#my soul wants to soar

[edmy]

Beautiful voice...

beautiful boys...

It hits the right spot...

like a stab on the scapula.

Thank you for this OFMD.

[sternalwires]

“go back to sleep, honey, we’ll be home soon” and george thinks i’m already there

I need you to be locked up!!! dream is his home that's so true!!!

sometimes home is not a place sometimes home is the boy you crossed an ocean for softly singing along to the radio, some song about brown eyes, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other tracing the lines on your palm while he thinks you’re asleep

[crowsandmurderbackup]

Jax Teller tags

Jax  ✖ (Aesthetics)

Jax  ✖ (Thoughts)

Jax  ✖ (Character Development)

Jax  ✖ (Crack)

Jax  ✖ (Headcanons)

VERSES:

V: Rebellion is the only thing that keeps you alive [Teen Jax] - After the death of John Teller and even before, Jax is definitely a rebellious teenager. He doesn’t handle his father’s absence, death and his mother remarrying well.  He finds love and that is something that helps him focus, but other than that, he get into trouble a lot and enjoys it.

V: The Prince Prospects [Jax as a Prospect] - Jax may be the Prince of Charming, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to Prospect like everyone else.  He has to learn to serve the guy his mom married, someone he’s always known. His hot headed temper leads him and others into trouble, along the way.

V: All I ever wanted was a Harley and a Kutte [Pre-Show SAMCRO Jax] - Jax patches in, like was expected and his life revolves around club life, women and crime. It’s easier to not commit to women than deal with not being over the one who left. But, that doesn’t mean that he spends all his time pining away or anything like that.

V: Some days you’re the beamer, some days you’re the goddamned deer [Season One] - Jax is the VP of SAMCRO, Opie’s out of prision, Tara’s back in town, and his kid was born way too soon because of his junkie mom.  There’s always a bunch of shit as Jax deals with feeling like shit matters more, now that he’s got a kid.

V: I’m not the one out there murdering women! [Season 2] - After the death of Opie’s wife, Jax finds himself at odds with Clay, as they deal with a new group and Ethan Zobelle.  He tries to balance it all, but finds himself wanting to be away from Clay and then seeking revenge for his mother.  

V: It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better [Season 3] - If Jax thought things were a mess before, there even worse now. The Irish stole his son and he doesn’t know how to get him back.  He struggles with self-destructing and having to go to Ireland.  There’s no one who self-destructs quite like Jax Teller.

V: I know you killed my father [Season 4] - Fresh out of prison, Jax has goals that are more than being a part of SAMCRO. He wants to get his family out of this and makes a deal with Clay how to do so. But old secrets and lies may keep that from happening as more things grow out of control and Jax finds himself torn between what’s best for his family and what’s best for his chosen family. 

V: You can’t sit in this chair without being a savage [Season 5] - It’s a new era of SAMCRO. Jax is President and wants to do things differently. But something shocks him to the core and takes away part of his heart, something that he’ll never get back. Dealing with the fallout is difficult and Jax learns the weight of being the King of SAMCRO.

V: My self-hate is so deep, so palpable [Season 6] - Things just keep getting worse. Jax’ marriage is a mess. The problems with the Irish seem to be getting worse all the time and he finds himself falling deeper and deeper losing his vision, and wondering what the brotherhood even is. 

V  I’m sorry that the family I was given has created so much chaos in the family I’ve chosen [Season 7] - Jax wanted to do what he could to protect the club, but he’d never imagined the horrors of what happened at the end of season 6. Facing being a widowed father, he is a self-destructive mess, taking his anger and grief on anyone gets in his way. Mistakes are made and consequences have to be paid. 

V: The crow no longer speaks to me [Surviving AU] - Thought it is near impossible that it happened this way, Jax survives what happens at the end of Papa’s Goods. It takes him a long time, and the fallout from his emotional point at that time is still address. He’s not sure what happens now.

V: Soar on my Wings [Canon Divergent AU] - Instead of going down 580, Jax found himself going up to Norco, meeting Wendy and Nero up there. Now, he’s got to decide if hiding out is worth it. What will his life mean now, and can he salvage the relationships he wants to?

V: He sees all my sins, He reads my soul [Time-jumps] - Time periods of various time jumps.

Bio already on CARRD

[noxtivagus]

JUST WATCHED THE 6.3 TRAILER AGAIN W APOLLO HOLY FUCK 😭

[davepaste]

my glasses broke in june and i've just been retaping the arms back on every few days

this is going to break me or help me reach enlightenment either way i think im going to find out soon

[lxvebun]

if it's okay could you write something about simon asking the reader to stay the night and it will be the first time they sleep over? no pressure ofc!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader. Fluff! i'm yearning for fall/winter so it's written with that in mind. The heat is getting to me🥲 not proofread im nervous. Eng isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

“I should probably go."

It took you an embarrassingly long time to finally get those words out. Every minute ticking by only making you more and more nervous to actually say them. You truly don’t want to leave just yet. Don’t want to pull away from your place next to him, tucked into his side, soft, warm. A strong arm wrapping around you keeping you nice and close to him, occasionally his hand traces invisible heart shapes and silent i love you’s into your skin. 

(a habit that has shifted into his love language. Simon Riley loves quietly, but deeply. And moments where he can get his hands on your skin to spell out his devotion to you, fingertips burning pleasantly, leaving behind a trail of falling stars, is something he makes time for often)

It feels all too safe and domestic to leave just yet, but the colder months are approaching and it’s well into the evening now. The sky has already completely settled into a deep dark blue with clusters of stars and a bright full moon. The streets however are still lively, early sunsets and longer nights having no affect on most people's schedule. People are coming back from a long day at work, couples are running their last errands at the corner store and old grannies are coming back from their weekly bingo night down the street at the community center. Right now, it still feels safe enough to walk back home on your own. Without a doubt, Simon would offer to walk you, but he’s barely made it through your annual movie night and you’d rather not keep him from his much needed and well deserved sleep.

(it would not be your first time walking home alone at night, don’t tell Simon, but you prefer not to. Being so hyper aware of every movement and every sound is tiring and your 15 minute walk back home feels like you just finished a marathon)

He shifts next to you, the haze of sleep laced in his movements, a groan of disagreement falling from his lips as he throws a glance at his watch.

"T’is only eight, sweetheart. You never leave this early. Something wrong?" A twinge of worry coursing through his voice, brows furrowed at the thought of you being uncomfortable. His hand changes from tracing shapes to rubbing comforting circles into your side, albeit a bit frantically.

(he’s so attentive it honestly makes you wanna cry sometimes)

"No, nothings wrong," You begin. Smoothing the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb and placing a gentle kiss to his jawline. "I just don’t want to walk alone at night. Nor do I want to keep you from your sleep"

You’re quick to add the last bit, practically hearing the words "I'll walk you " escape from his mouth already.

He doesn’t make an attempt to remove his hands from your waist, or sit back up straight. On the contrary he’s taken it to melt into you a little more, pull you a little closer and you think he’s doing this to convince you to stay

(it's working)

even months deep into your relationship, every sweet touch and gentle kiss still manages to cause your heart to soar and flutter in your chest.

He takes a moment to just look at you, and it makes you avert your eyes at its heaviness. Too sweet, too piercing, you feel like he’s looking into your mind and soul, breaking it open like a book and taking everything in. Usually, he coaxes you with delicate words and a warm hand on your jaw to keep looking at him but he’ll let you look away for now. You who’s so sweetly tucked into his side, you who feels so warm and peaceful against him it makes him wanna squeeze you to his chest and never let go. How could he possibly let you go when you look so content and so safe in his arms. From the look in your eyes and body language alone he can tell you feel good here, that you want to stay. He’s right but It’s the nerves, the shyness and not being sure where his boundaries lie that make you pull away from this moment

"You could always stay the night." He whispers, honeyed and soothing. Making sure you know there’s no pressure behind his request. It makes something warm curl in your heart

He’s been thinking about it often, what it would be like to wake up next to you. Seeing you first thing when he opens his eyes all angelic and soft in the golden morning sun rays, sleeping in his bed, draped in his sheets. Would you have any special night routines, would you like to use a nightlight or do you prefer complete darkness, do you move around a lot, are you cuddly. It honestly takes over the majority of his thoughts when he goes to bed himself. Finds himself imagining in detail what it would be like and he swears that he sleeps best on those nights. He can only imagine how good he’ll sleep next to you.

Your silence would worry him if he wasn’t able to read you so well. A hitch in your breath, eyes looking everywhere but him, a shy smile tugging on your lips

(you’re so cute)

"I’d like that." Your voice comes out soft, a little vulnerable but you know you’re safe. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

You’ve been thinking about it too. Spend many nights imagining what it would be like to curl up in his arms and drift off to sleep. Waking him up with a plethora of kisses to his face. Making your respective morning drinks in the kitchen together, stealing kisses in between sips. Thinking about it always leaves you feeling a little dizzy.

His response comes in the form of a wet kiss to your forehead that trails down to your cheeks, then the corner of your lips before finally pulling you into one. You'll choose to spare him and not comment on the flush on his cheeks, just this once

"I’ll go grab a hoodie and some sweatpants, you can use those to sleep in"

reluctantly, although motivated by the image of you in his clothes, he stands up, warmth slipping away for a moment before it’s contained again by the blanket he drapes over you.

"I’ll grab the clothes, you pick another movie"

With that he makes his way to the bedroom to retrieve said clothes. Before you can pick up the remote to pick a movie however, his voice booms out of the bedroom

"Do not pick twilight. Can’t stand that edward fucker."

Perhaps the Notebook will be more to his taste then:)

thank you for requesting nonnie! and thank you for reading angels!

[tswhiisftteedr]

Wings ☆ Drabble/Really Short One Shot

☆ Adam x Wingless Angel!Fem!Reader :

They were just so pretty, you couldn’t help but touch your boyfriend’s beautiful golden wings. And hey, what was the worst that could happen’ probably nothing too bad, right?

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Praise & Degradation, Adam is a bit condescending and forceful, but hey, it’s Adam we’re talking about. Oral Sex(Female Receiving), Penetrative Sex, First Time As A Couple. NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: 2330

Ask: Hi! ^^ Omg I saw that your requests are open!! I have one for Adam from Hazbin Hotel. I have a headcanon that his wings are very very sensitive and when you touch them it drives him crazy. Could you please do a Nsfw/ smut headcanon, or scenario with him and his female S/O just hanging out, him eating and she gets curious and touches softly them (not knowing what the affect it)? I hope you have a beautiful day!

Note: Of course!! And thank you, hope you also have a beautiful day/night!! Thanks for the request, right now I’m going to work on my others lol. Hope you like what I wrote!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Ever since your ascent to Heaven post-mortem, a sense of exclusion lingered in your heart. Unlike most heavenly beings with wings, you were one of the few soul that lack that part of the brand new heavenly anatomy. While everyone in Heaven remained kind and courteous, the infrastructure, were obvious designed for winged inhabitants. That posed you quite the challenges, especially when you where in need of transportation— the lack of automobiles was your greatest nemesis in the afterlife, as everyone effortlessly soared using their wings they didn’t need them.

Despite a subtle feeling of inferiority, your fascination with wings endured. Their majestic allure captivated you, and the desire to experience the softness of the beautiful contraptions persisted. ‘You just had to feel them!’

And you were determined to do so today, as you had received an invitation from Adam to come over.

Currently, you find yourself enjoying takeout on the expansive balcony of his penthouse. It was nice scenery, a comfy outdoor couch with a coffee table full of food.

As he rambled about his day, you nodded along, your attention solely fixed on the captivating golden wings adorning his sides and back. Sneakily inching closer to him, captivated by their beauty. “—Anyways that chick had a huge rack,” He pauses to take a bite of his burger, “So I guessed even Karen ass bitches can be hot.” he finishes with gulp.

Then you finally had a hold of them, ‘his marvellous wings!’ You were engrossed at their exquisite softness, surpassing any feathers from animals you had ever touched. Lost in the delicate material for about a solid five minutes, it had than dawned on you that Adam had stopped talking. Looking back up at him, you notice he had dropped his burger on the table. Then when you glanced at his face, you noted that he looked ‘different’, if you had to describe it, his face almost looked feverish.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your back and hit the couch cushions, then one of Adam's hands pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Fuuuck, babe! You don't need to get so handsy just because your jealous, you could've just fucking said so instead of acting a little tease, feelin’ me up and all.” He informs you while staring down at your perplexed expression, because, while Adam talked dirty in general, you had  no idea  what  you had done to be a tease in this particular  situation.

While that question spun in your head, Adam moved closer to your ear, his words jolting you out of your thoughts.

“if you were feeling needy, you just had to speak up. You know I would never leave my girl hanging, especially if getting her little brains fuck out is what she wants.” His voice low, full of desire and malice. He then playfully nip at your ear, ‘now who was the tease again?’

“Wait what— Um, Adam, where is all this coming from?!” You speak up, clearly nervous as a result of your boyfriend's statements and how close your bodies were together.

“The fuck you mean? You started this shit.” He begins, slowly sliding his free hand up your thigh. “Getting in my personal space, touching my wings to get me riled up, are you really gonna play the clueless card now you slutty little thing.” His hand now reaching under you shirt. “Think you can mess with me and just act like nothing happened, huh?” He says as he fondles with one of your breast.

“What do mean get you riled up, I barely touch you!?” You speak out anxiously; this was going far beyond anything you had done before. You two would kiss passionately at most, never doing anything remotely close to, 'well this!' It was strange; he almost acted like he did when he was mad, but this was somewhat different.

"Bold lie for an angel, like you wouldn't know— Oh, riiiight, you don't have wings." It had now dawned on him that you were utterly clueless of the affects the soft petting you gave to his wings had on him, and how depraved it made him feel.

"Yeah. I am not sure what I did to you when I touched your wings, but let me make one thing clear: it was unintentional. Seriously, they seemed soft, and I wanted to know how nice they were to the touch. So I'm sorry for making you mad; I should have asked before touching them.” You explain.

"Aww babes, don't worry, you didn't make me mad, and I'll tot's forgive you,"

You briefly relax as he speaks, well that is, until he opens his mouth again.

"Yeah I'll definitely forgive you if take care of my raging hard on for me'." He emphasised his words by grinding himself against you, making you feel his erection, and oh boy! Was he big; his self-appointed title of 'dickmaster' didn't seem so baseless anymore.

Your heart races faster as you feel a wave of panic wash over you. Despite his words, you couldn’t help but feel anxious about the situation. It was a big milestone to you, ‘the first time the two of you would have intercourse’.

You squirmed slightly, attempting to break free from his hold due to nerves but soon realize it was futile with him pinning your hands above your head. "I... I'm not sure that—," you started to say, but before you could finish, he cut you off.

"Shut up and enjoy the ride, babes." He growled softly, taking advantage of your momentary hesitation to quickly roughly kiss your lips. His tongue thrusts aggressively into your mouth, demanding entry while his other hand continues cupping your breast, squeezing and groping roughly. His erection presses harder against your thigh, digging into your sensitive flesh.

Despite your initial protests and confusion, you can't deny the familiar thrill coursing through your veins. You knew better, yet you still arch into his touch, moaning softly against his rough treatment.

As a warning to quit your shifting around, Adam's grip tightens around your wrists, almost painfully so, causing you to whimper in discomfort mixed with arousal.

And when he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is heavy and labored.

"You like it, don't you?" He asked, his voice low with desire. His hips rock back and forth, grinding against you harder, making sure you felt every inch of his member. "Admit it, Y/N."

"A-adam, please... I—," you pleaded while being out of breath, but your words were cut off by another deep kiss. His tongue forced its way past your lips, exploring your mouth hungrily yet his hand didn't stop its manhandling of your chest. Meanwhile, his cock throbbed painfully against your thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your clothes.

The sensation was too much for you to handle; despite your original nervousness, the thoughts of messing up or not being enough had dissipated, and you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him anymore. You wanted him and he was totally into you.

Plus your body responded to his touch in ways you didn’t expect it to, it was incredibly in tune with his wants. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as he continued his assault on both your body and mind.

Suddenly, Adam pulled away, his breathing heavy and short. "Good girl," he praised, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Now, spread those legs for me."

While being aroused, you still reluctantly spread your legs wide apart, letting him take off your shorts and exposing your wet panties. "Please, Adam," you whimpered, unable to resist his advances any longer.

With a growl of lust, he ripped off your remaining clothes, revealing your naked body to him. His eyes devoured every inch of you—your stomach, to your hips and obviously your beautiful pussy. Without further ado, he leaned forward, his mouth descending upon your navel, tracing slow, hot lines with his tongue before moving lower still. "Mmmm, you smell so fucking good toots," he murmured against your sensitive flesh.

His hands trailed downwards too, cupping your thighs in his palms, squeezing and kneading them. Soon switching to one free hand and one holding down your legs, inching his face to your then and lapping at your heat.

“Adam, what in the heavens are you doing!?"

“Uh, trying to eating you out, pretty obvious babes”

"Yeah, I get that, but like, why?? You always complain about 'bitches being annoying for demanding you go down on them.' when you mentioned passed relationships"

"Oh yeah, I did say that lmao. Honestly, I just feel like it. You look so pathetically adorable; I couldn’t help myself."

“Did— did you just lmao out loud?”

“Do you want me to stop eating you out with all your interruptions.” He threatens.

"No! I mean, I'm alright. Please continue."

"That’s what I thought too, babes," he grinned around your wet folds, sucking and licking at your sensitive spots. His tongue traced along your cunt, flicking against your clit before returning to tease your entrance again.

You moaned softly, your hands grasping tightly onto Adam's horns as he continued to pleasure you. You arched into him, letting out a soft whimper when his long tongue brushed against your G-spot. "Mmmhmmm... More please..." you managed to mutter between heavy breaths.

He chuckled lightly against your sensitive flesh before pulling away slightly. "Alright, alright." With renewed vigor, he returned to his task with even more enthusiasm, sucking harder and faster on your clit while his fingers teased her opening. He could feel your wetness increasing rapidly, seeping down onto his hand.

Your body trembled and shook in response to the intense sensations assaulting every inch of your being; you were close now—very close. Your breathing became increasingly shallow as she fought the impending orgasm building up inside of her. Then finally you reached sweet climax.

Adam momentarily let go of you to undress himself, now cock in hand."Tell me you want it," he demanded between kisses to neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"I... I do," you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible above your heavy breathing.

"That's my girl," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Without warning, he thrust his cock deep inside you, filling you completely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as the unfamiliar yet familiar feeling washed over you. His thrusts were fast and hard, pounding into you relentlessly. Each powerful stroke brought forth a moan from your throat, mixing with his growls of pleasure.

Your body adjusted quickly to his size, accommodating him easily despite initial discomfort. You arched your back against him, meeting his rhythmic thrusts. The sensation was unlike anything you've ever experienced before—it hurt, but in the best possible way. Your chest bounced with each powerful thrust.

As Adam continued to ravish you, his fingers found their way between your legs, rubbing and massaging your sensitive folds. He teased and tormented your clit mercilessly, causing waves of intense pleasure to ripple through your core. After staring at your lower half for a minute, “I should totally get my name tatted on you, like a crotch tattoo or some shit.” he tells you in his usual goofy tone, yet the look behind his eyes seem to say that he wasn’t completely joking. You on the other could only cry out his name between ragged breaths, begging for more.

“That's it, you filthy little whore," he murmured between labored breaths. "Tell me how much you love this, slut." His pace picked up even more, slamming into you harder and faster than before. Your moans echoed around the room as he relentlessly claimed your body.

In response to his demand, you managed to choke out, "I... I love it!" Your voice cracking with desire, filled with honesty despite yourself.

"Good girl." He growled, picking up speed. His hips slammed against yours in a brutal rhythm that left you gasping for air. His fingers continued their relentless assault on your sensitive spots, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. As a reflex you grabbed at his back, well in this case, his wings.

And that action fucked with him so bad. So Adam bit down hard on your neck, leaving a mark that would later turn into a pretty obvious hickey. Blood trickled down your skin, but it only served to heighten your arousal. "Cum for me, babe," he groaned, his voice hoarse with lust. "Let go, don’t think too hard about it"

You were close, so close to the brink of orgasm. The constant barrage of stimulation was too much for your body to handle, and you couldn't hold back anymore. "A-Adam... I'm..."

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, his words thick with desire. He increased the pace even more, pounding into you relentlessly.

With a loud cry, you release around him, your pussy contracting tightly around his cock as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over you. Your entire body shook with the force of your climax, and sweat trickled down your body, mixing with his saliva and cum.

Adam groaned in satisfaction, following suit moments later, filling you up with his hot seed. Panting heavily, he lifted his head to stare into your eyes, his gaze filled with lust and satisfaction. "That was fucking amazing, shit, that’s why your my fav."

After momentarily going inside to get cleaned up, you had returned to the balcony.

“Shit my burger is cold!” Adam bitches.

“Well what did you expect it was left on a table while being outdoors— Oh, shit, did someone-?” You begin, than the realization of the what just happened hits Locke a truck.

“-Hear us? Yeah most likely, but doesn’t really matter, they won’t do shit about it, well probably.” He says followed by a laugh.

Sometimes you wondered why you were dating someone so irresponsible, but after today, you did have another bullet point to add to your pros list. ‘The dick was good’

Thanks @starlightfire97 for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

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Tag list for Adam: @sunflower-lilly @moonbloom226

Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

[hiraethwa]

✰ — i want all your midnights 

kageyama x reader; fluff drabble;

"please don’t ever became a stranger"

tobio snakes his arms around your waist while you are attempting to gently fold the souffle pancake batter, resting his chin on your shoulder. a perfectly domestic action that sent your heart fluttering in its ribcage. 

tobio, not kageyama, because somewhere along the lines, they had blurred, and you found yourself falling for the man behind the name. his impossibly soft hair threaded through your fingers as he lays with his head on your chest after fucking you senseless, his own hands playing with your other hand. 

his soulful eyes the color of a navy berry under the night skies when you could call him yours, a cerulean blue in the soft morning rays as you wake up to an arm slung low over your hips. you would notice the light marks left on him, evidence of the previous night, such contrast to his softness as he rubs his eyes awake. 

“y/n?” tobio waves you back to the present, snapping you out of your haze.

“hmm?” you turn around to face him, his hands automatically adjusting themselves to rest on the sides of your hips. 

“hinata and the others are in town tonight. they are going to meet us at the ramen bar a few shops down from your favorite katsu place.” you aren’t quite sure you understand what tobio is asking of you. after all, you’re seeing each other casually, no labels attached to whatever the two of you are. 

“meet us…?” you trail off, a question left in its wake. 

“yeah, they have been bugging me to meet you for weeks, so i thought, why not?”

“why do they want to meet me?” you furrow their eyebrows, confused as to why they even know of your existence. 

“because you’re my girlfriend?”

“i’m your what—?” you almost drop the mixing bowl in your hands from shock. 

“you’re my girlfriend.” he cocks his head at you questioningly. “why do you look so surprised? you’re the one who said yes.”

“i don’t—” your cheeks heat as you remember the dream that wasn’t a dream—so tobio had asked you to be his girlfriend before you fell asleep that night, but you were so exhausted that you thought you hallucinated the whole thing. “oh.”

“idiot,” kageyama mutters, giving you a flick on your forehead before taking over the task of pouring the batter into the greased pan. the action so normal and domestic that tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. 

“my boyfriend is so mean to me,” you hug him from the back, face squished against the expanse of his back. your heart soars with disbelief and delight. finally, you get to call him yours.

"whose laugh i can recognize anywhere"

[novaursa]

The Fire That Binds Us

- Summary: The aftermath of Blood and Cheese. Aegon and you find comfort in each other once more, and later, make plans with your council for attack on Rook's Rest.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon has two surviving children with a reader. And the reader is bonded with a dragon called Starfyre. These events happen after The Silent Pyre and before Eternal Blaze. If you want to read all parts in chronological order you can find a list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned on the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 613

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The echoes of the past haunt the halls of the Red Keep, each stone a silent witness to the horrors that have unfolded within. The shadows of mourning drape over the castle like a shroud, heavier than any nightfall. Your chambers, once filled with the innocent laughter of your sons, are now cloaked in a grief that is too vast, too consuming to ever truly fade.

You sit by the window, staring out at the sky where Starfyre soared a week ago, her radiant scales shimmering like the night sky filled with stars. But even the memory of her brilliance cannot pierce the darkness that has taken root in your heart. The weight of your grief presses down on you, suffocating, as if the air itself has turned to stone. Your body feels numb, cold—almost as if you’ve become as lifeless as the small bodies that were taken from you so cruelly.

The door creaks open, but you don’t turn your head. You already know who it is. Her presence, once comforting, now brings only pain, a reminder of the tragedy that unfolded under her helpless watch.

"My sweet girl," Alicent’s voice trembles as she speaks. There is a rawness to it, a wound that has never healed. "You must eat something. You haven’t touched a morsel in days."

Her words fall flat, meaningless. How can she speak of food when your very soul feels starved, stripped of the light that your sons brought into your life? Aeron and Vaelon—they were your stars, bright and full of life. And now they are gone, snuffed out by the cruelty of war, by the hatred of your own blood.

You shake your head slowly, the movement taking more effort than it should. “I can’t, Mother. I can’t stomach anything. The thought of food…” Your voice breaks, a sob threatening to escape, but you force it down. You’ve cried too much already, and yet the tears never seem to run dry.

Alicent’s face crumples, her own sorrow breaking through the fragile mask of strength she tries to maintain. She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it on yours, the warmth of her touch only a painful reminder of what you’ve lost. "Please, Y/N, you must take care of yourself—for Daena and Baelon. They need their mother."

Her words, though well-meaning, feel like another weight upon your chest. How can you be a mother to the children you still have when your heart is buried with the ones who are gone? The sight of Daena’s silver hair, so much like Aeron’s, and Baelon’s innocent smile, a mirror of Vaelon’s, only twist the knife deeper into your soul.

You pull your hand away, the motion sharp and cold. “And why haven't you warned anyone, Mother, when they came in to take my sons?” The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but it’s a poison you cannot hold back. “You were there before me, in the nursery. But you didn't scream or resist, you just surrendered to them as they gagged you.”

Alicent’s breath catches, her eyes wide with shock and guilt, the guilt she has carried since that cursed night. You know it’s unfair, that she did all she could, but the rage within you needs an outlet, needs someone to blame besides the nameless killers who stole your children away.

“I tried,” Alicent whispers, her voice breaking as tears well in her eyes. “I tried to stop them, Y/N, you know it. I held Aeron in my arms with you, I tried to save him, but—” She chokes on her words, unable to continue as she’s overcome by the memory. “I felt his blood on my hands... I can still feel it, and it haunts me every night. Please, forgive me.”

But forgiveness is a luxury you cannot afford. You stand abruptly, the motion causing a wave of dizziness to crash over you, but you refuse to let it pull you down. You walk away from her, your steps unsteady, and collapse onto the edge of the bed that once held your children when they were babes, now cold and empty.

Before you can say anything more, the door opens again, and Aegon steps into the room. His presence is both a balm and a wound, for he too is a reminder of what you’ve lost—of what you both have lost.

“Leave us,” Aegon says to his mother, his voice a low command. Alicent hesitates, her eyes flickering between you and Aegon, but she knows better than to argue. With a final, sorrowful look, she exits the room, leaving you alone with your husband.

Aegon approaches you slowly, as if afraid that you might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. And perhaps you will. He kneels before you, his hands gently taking yours, and the warmth of his touch makes you flinch. How can anything be warm in a world so cold?

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with his own grief. “My love, my sister… please, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lift your gaze to meet his. His eyes, so much like yours, are filled with pain, with sorrow, and with a rage that simmers just beneath the surface. The rage that has kept him going, kept him breathing, when all you want to do is stop.

“We will avenge them,” he swears, his grip on your hands tightening, as if he can tether you to life through sheer force of will. “Rhaenyra and Daemon will pay for what they’ve done. I swear it on the blood of our sons.”

His words are meant to comfort, to give you some semblance of hope, but they only deepen the chasm within you. You pull your hands from his grasp, turning your head away. “Vengeance won’t bring them back, Aegon,” you murmur, your voice hollow, devoid of the fire that once burned within you. “No matter how much blood you spill, it won’t return Aeron or Vaelon to us.”

Aegon’s face hardens at your words, the pain in his eyes turning to steel. “But it will make them pay,” he insists, his voice rising with the anger he cannot contain. “It will make them suffer as we suffer.”

You shake your head, tears finally spilling over as your resolve crumbles. “I don’t want more suffering, Aegon. I just want our boys back.” Your voice breaks into a sob, and you collapse into his arms, the weight of your grief finally pulling you under.

Aegon holds you tightly, his own tears falling silently as he presses his face into your hair. “I know,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I know, my love. And I would give anything to bring them back. But all I have left is this rage, this need for vengeance. I can’t let their deaths go unanswered. I can’t.”

You cling to him, the only solid thing in a world that has crumbled around you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, his vengeance will bring you some peace. But deep down, you know that nothing will ever fill the void left by your sons. Nothing will ever make you whole again.

Aegon’s arms tighten around you as if he could shield you from all the pain in the world, as if his embrace alone could mend the shattered pieces of your heart. His breath is warm against your hair, mingling with your tears as you bury your face against his chest. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist; there is no war, no death, no sorrow—only the two of you, clinging to each other in the darkness.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so that your eyes meet his. There’s a tenderness in his gaze that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity, a softness that cuts through the cold numbness within you. Slowly, as if testing the fragile connection between you, Aegon leans in and brushes his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost tentative, as though he’s afraid of breaking you further. But when you respond, when your lips part to welcome him, a hunger sparks between you—a need for closeness, for the comfort that only each other can provide. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you can fill the void left by your grief with each touch, each breath shared between you.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears as he kisses you again, this time with a fierceness born of longing. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a plea, a silent cry for the connection that has been stolen from you both by the weight of your loss. And you answer it, pouring every ounce of your sorrow, your love, your need into him, hoping that he can feel it, that he understands.

“Aegon,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t let me go. Not tonight.”

“Never,” he breathes, his words a vow as he pulls you closer still, his hands beginning to roam, tracing the curves of your body as if reassuring himself that you are still here, still real.

The need for each other becomes overwhelming, a tidal wave that sweeps you both under, and before you know it, he’s guiding you to lay on the bed. The same bed where you’ve spent countless nights in tears, in mourning, now becomes a sanctuary, a place where you can find solace in each other.

He lays you down gently, as though you’re something precious, fragile. But there’s no haste in his movements, no rush as he leans over you, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You reach up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his lips, memorizing the feel of him beneath your hands.

“We’ve been lost for so long,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you, Aegon. I need to feel alive again.”

“And you will,” he promises, his voice rough with emotion as he begins to undress you, each piece of clothing slipping away like the layers of grief that have kept you apart. “I need you too, Y/N. You’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

There’s something sacred in the way he touches you, in the way he lays you bare before him, his hands reverent as they caress your skin. You respond in kind, your fingers working to undo the ties and clasps of his own garments, your need for him growing with every second, every inch of skin revealed.

When there is nothing left between you, no barriers of cloth or grief, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over you as if committing you to memory. The weight of the world seems to lift in that moment, the sorrow and rage fading into the background as all that matters is this—this moment, this connection.

He leans down to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as his body presses against yours, the warmth of him chasing away the cold that has settled in your bones. The kiss deepens, growing more intense, more desperate, and you lose yourself in the sensation, in the feel of him—of Aegon, your husband, your twin, your other half.

As his hands roam your body, exploring the familiar terrain with a tenderness that borders on worship, you feel something shift within you. It’s not just about the physical act, not just about seeking comfort in each other’s touch. It’s about reclaiming something that was taken from you—your love, your bond, your life together.

When he finally joins with you, it’s like coming home. The world falls away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you are whole. There are no words, only the sounds of your shared breaths, the gasps and sighs that fill the room as you move together, as you find solace in each other’s arms.

But as you reach the peak of your passion, as the world seems to blur around the edges, you find your voice again, whispering his name like a prayer, like a promise. “Aegon… we will survive this. We have to.”

“We will,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion, with the weight of the love and the grief you share. “As long as we have each other, we will.”

The words are a vow, a promise that despite everything, despite the darkness that surrounds you, you will endure.

And as the night fades into dawn, as the first light of morning filters through the curtains, you find a fragile peace in each other’s arms, a brief respite from the pain that has become your constant companion. It’s not a cure, it’s not an end to your sorrow, but it’s enough—enough to remind you that you are still alive, that you still have each other.

And that, for now, is enough.

The days following your shared moment with Aegon are a blur of whispered plans and unspoken grief, the fragile peace you found together now threatened by the storm brewing within the walls of the Red Keep. The small council meeting looms ahead, a gathering of minds meant to steer the course of the war, but you can already feel the tension crackling in the air like a brewing tempest.

As you and Aegon make your way to the council chambers, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back, a silent reassurance that you’re in this together. But you know him too well—there’s a fire in his eyes that betrays his intentions, a need for action that cannot be quelled by mere words.

The council chamber is already filled when you arrive, the lords and advisors gathered around the table, their faces set in various shades of concern and determination. Lord Tayland is whispering something to Grand Maester Orwyle, while Lord Jasper taps his fingers impatiently on the table. Ser Criston Cole stands by the door, his gaze sharp as he watches you and Aegon enter. Prince Aemond, your younger brother, is already seated, his one good eye burning with intensity. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, occupies his usual place, his expression unreadable as always, but you sense the unease lurking beneath his composed exterior.

“Let us begin,” Aegon announces, his voice carrying the weight of command as he takes his seat at the head of the table. You settle beside him, your presence more than ceremonial—Aegon has insisted that you be involved in these meetings, that your counsel is valued, even if the others in the room might silently question your place here.

Aegon’s gaze sweeps over the assembled lords, his eyes narrowing as they settle on his grandfather, Otto. “We can no longer wait for whispers and rumors to guide our actions,” he declares, the impatience in his tone unmistakable. “The time has come to strike at Dragonstone directly, with our dragons. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Starfyre will be more than enough to break Rhaenyra’s hold on the island and crush her forces before they have a chance to regroup.”

The room tenses, all eyes turning to Otto. The older man doesn’t flinch, though the slight tightening of his lips betrays his discomfort. “Your Grace,” he begins carefully, “we must be cautious. We still await word from the Free Cities and Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The alliance we are proposing is crucial. Without their fleets, we cannot break the blockade of the Gullet, and we risk being isolated if we act too rashly.”

Aegon’s expression darkens, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, Otto. Every day we delay gives Rhaenyra and Daemon more time to gather their forces, to prepare for an attack of their own. The longer we sit idle, the weaker we appear. They will see it as a sign of our hesitation, of our weakness.”

Prince Aemond leans forward, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “The time for caution has passed. We need to strike now, decisively. Dragonstone is vulnerable, and with Vhagar and Sunfyre, we can take it within days. Let Rhaenyra know that her stronghold is not as secure as she thinks.”

Otto’s expression hardens, his voice taking on an edge as he replies, “And what of the Gullet? What of the supplies and reinforcements that will be needed once we engage Rhaenyra’s forces in earnest? Without the ships, without the support of our potential allies, we may find ourselves trapped in our own capital, besieged on all sides.”

Aegon slams his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. “Enough! We cannot continue to play this game of waiting. Rhaenyra has already shown her hand—she murdered my sons, our heirs! And you ask me to sit here and wait for a letter that may never come?”

The room falls silent, the weight of Aegon’s grief and rage pressing down on everyone present. You can feel his fury radiating off him in waves, a storm that is barely contained.

Otto meets Aegon’s gaze, his eyes hard. “Your Grace, my only concern is for the stability of the realm. Rhaenyra is a threat, yes, but if we lose the support of our allies, if we spread ourselves too thin—”

“No more excuses, Otto,” Aegon cuts him off, his voice icy. “You speak of stability, yet all your cautious plans have brought us nothing but delay and indecision. I need a Hand who will act, not one who will hesitate at every turn.”

Otto’s eyes widen slightly, realizing what’s coming, but before he can speak, Aegon rises from his seat, his decision made. “You are relieved of your duties as Hand of the King. Ser Criston Cole will take your place.”

The shock ripples through the room, though no one dares to speak. Otto stands slowly, the lines of his face deepening with the weight of his dismissal. “As you command, Your Grace,” he says, his voice strained but steady. He turns to leave the chamber, his exit a silent acknowledgment of the power shift that has just occurred.

As the door closes behind him, Aegon turns back to the council, his gaze hard. “We march on Duskendale. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Ser Criston will lead the assault. We will cut off Dragonstone from the mainland, and then we will take Rook’s Rest. I will not allow Rhaenyra another victory.”

Aemond nods in agreement, his expression grim. “You must remain in the capital for now, brother. Let us secure Duskendale first, and then you can join me at Rook’s Rest. We need to draw her out, force her hand. Rhaenyra will retaliate, and when she does, we will be ready.”

You listen to their words, the cold logic of their strategy, but all you can think of is the danger they are about to face. The thought of Aegon flying into battle, of him facing Rhaenyra’s dragons alone, sends a chill through your blood.

“I’m coming with you,” you say suddenly, your voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Starfyre and I will be at your side.”

Aegon turns to you, his expression softening for a moment, but there’s a firmness in his eyes that you recognize all too well. “No, Y/N,” he says quietly but firmly. “You must stay here, in the capital. Daena and Baelon need you. I need you to watch over them, to protect them.”

Your heart clenches at his words, but the resolve within you burns stronger. “And who will protect you, Aegon? Who will keep you safe when the battle begins?”

“Sunfyre,” he answers, stepping closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I cannot risk losing you, Y/N. You are my heart, my strength. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

You want to argue, to fight him on this, but the look in his eyes, the plea behind his command, makes you pause. He’s not just ordering you—he’s begging you, in his own way, to stay, to keep the last remnants of your family safe.

But even as you nod, your mind is already made up. You will not let him face this alone. You will follow him, no matter the cost, and protect him with everything you have left. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words, the council around you forgotten as you lock eyes with Aegon.

“I understand,” you say finally, your voice soft, but there’s a fire in your heart that refuses to be extinguished. “I’ll stay.”

But the promise you make to yourself is unbreakable. You will not remain in the capital while your husband flies into danger. When the time comes, Starfyre will fly with Sunfyre, and you will be at Aegon’s side, no matter what.

The meeting concludes with final orders and plans, but you barely hear them. Your mind is already racing, thinking of the preparations you’ll need to make in secret, the steps you’ll take to ensure that when Aegon leaves, you will not be far behind.

As the council disperses, Aegon takes your hand, guiding you out of the chamber. He thinks you’ve agreed, that you’ll stay safe in the capital with your children. But he doesn’t know the resolve that has taken root in your heart.

You will protect him, even if it means defying his command. Even if it means risking everything.

As you walk together back to your chambers, the weight of your decision settles over you, but there’s no turning back. You’ve already lost too much. You will not lose Aegon too.

[bwabys-scenarios]

Mother(NSFW)

Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: this is for Mother’s Day! A little late and kind of short, but I hope you enjoy it!

warnings: pregnancy, lactation, breeding, light teasing, biting, reader is described as chubby

NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Kurapika smiled softly, holding you in his lap, keeping his hand over your pregnant belly. In this current state, you looked absolutely stunning to him.

You soft, swollen breasts were bare, one of them being lightly massaged with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but whimper when his cock twitched inside of you.

Lately, Kurapika always wanted you seated on his cock as he read or relaxed, wanting that skin to skin contact and closeness that only he could achieve with you. The fact that you were carrying his baby made his heart soar with both lust and adoration.

You were his angel, his beloved, and your belly was heavy and swollen with his child. You carried the life you both made, and all he wanted to do was keep you safe in his arms.

“K-Kurapika, please…”

He looked to you, noticing how warm your cheeks were, and the light squirming. “Hmm? What is it you need, my love?”

“Want you…”

He chuckled, playing with your hair. “And you have me, my beloved. I’m right here, aren’t I?”

You let out a whine, puffing out your chubby cheeks in a pout. “Y-you know what I mean!”

Kurapika’s smile turned into a smirk, his fingers lightly tugging at your nipple. “Hmm? I think you’ll have to tell me, darling. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

With a soft whimper, you rocked your hips, looking up at him with needy, teary eyes. Although your tears tore at his soul, he couldn’t help but tease you a bit further.

“Come on, angel. Tell me what you want, and it’ll be all yours.”

Kurapika gently rubbed at your clit, his breath warm against your neck. It was too much, you could feel your body trembling.

“Please… please fuck me… need it…”

A shudder ran down his spine, his eyes flashing scarlet for just a moment. “All you had to do was ask, love.”

Kurapika grabbed the fat of your hips, slowly guiding them up and down, hitting that special spot that had you mewling out in pleasure.

His mouth latched onto your nipple, suckling softly as he looked up at you. His cock twitched inside of your needy cunt when he saw the expression on your face.

You were lost in pleasure, your eyes teary and blurry as you held him to your chest, wanting him to keep up his suckling. “Please…”

He didn’t have it in him to tease you any further. You just looked way too cute with your baby bump squished against him as he bounced you on his cock.

“Anything for you, angel…”

His free hand groped your other breast, milk spraying out of the nipple in his mouth. Kurapika was surprised, but not upset in the slightest. He looked up at you as he lapped at the milk beading at your swollen nipple, before lightly biting it.

This was enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing his cock just enough to have him cumming deep inside of you.

He groaned into your neck, biting down as he bucked his hips into yours and rode out his high. It felt so nice, the pain mixing with pleasure causing you to cum all over again,

Once you both had calmed down, he smiled at you, his cheeks lightly flushed. “My beautiful girl, are you feeling alright? Nothing hurts?”

You sleepily leaned your head onto his shoulder, feeling content as his cock slowly softened inside of you. “I’m okay…”

He placed a kiss on the bite mark. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll make dinner while you rest.”

As he carried you to the bath and thoroughly pampered you, he leaned over the tub to kiss your forehead.

“Happy Mother’s Day, my love.”

Your first Mother’s Day was spent being spoiled by your lover, while your child grew in your belly, both of you eager to meet the little bundle of joy.

[theonottsbxtch]

HEAR ME OUT 🙂 charles x pianist!reader where he’s like writing/composing a new ep and his producer is like “omg you should totally do a duet with (reader) 🥰” and uh yeah just anything related to that

i can already envision a scene where charles spends most of his time in the dark alone in the studio with his piano but reader is ofc there…

go for any trope you want 🙈

MY MUSE | CL16

an: im sorry this is so long istart writing and then i can't stop. btw i want everyone to know that i was listening to that's not me by skepta and jme while writing this. completely different vibes. SEND MORE REQUESTS IM BORED HOUSESITTING FOR THREE WEEKS

wc: 7.8k

dedicated to @iamred-iamyellow & @iimplicitt

The studio was thick with the scent of aged leather and dust, the faint glow of a single, dimmed lamp casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. Charles sat hunched over the grand piano, its black lacquer surface reflecting the soft light in fractured shards. His fingers hovered above the ivory keys, trembling with a kind of frustrated anticipation, but no sound came. The room seemed to echo with a deafening silence, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall—an incessant reminder of time slipping away.

He had been here for days, isolated from the outside world during the off season. The once-comforting walls, lined with shelves of dog-eared books and musical scores, now felt like the confines of a cage. His last piece had been a masterpiece—a soaring composition that had flowed from him like water, effortless and pure. It was the kind of music that haunted you long after it ended, the kind that etched itself into the soul of anyone who heard it. But now, the notes eluded him.

Charles ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair and let out a low sigh. There was a pressure building in his chest, like a wound slowly tightening, pulling him apart. For the past week, he had been locked in this room, trying to capture the essence of something even greater than the last, but all he had managed to conjure was noise—fragments of half-formed melodies that crumbled before they could take shape.

He  stood abruptly, the sudden movement causing the papers on top of his piano to rustle, brittle with neglect. The room was stifling; the air was thick with the remnants of burnt-out candles and sleepless nights. He paced to the window, pulling the curtains aside to reveal the darkened Maranello streets below, slick with the remnants of a recent rain. The city outside moved on, indifferent to his struggle, its distant hum a reminder that time had no patience for his creative paralysis.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging it up in shallow bursts. What was missing? What had he lost in the months since his last piece? It felt like chasing shadows, reaching for something just out of grasp. Every melody he tried to shape slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, and the harder he tried to hold onto it, the faster it dissolved.

The clock struck three in the morning, the chime echoing through the stillness of the room. Another night wasted. Another night consumed by the weight of his own expectations. He turned back to the piano, his eyes heavy with fatigue but burning with a quiet, desperate need. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without something to show for the hours he’d lost.

With a sigh that felt like surrender, Charles sat back down at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys once more. He could feel the cold beneath his skin, the way the silence seemed to press in around him. His hands shook, not with nervousness, but with exhaustion.

And then, in the quiet, a single note broke the silence.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t the haunting, ethereal sound he had been searching for. But it was something.

His gaze fell to the pile of sheet music he had scribbled on throughout the night. Inked lines of failed ideas, crossed out again and again. With a final resigned sigh, he stood up, the bench scraping the floor, the sound too loud in the empty space. He began to gather his things, shoving crumpled papers into his bag alongside notebooks, headphones, and his laptop. The familiar weight of them didn’t bring comfort; instead, they felt like reminders of the failure he was starting to carry with him. This was meant to be a hobby but it was haunting his every move.

As he turned to leave, keys jangling in his hand, a soft sound reached his ears—a distant, faint melody. He paused, his hand hovering over the light switch, ears straining to catch it. It was coming from down the hallway, barely perceptible at first, but unmistakable—a piano, its notes drifting through the quiet night like a whisper.

Charles hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the hallway, drawn toward the sound. He moved slowly, the dark corridor seeming endless, the music growing clearer with every step. It was beautiful—achingly so. Each note was delicate yet certain, as though whoever was playing knew exactly what they wanted to say. The melody swirled and climbed, creating something ethereal, something that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks.

He stopped outside one of the smaller practice rooms, the door slightly ajar, a soft glow of light spilling from within. The music filled the narrow hallway, surrounding him, pulling him in. He stood there for a long moment, his heart beating a little faster, a strange mix of awe and envy twisting inside him. This was what he had been trying to create—the same kind of raw emotion, the beauty that lingered long after the sound faded.

But it wasn’t his.

Charles leaned against the wall, just out of sight, listening as the music flowed through the cracks in the door. The player inside didn’t falter, didn’t stop to wrestle with the notes. It was effortless, pure. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare interrupt, afraid the spell would be broken if the other person realised they had an audience.

The melody soared, and for a brief moment, Charles closed his eyes, letting himself be swept up in it. It reminded him of why he had started this in the first place—of the nights when music had been his refuge, when it had felt like an escape, not a burden. He could feel the heaviness in his chest easing, just slightly, as the music wound its way through the silence.

But as beautiful as it was, it also stung. Whoever was playing had found what he had been searching for all this time—something he had lost.

The music came to a soft, gentle end, the final notes lingering in the air like a breath held too long. Charles stood there for a moment longer, still leaning against the doorframe, waiting for something—he didn’t know what.

When the quiet finally settled again, he stepped away from the door, not daring to break the fragile stillness with the creak of the floorboards. He glanced back one last time, his fingers curling tight around the strap of his bag. For a moment, he considered knocking, stepping inside to see the person who had played with such grace. But something held him back.

Instead, he turned and walked down the hallway, the echo of that haunting melody still playing in his head long after the door to the studio clicked shut behind him.

His following morning came in fragments—a bleary haze of sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds, the distant hum of traffic muffled by the walls of his apartment. Charles stirred, his body sluggish and heavy with the weight of too little sleep. He lay there for a long moment, eyes closed, trying to hold onto the remnants of the dream he couldn’t quite remember. But it wasn’t a dream that lingered in his mind.

It was the melody.

That same haunting, angelic piano from last night, curling through his thoughts like a whisper. He could still hear it—those delicate notes weaving together, the way the melody had seemed so effortless, so perfect. It had been circling his mind from the moment he left the studio. Now, it played softly in the background of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Charles groaned, rolling out of bed and dragging himself into the shower. The hot water did little to shake the fatigue that clung to him, nor did it drown out the persistent tune echoing in his head. His mind kept returning to the small, dimly lit room where the mystery pianist had been, to the way her fingers had danced across the keys as though they had always belonged there.

He towel-dried his hair, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, a face hollowed by days of restless nights and creative frustration. He had some sort of media training today—something important. A meeting he couldn’t afford to drift through half-awake. But even as he dressed, pulling on his usual team shirt and straightening the collar, his thoughts were elsewhere.

The city outside was awake, the streets buzzing with life as he made his way through the crisp morning air to the Ferrari HQ. His coffee sat untouched in his hand, the steam rising in lazy spirals, but he barely noticed. The melody from last night played on an endless loop in his head, the memory of it clinging to him like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

The office was a blur of familiar faces, bright smiles, and too much energy for this early in the day. Charles moved through it all, barely fully acknowledging Carlos, the world around him dull and muffled. The media manager was already waiting when he arrived, tapping impatiently on the table as Charles sat down for their first meeting.

But even as they discussed plans, upcoming shoots, and expectations for both his and Carlos’ media presence, Charles wasn’t fully there. He nodded in the right places, offered half-hearted responses, but his mind kept wandering back to that melody. The notes haunted him, pulling his focus away from everything else, as though they held the answer to something he was desperate to grasp.

“Charles, are you listening?” Carlos’ voice snapped him back to the present.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, though his eyes betrayed him. He scribbled something on the notepad in front of him, though the lines didn’t form words—just scattered shapes, like the music notes he couldn’t get out of his head.

The meetings dragged on. Through every discussion, every pitch and presentation, Charles felt the same distraction pulling him away. He couldn’t let it go. The melody. It had stirred something in him—a frustration, yes, but also a strange kind of inspiration. There was something there, something unfinished, and it gnawed at him.

By the time the last meeting ended, Charles felt hollowed out. He hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to the discussions, not really. His mind had been elsewhere the entire day, replaying those fleeting notes over and over again. It was maddening.

He needed to know. Needed to find out who had played it, and why that music—the music he hadn’t written—felt so much like it belonged to him.

Without thinking, Charles pulled out his phone and dialled his producer’s number, pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the conference room as it rang. It was late afternoon now, the sky outside tinged with fading light. He knew he should be focusing on his own work, or on getting back to the studio, but the compulsion to solve this mystery was stronger than his exhaustion.

The line clicked, and his producer’s voice crackled on the other end. “Charles, hey. What’s up?”

Charles leaned against the window, his forehead pressed to the cool glass. “I need to ask you something,” he said, his voice low, edged with impatience. “Last night, around 3 a.m., there was someone in one of the smaller studios, playing piano. Do you know who it was?”

There was a pause on the other end, the faint sound of papers shuffling. “3 a.m.? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Charles replied, closing his eyes. The melody drifted back into his mind, as clear as if he were still sitting outside the door, listening. “It was… incredible. I couldn’t stop listening. I need to know who it was.”

Another pause, then a small chuckle from his producer. “Ah, that must’ve been the student. Yeah, she’s been coming in late at night to practise. Studies music at the university downtown. Doesn’t perform much, though—mostly keeps to herself.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. The name felt unfamiliar, but it already held a weight to it, like it was connected to something he hadn’t yet fully understood.

“She doesn’t perform?” he asked, brow furrowing. It seemed impossible—someone with that much talent, hiding in the shadows.

“Nah,” his producer continued, “she’s a bit under the radar. Not really into publishing or performing her work, but, man, she’s got something special. I didn’t realise you’d heard her.”

Charles was silent for a moment, processing the information. The melody. He could see it now—something just out of reach, like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realised he was trying to solve.

“You know,” his producer said, his tone shifting slightly, “you’ve been stuck for a while, Charles. Maybe you should try working with her. See what happens. It might help you find what you’re looking for.”

Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The thought of it—composing with someone else, with her—made something stir inside him. Could it be the answer to breaking through this creative silence he’d been drowning in?

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, though the decision was already forming in his mind.

As he hung up the phone, the melody returned, softer this time, but still persistent. And now, it wasn’t just haunting him—it was pulling him forward.

_________________

The studio felt different tonight, as though it had shifted in his absence. The air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting long, quiet shadows over the floorboards. Charles stood in the hallway again, just as he had the night before, but this time his heart beat with something more than exhaustion or frustration. There was an anticipation simmering in his chest, a tension just beneath the surface.

He hadn’t come to compose tonight. Not really. He had come for the music. Her music.

The name felt strange on his lips, unfamiliar, yet full of significance. He didn’t know her, had never spoken to her, but her music had already gotten under his skin. It haunted him still, drifting through his mind in fragments even after the long day of meetings, pulling him back here.

He moved quietly down the hallway, the same path he had taken last night, his shoes barely making a sound against the worn floor. As he neared the smaller practice room, the faint sound of the piano floated toward him, delicate and clear, weaving through the quiet.

There it was again—the same effortless, angelic melody that had captivated him before. But now, listening to it a second time, Charles felt something deeper stirring. The way she played was different tonight, more intimate somehow, as if the music had softened, becoming something even more personal. He stopped outside the door, just as he had before, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

For a long moment, he simply listened. The notes seemed to dance in the air, spinning and intertwining, building toward something both beautiful and fragile. It was mesmerising.

But then, the music stopped. Abruptly.

Charles’s eyes snapped open, his pulse quickening in the sudden silence. Before he could move, a voice broke through the quiet, soft but teasing.

“Mama always said it’s not nice to lurk.”

His breath caught in his throat. For a second, he didn’t move, caught off guard. The door was still ajar, the light spilling into the hallway, and from inside, he could make out the silhouette of someone sitting at the piano, her back turned to him. She hadn’t looked up, but she knew. She had known he was there the whole time.

Heat crept up his neck, but before he could stammer out an apology, she spoke again.

“You coming in, or are you planning to stay out there all night?”

Her tone was light, amused even, but it was an invitation all the same. Charles hesitated for a heartbeat longer, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, pushing the door open a little wider.

The room was small and softly lit, just as he remembered, the grand piano dominating the space. She sat at it, her posture relaxed, fingers still resting lightly on the keys. She turned her head slightly as he entered, giving him the faintest glimpse of a smile.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, feeling a bit ridiculous for standing outside like that. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” She shifted on the bench, making space beside her. “Come on, sit.”

Charles’s throat tightened, but he nodded and moved toward the piano, his steps feeling oddly tentative. He hesitated for a second when he reached her, unsure if he should really be sitting so close. The bench was narrow, and he could already feel the warmth of her presence.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “I don’t bite.”

With a small chuckle, he slid onto the stool beside her, the space between them barely a few inches. It was strange, this closeness—to sit here with someone he didn’t know, yet felt connected to through the music that had haunted him for days. Their shoulders brushed lightly as he settled in, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavy, loaded with expectation.

She glanced at him, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without a word, she placed her hands back on the piano, her fingers moving over the keys with an effortless grace. The melody returned, soft and slow, and Charles felt his breath catch in his chest again. It was different this time—gentler, more deliberate, as though she was playing just for him.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the quiet intimacy of the music. He watched her hands move, the way her fingers danced across the keys with the kind of fluidity that only came from years of dedication. The melody wound its way through the air, filling the small space between them, and Charles found himself leaning in, just slightly, drawn to the sound and to her.

“You play like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She smiled, a soft, almost secretive smile. “It’s never easy,” she said, her voice low, her eyes still on the piano. “It just looks that way.”

She played a few more notes, then paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “What about you? You’ve been in the studio night after night. What’s haunting you?”

Charles let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “I’ve been stuck,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. “It feels like everything I try to create falls apart. Nothing compares to what I’ve done before.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she played another soft chord, the sound hanging in the air between them.

“Music’s strange like that,” she said after a moment, her tone thoughtful. “It comes and goes. Sometimes it’s easy, other times… it slips through your fingers.”

Charles nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had been trying so hard to force the music out, to create something that could match his last piece, but all it had done was elude him.

The girl beside him shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing his. “Here,” she said, moving her hands off the keys. “Play something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” she replied, her eyes meeting his for the first time fully. There was a challenge in them, but also an understanding. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Charles swallowed, feeling a sudden surge of nerves. But her gaze was steady, encouraging, and without thinking too much about it, he let his hands find their way to the keys. The notes that came out weren’t perfect—they were hesitant, half-formed. But they were honest. He played softly, the melody faltering at times, but it was real.

She listened, her head slightly tilted as she watched his fingers move. Then, without warning, she joined him, her hands moving gracefully beside his, adding harmonies to the melody he had started. The sound shifted, growing fuller, more complete. The music filled the room, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles didn’t feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him.

Together, they played, their hands moving across the keys in tandem, creating something new. Something neither of them could have done alone.

When the last note finally faded into the quiet, Charles sat back, his heart pounding. She turned to him, her eyes soft and knowing.

“See?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

For a moment, they sat in the quiet, the echo of their shared melody lingering in the air like the last breath of a long-forgotten song. Charles stared at the keys, feeling the warmth of the music still buzzing in his fingertips. He hadn’t felt like this in weeks—maybe longer. There was something about the way she played, the way her music had melded so effortlessly with his, that made the creative block he’d been wrestling with seem almost insignificant.

He turned to look at her, realising for the first time how close they were, their shoulders still brushing lightly. Her eyes were fixed on the piano, her fingers resting gently on the keys, as though she was waiting for the next melody to arrive. Her presence, though quiet and composed, carried an intensity that matched the music she played—an unspoken understanding of the way music could consume you, take you apart, and put you back together.

“That was…” Charles began, but the words caught in his throat.

“Different?” she offered, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah.” He let out another breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “It felt… easier. Like it wasn’t something I had to force.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “Music isn’t something you’re supposed to wrestle with. It’s like water—it flows when you stop trying to hold onto it so tightly.” She shifted her hands off the keys and folded them in her lap, her eyes now fully on him. “You’ve been pushing too hard. I could hear it.”

Her words were soft, but they carried something that made Charles pause. He had been pushing—straining against the silence, desperate to capture a piece of the magic he’d once had. Every night in the studio had been a battle, and he hadn’t realised until now that the real fight was with himself.

“You’re right,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying so hard to top what I did last time that I forgot why I was doing it in the first place.”

She leaned back slightly, still watching him, her expression unreadable. “What was your last piece?” she asked, her voice curious but not probing.

Charles hesitated. The memory of his last composition—an orchestral piece that had been his most successful work to date—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It had been raw, emotional, inspired by something deeply personal, but the success that followed had overshadowed the joy he’d felt when he created it. Ever since then, he’d been chasing that same feeling, trying to recreate the magic, only to fall short.

“It was…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Something personal. It came easily back then. But now it feels like I’m trying to catch lightning in a bottle, and I’m just… stuck.”

She nodded, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the piano’s surface. “I get that. Sometimes the more you want something, the harder it is to find. That’s why I don’t perform much.” She smiled faintly, almost to herself. “There’s less pressure when no one’s watching.”

Charles studied her for a moment, sensing the layers beneath her calm demeanour. She spoke with such ease about the creative process, but there was an edge of vulnerability there too, a reluctance to expose too much of herself to the world.

“Why don’t you perform?” he asked, curious now. “I mean, with the way you play, you could easily—”

“Because I don’t need to,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “The music is for me. It’s not about the audience. It’s about…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s about connecting with something deeper, something that doesn’t care about applause or recognition.”

Her words hung in the air between them, and Charles found himself nodding slowly, understanding exactly what she meant. In a way, she had found a kind of freedom he had lost along the way.

“That’s why you play at night,” he said, more a statement than a question. “When no one’s around. It’s like…” He trailed off, trying to find the right analogy, “…the world doesn’t exist.”

She smiled at that, a real one this time, her eyes brightening just a little. “Exactly. It’s easier to lose yourself when there’s no one expecting anything from you.”

Charles sat back, processing her words. For so long, he had been weighed down by expectations—his own, his producer’s, the fans—and it had drained him. Maybe that was the problem. He had been writing for others, forgetting that the music had always been something he did for himself first. Something he loved.

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, breaking his thoughts. “You know,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice, “you could try playing like no one’s watching. Even if they are.”

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, leaning in just a bit, “you’re too worried about what people think of your music. But here”—she motioned to the piano in front of them—“there’s no audience. Just us. So why not stop thinking so much and just… play?”

Charles blinked, the simplicity of her suggestion hitting him harder than it should have. She made it sound so easy, but maybe that was the point. Maybe it was supposed to be easy.

Before he could respond, she slid her fingers back onto the keys, playing a few soft chords that hummed through the air like the beginning of something new. Then she glanced sideways at him, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Come on. Share the bench again. Let’s make something together.”

A spark of excitement flared in his chest. Without another word, Charles moved closer, their knees brushing as they both settled into position, fingers poised over the keys. This time, he wasn’t overthinking it. He wasn’t wrestling with the music. He was just… there.

She started first, her melody soft and fluid, and Charles followed, instinctively matching her rhythm, letting their sounds merge and flow together. The music wasn’t perfect—it stuttered at times, shifted unexpectedly—but it was alive. It had a pulse. It breathed with them.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles wasn’t haunted by the silence. He wasn’t weighed down by the pressure of creating something great. He was just… playing. Creating. Feeling the music as it moved through him, through them both.

As their hands danced over the keys, weaving together something raw and beautiful, he realised something that felt both terrifying and thrilling: maybe this was what he had been missing. Not perfection. Not even recognition. Just the simple, undeniable joy of creating with someone who understood. Someone who could make the music feel real again.

When the last note faded into the quiet, Charles turned to her, his heart still racing.

“I think,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I need to stop chasing what I’ve already done and start finding something new.”

She nodded, her eyes bright and knowing. “And maybe,” she said, her voice equally quiet, “we can find it together.”

The last note lingered in the air between them, and Charles felt something warm and alive settle in his chest. The music they had made together had been unlike anything he’d played in so long—imperfect, yes, but honest. Real. The creative block that had suffocated him for weeks was finally gone, or at least, it felt that way in this fleeting moment of clarity.

She glanced at him, her smile soft but distant. She seemed different now, as though the music had taken something from her as well. Before Charles could say anything, she pushed herself up from the piano bench, her fingers lingering on the edge of the keys for just a second longer than necessary.

"I've got to go."

Her words were quiet, almost an afterthought, and they hit him with an unexpected force. She didn’t give him time to respond, to ask anything, to even say goodbye. She simply gathered her bag and moved toward the door, her steps quick and purposeful.

“Wait—” Charles started, rising halfway from the bench, but it was too late.

She turned to him for a brief moment, a smile that was part mystery, part something he couldn’t quite read crossing her lips. “Don’t stop playing, tesoro (treasure)” she said softly. “You’re closer than you think.”

And then, before he could find his voice, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with an eerie finality.

Charles stood frozen for a few long moments, staring at the door. His mind raced. He didn’t have her number. He didn’t know where she lived, where she studied, or how to reach her. She had slipped away like a melody in the night, as effortlessly as she’d come into his life.

With a sigh, he sank back onto the piano bench, running his hands through his hair. The room felt strangely empty without her, the space they had shared now echoing with the silence she left behind. But something inside him had shifted. The music they’d created still hummed in his veins, and the weight of doubt that had plagued him for so long felt lighter. Almost like it was dissolving, piece by piece.

He placed his hands on the keys, the cool touch of ivory grounding him, and began to play.

At first, the melody was slow, almost tentative. It mirrored the notes they’d played together, but now it began to morph into something new, something entirely his own. As his fingers moved, the music unfolded naturally, effortlessly. It was as though every piece of frustration, every sleepless night, every failed attempt to capture the right sound was now fueling something greater. Something real.

The notes swelled and cascaded, filling the room with a rich, haunting melody that seemed to flow directly from his soul. It was raw, brimming with emotion—a reflection of everything he had felt, everything he had fought against. But now, there was no more fighting. The music came freely, weaving together in ways that felt effortless and inevitable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Charles wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t chasing perfection or wrestling with expectations. He was simply… playing. The music poured out of him like a long-held breath, each note sharper, more vivid than the last. The emotions he had buried—frustration, longing, even joy—flooded into the sound, and it consumed him.

His hands moved faster now, the melody becoming more urgent, more intense. He didn’t know where it was going, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the destination. It was about this—this pure, unfiltered moment of creation.

And then, without warning, a tear slipped down his cheek.

Charles barely noticed it at first, too wrapped up in the music, but soon another tear followed. And another. He wasn’t sobbing—there was no sadness in it. Instead, it was an overwhelming sense of release, of joy, of finally breaking through. The music swelled, the room vibrating with sound, and Charles felt it wash over him. A catharsis he hadn’t known he needed.

When he hit the final chord, it echoed through the room, ringing out long after his fingers had stilled. The silence that followed was profound, heavy with the weight of everything he had just poured into the keys.

Charles sat there, hands trembling slightly, staring at the piano in disbelief. A shaky laugh escaped his throat, followed by a deep, breathless exhale. He had done it. He had finally played something worth keeping.

No—it was more than that. He had played one of the best pieces of his life.

For a long while, he just sat there, his hands resting in his lap, feeling the weight of what he had just created. Tears still clung to his lashes, but his chest felt light—lighter than it had in months. Maybe years.

He wasn’t just crying because of the music. He was crying because, for the first time in a long time, he was truly happy. 

Charles leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the piano, letting the last remnants of tension drain from him. His breath was steady now, calm. The room was bathed in a kind of quiet peace he hadn’t known in so long. He had no idea where the girl had gone, or if he’d ever see her again. But somehow, it didn’t matter.

The music was enough.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t have known—was that she hadn’t really left. Not entirely.

Outside the door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, she stood, her back pressed against the wall. She had stopped as soon as she’d heard the first notes drift through the air, her hand hovering over the door handle but never turning it.

She had listened. Every note, every chord, every emotion Charles had poured into the piano, she had felt it too. Her heart had raced with his, her breath had caught in her throat when she’d heard the moment he broke through the wall he had been fighting against.

She smiled softly to herself, her hand finally dropping to her side as the last note of Charles’s masterpiece echoed through the studio. She had heard something in his playing tonight that she hadn’t expected. Something raw and powerful.

She turned to leave, her steps soft on the floor, leaving the sound of his triumph behind. Maybe she would come back one day, maybe not. But she knew this much—he didn’t need her anymore.

He had found his music again. And that, in itself, was enough.

As she disappeared into the night, Charles remained at the piano, still catching his breath, unaware of the quiet presence that had stayed with him until the very end.

The following days felt surreal, like a dream Charles was reluctant to wake from. After that night in the studio with the girl, his life had been interrupted by a trip to Silverstone to try out the tyres for the new season. The track buzzed with its usual energy, but no matter where he wandered, Charles’s thoughts always drifted back to her and the music they’d played together.

He had left the studio that night haunted by the memory of her delicate touch on the keys, the way their melodies had intertwined as though they’d been waiting for each other all along. He carried it with him over to England, through busy track meets and silent hotel rooms. Late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come, he would close his eyes and hear her music, as if it had lodged itself permanently in his mind.

It wasn’t just the music, though. It was her—the quiet way she had smiled at him, the lightness in her voice when she teased him, the sense of understanding that had passed between them without needing to be spoken.

Now, as Charles stepped back into the familiar silence of the studio late at night right off the plane, he felt a quiet anticipation coiled tightly in his chest. The lights were dim, the air cool and still, and for a moment, it felt like time had paused. The room was empty, and there was no trace of her—no soft melody floating through the air, no sound of delicate fingers dancing across the keys.

Disappointment stirred, settling somewhere deep. He’d been hoping, perhaps foolishly, that she’d be here. That they could pick up where they’d left off. He made his way to the piano, where the polished surface glinted in the low light, as inviting as ever.

And then he saw it—a small note left on the piano bench. His pulse quickened as he unfolded it, her handwriting instantly recognizable, though scrawled in that same casual, hurried way:

"Play with your heart, tesoro."

A soft smile tugged at his lips. The simplicity of the message was so very her. It was a whisper, a reminder of what mattered. A push, gentle but certain.

Charles set the note aside and sat down on the bench, the studio eerily quiet around him. For a moment, he just sat there, the weight of the piano keys beneath his fingers, the faint memory of their music hovering in the air. Then, without thinking too much, he began to play.

The melody started slow, almost hesitant, each note like a thought he hadn’t quite formed yet. But as he played, the music unfolded into something deeper, something more intimate. It wasn’t complicated or grand—it didn’t need to be. It was soft, heartfelt, like a quiet conversation spoken in a language only they understood.

He let go of the pressure, the constant need to craft something perfect, and instead just let the music be what it was—a reflection of what he felt, of what had been buried deep inside him since he’d met her. The music filled the room, curling into the corners like a secret. And for the first time in what felt like months, he felt at peace.

As the last notes lingered in the air, a soft sound broke the quiet. Applause—light, slow, and warm.

Charles turned, startled, and there she was, standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. She was watching him, her hands clasped softly in front of her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with something tender, something familiar. She’d been listening, perhaps the whole time.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Charles murmured, his voice softer than the room itself.

She took a few quiet steps toward him, her gaze never leaving his. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said gently, her smile deepening. “It was beautiful.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt suspended in a kind of stillness, the last remnants of his melody hanging between them, but no words were needed to fill the quiet. She came closer, and Charles shifted slightly on the bench, instinctively making space for her. She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing softly in the small space, the warmth of her presence settling something inside him.

“Play it again,” she whispered, her voice low, like a secret shared just between them.

He hesitated for a second, but then his fingers found their way back to the keys, this time slower, more deliberate. The music that spilled out was softer now, more intimate, as if shaped by the quiet weight of her sitting beside him. She watched as his hands moved, her gaze gentle, and as he played, the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them and the music between them.

After a few moments, her fingers joined his, their hands moving together over the keys with a quiet ease. Her touch was so light, so effortless, and the sound they created was simple yet achingly beautiful—a melody that spoke of longing and connection, of words unspoken but deeply felt. There was no rush, no urgency in the way they played, only a slow unfolding of something real and fragile.

Charles stole a glance at her, his heart tightening. There was something unspoken in the air, something that went beyond the music they shared. He could feel it in the way she leaned in ever so slightly, the way her breath seemed to sync with his, the soft, steady rhythm of their playing.

When the last note faded into the stillness, neither of them moved. They sat there, shoulders barely touching, the silence around them thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, her eyes soft, her smile quiet but full of meaning.

“You played with your heart,” she whispered, her words echoing the note she had left for him.

Charles’s throat tightened, the room suddenly feeling too small, too full of everything he hadn’t yet said. He turned toward her, his voice catching in his chest as he whispered back, “You make it easier.”

Her smile deepened, and for a moment, there was only the soft rise and fall of their breathing, the music they had created still lingering in the air around them. It felt like something had shifted between them, like a door had been opened that couldn’t easily be closed again.

And as they sat there, side by side on the piano bench, Charles realised that the silence no longer felt heavy. It felt full—of possibility, of something quiet and beautiful, waiting patiently to be discovered.

Together.

Charles’s heart raced, the air between them thick with anticipation. They sat in a charged stillness, so close their breaths seemed to mingle. The soft light of the studio flickered gently against her face, casting shadows that made her seem almost otherworldly. Her lips parted, just slightly, as if waiting for something—an unspoken invitation.

Before he could think too much about it, before doubt could creep in, Charles leaned in.

At first, it was tentative—a brush of lips so light it felt like it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He kissed her softly, testing the moment, unsure if he was crossing some unseen line. But then she responded, her lips pressing back against his with the same quiet hunger he hadn’t realised was burning between them all along.

The kiss deepened, their soft breaths mingling in the quiet. A slow, intoxicating warmth spread through Charles’s chest, pulling him further in. He cupped her face gently with his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek as their lips moved together, tentative but growing bolder with each passing second. Her hand found his, her fingers slipping between his, and she pulled him closer, as though the space between them had become unbearable.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t soft anymore—it became something more urgent, more passionate, the weight of everything they hadn’t said spilling over into the kiss. Charles felt his pulse quicken, his mind lost in the warmth and closeness of her. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in deeper, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt as natural as the music they had created moments ago.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her body pressing closer to his, and the heat between them grew. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them in the dim, quiet studio, the echoes of their kiss the only sound. The softness of her touch, the taste of her lips—it was all intoxicating, a crescendo building within him.

Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he didn’t want it to stop. He could have stayed in that moment forever, lost in the intensity of her kiss, in the way her hands tangled in his hair, in the way she fit so perfectly against him.

But then, as though sensing they were both on the edge of something overwhelming, Charles pulled back just slightly, his lips still lingering close to hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness. They were both breathing harder, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with his, wide and full of something unspoken. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and Charles had to fight the urge to pull her back into another kiss.

“Tesoro” she whispered, her voice soft and a little breathless, as though she couldn’t quite find the words.

He smiled gently, his thumb brushing over her lips before he let his hand fall away, resting on the piano between them. His heart still raced, but there was something peaceful now, something right. He hadn’t felt this in so long—this connection, this ease.

“I need to thank you, angioletto ” Charles murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

“For what?” she asked, her eyes searching his, a quiet vulnerability in her gaze.

“For inspiring this,” he said, his words soft but heavy with meaning. “For inspiring me.” He gestured toward the piano, where the notes of their shared music still seemed to hover in the air between them. “That song we played together… I never would have found it without you.”

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes shimmered with something deeper, something that mirrored what Charles was feeling.

“You’ve helped me more than you know,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before you, I was stuck. I couldn’t write, couldn’t feel the music anymore. But playing with you—it’s like something clicked. You brought it back.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her smile growing, but there was a quiet tenderness in her expression, as if she understood all the things he wasn’t saying. Slowly, she leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his, and they stayed like that, breathing each other in, the world softening around them.

“I’m glad I could help,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress against his skin.

Charles closed his eyes, letting the moment settle between them, the weight of her words sinking in. He had been searching for something—chasing it endlessly, driving himself to exhaustion in its pursuit. But sitting here, with her, with the music they had created still vibrating in the air, he realised he had already found it.

It wasn’t just the music. It was her. She had become his muse in more ways than one.

He pulled back slightly to meet her gaze once more, his eyes searching hers for a long moment. And then, without another word, he kissed her again—slowly, tenderly this time. It was a kiss filled not with urgency, but with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.

And in that kiss, Charles knew he wasn’t just thanking her for the music. He was thanking her for being the spark that had reignited something inside him, for being the light in a place that had felt dark for so long.

When their lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers once more, the two of them still breathing each other in, their hearts in sync. The studio was quiet now, but it wasn’t empty. The music they had shared—the connection they had formed—lingered in the air like a promise.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Charles felt whole.

send me a message if you want to be on my perm tag list <3

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, established relationship, whipped!vox, romantic!vox, soft!vox, p in v, teasing, couple's spat, vox is a simp for reader, reader is equally a simp for vox, tooth rotting fluff, soft s♡x/lovemaking, love confessions

WORD COUNT: 9.7K~

SPECIAL MENTION: @nyx91 (my wife and fellow VoxTek Server cult member), your request has been heard. This is set in Mandatory Overtime Universe, but it's not necessary to read to enjoy this.

The steady hum of your computer filled the quiet room, accompanied only by the relentless clatter of your fingers against the keyboard. For the last two weeks, this had been your soundtrack–a constant rhythm of work fuelled by the rash decision of your boss. Vox, the “TV-headed idiot” as you had come to call him in your mind recently, had once again made a public promise he had no intention of planning for. 

His latest brainchild? 

The VPhone 78, with a supposedly revolutionary features that would allow the phone to fly and follow its users like his countless drones buzzing throughout Hell.  

Of course, the moment he’d announced this absurd concept during an interview, VoxTek’s stocks had soared by 112%. But now, it was your problem. As his top – well, only – personal assistant with your soul still belonging to you, you were stuck trying to work out how on Earth (or Hell, rather) you’d manage to make this ridiculous idea of his both cost-effective and functional.  

You leaned back in your chair, eyes unfocused as numbers swirled around in your mind like tormenting demons. The paperwork was starting to blur together. You sighed heavily, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling, fingers massaging the bridge of your nose.  

“Vox, you idiot,” you muttered under your breath.  

Publicly, you were nothing more than his right-hand assistant. But behind closed door…that was a different story. Vox took you on what he called “business dinners,” though they were anything but professional. Somewhere along the way, those dinners had turned into more. One heated night led to countless others, and now, 66 years later, the two of you were still locked in this strange, undefined relationship. A weekly ritual of casual intimacy, wrapped in secrecy and masked by your professional titles.  

It had started as a way to blow off steam, and you would never admit to yourself that your feelings for Vox had been anything but carnal. But now, the years had piled up, and you were still tangled up in each other. Your ambition to climb the corporate ladder had gotten complicated; it was messy, with unspoken emotions lurking beneath the surface.  

You groaned, still staring at the ceiling when a soft knock at the door broke through your thoughts.  

“Come in,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from lack of sleep.  

The door creaked open to reveal Papermint, one of Vox’s many errand boys – slender, nervous, and constantly fidgeting. His blue hair and one cyan eye reflected the neon lights of the company, a clear sign that his soul was tethered to Vox’s control. You gave him a tired smile as he shuffled in, looking uncomfortable as always.  

“Papermint,” you said, leaning forward, elbows propped on the mess of papers on your desk. “What does he want now?” 

Papermint adjusted his thin glasses, looking anywhere but at you. “Well, boss wanted–” 

You cut him off with a raised hand. “Let me guess. I’m supposed to put on my VWatch because Vox has something extremely important to tell me, but it’s confidential, so he won’t bother telling you?” You threw in a mocking air quotes around the word “confidential.” 

Papermint’s face lit up with relief as he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s exactly it! He’s been on edge…kind of…” he quickly looked around your room, looking for any cameras as Vox always made sure he was watching and listening in everywhere, “you know…” Papermint mumbled, unwilling to take a chance of getting killed for badmouthing the boss.  

You snorted. Typical. Vox’s moods were as volatile as Hell’s weather, and apparently, he had been taking it out on his employees. You were the only one left who could handle him, and even that was debatable. Most, if not all, of his staff had their souls bound to his contracts, but not you. You had sighed a regular employment contract, meaning if you wanted to walk out of this building, you could do so without losing a single shred of your soul.  

You shuffled the papers on your desk, trying to look busy. “I failed to see how that’s my problem, Papermint.” 

His face fell, the colour draining from his cheeks. “Please, Sunshine–” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Not my name.” 

Papermint blinked. “Oh, sorry! I thought that’s what boss called you.” 

“He calls me a lot of things,” you said, rising from your chair. “None of them are relevant.”  

Without another word, you strode past Papermint, your steps purposeful as you left your office. The nickname sunshinehas recently irked you, though lately, you noticed your anger toward it had started to wane. Maybe it was the fact that despite everything, your heart still softened every time you thought of his stupid TV head.  

You found yourself standing outside Vox’s office door without even realizing how quickly you’d gotten there. You cursed under your breath. You were supposed to be angry at him. Frustrated, really. Instead, warmth was blooming in your chest, softening the hard lines of your frown.  

Damn it. Why were you such a softie? 

Without knocking, you pushed open the door and entered his office. The long bridge to his desk, surrounded by a dizzying drop into nothingness, stretched before you like a stage, a visual testament to his need for drama. Vox sat in his grand chair, spinning lazily toward you. His grin was wide, but strained.  

“Ah, Sunshine!” He greeted, his voice edged with nervousness. “Finally decided to show up after, what, twelve days? But hey, who’s counting?” 

You crossed your arms, not dignifying his teasing with a response. Instead, you stared at him, waiting.  

Vox stood up from his desk, his sharp grin widening as his arms stretched out for a hug, his usual smoothness faltering as he made his attempt. You stood unmoving, watching his hands hover awkwardly before he dropped them, clearing his throat with forced nonchalance.  

“Sunshine, I know I said I’d talk to Val about your department store debacle, but–” Vox’s eyes darted toward the corner of the room, hands making small circles as if searching for the right words. “Val can be a bit…tricky.” 

Your jaw tightened. That department store had been your baby – your crown jewel, meant to cement your name in Hell’s ruthless business world. Nine years of gruelling work, settling deals, managing turf wars, negotiating with gangs. Nine years of sacrifice to finally build what was supposed to be yours – with Vox having a mere 25% stake. But that vision had turned into ash and rubble when Valentino decided to “celebrate” your grand opening day with hookers, drugs, and a sleazy entourage. In less than three hours, your hard-earned dream was trashed, half of the building collapsing under the weight of his destructive party.  

And Vox’s response? A dismissive, “That’s just Val being Val.”

You crossed your arms tightly across your chest, one hip jutting out in defiance. “Oh, don’t worry about it, boss,” you spat, the word dripping with sarcasm. “It only took me nine years, eight months, and thirteen days, plus half a billion dollars of my own savings, to build that dream. And it was all blow to hell in three hours! But hey–who’s counting?” 

The muscles in Vox’s neck twitched as his shoulders hiked higher. You could see the tension in his rigid frame, but it wasn’t enough to quell the rage simmering inside you. Time meant little in Hell. Rebuilding wasn’t a big issue either now that the Princess of Hell put an end to the bi-yearly exterminations. And sure, Vox had reimbursed your expenses and offered to buy you a new property to rebuild, but that wasn’t what you wanted.  

What you really wanted was for Vox to finally stand up to Valentino. To sever ties, cut him out of the alliance, and show some backbone for once.  

But it was never that simple.  

Hell’s power structure was a delicate balance, and the Vees were stronger united. Valentino brought numbers, influence, and raw power to the table, attributes too valuable for Vox to dismiss. And what did you bring? 

Competence as his personal assistant. 

A warm body to cuddle with when he felt like it.  

The room buzzed with tension, both of you fully aware that this issue was one of many knots in your tangled relationship. You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to let go of some of the anger bubbling beneath your skin. It wasn’t worth a blow-up–not now. 

“So, what did you call me up here for, Vox?” You asked, your tone softer than before, though you hated how much his name on your lips seemed to brighten his eyes.  

Vox’s smile returned, wider this time, though you could still see the underlying tension in his expression. “Well, it’s our annual company trip, and…” he hesitated, his grin becoming strained as his brows knitted slightly. “It’s mandatory for you to attend!” His tone was too chipper, a veil over the fact that he feared your refusal.  

You rolled your eyes, a huff escaping your lips. “You mean the annual company trip where it’s just the two of us, and we end up fucking?” 

As you talked, Vox took that time to finally circle his arms around you. You felt your resolve crumble and your anger melting away. You cursed inwardly at how easily your body responded to him, your head naturally finding its place against his shoulder as he swayed you gently in his embrace. It was ridiculous, really – how he could have you melting with just a touch, even after all the frustration, all the fights.  

“What?” He laughed nervously, his voice a little higher than usual. “I told you, everyone always cancels last minute! I mean, I do dock their pay, but still–” His words trailed off as his fingers tensed against your body.  

The lie was as obvious as the flickering pixels on Vox’s face, and you couldn’t help but giggle. It was the kind of silliness that made your chest light, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. Pressing your lips against his shoulder, you tried to muffle the sound, but your body shook with mirth anyway.  

Vox sighed softly above you, the rumble of it felt through his chest as he held you tightly. He never made it a secret how much he loved hearing your laughter, the sound always brightening the static on his face and smoothing his sharp edges.  

You felt the faint warmth of his screen pressed against the top of your head as he leaned down to place a light kiss there, his grip tightening ever so slightly around you. And at that moment, you knew undoubtedly that you were going to attend his annual company trip, regardless of how mandatory it was. After all, you attended all the previous so-called company trips.  

“So, is it tomorrow?” You asked, voice softened with the quiet acceptance of his unspoken plea.  

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate line down the centre of your spine. The touch was comforting, intimate, making you sigh in a way that spoke of years of familiarity. His fingers lingered at your lower back as he let out a wistful breath, as if savouring the moment.  

“Are you going to let me go?” You teased, your lips quirking into a smile as you glanced up at him. “I still need to figure out how to implement your so-called flying technology onto all the latest VPhones,” you added with a roll of your eyes, knowing you were slipping back into work mode.  

“Just make our drones into cellphones and call it a day,” he remarked casually, his tone almost lazy.  

You jerked away from him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Excuse me?” You screeched, shifting instantly from playful lover to his professional assistant. “Do tell me how you think that’s remotely possible with all the–“ 

The words spilled out of you in a sharp, impassioned rant. Vox’s gaze never left yours, but his gentle smile and softness in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. He wasn’t listening to the words. He was listening to you, and that subtle, almost imperceptible affection made your heart squeeze in ways you tried not to think about.  

The next day, you stood outside VoxTek Aquarium, the warm hellish air brushing against your legs as your loose white dress swayed gently with the breeze. The plunging v-neckline gave the soft fabric an elegant flow, but the empty street surrounding the aquarium was unsettling. The eerie silence was in stark contrast to the usual bustle, the crowds that typically lined up for hours on end nowhere to be seen.  

As you approached the doors, a small sign with different shades of blue balloons swaying side by side caught your eyes.

The sign read: Our 66th Anniversary, with a giant heart drawn right below it.  

A giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it. Vox was nothing if not sentimental in his own peculiar way. Every year, without fail, he celebrated your work anniversary with him, marking the occasion as if it were something sacred. You never fully understood it, but there was something about his dedication to it that made you feel warm inside, giddy even. He made you feel seen–like your time, your presence, mattered in a way no one else had ever made you feel.  

As you stepped inside the aquarium, your eyes widened in awe. The large cylindrical tank at the centre dominated the room, a towering presence that rose as tall as a seven-story building. Inside, Vox’s prized hammerhead shark swam lazily, its glowing blue patterns casting an eerie light through the water. The sheer size of it made your stomach flip with unease.  

“Sunshine!” Vox’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence.  

You turned to see him approaching in navy-blue swim trunks, his grin wide and boyish despite his usual cool exterior. Before you could say a word, he closed the distance between you and capture your lips with his own. The kiss was soft at first, tender, but soon his tongue teased the seam of your lips, asking for entrance.  

You hummed appreciatively, parting your mouth and letting him explore. His hips pressed against you, a faint grind that had heat pooling low in your belly as his cock strained against the fabric of his swim trunks.  

When he finally pulled away, his breath came in short gasps, his grin widening just slightly. His chest rose and fell, and your eyes drifted downward to the obvious tenting in his trunks. A sultry smile curved your lips as you reached down, fingers grazing his swollen balls through the thin material. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, his body trembling at your touch.  

“Want me to take care of you?” You whispered, your breath ghosting over his neck. “A little preview of what’s to come tonight?” 

A shudder passed through him, micro-glitches cracking across his face as his control slipped for just a moment. “Yes,” he rasped, before quickly pulling back, his eyes wide. “Wait, no. I mean, yes, I want you, but – no?” His sheepish laugh filled the space between you, his words tripping over themselves in his embarrassment.  

Vox cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his hardened length to lie flat against his stomach, the cyan-blue tip of his cock barely peeking above the waistband of his swim trunks. It was a curious sight – normally, Vox was quick to pull you into bed the moment the mood struck. But today, something about his hesitation had you intrigued. With a cocky grin, you tugged your dress over your head, letting the fabric fall at your feet.  

The moment Vox’s gaze locked onto you, a sense of triumph swelled inside. His eyes roamed your figure, darkening with unmistakable hunger. You’d worn his favourite styled swimwear – a scandalous string bikini that left nothing to the imagination. The thin strip of cloth barely covered your front, your ass completely bare, while the triangles barely held your breasts, your nipples perked and straining against the fabric.  

You knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on him, especially since one of the triangles sported the VoxTek logo, a personal touch that always drove him wild.  

��O-oh wow,” Vox croaked, his voice hoarse with desire. “You look–” 

“Well then,” you interrupted with a playful smirk, “shall we get started on the itinerary of our company trip, Mr. Vox?” You emphasized his title with a cheeky grin, pretending to fall into your role as his dutiful assistant. “I was this close to derailing your whole plan with a blowjob. But luckily, you, the ever-dutiful CEO, will keep us on track, right?” You batted your eyelashes.  

Vox’s pixels flickered, and a cascade of blue sparks arced down his body, his circuits clearly struggling to keep up with the sight before him. His head jerked slightly to the side as he attempted to regain control, the telltale glitch that always happened when you managed to short-circuit him. 

You gave him a moment to compose himself, but the growing bulge in his trunks told you everything you needed to know. He was far from calm, and a mischievous spark lit in your chest. Today was going to be fun – a day of teasing, of pushing him until he finally snapped, losing control the way he always did before bending you over and fucking you raw. The thought alone sent heat pooling low in your belly, your thighs pressing together as your arousal stirred.  

Vox cleared his throat again, his hand moving to cover the obvious bulge straining against his swim trunks. “Ri-right,” he stammered, swallowing thickly. “I-I may take you up on that offer…later, if you don’t mind,” he added with a sheepish grin, his words still tripping over themselves. “But first, I want to start our annual event with this.” 

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a navy blue velvet box. The sight of it made your breath hitch, but you quickly covered it with a teasing smile.  

“Please don’t tell me it’s the latest VWatch,” you joked, shaking your head. Your lips stretched into a wide grin, though your pulse quickened with curiosity. Vox had made a habit of calling these little trips “company events,” a roundabout way of spending the day with you outside of work without having to define your relationship as more than colleagues. Still, you humoured him, always indulging in the fiction he created to spend more time with you…because deep down, you enjoyed these moments too.  

You opened the box, expecting something practical or silly, but what you saw instead made you freeze. Inside was a delicate ring, the centrepiece a clear gem with a crackle of blue electricity coursing through it. It shimmered in the low light, casting a faint glow that danced across your skin.  

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it. “Wh-what is this?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper, your mind swirling with unspoken thoughts.  

Vox rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s…kind of an inside joke?” He began, his tone uncertain. “You’re practically married to me–well, to your work, which is my company, and everyone already calls you my wife – I mean work wife. So, I figured…why not give my work wife a ring?” 

Your head spun as his words sank in. Vox had never been good at hiding his feelings when it came to you. He could sugarcoat it all he wanted, categorize it as a joke, but the truth was clear. This wasn’t just about work anymore. He wanted more, something real, something official. And for someone like him – one of the most powerful Overlords – the implications were monumental.  

“Here, let me do the honours,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost reverent. He gently took the ring from your hand and slid it onto your left ring finger with a surprising amount of tenderness. His touch sent a jolt of warmth up your arm, the electricity from the ring almost pulsing in time with your heartbeat.  

Your cheeks heated, a rush of emotions making your heart flutter wildly in your chest. You weren’t stupid – you knew exactly what this gesture meant, even if Vox tried to play it off as something less. You’d been at his side for so long, spending nearly every waking moment with him, in and out of work. He’d given you his time, his attention, his affection, and even a miniature shark that now lived in his tank, a shared responsibility between the two of you. In every way that mattered, you had already given him your heart and soul, figuratively speaking. 

Yet, there was no official label for what you were. And the thought of finally defining it –finally putting a name to what you had– suddenly felt terrifying.  

“It’s pretty,” you mumbled, unsure of what else to say.  

Vox’s throat clearing pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced up, drawn by the sight of him lifting his hand, showing off a silver band wrapped snugly around his finger. A thin streak of blue lightening shimmered though it, alive and pulsating like electricity caught in time. The realization hit you harder than expected, like a ripple expanding through your chest.  

“You really took this ‘work wife’ thing seriously, huh?” You joked, though your voice came out softer than intended. You wanted to brush it off, make it seem like this was just another playful gesture between the two of you, but the warmth flooding your cheeks betrayed you. The ring on your own finger caught your eye again, the delicate glow of the blue crackling electricity inside it casting soft shadows on your skin. Your thumb traced the cool surface absentmindedly, a silly grin tugging at your lips.  

It was beautiful. Far more than a simple token or inside joke, and best of all, the way it sat on your finger felt…right.  

'It wouldn’t hurt to wear it a little longer,' you thought, trying to reason with yourself. The soft thrum of excitement beneath your skin told you that you weren’t fooling anyone, least of all yourself.  

“Take it as a…a…” Vox’s voice pulled your focus back to him. His eyes flickered around the room, clearly searching for the right words. “A party favour?” 

“A party favour?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of the idea.  

“You know, like when you go to a party, and they give guests gifts.” His words hung awkwardly in the air, but there was something endearing about his uncertainty.  

Laughter burst from your lips, breaking the tension. The idea that the two of you could continue dancing around the deeper meaning behind this moment was almost too much. Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your body to his and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. The faint static of his skin sent a pleasant tingle across your lips, making them buzz.  

“Thank you for the…party favour,” you teased, arching a brown in amusement.  

Vox’s expression shifted, his lips parting as if to say more, something important, but instead, he blurted, “Swimming!” 

“Swimming?” You repeated, thrown by the sudden shift.  

“Remember?” His hands settled firmly on your hips, warm and steady. “You told me last month that you missed swimming in the ocean, back when you were alive.” His voice softened with a touch of excitement. “So, why not swim with the sharks! They’re remarkable – such sweethearts! You can even ride them if you'd like!” He grinned, twirling you around to face the massive tank behind you, where a shadowy figure swam lazily, its sleek form curving through the water.  

Your breath caught in your throat as the shark’s jagged teeth flashed, even with its mouth barely parted. The sheer size of it, the raw power, sent a nervous shiver down your spine. You instinctively pressed your back against Vox’s solid chest, trying to ease your growing apprehension.  

“Are you sure they won’t…eat me?” You glanced back at him, voice a little higher than usual. “I mean, don’t you feed them sinners?” 

Vox chuckled, the sound rumbling pleasantly through you as he grabbed your hands, guiding you toward a different section of the building. “Oh, doll, don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice low and reassuring. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re going to love it. In fact, you’ll be begging me to do this every year.” 

His enthusiasm was contagious. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to stifle the giggle that bubbled up. Vox, with his wide-eyed excitement, reminded you of a kid in a candy store, his usual Overlord bravado replaced with something innocent, almost boyish. It was…cute.  

Vox was cute in your eyes. The thought warmed you from within, spreading like a gentle heat through your chest.  

When he finally opened a door at the far end of the west wing, the familiar scent of salt water filled your nose, and your eyes widened in disbelief. The room was bathed in soft blue light, the walls painted to resemble the sky, with fluffy clouds hovering lazily in each corner. A layer of fine, tan sand stretched across the floor, inviting and warm beneath your feet. You could hear the rhythmic sound of waves crashing from speakers hidden away, and though it was artificial, it tugged something deep within you, a nostalgic ache for the ocean.  

“Oh my God,” you breathed, stepping slowly into the room. You kicked off your sandals, your toes sinking into the warm sand. It was soft, like velvet, slipping between your toes in a way that made your heart flutter with joy. “How did you–where did you…?” 

“Connections, baby!” Vox’s voice was filled with pride, his grin wide and playful as he watched you marvel at the scene. He stood there, his head tilted slightly upward as if basking in your approval, and it made you want to laugh all over again.  

The water before you was crystal clear, so transparent you could see every detail of the sharks circling lazily beneath the surface. Despite their fearsome appearance, they glided through the water with an almost serene grace, their bodies cutting through the waves like shadows.  

“Here you go,” Vox’s voice was warm, almost playful, as he stood beside you, handing over a snorkeling set. His rectangular goggles gleamed with neon blue around the edges, clunky and absurd on his face, especially given that they included a space for a nose, which he quite literally didn’t have.  

You bit back a laugh as you took the goggles from him. “Do you seriously need goggles?” You asked, snapping the rubber band behind your head as you put yours on. The cool plastic of the mask pressed against your skin, the sensation slightly jarring as it sealed itself. Your fingers traced the strange snorkel setup, noticing the hole at the end of the tube was sealed off, and instead, a tiny device was attached to the mouthpiece.  

Vox, apparently catching the confusion in your expression, gestured grandly. “First of all, these goggles look fantastic on me,” he said with a wide grin. “Second, this snorkel is VoxTek’s latest innovation! Oxygen is stored in that tiny little case – no need for bulky tanks!” 

You hummed in mild surprise, examining the sleek design. “They why do we need this part?” You asked, pointing to the unnecessary tube extending from the mouthpiece.  

With a casual shrug, he replied, “Purely for the aesthetic. People love snapping pictures while they swim with the fishes, and nothing says ‘authentic’ like classic snorkel.” 

You laughed, the sound bubbling up easily as Vox took your hand, pulling you closer to the edge of the water. His grin widened, a mischievous spark lighting up in his eyes. “Ready for a great family fun adventures?” He declared, his tone almost too polished.  

Bursting into laughter again, you teased, “Vox, are you using one of your pre-recorded lines on me?” 

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you caught me. I had to rehearse that line like, 800 times. I’m still deleting the voice clips from my main database,” his blue talon clacked against the side of his head.  

Your laughter softened into a chuckle, but the smile faded slightly as your gaze shifted toward the water. Two massive sharks glided slowly just beneath the surface. You squeezed Vox’s hand instinctively. “You’re sure I’m not going to end up shark bait, right? I’d really rather not wake up in the Badlands once my body reforms.” 

Vox tutted, his grin turning wicked as his right eye flickered with a spiralling hypnotic circles. “You have so little faith,” he purred, his voice a low electric hum. “They wouldn’t dare attack their master – or his guests.” His eyes sparked with electricity, crackling with a dangerous gleam. “They’d regret it very much.” 

You raised a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “I thought you liked these guys.” 

“I do,” he said, his face shifting back to that cherub-like smile you found oddly endearing. “Now come on, trust me – you won’t regret it!” With a playful tug, he pulled you toward the water’s edge.  

As you took a hesitant step closer, you glanced up at him. “Can you even swim? You’re not going to short-circuit on me, are you?” 

Vox shot a smug, shit-eating grin, his hand firm on your wrist as he dragged you in. “I’m waterproof, sunshine.” Before you could react, he yanked you into the water.  

You hit the surface with a splash, salt water flooding your mouth as you gasped in surprise. The cold shock of it stung your skin, the salty taste lingering on your tongue as you coughed, trying to clear your lungs. “Vox!” You sputtered, your voice cracking as you shivered from the sudden chill. But even in the cold, his arms wrapped around your waist, his body warm and solid against yours as he treaded water for the both of you. Droplets ran down his monitor-like face, glistening in the faint light, and you couldn’t help but think, well, I’ll be damned. He really is waterproof. 

“Come on!” Vox’s grin remained unshaken as he gestured toward the snorkel. “Put it on, and I’ll give you the grand tour!” 

Rolling your eyes, but unable to resist the infectious energy in his voice, you placed the mouthpiece between your lips. The soft rush of oxygen flowed in, steady and calming. With a surprisingly graceful dive, Vox plunged into the water, still gripping your hand. You followed, the water closing over your head as you descended into the aquarium depths.  

True to his word, the sharks swam around you like silent sentinels, their movements smooth and controlled. They didn’t open their jaws, just glided alongside you as if you were one of them. Their skin, slick and smooth, brushed against you now and again, almost like the nudge of a curious cat. Their gills shimmered with a faint blue glow, and their eyes, deep crimson, glinted like rubies of sunken treasures.  

Vox, with the grace of a dolphin – albeit a dolphin with a television for a head – gently ran his hand along the hammerhead shark’s back, his fingers trailing against its smooth surface as it swam in slow circles around you. He shot you a grin, his eyes glowing with that familiar red swirl, and tilted his head toward the shark, encouraging you to touch it.  

Gulping, you hesitantly reached out. To your surprise, the shark swam closer, allowing your fingers to graze its skin. It felt almost velvety, smooth in a way you didn’t expect. You ran your hand along its side, marvelling at the control Vox had over these creatures – Hell sharks, of all things.  

With a quick tug, Vox pulled you against him, his grip firm on your waist. His eyes gleamed red again, and you noticed the same hypnotic swirl reflected in the sharks’ eyes. He was controlling them, his power threading through the water, binding them to his will.  

The hammerhead drifted near, and Vox grabbed onto its dorsal fin with one hand, the other keeping you close. As the shark began to swim with purpose, you felt the rush of water against your body, the pressure building as you held on to Vox. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and together, you glided through a series of underwater tubes, each segment revealing different themes – lost treasure, pirate ships, tropical islands.  

The aquarium was vast, much larger than you’d imagined, and with every twist and turn, you found yourself more amazed. The sea creatures scattered as you passed, their forms darting away in colourful flashes, leaving trails of bubbles in your wake.  

Vox hadn’t been lying. As the thrill of the ride continued, you began to think that you’d want to do this again next year.  

Eventually, the shark slowed, the water warming around you. Vox released the shark, and it swam away, its massive body blending into the shadows. He pulled you toward the surface, and as you broke through the water, your eyes widened in astonishment.  

The soft glow of aquamarine light bathed the small enclosure, making the water shimmer like liquid gemstones. The rocky cave walls were draped with delicate strings of fairy lights, casting a soft, ethereal glow, like stars twinkling in the midnight sky. It felt secluded, intimate, as though the world outside had vanished, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, private paradise.  

“Come here, baby doll,” Vox’s voice was a low murmur, filled with warmth and a tenderness that never failed to make your heart flutter. He began to swim toward the shore, the water rippling gently around him as he moved. The sandy floor beneath sloped gradually, mimicking a beach, and you followed him, shivering from the cool air as the water dripped down from your body. 

You removed your goggles and snorkel, setting them aside before wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to preserve whatever warmth you had left. Before you could process the chill, a soft fluffy towel enveloped you, and Vox’s arm circled around your shoulders, pulling you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, a comforting contrast to the cold. Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the subtle mix of sea salt and remnants of his sharp cologne. His hand rested gently on the back of your head, holding you close, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.  

The sound of the artificial waves lapping at the shore echoed softly in the cave, blending with the quiet rhythm of your heartbeat. Neither of you spoke, content in the silence, your bodies pressed close as you shared this perfect moment. It struck you just how romantic Vox had always been during these company trips. Every year, he found new ways to make you feel cherished, loved in a way that filled your heart with warmth.  

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him tighter. His presence, his warmth, his scent – if all filled you with a deep sense of peace. You breathed him in, the familiar smell wrapping around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

Every year, he never failed to make you feel like the most important person in his world.  

“Want me to order you a drink?” Vox whispered, his breaths warm against your scalp.  

You nuzzled closer to him, unwilling to break the moment. “Mhm, but I don’t mind staying like this,” you mumbled, your voice soft and content. “S’nice.” 

His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. Vox had always said he loved your laughter, but you felt the same about his. It was rich, full of life, and it always made you smile.  

Reluctantly, he guided you over to a small round wooden table, pulling out a chair for you. You sank into it, the heavy blue towel still wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The scene was almost too picturesque – the shimmering water, the soft glow of the cave lights, the peaceful solitude of this hidden beach. “Are there any workers here?” You asked, your eyes scanning the serene beauty of the space.  

Vox smirked as he sat across from you, his monitor face lighting up as he pulled up a browser with a drink menu from Veebucks. “If you count my drones as workers, then yes,” he said with a shrug. “They’re the cheapest labour, after all.” 

“You mean free,” you quipped, watching with amusement as he tapped on the screen, ordering yours and his drink from the menu.  

“Same thing,” he muttered, his face returning to its usual charming grin.  

Silence fell over you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You soaked in the atmosphere, appreciating the care and thought he’d put into every detail. Vox reached across the table, his thumb brushing tenderly against the top of your hand, side to side in a slow affectionate gesture. “Happy anniversary, my brightest sunshine,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere, his smile gentle.  

Before you could respond, a drone swooped overhead, placing two cups on the table. The rich, nutty aroma of hazelnut and coffee filled the air, and your heart swelled with a sudden, overwhelming warmth. It was the drink you’d been ordering almost every day lately, and you realized he’d been paying attention to even the smallest details about you. 

Reaching for the cup, you took a sip, closing your eyes as the familiar taste of chocolate and coffee spread across your tongue. The warmth of the drink seeped into your body, chasing away the last of the cold. You sighed in contentment. Vox took a sip from his own cup, and you couldn’t help but smile, amused still to this day how he managed to drink despite having a TV head.  

He scooted his chair closer to yours, and the proximity made your heart flutter. “After this, we could check out some of the restaurants,” Vox suggested, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Then we can walk through the different sections of the aquarium and maybe–” 

You listened, his voice washing over you like a soothing wave. Everything he planned revolved around spending time together, making sure you both enjoyed each other’s company. As you gazed down at the drink in your hands, your eyes drifted to the delicate ring on your left finger. It suddenly struck you – this wasn’t just any anniversary. It was your 66th work anniversary.  

For sixty-six years, he’d celebrated this day with you. Every single year, without fail.  

“Vox,” you interrupted softly, placing your cup down. “You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.” A smile tugged at your lips. “Showing this much favouritism for a worker isn’t exactly great for morale – or your image.” 

Vox furrowed his brows, genuine confusion crossing his face. “What are you talking about?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.  

Now it was your turn to be confused. “I mean you don’t have to celebrate my work anniversary every year,” you said matter-of-factory. “Especially when you don’t even acknowledge your other worker’s anniversary.” 

Vox blinked once, then twice, before bursting into laughter. The sound was deep and raucous, filling the cave as he threw his head back. His chest shook, and his monitor flickered as he struggled to contain himself. “Oh, sunshine,” he said between laughs, “you thought we're celebrating your work anniversary all this tie?” 

In one smooth motion, he grabbed both your wrists, pulling you forward until you straddled his lap. His voice dropped to a low, dark whisper as his hands slid down your waist, pulling you closer. “My love,” he breathed, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ve been celebrating the day we first made love – every year.” 

Your muscles locked as your mind raced to catch up with his words. The truth hit you like a roaring tidal wave – you had slept with Vox, your boss, just before your contract was set to expire. That night had felt like the end, a one-time indulgence, but here you were, years later, warming his bed at least on a weekly basis. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t just your work anniversary you’d been celebrating each year with him. It was something much deeper, something more profound than a mere fling.  

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pieced it all together – every company trip, every time you ended up in his bed, his touch was always gentle, reverent, almost as if he were afraid you’d slip away. You had dismissed it as passion, fleeting and temporary. But for Vox, for him…it had been love. He saw it as making love to you.  

Slowly, your hand drifted down the side of his head, your new ring clinking softly against the hard surface. Each year, after every quiet, tender night together, Vox always whispered the same words.  

He always said… 

Vox’s smile softened, his claws grazing the back of your scalp before pulling you close, close enough that your breaths mingled. His voice was barely a whisper, and yet, it was all you could hear. “I love you, my brightest sunshine,” he murmured, before pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.  

Your throat tightened, and you cursed the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Damn it. You hadn’t expected to cry, hadn’t expected to feel this sudden rush of vulnerability. You blinked rapidly, hoping he’d chalk it up to the water from earlier, but when he pulled back, his eyes widened as he saw the tears spill freely.  

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Vox’s voice cracked, his panic clear, as though he couldn’t bear to see you hurting.  

And at that moment, you realized – it had always been you who assumed he couldn’t love you. That he wouldn’t.  

Without thinking, you pressed your forehead against his, your breath dancing with his. Then you kissed him –softly at first, a gentle peck, but the need, the desperation in your chest grew, and the next kiss was deeper. 

And the next one, longer. 

More urgent. 

Every kiss was a wordless apology for doubting him, for not seeing the depth of what had been right in front of you for all these years.  

You had always assumed this was nothing but a fleeting affair, a passion that would cool and fade with time. But the way Vox’s breath hitched in between your kisses, the way he groaned in response to your touch – it told you otherwise. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, needing more of you, as if he could never get enough.  

“I wanted to –“ he began, voice low and hoarse, but you silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his words.  

He managed to gasp out, “–to show you the master suite…I decorated the bed for–” 

“Or,” you interrupted with a wicked smile, your voice a soft purr against his lips, “you could let me have a taste now.” 

You felt the answering throb of his cock, already hard and pressing insistently against your core, and your grin widened. “Looks like the other half agrees,” you teased, wiping the stray tears with your towel before letting it drop to the floor. Your skin felt feverish, flushed and burning with desire, every nerve alive with the need for him.  

“I even wore this,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a sultry murmur as you leaned in, “just for you, today.” Your words elicited another eager throb from his cock, and your breath hitched as the sensation sent shivers down your spine.  

“Ah, fuck,” Vox groaned, his hand slipping under the thin fabric of your bikini, fingers finding your hardened nipples. His touch was hot, electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, slow and purposeful. You hissed, arching into him as he ground his clothed, wet, cock against your core, his eyes squeezed shut in pure, unfiltered bliss.  

“A taste,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “You want a taste now?” His breath came quicker as he lifted you effortlessly, laying you across the table in one swift motion. The drink clattered to the floor, the sound distant, irrelevant as his gaze darkened, locked onto you like a predator ready to devour its prey.  

Your hips teetered at the edge of the table, legs dangling loosely, toes barely brushing the sandy floor beneath. You heard the slick sound of Vox sliding off his bathing suit, the wet fabric hitting the ground in a damp heap. And then, there he was — his dark, navy shaft, gleaming with a faint blue glow at the tip, standing at full attention.  

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with desire. His hand gripped the base of his cock, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as he slapped the tip against your still-covered clit, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through you. “You know how much I fucking missed you when you didn’t come over last weekend,” he huffed, frustration laced in his voice as he hastily wrapped your legs around his waist. “My hands are nothing compared to yours,” he moaned, his hips lazily rolling against you, teasing, tormenting.  

You let out a soft, needy whimper as the swollen head of his cock nudged against your engorged clit. God, the sensation left you aching for more, desperate for the feel of him – bare, hard, and slick – sliding inside you. “More,” you moaned, voice trembling. As your hips shifted, chasing the pleasure that rippled through your body like a tidal wave.  

“I know, baby doll, I know,” Vox sighed, his voice deep and strained as his fingers skilfully tugged your bikini top aside. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of your nipples, stiff and begging for his touch. “Ah, fuck, yeah,” he muttered, and his long sinuous tongue slipped out, lapping eagerly at your left nipple. The broad, wet surface of his tongue dragged across the sensitive peak, nudging it up before it snapped back into place.  

A deep moan rumbled from him, long and lewd, as he finally pulled your bottoms free, the cool air kissing your bare skin for a brief moment before his thick, hot shaft pressed against your soaked folds. “Oh fuck, look how wet you are. Is that all for me?” he rasped, dragging the length of his cock through your slick folds, spreading your arousal along your lips as he teased your entrance.  

“Vox,” you whimpered, arching your back against the hard surface of the table. The pressure sent a delicious ache through you, but it was nothing compared to the way he lapped at your nipples, his tongue working over them like a man starved, desperate for every taste of you.  

With one hand, Vox steadied himself against the table, the weight of his and your body making the wood creak beneath you. The air between you sizzled with heat, your mingled breaths and the soft rhythmic sound of the waves filling the cave like music. His eyes locked onto yours, pupils turning into sharp slits with lust, and the heat of his cock at your entrance made your thighs tremble.  

Slowly, agonizingly slow, he pushed the tip of his cock inside you, stretching your entrance, inch by inch. You writhed beneath him, your body instinctively pulling him in deeper, the slick, tight walls of your cunt gripping him greedily.  

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, the stretch so deliciously deep that it made your toes curl, your back continued to arch off the table as he sank further inside. His thick cock filled you completely, stretching you open, reclaiming the space that had always been his. You whimpered as he inched closer to your favourite spot, so damn close you could almost feel the sparks waiting to ignite. “More, more,” You whined, the desperation in your voice palpable.  

“That’s right, doll,” he whispered, his other hand finding your nipple, now cool from his saliva. He pinched it, sending sharp jolts of pleasure and pain shooting straight to your core.  The sensation spiralled through your body, tingling, buzzing, settling deep in your belly as he sank fully into you, his hips flush against yours.  

He groaned, low and deep, his cock twitching inside you as he paused, his heavy balls resting against you. He didn’t move, didn’t thrust, just held you there, making sure you felt every inch of him, every throb, every pulse of how hard he was for you.  

Your legs trembled as you tried to keep them wrapped around his hips, your body humming with need as his fingers toyed with your nipple, tugging, pulling and twisting. You were both on the edge, the tension taut yet brittle, waiting to snap apart.  

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, for an entirely different reason. The longer Vox stayed deep inside you, the more you found yourself unravelling, desperate for him to take you completely, to fuck you until you lost all sense of self. His dark chuckle vibrated through the air, low and sinful. “Restless little thing, aren’t you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.  

Finally – finally – he pulled back, your walls clinging to him, unwilling to let him go. Vox moaned, deep and primal, as he dragged his cock out until just the tip remained inside, then pushed back in slowly, the feel of him parting you making you quiver.  

“Oh, god, Vox,” you gasped, your body trembling, arms reaching out for him to come closer to you. You wanted more, needed more, the slow, tantalizing build was driving you mad. Tears blurred your vision, but they weren’t from pain. The pleasure was mounting, and you craved its climax, growing impatient for the rush.  

Vox leaned in, allowing your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. His rhythm was steady, deliberate, his hips circling in slow teasing motions. Your own hips moved in sync, grinding against him, showing him how soaked you were, how much you wanted him, how your body screamed for him.  

“If you could only see what I see,” he whispered, his voice filled with tender and care. His eyes stayed locked on yours. “If you could only see, sunshine,” he murmured again before pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His hips pushed harder against you, the friction of his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive clit, sending sparks through your core.  

It was the combination of his sweet words and the way he knew your body, how he understood every secret it kept, that had you completely losing control. Your legs fell open wider, your lips parted, breaths coming out in ragged pants as your eyes silently pleaded for more.  

He was hitting that spot inside you, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids, and you could feel the pressure building deep within you. The cool air had long since dried your bodies, leaving only the heat – the unbearable, searing heat of desire that radiated between you. His chest pressed firmly against yours, your nipples rubbing against his now slick skin, the friction driving you wild.  

You could hear his uneven breath, could feel the tension thrumming through his muscles as he held himself back, trying not to lose control. He wanted to make this last, wanted this moment to be special. You could tell how much today meant to him, how different this time was. He wasn’t just fucking you – he was making love to you. And you surrendered to it, letting him take what he needed because you knew there was a different kind of pleasure in giving.  

And you knew exactly what he wanted to hear.  

“I love you,” you whispered, voice soft but clear. His hips faltered, a shudder running through him, his eyes wide with disbelief as they met yours. He blinked, lips parting as though to say something, but you brought his head down to rest against your forehead, strands of your hair reaching out to him, charged with the static. “I love you,” you repeated, feeling his cock twitched, harder, deeper inside of you. For a moment, you wondered if he could just come from hearing those words.  

You didn’t say it often. Those three words. Vox had always said them enough for the both of you. 

But now, seeing the joy, the pure ecstasy in his eyes, you thought maybe you should say it more often. He looked so incredibly happy, like your words had unlocked something sacred within him.  

“One more time, sunshine,” he trembled, his voice thick with emotion. “Please.” He clutched you tighter, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer as your lips ghosted over his, and you whispered it again, letting those three words sink into him, into both of you.  

“I love you.” 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and when they opened again, they were filled with something raw, something powerful. His pace shifted, faster now, his thrusts deeper, more urgent. The table rocked beneath you, the sound of wood creaking barely audible over the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin and your voices of ecstasy. His cock plunged in and out of you, filling you, stretching you, the sound of your slick arousal filling the space.  

His eyes never left yours as he ravaged you, each thrust more desperate than the last. His balls slapped against you, his breath coming out in hot, ragged bursts, but his focus remained on you. His fingers slid down between your bodies, finding your clit, and your sharp gasp was your only warning before he rubbed them in time with his thrusts. He knew exactly how to touch you, the tempo, the pressure that made you lose your mind.  

A coil tightened in your belly, the peak so close your body could only tremble as the pleasure built to an unbearable height. “Oh, fuck,” Vox groaned, his voice low and wrecked. “Fuck, you feel so good. Faster? Slower?” He panted, his skin hot and slick with sweat, his nipples grazing yours with every thrust.  

“Ah–mm,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Keep going like this, Vox, ah–don’t stop,” you pleaded, your walls tightening around him, your body on the edge of release. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out, the wet friction of his fingers on your clit – it was too much, too intense, and yet exactly what you needed.  

Vox’s thrusts grew more deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you as your body clenched tightly around him. He groaned deeply, feeling your walls squeeze him, signalling just how close you were to falling over the edge. “That’s right, baby doll,” He panted, his voice raw with need.  “That’s right…that’s right.” Every word was punctuated by the rhythmic slap of his hips against you, his fingers flicking over your swollen, oversensitive clit. The sharp sting from his touch melted instantly into a wave of pleasure, your breath hitching, ragged, desperate for him to keep going, to push you that last step.  

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, the words barely audible as your body quivered beneath him. His cock filled you completely, plunging deep, the friction making your lips fall open as he drove into you again and again. Your muscles tightened, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap, and you pressed your heel into his back, grinding against him.  

With a whimper, your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as that searing, white-hot rush of orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. “Oh, fuck…fuck,” you cried out, your entire body shuddering, pleasure rolling through you in heavy crashing waves. The intensity wracked your senses, and you barely registered the way Vox pried your legs open wider, gripped your ankles as he kept thrusting into you, chasing his own release.  

His pace quickened, the table creaking and groaning under the force of his movement. Your gasping breaths and the slick, erotic rhythm of his cock pounding into you was all you could focus on. Vox moaned sharply above you, his head falling back, his hips jerking forward as he reached his peak. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling hot streams of his release, and you could feel every throb and every twitch as he filled you completely.  

“Oh…yea, baby,” he panted, his voice thick with pleasure.  He slowed his movements, thrusting lazily as he milked every last drop of his release, his hips roiling in slow circles. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he murmured, his breathing heavy as he pushed deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt.  

Your legs, trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm, fell limply from his grasp, your body still buzzing with the sensation of him inside you. The hard edge of the table dug into your back, but you didn’t care. Not when he finally leaned forward, bracing his arms on the side of your head, his face hovering just above yours. His breath fanned across your skin as he gave you a relaxed, satisfied grin.  

As his cock softened, he slowly slid out of you, and you felt the rush of his release spill out from you, the proof of your shared union dripping onto the tan, hot sand.  

“Happy anniversary, love,” Vox murmured, his voice soft, intimate. He reached out, cradling your face in his large hands, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “To another year together,” his smile was gentle but behind it, there was a flash of something vulnerable, something raw that made your chest tighten. 

And then it hit you, all at once. 

For Vox, this wasn’t just about sex or a casual fling. He was celebrating something much deeper, something that went beyond the physical. 

He was celebrating the fact that, year after year... 

You stayed with him. 

You chose him. 

You were the only one who had ever remained by his side, who had loved him long enough, steadfastly enough, to make him feel... worthy.  

What he was truly celebrating was each year that you chose to stay with him, every single time. And you could see it now, in the way his eyes softened, in the way he touched you like you were his lifeline, like you were the one thing that grounded him in this Hell.  

And perhaps, that was worth something to celebrate every year. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

An excerpt from my post when I first announced I was going to do Kinktober/Flufftober:

[calicoheartz]

Paige x fem!wbbp reader.

Paige and the reader have been playing together since high school. What's the chance they both commit to the same uni? 👀

(Can I request to be 🦢 annon?)

A Pretty Perfect Match ; Paige Bueckers ››

꣑୧ — summary | basically the prompt !!! :)

wc ; 1.4k

— warnings | lots of romantic tension & fluff , friends to lovers

my master list ㇀♡

1) omg yes of course you can be 🦢 anon ! It makes me so happy I’m finally getting anons like this! yay!

a/n : I wasn’t sure if you wanted this to be romantic anon , so I did some hints and implied romantic attraction throughout the story. Enjoy ! ◡̈

Paige leaned against the worn wooden bleachers, with her gaze being focused on the basketball court below. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the vinyl floor, the thud of the ball, the cheers from the crowd – it all felt like home to her. After all, she had spent hours on that court, pouring her entire heart and soul into the game. 

Beside her, stood her longtime friend and teammate, your presence bringing a comforting and warm energy into the busy and chaotic environment. 

You both had been inseparable since the beginning of freshman year, with your strong love for the game bringing you both closer together. With your bond forged by victories, defeats, laughs and tears, and Paige couldn't imagine her life without you by her side.

As the final buzzer rang, signaling the end of the game, you and Paige exchanged a tired but content smile. Your team had won, as it always did when the two of you played together. But tonight was different, as it marked the end of an era. An era that had lasted since they were 14, that was now the end of a chapter, as they embarked on a new change to their lives.

As the two of you walked off the court together and into the locker room, Paige decided the break the silence by saying, “So, have you decided where you're going to college yet?", her voice tinged with excitement and apprehension.

You shrugged, a thoughtful expression gracing your face, “i'm still weighing my options. What about you?”

Paige hesitated, her mind racing with possibilities. She had received offers from several universities, each promising the chance to continue her basketball career at the collegiate level. But there was one school that stood out above the rest—a school that offered not only a top-tier basketball program, but also the opportunity to hopefully study alongside you.

Unbeknownst to you, Paige had always seen you differently, you were definitely one of her best friends, but her feelings manifested into something different, something she didn't feel towards the rest of her friends. She never knew exactly how to get her feelings across to you, as it was quite apparent that your love and commitment to basketball was above every other aspect in your life. But little did she know, that you yourself also felt the same way she did, also dealing with the unprecedented issue on how to admit her newfound feelings to the blonde. 

"I think I've made up my mind," Paige said finally, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm going to commit to UConn.” your eyes widened in surprise to her sudden statement,  with a small smirk spreading across your face, “Wait for real? That's where I was planning on going! I was just scared to commit since I wasn't sure if any of my other friends were going.”

Paige's heart soared at the news, relief flooding through her. She couldn't imagine navigating the challenges of college without her closest friend by her side. Together, they had conquered high school basketball, and now they would take on the next chapter of their lives together as well.

As they made their way out of the locker room, Paige couldn't shake the feeling of excitement coursing through her veins. The prospect of attending UConn with you by her side, filled her with a sense of anticipation unlike anything she had ever experienced before. For the first time in her life, she felt truly ready to take on whatever the future held.

Over the next following months, you and Paige had become immersed into your applications and studies, spending long hours honing your skills on the court, preparing yourselves for the challenges that lay ahead of you. So it was not surprising that when the acceptance letters finally came in, you celebrated with one another, knowing that your dreams were finally within reach. 

As your white manicured nails gripped around the now empty can of whiteclaw, you couldnt help but wonder about your future with Paige. Yeah you two were going to the same school, but could you really continue hiding your feelings from her? I mean eventually she was bound to find out, what would you even do when in time she got a girlfriend? 

Paige could tell you were stressed, as she took your face into her hands and cupped your cheeks, something she often did, but this time it seemed different. “Don't be stressed”, she said, with a hint of alcohol lingering in her voice. “It's all gonna be okay, we finally did it. It's only uphill from here.” You smiled at her remark, slowly beginning to lean closer to her. Her eyes made their way onto your lips, as she gave you that look. You quickly leaned away, breaking your eye contact. You laughed slightly, chucking up your actions to the alcohol, and got up from your chair. “I should head home” you stated, immediately regretting opting out of the possibility of kissing your longtime best friend. Before the blonde could respond, you were already on your way, walking back towards the direction of your house. 

As the summer drew to a close and the start of college loomed on the horizon, you and Paige found yourselves filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. But ever since that day, the blonde knew she had to come clean about her feelings, as you two would be playing side by side at UConn for the next 4 years. But still, a weight of anxiety weighed itself onto Paige's shoulders, she knew she had to tell you. There was no way she could avoid it for any longer, or procrastinate even further. 

She made her way over to your house, knocking at your door slightly, when you opened it your gaze was surprised but loving, not expecting to find the 6 '0 girl on your doorstep. 

She soon broke the silence, mumbling a “Sorry for coming without notice, I just needed to see you.” you nodded slightly, opening the door further as an invitation for the blonde to let herself in, before making your way to your bedroom. 

You sat on your bed, your eyes avoiding Paige’s gaze, not really sure what to say, let alone what the blonde needed to discuss. Paige made her way towards you, plopping on the space right beside you before facing you, starting off with a “Look, I know we've been friends for freshman year, but I need to be honest with you y/n.” You furrowed your brows slightly, giving her a confused look in reply. She continued slowly… “I like you y/n, like like, not like a friend, but- fuck. I don't even know what to say, I completely understand if you don't feel the same way but please just hear-” you couldn't even let the blonde finish her sentence before placing a passionate kiss on her lips, one that only lasted a few seconds but felt like an entire lifetime had passed. 

It felt as if fireworks were going off inside your head, as all your worries melted away as you yourself melted into the kiss. You soon pulled away, before whispering “that's my answer, P.”

Since that day, your relationship blossomed day by day as you prepared for the sudden switch in your lives, navigating the first year of college together.

Over the next four years, you and Paige forged a path through college unlike any other. You studied together, laughed together, and yes, even argued from time to time. But through it all, your  bond remained unbreakable, a constant source of strength and support in a world that was constantly changing.

And on the basketball court, you both were unstoppable. With Paige's skill and your determination, you both led UConn to victory after victory, cementing your places in the annals of college basketball history. 

As graduation day approached, you both were filled with a mix of emotions. Of course you were sad to say goodbye to the place that had been your home for the past four years, but you both were also excited to see what the future held for your relationship.

 As you stood on stage together, your hands intertwined and your diplomas in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you,  you both would always be there for each other, ready to face whatever challenges came your way.

As they stepped out into the world beyond the walls of UConn, you and Paige knew that your journey was far from over. You were now ready to take on whatever the future held, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could accomplish anything.

omggggggg this was so cute wtf !!!! I LOVED writing this and hope I can write more stuff like this in the future (most likely will ngl) as always tysm for reading !!

[caws5749]

Written Words

A/N: does anybody have any fluffy requests???? Please send if you doooooooooooooo

You were always better with the written word. You fumbled over oral words, your brain not thinking fast enough to keep up with the conversation, often thinking of clever things to say only after the fact.

But written word was... right. It was simple, easy, seemed to just flow for you.

Natasha was never one for fancy speeches or eloquent romantic words anyway, but that didn't mean you didn't want her to receive something beautiful, something pure, something well-said. So you wrote.

It started with something as simple as a card with flowers, along with a new knife. You hadn't really known what to get her. She had loved everything, but she hadn't really cared about the gifts. What she loved, what she cherished, was the card.

Natasha, this is a simple gift, simply because I can't help but think of you. You consume my mind, my soul, my being in the best way possible. And I hope that you continue to. Love, Y/N.

No one had ever said anything like that to her. It was the gesture, but it was the words.

You kept writing little notes for her everywhere. Her heart soared, it was something she looked forward to every day. It was notes on her pillow for her to come home to, notes in her weapons locker, notes near the coffee machine (which made Tony and Clint roll their eyes in fake disgust and you never heard the end of it).

You knew you wrote decently, and you began to be proud of such a thing. You hadn't known how much your writings meant to Nat until one morning.

Unbeknownst to you, you had developed a pattern. It seemed that every other Wednesday or Thursday there was a note on Natasha's pillow.

But you didn't that morning. You were rushed, mildly under the weather, and just all around not doing your best. You hadn't really forgotten, but you just didn't have the time or energy.

Your girlfriend met you in the kitchen, pulling out a coffee mug while you worked the espresso machine.

Your eyes flickered towards her, a crease forming between your brows at her silence. There was no 'good morning', no hug, no nothing.

"Good morning," you said cautiously.

"Morning," the red-head replied shortly. She didn't even look at you. Your brows raised.

"Natasha?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is everything okay?'

"Why wouldn't it be?"

You sighed through your nose, growing a bit frustrated. You weren't usually so quick-tempered, but everything you were dealing with had caused a short fuse.

"Fine, then," you retorted. You returned to the espresso, throwing things about loudly.

Nat finally turned to look at you. She then studied the bags under your eyes, the slightly pink nose, the half-done hair, and the time. Guilt swept through her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, moving to you, arms wrapping around your middle from behind.

"What's going on?" you whispered, fingers moving in circles along her forearm.

"I know it's dumb, but I... you usually.... it's Thursday and every other We-.... just... there was no note," she finished sheepishly, half burrowing her face into your hair.

The lightbulb went off.

"Oh."

"I shouldn't expect that, but I just love your writing so much. But I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, especially seeing you, babe. You're clearly not having the best morning. I'm so sorry," she said gently, giving you a squeeze.

You hadn't known she loved your writing that much. But you certainly did now.

It was why you couldn't wait after writing your vows to share them with her.

It was dusk, the last hints of light barely creeping through into the compound. Natasha sat on the couch, a blanket half draped across her legs that were tucked under her. She had one eye on the news and another on the book in her hand.

Her eyes lit up as she noticed you, setting her book down. "Detka," she greeted warmly, lifting up the blanket for you. You settled in next to her, facing her and chewing on your bottom lip.

"What is it?" she asked, brows furrowed slightly.

"I know this isn't customary, but I can't wait," you said. She only looked more confused. You pulled out the paper that had slightly crinkled in your pocket. You took one look at her emerald eyes before your heart filled with love and you thought you might burst.

"When I met you, I didn't know what was to come," you began, following the words you'd so carefully written. "I didn't know I'd find someone with such love, such courage, intelligence, and all around perfection. I didn't know I'd find the one who was so perfect for me. Natasha Romanoff is a name that is revered in many households, in many hearts, but I can promise you that no one reveres you as I do. I promise to respect you, cherish you, love you like no other. I promise I will take care of you when you are sick, to protect you when you are fighting for the world, and to stop Clint from stealing your special snacks."

She gave a watery chuckle at that, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I promise to be a faithful wife, a faithful mission partner, and your greatest ally. I promise to try my best to give you the three children you desire, the perfect house you desire to build, and the life you deserve. Until death greets us, I am yours, Natalia."

[hyperactively-me]

black tie affair (part 2)

“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer.  “I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.” “I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

hi guys. this is my first time writing smut, therefore 18+ only. 5.4k words. hope you like it. have fun. bye guys.

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: smuttyyy smut

The military ball was in full swing in the grand ballroom of the elegant hotel, the area bedecked with glistening chandeliers and adorned with gold and maroon hues. Soldiers and their partners mingled in the room, their attire resplendent and their medals glistening brilliantly. 

You felt like you were on cloud nine, soaring high in the sky. He remained relatively quiet, but he kept taking “sneaky” glances at you. God, he thought you couldn’t see, but you noticed. You noticed every time. You noticed during training, during meals at the mess hall, during debriefing meetings, during missions. His eyes bored into your being, your soul. 

At one point, a champagne toast was made, the bubbly liquid dripping down your throat as you took little sips here and there. You had handed Simon his glass, clinking the edge of it to yours before everyone took a collective sip, a nod to the reason of the occasion. Simon had swirled the liquid in his flute, eyeing you as you took a small sip from your own glass. He observed the way your painted lips hugged the edge of the glass, wishing nothing more than for your soft lips to be on his own. And maybe on his cock. 

As the night progressed, people had started taking to the dance floor, swinging their partners to the tempo of the music. The dance floor beckoned them in as the orchestra played a steady tune. Simon extended his hand to you, his eyes turning up into what you assumed to be a smile behind his mask. Your eyes lit up as you placed your hand in his, your pulse racing at the thought of dancing with him.

You stepped onto the floor, surrounded by fellow soldiers and their partners. The ambiance of the room fades away as he places a firm hand on your waist, the other taking your hand. His body aligned perfectly with yours, molding together as if they were meant to fit. You could tell he was nervous. His movements were stiff, calculated as he kept his eyes trained to the floor as if to prevent himself from taking a misstep. 

"I know you’re nervous," you smile gently at him, nudging him slightly. 

His eyes flicker to yours, a lighthearted scoff threatening to spill over. He didn’t want to make a fool of you. 

“Just tryin’ to make it seem like I know what I’m doin’,” he admits. 

You squeeze his hand in yours. 

“Just follow me,” you say, pulling him towards you slightly. You led him through the dance, already impressed enough that he had the courage to ask you to dance with him. The melody acts as a guiding force, you pull Simon along with you, slowly, methodically. You can feel the tension leaving his body as you move him, his hand squeezing yours, a silent thank you.  

As the ball came to a close, you took Simon’s arm, laughing and smiling like there was no tomorrow. 

“Simon, there’s absolutely no way that I’m letting you go back to your room right now,” you smile, a giggle escaping your lips. You tug on his arm gently, leading him towards the elevators in the lobby. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on going back, love,” he quips. “Besides, how else am I going to find out what’s under that dress of yours?” A smug expression takes over his face.  

Your face heats as you tug on your dress. Did it just get hotter here? You snuggle closer to his arm, your face rubbing up against the fabric of his tux, leaning your cheek on his muscled bicep. 

The elevator arrives with a quiet ding, making you stand up a bit straighter as you realize what's about to happen. Simon has been wanting you, needing you, since the moment he laid eyes on you all that time ago. He leads you in the elevator, and you let go of his arm, much to his dismay. He looks at you for a moment, but you look up at him with a reassuring smile, bumping your arm against his own. 

“Don’t get frowny on me,” you joke, brushing some stray hair behind your ear. 

“‘M not,” he deadpans, flitting his gaze to you for a moment. 

He quickly presses the button to the fourth floor, rocking side to side, as if the elevator was taking its sweet time going up. 

“Impatient, I see” you giggle, watching him press the button to your floor repeatedly. 

“I’ve been patient for a long, long time,” his voice was gruff and low, a mocking tone solely for you to hear. You nod once, letting this revelation sink in. Oh. Oh. 

As soon as the elevator door opens, you grab his hand tightly, yanking him out into the hallway. He stumbles for a moment, and that's when you turn around, grabbing him by his tie, pulling him down to your eye level. A grunt escapes his lips as you pull him down, his hands come to settle on your waist. You lean over to his ear, hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear. 

“And I’ve been waiting for you the whole time, big man,” you whisper, tightening your grip on his tie.

His cock twitches in his pants. You give him goosebumps, but you can’t see them. God he wishes you could. He wishes you could see how much you affect him. Simon’s mouth is agape under the mask, a small pant coming through the fabric. You step back, letting go of his tie, smoothing it out before turning around on your heel making your way to your room. He stands there, unabashedly staring at your ass before following behind you.

You pull open your door, but his hand reaches above your head to hold the door open for you to enter first. As soon as you step into the room, you toe off your heels, kicking them to the side. You turn to watch him shut the door, his eyes trained on you. You’re brought back to what happened in this very room a few hours ago, and you’re already pressing your thighs together, trying to savor this moment for a little longer.

“What are you waiting for?” you question, batting your eyes at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. 

“I’m just lookin’ at you,” he says as if he’s in a trance. “Jus’, let me look at you.”

He lands a hand on your face, cupping your cheek. You press into it, a small whimper building in your throat. His skin feels rough and calloused, despite how gently he drags his thumb along your cheekbone, savoring the silky texture of your skin. You stare at each other, all silent communication. You turn your face into his hand, bringing up your hand to cup his own, and inhale, taking in his scent. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” he murmurs, watching your every movement. 

“Mhm,” you acknowledge weakly, dragging your lips across his palm. You see him shiver as your lips brush over his skin. Simon handles you with care, dragging his thumb to the corner of your lip, stroking your lip. 

You take his hand in yours, pulling it down as you grab his free hand, squeezing them both in your grasp. You push up onto your toes, pressing a feather light kiss against his mask on the corner of his lips. You pull away, admiring the lipstick mark you left on the skull, a stark contrast of the symbolism behind it. 

He stares at you, shellshocked, pupils blown wide by your tenderness, and in an instant, he’s trying to pry his mask off his face, hands fumbling with the edges as his fine motor skills are knocked down a few pegs as if he was drunk from the kiss.

“Need this thing off,” he murmurs, and you push up on your toes and grasp the hem of the mask. He stills immediately, hands coming up to rest on your hips. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, and in one motion, you slip his mask off his face.

His eyes. Oh god, his eyes. His eyes. They’re staring straight into your soul. There's nothing for him to hide behind anymore, his final and strongest wall down. He’s laid bare in front of you. All he wants is you, you, you. You make him feel like he can’t breathe, like he can’t function, like he’ll evaporate from even the slightest acknowledgement from you. You can see a redness dusted over his cheeks and ears, his pupils blown wide, blond eyelashes dancing as he blinks, once, twice. His stubble-covered face and muscular jaw look appetizing, as if it was sculpted by the gods. His dirty blond hair is disheveled, but you don’t care. Frankly, you think it's endearing. You gingerly bring your hands up to his cheeks, running your hands over his skin as if you can’t believe he’s standing in front of you, face bare.

“Simon.”

He blinks, trying to register your words. He feels like he can’t breathe, your face is so close to his. 

“Hm,” he hums, entranced by you. He can’t help himself. The way you’re looking at him, the way you’re dressed, the way you’re able to walk into a room and light the whole place. He can’t help that he wants you, needs you, wants to make you feel like you’re the most special woman in the world. The way his name rolls off your tongue so perfectly makes him want to collapse. 

“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer. 

“I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.”

“I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with Simon's, your lips slightly parted. Your eyes flicker from his gaze to his lips, then back to his eyes. Simon takes the chance and places a delicate, chaste kiss on your lips. There is no urgency or intensity, only a gentle press, a delicate touch, and a defining moment that cannot be expressed through words. Your lips brush across his, feather-light, the contact lingering only a fleeting moment. Your heart overflows with affection, care, and tenderness as he gently draws away, his gaze fixed on yours. 

The next thing you know, he’s crashing his lips on yours, hard, filled to the brim with passion. You’re grabbing his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush against you, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he presses into you. More, more, more. He swipes his tongue over your lips, asking for permission. He kisses you like a man starved, your lipstick smearing across his own lips as your teeth clacked and tongues pushed against one other. You didn't bother suppressing the lovely moan that escaped your lips, swallowed by the man in front of you. The two of you pulled away from each other hesitantly, your hand raking through his hair, pulling at it gently. You leaned in and bit his lower lip, placing a brief kiss on his cheek while rolling your hips against him. He walks you backwards until your back slams into the wall behind you, pressing you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth as he paws at your dress, pulling your sleeves off your shoulders, lips not breaking contact from yours. Finally, he pulls away, looking at you for a moment before flipping you around, pressing your face up against the wall. 

“I’ve been waitin’ to do this all night, darlin’,” he says gruffly, his hot breath against your ear, making you shiver in anticipation. “I’m goin’ t’ take my time.”

You clench your thighs together at his words, a throaty, quiet moan escaping your lips. His hand brushes up against your back, his hot touch nearly making you moan. He toys with your zipper, then agonizingly slowly, starts pulling it down. His touch is hot, you swear your skin is melting off your body as he works his way down, his hand unabashedly caressing your skin until the zipper reaches the bottom, stopping with a singular click. Your breathing nearly stops as your dress falls off your body, leaving you in your bra and panties. 

He chuckles slowly, watching your reaction with narrowed eyes. Simon starts to lean your head back, exposing your bare neck to him. He drags his tongue from your ear to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, lightly biting along the soft flesh of your neck. Simon grinds himself hard against you, pushing you back into being pinned against the wall. His hand begins to graze down your body, his hand slipping under your bra strap, fingertips gliding along your bare shoulder.

You moan lightly as he nips at your neck, you press your back up against him just to get closer, wanting to feel every part of him. He suddenly flips you around, grabbing onto your shoulders like it's his lifeline. Leaning down again, he lightly licks along your collarbone, inching down to lick across the top of your breasts, reaching around behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it drop to the floor. You shiver as your bare skin hits the cool air, clasping your hands on his shoulders as he moves back up to kiss you, hard, for a couple of seconds. Pulling away, he moves lower down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it as his tongue flicks against it. 

You gasp, hands squeezing his shoulders hard, shuddering at the warmth of his tongue toying with your nipple. 

“Where can I go?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you don't notice it at first.

"Any- anywhere," you exclaim as his mouth descends, one hand gently caressing between your tits, tongue locating your other nipple and sucking hard. You gasp, unconsciously arching your back higher, and you can feel him tighten even more as he pushes his hips deeper into the space between your legs. 

“Oh– more, more please.”

You gasp, wanting him there forever, and suddenly, he's gone, kissing up your collarbone and to your neck. He latches onto the valley between your neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin hard, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. He hums as he pulls back, admiring the bruise forming against your skin.

“Here?”

He's taking his time with you, exactly as he promised, barely brushing up against you when you want him to fucking ram into you at this very moment. He's relishing you, every inch of you, leaving no stone left unturned, but you want him to devour you, take you as you are now. God, your frantic mind is screaming right now, chest heaving as anticipation threatens to bubble out.

“More everywhere,” you manage, your voice quivering. You can't bear how desperately you want him inside you. “Please—will you– please,” you whimper, nonsensical.

He shoves two of his fingers in your mouth, shutting you up. You think you see stars as he pushes his two digits against your tongue, beckoning you, teasing you to suck. 

“Good girl,” he says simply. “Just be quiet and let me make you feel good, pretty girl.” 

His breathing grows ragged as you suck, moving your tongue between his fingers and circling around the skin. He groans at the pressure, adjusting his dress pants. You whimper slightly as he pulls his fingers from your lips. Strings of your saliva drip as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. He pauses for a moment, looking straight at you before plunging his two wet fingers into his own mouth, sucking them clean. You stand there, mouth agape, your panties becoming significantly wetter as you watch his tongue dart out to lap at your saliva. 

“Hot,” you pant out, eyes half lidded. You run your hands over his chest, the fabric of his tux blocking you out.

“You need this off,” you say, pawing at the fabric, gliding your hands up to start pushing his tux jacket off. He doesn’t move, letting you take it off for him. A shiver runs up his spine as your fingers deftly move to his collarbone, fiddling with his tie. You slowly, agonizingly slowly, start to loosen it, untying the loops you had created it into a few hours ago. Finally, you yank it off, twisting the fabric in your fingers for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. His cock jumps in his pants as he watches you bite your lip, eyeing him with a look of pure lust.

“Darlin’ you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, bringing his hands up suddenly to help you unbutton his white dress shirt. 

“No, let me do it for you,” you stop him.

He’s letting all of his barriers down, letting you see every inch of himself. He’s wanted this, wanted to feel your fingers grace the bare skin of his chest, his face, his arms. You lean up to his neck, still unbuttoning his shirt as you move. You start to suckle on his neck, your searing hot tongue surging against his skin. He groans, your teeth nipping his skin ever so gently. You shake his shirt off his shoulders, his chest finally bare in front of you. You lightly run your hands over remnants of scars, reminders from his past. He shudders, the urge to pull away, to hide himself again, imminent. But, when you lean down to kiss a scar above his pec, he stills. Warmth. Warmth is all he feels, all he wants, all he craves. The warmth from you, your touch, everything about you. 

“Simon Riley, you are so beautiful,” you mumble against his skin, gingerly tracing over old scars on his back. You press the front of your body against his, just embracing him in a hug. A fucking hug. He flounders for a moment, his heart feels like it's going to explode out his chest. He’s dizzy, chest heaving from the overwhelming urge to take you, to let you know that he fucking craves you, sees you for who you are, remind you that you are a beautiful person, inside and out. His primal desire bursts out, he can't hold back anymore.

“‘M gonna fuck you so hard n’ good, just like you deserve, love.”

Your knees go weak as Simon grabs your upper arms, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed. He takes your back in his arms, slowly laying you down on the bed. He takes a step back, just staring at your body, raking his eyes up and down your form. He brings his eyes right up to yours, gaze unwavering as he opens his mouth

“‘M gonna savor this.” 

You whimper at his words, getting impossibly wetter, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your thighs press together, trying to alleviate the growing pressure low in your abdomen, your clit throbbing for release. 

“Please,” you whimper, eyes flitting to his form.

“Needy, needy,” he tuts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He chuckles slowly, leaning forward, kneeling on the bed over you. His hands ghost over your thighs, coming up to your soaked panties. He reaches forward, palming over your clothed cunt, fingers pressing into your wetness. You moan at his touch, back arching to press him closer. This time, even more encouraged by your moan, Simon reaches for the waistband, and slowly pulls it off your frame, revealing your dripping cunt to him. Unbeknownst to you, he slips your panties into his back pocket. 

A little treat for later he thinks to himself.

He slides off the side of the bed, now kneeling on the floor, eyes trained on you. Simon takes a sharp breath, sinking down to eye-level with your pussy, picking up your ankles and throwing them over his shoulder, yanking your hips down the bed. His hands come under you to rest on your ass, giving you a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp, hands gripping onto the duvet, nearly shaking from anticipation. You know he’s staring, his gaze locked in between your thighs, then you feel his searing tongue drag up your pussy, a single stripe.

“Si- Simon,” you mewl, hands searching for his hair.

The second you mewled his name, moaning for him, his mouth grows into a blaze against you, his tongue a blazing inferno. It's skilled, and he drags it everywhere you want without saying a single word. You just moan, loudly and haphazardly, as the tip of it grinds up against your clit, scorching. His nose presses against your clit as he dives down, licking and sucking your wetness. He's starving. His groans are muted and blazing with desire against your wet cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning in you. You can feel him drooling against you, worshiping you, and he gasps, heated, against you when your floundering hands manage to tangle in his hair.

“So fucking good for me,” he grunts against your throbbing clit, “such a pretty girl.” 

“Y- you, really good– I’m gonna–” you moan breathlessly, chest heaving as the tight coil of an orgasm builds higher and higher in your abdomen, mere moments away from being released. You clench around nothing, cunt throbbing as he works his mouth on you.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” 

“Such a perfect girl, tasting so good for me,” he moans out, slightly lifting up so you can hear him clearly. You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder, pulling more grunts and sounds from his busy mouth. 

He starts to run a finger through your slick folds, finger gliding along until it stops at your clit. You gasp at the slight pressure he applies, before fully massaging your clit. You nearly scream from the sensation, knees jerking and back arching, bucking your hips into his face as he plays with your clit. 

“Such a beautiful girl you are, y’ taste so good,” he slurs. The vibration of a grunt rumbles against your sensitive skin, causing you to nearly faint, the pressure in your abdomen about to snap.

“‘M gonna cum—” It's half-gasped before tearing through you like a flash of electricity, strong and brilliantly tight, ripping every ounce of strength from your body and every ounce of sanity from your thoughts. You climax forcefully in his mouth and then simply lay there weakly and let him taste you, let him stroke your swollen pussy with his tongue. He groans, lapping up as much as he can before pulling away, eyes boring into yours. His nose, mouth, and chin are glistening, dripping in your slick. 

“S’ perfect,” he groans whilst licking his lips, rubbing his chin slightly. You’re panting, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, blissed out from your first orgasm. 

“Fuck, Simon, you eat pussy like a champ,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Look at me, love,” he says, removing your legs from over his shoulders. He starts to crawl over you, and you can see how incredibly hard he is, his cock straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge with interest. First, he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, licking the inside of your mouth fervently. As he pulls away, strings of saliva leak from his mouth, making you clench your thighs together once more.

His hands begin to travel over your body, following the contours of your curves. He rubs the flesh of your ass, eliciting a tiny moan from you. He groans softly in your ear, brutally smacking your ass, your brief moan encouraging him.

“I want it so badly,” you grunt. You were the first to snap, feeling his palms graze the flesh of your thigh, his grasp so tight that he would probably leave some bruises. 

“Go on, then. Take it.”

Your gentle fingers ease his belt free from the hoops of his dress pants, nipping at his neck as you remove it from his waist. You bring your hands to the edge of his pants, quickly pulling them down and off his legs, letting him kick them off the bed from his ankles. He's bent over you, his lips on the shell of your ear.  

"You're such a tease" he grumbles, his hips shifting to grind against your core.

"So are you," you taunt back, grabbing his massive bulge through his underwear, palming your hand over his length. You finally pull down his boxers, letting his cock spring free from its confines. It's massive. You nearly moan just from the sight itself, the tip leaking precum. You immediately grasp it in your hold, wrapping your hand around it, stroking his length into your hand. You caressed his big cock, prompting him to press his hips into your hand while he groaned, high-pitched and needy. 

“N– need you right now,” he groans, crawling on top of you, pressing his cock up against your stomach, grinding it over your soft skin. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, hand coming up to stroke his cock. 

Although he hasn't made any attempt to put anything inside you yet, his hips thrust into yours, like he’s trying to create a mental image for himself for the task at hand, burying his lips back under your ear, and you can hear how hard he's breathing, and before you can say anything, his lips are back on yours, his hand moving your legs open to give him more room.

“If—I'm too rough,” he growls, his voice resonating in your ear drums, “you need to tell me.”

Your pupils dilate. “You can do whatever you want to me,” you assert, “fucking ruin me— be as rough as you want, if that's what you want—”

“D- don't say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours. You bring your hand between his legs, wrapping it around his cock, pumping him once. He moans so loudly, it sounds like music to your ears, and then he pushes the tip of it against you. “I won't be able to control myself.” The blood rushes into your ears, your heart wants to sprint out of your chest.

“Fuck me, Simon,” you breath, barely audible.

That’s all he needed to hear.

“‘M gonna fuck you senseless.”

In a rush, he’s pushing your back into the bed, lining the tip of his cock up with your sopping entrance before he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to his size. The stretch was a bit painful, but you didn’t let the pain stop you from releasing a deep seated moan. Your back arches as the sensation, a gargled moan erupting from the depths of your body. This only encourages him, as he starts to slide the full length of his cock into.

“Fu– fuck,” he moans, his voice husky and high-pitched, “y- you feel so fucking good, so fucking perfect—.”

He bottoms out, his hips meeting yours as he pants, his thumb coming up to rest on your clit once more. He stays completely still, feeling your tight pussy squeezing his hard cock just right. He growls and thrusts himself into you as far as he can. It's nearly too much, God, it's nothing like you've ever felt before. You can barely even breathe while he's pounding into you, you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His body rocks in a steady pace against yours. 

“Too perfect—beautiful," he grunts. "You're so soft, so soft, and so wet—that's my good girl.”

Your face flushes at his praises, you want to shy away, too flattered by his words to even look at him. 

"Keep your eyes on me, love" he demands, pulling at your chin with his hand quickly, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

You feel giddy, pure bliss at the thought of him holding you in such high regard. He hits something deep inside you, and you moan as you're abruptly pulled into the sensation of him circling your clit as he fucks you into the mattress. A coil of heat builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching. 

His hand comes back down to grip your waist, his hold tightening on you as he continues to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You grasp his neck, weak with the motion because every muscle in your body is fatigued from his unbelievable pace. He slides your hands down to his shoulders, grounding you as he keeps himself upright, continuing to slam his hips onto you. He massages your clit, knowing the way your cunt flutters around his cock, you’re close to another orgasm. You moan loudly, savoring the way the sound bursts out of you. 

“Fuck– fucking me so— so amazing,” you blubber, trying to convey how fucking amazing he’s making you feel right now. And then he's pulling back out, tearing into you again, and you can't even find the proper words in your head, you just listen to Simon absolutely fucking you into oblivion.

“You're squeezing around me— so perfectly, love,” he strangles out, and you feel his hips buck up against yours, and you try to find his collarbone, and you bury your face into it, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin. You can hear Simon mewling against your ear, guttural and deep, and all you can do is close your eyes and attempt to stay in this moment forever. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum—” you blurt out.

“Good girl, cum for me, sweetheart,” he gasps, death grip on your hips.

The coil inside your core snaps as he hits the perfect spot inside you. You clench your eyes tight only to realize it's because you're in the middle of an orgasm, the rest of the world fading away, until it's just you and him.

“‘M gonna cum,” he blurts out, you feel his cock twitch inside you. You can feel him pulsating and throbbing as he grunts his way through his orgasm, breathing heavily and unloading his cum deep inside you. It was enough for you to see stars as his orgasm ripped through him, a loud moan pressed up against your neck escaping his lips as his cum filled you to the brim. He falls on top of you, sweat glistening on his forehead as he comes to take deep gulps of air. 

Neither of you say a word as you both catch your breath, brains fucked out. He rolls off of you, laying by your side as you both stare up at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” you say first. You're done for. Panting and worn out, you find yourself in the exact position he left you in. You try to move but can't seem to do so. You merely lie on your back and wait for the feeling to return to your body.

Simon turns back towards you, pushing himself to sit up, leaning over to stare at you. You reach a hand up, pressing it into his jaw

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. Everything I ever dreamed about and more.”

You hum under him as he comes to lay his upper body on top of you, his fingers tangling into your hair as he stretches his muscles out. You turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he kisses you.

“Says you,” you murmur as he pulls away from the kiss.

Sleep threatens to take over both of you, waves of exhaustion and bliss intermingling. Simon stills on top of you, before flipping over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He takes your hand in his own, eclipsing it, squeezing it once, twice. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum, nearly asleep.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

You press your face into his chest, he feels your smile against his skin.

"For the rest of time."

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@neoarchipelago @allaboutirem0 @galagcica @alexia77 @rioluxx @madysato @ghostlythots @broken-kneecaps @poohkie90 @1-fuzzy-squirrels @simpingforfakes @kaysav608 @lieblinqs

[prentissluvr]

book shop, 12:00 p.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, just softness!, 515 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ open ] .

summary : you take sam on a book shop date to help get his mind off of things.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

rarely does sam get to read for pleasure these days. it’s always the lore books, always a race against time to save someone’s life. it’s good that he enjoys the lore books, but sometimes he just wants good old literature.

today, you’ve taken charge of plans, driven him to the bookstore in town you’ve always wanted to visit, and made sure that there’s nothing else for him to worry about.

you’ve been there all morning, sitting in the cafe section with warm drinks and crisp new books. sam is content, so you are too.

the high noon sun streams through the cafe’s wide windows, warming your back and brightening the pages of sam’s book across from you. it illuminates his big, rough hands that softly hold the book open. the strong light casts strong shadows, even from the details of his veins and strong tendons. he doesn’t notice you watching him, and for right now, you’re glad for it.

instead of a flannel, he wears a grey crewneck shirt that’s thick enough to almost be a sweater. it’s fitting for the weather, and looks soft and comfortable. he looks soft and comfortable, and it sends relief through your veins.

these days, he’s been tired. exhausted, really. he still holds tension in his shoulders, and you’ll smooth it all out with a soft massage at home. but his features are relaxed, for once. you don’t miss the slight furrow in his brows that he carries with him everywhere. there’s even a light upturn to his lips as his eyes flick across the page. he’s a fast reader, and he’ll probably be done with his new book if you stay here through the afternoon as well. that’s why you made sure that he bought two.

his hair looks very pretty too, lightened softly by the sun. sam is more often the one who stares; one of his favorite things to do is just watch you. of course, you love to watch him too. he’s pretty much stunning, and looking at him is practically addictive. so today is your day to stare, to soak up his calm and relaxed joy.

and of course, sam has you partially fooled. when you read, he stares, and when you stare, he reads. he’s very in love with you. you paid for his books and his drink. you look so beautiful, the edges of your body rimmed with sunlight. and you love him better than anyone’s ever loved him before.

you take care of him, with every bit of effort that he cares for you. you reciprocate, you take initiative, you put your heart and soul into loving him.

sam grabs your hand gently, the pages of his book shifting lightly as he does. he doesn’t look up at first, his hand just knows where yours is, like there’s a piece of silver thread tied from his palm to yours.

the smile on your face grows and you curl your fingers around his. then he looks up, eyes bright and soft in the sun.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and your heart soars.