Maria's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the static of Timeline 7792 still ghosting across the monitor. Her body hummed with a pleasant, bone-deep satisfaction, the kind that left her limbs heavy and her thoughts languid. But the hunger was already stirring again, that restless itch behind her ribs that the archives could never quite scratch.
She cycled through the dimensional feeds, the screens flickering with a hundred different lives, a hundred different bodies finding each other in a hundred different ways. Her hand drifted to her belly, feeling the faint flutter of movement, the child responding to the dimensional currents like a fish to a current.
Then she saw it. A house. Brick and wood, a porch with a swing, a garden gone slightly wild. The camera feed drifted through the walls like smoke, and there they were — Scott Pilgrim and Ramona Flowers, sprawled on a couch in a living room that still had unpacked boxes in the corners.
Maria leaned forward, her eyes catching on the familiar mop of dark hair, the sharp jawline, the way Ramona's hair shifted colors as she turned her head — pink, then blue, then a deep violet that matched her eyes.
"We should think about it," Ramona was saying, her voice flat, casual, the way she said everything. She was curled into the corner of the couch, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. "The whole... kid thing."
Scott blinked. "You mean—"
"I mean trying." Ramona set the mug down, and her hair flickered through three colors in quick succession — anxiety, Maria had learned to read it. "We have the house. We have the stable jobs. We have... whatever this is." She gestured vaguely between them.
"We have love," Scott said, and there was that earnestness, that ridiculous, unguarded sincerity that had somehow won her over in the first place. "That's what we have."
Ramona's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Yeah. That too."
Maria watched, her fingers finding the edge of the console, her own breath catching. She knew this feeling — the strange alchemy of wanting something new, something that would change everything. Her hand rested on her belly, and she felt the child kick, hard, as if in recognition.
On the screen, Scott sat up, pulling Ramona's feet into his lap. "So we're really doing this? Trying for a—" He couldn't quite say the word.
"A baby," Ramona said flatly. "Yes, Scott. A baby."
"Right. A baby." He swallowed. "Okay. I mean — okay. That's — that's exciting. And terrifying. And exciting."
"Mostly terrifying?"
"Fifty-fifty," he admitted, and she laughed — a real laugh, low and warm, and Maria felt something tighten in her chest.
She watched them move through the evening, the careful choreography of two people who had been through hell together and were now trying to build something ordinary. Dinner, dishes, the couch again, Scott's hand finding Ramona's knee, her hair shifting to a soft rose as she leaned into him.
"So," he said, his voice dropping. "Do we... start tonight?"
Ramona's eyebrow arched. "You want to schedule it?"
"No! No, I just — I mean —" He was flustered, and Maria smiled despite herself. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. About what this means. About the — the trying part."
"The part where you fuck me until you come inside me," Ramona said, deadpan, and Scott made a strangled noise.
"You can't just — you can't just say it like that."
"Why not? That's what it is." She shifted, turning to face him fully, and her hair settled into a deep, steady blue. "You want to be delicate about it? We've known each other for — what, three years now? We've fought literal evil exes together. I think we can handle the word 'fuck.'"
Scott opened his mouth, closed it, and then laughed. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can handle the word 'fuck.'"
"Good." Ramona leaned in, and her voice dropped, soft and low. "Because I've been thinking about it all day. About you. About how you feel inside me."
Maria's hand slid down her belly, lower, her fingers finding the damp heat between her thighs. The child kicked again, a sharp reminder, and she bit her lip, watching the screen with hungry eyes.
Scott's breath caught. "Ramona—"
"I want you to fuck me, Scott. I want to feel you come inside me. I want to know what it feels like when we make something together." Her hand found his chest, pushing him back against the couch. "And then I want you to do it again."
He was hard already, straining against his jeans, and Maria watched his hands come up to frame her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones.
"I want that too," he said, his voice rough. "God, I want that so much."
She kissed him, and it wasn't the careful, tentative kiss of their early days. It was hungry, demanding, her tongue sliding against his, her hips grinding down against his lap. Scott groaned, his hands sliding down her back, gripping her ass through her jeans, pulling her closer.
"Bedroom?" he managed, between kisses.
"No." Ramona pulled back, her hair a riot of colors, her eyes dark. "Here. Right here."
She stood, pulling her shirt over her head, and Maria watched the pale expanse of her skin, the dark bra that did little to contain her breasts. Scott's eyes tracked every movement, his hands already reaching for her, and she swatted them away, laughing.
"Patience," she said, and she unbuttoned her jeans, shoving them down her hips, revealing the dark strip of lace beneath.
Scott made a sound that was almost a whimper. "You're killing me."
"That's the plan." She stepped out of her jeans, kicking them aside, and then she was on him, straddling his lap, her mouth finding his again. His hands found her ass, bare now, and he groaned into her mouth as she ground against him.
"I want to taste you first," Scott said, and his voice had that earnest, almost desperate quality that made Ramona's hair flicker pink.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I — I want to —" He swallowed. "I want to make you feel good. Before. So you're — so you're ready."
Ramona's lips curved, a slow, wicked smile. "You want to eat me out?"
"Ramona—"
"It's a simple question, Scott."
"Yes," he said, the word almost a groan. "Yes, I want to eat you out. I want to taste you. I want to make you come on my tongue before I fuck you."
Maria's fingers moved faster, her breath coming in shallow gasps. On the screen, Ramona stood, stepping back, and Scott slid off the couch onto his knees, his hands finding her hips, pulling her lace underwear down her thighs.
"Look at you," he breathed, his eyes fixed on the dark hair between her legs, the slick gleam of her arousal. "You're already so wet."
"That's what you do to me," Ramona said, and her voice was steadier than it had any right to be, but Maria could see the way her fingers gripped the couch cushions, the way her thighs trembled.
Scott leaned in, his tongue flat against her, a long, slow stroke from bottom to top, and Ramona's head fell back, a low moan escaping her throat.
"Oh — oh, that's —"
"Good?" Scott asked, and he did it again, slower, savoring.
"Yeah. Yeah, that's good." Her hand came down, fisting in his hair, and she pushed her hips forward, grinding against his mouth. "Don't stop."
He didn't. He licked and sucked and teased, his tongue finding her clit, circling it, pressing, and Ramona's moans grew louder, more desperate. Maria watched, her own fingers matching the rhythm, her body remembering the feel of a tongue between her thighs.
"Scott — Scott, I'm —" Ramona's voice broke, and her hips bucked, her whole body going rigid. "I'm coming —"
He held her through it, his tongue relentless, and she came with a cry, her knees buckling. Scott caught her, easing her down to the floor, and he kissed his way up her body, over her stomach, between her breasts, his hands working at the clasp of her bra.
"I want to see you," he said, and he pulled the straps down her shoulders, baring her breasts. They were full, heavy, her nipples dark and hard, and he took one in his mouth, sucking, his hand kneading the other.
Ramona arched into him, her fingers in his hair. "Yes — yes, Scott —"
He switched, giving the other breast the same attention, his tongue circling her nipple, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. His free hand slid down her stomach, between her legs, and he groaned against her skin when he felt how wet she still was.
"You're so ready," he breathed. "God, Ramona, you're so ready for me."
"Then stop teasing and fuck me."
He laughed, low and dark, and he sat back, shoving his jeans down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, the head slick with pre-cum, and Maria watched Ramona's eyes track it, her lips parting.
"Come here," Ramona said, and she reached for him, pulling him down to her. "I want to taste you too."
Scott's breath caught. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." She pushed him onto his back, and she crawled over him, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. She took him in her hand, stroking him once, twice, and then she leaned down and took him in her mouth.
Scott's whole body jerked, a strangled groan tearing from his throat. "Fuck — Ramona —"
She hummed around him, her head bobbing, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside, and Maria watched his hands fist in the carpet, his hips bucking up to meet her. Ramona took him deeper, her throat relaxing, and she held him there for a moment, her eyes watering, before she pulled back with a wet, obscene sound.
"You like that?" she asked, her voice raspy.
"I — yes — I love it —"
"Good." She took him again, faster this time, her hand working the base while her mouth worked the shaft, and Scott was already close, his breathing ragged, his thighs trembling.
"Ramona — I'm gonna — if you keep doing that —"
She pulled off with a pop, her lips slick, her eyes dark. "Not yet," she said. "I want you inside me when you come."
She straddled him, positioning herself over his cock, and Maria watched the slow, deliberate way she lowered herself, taking him inch by inch. Scott's head fell back, his eyes squeezed shut, and Ramona's hair flickered through a rainbow of colors as she sank down, seating him fully inside her.
"Oh," she breathed, and there was something almost surprised in her voice. "Oh, that's —"
"Good?" Scott managed, echoing her earlier words.
"Yeah." She rolled her hips, a slow, circular motion, and his hands came up to grip her thighs. "Yeah, that's good."
She rode him slowly at first, savoring the feel of him inside her, and then she picked up the pace, her hips slapping against his, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet room. Scott's hands found her breasts, squeezing, kneading, and she moaned, her head falling back, her hair a riot of color.
"I want to feel you come inside me," she gasped, and her rhythm grew frantic. "Scott — I want to feel it —"
"I'm close," he gritted out. "Ramona, I'm so close —"
"Then come," she said, and she leaned down, her mouth finding his, her hips grinding against him. "Come inside me. Fill me up."
He came with a shout, his hips bucking, his hands gripping her ass, and Maria watched his body shudder, watched Ramona's eyes roll back as she felt the heat of him spilling inside her. She rode him through it, her own climax building, and she came with a cry, her body clenching around him, milking him dry.
For a moment they were still, tangled together on the living room floor, breathing hard. Then Ramona stirred, lifting her head, and there was a soft, wondering look on her face.
"That was —" Scott started.
"Don't say it," she said, but she was smiling. "Don't say 'we just made a baby.'"
"I wasn't going to say that." He paused. "I was going to say 'that was incredible.'"
"Oh." Her hair settled into a soft pink. "Well. It was."
She rolled off him, lying on her back, and Scott propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. His hand found her stomach, resting there, and Maria watched the way his thumb traced a slow circle over her skin.
"We should do that again," he said. "A lot. For — for science."
Ramona laughed, and she pulled him down for a kiss. "For science," she agreed.
Maria watched them, her hand still between her legs, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own release. The child kicked, a sharp, insistent movement, and she pressed her palm against her belly, feeling the life inside her.
On the screen, Scott was kissing his way down Ramona's body again, his mouth finding her breasts, his hands parting her thighs. She was already reaching for him, pulling him up, guiding him back inside her, and Maria watched them move together again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if they were trying to memorize the feel of each other.
Scott fucked her until she came again, her body arching off the floor, and then he pulled out, his cock slick with her juices, and he knelt over her chest, his knees bracketing her ribs.
"What are you doing?" Ramona asked, her voice breathless.
"I want to —" Scott swallowed, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, pressing them together around his cock. "I want to come on you. Is that — is that okay?"
Ramona's lips curved, slow and wicked, and she reached up, guiding him, her breasts slick with sweat and saliva as he slid between them. "Yeah," she said. "That's okay."
He fucked her tits with a desperate, frantic rhythm, his breathing ragged, his eyes fixed on her face. Ramona watched him, her hands pressing her breasts together, her tongue flicking out to catch the head of his cock as it emerged from between them.
"Fuck — Ramona —"
"Come on," she said, her voice low. "Come for me, Scott. Cover me."
He came with a shout, his cum spraying across her chest, her neck, her chin, and Ramona laughed, a low, pleased sound, as she wiped a strand of it from her lips with her thumb. She sucked it clean, her eyes never leaving his.
"That was —" Scott started, collapsing beside her.
"Incredible," she finished. "Yeah. I know."
They lay there, tangled and slick, and Maria watched Scott's hand find Ramona's stomach again, resting there, his thumb tracing that same slow circle. The room was quiet, the only sound their breathing, and Maria felt the child kick one more time, a gentle reminder.
She reached for the keyboard, her fingers trembling.
Timeline 4451 — Scott Pilgrim & Ramona Flowers. Trying to conceive. Multiple creampies. Breast sex. Full lesson administered.
She typed the last line, then paused, her hand resting on her belly. The monitor flickered, the image of the Toronto house fading to static, and Maria smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips.
Somewhere in that timeline, a new life was already beginning to take root.