#triptych window

[huariqueje]

Triptych - Jake Fischer , 2018.

American, b. 1985  -

Oil on panel , 24 x 18 in.

[die-o]

A little triptych I made based on Tummy by Tamino for a class. I had a lot of fun with the colours and the rendering and thinking about various stages of celebrity deification !

[handbasket-to-helen]

[skrubu]

On 24 (4) by Pekka Nikrus Via Flickr: In album Diptych / Triptych

[10moonymhrivertam]

Have to admit I skimmed some of the ongoing stuff in part cuz I’m stuck in the late 100s-early 200s, but on the subject of diverse casting - Carlos (the non-narrator half of the couple) was originally voiced by one of the creators, but when the shape of the show got clearer, they cast a gay man of color!

(Also Carlos totally has a last name now which I (a dedicated Imaginer of Magic School Bus crossovers) was devastated to find out :P)

what the fuck. hey why are yall classifying WTNV as "ancient problematic media" because people liked it in 2013. am i not FUCKING allowed to like things if they're not from 2018 or later. i refuse to forget about it just because the new-age tumblr gays replaced it with the penis archives or whatever. fuck you

[jenzel]

what's that one WIP you'll never finish but you think about all the time

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vi

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to "lovers." somnophila. dubcon. smut. manipulative soap. unreliable narrator. terrible food. social isolation. suicidal ideation. suicidal resolve. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

A hand pets between your legs sometime in the early morning, fingers searching for tender flesh. The other slips up the front of your naked body, cradling one breast, thumb flicking gently across the nipple.

The covers over you are warm with yours and Johnny’s shared body heat, the both of you having gone to sleep naked. His body curves around you, the hair of his chest and thighs tickling your bare skin. Water laps at the outer hull in quiet breaths.

You’d dreamed. You don’t remember exactly what of. Only impressions are left behind—the rocking of the trawler following you into sleep. Darkness. A sense of displacement. Your throat closing and opening.

When you crack open your eyes you feel it in the pit of your stomach. A storm to match the one that blew across the night.

If you give into it—it will hurt. You recognize it in your bones.

Johnny groans behind you when his callused fingers find your cunt warm and soft for him. His cock is a column of heat against your low back, morning-stiff. He circles your clit, mouthing the back of your neck and nudging his knee between yours, hooking your leg over his thigh to spread you open.

Fresh arousal wells up to coat his fingers. You hear him huff behind you, amused; he reaches down between the two of you to palm himself, cupping his shaft up between your folds and thrusting shallowly between them. Catching the flow along the length of his cock.

You don’t move, other than to breathe.

He toys with the breast in his hand as he tracks humid kisses up behind your ear. When he angles the head at your entrance, he slides in with minimal resistance��seats himself to the root.

You release the airy moan it draws from you. Snug—he’s snug inside you, cockhead sitting against your cervix. When he rolls his hips, he barely pulls out, just far enough that you feel where his cock begins to widen, thickest in the middle, before pushing back in again.

He rocks against you, playing with your clit. His other hand moves to your leg, drawing it outward a little farther. You stay limp in his hold, eyes closed.

He can do what he wants with you. Anything. If it keeps what’s happening in your belly contained—anything.

It doesn’t take long—you’re not awake enough to brace against it. He winds you higher and higher until your spine goes-arrow straight, your climax spilling through you, drawing you tight around him, and Johnny pistons into you with a few rapid thrusts before groaning, long and satisfied, as liquid heat fills you once again.

“Mm,’” he murmurs, “mornin,’ bonnie.” Angling himself to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get us goin,’ hm?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means until he pulls away from you. He stands up from the bed and tugs the sheets back up over your naked shoulders, humming some tune you don’t recognize—it sounds vaguely like a hymn—as he dresses and disappears up the stairs.

You feel the trawler rock and shift as he takes it away from the pier, back into the open water. Gray morning light shafts in through the small window triptych above the head of the bed.

You turn onto your back. Johnny’s spend seeps out of you slowly as you shuffle into the heat his body left behind on the sheets. You look inward.

It’s still there. Quelled—for now. If you think too hard about it, you might summon it up.

But Johnny is just upstairs, and the last thing you want is for him to hear you, to hear the poor, crazed animal you can become. There is only so much of you that you are willing to inflict upon him. There is only so much you would ask him to tolerate.

Although it strikes you, as you stretch under the covers, that you don’t believe he would resent you for it.

Probably, he would just wrap his arms around you, and coo at you in that smarmy way of his. No big deal. You can have a breakdown, bonnie, and he’ll make you something for breakfast after. And do you want him to eat your pussy again? Bet you’ll feel better after that.

You almost give in then and there just thinking about it. Wind shear pressing against the inside of your tear ducts.

That would make it worse—if he were to comfort you. You don’t think you would make it out to the other side.

So you swallow hard. Swim your legs through the tangled sheets and find the floor with your bare feet. Your carry-on still sits up in the bridge, so you drag a blanket around your shoulders and climb the stairs to retrieve it.

“There she is!” Johnny exclaims as you surface. He looks over his shoulder at you, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cup of coffee. He grins at you. “Hell’s bells, don’ you look beautiful.”

You sneer at him, knowing your hair is a rat’s nest and the bags beneath your eyes have had no chance to deflate. Another drop of his cum falls down your thigh; you grab up your bag and retreat back into the bedroom.

When you return to the bridge dressed and brushed, face washed and moisturized, Johnny brings you a second steaming mug, white ceramic, with “Hers” in black cursive printed on the side.

“Stupid,” you say, when you see it.

Johnny kisses the side of your head. “I’ll make eggs.”

“Shouldn’t you be driving?” you ask, as he sets a pan down on the stove. You eye the trawler wheel nervously, waiting for it to spin.

“Is no’ a car, bonnie,” Johnny snorts. “Dinnae have to watch for traffic.”

You eat the breakfast he makes you in disgruntled silence. Overhead, clouds pass, intermittent gaps allowing yellow sunlight to peek through, though never for more than a moment. You might’ve expected the day to be clear again, after the storm.

Six hours is six hours. You return to the novel you began yesterday, perched on the booth couch, though every time the hour changes your stomach draws tighter, as if winched.

At the end of the trip awaits more of the solitude you’ve been seeking. Johnny will deposit you onto the cove, and traipse off to his boy’s night. Possibly his old squad mates—team members—whatever they are, will be staying for more than one day.

You know. You know how it goes.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself. It’s what you wanted.

You pass the crags you saw on yesterday’s journey, and today they are vacant of their pinniped occupants. The island wildlife overall seems to be absent, perhaps hidden away in whatever sanctuary they found during the storm. A few seabirds circle above the dune grass, or trail after the trawler, but other than that, sky, sea, and land are vacant.

You reach the naval battle, and discover what the author spent the most time researching. She describes in exhausting detail how long it takes to load cannons, the role of current and wind speed in the maneuvering of ships, the bailing-out process of a breached hull.

It’s dull, and completely incongruous with the romantic melodrama of the previous chapter. You can see exactly why a former soldier would enjoy it.

You do not tell Johnny you’ve reached it.

Finally, sometime after noon, the cove comes into view. Johnny brings the trawler as close to shore as he can get it, and then drops anchor.

You sling your bag over one shoulder as you stand, lungs shaking in your chest.

“Well,” you say, “have a good time with your friends.”

He pauses, and then looks at you. The expression on his face is completely nonplussed, lips pursed, brows raised.

“What?”

“Your guys’ night.”

“What about it?”

You frown. “Aren’t you taking me to shore?”

“Why would I do that?”

Apprehension trickles down into your belly.

No. Oh, no.

“So you could go meet them?” you say, with growing trepidation.

Realization opens up his expression. Brows lift over blue eyes blooming. “Aw, bonnie, s’that why you’ve been cranky? You think I’m gonna abandon you?”

No—oh, no.

He comes over to you and gently nudges the strap of your bag off your shoulder, smiling.

“Course you’re invited, hen, what kind of bastard would I be if I left you all alone?”

Something breaks.

“No,” you say.

“Yeah,” he croons, bringing his hand to your jaw. Caressing the curve of it with his thumb. “Want you to meet my mates—”

You slap his hand away.

Panic, fully formed, climbs up your trachea.

It’s one thing to be left behind for better friends. It’s quite another to be subjected to them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap. Fury boiling. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Johnny blinks. You wrench yourself away from him, shoving against the pull of his gravity—smacking him in the chest with both of your hands.

“Was it getting shot?” you snarl, pickaxing your temple with two fingers. “Was it drowning? Because something made you fucking delusional, and I don’t know what it was, but I’m fucking sick of it. I don’t fucking like you.”

Johnny’s expression flattens. The gleam dulls in his eyes as he gazes at you.

“I don’t give a shit about you,” you tremble on. “You’re nothing to me. You’re a hookup. You’re good dick and that’s it. You don’t mean anything to me. Nothing.”

He takes a step toward you. You step back.

“And you don’t give a shit about me either! You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? You don’t have to act like this is anything but you do anyway, and you make fun of me the whole time, because you know I’m easy, because I’ll still let you fuck me, because I don’t have—because I’m just convenient pussy to you.”

He advances. You retreat. The cocky, confident Johnny that has been your unwelcome companion these past three days now is gone, as if a mask tossed away.

The line of his mouth is sharp and straight. His nostrils flare. A severe crease cracks the space between his drawn-together brows.

You’re not seeing the thing you saw on the beach, that first day. You’re not seeing the carefree bar cook or the island enthusiast.

You’re seeing the special forces soldier. Advancing on a target.

And you can’t stop yourself, even as terror runs a live wire up your spine.

“Like what do you think this was, Soap? I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your friends. I don’t care about your life. You’re wasting your fucking time. I don’t give a shit about you, and I never have, and I never will, and you’re too fucking stupid to notice—”

You run out of room to retreat. The backs of your knees run into the booth seat, but Johnny keeps coming. He invades every inch of your personal space, getting right up into your face, staring down at you with a hard jaw and sharp, spear point eyes.

“Stop it,” you flounder, “just stop it, just leave me alone, just—”

He closes thumb and forefinger around your chin and presses his warm mouth against yours.

You fight him. You clench your fists and beat their heels against his chest, but he wraps his other hand around the back of your head and sweeps his tongue between your lips. You screech into his mouth, but he hums back, the subvocal tones of calming an animal before it hurts itself. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip, seeking to draw blood, but it only eggs him on, makes him slant his head to kiss you deeper.

Even as you wear yourself out against him, his grip doesn’t loosen. He holds you in place as you struggle. Frighteningly strong—utterly indomitable; he overwhelms you with seemingly no effort on his part at all.

There’s bitter, black coffee on his tongue. Acidic. He presses it into yours, circling inward, making space for himself where you would give him none—

Insisting on it.

You gasp hard. Whimper futilely against his mouth. A few sharp tears escape the clench of your eyes, cutting down your cheeks.

Your fists land on him one final time, and then remain where they are. Your entire body slackens, submitting. Your lips find the curves in his where they fit the closest, and stay there. Bokeh spots dance across your closed eyes as your alveoli demand oxygen.

When you pull your mouth away from his to breathe, he lets you. Johnny rests his forehead against yours, hands coming around to cup your cheeks.

“Feel better?” he murmurs lowly, caressing the corners of your mouth with his thumbs. “Now that you got that all out?”

You take a shuddering breath. “You’re an asshole,” you repeat miserably.

Johnny kisses you softly again, first on the mouth, then the tip of your nose, then between your brows.

“Don’ be scared,” he says, mouth still on your forehead. “It’s gonna be alright.”

You sniff. “I hate you.”

He huffs—a small laugh, one that lacks his usual good humor. His hands slide down your shoulders to wrap his arms around you, and he tucks you beneath his chin, against his body. Even after so little time, the bulk of his frame is familiar, aligning with the shape of your body.

You don’t hug him back. You let your arms hang at your sides. If you nuzzle your face in between the soft slopes of his pectorals—you will take the truth of it to your grave.

John Price shows up in a motorboat, bringing along with him several grocery bags and a young man close to Johnny in age.

The two grin at each other and embrace, slapping backs in the masculine fashion and making loud, friendly noises as Price sidesteps them to bring his goods to the kitchen, where you’re hiding.

When he catches sight of you, his step falters.

“I don’t know why I’m here either,” you say, preempting him. You’re cloistered on the booth couch.

His mustache tilts at an angle. As with every other expression you’ve seen him make, you have no idea what it means, and it makes your stomach clutch.

Price is saved from having to respond as Johnny drags the other young man in behind him, beefy arm around his neck in a headlock. They’re laughing together, smiles wide as Price sets his bags on the counter.

The three of them populate the tiny space with the ease of years spent sharing little room between them, and you’d be shrinking back into the couch if Johnny’s friend hadn’t already caught sight of you. The surprise on his face is evident, even as he greets you with a polite, “Oh, hey!”

You make yourself stand up, pasting on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Hi,” you say.

Johnny gestures at you with a proud, open hand, saying your name as fondly as if he’d just had it in a chokehold. “Stayin’ at the croft, the one I told you about? Just got back from Lewis today, we did, showed her the stones and everythin.’”

He winks at you. You fight not to scowl at him.

“Nice to meet you,” the young man says, disentangling himself from Johnny and extending a hand. “I’m Kyle, but everyone calls me Gaz.”

You shake. “Sorry to interrupt your, uh, your reunion.”

You can’t tell how sincere the smile is that Gaz gives you. Are the corners of his mouth too tight? The polite look in his eyes too saccharine? “The more the merrier, aye?”

“That’s what m’saying!” Johnny enthuses.

“Soap been behaving?” Gaz asks.

“Uh,” you say.

“Soap, you got a griddle on this dinghy?” Price calls, setting out packages of meat and buns. He bends down to root around in the under-cabinet, stored cookware clanging as he digs.

“Cap, tell me you didn’t get the patties,” Johnny complains, picking one up. Ground beef pre-molded into burger pucks, shrink-wrapped in their own thin red juice.

“What’s wrong with patties?” Price asks, still half-submerged. “Easy, innit?”

“For kids’ birthday parties, maybe,” Johnny protests.

“When’d you get so fussed about food?” asks Gaz, sipping from his can. “Not like this is London, mate, you get what you get.”

“Some of us have time to eat like human beings,” Johnny snipes. “You might have to choke on MREs, not like the rest of have to as well.”

“Soap,” Price says, “griddle.”

“Oh, nowhere near there.”

“You fucking muppet…”

Gaz and Johnny cackle. Price straightens, frowning gruffly, in a way that suggests he has regularly endured this hazing from the two younger men and no longer has the patience even to scold them for it.

Walking paths made together, now retread. Old stone, formed when the earth was young.

You step backward. Find the edge of the couch with your calves. None of the three men look at you as you settle back down into your seat. Your book lays half-open on bent pages.

“No Simon still?” asks Johnny as he cracks a beer off the pack.

“Still no word,” says Price. “Said he’d try, last we chatted, but wasn’t sure.”

“Hm,” says Johnny, sipping his beer.

His gaze slips over to you. You feel it like a rasp over your bare skin.

He cracks another can off and brings it over, sitting down to sling a heavy arm over your shoulders. You take the beer and open it, but do not drink.

“Not the same out there without you, mate,” says Gaz, folding his arms comfortably over his chest. “Neither of you, really, Cap.”

“Ah, you’re doin’ just fine, I bet,” replies Johnny. “You and Ghost? Dream team, right there.”

“Never gonna be you, Soap,” says Gaz.

Johnny’s replying smile is—contented. Satisfied. As if he’s hearing news he expected, but is pleased to hear nonetheless.

His arm hangs loosely over your shoulders as it continues like that. Johnny and the other two men punt the conversational shuttle back and forth, voices weaving with the cadence of an old scarf unraveling; the yarn thread frozen by time and tension into a shape that can wrap back around its fellows as easily as it came undone.

Unfamiliarity with their rhythm transforms the bridge—which has been, if not a safe space, at the very least something of a sanctuary to you for the past twenty-four hours. Someplace you could be your worst self without much worry of offending.

But Johnny’s old team members are not Johnny. You can’t speak to them the way you have spoken to him. They do not share his knack for inclusion—

At least, they don’t seem to, until, without you expecting it, the shuttle passes to you.

“What made you come out here?” asks Gaz, startling you.

You look up from the can of beer you have been staring at the whole time, warming between your palms, to find Gaz, Price, and Johnny all looking at you expectantly.

“Um,” you say, flushing with embarrassment. Completely unprepared to be treated like a conversational prospect.

“The quiet, didnae you say?” Johnny supplies, laying his hand along your upper arm, rubbing up and down.

He might as well have shoved that hand down your shirt instead—you catch the other two men seeing it. Noting it. Reevaluating who you are, who you might be, and why you’re intruding on their day together.

And Johnny mustrecognize it too, because he squeezes the soft part above your elbow.

Warmth like a candle flame in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, lamely. “Just—tired, of the city, I guess…”

“I like the quiet too,” Gaz says diplomatically. “Bet it’s good surfing here too, in the summer.”

“No’ much,” says Johnny. “The wildlife’s the point here, innit, bonnie? Great seal watching, out here.”

You meet his gaze. Edges of sapphire blue are soft in your direction, mouth corners curled.

No obfuscation. No derision.

“Yeah,” you find yourself saying—and meaning. “The seals—the seals are cool.”

“Birds, too,” Price says, unpeeling patties after finally locating the electric griddle.

“How can you tolerate mucking around with two old codgers like this?” Gaz laughs.

Something effervescent infuses your bloodstream. Light and bubbly.

“As if Johnny has let me hang out with anyone but him,” you say, as if it has been a desire of yours in the first place.

You hear Price snort at the griddle. Gaz quirks a brow at Johnny without making any effort to hide it, and then clinks the belly of his can against yours before drinking.

You finally have a sip. It’s nice—hoppy, lightly sweet, fizzing on your tongue. Still cool enough to enjoy.

“Might take ya diving tomorrow,” Soap begins, fingertips twirling up your shoulder—

But then a distant voice cuts through the afternoon.

“Oy! Johnny!”

The three of you look around. Soap pulls away from you, warmth retreating with him, as he goes stick his head out of the door.

And then he dashes toward Price’s motorboat.

The engine revs as you, Gaz, and Price follow him out, watching as he speeds toward the shore. On the beach, a large man in dark colors, half his face covered by a black surgical mask, angles toward him, hands on his hips.

Johnny stops just shy of beaching the boat before he leaps out into the water, wades up the sand, and launches himself at the man.

They embrace like tectonic plates colliding. Even at a distance, you can hear the sound of hands slapping backs, feel the way their bodies meet and sway—so resonant with shared affection that you can feel the shocks of it across the water.

Glacial ice pushes through your veins.

“There he is,” Price says fondly. “Knew he wouldn’t miss this.”

“Ghost’s always gotta make an entrance,” Gaz agrees.

Ghost.

Or, as it must be—Simon.

Simon turns the snugness of four bodies into an overcrowd of five. In the bridge, there is little room to maneuver around him, massive as he is, and he seems disinclined not to claim as much space as there is available.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaims. “Want you to meet my old partner, Ghost.”

His eyes are dark, the color of a full whiskey bottle. They gaze at you without interest, even as he proffers his huge hand.

“You’re Johnny’s tourist,” he says, in a flat, brassy tenor. The sound of a metal grate closing.

Johnny.

Johnny.

“Yes,” you say, in a voice as irrelevant as a minnow’s.

He shakes your hand with a perfunctory grip, and says absolutely nothing more to you. He turns, and leans his bulk against the counter in the kitchen—galley, Johnny informs, as he explains the ship, and its story, to Ghost in rapid fire.

Had he been as excited to introduce it to you?

Ghost swigs from his beer, mask hooked under his chin. “What the fuck you even do on this thing, anyway?”

“Fish from it,” Johnny says. He’s standing close to Ghost, second can in one hand as he gestures with the other. “Got crab and lobster traps all over the place, that’s where the money is.”

“Always did like fishin,’” says Ghost, as warm to Johnny as he had been uninterested in you.

You cloister back in your place on the booth couch.

You can’t blame him. You can’t blame either of them. You can’t. You can’t. You are extraneous in this situation and always would have been.

“This isnae really fishin’ though, see?” Johnny goes on. “I mean, I use the dragnet time t’time, but rich tits on the mainland, they can get cod anywhere.”

“Become a real foodie, he has,” Gaz chuckles.

“Knob,” Ghost agrees.

Johnny grins. It’s a soft thing, an expression of sinking into warm bath water in a familiar tub. Ghost grins back at him, more with his eyes than his mouth.

If what’s between Johnny, Gaz, and Price is an unraveled scarf, easily knit back together, then what’s between Johnny and Ghost must be the tight-woven threads of fine, raw silk. It’s visible to the naked eye; if you reach out, you think you could brush against it with your bare fingertips.

Impenetrable. Gleaming.

You, a loose, dropped thread.

Price announces that the burgers are ready, and the men crowd the counter before he snaps at them to back off. You hook one heel around the other, twisting your fingers in your lap. An invisible wall between you and them.

The men bring the food over, setting down plates of sliced onion, limp lettuce, squishy tomato. Everything has been sitting out too long. Price sets down a platter of patties, cookie-cutter uniform, some blanketed with yellow, processed cheese.

Your empty stomach cringes in on itself. You don’t want to eat. Johnny slides in beside you, trapping you in, and his friends drag chairs over. Ghost claims the head of the table. They dig into the food with gusto.

“This is awful, Price,” says Johnny. “Told you, shoulda had seafood.”

“I’m sick of fish,” Price grunts.

Something about fresh oysters is at the tip of your tongue, but it’s trapped behind the bars of your teeth. And anyway, Gaz beats you to speaking.

“So you decided to kill the lot of us?” he asks. “Forgot we never let you cook in the field.”

“Nah, that was Johnny’s job,” Ghost says. “Where’s a meathead Scot learn to cook anyway?”

“Quite disrespectin’ my mum,” says Johnny.

They all chuckle at that. It loops around them, that ripple of laughter, and they go on to bandy stories about their captain’s culinary misdemeanors on deployment.

You shrink.

You look at Johnny. His face is animated; vibrant. The lines at the corners of his eyes have not smoothed once, with how much he’s been smiling. It’s as if sunlight is radiating from his chest, warming the room.

It visibly brightens his friends, sitting around him. Price’s gruff demeanor has softened. Gaz leans inward, elbows on the table, as if magnetically drawn. And Ghost—

You catch them exchanging a look. Speaking without words.

You don’t belong here.

The few bites you’ve managed to take of a burger surge against the walls of your stomach. Your trachea quivers against your spinal column.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you say. “Excuse me.”

It halts the flow of conversation. The four men look at you as if suddenly remembering you’re there, expressions paused in whatever shape they’d been in before your interruption.

No one says anything at all.

And why would they?

Johnny stands to let you out of the booth. You extricate yourself, and hold your gaze on the stairwell, refusing to look twice at them.

The belly of the ship swallows you with a whirlpool’s vacuum; you veer into the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Overhead, the conversation resumes, as if you left no empty space within it to compensate for.

Heat leeching up your face. Heart beating against your sternum, so hard it must be about the split the bone.

You don’t belong here.

You start heaving. Big, hard breaths, truncated, refusing both to be drawn in or released without a fight. You stagger to the sink and grip it with both hands, shaking so hard you can barely stand.

You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with anyone. You don’t deserve—

Your stomach shoves upward. You tip your face over the basin, throat convulsing, but nothing comes up.

Your vision swirls. You feel Johnny’s hand on your back, but it’s only a ghost of his touch. He’s still upstairs, with his friends.

You hear a sunburst of laughter above you, hearty and deep and shared by four voices.

Tears start streaming from your eyes, though you can barely feel them. You vibrate. It builds and builds inside you, a scream, a hurricane, gale forces whipping around and beating the inside of your skin. The quiver of your skull sends a high-pitched squeal up through the canals of your ears.

You sink to your knees.

“No,” you whimper, in the midnight zone of your voice, so that no one can hear you. “No, no, no, not again, no…”

The bath mat touches your forehead. Your shuddering mouth hangs open. You dig into the soft skin of your forearm with the nails of one hand, seeking blood.

You are a wound in the world that refuses to close. A cyst. Something here that should not be. Wherever you go is a mistake.

Heartbeat like a drum in your ears. Entire body drawing up, higher, tighter, trembling, seams pulling, self receding, bones exposed, so far out you will never make your way back.

You’re going to burst. You’re going to make a mess, right there on the floor, and they’re all going to come down and see it. It’s building in your throat. It’s at the dam of your teeth.

You wrap your arms around yourself, gripping tight.

You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here—

You don’t belong anywhere.

Suddenly, you go still.

Flying debris settles. Your airways open.

Stillness. Quiet. The next breath you take is slow and smooth.

You hear the far-away slosh of the ocean moving beneath the hull of the trawler.

Yes, of course.

You clamber upward, using the counter as leverage. As you rise, you catch yourself in the mirror.

Your face glistens. Your eyes are swollen, bags heavy beneath. It does not reflect what’s behind it—

Tranquility.

It isn’t about resolve, after all.

The truth of it settles gently in your chest. Of course. It’s about certainty. It’s about knowing, in your bones, what should and shouldn’t be. What is and what isn’t.

The way things will be, and the way they won’t.

Simple. Natural.

The evolutionary processes of your body simply hadn’t caught up. The genetic predisposition toward persistence, the silly, reactionary aversion to pain, to danger, the biological imperative of a time before now.

Now—

Turning the cold tap, you wet your fingers and dab at the puffy skin. You pull some toilet paper from the roll and pat at your face. You breathe easily through your nose, and on steadied feet, you leave the bathroom.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you hear Gaz saying as you climb the stairs.

“Aw, gimme some credit,” Johnny protests.

You stop.

“No,” Ghost says, and it’s odd to hear contemplation in the knife’s edge of his voice. “Somethin’s changed.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks.

“You’re…calmer,” says Ghost. You hear Price hum. “Never seen you sit this still, not long as I’ve known you.”

You hear Johnny huff a little laugh. “Guess this place’ll do that to you.”

“Hey, Johnny?” you say, surfacing.

The conversation pauses again. He looks up at you. Blinks beautiful, blue eyes.

The rueful smile you give him is easy.

“I don’t feel very well. I’m sorry. Can you take me back to shore?”

Some tiny muscle at the edge of his expression shifts.

You don’t know what, exactly, it could mean, but it doesn’t matter.

“Sure, bonnie,” he says slowly, setting down his half-eaten burger.

“It was nice meeting you all,” you say to the three other men.

They echo something back—insincere. Obligatory, you know. They’ll forget about you the moment you leave their view.

That doesn’t matter either. Nothing does.

You don’t think about it at all as Johnny helps you down into the kayak, taking your overnight bag first and then your hand. It’s cloudy overhead, cool without being cold. The wind is gentle.

He stares at you the whole time he rows. You don’t meet his gaze. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth tight again.

“Thank you,” you say, when the kayak reaches the beach. “Have fun with your friends, Johnny.”

“Sure, bonnie,” he says.

You indulge yourself—you look him up and down.

He really is an attractive man. Beautiful. Like the crash of a wave. You get that sense again—that he’s more real than anything surrounding him. More real than the ground beneath your feet. Than the ocean behind him.

More real than you.

“See you later,” you say, and turn away from him.

You walk the trail back, thinking about the anonymous feet that carved it into the grass. Years, generations walking the same way, down to the beach and back up. People you’ll never know. A part of something you never will be.

When you crest the rise, you see the cobbled siding of the cottage. You’d never looked at the back of it before—never thought to. It was unimportant in the face of everything else, irrelevant.

Maybe that’s why you look now. The finiteness making room for it.

At the cobbled wall’s base is a little mound of piled sand.

You go to your knees in front of it. The soil is cool to the touch, loose. Easily disturbed.

Somehow, you know what you’re going to find, even as you dig. Your fingers brush against it even before you uncover it fully, and it doesn’t surprise you at all.

Folded tightly, in a divot in the ground, is the paint-splash riot of Johnny’s pelt.

next

a/n: had to add one more chapter because otherwise this would have been 9k words long lol

forreal this time—two chapters left!!

[elizabethwydevilles]

As today is in fact Star Wars Day™️ and I am actually rather fond of the saga, I decided I might as well post my favourite Star Wars pins.

From top left, clockwise: (1) my absolute favourite pin, a more abstract representation of Anakin's return to the light side in window form. You can't really get the effect in the picture but the stained glass effect fire is magnificent. (2) an absolute chonker of a pin. I have the TPM one and am waiting for the RotS one to be released to complete the set. My favourite part is the Geonosis love declaration in silhouette at the bottom. (3) who doesn't love the meadow dress? (don't answer that @cheesenames) it's super sweet and the Naboo scenery never get's old. Also AotC is my beloved and I'll always want more pins of Padmé and Anakin from it. (4) one of my earliest pins! I love the romanticism of the design. (5) I love the '96 Romeo + Juliet so I was always going to be a sucker for a crossover. I love the outfit interpretations. (6) Shmi and little Anakin are just so tender and sweet. The triptych window series of pins (of which the other Anakin window is part of as well) are so well thought out in regards to symbolism and storytelling. I knew I had to have this pin as soon as I saw the design.

As a bonus, here is one of my Padmé pin boards. It's pretty much full (just waiting on one small pin for the top left) and then I'll have to start another board for her…

[imiging]

by Rudolf Klingelfuss, hipstafootprint.tumblr.com

Daily original photographs and creations selected by the imiging team!

Cluster composition · Three mornings · Zurich

[writingjourney]

Heavens Away | Secondo x f!Reader

For a brief moment he feels like he’s standing in the chapel, gazing into the face of Lilith on the triptych, envying the serpent that is intimately wrapped around her body. He would worship you, he thinks, in much the same way.

Content: 2.8k words, f!reader, smut (breast play, dry humping, kissing, marking, praise, oral sex m receiving, p in v sex, soft dominance, couch sex, unprotected), some affectionate and loving Secondo smut ♡  – 18+, MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

He watches you for a time-stopping moment – the frame is frozen, the video on pause, the clock ticking in a vacuum. He is the visitor in a museum of fine arts who stops in front of a painting to admire. The scene is simple. You sit by the window in nothing but a loose shirt, the evening sunlight illuminating your head like a halo – an angel dipped in liquid gold. The book you’re reading is one of his, a restored early edition of Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita, and you handle it with the care of a mother cradling her child.

Perhaps you notice his attention. The frames start moving again as your head turns in his direction. And then you smile. He can’t bring himself to look away, even though he knows it will eventually disturb the view. If the sunlight is warm, it holds nothing to the warmth in your gaze.

As expected you close the book and delicately place it on the armchair as you rise. He watches your figure as it crosses the room, so familiar to his eyes and hands, yet never losing the charm of novelty. You stop where he has reclined comfortably on the sofa and his eyes are drawn upwards to meet yours, the scene changing into a new composition. For a brief moment he feels like he’s standing in the chapel, gazing into the face of Lilith on the triptych, envying the serpent that is intimately wrapped around her body. He would worship you, he thinks, in much the same way.

You reach out with cautious hands, cradling his head as softly as the book, like he is precious beyond any measurable worth. Secondo can’t resist the temptation any longer, wondering if you are the serpent after all. He pulls you down into his lap, face pressed against yours so firmly that you can feel the outline of his nose in your cheek. You wrap your arms around him for support, giggling slightly when he drags his lips over the sensitive spot below your ear. He inhales the sound like he inhales your scent, then exhales in warm huffs against your tender throat.

“You smell divine, my dove.” He nuzzles you again, slowly this time, then hums in delight. “My favorite scent.”

You move your hands back to his head, gently scratching and massaging his scalp. “You’re very affectionate today.”

His lips ghost over your jaw. “Is that so bad?”

Right when you open your mouth to answer he sucks on your skin and you gasp, squirming on his thighs to try and calm your growing need. His hands settle on your hips in a firm grip, keeping you steady as his wet lips trail further down. “N-No.”

“You taste divine too,” he mumbles, unimpressed by your reaction. “So good for me, so very good for your Papa.”

“Seco–” 

You trail off when his lips attach to your neck, sucking roughly. You cling to his shoulder, his neck, anywhere you can reach, moaning as you feel lustful shivers running down your spine. For a while you get lost under his ministrations, all your love for him so very palpable when he touches you like this. His teeth nibble your skin, his tongue soothing over the spot before he sucks yet again, so hard you wonder if he’s trying to absorb you, suck you into him. Desperately aching for him, you attempt to move your hips against his, to feel more of him, but his grip is too firm. With his mouth so insistent, your skin soon starts to burn, then properly ache. Maybe he’s already broken it, licking up your blood without faltering.

“Papa, it h-hurts,” you whimper.

He breaks away slightly. “Does it?”

“Hm, lots.”

“Mi scusi, amore, I get a little… carried away. You forgive me, sì?”

“Mhm.”

You’d forgive him anything, you both know this, especially when he calls you amore. The corners of his mouth spread against your neck as they form a loving smile. His lips tenderly move over the abused spot, a featherlight kiss that sends goosebumps over your skin, leaving a wet mark that feels cool as he breaks away.

“Better, yes?”

You smile as you gaze into his shimmering mismatched eyes, then at his mouth that is all messy and blotched. “Yes, better.”

“Give your Papa a proper kiss now, hm?”

Your lips meet his in a silent gasp, remains of his make-up mixing with your spit and leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. His kisses are always deliberate, even in your daily life. He never kisses in passing but sacrifices a few precious seconds to linger, firm and intimate, until you know he does not take even a fraction of you for granted.

There lies a certain pain in knowing that someone wants your body but nothing more. That they love you enough to take your pleasure but not enough to help and carry the weight of your soul. This is not what being with Secondo feels like. He is slowly, carefully peeling the outer layers from your heart, reaching into the depths of your desires beyond just the carnal lust you both share. Every kiss and touch caress parts of you that you kept protected for so long that you forgot they existed. You think, you hope, that you are doing the same for him.

You break the kiss for a sigh when his hands push underneath the shirt that is draped over your body, unbuttoned and falling open as soon as his hands move upwards to cup your breasts – his shirt, really, that you wrapped around your shoulders earlier that evening. Your skin is soft as he feels the weight of them, gently kneading the supple flesh and circling your nipples with his thumbs. Secondo kisses you again when you arch into his touch, swallowing the whimpers and moans his deft fingers draw from you. You’re free to roll your hips now and you take advantage of your position. He can’t fight off a groan when he feels the outlines of your cunt grinding down on his cock, slicking your underwear as well as his pants.

“I want you in my mouth,” you whisper. “Please.”

He has never been able to deny you the pleasure of tasting him, no matter how fast it usually brings him to his release, seeing that you are always so eager to please him. When he looks into your eyes now, filled with need and devotion, he swallows against a dry throat. 

“Ask me again,” he says. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please, let me taste you. Let me feel your weight on my tongue, Papa. I crave you.”

He gives a nod and you break away to settle between his legs on the floor, thighs tightly pressed together. His arms have spread over the back of the sofa and he shifts his hips forward to grant you better access, bracing you between his strong thighs. With the same deft, cautious fingers you open the buckle of his belt, feeling your own wetness on his crotch as you pull down the zipper of his slacks. He is beautifully hard and Secondo gives a relieved sigh when you pull his cock from its restraints. You immediately nuzzle it, pressing your cheek against his hot, leaking member.

“You are an infernal sight,” he comments. “A paragon of lust and devotion.”

You smile and rub your face against his cock, looking up to meet his intense gaze. His eyes are focused on you as he brings his hand to your other cheek, so tenderly that it draws a sigh from you. You lean in to kiss his abdomen, pressing more soft kisses around his cock, the tender skin where it meets his body, down his length, never losing sight of him. His skin tastes salty and his dark pubic hair tickles your nose as you kiss down to his balls. The hand on your cheek fully cups you now, his thumb pressing just below your eye, and you smile up at him.

“Are you teasing your Papa?” Secondo asks, swallowing hard in his visible strain.

“No,” you assure him with a kiss to the underside of his shaft. “I am loving my Papa.”

His lips part but before he can say anything, you close your lips around his tip and distort his words into a low groan. Instead of forcing you to go faster, he allows you to set a languid pace, breaking away to kiss his hooded tip every so often while his hand gently combs through your hair. You take your time, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes, trying to show him exactly how much you appreciate him. You don’t need him to be strong and perfect all the time. You want him to let go of his social constraints and allow himself to just be when he’s with you – your partner, your lover, the Papa of your very own church.

His breathing becomes more erratic when you take him deeper, caressing him with your tongue and hollowing your cheeks. You can feel his thighs flexing at your sides and you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, never losing sight of him. His eyes stay on yours as well, even as his eyelids begin to flutter from the stimulation. His hand tightens in your hair but he doesn’t exert any force, just holds you, massaging your scalp encouragingly.

“Amore,” he warns when he’s getting close. “Come up here, per favore. I want to feel your skin on mine.”

You break away, leaving him wet and achingly hard as you climb back into his lap. He urges you out of your garments, then pushes his pants fully down while you work open the buttons on his own shirt. He’s meticulous and before long you have your hands on his solid chest, caressing the dark curly hair that runs all over his body.

“I want you, Papa,” you whisper, kissing him again with an eager, open mouth.

Secondo allows you to grind down on his cock, the wetness between your legs easing the movement as he glides between your folds. You moan into each other’s mouths at the sensation and he pulls you close, chest against chest, so perfectly intimate and warm.

When you break away from the kiss, he purrs. “You have pleased your Papa, I think it is time that he pleases you, hm?”

His hands firmly grip your hips again, denting the soft flesh as he moves you to lie flat on your back. The sofa gives a squeak when he settles between your legs, spreading them as wide as the narrow surface allows. This is not his ideal spot in your quarters, he prefers to have space, to take his time with you to give you the attention you deserve. Right now, however, he is too stunned by the sight of you sprawled out underneath him with the evening sun still dipping your curves into its orange light. He remembers his silent promise to worship you and so he lets his lips caress every inch of your body he can reach.

He begins at the bruising spot on your neck. Already you squirm, trying to guide his mouth further down, and so he gathers your hands to pin them over your head. He has taught you patience over the time you’ve been together but he can never quite tame your eagerness. Not that he earnestly wants to.

“Ssh,” he says. “It is my turn to love you now.”

The deep breath you take at his words vibrates under his mouth as he kisses your sternum. You shiver, goosebumps spreading underneath his lips. Secondo gives himself another few minutes, covering your chest in kisses, leaving a few deep red marks in the most prominent spots.

“Please,” you whisper, your wrists fighting against his strong grip.

He does not let go, instead he brings his lips back to yours, pushing his tongue inside the cavity of your mouth and delving as deep as you allow. Your hips buck and he presses you down with his full weight, plundering your mouth until your lips are swollen. His free hand moves between your bodies, ghosting over your mound until his fingers graze your clit. You gasp at the contact, closing your eyes as they lose their focus. He aligns his cock with your entrance, teasing you both by dragging his tip along your slit and lightly dipping inside.

“Oh, Papa.”

Secondo stills and circles your aching, swollen clit, drawing whimpers and deep lustful sounds from your throat with every rotation. Your moans are his favorite gospel, your breathy words the most devoted prayer he has ever heard. Again, your arms resist as you shift beneath his grasp, rolling your hips into his touch in your search for more.

“Papa,” you whisper, voice laced with complaint.

“You want to touch me, amore?” he asks, tightening his grip on your wrists.

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm, will you beg for me? You know how I love it when you do.”

“Papa,” you repeat, squirming impatiently in his hold. “Papa, please. I want to touch you.”

He doesn’t let go but looks down at you with a loving glimmer in his eyes that speaks more than any confession ever could. He looks vulnerable and for a drawn-out moment you just look at each other, no words necessary when your eyes meet. His lips part and the last traces of his resistance slowly melt away.

“Secondo,” you whisper now. “Please.”

He finally releases your wrists and then his whole face softens, the deep creases evening out until he’s smiling. You wrap your hands around his neck, refamiliarising yourself with the tenderness of his skin as your fingertips trace every single curve you can find. It’s the touch of a butterfly, tickling so softly that it takes his breath away.

“Amore, you have already touched me,” he says, a shimmer glossing over his eyes, tears or a trick of the light, you’re not quite certain, “in so many ways.”

With that he finally pushes inside, dragging his cock slowly along your walls until your hips are flush and he can’t go any deeper. He fills you so perfectly, molding you around him to match his shape. Every roll of his hips is a revelation, every moan a promise of his unending devotion to you. You pull him closer until his full weight is resting on you and you can feel his warm skin on yours. Even though his thrusts are more shallow now they seem to fill you even more thoroughly, spreading pleasure in your whole body. Soon you clench around him, your hands grasping him tightly, and he grinds into you with more fervor.

“Come for me, my dove,” he whispers, grunting when he feels the tightness in his own body that announces his impending release. His thumb goes back to drawing circles over your clit. “Come for your Papa.”

You shudder, then the heat in your belly spreads in rippling waves as you fall over the edge, wrapping your legs around him to keep him as close as possible. Secondo stills for a moment, inhaling sharply when he feels you tightening around him, revelling in the sounds you make, the sensation of your body trembling underneath him with the intensity of your pleasure. All of his senses are attuned to you.

“Hm, so good for me,” he says, trying to hold back for a little longer. “S-so good.”

When you begin to come down from your high he continues to move, extending your pleasure. You gently stroke his neck, his back, caressing him as he approaches his own release. He can feel the love in your soft touches and his chest clenches, his heart stuttering just like his hips when he finally comes. He groans and buries his face in your neck as he spills heavily inside of you. He gives you all that he has, a few more shallow thrust to prolong the sensation. When he is spent, he rolls you onto your sides, keeping you close.

In the shared space, your breaths mingle, and he can’t help but nuzzle your nose, placing another soft, lingering kiss to your mouth.

“I love you, Secondo,” you whisper, still caressing the back of his head.

“And I love you, my dove,” he replies.

You smile and close your eyes but he can’t bring himself to stop looking at your relaxed, angelic face. If he had any talent he would paint you just like this, capture you basking in such deep bliss and preserve the sight for all of eternity. Instead he leans in to press two featherlight kisses to your eyelids, another one to your nose, then your lips, and traps the picture deep inside of his heart.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Spellbinding Suburban

This Victorian-inspired family home is full of mystery, making you wonder what's going bump in the night. 3 bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms on a 30x20 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/2MiQRf5jNVs

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/108535300/

Exchange: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9599614

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

Late Night

Generations

Pets

Supernatural

University Life

Island Paradise

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Lullabies and Nursery Rhymes - Dirty No More Changing and Bathing Station

Custom content:

heaven - Slate Roof with White Trim

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

whiterider+Leesester - WinDough on Three

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Arched Loft Window 1 Tile)

basimcly - Heritage Doors (External Glass Door x2)

Gosik - Cottage Half Landing Stairs

ArtVitalex - Kiester Mirror

ArtVitalex - Ilum Living Room (Seat Single, Seat Triple)

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Key Bowl

ATS3 - Coastal Crib

ArtVitalex - Upland Bathroom Accessories (Toilet Brush, Soap Dispenser, Toothbrush and Paste)

Julietsimscc - CWB Kids Bedroom Freebies (Teddy Bear, Wall Decor B)

TheNumbersWoman - Shabby Chic Elite Living Curtains One Tile

Kerrigan House Designs - Autumnfell Dining Table

ATS3 - Square Canisters

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set (Utensils, Dishsoap)

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

Mutske - Kitchen Aria Cookerhood

Mutske - Toiletroom Aria Toilet Paperholder

Crowkeeper - The Cryptic Triptych Paintings

Lulu265 - Kitchen Expressions Wall Paintings

Lulu265 - Bedford Bedroom (Bed, Bedside Table)

DOT - Fusion Flowers

sim_man123 - Emerson Ficus Tree

NynaeveDesign - Harmony Lounge Philodendron

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 (Ficus Elastica, Monstera Deliciosa)

Onyxium - Jena Bathroom Accessories (Reed Diffuser, Soap Dispenser, Toilet Brush, Tooth Brushes)

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 78

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 149

bioniczombie - 4t3 Antique Rug (of Mysterious Origin)

matomibotaki - Oriental Carpet Rebuilt

Twinsimming - Wicker Bin

Wandering Sims - Mystic Art

missyzim - French Country Paintings (Country Floral Painting, French Country Paintings)

[iamacandle]

f1 fic recs

Here are 10 f1 fics you need to read before you die (if you don't want your fic to be on here just like text me and ill remove it) :)

String Ourselves Up For Love by kolyarostov

(Lando x Carlos) 29,631 words

Or: Lando and Carlos sleep with each other after Abu Dhabi 2020 and then have to go back to being friends with mixed success for the 2021 season.

Fall and Fixture by heroics

(Lando x Carlos) 34,108 words

secret agent au with spies and everything where lando meets the new foreign operative #055

My Pretty Princess by Anonymous

(Charles x Max) 11,806 words

F1 driver Max and Camboy Charles

Close the Curtains by Pitmewithyourbeststop

(Lando x Carlos) 12,409 words

this is one of my favourite carlando fics where carlos and lando are neighbours where they can see each others houses through the windows and Lando really wants carlos and carlos is a bit dumb

You could hang in the Louvre by grapejuice_folklore

(Charles x Max) 10,025 words

Charles is a detective. Max is a art theif. Max is horny for Charles. and some plot twists. if you havent read this go read it. if you have read it read it again.

The Warming Verse by Fabby

(Charle x Max) 77,124 words

cockwarming. but make it lestappen. this is like one of the big 3 of lestappen fics and theres like 6 works in this series. anything by this author is a work of art.

Presentation Night by lilaWorlkchen

(Charles x Max) (Lando x Daniel) 3278 words

the whole grid has a presentation night. daniel is iconic. this is really funny so go read it.

Triptych by Tianvette

(Jenson x Seb) (Jenson x Mark) (Seb x Mark) (Jenson x Seb x Mark) 20,300 words

jenson mark and seb fuck. jenson and seb are together. threesomes. probs my favourite sebson fic

Red Bull Burgers by Anonymous

(Charles x Max) 2013 words

this fic is so underatted and its so funny. so max and charles work at a fast food restaurant and helmut marko is their manager.

anywehre i go by venerat

(Lando x Carlos) 19,929 words

au where its normal life and they meet on a train and its super cute and super carlando and its just so lovely that you have to read it

please read these fics because they are absoloute works of art and the author ddeserves an award for making these because i love them

[missmirim]

Triptych Window - Frank Lloyd Wright 1912

The Art Institute of Chicago

[skrubu]

Library Reflections (3) by Pekka Nikrus Via Flickr: In album Diptych / Triptych

[idontknowmyownmind]

Soukoku Fanfics Reccomendation

PREVIOUS

COMPLETED

[Series] Phantoms by Mxxnlit

[Series] In All Its Branches by writingfromtheshadows

illuminated happiness by setosdarkness

You Must Be This Tall To Ride by Lazchan

A Night To Remember by NoraNoooooo

The broken beauties. by DeadDrabble (MisakillDatMonkey)

Hair Tie by Lichtstrahl

Everything Comes Back To You by TheGreatCatsby

all my own by halfbloom (diphylleias)

castles out of couches by halfbloom (diphylleias)

The scent of flowers is sweet, but the scent of you is sweeter by LunaSolstice

Four masterplans to win Chuuya’s heart by holdinglucy

25 little domesticities by holdinglucy

What's Your Name? by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Drunken Storytelling in Yokohama! by StormDew2

The Little Things by Badwolf36

what Chuuya would have said by orphan_account

Tales from Yokohama by AnonLearnsToWrite

O Children (give my gun away when it's loaded) by iskendaris

Always Yours by orphan_account, Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Touch by borntoshine

And His Lips Were Chanel Red by the_most_happy

these days, you're fine by wondernoise

I found love (where it wasn't supposed to be) by giorassol

My Bisexual Ass Likes You so Why Not, lol by Vitya_Viktorie

Call of the Depth by Shadow_Arashi

set alight, we're afire love by kiroiimye

your honeyed words from a silver tongue (or am i the only one worthy of your honesty?) by scripted_suicide

His Lover by loukass

skip and kiss by triptychism

sunset by dynashou

Lycanthropic Blues by Bemused_Writer

A monochrome painting by Fa113nM00n

Leia by likeshining

Saudade by hybridempress

Back on Your Feet by hybridempress

keep your windows open by Maristella

My Beloved Doll by orphan_account

Flirting With Disaster by Leonawriter

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales

Just Look by Anonymous

TearDrop by alchemy_omi

kataware doki by TheGreatCatsby

Wings of Corruption by Katical

When will you learn that your actions have consequences? by pinkjester

Even The Corrupted Can Love by Taintedazure

Bitter/Sweet by Badwolf36

In My Arms, You're Safe by EcchiSenpai

Five Times They Didn't Need Words and One Time They Did by StrangerThings7

Denouement by sunnyfleur

Promise Me by NightSama

until the pair of us are strangers (let's call it convenience) by jazzieshoes

Throwbacks and other things you don’t want to remember by tia_dreamer

Do No Harm by TheGreatCatsby

Hell Is Empty by Leonawriter

#################

Break It To Me Slowly by Leonawriter

It Was Snow That Made My Fingertips Cold by Leonawriter

And The Answer Is Yes by Leonawriter

Only Human by TheGreatCatsby

Touch Starved by Badwolf36

when you wish upon a star by ackerlynx

Turn Back the Clock by weepingwillows

carpe diem by diamondsinthesky (stella_caerulea)

caught in between by universalblips

Puppy Love by writingfromtheshadows

Killer Couple by outromri

The Ship Is Sailing by orphan_account

A Public Service Announcement by AnonLearnsToWrite

Dating comes with at least a 70% chance of grievous bodily harm by AnonLearnsToWrite

fire and calamity by Anonymous

Footsteps on the Ceiling by Insomnia_Productions

Dazai’s 10 Steps Guide to a Successful Marriage by Yellow_Canna

Switched by Yellow_Canna

Beneath the Dress (♂) by Yellow_Canna

ON-GOING

[Series] All hail our lord and savior Chuuya Nakahara by BlowingYourMind

[Series] Tracing Through Violets and Echoes by Kuranoa

[Series] Sheep verse by Shinkirou

[Series] Loveless AU by Shinkirou

[x Black Butler] One Hell of A Partner by Lawli_Pawp

[x The Avengers] The Avengers, a detective and a mobster by sednaxover12

Once Upon A Time by BluePastelLucas (VeniVediPerivi)

I'll Set Myself on Fire (Just to Keep You Warm) by Anonymous

Just Another Day in Yokohama City by ayyartee

ataraxis by lurochu

He Works Hard for the Money by orphan_account, Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Sweetest Devotion by orphan_account, Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Chasing Fireflies [HIATUS] by borntoshine

don't forget where you belong by Maristella

i will follow you into the dark by Maristella

darling, take me home by kiroiimye

long live by kiroiimye

The (In)humanity of Nakahara by earlofgreytea

[x MHA] Blue Bamboo: Japanese Tales of Fantasy by RiKuEersa

Unintentionally Erased by Chuuuuuuuuya

Honeybee by orphan_account

Stop All the Clocks by chuuyapedia, osamuchuu

Mama Chuuya by uzai_sagi

House of Tarot by uzai_sagi

[hollowwrites]

Blindsided

Ominis x MC

Part 15

Summary - Ominis has become sick of Sebastian’s possession of the dorm room and has temporarily moved into the Undercroft. Finally…some privacy…

Again feel free to swap Evelyn with MC or Y/N

Warnings - 🌶️ Fingering, Female masturbation, Mild Choking, Biting, Praise Kink (If you squint) the word gusset (I know some people hate it) all characters aged up 18+

Sorry if this seems really awkward. I personally hate smut that is written just a bit too smoothly. If I’m writing two people’s first time…it’s going to be awkward and slow. Sorry if that’s not what you’re into. Fair play to people who wrote smut I am deffo a fluff gal. Sorry if this is bad. No one look at me!!!

Word Count - 6173

-

“Thought I’d find you here”

Ominis raised his head as though it weighed a tonne when he heard Evelyn walk into the Undercroft.

As normal when Ominis occupied the space, a faint piano could be heard from somewhere within the cluttered room. The smell of tea filled the cavernous space and the singular large chair he favoured had been pulled into a more central position, as though he were looking over the Triptych like a window.

Obviously he wasn’t.

But none of that really registered with Evelyn.

What concerned her currently was the way he flinched when she entered. Like she’d startled him.

“Hmmm, were you looking for me?” He asked lazily pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh…only all my life” she whispered scared to shatter the peaceful ambiance he had created.

He exhaled a laugh as she approached him her hands finding his shoulders and kneading softly into the harsh panels of his shoulder blades.

It had been a few weeks since the last trial and Sebastians attempts to try and solve the Mystery of the spider egg had been fruitless. It had gotten to be a bit too much, the boys dorm now covered in silk and arachnids from his initial attempts to solve its puzzle…Arachnids or Acromantulas, they’re weren’t entirely sure.

But all Sebastian was left with was an empty room full of spiders and an exasperated friend sick of pulling webbing from his hair.

Each night he attempted to resolve it but so far to no avail. And finally, after weeks of arachnid related torture, Sebastian finally asked everyone for help.

Ominis agreed, of course, on the condition that he would not be returning to the dorms until the trail was done. And only after every last eight legged demon had been purged from the halls.

So for now he resided in the Undercroft, a makeshift bed tucked under the Triptych, all blankets and pillows and no mattress.

Not that it was unusual for Ominis to sleep soundly in uncomfortable locations.

“Did I startle you? That’s very unlike you” Evelyn mused, softly digging into his shoulders. A long exhausted moan left his lips and his eyes closed slowly as she did.

“Sorry I wasn’t paying attention…I haven’t been sleeping” Evelyn opened her mouth to fuss, to ask the inevitable string of questions she usually did upon hearing that. He waved her off dismissively “Don’t worry not nightmares…been trying to figure out the next trial for Sebastian”

“I see…” her hands reached a standstill at the apex of his shoulders and as she did, he reached up, soothingly, brushing across her knuckles until a familiar dull poking, pricked his fingertips.

He smiled wistfully.

”You’re wearing my ring” he said mutedly

“Of course I am…It’s beautiful”

“You don’t have to…” he adds, though in a much quieter voice; not quite a whisper, but close.

“I know I don’t have to…but you gave it to me. It means something” she replied in kind, her tone matching his. Filled with love and adoration.

He smiles softly, taking her wrist between his fingers and pulling her around to his front. He rested his forehead against her stomach and sighed.

It was as though he was pulling her in for strength, using her warmth and affection to fuel him. And for what it was worth, it worked. He pulled away moments later, a charming albeit lopsided smile on his face. He rose from his chair, taking her hand effortlessly and looped his arm around her waist.

“Dance with me…” he demanded in a soft tone

“Is that how you ask?” He had already spun her around slowly, bringing her back to his chest as she said this. The smile on her face oozed into her words making her argument…completely moot.

“Oh…I apologise profusely” he said sounding not the least bit sorry. He took one long step backwards, heels clicking together as he bowed deeply. Somehow, his eyes never left hers…

“Please…” the word was lithe as it slithered from his lips and into her ears, sending a shiver down her spine. He chuckled before continuing; “May I have this dance?”

“Hmm…” she took a step forward as he rose back to his towering height. “Do I have a choice?”

“I’m afraid not, dear”

Despite his words, and despite the distinct almost predatory look in his eyes…he extended a hand to her.

The slight twitch of his fingers commanded her attention, and though she would never deny him, there was a pull towards him. Like destiny…or fate.

If one believes in such things.

She took his hand, though her fingers glided along his palm, wrist and forearm up to his shoulder as she tucked herself into him. She wanted to tell him to wipe the smirk of his face, but something about the curl of his lip…the smallest display of teeth as his smirk grew wider…

He looked…

…happy.

The eagerness at which he grabbed her waist was queue enough for Evelyn. She took his other hand gently in hers whilst his arm pulled impossibly closer. It had hooked itself just below her ribs and with his domineering height, pulled her almost off the floor entirely. She giggled softly, her toes the only thing keeping her grounded as their chests met.

Slowly, and with a more intimate nature than he showed her in the Common Room, he lead her across the desolate chamber.

Every now and then, he would stop to kiss her hand. Each time he paused, the kiss became less and less chivalrous.

First it was her hand, then her cheek, then his head stooped low so they could dance cheek to cheek.

And suddenly, he was nuzzling her neck, his nose drawing long arduous lines across her jaw.

Ominis took in a deep breath; her scent fuelling him further and made his eyes go glassy.

He strode forward, dipping her low causing her head to tilt back as he held her horizontal to the floor.

His hand splayed supportively across the small of her back, thumb stroking across her waist. His warm breath ghosted across her neck.

The sharp inhale from her lips snapped him out of his reverie. He gently shook his head and pulled her back to her feet, his hands sturdy as they held onto her waist just a touch too tightly.

His eyes remained fixed on her and unlike the usual calm pools she’d gaze lovingly into…

Two darkening wells stared back at her.

”How is it you never seem to fumble for my hands? You always seem to know exactly where I am….no matter what” she shifted uncomfortably under his direct eye contact.

She did want to know…it was a question she had on her mind for the longest time. But right now she just needed to move his gaze.

It wasn’t like he made her uncomfortable. It was the way he looked at her.

As she swayed, so did he.

As she leaned in closer, so did he.

It was one of an embarrassingly long list of things he did that caused her stomach to twist and turn.

And it was like he knew that too.

The look of calm and content happiness faded with the blink of an eye, replaced with this twinkle she rarely saw in Ominis.

She saw it almost daily in Garreth and Sebastian…but Ominis?

His devious nature wound the knot forming, tighter.

What is he concocting?

“Honestly?…” He started “…I’m not sure. Best I can come up with is my magic advances my sense of Proprioception, past what a normal person has”

“Pre…prop…what?” Evelyn tilted her head and he mimicked her, almost like he was proving a point.

“Proprioception…” he chuckled and the twinkle in his eye flared once more. “…let me show you”

He stepped away from her, his long fingers reaching up to undo the knot of his tie.

The last thing she saw before he wrapped the soft, silken material around her eyes was his wide, devilish smirk.

“Can you see?” He asked, amusement heavy in his voice.

“Not a great deal…” she muttered and lifted the tie slightly to peer at him. He paced back and forth in front of her before he disappeared just off to her right and behind her.

“No cheating…” Ominis scolded softly, plucking her wrist away from her body and keeping it there, letting the silken blindfold fall back to place.

“Do you see how you know where your arm is despite not seeing it?” He twirled her around as he had in the dance before and she gasped.

This is what he experienced on a daily basis and she can’t handle it for less than a minute.

It drove her insane.

She trusted him implicitly but the idea of him being in completely control of her in that moment…

…her stomach suddenly felt hollow and her lungs empty.

“That’s Proprioception, the sense of knowing where your body is in relation to itself” he let her arm fall back down to her side but not before kissing this inside of her wrist. She gasped again listening intently to the click of his heel against the stone as he started to circle her.

”Mine is just a little stronger. It extends beyond myself…things around me. So I can see you in front of me and so long as you don’t move…” he was silent for a beat, her breath catching when his voice was suddenly right next to her ear “…too quickly…I know where you are. What you’re doing…”

His words felt heavy as though they carried more meaning than a simple explanation of his abilities.

“I can focus it too like duelling. It’s much stronger if I have my wand” he continued casually, like the breathe upon her neck and his words weren’t setting her stomach ablaze.

He had to know.

He knew everything else

“I…see” she muttered shakily, her hands twitching to remove the blindfold. Once again, he caught her fingers, entwining them with his own, his chest flush with her back. He held their combined hands against her stomach whilst he pulled her hair from her shoulder. His finger danced across her skin as he did so.

She took in a sharp intake of air through her mouth, her lips seemed constantly parted as though she anticipated him kissing her.

Maybe it was wishful thinking.

He remained stationed behind her, his hand falling to her waist, feeling the steadily increasing rise and fall of her breathing against her ribs. His breath was warm against her neck and she could feel his lips against her ear as he breathed.

But…Ominis was a gentleman. And so released her, rather abruptly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know…” she whispered, a devious plan forming as she pulled the tie from her eyes.

He was showing marvellous levels of restraint.

Restraint she no longer had

Because of him…

“…‘Mystery Man’ still hasn’t asked me to the ball”

“Oh I know…” he grumbled, his voice low and strained.

“It’s starting to feel a little like no one wants to go with me” she sighed overly dramatically and took a step closer to him. His eyes went wide when he felt her getting nearer and nearer…until he could feel the heat of her chest against his.

He chuckled heavily.

“I don’t know. There was that Durmstrang…” he brushed some hair behind her ear, resisting every urge to pull at the strands and pull the noises he’d heard too few times. “…I think he learnt his lesson though. And there’s Prewett, but I think he knows better. It seems at least there’s some semblance of a brain between those ears”

Ominis laughed…darkly. It caused vibrations to emanate through both of their chests and he pulled away to ‘gaze’ down at her.

“I wonder why no one has asked me?” She pondered putting on the most saccharin, overly innocent tone.

“Probably because…” he growled out pushing forward slightly so their noses almost touched. He took in a calm breath “…they know you’re mine…”

“Have you staked your claim on me?” She whispered back, lips dangerously close to his to the point they brushed delicately against the full flesh of his bottom lip. “Because I don’t remember you asking…”

“I don’t need to ask…no one will take what is mine” his voice like music dancing it’s way across her skin but it sounded almost painful. The restraint he currently showed was…waning. “…I may no longer be a part of that family but…Gaunts are known for being quite possessive” His fingers brushed up her arms to cup her face, his fingers trembling against her cheek.

“Yes…of artifacts and trinkets…not really people”

“I’ve just found a different kind of treasure I wish to hoard away for myself”

“Stop…” she said sternly but playfully “Flattery will get you no where”

“Won’t it? Then why is that hummingbird of a heart of yours rattling agaisnt its cage” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Ominis…”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me…”

“I…I can’t…” he groaned his hands dropping to her waist, fingernails digging into flesh there as though he was physically keeping himself back

“You need to get off me before I do something…” his voice trailed off, low and husky. And filled with an emotion she’d not heard from him much before. He sounded…embarrassed

“What if I want you to do something?” She urged trying to sound level headed and calm, though she sounded whiney and needy as the words came from her lips.

His head dropped to her shoulder, as it often did when he sought comfort. His lips remained a breath away from her neck, trembling at the temptation to just sink his teeth in.

But that was selfish.

And that’s what he wanted.

He wanted to make her happy. Make her feel loved. Make her feel…

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” he confessed against her skin.

“Nor do I…” she whispered back, her hand reaching up to trace tiny intricate patterns across his back. She hoped they were talking about the same thing, she hoped he wanted this to.

She hoped she wasn’t making a fool of herself…

“It’s not that simple” he sighed and rested his full weight against her shoulder. “You can see. You’ll know when you’re…doing something I like. And there’s only so much books can teach someone with my…disadvantage” his face buried further into to her neck and hair. Like he was trying to hide away.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating, how much it pains me, to have you within inches of me and all I can do…is this?”

This was strange.

Normally he was quite confident with his abilities. Not moments ago he showed off how he saw the world around him with almost arrogant levels of confidence. Most of the time she forgot he was even blind, with how capable and independent he was.

But maybe this all felt a bit much. A bit too real.

Then suddenly she felt guilty for trying to coax him further.

“We don’t have to go any further than y-“ she started before his head snapped back up to look down at her, shaking his head over and over.

“No no no no no that’s not what I’m…I definitely do. If you do that is. I’m just…apprehensive” he tripped and stumbled over his words, trying to get her to understand his unique predicament.

Then her mind spiralled to how she had helped him in the past, how she’d taught him Herbology and Potions techniques, shown him the texture of materials, guided his hand when he needed it.

And her heart sank as an idea formed in her mind.

“Ominis, Do you want to try…being intimate…with me?” She asked shakily, her hands snaking up his arm to cup his cheeks, imploring that he listen to her. Thank Merlin he was blind, or perhaps her cheeks may have blinded him with how hot they were glowing.

“Desperately…” A dry, humourless laugh left him “…it’s practically all I have thought about since the First Trail…but”

“But…” she interrupted “…I have an idea”

She took a step away from him, his head quirked curiously to the right as he sought her out. It wouldn’t take him long, her fingers gently took his and she pulled him towards the armchair he normally resided in.

“Do you remember that Divination assignment? The palm reading?” She asked gently taking his hand and absentmindedly tracing over the lines on his hand. As she did he muttered softly to himself…

“Heart Line…Life Line…Fate line…”

He recited with perfect accuracy, though that lesson was weeks ago.

Then everything clicked and his cheeks burned hotter than he’d ever felt. Or that she’d ever seen.

“Are you…suggesting you can…show me how to…” Ominis’ words were careful and calculated. He’d come this far, he wasn’t ruining everything on a simple misunderstanding.

“It’s what other couples do…” She reasoned, suddenly feeling dirty or sordid for even thinking such a thing “…Only their method is trail and error and ours would just be a little more-”

“…Hands on” he smirked.

Bastard…how is he always so…so…

“Ugh…” Evelyn groans pulling her hand away from his palm and covering her face. “…It’s all just so unromantic now I think about it” she muffled from the sanctuary behind her hands.

“Oh don’t worry…” his long fingers looped around her wrists pulling them away and to her side. He took a step closer to her, his head bowed low to meet her gaze if she wished “…I have romance covered. That’s not what I’m worried about. I just need to know you’re okay with this”

As he spoke, his thumb drew tiny circles across her palm. It was almost as though they were dancing again.

“I am…” she breathed.

The smile he then wore was unlike any she had seen before. It had a softness to it initially. Like he was pleased she trusted him and she couldn’t help but mirror it. But then the longer they stood there, swaying slightly, the harder it grew. An edge to lips she hadn’t even seen when he’d pushed her against his bed.

And whereas last time there was a nervous, sickly feeling in her gut, now there was just…need.

Want.

He spun her again as he had earlier though instead of pulling her back to the exact same position, this time he pulled her so her back pressed against his chest.

“I’m so glad you suggested this, Evelyn.” He murmured over the shell of her ear, his fingers combing the hair from one side of her neck to the other.

“I am a fast learner. I’ve already learned what you like and what you don’t like…” she could feel his breath against her neck as he whispered down to her, his cheek nuzzling against the side of her face.

“For example…”

The smug smirk that tugged at his lips was so blatant in his voice.

And before Evelyn could question him, or combat him or flirt back gently as she usually would…

His teeth dug into the flesh of her neck, just below her ear.

She bit into her lip to stop the gasp from ripping from her. But he must have known. Must’ve heard the restraint in the hitch of her breath, or the way her shoulder squared in his arms. Because his teeth pulled back and he lapped against the divots he left behind. He licked broadly up her neck to her earlobe, making her shiver. And once again his teeth were against her as he grinned.

“Don’t silence yourself…please” he purred “I need to hear you. I need to know…”

“I understa-aaah!” She choked out. His lips closed around her earlobe, suckling softly before letting it go.

“Good…” he praised and even that sent a shiver down her spine. “…you must tell me if you don’t like something…”

It felt a little like he was trying to demonstrate what he meant. Like the next thing he did, he almost expected her to say no.

But she didn’t…

And she wanted more.

His fingers came up from her waist to undo the bow around her collar. When it fell away, he tossed it to the side like it offended him. Like he had some sort of vendetta against anything that kept him from her.

Then his hands were everywhere again. One tugged at the collar he had freed whilst the other moved towards the buttons of her blouse, again freeing more of her soft flesh for him to devour.

The moment her shoulder was available his lips found it, mapping across her skin.

And she was fine for the moment.

Her breathing fast and shallow as she enjoyed his attentions but she was fine.

Calm.

Collected.

Then his lips brushed over the sensitive area between her neck and shoulder and she gasped under her breath. A tiny soft sigh of pleasure that not even she was certain she made.

But he heard…

And in response his teeth dug harshly into the muscle. And she crumpled and fell against him with a loud and needy whimper.

She felt him grin, though his teeth still sunk in. Then his cheeks hollowed and the pressure against her neck felt divine.

“Ominis…” she whimpered and pressed against him.

“Too much?” he murmured as his lips left her neck with a sinful pop.

“Not enough…” Evelyn murmured, barely able to get the words out before his teeth were on her again.

Everything ramped up.

The pressure at her neck, the speed of his fingers on her blouse. Not even he could keep up with himself as he ripped a button from the fabric, pulling it from her shoulder.

The button pinging off and cascading to the floor broke something in Ominis and he groaned.

Deep and guttural from his chest.

She felt it vibrate through her back, arching against him to feel more.

That’s when her leg stumbled back and she felt a hardened bulge press against her rear.

The tiniest amount of friction that must have put against him caused him to growl, his fingernails digging into the flesh of her stomach as his hands started to explore under her shirt.

She inhaled sharply.

And her hand flew to her wand, tucked haphazardly in her waistband, directing it towards the Undercrofts entrance.

“Colloportus” she whimpered and the light at the tip of her wand fizzled out.

Ominis’ tore himself from her neck with a groan.

“What are you doing?” He asked but his voice was heavy, husky, heady.

“I’m not having a repeat of last time…” she murmured, staring at her wand in confusion. She shook her wrist and tried again…

…as Ominis’ hand drifted lower, his fingertips delving just under her waistband.

“Collo-portus” she gasped once again the spell failing as she muttered the incantation incorrectly.

Ominis just laughed besides her ear.

“Am I rendering you speechless? Powerless?” He purred, his other hand wrapping around her.

That hand hadn’t yet touched her skin. It had remained somewhat reserved, tugging at her clothes. So when it graced the skin of her chest it was significantly cooler than his other, forcing a gasp from her lips and her skin to pucker and tingle with goosebumps.

“You’re…” she started with a flash of venom in her voice, wanting to be frustrated at him. “…just stop a second. Let me lock the gates…” she breathed.

He chuckled darkly and removed his hands from her holding them up in surrender.

“Apologies, my love.”

“You’re not sorry…” she muttered and shrugged her blouse back over her shoulder, approaching the gate with a death glare.

She tried several times to lock the gates to no avail. Her hands kept shaking, her voice breaking. And just as she was about to give up and do it the ‘old fashioned muggle way’, the mechanisms in the gate forced themselves closed with a heavy ‘clunk’.

When she turned, Ominis was sat casually in his armchair, wand extended to the gate with a smarmy grin on his lips.

She approached once again muttering under her breath.

“Shut up…”

“Oh don’t be like that…” he crooned smoothly “…I like that I’ve affected you in such a way.”

His wand twirled between his fingers as she approached and she stood before him, pouting rather obviously. He simply chuckled and tapped his lap.

“Sit…”

His commanding tone sent a shiver up her spine and her knees buckled, bending to perch upon his thigh, despite her bratty and frustrated disposition.

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her back again, flush to his chest. His other hand lifted her knee to rest upon his, repeating the process for her other leg as he slipped it over his own.

Then as he spread his own legs, pulling and parting her along too, a startled little mewl left her.

“Tell me to stop…” he whispered against her ear, his hand stilling against her waist

“I don’t want you to…” she breathed shakily, arching into him and once again feeling that pulsing heat pressing into her.

“You’re shaking…” he stated as though it were a reason for him to cease his tormenting.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing”

“Oh I know…” he smirked against her neck. “…I just wanted to hear you admit it”

He knew he was probably being overconfident. But that’s what Ominis did best. He was blessed with a silver tongue and so he would use it.

So far it was working.

Each gruff grumble from his lips sent a wave of goosebumps over her skin, and his fingers followed.

She shivered and this time they prickled along her stomach where his fingers lay dormant. It shot a pulse through him, his fingers twitching back to life to explore her.

Feel her.

He was learning so much.

He already knew about the scar across her waist, he thought perhaps she would flinch when his digits brushed across them but…she was moaning again.

Her marred skin was…sensitive.

So very…very sensitive.

Then he recalled she had another. Another Sebastian had given her deep in that Scriptorium across her heart.

What a perfect excuse to test his hypothesis.

He bought his hand up and over her clothed breasts, that simple act itself causing her to shudder and whine.

So what would happen if I did this?

His middle finger traced over the swirling pattern at her chest and once again a wave of goosebumps puckered beneath him.

For a second, he almost regretted asking her to be more vocal.

Her constant shallow breath filled his ears. Her soft sighs, and whimpers were more distracting than he assumed they would be

But, oh, how those noises were heavenly.

And thankfully, he found his body acting on instinct, no matter how distracting she had become.

His hands roamed, explored, squeezed, touched…delving to places he had never dreamed of finding on her.

Mapping curves and valleys of hers he’d only ever fantasised about.

When his fingers breached the soft lacey material of her bralette, she stayed silent.

She bit into her bottom lip to try and ease her need for him. Because this was too much. How had he not even touched her and yet she was a pooled and sodden mess.

Ominis mistook her silence for displeasure, and moved further in.

The books certainly hadn’t covered this. The few points of research detailed many erogenous zones across a woman. And though he wasn’t idiotic enough to think all women were the same, most books, most erotic novels he had read said the same.

So, purely for academic purposes, he gripped her just a little bit harder.

And was rewarded with the most beautiful and sinful whimper he had heard. With that very moan came another wave of goosebumps that he greedily followed. Like her very skin was speaking to him.

Ominis squeezed again, the soft flesh of her breast spilling out between his fingers as her manhandled her in the very best of ways.

He kneaded her, much for his own pleasure as for hers, and when he felt the tiny puckered nub between his fingers, he squeezed again.

Another sharp whine pulled from Evelyn’s chest. He felt it vibrate along her chest and for a second he was enthralled.

He copied that same action, kneading and squeezing and stroking, pinching her hardening peak near his knuckle.

Only his other hand reached up to her chest. Where he’d felt that vibration.

And with every gasp and murmur and coo he felt it.

So he chased it, rumbling up her chest to her neck where it was strongest before it left her lips.

“Ominis…” she muttered as her head rolled back onto his shoulder.

“I can move my hand if you want…” he spoke, somewhat strained after he realised his fingers wrapped around her throat.

“I…like it” she whispered, somewhat shamefully.

But Ominis was well past the point of caring. He’d built such a strong image in his head of her splayed across him, keening and mewling for more. For him.

And he had the luxury of hearing, truly hearing, everything he was doing to her. Perhaps he was better off…

His fingers tightened only slightly against her throat, feeling for each rumble of a moan his other hand was causing her.

Then his mouth followed in his hands stead.

Nipping, sucking, tasting every inch of her neck that he could access, the soft and gentle tugging of her flesh turned her to putty in his arms.

It was almost like he’d caught a nerve and her whole body squirmed with a moan. And she pressed deliciously against the painful throbbing in his groin.

He hissed at the sensation, both foreign and familiar to him.

And in that moment he realised she was learning just as much about him as he was her.

Because she did it again.

On purpose.

And as he gasped, he relinquished the hold his teeth had on her shoulder, panting against the wet skin of her neck.

So she did it again, rubbing herself across the length that was forced down his trouser leg, thanking every god there was that multiple layers of clothing were between them. Lest she be confronted with the slick she most definitely would leave upon his leg.

He gasped again, croakier and huskier than before.

And she laughed. A low seductive little laugh that triggered something in Ominis.

“Show me…” he demanded with a growl, snatching her wrist up and dragging it to her opened legs.

Perhaps she was a little too eager. He’d spent the past…Merlin knows how long, teasing her and her body ached. Her stomach had twisted and tightened with a desire she’d never felt before. Even when she was alone.

So she fumbled with his hand in hers, his other still tweaking and kneading at her soft mounds.

He ghosted over hers, softly, delicately copying her movements as she pulled her underwear to the side.

Then his hand left, straying to the fabric of her skirt, bunched around her hips.

“This is long enough, isn’t it?” He inquired flatly.

“Er…it’s comes to my knee why do you-“

Then he tore into her underwear, ripping along the gusset and exposing her completely. Whether he knew it or not, his knuckle dragged over her centre as he did and she twitched at the new feeling of someone else touching her so intimately.

“This will be hard enough without things getting in the way” his voice resonated from behind her, his chest vibrating against her back.

That was…understandable. And she would be lying to herself if the act of Ominis ripping her underwear from her didn’t turn her into a living puddle.

And it was getting ridiculous how long this had gone on for. So she snatched his hand from the hem of her skirt and positioned him over her again.

His hand mirrored hers the whole way. Like there was a second delay to everything she was doing.

Though when her finger dipped between her folds, and his shortly followed, he snatched his hand away in an instant, bolting straight upright. His finger and thumb rubbed together feeling her slick desire on his finger and his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re…” he held a note on his throat like he couldn’t think of the correct word. The appropriate word.

“…so…” he gulped and swallowed thickly, the bob of his throat brushing against her shoulder

“…wet…”

And whilst he was struggling to think of words, Evelyn was struggling to not run her finger along herself like she knew she liked.

“For you…” she murmured on an exhale.

Ominis could feel himself twitching against her rear and again something snapped within him.

His arm scooped her up around her waist, pulling her closer and tighter to his chest.

“Show me…” he growled once more in her ear before his teeth attacked her neck once again.

His finger ghosted over hers again, shaking as they dipped into that pooling well of want.

Her fingers twitched back into action, immediately finding that bundle of nerves at the top that made her toes curl.

And made Ominis’ head spin.

Whether it was his hearing, how well they knew each other, or how quickly he picked things up when explained properly, he didn’t know. But soon he got the idea of what she wanted. And she was going too quickly for his liking.

He could feel her winding and coiling like a spring in his lap, her panting little breaths filling the air and his name tumbling from her lips. She writhed and whimpered on top of him.

Then suddenly his mind filled with fabrications of himself being deep inside of her, those same noises tumbling from her. That’s same warmth he could feel radiating on his finger, surrounding him. And his brain went foggy and instinct kicked in again.

Just as she reached and clambered for that peak.

And her thighs clamped closed for that little friction she knew would push her over the edge.

He ruined it.

All at once it was torn from her as long boney fingers dug into the softness of her thighs, pinning her eager hand to the side and spreading her legs once again.

She could’ve killed him.

“Keep. Them. Open.” he spat through his teeth, moving his leg to pin her ankles behind his calves. She gave a few tester pulls, desperate for any form of friction as she felt that heat slowly dying between her legs.

She couldn’t move.

And her breath stuttered and whimpered needily. She was about to cuss him, turning and demanding he continue before that knot tied itself back up again.

But Ominis had other ideas. Ideas that perhaps right now she wouldn’t appreciate but future her would.

His fingers trailed over her core mapping every fold and divot. Easily. He slid in between over and over, delighting in every time his finger circled that nub that sent her shivering.

Then his finger slipped down, deep, entering her slowly. Carefully.

He almost felt bad for a second. The noise that left her. It sounded pained. But he pulled from her and that same needy mewling spilled from her until he did it again, her back arching into him. And this time it wasn’t so pained, more of an anguished sigh of relief.

It was…delicious.

Every sinful sound from her lips and each soaked ripple between her legs. He was simply exploring yet to her it was everything.

Him feeling her

Him pleasuring her

Him filling her.

With each pump of his finger she felt that knot loosening once more and when his other hand joined his first, rolling tiny circles over her most sensitive spot…she halted.

She became undone.

That release so close to being hers.

And he knew it.

“Let me see…” he begged, his hand pulling from her and hovering just in front of her face, his thumb replacing his own absence with dexterous accuracy.

She pushed into his hand, not trusting her vocal cords to maintain a readable level. Imagine the Undercroft being discovered after centuries because she had moaned too loudly.

His fingers drifted over her features, taking in the small knot of exquisite ecstasy on her brow. The heat from her cheeks. Her swollen, plump lips from her own teeth.

And as his finger ghosted her lips she took it into her mouth, tasting her own desire faintly on his finger. Not that, that’s why. She just needed something to mute her…

Practically crying into his ear, her head lulled back as she mumbled his name through her own teeth clamped around his fingers.

A comfortable warm silence fell over them as she slowly recovered, the white spots of her vision fading. Only then was she aware of the gentle kisses he placed along her neck.

“Why…” she panted “…are you so good at everything you choose to do?”

He chuckled, deep and low.

“I had an excellent albeit impatient teacher”

Masterlist

genuinely if any of you have any tips or anything please tell me this genuine pained me to write but im proud my first smut