#then he was a cool dad but for a short time

[suhtorus]

mama's day... again? gojo satoru

fluff ‐ parents au. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerers au, slice of life, mom!reader, unnamed 5 and 2yo sons, 8-month-old daughter. a little late, i knoooow u.u

i remember getting this idea back in november, and i can't believe it's been over six months since i started posting these ( ˊo̴̶̷̤ ̫ o̴̶̷̤ˋ)

little sunshines au

it's a no-school day.

it's the weekend.

so, your eldest can't help but groan when satoru shakes him awake. he's allowed to sleep more on no-school days. why is their dad waking them up so early!?

"guys, c'mon. it's mama's day," your husband's hushed words and beaming smile are met with identical mini copies of his own features, their scowling little faces only making him grin wider.

"again?" your toddler's blue eyes seem to burn a hole through satoru's forehead. "when's mochi day?"

"soon."

"when?"

satoru closes his eyes and breathes in. it's too early for him to lose his cool, and he can't have the kids start the day with tears. not today.

"after mama's day. so, if you want your gifts, you have to help papa."

the two boys happily follow after their dad like baby ducklings.

—

there's a rustle followed by incoherent mumbling—incoherent to others, at least.

because to the trained ear of a mother, it's clear how your son mumbles a string of c'mon, c'mon, c'mon in distress.

your eyes open just in time as your toddler knocks over the candle on your bedside table, struggling with the flower bouquet (which is considerably bigger than him).

"hey, you."

it takes almost ten minutes for your husband to realize he's missing a little duckling, rushing to look for his whereabouts once he remembers he has two sons, not one.

"mochi," he whisper-shouts, stressed out already. he enters your shared bedroom, looking at the floor for that white tuft of hair crawled somewhere under the furniture. "mochi, what's taking you– oh, no."

drapped on top of you, gently held in your arms, lies your son as he tells you about mochi day.

"–gifts and fishies, mama!"

you chuckle at his enthusiasm, basking in the warmth of the duvet and your toddler nuzzled in your arms, the familiar baby scent still lingering on his skin.

"hey," your husband nervously interrupts, walking further into the room until he's right next to your side of the bed. "good morning, gorgeous."

his kiss on your lips is short and adoring, his lips pulling up into a gentle smile.

"i caught you guys," you can't help but smile cheekily at his failed attempt to surprise you. "where are my other two babies? you better not left them unsupervised–"

"no, 'course not. be right back! you–" he grabs your toddler from your arms. "–are coming with me."

—

a few minutes later, the door of your bedroom opens, and your baby girl walks in with the help of her dad.

"oh my– is that my sweet little baby?"

your coos earn you an excited squeal from your daughter as soon as her eyes notice you. your husband gently holds her hands as she walks towards you, stumbling over her tiny feet before satoru lifts her up and settles her on the bed with you.

right behind him is your toddler.

"for you, mama."

you take the small box from his hands, ready to bring him up on the bed with you, "thank you, baby."

"hold the kisses. there's more, remember?" satoru reminds your son, and he nods, rushing out of the room before you can even demand a kiss on the cheek.

your two boys walk back in carrying a gift bag—a huge one. after a brief struggle to place it on the bed, both boys huff heavily before smiling proudly at each other.

"what do you say?" satoru tries to give your youngest son a cue, which he obviously misses.

"thank you!"

you can't help but chuckle at his proud little grin, his older brother shaking his head next to him.

"no, mochi. the other thing." your son corrects his baby brother.

"happy birthday?"

"happy mother's day, my angel."

both your husband and son give up, sighing as the toddler now looks confused and utterly lost.

satoru swiftly launches each kid onto the bed before joining as well, needing the cuddles after a hectic morning.

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 5 // (8.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 5 | << Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

2 Years 8 Months

Tuna Kuna,

I feel like I’m finally starting to get settled in my new place. It’s interesting exploring downtown after being gone all these years. A lot of the old rundown warehouses are high end condos now and a lot more restaurants and bars have opened up.

I’m loving my place so far. It’s just a block from the riverfront park and trails. Great view of the mountains too. My parents thought I was crazy at first but you know how it is when someone has lived in the same area forever, they truly believe it’s armed and dangerous haha. 

There are a lot more young people around here too it seems. Since the university has grown in size, so has the young professional population. If I still live here when you get out, you’ll have to come sit on the balcony with me. It’s fun watching the trains go by, dogs running around in the park, and people watching to your hearts content. Maybe you can even grill us up some food, I’ve been cooking for myself for almost three years at this point, it’s your turn to come carry the load :P.

It’s about time Gojo started seeing his daughter! I understand not wanting her to come when she was a tiny baby, but the girl deserves to know and meet her dad. Just because he’s in jail doesn’t make him a horrible person. 

This might be random, but I met your cousin and his wife. She works at the university hospital with me and long story short, found out her husband is Choso! Small world…well more like small town problems ha! 

Speaking of, I’m loving the job so far. Being a physician's assistant in a rural area is definitely hard work, but it’s also rewarding considering there is such a shortage here. 

My parents also say hello. I ended up telling them about us. Well, not everything…but about how we got to know each other while I was here house sitting and now we write to each other and talk on the phone every now and then. They were surprisingly cool about it all. 

What have I eaten good this month? I’ve eaten my weight in barbecue since coming back home, drank my weight in sweet tea, and the cantaloupes are in season so I seem to perpetually have one cut up in the fridge. I feel bad talking about food to you but if it gives you good daydreams and thoughts, I’ll do it for you. 

Well, I guess that’s it for now, I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon!

Your dearest girl of the tomatoes,

PS how long are we going to keep this up? Been going on almost three years of this nickname, I promise I like other fruits and vegetables ha ha. 

Sukuna snickers, shaking his head as he reads the last line. He knows you don’t even like tomatoes that much, but it’s a cute nickname he doesn’t think he’ll ever let go anytime soon. 

“Giggling over there huh?” Gojo drawls, laying on his side on his metal frame of a bed, biting his cuticles, white hair pushed out of his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna hisses, reading through the letter for a second time. He tries to read them multiple times with the hope that each time he’ll get something different out of it. 

He loves reading about food. Prison food isn’t entirely awful, but it’s definitely not as good as shit on the outside. 

“So what’s new in your girl's life?” Gojo asks, getting up and stretching before approaching Sukuna in his bed.

“She moved back to our hometown. Got a job at the university hospital,” Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper in his hand, eyes tracing the handwriting he’s become familiar with. It’s comforting in a way, noticing the unique way you draw certain letters, your little quirks evident in such a simple way. 

The juxtaposition of his heart is always surprising to him. While it feels so full continuing to hear from you, it also feels incredibly empty knowing he’s stuck in here unable to be with you during the various seasons of life. He knows he’ll be left behind when it comes to the outside world, but he hopes you’ll be patient with him when he gets out someday and show him the ropes of the modern world.

“It’s time cellmate,” Gojo stares down at him, mouth curling into a small smirk. 

Sukuna flicks his eyes up at him, his own lips returning a grin. 

“Alright, get ready to lose again,” he sits up, following Gojo to the steel table and chairs against the wall. 

Both men shed their shirts revealing their muscular forms. Since being in jail, Sukuna had put on more weight in the form of pure muscle. There wasn’t much else to do in here. 

Taking their places on opposite sides, Gojo claspes Sukuna’s hand in his as they get into an arm wrestling position. 

“Elbows stay on the table,” Gojo mutters, blue eyes piercing Sukuna’s crimson gaze as they size each other up.

“One.”

“Two”

“Three!”

They both start flexing, testing the other’s strength, trying to find a weak point. Going back and forth, their fingers dig into each other’s hands, elbows pressing down into the cold metal. 

“Looking nervous over there,” Sukuna chuckles, tongue sticking out in concentration. 

“I’d never be nervous over your dumb ass,” Gojo scoffs, doubling down to counter Sukuna’s advances. 

Eventually Sukuna slams Gojo’s hand down, claiming victory.  

“Weak ass, I’m still the strongest,” Sukuna jumps up, punching the air. His pink hair is a mess, a few strands sticking to his forehead from breaking a sweat. 

Gojo just laughs in response, leaning back in the chair, watching Sukuna take his victory lap. 

Sukuna remembers the letter on his bed, retrieving it to store on the shared shelf against the wall with the other letters. He saves every one, filing it by date with the others. He reads them almost every day, like a book he never gets tired of and knows by heart. 

The letters are his most valuable possession by far. They keep him semi sane and bring him more comfort than anything else ever could. 

A clang at the cell door startles him, he’d been so focused on carefully putting the new letter away he hadn’t noticed the guard unlocking the door.

“Sukuna, get over here,” the guard barks.

Sukuna sighs out loud, wondering what they could want. It wasn’t his allotted computer time for school, and he wasn’t expecting visitors.

He turns around, the practiced routine of getting cuffed like muscle memory at this point. 

“You’re getting transferred, I’m taking you to processing.”

“Holy shit what?” Sukuna says in surprise. This was certainly a twist. 

“Prison system is too crowded, we need to move folks around to make space,” the guard says shortly, tugging him out into the hallway.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto his shelf of letters.

“My things, can I take them? I need those letters-“ 

“No, everything’s gonna be trashed. Can’t take shit out of here,” the gruff response has him reeling.

Panic shoots through him, causing him to lunge back without thinking.

“Inmate what the fuck you think you’re doing,” the guard yanks him back, throwing him to the ground, bare stomach pressed into the cold tile floor. 

“Those are special to me, please, I’ll do anything…” he trails off, feeling tears start to well up. He can’t lose the only evidence of your connection he has. Never did he expect a bunch of paper would hold so much meaning to him. He didn’t even know your new address, and you wouldn’t know his either. 

Panic begins to set in, throat feeling tighter and tighter as chills trickle down his spine. 

“Nothing I can do about it,” the guard drags him back up, not bothering to look at him as he shoves Sukuna forward.  

For the third time, he feels like he’s losing you all over again. 

***

Normally you’d expect to hear something from Sukuna after about a month, but eight weeks later you were still letter-less. 

He hadn’t called either, which while calls from him were rare, one normally seemed to roll in once a month or so.

Today was not that day though, so you finished drinking your morning coffee on the balcony of your apartment, soaking in the summer rays and feeling the humidity starting to burn out of the early morning air.

Your phone buzzed on the table next to you, seeing it was your group chat blowing up. Some of you were planning to meet up downtown to hang out in the park, so you were just going to walk from your place.

In typical small town fashion, everyone was more connected than you’d realized. Yuki, who was married to Choso, Sukuna’s cousin, was also childhood friends with Utahime, Gojo’s baby mama / girlfriend. Your old friend, Shoko, was also off this weekend so she would be joining you as well.  

Yuki was saying that Choso was likely also coming with his younger brother Yuji, so you were mentally preparing to interact with a crowd of people in a little while. You’d met Choso in the grocery when you and Sukuna had gone together, but he’d dipped from the drug business shortly after Sukuna’s arrest. He’d initially done it for some side money, so not as involved as Sukuna.

You didn’t mind the boys coming, you enjoyed hearing the stories of young Sukuna and it felt good to be connected to at least some of his family during this time. Even though you had no relationship with his parents, the cousins were incredibly kind and welcomed you with open arms.

Little Yuji was just a ray of sunshine while Choso was more quiet and reserved. Sukuna existed somewhere in between, his goofy but intense personality a happy medium.

You sit in silence, distracted by a dog chasing a frisbee across the park, catching it after a graceful jump and trotting back to its owner. The owner rubs the dog's sides and praises it before tossing the disc across the grass again. 

Cute, you think to yourself, impressed with the way the dog always drops the toy at the man’s feet. After a few more rounds, you retreat back inside, cleaning up the counter before hopping in the shower. 

The hot water washes over you, relishing in the sting it brings. Your mind wanders to Sukuna again, racing as it turns over every stone, unearthing unfavorable scenarios as to why he isn’t responding.

Did he get hurt?

Did he get tired of doing this with you?

Was there someone else this whole time?

The possibilities just get more and more ridiculous as you let the water pour down your face. 

He seems so invested in this. Literally three years have passed at this point, why would he still be talking to you all this time if there were others? He didn’t seem like that type considering he was head over heels for you.

He was a drug dealer though, surely that type had girls fawning all over them. 

Especially Sukuna. He’s so good looking and just exudes an air of confidence that would draw in women like a moth to light. 

You shake your head, attempting to rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts. He’s given you no reason to think this way, why was your brain self sabotaging you at this point? 

Try to give yourself some grace, you remember that line one of your friends had dropped on you on a particularly tough night. 

Nothing about any of this is normal, you’re waiting for a man who would go to the ends of the earth for you. Prematurely ripped away from you when you both were wide eyed and hopeful about the world you were about to mold.

Now that scene you’d begun to paint looks nothing like it initially was intended, but the same two subjects were still within the frame, just on opposite ends of the parchment.

Holding onto that same hope that started it all. 

You haven’t cried in a while, but right now a moment of weakness seems to have overpowered you. There’s no point in fighting it, clearly your body is trying to release some of the tension that inevitably builds up over time as this isn’t your first rodeo breaking down in the shower.

What if you both get out and you are different people? People who no longer are interested in the other. All this time wasted like the water swirling down your drain. 

You’re putting so much faith in promises that will have been made ten years ago when it’s all said and done. The world can look entirely different by then.

But the underlying makeup should remain the same. The sun will still rise and set, the ground below your feet will still be solid, down to the atomic level everything will be made up of these little balls of protons, neutrons, and electrons, and gravity will still anchor you to the earth. 

Surely if the foundation of the earth is constant, you could relearn anything because you’d have a firm jumping point.

Your bond can hopefully do the same. It’s all you can have faith in at this point; trusting in the plans and pacts you and Sukuna forged after becoming one together. 

That alone brings you hope, and for now, it’s enough. 

***

“There she is!” you hear Yuji call out from behind you. The sounds of thumping footsteps only confirms his arrival as he appears at your side, diving onto the outdoor blanket you are sitting on.

“What’s up buddy?” you laugh as he rolls into a chaotic crash landing at your feet. The boy is only about 8 years old and has the accompanying energy to match. 

“School is almost over for summer, I can't wait!” he announces, rolling onto his back to look at you upside down.

“Yuji don’t dive onto people!” Choso’s delayed command sounds as he appears in your peripheral with Yuki in tow.

“Oh my gosh can you believe how lame that potluck was at work yesterday?” she giggles as she joins you on the blanket.

“This is why potlucks are so stupid. Workplace is too cheap to just get us food, we still need to do the work ourselves,” you roll your eyes, remembering how there were essentially seven separate packages of grocery store cookies and hardly any real food.

A dessert spread more than a team lunch. 

“Did you talk to Uncle Kuna?” Yuji rolls onto his stomach, pink hair wild and unruly after thrashing about on the ground. 

The breath catches in your throat as you are reminded of the situation. 

“I haven’t sweetie,” you respond, trying to hide the rawness in your voice.

“Why not?”

You feel your face sag slightly, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s just busy,” you shrug.

“He might not want to talk to you!”

“Yuji!!” Choso snaps, grabbing him by the arm to pull him up. “That’s not nice to say to people. Apologize.”

He gives you an apologetic look while Yuji mutters a sorry before dashing off to the playground adjacent to your group.

You just chuckle, “it’s really alright, he doesn’t understand.”

“Yeah well still, it’s not okay,” Yuki scoffs, shaking her head as he bounds away. “Can’t believe that brat is technically my brother in law. No filter on him.”

All three of you laugh, it was pretty wild having a brother in law almost twenty years younger than you. 

“So you really haven’t heard from him?” Choso probes, laying out their own blanket next to you.

“Yeah, it’s been almost two months at this point. I don’t want to worry, but I’m worrying,” you give an awkward giggle.

“I mean yeah that’s not like him,” Yuki agrees, pulling the cooler over. “Beer?” she opens the lid.

“Sure,” you reach in and grab one, cracking open the can and letting the cold liquid trickle down your throat. 

“I hope he’s okay. Hopefully didn’t get in a fight and fuck himself up or something…or fuck up someone else and get in trouble,” Choso adds, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“Hey sorry I’m late!” Utahime appears, dropping the rowdy snow haired toddler in her arms into your lap while she unfolds her chair. 

“Nooooo!” the little girl squirms, attempting to launch herself from your arms while you hold her hostage. 

“Hey. Enough,” her mother says sternly as you release her onto the blanket in front of you. Bold blue eyes just stare back at everyone before she becomes preoccupied with the toys Utahime drops out of the diaper bag.

“Hey mommy, hanging in there?” Yuki asks an exhausted looking Utahime.

“As best I can, she sighs. Being a single mom is not what I ever wanted. Your daddy really picked a good time to go get locked up!” she says to the toddler with a smirk, but you know there’s at least a little truth to it. 

“We were just talking about how she hasn’t heard from Sukuna in over two months,” Yuki says as she rolls a ball for little Akari to play with. 

“Oh, hmm, Gojo actually got transferred a few weeks ago, I wonder if the same thing happened to Sukuna? It took a little while for me to find out about Gojo, but not this long of course.” 

“I’m calling it, he got in a fight,” Choso says again.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Yuki argues back. “He hasn’t had any issues this entire time.”

“Yeah he’s never said anything about not getting along with the other inmates,” you follow up, repositioning yourself to better face everyone. 

“If he got transferred though, that’s a whole new group of people. You didn’t know him before, but he was a literal demon when he was younger. Always scuffling with people, drunk fights in college, and always getting into it when he was a street dealer. Once he became the top dog, it kinda stopped,” Choso explained to your surprise. This part of him had never really come up until now.

“Wow seriously?” you respond, taken aback at his words.

“Yeah. He never like, seriously hurt someone, and he’s seemed to largely grow out of it, but still. Scary guy when we were younger,” Choso leans back on his hands, looking up at you.

“He just was so charming and goofy when we hung out, I can’t imagine it,” you smile, imagining Sukuna with a black eye or two strutting around like hot shit.

“Oh yeah, he’s a great guy at the end of the day. He’d do anything for the people he cares about,” Yuki adds. “In high school Choso got into some shit and since he couldn’t get out of it on his own, Sukuna took out like three other guys on his own. Scared them so bad they never fucked with him again. Most of his fights were justified in my eyes.”

“Unless it was Gojo,” Utahime laughs. “Those two fought all the fucking time. I don’t even think they knew why once they got older. Some kind of childhood rivalry that carried on and probably still does in jail. Could beat each other up and then the next day be best friends. Even in rival drug rings, there was some weird mutual respect between them. Honestly poetic they ended up cell mates.” 

This is what you loved about this group of friends. Everyone went so far back and had an entertaining history with each other. Plus hearing cringey Sukuna stories gave you teasing ammunition for when he got out. 

“Hun I’m sure he’s okay, he’s not an idiot. He knows he needs to behave to get out. I don’t think he’d intentionally jeopardize his future with you like that,” Utahime pats your shoulder in support, giving you an understanding smile.

“I hope so,” you answer, feeling a little better about everything.

“I’m sure of it. Gojo says he rambles on about you all the time. He’s got your letters all securely stored and sorted. Said he reads them all every day.”

You can’t tell if your heart wants to break or swell in response. It’s so sweet that he’s like that, but also makes you feel very sad for him. It must be so lonely in there, you just want to hug and comfort him.

If only he’d let you visit! Stubborn bastard.

The rest of the afternoon is a blast. Shoko eventually joins too after her shift. You are thankful for this support system you happened to find yourself in. It makes everything just a little easier.

***

3 Years

“Fuck, I’m so glad you picked up!” Sukuna’s voice on the other line makes you drop your phone in surprise. 

Four months. Four fucking months since you heard anything from him. 

“Sukuna!! Where have you been? I was so worried!” you sob into the phone once you get it out from under the kitchen table as it took an unlucky bounce. Thank god it didn’t hang up!

“Oh god, it’s a long story. I got transferred, and it took fucking forever to get processed out and into the new place. No phone time and I couldn’t remember your new address of course. Well then I get in there and immediately get jumped by some other inmates. Guess there is some serious hierarchy in this place and they like to intimate the newbies. 

“Unfortunately for them, I kinda laid them out. You see sweets, I can throw a punch or two.”

“So I heard from your cousin,” you snicker, Choso was right all along.

“Ugh, that dick. I’m not like that anymore. Well, except for now, fuck! Not what I meant… let me finish the story!” you can imagine him shaking his head in annoyance.

“Well they fucked me up too. I don’t look too hot unless you’re into that. So I got put into a solitary area more so for mine and their own protection. So once again, no phone or letter time,” he finishes with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh Sukuna, I'm sorry that happened to you. I’m so glad you’re okay though. I was worried sick!”

“Aw you were worried about me tomato girl?” he says in a playful tone.

“Course I was you idiot! I’m always worried about you. Can you just make sure to come back home in one piece?” you huff at him while sporting a huge smile. You don’t even care, just over the moon that he's okay.

“I’ll try, baby. Anything for you,” his velvety voice serenades your ears. You’d missed it so much, hearing it again has parts of your brain firing up that you swear have been dormant the last few months. 

“Good.” 

It’s all you can say, tears threatening to burst from your eyes from happiness.

“Are you crying?”

“Sh-shut up Sukuna!” you stutter, sniffling into the phone as you feel the screen get damp against your cheek. 

His playful laugh sounds from the other side.

“It’s okay baby. It really is. I promise-“

“I'm just so happy to hear your voice, you have no idea,” you force out, trying to regain your composure. You don’t want to waste these precious minutes crying. 

“Me too sweets. My knees practically buckled when you answered. God I miss you so much. It’s okay now though. There shouldn’t be any more fights or shit. They know I’m not gonna fuck with them as long as they leave me be.” 

“I’m glad.”

“How’s the move and new job been?” he changes the subject.

“It’s been going great actually. Pretty much settled at the new job and my new place feels just like home. I missed the slower pace of life here. And the kind people. I’m right where I need to be. Just waiting on you,” you answer him. 

“I know. A third of the way there. Think you can wait the rest of it out?”

“I do. My friends and family have been a godsend. Your family and Utahime as well. It feels less like I’m going through it alone.”

“Tch, you hanging out with Gojo’s girl is so fitting. She’s a good woman though sticking by him through all this. Honestly he is too. You’ll have to meet him when we get out.”

“I heard you all have quite the history,” you giggle.

“With that bastard? Absolutely. It’s all mutual though. I’m better though, in all ways,” he grumbles.

You both sit in silence, daring the other to speak first. Finally you cave, some of the insecurities from earlier rearing their ugly heads.

“Hey Sukuna?”

“Hmm?”

“What if you get out and we’re completely different people and it’s…not the same?” you tremble as you finish your question.

“Then I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious and simple response. 

“But what if it’s you who doesn’t want me?”

“Tch, impossible.”

“Sukuna! Be serious!” you whine.

“Sweetheart, I am being serious, it would take an act of god for me to stop loving you. Think about it, we only knew each other for a short time and I fell so hard so fast. I don’t fall in love. Never have, thought I never would. But I did, and I don’t regret it for a second.

“Over the past three years, I’ve only fallen more and more. It might seem weird to you considering I’m in jail, but with how you go out of your way to stay in touch and talk to me, how you stay by my side through the bad…so much bad, it means more than anything to me. I can’t wait to spoil you rotten and try to make it all up to you, to show you how you mean everything to me. I don’t think I could ever compare to the devotion you’ve exhibited over the years, but I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

You have to sit down as the butterflies explode in your gut. Why you? Why was it you he allowed into his life and decided to love so fiercely? One day you’ll ask, but for now you’ll just have to trust him and believe in him, just like he’s believed in you all these years.

“I’ve gotta go in a minute,” Sukuna says after a pause. “I promise to be more in touch now. Still good to talk on Saturday mornings?”

“Yes, one hundred percent. I was worried I’d need to call a different inmate when I stopped hearing from you.”

He gives an amused huff in response.

“You better not!” he whines, “only allowed to talk to me.”

“You’re the only one I want to talk to anyways you goof,” you laugh. 

“Good. I love you tomato girl. Always.”

“I love you too Sukuna.”

*** 

3 Years 3 Months

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t more animated as Hiromi opens the car door for him. Maybe everything still just doesn’t seem real yet, the shock from the morning yet to wear off after being told he was being let out on parole. After mentally preparing himself to be locked up for ten years, having the rug pulled out from under him in the best possible way had rocked him to his core. 

He recalls how he was immediately processed and escorted to his lawyer who thankfully guided him into the parking lot as he was trapped in a state of disbelief.

Everything is overwhelming. The sounds of traffic and cars on the highway was foreign at this point and the wide open expanses of the rolling hills and farmland felt too exposed compared to being locked away in a low ceiling cell with one source of natural light and only one person to talk to all day. 

As they got closer to town, all the changes that happened while locked away were becoming too much to process. A new president, new buildings appearing all over, gas prices that made his eyes pop out of his head. 

Everything was so different, but he prayed that your love for him had remained unchanged. All these other things he could figure out, but you no longer wanted him, nothing else mattered. 

“Can you take me downtown? Jefferson street along the river,” he blurts out to Hiromi.

“Of course. Is that where she is now?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna replies simply, heart starting to race at the thought of seeing you.

The closer they got, the more he truly believed he’d have to ask his lawyer to pull the car over to puke all over the side of the road. Being forced into a life without you for ten years had been scary, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer terror that would follow as he prepares to show up unannounced to the woman he needs more than life itself, not knowing if she’d take him back.

“Want me to wait?”  Hiromi jars him from his thoughts, now parked next to an old brick warehouse fixed up into condos.

Is the damn lawyer thinking the same thing? That there’s a very real possibility of the life he’d built in his mind crumbling before his eyes?

“Nah, I got it,” Sukuna shoots Hiromi his trademark smirk before turning around and heading towards the lobby door.

***

It’s a paperwork day so that means working from home. You appreciate these times so you can get some chores done while you’re at it. Usually you can swing one day a week remote and it really has improved your quality of life.

Moving some clothes from the washer to the dryer, you glance up at the time. 

2 PM. 

Just about two more hours and you’ll be done for the day. You start the dryer, leaving the laundry basket next to the machine so you can collect everything and fold them later. 

Trudging back to the office, you sit down and stare out the window. At least it’s Friday, and with only two more charts to complete, you very much intend to drag out the day until the weekend. 

Just as you begin to start the next chart, your doorbell rings.

Weird, it’s not too common to have anyone coming to your door considering you live in a condo that opens to an interior building hallway. 

Sighing in annoyance, you leave the office and cross the living room, cracking the door to peer out into the hallway.

If you weren’t leaning against the brick wall next to you, you probably would have blacked out and fainted as your eyes reveal what is before you.

Messy pink hair. Tired crimson eyes. Tattoos wrapped around his wrists and painting his face and sharp jawline.

“What the fuck!?!” you shriek as you fling the door open the rest of the way, hearing it slam the wall.

You stand, frozen in the doorway, feeling about five different emotions at once as you try to process what stands before you. Your brain would just have to catch up later though because your legs propel you towards him as you launch yourself into his arms, hugging him as tight as you can. Even though he smells like some cheap, sterile shampoo, to you, it’s the best thing your nose has ever inhaled as you press your face into his toned chest. 

It means he’s here. With you. In the flesh. Why? You haven’t a clue.

Sukuna’s arms hover behind you as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Trying to make sure this is real. Everything he’d dreamed of right here in front of him. He’d walked up to your place, stomach in knots as he tried to prepare himself to face you for the first time in over three years. Would you actually want to see him? Was there the possibility of you living some double life he didn’t know about?

None of that seems to be the case though, and he finally cages you against him, arms wrapped around your back making you feel more secure and safe than you ever have.

All the emotion begins to well up into the form of tears on his shirt as the somatic response leaves your body. Sobbing against him, you twist your fingers into the back of his shirt as your knees become shaky. Sukuna must notice because he hauls you up off your feet and carries you through the doorway, kicking it shut behind him. Once inside, he leans back against the door, supporting your body while you just unleash all the pain from three years.

“H-h-how? Why? What the fuck is going on?” you choke out, finally starting up into the crimson eyes you only saw in your dreams.

“Why don’t we sit down before you hurt yourself,” Sukuna chuckles and that almost makes your legs feel like jello all over again. His laugh. Hearing it in person. It dislodges another piece of the grief inside and has you crying all over again.

“Sweetheart I hope these are tears of joy or happiness,” he lifts you into his arms once he realizes you can’t walk again. 

“Of course they are you idiot,” you rasp out as he lowers you both to your couch, cradling you against his chest before setting you gently next to him.

“I got released on parole this morning. I’m not a hundred percent in the clear, but I don’t need to go back to jail. I have to check in with a parole officer and have some conditions I need to live by for the rest of the sentence, but other than that, I’m out. I can start living my life again,” his smile only grows as he explains, as if finally believing it himself.

You just stare at him in disbelief, all your prayers answered and the evidence is sitting right in front of you. 

“I just can’t believe it. You’re here. We’re together again. Do you still want me? Like want to do this with me? Life together?” you start rambling out the thoughts as they come into your head.

“Course I do. That’s why I came to you first tomato girl,” he melts your heart with the boyish grin you never forgot about.

“I’m your first stop?”

“Mhmm. And my last.”

You launch yourself into his arms again, straddling his lap and studying his face closer as he wraps you up in his arms again. His thumb reaches up to swipe the tears off your cheeks, red eyes boring into your soul, briefly flicking down to your lips before darting back to meet your gaze.

Leaning in slowly, your noses brush, lips trembling as they brush against his. Your fingers run up through his hair, twisting into the fluffy pink locks, blinking in disbelief that he’s really here.

Soft, chaste kisses are shared between you both as you start to re-acquaint yourselves with each other. You feel incredibly nervous, like it's your first kiss all over again, so you pull back briefly so you can catch your breath since apparently you forgot to breathe through all of that.

His lidded eyes meet yours, grinning at you while you feel your face heat up.

“You okay?” he asks softly, tracing small circles on your back where his hands are resting.

“Yeah, I’m just so nervous for some reason,” you chuckle, noticing a slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I am too, but it’s okay. You don’t need to impress me. I’m the happiest man alive right now even though it's clumsy and out of sync. It’s with you, and that alone makes this the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again Sukuna,” you force out. He’s being so sweet, but he’s right. Who the fuck cares, you’ll both figure it out together. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.

“Well let’s practice again hmm?” Sukuna purrs, hand moving to cup your cheek and pull you in again. This time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. You can feel the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as your tongue meets his, moving together in a clumsy dance as you re-familiarize yourself with how he tastes.

You giggle as your teeth accidentally clash with his, but that seems to loosen you up a little and you quickly forget about it, running your tongue along his gums and chasing his around his mouth. Finally finding a decent rhythm, your movements become more and more desperate, Sukuna’s grasp on your chin tightening as he deepens the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.

Your hands start to wander, slipping under his shirt and grazing your fingertips over his rigid abs and chest, feeling every dip and ridge of his muscles as you feel him up. Sukuna groans into your mouth and you feel something hard twitch beneath you, instinctively grinding yourself against him. The pressure on your clothed clit makes you moan against his lips, feeling his hands moving to grip your hips to push you against his erection again, harder this time.

“Su-Sukunaaa,” you gasp, pulling back to glance down, his thick bulge prominent against his pants, you situated right on top of it. Your heart is pounding so fast you think it might burst, feeling the heat rush to your core.

“Hmm?” Sukuna leans back to look up at you, lidded eyes full of lust, “we can stop if you want baby.”

“Can we just…go somewhere else more comfortable? Not my living room,” you mutter, “I’m just not used to any of this. Feel like I’m going through my first time all over again,” you chuckle.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a grin, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Of course, your bedroom?”

You nod and he carries you down the hall, setting you down on your bed as he kicks his shoes off before joining you. Laying down your head on the pillows, you pull him back on top of you to kiss you again, hands trailing down to his waist and pulling his shirt up to his shoulders.

“Shirt off?” Sukuna asks, face hovering just above yours.

“Mhmm.”

Sukuna sits back on his heels, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor.

His body takes your breath away. He’s even more muscular than you remember, tattoos snaking down his torso to disappear into the waistband of his pants, the top of his boxers bunched up on his hips.

You can’t help yourself, sitting up to run your hands all over him, shamelessly feeling him up and tracing each trail of ink down his body, not yet brave enough to follow them lower.

“You’re so jacked holy shit,” you whine as you start to focus on his abs.

“Heh, not much to do in there besides endless pushups tomato girl,” he chuckles, eyes watching your hands, clearly enjoying your exploration.

“I wanna take my clothes off, but you’re just so fucking shredded I feel like I’m gonna look like a joke compared to you,” you smirk at him, fiddling nervously with your shirt.

“Baaaaby you’re the most beautiful woman to me. Look, I want you to be comfortable, but fuck I wanna see you. I promise I’m gonna love it,” Sukuna starts to get more of a feral look in his eye, voice a little whiny in anticipation.

“Okay, just like, don’t look okay?” you laugh, not even sure why that is going to help anything, he’s going to see the end result anyways. Standing up, you peel off your outer layers, leaving your bra and panties on.

Sukuna is behaving, looking away from you like you asked. It warms your heart, and that gives you the final push to just take off everything. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.

“You can look now,” you giggle, laying back down.

Sukuna turns around and disbelief hits his face as soon as he sees you.

“Oh my godddd, so fuckin’ sexy,” his eyes immediately focus on your tits. You reach for his hand and place it on your breast, watching the way his jaw tenses up as his eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Fuckkkkk baby. First woman I’ve seen naked in 3 fuckin’ years. Last one too. God I need to get my pants off or I think I might seriously bust all over myself. Well, still might, but all this pressure is killing me.”

You burst out laughing, sitting up to unbutton his pants while he gropes all over your tits, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers and brushing his fingertips across your nipples.

Sukuna lets go of you momentarily to shimmy off his pants and boxers, finally freeing his cock from its confines, hanging heavy in front of you. You can’t help but swallow hard, no way you can take all that! Sure you have before, but that was when you weren’t coming off a 3 and a half year dry spell.

“Sukuna fuck! You’re so big!” you reach out to fondle his balls before wrapping your hand around his shaft, making his whole body jerk in response. “I fuckin’ want it though, but god you’re gonna kill me with that thing.”

Sukuna inhales sharply as you stroke his length, teeth digging into his lip as he watches your hand work him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, shit baby, feels so gooooood,” Sukuna groans, thrusting up into your hand one time before gasping, ripping your hand away.

“Shit I’m gonna cum so fast whatever we do, I’m not gonna even be able to fuck you properly, I apologize in advance,” a deep flush spreads to his neck and chest as you notice his tip leaking with so much pre-cum, his whole cock is glistening and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Just finger me real quick Kuna, please, I need something at this point,” you moan, your cunt starting clench around nothing, desperate for some kind of relief.

He moves quickly, pushing you back down into the pillows as his hand caresses your inner thigh, inching closer to your needy pussy.

“So fucking beautiful, all for me,” he groans, brushing his knuckles against your soaking cunt.

“Baaaaby soooo wet already goddamn,” his husky voice says as he drags some of your slick up to your clit, rubbing tight circles against your bundle of nerves.

“Oh my godddd, Sukuna!” you squeal, everything so sensitive but experiencing pleasure like you haven’t in years. Your vibrators were good, but he was better.

Your eyes slam shut, writhing as he stimulates your clit. It’s pure bliss, finally able to be intimate with the man you love, touching you in the way you’ve craved. Then you feel it, a push at your entrance as his thick finger starts stretching out your walls, working you open with shallow thrusts.

“Ah, fuck!” you grimace at the brief moment of pain that quickly gives way to pleasure as his knuckles drag along your velvety walls.

“You okay?” he asks, thrusting slowly in and out, the clicking sounds indicating how wet you are each time he pushes back in.

“Yeah, just hurt at first. Do another,” you force out, the pleasure intensifying as you get used to the feeling.

Sukuna briefly pulls out, the loss of fullness making you needy. He’s quick to refill you though, the burning stretch returning as he pushes two fingers inside, making you grip his arm in pain. 

“Breathe, relax, you’re clenching me so hard, which I’d normally love, but it's hurting you,” Sukuna says gently, not going any deeper, watching you carefully.

You focus on your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply a few times, trying to slacken the muscles in your pelvis.

“That’s better, keep doing that,” he purrs, talking you through it as he starts to thrust deeper, the pain soon subsiding. Every thrust of his fingers hits a new angle inside of you, probing for your sweet spot. Eventually, one spot has you moaning, arching your chest into his where he settled next to you.

“Hmm baby, right there? Like this?” he hums as he crooks his fingers up into your sweet spot, fingerfucking you at such a grueling pace that all you can do is whine and turn into a writhing mess beneath him. Your vision is seeing stars at this point as he pushes you towards your release. 

Sukuna leans down to pull a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud while his thumb pad presses against your clit.

“Sukuna! Ohh-oh my god, please, don’t stop, just like that! Fuck Sukuna!” you start babbling nonsense as the pool of desire deep within your cunt begins to ignite, causing you to shatter as the orgasm tears through your body. Your fingers rip through his hair as you arch into his face, cunt gushing onto his hand while clenching so hard, sucking his fingers in deeper.

“Oh fuckkkkk, yesss like that baby, god cum all over me. Fuckin’ perfect girl,” Sukuna’s deep voice just makes it all better as he makes sure you are stimulated through every second of your climax. Finally your body stills, feeling his fingers slip out, coated in your juices.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Sukuna says with a pop as he pulls them out of his mouth, glancing down at your ruined state before leaning down to pepper your chest and neck with kisses, making you giggle as he finally finds your lips again.

“Mmm want you to fuck me Kuna,” you whine.

“Yeah? God baby I wanna fuck you too, been dreaming of the next time I could feel you clenching around me. How do you wanna do this? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not gonna last. Like I’m thinking bad bad, thirty seconds tops,” he gives you a boyish grin.

“Sukuna seriously?” you laugh, not sure if he’s just being dramatic or not.

“I’m dead serious sweetheart, thought i was going to when you were in my lap earlier. Probably even worse than my first time, I’m fighting love this time around too,” he laughs, kissing you on the nose.

“Aww, well I don’t care either way, just wanna feel close to you,” you smile back at him. “We have forever for you to work your stamina up again. Lots of practice in our future.”

“Damn right. How do you wanna do this?”

“Something with lots of skin on skin contact and intimacy,” you respond.

“Alright, missionary it is. Spread’em tomato girl,” Sukuna nudges your legs apart, “got a condom or anything?” 

“Uhhhh no, I have not slept with anyone since you, so I never bought any more” you chuckle.

“Hmph, good. I can pull out-”

“You and I both know you aren’t doing that, and quite frankly I don’t want you to. Fuckin’ fill me up and we can go get a plan b later,” you tease him.

“Girlllll you are….so right though, no way am I gonna fuck you for the first time in years and cum anywhere other than that perfect pussy,” Sukuna growls, lining himself up. He glances up at you one last time and after an approving nod, he pushes his thick cock inside of you.

“Ohhhh my god,” Sukuna collapses on top of you, trembling and shaking as he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you close while resting the other next to your head.

The stretch is intense but quickly subsides as his cock gets slicked up by your arousal. Your heart is so full of love for Sukuna, tears threatening to spill over.

“Look at me,” you pull his chin down, knowing he’s trying to screw his eyes shut to last. When you meet the reds of his eyes, they are full of the same adoration and love you know are in yours, eyes watering as his face contorts to fight back the tears.

Neither of you move, Sukuna bottomed out inside of you while you desperately try to keep yourself from clenching around him.

“I love you,” you whisper, his forehead pressed against yours, every inch of his skin pressed hot against you. It's the most intimate moment you’ve ever had where neither person is moving, but it isn’t needed. All the commitment and hard work you’ve both put in over the years at making this work, being there for each other, and pushing each other to be the best version of yourselves all while physically apart has culminated into this moment of working together one last time to prolong this feeling.

“I love you too. Can’t believe I-ah, I got so lucky to find you in this life. You waited for me, never gave up on me, fuck,” he groans, unable to finish sentence as you clench around him making him thrust once in response.

“Fuuuuuck, I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m-shit, fuck- gonna cum” he starts thrusting his cock into you, his thick tip dragging along your walls as he starts to throb inside of you. Slow and deep, his whole body is shaking as he whimpers just before feeling him spill his hot seed into your cunt.

“Ahhh - shit, I love you,” he moans your name as he pushes himself as deep as he can, cock pulsing as he pumps everything into you, filling you so much that you feel some trickling out down your thigh.

He collapses onto your chest, face buried in the crook of your neck as his breaths are hot on your skin. You run your fingers down his back, a loving caress as you trace the ink snaking down his muscles.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but eventually Sukuna sits up, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you and moving to your side, pulling you up against his bare chest.

“I didn’t get to finish what I was saying when my dick rudely interrupted me,” he chuckles, “but thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m done with that life and I’m devoted to building this new one with you. I swear to god I’ll take care of you, you’ll be my equal, my partner, and my best friend and I’ll always put you first. You’ll never be alone again. 

“I love you so much Sukuna. I was ready to wait longer, but I’m never going to complain that you came back early, this is easily one of the best days of my life. I’ll never take for granted the special moments we share together.”

“I love you too. Let’s sleep, I’m so fucking happy that from now on I’ll be waking up to you for the rest of my life,” Sukuna says, positioning himself to spoon you, finally letting his tears silently fall into your hair.

One more Chapter and it will be a happy fluffy epilogue!

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco @nina-from-317

[chaos--s]

Okay, so like I got this idea from playing a short Roblox game called 'Prototype'. It's just a quick and brief game, similar to Stanley Parable, except you act as a game tester for a game developer and help the dev try out the game's controls and mechanics. There's only 2 endings for the game and I honestly don't know if the irl game devs are still working on it.

But anyway, that had me thinking and I thought what if a programmer creates his very own digital child (aka the reader), and because reader is a purely digital being made of 1s and 0s, they have an inherent want to learn more about anything and everything. Bonus points if their creator made them not because of a tragic story like 'reader being based off their dead child' or something but the programmer honestly just wanted a child to care for without all the hassle of finding romance.

I could say that the programmer has the potential to be one of the chillest yandere dad out there since he knows reader won't be going anywhere and he can always monitor his baby even from the comfort of his phone. Additionally, he can provide lots of activities for reader so their curiosity is always satiated and he even lets them help him test his games to look for bugs and test out the controls and whatnot.

this is such a cool idea :0

i'm just gonna do a quick thought dump and y'all can tell me if you guys want a drabble of this idea :3

--

idk why but my brain immediately went to powerpuff girls, because they were made for a scientist right? the perfect daughters, but then he fucks up and makes them superhuman. but reader was made with the programmer's idea of what a perfect child to him is, he doesn't fuck up because to me he's a little bit of a perfectionist.

he feels like the kind of guy that generally does not like children, avoids them when he can because he thinks they are nuisances and a waste of money. but there's a small human side of him that wants to take care of something. and seeing as he can't keep his pet fish alive for more than 2 weeks (he forgot it existed after working on his project for too long. bro should not be taking care of actual living beings.) programming a small child-like being is the next best thing right?

so poof, reader comes into existence. it's a small project, simple programming of a little landscape and a cute home. it's adorable really, the cutest thing he has ever made.

reader is perfect from the get go, i mean obviously they are. he made them so why wouldn't they be perfect. the curiosity, the way they interacted with their surroundings was fun to observe. and slowly but surely, he starts to become attached.

he doesn't have friends, so most of his attention has turned onto reader. he spends hours conversing with them, talking to them about the world. about himself, making himself seem so much more cooler than he actually is. like yeah, he actually has a bunch of friends but he makes time to talk to reader.

totally.

reader becomes the only thing he genuinely cares about in life. keeping them happy and their curiosity satiated. everything from real life he would program into reader's digital world. every time their eyes sparkled as they explored the new thing that popped up in their little world.

all they know is what he tells them. he is reader's dad creator and the real world is scary and that they should be glad that they're made in the digital world.

bro is so completely normal about reader.

[heirofshadowsingers]

For Her, Always.

Azriel and Gwyn's daughter is teething. Azriel gets up to take care of her and reflects on his past and his own mother.

A/N: a short little thing I wrote because I still can't stop thinking about dad!azriel and needed to get it out. It's pure fluff- like teeth rotting fluff. Enjoy! And let me know if you liked it hehe <3

Read on AO3 here or down below word count: 1, 982

Thirty seconds. That was all he got before the crying started again. Azriel let out a heavy sigh and ran a tired hand over his face. Next to him, his mate stirred, also getting ready to leave the warmth of their bed. He reached over and gave her hips a gentle squeeze.

”Stay,” he mumbled and urged her back into a lying position. ”I’ve got her.” Gwyn grumbled something about it being her turn, her speech nothing more than a tired slur, but didn’t fight him further as she buried her face into one of the pillows. Azriel chuckled lightly and gave her hip another affectionate squeeze.

She would deny it, but he saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. He saw her slumped shoulders and the silver lining her eyes when the crying just wouldn’t stop. The fact that she did not try to fight him further, that she had fallen back asleep so quickly, was proof enough that his mate was truly exhausted.

Azriel had only been away for three nights, but it was enough, especially with a teething baby. He had been home for less than a day, and he already felt completely drained. But he could not, and would not, complain. Azriel had missed the worst of it, so if he had to stay up all night— he would.

For her. For his mate. His Gwyn.

He didn’t need sleep.

His shadows were already circling the small bassinet as he crossed the room, brushing against his daughter’s feverish skin in a cool and soothing rhythm. It had been seven months since his world had been turned upside down, reshaped entirely by a single cry and a pair of teal eyes. She had entered the world at dusk, just as the moon’s first shadows stretched over Velaris. From the moment she took her first breath she’d had everyone in their court wrapped around her chubby fingers. Especially Azriel. His shadows included.

As soon as his daughter had looked up at him, with the same big teal eyes as her mother, every doubt and fear from his body had disappeared. He’d known instantly. That he would do absolutely everything it took to keep her safe. To make sure she knew how loved she was from that very first moment. He couldn’t care less about how much blood he had on his hands, not as long as it kept his little girl safe.

He would burn the world down for her.

For his little light. His baby girl. His Catrin.

Rhys had asked him to go to the continent to gather some information. Rumours about unease in the human lands had started to spread and had to be looked into. In the end, it wasn’t anything serious, but it had still required Azriel to leave his family for a couple of days.

Gwyn had reassured him over and over again that they would be fine, but then Catrin had started teething while he was gone.

Their usual happy girl had been fussy the entire time, crying almost non-stop, needing to be held at all times. Their little social butterfly, who loved to be passed around amongst her aunts and uncles, had refused to be held by anyone other than her mother. It broke his heart to arrive back home and see his girl in such discomfort. To know he hadn’t been there to soothe her through the worst of it.

“Shh, my light,” Azriel murmured as he bent down to pick her up. Her small body was warm, her feverish skin a little clammy. She immediately clung to him, burying her snotty face in the crook of his neck, as she continued to cry. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, shhh.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, her thick dark curls tickling his nose, whilst stroking her back lovingly. Catrin had been born without wings. Gwyn had shed an endless amount of tears the day they found out, afraid that he’d be disappointed and upset at her for not giving him a child with wings. Azriel had been stunned by her confession. The idea that he’d be upset at her was so absurd he couldn’t find the words to speak.

Then he had spent the last three months of the pregnancy making sure his mate knew just how utterly breathtaking he found her. How incredibly thankful he was that The Mother had gifted him her as a mate. How thankful he was that she loved him back and would be the one carrying his child. As long as their child was healthy, Azriel was happy.

And Catrin came to them as the most perfect little girl he had ever seen. But with Gwyn as her mother; Azriel always knew she would be. Just hours after her birth, he’d traced his fingers over Catrin’s delicate shoulders as she slept on his chest, completely amazed by her existence. Wings or not, she had stolen his heart.

“Oh, I know your teeth hurt, sweets,” Azriel pressed another kiss to his daughter’s head, bouncing her in his arms gently as he quietly made his way out of the bedroom. Catrin’s loud cries turned into small whimpers as she continued to cling to her father. More at ease now in his arms, but still not content enough to be fully settled. “It’ll get better soon, I promise.”

The shadows swirled around them as he entered the sitting room, continuing to brush against her soft skin with cool touches to help against the fever. Another shadow presented him with a bottle of the teeth gel Madja had given to them, along with a cold washcloth.

Azriel adjusted Catrin in his arm, cradling her close to his chest, to accept the items. She let out an angry cry from being moved away from the comfort of his neck. ”I know, I know,” he cooed again, working as quickly as possible to open the bottle, but using only one hand was more of a struggle than he liked to admit. ”I’m sorry.” He leaned down to kiss away her tears as the shadows stepped in to open the bottle for him.

He managed to get a few drops on his finger and moved to her mouth to massage her sore gums. Catrin let out what seemed like a breath of relief and grasped his hand with her much smaller ones, to keep him there, as if to make sure he wouldn’t stop doing what he was doing.

She looked up at him with big teary eyes, so much like her mother’s, and Az could feel her gnawing at his finger with her still toothless gums — chasing the temporary relief he could give her. He would let her gnaw it down to the bone if it helped her.

He continued to massage her gums a little while longer, bouncing her gently in his arms as he paced around the room. His heart felt a little lighter as her heartbreaking cries eased, her heavy eyelids fell and her breathing evened out.

But as he removed his finger, her eyes shot right back up as she looked up at him with narrowed brows, lips falling into a pout. Even if it was Gwyn's eyes staring up at him, her small scowl was all him, a tiny mirror of his own face. Azriel sighed, swallowing down the slight simmer of frustration. He should’ve known better than to think she was asleep.

”You need to sleep, my light,” he hummed and reached for the cool washcloth his shadows had brought earlier. ”It’ll help you feel better.”

Catrin immediately grabbed onto the washcloth as he held it out for her, shoving it into her mouth to gnaw on instead of his finger. Azriel couldn’t help but smile down at her, his clever and strong-willed daughter, who once again relaxed on his arms as the washcloth cooled her aching gums.

He moved over to sit down in the armchair placed by the big window, looking out over the city. Catrin was comfortably resting in his arms, drool dripping down her chin as she chewed happily on the cloth. ”There we go. That’s better isn’t it? I’ve got you. I promise.”

His shadows gathered over his wings, vigilant and tender as they hovered around Catrin, monitoring her every breath. The dark tendrils of smoke, fearsome to most, softened into playful shapes – a shadowy butterfly landing on her small nose. A giggle broke through the haze of her discomfort, bright and infectious, as Catrin reached for the tiny creature.

Azriel chuckled lightly, his chest warming at the familiar sound. He could spend an eternity just watching her, savoring her small giggles and the brightness she brought into his world.

But it was late, and she needed to sleep.

Cradling her closer to his chest, Azriel brushed a thumb over her small brow in slow, soothing strokes. The same thing his mother used to do for him when he was young. It had been a rare moment of comfort in a childhood that was otherwise filled with pain and darkness. Those fleeting moments of safety in her arms was the only time and place he’d felt safe enough to rest. His mother had known it too, sacrificing their precious time together just so he could find some peace. Happy to just hold her little boy and watch him sleep.

As Catrin nuzzled into the palm of his hand with a happy coo, a swell of understanding flowed through him. An understanding of the depth of his mother’s love and her quiet strength.

Then the same lullaby she had always sung to him slipped from his lips. An old illyrian folk song about the moon’s quiet embrace and the promise of new beginnings. The soft melody carried bittersweet memories with it – of clinging to his mother, desperate for her love and her warmth. Only to be ripped away by cruelty and darkness. Alone with no one to kiss away his tears.

Azriel’s voice faltered for a heartbeat, the weight of old wounds pressing on his chest, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he held his daughter a little tighter and let the words flow from his lips even softer than before. Letting the melody become a bridge between his past and the present. Despite the painful memories, it had once been his beacon of hope. His mother’s voice had followed him into that dark dungeon, promising and pulling him toward a better tomorrow.

Now, he sang it to his own child, every note a promise that she would never endure the same loneliness and heartache. His gift to her. Catrin would never know the cold despair he had felt. In his arms, she would always be warm, safe and loved. So loved.

It didn’t take long before Catrin was fighting to keep her eyes open. His stubborn little girl blinking furiously in an attempt to stay awake and watch his shadows. The butterflies had turned into a small pegasus and other various animals, floating and jumping around playfully above her head.

Azriel gave them a small tug, silently ordering them to stop entertaining her. The shadows quickly fell over her in a thick blanket instead, pulsing around her soothingly along with the familiar hum of her father’s singing.

She was asleep in a matter of seconds.

But even as sleep embraced her, Azriel continued to quietly sing to his daughter and stroking her brow.

It had been seven months since she entered this world.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

Nothing he wouldn’t do for his brave and beautiful mate sleeping in the room next to them.

If he had to sit in this chair all night, stay awake all night, so that both of them finally got some rest— he would.

For them.

His little light. His mate. His entire world.

He would.

Always.

[theguywhodoesntlikemusicals]

[Previous responces]

Paul snickered, then broke into a laugh as Richie reacted so overtly to imagining him in anything remotely more revealing than the suit he wore every day. "Hah! I will resist the urge to torment you any more with that image, despite it being my duty as your cool older relative to do so," he grinned, and playfully acted at punching Richie's shoulder, though barely more than tapping him in actuality.

"Hah, it wasn't that bad a present at the time," Paul smiled softly with a small chuckle, not wanting to sell Richie's dad too short. Still as he clung onto Paul's arm though, he found himself reaching across and squeezing Richie's own arm with his free hand to keep him close. "It was a nice razor, not one of those little plastic ones but a fancy one with different settings. Probably one of the nicer things I had gotten at the time - upward of $100 I would guess. Plus, well, since my dad wasn't around, it was a nice gesture from him, and I hadn't had any nice things to look after myself with before." He paused, rolling around the idea of saying what he wanted to in his head. "Your dad definitely has his... peculiarities. And while I don't agree with everything he says and does, I am sure he cares. He has a tendency to show it more through money than ways he probably should. I'm not sure that will change, but I know he loves his family." Was he still lonely at times as a child? Yes... But even if what he was saying wasn't 100% true all of the time, Paul hoped that at saying it would help reassure Richie that his father

At Richie's reluctant acceptance of his offer, he smiled and simply leaned a little into Richie, bumping him gently with the shoulder he was clasped onto. "No, you don't need to do anything you don't want to. To be honest, I don't think that most men shave anywhere other than their face, but if sweat is something that worries you, then you mind find it helpful." Paul shrugged. "Like I said, everyone is different. There's no shame in it. Just make sure you use a trimmer instead of a razor if you decide to! It'll be less irritating. But I can just show you how to shave your face and just give you a lecture on the rest." Sensing Richie seemed nervous, Paul gently rubbed his arm. "Don't worry. It's nothing you need to be nervous about. It doesn't have to be tonight either, but it would make me happy to show you."

Shuffling up to the door, Richie adjusted a sleeve with a hand. His shoulder rolled, keeping a small duffle bag’s strap on. He’s brought a few items over, that’s what the bag was for. He’s greasy and sweaty, the typical for the young man. His hair’s sticking up more today, losing the battle to try and tame it.

A hand raised, going to knock at Paul’s front door. He then wiped the hand against a pant leg, to rid of the sweat.

— [ @overactive-sweat-glands ]

The door was quickly answered as Paul hurried to the door, not wanting to keep his nephew waiting. How long had it been since he last looked after him? Not babysat, Paul reminded himself. Richie was far too old for that now. But since his dad was going away on business for a few days, he didn't want Richie on his own for that long. While Paul was fairly sure that Richie was a smart kid who could take care of himself, he wouldn't want him to be forced into doing so. Paul wouldn't have wanted him alone for that long either way, and he was happy to have him stay. Especially considering what Ted told him about what his own little brother was dealing with at that school...

His thoughts aside, Paul quickly opened the door and smiled at the teen.

"Hi, Richie!" Paul smiled, doing his best cool relative voice, while also not sound pedantic. It was a delicate balancing act, and honestly didn't change too much from normal. But there weren't many people he put in such effort with. "Come in and set your stuff down. Ready to have some fun?"

[itsangrynar]

Elie Ravenloft is my BG3 Tav, years later he is also the adoptive father and Master of Liam, my necromancer in my currently campaign.

TLDR; Elie and his husband 🧛‍♂️ had a fight over being parents, they separated for some years. During that time Elie tried to be a good master but failed miserably and "died". Vampire husband comes back, saves Elie with some friend's help and end up together again

BUT....

During that time, as well, Liam ended up turning himself in what he wanted to destroy

The ultimate edgelord bhaalspawn

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Ares? Hephaestus? God of War? God of Machines? Please. Put some respect on their names. That's Mr. Frank's Dad and Mr. Charles and Leo's Dad to you, thank you very much.

[mismefancy]

He suggested pancakes in the finale, so I'll draw pancakes for the father and daughter. : )

I'm not really in the Hazbin/Helluva fandom nor do I consume their content as often. There is also the fact the fact their type of content isn't my usual content...

But you know the drill: Family stuff convinces me of anything, lol. Lucifer became an instant favourite character of mine. He was absolutely hilarious to watch, his relationship with his daughter made me emotional, and his song "More than anything" absolutely wrecked me gosh darn it! :'D

And with the implication that he might become part of the main cast gives me so much excitement for season 2.

[lostinlife321]

Tbh part 3 does an okay job of portraying him as a cringe teenager(check notes for examples). We do see him act immature but you are right the horrors really cut down on his being a kid time.

I adore these tiny scenes of Jotaro briefly reading Shōnen Jump and playing with an RC car from episode one. This is the only instance where we see him acting like the kid he’s supposed to be. Looking at this is a good reminder that this guy is still a child despite everything.

There’s also this piece of production art of Kakyoin and Jotaro being goofballs that I love so dearly. I really wish to see in between episode scenes of all the shenanigans the crusaders engaged in while travelling. 🥲

[madamechrissy]

Daddy Likes Crazy Girls

Pairings - Dilf Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Summary -You're Megumi's best friend, and spend more time at the Fushiguro home than at your dorm room, and since you were a kid you've had it bad for Megumi's dad. He was always cool and fun until you got older, then he started being gruff and rude. Well, that just won't do, because you know you need his attention, and you decide to make his life a living hell, but Toji decides to give that hell right back on you. Who will finally give in!?

CW - age gap- Toji is 39, reader is 20, lowkey hint of somnophilia, rough blow jobs, dirty talk, Toji AND reader ain't shit, using others to make e/o jealous, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, dirty talk, highkey daddy kink, spitting, choking, reader and Toji freaks. Megumi and Yuuji are reader's age no NSFW w/them (reader uses Yuuji to piss Toji off but it's SFW) Basically it's nasty, filthy DILF Toji smuttt - WC- 7.5k

Based on Your Best Friend's Dad Toji - The pic on the left is from here (tears on a withered flower) I could not find a source for the Toji image! Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoy!

Toji stiffens… in multiple ways as you saunter out that morning, as he’s throwing back two ibuprofen and sipping on bitter coffee, black, just out he likes it. You’re rubbing your eyes just a bit and yawning, stretching up your arms, tiny crop top stretched tight on your breasts, which bounce as your arms rest, and his goddamn cock twitches. He literally turns away, facing the counter then.

“Morning, Mr. Fushiguro.” You say brightly, sleep still in your voice, and he grumbles a hello, tensing when you walk towards him. “Oh, coffee, can I have some? I’m so beat and I have that test later.”

“Yeah, yeah… go ahead kid.” You glare at his strong back, shirtless and muscled, calling you kid when you were damn near old enough to drink, when you drove and worked and went to college.

You’re no kid.

You gently touch his shoulder, trying to get through to the coffee maker in the little kitchen, feeling him tense, as he narrows his eyes, looking over at you, lips pressing together, that scar just stretched a bit over his lip. You lean forward, breasts in his full view, as you start brewing your own cup, and he damn near rubs his hard cock at the sight of your nipples poking out.

God you annoy him, always over here, sure when you were younger it didn’t bother him, you were Megumi’s friend, a good one at that, and a good kid. And as a teen even, you had your shit together, living without your own parents, you had spent a ton of time here. But when you hit about eighteen or nineteen, and you just… started looking at him like you are now!?

Dilated eyes, lowered lashes, licking your goddamn lip?

When you started wearing less and less, and frequently crashed right on his couch, in various states of undress? When your tits jiggled just so, or you bent over in front of him, shorts riding up a bouncy ass? When you giggled and brushed your fingers against his arm?

You drive Toji fucking insane.

He’s tired of jerking it to his son’s best friend, he’s tired of picturing your thighs spread as he fucks women, you’re… infuriating him, actually. Batting your lashes and shooting little smiles, constantly trying to ruin him. Sure, people thought Toji was a creep, a pervert, a fucking whore, and to some extent, he was those things, but with women his age.

Being almost forty and having a very annoying, sexy and tempting twenty year old was not fucking okay. Sure, it’s one thing to jerk it to you, how could he not, but it’s harder and harder with every passing day not to give in, to play with that pussy he’s seen hints of, to suck on those pretty nipples that seem to always be poking out of something you wear.

Toji can’t stand you.

“Have a rough night, Mr. Fushiguro?” You ask then, and he turns his forest green eyes looking down at you, while you pour a little sugar in the cup, taking one of the spoons from his wooden drawers and then stirring it.

“Huh, no rough night. Slept fine.” Jerked it to the thought of you at midnight, and dammit he enjoys his sleep.

“Got it, you seem a little grumpy though.” You tease, nudging him with your shoulder playfully, just that alone makes him wanna spread you wide on this goddamn counter, picturing how your pretty pussy would be in his face.

“Grumpy, doll?” He asks, you giggle a little, looking up at him, the man you’ve had it bad for since you can remember.

As much as you love Megumi, a huge part of you coming here was for him, Toji, Megumi’s far too sexy father. Sure, Megumi was your age, but you two were just too close, but also, Toji. Rippling abbed, strong muscled, thick fucking Toji. The man whose muscles have muscles, and those lazy green eyes, that straight nose with plump ass lips?

The man who you know takes care of business, shit you’ve seen him on nights kissing down girl’s necks, shooting you a quick look before he’d grab their hair, their waist, like you could vividly picture it being you? The man who you could constantly see his thick, girthy outline in these slutty grey sweats he wears?

You want him.

You always have, but at first it was perhaps admiration, or a childhood crush, but now that you’re almost twenty one, and you’ve had sex, you’ve had experience, you can’t stop thinking that Toji knew what to do. Can’t stop thinking how badly you’d love to see that cock just begging for attention, have it down your throat, have him bend you over this kitchen table.

Your mind gets so sidetracked you forget he’s said anything you you, clearing your throat and shrugging. “A little grumpy to me in general lately.”

Toji scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Excuse me for not bein’ Mr. Fuckin Sunshine all the time, doll.”

Doll.

Imagine him saying ‘doll’ as he pounds your little pussy.

Fuck.

You shift just a bit, his gaze catches it. “Hmm, you’ve just been a little mean to me. I used to come… to you all the time, you know.” You smile just a bit, his lips are parted, then you sigh. “Have a good day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Damn brat.” He mutters, running his hand through inky locks.

Since you hate your dorm mate, you always come over there, and Megumi never minds, he just gives you a lazy little smile, sometimes you crash in his room, he’ll even take the floor, or separate you all with a body pillow. He listens to your bullshit, with a little sigh and bored face, but he listens. Megumi has been your good friend, even through breakups and makeups with his best friend, Yuuji.

You’d been on and off with Yuuji for years, as the two of you are probably better off friends, but Yuuji is so damn sweet, and so down bad, you end up back with him again, much to the disdain of Toji. When you’re sitting on Yuuji’s lap, hand running through pastel hair, while Megumi and him game, you feel it, Toji Fushiguro’s glare right at you.

Something excites you so much from it, you get overheated, you get wet from your thoughts, and Yuuji would nervously notice, blushing.

You’re kind of shit for that, for being with Yuuji when the man you want is right there, but he never seems to understand that you’re a woman. No skimpy outfit or flirty looks do a damn thing, to the point you think… it’s all in your head, it has to be, some childish fantasy that you have to let go.

Little do you know, as you’re kissing Yuuji, and that boy’s hand is on your waist, Toji has to go to the damn bathroom, and start stroking his cock. He tries to muffle his moans, while he curses you internally, for making him act like some dumb teen. And your smiles are as if you know.

One night Toji comes home and sees you on the couch, with one of your fucking pretty, perfect titties out, shoved out from your twisted little crop top, just begging him to touch it. He goes over, cock leaking precum, to cover you up, but he bends on a knee instead, brushing your hair back, watching your lips part, tempting him to no goddamn end.

Imagine how they’d feel on his -

He clears his mind, or tries to, deciding to fix your tank top, but his thumb brushes your nipple on accident, eliciting a soft whine from your perfect lips, your areola tightening just from his touch. He pauses, hating himself then, but he has to just bend down, pressing a kiss on that peak, and then your hand instinctively grips his hair, making him freeze, wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

“Toji…” You whisper, his eyes shoot up, but you’re fast asleep, shit you’re dreaming of him, like he’s worth a gorgeous girl like you dreaming of his old ass, but he laps at your nipple, before he can stop himself, hot wet tongue tasting your sweet skin. “Mnh!”

Shit.

He pulls back, but sucks your pretty nipple in his mouth for just a moment, greedily, hand brushing over your body and the thin fleece that’s slung over your hips, feeling your heat even through it 

Fuck, shit, fuck.

He pulls back, exhaling and swiping up the slick from your nipple with his rough thumb, picturing how pretty your tits would look covered in his ropes of cum, before he stops himself, covering you up quickly and rushing to his room. He can’t do shit like that…

Why are you dreaming of him though?

It’s still not okay… right?

Nor is it okay he wanted to touch that heat, lap up your juices, watch your sleepy face construe in pleasure. He can’t, can’t, can’t. So instead he’s stroking his aching cock, which slaps his belly button as it’s released, stroking it with his hand in little twists, imagining it now, the taste of your nipple in his mouth, until he’s spurting cum all from that reddened tip.

He can’t.

*****

Toji becomes meaner, gruffer, ignoring you, trying to fall into every woman he can, all while you come over less and less, thank god. But you can’t stop thinking of him, he’s a constant thought as you play with yourself, having dreams of him that feel too real and you come over one more time, already lit as you call Megumi, and he yawns, letting you in.

“You’re so needy, tch.” He grumbles, you giggle then, kissing his cheek, earning his eye roll.

“You’re the best friend ever.” You kiss his cheek again and he grimaces, taking in your attire.

“You went all slutty looking to that party, hmm? Mad at Yuuji?”

“Gumi!”

“Hot, just slutty. Go put on my clothes or something.” He says, with another yawn, ruffling your hair then.

“All right, I will in a bit, but… one more drink?” He chuckles, gesturing to the fridge.

“There’s beer in there, but I suggest water after.”

“Sure, dad.”

Megumi basically was Toji’s dad, way too mature always. He rolls his green eyes, just a little darker than his father’s, yawning again. “You know where everything is, crazy ass. I’m off to bed.”

“Night, Gumi, thank you!”

“Yeah yeah.” He shuts his door, as you’re just a little tipsy, curious where Toji was… some date, you’re sure. He’s sort of notorious for the women he has, though you’ve never seen the man have an actual serious girl.

You crack open a beer, sighing now, still clad in your- as Megumi dubbed it- slutty black dress, sitting in the kitchen chair as you sip the beer, right when the door opens and shuts. Toji walks in, actually wearing some dress shirt and slacks, different from the thin work out tees and sweats you normally see, and pauses when he sees you in the chair, his lips clamping shut.

“Have fun, Mr. Fushiguro?” You ask now, crossing your legs, allowing him to see your pretty, perfect pussy as he realizes you aren’t wearing shit under that dress. He gulps, mouth opening, before he eyes your peer in your pretty little hand, the kitchen suddenly far too small.

“What?” He manages, and you uncross your legs again, standing and walking closer to him, looking so sexy and pretty he wants to yank you by your goddamn hair, show you just how to get fucked.

He doubts you get fucked good, you’re too bitchy and needy, he can just tell, you need someone to split you in two. You lean against the counter, tilting your head, looking so slutty in this dress, tits out, thighs showing, hugging every curve and line of that banging body.

You’re sent to fuck him up, he’s sure of it, whatever his shitty past was, you’re the punishment.

“Have fun?” You practically purr the words.

“You old enough to drink, brat?” He demands, and you giggle again, touching his chest just a bit, but that alone is setting him the fuck off, as his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

“Old enough for lots of things.” You look right up at him, tummy clenching with how tall he is, how big he is, mind running fucking insane.

“Still a fucking kiddo.” He grumbles, opening the fridge now, taking a beer out of it and gulping it down, struggling not to let in.

Annoying brat that you are.

“So, did you have a date?’

“Yep.”

“Did you get off?”

“The fuck!?” He demands, sputtering as you giggle, buzzed and finally bold enough to spit it out, as you see him scowl, leaning down. “You said what?”

“Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?” You repeat again, batting those long lashes, some fake ones you wear that shouldn’t be as hot as they are on you.

“The fuck, brat?” He grabs you by the hair on the back of your neck with one big hand, the pull of it making you soaking wet, dripping down your thighs.

“I could help you, you always gave me such good advice as a kid you know, as a teenager. Even though you’re so mean now to me.” You lean even closer, pouting, he tastes the sweetness mixing with the liquor in your system, shaking his head, teeth clenched together.

“Don’t know what you’re fucking saying, doll. Should shut your brat mouth up.” His words go straight to your pussy, when his finger finds you between your thighs, and he curses, you’re slick and so hot. “Slutty ass didn’t even wear panties with this little outfit huh? Want all those college boys to see?”

“I’m sure they did. But that wasn’t the- question- ngh!” When he swipes a rough finger against your clit, your moan does him in.

“This soaked just talking to me?” He whispers, you barely are able to form a coherent thought or answer.

You trail your fingers down to his cock, gripping it and raising a brow. “Want me to help you Mr. Fushiguro? That girlfriend suck you good enough?”

“Keep fucking talking shit, brat, you’ll regret it.” He whispers hoarsely, only for you to smile up at him.

“Oh, gonna teach me a lesson - daddy?”

“Fucking brat I swear to…” He shoves you down on your bare knees then, right on Toji’s tile floor, and you gasp when you watch him free his cock, gulping as you see just how huge it is, thick and veiny, and you look up at him then. Tall, intimidating, cock right next to your lips, while he grabs your hair. “Got one chance to come to your senses, doll- ah, fuck!”

You lap at him, and soon you find yourself sucking every bit of your best friend’s dad’s cock all the way in your throat, burning as it stretches to try to accommodate him, and he’s so thick and long it’s damn near impossible to take him all. Your nails are pressing against his slacks as you move your head, sucking him so sloppy, drooling all over him.

Toji can’t take how good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as they fill with tears for him, gripping your hair with his fingers and now fucking your face. “Shut you up huh, brat?”

You just whimper, as he puts a leg between your thighs, and you’re rolling your hips against his foot, his shoe pressing on your clit. You’re whining and grinding as he fucks your mouth harder, grunting, precum salty and sweet coating your tongue. You’re soaking his pant leg, clit throbbing in need, while his cock slides so deep you’re choking on him.

“So desperate, huh, gonna grind on my leg like that? Slutty lil’ cunt soaking me? This what you do to me, fuck…” He’s muttering to himself more than anything, as you suck harder, the degrading words only making you wetter. You’re trembling and shaking when he pauses, throbbing. “Shit… you suck that good, got me fuckin mad ya ever sucked anyone.”

He yanks you back just a bit, looking at your reddened lips, plump and coated in your spit, your mouth is parted, gasping for a breath then, he’s pulling you back up now, pressing you against the counter, thigh between yours, you’re rolling your hips and whimpering as he shuts your mouth with his hand. He feels it, you soaking him, dying to taste you now.

“Keep it quiet, shit-”

Suddenly the door opens, and you two immediately part, Toji adjusting his cock and turning back to the fridge, trying to act busy as you cough just a bit, throwing back the beer when Megumi walks out. He yawns now, blinking bleary eyed at the two of you, as Toji tries to stop his precum from leaking out of his tip.

“Can you two keep it down, shit. Hey…” He turns to you now, as you put the beer in the trash. “Come get some pajamas on, you can sleep in my bed if you want.”

“Thank you, Gumi, good idea.” You snatch up pajamas that Megumi brings, a big shirt and a pair of his boxers, heading to the bathroom and resting your head on the door, shaking like crazy as you peel off your dress. Your thighs are a sticky mess, your damn throat hurts from his cock.

Your pussy is aching with need, you splash some cool water on your face, struggling to take several breaths as you eye yourself in the mirror. You lips are swollen from sucking him, eyes dilated and pupils blown the fuck out, your cheeks have taken on this color from how overheated they are. You struggle to compose yourself, wiping up the endless slick from your pussy.

What just happened?

You walk back out, seeing Megumi with a water bottle, smiling lazily at you, and you sigh, taking it and smiling, feeling so guilty. You just sucked his damn father, now you’re gonna act normal somehow? Toji is nowhere to be seen, so you try to just to push it out of your brain, even as you’re gulping down icy water and laying in Megumi’s bed.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Gumi.” You say, he sighs now, climbing up and laying on the other side.

“Don’t take advantage of me, hmm? Look like you got dick on the brain.”

“Excuse me!?” You both burst into laughter, you shove him nearly off the bed as he’s chuckling.

“You and Yuuji need to stop the back and forth, you know he’s like a sad puppy when you all break up.”

“Ugh, I know.” You sigh, covering your face now, wishing you could get this annoying old man out of your head. “Dick on my brain, whatever.”

“Mmhmm. Night night.”

“G’night.” You turn on your side, thinking just what Toji is feeling, was it nothing but some girl with some crush to him?

You all literally say nothing to each other the next morning, and Mr. Fushiguro has went from somewhat quiet to completely shutting you out. His replies are grunts and grumbles, and he doesn’t say a damn word to you. For weeks, you haven’t even caught a glance, to the point you wonder if it was all some drunk ass dream.

Unable to handle it, you quit coming over, for weeks, in a way Toji is thankful he doesn’t have to constantly have a hard cock, constantly masturbate to you- well he does anyway, but- the memory of your throat is something he can’t stop. The memory of you so desperate you were grinding on him like that, how he almost had you right in the kitchen.

He fights all of it, glad you’re not there, trying to go back out, to forget you even exist, feeling so damn awkward as he talks to his kid about you, asking ever so casually where you are. Apparently you have some new boyfriend, and Toji doesn’t like the irrational feelings that brings him, so he’s even more thankful you’re not around.

Thinking of some college loser not even getting your pretty pussy off makes him furious, no one even deserves to touch you really, even him.

As Toji’s on a date, and they’re being seated, a rooftop restaurant this woman wants to go to, he spots you then. You’re giggling, hand over your mouth, as you show some boy something on your phone, and he’s laughing too. A boy your age, that’s how it should be, anyway.

Right?

You notice him then, how can someone not notice Toji, his gaze across your body, lingering against your breasts, pressed up and on display in the little dress you’re wearing. You see his hand go to his date’s thigh, so you lean closer to your date, whispering little nothings in his ear. His cheeks heat up as his own hand touches your thigh.

Like some sick game, you both trade looks, touches with your dates, all while the intensity builds, and surely your date must think he’s got the easiest girl around, he’s doing really nothing and can feel your heat as he touches your thigh. And surely Toji’s date is enjoying every touch and caress, as you watch his fingers trail down her shoulders, picturing them.

It’s suddenly all too much, you murmur a quick apology. “I have to go to the ladies room real quick.”

“No worries love.” He says with a smile, and you quickly go to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your face, on the back of your neck, exhaling and trying to compose yourself.

“Shit…” You grumble, then gasp as the door slams open, his tall imposing figure right in the bathroom, broad shoulders so big he barely fits the damn doorway. “It’s a ladies room, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” He whispers, gripping your face tightly, you take a shaky breath, legs trembling as he’s too close, and your eyes flicker to his lips, glossy and full, making you ache to kiss him.

“Look at you like what?” You look at him under lashes, as he remember’s your damn demon mouth on him, and he turns you then, towering over you in the reflection of the mirror, tilting your chin to face it.

“Like that, see yourself? Fucked out face, begging to be filled.” You gasp when one hand is wrapping your throat, the other slipping up your dress, groaning in your ear as he hovers over you, finding your panties soaked.

“Mr. Fushiguro…”

“That lil boy toy gets you off, doll?” He asks softly, rolling his fingers under the waistband of your panties, as his other fingers squeeze your throat with the lightest pressure. Your eyes roll back, and he slips two fingers inside to the knuckle, stretching you so good you’re damn near sobbing. “Asked ya a question?”

“Does y-your girl… get you off? Suck dick like I do?” You ask in response, smiling at his scowl, as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, you hear the squelching wetness echoing in the bathroom, crying out and bucking your hips.

“Tired of that mouth, tired of you fucking with my head. Little demon brat.” He huffs, cock hard and thick against your back, dying to be inside you, feeling your sticky little walls gripping him, you’re damn near sobbing it feels so good, his huge hard body taking you over. “Look at yourself, huh? Pretty lil face, annoying the shit outta me.”

“Y-you annoy m-me.” He chuckles, as he guides your chin back.

“Open those eyes.” You do as he says, whimpering softly, while your cunt is drooling down to his rolled up dress sleeves, you feel every fucking ridge and callous against your walls, making you even wetter, your cheeks so flushed, your eyes so bright as he watches you. “You drive me nuts on purpose, don’t you brat?”

“Y-you don’t even w-want-” He yanks out his fingers, just as you’re about to cum, leaving you weak, as he literally lets you go, and you glare up at him, as he sucks you off his fingers, making your mouth drop open at how sensual it is.

“Goddamn, gotta taste that good!?” You can’t speak, not when he’s tilting your chin up again, leaning close. “Stop fucking with me, got it?”

“You’re such a dick.” He glares, and you glare right back, as he just walks the fuck out. “Ugh!”

Your jaw sets, stomping out a few moments after, seeing Toji acting so casual, hands gripping a stem of a glass of wine, still glistening from you, smirking at you, and you decide it then.

Two can play at his little game.

*****

You are bouncing around in your little damn cheerleading outfit, as you’re on the field, shaking your hips with your stupid fucking pom poms, all while Toji finally decides to come to Megumi’s football games. Megumi himself is curious why he keeps showing up, it’s not that Toji never came to them, it’s just he didn’t… very often. Usually working or something.

Well Toji takes heavy interest, as he’s got a new girl with him every game, you can practically feel his stupid smirk from across the field as he watches you, an arm wrapped around a pretty lady’s shoulders. So you decide, the best course of action is to slap a big good luck kiss right on Yuuji’s lips before the game, to the awws and oohs of the crowd.

It takes everything inside Toji not to grab you by your pig tails, drag you over and beat your bouncy ass. It takes everything not to smack that ass so hard you can’t walk anymore, especially as you turn away from a blushing Yuuji to smile meanly right back at Toji, seeing his glare.

You may or may not also bend over right in front of him, giving him a full view of thin lacy black panties when you should be wearing spandex shorts, making Toji so hard he physically hurts. It’s not your fault you dropped something, though! You smile innocently when you turn around, feigning surprise.

“Mr. Fushiguro, it’s so good to see you here.” You say brightly, smiling to the lady next to him then. “He’s such a good dad.”

Toji just glares as you wave, running back to the field to finish your routine, little do you know Toji has to leave in the middle of the game, so torn the fuck up from seeing you he can’t stand it. He’s again stroking his cock to his son’s bratty little fucking friend, cursing you the entire time, thinking he could make you stop if you saw him with other women.

But you are driving him more insane.

Megumi is out early for practice when you waltz right in later, wearing your pretty little maroon cheer outfit, the irony is it’s a letter fucking T on your pretty tits, as you peek around, noticing him. You both pause, it’s been damn near a month since you sucked him, and weeks since he fingered you, you’ve both kept your distance just enough.

“Shit, Megumi already left? My phone’s dead.” You frown at it now, sighing as Toji slowly walks up to you, shutting the door behind you and locking it with a click. You pause, breaths coming faster and faster as he looms over you, so big and intimidating and fucking sexy. You let out a whimper before you bite your trembling lip, and he cups your face with one hand.

“You’re playing with fire, y’know that brat? Fucking have no clue what you’re in for if you keep it up.” He juts your chin up roughly then, making your head fall back, you tremble then, biting at your lip harder. “Think I’m playing?”

“Think I’m scared of you? Think I’m some innocent kid? I’m not.” He chuckles gruffly, licking that scar, making it glisten as he tilts his head to the side, strong muscles flexing as he presses you further against the door.

“You ain’t done shit like I’d do to you, none of those lil’ boys could make you cum like me, split you in fucking two, fuck you stupid.” You gasp, his words going straight to your pussy, but you struggle to hide it.

“All talk, is what I think, maybe you’re too old to keep up with me.” You raise a brow with a little smile, when Toji grabs you by your throat, it turns into a full fucking grin.

“You psycho little brat, need a whole fuckin’ lesson, don’t ya?” He slams his lips on yours, and once he does, it’s over for both of you.

His tongue his sliding into your mouth, not teasing, no he’s fucking owning it, devouring it, as your hands slip up his chest, gripping his thin white shirt and his free hand slips down, yanking your cheer top down, one of your breasts spilling out. He moans as he pulls back, squeezing your throat harder, pulling you to him.

“Think I haven’t already sucked on these perky lil’ fuckin nipples?” You gasp then, earning his chuckle. “Sleeping in slutty ass tops, tits out.”

“D-did you… do more?” You whisper, hoarse as he’s choking you harder, and he smirks at you.

“No, freaky ass brat, what did you want me to touch you in your sleep?” You nod weakly, as he squeezes your windpipe even harder, until you’re a soaking wet fucking mess. “What’d ya want me to do?”

“Eat me out.” Your whisper ends him, he’s on his knees then, Toji Fushiguro, on his knees, as your heart hammers in your chest, and he shoves up that cheer skirt, licking you over your lacy panties, groaning as your slick hits his mouth, his tongue lapping the soppy mess out. “Ah!”

Your hands grip his inky hair, hiccuping and crying as he continues to lap at you with his hungry tongue, groaning against you, reducing your panties to nothing. “You’re such a little slut, wearing this? Want everyone to see this fucking pussy?”

“W-wanted y-you to…”

“Shit…” Toji takes your hands, putting them on your skirt then. “Hold this the fuck up, now.”

“Yes…”

“Yes what.”

“Yes… daddy- ah!” Toji groans, knowing he’s just a sick fuck for eating through your panties under your goddamn cheer skirt, knowing he’s old enough to be your damn dad almost, but he can’t stop himself now. Once he tastes you it’s fucking done for him, as you hold your skirt up, hooking a thigh over his shoulder and screaming out.

“Good fucking girl. Finally, listening huh?” You can’t function, dying for the barrier of your panties to leave, wriggling as he teases you relentlessly.

“Please!”

“Please what, doll?”

“Take em off, please… fucking please.”

“Hah…” He’s laughing, biting you over your panties, grinning up at the mess you already are. “Ya gonna cum from this? These boys so pathetic?”

“Mnh…” Is all you manage, and he moans, rubbing your damp and sticky fabric, finally peeling it off you, easing your thigh off him and pressing bites down it as he does.

“All sweet now, huh? Not being a slutty fuckin’ brat?”

“I need… need you… T-Toji…” He moans at how sweet you are when he laps you up between your puffy lips, groaning as you soak his mouth, your hands back to those thin inky locks, pulling as he swipes the flat of his tongue up your slit. “Ah! F-fuck!”

“Bad lil mouth, huh?” He smacks your pussy now, making it sting and throb, but you’re only more fucking wet, as he slaps it again, shoving two fingers up your hole and looking at you under sooty lashes, as his cock throbs in his sweats, precum making him sticky as you fall apart over him. “Nothin’ to say?”

“Fuck you… ah!” He smacks your pussy again, harder, wet slap echoing in the house as he stands now, picking you up like you’re nothing, throwing you over his shoulder as you squeak. “Let me down, f-fuck!”

Toji laughs, smacking your bare ass and making you squeak, before tossing you right on his bed, spreading your thighs and nudging right between them, spitting right on your pussy and grinning with white teeth glinting, slipping his two thick fingers through it. “Fuck, look at her, so soaked and I just am getting started.”

You blink in confusion, sure you’ve got experience, but just a few licks was better than anything you’ve felt. “I’m r-ready, though- mnh!”

“I ain’t even close to done with eating this pussy. Tastes so fucking yummy, demon pussy, demon mouth.” You’d laugh if he wasn’t slobbering all over your cunt again, making you quiver and moan, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his messy sheets, your toes curling, still in your fucking cheer sneakers.

“T-Toji, please-”

“You’re gonna get it, brat, until you’re beggin’ me to stop, until you can’t even move, can’t think. That what you've been wanting all this time, huh?” He asks, eyes alight with something dark and carnivorous.

“Y-yes, yes, I want it, I need it, I-ahh!”

You don’t have to ask again, because he’s already descending, stupidly tongue licking and fucking in and out of your soppy little hole, as you scream out at it, so close to cumming you can feel the pressure in your tummy. He can feel it, as he grips your hips, shoving that little pleated skirt up and drinking you, drowning in you, your body just twitching under his hold.

“That’s it, there you go, doll. Cum all over m’fuckin face.” He urges, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, so goddamn intense as he devours your pussy, your  eyes roll into the back of your head as he latches onto your little twitching clit, sucking hard, and your body arches up, your back bowing off the bed, as you shatter.

“Oh fuck, T-Toji m’gonna cum I - ah!” You’re sobbing out the jumble of words, your voice hoarse, your body shaking as he feasts on you, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin. He’s fucking humming on your clit, and you feel the orgasm wrecking you as your hips buck up to his face.

He’s moaning as you orgasm all over his face, juices fucking pouring, the sounds of him slurping them up are goddamn obscene, he’s drunk off you as he sips up every bit he can. His breaths are hot and heavy, and your thighs are clamping down around his head, already overstimulated and whining pathetically, but he’s just too fucking strong, and he’s not stopping.

“Again, doll, can your lil slutty pussy cum again f’me?” You weakly shake your head, and he chuckles up at you. “So cute, and we’re just getting started, don’t tap out now… where’s your school spirit?”

“Oh my god…” You wanna cuss him out, but you’re about to cum again as he shoves two thick fingers in, curling them and pressing that spongy spot in your messy, not sloppy fucking walls. “Too much!” You whine, his chuckle tickling your clit as he spreads your lips, watching it twitch.

“Talked all that shit, then can’t take a lil foreplay?” You’re sweating already, about to cum again, the tension in your body coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re screaming out his name, Toji. Your hips bucking against his face, your juices squirting out all over his mouth and chin, soaking the bed beneath you, and he’s just swallowing it all down, groaning with every drop.

You collapse back, breathless, sweat slicked, and your heart racing so fast you can feel it in your throat, and Toji sits back a bit,, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at you with a smug grin, your pussy still quivering and pulsing around his thick digits as he is relentless in his fingering.

“Weak and fuckin pathetic, huh?”

“Ngh…” Is all you can manage, gasping as he keeps scissoring his fingers in and out of your cunt.

“That was just the fucking appetizer, doll.” And with that, he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dilated and reflecting your desire when he leans over you finally.

“T-Toji… I….”

“You sure can’t run that bratty mouth no more, huh? I already fuck you stupid with just fingers?” You just whimper, he makes you pathetic, ripping your top off you now, groaning as he sees your tits right in his face, gripping them in his big hands, sucking right on your nipples, while you’re grinding eagerly, dying for his cock.

“Toji please, more…”

“Think you can handle this cock, doll?” You nod eagerly, and he grins, lifting you like you’re nothing, pausing at your skirt and moaning. “Think we’ll keep it on.”

Toji’s undressing eagerly, despite acting in control, he’s dying to slip inside you, soaking wet and eager, sliding three fingers in just to test you, and you gasp at the stretch, legs shaking while he curls them at the knuckles. “Ngh! Too… much…”

“Doll, need ya nice and ready.” He pulls them out now, shoving them in your mouth, making you soak yourself as he lines the thick tip of his cock against your folds, pressing into your entrance, you scream out at it, pussy clenching just his tip, making him hiss. “Fuck you’re so tight still, shit…”

“Please, fuck me please.”

“Begging so pretty, love you like this - ha- f-fuck!” Toji’s green eyes roll back in his own head as he sinks into your soaking wet pussy, stretching you just perfectly around him, cupping your face as he does. “Look at me, now.”

You struggle to focus your eyes as he fills you, shoving in one stroke so deep your nails dig in his back, nothing but your cheer skirt and sneakers on your body, something about that and your pigtails making Toji feral. He slams his cock deep inside you as your mouth is in a slutty O, whimpering at the burn, the stretch.

“Can’t take a dick like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, and he wants to chuckle, to smirk, but he’s too pussy drunk now, as he fucks you harder, his bed creaking, headboard slamming on his fucking wall as he leans up. “Look at that… huh baby?”

You weakly look down, seeing your tummy bulge as he slows his movements, and you’re blushing, making Toji murmur how cute his cheerleader is, while he watches it slower and slower, groaning. His tip drags on some spot again, making your nails rake down his arms, leaving marks, and he moans, head falling low, sweat dripping from his brow against your lips.

“That’s it, fucking up your lil body, huh? Too fuckin big for you, ain’t I?” You weakly just nod, he has fucked your brains out, he’s smirking now. “Ready for real dick?”

“For what!? F-fuck!” Toji lifts a leg up now, slamming deep in your pussy, fucking wrecking you then, as you’re cumming all over his cock when he presses fully in, stuffing your little cunt so full you’re sobbing at it.

“There it is, feel her milkin’ me already, huh?” You’re dizzy, blacking out damn near even before he wraps a hand back on your throat. “Been driving me crazy for fucking years, y’know what you were doing, didn’t ya?

You nod weakly, tears in your eyes, gasping as you’re pulsing all around his thick veiny length, struggling as he stuffs you, balls deep. “T-too much, too much!”

“Nah doll, you can take it like a good girl, can’t you?” His words and his strokes fuck you up, you nod eagerly as he moans, fucking into you harder and deeper, before pulling out, watching you shake and laugh. “Hands and knees, doll.”

You eagerly obey, barely able to turn, he has to help you, pressing your head into his soft mattress as he fucks you so hard, the slapping and wet sounds filling his room with your muffled cries. You’re clinging to the sheets until he takes your hands, gripping them behind your back with one hand, delicate wrists squeezed while he pumps into your tight, eager pussy.

“Fuckin feel you, so goddamn perfect, made f’me huh?” You can’t speak, you just whimper, as he groans, yanking your head up by your hair, leaning over. “Asked ya a question doll.”

“M-made f-for you.” You whisper, he chuckles, kissing you sloppy before he lets you go, your head falling again, while he pounds inside your eager pussy, which swallows him in so pretty.

“Know how many times I… stroked it, fuck… know what you’ve done to me!? Think I’ll ever let this pussy go now?” He whispers, insane fucking things, maybe they should scare you, as he pounds you so hard you do feel split in two, but you’re just whining in pleasure as he hisses, your walls pulsing as you’re close again. “So fucking easy, huh?”

You can’t answer, you’re screaming into the sheets while he’s pounding you so hard, wrecking you for anyone, as he rambles - ‘that’s it, feel her’ - ‘no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh’ and ‘this is what you get, talking all that shit, hah- can’t fuckin’ speak now, huh?’

You’re a mess, drooling when he has you cumming again, only for him to flip you back on your back like you are some little doll to him, cupping your face and sucking in a breath for a moment. You have the marks of the bed on your pretty face, tears making your mascara trail, eyes fucked out. You have drool that he swipes, slowing then and huffing.

“Know how goddamn beautiful you are?” He whispers, so intimate and shocking for a moment, your breath catches, as he slows his strokes. “Know how you’re in all my dreams? Pretty, perfect, f-fuck…”

“Toji… y-you think…”

“I know.” You’re sobbing when he kisses you, when you’re clinging to him with numb hands from his brutal grip, and he slows just a bit, the kiss deepening. “God I’ve wanted you so long, doll, shit… like I’m dreaming.”

His words melt you, as you try to cling to any sense of reality anymore. “Oh, Toji…”

“Shh, stop making me sappy and shit, demon ass pussy here.” You breathless giggle, but it turns into a cry as you cling to him, hips rolling, when he’s getting close, and he’s cupping your face, you feel far too fucking much. “Where you want me to cum, doll, because I’m close, pussy gripping too good.”

“In me.”

“In you!?” You nod shyly, and he glares, narrowing green eyes as he tenses over you. “Anyone came in this pussy?” You shake your head nervously, earning his grin. “Perfect, gonna fill you first huh- want it all in you?”

You nod weakly, and he presses your thighs up, folding you in half, girthy cock and mean tip bullying your walls until he’s closer and closer, groaning. “Ngh!” You’re pathetically whining, he laughs.

“Beg for it, all this cum doll, been fucking waiting for this.”

“P-please- ah!” Toji loves how submissive you are despite you having been such a goddamn brat, pleased his cock has fucked your brains good enough you’re begging for it.

“Beg harder, doll.”

“Fucking please!”

“Please what, brat?”

“Daddy please!” Toji’s ended then, pouring hot spurts of cum so deep in your abused little hole, white ropes coating your fluttering walls as he damn near whimpers, falling heavy over you. You’re sobbing it feels so good, muscles throbbing and fluttering around his cock, pushing his cum and yours all down his cock. “Mnh!”

“That’s it, milk me like a good lil slut.” He huffs, easing back and shoving his cock in again, pressing kisses sweeter than his mean strokes down your neck. He exhales, fingers running down your skin as he feels you twitching under him. “Goddamn it, you’re such a brat, y’know? Until you get dick.”

“That w-was the cure.” He snorts now, shaking his head, leaning up with a breath, and cupping your face again, a thin sheen of sweat on your perfect skin, when he hears the door unlock, cursing.

“Shit…” You hastily cover yourself, as Toji struggles to right himself, hiding you under the blankets as Megumi walks in, sighing when he sees his best friend’s cheer top and likely her panties strewn along with his dad’s sweats.

“Really, you two?” He grumbles.

“Nothing happened, kid. Just… she’s…”

“Yeah, whatever.” He crosses his arms, leaning in the doorway as you peek out from under the covers. “We have a game? Get it together.”

He walks out and slams the door as you break into a breathless giggle, hastily getting up, only for Toji to shove you back down. You blink rapidly as he shoves two fingers in your sore pussy, making you hiss. “Toji what the fuck!?”

“Need you dripping me at the game, doll.”

A/N- Toji stuff is just my ABSOLUTE FILTH every fucking time, and I'm not sure I'm sorry about it lol. Reader and Toji both ain't shit, and poor Megumi LMAO. See you in the comments bbs hehe

taglist #1- @ella45jjk @rie-star @konekobby @maniccats @getoisinnocent @atiny-99 @y-u-w-k @mimiluvzu2 @kiliggirl @msniks @chsuguru @g00seg1rl @psychoartiste @aerareads @rentheannihilator @mima0127 @paradisestarfishh @themoreeviltwin @zym555 @nutmilky @superstar-t20 @2bizseechile @plimplimmeiododoi @shydroid3000 lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @tojiwoah @xllizs @collectionofdolls @midnightry @21yuki12 @angie420 @socrazylola @whosmarjj PERM- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @loafteaw @tojicvmslut @miizuzu @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @moncher-ire @orikixx @baepsays @airandyeah @naammiii

[ace-detectiv3]

GIGGLING RIGHTMOW I have an exam on November and guess what

My dad also has his viva thing on the same exact date and he's currently watching so many videos about it I;MGIGGLING IF I SUFFER WE SUFFER TOGETHER I GUESS

[gloomwitchwrites]

Oh please, please, please something short, funny with 141 where their wife calls them on their way home from work “yea, I think I’m having contractions!” And by the time they rush home, she’s sitting in the bath tub with their new baby. And she’s all casual like ‘Hey! Look at this cool thing I’ve got!’ And it’s their baby.

(My Grandmother had this happen! Each kid under an hour. My grandfather nearly had a heart attack! He’d always hesitate to leave her alone. Suspicious she was ‘purposefully’ going into labor when he wasn’t there to help her. Lol…)

Okay, that is so funny and adorable! Hehe, omg, I love this. Dad!141 is my favorite. I love writing them as fathers or as potential fathers. And this prompt is just an excuse to do that! Thank you so much for sending it in. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): married life, pregnancy, childbirth, domestic fluff, swearing, humor

Word Count: 2.1k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Price rubs at his temple, releasing a deep sigh.

It’s late. The base is nearly empty. Another late night filled with paperwork.

His phone buzzes, the cellular device vibrating on the desk. Price reaches for it, checking the screen. It’s you calling him, and his stomach flips.

“Cabbage,” he greets with a smile, answering the phone.

You’re pregnant, due date just a week or two away. Price doesn’t like leaving you home alone, but this is the last push. After tonight, he can come home early.

“John?”

His name is a question. There’s a hint of worry—of nervousness—and Price immediately picks up on it.

“Everything okay, love?” he asks, slowly standing, paperwork suddenly forgotten.

“John. I—I think—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m having contractions.”

By the time the words leave your mouth, Price is already grabbing his coat. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He swallows, pushing down his own anxiety, smothering it so he can be strong for you. “Stay on the phone with me. I’m coming home.”

On the other end of the line, you breathe heavily. Each whimper worries him.

“John,” you gasp, voice strangled as he throws himself into his car and turns it on.

 “I know. I know. I’m coming.”

Price is doing his best to stay calm, to stay alert as he drives off base and heads for home, but all he can focus is on you.

“Keep talking to me, love,” he says, attempting to sound encouraging.

“Okay,” you reply, but then go quiet.

 “Cabbage?”

When you don’t answer him, Price uses your name. Nothing. No sound at all as if the line’s gone dead.

“Shit,” he mutters, holding the phone out to check.

Call Dropped.

“Fucking shit,” he says, louder.

Price continues to dial—continues to call. Every time, he expects you to pick up, but you never do. The worry grows, becoming deafening as the seconds tick by. Traffic laws are broken, but it gets him home faster.

He’s throwing himself out of the car, dashing to the house, not caring if he forgot to put the vehicle in park. In the front entryway, he calls out to you, using your name.

There is no response.

 “Fuck,” he whispers as he dashes up the stairs, heading for the bedroom. He enters, and it’s—

Empty.

“Where are you?” he breathes, turning away to check the rest of the house.

But then Price hears your voice, soft and soothing. Frowning, he checks the bedroom again, only to head toward the bathroom.

You’re sitting on the floor, back pressed against the tub. There’s blood and a fluid Price doesn’t recognize smearing the floor between your legs.

You glance up. Smile. “Hi,” you laugh as Price drops to his knees beside you.

There’s a baby in your arms. Its hands are tight fists, face pinched like it’s annoyed to be here.

“No wonder you didn’t answer the phone,” sighs Price, placing his hand against yours that cradles the infant’s head.

“A bit busy,” you chuckle.

Price laughs with you, taking his phone out his jacket pocket to dial the hospital.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine, Simon. Really.”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “The last time I left you this close to your due date, you gave birth while I wasn’t here.”

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “That’s not going to happen again.”

“It might,” he growls.

“It won’t,” you insist.

As you start to walk away, Simon blocks your path. “You’ve been complaining about your lower back all morning.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I always complain about my lower back.” Simon begins to object but you continue on. “And we need milk. And eggs. And bread.”

“Fine,” mutters Simon. “Fine. I’ll go. But you call me immediately if anything happens.”

 “Okay, dad,” you reply, mocking him.

Simon drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you in to kiss the top of your head. “Pumpkin,” he replies, and you hear the smile in it.

“The sooner you go the sooner you’ll be back. You can worry and fuss over me all you want then.”

Simon pulls you in for another kiss before heading out the door. The trip to the store isn’t peaceful. In the back of his mind, Simon stews, a little voice telling him that you’re going to call him any second and tell him you’re in labor. That’s what happened with your first, and Simon came home after you’d given birth.

He was devasted. Upset. Not with you—never with you. He was upset with himself for not being there to support you through it. To hold your hand. To encourage and shower you with love.

Simon is standing in line at the meat counter when you call him.

“Don’t be angry,” you say when he answers the phone.

“Are you having contractions?”

“…Yes.”

“Goddamn it.”

Simon abandons the shopping trolley, apologizing to the workers as he rushes out the door and to the car. When he enters the house, he hears your labored cry. Dashing up the stairs, Simon enters the bathroom at the same moment you cry out, clearly pushing. You’re on your hands and knees, sweat beads your brow, hair sticking to your face.

He dives to his knees, arms outstretched and reaching beneath you as the baby’s head emerges.

“I’m here,” Simon says, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

You start crying, head tilting to lean against his shoulder.

Another push, and then the rest of the baby is out and in Simon’s hands. The infant is silent at first, then releases a cry of displeasure.

“Bloody hell,” exhales Simon, “I’m never leaving you alone again.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I’m having contractions, reads the text.

Johnny’s mouth drops open, gaze growing distant.

You’re having contractions. You’re having contractions, and he is on the other side of the city. With traffic, he’s likely an entire hour away from you.

“Soap?” asks Gaz, waving his hand in front of Johnny’s face.

“I have to go,” says Johnny quickly, shooting up from his chair, almost knocking it over.

Gaz and Ghost both stand abruptly, clearly startled by Johnny’s sudden panic.

“Everything good?” asks Ghost.

Johnny shakes his head. “The missus is having contractions.”

“Oh,” replies Gaz, eyes growing a bit wide. “Damn. Go. You should go.”

“We’ll cover your tab,” adds Ghost.

Johnny groans. “Her due date isn’t for another bloody week.” He grabs his jacket.

“You’re going to be a father, Soap,” chuckles Ghost, punching him in the shoulder.

“Fuck. What if she has it while I’m not there?”

“Don’t these things take forever anyway?” muses Ghost. “Contractions don’t mean anything. Right?” He glances at Gaz.

Gaz shrugs. “I think you should worry if it’s close together.” Gaz holds his hands close to indicate the lack of time.

“Shit,” mutters Johnny, tapping away at his phone.

Are they close together?

It’s a few seconds and then the three little circles pop up, indicating that you’re typing back.

They’re close. A few minutes apart. I’m on the phone with the midwife.

“Oh fuck,” mutters Johnny, elongating the vowel as he tugs on his jacket.

Gaz grimaces. “It’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure as Johnny rushes past him. “Congrats!”

Johnny hardly hears him, he’s too focused on getting to the car. Every second is agony—not knowing what’s happening while he’s driving. When he pulls up to the house almost an hour later, there’s a car Johnny doesn’t recognize in the drive.

As bursts through the door, he hears calming music. Rushing forward into the living room, he finds you on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, propped up by a nest of pillows. The midwife putters about as you gently rock back and forth, cradling an infant in your arms.

You glance up. “Look,” you laugh, lifting the infant that you’ve just birthed, presenting it like you’ve completed a fun DIY craft project.

Johnny almost faints.

“Oh, babe,” he exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The midwife makes a sound of annoyed agreement and Johnny winces.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “She came quickly.”

“I should have been here,” he groans, sliding to the floor next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You lean into him. “You’re here now,” you sigh, eyes closing as you snuggle against him.

Johnny looks to the midwife, and she smiles at him—a reassurance. You’re fine, and so is his daughter.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Ignoring it, Kyle keeps his attention on Captain Price, focusing on the briefing for the upcoming mission. The phone goes silent. Seconds later, it starts up again. Frowning, Kyle reaches into his pocket, sliding out the phone just enough to see the screen. Your name and picture appear on the screen, your smile bright and lovely.

“Need to answer that?”

Kyle’s head snaps up at the sound of Captain Price’s voice.

“Sorry, Captain. It’s the missus.”

Price inclines his head, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “It’s she pregnant?”

“She is,” affirms Kyle.

“Then you should answer it.”

Kyle gives him, Ghost, and Soap a brief nod. “Excuse me,” he mutters, standing and heading for the door.

When the meeting room door slams shut, the phone starts up again.

Kyle answers, his words falling from his mouth quickly, sounding like one solid word instead of several. “What’s going on, love?”

“I’m having contractions.”

You sound panicked.

 “You’re—are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” you gasp. “Water broke earlier—"

Kyle’s voice rises slightly. “Your water broke and you didn’t call me?”

“I wasn’t feeling anything,” you reply, as if that makes it okay. “But now, it’s constant.” Your sigh is labored. Tired. “They’ve come on so suddenly, Kyle. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, love. Don’t apologize.” You have nothing to be sorry for. He’s just happy you called. “I’m coming home. Right now.”

“But you have that meeting. You can’t—”

“I’m coming home,” he reiterates. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hang in there, dove. I’ll be there soon.” Kyle disconnects the call and bursts through the meeting room doors. “It’s happening,” he announces.

Soap blinks, confused. “What’s happening?”

Ghost side-eyes him. “He’s about to become a dad.”

“Fucking shit. Really?” Soap turns to Kyle, beaming. “Congrats.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest, a look of pride on his face. “Go, Sergeant.”

Kyle nods, giving a half-wave as he backs out through the toward, heading toward the parking lot. He’s practically running—rushing to turn the car on. Taking off, Kyle hardly cares if he hits anything, and he doesn’t blink when breaking nearly a dozen traffic laws.

He makes it home in half the time he usually does. Every second counts. Every moment important. If the contractions are coming quickly and close together, it means the baby is ready, and he needs to get you to the hospital.

As he enters the front door, he calls out to you. Your answer comes, but it’s distant. Upstairs. Kyle takes the stairs two at a time, walking into the bedroom to find it empty. But the bathroom light is on.

A few steps, and he pushes open the door.

You’re not standing at the sink putting on your makeup or getting ready to leave. You sit inside the shower on the tile floor, the glass door wide open, pantless, and cradling an infant in your arms.

“Shit,” he breathes, moving forward. “Shit.” Kyle crouches just outside the shower door.

You grin sheepishly, lifting the baby like it’s an accident. “She came minutes after I got off the phone with you.”

“Oh, bloody hell, love,” laughs Kyle.

There are tears in your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t be, my love.” Reaching out, he grasps the back of your neck. Leaning in, he presses his lips to your forehead. “She’s beautiful.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

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@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie

[urmum-lovesme]

Dad!Rafe is so 'Juno' coded . . .

The sun was high in the sky, casting golden rays over sea where Rafe and his friends had decided to spend the day. The yacht was floating just off the shore, a cooler full of drinks tucked beneath the shade of the canopy, and the soft sounds of music played from a speaker nearby. Y/N was lounging on one of the sun beds, sunglasses perched on her nose, pretending to read the book in her lap when in reality, her eyes kept drifting back to him.

Rafe was standing by the railing, talking to Topper and Kelce, but all Y/N could focus on were the stupidly perfect blue swim trunks hanging low on his hips, the way the sun hit his tanned skin, and the way his toned arms flexed every time he gestured while talking, the way his fingers curled so perfectly around his can of beer, the silver chain glistening around his neck-

God he looked so good

She wasn’t sure if it was the sun, the heat, or the fact that she knew she was ovulating- but she wanted him. Desperately. She swallowed, pressing her thighs together before looking down at the words on the page, but the damage was already done. The thought was in her head, and there was no shaking it now.

She needed to be closer to him.

A few minutes later, the group decided to head inside to grab more drinks, leaving Y/N and Rafe alone under the sun. As soon as the others disappeared, she was moving pushing herself off of her lounger and slipping onto his lap, straddling his thighs as he sat back on his own chair. Rafe barely had time to react before she was kissing him, her lips warm and needy against his. His hands instinctively found her waist, fingers brushing along her sun-kissed skin as he steadied her against him.

"Mmmh," he hummed against her mouth, a smirk forming as he pulled back just slightly.

"What’s the occasion baby?"

Y/N ignored his question, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then another, trailing her lips down his neck. She murmured between kisses, her voice low and sweet, like she wasn’t currently dying to have him right there and then.

"No reason"

Rafe chuckled, pulling back just enough to take a good look at her. His blue eyes flickered over her face, his smirk deepening as his fingers dug into her waist, eyes flickering over the baby pink bikini she had on.

"Don't lie to me"

He teased, his voice playful but knowing. Y/N bit her lip, trying to keep her cool, but the way he was looking at her made it impossible.

"Just feeling a little… needy"

She admitted, her fingers trailing lightly over his bare shoulders, before her hand rested on his bicep, which flexed slightly under her touch. Rafe groaned softly, tipping his head back as he laughed.

"Baby you trying to kill me or what?"

"Can't help myself... hormones are high"

She just grinned, brushing her lips against his again as she whispered. His hands tightened around her hips, his grip firm and teasing, and his voice was husky now, dark with amusement and something else. 

"Yeah?"

Y/N shifted her hands, sliding them down abs letting her fingers absentmindedly toy with the strings of Rafe’s blue swim shorts, her touch light, almost hesitant. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her, but it did little to settle the nervous flutter in her stomach. She was embarrassed- not because she didn’t want this, but because of how needy she felt.

How badly she wanted him right now.

And then, as her eyes lingered on him- on his tanned golden skin, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch- she remembered. The conversation they’d had a few weeks ago. That night, driving home from her cousin’s house, the sun setting in the rearview mirror. The way she had bit her lip, lost in thought, until Rafe had reached over and squeezed her thigh. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. His hands were on her thighs now, thumbs rubbing slow, soft strokes against her skin.

"Remember what we talked about last week?"

She murmured, voice quieter than she intended. Rafe definitely knew what she was talking about but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

"Hmm…" He tilted his head, smirking.

"Remind me?"

Y/N huffed out a breath, giving him a knowing look before taking his hand, guiding it up her body- past the soft skin of her upper thighs- until his palm was resting low on her stomach. His fingers twitched momentarily and his expression shifted. She glanced up at him, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips

"One of me is cute… but two though?"

That shit-eating grin was back on his face instantly as soon as the words passed her lips. His voice was lower now, rougher. He sat up a little, leaning in until their lips brushed.

"So that's what this is about, hmm?"

Y/N felt her breath hitch. Rafe smoothed his hand over her stomach, then dragged it to rub up and down her waist, his hold possessive. His lips hovered just above hers as he murmured,

"You want me to put a baby in you?"

Her eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, slowly clasping her hand around his neck her heart pounding. Then, barely above a whisper—

"I'm so fucking horny"

Rafe froze for a second before he let out a low groan, his grip on her tightening, fingers digging into her skin as his face dropped to the crook of her neck breathing her in.

"Jesus"

He muttered, his voice rough, strained. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her down against him as her head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips against her neck, tongue gently slipping over the skin. He found it hard to restrain himself because when he looked back at her, her expression was nothing short of desperate.

"Give it to me baby" he spoke out with a satisfied grin, "tell me what you want..."

She shyly bit her lip, her voice was shaky, breath uneven as she spoke,

"Mark your territory..."

That was all he needed.

Because the next thing she knew, Rafe was gripping her thighs and flipping them over, a small gasp escaping her lips as his body caged hers against the towel beneath them, his lips crashing down onto hers with a need that matched her own.

They're soooo Juno coded 💋

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Shameless

Tags: dad!Toji x fem!reader, modern!au, nsfw, mdni, breeding kink, he calls himself daddy

Synopsis: You’re Toji’s live-in nanny. He wants to breed you, and he successfully does so.

An: This is my story on ao3!! You can read it here. If you’re feeling extra nice, a kudos would be cool too.

Being a single dad was hard. Toji learned quickly after his wife's death that he in fact couldn't do this alone. The way little Megumi's big eyes looked up to him for direction... him of all people. He was not cut out for this. Megumi's mom was a wonderful mother: sweet, nurturing, and patient. Toji really didn't know if he was any of those things.

Luckily, her life insurance provided Toji with a relatively comfortable life combined with his job in construction of course. Construction might be his vice. He got away from home for 12 hours a day, and he worked so hard that his brain was mush by the time he was home. Not that he didn't love his son, he did, but every time he looked at Megumi he saw his sweet late wife. He also saw his short comings as a father.

Babysitters quit on him regularly. It was always the same excuse. "Megumi's an angel, but I can't be here 7 days a week. I have a life too." It was incredibly annoying. They'd stay for Megumi but left due to another one of his shortcomings.

Another one quit. That would be the third one this month. "Listen Mr. Fushiguro, I know a friend. She does this sort of thing on a different level. Have you ever considered having a live-in nanny?"

That stupid girl's question enlightened Toji. He had completely forgotten that live-in nannies still existed. After getting her friend's number and paying her what he owed her for her time, Toji relaxed on the couch with little Megumi tucked into his side. The three-year-old was happily babbling next to him, enamored by Toji's phone that was in his hand.

Toji looked at the number dialed into his phone, and he sighed. He was tired of making cold calls to potential babysitters like he was some desperate whore, but maybe, maybe this would be different. He wouldn't mind having a live-in nanny. His house wouldn't mind it either. Toji would be able to finally breathe. No more coming home from 12 hour shifts to pop something to eat in the microwave and wash the dishes. He wouldn't even have to see this so-called nanny often. He could pick up more hours at work with all of his new freedom of not having to worry about pissing off the babysitter.

*** *** ***

Either way, that's how you ended up in Toji's house. For the past three months you had taken care of Megumi, cleaned and deep cleaned his entire house, cooked him plenty of dinners from scratch, and even did his laundry the exact way he preferred. His house has never looked better, and Megumi had never looked so happy.

Despite being here for three months, you barely saw Toji. He seemed to avoid you like the plague and only answer with one-worded answers, which was fine. This was your job, not your actual family. There was no need for extensive communications. Though, you had gushed to your friend plenty over text about how hot "Mr. Fushiguro" was. He was conventionally attractive, yes. But you also always had a thing for the brooding types, and dammit, Toji was brooding. There was also something to be said about how he came home in the evenings. A black wifebeater clinging to his skin from a long day of working out in the sun. His jeans would be dirty from the work he was doing. His skin glistening from a thin sheen of sweat. His hair was always a mess. Goddammit. It was enough to make you feel fertile.

It was early in the morning, Toji was getting ready to go to work. Megumi had woken up, crying for his papa not to leave him. He's going through an extra clingy phase. He's usually okay once Toji's gone.

"Papa!" Megumi cried as Toji entered the living room. You had Megumi in your lap, rocking him with a sleepy look on your face. His tears were wetting your shirt, but you didn't seem to mind.

"He'll be back tonight, Gumi." You shooshed him and continued to try to rock him and pat his back.

Toji's face was unreadable. He was never one to get all upset over Megumi's crying, but hearing his son cry out for him tugged on his heartstrings extra this morning. Then, there was you. You were a godsend to Toji's life. Getting a live-in nanny was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Above that, you were excellent with Megumi. You were sweet... nurturing... patient. He hated how seeing you with his son made him feel. It almost felt like maybe 2 kids wouldn't be that big of a deal. Maybe 3. One on each of your legs and another one swelling in your belly. God. He was disgusted in himself for thinking like that.

"I love you, kiddo." Toji said quickly as he leaned down, giving Megumi's forehead a quick peck. The toddler made grabby hands for him. It was almost enough to make him stay home. Almost. Toji's eyes met yours as he was still leaned over. His face was close to yours. The tension between them were palpable. The moment felt like eternity between them.

Then, a black credit card was in view. "I need new work gloves. Get the extra thick rubber ones, will ya? Also, get whatever you and the kid want. I'll be back late tonight." He handed you the card and sauntered out of the house despite Megumi's pleas for him to stay. You looked at the Amex black card and blinked a couple of times. Only the top earners in the world had cards like this. Toji was just an average blue collar dad... It made you wonder how he got a card like this.

You still spent that shit though.

*** *** ***

Toji looked at his phone on the jobsite. No one dared to tell him to put it away. Toji was the best most competent worker out on the field. He could work circles around supervisors and project managers alike, and he was damn smart. He didn't need a pencil and paper or a calculator to make quick conversions in his head. So, most people stayed out of his way.

He smirked and chuckled at the notifications rolling in from his bank. 78.97 at Target. 21.25 at McDonald's. 43.52 at Barnes and Noble. 9.24 at Starbucks. He was happy you and Megumi were getting to have a little shopping spree.

You were also great at keeping him updated. You sent him lots of pictures and videos of Megumi. He cherished each one of them, immediately getting some of them printed and hung up in his house. There was even a picture of you and Megumi proudly displayed in the living room. In his mind, you were an integral part of the family. The "family" simply would not function if it weren't for you.

A fond smile spread across his face as he opened his messages. A picture of Megumi's little hands trying to fit into his new gloves that she had bought him. Great. She got the right ones. "I think he wants to be just like daddy :)", the message read.

Oh.

Oh.

The twitch that just occurred in his pants should be punishable in a court of law. In no way should he have gotten turned on by that. You were just being nice. It was a normal thing for people to refer to him as "daddy" in that context. It never affected him in the way it was right now.

So anyways, that's how he ended up in the port-a-potty busting a load all over a picture of you that he had on his phone. After the shock of his orgasm that came quicker than ever, he looked down, disappointed in himself. He wasn't some horny teenage boy anymore. This was just downright deplorable. Begrudgingly, he wiped his phone clean from his sins. Post-nut clarity swirled his brain. He couldn't believe he just did that.

He called your number. He had to make things right.

"Hello? Is everything okay?" You immediately asked. After living with Toji for some time now, you learned that he doesn't just call people. He will absolutely decline a call to just text and ask what's up.

"Everything is fine." He replied, trying to hide his amusement. It was cute that you seemed so worried for him. "Are you still in town?"

"Yeah, Megumi and I are about to leave Starbucks and head home. Why? What's up?" You responded back to him. He could hear Megumi happily singing a song in the background.

"You know you spent 152 dollars today?" Toji asked as he popped his back up against the port-a-potty door. He had a lazy smirk on his face.

"Oh- crap. I'm sorry. You can take whatever you see fit out of my pay-" He interrupted your nonsense quickly.

"Do you think I'm poor?" His voice was amused, not angry like you expected it to be.

"What-? No.. no, sir. I was just-"

"I told you to get whatever you and the kid want. Don't come back home until your certain that you can't carry the amount of stuff you bought in one trip." He said quickly. His stomach was already coiling from how you called him sir. He grimaced as he felt another twitch. I just took care of you dammit.

"Oh... oh, okay? Are you su-" Click. He hung up on you. One too many dumb questions. You looked at Megumi as he strapped into the backseat of your car. He looked intrigued by the conversation even though you knew he realistically had no idea what was just said. "Daddy said we have to go to the toy store." You grinned at him. He was smiling and clapping over the word "toy".

234.22 at Toys-R-Us. 122.56 at Lego. 208.38 at Aerie. 88.21 at Ulta Beauty. Another 94.48 at Barnes and Noble.

The way Toji grinned each time he felt that familiar vibration of his phone go off, meaning another notification from his bank was off-putting. Workers on the jobsite never seen him so happy. It was his penance for being such a horny freaky fuck.

*** *** ***

It was later that same evening. Megumi was in the living room surrounded by toys and crafting materials. He was currently drawing all sorts of "shadow animals" as he called them. You would of course look and nod your head, congratulating him on each terribly drawn animal. You acted like that was the best damn wolf-bear-owl hybrid you ever saw.

You were in the kitchen cooking chicken and dumplings. The clock on the stove read seven p.m. You didn't expect to see Toji at all this evening. He said he was working late this morning. Usually, that meant he was dragging his feet in through the door until well past ten p.m.

Still, you made him a serving of chicken and dumpling soup. You always did. Even when he worked late, you would put him a helping of dinner in the microwave to keep warm. You never knew, but he was always delighted by that. He ate the dinners each time.

A key jingling in the door handle caught your attention while you were getting Megumi settled at the dining room table. Three-year-olds were so hard to manage: too small to eat by themselves but too big to be locked in a high chair.

Toji stepped into the living room with a small grunt. He smirked as he looked around at his destroyed living room. Toys, crayons, and pieces of "artwork" were strewn all about the place. He glanced up towards you and Megumi in the kitchen. He took note of how your face was flushed and surprised.

"Papa!" Megumi happily shouted before the little bastard ran from your grasp to go hug on Toji's legs. His dad smiled as he looked down at Megumi, and he used his hand to mess up Megumi's hair affectionately.

"Go eat your food, kiddo." Toji said warmly to his son. Megumi happily obliged and ran right back to his seat right next to you, and you fed him a spoonful of the soup.

"You're home early." You stated the obvious.

Toji would never tell you, but he left early because he missed you two.

"Don't sound too happy to see me." He remarked in a sarcastic tone.

"What-? No, I just.. would've cleaned up more had I known you would be home so soon..." You responded. Megumi was sitting beside you whining for another bite of food. You snapped out of your surprise, and you fed him another bite of chicken and dumplings.

"Why? I don't give a damn what this place looks like." Toji said with a small nonchalant shrug. He walked through the living room, carefully stepping over the toys. Before you had become his nanny, this was how his house normally looked: messy, lived in. "I've got a bowl of dinner in the microwave. My kid's happy and fed. I couldn't care less what that living room looks like."

Your heart fluttered at the sentiment. Toji was easy to please. He really just wanted what was best for his kid, and that was you. "I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." You replied. He looked at you with an unreadable expression. It looked like he might've wanted to say something, but he had backed out last minute. He hummed and walked towards his bedroom to shower the dirt, sweat, and grime from the day.

While Toji showered, you had finished feeding Megumi and yourself. You allowed Megumi to have about an hour of TV time before bed. He really enjoyed old X-Men cartoons. You turned them on for him and parked him on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket.

You hummed softly as you worked in the kitchen. You packed meal prep containers of soup for Toji to take for lunch for the next couple of days. Then, you were washing dishes in front of the sink.

*** *** ***

"I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." Your words repeated in Toji's head over and over like a mantra. He hadn't felt so... cared for in a long, long time. It made his heart feel full, which was an unfamiliar feeling for him. A less unfamiliar feeling was his dick standing fully erect and at attention. He groaned quietly as he leaned his head back in the shower.

Something had to be in the air recently. He was a grown man with desires, sure. But this was a new record for him. Ever since you started being a live-in nanny for him, the boners were a daily thing. Hell, twice or three times a day sometimes. He's tried everything... Well, okay, maybe not everything, but he's tried cold showers and staying away from you. Neither of those things work to soothe him.

His hand was gliding up and down his length for the second time today. He was facing the shower wall with his arm propped up on it, supporting his head. Damn you for making him feel like a slave to his desires. You wanted to make sure he had nothing to worry about? Then, you should be the one in here fixing this damn mess, not him. He pitifully rutted into his hand, imaging he's plunging deep into you. Imagining the multiple ways he'd fuck the hell out of you is the only thing that soothes the ache, but this time he didn't see an end in sight.

He gritted his teeth together, and he balled up his fist, rearing back before stopping himself. He's not a teenager anymore. He can't punch walls. He took a deep breath and turned the shower off. No, this won't do. He needs to fix this at the source.

After quickly drying off and getting dressed, he walked back into the kitchen. His eyes scanned over the house. Megumi was enthralled by the TV, and you were washing dishes. Perfect.

He slowly approached you from behind. He could tell you didn't hear him as you were still softly humming. Usually, you would stop humming if he entered the kitchen. He never understood why. The sounds of your melancholic hums were beautiful and soothing to him.

He was directly behind you, and his hands gently cupped your hips. You immediately flinched and made a soft scream that was quickly silenced by one of his hands. "Shh, we don't want to disturb the little brat, do we?" Toji said into your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

Toji's eyes flicked over towards the living room. Megumi hadn't moved an inch. Perfect.

Toji slowly released your mouth. To his delight, you didn't make a sound. He could hear how your breath was slightly labored from him scaring you. A small chuckle rose from his throat. His hands went back to your hips, and he pressed himself against your voluptuous ass. A hum of approval escaped him. He could see your hands gripping the countertops.

"Nod your head. You like this? Want me to keep pressing myself against you?" Toji whispered into your ear. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, and you nodded your head eagerly, giving him consent.

"Dirty fucking girl." His voice was like a growl in your ear as he started to move his hips, dragging his length up and down along you. You could feel each inch of his length beckoning for you. "I knew you'd take whatever I gave you, but this? Letting me grind against you like a pathetic teenager while my son is in the living room? You're such a fucking slut." His hands were digging into your hips as he continued his controlled motions.

"Mnn.. fuck.." You softly whimpered out. Thank god the X-Men were currently in a loud fight scene.

You slightly frowned as you suddenly didn't feel Toji behind you anymore. You were about to turn around and ask what he was doing, but his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings told you everything you needed to know. "Toji-" You managed to whisper out. No way could you two do this while Megumi was in the next room over.

"Shut up." Toji interrupted you. He had taken his throbbing length out of his sleeping pants, and he had a look of concentration on his face as he angled himself right at your entrance. "You have no fucking idea how long I've needed this. So just be a good girl, shut up, and take what I give you."

Direct orders from your boss. Who were you to deny the man who just spoiled you all day today?

It was a tight fit. Toji wasn't a gentleman. He didn't prep you with his fingers or mouth. This wasn't love making. It was hardly fucking. This was fulfilling a need.

"God... fuck. I didn't expect you to be that tight." He growled into your neck as he held your hips still against him. It felt like he was splitting you apart. You couldn't even respond to him.

He noticed how tightly you were gripping the counter and how you weren't responding to him. Your knuckles were turning white. He almost felt guilty. His hand came around the front of you, and he gently rubbed the swollen bundle of nerves. "Shhh... You can take it. I know you can." He whispered into your ear as it was taking every last shred of self-restraint not to fuck you into oblivion right on this counter. He slowly pulled back until just his tip was inside, and he pushed all the way back in. "That's it. There's my good girl." He praised in your ear. It was not lost on him that he felt you get wetter with each praise.

He hesitated, but he said it anyway, "You wanna be a good girl for daddy, don't you?" He whispered into your ear. That phrase made you tremble in his arms and nod your head. He slowly pulled back out and pushed right back in, taking you slowly. "That's right... hngh, fuck." He moaned into your ear. "You want to be fucked by daddy. You want to take his cock like a good girl. Take it." His hips started to move with more conviction.

You were already so out of it. This was like a dirty fantasy come true. You couldn't help but check the TV a few times to make sure X-Men was still playing. You were still worried that Megumi might run in here for whatever reason and see you bent over in front of his dad. You knew it was unlikely. Megumi could watch that TV like a zombie all day if you let him. Besides, you would be able to hear the small pitter-patter of his footsteps.

"Stop looking at the fucking TV. Trust me." Toji growled into your ear as he forced your hips down onto him roughly. A noiseless gasp escaped you. He wasn't small, and he knew that. He was using it to his advantage.

"Fuck." He groaned quietly as he rubbed you with a bit more fervor. You could already feel that familiar warm feeling coiling in your stomach. "I'm going to fuck a baby into you. You were fucking made for this. Made for raising my kids and taking my fucking load." He was spewing nonsense into your ear, but in the moment, you couldn't help but nod and moan. "You were made for me." He proclaimed as his hips continued harshly snapping into your backside. Somehow the sounds were masked.

"You want that, don't you?" He asked as he bit down on your neck then lapped at the bite mark with his tongue.

"Yes, daddy!" You quietly exclaimed. His thrusts only increased in power. Your eyes started to cross, getting lost in pleasure.

"Fuck. You're gonna look so perfect pregnant with my baby. I won't let you have a break. As soon as one comes out; I'm puttin' another one in you." He continued on yapping about how many kids he was going to pump into you. "I'll breed you again and again." His thrusts were heavy and brutal. You couldn't take it anymore.

He moaned as he felt you clenching around him, finishing all over his cock. It was enough to drive him overboard. He pumped you full of cum until you were sure some of it was seeping out.

There was a peaceful moment of dizzy highness for you two. Toji panted against your back. For the first time in while, he's felt satisfied. A soft amused laugh escaped him as he heard the iconic X-Men episode coming to an end. He swiftly pulled out of you, and he tried to ignore that little whimper of protest you let out. He tucked himself back into his pants, and he pulled your leggings and panties back up for you since you were still a trembling mess over the counter.

"Alright Kiddo, c'mon. Time for bed." Toji said as he sauntered off into the living room as if he didn't just rearrange your guts. He put Megumi to bed that night, and he cleaned up the living room for you, allowing for you to recover in his bed for round two. He was much more of a gentleman for round two.

*** *** ***

"Hey... I know I ain't been to see you in a while. I'm sorry." Toji said as he sat down on the grassy ground. "I was letting life pass me by for too damn long." He said as he took a wet washcloth and began to wash up his late wife's gravestone. "I'm doing better now, so don't worry about me."

"Megumi's growing like a weed. I'm sorry I didn't bring him to see you... I just don't know how to explain it to him." Toji's voice was full of guilt as he dragged the wet washcloth against the stone. "He's a good kid though. He looks just like you, damn bastard." He softly laughed, knowing his wife would've struck him over the side of the head for calling Megumi a damn bastard.

"Listen... I met a girl." He leaned his head over the gravestone. It had been close to three months since you and Toji started sleeping together. There wasn't a formal label to your relationship, but it didn't feel necessary. You two both knew you were sleeping exclusively with each other. "I think you'd like her, or maybe you wouldn't since she's fucking your husband. But either way... I-" He choked up a bit as he held onto the cold stone. "I feel so fucking guilty... I know you're not coming home anytime soon, but I just... I need your blessing. If you can somehow hear me, please... I never asked you for anything until I asked you to marry me. Now, I'm asking... please somehow show me you approve of this."

"She's good for me... She takes good care of Megumi. He's so damn attached to her somedays." Toji softly laughed as he remembered how a few nights ago Megumi crawled into bed with you and him because he had a nightmare. Instead of taking to Toji like he normally does, he crawled into your arms. Toji had never felt so damn proud and slighted at the same time.

"I should get going. Give me a sign though.. Something that tells me you approve." He finished his visit with his wife, and he went home.

*** *** ***

That night at dinner, Megumi sped into the kitchen with an action figure in his hand. He was pretending to be Batman. "Gumi, I've told you three times. Stop running." You said as you gave the small child a look. Toji smirked as he knew that look good and well. It was the look a mom gave as a warning. Megumi was on his last warning.

"I'm sorry, mama." Megumi apologized, causing for both you and Toji to freeze right in your tracks. Megumi had never called you mama before. He always said your name.

Your heart swelled in your chest. It was a feeling of affection and guilt. "Oh no... baby.." You said softly as you took his hand. You lead him into the living room, and you crouched down, showing him a picture of his mom to him. "That's mama." You gently corrected him.

Toji watched the scene like a hawk from the dinner table. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had never been shy about telling Megumi who his mom was, but he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about how his mom passed away when he was a small baby.

Megumi pointed at the picture. "Mama." He said quietly. You nodded and patted his head.

"That's right." You praised affectionately. He then turned his attention to you. and he poked your chest with his tiny finger.

"Mama." He said, pointing at you.

"No-"

"It's alright." Toji spoke up from his seat at the dinner table.

"I don't want him to be confused..." You replied as you slowly stood back up, looking at Toji.

"He doesn't sound confused to me." He retorted with a small grin. You turned your attention back to Megumi, and Toji looked up towards the ceiling. "Thank you." He muttered so quietly before kissing the necklace that hung around his neck. He had his wife's blessing. This proved it.

After finishing his dinner, Toji joined you two in the living room. You and Megumi were curled up on each side of his while watching that old X-Men cartoon. Suddenly, Megumi rose from the couch. You and Toji watched him with a hint of confusion.

"What is he doing?" You softly asked Toji as Megumi bent over, and he looked between his legs at both you and Toji.

"I have no fucking id-" He was about to respond, but then, it hit him. "Get up." He said as he stood up from the couch. He quickly grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet like a madman.

"What? What? Is something wrong?" You asked as you had never seen Toji move this fast. You quickly got up too.

"Nothing's wrong. Come on. We're going to the store." He grunted as he swooped Megumi into his arms.

You were confused and in denial when Toji bought a pregnancy test and made you take it. Now, both of you were waiting outside of the bathroom for the five minutes to be over. "This is crazy, Toji. I'm not pregnant."

"It's an old wives' tale. When babies do that, it's supposed to mean their looking for their sibling." Toji said with a nonchalant shrug as if what he said was matter-of-fact. "My mother told me that's how she knew she was pregnant with me."

The timer went off on his phone, and both of you fought to get into the bathroom first. He eventually overpowered you and snatched the pregnancy test off the counter quickly. "Oh." He said quietly. The room went still.

Suddenly, your heart was racing. "What is it? Is it negative?" You asked a hint of disappointment hit you. You didn't know why, but a small part of you hoped for it to be positive.

"Oh, you're fucking getting it tonight." Toji smirked as he turned the pregnancy test over. Two pink lines were clear as day on the test. You're pregnant.

Tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

[pucksandpower]

Crash Course in Love

Lando Norris x Carlos Sainz’s best friend!Reader

Summary: in which Carlos forgets to tell his two best friends they’ll be staying in his villa together, and now a stressed out lawyer has to survive living with a human golden retriever, but you know what they say … opposites attract

You’ve been in Marbella for four days and already gone through three bottles of wine and two existential crises.

Carlos’ villa is too quiet for someone used to white noise: emails pinging, heels clacking, cortisol. The silence in this place isn’t peaceful — it’s accusatory. You’ve spent more time staring at the sea than you have your own reflection in the last ten years, which is saying something.

It feels indulgent. Like if someone walks in, they’ll accuse you of being lazy. You’d have to explain the insomnia, the migraines, the crying in bathroom stalls between depositions.

But Carlos isn’t here to judge. He’s off somewhere filming shampoo commercials in Paris or golfing in socks with his dad. He just texted you the gate code and told you to “relax, coño.” So here you are, inhaling almond-scented air and avoiding your inbox.

You’re halfway through a rerun of The Holiday when the doorbell rings.

You don’t move.

It rings again. Louder.

“Delivery?” You mutter to no one. You didn’t order anything.

You shuffle to the door in socks and an old hoodie of Carlos’ that you’ve unofficially adopted. You crack the door open and freeze.

Lando Norris is standing there. With a suitcase. And a sunburn.

“Hey,” he says, blinking like he’s not entirely sure this is the right house. “You’re not Carlos.”

“You’re … not a delivery guy.”

“Definitely not. Unless you ordered someone with mediocre Spanish and no plan.”

You blink. He grins.

“Sorry, I’m Lando. Uh. Carlos said I could crash in the guest room. Hotel bailed on my reservation. Long story. But he didn’t mention you’d be here.”

“He didn’t mention you’d be here either.”

“Cool. So we’re both surprised. That’s … fun?”

You stare at him. He looks like he just rolled off a yacht he wasn’t invited on. Sleeveless shirt, board shorts, and the confidence of someone who’s never had to Google “how to flirt.”

You open the door all the way. “Come in, I guess.”

He wheels his suitcase past you. It makes an annoying thunk over the threshold. You follow him into the hallway, watching as he does a slow 360 like he’s never seen furniture before.

“Whoa. This place is insane. Does Carlos actually live like this, or is he secretly royalty?”

“Just rich.”

“Same difference.”

You cross your arms. “You want something to drink?”

“God, yes. I’m parched. Is that still a word people use? Parched?”

You turn toward the kitchen. “Not since 1912.”

Behind you, you hear him mutter, “Alright. Tough crowd.”

He follows you to the kitchen like a golden retriever. Doesn’t ask where things are — just opens cabinets and drawers like it’s his Airbnb.

“I got this,” he says, pulling out two glasses. “I’m a fantastic guest. Top tier. Five stars on all platforms.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You have reviews?”

“No, but if I did? Flawless.”

He pours two drinks. One is wine. The other is apple juice. He hands you the wine. “Cheers.”

You eye the juice. “Is that … what you’re drinking?”

“I burnt a little on the flight. Gotta rehydrate.”

He’s completely serious. Like drinking juice is a medical emergency. You stifle a laugh.

“You okay?” He asks, suddenly earnest. “You look like you’re tired. But not like, normal tired. Lawyer tired.”

You blink at him. “Lawyer tired?”

“Yeah. Like … your eyeballs are sleepy but your soul’s still trying to finish a brief.”

You stare.

“I mean that in a good way. Like, impressive. Respectfully.”

“Wow.”

“I should stop talking.”

“Yeah, probably.”

***

Dinner is his idea. You offer to order something in. He insists on cooking. “I make a mean carbonara,” he says. “Or maybe risotto. Wait, do you eat dairy?”

You nod.

“Okay, sick. Chef Lando it is.”

You spend the next hour watching him destroy Carlos’ kitchen with the chaotic enthusiasm of a man who’s only cooked two times in his life and once lit a tea towel on fire.

He tells stories while he cooks, most of them involving near-death experiences, bad tattoos, and a rental car that somehow ended up in a lake.

You lean on the counter, sipping your wine. “Do you ever filter?”

“Rarely. But I can if you want. I can be quiet. Mysterious. Brooding.”

“You?”

He makes a face. “Okay, rude.”

“You burn your hand yet?”

“Twice,” he says cheerfully. “But I’m hiding it to preserve my ego.”

He fumbles with the tongs. Pasta flies out of the pan and onto the floor. He shrugs. “Five-second rule?”

You deadpan. “I’m not that desperate yet.”

He laughs. You notice he has a nice laugh. Not performative. Just … happy.

Dinner is terrible. Somehow both overcooked and cold. You take one bite and try not to gag.

“So?” He asks, eyes wide with hope.

“It’s … ambitious.”

He winces. “I’ll order pizza.”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Should’ve stuck with cereal,” he mutters, pulling out his phone.

You don’t mean to smile. But you do.

***

Later, you sit on the couch with your legs tucked under you while he scrolls through terrible Spanish romcoms on TV.

“This one’s got a 3.4 on IMDb.”

“Perfect.”

He clicks play.

You steal glances at him when he’s not looking. He’s gotten more attractive since the last time you saw him, though you’re not sure if it’s the jawline or the fact that he keeps folding your hoodie when you leave it on the back of a chair.

He’s obnoxious, yes. Too comfortable too fast. But when you yawn mid-movie, his entire face falls.

“Oh no, I’m boring you.”

“It’s the wine.”

“I’m still boring you.”

“You’re not.”

“I totally am.”

He turns toward you, earnest again. It’s disarming. “You wanna sleep? I’ll shut up.”

“You never shut up.”

“Harsh.”

He watches you for a moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

You pause. That question again. The one you’ve been dodging since the breakdown.

“Yeah,” you lie.

He nods. But doesn’t push.

You both go quiet. The movie drones on in the background.

“Hey,” he says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a cool vibe.”

You look at him. “What does that mean?”

“I dunno. Like … your energy. It’s nice.”

You snort. “Are you high?”

“No! I’m complimenting you. With words.”

“This is how a teenager hits on a barista.”

“Okay, true, but still. I meant it.”

You stare at him.

He grins. “Just accept the compliment.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t say no.

***

By the time you head to bed, the house smells like burnt garlic and whatever cologne he bathed in.

You hear him shuffling around in the guest room next to yours. Singing under his breath. Awful pitch.

You press your face into the pillow. You’re not supposed to like this. The noise. The chaos. The presence.

But when you wake up later and find your bags stacked neatly by the door — shoes lined up, hoodie folded on the chair — you smile.

Just a little.

And only when no one’s looking.

***

It starts the next morning with coffee.

You’re barely awake — just a hoodie-draped zombie with bed hair and a fading dream you don’t want to examine — when he appears in the kitchen, too chipper, too shirtless.

“You drink it black, right?” Lando asks, holding out a steaming cup like he’s been doing this forever. His curls are a mess. There’s toothpaste on his chin.

You blink at him. “How do you know how I take my coffee?”

“You made fun of me yesterday for putting oat milk in mine. I remembered.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s called observation. I do it professionally.”

“Driving is not the same as remembering my coffee order.”

“I do both with style.”

You accept the cup, suspicious. “Did you spit in this?”

“Only love and a little judgment.”

You take a sip. It’s surprisingly decent.

“You’re not completely useless.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He says it with a grin, but something flickers in his eyes when you smile over your cup. You don’t catch it. Not yet.

***

Days pass like that. Mornings laced with caffeine and accidental comfort.

You fall into a rhythm neither of you talks about. He gets up earlier than you expect — blasts music while brushing his teeth, sings ABBA off-key in the hallway, makes smoothies that look like radioactive goo.

You argue over playlists constantly.

“No. We’re not doing Pitbull at eight in the morning.”

“He’s Mr. Worldwide! It’s inspirational.”

“He’s bald and shouting.”

“That’s showbiz, baby.”

Sometimes, you win. Most of the time, he sneaks Mr. Brightside onto every playlist and pretends he didn’t.

You never thought you'd get used to someone like him. Loud. Playful. Constantly hovering in your peripheral vision. But there's a gentleness under the antics. A sweetness that doesn't beg to be noticed, but you notice anyway.

He drives you to the market without asking. Carries your groceries like it’s a competition. Starts trying to cook again — more confident than competent.

“What’s your favorite dish?” He asks one evening, hunched over his phone like it owes him money.

You answer without thinking. “Cacio e pepe.”

“Easy. I got this.”

He doesn’t got this.

He overcooks the pasta, forgets to salt the water, and ends up Googling “what is pecorino” in a panic.

You walk in on him whispering “don’t clump, don’t clump” at the sauce like it’s sentient.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Need help?”

“Nope. I’m an artist. This is part of the process.”

He serves it with flair. You pretend not to notice the texture is more glue than cheese.

Still, you eat it. He watches your face the whole time, pretending not to. When you finish the plate, he beams like he’s won a Michelin star.

^**

The rain starts on a Tuesday.

You wake to gray skies and the soft percussion of drops against the villa’s roof. You think it’ll pass. It doesn’t.

By mid-afternoon, you’re both restless.

“I have to move,” you say, pacing in the living room. “I need to do something.”

Lando sprawls across the rug like a teenage boy at a sleepover. “Let’s play Mario Kart.”

“That’s not productive.”

“You’re literally vibrating with stress. Sit down. You need to get your ass kicked by Princess Peach.”

You do not get your ass kicked. You annihilate him.

“This game is rigged,” he whines as your kart zips past his. “You’re cheating.”

“I'm just better.”

“You're heartless. Cruel. Unfairly good at drifting.”

“You sound like a man who’s losing.”

He groans, flops over, and covers his face with a throw pillow. “I hate fish.”

You blink. “What?”

“Just thought I’d change the subject.”

You snort. “Okay. Why?”

“They smell weird. They look weird. Their eyes freak me out.”

“Do you think fish can understand us?”

He lifts the pillow slightly. “Are we high right now?”

“No, I’m serious. What if they know we’re watching them?”

“Then I owe a lot of apologies to some sushi.”

You laugh. A real one. Not the polite chuckle you use in meetings, not the rehearsed smile for courtroom civility. This one hits your ribs.

He sits up. Watches you. Doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just … you’re different when you laugh like that.”

You glance away. “Like what?”

“Like you forgot something was weighing on you.”

His voice is soft now. Uncharacteristically so. You don’t respond right away. Just look out the window, rain sliding down the glass in long, lazy streaks.

After a while, you say, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He looks over.

“I mean, with my life,” you continue. “I was going so fast, for so long, and now I’ve stopped and I don’t … know what’s left.”

You stare at your hands. You hate how raw that sounds. How uncertain.

He doesn’t jump in. Doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t try to fix it.

Just sits beside you. Quiet.

“I used to think being successful would feel better than this,” you say. “But I don’t even remember who I was before I started chasing things I don’t even know if I wanted.”

“Do you wanna go back?” He asks.

“No. But I don’t know how to go forward, either.”

He nods. Not like he understands completely — but like he’s trying to. Like he’s holding space for you, instead of advice.

“I don’t have answers,” he says eventually. “But I’m really good at distractions.”

You smile faintly. “Clearly.”

“I mean, c’mon. My carbonara almost killed you.”

“It did. I wrote a will after.”

“Harsh.”

“Truthful.”

He grins, and you feel lighter. A little.

***

That night, the rain intensifies.

You can’t sleep. Not because of the storm, but because something inside you is too noisy. Like your mind won’t stop pacing the room.

You wander out into the hallway, barefoot and restless, planning to make tea.

You don’t expect to see the front door open.

Or the rain soaking the floor tiles just past the entry.

Or him — barefoot, shirt clinging to him, hair dripping, crouched on the porch with his hands around a toppled plant.

You step outside. The rain is warm. Immediate. Your hoodie clings to your skin.

“Are you serious?” You call.

He looks up. His smile is sheepish, wide. “It fell over. I didn’t want it to drown.”

“In the middle of a storm?”

“Poor guy didn’t ask for this.”

You stare at him. His knees are muddy. There’s a leaf in his hair. He’s cradling the ceramic pot like it’s a kitten.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Guilty.”

“But also kind of … sweet.”

He looks at you.

You’re not sure what’s shifted. Maybe it’s the rain. The hour. The silence between the two of you that’s no longer awkward.

You’re suddenly aware of how close he is. How sincere his face becomes when he thinks you’re not looking.

He stands slowly. Water drips down his neck.

You say, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

You say, “You’re soaked.”

“So are you.”

And there it is — that moment. Hanging. Taut.

Not quite a kiss. Not yet.

But the kind of stillness that precedes something inevitable.

He tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Doesn’t touch anything else.

His fingers are cold. His eyes are impossibly warm.

You shiver.

He notices. “Come on. Let’s not catch pneumonia.”

You nod. Follow him inside. Neither of you says much as you dry off.

But something’s different now.

And you both feel it.

Like you’ve stepped into something bigger than a holiday detour.

Something that might last.

***

You don’t expect him to ask.

You’re elbow-deep in a bowl of popcorn, half-watching some Spanish cooking show neither of you understands, when he says it — casual, like it’s nothing.

“You should come to Monaco next weekend.”

You blink. “What?”

“To the race. I’ll give you the VIP treatment.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you get a lanyard. And free food. And I pretend to be cooler than I actually am.”

“So, your regular weekend?”

He smirks. “Exactly.”

You scoff. “I’m not going to be some … grid girl.”

His grin falters. Just a little. “It’s not like that.”

“Lando.”

“You’d be my guest.”

“That’s worse.”

He turns toward you on the couch, legs folded under him like a golden retriever mid-persuasion. “Come on. It’s glamorous. There’s champagne. Helicopters. You love judging rich people.”

“That part is tempting.”

“I’ll let you wear one of my team shirts.”

“Still not sold.”

“I’ll bribe you with food.”

“Try again.”

“I’ll-” He pauses, thinks hard, then lights up. “-I’ll serenade you. Publicly. At the paddock.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Off-key. Acapella. I’ll make the engineers cry.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

He leans closer, dramatic whisper: “Come on. I’ll look lonely if you’re not there.”

“You’ll be surrounded by people.”

“Yeah, but none of them steal my fries and insult my music taste.”

You try not to let the warmth bloom too fast. “That’s your best argument?”

He lifts his hands. “That’s all I got.”

You shake your head. “Fine.”

He blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

You sigh. “Yes. Before I change my mind.”

He fist pumps the air. “YES. I mean — cool. Chill. No big deal.”

You snort. “You’re such a loser.”

“Your loser.”

You ignore the way your chest does a weird little flutter.

***

You regret saying yes almost immediately.

Not because you don’t want to go — but because it’s a lot.

The paddock is chaos. Noise. Cameras. Sunglasses on everyone, like they’re all pretending it’s not just overcast. You can feel eyes on you from the second you step out of the car.

Lando’s bouncing on the balls of his feet beside you, grinning like he owns the place. Which, in a way, he kind of does.

“You okay?” He asks.

You nod, a bit dazed. “You weren’t kidding about the VIP treatment.”

“Would I ever lie?”

“Yes.”

“Fair.”

He hands you a pass. “Here. This is your all-access badge. Makes you important.”

“Is it laminated?”

“Of course it’s laminated. We’re not animals.”

You laugh. He smiles like that was his whole goal.

People greet him constantly — engineers, press, fans. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder more than once, guiding you through the crowd.

You notice it after the third introduction: no one asks who you are. They all assume.

“Oh, so this is your-”

“Hey, you finally brought her!”

“Lando’s girl, right?”

You start correcting people. At first.

“Oh no, we’re just-”

“Not together, actually.”

“Just friends.”

But he never jumps in. Never clarifies. Just smiles, tugs you along, calls you mate in that annoyingly endearing way.

At some point, you stop correcting anyone. You tell yourself it’s just easier that way.

You’re lying.

***

You meet Oscar by the snack table.

He’s polite, a little dry, surprisingly funny. You’re mid-laugh when Lando shows up, scooter wheels screeching dramatically.

“Hey,” he says, too loud. “What’s going on here?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Just talking.”

“Looked like flirting from over there.”

Oscar blinks. “I was complimenting her trainers.”

Lando squints. “They’re mine.”

“Ah.” Oscar smiles. “Well, you’ve got good taste.”

You can feel the tension radiating off Lando like heat from asphalt.

“Oscar was just telling me about the simulator,” you say, steering the conversation.

Lando crosses his arms. “Yeah? I’m faster than him in it.”

“By two-tenths,” Oscar says mildly.

“Still counts.”

You glance between them. “Are you … racing right now?”

Oscar shrugs. “Always.”

Lando tries to lean casually against a tire stack. Misses. Nearly faceplants into a crate of water bottles.

You wince. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, hopping back up.

Oscar’s expression is unreadable.

You bite your lip. “Should I, uh, go find my seat?”

Oscar nods. “Probably safer over there.”

You follow Lando as he storms off, silent. His curls are a mess. His ears are red.

When you finally stop near the garage, you say, “What was that?”

“What?”

“You nearly crashed your scooter trying to interrupt a conversation.”

“He was flirting with you.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“He was definitely flirting with you.”

“And if he was?”

Lando blinks. “I-”

You tilt your head. “Lando.”

“I didn’t like it.”

You cross your arms. “Why not?”

He stares at the ground. Rubs the back of his neck. Looks nothing like the confident, camera-ready version of himself from earlier.

Finally, he says, quietly, “I just really like you.”

You freeze.

“I know I’m not your type,” he adds quickly. “And I know you’re probably just being nice to me because I make dumb jokes and cook badly and follow you around like a puppy-”

“Lando-”

“-but I’d try, you know? To be whatever it is you’re looking for. Even if I’m not it.”

The words hang between you. Raw. Honest. Vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before.

You laugh. Just a little. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s too much.

He looks crushed.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “That wasn’t — I’m not laughing at you. I’m just … overwhelmed.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying to smile through it.

You reach for his arm. “You don’t have to be anything else. You’re already …”

You stop. Your heart fills in the blank your brain can’t say.

You’re already it.

***

Back in the garage, you watch him from a distance. He’s talking to his engineers, gesturing wildly, helmet tucked under one arm.

He doesn’t glance your way.

For once, you’re the one staring.

Something’s shifted again. The line you’ve been walking is gone. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

Maybe this thing — whatever it is — isn’t waiting to be defined.

Maybe it’s just becoming.

***

It starts with a subject line you don’t want to read.

RE: Return to Work Policy Update.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the villa’s sun-warmed patio, coffee cold beside you, when the email comes through. You stare at it for a full minute before opening it.

Then you read it. Reread it. And again.

By the time the words actually register, your throat is dry.

They want you back.

In the office. Full-time. Effective immediately.

No room for extension. No regard for the months of burnout, the time zone, the soft, tender recovery you’ve only just begun to trust.

The deadline sits there, bold and final: next Friday.

If you don’t return, they’ll consider it a resignation.

Your hands tremble. Not dramatically. Just enough to spill a little coffee when you try to pick up the mug.

You wipe it away with your sleeve. Then you close the laptop slowly, gently, like maybe that’ll keep the contents from being real.

***

Lando doesn’t notice at first.

You’re good at hiding. You always have been.

He bounds into the kitchen mid-morning, wearing swim trunks and no shirt, hair wet from the sea. “I made toast!” He announces proudly. “It’s only slightly burnt. Also, I may have used all the butter.”

You smile. Or something close to it.

He pauses. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“You wanna go for a swim?”

“Not right now.”

He watches you for a second longer than normal.

Then shrugs. “I’ll save you a good floaty.”

You nod.

But later, you don’t join him. You stay inside. You open a suitcase you haven’t touched in weeks. You fold slowly, carefully. As if touching your things too fast might make it all feel too real.

***

The villa shifts.

There’s a silence between you that hasn’t been there before. Not sharp, just … echoey.

You stop making jokes. Stop dancing in the kitchen. Stop stealing his hoodies and pretending not to.

Lando notices.

And he spirals.

First, he overcompensates — louder jokes, bolder breakfasts, compliments that sound like YouTube comments.

“You’re glowing today. Like, solar flare-level.”

“Okay.”

“That hoodie’s working overtime. Is that a new shade of existential dread?”

You manage a weak laugh. It makes him look relieved. Which only makes you feel worse.

Because none of this is his fault.

He doesn’t know.

You don’t tell him.

***

Wednesday, he plans the party.

He does it in secret. Sort of.

Oscar is in on it. So is Carlos — over FaceTime, mostly to say things like “Do not set anything on fire” and “Are you using actual TNT?”

Lando doesn’t care about the logistics. He just wants to make you smile.

“She’s leaving, I think,” he mutters, digging through drawers for balloons. “She hasn’t said it, but … I can tell.”

Oscar looks at him, concerned. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly.” Lando shrugs. “I think I broke it.”

“You?”

“She’s … retreating. Like, emotionally. It’s like she’s packing her heart before her suitcase.”

Oscar frowns. “That’s poetic. Are you okay?”

Lando ignores the question. “I just want her to know she matters here. That this mattered. That I’ll-” He stops. Runs a hand through his curls. “-that I’ll miss her. So fucking much.”

***

The party is terrible.

Confetti ends up in the punch. The playlist is just ABBA and Martin Garrix on loop. Oscar bails halfway through. Carlos texts I warned you.

But the real problem is this.

You don’t show up.

Lando waits. He checks his phone. Checks the garden. The pool. The kitchen.

Nothing.

Eventually, he wanders outside. Something tells him to check the back.

That’s where he finds you.

Curled into yourself on a bench beneath the lemon tree, head bowed, fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt. Shoulders shaking.

He stops mid-step. Heart hammering.

“Hey.”

You flinch, barely.

He walks slowly, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently.

You shake your head.

“I thought you were mad at me,” he admits. “But you’re-”

“I’m leaving,” you say suddenly, voice hoarse. “Next Friday. If I don’t go back, they’ll fire me.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Lando sits beside you. Not close enough to touch. Just near.

You bury your face in your hands.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper. “But I don’t know how to stay, either.”

And just like that, the dam breaks. The tears come fast, messy, embarrassing in their intensity.

You expect him to panic. To joke. To offer a stupid, misplaced solution.

He doesn’t.

He just slides closer. Wraps his arms around you.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says softly, chin resting on your hair, “but I can sit here until you’re okay.”

You cling to him like he’s a life raft. And maybe he is.

You cry harder.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit. “I’ve spent years building a life I’m not even sure I want anymore.”

“Then don’t go back to it.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know who I am without it.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, quietly, “I think you’re someone who deserves to choose. And be chosen.”

You pull back slightly. Just enough to look at him.

His eyes are red. Not from tears, just open. Vulnerable.

“Lando,” you whisper.

He leans in.

Slow. Careful. Like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

The kiss is gentle. Reverent. A question more than an answer.

You breathe into it. Let your hand slide to his jaw. Let yourself feel the way he sighs against your mouth, like kissing you is something he’s been holding in for weeks.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Stay,” he says, barely audible.

You close your eyes.

“I want to.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

***

You don’t decide to stay because of Lando.

Not exactly.

You decide to stay because the thought of packing up now — of folding all this softness into a suitcase and shipping it back to a life you’re no longer sure you chose — makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with clarity.

Lando doesn’t ask questions. He just finds you that morning in the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed, scribbling a pros and cons list onto the back of an electric bill.

You don’t look up. You just say, “I’m not leaving. Not yet.”

He’s quiet for a second too long, and you glance up — worried he didn’t hear, or worse, that he did.

But then he grins. Huge. Bright. Like someone lit a fire inside him.

“You’re not leaving?”

“No.”

“Like … not leaving leaving?”

“For now.”

“For now,” he echoes, nodding, trying to play it cool. “Right. Yeah. Cool. Chill.”

You sip your coffee.

He bumps your shoulder. “So … does this mean I can keep introducing you as my emotionally exclusive, spiritually bonded non-girlfriend?”

You laugh into your mug. “That’s not a thing.”

“It could be. It sounds deep. Very committed. Like a tax bracket.”

“Just say girlfriend.”

“But we didn’t talk about it.”

“Then talk.”

He straightens, clears his throat dramatically. “Would you do me the honor of being my emotionally exclusive-”

“Lando.”

“Girlfriend. Would you be my girlfriend?”

You give him a long look. “Okay.”

He whoops and spins you around the kitchen before you can change your mind.

***

The days fall into place like dominoes after that.

Not perfect. Just … consistent. Yours.

Mornings start with half-burnt toast and Lando doing pushups in the living room because “I skipped the gym, babe. You want me to be weak?”

You steal his hoodies like it’s your job. He leaves little notes in your shoes like it’s his.

Sometimes, you fight. Over dumb stuff — who used the last clean towel, whether ketchup belongs in the fridge or the pantry, if “driver” is a real career or just a glorified Mario Kart enthusiast.

But the making up is easy.

It always has been, with him.

***

One afternoon, Lando walks into a coffee shop holding your hand and introduces you to the barista.

“This is my girlfriend.”

You blink. He hasn’t used the word out loud yet.

“Well,” he adds quickly, “not officially officially, but like, we’re emotionally exclusive. Spiritually connected. She knows where I keep my socks.”

The barista nods slowly, very confused.

You squeeze his hand. “We’re dating.”

“Oh,” she says, relieved. “Cool.”

Lando turns to you as soon as she walks away. “Was that weird?”

“A little.”

“Did I oversell it?”

“Maybe.”

“But you still like me?”

“Unfortunately.”

He beams. “Sucker.”

***

You record a video of him attempting to fold laundry and accidentally inventing a TikTok dance while pulling a hoodie inside out. It gets 300,000 likes overnight.

He tries to act modest. Fails completely.

“I’m an icon,” he says, scrolling through the comments. ‘Boyfriend energy — see that? That’s me. I am the boyfriend.”

You steal his phone.

“HEY!”

“No more reading comments. You’re unbearable.”

He leans in, eyes wide and innocent. “You knew what you signed up for.”

You did.

You just didn’t know it would feel this good.

***

Carlos calls during dinner one night. You’re sitting outside, feet in Lando’s lap, a half-eaten bowl of pasta between you.

Lando puts the call on speaker.

“Have you both burned down my villa yet?”

“Nope,” Lando says cheerfully. “Just christened all of it.”

You kick him.

Carlos sighs. “I knew letting you stay there was a mistake.”

You grin. “We’ll leave it better than we found it.”

“Good. Because I’m coming back next month.”

Lando chokes on his milk.

Carlos raises an eyebrow — visible even through the pixelation. “What?”

“Nothing. Cool. Chill. Welcome back, mate.”

You lean in. “We’ll be out before then.”

“Where are you going?”

Lando shrugs. “Nowhere far.”

Carlos stares suspiciously, but lets it go.

For now.

***

It happens on a Sunday.

You come home from the market, arms full of fresh herbs and way too many lemons because Lando said “go big or go home,” and walk into absolute chaos.

Smoke. Everywhere.

You freeze in the doorway.

“Lando?”

A pan clatters. “It’s fine!”

You drop the groceries and rush in. He’s waving a dish towel at the smoke detector, eyes watering.

“What did you do?”

“I was trying to make that shrimp thing you like!”

“I told you I was allergic to shellfish!”

He pauses. “Wait, shrimp counts as shellfish?”

You just stare.

“I thought it was like … seafood.”

“It is seafood!”

“So … not fish?”

You blink at him. “That’s your defense?”

He drops the towel. “I’m really bad at this.”

You cross your arms. “I noticed.”

He opens his mouth to keep digging the hole.

You laugh.

It surprises both of you.

“God,” you say, walking over, “you’re a disaster.”

“I tried to impress you!”

“With anaphylaxis?”

“I got confused!”

You wrap your arms around his waist, still laughing.

He exhales, relief flooding through him.

You tilt your head up. “Next time, just buy me a cupcake.”

He grins. “Can do.”

Then he kisses you. Slow, familiar. Like you have nowhere else to be.

And maybe you don’t.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe this mess of smoke and lemons and burnt fish-smelling air is yours.

***

Later, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, you ask, “So what’s the plan when Carlos comes back?”

Lando taps something on his phone, pretending to be casual. “We … move?”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your plan?”

He tosses the phone down and stretches, clearly trying to be nonchalant. “I mean, we can’t actually stay here forever.”

“No,” you admit.

“I’ve been looking at places.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, cheeks going pink. “Just, you know. In case we want … options.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “And do we?”

“I do.”

He presses a kiss to your hair, then grins.

“Hey … do you know any good lawyers?”

You look up. “Why?”

“Because Carlos is definitely going to want his villa back. And I think I need legal counsel before I sign the papers on a new one.”

You laugh. “Are you trying to retain me?”

He grins. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Legally.”

You nudge him playfully. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you love it.”

You do.

And you’re staying.

***

Carlos arrives at the villa just after noon, sun-tanned and dead-eyed, dragging two suitcases and a single, unrelenting hope.

Peace. Quiet. Maybe a cold beer. No one yelling. No team meetings. No cameras.

Just Marbella, his lemon trees, and the blessed sound of absolutely nothing.

He exhales as he unlocks the front gate, breathing in the soft scent of sea salt and sunscreen. It’s good to be home.

Or so he thinks.

Because he hasn’t noticed the massive moving truck parked next door yet.

***

He’s halfway through unpacking — half a beer gone, half a suitcase open — when he hears it.

A crash. Then laughter. Then what sounds like, yep that’s Lando’s voice shouting, “Babe, I think I broke the blender but like … in a hot way?”

Carlos freezes.

“No,” he mutters. “No. No. No.”

He walks stiffly out to the garden wall, cranes his neck — and there, as if summoned by evil spirits and bad karma, is Lando.

Wearing a tank top, holding a screwdriver, grinning like the world is made of sunshine and Monster energy.

“CARLOS!” He yells, delighted. “You’re back!”

Carlos stares, horrified. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, right — funny story!” Lando sets the screwdriver down on what might once have been a blender. “We live here now.”

“You what?”

“Moved in last week.”

Carlos blinks. “Here? As in … next door?”

“Yeah! Isn’t that great?”

Carlos looks like he’s trying to mentally summon a lightning strike. “You bought that place?”

“Well, technically it’s still in escrow,” Lando says, wiping his hands on his shorts. “But spiritually, we’ve already moved in.”

Carlos glares.

Lando grins wider. “Wanna see the kitchen? We painted one of the walls blue by accident but I think it kind of slaps.”

Before Carlos can recover enough to yell, you step out from inside, wearing Lando’s hoodie and holding a glass of orange juice like you own the sun.

You freeze. “Oh.”

He blinks. “You’re here too?”

You smile sheepishly. “Hi, Carlos.”

Lando beams. “We’re neighbors!”

Carlos closes his eyes. “I need another beer.”

“Want one of ours?” Lando offers brightly. “I bought those fancy ones you like. The ones with the weird labels.”

Carlos opens one eye. “Did you drink all the ones in my fridge?”

“No! I have your beer memorized.”

“That’s not better.”

You snort, already laughing.

Carlos stares at the two of you, then sighs. “This was supposed to be my peaceful getaway.”

“We can be peaceful,” you promise.

Lando leans against the garden wall. “Super peaceful.”

A loud crash echoes behind him.

You wince. “What was that?”

Lando blinks. “Oh no. I left the microwave on.”

Carlos groans into his hands. “This is my nightmare.”

“C’mon, it’s us,” Lando says, grinning. “What could go wrong?”

Carlos doesn’t answer. He just walks back into his villa, muttering something about divine punishment.

***

From his kitchen, he can hear you both laughing through the open windows.

And weirdly, it kind of sounds like home.