EDEN

ɪ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ.

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɢᴜᴇ.

𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍 ⋆ ꜱʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ ⋆ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ ⋆ ᴀꜱᴋꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ .ᐟ.ᐟ

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴘᴏʀᴛᴀʟꜱ.

ᖭི organized works ᖫྀ ⋆ ᖭི others coming soon ᖫྀ

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ɢᴜɪᴅʟɪɴᴇꜱ.

{SLEEP TOKEN AND SIMON RILEY ENTHUSIAST} ⋆ all my works are 18+ ⋆ works will be fem!pov unless stated otherwise ⋆ i'm not responsible for your media consumption, exercise self-care ⋆ i will NOT write r*pe, pedophilia, necrophilia, and other similar content.

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.

wc: {744} tw: explicit sexual content, fingering, praise, use of mirror. i'm literally in love with soft simon.

the room is dim. just the gold spill of lamplight and the hush of late hours pressing against the windows.

you're seated on his lap, spine drawn straight by the press of his chest against your back. both of you balanced on the edge of the bed, facing the tall mirror across the room—wide enough to hold the whole of you in its frame.

his arms are wrapped low around your waist, one hand resting just beneath your ribs, the other slowly traveling up.

the air feels thick. not heavy—but full.

of breath. of the soft, fabric-drag of his hoodie against your bare skin. of the sound of your pulse in your throat as he speaks quietly, voice low and close:

“look.”

your gaze flicks up—unsure, a little shy—and meets your reflection.

his chin rests on your shoulder. his eyes are half-lidded, unreadable behind the black paint that smudges the skin just below them. you can see everything—the slope of your neck tilted against his, the rise and fall of your chest as his hand trails lightly up your side. he watches you more than himself. always has.

“this,” he murmurs, fingertips dragging slowly down your arm, “this is mine.”

there’s no cruelty in it. no sharpness in his voice. only reverence.

he touches you like he’s learning something—like he’s honoring something. fingers grazing every inch of skin like it’s sacred, like the fact that you're letting him see you like this is a gift he doesn’t take lightly.

your hands drift to his knees, gripping soft cotton. grounding yourself.

his palm drifts lower, fingertips tracing slow circles over your stomach, hips, thighs—until your breath hitches.

he leans in.

“breathe.”

you do.

his other hand slips under your jaw, thumb brushing your throat. not to squeeze—only to hold. to feel the way your pulse quickens as he drags his lips over your shoulder, slow and burning.

you shift slightly in his lap—restless, aching. he doesn’t move to ease it yet.

“patience,” he says quietly, dragging his thumb along your collarbone. “don’t look away.”

your eyes flutter, caught between obedience and want. you stay.

“you always get like this,” he whispers, smiling against your neck. “soft. desperate. like your body knows i’m the one who takes care of it.”

your lips part, a quiet sound caught in your throat.

his hand slides lower—slow, deliberate—until his fingertips graze the warm, damp fabric between your thighs. he hums, the sound quiet and full of something fond. amused.

“already?” he murmurs, voice dipped in velvet. “sweet thing.”

his fingers toy with the edge of the fabric, dragging it gently aside. your breath catches.

“look at you…” he says softly, his words a whisper against your neck. “absolutely beautiful.”

two fingers drag through your folds—unhurried—spreading the wetness that gathered in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

your head tips back, a quiet sound escaping before you can swallow it. he watches your reflection, his expression unreadable but his grip steady. like he knew exactly what effect he was having—and adored every second of it.

he slides two fingers in with ease, your cunt sucking him in desperately. he’s memorized what makes you ache, what makes you unravel. every pump of his fingers is deliberate, coaxing, his thumb circling just where you need it. never too much. never too little. just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

“there we go,” he whispers, watching your reflection as your body leans back against his chest, your eyes fluttering. “that’s it. let it happen.”

his other hand holds your waist steady, grounding you while the rest of you feels like it’s dissolving under his hands. your lips part around a soft sound, one you try to hide—but he catches it. his smirk grows, warm and quiet, and his voice lowers:

“don’t hold back now. want to see you fall apart for me.”

your fingers clutch his thighs, knuckles tight, back arching ever so slightly—and that’s when the tension in your core starts to break, warmth coiling tighter and tighter until it crests in a slow, aching rush. you go still for a breath, jaw slack, head tipped back, and then—

release.

it’s not loud. it’s not showy. it’s vulnerable. trembling. your chest heaves against his, muscles fluttering under his grip, and he holds you through every second of it—never letting go.

he presses a kiss just behind your ear—soft, grounding.

“good,” he murmurs, proud and quiet. “that’s my girl.”

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.

wc: {838} tw: explicit sexual content, masked sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk (from reader), slight overstimulation. note: BACK WITH A VENGENCE!! last few days have been stressful, but i'm free again.

you barely make it through the green room door before vessel’s got his hands on you.

his fingers slide beneath your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders like it’s been in his way all night. it hits the ground without a sound.

his body is still warm from the stage—heat pouring off him in waves, the air between you electric with leftover adrenaline. sweat clings to his chest where the robe fell open, black body paint streaked and smudged, shining faintly under the vanity lights.

he says nothing.

just cups your jaw and kisses you—hot, deep, hungry.

you smile into it, breath catching. your hands press to his chest, sliding up his neck until your thumbs brush the edge of his mask.

he keeps it on, as always.

“you were so fucking good,” you whisper when he pulls back, your lips slick with the taste of him. “the way the crowd lost it—”

he kisses you again, harder.

it shuts you up, but you’re still grinning when he spins you around.

your stomach bumps against the vanity. the lights around the mirror cast a warm glow over your skin, catching on the curve of your waist, the flush of your face in the glass. you glance up. catch his reflection behind you—broad shoulders, mask gleaming white and red, eyes dark and fixed on your body like you’re something to consume.

you reach back blindly, tug at his belt.

“here?” you tease, voice breathless. “what if someone hears?”

his hands curl around your hips, firm.

“they won’t.”

you gasp when he pushes your skirt up, both hands skimming the backs of your thighs like he’s flipping pages he’s read a thousand times. he drags your underwear down slowly, letting the elastic catch and snap against your skin before it falls to the floor.

he kneels behind you—just for a second. just long enough to kiss the back of your thigh, open-mouthed and wet. his tongue grazes the crease where thigh meets ass. your knees nearly buckle.

then he’s up again. standing. pulling his slacks low enough to free his cock.

he strokes it once, slow, lazy. just enough to tease himself.

you arch your back, offering yourself with a breathy laugh. “what, you wanna admire me first?”

his voice is quiet, low. “always.”

he guides himself to your entrance, rubbing the thick head through your slick folds. teasing. dragging the tip up and down—until you whimper, hips rolling back against him with desperate little gasps.

“you’ve got that look,” you whisper, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “like you’re gonna wreck me.”

he doesn’t answer.

he just thrusts in deep, slow and deliberate.

you whine, fingers clawing at the vanity top, struggling for purchase. he fills you all at once—hot, thick, stretching you until your eyes roll back.

“f-fuck—vessel—”

his hands grip your hips, thumbs pressing hard enough to bruise. he doesn’t wait long—just gives you a second to adjust before pulling back and driving in again. again. again.

it starts fast and stays there. deep, rhythmic thrusts, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the dressing room walls, the slap of his body against yours drowned out only by the breathy sounds spilling from your mouth.

you push back against him, meeting each thrust with greedy, desperate energy.

"just like that—god, you feel so good,” you gasp. “don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

his fingers slide up your spine. then back down.

not pushing. not guiding.

just feeling you.

you shudder under the weight of it—his attention, his restraint. how much he’s giving you even in his silence.

his pace falters when your walls flutter around him.

“you like watching, don’t you?” you breathe out, eyes locking with his in the mirror. “you love seeing what you do to me.”

his breath catches. just barely audible.

you reach between your legs and rub slow circles over your clit, moaning when the pleasure sharpens instantly.

he groans low in his chest. then his hand covers yours.

he takes over.

his fingers work you in tight, relentless circles while he fucks into you with deeper thrusts, driving up into your softest spot, again and again, until your knees shake and your voice cracks.

“yes—vessel—i’m—fuck—i’m gonna come—”

“good,” he murmurs. “show me.”

you mewl his name, body tightening, trembling, falling apart in the best way. your orgasm rushes through you like heat—white-hot and dizzying.

he doesn’t stop.

he fucks you through it, deeper now, slower, like he wants to feel every second of it. he grips your waist tighter, hips stuttering once—twice—then he spills into you with a muffled groan, head bowed, fingers bruising where they hold you steady.

neither of you move.

for a long moment, the only sound is your breathing—heavy, uneven, shared.

he stays inside you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades, one hand still tangled in yours on the vanity.

you close your eyes. sigh. “you’re quiet, but i can feel how much you want me.”

his fingers tighten slightly around yours.

“that’s the point.”

[intakeofbreath]

Hii!! So I’m totally obsessed with your writing and your Vessel fics are just UGH SOOO GOOD 😩 My roommate literally had to peel me off the ceiling lmfao I was going INSANE

I don’t have any specific ask but if you could do another ST fic I would give you my first born child 😚🫶🫶

your wish is my command 🫡 i’m so happy someone enjoys my work this much, MWAHH !!

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ.

wc: {494} tw: explicit sexual content, breeding kink, overstimulation, mating press, size kink, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, praise + light degradation.

you should’ve known the second he came home growling your name that it wasn’t going to be soft tonight.

your legs are pinned wide to the bed, pressed up so high your knees nearly touch your shoulders. his body’s over yours, heavy and solid, every thick thrust grinding the breath from your lungs.

“fuckin’ tight,” he mutters through grit teeth. “always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

he doesn’t pull out. not even a little. just drags in deep, deeper, til your body’s trembling from how full he’s got you. your hips twitch, trying to move, but his hands clamp down on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you in place.

“not runnin’ from it,” simon growls. “you wanted this.”

you nod frantically, blinking through the tears that pool at your lashes. your body’s so overstimulated already—clit puffy and swollen from the last two orgasms he forced out of you with nothing but slow, deep strokes and soft praise in your ear.

now he’s chasing his own. his thrusts get faster. harder. more desperate.

“need it,” he huffs, sweat dripping off his brow as he pounds into you. “gonna fuck a baby into you, yeah?”

your whole body jerks. the sound you make isn’t even a moan—just a broken, breathless whimper.

“yeah,” he pants, eyes locked on the spot where he’s stretched you wide. “fill this little cunt up—keep you so fuckin’ full, no one’ll even think you’re single.”

you sob his name.

“mine,” he grits. “say it.”

“yours,” you gasp. “yours—yours—yours—”

he slams in to the hilt and stays there. buried deep. cock throbbing inside you as he spills, hot and heavy, til it leaks out around the base.

but he doesn’t stop.

your thighs twitch when he starts moving again, slower this time—grinding, not thrusting. like he’s making sure every drop stays inside you.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers. “you can give me one more.”

“can’t—simon—too much—”

“shhh.” he kisses your temple. “yes you can.”

his fingers drift to your clit. soft little circles, coaxing, teasing, pushing you back up that edge.

“gonna take it like a good girl. let me fuck another one into you.”

you cry out, body shaking, brain blank with pleasure.

he’s groaning again—thick voice in your ear, full of filth and worship and love and need.

“not stoppin’ til you’re bred. over and over. gonna keep goin’—you feel that? feel how easy you take me now?”

you can’t speak. you’re gone. mindless. just whimpering into the sheets as another orgasm crashes through you, stars popping behind your eyes.

simon kisses you through it. lips on your cheek, your throat, your lips.

“atta girl,” he murmurs. “that’s it.”

you’re not sure how long he stays inside you. not sure how many times he comes again. just know that by the time he pulls out, you’re full. dripping. aching in the best way.

and when he finally gathers you up in his arms, you’re already half-asleep—body spent, heart full.

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ.

wc: {363} tw: explicit sexual content, semi-public setting, unprotected sex, hookup, praise kink, worship themes, masked sex.

you didn’t think he’d say yes.

you were half-joking when you said i’d let you ruin me, somewhere between a laugh and a dare. backstage nerves buzzing in your throat, hands shaking with too much want.

but now he’s in the passenger seat of your car.

sprawled out, legs spread, chest bare under the open black robe. mask still on—always on—its red and white paint glowing faint in the amber streetlight bleeding through the windshield.

his cock’s already inside you.

you’re straddling him, thighs stretched wide, sweat slicking your skin as you ride him slow.

you don’t speak. neither does he.

just breath and motion. the sound of your cunt dragging wet over him. the soft whimper that slips out when he thrusts up harder than expected.

his hands rest low on your hips, guiding, grounding.

“look at me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse behind the mask.

your eyes flick up—meeting black paint, unreadable eyes beneath shadows. his mouth is visible. his mouth is beautiful. parted, lips flushed from kissing and biting and murmuring things too low to hear.

“does it feel like worship?”

you nod.

he hums, pleased.

“you always touch yourself to the music?”

you gasp when he lifts his hips, hits deeper.

“yes—”

“you ever think about this?”

you clench. his fingers dig in tighter.

“think about my hands,” he says, dragging his thumb over your clit. “my voice. my cock.”

you moan.

“you wanted this for so long, didn’t you?”

you nod again, breathless.

“say it.”

“i wanted you—wanted this—so bad—”

his hand slides up your back, grips the nape of your neck. not rough. just firm. steady. like he’s claiming you, like he’s reminding you exactly who’s in you.

his rhythm picks up.

the car rocks. windows fog.

his mouth twitches into something close to a smile.

“you’re not gonna forget this,” he breathes, low and reverent.

“no,” you whisper, trembling. “never.”

you come like a prayer.

quiet. holy. ruined.

and vessel holds you through it, buried deep, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s never letting go.

even if this is just once.

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ.

wc: {465} tw: explicit sexual content, power dynamics, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, praise, slight breath control, size kink, semi-public setting, light hair pulling.

it’s quiet in his office. just the hum of the desk fan, the scratch of pen on paper, and the occasional shift of his weight in the chair above you.

you’re on your knees.

head ducked under the desk, tucked neatly between his legs like you belong there. like that’s where you should be—obedient, aching, full mouth stretching around the thick weight of him.

ghost doesn’t even look down.

just lets out a breath through his nose, low and slow, while his hand rests heavy on your head.

“god,” he mutters, voice rough. “you’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?”

you hum around him.

his cock twitches at the vibration, and his fingers tighten against your scalp, holding you there for a beat before easing up.

“yeah, just like that,” he grits out, hips barely shifting forward. “take all of it.”

he’s thick—too thick to take easy, too long to fit without drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. it’s messy. raw. intimate.

and he loves it.

you swirl your tongue, trace the vein underneath, dig your nails into his thighs just to hear him grunt.

“you like being under my desk, huh?”

you nod, mouth full.

“bet you wish someone’d walk in. catch you like this. knees on the fucking floor, choking on my cock.”

he growls. the chair creaks as he leans back a little, spreads his legs wider.

“look at me.”

you glance up, eyes watering, lips swollen, spit trailing down your chin.

“good girl.”

the words punch straight to your stomach.

he holds you there, just the tip resting heavy on your tongue while he brushes a thumb over your cheek, like he's rewarding you for behaving.

“should keep you down there all day,” he says softly. “plug up that smart mouth, finally get some peace.”

you suck him deeper in response. sloppier now. desperate. your head bobbing as his hips twitch up to meet every motion, chasing that edge.

the sounds are obscene. wet, greedy.

then his voice—sharp.

“don’t stop.”

you don’t.

you hollow your cheeks, take him deep again, gag a little when he presses too far. his breath hitches.

“fuck—gonna come—”

he fists your hair and pulls tight as he groans, low and primal.

the first pulse hits the back of your throat. hot. heavy. he doesn’t pull out. just holds you there while he finishes, twitching, spilling everything into your mouth like it’s owed.

when he finally lets go, you pull back slowly, tongue tracing your lips.

he looks down at you now—cheeks flushed, chest rising fast.

there’s something wild in his gaze. something possessive.

“you swallow it?”

you open your mouth, showing him.

he growls again.

then he gestures under the desk.

“stay there,” he says. “not done with you yet.”

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ.

wc: {504} tw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, hate sex, power imbalance, light choking, face slapping, spanking, degradation, rough language, overstimulation, unprotected sex.

his hand’s around your throat.

not tight enough to stop you from breathing—just enough to make you feel it. the weight. the pressure. the threat of what he could do if you pushed him just a little more.

your back slams against the wall of the supply closet, legs locked around his waist. he's already inside you, already fucking you hard enough that the shelves rattle behind your shoulders.

“mouthy little thing,” ghost growls, teeth bared behind the mask. “can’t follow a single fuckin’ order unless i’ve got you like this.”

you smirk—painfully, beautifully smug, even with your lungs dragging. “still came crawling back.”

his palm snaps across your cheek before you finish the sentence. not hard enough to hurt. just enough to shut you up.

and fuck, it works.

your head tips sideways, breath hiccuping, cunt clenching around him like you liked that.

“of course you like it,” he sneers, voice thick with accent and venom. “spoiled fuckin’ brat. needed a cock down your throat all week to fix that attitude.”

you gasp when he slams deeper, hips grinding up hard, forcing you higher on the wall. your legs shake. his grip tightens.

“say it,” he demands, low and sharp. “say you’re mine.”

you grit your teeth. shake your head. defiant.

his fingers squeeze tighter around your neck. not dangerous—just warning. his other hand slides down, shoves between your legs, rubs tight little circles against the slick mess he’s making of you.

“ghost—”

“say it.”

you pant. twitch. resist.

then—break.

“fuck. yours—i’m yours—”

he groans. loud. satisfied.

his thrusts speed up—brutal now, pounding into you like he’s punishing every time you’ve talked back, every order you ignored, every smug fucking smile you gave him during briefing.

“should’ve fucked this attitude out of you months ago,” he spits, slapping your ass hard, once, twice. “you’d be a better soldier if you spent less time mouthing off and more time on your knees.”

your fingernails dig into the back of his vest.

you’re close. dizzy. stretched wide and sore, sweat sticking your skin to his, your pulse thudding against his palm.

“ghost—i’m—”

“go on,” he snarls, dragging his cock nearly all the way out, then slamming back in. “make a fuckin’ mess on it. that’s all you’re good for anyway.”

you come with a choked sound, body convulsing, thighs locking tight around his hips.

and he doesn’t stop.

keeps fucking you through it, hips stuttering, groaning into the side of your neck.

“you’ll shut the fuck up now, yeah?”

you don’t answer. you just moan—wrecked and ruined.

and when he finally follows, spilling inside you with a broken grunt, it’s deep—like he’s planting a flag, marking territory, daring you to give this to anyone else.

the room smells like sex and sweat.

he pulls back slowly, hand still on your neck, thumb brushing your jaw.

“open your mouth,” he says.

you do.

and he kisses you—rough, biting, claiming.

like this isn’t over. like you’re still his problem.

and you always will be.

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴍᴜʀᴍᴜʀ ᴘᴛ ɪɪ. ᴘᴛ ɪ.

wc: {574} tw: explicit sexual content, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, body worship, praise, religious overtones, slight mask kink.

he lifts her like she weighs nothing.

one hand under her thighs, the other steady on her back, he turns and sets her down on the edge of the makeup vanity. the cold surface makes her gasp, but it’s gone as fast as it came—replaced by the heat of his mouth, dragging down her neck, his body fitting between her open thighs like it belongs there.

his breath is heavy. ragged. like he’s been holding it in for years.

“i’ve thought about this,” he admits, teeth brushing her pulse. “more than i should have.”

her fingers find the sides of his mask. she doesn’t lift it. she doesn’t want to. the mystery is holy. but her thumbs trace along his jaw—bare, hot, slightly damp. painted black and flushed with need.

“show me,” she breathes.

he drops to his knees.

without a word, he slides her underwear down and presses his mouth against her like he’s starving. tongue soft, then firm, then soft again—working slow, deliberate circles as he hooks her thighs over his shoulders. her head tips back with a choked moan, one hand flying to grip the edge of the vanity, the other fisting in his hair, dragging his hood back.

his mask stays on. always.

but below it, she hears him groan—low, worshipful, lost in her.

he eats like he’s consecrating her. slow and reverent. no rush. just the slow, wet sound of devotion, the whisper of painted fingers digging into her thighs, holding her wide, holding her still.

when her legs start to tremble, he pulls back just far enough to speak.

“you taste like something i shouldn’t want,” he says, voice hoarse. “but i’d ruin myself for it anyway.”

then he stands.

her shirt is gone before she realizes it. he kisses her collarbone, her chest, every inch of skin his mouth can reach, then drags his fingers between her legs—testing, coating, worshiping.

she’s panting by the time he unfastens his slacks and frees himself, the head of his cock flushed and dripping, sliding against her soaked entrance.

“please,” she whispers. “vessel.”

he grips her hips. hard.

“look at me,” he says.

she does.

and he pushes in.

the stretch knocks the air from her lungs—deep, slow, possessive. he fills her like he was made for it, one hand braced on the vanity, the other curled around the back of her neck, keeping her close, keeping her eyes on his.

his mask doesn’t shift. doesn’t tilt. it stays fixed on her like a ritual.

he starts to move.

deep, rolling thrusts. not fast—not yet—but thorough. like he’s trying to carve the memory of this into her bones.

“mine,” he breathes against her ear. “you were made for this.”

“say it again,” she gasps.

his voice breaks. “mine.”

and then it’s a rhythm—him grinding deeper, harder, chasing that point where pleasure starts to spiral into something holy. her nails dig into his shoulders. her head falls forward against his masked temple.

“i’m close,” she pants. “don’t stop—”

he doesn’t.

he fucks her through it—her orgasm shaking, eyes fluttering, mouth open in a silent cry—and only then does he let go, hips stuttering as he spills inside her with a soft, ragged moan.

they stay like that.

bodies shaking. breaths tangled.

and when he finally speaks again, his voice is soft. ruined.

“i’ll never let anyone else have you.”

she smiles, spent.

“good,” she whispers. “because i don’t want anyone else.”

[intakeofbreath]

Ahhh omg your vessel one shot was amazing! beautiful writing, really. I'd love to see more of any scenario with vessel if you're willing. 😊

i'm so glad you enjoy my writing, your support means the world !! i'm working on part two of murmur currently. it should be posted later tonight <3

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴍᴜʀᴍᴜʀ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ.

wc: {454} tw: heavy kissing, clothed grinding, soft dominance, body worship, emotional vulnerability, references to religion.

the first sound is her breath—ragged, caught between her ribs, trembling where his mouth just was.

the air is thick with incense, heavy with something that feels more like offering than affection. her back hits the dressing room wall, the coolness of it shocking against the heat surging under her skin. his hand follows a second later—flat against the plaster beside her head, a silent command, a cage made from shadow.

and then his mouth crashes into hers again.

hot, bruising, hungry.

she moans—soft and surprised—one of his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers dragging up her spine like he’s mapping out something sacred. the black paint that covers his skin leaves streaks across her body, across her clothes, like he’s claiming her in silence.

her hands fist in the edges of his open cloak, yanking him closer. the fabric smells like stage smoke. it parts easily, fluttering around them as he presses his hips into hers. there's heat, pressure, something desperate and aching between them—and he groans into her mouth, the sound low and sinful.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” vessel murmurs, his lips barely brushing hers. his voice is a rasp, his accent softened and reverent, like he’s whispering prayer. “you walk in and breathe—and i forget every word i’ve ever sung.”

her heart stutters. her fingers climb his chest, feeling the muscles twitch under the paint. he’s all contrast—cold mask, hot mouth, tender touch, brutal kiss. there’s something dangerous about the way he’s holding back. as if this, just this, is all he’ll allow.

her mouth finds the corner of his jaw—just below the edge of the mask. she kisses the exposed skin there, slow and aching. worshipful.

he shudders.

“let me see you,” she whispers—not asking for the mask. never the mask. just him.

and he gives it. just a sliver.

vessel tilts his head, brushing his lips against her temple, his voice close enough to crawl under her skin. “you already are.”

his hand ghosts along her throat—not gripping, just resting there, feeling the tremble of her breath. his thumb strokes the hollow of it, as if feeling for a heartbeat. or counting each second of restraint.

she tilts her chin up, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. “then touch me like you mean it.”

he laughs, quiet and rough. “no.” his mouth hovers over hers again. “i’ll touch you like i need it.”

and when he kisses her again, slower now—deeper—it’s a kind of worship that makes her knees go weak. his fingers find her waist and drag her flush against him, and there’s nothing gentle in the way he grinds against her. but his kiss?

his kiss is a confession.

[intakeofbreath]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ.

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ: tension ⋆ under control ⋆ over and over ⋆ reflection

ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ:

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴠᴇꜱꜱᴇʟ.

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ: murmur pt i ⋆ murmur pt ii ⋆ devotion ⋆ silence

ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ:

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴇxᴛʀᴀꜱ.

...