safination - Tumblr blog

safination · 2 days ago

Text

A/N: You thought I was going to leave Sunshine and Vox unresolved after that fiasco? Nah, nah, naw. This is a direct sequel to the story Second Place in Hell. As always, @safination this is for you.

Summary: One last date, one chance to decide if your tangled love with Vox can survive the complicated ties that bind him to Valentino. Under the bright lights of the carnival and the hum of tension, passion and loyalty collide in a night that will change everything. Will your hearts find a way forward, or will the shadows pull you apart?

Tags/Warnings: f!reader, established relationship, break up/make up, oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), p in v, fluff, smut

My Sweet Sunshine Masterlist

You lay upside down on your velvet-soft couch, head dangling over the edge as the seventy-second season of Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? flickered on the oversized screen. The visuals passed by in a blur, the voices blending into static as your gaze stared through the ceiling.

All this wealth, all this comfort, came from Vox—your former boss, your ex-lover, your mistake. When the two of you got involved, he started showering you with gifts dressed up as company perks, bonuses that made it laughably easy to live in luxury for lifetimes without working another day. Even now, after you told him you were done, after you officially quit, the paychecks kept coming. Regular as ever.

You tried to cut ties. You called accounting. You begged, you demanded, you even threatened to send the checks back. But they always hung up on you, like they were under orders not to speak. So you stopped trying. Let him throw money at a ghost. You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

Because you still hadn’t thrown away a single thing he gave you. Not even the hundred blue roses he gave you that night. They were arranged in their tall glass vase, perched by your bedroom window like a shrine to something you couldn’t name. One by one, the petals began to curl, to brown, to fall. Every day, the flower got smaller, and you thought, maybe even hoped, that your sadness would fade along with it.

But it didn’t.

The grief stayed as loud and aching as the moment you walked away.

You hadn’t left your apartment in two weeks. The same set of pajamas clung to your body like a second skin. Takeout boxes crowded your kitchen counters. Your hair was a tangled mess. Once, you noticed orange crumbs on your cheek when you looked in the mirror; these were chips you didn't even remember eating. The show had been on a 24-hour loop, reruns rolling one into the next while you barely registered the plot.

Then the logo appeared again, sweeping across the screen in bright, obnoxious colours. Your throat tightened. And just like that, the tears came.

Again.

You cried the ugly, broken sobs that wracked your body and soaked the couch cushions.

It felt so stupid. You had told yourself a thousand times that you were finished. That he wasn’t good for you. That you had to leave. But none of that made it hurt less. None of that made you miss him any less.

Because when he held you, when he looked at you like he was trying to memorize your soul, it felt real. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was always destined to fall apart.

Yet, a small part of you believed that he meant it in his own way.

You gritted your teeth, dragging your hands over your face to scrub away the tears. No. He was a selfish bastard. He had a choice, and he never picked you. You were done chasing scraps of affection from someone who only knew how to love halfway.

You deserved more. You would find more.

Just… not today.

Today, you would let yourself mourn a little longer. You would eat more junk food, cry over more reruns, and sit among the dying roses like a queen in a crumbling palace of memory. The pain hadn’t left, but neither had your will to survive it.

When the last flower petal fall, you might be ready to stand up again.

“Vox,” Velvette snapped, her voice sharp like glass against stone.

He barely flinched. His eyes remained glued to the screen of his phone, where a grainy live feed showed the crumpled figure of his sunshine curled up on her apartment couch. She hadn’t moved much in days. The drone hovered in place like a ghost, bearing silent witness to her collapse. She cried during the sitcom’s laugh tracks, the soundless tremble of her lips cutting into him like guilt-laced static.

He could barely breathe watching her. Every cell in his body screamed to go to her, to wrap her up in his arms, to beg her to stay, to come back. He needed her more than he needed his next breath.

“VOX!” Velvette’s voice cracked across the room like a whip as she hurled her phone at his head.

He caught it in one hand without looking, his jaw tightening. His eyes slowly lifted from the screen. “What?”

Velvette was livid. She bent forward slightly, her arms pinned to her hips, her red eyes glowing like coals about to catch fire. “If you're done swimming in your own pathetic pity party, I need you to deal with those pathetic rats trying to take a bite out of my models and my business. They’re making moves, and I don’t trust anyone but you to put them back in their place.”

Vox groaned and rolled his head back. “Why not ask Val? Isn't this the kind of thing he gets off on?”

She gawked at him as if he’d suggested handing the keys of Hell to a toddler. “You want me to ask your pissbaby boyfriend to handle a delicate situation with tact and discretion? The same Val who once blew up a fashion house because they spelled his name wrong in a press release?”

Tired and worn thin, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll handle it. Just… let me pencil it in somewhere. Shit. Where’s my assistant?” His voice turned softer, distracted, as his eyes wandered back to the phone and his precious screen. He tapped into the feed again, searching for her. His babydoll.

His world.

Velvette dropped her hands and let out a groan of frustration. “You know what? Why don’t you two just fuck it out like you always do?”

That made Vox jolt. His head snapped up, confusion painting his expression. “Who? Val?”

“No, idiot. Your assistant. The one you’ve been fucking for five years.” Her voice was dry, unimpressed.

He let out a nervous wheeze, laughing thinly. “What are you even talking about?”

Velvette raised a perfectly arched brow. “Really? You think Val and I don’t know? You’ve been as subtle as a car crash. Everyone at VoxTek knows.”

A chill raced down his spine. It was one thing to risk Val’s wrath in private. But public knowledge? Headlines? Tabloids? The CEO of VoxTek cheating on the infamous Valentino with his personal assistant? The fallout would be catastrophic.

“Val knows?” His voice pitched into a whine, his shoulders tensing. The idea of dealing with one of Val’s explosive tantrums made his head throb.

Velvette scoffed and waved a hand like it was common knowledge. “Of course he does. He was the first to figure it out. But it worked in his favour. You left him alone when he ran off to screw around with his latest playthings. Honestly, this open relationship shit is ancient in Hell. You two just took forever to catch up.”

Vox blinked slowly. His mind struggled to catch up with the avalanche of emotion pressing into his chest. He cared about you. It wasn't casual. It had never been. When he was near you, the noise stopped. When he held you, he felt like he was something better, someone worth touching. Being without you made his skin itch. His productivity tanked. His temper frayed. Everything went wrong.

“So… Val is okay with me favouring my assistant?” His voice was cautious now, every syllable weighed with fear. The word he almost said—love—caught in his throat and burned.

Velvette groaned, tossing her head back like she couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. “You are so painfully dense sometimes.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, the heat of her irritation rolling off her. “Val bitches constantly about how moody you get when he does what he wants. You were jealous, remember? But you got your own little toy now, so he figured it was only fair. As long as you don’t throw the word, love, around, he doesn’t care.”

That hit him like a slap. Before you, it did bother him. Valentino parading around with his conquests used to make Vox sick. But after you… the jealousy faded, replaced with something else. Something deeper. Something that terrified him.

Because this wasn’t just sex. Not anymore.

And Valentino? If he even suspected that what Vox felt for you went beyond lust, beyond control, beyond fun… he would burn everything down.

Including you.

Vox swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the phone still playing your feed. You sat motionless on the couch, eyes blank, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He clenched his jaw.

“But over the past few years, you two became more like business partners than lovers,” Velvette said, lazily inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. “He gets to screw whoever he wants, as long as your assistant keeps you distracted. It works out for him. Less whining from you, more freedom for him. Win-win.”

“Oh,” Vox breathed, barely able to process her words as his mind began to churn. He leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking rapidly as he ran through years' worth of arguments with you. Every painful fight, every time your voice cracked, asking why he wouldn’t choose you. Why he let Valentino come first. Why he never held your hand in public.

He always said it was complicated, that Hell was watching, that it wasn’t safe. But deep down, the truth was uglier. He needed Valentino. Not for love, but for leverage. Vox had power in spades, but Valentino opened doors, forged connections, cemented their dominance. Without him, Vox would’ve had to claw his way to the top alone.

But now… now maybe he didn’t have to choose.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for his phone, to see you on that damn security feed again. You looked so small on that couch, tucked in a nest of pillows and grief. He hated himself for letting it go this far.

He stood up suddenly, posture straightening with purpose for the first time in weeks. There was a solution. A way to keep you and stay standing beside Valentino, without sacrificing everything he built.

“Velvette,” he said, voice tight with gratitude and simmering annoyance, “thank you for the information. Though, I would've appreciated it, I don’t know, sometime before my assistant started melting into the couch like a discarded ragdoll.”

His head twitched slightly, a small glitch betraying the surge of emotion behind his words.

Velvette shrugged with maddening nonchalance. Her gaze was glued to her Sinstagram feed. “Not my fault, you’re stupidly slow at reading social cues. I figured you'd already worked it out. You always act like you know everything.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped short. She wasn’t wrong. For all his surveillance and obsessive need to stay ten steps ahead, this had been right in front of him the entire time.

“Hey—where the hell are you going?” Velvette called, irritation creeping into her voice as he turned on his heel.

“To get her back,” he said, determination slicing through every syllable.

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to care? My problem, Vox,” she said, jabbing a finger toward her chest.

He halted, jaw tightening before spinning back toward his desk. “Fine. I’ll deal with your little fashion war first,” he muttered, dropping into his chair and pulling up data. His fingers flew over the keys, hacking into the rival company's system. His mind easily planned how to bring them down: hurt their brand, mess up their PR feeds, and leak damaging footage. It would be simple.

But even as he laid digital ruin to Velvette’s enemies, he opened a side chat window and sent a message.

He stared at his message, waiting for you to read it, his heart clawing at his ribs. He may not own your soul, but you owned his heart in every devastating, secret way. And even if he could never say it aloud in public, that truth burned hotter than Hell’s fire.

He would get you back if it was the last thing he did.

You should have locked the door. No. You should have packed a bag, left the apartment, and found some cheap hotel where he couldn’t reach you. Somewhere without mirrors, without memories. Somewhere without him.

But you didn’t.

And now, your heart pounded against your ribs, angry and afraid in equal measure. Weeks had passed in silence. Nothing. Not a word. And then out of nowhere, he had texted you.

He was coming tonight.

Why?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, bile rising in your throat. Your reflection made you flinch. Your eyes were hollow, cheeks dull, hair knotted from too many restless nights. You looked like someone who had lost something vital and had tried to pretend it didn’t matter. And then your gaze shifted to the apartment behind you in the mirror’s reflection, and a loud, bitter curse left your lips.

The place was a disaster. Blankets twisted like wreckage across the floor. Dishes stacked in the sink. Old takeout boxes. Forgotten laundry. It looked exactly like what it was. A den of someone grieving something they weren’t allowed to mourn.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even try to tell him off. You just… started moving. You cleaned like you were possessed, vacuuming and scrubbing as if the act itself would erase your shame. Then a hot shower, too hot, scalding even, as if you could scrape off the weeks he had ignored you. You washed your hair twice. You scrubbed behind your ears. You stood naked in the mirror for a moment and hated the way your skin still remembered his touch.

Then came the chaos of choosing what to wear. You tore through your closet in a frenzy, flinging shirts, skirts, and dresses into messy piles on the bed. Nothing looked right. Everything was too much or too little, too obvious or not enough. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that this wasn’t about him—that you were just going for an effortless look. But every glance in the mirror, every outfit change, said otherwise. You were dressing for him. As if the right look might somehow shield your heart from breaking.

In the end, despite all your claims of indifference, you reached for the sexiest lingerie you owned. The g-string was a whisper of lace, soft and sheer, with a delicate little “V” charm dangling at the front—subtle, but unmistakable. It sat low on your hips, practically teasing, hinting at secrets meant only for him. The push-up bra matched in black lace, framing your curves perfectly and giving you just the right lift to feel both confident and dangerously desirable.

For the dress, you chose something soft and bright, something that made your skin glow. A summer dress, pastel yellow, catching the light like sunlight trapped in fabric. White embroidery curled along the hem in delicate loops, brushing against your thighs with every step. The material hugged your figure just right, cinched at the waist and flowing out gently. The thin spaghetti straps rested lightly on your shoulders, letting your collarbones and neckline breathe in the open air.

Warm, inviting, and sweet with a hint of heat underneath, you looked just like the season. And as you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror, your lips parted in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. By five, the apartment was clean. Your hair was curled. Your lips were tinted with colour again. And worst of all, your door was unlocked.

You didn’t even know when you had done it. Somewhere between folding a blanket and tossing a shirt on the bed, you had decided to let him in.

Why? Why had you let him?

You began pacing the floor, hugging your arms tight around yourself. A storm of thoughts battered your brain. Maybe this was your chance to end things officially. You could tell him to stop sending those damn paychecks. You could cut all ties to VoxTek. You could look him in the eye and say goodbye for real.

Yes. That was what you were going to do.

You would be calm. Professional. Cold.

You told yourself he could take his expensive gifts with him. The jewellery, the designer shoes, the stupid limited edition tech that had once made you laugh. He could give them to someone else. Some new, infatuated little soul who hadn’t yet realized how disposable they were.

Then the doorknob turned.

You stopped breathing. Your face smoothed out. You tried to adopt some neutral expression, but the thud of your heart gave you away before he even walked in.

And then he appeared.

Wearing a soft sweater vest and a pair of worn jeans that made him look almost human. In his arms, he carried a bouquet so large it looked absurd. A hundred blue roses.

Your chest ached.

Why had you thought this was a good idea?

You had walked away for a reason. You had walked away and hadn’t once looked back. Because being near him hurt. Because you were weak where he was concerned. Because some part of you still loved him, even after everything.

You thought a few weeks apart would dull it. Make it manageable. Clean the poison from your system. But instead, the ache had only sharpened and the longing grown louder.

“Doll,” he whispered.

That voice. That smile. Lucifer help you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. But then he stepped forward, dropped the roses like they were unimportant, and wrapped his arms around you.

He held you like he would fall apart without you.

“I want to take you out on a date tonight,” he murmured against your shoulder, his breath warm, his fingers sliding along your spine like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

You should have pushed him away.

But your hands didn’t listen. Neither did your heart.

“What?” you whispered, blinking like you hadn’t heard him correctly. Your hands were still raised in front of you, suspended midair, like they were waiting for instructions that never came. You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t push him away. You just… froze.

Vox pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, and grinned with a kind of boyish mischief that made your heart stutter. “Let me take you out on a date,” he said, his voice light, teasing. “How about Voxtek World?”

He waggled his eyebrows, like this was some ordinary moment. Like the two of you hadn’t torn each other apart weeks ago. Like you hadn’t cried into your pillow, gasping out that you were done.

Your mind scrambled for something solid, something real. Everything felt upside down. The sudden shift in him made it hard to find your footing. Instead of the speech you had rehearsed about boundaries and closure, the only thing that came out was, “But that’s… really public.”

You scoffed, arms finally dropping to your sides. “Unless this is just another business dinner in disguise.”

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look sheepish or sorry. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you.

And your body betrayed you instantly.

You melted into it without hesitation. His lips were the same. The taste of him, the heat of his electricity, the way he held you like he’d never let go—it all came rushing back like it had never left. You hated how natural it felt. You hated how much you missed it.

“No, sunshine,” he murmured against your lips, brushing them once more with his own, “a real date. Just you and me. Holding hands. Maybe making out under the ferris wheel.”

Then he pulled out his phone and turned it off. A small thing, but one you knew well. He used to do it every time before a proper date, a sign that he was present, that the world could wait. That you were his priority.

Your brows pulled together, the disbelief still refusing to let go. You didn’t understand. None of this made sense. If he was doing this, did that mean he broke things off with Valentino?

No. That would’ve made headlines. The media would’ve exploded.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly, voice barely audible. “What changed?”

He met your gaze without flinching. His eyes, for once, were calm. “I know I can’t give you everything you want, doll,” he said, and his clawed finger traced gently down your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “But I can give you as much as I’m able. I can try.”

You should have been angry. You should have yelled, demanded more than scraps of affection and broken promises. But instead, you just felt… curious. Suspicious. Hopeful. Everything, all at once.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, voice thin with doubt.

He smiled, slow and soft, and slipped his arms around your waist. “It means our relationship, out in the open. No hiding. No pretending. It’s what you wanted, right?” His voice remained gentle, but there was a flicker of fear behind his eyes. Like he wasn’t sure if it was enough.

You should have shoved him away.

But your heart had been aching without him. The ache was so familiar now, so woven into your daily life, that this—his arms around you, the sound of his voice—felt like coming home. You had missed him. God, you missed him more than you’d ever admit.

Maybe with more time, you could’ve gathered the strength to say no. Maybe. But right now, as he leaned in again, as he searched your eyes for something warm, something forgiving, and whispered, “Please, sunshine?”

Your last wall came crashing down.

The love you thought you’d buried clawed its way to the surface, angry and tender all at once. You hated it. Hated how easily it returned. You wanted to scream, to beg your heart to stop caring.

Instead, you exhaled shakily and said, “One date.”

He froze, clearly unsure if he heard you right.

“You get one date,” you repeated, eyes darting away before he could see the cracks forming again. “To convince me. That you’re willing to take a real risk. To be with me, for real.”

His expression softened with something close to awe. And for just a second, you let yourself believe. Not in forever. But perhaps—just possibly—in tonight.

You didn’t know if he was telling the truth. Part of you wanted to believe that he meant it, that he would finally be open with you in public, finally stop hiding what the two of you had. But doubt crept in, curling tightly in your chest. What if this was just another illusion? Another line? Even so, perhaps it was worth clinging to if he was prepared to make the initial move and if he had the courage to risk everything for a brief moment with you in front of the world's lights and eyes.

“But if you fail, then we’re don—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

His mouth crashed into yours with a force that stole the words from your tongue. His kiss was hot and consuming, lips parting yours with a desperation that bordered on hunger. His tongue swept through the seam of your lips, tasting you, claiming you, stealing every protest you were about to make.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered between kisses, his breath trembling with want, “one date.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep.

“I’ll make sure you’re the happiest when you’re in my arms.”

He said it like a promise. And even though you’d heard those words before, so many times that they should’ve sounded hollow, your heart still fluttered. You melted, just a little, helpless against the warmth of his voice and the tenderness in his touch.

VoxTek World was loud, dazzling, and filled to the brim with sinners. Neon lights lit up the crimson Hellsky, carnival music drifted through the air, and the scent of fried food and artificial cotton candy wafted around you. Everywhere you turned, there was laughter, flashing screens, and animatronic mascots welcoming guests. Vox, naturally, was glowing with pride, chatting with anyone who stopped him, boasting that it was quickly becoming the most visited amusement park in the Pride Ring. He even said it was starting to attract Hellborns from other rings.

You should have rolled your eyes. But instead, you found yourself smiling.

Maybe it was the workaholic in you, the part that had spent three exhausting decades climbing your way through the heart of Voxtek. You weren’t on this project—your time had been swallowed by the demands of Vinder, Vwatch, and VPhone—but you remembered the endless meetings on his calendar. You remembered how he spoke about the park like it was his child. A dream he wanted to breathe life into.

You had almost forgotten that the opening ceremony had been last week. You didn’t watch it. You hadn’t even asked how it went. And now, standing here, you felt a faint, unexpected sadness for having missed it. A strange pang in your chest at the thought of not being there, even though you were no longer his employee. No longer… his anything.

“I would’ve loved to have you by my side,” Vox murmured.

His claws gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the tenderness in the gesture froze you.

Your eyes widened. “What?” You stiffened and quickly glanced around. There were people everywhere. Sinners were walking past, some glancing your way, others pretending not to. And Vox… he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t hiding you. He wasn’t keeping his distance.

He was touching you. Guiding you. Treating you like someone important.

“The opening ceremony,” he continued softly, his palm finding its way to your hip as he steered you through the crowd. “You would’ve been beautiful by my side.”

He sounded wistful, and you weren’t sure what to do with that.

“I had Velvette pick a dress for you,” he added, then hesitated. “But… well, I know you left. I didn’t expect you to come.”

Your heart twisted. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or something more complicated.

“The park’s still a work in progress,” he said, trying to brighten his tone as he looked down at you. His hand never left your hip. “But it’s getting there. Just like us, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Everyone was looking. His arm around you, his hand resting comfortably on you as if it had always belonged there and making it clear that you weren’t just some guest. You were someone. You were with Vox.

Your cheeks flushed with heat. You weren’t used to this—the attention, the affection, the public acknowledgment. You had spent so long watching other couples walk by, hand in hand, smiling like the world belonged to them. Now, you were one of them. Or at least pretending to be.

And all the fire you had built up inside you, all the anger and hurt you carried to throw in his face, slowly began to quiet.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because for the first time, it felt like he might actually want to try.

You leaned in closer to him, just a little, barely enough to notice. But even that tiny movement made a difference. His warmth radiated into your body, seeping beneath your skin like sunlight in the cold. Your cheeks were burning, the flush of colour high on your face from the sudden affection, from the way his presence overwhelmed your senses.

“Pretty,” Vox murmured, his voice low, affectionate, almost reverent. “My babydoll.”

He came to a stop in front of the mirror house, pausing at the very first mirror—the only one that reflected your image truthfully before the chaos of distortions inside. The glass caught your reflection perfectly. You saw yourself standing there, tucked into him like you belonged.

And then you saw the eyes. The sinners passing by, stealing glances. Some looked on with curiosity, others with a touch of envy, as if they were seeing something rare and precious. But your attention was pulled downward, to his hand still gripping your hip in a possessive manner.

Then your gaze lifted to your expression, and embarrassment struck like a slap. You looked utterly lovestruck. Your face glowed red, your fingers nervously fidgeting, laced together in front of you like some pathetic blushing virgin. You hated how obvious it was. How vulnerable you looked. How affected.

“You’re perfect in my eyes, sunshine,” Vox said, his voice warm and certain.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

You jolted. Not from the kiss itself, but from where it happened. Out here. In the open. That was the first kiss he’d ever given you in public, and your heart wasn’t prepared for it. Your emotions tangled into a confused storm, eyes stinging with heat, chest tightening. Just weeks ago, you were ready to walk away. To forget him. To reclaim your life and leave all this behind.

And yet… here you were. Basking in his attention. Letting yourself soak in every second of his affection. And you were happy.

Genuinely, terrifyingly happy.

“Vox, you don’t have to force yourself—”

“Force myself?” he interrupted with a scoff. His grip on your hip tightened, and his gaze sharpened like a blade drawn in the dark. “Babydoll, I’ve had to force myself not to fuck you in the parking lot. Or bend you over this mirror, so everyone here would know exactly who you belong to.”

The heat slammed into your body, pooling low in your belly. You expected something lewd—it was Vox, after all—but not like this. Not here. Not now. In public.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you hissed under your breath as you glanced around in a panic. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice was sharp, but the blush on your face betrayed you, deep and furious and alive.

Vox only laughed, rich and amused, like your flustered state was his favourite thing in the world. “Just being honest, sweetcheeks,” he said, voice dripping with mischief.

Then his hand slipped lower, bold and deliberate, giving your ass a firm squeeze before settling back on your hips as though nothing happened. “Now,” he purred, “shall we keep this date going?”

You were too stunned to speak. Your thoughts twisted into anxious knots as you simply nodded, letting him lead you along.

But beneath the surface of your flushed skin and racing heart, worry began to spread like a slow, creeping vine.

What if you were pushing him too far? What if this show of affection, this rebellion against the roles he usually played, had consequences? You had seen what happened when things between Vox and Valentino soured. You had seen the cracks in his screen, the dullness in his eyes after one of their fights. He would keep working like nothing happened, but you had seen the wreckage. The broken furniture. The shattered tech. The bruises that never made it to the surface, but you knew were there all the same.

Overlords didn’t maintain their power through kindness. They ruled through dominance, fear, and destruction. And now, for the first time, you were starting to grasp the weight of that power. The danger of it. The cost.

Would Valentino hurt Vox for this?

And if he did… would that be your fault?

A sudden weight pressed against your chest, heavy, and suffocating like wet wool draped around your lungs. The thrill of the date, the joy in his laughter, all of it dimmed beneath the creeping fog of realization. This entire time, all you ever wanted was for him to choose you. Just you. To turn his back on Valentino, to draw a line and say, “This is mine.” But now, as you looked around, that hope felt naive.

Voxtek World stretched around you in every direction, loud and blinding, made from lights, steel, and money. His name was carved into every corner of it, stamped with pride. This place didn’t exist without power. Without territory. Without calculated ambition.

And you had loved that part of him once.

You still did, didn’t you?

That ambition, the endless hunger for more, had drawn you in from the start. You admired it because you were the same. You had your own goals, your climb to make. You fell in love with a man who never stopped reaching higher, and Vox had always been more than a lover. He was your mirror in that way.

However, none of this could have occurred if he had not been perpetually engaging in battles for control, forging alliances, and eliminating threats. If he let go of that power, even for a second, it would all collapse. You knew that. And so did he.

It was complicated. You and him. Always had been.

And maybe that was the problem. You didn’t want complicated. You wanted the good parts. The soft touches. The late-night laughter. The warm glances that said everything without a word. You didn’t want to bear the weight of the rest. The danger. The deals. The damage.

He had told you, again and again, that it wasn’t that simple. That you couldn’t have one half of him and not the other. You understood that now, more clearly than ever. Vox without ambition wasn’t Vox. And if you carved that part out of him, if you asked him to trade it for a quieter life, would you even still love what was left?

You stopped walking.

The joyful screams of riders, the clatter of games, the scent of fried food and sugar all blurred together in a distant haze. None of it reached you. Your eyes stayed locked on Vox as he paused ahead of you, turning back, his expression still bright as he began to describe another attraction. Then he noticed your stillness, and his smile softened. Real. Gentle. Just for you.

And at that moment, your heart spoke louder than your mind ever could.

You didn’t need this date to confirm anything. You already knew. You had always known. Vox wasn’t just someone who passed through your life—he was woven into it. Threaded through your memories, your routines, your quietest moments. You could scream that you were done, you could walk away, but your heart would always follow him, aching.

“I want that toy,” you said, suddenly, voice light and trembling. You pointed toward a nearby booth, needing a distraction, something simple to tether you. It was one of the classic games, glass bottles stacked in a pyramid and a bucket of balls beside them. The prize was a plush, oversized blue shark with a wide, cartoony grin.

It looked just like Vark—Vox’s beloved, ridiculous pet shark, now apparently one of the park mascots.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss your temple, soft and fleeting. “Anything for you, doll,” he said, with a warmth that made your chest ache.

He guided you both toward the booth, his hand never leaving the small of your back. He would get you that toy, no matter how many tries it took. Because that’s who he was. He always tried for you. Even when it wasn’t perfect. Even when it hurt.

And as you watched him step forward to pay, his screen reflecting the neon light, his smile sharp but sincere, you knew the truth.

You were in love with him. Fully. Hopelessly.

But those were dangerous words in Hell. Words that could get people killed when said to the wrong man. Especially one with enemies. Especially one like Vox.

Still, love didn’t always need to be spoken. It could be shown, hinted at, lived out in quiet gestures and stubborn hope. And if that was the only way you could say it, then you wanted to find those ways with him.

You clutched the blue Vark plush against your chest, its goofy grin and soft texture already endearing, and you couldn’t stop smiling. Vox watched you with something warm in his eyes, though he’d never admit to how much your delight meant to him. The carnival lights cast a gentle glow over both of you as you walked away from the game booth, funnel cake in one hand, Vark in the other.

“That thing’s bigger than your torso,” Vox remarked, smirking as you adjusted your grip on the oversized plush. “You really going to carry it around all night?”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “I can manage.”

Vox snorted, already pulling out his Vphone. “Or—and hear me out here, dollface—we could send it to your place. Let the VoxTek drone boys handle it. Hands-free experience.” His lips curled around the last words, oozing with sales-pitch charm.

You burst into laughter, half-choking on your joy. “Are you seriously trying to sell me your delivery service like this is a commercial?”

He grinned wider, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m always on-brand. Plus, wouldn’t want your arms getting tired before I find something more fun for you to carry.”

You gave him a playful glare and gently smacked his arm with the Vark plush. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” he corrected smugly, tapping a few buttons before you could protest. “Drone’s already on its way. It’ll be at your condo before we’re done with dessert.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the bubbling laugh that escaped you again. “You’re unbelievable.”

The two of you wandered through the park, riding roller coasters and spinning tea cups. You shared sticky carnival snacks, cheered over rigged games, and held hands under the glow of flickering lights. It felt easy, too easy, and you knew the night was slipping by too fast.

Eventually, you’d have to answer him. You’d have to decide whether you could live with the dynamic between him and Valentino, and whether you could be the one waiting quietly in the wings.

“Sunshine,” Vox called, his hand warm around yours as he pulled you toward the Ferris wheel. At the centre of the towering structure glowed a massive blue VoxTek logo, and each gondola was shaped like a glittering V, rimmed with bright lights that pulsed gently against the darkening sky.

You gave him a look, half teasing. “This might be the most shameless branding I’ve ever seen.”

He grinned. “How about we end the night here?” he said, guiding you into one of the gondolas.

Inside, the seats were cushioned, the atmosphere strangely intimate. You didn’t even wait in line.

“The VIP fast pass really is something else,” you mused, glancing out at the crowd still waiting. It was a clever, if ruthless, system. The more you paid, the faster you moved through the park. The highest tier—the black onyx VIP pass—was reserved for Hell’s elite, and it allowed complete access to the park without ever waiting in lines.

“Naturally,” Vox said with a smirk, settling into the gondola.

When the door clicked shut, your eyes widened. The top portion of the walls had turned transparent, revealing a breathtaking view of the park below. Neon lights blinked in every colour, the noise fading into a distant hum.

“We live in the age of subscription, baby,” he added with a wink.

You snorted at that, shaking your head. “Don’t I know it.” But your attention shifted quickly to the view outside, the lights swirling below like glowing confetti.

“Congratulations,” you said softly, your legs brushing his as you sat across from him, your gaze fixed on the towering symbol of everything he had built.

“Sunshine.” His voice was lower now, heavier. You turned your head and met his eyes as he reached for your hand and gently tugged.

Confused, you let him pull you closer until you found yourself straddling his lap.

His hands slid down your back and gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh with a low groan. His head tilted forward, resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the only thing that existed was the heat between you and the quiet hum of the Ferris wheel as it climbed higher into the sky.

The moment your eyes met his, you couldn't stop the smirk from curling at the corners of your lips. You leaned over him, the plush seat of the ferris wheel cabin creaking beneath your shifting weight. Warm air hummed around you, filled with the faint scent of fried sweets and ozone, the glow of neon lights flickering across the glass walls like distant stars.

“Really, Vox?” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady even as a low ache twisted in your stomach. It had been over eight months since either of you had properly touched each other, truly felt each other—and not one night had gone by where you didn’t feel the absence of his body heat in your bed. Still, you feigned nonchalance, letting your voice lilt with mock disinterest. “Maybe you can stop by my place tonight,” you said, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you, thick with implication. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you up all night… you did say, I could scream at you all I want.”

A slow breath escaped him, and then that damn smirk returned—cocky and hungry. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice lower now, richer. “How about now and later?” His words melted into the air like warm chocolate, just before his hands slid over your hips and dragged you down, pressing your heated core right against the stiff bulge in his pants.

You gasped and opened your eyes wide as your body felt a jolt of electricity. The contact was sharp and intoxicating, your breath catching in your throat. You darted your gaze to the window, seeing the other carts gently swaying in the distance. Some riders were even peeking into yours, curious and unsuspecting. Heat rose to your cheeks as the cart dipped briefly, revealing a full view of the line below, before slowly climbing again. You had one more cycle left before the ride would end.

“Vox,” you hissed under your breath, shooting him a look, “You can’t seriously think you’ll finish less than thirty—”

Before you could finish, the cabin jerked slightly, and then all motion ceased. A loud static crackled overhead, followed by the distorted voice of an announcer.

“We apologize for the inconvenience. Due to unexpected technical issues, the ride is temporarily paused. We’ll resume as soon as the problem is resolved.”

You sat there, blinking, the world momentarily frozen. Then you looked back at him, suspicion dawning as his lips curled into a guilty grin. You followed his gaze to the top of the cart, where the glittering skyline of the amusement park spread beneath you like a map of coloured lights. You were at the very top. Of course, you were.

“Vox…” you narrowed your eyes.

“What?” he replied, voice dripping with faux innocence as he raised a single finger. A faint spark crackled at the tip before he extinguished it with a wink. “Total coincidence.”

“You’re such a—” The words never made it out. Instead, you let your smile twist into something dangerous and playful, a silent promise, as your fingers slid down and worked open the button of his jeans.

The soft scrape of denim parting, the sound of his quickened breath, the thrum of his pulse—it was all delicious. You fished him out, his cock hot and heavy in your hand, throbbing with need. Your thumb dragged slowly across the slick bead at the tip, and Vox groaned, his head falling back with a soft thump against the glass wall behind him.

“Oh, baby…” he breathed, hips twitching at your teasing touch.

You lowered yourself between his spread legs, the cool air brushing against your thighs as your summer dress rode up. You felt the wet cling of your g-string, soaked and doing nothing to hide just how much you wanted this. Wanted him.

Vox widened his stance slightly, anticipation written in every tense line of his body. His cock pulsed, thick and glistening, his eyes locked onto yours like a man starved. Lust shimmered in the air between you, thick and golden, like honey melting under the sun.

And you had no intention of letting this end quickly.

Your lips parted, warm breath ghosting over the flushed head of his cock. You gave him a slow, teasing lick, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sensitive slit before dragging down the veined shaft. It was shameless, deliberate—like the time you'd joked about sucking on that blue, dick-shaped lollipop last Christmas, but now it was him you were tasting, and this time, it was no joke.

A deep, shaky moan escaped his throat, raw and low. His claws tangled in your hair, not yanking, but anchoring himself to reality as his hips gave a slight, involuntary twitch. He was fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth, trembling from restraint.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless, “I missed this. Missed your mouth.”

You responded by taking him deeper, your lips wrapping around the head and sucking with a wet, deliberate pull. Your tongue swirled underneath as you bobbed slowly, creating obscene, sticky sounds that echoed off the walls of the ferris wheel cart. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth, coating him, making everything slick.

Your hand slipped down, cradling his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They were hot and full, tight against your skin. Vox hissed through his teeth, claws tightening in your hair, mussing it as he tried not to fall apart too soon.

With a loud, wet pop, you pulled back and met his eyes. Your lips were red and swollen, cheeks flushed with heat. “You’re not going to come that fast, are you, sweetheart?” you teased, your voice thick with challenge.

The moment your words landed, something dark flickered across his face.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed you and threw you across the opposite seat. The entire cart swayed with the sudden motion, groaning slightly from the shift in weight. Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate—you spread your legs wide, unabashed, letting him see how soaked you were. Letting him smell the heat radiating off your skin.

He growled low in his throat as he knelt between your thighs. His eyes locked onto the tiny scrap of lace stretched over your pussy, the g-string damp and clinging to your folds. “I was wondering if you were wearing anything when I grabbed your ass earlier,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust.

Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, he pressed his face flush against your core, burying himself between your thighs. “Fuck…” he breathed into your skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Then, with a sharp snap of his claws, the thin fabric gave way. The sound of your gasp bounced off the glass, and your back arched as his hot, smooth, eager tongue finally touched you. He licked a slow, deliberate path through your folds before plunging his tongue into you.

You moaned, breath hitching as he fucked you with his tongue, curling it inside and tasting every inch. Then his thumb pressed lightly against your clit, swirling and teasing your swollen nub with purpose. You cried out, fingers clawing at the seat beneath you.

“I missed this taste,” he groaned between laps, his words muffled against your drenched cunt.

You could feel the subtle rhythm of his other arm moving, jerking himself off as he devoured you. He took his time, savouring like a feast, moaning praises against your skin. Pleasure built slow and heavy in your belly, your eyes prickling with tears from the intense heat, the endless teasing.

And then, through the hazy fog of lust, you caught movement out the window. A sinner in a nearby cart had their face pressed to the glass, eyes wide, mouth parted. Oh, God! They could see the outline of your body, your head thrown back, your chest heaving.

Luckily, Vox was on the floor. They couldn’t see the filthy, glorious things he was doing between your legs.

As if plucking the thought straight from your mind, he pulled back with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes met yours, knowing, sly, and mischievous, and his lips glistened with your arousal, his tongue flitting out to taste it.

Without a word, he moved you, coaxing your pliant limbs with a confidence that made your breath hitch. The cabin swayed gently as he manoeuvred you into position, the low hum of the Ferris wheel and the occasional creak of metal amplifying the pulse in your ears. The seat’s edge dug lightly into your knees as you bent forward, bracing yourself with trembling hands on the seat in front of you. Your back arched instinctively, hips raised in silent offering.

Your thighs pressed together, seeking friction, and your body trembled with anticipation. You could feel the heat of him behind you; he was tall and commanding, and he fit every curve you showed. His fingers skimmed up the backs of your legs, pausing to squeeze the soft flesh before trailing inward, slow and teasing.

“V-Vox…” you breathed, shivering as his cock slid between your folds, smearing a mixture of your slick and his spit against your wet entrance.

His hands gripped your waist, guiding you as the swollen tip of his cock teased your core, nudging in and out of you in slow, shallow motions. It was maddeningly delicious.

As you opened your mouth to tell him to be quiet and be more discrete because people were still looking, he pushed deeper into you and buried himself with one smooth, firm stroke.

Your mouth dropped open, but no sound came out, only breathless awe. His thick length pressed into every perfect spot, and your body clenched greedily around him.

Your legs trembled, vision swimming from the dizzying pace of his thrusts. Just as your body threatened to collapse, Vox caught you with one arm around your waist. The other slipped beneath your loosened dress, claws gliding up the soft underside of your breast. With a low, dark chuckle, he shoved his hand under your bra, gripping and massaging the plush flesh like it belonged to him.

“Ah, Vox!” you cried, your back arching as his cock slammed into your deepest point, knocking the breath from your lungs.

His claws tugged on your nipple, rolling and twisting the swollen bud while he kept driving into you, each thrust sharp and brutal. Your slick walls fluttered around him, every drag of his cock lighting your nerves on fire.

The cart rocked with every movement, creaking as it swung wildly from side to side. Your hair clung to your sweat-slicked skin, sticking to your face and neck. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, but you didn’t try to stop them. You caught sight of the sinner again through the haze of lust. He had his face stuck to the window of the next cart, hoping to get a better look.

You grinned through the chaos, breathless and bold. Let them watch.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Vox groaned, voice rough and desperate, each word rasping past his lips between wet slaps of skin on skin. “You feel so fucking good, so tight and messy for me.”

His grip on your breast tightened, clawed fingers tweaking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. The pain sharpened the pleasure, sending electric jolts straight down your spine to your aching, soaked pussy.

“Fuck, I need you to scream for me,” he growled in your ear, biting down lightly on your neck. “Let every miserable fuck down there know who this pussy belongs to. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, yours!” you sobbed, throwing your head back, overwhelmed by the relentless rhythm of his cock rearranging your insides.

“Damn right,” he snarled, panting, as he dug his fingers into your hips. “And I’m not even close to done with you, doll.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and slammed you back down onto his cock. Your cunt swallowed him whole, slick and twitching, milking him greedily.

“I want you all fucking night,” he huffed, thrusting up into you with enough force to make the cart shake. “Might bend you over the hood of my car in the parking lot. Fuck you right there while the engine’s still hot.”

Each filthy word made your core clench harder around him. The cart smelled of sex, thick, heady, and animalistic. It clung to your skin and his, soaked into the fabric of your clothes, the air itself damp with sweat and arousal.

“Maybe you suck me off while I drive us home,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with promise. “Tonight I’ll make you come so hard your legs give out. So hard you can’t talk right for days. All you’ll know is how to scream my name.”

Before you could respond, he shifted, gripping your waist and driving you forward. Your knees hit the seat in front of you, and you gasped, both palms splaying against the glass as he continued to fuck you in earnest. The chill of the window shocked your flushed cheek while your saliva smeared across it, dripping slow and wet down the surface.

Then—slap—his palm cracked against your ass, the sting sharp and sudden. Your breath hitched, but pain melted into pleasure the moment he rammed back inside. Your pussy, raw and hungry, sucked him in like you’d never let him go.

“You like that, huh?” Vox grunted, every word ragged. “You like being fucked like my personal fuck doll?”

All you could do was moan, choked and hoarse, as the pleasure crested higher and higher, tight and trembling at the edge.

“Fucking perfect,” Vox groaned, never slowing, fucking you through every twitch and tremble, like he had every intention of wringing out every last drop of your sanity.

Your scream tore through the cart, raw and trembling, as your body convulsed with an earth-shattering climax. Muscles clenched, nerves aflame, your pussy pulsed around Vox’s cock, holding him tight like it never wanted to let go. You barely registered the creak and lurch of the Ferris wheel starting to move again—time felt irrelevant, lost beneath the weight of pleasure.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, Vox came with brutal intensity. His hips slammed flush against yours, holding you still as he spilled himself inside, thick and hot, in powerful waves. You could feel him paint every inch of your insides, each pulse of release forcing a gasp from his throat and a whimper from yours.

He stayed buried in you, panting against your skin, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. And when he finally pulled out, slow and careful, you felt everything. A warm, slick fullness slipping free of your swollen cunt, followed by the soft, obscene plop of his cum spilling onto the seat below.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your limbs were jelly, your mind fogged and distant, adrift in a post-orgasmic haze. Vox smoothed your hair and fixed your dress with unexpected tenderness, but he hardly tried as you remained a mess, dazed, used, and glowing.

When the cart doors opened, and you stepped out with him, your ears barely caught the ambient noise of the amusement park. Voices, music, laughter—background static compared to the ache between your legs and the steady slide of wetness down your thighs. His seed mixed with yours, warm and slick, coating your inner thighs with every step.

Then you saw it.

A small droplet of milky fluid hit the pavement beneath your feet.

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled, staring in disbelief.

Vox glanced down and grinned, wicked and smug. “Sunshine, might want to take an extra day off work before you come back into the office.”

Your head whipped toward him. He looked so calm, so collected, as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless in a rickety old cart and left you dripping with the evidence.

“I know I gave you enough vacation,” he added casually, draping an arm around your waist, “but I need my sunshine around. Gets too damn dark without you.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in close, his arms circling you fully in the middle of the walkway, in plain view of everyone. The breeze ghosted between your legs, cool and teasing against your flushed, overstimulated skin, but you only leaned deeper into his embrace.

Because at that moment, it hit you.

You couldn’t walk away from him.

For all his chaos, for all the lust and rough edges, Vox had wrapped himself around you in more ways than one. You saw it in the way he held you now, not just with his arms, but with his presence—possessive, warm, and fiercely yours.

So what if this wasn’t a fairytale romance? You had something real. Something raw and alive. And Vox, for all his twisted tendencies, was trying. He was trying to be more than just an overlord who took what he wanted.

You gave him a sly smirk and leaned in close. “Understood, sir,” you whispered. “I assume that means you’re taking tomorrow off too?”

He grinned, teeth gleaming, eyes filled with heat and something softer. “Baby, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t change overnight. He didn’t cut Valentino off or turn into someone new. He still answered when Val called—sometimes with a sigh, sometimes with silence—but he always came back to you.

You understood.

Whatever Vox had with Valentino wasn’t simple. There were obligations, entanglements, histories thick as blood and twice as binding. It wasn’t just a matter of walking away. You’d stopped asking him to.

That's why you didn't fight him when his phone rang, and he stood there with that tension in his shoulders that meant he was going to leave. You just looked at him, steady and quiet, and said, “Come back when you can.”

And he did.

Every time.

He didn’t promise he’d stop answering Val. He didn’t pretend the world he lived in wasn’t dark, messy, and far from fair. But he gave you something more honest—his effort. His presence. His trying.

It wasn’t grand or romantic in the traditional sense, but it was real.

It was in the way he brushed your hair back when you were tired. In the way he asked if you’d eaten, or pulled you close when your laughter faded. In how his voice softened when he said your name, even when the rest of the world demanded the hard edge of him.

And you?

You stopped expecting easy. You let go of fairytale endings and leaned into the complicated truth of him.

Because it was never about making him choose between you and the world he couldn’t escape.

It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when it was hard. Even when it hurt a little.

There were still days he had to go. Nights when Valentino's grip pulled him away.

But there were mornings when he stayed. When he reached for you first. When he made time, not excuses.

No, this wasn’t perfect.

But as he curled around you that night, voice low and lips at your temple, you knew…

Whatever came next, you’d figure it out together.

✨ KOFI -- DISCORD SERVER -- xREADER COMMUNITY ✨

47 notes · View notes

safination · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do a one-shot of Morpheus meeting and falling in love with Hecate! reader who's the anthropomorphic personification of magic and the first witch in existence?

[Masterlist]

The Dreaming feels weird.

The power here is older, much more ancient than you are. It has existed long before mortals took their firs breath. Still, magic is magic, no matter their age. Surely, the Dream lord will forgive you just this once. Considering . . . well, considering one of his nightmares is haunting you right now.

There’s a mist that rises around the area, snaking across the trees. It blows with the wind and brushes against your skin. The mist that gathers around your body belongs to you. Even in a dream, there is magic in the air, and you are all magic. You are in every single spell that has ever been and will ever be.

The nightmare that haunts you hides in your mist. It stalks around, eyeing you with a false-sense of safety. What a silly nightmare, indeed.

The nightmare lunges for you.

It takes a half-hearted spell to turn him into small, tabby kitten.

The nightmare hisses at you, making their discontent obvious. It stomps to you with its tiny paws. The kitten wobbles as it stalks towards you, their tiny paws struggling to carry the movement they wish to accomplish.

“Don’t be too mad at me, little one.” You scratch underneath its chin. “You’ll return back to your form in a few hours. Although, I think you’re much more adorable like this.”

There’s a stillness in the air that even the mist can sense. It makes the hairs on your skin stand. The fog parts, and out comes the King of Dreams and Nightmares. The land bends to him, fluttering a little bit closer to their master. Even the kitten in your lap starts to meow at him.

Morpheus glances at the kitten. “Dreams are not to be interfered with.”

“I apologize, Dream lord,” you say, scratching the kitten’s ear. “I did not mean to overstep.”

“You have done so anyway, witch.”

“I think your nightmares looks much more ferocious like this!” You scoop up the kitten in your hands and present it to him with a bright smile. “Look at those teeth! That adorable color!”

“Adorable . . .” Morpheus mimics your words, but there’s a hint of amusement when he looks down at his nightmare. “Yes, I suppose.”

The nightmare hisses at him, flicking his tail.

You press a kiss on the kitten’s head. “Maybe I should turn you into an owl. Let you become one of my animal companions.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Morpheus when the kitten pushes your away with its tiny paws. “Corinthian,” he says. “Come.”

The kitten wiggles out of your hold, and uses its claw to climb his master. It’s quite funny, really. Dream of The Endless has an orange tabby kitten on his shoulder. The kitten purrs and settles along the crook of his neck.

“I apologize once again,” you tell him, smiling a little. You know better than to mention the sight. “I presumed you wouldn’t mind me using a little bit of magic considering it was you who placed me here.”

Morpheus scratches the kitten’s chin. “I did not.”

“The mist, my lord.” You run your hand along the outline of the fog, weaving it into whatever you desire it to be. “The veil that hides. The veil that covers. The veil that misdirects.”

Morpheus glances at you for a second, then back to the mist. He does not say a word.

“It was an honor to meet you,” you tell him, softly. “And you, my little kitten.”

The Corinthian meows at you.

So, how do you meet the King of Dreams and Nightmares? In a dream, of course, because even magic isn’t above dreaming. Without the dream to rewrite the ways of this world, magic would not exist.

Thus, you would not exist.

Writing out some drabbles and clearing out some inbox requests. The idea is interesting. I fucking love magic users. So you'll have short little offerings from me from time to time. I can't promise that they will be as good as my usual writings. BUT BUT BUT. If you would all just give me time to finish my last week of finals, I am all yours. I will be your slave.

130 notes · View notes

safination · 2 days ago

Text

Welcome welcome welcome to Saffy’s live reaction where I will be typing as I read. I decided to do it in a reblog instead of in the replies to save your poor notifications. I don’t want to destroy it.

VOX THROWING MONEY AT READER? Love that for Sunshine, I get wanting to cut all ties but like, if the paychecks keep coming just take it! Bleed him dry. But also, at the same time I understand not wanting to keep associating yourself with your ex

The Blue roses that are still there are foul btw. Why would you do this to me! The petals are dying as days go by!!! UGHH VEXI

Sunshine!!! Don’t cry!!!

“Because when he held you, when he looked at you like he was trying to memorize your soul, it felt real. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was always destined to fall apart.”

VEXI! V E X I. Who will pay for my therapy bills? Ikaw ba? HUH IKAW BA? IKAW BA MAGBABAYAD NG BILLS KO? Heartbreak so insane I had to switch to another language.

. . . Is . . . Is Vox just watching her?? Stalker behaviour!

How do you even spell Val wrong? It’s three letters. Oh unless it’s the whole Valentino. Then that makes sense

PUTANG INA. ANO BA YAN. Girl. Girl. Vox is only now starting to realize that the jealous would fade with Sunshine around and like,,,, Vox knowing that Val would destroy Sunshine if things got deeper than sex.

Velvette a fucking queen.

He’s going to get her back! Sunshine wants to pretend she doesn’t care soooo bad. We all know that’s not fooling anyone. Calm. Professional. Cold. While wearing something sexy. Right

THE DOORKNOB TURNED. THE ABSOLTUTE GASP THAT I JUST GASPED. It was so audible mommy-saffy asked if I was okay.

Jeans?!?!!? Vox in jeans??? Ehe~

“But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look sheepish or sorry. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you.”

Σ(O_O) Σ(O_O) Σ(O_O)

A real date!!! A. Real. Date!!!!

“The park’s still a work in progress,” he said, trying to brighten his tone as he looked down at you. His hand never left your hip. “But it’s getting there. Just like us, huh?”

The only forcing that Vox is doing is keeping his hands to himself and honestly, good for him. (The other forcing will be his @@@@ in Sunshine’s @&@@!#@)

“You were in love with him. Fully. Hopelessly.”

Same.

The smut is smutting. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

“You stopped expecting easy. You let go of fairytale endings and leaned into the complicated truth of him. Because it was never about making him choose between you and the world he couldn’t escape. It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when it was hard. Even when it hurt a little.”

I think I’m going to cry. G I R L. Vexi!!! VEXI!!!

As always I am so very in love with your writing. Every line. Every word. Every punctuation. Keeps me going for days!!!!! The fluff and the smut!!! I think I just healed a little after this!!!