#Sprinkles 2 ii | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stellamarielu · 28 days ago

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blurred lines II

joel miller x female reader

read part one here

summary: after the little stunt you pulled last night, joel can't bring himself to be in the same room as you. he's canceling his weekly plans to join your dad for sunday night football, and you're fed up with the awkward tension which leads you marching right over to his place determined to fix the problem.

content: nswf, 18+, dbf!joel, age gap, a sprinkle of angst, pet names [duh its joel], lots of praise, fingering, penetration, riding that man like a mechanical bull, unprotected sex, joel finishing in reader without explicit permission, basically just smut with very little plot let's go!

author's note: i need joel miller circa 2003 like i need air in my lungs, so of course i had to write a part 2 for this one

“What're you doin' here?”

Joel hadn’t expected to see you standing directly in front of him holding a Tupperware bowl when he opened his front door.

“Brought you some Chili.” You were stating nonchalantly as if he should’ve been expecting your company.

He had flaked on your dad tonight. Of course he had.

After what happened last night, you didn’t expect him to show his face at your house like he normally did every Sunday, but it didn’t stop his excuse of feeling “under the weather” from pissing you off.

You made things complicated when you decided to call him last night. Why couldn’t you have kept it together and just called an uber instead?

You spent the entire day feeling guilty and embarrassed and even though you tried to blame your inappropriate advances on the alcohol you’d consumed, you knew it wasn’t the real reason you crossed a line in the backseat of his truck.

After he got out of coming over for the game, you watched the empty seat on your couch that he usually occupied and let the guilt eat you alive. Him and your dad should have been drinking beers and yelling at TV together, but instead your dad just sat in silence.

You couldn’t handle it— you needed to talk to Joel. You weren’t sure what you would even say to him, but before you knew it, you were packaging up leftovers and telling your dad you were taking dinner to Joel and Sarah during halftime.

“Is Sarah home?”

You were asking and looking over Joel’s shoulder, the leftovers still warm in your hands.

“No-“

He’d hardly responded when you pushed past him and into the familiar territory of his living room, cutting straight to the chase.

“Why didn’t you come over tonight?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.” His voice was laced with annoyance at your question.

He was standing a few feet away, still by the front door. Watching as you angrily stormed into his house, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table.

“Okay, but you didn’t have to lie to my dad.”

You were coming in hot. You needed this to be over so you could stop feeling so embarrassed and remorseful about the whole thing.

“Oh, your right, I should’ve just told him I almost fucked his daughter so it’d be kinda weird for me to come over.” Joel was scoffing as he leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms over his chest. Your skin was burning at his words.

“Look I’m sorry for making things weird, but can we just move on? I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come around anymore. You’re like my dad’s only friend.”

“Then why’d you do it?” His voice was rough, almost like he was angry with you, but his eyes told a different story. They were gentle— carefully watching your expression as you wracked your brain for an answer.

“Because…” You were trying to avoid his eyes but it was nearly impossible given the way he was staring so intently at you from across the room.

You started out so firm but now you were crumbling. His tender gaze picking away at you, wildling you down into a pile of nerves.

“I don’t know Joel, let’s just drop it. I’ll keep to myself from now on and we can just pretend like nothing happened. Just please don’t let this effect your friendship with my dad.”

Joel chuckled at your words, an amused smile forming on his lips— Like this is something that could be easily forgotten.

“Why’d you ask me to pick you up.” The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had formed. His demeanor was serious again as he revisited the objective of the conversation. The memory of you touching yourself in his car standing between you like an undeniable presence the room.

“What do you mean? I was out drinking and needed a ride.” You were trying to keep it together but there was a hint of hesitation in your words.

“Yeah, but anyone could’ve given you a ride. Why’d you call me at 2am.”

His eyes were locked on yours, heavy and sincere.

“What do you want me to say Joel?"

here you go.

"Do you just want me to keep embarrassing myself? I didn’t want anyone else to pick me up. I wanted it to be you. I wanted an excuse to see you.” You were huffing out the words in a quiet voice, too mortified to speak above a whisper.

“Thought that was pretty obvious when I had my hand between my legs in the backseat of your truck.”

Your words were left ringing in the silent room as Joel just stared, his expression stuck in concentration.

“Happy now?” You were deadpanning with a wave of your hands. Why wasn't he saying anything? You couldn’t read his expression and it was infuriating.

“Very.”

One word was all he said as he pushed himself off the wall, his arms still loosely crossed over his chest. He was taking small steps in your direction and your entire body froze.

“I’ve been tryin’ to convince myself all day that you were just drunk last night. That the only reason you did such a filthy fuckin’ thing was because you were horny off one too many vodka sodas.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke, his body now within reach.

“I needed to tell myself it wasn’t because you like me.” His eyes were glued to you.

“Needed to convince myself that ya weren’t bein’ all sweet touchin' yourself like that because ya wanted me to fuck you.”

He was taking another step, the gap between you dwindling down with every word he spoke.

“Because if that was the case, if ya did do it on purpose...” He paused, letting his eyes rake down your body. Taking his time before he continued, his stare lingering on your lips.

“Do ya know how hard it was for me to keep my fuckin’ hands to myself?” He was so close, you could see his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath he took.

His stare was dense and all you could think about was how you’d never been this close to him before.

“Joel…” You meant to whisper his name as a warning but instead it came out as a pathetic whimper; only encouraging another inevitable step over the blurred line of your relationship.

He was leaning in, and you weren’t stopping him.

“This is such a bad fuckin’ idea.” He avoided your lips and ducked his head into your neck, his whisper landing right below your ear and you could feel his breath on your skin.

“I don’t care.” The words were a rushed hum as your fingers found the nape of his neck. You suddenly felt desperate to have his lips on you.

“Please.”

That word had Joel spiraling. God, hearing you beg for him like that, he needed to hear it again. Wanted to hear it fall from your lips over and over again while he had you sitting on his cock.

“You said you think about me when you touch yourself.” Joel’s voice was a hum against your skin as his lips finally connected with your neck. He was placing a long drawn-out kiss right beneath your jaw before pulling away just enough for more words to make their way from his mouth.

“Tell me what you think about.” His breathless whisper on your body made you dizzy, sending your fingertips clutching into this hair- desperate to find something to tether you back to earth.

“I think about the way it’d feel- when you touch me.” Another pitiful whine.

“Touch you where?” His words were barely audible as he continued placing gentle kisses down the side of your neck.

“Joel…”

“C’mon sweetheart, you were so brave tellin’ me what ya wanted last night. Don’t get all shy on me now.” His voice was low and rough- intoxicating.

“Think about your fingers in me. How they’re so much bigger than mine. How good they’d feel filling me up.”

You were reaching for one of his hands as you spoke, holding it in front of you and tracing his palm before you pressed your hands together, his was so big and rough compared to yours.

Then he was intertwining your fingers together and using the hold to pull you into him, your bodies flushed together. A groan left his mouth sending a sweet vibration into your skin.

“There she is.” He was murmuring into the crook of your neck, his hands finding your waist and gripping tight, pulling your hips closer. He absorbed your frame in his own, the muscle of his body solid and sturdy against yours.

Joel felt like he was dreaming.

After he got home from dropping you off last night, he barely made it to his room before he was yanking down his jeans and wrapping his hand around his dick. The images of your fingers pushed deep inside of you were pulled from his memory, making him finish in record time. He thought about you all night. He couldn’t even sleep as visions of you filled his mind; you curling your fingers into his hair with his head between your legs, you on your knees for him, you with your head buried into his pillow and your perfect ass pushed back while he railed into you from behind. He thought about nearly every sexual scenario possible and now you were here, your soft body like putty in his hands.

“Let’s see then.” His voice was low as he kissed your neck one last time, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“See if I can make ya come on my fingers yeah?”

There was a soft smile on his lips conflicting with his sinful heavy-lidded stare. His hands were unruly as he explored your figure, dipping beneath the material of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin on his fingertips.

“Wanted to see it last night, could barely hold myself back from pushin’ your pretty little hand out of my way so I could be the one makin’ ya feel good.”

One of his hands remained on the skin just above the waistband of your jeans while the other trailed up your body until it was on your face.

Joel’s hand was carefully caressing your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your skin. The act was reminiscent of the way he was rubbing your thigh not even 24 hours ago, and the recollection had you clenching your thighs together. You let your mind wonder back to the dirty things Joel said to you last night; the way he watched with a predatory glare as you fingered yourself in front of him. You were lost in the echo of it all until Joel caught you off guard, crashing his lips into yours.

His kiss was heavy. The weight of unspoken feelings and undeniable tension fueling the way his lips molded into yours. Your shared desire was finally being dealt with and the relief was almost palpable in the liberation of his mouth on yours.

Your lips were tangled in a messy embrace as Joel ushered you backwards until you felt the back of your legs hit the couch.

His lips were following as you flopped down on the cushions, his body leaning forward between your legs. The kiss didn’t lose any momentum as his hands pulled at your jeans. You were arching off the couch assisting Joel as he slid the denim down your legs, breaking the kiss to watch you kick them off your body completely.

He had been aching to see you like this again. Legs spread and chest heaving. Only this time he didn’t have to hold back. He could touch you; see what you looked like with his fingers knuckles deep in your sweet little cunt.

At that reminder Joel was reaching a hand down to feel you through your panties, his fingertips tracing the outline of your swollen lips, already wet beneath your underwear.

“Fuck sweetheart you’re soaked.”

The hot sticky evidence of your arousal was seeping through the cotton material, causing Joel to let out an animalistic groan. He hadn’t even touched you yet and he was losing all sense of control.

He continued running his fingers over the ruined material, circling your clit over the clothing.

You were already writhing under his touch, which you normally would’ve considered pathetic, but not now. Not when you had been waiting for this exact moment. Now that it was really unfolding, you were proud of yourself for not taking his hand in your own and shoving his fingers where you really needed them.

He kept circling slowly and intricately, still leaning over you— his face inches from yours.

“That feel good?” His voice was a sweet murmur as you moaned in response.

He was pleased by your answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a single finger into your entrance. His digit was gently pressing into you as he watched your face contort in pleasure.

Letting you bathe in satisfaction for only a second, he was retreating. Pulling his thick finger from your core before pushing it back between your wet folds, only this time adding a second along with it.

You were immediately reaching for his forearm, grabbing it instinctively, looking for something to hold onto while you went braindead with pleasure. You were biting down on your lip as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out of you, scared of the obscene noises you would make if you didn’t.

“Let me hear ya baby.” Joel was smiling down at you with a devious grin. He could see the way you were suppressing your moans. He wanted to hear you; wanted to know how good he was making you feel, wanted to hear the pretty sounds you made when you came around his fingers.

You let your mouth fall open. The whimper that fell out upon hearing his words prompted Joel to push his fingers further into you, curling when he felt the spongey warmth of your walls tightening.

He could tell by the moan rolling off your tongue that he had found a favorable spot deep in your core. He kept his fingers bending in the perfect position as he peered down at you.

The sight beneath him had his hips bucking into nothing. You with your head thrown back on his couch; eyes shut, brows furrowed and jaw slack. After last night he thought he’d never see something so glorious again, but now you were proving him wrong. You looked so beautiful like this— all fucked-out with his hand between your legs.

The deliberate curl of his fingers with each plunge was sending you reeling as you let profanities bubble up in your throat. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release Joel added the pressure of his thumb on your clit.

“You gonna come already?” His words were sprinkled with amusement as he felt you clenching around his fingers.

“Joel…” His name was a moan on your lips, and you were digging your fingers into his forearm, desperate to hold yourself steady as your body tensed.

“Fuck- you’re gonna come.” He was grunting as his fingers kept their pace. You were mewling out his name and nodding your head in desperation as you felt the coil inside you pulling tighter, ready to snap.

“Let me have it baby.” Joel was nearly begging you to let go. His tone as he growled out the words pushed you right over the edge, sending you into an abyss of pleasure.

Your body was trembling as you whined out Joel’s name. He could feel your pussy squeezing his fingers as he continued to push them into you gently, relishing in the feeling of your warm embrace.

“There ya go.” His grunts and groans were replaced with a calm voice as he worked you through your orgasm.

“Good job sweetheart.”

His praises only added to the sensory overload running rampant through your body.

“So beautiful baby.”

You were finally opening your eyes, looking up at him with a lust clouded gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you again, only this time deeper. It was laced with passion and had you pulling him down onto the couch next to you.

Your mind and body were still buzzing from your climax, making it easier to gain dominance over him. You were pushing Joel back against the pillows and climbing onto his lap, straddling his waist. Your kiss had become sloppy and hungry as your lips worked in tandem to relieve the thick tension.

“Off.” You were mumbling against his mouth and fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He got your message loud and clear as his own hands flew to the waistband of his pants. He was lifting his hips off the couch to free his body of the jeans but in doing so he was thrusting up into you, his erection grinding into your unclothed core. You were bringing your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself as he pushed his pants and underwear to the floor.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his member now on full display. He was big. You knew he would be, but this, this was more than you'd imagined.

In awe you brought a hand between you, encasing him gently with your touch and ever so slowly letting your fingers follow up and down his length.

You looked to his face to see his eyes fluttering closed in pure delight from finally feeling some sort of relief. The pressure that had been building inside him since he watched you finger fuck yourself last night was slowly dissipating with every pump of your hand around his cock.

You stroked him a few times, your touch soft and cautious; driving Joel insane. He was groaning with every flick of your wrist.

“Need to be inside ya.” A longing yet primal gaze took over his expression as he muttered the words; confessing his need to feel you, all of you.

They were the magic words, the ones that had you lifting your hips and guiding the head of his cock to your slicked entrance. You lingered there, with his tip filling you just enough, soaking in the final tension filled moments before you both completely gave in to your mutual desire.

Your eyes were locked on his, the two of you exchanging one last look of approval before you were sinking further onto him.

You both let out hums of relief as you felt him stretching you inch by inch.

You were moving slowly, letting yourself adjust to his size as you relaxed onto him. His fingers were gripping onto your hips, holding you steady but careful not to guide you further. He wanted to let you set the pace.

You sunk down until you were met the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You were sat completely on him, taking a moment to savor the way he felt pushing deep inside of you.

“That’s it baby.” He was whispering another praise as his hands traced up your body, taking your shirt with them and tossing it to the floor. Then his touch was on your face, holding your jaw in his fingertips and bringing your gaze down to meet his.

“That okay? Feel good?” His questions were genuine, but they were spiked with such a immoral tone you might’ve thought he was mocking you.

“So good.” Your voice was breathless as you affirmed him.

You decisively rocked your hips over his and an unconscious moan slipped from your lips at feeling him move inside you.

He brought his hands back to your hips as you started to move. Gripping onto your skin and guiding your body onto his as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Oh honey- fuck.” He was moaning out as you picked up your pace, relentlessly taking him as deep as you could with every rebound.

“That’s its baby.” His words were tumbling out of his mouth with every movement of your hips. You were riding him with such precision his mind was going numb, rendering him uncapable of piecing together coherent sentences.

Your palms were flat against his chest and your head thrown back in pleasure as he rubbed against you at just the right angle. You were using him to your full advantage as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his cock.

“Take what ya need baby.” He was encouraging your lewd movements, the sounds leaving his mouth were borderline pathetic as he tried to keep himself together long enough to feel you coming around him.

He was letting his hands wander further, gripping the flesh of your ass with his palms and using the hold to pull you harder into him with each thrust.

The desperation in his grasp had you seeing stars. You were bracing yourself on the rigid surface of his chest as you felt the familiar crawl of a second release sneaking up on you.

“Joel I’m gonna…” Your announcement was cut short by a surprised whine as Joel moved his hips along with yours, pushing himself even deeper into you. The way he was stretching, filling and holding onto you had your body straining and your vision blurring.

“Let me have it sweetheart.”

The carnal grunt off Joel’s tongue as he coaxed you into another orgasm brought you to your finish. You were clutching at his chest, your body melting into his. The pleasure surging through your body caused you to lose all balance, making you slump forward until your forehead found his.

Joel reached for you, placing a hand carefully at the nape of your neck, holding you against him.

“God you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Another groan was leaving his throat as he pushed his lips onto yours. You were still coming down from your high, pussy squeezing and clasping around him as he muffled your moans with his mouth.

“So perfect baby.” He was mumbling as he used both of his hands to hold you firm, slowly bringing his hips up to meet yours. His pace was unhurried as he took pleasure in the way you fluttered around him. Then he got caught up in the moment, his tempo quickening. He was thrusting into you persistently, mercilessly rutting as breathless whimpers fell from his tongue. He was holding you still with his fingers curling into your hips as he drove into you— hard and fast.

He was groaning and greedily fucking up into you as his hips began to stutter. With a low guttural sound his movements ceased and you were met with the warmth of his release spreading into you.

He was frozen in place for a few seconds, catching his breath and gathering a sense of composure. You could feel him throbbing in you as his hands kept their hold on your hips.

“That was so fuckin’ stupid.” He was muttering under his breath, and you immediately felt insecure. He was still inside you and he was already regretting hooking up with you?

“We don’t have to do it again Joel, it was just-“ You were beginning to defend yourself before Joel cut you off.

”No sweetheart, comin’ in ya.” Joel looked at you with a sympathetic grin on his face.

“I can’t be doin’ that.” He was shaking his head at the poor decision of burying his spend deep inside you.

“I’m on birth control, it’s okay.” You felt relieved to know his shame wasn’t about having sex with you, but rather his panic of potentially knocking you up. Understandable.

“Don’t care it’s not smart.” He was reaffirming and leaning up to place a kiss on your forehead; a simple gesture but it had butterflies swarming your stomach.

“How ya gonna explain to your dad why it took so long to drop off leftovers?” Joel was releasing his clutch on your hips and letting his hands rest lightly on your thighs as he spoke.

“Oh my god, please don’t talk about my dad right now.”

You were mortified. You couldn’t think about your dad. Not while you were straddling his best friend’s lap who’s come was fighting not to leak out between you.

“Looks like I’m really gonna need to move out soon.” You were groaning and bringing your fingers to your temples, hiding your face in your hands.

“Oh, without a doubt.” Joel was laughing at your predicament, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t keep having you like this. Now that he’d gotten a taste, he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

my masterlist

#country boy i luv you #dbf joel miller till the day i die #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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blissfullyunawares · 2 months ago

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5 Days of Helping You Outline Your Next Novel

Day 1: Benefits of Outlining Before Writing Your Book

Follow along for all 5 installments of the mini series: helping you outline your next novel

I. Clear Direction - knowing where you’re going allows you to pack the right kind of clothes, same with a novel - know where you’re going so you can bring the right stuff

II. Strong Structure - by writing an outline, you can structure your book to have a natural rise and a fall, like breathing

III. Consistency in Writing - not getting stuck with what happens next allows you to write more content more consistently

IV. Intentional Themes - by defining your story outline, you can sprinkle in some intentional symbols and themes within your writing

V. Better Character Development - knowing the overall arc of your story allows your characters to experience the moment and become who they’re meant to be. you can add in vulnerable moments, mistakes, and bad decisions to help them become the best (or worst) version of themselves

VII. Opportunities for Foreshadowing - by knowing where you’re going, you can add in witty little details of foreshadowing (ex: the mercenary had a reputation that - well, you’ll see) to string your readers along

VIII. Scene Variety - similar to pacing, scene variety can be inserted into your novel to prevent boring repetitions and keep the pov fresh and interesting

IX. Realistic Plot Lines - knowing the journey and destination before the characters do allows you to insert realistic motive and plot lines that drive your characters, instead of allowing your characters to drive the plot with unforeseen chaos (although this happens sometimes too and it’s okay!)

your reblogs help me help more ppl 💕

You can find Day 2 of this mini series [here].

follow along for writing prompts, vocabulary lists, and helpful content like this! <333

✨ #blissfullyunawaresoriginals ✨

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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part III

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us au #joel miller imagine

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espressiimartinii · 10 months ago

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ii. god forbid a woman have hobbies

part 2

summary: the 2018 season starts and y/n l/n is a bit of a PR nightmare.

pairing: none - it's all platonic 💅

warnings: apart from rewriting actual events so they fit better, there may be a sprinkle of typical motorsport ✨sexism✨

tag list: @slutforpopculture; @alliwantisadonut;

author's note: if you do want to be tagged in future parts, please comment on the most recent part.... i just don't check my messages sorry...

previous | masterlist | next

they pr trained our girl?

y/nl/n_official i've been freed from pr training hell, so your favourite holy trinity are BACK and we r RAVENOUS!!

tagged: surves; alexirexi

surves and we ATE alexirexi the souffle pancakes were divine 🔮 y/nl/n_official i obviously ate my fitness coach approved muesli and drank 2 glasses of water 🫡 surves i can confirm that she did that alexirexi i can also vouch that she did not consume the souffle pancakes scuderiatororosso 🤨

stany/n MY WIVES R BACK IN TOWN

f1brainrot the PR training did NOT work 😫

forzaferrari does this girl even fucking work... 🙄

y/nl/nsupremacy they're trying to PR train our girl!

danielricciardo did my invite get sent to the wrong address? y/nl/n_official this is a GIRL'S ONLY brunch!! danielricciardo 😔

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the PR training could be considered, by some, as a failure

practice sessions and qualifying

she sure put the pedal to the metal

note: god, i love creating fake twitter delusion 💅

#f1 social media au #f1 smau #formula 1 #reader insert #fanfic #x reader #driver!reader #f1!reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #gfwhh!fic

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ltwilliammowett · 11 days ago

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Cooking like a Sailor- Cheshire Pie

According to Time Travel Britain.com, the first recorded recipe for a pork pie dates back to 1390 and was made for the court of King Richard II. Most pork pies in Britain contain only pork and are modelled on the famous pork pies of Melton Mowbray. Melton Mowbray was the first town to commercially produce pork pies in England. However, an older version of the pork pie, which originated in Cheshire, consists of layers of apples and pork sweetened with sugar. This recipe was also very popular at sea due to the fact that it was easy to store and therefore kept well.

This is a Cheshire Pork Pie from Hannah Glasse's 1788 cookery book ‘The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy’, which Townsend took and adapted for modern cooking.

1 ½ lbs / 700gr pork shoulder

½ cup/ 125gr. flour

2 tbsp butter + more as needed

1 medium onion, diced

1-2 tart apples, cored, peeled and diced - Alternatively, you can also use the same amount of potatoes like in this video - https://youtu.be/QsWja0-_3Ww?si=hzcU5Vn-2YpWsfE3 -

2 t. freshly ground nutmeg

about 1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon black pepper

½ teaspoon sugar and cinnamon

12 oz. (1 bottle) hard cider

Place the sliced pork in a bowl. Sprinkle pepper, salt and nutmeg over meat and mix, until the spices cover all the meat. Turn pork into greased pie dish. Cover with the apples. In a ramekin, mix the cinnamon and sugar and sprinkle over the apples. Add the wine (if you don’t have wine, you can use apple juice). Dot the top with butter.

To make an easy pie crust, cut 3 tablespoons shortening into one cup of flour until it looks crumbly. Add 6 tablespoons cold water and mix, then turn out onto floured surface and roll. Place pie crust over top of mixture. Poke holes with fork to ventilate.

Put the pie onto a pizza sheet to catch any liquid that might bubble over and bake in a very hot oven for 50 minutes or until the crust is golden brown and the liquid is bubbly. Let sit 5-10 minutes before cutting.

Then serve and enjoy.

#naval history #cheshire pie #cooking like a sailor #18th century #age of sail #townsend

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calebdatabase · 8 days ago

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All About MC's Evol and Aether Core Powers

For those curious about the role of MC’s powers and following terms throughout the story, this brief guide is for you! Sprinkled throughout this post, you’ll also find some of my theories on the direction of the story.

Here’s the five terms we go over:

Resonance Evol Aether Core Spatium Core Flux Nexus Flux Stabilizer

I decided to make this post, especially for myself because when I started diving into lore threads, I realized how lost and rusty I was regarding the main story. It was a given since the last time I played through the older chapters was a year ago.

However, I recently replayed the entire main story so here’s a little refresher on MC’s powers and other important terms I didn't understand immediately! It doesn't include everything but will mention examples for terms that helped me follow the story more easily.

The definitions are taken from in-game/the wiki and then are supplemented with quotes/references/trivia I selected to help me grasp them. This also means this post is chockful of spoilers across the board. If there are any discrepancies, feel free to amend them in the comments (I did my best to be accurate but I am human).

I hope this helps to shed some light and invite more people to dive into the lore!

Resonance Evol noun

1 An Evol that allows the owner to change their frequency to match another life form or object, as well as amplify or suppress another’s Evol

2 An Anhausen class Evol with an undetermined power level wielded by MC

Notes:

An Evol that allows MC to change her frequency to match another's by using the waves generated by her brain’s magnetic field

She can produce repulsive waves against certain people/things to avoid resonating with them

Rafayel explained that MC must open her heart to establish a ‘connection’ and share her power by amplifying or suppressing another's Evol at will

Xavier stated this is the only Evol that can undo a lock on a Flux Nexus pillar and retrieve a protocore/Aether Core from within (how convenient??)

It also allows MC to resonate with evol imbued items such as Rafayel’s coral stone to draw out Wanderers, or his paintings to inspect them

As of Caleb’s Homecoming Wings story, MC’s Evol remains underdeveloped and suppressed likely due to her Aether Core’s powers being incomplete

She can also return Wanderer Protofields to their original state

MC can even resonate with other peoples dreams:

"It's as if she saw through time and space, through his dreams, to realize he's not the doctor." - Dawnbreaker Zayne

“There were times when I noticed him [Xavier] sleeping. I tried using my Evol to resonate with his dreams. But whenever I do, I get too nervous and fail.” – MC in Xavier’s anecdotes

One cannot simply force a resonance with any Evolver, the process is a two-way street:

Rafayel and Sylus were overly-eager and attempted to resonate with MC within a short time of meeting her but failed because she viewed them as strangers

Out of all the LI’s (besides Caleb), Xavier resonated with MC more easily during their initial encounter against the Luminivores, most likely because his light evol and her aether core powers are similar in form which possibly made it easier for her to match his frequency as both are described as ‘warm glowing light’

Examples of resonating successes/attempts:

Xavier

‘I sigh and place my hand over his [Xavier’s] heart. The waves caused by the resonance Evol ripple from my fingers– the fountain bursts into a shower of dazzling light, countless, tiny droplets scattering. The spectacle reminds me of fireworks as vibrant as an oil painting.’

– MC and Xavier create a distraction in Azure Square to escape the robots monitoring him

‘As chaos envelops my vision, only one warm force stays tightly connected with me. It flows steadily from my hand and gradually covers the world in a dazzling light. It overwhelms my senses…”

– MC resonates with Xavier to power the Traceback II starship together

“Weird… It feels like something is suppressing Xavier’s Evol, preventing a complete Resonance…”

– MC’s speculation on Xavier’s Evol suppressing collar preventing them from fully resonating

Zayne

MC: “I’ll help you suppress your Evol first. Tell me the area I should resonate with so you recover faster.”Zayne: “My left shoulder… A little lower…”

– MC helps Zayne recover by suppressing his Evol in his shoulder

Rafayel

“All right, I guess I was wrong. Tapping into the depths of someone’s Evol isn’t easy.”

– Rafayel after trying to resonate with MC by holding her hands and explaining the intricacies of her Evol to her (lmao)

Sylus

MC: “Even if you keep holding on to me like this, I can’t resonate with you. It’s not something I can do just on a whim!”

S: “After all that arrogance, it seems you can’t even control your own Evol.”

MC: “... At the very least it doesn’t want to be activated in front of you!”

– MC to Sylus who was attempting to force her to resonate with him by grabbing onto her

Caleb

“Resonate with me!” Like a bullet, Caleb leaps after the plummeting Wanderer.

“Caleb!” The roaring hurts my ears as I reach out. I can only catch the wind he stirs. Warmth surges over me like a tidal wave, and I focus my energy on catching Caleb as he’s in freefall. Our resonance creates a large energy shield that manipulates gravity. It halts his descent.

– MC assisting Caleb during battle on Linkon Tower

“The only advantage I have is having part of an Aether Core in my heart. Since I can resonate with the energy… I should be able to sense its location.”

– MC on locating other Aether Cores with her Resonance Evol

Aether Core noun

1 A rare protocore fragment or crystal containing a powerful mysterious energy that can only be wielded by a select few Evolvers

2 A complete Aether Core has a stable aether barrier on its outermost layer, which utilizes the gravitational field to seal and contain all the core's energy, thus ensuring its internal balance and stability

“Their power comes from the very core of the cosmos. If fully awakened, they would spell disaster for the world. I know. You aren’t satisfied with my answer. But there are some truths you have to see and decide for yourself.”

– Xavier explaining Aether Cores to MC

“Rather than what’s already happened, I’m more afraid of what might come in the future. But right now, you terrify me the most. You used the power of the Aether Core this time. I’m worried about what you’ll do next.”

– Xavier to MC after she uses him as a conduit for her powers to feed Starfield Forest

“The Protocore energy in your heart has always been stable. It can form an invisible shield to protect your heart when you’re attacked. You also haven’t become as weak as other patients with Protocore Syndrome. In other words, it’s a power made just for you.”

– Zayne comforting MC about her Aether Core

Notes:

An Aether Core fragment like MC's can appear as a yellow protocore fragment emitting a golden glow

Its power surpasses that of a regular Protocore and attracts anyone aware of their existence

In the present timeline, it was first discovered in MC’s heart by Granny Josephine and the Gaia scientists while experimenting on her as an illegal child experiment

It’s implied that it was not welded to MC’s heart through surgery but rather appeared on its own or chose MC due to her innate strength

MC’s Aether Core power is described as “warm” and appears as a radiant golden light

It has it's own defense mechanism and can create a shield around MC's heart

It especially attracts those affected by Protocore Syndrome who want to devour it's power

When used in combination with the Resonance Evol, MC can sense the location of other Aether Cores within range

At full power, it can power an entire planet for centuries but only temporarily (Philos survived for some time on a past MC’s Aether Core)

According to Xavier, once fully awakened it can also cause mass destruction (hint hint Earth’s downfall and Philos’ 2.0 rise?)

MC can siphon it’s energy, resulting in the crystal vessel breaking after the process of absorption

MC’s aether core provides boundless energy and immortality across time and space

Sylus’ aether core within his eye allows him to see people’s true desires and possibly grants him immortality as well

A modified wanderer wielding a spatium core was able to invade Xavier’s mind and recreate a protofield based on his memories of Starfield Forest (by Soren’s influence)

Human vessels who can control and maintain Aether Core’s power are extremely rare

MC, Sylus, and Kevi are three of them and therefore are sought after by the powers that be (i.e. Ever Group, The Farspace Fleet, Philos Backtrackers, etc)

Other possible vessels:

Xavier who is arguably one of the strongest evolvers was able to act as a conduit for the massive transfer of MC’s aether core power while they were in Starfield Forest

Caleb will soon make this list once Ever fulfills the Fountain of Atei project, since he boasts himself as a better vessel than MC

My personal theory is that only powerful Evolvers who have an indomitable spirit can house and command the ability of an Aether Core

Sylus and MC have strong personalities and are always at the heart of the action

They are known to have endured an unfair amount of suffering throughout their lifetimes that fostered this grit within them

Sylus even considers them to be ‘kindred spirits’ due to all of their similarities and encourages her lust for power regardless of the timeline

Their Aether Core's caused a physical energy link to materialize between both of them, tethering their wrists together like a handcuff

Sylus mentions she’s predestined to commit crimes in the future– my power-hungry villain MC theory is for another time lol

Kevi, a mere child, was able to withstand the rigorous test Lucius’ forces his experiments to undergo in order to determine if their suitable for 'adoption'

Kevi was also able to easily utilize the spatium core to hide from the fleet

While we don’t know a lot about Kevi, it’s undeniable that he has an intrinsic will to live and promising powers

I don't remember his Evol being mentioned but we'll learn more about him and the experiments in the future

Caleb’s story speaks for itself tbh

Man’s survived how many near death experiences, and endless experiments, lord only knows what tragedy he experienced in his Myth... and will experience in the future

He can literally create black holes and shift the cosmos so I think his powers rival Xavier’s (though I’d like to see Xavi’s powers without his evol suppressing collar on)

A list of places Aether Cores have been found:

The flux nexus in the N109 zone on Ever’s abandoned research facility

The flux nexus in the no-hunt zone at the beginning of the main story

MC’s heart

Sylus’ eye

Tome of the Sea God unlocked by Rafayel using MC’s blood

Inside a mutated Wanderer destroyed by MC and Zayne in Chansia Hospital

Wthin a modified Wanderer destroyed by MC and Xavier outside Starfield Forest

Kevi’s possession given to him by his parents who were fleet personnel

Probably other locations I can't recall

‘I grit my teeth and forge that power into a sharp blade. Slowly but surely, it cuts through the invisible barrier along with the spaceship. Space itself is ripped open, which creates tremendous energy fluctuations and tremors. In the distance, a massive shadow looms.’

– MC and Xavier resonating on Traceback II to force their way through the Spatium Core’s illusion created by a modified Wanderer

Spatium Core noun

1 A rare type of Aether Core capable of influencing space, even creating entirely new spaces

2 Takes on the appearance of a green irregular spherical structure; the core’s shards have partially reassembled, drawn together by some gravitational pull

Notes:

A newly discovered type of Aether Core fragment that emits a faint green glow and grants the owner the power to ‘recreate a plane of existence and overlap it with reality’, essentially creating an illusion

MC describes the energy emanating from the core as gentle waves brimming with power, and a light, warm glow

Kevi was given a fragment of the Spatium Core by his parents to create a hidden pocket of space near his home to hide in from the Fleet

MC was able to sense the energy trail of this Spatium Core when she first searched the area of Kevi’s home due to owning an Aether Core

Xavier confirmed the Spatium Core’s ability is familiar to people from Philos, such as the ex-Backtracker Soren who used it to lure Xavier into a protofield illusion to drain his powers

It’s important to note that despite being in a different plane, what happens to the victims trapped inside of this spatium-created dimension is very real

When Xavier attacked Soren its implied that Soren took damage outside of the illusion

Xavier’s energy is actually drained by Starfield Forest and Traceback II when he and MC emerge from the illusion; he’s exhausted to the point where he needs to sit down and sleep

By the end of Homecoming Wings, Caleb and by association, the Farspace Fleet, are now the current owners of the center fragment

Caleb’s mission is still to collect all fragments of a Spatium core, while MC’s mission is to retrieve the last remaining fragment from him

With the combined man power of the Farspace Fleet and the Tuum Fleet, Ever will eventually butt heads with the Hunter’s Association for the remaining fragments (or Caleb will use MC to get to the fragments once he discovers the Association is in possession of the rest)

Flux Nexus noun

1 A stone pillar device that captures Metaflux and as a side-effect can serve as a source of fluctuations that attract Wanderers

Notes:

Protocores and Aether Cores can also be stored and retrieved from within the pillar with the use of MC’s resonance evol

In the early story, Xavier and MC discovered Onychinus stored a modified protocore within a flux nexus in attempts to summon a dangerous Wanderer (this was likely a misdirect to paint Sylus as the big bad when in reality it was Ever)

Can serve as a ‘power source’ for crystal-infested human-wanderer hybrids with ‘Protocore Syndrome’

Destroying a flux nexus can result in severing the connection between it and human-wanderer hybrids, a concept similar to cutting off a power generator (Sylus destroyed one when he was chasing someone down in the N109 zone and it resulted in this effect)

Lucius' experiments (Caleb, Viper, Kevi, a mystery young girl) recycled these flux nexus in Skyhaven as a gig for Ever and the Fleet, during their clean-up of failed experiments with protocore syndrome

Flux Stabilizer 2.0 noun

1 A device the size of a bottle cap that regulates the frequency of surrounding Metaflux fluctuations thereby stabilizing the Protofield and reducing the likelihood of Wanderer materialization

2 Also functions similarly to a Spatium Core allowing the user to recreate a plane of existence and overlap it with reality (this function is obviously only available to those who are aware of how to use it such as Philosians like Xavier, Jeremiah, Soren and subsequently Ever Group)

X: “Initial tests show it has a radio frequency chip that can resonate with Metaflux fluctuations.”

MC: “So this little thing is the culprit behind the RMFMA’s malfunction and even the tool Soren used to lure in the Wanderer.”

X: “Yes.”

MC: “Can you also use that device to… recreate a plane of existence and overlap it with reality? You mentioned earlier that this is something only ‘your people’ know about.”

X: “That’s right. But you know I don’t like illusion stuff.”

– MC and Xavier discussing Ever Group’s newest groundbreaking invention

Notes:

The concept of a flux stabilizer first makes an appearance at Akso Hospital early on when MC visited Zayne's office and questions if the device is broken when a Wanderer appears

However, as of the end of Prologue To Tomorrow, a new 2.0 version of the flux stabilizer has been revealed to the public

When Ever broadcasts this new device on television, MC doubts there would be any need for Hunters if they implemented his small device all over the city

MC and her teammates are skeptical of this groundbreaking device that is advertised to help humanity against the Wanderers, of course

Similar to a Flux Nexus, this device can also be used for nefarious means such as to lure Wanderers

I wonder if this device along with the existing flux nexus' are how Ever will summon and revive the moist dangerous Wanderers and cause the fall of Linkon City to push their Philos (2.0?) agenda

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