This is a side blog I’m turning into my main acc I post on now.
I’m 26, consider myself a weird girl, kinda cringe, learned I couldn’t care less.
* ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖊 ✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
love love to write, just full time job plus social life plus plus being an adult makes me inconsistent at updating and sends me into mental burnout often for creative things
𝕲𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎 𝖘𝖚𝖓, 𝕬𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓, 𝖁𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔 𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌
LOVE to yap, but not good at it? I’m always down for a chat or ideas or opinions. Trigger warning: I overshare once I do start talking
work has completely drained my serotonin and will to adult on my days off this week. So here’s what’s brewing in my WIP cauldron while i was on my hiatus, and some might get published in the next few weeks:
Short n bittersweet ex!situationship to lovers III piece (this is my child)
Linger pt 2, could even get extended into pt 3 (this is also my child)
A multi part childhood friends to lovers Folio fic (think v summery, v backwoods, nostalgia a24 meets hallmark/liftetime. I’ve worked on this an ungodly amount of time. I’m almost tempted to make this an actual book and not fanfic)
Dark! Brother’s best friend! IV multi part fic (brother is not a band member or crew fyi and im a sucker for this trope)
Huge huge huge multi part fallen deity anthology inspired heavily by EIA/sleep token lore (5 OCs x sleep token guys + Sam? This is more self-indulgent just signal boosting this out there to get feedback if anyone would want to read this)
In conclusion, I’ve been cooking and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Thx 🫡
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.
A/n: my peace offering for being on hiatus for months 🥲 smut is not my strong suit so please be gentle. But also going through my drafts and saw this and thought why I hadn’t posted this. I hope you enjoyeddddd 👹
Eventually there will be pt 2 as I write this 8 months after posting pt 1 :—) I have drafted like 3 diff versions lmfao and am unsure which direction I wanna take lmfao 🥲
i might be back from my existential hiatus 🥲 might
life has sucker punched me in ways I can’t even explain at the moment.
but I miss my community
i miss giggling with y’all and ive been keeping up with everything lately and lemme just i wanna short circuit bc no one in my irl if as invested as i am.
along with me brainstorming a lot for fics and writing. that will be another another post to pick everyone’s brain about bc it’s required a lot of research and investment to avoid plot holes.
No other website could ever possibly bind mutuals together stronger than tumblr. It's like this: I'm scrolling past your art which is beautiful and warm I love it I hope you get on the trending page, oh you finally posted your fic i'm so proud of you, i'm sorry that you're having a hard time with work, school or you think you're hard to love, you're not because I love you and it's so easy. you're being silly tonight on the dash, it's good to see you after your hiatus. I also like that ship, they're keeping me up at night, can you share your joy with me? I saw your tags on my post, did you see me like it? hey it's been months and I've grown quite fond of you. see you tomorrow, same time or perhaps when the sun rises for me and sets for you. Isn't that wonderful?
