#gratuitous use of bad jokes

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[antigonick]

Wait why do you hate mike flannigan? Just curious

Oh boy...

Because I think he sucks. I think he's a marketing-thirstrap who likes to use titles of horror classics to get some attention on his work, but he strips them of everything that makes them them, and fills it back up with vapid, unnuanced, trashy surface level bullshit. I love creative and liberal adaptation, but his "adaptations" are title and cultural-aura thefts to sell the absolute nothingness of his clumsy, clunky, tell-but-never-show stories. He's performative as hell (empty representation / tokenisation, apparently unaware discrimination glorified as awareness, empty rotating of cast and archetypes with no exploration whatsoever, empty gesturing at political/ social/ philosophical ideas with no actual significance or values).

Most important of all for the topic (since this was about horror), he's hailed as a master of horror when he's just so, so, so terribly bad at it. To me, he literally works AGAINST what horror is about—its complexity, its subversiveness. What he does is making palatable what should unsettle us, what should make us think further than ourselves. There's something fundamentally political and philosophical about horror; capitalising on its simplification-for-consumption is symptomatic of something uglier and culturally-spreading that I HATE. Flanagan is a perfect agent of that. Everything has to be streamlined, simplified, dichotomised and flattened. If you can't deal with hidden messages, with nuance and mystery, with subtext, with blurring boundaries to the point of discomfort to yourSELF, you can't do horror. Flanagan leaves nothing to mystery, to ugliness, to the unexplained or the many-explained, to rawness or openness and layers (for someone who pretends to adapt Shirley Jackson and Henry James, what a joke).

All in all, he just shoves his boring, expected, chain-made story beats down your throat, doesn't even bother with building a story beyond what he puts on screen (think even back to Hush, the complete lack of actual motivation from the aggressor, how fucking lazy can character writing be?). Then he razzle-dazzles that with a bit of gratuitous (and undeserved) shock-value on top to cover up his tracks, which just makes it more insulting. Tear-jerkers and animal death for success value? Yeah, as classy as everything else, I guess.

I feel like I've rambled a lot in this... okay enough bye

[lotusbxtch]

SoCal to NorCal: Chapter 3 - Mill Valley

Series Masterlist Chapter 1: Malibu Chapter 2: Hwy 101 & Beyond

Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x f!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together? - or - you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU. Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter 3: Mill Valley

Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Joel Miller Chapter Summary: The three of you are finally together, and sparks ignite passionate flames that will change everyone. Word Count: 8.8k - get a snack, it’s a long one! Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Warnings/tags: polyamory, consumption & preparation of food and alcohol, MFM dynamics, MMF dynamics, brief masturbation, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up, folks!), multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, multiple creampies, cum kink, cum eating (Frankie is a bit of a cumslut tbh), squirting (there’s a lot of fluids lol i’m sorry in advance if that’s not your thing), slight size kink, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames/phrases, Frankie and Joel are switches in this one, sub!Reader, Frankie the PEK, consent kings, Joel’s filthy mouth is absolutely its own warning but Frankie’s gets one too this time, romance, idiots in love, a splash of angst, soft!Joel but also menace!Joel because we love a man with duality, brief mention of Frankie’s young daughter named Isabella, brief mention of parental & relative deaths, Reader uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n. Everyone is testing negative for STDs and Reader is on birth control.

a/n: the moment you’ve all been waiting for! This chapter was a labor of love because I wanted to get the dynamics *just* right. These three are so special to me, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention @for-a-longlongtime (who also beta read), @mountainsandmayhem (my daddy and beta reader), and @alltheirdamn - my lovely girlies who helped me shape this story. Shoutout to @mermaidgirl30, @joelmillerisapunk, @sin-djarin, and @yxtkiwiyxt who I’ve given little previews of so we could scream together about them. Please let me know if I’ve missed any tags! Dividers & banners by the lovely @saradika-graphics, thank you. (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader — vibes only!)

If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

“I don’t know why they call it the Golden Gate Bridge when it’s red and not gold.”

You roll your eyes hard as Frankie snorts at his own awful joke, and turn your attention to the blue-gray waters below you & the bridge. The breeze whips through your hair and the Jeep’s interior, ruffling your boyfriend’s dark brown curls peeking out from under his trusty Standard Oil ballcap. 

“One more bad joke and I’m going to toss you off the Marin Headlands when we get over the bridge,” you quip at him.

Frankie grabs your hand, kissing the back of it with a smack. “You would never, hermosa.”

A bright smile lights up your face as you look at him. “You’re lucky that you’re so cute, Morales.” 

After an early breakfast in Santa Cruz, you and Frankie continued northwards on your road trip. You opted to drive I-280, the highway providing fantastic views of the lush evergreen trees and rolling hills you loved so much. Frankie couldn’t get over how wildly green it all looked, especially since he’d spent so much time in Los Angeles amongst the concrete and manicured lawns. 

You’d stopped for lunch at your favorite San Francisco dim sum restaurant, hotly debating with Frankie which one of the many bamboo steamer rounds contained the best dish - your favorite is xiao long bao, while Frankie favors black bean pork spareribs. Both of you agreed that the dan tarts were amazing, so you’d bought a few to-go for Joel to savor later. Now, you’re driving across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County, heading towards your and Joel’s house in Mill Valley.

You sigh and pull the forest green plaid button up a bit tighter around you; despite the sun peeking through, it’s still cold, per usual for this time of year in the north Bay Area. 

Frankie clocks your movement, and smirks knowingly at the shirt. “Does he know you took it?”

“Maybe,” you purr mischievously. “He’ll know soon enough if not.”

Huffing a laugh, Frankie turns back to the road, flipping on the turn signal before hooking a right onto your residential street. Majestic redwoods line the road, towering overhead, and you sigh in relief and comfort at the familiar sight. Living here with Joel makes you feel closer to nature than your apartment in Los Angeles. The stress melts out of your bones with each breath of fresh air.

As you drive down the quiet street, you see your beautiful house appear. Slightly younger redwoods surround both sides of the corner lot property, isolated from your next-door neighbors. The two-story craftsman home is spacious but cozy, with warm-stained cedar shingles wrapping around the exterior, complimented by deep sage trim. Native plants thrive in the front yard, and smoke leisurely meanders from the chimney, lending an enchanted ambiance. It’s the perfect balance of your and Joel’s vibes: a modern forested haven.

Frankie approaches your river-rock paved driveway, pulling in carefully next to Joel’s well-worn charcoal pickup truck. Your heart swells in happiness at the sight of it. Following, however, are tiny pings of nervousness and excitement. You glance at Frankie; his expression is calm but unreadable. Typical of Frankie – his Delta Force background and introverted personality mean that he habitually retreats a bit into himself in new situations to observe quietly. Squeezing his hand, you give him a soft smile, which he returns as he squeezes your hand back and puts the car into park. It feels a bit strange to have your boyfriend in a place foreign to him but so familiar to you.

You hear your front door squeak open before you see Joel’s broad frame exit, dashing in a denim button up and his Levi’s. The double-denim outfit would look ridiculous on most other men, but not Joel; the weathered blue only enhances his rugged handsomeness. 

Popping out of the Jeep, you call out, “Hi, baby!” while bounding over to him. His eyes flit over you, an amused look on his face when he spots your overshirt.

“I was wonderin’ where my favorite flannel went,” he chuckles. “Should’a known you were gonna take it with you.”

“It’s my favorite too,” you quip back, setting down the box of dan tats for Joel on the driveway so you can wrap your arms around his neck. You press a kiss to his full lips. “I can borrow it whenever I want. Wife privileges, you know.”

Joel rolls his eyes but smiles, giving your backside a soft smack and laughing when you yelp playfully. “Get your cute ass inside. We’ll take care of the luggage, baby.” You squeal in delight and nod, picking the box back up and heading towards the house. Frankie swings open the tailgate, removing his and your bags from the back.

Joel rounds the car, and Frankie takes a breath to steady himself. Everything is going to be fine.

“Hey, Frankie,” Joel greets the other man with a warm handshake and a clap on the shoulder. 

“It’s so great to meet you in person, Joel,” Frankie says warmly. The two men look at each other for a moment, and then Frankie bends to pick up your luggage at the same time Joel does. Their hands brush at the handle and both jolt a little at the contact.

Frankie pulls back sheepishly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Ah, I’ll let you take your wife’s things, I guess,” he sputters a bit. God, why do I feel so awkward with Joel? He literally told me to eat out his wife on video chat.

“You mean our girl,” Joel corrects before smiling at Frankie warmly, lifting the case with ease and tipping his head towards the house as he walks towards it. Frankie smiles tentatively at him and nods, a bit relieved, and grabs his own bag. “C’mon,” Joel says, “let’s get these bags inside so both of you can settle in a bit before we start prepping for dinner.”

Once the guys drop off the luggage into the entryway, you and Joel lead Frankie on a tour of your house. Dark hardwood floors contrast with the muted tones of the walls, each room a different soft color. The furnishings are modern with a slight vintage flair, creating a cozy yet refined atmosphere. A wood-burning fireplace sits in the corner of the living room, a fire softly crackling inside. You explain where each of your favorite decor and furniture items came from – you and Joel tend to patronize the local thrift markets and mom & pop shops, which creates a softly eclectic feel.

Frankie runs his hand across the back of the plush cream couch as he looks up at the skylights in the ceiling. “Tons of natural light, that’s awesome,” he notes.

“That was my one non-negotiable when we were looking at houses,” you note. “Say what you want about marriage being a compromise, but that was one thing I couldn’t imagine living without.”

Joel nods. “If she doesn’t get enough light durin’ the day, especially in the winter, she gets in a bad way,” he notes. You scoff at your husband’s (admittedly astute) observation.

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Frankie chuckles, admiring the bank of wide windows across the kitchen and the sets of French doors leading out to the enclosed patio and backyard. “One time in December, I caught her sunning herself like a lizard in this little shard of light coming into my living room.”

“Frankie!” you gasp in false indignation, eyes darting between the two of them as they suppress laughter. “Not even an hour in and you’re already ganging up on me? How rude.”

“That’s our girl,” Joel smirked, clapping Frankie on the shoulder as he leads the way towards the stairs to show him the bedrooms. 

Our girl. Warmth seeps into Frankie’s heart as he follows Joel upstairs. 

While you unpack your bags, Joel and Frankie head out to the nearby corner grocery for dinner supplies and the adjacent liquor store for some of the new shipment of Japanese whiskey that the store’s owner, Bill, had set aside for Joel. 

Talking with Frankie is surprisingly easier than Joel thought it would be. He’s a bit more serious than Frankie, sure, and there’s a difference in age, but they have quite a few common interests; it turns out that both of them are football fans, for one. While Joel is a diehard Houston Texans fan, Frankie roots for the Los Angeles Rams. Despite their difference in football fandoms, they both are avid grillers. They also both fish: Joel prefers lake fishing and Frankie loves to go on ocean fishing excursions. Surprisingly, you’ve managed to turn them both into unironic fans of The Great British Bake-off – they agree that the camaraderie and wholesome nature of the show is a balm to the sometimes-cruel world.

As it turns out, they’re also similar in their values. 

“For most of my adult life, it’s just been me and my brother, Tommy,” Joel explains, shifting the grocery tote on his shoulder as they walk back to the house. “Our parents died when we were teenagers, and then our only aunt in California passed away when I was 21 and Tommy had just turned 18. He was —  is —  a pain in my ass, but he’s my brother, so I did what I could to take care of the two of us. That meant workin’ in construction to make ends meet, and bailin’ his ass out after he came back from the Army and kept getting into trouble.”

Frankie huffs as he shakes his head. “I… can relate to that on a few levels. Mi mamá raised me alone in east LA. All we had was each other. When I got old enough, I joined the Army, too. Made it into the Delta Force.” 

“That ain’t easy,” Joel notes, waving to the owner of the shop across the way. 

Sadness flashes across Frankie’s face, but he quickly schools it, the operative in him taking over. “Yeah. My teammates and I ended up out in Florida after we left. Sort of became each other’s family.” He swallows hard.

Joel doesn’t miss the shift in emotions. “My brother was in Operation Desert Storm,” he explains. “The kind of shit they experienced together sort of… trauma bonded them to each other.”

Frankie nods in agreement, then hesitates, looking unsure. Joel knows from experience with his brother that military members aren’t often keen on sharing their vulnerabilities with others. He can’t imagine it’s any easier given he’s the husband of Frankie’s girlfriend. 

They both stop to admire a miniature train set in motion in the window of a toy store. After a few moments, Joel turns to Frankie.

“I know you’ve had your fair share of difficulties, but I want you to know that you only have to tell me what you want me to know,” Joel says softly. “I’m practically a stranger, so I’m not expectin’ you to divulge your deepest secrets to me. But know that whatever you say, I won’t be passin’ judgement.”

Frankie exhales a shaky breath, clearly relaxing at Joel’s reassurance. He begins to walk towards the house once again, Joel falling into step by his side.

“I had a rough go of things after our last mission,” Frankie murmurs. He grows quiet for a few breaths, concentrating his gaze on the pavement under his feet as they walk. “To straighten myself out, I moved back to LA. Despite everything I’d done and been through, my mom never wavered in her support of me. And after a while, my daughter and her mother also moved back so we could share custody again. So, family is really important to me, too.”

He takes a deep breath, looking over at Joel, whose eyes haven’t wavered from his. A sense of recognition hangs palpably in the air between them. Joel’s never held anything against anyone who’s struggled in their life, especially if they’ve proven they can turn things around. He saw it with Tommy, and he can see it in Frankie’s countenance clear as day.

“I’m glad to hear that,” the older man says simply, giving Frankie a small smile. Although they’d met less than 12 hours ago, Joel feels far more comfortable around him than he imagined he’d be.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

The incredible smells wafting from the kitchen wake you from your nap. Stretching your limbs, you climb out from under your sherpa blanket and pad to the kitchen. You smile softly, quietly taking in the scene before you. Joel is chopping green onions on the kitchen island while Frankie mixes broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots in olive oil, sprinkling in seasoning between tosses. Pearl Jam plays softly from the bluetooth speaker. 

“Whatever you’re making smells so good,” you purr at Joel, kissing his neck and peering over his shoulder.

Joel chuckles. “That’s all Frankie, baby,” he says, motioning towards your boyfriend with his chin. “He’s makin’ us his famous roast chicken.”

You squeal excitedly. “Oh my god, yay! It’s one of my favorite things he makes!” Hopping over to Frankie, you wrap your arms around his waist and mold your body to his back, peppering kisses across his broad shoulders. He sets the bowl of vegetables down, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face you. 

“Joel mentioned that you’ve talked about it ad-nauseum so he finally wanted to try it for himself,” Frankie explains, placing his hands on your waist. “And you’ve hyped up Joel’s cheesy garlic bread, so I figured it would be a fair trade.”

You beam at Frankie, thrilled that the two of them are seemingly getting along great. “Your signature dishes! This is awesome.”

“It’s pretty much all I can make besides grilled meat and breakfast food,” Joel laughs while he mixes the garlic bread spread.

You giggle, draping your arms around Frankie’s neck as you look at your husband. “You’re lucky I like cooking; our cholesterol levels would be through the roof if it was up to you to provide sustenance.”

“And I thank the heavens every day that you do, sweetness,” Joel demures, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he walks around you and Frankie to grab the cut baguette for the garlic bread.

You turn to Frankie and notice emotions fighting across his face - warmth, admiration, and hesitation. He’s been reserved with his displays of physical affection since arriving, despite his usual habit of almost always keeping his hands on you at any given moment. To reassure him, you pull him into you and kiss his lips softly. He hums quietly and returns the kiss. Pulling back, he cups the sides of your face and caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes gentle, earthy pools of devotion. 

Your heartbeat kicks up. Emotions flood your mind as memories of the road trip play in your mind, Frankie’s eyes searching yours while you breathe each other’s air. Words unspoken seem to thicken the space between the two of you. 

The nervousness about Frankie meeting Joel has faded throughout the day — he fit so well into your dynamic with Joel that it almost felt like he’d always been there. Now, the fluttering in your stomach has more to do with why. 

Your lips part, about to bring your feelings to the surface, but before you can, Frankie shifts slightly to gently smooch your forehead, then picks up the bowl of vegetables again. Your breath whooshes from your chest quietly, your lips pressing together. He turns his attention back to cooking and spreads the produce across a baking sheet. 

“Do you mind putting another log on the fire, honey?” Joel calls over to you, sliding the garlic bread into the top oven before Frankie places his tray of vegetables into the bottom oven with the chicken. 

“Yep!” you respond, padding back into the living room to toss more firewood into the flames. With both of your men engrossed once again in dinner prep, you meander to the couch. You sink into the cushions, biting your lip while your mind turns over where your blossoming feelings for Frankie might lead all three of you.

You want to ask Frankie if he feels it too: that pull of your heart to his, the tug that goes beyond just physical chemistry. The ease with which he slots into your life, this life with Joel. Does he feel like a puzzle piece has surfaced, one that he didn’t even know he was missing until it snapped into place?

And Joel. He’s always so good at reading people, so he has to have clocked your emotions, even if you’ve been denying them yourself. He’s okay with you sleeping with other people, and clearly he doesn’t take issue with you being affectionate towards Frankie in front of him. Nonetheless, he didn’t sign up for his wife falling for another man. The guilt settles like a film over the effervescent happiness of the day thus far. Joel is the ultimate giver to those he loves… but are you pushing him past his boundaries?

After your delicious dinner in the dining room, the three of you migrate back to the cozy couch, each nursing a finger of the Japanese whiskey, the complex swirls of subtle fruit, vanilla, and toffee dancing across your tongues. The meandering conversation shifts back to your (tried and failed) attempts at the Santa Cruz carousel ring toss. 

“See, baby, I told you that chuckin’ that ring won’t do you any good.”

You guffaw at your husband’s disapproval of your carousel ring toss strategy at the Santa Cruz boardwalk.  “Oh, I’m outnumbered? You actually agree with Frankie on this one?” 

“Yeah,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m glad someone else finally had the sense to tell you that just throwin’ the ring at the hole won’t do you any good.”

“Maybe if you quit clowning around and aimed, you’d actually make it in,” Frankie quips, and he and Joel dissolve into laughter at the cheesy pun.

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, I’ve created a monster. I can’t believe you both are so fluent in dad jokes. Clearly I’ve made a mistake bringing the two of you together.”

Joel chuckles, chuffing your chin with his finger and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Pffft, good try. I’ve known you long enough to know you love the cheese.” You roll your eyes again but can’t help a smile from gracing your lips.

You sit with your back leaning against Joel’s side, cradled by his strong bicep wrapping around your front. His fingers caress your shoulder and arm absentmindedly while the conversation shifts to Joel’s latest woodworking projects. Your feet sit in Frankie’s lap, his long, thick fingers massaging out a knot in your calf, head nodding and eyes on Joel as he listens and asks questions. Frankie’s been wanting to get into a new hobby that uses his hands, so he was excited when you told him that Joel is a lifelong wood crafter. 

Looking between Joel and Frankie, you can’t help but feel your body begin to buzz - and it’s only partially the whiskey talking. Here are your two favorite men in the world, finally together, both with you. It’s something you only allowed yourself to dream about in the dead of night, when Frankie had Isabella with him and Joel was wiped out from work. 

When you’d lay in your LA rental alone, body writhing under the sheets, thighs parted and fingertips slick with your arousal; swirling away at your center while fantasizing about your husband and your boyfriend taking turns with you, or even sharing you simultaneously. You’d bit the pillow to stifle your moans on more than one occasion as you came, dripping onto the sheets. Always assuming it was nothing more than wishful thinking, that Joel wouldn’t be keen on sharing you in person, that Frankie wouldn’t want to fuck you in front of your husband. That the three of you would never end up spending time together.

But now, it’s real. And you can’t wait a second longer to finally live your dream.

You try to be subtle at first: slipping your feet further up Frankie’s legs, shifting your body to press your breasts out more invitingly, and slowly letting your hand slide down Joel’s thigh. But Joel, if nothing else, is keenly observant, and he clocks your intentions immediately. 

His voice halts for a moment, and then a deep chuckle vibrates his chest. “Whatcha doin’ there, wanderin’ hands?” he teases you, grabbing your advancing hand gently. 

You feign innocence. “Oh, I’m not doing anything,” you blink up at him with big eyes, playing the part. “Just happy to have you two here with me.”

Joel huffs and gives you a soft sideways smile, his dimple popping at your games. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles sweetly. “Don’t you dare try to use the same tricks on me that you did 10 years ago. Naughty thing.”

His large hand shifts from your shoulder to your neck, clasping the breadth of it gently: not enough to restrict your blood flow, but enough to let you know he wants to call the shots tonight. Despite that, the action pulls a whine from your throat and makes you just as dizzy with need. Frankie swallows hard at the sight before him.

“Do you want us?” Joel asks.

“Yes, Joel,” you nearly whimper.

“Now tell me, sweetness,” Joel continues, leaning forward to murmur in your ear, “what d’ya want? Do you want us to take our time? Lay you out on the bed and take you apart piece by piece?” He presses a kiss to your jaw, sending shivers down your neck. “Or do you want us to ruin you right here, fuck you on these cushions until you’re screamin’ our names?”

The combination of absolute filth pouring from Joel’s mouth and his hand encasing your throat sets your body on fire and triggers slick to pool in your panties. You glance down at Frankie’s lap and see how hard he’s become in seconds. His pupils are blown, eyes obsidian pits of desire. There’s a part of you that wants them to take you immediately, but you know you want your first time with the two of them to be unhurried.

“Bedroom, Joel,” you breathe. “I want to make this last.”

Joel lets out a satisfied growl. “Good girl, telling us what you want. Do you want Frankie to kiss you?” Frankie’s breathing gets heavier as Joel releases his hand from you and nuzzles your cheek.

“Yes, god, please,” you whimper. Frankie places one of your feet on the ground carefully and spreads your legs so he can crawl on top of you, kneeling at the base of your thighs. After taking off his hat, he glances up and makes eye contact with Joel, who gives the slightest nod. It’s not lost on you how close the three of you are, breathing the same air, panting with need.

You pull Frankie to your lips, hands framing his face just as he cups the base of your skull with his palm. The moment your lips touch, both of you let out stifled moans, and you melt when you feel Joel’s arm wrap tighter around you. His big paw slides over your torso to cup your breast through your flannel - his flannel - and your tank top, thumb teasing your nipple into a hard peak. 

You and Frankie continue to deepen the kiss, the arousal growing between all three of you. One of your hands glides over your husband’s meaty thigh to palm at his quickly-hardening cock. The other winds its way into your boyfriend’s silken curls, pulling lightly and eliciting a hiss from him.

He bites your lower lip and grabs your hip, grinding his length against your jeans-covered center. “Fuck, nenita,” he groans. All you can do is whine his name in response.

“Let’s take her upstairs,” Joel directs, sucking a quick hickey into your neck that makes you gasp. Frankie nods and wraps your legs around his waist while you continue to pepper kisses across his face and neck. Both men ascend the stairs towards the main bedroom with you in tow.

Once you step foot in the bedroom, Frankie sets you onto your feet and immediately starts kissing you again, licking into your mouth when you gasp. His hands slide down to cup your ass through your jeans. You open your eyes briefly to look for your husband, who’s leaned against the door frame, arms folded casually, as if this is just another Friday evening. 

Frankie bites your lip, eliciting yet another gasp from your mouth, while Joel stalks towards the two of you. He slides behind you, grabbing Frankie’s hips to pull the both of you into him, and grinds his thick erection against the swell of your backside. Frankie jumps a bit, surprised, but groans lowly in his throat. Moaning, you reach your hand back blindly to guide Joel’s head towards your neck. He chuckles, knowing exactly what you want, and sucks another love mark into the soft skin there.

You feel intoxicated, on another planet, ceasing to exist in the bounds of time and space. Just floating, a vibrating being made only of raw desire for the two men surrounding you.

“Help me get her clothes off,” rasps Joel, and the two of them work in tandem to strip you of the offending garments. Four hands pull cloth away, stroke your hot, exposed skin, glide along your curves, making you sing the sweetest song of sighs, whines, and whimpers. You break your kiss with Frankie when he looks down to pop the button to your jeans, and turn your head to the side to pull your husband’s mouth to yours, noticing the infinitesimal difference between the taste of him and the way Frankie tastes. Joel growls into you, sliding his tongue along your teeth, and you swear your legs are going to turn to jelly. Joel’s leather & spice scent intertwines with Frankie’s rosemary and cedar aroma, combining into the perfect addictive cocktail.

All you can see, smell, taste, touch, feel, is them. Your men.

Once you’re stripped bare, you look between the two of them. “Please,” you beg, and the two men nod, starting to hastily shed their own clothing. You climb onto the bed, the olive washed-linen bedding soft against your heated body. Spreading your thighs, you slip your fingers around your drenched folds, body humming with need. A needy whine escapes your lips, and Joel looks up from dropping his jeans to his ankles.

“Uh-uh, darlin’,” he tuts. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself.” You withdraw your fingers but pout. Frankie smirks at your display of frustration while he whips his t-shirt off, baring his golden chest.

“Listen to Joel if you want to get your rewards,” Frankie reminds you. You part your thighs wider for him, hoping to entice him into breaking. He groans at the sight, his eyes becoming glassy. “You’re playing dirty,” he grouses.

Joel, now completely bare, looks over to see you laying your trap for Frankie. He shakes his head. “Naughty girls don’t get their sweet little cunts licked,” Joel singsongs at you.

He grabs you gently by the throat. “Listen very carefully if you want to come tonight.” You nod, your body flaring with desire at Joel’s dominance as you give him your full attention. “I’m going to sit against this headboard, and you are going to sit right between my legs, with your back to me. I’m going to spread your pretty thighs for Frankie and he’s going to eat you out until you come for us. Understood?”

You nod rapidly. “Words, sweetness,” Joel reminds you.

“Yes, Joel,” you barely manage to squeak out. Joel murmurs approvingly, and slides himself behind you. Bracketed on either side by his strong thighs, you’ve never felt more safe.

Once the both of you are settled in position, Joel leans towards you again. “What’s our safeword?”

“Persimmon,” you and Frankie say in unison. 

Joel looks up at Frankie, slightly surprised, a devious smile curling his lips. “Such a good girl, explaining our rules to Frankie,” he purrs into your ear, and you preen at the praise. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his gaze flick momentarily to Frankie’s naked body and hard cock bobbing proudly, and you feel his breath catch in his chest.

“If things are getting to be too much for either of you, we can slow down or stop,” he reminds both of you. With that, Joel grips your thighs with huge hands. 

“Frankie,” Joel commands gently. “Come suck on her pretty little pearl.”

Frankie’s smirk deepens, and he slinks onto the foot of the bed, crawling on hands and knees towards the two of you. You drape each of your legs over Joel’s thighs, and he uses his hands to angle you open even further. Frankie’s eyes shift between your shining center and your flushed face as he lays himself between your thighs. You feel entirely exposed, on display. 

Frankie licks his lips, and you let out an anticipatory whimper. 

“You’re desperate to taste her, aren’t you?” Joel prompts Frankie. You see your boyfriend’s dark eyes meet your husband’s deep amber ones, so similar.

“Been thinking about it all day,” Frankie admits, slowly dragging his lips and tongue from the inside of your knee to the junction of your thigh. “Driving me crazy with those tight jeans of hers.” Shivers erupt across your skin, your breathing harsh from their teasing. 

“Those are my favorite pair of her jeans,” Joel agrees. “They cup her ass so nicely.” Frankie hums, biting your thigh gently and then soothing the pinch with his tongue. You keen quietly and arch your back.

“Look at how wet she is for us,” Frankie notes with adoration, teasing the outside of your slick folds with the pads of his fingers, watching how your pussy clenches on nothing. He chuckles, then swipes his digits through your arousal and brings them to your lips. 

“Taste yourself, nenita,” he husks, and you comply, sucking his fingertips into your mouth and swirling your tongue around them. Your own sweet tang coats your mouth. He groans, grinding into the mattress, and then Joel is grabbing your chin to kiss you. Your lips part with a sigh, and Joel massages your tongue with his own, tasting your flavor for himself. His chest vibrates against your back with his growl of satisfaction. 

Frankie’s hands grip your thighs as he watches the exchange. “She always tastes so damn good,” he hums, kissing your cunt with a smack. 

Joel parts from your lips and nods. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever eaten.”

You squirm and moan, making Frankie chuckle again. “Is there something you want?”

“Does our girl need to come?” Joel croons, running his hands along the inside of your thighs. 

Nodding your head rapidly, you beg, “Please, Frankie.” You see Frankie’s lip curl into a smirk, and then he licks a broad stripe up the length of your cunt. A high-pitched whine escapes your mouth as you throw your head back against Joel’s sturdy shoulder.

“That’s right, let Frankie know how good his mouth feels,” Joel coaxes you, and Frankie starts eating your pussy with vigor. He keeps his hands on your thighs, opening you wide for your boyfriend, who’s latched onto your swollen clit and is suckling it gently while he strokes your inner walls with two fingers. 

“You’re making me feel so good, baby,” you gasp, looking between your legs at Frankie coaxing your body into pleasure. Joel’s hands briefly squeeze your thighs harder at your words. His cock presses thick and firm against your lower back, aroused at watching another man bringing you pleasure. One of your hands reaches back to grip Joel’s arm, while the other tangles in Frankie’s soft curls, keeping him locked onto your core. Finally being held by the both of them at the same time makes your head spin.

Your orgasm gathers in your bones, your breaths coming in pants as your legs start to shake. Joel slides his right hand from your thigh up your torso to your breast, flicking your nipple with his thumb until it pebbles, causing you to gasp.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan to your husband, your boyfriend doubling down on your ministrations to your folds.

Suddenly, Joel booms, “Stop, Frankie.”

The younger man immediately parts from your center and looks at your husband, eyes flashing with surprise and another, more feral emotion. You whine loudly, your orgasm beginning to fade.

“Joel,” you beg, both a question and a plea. He smirks against your neck.

“Did you ever notice how when you deny her orgasm, her whole chest and neck flushes hot?” Joel asks Frankie, almost as if you aren’t there. Your cunt pulses, desperate.

“N-No, actually,” Frankie stammers slightly, pupils blown as he looks at your naked body, a shimmer of sweat coating your skin like dew. “I… never actually deny her an orgasm.” His eyes move back to Joel, desperation tinging the periphery. “I just want to make her come, over and over again.”

Your chest heaves, dizzy with need. Fuck, this is so debauched and hot.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “Ahh, how sweet, always giving our girl what she wants,” Joel purrs. “It’s a good thing you follow directions like a good boy.” You swear you hear a moan that Frankie barely swallows. 

“Kiss her,” Joel orders Frankie, and Frankie audibly groans this time before he crawls up your body to capture your lips with passion, making you gasp. He licks into your mouth, claiming you with visceral, searing intent. You whimper against him; tasting yourself on his tongue drives you mad. As you and Frankie continue to feed off each other, Joel sucks hot, wet kisses against your throat. You keen and press yourself into Joel harder, grinding your ass against his throbbing cock. He growls a bit, thrusting his hips lightly.

“Joel, please,” you beg in between kisses with Frankie.

“Tell me what you need, darlin’,” your husband coos.

You pull away from Frankie and take a steadying breath. “I need… more. I want to be filled up.”

Joel groans at your words, biting down at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, making you whine.  “Fuck, such a needy little thing aren’t you?” 

An impatient whine escapes your lips, and this time it’s Frankie chuckling. “Tired of my mouth on you, baby?”

“Never, Frankie,” you rasp. “I could never get enough of you.” Frankie kisses you deeply again; your fingers intertwine with his curly locks as your heart flutters. Breaking the kiss, you admit, “I want to feel both of you at the same time.”

He fucking whimpers at your request. Joel smiles wickedly into your shoulder. 

“Well go on, then, sweetheart,” Joel rumbles. You lift your hips just enough for Joel to line himself up and sink into you. Both of you moan simultaneously as he fits himself snugly inside of your pussy. Pleasure sings in your veins, making you arch your back when he bottoms out.

Joel licks a line from the base of your neck upwards. “Feel better?” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, biting your earlobe. You gasp wordlessly, your core clenching on his thick length, making him groan in response. “Fuck… I’d say that’s a yes.”

Frankie sits back on his heels, taking in the sinful sight before him: Joel’s thick thighs holding you up; your soft legs spread open for him; pussy split open lewdly on Joel’s cock; your slick and cream gleaming at his base. His dick jumps, his eyes trained on where the two of you are joined.

In a potent haze of arousal, you start to grind on Joel, seeking any ounce of friction to quell the fire in your core, but he seizes your hips with his large paws, halting any movement. You cry out in confusion and need.

Joel snickers, amused. “Not so fast. I didn’t tell ya to move, did I?” You close your eyes in sweet frustration, your head tipping back against Joel’s broad shoulders as you shake your head.

“I’m gonna give you what you need, sweetness,” your husband promises you, then turns to Frankie.

“Francisco,” Joel commands. Your boyfriend snaps his head from looking between your legs to staring right into Joel’s eyes. His breathing picks up, a weighted thrill cascading down his spine from hearing his full name straight from Joel’s lips.

“Give our girl what she wants. Suck on her clit until she comes. And if she moves, don’t you dare give her your mouth. Understood?” 

Frankie nods, his lips parted and soulful brown eyes full of desire. I’m so fucked, you realize in that moment. 

Your boyfriend lays between your and Joel’s legs once again, subtly grinding into the mattress. He locks eyes with you, hovering over your throbbing clit, and blows cool air across it, making you twitch desperately as you will yourself to stay still, your velvet walls squeezing around Joel.

“Good girl,” your husband growls gently, kneading your hips reassuringly. Frankie props himself up on his elbows, then brings his thumb to your clit, gently pulling back on the hood to fully expose it. Swollen, flushed with heat, and shining with your arousal, Frankie can’t get enough of the sight. 

“So beautiful, querida,” Frankie whispers reverently, then his mouth closes around your bud and sucks.

Restricted in your movements and trying to follow Joel’s directions, the flare of pleasure you experience is released by your body as a long, low moan. Frankie groans at your taste and sounds, his tongue swirling over your pearl in a precise pattern, and with the exquisite stretch of Joel’s cock against your walls, your nerves feel like they’re on fire. Your orgasm once again begins to build, slick slowly drenching Joel, his length swelling harder inside of you with every minute that passes. 

“Frankie,” you beg, “I want to come so badly. You’re making me feel so good.” His eyes flash to yours.

It’s like a switch flips in Frankie, and suddenly, your sweet boyfriend turns into a menace.

“Aww, pobrecita,” Frankie mocks lovingly, pressing a kiss to your clit. “A fat cock filling you up and my tongue playing with your little clit isn’t enough for you? So demanding for someone who has to be allowed to come.”

You gasp at Frankie’s words, not used to him being such a tease, but Joel’s dark laugh only eggs him on. Determined to pull out all the stops, Frankie flattens his tongue and traces the length of one side of your pussy, accidentally brushing right against Joel’s shaft in the process.

Your husband lets out a surprised moan and his cock throbs. His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

“Joel?” Frankie asks, eyes wide, a dozen questions conveyed in a single look.

You turn to Joel, conflicting emotions flickering across his face: yearning, confusion, vulnerability; but glazed over it all is a powerful desire. Joel’s never shown interest in other men, you remember. You and Frankie hold your breath.

One of Joel’s calloused hands tentatively moves from your thigh to tangle in Frankie’s hair, cupping his skull. You feel Frankie’s shoulders shudder. The two men’s eyes lock.

Joel gives Frankie a small nod.

You feel the relief and excitement wash over Frankie’s figure in waves. “The safeword applies for you, too,” Frankie reminds Joel gently, and Joel nods again. The three of you breathe for a moment, on the verge of exploring uncharted territory. 

And then, Francisco Morales begins to simultaneously, single-handedly, take you and Joel apart.

Frankie slides both arms under your and Joel’s legs, his hands coming up to grip the sides of Joel’s thighs from beneath to anchor him to the both of you. Joel’s cock twitches inside of you the second Frankie’s fingers brush his skin. He looks down at Frankie, his lips parted in awe, eyes dark with desire. Frankie holds Joel’s gaze as he gently licks the base of Joel’s shaft. 

Soft moans crawl their way out of your husband’s throat, his grip on your thigh tightening even more as his other hand explores Frankie’s curls. Frankie laps at it again, this time dragging his tongue further up and onto your pussy lips, swirling around your clit again. You and Joel both moan sequentially, the sweetest sounds that Frankie’s ever heard in his life. His senses are flooded with your and Joel’s essences.

He continues licking Joel’s cock and your pussy, and slowly, your husband’s resolve begins to crumble. The wet, sloppy kisses Frankie laps across the two of you leave Joel panting for more, and he struggles to remain still inside of you. Meanwhile, your head is reeling - your boyfriend is licking your husband’s dick, and he’s enjoying it. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this happening – and now, you can’t see, hear, feel anything but that.

“Frankie,” you whine, “please let me move.”

He peeks his head up from between your legs, where he’s been dutifully preoccupied. His lips shine with your arousal, and when he parts from your body, Joel groans in protest as well. Frankie smiles smugly, looking up at the two of you. “Do you think she deserves to come?” he asks your husband. 

Joel’s chest heaves against your back. “Yes,” he grits out, his voice sounding raw. “She’s been so good for us.”

Frankie looks at you diabolically, his smile nearly predatory. “Look at that, nenita. Guess Joel is gonna reward you after all.”

Joel slides his hands from your thigh and Frankie’s head up your torso to cup your breasts gently, squeezing the heft of them and working his thumbs over your nipples. You keen, and he pulls your hair to the side to brush his lips over your neck. Shivers erupt across your skin.

“Go on, darlin’,” Joel encourages. “Let Frankie see how well you ride my cock.”

You groan in relief, and shift your legs to plant your shins against the bed. Rising up, you keep your eyes on Frankie while you slip Joel’s cock almost all the way out, and then swirl your hips as you slowly sink back down. Both men moan in unison; Joel closing his eyes and throwing his head back against the headboard, and Frankie with his gaze flitting between your face and the show between your legs. 

“You look so good stuffed with Joel,” Frankie purrs, his face inches from where your most intimate parts slide together. You seat yourself further onto Joel. His fat tip kisses your cervix, teasing the nerve endings there, then he slips into just the right corner deep in you that only he and Frankie have ever found. Your loud gasp tells the men everything they need to know.

“Right there?” Joel asks rhetorically when you start to rock against it, your breath speeding up. You nod your head rapidly, mewling with pleasure. He thrusts up, meeting you with each movement.

Frankie takes that as his cue to latch back onto your puffy clit, and a hoarse whine rips from your throat. He moans in response. The vibrations from his voice pull you closer to your peak, your hips working against both Joel’s cock and Frankie’s mouth.

Moans, gasps, and whimpers fill the air. A thick fog of hedonistic energy crackles between the three of you. Every cell of your body is vibrating with pleasure. Your hand finds Joel’s own, tangled in Frankie’s hair, and your fingers intertwine, fully under the spell of the man bringing the both of you to the brink. Beneath you, you feel Joel’s thighs begin to shake, his thrusting becoming erratic. He’s right at the cusp of his orgasm.

“Frankie,” Joel groans, “Make our girl come.”

Frankie doesn’t need anything else. He swirls tiny, precise, fast circles against your throbbing pearl with his tongue, and between Joel’s cock and Frankie’s mouth, you shatter.

Spasms wrack your pussy as you squeal your two lovers’ names in succession, and both men curse. Below your thighs, you feel Frankie’s hand move to cup and massage Joel’s heavy sack, then he’s licking at Joel’s length desperately. 

“Come for us, Joel,” Frankie begs. You swear you feel Joel stop breathing.

In the wake of the moment of stillness, Joel’s cock erupts inside you, his hot seed painting your cunt. A strangled cry shoots from his lips, and his hand crushes against Frankie’s skull and your fingers. His entire body shakes, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt your husband fall apart so thoroughly.

Frankie, drunk on your dual orgasms, laps ferociously between your thighs, drinking up the combined nectar of your and Joel’s cum. The minute the both of you begin to relax, Frankie surges up, kissing you deeply. He feeds your and Joel’s essence to you with his tongue.

You’re in an absolute haze of ecstasy.

“Please, sweetness, I need to fuck you,” Frankie pleads, his body shivering with need. You lean forward, sliding off Joel’s cock, and let Frankie shift you until you’re perpendicular to your husband, draped across the middle of the bed on your back. Your boyfriend gets off of the mattress and stalks to the side where your feet lay, then pulls you towards him by your ankles until your hips are nearly dangling off the edge. His hard cock bobs angrily, the tip glistening with precum. 

“Let me see you,” he whispers, spreading your thighs open. Your pussy is obscenely glazed with Joel’s cum, his milky spend clinging to every fold and curve between your legs. Frankie lets out a pained moan, and your breath hitches in response. 

“Goddamn,” Frankie murmurs devotedly. “You’re a goddess.” He guides his cockhead through your silky folds, both of you moaning at the slipperiness. Your head lolls to the side. Joel watches you with tired but desirous eyes, clearly enjoying Frankie taking his turn. His softened cock lays across his thick thigh, the last of his cum dripping from the tip.

“Frankie, please,” you whine, spreading yourself even wider, your cunt fluttering in anticipation. Frankie groans, then shifts forward, spearing his hardness into you in one long thrust.

The sensation makes you keen, your back bowing off the bed sheets. Frankie secures your parted thighs with a large hand clamping down on each, and he moans unabashedly at the sight of his cock spreading your walls, some of Joel’s cum seeping out. Sinfully slick heat envelops his length, and it takes everything in him not to come on the spot. 

“You’re still so tight, amorcita,” Frankie grits out, “still taking me so well.” He pistons in and out of your wrecked pussy, his thickness slicked up in your and Joel’s releases. Wet squelches from your pussy float through the air, dancing around your whines and Frankie’s grunts of pleasure. 

It’s sensorially obscene in the most delicious way.

Waves of bliss wash across your body as Frankie drives you further towards your second orgasm. Sweat shines across his strong body; it clings like dewdrops to his forehead, his dark curls sticking to his skin here and there. You grasp his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality while he kisses that devastating spot within you with his cock. Unable to resist, you snake your fingers down towards your clit, starting to swirl and press exactly how you like it. A whine breaks free from his lips when he feels you start to tighten around him.

“Nenita,” Frankie cries out, his cock swelling even harder. “You feel so damn good.” He pauses to catch his breath for a moment, then gently moves your hands to your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he swipes his thumb over your throbbing pearl. Your moan hitches in rapturous pleasure. With Frankie fully in control of your body, you surrender to his ministrations, eyes sweeping across the sight of him driving himself deep inside you. 

The bed shifts beside you, and you feel Joel pressing kisses over your heated skin. “You look so beautiful taking Frankie’s cock,” he murmurs. Your mind buzzes with warmth at his husky baritone, his lips leaving tingling trails in their wake across your forehead and neck. His calloused fingertips trace circles around your pebbled nipples, pinching and soothing repeatedly to enhance your pleasure. 

Looking up at your husband, you whisper, “Kiss me.” Joel obliges, kissing you deeply, sliding his tongue along yours, your lips and tongues dancing as Frankie continues to cause your orgasm to rise further in your limbs with every thrust. 

It’s even more perfect than you could have imagined.

Frankie moves your legs to rest upright along his torso, ankles on his shoulders, and the new angle has you breaking your kiss with Joel with a high-pitched whine. “Oh fuck, Francisco, right there,” you practically sob. Frankie leans his body into you a bit more, burying himself to the hilt each time, and Joel reaches over to rub your clit. 

Having both men focused on bringing you to climax is a heady potion. Your thighs start to shake and every breath turns into a reedy cry. “Joel… Francisco… fuck!” you moan, tightening around Frankie’s girth, his thrusts beginning to speed up as he approaches his own orgasm. “You’re gonna make me come!”

“Then come for us, sweetheart,” Joel husks, and it’s enough to have you clamping down on Frankie’s cock, finally shattering with a scream. 

Your cunt floods with slick, and when he withdraws slightly, you gush, splashing Joel’s hand, your thighs, Frankie’s cock and belly, and the bed. Frankie grits out a loud moan as he slams home, each thrust making you gush more, until he reaches his peak. He whimpers your name loudly as he buries himself a final time and unloads his spend into your pussy, his cum mixing with Joel’s inside of you, filling you to the brim. As your twin releases wane, Frankie carefully pulls out, collapsing at the end of the bed beside you, the both of you breathing hard. 

“Good girl, darlin’,” soothes Joel, kissing your neck. Tears from the intensity of your peak roll down your hot cheeks. Your senses are pleasurably muted, brain fuzzy in the afterglow. Frankie rolls towards you at the same time Joel slots himself right next to you. Laying a hand on each of their bodies, you try to ground yourself as you come back to Earth. The thick musk of sex permeates the air; all three of you breathe heavily, blanketed with endorphins. Frankie and Joel both affectionately stroke your body, their touches soothing instead of arousing. You take turns kissing each man; your mouths move slowly against each other, soaking in the intimacy.

You knew your first time together would be hot, but you didn’t predict it would feel damn near magical.

After a few minutes, Joel sits up, stretching. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up in the shower, and I’ll change the sheets?” You nod, and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then gives Frankie’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. The two men hold each other’s gazes for a moment, fondness and shyness battling in their eyes, then Frankie pats your thigh.

“C’mon, bebita, let’s get you clean,” Frankie encourages you, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. He offers his hand to you and you accept the help, wiggling almost bonelessly off of the bed. Giggles bubble up your throat when you have to stem the warm flow of their seed from between your thighs with your fingers. Joel smacks your ass gently as you pass, eliciting more of your laughter as you and Frankie enter the bathroom. 

You watch your boyfriend set up the dual-head shower, perching yourself on the marble countertop across the room. Your hand is still pressed to your center, but when Frankie’s done adjusting the water temperature, he spins around, getting to his knees in front of your spread thighs. 

“Let me see,” he asks softly. You remove your fingers, letting the mixture of their warm cum seep from you like honeyed nectar. Frankie hums approvingly, then delicately laps at your folds and inner thighs to clean you up with his mouth. You run your dry hand through his curls, sighing happily, licking the taste of the three of you off the fingers of your other hand. Frankie looks up, and instantly captures your lips with his, radiantly smiling against your mouth.

The bliss, the peace, the happiness… you feel three little words rising in your throat. And you don’t know how much longer you can hold them off. 

Or, at this point, if you even want to.

Have thoughts/thots, feelings, SCREAMS, asks? My inbox is open! 💌

Tag list: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @sin-djarin @nerdieforpedro @almostfoxglove

@mermaidgirl30 @perotovar @penvisions @guiltyasdave @legendary-pink-dot

@arcanefox207 @qveerthe0ry @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @jessthebaker @toshatoshalopez 

@almostempty @cuppajoel @pastawench @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @kungfucapslock

@flyingthroughheaven @theoraekenslover @indiegirlunited @pedrospurplerain @campingwiththecharmings

@joelmillerisapunk @pedroswife69 @merz-8

@whocaresstillthelouvre @aurorawritestoescape @joelstummy @pedropeach @oliveksmoked

@yxtkiwiyxt @ccmoonshine @swankyorange @pimosworld @jokesonthem

@chippedowlmug @itwasnttimethatdidit40 @puddles221b @whumpsquill @joel-ssweetpea

@littleredpandanaps @alinacecee @mimitob @lumpycatavenue @asobeeee

@musings-of-a-rose @the-ginger-hedge-witch

If you'd like to be taken off of the taglist, no problem, just let me know! :)

[sillylittlecharacters]

Isabeau, Siffrin and Mirabelle are very fun to consider in relation to each other because they're all characters who have - for different reasons and to different extents - crafted their identity for the benefit of others.

Warning: Spoilers and gratuitous theatrical metaphors below! They're light (the spoilers, not the theater imagery), but this analysis is really only for those who've finished the game.

Siffrin and Isabeau play the roles of the Funny-Jokes-Person and Team Himbo respectively - the comic relief duo, needed to keep the journey's tone light and moral high. This 'Act' is genuinely part of their personalities, but - and this is made clear in the Loops for Siffrin - they both rely on it to avoid expressing their genuine thoughts or feelings. I mean, there's a reason why it took until the DAY BEFORE THEY FOUGHT THE KING for Siffrin and Isabeau to have an 'important conversation' - these two are professionals, after all, and nothing less than a country ending catastrophe would make them break character. The difference between their performances is why they made those characters for themselves in the first place. Isabeau crafted his personality actively, to make himself as different as possible from the person he used to be. On the other hand, Siffrin, like Mirabelle, accidentally, or passively stepped into his role. (more on that in a moment)

Ah, how could we forget Mirabelle? Now, the nature of Mira's 'Act' is slightly different from our dynamic duo, as it's less to do with her personality and more to do with her status as a Saviour. Or more specifically, as the Change God's Chosen One. It's a lie she maintains, a part she plays, to give hope to the people of Vauguarde, but it wasn't one she chose. It was an accident that she was blessed, an accident that people assumed it was the Change God who did it. She's similar to Siffrin in this way: His performance is also based on how other people perceive him, only the 'other people' in his case is the party. Before Siffrin met them, he was effectively a blank slate, and he used the parties' expectations and reactions to his actions to build an identity. Take this dialogue from Act 4, fittingly found in Isa's friendship quest:

(That you didn't know how to describe yourself, you didn't know who you even were, until you said a bad pun once and he laughed so hard you thought he was going to pass out.)

Neither of them were looking for the role, but they both got type cast.

And in terms of the beauty alliance? Their biggest similarity is that they're both unsatisfied with their roles. Mirabelle hates being treated like the hero: hates the attention; the free gifts she feels like she doesn't deserve; the weight of the entire country's hopes and dreams she feels unable to carry. And Isabeau says that he hates being treated like he's stupid, hates that people assume he's brainless just because of his friendly demeanor. But they feel unable to step out of their roles, because that's what everyone needs from them, right?

(I guess this last point technically applies to Siffrin too, but that's after the Loops. Before they start, it seems like he's more than comfortable and even enjoys his role. It makes sense that he'd enjoy the feeling of having a concrete identity when he's so used to vague emptiness that comes with no memory.)

It's so fun ~!

[sgiandubh]

When Cait married Tony she said they would honeymoon in Italy when it, meaning OL, was over. Good way to get it paid for by OL related appearance next March. Too bad she has to put up with Sam for a couple of hours. Sam, who said many times how he hated S2 costumes and was teased much by Meril, because he didn't like the feminine look. Too much like his true nature. He will certainly bring one of his prostitutes over past 3 years, Ashley being the latest, if her unnecessary week in UK last week for for anything else. 4 trips to Scotland for her in a year. It's clear which business she's really in.

Dear Business She Is Really In Anon,

I think you should be ashamed of yourself, for writing plain libel with no other arguments than your own twisted, bitter and irrelevant world view. If you consider that Ashley Hearn is a prostitute, just because she traveled four times to Scotland since late May 2024, then you are nothing more than a sad, sad troll, who thinks thousands of other women who happen to work in the marketing and sales sectors, all over the world, are also whores, right? You know very well all her trips have been more than thoroughly documented and you also know they did have a tangible impact, as far as that company is concerned. You should also get your fucking timeline straight before you treat us to your word vomit, because even the hatred you gratuitously spread around must have, technically speaking, at least some modicum of plausibility. She did not start to work for SS one year ago, punk: she started to work for them on May 21st 2024, which is exactly six months.

When C married McGill there is no way for you to tell what she said. You weren't there, you are a damn Social Zero and you just rely on word-of-mouth and ridiculously contradictory press releases and interviews. A honeymoon takes a week-end perhaps only in your shanty town and making the ball's organizers 'pay for it' is beyond ridiculous, including as far as C herself might be concerned (what is she, a cheap profiteer?) - supposing that 'relationship' would be anything more than a mutually convenient arrangement of sorts, of course. Sorry, but not the case.

Yeah, too bad she had to put up with S, against all odds, for eleven years, now. This is what really wrecks your pea brain, right? That, and being proven wrong and embarrassingly dumb, over and over again.

For your next endeavor, I suggest you'd turn your attention to your homeland telenovelas (you misspelled Maril Davis' name like a Brazilian and that is a dead giveaway).

Talvez Escrava Isaura seja uma substituição decente e mais acess��vel? Há reviravoltas baratas (gaslighting, veneno, delírio) o suficiente para mantê-la ocupada por um bom tempo.

You may wonder why I still answer your tragically ridiculous comments? Well, because it is time for someone to shame you and also show the true, dull and derisory colors of your stupid monomania.

[Later edit]: in no way did I want to imply anything negative about Brazil or its culture. I could have definitely better used one of the bajillion other Globo productions, dealing with Carioca intrigue and/or football wives. If I haven't, it is just because Escrava Isaura was a huge international success even in the Nineties, and remembered as such by many. While I am sensitive to the social and political inacceptable problem of slavery, I maintain that the 1976 adaptation of Guimarães's novel is simplistic and formulaic enough, hence more appropriate for Anon. I am sorry if my poor joke was construed differently and I apologize to all the people who might be offended. If you know me, you'd also know I am probably the last person to disrespect your country and culture.

[un-pearable]

internally: decent movie. more tolerable than the previous for most parts. rewatchable. FINALLY has a soundtrack that sounds like sonic and DOESNT have gratuitous plot-irrelevant human scenes. sonic gets to do sonic stuff!!!!! characterization makes sense given previous movies and (very slightly) nudges him towards something potentially interesting. not inventive AT ALL (missing everything intriguing about SA2) but could be worse

externally: while some lore omissions make sense given the world established by the previous films, those choices are boring and others they make are completely baffling changes. rouge omission harms the whole thing. i dislike the entire direction they’ve taken with their sonic characterization and the themes and they fundamentally miss key traits for everyone involved . why did we do this. what was the point

it’s fun. more consistently enjoyable than the previous but that’s mostly bc the scenes that bothered me with the aggressive Carryness had tails in them so i could just watch him be cute.

lore change to make him another mystery alien is annoying but frustratingly makes sense given the context. i’m not torn up over it <- don’t care about shadow and didn’t expect much going in . the missing part of maria’s story is ridiculous though (why is she just there??????)

i love herrrr i love her 70s energy and outfits and i will incorporate the roller skates. its soooo cute . the godzilla movie with the biolizard is pretty funny but that’ll totally piss off diehards. i do think they do good job of showing shadow + maria as friends and why he cares so much about her but that’s mainly just the scope of a film vs a video game

COWARDS THOUGH . SAYING “THEYRE CHILDREN” ON SCREEN TO INTERRUPT A SHOT-FOR-SHOT RECREATION OF HER DEATH??? THATS THE POINT. SHES A CHILD. ITS A TRAGEDYY

the shots directly from the shadow 2005 intro…. unbelievable . hilarious

akira bike slide ON VERTICAL BUILDING is cool i’m here for it

low budget flight and actual sonic-esque music…. i accept my crumbs

knuckles is lame. literally stolen joke from sonic boom w the team knuckles stuff. i wanted him to fight sonic over the ME so bad

the wade reveal is physically painful like i knew it happened in the show but he sucks sucks and right after the only satisfying scene w the humans (shadow fuckin up tom) . ME you deserve betterrrrr

torn on the overall message. i think it’s a more coherent film than the last two and the message isn’t terrible - it aligns with sonic’s overall freedom and choice vibes. but having shadow be a tag along to eggman’s schemes is a weird choice given he was pretty explicitly the one who wanted to . yknow. blow up the earth in the first place and just gave eggman the tools in SA2. this version takes a lot of agency out of his story bc gerald is here. which is weird since the whole explicit theme is choices!!

fucking gerald. can i kill someone. mr carrey i hate him

extremely dragon ball combat. which is fine but unexciting . WHERE the fuck did the emeralds go at the end they just??? gone??? they detransform and (incorrectly) sonic falls out of super and shadow dies but the emeralds flat out do not appear in the film again after they initially transform . what happened

FINALLY giving us a heart to heart AND live and learn for the fight ONLY TO CUT AWAY TO TWO MINUTES OF CARREY SHENANIGANS. illegal . egregious. im glad he’s dead

the shift from sonic having to inspire shadow to be better and move onto his past to . shadow pulling a ‘you’re just like me’ is lame. hello again scourge .

like it’s a logical change especially given the target audience and the kind of stories that are popular rn but it’s sooo less interesting than SA2’s thing

shadow being confronted by sonic bc he challenges his belief of being exceptional and makes him reconsider what it’s possible to be -> shadow being sonic’s narrative parallel bc they both had one (1) human they liked who they would do anything for

^^^ it’s bad. not unwatchable like sonic 1 but bad change. makes sense for this established universe tho so i get it

tails is great . colleen should be paid more

WAIT THINKING ABOUT LIVE & LEARN AGAIN. I CANT FUCKIN BELIEVE IT at least they had the music still playing when they cut back to the fight scene but that bullshit w the egged men. torture

yay shadow dead!!!!! no that final endcredit didn’t happen

the moon shot was cool. sadly now sonadow fans will claim the moon <- IT WAS SONKNUX TERRITORY FIRST

rouge would have made this film 1000000000% better

why so many metal sonic???????? hi amy

at least she’s cute i’ve seen so many bad edits since 2020 at least she’s cute. i’m intrigued w the cloak choice what’s going on here. just to hide the outfit so they can change it? reference? hmm

fascinating implication for whatever 4 is going to be. in my heart carreybotnik stays dead and we get a pseudo heroes where metal is pretending to be him. but alas i fear the family focus for eggman in this film is leading up to. him making metal sonic and treating him as his kid. which could be fucked up in fun ways but i’m so tired of carreyisms

they did say 2027 though which is an extra year than the last two got…. what are you budgeting guys

why oh why is shadow consistently the only character who gets any emotional arcs or storytelling it taunts me…. can’t even hate the guy bc he’s the only one with interesting stories . this story sucks and it’s still better than what knux got . orz

sayonara shadow the hedgehog

[plumbobgothica]

Season 1, Episode 4: Playing with Fire (part 2/3)

General Content Warning: While this particular post is PG, Flavors of Midnight is intended for mature audiences and may occasionally include adult themes (though nothing explicit or gratuitous). 😊 Any posts with such content will be clearly labeled!

<previous // next>

<<beginning of chapter

<<<beginning of story

View all Flavors of Midnight posts

Transcript & notes/thoughts below the cut.

Script:

[Reggie's Diner - Sunset Valley] Jared: Rule number 1: No excuses. I don’t care if there was traffic. I don’t care if your dog died.  You show up on time, and you do your job. Frida: Okay… Jared: Rule number 2: If you have time to lean, you have time to clean. Every minute you waste standing around, you’ll make up for by staying extra after your shift. Emma: Hey Frida! Nice to have you here! Jared: That’s Emma. She’ll be showing you the ropes. Emma: Don’t mind Jared. He just likes picking on the newbies. He’s not so bad once he warms up to you. Jared: *smirks* Jared: Rule Number 3: You’re a lowly kitchen scullion. You don’t go near the cooking until you’ve earned it. Jared: If I ask you to unclog the toilet, you do it. If I ask you to scrub grease, you do it. If I ask you to jump, you ask how high. Frida: You’re joking, right?  A ‘kitchen scullion’? I thought this was an actual culinary position! Frida: I’m sorry, but this isn’t what I signed up for at all. Jared: No special treatment, remember? Or maybe you just think you’re too good for this job. Jared: Look, I wish I had a rich brother on speed dial as a safety net too, but some of us have to work for a living. This is honest work.

Notes/thoughts

Please let me know if you have any issues with readability. Thanks! 🖤 I’ll also be adding image descriptions over the next couple weeks or so to improve accessibility, and will try to do that going forward.

[leresq]

Finally watched Deadpool and Wolverine. First of all I was not coming into this with high hopes because even though everyone was talking about how good this movie is I've never found the Deadpool movies funny. To me they're just different variations of "You haven't seen this in an Iron Man movie" stretched into two now three feature length films. But honestly I liked it at the end.

- Why are Logan's ears and one of his eyes not decayed when no other part of his body is intact? Why does he have a beard on his jawbone?

- I'll bite, the Bye Bye Bye is a fun idea. The wintery forest setting is cool.

- I can't enjoy that opening fight scene because it's not how anything works. You don't get bludgeoned with a dull object, have your body armour completely give way, and have a pint of blood splash out. I understand the whole point of Deadpool is that it's over the top, but this is just so overly gratuitous it's insane. I feel like Marvel Studios felt like they had to make it so unrealistically violent to try and separate it from the mainline MCU to get the people who have Deadpool funko pops to guffaw in the theatre. It's "You haven't seen this in an Iron Man movie" with zero words spoken. Honestly incredible.

- The CGI is better than it's been recently but it's still noticeably bad

- Peter Parker's Iron Man mask is on the desk in the background! How did that even get there.

- Why is Tony's ARC reactor on the table, I thought that was pushed into the river at the funeral

- The timeline is just so incredibly fucked. I still don't understand how the X Men timeline reboot works, or how Logan fits into it; if Logan dying means Deadpool's universe collapses, that implies the Logan movie is in the X Men reboot franchise, but Patrick Stewart is in that and James McAvoy plays him in the reboot making me think it's a one off... Augh my head...

- Something looks up with John Favraeu. I don't know if his wearing a wig is supposed to be obvious, I don't know if he's just under a lot of makeup or it's CGI, it's just weird.

- Deadpool is never going to be an Avenger because Marvel Studios would rather execute everyone working for them than give up the licencing deals from making PG13 movies, and Deadpool wouldn't feel the same in a PG13 movie.

- I think any brand would let Ryan Reynolds walk all over them in muddy boots, for some reason he gets the pass to slander anyone he wants to and he gets paid by the companies to do it.

- 'I don't have a lot of v*ginal sex' 🤨 that has numerous connotations. Also can we not do sex jokes in front of 12 year olds

- I was not expecting a Deadpool movie to contain any hints of character development because the previous two instalments seemed to be hellbent on making sure I understood nothing of emotional value would ever be allowed to appear without being undercut by a sex joke.

- "I've never been a natural bottom" 🤨🤨 I thought Poolverine was just the average two male leads naturally gets shipped together thing but no they're sowing the fields

- If that Thor crying over Deadpool never comes back I will say something about it

- If they didn't want me to know Paradox was going to be a villain why would they make him British

- The 'Suck it Fox' cut to nothing being there is the only time I will accept something raising more questions than answering them at this level as funny

- "Your tailor is a predator" caught me so off guard I started coughing

- Wow I wasn't expecting them to pull the Paradox is actually evil card not even a third into the movie. Honestly a good subversion of expectations.

- How is Deadpool's universe going to evaporate in 74 hours, I thought time doesn't exist at the TVA?

- Are they going to explain why Deadpool's suit can just fix itself now. It used to keep its holes.

- Finally, I think the first time we ever hear Deadpool is from Canada in the movies! I wonder if Ryan Reynolds only wanted to play him in the first place because they're both Canadian...

- "You two gonna fuck or fight?" 🤨🤨🤨

- I actually understood the Honey Badger reference

- the FF floating platform thingy is another reference I'm surprised I got

- The Human Torch CGI is actually really cool

- "Not all of you was asleep" after waking up on his shoulder 🤨🤨🤨🤨

- Too many cameos in Cassandra's little alcove so I'm not even going to bother looking for them all

- I'm not sure if Johnny Storm's death was supposed to be played for laughs or just shock value, either way I'm not laughing I loved those movies ;(

- How does Cassandra know she's Xavier's sister if she was sent to the Void before she could walk?

- Wolvie being nice to Johnny post mortem is cool

- Nicepool having a stronger Canadian accent is a good joke, and Deadpool looking on in disgust as Nicepool talks about his dog's 'G-spot' is good. At least that's not played off as just a normal thing to say even if it is a joke

- "I identify as a feminist" could easily be misconstrued as an 'anti-woke' joke but all of the jokes of a similar calibre in this movie seem to be made ironically. Example: Nicepool is a creep

- "Where's your mask" and Nicepool points to his face actually implying his nice guy attitude is a facade for being a shitty person is actually really good

- Why is Nicepool's car surrounded by untrampled corn, how did it get there? Who grew the corn?

- Deadpool includes Colossus in his world 🥺

- Wolverine is nothing if not an excellent shit talker, and it's actually very out of character for Deadpool to actually get affected by insults

- I wish The Greatest Showman soundtrack was incorporated for more than just a third of a second

- 'Close up magic' ant man reference?

- 'There's only ever gonna be one Blade' about that...

- I think that's Apocalypse's throne in Cassandra's room? Or Thanos's

- I never thought about how both Cassandra and Xavier's powers radiate from their heads until the Juggernaut helmet scene

- Finally some real actual genuine character development that's not thrown away for a joke!!! The best part of the movie to me was Cassandra's redemptio-. Oh. Nevermind. Anyway I like it better than if it were just shoved away for a joke then she died

- Deadpool waiting for the 'extras' to clear was, to me, a good indication that he's a hero now. Caring about civilians is #1 on my makes you a good guy requirements

- "You smell something?" "Yeah you" 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

- And there it is. Nicepool's death is probably the most predictable death I've ever seen on film.

- Eastside Pharmacy?! Agatha All Along reference???

- Wolverine's helmet looks like a rubber playground ball

- Will Marvel Jesus come back in three days however?

- Staring at Hugh's abs? Same, but 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

- That hand holding ending was actually impressive, I wasn't sure what was going to happen and it actually kicked ass

- Is the guy with the mug who stared at Deadpool in the beginning Marvel's first gay character

- The introducing Logan to Blind Al is so unbelievably 'the parents meeting the boyfriend' I could die there's no fucking way that wasn't on purpose

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

ok so like objectively yes ed did things wrong but not only do i personally feel no negative emotions about any of that, i swear it would make more sense tonally with the rest of the show to NOT make a huge chunk of s2 be about ed facing the consequences for and redeeming himself from the marooning/pushing lucius overboard/izzy toe thing. like if im wrong i’m wrong and it’s whatever but i really really think the focus will be more on ed’s internal emotional state and how his choices were informed by trauma and how he’s going to learn to heal more than it’s gonna be like, Ed Learns It’s Wrong To Maroon People And Force Feed People Their Own Toes. like if anything i think it’ll be Ed Learns That He Deserves To Be Happy And He Also Realizes That Marooning People And Force Feeding People Their Own Toes Is An Unhealthy Coping Skill That Negatively Affects His Mental Health And He Learns New, Healthier Coping Strategies. like i think the focus of coming out of the kraken era is going to be almost entirely on ed’s feelings, and any mention of how his actions harmed the rest of the cast will be brief and/or it’ll primarily be played for comedy

which yes irl this would kinda suck to have some guy respond to getting his heart broken (and other stuff) by killing and maiming people and then have his whole journey of self-discovery be solely abt him and not any of the people he’s hurt. HOWEVER a biiiiiig part of the humor of the show is that the characters are experiencing some very real and very relatable self-esteem issues and insecurities and vulnerabilities, and all of that is placed on a backdrop of comedically gratuitous pirate violence. like this is a romcom and ed is basically going through the classic emotional beats of the romcom heroine getting her heart broken and eating a whole tub of ice cream and crying in her room for days before becoming cold and distant and “love is dead” edgy, only the joke is that bc he’s a pirate his “love is dead” romcom era includes some people actually literally dying. izzy and the crew all just happen to be in the blast radius for this joke, and while we as fans might love and care abt those characters too, the plain fact is that ed and stede are the main characters and the other characters’s feelings or storylines or internal motivations simply do not matter nearly as much to the show as theirs (with the exception of maybe jim, and also maybe olu depending on how s2 goes). and that’s literally just how romcoms work. this sort of “protagonist bias” is like, a core part of this kind of story.

and there’s nothing wrong with not vibing with the story because of that. if season two comes and goes and you aren’t happy with how the show handled the consequences of ed’s actions in e10 that’s fine, nobody has to feel any specific way about this show. but if i’m right and this is how s2 plays out and some of y’all don’t like this, the problem is not that ofmd is bad. the problem is just that this is not the story you wanted or expected to be told.

i DO think, tho, that there’s something very powerful abt a character like this being a queer indigenous man. he’s a gay romcom protagonist and narratively speaking his feelings trump all. this is a queer romcom that uses gratuitous slapstick violence as a punchline and where the queer main characters are allowed to get violent and unhinged about their feelings, and at the end of the day they ultimately get a pass bc it’s a gay romcom and the show is about them. like literally that description itself is more than i could’ve ever dreamed of from any tv show ever, and THEN you’re telling me that one of the main characters is indigenous???? it’s been a year and a half and s2 is right around the corner and i swear to god i still can’t believe this show actually exists. we don’t GET shows like this, we don’t GET characters like this. ed teach is such a fucking blessing of a character and i love him with all my heart.

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 8 - Beginning

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

The midwife is the first to notice that Anna’s startle reflex is inconsistent. When she suggests the baby might be deaf, Joel wants to write it off as the woman’s usual dour attitude, but as the weeks pass, it becomes clear that something is different. It’s impossible to make enough noise to wake her, she doesn’t turn her head toward their voices, and she’s inconsolable when they’re out of her limited line of sight. They spend several sleepless nights worrying, making loud noises and watching Anna intently for responses that usually don’t come.

There’s nothing to do about it, though, except wait and see…like her pregnancy all over again. One day at a time.

Anna is most content when she’s tucked into the soft cloth wrap, held tight against someone’s chest, where she can feel the soothing purr of speech against her tiny body. They get adept at going about their daily routines with the baby strapped to them like a marsupial in a makeshift pouch. She especially seems to like Joel’s soft flannel shirts and his deep, rumbly voice–he’s the best at getting her to nap.

Or, as Ellie puts it, boring her to sleep .

Ellie spends more time with them, enamored with her baby sister in a way Joel couldn’t have predicted. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, having watched her with Sam all those months ago, but her fierce devotion to this brand-new person in their lives makes him light-headed with pride.

Baby things showed up at their house out of the blue in the days after Anna was born; an antique cradle, bottles, more diapers, and a breast pump contraption that Charlie says makes her feel like a dairy cow. There are enough clothes to outfit a small army and mystery casseroles lining their freezer for weeks.

Tonight he takes one of the casseroles out and sniffs at it warily.

“Not sure about this one, kid,” he says to Anna, strapped to his chest. “Can’t be worse than that tuna surprise thing, though. House smelled for a week.”

The baby makes a soft cooing noise and sticks out her tongue in response.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t have to eat it,” he mutters, turning on the oven.

“Talking to yourself again?” Charlie murmurs from the couch, snuggled under a throw.

“I’m havin’ a conversation with my daughter,” he says, stroking the baby’s head. “And you’re s’posed to be napping.”

She sits up, bleary-eyed and wan. “Can’t sleep. I miss her.”

“Hear that?” he murmurs. “Mama misses you. Maybe you should wake her up more often. Five times last night wasn’t enough.”

Joel wanders over to the couch and unearths the baby from her wrap to hand her to Charlie, who takes her with a smile and a soft hi sweet girl . Warmth blooms in his chest, followed by sadness; the two often go hand in hand.

Sarah never had this, he thinks, and he mourns what he couldn’t give her; the love of a mother, the delight of a new sibling.

But Anna has it all, in this family cobbled together from spare parts and broken pieces. Like the beginning of a bad joke— a widow, an orphan, and a childless father walk into a bar –where she is the most beautiful punchline he’s ever heard.

Joel comes home to find Ellie on the couch with the baby in her lap and a book on the cushion next to her, frowning in concentration as she flips through the pages. Anna is nine weeks old and more alert than ever, bright eyes taking in everything, and at the moment she’s fascinated by her big sister’s hands, moving in slow, measured gestures in front of her face.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your girlfriend is taking a nap,” Ellie says without looking up from her book.

“She’s not–”

He catches himself before he can finish his sentence and Ellie smirks.

“Caught ya.”

Joel sighs. “What’re you doin’?”

She flips to the book cover to show him; An Introduction to American Sign Language .

“Sam taught me some, but I found this at the library. I figured it can’t hurt to start early.”

His throat tightens and he blinks back tears. God, his kids have turned him into a walking fucking water fountain.

“That’s…a great idea, kiddo,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.

“I know,” she says. “Besides, you can use it, too, when your hearing eventually goes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He bends down to boop Anna’s nose. “Your sister is somethin’ else, kid. I’m gonna check on your mo–I mean my–our–”

He growls as Ellie looks up at him expectantly, a wry little smirk on her face.

“I’m gonna check on Charlie,” he sighs. “Call me if you need me.”

He hears a whisper at his back.

“What’s the sign for ‘They are so fucked’?”

Ellie’s laughter and Anna’s quiet coos follow him upstairs.

They still haven’t talked about them . They share a bed, they care for Anna, and…that’s about it. The midwife mentioned something about “resuming sexual activities” and “birth control” and maybe even a vasectomy at their final appointment, and it had taken all Joel had not to laugh in her face. He hasn’t had so much as a hard-on since the kid was born, and Charlie is permanently attached to her when she’s not sleeping or eating.

It might have bothered him if he weren’t so sleep-deprived.

In the bedroom, Charlie is buried under the blankets. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she startles when the door creaks open.

“Anna?”

“Ellie’s got her, it’s just me,” Joel whispers. “Sorry.”

Charlie sits up, rubbing at her eyes, holding her breasts as if testing their weight. “S’okay. She needs to eat soon.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, smiles at Charlie’s mussed hair. He’s watched her closely over the last few weeks, hyper-alert for signs of depression, for the grief that he knows will never completely subside. A horrible little voice in the back of his mind insists that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves them.

Sarah’s mom made it four months.

But Charlie seems content if exhausted. They’re both exhausted, even with help. With Sarah he’d had the advantage of youth; with Anna, Joel feels every single one of his fifty-eight years…mostly in his back.

“Did you know Ellie’s teachin’ the baby sign language?” he asks.

“Mmm, she mentioned something about that,” Charlie yawns. “She’s smart, your kid. We’re raising geniuses.”

Joel ducks his head to hide a blush of pride. “They’re gonna leave us in their dust someday.”

We. Us.

He reaches out to cup Charlie’s face in one hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. He could say it was all lust until now, but watching her with Anna makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. Charlie leans into his touch, meets his eyes, and his stomach clenches with a kind of pleasant ache he hasn’t felt in weeks.

Maybe he’s going to need to look into that vasectomy after all.

The moment is rudely interrupted by a wail, followed by Ellie’s voice drifting up the stairs.

“Hey, lovebirds! Your spawn needs a diaper change.”

Joel and Ellie are sprawled on the couch, her tucked into one corner and him on the opposite side, slouched down with Anna on his chest, a movie playing in the background. The baby won’t sleep in the beautiful hand-carved cradle for more than fifteen minutes at a time, preferring instead to slumber on a warm body.

There was a time in Joel’s life when he would have said they were spoiling her, but now, acutely aware of his limited years in a way he’s never been before, he’s decided Anna can fall asleep in his arms until she’s thirty if she wants. There is no such thing as spoiling her as far as he’s concerned.

He’s half asleep, trying to wait out the next hour and a half to let Charlie get some rest, when Ellie’s voice drifts into his consciousness.

“I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” he murmurs, barely able to open his eyes.

“Why you lied to me.”

He’s awake now. His head snaps up to face her. Ellie is curled in a ball with her arms around her knees, watching the baby rise and fall with the rhythm of his breath.

“If it were her…I’d do anything to keep her safe,” she says softly.

Oh.

His first instinct is to lie again, but something about Ellie’s expression and the way she’s watching Anna gives him pause. Between the two of them, they’ve cracked him open. He’s too tired and old to hold secrets.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t’ve done that. It was wrong.”

He meets her eyes, waits until he’s sure that she sees him, because she can’t just hear it–she needs to know it with her whole being, to believe it as deeply as he does.

“But I’m not sorry–I’ll never be sorry–for what I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat for you…or her.”

Ellie nods, but she frowns, her voice going small and tight.

“What if she was bit?”

The question drops from her lips like a bomb and Joel instinctively tightens his grip around Anna at the thought.

“Wouldn’t you hate me?” she whispers. “For not…for not being able to save her?”

“Never,” he says roughly. “I could never hate you, Ellie.”

“But…what if she could grow up in a better world? A world where you never had to worry about her…or Charlie…or anyone…getting infected,” Ellie asks softly.

He wants to tell her that none of this would have been possible if she weren’t here–their life in Jackson, Charlie, or Anna. He wants to tell her that she is the catalyst for everything he’s done right in his sorry life.

His girl, who wanted to save the world, had saved him instead.

But words are failing so he swallows his tears and puts an arm out. Ellie slides over, curling into his side, and he’s momentarily stunned by her solidity against him. She’s grown in the months since they returned from Salt Lake City. She’s taller, her face thinning out, more like a young woman than a child.

It happens too damn fast, he thinks, looking down at the sleeping infant on his chest.

He whispers the words into Ellie’s hair when his throat finally unlocks, watery and thick.

“She’s growin' up in a better world because you’re in it.”

“She’s finally out,” Charlie whispers, backing away from the cradle and collapsing onto the bed on her stomach with a groan. “I don’t know how one tiny human can eat so much.”

“I’ll take her tonight,” he says. “She can have a bottle.”

“You have patrol in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep for shit anyway,” he shrugs. “Did you eat? Caf’s still open, I can grab you something.”

“Mmm. Maybe later. I need about ten hours of sleep and a big glass of wine,” she mutters into the pillow.

“I can offer you six hours of sleep and a beer.”

“I’ll take it,” she yawns, then brightens. “Oh! I found something at the post today.” 

She rolls over, digs in the nightstand drawer, then unearths a small black box and tosses it into his lap.

He blinks down at it, unsure if it’s the suggestion or the fatigue that slows his tongue. His heart quickens.

“Are these…?”

“Condoms,” she grins. Then she’s crawling toward him and straddling his lap, much the way she did the first time, and she glances over at the silent cradle. “We have a couple hours…should we see if they’re any good?”

“God yes please,” he breathes, all tiredness suddenly forgotten as her mouth finds his, open and wanting.

There’s laundry scattered around the floor, empty bottles and water glasses on the nightstand, used burp cloths draped over the furniture, and the faint smell of sour milk lingers in the air.

And all of it ceases to matter because she’s holding his face in her hands and kissing him, really kissing him for the first time in weeks. Not a peck on the cheek or a nuzzled brush of her lips to his forehead when she thinks he’s still sleeping, but an honest-to-god kiss with tongue and teeth and bite.

Soon she’s rolled underneath him and he’s supping long, languid kisses from her lips, eliciting sweet little moans and breathy gasps that have him thrusting his aching cock into her bare stomach, seeking relief in friction. Even with the condom to dull the sensations, this will be over before it’s begun if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, so he pulls reluctantly away to explore the rest of her body.

Breastmilk gathers in little pearls on the peaks of her nipples, sweet and thick on his tongue as he teases and sucks his way down her chest. He traces the silvery lines on her lower stomach with his nose, the places where she’s been permanently marked because of their daughter, because of him . The sight of her gently swollen belly and the velvety softness of the stretched skin only makes him want her more.

She whimpers when he tastes her, moans when he sucks at her swollen clit and laps at her folds until she’s writhing and coming. Then she’s pulling on his hair with an urgency he understands and he’s rolling one of the condoms on and sinking into her delicious heat. She’s so close like this, pinned by his hips and chest, pressed underneath him like a flower.

He can’t pull himself away from her mouth, can’t stop kissing her and tasting her and swallowing her cries. Her arms enfold him, rubbing languid strokes up and down the slope of his back, pressing into his ass, urging him deeper. He reaches for her hand and rests their entwined fingers above her head.

Mine , he thinks with every thrust, heat coiling in his gut, crawling up his spine. Mine, mine, mine.

“Yours,” she sighs, arching into him, answering the words he didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. He presses his forehead against hers and stills, breathing hard.

“Yeah?”

His voice is ragged with emotion. Her palms come up to cup his face.

“All yours,” she whispers, then she kisses him and kisses him and he prays the condom does its damn job because he’s falling over the edge.

He’s still softening inside her, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth against his, when the baby wails from her cradle.

Charlie groans underneath him. “Already?”

“Well…we got fifteen minutes,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Give yourself credit, it was at least twenty.”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” he mutters, pulling out with a groan. “Surprised Ellie’s not at the damn door, too.”

Charlie snorts a laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her chest.

“I’m comin’, baby girl,” he says. “Hold on, I know…m’right here.”

But Anna can’t hear him, of course. He pokes his head over the cradle and she quiets. “I’ll be right back.”

She protests loudly when he leaves her line of sight again, totally abandoned. He disposes of the condom and washes his hands…now where the hell are his boxers? The din of Anna’s crying in the background has him stumbling over his feet.

Finally, he plucks her up out of the cradle and puts her against his chest.

“Hey, kid, you’re fine,” he rumbles against her.

She growls in response, all attitude, one tiny fist stuffed into her mouth.

“Think she’s hungry,” he murmurs, nuzzling the top of her head. “Want me to get her a bottle so you can sleep?”

“No,” Charlie says, two wet spots blooming on the bedsheet. “You primed the pump. I’m leaking all over myself.”

“Lucky kid,” he grins. “You get the real deal.”

“You just ate, sweet girl,” Charlie sighs as the baby latches. “Where does it all go?”

“Based on the laundry I folded today, I have an idea,” Joel mutters, crawling back into bed. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Charlie into his arms so she’s propped against him. She burrows into his shoulder and closes her eyes as the baby makes greedy little suckling noises. His free arm wraps around them, cupping Anna’s head, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in his palm.

Maybe it’s the sex that loosens his tongue, or maybe he’s just too tired to worry over the fallout. He takes a deep breath.

“So I know we said…you’d stay until the kid is born…and that was, uh, ten weeks ago.”

“You kicking me out?” Charlie murmurs, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she nurses.

“No,” he says quickly. “You can stay as long as you want. I just…don’t want you to feel like you have to…or like we’re expected to be, uh…something we’re–”

“Joel,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Heat blooms in his chest.

“Yeah?”

She tilts her head up to look at him, silver eyes shining, and answers him with a long, sweet, lingering kiss that reignites the fire in his lower belly.

He’s definitely gonna need that vasectomy.

[thenixkat]

Both of the sexual assaults that happen in the first chapter of Dandadan are bad for multiple reasons:

-> You cannot argue that both are treated equally when the boy's assault was quick and offscreen but we get the girl's onscreen and we're with it for a while with several of the choices of shots focusing more on her breasts and crotch.

-> The girl's assault is gratuitous and feels sleezy. Just because it horrifies any viewer who's a decent person with morals, doesn't mean that it's not framed in a way that supposed to not be titillating in some regards. Otherwise, we wouldn't have gotten so many shots focusing on her breasts and crotch, there's ways to frame shit and use lighting and shadows that would mean that the audience isn't getting a face full of her breasts and crotch.

Also, the numerous panty shots that happen damn near every other chapter and forced exposures of her bra don't lend much credence to the argument that the girl's assault was solely meant to be horrifying when the artist is being horny about most of the female characters in this piece damn near constantly.

-> The boy's assault both happening off screen and being treated comedically and as a vehicle for jokes, gives 'Female on Male Sexual Abuse is funny' vibes and 'Who gives a shit about men getting assaulted' vibes. And I shouldn't have to say it, is fucked up and bad.

Also how the characters who assaulted these kids are treated by the story is fairly telling too. The boy's rapist goes on to become a physically harmless comedic side character who lives with the cast and is helpful in many fights and such. One of the girl's rapists comes back as a major threat in another arc. And then later is forced to team up with the kids, and disabled in a fight, is still heavily distrusted and shown to be still potentially dangerous. (As far as I've gotten during my read.)

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i’m normally an islanders girly, but i have a soft spot for svech, especially after the horrible news of his acl injury 🥺 honestly have no idea where this came from except i saw one of @ryanpulock ‘s anons mention taking care of svech after an injury, so here we go! entirely unedited because i hate rereading my own work lol

tw: smut, gratuitous and potentially wrong use of russian terms of endearment

summary: you want to take care of andrei a little after he gets a cut on his thigh.

The text from Jordan - “Don’t worry, he’s fine” - would be concerning on it’s own, but when it’s followed-up approximately ten minutes later with a text from Andrei - “Don’t worry, I am fine” - you’re heading quickly into a panicky state. Ignoring the fact that you’re out with friends, you open up Twitter and navigate to the Canes’ hashtag, scrolling anxiously until you spot the familiar last name.

A tweet from Cory Lavalette: Svechnikov is down and hurt.

Another one from Cory: Svechnikov did the splits while getting checked and was holding his left inner thigh.

Three minutes later: Further review, it looks like Kevin Hayes' skate caught Svechnikov in the thigh.

You feel like you might throw up. A cut from a skate blade is no joke. Depending on where on his thigh the blade caught him - you force yourself to stop that line of thinking and keep scrolling, breathing a sigh of relief when you see that Andrei was back on the ice a minute or so later. It’s solidly thirty minutes after the game’s ended (you didn’t realize it had gotten so late!), so he must be okay, if his and Jordan’s texts are the only ones about the whole thing. “Sorry, guys,” you sigh, gathering your jacket and purse, pushing away from the table. “I have to go. Just Venmo request me what I owe.”

Your best friend looks up, surprised, but then after she checks her phone, a sly grin stretches across her face and she teases, “going to get the benefits of those post-game endorphins?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you smirk, trying to hide your anxiety and worry about Andrei.

That gets the whole table jeering and heckling you, with your best friend laughing and proclaiming, “you’re sure as hell not a lady. Or do I need to bring out the keg stand video again?”

Waving her off with a snort of laughter and a vaguely rude gesture, you head for the door, blowing a kiss and slipping your arms into your jacket. The sounds of your friends’ voices follow you out of the restaurant, finally quieting once the door shuts behind you. You suck in a shaky breath, closing your eyes briefly. He’s fine - Jordan said so and Jordan wouldn’t lie about something like this. Even still, you’re nervous for the entire fifteen minute drive back to yours and Andrei’s apartment.

“Drei?” You call out his name when you push open the front door, kicking off your boots and dropping your house keys in the little bowl on the front hall table.

“In here,” his deep, accented voice echoes from the back of the apartment - your bedroom.

Shedding your jacket and draping it and your purse over the back of the couch - a bad habit that you’ve been trying to kick - you hurry down the hall towards him, needing to see him in one piece.

You freeze in the doorway when you finally lay eyes on him. He’s stretched out on the king-sized bed, shirtless and damp from his shower, clad only in a pair of tight black boxer-briefs. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he’s got one hand tucked behind his head, making his tricep bulge.

“Damn,” you mutter. It’s unfair how good-looking he is. And then your gaze lights on the thick white bandage wrapped around his left thigh, making the well-muscled bulk look even thicker. For some reason, the sight of the bandage makes his injury all the more real and tears prick at your eyes. “Andrei…” you whisper his name, hand pressing against your mouth to keep your emotions inside.

He shakes his head and smiles a little at you, a shadow of his dimple popping out on his cheek. “Ah, solnyshka, I’m fine. Just small scratch,” he says, voice warm and soaking over you like a blanket.

“But you got cut with a skate blade! A really sharp skate blade!” Your voice cracks a little. “It could’ve been really bad.”

Andrei gestures you forward with one hand and you obey instantly, not even thinking about it. His hand is warm on your wrist and he lifts your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to your palm. Your knees tremble. “But it was not,” he mumbles against your palm. “A few stitches, a bandage, and I’m good as new.”

“Stitches?” Your eyebrows lift and you look down at the bandage as if you’ve developed x-ray vision in the last thirty seconds.

“Two, three maybe. It is nothing,” he tugs at your wrist again, the dimple deepening on his cheek. His eyes twinkle. “But I think maybe I’m going to need a nurse to bring me back to 100%.”

His voice is low and you look up at his face, taking in the slow smirk that’s forming. “Oh a nurse, huh?” you murmur, warmth flooding your stomach from the way he’s looking at you.

“Mhm,” he hums, a deep rumble in his chest. His thumb is tracing an arc over your wrist, liquid heat crawling through your veins. “Now that I think about it, maybe it does hurt a little,” his lower lip pokes out in a small pout.

“Poor baby,” you whisper, licking your lower lip. Your throat feels dry. “I’ll have to be very gentle…”

Andrei’s eyes are dark, the tips of his ears are growing pink, and you can see the bulge in his boxer-briefs practically growing by the second. “What if I am a bad patient?” He lifts one eyebrow. “Will you be gentle then?”

You giggle. “Now, Mister Svechnikov, I know you can behave,” you dart forward and ghost a kiss over his lips. “When you want to.”

He tries to pull you down onto the bed, but you dance away quickly. “Solnyshka,” he pouts, “I’m not supposed to move. You have to come to me.”

“Let me change,” you reply, already pulling your sweater over your head. “These clothes are dirty.” The sweater gets tossed onto the chair in the corner and you kick off your jeans, leaning one knee on the bed. Andrei’s hands reach for you, the right one close enough to rest on your hip. He slides warm fingers around the curve of your ass and tries to pull you closer.

“Please,” he says. His accent is thick, vibrating around your brain and melting your heart. You love his voice. “I will be a good patient, I promise.”

You crawl closer to him, both of his hands on your hips now. One thick finger brushes under the waistband of your panties, sending a shiver down your spine. “Well, if you promise….” you trail off, dipping your head to press a kiss to inside of his bicep. One of your hands rests on his knee, fingers brushing over warm skin. He twitches, a little ticklish at your light touch. You grin at him, dragging your fingertips up the inside of his good thigh. The hair on his leg raises with goosebumps and the bulge of his cock grows. “You relax,” you murmur, “let me do the work.”

With a groan, Andrei drops back against the pillows he had propped behind his back, watching you with blown pupils as you climb in between his legs. He widens the space, offering you room to work. You lean back on your thighs, resting your hands lightly on Andrei’s shins. “You’ve got to tell me if you start hurting or it’s uncomfortable, okay?” you say, massaging your fingers into his calves. “I don’t want you to get hurt even more.”

“Maylshka,” Andrei groans the term of endearment, his hand stroking at himself through the fabric of his boxer-briefs, “you’re hurting me more by taking so much time.”

A snort of laughter leaves your nose involuntarily and you scoot up the bed, scraping your nails over his legs. “So impatient,” you mutter affectionately, a weird twist in your stomach when your gaze lands on the bandage again. A reminder that he was hurt. That it could’ve been more serious. Swallowing heavily, you duck your head and press a kiss to the inside of his right knee, scraping teeth over skin as you move up his inner thigh, kissing and biting gently as you go.

Andrei shifts under you, the bed dipping and swaying as he adjusts. One of his large hands twist in your hair, tangling the strands between his fingers and tugging, just this side of painful. The other hand bumps against the top of your head as he wraps it around his growing cock, stroking himself firmly. The steady movement of his hand makes his body move, in turn making your own body jostle. You bite into the corded muscle of his inner thigh and Andrei hisses, hand jerking out of rhythm.

“I thought I was taking care of you?” you mumble against his heated skin, leaning back and angling so your shoulder doesn’t bump against his wrapped thigh. Your fingers curl in the waistband of his underwear, the fabric already stretched to its limits between Andrei’s hand and erection. “You can take care of yourself on the road.”

His voice is raspy when he replies, “just helping you along, malyshka. Don’t want you to get tired.” He groans when you slide your hand over his and squeeze.

“I’m wide awake, Drei,” you murmur, knocking his hand aside and replacing it with your own. He’s hot and hard in your hand, a familiar weight. Your thumb brushes over the red, weeping tip of him and his hips buck involuntarily. A slow smirk spreads across your lips. Before you can bend your head, Andrei uses the hand that’s still tangled in your hand to force your face up to his. He cups your chin in his free hand and slants his lips over yours in a hungry kiss. You return it in kind, leaning into him, enjoying the groan he lets loose into your mouth when your hand twists around his cock.

He pulls back from the kiss, dropping his head against the headboard with a thunk. “I want to flip you over on your back and make you come until you cry,” he mutters, stretching out his left leg a little.

You laugh and kiss the side of his neck, licking at a bead of water that’s dripped down from his hair. He shivers. “Give yourself a little time to heal and then you can have me any way you want,” you promise. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Without giving him a chance to answer, you slide down his body, pressing soft kisses to his chest as you go and flicking one flat nipple with your tongue, drawing a strained laugh from Andrei’s throat. He murmurs your name and you kiss his stomach, just under his belly button, “lift,” you command, hooking your fingers in the elastic waist of his underwear and tugging them down. His erection jumps free, curving up to his stomach, thick and red and waiting for you. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you dart your tongue out and lick the tip of him delicately.

“Fuck!” he curses, hand tightening in your hair. You press down on his good thigh with your free hand to keep him in place, not that you have a chance in hell of holding Andrei down if he really wants to move. But your fingers curl against his skin and you take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. The head of his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth and you shift on your knees to change the angle, taking him deeper. Andrei groans and moans above you, vocalizing his approval. He’s too big to take all of him in your mouth, so you wrap your hand around the remaining inches and squeeze, knowing he loves the pressure. His hand pushes your face down and your nose bumps his lower stomach. His hold on your head is loose though, and you could pull back if you wanted. You don’t want to.

Bracing yourself on his thigh, you lean forward, taking him deeper. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, making a mess of Andrei and the sheets below him. He bucks his hips, trying to restrain himself so he doesn’t hurt you, but when you him around him, flattening your tongue against the underside of his cock, he shouts and pushes further down your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You breathe sharply through your nose, trying to stave off a gag, and inhale Andrei’s familiar musk mixed with the lavender-citrus body wash you’d bought for yourself but had been sneakily stolen by your boyfriend. You press your thighs together, pressure to help the throbbing between your legs. Andrei moves, like he wants to reach down and touch you, but you squeak a little when your head gets trapped between his pelvis and his stomach.

“Sorry,” he rumbles, “sorry.” His free hand strokes at your cheeks, your forehead, the back of your neck, and you shiver. You him around him again, sucking hard. Andrei groans your name, barely resisting the urge to thrust into your mouth. You encourage him, squeezing his shaft.

He tenses under your touch and comes in your mouth with a shouted string of Russian curses. You swallow quickly, a little overwhelmed, and Andrei’s grip on your hair loosens. He looks down at you with glazed eyes as you release him with a wet pop. a string of saliva connects your lips and his softening cock and you swipe at it quickly. “You are….” he mumbles, chuckling, speechless.

“I know,” you grin at him, wiping at the corners of your mouth. You wiggle up the mattress, rest your wrists on his shoulders, and kiss him sweetly. Andrei’s hands are heavy on your hips, sliding down the curve of your ass.

He yawns a little, blushing and mumbling an apology. “It’s not you,” he rushes to say and you giggle, kissing his cheek.

“You’ve had a long day, baby,” you reply, sliding out from between his legs and climbing off the bed. “Get comfy, I’m going to shower really quick and rinse the day off.”

Andrei catches your hand as you turn for the bathroom, a pout on his lips and a furrow between his brows. “But I didn’t get to have my way way you,” he whines.

“Tomorrow, big boy,” you promise, ignoring the throbbing between your legs. “I wanted to take care of you tonight.” You slip from his grip and dance off to the bathroom, loving that he wants to make sure you’re satisfied too. You take the world’s shortest shower, soaping up and shampooing in record time. You skip conditioner, willing to pay the price of slightly dry hair in order to cuddle with Andrei sooner.

By the time you pad back into the bedroom, clad in one of Andrei’s old shirts, he’s flat on his back, eye shut, and snoring softly. You smile softly at him, heart filling with even more love for your boyfriend. He looks even younger when he’s sleeping. Carefully, you climb into bed and tuck yourself against Andrei’s right side. His mouth hangs open a bit and his left arm is thrown over his forehead. As soon as you touch his side, he stirs a little, blinking and scrunching his face. “Mmm,” he hums, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you close. You go easily, draping your arm over his stomach and resting your head on his chest.

“Night, Drei,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his skin.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he mumbles, breathing evening out again.

When you wake up in the morning, Andrei’s head is pillowed on your chest and he has both arms wrapped around you, holding you like a teddy bear. You blink sleepily and rest your cheek against the top of his head. Your legs are tangled with his, the bandage brushing against your thigh. You comb your fingers through Andrei’s hair gently, easing him awake.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” you giggle as he blinks awake.

“Ditto,” Andrei says, voice hoarse with sleep. He buries his face into your chest. “Stay in bed.”

“I wish, but someone has to work so we can afford this life we’ve become accustomed to,” you joke, laughing even harder when Andrei’s fingers dig into your side, tickling you now that he’s wide awake.

This is absolutely your favorite way to wake up.

[soft-pine]

spn20rewatch: 2.10 hunted

this episode is bookended by dean begging sam to take a break from hunting.

DEAN: We do? I've been thinking about this, I think we should just lay low. You know? At least for a while. It'd be safer. And that way I can make sure —

//

DEAN: Screw the job. Screw it, man, I'm sick of the job anyway. I mean, we don't get paid, we don't get thanked. The only thing we get's bad luck.

and both times sam says (or enacts) no.

there is something particularly gut wrenching about the first time.

SAM: What? That I don't turn evil? That I don't turn into some kind of killer? DEAN: I never said that. SAM: Jeez, if you're not careful you will have to waste me one day, Dean. DEAN: I never said that! Damnit, Sam, this whole thing is spinning out of control. All right? You're immune to some weirdo demon virus, and I don't even know what the hell anymore. And you're pissed at me, I get it. That's fine, I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move, okay? SAM: Forget it. DEAN: Sam, please, man. Hey, please. Just give me some time. Give me some time to think, okay? I'm begging you here, please. Please.

this is the fallout from dean telling sam what john told him before he died - with a hearty helping of dean a) not being on board with what john said and b) being furious with him and c) validating sam's own anger with dean.

sam, of course, is hurt and angry and does not lie low at all. i know he doesn't mean to but of course this contributes to the pattern of dean feeling like people leave him when he fucks up.

another interesting parallel from the beginning to the end of the episode is sam at first telling ava the cops won't be much use. and then at the end, calling them to come handle gordon. hmm.

of course, the whole gordon situation remains racist as fuck. i don't like the "solution" being the police. i don't like the voyeurism of watching him be arrested. i don't like dean's joke about gordon and soap. the show's racism is where my watsonian analysis ends and my doylist interpretation begins. i don't like it. it's bad. they should not have done that.

the gratuitous violence against him aside, i think gordon is a great character. his motives are so clear and consistent and the knife twist of being hunted by their own colleagues is a great dynamic!

and then of course, there's this.

GORDON: It would wreck him. But your dad? If it really came right down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing here. But you're telling me you're not the man he is?

and, gagged, all dean can do is glower and fume.

[rickrakontoys]

"Deadpool & Wolverine" (2024): 7/10

*no spoilers*

Generally amusing, with plenty of excessive bloody violence, potty mouth dialogue, and fun fan service-y references and cameos. Your entertainment value is proportional to your knowledge of the wider Fox-New Line Marvel movies, their behind-the-scenes drama, the current state of the MCU. I can see a lot of the gags going over the heads of the general audience.

Jackman and Reynolds have great chemistry together, giving us an unhinged odd couple, bad cop-badder cop vibe filled with stabbing and profanity. Jackman in particular delivers as a washed out mess of a Logan variant, and his redemption character arc is at the center of the movie. A lot of the film's biggest laughs come from this Wolverine's exasperation with Deadpool's verbal diarrhea.

The action scenes unfortunately lack the visceral edge of the previous two movies, and seems to try to make up for this lesser pizzazz with buckets of CGI blood, gore and needle-drops. Still, there are a few standout sequences that, despite their technical shortcomings, tickles the comic book nerd part of my brain just right. Wolverine and Deadpool fight each other on more than one occassion, with each bout reaching such absurdly violent heights as to evoke slapstick comedy.  A oner towards the end seems to gleefully homage Oldboy.

The plot feels underwritten, tonally inconsistent, and mostly serves as an excuse for fights and multiversal cameos. Attempts to add emotional depth in between Wade Wilson's zany antics don't always land. Scenes between the action tend to drag heavily. Characters too often just stand around in a room spouting exposition or jokes in the plainest manner. Shawn Levy's blocking of scenes is too flat and uninteresting, and a step down from Tim Miller and David Leitch's previous two 'pools. Even with occassional splashes of vibrant color (chiefly from Wolverine's yellow suit), scenes look washed out, lacking depth or contrast.  Thankfully the juvenile humor and gratuitous violence keeps it from being too dull, though even that eventually gets a little grating.

But clearly, no one is watching a movie called "Deadpool and Wolverine" for the plot or emotional depth. They're here to see Hugh Jackman finally don a comic accurate Wolverine suit and team up with Deadpool on a multiverse adventure. On that, it mostly delivers.

The movie often feels like a bittersweet farewell to the Fox-Marvel franchise. Something could be said of how the movie reckons with the ethics of having a powerful entity deciding which universes can live or die, how some things deemed purposeful are elevated while other things thrown out to "the trash heap" to be forgotten. It doesn't explore these themes so much as it uses the idea as an excuse for gags and jabs at both Disney and Fox (Reynolds gets away with a lot). This is definitely the most "meta" Deadpool movie, for better or worse.

But it's a silly good time nonetheless. And the cameos in the movie are actually fun and not gratuitous, with a tinge of melancholy... a farewell to a tumultuous franchise.

Will it hold up to scrutiny after the excitement of all the surprise cameos dies down? Not too sure... It doesn't feel like a natural progression of the Deadpool franchise. Like "No Way Home" was for Tom Holland's Spider-Man, it stops the series' general plotline for a cynical ploy to appeal to nostalgia, rather than be a real sequel to Deadpool 2 (heck most of the characters from DP2 are absent, and his usual supporting cast is sidelined immediately... except Peter). That doesn't mean it's not fun. Reynolds gets his Hugh Jackman team-up movie. But you could feel the corporate franchise milking behind it all. Just because Reynolds keeps making self-aware quips about Disney's greed and exploitiveness of IP doesnt make it okay.

[argaman01]

Why I like Tumblr

Honestly, the only form of social media that makes me feel in the least bit hopeful is Tumblr. I know that's strange, but it's true.

Twitter/X is a toxic waste dump.

I like to see my friends on Facebook, but it can get fraught. I have discovered the nasty social or political opinions of some of my friends and/or acquaintances (including the local musician who has absolutely been absorbed by the antivaccine cult). I can get into stupid political arguments on the Facebook pages of friends. Sometimes when I post something hoping for sympathy I get nastiness.

Bluesky has gotten more lively, but it's like earlier Twitter. It makes me anxious with bad political news. And then there are the anti-Israel zealots, some sliding into antisemitism, that I have to block, even though they are supposedly progressive.

Threads has been made deliberately boring by Meta.

Now, bad things can happen on Tumblr - antisemitism, gratuitously nasty comments made to young people just stepping out into the world, fake Go Fund Me asks.

But there's also a lot of kindness on Tumblr, and excellent life advice. I've learned a lot about how to pick a good mattress.

There's lots of humor. And good arts and crafts. And cat pix, of course. I also like the beautiful photos of nature that some people post.

I'm not so into all the fandoms on Tumblr, but I like the atmosphere - it's cute.

And good support from other Jews, along with funny jokes, happiness about Jewish holidays, earnest posts about halakhah and midrash, sweet posts from people converting to Judaism. I like Jumblr.

And I'm so appreciative of the love and support for Jews from non-Jews who stick up for us against the tsunami of antisemitism that has arisen since October 7.

[eriexplosion]

FASTER <3 An episode I liked the first time that I have a new and powerful appreciation for

Wrecker and Omega playing strategy games is so cute. He loses a lot, but I think it's not because he's bad at them, she is just. Better than most people. She's great to play with though because eventually she learns that Wrecker just needs a little extra time to think on his turns, he only makes questionable moves if he's rushed.

Tech is SO unimpressed with the uber eats mission Hunter and Echo went on. It's so funny that they apparently needed to use the buddy system for nerf nuggets delivery. Just in case.

Tech is used to Cid's shit he is the only one like 'security detail needs elaboration' because he's apparently the ONLY ONE that remembers when important details like "target is a rancor" got left out

I just love the Star Wars tradition of 'you know what high speed racing needs? extra ways to kill each other.'

Cid explaining everything to Omega is so cute actually she adores this kid.

TAKE A SEAT SPECTACLED SPECTATOR. TAY-0 is so fucking funny. It's time he prepares for the next race. Which he's going to win. TAY-0!

CIDDARIN SCALEBACK. Top Tier Star Wars Name

I love the moment when Tech and Wrecker both move in to protect Omega instantly. And Cid pushing Omega back behind her when she steps forward. She WILL come through for that girl in season 3 I know it.

Wrecker: "What's he saying?" Tech: [REDACTED]

I adore the red painted battle droid we get glimpses of. Top tier design.

SAFA TOMA SPEEDWAY IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY INJURY, DEATH, OR DISINTEGRATION. THANK YOU!

love to take my little sister to the local 'get shot in the stands' race

That is definitely not MOST of TAY-0 Wrecker my dear.

Omega immediately speaking up like I have an extremely impulsive plan to suggest that may get us all killed or worse

"I am ready to... WHEREAREMYARMSANDLEGS?" The delivery on this line is amazing

LET TAY-0 INSTRUCT YOU HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY

Tech looks like the most beleaguered customer service person alive right now

INSTEAD OF REPAIRING HIM WE SHOULD BE MURDERING THE GANGSTER <- Wrecker plans in action

"Hustlers like us never change" "I might surprise you." "I doubt that."

Come on you can't have an exchange like that and not have her immediately take her money and try to get Omega back and find Tech somehow

Love TAY-0's face flipping entirely around while walking away to continue talking to Wrecker.

TAY-0 BEING TAKEN OUT IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. THEY ASSASSINATED HIM.

Cid telling TAY-0 to snap out of it and he's literally just a torso... I don't think it's going to work...

DRAMATIC LEAD UP MUSIC TO "I WILL BE THE RACER"

Wrecker's face falling and "He's not joking" he is SO worried about Tech right now (anyway this parallels his calculated decision to shoot out the cable connector in Plan 99 and shows why it is not going to be as simple as him falling to his death, in this essay I will-)

OBSESSED WITH THE GRATUITOUS TECH CROTCH SHOT OF HIM GETTING INTO THE RACER.

The announcer going through every single name is such a great set up to them just ROASTING TECH'S NAME AT LENGTH WHILE THE CROWD MUTTERS DUBIOUSLY. BE NICE TO TECH.

Haxxon "The War Gnome" Trajanix is the red battle droid and I'm obsessed with him.

The other battle droid and the tricked out protocol droids are fantastic too honestly.

TECH YOU GOTTA BE IN FRONT TO WIN

It's called strategy NO it's called LOSING

I'm sorry their banter is so fucking good this episode. I cannot understand filler complaints on this one it's a breather episode and it's a fantastic one that sets up several things including Cid at the end of this season and like into season 3, as well as providing ample evidence of how Tech thinks and evaluates risk.

Cid looking away from the screen when she sees Tech take the death trap route is it because she's scared for herself or doesn't want to see him die right on screen

"You sound surprised" is another good possible callback line

"Well, I guess I owe you one." "Yes. I agree." "I'll make it up to ya!"

If this doesn't come back I will eat a hat. I don't own any so it won't be mine but I will find and eat one.

I still think the best ending to this would have been Hunter abruptly calling and going TECHHHHHH?