#fossil sink

[389]

Fossil sink

[sentaco]

Bathroom - Rustic Powder Room Inspiration for a small rustic slate floor powder room remodel with a two-piece toilet, a vessel sink and wood countertops

[0ox0x0xo0]

fossil sink

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I notice that all the climate panic is mainly aimed at not putting more carbon into the atmosphere

is it just utterly unfeasible to think about drawing carbon out of the atmosphere?

i.e. someone please plant a shitload of trees

[zestyderg]

I wonder how many beings that in our world are myth/legend/cryptids etc. are straight up real in fossil fighters. Like we know some things in ff exist like ghosts, zombies, skeletons, dragons, whatever the fuck oonga oonga is, prehistoric giant whales, and planet-eating space monsters, but what about shit like mothman? Fresno nightcrawlers? Bigfoot?

Imagine if some cryptids in the ff world are actually just wild vivosaurs that were mistaken for monsters, like maybe a rogue plesio or elasmo is responsible for loch ness monster sightings, but shit like the jersey devil is just real. I think It'd be pretty funny.

Anyways you guys like sandworms?

[feralfennecfox]

Losing my mind over these horseshoe crab fossils from the wikipedia page on horseshoe crabs

[rot-room]

Lately i am filled with so much tragedy, grief, and sorrow. It isnt an empty sadness it is so full and wet and heavy. I cry i cry i cry. I miss so much and love so much and hurt so much. But it doesnt feel bad per se. Just heavy.

[elbeetbetak]

Fossil sink

[wednesdaydreams]

Dining Kitchen in New York

[nerdytyrantphantom]

morning sex with joel | drabble (18+)

a sequel to cockwarming with joel. 18+ MINORS DNI

your body had memorized what time your alarm would sound. and so like clockwork, you’d awaken an hour early, the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains and illuminating the pixie dust that floated in the air. 

you’d wake up the same way you’d fallen asleep: on your side, with joel’s arms wrapped around you, the soft rise and fall of his chest undulating against your back, and his light sighs ghosting the crook of your neck. apart, neither of you slept, both tossing and turning throughout the night. but together, you two slept like rocks, encased in a blanket of safety and security knowing the other was there. if you had your way, you’d stay like this forever, fossilizing the moment in warm liquid amber. 

when you woke up, you genuinely tried your best not to wake joel. you’d only stroke the toned arm that held you, tracing the scars etched into his skin, counting each freckle that sprinkled the surface. but the longer that time passed, the more you found yourself stirring just a bit, involuntarily grinding your hips against him as your core grew wet with want.

right on cue, you’d feel joel rouse awake and exhale a deep yawn. with a lazy squeeze of your breast, like he was trying to make sure you were right where you left him, nothing had changed – and of course it hadn’t – joel would hum with content and nuzzle his face further into your neck. 

words weren’t needed. his hand would crawl up your chest towards the column of your neck, where his strong fingers would firmly grip. it wasn’t an aggressive or dominating move – rather a way for him to hold you in place as he guided his growing erection between your cheeks.

you’d smirk into the pillow as he gently bucked his hips, using your butt to warm himself up. your stomach somersaulted at the feeling of his cock hardening with each shallow thrust, the tip of him threatening to leak over your supple cheeks. “good morning, baby,” you’d purr, crossing your arms over his, refusing him from letting go of the hold he had on you. you’d arch your back into his touch, rolling your head back over his shoulder in surrender.

after his sleep, joel was full of energy. like a bear awakening from hibernation ready for its first meal, he would become full of carnal pangs, hungry and unsatiated – an appetite that needed to be fed. he’d testingly sink his teeth into your neck, softening his bite the second it became too sharp, and then tenderly lick the flesh that blossomed with a bruise, like he were delicately placing a band-aid. 

while his left hand remained wrapped around your shoulders, holding your neck in place, his right hand would slide between your thighs with lazy curiosity. his fingertips would glide up your lips, spooning up the wetness oozing from your core, before plunging his lubricated index finger into your heat. carefully, he’d massage your pussy, feeling your body buzz and clench around his digit. with a hum of satisfaction, his finger becoming soaked in your juices, he’d slip his middle finger in after it. 

for what felt like eternity most days, joel would do that. just hold your body flushed against him while he explored your insides, maintaining a leisurely pace finger-fucking you raw until droplets of perspiration collected on your forehead and pasted your hair to your face.

when you needed more, you’d tug his hand up to your lips, sucking his thumb into your mouth. “joel,” you’d whine, voice muffled by his finger. he’d continue to let you suck, pacifying your hushed pleas, while his fingers would teasingly move towards your clit. coated in your own juices, he’d wetten the small bundle of nerves with your own slick, drawing lazy circles over it until it was swelling like a flower in bloom. you’d cry out around his thumb, eyes prickling with tears at the pleasure. 

finally, he would speak. “come on, baby,” he’d encourage in a hushed whisper, nosing against your cheek. he’d kiss away the tears of ecstasy that streamed down your face. “tell me what you need, sweet girl.” 

eyes rolling into the back of your head, you’d release his thumb with a pop. “n-need you,” you’d whimper, mouth dry, as the blood rushed to your face. you got drunk off of joel – the sensation of his rough, calloused fingers toying with you like a plaything, the heat of his body radiating onto yours, the prodding of his cock still teasingly rubbing against your ass. “please, joel.”

he’d lower his hand from your lips and caress your jaw, delicately holding you like you were made of glass as he turned your face towards his. “shhh,” he’d coo, lips planting kisses all along your forehead, your cheeks, where your chin met your jaw. “‘gonna get you there, baby,” he’d promise, finally releasing his fingers from your clit and placing his hand on the inside of your thigh.

gently, he’d raise your leg before lining his cock with your entrance. at night, you were accustomed to him slowly working his way in, carefully easing himself inside with no rush or agenda. but now, when your pussy was dripping and begging to be filled, there was no need for patience. with one strong thrust, he’d push himself in until the thatch of hair above his cock pressed against your back.

you’d release a sharp cry followed by a sigh of relief. unable to restrain yourself, you’d shove back your hips, desperate for friction. “fuck,” you’d seethe, your hand reaching over your head to cling to joel’s hair. as your fingers threaded through his thick locks, you’d tug, a silent way of begging him for more.

joel knew what you needed and how to give it to you. he knew how to strike the perfect balance between gentle and rough, how hard he could push himself inside of you, and how to make you melt under a soft bouquet of kisses. and he knew when you were ready for him to guide you onto your stomach, making you parallel with the mattress, so that he could position himself as deep and close to you as possible.

flat on your stomach, you’d raise your hips for joel. what you two shared was a gift of reciprocity; you promised to give joel everything he wanted to take, and joel promised to deliver everything he had. with his arms caged around you, the comforting weight of his body pressed against your back, the wet squelch of joel stuffing you full was the only sound filling the air.

“fuck, baby,” joel would groan, his southern drawl and sleep-laced voice rocking further waves of arousal throughout your body. he’d lift himself up momentarily, watching the way his cock disappeared inside of you, while his palms would trace the contours of your back and shoulders. then he’d fall back down, burrowing his face back into your ear.

this was your favorite joel miller – the one who let you help him come undone and completely let go, living in the moment and allowing his body to be raptured in pleasure, unafraid to speak his mind. you’d listen to the unfiltered hymns spill from his mouth, savoring each word and phrase. “god,” he’d whimper, his body growing weak with pleasure. with his lips against your ear, his voice would travel throughout your body, straight to your heat, further clenching around him. 

as his own sweat dripped onto you, both of your faces framed in wet strands of hair that clung to your skin, he’d continue. “your pussy takes me so well,” he’d murmur, the speed of his words quickening as he neared his climax. “so warm and so wet.” he’d grunt as his hips pounded against you more sloppily, the wet smack of his thighs echoing in the sun-soaked room. “it’s all for me, isn’t it?” he’d ask – a rhetorical question – but one that drove him to the edge when you answered it. 

“yes, baby,” you’d plead, squeezing your pillow as joel hammered into you. the feeling of his body blanketing you was perfect, and despite the heat, you never wanted him to leave. “it’s all yours, joel,” you promised, grinding your hips up to meet his, close to your own orgasm. “always will be.”

a low groan fell from joel’s lips. he bucked his hips into you one, two, three times, before he was collapsing on top of you, your own shock of pleasure radiating throughout your body. as joel caught his breath, still buried against your ear, you closed your eyes and basked in the warmth of his cum filling you up and seeping from between your legs. you savored the moment for as long as it lasted, grateful to be joel miller’s escape.

“god, baby,” he’d pant, his sweat-soaked body still pressing against yours. “you’re so fucking perfect.” then he’d roll off of you, making you chest-to-chest, and pull you against him. with utmost tenderness, he’d swipe your hair out of your face, eyes taking in your tear-stricken ones, your rosy cheeks, swollen lips. 

his mouth would crack into a crooked smile as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ears. ���you know that?” he’d ask, pecking the corner of your lips. resting his forehead against your own, he’d repeat it: “you’re perfect.”

[yuyu1024]

Good morning, Love

Pairings: San × y/n

Genre/tags: lovers with age gap

Warning: 🔞 fluff but still smut, pet names, cursing, suggestive/unprotected sex (be safe everyone), hj/bj, insecurities, judgement on physical appearances

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 2.3k

Disclaimers:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: no plot. I tried writing without stopping yesterday but i fell asleep as my meds kicked in... 😅 and yeah this is it.

--------------------------------------------------

It's always so awkward for you when your group of friends talk about their each own lovelife stories. It's not because you are jealous, envious, bitter or whatsoever. No. You can't be either of those things as you are not single and have a dry lovelife.

However, they don't know that. That is the thing. No one knows you are dating. Why? Because you are scared to be judged. Especially in this modern world where some are just entitled with their opinion. Tells what they think even though there is nothing wrong with it.

Yeah... there is nothing wrong with you dating no. You are in love. Both of you are. But... what you think can be the issue in this society is the age gap.

Funny enough, the distance of your age to your boyfriend is not even that big. It's just roughly five years. But for you, its like a fossil dating a baby.

***

"Good morning, Love..." your man greets you as soon as he comes out of the bedroom.

He is smiling ear to ear seeing you, his dimple is showing and his eyesmile is just the cutest.

"Why are you up so early...?" he hugs you from your back as you finish washing the pan you used for cooking breakfast for him.

"I just... felt like it." You answer smiling

"Hmm..." he inhales your scent. "But... it's saturday..." and then he pushes your hair off your neck and nibble tiny bits and pieces of you. "I was hoping for a quick hot fuck with my love..." he gnarls

"Sannie... we already had sex last night.."

"So...?" He pauses and looks a little offended, "why? Don't you like it when we do sexy time in the morning...?"

"No...." you twirl around to face your Goddess boyfriend. He have been working out more lately and it is so visible. He's so buff. "Well..."

"Well?" He arch one brow, waiting for you to explain.

"Don't you get tired?"

"Of what? Having sex? No! I work out to have good stamina for you..." he kisses you on your shoulder, "to make sure I please you, my love..."

You chuckle at how serious he is with his answer and yet so cute pouting.

"Not sex... I know you will not get tired of it... I know... believe me..." you tease him by biting your lip and then lightly running your fingers from his thight to his very noticable erection. "I meant... me... you... getting tired of me."

"And why would I?" He frowns.

"Well..." you lean back to the sink, giving a few inches of gap between you two. "I'm... older... and not that good looking..."

"What are you even talking about?" He is not smiling or being playful anymore. He just looks very not amused by your choice of words to describe yourself. "What's the matter? Why are you saying that about yourself...?"

You press your lips together as you don't know what to actually tell him.

It's not his fault. God no. San is an incredible lover. He always makes you feel loved, appreciated, contented and secured It's just your own insecurity. It's just your own thoughts whenever you try to compare yourself with others. Especially with all these younger and prettier girls around, in his work, in this neighborhood and online.

Well you don't think he will cheat. San is not like that. However, one day, if... he suddenly feels like settling down and having a family on his own. You are not the best option for that. 32 yrs old is not THAT old but... even though you are in that age, you haven't thought of settling down still.

You enjoy your time with San. But you are also afraid that you are waisting his prime years with you. Fucking you 'till you can't walk instead of someone...

"Love?" He grabs you by the waist, realing you in back from your thoughts. "Stop it okay?"

He knows you so much that he can tell from you zoning out.

"I fucking love you."

"I... love you too..." you say softly

"Then what's the matter?"

You shrug. "I don't know..."

"Are you going to leave me?"

"What? No!" You snap

"Then... stop overthinking about things that are not our problem right now..." he leans in and kisses you on the lips. "Whatever you are thinking about me, going away... it's not gonna happen. Okay?"

"Okay..." you try to sound confident.

"Answer me... with confidence love..." he lower down a bit more so his mouth reaches your tits.

He lets his tongue make circles over your thin white top, licking and making it basically see through with his saliva.

"Sannie..." you breathe, holding on to the to the counter top for support as you feel something in your stomach flutter. "What...what... are you doing... huh?" You throw your head back.

He didn't stopped. He continued licking until he had to tease you a bit more by bitting your now hard bud. He is literally reeling you out of those nonesense thoughts of yours.

Then his one hand going to your other tits, kneading it while his delicate fingers pinch and caress the other nipple.

"Are you happy with me?" He asks, his eyes looking at your face while his mouth is busy, continuing sucking.

You look down at his naughty eyes. "Y-yes... I am...."

You see a hint of smile from him. A little devilishly smile. He can't hide it even though his mouth is so busy with you.

You press your thighs together as you began to feel an undeniable intense pressure down there. It is tickling you from inside out.

"San!" You arch your back even more, making sure he can suck it more.

He growls his excitement as he sees you get more into it. He then takes you by your waist pulling you to him. You can feel his rock erection through his jogging pants.

"Maybe..." you breathe as he pulls away from your tits.

"Maybe what, my love?" He eyes you with so much adoration and happiness.

"Let's go back to bed?" You shyly asks

He just laugh and picks you up like a bride. "I can stay all day in bed if you want..."

He carries you back to your room and gently puts you down.

"But... I don't mean it like... you will take care of me..."

"Eung? What you mean?" He tilts his head, confused with your words.

"Let me..." you reach for the hem of his pants and slowly curl it downwards. "I want to take care of you today..."

He bites his lips, surpressing his excitement. "But love... you need it... what you said earlier..."

"I know... I know..." you kiss him on the cheek. "I felt a little... down... but..."

"But.... what?"

"I know I maybe older to you...however you are much mature among the two of us..."

"And...?"

"Well... you've taken care of my needs... and fill up my emptiness whenever I need it... want it..."

"And...?" He arches his brow

"And... its only me that overthinks about us...no one really calls me out... I just.. assume they do... or will do..."

"Love... Whatever you feel or think about us... is valid... the world right now... well they say people are more accepting nowadays... they do but still not all of them. Even within ourselves..."

"Yeah... I guess..."

"But... then... why do you want to take care of me?" He leans closer to kiss you. "I am so ready to put my dick in you now...." he mumbles as your lips separates.

"Because..." you glance down at his pants and then back to his eyes. "I want it..." you breathe the words out, sounding like a whine. But its not. You just want to give him what he deserves.

You ask him to switch with you. You let him sit on the edge of the bed while you stand up.

"Love.." he bites his lower lip as he watches you move.

You are not even doing anything yet. You are just standing up and looking down at your man, drool over you. White wet shirt and your black fitted cycling shorts.

"Oh San... you look aroused already..." you giggle as you see his face. "I haven't done anything yet."

He pouts and wrap his arm around your waist and presses his face on your tummy. "I can't help it. You're so fucking hot."

"I love you...."

He tilts his head up and smile. "I... love... you..." he whisper. "So...... much!" He adds at the end

You grin as you find him adorable. However, "Fine Mr. Loverboy..." you push him away from you, forcing him to lay down on his back. "Let's go back to business..."

You pull his pants down to his ankles and then removed it gently before throwing it away. You have your serious face on whilst your boyfriend is covering his face, hiding behind his hands. He's not laughing or what. He is shy and can't hide his excitement, that's all. Hmm... well, he can't really hide it. His dick is showing how turned on he is.

"Don't you want to look at me?" You ask

He takes his hand off his face and push himself up with his elbows. "Fuck!" He blurt out when he sees you naked and going down on your knees.

You grab his length and gently pump him a few times, making him squirm under your touch before fully taking him in your mouth.

"Love..." he moans as he feels the wetness and warmness.

You lick every vein and curve. Even the very tip where he is so sensitive and making him go crazy.

"Shit!" He gasps, "Love!" He grabs onto the bedsheets and tries to stay in place for you.

You bob your head fast and then slow teasing him his high. You want to make sure that he is feeling everything and emotionally having it all. You can even feel his length twitch in your mouth which means he is close.

"Y/N...my love..." he gets up and grabs you by your face and kisses you on the lips. He can taste himself in you but fuck that. He is so high right now with arousal and love for you. "I need to fuck you now or I'll go insane."

Climbing onto the bed whilst you to are lips to lips, San can't help himself but to rush. He even throw the plushies you have on bed just to give way for you to get into position.

"I love my weekends with you..." he says as he nibbles your neck. "No..." he gives you a smooch on your shoulder. "I love all the days I spent with you..." and a kiss on your cheek. "I love YOU."

You smile and nod, "I'll remember that."

"You should." He kisses you on the lips. "Always."

Then before you could open your mouth to repeat the word 'always' he had his length already aligned to your entrance. You felt his tip touch you and it made you melt already. His tip is so warm and when he pushes it in, you felt your insides move.

"Oh... God..." your mouth opens into on O.

He is so fucking thick. You have been dating for more than a year now and you are still getting surprised on how thick he is.

"Tell me if it hurts... I didn't prep you... I got so excited..."

"It's fine..." you smile and pull his face for a kiss.

Sex with Sannie is so satisfying. It's not just sex for him, it's really something you've never felt from anyone you have dated in the past. He is making you feel love in every thrust.

It may sound weird but it is true.

"Aaahhh..." his mouth drops opens and exhales as he felt you squeeze him inside  "l-love... aaaahhh..." he closes his eyes as he slows down his movement. "Fuck... I might not last long anymore..." he then stretches his arm to reach for the bedside drawer

"Don't..." you say catching your breathe. "It's okay..." you say

"Are you sure?"

You nod.

"But your.... fertile..."

You laugh when you realized what he just said. "Baby... I can't...how did you know that?"

"Of course... I know... I should know..." he hugs you and kisses you more whilst slowing down his hip movements to control a little bit more. "I know you are not ready yet... and it's part of my job.. being your boyfriend... to know your needs..."

"Aww..." you tap his nose lightly and then raise your legs to wrap it around his waist. "Thank you..." you whisper. "Give it to me now then..." you add

"What?" He is frowning but smiling. "Love, are you... serious?"

"Yes... If it's alright with you... if ever... after this... we get a little mini you and mini me..."

"Fuck yeah!" He sucks you lower lip. "I want us to have children... more people to show love and appreciation for your existence.. and I promise..."  picks up his rythm up again. "I will raise our kids with so much love.. and...and..." he opens his mouth to take quick breathes as he feels his climax coming. "Love... ahhh... Aack! Shit!"

You feel his dick pulsate and pump in you. Its warm and its quite a lot.

He snorts a laugh as he lays on top of you while you caress his head. "What's funny now?"

He pushes himself back up, "you mention children already..."

"Hmm..."

"So does this mean..."

"Mean what?"

"You want to spend a life with me? Forever?"

You smile, "Of course..."

San can't hide the pure happiness in his smile. "Just tell me when, where and how... I'll marry you..."

"I don't need a fancy wedding... All I need is you..." you say

"Ditto..." he lays his head on your chest. "But about the baby..."

"What about it?"

He looks up at you again, "just to make sure... can... we... go for one more?"

[genericpoetryblog]

Whalefall (Final Edit)

To sink a behemoth, Displacing gallons of incomprehensible measurement, Feeding villages to civilizations on blubber and marrow.

To bequeath a legacy, Of decade filled descendants and ecosystem genesis, Growing generations uncountable of hagfish and plankton.

To birth a lineage, Evolutionary fractals of kinetic biodiversification, Footprinting beyond fossil record where blue bleeds abyssal.

To submerge an ascension, Where rising demiurge grasps reflection in fraying corpse-fat, Haloed by bacterial mats and winged in polychaeta.

To devour an apotheosis, Renamed microscopic and leviathan in one airless gasp, Gorged bountiful of divinity dispersed from bone and flesh.

To conclude a promise, Life renewed in matching exchange of a single lived, Archimedean overflow flushing Lethe’s tidal shallows in rebirth

[syoddeye]

the warren, part six - natural

price x f!reader | 5.9k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, italicized flashbacks, skinny dipping, bathing, cunninglinus, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, darkfic. a/n: fireworks followed by fireworks. shout out to early and the arrangement. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

This must be what it feels like to open a tomb.

Fetid air sweeps over your cheeks. Warm and stagnant, smelling of earth and metal.

The room is maybe eight by ten feet and sinks another six down to an unfinished floor of exposed dirt and rock. Thin pipes run from under the floorboards and into the wall, disappearing further underground. An empty, dusty stack of wooden shelves stands bolted to the cement walls. You’d think it’s an old root cellar—if it weren’t for the door.

Four paneled. Old and weathered yet sturdy looking. You don’t dare hop into the pit to test the heavy lock affixed to it; no way you could climb out.

You take a photo, shut the hidden hatch, and smooth the rug over it.

It’s nothing. Has to be. Kate would’ve told you about it if it mattered. You haul the couch over it anyway and tuck into bed with a knife. In the small hours, you decide to call the landlady at breakfast, perhaps Phil too, for good measure.

~~

“Oh, that? Old storm cellar.” Kate sounds amused, as if your trepidation is a cute joke. “The Warrens were originally from Tornado Alley. Hated storms. Brought that hate with them.”

“Where does the door lead?”

“A storage room. I emptied it.”

You lean against the counter, staring at the rug with your thumb caught between your teeth in thought. Since your arrival, you’ve seen two storms of note. Thunder and lightning, but nothing like the furies that roll over the Great Lakes, the ones that rattled the shutters and windows or leaked from cracks in the ceiling. Certainly no tornadoes. You, of all people, know what it is to carry a fear. A hatred.

“Everything alright?”

You fish for reassurance. “Yes. I feel silly, that’s all.”

The hook goes ignored. “Mhm.” 

“Guess I’ll move the couch back.” You laugh, apologize for troubling her, and leave the couch where it sits.

You don’t call Phil. You’d sound ridiculous.

Later, you sneak some extra work in, at least you try to. A mechanical whir putters then skips. You swear a wisp of smoke leaks from the disk drive. The old laptop that could, no more. Rendered a fossil, unresponsive to your troubleshooting. Frustration burns your belly, whittling your patience to naught. It fractures at the ring of your phone.

“Yes?” You snap, instantly searing yourself with the white-hot brand of guilt. “I’m so sorry, hello?”

John chuckles. “Bad time?”

“John. Oh, no. I–I’m not scheduled today, am I?”

“No, you’re alright. Shop’s slow, so I thought I’d check in.” He pauses. “If you’re busy, I can chat later.”

“I’m not. Unexpectedly so,” you shove your laptop off your lap, rising from bed. You stretch and pace to the kitchen. “Mind if I keep you company? See the kittens?” Best clear your head.

“I’d be delighted.”

~~

The kittens are feral. You know this, yet their instinctive rejection smarts. From a sun-bleached lawn chair, you watch them tussle and spar in the shade of John’s building. Their mother, the first time you’ve seen her, lounges on the welcome mat. She’s a proud creature. Big and gray like a storm cloud.

You haven’t come around to John’s understanding concerning the cats. The queen tolerates one of her kittens, nearly too old to nurse, as it tries to latch. You wonder if the baby’s a female. If she, like her mother, will fall pregnant in a few months. If she’ll end up with an unseasonably late litter, born to frost and snow rather than wildflowers and sunlight.

“Beautiful thing,” John observes, emerging from the garage with an ice-cold soda. He slots it in your hand and plants himself in the chair beside you. “Mama and her babies.”

“It’s something.”

“They’ll be off on their own soon. They’ll do fine.”

“And if not?” If one of the area’s predators doesn’t get to them, the road awaits.

“Then that’s that. Nature takes its course.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. Falling prey to a beast or an accident is simply what happens to creatures like the kittens. You chew your lip, thinking of how immutable that truth might’ve been once, but now? With the means to prevent all the unnecessary heartache? Knowing John’s attitude on man’s interference, you don’t voice it. Knowing your own.

You catch him staring. There’s something in the way his eyes linger. A quiet intensity that betrays the hunger he’s set aside for your benefit. Unspoken but raw. Crude. It claws at you as much as it does him.

Later, in the shower, you reacquaint yourself with your softer parts. You rouse a lovely pressure but fumble. It slips through your fingers and down the drain with the water.

~~

Your first inventory trip to Ponderosa arrives. The ride is more pleasant than the last, and John shoos you away to the library when you try to help at the town depot. He warns you it’s a lot of dull conversation and lifting, so you slink off.

The whole town’s decorated for the Fourth. Its two hotels are bursting at the seams, sidewalk patios filled with folk. A shuttle to a resort ten minutes away stops in front of the coffee shop, making the decision to delay your visit for you.

The Ponderosa Public Library is cozy and welcoming. The gleaming white stone floor of the entrance lends a hallowedness. Phil Graves’s drawl drifts through your head at the sight of a local history display positioned near the front, but the honeyed voice of the librarian hooks your attention. Draped in a floor-length cardigan, the kindly older woman eagerly waves you in. She’s thrilled to register you with a temporary card when you inquire.

“I can count on one hand how many visitors have signed up this summer. Two!” She laughs. “Your name?”

~~~

In the pre-dawn stillness of the desert, the landscape is a vast, empty stretch painted in muted hues of gray and indigo. Hints of morning light graze the earth and highway, devoid of traffic aside from the occasional tumbleweed. The openness feels expansive yet intimate. Alien, yet familiar. Desolation and your lonely home of some years. Where life makes the best of it. The most stability you’ve ever known.

You arrive in town five minutes past seven.

Passing the gas station, you keep your head down and ring hand displayed to let the synthetic gemstone reflect the sun. It doesn’t stop one trucker from leaning out of his cab with an appreciative whistle.

The library’s office light is on, so you knock on the staff entrance. Robin lets you in thirty seconds later, chattering on about a game show. You clean the bathrooms while she prepares the rest of the branch to open. You finish with minutes to spare and settle at the boxy computer that keeps your back to a wall.

The usual patrons file and out in as you send a dozen inquiry emails to writing gigs and delete rejections. You write a father of the bride speech for $50, your biggest job yet. Every sentence is a penny, and pennies add up. You’ll have enough for the car, gas, and computer in a few months. Everything is planned out and locked safely away in your head, except for one detail.

You traipse slowly along the geography shelf, hand poised like a dowsing rod, waiting for a feeling. Your fingers brush a spine and shiver. Idaho Cities and Townships. Paging to the index, you trace your finger down the list like you’re looking for the right scripture in church. The psalm to sing. Something pulls your finger to a place called Grouse Bay. It burrows under your skin and nails. Hope. 

~~~

You revere librarians. They’re the only people you’ve met who never pry, lest it be to help you. Jeanne, the librarian of this particular branch, leaves you to peruse without hovering. The bangles on her arms clink together like a bell on a cat. She minds herself until you approach the checkout with a short stack.

“Excellent choices, sweetie. These’ll keep you plenty company.” She scans them, apprising you of the upcoming fireworks, but abruptly pauses. Her eyes stare past you. “Are you expecting a handsome fella? A Brawny Man lookalike?”

From outside, John waves with a smile. You return both. “I am.”

She whistles low and slides the books to you with a knowing look. “I take it back. He’ll be plenty of company.”

Outside, John hooks a finger in your tote the moment you’re within reach and peers inside. Nosy. 

“A couple of romances, nothing you’d like.”

“That so? You don’t think I’d like…The Arrangement?” 

You bat at his hand, clutching your haul and tilting away as you walk. “I highly doubt it.”

A waggish grin lights up his face. If the man on the front cover of that particular text bears a resemblance to him, it’s pure coincidence.

On the ride home, his hand inches over your thigh. You let it rest and take another long shower.

You still can’t scratch the itch.

~~

Despite John’s preparations, the Fourth of July cleans the grocer out of booze, cigarettes, and just about everything else. The store shuts after lunch, and he talks you into a boat ride. 

“I didn’t know you owned a boat.”

“I don’t,” He hefts a cooler onto the tailgate, the last stash of crusher beer inside. “Kate does. Nik just patched her up.”

“Wish he’d fix my car.” Nikolai mentioned the part was delayed two weeks and blamed a train derailment further West. 

Kate’s home is an aging two-story half a mile down the lakeside road. Two juniper trees bracket the entrance, with twin rows of bluebells and dogbane lining the path. Her Ranger sits under a carport, flanked by a muddy ATV and an old Bronco.

You shoulder your bag and walk to the rear of John’s truck, studying the unfamiliar vehicles. “Who else is joining us?”

“Hello, rabbit.” A gruff voice purrs. Outdoors, Simon looks larger than life with no fixture or frame to duck. His muscles bulge under a black t-shirt, the skin on his arms more bronzed than his face. However, as he steps directly behind you, leaning over you to grab the cooler, you see faint tan lines around his eyes.

You whip around to face the cab, trying to not look so obvious with your failed escape attempt, and see John’s mouth flatten. Simon’s chest brushes and bumps your back, pelvis ghosting your hip as he effortlessly hauls the packed cooler over your head. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and sweat is fleeting but intense.

“How’s the boat?” John slams his door. You flinch and hastily close the rear gate. 

“Glorified sardine tin.” Simon clears his throat and spits, then jerks his head. “C’mon.”

You follow in silence, crossing the road and descending a creaky staircase built into the slope of the hillside leading to the lake. Kate’s boat is bigger than you imagined, a double-decker pontoon. She and Nik stand at the mooring fixed to an aluminum dock, and as you step onto the last shallow flight, a man emerges from the cabin.

His grin is a crescent set on a chiseled jaw and hard to look away from. He isn’t as tall as Simon, but cuts just as imposing of a figure with wide shoulders and thick arms. He bounds closer, greeting the three of you like an excitable dog. Simon passes by, mumbling something that makes the man straighten and lock on to you with eyes an unnerving shade of blue, cynoid. Nothing like John’s.

John gently nudges you ahead and supplies your name. “And this is Soap. He’s Simon’s partner.”

Partner. That’s not as comforting as you want it to be. “Soap?”

An accent wraps around his words, catching you off guard. “Aye. Soap. Heard a lot about ye.”

“Good things I hope?”

He leans, voice dropping into a conspiratorial but genial whisper. “Plenty. Though if ye got a naughty streak, I won’t tell.”

The breeze off the lake doesn’t abate the heat his compliment evokes. A whiff of acetone blends with mint wafts off him, but it’s his nostrils that flare. He’s sniffing you. “I don’t–”

“Soap!” Simon barks.

“Chat later.” He whispers, then answers Simon’s call, disappearing with his counterpart.

A bit dazed, you greet Kate, and she steers you aboard. John unmoors the boat with Nik muttering in his ear, and you’re shown the prime seat at the bow. Kate takes the helm, and within minutes, the pontoon putters away from shore to join the dozens of vessels dotting the lake. Simon and Soap return with armfuls of bottles and cans, someone turns the satellite radio on, and John fits himself to your side. You don’t know the last time you celebrated the Fourth, and here you are, toasting two Brits, a Scot, and a Russian. If there’s a punchline, you hope to find it.

A flask eventually appears. You refuse, watching Soap’s mouth pucker in disgust and Nikolai drinking deep like it’s water. John squeezes your shoulder, his arm draping over you with his thigh pressed to yours.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you go see Kate? Get some girl talk in?” 

Kate doesn’t seem the type for girl talk, but how the others seem to hold their breath at John’s suggestion propels you to your feet.

You find Kate atop the upper deck, sprawled with a book and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The boat rides the wake of passing speedboats, forcing you to crawl and sit cross-legged. You barely hear the men below save for another toast.

“Too much for you, huh?” Kate asks, taking a drag.

It’s a conscious decision to not mention girl talk. “Yep. They’re…a lot.”

She snorts and lets the conversation wither early on the vine, probably for the best. She is your landlord.

Basking in the sun, you drink your warming beer and watch the water. Listen to the whoops and hollers across the lake.

When your father moved you across state lines to a ramshackle home perched atop a steep hill, you often crept onto the roof to do just this. They called that lake an unsalted sea, vast and untamed. Choppy with whitecaps and an unfathomable shade of blue, always darker than the sky above. You lived in fear of it, listening dutifully when your father carped on your morbid fascination. He banned you from trekking to its shores.

As a child, he suffered visions of you getting swept up by a rogue wave. You believed him, wanting him to care. As a teenager, you wondered if it was his way of protecting you from the men who prowled the docks, the boogeymen in the dark. His tacit acknowledgment of your growing older. Now, a thousand miles and a lifetime away, you know it’s because he simply didn’t want another prisoner to escape.

The first man whose love you wanted tried to trap you with water. The second dragged you to a desert. Looking down at John, your stomach twists. The third time’s a charm. He’s not like them.

“Rabbit.” Soap’s shaggy head pokes over the deck’s edge. “Mind if I join?”

Kate turns a page, you scoot, and Soap hoists himself up.

“So. You and John. What’s that like?” He laughs at your wince. “C’mon. Dinnae be shy. Been a minute since someone’s turned his head.”

“It’s…new.”

“New. Aye. Steamy? At eachother like–”

“Christ,” Kate grumbles, suddenly rocking up to a seated position, simultaneously stubbing out her cigarette as she slides to the edge. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Soap snickers. “Dinnae mind her.”

Sensing a sliver of an opening, you redirect. “John said you and Simon were partners. How long have you been together?”

“Years, I reckon. Hard to picture life before him. I was a mess. Workin’ at his shop’s done me good.”

“Oh, I thought you were partner partners.”

He grins. “No, yer not mistaken. We’re partners in business an’ bed.” 

With a gentle dig, his elbow finds your ribs, and you feign an affable chuckle into your drink. The cheap beer’s too tepid to stomach, but you swallow, hide a grimace and push on. “What brought you here?”

Soap rolls his shoulders and finally casts his gaze elsewhere. “Wanted to see the world. I was an artist. I fucked off from home at sixteen an’ never returned. Wandered for years. Traveled all over.”

Sixteen. Incomprehensible. Not that eighteen was much better, but you weren’t alone. 

“And you stopped here?” You came to Grouse Bay to hide. Picked it at random. To think someone else did the same seems kismet.

“I ken. Ye probably think I’m daft. Of all the places I’ve seen, how come fuckin’ Idaho? Of all places? I dinnae. Set its hooks in me.” He glances at Simon. “Love’s got a way of changing people, aye? Transformin’ them. It could be ye, putting down roots next.”

The comment nips your soft underbelly. You pivot again. “Did you paint? Do you still create art?”

Soap turns. “Nae so much anymore. I mostly draw. Dipped my toes into painting, but too much to carry. The art I make nowadays…It’s gruesome.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Taxidermy. ‘S what Simon and I do,” His eyebrows shoot up, teeth flashing in a puckish smile. “Ye didnae ken?”

Revulsion tightens your throat. “I didn’t.”

He bites his lower lip, clearly eager to fan your disgust like a fire. A hairbreadth of control keeps his mouth shut long enough to rethink it. Instead, his focus drifts once more to his partner. 

Despite the acidity lapping at your throat, curiosity opens your mouth. “Do you know how Simon came to Grouse Bay?”

Soap’s lips press tightly together, enough to sap their color, then bend into a brief scowl. Without warning, he stands and rips his shirt off in one smooth movement. He tosses it, crows a complaint about the heat, and doesn’t look over the upper deck before launching off the pontoon.

Howls of laughter erupt, but surprise tethers you in place until John calls your name. Apparently, a sunset dip is tradition.

Ducking into the cabin under the premise of changing, you whisper to Kate, “I don’t have a swimsuit. John didn’t tell me about swimming.”

“He must’ve,” Kate quarters a lemon on the tiny counter and tucks a wedge into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She shoves it through with a thumb and licks the pad. “Nobody will bat an eye if you go in your underwear.”

“I’m not–that’s too–”

“You’re shy. That’ll pass. I’ll tell John you need his shirt.” She’s gone before you can argue.

A short eternity squeezes into less than a minute. John appears in the doorway, and beyond him, you hear Nikolai’s deep laugh.

“Kate says you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Well, I’ve come to give you this just in case.” 

You thought you’d see John shirtless for the first time under different circumstances. Not in a cramped boat cabin, surrounded by his drunk friends. Your chest tightens. All the muscle you’ve only glimpsed and imagined is there in front of you. A torso sculpted by labor and practicality, rugged with scars and fat cushioning his stomach. And, to your delight, decently hirsute. His hand drops to his belt.

“Shirt’s yours. Need me to turn around?”

It feels more intimate than any kiss he’s given you, and it seems a test. You muster your nerve, set aside caution, and peel off your dress.

“Blue and white. Festive.”

“And you’re in green.”

He kicks off his jeans with a shrug. “Not my birthplace, and not for long.”

Standing at the stern, you entertain second and third thoughts, toying with the shirt’s hem. John waits in the water, expectant. You catch a flash of white—he’s nude. Toward the bow, you hear the others. They’re all nude.

“What about Kate?” You ask, voice warbling with uncertainty. 

“Kate never joins. She watches.”

“Watches?”

“For other boats. Voyeurs. Threats.”

You feel stupid for asking.

The shock of the cold water hits like a full-body slap, stealing your breath and sending a sharp jolt through your limbs. Arms wrap around you as you surface, and the scruff of John’s beard scrapes the juncture of your neck, chin pushing the wet shirt aside to briefly suck your neck. It’s sudden, it’s a lot, knowing what’s behind your back—

“John!” You sputter indignantly, giggling nervously as his broad hands slide to squeeze your hips. 

“Gimme a second.” He noses your wet skin and plants a few kisses before relinquishing his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hard to keep my hands off you when you look so good.”

Sufficiently flustered, you promptly forgive him. “It’s fine. Just not in front of the others, please.”

“Right,” he chuckles and pinches your bottom as he paddles past. “She’s shy.”

Affronted, you swim after him.

As much as you hate to admit, Kate was right—your shyness melts with the sun’s slow descent. You spend the rest of the daylight in and out of the water, racing the men and learning to automatically avert your eyes from their frankly proud nakedness. By the time evening falls, you’re worn out, dressed, and idle as you munch on a sandwich Kate packed. It feels surreal. The entire day. Breathtakingly normal despite the skinny dipping.

Not weird, just different.

Eventually, everyone finds their place for the fireworks. You nestle into John’s side, swapping your towel for a blanket. He’s still bare-chested, shirt drying over an empty seat. It’s natural, resting your head on his shoulder. Fits perfectly. Simon, Soap, and Nikolai climb to the roof. Kate reclines in the captain’s chair. Beneath the cotton weave, John’s hand strokes your knee, and the other rests across your shoulders. The conversations lull as the whole lake seems to hold its breath.

Flashes of red and white burst overhead, their reflections shimmering over the rippling, dark water. Blue sparks spill in glittering arcs, lighting the night sky in meteoric explosions. Cheers from across the lake erupt alongside them. John’s hold doesn’t lax. For nearly an hour, he keeps you close, palm searing your skin. Your attention strays from the show, instead admiring his crow’s feet, the mole on his nose, and the silver woven into his beard. The fireworks cast a glow, making him look almost ethereal. Not angelic, otherworldly. The lines and marks on his skin map to places you’ve never been. Never thought you’d go.

The sky returns to an unbroken, inky black, the scent of sulfur settling in a fog. Kate ferries you to land, and you disembark ahead of John with his keys. In the drive, you pop the tailgate and then load your things into the passenger seat. 

“Bunny.”

You turn to see Soap hauling the cooler, huffing and puffing a bit. The thing’s empty, so he must’ve hurried up the stairs. He crosses the road, tossing his burden into the truck. 

“Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Must’ve misheard. Said ‘bonnie’. Endearment of sorts. Listen, I was hopin’ to get another chance to speak with ye. You’re a good time when you let loose.”

“Thank you. I haven’t in a while. Felt nice.”

“I can tell. Simon said ye were wound tight. He frighten ye?”

To the core of your being. A congenital fear. You swallow it. “No.”

“Really? Big fella scares me.” Soap pitches his voice low. He casually stretches and grips the window crank, effectively caging you into the wedge of the door. His nostrils widen like earlier, pupils dilating in the light. “Now. Need ye to tell me somethin’. Been eatin’ me all day, and I cannae be a dog and put my nose wherever I’d like. Gotta be good.”

Instantly, ropes harness your thoughts, prepared to draw and quarter them into the bleakest parts of imagination. The desert, the inland sea. 

The plastic handle creaks under his grip as he forces the words out between his teeth. “Did ye find—”

“Johnny.” Simon. Soap immediately reels backward, tugged by an invisible thread. 

“Here, sir!”

Sir? Johnny? 

“ATV. Now.” 

Soap doesn’t so much as spare a parting glance, obediently scurrying to the four-wheeler. You stare, dumbfounded, and jump when the driver-side door creaks. John smiles wryly, his shirt adorning his neck like a damp scarf. The trail of hair disappearing into his waistband is a momentary distraction from the brute stalking beyond the windshield. Simon’s scarred flesh is a beacon in the moonlight. His heavy brow focused solely on the man perched atop his vehicle. You hear him seething, growling under his breath at Soap—Johnny—and John’s door shuts.

“C’mon, sweetheart. They’re alright.” He coaxes you into the cab, patting your knee with a sigh. “Lover’s quarrel. Simon’s a jealous man.”

“Jealous,” you echo, gawking at the two men outside. “Of me?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” John starts the truck and lowers his window. He leans out some as Nik and Kate share a smoke at the end of her walk. “Night, Kate. Nikolai.”

Nikolai leers behind his cigarette, gesturing with it in your direction. A few words of Russian escape with the smoke, a throaty laugh on their heels. Kate looks impassive. Bored. Her house disappears in the rearview. A restiveness itches under your skin, exacerbated by the quiet crackling of the radio. Your head’s a crowded place. The silence’s a good place to unburden it.

“So. Soap’s real name is Johnny?”

John chuckles. “Nobody but Simon calls him that, but you didn’t think it was Soap, did you?”

“I’m assuming it’s to keep things less confusing.”

“Correct. I actually employed him for a spell, when he arrived. Earned the name ‘Soap’ on account of his mouth. Needless to say, his career in retail was brief. Kept flirtin’ with the customers.”

“And he got with Simon?” 

“Simon swept him off his feet.”

You scoff. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“Simon has his ways.”

Nothing in your short, tense encounters suggests Simon to be a man capable of love or romance. You doubt it is uncharitable to think so, either. Ferine and rude, calculated and off-putting. Everything he does aims to disarm by making the very air around him feel heavy and wrong, whereas Soap seems keen to impress upon you his friendliness, conveying himself as human conciliation. ‘Opposites attract’ has limits. 

Yet.

“Soap said love has a way of changing people.”

John hums in agreement. “Most powerful force there is.”

Can’t argue with that. Force for good or otherwise, though—that you may dispute.

You don’t tell him to, but he shuts the truck off in the drive. Cats scatter as he escorts you, voicing their displeasure at your late arrival. Under the exterior light, you fumble with your keys, his gaze heavy on your cheek. In the time it takes to turn the lock, you berate yourself. Plead with a jury close to hanging.

It’s swimming all over again. Are you shy? Timid? Are you allowing the long, creeping reach of your abandoned husband to touch you before you let John try? The verdict passes your lips.

“Won’t you come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Please come in.”

It takes two invitations to coax John Price into the cabin and a third to the shower. 

A shuddering sigh of relief comes with removing your underwear and dress. The freedom from wet cotton eclipses the nervousness that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The urge to cover yourself in front of the man who is not your husband sings loud, nearly shrieking when he brushes his knuckles down your arm and gently turns you around. He starts the water, returning to press his front to your back, the slight tackiness of lakewater and sweat melding you together. His fingertips run a track from your flanks to the sides of your breasts, a hum buzzing into the skin of your shoulder when you grasp the counter.

When Dusty—No. No. He’s not here. John is. 

You banish the venomous guilt that tries to unseat your want and let John tug you into the shower to wash the day off.

He’s hard for most of it, his swollen cock skimming your hips and ass, glancing over your belly, and nearly driving the strength from your legs. He seems unfazed, reverent, and single-minded in his self-imposed task. It’s embarrassing, the way you squirm and fidget at every touch. Difficult to tell if it’s arousal or the unfamiliarity of intimacy.

John takes your place under the spray and chuckles softly when you finally look down. His fingers scrub through his body hair to the thatch at his cock’s root. You suck in a breath. He’s proportional—thick, heavy, and flushed. Hangs between the two of you, untouched, but you know it would burn your hand. Your tongue. The dizzying rush from that last thought alone reassures you because you don’t remember the last time you knelt because you wanted to.

Neither of you dress. Both of you barely dry. He insists on a light, hovering at the bedside lamp until you nod. When he climbs onto the bed, murmuring little nothings, your blood’s roaring in your ears, drowning out his encouragement. He opens your legs for a good look, but he might as well wrench open your ribcage. 

“Quite the sight.” John whispers. His palms slide from your knees to your upper thighs, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking where your thighs meet your pelvis. 

You imagine fastening an anchor to your brain, then a lure. Stay here, stay focused. 

“Yeah?”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing as he reads into the single word. “Yeah. Beautiful.” He slowly slides and sinks to kiss your thighs, positioning himself between your legs. His shoulders stretch them further, and an arm snakes around and pulls you closer all too easily, hand groping a greedy handful. His breath hits where it’s wet, coarse hair tickling skin.

The first contact rips a sharp breath from you, which he immediately meets with a hum that buzzes to the base of your spine. The fingers on your thighs brush soothingly as he continues, jaw pressing further. His mouth latches, tongue dipping lower and in, laving along your entrance before circling to your clit. Each stroke and circuit deliberate, adjusting to the sounds spilling uninhibited from your mouth. Your hands reach and thread into his hair with a moan.

He groans softly into your flesh, nosing the fat above your sex, chuckling when your hips pitch. His hand travels up your quivering inner thigh to ease a finger in, pulling away to sink it into the first knuckle with a wet sound. 

“Look at you.” John sounds wrecked, beard and chin drenched in spit and slick, tongue licking the excess from his lip. Eyes boring into you with that look again. Unmasked hunger, barely tethered. The one you touched yourself to in the shower.

“Smelled you all day, smelled this,” He emphasizes with a pump of his finger, kissing your clit at the strangled, small noise you make. “Leaking into your pants, even after a swim. Nearly laid you out right there, during the fireworks.” 

A filthy whine erupts at the thought. You picture it vividly. John tearing your dress off of you, hauling you to the floor of the boat. Nik and Kate and Simon and Soap—all of them watching John mount you, ignoring the spectacle for a different show. Would any of them intervene? Would you want them to?

You clench at the thought, and he smirks.

He introduces a second finger alongside the first, hushing your reedy whimpers at the stretch. “The needy thing knew I was near. Knew that I could scent her crying out for me. Poor thing, neglected and mistreated. Needed a man to fuss over her.”

Your face grows somehow hotter. Not enough that you’re naked and under him, he needs to strip you bare and sweetly flay you alive. “John—”

He cuts you off, tutting. “Don’t be embarrassed—it’s natural for a man to want his mate.”

His fingers plunge to the webbing, ratcheting up to earnestly fuck you now that he’s teased you into incoherency. “Never gonna leave you lonely,” he rasps, tucking his mouth back over your pearled clit. 

Every year, the lake ice cracks and fractures with the arrival of spring. This is no different.

Muscles flexing and fluttering, dimly aware of the praises he murmurs against your cunt, you shatter. 

He doesn’t withdraw his fingers until you score his scalp and beg, and even then they slide over your slit, cupping the slippery folds of your pussy. He kisses and wipes his cum-soaked whiskers over your spasming thighs and stomach, his free hand planting beside you. John looms, pleased but not quite sated. 

He pets your cunt and waits for the worst of your trembling to cease. “Perfect,” he affirms, giving it a wet pat. He grunts, then abruptly knocks your legs open a second time with a knee, removing his hand to slick his cock.

Your eyes bulge, vision clearing in an instant at the view. Sat ignored for too long, his cock flushes a deeper shade of red, precome clinging to it like wax and seeping into his hair. He wraps his hand around the thick of himself, shuddering, eyes screwing shut as he strokes.

You think your orgasm might’ve knocked something loose. You reach a shaking hand and touch his knee. 

“J-John? I-I can’t…I can’t, not yet.” You are selfishness incarnate, asking him to quash his hunger once more. 

His eyes snap open. His pupils drill into you, flitting between your twitching cunt, his cockhead, and your face. Stygian and starving. 

“I’m sorry. Please.” 

He swallows, chest heaving with his unwhetted appetite, its festering close to spoiling. For a moment, fear poleaxes you into the mattress when he shuffles on his knees closer anyway, knees pushing under your thighs. 

“Not yet? That’s…okay,” John breathes raggedly. He nods, fisting his cock faster. His free hand glides from the valley of your breasts to your stomach, tracing a circle. “We’ll get there, sweetheart…Can I…?” 

Biting your lip, you nod.

He sighs, hips bucking slightly. “You’ll be taking my cock in no time. No tears, now. Wipe ‘em off.”

You obey immediately, not having realized you’d started crying, and see his cock jump in his hand at that.

John chuckles a little brokenly, struggling to speak through gritted teeth. “Soon, I can feel it. Gonna empty that head of yours, weed out what’s holding you back, and fill you, fuck, here.” His fingers press over your womb, and he jerks forward. Hot ropes of come shoot out, coating his fingers and your skin. He rocks into his fist a few more times, the motions stuttering, until leisurely sinking back to his haunches. 

After he withdraws and returns to clean you up, wiping the sweat off your brow before the cum on your belly, he tucks the both of you into bed. He turns off the lamp and claims the side closest to the door. He spoons you with his heartbeat to your spine.

Staring into the night beyond the window, you apologize again.

“I want to. I really want to.”

“I know, darl. I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “What did I say? We’ll get there.”

He falls asleep wrapped around you. You, however, lie awake trying to remember what it is to share a bed with someone willingly. With someone who wants you. 

Eventually, you wriggle out a hand and grab your phone, dimming its brightness all the way down. You haven’t checked it since work and swipe to your messages. A text from an unknown number sits at the top of your notifications.

>> F741 >> hold

[the-scientist-blog]

There are two climate change characteristics that best portray a fixed light brown sky in the distant future. One - Ice in the form of mountain glaciers, the Arctic and Antarctica will require an Ice Age to build back up, and the last such age ended about 10,000 years ago. The next one is thought to be 50,000 years away. Yes, the ice melt began thousands of years ago, but humans have accelerated a slow process into a rapid one; thereby bringing the final melt hundreds of years sooner than originally scheduled by Mother nature. And two - Ocean acidity and saltwater rise that worsen with each annual dosage of 40 billion tons of fossil fuel pollutants infiltrating our atmosphere and waterways. I’m sorry to inform you that irrevocable sea level rise is here to stay and this permanent global warming penalty has three origins that I’m afraid will never die off for a very, very long time unless human caused climate warming ceases real soon. Atmospheric warming causes the sea water to expand. . .upwards. Then there is the obvious rise due to the fast melting of all land ice. In addition, coastal communities are over-demanding regional groundwater supplies for domestic purposes and agriculture use. As the groundwater runs low, the surrounding land sinks, thus forcing nearby ocean waters closer in away from the former shoreline....

[dinodorks]

[ The fossilised remains of a Psittacosaurus, an Early Cretaceous ceratopsian, and Repenomamus, one of the largest mammals during the Mesozoic. ]

"When dinosaurs ruled the Earth, we tend to think of the mammals at the time — including our distant ancestors — as small and quivering in the shadows. "We've always had this picture of mammals as the literal underdogs," says Elsa Panciroli, a paleontologist at the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. "They're being trampled. They're cowering in the darkness at night, just trying to avoid being eaten." But a remarkable new fossil, originating in the early Cretaceous some 125 million years ago and now described in the journal Scientific Reports, conjures a rather different possibility. It consists of two intertwined skeletons — an upstart mammal sinking its teeth into a much larger dinosaur. "Our best guess is that the mammal was in the middle of attacking the dinosaur," says Jordan Mallon, one of the authors of the new study and a paleobiologist at the Canadian Museum of Nature. If true, such a revelation shakes our traditional view of dinosaur domination and mammal submission. It suggests a more complex ancient food web in which certain dinosaurs were prey and some mammals were predators. In the case of this particular fossil that was unearthed in modern-day northeast China, "this mammal appears to have been particularly gutsy or voracious," Mallon says."

Read more: "This fossil of a mammal biting a dinosaur captures a death battle's final moments" by Ari Daniel.