#Lady Master Venus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chestharrington · 22 days

Text

Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything.

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale.

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor.

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead.

Fuck that.

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy.

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory.

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks.

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room.

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine.

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs.

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip.

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name.

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself.

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad.

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat.

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back.

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.”

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money.

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County.

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran.

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape.

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough.

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved.

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy.

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass.

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll.

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented.

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet.

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once.

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman.

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded.

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie.

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers.

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.”

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits.

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs.

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up.

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered.

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back.

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap.

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl.

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased.

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath.

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up.

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick.

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense.

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper.

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand.

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going.

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him.

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him.

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down.

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care.

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him.

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind.

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless.

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed.

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge.

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure.

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue.

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk.

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance.

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy.

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest.

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again.

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you.

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter.

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ.

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him.

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans.

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans.

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too.

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again.

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly.

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed.

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all.

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

#it's here it's finally here #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman smut #anyways if you read this pls like and leave a comment idgaf if you reblog truly just wanna know if u enjoyed <3

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flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

Girl with a Pearl Earring

[modern! photographer • Aemond x female]

[warnings: dirty talk, domination, sexual tension, fluff]

[description: Aemond is a photographer dealing with works referring to the painting of the old masters. His sister poses in class for a girl who catches his attention. He decides that she would be a perfect model for one of his photos. Lots of sexual tension and slowly built fascination.]

Part 2 - Magdalene with the Smoking Flame

Part 3 - Ophelia

Part 4 - Lady with an Ermine

Part 5 - Rokeby Venus (End)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

_____

It's been a long time since there was such a beautiful model in a painting class as Helaena Targaryen. With her fair, almost white hair, slender, fair face, snub nose, and blue eyes, she looked like an angel. She was able to create an amazing hairstyle with her combed braids.

The students and the professor decided to dress her in a blue gown, borrowed from costume designers from a nearby theater, in the style of seventeenth-century French fashion. Behind her was a large yellow background falling into the shade of warm gold. Even as herself, sitting half-profile towards them, she looked like a painting.

She had a great connection with her right away and they talked a lot. She knew that Helaena was the daughter of the dean of the university, a famous furniture maker and sculptor. Their entire family was famous for their strong commitment to the arts. She knew that Helaena's brother, Aemond, was in the fifth year of photography.

She was in her second year of painting and knew most of the people in his major - they often traded lecture halls - but he was always completely withdrawn. She had never seen him talk to anyone, he was always the first to leave the classroom.

Several girls from her year tried to flirt with him and get his attention, but their attempts ended in total failure. Still, she felt it wasn't fair that they were talking about him behind his back after being rejected. She tried not to express an opinion about him, because she didn't know him.

Even though it was known how Helaena got this temporary job, no one held any grudges about it because she bravely endured hours of posing without flinching. She decided to paint her portrait in the style of the Italian masters, starting with a monochromatic underpainting, applying the color with glazes in delicate layers. She was just starting to apply color to her face, making the character's face seem to emerge from the sketch around it.

The professor called a break and everyone got up to stretch a bit. Helaena stepped down from the platform and approached her, wanting to see how she was doing, as usual. She was delighted to see that the work was slowly moving to an advanced stage.

"What you do is amazing. You have real talent!” She said with her hand over her heart, playing with the chain. She smiled warmly at her.

They were talking for a while about ways of painting and different types of portraits when suddenly Aemond entered their room. He was looking for his sister with his eye, and when he saw her he walked towards her, greeting only the professor on the way.

"Ah, Aemond, thank you." Helaena said as he handed her apparently her own phone. "I had completely forgotten about him. Come closer, do you want to see how beautiful my new friend paints?” Helaena asked happily and she looked down in embarrassment. She guessed he didn't want to, but out of politeness he came over and stood behind them.

He literally said nothing. She glanced at him uncertainly over her shoulder and met his intense gaze which almost scared her. She blinked and opened her mouth slightly, then closed it, wondering if she should say something. She turned her head away, swallowing softly.

"Beautiful, isn't it? It makes me look like a baroque countess." Helaena said happily, looking at her brother.

Aemond only grunted, nodded, and stepped around her easel as he left the room. She looked at Helaena slightly shocked, but she seemed completely unfazed by his behavior.

"Is he always like this?" She asked quietly, wondering what had just happened. Helena laughed.

"Yes, he is very economical with words."

***

She entered the painting room first. She liked to look at her paintings from a distance before going back to work. When she looked at it with fresh eyes, she suddenly noticed all the mistakes she hadn't seen the day before.

It immediately caught her eye that she had painted one of the eyes a little too close to the nose. She immediately grabbed the brush, mixing the paints properly, wanting to fix it without even waiting for the model to show up.

She heard someone enter the room and, thinking it was Helaena, greeted loudly. Surprised after a while that no one answered her, she leaned over the easel and realized surprised, that her brother was standing in front of her.

Aemond, as usual, was dressed all in black. His black turtleneck emphasized his slender, long face and long, blond hair partly pulled back. He looked at her expectantly, as if he wanted to say something. She blinked, wondering what he might be looking for here, and suddenly it dawned on her.

“Helaena hasn't arrived yet, she'll probably be here in a few minutes. Should I tell her something?" She asked softly and smiled warmly at him. She decided that she would not be guided by the opinion of others and would form her own opinion about him.

Aemond turned his head, staring out the window, his mouth tight. He tapped his fingers on the sill as if thinking hard. After a moment he looked at her suddenly.

"Pose for me." He said indifferently, looking at her with a stony face. She sucked in a breath, completely taken aback by his proposal. She blinked, putting down her brush, looking at him curiously. She's never stood on the other side, modeling for someone.

“I take photos stylized as copies of paintings by old masters. I'd like you to pose for me as a Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring." He explained, apparently wanting to make it clear that he didn't mean the act or anything else that might seem inappropriate to her. She smiled widely.

"Very willingly! That sounds great. Will I also have to prepare the appropriate costume for this?" She asked, clearly excited, stepping closer to him. Aemond stared at her, surprised by her energy.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll get you something." He said looking at her face thoughtfully. She blinked.

“I can sew well, and a lot of photography is about making the fabric look real. I can take care of it, I used to sew some historical costumes as a hobby.” She said lightly, looking at him expectantly. Aemond stared at her, clearly amazed at her commitment. He didn't seem to know what to say to her for a moment, because he hadn't expected such a pleased reaction.

“Well … if you want, of course, you can sew something. I'll bring something too. I will book a photo studio for next friday. Will you make it by then?" He asked softly, clearly appeased by the way she was acting.

"Yes, I will."

***

She was incredibly excited about his proposal. They exchanged phone numbers in case the studio was busy that day or needed to contact each other for other details about the shoot.

She had no idea why he chose her or what he saw in her, but she was very pleased that he wanted her to pose for him. She always dreamed of being someone's model, and she knew he was a talented photographer.

His pictures were really miniatures put in huge frames, almost like paintings. His photos, although colorful, had a kind of noise and blur that made the photo look old. He probably used special plates and exposure methods for this, but she wasn't very familiar with it. However, she knew that he was great at capturing the moment, chiaroscuro and color. There was something painterly about his photographs.

She spent one afternoon wandering around second-hand clothing stores where fabrics could be found cheaply. She was pleased that she had found everything she needed.

When she got home, she turned on her sewing machine, sewing a brown blouse for herself, and what she couldn't sew on the machine she sewed by hand.

She looked at herself in the mirror, looking at the effect of her work and decided that everything looked great. The fabrics she chose were soft and draped smoothly without looking artificial. She suddenly realized that she was missing the most important thing - a pearl earring. The pictures were to be taken the very next day, so she texted him quickly, scared.

[Y]: "I completely forgot that I need an earring, and I can't buy anything at this hour!"

After a few minutes, she saw that she had received a reply.

[Aemond]: "I was able to find a virtually identical pair of earrings at one of the pawnshops. I also have some fabrics if needed."

She took a quick portrait photo of her reflection and sent it to him along with the message.

[Y]: "I don't think any additional materials will be necessary."

He didn't write back to her for a long time. She got scared that he didn't like what she had created and started to worry. She jumped as her display lit up and she got a new message.

[Aemond]: "Well done."

***

She entered the studio at the time stated, looking around. Aemond was already inside, apparently adjusting the lighting. He just glanced at her and went back to working on setting the lamp.

"Close the door." He said coldly. She dutifully did as he asked and placed her backpack on one of the chairs against the wall. She took out all the materials she had prepared. She looked at him uncertainly.

"Can I change somewhere?" She asked quietly. Aemond looked at her in surprise and cleared his throat.

"Yes, you have a small storage room on the other side." He said, pointing to the opposite side of the room. "The door is open."

She nodded and quickly walked into the small room. With resignation she found that there was no mirror in it. There was no problem with putting on the shirts, but she had some issues with tying the bonnet and scarf.

Resigned, she poked her head out of the door, searching for him. He was looking through the camera at the place where she was supposed to be sitting.

"I need your help. I can't see if I tied it properly." She said pointing to the fabric on her head. Aemond motioned for her to come closer.

"Sit down. Here, like this.” He said, turning her with his hand, so that her body sat in profile to him. When he touched her with his large, cool hand, she shivered.

She watched him from below as he busied himself with tidying up her headgear. He glanced once in a while at the printed reproduction of the painting on the floor in front of him to get it right.

After a while he seemed pleased with the result. He handed her a pearl earring, and she put it on, empathizing with the person she was about to be. Aemond pulled away, took the camera in his hands and looked through the lens.

"Turn your head slightly towards me. No, not that much. Oh, that's right. Open your mouth slightly." He said matter-of-factly and suddenly she heard the sound of the camera shutter. Aemond pursed his lips.

"Don't look at me with such terrified eyes. Relax." He said and she swallowed softly, squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pull herself together.

This time she tried to keep her gaze soft. Aemond took the picture again. He pulled back and looked at her thoughtfully. His gaze was intense and he seemed to be thinking about something.

"Lick your lips." He said suddenly. She shivered at his words and looked at him in surprise, thinking she had misheard.

"What?" She asked quietly. Aemond looked at her expectantly.

"Rub your lips with your tongue. So that they shine." He recommended.

She felt her heart pounding. She blushed, ashamed and pursed her mouth, not looking at him, her tongue running slowly over her lips. She looked at him and saw that he swallowed softly.

He walked over to her and lowered the material of her shirt so that it showed more of her neck. She felt his fingers brush over her bare skin and gasped, wondering if he had done it on purpose. She looked at him and saw a shadow pass over his face.

"Yes. Look at me like that." He said, looking quickly through the lens. She lowered her eyes, embarrassed, feeling the tension in her whole body.

"Don't look away. Look at me. That's how you're supposed to look at me." He said in a tone that conveyed some kind of arousal and desire that made her shiver. She looked at him, her eyes hazy and slightly dreamy.

"Open your mouth." He ordered in a low voice, and when she did, he immediately took a series of photos of her.

"God, yes. Just like that." He said with a delight that made her even more embarrassed.

She lowered her eyelids, feeling her cheeks burn, pressing her lips together. Aemond looked at her with a mixture of admiration and something she couldn't name.

"Pose for me more often. I will pay you." He said suddenly and she looked at him surprised. She swallowed loudly.

"I… you don't have to pay me." She spluttered, looking away from him, looking down at her hands. She didn't know what was happening to her. She could feel his intense gaze on her, her heart pounding like crazy.

"Is that all?" She asked suddenly without looking at him.

Silence answered her. She heard him swallow hard.

"…yes, that's all." He spoke low, with a note of unreasonable uncertainty in his voice. She nodded and got up without looking at him, heading to the room where her things were.

She took off her costume and only now felt her hands tremble. She wondered what had just happened between them. She felt as if something inexplicable, artistic, intense and sensual had developed between them.

She left the room as soon as she was done. Aemond looked at her, obviously tense, looking at her expectantly. They looked at each other in silence.

"When can I see the result of your work?" She asked softly and saw him flinch as if he was thinking of something completely different, and her question brought him back to earth.

"On exhibition in two weeks." He said calmly, looking away. There was silence between them for a moment.

"Shall I go now?" She asked quietly, not knowing if he needed her for anything else. He looked at her in surprise and hesitated for a moment.

"Yes…yes, thank you, you can go." He said low. She nodded, said goodbye and left, closing the door behind her.

***

Aemond and she hadn't spoken to each other since the photos were taken. She saw him stare at her as they passed, but neither of them dared to speak. She wondered if he felt what she felt then too. She thought resignedly that his proposal was probably already out of date, but she had no intention of pestering him.

Helaena encouraged her to go with her to the exhibition. She had lost her will, but what Helaena said shocked her.

"Are you kidding? Your photo is at the center of his part of this exhibition. In the middle of the wall, in a beautiful frame, spotlit, the rest of his works are on the walls on the sides. This is probably his most beautiful picture!”

She blushed at her words and bowed her head. Her words made her feel that despite her fears she had to see it live.

What he saw on the other side of the lens.

That evening, she and Helaena arranged to meet outside the hall. She didn't want to go there alone, knowing that few people she knew would be there. She was grateful that she wanted to keep her company.

They went inside together, there were a lot of guests inside, talking intensely about something. The exhibition consisted of a series of works by several artist photographers, including Aemond. She noted with interest that her painting professor was also among the crowd.

At the very beginning there was a speech by the patron who funded the exhibition. He talked a bit about the assumptions of the exhibition, their artists and the works themselves. After it was over, as people rushed to fetch glasses of wine dispersing to explore, she saw with a lump in her throat what Helaena was talking about.

On the other side of the room hung her portrait. She had to get very close to it becasue photography was small in size, about the size of a notebook page.

The photo was slightly hazy, but sharp at the same time as if you could feel the air that was filling the studio at the time. She was delighted to see that indeed, the colors of her outfit perfectly reflected the saturation of those in the original painting.

She felt both awe and shame as she looked at her face. Her glossy lips were gently parted as if she was exhaling softly. Her gaze was warm, hazy, full of some unspoken, intense feeling.

She gave the impression that she wanted to say something to the viewer, as if she was already opening her mouth to say the words. She thought it was indeed a great photo and barely recognized herself in it.

She swallowed hard as she saw that indeed, her gold-framed picture was the only one on the main wall, the rest of his work was more closely spaced on the side walls. He clearly made this work the focus of his exhibition.

She looked curiously at his other works, and saw that they too alluded to the works of the old masters. She flinched as she heard a low voice behind her.

"What do you think?" Aemond asked, standing literally inches from her. He was so close she could feel his hot breath. She looked at him over her shoulder, confused.

"It's beautiful." She said softly. Aemond looked down at her, his gaze dark. He took a sip of wine from his glass, looking at her searchingly.

“I agreed with my professor on the subject of my diploma thesis. I want you to pose for me for female portraits like this one." He spoke calmly and matter-of-factly. She opened her mouth in surprise and blinked rapidly.

"I… I'd be very happy if I could help you." She said softly and smiled warmly, trying to control her facial expressions and her trembling heart.

Aemond looked at her intently. He pursed his lips, apparently debating whether or not to say what he was thinking.

"Be my muse."

_____

I decided that I wanted to write something that would be a one-shot and I came up with this idea. I really like what came out of it and I'm curious about your opinion. Let me know if you'd like it to be a mini series with other paintings in the background. If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff

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taemmin · 2 years

Text

since vlive, along with all its contents, is being deleted, i’m compiling an archive of all the youtube channels/alternate sources that have compiled the vlives of different groups which are NOT going to be uploaded to weverse. below is a list of groups, ordered alphabetically, and a google doc master archive that is being worked on. i’ll be updating this post as i find more sources!

2pm

ab6ix

a.c.e

aespa

alice

aoa

astro

ateez

b1a4

cix [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

b.a.p [1, 2]

btob

clc

cravity

day6

e'last

elris

eunbi

everglow

exid [1, 2]

exo

forestella

f(x)

gfriend/viviz

(g)i-dle

good day

gugudan

gwsn

h1-key

hello venus

i*zone

itzy

ive

kard

ladies' code

kep1er

kingdom

lapillus

loona

lucy

mcnd

minju

monsta x

m.o.n.t

momoland

nct (127/dream/wayv) / nct night night [johnjae radio show]

n.flying

nmixx

nu’est

oneus

onewe

onf

omega x

pentagon

pixy

pristin/hinapia

purple kiss

red velvet

sejeong

sf9

shinee

sistar

snsd [1, 2]

somi

stray kids

superm

tempest

the boyz

the rose

trendz

twice

vixx

wanna one

weeekly

wei

weki meki [1, 2, 3]

wjsn

wonho

woodz [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

xdinary heroes

yena

yuri (jo yuri)

**comprehensive vlive master archive (being updated) by @/strayglitch on twitter.

#vlive #vlive archive #also if you find links for groups that arent up there or want me to search for particular groups please send me an ask!!#*and solo artists too of course 💙

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rosefinch07 · 9 months

Text

Pearls and Curious Spectres

Martha Wayne Haunts Her Pearl Collection

The first time Danny saw her was when he was dragged along to the Wayne Gala as Sam's plus one and as Daniel Masters in order to be a buffer.

When she showed herself fully, it was obvious she was a family member. Her and Damian shared the same cupid's bow, the same slender hands. He saw her in the way he stood, as if he was constantly on display.

He was talking to the Wayne his age, Damian, who he had met previously and the boy was beginning to take a liking to him, when a lady fizzled into view. Bits of her appeared at a time. A hand on Damian's shoulder, a caress of his hair that looked like wind to the unknowing eye, a high heeled foot.

She was beautiful, the type of woman that younger generations would look at photos of and envy. She stared him down like she could see every thought he ever bounced around in his head.

She wore a nice blue dress, the same color as her eyes, and the V-neckline was high and left only enough room for the pearl necklace to settle on her neck. The skirt was in a pencil style and had gathered bits at the sides and the hem landed around her calves. Her pearl necklace seemed more... incorporeal than the rest of her, as if the memory of it lingered more on her than in the world.

He glanced back over to Damian, who seemed to not feel her presence and was talking at length about the care of his cow to Sam who had stepped in when he was "Zoned Out" and had continued the conversation seamlessly. He scanned Damian's person, looking for something that he couldn't quite describe.

There, on his ears.

Pearl earrings, they dangled and were shaped like tear drops. Quite simple compared to Damian's broach with the Wayne family crest.

Heirlooms.

Man, he wouldn't want to be tied to an item, that sucked!

Danny projected "Sorry"; "Empathy"; "You're stuck!" over to her, careful of how his face looked.

She merely grinned at him and flickered out of view, appearing next to Tim Drake across the venue. She pointed at his pearl cufflinks with a silent giggle, winking.

She projected "Silly!"; "Not Stuck"; and the image of a high society lady in life laughing.

He sighed in relief.

Danny could focus on the rest of the evening then.

She was just along for the fun.

#martha wayne and her pearls #martha wayne #danny fenton #sam manson #damian wayne #tim drake #dpxdc #martha wayne died in the 80's #wayne family heirlooms #pearls and curious spectres

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 1 year

Text

Lady Leonora Lesso Masterlist

Mommy…Master List

Approach at your own risk... smut = * extra smutty=**

Series

Games w/ Sex Pollen Part 1*

Part 2*

Drunk on You Part 1

Part 2*, Part 3*& Part 4**

Anytime Soon… Part 1

Part 2*

You’ll Pay, Pet Part 1*

Part 2*

Unexpected Desires ~Dom!lesso xDom!Anemone xSub!Dovey xSub!Reader Part 1

Part 2**, Part 3

Extra Credit ~Dovesso xReader Part 1*

Part 2*

My Project ~Dovesso xFem Reader Part 1*

Part 2

One Shots

What’s My Name*

Fortunate Circumstances ~top!dovesso x reader*

My Mess*

Rescue Each Other

I’m Here for You ~motherly!lesso

Goddamnit, I like You

Now and Forever ~dovesso

Black Knickers*

Our Little Secret*

Red Fever*

Her Softening Heart ~soft!lesso*

A Very Pressing Matter*

Mommy & Wifey Cure Panic ~dovesso xreader*

It’s Mommy, Baby*

My Sweet Sub*

Beautifully Enough ~Soft!Lesso

Call Her Daddy*

Would You Look at That ~Sub!Lesso xDom!Anemone xDom!Reader*

Can’t Get Enough of You*

Who’s in Charge…*

Blazing Care in Your Eyes ~Soft!Lesso*

Takes One to Know One ~Lesso xLarissa Weems**

Careful What You Wish For*

Hold Me Tight Imagines ~Soft!Lesso xgn!Reader

Come Let Me Eat You Up*

Picnics, Need, & Care*

I’ll Rock Your World ~Top!Lesso*

Call Yourself Mine ~GN!Reader*

Happy Reunions ~Dovesso xWife Reader*

Too Much ~Soft!Lesso

Can’t Pretend It Doesn’t Bother Me ~Soft!Lesso xAFAB Trans!Male!Reader

Birthday Comfort ~Soft!Lesso

Begging for You*

Begging Kink w/ Lesso ~Kinktober*

Rope Uncut

Venus’ Seduction ~Sub!Lesso

It’s Okay to Be Not Okay ~Motherly!Lesso

Sadism with Lady Lesso*

Holiday Shopping Fun*

You Misunderstand Me, Baby*

Enchanted Choices with Unforeseen Consequences*

Oh You Are In For It…**

Stress Relief ~Daddy!Lesso x Emma Anemone*

You Make Submitting So Easy ~Dom!Lady Lesso xFem MascPresenting!Bottom!Sub!Lesbian!Reader

Sneering at Daddy ~Sub!Bratty!Lesso xFem Dom!Daddy!Reader

Caugh In Your Web ~Younger!Leonora Lesso xFem Dominatrix!Reader ~College Au

My Good Little Sluts ~Sub!Lady Lesso xSub!Larissa Weems xFem Dom!Reader**

Strip Me of My Power ~Dom!Larissa Weems x Sub!Bratty!Lady Lesso**

No One Cares About Logistics ~Dom!Cipher xSwitch!Lady Lesso xFem Sub!Reader**

Stay Away From Him

Oh and I take Requests, so hit me up with your ideas 😉 Requests & Prompt-List

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heartbreakgrill · 6 months

Text

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 1- "You can make me a drink."

description: Spending the summer touring Europe with her brother and the band he works for sounds like the perfect way to get herself out there, at least, that's what Daisy's intent is. But, with the cocky lead singer of the band, clashing personalities, and an entire summer for tensions to grow, things may not go as they are planned.

a/n: not the story i promised, but one i love. posted on ao3, too. enjoy lovelies <3

“Okay, so, ii is kind of…quiet, I guess? He’s fucking smart as shit. Knows all these random facts, but he just doesn’t talk too much until he gets to know you. Ya know?”

I stared out of the airplane window, Sam’s words distant to my tired brain. My processing skills were not sharp this early in the morning, especially considering the time change we had gone through. I was too focused on the view, anyways. The sky looked ethereal this time of morning, all foggy mountain peaks bleeding into crimson orange, bordered by black, starry clouds. I traced their puffy edges with my bleary eyes in an attempt to not fall back asleep. We were landing, after all, and we’d have to push through busy crowds for the next half an hour. Falling back asleep would take any energy I had left and stomp it out.

“And, then, iii…I am a little concerned about how he’ll act with you because he’s-he’s flirtatious-”

“Ladies and gentleman, we are now landing at Heathrow International Airport in London, England,” the pilot interrupted Sam’s sentence, staticky voice crackling over our heads.

I felt Sam shift in his seat. His elbow knocked against mine on the tiny armrest we had been fighting over the entire flight. I snidely shoved my elbow against his in an attempt to steal the space back. He hissed as it pained his funny bone. I looked over in time to catch the glare he sent me, his fingers rubbing at his bruising bone.

Though he looked annoyed, he kept his murmurs to himself, unwilling to be too aggressive with me this early in the morning- and this early in the trip. We had an entire summer that we still had to spend together. Starting fights now would make it a miserable, long couple of months.

“That was rude,” I heard him say. I ignored him and turned back towards the plane’s window. The ground was growing closer as we shakily descended from the air.

“‘Course, then…there’s Vessel.” Sam continued on his explanation of the band members and a few of the crew workers I would have the opportunity to meet this summer. He had been doing so I woke up fifteen minutes ago.

Not that I planned to hang around Sam and his friends too much. I was taking this time between college graduation and going back for my master’s in the fall to see what little of the world I could manage. I didn’t plan on being stuck indoors at the hotel or backstage at the venues too often. I had plans for each and every tour stop- friends I would be meeting up with, concerts I was going to attend. I had my own long list of tourist attractions I had to see, bucket items I needed to cross off. Sam’s friends sounded lovely, but I didn’t expect to be too attached to them.

“He’s quite, um…How do I describe him? He’s not scary, per say…just…intense. He’s quiet and brooding and I don’t really think you’ll like him too much, ya know? Anyways.”

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt. I finally peeled my eyes from the window, the edges of my lids burning with exhaustion. I undid my own belt, reached down to gather my book bag, and looped my neck pillow under my arm.

Sam looked down at me with a tired smile, “You’ll be meeting them all very soon, so…you can just find out for yourself.”

I offered up a grin, even if my face fought back at the energy this action required. “Thanks for having me, Sam-Ham.” I moved to rest my head against his shoulder, sweetly. I probably could have slept right there if we weren’t having to pile out of the plane.

He went to rest his own head against mine, but as soon as the nickname quietly passed my lips, he flinched, back straightening up. “Please don’t call me that in front of them. Please, Daisy. Please. I don’t have any other rules you have to follow. I’m giving you complete freedom on this tour. Just- please. Don’t say that.”

My grin twisted into a devious smirk. Sam’s brown eyes were pleading, a frown sitting deep in his wrinkled cheeks. “Aw, what do you mean, Sam-Ham? Are you embarrassed?”

He flinched again at the nickname. I’d given it to him when I was four and he was just eight. He loved ham and cheese sandwiches at the time and refused to eat basically anything else. Ever since that month-long fight of mom trying to force him to consume any semblance of a vegetable or fruit, I’d coined him as such with zero ounces of shame. On social media posts, his birthday cards, at his own high school graduation party. No shame.

“Daisy-” he went to plead again, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Everyone’s getting off. Let’s go.” I pushed past Sam, ignoring him. I marched out of our aisle, then off the plane, Sam hot on my heels. His frustration with the nickname had melted into protectiveness as he tried to keep up with me. He’d always been overbearing, and I think he’d only be more annoying about it during this trip.

The air in London was chilly, though it was felt only briefly as we walked down through the terminal. I was grateful to have a hoodie wrapped around my waist, and managed to slip it on as we walked. I knew it would warm up as the day passed on, though. It was May, after all, and London had that weird spring weather, with chilly mornings and sweltering afternoons. At least, this information was according to Sam and a few Google searches on my end.

Sam caught up to my side as we headed for baggage claim. He had his phone out, ready to shoot someone a text, “Okay…”

I spotted our bags spinning past where we stood. As he continued, I reached out and grabbed them. They landed on the floor beside us as Sam said, “Ronnie- Ronnie’s the band’s tour manager, also one of my best friends, ever. You might like her-”

“I like everyone, Sam, unless they’re an asshole. I don’t know why you assume I’m such a hater-”

“Cause you are!” He said, matter-of-factly. I always hated when he’d make negative observations about me. I knew I was his little sister, his annoying little sister who threw dirt at him when we were little, who he had to drag along on first dates in high school. But, I was more than that spoiled brat, especially now. I hoped this summer would help him see that, hoped he would gain some respect for me based on the difference in the real me and who he knew.

I wanted to shove his suitcase at him, just to spite him for making such a comment. But, I simply smiled up at him and rolled the luggage towards his outstretched hand. Before he could really say anything, I shot towards the exit.

“Anyways!” He rushed up to my side, breathless from how quickly I walked.

He shoved his mop of dirty blond hair into his phone as he continued texting someone. “Ronnie’s sent over an Uber,” he spoke, absentmindedly.

The automatic doors slid open. We stepped out into the chilly morning air of London. Had Sam’s head not been shoved into his phone, he would have been able to see the glorious sight lain out before us. He unfortunately didn’t, but I sure did.

I came to a halting stop, a humored grin upon my face. Sam bumped into my shoulder, but still wouldn’t look up from his phone. “Uber is a gray sedan-”

I giggled, stepping towards the group of men standing before us, party hats upon their heads, noisemakers between their lips, and a god awfully hand drawn sign held out before them.

Sam, dark brows furrowed, questioned my laughter, “What-?”

He finally pulled his nose from his phone. As he did, I took a party hat from one of the band member’s outstretched hands. We all blew into our noisemakers. Chaos erupted.

“Welcome back from rehab, Sam!” The shortest of the group held the sign up proudly, a bright grin on his face.

“What the fuck-?”

The tallest man- who had sandy blond hair and stormy gray eyes- a literal personification of the beaches in England- nearly tackled Sam, crushing his frame between the hand drawn sign and his hugging arms. I pulled the noisemaker from my mouth as a laugh erupted from me. The others rushed forward to greet their friend. Sam’s face was flushed red from the words on the sign, but he looked so incredibly happy, embracing each of them. They were all dressed in dark black clothing, save for a few spots of royal blue, maroon, or forest green. It was in stark contrast to my pink hoodie and gray sweatpants. Sam was right when he said these people weren’t my usual crowd, but wrong when he just assumed I wouldn’t like them. Yet another example of his misconstrued perception about who I really was. Just because I was girly, a Taylor Swift lover, with my favorite colors being purple and pink, didn’t mean I automatically could not stand people in the metal crowd. They were just different from me- that was all.

I did keep my distance, though, just as they greeted each other. I waited for Sam to introduce me, which he did shortly after. Their chaos faded as he moved his way back through the group, back to me. He faced them from here, an arm around my shoulders. “This is my baby sister-”

I elbowed his side, frowning at his choice of words. He squirmed away from me, a slight hiss pulled through his lips because of the pain. I stepped forward, offering my hand to the closest person- a short, blond-headed man with these brilliant blue eyes. “Daisy.”

He shook my hand politely, “Pleasure to meet you, Daisy. I’m-” He cut his own words off, glancing over my shoulder to Sam. ‘‘Wait…Are we introducing ourselves as, like, numbers or real people?”

I cracked a smile at the confusion. The tall man beside him, clutching the sign he’d made Sam,, shrugged, “We’re already unmasked. Might as well.”

“I can sign something,” I let go of his hand with a casual wave in my arms. “I don’t mind.”

“We can take care of that later,” another short one, darker haired with slight ringlets to his hair and green in his eyes, stepped forward. He took my hand, “Adam.”

“Cyrus. Cy, for short,” settled the original one.

I nodded at each of their introductions. The tallest one was named Max. He must have been three, considering he kissed the back of my hand and smirked up at me. Also considering Sam stepped between us and punched Max in the shoulder. He was right about the flirtations, though I didn’t mind it too much. I knew it was harmless.

Finally, I turned to the last band mate. I held out my hand. He glanced between it and my face, lips thin, face void of any expression. My brows furrowed slightly. I felt insecure under his harsh gaze, but I kept my kind composure, “Daisy. Nice to meet you…”

“Oliver.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t move to take my hand, didn’t offer up any kind greetings. My once joyous smile morphed into a frown. Sam had warned me he was brooding, quiet. But, not rude. He was just plain rude.

I didn’t have time to ruminate on this meet-ugly, though, because Sam was then herding us all into a taxi. They had meetings to get to, I guess. I was given the front seat, which only made me feel a little left out. I knew that would probably happen, considering Sam had been working for them for four years now and I was a newbie. So, I didn’t take it to heart. Sitting in the front of a taxi was mostly just awkward.

What I did take to heart, however, was Oliver’s rude introduction. Perhaps it was because I was so tired, but…it bothered me. I didn’t want to spend the summer with an asshole like him. As we got onto the busy road, thirty minutes counting down on the GPS for our arrival at the first venue, I eyed him in the mirror, a slight glare in my tired eyes

He sat behind the driver’s seat, large legs pushing up against the door and spilling into Cyrus’ space. I didn’t get a good look at him earlier, too focused on the bad energy he bled. From what I gathered through the rearview mirror’s reflection, he had sharp features- a long nose, pursed, pink lips, high cheekbones, and a neck that more than definitely spilled into a toned chest. His eyes were dark, brown, maybe, but I remembered that, outside, when the sun hit them, they were lighter. His hair was a medium shade of brown, shaggy before his eyes, but clean cut on the sides.

He was kind of attractive. But, that didn’t matter, considering he’d made such a terrible first impression. I knew he was Vessel because, even though he’d muttered just one word to me, his dark voice matched the one from the songs that Sam had forced me to listen to before we left. He was probably full of himself, the fame inflating his head, his ego, which was why he gave such a shit introduction. He honestly probably just thought he was too good for little girls like me, though he was only seven years older than me.

Like I said, I didn’t have anything against people who listened to metal. But, part of the reason I could never really get into the shit that Sam liked, was because most of the band’s seemed to be like this Vessel, this Oliver guy. Stuck-up, self-involved, all struggling artists who thought the world was out to get them, though, in reality, they were elitist, straight, white, cis men who had more privilege in their pinky fingers than I had in my entire body.

Either I had been staring for too long, or he felt my gaze, because his dark eyes met mine in the mirror. I flinched, quickly snapping my chin towards the window. I pressed my knees against the door, arms crossed over my chest ashamedly, trying to melt away. I caught sight of the exposed skin on my arm, where my hoodie sleeve had been tugged up a bit from my restlessness, and saw goosebumps littering my body. Why was my body reacting to his stare this way?

I sulked in my frustration the entire ride there, ignoring the sense that I could still feel his eyes burning into me. Eventually, I guess, I passed out, even though the morning fog cleared the view outside my window, displaying the beautiful, stretching buildings of the city. If I were awake, I could appreciate the glorious architecture, the landscapes of this foreign land.

Someone woke me up, their warm hand pressed upon my shoulder. “We’re here.”

I knew it wasn’t Sam, only because, as I sat up in my seat, I saw him standing at the back of the taxi, pulling our luggage from the trunk. Besides, he didn’t have an accent like this person did. I turned to see who had so gently awoken me, but the backseat remained empty.

I gathered my things, swinging my backpack straps over my shoulders as I stepped onto the cobblestone of the hotel parking lot. It was sprinkling, so I tugged my hood up and over my head. Sam then rounded the car, dragging my suitcase behind him noisily.

“Here,” he rolled it to a stop before me. His eyes examined my face for a moment, seeing the furrowed brows and scowl I wore, “You doing okay?”

I shivered, hugging my arms around my body. I felt kind of sick, probably from the jet lag. I tried to look not so bitchy, but I couldn’t do that when my head was pounding and vile threatened my throat. “Yeah,” I nodded, half-heartedly, “just need to lay down, I think.”

“S’okay,” Sam patted my head, “we’ll check into the hotel quickly and get you into bed, okay?”

I nodded again. Sam took my suitcase back into his hold and gestured for me to follow him. The band was just a few feet behind us as we headed into the hotel. I wanted to stop, take a look around, snap a billion photos of this newfound dreamland. But, my head was pounding more as we moved about. My stomach ached from hunger and exhaustion. I needed a long nap, even if it would fuck up my sleep schedule more than it already was going to be.

We reached the front desk. Sam began speaking to the attendant there, our reservation details pulled up on his phone screen, in the email management had sent him. Because I was tagging along and didn’t exactly work for the band, Sam and I would be forced to share lodging in each and every city. Luckily, I’d managed to snag my own bunk on the tour bus. But, when we’d jump between countries, I had to buy my plane tickets. I didn’t mind, considering this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that really wasn’t asking much from me.

I leaned against the counter, arms still wrapped around my body as I hunched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to ease the headache. Sam, the attendant, the band- their voices were all distant, like I was on another plane of existence.

But, another voice- one delicate, with an unfamiliar accent- became relevant to my hearing as he approached me. “Jet lag getting to you, love?”

I opened one eye and, upon seeing Max, straightened up a bit, “Oh, fuck,” I chuckled quietly. “It is.”

“Doesn’t get any better, just to warn you,” he shoved his large hands into the pockets of his black jeans. Stray pieces of his blond hair fell from the bun at the back of his hair.

I nodded up at him, neck straining, considering he towered over me, “Amazing news, thank you.”

“You need to invest in some energy drinks, loads of excedrin, and get good at cat napping,” he offered up the little advice he’d gathered from his years of experience touring.

Sam turned back to us, holding out a key card for me to take. I thanked him, plucking the key from his fingers, before looking back at Max, “Thank you, too. I’ll go try out this cat nap you speak of.”

Max grinned at me with a slight scrunch in his nose. I tried and failed to return the expression. Then, I continued on following Sam towards the elevators. I glanced behind us as we stepped inside and saw that the band was b-lining for the front doors. Just as the gray metal doors of the room boxed us in, I saw one of them peer over his shoulder, looking back at us. Sam didn’t notice, too busy pressing our floor number into the key pad. But, I did.

Oliver and I met eyes. He quickly looked away. The doors shut.

I tried to take a cat nap. I well and truly tried. I even turned a timer on for twenty minutes, promising myself that I would get up as soon as the alarm went off. I kind of knew that was going to happen when, as soon as my head hit the stack of plump pillows, my burning eyes immediately fell shut.

I guess my body had other plans than taking that cat nap.

As the alarm rang, Sam stepped out of the bathroom, where he had been showering and getting ready for the day. It was, after all, only 10am, and he had a job to report to. He sat down on my bed, near my chest. He set a warm hand down upon my shoulder.

I squirmed under the covers, fully waking as I felt his touch. I aggressively shut off the noisy alarm and groaned into my pillow.

Sam chuckled, squeezing my arm again. “Go back to sleep, Daz.”

“I want to, but…I don’t want to waste the day away. God, this sucks!”

He laughed again, “You’ll get more used to it. Besides, we have a whole other week in this city. You will have plenty of time to see everything you want to.”

“Where are you going?” My own words were muffled by my unwillingness to open my mouth all the way. Sam patted my head soothingly and I felt myself quickly falling back asleep, like the rain pattering against the window pane. I barely understood what he was saying now, too dazed and confused. “The venue. Have some meetings and shit. I’ll send you the address if you want to stop by. Just, take it easy for me today, Daz.”

His comforting demeanor, his warm touch, the love and gentleness that he treated me with- it only coaxed me further into my slumber. Sam pressed a kiss to my head before leaving. The door to the hotel room clicking shut was the last thing I’d consciously hear for the next eight hours.

I woke with a sharp intake of breath. There was a dry taste in my mouth, drool crusted in the corner of my lips, and a sheen of sweat clung my t-shirt to the skin of my back. I sat up, so I could peel my hoodie off, a gross expression morphing onto my face. My head still hurt, but the Excedrin I had taken that morning was helping just a bit.

I lazily made the bed, knowing I would be back in its clutches in just a few, short hours. The process made me feel a bit normal, though I was thrown off my rhythm completely. As I did it, my stomach growled, angrily. I realized at that moment that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. The last thing I remember consuming was that souvenir package of pretzels on the plane- and that was nearly 24-hours ago.

First things first- I had to shower. So, I scrubbed the plane dust, the sweat, from my skin. Then, I dressed in something easy: leggings, a reputation album hoodie, my white sneakers. I clipped my wet hair up, away from my face, and filled my purse with what I thought were essentials- my passport, in case I managed to get lost somewhere- a portable charger, my wallet, hotel key card, a can of pepper spray. I knew Europe was much more safe than America, but- I still needed to be cautious.

As I rode the elevator down the stairs, I shot Sam a text. There were five unanswered ones from him- the address to the venue, a photo of the outside of it, a check-in to see if I was okay, a pin-drop of his location, and, finally, one of him informing me that he was returning to the hotel with the band.

I reached the lobby and spotted them all at the hotel bar. They had taken up a table in the corner, noisy, chaotic, bordering on drunk. The rest of the room was nearly emptied out, probably because of them. Max saw my approaching figure first. He raised a hand to wave, interrupting Sam to say, “Look who it is! Cat nap do you any good?”

I shook my head at his words, a small giggle on my lips, “Not at all. I slept for eight hours.”

“Oh, shit,” Sam turned in his chair to face me. “I was wondering ‘cause you never responded to my texts.”

“Sorry,” I shrugged. Cyrus and Adam gave their attention to me. I looked over their faces with a polite smile before my eyes landed on their lead singer. He clutched onto an amber colored drink, head pointed down towards the table. He didn’t even have the decency to look at me when I was speaking.

I took a deep, annoyed breath, countering my vision back to Max, as he said, “You’ll get in the swing of things soon enough.”

I ignored the frustration Oliver fueled in my bones and said, “Just mad I wasted a day.”

Adam tilted his glass to me, “It’s okay, Daisy. You didn’t miss much.”

“No?” I inquired, glancing around the men before me.

They all shook their heads. Cyrus frowned, “Just meetings. Boring shit like that.”

“You have all summer, Daz. You can start catching up tomorrow,” Sam reassured me again.

“Well, I am gonna go out tonight. Just for a bit,” I replied.

Max nodded appreciatively at my plans, ‘'Whatcha gonna do? Hit the town? Go dancing, maybe?”

“Eat my weight in Nando's, actually,” I giggled in response.

The boys shared a round of laughter. I glanced at Oliver, but his head was still down. He was scrolling his phone, now, frowning though the rest of us were having a great. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and looked at Cyrus. “Nando's is great. You’ll like it.”

“Hope so.”

Sam finished off his drink with just a small sip. “I should come with you.”

I waved him off, “I’ll be okay. I’m gonna be alone a lot this summer. Best to get used to it now.”

“It’s late, though,” he offered up again.

“It’s fine, I promise. I’ll give you my location and you can anxiously watch my little avatar move around London, okay?”

Sam huffed in agreement, unwilling to argue with me. I was an adult, after all. He didn’t really have a say as to what I did, though I wasn’t unappreciative of his efforts. Then, Max spoke again, “Well, you’ll have to let us take you out another time, though. Maybe even take you dancing. There’s a great nightlife here in London.”

“Yeah, that could be fun,” I nodded. My stomach growled and, luckily, I was the only one to have heard it. I began to wrap up the short conversation, “I’m gonna get going. I haven’t eaten all day and I feel like I’m gonna turn into the Hulk soon. See you all tomorrow?”

Sam stood from his seat and enveloped me in a short hug. “Be safe, Daz.”

As we pulled apart, I reached up on my toes to ruffle his sandy hair. I settled back onto my heels, my smile morphing into a mischievous smirk as I thought of a silly way to throw him off. I tilted my head to the side, teasing, “Sure thing, Sam Ham.”

I rushed for the exit, escaping the hotel bar before he could retaliate. I knew I had made his face flush a deep red. I could even hear the band’s laughter trailing behind me as they teased him for the nickname. It was a good start to what felt like it could be one of the best summer’s of my life.

As long as Oliver stayed out of my way.

I was gone for just two hours. I struggled to find Nando’s at first because Google had me walking in circles. But with a little help from a CVS worker, I finally reached the restaurant. I ordered a little more food than I was probably able to eat because I wanted to sample the popular menu. Between the mass amount of food and the speed at which I ate, it wasn’t long until I was full.

After I left the building, I took a stroll, finally in a decent enough headspace to be able to appreciate the lit-up city. It was Monday, and nearly 10pm, so most of the shops and bars were closed for the evening. When something interested me, I simply wrote down in my notes app so I could remember to come back. Tomorrow, I decided, I would return to this little corner of the world.

Elated with the excitement of this promising journey, the mood only heightened from the hunger dissipated in my bones, I made it back to the hotel. Though Sam had promised me he would stay up, he was curled up under the blankets, passed out. I wasn’t mad- I knew he needed to get a good night’s rest. Besides, back home, I lived alone, came and went late at night all the time. I didn’t need him to look out for me to this extreme extent. I tucked the blankets up under his chin a bit more snugly, plugged his phone in, and ensured I was quiet as I got myself ready to lay down.

However, I threw the covers off of myself after struggling to sleep for over an hour. My body was buzzing. I was just not going to be able to fall asleep for a while. I could feel the energy pulsing through my body, excitement forcing my once tired eyes to jolt open unwillingly. I needed to get up, move around, do something to get this jumpiness to leave me alone.

I pulled my once abandoned hoodie overtop my pj set, shoved my feet into the pair of slippers I’d packed. Rummaging through the mini-fridge, I pulled out a few small bottles of liquor- three vodka shots, one Jack Daniels. These few should be enough to get me to sleep.

I piled them into my purse, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and headed out the door. I didn’t know where I was going when I got into the elevator, but my eyes scanned over the button pad and found an option for the roof. That seemed like a good enough place to chill for a while.

The air was cold, but not in a bitter way. My warm skin almost welcomed the stark contrast. It seemed to coax the buzz of energy out of my system once I began to shiver. There were a few patio chairs set up around fire pits or grills. I picked a huddle that was positioned towards the corner of the roof, sitting myself criss-cross on a maroon-colored couch.

I unlocked my phone and shuffled my liked songs playlist on Spotify. I uncapped one of the shots and downed it with a scrunched face. I never much liked the taste of alcohol because it was so bitter. And, then, because of that, tolerance was low and I was an annoying light weight. It immediately made my chest feel warm. At least two of these would probably coax me to sleep, no problem.

“Gonna share?”

I flinched at the deep voice, eyes snapping from examining the front of the bottle to the body seated across the firepit from me. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light from the small tiki lamps surrounding our section of the roof. But, when they did, my pupils widened in slight shock.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I replied, tone a little more than annoyed that he was just now announcing himself.

“Long enough to know you can’t take a shot,” there was a smirk in his voice, a cockiness that made me want to wipe it clean off his pink, plump lips.

“Sorry I’m not an alcoholic,” I snide back. “If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

“Comfy with this trash music playing?” He quipped, though he stood and reached out for the alcohol..

I begrudgingly handed him a vodka bottle, though his comment only annoyed me further, “Real men like Taylor Swift.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard? I’m a vessel. Not a man.”

I watched in silence as he took the shot. He held my eyes in his. There was a teasing sense edging at his pupils. I couldn’t quite read what he intended with his gaze, his quips. Maybe he was really trying to piss me off even more. I already figured him an asshole, based off of how he acted each time I saw him today. But, with every sentence that passed, this belief was only carved deeper.

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to soothe my frustration. If he really just wanted to get on my nerves, I wasn’t going to let him know it was working. I would just be sickly sweet in return. “So, Vessel, what are you doing up here? Can’t sleep?”

“Obviously,” he waved me off.

I watched him for another moment, wondering what I could say to bother him back. He took a cigarette and a lighter from his hoodie pocket. The end of it glowed red from the small flame. and he sunk it between his lips. When he pulled it out, he flicked his brows at me, as if to offer a drag. I frowned, head shaking, “That’s okay. Thanks.”

“Hm…too good for a smoke, then?” He flicked off the end of the cigarette, sending ashes down to his pant leg, onto the concrete of the roof below us.

I watched as they fell, a glare in my gaze, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

Oliver held the cigarette mid-air, paused from bringing it to his lips. He flicked his brows again, rubbed his lips together, Then, he tossed the stick onto the floor and stomped it with the toe of his boot. “Sorry.”

“Mhm,” I challenged, knowing I now had the upper-hand because of his obvious guilt. All I could think was that I really did not like him. But he was so fucking hot.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.”

“Yeah, no,” I chuckled dryly.

Oliver peeled his eyes from my face, looking out over the city lights sprawled out before us. He pondered for a moment, the process obvious because of the way it sat on his face- his eyes darkened, his brows furrowed, and he frowned. I wanted to make a comment about how I could see the smoke billowing from his ears as he thought, but he met my eye again.

“What’s your deal, Daisy?”

I wouldn’t admit it, but I loved the way my name sounded on his pretty pink lips. I wanted to hear it, closer, right next to my ear, in a much darker setting, wearing way less clothing. I shook away the thought, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he had thrown me for a loop. I ignored the smirk that curled on his mouth, shifted in my seat, and shrugged, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Oliver laughed, a dry, hollow sound that I quite enjoyed. I opened the other shot of vodka and went to take it, needing desperately to quiet my brain. But, he replied, “What are you here for?”

“What are you here for?” I leaned forward to toss him the bottle of Jack Daniels.

He took it, then stretched his arms out over the back of the couch he sat upon, the bottle hanging loosely from his fingers.. “Good question. For our music, I suppose. To perform it for our listeners.”

“That’s not what you’re here for,” I rejected his words, shaking my head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

He glanced around. Smoke, ears again. I nearly cracked a smile at the parallel before he finally responded, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

I held the shot out towards him, offering a cheer up to what he had said, “To life.”

Oliver leaned forward on the couch, stopping me before I could take the shot, “Wait, what about you?”

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” I waved him off with a small giggle. The air between us was growing more comfortable as we opened up to each other. Maybe Sam was right- maybe Oliver just needed to get to know me before he stopped being an ass. It didn’t make it okay, that he was like that. It was definitely a trauma response. But, it was alright. I’d be over it by the morning, especially considering some semblance of a friendship was blossoming here between us.

“Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?” He lay a hand out, as if I had to fill that empty air with my response.

I glanced from his hand, out to the city, thinking over the question. What was mine? Why was I here? I wanted to take a break from reality before my life would really start. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to visit friends, to discover life beyond my small corner of the map. But, what did it all mean to me? What was my purpose this summer? I was always quite stagnant. I just…existed. I don’t think I ever really lived, found that meaning within what I did.

“I guess…” I met his eye again, finding some answers in my own thoughts, “I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

“Then, to life…to discovering life. To finding life,” he sampled a few phrases before settling upon what he’d come up with..

We both leaned our arms out until our shot glasses clinked together. It was cheesy, meta, a conversation that, 24 hours ago, I would have snorted at. At least, that’s what the girl who boarded the plane last night would have done. Maybe I was changing already, and maybe it was for the better. Maybe this summer really would be about discovering life, discovering my own.

I didn’t think we’d find much else to talk about, but that was quickly proven wrong. We spent the next hour and a half involved in a deep conversation, swapping childhood stories, dreams, favorite songs and movies. Oliver wasn’t so bad, wasn’t so depressing as I originally thought he was. Sure, he had plenty of skeletons in the closet. But, he was funny, too, with niche interests, interesting stories that drew laughter out of me. I hadn’t thought this was possible.

Eventually, we both needed to get to bed. He had to be up in just six hours and I wanted to get a good start on the next day. I was finally starting to feel tired, too. So, we boarded the elevator together, only after tossing his cigarette bud and shot bottles into the trash.

Oliver reached across my body to press the button for our floor. As his body passed mine, I caught a sweet whiff of his cologne. It rattled my brain around. That, combined with his warm breath, and the alcohol in my system, shivered goosebumps down my spine.

As he settled back on his heels, I braved a glance up at his handsome face. He was already looking down at me. The small smile on his plump lips stretched into a teeth-bearing grin. I blushed at the expression on his face.

I didn’t care anymore, not about his rude greetings, his annoyed stature at the bar earlier. I didn’t care about any of it, if it would mean he would keep looking at me like he was right now.

My eyes felt like they glazed over as we stared at one another. Oliver turned his shoulder, facing his chest towards me. The action was an opening door, an encouraging lure into dark places I should stray from. But, I didn’t.

I faced him, too, fingers grasping at my hoodie sleeves, nervously. Oliver tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He spoke, softly, quietly, “You’re very pretty, Daisy.”

I blushed, again. I went to step forward, to make some sort of move in return. But, then, the elevator doors were cracking themselves open. A bell rang overhead.

I guess it broke whatever trance we were both in. Oliver stepped out first, but didn’t move to stride away. He waited for me to join him in the hall. We walked, side by side, towards our rooms, silence taking up so much space and time. Maybe I was being delusional, but I really thought he was going to make some sort of move on me. It probably wouldn’t be for the best, but…Either way, I was grateful for the bond we had begun to form. It would make for a great tour, I just knew it.

Just as I reached my door, Oliver softly called out my name. I turned to him, hand on the door knob, ready to escape into the confines of my bed to think over everything. I met his dark eyes, catching the light in the golden flecks of his pupils. He smiled, “Thanks for staying up with me.”

I couldn’t help but grin back, appreciative of the time we’d spent, hopeful for the future of our friendship (even if I had imagined him blowing my back out in the elevator). “Thank you, Oliver. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And see him I did.

When Sam’s alarm went off, I joined him in getting ready, deciding to hit the town early. We went down to breakfast together, my attitude a little more perkier than his, considering the jet lag had started to get to him. And, considering I was excited to see my newfound friend.

We sat with Max and Adam. I greeted them both with a kind smile, my plate of pancakes coming to rest on the table before me. We chatted just a bit, everyone a little more quiet than usual due to the slowness of the morning time.

I finished up my first pancake just as Cy and Oliver sat down with us. I looked up from my plate, grinning despite myself, and tried to meet Oliver’s eyes. “Good morning, guys.”

Cy glanced up, a tired smile on his face. “Morning, Daisy. Sleep okay?”

It took more than a moment before I looked at him, mind focused on catching Oliver’s eyes, “Yeah, thanks. Struggled for a bit, but managed to get to sleep after Ol-”

“Butter,” Oliver reached out a hand, eyes trained onto his plate.

I peeled my gaze from Cy, my smile faltering when I realized Oliver was holding out a hand towards me. He was waiting for me to pick up the plate and hand it to him, without any sign of a please or, God forbid, a greeting. Not to mention, he interrupted me as soon as I had begun to mention our escapade from the night before.

I narrowed my eyes, hoping my burning stare would rattle him. But, it did nothing, so I picked up the butter and shoved it into his hand. He settled it onto the table before him and didn’t say anything else.

What was going on here?

I was thrown for a loop, which seemed to just be the case when it came to him. He was a game, I realized now. And, I did not plan on playing it. Cy looked up from his plate, “After what, Daisy?”

I tried again, just to confirm if that interruption had been as intentional as it seemed, “After Ol-”

He coughed. He coughed right through my words, stopping me from saying his name; again. His gaze was still locked on his plate as he buttered his toast. He blinked. Didn’t make any move to excuse himself, apologize. Nothing.

I gave up then, reading the situation well enough to understand he didn’t want anyone to know about last night. I settled on saying, “After downing a couple shots of vodka. Helped me get to…sleep.” I continued to watch Oliver as I spoke, my -tone flat, frown settled deep into my cheeks.

Cyrus responded, though I wasn’t listening anymore. Max conversed back, moving onto some wild, drunken story from last tour, intended to make me laugh. I tried to catch onto their words, tried to give them the chuckles they searched for. The attention they deserved, and Oliver did not.

But, I couldn’t draw my eyes from his face. After a few minutes, he finally glanced up, though it was quickly, barely looking long enough for me to catch his eyes.

This was going to be a long summer.

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