Screen Off, Heart On I Vox x Reader I Valentine's Day Special
CW: Smut, rought sex, breeding Kink, obsession, alcohol
Word Count: ~5.6k
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07:00 AM – THE MORNING
You wake up to Vox’s claws gently brushing over your arm. He’s lying on his side, watching you.
“How long have you been staring at me?” you mumble sleepily.
“Twenty minutes.” No shame. “You look peaceful when you sleep. No worries, no stress.”
You turn toward him, nuzzling into his chest. “And you? Did you even sleep?”
“A little.” His claws move through your hair. “I was too busy planning today.”
“Vox…” You groan softly, pressing closer to him. You know very well that those sweet words usually backfire.
“Hey.” His voice softens. “Everything’s canceled, delegated, organized.” He kisses your forehead. “Today belongs only to us. I mean it.”
You lift your head, looking at him skeptically. “How many times have you said that?”
“I know.” He holds your gaze. “But this time…” He reaches for the remote on the nightstand. “…I’m doing it right.”
“What do you need—”
He presses the button.
The Tower falls silent immediately. The constant electric vibration—gone. His screen dims to minimum.
You sit up, staring at him in disbelief. “Did you just—”
“No more distractions,” he says quietly, pulling you back against him. “Just you and me. The whole day.”
You feel something warm bloom in your chest. After all the repeated promises, he actually did it.
“You’re really doing this. For me,” you whisper, unbelieving.
“For us.” He pulls you onto him, hands on your waist. “I really want to see you today. Not through screens. Not between meetings. You.”
You kiss him—slow, deep, full of gratitude. His hands slip under your shirt.
“Breakfast can wait,” he murmurs against your lips.
08:30 AM – BREAKFAST TOGETHER
After a long morning session, you make breakfast together. You in his shirt, him in sweatpants.
He stands behind you at the counter, arms wrapped around your waist while you cook the eggs.
“I could get used to this,” he murmurs.
“To what?”
“Mornings like this with you. No stress, no rush.” He kisses your neck. “Just living.”
You eat standing, leaning against the counter. He tells you old stories.
“Do you remember our first breakfast together?” you ask at some point.
“After the award show. Three months ago.” He grins. “You were drunk on champagne.”
“I was not drunk!”
“You tried to dance with my television.”
You throw a towel at him, laughing. He catches it with his claws and pulls you toward him with it.
“I loved it,” he says quietly. “Every second of it.”
“Why are you even telling me this?” you ask, playing with his fingers.
“Because I don’t want any secrets from you.” His hand finds yours. “You’re the only one who really knows me. The real version of me.”
“I love the real version.”
His screen shows a vulnerable smile. “That makes you dangerous, you know.”
“Why?”
“Because you have power over me. The kind of power I don’t give to anyone.”
“And yet you give it to me.”
“Because I trust you. Completely.” Vox sets his plate aside.
He kisses you, deep and slow. His hands slip under the shirt you’re wearing.
“We need to get ready,” you murmur against his lips.
“Five more minutes.”
It turns into twenty.
10:30 AM – GETTING READY
You stand in front of the mirror, applying light makeup. Vox sits on the bed, watching your every move.
“You could be doing something else,” you say, amused.
“Why? This is perfect.” He stands and comes to you. “I love watching you. The way you focus. The little crease between your brows.”
His hands wrap around your waist from behind. “Every little detail. Every expression. Every breath.”
In the mirror, you see his screen displaying your face—mirrored, but with a filter of… love? Adoration?
“What are you doing?” you ask softly.
“I’m showing you how I see you.” The image on his screen grows softer, brighter. “Perfect. Always.”
You turn to him—his screen showing his normal face again. Your lips meet tenderly.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.” He kisses your forehead. “Wear the red one. You look breathtaking in it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m debating between the red and the black?”
“Because I know you.” He grins.
11:00 AM – A WALK THROUGH HELL
The streets are full of life. Sinners recognize you immediately—how could they not? Hell’s famous power couple.
“Vox! Y/N!” Calls from everywhere.
“Can we get a photo?”
“Just one autograph, please!”
Normally you would smile, wave, pose. But today Vox shakes his head.
“Sorry, not today. Private day.”
Most understand, nod respectfully.
You look at Vox in surprise. “You turned down a photo?”
“I want you to myself. Not for the cameras.” He squeezes your hand. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay.”
You continue walking hand in hand. His claws wrap around your hand tighter than usual. Some sinners call out to you.
You wave, smile. Vox wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.
“They love us,” you say softly.
“They love you,” he corrects. “I’m just the lucky one who gets to hold you.”
“Vox…”
“It’s true.” He stops, turns you toward him. In the middle of the street, sinners all around you. “You enchanted Hell, Y/N. Just like you enchanted me.”
He kisses you—not for cameras, not for show. For you.
The crowd around you grows quiet. Some pull out phones, but most just watch.
12:30 PM – THE SPONTANEOUS DANCE
In the center of Hell, chaos reigns—life and energy everywhere.
A street musician plays at the roadside. Lovely, gentle melodies—so different from what Hell usually is.
Vox stops. His screen shows thoughtful eyes, then a determined expression.
“Dance with me.”
“Here? In the street?”
“Why not?” He pulls you into his arms, one hand on your lower back, the other holding yours. “We’ve danced on every stage in Hell. At every gala, every event. But never just like this.”
The music grows slightly louder, as if the musician noticed you and is now playing for you.
You dance. In the middle of chaos. Slow, close, perfectly in sync.
His eyes never leave yours. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
“What?”
“Everything. My past, my present, my future. All in one person.”
“Vox…”
“I mean it.” He spins you, pulls you back. “Before you, I was… empty. Power without purpose. But you—you give everything meaning.”
Sinners have formed a circle around you. Some are filming, but most are simply watching—enchanted by the two of you.
The music swells. He dips you back—dramatic, perfect. The crowd cheers.
When he pulls you up, he holds you close, forehead against forehead.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So damn much.”
“I love you too.”
He kisses you—deep, slow—while Hell watches and applauds.
“You’re our favorites!” someone calls.
Vox smiles against your lips. “Our favorites, huh?”
“You’re my favorite,” you whisper.
He chuckles, flattered. His screen shows a soft smile. “And you’re mine.”
2:00 PM – RESTAURANT
The most exclusive restaurant in Hell. The owner—an old acquaintance—greets you personally.
“Vox, Y/N! Happy Valentine’s Day!” He leads you to the best table. “For you—completely private.”
He’s cordoned off an entire section. Just for the two of you.
The food is exquisite. But even better are the conversations.
Vox tells you about his dreams—real dreams, not business plans. How he sometimes dreams of a quieter life. With you.
“I never thought I’d want that,” he admits. “Calm. Peace. But with you, I do.”
“What exactly do you want?”
He leans back, playing with his wine glass. “A house. Somewhere private. Just for us. Where no one can find us unless we want them to.”
“Really?”
“Really. I want to wake up next to you every day without thinking about meetings or deals.” He looks at you, takes your hand across the table. “I just want to be. With you.”
Your heart swells. “That sounds perfect.”
“Do you remember our first interview together?” he asks after a moment.
“Oh God, yes. I was so nervous.”
“You? Nervous?” He laughs. “You were perfect. I was the one who forgot his words.”
“You asked for my opinion three times even though I was the host.”
“Because you’re brilliant. I wanted to hear what you had to say.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I always want to hear what you have to say.”
“Even when I disagree with you?”
“Especially then.” He grins. “You keep me grounded. Real.”
After dessert, you lean back in your chair.
“Ready to go home?” you ask.
His grin widens, playful. “You’ll see what I prepared.”
6:30 PM – BACK AT THE TOWER – PREPARATION
The Tower is still dark, lit only by candles.
In the living room, he’s prepared everything: the coffee table pushed aside. On it stand a bottle of expensive whiskey and a bottle of your favorite wine—the good one he only brings out for special occasions. Large cushions are scattered across the soft, thick carpet, and a deck of cards waits in the middle.
The candles cast dancing shadows on the walls. It’s intimate, warm.
“Poker?” you ask.
“Strip poker.” His screen shows a seductive grin. “But not for money. The loser loses a piece of clothing—the winner chooses which.”
Your heart beats faster. The way he looks at you—hungry, but patient. “Vox…”
“What?” He steps closer, his voice lowering, velvety. “Did I make you nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He runs a clawed finger over your cheek. “I see it in your eyes. Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing’s faster.” He leans closer. “But that’s okay. I’m nervous too.”
“You? Nervous?”
“You always make me nervous, darling. In the best way.” He kisses you briefly, tenderly. “Come. Play with me.”
He sits down on the carpet, back relaxed against the sofa. Slowly pours himself whiskey—the movement smooth, deliberate. Then he pours your wine and hands you the glass.
“Come here.”
You sit across from him on the soft carpet. The distance between you small enough to be intimate, large enough to play.
He takes the deck, shuffles it. His fingers move elegantly, practiced. You watch, fascinated.
“Like what you see?” he asks, amused.
“Always.”
His screen shows a satisfied smile. “Good. Because I plan to drag this out.”
“Ready to lose?” you tease.
His laugh is dark, promising. “We’ll see.”
7:00 PM – ROUNDS 1–2 – THE BEGINNING
He deals the cards. His eyes never leave yours.
The first round is close. You study your cards, then his face—or what’s visible on his screen.
“What are you thinking?” he asks quietly.
“That you might be bluffing.”
“I might.” He takes a sip of whiskey, leans back. “Or maybe not.”
You call. He reveals—and wins. Barely.
“Shoes,” he says with a small grin.
You roll your eyes and take them off. “Boring.”
“Patience, darling.” He leans back, watching you. “We have all night. And I want to enjoy every second.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
Second round: You win—finally.
“Shoes,” you say in return.
He laughs and takes them off. “Fair enough.”
7:15 PM – ROUNDS 3–5 – THE TENSION BUILDS
Third round is more intense. You both bluff, raise, call. Eventually you lose.
His screen shows thoughtful eyes, roaming over you. “Hmm… Earrings.”
You reach to your ears, removing them slowly. It’s a small thing—but the way he watches makes it feel like something far more intimate.
“Better?” you ask.
“We’re getting there.” His grin is promising.
Round four: He loses.
“Jacket,” you say.
He stands—the movement smooth. Slowly removes it, eyes locked on you. Candlelight plays over his arms, his shoulders. He tosses it onto the sofa.
“Satisfied?”
“Not yet.”
Round five: You lose.
He takes a long sip of whiskey, makes you wait. His eyes wander over you—slow, deliberate.
“The necklace.”
Your hand moves to your neck. You undo the clasp, let it slide into your palm. As you go to set it aside, he catches your wrist.
“Wait.” He takes it from your hand, sets it down carefully. His fingers brush over your palm. “Now.”
The touch is brief—but electric.
7:35 PM – ROUNDS 6–8 – IT GETS SERIOUS
You both drink more. The wine makes you warm, relaxed. The whiskey makes him more intense. His eyes darker.
Sixth round: He loses.
“Tie,” you say.
He loosens it slowly. Lets it slide through his fingers, the fabric brushing his skin. “I notice you like seeing me like this.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He tosses it aside.
Seventh round: You lose.
His gaze intensifies. “Stand up.”
“What?”
“Trust me. Stand up.”
You do, legs slightly unsteady from the wine.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
You turn—once, completely. The red dress hugs your curves. When you look back at him, his screen has dimmed slightly.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “The zipper. Open it.”
Your heart begins to race. You reach behind, find the zipper. Pull it down slowly—inch by inch.
The sound is loud in the silence. His eyes follow every movement.
“Stop.” His voice is rough. “Leave it open. Sit down again.”
You sit. The dress now open at the back, slipping slightly from your shoulders. You feel the air on your bare skin.
“Better,” he murmurs. “Next?”
Eighth round: He loses.
“Shirt,” you say breathlessly. “All of it.”
He stands. Opens the first button. Then the second. Slowly, painfully slow. His eyes never leave yours.
Third button. Fourth. The shirt opens, revealing his chest, his muscles.
He lets it slide off his shoulders.
Now he’s bare on top. Candlelight dances over his skin, highlighting every contour.
You swallow.
He sits down again—closer this time. “Like what you see?”
“You know I do.”
“I want to hear it.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “Very.”
His grin is pure sin.
7:55 PM – ROUNDS 9–10 – ALMOST NAKED
Ninth round: You can barely concentrate anymore. The wine, his closeness, his bare torso so near.
You lose.
His gaze travels over you—over the half-open dress, your shoulders, your neck.
“The dress.” His voice is barely more than a growl. “All of it.”
Your hands tremble slightly. You stand, reaching for the straps. Let them slide off your shoulders.
The dress falls—slowly at first, then completely. Pooling around your feet.
You’re standing in just your bra and underwear. Candlelight paints shadows across your skin.
He stares. His screen flickers—once, twice. Uncontrolled.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Y/N…”
“Problem?” you try to tease, but your voice trembles.
“Come here.” Not asked. Demanded.
“We’re still playing—”
“Come. Here. Now.”
Something in his voice—dark, hungry—makes you obey. You step toward him, out of the dress.
He pulls you onto his lap—straddling him. His hands immediately on your waist, claws pressing lightly into your skin.
“Better,” he murmurs, face close to yours. “Much better.”
“We should keep playing,” you whisper—but you don’t move.
“In a minute.” His lips find your neck. Kissing, softly at first. “I need to taste you.”
His mouth moves over your neck, your shoulder. His screen warm against your skin. His tongue traces patterns along your collarbone.
You moan softly, involuntarily.
“That’s not fair,” you gasp.
“I never said I play fair.” He bites gently into your shoulder, sucking. “One more round. Maybe two. Then I’ll take what I want.”
His hands wander over your back, your sides. Exploring you.
“Vox…”
“Hmm?” He kisses the place where your neck meets your shoulder.
“If you keep that up, I’ll lose on purpose.”
He laughs—dark, satisfied. “That’s the plan, darling.”
8:10 PM – ROUND 11 – CRITICAL POINT
You’re sitting across from him again—barely. The air between you electric. Your skin still warm from his touch.
He deals, but his hands aren’t completely steady anymore.
“You’re distracted,” you note.
“You’re sitting there in almost nothing. Of course I’m distracted.” But he grins.
The round is short. He loses—or does he let you win?
“Belt and pants,” you say breathlessly. “Both.”
“Greedy.” But he stands.
He unbuckles the belt—the sound loud, final. Then the button of his pants. Zipper down—slowly, his eyes locked on yours.
He lets them fall. Steps out.
Now he’s only in boxers. You can see the outline—hard, ready.
He sits again—closer. Your knees touching now. The heat between you almost unbearable.
“One more round?” he asks hoarsely.
You nod, unable to speak. Your heartbeat in your ears.
8:13 PM – ROUND 12 – THE LAST CARDS
He deals. His hands tremble slightly—the first real sign he’s just as affected.
The cards don’t matter. The tension is unbearable. You can feel his heat, his scent—whiskey and something darker.
You lay your cards down—not even sure what you have.
He lays his down.
He wins. Or you lose. Does it matter?
His screen shows dark, hungry eyes. “Bra.”
The air feels thick, heavy.
You reach behind slowly. Your fingers find the clasp. The bra falls from your shoulders.
His screen glitches completely. “Fuck, I—”
He can’t anymore.
8:15 PM – THE BREAK
He moves so fast you barely react. Pulls you onto his lap.
His lips find your neck—kissing, biting, sucking. His hands everywhere.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls against your skin. “All day I’ve been looking at you, touching you—but not the way I wanted.”
“Then take me.”
He pulls off his boxers. Then comes to you, removes your last barrier, tossing it somewhere.
You’re both completely naked now. Candlelight dancing across your skin.
But instead of positioning himself over you, he sits back against the sofa. Legs stretched out.
“Come here,” he says, voice rough. “I want you on top of me.”
“Vox…”
“I want to see you above me. Feel your power over me.” His eyes darken. “You’re so damn powerful, Y/N. In the media, in Hell, everywhere. Everyone wants you, respects you, fears you. And you’re mine.”
You move over him, straddling his hips.
“That makes me so fucking hard,” he growls, hands gripping your hips. “That this powerful, incredible woman is mine. That you chose me.”
“I would always choose you. Only you,” you whisper.
“Show me.” His claws press lightly into your skin. “Show me your power. Take what you want from me.”
8:17 PM - FIRST ROUND - HER POWER
You lift yourself up, positioning yourself above him. His hands guide you, hold you.
"Slowly," he murmurs. "I want to feel every second."
You lower yourself onto him—inch by inch. He's big, stretching you, filling you.
"Fuck," he groans, his head back against the sofa.
You continue to lower yourself until he's completely inside you. You both pause, savoring the sensation.
"You feel so good," you gasp.
"You too, baby. So damn good." His hands move from your hips to your waist, your sides. "Move. Show me how powerful you are."
You begin to move—slowly at first. You rise, you lower again. You find a rhythm.
His eyes never leave yours. "Fuck, yes. Exactly like that. You look so incredible."
His hands move to your breasts. He cups them, kneads them. His thumbs brush against your nipples—first gently, then more firmly.
You moan, moving faster.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Take what you need. Use me."
One of his hands moves higher, grasping your hair. Not painfully, but firmly. Pulling your head back so your neck is exposed.
His mouth finds it instantly. He kisses it first—softly, warmly. Then his tongue traces lines across your skin. His teeth—bite gently, suck.
"Mine," he murmurs against your neck. "You belong to me. Only to me."
"Yours," you gasp, moving faster on top of him. "Only yours, Vox."
His other hand leaves your chest, gripping your hip again. Guiding your movements—lifting you, pulling you down. Deeper, harder.
"Fuck, you ride me so well," he growls. His mouth travels down your neck to your shoulder. Biting there—harder this time. It will leave marks.
"Vox!" You gasp, hands on his shoulders for support.
"I want everyone to know you're taken," he murmurs against your skin. "I want to mark you, everywhere."
He moves with you now—thrusting up as you come down. The angle is perfect.
"Oh fuck," you moan loudly.
"That's the point, huh?" His hand in your hair tightens, holding your head back. His mouth finds the other side of your neck. Kissing, licking, biting.
You move faster now, more desperately. The tension builds.
His hand leaves your hip, moves between your bodies. Finds your clitoris, circles it.
"Oh God, Vox!"
"Yes, I am your God." His fingers work you—precisely, perfectly. "I want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you milking me."
His other hand leaves your hair, grasps your breast again. Kneads it hard, pinches your nipple.
His mouth finds your other breast. Sucks your nipple into his mouth.
The combination is overwhelming. His fingers on your clit, his mouth on your breast, his cock deep inside you.
"Vox, I—"
8:35 PM - FIRST ROUND - HIS DOMINANCE
He lifts you off him—you protest weakly, too sensitive—and lays you down on the pillows.
"My turn," he says. His eyes are dark, hungry. "You showed me your power. Now I'll show you mine."
He positions himself over you. His body large, dominant above yours. One hand beside your head, the other grasps your wrist, pinning it above your head.
"You're so fucking powerful," he murmurs, his face close to yours. "Everybody in hell wants you. But only I can have you like this. Only I get to have you."
His free hand moves between your legs, parts them. Positions himself.
"Ready for me?" he asks.
"Always."
He slides into you—a long, hard thrust. Filling you completely.
You both moan loudly.
"Fuck, still so tight," he growls.
He starts to move—not slowly, not gently. Hard. Deep. Possessive.
The angle is different now—deeper. You can feel him everywhere.
"Vox, oh fuck—"
"That's it. Say my name. Scream it."
His hand leaves your wrist, gripping your hair instead. Tightly. Pulling your head to the side, exposing your neck.
His mouth is there instantly. Hungrily kissing your neck, your jaw. His tongue licks your skin.
"You taste so good," he murmurs. "Everywhere."
Then he bites—not gently. Hard enough to leave a mark. Sucking hard at the spot.
You scream, hands grip his shoulders.
"Everyone will see them tomorrow," he growls between bites. "Everyone will know you're taken. That you belong only to me."
He moves harder, faster. The sound of skin against skin fills the room.
His hand leaves your hair, moves to your chest. Grips tightly, kneads. His mouth follows—leaving your neck, traveling down.
He finds your nipple again, sucks it into his mouth. Hard. His tongue circles, flicks.
"Fuck, Vox!"
His hand moves to your other breast. He kneads, pinches the nipple between his claws.
Then his mouth switches—giving the other breast the same attention. He sucks, licks, and gently bites.
"So perfect," he murmurs against your skin. "These breasts, this body, everything. Made for me."
He straightens up—kneels between your legs. He pulls your hips with him. One hand moves between you.
He finds your clit and circles relentlessly.
"Oh God, oh fuck—"
"So close again?" he teases. But he doesn't slow down. "My greedy little woman can't get enough."
"Vox, please—"
"Please what?" His fingers circle faster. "What do you need?"
"More, I need more—"
He pulls almost completely out, then thrusts back hard. He hits the perfect angle.
You scream.
"This?" he growls. "Is this what you need?"
"Yes, yes, fuck it—"
He fucks you harder—relentlessly. His fingers circle, his other hand grips your hip so tightly you'll have marks tomorrow.
"I love seeing you like this," he murmurs. "You're breaking for me. So powerful everywhere else, but here? Here you're mine, where I can destroy you like this."
His words, his fingers, his cock—it's all too much.
"Vox, I—"
"Do it. Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to."
The tension breaks for the second time. You come screaming, your body arched, your nails digging into his arms.
"Fuck yeah," he growls. He fucks you through your orgasm, his movements becoming erratic.
"I'm filling you up," he growls. "I'm going to fill you up with me. Even if it's not possible in hell—" His voice cracks. "I don't give a fuck. I want to possess you like this. I'm going to fill you to the brim, so you'll be dripping with me."
His breeding kink, his lust for power—it all comes through in his words.
"Please," you gasp. "Fill me, Vox. I want you."
"Fuck!" He thrusts deep, holding on tight. You feel him pulsing, filling you.
He comes with your name on his lips, his body trembling above yours.
8:50 PM – BREAK
He collapses onto you — carefully, not his full weight. Breathing heavily against your neck.
Long minutes pass. Just your breathing, heartbeats, candlelight.
“That was…,” he begins.
“Incredible,” you whisper.
“You’re incredible.” He kisses your neck gently — so different from the bites earlier. “So fucking perfect for me.”
He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him. Reaches for the blanket, throws it over both of you.
You snuggle against his chest, leg over his. Completely exhausted.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much.”
“I love you too.”
The candles burn low. The room smells like sex and you.
You think he wants to sleep — you’re both exhausted. But then you feel his hands wandering again. Gentle this time. Over your back, your hip.
“Vox?” you ask softly.
“I can’t stop touching you.” His voice is soft. “I want you again.”
“We just—”
“I know.” He kisses your head. “But I can’t get enough of you. Is that okay?”
You lift your head, look at him. His eyes are softer now — no less hungry, but more tender.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Always.”
9:15 PM – ROUND TWO BEGINS
He gently turns you onto your stomach. You let him, curious.
His hands begin to massage you — your shoulders. Firm but gentle. Working the tension out.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs.
His hands wander lower — along your spine. His thumbs work the muscles.
It feels good. You sigh, relaxing into his touch.
“That’s it,” he says softly. “Relax for me.”
His lips follow his hands. Kisses across your back — every vertebra. Soft, tender.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. “Every inch of you.”
His hands move further down — your lower back. Massaging there, his thumbs pressing firmly.
You moan softly into the pillows.
“Does it feel good?” he asks.
“Yes~.”
“Good.” His kisses wander. Between your shoulder blades, your lower back.
His hands reach your ass. Kneading gently — not sexual yet, not yet, just massaging.
But then his touches change. Become slower, more sensual.
His thumbs stroke over the curve of your ass, your thighs.
“You have the most perfect body,” he murmurs. “I could spend hours exploring you.”
His hands move between your thighs. Gently parting them.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes.”
His fingers stroke over you. You’re still wet from earlier, from him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re still full of me.”
His fingers glide over you. Then you hear him — does he taste himself on his fingers?
“We taste good together,” he murmurs.
Then his hands are back on you. One on your hip, the other stroking over you — teasing, not enough.
“Vox, please…”
“Please what, Doll?” His voice is pure seduction. “What do you need?”
“More. You.”
“More precisely?” One finger strokes over your entrance — doesn’t enter. “Where do you want me?”
“Everywhere. Please.”
He laughs darkly. “Greedy.”
But he gives you what you want. Two fingers slide into you — slow and gentle.
You moan into the pillows.
“So tight still,” he murmurs. “Even after I fucked you.”
He begins to finger you — slow, deep. His thumb circles your clit.
“Vox, oh fuck—”
“I’ve got you.” His other hand strokes over your back, soothing. “Enjoy it.”
He works you patiently. Adds a third finger — stretching you, preparing you.
The combination of his fingers inside you, his thumb on your clit, his kisses on your back — it builds you slowly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you.”
His fingers curl, finding the perfect spot inside you. Pressing.
“Fuck!” you cry into the pillows.
“Found it.” He does it again, and again. His fingers working relentlessly inside you.
The tension builds — different this time. Deeper.
9:35 PM – ROUND TWO – DEEPER
He pulls his fingers out — gently. You gasp at the loss.
“Let’s keep going,” he says. His hands grip your hips. “On your hands and knees, baby.”
You obey. Your legs tremble as you position yourself.
His hands stroke over your back, your ass.
“You look so damn good like this,” he murmurs. “On your knees for me.”
He positions himself behind you. You feel him — hard, ready again.
“I want to take you like this,” he says. His hands on your hips, firm. “So deep.”
“Please,” you pant.
He slides into you — one long, slow thrust. The angle is different — he feels deeper.
You both moan loudly.
“Fuck, so deep,” he pants. “I can— fuck, you feel so good.”
He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. His hands wander over your back, soothing.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes. Move, please move.”
He pulls halfway out, thrusts back in — slow. Testing.
“Fuck~,” you moan.
“Good?” His hands grip your hips tighter.
“Harder, Vox.”
“As you wish.” And he does. Fucking you harder, deeper.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room again. Mixed with your moans.
One of his hands leaves your hip, travels up your back. Grabs your hair — not painfully, but firmly. Pulls your head back.
“I want to hear you,” he says. “Don’t hide those sweet noises.”
He fucks you harder, and you can’t stay quiet. Moaning, panting, screaming his name.
“That’s it. Let the whole fucking Tower hear who you belong to.”
His other hand moves around you, finds your breast hanging from the position. Grabs it, kneads.
“I love your body like this,” he murmurs between thrusts. “Completely at my mercy.”
He lets go of your hair, both hands now on your hips. Gripping so tightly — the marks of his claws burn into your skin.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to keep.”
“Yours,” you pant. “Only yours.”
He shifts the angle slightly — hits the perfect spot.
“Oh fuck, right there!”
“Here?” He does it again. “Is that what you need?”
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
He keeps the angle, fucking you relentlessly. One hand leaves your hip, moves between your legs. Finds your clit, circles.
“Vox, God—”
“Yeah, I’m your fucking God.” His fingers work you. “Say it. Who makes you feel this good?”
“You, Vox, only you—”
“Exactly.” His movements grow harder, more desperate. “Only me. Always me.”
The tension builds again — faster this time. Your body is oversensitive from earlier.
“I can feel you,” he pants. “You’re getting tighter. Are you that close again?”
“Yes—”
“Me too.” His voice is rough. “I’m going to fill you again. Pump you full—”
His breeding kink comes through again.
“Please,” you pant. “I want it. I want everything from you—”
“Fuck!” His movements become uncoordinated. “You can’t— you can’t just say shit like that—”
But you do anyway. “Fill me, Vox. Claim me. Make me yours.”
“Fuck, Y/N—” He thrusts deep, hard. His fingers circle faster on your clit.
The combination breaks you. You come screaming, your arms giving out. You collapse into the pillows, but he keeps your hips lifted.
“That’s it, milk my cock,” he growls. Fucking you through your orgasm.
Then he comes — thrusting deep, staying there. Filling you again.
“Mine,” he growls one last time. “All fucking mine.”
10:30 PM – CUDDLING
You lie on the carpet, under the blanket. Completely exhausted.
“That was the best Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.
You laugh weakly. “Because of the sex?”
“Because of everything. The day with you. Having you for myself.” He kisses your forehead. “Loving you the way I want.”
Long silence. Just candlelight and breathing.
“Y/N?”
“Hmm?”
“I have something else for you.”
“More? Vox, I can’t—”
“Not that.” He laughs softly. “Something else.”
He sits up — you protest because of the cold — reaches for his jacket. Pulls out a small box.
Your heart stops. “Vox…”
“Not what you think. Not yet.” He opens it.
A ring — elegant, subtle. With small engraved Vs.
“A promise ring,” he explains softly. “My promise to you: You’re the only one. Forever. And when the time comes…” His voice grows emotional. “…I’ll ask you. Properly.”
Tears stream down your face. “It’s beautiful.”
He slides it onto your finger. “I want everything with you, Y/N. Marriage, a life. Everything.”
“Me too,” you cry. “I want everything with you.”
He pulls you into his arms, holds you tight.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too.”
1:00 AM – LATE-NIGHT CONVERSATIONS
The candles are almost burned down. The room is dark, intimate.
“Can I ask you something?” you say softly.
“Always.”
“Earlier, when you— when you talk about filling me, even though we know it doesn’t…” You hesitate. “Is that—”
“My breeding kink?” he finishes. No shame in his voice. “Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s… complicated. It’s not really about children. It’s about…” He searches for words. “Possession. Power. Completely owning you — in a biological way.”
“Explain it to me.”
His hand moves over your back. “I’m an Overlord. Power is everything to me. Control. And you… you’re this powerful, incredible woman. Everyone wants you. But you’re mine.” His voice lowers, his face moves closer to yours. “And when I fuck you, when I fill you… it’s like the ultimate victory. Like I’m marking you as mine on the most primitive level.”
“Even if it doesn’t work.”
“Even then. It’s… an instinct.” He kisses your head. “Is that… okay? Is it too much?”
“No.” You kiss his chest. “I love it. I love how possessive you are. How much you want me.”
“I want you more than anything.” His arms tighten around you. “You are my power, Y/N. My real power.”
3:00 AM – LAST MOMENTS
You can’t sleep. Too much happiness. Too much love.
But he carries you into the bedroom — you protest that you can walk, but he ignores you.
He gently lays you in bed, lies down beside you. Immediately pulls you into his arms.
“Sleep, my love,” he whispers.
“Will you stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere anymore.” His arms firm, secure around you. “Never again without you.”
“In three hours I have to turn everything back on,” he murmurs.
“Do you regret it?”
“Never. That was the most perfect day of my life.”
You cuddel closer to him.
“I love you,” he whispers. “Forever.”
“Forever,” you agree.
You fall asleep, the ring on your finger, safe in his arms.
6:00 AM – THE MORNING AFTER
You wake up in his arms. He’s already awake, watching you.
“Good morning, darling,” he murmurs.
“Morning.” You kiss him. “Sleep well?”
“The best sleep of my life.” He pulls you closer. “Because you were here.”
You play with the ring on your finger. He watches you, smiling.
“Ready?” you ask softly.
He sighs. “Yes. But…” He reaches for the remote. “…I made a new rule. Every evening, 8–10 PM — blackout. Just for us.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He presses the button. The Tower comes back to life.
Immediately, notifications bombard him. Hundreds.
You see him fighting it — the urge to check everything immediately.
Then he does something that surprises you: He mutes them all.
“One more hour,” he says firmly. “They can wait. You can’t.”
And he holds you close while the world outside wakes up, but your world — this bubble, just the two of you — lingers a little longer.
🌹🂱 🌹🂱 🌹🂱 🌹🂱
Autor's Note:
Welcome back, I hope this is after all you like. I love to write smut, so I always put it into specials or make it as a key point.
Let me know what you thing? what Special is next?
More Vox ? 📺🦈
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