Together, We Rest I Vox x Overwork!Reader
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
It was that hour when even Hell briefly holds its breath.
Y/N sat on the bedroom floor, back leaned against the bed, knees pulled to her chest. Not because she wanted to. But because her legs had simply given out and she had sunk to the ground. No drama, no grand moment – just that quiet, exhausted capitulation of a body that says: this far. No further.
Her goal had been to sit down for just a moment. Just briefly. Just one moment.
She had been sitting here for a while now.
Her H/C hair fell into her face. She didn't push it away. Just let it hang, like a curtain between her and the rest of the world, which kept burning out there without asking whether she was keeping up.
Outside, Hell burned like always – neon red, loud misery, the eternal bustle of the damned. Up here in the Tower only a muffled hum pressed through the windows. Still, it was too loud. Everything was too loud. Her own thoughts most of all.
BF/N cried today and you just functioned. Just kept going. The souls need you. The reports are sitting on the table. You promised— you still have to— you should— when did you last do something for yourself, when were you last just you—
She let her head fall back against the bed.
"Stop it," she whispered. To herself. To no one.
And then, quietly, like something that had been held back for too long, the first tears rose. Not dramatically. Just like that. Just there, suddenly, because the body eventually stops asking whether now is a good time.
Y/N let them fall. What else was she supposed to do.
He had been on his way to the office – had only wanted to check on her quickly, just one glance, that was all – when he noticed the door standing open a crack. He paused in the doorframe. His screen cast a pale glow across the dark floor, across her curled-up silhouette, across the heavy breathing, across the hair hanging into her face.
Just stood there. One breath. Two.
Y/N didn't hear him leave. Thought, in the brief moment she thought anything at all, that he didn't want to bother himself with her like this. You have to be strong. You're always strong. You can do this.
Then something soft and familiar was laid gently into her lap and she flinched.
The old, slightly worn one she had had for years, that no one knew about except her – and him. No words. No comment. Vox had simply known where to find it, the way he always knew where everything of hers was.
The thought of not being good enough for him vanished in that moment.
Then Vox knelt down beside her. Soundless for a man of his size. In one hand the hot water bottle – warm, wrapped in the soft cloth she liked – in the other her book, the bookmark still exactly where she had left it.
He set both down beside her. Without a word.
Then he pulled off his jacket – slowly, without fanfare – and held it out to her.
Y/N looked at him. Her throat tightened.
Not commanding. Just like that. The way he said things that needed no discussion, because he had already decided, and because that decision came from a place he would never name out loud.
It was far too big. Of course it was. The shoulders hung almost to her elbows, the fabric warm and heavy, and his scent – the ocean, technology, something she had never been able to describe and that was immediately, unmistakably him – rose to her nose and softened something in her chest that had been cramped the whole time.
She pressed the hot water bottle to her chest. Swallowed again.
Vox disappeared once more.
Y/N frowned – but before she could say anything, he came back. And this time he carried something over his arm that she had never seen before. Something fluffy. Dark blue. With little fins.
A very cuddly, very plush, very obviously often-worn shark onesie.
"Is that—" Her voice gave out for a moment, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Is that yours—"
"Not a word." Vox cut her off immediately. His voice completely neutral, the red of his eyes completely unreadable. "You get it today. And tomorrow you forget it exists."
Y/N looked at the piece of clothing. Then at him.
"Vincent Whittman wears a shark onesie." A weak grin.
"When you're having a bad day—"
She bit her lip. It only helped so much. The grin stayed – thin, but real. "Okay," she said finally. "Forgotten. Completely forgotten."
He didn't believe a word of it. But he handed her the onesie anyway, and that meant more than anything.
Y/N changed. Slowly, because her body was trembling like a leaf, because the exhaustion had seeped deep into her limbs and settled there. Vox watched her calmly. No comment. No looking away. Just being there, attentive and quiet, and his heart constricting with every tremor he saw.
When she was done and stood unsteadily on her feet, he was beside her in two steps.
No grand words. He simply caught her.
Laid his hands on her shoulders, calm and steady, and guided her to the bed. And Y/N let him – leaned against his side, let herself be guided, because she had no strength left to pretend she didn't need that.
Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, sunk into dark blue plush, the little dorsal fin between her shoulder blades, and felt – for the first time that evening – a little less heavy.
She watched him prepare the bed.
Vox did it without fuss – pulled the heavy blanket from the closet, the one she liked, stacked the pillows into a kind of cave, warm and sheltered, and arranged everything so that it was – well. For two. Clearly for two.
Then he disappeared one more time.
When he came back he carried it under his arm: a stuffed shark. Dark grey, worn at the fins, with a small carefully sewn tear on one side.
"Not a word about this either," he said quietly.
"I'm not saying anything." Y/N smiled.
"You're thinking loudly."
He slipped into his pajamas – yes, he had some too, because it was a bad day, and that was reason enough – and settled into the nest, his shark tucked under his arm with a matter-of-factness that left no room whatsoever for remarks.
Y/N crawled to him. Teddy in one hand, hot water bottle in the other, the book long forgotten.
The bed received her like something that had always been waiting for her.
Vox pulled the heavy blanket over them both. The plush of the onesie warm, the hot water bottle tucked between them in a way that had simply happened on its own, and Y/N laid her head against his chest – heard his heartbeat, steady and calm, and waited for her own to follow.
His arm settled around her.
And then he kissed her on the head. Just like that. Without announcement, without it needing to mean anything – simply because she was there and because he wanted to and because that was enough.
For a while there was only the hum.
Then, somewhere between one breath and the next, it broke.
Not loud. Never loud – she had learned to keep everything quiet, for years, and the body doesn't unlearn such lessons quickly. It was a trembling first, deep in her chest, then in her shoulders, and then the dam was simply too tired and too old.
Vox's arm pulled her closer immediately.
No question. No what's wrong. No well-meant words that would have gotten everything wrong in that moment. Just that arm, firm and immovable, and his hand that slid into her H/C hair – slowly, from forehead to back, again and again, with a patience he had nowhere else in the world.
He let her. Held her close and let her and didn't pull back, not one centimeter.
Then, quietly, he kissed her on the head. On the temple. Turned her gently toward him, just a little, and kissed her on the cheek – where the tear was still wet – as though he could make it better that way. As though that was a language he spoke better than any other.
"I'm so tired," she whispered. Raw. Honest in a way she didn't allow herself during the day. "Not from sleeping. From... everything. I give everything I have and it doesn't stop. It just doesn't stop and I—" her breath caught "—I don't even know anymore when I started forgetting myself in the process."
Vox gently wiped away the next tear. A small, quiet gesture.
"I wish it were simple sometimes." She swallowed. "Simple and quiet and just... just this. Just you and me and nothing that wants something from us."
His hand made a slightly slower movement through her hair.
"Why do you think," he said then, calmly, almost casually, "I work almost through the night?"
"So you don't have to." Matter-of-fact. Without weight, without drama – just true. "So you can sleep. So you can read your book without guilt. So you have one single morning where no one needs anything from you." A brief pause. "That's the point."
She was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't always know that," she whispered.
"I know." He didn't sound reproachful. Just – knowing. "That's why I'm saying it now."
Y/N lifted her head. Looked at him, eyes still wet, face open in a way she only allowed herself with him.
"You're never just there," she said quietly. "Not just there. Not without a reason."
He held her gaze. The red of his eyes calm in this light.
"Then tell me that." Direct, clear. "Tell me you need me. Not the empire. Me."
"That's hard for me." Barely more than a whisper. She pressed her face against his chest, because she couldn't look at him right now.
"I know." His hand moved slowly, behind her ear, gently. "Say it anyway."
The hum outside. The warmth of the nest. The heartbeat beneath her cheek.
"I want more time with you," she said. A confession, small and honest. "Just like this. No agenda. I want to dance with you. I want to drink tea in the morning and just have you there without either of us already thinking about the office." A pause, even smaller: "I want you to know that I need you. Not what you can do. You."
Then, completely dry: "That sounds unbearably inefficient."
Y/N pinched him in the side.
Vox flinched, swatted her hand away gently – and yet, almost imperceptibly, pulled her a little closer at the same time.
She lifted her head. Looked at him.
"Tomorrow morning. Tea." He tapped her once on the shoulder, as though it were a signed contract. "No office before ten."
Y/N stared at him. Searched his face for the catch, for the calculation – and found none.
Slowly let her head sink back against his chest.
"You're impossible," she murmured.
"Yes." He kissed her on the temple. Then on the cheek. Then, very quietly, on the corner of her mouth – barely more than a touch, but intentional, clear.
His hand returned to her hair.
From forehead to back. Steady, calm, again and again, through the H/C strands, without haste and without end. Interrupted sometimes by a brief kiss on the head – just like that, just because, without explanation.
Y/N felt the heaviness in her slowly grow smaller. Not gone – never entirely gone, not in one night – but smaller. Manageable. Shared.
The onesie was soft. The hot water bottle warm. His arm heavy and safe around her.
His stuffed shark lay beside her teddy bear, tucked between their bodies, the worn fins against her hand.
They should become friends, she thought, half-asleep already.
They already are, he would have said.
Her breathing deepened. Evened out.
And then, before she noticed, before she could say goodbye to this evening or to the feeling that had still been there a moment ago – Y/N fell asleep.
Vox lay awake a while longer.
Watched the dimmed screens. Listened to her breathing, which was now quiet and even, to the hum of Hell which kept burning out there without needing them.
He didn't think about reports. Not about strategies. Not about tomorrow.
At the way the neon light filtering through the windows caught her hair. At the small traces of tears still on her cheek. At the teddy bear she held even in sleep, as though it were an anchor.
Eventually he laid his head on hers.
His stuffed shark, tucked between their bodies, its small worn fins in her hand.
And then, without plan, without having intended it – Vox fell asleep too.
In a nest of blankets and bad days and everything no human and no demon would ever get to see.
Outside, Hell kept burning.
Sometimes strength is admitting what you need. Sometimes love is simply building the nest. And sometimes it's enough when someone stays. 🦈🌙🩷
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
Hey there!
I hope this litte bedtime Story is fine with you. As a kid I loved bedtime storys. Now I read until I sleep, or I write.
So I thought I could write you a little bedtime story. Do you guys want a little sleepy series of Vox taking care over reader beeing sleepy???
I love this idea! Let me know!!
