Hello! Could I request hcs of Vox with reader who is a cat sinner/demon, kind a like Husk albeit a little more animalistic in behavior. They’re furred with pointed ears, a fluffy tail, cute paws, whiskers. Full, adorable kitty-cat.
They do cat things and have basic cat instincts. Such as meowing randomly, purring, hissing at people they really don’t like, loafing, kneading, fur puffing up and getting frazzled when they get nervous, jumping 8 feet in the air when startled, sleeping in the most uncomfortable positions, landing on their feet after falling from an ungodly height. The whole shebang. They don’t even realize they’re how much of a cat they’re being a half the time, their mannerisms are just that ingrained into them at this point.
Heyy! Morning friendssss and thank you for the request!! Trying to empty out my inbox today 🙈 ok I hope this ok!!
Vox x cat reader (fluff/soft headcannons)
First Meeting / How You Catch His Eye
Vox first spots you on one of his surveillance feeds—probably while obsessively monitoring the Hazbin Hotel or just scanning random sinners for potential “assets.” You’re perched impossibly high on a precarious ledge, tail flicking lazily, then you miss a step, plummet eight stories, and land perfectly on all fours without a scratch. He rewinds the footage three times, screen glitching with intrigued static.
He tracks you down in person (because of course he does) and the first thing you do is hiss at him on instinct when his TV head flickers too brightly. Vox bursts out laughing—actual, genuine static-laced chuckles—because no one has the balls to hiss at an Overlord like that. Your ears flatten, fur puffs up slightly, and he’s instantly hooked. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest little security threat I’ve ever seen?”
He offers you a “job” on the spot (really just an excuse to keep you close). You knead his expensive coat absentmindedly while considering it. He short-circuits for a second.
Daily Life & Cat Instincts Around Vox
You purr involuntarily whenever Vox is in a good mood and scratches behind your ears or under your chin with those clawed fingers. The first time it happens he freezes, screen displaying a loading symbol, then grins like he just won the lottery. He starts doing it on purpose during meetings with the other Vees just to watch you melt against his side and rumble like a broken engine.
Random meows escape you mid-conversation. Vox will be monologuing about his latest broadcast ratings and you’ll just let out a soft “mrrp?” when he pauses. He finds it endearingly distracting and starts pausing dramatically on purpose to fish for more cat noises.
When you’re comfortable (which is rare around most people but happens more and more with him), you loaf right on his desk or in his lap while he works. Tail curled neatly around your paws, eyes half-lidded. He complains about “fur on the equipment” but never actually moves you. Sometimes he even dims his screen brightness so the glow doesn’t bother your napping.
Kneading is a problem. You do it on his suit, on his couch, on his thigh when you’re cuddling. Your claws come out a little and snag the expensive fabric. Vox hisses through his teeth every time but secretly loves the possessiveness of it. “Careful, kitten— that’s Italian leather. …Do it again.”
You hiss at Valentino on sight. Full-on, back arched, fur frazzled, ears pinned. Val thinks it’s hilarious and teases you; Vox finds it weirdly satisfying and uses it as an excuse to keep you away from Val’s studio.
Startle response is catastrophic. Someone drops something behind you? You launch eight feet straight up with a yowl, land on Vox’s shoulders, and dig in with all four paws. He glitches out, screen flashing error messages, but then wraps an arm around your waist to steady you and mutters, “Easy, easy… I’ve got you, furball.”
Affection & Relationship Dynamics
Vox is a massive tease about your cat traits, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine fondness. He loves how unfiltered and instinct-driven you are—it’s the opposite of the calculated, image-obsessed world he lives in.
He installs cat trees and perches all over his penthouse and the Vee tower “for security reasons.” Really it’s so you can climb and watch everything from high places like you love. He calls you his “little overwatch.”
Late nights when he’s overworking himself, you’ll jump onto his lap, start kneading his chest, and purr until he finally powers down and relaxes. He’ll rest his head against yours and grumble, “You’re going to be the death of my productivity, you know that?”
You sleep in the weirdest positions—draped halfway off the bed with your head hanging down, or curled into a tight ball in the sink because “it’s the perfect temperature.” Vox takes pictures every single time and adds them to a private folder labeled “Kitten.exe.”
When you get nervous or overstimulated (crowds, loud arguments between the Vees, etc.), your fur puffs up like a bottlebrush and your tail gets huge and bottle-brush fluffy. Vox finds it adorable and will scoop you up, tucking you against his chest so his static hums like white noise to calm you.
He’s surprisingly protective. Anyone who mocks your animalistic habits or calls you “just a dumb cat” gets a very public, very glitchy dressing-down on live television. No one disrespects what’s his.
Jealousy & Possessiveness (Vox Edition)
Vox’s ego means he gets jealous easily, especially if you show any cat-like affection to someone else (even accidentally).
You knead on Angel Dust once while visiting the hotel? Vox’s eye twitches so hard his screen cracks for a second. He immediately pulls you into his lap the moment you’re back and makes you knead on him instead while broadcasting passive-aggressive commentary.
Alastor exists. If you ever so much as flick an ear in the Radio Demon’s direction, Vox short-circuits and starts monologuing about how “that outdated fossil” could never appreciate a “perfectly engineered little predator” like you.
On the flip side, he melts when you choose him. You hiss at strangers but immediately rub your cheek against his screen or shoulder to mark him with your scent? He practically bluescreens with smug delight.
Grooming is a thing. You’ll lick his screen or his hand absentmindedly to “clean” him. He finds it bizarre and strangely intimate, and eventually starts returning the gesture by running his fingers through your fur in long, soothing strokes.
You land on your feet after falling from ridiculous heights so often that Vox stops panicking… mostly. He still instinctively reaches out with a cable or his own arms to catch you, grumbling, “One of these days you’re going to give me a damn virus.”
Cuddling is peak. You sprawl across his chest, purring loud enough to vibrate his internal components, tail wrapped around his arm. He’ll trace little heart patterns on your back with a claw and whisper (in that distorted, affectionate voice), “Who needs ratings when I’ve got the best view in Hell right here?”
