— Vox x Reader
— Summary: You are Vox's sweet lover, and Vox is your arrogant lover. At least, on the outside.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚
Prideful. Possessive. Cocky. Arrogant.
All words that you would use to accurately describe your lover, Vox.
You had been told by Valentino, Velvette, and every VoxTek employee imaginable that Vox had always been this way. And such insight you had to rely on, as you didn't even know the media overlord for maybe five minutes before he asked you out on a date. Even then, that estimate is generous.
You had arrived in hell confused and utterly dismayed. For starters, your death was unexpected. You passed away in car accident. Luckily for you, your death was instant and painless. However, that did not mediate the issues you faced after death. Once you realized you were in hell, your first question was: "How!"
A question that Vox would ask you almost every day, once the two of you began dating. You knew that you weren't a saint, but it would be deception to claim that you weren't sweet as pie. You were always so kind and loving to the people around you. However, you did harbor a significant amount of hatred for people who had wronged you in the past. So, you figured the sheer amount of hatred you had for those people—justified or not—was what brought you down to hell. Unforgiveness, you supposed, would be the proper term.
After being in hell for only a few days, you learned how it operated. You realized that you had to get a job, which was arguably the most infuriating part of this entire predicament. You worked so hard on earth, always assuring yourself that one day, you would never have to work again. Those dreams were decimated. So, you waltzed into the first building you saw that was plastered with "We are hiring!" signs. Which ended up being Voxtek.
You approached the nearest welcome desk that was occupied by an attendant, although there were multiple of them. You shared that you were in need of a job, and barely got a few sentences into your conversation with the woman, when you heard a loud, boisterous voice commanding her attention.
"Hey! Girl with the blonde hair and the gills! I need you to stop—" The man began angrily, as he approached the welcome desk you were at. The moment you turned your head and his eyes met yours, however, he stopped himself from speaking.
"Oh—! Hi! Hello there! My sincerest apologies," The man said, as he composed himself, approaching you with an opened hand. "I don't believe I've seen you around my building before?" He was sure to emphasize the "my building" portion of his sentence, ensuring you knew his importance.
"You have not," you responded with a warm smile, as you shook his hand in return. "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I just arrived in hell and I am in need of a job, so—"
"A job!" He interrupted you, scoffing. "Oh, please. A beautiful woman such as yourself has no place working."
The man's statement caught you off guard, causing you to blush. His hand tightened around yours.
"The names' Vox. But you can call me anything, baby, considering I'm taking you out tonight!" He announced confidently, quite arrogantly, in fact.
And from there, it was history. You were moved into Vee Tower within two days. You had your own room, of course! Until you didn't. Not even a week after that, you unofficially moved into Vox's room.
Being Vox's lover naturally taught you a lot about the man. A lot about his past, his personality, that arrogance of his. While it's easy to assume that Vox is simply an arrogant man, you learned after a while that his arrogance wasn't actually genuine, but clothed. That Vox's arrogance was something that he slipped on—above every action, beneath every word—to hide who he truly was. A deeply insecure man.
You had suspected that this was the case for quite a few weeks after you began dating Vox. But your suspicions were not proven fully correct, until a specific argument with him took place. It was just a lovers' quarrel, until Vox blurted out...
"Just say I'm not enough, okay?! Just say that you don't love me, and I'm not good enough, and laugh in my face!"
You were silenced after that. The tension between the two of you immediately dissolved, and Vox stood there, appalled and mortified that he confessed what he just did. His breathing quickened, and you could see that panic was rapidly etching onto his face.
You walked over to Vox, engulfing him into a hug. You heard him tell you through tears about his past with Alastor. How Vox simply wanted to be business partners with Alastor, and got brutally rejected. How Vox was abysmally laughed at. In that moment, it all made sense.
"I love you, Vox," you assured him. That's all you said, although you wanted to say so much more. You knew that those three words—no more, no less—were exactly what your lover needed to hear in that moment. You were proven correct on that as well, as Vox hugged you tighter.
From that moment on, at the end of the day, Vox left his arrogance at the door to your shared bedroom when he entered. You could practically see it every time. The way he seemingly unbuttoned his arrogance from his body and let it fall, only to pick it up the next morning, for everyone but you.
But when the day concludes, it is only you and Vox. And that is all that matters to him. The sassy comments and crossed arms that breathed through Vox's existence, were abandoned the second he entered through that bedroom door. Instead, the genuine, true, "old" Vox would return. One that not even Valentino and Velvette saw. But you saw. You, and only you.
"Hello," Vox greeted sweetly, as he sat next to you.
"Hello." You mirrored back, as you laid on Vox's shoulder.
"I missed you all day today. It was extra exhausting today. Katie, she had the— actually, I don't even want to talk about it." Vox sighed and chuckled, and you chuckled in response.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" You teased.
Vox carefully moved your head off of his shoulder, forcing you to face him. He smiled at the sight of your smile.
"Takeout?" Vox assumed.
"Yes."
"I'll order for us right now, okay?" Vox smiled as he left your side, heading to grab the takeout menus. You always prefer having paper versions, rather than having to scroll through Vox's screen, when he's already ever-so exhausted.
Your lover was an arrogant man. But it wasn't genuine arrogance. It was clothed arrogance. And Vox would always take that off for you.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚
Thank you for reading! I'm new, so don't forget to follow, reblog, and let me know what you think and all that!
You and Vox may not have kids in the traditional sense.
Notes: cursing - a bit of sex talk - high class being a pain - blood and death -
Being Vox's wife did come with a lot of things. One of them was be a fake ass and give polite smiles to other Overlords while cringing inside.
Vox liked to be on the spot. A lot. And who better than you to be besides him? He called you endearing names, but if he even said "thropy wife" then you were getting a virus for him or leaving him to sleep alone.
Runing some shows was a choice too.
But what you hated the most was when you were asked if when you two lived (Vox could not keep it down that you and him were wife and husband back on his living days) why or where was your kid?
First, fuck you!! Your life and choices were yours and no one could judge your life when living, besides what type of mother would want their kid to end in hell?
Yes. You could be a bitch but you were not that heartless.
And the fact that sinners could not have kids in hell was both a blessing (pun indeed) because Vox was never a fan of ending outside. And a curse, cause more than once you would get these pitiful looks like "who is going to be the next CEO for VoxTek?"
They were killing your husband but whatever. You would brush it off and go on. Cause who gives a fuck? Not you.
But Vox did. Lots of times actually, and you did not blame him. He was the face of VoxTek and the one who should have a heir (what a medieval mentality). So, most decided to blame you instead of the "sinner cant make kids" and when Vox did listen to the rest blaming YOU?
Oh, it was kill time. Cause no one speaks ill of his wife. He counted one month and was sure the sharks had got fatter....maybe he over did himself.
But how could he held himself back when he would come to the shark room and see Vark being on his side, getting belly rubs from you? His tail moving like a big puppy.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Vox never programmed it, but whenever the sharks sent him information of your status (control freak) he would get a:
"Mom's fine. Vital signs in check. No enemy near by. Belly rubs good"
They called you their mom. He had to reset back when it happened the first time. Did a double check and blasted himself to you.
"WE HAVE KIDS!!" He had said almost looking demonic while his smile broke his face.
"Yes. The sharks are our kids" Your tone had been so centrain and down. Like, "no joke Vox, i fed them, i play with them, i let them listen to music, and i pet them, of course these are our kids"
And Vox had screamed so loud he almost broke the tank glass and hugged you and spinned you till you demanded to be let down.
And he did, like an obedient dog.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~
So, whenever someone tried to down talk you and your lack of kids. You would give them a sharp polite smile, before seeing them being tore down by an angry Vark who would look at you like
"Did i do good Mommy?"
"Oh you did, my marvellous Kid" You would respond hugging the big creature while the rest would take several steps back.
Cause no one was crazy or stupid enough to tell you that these Sharks were not your kids.
Well, till the new intern came, thats when Vark got another feed.
Omg I need Alastor pretending not to give a fuck about reader until he finds out shes good friends with vox so he fucks her #pornwithnoplot #needhim #alastorspreadurcheeks
OMG? porn with no plot…but the plot is lowkey fire wdym??? i actually wanna write this out.
also the last tag is WILD i just spit out my drink LOL.
so like you work for voxtech but you stay at the hotel bc it’s free, duhhhh.
you just happen to be having a conversation with charlie after being there a while and he overhears that you work as one of his meeting assistants and he’s furious so he just has to have you…
YAY.
-
you sat at the bar, husk grumbling about something angel said prior to your arrival.
“would you bullshit somehwere else? i had a long day”
you chuckle, and husk scoffs.
“oh, please. you ain’t even been at the hotel long, you don’t know a hard day”
husk smirks as you laugh at his comment, finishing your drink, and sliding it over the bar for him to scrub clean.
the silence is so loud, even with the high pitched squeaking of your glass, husk decides to break it once more.
“where do you go when you’re not here anyway?”
you smile.
“that’s for me to know, and you to find out, furball”
you shimmy yourself off the stool, readying yourself to head in for the night.
“watch yourself, new sinner”
as you spin around, you’re face to face with the radio demon, and he tilts his head in amusement.
“pleasure”
he says through his razor teeth, and you roll your eyes.
yeah, he was hot, but he was rude…all the time.
it turned you on, so you hated him, right?
he didn’t seem to give a shit about you anyway.
he slid past you, and sat right on the stool you just were.
“night, y/n”
husk says before you walk off, and you turn to respond.
“you t-“
“-whiskey on the rocks, good sir!”
you were taken back as alastor purposely cut you off.
your eyebrows furrowed, and you blinked a few times as husk shrugged.
you scoffed and spun on your heels, alastor not even sparing a glance as he set his staff to lean on the bar.
as you head towards the stairs, you notice vaggie and charlie shortly behind, who beamed when she saw you.
you gotta admit, you loved her determination and charisma, but it was a little late at night for charlie morningstar.
but there was no avoiding it now.
“y/n! you’re back late, where have you been!?”
you sighed and gave her a smile and a side hug along with vaggie.
“work, per usual”
alastor really didn’t mind you, in fact, he was always indifferent unless he’s heard anything helpful, or quite the opposite from anyone.
there hasn’t seemed to be anything important with your presence, but maybe that’ll change.
so, his ears perked, listening to your conversation as he sipped his rocks.
“where’s that? you work a lot then”
charlie’s curious and invasive personality was now showing, and your tired and inverted one wanted to protest, but it was nice having someone actually care for once, especially while working with someone who clearly didn’t.
even though you knew him when you were alive, it didn’t mean he was a pleasant person, but you kept your connection.
“i do. im slaving away constantly, but the perks are good enough, i guess”
alastors eyes twitched as you were obviously avoiding the answer, it was irritating him.
irritating him so much, he decided to join in.
“and what kind of perks could be better than staying here?”
his static voice surprised you as he spun on his stool, and you faced him.
“oh, all of a sudden you care about me? asshole”
“he’s right, y/n, if you’re being worked too hard, maybe we can help you”
charlie kindly offered as she usually does, and you sighed.
“vox is pretty headstrong and bossy”
alastors stomach dropped into his ass as he heard that name, and his neck twitched.
“vox?”
the sterness of alastors voice confused you.
“yeah…? i mean the media overlord has to have the best perks, no?”
alastor bursts out laughing, hysterically.
“oh, y/n, dear, you are so naive”
he turns back on his stool, sliding his drink over to husk, who catches it just before meeting its demise in pieces.
after that conversation, alastors thoughts on you had changed completely.
he was friendlier to you, he stayed close by, and he even started conversations first.
it was weird, but it fed your interest in him in the first place, sure.
only thing was, you knew he was up to something.
but maybe you’d let it happen.
you started to share drinks at the bar, have late conversations.
he’d give small gestures, like bringing you your drink from the bar or holding the door open when you’d arrive, walk you to your room late.
as if the hotel wasn’t the safest place to be realistically.
his demeanor towards you completely switched after that night, and you needed to know why.
“meet me in my tower later, dear, and maybe i’ll tell you”
his tower?
you needed to ask charlie about that one, you had no clue of this tower.
but as you arrived, he was already waiting.
the trapdoor slammed behind you, startling you.
it was very dim and quiet, only the glow of various buttons lit his silhouette as he stood in the red light.
“do you have something to tell me? or what?”
he chuckled, and placed down his cup of coffee, it spilling over the side slightly.
“oh, yes, as long as you’re alright with everyone else knowing too”
he stood up straight, walking towards you and around, making you spin.
“what?-“
then he stepped forward rapidly, and you stepped back all the way to his cockpit until you were laying against it, and he against you.
the coffee that sat now toppled onto the floor, mug shattering and liquid splashing into a mess.
your body grew hot at his closeness, but you were definitely stunned.
“al-!”
his leg shot up between your legs, and you cried as he shut you up.
“-i’ll give it to you straight, dear, vox and i go way back”
his leg moved dangerously against your clothed cunt, and you writhed against his thigh.
“he’s a flat-faced fraud, and you don’t deserved to be slaved around like that, no…-“
he trailed, leaning closer to your face.
your pussy throbbed as his abdomen rubbed onto yours.
“-not in that way, at least, right, sweetheart?”
you gulped and a pathetic whine came from your throat, so you tried to cover it up by speaking.
“w-what’s your point?”
he hummed a laugh against your face.
“i could treat you so much better, you’d be much safer in my hands”
his hand lifted, and roamed your side, down your hip as he tugged onto the waistband of your bottoms.
“admit to being mine and you’ll never have to worry about that freak again”
you rubbed against his thigh, and nodded.
“that’s all?”
he growled, his smile growing wide and antlers rising.
a green aura formed around his hands as they groped you, but then he turned, and clicked a few buttons.
“let’s tell him ourselves, shall we, dear?”
he slammed onto a button, pulled a lever, and an echo of feedback rang all around you.
his hand lifted up your shirt and powerfully groped your tit, and you moaned, but it echoed too.
was he…broadcasting to all of hell?
“good evening, sinners! i have a special broadcast for all of you!”
he eyed you again, flipped his hand around, and his finger had ripped your shirt clean from your torso.
you gasped at the cold that nipped your skin.
“i hope you all are listening, because i have an important guest tonight-”
as if on queue, he brought both hands under your thighs, and spread you open in front of him, clearly soaked though your bottoms.
you moaned loudly as his knee made contact with you again, and you rut into him.
“-who has a big announcement”
he leaned down, and nipped your neck with sharp teeth.
“isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
velvette recognized alastor, and alerted vox immediately.
“i don’t know what that shit-fuck is up to, but it sounds like y/n is with him, vox”
alastor has really done it now, as vox angrily listened with a glitching screen and shockwaves uncontrollably attacking his body, he couldn’t control it when it came to him.
“he’s fucking dead”
voxs screen overheated as he heard you moaning and whining behind alastors mic, but it being his name.
it was pleading to alastor.
“what a fucking creep”
vox grumbled.
“i don’t know, sounds like she’s enjoying it”
val and velvette chuckle, and vox shoots them a glare.
val shrugs.
“her moans would be perfect in one of my pornos”
your naked cunt drooled down your fingers as you touched yourself, and he held your legs open with the most perfect view, having you beg his name for all of hell to hear.
“tell them who you belong to, little fawn, who do you want now?”
your legs trembled against his hold, pussy begging to be full.
“you, alastor, please”
his sharp nails dug into your legs as he held you wider.
he’d taken himself out from his restraints not too long ago, lining himself up to your slick.
“that’s right, dear”
his head popped into your cunt, and your legs reacted by trying to close, but he refused.
he pushed his full length, and the disgusting echoes of slapping were being broadcasted to whoever in hell could hear.
it was embarrassing, it got you off so good.
you reached up and grabbed his antlers, to which he growled lowly and fucked himself farther onto you.
you’d never been folded like this before, it was overwhelming as he filled you so good.
“alastor, i’m-! please, fuck-!”
he fucked you incoherent, laughing maniacally at how pathetic you lay under him.
“you what, sweetheart? don’t forget we’re on air…right old friend?”
vox was furious.
hearing you like this was flustering, but he was more worried about how he was going to kill the radio overlord for good.
Could you do a platonic gen z overlord reader for Hazbin, going over their relationships with the other overlords and maybe some of the shenanigans they've gotten into? They like to get under people's skin if they don't like them, but occasionally they'll actually respect one of the other overlords like Zestiel. Just depends on what kind of person they're interacting with, they'd probably hate the Vees so they'd bully them constantly lmao. If they don't have a reason to bother someone though, they won't so it's not like they're constantly picking on all of them.
Sorry if this is a bit vague. Thanks for your time!
Gen-Z overlord reader one-shot
A/n: Hope you like it💛💛💛. Anyways requests are open. Rules here.
• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •
The meeting of the Overlords had barely started and you were already regretting waking up this morning. The room was full of ancient demons, all powerful, terrifying, and, honestly, kind of dramatic. And there you were: the youngest Overlord in Hell, the one who climbed the ladder faster than anyone thanks to the same thing that killed you.
Social media.
Even in Hell, your account was blowing up. You had a whole fanbase made of sinners who thought your chaotic videos were “relatable” and “valid.” If they knew you scammed your fans with a fake digital coin when you were alive? Some did. They still followed. Clout was clout.
You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, looking perfectly bored as Zestial spoke. He always got the floor first because he was old, powerful, and, something you actually respected, totally uninterested in petty beef. You never disrespected him. In fact, you kind of liked him. He reminded you of that one teacher who didn’t treat you like an idiot.
And then Velvette arrived.
She didn’t walk in. She exploded into the room like a glitter bomb that hated everyone.
-Ugh, did we really need a reunion today?- she snapped, eyes rolling so hard they practically spun. -Half of you smell like you died before deodorant was invented.-
A few Overlords glared. Someone hissed. Someone else tried to pretend they were too important to care.
You sat up straight, jaw tightening.
Velvette didn’t bother to look at you. -And you, little social-media-wannabe- she sneered, -how does it feel copying my whole aesthetic?-
You smiled sweetly. -I don’t know, Velvette. How does it feel being threatened by someone ten thousand followers ahead? Must be rough-
The older Overlords tried not to laugh. Some failed.
She glared daggers. -You’re only relevant because of teens with brain rot-
-And you’re only relevant because Vox pays bots to boost your numbers- you shot back. -We all have our things-
Vox’s eye flickered like a glitch about to bite someone. Valentino choked on a laugh. You turned just enough to smile at him with that “try me” look. He shut up real quick.
You didn’t like the Vees. Any of them. Vox thought he was superior because he had a built-in screen. Valentino was a walking red flag wrapped in toxic masculinity and cheap cologne. Velvette was… Velvette.
So you bullied them. Professionally. Elegantly. Consistently.
Last week you hacked Vox’s broadcast to replace his face with a PowerPoint presentation titled “Why You Should Touch Grass.” He was furious for days.
Two days ago you convinced Valentino that everyone could see his search history scrolling above his head like a halo. He panicked and stayed home.
Yesterday you greeted Velvette by calling her “Grandma Glitter.” She threatened to strangle you with her purse strap.
But today? Today was different.
Today she was insulting Zestial.
You slammed your hands on the table. -Hey. Don’t talk to him like that-
Velvette blinked, surprised you’d stepped in. Zestial looked at you with one raised brow, like he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or concerned.
-You’re all so sensitive- Velvette scoffed.
-I’m not sensitive- you said. -I just have a thing called manners. You should Google it. Oh wait—Vox probably blocked the word.-
A couple Overlords snorted.
-And besides- you added, -Zestial actually respects others. You? You treat people like props.-
Velvette stepped forward, lip curled like she was about to start something. You stepped forward too, phone already out.
-One more step and I’m livestreaming this- you warned.
She froze.
You smirked. -Thought so-
She stormed to her seat, muttering curses under her breath. Vox glitched angrily. Valentino sulked. And you leaned back again like nothing happened.
Zestial cleared his throat and continued the meeting, but you noticed the slight nod he gave you. Respect earned. Not from everyone, of course. Some Overlords still didn’t know what to make of you. Some thought you were annoying. Some thought you were harmless.
Hiya! I was wondering if you’d be open to an Alastor x Reader request! You can make it NSFW or SFW if you want.
So, the idea. (It was inspired by a Vox fic but…what if Alastor?)
Imagine Alastor’s shadow got a little too comfortable around the reader and Alastor got annoyed at how much information it was giving away about it’s owner without his permission, so he scolded it and ordered his shadow not to go near us. This angers his shadow, so it decides to play a prank on his master. The shadow ends up trapping Alastor in his shadow tentacles and lifting him into the air where he dangles there for a bit before, guess what, we come in! (For the tentacles part, I heavily want to take inspiration from the Vox fic and have one tentacle wrapping around his hips and manhood-) We just stand there staring for a second before he finally builds up the courage to ask us for help or growls at his shadow for allowing this to happen and we offer him help. Finish however you like! Again, you can make it SFW with cute fluff or NSFW, your choice!
Sorry if this is too much, just thought it might be interesting!
I am so sorry this took me so long to get to. Like a year or maybe even more. But I swear I never forgot about it. You probably did. And I wasn't even totally true to your prompt. This one got away from me but it's the first thing I've written in a good long while so I let the story do its own thing. I hope if you're still interested that you like it.
Secrets In The Dark
TW: for once, not really any. Other than Alastor is his own warning.
Thank you @dividers-are-us for the perfect banner to this fic. And thank you to my darling wife @inuhalfdemon for being my forever beta and saying nice things about my poetry.
Everyone keeps secrets, even down here in Hell.
One might think otherwise, given most souls that fall down to this hot and wretched place have nothing left to lose, so why bother hiding anything?
But there's always something worth hiding, isn't there?
A few down here understand the power of a secret. Just like a slight of hand in a game of cards; keeping ones best tricks to themselves until an opportune moment is how many have risen to become Overlords.
Alastor is among those ranks and he is anything but forthcoming about . . . well . . .anything, really.
You know he likes jazz, coffee, the color red, polite manners, rare meat, and a solid pun.
You know he doesn't like Lucifer or the Vees.
And he seems to, just maybe, like you.
But you couldn't decide for yourself if you liked him back with the very limited and superficial information you had on him.
Until a particular train of thought circled in your brain for long enough and one day, a spark of an idea took to the kindling of your mind.
The Radio Demon.
You enjoyed radio shows when you were alive.
There was a favorite of yours, quite popular in your day in fact. And it had a famous opening line.
"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? . . . The Shadow knows."
And a shadow you indeed had access to.
At first it started with the smallest of gestures. One evening while you were headed to Husk's bar for a quick drink, you passed Alastor, who was being trailed by his usual dark companion. Behind Alastor's back, you managed to catch the shadow's attention and beckon . . . It? Him? Them? . . . Over to you.
The creature seemed skeptical at first. You could swear it was attempting the same cocked eyebrow look of boredom that Alastor often wore.
"How does Alastor take his whiskey?" you asked in a hushed whisper.
"He takes it neat," Husk said, not bothering to be quiet or subtle with his direct starring.
You ignored him, eyes fixed on the shadow, who pulled his head back in surprise.
"Come on, I bet there's something he likes to drink as a treat now and then. I want to surprise him. No one else has to know."
"Oh for fucks sake, I'm right here-" Husk started but you shushed him over your shoulder.
With a glance at Husk and then back to you, the Shadow's sinister smile curled all the way up to its ears, before it slithered to the back of the bar and began pointing out ingredients.
"Bourbon . . . Of course . . . Simple syrup really? Huh. Oh and bitters . . . And . . . An orange twist? . . . Wait, he likes Old Fashions?!"
The Shadow nodded his head enthusiastically and after Husk made the drink, all the while muttering that no one around there "fucking listens to a god damned word I say," the Shadow plopped a round ice cube into the glass and slid it down the bar to you.
It was a success. You snuck it up to Alastor's tower and with a smile that was a bit more sly than usual, he thanked you, and only with one ominous warning to keep this drink order to yourself.
The revelation of secrets built from there.
He usually takes his coffee black but a couple of times, when he seemed to be walking extra stiffly and he and Lucifer were extra pissy with each other, the shadow prompted you to sneak in a shot of Bailey's.
The radio in your room started playing decidedly modern music that sounded suspiciously like it was from earth and you glanced a shadowy hand slipping away from it just in time for Alastor to practically break down your door and sweep you into an impromptu dance with him.
A classic novel appeared next to you on the sofa, in which Alastor complimented you on your taste of literature.
An extra dash of chillis thrown into a stove top pot, and you received glowing praise from him at dinner while everyone else clutched their throats in pain from the spice.
Even when Alastor noticed your gaze drifting to the wall behind him, where his shadow was dancing around while sporting an obvious deer tail, and shaking it about quite childishly, clearly hinting at the secret appendage Alastor kept tucked under his jacket, you seemed safe from the radio demon's wrath.
In truth, besides the regular warning to keep these hidden secrets to yourself, Alastor seemed almost charmed by the game you and his shadow seemed to be playing at.
But then the day came when a little slip of paper appeared under your door. In bold, messy handwriting that you recognized well from the scattered doodles always left around the hotel, was the beginnings of a poem.
"She is the black roses growing wild in the garden of my heart.
Not the sunflowers of my youth
Nor the forget me knots of adolescents
Not even the lillies of womanhood
White like purity but quietly poison.
Black roses with vines that wind like feral beasts
And thorns that pierce through bone and lung
She is threaded through my being
Too painful to endure
Too beautiful to be a weed."
The flow was a bit rough, and there was a mess of erasure marks throughout where he had clearly re-written a line or two. So there was no doubt this was Alastor's own original work and suddenly this secret seemed bigger than all the rest combined.
Alastor wrote poetry.
Alastor wrote romantic poetry.
You bit your lip like a nervous school girl, thinking these dark and macabre but also incredibly vulnerable lines of prose might just be about you.
"Where did you get that?"
Your face already burning, you turned around to see Alastor standing in your doorway. Spine rigid, hands behind his back, and head tilted to the side with a wide, stiff smile on his face, he was decidedly not charmed by this particular secret being revealed.
Mouth agape, you stood frozen as Alastor strolled over to you and plucked the offending paper from your hands before you could respond.
"It seems it's time we put a pause on this little game you and my shadow have been up to. Charlie did just host a class exercise in boundaries, didn't she? Wouldn't want to delay your progress on redemption even further than you already have, hmmmm?"
"No," you choked out, suddenly afraid of him for the first time.
His eyes narrowed and he sneered, "Good," before spinning on his heel, marching out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
Alone in his high corner of the hotel, Alastor paced, his thoughts a white noise screech he struggled to bring to heel.
He has just begun to form something of a plan when it came to you. More than just a general sense of want on his part. After months of careful observation and consideration, he had decided bringing you in a little closer could be beneficial. Even enjoyable. Even mutually so.
He did want you. Not in the horrendously wholesome way that Charlie and Vaggie went about their relationship. And certainly not in the lust driven way Angel was going after Husk. But perhaps something in between . . . Or adjacent to what the others had.
On his own terms of course.
And then his shadow had to go and be meddlesome.
Speaking of the loathsome thing, he spotted it finally making an appearance after that afternoon's blunder, sulking in the corner of his room. Alastor raised a brow at it, coming to a sudden stop, his lips a tight line of a smile.
"You know, my old friend, a trail of breadcrumbs is one thing, but letting prey at a whole feast is a bit reckless, wouldn't you say?"
His shadow moved, slipping down into the darkest corner before gliding back up and with an ethereal grace, made its way across the walls and closer to where Alastor was.
"If you have the rare original idea of your own, it's time to share with the class."
The shadow stopped, smile widening as its eyes narrowed at the insult.
"Don't be shy now-"
A journal went flying across the room, landing open at Alastor's feet. A journal that had quickly become full of his thoughts on you.
"I keep this locked away for a reason." Alastor's smile was ever present but his voice was low and cold. He picked up the journal and went to put it safely away.
A tendril of black came up from the floor and grabbed it from his hands, holding it open and out of his reach.
"Put it away."
He was well aware of the incriminating evidence within those pages, specifically about you. Explorations of thoughts and feelings he thought long dead, well before his earthly body had been buried. Ideas that were well and good in a journal that could be closed up and put away, out of sight and very much out of mind. But now his shadow seemed to be taunting him with it and that wouldn't do.
In obvious challenge, the darker half of him spread itself out across the wall, looming antlers and threatening teeth and claws on full display.
A lack of response is often the biggest response of all, so Alastor simply smirked back, acting unimpressed by this rather pathetic attempt at a therapy session.
But his shadow knew him better than most; knew his deepest darkest secrets and desires, and which nerves to strike.
Moving like black ink, the shadow seemed to liquify and poor down the walls, spreading across the floor before smoldering up like dark steam at Alastor's feet.
Then the peculiar sensations began; a subtle solidifying of darkness that began putting pressure just so and coiling around beneath his clothes . . .
"That's enough!" Alastor shouted, and the outburst came out with an out of tune screech. He tried with little remaining composure to pat the shadows away from his jacket and pants. "You've made your point and in the most crass of ways."
"Alastor?"
His name, your voice. A striking combination. He felt his ears go rigid and he spun around, but perhaps too quickly, as your eyes darted downward, noticing the places on his body that his shadow was retreating from.
"Oh I . . . I didn't realize . . ." you stammered out.
"Didn't you?" He sounded impatient. And maybe he was. Maybe it was time to regain control of the situation and clearly taking his methodical time wasn't working out. "Why else would you be galavanting around this hotel, playing games of revelation with my shadow?"
"It was just - just - I only wanted-" you stammered as he approached you, towering over your smaller stature, closing in when your back hit the now closed door you had snuck through without knocking.
"To find out my secrets? To get to know me?" He mocked before his eyes glowed redder and darker. "To enter my room unannounced? Without invite?"
"I didn't," you pleaded, lifting a shaking pointer finger around his arm. "It let me in. I was going to knock."
"Did it now?" Alastor raised a brow, looking quickly over his shoulder, before setting his blazing gaze back onto you. "Well I suppose, now that you are here, we should see where the night takes us."
"Maybe . . ." you swallowed and now there seemed to be a tiny glimmer of that darker nature of yours Alastor so enjoyed beginning to overpower your fear of him. "Maybe it knew you would want me in here tonight."
You were nervous, perhaps even terrified, but the rest of your body language betrayed your intentions, just as his shadow had given him away. Your pupils expanded, your cheeks flushed scarlet, and your pulse danced deliciously beneath the soft flesh at your neck.
"Too right. And I can't let you just walk out of here now. After all," he began, bringing his mouth towards that enticing pulse point, "you know so many of my secrets . . ."
His lips found your neck and you whimpered, your fingers digging into his arms when he bit down with tongue and teeth.
". . . I should like to discover some of yours tonight."
Sated, sore, a little bruised and bloody, but blissfully warm and content, you had fallen asleep next to Alastor. He had found the whole process more enjoyable that he had anticipated. He still didn't see the allure of going about your life giving into these basal needs with just anyone but it certainly served a purpose and with you it had been physically pleasant as well.
He smiled softly down at you as you began to lightly snore, ever so quietly, and he slipped himself out from under the sheets and threw on a robe.
By candle light, he opened the journal his shadow has placed on his desk, and began to finish the poem you had read earlier that day.
"The true beauty of roses
Even the sharpest can be tamed
Learn to touch around the thorns
Don't allow yourself to be maimed.
Stroke tenderly and avoid their bite
Then guide the branches how you like
Prune with a knife those black wild roses until I am sure they are mine
cw: major character death, grief, very vague descriptions of gore, the first year of extermination where no one knew what was happening, depression
Imagine being Vox’s partner in both your lives and afterlives, and you’re the only one who can calm him down and make him feel like he doesn’t need to be all powerful to be important. He dotes on you, and every Overlord knows not to mess with you because it wouldn’t matter if Vox was the strongest or weakest Sinner in Hell: he would not let any harm ever come to you, and would burn the world down for you.
Of course, that doesn’t mean you don’t have your little fights. Vox can hate your temper as much as he loves it, especially when you’ve both had bad days.
This little fight, however, was started because of him, and it escalated badly. You storm off, and he rolls his eyes, but accepts it’s his fault and he’ll apologise when he sees you later. You’re probably just in your office, or in your shared bedroom, ranting and raving just like him.
Vox doesn’t question VoxTek going into lockdown without his authorisation. Not when Velvette runs into his office and clings to him in a terror he hasn’t ever seen from her. Valentino is close behind, so scared he keeps speaking in Spanish, unable to think clearly enough to translate. Vox does hear what Velvette says though.
There are angels attacking. Exorcising. It’s a bloodbath out there. Vox doesn’t even think before running to your room. You were always so scared that you weren’t safe in Hell, no matter the empire he’d built for you.
You don’t answer. Maybe you’re still mad. After all, there aren’t windows in your room, so maybe you can’t see the utter carnage going on.
Vox stays against the door though. He knows VoxTek’s security can ward off demons, but not angels. If they do get through, Vox knows he’ll fight as long as it takes for you to escape. Your only Sin was loving him. It damned you once. He wouldn’t let it be the thing that got you killed again. Without you, he was nothing but the Overlord he portrayed himself as. The part of him that was Vincent Whittman would go away forever.
He stays against the door, telling you he’ll go down fighting for you. His cables are wrapped around Valentino and Velvette as he sees them both truly afraid for the first time, and he bitterly wishes you didn’t insist on making your bedroom the one place he couldn’t teleport into at will.
You don’t reply, but he doesn’t care. Even if you’re so angry you never speak to him again, he’ll die for you. Power is worth living for. You’re worth dying for.
When bells start to ring so loudly they can be heard even in the tower, Vox waits a few minutes before Velvette whips out her phone and starts calling everyone she knows, asking if anyone else knows what’s going on, and if it’s safe now.
After a minute, she gives the all clear. The angels are gone, presumably back to Heaven.
“You hear that, baby?” Vox laughs through the door. “It’s okay! We’re okay! Can you not be mad at me anymore? We did just have a near death experience, and that does qualify as more important than a fight.” He’s rambling and he knows it, but you always make his tongue twisted and his screen overheated.
“I’m taking the tower out of lockdown,” Velvette says. Then she notices him still waiting against the door. “Vox, people are gonna wanna know what the fuck just happened. Go outside and talk to them. We can monopolise this.”
He doesn’t listen. He waits for you like a dog. Velvette sighs.
“She’ll be out soon. She’s just pissy and probably doesn’t know what’s going on.”
After Val basically forces him away from the door, Vox can’t focus on anything but how you’re still giving him the silent treatment. He was ready to die again for you, and you didn’t even speak? Okay, maybe you weren’t in your room, but where else would you have stormed off to? There were few places outside the tower you liked.
He smells the blood before he sees the body. Maybe it’s his shark senses. Maybe it’s just how attuned he is to you, and how he swore he’d never let any harm come to you again.
That doesn’t matter now.
There’s blood on the doors that make up the entrance to Vee Tower.
Velvette stops first. Her phone falls out of her hand.
“Vox.” He doesn’t know if she’s saying it as a question or a warning or acknowledgment. He doesn’t care.
Val is the one who realises Vox is shaking, dead still in the corridor. If Vox wasn’t stuck in his own mind, he’d feel Val’s hand on his shoulder as the moth demon tells him they don’t know - they can’t know until they get outside because the glass is tinted.
But Vox knows. He knows you no matter what. You’re his and he’s yours. Whether as husband and wife, or as mates in the shark terms he so often loves to use. You’re a bonded pair, not meant to separate. There is no Vincent Whittman without Y/N Whittman, and there is no Y/N Whittman without Vincent Whittman. That is simple. That’s a fact.
So why are you lying there with your body so broken?
He breaks out of Val’s grasp like it’s nothing, and ignores any and all reporters coming to him to ask what’s going on. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters but you.
The door doesn’t open until he forces it to, using his body like a battering ram until it breaks.
Then he sees you. It is you. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t he know his wife?
It would be a lie to say you looked grotesque now, even if every other Sinner would describe you as such. You could never be grotesque in Vox’s - Vincent’s - eyes. No, you’re simply still as beautiful as you were the day you’d first met him.
“Y/N? Baby? Angel?” Fuck the crowds outside of the tower. His voice glitches out. “Y/N, please get up. Baby, wake up.” Vox drops to his knees and shakes what’s left of your body. You won’t wake up and he knows it, but he can’t think about that.
“Wake up,” he repeats. He forces himself to be quiet in case you’re still mad at him. “This isn’t funny. Regenerate already.”
Velvette screams as she finally gets outside. Vox doesn’t pay attention, but he can spot Valentino stopping and clamping his hand over his mouth before wrapping Velvette in his wings so she can’t see.
“Y/N, don’t you dare leave me.” His voice is angrier but he doesn’t care if you yell at him so long as you get up. “You promised me we were in this together. You can’t go back on that. You swore that when we got married. You can’t just leave me after ninety years. What do you expect me to do? I can’t be without you.”
When he doesn’t get an answer and his screen is glitching out from the tears running down it, he silently picks you up before shoving past Val and Velvette. The least he can do is take you home.
But that’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it? When you realised what was going on, you’d tried to get into the tower, but it was already on lockdown.
Vox was right about you being on the other side of the door. He just didn’t know which one.
“Vox.” He grips your body tighter and doesn’t even bother to look at Val.
“Shut up.” If you were here, you would’ve chided him for that. No - you are here. You’re just… gone too.
“Vox.”
“Val, shut up!” The power goes out completely. Not only that, but the cameras all around the building explode, along with Velvette’s phone. “She’s cold,” Vox whispers. “She hates the cold. She - she always wanted to be near me when she was cold. Said it was good I always overheated when I was with her.” He holds you even tighter, though he makes an effort to not bruise or scratch you. He’d never hurt you.
And yet he’s inadvertently killed you. If he didn’t start the fight, you’d be safe in the tower.
You two had met when you were his coworker in life. Eventually you’d realised he was picking off competition, and asked him to his face if he was going to kill you. That had been what made him fall for you even more. It had been so easy to kiss you and promised he’d never ever hurt you, let alone kill you.
And now he’s done both.
Vox goes back to your shared room, holding you the entire way. It’s completely dark now, as he’s pretty sure he’s just exploded every electrical item in Hell. Good. The light has gone from his afterlife, so no one else should have any.
He places you gently on the bed like he did on your wedding night. And also just like your wedding night, he lies beside you and holds your hand.
“You’re not coming back to me, are you?” he asks. “Would you have fought them more if I’d been better?” He regrets the question as soon as he asks it. This isn’t about him. You would’ve fought until your second death to survive. For not just him but the other two Vees, who adored you almost as much as he did.
“I can’t - I can’t...” His screen and subsequently voice box glitch into nothingness from the water soaked into them. He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t do anything without you.
Still, he forces a few more words out before his voice gives out completely.
“I’m here with you, baby. Not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.” He kisses your forehead and pulls you into his arms. Blood stains his clothes and he doesn’t care. He won’t ever wash this suit. It has pieces of you etched into it now.
Vox doesn’t know how long he stays there with you. Maybe it’s a minute or an hour or a day. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care.
But you feel lighter now, and he forces himself to adjust the way he’s lying with you. When he sees what’s happening, he freezes. Any power that did come back goes away again.
You’re fading. Irreversibly, slowly fading. Like you never existed at all. Like Vox never had a beautiful, wonderful wife, who he adored and laughed with and thanked God for every day.
He opens his mouth to call your name, but not a sound comes out. His voice box is destroyed.
So this is what happens when a Sinner dies again. Oh. Oh, he can’t even bury you. What is left of his heart breaks.
Cables come out and wrap around you as he pulls you closer to him, trying to hold you until the very end. He doesn’t blink despite every instinct telling him to. He won’t waste even a fraction of a second not looking at you when he knows this will be the last time he sees you.
He wants to tell you so many things. He wants to say that he’s not angry, that he hopes you’re somewhere as incredible as you, and that it’s okay, and he loves you so so goddamn much that Vincent Whittman has died right alongside you. It’s only Vox left - and even Vox has so little of himself left without you that he’s only a splinter remaining from a tree.
When Val and Velvette finally get into his room a month later, they complain about how he’s disappeared at a vital time and how he’s hiding, but then they see him. He hasn’t moved from the bed, his cables and arms still positioned like they’re holding you. Neither of them know what’s happened, but they know one thing: you’re gone and you’ve taken your husband with you.
“Vox?” Velvette cautiously says, though her mascara is running as she processes that you’re really not coming back. “Vox, you need to come back.” He barely stirs, and when he speaks, his voice is distorted from disuse.
“Not without her.” Velvette forces herself to speak and power off her phone that has the background of the four of you all together and laughing at a club.
“Things have changed outside. We’re holding the fort without you, but there’s something up with the broadcasts. There’s been no radio. Alastor’s… missing.” That catches Vox’s attention enough, and he moves the slightest amount.
“Alastor’s gone? You think they got him too?”
“Don’t know,” Velvette replies. “But it’s a power vacuum. We can be the four - three - most powerful Overlords now.”
Power.
If Vox had more power, would he have been able to see through cameras that you were outside? Would he have been able to save you? Could he have gotten through the lockdown defences and saved you?
Could power bring you back? If he was a god, he could control who was alive and who wasn’t. Would he be able to see you again if he was all powerful?
Vox sits up in bed.
“Yeah. Let’s get out there. We have a lot of work to do if we want to see Y/N again.” Neither Velvette or Valentino comments on that last sentence. They know that even a mention of you could have him bed-bound with grief. So they just swallow back their own heartbreak at your death and continue on.
They’ll get enough power for four Overlords instead of three. They’ll get more than that if it means you come back.
And Vox swears as he steps into the studio for the first time in a month that if God is the one who controls life and death, he is going to find a way to rip down everyone in Heaven and become a god to bring you back. No matter how long it takes.
Notes: we’re soon approaching the pilot episode; comparatively a shorter chapter this time
CW: sexual tension
Word Count: 2.6K
Part 1| Part 2
Chapter Three: Fighting or Flirting?
You let out a frustrated groan and dropped your head onto your desk.
The past few weeks had been nothing but problem after problem. Every time you solved one issue, another somehow appeared to take its place.
Across from you, Salina stood patiently, clutching several reports against her chest. That was never a good sign.
You lifted your head and rubbed your temples. "What happened now?"
Salina grimaced. "Our support department has been flooded with complaints since yesterday. Players are reporting that our games aren't functioning properly on VoxTek devices."
Your eye twitched. "What kind of problems?"
"The games begin crashing after launch. Some saves become corrupted. Others won't load at all." Salina opened one of the reports and scanned the contents. "And according to our programmers, a suspicious virus seems to be affecting only our software."
Silence filled the office.
You stared at her. Then stared at the ceiling.
Then stared back at her. "Of course."
Salina wisely said nothing.
You sank deeper into your chair and pressed your fingers against your forehead.
Of course it was Vox. Who else would it be?
Ever since the gala, the television-headed menace had apparently decided that annoying you was his newest hobby. Every few days another problem emerged. Nothing large enough to start a war over, but just irritating enough to disrupt your business.
Unfortunately for him, you were just as stubborn. Maybe more.
You exhaled slowly and forced yourself to think.
Anger was satisfying. Solutions made money. And you preferred money.
After several moments, your eyes opened. An idea was already beginning to form. A smile slowly spread across your face.
Salina immediately looked nervous. That smile usually meant trouble for someone.
"What?" she asked cautiously.
You sat upright. "If Vox wants to make our games difficult to access on his devices, then we'll stop relying on his devices altogether."
Salina blinked. "What do you mean?"
You stood from your desk and began pacing. "We make our own."
Her eyes widened. "Our own... devices?"
"Exactly."
The more you thought about it, the more brilliant it sounded.
Why continue allowing customers to depend on VoxTek products when you could create your own gaming platform? A dedicated console designed specifically around your games. No interference. No compatibility issues. No television-headed idiot sticking his claws into your profits.
A grin stretched across your face. "Oh, he's going to hate this."
Salina slowly began smiling as well. "You want to make a gaming console."
"Not just a gaming console."
Ideas were already firing through your mind faster than you could organize them. "We'll package every console with free game demos. Several of them."
Salina immediately pulled out a notebook.
You continued. "Players buy the console and instantly gain access to exclusive content. Things they can't get anywhere else."
The smile on Salina's face widened. "People will eat that up."
"I know."
Because you were a gamer. You knew exactly how gamers thought. By now you were practically bouncing with excitement.
What had started as a problem was quickly becoming an opportunity.
You pointed toward Salina. "Call a meeting with the development teams. Hardware, software, marketing, everybody."
Salina nodded immediately. "I'll get started."
*
Meanwhile, across Pentagram City, Vox was having what could generously be described as a temper tantrum…
*
Three weeks later…
The morning of the Overlord Meeting arrived with surprisingly little stress.
Usually, events involving powerful demons, politics, and the potential collapse of carefully negotiated alliances came packaged with at least some degree of anxiety. Today, however, you found yourself in an unusually good mood.
Perhaps it was because business was thriving. Perhaps it was because the gaming console launch had exceeded expectations. Or perhaps it was because you had finally achieved something you'd been working toward for years.
An invitation to the Overlord Meetings wasn't handed out lightly. It meant the older powers of Hell no longer viewed you as some ambitious newcomer destined to burn out after a few successful years. You had earned your seat at the table.
As the elevator carried you upward, you allowed yourself a small smile.
You had a feeling this meeting was going to go well.
Being the newest addition to the room naturally attracted attention. Most Overlords didn't last very long. They arrived with grand ambitions, picked fights they couldn't win, and disappeared within a few years.
The fact that you had not only survived but continued expanding your influence made people curious.
You could hardly blame them.
Offering a few polite greetings, you moved through the room and toward your assigned seat. Several familiar faces caught your eye. Carmilla was already reviewing documents near the head of the table. Rosie sat nearby, chatting pleasantly with another Overlord as though this were a social gathering rather than a political meeting.
You exchanged a smile with her before taking your seat.
Yet even as you settled into your chair, an uncomfortable sensation prickled along the back of your neck.
The feeling of being watched. It was strong enough to be distracting. You resisted the urge to immediately look around.
People were paying attention to you because you were new. That was all. Still, the feeling persisted.
Someone was staring. Hard.
Before you could investigate further, a throat cleared from directly across the table. The sound was deliberate.
You looked up.
And immediately wished you hadn't.
Vox.
Of course.
For a moment, you simply stared at him. Then you mentally kicked yourself.
Naturally he would be here. This was an Overlord Meeting. He was an Overlord. A particularly important one, unfortunately.
That didn't stop irritation from immediately bubbling to the surface.
"Evening, doll."
You fought the urge to groan. "Vox."
The grin widened. "You sound thrilled to see me."
"I'm not."
"Ouch." His hand drifted dramatically toward his chest. "I'm wounded."
"You'll recover."
"Heartless."
You looked away first, deciding your agenda papers were suddenly the most fascinating things in existence.
Ignoring him was the mature option.
The professional option. The option most likely to preserve your sanity. Unfortunately, Vox had apparently decided that preserving your sanity was not one of his priorities.
"So," Vox said casually, "how's the console business?"
You didn't even look up. "Terrible."
"Really?"
"No. It's fantastic."
Vox's screen flickered.
The amusement from your earlier exchange slowly faded as the meeting finally began in earnest. Reports were opened, documents were distributed, and discussions regarding territories, trade, and recent developments throughout Hell started circulating around the table.
You should have been paying attention. Instead, your gaze drifted across the table.
And landed directly on Vox.
Unfortunately, his was already on you.
The two of you stared at one another.
Neither looking away. Neither willing to surrender whatever ridiculous contest this had become.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. Vox raised an eyebrow.
The room continued moving around you. Overlords spoke. Papers shuffled. Discussions began. Yet somehow, neither of you seemed interested in acknowledging any of it.
You weren't even entirely sure what you were trying to prove anymore. Only that you refused to lose.
Across the table, Vox looked equally determined.
Thar idiot.
"Vox."
The voice cut through the room. Nothing happened.
You and Vox continued staring at each other.
Someone coughed.
Carmilla's patience reached its limit. "Vox."
This time her voice carried enough authority to snap everyone's attention toward her.
His eyes finally broke away from yours.
Victory.
A small surge of satisfaction settled in your chest.
Across the table, Vox seemed to realize exactly what had happened.
You smiled sweetly. The glare he sent your way was deeply satisfying.
Carmilla gestured toward him with obvious impatience. "Vox, your proposal regarding angelic security?"
The irritation vanished almost immediately.
It was fascinating to watch.
One second Vox looked like he wanted to strangle you. The next, he transformed into the polished businessman known throughout Hell.
The confidence settled back into place. Like a performer stepping onto a stage. You had to admit, the man knew how to work a crowd.
Vox rose smoothly from his chair and adjusted his jacket. "Thank you, Carmilla."
His voice immediately shifted into that charming, charismatic tone he used whenever he wanted people to trust him. The one that somehow convinced millions of demons to buy whatever nonsense he was selling.
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
Vox moved toward the center of the room, drawing everyone's attention effortlessly.
The proposal itself wasn't terrible. In fact, parts of it were surprisingly practical. Better warning systems. Improved communication networks. Expanded surveillance capabilities to track potential angelic threats.
The problem came when Vox began discussing implementation.
As charts and cost estimates appeared across the room, a frown slowly formed on your face.
The materials were expensive. Some of the components required rare resources from multiple Rings. Others relied on specialized manufacturing that only a handful of businesses in Hell could realistically provide. And another important thing, would it really deter angels?
At first, you had intended to keep your thoughts to yourself and simply raise your concerns later. There was no need to make enemies at your first official Overlord Meeting. Unfortunately, the longer Vox continued, the more he seemed to expect everyone to simply accept his proposal at face value.
Eventually, you had enough.
You raised your hand slightly. "I have a question."
Vox paused in the middle of his presentation. The smile on his screen remained firmly in place, but you could see the irritation already brewing underneath. Apparently, he had expected applause, not criticism.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Go ahead."
You glanced down at the documents spread before you. "You've spent a lot of time discussing the technology, the surveillance systems, and the materials involved, but what exactly is the success rate?"
The room fell noticeably quieter.
Vox blinked. "The success rate?"
"Yes." You looked up. "What guarantee does this provide? If an angel attacks someone's territory, how likely is this system to actually protect them?"
For a brief moment, Vox simply stared at you. Then he laughed lightly. "That's not really how security works."
You frowned. "No?"
"No. Security reduces risk. It doesn't eliminate it."
You nodded slowly. "So there isn't a guarantee."
The smile on his screen twitched. "There can't be a guarantee."
"Then what exactly are people paying for?"
Several Overlords exchanged glances.
You leaned back comfortably in your chair, looking almost thoughtful. "I think I finally understand what was bothering me about this proposal. I kept looking at this as a security system."
You smirked as you met his gaze. “Maybe it’s just a way to keep tabs on others’ territories, hmm?”
You could sense the mood in the room, and it had heavily shifted in your directions. It was no secret Vox liked watching every corner of Pentagram City.
The crack of Vox's hands slamming against the table echoed throughout the chamber. So much for the charming businessman.
His screen flickered violently as he leaned forward, glaring at you across the table. "This coming from a gaming Overlord?"
The insult dripped with contempt. The way he said it made it sound childish. The jab wasn't subtle.
It was meant to put you back in your place. To remind everyone in the room that you were still one of the newer Overlords at the table. To remind you.
Slowly, you rose from your chair.
Unlike Vox, you didn't slam your hands onto anything. Didn't raise your voice or lose your composure. That almost seemed to irritate him more.
A smirk tugged at your lips. "At least I know what I'm doing."
Around the room, heads turned between the two of you.
Vox's screen flickered violently with irritation. "Oh, FUCK YOU—"
The response left your mouth before you could stop it. "Ha! In your dreams."
A few demons choked on absolutely nothing. Carmilla closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if reconsidering every decision that had led her to this meeting.
Vox's screen flashed an unmistakable shade of blue. Hmm, that’s interesting. "You little—"
The words died somewhere between outrage and embarrassment. "Just shut your uppity mouth."
Your grin only widened. "No, you shut up."
Vox glared at you from across the table. "Make me."
The challenge hung in the air.
You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on the table. "Oh, I will. But you might moan a little."
Rosie nearly fell out of her chair laughing. Another Overlord slammed a hand over their mouth.
Across from you, Vox completely froze. His screen immediately turned a brighter shade of blue. "You—"
Buffer.
"You can't just—"
Buffer.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
At this point, the meeting was beyond saving. The sharp sound of a heel striking the floor echoed through the room. Carmilla rose from her seat and slowly looked around the room.
Carmilla folded her arms. "Have you two finished?"
Neither of you answered. The silence was answer enough.
Her eyes narrowed. "Somehow this has been the most unproductive meeting I have ever attended."
You winced. Across the table, Vox visibly looked away.
"Until the two of you can demonstrate that you are capable of occupying the same room without behaving like squabbling children..."
A pause.
"...you are both barred from attending future Overlord Meetings."
Your jaw dropped.
Across the table, Vox looked equally horrified.
The two of you spoke at exactly the same time. "What?!"
The meeting was dismissed shortly afterward. Not that there was much point continuing it. Half the room was still trying not to laugh. The other half looked exhausted. Carmilla looked as though she wanted a vacation from all Overlords indefinitely.
And you? You were furious.
As the demons around you began filing out of the chamber, you barely paid attention to the conversations happening around you. Your mind kept replaying the last ten minutes over and over again.
One of the most important opportunities available to you had been ripped away because a certain television-headed bastard apparently possessed the emotional maturity of a particularly aggressive toddler.
The more you thought about it, the angrier you became.
By the time you reached the elevator, your nails were digging into your palms. By the time you reached the streets of Pentagram City, you were mentally composing new insults. By the time you returned to your tower, you were ready to throw something.
Preferably Vox.
Unfortunately, he wasn't available.
The elevator doors slid open onto your private floor.
Your employees immediately took one look at your expression and wisely scattered.
You stormed through the halls, ignored several greetings, and headed directly toward your office.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind you.
Finally, silence.
You dropped into your chair and buried your face in your hands.
The sharp knock at your office door interrupted the thought. You looked up. "Come in."
Salina entered cautiously as though approaching a wild animal. Probably a wise decision. "I apologize for disturbing you, ma'am."
"What is it?"
The assistant stepped forward and carefully placed something on your desk.
A letter.
You blinked.
The assistant quickly retreated after that, clearly unwilling to remain in the blast radius of your bad mood.
Your attention shifted back toward the envelope. Curiosity slowly replaced irritation. Letters were rare. Almost nobody used them anymore. Hell had long since embraced modern communication. Emails were faster. Messages were easier.
Receiving a physical letter was unusual enough on its own. You reached for the envelope and turned it over in your hands.
Your eyes immediately caught the wax seal pressed into the paper.
A skull.
Rosie.
Your eyebrows rose.
Now that was interesting.
The mysterious Cannibal Overlord wasn't the type to waste her time.
Slowly, your frustration began fading. The disaster of the meeting could wait.
Charlotte, in her infinite wisdom as head counsellor, the ink on her hell Uni certificate still drying as she tacked the frame on the wall, decided to make some changes.
Why should the staff be allowed priviledges that the sinner guests they had, couldn't participate in? Or more likely, SHOULDN'T for the sake of their redemption journey. After all, temptation got them down here, so if they removed it that should help them to become winners in no time!
Vaggi had tried to caution her that this could cause some low morale among the guests, but... well, she was willing to try for Charlie. After all, Vaggi had been the one who was against the bar in the first place, when Alastor installed it... they'd both been surprised when Lucifer added in the area to the new hotel. Though the ex-orcist secretly assumed it was more to do with showing up the red guy and proving he loved his daughter, than anything else.
Overnight, the hotel became a testing ground for Charlie's new theories on Helping Sinners become Winners! And Becoming Worthy!
Something about the wording really grated on Vaggi's nerves, and she had a sinking feeling she wouldn't be alone in it.
Husk stumbled over to the barren area where once his station stood the next morning in bleary eyed confusion. "The fuck is this?" he managed, trying not to wince at the blindingly colourful display.
Charlie was vibrating out of her skin in excitement. "A juice bar! Oooooh isn't it amazing? Dad helped me change it over last night, so now sinners on the path of righteousness can't be tempted anymore!"
Whatever her blinding grin was hoping to get from the grizzled former overlord, it wasn't a look of horrified disdain that slowly soured into something approaching restrained rage. "Look, Princess..."
He was clearly casting about for something... less than what his heart wanted to share. "I get you think this is a good idea but you need to hear me when I say this's fucked up."
She began to deflate in confusion, then bucked up with self-assurance. "Look, I know it's going to be hard, but I spoke to Vaggi and you can have the whole day off to deal with any hangovers from not getting the 'hair of the hellhound', and then we'll show you how to work the juicer and blenders tomorrow... oooh, you'll love the pineangonut smoothies! I had the fruit brought up from Gluttony just because my guests deserve the best!"
His expression darkened. "Charlie, this is going to kill people."
She can't help but snort. "Okay, that's a liiiiittle dramatic, isn't it? I know withdrawal can't be fun... but everyone will make it through. And then we can have a smoothie party as part of the talking circle tomorrow! Oooh, maybe with some of the other snacks Aunty Beez sent!"
There was no reaching her now.
Husk felt his insides begin to roil and clench. A hangover was the least of his problems if he couldn't get some form of booze around here... maybe Al could help. Fuck, he hated asking the guy anything but... the not-deer bastard also happened to be weirdly loyal to his employees as long as he could laugh at their predicaments. Al would magic up a bottle for him. At least the guy understood the limitations of sinner forms...
Til he ran into the guy, Husk'd just have to hope what was still in his system was enough... or he'd have to break into the first aid kit for some of the rubbing alcohol. And he knew from experience that shit was downright vile.
His limbs were starting to shake.
Damn. Thought he had more time.
"Princess, you are gonna pay for this if I have to regenerate cause'a some nonsense idea you got in your head..." he grumbled to no one, trying to remain upright through sheer force of rage at her persistent stupidity. She just needed to listen for once, hear what sinners had to say instead of bulldozing over 'em without any idea.
She was like a new doctor who never let the patient finish describing their symptoms, already talking over them and assuming she knew best. Handing over pills without checking for allergies or if her assumptions were right.
Pain began to radiate from his stomach outward. Not hunger, not quite... but when your body was literally formed to consume alcohol, then being without for even a bit was a wild ride. Hadn't had a shortage since '87... so this would be rough.
his wings dragged on the ground as he made his way painfully towards the elevators, the stairs seeming too cruel a mountain to climb this morning, and startled as the firm throwing arm of Cherri Bomb took some of his weight.
"I saw. Silly cunt's gone and rushed into things again, and we'll suffer for it... but I probably got something hidden somewhere to tide you over, right mate?" She spoke in his direction, getting them in the elevator and moving. She looked tired. "Think she had Vags go through my room, missing all my emergency kits... and my explosives. Doesn't she realise I'm the thing that's gonna detonate if she doesn't give my shit back?"
Husk chuckled. "Don't think she's worked that out yet. But I'm going to enjoy seeing this backfire..."
Already, confused voices were rising in the floor below them as the sinners sneaking down for an early morning drink were finding no husk and no bar to tend. He could almost taste the fury swelling from below.
Infantalising. That's what it was. the Princess treating them like godsdamned kiddies who needed her to smile and talk sweetly at them as she put things up on the high shelves so no one could hurt themselves.
Well, sometimes the kids bite back. He sure as hell was planning to... once the world stopped wavering violently...
