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asimplearchivist · 4 months

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𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ After the events that took place on Vast Ice Mountain, Dialga has released Dusknoir of his duties as his henchman. Dusknoir, in the midst of a self-crisis, is taken under wing by Celebi and Grovyle. Dusknoir finally breaks, and Grovyle reassures him. Dusknoir finds out a couple things about himself that he didn't know before. ⤏ Alternative summary: my take on what happened directly after the fifth special episode, mostly influenced by my own pent up Dusknoir feels! :D Yay for angst! (Also, please guys, don't hate Dusknoir, he doesn't deserve it. He's a tender marshmallow.) pairing(s) ✨ (mentions of) hero/grovyle [nostalgiashipping] word count ✨ 2.5k a/n ✨ [header credit] [divider credit] ⤏ This is an old piece from 2016, when I last replayed Explorers, so with my recent resurgence I figured I might post it here for my new PMD moots. Considering this is six years old, please forgive my older, less polished writing; but I'm still fairly pleased with it. :) (That's also why it's not getting a dedicated Sunday post, but since it's Christmas I thought I might share something that most of my followers here probably haven't seen before.) ⤏ My hero's old name was Celina, so I changed it to the newly updated Eliana instead. Other than that, it's pretty much a time capsule haha.

This new, brighter future was, in all honesty, taking quite a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously.

It had been a mighty triumph, incapacitating Primal Dialga to prevent him from tampering with the Passage of Time, the possibility of him ruining time just before it managed to begin to function again diminished to none when his massive legs had buckled beneath him after Grovyle had dealt the final blow. That triumph had been short lived, however - it hadn't been but a few moments before they all had turned to light and had disappeared; but, upon their almost immediate return, the immense relief of being able to breathe in the newly shifting air, to see the sunrise glowing in more colors than Dusknoir had ever seen in his life - it had robbed him of breath and had humbled him in such a way he doubted he would ever look at the sky the same way again. Whomever it may have been to preserve his and the rest of the future Pokémon’s lives, they would have his immense gratitude for the rest of his days.

Everything in that moment had been exhilarating - he had felt the wind, cold and biting, race past him, the sun shining in his eye so brightly that he quickly learned that he mustn't look at it directly, lest he be temporarily blinded - but then, after Dialga had been generous enough to provide them with a portal to return to the Hidden Land (now in the budding stages of returning to its past lushness and fertility), he had found himself in an unexpected state of absolute dumbfound ever since.

Given that Dialga was no longer under the influences of darkness and had no reason to bind them to his will, he had released Dusknoir and the Sableye of their past duties, and thus had turned Dusknoir away from the one thing that he had ever truly known - servitude. He had always served for someone else, and he had always had a strong sense of loyalty to those he did. But for lack of better terms, Dusknoir was now out of his realm of confidence, and honestly had no idea of how to go about his life from here forth.

Celebi and Grovyle had been surprisingly kind and generous to him thus far - while Celebi had offered to house Grovyle in one of her many homes, she had also extended it to him as well. It was a shallow cave, high up on a cliff face where no one would usually be able to spot it. Both Grass types fit easily enough inside - but if Dusknoir were to be completely honest with himself...he was not a very small Pokémon. At all. At least, compared to the other two.

Luckily, he was not quite corporeal at times, so he managed to squeeze inside and settle on the cave floor - hunched over, but he had something over his head, at least.

Grovyle set to work at pulling a few things from his worn Treasure Bag, a couple of differently textured rocks and a bit of dried leaves and tiny sticks, before he struck one rock upon the other. A few sparks flared from it and onto the small collection of dead vegetation, but it took a couple of tries to actually get it to start smoldering. Thin wisps of smoke danced up from it and Grovyle set to work at blowing on it gently, coaxing it into a small, dancing flame that cast a warm orange glow across the cold cave floor.

He glanced up at Celebi and murmured that she go gather a few smaller sticks to help build up the flames. She bobbed her head and soared out of the cave, her little wings flapping with determination.

Grovyle sat back on his haunches and released a long sigh, scrubbing at his face with his clawed paws. Dusknoir tried not to shift around uncomfortably, afraid his antenna would scrape against the ceiling.

"I thought Grass types were supposed to be wary of fire," Dusknoir, for lack of other words, tried to prompt.

Grovyle glanced up at him, his bright yellow eyes seeming to gleam in the fading sunlight. The smaller Pokémon’s strong reserve was back, the emotion he'd shown in the past day probably having drawn too much from him to offer much more.

It had been quite an exhausting day, even for Dusknoir himself. He understood that Grovyle was most likely exponentially wearier than he, especially considering the energy the ice pillars had drained from the Grass type. Dusknoir was amazed that Grovyle was even still conscious. (He had been lucky to have knocked him from the energy beams’ grip in time.)

“I learned many things when I met Eliana,” Grovyle told him, settling against the stone wall and folding his arms over his thin chest. His eyes shifted to gaze out of the cave mouth, the circles beneath darkening with shadows that the meager flames were pushing away. “Choosing to qualm simple fears was one of the first.”

Dusknoir hummed for lack of a response, following the Grass type’s gaze.

The sun was setting. A grandiose amalgamation of color painted the sky, oranges and pinks and lilacs mingling in a joyful reunion as the great burning ball of gold retreated beneath the distant horizon. Stars were beginning to appear, tentatively sparkling against the darker parts of the great canvas stretched out before them.

Dusknoir found that he was holding his breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Grovyle mused absently.

The Ghost type hummed once more in agreement, trying to take in as much of the view as possible.

“I…haven’t seen so many colors in my life,” he admitted softly. He felt Grovyle’s eyes rest upon him.

“You were in the past before,” Grovyle reminded him, his voice somewhat dubious. “Didn’t you ever stop long enough to look around you?”

Dusknoir fell silent, shifting uncomfortably and flinching a bit when his antenna brushed the stone above him. Grovyle huffed quietly, shuffling around in his Treasure Bag before holding out something in his paw. The Ghost type stared in puzzlement at the two Purple Gummis before looking back up to the Wood Gecko Pokémon.

“I picked these up before we went to Temporal Tower,” Grovyle explained, eyes still searching the growing darkness outside. “I didn’t want to let them go to waste, and I figured you were hungry after the day we’ve had.”

Dusknoir hesitantly took the small food items, eyeing them a bit before looking up at the smaller Pokémon. Honestly, how had this Pokémon’s attitude towards him changed so drastically? And why? What had Dusknoir ever done to deserve any sort of good will - and from Grovyle, who had been his target for months and who he had attempted to murder multiple times, no less? Why did he deserve any mercy? Why had he come back after disappearing? What good had he ever done, truly, to deserve to even be breathing? He’d been a twisted soul for most of his life, doing nothing but the morally bleak bidding for any master that offered him power…

…Had he really redeemed himself, in helping Grovyle and Celebi save the future? Or had he merely been a side note?

“…Dusknoir?”

The Ghost type startled back into reality, confusedly taking in Grovyle’s troubled expression. “Pardon me, I was…thinking.”

“Dusknoir…you…you’re crying.”

Dusknoir blinked, gingerly running a fingertip beneath his eye and drawing it away. When had his vision gotten so blurry?

Grovyle straightened, creases forming between his eyes in what Dusknoir vaguely recognized as his concern. “Dusknoir, what’s wrong?”

The Ghost type flushed in shame, attempting to swipe away the outward evidence of his inner conflict. “Nothing, nothing. I believe I may have gotten dirt in my eye.”

The Grass type was silent for a long moment, so long of a moment that Dusknoir glanced up to make sure that he was even still there. There was an odd expression on the smaller Pokémon’s face, one that looked to be a conglomeration of several at once.

“You’re beginning to doubt yourself,” Grovyle observed gently.

Dusknoir wondered when he had become so transparent. Metaphorically. He was a Ghost type. Conditional transparency came with existing.

“I’m not aware of what you’re implicating,” he rebutted dismissively, looking towards the end of the cave. It was much darker than before. Did the sun always set so quickly?

“You can stop lying, you know. I’m not going to judge you for whatever you’re feeling.” Grovyle’s voice had taken on a foreign gentleness, one that Dusknoir had only ever heard once before. It had been at the temple in the Hidden Land of the past, when the Grass type had retold Eliana of their doomed fate to disappear upon rescuing Temporal Tower. He’d gazed upon the human-turned-Eevee with such a tenderness that Dusknoir had, at the time, found it to be a sign of extreme weakness and idiocy. But, seeing how Grovyle had spoken of her throughout their adventure the past day, Dusknoir had clearly seen the true strength of their relationship shining through his words. They were extremely close, there was no denying that. They had endured much together, and it showed. Dusknoir just wondered how much it had hurt him to discover that she had lost all her memories of him.

“It is nothing that concerns you,” Dusknoir persisted, trying to ignore how his voice shook, quite involuntarily.

“Something is telling me otherwise.” Grovyle leaned towards him, scrutinizing him carefully. “You’re feeling something, that’s for sure. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Dusknoir growled beneath his breath, but it was weak. “You certainly are persistent.”

Grovyle chuckled lightly. “How do you think I’ve managed to live this long?”

The Ghost type stared at him, clenching his fist around the Gummis and heaving a shaky sigh. “I am…confounded.”

The Wood Gecko Pokémon raised a brow.

Dusknoir looked back towards the mouth of the cave. The sun was completely concealed by the distant horizon, and the colors were beginning to drain into a deep indigo. “As you are well aware, I…have not had many good accomplishments in my life. I sought nothing but power, strove to gain it by any means, and…I have done nothing but serve for the betterment of darkness. I did hunt you and Eliana down, I attempted to attack you, then I pursued you into the past…” Dusknoir drew his shoulders in, folding his arms tightly over his chest and shrinking into himself. “I very nearly killed you multiple times, with clear malice exhibited constantly, but you still found it in yourself to grant me pity. Why?”

Grovyle fell silent for a very long moment.

“Dusknoir,” he began slowly, “have you ever felt true hate for someone, ever, in your life?”

The Ghost type was taken aback. “Pardon?”

The smaller Grass type raised a brow and Dusknoir averted his eye.

“No,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe I have.”

“Have you ever strongly disliked someone?”

“A few. Where are you going with this?”

“Do you dislike them because you think they wronged you?”

“I do, but I don’t know what you’re-”

“How difficult would it be to forgive them?”

Dusknoir squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“How difficult would it be for you to forgive them?” Grovyle repeated.

Dusknoir studied him, recollecting his past resentments and grudges. It would, admittedly, be very difficult to forgive some of the things that other Pokémon had done to him before. He sighed deeply. “Very.”

“But could you find it in yourself to forgive them?” he asked.

Dusknoir thought a moment. “I…suppose so. Why are you asking me this?”

“Eliana once told me,” Grovyle said, “that part of the reason so many Pokémon have become twisted as they are is because they were cold-hearted to begin with. Refusing to forgive others can result in constructing a wall of bitterness that will block you off from anything good, and hatred can make that wall much harder to tear down. But if you’re willing to forgive, and to keep bitterness from building up, then you can in turn better yourself.” The Wood Gecko Pokémon eyed him neutrally. “Dusknoir, despite what you said during our journey about despising me, I didn’t believe you. You couldn’t truly hate anyone - it’s not in your nature, and I sensed that. The only reason you ever felt any kind of malice to begin with was due to where your loyalties lay, but when you began to realize that there was truly no reason to possess such mal intent…”

He smiled softly, glancing out towards the quiet dusk outside. “That’s when you began to question what you’d known. That’s when you began to feel guilt. But that’s also what’s proving to me that you are a good Pokémon, Dusknoir.” Grovyle continued, leaning forward, “The fact that you are feeling guilt and that you are questioning yourself tells me that you aren’t twisted, you aren’t a bad Pokémon - you were just a little misguided. You are a good Pokémon at heart, and I want you to realize it.”

Dusknoir looked away, pulling his shoulders inward and trying to fight the hot sting beginning to blur his vision.

“Your shining spirit,” Grovyle said softly. “It’s always been there. It was just hidden for a long time.”

“Grovyle…” Dusknoir swallowed thickly, folding his arms tightly over his chest. His dignity was in shambles, but picking up the pieces didn’t seem as mortifying as he might’ve thought. “…you’re deluding yourself.”

The Grass type chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Celebi about this.”

The Gripper Pokémon grunted, swiping at his eye just as the beat of tiny wings made itself faintly known. He could hear Celebi’s grunts of effort, and Grovyle shifted to his feet, moving towards the cave mouth.

“Dusknoir…”

The Ghost type looked towards him, taken aback by the almost amused smile plastered across the Grass type’s face.

Grovyle tilted his head towards the outside world. The sun had completely receded below the horizon, the sky a deep navy, and stars were twinkling brightly against the dark expanse. “Welcome to the future.”

Dusknoir watched him exit the cave and disappear around the mouth’s edge, and after a moment he heard his and Celebi’s voices mingling, her tone obviously grateful as Grovyle must’ve been taking a part of her burden.

This new, brighter future would take a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously, but he felt that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If this, finding himself, was just the beginning, then he looked forward to everything else that awaited him. There were many things that would need to be done as time transitioned into functioning properly again, many responsibilities to take up, but Dusknoir was ready for the challenge. He was much stronger than before. He was sure of that.

He and his shining spirit.

#fisara’s codices #fanfiction #pokemon #pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers of sky #explorers of sky #pmd eos #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers #pmd2 #pmd 2 #grovyle #dusknoir #celebi #ao3: in the morning light

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ao3screenshotss · 11 months

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#title:#come morning light (you and i'll be safe and sound)#author:#fakecharliebrown #ao3 #ao3 funny #demon slayer #sabito #tomioka giyuu

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quietwingsinthesky · 2 months

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ohhhh u know what i wanna write. need to, even. very important to do it at some point. but i think i really do need to make the doctor have a meltdown. i think that would be very cathartic to put them through.

#whump but autism flavored. for me.#i mean i imagine that he has been having them just off-screen when the worse adventures are over #can keep it together as long as he’s running because he can focus on something else and. then when he is not it all hits at once.#the doctor curled on the tardis floor because he can hear her engine vibrating through it and its the only sensation that isnt causing him #physical pain to experience at the moment #i need him to go thru some shit okay. never enough fics in the autistic doctor tag on ao3 #skmeone remind me to outline this in the morning. gotta pick which doctor to do it to. which companion to be with him.#i am feeljng ten & donna but that could change #oh on that note: thinks about 14 having meltdowns about. ‘normal things’.#local man who has saved the world a thousand times suddenly finds out that grocery store lighting is intensely stressful and makes him want #to cry. despite all contradicting evidence that this is happening to him is a good thing.#means he’s recalibrating slowly to allow his body to be upset by things like that rather than pushing all of it down to be set off by #the world nearly exploding or someone he loves getting hurt. instead he can get overwhelmed by small things and feel safe that if he reacts #to that. nothing bad will happen to him while he’s having a meltdown. ohhhhh donna bringing him a weighted blanket because he went to hide #in his tardis after comjng home and not saying a word to anyone…..#okay im done i swear im done.

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theinfinitedivides · 1 year

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आशीर्वाद. — lit. blessing. ( crossposted on ao3. one-shot. alt text available in image id. )

#film: kabhi khushi kabhie gham #userdivides #writeblr #kabhi khushi kabhie gham #k3g #ao3 #archive of our own #bollywood #— previously pinned post.#local gay watches Bollywood.txt #local gay writes fanfic.txt #so.#i wrote a thing #my head hurts bc i caught a stomach bug and the lights are too bright and this was technically posted earlier this morning #but f*ck me if K3G does not have me on my knees #it's the generational trauma!!! and the dysfunction and the f*cked up relationship between love and duty!!!#and the K3G theme that always plays at the most emotionally vulnerable times!!!#and the 21st anniversary is coming up??? on December 14th iirc???#yes i will be doing a rewatch a little over a month after first watching what of it #anyway srk brainrot along with the host of other things i deal with on a day to day basis #i don't have a functioning taglist tho mutuals is it a good idea to leave this to the void or no

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selinko · 1 year

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Orange Light Memes

This is the result of me brainrotting over OL these past few days.

Please enjoy. Please

Tommy @ Wilbur in chapter 4:

Tubbo in chapter 11:

The turning at the auction:

Tommy after talking with Wil in chapter 10:

Wilbur towards Phil's subordinates:

The pool scene in chapter 11:

Wilbur immediately after chapter 11:

Philza vs. Inn Owner in chapter 12:

#orange light (painted by morning sun)#memes #mcyt #ao3 #OL memes

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marisferasiop · 1 year

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Hey merry Christmas and happy almost-last-day-of-hanukkah, I spit out a REAL fluffy lil dincobb today 😅 enjoy!!

#dincobb #read on ao3 #din djarin #the mandalorian #the manda'lor #cobb vanth #the marshal of mos pelgo #fluff #light amut #morning cuddles #domesticity #grogu also likes cuddles #mando'a

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ao3feed-larry · 1 year

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Come Morning Light (You’ll Be Safe and Sound)

by babyhoneyhslt

Louis is a plane crash investigator, and when a private jet carrying world famous singer Harry Styles crashes, he gets put on the investigation team. Thinking Harry is going to be arrogant and thinks he’s better than anyone; when Louis has to get information he’s surprised by the singers kindness. Although, it seems that Harry’s not all he seems to be, and that he’s hiding something from everyone around him.

Words: 2633, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Nick Grimshaw

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles

Additional Tags: Plane Crash, Hurt/Comfort, Famous Harry Styles, Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson, Plane Crash Investigator Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw also, Engaged Harry, Mentioned Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/G6HuZC2

#larry stylinson #larry fic #ao3 feed larry #Come Morning Light (You’ll Be Safe and Sound)#<p>by <a re

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petrichormeraki · 2 years

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Would y'all be interested in perhaps....a director's cut release on AO3 after Come Morning Light is all finished?

#i plan on compiling all the chapters on ao3 after it's completed so i thought #why not y'know #i can satiate my desire to talk about every little detail on a public forum while the untouched product is also available lmao #meraki post #come morning light

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scary-monsters · 2 years

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this has to stop .........

#this is tendou all over again i'm SO mad #the fact that this would just go to his stupid head .... disgusting #ao3 is for light reading before bed OBVIOUSLY..#tumblr is bc well .. i have to stay updated yknow #and sometimes u just gotta read the wiki of your favorite character like it's the morning paper

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i-never-forgot · 2 months

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Who wants another snippet of The Monstrosity?🙃

#*posts this and runs*#I didn’t get as much written as I wanted today #but something is better than nothing #and I had to figure out where I left off #I hope I can at least get SOMETHING posted this week but idk if it will be this angsty roller coaster #we’ll see we’ll see #fisara’s scrawlings #leafeon/eliana #lucario/lu #grovyle #dusknoir #fanfiction #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #explorers of sky #ao3: in the morning light

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asimplearchivist · 30 days

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𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ lu poses a question that makes eliana wonder about the nature—and the unpredictable forgiveness—of time. pairing(s) ✨ grovyle/hero (nostalgiashipping) word count ✨ 4.3k a/n ✨ [header credit] | [divider credit] ⤏ posting the ending arc of a story before the main part of it is perhaps a bold move, but…that thing will take me an indeterminate amount of time to complete (if ever), so I had to silence the voices in my head by at least getting this out of my system. it's been fermenting in the back of my mind since 2016, guys. my infatuation with this old ghost has cursed me in the best (and worst) possible ways. ⤏ any references to what may read as backstory prior to this would be explained in the main story. if I never fully write it out, I do at least intend to flesh out a solid outline here on tumblr, so keep your eyes peeled for that, at least, and I am always welcome to questions either in the comments or in my askbox. I really just want my moots to be able to understand the things I yap on about like I'm stark-raving mad tbh lol ⤏ enjoy the feels-train coming into the station, guys! grab your tickets and climb aboard! :) ✨ MASTERPOST ✨ ✨ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ✨

The question that would irrevocably change their combined lives came as a casual, off-handed supposition one lazy, sunny afternoon.

Eliana had been elbow-deep in a crate packed full of orbs that she had pulled from storage at Kangaskhan’s for the sole purpose of sorting the muddled amassment, organizing the ones to keep for the team’s utility or delivery to the ever-growing list of clients mounted to the board on the cave wall, and recycling those of which they owned in excess—and thus didn’t need—at Wynaut’s. She had stayed occupied with that blissfully mind-numbing task since they had eaten a mild breakfast of toasted flatbreads with liberal smears of honey and slices of freshly ripened fruit while Lu had taken it upon himself to reconcile the veritable mountain of job requests they kept stored in a chest, which had gotten quite out of hand considering the lid struggled to properly latch when shut.

They had worked in companionable silence while the sun had crawled towards its zenith, the plunking percussion of orbs clinking into the slotted tray Eliana used for such occasions as the mood to take inventory struck her kept time over the underlying rhythm of papers crinkling and shuffling as Lu compiled them into neat stacks by location and urgency filling the open maw of the bluff sheltering them from the worst of its glaring rays.

The balmy, salt-infused wind helped to wick the worst of the burgeoning summer’s heat, but the lack of clouds had cautioned them to stay indoors nevertheless—while Eliana did require a certain amount of sunlight as a part of her daily nourishment, full exposure with no breaks (while traveling at times harsh terrain and facing feral Pokémon while on missions in unpredictably dangerous mystery dungeons to boot) spelled out the possibility of her photosynthetic ears and tail flagging. That condition was uncomfortable at best—and most grass-types at the peak of health don’t even blink to shed the resulting wilted flora in order to allow for new growth to replace the lost organic material—but, at worst, it could pose somewhat serious health issues if left unacknowledged. Sunning in the mornings or afternoons proved most fruitful and kept her leaves glossy and lush.

It was the first day off their little team had taken in months, besides. They both had needed the break between the back-breaking, frantic jobs that had lately dominated the majority of their time after their recent promotion to Guildmaster Rank not even a month prior. As his most accomplished graduates by far, Wigglytuff had been relying more and more frequently upon them for assistance in maintaining the background runnings behind the face of the Guild—and particularly on Lu for the administration since Chatot couldn’t handle as much of the active work (namely running errands and maintaining documentation) as he used to due to the injury that he had incurred in Brine Cave)—so, despite being at the most stable point of their exploration careers thus far, they were busier than they had ever been before.

That was precisely why Lu’s soft-spoken question took Eliana off-guard like it did—it came unbidden, at completely random, considering that the topic hadn’t even touched the fringes of her mind in days for how severely she’d been distracted by the perpetual stream of waking, eating, packing, hiking, exploring (which usually entailed a rather harrowing combination of rescuing and battling Pokémon who, frankly, should have known better), resting, and repeating it all over again while keeping up with basic chores and routines for thier team to continue working as seamlessly as always.

Perhaps her guilt from the fact that she hadn’t devoted the concept much thought was excusable for this very reason, although it certainly did not alleviate the somewhat painful sensation in the least.

“…Do you ever think about what happened to the paralyzed future?”

It took a long moment for Eliana to compose herself, and she bought time by carefully finishing a stack of Escape Orbs that would afford them a refreshed supply of Reviver Seeds for the coming week. She tilted her head as if to roll the question around within her head, her tail curling over her paws as she parsed an appropriate response. “…Of course I do.”

“Dialga said that the timeline was restored,” Lu continued absentmindedly, eyes trained on the wrinkled parchment clasped between his tarsus pads, but the creases of his melancholic frown gave away the depth of his thoughts on the subject, “and you were brought back, but…what do you think happened to…everything else?”

He left that remark intentionally vague and open-ended for her benefit, no doubt, so she could divert the conversation if she needed to. Lu was also so considerate of her somewhat fragmented feelings on the matter, but she did wish that he wouldn’t treat it as though he should walk entirely on eggshells when bringing up one of the primarily defining moments of her conscious recollection.

“I…don’t know,” she answered truthfully, looking out towards the rippling sapphire ocean stretching out as far as the eye could see. “He never told me. I had assumed…”

At her trailing off, Lu raised his considerate gaze to gauge her expression. Besides her furrowed brows, Eliana felt no distress—and after reading her aura just to be certain (because she knew Lu, and she knew how fretful he grew over her), he set the paper down and pinned it with a coin to prevent it from wiffling away in the wind. “…That they’re gone?” he finished tentatively.

To acknowledge her reluctant, if hopeless, conclusion verbally hurt her too much, so Eliana gave him a stunted, singular nod.

“I don’t know, either,” Lu said after a long pause, “and I wouldn’t ever want to have false hopes, but…surely if you were brought back, Eliana, they would have been, too…?”

Eliana didn’t really want to dwell on the possibility. While the notion would vastly alleviate the guilt that plagued her every single time her mind drifted to her old companions (and she, too, had wondered at such a possibility before with the same reasoning), if the contrary were ever to be confirmed, it would grieve her all over again. She still struggled to reconcile their loss—because she had lost them, regardless of whether they had, by some miracle, survived like her, and they were separated by an indeterminate and insurmountable length of time beside—and if such hypothetical hopes were ever disappointed…well, she already had a hard enough time coming to terms with her emotions as it was.

“Maybe,” she offered mildly, returning her attention to her unfinished task. The rest of the crate would likely keep her busy until sundown.

“You know…” Lu resumed his own work, as well, tone then more conversational than cautious. “…we could always ask Dialga. Who knows? Since all the time-space issues surrounding us have been resolved, maybe we could—”

“I find that unlikely,” Eliana interrupted him, coarser than she intended to. When she snapped her head around to look at him, however, with shame lancing through her, he didn’t look ruffled in the slightest—such was the imperturbable nature of her partner, and the rational adult he had grown into from a timid, if somewhat passive-aggressive and hot-headed, youth. “I was brought back as a personal favor to you for saving Temporal Tower. I don’t know that Dialga—or whoever granted that wish—would allow for the timeline to have lingering echoes like that. And if…if they did…survive,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “there’s no guarantee that their memories would remain intact. If everything was overwritten, then…maybe they…maybe they wouldn’t even…”

Lu stood and stepped over to her, coiling his arms around her torso and tugging her into a hug. His warm, broad paws rested between her shoulder blades and stroked the length of her spine respectively, soothing her flaring tide of emotion. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and leaned into his touch with a soft, shaky sigh.

“I understand,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s alright,” she responded, muffled slightly by the fur cushioning her cheek. “I’m okay, just…I still have a hard time thinking about it.”

“I know. We can talk about it later, or…or never, if you want. It doesn’t affect me nearly as much as it does you, and I hate to see you cry.”

“Lucky for you, I hate to see myself cry, too,” she responded wryly with a sniffle, trying to grasp at the levelheaded disposition she wore most of the time. She didn’t usually keep her walls up around Lu, but she was particularly sensitive about this topic and…well, she had trouble with figuring out what to do with the equal parts grief, guilt, and anger that had come to reside in the scarred hollows of her heart that had once been occupied by her fellow future Pokémon. As she had countless times before since returning from the odd state of limbo in which she’d been trapped for the time between the Tower’s rescue and Lu’s breaking point, she opted to unceremoniously shove the complicated and snaring web of uncertainty to the back of her mind to be dealt with never later. “Do you want to go to Spinda’s tonight? I’m getting thirsty and I found some Joy Seeds we could try.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Lu smiled, although she knew without a doubt that he noticed her deflection tactic. “Let’s finish up all this and we’ll call it a night.”

It didn’t take long to complete their tasks—Eliana tucked all of the excess items they’d elected to trade into a crate for Lu to carry and they discussed what jobs they should take the next day on their easygoing walk through Treasure Town. There was a handful of rescue and criminal apprehension requests for the Mystifying Forest a couple of days old that would be simple enough to complete. They could save the ones farther out for later in the week so they’d have better time to prepare the necessary supplies.

Spinda’s Café was moderately busy, but the background murmur of conversations and laughter helped to distract Eliana’s melancholy mind. She hadn’t quite been able to shake off their discussion of heartaching hypotheticals, even caught up in the soothing routine of taking inventory, so she distracted herself by entering the line to order while Lu when over to Wynaut and Wobbuffet in exchange for prize tickets that they would redeem later, once they weren’t so tired.

Domesticity elicited a more comfortable weariness, however, than exploring did (given the stresses revolving around dealing with the feral Pokémon in the mystery dungeons and their job requests’ oftentimes complex and tenuous mission objectives), and Eliana relished in being able to sit at one of the tables closer to the edge of the room with peace of mind—Kangaskhan had mentioned that their storage limit had been approaching, so Eliana was glad to keep herself busy in such a way.

Lu brought their drinks over once they were done, and they sat in oscillations of companionable silence and idle remarks while people-watching or bringing up recurrent topics that needed updating in context of their exploration team duties.

Not too much later, Bidoof and Corphish descended the stairwell, engrossed in a lighthearted chatter until they spotted the Guild graduates off to the side by themselves.

“Well, howdy!” Bidoof greeted with a toothy grin, “it’s sure been a while, yup yup!”

Eliana chuckled. They’d seen the lot of them only yesterday while checking the job bulletin boards and asking about Croagunk’s stock on special items. “It’s nice to see you two. Would you like to sit with us?”

“Hey, hey! Thanks for the invitation!” Corphish crowed, clacking his pincers enthusiastically. “I’ll go wait in line!”

“Gee, thanks, Corphish!” Bidoof said, clambering up onto the stool to be more closely leveled with the second-stage evolutions. “I didn’t see you two come through the crossroads today, yup yup.”

“We took an off-day,” Eliana told him, leaning down to sip from the dried reed that served as a straw. Lacking opposable thumbs, while something she had mostly grown accustomed to, was not ideal, but given the fact that many other Pokémon also didn’t possess them, there were always accommodations for it. “We’ll probably head back out tomorrow. What did you do today, Bidoof?”

“I sort of did the same,” he replied jovially, “since I filled in for Diglett as a sentry…although Chatot said I was more distracted than usual and didn’t seem very pleased, yup yup.”

“If you did that all day,” Lu said with a chuckle, leaning in and folding his forearms on the table, “I can imagine all the footprints started to blur together after a while.”

“Sure ‘nuff!” Bidoof laughed in return. “My eyes are still dazzled from all the sunshine, yup yup—I don’t know how Diglett can stand it!”

“He’s used to it,” Lu said, “because I’ve asked him the same thing before. He says they’re normally sensitive to light because he’s an underground dweller, but he’s adapted to it since Dugtrio spends so much time outside. Maybe you didn’t strain your vision too terribly—maybe you won’t get a headache on top of it.”

“Aw, I already started getting one, trying to keep up with all the visitors we had today,” the plump mouse Pokémon admitted sheepishly, “and Loudred was extra cranky, yup yup. My ears are still ringing. It didn’t help that I got worked up.”

“About what, Bidoof?” Eliana asked, frowning lightly. While Bidoof had his moments when he frustrated some of the others in times past—with herself included, she couldn’t deny that—he’d come a long way since Lu and herself had graduated. The thought of him getting his feelings hurt by someone else irked her, after all the support he’d given them both throughout the years—and if he had a name to give, one had best believe that she’d have some choice words for whichever poor soul who decided to pick on their mentor. “What happened?”

“Well,” he started, somewhat bashfully, “before you two came along, when I was still the newest apprentice at the Guild, I ran into a little patch of trouble with a group of thieves for a spell. I saw another one of those Pokémon come in—a different one, thankfully—and it reminded me of all of that.”

“Oh, no, Bidoof!” Lu breathed. “Did they show back up? Do we need to coordinate with Officer Magnezone? They didn’t harass you, did they?”

“No, sirree,” Bidoof replied hurriedly, “there’s nothing to worry about there! I haven’t seen their faces turn up around Treasure Town again since the Guildmaster gave them what-for.”

“That’s good,” Eliana murmured. “Were they trying to rob you?”

“Yup yup, my savings,” he said. “I got a mite discouraged with my progress around that time, so I thought about buying a TM to make me stronger. One of them saw it and they tried to ambush me in a secret mystery dungeon they thought no one else knew about. Tricked me right good, they did, but…I got something real special out of the whole thing.”

“And what was that?” Lu asked curiously.

“He got to meet Jirachi, hey hey!” Corphish piped up, his legs tapping the floor as he brought two glasses over brimming with smoothies. “That was his first real mission as a full-fledged explorer!”

“Aw, shucks,” Bidoof hedged, eyes averting and ears curling on his signature expression of embarrassment, “I was just going to say that I found a priceless treasure. I don’t really like spreading that information around a whole lot, you know, since he likes his sleep so much, but since it’s you guys…”

“Right,” Corphish said, setting the drinks down with a clunk upon the table before hauling himself up into the seat next to the normal-type. “I forgot that it’s all hush-hush—I’m sorry, Bidoof.”

“I’m curious, though,” Lu said quietly, leaning closer, “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned this story, Bidoof. Isn’t Jirachi a Mythical Pokémon?”

“A renowned granter of wishes, from what I’ve heard,” Eliana offered—the trivia case easily, although the reasons she knew it did not…such was the curse of her amnesia, “if they’re awakened from their deep slumbers, that is. I take it that you had a wish granted, Bidoof?”

“He did, hey hey,” said Corphish indignantly, “but he never has told us what it was!”

“It’s sort of personal to me,” Bidoof answered quietly, twiddling his toes. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she told him warmly, “I completely understand. You have the right to share something like that or not.” She glanced sidelong at Corphish with an amused look. “Even if others’ curiosity is strong.”

“I never meant anything by it!” muttered the ruffian Pokémon. “I was just curious, is all, hey hey.”

“That’s alright,” Lu assured him. He looked back to Bidoof. “May we at least ask if it came true?”

“It took a little while, but it sure did!” said the normal-type with shining eyes focused on the pair of them. “Even if it got a little scary, I’m so glad I got so experience all that!”

“You said it was a secret mystery dungeon,” Lu continued, tone brimming with that familiar, scarcely restrained enthusiasm he’d always shown information on new, undiscovered places. “Is it really that hard to find?”

“Not really,” Bidoof said thoughtfully, “but it had a passage that no other explorers knew about. The Guildmaster figured it all out right quick.”

That sounded like Wigglytuff, alright. Eliana smiled. “Does the name of that mystery dungeon happen to be Star Cave?”

Bidoof, Corphish, and Lu starred at her, stupefied.

“Why, yes, it is,” Bidoof breathed. “How’d you know that, Eliana?”

“I’ve read about it before in passing,” she explained. “You forget that I spent a lot of hours in the Guild’s library. There’s not a whole lot on this continent that I don’t know at least a little bit about.”

If the trio noticed how she intentionally left out the second half associated with that recollection, they didn’t point it out. She hadn’t spent those late nights combing through dusty tomes, scrolls, and maps alone, after all, and Lu had never been a night owl like she was, so he had usually ended up snoozing away despite his best efforts to be helpful by remaining awake and alert. She could still recall the looming, massive shadow cast against the plastered wall of the last room in the basement level by numerous flickering candles and oil lamps crackling merrily away in the hushed ambience of crinkling paper, notes scratched out with ink quills, and the harmonious layering of rumbling baritone and whispered falsetto indicating points of interest for further study and investigation within the texts in the otherwise undisturbed and cozy silence. The mere image lurking behind her mind’s eye of that pair of broad, pale hands pressing carefully down on the warped, darkened pages to help her track the pacing of the ancient glyphs caused her throat to tighten, so she shook her head to dismiss it.

“I was always told stories about Jirachi growing up,” Lu remarked, sidestepping the elephant in the room with all the grace of a dancer, “but I always wondered whether they were true or not. It’s nice to know that there’s still a little magic in the world.”

“Yup yup, it sure was an amazing thing to witness,” said Bidoof, his onyx gaze glittering in awe in the wake of the (likely far more pleasant) memory. “I think that I’m mighty privileged to have seen it all happen right in front of my eyes.”

Eliana glanced at Lu, noticing a similar expression mirrored upon the aura Pokémon’s face—a sort of childlike wonder that had, to her relief, never been crushed by the harrowing events they’d endured.

By the time they got home that night, they were properly exhausted. Lu cut up some fruit as a late snack for them to eat while they settled down, enjoying the mild salty breeze combing through their fur and tugging playfully at their ears and tails. Neither of them spoke until they finished, tossed their scraps into the compost bin, and got comfortable on their beds. Eliana let out a content little sigh as she curled up on her side, tucking her legs and venturing out with the end of her tail to curl around Lu’s own. It wagged unconsciously in response—a reaction that used to embarrass him.

“Good night, Lu,” she murmured drowsily, her eyelids fluttering shut.

“Good night, Eliana. Sweet dreams.”

“You, too.” That was something with which she struggled, he knew, especially after what she’d gone through with her Dimensional Scream and the nightmares they’d both had leading up to the final confrontation with the perpetrator of her amnesia. It gave the sentiment all the more sincerity.

Eliana did manage to slip into a steady, if light, sleep unplagued by regurgitations of her traumas… but she roused when she felt Lu slip from her grasp and shuffle out of bed. She lifted her head, bleary and confused by her mind still muddled, and squinted at the shape of her partner sitting near the edge of the bluff in the direct park of the wind blasting up the cliff. Her fuzzy gaze passed over his relaxed form, and she picked up on the light thumping of his tail in the dust on the floor and the fiddling of his blunted claws playing with his scarf.

“What’re you so excited about?” she croaked, digging the heel of her paw into the corners of her eyes to dislodge the crust that had gathered there. “The sun’s not even coming up yet, Lu.”

He turned his head, somewhat surprised, and a flash of sheepishness passed over him at the realization that he had accidentally woken her up. “You can go back to sleep,” he told her gently, “I just can’t get my mind to slow down after hearing everything that Bidoof had to say.”

Star Cave, while rarely marked on any save the oldest maps, was one mystery dungeon which they had not yet explored. She had intended to bring it up to Lu eventually, since she kept a list of locations they had been to, but she hadn’t realized that a Mythical called it his abode. She suspected that there was more to Lu’s excitement than the mere idea of investigating a new place, however.

“Do you want to have your biggest wish granted?” she teased with a lopsided grin, turning over onto her front to prop her chin on the edge of the hay pile. “Bidoof made it sound like that guy gets pretty cranky when he’s woken up from his century-long naps—we may not want to fight a sleepwalking Mythical, you know.”

“I’ve already had my biggest wishes granted,” Lu pointed out after a beat, his expression softening as he looked at her. Her flesh warmed beneath her pelt at the fondness warming his crimson irises. “I got to join the Guild, and I got you back. There’s not a whole lot more that I could ask for, to be honest, but the idea of it is still so exciting!” He tilted his head, considering. “Surely there’s at least one thing you’d like to have, Eliana. You don’t ever ask for very much.”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off, glancing thoughtfully out towards the rippling, mercurial sea. One obvious answer popped into her mind, but it wasn’t one she dared give voice to. She shrugged and settled on, “…I’d like to get my memories back, I think…if I had to pick one thing, that is.” She exhaled forlornly. “Even if…if I never see them again, I’d…I’d at least like to remember them.”

Lu turned fully to face her, folding his legs beneath him as his eyes shone with hope at her admission. “…You know,” he said, “we could go check it out, at least. Jirachi might not even be there anymore, since Bidoof found him, or his part of the cave could have been resealed. But if he is there…I think it would be amazing to have our wishes granted.”

“So you do have one?” she queried, quirking a brow.

“I do,” he nodded, “but it’s bad luck to say what they are before they come true.”

“You have a point. Maybe that won’t come back to bite me.” Eliana rested her check on the soft bedding with a gaping yawn. “You should try to get some sleep, Lu. If we want to plan for that trip, we’ll need to get an early start, at least, and get these jobs wrapped up. It’s quite the hike out there from what I remember.”

Lu obediently returned to his bed, and this time he reached out and grasped her paw in his own. “…For what it’s worth, Eliana,” he murmured, “I know it was hard on you, losing your memories, and that it still bothers you, but…I’m glad I got to meet you, despite it all…maybe that’s selfish of me.”

“I don’t think so,” Eliana returned quietly, squeezing the roughened pads of his toes fondly. “I think everything happens for a reason. Darkrai caused it, sure, but…I like to think that our meeting fulfilled some greater purpose in the long run.” She met his eyes in the dark. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Lu.”

“I know,” he said softly, and this time they didn’t wake until the sunrise crept over the horizon.

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ao3screenshotss · 11 months

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#title:#come morning light (you and i'll be safe and sound)#author:#fakecharliebrown #ao3 #ao3 funny #demon slayer #sabito #tomioka giyuu #ubuyashiki kagaya #urokodaki sakonji

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ohbo-ohno · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 31 - Free Use

Poly 141 x Reader - 4.3k (on ao3)

summary: Glimpses into your life as a housewife and free use toy for the 141 post-retirement. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: soft sex, half-drunk sex, light somnophilia, anal sex

note: last kinktober of the month! sorry i got off by a day at the end here, but i hope you guys have enjoyed everything so far :) btw this is less "free use" and more "sex with the 141 while living in domestic bliss"

Your days are filled with sex. Sex with all of your boys, in every position you can think of, in every room of the house they’d bought for the five of you after retiring.

You all split the chores evenly these days. No one does more than they’re more comfortable with, and you’ve all found your stride, something to give you purpose, after the rigidity of the military.

Gaz has taken to bee-keeping. As odd as it sounds, he’s got the patience for it, and he’s quite protective of his bees, even has nearly an entire library of books he’s taught himself with. Price helps him out by selling the honey he harvests, keeping track of his profits and managing the household’s finances.

Ghost hunts, spends his days out finding game to bring home, tracking herds and predators around your property. Johnny does a little of everything - fixes things when they break, chops firewood every morning, helps Simon skin his prey, tries to help Gaz and his bees.

And you take care of the house. You make the meals, clean up after everyone, and find yourself perfectly happy to keep your men fed and warm.

Your other chore is to bend over whenever they want. Well, bend into any position whenever they want, Ghost and Soap tend to enjoy getting a bit more creative. It’s not really much of a chore, considering how eager you are to do it.

It’s a great deal for you. Johnny and Kyle are always eager to get you off, and neither Simon nor Price is stingy with the orgasms these days either. You live your life floating between domestic labor and orgasms - not a bad existence, by your metric. You get to live without a care in the world, four men to take care of and four men to take care of you. It’s like a dream come true.

———————————————————————

You hum to yourself as you dance around the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly apron as you wait for your pancakes to cook. The small radio on the dining room table plays music from a local radio station, something cheery to start your day. It’s hard not to smile, with sunshine pouring in from the windows and a batch of fresh eggs to scramble on the stove.

Your small moment of bliss is interrupted by a pair of hands on your hips and a large body bracketing yours.

There isn’t even a moment of fear, you instinctually lean back into the man behind you. A moment later, a rough beard brushes over your cheek.

“Pancakes this mornin’?” Price asks, big paws resting on the softness of your hips.

“Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head to claim his lips. He sways the two of you back and forth slowly, to the beat of the song, and lets you take your time with him. “Blueberries in yours,” you tell him when you come up for a breath of air.

One hand shifts to your ass, the other to your stomach, and you feel him smile. “Thank you, love. Got time for a quick round before they burn?”

You mimic his smile, let him bend you over slowly. “You’re just in time, Captain, I haven’t cracked the eggs yet.”

“Perfect,” he purrs, pressing himself to your backside. He tucks his plaid pajama pants down a little, rubbing his warm morning wood against you. You fold your arms beneath your head, let your eyes drift closed as his fingers make quick work of getting you ready.

Moments later, the heavy length of his cock fills you slowly. You moan, shifting your legs a little bit wider as he massages your waist.

“There you go,” he sighs, bottoming out and grinding himself slowly inside of you. “Tight as always, perfect girl.”

You giggle a little drowsily, wiggling your hips against his. “Always for you, John.”

He sighs contentedly, pulling out slowly. “Don’t I know it.”

He fucks you slowly, a steady pace that drags against all your most sensitive parts on every thrust. John’s thick, and the stretch isn’t quite comfortable with no prep. But you’re still a little loose from your time with Soap and Gaz last night, so it’s far from painful to take him.

He hunches over you as he gets closer and closer to the edge, elbows resting on either side of you and breath ghosting across your nape.

“Aw,” you hear Soap say,voice rough from sleep as he steps into the kitchen. “I wanted first go today.”

“Early bird gets the worm, Johnny,” Gaz teases, settling into a chair in the little breakfast nook Simon had built soon after moving in. “You’re the one who stayed up so late with her last night.”

“Wasn’t just me, jackass, you’re the one who-”

“Boys,” Price grunts, hips slamming against yours, leaving you squirming beneath him. “Will you shut the fuck up while I’m balls deep in our girl?”

You can’t help but snort beneath him, pushing yourself up enough to arch your back further, stick your ass further out for him. “Ye-yeah, boys.”

“Hush,” Price scolds, one hand shifting to your neck where he forces you flat to the counter again. “‘M almost there…”

He groans lowly as he buries himself deep inside of you, pumping slowly as you tighten up, trying to milk him. “Fuck, feels good…”

You smile against your arms as the pleasure that had been building inside of you starts to dull to a simmer, something warm in the root of you.

Price pulls out only moments later, two thick fingers tucking into you to keep any of his come from dripping out. “Keep me safe inside you, pretty thing, c’mon. Clench down.”

You take a deep breath and try your best to listen, straightening up and doing your best to keep yourself from dripping down your thighs.

He turns you around, leaning you back against the counter and cupping your cheeks in his hands, tugging your face up to give you a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers into your mouth, just quiet enough for you to hear.

“Of course.” You reach up to grab his wrists, holding him close. “Never gonna say no to you, John.”

The two of you linger in the moment, sunlight warming your skin as you breathe into each other.

It’s Soap that interrupts you, an intentionally obnoxious clearing of his throat nearly making you jump. “Any chance at coffee sometime today, bonnie?”

You huff a laugh into Price’s mouth, pushing him away and shooting a half-playful look to Johnny. “Can’t give me a minute of peace, can you?”

He smirks, “Nope.”

John scoffs as he pulls away, moving you with him and giving you a quick tap to the ass to send you over to the counter with the coffee machine. “Someone’s gotta teach you some patience, MacTavish.”

“If Ghost still hasn’t gotten it into him, no one is,” Gaz laughs, shifting enough for Price to join him on the bench.

“Who says I haven’t?” Ghost says, stepping from the hallway. He’s already got a cigarette lit between his lips, and you wave him away with a spatula.

“No!” You scold, trying to shoo him closer to the window. “No smoking in my house! You know I hate the smell.”

Ghost rolls his eyes good-naturedly but lets you herd him to the open window, resting a shoulder on the windowsill and blowing a mouthful of air. You hmph, satisfied, and move to flip the pancakes. “You’re not the one who has to get that smoke out of all the furniture, you know.”

Ghost sighs, but he’s dramatic enough about it for you to know that he’s intentionally exaggerating his annoyance. “Awful early for all that nagging, woman.”

You glare at him playfully, picking up an egg to crack. “Awful early for a cig, too.”

He huffs and you crack your egg, the kitchen shifting into a comfortable silence. You continue your humming as the song changes to something more upbeat, unable to keep a smile from your face.

———————————————————————

You’re half tipsy, giggling into Soap’s mouth as the two of you stumble into the house. You manage to trip over the lip of the entrance, and you yelp as you start to fall.

Johnny just barely manages to twist and catch the both of you in time, grunting loudly as he hits the ground. The breath is knocked from the both of you, and you lay there in the dark for a moment, still.

You’re giggling as soon as you can breathe again, unable to stay still with all the energy and wiggling against his chest. “Jo-Johnny!”

“What?” He pants, still not fully able to take a breath in. You can see the outline of a smile, though, and his hands come up to fully cup your ass. “You were the one taht tripped, lass!”

That only makes you laugh harder, kicking your feet against his shins. “I-I know!”

Now he laughs, a full-bellied sound that has you bouncing on his chest. He manages to push himself up so that you’re in his lap, and presses his mouth to yours without warning.

You make a high sound of surprise but quickly kiss him back, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips.

Your kiss is messy, both of you a little too drunk and a little too needy to bother for tact. Johnny’s softer than he usually is, all tongue and no teeth. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting so your knees rest on either side of him and squeeze his hips.

“Need you,” he pants into your mouth, shifting you over him to start a slow grind. “Need to be inside you, bonnie.”

“Yeah, please,” you say, quickly dropping your hands to his belt and clumsily working at his belt. It takes several tries for you to get it undone, and both of you get more and more desperate. Your underwear get more and more damp as you work yourself over the rough denim of his jeans, your skirt rucked up around your hips as he palms at your ass.

“Come on,” he growls, landing a harsh slap against the meat of your thigh. You yelp at the sting, then giggle, and finally manage to get his belt loose, quickly tugging it off.

“There you go,” you mumble, throwing the belt to the side and hearing it slide against the hardwood. “C’mon, c’mon, need you now, Johnny.”

He nearly snarls into your mouth, jerking your panties to the side and stuffing two fingers into you with no warning. You jolt higher on your knees and moan, digging your nails into his shoulder.

“Sit still,” he growls, tugging you back down and scissoring his fingers quickly to spread you. He slips a third finger in easily, your cunt already slick and dripping for him. “Stop fuckin’- stop wigglin’ around.”

You can’t help but giggle again, pushing your smile against his lips and nipping at his chin. “Can’t hold me down, MacTavish?”

You feel him grin, growling playfully, and before you can keep prodding him he’s got you flipped onto the floor beneath him. You squeal when he somehow manages to keep his fingers inside of you, pushing deep as he pins you down. He tucks your knees higher, both of your legs resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll show you held down, lass,” he growls, smile just barely visible above you. “Want it rough, then?”

You bite back another laugh, pushing up just enough to bite his bottom lip and tug it down with you. “As rough as you’ve got, MacTavish.”

It works as the perfect taunt you’d meant it as, and he’s buried in your tight heat before you can try and push him any further. Your head falls back against the hardwood floor as his falls to your throat, both of you moaning loudly as his hips meet your thighs.

“Fuck,” he groans, teeth pressed against your throat. When you arch your neck even further, he bites into your flesh, sucking a hicky and making you ever wetter between the thighs. “Fuck.”

“She tight, Johnny?”

You both yelp at the sudden voice, Johnny jolting away from your neck and shifting inside of you, causing you both to melt again.

There, in the corner of the room, is Ghost. He’s smoking a cigarette by the window, illuminated only by the glow of his cigarette butt and the moon. You can’t quite see his expression, but you can just imagine the cocky smirk.

Johnny groans above you, sinking back down to press kisses along your throat and forcing your knees almost to the side of your head. “Scared the shit outta’ me, Ghost,” he sighs, pulling out just enough to give you a few tiny thrusts. You moan, letting yourself relax into the floor.

“Not surprised,” Ghost says, and you watch as he stubs out the cigarette and take a few steps to where the two of you are tangled in each other. “How much did you two have to drink?”

You laugh at the question, but it melts into a moan as Johnny starts to find a rhythm that works for both of you. Your knees nearly knock against your own face as he makes his way across your neck, leaving bruising kisses.

“Not-” you choke a bit on a particularly rough thrust, just barely managing to keep your eyes open and watch as Simon settles into an armchair. “Not that much.”

“Yeah,” Johnny pants, lifting himself up enough to look down at you. “How-how much’ve you had, L.t.?”

Ghost snorts, taking a swig from a beer bottle you hadn’t noticed before. “Less’n you two, I can tell that much.”

You and Johnny both snicker, half out of breath already, but none of you try and keep speaking as Johnny starts to really fuck into you, finding a perfect rhythm that’s just a little messier than usual, a little jerkier.

The two of you make no attempt to be quiet, moaning and whining loudly as you work to find that peak. Even with folded in half as you are, you try to push into him as much as you can to help him hit the perfect spot inside of you.

You nearly scream when he does, clenching down so tightly onto him that he’s forced to a still inside of you, his length throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

The world blurs around you as Johnny takes your lips again, pressing your tongues together in a slick slide as he batters inside of you.

“Clo-close,” you gasp, clawing down his shoulders. Your nails dig in enough through his shirt to have him moaning, arching further into your touch.

“Me too, bonnie.”

He shifts enough to lean his weight further onto your thighs, newly freed hand smoothing down your chest and stomach to work against your clit. You melt beneath him, muscles going loose as you turn into nothing but a limp doll for him to fuck.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm starts to overcome you, Johnny’s work against your clit and the hot length inside of you finally shoving you over the edge.

“Fuck- fuck!” Johnny nearly shouts above you, your orgasm triggering his own. You cling tight to him, dragging his body as close to you as possible while your muscles clench down around him. The two of you are nearly drooling in each other’s mouths, eager for as much physical touch as possible.

It feels like an impossible amount of time later when you hear Ghost crouch down next to you, see his shadow cast over both you and Johnny. “You two done, then?”

You feel Johnny huff where he’s leaned against your cheek, feel his smile grow against yours.

“Yeah, Si,” you say, squirming a bit beneath Johnny to try and get out from under him. “I think we’re done.”

Johnny gans a little but he obliges and shifts back enough for his softened cock to pull out of you. You both whine in sync at the separation, and he finally lets your legs fall to the ground, heels thudding against the floor.

Johnny rolls off of you, flopping to the floor next to you. “Carry us to bed, L.t.”

You giggle and blink up at Simon, softened from your orgasm and the lingering buzz from your night out. “Yeah, L.t.,” you lift your arms high, making grabby hands like a toddler. “Carry us to bed.”

Ghost snorts above you, but he still leans down and scoops you up beneath the knees and the back. You squeal when he hefts you over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. He ducks low again and you grasp onto the bottom of his sweatshirt, then giggle when Johnny flops bonelessly over Ghost’s other shoulder.

He carries the two of you effortlessly down the hall, and Johnny’s soft laugh joins yours - well, at least before you hear a muffled slap and he quiets himself/ Of course that only makes you laugh, earning you a spank of your own.

You’re dropped rather carelessly onto the massive mattress all five of you share these days, hand flopping against what you’re sure is Price’s chest as Ghost falls on top of Johnny where he’s dropped.

You hear a muffled oof! from next to you and curl into Price with a smile, tucking yourself close to his chest. He rumbles a low noise, instinctually tucking you close. You can hear Gaz getting annoyed with Ghost and Soap, feel him kicking at them to fight for his own spot on the mattress. You fall asleep with Ghost’s back to yours and Price’s chest to yours, surrounded by warmth.

———————————————————————

You groan into the sheets in frustration, fists clenched tight. “Simon, come on, please.”

He spanks you sharply, but the pain is hardly noticeable compared to the need you’re drowning in.

“Quiet,” he grunts, three fingers spreading your ass. “Need to stretch you out properly, don’t want any tears.”

You whine, arching your back and pushing your ass further into the air. “I’m ready, I promise, just need you inside. I’ve been stretched for the last ten minutes!”

“And you’ll get stretched for ten more if you don’t quit complaining.”

It’s almost impossible to bite back a complaint at that, but you manage to dull it down to just a near-painful eye roll. You try your best to stay still for him, stay patient, even as you feel like your pussy is dripping like a faucet.

Ghost has fucked you with far less prep than this, you know he’s just trying to be an asshole - no pun intended. You also know that the more you rush him, the slower he’ll go. So you force yourself a little looser, let your body sink more comfortably into the position he’s got you in.

It doesn’t make the wait any easier.

You’re not sure how long it’s really been when he finally deems you stretched enough, but he finally pulls his fingers free. You whimper at the cold dribble of lube as he spreads a bit more across your stretched hole, the slick sounds echoing in the room telling you he’s likely spreading it across himself too.

“Alright, love,” he says, notching himself at your back hole with both hands on your hips. “Loosen up for me now.”

The stretch is sinful as he finally gives you his cock, enough for you to feel the sting but not at a painful point. Your eyes roll back in pleasure instead of frustration, and your knees shift just a little wider to welcome him more fully into your body.

“Fuck, you feel good<’ he grunts, grip tightening on your hip.

On a normal night with Ghost, you’d expect minimal prep and long rounds of edging. He likes to keep you from coming for as long as possible, then coax an orgasm that feels earthshattering from you when he finally shoves you off that ledge. Either that, or he fucks you quick and dirty - in the yard outside, in the shower, in the middle of the night, really any time he feels like getting off. With you around, there’s no need to masturbate. That leaves you getting bent over and used at any time he feels the slightest urge to get off, but you couldn’t mind less.

Now, though, Ghost paces himself far more slowly than usual. His thrusts are long, bottoming out and pulling back until the head of his cock just barely breaches your hole. If you couldn’t feel the way his hands bruise your hips, you’d almost call his pace leisurely.

The two of you are near silent as he fucks you, content to fill the air with soft moans and the occasional whine instead of dirty talk. It feels nice, such slow sex with Simon. It’s a side of him he rarely lets you see, even now.

He knows you can’t come from anal alone, and is feeling generous enough to grab one of your hands and shift it down, telling you, “Rub your clit for me, love. Wanna feel you come.”

And, well, who are you to disobey?

You bring yourself to a slow, rolling orgasm with rhythmic circles against your clit, hips working against his even with his grip. You moan more loudly now, moith open and spit spreading across the pillow.

“Si-Simon,” you gasp. “Feels so good, so deep.”

“Yeah? Deep in your ass, huh, love?”

“Mhmm, mhmm. Can hardly br-breathe around you, Si.”

“I know, so big in your little hole. You’re taking me well, though, being such a good girl for me. Gonna - fuck, love - gonna make me come, give you a nice load then plug you up.”

“Yes, yes…”

“You want that? Want to be stuffed with my come? Keep me inside of you ‘til I say you can take the plug out?”

“Yes, I’ll keep it in for you, Si, be so good for you.”

“Oh, I know it, love. Always a good girl for me, most perfect girl… fuck, feel so good around me…”

He groans when he finally gets himself off, pulling you back onto his harsher thrusts and letting your channel squeeze the come from him. You rub your clit a few more times, ignoring the aftershocks in favor of forcing your muscles to milk him a bit.

When he finally pulls out, he tucks a good-sized plug into your loosened hole before any of his come can slip out. You shift from your knees to your stomach with a soft hum, tugging a pillow into your arms as your eyes drift shut.

“You stayin’ in here for a bit?” Ghost asks, brushing some of your hair away from your face and dipping down to press a dry kiss to your cheek.

“Hmm. Gonna take a nap before dinner.”

“Alright. Need any help tonight?”

“No,” you hum, curling deeper into the bedding. “You can set the table, if you really want.”

You hear him laugh as he pulls away, weight shifting off of the mattress. “I’ll leave that to Johnny, I think.”

A few moments later the door click softly shut behind him, and you float into a peaceful slumber while trying to half-plan dinner.

———————————————————————

You’re half-asleep when you feel someone shift in bed next to you, their body covering yours. There’s a distinct hardness against the small of your back, and you press back against him.

“Stay still,” you hear Gaz whisper in your ear as he urges you further onto your stomach. You hum a little in response as he settles over you, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to rest between them. “Don’t wanna wake anyone else up, right sweetheart?”

You hum again in what’s probably supposed to be agreement, but is really just a half-asleep sound. You trust all your boys, though, so you’re perfectly content to let Kyle do whatever he wants.

You sleep naked these days, so it’s easy for him to spread your cheeks a bit, to rub at your folds. You’re still a little damp from the shower sex with Price you’d had right before bed, and Kyle doesn’t seem to think you need much more than that.

You’re almost asleep again when you feel the tip of his cock at your hole, and then the familiar weight of him entering you. It’s hard not to groan, especially when you’re so dazed, but you think you do a good job.

Well, until Kyle shushes you loudly, stuffing a few of his fingers into your mouth.

You make a small offended noise, but it shifts into a sound of pleasure when he sinks fully inside of you.

“Hush. Don’t wanna share you right now, just needed to feel you for a bit.”

You feel his hips shift against yours before he sort of falls to the side, taking you with him. You’re left spooning him, his cock buried deep inside of you and kept warm by your body.

He sighs, pleased, against your back and pulls his fingers from your mouth, letting his hand float down to rest on one of your breasts. He squeezes you for a few moments, but that only works you up more and has you squirming against him.

Kyle makes a small, whining noise and squeezes you more tightly to him. “Stay still, love. Just want to hold you, let you hold me. Go back to sleep, yeah?”

You sigh, debate trying to get him to finish what he started, but ultimately decide that it sounds like far too much work for your current state.

So instead you let yourself relax into Gaz, body quickly adjusting to the weight and stretch of him. It’s easier than you might’ve thought to doze off like that, held close to Kyle’s chest.

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copperbadge · 1 year

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Had a dream this morning that Archive of our Own had a Random button which would simply take you to a random fanfic, like Wikipedia has. (AO3 does not appear to really have this, I checked and couldn't find one, but I kinda wish they did.) Someone had started a game where whatever fic you got, that was your new fandom, which is very fun! I would love this meme in real life.

The problem came in where so many people used the button that it broke and just started sending everyone to Stealing Harry, and like...I have fond memories of Stealing Harry but it's not my best work and nobody should be assigned to be a Harry Potter fan in this day and age.

So I decide to go off and find Astolat and demand she fix this but when I finally did (there was a whole quest) she turned to me like the baddie in a horror flick and said, "But that's the most random story there is" in a dark voice and I was terrified and woke up.

In the cold light of day I know there are more random stories by me on the archive, let alone by others, but I'm not going to try to get back there to argue my case. Pretty sure whatever I spoke to was actually the demon specifically assigned to plague fandom and not Astolat at all.

I'd say "get thee behind me, demon" but I know just how many porny fics on AO3 begin with that premise. (I've written some.) Begone foul spirit, and take your Satanic Panic with you!

#dreams #demon of fandom #probably has a name like anticifer

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kiwisbell · 6 months

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Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.

“We slept in,” you point out.

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.

He shook his head.

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.

He’ll be a good daddy.

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.

“And then what?” he says gruffly.

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.

“I wasn't done,” you tell him.

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.

“Baby,” he chokes.

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.

“I do this to you?” he says smugly.

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.

A real man gives his wife everything she wants.

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #pre outbreak!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader

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