The first time you meet him after moving in the apartment next to him he barely acknowledges your existence, only stopping for a moment, looking you up and down and then moving on, apparently having decided that you weren't a threat.
Bringing him a tray of homemade muffins has him looking at you suspiciously and only after sniffing them does he finally eat one. The only thanks you get is a half-pleasant sounding grunt between mouthfulls of muffins, he even picks up the crumbs.
After that you bring him cookies and a caraf of lemonade because last time he was almost choking with how fast he inhaled the food. It happens the same with the cookies, shoving handfulls of them into his mouth and then washing it down with lemonade, downing the entire thing in a few gulps.
Maybe it's your soft side acting up, but you get it into your head that poor Simon must be starving so you decide to keep feeding him. You learned his name after the fourth time bringing him food and sometimes when you're cooking something and hear his door open, you just pop your head out in the hallway and call him to taste test.
The first few times he entered your apartment he was a little apprehensive, refusing to sit down and keeping an eye on the door. Now he comes and goes during all the hours of the day, murmuring about having smelt something good. Sitting on your couch with a plate on his lap and eating contentedly while watching one of your favourite shows, staying longer and closer to you with each visit.
It's unfortunate that you left on vacation a day before he returned from a long deployment. Imagine your surprise when you come back late at night, exhausted after the long flight and plop onto your bed without turning on the lights. It's only after your eyes get used to the dark that you finally notice a dark shape at the end of the bed, his face obstructed, but the hunger in his eyes unmistakeable.
It's your fault really. Don't you know not to feed strays? They always come back for more.
i have been yearning for a roommate!vessel fic where reader is a huge ST fan but has no clue that the bedroom she found for rent online is in her favourite frontman’s flat
@m0thmansdad would touch on this sometimes way back when & it has been my obsession ever since!!
Hi Anon 👋
Request granted 💕
I'm The Catch
Roommate!Vessel x You
NSFW. Some angst, some fluff and some smut
18.5k words in two parts.
Full fic on my Ao3
Sneak peek below the cut
He led you back towards the hallway and opened a door into a bathroom. Small, but clean. Towels were hung neatly on a rack and there was even a mat on the floor.
"Shared bathroom, I'm afraid," he said, ruffling his hair. "We can work out a cleaning schedule for everything, but obviously you would be responsible for your own room. Speaking of which…"
He opened the door next to the bathroom and gestured for you to enter. The window was open, freshening up the space, but you immediately liked the vibe as you entered. A double bed, wardrobe, and a dresser furnished the space, along with a bedside table, complete with lamp. Everything looked brand new, even the carpet felt squishy beneath your feet.
"Wow, this is great," you smiled, gazing around. You turned to him. "I feel like there should be a catch somehow. How is this room still available?"
A little smirk curved his mouth as he leant against the dresser. "I'm the catch."
"Oh, are you now?" Your eyes widened slightly as you stared at him, and then he blushed, his hand ruffling nervously through his hair.
"Um, shit. That sounded so much better in my head," he winced. "I meant, I'm the part of the agreement that might cause a stumbling block. I'm a bit weird. I mean, isn't it obvious?"
It was your turn to smirk as you watched him squirm in embarrassment. Gangly and awkward, his cheeks flushed a lovely pink. It was actually rather adorable. You'd always had a soft spot for the nerdy type. "Oh, definitely," you nodded, unable to resist an opportunity to tease. "Clocked it as soon as you opened the door. I was prepared, though. The advert did promise me weird, and I'm here for it."
He gave you a bashful glance and huffed an awkward laugh. "Well, you won't be disappointed."
"Sounds intriguing," you said. "If you're happy to move to the next stage, then I'm interested."
I think this might be the BEST fanfic I've ever read. I was so invested with this and I actually relate to the reader so much. It really felt like I was reader and that I was having these interactionswith Vessel. Please read this and show this creator some love. Worship🫶
a/n: Genuinely i need this man irl, if you know where to find him, lmk. ENJOY!!💕
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley wakes up extra early to get your daughter dressed and fed, before taking and dropping her off at daycare, just so you can sleep in
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley will play barbie’s with your daughter to keep her occupied so she won’t bother you while you work. “Come er’ pretty girl, mamas busy right now. Let’s go play”
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley scanned every toy store and online store for the exact jumbo pink fluffy unicorn stuffed animal for your daughter, after she left it at a restaurant
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley shed a tear when your daughter brought him a piece a paper with colors scribbled on it, that said “Happy Father’s day!”. He hugged her and whispered, “Thank you baby”. To this day shes still the only one to see this man cry.
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley who agreed to accompanying you and your daughter to the park so quickly. He nearly ran out of his chair to get his shoes on. You couldn’t stop laughing when Simon fell of the swings.
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley who rocked your baby girl to sleep and sat with her for an hour before placing her in her own bed. He peppered her little face with kisses.
Simon “I don’t like kids” Riley who stands in the kitchen making you tea, while you sit on the counter in his tshirt.
“Thank you, Si”
“For?” He grumbles
“For helping me, and loving her like shes your own”
He walks over to you and hands you the tea, then he places his hands on your waist. He kisses your forehead and says,
“Whatever keeps my girls happy”
a/n: RAHHHHH I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET WHILE WRITING THIS!!! I hope you all enjoy this as much as you enjoyed my last post. I do just want to say, based off my schedule i’ll most likely be posting twice, maybe three times a week💕
Just came across your work, & wanted to pop in & say that your writing is absolutely beautiful! Every sentence is so well-phrased, & every word is so palpable that it's easy to get immersed in your little fictional worlds. It's like getting lost in a really good novel, & I've thoroughly enjoyed reading all your work so far!
Also, as a II girlie, I especially loved II's cameo in your latest fic! Not sure if you officially write for II in an x reader capacity, but if you do, I'd very much look forward to reading your writing for him.
Anyways, that's all! I hope you have a good day/night, & thanks for sharing your lovely work ❤️
I can’t even tell you how much this made my week!! thank you so much for your kind words, i’m beyond grateful!! this was rotting on my notes app for a while but i hope you like it 🩷🥺🫶🏼
Raindrops and hoodie battles.
CW: II x fem!reader, cuteness overload i guess, slow burn, gentle and love, II is absolutely patient and healthy (it’s heart melting!!!).
Nobody ever left a conversation with II feeling drained. You noticed that long before you realized you were beginning to seek him out.
It wasn't because he carried conversations with effortless charisma or because he possessed the sort of magnetic personality that naturally occupied the center of every room. If anything, the opposite was true. He seemed perfectly content existing just outside the noise, allowing louder people to interrupt each other while he observed with an attentiveness so genuine that it often went unnoticed. There was nothing passive about the way he listened. It wasn't silence born from shyness, nor politeness rehearsed out of habit. He simply believed that if someone had chosen to speak, then whatever they were saying deserved to be heard completely before an answer ever entered the conversation.
It was a quality that altered people in ways they rarely recognized. But you noticed every once in a while how much that happened.
They would begin telling him an amusing story about work and somehow find themselves talking about their parents before the evening ended. Someone would complain about missing a train only to admit, twenty minutes later, that what they were truly afraid of was going home to an empty apartment. The strange thing was that II never guided conversations toward vulnerability. He never asked invasive questions or lingered over subjects people were clearly uncomfortable discussing. Instead, he had mastered something considerably rarer than curiosity.
He made honesty feel safe, and perhaps because there was never any urgency about him. No hunger to know more than someone wished to share. No impatience disguised as concern. Whatever people chose to place in his hands remained there, untouched by judgment and untouched by expectation. He held confidences the same way museums held fragile paintings, with quiet respect for the simple fact that they existed.
You weren't immune to it.
The realization embarrassed you when it finally arrived because you couldn't identify the exact moment it had begun. Somewhere between rehearsals, late-night conversations after everyone else had gone home, coffee runs before long recording sessions, and countless ordinary afternoons spent doing absolutely nothing remarkable, speaking to II had quietly become part of the architecture of your life.
It happened so gradually that you never questioned it. You were never really eager to recognize he was becoming essential to your days.
Whenever something amusing happened during your day, your first thought became “I should tell II about this”. When work overwhelmed you, your fingers reached for your phone before your mind consciously decided who you wanted to text. If something beautiful caught your attention—a record store tucked between two narrow streets, the way rain blurred the city lights outside your apartment, a song that reminded you of childhood —you found yourself instinctively wondering whether he would like it too.
None of it felt romantic, it felt as natural as breathing. But not to your friends, they noticed long before you two did.
One evening, after rehearsal had run later than expected, a group of you stopped at a small pub a few blocks from the studio. Conversation drifted lazily between music, travel plans, and whatever absurd story someone happened to remember from the previous tour. You laughed more than you spoke, content to watch everyone else interrupt each other while absentmindedly stirring the ice melting inside your glass.
Halfway through someone's dramatic retelling of an airport disaster, you glanced toward the entrance.
Without thinking, the door opened but it was not him. You looked away again. Your friend, sitting across from you, smiled into her drink.
"You've done that five times."
You frowned.
"Done what?"
"Checked the door" she answered
"I haven't."
"You have."
She said it so matter-of-factly that it almost irritated you.
"I don't even know what you're talking about."
"You keep expecting him."
Your stomach tightened "I am not."
She laughed quietly.
"I'm not teasing you."
"Good, because there's nothing to tease."
"You've looked at that door every time it opened."
You opened your mouth to argue but nothing came out. That’s when that weird striking of realization started to hit you, because she was right.
You had. You were thinking about him more often than you would admit to yourself, but not because you were trying to deny your feelings, you just really didn’t realize how often he was on your mind and how much you wanted him to be present in those moments.
You simply kept expecting him to walk through the door as though his presence had become part of your understanding of what a complete evening looked like.
The realization unsettled you enough that you barely heard the rest of the conversation. Your thoughts spiraling around this new discovery that everyone else already knew.
Wait, so that means he knows about this too?
…
II had absolutely no idea any of this was happening.
If someone had asked him whether the two of you were close, he would have smiled and answered yes without hesitation. If they had asked whether he cared about you, the answer would have been equally immediate. Beyond that, however, he refused to speculate.
He had spent months quietly convincing himself that affection was not ownership and loving someone did not automatically entitle him to their heart. The distinction mattered.
It mattered because every time he caught himself wondering what your hand might feel like in his or imagining what it would be like to kiss you after walking you home, another thought inevitably followed.
She doesn't owe you those things simply because you want her.
So he kept wanting, patiently. That was another remarkable trait of his, he was overly patient and that was unsettling at times. There was never resentment in his patience. Some evenings, after everyone else had left the studio, he found himself sitting beside Vessel while equipment hummed softly around them.
Neither of them was particularly eager to go home, but tired enough so that silence could linger. II grabbed his phone when he saw your face in the notifications. Everytime his phone lit up, he would only feel motivated to immediately respond when the text came from you.
"You've been smiling at your phone a lot lately," Vessel observed, not looking up from the notebook resting in his lap.
II chuckled, seeing a sticker of a funny cat you had sent
"I have?"
"You have” Vessel teased, a quirky smile in his lips while he kept his eyes focused on the notebook screen.
He considered denying it before realizing there was little point
"I've been talking to her, yes.”
Vessel finally looked over, widening his eyes a bit. He didn’t expect II would be so quick to admit it. "The one you've never admitted you're in love with?"
II sighed.
"I've admitted it."
"To yourself."
"...Fair” II sighed again.
Silence settled comfortably between them, II sent another sticker of a funny cat to you when the little chat between you two was over.
After a while, Vessel spoke again.
"So?"
"So what?"
"What are you going to do about it?"
II rested his elbows on his knees, staring somewhere toward the floor.
"Nothing.”
Vessel blinked "Nothing?"
"I like where we are."
"But you want more."
"I do."
"And?"
He smiled to himself.
"And wanting something doesn't obligate another person to give it to me."
Vessel studied him for a long moment before shaking his head with quiet amusement.
"I hate how emotionally healthy you are. That could never be me.”
That earned a genuine laugh, the first either of them had managed all day.
…
Winter arrived quietly and with it came freezing rehearsal rooms, early sunsets, and mornings cold enough to make everyone complain before they had even picked up an instrument.
You complained the most, you were always the one forgetting you hoodie at home, having to stay the closest to the heat, rubbing your hands often and sometimes making everyone laugh because your teeth were chattering with the cold. II would just take his hoodie off and hand it to you, grumpy expression in his face whenever you would thank him for the chivalry in front of everyone.
"My fingers are actually numb” you said to him.
"They're pink” he shot back.
"They're blue."
"They're definitely pink."
"I'm dying."
"You're dramatic” he rolled his eyes, a soft smile in the corner of his lips.
"I am freezing."
…
The next rehearsal, there was a folded hoodie waiting on the back of your chair.
No note and explanation. So looked around the room and II noticed your confusion immediately.
"I figured you forgot yours."
"I didn't, this time” you showing him the hoodie you brought.
"You will next week."
You laughed. "I won't."
"You will."
"You sound very confident."
"I've seen your memory."
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and slipped the hoodie he brought over your shoulders. It was warm and still carrying traces of whatever fabric softener he used, mixed with cedarwood and coffee. His smell was there too, faint, but still there.
Comfortable.
You meant to give it back before leaving.
You forgot, so the following rehearsal...
Another hoodie. Your brows furrowed, looking at the second hoodie placed carefully in the chair.
"Didn't I steal yours?" you asked.
"You did."
"And you brought another one?"
He shrugged.
"I thought you might still be cold." He said it with such complete sincerity that it didn't occur to either of you to find the moment unusual.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
At some point, nobody remembered whose hoodies they actually were anymore. You simply reached for whichever one was draped over your chair. Sometimes would you bring a hoodie of yours and make him wear it the whole rehearsal, claiming it was a fair trade. And of course, it was always tight on him, and too oversized on you.
But he simply kept bringing them.
One evening, after an especially exhausting session, you climbed into the passenger seat of his car because he'd offered to drive you home. Rain traced slow paths across the windshield while the heater filled the silence with steady warmth. Neither of you spoke much. You watched the city pass outside your window until, somewhere between one traffic light and the next, your eyelids became unexpectedly heavy and you fell asleep in the passenger seat.
When you woke again, the engine had been off for several minutes. Your apartment building stood quietly outside. The rain had stopped and the raindrops drying slowly in the windows.
II was still sitting beside you. He wasn't scrolling through his phone, wasn't trying to wake you.
Wasn't even looking at you.
His hands rested loosely around the steering wheel as soft music played somewhere beneath the silence. You rubbed your eyes with your knuckles and looked at him.
"You should've woken me."
He turned, smiling gently.
"You looked like you needed the sleep."
You checked the clock.
"I've been asleep for almost forty minutes."
"I know."
"...You waited?"
Another small shrug.
"I wasn't in a hurry."
There was something devastating about the simplicity with which he said it.No grand gesture and no expectation of gratitude. He’d simply decided that your forty extra minutes of rest mattered more than anything else he had planned that evening. So he just stayed there, quietly, waiting for you.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
"You really didn't mind?"
He looked at you as though the answer were obvious.
"Of course not."
The word landed softly between you, and somewhere inside your chest, something shifted. Not because he had done something extraordinary, cause he never treated kindness like it was extraordinary. To him, caring for you had become as natural as remembering to lock his front door or turning the headlights on after sunset. You heart melt.
It wasn't effort. It was an habit, affection expressed so consistently that it no longer announced itself, it simply existed. For the first time in months, perhaps years, you found yourself wondering whether love was always supposed to feel like this.
Not overwhelming or consuming. Not something that arrived all at once and demanded to be noticed. Perhaps love could also be quiet, patient, slow. Perhaps it could sound like someone waiting forty minutes in a parked car because waking you felt unnecessarily cruel. Perhaps it could smell faintly of cedarwood and coffee.
Or perhaps, without either of you realizing it, it had already begun.
Without thinking much of it, he reached over and place a small kiss on your cheek and rubbed your shoulder with his hand.
“You should get some rest, let me walk you to the door, love.”
Summary: Ghost is your next door neighbour. You’re a nurse.
Sometimes, Ghost likes to come round so you’ll stitch him up.
He decides to come round, again, and again, and again…
Word Count: 7,590 • Masterlist
Making your way through the front door, you sigh wearily as you dump your bags on the floor.
Your ten hour shift followed by five hours of emergency triaging, followed by treatment had just ended at the hospital, and you were dead on your feet.
You managed to drag yourself to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, pausing to take big sips which you then top up.
Shuffling back to the living room, you set your glass down and collapse into the sofa. It’s your day off tomorrow, you’re determined to enjoy your free evening, even if you feel like the living dead.
Despite your plans, you nearly fell asleep once you’d settled on something to watch, only to be suddenly awoken by a banging on the front door.
“What the fuck?” you mumbled, puzzled at who would be knocking on your door so late. Shuffling to the door, you undo the locks and crack it open to peer outside.
You were met with the familiar face, or rather mask, of your neighbour. You only knew him as Ghost, though you were sure that’s not his real name. You’d met him a handful of times, well met was a strong term.
He’d acknowledged your presence with a nod of his head, which you got used to after the first time you tried to say hi, he’d ignored you. You could also tell he was military of some kind, between being gone for months, to the way he held himself. He towered over you. Usually anyway.
The first time he called at your home, he was slumped against your doorway.
“You’re a nurse right?” He grunted out bluntly. You nodded your head, slightly bewildered.
“Yes, I am, are you okay?” You questioned, taking in his appearance.
“Need a hand” he grunted again, gesturing to his side which you could see was oozing blood.
You opened the door as an invitation for him to come in, work mode activating.
“What happened?” You asked, gathering your supplies you had at home, putting gloves on as you gesture for him to sit on a stool in the kitchen.
“Got stabbed” he mumbled, bluntly. Not willing to add any more details.
“Right..” you said quietly, “take your shirt off?” you said, trying to keep your voice even. He just stared at you. “I need to see the wound” you said, like it’s obvious.
Ghost shifts so he’s holding his shirt up high enough for you to see the gash in his side. You try not to let your eyes linger on the abs the movement reveals and you snap back into work mode as you see the injury. Luckily you could take care of it.
“Why didn’t you just go to hospital? Or the police?” You wondered outloud as you began to clean the wound.
“Don’t like ‘em” he grumbles, not even flinching as you start to sew him up. You could tell he wasn’t up for talking so you grew quiet.
After you patched him up, he gave you a nod and an awkward “thanks” and then he was gone.
Since then, he’d come back to you in need of your services. You’d had quite the number of visits. Whatever his job was, it was dangerous apparently. You’d stitched up various knife wounds, tried to set broken bones and even a bullet once lodged in his shoulder.
He never flinched, let you patch him up, occasionally making conversation with you, share tiny bits of his life, nothing classified of course, but small stories about his team, or happier ones he could remember from other times in his life, and he’d listen to your stories intently, then just disappeared into the night again.
He started sometimes, very occasionally, come by without being hurt, to let you know he was going away, or to be careful, or to shove some snacks he bought you ask thanks into your hands or “here I got you this chain lock, let me install it for you”.
The occasional unnecessary visits became more frequent. Just fleeting, stopping at the door, asking how your day was.
A month went by and you didn’t see him. It was normal. He doesn’t always get a chance to tell you he’s leaving. Which is why it’s an even bigger shock when a familiar banging comes at your door late at night, well after you’d been asleep in bed.
Grabbing your only dressing gown, you wrapped it around your body which covered the fact you were only wearing a t shirt and underwear. You unlocked the door, leaving the chain attached like Ghost had told you to do after he came round.
Your eyes widened when you saw the state of Ghost, slumped against the door frame, skull mask instead of just a balaclava, tactical gear still on minus the vest and the helmet.
“Jesus Ghost” you exclaim, rushing to open the door, and you help him to your kitchen stool so you can patch him up. It’s become a bit of a routine now. For whatever reason, you’ve become his personal nurse.
You shed your dressing gown, unthinking other than it’s in the way right now as you pull out your equipment and put some gloves on. You don’t notice the way Ghosts eyes follow your bare legs.
You manage to convince him to take his shirt off this time, carefully helping him and avoiding catching his mask. He had a knife wound in his shoulder, and bad bruising across his chest where the bullet proof vest apparently did its job.
You get to work examining him, and stitching his wounds. You check his ribs and bones to make sure there’s nothing broken. When you’re done, he keeps staring at you.
“What?” You ask nervously, scanning his masked face for some kind of clue.
He sighs, “I uh, my thigh…” he mumbles, looking over at the wall behind you instead of your face.
You will your face to remain neutral as you step back and ask him to take his trousers off, or at least pull them down so you can help him in the most professional manner you can.
He sighs again and starts working his belt buckle. He shuffles his trousers down to just above his knees and leans back on the stool so you can see the wound on his upper inner thigh.
It’s so high that his boxers are covered in blood. You hesitantly come forward to stand between his legs and look at him. He nods slightly, giving you permission to touch his leg.
With your gloved hands, you crouch and begin to examine the wound, moving the fabric of his underwear so it’s not in your way. You glanced up at Ghost to see how he’s doing, but he’s staring blankly at the wall instead of watching you like he usually does. His fist tight on his healthy leg.
You begin your work when he suddenly goes tense. You glance up to ask if he’s okay, when a sizeable bulge starting to form just to the side of you, catches your eye. Ghost is still staring at the wall so he didn’t know you’d seen. Except it’s Ghost, so of course he does.
“Shit listen it’s uh, it’s been a while” he tries to joke, uncharacteristically awkward. Of course, you think, it’s not because of you.
“It’s okay don’t worry” you try to laugh it off “believe me, stuff like this happens more than you’d think” you say to try and relieve his awkward tension, except it seems to do the opposite.
A flash of rage passes through Ghost at the thought of some other scumbag getting bricked up at his nurse while you’re just trying to do your job and help them. It fizzles slightly knowing he’s also one of these scumbags right now.
He cringes at himself for not having better control of his body, but the sight of you between his legs, on your knees almost, so close to his crotch, just does something to him he can’t control. It’s not just that it’s been a while, although that is true.
He so badly wants to leave, but you’ve got a needle half way in his leg.
You can almost see his inter turmoil so you squeeze his non injured knee.
“Hey it’s really okay. You’re not making me uncomfortable” you blush, trying to sooth him. It was true.
You’d been harbouring a bit of a crush on him, somehow, even though you hadn’t seen his face. Out of all the people you’ve sewn up this month, you’d choose Ghost a million times to get a boner in your face. He doesn’t respond, and continues to stare at the wall.
“Really-“ you start.
“Stop. Talking” he mumbles, cutting you off, “please, just.. ” he says the last part so quietly you almost miss it.
You continue to sew up his wound, clearly talking about it is making him feel more awkward so you decided to leave it, for now.
When you’re done and stand back, Ghost quickly pulls his trousers back up, he starts to limp with wide quick strides to the door when you reach out tentatively to grab his arm. He spins and stares at you again, eyes darting from the hand on his arm to yours. You pull your arm back and fiddle with the hem of your shirt.
“Stay? For a bit? You’re hurt, I’ve got left overs you can eat, or tea, or coffee?” You ask, trying to hide your nervousness of a flat out rejection.
You think that’s what’s going to happen when he continues to stare.
Slowly, he nods.
“Let me get changed” he mumbles, after taking stock of his dirty, blood soaked gear. He’d just come back from a mission, and wanted to be alone instead of fussed over back on base, but he was hurt, so he’d come to you instead.
Ghost trusted you. Somehow. You’d made him feel comfortable around you in such a short amount of time, it kind of scared him. You never pushed him when he was silent to your questions, or when he didn’t take off the mask.
Instead, you talked about your day instead, told him about annoying patients, what your friends were doing, never faltering at his answers being grunts or simply nothing. You patched him up, no questions asked.
Most of the time, he’d just watch you work. Watch how your nose scrunched up when you’re concentrating, sometimes you would bite your lip. Watch how you tried to move your hair out your eyes while you worked, without using your sterile gloved hands.
He liked it when you fussed over him, as much as he’d hate to admit it. You were always worried about him and tried to do more than just patch him up, let you feed him, something, but he’d always refused.
Until today.
Maybe it was the fact his leg hurt and didn’t want to stand to make himself food, or maybe it was the multiple wounds, or maybe it was just you that he could no longer resist.
Ghost fumbled around in his own apartment, quickly hopping in the shower, then getting changed into some sweats and a baggy hoodie.
He’d noticed a gash on the side of his head he needed you to look at, one he couldn’t really see, so as he glanced at the mask, he decided to go without it for once. He trusted you.
When he lightly knocked on your door again after almost turning around, you answered quickly. You did a double take at his bare face, but quickly smiled at him like normal, as if nothing had changed.
He let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, as you let him back in your home.
Meanwhile, internally, you were kind of freaking out. Yeah, you had a crush on him before, but now you’ve seen his face, you felt slightly in love.
Holy shit, he’s so fucking hot? He was blonde, hair cut fairly short against his head. He was handsome, in a rugged, hardened way. His nose was crooked from a break or two. Or five. There were deep ragged scars over all his face to match the rest of his body, but they didn’t take away from his allure.
You go into the kitchen to continue your mental freak out while you prepare the left overs. He follows.
“Tea?” You ask, thinking it’s a bit late for coffee.
“Sure” he says a bit stiffly, leaning against the counter.
You turn to look at him to ask how he takes it when he says “two sugars, no milk” before you can formulate the sentence.
You nod and smile at him again. Turning to flick on the kettle to make his tea.
He doesn’t know how you do that, just smile at him so freely like you’re not making him want to fall to his knees for you.Like he’s not essentially a highly trained weapon.
Aside from his team, you’re the only other person he has regular contact with and it’s by choice. He used to go to you sometimes with very minor injuries, for you to check him out. You knew he knew it’s not bad enough but you check him out anyway. Eventually, he dropped the excuse he was hurt all together.
You look the wound on his head that he genuinely needed checking. His blonde hair was an alarming share of red when he’d taken it off before his shower, but you deem that “he’ll live” and it shouldn’t need stitches.
“The head bleeds more than anywhere else” you explained, “head injuries always look a lot worse than they usually are”.
Of course, he already knows this, but he hums in interest anyway.
You hand him his tea with a “careful it’s hot”.
He takes a sip, then sighs.
“Simon” he says suddenly, like he was wanted to rush the word out.
You look at him.
“What?” You question the sudden word, tired brain taking a second to catch up.
“My name, call me Simon” he says again gruffly, as if it’s obvious.
“Simon” you say slowly, then smile brightly at him. He huffs and rolls his eyes, a light pink dusting his cheeks.
You gasp playfully at the sight.
“Did I just make the big scary Ghost, blush?” You giggle, nudging his shoulder with yours slightly as you prepare his food.
“You think I’m scary?” He asked, more serious again.
You turned to look at him properly again. “No” you said honestly, looking him in the eye.
“Ever?” He asked.
“Never” you smile at him, “I’m not scared of you, you might be scary to other people but you’re not to me.”
He doesn’t answer and lets you continue to dish out a healthy portion for him, and a smaller one for yourself.
You can see him eyeing your smaller portion with a bit of a frown so you explain.
“I’ve already had my tea, like 4 hours ago?” You laugh. You’d been in bed when he came round.
Ghost, or Simon now, huffs again and moves to sit at the table where you placed his dish. Secretly he feels a bit guilty now, waking you up.
You both eat in a comfortable silence, Simon wolfs his own food down with astonishing speed.
“Good?” You ask laughing slightly. He just nods, with a hum of agreement and continues to eat.
Once you’re both finished, Simon awkwardly excuses himself, thanking you for the meal, saying you need your sleep and retreats to his own flat quite quickly, not leaving any room for an argument.
You pout slightly but the fact you’d had dinner together put a smile back on your face.
Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’d been determined to befriend him as soon as you met him. You had a feeling he didn’t have many people around him.
You had a smile on your face while you cleaned up. His walls were up but you wanted to wait for him to open the door, instead of breaking through.
However, when you settled back in bed, your mind turned back to the very sizeable bulge in his underwear.
You could see it twitching occasionally in your peripheral vision as you tried your best to focus on the poor man’s stitches.
Your hand started to snake down to your underwear, dipping under the waist band.
You moaned softly as you pressed your fingers to your clit, imagining it was Simon’s big hands instead.
You start a steady rhythm that has you breathless, when suddenly there’s a knock at your front door again.
Your hand flies out of your underwear like you’d just been caught in the act, your heart pounding.
You shuffle across your flat again and open the door, unchained before hand because who else would it be?
Simon stood there, red in the face as he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I um tore my stitches” he grunted out.
You give him an exasperated look as you pull him inside by his forearm.
“What do you mean you tore your stitches? You were gone for like 20 minutes” you sighed, getting your kit out again.
You stopped to wash your hands and remembered what you were doing just before he knocked and your felt your face heat up. Luckily he couldn’t see while you were facing the sink. You take a deep breath and turn back to him.
“Well?” You asked, looking at him. He’s not getting out of answering this time.
His eyes snap up to yours after they seemed to linger on your bare legs for a second.
“I was working out” he mumbled.
Ghost could lie, Simon however, it seems couldn’t lie quite as well. It wasn’t his performance, so much as it was that he’d just been stabbed, and it’s like three in the morning.
You sigh, not really believing him but too tired to argue.
“Take your shirt off again” you say as you ready your equipment, seeing the blood leaking through his shirt.
“Both of them” he mumbles, glancing down to his thigh, where you could see the blood coming through there too.
“The fuck Simon?” You huff. You’d just done these, how did he rip them so bloody quickly?
“Now you really have to tell me what you were doing, partly as payment for stitching you up again, and partly because you’re not allowed to do it again, until these have healed more” you say, looking at him expectantly.
Simon wasn’t looking at you, his eyes darting around your kitchen from where he sat on the stool. His face was starting to heat up as he avoided your harsh eye contact.
“Iwashavingawank” he mumbled so fast you couldn’t catch it.
“What?” You asked, wanting him to repeat it.
“I was jacking off okay? Fuckin’ hell..” He rushes out, taking you by surprise.
You stared at him for a second, unable to form a thought over the idea of him touching himself that entered your brain.
Touching himself so vigorously that he tore the stitches in his shoulder and thigh.
“Must be pretty pent up then” you try to joke it off, like you hadn’t just been doing the same thing to the thought of him.
“Something like that” he huffs, eyes darting towards you and then away again.
You finish patching up his shoulder again, applying a new adhesive bandage.
You move away so he can pull his dark coloured joggers down, but he didn’t move.
You simply stared at him, matching his usual energy, sleeplessness catching up with you.
He sighed and pulled the waistband down enough so you could fix his wound. As you crouched down between his legs again to inspect it, Simon’s hand moved to cover the bulge that started to form in his underwear.
You were practically on your knees in front of him, his body didn’t care that he’d just come to the thought of you like this.
He’d pulled his stitches when he’d finished, muscles tensing all over his body enough that they had popped from the unexpected strain.
In his weak defence, he hadn’t had time to tend to himself while he was away even once.
His quickly hardening problem was more obvious this time, the underwear he had on after his shower weren’t as tight.
You tried to ignore it best you could as you redid his stitching, intending to make some comfortable small talk like usual to make him feel better but your sleep deprived brain just blurted out “it’s okay, please don’t be embarrassed. It’s funny actually, before you knocked, I was doing the same thing”.
You froze when you realise what you said. So did Simon. The hand on his covered cock flexed slight.
Neither of you said anything, but you could feel his eyes on you as you finished his stitches and wrapped him up again.
When you were done, you slowly looked up at him, still crouched between his legs. The way he was looking at you made your face heat up. Like he wanted to eat you.
“What were you thinkin’ about?” Simon almost whispers to you.
Your eyes flicker down to his hand that’s basically gripping his clothed cock at this point, then back up to his hungry eyes. He catches it and something in his demeanour shifts.
“Oh yeah?” He asks more confidently, moving his hand over himself again to grab your attention.
It works and your eyes flicker down again. You make a show of dragging your eyes over his bare chest, freely staring now. You nod your head at him when your eyes meet his face, biting your lip.
Suddenly you’re being pulled to your feet, strong hands wrapping around your waist and the back of your head as you’re pulled into an incredibly heated kiss.
You wrap your arms around his neck when you get with the program, after a bit of shock wore off, and run your hands all through his short blond hair, tugging slightly when his teeth nip your lip.
He goes to pick you up from the backs of your thighs but you pull away and put your hand on his chest. He immediately pulls his hands away, holding them up like they’d burned you.
You pull him down for a quick peck, him willingly bending since he’s so much taller than you, to try sooth his worries that he didn’t do anything wrong.
“I wasn’t joking about earlier when I said you can’t do that till they’ve healed a bit more” you try to say sternly, looking up at him.
His face shifts from worried to slightly shocked, then he smirked slightly at you.
“I mean, I had something a bit more than that on my mind, I don’t know about you” he teased back, but his face fell when your serous face didn’t change.
“You’re kidding me” he stated flatly, not as a question because he could tell you weren’t.
“I’m not sewing you up for a third time tonight Simon, as much as I’d love to participate in other things you have in mind” you sigh, lightly tracing the bandage.
He starts to kiss down your jaw and nuzzle into your neck, pressing small kisses anywhere he can reach. He feels you sigh, leaning into him despite your words.
“I’ll be so careful, love” he whispers in your ear. Your heart flutters at the new term of endearment.
“I don’t believe you” you tried to huff, voice only wavering slightly at his actions. Your hands were still in his hair and the nails scraping over the nape of his neck made him shiver.
You’re trying to be the responsible one but your will is only so strong against this wall of raw muscle.
His hands ran all over your body, squeezing and groping anywhere he could reach.
It seems now Simon knew you weren’t going to reject his advances, the floodgates of how touch starved he actually was, opened.
You wanted this too, you were just being stubborn and worrying about him too much.
“I will, I’ll be careful, don’t want you t’ worry your pretty little head ‘bout me, just need you so bad love” he mumbles into your neck, pushing his hardness against your lower stomach.
He sucked a love bite into your neck, and as your hands tightened in his hair, he let out a groan.
Your will crumbled as you gasped his name. He groaned again at the sound of his name falling from your lips and brought his head up to kiss you again.
While you were distracted by his tongue behind your teeth, he lifted you onto the counter with mostly his good arm.
You gasped again at the sudden coolness of the counter, your hands starting to explore the canvas of his back muscles, squeezing at his good shoulder and biceps. He leans into your touches.
“You sure you want this?” He asks seriously, breaking away to look at you. Even on the counter, he’s still taller than you so you have to look up.
He’s not just asking about having sex. You can tell. He’s asking about all of him. He can’t do this and then walk away from you. You can’t either. If you do this, you’re his.
“Yes Simon, I want all of you” you say earnestly, looking into his eyes.
He holds your face in his big hands, searching your eyes for any sign you’re not sure, then pulls you to him in a kiss so fierce yet gentle it makes you want to cry, when he finds nothing but adoration in your eyes.
“Usually I’d pick you up and take you to your bedroom but I believe I made some stupid agreement to preserve my wellbein’ so you better get your stunnin’ little ass in there now” he commands, tone still light as he lifts you from the counter, spins you then starts to herd you from behind towards your room, slapping your ass lightly as he peels away from you to check the locks and turn all the lights off for you.
If he slipped across the hallway silently to grab one of his smaller guns, which he hid on the top of your wardrobe for now as your back was turned, you’d never know.
You jumped when he wrapped his warm arms around you, from where you stood clearing some of your things off the bed. You hadn’t heard him come up behind you at all.
“Sorry, love” he teased, not sounding sorry in the slightest, pressing kisses from your temple down your neck again. You sighed and relaxed into his hold.
“You really are like a ghost” you laugh, he huffs in acknowledgment against you but doesn’t say anything. Simon has more pressing matters to attend to.
He spins you round so you’re facing him, then crowds you backwards so you fall onto the bed. You expect him to follow you, but he just stands there at the end of the bed above you, staring again.
There’s a different gaze in his eyes this time though, he looks like he wants to devour you. It sends a shiver down your spine, he looks somehow, even more excitingly large from this angle.
Then your jaw drops as he literally falls to his knees in front of you. You barely have time to take in the sight before he’s pulling your hips towards him.
“Your shoulder” you yelp, trying to remind him to be careful through his man handling. He dips his head and lightly bites your thigh in retaliation. You cry out again which fades into a moan as his tongue soothes the sting.
Simon kisses your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need him but suddenly he wants to take his sweet time. You almost whine as you try to move your hips to urge him on, but his big arm to wraps around you to keep you still.
Taking pity on you, Simon presses the flat of his tongue over your wet underwear.
You do whine this time, eyes fluttering at the not quite enough feeling, while Simon groans at the taste leaking through from how wet you are. He ruts hips into nothing, eager for some friction that isn’t there.
Deciding he’s not in the mood for teasing you anymore, he makes quick work of your underwear, flinging it off to the side before he sets his tongue back on you, making contact with your puffy clit.
You arch your back as he runs his tongue though your wetness then back up to loop around your bud.
Your hand flies down to grip at his hair, while the other grips the bedsheets beside your head. He works you with his tongue on your clit, watching you intently to figure out what you like best.
Simon adds two of his thick fingers next, crooking them to find the spot that shoots pleasure up your spine.
“Ah! Simon” You cry, hurling towards your finish quicker than you ever expected when he finds it. He keeps his pace consistent as you start to rock your hips in warning of your oncoming orgasm. Not even a minute later and the damn breaks, your orgasm intense. You even feel it flood out of you around his fingers.
Simon decides he wants to hear your moans forever when you come on his fingers and tongue. He works you through it, wanting to savour every even small whimper you made for him. He drags his tongue over your entrance then licks his fingers clean, making eye contact with you as he does so.
“Holy shit” you puff out a breathy laugh.
“Feel good?” Simon checks in gently, nose pressing against your cheek as he came to lean over you.
“Mhm so good” you sigh, finally getting your breath back a bit as you kiss his pretty lips. He kisses you back then hooks his good arm round your waist, picking you up mostly with one arm to deposit you with your head in the pillows effortlessly.
You huff a laugh, smiling up at him, feeling fluttery at the show of strength.
“Be careful” you try to scold lightly, Simon just rolls his eyes at you and smiles. You smile wider, continuing your staring at his face which makes him blush slightly. How can this man eat you out like that but blushes when you see him smiling?
He taps out of the eye contact by kissing you again, then flipping so you’re on top of him.
“You know, on account of I’m injured n’ all” he smirks up at you. You raise an eyebrow at him, laughing, then duck your head to begin your path of gentle and not so gentle love bites down his chest.
You’re careful to avoid any areas that look sore. You’re sucking on skin too close to the bruises on his chest accidentally, and Simon bucks his hips up into you with a grunt. If it weren’t for his solid grip on your hips, you would have gone flying forward.
“Fuck baby” he groans, moving your hips back and forth as he grinds his hard on up into you, while you continue to give him love bites, exploring his muscled arms and chest.
You sink further down till you’re sat between his legs, kissing down his abs. They tense and quiver with your harsh sucking, leaving more makes across his abdomen and hips.
When you get to his waist band, you look up at him while your fingers curl over the edge, one last nod from him has you pulling them down.
His large, hard cock rests against his lower stomach, leaking and twitching when you kiss his hips again. There’s no way you’ll be able to fit the whole thing in your mouth.
Your mind flashes back to his teasing earlier and well, if he wanted to tease, you could too. You sucked bites into his inner thighs, watching them twitch along with his length.
Simon’s big hands come to wrap in your hair, not applying pressure, just holding. When you finally, finally kiss the base of his cock, he groans and his fists tighten.
“Fuck baby c’mon, I’m not gonna last like this. I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said it’s been a while” Simon groaned from above you as you placed small kisses up his length.
He felt like he hadn’t had that wank earlier at all, already ready to bust from weeks of pent up sexual frustration, and your teasing is only adding petrol to the fire.
You took pity on him, so you grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, leaning forward to give small experimental licks to the leaking head.
Simon gasped quietly, trying not to buck his hips or just force your head down. Pressing your tongue harder against the head, you drag it across the leaking slit, tasting the salty pool of pre he was creating.
He moaned this time, hands tightening further into your hair, pinpricks of mild pain across your scalp. You finally took him into your mouth and he groaned loudly, hips bucking up slightly where his self control is running out.
Bobbing your head up and down, you use your tongue to swirl around the head, pressing and licking with your actions.
“Fuck baby so good, mouths so pretty love” he groans from above you. You glance up and meet his already staring eyes. He’s flushed down to his chest, hazy eyes, looking like you hung the fucking moon for him.
When you make eye contact with him, with his cock nearly down your throat, he thrusts up into your mouth again. You hum around him to encourage it before he can apologise.
You feel him throb. He moans loudly again, thighs twitching at the sensation. Simon starts to slowly move his hips in a steady rhythm, and paired with your playful tongue and the humming, he’s not going to last long at all.
“Shit, fuck, oh my fuckin’ god I’m gonna-“ Simon grunts in warning, seconds before his cock throbs and his spend is shooting into your mouth. He groans long and low, as his incredibly intense orgasm passes through him.
He rocks his hips into your mouth, working himself through it. You swallow everything he gives you, and use your tongue to drag out his orgasm, long enough that he’s over sensitive, groaning and hissing as his thighs and hips twitch under the pressure of your tongue. He lets you though. He’d let you do anything you wanted to him.
When you release him from your torment, he’s still very much hard. Simon quickly pulls you up so you’re sat on his hips again, his hot cock settled between your bare wet folds. You moan at the sensation and can’t help moving your hips back and forth.
“Simon, want you inside me” you whine, feeling yourself coat his cock in your arousal, suddenly done with any and all forms of foreplay. You feel his dick twitch at your words.
“Fuck baby, c’me ’ere” his grunts out, pulling you down to kiss you again. His other arm goes to position himself at your entrance now you’re leaning forward. “You sure?” He asks one last time, pulling away from your lips slightly.
You nod quickly, “please, please” you start to beg, feeling him so close to where you want him.
“Okay, okay shh, I’ll give you what you need love, no need to beg me” Simon soothes, starting to press in. “Oh fuck baby, you’re so tight” he groans out, hissing as he slips further inside you, still sensitive from your mouth.
You’re glad that you’re so aroused for him, taking him is no easy task. You moan at how full you feel, walls fluttering to adjust to his size. You sit up slightly and slowly start rocking your hips down on him.
He stays still, letting you control the pace, for now.
His hand slips between your bodies to rub at your clit, distracting you from any discomfort. You both moan into each other’s mouths when his hips meet yours, and he’s bottomed out inside of you. So deep that he’s pressed against your cervix.
Simon can feel you clenching around him, adjusting to the large presence, and you’re both covered in a sheen of sweat now.
Simon gives your body a minute to adjust, getting the go ahead when you start moving your hips again, back and forth in circles, humming a moan.
“You ready?” He asks, pulling you back down to him and gathering some of your hair in his hand again, the other coming to guide your face to his, making you look into his eyes.
You blush, and smile as you nod, gently reminding him to be careful with his stitches again and then pressing your lips against his.
Slowly, he pulled out of you again while you kissed, till just the tip was left, braces you by wrapping a strong arm round your waist, and then he suddenly thrust back into you. Hard.
You cry out a moan into his mouth, mildly startled but it’s quickly overwhelmed by how good it felt. Your hands fly out to claw at his chest.
Simon starts a slow, powerful rhythm, pulling you back down onto him as he drives his cock up into you.
You can’t kiss him while he does this to you, so you hold yourself up on his chest above him, as eager to see his face during this as he was to see yours. The way you’re pressing down on him with your body weight, nails cutting into his skin makes him grunt, and snap his hips harder.
Simon’s glad you made him cum earlier, he wouldn’t have lasted two seconds with this sight above him. Your eyes are scrunching closed, although you seem to be trying to keep them open, but the pleasure he’s giving you is too much. You make heavenly noises, loudly crying out his name when he grinds up into you, catching your clit on his pelvis.
Loud staccato moans with every hard thrust up into you. He angles his hips so the head of his cock bullies the soft spot inside you with every thrust, making you keen. His hands grab anywhere they can reach, your chest, your ass, they hold you against him tightly.
Your nails rake down his upper chest, leaving raised red lines over his shoulders and even arms. Avoiding the stitched wound, but only just. He groans at the feeling and it spurs him on even more.
“So perfect baby, takin’ me so well” Simon mumbles, “so wet for me, could stay ‘ere forever”. He grunts his praises for you in between the moans and groans you’re ripping out of him.
As your orgasm starts to build, your arms shake with the weight of your body. When Simon sneaks a hand between you to play with your clit again, your arms give out and you wrap them around him instead, burying yourself in his neck.
“Come on baby, come on my cock” he grunts out, breathless with pleasure and the effort he’s putting into fucking you.
Two more strokes of his fingers, and you’re coming loudly on his cock. You feel it relight deep inside you with every rock of his hips, dragging it out, wave after wave of pleasure. He holds you tight against him with one arm, and his thrusts increase as you tighten impossibly around him.
“Yes, yes, fuck yes that’s it baby, come on my cock, gonna fill you up, fuck” Simon groans at the feeling, the way you’re fluttering around him drags his orgasm out of him as well. With a loud, rough moan, he’s slamming into you, once, twice, then he grinds as far in as he can go as his warm come covers your insides.
Breathing heavily, you both hold each other in a sweaty embrace for a while, till you start to drift off to sleep.
Simon manages to lift you enough to slide out from under you, albeit with your mumbles of protest when the warmth beneath you is gone.
He pads over to your bathroom to grab a cloth to wipe you down. He stops to look in the mirror to check his stitches, luckily they’d mostly held, somehow, but he needs to fix one or two on both his leg and shoulder. It only takes him a couple of minutes, expertly matching your stitches with the kit under the sink.
He applies a new adhesive bandage and you’d never even know. Not that he hadn’t genuinely needed your assistance whenever he came round, but one or two stitches was nothing. He can’t help but smile to himself as he takes in the sight of the many love bites scattered over his body, and the raised red lines from your nails.
Coming back to the bed, he wipes your sleepy form down, cleaning up the mess he left between your thighs, throws the cloth in the washing basket, then climbs back into bed with you. You’re already passed out, the late night and intense orgasms catching up to you.
Simon pulls you to him, and you move to rest your head on his chest in a half conscious state before you’re out again.
He plays with your hair while you drift back off, pressing a kiss to your temple as he looks around your room briefly, in an innocent curiosity of just wanting to know you better, before sleep over takes him.
For the first time in years, Simon sleeps peacefully.
Over the next few months, while Simon isn’t deployed, you continue to deepen your relationship together.
He’s always round at yours while he’s on leave now. He feels happy for once. Something that felt like he’d never have again.
You’d said “I love you” accidentally, while in the middle of what could only be described as an aggressive love making session.
Simon’s thrusts were deep and sensual, he’d been kissing every inch of skin he could reach, touching you with such care in contrast to the way he’s pushing his fat cock deep inside you.
He’d come when you said it.
“Oh god I love you too, fuck” he’d moaned through his orgasm, harshly thrusting himself through it.
“Shit, sorry” he grumbled sheepishly as his premature release, but you just dragged him into a deep kiss.
As the months went by, he ended up selling his own flat. He wasn’t there, any time he spend on leave, he was always at yours anyway. Now when he was deployed, he had someone waiting for him back home.
He actually wanted to make it home. He had to, for you.
Johnny was the first person to notice a change in Simon.
The first thing he noticed was that he appeared eager to leave base whenever they got back from a mission.
Johnny just chalked it up to Simon being sick of people, but he got more concerned when he noticed Simon was injured sometimes, and still left.
Johnny tried to ask him how he’s dealing with these injuries he leaves with but he just shrugs him off saying he deals with them himself. Not completely uncharacteristic and he’s not dead yet so Johnny leaves it for now.
The next time Johnny suspects something, he catches Simon on the phone while they’re resting in a safe house on a mission. They only have burner phones here so whoever it is, must have had the number, or Simon had the number.
He was too far away to hear anything, but that in itself was strange because he’s used to Ghost barking orders, leaving no room to be misheard. So who is Simon talking to so, so softly? Oh my god, did he just laugh?
When he tries to question Simon about who was on the phone later that night, he just shrugs him off again, staring hard in a way that left no room to argue.
The months drift by, and Johnny feels like he’s no closer to figuring out what’s going on with his Lieutenant, and why he’s suddenly not completely unpleasant to be around.
He’d caught Simon having some self inflicted fun once. That’s when he started to suspect Ghost might have got himself a little lassie.
It wasn’t the first time, for either of them to walk in on each other. It isn’t unusual for these men who are away for months, especially because they all live so close together, but the fact he seemed to hide a physical picture from him before bothering to hide his junk was very intriguing. Johnny had never seen him with that photo before.
All of Johnny’s current questions are answered one evening, Johnny is asking Simon about the tattoos on his hands.
They’re both drunk, bored out of their minds, trying to stake out a place for a mission except there’s no one coming in or out, and he asks about the line that runs across the base of his ring finger.
“Wedding ring” Simon mumbles out without really thinking, alcohol dulling his usually sharp mind. His fingers ran over it as he gazes down at it with a look that could only be described as longing.
“Wedding ring??” Johnny yells, way too loud for the late time of night.
“Ah shit…” Simon sighs.
Thank you for reading, this has also been cross posted on my AO3 • Masterlist • Photo used in header credit: BettyBRenders.
P★rnstar!Simon who was ready to leave the industry until Johnny showed him a video of yours one night.
Maybe one more video wouldn’t hurt.
P★rnstar!Simon who’s on the phone the next morning telling his manager to get something booked. He doesn’t listen when Price rambles on about how you have completely different audiences so it might not work.
“All due respect, I don’t care. Either way if I’m in a video, people will click regardless and by the looks of it the same goes for them and their viewers.”
P★rnstar!Simon who insists the two of you get to know one another before filming because if you want an intimate shoot, he’ll give you exactly that. What better way than to become familiar with each other? You know, just to double check the chemistry will be convincing. And who are you to turn down a free lunch date with an attractive man?
“No no, don’t worry about the bill, it’s on me.”
P★rnstar!Simon who brings you your favourite tea on the day of filming and thoroughly listens to you over everyone else on how you want it to be carried out. His usual onscreen genre hasn't been so tame but he finds himself looking forward to this scene with you more than anything he’s ever done in his career.
P★rnstar!Simon whose touch is so gentle and caring whilst filming. He takes his time, making sure everything he does is the way you want it. He keeps an eye on your every reaction, every sound he brings out of you. The scene is raw, natural and he forgets for a moment that the cameras are on the two of you. Has to stop himself from getting carried away, reminding himself that it’s all fake, even when it feels truly genuine.
“God, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, love.”
P★rnstar!Simon who has tons of videos published, and not a single one of them has him kissing his scene partner. Yet he just can’t stop his lips from connecting with yours as he shoots his cum deep inside you, hands intertwined.
P★rnstar!Simon who checks on you as soon as the cameras are off, making sure that you’re alright and everything's good.
“Y’alright sweetheart? Can I get you anything?”
P★rnstar!Simon who manages to get your number but is too scared to contact you after that day in case he screws up and says something that comes across as weird. It takes a lot of convincing from Johnny before he finally calls you one night.
P★rnstar!Simon who smiles to himself when you pick up. The two of you talking on the phone for hours about the most random things in the world until you both fall soundly asleep, phones still in hand.
Maybe next time you the two of you could have your own personal scene off camera...
♪ ༘⋆ SUMMARY: König doesn't go clubbing—not anymore. But when his new colleagues, all much younger than him, drag him along, he doesn't have a choice. What kind of club this is, he only figures out once he is there.
♪ ༘⋆ WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. glory holes. public sex club setting in the back room of a bar. age gap (reader is in her early - mid twenties, König is 35), sex without seeing the other person (glory holes, duh), König just wants to help but your pussy convinces him otherwise, mentions of alcohol, teasing, fingering, clit play, size kink!!! — König is big everywhere, german nicknames, manhandling, degradation, slow sex turned rough, pussy pronouns, respectful König, finishing on readers tummy, unwanted exhibitionism (?), big beefy man gets shy after he finishes, no aftercare, König yearns for u and ur 😸!! <33
♪ ༘⋆ AUTHOR'S NOTE: yeah alright, so I got a bit... TOO excited with this one. I still want to continue this but it didn't fit into one part, so I'll write and post part two somewhere soon! :3 I hope you are happy now, anon! another König fic for my König girlies (yall are so patient ilysm)
wordcount: 4,6k
When stationed in a foreign country, König, in contrary to others, much prefers his solitary time in the evenings. Only rarely would he join his mates to go out and find the nearest bar, drink a beer or two, perhaps three. That was about it.
And really, he’d much rather have stayed back in the residency today. Settle into life in a country he’s never been to, sleep early to get a hold of that damn jet lag he suffers each time he is stationed far away from home—but the downside of being surrounded by much younger soldiers is their drive. Their will and energy to go partying at least three times a week and the ceremonial bar hopping on the day of arrival.
Guess who had declined four times that day? Once at the airport, once on the bus, once when moving into the accommodations, and once fifteen minutes ago?
König.
Guess who was dragged along anyway?
Yep, him.
He should’ve caught the red flag when they passed all the famous, renowned bars he’d researched a month before his flight, instead wandering the narrow alleys where even his Google Maps could no longer follow lead.
Where the fuck were they going?
The answer came shortly after: Two of them pointed to a lone bar at the end of the street, comparing it to a website on their phone, which he couldn't entirely make out. The small group of men made noises of approval and hurried towards the flashing neon lights of the bar on the outskirts of the city.
After the incredibly awkward process of getting past the mean-looking bouncer at the entrance as a 35-year-old tall and beefy guy, König settles at the edge of the group, peacefully sipping his pint of beer as he overhears their conversations. Nothing interesting, per se—just the usual checking out girls their age, talks about the upcoming weeks, and how much cheaper the alcohol is here.
König can't blame them. When he was this young—ten, perhaps fifteen years ago—he was no different. Always on the go, getting blackout drunk almost every weekend. But things have changed. His head is pounding, temples aching from the strain of being up for over 40 hours without a minute of sleep. At the moment, he wishes for nothing more than a fucking bed and no flashing lights and blaring music flushing out the last bit of sanity he's held on to.
"You look awfully tired," one of his colleagues remarks, waving the bartender over. Just as König finished his drink, getting ready to leave. "Get this old fella another pint. It's on me, even. Elderly care, or somethin.'"
König sighs deeply, rolling his eyes. "I ain't old. Keep making jokes like that and I won't go easy on your hungover self tomorrow."
The young man next to him raises his hands in surrender, handing the bartender a five euro bill. "Alright, alright. Just wantcha to have some fun, ya know?"
Mhm, König grumbles, relaxing back into his chair with his new, cold pint of beer in his right hand.
The way things are going, he won't make it out of there any time soon.
Bad becomes worse when he overhears a couple of young guys walking in, chatting loudly about the 'room at the back', heading past the group of men settled at the bar without sparing the strong drinks any mind. They sounded awfully excited—a little too excited for his liking. And then, when König looks around—he realises just what kind of bar he's let himself be dragged into.
A fucking sex club in disguise.
He then looks up the name on Google Maps, which failed him on the way here.
Bingo.
"Why the fuck did we come here?" König growls beneath his breath, keeping his voice low so as not to attract unwanted attention—especially not from that one security guy who has been eyeing him the entire fucking time.
No wonder, he thinks. Wouldn't want the girls to break with a guy like him.
Good that he isn't very interested in girls—not tonight at least, and definitely not in a setting like this.
He shoves his glowing phone screen in their faces, and when they catch the reason behind his anger, their faces light up with knowing grins, chuckling.
Those bastards knew all along and didn't bother telling him.
"Just a bit of fun, big guy. We ain't gonna watch ya when you fuck, scout's honour!"
König is about to smash the fucking pint glass full of beer into their amused faces until he, just in time, remembers the security guy.
He sets the glass back down.
"I am not going to do… that. You're young, go have fun. It's bedtime for old guy me, hm?" König offers instead, his mask hiding the fake smile he puts on for some extra sarcasm.
"'S just a joke. Get you to ease up a bit, huh?" Another guy further down the table offers, tilting his glass towards him.
Ease up, alright. Nope. Who do they think he is? Fucking random girls in a sex club?
・・・
Conversations surrounding him are blurry as he gets lost in thought once again, and one after one, his colleagues leave the bar table and venture to the darker areas at the back of the club, abandoning their half-empty drinks.
It'd be a good time to leave then—as nobody seems to be paying attention to him anymore, focused on either hitting up girls in the "innocent" part of the bar or already six inches deep in one of the women in the back.
After finally having his much-needed peace, König decides one more drink won't hurt.
Or two.
And when none of his colleagues are in sight any longer and his head is spinning with the buzz of alcohol and exhaustion—he really thinks it's time to go.
He wants to, he really does—but suddenly, right after that midnight mark, flashing lights turn low, the music sensual and rhythmic, and the alcohol in his system only makes that familiar fuzzy feeling in his lower abdomen grow. Just like that, he suddenly is no longer as opposed to checking out the back of the bar.
Which he has, until now, so adamantly refused.
Just for a look, he tells himself. König finishes his beer, tips the bartender a good amount of money, and stretches the sore muscles of his legs before he gets up and disappears into the darkness himself.
After he enters, receiving another dirty glance by the guy standing guard at the door with a sign reading "Velvety Dreams", written in a fancy, red font, his eyes widen in surprise.
Dim, red lights, rows of tall wooden structures, moaning women, groaning men—it is all too much for his poor tired, drunk head.
Holy fucking shit.
Besides that it fucking reeks of sex and sweat, he is somewhat glad that the room is almost completely dark besides the lights shining on each… conveniently positioned and tied-up girl. Nobody could really see others in the dark, except if you actually decided to participate and not just watch—which he, of course, won't do.
He'd just watch—because now that he is here, he can't deny that he's somewhat intrigued. Somewhat.
Heavy footsteps carry him forwards, his eyes busy trying to take in the scenes playing out right beside him—a woman with her legs spread wide and ankles tied to hooks a few inches above the floor, only her ass, the back of her legs, and her lower back visible as the rest of her body is hidden behind the small square opening.
Her legs are long, almost too long with the heels she's wearing for the guy behind her to reach—and yet, with every vile thrust into her, her booty jiggles, loud moans muffled slightly by the barrier between the two.
And when he slaps her ass, her moans only growing louder, offering a deeper arch of her hips, encouraging him for more—König has to turn his eyes away.
Fuck. He is fucking hard. Not just semi-hard either. Full on, a visible bulge denting his pants, cock throbbing with neglect and want.
König looks the other way, but it doesn't get any better. A woman lies on her back with her legs bound wide to the sides of the wall, hips peeking out far enough for the other woman with a huge, and he means it, huge fucking strap-on to pound her into oblivion, her thighs blooming with dark bruises and deep-red scratch marks.
And she's so fucking loud—enjoying every second of it.
He's dizzy—so fucking dizzy with both exhaustion and lust, he feels like he may faint any second.
With unsteady legs, he makes it to the very last section, welcome silence surrounding him. He breathes in deeply, steadying himself against the wooden structure—closing his eyes for a good three seconds. He needs to calm the fuck down, get ahold of himself, and get rid of the raging boner currently making him look like a damn weirdo.
König's eyes blink open a few moments later, determined to make it out of here and to the safety of his bed. And, in his defence, he makes it more than one step in the right direction—until, from the corner of his vision, he catches something.
Someone gorgeous—even as most of their body is hidden.
You.
No name, no face, as it is customary here. Every woman offering herself is strictly anonymous—and so are you. He merely catches your pretty, plush thighs, ankles bound tightly at approximately the height of his chest—for other men, they probably exceed their height. You're wearing his favourite nail polish too—a beautiful shade of dark red. Your heels lie abandoned on the floor, and he thinks that perhaps, for a beautiful lady like you, he should at least be kind enough to pick them up and help you slip into them, no?
Big mistake. Irreversible, too.
Because once he bends down to pick them up, his eyes are level with your hips. Your pussy. Glistening with arousal, folds slick with the evidence of your lust. Ready and waiting for someone to take you.
Fucking hell.
His hand reaches out to touch you—but he draws back before your skin makes contact. Instead, he helps you into your heels like he planned—carefully, awfully tender—and then, he takes a much-needed step back.
But you—left empty and wanting the entire evening—have been lit aflame by his touch. Your hips jerk forwards on the leather cushion beneath you on instinct, chasing the gentle brush of his fingers on your skin.
König shakes his head no. No, he can't do this—he shouldn't. But at the same time, he closes the distance between you two again, his rough, calloused hands drawing patterns onto the skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper and arch your back in response.
"Liebling," König murmurs, dragging his fingertips down the back of your thigh longingly, eyes locked onto your pretty, soaked pussy on display for him, illuminated just by the dim, red LED lights shining on you from above. "You're too young for me. Way too young."
The gravel in his voice, the pain behind his words, makes you fucking clench. Too young? You've fucked men over twice your age, and you heavily doubt he is anywhere near that old.
"'M not," you slur, thighs trembling as his fingers make their way upwards again, brushing over the inside of your knees. You know that he's fighting his rationality here, realise that this is not a man from town. The nickname, first of all. His accent is different too. Germanic—Austrian, you figure. "Please, I need it—need you to fuck me."
König groans. Fucking groans at your sweet words coaxing him closer, making him want you more than he already does. And then—his finger dips. Dips to your pussy, slipping in between your sticky folds—trailing from your pulsing hole to your swollen clit, circling gently with the pad of his thumb.
A low growl reverberates in his chest when he feels your wetness coat his finger—at how big his hand feels in comparison to your thighs, waist, pussy.
You moan at the much-needed relief on your poor clit, your hips jerking forward for more of his touch. You're intoxicated—perhaps because no one this evening has acknowledged your presence until now—or maybe because he is focusing on you and not on himself as men usually do.
"More," you gasp, fingers clenched into fists where they are tied. "Please, more."
"Greedy girl," König drawls, chuckling to himself, both of his thumbs spreading your folds apart for his searing gaze, watching as your entrance drools with slick.
With lust—all for him.
"Let me get you ready first, ja?" he proposes, coating his middle and index finger with your arousal, using both of his hands on you as his left rests on your lower tummy, drawing slow, tight circles on your sensitive clit while the fingers of his other tease your drooling hole, applying gentle pressure until one of his digits slips inside.
You gasp as it does—jaw slack as you try to get used to the stretch. He stays perfectly still inside you, letting you feel. And feel, you do. How could just one of his fingers be this fucking—
Your thoughts are cut short when he starts with a slow pace, fucking you with his finger until you tremble and moan, walls clenching greedily around him.
König thinks you can take two, hopes you can. Because now that your pussy's been soaking his hand, making a mess on the both of you—he won't leave this fucking place without having fucked you properly.
He applies the gentlest bit of pressure at your entrance, pushing it in to the first knuckle—your cunt fluttering around the invasion, though still sucking him in deeper, even as you whimper at the burn between your thighs.
"Tiny fuckin' pussy, baby. Shit—" König grumbles, watching his second finger slip in alongside the first, ensnaring him. The chain around your ankles prevents your legs from closing around him, even as they shake with strain—and on the other side of the wall, you've gone quiet, breathing through the sting until it settles.
He can't help but feel bad for you, for this. For choosing you out of all girls available, for essentially breaking you in with just his fingers—let alone his cock, which is weeping with precum and so hard, it fucking hurts.
"Don't know if you can take me yet, sweetie." König breathes out, voice coming out rough, continuing his ministrations on your clit to get you to loosen up for him, fingertips massaging right over that sensitive spot inside you, curled expertly.
Pain bleeds into pleasure slowly but surely, and your hips relax onto the leather cushion, gentle thrusts of his wrist drawing slick, wet sounds from your pussy. Your lips part for soft moans, encouraging him to go faster—and he does. He reads you like a book, helps you relax around his fingers as though he knows just which strings to pull to accustom your body to his own.
"I— I can, please—" you stutter, tilting your hips towards him to show just how sure you are. Can't be much worse than his fingers, right? "Please… sir."
"You can call me König," he says lowly, pushing inside knuckle-deep, making you squeal—and when he lingers there for a second too long, you begin thrusting yourself onto his fingers, not minding the limited range of motion this position gives you.
Fuck. He is fucking doomed.
"König, please." you mewl, clenching down around his digits. "Want your cock—so badly."
He growls. A deep, rough sound from the back of his throat. Showing you just how much he's been holding back. But you—you don't want him to hold back any longer.
You want him to fuck you.
Break you, if he so wishes.
König's fingers slip from your sopping wet pussy with a loud squelch, and even though you cannot see him—you can hear him sucking his fingers clean. Tasting you on his tongue, savouring you. Your walls clench at the image in your head. Fuck.
König thinks he may actually come untouched for the first time in his life when your scent meets his tastebuds. You taste like the sweetest, most forbidden fruit in the whole garden of Eden. Young and pretty—too sweet for his rough hands, which are covered in scars, skin thick and calloused with wear—with violence and death.
But still, he wants this. Just once—wants to feel your tight pussy stretch impossibly wide around his cock, wants to watch you tremble trying to take him.
Naive little girl, thinking you could.
His hands make quick work of his belt and the zipper of his pants, tugging them down just far enough to free his aching cock—thick and hard, veins stretching beneath the thin skin. His tip is flushed, swollen, and glistening with precum—so sensitive, he curses as he gives himself a few slow pumps, at the same time playing with your pussy, which you eagerly grind against his hand.
"You wanted this, Maus. Better remember—because once I start," he growls, slapping his cock on your slick pussy a few times, making you whimper. "I won't be able to fucking stop."
"Fuck me, König," you blurt out, clit pulsing at the feeling of his cock so close where you need him most. "Take what's yours."
König growls at your words, warm, rough hands spreading your thighs apart further, pulling you towards the edge of the leather cushion you are lying on. He lets his cock glide up your slit, making sure he coats himself with your arousal before he does anything else.
"Ready?" he asks huskily, admiring how pretty you look, ready and waiting in the low red light perfectly accenting your curves and want for him. When a muffled "yes" comes as a response, your back arching towards him—he can no longer help himself.
König lines up the head of his cock with your pulsing, drooling hole, his hips jerking forwards on instinct—burying the first two inches of his girthy length inside you without a prior warning.
A broken whimper escapes your lips—every muscle in your body locking up. You may have underestimated his size slightly. Massively.
König notices the change immediately—thumb finding your clit once more, easing the tension in your muscles, shushing you. "Come on, sei ein braves Mädchen. Take what you were begging me for so sweetly."
"Hmmph—" you manage, sucking in a few deep breaths, trying to relax around him. "'S— so big, fuck—"
König's lips curl into a knowing grin. He fucking told you, but stubborn you did not want to listen. "Shh. Focus. Focus on me, Maus."
His hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit when he feels you loosen up slightly—thumb still toying with your swollen clit, drawing soft whimpers from your lips. Your walls flutter around him in protest, but now that you're no longer gripping him as tight as a vice, they only suck him in deeper.
"She wants more, doesn't she?" König mumbles, his grip on your thighs bruising. "Wants to take me all."
"Yes," you gasp, gripping tightly at your cuffs, groaning when he sinks another inch inside of your tight warmth. "Gimme— wanna f— feel all of you inside me."
His hands wander to your hips instead, angling them upwards, keeping you right where he wants you—and then, with one single, sharp thrust, he drives himself home.
"S-Shit!" you cry out, your eyes widening, legs trembling violently, making the metal of your binds rustle loudly. You've never felt this full. This stretched. You feel everything—every vein, every twitch of his thick cock currently nestled inside you, tip nudging at your cervix.
"Tight little thing, fuck," König growls, keeping your hips flush to his, not allowing you to escape him. Not when he just made you take all of him. Not when you are pulsing and clenching around him so sweetly, basically begging for more—you would take him. You would let him ruin you.
Surrounding noises have long blurred, his sole focus lying on you, on your pretty pussy stretching around his cock, on the sweet sounds you make just for him. He keeps your trembling legs spread open wide for him as he withdraws half of his length and slams back inside, drawing a filthy moan from you.
That's when he knows you are ready. You are ready to take what he's going to give you.
"Good fuckin' girl. Gettin' all worked up for me, hm? Let me show you what happens to greedy sluts like you."
The rhythm that he sets is absolutely ruthless—quick, harsh snaps of his hips against your ass, the sound of skin smacking against skin echoing around you. His big hands grip you tightly, keeping you perfectly still—hell, tilting and bending you as he pleases. You just know the man opposite of the barrier between you two is tall and strong, years of hard work making it possible for him to use you like this.
And fuck, do you love it. This is by far your favourite memory of the club since you started coming here on the weekends—most men are boring, don't know what they're doing. But him? God, you don't want it to end. You want him, need him to chase his pleasure inside you—fill you with his warmth.
"K-König, please! So good, you're so— so good!" you squeal, your heels slipping from your feet and dropping to the floor again from the sheer force with which he drills himself inside of you.
Slick sounds come from where you are connected, where he fucks his cock into you—watching you swallow his length with his ocean-blue eyes, not even daring to blink. He does not want to waste a single second of this, of seeing you writhe beneath him, moaning like a goddamn pornstar. For him—he is making you do this.
What neither König nor you realise is that you've drawn quite the attention to yourselves—your loud moans and squeals, accompanied by his harsh thrusts and occasional groans, are by far the loudest in the whole room. People are actively watching him fuck you—and they're enjoying it, asking themselves who this mysterious, tall, and broad guy is who's fucking the club's treasure—as you are called—brainless.
König's focus does not expand beyond your body. His eyes are locked on you, on your lower tummy—how there's a bulge each time he thrusts deep, how your cunt is drooling slick all over his cock and balls, dripping down your ass and on the black leather cushion beneath you.
His pace on your clit increases, angling his thrusts to brush right against that one spongey spot inside your velvety walls. He feels his own high nearing, the knot in his lower abdomen tightening.
He is going to fucking come, and it's all because of your sweet little pussy wrapped so snugly around him.
"Fuckin' made for me, Liebling. Never gonna forget you, now. Fuck." he growls, slamming inside your slick walls as though it's the last time he gets to have sex. His thrusts carry a meaning now—cock throbbing inside you, twitching with the need to come. "Going to come—breed this tight pussy like she deserves."
Fuck, König thinks, snapping out of it for a moment.
He does not know proper sex club etiquette. Would you let him come inside? Paint your walls white with his release? Or would you rather have him pull out instead?
Not knowing whether you'd appreciate him finishing inside, he decides not to take the decision from you.
When your moans grow louder, pussy squelching and clenching around him uncontrollably, König knows you are right at the precipice of your orgasm—and so is he.
He encourages you with words, thrusting deep. "Come for me, Süße. Come all over my cock like the good girl I know you are."
His next thrusts purposefully hit your sweet spot, having you tumble over the edge with a whimper of his name, cunt tightening around his pistoning cock, milking him. You are trembling, shaking with the force of your orgasm, and König fucks you through it—and right when you've come down from your high, he pulls out, thick, white ropes of his cum shooting all over your lower tummy and the mound of your pussy, some of it catching on the thin stripe of hair you left there.
It takes König's sharp, trained military senses approximately three more seconds to realise people have been watching all this time. Watching him fuck you, rutting into you like a fucking animal. And to his surprise—they fucking clap when he turns around, clearly impressed.
But König is no extrovert—never been. And definitely not an exhibitionist either. He's never done this before—fucking a woman in a public setting with others observing, above all things.
Embarrassment makes his cheeks heat up, flushing a deep shade of red—conveniently hidden beneath his mask. He's quick to tuck himself back in, clear his throat, and storm out of that damn room—leaving the damp, sex-laden air behind as well as the blissful feeling of his high, which was cut short.
Leaving you behind, on top of everything.
・・・
"You comin' back after all, old man?" one of his colleagues teases, grinning. The group has returned to their drinks at the bar, all of them wearing the same, awful expression. "Been missin' you. Had fun, yeah?"
"Fuck off," König mutters, grabs his phone from the table, and leaves that godforsaken building.
Air. He needs air. And a fucking bed. The sun is rising behind the horizon, and when he checks the time, he curses himself.
It's past 6 in the morning. He'd have to be up and going in less than two hours.
He groans, heading back to their base without the others. Two hours of sleep are better than nothing, especially after having been up for almost fifty hours now.
As soon as he sinks into the soft mattress of his bed, he is off to sleep. Perhaps he is getting old.
The first day back at the base is bad. Really. Fucking. Bad. First, because he is suffering from the worst headache ever, second, because his body is no longer used to the harsh exercises, and third, most importantly, because he cannot concentrate. Cannot fucking get himself to concentrate when its you who is plaguing his mind, your sweet little voice, your tight pussy… he has a raging boner while in the midst of combat training.
As a 35-year-old man.
König is almost glad when the day is over, and his last appointment is dinner. But bad can always become worse—and it does for poor introverted him.
"You need to teach us how to do that." One of the guys blurts out after taking a big sip from his drink, the others agreeing with smirks on their faces.
"To do what?" König responds, going through all methods he used in close combat today… and comes to no result. He was awful today, not his usual self.
The guys grin, replaying in their heads what they witnessed the previous night.
"She was the fucking loudest in the entire room, mate!"
Thanks for reading! Feel free to reblog and leave feedback. <33
-> and if you wish to be tagged for part two, let me know!
Synopsis: Between teasing touches, whispered confessions, and the kind of intimacy that feels dangerously consuming, Vessel realizes he’s already far too gone to escape you.
Word Count: 5,9k
Warnings: SMUT: handjob, oral sex with female receiving, spanking (just a lil bit), love bites, unprotected penetrative sex, slight choking, creampie.
Disclaimer: This story respects Sleep Token’s anonymity
A/N: This chapter is basically the calm before the storm, so enjoy it while you can ;) Also, I hope you enjoy diving a little deeper into Ves’ head. I definitely love writing from his POV. Have a good reading!
SERIES MASTERLIST
“You keep looking at me like that.”
The words slipped from his mouth before Vessel could stop them, low and rough, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. The air felt thick around you, warm, carrying the faint scent of sweat, skin, and something uniquely yours that clung to him now as if it had always belonged there.
Time stretched slowed. Bent around you.
He was tired, his muscles still holding the memory of the stage, the lights, the weight of hours without rest, but none of that mattered now. Sleep didn’t touch him. Couldn’t reach him. Not when you were there. Not when you were lying in front of him like that.
Bare. Soft. Real.
Your skin caught the low amber light from the lamp beside the bed, giving you that subtle glow, sweat drying slowly across your shoulders, the curve of your hips. That post orgasm faint flush still painted your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, your breathing slower now but still uneven in that way he had learned to recognize.
After. Because of him.
Your eyes were on him. Only him. And that… That was the part that undid him the most.
“Like what?”
You asked, your smile stretching just a little wider, playful, almost innocent if he didn’t know better. Your voice was soft, warm, still a little hazy, and it wrapped around him in a way that made something deep in his chest tighten.
“You know… like I’m the most incredible guy on the planet.” He said, reaching forward, his finger brushing your nose in a light, teasing boop.
You shifted on the bed, still lying on your stomach, your legs bending at the knees again, feet lifting and swaying lazily behind you - slow, rhythmic, deliberate. Not accidental. Never accidental.
And fuck… you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
You let out a soft laugh. It was small, quiet. But it hit him harder than anything else in that moment. Something inside his chest twisted, tight, sharp, and at the same time his cock pulsed hard inside his pants, heavy and demanding, reacting instantly, brutally.
There was nothing subtle about that part of him.
He was stalling. Dragging this out because for him, this… this quiet, this closeness, this way you looked at him… it mattered. And because having you come in his mouth was as satisfying as if he had come himself. He couldn’t even explain it, but it was true.
Vessel had never felt so satisfied in giving as he did when he was with you. He didn’t even understand it. Didn’t question it. Just felt it.
And it was real.
You hummed, low in your throat, like you understood him better than he understood himself.
“That’s because you are. And because I’m still not used to looking at you like this.”
You moved closer, slow, unhurried, your arm sliding around his waist, your body fitting against his like it had learned him already. Your chin rested against his chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against his skin, light enough to tease, firm enough to ground him. Looking at him with something that could only be described as adoration in your eyes.
You sighed.
“I don’t think I’ll get used to it anytime soon.”
He let out a soft snort, automatic, almost defensive. His mind rejected the words before they could settle, before they could mean anything. But you didn’t react to that. You didn’t pull away, just kept going.
“It’s the same with your voice. My brain still hasn’t adjusted to the sound of it when you talk to me. So I need moments like this… to make sure it’s real and I’m not dreaming.”
So cute. How could you be so deliciously seductive and at the same time so cute? Vessel felt it again, that split inside him. The urge to pull you closer and protect you from the world and all your problems, and the equally strong pull to ruin you completely, to fuck you senseless until you couldn’t even walk.
To take. To claim. To lose himself in you until there was nothing else left.
“I think staying silent for so long worked in my favor,” he murmured, his voice softer now, fingers moving to your face.
His thumb brushed your cheek slowly, deliberately, feeling the warmth of your skin. His fingers caught a loose strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness that didn’t match the way his body was reacting to you.
His teeth pressed lightly into his lower lip as he watched the color rise in your cheeks again.
God, he loved that. Every tiny, involuntary reaction your body gave him.
“See? You blush just hearing my voice,” he teased, quieter now, closer.
You smirked. That small, knowing expression that always meant trouble. You looked away for just a second, then rested your head on your hand, your other hand sliding back to his chest, slow, intentional.
Your fingers traced down. Paused, then moved back up again.
Dragging. Testing. Provoking.
His skin reacted instantly, goosebumps spreading under your touch. His breath shifted. And his cock throbbed again beneath the fabric, harder this time, heavier, almost aching.
And this time you noticed.
Your hand drifted lower.
When you touched him through his pants, his entire body responded. A sharp inhale. A subtle jerk of his hips toward you before he could stop himself.
His cock pulsed under your palm - helpless, obvious - and when he looked at you, that small smile on your lips shattered whatever composure he still had left.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said, voice rough, a little uneven, giving him away completely.
“What? This…?” You squeezed him just enough. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to make him want more.
His body reacted immediately. A low, broken sound slipped from him - embarrassing, unfiltered - and he didn’t even try to stop it.
“I’m just using the weapons I have. Or do you think it’s fair that only you get to have power over me?”
The way you said that. He knew you were joking, but he also knew there was truth underneath. Vessel wasn’t ignorant of the power he had over you. Again, it had never been intentional, but he could very clearly see the kind of dependency he was awakening in you, and he wasn’t exactly willing to do anything to change that.
He needed you too. In his own way. More than he wanted to admit.
Your hand moved again. Slow strokes over the fabric. The friction alone made him groan, low and helpless, his head tilting back slightly.
He was painfully hard for you. And you knew it.
You smiled wide, and something in his chest tightened sharply. His hand moved without thinking, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin again.
“You’re dangerous, sugar.”
The words slipped out, quieter this time. More honest.
“Me? Why?” you asked, tightening your grip again, stroking him firmer now.
“F-fuck...”
Vessel closed his eyes, feeling his entire body tingle. He was close to coming. It was almost pathetic, but he hadn’t come in days, and after having you come in his mouth like that, he was more than stimulated, and your not-so-innocent teasing was more than enough for him to release all the pressure built up over the past days.
You didn’t wait for him to answer. Your hand slipped inside his pants and started to stroke him faster now, your fingers pressing just enough to make him whimper, but not enough to get him there.
Your eyes stayed locked on his, watching every reaction he could no longer hide behind the mask. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. To be seen by you like that, without barrier, without protection, without filter.
Just the truth.
Then you stopped for a moment and pulled back enough to sit on your knees. You tugged at his pants, and he lifted his hips immediately, helping you lower them just enough to give you room to work. You licked your palm in the sexiest gesture you could manage and grabbed him again, firmer now, with more intent, your fingers squeezing deliciously tight, stroking him hard and making his hips jerk against your fist, chasing more of the pleasure you were giving him.
“Like this?” you asked, your voice dripping with that mix of sweetness and filth that drove him insane. In a way that should’ve been illegal.
He clenched his jaw, his eyes closing involuntarily, and all he could do was nod.
Exactly like that.
It was how you could completely undo him without any effort at all.
He heard you chuckle softly, his eyes opening just in time to see you let a string of saliva fall over him, only to spread it with both hands.
The sounds -slick, obscene -mixed with the ones he couldn’t stop anymore.
The sensation made his whole body tremble.
Wet. Warm. Perfect.
“That’s right, darling… fucking ruin me.” He whispered, his fingers finding your hair, tangling in it as he pushed your head forward without any subtlety, urging you to take him in your mouth. But you didn’t obey this time. Instead, you let go of him, grabbed his hand, and pinned it against the pillow before going back to your work.
And fuck, that shit was hot.
Vessel closed his eyes, surrendering to your touch, your hands working him with a skill only you seemed to have, soft and firm at the same time, fast and then slow, pushing him to the edge just to pull him back again—and it was delicious, but he was past his limit. He needed his release.
“S-sugar… please…” His voice came out strained as his fingers clutched the pillowcase, searching for something to hold onto while you tortured him so sweetly.
“Hmm.” You teased, the sound dripping with mischief. “Tell me what you need, Ves.”
“Y-you…” He answered immediately. “Make me come.”
You let out a small moan, your fingers tightening just a little more, hands stroking a little faster, but still not enough.
“And how do you want me to do that?”
He didn’t think, he just reacted to your question, his hand immediately grabbing your face, ready to push. He needed your mouth, he needed to be inside you somehow. But you didn’t oblige, you were willing to make him come just with your hands, and he had no doubt it would be enough.
But then you opened your mouth and took his thumb inside, starting to suck. And that did something to him. His whole body trembled, his cock throbbing pathetically in your hands in spasms.
You opened it for him, letting him move his finger inside, and he immediately started fucking your mouth with it, replacing his thumb with his index and middle fingers, watching the way your lips stretched around them, how your saliva coated them, the warmth of it, seeing your eyes nearly roll back because you were getting off on it just as much as he was.
And your hands... they never stopped.
Vessel moaned loudly, the tension snapping hard as his release hit in hot bursts over your hand.
“O-oh shit… oh fuck… s-sugar..."
He barely made sense now, but you moaned in response, sucking his fingers with hunger before pulling them out.
His body was shaking, but you kept stroking him, a satisfied little smile playing on your lips as your hands moved up and down, spreading the mess of cum he had made on himself.
The wet, sticky sound was obscene in the quiet of the room, reaching his ears and making his skin prickle, a sharp, lingering sensitivity crawling under it.
It didn’t take long before the stimulation tipped into too much. His body tensed, breath catching, and you noticed immediately. You always did. You stopped before it could overwhelm him, your fingers stilling against him, your touch easing off just in time.
“Satisfied?” he asked, like he was the one teasing, like he wasn’t the one still visibly affected. His chest rising a little faster than it should. His voice just slightly rough around the edges.
You smiled openly and nodded.
Of course you were.
His hand came up to your face, fingers still shaking as they brushed along your cheek, guiding you gently toward him. You gave in this time, letting him pull you closer, and you met your lips with his.
He kissed you slowly at first, but deeply, deliberately. His mouth claimed your lips with a quiet intensity, his tongue slipping past them, exploring, pressing, tasting. There was something almost obsessive in the way he kissed you like that - lingering, thorough - as if he needed to feel you there, needed to ground himself in the warmth and softness of your mouth.
His tongue moved against yours with purpose, slow and consuming, taking his time like he was reclaiming control through that contact alone. It made something low in his chest tighten, something possessive and still hungry, even after everything.
It was you who broke the kiss, pulling back just enough, eyes showing clearly the intent of continuing exactly where you had left off.
Vessel was still hard. There was nothing he could complain about in that regard. His stamina had always been unfair, almost endless when desire and anticipation aligned like this.
And you… you were all the stimulation he needed.
You took him in your hand again, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as you spat on him once more, your fingers spreading the saliva slowly, deliberately, your gaze never leaving his.
He bit down on his lower lip to hold back a groan, watching you swing your leg over his hip, positioning yourself with quiet confidence as you guided him inside.
You both moaned loud, unrestrained, the moment you sank down onto him.
His head tipped back slightly at the feeling, eyes closing for half a second as your warmth enveloped him, his hands instinctively finding your hips, fingers tightening there.
But you didn’t move.
You just stayed there.
“Tell me why I’m dangerous.” you challenged, that slight bratty edge in your voice. It was new, but he liked it.
He lifted his hands and you took them immediately, your fingers interlacing with his as you balanced yourself to move, riding him slowly. Sensually, chasing something he was more than willing to give you.
Again and again.
Your question mande him groan. His mind flooding with answers he couldn’t say out loud without revealing too much. So he gave you the only one he could.
“Because you make me feel like this.”
It seemed to be enough. You closed your eyes, savoring it, your head falling back, your body completely open to him as you kept moving, your movements becoming stronger, faster.
And God…
You were going to ruin him all over again if he let you. And he was more than willing to let you.
...
Your eyes closed for just a second, savoring his answer as much as the feeling of him inside you. It was overwhelming - too much and not enough all at once - challenging and delicious in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.
The room felt warm, the air thick, every small sound amplified, the faint rustle of sheets beneath you, the quiet hitch in his breathing, the soft creak of the mattress shifting with each movement. Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric, grounding yourself as sensation flooded through you.
But Vessel had surrendered control for too long.
You could feel it in the way his breath deepened, growing heavier with each passing second. In the tightening of his hands around your hips, fingers pressing more firmly into your skin. In the way his rhythm lost that careful restraint, his body beginning to move with something more urgent, more instinctive - seeking, needing.
He couldn’t hold back anymore.
A minute later, he shifted decisively. His hands gripped your waist, firm but controlled, guiding you as he turned you beneath him. The sudden change made the sheets twist under your body, your breath catching as your back met the mattress.
“Turn over.”
His voice came out low, rougher now, edged with something that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
Your pulse jumped.
There was something in his tone - something commanding, something that slipped under your skin and settled deep, almost primal in the way it made your body respond before your mind could catch up.
You obeyed, moving quickly, positioning yourself on all fours for him. The mattress dipped under your weight, your palms pressing into the sheets as your hair fell forward slightly.
But he clicked his tongue immediately. Both hands returned to your hips, firmer this time, guiding you down.
“On your stomach.”
His voice had dropped even lower, thick with want.
You exhaled softly and complied without hesitation, lowering yourself until you were lying flat. The sheets were warm against your skin, slightly rumpled beneath you. You turned your head to the side just as he reached for a pillow, pulling it beneath you with a quiet rustle.
The shift lifted you just enough, adjusting your position.
Then his hands found yours.
He guided them gently but deliberately, bringing them together above your head, pressing them into the pillow. His touch lingered there for a moment, just long enough to make your breath hitch, before his hands began to wander.
Slowly. Carefully.
His palms slid over your shoulders, down your back, tracing the curve of your spine with a deliberate softness that made your skin prickle. His touch was warm—always warm—contrasting with the cooler air brushing over the places he left behind.
You felt it everywhere.
Every inch of contact, every subtle shift of his fingers.
A quiet breath slipped past your lips as his hands continued downward, gliding over the dip of your lower back before settling on your hips, squeezing gently. Testing, grounding.
Then lower.
Your breath caught.
His hands moved over your ass, fingers pressing in, shaping, holding, before, without warning...
A sharp smack.
Not hard, but enough.
A gasp tore from your lips, your body jolting slightly against the mattress as the sting bloomed across your skin, warm and immediate. The sensation lingered, a dull heat spreading outward, mixing with everything else until it made your head spin.
Your thighs pressed together instinctively.
A soft, helpless sound slipped from you - something between a whine and a breath - and behind you, he let out a quiet chuckle. Low. Amused. Knowing.
Another slap followed.
This time firmer.
The sound echoed softly in the room, followed by the sharp intake of your breath as the heat flared again, stronger now.
“Ves…”
His name left your lips like a warning, fragile and unsteady. But it carried no real resistance. Not when another sound followed it, betraying you completely.
Another soft noise. Another reaction you couldn’t hide.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from your chest. Every nerve in your body felt lit, alive, stretched tight with anticipation.
Then he pulled away.
You felt it immediately - the loss of his warmth, the mattress shifting as his weight left it. The faint sound of movement behind you, fabric sliding against skin, the quiet exhale of breath as he finished undressing.
Your fingers curled into the pillow.
And then he was back.
The mattress dipped again as his body hovered over yours, heat returning in an instant, surrounding you. His chest brushed lightly against your back, just enough to make your breath hitch again.
His lips found your shoulder first.
Soft.
A slow press of warmth, followed by another, and another. Small, lingering kisses that contrasted everything that had come before. His hand slid into your hair, gently sweeping it aside, exposing more of your neck to him.
You shivered.
His mouth followed the line of your shoulder up to your neck, his tongue tracing along your skin before his teeth grazed lightly at the nape. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your entire body tense beneath him.
A quiet laugh vibrated against your skin, low and satisfied, right by your ear.
He could feel it. The way you trembled under him. And he liked it.
“Ves… p-please…”
The plea slipped from your lips, unsteady, your voice catching as your fingers curled slightly against the pillow beneath you. Your breath came shallow, uneven, your body already reacting before he even answered.
“Not so bold now, huh?”
His voice was a low murmur against your skin, rough and intimate, the sound alone enough to send a sharp shiver racing down your spine. It brushed against your ear, warm and close, making your stomach tighten.
Before you could think, his teeth sank into your shoulder.
God... would you ever get used to the way he sounded?
The way he unraveled you without even trying?
Harder this time.
The pressure bordered on too much, a sharp sting blooming beneath his bite, your body tensing instinctively beneath him. But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. A broken breath slipped from you instead, your back arching slightly into him.
You liked it.
You liked everything he did to you.
His mouth moved again, softer now, pressing over the mark he’d left before trailing downward. His lips ghosted along your spine, slow and deliberate, each kiss lingering just long enough to make your skin burn in its wake.
Every so often, his teeth followed - some light, teasing, others firmer, enough to make your breath hitch and your fingers twitch against the sheets.
The room felt smaller somehow, tighter, filled with the quiet sounds of him. His breathing, your reactions, the faint rustle of fabric and skin shifting against the mattress.
And then you felt him again. Between your legs.
Your breath caught sharply, your body tensing in anticipation as his hands slid back to your thighs, spreading you open with a firm, controlled pressure. He adjusted you slightly, shifting your hips just enough for him to give a long, wet lick to your clit
Slow. Intentional.
A broken sound tore from your throat.
“S-shit...”
Your hand came up instinctively, the back of it pressing against your mouth as you bit down, trying and failing to contain the reaction.
He didn’t slow down.
If anything, he grew more intense.
There was nothing gentle about the way he did it, - nothing careful or restrained. It was messy, unapologetic, almost feral in the way he moved. Wet, warm, deliberate. The sounds alone made your face burn, your entire body reacting, your hips pressing back slightly before you could stop yourself.
You felt it everywhere.
The heat. The pressure. The way he took exactly what he wanted from you.nAnd you loved it.
Your breath came faster, uneven, your body tightening with every pass of his tongue, every shift of his mouth.
And then suddenly, he stopped.
The absence hit immediately.
A soft, helpless whine slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your body reacting instinctively to the loss. Behind you, a quiet chuckle followed - low, amused, like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.
The mattress dipped again as he shifted.
You barely had time to process it before you felt him guiding his cock to your entrance, the heat of him unmistakable. Your breath stilled, your body going taut, every muscle bracing as you realized exactly what was coming.
The stretch was immediate, intense, pulling a strained sound from your throat as your body struggled, then slowly began to take him. Your fingers curled tighter into the pillow, your breath catching and stuttering as he pressed deeper, not stopping, not hesitating.
You inhaled sharply... and then he pushed into you.
There was nothing gentle about it.
And you didn’t want it to be.
Nothing with Vessel could be anything less than strong and intense and you loved that. You loved this about him - the intensity, the way he consumed, the way he gave you no space to be anything but exactly what you were in that moment.
He dropped the weight of his body over yours - large, massive, heavy - covering you completely. You could feel every inch of him, the heat, the strength, the way he sank deeper, forcing your body to adjust around him.
Even the discomfort felt right. Wanted.
A quiet, strained breath left you as he shifted, one arm sliding beneath you. His hand moved upward, deliberate, until it settled around your throat. His fingers tightened - not enough to take your breath, but enough to make your entire body react.
Your lips parted.
His other hand braced against the mattress beside you, steadying himself as he began to move.
Slow at first. Then harder.
Each thrust carried more force than the last, the rhythm building quickly, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the space between your broken breaths. The mattress shifted beneath you with every movement, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your body.
His voice slipped out in moans near your ear - low, rough, strained with the same intensity that burned through you.
Your sounds mixed with his. Messy. Uncontrolled.
“F-fuck… Ves…”
Your voice came out strangled, barely more than a breath, your body tightening instinctively, and his grip on your throat tightened in response.
Not harsh. Not cruel. Just... too intense.
“Shhh… it’s okay…”
His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, his voice deep, hoarse, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine.
“I’m here.”
The words wrapped around you, grounding and overwhelming all at once, even as his pace never faltered, never softened.
“Just take it.”
The way he said it - dominant yet gentle, sweet and filthy all at once - twisted something deep in your stomach. It coiled tight, hot and overwhelming, and you knew you were already teetering on the edge. It wouldn’t take much more.
Your breath stuttered against the pillow, your fingers clutching at the fabric as your body strained beneath his, every nerve drawn taut.
The rhythm of his thrusts began to falter, losing that controlled precision. They grew rougher, more uneven, driven by instinct rather than restraint. His breathing against your ear turned sharper, faster, each exhale hotter against your skin.
But he wasn’t unaffected either.
You could feel it.
And the sounds he made - low, broken, slipping past his control - sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
There was nothing you loved more than that.
Nothing.
“You take me so good, sugar…”
His voice cracked into a whine against your ear, strained and desperate in a way that made your chest tighten. Without thinking, your hips pushed back against him, seeking more, matching him, needing him.
And he hissed in response.
His grip tightened, his thrusts snapping harder, deeper, knocking the breath from your lungs as he answered you with even more force.
The headboard slammed against the wall with a sharp, repetitive thud, echoing through the room, falling into rhythm with the relentless pace of his body driving into yours. The sound filled the space along with your gasps, his groans, the messy collision of skin against skin.
“Gonna come so fucking hard inside you,” he rasped, voice rough, barely controlled. His hand never left your throat, fingers firm, grounding. “Tell me you’re gonna take it. Like the good girl you are.”
“Y-yes”
Your voice came out strangled, breathless, your body tightening beneath him. His grip eased just slightly, enough for you to pull in a shaky breath.
“Tell me.”
The command came sharp, punctuated by a thrust harder than all the others, forcing a broken cry from your lips as your body jolted forward against the mattress.
“Gonna take it… Ves… all of it”
The words tumbled out of you, barely coherent, your mind slipping under the weight of everything you were feeling. You weren’t even sure you made sense anymore.
But he didn’t seem to care.
A low hum of approval vibrated against your ear, and you felt it. The shift. The way his body began to give in.
His thrusts lost their rhythm entirely now, stuttering, uneven, but still relentless in their force. Each movement pressed you further into the mattress, the tension snapping tighter and tighter inside you.
“P-please, Ves… please...”
Your voice broke into a helpless whine, barely more than a breath, and something about it, something raw and unguarded, seemed to push him over the edge right along with you.
It hit all at once.
A sharp, overwhelming snap that tore through you.
Your body arched, your mouth opening in a cry that was almost a scream, your entire form trembling violently as everything unraveled. Your fingers clenched uselessly against the sheets, your breath breaking, your vision going hazy with the intensity of it.
He groaned loud, strained, dragged from deep in his chest, as he drove into you a few more times, chasing it, pushing through it.
And then he stilled.
His teeth sank into your shoulder as he came, a rough, grounding bite as his body finally gave in, spilling into you. His weight pressed fully against yours, heavy, unmoving for a moment as the last of it worked through him.
It hurt.
In a way that left you breathless beneath him, your body still trembling as the echoes of it slowly faded, leaving nothing but warmth, heaviness, and the lingering ghost of everything he’d just done to you.
The pressure, the bite.
But it hurt in a way that felt right. In a way you welcomed.
...
Vessel felt his body go strangely light as he rolled onto his side, the mattress dipping softly beneath him. Too light, like he was suspended, his limbs slow, his chest rising and falling with the lingering aftermath of everything that had just happened.
The afterglow hit him hard.
For a moment, it was disorienting, like nothing else existed but the echo of sensation still thrumming through him. His mind emptied, his body loose, his breathing uneven.
And then it struck him. Sharp and sudden.
The unsettling thought that he might have gone too far.
His hand moved instinctively, almost urgently, brushing your hair away from your face. The strands clung slightly to your skin, damp with sweat, and he tucked them back with careful fingers.
You hadn’t moved. Not a single muscle.
A flicker of something tight and uneasy twisted in his chest... but then you smiled.
Soft. Warm. Real.
And just like that, something inside him loosened again.
“Hey, you.”
Your voice came out quiet, still rough from everything, and there was something about the way you said it, something simple, almost habitual, that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
It always did.
As if those two words carried something more. Recognition. Familiarity. Something that settled deep in his bones, something that made him feel… seen.
Like he belonged somewhere.
His hand drifted to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He only then noticed the faint tremor in his fingers. The leftover intensity, maybe.
“Hey,” he murmured back, pulling you closer, instinct taking over, wrapping an arm around you and drawing you into him.
You came easily.
Your body relaxed, pliant in his hold, still warm, your skin flushed and faintly glowing with the aftermath. There was a softness to you now, a looseness, as if all the tension had melted away, leaving only warmth and quiet.
“Are you okay?”
His eyes stayed on you as you shifted, settling comfortably against him, your head finding its place on his shoulder. Your arm slid around his waist, pulling him closer in a way that made something in his chest tighten again.
You looked up at him, confused. That small crease between your brows appeared, subtle but familiar.
“I think I got carried away… and maybe overdid it.”
The words felt clumsy even as he said them.
The truth was, he didn’t know.
Vessel had never been particularly good at controlling what you did to him - what you pulled out of him. It was too much, too immediate, too consuming. And now, looking at the purple darkening mark on your shoulder where his teeth had pressed too hard…
It felt like evidence. Like something he should have held back. Something he should be able to explain, but couldn’t.
He expected hesitation. Maybe discomfort. Instead, you laughed softly.
“Oh… that.”
Your cheeks flushed deeper, that shy kind of pink that always gave you away. You hesitated, like you weren’t sure how to say what you were thinking.
“What?” he pressed gently, his gaze narrowing just slightly.
“I liked it.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
But he heard them.
And more than that, he understood what sat underneath them. The uncertainty. The quiet question you hadn’t voiced. Whether it was okay to feel that way.
A low hum slipped from him as his fingers traced lightly over your shoulder, brushing over the mark.
You hissed softly at the contact, your skin still sensitive, and his touch stilled for just a second before softening further.
“I told you,” he murmured, a faint hint of amusement in his voice, though it didn’t quite mask the truth beneath it, “you’re dangerous.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, the sound light, playful.
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up just enough to keep your eyes on his.
“Since the first night,” he said, more quietly now. “When I saw you behind that barricade... I knew you were going to be trouble.”
Your breath hitched. It was subtle—but he felt it.
You both didn't talk much about that night. Maybe because neither of you knew how to put it into words. What it had been. What had started there.
You shifted closer anyway, as if drawn by something instinctive. Your arm slipped from his waist, looping around his shoulders instead, your hand resting at the back of his neck in a hold that felt almost… possessive.
His heart reacted immediately, picking up pace beneath his ribs.
“I’m yours, remember?” you murmured softly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”
His eyes closed for a brief second as the words settled into him, warm and heavy.
He knew what they meant. He knew how dangerous they were.
He didn’t care.
A quiet hum left him, his thoughts slipping away, words failing him the way they always did when it mattered most. It was almost ironic - someone who made a living shaping emotions into lyrics, and yet here, with you, everything scattered.
Maybe that’s why he had stayed silent for so long.
Because from the very first night, he had never known how to put in words what you made him feel when you were this close.
But now there was nowhere to hide. No mask. No distance. No silence thick enough to disappear into.
He was exposed.
And it was as terrifying as it was… good. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips met yours - deep, immediate, consuming. He kissed you like it mattered, like it was the only way he could say everything he couldn’t put into words. Like it might be the last chance he’d get.
All the intensity. All the restraint he didn’t have he poured it into that kiss. And you understood. You always did.
Even when he said nothing at all.
I’d truly appreciate it if you left a like, a comment, and most importantly, a reblog. It really encourages me to keep writing.
Reader making Simons birthday special (the first half is the sweet stuff and the second half has smut, also fem reader)
When you found out Simon had never had a birthday cake you knew you needed to change that. You called Price ahead of time, and down right demanded Simon get off for his birthday. Price stuttered out a “yes ma’am” and that was that. When Price told Simon he started to object, Simon never took off for his birthday, in fact most years he was actively on mission. “The scariest thing in life isn't an enemy, it's when the sweetest lady you know gets mad, a whole different kind of scary” Price said very solemnly. Price had only met you once and you were the sweetest thing then, he absolutely did not want to be on your bad side, and there was nothing Simon could say to change his mind. Simon called you as soon as Price left “ya called Price?” “yes, you're going to be home” he just sighed, sometimes you were even more stubborn then he was.
You spent the day before his birthday making his cake from scratch, not just any cake but earl grey cake. You could've asked him what kind of cake he wanted but you wanted it to be a surprise. Plus you could serve him dirt and he would happily eat it, he would even compliment it. You even bought a heart shaped pan to put it in. While it was baking you fixed a small thing of chocolate frosting, even though Simon would eat anything you gave him, you knew he wasn't the biggest fan of super sweet stuff, so you were only going to add a very thin layer of frosting, it was less for looks and more for the structure of the cake. You managed to finish it and place it in the fridge right as Simon came home.
When Simon woke up you were already staring at him, he smiled and pulled you closer to him, placing a kiss to the top of your head, you whispered into his chest “happy birthday Si” he just hummed in acknowledgement. You two stayed like that for a while, just cuddling in the soft morning sun. Eventually Simon got up, only after he heard your stomach rumbling, as much as he loved cuddling he couldn't let his girl starve. You would've gotten up earlier to give Simon breakfast in bed, but he's told you so many times how much he loves to watch you cook. The little movement in your hips while your waiting for something, your soft smile when something is good, your little hum while focusing, Simon fucking loves to stand in the corner of the kitchen and watch you cook, bonus if you're only in his shirt and nothing more.
Simon pulled you back to the bed to eat breakfast. And that's where you two spent most of the day, just curled up under the covers, limbs tangled together. And as much as you didn't want to get up you had to fix dinner. Simon's favorite of course, and just like earlier he watched you cook, occasionally helping when he saw you needed assistance. You two ate together like any other night. When you two finished you brought out the cake, you placed a few candles on the top, lit them, then turned the light off. You didn't sing him the birthday song, rather you just leaned down and gave him a kiss whispering “blow out the candles Si” after he did, while it was still dark, he pulled you into his lap. He buried his face in your neck and you could hear the small voice crack in his words “thank you love, so much. No ones cared this much” you cupped his hands, kissing him deeply “I love you too Si”
When you turned the light back on you could see the love in his eyes as he stared at you, and his smile only grew when he tasted the cake “fuckin’ delicious luv” only on his second piece did he stop mid bite “is this caffeinated luv? It's night ya know” you just shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips “more energy for tonight” Simon didn't answer you, just slowly ate the rest of his cake. You were confused, did he not understand you, but the moment he was done eating, he carefully put his plate down and scooped you up heading straight for the bedroom.
He placed you on the bed and immediately his hands started roaming over your body, tugging his shirt over your head, leaving you in just the matching lineage set you had gotten just for him. He groaned, his hands still exploring your body while he started kissing your neck. Simon only got off you long enough to take his shirt and pants off. Then he was right back on you, he didn't take your bra off he simply moved it to the side pulling your boobs out. He kissed his way down to your chest, leaving wet kisses along the way, and when he got to your chest the kissing got harder, teeth rubbing against your sensitive nips. One of his hands made its way between your legs and started moving your underwear to the side but you stopped him.
You pushed off the bed and then pushed him down, now straddling his lap “it's your birthday, let me make you feel good” he just smiled and leaned into the sheets, hands on your hips. You pulled his boxers off, his dick springing out. You wrapped your hand around it, thumb going over his tip, making him shudder. You only gave him a few pumps before you wrapped your lips around him. He couldn't help it as one of his hands went to your hair, you let him hold you, but you would still be the one setting the pace. At first you only sucked his tip, maybe going an inch down, you brushed your teeth against the top of his dick and he bucked into your mouth. You laughed lightly, although it sounded more like a gag with his dick in your mouth. You removed your hand from the base of his dick, using it to hold his legs open while you took all of him in your mouth. He moaned, head rolling back “jus’ like that baby” you set your pace agonizingly slow, occasionally brushing his dick with your teeth, or gently tapping at his balls, just to hear that soft plea from him.
Only when he started quietly begging “please luv, more please, faster” only then did you get off of him, he whined at the loss of your warmth, but the whine quickly turned into a whimper as you took off your bottoms. One hand on his shoulder the other on his chest as you slowly lowered yourself onto his dick. He was gripping the sheets so tightly to stop himself from bucking into you as you slowly sat on his dick. When you were finally down, you licked a strip from the base of his neck, before whispering “ya like that Simon?” he frantically nodded as you started up again, hips going up slowly before crashing back down on his dick, it had his head rolling as he moaned. Your hands tangled in his hair as you kept going, never relenting. You pulled his face down, forcing him to look at you, at what you were doing to him, the mess you two were making, before you slammed your lips into his. He immediately moaned into the kiss, and one of your hands moved to his neck gently squeezing. Simon's hands pulled you closer and you both immediately moaned at the new angle. His lips found your tits, kissing and biting like earlier, while his hand squeezed your other. All it took was him biting your tits to make you cum, your yelp quickly turned into a moan as you struggled to keep your pace going, but Simon's mouth didn't stop, he kept biting and licking at your already red tits, all the pain make you clench harder around him, till his own head was rolling back while he was moaning. You stayed on top of him while you two caught your breath, he wrapped a hand around your waist before whispering “thank you for the birthday luv” his soft and sweet voice quickly shifted before he added “but I think the cake is just settling in” his smirk told you this was going to be a long night.
