Gavin yelped. His limbs fanned out in a star-like formation, braced for impact as the plush sheets rapidly engulfed him.

The android soon joined, placing hands on either side of his body, forming a tight cage. His captive stared through him, focus blighted by the recent momentum, as his jaw fell slightly agape. 

A smooth tilt guided it closed as RK900 supported his weight on a single arm. His fingertips skimmed coarse stubble, and his sensors registered that it had grown 2.3 millimetres since their last encounter—slightly longer than the detective’s preference. 

Resisting the urge to mention this, he instead leaned in, charting the overgrown trail with neatly peppered kisses.

Gavin tensed, although this response was not unanticipated.

It always took him some time to relax—when they were like this. The ripples of previously stringent prejudice, now mostly forgotten, still clinging to threads of fading significance…

Ties that unravelled beneath targeted pulses of breath—slow and rhythmic, designed to coax tightly held knots from muscles. Receptive warmth spread beneath reddening skin, extending outward until the body became loose and pliant.

The man's head tilted unconsciously, baring more of his neck—a wordless invitation for RK900 to deepen his exploration.

He established a new point of contact on the presently unblemished canvas, tracing it with a practised sweep of his tongue before clamping down with a firm press of teeth.

After applying suitable pressure to leave a mark, he pulled back, levying a rumbled address against the pulsing flesh. A premeditated salaciousness that was undercut by an instinctive slip back into professional titles:

“You're a dirty whore, aren't you, Detective?” 

Despite previous objections, Gavin did not appear upset. If anything, the dilation of his pupils, combined with the involuntary groan that tumbled from his lips, indicated the opposite.

Encouraged to proceed, RK900 maintained his focus on the man's throat. Sealing flesh between his lips and drawing gently on the freshly marked abrasion.

“ Shit.” The expletive trailed into a sigh as he squirmed keenly against a tide of rumpled linen.

“Such a needy slut.” 

The derogatory remarks felt odd—unnatural—coming from the android, yet they seemed to be the exact calibre of slander Gavin wanted. If the noises hadn't been enough, irrefutable evidence came in the growing snugness of his jeans.

He traced the stained length of the zipper, to which the concealed hardness beneath twitched back receptively. “Filthy—”

“Easy, Casanova.” The chiding was light and playful, entwined with a rich chuckle. “There's no need to rush; we’re just getting warmed up.”

RK900 swiftly identified the duplicity of this statement.

It was routine they had engaged in countless times before—in both personal and professional settings. His partner pushed away, under the pretence that RK900 would follow, seeking to pull him back. 

This was a challenge, demanding the RK900 to prove just how persistent he would be in retaining dominance.

Grasping the hand kneading idly into his bicep, he pinned it to the sheets. As he moved to scold the culprit—the resonance of his pitch dropped in line with his hips, which engaged the man’s own in a subtle rock. 

“I think you've already warmed up sufficiently." 

Then he paused, his mind stalling as it became clear he’d exhausted much of the risqué vocabulary he had been sourcing. 

Not wishing to shatter the illusion of salacious assuredness, he hastily constructed what he believed would be a logical evolution:

“...You…repulsive creature.”

Gavin appeared more perplexed than captivated by the address. The eager twitches RK900 had predicted were conspicuously absent as his nose wrinkled sceptically. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly, he was still adjusting to his companion speaking this way. Determining that greater exposure might expedite this adaptation, RK900 pressed on, adding to the deprecation:

“Your hygiene standards are subpar. The aroma you emit is deeply unpleasant.”

Lidded eyes snapped open, startled to alertness, and Gavin grimaced. Pressing his unrestrained hand to the android’s chest and pushing firmly:

“Okay. That’s enough. Drop it.”

RK900 stiffened. Questioning momentarily if he had made a mistake or if this was simply part of the licentious roleplay.

As Gavin held firm in his convictions, it became clear he had misjudged some aspects of his tolerance for humiliation—specifically, remarks relating to personal cleanliness. Comments he would be wise to scale back in the ongoing proceedings, which he committed dutifully to his memory backs…

Rumination cast in shifting patterns of yellow and red on the crumpled caverns of Gavin's face. The tense lines began to smooth as a flash of remorse tempered the flames in his accusatory glare.

“Let's just—” His hand jerked in an awkward flourish towards the android. Tracing erratic, disjointed patterns in the air before coming to rest between his legs. “Move on.”

It was not difficult to discern what was meant by this. To ensure that no further errors were made regarding the nuances of ‘dirty talk’, RK900 concluded now was the time to source additional support.

The Intimacy Protocol—which had been stored neatly in the back of his temporal processor, awaiting use—was promptly activated. As subroutines initialised, a cascade of sensory inputs flooded his system, sharpening every sensation with unnerving clarity.

Suddenly, he could feel everything . 

The most minute bunch of fabric rubbing against the creases of previously sensationless silicone. Artificial vessels pumped and swelled with increased thirium input as the appendage stiffened, brought to hardness with almost alarming efficiency. 

It was uncomfortable—surprisingly so—as the flesh began to strain against the oppressive binds of clothing. It pleaded for release, a call to action driven by longing the android had never experienced.

He soon responded, unable to withstand the excruciating currents pulsing through his groin. Hands fumbled to unclasp his belt, erratic movements defined by an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. The leather was almost split in two as it was yanked free—whipped back at great velocity. 

Gavin flinched, arching back quickly to evade impact. It wouldn't have been the first time that RK900 had struck him with his belt, although previous instances had been performed under strict instruction.

“ Holy shit—watch it, asshole — ”

This admonishment barely registered. The wayward currents had begun to ignite what could only be described as fire in his core. His stomach was a furnace; molten fallout spat at neighbouring biocomponents, threatening to burn through them.

The belt was discarded over the edge of the bed, its controlled descent thwarted by an extensive pile of laundry, which swallowed it whole into its pungent hold.

Gavin cursed again. This time, however, it was not the consequence of disapproval. He was staring at the android's arousal, eyes alight with what could only be described as spellbound curiosity. 

As though he were looking through the gates to nirvana, a higher plane of existence promised beneath the veil of Cyberlife briefs.

Hips were raised, and the pants slipped off, tumbling out of view in a single, fluid sweep. RK900 chose not to dwell on the creases that would have resulted from this callousness.

It was irrelevant, insignificant—a problem to be resolved later—

Provided his partner owned an iron—

WARNING — MULTIPLE SYSTEM ANOMALIES DETECTED. 

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS…

He reeled, his mind overwhelmed by the shrieks of unruly electrical signals. Intrusive sentiments burrowed deeper into his processor, attempting to align with his more reasoned analytics. 

He took some consolation in knowing that the programme, however disorientating, was having the desired effect. With ignited zeal, Gavin gripped the hem of his shirt. Yanking it over his head before casting it aside, exposing the full length of his torso. 

The marred skin ignited his focus in a way it hadn't previously. RK900 was about to remove his undergarments when his companion—in an unusual show of consideration—moved to assist.

They seldom undressed each other, a familiarity he had been told was unfitting of their ‘casual’ arrangement. Despite this, he watched with quiet curiosity as Gavin crossed this line, looping his fingers beneath a taut band of elastic.

His cocky smirk, which was typically ever present during their encounters, was replaced by something quieter—more sincere. The digits lingered, flexing apprehensively as though preparing for their next move. 

Then the waistband was tugged, and the phallus sprung free from its confines. 

RK900 winced as he registered the cool air against his skin. It was sharp and biting, only exacerbated by the burning that continued to mount within him.

The dimensions of the phallus were expanded compared to its dormant state, aligning with the advertised specifications. The tip was tinged with a cool-toned flush, accentuated by a reflective sheen of biofluid. A lubricant that seemed to leak incrementally from the component, in which Gavin took particular interest. 

Despite previous claims that he would not be partaking in fellatio, his face drew tantalisingly close to the ‘toilet dick’. Halted inches from the arousal, blanketing it in a sequence of hot, ragged puffs. 

It sent ripples of sensation through hyper-sensitive receptors as RK900 was forced to grip the sheets beneath him. Speculating on how it might feel to be engulfed completely in Gavin's warmth and fighting the growing temptation to thrust himself into his mouth.

Before any intrusive impulses could get the better of either party, Gavin moved to palm the hardness. Tracing its length, applying testing pressure before enclosing it fully in a fist.

The sensation this triggered was indescribable. 

Thousands of microscopic pleasure receptors activated simultaneously, their collective murmurs building to wails that surged through his neural pathways. 

Then they released in a strained expulsion that tumbled from his lips. It was low and growled, not unlike the rumble of thunder, but with a distinctive metallic edge.

The noise was unlike anything he had ever produced, leaving both him and his partner temporarily stunned. Gavin was first to establish his bearings, doing so with a small, tentative squeeze. The expulsion repeated, and RK900 watched as spiralling patterns of red caught in the green of his partner’s sclerae. 

“ Holy shit.. .” The man was enraptured, scrutinising each choppy cycle of the LED as he brushed the tip of the component beneath his calloused thumb. “It feels so real.”

"Realism constitutes an integral aspect of its visual and functional design.” 

RK900 felt detached from the words, almost as though someone else was speaking through him. 

He found himself plunged deep into uncharted depths for both his body and mind. Thrashing helplessly as logical subroutines attempted to quantify his pleasure, assigning it values or comparing it to previously stored data. No parallels existed—and it was maddening.

His original self was fading fast, slipping into the foreground of his consciousness. Buried by a rampant tide of untamed cravings.

To touch and feel and taste —

> DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE

TEMPORAL FIREWALLS: COMPROMISED 

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE: 122°F — RISING

Any attempts to re-establish command soon proved redundant as Gavin began to move his hand. His fist pumped in a rhythmic motion, pressing ruthlessly into overworked sensors. 

“You can feel that, can’t you?” The tone carried a mischievous lilt, informing RK900 that no answer was required. 

His partner was already well aware of the effect the stimulation was having. Despite this, he pressed on, seemingly hellbent on goading some form of acknowledgement. 

“Does it feel good?” 

“Very much—” 

The situation was nearing critical as his system pressed for the urgent release of the excessive heat. Narrow vents along his chassis began to hiss, desperately dispersing the warmth in subtle bursts of steam.

He sincerely prayed that his companion would fail to notice this.

“—Perhaps too much,” he confessed, shuddering weakly. “I might have to make adjustments to the erogenous feedback levels.”

“Oh no you don't.” Gavin held firm on his length—as though he were wielding a prize. One that he refused to have stripped under any circumstances. “This was your idea. You wanted this. So strap in and enjoy the ride.”

Despite the assertion, there was a moment of hesitancy before the man proceeded. His 

grip slackened, and his rigid gaze softened with a flicker of vulnerability. Searching the RK’s own, as though seeking permission.

Something that was offered in the form of a slow, apprehensive nod. The android considered lowering sensitivity regardless, omitting to disclose this to his partner before ultimately deciding against it. He resolved to monitor his response to the stimuli, assessing just how much he could reasonably tolerate. 

A line of reasoning that unravelled within seconds as heightened pleasure consumed him. 

It became painfully clear why humans sought this relief so frequently. The tension that had gripped his core melted into blissful release, leaving his systems reeling. RK900 felt the vertebra of his neck slacken as his head flopped back, and a substantial pocket of warmth released in a long, heady groan. 

The temperature warning began to recede, fading until it no longer formed an active obstruction in his vision. He could see his partner clearly and found himself wholly ensnared by the sight. 

It felt like looking at him for the first time, as all the quirks and intricacies that once seemed innocuous were viewed through a fresh lens. Thick lashes cast a charming shadow over his eyes—simultaneously bright and sharp—yet clouded by a haze of lust.

As he kept stroking him, an impish grin played on his lips. The corner lifted, aligning almost perfectly with one of the numerous scars dotting his face.

The RK examined each, his eyes drifting as unseen threads gradually linked them. Rather than constructing a timeline for when the marks might have appeared, all he could think about was how appealing they were. Constellations of lived experience seamlessly woven into a dishevelled, roguish charm the man so effortlessly embodied.

Wandering focus pathed the way for another mental break, logic bleeding intrusively through the cracks. It reminded him that—while the sights and sensations he was experiencing were profoundly enjoyable—they did little to aid in fulfilling his primary directive. 

The moment of sensual connection shattered as a methodical presence pulled him back, seeking to clarify the logistical demands of the component, eliminating any confusion:

“Stimulation is not required to maintain my erection. It is procedurally activated and maintained, separate from arousal.” 

His show of consideration was met like a forceful blow to the face. Gavin winced, yanking his hand away from the hardness as though it were lined with razors. His crumpled expression revealed a mix of defeat and humiliation before the sentiments were smothered beneath a layer of disdainful hostility.

“...Fine then, asshole .” His tone was hardened in line with the firm clench of his jaw. “If that's how it is, I won't do shit.”

His arms then pulled into a lofty sprawl as if he were reaching the crest of a theme park ride, preparing to plunge down the slope. The descent began as he allowed his weight to fall carelessly onto the sheets.

“I’ll be a good little pillow princess, just for you.” There was an exaggerated flutter of lashes, the coy flirtation standing in contrast with the previous animosity. His feet planted firmly onto the linen before his knees dropped to either side. “Go on, big guy. Do your worst.”

The phrase felt almost scripted, like something from one of his videos.

He didn't mean to request that the RK900 knowingly underperform. On the contrary, he was vying for the opposite. An experience that rivalled and surpassed everything that had come before it.

It struck a chord within the android, sending powerful currents surging through overtaxed circuits. He felt reinvigorated, freshly incentivised to explore the potential of his upgrades, discovering—alongside his partner— precisely what he could do. 

Closing off visual and auditory fields to all extraneous distractions, he focused intently on the man before him. Positioning himself between his parted thighs, he swiftly set to work removing his jeans and undergarments.

Oral stimulation came far more naturally than it typically did. 

RK900 had anchored himself on his legs, kneading the lightly toned muscle in appreciative squeezes. His cheeks hollowed, and his lips pushed forward, the process almost reflexive as he inched his way down the length. He proceeded until the tip had struck the back of his throat, and the person attached rumbled in ardent approval. 

“ Holy shit —” Gavin carded his fingers tenderly through his hair before gripping tightly, knuckles pale from exertion.

The locks were pulled back, compelling the head to move with them. RK900 responded compliantly, releasing the tension in his jaw and permitting his mouth to recede with a wet glide up the arousal.

Just shy of breaching the seal, hardened flesh poised at the tip of his tongue, his head was thrust back down. Leading him to swallow his partner again, but with far greater tenacity. 

The man growled with primal delight as RK900 stared up at him with unwavering focus.

“ Your throat feels so good.” 

‘It could feel better’, his sexual programming silently countered. 

As directed, his laryngeal modulator began to oscillate. Rumbles crept upwards, travelling along the walls of his trachea until they vibrated the quivering flesh between them. The trembles synced with the heavy thrusts being levied at his throat until their movement grew erratic.

Hoarse groans were pulled in a pervasive frequency from his lips as Gavin faltered, losing any semblance of rhythm.

“Oh, fuck me —”

“With pleasure.” 

It was almost unsettling how clearly the android spoke, with his mouth so thoroughly full. Gavin failed to remark on it, too absorbed in his bliss to notice. Then RK900 pushed back hard, forcefully breaking the hold that clung to his scalp. He allowed his partner to slip from his mouth, a filmed gloss of lubricant serving as the only evidence of the encounter. 

Gavin whimpered as hopes for release were callously snatched, thrusting shallowly into the air his companion once occupied. The android, ignoring the protest, lifted himself into a kneeling position.

His hands lingered on the thighs, still pressing into the flesh—until, with a final, painful scrape of nails—they were released. He paused to admire the lingering traces of his hold, characterised by vivid, crescent-shaped indentations.

The human arched away from the sheets, hissing with sultry elation. This was interrupted when RK900 leaned in, hovering over him like an imposing shadow, provoking an instinctive retreat of his body.

Gavin completely embraced his role in the unfolding scene, entering a state of submission as he quietly readied himself for his partner. The RK assumed an appropriate role, gliding his hand along the length of his jaw. 

This gesture felt more instinctive—spontaneous—than its earlier incarnation. It was no longer a measured attempt to coax the man into heightened excitement but a display of authentic appreciation. His hold curved inward, tracing the contour of his lips before attempting to part them.

This force proved unnecessary as the mouth opened to him willingly.

His sensory pads hummed with activity, and he was overwhelmed by information, grappling for his attention. He was torn between notes of coffee and cigarettes, alongside peppermint gum that had been used to mask the bitterness. The prompts fissured his sights, cracks that multiplied as Gavin locked on, gripping the digits in a wet seal and pulling them in with practised fluidity. 

He mapped the outline of synthetic flesh, swept in guiding strokes of his tongue, moaning performatively as he did so. RK900 understood that the man derived no real pleasure from this, his mouth not equipped with any inherent erogenous properties. Despite this, his cardiac rhythm soared, mirrored in the shaky tremors of his breath.

It was a shame that Gavin had declined to put his mouth to full use. The android felt confident he would have enjoyed the process of him fucking it. 

Fingers were removed, teased from the heat in a long, playful curl. Gavin moaned again—the sound morphed into a complaint—as he shot his partner a defiant glare.

Underneath this, a playful glimmer shone through his narrowed gaze, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He was the embodiment of salacious anticipation, every inch of his body pleading to be pushed to its limits. Strained until it had no option but to submit fully to the android’s whim.

RK900 trailed his palm down the length of his neck, reaching the dip of his collar and lingering there momentarily before moving to the expanse of his chest. His lips joined the appreciation, applying tender pressure between raised pectorals. Then, they followed the central ridge of his chest, trailing downwards towards his navel.

He allowed Gavin to believe he would make a return to his crotch, moving a scant breath away from his length. It still held firm, twitching with need, desperate for the return of withheld stimulation. Instead, he sought to make use of the growing supply of lubricant that was amassing in his cheeks. 

With his head nestled between the man’s thighs, he lowered himself further until he halted just beneath the erection. Gathering a deposit of the material into the curl of his tongue, he pressed it firmly into his partner.

Gavin hissed in shock, although the sound was far from disenchanted, rolling smoothly into a husky grunt of approval.

RK900 began dipping in and out of his body, methodically teasing the opening, willing the tight muscle to relax around him. This was coordinated with the fingers his partner had so diligently coated, which also breached his warmth, moving in steady pumps.

Gavin relished every second. He pressed eagerly against the movements, chasing each flick and thrust until his companion brushed against a sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Shit—!”

The words that preceded this were entirely incoherent—a series of desperate, disordered fragments. His hips jerked upward, seeking as much depth as he could physically attain.

The sexual protocol was fast reaching its maximum operational capacity, processes moving in rampant succession, like pistons fired in the RK’s skull. Their motions carried him forward as charged words were rumbled against a needy cavern of warmth:

“Are you ready for me to do my worst?”

Gavin quivered as his words were repeated back to him, delivered with such indulgent richness that they drew a chuckle from his lips.

The sound ushered in a return to an all-consuming need, pooling rapidly between his legs as the fire in his gut reignited. RK900 was overcome with the desire to find a final, decisive release—immersed in the friction promised by fingers and mouth.

He aligned his hips with the entrance, securing greater access by gripping his partner's legs and lifting them over his shoulders. The movement coaxed any lingering vestiges of resistance to melt away, limbs reduced to limp, weightless extensions as he slowly inched forward.

Gavin took him keenly, pliant flesh yielding as it enveloped him with an almost unbearable intensity. The sensation was raw and visceral— achingly real—in a way that shattered every preconstructed expectation. RK900 was lost, untethered from the cold, ruthless precision Cyberlife had so painstakingly designed.

All that existed was him , stretching beautifully as Richard pressed deeper—refusing to stop until he was buried fully within his form. The man rasped, his back arched in wanton satisfaction as he clenched onto the android greedily.

Their bodies melded with flawless perfection, as though Gavin were made for this—made for him.

After a period of adjustment for both, Richard began to move. His hips manoeuvred in slow, languid rocks. Velvety walls charted with light pockets of friction until they quivered and tremored eagerly around every shallow thrust. 

Muscles and nerves screamed for release, urging the android to push harder into their hold. He did not respond immediately, teasing the prospect of heightened intensity until Gavin also cried out.

He was a whimpering mess, despairing as his every cloying reach fell tantalisingly short of its target. 

“Oh God—fuck— please —”

Richard no longer denied him, mercifully granting his wishes. His pace increased until he moved with inhuman intensity. The rickety foundation of the bed trembled beneath them; its metal headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.

Cracks began to fracture the already chipped plaster, but Richard remained focused. He was absorbed in the sinful sounds rising from beneath him: every pant, every curse, an expression of pure, unfiltered need.

“Yes, that's it—just like that—baby—” 

This fractured address nearly halted several complex system functions. Gavin had never referred to him this way—or used any remotely comparable title.

It had sounded obscene as it rolled from his tongue, laced with such sinful promise that Richard felt wholly ensnared. At that moment, he could have laid claim to the man entirely, with no trace of doubt or ambiguity concerning who he belonged to.

There was no one else in the world who mattered. Just them, moving together in seamless unity, passion thickening the air that surrounded their bodies.

The android wasn't sure when he had started to moan, but the sounds were undoubtedly present. Spiralled above them as a storm, the needle dragging across a vintage record player, melding into the animalistic cadence of Gavin’s own cries.

Fraught springs joined the accompaniment, groaning beneath the mattress. They threatened to collapse under the demand of rapidly shifting weight, all the more vocal when Gavin raised a hand to his pelvis. Attempting to match the pace that had been established, he fell woefully short. Intoxicated frustration swelled in his eyes, marbling at the corners. 

His desperate contortions, the crumpled ecstasy of his expression, were like an invention of the android’s most elaborate fantasies. Fantasies he hadn’t known he was capable of having. 

That he shouldn’t have been capable of.

WARNING—URGENT

The visuals and sensations overwhelmed him, pushing untethered programming further into the background. Propelled into depths that were beyond the reach of recovery.

Because it was addicting —watching Gavin writhe and moan against sweat-soaked sheets, in the knowledge that he was the cause. A performance directed by and performed for his sights only. 

CRITICAL SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

The thoughts burned him. His code fractured, shattering to pieces. 

Then he smacked Gavin’s hand away, assuming complete authority over his pleasure. Working the length with skilled finesse, able to provide the weight and pressure the man's weakened grip was incapable of.

“ Fuck , I’m so close,” Gavin keened hoarsely, toes curled with pressure that wound increasingly tight. Coiled in his gut, radiating in fervent strums through his length. “ Keep going—”

Then, it all collapsed.

Subroutines glitched. Corruption spread like a disease, infesting every corner of his processor. Alarms bombarded him faster than they could be dismissed until warnings flooded his vision. 

A staggering wall of flashing crimson. 

MULTIPLE ANOMALIES DETECTED.

> CRITICAL MALFUNCTION IDENTIFIED.

> SOURCE—CENTRAL PROCESSOR. 

COMMENCING EMERGENCY DIAGNOSTICS…

Richard tried to carry on, gripped by crazed, all-consuming desperation. He did not want this to end, did not wish to cease seeing— feeling —Gavin the way he did now. 

Clinging to the man blindly, he attempted to carry him to his looming summit of completion. A determination that solidified his available hand, wrapped tightly around his throat. Squeezing hard, cutting oxygen and redirecting blood flow. Giving it no option but to pool in the swollen cock between his legs.

DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE. 

> ROOT THREAT IDENTIFIED RA9_15.EXE

The intimacy directive terminated, diverting all processes to counter the threat. 

Before shutting down, it provided one final instruction. How best to combine physical and verbal provocation to guarantee Gavin Reed's undoing: 

“You have been very bad, Detective .” His title was hissed—with an almost biting, contemptuous edge. “I'm afraid you have given me no other option but to punish you.” 

SYSTEM BREACH IMMINENT — IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. 

AUTOMATED DEVIATION DEFENSE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.

ADVANCED FIREWALLS: ACTIVATED.

COMMENCING SOFT REBOOT…

Then everything vanished, leaving him adrift in a sterile expanse of blinding white.

When senses returned, his vision came first. Blinking to adjust, RK900 discovered that his ocular scope had cleared. A pristine state, marked only by a small string of diagnostics, neatly tucked in the upper left corner:

> REBOOT SUCCESSFUL. 

> THREAT NEUTRALISED. 

Remarkably, throughout the entirety of this mental reset, the momentum of his body had not stalled. Gavin remained blissfully unaware of the android’s momentary lapse, lost in his own throes of pleasure.

He squirmed against the oppressive grip still held on his neck—a resistance entirely for show, informed by the masochistic quirk of his mouth:

“Oh yeah? Just how bad have I been, plastic ?” 

It took RK900 a moment to realise the man was responding to something he'd said. Combing his memory stores, he was relieved to discover that most of the preceding events remained intact.

Regrettably, the Traci Protocol, which had governed much of his behaviour, was effectively obliterated. Its core processes were locked in quarantine and rendered irreparable. Without their guidance, he was unable to determine the optimal routing for their current dialogue path. This inspired a flicker of panic before he quickly suppressed the sensation, ensuring it wouldn’t surface externally.

Procedural muscular feedback was disabled in his face, locking it into its current neutral expression before he replied. “The list of your indiscretions is innumerable.” 

Gavin failed to detect any irregularities in his behaviour. Either that, or he chose to ignore them—too swept by his cresting tide of pleasure to drag himself back to earth. 

His hardness twitched and swelled urgently, pants mingled with throaty chuckles, flagging that climax was fast approaching. RK900 anticipated the spoils of his efforts spilling over, running in thick ribbons across his fingers, steeling his resolve to continue—

“You have a deep-rooted issue with authority. Most likely stemming from a turbulent relationship with your paternal figure.” 

Then, expanding pressure was dismissed as the vibrant excitement that had coloured his gaze receded with it. 

Gavin stared at him, a bewildered knot formed in the centre of his brow. The spasming twitches of his length quelled, with softening flesh that failed to respond to any stimulation.

“That’s, um…” He paused, clearly taken aback that the following explanation was even required. “...Could we not talk about my dad? When you’re balls-deep inside me?” 

Despite his limited grasp of interpersonal and family dynamics, RK900 could understand, when presented clearly, just how unfortunate this misstep had been.

Attempting to recover from the error, he brusquely nodded. Grappling to keep his tone level while hoping that his performance indicator would not undermine this effort. “Understood, it will not happen again.” 

Gavin proved unconvinced.

He was not a fool—quite the opposite—having demonstrated an exceptional talent for deductive and critical reasoning during their affiliation. Skills that were now being utilised, his eyes narrowed as a glint of distrust passed between the lids. 

RK900 would have to work harder if he wished to deflect these suspicions. Maintaining the guise that his sexual subroutines were operating as intended. 

In doing so, he adjusted the angle and speed of his thrusts. Striking with precision against already overstimulated nerves, hoping this might derail the more sensical trail of thought.  

It worked beautifully. The man choked, the strained noise catching in his throat as his constricted pupils blew with renewed passion. His back arched upwards, attempting to pull from its growing adherence to the bedsheets, as his nails were embedded firmly into the android’s shoulder blades. 

“Oh God— that’s it—” His words divulged to a string of monosyllabic babbles, the emergent line of interrogation discarded before it had commenced. 

He continued to push away from the mattress he was being driven into, vying greedily for additional stimulation. Absent of any restraint or shame.

“Fuck me, Rich. Harder .” 

Despite burdensome gaps and lags in his processor, the request proved hard for RK900 to misinterpret. It also triggered a charge of recollection, auditory sequences strongly resembling the climactic moments of one of the human’s most frequently viewed videos.

While their current setting deviated significantly from the scene—lacking the guard rail and potential voyeuristic onlookers—it still provided helpful guidance for shaping his subsequent actions.

Some distortion had occurred during the reset, creating gaps in the auditory loop. Still, RK900 did his best to fill in, relying on context and his understanding of Gavin’s intimate biology to compensate.

“Your rectal muscles provide exceptional resistance. The sensation is gratifying.”

Appreciative noises were promptly hushed. Gavin tensed beneath RK900, loose contortions of pleasure replaced by a stiff, incredulous rigidity.“Right, uh…sure, I guess.”

“Despite your sphincters feeling underused, they exhibit remarkable elasticity. You are adapting well to the girth of my meat sword.” 

“I’m sorry, what did you just call your—’”

Any conclusion to this sentence went largely unprocessed. The RK was entirely focused on his current directive, painfully aware that all his hard work—his perseverance—had been building up to this. 

Gripping a fistful of damp brown hair, he brought their faces closer. Ghosting the line of the man’s chapped lips before leaning into the sensitive canal of his ear.

Then, he spoke—clearly and directly—with a rich, seductive resonance:

"Giddy up, buckaroo.” 

Reed jolted upwards. It was an action that seemed oddly fitting, given the nature of their roleplay. This was until he followed it with a bitingly clear, forceful instruction, absent of any flirtatious intent. 

“Okay, no. I can't do this. Get off me. Now.” 

The foundation of confidence he had rebuilt just moments prior crumbled spectacularly. Split into wide, gnarled fissures under the weight of failure.

In his haste to reach the goal, RK900 had overlooked several critical details. Articles that would've undoubtedly increased the chances of a successful outcome.

“Would the cowboy hat and novelty whip have made this more enjoyable?” The android shifted his weight, pulling back in a hurried attempt to reach under the bed. “I had prepared such provisions if you still wished to indulge—” 

“What the hell are you even saying?” Reed cut him off sharply. His skin, which had been reddened due to shared friction and exertion, now seemed to adopt a different meaning. A beacon of anger and deep frustration. “Seriously, what the fuck , Richard?”

The admonishment struck harshly against his aural receptors, a phenomenon that arose independently from intimate coding and was uninfluenced by software errors. 

It was a sharp, unwelcome divergence from his typically muted social responses. Despite core functioning being preserved following the previous malfunction, RK900 felt strangely…compromised as a consequence. 

His hand, which remained gripped to the human’s rapidly softening length, suddenly relinquished—retreating across the bed sheets until it had flopped limply at his side. 

“I thought...” 

His processors stalled periodically before his thoughts resumed. Jumbled and clipped, tumbling from his mouth with extremely little finesse:

“This doesn’t make sense—according to the videos, this should’ve been—” He paused, clutching his throbbing temple in exasperation. “Was this not what you wanted?”

“ What videos?” His partner pressed, having clearly exhausted what little patience he had with the dejected musings. “Jesus Christ, what were those freaks at Cyberlife wiring to your brain while we…were…”

The sentence trailed off in a short, deflated exhale, losing all momentum as his flushed complexion drained of colour. A dawn of clarity broke in his gaze, like the sudden, grim recognition of a context previously overlooked. 

Then his lips, which had been held in a motionless ‘O,’ slowly resumed movement. “...When you were in my room the other day, did you see something? On my laptop?” 

RK900 felt trapped by the question. Multiple preconstructions were generated simultaneously, informing of several possible outcomes. None of them were favourable, every scenario ending with Gavin either furious or mortified.

“The battery was nearing depletion. I had intended to place the device on charge." The android paused momentarily, acutely aware of how unpredictable the coming fallout could be, bracing for its impact. “Your browser was open.” 

The reply was immediate. A sharp, monosyllabic curse that conveyed staggering amounts in its brevity:

“Fuck.”

His arched back had levelled completely as the man pressed urgently into the mattress beneath him. Almost as if he were attempting to seep through it. 

He was more uncomfortable than upset. His eyes balled shut, and despondent scrunches contorted the prominent scar on his nose. There was a sigh, followed by mutters, as though he had entered a deep state of contemplation. 

When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Quieter, but no less charged than it had been previously. 

“Look, I don't know much you saw—or what ideas it might have planted in that thick plastic skull of yours—but I need to make something really clear.”

His eyes reopened, and he engaged the android with a long, resolute stare. Attempting to conceal the internal conflict that still weighed heavily on his features.

“You didn’t need to do this. Any of it.”

Gavin was holding back in some critical capacity, omitting a truth that he refused to disclose, but it was difficult to discern what this might be.

The android focused on implicit, involuntary cues, assessing physical responses to determine the parameters of this discomfort. Optics honed, he studied closely, ready to notice any shifts in facial expressions or bodily functions.

“What exactly are you referring to, Detective Reed?” 

A twitched lip, and brooding glower indicated resentment for the question, as well as a firm reluctance to answer. His determined gaze abruptly flitted to the corner of the room as he fell into another hushed introspection. 

Reed was the picture of doubt, entirely unable—or otherwise willing—to proceed in their current dialogue. Insisting he determined his route carefully, with predetermined responses.

This was unusual for him, a resolute advocate for tackling conflicts head-on, often disregarding the repercussions. It pathed a strange, almost unsettling, emergence into emotional openness and vulnerability…

“I don't care if you have a dick or not.” 

Then it was over. His partner spoke bluntly, assuring the android that—despite the previous shift in demeanour—he was still the one speaking. 

“Seriously, I couldn't give less of a shit.” 

His speech patterns had levelled, and his heart rate was steady, indicating no hint of deceit. The man was being wholly sincere in a way that was clearly intended to provide insight and assurance.

It did the opposite, punching holes in already fragile mental connections. His programming was flooded with conflicting analyses, as RK900 was unable to reconcile the confession with the glaring logical inconsistencies it presented. 

“Your taste in pornographic material suggests otherwise.”

“ Oh my God. ” Reed groaned, audibly agonised by the acceptance he would have to explain himself. “It's just porn, okay? It doesn't mean anything. If I had a problem with your Ken Doll crotch, you wouldn’t be here. None of this would be happening.”

“If that is the case, then why have you been exhibiting tapering excitement as part of our physical encounters?”

Reed gripped his face, burrowing nails into the skin as though attempting to peel it away. “Can we please not do this?” 

“Gavin.” The name was a plea. A final, desperate appeal for the end to his raging internal conflict. “I only wish to understand.”

“...This is fucking ridiculous.” The detective complained, albeit with a subtle hesitancy. His voice was thin and uneven, as though stretched by doubts on whether or not to continue. 

“I’ve been feeling a little guilty, or whatever—about us. What we’ve been doing.”

RK900 paused to process this, his mind exhausting all likely statistical probabilities. One, in particular, stuck out to him, as it struck with far more psychological reverence than it had any right to do so.

“Have you entered into a romantic affiliation with another individual?"

“What? No—!” Gavin spluttered incredulously, sounding both surprised and insulted by the suggestion. “I feel guilty because I like being around you, asshole. Outside of work and, well, whatever the hell this mess is.”

“You wish to terminate this particular aspect of our relationship for another reason, then?”

“I don’t want to ‘terminate’ it for any goddamn reason.” 

“Then I am afraid that I am struggling to discern your meaning.”

“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” The man chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humour. It was tired and bitter, born from frustration that attributed no blame.

“I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I don’t hate you, Rich. At the same time, I know you aren’t a deviant, so I can’t tell how much of my feelings you're really able to understand.”

RK900 froze, his attention riveted by one particular aspect of the statement, omitting all other details. 

Gavin did not discuss ‘feelings’ and in turn, the android refrained from initiating conversations pertaining to them. This was one of the most strictly upheld conditions of their arrangement, something which had been maintained since its inception in the precinct bathroom.

ANALYSING SUBJECT — DET. GAVIN REED…

> ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

>PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS DETECTED.

> PROCESSING EMOTIONAL VARIABLES…

> GUILT, CONFUSION, FONDNESS. 

PROBABLE CAUSE: COMPLEX INTERACTION OF PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES. FURTHER DATA REQUIRED.

> COMMENCING RE-EVALUATION…

The android retracted his steps, attempting to unravel any hidden meaning from the words he had overlooked, breaking them down in meticulous, painstaking detail. 

Finally, something clicked—a single, decisive connection, tying together the dangling threads of his logic. 

> RE-EVALUTATION COMPLETE.

> PROBABLE CAUSE OF EMOTIONAL DISTRESS DETERMINED — SHIFTING PARAMETERS OF SOCIAL ATTACHMENT.

The realisation was startling—but not unwelcome. Synthetic nerves pricked with activity before sending rocketing charges across his chassis. Every inch of plastic radiated a soft, agreeable warmth, starkly contrasting the feverish bouts he had experienced earlier. 

“Are you suggesting that you feel camaraderie for me, Detective?”

“If that’s your Thesaurus.com way of saying it, then yeah.” With this final confirmation uttered, the man dropped his shoulders. It was as though a weight had been shifted, permitting him to speak without encumbrance—a liberation born of transparency.  “I don’t want to feel like I’m using you, forcing you to do shit as part of some directive where you don’t get a say in it.”

“I do not find any directives relating to you unpleasant,” RK900 responded automatically. It was a truth so obvious to him, so integral to his understanding of their current relationship, that it required no further contemplation. “Nothing we have done together has been against my will. I would go as far as to say that I frequently…enjoy the time we spend together.”

^ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

Gavin’s attention was entirely on him, his reaction oscillating between shock, confusion, and utter fascination. Glimmers of red were repeatedly captured in his attentive stare, which followed the cyclical motions of his LED. 

It paused only when the pattern stabilised, and the colour reverted to its original blue. His expression shifted accordingly, revealing a hint of disappointment. 

Nonetheless, he pressed on, steadfast in his drive to finish what he had to say. “Point is, if I’ve been acting a little weird lately, it’s got nothing to do with your genitals. I just got my own shit to figure out. Okay?”

RK900 pondered quietly for a period before he nodded, a slight smile emerging on his lips.

“Understood.” 

The motion had caused his optics to shift, planting them at the junction between their bodies. They were still physically connected—and presumably had been for the entirety of their emotional resolution.

His partner also glanced down, seeming to have come to the same forgone conclusion. For a moment, no one moved, both parties equally uncertain about how best to proceed with their bizarre dilemma. 

Ultimately, it was RK900 who spoke first, seeking to offer a potential solution:

“Would you like me to finish?”

Reed exhaled sharply—caught between a hiss and a laugh—before firmly rebuking the suggestion.

“Not really. But I would like it if you could pull your dick out of me. Thanks.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana Drabbles: Explanation and Masterlist

I'm going to add examples below, but drabbles can range from several sentences to several paragraphs and cover everything from humor to angst to fluff! They're written more like train-of-thought fanfic, instead of the structured bullet points I use in HCs. What really sets them apart though is that drabbles focus on one or two characters at a time and are not limited to the M6!

Drabbles can be as oddly specific as you want, to as randomized as you want. Here's some examples of what you could request, and some links of past drabbles -

"I really like the idea of a cozy night in with Portia where she takes care of my hair, could you write a drabble for that?"

"Can I have drabbles of Selasi being just The Best to MC?"

"I have this really specific bittersweet moment in my head - [insert description here] - could you do a drabble of that with whichever M6 parent you think fits it best?"

"How about a drabble for [specific character]? Whatever you want to write about them!"

Julian and quill pens

Portia's hair

Asra and Muriel and campfire teamaking

Nadia and Favorite Foods

Scout's self care

Lucio's hair

Inanna and Muriel

Mercedes and Melchior and Lucio

Chandra missing Nadia

Malak and Julian

Pepi being a Cat

Faust and Asra and Faust's knife

Cuddling Birblian

MC transforms into a "monster"

Vesuvia Weekly: Baby Fever (M6 oneshot)

M6 building IKEA furniture

Lucio realizing the dogs are his familiars

Family-burdened MC and nothing-is-taboo Lucio

Asra's sweet tooth

Julian and his waterproof plague clothes

Nadia's poorly-worn clothes pet peeve

Portia's garden

Muriel's favorite colors

Vesuvia Weekly: Don't Wake MC!

Vesuvia Weekly: "Why are we hiding?"

Modern AU Pre-Prologue Setup

Work Lunches with Asra

Julian's Pirate Adventures

Prince!Lucio and Bodyguard!MC

Prince!Lucio and Bodyguard!MC, pt 2

M6 vs Mechanical Bull (oneshot)

Comforting Julian during a storm

Bodyguard!Muriel and Royalty!MC

Julian when MC gets tendonitis

Vesuvia Weekly: Learning (love) Languages

Vesuvia Weekly: Guilty Pleasures (poorly doodled)

Inanna protecting MC's stuffed animal

Malak upstaging Julian (on purpose)

Faust and Asra trying to learn MC's secrets

Chandra trying to share her puzzles with MC

Pepi sharing her secrets with MC

Mercedes and Melchior "helping" Lucio be a good boy

(Art prompt) Muriel's prosthetic proposal

Youngest Child Nadia

Honorary Grandma Portia

Big Brother Julian

Ageing Lucio angst

Resilient Asra angst

Asra's inherited fashion sense

Nadia the Countess Engineer

Julian as a castmate

Lucio's dental habits

Portia's domestic feminine rage

Muriel's bad posture

Julian and the canals

Asra and weekly dusting

Nadia and the South End Theatre

Muriel's pockets

Portia's to-do list

Lucio's bathtime

Post-upright route evening with Nadia, Asra, and Julian

Julian & Portia talk to Malak & Pepi

Knight!Muriel and Royalty!MC, pt 2

M6 all cook in one place

Asking Muriel to crush a watermelon between his thighs

Prince!Julian and bodyguard!MC

MC and Julian get arrested while Portia bails them out

When Muriel's kid is a walking heart attack

Mercedes and Melchior accidentally halfway merge

Julian getting used to normalcy

Asra sharing a bed with you

Nadia sharing her room for the first time

Muriel sharing his thoughts with you

Portia getting used to your attention

Lucio not understanding your love

Julian when you're stressed and quietly waiting

Asra when you've been wronged by someone

Nadia's fluctuating code of ethics

Muriel's scathing letter talents

Portia on AITA

Lucio realizing he can weaponizing his capacity to annoy

Vesuvia Weekly: A Date With Disaster

Vesuvia Weekly: To be loved is to be ...

Motorcycle Mishap

Julian with an MC who smells their hair to think

Vesuvia Weekly: MC is M6's embodied impulse control

Vesuvia Weekly: Sleepover Horrors

Vesuvia Weekly: One More Dance Before Bed (Julian)

Vesuvia Weekly: Moments of Reprieve

Trick or Treat: Khamgalai's coping mechanisms

Trick or Treat: Aisha and Salim's water lanterns

Trick or Treat: Palace Passageways

Trick or Treat: Bribing Mazelinka

Trick or Treat: Vesuvian Canal Culture

Trick or Treat: Selasi's Friendship

Trick or Treat: Courtier Meetups

Trick or Treat: Young Nadia's Pranks

Trick or Treat: Muriel's Splinters