𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘

I’ve worked with bands before.

Dramatic ones. Arrogant ones. Horny ones. Crybaby ones. Everything you can imagine, I've done it. 

But nothing, and I do mean nothing prepared me for Sleep Token.

Four masked men with ungodly musical talent, apocalyptic sleep schedules, zero respect for a call sheet, and an almost religious devotion to oat milk and moody silences. Not to mention non-stop banter and flirting. 

And then there’s him.

Vessel.

The lead singer. The preacher. The gravitational pull in every room, even when he doesn’t speak.

I’m supposed to be their tour manager. You know—handle logistics, herd men like emotionally unstable cats, keep the band from burning down hotels. Not become their emotional support girl.

But of course… that line didn’t stay solid for long.

I help III dye his hair in fluorescent hotel bathrooms, watch shitty horror movies with II until sunrise, and chase IV through venue halls like a pissed-off mom because he keeps stealing my stuff. 

It’s not in the job description, but with them? It’s not just work. They keep their masks on, but their guards are down in the weirdest ways. And somehow, I’m part of that.

I shouldn’t get flustered when Vessel laughs under his breath and mocks my American accent. I shouldn’t blush when he murmurs “darling” in that stupid accent that sounds like velvet and ash. I’m supposed to be the one in control. The professional.

He makes it fucking impossible. God, the way his voice goes soft around me. The way his fingers twitch every time they're too close to mine. The way he watches me when he thinks I don’t see and I can feel him lingering. 

But when I realized I was falling for him?

Full. System. Shutdown.

No more lingering eye contact. No more late-night tour bus conversations with our knees touching in the dark. No more melting into the sound of his voice like a damn fool.

I distanced myself. I acted like a real professional for once.

Apparently, “real professional” with this band is code for: “break Vessel’s pride and confuse the living shit out of him.”

 Vessel tried to be subtle. He always does. Subtle is safe.

Because if he ever showed even half of what he feels, it would ruin everything. You're the stable one. The constant. The one thing this chaotic, blistering tour has going for it.

But then you pulled away.

You stopped joking back. Stopped bumping his shoulder in the green room. Stopped being there.

And it’s been eating him alive.

Tonight, during soundcheck, he tries again-his last little attempt to break through. A Hail Mary wrapped in sarcasm.

“You know, you are our first little American tour manager. Oi, tell me again how you lot do things in the colonies,” he smirks through the mask, voice lilting with that dry British snark. “are all the tour managers from there as ethereal as you or did we just get the upgrade?”

He’s expecting the usual: a roll of my eyes, maybe a sarcastic “kiss my ass.”

Instead?

My lips pinch. My chest tightens. My eyes go glassy. I give a small laugh. And I walk away.

I can feel his confusion behind me like a weight. But I can’t turn back.

III is the first to follow and find me.

I’m pacing like a lunatic in a side hallway, tears stinging my eyes, and I hate that I’m like this. Emotional and cracked open and so far from composed.

“Hey…” he says softly, stepping in with big-brother energy I didn’t know I needed. That's how he always is with me though. “What happened? Did Vessel—?”

“No,” I cut him off fast, voice breaking. “He didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the fucking problem.”

He looks at me for one long second… and then it hits him like a truck.

“OHHH,” he says, blinking. “Oh. Ohhh. Girl. Ohhhh.”

“Don’t ‘girl’ me, III.”

“You’re in love with him.”

I groan, already walking away because I cannot do this right now. Not with III of all people.

But then-

He’s there.

Vessel turns the corner, and he looks…

Wrecked.

“…You left,” he says, voice smaller than usual. “I upset you.”

I don’t answer. III awkwardly tries to slip away and ends up falling over a left out box. 

"Shit!fuck! You guys IGNORE ME. I'll be going.." 

Vessel sighs deeply and I blink as we watch III stumble away, I snort and shake my head using the distraction as a way to deflect. 

“I just needed air from those weirdos,” I say casually.

“No.” He steps closer. “You needed space. From me. And I don’t understand why.”

"I'm not Vessel I-" He cuts me off almost immediately. 

"Do not Vessel me right now. I know you. Don't start acting all professional tour managery with me when we both know that barrier was broken months ago. We aren't leaving here until you tell me what I did wrong." 

The tears come back to sting my eyes as I look anywhere but at him. It's not fair for me to avoid him, and its not right to let him think it's his fault.

“You don’t understand,” I breathe, trembling. “the second I get too close—I have to back off. Because I’m the professional, right? I don’t get to fall in love with my clients. I don’t get to be this. I'm not allowed to love you and I-” My eyes widen and my throat goes dry. Well fuck.. That's one way to break the news. Fast and on the verge of a panic attack. 

He freezes.

“…You’re in love with me?”

I flinch. The air goes still.

“…Yes.” I whisper.

His whole body stiffens like he’s expecting a punch to the gut.

“…Why?”

And now I’m the one who freezes.

“Why?? What do you mean why?”

He shrugs like it hurts. “I’m not… likable. I’m obsessive. I get caught in spirals. I look like a cryptid. I wear a mask because I can’t stand looking in the mirror.”

God, my chest cracks.

I step forward, slowly, until I’m close enough to reach out. My hands settle on either side of his mask—not to take it off, just to hold him. Either way he flinches and his fists ball up at his sides. 

“No, Vessel. I love you,” I whisper. “And it’s been driving me fucking crazy.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. The mask is cold against my skin.

“…I want to. I want to believe you.”

My breath shudders. “...But?” 

Before he can reply, we're cut off by a creaking sound. Our heads whip to find IV, wide eyed, staring at us.

He pauses. Tilts his head.

 “…Am I gonna have to reschedule the meeting, or should I just cancel the whole fucking tour?”

There's a beat of silence before me and Vessel both burst out laughing, backing away as IV stands there, serious as ever. The tension finally snapped like an overstretched wire. 

 And the slow burn begins.

 Not with fireworks. 

Not with a kiss. 

It had been a long time since you had learned Vessel struggles with insomnia. The information came slowly previous to you right out bringing it up to him one day. You had noticed how much coffee he drank by the cups in the sink, how a lot of times he’d still be awake as you left in the morning, his body language being restless. You heard it in his voice too, saw a certain daytime depression. After a while, it had started to worry you, and that's when you asked him about it. 

He was shy at first, tried to push it off with an awkward laugh. “No…?” you remember him saying, not a single bit convincing of himself or you. 

And when you had given him a look of non-conviction, he broke, telling you it had been something he deeply struggled with since he were a teenager. He told you he had to take melatonin to help him sleep, even though at times that didn’t work. Anything to try to get him to sleep, or so he said. 

You took it upon yourself to be of use when possible, providing what support you could for him to get some well deserved rest more frequently than he was able to achieve on his own. You decided you would never comment on it much either, at least not in a way that would make him feel worse about it than he did to begin with. 

Meaning you chose to never bring up the times he fell asleep on you during movies, where you’d get up as best you could without waking him up. He would wake up on the couch, no recollection of falling asleep, and a text message from you reminding him that you would be home soon. You felt a smidge bad about lying to him, but he needed the rest at any given chance he had. You didn’t blame him for it, so no use of bringing details up. The guilt he could feel because of it wasn’t worth it. Call you crazy, but you cared about his feelings. 

That was exactly what had happened now, Vessel had taken a couple melatonin in hopes to get some rest after his thirty-something hours of being awake. About an hour ago, he had told you that he was off to bed, joked that if you didn’t see him for three days then call it a miracle. 

You let out a startled laugh seeing a couple texts come onto your phone screen from him. 

Ves: i can’t sleep :( Ves: this is unfair 

Of course this happened, it was his luck. Completely unfair. The utmost injustice for the guy. The universe must have it out for him at this rate of things. Unfortunate.

You: you poor thing :(

You absently giggle to yourself after you receive no response back for a couple minutes. The mental imagery of him being huffed up in his bed with blankets wrapped around him, staring at his phone with a frown, is quite comical in the grand scheme of this. It wasn’t anything to allow to slide past him either, for him to sulk over while sleepy to the extremes (or at all, if you were to be especially honest with him) over some light teasing. You had lived with him long enough to know this, let alone be his friend for long enough. So, yeah, Vessel tended to act a bit “childish” while tired. 

You: do you wanna come to my room for cuddles? 

Promptly after leaving you on read, a lazy knock is at your door before being pushed open to reveal Vessel waddling to the edge of your bed. He flops face first into your mattress with a loud, over-the-top groan. He lifts his head just enough to pout at you, knowing your eyes are boring into him. You can’t help the soft sigh you let out as you reach your hand to scratch at the back of his head. Seeing him in this state made you feel a softness for him you tended to ignore. And you quickly stop thinking about it once he makes a noise at how good your nails feel on his scalp. 

“That feel good, yeah?” You breathily laugh, it’s delirious sounding. If he wasn’t too sleep deprived to catch it, he didn’t mention it or have any reaction to it. 

He sinks his face deeper into the fluffy blanket spread across your bed. You weren't sure how he was breathing in this position. “Mhm…” he amuses in agreement. 

“Do you want to come up here? Lay on me?” is offered to him. You tap at your chest with your free hand, although he can’t see what you’re doing at all. 

He makes a disgruntled noise. 

“No? It’ll be more comfy, Vess. You may even get to fall asleep,” you try to sweeten the deal. 

Another sound comes from him in time with turning his head to the side to say words lacking in muffledness. “Don’t want to move.” His voice is quiet and slowed, stretched thin. 

You laugh out. Your hand stops moving in his hair, you retract it back. “Well, then, no more head scratches.” 

Vessel snaps to look at you, chin resting on the blankets, eyes a little widened. Then comes his signature pout, the one you were imagining before. It doesn’t ever get any less cute. 

“Fine,” he mutters unenthusiastically. 

He picks himself up limply, dragging himself up your bed, and drives his face into your neck. This is where he melts down into nothing. His body deflates itself into yours, in a way that felt like lines blurred between where your body starts and where Vessel’s ends. 

Because of this, you stay silent for a couple moments, half-shocked and half-savoring of this feeling. Your hand hovers around the back of his head until his hand draws your hip impossibly closer to him. That’s when your fingers dip back down into his scalp. Your other hand strokes up and down his arm at a soothing pace. 

Cuddling wasn’t a new thing happening in your relationship, if you’d call being roommates with him a type of relationship. Cuddle sessions happened often between the two of you. Happened during movies on the sofa, if either of you had a nightmare, simply couldn’t sleep (much like what’s happening this time), if Vessel had a particularly long day. Thinking of it, cuddles had taken place every single day in the past as long as you could remember. 

When did that happen? 

When did you start remembering how all he seemed to want was an excuse to be close to you lately? How pouty he turned when you had questioned him about it instead of going with it naturally? When did he start coming behind you while you did the dishes or cooked a special meal for you both? When did he start to get closer to you on the sofa, blaming it on the lack of blanket, despite that one being a specifically huge one for sharing purposes only? When did he start to ask to hold your hand because he was “cold”? When did he start allowing himself to have this intimacy with you, and why? More importantly, when did you start to feel as if all these things were normal, letting them slip by you like this was always something that took place? Maybe like it was supposed to be happening.

“...and it’s frustrating that I still can’t sleep. Do you get what I mean?” Vessel’s voice comes into your main focus, becoming almost like an echo through your skull at how out of focus you were. 

During that time, he had moved his face out of your neck. Had opted to squish his cheek against your chest instead, nose half-stuffed into the cotton of your sweatshirt. 

“Mhm,” you hum. Bearings still aren’t with you fully, still distance in sound. 

Vess’ hand pinches at your side, making you jump in surprise. Well, you were surely back on Earth with that. “You weren’t listening to me.” You could hear the effects of his mouth being in a squished position. How cute. 

“Yes, I was!” you lie. 

He takes a pinch at you again. “You were not. I can tell when you’re lying.” He dryly laughs, empty of emotion, like that information should’ve been obvious to you. Maybe it should have been… 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you admit, “What were you talking about?” 

He sighs dramatically, which you lightly flick him on the ear for, going on to summarize what he’d said, “What I said was that I’m really frustrated about how melatonin doesn’t work that much anymore. I take ten milligrams for fuck’s sake! I just wanna sleep.” He trails off at the end, changing to be more hushed. 

Your hand on his arm gives him a small squeeze, holding there for a few seconds too long. “Is this helping?” you ask. “You know, doing this? Me being here?” 

Same mhm from before is made. “More than you know.” Oh…

His face nuzzles more into the fabric of your shirt, balls up the bottom of it into his fist. He pulls forward with a gentle tug. He was not past greediness. This hand sneaks under the material, reaching up just enough to be able to palm at the flesh of your stomach. You feel him grin. It’s gooey, (love)sick, honeyed. He’s satisfied. 

All the while, you had some things coming into perspective that would be due for another time. Vessel needed rest. 

His voice breaks you out of thought, you were currently perched on the end of the bed in your undergarments. You two had a heated night last night, and were too exhausted to put clothes on. 

You shake your head, mumbling a soft “i’m not.” he sighs, shifting to sit next to you. “Ill be back before you even know it.” he says, kissing your warm shoulder. You shrug him off. 

“Don’t be like that, love.” 

You glare at him, a soft pout gracing your lips. 

“Lose the attitude.” he grumbles, gripping your chin. 

Your brows furrow, instinctively you turn away from him. His hand reaches for your neck, pulling you back to him. 

His head dips down to kiss your soft lips, tightening when your head chases his. Its a clash of teeth and moans. He pulls away, running his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Let me show you…”

He drags you up the bed by your hips.

“How much i love you.” 

______________________________________

His hips snap up against yours, agonisingly slow. He was doing a great show of making love to you, savouring every moment. You whine, frustrated at the lack of movement. 

“m’ sorry baby.. You feel sooooo good.” he breathes out, head nestled into the side of your neck, small kisses pressing up to your jaw. 

You tug on the soft tufts of his hair, craving- no. needing more. “Fucking hell v. pick up the pace” you hiss, trying to work yourself up and down his cock. 

“I love it when you wear these.” he groans, fiddling with the strap of the emerald green bra you were wearing. “So fuckin pretty.” he whispers, watching the bra fall away from your skin. He had pulled your matching thong to the side in a hurried, horny, frenzy. 

He picked up the pace, the room filling with skin slapping and moans. 

Fuck. 

Neither of you were gonna last long after this. 

He pressed soft kisses down the valley of your breasts, basking in the scent of your skin. The smell of your moisturiser making him dizzy, sending the blood in his body straight down to his dick. 

He made quick work flipping you over, driving his cock in and out, shoving a pillow beneath you. 

“So fucking pretty.” he breaths out, head next to your ear. “All fucking mine.” 

He lets out a guttural moan as his hips begin to stutter. 

“Mm… fuck im gonna cum-” 

He makes an absolute mess of himself, biting onto the skin of your shoulder as he releases. He collapses against you, panting heavily. But oh no, he wasn’t finished with you. 

“Turn over. Gonna make sure you savour every drop.” 

He presses kisses from your soft tummy down each thigh, leaving bite marks. He gently fingers you, savouring the feeling of your insides. 

“Fuck.. all this just for me?” 

Your head is thrown back into the pillows, a mess of moans. 

His pace quickens, his other hand coming to rub up on your clit. Your whole body shakes with pleasure, strings of moans leaving your mouth. He admires you from down below, watching the sweat trickle down the valley of your breasts, and how your core shudders. 

“You gonna send me photos….

His fingers work quickly to make a mess of you. 

“And videos huh?” he says, watching his knuckles bury deep within you. He pauses when you don’t respond. You whine immediately, trying to work yourself up and down his fingers. He holds your hips down. 

“Answer me.” he snaps, gripping your thighs tightly.

“I promise.” you whine out. His head dips down, you were NOT gonna last long. He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, using his tongue and finger combined to eat you out in the most substantial way. Your body shook of overstimulation, your hands struggle against his as you try to push him away from your clit. “V-” you cry out, “cmon baby, just one more. I promise.” he whispers against your skin, you whimper and cry. “Cmon, sweet girl, i’ll take care of you.” 

That nickname was enough to snap the coil building inside you. He works you through your final orgasm, kissing your swollen lips. 

“Shh… shh.. You’re okay.” he whispers, holding you as you shake. He wipes the tears from your eyes, holding you together. 

“Did you like that?” he whispers, pulling you close to him in the dark. 

You nod, panting. 

“I like being able to take you apart and put you back together.” 

_______________________________________________

“You still mad…?” he asks, after gently cleaning you up and fetching you water. You shake your head. “Just gonna miss you.” 

Your eyes glance over to the window once more, the sun shining even brighter than the last time you checked. 

You woke up a couple minutes ago in Vessel’s arms for the first time in two months. You tried to go back to sleep, wanting to be close to him for a little longer. Despite the warmth of your boyfriend’s tight embrace, it was impossible for you to get back to dreamland. 

Your stomach grumbles, a clear message that no matter what you do, you won’t fall asleep. Pulling Vessel’s arm up from your waist allows you to wiggle your way out of bed. You slowly open the bedroom door and close it just as carefully, ensuring that you’re not waking him up. 

You make your way to the kitchen, ready to start making breakfast. Quickly, a bowl of crepe batter is ready. While you cook one at a time in a pan, some sausages and bacon strips are cooking in another. As everything finishes cooking, you make two full plates before cracking an egg. Once it is also cooked, you warm the oven up and put Vessel’s plate in it to keep it warm until he wakes up and you go sit down to eat.

On your way back to the kitchen with an empty plate, you hit your toe on something, only for it to roll forward, making you stumble. You successfully put the plate in one piece the sink before making your way back to the hallway, spotting the suitcase that almost took you out seconds ago. 

Vessel came home late yesterday and left his stuff out, promising to take care of them the next morning. Since he’s not awake yet, you take it upon yourself to put his things away. You roll the suitcase closer to the washing machine and begin sorting through his clothes.

As you throw everything that feels dirty in the wash, you stumble upon his cloak. Your finger catches in the fabric, and as you bring it closer to you, you hear it tear ever so slightly. Moving it around, you find a hole at the seam, which has had to be there for a long time seeing how big it is. Instead of tossing it in the washing machine, you fold it neatly and put it aside. 

Once you’re done and have started a cleaning cycle, you bring the cloak to the dining table before going to get your sewing kit. There is no need for your sewing machine as the hole is small enough that it won’t take too long to repair, saving you the hassle of moving it around. Sitting down, you rummage through your thread and pull out the black one with a needle. You begin to sew, making sure to keep the stitches close to one another, hoping that it would not tear again during the next leg of his tour.

A rattling sound pulls Vessel out of dreamland. He extends his arm forward, flapping his hand around repeatedly, only for it to be met with a cold mattress each time. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, which are quickly filled with sadness as he doesn't see you anywhere near him. All the heaviness that he’s been feeling when he came back yesterday left his body as he sits up, his head wiping around the room, still unable to find you. 

He swings the blanket to the other side of the bed and jumps out, making his way towards the bedroom door. He can hear some noise coming from further in the house, prompting him to walk towards it. 

He’s met with your back as he enters the dining room. He looks over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the pauldron and fur of his cloak. As he approaches you, he sees the needle and the fabric in your hands. 

A large smile breaks across his face and he lunges towards you. His arms wrap around your waist and his head rests on your shoulder, making you jump. Ignoring the yelp that left your mouth, he smothers you in kisses. 

“Vess! Stop it!” You giggle as you push him away. 

He gives you a few more kisses before calming down a little bit. “Thank you for fixing it,” he whispers in your ear. “You don’t have to, but thanks darling.”

You hum, turning your head towards him and kiss his cheek in return. As you continue sewing, Vessel’s breath goes down your neck and collarbones, making you shrug as it tickles your skin. He chuckles and moves his head to the top of yours, all while still holding you. His thumb rubs over your stomach, making your cheeks heat up. 

“There’s a plate in the oven if you want some breakfast,” you tell him in hopes that he would stop distracting you, only for a little while. 

“Oh my god! Yes! Homemade food!” he groans, giving you another kiss before letting go. 

He strides over to the kitchen and comes back quickly. He sits down right next to you, his elbow touching yours as he rests it on the table. His gaze switches between his plate and you, watching everything that you’re doing while enjoying the food you made.

As you push the needle through the fabric, it goes straight into your finger. You didn’t move your index fast enough, distracted by his insistent stare. A hiss immediately leaves your mouth and you shake your hand.

“Oh, no! Give me your hand,” he says as he takes your hand in his. He brings your injured finger to his face and gives it a little kiss before flashing you a bright smile. You roll your eyes at his ridiculous action, but the heat from your cheeks spread down your neck. 

He lets go of your hand, only after you jokingly promise that you’re not hurt anymore. Despite Vessel’s gaze still on you, you end up closing the hole completely without pricking yourself again. After putting away the thread and needle. You stand up and pick up the cloak, holding it in front of you. Next thing you know, his strong arms wrap around you and your feet are lifted from the ground. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he exclaims while giving you kisses all over your face and neck once again. 

“Careful! You’ll rip it again!” You giggle as he squeezes you so hard that all the air in your lungs comes out. 

He puts you down and takes the cloak away from you. He picks you back up and begins walking towards your bedroom. You hold onto him, giggling in his ears. 

“Vessel! Stop it! We need to do the dishes!” You exclaim, looking at his empty plate on the table, while he continues making his way down the hall. 

“It can wait. I just wanna cuddle with you!” he declares. “You got out of bed without cuddling me on my first morning back, so you owe me cuddles. And you fixed my cloak, so I owe you some cuddles,” he explains as you enter the bedroom.

He throws you on the bed, chuckling at your surprise. He doesn’t hesitate before joining you, getting in front of you. He drapes one arm around you and pulls you towards him, putting his head above yours. He nuzzles his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo that he missed so much. 

You love to see it, the way his pupils bleed black into his eyes, hardly any blue left at all as he sits back on his heels above you, his tall form imposing but not threatening. That closeness without contact, watching him as his hand pumps slowly over his cock, your own fingers slipping slow over your clit, it burns hot beneath your skin. 

“You’ll give in first.” 

He has no idea of your resolve. Your eyebrow arches elegantly, a cunning smile dancing over your lips. “Will I? Very confident words for a man who’s so turned on, he’s giving himself the shivers.”  

Your eyes delight in it, too, watching the way the pleasure skitters over his muscles, each quivering beneath his pale skin.  

His abs quake, little beads of precum trailing over his fingers, Vessel groaning low in his throat. “Don’t make out like this isn’t what you want,” he replies, eyes flitting between you and his cock. “I can see how much you’re dying for it.”  

Heat suffuses through your clit, balmy like high summer, and you feel your walls throbbing in ache to have him push between them. “I am, I really, really want that gorgeous, fat cock right up in me deep,” you purr, watching his hand quicken at the thought of it, “but I don’t give up.” 

He leans to you then, not touching, abiding by the rules of the game. “You fucking will, love.”  

“I think you’ll crack first,” you whisper, your breath fluttering his cheek, feeling the heat of his cock close to your belly. It drives you insane, but never let it be said you’re a kitten who can’t flex her claws. “Just to feel how wet it’s gotten me, imagining you inside me, fucking me mindless, making me cry out while you rail me into the bed and hold me there by my neck.”  

His eyes close for a second, and you reprimand him for it. “Look at me, big guy.” They open again, and the way the lust swims in them has your heart accelerating instantly. “Mmm, that’s it. You keep looking at me, watching as I rub on my hard little clit, imagining it’s your tongue.” You lean up to him a little then, letting your lips ghost the side of his neck. “And you always say how much sweeter I am when I’m at my most cock hungry, don’t you?” 

His broad chest rises and falls a little quicker, eyes darting to watch your fingers splaying your petals, giving him a better view of your sex as your fingers continue to weave their magic. He can feel embers glowing right in the depths of him, the desire to feel you clenching on his cock, tight and slippery, and it almost sends his brain to complete static.  

“You’re not going to ruin me with mere words, you know,” he speaks, and his voice rumbles through you, deepened by the sexual longing coursing through him. 

“No, darling,” you chuckle, “I’m going to ruin you with my pretty little cunt when you spear me with that beautiful, perfect, hard cock.”

Lifting your fingers to your mouth, you suck your dew from them, and it sends bolts glimmering up his spine, the resolve in him snapping like an elastic band. He grabs your legs, pushing them back to meet your chest, flattening you onto your back, aligning himself with your streaming hole and sinking into your heat to the hilt.  

You cry out, squirming a little against the intrusion, Vessel doing exactly as you stated he would. Long, elegant fingers move to gently grasp at your neck, holding you down, something baleful in the way he eyes you, leaning to your level and claiming your lips in a searing kiss.  

He moves in a devastating rhythm, opening you up around him, sending the sparks of pleasure crackling within you into full flame. Pressing into you hard with each roll of his hips, you’re held there and forced to take the brunt of a man who had been driven to mindlessness, and you relish in every moment of it.  

Never let it be said that you don’t love being virtually punished by his fuck, when gentleness escapes him entirely. You howl, the lewd sounds of flesh smacking together filling the air, his free hand moving to where you’re fused, thumb stroking waves of pure ebullience over your bud. 

“Please,” you beg, “fuck me harder.” And he does, and you keen against every sharp thrust, wailing for him, hands clutching at his lithe arms as your muscles clasp around the thick of his cock. Blazing heat simmers through you, crying out incoherently as it snaps sharp, floods through you like a summer tempest, wave after wave of release rendering your body a shaking wreck.  

His own pleasure is rolling golden, molten and hot down his spine, each hungry, hurried thrust culminating. “Open your mouth,” he demands, hand still holding your neck. You do, and he shifts to straddle your chest, hand clasping his thick, slippery cock and with a low grunt, decorating your tongue with his cum.  

“Good girl,” he praises, moving, his body covering yours as you swallow down his spend, tucking his head beneath yours and laying soft kisses to your throat.  

“Good girl who won,” you state, grinning when he lifts his head to frown. 

“Nobody likes a show off, babe.” 

You kiss his head, pulling him back down, your hands stroking over his sweaty skin. “Good job you still love me then, isn’t it?” 

He hums a chuckle, kissing just below your clavicle. “That isn’t ever gonna change.” 

“Ugh, Ry,” you groan, “you can’t keep calling me your best customer…it makes me sound like an alcoholic.”

Ryland laughs as he slides your already finished drink across the waxed wood bar top. 

“Well…” you chuckle as you take the drink. “Maybe this is sign enough.”

Your friend shakes his head. “You’re not an alchoholic love, trust me,” he emphasizes. “You might be one of the most regulars, but having one drink a visit doesn’t mean that much. No AA for you yet.”

You raise your glass as you laugh, “Cheers to that.”

Ryland opens his mouth to respond but a shout from the end of the bar cuts him off and he rolls his eyes before sending you an apologetic look. “Duty calls, sorry.”

“I get it, go do your job. I’ll be here,” you assure him.

“Oh, I know.”

His words make you chuckle again as he rushes off to tend to more customers.  Usually you spend most of your nights here at the pub after work talking to Ryland. It’s usually just you and maybe a handful of other people, also regulars. Tonight is different though, much busier, and you find yourself slightly disappointed you won’t get to chat much with him. 

You shrug to yourself, reaching down to retrieve the book you’ve been reading from your bag. Might as well pass the time somehow, you drove all the way down here - no point in wasting the trip.

However, as you turn in your seat to reach your bag hanging on the back of your seat, you see a set of eyes on you. Your bar neighbor. 

You ignore it at first, but then remember how he’d looked when Ryland revealed the seat he’d saved had been for you. Without thinking, you grab your book and lean over slightly to be heard over the loud atmosphere of the room. 

“I hope I didn’t take this seat from someone who needed it,” you say quickly, “Did you need it for someone?” 

The man shakes his head at your question, swirling the glass in his hand around idly. 

“You’re good.” 

His words are short, but you immediately take notice of the deep timbre of his voice.

You nod, taking his curt response as ‘back off’ and move to lean back into your bubble when he speaks again. 

“You must be pretty important to have the bartender save your seat though,” he says, lips quirked up slightly. “Especially if you only ever get one drink.”

You let out a small scoff, waving him off. “Nobody important, trust me,” you say. “I’ve just been coming here for a while, and between you and me, I’m a generous tipper - I think that’s the only reason Ryland puts up with me.”

He smiles at that, closed lips pulling rather upward before he tilts his head back to finish off his drink. “That will do it,” he tells you before falling silent as he lifts up a hand to signal for another drink. 

You follow the natural flow of conversation and let it end there as Ryland comes over to take the mans order, you turn back to your book. 

You get through a few pages of your book, successfully able to tune out the noise around you but unsuccessfully able to turn out the stranger next to you. For whatever reason, you find your eyes flitting over to him more often then they should. 

He’s handsome in a mysterious kind of way. You know you’ve never seen him in here before, so he’s not a regular. He’s not here with anyone either, just silently sipping his drink of choice and occasionally flicking through his phone. But otherwise he just seems to be…existing here. Head bobbing to whatever rock music is playing through the speakers eyes glancing around the room. 

However, the one thing that seems to catch your eye most of all are his hands. He’s constantly fiddling with his glass, the several silver rings that adorn his fingers, clinking softly against the sides. But what piques your curiosity is the small flecks and smears of black on his knuckles and staining the ridges around his nails. 

It looks like paint. 

And before you can stop yourself, you find yourself asking,

“Are you an artist?”

This seems to pull the man from his reverie, eyes turning to meet yours in slight surprise. 

You gesture to his hands when he doesn’t answer. “Sorry I just - It looks like paint. on your hands…”

He looks down at his hands, brows raising slightly as he lets go of his glass to absentmindedly pick at the stains. He chuckles as he does, the sound sending a pleasant flutter through your chest. 

“You could say that,” he says vaugly. 

“That’s cool,” you offer a bit lamely, your mind anxiously reeling for a way to continue. 

You hold up your book. “I’m more of a consumer myself. You know…instead of the creator.” 

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

The man shakes his head, “I doubt that,” he says kindly. “Most people I know who read are the most creative out there.”

You shrug, “I guess that makes sense...” You trail off for a moment. 

He obviously didn’t seem comfortable talking about what exactly he does since he avoided your question so you try to dance around it. 

“How did you get into your…art?”

The man shrugs, starting to fiddle with his glass again. “I think…It started as a way to express myself I suppose. Most art does. Then I just never stopped. I think of it as an escape if that makes sense.”

You nod firmly, once again thumbing through your book. 

“It does. I think that’s why I love reading so much…”

The conversation continues smoothly after that, the strangers seeming more open to talk as you both ramble on about everything and nothing. He asks you about what book you’re reading and you tell him, surprised to find he’s familiar with the author. You both just ramble on from things as simple as interests to eventually arguing about drinks of choice. 

Soon enough you’re on your fourth drink - a first for you really - and laughing about some story he had told you about a friend of his. 

“No way!” You exclaim through broken laughter, cheeks warm from both the alcohol and the sound of his laughter.  “I don’t believe it.”

He shakes his head hand placed over his chest, “I swear it.”

“Oh my god that is…” your words devolve into more laughter as you take another sip of your drink. 

Your new friend goes to speak again but cuts himself off as his phone buzzes on the bar top. His smile falls, only slightly, as his eyes scan the screen before he lets out a small sigh, Turing the screen off and tapping the phone against the solid wood beneath it.

“Duty calls,” he says ruefully, moving to stand as he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something onto a dry drink napkin. 

You sit up straighter now, fighting off the pang of disappointment as he starts to pull his jack on. 

“Work?” 

He shrugs, sending you another one of those half smiles. “Something like that,” he says before pulling out what is obviously way too much money for his two drinks and tucks it and the napkin beneath his glass. 

“Get home safe,” he says, before turning to push his way through the mass of bodies. 

“You too!” You call after him, hoping he heard you over the din of the room. 

A low whistle catches your attention from where you watch the him exit the bar, and you turn to see Ryland has joined you once again. His eyes are bright as he looks at the empty place beside you, the cash and napkin in his hand as his eyes scan over it. 

“What?” You ask, leaning forward to get a peek at the note.

Ryland sends you a wicked grin. “Seems like someone made a good impression,” he chuckles, shwoing you the napkin. “Your tab is payed for, love.”

‘For the lady’s drinks as well. keep the rest.’

The handwriting was surprisingly neat, a mix between print and cursive as it flows across the delicate paper. You glance back up at Ryland as he whistles again. 

“Damn good tipper too, at that,” he admires. “Hope he comes back.”

It’s then, as your friend is drooling over his tip and you glance back down at the note in you hand that your realize it. 

You never even learned his name.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It’s several types typical days at the bar before you see him again, and to say you’re surprised is an understatement. It had been almost a week since the night you met him, and you had resigned yourself to the fact that you’d probably never see him again. 

So, when you walk into the much calmer bar tonight, your eyes don’t search the room. Instead you make a beeline to your usual seat, waving at Ryland as you do. You hand barely meets the wooden back of the tall chair before a high pitched whistle sounds from behind you, turning several heads in the pub, including yours. 

You csilently curse the way your heart leaps in your chest as you find the source, a familiar face raises a glass from a booth in the back before waving you over. However, unlike last time, he’s not alone. There are three other guys sitting with him at the table, all eyes on you as you glance from them, back to your usual seat, before falling to Ryland. 

Your friend, who stands in front of you now gives you a scathing look. “Girl if you sit down in the chair I just might kick you out. Go,” he points to the table before walking off. 

You can’t stop the chuckle that leaves your lips as you listen to him, hand falling from your familiar place in order to walk towards the back table. 

The stranger from before assess you as you approach, eyes trailing from your face to your feet then back up again, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine at the action. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

You give him a confused look. “I did tell you I was a regular here right?” You ask. “I should be the one saying that about you.” 

He smiles, “Oh I didn’t forget,” he assures you. “How could I forget this place’s best customer?” 

“Oi, quit flirting and let the lady sit down!” One of the other guys at the table interrupts, leaning over from his place next to you to push out the last free chair as he looks at your strange companion. “You haven’t even introduced us.”

At the mention of an introduction, the man seems to freeze, as if he too realizes just like you did last time, that you never exchanged names. 

“Well…Uh, this is-”

You interject quickly with your name, sticking your hand out to the one who had pulled out the chair for you. He laughs at your formal greeting and playfully swats your hand away as he stands. 

“We’re the hugging type I’m afraid, but-” he pulls you into a quick hug before ushering you into your seat, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m iv”

You look at him puzzled for a moment, as you take your seat, spotting closer to the table. 

“Four like… like the number?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. 

The man laughs, as if he expected that reaction and nods. 

“You heard right. I’m iv,” he gestures to the man to his right, who has shorter white hair, “This here’s iii, and that-” he points to the man sitting next to your friend, “is ii. And well, you already know Ves.”

Your slight confusion must show on your face as laughter erupts from the table, the boys nudging one another as they all pause to take sips from their various drinks. The one named iii waves his hand in a dismissive manner, shaking his head. 

“It’s a bit of an…inside joke I guess. Nicknames we gave each other that just kind of stuck,” he explains.

You nod at his explanation, still perplexed but accept it nonetheless. And plus, now you know the name of the mystery man from last visit. 

Ves. 

You wonder if that is some sort of nickname too. 

However, you don’t dwell too long on that fact before the conversation last time with Ves comes to the front of your mind. With brows drawn together, you lean over slightly towards Ves, pointing a wandering finger towards the other three guys. 

“Wait, so was one of them the one that went streaking through the park after a night of drinking?”

The grin that splits Ves’ face is all you need to know the answer as a cacophony of groans and loud protests erupt from the table. But it’s not until iii slaps his hands on the table as he leans forward with a betrayed look on his face. 

“Ves, really man? We promised we’d take that shit to the grave! Why are you out here dissing me like that?”

The only response iii gets is a laugh from Ves and soon the other guys follow, elbowing their friend and tossing teases across the table, and before you know it, you join in too. 

***

The night goes on much like that, more stories of their wild times together coming to light, and they even get you to spill some more embarrassing, albeit funny, memories from your college days. Its through these conversations that you determine the must have been friends for a while, and you smile at the thought of what other antics they could get up too. 

This time, and idle chatter also reveals something else to you. 

More black paint. 

It’s still apparent on Ves’ hands like last time, although it looked like he tried to do a better job of scrubbing it away. The same couldn’t be said be said for the other guys. The dark pigment adorns their skin in small amounts much the same way as it did Ves’ the first time you met him. It’s mainly prominent on the ridges of their knuckles and fingernails, sometimes on their wrists when you can see the skin form where their shirts or jackets ride up. You even notice a particularly larger smear on the side of ii’s neck when he lens back to laugh particularly hard at some lame joke you said. 

It’s probably nothing, they probably all work together, it would make sense. But no matter how many times you try to ignore it, your curiosity won’t let it slide. 

And ii notices. Probably from when you let your eyes linger on him a bit too long when you noticed the paint. 

He takes a swing of his beer before gesturing to you with the glass. “Alright, out with it,” he says casually, “I know I’m attractive but nobody stares at me like that.”

iii reaches across the table and swats at his shoulder. “Oi, don’t be so full of yourself mate-”

iv joins in on the banter. “Yeah, we all know I’m the best looking-”

Playful banter breaks out at this, the lot of them seeming to forget about the question ii even asked you, and in the break from the spotlight, you eye drift over to Ves. 

Only to see him already looking at you, a pensive look on his face. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, reaching for your glass to take another drink as your eyes fall to your watch. 

Holy shit, it’s late. 

You let out a small huff, quickly downing the last of your drink before setting the glass back on the table with a soft thunk. 

“I have to head out,” you say, turning to gather your purse before moving to stand. 

The announcement brings out a chorus of protests and pleas to stay but you shake your head. 

“I don’t know what you all do for work but I have to be up in...” You look exaggeratedly at your watch, “oh five hours, so with that-” you reach into your purse and pull out several larger bills, laying them on the table, “Drinks are on me tonight as a thank you for a lovely evening.”

More protest follow, but you wave them off and before you know it the three guys you met earlier are out of their seats and giving you hugs as if you’ve known them for years, murmurs of ‘see you around’ and ‘drive safe’ meeting your ears before they back off. 

Then, Ves’ is in front of you before you can blink, and it’s only now that you seem to realize just how huge he is. Well, in reality, he’s not the tallest person you’ve ever seen but he still towers over you and has a…presses about him you can’t seem to place. 

You look up at him and smile as he holds your coat up in his hands, having retrieved it from the back of your seat before you could. He helps you as you slip your arms through the sleeves, and you turn back to him, smile still tugging at your lips. 

“Thanks.”

Ves nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I can walk you to your car,” he offers, nodding to the windows. “It’s dark.”

You shake your head in an automatic response, “You don’t have to do that-”

Ves’ is steering you towards the door before you can finish, “I insist.”

The boys call out their goodbyes as you leave, and Ves just chuckles as you make for the door. 

“They liked you,” he says as he pushes open the door, holding it for you until you’re both out in the crisp night air. 

You laugh, turning right to head towards your car parked just down the street. 

“I liked them too, they’re a riot,” you say fondly. “I can see why you’re all friends. They seem like good people.”

Ves smiles softly at this, nodding his agreement. “They are - basically saved my life a time or two.”

A silence falls over you too then, neither of you sure what to say as you lead him further down the sidewalk, your car now in view. The only sound is the soft thudding of shoes on concrete and your own breathing. 

Your over active mind races for something to fill the silence, but you reach your destination before you can think of anything, and you try to swallow the disappointment you feel as your night draws to a close. 

“Well,” you say, pulling out your keys, “this is me.” 

You turn to face Ves, your back to your car as he stops just a few steps from you, closer than would be considered normally appropriate. 

Not that you’re complaining. 

He looks down at you again, features obscured by the shadows casted by the street lamps. But he seems to be studying you, that curious tilt to his head making your heart stutter slightly. 

“It was nice to see you again,” he says finally, voice gentle in the quiet night.

“It was nice to see you too,” you say, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in a moment of contemplation. “I had been looking for you. Before tonight.” You admit. 

His brows raise at that, slight surprise painting his features. 

“Really?” 

You chuckle, “Yeah. I remembered after you left that we never even learned each others names and…it was silly. But I’m glad I got to see you again.”

Ves smiles at your words just a small gust of wind blows though, sending a shiver through you as part of your scarf falls down from around your neck. He reaches up instinctively to adjust the fabric, his knuckles brushing the underside of your jaw as he tugs it back into place. 

“Well,” he breathes, “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

You’re looking up at him again, closer than ever and you can barely muster the weak ‘yeah’ that falls from your lips, before his hand drops back to his side. 

“Have a good night, love.” 

And then he’s walking back towards the pub. 

Your mind is racing again, and like a total dumbass you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Baby oil!” You call out, stopping the tall man in his tracks as he turns to send you a very confused look. 

“For the paint,” you clarify, gesturing to your own hands. “Baby oil gets paint off pretty good. Better than soap and water.”

Ves smiles, and just nods turning back to continue his journey.

But even from this far away, the silent night allows you to hear that deep laughter slip from his lips. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Today was one of the bad days.

Everyone has them, you know they do, today is just your turn, you suppose. You don’t have many of them, or at least - you don’t go to the pub when you do. But even Ryland notices your dour mood, noticing right away when you by pass your usual seat without so much as a wave in favor of picking the tiny booth at the very back of the establishment. 

He only offers a small pat on the shoulder as he drops off your usual drink, muttering a quiet offering of solidarity before walking back off.

It feels stupid. To be this upset when nothing even really happened. Your car didn’t break down, you didn’t have a partner dump you, you didn’t get laid off, it’s just-

The tears seem to come without warning. Burning at the back of your eyes, lower lip wobbling in an attempt to stop the onslaught of tears and the sob clawing at your chest. 

Get it together!! You scream at yourself, frustration further fueling the tears. 

Life just sucks sometimes for no particular reason it seems. 

Work is overwhelming, your hobbies aren’t interesting, your house too quiet it seemed to scream at you instead of comfort you. 

You take a sip of your drink, wiping furiously at the tears that escape as you do so. 

You’re thankful you chose the booth seat facing away from everyone. How embarrassing to be a caught in a pub crying  over -

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The all to familiar voice shocks you from your own mind and you jump in your seat, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder to see none other than Ves. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter wiping hastily at your cheeks as you watch his lips turn downwards in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, coming closer despite your inner desire for him to leave. 

You shake your head, wiping your nose for good measure as you stare down into your drink. 

“Nothing,” you say, voice clogged with emotion. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself when you realize he’s sliding in the booth across form you. Plastering on a watery smile you clutch your glass between your hands as you look at him. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you try to say casually, but fail miserably. 

Ves just shakes his head, eyes soft as he rests his clasped hands on the table before him. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, “not with me.”

“Do what?” You say, lip trembling again as your tears bubble up once more. 

“Pretend you’re okay, when you’re not.”

The laugh you let out is a bitter thing, small and broken by the tears that drip from your eyes that you wipe away again and again. 

Ves doesn’t say anything as you try to compose yourself again, but you find yourself unable to, and he eventually stops you from fruitlessly wiping away tears by reaching up to take one of them in his own. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks again, somehow even gentler than before. 

All you can do is shrug, tears salty against your tongue as you lick your lips. 

“Nothing, really,” you say again, continuing when he looks like he’s going to argue. 

“I’m just…sad. Don’t know why.”

Ves nods understandingly, thumb swiping comfortingly over your knuckles. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to say or maybe because he knows it won’t really matter. Either way you appreciate his presence - it’s nice to know someone is here, even if no words are shared. 

After a few quiet moments, he grabs a drink napkin with his free hand, offering it to you. 

You take it, fingers brushing his own and notice something that takes your mind off of your own turmoil. 

“The paint’s gone,” you say softly, turning his hand over to inspect it. 

You glance up only to see Ves’ lips twitch upwards ever so slightly. 

“Baby oil,” he says, “who knew?”

His words make you let out a soft chuckle, and he joins in, his hand never leaving yours. 

And suddenly, you’re not so sad anymore. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Laughter bubbles up from your chest as you and the boys spill out of the bar into the cold night air.  Your breaths materializing in front of you in puffs of white steam. iii is hanging of off iv’s shoulder, doubled over in laughter at something that someone said - you can’t even keep track of the conversation anymore, laughter cutting most of it off anyways. 

However, after a few more long moments of racouys laughter, iii perks up brows raised slightly as he looks to you. 

“Holy shit I almost forgot,” he says, letting got go iv to address you now. “You’re coming tomorrow night right?”

You send him a quizzical look before looking over to Ves where he stands next to you, only to see him waving his hand in front of his throat in a ‘cut it out’ motion, stopping abruptly when you catch him. 

“Go where?” You ask, curiosity piqued. 

You watch as ii rolls his eye, “Come on Ves,” he groans. “We already decided to extend the invitation.”

You hear Ves let out a huff, running a hand through his hair as you speak up again, confusion turning into annoyance. 

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask, exasperation lacing your words. 

It’s iv who speaks up this time, wrapping an arm around iii.

“There’s a concert tomorrow,” he says grinning. “We have an extra ticket and wanted you to come.”

“A concert?” You ask, turning to Ves only to see an almost imperceptible blush tinging his cheeks. “Why are you so worked up about a concert?”

Ves huffs again, shaking his head as he digs around the inside of his jacket for something. “I’m not worked up,” he grumbles, finally finding what he was searching for and pulling it out. “I just-”

II interrupts Ves with a clap on the shoulder and a shit eating grin on his face. “He’s just mad because he wanted to be the one to ask you.”

Ves shrugs his hand off his shoulder and lands a playful punch to his friends arm, mumbling something about being a prick and he’d pay for that later, before he turns to you, offering you what you realize now is a small badge attached to a lanyard. 

“Here,” he says, softer than when he addressed iv. “It’s VIP, just show up an hour before show time and they’ll tell you where to go.”

You take it from him, the black lanyard soft beneath your fingers as you examine the item. The badge is sturdier than you expected, seeming to be made of metal instead of plastic. it’s all black with a red symbol you’ve never seen before printed on both sides the name of the band printed just beneath it with the words ‘VIP PASS’ below that. The lanyard itself is black with white lettering echoing the same as the badge. 

Sleep Token.

Huh. You’ve never heard of them before, but that doesn’t surprise you as you haven’t been a huge music buff most of your life. Then, as if Ves’ words finally register with you, you look up at him again, brows pinched in confusion once more. 

“Wait. They’ll show me where to go - are you guys not coming with me?” You ask, “Because this ticket it wasted on me if you guys don’t come, I don’t even know the band-”

“Oh we’ll be there,” iii laughs from his place next to iv.

The boys all laugh at his words, leaving you feeling utterly left out of some inside joke they have. But before you can get to worked up about it, a warm hand reaches out to take your own that holds the pass. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Ves says, rolling his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

You comply without really thinking about it, watching as the much taller man takes it from you and types something into it before handing it back. 

“There. I put in my number, just text me when you get there tomorrow and we’ll find each other.”

You nod, stomach fluttering as your fingers brush his when you take your phone back and pocket it. 

“Sounds good.”

ii claps his hands together, seemingly satisfied with tonights events. “Alight, now that’s settled we probably need to get going. Big day tomorrow boys!”

The rest of the group whoops in agreement, grouping together as they head down the sidewalk, only Ves lingering behind at your side. Only when he gestures towards your car down the street do you realize he wants to walk you there. 

“Oh, right,” you say, chuckling softly as warmth rushes to your cheeks. 

You’ve been getting unusually flustered around him lately, unable to control the fluttering in your chest when he’s around. 

It’s silent for a moment before you break it, gesturing with the pass to the guys ahead. 

“This must be some band for them to be this excited about it.”

Ves laughs at that, an actual laugh deep from his chest instead of the usual soft chuckles he gives you. 

“Yeah, they…You could say it’s a huge part of our lives,” he says.

You hum softly, looking back down at the pass. 

“Well then, I’m sure I’ll like them if you all enjoy them this much. Ill try to listen to some of their songs on the way home-”

“No!” Ves interjects, voice loud on the quiet street as you both come to a stop in front of your car.

He clears his throat when you give him a withering look, caught off guard by his outburst. 

“I just…” he begins, “they’re best live,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Promise you won’t listen to them before the concert tomorrow.”

His eyes seem to be pleading with you, and you can’t find it in you to deny him despite your curiosity. 

“Okay…I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

Ves sighs, relief evident in the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly, and before you can even blink his face is right next to your own, warm lips pressing quickly to your cheek before he’s back out of your space, grinning like a fool.

“Good. See you tomorrow night.”

And all you can do is stare, stunned silly, as he jogs to catch up with his friends. 

You only realize when you pull into your driveway that you never got the location of the concert, or the start time at the same exact moment your phone pings with a message. It’s from an unknown number but lists an address and a time, followed quickly by a second less cryptic message. 

Hope you got home safe. See you tomorrow.

-V

* * * *

Even though you get to the concert venue an hour early like Ves told you too, it’s already packed. You almost don’t find parking until you get lucky with a street spot a few blocks over. When you finally make it to the entrance the line is down the block and seems to keep going. You look around for a line labelled for VIP, anything to tell you where to go, but all you see is the sign pointing to the long line for general admission. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, pulling up Ves’ number to shoot him a quick text. 

‘Hey! I’m here but I don’t see a sign for VIP…where are you guys?’

You wait less than a minute before a response comes through.

‘V: We’re running way later than expected. Find an attendant, they should be able to point you in the right direction.’

You huff at the message anxiety gnawing at your mind as you bit your lip. Late? You don’t know anything about this band or this venue, you don’t really want to go in without them-

“Miss?” 

A voice behind you makes you jump, turning to see a younger looking man with tattoos put his hands up in mock surrender as he chuckles. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the same logo as your lanyard.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says kindly, gesturing to your lanyard. “You’ve got a VIP pass. I can get you to where you need to go.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down to the pass hanging around your neck. “Yeah I was just texting my friend about where to go I don’t…” you hesitate for a moment. “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

The man smiles, holding a hand out as he gestures for you to follow him towards a side entrance to the venue. 

“That’s alright. In your defense we don’t have the best signage for VIP’s,” he chuckles. “We don’t get many of them.”

Surprise tugs at your chest at his words.

“You don’t?” You ask, “My friends are supposed to meet me here, will they know where to go?”

The man chuckles at this, eyes glimmering with mischief as he looks over to you before opening the door to head inside.

“I think they’ll be fine.”

You follow him inside the venue and marvel at the gargantuan space as he shows you around. The stage is set up, lights on but not moving and the bands logo projected onto the back wall of the stage. The venue looks big enough to hold thousands of people. The floor closest to the stage is void of seats, allowing for people to stand up close to the stage while stadium like seats art up about half way back and up all around the room. 

“So this is it,” He says as he brings you up to the side of the front of the stage on the floor, right next to the barricade in a small roped off section separating you from the rest of the open floor seating. “They’re going to be letting GA in here in a few minutes and concert starts soon after that,” he extends his hand to you. “My name’s Sam by the way, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask someone.”

You smile, your nerves from earlier dissipating slightly at the thought of knowing someone here as you take his hand.

“Thanks, Sam.”

He smiles back, before his phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down at it before waving it in the air slightly. 

“Duty calls. Enjoy the concert!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the big empty room waiting for your friends.

* * *

‘Ves, where are you guys???’

Your text has gone unread for several minutes, but your nerves are at an all time high as the room around you continues to fill with excited concert goers. The doors had opened half an hour ago and the room was already packed to the brim, people who had floor seats rushing in to be the first at the barricades as the start time drew closer. 

You send another hurried text, looking around you in hopes that Ves and the guys would show up any second. 

‘The concert is about to start!’

For a brief moment, dread settles in the pit of your stomach. What if this is some cruel joke being played on you. What if they bailed last minute and decided not to come, leaving you here by yourself. An ache settles in your chest as the fleeting memory of lips agasint your chilled cheek flashes before your eyes and you go to send another text. 

‘Ves…please tell me you guys are coming.’

As if on command, the room around you goes pitch black, the crowed around you erupting into a deafening roar as the stage lights slowly come to life with the sounds of harsh guitar strings flooding through the speakers. 

You phone lights up with a text message. 

‘V: We’re right here’

The crowds roar around you continues to crescendo as the music flows from the speakers, the blue lights on the stage illuminating a sole figure emerging in the center of the stage to greet the adoring crowd as the drums behind him explode in a rhythmic beat. 

You don’t have time to try to direct Ves’s message, your attention draw and held captive by the presence now on stage. 

They approach the front of the stage, just mere yards from you where a microphone stand sits, and you’re immediatly observing the sight in front of you. It’s a man, that you’re now sure of. He moves to the beat, the black cloak he wears billowing out behind him. He’s not wearing a shirt but any skin that would be showing is covered in black paint - from the portion of his face not hidden by a hood and face mask to his chest and right down to the fingers now wrapping around the microphone.  

The mask is obviously the most striking thing. White with a red symbol of the band painted on the front, missing the lower half to leave his mouth free to sing. 

Which he does. 

The vocalist starts to sing into the microphone, a song unfamiliar to you, but no less enchanting as a streak of familiarity zings though you. His voice sounds familiar in a far off distant way - and for a moment you wonder if you have heard this band before somewhere. 

Without really thinking, you find yourself swaying to the beat, foot tapping against the ground as the bas reverberates through the room. Your eyes flit from the lead singer to another figure you see drifting across the stage, guitar slung over his shoulders as he plays. 

He’s also masked, visible skin inked in black and the suit jacket he wears having a hood pulled up over his head. 

In fact, all the members of the band wear masks with any visible skin painted black. From the drummer to the back up singers to the other bass guitarist now waltzing along the stage towards the section your standing in. You notice as he get’s closer that he’s the only one not wearing a hood, his ash white hair flipping this way and that as he moves to the beat. 

As if sensing your specific gaze on him, the bass player looks up from his guitar strings to where you stand, and sends you a playful wink before turning back the way he came, all but swaggering off. 

It all seems to click into place in an instant, your eyes going wide as they flick from the shock of white hair back up to the lead singer, who’s now pulled the microphone from the stand and walking to your side of the stage, never missing a single word of the song. 

He stops right in front of where you stand, an the crowd behind you goes wild as he reaches out towards them, before bringing just slightly to look directly at you, sending you an almost imperceptible smile before he’s up and back the way he came. 

You can’t stop the laughter that erupts from your lips as realization sets in, you finally push past your confusion to join the crowd in jumping and clapping and trying your best to sing along to songs you’ve never heard before. 

It feels like you blink and the entire time passes by going from upbeat high energy songs to slower more emotionally charged ones. You find yourself completely drawn into the whole experience, especially on the soft songs, and you can tell that parts of himself were poured into them when they were written.

In no time the concert is drawing to a closer the last notes of the set flowing through the speakers as the crowd erupts into more deafening screams and cheering as Ves’ bows thankfully to the arena. You just barely manage to catch it as he looks over to you, turning and placing his hands together in a ‘thank you’ motion before you feel a gentle hand on your elbow. You turn to find Sam, the one who lead you in earlier, gesturing off to the side of the stage. 

“Come with me!” He calls, struggling to be heard over the crowd. 

You nod, casting one last glance over your shoulder before you’re lead out of the main arena to the backstage area. 

“So, what did you think?” Sam asks, genuine curiosity lacing his words. 

You smile wide, adrenaline still coursing through you from the excitement. 

“It was amazing! I’m just sad I didn’t know the songs…”

Sam let out a small laugh, “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to learn them all someday,” he says before coming to a stop in front of a door towards the back of the backstage area. “You can wait in here. Vessel and the others should be by shortly.”

Vessel…

You don’t have time to dwell on the name reveal as Sam opens the door and ushers you inside and barely has time to close it behind you before a round of raucous laughter and cheers assault you as three of your four friends all but jump you as you enter. 

You laugh and hug them all, noticing that their masks are now gone, replaced with the familiar faces you recognize, just streaked with black paint. 

“I can’t believe you guys!” You exclaim once the noise dies down a little bit. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in a band?”

iii waves a dismissive hand at you, moving to plop back into the couch in the center of the room. “Where’s the fun in that?” He teases, taking a water bottle that iv hand him. 

“Yeah,” iv agrees, taking a seat by iii, “it’s all part of the fun, love.”

You roll your eyes, turning youthful attention to ii who has yet to say anything from his place propped agains the edge of the couch. When he notices your eyes on him, he throws his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t look at me, I was the one who wanted to tell you. These blokes,” his eyes shift to look at something behind you, “and him - outvoted me.”

You turn to face the object of ii’s attention, only to be met with a familiar towering form, the white and red mask still in place. Now that you’re able to see him up close, you can’t help the way your eyes roam. He truly is imposing like this - not in a bad way - but he seems to take on a different persona adorned in the costume. You take note of the paint still on his skin, but noticeably patchier from where it rubbed off or has dripped away due to the thin sheen of perspiration coming through. And from this close, you’re able to fully see the mask he wears, the intricate details and the way the eye holes are formed to create the illusion of there being 3 sets of eyes instead of just two. 

There’s so many thoughts running through your head, yet the only thing that you’re brain manages to verbalize is a very simple, and quiet - 

“Hi.”

Ves chuckles at this, the sound low and deep as it reverberates through his chest.

“Hi,” he mimics before casting a glance behind you. 

He must have silently communicated with the other guys because you soon hear rustling behind you as the al stand and start to move towards you, and thus the exit. They all murmur quick goodbyes to you, telling you and Ves to come find them later and you al can go out for drinks again, until eventually it’s just you and Ves alone in the room.

Neither of you have moved and you can feel a certain tension in the air that either of you have left to break. Until you finally work up the courage to speak. 

“So…Vessel?” 

The word comes out as a question, and you watch silently as he lets out a small huff, lips quirking upward in a small smile. 

“I figured ‘Ves’ was a more socially acceptable way of introducing myself,” he jokes, reaching up to tap the mask. “Despite what you might think, I don’t try to scare people away.”

He pauses for a moment, hands clenching at his sides slightly before he speaks again.

“So…what do you think?”

You can’t help but perk up at his question, flashes of the concert coming back to you immediately as you practically bounce on your toes. 

“What do I think?” You repeat, exasperated. “Ves, that was amazing! I might not have known the songs that well but it was phenomenal…”

Your words come out faster than you can really control, rambling on about everything you loved about the concert and their music. You’re so caught up in recalling the recent events that you fail to notice as Ves moves ever closer to you, eliminating the space between you both.

“And then when you were on the piano and singing that song I could just tell that you poured your heart into it and it reminded me of that night at the bar when I was upset and you -”

Your words are cut off before you can continue, large calloused hands cradling your cheeks as warm lips capture your own in a kiss that takes your breath away. You barely even notice the way the mask he wears presses into your cheek until one of his hands leave your skin in order to pry the offending article up and off his head, lips breaking from yours only momentarily before kissing you once more. 

You hands fall to his sides instinctively, skin warm beneath your palms as your try to pull him closer.  He obliges your request by moving to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you too him until he eventually breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against your own as you both struggle for breath. 

“You are truly amazing,” he says softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. 

You pull away from him then, just enough to look up and capture his gaze with your own, heat flooding your cheeks. 

“You’re one to talk,” you jest lightly, reaching up to wipe at the pain smudged on his cheeks. 

“Never in a million years would I have guessed you literally cover yourself in paint. I thought you were a painter!” You exclaim.

Vessel laughs at that, eyes crinkling at the corners as he does so. 

“Well, I guess technically I am a painter-”

“Not what I meant,” you argue, reaching up to wipe at something tickling your cheek. 

Vessel reaches up and grabs your hand before you can wipe your cheek again, eyes widened slightly. 

“Stop, you’ve got paint…” 

You glance at your hand in his, only to see black paint smeared over your palms from where you’d touched him earlier. 

“Here,” he says, reaching up to wipe at the smudge you assume is now on your face.

However, his nose scrunches up as he does so. “Oh…” he tries to wipe it again. “I - I’m just not helping at all really-”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles as you imagine him just smearing more paint around in an effort to clean it up, and he soon joins in before reaching grabbing the corner of his cloak to use instead. 

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to one side as he used the piece of fabric to delicately wipe away the traces of paint. His eyes trial over your features as he works, taking you in until he eventually drops the fabric back to his side in favor of cradling your face in his hands once more. 

“I really want to kiss you again,” he whispers, eyes shimmering with mischief.

You smile.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His mask is cracked around the edges; not physically, but spiritually. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like the weight of all that devotion, all that noise, all those thousands of eyes… has finally caught up to him. He walks tall as if in the presence of gods, but the hunch of his shoulders tells a different story. 

He looks like a man who’s just walked out of a cathedral that caught fire mid-sermon. And the second he sees you, just past the security rope, pressed to the backstage wall where you’ve been waiting with your hands clutched in front of your chest, he falls apart. His frame practically melts as he reaches you. 

“Love,” he gasps, voice already fraying at the edges. He doesn’t even look at the crew members calling his name or the assistant reaching for his water bottle. He beelines for you like you’re his very oxygen. 

You don’t implore or hesitate. You catch him as he crashes into you, arms around his waist, hands fisting into the damp back of his cloak as he buries his masked face in your neck and sobs. 

Not a quiet cry. Not the trembling kind where the hot tears just leak down your face. These are deep, shaking, gut-wrung sobs. The kind you only let out when it’s finally safe to release, to come down from the cathartic high that is Vessel on stage. 

“Baby,” you whisper, your fingers slowly trailing up his damp back and slipping underneath his hood. You card your fingers through the soaked strands of hair at the base of his neck. “You did it. You did it, you fucking did it-” 

He’s gripping you so hard it almost hurts, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. The tremble in his shoulders tells you this has been building for hours, days, maybe. And now it’s all coming out, and he’s letting you see it. He’s taking shelter in your very presence. 

“I saw it,” you breathe against his ear. “I saw everything. Every moment, every fucking second of it. You were unreal.” You feel him let out a broken exhale, the mask shifting ever so slightly against your skin. 

“There were… so many,” he murmurs, like he’s still trying to process it. “So many people, love, I’ve never seen that many... not even at Wembley...” 

“I know,” you whisper. “It was a sea of them, Ves. And they all came to see you.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy through the mesh eye holes of the mask, tears streaking his face paint. You wish he wasn’t wearing the mask, but you also know it’s his shield, his sanctuary. So you just rest your hand against the cool plastic and nod, your eyes on his, watching the grief leave his expression. 

“I’ve never been prouder of you in my life,” you murmur, your tone pouring pride and reverence. His breath catches and he exhales shakily. 

“I couldn’t breathe out there,” he admits. “Not because of the crowd. Because of what it meant. All those years. All that pain and work and- and... And they were just… there. Reaching for it. Singing every word back to me like the songs belonged to them. And they did. It’s- it’s all for them...” he finishes, and you feel his grip on you tighten ever so slightly. 

You nod, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “The music has always belonged to them. But it also belongs to you. You gave it to them. You’ve given them everything,” you tell him, tears threatening to spill from your own eyes. You’re overcome with so many emotions all at once. You feel incredibly proud, deeply grateful, and heartbroken all the same because even with all the fans and the love and success, you know he must relive all that pain, all that fear and anxiety over again when he’s on stage. You’re painfully aware of the toll it takes on him contradicted by his love of performing and bone-deep admiration for his true fans and the way they worship. 

You see and feel the quake behind his posture, the little shiver of disbelief, and maybe shock. You lean in and press your lips gently to the side of his mask, leaving behind a glossy print. “And now I’m going to give you something back,” you whisper into his ear, your voice switching from sincerity to sultry. He stills for a moment, his hands moving from around your back to rest at your waist as he pulls you in closer to him. You feel the hitch of his breath against your neck, the faintest tremble of restraint rippling through him like a taut chord pulled too tight.

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, he just holds you there, your bodies flush, hearts beating an uneven rhythm into one another as they both accelerate. You wonder if he's trying to steady himself or if he’s simply overcome again, only this time not by the crowd, not by the magnitude of the night, but by you. He stands fully, his hands squeezing your hips as he looks down at you. 

Although you can’t see his eyes, you can feel them scorching you from the inside out. “Are you implying what I believe you are, darlin’?” he murmurs low, voice husky and close, almost lost in the space between your bodies. 

The heat in his tone curls through your belly like smoke. You smile faintly, dragging your fingertips along his heated skin beneath his cloak. He’s still trembling, still unraveling in your hands. You don’t waste another second. 

“Let me take care of you.” you whisper up to him, your eyes pleading. He exhales like it’s the first breath he’s allowed himself in hours. Maybe even all day. 

And when your mouth finds the edge of his jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask, you feel him melt. His body leans into yours, chest rising to meet you, hands gripping your waist harder now, anchoring himself to the only thing in the world that feels real anymore. 

“Wait,” he whispers, pushing you back just slightly. “there’s nowhere we can hide away here, dove.” Your shoulders slump and your face falls as you realize the truth he’s just stated. All they have is a little walled-off room to the side for show preparation purposes. You’re going to have to wait until tonight when you’re back in your shared hotel room. 

You’re not thrilled about this at all, but this just means that you can spend the rest of the evening teasing him and building up to the moment when you’ll finally be alone together. A wicked grin spreads across your lips as your expression changes from disappointment to seductive excitement. “Guess we’ll just have to wait until tonight then,” you mutter in a lower pitched flirty voice as you remove your hands from his body. You don’t even give him the chance to respond before you turn and saunter away, swaying your hips a little more than usual, smirking as you go. 

“You little tease...” he mutters from behind you, and you turn your head back to glance at him, your smirk widening when you see that his mouth is hanging open slightly, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving. He’s practically drooling. You can feel the restraint emanating from him even from feet away as you retreat. 

In his mind, he wants to storm toward you, grab you up and push you against the nearest solid wall. He wants to grab your pretty little jaw and force you to look up at him as he defiles you right here, in front of everyone. He wants to ruin you, claim you and release all of his adrenaline and frustration right into your soaking velvety walls. He nearly reaches for you, but he has more respect for you than that. 

He knows you wouldn’t like to be bare and breathless, choking on his cock in front of the crew and other band members. And he knows he's going to need that kind of release after that performance. He decides in this moment that, sure, he’ll wait. He’ll exhibit self-control. For now. But as soon as you both cross that hotel suite threshold and the door clicks shut behind you, he will pounce. He will hold you close and love you into ruin.  

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk as he turns and heads to the room to undress and prepare for the taxi ride back to the hotel, knowing what awaits him there. 

The cab smells faintly of leather and New Car scent, windows fogging slightly from the collective warmth of tired bodies and fading adrenaline. III is already halfway into a laugh about something no one else quite heard, and IV just smiles, leaning his cheek against the cool glass with his hood still drawn low. 

Vessel sits beside you, thigh pressed to yours. His posture is composed, but you feel it; electric and crawling beneath the surface, the quiet hum of want rippling off him like static. 

You say nothing. He says nothing. But your eyes meet. And in the low hum of the city outside the window, that silence screams with heat. 

His gaze lingers a second too long on your mouth. You lift your brow, feigning innocence, and shift just enough that your leg brushes more deliberately against his. The muscle in his jaw tightens. His hand rests over his knee, fingers twitching slightly like he’s thinking of reaching for you, but he doesn’t. Not here. Not yet. 

III nudges IV’s arm. “Reckon we ought to stop in somewhere, yeah? Raise a glass to the man of the hour?” 

Vessel finally looks away from you to answer kindly, “You guys go ahead.” But IV glances back. “You not coming, mate?” You shake your head as Vessel answers, fingers resting lightly over his. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Might grab a quick drink somewhere quieter,” he answers IV, his voice soft; a stark contrast to what’s about to happen in your rented room.  

III smirks knowingly, but doesn’t say a word, he just gives a devilish little salute before hopping out of the cab at the next curb, IV and II close behind. III does the ‘after you’ gesture, his dramatic flair showing through just a bit as he swings the taxi door shut, giving Vessel a two-finger salute and a wink. Vessel smiles back at III as he turns and follows II and IV into the bar. 

The bar you find is small and dimly lit, tucked off a side street where no one’s paying attention. You slide into a booth across from each other, still slick with heat and barely-contained laughter. Two drinks in, the air between you is thick with something darker, richer. He watches you over the rim of his glass, and you let your heel drag up his calf beneath the table, slow and deliberate. 

“Can I help you with something?” you tease, tone flirtatious yet innocent. 

“Oh, you will,” he replies, voice low and calm, eyes heated and locked onto you as a blush creeps up your cheeks and settles there, warming you. You tilt your head. “Think so?” 

His voice lowers as he purrs, “I know so, darlin’.” Your heart stutters as you fidget under his heated gaze. 

Another drink. Another graze of fingertips along the inside of your wrist. Another slow glance that sinks into you like molasses. Your legs press closer together beneath the table, aching now with the weight of want. His fingers drum against the wood, twitchy, pent-up. 

He’s cracking, you feel it. The moment stretches too tight, until finally he stands, drops a few notes on the table, and reaches for your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to wait anymore.” 

You follow him out into the night without a word, fingers tangled in his, both of you too hot and too full of want to pretend otherwise. The second cab is quieter than the first. Less talk. More touch. His thumb stroking along the back of your hand. Your knees touching in the dark. 

You don’t speak until the lift doors slide open at your hotel floor. But when they do, it’s Vessel who leans in close, voice barely above a whisper, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’ve been driving me mad all night, you little tease.” You just smile and tug him down the hall by the hand, knowing full well what’s about to happen once that door clicks shut. 

The hotel door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes. The silence that follows is louder than any roar of the crowd; thick, breathless, and heavy with promise. The hallway lighting fades as the room swallows you whole, and then it’s just the two of you again, bathed in the low gold of bedside lamps and the hum of something primal rising between your ribs. 

He’s on you in an instant. His hands find your waist, greedy and firm, backing you into the nearest wall like he needs to anchor himself or else he’ll burst apart. His mouth presses to your cheek, his breath ragged and hot where it fans your skin. 

“Fucking hell,” he rasps, voice frayed at the edges. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” You answer with an anticipatory whimper. 

You just reach up and tug at the base of his shirt, and he lets you lift it over his head in one smooth pull, baring his sweat-damp chest to the warm air between you. His skin glistens in the light, every inch of him thrumming with leftover adrenaline and something far more feral. 

His hands are already working at your jeans, unbuttoning them and jerking the fabric down with such desperation that you can’t help but smile. It’s rare, so rare, to see him like this. Unraveled, needy, and starved. And it’s all for you. He nibbles roughly on your thighs as he rises back up to finish undressing you. You gasp at the sudden pain, but it causes the arousal between your thighs to surge, and your knees nearly buckle. 

You lift your arms and let him strip you bare, piece by piece, until you’re down to nothing but your black lacy panties and the heat blooming between your thighs. He stares at you like he’s forgotten how to breathe, chest heaving, eyes dark and hungry. His fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to start; like he wants to worship you and ruin you all at once. 

“You want me,” you murmur, stepping forward and guiding his hands to your hips. “Take me.” 

That’s all it takes. He spins you, pushes you up against the wall with a growl caught in his throat, his mouth finding the curve of your neck and biting down; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. His hands are everywhere, kneading, groping, possessing, and when his thigh slides between yours, you moan softly against his shoulder and grind down, chasing the friction. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “You’re already soaked.” 

“For you,” you breathe. “Only you.” His fingers slip past the band of your panties, and the moment he feels just how ready you are, he curses low and filthy, forehead thudding softly against the wall beside your head. "You’re going to kill me,” he pants. “I swear-” 

“You’re the one losing it,” you tease, voice breathy and trembling. “What happened to composure, Vessel?” 

He answers by ripping – yes, ripping - your knickers in half over each thigh and discarding them in one swift motion, then sinking to his knees in front of you. You barely have time to gasp before his hands are spreading you open and his mouth is on you; hot, wet, and relentless. 

Your head falls back with a cry, one hand bracing against the wall, the other flying to your own breast as he devours you. There’s no other word for it. It’s messy and obscene, his tongue working you open like he’s trying to draw out every ounce of tension, every scream you didn’t let loose at the show, every tremble you’ve been holding in since the first look in the taxi.

He worships you as he consumes, his eyes staying on yours until you break eye contact, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He flicks his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves until your moans turn to whimpers and drunken cries, your peak rapidly approaching. 

And when you come, shaking, gasping, thighs trembling, he doesn’t stop. He grinds his mouth against you, holding you in place until you cry out again, until your legs threaten to give and you’re clawing at the wall. 

When he finally pulls back, your slick on his lips, chest rising and falling like he’s just run another set, you pull him up by the shoulders, dragging him into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and want. You taste yourself on him and moan into his mouth, fingers working his belt open as he backs you toward the bed. 

By the time he’s out of his trousers, you’re already pulling him on top of you, nails raking down his back as he lines himself up and thrusts inside with one long, deep, desperate stroke. You feel him stretching you deliciously, your soft, soaked chasm welcoming him in and adjusting around him. 

You both gasp like it’s a relief; like its salvation. He doesn’t ease into it, no. He snaps his hips against yours with every thrust, hard and punishing, grinding deep like he’s trying to root himself in you, trying to forget the crowd and the pressure and the weight of the world with every wet, filthy sound your bodies make together. “Say it,” he grits out, voice shaking. “Tell me you’re mine.” 

“You know I’m yours,” you cry, wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting every thrust with your own. “I’ve always been – fuck - I’ve always been yours.” 

And that’s what breaks him. "Good fucking girl..." he groans through gritted teeth, and you whimper at the praise. His rhythm falters for just a moment, the weight of your words crashing into him like a second wave. He pulls out of you suddenly and you whine at the loss of contact. He scoots back on his knees a few inches, then he cups the backs of your thighs and brings them to your abdomen. He smirks down at you, then slams into you, fucking you like an animal.

He leans down, presses his forehead to yours, skin to skin, and fucks you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Like if he stops, he’ll fly apart. You swear you can feel his cock in your chest as he drills deeply into you, your moans and whimpers escaping with every rough movement. 

You rake your fingers through his damp hair, anchoring him to the moment. You can tell he’s close as his thrusts get snappier and messier. “Let go,” you whisper, tears brimming your eyes from the intense pleasure. “Let it out. I’ve got you, Ves.” 

And in that moment, he does. With a strangled moan and a final, bruising thrust, he comes undone above you, hips jerking, breath caught in his throat, moans escaping through his swollen lips, hands clinging to your thighs like he’ll fall to pieces if he lets go. It’s not just release, it’s relief. It’s a whole lifetime of weight dropped in your arms. You feel him pulsing inside you, drenching your perfect cunt in his climax, the familiar molten feeling pooling between your hip bones. 

And you hold him through all of it. Every tremble, every quiet sob against your collarbone. Every inch of catharsis, fucked raw and sacred and real. 

The room is quiet now. The only sounds are your breathing and the soft hum of the city outside the high hotel windows; distant traffic, occasional laughter echoing off wet pavement below. The sheets beneath you are tangled and damp with sweat, and his body rests heavily atop yours, chest still rising and falling against your own. He’s since allowed your legs to rest in a natural position instead of squished to your tummy. 

You run your fingers slowly down his spine, tracing the shape of him, and he shudders just a little, just enough to let you know he's still here, still feeling. Still coming back down. 

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. There’s so much said in the way his hands cradle your hips, the way his head remains tucked into the crook of your neck like it’s the only safe place in the world. You feel him press a slow kiss to your collarbone, then another, softer still. Almost like an apology for battering your insides moments ago. 

You whisper, “Alright love, I need to go clean up. You made a mess of me.” You giggle as you halfheartedly push him off you, and he groans in protest, going limp on top of you, knowing you're not strong enough to push his lean, lanky form off of you. “Come shower with me, then,” you tell him, giggling. His head lifts slowly, eyes barely open as he asks, “You sure?” You chuckle and affirm that you are indeed sure. 

He nods once, small and grateful, and you both rise slowly, bodies aching but warm. His eyes are heavy, rimmed red, lips puffy, muscles trembling from exhaustion just beneath the surface. 

You walk him to the bathroom, fingers loosely linked with his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The light in here is soft, more of a golden glow, casting long, gentle shadows across the tiles. Steam begins to rise almost immediately as you turn the water on, and when you both step under it, the heat wraps around you like an embrace. 

He exhales, long and slow, as the water cascades down his back. His head tilts forward, eyes closing. You stand behind him for a moment, just watching, letting him lean into the warmth, into the silence. 

Then you reach for the soap. You begin with his shoulders, fingertips drawing small, circular motions into his skin, soft and reverent. He doesn’t flinch or tense, he just breathes calmly, relaxing under your tender touch. You glide the lather across his chest, around the curve of his neck, down the length of each arm, cleaning away the sweat and leftover body paint missed by the wipes he utilized at the venue. 

“You did something incredible tonight, y’know,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the water. He swallows hard. “You’ve given everything to them through the years, and now… this is mine. You’re mine, and I’m so grateful that I get to make sure you know how appreciated you are,” you kiss his cheek, “how amazing and awe-inspiring you are,” you kiss his other cheek, “and how incredibly adored you are,” you finish and kiss the tip of his nose. 

His eyes flutter open, just long enough to meet yours through the steam of the shower. There’s something raw in them, something vulnerable. 

He doesn’t speak, but his hand reaches for yours, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist. When you drop to your knees in front of him, it isn’t sexual, not this time. You soap his thighs, his calves, his feet, steady and careful. You kiss the side of his knee, soft and slow, and he lets out a breath that catches halfway through like it’s too heavy to carry. 

“I love you,” you say simply. “You’re not just the voice, Ves. You’re the heart.” He kneels with you then. The water streams over both of you, pooling on the floor of the shower as he cradles your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it; not hungry, not desperate. Worshipful. Like you’re the one who hung the stars. 

And now it’s his turn. You stand, and he takes the soap from you, hands trembling just slightly, and begins to return every gesture—rinsing your skin with patient care, brushing suds over your shoulders, your chest, your belly. When he reaches your thighs, he pauses, kisses your hipbone, rests his cheek against it for a long moment like he can’t believe you’re real. 

“You stayed with me,” he says, barely audible over the rush of the water. “Through all of it.” You cup his jaw, eyes stinging with tenderness. “Of course I did There’s nowhere I’d rather be, love.” 

He rises again, pulling you into his chest beneath the spray, and you wrap your arms around his waist, skin to skin. You stay like that for a long while, nothing moving but the water sliding down your backs and the faint flutter of his pulse beneath your cheek. 

Eventually, you guide him out and into a towel, drying him slowly, then yourself. There’s no rush or sense of urgency, just the calm after catharsis. 

You lead him to bed, kiss his temple, and climb beneath the sheets together, limbs tangled, hearts steadying. 

You don’t know when you succumb to your tired state, only that you do, somewhere between his fingers brushing softly up and down your spine, and the weight of his arm slung protectively across your waist. You both fall asleep relatively quickly after such a big day. Between concert prep, the show itself, and everything you’ve shared for the past few hours, you’re both completely exhausted.  

He whispers something against your hair just before sleep claims him, though you’re not sure what it is; only that it was full of love for you, and you can only hope and pray that one day, he will be able to fathom even a quarter of the love that you harbor for him. You nuzzle into him, your back to his front, and you allow your eyelids to flutter closed, and sleep takes you not long after. 

Something Vessel didn’t tell you when you first matched on Tinder was that he was…well…how would he have even put it? Touch starved? Desperate? Needy? But you seemed to understand that. You were always holding hands while walking, or in a tight embrace if you were waiting at a crosswalk, or your legs and feet were touching while you sat. You get the idea. As much as he enjoyed the affection, he needed more. While he didn’t out himself as being, well, completely desperate for any kind of physical affection, he was upfront about being a virgin. Sure, he’d fooled around. He’d been blown plenty of times backstage and at parties…and yes he knows where the clitiros AND g-spot are, thank you for asking. But it never led to intercourse. In fact, it didn’t always lead to a relationship or a text back. A lot of times the timing was just off or the person was wrong for him or neither party wanted to. Which was completely understandable, but he had started to wonder if something was wrong with him. That was until he met you.

You were witty, kind, fun. Easy to talk to. And deeply into him. Vessel understood the allure of him. His aura and what came with it physically but otherwise he couldn't understand why you would want to stick around for more. Yeah sure he put himself out there on Tinder during a break from tour and he wanted the attention, but you…you were an angel. You made him take a step back and really consider what he’d been doing all this time. The drive to feel someone and something from others was strong for him. The sex he’d had wasn’t “consummating” by the wider society’s standards, and he was at peace with that, but he finally saw some truth in “saving yourself for the right person.” And it all came from a very sweet genuine place. He thought the world of you! But the other drive... To taste. To ravish. To fuck. That was very much running in the background.

When you two started having serious conversations about your histories and preferences, he was nervous. When he admitted that he’d never actually fucked someone, you chuckled just the tiniest bit, making him blush. 

 “What’s so funny?”

You just shook your head and looked past him, trying to keep a level head.  “I’m not laughing at you. Just myself.”

“Oh. Why…at you?”

“Because I could have really fucked things up. Do you know how hard it is to be good around you? To not just…rip your clothes off every time you come over? To not immediately drop to my knees with my tongue out like a greedy little puppy-girl?” You paused and met his gaze. Poor guy was blushing and breathing like he’d been out in the heat. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s not like I would push you or anything, but I’m glad I know. If you’d ever like to…you know…do something with me. Just let me know. I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

And that’s when Vessel started loving you and simultaneously cursing you. Loving you because you were so sweet, and patient, and gorgeous, and fun, and thoughtful and and and(at this point whoever was listening would pat his shoulder and say, “we get it, mate, you’re whipped”). But he cursed the day he mentioned being a virgin to you because he couldn’t get that image out of his head: you on your knees, begging for his cock. You saw all his scars and flaws and still wanted him in the rawest, most basic way. That blew his mind.

…

On the night you two finally slept together, you stayed out later than usual. Probably past midnight. But you don’t care. He clung to you all night at that stupid party and tried to make out with you in the Uber like a horny teenager. It was adorable. He was adorable. Back at your place, you fiddle for your keys on the darkened porch, which was quite difficult with a giggly man clinging to you. 

“Use your phone light,” Vessel says as he holds your waist and kisses your neck.

You let out a playful, exasperated sigh. “You use your phone light! My hands are full!” Finally the front door opens, and you both clamber in. Vessel’s hands find your waist again and pull you in for a frantic kiss. His hands can’t stay still as he clutches your plush ass but then trails all the way back up to grasp your hair. With a moan he pulls away.

“I think… I want to try it tonight.”

The giddiness and giggliness doesn’t stop once you fall onto your bed, making out and attempting to undress each other. Vessel kicks off his shoes and hesitantly moves away from you so he can take off his jeans. You lean back on your elbows, shaking your head softly. “So eager for me,” you chuckle.

He stands before you in his boxer briefs after he’s taken his shirt off, just taking in the sight of you. His fingers twitch by his side…and so does his cock. You like what you see and feel yourself propelled forward. Onto your knees. “Gonna take care of me, babe?” he asks with a shaky breath. He whimpers softly and bites his lip as you smirk up at him with a little smirk as your fingers lightly trace the waistband of his underwear and his happy trail. On the inside, he’s a mess. He feels the need to claim you as his. He doesn’t even really care about losing his virginity. Vessel just wants to know he’s been with you. The thought of screwing up tonight and not fucking you makes him cringe. He can’t take another night of fucking his stupid little fleshlight and sucking his own fingers pretending both holes are yours. When you ask if you can take his boxers off, he nods dumbly and bites his lip. He thinks he must have blacked out because suddenly your tongue glides from base to tip. Such a pretty smile on your face, too.

“Take your dress off. Please. Please, baby,” he pleads.You shake your head “no” with a little wink as you take his cock deeper into your mouth, nose almost touching him. “Fuck. My girl is talented,” he says as his chest starts to heave a little, “mmm please I…I want to see you.” He can barely get the words out as you let your tongue drag up the underside of his cock. As your lips pass over the head, Vessel’s panting turns into little whimpery moans. “Please.” You gaze up at him through half lidded eyes and see that he’s chewing on his lip and shaking…he wants to manhandle you. He needs to act out. “Fuck it.” Vessel takes your jaw in his hand and holds you so that you’re looking up at him.

“I am done begging. This is me telling you. Take your fucking dress off for me.”

His voice is firm. Dark. Lustful. 

“Yes sir,” is all you can manage before pulling the straps down. You stand up and let the satin-y material pool around your tummy. Vessel curses and growls under his breath as his eyes trail down your bare chest, his hands then pulling your dress further down your plush waist and hips. The feeling of his thumbs hooking the waistband of your panties makes you gasp a little. Vessel just shakes his head and chuckles as he undresses you. 

“You’ve already sucked my cock like it was nothing and yet me undressing you embarrasses you? And here…I thought you would be bossing me around tonight. You’ve folded, hm?”

“I uhm…heh.” You can’t even finish your thought as he pulls your hair back so you look straight up at him. “Got…got too excited I guess.”

“Hm,” he hums with amusement, “like a greedy puppy-girl. All bark…but you have any bite for me? Hmm?”

You stammer as he pushes you back on the bed. There’s something in how he maneuvers you that feels calculated. Practiced. “Ves…babe…? Are you sure you’ve never done this?”

He laughs as he lays atop you, his cock rubbing against your tummy. You can feel him quivering as your nude bodies touch for the first time. Vessel steadies his breath and whispers into your neck, “baby, if you had kept sucking me any longer I was going to lose it…but just because I’ve never been fucked doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.” His cock twitches between you both. “I know what I’m doing. And…dammit I know I’m going to just absolutely…” he pauses as his fingers mash against your clit “…drain myself so fast once I’m inside you. My pretty girl.” He trails wet, sucking kisses down your shoulder, breathing heavily as he poses a question. “I know you think about this. Has it made you cum?” You grit your teeth and whimper as his middle finger enters you and starts to fuck you. 

“Veeeeessssss fuck, baby…s’not nice to ask me something…while you…fuck.” He’s relishing in you trying to answer as he adds a second finger. Your hips buck against his fingers as he kisses your forehead and coos about what a sexy little thing you are. You can’t help the whines coming from you as he pulls his fingers from your needy pussy. All sense in your head flies out the window when he sucks his fingers clean and tastes you for the very first time. “What happened to my sweet, timid boyfriend?” you ask breathlessly.

Vessel plants a soft, deep kiss on your lips as he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance. You find yourself giggling breathlessly as he peppers your face with kisses before he rubs his nose against yours and whispers. “Still him. Just taking what you’ve so very kindly offered me…fuck…you gonna let me in, love?”

You nod softly and whimper as he pushes in. A pathetic, throaty moan ripples through him as he bottoms out. You’d never been someone’s first. It was a bit surprising but very endearing to see him go from feral and touch starved to blushy and pussy-drunk. Vessel wants to move. To feel your hot body against his…to hear you…to kiss you…to have any simultaneous feedback. His lust reciprocated. 

The instinct to care for him kicks in. You hold his face and whisper. “You feel so good inside me…you do baby…I want you so bad… Do you feel good?” His eyebrows knit together and he whimpers softly, wincing like he’s in pain. But he nods. “Do you want me to take care of you?” He nods again and buries his face in your neck. God his cock is throbbing hard inside you. Your hips buck sensually against him, riding from beneath. 

“Oh…fuck…you’re actually…you’re fucking me…you’re fucking me…” he whimpers pathetically. He winces and bites his lip. “Stop, baby.” 

“Are you ok?”

Vessel looks down at you with hazy, dreamy eyes and nods. “This is heaven. You are heaven.” His mouth goes to your nipple while he maneuvers one of your legs over his arm. “What did I do to deserve this…hm? Smart, beautiful girl with a perfect pussy…you shouldn’t have been single,” he whispers as he moves to kiss your lips. You both moan into the kiss, which makes his hips twitch. You feel the first tentative little thrusts and make sure to nod and “mhm” throughout the kiss to encourage him. He breaks the kiss, panting and quivering. You’re about to ask if he wants a break but he looks you dead in the eyes and gulps. “I love you, but I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. You’re driving me crazy. I’ve…I’ve wanted this for so long…and doing it with you I just…darling….” He trails off, thrusting slowly, making your eyes roll back from the stretch and feeling of his pubic bone meeting yours. You can tell he’s holding back. Holding his breath.

“Ves…Ves, babe…breathe with me. You’re ok…you feel so fucking good.”

“I can’t stand it…I have to…I need to…”

The look in his eyes betrays the sweet pout of his lips. He wants to claim you. Shape your insides to him. “Do it. I can take it.” 

He growls in your ear with a little chuckle, “you’re not one of my toys. I don’t want to hurt you…” He takes a shaky breath and cups your breast with his free hand, his other resting above your head.

“I trust you. And love you. You look sexy up there, ya know?” You say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. He responds with another chuckle and kisses you deeply. You both get lost in each other and then he finds his rhythm again. You have no concept of how long he actually lasts. And you don’t care. When he cums he keeps fucking it into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he cries out your name…little curses…broken moans. 

Hi! I’m Great Fandom.

I reblog fanfiction, give full credit, and keep a growing masterlist so readers can find your work fast.

I started two years ago boosting Daryl Dixon fic (still love it 🏹), and now I’m widening the spotlight—more fandoms, more writers, more love.

why I do it?

Because writers deserve recognition.

Because readers deserve easy discovery.

Because fandom is better when we lift each other up.

When the words Bad and Dragon are involved, you probably should have guessed it was going to be scary. The dark blue tentacle dildo that’s now sitting there like a severed extremity from a kraken definitely fits the definition.  

“Nope, no. No.” 

He grunts a little snort. “You take me just fine.” 

“Yeah, and you’re massive enough!” you cry, pointing at the opened package with a series of finger stabs. “That bloody thing is unholy!” 

His grin continues to spread. “So are half the things you like me to do to you.” 

“Yeah, but that thing should be illegal!”  

He pauses, lips pinching tight. “Mm, so are half the things you like me to do to you.” You’re both in stitches at that, collapsing down on the kitchen table. “It’s true, though!” he exclaims, “can’t say we’re particularly vanilla, can you?”  

“Alright,” you state, picking it up, “if you think it’s so manageable, let's see how you get on with taking it.” 

“Oh no, uh-uh,” he begins, and you chase him around the kitchen. “That thing is going nowhere near my arse!”  

“Double standards,” you mutter, placing it down again. 

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to shove it up your bum though, am I?”  

You both double over with laughter at that point, and you love that about being with him. There’s always room for fun and silliness with one another. He continues his quest to cajole you, eventually garnering your agreement to it. That afternoon, with neither of you having anything more pressing to do, you return to bed to spend a little time enjoying one another.  

You lie with your leg hitched up over his hip, laying hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, hand clutching tight in his hair. That edge of pain hails endorphins beneath his skin, his beautiful, long fingers nudging firmer within you, heat roaring over your nerves. He turns you then, body pressing yours into the bed, moving to immediately replace his fingers, tongue fucking your streaming hole a little before rolling long, firm licks between your folds.  

He has you writhing quickly, clit bathed in the hot wet of his tongue, your soft whimpers making his cock bob hard against his hip.  God, he’s so thoroughly amazing at foreplay. Your hands drag though his hair, two fingers slipping into the warm wet of you, a third then following.  

You’re opened up around him, the slick honey of your cunt beginning to trickle, the empty ache at your centre satiated by fingers that know your body inside out. Each trawl, coupled with long, hot slicks of his tongue over your bud have you arching from the bed, breathy sighs floating from your open lips.  

“Ahhhh! Fuck, ahh!” you whine, feeling him wrap your clit in the warm suck of his lips, cheeks hollowing as he adds pressure. The pleasure of it hooks into you, syrupy ecstasy running hot beneath your skin, trickling down your spine like honey and sheening his keen, clever fingers.  

Tight, pulsing pleasure fissures through your cunt, and you groan low for him, watching him move his hand and make a grabbing motion towards you. Oh, time for something a little bigger, it seems.  

Taking the dildo, you give it a generous coating in lube, feeling a little intimidated by the size of it. Yes, you’re very used to taking a big man, and you trust that man with working something so much larger and textually different to himself within you, but a little slither of nervousness persists.  

Of course, he reads it. “Don’t panic,” he tells you as you hand it to him, “I’ll go slow with it.” 

He guides the tip to your centre, pushing, opening you around it with a steady intrusion to get you used to it. Your breath hitches, the feel of it completely unlike anything else you’ve ever had guided inside of you, a couple more inches arrowing in. Pleasure flashes through you like a sudden, rising flame as he gently rotates it, letting you experience the differing textual pressure, a little gasp fluttering from your mouth. 

The sound of your slick pink widening around it makes something very pleasant roll up from his stomach to his chest, kissing the side of your thigh as he pushes a little further, the taper widening considerably, watching it slowly disappearing. His cock kicks against his abdomen, a pulse of arousal throbbing through him strongly, pupils inking out. 

“Feel good?”  

You purr nonsensically, the sensation of it dragging back slowly having you clenching, your mouth dropped open. “Oh god!”   

That reaction permits him to inch it in further, watching you spreading to capacity around it, his pulse thrumming, the rays of arousal beaming from his chest. He presses more kisses to your inner thigh, moving his other hand to use his thumb at your clit, rubbing soft circles that have the wiring in your brain tangling.    

The curve of it sliding back and forth sends sparks glowing through you, your hands fisting at the covers beneath your quaking body, the ecstasy only intensifying further when he replaces his thumb with the tip of his tongue. That flicker, coupled with a harder push of the dildo forces little sobs from your throat, chest rising and falling rapidly as you ache sublimely around the stretch.  

It fills you at every angle, every depth, a little bit of speed added having you wailing as he starts to fuck you keenly with it, clutching at your breasts, fingers pinching upon the tight pebbles of your nipples. It almost feels too much, you feel too full, but fuck, that stretch, the little textual differences, they have you pouring wet around the thick of it. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so transfixed,” you pant, shifting up to your elbows, watching him fixated on the sight of your glossy little hole spread wide.   

He takes a minute, and you giggle softly at him, knowing the visual is melting his brain with lust. “It looks so, so fucking hot.”   

He continues pushing into you, mouth wrapping your clit in a hot, thirsty suck. The way he groans as he does it, too, god. It has heat skittering up your spine, knowing he’s enjoying it just as much as you are, his pretty, doe eyes opening to look up at you with scorching lust.  

“You want to fuck me, don’t you, big guy?” you purr, licking your top lip. “You wish it was your cock pushed right up deep in me right now, hmm?” 

“Mm, always do,” he chuckles, tongue flicking at your clit, your thighs trembling in response. 

“Then why don’t you abandon the dildo and come give me my preferred thickness? I only have one condition.” 

“Name it,” he grunts, a particularly sharper thrust of the dildo sending glimmers through you.  

You nod towards the corner. “Drag the mirror to the end of the bed, so I can watch while you fuck me.”  

The size of the grin that splits his mouth... Needless to say, his fascination with the kraken is quickly abandoned, no matter how much he’s been getting off on filling you up with it. He’ll always prefer to fill you with himself. He abandons the toy to the mess of the bedsheets, moving his long form off the bed and dragging the full-length mirror to the foot of it before positioning himself to kneel behind you. 

“Ahh, fuck,” he murmurs, stroking his cock over the honeyed slick of your folds. “You’re soaking. Feels so bloody good.” A shift of his hips sends him into you, rooting himself right to your summit. His hand moves to your hair, lacing his fingers into it and pulling tight to hold your head back.  

His lips rain pure sin at your throat, his other hand squeezing your breasts in turn. He ruts you slow, heavy within your soaking walls, the pressure of his cock utterly sublime, the gentleness of him meeting his penchant for dominance, making your head fuzzy with the perfect sexual alchemy of it.   

The heat of his cock radiates throughout you, his eyes fixed on watching you enjoying him, your pretty mouth agape, panting softly.  

“Mmm, love watching how well you take me, darlin’,” he mutters, cock almost slipping free of you completely, the thick head of him catching at your entrance and laddering back into you. “Fucking love you so much.” The flames of that love catch at your edges, cindering, his fingertips caressing your face, his other hand pulling a little tighter in your hair.  

Turning your head, he rains kisses upon your lips, your molten core clenhcing on waves of heat, cunt petals opened like a flower around the thick intrusion of him. He glides against your tender walls, pushing your thighs further apart as he dips his head to kiss the column of your throat. 

He’s carving you out around him with every thrust, radiating tingles meeting the skitters of ebullience when his beautiful, long fingers move to stroke over your clit, each sweeping pass in perfect rhythm with his fuck. 

Your veins become scorched by unrelenting, sharp waves of pleasure throbbing out from your core, warmth rushing forth, covering him in a sheen of your dew. He clutches you tighter, offering kisses with more urgency, tells you with his body and all the love that pours from him of his blinding adoration. 

His head dips, teeth sharp at your throat, panting hard against your neck as he feels the beauty of you fluttering on his cock, the viscid clutch dragging sparks along the length of his shaft as he loses all control, staccato thrusts replacing anything contained as he chases the swell of nirvana. Fire melts frost through his veins, his fingers rubbing your clit with greater pressure, having you wailing as your muscles lock rigid. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he encourages, his groans all smoke and salt. “Come for me, love.”   

You do, and it’s a swell so magnificently fervent that it knocks you sideways, a blaze of euphoria reducing you to ashes, his hips stuttering as he soaks you with thick ropes of cum, bliss consuming his body like a blanket of stars.   

Enjoying the way you milk his cock in the aftermath, he stills, catching his breath before finally pulling from you, sinking beneath the covers. You lie there in a haze, wrapped around one another, messy, sweaty and breathless, stroking each other, sleepy and dreamy. 

“I might’ve liked the kraken,” you murmur, kissing his defined chest, “but you’ll always be my favourite big.” 

He hums a chuckle, kissing atop your head. “Good.” 

Hi! I’m Great Fandom.

I reblog fanfiction, give full credit, and keep a growing masterlist so readers can find your work fast.

I started two years ago boosting Daryl Dixon fic (still love it 🏹), and now I’m widening the spotlight—more fandoms, more writers, more love.

why I do it?

Because writers deserve recognition.

Because readers deserve easy discovery.

Because fandom is better when we lift each other up.

Thinking about how Vessel would get after a long day of writing—a particularly filthy, achingly angsty song at that—had anticipation coiling low in your stomach. Because when he wrote, he wrote with his whole body, letting emotions fester and build, and once the words were inked onto paper, all that intensity had to go somewhere.

And tonight, it was all towards you.

You are in the kitchen, caught in the slow rhythm of the evening. Swaying absentmindedly to the loud music playing in the background, the scent of sizzling butter and garlic filling the air. Vessel had been gone for hours, and though you’d never admit it outright, you’d been waiting—counting down the minutes—until he walked through that door.

What you didn’t anticipate was how quietly he’d return.

Vessel has a terrible habit of sneaking up on you, not out of mischief but because, despite his height, he moves with the effortless grace of a shadow. And right now, with your back turned, humming lightly to yourself, you were the perfect prey, nimbly sauntering over—about to pounce like a predator.

Before you can react, a sudden grip on your hips—firm, commanding—yanks you flush against Vessel’s familiar embrace. A sharp gasp leaves your lips, nearly dropping the spoon you held. His chest was solid against your back, radiating heat that seeped straight into your skin.

You barely had time to recover before his nose nuzzles the curve of your neck, a warm breath ghosting over your pulse. His lips find the soft spot beneath your ear, a slow, open-mouthed kiss sending a shiver racing down your spine.

“Missed you.”

His voice is rough, frayed at the edges—the kind of raw exhaustion that comes from singing for hours. That comes from thinking about you too much. The thoughts of your supple flesh underneath his slender fingers, how soft your lips felt on him—the feeling of you—like a drug to him. Consuming and addictive.

You let out a breathy laugh, reaching up with one hand to comb your fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “It’s only been several hours.”

“Several hours too long, Dove.” His hold on you tightens, his body swaying in sync with yours, effortlessly slotting against you like he belonged there.

The way he says it—like he is starving for you—sent heat licking down your spine.

“How was it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. But then his fingers dip lower, grazing your stomach, his palm splaying possessively over your navel.

“It went well enough,” he murmurs, lips tracing the curve of your jaw, featherlight but devastating. “But…”

You tilt your head, giving him silent permission, feeling the way his mouth hovers, teasing, waiting. “But what?”

His lips drag lower, slow and unhurried, teeth grazing over the delicate skin of your throat.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp inhale hitches in your chest as he reached around you, fingers flicking the stove off.

“Ves,” you manage, though it came out far weaker than intended. “I’m cooking.”

“Mm.” He turns you in one swift motion, back pressing against the island.

His eyes—dark, hungry, knowing—lock onto yours, and you swear he could feel every rapid beat of your pulse.

“As much as I love your food,” he sighs, trailing a single finger along your jaw, his lips brushing your cheek as he speaks. “I don’t have an appetite for food.”

You swallow hard, heart thudding. “I-Is that so?”

His breath was warm against your mouth, close enough to steal yours away.

“What do you have an appetite for then?” You knew the answer, but part of you wants—needs—to hear him say it.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest, breathy and low. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking lightly over your bottom lip, a tingling sensation lingering from the touch. His other hand slips lower, gripping your hip, kneading the soft skin just above your waistband.

The warmth of his touch burns straight through the fabric, possessive, reverent, aching.

“I think you know.” His voice a husky rasp. “But you just like to hear me grovel for you, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, his mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s molten—searing, all-consuming.

Heat curls deep in your stomach as his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to take more, to taste more. Your own hands roam his torso before clutching onto his shirt, desperate for something to ground you.

“Only you,” he speaks against your lips, breaking for just a breath. He places a teasing peck at the corner of your mouth before adding, “can satiate me.”

His words sent a sharp pulse straight between your thighs, your knees wobbling as need coils tighter inside you. You tug him back, kissing him with raw hunger, lips parting for him, welcoming him deeper.

He makes a strangled noise into your mouth, his grip tightening as his hips instinctively slot against yours. The movement sends a shiver rolling through you, making you gasp as his hands roam—one sliding up your back, the other wandering lower.

Somewhere in the haze, he fumbles blindly behind you, knocking utensils and a metal bowl off the counter. A bag of produce hit the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you care.

“You couldn’t take this to the bedroom?” you tease, laughing breathlessly through a string of fevered kisses.

“Need you now,” he growls, his hands skimming down the backs of your thighs.

Your breath catches as he hoists you up onto the counter, the cold granite beneath you a sharp contrast to the heat between your bodies.

His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you open just enough to press himself closer. His mouth returns to yours, claiming, teasing, devouring.

You moan softly as he nips at your bottom lip, the sharp pull sending a delicious jolt through your body. Your hands curl around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, meeting his fervor with your own desperate wanton desire.

His tongue sweeps against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing, taunting you to do more. Your own swirling around the tip of his, giving into his challenge. Letting you two completely consume one another, tongues entwining and lapping together.

His one hand goes between your bodies, teasing your inner thighs with feather light caresses. Your breath ragged, hitching every time his fingers trace the edge of your tiny shorts. Ghosting over your now quivering aching core, waiting for more friction, but of course Vessel wouldn’t make it that easy.

“Says you need me, but still wants to tease.” You grumble, growing impatient.

He breaks away from your lips, a string of saliva following when he goes to take off your shirts, throwing them behind him. Not caring where those landed with the other things on the floor.

And the grin that spreads on his face is devilish as he peppers hot open mouth kisses down your cheek and neck. His one hand going back to teasing your clothed core, the other massaging your breasts with painfully slow movements, alternating between soft and squeezing firmer. Before lightly pinching your already pert nipples as warning. You know your bratty comment wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m not teasing,” he drawls. “Just taking my time with you.” He makes it seem like he’s going to cup your cunt, but keeps his hand hovering there. You buck your hips towards his hand, willing him to give you the friction you crave, but he keeps pulling it further away, as you continue to egg him on.

“Sure seems like you're playing with your food.”

He halts his movements with a sharper pinch to your nipple, his hand leaving the vicinity of where you need him altogether. Instead grabbing onto your hip with a bruising force, the wave of regret and disappointment that fills you is minimal. His pupils wide, eyes sharpening, leaving you vibrating with excitement.

You are teetering dangerous territory, but the payoff would be well worth it.

“Are you being a brat?” He then grabs your chin.

“N-no.”

His nose is nuzzling against your cheek, that sinister smirk still on his face. It takes all of it in you to keep your composure, him looming over you like a predator catching their prey.

“J-just making an observation.” You squeak out, pathetically.

“So ungrateful,” he scolds, his demeanor changing. “Here, I thought I’d be nice and worship my dove.”

He looks down on you, his hand finding the back of your head, wrapping your hair in his fist. Yanking it, with light force, so your skittering nervous eyes were locked into his. His stormy irises a sliver of a halo from how blown out his pupils were, neck strained looking upwards, gulping, wetting your lips with your tongue. Anticipating what would happen next.

You love sweet, needy, and clingy Vessel—but this side of Vessel?

The rare demeaning cruel side causes your cunt to ache, weeping for his punishment. Wanting to poke and prod, until you had to question if it was all that wise to do so.

“I’ve spent all day not being able to concentrate because of you.” He says it condescendingly.

You blink up at him, hanging on to his words. Your mouth parted waiting.

“Every lyric I wrote today—dedicated to the memory of you beneath me.”

The only touch he gives you is the ball of his fist in your hair, and his free hand skimming across you. Starting at your face, brushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear. He offers a tight lipped smile, his finger dragging down your jaw and neck. The sensation is enough to leave goosebumps in its trail, becoming a searing brand as he traces lower, and continues to speak.

“How pretty you look,” he exhales.

“When my hand is around your throat.”

His hand hovers, before moving downward. “Your beautiful tits, how nice they look when they bounce.” His finger barely skims the curve of the outside the curve of your one breast. Making you jolt at the ticklish sensation. He huffs out some air at your reaction, his knuckles grazing your stomach.

“The marks I’ve left on your pretty delicate skin that no one else can see.”

You whine, feeling your slick dampening your panties as he gets closer to your ear. Words hushed and low, as he continues his torturous ambush of your senses. Clutching at the waistband of your shorts underwear, pulling you towards the edge of the counter more. He’s now nose to nose with you. The fist in your hair loosens up, making your shoulders sag in relief from the lack of tension.

“Your perfect cunt.”

He himself is losing his restraint, patience wearing as thin as yours.

“How it was made for my cock.”

He drops his head to your shoulder, grabbing one of your wrists that had been still wrapped around his neck limp, and placing your hand on his bulge.

“And you choose to be an ungrateful impatient slut.”

It’s hot, heavy, thick in your palm. Squeezing his strained erection through his pants, earning a sharp inhale of pleasure.

“Please,” you breath out.

“It was such a long day of needing you.” He presses a light kiss to your bare shoulder.

Granting you minimal reprieve by running his finger up your damp clothed slit in an agonizingly slow manner. Deliberate and calculated.

“Please Vessel,” you beg again. “I’ll be so good for you, promise.”

You feel the smirk against your shoulder. “Will you actually?” He brushes your core. “Or do I still need to remind you how to be patient?”

He then squeezes your puffy lips through the fabric. Then dull pain only further the desire coiling inside you.

You writh beneath his touch, your thighs instinctively twitching around his hand, but he held you fast—one hand fisted in your hair, the other keeping a bruising grip on your needy cunt, as if he were anchoring you there. Claiming you. Reminding you.

“I asked you something.” His voice, low and lethal, sent a pulse through your chest like a dropped stone.

“I—I’ll be good,” you stammer, hips twitching again as he gives you one more cruel squeeze.

“Actually good?” he murmurs mockingly, dragging the damp fabric aside at last.

Your breath hitches. The air hits your slick folds and makes you shudder.

“Or just saying what I want to hear so I’ll give you what you’re fucking begging for?”

You whimper, too far gone to form anything coherent, and that only seems to please him. He let go of your hair at last, cradling your jaw instead, fingers rough but cradling, a twisted imitation of tenderness.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers. “All pretty and pliant once I’ve got my hands on you.”

Then his fingers were on you—truly on you—sliding through your folds, collecting the slick that had been gathering there for far too long. He drags it up slowly, deliberately, to your swollen clit, circling it with a maddening, featherlight touch.

The moan that escapes you was helpless—your head falling back, back arching, every nerve in your body lighting up like a flare.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, almost reverent now. “So wet I could drown in it. All for me.”

One finger—two—pushes into you without warning, and you gasped, legs spreading wider on instinct. He curls them just so, finding that spot that made your thighs jerk, your breath catch, your cunt clamp down in desperate rhythm.

He groaned like he felt it in his spine. “That’s it. There she is. My perfect fucking girl.”

You claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to his body as he fucks you with his fingers, slow and purposeful, like he was memorizing the way your body flutters and clenches for him. Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed.

“Eyes on me,” he growls low, suddenly curling his fingers harder. “Want to see you fall apart.”

Your eyes snap open, wide and glassy, and he kisses you then—not sweet, not soft, but hard and hungry, his tongue claiming your mouth again like it was just another part of you he owned.

He pulls back only to press his forehead to yours, panting with restraint. “You close already, Dove?”

You nodded desperately.

He smiles deviously, pulling his fingers out of you with a slick pop, stepping back just enough to undo his belt. The metal clinks, sharp, ringing through the music playing in the kitchen, and your breath hitches all over again.

Vessel’s eyes were nearly black with lust now, pupils blown so wide they swallow the grey. He works his cock free, the thick, flushed length springing up against his abdomen, leaking, angry, needy.

“Turn around,” he said. “Bend over the island. Now.”

You didn’t hesitate—your body moves before your mind could catch up. Palms flat against the counter, cheek pressing to the cool marble, you arch your back for him like it was instinct, like it was prayer.

Like you were waiting all day for this too. Maybe you were.

He drags your shorts and panties down in one swift motion, baring your soaked folds to the cool air and the heat of his stare.

You could hear him behind you, cursing under his breath. And then—his hands were on your hips, thumbs digging in, kneading the flesh there as he stepped forward.

“Look at this greedy little pussy,” he hisses. “Swollen and dripping for me. Bet I could come just from watching it twitch like this.”

You whine, shifting your weight back into him—searching for him. Begging without words.

But Vessel wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.

He grabs your ass and gives it a sharp slap—just once, enough to sting and make you yelp. Then he leans over you, voice in your ear, tender and venomous all at once.

“Next time you mouth off when I’m trying to savor you,” he murmurs, “I won’t be this nice.”

You whimper, nodding, anything, anything if it meant he’d just—

And finally, finally, he slides the thick head of his cock through your folds, dragging it along your entrance, your clit, letting it catch and glide and drive you half-insane.

“Ves—please—”

“I know, Dove,” he mutters, jaw clenching. “I know.”

And then he thrusts into you in one, brutal, perfect stroke.

You cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase as he bottoms out inside you, filling you to the hilt. The stretch was exquisite, overwhelming—too much and not enough all at once.

He moans like a man starved, still bent over you, kissing your spine as he pulls out slowly, then slams back in with force that steals your breath.

“Fucking made for me,” he hisses, over and over, setting a pace that was relentless and devastating and everything you needed. Feeling your pussy grip him.

“Say it,” he snarls into your neck, one hand slipping beneath you to toy with your clit again. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasp. “You, Vessel—only you.”

“That’s right,” he sighs. “My cunt. My mess. My song.”

You are already unraveling—but he wasn’t done yet.

Each thrust drives the words deeper into your bones, your mind going soft and blank with the rhythm of it—his hips slamming against your ass, his fingers rubbing tight, relentless circles against your clit, his breath in your ear like scripture.

Your legs were trembling. Your arms barely held you up anymore. But Vessel held you steady, one arm wrapped around your waist now, anchoring you to him, the other still working your clit as if his life depends on it.

And maybe it did. Maybe this was his holy thing. His prayer answered in the shape of you, soaked and stuffed full and unraveling just for him.

You were close. So close it aches. Your thighs shake with it, your breath hitching into stuttered whines. He can feel it—he always did—and he drops his mouth to your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin.

“Let go,” he whispers. “Come for me, Dove. Let me feel you.”

The coil in your belly snaps with a force that leaves you choking on a scream. Your body clamps down around him like a vice, waves of pleasure crashing through you so violently your knees buckle.

But he catches you. Of course he does.

He stays buried inside you, grinding through your orgasm with deep, punishing strokes, milking every aftershock from your sensitive body, until you were gasping, sobbing his name like a benediction.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, voice wrecked. “So fucking tight, I can’t—”

With a final thrust, he spills inside you with a low, guttural moan, his hips stuttering against your ass as he empties himself into you, cock twitching with each pulse.

You feel it—every drop—warm and deep, marking you from the inside out.

His weight collapses against your back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to the crook of your neck. For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the ragged symphony of your breathing, the faint hum of the fridge, and the music still echoing.

You both stay like that—entwined, fucked-out, trembling—until Vessel finally stirs, brushing a kiss over your spine before gently pulling out. You whimper at the loss, legs nearly giving out, gripping the counter and he catches you again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but gentle now, cradling you like something sacred when he brings you into his arms. “Always got you.”

You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder, your body still boneless and blissfully sore. Gripping your thighs to lift you up into his arms, making sure your ankles wrap around his waist. He carries you down the hall without a word, kicking open the bathroom door and setting you down on the edge of the vanity.

“Dinner can wait,” he says softly, brushing the damp hair from your face.