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toshisdecadence · 3 days ago

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What A Woman Wants

PAIRING: dilf!toji fushiguro x rich girl!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, age gap (reader is in college, toji is in his forties), unprotected sex, implied infidelity, slight angst, implied virgin!reader, cherry popping (read: exterminating), manhandling, rough sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, oral sex (f receiving), degradation, choking, spitting, fingering, obscene dirty talk, creampies, dumbification, overstimulation, dacryphilia, marathon sex, size kink, size difference, stomach bulge, cervix mentions, doggy, mating press, missionary, referenced public sex, referenced quickies, referenced phone sex and sexting, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 15.2k

SUMMARY: You find yourself tangled in an intense affair with the last man you should ever want—Toji Fushiguro, broke, rugged, and utterly irresistible.

Toji Fushiguro—a single dad, financially struggling, with a bare apartment and rugged disposition—seemed to unite some of the worst misfortunes in existence; and had lived nearly 42 years with many things that distressed and vexed him.

His life had been far from ideal, but he tried his best. Well, as good as “best” could be. If it was just him, Toji would’ve just fucked off to some other dump. But he wasn’t. He had Megumi, his only son. A son he was barely a father to, admittedly, but Toji never claimed to be a model parent.

A skill that Toji had picked up from his shitty four decades of living was the ability to read people off the bat. Their body language. Demeanor. Way of speaking. The way they held their gaze. He could tell when a person had never experienced any form of hardship.

You were one such person. Toji could smell it from the moment you emerged behind Megumi’s back, dressed in a pretty white ensemble that no doubt cost one of his paychecks.

You’d shown up to Megumi’s apartment with a practiced ease that screamed entitlement—not the loud, obnoxious kind, but the subtle sort that came from never having to second-guess whether the world would open its doors for you. You carried yourself like someone who’d never been told “no” in a way that actually mattered.

Toji noticed it right away.

It wasn’t just the clothes—though the crisp linen blouse that clung to your figure and understated pearl earrings definitely told a story. It was the way you lingered in the doorway without stepping aside, as if the worn-out carpet and cheap furniture might rub off on you. The slight wrinkle of your nose, almost imperceptible, quickly smoothed over when Megumi introduced you. The polite, pretty smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Yeah, Toji knew your type.

He leaned back against the raggedy, saggy couch, sprawled out in a way that was equal parts lazy and deliberate. He’d learned a long time ago that people like you hated men like him. Men who didn’t clean up well, who didn’t pretend to be better than what they were. He let his gaze drag over you just long enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“Didn’t know Megumi had friends like you,” Toji said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You arched a perfectly manicured brow, the polished kind of expression that said you weren’t easily rattled. “Like me?”

“Yeah.” He took his time lighting a cigarette, even though Megumi’s annoyed glare told him not to. He liked pushing buttons, liked seeing how far people could bend before they snapped. “The kind who looks out of place here.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Your voice remained even as you replied, “And what kind is that?”

Toji smirked, slow and mean, the scar running through the corner of his mouth making it almost look like a sneer. He exhaled smoke in your direction, earning a furrow of your brow. “The kind who thinks this shithole’s beneath her.”

“Dad, could you not?” Megumi groaned, intercepting the exchange.

Toji simply shrugged, lazily letting his gaze trail from his son to you.

You stared at him, your expression controlled. If anything, you looked amused.

The tension sat heavy between you, like a tug-of-war where neither side wanted to flinch first. Toji could see the war in your eyes. The same kind he saw in all the women who thought they were too good for him but still couldn’t stop looking.

Before either of you could push further, Megumi came back into the room, breaking the moment. Toji watched the mask slip back into place as easily as it had fallen. Polished, perfect, untouchable.

“Then, excuse me, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, smiling politely.

He leaned back against the couch, cigarette dangling from his lips, and let his gaze follow you as you walked behind Megumi in tow. Toji appreciated the view. Prissy as he thought you were, you sure are one pretty woman.

And then you looked back over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

You spotted him by accident.

The streets of downtown gleamed under the afternoon sun, polished storefronts and valet stations lining the walkways. The sun almost made the pavement shimmer a blinding white. It was your kind of area. Clean, expensive, and carefully curated to keep out the riffraff. Which is why Toji Fushiguro stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was leaning against the faded green truck parked half on the curb, the black sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his forearms, cigarette dangling between his lips as if he had all the time in the world. The smoke curled around him, blending with the faint scent of engine oil and sweat that seemed to follow him.

You almost didn’t recognize him without that thin black t-shirt clinging to the kind of frame belonging to a man in his forties. But the moment he turned and locked eyes with you, the unmistakable scar on his lips twisting as his lips spread into a lazy smirk, you knew exactly who he was.

“Mr. Fushiguro,” you greeted, lips tightening into a strained smile.

Toji raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Didn’t think you’d bother pretending to be polite.”

You stopped a few feet away, your hand gripping the strap of your leather designer bag from sliding down your shoulder. “I’m polite when I need to be.”

“And this is you needing to be polite?” He blew out a puff of smoke, eyes dragging over you appreciatively like he was appraising something valuable—lingering a moment too long on your legs before flicking back up to meet your stern gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re blocking the valet lane,” you said, voice steady.

Toji glanced at the painted curb, then back at you without moving an inch. “Think they’ll survive.”

“Bold of you to assume they won’t tow that thing.”

His grin widened. “Bold of you to assume I’d care.”

The words might have hit harder if his eyes hadn’t been pinned to you the entire time. Steady, calculating, like he was waiting to see whether you’d crack under the weight of his gaze. But you didn’t. You’d dealt with enough men to know how to handle it.

“Well,” you said lightly, your hands loosening around the strap of your bag, “tell Megumi I said hi.”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t make a motion to move, the cigarette burning down between his fingers. “You sticking around?”

The question should’ve sounded casual, but it didn’t. It hung there, thick and heavy.

“Just passing through.”

“Figures.” He exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll let you get back to swiping that platinum card of yours.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, you smiled sweetly, stepping closer just long enough to brush past him and murmur, “Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes roaming over you in a way that felt deliberate—lingering on the contours of your face, your lips, the slope of your bare shoulders—before flicking back to your face.

“Call me Toji.”

“I’ll stick with Mr. Fushiguro.”

Your smile was as sharp as your words, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin deepened, slow and wolfish. With a polite bow of your pretty head, you walked away with your head high and your heels clicking against the pavement.

You didn’t expect Toji to show up.

It was supposed to be a quiet dinner between friends. Just you and Megumi, grabbing food at a spot you introduced him to right after class. Something close enough to the bus stop so Megumi could catch his bus back to his side of town. But instead, Megumi was already sitting at the table when you arrived, arms crossed, scowling like he’d rather be anywhere else. And sitting across from him—half-sprawled in the booth with an elbow placed on the table—was Toji.

You faltered for a split second before slipping into the seat next to Megumi, carefully ignoring the older man’s amused glance as you set your bag down.

You let your expression do the talking, nudging Megumi’s leg under the table.

“I didn’t know,” Megumi muttered in defeat. “He just showed up.”

Toji’s voice cut in before you could respond, smooth and slow as ever. “Relax. I’m just here for the food.”

“Not sure you can afford it,” you said without looking up.

Megumi snorted. Toji didn’t.

“You worried about my finances, princess?”

You finally looked at him, meeting his dark green eyes across the table. “Just imparting financial literacy. That’s all.”

His lips curled, but before he could fire back, the waiter appeared with menus. You ordered first without even looking at the menu—something seasonal with a bottle of sparkling water—while Toji leaned back when it was his turn.

“Burger,” he said. “Fries. Whatever beer you’ve got on draft.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Megumi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Toji didn't care. He let the silence stretch, absently flipping over the silverware while Megumi focused on his phone. And when his gaze eventually slid back to you, it felt deliberate.

“You and Megumi,” he said after a beat. “You two dating or something?”

Megumi groaned, but you were already replying. “No.”

“Sure about that?”

“Certain.”

Toji’s grin was slow, almost predatory. “Good to hear.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped at the implication.

“Dad, don’t start,” Megumi muttered, staring daggers into his father.

“What?” Toji said, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious about who you might or might not be dating.”

“Megumi and I are just friends,” you clarify.

“Smart girl,” Toji said, leaning back again. He cocked his head to the side, lips curling, that scar through his lip embedding itself in your eyes. “You could do better.”

Your nails dug into your palm under the table.

“You’re one to talk,” Megumi snapped suddenly, cutting through the tension. “You show up out of nowhere, act like you give a shit, and then—”

Toji’s expression shifted. Subtle, but sharp enough that Megumi immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Barely.”

“Better than nothing,” Toji said.

Megumi’s jaw clenched. You’d never seen him this visibly frustrated before. You knew that he had a dubious relationship with his father, but you didn’t realize it was this bad. Usually, Megumi was the definition of even-tempered. Calm and composed. He never let anyone or anything ruffle him. But Toji clearly had a talent for poking at weak spots.

Your gaze flickered between the two of them. The tension was uncomfortable, like being trapped in a room with a lit fuse.

“This is why we don’t talk,” Megumi said suddenly, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape.

Toji’s brows lifted slightly, as if the outburst amused him. “Because I showed up to hang with my kid?”

“No,” Megumi snapped. “Because you always do this.”

Toji leaned forward, resting his beefy arms on the table. “Do what?” He asked with a cock of his head.

“Show up when it’s convenient. Then disappear just as fast.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Megumi stood up, grabbing his phone and bag. “I’m out of here.”

You blinked up at him. “Wait—Megumi—”

“I’ll text you later,” he muttered, already halfway to the door. He didn’t even glance at Toji as he left.

The restaurant door closed behind him, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

“Well,” Toji leaned back again, looking thoroughly unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Guess it’s just us now.”

You set your glass down carefully, staring coldly into his face. “Apparently.”

Toji’s smirk widened. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you still here?”

“Free food,” he said easily.

“You said you came here to hang out with Megumi.”

“Same thing. Besides, that brat left already.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting letting Megumi drag you into this mess. Toji didn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon, given his lackadaisical manner, and there was something about the way he looked at you—casual, curious—that made it impossible to relax.

“So,” he said after a moment, eyes flicking down to your glass before dragging back up to your face, “how long have you and Megumi been friends?”

You hesitated, not liking the sudden shift in focus. “A while.”

“Close?”

“As close as anyone can be with him.”

Toji snorted at that, and the sound made your jaw tighten. He wasn’t wrong, but something about his attitude made you bristle.

“Don’t act like you know him,” you said sharply.

That seemed to catch him off guard. For a second, his smirk faltered, replaced by something darker. “And you do?”

“Better than you, apparently.”

Toji leaned in slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “That so?”

You didn’t back down, even as his piercing gaze pinned you in place. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause before Toji laughed—a low, rough sound that grated against your nerves. “You’ve got some nerve, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

His wolfish grin returned, sharp and deliberate. “No,” he said, voice lowering. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication. You hated how casual he sounded, like he already had you figured out.

You picked up your drink, taking a long sip and finding refuge in the burn of the fizz to bury the mortification burning through your body.

“So,” Toji said after a moment, breaking the silence again. “What do rich girls talk about over dinner? Stocks? Real estate? Or just all the guys who couldn’t impress you?”

You set your glass down with a soft clink. “I don’t waste my time talking about men.”

Toji whistled. “That so?”

“Most of them are disappointing.”

His brows lifted, and for the first time, he looked like he was actually interested. “Disappointing how?”

You leaned back, crossing your arms as if you were completely unfazed. “Let’s see. No ambition. No sense of direction. No emotional intelligence. No general intelligence. No follow-through. Should I go on?”

The corner of his scarred mouth twitched, and something about it made you feel like you’d walked into a trap.

“Sounds like you’ve got high standards,” he said, voice low and smooth. “But what happens when no one meets them?”

You didn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air. Toji didn’t look away. He wasn’t like the other men you’d brushed off before—the ones who shrank under your stare or fumbled over their words, trying to impress you. No, Toji looked at you like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. If anything, it felt like he was the one sizing you up.

“I don’t settle,” you said finally.

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s cute, princess.”

You ignored him, picking up your drink again and taking another slow sip. But the heat prickling your skin didn’t fade. Not with Toji’s green eyes still on you, sharp and dark, like he was waiting for the exact moment you’d falter.

The food arrived soon after, cutting through the tension for a brief moment. You ate slowly, composed, carefully spearing your salad while Toji tore into his burger like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“So, what is it you do?” you asked eventually, letting the question drip with feigned politeness.

Toji glanced up, mouth still half-full. You tried not to let your expression sour at the sight. “Depends,” he said.

“Depends on what?”

“What pays.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No real job, then?”

“Not one you’d approve of,” he said, leaning back and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who cares about approval,” you said, tilting your head.

“I don’t,” Toji said. “But you do.”

Your fork paused just above your plate.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, voice low and steady. “Girls like you? Everything’s about appearances. Doesn’t matter what’s underneath, as long as it all looks good on the surface.”

“And what about you?” you countered, your voice sharp. “What’s underneath?”

Toji leaned in slightly, his lips curling. “All you had to do was ask if you wanted to see me naked, princess.”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it, but you covered it up with another sip of your drink. The worst part wasn’t the smugness in his expression, or the blatant flirting and teasing—it was the fact that he was right. Everything about him, from his ragged edges to the dark look in his green eyes, was something you should’ve and usually turned your nose up at. And yet, you couldn’t stop staring.

You set your glass down, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“Are you seriously flirting with me?”

Toji shrugged. “It’s whatever you think it is, princess.”

The conversation shifted after that—courtesy of you blatantly ignoring the topic altogether—but the tension never fully faded.

By the time the check came, you were more than ready to leave. Toji leaned back and stretched. The waiter approached the table cautiously, clutching the black leather bill folder like it might detonate in his hands. He glanced between the two of you. First at Toji, whose broad frame and casual slouch made him look wildly out of place at the upscale restaurant, then at you, perfectly composed in your crisp linen top and polished jewelry.

You didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in the waiter’s eyes. He was clearly trying to piece together the dynamic—father and daughter? Boss and employee? Lovers?—before ultimately deciding he didn’t want to guess wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the waiter said, placing the bill carefully in the middle of the table.

Toji reached for it first, but you were faster, sliding it out from under his fingers before he could even lift the cover.

He raised a brow at you. “What? You think I can’t pay?”

You flipped the folder open without looking at him, not bothering to look at the total.

“No,” you said coolly, already pulling your dark brown leather wallet out of your purse. “I know you won’t.”

Toji grinned wolfishly, leaning back like this whole thing amused him. “Smart girl.”

The waiter lingered awkwardly, pretending to straighten the silverware as you pulled out some crisp bills. The metal cards in your wallet glinted under the soft lighting, unmistakable even to someone like Toji.

“Nice card,” he said, voice dripping with something that could’ve been admiration, or mockery.

“Thanks,” you said, snapping the folder shut and handing it back to the waiter. You smiled warmly at the waiter. “Keep the change.”

The waiter blinked at the implied tip, which was generous enough to make up for the strained atmosphere that had hung over the table all night, before he thanked you and quickly excused himself.

Toji whistled low, watching the waiter walk away, before he dragged his gaze back to you. “Big spender, huh?”

You reached for your purse, unfazed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not to you,” he muttered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You paused, but only for a moment. “No,” you agreed softly, letting the word linger before you rose from your seat. “Not to me.”

Toji stayed seated, watching as you gathered your things with practiced ease, smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your jewelry.

“Leaving already?” he asked, sounding far too entertained.

You met his eyes, calm and composed despite the tension still lingering in your chest. “The meal’s settled,” you said simply. “What else is there to stick around for?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drag over you, taking in every detail—your immaculate clothes, your careful and upright posture, your perfectly applied lipstick.

Oh, how Toji wanted to smear them.

“Fair point,” he said at last, but there was something in his tone that made it feel less like an agreement and more like a challenge.

The faint thwack of tennis balls echoed across the court as the conversation continued, but you stayed quiet, idly running your fingers through the rim of your racket. Marissa and Chloe were still picking apart the details of dating someone outside their world—outside the carefully curated expectations—and every word struck a chord you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The others were still talking about Chloe’s boyfriend, picking apart his flaws with clinical precision, but you barely heard them anymore. You were too busy dissecting your own ridiculous impulses, the way your body had betrayed you, the way your mind kept circling back to him.

Toji Fushiguro.

You hated even thinking his name, hated how it echoed in your head like a whisper you couldn’t shake. It was absurd. He was absurd. What did he even have to offer besides a handsome face and a body that looked carved out of stone? He didn’t belong anywhere near this world—your world—and he never would.

He wasn’t polished. He wasn’t educated. He wasn’t even financially stable. He was the type of man who looked out of place in restaurants like the one you’d taken him to, and you knew that he hadn’t even cared. Not one bit.

That’s what got under your skin the most.

You’d spent your life perfecting the art of composure, of setting expectations and making sure they were met. Because in your world, expectations mattered. They were everything. But Toji? He didn’t live by expectations. He didn’t even pretend to. He just existed—blunt and crass and unapologetic—and it infuriated you how freeing it seemed.

“He’s sweet,” Chloe repeated defensively, but the words sounded hollow. “He’s just a bit… rough around the edges.”

“Sweet only gets you so far,” Marissa said, adjusting her tennis bracelet. “What happens when you’re hosting a fundraiser or when you’re at dinner with your parents, and he doesn’t even know which fork to use?”

“Exactly.” Julia, who had been scrolling absentmindedly on her phone, finally looked up. “You can’t spend your whole life trying to fix someone. If he’s not polished enough, he never will be.”

Chloe sighed, slumping back into her seat. “It’s not like I’m trying to marry him,” she muttered.

“Yeah, because your mom and dad would never approve,” Marissa said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s about being practical, Chloe. If he can’t keep up with you now, he’s not going to suddenly catch up later.”

“It’s not that simple,” Chloe huffed. “He’s not bad, okay? He’s sweet, and he tries, but—”

“But he’s broke,” Marissa finished bluntly.

“Not broke broke. He just doesn’t have family money. He’s still working his way up, and you know how hard it is to find a guy who’s actually attractive and driven.”

“Please.” Marissa snorted. “It’s not that hard. You’re just being sentimental.”

You weren’t paying attention before, but now? Now the words stuck.

You leaned down to retie your shoelace, turning your head sideways to hide the way your jaw tightened.

The hypocrisy of it all gnawed at you.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew the truth. If Toji had been rich—if he’d been sitting in that restaurant in a tailored suit instead of an old raggedy sweater—you wouldn’t have cared about his age or his baggage or the fact that he had a grown son your age. You wouldn’t have even blinked.

And the worst part?

You weren’t any better than Chloe.

“He doesn’t have to be rich,” Chloe argued, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “But he should at least aspire to something, right? I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me when he gets uncomfortable when I try to take him somewhere nicer than a steakhouse.”

“It’s a compatibility thing,” Marissa said. “You can’t force someone to fit into this lifestyle. If he’s not comfortable in it now, he never will be.”

Your stomach twisted.

The words rang in your ears, uncomfortably close to the thoughts that had plagued you since that dinner. Since Toji’s sharp smirk and unbothered stare had somehow left you feeling raw and exposed.

“I mean, what’s the point of all of this?” Chloe gestured vaguely around the pristine tennis courts. “What’s the point of working hard and doing well if we’re just going to settle for guys who can’t keep up? It’s exhausting.”

You almost laughed. Exhausting.

Toji wasn’t exhausted. He wasn’t running himself in circles trying to impress anyone. He didn’t even try to fit into places he didn’t belong. And yet, for all his bluntness, for all his rough edges and the casual way he seemed to exist without apology, he’d felt more solid than anyone you’d met in years.

And that terrified you.

“You’re quiet today,” Marissa said suddenly, pulling you back to the present. “Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” You managed a smile, twirling your racket by its grip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

You gripped your racket tighter, nails digging into the synthetic leather.

“Are we playing another set or what?” someone asked.

You forced yourself to stand up, to push him out of your head and focus on the game.

But even as you stepped onto the court and adjusted your stance, you knew it wouldn’t last.

The clock on the wall ticked away lazily, the soft hum of your air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence in your lavish apartment. You were sitting at your kitchen island, flicking through some textbooks as you mentally prepared yourself for the hours of work ahead. Megumi had texted earlier, saying he’d drop off the final details for your project—he’d promised to take care of it when you saw him last. But now, sitting in your pristine apartment with a glass of rosé beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The soft ping of a text from Megumi interrupted the quiet of your apartment. You glanced down at your phone, fully expecting it to be a message about the project materials. Instead, your eyes widened slightly as you read the sudden shift in plans.

Sorry, there’s an emergency with Kuro so I’m at the vet. I’m sending my dad instead to drop off the stuff you need. Hope that's okay. I’ll catch up with you later.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers momentarily gripping the phone tighter. Toji. The last person you were expecting.

You had half-expected Megumi to be reliable. Sure, his father was... something else, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t follow through. You rubbed your forehead, sighing as you felt the unrelenting weight of the fact that Toji—Megumi’s deadbeat dad, the man with a charm as sharp as his lack of direction in life—was about to show up at your door.

For a moment, you almost texted Megumi back to argue. To suggest he just drop it by tomorrow, that you didn’t need his father showing up like this. But before you could even type out your thoughts, a knock echoed through your apartment.

Your heart skipped a beat—whether from excitement or dread, you couldn't pinpoint. You set your phone down on the countertop, trying to steady your breathing, but your pulse was already racing. You had no business feeling this way. He was an obstacle, a challenge to your composure, but nothing more. This was just another inconvenience, another reminder that you were far above whatever Toji was.

With a reluctant exhale, you made your way to the door, clicking the lock open, and standing there in the frame, Toji’s tall figure filled the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame, holding the folder in his hand, looking every bit the same unbothered, rugged man you’d met before.

You stood there, holding the door open just a little too long as your mind races. Toji’s presence in your apartment felt like a looming storm—heavy, pressing, relentless. Megumi’s absence only amplified the tension, leaving you alone with the one man you know you should not be alone with.

Toji stepped inside, just far enough to clear the doorway, his eyes already scanning the room. His gaze swept over the space with a mixture of appreciation and something darker, something more intense. He’s not just looking at the furniture or the art on the walls. He’s looking at you.

“...Mr. Fushiguro,” you managed.

You closed the door behind him, standing just a little too close, but you can’t exactly tell him to leave. Not when you need the materials, and not when your damn pulse is racing just from being in the same room as him. Your eyes fell to the folder in his hands, trying to distract yourself, trying to stay calm. You don’t want to feel anything.

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement but didn't immediately hand you the folder. Instead, he set it down on the coffee table, his gaze locking with yours in that way he always does, like he’s studying you.

You felt exposed—your place, your clothes, everything about you right now feels vulnerable. You weren’t expecting this. Toji Fushiguro, your friend’s father, standing in your apartment, staring at you with that heavy, calculating gaze. It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like that, but it’s the first time it’s made you feel this much.

"Nice place," he said, his voice low, his tone appreciative but edged with something more—something that causes your pulse to pick up, just a little. "Definitely fits you. All the right things in all the right places." He’s not talking about the apartment anymore.

You managed a tight smile. "I like to keep it clean." You tried to sound nonchalant, but your hands, now clutched in front of you, betrayed the nervous energy you can’t seem to shake. He’s too close, his presence too powerful.

He stepped closer, examining the space with a casual interest, but it’s all too clear that his eyes are more on you than the apartment. "Yeah. I can see that." His gaze lingered a moment too long before he pulled his focus away to gesture around the room. "All this... it fits you. Perfectly."

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace. The compliment should feel good, should be flattering. But instead, it twists in your stomach. You don’t need his approval. You don’t need any of this. So why does it make you feel like you’re being torn open, laid bare?

"Thanks," you muttered, the word slipping out easily despite the discomfort tightening in your chest. Toji’s proximity feels suffocating now, his every movement calculated and unnervingly direct.

You glanced down at the folder on the island, the one containing the documents you’d been waiting on, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. His presence overwhelmed you. It was strange how it seemed to fill the room with the kind of pressure that had nothing to do with the space around you.

“And,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady as you took the folder from his hand. You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on you, that slow scan of his gaze, the way it feels as if he’s undressing you with nothing but a look. “Thanks for bringing this.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.”

Your grip on the folder tightened, but it wasn’t because of the papers inside.

It was him.

Standing there, weight shifted lazily onto one leg, arms crossed over his broad chest like he had all the time in the world. Like he could feel how badly you wanted him gone, but more than that—how badly you wanted him to stay.

He smirked, slow and easy. "You gonna open it, or just stand there clenching it like that?"

You forced a breath through your nose, willing your hands to relax. "I’ll look through it later."

He hummed, unconvinced, stepping closer. "That so?"

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line as you refused to look up. Because if you did, you’d see the way his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. With certainty.

Toji thrived on this, on the push and pull, on the game you were trying so damn hard not to play.

"You know, you’re real uptight, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck rise. "Always actin’ like you got somethin’ to prove."

Your jaw tensed. "I don’t have to prove anything to you."

That damn smirk deepened.

"Never said you did." His voice was smooth, like velvet laced with something sharp. "Just funny how you keep tellin’ yourself that."

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails pressing into skin. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, something dangerously close to frustration—no, not just frustration.

It was something else you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because goddamn it, he was right.

Every time Toji was near, it took everything in you not to acknowledge the pull, the way your body betrayed you in his presence. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair.

Toji shifted, and suddenly, he was too close, the scent of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly masculine—wrapping around you like a noose.

"You always this tense around guys, or is it just me?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something beneath it. Something pressing.

Your throat felt tight. "Just you."

The words left you before you could stop them.

His smirk vanished, replaced by something heavier, something darker. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat.

He didn’t move, but you could feel it—his patience thinning, the careful line he was toeing fraying with every second you stood there, staring up at him like you were waiting for something to happen.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you’d been waiting this whole damn time.

His gaze dipped, lingering on your lips just long enough for your breath to hitch before dragging back up, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

Then—so slight it could’ve been accidental—he reached out, fingertips just barely grazing the back of your wrist.

You should have pulled away.

You didn’t.

The touch was fleeting, gone before you could fully process it, but the damage was done. Your pulse pounded, skin burning where he’d touched you, and Toji knew.

Oh, he fucking knew.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, so low you almost didn’t catch it. "Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek, "but I think you like it."

Your stomach dropped.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that? That terrified you more than anything.

Your breath came too fast, too shallow.

Toji wasn’t just close—he was looming, his presence swallowing up all the space between you, thick and suffocating. He wasn’t touching you, not really, but it didn’t matter. His heat curled around you, his scent—smoke, steel, something dark—flooding your senses, making it impossible to think.

You needed to stop this. You had to stop this.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched. Amused. Unbothered. "Ain’t playin’."

God, you were shaking. You gripped the folder tighter, knuckles white, but it was useless. You had nothing. No grounding, no control. Just the unbearable weight of his gaze and the way your body—traitorous, desperate—leaned closer when it should have pulled away.

"This—this is a bad idea," you tried, your voice breaking.

Toji hummed, slow, like he was thinking about it, like it was even a question. "Probably."

Your stomach twisted. "Megumi—"

"—ain’t here," he finished smoothly, cutting you off before you could even try to make that excuse stick.

Your stomach twisted, your resolve slipping like sand through your fingers. "You're his dad."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze heavy-lidded, knowing. "That bother you?"

Yes. No. It should.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat because goddamn it, the way he was looking at you was undoing every carefully built wall you’d spent months constructing.

His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—until his fingertips brushed against your jaw. A barely-there touch, but your whole body reacted, heat blooming under your skin like he’d set you on fire.

"You’re too old for me," you whispered, desperate now, clinging to anything.

Toji huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?" His thumb dragged along the curve of your chin, tilting it up just enough to make you meet his green eyes. "Funny. You don’t feel like you mind."

A shiver ran down your spine. You did mind. You had to mind.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, close enough that you could see the scar slicing through his lips, close enough that if you so much as swayed, you’d—

"No job," you blurted, grasping at straws now, voice breathless. "You're—you’re broke."

Toji laughed. Laughed. Low and amused, like none of this even fazed him. "That why your heart’s racin’?"

Damn him.

You could hear it—feel it—the thundering pulse in your chest, your body's betrayal laid bare in the space between you.

You had one last defense. One last excuse.

"I—" Your voice wavered. "I don’t want this."

Liar.

Toji’s smirk softened, just barely, but the hunger in his eyes never wavered. His fingers trailed from your jaw to your throat, light, teasing, before settling against the rapid beat of your pulse.

"Lemme hear you say that again."

You opened your mouth—ready, willing yourself to say it—but nothing came out.

Because you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

And Toji knew it.

Knew it when your breath shuddered, when your lashes fluttered, when your body leaned—just the smallest fraction—toward him instead of away.

His lips barely ghosted over yours, not quite a kiss, but there, teasing, taunting.

"That’s what I thought."

And just like that, the last of your excuses crumbled.

You don’t know how it happens. One moment, you were trying to catch your breath, trying to think—the next, Toji’s crowding you against the counter, his sheer presence suffocating, intoxicating, inevitable.

"Been fightin’ this so hard, huh? Thought you were too good for it?" His voice was nothing but a slow, lazy drawl, but you felt the way his words curl around you, creeping into the deepest, filthiest parts of your mind.

You tried to push at his chest, your palms pressed against the hard muscle—useless. His hand engulfed your wrist with a single squeeze, pinning it beside your head. The other? It slid slowly over your thigh, teasing the hem of your shorts.

"Toji—" your voice was a breathless whisper, but even you don't know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going.

"Tell me to stop, then." His grip tightened when you squirmed, his thumb pressing just right over your pulse point. "Tell me you don’t want it."

You should. You have to. But your mouth refused to form the words when his fingers dipped lower, grazing the damp fabric of your underwear. A sharp inhale betrayed you, your thighs tensing against his touch.

"Filthy girl," he rasped, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

With one sharp yank, your shorts are gone, tossed somewhere and forgotten along with the folder Toji had come here to bring. A gasp caught in your throat, embarrassment warring with the unbearable need twisting low in your stomach.

Then—

"Fuck—look at you," Toji groaned, dragging his roughened thumb against your slick folds, heavy and hot. "Gotta stretch you out first, yeah? Can’t even take the tip like this."

The first press of his fingers had you choking on a gasp. Thick, deliberate, his touch was slow as he worked you open, forcing your body to take more, his thumb pressing teasing circles against your puffy clit. You trembled beneath him, whimpering as he curled his fingers inside you, stretching your gummy walls, coaxing out slick with every lazy stroke.

"Mmm, still too tight," he mused, his voice a rough purr against your ear. "Gotta make sure you can handle me, baby. Don’t want you breakin’ on me too fast."

Your body betrayed you, hips rocking into the steady intrusion, your thighs trembling when he scissored his fingers inside you. It’s too much—the sensation, the way he watched you, the way he’s holding back just to make sure you felt every second of this.

“You’re creamin’ all over my fingers, baby,” Toji cooed, fucking in two rough fingers. Your face burned at the sound of squelching. You could hear how wet you were. Could feel it soaking his palm, your ass, and even the kitchen island beneath you. “Do you not touch yourself, hm? Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight.”

You quivered beneath him, thrashing and twisting as his thick fingers fucked into you. You felt tears pricking at your eyes from the sensation. You felt so full. His rough fingertips rubbed against the ribbed walls of your cunt, curling into a spot that rendered you breathless.

Toji relished the sight. “Atta girl,” he rasped, the sound sending heat straight to your pussy. “You can take more f’me, hm?”

Your mind was too cloudy to properly respond, your lips parted in a silent cry, mewls and whimpers escaping your glossy lips.

Toji smiled wolfishly. “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

Then he pushed a third finger in. Your walls clamped down on him, fluttering like it was panicking from the stretch.

He grunted at that, working his finger in. “So tight. Almost makes me think you’re a fuckin’ virgin.”

Your walls fluttered at that, your body tensing at the words. Toji’s smirk deepened, eyes sharpening as he caught the subtle shift in your reaction. He stilled his movements for just a moment, head tilting slightly as realization dawned on him.

“Oh,” he drawled, voice dropping even lower, thick with something dangerous. “That so, sweetheart?” His fingers flexed inside you, making you jerk. “Fuck, no wonder you’re squeezin’ me like this.” His wolfish grin widened, teeth flashing as he leaned in, voice like a growl against your ear. “Your first time, and it’s gonna be with me? Hah. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Your breath hitched, shame and arousal mixing in a dizzying heat. Toji chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slower, deeper. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a filthy kiss to your jaw. His scent overwhelms you—cigarettes, musk, and something warm. “I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You clenched even tighter at that, earning a grunt from Toji who had to work much harder to fuck his fingers into you.

Toji chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. “Oh? That got you clenchin’ up real tight. What is it, baby? The thought of this big cock being your first get you all worked up?” His fingers curled again, stroking that spot inside you deliberately. You choked on a gasp, your hips jerking against the countertop.

His free hand moved to your jaw, gripping it roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Nah, can’t be. Not with a fuckin' pussy like this,” he murmured, his voice dark and amused. “Too fuckin’ sweet. Too fuckin' greedy.” He pried your lips open with his thumb, watching with a glint in his eye as your tongue lolled out on instinct. “See? Good little sluts always open up for me.”

Before you could respond, he spit. The thick warmth of it landed right on your tongue, and you whined, your body betraying you as you swallowed without thinking. He grinned at the sight, fingers still fucking deep inside your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with approval. “Knew you’d be fuckin' perfect for me.”

His fingers spread inside you, stretching you even wider, and you gasped, hands flying up to clutch at his wrist. His grin only widened.

“Aww, poor thing,” he mocked, leaning in so his lips brushed against the corner of your mouth. “Can’t take my fingers? Then how the fuck you gonna take my cock?”

You couldn’t answer—all you could do was whimper as he fucked his fingers into you harder, knuckles-deep, the wet sounds of your arousal obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

“Maybe I should make you beg for it first,” he mused, lips ghosting along your jaw. “Make you admit how bad you want me to split this tight little cunt open.”

His fingers finally withdrew, leaving you empty and aching, but before you could complain, Toji was already lowering himself between your thighs. He lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave bruises.

“Gotta open you up nice and proper, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with sin. “Can’t have this tiny fuckin’ hole strugglin’ too much, huh?”

His breath was hot against your drenched folds, his dark eyes locked onto your fluttering cunt. Then, without warning, he spit. The thick glob of saliva landed right on your swollen clit, mixing with your arousal, and you gasped at the sensation.

Toji groaned at the sight. “Fuckin’ messy,” he muttered, using two fingers to spread the slickness over your folds. “Bet you’ve never had anyone eat this pretty pussy, huh?”

You barely had time to shake your head before he dove in. His tongue was hot, rough, and unrelenting as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. Hard.

Your back arched off the counter, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as Toji devoured you like a man starved. His tongue worked you over, hot and wet, flicking and swirling in ways that had your thighs trembling around his head. He didn’t just eat pussy—he dominated it, owned it, made it his.

His fingers pressed back into you, two thick digits stretching you open while his tongue teased your swollen bundle of nerves. He pumped them slowly at first, letting you feel every ridge of his calloused fingertips rubbing against your slick walls.

“Gotta get this tight little hole ready,” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your soaked folds. “Can’t have you cryin’ when I stuff you full.”

You whimpered, your hands flying to his dark hair, gripping tight as your hips bucked against his mouth.

Toji growled, pleased by your desperation, and shoved his fingers deeper. “That’s it, baby. Fuckin’ take it.”

His tongue never relented, flicking, sucking, teasing, until the pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight. He could feel it, the way your walls squeezed around his fingers, the way your body trembled beneath him.

“Gonna cum for me, huh?” he rasped, his voice vibrating against your clit. “Go on, then. Fuckin’ soak me.”

A few more ruthless strokes of his tongue, and you shattered.

Your orgasm tore through you, your body locking up as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Toji groaned against your pussy, drinking in every drop of slick that gushed out of you, his fingers still working you through it, milking every last bit of your release.

When you finally came down, breathless and trembling, Toji pulled back just enough to admire his work. Your cunt was puffy, glistening, a mess of his spit and your cum.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with approval. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”

Toji pulled away from your ruined cunt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes full of something primal as he stood to his full height. His cock strained against his sweats, a thick outline pressing against the fabric, and he smirked down at you, chest rising and falling heavily.

“Now,” he drawled, gripping your thighs tighter, his voice a dark promise, “where do you want me to ruin you, baby? Right here on the counter? Bent over that fancy couch of yours?” His smirk deepened as he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your lips. “Or should I stretch you out on that big, empty bed of yours?”

He let the question hang in the air, but the wicked glint in his eyes told you—this wasn’t really your choice.

Toji didn’t wait for an answer. Not that you could give him one—your brain was too fogged with lust, your body too pliant in his grasp. He hauled you up effortlessly, strong arms keeping you locked against him as he carried you through the dimly lit halls of your home. The path to your bedroom felt both too long and too short, every step sending another wave of slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

Your back hit the mattress before you even realized he had thrown you down. The bed dipped under his weight as he crawled over you, eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight beneath him—your flushed skin, your trembling legs, the way your breath came in short, desperate pants.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a rough palm up your thigh. “Fuckin’ perfect. Spread out for me like a good little girl.”

His hand gripped the underside of your knee, shoving your legs further apart. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your arousal glistening between your thighs. Toji groaned low in his chest, tapping the heavy weight of his cock against your swollen clit, smearing your slick all over the thick head.

His fingers trailed down your belly, calloused fingertips tracing over your trembling skin before stopping just above your pelvis. "You on the pill, baby?" he asked, voice low, rough—almost like he didn’t really care what the answer was.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. "Y-yeah."

His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous. His palm pressed down against your lower stomach, fingers flexing possessively. "Mm. Not like it would’ve mattered."

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach tightening at the weight of his words. The realization barely had time to settle before he shifted, spreading your thighs wider, his broad hands gripping the plush of them like he owned every inch.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, dragging the fat head of his cock along your slick folds, coating himself in the wetness he had worked you into. "Drippin’ for me like a needy little thing. Bet you’d take it either way, huh?" His tone was mocking, almost pitying. "Doesn’t even matter, baby—I’m gonna fuck you full, gonna stretch this little cunt open till you’re ruined for anyone else."

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Toji groaned, guiding himself to your entrance, pressing just enough for you to feel the unbearable pressure of his size.

“You ready for me, baby?” His voice was almost mocking, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. He knew the answer. Knew from the way your body trembled, from the way your breath hitched when he pressed the fat head of his cock against your entrance.

Still, he wanted to hear it.

You nodded, gasping as he rubbed slow circles against your clit with his cock. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, feigning disinterest. “Dunno, sweetheart. You sure this tiny little pussy can take me?”

You whined, your hips bucking instinctively, desperate for more friction. “Please,” you whimpered, voice barely above a breath.

Toji chuckled darkly. “There’s that pretty beggin’ again.”

He didn’t make you wait any longer.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he pushed in, the thick crown stretching you open in a way his fingers never could. The burn was instant, overwhelming, your walls struggling to take the sheer size of him. Toji groaned, low and guttural, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fought to keep himself from bottoming out too fast.

“Shit,” he ground out, watching the way your tight little hole struggled to take him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched down on him. It was too much—too big, too thick, too deep already, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice strained with restraint. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, taunting circles to ease the tension. “You can take it, sweetheart. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, fingers twisting in the sheets as he pushed in another inch. The stretch was unbearable, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but the pleasure was just as intense. You felt so full, so stuffed, your body struggling to accommodate him.

Toji groaned at the sight of your teary, desperate face. “Fuck, look at you. Cryin’ on my cock already.” He pushed in another inch, watching the way your body trembled beneath him. “You wanted this, baby. So take it.”

And then he slammed the rest of the way in.

"Biiig stretch, sweetheart," he rasped, teasing, savoring the way your walls fluttered in panic. "Deep fuckin’ breaths. This pussy’s gotta learn to take me."

A broken cry tore from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as he bottomed out. The sheer fullness of him sent a shudder through your body, your thighs twitching where they were spread wide. Toji stilled, gritting his teeth at the way your walls spasmed around him, struggling to adjust.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin' me so tight.” His voice was wrecked, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest. “Takin' me so fuckin' deep, baby… Look at you, stretched so pretty around me.”

Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as you tried to ground yourself. Toji's hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Breathe,” he rasped, his thumb dragging over your parted lips before pressing down against your tongue. “There you go. Just like that. Lemme in, sweetheart.”

You whimpered around his thumb, dazed, overwhelmed, your mind drowning in the sensation of being so utterly filled. Toji grinned, something dark and satisfied curling in his expression.

“That’s it,” he praised, shifting his hips slightly, letting you feel every inch of him buried inside you. “This pussy was made to take me.”

Then he pulled back, just an inch—before driving his cock back in, harder, deeper.

You choked on a gasp, pleasure ricocheting up your spine as Toji set a brutal rhythm, dragging his length out before slamming it back inside, making sure you felt every ridge, every vein, every inch. Your bed creaked pitifully beneath the force of it, the sound of skin meeting skin obscene in the quiet room.

“So fuckin' good,” Toji groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Makin' a mess all over me, baby. So desperate, so needy for cock.”

Your walls clenched at his words, the filthiness of it only heightening the coil tightening in your stomach. Toji caught it immediately, his grin widening.

“Yeah? You like that? My dirty little girl, gettin' off on being used?”

You couldn’t answer—not when he was fucking you so deep, so hard, the air punched from your lungs with every thrust. All you could do was sob, overwhelmed, delirious with pleasure.

Toji chuckled darkly, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. “Such a nasty little slut.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable, but Toji didn’t let up.

“What would Megumi think, huh?” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “His pretty little friend—so fuckin’ proper, so well-behaved—lettin’ his deadbeat old man fuck her stupid.”

A sob tore from your throat, half-formed, half-pleasure, half-mortification. Toji only laughed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“That’s right, baby,” he cooed, thrusts growing rougher. “Nothin’ you can say now, huh? Too busy cryin’ on my cock.”

Toji groaned, his pace never faltering. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so full, make sure you never forget who this pussy belongs to.”

His hand slid down between your bodies, pressing against the bulge in your lower stomach, making you feel just how deep he was inside you. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with possession. “That’s me, baby. Right where I fuckin’ belong.”

Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back as his fingers returned to your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The sensation was too much, your body wound tight, teetering on the edge of something devastating.

“Gonna cum for me?” he taunted, his thrusts turning sharp, bruising. “Gonna cream all over my cock like a needy little thing?”

You sobbed, legs tightening around his waist, nails raking down his back. Toji groaned at the sting, at the way your walls spasmed, clenching down so hard it nearly broke his rhythm.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

The coil snapped, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Toji cursed, feeling you tighten around him, his own release barreling down on him as he drove into you with frantic, punishing thrusts.

“Take it,” he gritted out. “Take all of it.”

A final thrust, a guttural groan, and he was spilling inside you, filling you up with everything he had. His body shuddered, muscles taut as he rode out his high, keeping himself buried deep, making sure not a single drop was wasted.

He slumped over you, pressing a lazy, filthy kiss against your temple before pulling back slightly, just enough to meet your dazed, ruined gaze.

“Tappin’ out already, sweetheart?” he murmured, faux sympathy in his husky voice. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your reflection in the vanity mirror was a mess—teary-eyed, mouth open in gasping moans, body trembling from overstimulation. Toji had you bent over the vanity, his rough hands gripping your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded into you from behind. The mirror shook violently with each thrust, the delicate perfume bottles and makeup brushes rattling dangerously close to toppling over.

“Look at you,” Toji rasped against your ear, one large hand sliding up to fist into your hair and yanking your head back, forcing you to watch yourself. "Letting a man like me use you like a cumdump. What would your parents say?" He punctuated his words with a brutal snap of his hips, knocking the air out of you.

A choked sob left your lips, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Your nails scraped against the wooden surface, legs trembling as Toji groaned behind you, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Fuck, you’re still so goddamn tight,” he growled, pulling back just to slam in again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “Thought I broke you in already, but this pussy’s still clingin’ to me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your mouth opened in a silent cry, the stretch unbearable, the pleasure too intense. Toji’s hands slid up your body, one wrapping around your throat, forcing you to lift your head and look at yourself in the mirror.

“Watch yourself,” he ordered, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Wanna see what a filthy fuckin’ mess you are takin’ my cock.”

Your teary eyes locked onto your reflection—onto the way your body jerked with every punishing thrust, onto the way Toji loomed over you like he owned you, his scarred lips curled into a smug smirk. The sight alone had your walls fluttering around him, clenching tight in helpless desperation.

Toji groaned, his free hand twisting in your hair, yanking your head back further. “Tight little thing,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “You like this, don’t you? Bein’ used like this? Letting a man old enough to be your daddy fuck you stupid?”

You whined, barely able to form a response, your cheek smushed against the cool surface of the vanity. The only sounds leaving your lips were broken moans and gasps as he stretched you out, stuffing you full and hitting deep with every ruthless thrust.

"N-not—" you tried to speak, but Toji’s grip tightened in your hair, tugging you up so your back arched further, making his cock slide even deeper inside you. You sobbed at the sensation, thighs trembling from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Not what, sweetheart?" He mocked, his free hand slipping around to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. "Not supposed to let me fuck you like this? Too late for that. Look how fuckin’ messy you are for me."

He leaned in, his lips slanting over yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongue plunging into your mouth and swallowing your gasps whole. He kissed like he fucked—hungry, all-consuming, utterly devastating.

The vanity rocked harder, the mirror shaking so violently you thought it might crack. Toji’s pace was relentless, his grunts and growls mixing with the obscene wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could barely keep yourself upright, your arms shaking as you tried to brace against the vanity.

"Fu-fuck, Toji—" you mewled, your entire body burning from overstimulation.

"What, baby? Can’t handle it?" He cooed mockingly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled back slightly, only to slam back in with enough force to make the vanity screech against the hardwood floor. "Don’t tap out yet, princess. I’m not finished with you yet."

He wasn’t lying. His hands roamed over your trembling form, one hand gripping your hip in a bruising hold while the other moved to press firmly between your shoulder blades, forcing you deeper into the vanity. The change in angle had you keening, tears welling up in your eyes, body jolting with each harsh thrust. His fat tip was practically making out with your cervix. He was reaching so deep you swore he would somehow rip into you.

"That’s it, take it," he growled, pressing wet kisses along your spine, only to bite down hard enough to make you yelp. You felt his stubble tickling your skin. "Gonna fuck you so good, you won’t be able to think about anything else."

His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles that had your legs shaking violently. The overstimulation was unbearable, but you couldn't stop yourself from clenching down around him, your body betraying you in its desperate need for more.

Toji chuckled darkly, feeling your gummy walls spasm around him. "Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. Cream all over my cock. Show me just how much you fuckin’ love it."

You let out a choked sob, your release slamming into you with blinding intensity. Your body seized up, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong it left you breathless.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dripping with filth. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess of yourself.”

His words shattered whatever restraint you had left. Your body convulsed, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Your walls spasmed around him, milking him, dragging him deeper. Toji groaned, his pace turning frantic, bruising, his own release barreling down on him.

“Fuck,” he snarled, snapping his hips forward one last time, burying himself deep. “Take it—take every fuckin’ drop.”

He filled you up, his body shuddering against yours, his breath ragged in your ear. His grip loosened on your throat, his other hand sliding down to rub slow, lazy circles against your overstimulated clit, making you jolt with aftershocks.

Your body barely had a second to recover before Toji was moving again, hands gripping your thighs as he dragged you off the vanity and down onto the cold hardwood floor. The shock of the cold floor jolted your warm body, shining with a thin sheen of sweat. Your legs were jelly, trembling from overstimulation, but he handled you like you were weightless, shoving you onto your back and manhandling you into a deep mating press.

Your knees nearly touched your shoulders, folded up so tight you had no control—no escape. Toji loomed over you, his massive frame caging you in completely, dark eyes hooded with hunger as he took in the sight of you laid out beneath him. His fat cock, still slick from your previous release, slapped against your raw, swollen folds, making you whimper.

Pap. Pap. Pap.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing the thick tip against your overstimulated clit, making your whole body jolt. He smirked at your reaction, pressing in just enough to make you gasp. “You can take more, can’t you? Fucked this little pussy open real nice already.”

You moaned, brain too foggy to form words, only able to squirm under him as he teased you. His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs and spreading you even wider, completely exposing you to him. He groaned at the sight, his cock twitching. “Fuckin’ made for this. Just look at you.”

You tried to babble something—maybe a protest, maybe a plea—but Toji didn’t give you the chance. He pushed in with one brutal thrust, bottoming out instantly, punching the air from your lungs. The stretch was unbearable, white-hot pleasure and pain mixing as your walls spasmed around the thick intrusion.

Toji let out a rough groan, rolling his hips to make you feel every inch of him buried inside. “Biiiig stretch, baby,” he grunted. His large hand pressed down on your belly, right where he was nestled deep, and his smirk widened when he felt the outline of his cock there. “Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, pressing down harder. “Feel that, baby? You’re so fuckin’ full of me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, body overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. You nodded weakly, a choked sob escaping as he gave an experimental thrust, grinding deeper, making your vision blur.

“Too much—” you whimpered, nails clawing at his biceps, but Toji only chuckled darkly, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear.

“Too bad,” he murmured. “Takin’ it. Every fuckin’ inch.”

And then he started moving.

His thrusts were deep and brutal, slamming you down into the floor with every snap of his hips. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your soaked cunt, and Toji’s rough groans filled the room. Your moans were reduced to broken, breathless cries, your legs twitching from the relentless pace.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “This tiny pussy takin’ me so good—look at the mess you’re makin’.”

You barely registered his words, too lost in the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of him splitting you open. Your nails dug into his arms, desperate for something to ground yourself with, but it was useless—he had you trapped, helpless beneath him.

Then, Toji leaned in, capturing your lips in a filthy, desperate kiss. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, his breath hot and heavy against your mouth. He swallowed your whimpers greedily, sucking on your tongue before pulling back just enough to let a thick strand of spit drip into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding.

You obeyed without thinking, your body too far gone to do anything but submit. He grinned, dragging his thumb down to smear your spit-slick lips before diving back in, devouring you in another feverish kiss.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he gritted out, watching the way your body took him. “Lettin’ me break you in like this. Letting a man old like me fuck you stupid on the floor.” He dragged his tongue along your cheek, tasting the salt of your tears. “Pretty princess was pampered all her life, but all she really needs is some good dicking down, huh?”

You could only nod your head weakly, overwhelmed, overstimulated—completely at his mercy.

Toji growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you even harder, grinding so deep you could feel him in your stomach. “Good,” he muttered. “’Cause you’re mine now. Ain’t gonna let anyone else have this pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

Your back arched off the floor as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, your walls clamping down around him, pulling him deeper. Toji cursed under his breath, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles to push you over the edge. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. Wanna see you dripping with me.”

A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, body convulsing under him. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, and that was all it took. Toji snarled, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, all that filled the room was heavy breathing, the both of you panting against each other, bodies slick with sweat. But Toji wasn’t done.

His dark gaze flickered down to where you were still twitching around him, his cum leaking out in thick dribbles. A slow, lazy smirk stretched across his lips as he rolled his hips once more, making you shudder.

Your legs twitched with overstimulation, your mind blank with pleasure as Toji fucked you through every last wave. He leaned back just slightly, admiring the sight beneath him—your thoroughly ruined form, the way your body trembled, the way his come dripped from your swollen, used pussy, smearing along your inner thighs and pooling beneath you on the floor.

“Messy fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, dragging a thick finger through the creamy slick spilling from your cunt. He pushed it back inside, groaning at the way you clenched around the intrusion. “Still takin’ me so good, even like this. Guess I fucked the fight right outta you.”

He leaned down, pressing a slow, filthy kiss against your parted lips, savoring the taste of you, the heat of your breath against his. Then he pulled back, eyes dark and gleaming with satisfaction.

“Hope you didn’t have plans tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Hello? Earth to dumbass.”

You blinked, abruptly pulled from your haze by the irritated voice across the table. Megumi was staring at you, brow furrowed, fingers drumming against the chipped ceramic of his coffee cup.

“You’ve been spacing out for the past five minutes,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink. “What the hell’s up with you lately?”

Your fingers curled around your own cup, but you barely registered the warmth seeping into your palms. Your mind was still stuck in the days before, still reeling from the way Toji had left you a mess—inside and out.

And then, he’d left his number.

You hadn’t even had time to process it before your phone buzzed later that night, his name—well, a name, since he saved himself as just ‘T’—lighting up your screen. Since then, you have been texting. Constantly. Not just late at night, but throughout the day, his presence worming its way into your routine, his words lingering in your head long after you locked your phone.

And fuck, the things he said.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively under the table, breath hitching as you thought about his last text. About how he described exactly what he wanted to do to you next time, about how he made sure you understood just how ruined you already were. How he had you sending him voice messages late at night, muffling your moans into your pillow while he groaned filth into your ear.

It wasn’t just dirty talk, though. Toji had a way of creeping into your head, teasing you about how you were already addicted to him, how he bet you couldn’t go a single day without thinking about how good he felt. And the worst part? He was right.

You had tried to keep the conversations short, to play it cool, but Toji was relentless. Always saying just enough to get under your skin, to have you squirming with frustration or anticipation. Like when he’d sent you a lazy, taunting text that morning:

Bet your legs are still sore, huh?

Good girl. Meant to do that.

Your stomach twisted just remembering it, the phantom ache between your thighs only proving his point. The way he talked to you—like you were already his, like you belonged to him—made your skin burn, made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t control.

“You’re doing it again.” Megumi’s voice cut through your daze once more, and you nearly jumped. His gaze was sharper now, scrutinizing. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, too quickly. You grabbed your coffee, taking a sip to mask your flustered expression, but the heat did little to hide the flush crawling up your neck.

Megumi didn’t buy it. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Bullshit. You’re never this quiet.”

You swallowed, forcing a casual shrug. “Just tired.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? Because you’ve been acting weird for days now. Spacing out, jumping at your phone like it’s gonna bite you—”

“I do not—”

“You do.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And now you’re acting all weird and fidgety. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking to some guy.”

Your stomach twisted violently, fingers tightening around your cup. Megumi said it like a joke, like the idea of you sneaking around with someone was ridiculous. But if only he knew.

If only he knew that you had let his father, of all people, stretch you open on your own bed. That you had been texting him for days, hanging onto every filthy word, every little reminder of how thoroughly he had wrecked you. That even now, in the middle of a café, you could still feel the ghost of Toji’s hands on your skin, still hear the way he groaned your name in your ear.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, right.”

Megumi hummed, eyeing you for a long moment before finally sighing and dropping the subject. “Whatever. Just get your shit together for our group project. I’m going to murder Nobara if she keeps ghosting our group chat.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the conversation, but your mind was already wandering again—right back to Toji.

It had become a bad habit.

A filthy, reckless, all-consuming bad habit.

You weren’t sure when it officially started—when the first time bled into the second, then the third, until keeping count felt pointless. Maybe it was when he first showed up outside your place late at night, an amused glint in his eye when you opened the door and let him in without question. Maybe it was when you started to leave it unlocked for him, knowing he’d come anyway.

Now, it was routine. Toji slipped into your sheets, into your body, into your life like he had every right to be there. He didn’t wait for an invitation anymore, just took what he wanted, when he wanted, and you let him—every damn time.

And it was never safe. Never careful. Always on the verge of getting caught.

A quick fuck in a restaurant bathroom between lectures. His large hand stuffed over your mouth, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his own grunts as he forced you to stay quiet.

Bent over the hood of your car in an empty parking garage, the metal cool against your burning skin, his palm flat between your shoulders to keep you in place.

His fingers pressing into you under the table at a restaurant, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured filth, his other hand idly stirring his beer like he wasn’t two knuckles deep inside you.

It didn’t matter where, didn’t matter when. If he wanted you, he took you. And you let him.

You were addicted to the danger of it, to the sick thrill of knowing just how easily you could be found out.

And that was the worst part. Because despite knowing how disastrous it would be if anyone—if Megumi—found out, you still didn’t stop.

It was supposed to be just physical.

A bad decision. A reckless indulgence. Something to get out of your system before you went back to your real life—before you found someone appropriate, someone who made sense.

A mistake, then a bad habit, then something you stopped trying to name because there wasn’t a word for what you and Toji had become. It wasn’t love, wasn’t romance. But it wasn’t just fucking, either.

Somewhere between the nights tangled in his sheets and the stolen moments that left you breathless, the lines had blurred. It wasn’t just about the way he touched you anymore, or the way you fell apart under him. It was the way you felt when he looked at you like he knew you—really knew you. Like he saw past the carefully curated version of yourself that the rest of the world expected.

Toji had a way of dragging the real you to the surface, of unraveling you with nothing but a smirk and a well-placed taunt. He didn’t care about appearances, didn’t give a fuck about the prim and proper image you’d spent your entire life maintaining. With him, you didn’t have to be perfect. You could be messy, needy, selfish. You could whimper and beg and take everything he gave you without worrying about how it looked or what it meant.

And he liked that. He liked knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this. He liked reminding you of it, too, voice rough in your ear as he told you no one else could fuck you like he did, that no one else would ever know you like he did.

The worst part was that he was right.

But it wasn’t just him getting under your skin. You’d learned him, too, in ways you weren’t sure anyone else had. Toji wasn’t the type to open up, wasn’t the type to share unless he had something to gain. But you caught the way his expression softened sometimes, the way he listened when you talked, even if he pretended not to care. Like how he always remembered little details about you, things you hadn’t even realized you mentioned. How he never outright said it, but you could tell when he was listening, when he was paying attention. How he poked fun at the life you led but still entertained it in his own way—swiping a sip of your overpriced coffee just to grimace at the taste, picking at the expensive fabric of your clothes like he couldn’t believe people paid so much for something so impractical. He’d tease you about your rich girl problems, mock you for your spoiled habits, but then he’d fix your necklace when the clasp got caught in your hair, or toss his jacket over your shoulders when he thought you looked cold.

It was a push and pull, a delicate game neither of you acknowledged but played all the same. You weren’t sure when it had started feeling like more than a transaction, when the nights you spent together stopped being about lust and started being about something else entirely. Maybe it was the way he never left right away anymore. Maybe it was the way he pulled you against his chest when it was over, tracing lazy circles into your hip like he didn’t want to let go.

Or maybe it was the way you let him.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the low hum of the city outside filtering through the open window. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fingers curled into the plush fabric of the sheets. Toji was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, sweat still cooling on his skin, lazily dragging from a cigarette. The orange ember flared as he inhaled, casting a fleeting glow over his sharp features.

You should’ve gotten dressed. Should’ve left already. But instead, you were here, tracing the seam of the pillowcase, debating how to say what you’d come here to say.

His eyes flicked to you, amused, like he could already tell something was on your mind. “You’re quiet.”

You hesitated. “I have something to tell you.”

Toji exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “That so?”

You nodded, swallowing. Your throat felt tight. “I’m getting engaged soon.”

There was a pause. A beat where all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

Then Toji huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Knew it was comin’.”

Your stomach twisted. There was no shock in his voice. No real reaction at all. Just that same damn smirk, lazy and knowing, like he had been waiting for this moment.

He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, stretching his arms above his head. His muscles flexed, shifting under his scarred skin. “Guess that means our little arrangement’s gotta end, huh?” He was grinning now, but there was something biting underneath it. “Wouldn’t wanna mess up your perfect little life.”

You swallowed, your gaze searching his. Trying to find something beneath that smug exterior. Something real.

But Toji just smirked wider, eyes half-lidded as he raked a slow glance down your bare skin. “What’s the lucky guy like? Bet he’s got a nice suit, fancy-ass watch. S’what your folks always wanted, huh?”

You said nothing.

He tsked, shaking his head. “What a shame.” Then his hand was on your chin, fingers firm, tilting your face up to his. His grip was possessive, almost cruel. “Hope he knows what he’s gettin’. ‘Cause I sure as hell do.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was deep and filthy, like he was branding you—making damn sure you remembered exactly who had you first. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, his tongue claiming your mouth, a cruel mockery of every time he had pulled you under him and ruined you. His grip tightened when you whimpered, and his other hand found your waist, dragging you closer like he didn’t care that you had just told him you belonged to someone else.

Because right now, you still belonged to him.

And he was making sure you never forgot it.

The arrangement dwindled the way all things doomed to end eventually did.

It wasn’t abrupt, wasn’t some dramatic confrontation—it simply faded. A slow decline, a natural withering. The late-night texts became scarce. The stolen moments fewer. The lingering touches reduced to nothing. You got busier, consumed by the responsibilities of graduation, the whirlwind of your engagement, the pressure of stepping into the life that had always been laid out for you.

And Toji let it happen.

He saw it coming. Of course, he did. He always knew this was temporary, a guilty indulgence neither of you should’ve entertained for as long as you did. He didn’t chase, didn’t demand an explanation. His last message had been weeks before the wedding, something teasing, something impersonal—one last echo of the man who had unraveled you so thoroughly.

You hadn’t replied.

The wedding was perfect. A masterpiece of wealth and status, orchestrated down to the finest details. The Italian villa gleamed under the golden afternoon sun, its marble floors reflecting the light of extravagant chandeliers. Crystal glasses chimed in elegant toasts, the air thick with the scent of imported florals, the hum of string instruments weaving seamlessly into murmured conversations.

You were the picture of a bride who had it all. Draped in delicate lace, diamonds glittering at your ears and throat, the weight of expectation settled as effortlessly as the veil cascading down your back. Chloe, Marissa, and Julia—your bridesmaids, your childhood friends, your social equals—stood beside you in gowns carefully chosen to complement your own, their smiles radiant, their laughter effortless.

“Your husband is absolutely smitten,” Chloe teased, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist as she leaned in. “I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off you all evening.”

“He’d be a fool if he did,” Marissa added with a smirk, sipping her champagne. “God, this whole thing looks like something out of a dream. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Julia sighed wistfully, watching the crowd swirl around the dance floor. “It’s everything we imagined when we were little, isn’t it?”

You smiled—because it was expected, because you knew the right expression, the right words, the right way to nod as if everything was falling into place exactly as it should.

And yet, your mind wandered.

Across the room, Megumi sat among the other honored guests, suited up and polished, the image of the young man he was always meant to be. A quiet presence, sharp-eyed and observant, a reminder of a past that should have been long buried. Your gaze lingered on him too long, searching, tracing the familiar shadows of his father in the angles of his face. The resemblance sent a ripple through you, something unsteady and unshakable.

Toji should not have been in your thoughts today. And yet, he was everywhere. In the phantom sensation of calloused hands gripping your hips, in the echo of a gravelly chuckle against your ear, in the ghost of bruises long faded but never truly gone.

Your husband touched the small of your back, his warmth a contrast to the chill creeping up your spine. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet reverence.

You turned to him, offering the practiced softness he deserved. He was good, kind, everything your family had hoped for. Everything you had been raised to want.

So why did you feel like a guest in your own life?

The clinking of glasses signaled another toast, another moment to be captured, another perfect memory being curated for the life you were meant to lead. You lifted your champagne flute, smiled for the cameras, and played your part with practiced grace.

But deep down, you knew.

No matter how beautiful the setting, how flawless the performance, there was a version of you that had been left behind in tangled sheets and rough hands, in whispered taunts and breathless gasps. A version of you that had been ruined long before you ever recited your vows at the altar.

The wedding night only made you remember the gruff man with the scar running through his lip and a pair of poisonous green eyes.

Your new husband held you in his arms, kissed you with a gentleness that should’ve made you feel cherished, safe, loved. He was everything you were supposed to want—handsome, well-mannered, well-bred, the kind of man your parents would be proud of. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And yet, you felt nothing.

Not like you did with Toji.

Because with Toji, there had never been any pretending. He had seen you, the real you, in ways no one else ever had. He had stripped you bare—of your clothes, of your composure, of every carefully constructed part of yourself that you wore like armor. And you had let him. You had loved it. Because for once, you weren’t the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect bride-to-be.

You were just his.

And now, lying beside the man you were supposed to spend your life with, you couldn’t stop thinking about the one you had left behind.

The illusion of a picture-perfect marriage was easy to maintain.

You had stepped into the role seamlessly—graceful, poised, the ever-dutiful wife draped in luxury. The townhome was pristine, the social obligations fulfilled without fault, the smiles exchanged between you and your husband warm enough to never invite suspicion.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A restlessness. A quiet, lingering hunger.

It wasn’t love that was missing; it was something far more visceral, far more ruinous. The kind of fire you had known in secret, in sin, in the hands of a man who had no place in your world but had left his mark so deeply that even months of distance hadn’t erased him.

You weren’t supposed to see him again.

It happened at a gala—a refined, exclusive event, the kind your husband thrived in. Champagne flutes clinked, laughter hummed through the room, and you played your part to perfection, offering effortless smiles, exchanging pleasantries, standing at your husband’s side like a perfectly placed accessory.

And then you saw him.

Toji.

He didn’t belong in a place like this, and yet, there he was—leaning against the bar, broad and imposing in a tailored black suit that fit him too well, the collar slightly loosened as if he refused to be fully tamed. The same lazy smirk, the same sharp green eyes raking over you with a knowing amusement, as if he had been expecting this moment.

He looked the same as he did the last time he held you in his arms all those months ago.

Your breath hitched. Heat coiled low in your stomach, unbidden, unwanted. Your steps slowed to a stop, your left hand clenching around the stem of the perspiring champagne flute.

"Look at you," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before setting it down. His eyes dragged to the glittering diamond on your left hand. "All wifed up and still starin' like you want me to bend you over this table."

Your throat went dry.

You should walk away. You should say something dismissive, feign indifference, remind him—and most importantly, yourself—that you had moved on. But the words didn’t come, and Toji stepped closer, his presence cutting through the air like a knife, his scent filling your lungs, something deep and masculine and maddeningly familiar.

Your husband was still in the room, but far enough, engrossed in conversation, unaware. You weren’t in his direct line of sight—only a corner of the grand ballroom, tucked away just enough for shadows to swallow what should never happen.

Toji’s fingers brushed your wrist, barely a touch, and yet your body reacted, betraying you. His hand took your drink from you, setting it down on a nearby end table, his calloused fingers stroking your fingers, the hardness of your wedding ring. His smirk deepened at the way your breath hitched, at the way your lashes fluttered.

"Bet he don’t fuck you the way I did, huh?" His voice was low, rough, dripping with sin. "Bet you still think about it. How I stretched this tight little cunt. How you took it like you were made for me."

A shaky breath escaped you. The world around you blurred, the weight of your choices pressing in from all sides.

You really shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t even be entertaining those thoughts in your head. But then again, had he really left your head in the first place?

During the nights your husband kissed you, tried to fuck you, you found that there was much left to desire. Sometimes, you had to close your eyes and pretend it was a scarred lip kissing you sloppily, that same embrace that reminded you more of a furnace wrapping around your frame, and a pair of smoldering, dark green eyes boring into your own to even bring you close to cumming.

His knuckles grazed your jaw, thumb dragging along your lower lip, teasing, testing. Your lips parted slightly, betraying you, and Toji hummed, gaze flicking down.

"Still got that pretty little mouth, too," he murmured, voice thick with something darker, heavier. "Miss havin' it all fucked dumb for me."

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering against your ribs.

And then he leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. "Be honest, sweetheart. You miss me?"

Your silence was answer enough.

The fire had never gone out. It had only been waiting to be reignited.

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ch0llies · 3 days ago

Text

FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you’d eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other’s first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, creampie, heavy breeding kink, pregnancy, established relationship, etc… if any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 6k

a/n: thank you so much for 1k followers!! i love you all so much!!

The rain taps gently against the window. Your shared apartment is dimly lit, warm, filled with the faint trace of Chris’s cologne- the kind of smell that feels like home, like safety.

Chris is beside you on the couch, one arm draped lazily over your legs, his other hand scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. The TV plays some old movie in the background, half-forgotten.

Your fingers trace small circles on his forearm, the soft fabric of his hoodie warmed by his skin. He hums in contentment, shifting just enough to glance at you.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, voice soft, familiar.

You smile, but your mind is elsewhere, caught in the years before this moment. Because this love didn’t start here.

It started long before.

FIFTH GRADE.

You met Chris at ten years old, standing awkwardly in the doorway of your parents’ friend’s house.

“This is Chris,” your mom said, nudging you forward.

He had messy brown hair, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that made you think he probably got in trouble at school a lot.

He gave you a shy nod. “Hi.”

You stared for a moment, then mumbled, “Hi.”

The adults left you alone, and somehow, within an hour, you were arguing over who could beat who in Bedwars. By the time your parents came back, you were already thick as thieves, plotting some grand scheme to get extra dessert at dinner.

From that day on you couldn’t remember a memory that he wasn’t in.

EIGHTH GRADE

You learned that heartbreak could come before high school.

There was a boy- your first real crush. He was charming, sweet, made you feel special. Until, suddenly, he didn’t.

You found out from a friend that he had been texting someone else the entire time. That everything he said to you, he said to her too.

Chris found you at the park that night, sitting on the swings, kicking at the dirt, trying not to cry.

He sat next to you without a word. Just there. Present. Until you were ready.

“I really liked him,” you admitted eventually, voice small.

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s an idiot.”

You sniffled, glancing at him. “You think?”

Chris nodded firmly. “Obviously. He had you and still wanted someone else? That’s just stupid.”

Something about the way he said it, so certain, made your heart feel just a little lighter.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Chris made you feel like you were worth more than the people who hurt you.

It wouldn’t be the last.

JUNIOR YEAR.

Prom was supposed to be perfect.

Instead, your date cheated. Chris’s date bailed.

And somehow, you ended up at prom together- dressed up, but ditching the actual dance for a late-night drive, fast food in hand, sitting on the hood of his car in the school parking lot.

“You think we’re cursed?” you joked, pulling a fry from the bag.

Chris smirked, leaning back on his palms. “Or maybe we just keep picking the wrong people.”

You glanced at him then- at the way the Boston lights reflected in his eyes, at the way he always showed up when no one else did.

For a moment, you almost said something. Almost realized something.

But instead, you just smiled. “Guess we’re each other’s backup plan now, huh?”

Chris had looked down at his feet and let out an almost sad sounding chuckle, “Guess so.”

But he didn’t feel like a backup plan.

Not even then.

SENIOR YEAR.

It wasn’t sudden.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment where everything clicked into place.

It was gradual. Like the slow rising of the sun, creeping into your life until one day, you realized- he had always been the light.

Chris had always been there. Through every heartbreak, through every bad decision, through every night spent crying over people who didn’t deserve you.

And then one day, you just knew.

It was late, past midnight, the two of you lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, laughing about something dumb, something unimportant. And then the laughter faded, and suddenly, the air felt different.

Chris was looking at you. Really looking at you.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

Your heartbeat quickened. You swallowed.

“Chris.”

He shifted, his fingers barely brushing against yours between the sheets. “Yeah?”

You took a breath.

“I- I think it’s always been you.”

Silence.

His breath hitched, but his fingers curled around yours, holding tight.

“I-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “God, I was scared to say it first.”

Your chest ached, but for the first time, it wasn’t painful. It was full.

You smiled, biting your lip. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes soft, full of something you had been searching for in everyone else but only ever found in him.

And then he kissed you.

And everything made sense.

Back in the apartment, Chris shifts beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Just remembering.”

He hums. “Good memories?”

“The best.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you. “Wanna share?”

You turn to face him, meeting the gaze of the boy who had always been there, who had never let you go.

The rain outside is still steady and you let your head rest against his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Home.

“You ever think about soulmates?” you ask, voice quiet but certain.

Chris smirks, locking his phone and setting it aside. “Yeah.”

You lift a brow, tilting your head to look up at him. “Oh really? Always been me?”

He chuckles, low and warm, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back against the couch. “Yes, my love. Always been you.”

Your heart swells. Even after all these years, hearing it still makes something in your chest ache in the best way.

Chris shifts, pulling you even closer, wrapping his arms around you completely, tucking your head under his chin. You sigh against his hoodie, breathing him in, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

For a while, you just exist like that- wrapped up in each other, listening to the rain, the outside world feeling so far away.

Then Chris hums. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “What about some PF Chang’s?”

His face lights up. “That sounds incredible.”

You grin, watching as he grabs his phone and pulls up DoorDash, immediately placing the order without hesitation. Because it’s the city, and neither of you want to go out in the rain when food can be delivered straight to your door.

When the food arrives, you both sit on the couch, containers spread out on the coffee table. You grab a pair of chopsticks, but Chris, like always, opts for a fork, shooting you a smug look like he’s superior for it.

“You’re so uncultured,” you tease, grabbing a dumpling.

Chris snorts. “I just don’t like fighting for my food.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it- just warmth, just love.

As you eat, the conversation shifts to your future, like it always does.

“What about baby names?” Chris muses, stealing a bite of your lo mein like it’s his. “What do you like?”

You smirk. “You planning on knocking me up tonight or something?”

Chris smirks. “Definitely planning on fuckin’ you but, getting you pregnant? We’ll see.”

You shrug nonchalantly, picking up a garlic noodle with your chopstick. “I still want you to cum inside me tonight regardless.”

He chokes on his food, coughing as he glares at you. “Jesus, give me a warning before you say stuff like that. I’m gonna get hard.”

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious, though. You ever think about it? Baby names, becoming parents, getting me pregnant…?

Chris swallows, setting his container down before shifting to look at you fully. His expression softens, thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have.”

You raise a brow. “And?”

He smirks. “You first.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back into the couch, pretending to think. “I like the name Owen for a boy,” you say eventually. “And maybe Elliot for a girl. Her nickname would be Ellie”

Chris nods. “Owen? That’s my middle name. But Ellie is really cute. I like that.”

“Yeah, goof. It would be named after you, handsome. But what about you?”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand as he blushes softly. “I’ve always liked the name Weston for a boy,” he says, glancing at you. “And for a girl… maybe Aria.”

You smile. “Aria is cute.”

Chris nudges you. “So, our kid’s name is either Owen, Ellie, Weston, or Aria. Got it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells anyway. “I can’t imagine having a kid anytime soon.”

Chris grins, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “No rush,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair.

“Okay, more future talk,” he says after a moment. “Houses. Where do we end up?”

You hum. “Do you wanna stay in Boston?”

Chris tilts his head. “I like Boston, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter. Maybe something coastal? A place where we can sit on the porch and watch the sunrise. What about my family's cape house?”

You smile. “That sounds perfect.”

Chris grins, tapping his fingers lightly against your back. “Can you imagine being as a full time suburban dad?”

You snicker. “Hard to imagine you giving up city life and inheriting Matt’s minivan to truck our kids around.”

Chris groans. “Please never let me get that goddamn minivan.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

The remnants of dinner are still scattered across the coffee table- half-empty takeout containers, crumpled napkins, chopsticks resting haphazardly in cartons, four empty pepsi cans. Chris groans, stretching his arms before nudging you with his knee.

“You ready to clean this up?” he asks, though he doesn’t look like he wants to move any more than you do.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Or… we could just leave it here and deal with it in the morning.”

Chris snorts. “No way. You hate waking up to a mess.”

You grumble, knowing he’s right. “Fine. But you’re taking out the trash.”

“Deal.”

The two of you move in sync, cleaning up without much thought- him stacking the containers, you wiping down the table. Domesticity has always been easy with Chris, effortless in a way that feels like breathing. It’s not something you ever have to think about; it just is.

Once the apartment is back in order, you stretch, letting out a soft yawn.

Chris grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin against your shoulder. “Bed?”

“Yes.”

You slip into the bathroom while Chris grabs water for both of you. The space is warm, the soft yellow glow of the vanity lights reflecting off the marble. You change into one of your favorite comfy outfits- an oversized, faded navy sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your lace bralette underneath, paired with soft gray Calvin Klein boyshorts that hug your hips just right.

The fabric of the sweatshirt nearly swallows you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, the sleeves hanging just past your wrists. It smells like detergent, a little like Chris, a little like the home you’ve built together.

By the time you start brushing your teeth, Chris enters, setting the water bottles on the counter before glancing at you in the mirror.

His eyes darken immediately, lips parting slightly as he takes you in- the way the sweatshirt slips off your shoulder, the way your shorts sit snug on your curves.

“You trying to kill me, baby?” he mutters, voice thick.

You smirk around your toothbrush. “I just put on something comfortable.”

Chris shakes his head, stepping closer behind you, his hands skimming the edge of the sweatshirt before resting low on your hips. “Yeah? This is comfortable?”

You nod, watching his gaze flick between your reflection and the way his hands trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

You fumble your phone, and it slips from the counter, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

You sigh through your toothbrush, bending over to grab it.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp inhale. The softest curse under Chris’s breath.

“Fuck, baby.”

Before you can straighten, his hands slide over your hips, firm but reverent. One palm presses against the small of your back, the other smoothing over your ass, fingers flexing as if he can’t help himself.

You swallow hard, heat creeping up your spine as you grip the sink for balance.

Chris leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You still up for that promise, baby?” His voice is low, gravelly, dripping with want.

Your breath hitches. “What promise?” you ask, playing coy.

Chris chuckles, dark and knowing, his fingers pressing a little more insistently into your skin. “The one where you let me cum inside you.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and the heat in his eyes makes your knees weak.

Chris smirks, running his hands up your sides before spinning you to face him fully. His fingers slide under the hem of your sweatshirt, gripping your waist as he pulls you closer.

“You still want that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

Chris’s smirk deepens, satisfaction flickering in his darkened gaze. His grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he wants to leave his mark there.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing, as he drags his hands over your hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles. “You want me to fill you up, make sure you feel me long after, huh?”

You swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. There’s no hesitation when you nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze yours- featherlight, just enough to tease.

Chris hums, his hands sliding lower, squeezing your ass before lifting you onto the counter with ease. His body slots between your legs, firm and unyielding. He keeps you there, locked in place, his forehead resting against yours.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough with want.

Your fingers tangle in his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

“I want it, Chris,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. “I want you to cum inside me.”

A sharp inhale from him, and then his mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and hunger. His fingers slide under your sweatshirt again, this time with purpose, exploring, claiming.

“Shit, baby,” he groans against your lips, his hands pushing higher, tugging at your clothes.

He doesn’t waste another second. His hands slip beneath your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the counter with effortless strength. Your arms loop around his neck instinctively, your breath coming in short, heated bursts as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

The air between you is thick, charged, every step he takes toward the bedroom making your anticipation coil tighter. His lips find your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat as he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, your body is already burning for him. Chris hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, his darkened blue eyes devouring every inch of you.

“Been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs, fingers dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt again, this time pushing it up with agonizing slowness. “Take my time with you.”

Your stomach tightens as he peels the fabric over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze drinks you in, lingering on your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

“Ma,” he breathes, his hands already roaming again, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You reach for his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem as you tug. “Then take this off,” you whisper, your voice breathless, needy.

Chris smirks but obliges, pulling it over his head and letting it drop to the floor. His toned chest and arms are bare now, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows over the ridges of his muscles.

Your hands roam over his skin, tracing along his collarbones and his happy trail. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breathing heavy as he slides his hands down your body, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“These too,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire, as he hooks his fingers into them, dragging them down your legs inch by inch. The sensation sends a shiver through you, every inch of your exposed skin burning under his touch.

Once your shorts are gone, Chris kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your soft and wet cunt. His lips trail higher towards your clit, teasing, making your breath hitch.

Then, just when you think you might combust, he pulls back, standing to his full height.

Your eyes lock onto his as he unbuttons his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He doesn’t look away- not as he pushes them past his hips, not as they fall to the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

“Your turn,” you whisper, eyes flicking to the last piece of clothing between you.

Chris smirks, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down.

Chris lets his boxers drop to the floor, kicking them aside before crawling back over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His hands find your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his weight pressing into you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Yeahhhh,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking perfect. Every single inch of you.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing you all over again, tracing over your curves, his thumbs brushing against your hip bones.

You shudder under his touch, gripping onto his shoulders, needing something to anchor you. Chris smirks against your skin, his lips pressing sloppy kisses over your collarbone, then lower, taking his time.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispers, his breath hot against your peaked nipples. “Never get tired of touching you, tasting you… fucking filling you up.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words. His hands slide down, gripping your hips firmly, fingers pressing possessively into your skin.

“You love that, don’t you?” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch your reaction. “Love knowing I wanna fill you up every time. Keep you like this-” he grinds his hips against you, slow and deliberate, making you gasp. “So full of me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and Chris groans, rolling his hips again, teasing you, making your body arch into his.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough, edged with need. “Tell me you want it, baby.”

Your head tilts back against the pillows, a whimper slipping from your lips. “I want it, Chris,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Want you to fill me up.”

Chris growls low in his throat, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips ghosting over yours. “Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs. “You know that? The way you say it… the way you look at me like that. I swear, I could spend every fucking day buried inside you and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers trail down, teasing, testing your patience.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asks, voice thick, teasing as his eyes flick up to meet yours. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “I need you, Chris.”

Chris groans, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to line himself up, swiping his cock a few times through your built up arousal. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering.

“Then take it,” he murmurs. “Take all of me.”

Chris doesn’t hold back. He pushes in slowly at first, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you gasp and clutch at his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. His jaw clenches as he watches you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with need.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “You feel so good, baby. Always so fucking perfect for me.”

Your breath stutters, your nails dragging down his back as he sinks deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a slow burn that makes your head spin, and Chris eats up every little sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. He leans back just enough to watch your expression, his hands roaming over your tits and cupping them, mapping every inch of you. “You take me so fucking well. Every time.”

Your head tilts back, a moan slipping from your lips as he rolls his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm. Chris groans at the feeling, his fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down to your throat. “Let me in- let me fill you up just the way you need.”

His pace quickens just a little, his control hanging by a thread as he watches you come undone beneath him. Every thrust pushes him deeper, making you gasp, your body arching into his.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. “So fucking tight, so warm- like you were made for me.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips parting in a desperate gasp as he hits the perfect spot inside you. Chris feels it, sees the way your body responds, and it makes something primal snap inside him.

“That’s the spot, huh?” he murmurs, a smirk playing at his lips even as his own breath is ragged. “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna let me fill you up like you need?”

“Chris,” you whimper, your body tightening around him, heat coiling low in your stomach.

“Say it,” he growls, his thrusts getting rougher, more desperate. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you need me to cum inside you.”

Your back arches, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm hits and you squeeze him impossibly tight. “I need it- I need you to fill me up, Chris. So bad.”

He groans, his grip on you tightening as he thrusts harder, deeper, chasing his release. “F- fuck, baby, I’m gonna- ” His breath shudders, his movements getting sloppier as he buries himself as deep as he can, his body tensing.

A guttural moan tears from his lips as he spills inside you, holding you tight, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of it, and he presses lazy kisses against your skin as he comes down.

“Shit,” he breathes, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you flush against him. “I swear, I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair, still coming down from your own high.

Chris doesn’t move for a moment, still catching his breath, his body heavy and warm against yours. But then, as if something clicks in his mind, he shifts, gripping your hips with both hands.

Without warning, he pushes your hips up, angling them just enough to keep every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the sudden movement, your body still sensitive, your legs trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Chris- fuck.” you murmur, a dazed little laugh slipping from your lips, “what are you doing?”

His fingers press into your skin, his grip firm, possessive. His darkened blue eyes flick down to where you’re still connected, then back up to your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Making sure it stays,” he murmurs, voice rough, teasing but laced with something deeper, something almost primal.

Your breath catches. “I thought you didn’t want me to get pregnant.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans down, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips lingering, his hands still keeping your hips in place.

“I never said that,” he finally murmurs, his voice husky, “maybe I like the idea more than I let on.”

Your heart stutters. Heat blooms in your chest, pooling low in your stomach again despite how spent you already are. Chris tilts his head, watching your reaction closely, his smirk deepening as he sees the way his words affect you.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he teases, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “You’re the one who begged me to cum inside you.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted-”

Chris cuts you off with a slow roll of his hips, just enough to remind you he’s still inside you, still keeping everything right where he wants it. You gasp, your fingers gripping his arms.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he murmurs. “You know how fucking good it feels. How right it feels.” His lips graze your ear. “Tell me you don’t love it.”

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “I do,” you whisper.

Chris smirks against your skin, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he breathes. “And who knows… maybe one day, I won’t just be filling you up for fun. Maybe one of these days I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body flushing at his words. Chris just chuckles, his expression dark and full of satisfaction as he kisses you again- slow, deep, claiming.

“But for now,” he murmurs, letting his weight settle over you again, his hands still holding you in place, “we’ll just make sure it sticks.”

Chris finally releases his hold on your hips, letting you relax into the mattress, though he doesn’t pull away just yet. He presses a few lingering kisses against your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your sides as he breathes you in.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice warm and tender now, the teasing edge from before softened.

You nod, still catching your breath, your body pleasantly sore in the best way. “Yeah… just feel like I can’t move.”

Chris chuckles, rolling off of you but staying close. “Guess I did my job right, then.” He smirks, but before you can throw a pillow at him, he leans in, brushing his lips over your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”

He helps you up, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as you both make your way to the bathroom. He’s gentle as he runs a warm washcloth over your skin, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your shoulders, wherever he can reach. It’s such a contrast from the heat of earlier, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

Once you’re both cleaned up, you slip on one of Chris’s hoodies- something oversized and soft- and climb into bed. Chris follows, pulling you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he buries his face in your hair.

“Love you,” he mumbles sleepily, his lips brushing against your temple.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Love you too, Chris.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

You groan, dropping your forehead against the kitchen counter as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “Ugh, I feel awful.”

Chris looks up from where he’s leaning against the fridge, brows furrowing with concern. “Still feeling sick, baby?”

You nod, rubbing your stomach with a frown. “Yeah… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep feeling nauseous at the most random times. And I swear, I smelled coffee earlier, and it made me want to throw up.”

Chris winces, stepping closer and rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, baby. Can I do anything?”

You shake your head, sighing. “I don’t even know what would help. It’s just been happening out of nowhere.”

Chris presses a kiss to the side of your head, his touch warm and comforting. “Maybe you just ate something bad? Or you’re stressed?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, but you’re not entirely convinced. “Are you sure the chicken last night was fully cooked?”

“I check it twice. It was.” Chris gives you a sympathetic look. “Tell you what- I’ll make you some tea, and then we can just chill on the couch, yeah? I’ll rub your back, we can watch whatever dumb reality show you wanna put on.”

That makes you smile a little, and you nod. “Okay. That sounds nice. Thank you baby.”

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before heading to the kettle. “Anything for my girl.”

ONE WEEK LATER

You groan as you lean over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on your face in a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering nausea. It’s been happening every morning now- like clockwork. And as much as you’d been hoping it was just a stomach bug or something that would pass, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is groggy, laced with sleep as he steps into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “Same as yesterday. And the day before that.”

Chris frowns, stepping closer, his hands settling on your waist as he looks you over. His touch is warm and grounding, but when his thumbs brush against your sides, you wince subconsciously.

Chris notices immediately, his brows drawing together. “Hey… why’d you flinch?”

You shake your head, still trying to wake up fully. “I didn’t-” But then his hands slide up a little higher, skimming under your hoodie, and the moment his thumbs brush against the curve of your breasts, you jolt.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Okay. That was a reaction.”

You frown, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest. “They’ve just been… weirdly sensitive lately.”

Chris tilts his head, his gaze flicking down before his lips curl into the smallest smirk. “Not to mention…” His hands return to your sides, his touch slow, almost hesitant. “Baby, I swear to God, they look bigger. Like huge. It makes me so horny.”

You scoff. “Chris!”

“I’m serious!” He gives you a pointed look, stepping back just enough to take you in. “They’re… I don’t know, plumper? And you’ve been nauseous for over a week. You’re throwing up every morning. You don’t think…?”

You blink at him, brows furrowing. “Think what?”

Chris’s expression shifts- something between excitement and pure realization flickering across his face. He licks his lips, searching your eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“Baby,” he says slowly, carefully, “you don’t think you could be… pregnant?”

The words hang between you, heavy and thick in the quiet morning air. Your stomach twists- but not from nausea this time.

Your lips part slightly, a small laugh slipping out- almost disbelieving. “Chris, there’s no way…” But then, as you say it, the last few weeks flash through your mind. The exhaustion. The cravings. The nausea. The sensitivity. The way you haven’t used a condom with him in months and he hasn’t been pulling out.

Chris watches you closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more serious. His hands settle on your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, “when’s the last time you had your period?”

Your stomach drops. Your mind races as you try to remember, but the more you think about it, the more your chest tightens. You should’ve had it by now. You always keep track. But with everything going on, you hadn’t even noticed.

Chris sees the realization hit you. His hands tighten just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Shit,” you whisper.

Chris lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Shit.”

You look up at him, heart pounding, eyes wide. “Chris… what if I am?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just looking at you. And then, slowly, his lips curl into a grin.

“Guess we should find out.”

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment the realization fully settles between you, he’s already moving. He grabs his phone and wallet off the nightstand, shoving his feet into the closest pair of sneakers.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before darting toward the front door.

You blink, still in shock. “Wait- Chris, where are you-”

But he’s already gone.

You stand there for a moment, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. This has to be a joke, right? There’s no way this is actually happening. But as you place a hand over your stomach, the reality starts creeping in.

A few minutes later, you hear the front door swing open again, followed by the unmistakable crinkle of plastic bags.

“Alright, baby, let’s do this!” Chris’s voice is practically beaming as he jogs back into the bedroom, his arms full of pregnancy tests. You stare in disbelief as he drops multiple boxes onto the bed, some falling onto the floor in the process.

“Chris,” you say slowly, eyes widening. “What the fuck is this?”

“Options,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got every brand they had. Digital ones, line ones, ones that apparently have smiley faces-” He pauses, flipping a box over before tossing it onto the pile. “I didn’t know there were this many kinds, honestly, but we’re covering all bases.”

You shake your head, staring at the sheer amount of tests in front of you. “Ten tests, Chris?”

“At least ten,” he corrects, grinning.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Why are you so happy about this?”

Chris hesitates for half a second before letting out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? I don’t know. I just… am.”

You search his face, expecting to see panic or nerves, but all you find is pure excitement- like he wants this. Like the idea of you possibly carrying his baby is something he’s already embracing.

Your stomach twists, but not in a bad way. It’s terrifying and overwhelming, but with the way he’s looking at you, it also feels… oddly okay.

Chris claps his hands together, bringing you back to reality. “Alright, let’s go. Go pee on some sticks.”

You snort despite yourself. “Some?”

“All of them,” he corrects, already scooping up the tests into his arms. “We need solid confirmation, baby. I need a goddamn unanimous decision from these things.”

Shaking your head, you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair before turning toward the bathroom. “This is insane.”

Chris follows right behind you, grinning. “This is science.”

You roll your eyes, but as you close the bathroom door behind you, Chris leans against the sink, watching you with nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“Whatever happens,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Wait! Let me see what they say first. Don’t pee on anything!” Chris rips open one of the boxes with the same energy he probably had during his high school finals. He pulls out the instructions, unfolds them with an exaggerated flourish, and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he announces, squinting at the paper. “Step one: Remove the test from the wrapper.”

You snatch a test from one of the open boxes and rip it open with ease. “Done.”

Chris nods approvingly, scanning the next step. “Step two: Hold the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds. Or dip it in a cup of urine for twenty seconds.”

You give him a flat look. “Absorbent tip?”

“Hey, I’m just reading what it says,” Chris says, holding up his hands in defense. He glances down again, then smirks. “Oh- this part’s important: Make sure you don’t pee on the result window. We need a clear reading, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the groundbreaking information, Chris.”

“Just looking out for accuracy.”

You shake your head, but your heart is thudding in your chest. This is actually happening.

Chris notices your hesitation and softens slightly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Chris nods, setting the instructions down on the counter before placing his hands on your hips. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. Got it?”

You nod, exhaling against his chest. “Got it.”

He smiles, giving you a small squeeze before stepping back. “Alright, go do your thing. I’ll be right here, being incredibly supportive and not at all annoying.”

You snort. “Mhm.”

Chris gasps dramatically. “Wow. So much doubt for the man who just spent a ridiculous amount of money on pregnancy tests for you.”

Shaking your head, you grab the cup from the counter- because there’s no way you’re risking peeing on your own hand in the middle of a life-altering moment- and step toward the toilet. “Okay, turnaround now.”

Chris throws his hands up. “I literally fucked this baby into you?!”

“We don’t know if there’s a baby yet!” You roll your eyes but do what needs to be done, filling the cup and carefully dipping the first test. Then another. And another. You cycle through each one, following the ridiculous variety of instructions. Five seconds for one. Twenty seconds for another. One where you had to cap it immediately and lay it on a flat surface.

Chris stands by the counter, eyes wide as he watches you line up ten tests in a perfect row.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That’s a lot of science happening at once.”

You let out a breath, setting the last test down. “Now what?”

Chris grabs one of the boxes, scanning the fine print. “Now we wait.”

You swallow hard, wiping your hands on a towel before gripping the edge of the sink. “How long?”

Chris squints at the instructions. “Three minutes.”

Three minutes.

Three minutes to find out if your whole world is about to change.

Chris must sense your nerves because he steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing your jaw. “I can set a timer. Or we can just stare at them aggressively until something happens.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back against him. “Okay… let’s do it.”

Chris’s phone is already in his hand before you even say anything. He holds it up, pressing record with a grin.

“For our future kid,” he says, his voice full of barely contained excitement.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know if it’s positive yet.”

Chris smirks, shaking his head. “I have a feeling, baby.”

Your stomach twists as you reach for the first test. Your fingers tremble slightly, and you can feel Chris’s anticipation radiating off of him. With a deep breath, you flip it over.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your heart stops.

Chris lets out a sharp inhale, but before either of you can fully process it, you reach for the second test.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

Every. Single. One.

Chris stares at them for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit.” His phone lowers slightly as he turns to look at you, his eyes shining. “Baby- holy shit!”

Before you can react, he grabs you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You gasp, gripping his shoulders as a laugh bubbles out of you, your nerves momentarily forgotten.

“Chris!” You giggle, clinging to him as he twirls you.

“I knew it,” he exclaims, setting you down just enough to crash his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, but full of so much love that your chest tightens.

Then, before you even realize it, tears start slipping down your cheeks. You pull back slightly, your hand flying to your stomach as a sob escapes you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Our baby is in my stomach.”

Chris freezes, his hands still gripping your waist. He stares at you like he’s just now fully comprehending it, like the reality of it all is truly sinking in. His lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

“Our baby,” he murmurs, and the way he says it- so full of awe, of love- makes your heart ache.

But then, almost instantly, his entire demeanor shifts. His grip tightens, his eyes darting around the room like his brain is moving a mile a minute.

“Shit. I need to tell my mom. And my dad. And my brothers.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “What about your family? Should we call them first? And the apartment- fuck, we need to start looking at places with an extra room. Or at least be ready for when she grows up- ”

You blink. “She?”

Chris stops, looking at you dead serious. “I don’t know, baby, I just know. I have this gut feeling that my new babygirl is growing inside you right now.”

Your heart clenches at the sheer certainty in his voice.

But then he’s spiraling again. “Oh God, we don’t have anything for a baby. I need to research cribs- what’s the safest crib? And strollers- shit, what’s a good stroller brand? I don’t know anything about strollers! And- fuck, baby, we’re twenty-one. I haven’t even married you yet!”

He turns to you, panic written all over his face now, and for the first time ever, you’re the calm one.

You step forward, reaching for his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Chris, baby, breathe.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he listens, taking a deep inhale as his eyes lock onto yours.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, pressing his hands against your stomach. “The way you reacted tells me all I need to know. You’re gonna be an amazing father.”

Chris swallows hard, his panic giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. His fingers flex against your stomach, like he’s already trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside you.

“You think so?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You smile, cupping his face. “I know so.”

Chris exhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

And in that moment, standing there in the tiny bathroom with ten positive pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, everything feels exactly as it should be.

MASTERLIST

tags: @bernardsbendystraws @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

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niccolites · 2 days ago

Text

febrile (or; input vs output)

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

or: Simon is a member of the Night City Police Department and you're a ripper doc. It is his job to catch criminals, but even he can admit, he's taken a different approach for you. CYBERPUNK!AU

TAGS: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Size Kink, Unhealthy Relationships

read here on ao3

Simon’s got a bug in his system that is turning his vision white at the edges when he finally visits you.

Not that he has much of a morality regarding visiting ripperdocs. Sure, they’re criminals and as a member of the NCPD, it is his job to arrest and charge criminal activity, but that was a rigid rule set decades ago. These days, the split between the NCPD and a common gang is that the rules the gang lives by aren’t written into the law. But, allowances are allowed on both sides.

Simon has never cared much to think about it. He sees some other officers have that blank look in their eye after they finish a shift, others who seem to revel in being able to do whatever it is that they want. Simon just does as he’s told. If he’s told to save the woman who survived a cyberpsycho attack then she is tossed over a shoulder and brought to the ambulance. If otherwise, a nod is all he needs to know that there are no witnesses. Finger, gun, trigger. The explosion in the palm of his hand, kicked back and caught. Delivered.

Maybe it has left a screw loose in his head. Not his job to analyse that.

Flouting the law as and when it suits the law is a part of the job. Not one that Simon has much indulged in, he must admit. Any murder, extortion, crime that is involved in the ‘etcetera’ part of his work, has been asked of him. His fellow officers flout the law as and when it suits them. Illegal weapons, killing a perp who gets too mouthy, maybe getting a bit too handsy with a victim. Simon hasn’t been much interested in the ‘benefits’ he can reap with his badge.

However, after a job where the NCPD took down a group of scavengers, Simon’s vision starts getting spotty. He’d had to jack into one of the victims to see if they were still alive. Horrible static, bad channel. They hadn’t been. And seemingly willing to haunt him from the afterlife, leaving a pesky virus in his system.

There are NCPD designated docs that he could go and visit, but the idea of letting one of their starched, freshly pressed hands go worming around in his cyberware makes his skin crawl. Years before his official service, he’d had all his kit installed by a ripperdoc, and he hadn’t had an issue he couldn’t fix himself since.

He spends a few days just trying to deal with it, still able to hit his shots using the noise that all criminals insist on making. He can still mostly see, even a few days in. Maybe not make out features, but people are blurry and morphed shapes that approach him and he puts them down with the same accuracy as before.

It’s not long before his captain pulls him up, though. Forces him to admit the bug, and issues a new command. Sort it out.

Standing in the doorway of your clinic, hidden in his civvies, here he is. Sorting it out.

You’re in the middle of muddling around with some of your equipment, humming to yourself before you must catch sight of him. The blur of your figure jumps, as your face comes into profile. You must be intimidated by the sight of him, something that he registers with a cool type of pleasure. Even not in his uniform and clearly strapped with all of his weapons, he blocks the light coming in from your doorway. You must see the metal of his left arm, nothing human left there. The gas mask that covers half of his face, black and stark against the pale of his skin.

“Hello. How can I help?” you ask, shifting something up your forehead. It distorts ths shape of your head and he realises that they must be massive goggles. Ridiculous, he imagines you must look like the image of the crazy scientist from old stories; you probably have a lab coat on. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your reputation, known as one of the best ripperdocs in Watson, even if you are as cheap as they say.

Ripperdocs are the gray area in Night City. Criminals, yes, but the hassle of actually taking down ripperdocs is more than it’s worth. Not that Simon tends to give a fuck about the politics, or the give and take of crime vs law. He is a bullet, pointed in a direction and shot out.

“I got a bug in my system,” he says, taking another step into your clinic.

You nod, gesture for him to take a seat on your bench. Something out of a dentist’s nightmare, he imagines, but he takes a seat nonetheless. Despite lying down, everything in him is as tense as a straight line. Gaze landed and caught on you, lazy as he watches you drift around your clinic. His vision is filtering your clinic as starkly white, the outline of your light grey. You both may as well be in void, he can only see the outline of objects as they get close to him.

You swing your chair around and pick up a wire. “You cool if I take a look?” you offer, gesturing with the wire. His forearm is already tense with the instinct to catch your hand before you can plug that into the side of his neck. His metal gasmask covers the slot anyway.

A beat, in which you look back at him. He considers making it awkward, telling you no or something. Settles on nodding and watches the way you flounder for a moment when you realise you can’t reach the slot. You’re paused, flatering in the space between the two of you.

“Can you take off your mask?” you ask. Your voice is deliberately light, but he can hear the catch of annoyance underlying your tone. It makes him want to grin, wonders how you look right now, if you’re frowning at him or trying to hide it with a smile.

“No,” he tells you. A beat. You don’t move or attempt to say anything else. Stalemate, when he can’t see how you look. “There’s a catch on the side, you unlatch that to reach the slot.”

You don’t say anything else, and he’s irritated by that. Relying on noise when the other individual doesn’t want to make any noise just leaves him listeless. You reach up, click open a section of his mask and plug in. You turn away, pull what must be a tray towards yourself. You must have plugged him into your laptop, your figure hunched towards it.

You cluck your tongue, goggles shifting across your brow as you gaze at your screen. “This is a nasty one, how’d you catch this?” He decides that’s not relevant and watches you instead. You give him a quick glance, head tilting his way, but decide to shrug off his strange silence. “I’ll just be a moment while I clear it. Seems to have caught onto a lot of your neural sensors, I’m surprised you can still walk.”

His chest doesn’t puff out with pride, but it’s a close thing. You tinker away at it, finally clearing it from his system. The whites that had clouded his vision clears, and he can see you in high definition finally. Can see the pores next to your nose, the frizz around the strap of your goggles as it disappears into your hair. You’re giving him an evaluating look, your eyes intent even as the rest of your body is deliberately loose. You don’t seem to have much chrome on you, thin lines of metal around your eyes, and a scanner on your right palm. He doubts you have much more.

“There we are, good as new,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a pleased huff. You give him another long look, but this time he can see the widen and pinprick of your retina. He wonders how he comes up in the scan that you must’ve pulled up the second he was in your doorway. Cop, ex-army, de-commissioned, KIA but here, in the (mostly) flesh. You don’t give any of it away, just shut your laptop and unplug him.

You hadn’t asked for payment upfront, and he imagines just walking out. Wonders if you would scowl at him, if you would expect it, maybe scowl for once. Drop that calm look on your face in exchange for something a bit uglier.

There is a long beat that he draws out to see what you will do, but you only sit patiently. You turn back to your laptop, tapping away on something else now. It’s not fun if you’re not biting, he sends you what he decides must be your standard fee, watches you tilt your head to the side at the chime of money exchanged.

He doesn’t thank you, just gets up and leaves. You didn’t close the latch on the side of his mask, and he considers marching back and making you do it, but decides to save it for another day. He closes it himself for now, and fancies that he can feel the finger print that you left behind on it, evidence.

The first warrant he comes back with is legitimate. Cyberpyschos are going mental over the bridge, and they have a faint enough lead that shows some of the cyberware tracing back to yourself. He knocks on your door and watches your face when he presents it to you.

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

He imagines reaching over and holding his hand over the soft column of your throat. You’ve left it bare, you’d likely barely have any time to start flailing before he’d squeeze with intent and you’d drop, caught in the palm of his hand. If you can sense his thoughts, you don’t give it away, just watch him in return, blinking like a stray cat. Curious but wary.

“You know, Officer Riley, if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to bring the official signed document,” you say, gesturing with the hologram that was on the chip he presented to you. It’s slightly flirty, but cautious, like you’re padding around an interrogation room, but you don’t know what he’s done yet.

He doesn’t say anything. You smile back, as if he had responded, and let it lie. Your eyes are sharp, he imagined he could hear the whir as you scanned each of his men as they came in, but your smile and limbs are loose, like you are unaware of everything. Your teeth are blunt, but he imagines the cut of one against the metal of his forearm.

They don’t find anything, and one of his men huffs, giving you a dirty look. You’re asked what you work as and your smile doesn’t slip. “I help those with addiction, this is a place for them to speak, to be treated,” you answer.

“Treated?” one of his men pushes, giving Simon a look. It’s a terrible lie, so bad that Simon reckons they’ll have a hard time proving it’s not true. This is a shitty area, there’s likely 3 gonks in the alleyway outside lying in the gutter, high. You’re also liked enough that they could grab a random off the street and they’d lie for you easily enough.

“Simple brain dances, meditations,” you explain, rolling your head back to give Simon another look. The smile is gone, eyes gone guileless. He squints at it, suspicious and the corner of your mouth gives the faintest twitch. “Honestly, officers, whatever it is that you’re looking for, I’m sure I would not be of any help.”

One of his men steps forward as if to grab you by the arm but Simon barks at him to step back. You haven’t looked away, but you look analysing again, like you had looked at the virus in his system. “We’re done here,” Simon announces and steps back before you can say anything else. Leaves you with your trashed clinic and his warrant on the chip he gave you.

Simon falls asleep later and dreams of you with a scalpel in your hands, and when you cut into him, there is no blood.

Simon sees you again, but this time you’re outside. It bristles him, seeing you standing on an open street. Your sides are bare and before he can think about it too much, he’s cut his eyes around every alleyway around you. Making sure that there is no one on the rooftops. Traffic roars past and he grits his teeth. There's been a spike in drive-by shootings, gangs nipping at each other’s heels in a show of territory.

He’s over to you before he can stop himself, a hulking mass at your back, shielding you from the view of the road. He would tell himself that he is doing his duty as an officer, but he has always been a self-interested man, and never cared much to lie to himself.

You startle as his shadow swallows you up, turning around to blink up at him. You squint at the sight of him. “Officer,” you greet. He grunts in response, which makes you almost roll your eyes.

You turn back to the stall you were standing at, humming over some mods for sale.

The man at the stall is terrified at the introduction of Simon, pale and nodding mindlessly as you start to barter. Simon imagines if he flashes his holster then you would even get the mod for free, a thought which amuses him. You'd likely get even more annoyed, which he does want to see.

As if you can sense his thoughts, you wrap up the exchange quickly and step away, Simon following at your back. “There something you want from me, officer?” You ask, giving him a look over your shoulder. He stares back at you, unyielding.

He’s unsettled suddenly, imagining how often you must be outside of your clinic. He hadn’t thought of it, had only imagined you were constrained in those four walls. The door had shut behind him and he had left you there, a still picture until he would return eventually. Waiting, like a good girl, sat by the door.

“You going home?” he asks you. Tells you.

You give him another look. He wants the crack of your skull in his palms, like the clean split of a watermelon. Wants to parse through your thoughts, wants to have them before they even fully form on your own.

“Yeah, I got what I needed,” you reply. He grunts, follows you until you tilt towards the side streets that lead back to your clinic. Barely any safer, but at least it’s not the open street, and he has his orders to patrol here. He watches you as you disappear around a corner. His gums itch, his tongue flexes in his mouth. He is a wild dog held back with a tattered leash, but he respects it all the same, heads back to his post, but keeps his ear tilted in the direction you went in.

He comes back again, and the warrant isn’t even real. He stares you down, wants you to open it, wants the reaction to his baldfaced lie. You take the chip and step aside to let him in. There’s a cut across your brow, purple bruising around it and he can’t look away from it. White in his vision again, he’s starting to suspect you’ve put another virus in his system, infecting him. He blinks and it clears, but the distrust stays like a rotting in his core.

He wants to dig his teeth into the edge of the metal in your palms and peel it up, wants the imprint of his teeth somewhere on you that you couldn’t replace with technology. He thought about you while he fucked his fist in the shower, and you had been beneath him, teary-eyed as he broke you in on his cock. He wants to fuck you until you drop that questioning look in your eye and bare your throat for him again.

“Look at the warrant,” he tells you. You smile up at him, like he is someone charming. He’s not, and he wants the reaction that he has sought out of you.

“Won’t it just say what all of them say?” you point out, leaning back against your desk. “Something that may have something to do with me, and here you are.” He stays silent, stares you down. “Do you want me to be a criminal?”

“You are one,” Simon rebuttals. That’s why he’s here. You need to be, he needs to catch you. He dreamt of chasing you down a network, jumping between wires and static until he caught your hips in his hands and crushed them. His desire for you is entwined with the dichotomy of your identities. He isn’t much interested in forcing you to become a legal law-abiding citizen, as he is pushing the two of you further into the roles that you are in.

“You know what I mean,” you add, pushing off of your desk and stepping towards him. A step away and he reaches his metal hand out, clamps your jaw in his palm. You let him, like you always seem to do, and it’s like pure heroin, lights something up in him.

“Who did this?” he asks, your chin in his palm, his thumb on your eyebrow. Right on the cut. He thinks if it was him that put it there, he might dig in a little, but he wasn’t. It’s hidden from view like this, with the edge of your eyebrow, disappeared behind his ugly, metal thumb.

“Got jumped by some asshole who thought he was hot shit,” you say, easily. The way you say everything, no pit-stop between your brain and your mouth. He wants to dig his tongue into the back of your throat and catch the words there, drink them down.

“Who?” he asks. You shrug and he shakes your jaw like a bad dog. “Who?” he repeats, tone biting. There’s a twitch in your eye at being roughhoused but you don’t step back.

You give a name, raising an eyebrow at him. He vaguely recognises it, some asshole who’s been causing trouble in Watson. Some wannabe gangbanger. He butts his head against yours, too hard to be truly affectionate before he leaves. His gas mask bumps against your cheek, leaves a red mark on your jaw from where his metal fingers dug in.

He shoots the fucker who jumped you, and dumps his body in the river. He watches it float, knowing it’ll be found. When they see the NCPD bullet extracted from his brain, he’ll be dumped back out again. Simon thinks about allowances, thinks about ropes of wire and how they snap. Rubber ripped, coil exposed.

He comes to see you again, this time in the middle of the night, wanting to see what you look like when you’ve just woken up. He imagines you’ll be pliant, let him shift you around as he wishes, sleep in your eye and a dream still dragging on your limbs.

You open the door and rub your eyes. Your hair is a little ruffled from your bed, blinking up at him with thick-cottoned eyes. He smiles with teeth beneath his gas mask at how awareness flickers into your eyes before you force a yawn. You’re so quick, which is why it’s always so satisfying to catch you.

“Something I can help with, officer?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Let me in,” he tells you. Demands it of you. It would be so easy to force his way in, but he likes it when you do as he tells you to.

“You got a warrant for that?” you ask, scrubbing a hand over your jaw. Eye him like he’s your patient again, like you’re finding that virus in his system and cutting it out.

“No,” he replies. Watches your expression, the subtle tick of your brow at his bold-faced honesty.

He wonders if you’ll shut the door on him. Make him peel the metal back to get in anyway. He would, he’s saved up his allowances and he plans on cashing them out on you.

You give him another long look before you step to the side and let him in. The door slides shut with a wheeze and a soft thunk.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Officer Riley,” you say, as if it’s a question but your voice doesn’t lilt at the end. He wants to catalogue every one of your reactions and keep them to himself, squirrelled away, out of the sight of anyone else. That is something beyond liking you, beyond attraction. Simon feels possessive of everything about you, like he might cave someone’s skull in if they saw too much of you.

Simon’s never been too much of a talker, he steps forward and crowds you into the desk that has all of your equipment on it. You blink up at him, perfectly still in the way that prey animals are, when they know they’re caught. The rabbit-like flutter of your heart, caught in the palm of his hand as he cups your neck. Thumb against the soft give just beneath your chin. “Simon,” he tells you, although he knows you already must know. He never told you he was Officer Riley, knows that you must have pried your way into whatever confidential information that you could find on your scan of him.

“Well, that doesn’t feel appropriate, Officer Riley,” you point out. Your calm tone is undermined by the kick of your pulse. His fingers flex, held back with a trained restraint. He likes knowing you’re afraid of him, like that you talk back to him anyway. Like watching a kitten yowl at a beast. Cute.

“Simon,” he repeats, bending his head closer to you, A hunch in his shoulders, and his face still isn’t that close to yours.

A quiet beat. “Simon,” you repeat. Your voice is flat, as if you’re trying to take the enjoyment out of it for him. He huffs with something like amusement. He gets his rocks off here, having his way in your clinic, the feel of your skin against the scar tissue of his human hand. You could be scowling or smiling, and he’d like either once he’s got his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches his other hand up and undoes his gas mask, lets it drop off and sets it on the desk next to your hip. Hoists you up, catches the kick of your leg, steps into the cradle of your thighs. “There we go,” he tells you. Your eyes have taken in the exposed section of his face. Ripped skin, some replaced by chrome, most of it left to heal as is. He knows that he is an ugly sight, a hulking, horrible man, hunched over you. He doesn’t care much what you have to say about it.

He ducks his head and looks you in the eye, even playing ground. You glare back at him and he grins with teeth. He hopes that you bite him, seals his mouth over yours. Your tongue is wet and he tilts your head back, wanting to get into your throat. You bite his tongue and he groans, his other hand pushing your hips into his. He grinds into you, huffing into your mouth. He memorises each point of your teeth, sucks your tongue into his mouth and blinks at you with half-closed eyes.

He pulls back with a wet smack, which leaves your cheeks flushed. “Show me your tits,” he tells you, hands flat on your desk, framing your hips. You don’t move, glaring up at him again. He gives you a lazy look, like you’re boring him now. If anything, the hateful look in your eye has made him even harder, if it were possible. “Now.”

“Such a dick,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama shirt and slipping it off. There’s a fine tremble in your hands before you still them with a calming breath. He was right on his first impression of you - that you barely have any chrome on you. Your skin is soft looking, no harsh metal on your torso. Restricted to the framing of metal around your eyes, your right palm.

He smooths his metal hand up your side, watches gooseflesh and vellus hair raise in its wake. Cups one of your breasts in his cold metal palm. Almost coos at the sight of your nipple pebbling as his thumb swipes over it. Restrains himself at the last second, but gives into the urge to give you a mean pinch as retribution for your filthy mouth. You jump, a hitch in your breath. He smirks at you, hopes you can see the chip in his canine. “Behave,” he tells you, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms. Maybe once he’s drunk his fill, he can indulge the bite of your mouth, but his skin feels stretched thin over chrome and bone, and he wants what’s his and he wants it readily.

There’s a jump in your abdomen as his hand dwarves your hip, tugging your pyjama bottoms off and tosses them behind him. He spreads your thighs, peaks at the curls the cover your sex. All of the dolls in Night City are clean shaven. He likes this better, likes that you hadn’t been expecting him, and here he is anyway. He makes a mental reminder to bin all of your razors if he gets a chance.

He parts your sex with two fingers, huffing at the sight. So sweet, even with your strange looks and your filthy mouth. Sweet as sugar down here, your hole fluttering, your clit hidden under its hood like it’s shy. His hands are a cage around the span of your waist, squeezes in warning before he thuds to his knees and flattens his tongue against you. You whimper at the contact, manage to strangle the noise just barely. When he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, you yowl, thighs kicking out. He squeezes them in place over his shoulders, barely jostled.

He brings one hand down from your waist, lifts his head, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit. It’s out now, throbbing and awake. He spits on it, watches you flinch with it. Spittle drips down, sits on the slick that has gathered at your hole. He feeds you one finger, groans as he watches your flesh part for him, and feels how hot you are inside. You're tight, he can feel muscle clamp down around his index, clinging to him. “Need to relax, sweetheart, or my cock’s gonna break you,” he tells you. It almost feels like a struggle to even feed you one finger, something that leaves a strangled feeling in his chest.

“Do one,” you reply, eloquently. But you don’t kick him off you or anything, so he just gives you another look. He’s being too indulgent with you, he knows. But, it’s better to let a puppy misbehave so they know what’s not tolerated. Training for another day, he lowers his head and licks at the stretch of your pussy around his finger.

He slides his finger in and out of you, gives you another when your panting starts to hitch up, rubbing his thumb over your clit when you whine at the stretch. You start whining out swears, hips jolting forward and then back again as if you want to come, but don’t want him to give it to you.

His third finger is pushing it, he knows because you start clawing at his scalp, sharp little nails. He groans hot onto your clit, which has you shaking. You’re wet with sweat, he can see the shine of it on the curve of your belly, on the strip of skin between your tits.

He slows the pump of his fingers, idly toying your clit with his tongue. He debates if you should be allowed to come. He doesn’t want you knowing that he finds your pissy words amusing, doesn’t want to overly encourage it. However, you haven’t tried to run, or punch him or anything of that ilk. He knows that you can’t help the kick of your hind legs. He pinned you down with teeth at your throat, and he knows that you’re trying so hard to behave. Besides, sinking his cock into you is already going to be a struggle, nevermind if you aren’t loose and pliant for him.

He curls his fingers, sucks your clit, chasing your orgasm like it’s his last meal. A test in his restraint. He thinks that he wants this more than you do. Your lungs stutter, shaking as your hands cradle his head. You’re muttering to yourself, ‘please’ spilling out of you, again and again. Another mean suck and your shriek, back bowing and he feels the clench of your cunt around his fingers.

He fingers you through it, until you are almost sobbing, trying to crawl away from him, but held in place with his metal hand that has slipped to the small of your back. He gives your clit a kiss, mean and hard just to watch it throb before he gets up off his knees with a groan. He;s getting too old to be kneeling on tile like that. He’ll fuck you in a bed next time, if you’re good.

He slides his fingers out of you, unbuttons his trousers. You stare at him, vaguely out of it as you try to catch your breath. Awareness seems to slam back into you as he fishes his cock out. He’s big, he knows this, but the way your eyes widen like he’s pulled a gun on you has him chuckling to himself. “That’s not going to fit,” you tell him, tone dead.

“Enough flirting,” he tells you, catching your legs over his forearms and dragging you to the edge of your counter.

“You’re deranged,” you snark. He’s amused, watching the anger tugging at your scowl, naked beneath him, and your slick caught in the curls between your legs.

He gives the side of your thigh a firm smack, catching the jump of your body. “Watch that mouth, or I’ll put it to use,” he warns you. You glare up at him, but don’t say anything else. A shame, but he does have to have a firm hand with you.

He takes his cock and grinds it against you, parting your curls to get to the hot, wet flesh beneath. He catches the head of his cock against your clit, slicks himself up, knowing that he’ll need it if the greedy suck of your cunt around his fingers is any indication. He pulls back and lines himself up. He understands what you’re saying, the mushroom shaped head dwarves the small hole that flutters as he presses against it lightly. It’s hard to imagine fitting in there, even given that he has tried to prepare you.

You don’t seem to understand how bullheaded Simon is, though. He hasn’t chased anything that he hasn’t caught yet. A tense of his wide bicep and he starts to push into you, metal hand on the base of his cock, the other lightly rubbing your clit in circles to get you to give way.

There’s a moment where he thinks it might not happen, you’re starting to flush, face shining with sweat. Then there’s a shudder and your cunt parts, splits, sweet fruit halving and the head slips inside. You both groan, his head dropping onto your collar as he pushes further into you. You’re slick, he can feel your cunt sucking at him.

You start to whimper as he pushes further into you. His thumb rubs up and down on your clit, insistent even as if you try to cringe away from him. Shallowly thrusts, keeps pushing until you start to give way. You thump your fist against his chest, the impact bouncing off of chrome. He barely acknowledges it, and continues grinding into you.

He bottoms out, groans into your collarbone. “There we go, there we are, sweet girl,” he tells you. The muscles in your back loosen at the praise, feels tense flesh give out into his metal hand.

He pulls fully out and slams into you, and you whine, hands on his shoulders and clinging. “Simon -” you start, but he shifts both his hands onto the back of your knees and pushes them up to your shoulders. He can see the stretch of your cunt around him like this, the spread of your legs for the monstrous size of him. He feels dizzy with it, can’t stop himself from pulling almost all of the way out of you before slamming inside. His eyes almost roll back into his head, and you sob, nails digging into the flesh that he has on his back.

Your knees over his forearms, he braces his hands on your hips and he starts thrusting into you, pleasure zipping up his spine. Breathy sounds are punched out of you each time his thighs slap into yours. There’s a heat rising in him, catching and flaming.

He lifts his torso up, looks down on you. It’s like he thought, the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes, the swollen spread of your pussy around him. He drops one of your legs in favour of flattening his palm against your throat. Your pulse is fat in his palm. He catches it there, feels the ricochet into the meat of his hand.

You clench down on him and he groans, bares his teeth at you. “You like that, huh?” he asks you, flexing his fingers over the tendons of your neck. Your mouth is open, he can see the pink flash of it in your mouth. You try to shake your head but another hard thrust just sends it rocking back instead, another moan gritting through your teeth again.

He digs into you, flexes the metal in his legs to thrust into you hard and fast. Exertion is an old friend, and he takes it into his stride. He is only starting to pant a little, but you’re running hot and have been for a while.

Pleasure is molten hot at his pelvis, and each time his hips meet yours, cock kissing your cervix, his vision whites out at the sides. The virus that you must have planted in him is deteriorating in his system, leaving him almost mindless. He’s chasing you, still, even with you caught between his body and your desk. Breath like steam pouring out of his mouth, saliva pooling under his tongue as he realises that you’re within reach.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. The vision of your head held up by his hand is enough to finish him off. He slams into you a few more times, groaning deep in his chest while you squeak, spills hotly in you, grinds to draw out the spark that glares in his vision until he stills.

A moment of quiet, air thick with sex and sweat. He drops his head against yours with a thunk as your skulls collide. Feels the buzz of your grunt in your throat with his hand still nestled there.

“You got a bed back there?” he asks, temple against yours.

“Not telling you,” you mutter, sounding wrung-out and gutted. He snorts, scoops you up in his arms, stepping back from your desk, holding you up. Still have a smart mouth. But, he has the patience to get that out of you. Not all of it though, but he won’t tell you that.

A week later, a missing report for a ripperdoc in Watson hits Simon’s desk. He shreds it, and it sounds like the chime of an allowance, cashed in.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #nic writes #cyberpunk au #cw dubcon #hes sooooo nasty i need him terribly #he's my pookie (exact thought that lands this reader in immediate trouble)#anyway i have tagged this as dubcon #but its more on the lighter side than my usual #at least i think so. will welcome thoughts on that lol

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 days ago

Text

get to work.

LN x leclerc!reader

a sequel of sorts to as sick as it sounds, i loved you first - part 1 - part 2

in which lando starts the life with you that he’s always wanted

hi! me again - obsessed with these two soooo much so best believe i had to write (and will continue to write) more for them! thank you so much for continuing to read my work, ilysm and also huuuuuge shoutout to my brainrot bestie @lavenderlando because i truly could not do any of this without her xoxox lemme know what you think, likes and reblogs are aaaalways so so appreciated!

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!!! this one is kinda filthy hehe. smut, fluff, highkey breeding kink, brief switch!lando and switch!r, unprotected p in v, general sex acts in silly places, charles still having it out for lando lmao, mentions of pregnancy/family planning

7.2k words

you stare up at him, breathless, awestruck, leaning further into his touch. he’s swaying you gently to the music, ignorant to all the eyes of your nearest and dearest family and friends. fairy lights cast a warm hue over his face, leaving him golden and sparkling, gleaming with his love for you.

lando’s still pristine, suit unwrinkled, dress shirt crisp, tie straight, not yet wrecked by the party that will undoubtedly overflow all around you both as the night progresses. your dress flows out around you, fanning out in intricate layers of sharp white lace. your newly acquired wedding bands feel foreign on your fingers, but perfect nonetheless. you’re more used to it than him, though, having hauled around the giant rock of an engagement ring he’d presented you with just a few months before.

martin had been called on to be a groomsman, but he’d vouched for the DJ who’s inviting the rest of the party to join you and your husband on the dance floor. people swirl all around you, blowing kisses, squeezing your arms affectionately, but lando can’t keep his eyes off of you.

your husband.

your husband your husband your husband.

it felt just as delicious to think of him with that title as it is to say it. you say it anyway.

“my husband.” you hum, content, pressing your head to his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“my wife.” he coos down at you, pressing a lasting kiss to your hairline, cautious not to mess up your carefully crafted hair.

but it’s your wedding night, and you want to kiss him properly! you figure you’ve earned the right to kiss him anywhere, anytime, whenever, so you tilt your head back and drop his hands, pulling him down. his hands find your cheeks, cupping them ever so softly as your lips meet, loving and tender. you smile into it, and he mirrors you.

“can’t wait for everything.” you sigh, blissed out from the adoration rolling off of him in waves.

“everything?” he laughs, forehead resting on yours.

“life, with you. always.”

“i’ll give you everything you want, baby.” he promises.

you wholeheartedly believe him.

“better make this quick, norris.” you giggle, backing up towards the marble counter.

lando stalks towards you, grinning hungrily, and hoists you up onto the sink top, making sure not to damage your dress - not that it would be the first time he’d ruined a white dress of yours. wasn’t that how you’d both ended up here, anyway?

“sue me for wanting to fuck my wife, norris.” he mocks, mouthing at the skin of your neck. you flush. mrs norris.

“no marks.” you breathe, trying to convey a tone of warning, but it comes out needy and weak, and would have fallen on deaf ears regardless.

“but you’re all mine now, honey. forever.” lando murmurs against your jaw, and your head falls back to let him run ruin across your delicate skin. “want everyone to know it.”

you don’t protest again, spreading your legs as he ruches the material of your dress so that it bunches around your hips. his hand skates below the material, blindly feeling the satin and lace of your panties. he groans as he traces over a damp patch, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder.

“soaked for me, baby. been wanting me? just had to ask.” he rambles, tugging your underwear to the side. “can have my cock whenever you want it, you know? it’s all yours.”

lando smears your wetness around with a swipe of his thumb, switching rapidly between messy circles around your clit and teasing dips into your cunt, shallow enough to make you squirm for more.

“just fuck me.” you pant, rutting your hips into his hand.

“the mouth on you, baby. filthy.” he scolds teasingly, but adheres, belt clinking and slacks dropping just enough to free himself.

he drags your hips even closer to the edge of the counter and you feel the warmth of him, hot and throbbing, ghosting over the seam of your pussy. you feel the tip of him press firmly against where you’re leaking, and a roll of his hips sheathes him deep into you smoothly.

“shit, we don’t have a condom.” his eyes fly open, finding yours. you just smirk up at him.

an earnest and vulnerable conversation in the weeks leading up to your wedding had you deciding to abandon your birth control, but you’d been using condoms ever since, not wanting any accidents in the run up to your nuptials.

“you said you wanted to get to work once we got married.” you clench around him for dramatic affect. your desire for flair makes sweat bead in his hairline. “so get to work.” you bite your lip, gazing up at him through lustful, hooded eyes.

“you’re gonna kill me, i swear.” he growls, finding a wild rhythm that makes you writhe into him.

slaps of skin echo through the bathroom, whines and cries of satisfaction and his name bouncing between the cream walls. he can’t take his eyes off of you, beautiful and spent beneath him, rutting your hips to meet his.

“i love you, lando, love you like this, mon amour.” you whimper, clinging to him. his shirt hangs wrinkled, tie loose and brushing against the skin of your chest that your dress doesn’t cover.

“i love you, too, baby. so fucking perfect for me.” lando groans, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to your lips. it’s all tongue and teeth, raw desire as you lick into each other. “you want me to put a baby in you already, huh? ready for me to fuck you nice and full and we’ve only be married, what, six hours?” he taunts.

“i want it, please.” you beg, softening your eyes and pouting your lips.

“my wife is such a needy slut for me, yeah, baby? gonna make me a daddy?”

a few more thrusts, and you’re undone, coating him as he stutters, fills you up. you pant into the intimate space between you both, satiated as you giggle, kiss him. you rake your hands through his sweat slicked locks, holding him close.

“we better get back.” he whispers.

“you’re dripping down my thigh.” you deadpan and he cackles, neck flexing as it does. you lick your lips subconsciously, anxious to mark the taut, tanned skin up when you have him all to yourself again.

“don’t worry, honey, i’ll clean it all up later.” he winks, and you slap his shoulder.

and when you’re curled into his side, cry laughing at max’s speech, recounting the unhinged DM you’d sent him once upon a time in qatar, you work overtime to keep your thighs clenched tight.

it’s 3am when you finally reach the villa, tucked away somewhere in sardinia, secluded and gorgeous. you creep around exploring while he drops your bags in the master suite, finding yourself on the back deck. from there, you can see the garden, green and ornate, bursting with flowers in shades of pinks and white. then, there’s the sea, waves crashing softly onto the white sand of your private beach. the privacy stretches on for miles in both directions, faint lights far away down the coastline.

you sigh, content, tears pricking your eyes. lando had picked this out, just for you, and his choices made it clear just how well he knows you. that’s how he finds you, wiping a stray tear, and he wraps you in his arms, his head perching on your shoulder. he breathes you in, and you feel him smile against the skin of your neck. open mouthed kisses are dotted over your shoulder and you relax fully into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“it’s so gorgeous, amour. thank you so much.” you whisper, turning your head and awaiting a kiss that quickly comes.

“don’t thank me, baby. this is the least you deserve.” he murmurs, resuming a soft suckle at your neck. you roll your eyes at his generosity. he’s so selfless sometimes that he forgets that he deserves this every bit as much as he thinks you do.

“can we go down to the shore? i’m too excited to sleep.” you giggle, and he hums into the hickey he’s leaving.

“course, honey. we have plenty of time to sleep.”

the plan was, after all, to eat, sleep, fuck, repeat. and swim, of course.

you walk down to the water hand in hand, taking your time through the gardens. he picks you a flower, tucks it sweetly behind your ear.

you ditch your shoes, sighing as your feet sink into the cool sand, damp from the push and pull of the waves. the stars are out, clear as day, and you play dot to dot, pointing out constellations to lando.

“do you have any idea how happy i am?” lando asks when you’re both sat in the sand. he pulls you into his side, your head tucking below his chin.

“if you’re as happy as i am then i’d guess pretty fucking happy.” you reply.

“the wedding was… god. i was kinda nervous about the whole event but as soon as i saw you walking down that aisle…” he trails off, scoffing in disbelief. “you’re a fucking angel.”

“i wasn’t even sure that charles was gonna let me go, you know?” you chuckle, gazing up into his watery eyes.

“i did have to pry him off.” lando laughs along with you, shaking his head.

“and then his speech.” you slap a hand over your mouth, stifling laughter. lando throws his head back in faux agony.

the speech in question had started with “to my sweet, dear baby sister and… lando”, and had ended with “and if you choose, for whatever reason, to make her unhappy, they will never find your body.”

“don’t think he’s ever gonna like me.” lando shrugs, tightening his arm around you, like someone might come and take you away.

“oh, shut up, he likes you! he just… likes to torture you more.” you grin cheekily up at him, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss you urgently.

“you are so beautiful.” he mumbles against your lips. “‘m so fucking in love with you.”

“je t’aime pour toujours.” you coo, licking into his mouth. i love you forever.

something urgent and guttural sounds from deep within him and you smooth your hands through his hair. he pulls away breathless, something wild in his eyes.

“we never talked about what happened in the bathroom.” lando rasps, eyes darkening.

“we got to work.” you smirk, echoing your previous words.

“but last time we spoke about it, you weren’t one hundred percent sure about the timing.” lando furrows his eyebrows, searching your face. your smirk relaxes into a smile, genuine with excitement.

“as soon as we said our vows, i knew i was ready. those things you said about family, about us having our own family… god, lando i would have let you have me right there at the alter.”

you are the light of my life. you make me happier than i ever thought i could be, and i will spend every day trying to make you feel the same way. from the moment i saw you, i was yours and i’ll stay yours until my last breath. my greatest joy so far is getting you call you my wife, and i can’t wait to call you the mother of my children. there’s no one else on this earth that i’d want to live my life with, raise a family with, come home to. you make me whole, baby.

safe to say, you’d said your own vows through a chorus of sobs.

“are you sure you’re ready?” lando whispers.

“i want a family with you, amour. let’s make one.” you raise an eyebrow, an invitation.

“i say we start right here.” lando beams, lunging towards you.

you fall back into the sand, laughing against his lips as he kisses you deeply, mouthing down your jaw. he wastes very little time, pulling at the strap of your camisole, licking over your bare flesh as he drags it down your arm.

“here? in the sand?”

“i said what i said.”

he peels off your top, nips at your bare chest as he pushes your sweats down, just enough to get his hand beneath your panties. you gasp wetly, eyes fluttering shut as he teases your folds with his fingers. he moans into the skin of your breast, hardening at the pooling wetness he’s discovered. a few calculated swipes of his fingers and he’s sinking them deep, your sweat pants restricting his movements. he adapts, rutting his fingers into you in a slow grind, thumb bumping your clit. your nipples peak, the ocean breeze and the cold sand under your back causing you to arch violently into him.

“you’re so wet for me, baby.” lando pants, before he closes his lips around your breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple. you’re sensitive, clenching around his fingers.

“want you inside of me.” you whine, bucking your hips to meet each grind of his digits.

“i am.” he flashes you a devilish grin, punctuating his words with a harder thrust.

“lando!” you growl, warning him.

“anything for my wife.”

he pulls his fingers out of you, the sound of the action obscene, and makes a show of sucking them clean while he strips himself bare. you huff, wriggling your sweats off so that you’re naked too, your thighs falling open on cue. he settles between them, brushing your hair out of your face as he settles on top of you.

you can feel him, throbbing and hot between your legs, small drops of him hitting your bare cunt. you keen into him, rolling your hips up to meet his.

“now, baby, please.” you beg.

“never get used to this, you know?” landos chest heaves as he pushes into you. “always feels as good as the first time.”

he sinks all the way in, taking note of every minuscule movement of your face. his breathing stutters at the warmth and wetness that envelops him whole, his tummy tight. you’re no better, lip caught between your teeth as you watch him hungrily.

“you remember our first time, baby? how good we were together, even then?” lando rasps, pulling out of you the tiniest bit, just to slam his hips right back against yours. it makes electricity shoot up your spine to the top of your head, leaving you hot all over.

“of course, amour, i think about it all the time.” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he sets his pace, slow yet so deliciously brutal.

“did you think then that we’d be doing this forever? that you’d be all mine, begging me to get you pregnant?” he teases, fingers digging into the plush of your hips.

“i used to think about it then, if we’d make it. knew we would. wanted you forever from the very first time.” you choke out, meaning it. “‘m so fucking happy lando.” you gasp, grabbing at every part of him that you can.

your hands smooth over his bronze skin, bound to get even richer from all of the sun kisses the rest of your honeymoon would bring. you zone out, honing in on the sound of the waves dancing against the shoreline, eyes staring up at the moon just behind his head. you can’t believe that you’re his, here, that this is real life and that you share a last name with a man that glows like the sun. a head of chocolate frosted curls obscures your vision, and you realise that you’re crying.

“baby? you with me?” lando draws you back to him, hips still.

“i’m here, ‘m sorry, it’s perfect. you’re so perfect.”

you pull him down, so desperate to taste him, moans muffled. your tears trail down his cheeks as well, so close and intertwined. he’s gentler now, pawing at your sides attentively, pulling your body along with his.

“gonna give you everything you want, pretty girl. my beautiful, beautiful girl.” lando coos.

“come with me.” you plead, nerve endings set alight by the overstimulating way his cock drags against your walls.

“you gonna take it all for me, mama?” and your vision goes white. he’s evil for that, playing you like a fool, but it makes you quiver around him, thighs shaking where they’re locked around his waist.

you chant his name, blasphemy, and words of absolute adoration as you let go, coating him in waves of your very own creation. he tries his best to ride through it, but one look at your twisted face, of your quaking body, and he’s dumb with pleasure, crashing down on top of you like a heated blanket.

the sun rises in the east when he carries you to bed, your eyes drooping as you loop your arms around his neck.

“get some sleep for me, angel. we have a baby to make.”

“do you ever wonder about trying new things?” lando asks, hand linked loosely with yours.

sea water rushes over your feet up to your ankles, the sun warming the skin of your backs as you stroll lazily along the coastline. it’s been three days of nothing but each other, a big, peaceful house and endless sunshine.

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“lando, for the fourteenth fucking time, i promise i’ll play tarkov with you when we get home, but it’s just not really my thing-�� you whine, but his louder than life laugh cuts you off, slicing through the serenity of the beach.

“not what i meant, baby.” he chuckles, utterly fond of the way your face wrinkles with confusion.

“what, then?”

“in the bedroom.” lando smirks, and your eyes go wide.

“like… like what?” you squeak, slightly lost.

your sex life was nothing short of adventurous, to say the least.

“like maybe…” he hums teasingly. “you take control?” lando raises his eyebrows suggestively, and you feel yourself flush.

“me? i thought you liked taking charge?”

lando stops, pulling you into his body. water splatters higher up your legs, cooling you down the slightest amount. his hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head up to look at him.

“i love watching you.” he states simply. “and i wanna watch you push yourself.”

“okay.” you inhale shakily. “okay.” you repeat with more conviction. an idea pops into your head. you can’t resist the smirk that pulls at the corner of your lips, and lando grins at the glimmer in your eyes.

“go back to the house. wait for me in our room.”

“naked?” he quips cheekily.

“what do you think?” you tease. lando kisses you quickly, but you push him back. “go.” you command.

he turns to walk away, repeatedly turning back to you, as if he wants to make sure he hasn’t imagined your entire existence. you just turn your back, staring out to sea. the sky is awash with streaks of purple and orange, and you feel your skin prickle with excitement. you take your time walking back, actively trying to slow yourself down. when you reach the door to the master suite, your breath hitches in your throat.

your husband looks fucking ethereal, stretched out across the off-white linen on the king sized mattress. he’s elongated by the way his head is thrown back, bathed in the lamp light as his muscles flex, taut from the way he’s gripping himself, working himself from base to tip. a faint sheen of sweat coats his bronzer-still skin and your mouth runs dry.

“couldn’t wait?” you rasp, low and dangerous. his eyes flutter open, and the bastard has the audacity to beam at you.

“took too long.” he shrugs, resuming without a care in the world. you hear him pant, teeth gritted from the pleasure.

“hands off, lando.” you slowly undress, untying your sarong and letting it flutter to the floor. your bikini quickly follows, landing in a colourful heap on the floor. you stalk towards him and watch him swallow hard when you perch on your knees at the end of the bed. “you asked for this, amour, and you couldn’t even wait to enjoy it properly.”

you’re pouting at him, feigning sadness. he picks up on it, eyes locked on you, trailing shamelessly over your breasts.

“was thinking about how pretty you looked out there.” lando rasps, fisting the duvet beneath him. you tilt your head to the side, raking your eyes over his frame.

“bad boys don’t get the real thing.”

you smooth your hand up his thigh towards his hipbone, and you notice the way he twitches, cock stood tall and waiting. he’s leaking, desperate and aching, but he plays along, needy for it. you grin lazily, wriggling up the bed until you’re close enough, throwing your leg over one of his until you’re straddling his thigh, the skin warm against your bare cunt.

“baby…” he breathes, bringing up a hand to graze your thigh, but you bat it away.

“no touching.” you scold. “i’m gonna take what i want and,” you pause, thoughtfully. “then, maybe, i’ll give you something.”

lando pouts up at you, slowly retreating his hand until it’s back at his side. his jaw is tight as he fights to keep his mouth shut, trying to be content with just watching. after all, you are quite the sight.

you roll your hips experimentally, gasping at the way your clit grazes his skin. your head falls back, out of it as you find a rhythm that works. you drag yourself backwards and forwards, panting as you go, your wetness smearing across his flexed thigh.

“it’s so good, lando,” you moan. “wish you could touch me, but you don’t behave.” you tut, smirking down at him.

“i’ll be good, baby.” he chokes, and your eyes fly open. you rake you eyes over the shape of him, the tense dips of each of his abs, the way his hip bone pulses, leading all the way down to where he’s throbbing.

“looks painful.” you bite your lip. “want me to help?”

“please.” he coos, reaching out for you again before he thinks better of it, twisting his fingers back into the sheets until his knuckles are white.

you grip the base of his cock, loose at first, squeezing tight a few times. his mouth falls open, a deep, unhinged groan rumbling through his chest. you almost lose yourself in how gorgeous he looks but you remain focused, fucking your hand up and down on him a few times, experimenting.

“you gotta wait, amour.” you warn, thumbing at the tip, smearing beads of pre cum over the head. lando whines, squeezing his eyes shut, teeth gritting so hard that his jawline pops, defining it even more than usual. you grin. he’s wrapped so tight around your finger.

“don’t tease me.” he begs, bucking his hips into your hand.

“but you gotta keep it all in for me, amour. save it all so you can fill me up whenever i want.” your voice drips all over him like honey, making him shiver violently.

“you can’t just say that-“

“i can, lando. i can,” you giggle, evil. “and you’re gonna take it.” it’s a promise and a threat and he��s seconds away from blowing his load all over you.

“jesus, i’ve created a fucking monster.” lando hisses, gasping with every slow rub of your hands over his cock.

“and now you’re gonna deal with the consequences, sweetheart.” you purr. “you wanna fuck me?”

his eyes shoot wide open, and he nods desperately, his gaze boyish and needy.

“so wet for you, lando, think i’ll just sink right…” you trail off, manoeuvring yourself so that you’re hovering over his length, red and swollen. “down.” you moan, filling yourself up with ease.

lando cries out, a broken man of his own design, and you pant, rocking yourself backwards and forward as you adjust to the intrusion.

“we feel so good together.” you breathe, peering down at where he’s splitting you open.

“so good.” lando affirms. “can i touch you?” he whines, the veins in his arms protruding through his skin. they remind you how powerful he is, how easily he could flip you over and pound into you like a madman, but he’s letting you destroy him and he’s loving every second. you clamp down around him at the thought, a gush of your slick dripping down around him.

“touch me.” you comply, and he springs from the mattress, sitting unsupported in the middle of the bed as his hands snake around your waist. you anchor him though, holding him close as he holds you tight against him, rutting up into you so deliciously that you cry out his name wetly, face buried in his hair. “so good for me.” you whisper.

your hands cup his face, pulling back from his frizzy curls enough to press your lips to his, swallowing each-others moans.

“gonna come, baby.” lando mumbles into your lips, eyes glazed over with panic, scared you’re gonna deny him.

“that’s okay, amour, you saved it all for me.” you kiss the words against the corner of his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as your own orgasm tightens your belly to the point of no return. “good boy, lando, fill me up now, sweetheart.”

the grunt he lets out heightens into a whine, lost to the crook of your neck as he releases, grinding into you as he lets go. it sends a rush of heat up your spine, a flame to gunpowder, and you thrash in his arms, meeting your own end seconds later.

you come down in his embrace, pulling away to meet his wide eyes, awestruck and glossy.

“thank you, baby.” he mutters, hugging you tight for just a moment, before rolling you onto your back.

“love you.” you whisper, confused as to where he’s going when he starts to move down the bed.

you don’t have to wonder for long, watching as he settles his head against your thigh, licking his lips as he finds his release dripping out of you. two fingers run through your folds, teasing each and every overstimulated nerve. your teeth sink into your bottom lip right when his fingers sink into your cunt. lando’s in a daze, watching the way everything seeps out of you.

“keep it in for me.” lando slurs, transfixed on every clench of your spent cunt around his thick fingers. your eyes roll back in your head.

you roll over in the bed, the sunlight streaming through the linen curtains rousing you from your slumber. you push your hair from your face, reaching blindly for your husband but your hand lands on cold sheets, thudding dully against the mattress. you wrinkle your nose, sitting up and scanning the bedroom. you don’t find him, confused. he never wakes up first. your feet meet the cool tiles of the floor and you pad into the en-suite to freshen up, pulling a loose robe on before you make your way downstairs. you can smell eggs, toast and something floral, and you grin giddily, already anticipating what awaits.

you find lando in the middle of the kitchen, sleepy eyed and smiling at you like you’re the centre of the universe, sent to earth just for him. he’s surrounded, surrounded, by flowers, all kinds of varieties, and they flood the space, every surface covered by bouquets and arrangements. behind him, nestled amongst the sea of pinks, yellow and whites, the table is laid out with a delicious spread, and you feel a pang of hunger at the sight of fresh pastries and juices.

“mon dieu.” you sigh dreamily, grazing a hand over flower petals as you make your way through the jungle towards lando. “all of this for me? how the fuck did you manage this?” you swoon, wrapping your arms around his neck. he leans down, kisses you sweet and slow.

“rumour has it, there are no flowers left on the island.” he chuckles into your neck, and you giggle, leaning up to kiss him again.

“you’re insane.” you reply, awestruck. how did you get so lucky?

“ready for the day?” lando asks, toying with the ends of your hair.

“as long as i get to eat my body weight in sfogliatella first.” you tell him, eyeing the table behind him hungrily.

droplets of water sparkle in the sunlight, dripping slowly down his lean back, flexing with every shake of his head.

lando had crawled out the pool, and right between your legs, where he now resides, mouthing at the crotch of your bikini bottoms. he snaps the band of them against your waist, and you arch further into him every time his nose bumps your clothed clit.

“you’re being mean.” you whine, head falling back against the sun lounger. your book has fallen to the stone paved floor, your place surely lost, but you couldn’t care less. every time you pick the damn thing up, your husband has found a new, unique, way to entice you out of actually reading it, usually with his tongue.

“you want my mouth, baby? just say please.” he smirks up at you, wet curls falling over his eyes. water droplets drip over your thighs, cold against your warm skin and you shiver.

“please.” you growl, not really meaning it, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“polite.” lando tuts, but he relents, twisting the ties that hold the bottoms together until they come undone. he tugs the material away, throws it blindly, and the quiet splash that sounds from behind him tells you both that they’d landed in the pool. he looks up at you, sheepish, and you glare at him.

“make it up to me.” you mutter, bucking your hips into his face.

lando complies, closing his mouth over your clit, sucking softly at the bud. you’re throbbing for him, writhing in the heat of the sun at his electric touch.

two fingers slither between your folds, and he groans into your cunt at the slickness that he finds there, laving his tongue through your slit to savour your taste before his fingers sink inside of you. as he builds a rhythm, fingertips bumping that special spot, you cry out, melting completely into the lounger.

“can feel us from earlier,” lando slurs, lips bumping your clit as he speaks. you shiver, the wet squelch between you quivering thighs leaving you utterly breathless. “so good for me, keeping it all in.”

you let go a few seconds later, grinning languidly as you watch him lick his fingers clean through your sunglasses. he kisses you cheekily, leaving you with your taste on your tongue, and he throws himself back into the pool.

“get my bikini bottoms!” you call, flustered by the way the low sun hits him, paints his golden and shiny.

“but i prefer the view without them.” he winks, but dives under the water to retrieve them nonetheless.

“‘m so, so in love with you.” lando rasps into your ear, mouthing at the skin of your flushed cheeks.

you’re chest to chest, eyes locked as he grinds into you, deeper and deeper somehow with every thrust. he leaves you dizzy, tingling and weightless with every stroke, hips brushing yours.

“lando,” you sigh dreamily, threading your fingers through his curls. they’re loosening from the humidity, the heat burning between you both, no longer perfectly coiled like they had been during your dinner date.

lando had hired out a small italian restaurant overlooking the sea, soft fairy lights strung over your heads as you’d sipped wine, hands loosely clasped together. he’d toyed with your wedding band the whole time, eyes rarely leaving yours. it was a perfect end to a perfect honeymoon, and as he’d driven you back to your villa, the tension had simmered.

he had you on your back quickly, but he was careful with you, lazily revealing more and more skin as he slowly undressed you. he’d tried to slide between your thighs, eyes lit up with longing, but you’d refused him. you needed him against you, buried so deep, intertwined. lando hadn’t fought you much, pouting at the deprivation of getting a taste, but when he’d slid his cock through your folds, easy because of your glistening slick, his eyes had rolled back and he’d gotten over the disappointment.

“you’re so perfect.” you pant, leaning up to kiss him. it’s sweet, full of passion, leaves you wanting. “i love you.” you whisper when he pulls away, his forehead resting intimately against yours. warm breaths mingle, rapid and needy from the intensity of it all.

when you fall apart under him, a string of jumbled french rolls off of your tongue, your eyes squeezed shut at the pure inferno of ecstasy that washes over you. you’re both damp with sweat, his curls falling in a mess over his forehead, framing pretty eyes that roll back in his head when he burrows deep and reaches his own release.

once you’re untangled, you lay facing each other and his fingertips ghost over the curve of your bare waist. you watch one another, utterly content with the silence, bathing in the warmth of the bedside lamp and the pale moonlight that filters in through the open balcony doors. the cool nighttime breeze grazes over your naked bodies, pulling you out of the unrelenting heat of the moment and into something serene, peaceful.

“i can’t wait to spend my life with you.” lando whispers, his words soft in the quiet of the room. you let them wash over you, tuned in to the waves rippling against the shore in the distance. you grin coyly back at him, grabbing the hand that he’s stroking you with. you pull it to your lips, kiss it sweetly.

you fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, loose curls tickling the skin of your neck. one of his hands rests gently over your lower belly, covered with one of yours.

your bags wait by the door, packed and ready to go home, where the rest of your life with him begins.

“i like this colour better, i think.” you muse, flicking between paint swatches. violet white and apple moon have caught your attention, but you wonder if a colder undertone would work best. you’ve taken on the task of redoing a guest room, a little end of summer project.

lando wrinkles his nose and you roll your eyes playfully.

you’re lounged across your sofa, the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon and you watch it through the open balcony doors. the room is tinged orange, glowing, painting your husband angelic.

“don’t you think something… warmer would work better?” he asks, leaning closer to have another look.

“not everyone loves fluorescent yellow.” you tease, and he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“okay, not that.” he laughs. “what about,” he scans the other swatches on the coffee table, reaching for one. “this one?”

he hands you honey beam, and you toy with the small card.

“i think it’s too pink.” you say.

“it’s cute! i just think we should paint it something soft, just in case…” he trails off, leaning forward and immersing himself in the samples. you lean in, too, chasing him. he has this small smile on his lips, lost in thought.

“hey, ‘in case’ what?” you ask.

lando turns to you, just stares for a second. the low sun makes your eyes sparkle, and he melts.

“in case we get pregnant.” he says quietly.

“oh.” you coo, grinning up at him. “i suppose you have a point.”

“yeah?” he breathes, excited in a way you can only compare to a sweet, innocent puppy.

“yeah.”

“like, baby, i love your eye for design but i don’t want our baby to grow up in a a pretentious, grey, prison-“ lando teases you, and you shut him up by wrestling him back onto the sofa.

“ve te faire foutre.” you scold, kissing over his cheeks.

“i love you and i love our house.” lando murmurs sincerely.

the paint swatches are forgotten as you laugh together and kiss him sweetly into the sofa.

lando relaxes into the seat, waiting for the plane to take off. oscar sits across from him, already falling asleep, hoodie pulled tight around his head. charles and alexandra are supposed to be joining them on the flight back to nice. he wonders where they are - he wants nothing more than to get home, curl into his wife’s side. lando snaps a picture of his dozing teammate, smirking at the screen, but before he can upload it to his instagram story, your contact photo fills the screen. he accepts the facetime, beaming as your tired eyes meet his through the screen.

“hey baby.” lando coos, sticking his tongue out at you.

“mon amour,” you greet, grinning at him lazily. “have you taken off yet?” you ask softly. you’re on your side in bed, blankets cocooning you, and lando aches to be there with you.

“soon, waiting for your brother and alex.” lando rolls his eyes jokingly, and you tut.

“i’ll tell them off.” you frown, unserious.

“god, don’t do that! i’m already terrified of that man.” lando shivers, and your laugh fills his ears, warms the blood flowing through his cheeks. “are you okay, though, baby? you look tired.”

“yeah, think it’s just sugar crash,” you half shrug. “i’ve been really tired for the last few days, it’s nothing.”

“sugar?” lando’s eyebrows furrow. you’re not one for sugary things, supplementing it with your body weight in snacks. you’re a savoury girl, through and through.

“yeah, i’m all kinder-d out.” you giggle, sheepish. his eyes go wide.

“my kinder?” lando gasps, feigning hurt. he sees it, then, the pile of wrappers on the nightstand behind you.

“whoops? don’t even know what came over me, but your entire stash is gone.”

“how am i ever gonna forgive you for this?” lando shakes his head, smirking at the screen.

“just get more on the way back? please?” you plead, giving him the eyes that he’d die for.

“course, baby.” he promises, but he’s mulling it all over in his head. “you’re not getting sick, are you?”

cravings. overly tired. all you had to say next was that you were nauseous and he’d be buying a crib. he kept his mouth shut, though, because it clearly hasn’t dawned on you yet.

“not sure, i’ve been fine mostly.” you shrug again, and lando can’t help but smile like a fool. “what?” you ask, noticing his untamed expression.

“nothing, i just love you. okay, baby, i’m gonna call charles and see where he is. i’ll be home in a few hours.”

“don’t forget my kinder!” you call, blowing him a kiss. “have a good flight, amour, i love you.”

lando can’t quieten his mind, too overwhelmed with the possibility that you’re about to expand your family, something he’s imagined since before he’d even proposed.

when charles steps onto the small plane, met with the sight of his brother in law grinning like an idiot at absolutely nothing, he wonders, yet again, what kind of joke god was playing on him.

you hear the front door open, the soft thud of bags dropping to the floor, and you spring from the mattress. you ignore the way your tummy turns uncomfortably, and speed down the hallway to meet him.

“hey baby.” lando murmurs, holding you tight when you jump into his arms. you never get used to him being gone.

“missed you.” you whisper, breathing in the familiar scent of him, warm and spicy, and even better than usual. “i’m so proud of you.”

lando was leading the championship, but he couldn’t get too comfortable. charles and lewis were looming in the near distance, and oscar was creeping towards the party at a rate of knots. but lando was on a streak of race wins, and he couldn’t deny that your praise made him giddy. after all, these days it was all for you.

“yeah?” lando asks, pressing his forehead against yours. you hum in agreement, leaning in for a kiss. it’s sweet, tender, silent confirmation of just how much you’ve missed one another.

“did you pick up my chocolate?” you pout, fingers intertwined as you walk to the sofa. you drop down, curling up and lando sits next to you.

“i did, and i also got you something else.” lando smiles coyly, unzipping his bag. your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

first, he hands you the kinder chocolate. then, he hands you a pregnancy test.

seeing the two items together makes it dawn on you, and you slap your hands over your face.

“mon dieu!” you gasp. “how did i not realise?” when you lower your hands, lando sees how your eyes glimmer with tears, your lips stretched into a nervous smile.

“so i’m not crazy for thinking it, right?” lando laughs, cupping your cheeks with warm, shaking hands.

“you’re not. should i take it now?”

“i might die if you don’t.” lando’s dead serious, the tension between you palpable.

you stand from the sofa, speed towards the bathroom, and lando watches you go. he sighs, rubbing his eyes, overcome with jitters and excitement.

time seems to stand still as he waits, eyes locked on the door that you’d gone through, waiting for any movement. five minutes must have passed, but if you’d told him it had been five years, he would have believed it. the door handle makes him jump to his feet, and he walks towards you tentatively. your expression is unreadable and he wants to scream.

“so? are you- are we?” lando pleads, only a few steps away from you now.

your neutral expression morphs into one of pure joy, the tears you’d been holding back streaming in a free-for-all.

“all that work we put in must have paid off.” you whisper, and lando surges towards you. your feet leave the ground, held so tight as he spins you around.

“we’re having a baby?” lando breathes, placing you back on the ground carefully.

“you’re gonna be a dad.” you manage through tears.

“my god,” his voice is laced with disbelief, utterly enamoured with you. “i can’t even believe it.” his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you feel his wet, hot tears pooling there.

“i’m pregnant.” you say it slowly, tasting it on your tongue, feeling the weight of it. your husband clings to you, and your hands rake through his hair, soothing him with your dull nails across his scalp, as you ground yourself in the ecstasy of the moment.

“we did it!” lando cheers, flushed red, his watery eyes shining like the sun hitting the sea. you’re shaking, fingertips grazing your sweatshirt covered belly. his fingers lace with yours, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric.

“we did.” your voice wobbles, cheeks aching from your unshakable smile. “what the hell do we do now?”

“we plan a really elaborate hiding spot so that charles never finds me. you and the baby can visit.” lando replies earnestly, bursting into giggles when you swat his arm.

he pulls you into a kiss, so slow and gentle that the whole house melts away around you; all that’s left is you and him, and something so beautiful that you’ve created together.

“thank you.” lando mumbles against your lips.

“i’m just glad you convinced me not to paint the spare room grey.”

taglist

(lemme know if you wanna be added or removed. tags that don’t work will be removed)

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne

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headspace-hotel · 13 hours ago

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I've been reading some more of the works of eugenicists while thinking about the state of education about this ideology. Yes, "Eugenics" is a dirty word nowadays; in my opinion, it's not nearly dirty enough.

Here's a fact to make your head spin: Eugenics wasn't about killing people. Yes, it ended up killing people, and if you examine the way eugenics has influenced the world, you realize it still does kill people, but the architects of eugenics weren't leading with, "My fellow countrymen, we should On Purpose Kill People."

The reason that's important is, people keep coming up with ideas labeled (by their critics) "uncomfortably similar to eugenics"--- ideas for a compassionate, scientifically-grounded way of improving humanity by understanding the heredity of good and bad traits and influencing the fertility rates of people with different genetic traits.

There is already a word for this kind of idea. That word is: eugenics. It is silly to set yourself apart from eugenicists by explicitly repudiating killing people or forcibly sterilizing them, when many founding eugenicists also explicitly repudiated killing people or forcibly sterilizing them.

Here is an Internet Archive link to "Heredity in relation to eugenics," a work by Charles Benedict Davenport, an early eugenicist. Please read at least the first four pages.

I'm afraid that his brief introduction to eugenics could sound, to the layperson, surprisingly less scary and disgusting than expected. Mister Davenport's word choices may provide a "red flag" to the reader: he refers to human babies as a "valuable crop," to marriage between people as "mating." The disquiet these word choices cause is because they dehumanize the subjects. Humans, from Davenport's perspective, are essentially the same as agricultural plants or animals, which in turn are assets, sources of economic gain---they are things.

Davenport articulates the contribution of a human being to the United States: "...forming a united, altruistic, God-serving, law-abiding, effective and productive nation." However, relatively few people are "fully effective" at this purpose, because a proportion of society is "non-productive"---either criminals or disabled, or among the people required to care for and control criminals and the disabled.

After you read the introduction of Davenport's book, read his wikipedia page. He was a Nazi. He was a Nazi until the day he died. He was rabidly and repugnantly racist, so much so that his later scientific works fudged together garbage conclusions that contradicted his actual data in order to prop up his racist beliefs. He lobbied Congress to restrict immigration into the USA, out of the belief that the immigrants would poison the blood of our country with inferior genetics.

Overwhelmingly, eugenicists were concerned with disability. They believed that disability would normally be eliminated by natural selection, and that caring for the disabled and allowing them to grow up and to have children would cause a steady increase in the proportion of society made up of disabled people---who were, as Davenport puts it, a "burden" on society.

Eugenicists were also concerned with race. They wanted to gather data that demonstrated what they already believed: that race was a biological reality, a reality that could only appear unclear or malleable because of harmful, aberrant, unnatural scenarios, namely miscegenation or race mixing. Basically, race was both a natural reality, and in need of enforcement.

But eugenicist ideology was not just about the inferiority of disabled people or people of color. Eugenicists thought of their ideas as a science and thought of themselves as scientists, and they broadly addressed virtually everything we would now consider a matter of "public health." Eugenicist writings almost universally address crime, and often don't recognize a clear distinction between crime and mental disability, or between either of those things and poverty. Criminals, disabled people and poor people were basically the same; they had something wrong with their genes that made them that way.

"Sexual deviance" is generally included in this, and Davenport explicitly references this in his introduction, where he says that "normal" people are not likely to have the kind of sex that leads to the transmission of STIs.

For many proponents (including Davenport), the key dogma of eugenics was that genes predetermined everything about a person. Tuberculosis was a huge problem at the time, and eugenicists were insisting that, although the disease was known to be bacterial, susceptibility to the disease was genetic, and therefore people who became sick with tuberculosis were genetically defective. Likewise if a child developed epilepsy after a head injury, the injury did not cause the epilepsy but instead revealed an inherent genetic weakness that was already there. This implied that spending resources on healing or rehabilitating anybody was a waste of time.

If you read more of Davenport's book, you will see that he makes some WILD statements---he asserts that artistic talent is a Mendelian trait controlled by a single gene, basically that you are either born an artist or you aren't. This seems absolutely absurd but, there is a good amount of popular belief in inherent aptitudes for art or music or math or what have you.

Eugenics isn't just about named prejudices like racism or ableism, it is even bigger than that, it is a set of beliefs encompassing how the potential and value of human beings is determined and how society should care for its members as a result of that.

#eugenics #nazi tw #human rights #history

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inbabylontheywept · 2 days ago

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Babylon and the Duck of Butter

I have a gift for falling in love with random objects. One time, my aunt got me a little rubber chicken, and whenever I squoze it, a little egg thing popped out. Very silly. Except that chicken became something like my best friend. I carried it with me to school, and I kept it with me in my pocket, and whatever social hazards there were about Being The Guy Who Got Stressed Whenever His Rubber Chicken Was Missing were far outweighed by being The Guy Who ALWAYS Had a Rubber Chicken On Him. There's a lot of comedic opportunity that comes with always having a good prop on your person.

Of course, the chicken did eventually. Explode. And such was my grief that I did not eat for 36 hours. This was very stressful for many people. Mostly my mom. I was a very strange child to work with. She took parenting so incredibly seriously, and then I'd pitch her these curve balls like refusing to eat for a day and a half because my rubber chicken died. No parenting book tells you what to do when that happens. You just have to feel it in your heart.

A less tragic story of an object that I fell in love with was a large, foam toad that I found in a trinket shop. The toad was the size of a very large grapefruit. Much too large to carry with me to school (thank god) but enough that I could move it around the house, to keep me company during my solitary pursuits. If I was reading, the toad was there, and if I was tinkering with legos, the toad was there, and even when I slept, I would wrap the toad up in layers and layers of blankets, and then spoon it. I did this until the rubber coating on the foam started to wear out, and the foam started to get brittle and break down and leak this repulsive yellow powder. Then I simply put the toad in the playroom and would consult it on matters of great importance. Eventually I stopped doing that, and someone took the opportunity to dispose of it. Not sure who. By the time I noticed its absence, too much time had passed for me to actually be sad. As an adult, part of me thinks I would have maybe liked burying the toad, but part of me also thinks I might have refused to part with the toad, which would have resulted in it leaking more repulsive yellow powder into the house. So I understand why that decision was made.

I want to state that this does not happen often, and it does not happen on purpose. I don't choose to fall in love with random objects. And it's always a little bit embarrassing when it happens.

Which brings me to my wife.

Before meeting my wife, I did not often go to places with crowds. I didn't really think of it as avoiding them - those places just didn't seem fun to me. But she liked those places, and I really liked her, and being with someone who really likes something can kind of sell you on liking it too, so I'd take her to places and watch her Visibly Enjoy the Fair and go: Alright. The fair is pretty sweet.

Which is a thing that happened. After fourish months of dating, I took her to the fair. And she fell very visibly in love with a large series of quilts, and she stayed near them for a while, which she thought was very embarrassing, and I got to pretend to be understanding as an outsider, because I thought it would be much more impressive than also being the type of person that would fall in love with a quilt.

Do not do this. The gods punishment for my hubris was that the room next to the quilts was full of butter sculptures, which was an entirely new thing to me, and I immediately fell embarrassingly in love with all of them. It was like the biggest, sappiest non-sexual crush you've ever had, but not only did the other person not recipropcate, they could not, because they were made of butter. I actually got yelled at for pressing my face against the glass, which is fair, but also, I hadn't realized I was pressing my face on the glass, I just started leaning forward because after approximately 30 minutes of staring wistfully at a cow made of butter my legs got tired. And I think I should be given some grace for that.

Anyway. My wife was very patient with me taking more time to look at the butter sculptures than the average person might spent at the Louvre, and she also felt much less embarrassed over falling in love with a quilt, and we had a good laugh about it on the ferris wheel.

A few weeks after that was my birthday. And I don't know what I expected, exactly - but I did not expect what she did.

Dear reader, she made me a butter sculpture. Of a duck.

She picked a duck, because our first kiss was at a Japanese friendship garden. It was our second date, and she'd made up her mind not to do any kissing until the third date, but as we sat on the grass, a duck walked past me, and I'd just seen the hold-duck-gentle-like-hamgurber meme,

so I sort of impulsively reached out and snatched it. I honestly didn't think it would work. I don't know who was more flabbergasted, me or the duck. But we looked at each other, and then I looked at her, and then she looked at the duck, and she looked so incredibly envious that I assumed that must have wanted the duck so I just handed it to her.

It turned out she was actually envious of the ability to just grab a duck as it walked by, but she accepted the duck and stroked it a few times before releasing it. (She also made up her mind to kiss me in that moment, which was very nice.)

Anyway.

She made me a butter duck of my own. Obviously, I fell in love with it immediately. I cleared out all of the freezer-portion of my mini fridge, and I put the duck in there, and for the next several months, when I felt sad, or lonely, I would open the door up and spent some quality time. Just me and my duck.

But this is, of course, not the end of the story.

Because.

After several months.

The mini fridge died.

I really didn't use it that often. It was mostly my duck storage container. But one day, I walked by it, and it struck me that it wasn't humming. So I opened the door, and it was just. Far, far too late. The duck was dead. Dead dead. Turned into a foul-smelling slime dead.

I cried. I did. After the rubber chicken thing, I thought I had changed, but I had not changed, and the unexpected death of my butter buddy left me pretty shook. I texted my then-girlfriend now-wife about how sad I was, and she actually came over to help me say goodbye. We didn't even bother scraping the duck out of the mini-fridge, we just said our goodbyes to both and threw them together in the nice dumpster behind the chapel, because it seemed appropriate to put it in God's dumpster. And it did actually help quite a bit. I certainly did not go 36 hours without eating again.

And that was, for some time, the end of the butter duck.

However. Three (or four?) years ago, for my birthday, my wife was looking around thrift stores. And she found something interesting.

The original butter duck had an odd pose. She'd sculpted it laying flat, intending to raise it up later. But the butter was less flexible than she thought, and she was afraid of cracking it so she left it down which left the duck with a very elongated, very in-motion appearance. And she found a brass statue of a duck in the same, running posture.

It wasn't the original. But it was oddly on the nose. It was a yellow brass, it had the same strange posture, the same crude little face feathers.

I think it was $3, but it remains perhaps the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I got very choked up when I unwrapped Butter Duck, The UnDying.

Pic provided.

#Babylon-Lore #There was a Reddit ask about the most romantic thing your partner has done #and this story stuck out to me #It's one single silly object that encompasses a lot of relationship milestones with us #title is a weird reference to Crispin and Cross of Lead #For absolutely no thematic reasons I just really like that title #Remember it as a good book but it has been like #20 years since I read it

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self-appointed-nerd · 3 days ago

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Hermitblr please read

I know we're all freaking out about the current drama, mainly because we haven't really had drama before. However, this does not mean its over, our fandom is dead, and we're all doomed.

This is a classic case of immature behavior. Iskall's response, in MY OPINION, was very immature. He directed hate towards the hermits, who were just being responsible in managing a family friendly youtube server (and who were also willing to listen to his side). If he hadn't made a response, there would have been no issues within the community at all. The hermits handled it in the same way any business would. If anything, they could've waited a bit to announce his resignation from the server.

That's not the situation I want to talk about though. So many communities have fallen due to drama between creators. However, we do not have to fall that way. All we have to do is remember that people are not perfect. The hermits could've handled the situation better, but they also aren't gods. They are public figures in a sticky situation.

Don't hate guys. Don't send death threats. The drama isn't ours. Keep making fan content as usual. Let's show the world that we can get through a youtube controversy.

It doesn't have to end with us.

Stay strong guys

(tagging trafficblr & VH too bc the fandoms overlap)

#Guys!#coach is right! If we work together #we can get through this!#hermitcraft #hermitblr #iskall situation #iskall85 #mcyt #mcytblr #mcytumblr #mcyt tag #traffic smp #trafficblr #vault hunters

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aisarete · 21 hours ago

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That is true, but also there are many things in many places that truly were never taught. I never learned any basic accounting or financial literacy in school. The only class that covered it even a little was Home Ec, which I did not take. There's lots of oversight like that, and the oversights vary from district to district.

That's not even talking about censorship! I have a lot of respect for my history teacher who closed the door and shut the blinds and told us for the next few weeks we were going to be learning about a variety of things that happened in America, such as the Trail of Tears and the Mexican-American War. The school didn't want it to be taught, and he could get in trouble, but he thought it was important for us to know.

He told us we could choose not to learn and he would move on; or we could promise not to talk about it at school and tell anyone who asked we were doing a unit on some other part of American history, I don't remember which. We voted and wanted to learn what he wanted to teach, mostly because we were rebellious teens and it sounded more interesting at the time.

He warned us not to check out books on the topics we discussed from the school library, either, because if too many kids were reading the same things from the same class, it would come down on him. And he kept all of his presentations of a personal laptop he hooked up to the projector, and kept a full lecture on the whiteboard behind the screen so if anyone came in, he could turn off the projector and it was my job (as the person closest) to retract the screen.

He took it all very seriously. And this was in California! A place many people think of as a bastion of democracy and free speech. Maybe he was lying to get us interested. Maybe there was no admin about to come down on his head for teaching us. But he certainly acted like there was, and I know that it happens in other places in the country too.

I work at a school now, and honestly I found it weird that instead of having everyone wear red and gold or something last Thursday for Lunar New Year (we do Spirit Week pretty often), it was "anything but a backpack" day. I know of only one class who was taught anything about the festivals taking place that day, within driving distance, even! And just before the December holiday, we have Spirit Week every year that NEVER includes other cultures. There's like 20 major holidays around that time, but the entire week is Christmas themed! We have a really diverse student and teacher population, too, and we are supposed to be an International Baccalaureate school. It's a really glaring omission and it goes to show that just because something isn't being actively censored, doesn't mean it's being taught.

There really is a lot we aren't taught in school.

#i didnt take home ec because I was in AVID #and they pushed a bit for more science and math #so i took astronomy instead #id have taken home ec in sr year but #i tested out of school and left as a jr #hs sucked

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minustwofingers · 2 years ago

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exoplanet p.6 (ellie’s journals)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: a significantly different writing voice! this is going to be a very different vibe from the other chapters since i had to write it as i imagine ellie would (which is a lot different than i do). slight nsfw content (mdni), language, mentions of violence/gore, angst, ellie’s pov is actually really depressing

a/n: soooo i know it’s been almost 3 months...and i’m really sorry about that! a lot of stuff happened in my life and i kind of fell off writing for quite some time. but i finish series, so i’m going to get through exoplanet in its entirety so i can finally give you all closure. some preliminary notes: know that these are modeled after how i imagine ellie would journal if she did journal this much. canonically she didn’t do that much writing that follows a narrative like it does here. i think it’s honestly a little ooc for her to be emotionally responsible enough to talk out her feelings, but given that there’s no other way to tell her side of the story (save for legit rewriting it from her perspective, which would take another 6 months or so and be horrifically repetitive), i decided to just suck it up and write it. i’m sorry if it sounds awkward, since she definitely doesn’t write in a voice that i have much experience with. the next chapter will be better!

word count: 5.5k

tags~ @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

(i haven’t updated this yet bc my tags aren’t working)

a special special SPECIAL thanks to both @roarriita and @elliesflower for being soooo sexy and betaing for me. you both are so wonderful and helped me sm in feeling good enough to post this :)

without further ado, enjoy ellie’s journals!

January 20th, 2038

Today’s been…fucking…

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t get why this sort of shit always happens to me. First it was being bit and somehow surviving. Then it was getting carted off across the country. And now some girl basically falls out of the sky, claiming that she comes from some sort of paradise up North?

I’ll spare the immediate details. I don’t think I’ll forget the basic stuff—her name, the way she looked clutching at her knees in the clearing and shaking. That stupid shirt she had on and that expensive scarf.

I still want to believe that she’s just a liar who happened to get lucky with running into us, but even without Joel vouching for her story, I don’t think I’d ever be able to buy that she’d been living in the same world as us. I’ve never met someone without scars before. I didn’t know that there were people out there who didn’t have marked up arms and faces. Or people without calluses. Did you know that hands can be totally smooth?

Anyway. Tommy says that he’ll try and reach out across the contacts he has. Joel has her living right down the hall from me in the meantime, so now I have to share my bathroom. Hopefully the Terranovan authorities are good at finding people. She takes so fucking long to shower. It’s a wonder the whole compound still has hot water.

[One page of drawings follows: Dina smiling in the snow on her horse, Joel playing his guitar]

January 25th, 2038

Maria says that they’re thinking about breeding Shimmer soon. I know she told me because that means I’ll need to ride another horse for a little until she recovers and I know that we need another generation of foals, but it still made me cringe for Shimmer’s sake. She’s too free-spirited to be a mother. She doesn’t deserve that.

I went stargazing last night. It was pretty. Lots of shooting stars. I ran into the girl while I was coming back from the meadow. She gave me a weird look, and I could tell she wanted to ask me where I’d been but kept her mouth shut. Sometimes I regret dropping off that bag of clothes. I really fucking liked that gray sweatshirt, actually. I’m not even joking. It looks weird to see it on someone else.

[Half a page of drawing follows of the night sky with labeled constellations]

February 5th, 2038

Long time no see. I’ve been pretty busy with patrols and helping Maria with securing the walls. Joel made me try some of that coffee that our new house guest brought. It was just as awful as I remembered, but he seemed happy. So one point for the space girl. I guess.

Dina’s been hanging around more. She just broke up with Jessie (yes, again). She swears that it’s for good this time, but I’m not so sure. She also talks a lot about Y/N and what little detail she’s gathered about her life back in Terranova. I thought teasing her by asking her if she had a crush on Y/N would make her talk less about it, but it just made things worse.

I miss when things were normal.

[One page of drawings follows: one of Shimmer in cross-ties, another of a girl’s face, half-finished with the face scribbled out]

February 12th, 2038

Today I’m sad. I’m in bed with that book about astronomy that Joel nabbed for me on patrol a while ago and there’s a section I wanted to read that’s completely waterlogged. It shouldn't be a surprise. It’s decades old and has survived through an apocalypse. Normally things like this don’t bug me much because I’m so used to it. Half of my Savage Starlight collection is damaged. I don’t think I’ll ever find the first book to actually complete the series, and that’s okay, because I’ve never expected anything more. But now that I know that there’s a world out there where I’d never have problems like this, stuff like this hurts. It’s so stupid. I’m lucky to be alive. Compared to what’s left of the world population, I live a much cushier life than most. But for the first time in a while, I’m wishing for more.

“Greed is the enemy of happiness” is what Maria would say if I ever said this kind of shit out loud. But is it really? Or is it just realizing what life can be?

[Half a page of a drawing of the solar system, with each planet labeled]

February 22nd, 2038

Maria let me pick the sire for Shimmer’s foal. It felt kind of gross, to be honest. I asked Maria if there was any way for Shimmer to choose and I was only sort of joking, but she just laughed anyway and patted my back. I won’t have to worry about finding a new horse for another two seasons or so, she told me. It’ll be weird not having her for a little.

She also told me that there was still no word from anyone who knew anything about Terranova. She said this to me in this placating voice, like she thought that I was going to punch a hole in the wall or something after hearing it. That seems to be common when it comes to people talking about Y/N and me. I don’t know why so many people think I don’t like her staying with us.

I don’t, by the way. Let me be clear. But I mostly feel indifferent about her now. She doesn’t bother me as much anymore, not since she started getting out of the house. I think she might be helping in the gardens, but I’ve never actually asked. We don’t talk a whole ton. I don’t think she likes me all that much.

[A drawing of Shimmer’s head poking over her stall door that takes up one page]

March 2nd, 2038

Today was finally our first nice day of the year. I would’ve enjoyed it more if the bird that lives in the tree outside my window hadn’t blown me out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning. I’m exhausted now. It’s been a long day. Joel says I need to take Y/N out on patrol soon. Why, I have no idea. Maybe he just wants me to actually befriend her or something, and I do nothing but patrols now. He can’t possibly expect her to be a good patrol partner.

Thankfully, I checked the logs when I came back. The route he wants me to cover with her has been the quietest all season. I doubt we’ll run into anything. If we do, I’ll probably be able to handle it. Hopefully.

[Half a page of doodles, mostly of nature and wildlife with the exception of a half-finished doodle of an arm clad in a fabric that drapes like silk and a hand with polished nails]

March 3rd, 2038

Many surprising things were learned today. I can’t believe it’s illegal to be gay in Terranova. Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just—out of all the things they could be bothered by, it’s that? Really?

March 12th, 2038

I haven’t been good at journaling recently. I don’t really want to talk about why. You know why.

[Six pages of drawings, with many unfinished doodles of Y/N—including but not limited to her on her horse, her reading on the couch, and one with her sitting in what is a very loose interpretation of a classroom, taking notes]

March 13th, 2038

I will feel more normal tomorrow. Hopefully.

[Two pages of drawings, all of Y/N. One is her bent over a book, the other is her smiling up at you]

March 14th, 2038

I did something really stupid. I think I should probably just document this here so I don’t accidentally drunkenly spill it all out to Dina at the next bonfire. This is so embarrassing. I don’t get why I feel this way. It’s so stupid, you know? To feel anything towards someone who’s so…I don’t know. Different.

She gives me the weirdest looks sometimes. I can’t tell what they mean. It feels like she’s judging me. And why wouldn’t she be? I bet all the girls she spends her time around back home are just like her—perfect, orderly, pretty, proper. The day before I took her patrolling she gawked at the shorts I was wearing. It was borderline offensive. Actually, fuck that. It wasn’t borderline. It was offensive. You don’t just stare at people like that. She should know that.

Anyway, I invited her over to my room last night. Normal, right? Because we’ve been doing that a little since I took her on patrol, by the way. I’m not sure if I mentioned that before. But this time I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m…I don’t know. Creepy? Strange? Scary? She told me that she thought I was intimidating. And then I called her “untouched”, like how some old-timer devout Christian wackjob or whatever would describe virginity. It was so fucking weird of me. I don’t know what got into me, but she kept doing this thing where she kicked my foot with hers or touched my knee and it just threw me off. It took me forever to fall asleep last night—I kept replaying what I’d said to her, especially how I’d told her that she wouldn’t have made it if she were me like I was some sort of hardcore survivalist. I think I embarrassed her. I’m never doing anything like this again. I’m going to be dead sober every time I see her from now on.

I’ll stop talking about that. Y/N did come back after I’d made a fool of myself and showed me her collection of movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I haven’t watched any movies since I was with Cat. When we first started dating, I’d invite her over and she’d sit right where Y/N did last night. I’m trying to not think of the implications, because it’s space girl, and she’s going home sometime soon.

[Three pages of drawings follow—some nature drawings of ferns and moths, others of Y/N with wet hair, her knees tucked up to her chin like she’d been in Ellie’s bed that night]

March 19th, 2038

It’s the Spring Equinox. That’s the first thing Y/N told me this morning when she saw me in the kitchen this morning. She gave me a mini lecture on what that meant for the planet’s axis tilt and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already knew, since she seemed really excited to tell me.

I made a horrible discovery yesterday, by the way. Maria came up to me and told me that Tommy had decided to reach out to some of his other buddies up North to see if they had any connections to Terranova, and for the first time, I felt myself hoping that it wouldn’t work.

It’s awful. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Even in Jackson, where things are comparatively much better than the rest of the world, there’s risk. Just this winter, one family had to be kicked out when they were found hiding an infected son. No one here is completely safe, just safer. I shouldn’t be selfish. Y/N needs to go where she’s meant to be, where there’s no chance of infection or invasion. I’ll be fine. I just need to get over whatever this is.

Speaking of her, I need to go get her to tell her that we’re heading out on patrol in just a few minutes. Fingers crossed she doesn’t accidentally shoot me, but Joel swore up and down that she knows how to handle a gun now. Sure. Haha.

I’m back. It’s the middle of the night and she only just left my room. I don’t know how much detail I need to go into—chances are I won’t forget this. But for bookkeeping purposes: patrol did not go so hot. I had to give her stitches without any local anesthesia. I’ve never given stitches to anyone nearly in my lap before. I was really nervous, too. I don’t think I’ve ever had to focus so much on keeping my hands steady when it came to stitching someone up before, not even with Joel.

I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong about thinking that she didn’t like me. I still can’t tell exactly what she thinks of me, and I know that it’s a really bad fucking idea to be entertaining thoughts like these, but tonight she did something that made me reconsider. She got under the covers with me, and instead of moving away to keep us from touching, she rested her head next to mine on the pillow.

I hope she couldn’t hear how much my heart was racing. People can’t hear that kind of stuff, right? Even if they’re close?

I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way she—No. She doesn’t see me like that.

March 21st, 2038

She rested her head on my shoulder today. I don’t know what to think of it. If she was normal and grew up like the rest of us did, I would know exactly what to think. But she’s not normal, and it’s not fair of me to treat her like she is. Maybe this is, like, a culturally acceptable thing back from where she grew up. Maybe rich people just cuddle each other all the time. I wouldn’t fucking know, and unfortunately no one in this godforsaken town can help, because there’s a distinct lack of what Maria calls the “bourgeoisie”. They’re all either dead or back where Y/N grew up, doing whatever rich snobs do.

Even if it is normal for her, I feel like I can’t stop analyzing everything she does. She seems more nervous around me than she does anyone else, but she lingers like she can’t help herself. I’ve noticed that she stumbles over her words and touches me much more than is really necessary. Or at least I think she does—maybe I’m just imagining things.

But even if it means what I think it does, I can’t let myself think like this. It’s not fair to her. No one deserves to live here if they have the choice. At least the people out here know how to handle it. She doesn’t, and I don’t want her to turn into the type of person who does.

When I stitched her up and teased her about being weak and sensitive, I think she thought I was insulting her. I try not to think about it, but if I let myself wallow too much, I’ll wonder what kind of person I’d be if I wasn’t so jaded. Maybe I’d draw more, or read more, or write more. Maybe I’d be an easier person to love. I didn’t get to choose how I turned out. It just happened to me.

So if she has the choice, I’m going to do everything I can to help her make the right one. I don’t want her to be like this.

March 29th, 2038

I had a dream about Riley last night. I haven’t had one of those in years, not since I was traveling with Joel. We were back in the mall, and Riley had just turned the lights on as a surprise. I had this feeling then, like I was being given a second chance. That I could set things straight and do what was right. I woke up before I could insist that we leave.

[A drawing takes up half of the next page. It’s a crude depiction of the mall Riley turned in.]

April 4th, 2038

It’s the middle of the night again. I can’t sleep. I’m so disappointed with myself about what I did tonight with Y/N. At the time, it seemed like a really good idea. She likes me back, apparently. I was right about everything that I wrote about earlier, I guess. But it certainly doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

It’s not like there’s no part of me that isn’t thrilled that she feels the same way. That’s why I gave in and slept with her. But even when she told me how she felt, even before I completely lost my self-control, something heavy was already hanging over me. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. I don’t know. What I do know is that this can’t last. I can’t make this good for her like I want to. She needs to go back, and she needs to be able to feel like she can make that choice without feeling like she’s leaving anything good behind.

I’m not a spiritual person. but even so, I can’t help but feel like that dream of Riley was a sign. This is my second chance. I’m not going to fuck it up this time. I’ve already been an accomplice of so much suffering. Y/N is going home, and I’ll never see her again when she does. That’s that.

It took all I had left in me in the end to kick her out. She looked so hurt, and the fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. I wish I could tell her why this can’t work, but I don’t think she’d understand.

[A drawing of Y/N kissing Ellie’s palm follows, her hair slightly mussed]

April 6th, 2038

I need to stop making rash decisions like knocking on her door late at night and asking her to come over. I really don’t know what’s gotten into me, because whenever I see her now, I can’t help but freeze up. Like last night, when she kissed me and touched my face and told me she thought I was a good person. I panicked and told her—well, nevermind. I don’t really want to repeat it here. It was mean, but I didn’t know what else I could do to get her to stop.

She was already tearing up by the time she left. I had to sit down and breathe deeply for a few minutes before I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick. I don’t really think I want to write more about this right now. It just makes me sad how unfair this all is. Of course the one time after Cat that I meet someone I really like it just has to be in one of the cruelest scenarios possible. I just have no idea what to do.

[Five pages of drawings follow of Y/N in bed, her head tilted back against the pillow, her eye’s half lidded, and her mouth slightly agape. Ellie redraws this multiple times, x-ing out parts that don’t seem quite right]

April 10th, 2038

I know this is none of my business, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Dina lately. She nearly got herself killed getting a gift for me with Dina yesterday, which feels like some sort of especially cruel joke. The universe isn’t being very fucking subtle right now.

If what I’m worried about is right, at least Dina has the option to come with her up North. She’d test negative.

April 20th, 2038

I would really like it if I could have one short break from the misery that’s my life right now. I turned 20 yesterday, accidentally introduced Y/N to my ex, proceeded to get much drunker than I meant to, completely fell off my rocker and asked Y/N to stay the night, and then discovered this morning that not only has Terranova found Y/N but that my strategy of keeping Y/N at arm’s length completely failed.

She wants me to come with her, and she’s threatening to stay here otherwise. I did the only thing that I could think to do and snapped at her.

I’m so tired of this. I hate having to act like I don’t care. This is the third time now that I’ve had to say something nasty to her to keep her from getting too close. I just want to get in bed and sleep until she leaves and I can pretend like nothing ever happened and that everything is normal.

[One page of drawings of Y/N passed out in her bed and Y/N grinning while holding a lopsided cake]

April 28th, 2038

I know I haven’t been writing much again. Sorry about that. I just can’t bear to think about my life right now. I know I should be relieved—this is what I wanted. I wanted her to go where it’s best for her.

But there’s still that selfish part of me that keeps me up at night. Y/N is going to leave this place never knowing how I feel about her. Logically, that should be what I want. This way I won’t need to say a real goodbye. I know I won’t need to now, since she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. It’s really fucking immature of me to be so hurt by what she must think of me now, but I can’t stop.

I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling sad about this. I’ve never had to process anything like this where there’s nothing I can do. With Riley and Sam, I at least got to heal from the knowledge that I was going to help make the vaccine to save the world. But losing Y/N just because of where we come from is totally meaningless. I can go forward knowing that I made it easy for her to make the right decision, but that only goes so far.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I’m going to practically live with Dina so I don’t need to be alone for the first few weeks.

I wish May 8th would just come already so she can go away and I can get on with my life.

May 1st, 2038

Things have changed some. Joel cornered me in the kitchen last night and told me that I needed to grow up and just appreciate the rest of the time I had left with Y/N. I was going to agree and try to walk past him, but he stopped me and told me that he needed me to escort Y/N. I guess he’s right. She can’t go alone, and Joel and Tommy are getting a little too old for week-long expeditions into the wilderness.

He also told me that I need to apologize to her and make things right, saying shit like I’d regret it forever if things ended between us like this. I don’t want to admit it, but I think he’s right. When I told him that she’d originally threatened to stay if I didn’t go with her, he blinked, hard. Then he told me that he had an idea.

I’m faking it. I’m telling her that I’m going, even though I’m going to leave her when she gets picked up. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off. When I told her in the meadow last night, she was so happy. I know it’s really sappy and cliche to say this, but I felt my heart shatter, bit by bit. I’m not a very good liar, not to people who are important to me. But I suppose I’ve been lying to her all this time, kicking her out of my room and telling her that I didn’t want anything more with her.

I can do this, I think. I have to do this, or else she might threaten to stay, and I don’t think I have it in me to be cruel again. Not to her. I guess I’ll just trick myself into feeling like I’m actually coming with her, like we have a chance of actually being together. I don’t know. We’ll see.

[One drawing of Y/N laying down in the meadow that takes up half a page]

May 3rd, 2038

It’s easier than I expected. Y/N sleeps over in my room at night, and if I don’t think too hard about it, I can pretend like things will always be like this.

I’m getting to be such a sap, though. I almost broke down in the bathroom today while I was getting ready. It was over the stupidest thing—a toothpaste bottle. Y/N always folds it so neatly, making a perfect, tight spiral of plastic near the end. It used to really bother me when I first had to share with her (because who does that—it’s weird and doesn’t do anything since she doesn’t manage to squeeze out the extra in the bottom anyways), but the thought of throwing it out when it finally emptied and having to find another one that’ll never be folded again hit me and suddenly I was counting my inhales and exhales. I don’t really give a shit about toothpaste. It’s just that it was the moment that I realized that she’s really going to be gone soon, you know? Slowly but surely, the evidence of her stay here will be wiped away and replaced. Someday I’ll forget all the little details about her.

She’s knocking on my door. I need to stop being so depressed and go see her before she picks up that something’s wrong.

[One small doodle of Y/N smiling and rolling her eyes while brushing her teeth]

May 6th, 2038

Dina’s coming now. Y/N told me this morning after she went to say goodbye. I feel really shitty about this. I guess I should tell her that I’m not going now, because this way Y/N needs to go home to get Dina the help she needs, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’ll have to escort both of them to the pickup spot anyway since Dina’s weaker now that she’s pregnant, and the thought of having to spend a full week with Y/N after she knew I lied to her makes my skin crawl. I can’t tell who I’m trying to protect by doing this—me or her. Maybe both.

I’m losing my two favorite people here, and they don’t even know it yet. But this is the best option. This is my chance to finally do some good in the world.

May 7th, 2038

I’m about to go stargazing with Y/N for the last time. I don’t think I’ll be writing in here again until I get back. I don’t want to risk losing this while I’m out in case something crazy happens. Which it probably will, but I canonically happen to be really good at living when shit hits the fan. Also—I don’t imagine Y/N to be a particularly nosy person, but if she ever came across this and thought it was a book or something, it would make things really awkward. So, you’re staying tucked carefully under my bed until I come back later this month.

I don’t know how to handle this sort of goodbye. I don’t really know how to handle any sort of goodbye, I guess, but at least I’ve been through them before. I may not do it well, but I know how to live when people I love die. But this isn’t like that. No one is dying (hopefully), and more importantly, I know it’s a goodbye this time. I see it coming on the horizon and I can’t even tell anyone about it. How does anyone deal with that? How does anyone cope?

Y/N’s knocking on my door now. I need to go before I start thinking even more and do something stupid like start crying or whatever.

I’ll be back in about two weeks.

June 1st, 2038

Sorry for not writing. It’s been pretty shitty, actually. It took me 5 extra days to get home because some scavengers gave me trouble. I hardly slept for most of them. I ran out of ammo about 4 days out and had to use my knife for everything I ran into until I was able to raid the cabinets of this abandoned cabin. Nearly got taken out by a clicker, too. It was not fun. It was especially not fun because I was not feeling super great to begin with, for obvious reasons.

Things haven’t gotten any better since getting back to Jackson. Y/N didn’t take her stupid Exoplanetary Systems textbook and now I’m struggling with whether or not I should throw it out. The rational side of me says to keep it because it was published after the outbreak and probably contains updated information that isn’t anywhere else. The rest of me doesn’t even want to look at the stars anymore because it reminds me of her.

It’s really hard not to blame her for ruining everything. I can’t go out and ride my own horse without thinking about the first time we went on patrol together and she dropped my gun and nearly killed one of us. And I can’t even relax in my own home, because I’ve spent almost every night with her since March in my bed. Sometimes when I hear a creak in the middle of the night I assume it’s her walking down to the bathroom or getting water until it hits me again that she’s never coming back.

I know I’m being melodramatic. There are many other worse problems I could be having right now. But I don’t even have my best friend anymore. I wonder if Dina and Y/N are angry with me for lying. I wonder if they’re settling in okay. I hope that Y/N manages to fix whatever her research was and that Dina gets better.

[Twenty pages of drawings of Y/N and Dina together. Some are snippets of them on their expedition to the pickup site. Others are pictures of Y/N and Dina walking around with smiles on their faces in what looks to be a city]

June 21st, 2038

It’s been over a month since I’ve last seen her. I had a breakdown while getting ready for bed when I realized that I didn’t remember what her voice sounded like anymore.

[Ten pages of half-finished drawings, each with its face scribbled over]

June 28th, 2038

I don’t think I really remember what she looks like—not exactly. I’ve been trying to draw her because I’m still in the habit of making decisions that are definitely not good for my mental state. I just can’t do it, and it isn’t for the lack of trying. Every time I get to her eyes I keep drawing something that looks wrong, but I can never tell why. I compare it to my earlier drawings of her from when we first met and it feels like meeting her for the first time again.

Joel says it’ll pass and that he’s proud of me for doing the right thing. Jessie and I have been hanging out more. Even if he won’t admit it, I can tell he’s miserable without Dina. But he understands why she had to go—just like how I feel about Y/N. And Dina too, of course. Jackson feels like a ghost town without her.

July 17th, 2038

I haven’t been writing or drawing in here for a while, I know. I was going to just go ahead and start a new journal—you know the one that Maria gave me for Christmas with the dark blue cover—but it didn’t feel right to just stop without explaining. Otherwise I’ll feel like an asshole for wasting so much paper.

I don’t want to move on from what happened with Y/N and Dina. I really don’t, but I don't think I have a choice. If I keep going on like this, I’ll never be able to live normally again. I’m just sick and tired of being sad all of the time. So I’m not going to write here anymore. I don’t think it’s realistic for me to forget all about it, because I don’t want to forget her. Not really. But I guess if I want to get better, I’ll need something different. So, here’s that. The beginning of my fresh start. “Fresh start” and you call me overdramatic!! haha. Y/N was here!

(You left this on your nightstand. I promise I didn’t read too much. I opened it because I thought it was your sketchbook. I’m going to put this back since I hear you walking down the hall now.)

ok as an aside my blog is broken so my stuff isn’t notifying people when i tag/showing up on dashes or in tags. please reblog if you’re comfortable so people can actually find this! thank you!

final a/n: i totally get it if this wasn’t quite your cup of tea this time—i just really wanted to iron out ellie’s pov before their reunion in the end. which is happening and not a spoiler because i have always promised a hea! this was a change in pace for the story and i promise you that the next chapter will be more normal/align more with my normal writing style. i have also changed my mind (probably) and have decided to stick with writing an epilogue! so two more chapters are coming before this is totally over. thank you so much for waiting and being so patient! i love you all dearly ok bye bye now

#ellie williams x reader #exoplanet #not adding tags because i’ll eventually repost #this is just for people who want to read!

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