V's Favorites

Main: @venusdandy | 25 | any pronouns

[venusfavmasterlist]

Sorry for the spam reblogs !! I'm cleaning up my main but still want to reblog your work :)

Main account is @venusdandy

I have my own Hazbin Hotel fanfics there as well as other works to enjoy !!

Here is where I reblog all my favorite Hazbin Hotel fics that I like to come back and read again and again! An archive if you will

I don't feel like spamming my main with all these reblogs, so I'm dedicating this blog to share my favorites :)

[jinxedjynxx]

Vox X EMT/paramedic f!reader

Like Vox getting badly injured in a fight with Alastor or something and calling the hell equivalent of 911 and having reader take care of him, like "sir, how did you survive that?"

and Vox finds Reader kinda cute and is trying to flirt with reader while she is oblivious to it and/or just trying to focus on patching him up in the ambulance so he doesn't die of blood loss or something before they can get him to a hospital

i just think that'd be neat :)

(yes I did get this idea after binging electricc-medic's videos on YouTube, you should watch his videos they are really cool)

☆ OH this is a juicy one

★ Thank you for your patience, Galaxia!!! <3

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

࿔˚⋆✮⋆˙ Vox x EMT Reader ˙⋆✮⋆˚࿔

☆ WORD COUNT: 2, 609

★ Written with Fem!Reader in mind but could probs be read as GN :)

☆ SUMMARY: Reader is called to retrieve a very injured Vox after an encounter with Alastor. But even in bad shape, he can't help but flirt with reader every chance he gets.

★ WARNINGS: Mentions of blood + wounds, some sexual innuendos + tension particularly near the end, I don't know ANYTHING about the medical or technology field so just go with it, not proofread (SORRY)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✮⋆˙ Before we begin!! ˙⋆✮

☆ I don’t believe it’s been confirmed whether Vox is entirely mechanical/robotic, so I’m going off the assumption/headcanon that he is a mixture of both technology and organic body parts. (If this has been confirmed anywhere PLEASE send me a link!!!!)

★ This means Reader is more of a technician/engineer as well as a paramedic!!!! (VoxTek LOVES women in STEM)

☆ I imagine she also works for the company as well. Vox probably wouldn’t trust the usual paramedics because of his technological intricacies, and also because he thinks he’s “above them”. 

★ ALSO please let me know if you have any other thoughts or headcanons about Vox’s bodily anatomy! I’m really curious :) 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The call came in at precisely 5:02pm. Two minutes after you’d clocked off for the day—or so you foolishly thought. 

Barely five minutes later you were in the back of a VoxTek branded ambulance speeding down Pengatram City’s hellish streets. 

When you pulled up, Valentino’s grumbled Spanish could be heard even in the back of the vehicle as you feverishly rushed around to jump out of the back. Upon the two doors being swung open, you were greeted with the overlord’s angry face. 

“About fuckin’ time!” Valentino hissed. 

You scoffed and pushed past him. “Where is he?”

Valentino only gestured off to the side, where Velvette was crouched by Vox, not-so-sneakily taking selfies with her injured associate. You rushed over, Velvette scoffing at getting brushed aside, and knelt down beside him. Your eyes immediately caught on the large red patches of blood that seeped through the layers of his suit. 

“He–ey, sweetheart.” He glitched. “This is a li—itle embarrassing.” 

“Fucking hell...” You cursed under your breath just as your coworker arrived with the bed. Together, the two of you hoisted him on top and you rolled him into the back of the ambulance. Vox grumbled the entire time about not needing the help but he made no move to refuse assistance. 

It was unusual to see Vox in such a vulnerable position; stuck on the bed and completely reliant on your hard-earned skills to keep his systems running. His hat tilted backwards, falling off his head and hitting the bed as he tried to cock his screen to the side so he could look at you. His smirk  was glitched out and he watched you with piercing red eyes. 

“How am I lo—oking, doc?” 

You startled a little at his voice and your frantic mind took a second to catch up with you. 

“Not good.” You said bluntly, eyes flicking over the red stains in his clothing. It pooled in his abdomen and shoulder, having trickled down his right arm and had already begun to colour the white sheets beneath him. 

“Just what I li—ike to hear.” 

He followed your gaze and raised a brow—or, well, tried to. It was hard to see when his screen flickered and he laid flat like that. You pretended not to notice the look he gave you and started on removing the layers of his suit, to which he all but revelled in. 

“Woah—woah! Take a ma—n out to di—inner first!” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to refrain from cursing him out, working on trying to stop the red that only seemed to darken the closer you got to the wound. Couldn’t he just shut up and let you do your job? You took a small blade and tore it clean through the middle of his clothes to give you easier access to his torso. 

“Ha—ang oN!”

He tried to protest as you ripped his once-white shirt open to reveal the dark blue of his skin and immediately applied pressure on the gaping wound. A pained groan vibrated in his throat, glitching his systems even further. His claws clutched onto the bed, tearing through the sheets and thin mattress. 

Blood seeped through your gloved hands, running down your knuckles as it trickled through the gaps in your fingers and left a trail of crimson in its wake. By now, the vehicle was well on its way back to Vee Tower, and you were getting increasingly worried as the blood didn’t seem to slow down.

“Fu—uck.” Vox hissed to himself. “Y’know, if I we—ren’t dying, this wo—ould be pretty hot.” He attempted a chuckle, but it proved to be too painful, ending in a slight whimper. 

You shot him an unimpressed look. His life was literally in your hands and he was cracking inappropriate jokes. With a shake of your head you turned your attention back to the matter at hand. 

Quickly, you removed one of your hands and fumbled with your supplies until you found something to soak up the blood with. You held the pressure as firmly as you could and flicked your eyes over the rest of his body to try and identify if there were any other areas of concern. Luckily, it seemed it was only the one bad injury. His code would be a pain to fix up later, though. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By the time the ambulance reached Vee Tower’s hospital wing, the bleeding appeared to have slowed down to a manageable rate. A couple of the other nurses rushed out to aid in getting him out of the back and into the hospital as quickly as possible. You remained by his side, keeping a steady hand on his wound. 

As the bed was rolled into the clinic’s emergency department, you heard the faint sound of foreign curses growing louder. It seemed Valentino was already somewhere in the building getting tended to as well. You also picked up on a low staticky sound that pulled at your brows slightly. The lights flickered as the you and the nurses rushed Vox down the hallway, and the usual hum of electricity throughout the building faltered. The cooling system spluttered, the chill airflow stopping and starting up again. 

In a matter of minutes, your station was set up and the other nurses left. Although it was just you and Vox in the room once more, you knew you had a team on standby in case things went sideways. 

You got to work on preparing his injury for stitches, biting on the inside of your lip as you worked. Though, you were acutely aware of Vox’s gaze trained on your every move. 

“Has anyo—one ever told you that you b—ite your lip when you’re focus—sed?” Vox piped up. He attempted to prop himself up on his elbows but you pushed him back down with a huff. A smug look took over his features at the action. 

“It’s cute.” He buzzed. “You’re cute.” 

Your movements faltered ever so slightly. If you weren’t literally stitching him up he wouldn’t have known. But he certainly felt the way your fingertips lingered on his skin for the briefest of moments. 

“That’s a bit inappropriate, don’t you think?” You replied casually. You didn’t bother to look over at him and instead focused on threading the suture through his skin. 

“I’m the bos—s, swee—eetheart.” His voice lagged a little and you tried to stop the amusement that threatened to pull the corners of your mouth up. 

“Not right now, you’re not.” You tied off the stitch and gently rubbed a soothing cream over the stitched skin. His fingers twitched a little at the sensation, and you weren’t sure if it was from sensitivity to your touch or the coolness of the cream. Either way, the sound of his whirring systems was unmissable. To finish, you layered a bandage over the top to protect it. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You gathered your notebooks and chucked them in your satchel, then wrapped one of Vox’s arms around the back of your neck whilst you supported him in the middle. He was heavy and grumbled in your ear for most of the trip up to his office, muttering how embarrassing it was for him to be seen like that. Internally, you took pride in seeing him get knocked down a few pegs. 

He insisted that you finish the job in his office, having gotten all the physical injuries out of the way. Although you were skeptical, you couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled within you at getting access to all of his technology and advanced systems. You may have had a passion for nursing, but you had an even bigger one for IT. Being able to pursue both at VoxTek made for an easy deal. You couldn’t wait to rub it in Baxter’s face later. 

When you entered his office, you immediately took in the familiar darkness of it all. He’d called you into his office plenty of times before, so being there was nothing new. It was having to help him get into his chair that was the most unfamiliar part. 

He slumped in his chair, holding onto the armrests a bit tighter than normal. It was a stark difference to the usual composed, upright demeanour he usually had whenever you were there.

He directed you around with a glitched voice as to where the cords were, and he vibrated slightly every time you slotted one into the back of his head. His screen was hot beneath your fingers as you gently moved it this way and that to get the cords in right. You tilted his head forward for the last one, and a high-pitched squeal of metal against metal pierced the air once you inserted the final cord into him. You paused, afraid you’d messed something up already. 

“Sir?” You asked cautiously. “Is everything alright?” 

Blue electric sparks flew from him as he tried to compose himself. 

“Ye—es. Ev—Everythi—ing’s fi—ine!” 

You frowned as his glitches grew more intense, and you could only just make out the words beneath the lagged tone. He was only getting worse by the second, and you knew you had to get to work quickly. 

“Okay, I’m going to have to power you off now. Ready?” 

You ran your fingers under the bottom of his monitor until you found the power button. A low noise from his throat was cut short, and you heard the slowness of his systems as they came to a stop. 

You began with inspecting his hardware, replacing burnt or torn wires and fixing any other injuries to his technology. The inner workings of Vox was something that always intrigued you. Seeing that he wasn’t entirely organic nor a robot, you wondered how he would have recovered from battles like that day if you disagreed to work for him. 

As strange as it was, you wanted nothing more than to pull him apart piece by piece to fully understand how technology and biology worked together under his skin. You had a rough idea, sure. Your years spent with the man built your knowledge of how his body works, but even then he never liked to elaborate much. Your questions went unanswered and he would gloss over them like you’d never asked in the first place. 

With his outer workings all patched up, you turned your attention to his software. 

You plugged in your keyboard and mouse, propping your notebooks by your side in case you got stuck. You’d studied all of his systems inside and out, and even helped create some of them as he rose higher in Hell. You knew you wouldn’t need them—you haven’t for years—but it was a comfort knowing the information was readily available for you when Vox wasn’t. 

You quickly got through the usual firewalls and security measures and started working on the broken codes that were interfering with his functionality. The deeper you dug, the worse it got. How he was even still functioning was beyond you. 

The only sound that filled the room was the usual steady hum of technology that surrounded you, the occasional swish of water from Shock.wav, and the tapping of your nails against the keyboard. You found peace in the solitude and calmness of everything. 

Until the pop ups started.  

Little blue text boxes that would try and hide themselves in the corner or blatantly pop up in the middle of the screen. 

U R A Q T <3

U + ME = DINNER ? 

And the worst, when you managed to rebuild a major chunk of his deteriorating code;

GOOD GIRL. 

You muttered to yourself at Vox’s interference, grateful he wasn’t there to witness the warmth blossoming in your cheeks. 

Once satisfied with your work, and after many more inputs from Vox, you initiated the software self-scan to determine whether there were any more issues that went unnoticed within his system. 

Whilst the progress bar inched its way to completion, you turned your attention to his busted up face. The screen was cracked to the point of being almost completely shattered. It threatened to crumble as you swapped the glass out for a fresh, shiny one. And just like that, he looked brand new. Well, almost. 

His suit was still torn, hanging loosely from his shoulders and putting his torso on display from the way his body was slouched in the chair, knees pulling away from each other and spreading his legs open. It was the first time all evening that you really took him in, eyes catching on the chiseled shapes of his torso. The line that defined the middle of his abdomen. The prominence of his collar bones. 

A sudden hot wave washed over you and you had to look away. You were suddenly feeling shy and unwilling to face him. You silently cursed at yourself for feeling that way. Why now? You’ve seen him shirtless countless times before and it never had an effect on you. 

A quiet beep pulled you from your thoughts as the self-check completed and Vox powered himself back on. Your breath caught in your throat as his screen lit up once more in its usual blue, his eyes blinking a few times before he lifted his head to look over at you. 

“There she is.” He grinned and finally found the strength to straighten up in the chair. Without the continuous glitch in his voice, you were once again met with the familiar cockiness of his tone. 

His movements shifted the loose fabric of his clothes, and you had to look away as he did so. You decided to busy yourself with packing up your things. 

“Feeling better?” You asked, not looking him in the eye. 

“Mm.” He hummed. “Much.” 

“Good.” You stuffed your notebooks into your satchel again.

A beat of silence passed between the two of you, but his gaze burned through you. 

“I never got an answer, y’know?” 

You frowned, picking up your keyboard and mouse. “For what?”

There was a noise off to your left, but you ignored it. As you turned to put the remainder of your things in your bag, something snaked around your waist and curled upwards around your body to move your head in Vox’s direction. The wire wasn’t tight on you, but it wasn’t gentle either. 

“Dinner.” He replied. 

“Huh?” Your face flushed, and you hated the way his smirk widened at the sight. 

“Let me take you out.” He said simply, tilting his head and leaning on his hand. “As a thank you.” 

“Wh—Vox, I don’t think…” You stuttered over your words for a second, but he cut you off. 

“Or maybe you’d prefer… other forms of gratitude?” 

A jolt of adrenaline ran straight through your body and your eyes widened for a moment. 

“Sir, with all due respect, you’re still injured.” You gestured at his bandaged abdomen. “You should be resting.” 

He shrugged. “I can make it work.” Then he leaned back in his chair again, giving you a view of his lap once more. The thought of what he was implying made your head spin.

“Besides, if anything happens you can just stitch me back up again.” He winked.

You let out a breath, but it came out shakier than you intended. “That’s really not a risk you would like to take. You barely survived as it was.” 

He chuckled lowly. “Well, isn’t it lucky that I’m in good hands?” 

You wriggled your way out of the wire and picked up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. 

“Please rest up, Sir. If there are any issues, please don’t hesitate to call me.” 

“Oh, I won’t.” He purred.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Lowkey thinking about a part 2.... Vox calls reader into his room... it's an 'emergency'... reader has to watch out for his wound.... mmm.... vox is so pathetic but so dominant....

WHAT WHO SAID THAT

anyway

★ Request Guidelines

[jinxedjynxx]

Heyoo!! I was wondering if I could submit a Hazbin request?☺️👀 If so, I would love to see Vox x female! reader who works for Carmilla Carmine. Reader is one of her newest and brightest engineers and is tasked (specifically requested by Mr. TV man actually😉) to build Vox’s weapon to take over Heaven. Reader honestly does NOT wanna get involved in this whole war effort, but fuck it, money is money💵 And literally the whole time as she’s constructing this thing, Vox being the little shit he is, pops in frequently to “check up” on her. Reader is confused and slightly annoyed by this but Vox brushes it off as making sure she doesn’t fuck it up and wanting to see how the process is done (definitely not to stare at her or anything🫣). And he just continues doing this too, stopping by, acting all charming. Trying to impress her and get her attention constantly cause reader is a STEM baddie🔥 and Vox absolutely loves it😍😍😍 (I NEED to see him being an equal amount of smooth yet pathetic PLS😭🙏🏼❤️) Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy!🥰

★ OOOOH this is too cute!!!!

☆ This was getting really long so I kind of had to cut it short in the middle to get to the good stuff lol

★ This has NOT been proofread, so please be warned....

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Vox x Carmine Industries!Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 3, 985

★ GN Reader!

☆ SUMMARY: Reader is tasked with building Vox's superweapon, but when the overlord makes a point to come and visit everyday, things get a little out of hand.

★ WARNINGS: Slightly heated at the end, Vox bites reader...

The day Carmilla called you into her office, you assumed the worst. You could only be her star employee for so long, and it seemed your reign of authority had come to an end. You could feel the eyes of your peers on your back as you followed the overlord out of the workshop and toward her office. She was silent the whole time, and so were you. But as she held the door open for you, all of your thoughts came crashing to a halt.

Vox stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind him and a smirk on his screen. You frowned and turned to Carmilla, who avoided your eye as she rounded the desk and sat down. She rested her elbows on the surface and put her chin on the back of her entwined knuckles.

“Take a seat, Y/N.”

You followed her command, sinking into the chair across from her and crossing one leg over the other. Vox tried to catch your eye, but you kept your attention on your boss, waiting for her to be out with it.

After what felt like several minutes, she took a breath and straightened up in her chair. She gestured to the smirking overlord beside her, a twinge of annoyance laced in her tone.

“I have no doubt you need no introduction to Vox here.”

You flicked your gaze over to the television demon, who was already staring intently at you with a smug expression. He moved to extend a hand to you, keeping one hand behind his back.

“What a pleasure it is, Y/N. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.”

You couldn’t help the scowl that took over your features, and he only chuckled, tilting his head curiously. You knew this was bad. Vox didn’t come with good news. There was only one way this was going, and you weren’t a fan of it in the slightest.

“Whatever it is, no.”

“Aw, come on now, Y/N. You haven’t even heard my offer yet!” He smirked, leaning slightly closer.

You opened your mouth, a rather unprofessional response on the tip of your tongue, but Carmilla shot you a look.

“Easy now.” She warned.

Despite your refusal to shake his hand, Vox remained just as arrogant as he was the second you walked in. The amusement of watching you be scolded by Carmilla was written all over his face. His hand returned behind his back and he straightened up, unphased. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back like a child throwing a tantrum.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Your boss continued. “Vox’s recent endeavours have spread much further than anticipated across not only Hell, but Heaven as well.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him puff his chest out and internally groaned in annoyance. He was so egotistical that it actually infuriated you.

“Yeah, cause he’s an attention whore.”

“Thanks.”

“In short,” She continued pointedly, “I’ve decided to support his cause for the time being—”

You shot up in the chair, starting to protest her words before she could finish her sentence. She held a hand up to you, effectively silencing you.

“— And your services have been requested to aid in building a weapon.”

You paused. A weapon? That was it?

Confused, you risked a glance to Vox, who was standing beside your chair now, looking sideways down at you. An unexpected wave of relief rushed through you at the realisation that your soul wasn’t getting pawned off to him. He seemed to pick up on this, eyes narrowing as he analysed you. Then your irritable mood returned as soon as it clicked for you that he was the one who specifically requested you to be the developer.

“So I have to do your dirty work while you claim the victory? How is that fair?”

Carmilla flicked her eyes between the two of you for a brief moment, ignoring your comment and giving Vox no time to respond before she continued.

“The blueprints are already in development.” She settled her attention back on you with a silent will for you to focus on the matter at hand.

“You will be the sole engineer on this project, and it is to remain confidential. Understood?”

“And I’ll make sure to give credit where credit’s due. You can trust me on that.” Vox winked.

With a slight disgusted scrunch of your nose, you had no choice but to agree. Sure, you might be directly aiding in some kind of nuclear warfare that may or may not decide the fate of all souls in the afterlife, but you’d certainly be getting paid handsomely for the work. And, although you were worried about what she was forcing you to help create, you were excited at the prospect of taking on such a big challenge. The thought that Carmilla trusted you to handle something as complicated as this made your heart swell with pride—even if Vox was the one who insisted you do so. You had been working your whole life for something like this, even when you were alive.

You’d be damned if you threw that opportunity away now.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“What the fuck…” You cursed under your breath as you flicked through the blueprints for Vox’s superweapon. The thing was huge and his initial designs posed several risks that were so dangerous that you had to redo most of it.

“Pretty sick, huh?” His voice in your ear startled you, and you whirled around to find him towering over you, screen too close to your face.

He chuckled at your reaction. “Woah there, didn’t mean to scare you, princess. Just wanted to see how my weapon was coming along.”

You grumbled and tucked your pencil behind your ear.

“Who let you in here?”

He shrugged. “Me. Your security system is a joke.”

You huffed and began to walk away from him, eyes scanning back over your equations.

“Hey, don’t be like that!” He quickly caught up with you and leaned against a nearby desk. “So, whaddya think?”

You raised a brow and looked him up and down for a moment, taking in the crispness of his striped suit and the way one of his antennas was more crooked than the other. Then realised what he was really referring to.

“Shit.” You said blatantly. “I’ve had to restructure most of it just so you don’t explode the second you turn the thing on.”

“So you do care about me?”

“You? No. Losing my job? Yeah.”

He chuckled. “Well, lucky I hired you then, huh?”

You frowned. “Why did you?” The question had been nagging at you ever since your conversation in Carmilla’s office the day prior.

“Everyone says you’re the best, just thought I’d see for myself.” He began to fiddle with some of the figurines you had on your desk. He turned one in particular over in his hand, and you couldn’t help but notice just how small it looked in his hands. “Even Carmilla agreed you were the woman for the job.”

An unwanted flush bloomed in your cheeks. He smirked slightly before putting the figure down and standing back up, smoothing out his suit.

“Don’t disappoint me now, will you?”

You were more than aware of Vox’s need to be the ‘best of the best’, and it seemed he thought having you under his belt would do just that. Supposedly, years of failing to get you to work for VoxTek hadn’t worn him down just yet. It was almost admirable.

Instead of indulging in his words, you grabbed the pencil from your ear to jab the blunt end of it into his screen. Not enough to crack the glass, but enough to send him stumbling back with a yelp and violent glitch.

“What the fuck!”

“Sorry, my hand slipped.” You hummed. He huffed and composed himself again.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

“You’d best do so.”

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, princess.” He had the audacity to wink before leaving your workshop, leaving you alone again with the dumpster fire that was the blueprints.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A week later, he appeared again. It had taken you a few days to get the logistics under control, but you finally were able to start working on the weapon itself, and everything was sailing smoothly so far. Until Vox rocked up again.

“There she is!” He exclaimed from the doorway of your workshop, electricity fizzling out from behind him. You muttered curses under your breath at the knowledge that he’d zapped his way in.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your grumbled.

“Psshh. People still do that?” His voice sounded right behind you now, and you were a little surprised at how quickly he crossed the room. Not that you bothered to look back at him.

“How’s it coming along then?” He hummed, helping himself to the array of tools you had set out on the table. He picked up a wrench and began to spin it in his hands. You slid your helmet up to rest on your head, ceasing the flame from the torch.

“Swimmingly.” You huffed in annoyance.

A beat of silence.

“You can leave now.”

He quirked a brow and put the wrench down. There was a brief moment where you were hyper aware of his digital eyes sweeping up and down your form, taking in the dishevelledness that came with the nature of your work.

“Don’t be like that.” He grinned and turned on his side, instead leaning a hip against the table. “If you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Shame.”

“Indeed.”

Another beat of silence. You narrowed your eyes and gestured to the door, but he didn’t budge. He just kept watching you with that smug look.

“Do you have lunch plans?” He asked suddenly.

Confusion fell over your face at his question. “What?”

“Lunch. Got plans?”

“It’s three o’clock.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Are you going to leave and let me do my job?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He smirked again and finally pushed off the desk.

“Noted.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He ambushed you in your workshop at 1pm sharp the next day. You sighed to yourself as you pushed the door open, glad that your meeting was out of the way. With the rest of the day ahead of you and no more appointments to interrupt, you’d be able to solely focus on the weapon. But upon seeing Vox unexpectedly standing in the middle of the room, you yelped and almost dropped the laptop tucked under your arm.

A curse slipped past your lips, to which he only laughed heartily and cocked his head to the side.

“You’re really easy to startle, y’know that?”

“Maybe it’s because I locked the door for a reason.”

“You should know by now that doors don’t mean anything to me.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him to set your laptop down, but paused. Then frowned. He seemed to make you do that a lot.

“What’s this?” You asked, eyes scanning over the platter set out on your desk.

Irritation sparked in your chest as you realised he moved everything around, your work being casted off to the side. It eased slightly when you noticed the neat way things were piled and stacked to make room for the food. The table, being in the middle of the room, had an extra chair on the opposite side that had never been there before. There was a skinny vase with a few roses inside next to the platter. Two plates and glasses of red liquid (wine, presumably) were set out at each spot. A blue checkered tablecloth ran the width of the table, stopping just short of the edges.

“Lunch.” He said simply, stepping up behind you. “You said you didn’t have any plans today, so I thought I’d fix that.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Mm.” He hummed and pulled your chair out for you, urging you to sit down. You did so, albeit reluctantly. You were careful to keep an eye on him in case he tried anything.

He rounded the table and sat on the opposite side, eyes trained on you as well.

“I figured, since you’re working so diligently on my superweapon, that I’d ought to get to know you better.” His smirk erased any sort of sentimentality his words might have had, and it took everything in you not to shove the platter into his face.

“Uh-huh.” You hummed suspiciously, still not convinced.

“Hey, now. What’s with the look? I don’t do this for just anyone.”

“Which is why I’m confused.”

“What’s there to be confused about? Can’t a man just treat a pretty girl?”

“Nice try.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”

Your eyes narrowed. “So, what’s the plan here? Drug me with the wine and food just to get in my pants?” You leaned back in your chair, gesturing to the setting in front of you.

His face faltered slightly, and you could’ve sworn you saw a glitch of concern in his expression.

“Now, why would I do that?”

“We’re in Hell. That’s, like, the norm.”

“Fair. But I’m a man of class. I’ve got better standards than that.”

You couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped you. “You? Class?”

His grin returned at your reaction, satisfied he managed to get something out of you for once.

“Something tells me you don’t believe me.”

“No!” You exclaimed. “Definitely not!”

“Now, that’s almost hurtful, sweetheart.” He leaned forward to put one of the mini quiches in his mouth.

“You’re the most powerful overlord in Hell right now.” You stated, grimacing as you picked up on the way his ego seemed to inflate in front of you as you spoke. “And you expect me to believe you’re here for something other than your weapon and to get your rocks off?”

He seemed amused at your comment and took a sip of wine. “I’m a man of many sides.”

You scoffed.

“But if it makes you feel any better, no, I’m not just here to get you under my sheets.”

He gestured to the food in a quiet insistence to eat. You held his gaze for a few moments, contemplating on keeping the conversation going,even if only to pry out more information from him. The big question on your tongue was ‘why?’. Why go out of his way to do all of this, to continuously pop in unannounced, if he wasn’t getting anything out of it? And, not to mention, why go for a lowly engineer? He’d been on your tail since you landed in Hell, and still hadn’t quit in his determination to recruit you.

And so, swallowing it all down, you picked up a pastry.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You hated how quickly he inserted himself into your life after that. The way you noticed if he didn’t show up that day. How you’d subconsciously turn your head at any flicker of electricity or flash or light. The way you’d make notes of features or details you added to the weapon just so you’d remember to tell him later. Each time he visited, he became more and more impressed with the progress. Some days he would have a disgruntled expression on his screen when he got there, but it would immediately get wiped away when you noticed him standing there, his mood lifted.

Especially when you stopped greeting him with a scoff, and instead chose to wave him over with a smile.

He always put his visits down to “making sure you didn’t fuck it up”, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

The first time he got you to laugh—actually, truly laugh—he looked at you with a strange, soft face you’d never seen before. It was odd, catching him in moments like that. He was so void of his usual pride and arrogance, and it almost made him likeable.

Without even realising, the two of you became adjacent to friends. Although it got to the point where he would shamelessly flirt with you whilst you ranted about all of the physics of the weapon. He pretends to listen, but he’s really just staring at your lips while you speak to distract himself from the fact he has no idea what any of those scientific words mean. And you’re simply oblivious to his moves because you’re too focused on building the damn thing.

“Holy shit.” Vox murmured, in awe at the sheer size of the thing.

You’d finally finished the weapon, having unveiled it in its final form for the overlord, despite the fact he already knew every step of the process anyway.

“All it needs is some Morningstar magic and you’ll be good to go.” You smiled, hands behind your back. A strange nervousness tugged at your gut as you watched him. He didn’t say anything, just stared at it. Oh no. Did he hate it?

“…So?” You asked hesitantly, carefully turning between him and the machine. “What do you think?” Surely he wouldn’t turn back now. He had plenty of opportunities to step in and stop the production.

He finally snapped back to reality and turned his attention to you. “It’s perfect.” He finally said.

A wave of relief washed over you, and you let out a breath. The nerves still churned within you, especially as you prepared your next sentence. “I do have to thank you…”

He seemed a little surprised. “What? Why?”

Your fight or flight kicked in, and your walls threatened to shoot back up. He was looking at you so intensely, so intimately, that it scared you a little. But nevertheless, you forced yourself to continue.

“For, well, giving me this opportunity. It’s been the, uh, biggest project in my career…” You trailed off slightly, dancing around the main thing you wanted to say.

He smiled and gently grabbed your hands in his. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

Your face flushed against your will, and his smile only widened. It was one of those odd, warm ones that you previously only saw glimpses of. But this time, it was right in front of your face, staring into your eyes. And even if you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Because despite how much you hated him, he has grown on you. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve grown to like him. Wouldn’t that be crazy?

“Thank you for believing in me.”

It came out before you could stop it. The words that burned inside your throat were now in the air, hanging heavily between the two of you. He responded with a light squeeze of your hands and a claw against your cheek. His hand brushed against your jaw for a minute before cupping the side of your face and tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze closely.

“Always.”

Up close, you could faintly see the pixels of his screen that burned into your irises. Your heart beat loudly in your chest and echoed in your eardrums, and you were sure he could hear it clear as day. If he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he ran a soothing thumb over your cheek, driving goosebumps to the surface of your skin.

After a few moments, a thought occurred to you. This could very well be the last time you see him. At least for a while. The weapon that he enlisted you to create could very well either be the end of Hell as you knew it or be the reason for the beginning of a new era. Things would never be the same once he used it, and you’d never be standing in your workshop like this again. Once he succeeds in taking over Heaven, you doubt he’d ever look your way again. To build something else, maybe. But even then it may be a stretch.

“Vox?” It was a quiet murmur of his name, meek and uncertain.

“Yes?”

You bit your bottom lip, unsure of how to ask it. Or if you should. He watched you expectantly, waiting patiently for you to continue. You took a breath.

“Is this… Will this be the last time I see you?”

He looked confused for a few seconds, taking in the weight of your question.

“Do you want it to be?”

You looked at one another for a moment. Every part of you was screaming for you to agree, to say it would be best to part ways. Except for your heart. His hands on you and the low tone of his voice had it speeding up and skipping beats like never before, and you hated yourself for it. You should’ve been stronger than that.

So, you shook your head. His smile gave way to a smirk, though it wasn’t like his usual one. He seemed amused, relieved even.

“Are you telling me I’ve finally won you over?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to push away from him. “Shut up. I take it back.” He only held you tighter and chuckled.

“I have!” He exclaimed. “Oh, I’ve waited so long for this moment, Y/N!”

You groaned and your forehead fell forward against his chest. His laugh vibrated against you as you muttered an “I hate you.”

His hands found your face again and pried you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him once more. He grinned at your flushed cheeks.

“Your face says otherwise, sweetheart.” He hummed in a low purr, which only made it worse.

And then, without any further words, he pulled you in and pressed your lips against his. Initially, it felt weird kissing a screen. But you quickly learned that it surprisingly wasn’t all that different. There was a strange realistic sensation to the way he moved against you, the mixture between what was digital and tangible only spurring the growing need in your body further.

He broke the kiss for a brief moment, giving you just enough time to take in a breath before you were on each other once again. One of his hands moved to the back of your head whilst the other slipped down to your waist as he walked you backwards. A small grunt escaped you as your back hit the wall, and he swallowed the noise with the tangle of his tongue with yours.

The next time he broke the kiss was to tug your head back by your hair to expose your neck for him. He wasted no time in grazing his teeth against the skin and finding your sweet spots. His hand on your waist found its way beneath your shirt, exploring the hidden skin of your torso under the fabric. You, on the other hand, clutched onto him as much as you could. You tugged on his bowtie, grasped at the edges of his screen, found wires at the back of his head to pull on. It was all so exhilarating, and Vox clearly had been yearning for this very moment for a while.

With a singular claw, he pulled the collar of your shirt out of the way and bit down on your neck, sharp teeth sinking deep into your flesh and earning a cry from you. His tongue lapped up the spots of blood pooling around the bruised mark, murmuring quietly to himself about how perfect you sounded.

That was, until a knock at the workshop door startled the both of you. He paused his movements with a growl, then reluctantly pulled away as Carmilla’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, calling out for you.

“Uh—Coming! Just a second!” You replied, trying your best to sound normal. Vox chuckled in your ear and you lightly hit him to try and shut him up.

“We’ll continue this later.” He trailed a finger from the base of your jaw to your chin, smirking at the shiver that ran up your spine.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

★ Request Guidelines

I think I have a problem with writing yearning requests... like mmm yes let me turn this into Vox just chasing after reader for years and finally getting his way...

Sorry I just love obsessed Vox 😔

This feels so rushed omg I need to edit it but I can't be bothered rn... and I have't posted in like a week IM SORRY

[safination]

Come Home With Me²

Summary: After seven years away, Alastor tries then fails to convince you to come home with him. Good thing there's always the next day . . . and the day after that . . . and also the day after that . . . and the day after that as well. Yet some kinks form in his plan when he realizes that he's been demoted to ex-husband now. Part 1: Come Home With Me

Alastor didn’t know what was worse—the casualty in your voice, or the fact that you said the words as at all.

Ex-husband.

You introduced him as your ex-husband, as if he wasn’t currently your husband, as if he wasn’t someone who currently belong to you. Alastor was . . . is your husband, but apparently, that title only existed in his mind.

The distance you’ve insisted on suddenly all made sense now. It’s why he’s been prohibited on staying the night at that sad, little apartment of yours—so different from the home he’s built with you. It’s why you’ve yet to come home with him.

Alastor can feel his ears pressed to the back of his head.

It stays pressed, even as you grab him by the arm and lead him away from the crowd, away from the bustling of the hotel and into some dark hallway where you could be alone. It’s your fingers that brush his cheek, and what expression is he making that causes you to touch him so?

You swipe a thumb on the edge of his lips, pushing it up just a little higher. “What’s wrong?” you say, still pushing on his smile. “You can smile better than that, Alastor.”

Alastor.

Not ‘deerest’.

He would have settled for a simple ‘Al’ as well.

Alastor leans into your hand, letting his eyes flutter to a close. It’s much easier to ignore the fact that your wring is missing that way—it’s been missing for a while now. “I’ve just realized something unpleasant, that’s all.”

It’s stupid to wait for a kiss that never comes, for you would have presses a kiss to the edge of his lips by now, but Alastor was just an ex-husband now. In your mind, there was nothing between you and him, and him and you.

It’s just you.

It’s just him.

You pull away with a soft smile, laughing a bit. “What did you realize?”

“I . . . I just remembered that I had some business to take care of.” Alastor lies to you instead. It comes out so easy because that is who he’ll always be—nothing good. “It’s just a quick little errand! But you know how things can get. Go home without me. Or don’t. It’s your free will, after all—the same one that got you condemned here with me.”

“I could come with you.”

“That’s alright, chérie.” Alastor takes your hand, swiping his thumb on across a finger that should have your wedding band. “My errands always tend to get a little messy.”

“A little bloody too.”

“Now, now,” he says, waving his hands a little. “You underestimate me. It gets plenty bloody.”

There’s this certain look in your eyes as you watch him smile. Curse you, honestly. It’s unfair of you to gaze at him so knowingly. Alastor has been known, and it’s by none other than you—his wife . . . er . . . ex-wife, apparently. Not his current wife. Not his. Not yours—

“You’re squeezing too hard.”

Alastor blinks at you, loosening his grip, but never fully letting go of you. There’s this moment, and it lasts more than a moment, where Alastor presses a kiss between your fingers. It’s a little triumphant when you don’t pull away from him. “Forgive me, chérie .”

It comes out softer than he intended.

It’s your turn to blink at him, for Alastor is well known for never apologizing so directly. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Alastor pretends for one small and shining moment that he’s asking for forgiveness because of the way he left, and not because he gripped at you.

It’s much easier to apologize for the smaller things, for it’s much easier to ignore how he’s wronged you. Much easier, indeed, to ignore rather than to face the music of his absence.

“Go home,” he says. “I don’t know when I’ll finish.”

It would be inconvenient to have his meltdown here.

Yes, meltdown.

Surely, there would be none who can criticize him for destroying half the city, and Alastor would rather destroy the half that’s far away from you . . . and the hotel. There were things that he still needed to do, after all.

“You’re being awfully considerate today,” you say, a little softly, a little sadly, as if the idea of him considering you was saddening. “Before, you would have dragged me with you. I would’ve been stuck at the top of some water tower by now.”

“Ah . . . yes.” Alastor knows he’s lacking his usual charm. That annoying glair he usually summons falls a little flat now.

Alastor doesn’t even know when he stopped being your husband and became your ex instead. Was there a specific time? A specific day? A specific moment when you decided he could no longer belong to you?

“I don’t appreciate you bailing on me mid-way.”

Alastor tries to smile that usual wide and sharp smile he’s so known for. It doesn’t quite work. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Is that a promise?”

“. Ha! . . .Ha . . . ha . . .” Alastor’s ears press even harder to the back of his head. “We could make a deal out of it if you wish. I’d offer you my soul, but I don’t currently have it on me.”

“It’s you whose been hounding me for weeks to come visit the hotel.” You roll your eyes all the way to the side, but that too doesn’t have its usual flare. There’s a frown that you’re trying so desperately to hid from him. “You were supposed to take me to your radio tower. I . . . I even brought snacks for us to eat.”

Us.

There’s a line that you’ve drawn between him and you. It’s taking everything in him to respect the distance you’ve so clearly placed. Still . . . he likes the way you said it anyway.

Alastor smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “I always tell you not to eat there.”

“Yet, you’ve never stopped me before,” you say, squeezing his hand back. “Not once.”

“I don’t know how to deny you, ché— . . .” Alastor shakes his head a little. There should be no reason why he couldn’t call you his dear. Even if he no longer belongs to you, it would not change the truth of his heart.  “Chérie, not once have I known how to.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Ha! Ha! If that is what you wish.”

“You smooth talker,” you say, laughing a bit. “Just for that I’ll give you the chance to earn my forgiveness. All I need is a simple favor from you.”

“How absolutely generous of you, chérie,” he says, and it still falls a little flat. “Whatever it is you desire, chérie. Anything for your forgiveness, chérie.”

You point to your cheeks, showing him the brightest smile you could muster. “Just one of these will do.”

This familiar bantering.

This familiar ease.

It hurts a little.

And what has Alastor done when things start to hurt? When things start to get a little to close? Well, he does what he always does.

. . . Alastor dissolves into the shadows, because that is who he’ll always be—nothing good.

You deserve nothing but goodness.

A/N: I'm debating of adding maybe some jealousy scenes with both Reader and Alastor or maybe just going straight to the destroy half the city then the reconciliation. Hrnnn I don't know. I'll think about it.

[safination]

Come Home With Me

Summary: After seven years away, Alastor tries then fails to convince you to come home with him. Good thing there's always the next day . . . and the day after that . . . and also the day after that . . . and the day after that as well . . . and the day after that . . . and the day after that, and the day after that one, and the day after that one as well. Listen, having to re-woo your ex-wife is a lot of work.

There’s something ominous lingering outside your window, almost like some kind of bad omen. You slide the curtains away . . . Ha.

Looks like you were correct. There was a bad omen, and he’s currently smudging his face into the glass of your window, eyes as wide as his smile. Alastor brightens his smile at the sight of you.

There’s this moment where he glances at the single rose into his hand, then presses it closer to the glass as if to offer it you.

You open the window, and snatch the flower from him. It’s stupid to accept this flower, stupid to soften your heart at the sight of his smile, when he left you. He doesn’t get to come back and pretend things have stayed the same.

“I was wondering where you went,” he says, before you could close the window on him. “It was quite a surprise to come home after seven long years, and find you missing! The house has turned dusty and miserable without anyone inside.”

. . . Funny.

You were wondering the same thing about him.

Alastor places his hands on the windowsill, ready to climb into your apartment.

You slam the window on his fingers, even if it shattered bones. “I didn’t say you could come in.”

“You’re still as beautifully cruel as ever, chérie.” Alastor’s smile widens, a look of absolute elation on his face. “Come home with me?”

You slide the curtains close.

Once again, you are left alone with nobody by your side. There’s a part of you that wants to throw the rose away. You place it into an empty vase instead.

Seven flowers.

Seven days.

Seven instances of Alastor pressing his face into the glass of your window. He never leaves until you’ve opened it to let him talk.

That is the only reason why you open the window tonight. At least, that’s the excuse you give yourself. Turns out, seven years isn’t long enough to move on from your ex-husband, not when you’ve been together for almost a hundred.

“The Hazhin Hotel was awfully dull without you,” he says, sitting cross legged on the fire escape. “It’s easy work to be the host of such a pathetic, little thing because there are no guests for me to host.”

You stay leaned against the wall, never really facing him. It’s easy to stay silent, never really responding to what he says. Alastor tells you the smallest details of his day anyway, telling you about everything except for the one thing you wanted to know.

Why?

Alastor’s ears flicker a bit when you lean out to glance at him. “I placed a whole new radio tower on the side of the hotel,” he says. “The princess was even generous enough to give me a room of my own. It wasn’t hard to drop a bayou. You would love it, chérie.”

Your words come out a little quiet. “Would I really?”

“No . . . Perhaps not,” Alastor says, a small but happy smile on him. “But you could always come home with me if you don’t like it.”

“Not today.”

Alastor’s ears shoot up. “But, one day?”

You close the window instead of responding. It’s difficult to keep looking at the small wobble on his smile, and much easier to close the curtain on him as well. He doesn’t get to make such a sad, sad expression, not when you couldn’t allow yourself to fix it.

That same ominous feeling is back, and right now, it prickles that back of your head.

The moment you turn, you see Alastor leaning on the windowsill, never fully going in. By now, he knows what would happen should he try to cross that line.

You sigh at him. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

“Yet,” he says, voice a little too giddy, “you window was open.”

There’s a part of you that wants to shut the window on his face. That would certainly pull a fun expression on his face. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say. “The extermination is in a few hours.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Go home, chérie.”

“You’re saying that awfully early.”

Alastor stares at you. “Go home.”

It’s insulting to hear him say those words.

There’s this moment where you try to shut the window, but Alastor pushes against you, forcing the window to stay open. “I don’t have to go anywhere,” you say, a little soft. “Not when I’ve spent years going to that house without you. This is my home now.”

Alastor says your name in such a soft way, that you almost invite him inside. “It’s not safe here.”

“I’ve survived the last seven years without you.” You lean against the wall, if only to physically remove him from your line of sight. “And I’m not the one currently about to fight Heaven’s army. You shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Then, can you worry about me?” Alastor breaks the rule, and sticks his hand through the window to present you a rose. “Even if it’s just a little.”

You take the rose from him. “I’ll think about coming home if you come back to me without a scratch.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Then, I’ll come back to you without a scratch.”

That fucking liar.

Alastor hasn’t come for you in almost a month now.

Yet, even as the news parades him as Vox’s hostage, you keep your window open for him anyway.

There are a handful of flowers in Alastor’s hand, some look a little burnt and some look just as bruised as he does now. If you count the flower, you’re sure it’ll be the exact number of the days he’s missed. Looking at the messy bouquet, it dawns on you just how many days he missed.

Alastor presents the bouquet of mismatched flowers to you. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, looking just as tired as he sounds. “It seems my regular florist got caught up in that stupid TV’s death ray—Ha! Ha! So, I simply improvised.”

You shut the curtains on him, and curl into the heavy cloth. There’s a stupidly happy smile on you, and that pride of yours will take a hit if you allow him to see it.

“Oh, dearest!” Alastor says. “Now now., we made a promise. I promised to come back to you without a scratch, and you promised to come home with me.”

You slide the curtains open. “I said I would think about coming home,” you say, frowning a little. “Good Heavens, Alastor. You look like you thrown into multiple buildings.”

“That’s because I was.”

“I saw the news,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. Go . . . Go rest up, or get treated.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, wagging his fingers. “I promised to come back to you without a scratch, and I am currently scratch free. There was a little set-back to my plans, but I’ve taken care of it now.”

You tell yourself that it’s instinct to reach out for his face, cupping him into your hold. “You look tired,” you say. “I could have waited another day.”

“I couldn’t.” Alastor’s ears droop as he leans into your hand. “I don’t want you to wait any longer than you already have. I’ve already made you wait long enough.”

You swipe a thumb across his cheek. “There are rips on your suit, and some burn marks as well. You look like you’re about to pass out any second,” you say, laughing a little. “And you still stopped to pick me some flowers?”

“I did,” he says, a toothy grin on him “ . . . Will you come home with me?” A silence rises into the air, and Alastor sighs a little. “You won’t, will you?”

“I’m not ready to go back to that house just yet.”

Alastor takes a step back, a step away from you. “I understand, chérie.”

“Wait.” You grab his good arm. “Would . . . Would you like to come inside? Help me find a vase big enough for the bouquet.”

That sad, sad look disappears, replaced by a smile that could rival the Morningstar himself.

It will take a while, but everything will be alright again.

[abs0rbed]

No Manners — Vincent Whittman ♡

♡ Tone: fluff/smut

♥︎ afab!reader, minor age gap, older!Vincent, younger!Reader (in her late-ish 20s), pathetic!Vincent, one night stand, alcohol, drunken flirting, drunken kissing, drunk sex, rough sex, rough kissing, cunnilingus (?), fingering, elevator sex, getting caught (accidentally), doggy style, missionary, praise kink, dirty talk, minor breathplay, biting kink, p in v.

♡ Summary: Getting blackout drunk with a famous anchorman was fun. Getting caught by his building's board of directors mid act in the elevator was not. Now Vincent is facing eviction, a brutal hangover, and the fact that he's completely hooked on you.

♥︎ Authors note: Hi cuties! I am finally writing something again after my surgery! Recovery honestly sucks, but I am feeling so much better than I did before! (the things I'm doing for looks..) I'm pretty sure after a few more days I'll be back to posting regularly without a doubt (as well as taking requests). ​Thank you all for being so patient with me while I was away. I hope this fic makes up for the radio silence! Enjoy, thoughts are appreciated!

♡ Words: 8544

The rain outside was coming down in sheets, drumming against the fogged up glass of the tavern. Inside, the air smelled of stale tobacco, cheap whiskey, and wet wool. You were just trying to dry off, staring into a half empty glass, when the stool next to you scraped against the floor.

A man sat down, exhaling a long, heavy breath. He took off his thick rimmed glasses, wiped the condensation onto his coat sleeve, and hooked them back over his ears.

You blinked, looking at his profile. The sharp, hooked nose. The crisp white strands threading through the dark hair at his temples. The tailored suit jacket, now slightly damp.

Holy shit. You knew that face. You saw that face every single night at six o'clock on the wood paneled television set in your living room. He was the well known, Vincent Whittman. The voice that delivered the city's worst news with total, unshakable calm.

Vincent caught you staring, and god, did he look just incredibly tired.

"Don't tell me," he muttered, a faint, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "My tie was crooked during the evening broadcast."

"No, your tie was fine," you said, your voice a little louder than you intended. "I watch you every night. Seriously, I love your show! You're the only one on the air who tells it straight."

The tired slump in his shoulders vanished instantly, he sat up a little straighter, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. A slow, gratified grin spread across his face, lighting up the lines around his eyes. He absolutely loved it.

"Is that so?" He turned his stool fully toward you, resting an elbow on the bar. "The only one, huh? Well, it’s a tough job keeping this city honest, but someone has to do it."

He flagged down the bartender with a flick of his wrist, signaling for two more of whatever you were drinking.

"Tell me more," he said, leaning in, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "What else do you think of the broadcast?"

You spent the next hour feeding his ego, and he ate up every single word, laughing loudly and buying round after round to keep you talking.

"Keep them coming, Tony," Vincent called out, slapping a crisp twenty dollar bill onto the counter without looking.

He leaned closer, the scent of expensive cologne and rye whiskey hitting you. The more you praised his delivery on the recent election coverage, the more his chest puffed out. He loved the sound of his own name on your lips.

"You've got a sharp eye," he murmured, swirling the ice in his fresh glass. "Most folks just stare at the screen like cattle. But you? You actually listen, what a good girl."

You laughed, the alcohol already starting to warm your cheeks. Every time you finished a story or complimented his poise under pressure, he beamed, nodding along as if you were handing him a trophy. He started letting you into the inner circle, whispering gossipy, behind the scenes secrets about his studio rivals and the network executives who tried to tell him what to do.

"They think they run the place," he scoffed, throwing his head back to finish his drink. "But without this face, without this voice? They’ve got fucking nothing."

By the time the third round arrived, your words were turning soft around the edges, and his laughter was getting louder, echoing off the low ceiling of the bar.

Vincent slid his stool an inch closer to yours. The glasses on his nose had fogged up again from the warmth of the bar, and he pushed them up into his hair, revealing mismatched, heavy, lidded eyes. The white strands at his temples caught the dim light as he leaned his chin on his hand, looking at you with total focus.

"Alright, enough about the newsroom," he said, a lazy, lopsided smile on his face. "I've been talking about myself for an hour. Let's talk about you."

He gestured with his glass toward you, his eyes scanning your face.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting all alone in a dive like this on a rainy night? Don't tell me you don't have a boyfriend waiting at home, wondering where you are."

You looked down at your drink, a little flush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "No," you admitted, swirling the melting ice. "No boyfriend."

He let out a low, satisfied laugh, sitting back just a bit as if he’d just won a prize.

"No kidding?" he murmured, shaking his head. "Well, the fellas in this town must be losing their minds, then... or, well, just plain blind."

You leaned in a little closer, the warmth of the rye whiskey making you bold.

"And what about you?" you asked, tilting your head. "An important, handsome anchorman like you must have girls lining up outside the studio doors."

He just let out a low, rumbling hum, completely unbothered by the question. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he settled his hand onto the bar right next to yours.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, late night register. "There’s a difference between girls who want to see their names in the society papers, and a girl who actually catches my eye."

His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and heavy with intent. He had absolutely zero shame, using that famous charisma like a weapon.

"Besides," he continued, sliding his hand just a fraction closer until his thumb lightly traced the back of your knuckles. "Those girls aren't sitting right next to me. And they certainly don't look like you do right now."

Your heart did a sudden, chaotic flip. He wasn't flirting! He was completely taking control of the room, fully aware of exactly what he was doing to you!

You held his gaze, refusing to look away or back down from the sudden heat in his voice. The alcohol was humming loudly in your veins now, melting away any lingering hesitation and replacing it with a sudden, sharp burst of confidence. Instead of pulling your hand away, you turned your palm up, letting your fingers casual slip between his, feeling the warm, slightly calloused texture of his skin.

"Is that right?" you murmured, leaning so close your shoulder brushed his damp suit jacket. "You talk a big game for a man who spends his life reading scripts that other people write for him. Tell me something real.. what happens when the cameras turn off and you’re alone in that big apartment of yours? Are you always this shameless?"

He loved a challenge, and the fact that you weren't intimidated by his television persona only seemed to excite him. He gripped your hand a little tighter, his thumb firmly pressing into the center of your palm as he leaned down until his breath fanned against your ear, completely ignoring the bartender who was awkwardly wiping down the counter a few feet away.

"I don't play roles when I'm off the clock, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice dropping into a gravelly, intimate register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "When I see something I want, I don't see the point in wasting time with manners. And right now, looking at you, manners are the very last thing on my mind. But let's turn that back on you. You're asking a lot of heavy questions for a girl who claims she was just looking to get out of the rain. What is it you're really looking for tonight? Just a story to tell your friends tomorrow, or did you come in here hoping someone would finally give you trouble?"

You tilted your head up, your lips inches from his jawline, completely intoxicated by the smell of his cologne, the heavy alcohol, and the sheer audacity of his undivided attention. "Maybe I like trouble," you challenged softly, your eyes tracking the sharp, hooked slope of his nose down to the smirk resting on his lips. "Especially the kind that comes with a very.. very famous voice."

He hummed softly, a sound of pure satisfaction, and flagged down the bartender with his free hand without ever breaking eye contact with you. "Two more. Double them up this time, and don't bother with the water." He turned his full attention back to you, his eyes locking onto your mouth with a heavy focus that made the rest of the crowded, smoky bar completely vanish into the background.

The double shots arrived, the dark amber liquid sloshing against the rims of the heavy glasses as the bartender set them down with a dull thud. He didn't even hesitate, picking up his glass and downing the burning rye in one fluid swallow before setting it back down, his eyes never leaving yours. The heat from the alcohol was fully taking over now, loosening the last of his professional restraint and coloring his cheeks with a heavy, dangerous flush that made him look completely different from the sanitized man on the television screen.

"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping into a raspy, unhurried drawl that felt heavy with liquor, "an hour ago, I was sitting here thinking about how much I fucking hated this city tonight. But now? Now all I can think about is taking you back to my place, locking that heavy oak door behind us, and finding out if you taste as sweet as you look under these miserable lights." He leaned in closer, the scent of alcohol and expensive tobacco thick between you, his hand sliding up your arm to grip the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin right beneath your ear. "I want to hear that pretty voice of yours making noises that have absolutely nothing to do with the evening news. I want to see you completely breathless, ruined for any other man who thinks he can just walk up and talk to you."

Your head was spinning from the sheer speed of the alcohol hitting your system, your heart hammering against your ribs as his words sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight through you. You leaned heavily into his palm, your hand finding the lapel of his damp suit jacket and tugging him down until your lips almost brushed his jaw. "You think you can handle that?" you whispered back, your words slightly slurred but dripping with confidence. "You're used to reading from a script, Mr. Whittman. You think you know exactly how the night ends, but you don't know the first thing about what I like. If we go back to your apartment, I'm not just going to sit there and let you take whatever you want.."

"God, you have a beautiful, wicked mouth," he muttered, his gaze dropping to your lips with total, shameless fixation. "Keep talking like that, and we aren't even going to make it to the taxi. I'll drag you straight into the alleyway behind this place and show you exactly what happens to pretty girls who try to push me around." He smiled. "Let's drink the rest of this bottle, love. Let's get so numb we forget our own names, and then I'm going to take my time taking you apart piece by piece."

The rain was still pouring down in heavy, blinding sheets as the heavy wooden door of the bar swung open, spilling the two of you out onto the slick, shimmering pavement. The cold air hit you like a physical blow, but it did nothing to sober you up, if anything, the sudden shift made your head spin twice as fast, the lights of the city blurring into long, bleeding streaks of amber and crimson. You couldn't even walk straight, your heels catching on the uneven concrete as you stumbled heavily against his side, laughing breathlessly as his arm locked tightly around your waist to keep you upright. Before you could even clear the fog from your brain, he spun you around, pinning you back against the cold, wet metal of a parked car and crashing his mouth down onto yours with a messy, desperate hunger that tasted entirely of rye whiskey and raw heat.

Your hands flew to his jacket, your fingers tangling in the damp fabric as you kissed him back just as fiercely, completely oblivious to the world around you until a yellow checker cab screeched to a halt right at the curb, its horn blaring loudly to shatter the moment.

"Get in," he muttered against your lips, his breathing ragged and heavy as he pulled away just enough to wrench the cab door open, practically hoisting you inside before sliding in right behind you and slamming the door shut against the storm.

The interior of the taxi smelled of old leather and cheap air freshener, the rhythmic thuds of the windshield wipers doing nothing to slow down the frantic pace of the night. The moment the cab pulled away from the curb, any remaining filter you had was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, liquor fueled boldness that made you crawl straight onto his lap, your hands sliding shamelessly underneath his tailored suit jacket to feel the warmth of his chest through his crisp white shirt. You trailed your lips along his jawline, your fingers teasing the collar of his shirt, driving him absolutely wild as his hands gripped your hips with a bruising force.

"Hey! Buddy! Lady! Break it off back there!" the taxi driver snapped suddenly, his irritated face glaring at you through the rearview mirror as he swerved around a corner. "I run a clean cab. Save that garbage for behind closed doors or get the hell out of my car!"

The interruption hit Vincent like a lightning bolt, snapping him out of his haze and replacing it with an instant, ugly surge of drunk arrogance. His face flushed a dark, angry red as he bolted upright, his grip tightening on your waist as he glared furiously at the back of the driver's head, entirely forgetting his smooth persona as his voice boomed through the cramped vehicle. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" he snarled, his words thick and heavily slurred but dripping with absolute malice. "You keep your fucking eyes on the road and drive the car! I pay your miserable salary, you pathetic little nobody! If I want to touch her, I'll touch her wherever and whenever I damn well please, and you won't say a single word about it!"

The driver opened his mouth to shout back, the tension in the cab instantly skyrocketing as the two men started screaming over each other, the car swerving slightly on the slick pavement. Your head was pounding from the noise, and seeing him get so viciously distracted was ruining the heat of the moment, so you reached up, wrapping both of your hands around his face and forcing it down until his angry, bloodshot eyes behind his crooked glasses were locked onto yours. "Hey, look at me," you whispered loudly, your voice heavy with alcohol but firm as you stroked his cheek, drawing his attention away from the shouting match. "Calm down. Forget about him. Stop wasting your breath on him and focus on me."

The touch of your hands against his skin acted like an instant narcotic, completely draining the fury from his expression and leaving him looking dazed, heavy lidded, and utterly captivated by you. A slow, lazy, lopsided smirk spread across his face, hands sliding back up your thighs as he leaned his forehead heavily against yours, the driver's angry muttering fading into background noise.

"You're right, baby," he murmured thickly, his warm, whiskey scented breath brushing your lips as his gaze locked onto your mouth with total, shameless adoration. "You're absolutely right. Fuck him. Fuck this whole miserable city. None of them matter anyway." He pulled you flush against his chest, his hands wandering boldly once again as he buried his face in your neck, completely lost in the fog of the liquor and the scent of your skin. "You're the only thing I'm looking at tonight."

The taxi screeched to a halt in front of a towering, art deco apartment building, the brass fixtures on the awning gleaming through the torrential rain. He threw a crumpled handful of bills at the front seat without counting them, threw the door open, and practically dragged you out into the downpour.

You were both laughing hysterically now, completely plastered, your knees buckling as you stumbled through the heavy glass doors of the lobby.

The grand foyer was dead silent, lined with polished marble and a plush green carpet that felt like walking on a cloud to your numb feet. The night doorman gave a sharp, startled look from behind his desk, but one glance at Vincent’s fierce, protective grip on your waist, and the sheer, dangerous look in his eyes, made the man look down at his paperwork instantly, pretending he saw absolutely nothing.

He hauled you straight toward the elevator at the back of the lobby. It was a classic setup, featuring a heavy, outer mahogany door and an inner metal accordion gate. Because it was the middle of the night, the manual operator was gone, leaving it on the automatic night service setting. He yanked the outer door open, shoved the metal gate aside, and pulled you into the wood paneled cab. The second the heavy doors clanked shut and the elevator groaned to life, the claustrophobic, private warmth of the small space blew away what was left of his control.

He didn't even wait for the machine to pass the second floor. With a low, ragged groan, he slammed his body against yours, pinning your back hard against the smooth wooden wall of the elevator. The impact rattled the glasses up into his hair, his locks falling wildly across his forehead.

He didn't care.

He crashed his mouth onto yours with a desperate, bruising hunger that made your head spin into complete orbit. His hands were completely frantic now, tearing at your coat, his heavy warmth completely overwhelming you as the elevator hummed and vibrated beneath your feet.

"I told you," he whimpered against your lips, his voice incredibly thick, raspy, and completely undone by the liquor. "I told you I wasn't going to wait."

He locked one hand around your waist to hold you up, his thigh wedging directly between yours to pin you flush against the wood. His free hand slid down, completely shameless, tearing past the hem of your damp dress. You gasped into his mouth as his large, warm hand traveled straight up your thigh, his fingers sliding deliberately beneath the silky edge of your panties, pushing them to the side as he sank a finger into your wet and sopping cunt.

The sheer sensation of his touch against your bare skin made your hips arch off the wall, your fingers digging furiously into the fabric of his suit jacket just to stay grounded as the elevator kept climbing, the mechanical clicks of the passing floors echoing softly over the sound of your heavy, tangled breathing.

The elevator car shuddered slightly as it continued its slow, mechanical ascent, the heavy hum of the cables vibrating right through the soles of your shoes. He was completely blind to everything but you now, the liquor driving away every ounce of his primetime television dignity. With a rough, impatient curse muttered right against your neck, his hands shifted frantically. He let go of your waist just long enough to clumsily undo the fastening of his trousers, pushing them down just enough, while his other hand hooked into the fabric of your dress and hitched it up past your hips, forcing you to turn around. You arched into him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for dear life as he stepped in closer, his heavy weight pressing you flat against the wood as he prepared to lift you completely.

Ding!

The sharp, crystal clear chime of the elevator echoed through the small wooden cab like a gunshot.

Before either of you could even process the sound through the thick fog of whiskey, the heavy outer mahogany doors slid back with a smooth click, followed by the metallic clatter of the inner accordion gate retracting automatically. The cool air of the high rise hallway rushed into the warm, breathless car.

Standing right there on the brightly lit parquet floor of the eighth story was an elderly, incredibly posh couple dressed in formal evening wear, the husband in a crisp tuxedo and the wife draped in a lavish mink stole and expensive pearls. They had clearly just returned from a gala, expecting a quiet ride down to the lobby.

Because of how he had spun you around in his frantic rush, you were pinned face first against the back wall of the elevator, your hands braced against the wood. The famous, dignified evening news anchorman was flushed a dark, sweaty red, his expensive glasses pushed up wildly into his hair, his trousers riding low on his hips, and his hands buried high under the bunched up fabric of your dress as he grinded heavily against your backside.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The old woman's jaw dropped so fast her pearl necklace rattled against her collarbone, her eyes swelling to the size of saucers as she gripped her husband's arm. The old man froze entirely, his sophisticated expression twisting into a mask of pure, aristocratic horror as he stared directly at the unmistakable face of the city's most trusted public figure caught in the most scandalous, shameless position imaginable.

For a second, Vincent didn't even move, his drunk brain struggling to register why the wall in front of him had suddenly disappeared into a bright hallway. He slowly blinked his heavy, bloodshot eyes, turning his head over his shoulder to look at them, a loose, lopsided, completely plastered smirk stretching across his face as his hands stayed firmly right where they shouldn't be.

He slowly turned his head over his shoulder, his bloodshot eyes blinking heavily as he tried to focus on the two stunned aristocrats standing in the hallway. Instead of pulling away or showing even a flicker of shame, a loose, arrogant grin spread across his face, his fingers tightening stubbornly against your hips as he gave a lazy, drunken shrug.

"What are you two staring at?" he slurred, his deep television voice echoing loudly down the quiet hallway, completely lacking its usual broadcast clarity. "Take the stairs if you don't like the programming. I pay rent here, and right now, the elevator is occupied."

The old man’s face went from pale shock to a furious, bright purple, his cane rattling against the floor as he gasped for air. "You—you disgraceful degenerate! You are on television!"

"And I'm a human being off the clock, you ancient fossil!" Vincent barked back, his temper flaring instantly just like it had with the taxi driver. And he actually had the audacity to lean back into you, his hips shifting as he tried to resume exactly what he had started right in front of them.

"Ignore 'em, baby. They'll be dead in a week anyway! Let's just finish this..."

"Oh, absolutely not," you gasped, the sheer absurdity of the situation finally cutting through the heavy fog of the whiskey.

You turned around as you planted your hands firmly against his chest, using every ounce of your strength to push his heavy, muscular frame back until his shoulders hit the opposite wall of the elevator. You reached down with one hand, frantically pulling the hem of your dress back down over your thighs, while your other hand grabbed his face to stop him from lunging back toward you.

"Stop! Stop it right now!" you hissed, your cheeks burning with a mix of intoxication and secondhand embarrassment as you looked at the old couple, who looked like they were about to have twin heart attacks. "I am not doing this in front of an audience that needs a pair of bifocals just to see what's happening. Get your pants up!... Put your dick in oh my god don't..— don't zip them up yet!"

Vincent blinked down at you, looking completely dazed and deeply offended that you were halting the action, his lower lip pouting slightly like a scolded child. "But baby..." he muttered thickly, his hair completely disheveled as he weakly reached for your waist again, completely blind to the fact that the old woman was currently clutching her chest and whispering for her husband to call the police.

You didn't wait for him to complain any further. Ignoring the old man's furious sputtering and the old woman’s dramatic gasps, you grabbed the knot of his silk tie and yanked it forward like a leash.

He stumbled out of the elevator cab with a heavy, uncoordinated groan, his trousers still dangerously loose around his hips as his long legs tangled over each other. You practically dragged him across the plush hallway carpet, his heavy shoulder scraping against the wallpapered wall as he let out a loose, drunken sob, completely shocked by how forcefully you were handling him. Behind you, the elevator doors finally clanked shut with a heavy metallic slide, cutting off the horrified glares of the elderly couple and leaving the two of you alone in the dim corridor.

"Key," you hissed, bracing your shoulder under his arm to keep his entire weight from collapsing onto the floor. "Where is the fucking key?"

He blinked lazily at the dark mahogany door of apartment 8B, a lopsided smile spreading across his face as he reached into his jacket pocket. Instead of a key, he pulled out a gold cigarette case, offering it to you with an incredibly slow, dim-witted nod. "You're spectacular, you know that? Firefire—furious. I love it when you're furious."

"The door key, you idiot," you muttered, groaning under his weight as you reached into his pockets yourself, your hands frantically searching until your fingers wrapped around a cold brass ring.

You jammed the key into the lock, twisted it until the latch clicked open, and practically threw your bodies inside. The apartment door slammed shut behind you, locking out the rest of the world and plunging the two of you into the quiet, shadowy luxury of his apartment.

Vincent didn’t care that his knees were shaking or that his glasses were currently sliding down the bridge of his crooked nose. He didn't even care that his trousers were unbuckled. With a low whine that rattled deep in his chest, he caught you by the waist, lifted you completely off your feet, and pinned you hard against the nearest wall of the dark foyer. A framed painting rattled against the plaster above your head, but neither of you noticed.

"You think you're in charge, sweetheart?" he muttered thickly, his voice raspy, laced with liquor as his breath brushed hot against your lips. "You think you can just pull me around by my tie and call the shots?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He crashed his mouth down onto yours, his lips tasting sharply of desperation. His large, warm hands grabbed the fabric of your dress, bunching it up in his fists and tearing it upward past your hips. You gasped into his mouth, your thighs wrapping tightly around his waist to hold yourself up as your fingers dug into his thick hair, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single inch of air left between your bodies.

Vincent stumbled forward, carrying your weight out of the foyer and into the shadowy expanse of his living room. He didn't even make it to the bedroom. His knees buckled under the weight of the alcohol, and you both tumbled wildly onto the thick, expensive Persian rug in the center of the room. You laughed breathlessly against his neck as you fell, the room spinning violently, but the second he rolled over and pinned you beneath him, the laughter stopped.

His suit jacket was half off his shoulders, his tie completely askew, and his mismatched eyes burned with a reckless hunger behind his lenses. He reached down, ripping his trousers and underwear the rest of the way down his thighs, his touch frantic and rough as his hand found the wet skin of your bare thigh again.

"I've been thinking about this since the second you sat down next to me," he growled, his thumbs digging into your hips as he positioned himself between your legs. "And I'm not waiting another second."

He lunged forward, driving into you with a heavy, unbridled force that made you arch your back off the floor, a loud gasp tearing from your throat as your hands clawed at his shoulders. The world dissolved into a complete, dizzying blur of hot skin, the heavy scent of his cologne, and the rhythmic, desperate friction of your bodies moving together on the floor.

Vincent was completely unhinged now, losing all of his famous, controlled broadcast dignity as he buried his face in your neck, letting out ragged, breathy groans with every heavy thrust, completely consuming you in the dark.

The sheer intensity of it was completely overwhelming, the pleasure hitting you so hard that you couldn't control the loud, uninhibited cries tearing from your throat. Your voice echoed sharply off the high apartment ceiling, completely shattering the quiet luxury of the dark living room.

Vincent let out a low, ragged curse against your ear, the sound of your loud reactions driving him completely over the edge. "You're so.. mngh— loud, babe. Fuck..! Keep it down a little." Wanting to muffle the noise before the neighbors called the building manager, he shifted his weight, pressing his large, warm hand firmly over your mouth.

His palms smelled of alcohol and expensive leather, his fingers anchoring tightly against your jawline to hold your head still as he kept driving his thick cock into you with a relentless, heavy rhythm.

The sudden, suffocating heat of his hand over your mouth didn't slow you down, if anything, the restriction only poured gasoline on the fire. A fierce jolt of adrenaline shot straight down your spine, your eyes widening in the shadows as you bit down slightly on the meat of his palm, your hips arching violently off the rug to meet every rough, heavy thrust.

Vincent moaned loudly at the sudden bite, his chest heaving as he leaned down until his forehead pressed against yours, his crooked glasses clicking against your brow. He kept his hand clamped tight, turning your loud screams into muffled, breathless whimpers that vibrated right against his skin.

"Yeah, that's it," he growled thickly, his voice a raspy, intoxicated whisper right against your face as his movements grew faster and completely unhinged. "Take it. You wanted trouble, sweetheart, and you're getting exactly what you asked for. Go ahead, take it, such a good girl... yeahhh..— hnggh!! You're so fucking hot. Gonna make me cum so fucking hard already! Nobody is coming to save you tonight."

Your fingers clawed furiously into the fabric of his shirt, leaving deep creases in the linen as the room tilted and spun into a complete, dizzying vortex of friction and heat. He was completely undone, losing every single ounce of his professional dignity as he spent his remaining strength pinned against you, his dirty talk turning into a string of breathless, gravelly praise until the final, heavy waves of your orgasm hit you both like a physical shock wave.

The heavy, ragged gasps of the climax had barely settled before the heat between you flared right back up, the alcohol refusing to let either of you slow down. He rolled his heavy weight off you just long enough to wrench his damp, wrinkled shirt completely over his head, discarding it onto the floor, leaving his bare chest gleaming in the shadows of the living room. He did the same thing with you, completely undressing you as he stared at your breasts as if they were another set of eyes.

Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were on you again, his grip tight and unyielding as he pulled your hips back against him. He wasn't done, and the sheer audacity of his stamina, ueled entirely by the numbing haze of the alcohol, had your heart hammering wildly against your ribs all over again. He turned you over onto your hands and knees right there on the thick rug, his fingers digging deep into your waist, pinning you down with a heavy force that left no room for hesitation.

"You thought that was it?" he growled thickly against the back of your neck, his voice deeper and more gravelly than before. "We’re staying up all night, doll. I’m going to make sure you remember every single second of this when you wake up tomorrow."

He drove back into you from behind with a sudden, bruising depth that had a loud, sharp gasp tearing from your throat. The friction of the rug against your knees and the heavy, relentless rhythm of his hips moving against yours sent a massive jolt of pleasure straight through your system. You arched your back, your fingers clawing desperately into the tight fibers of the carpet to keep your balance as he set a punishing, frantic pace that completely consumed the quiet apartment.

"S—slow down you.. pervert!"

The hours dissolved into a total, dizzying blur of motion, sweat, and the heavy scent of cologne and liquor.

Every time your voice got too loud, his large hand was right there to muffle the sound, his talking turning into an endless stream of praise and demands that kept you completely undone. You lost track of how many times you came, how many positions you shifted into, or how long the storm outside kept drumming against the glass.

He kept going until your muscles were completely trembling and his own strength was entirely spent, pushing the encounter to the absolute brink of exhaustion before the darkness finally, completely claimed you both.

Vincent didn’t give you a second to rest on the living room floor. He grabbed you by the thighs, hauled you up against his chest, and carried you straight into the bedroom, tossing you onto the mattress. Before you could even blink, he was sliding down your body, his large hands gripping your hips with a bruising force to pull you right to the edge of the bed.

He parted your legs, draping your thighs over his broad shoulders, and buried his face directly between your legs.

"You're such a messy girl.. look at this, shit, I'm drooling already.. be a good girl for me, and stay still." The first wet, heavy stroke of his tongue had your back arching off the sheets, a loud, sharp gasp ripping from your throat. He didn't slow down for a second, using his tongue and fingers to wreck you completely, holding your hips down so you couldn't twist away from the intensity.

But just as he was right in the middle of it, breathing hard against your skin, when his movements suddenly slowed down. His head got heavier and heavier against your thigh until, with one final, long exhale, he stopped completely.

You waited a second, your heart still pounding, expecting him to keep going. But the only response you got was a soft, deep snore vibrating right against your leg. The massive amount of whiskey had finally caught up to his brain, turning his lights completely out right then and there.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, looking down at the back of his head. The famous, untouchable voice of the evening news was fast asleep between your legs.

You braced your hands under his arms and hauled his heavy, muscular frame up the mattress. Vincent groaned softly but didn't wake up, his long limbs completely limp as you dragged him up until his head hit the pillow right next to yours. Removing his glasses as he instinctively rolled onto his side, flinging a heavy arm over your waist to pull you tight against his bare chest, burying his face into your hair.

You didn't even have the energy to fix the covers. You just closed your eyes, the room finally stopping its violent spin as you fell into a deep, heavy sleep tangled up in his sheets.

The morning sun cut through the heavy velvet drapes like a knife, blinding and hot, painting long golden bars across the expensive hardwood floor of the bedroom.

You woke up with a pulse pounding in your temples that felt like a localized earthquake. Every muscle in your body was stiff, your mouth felt like sand, and your hair was a wild, tangled mess against the silk pillowcase.

You didn't move an inch, completely aware of the heavy, dead weight of his arm still locked securely around your waist, anchoring you to his chest.

Instead of slipping away, you carefully rolled over onto your side, holding your breath against the sudden spike of nausea.

You wanted to see this.

You wanted to see the exact moment the city's most polished, untouchable public figure had to face the music.

He was still completely dead to the world, snoring softly. Without his glasses, his face looked surprisingly vulnerable, though the sharp, hooked slope of his nose still gave him a severe profile. The white strands of hair at his temples were stuck to his forehead with dried sweat, and his jaw was covered in a rough, dark shadow of morning stubble.

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered. He let out a low, pathetic whine that sounded more like a wounded animal than a primetime broadcaster, his hand moving automatically to press against his temple as the hangover slammed into his brain.

He blinked against the bright light, his eyes bloodshot and completely unfocused. He fumbled blindly on the nightstand until his fingers wrapped around his thick rimmed glasses, sliding them onto his face with a hand that was visibly shaking. He took a deep, shaky breath, turned his head slowly on the pillow, and locked his eyes onto you.

For a long, agonizingly quiet five seconds, he just stared. You could practically see the rusty gears in his drunk brain grinding as the fragmented memories of the night before started falling into place, the bar, the bragging, the taxi driver, the horrified couple in the elevator, the living room rug.

His gaze slowly traveled down the bed. He realized he was completely naked, his chest hair matted, and his expensive tailored trousers were definitely not in his bedroom, completely ruining any shred of dignity he had left.

His face went through a spectacular sequence of colors, from a pasty gray, to a sudden flush of bright red, right back to a pale, horrified white. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to find that confident voice, but it came out as a weak, gravelly squeak.

"Good morning," he croaked, his eyes darting frantically around the room as if looking for an emergency exit. "I... assume you have a name?"

You held his gaze, a slow, entirely smirk spreading across your face despite the throbbing ache in your head. Seeing the great, unflappable man completely reduced to a sweating, panicked mess on his own silk sheets was worth every bit of the hangover.

"I do have a name," you said, your voice a little raspy from the smoke and the screaming from the night before. You reached out, deliberately tapping the tip of his hooked nose with your finger. "It's [ Reader ]. But given everything we went through last night, I figured you would have remembered it, Mr. Whittman."

He winced slightly at the sound of his own name, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably against the pillows, acutely aware of his and yours nakedness.

"Right. Of course," he muttered, trying to smooth down his wild, hair with his fingers, though it didn't do much to help his appearance. He let out a dry, self deprecating laugh that sounded incredibly rough. "Please tell me my memory is playing tricks on me.. Did I... did I actually threaten to throw a taxicab driver out of his own moving vehicle last night?"

"Oh, that was just the warm up," you laughed, propping your chin up on your hand to get a better look at his misery. "Wait until you remember what you told that lovely elderly couple on the eighth floor while you had me pinned against the elevator wall."

He froze entirely, his hand stopping mid air. His bloodshot eyes went wide behind his thick lenses as the memory hit him like a physical blow. He let out a low, agonized groan and pulled the pillow completely over his face, his voice muffled against the fabric.

"Jesus fucking Christ, " his voice rumbled from beneath the pillow. "They're on the building's board of directors. I am going to be evicted by noon."

Before you could even pull the pillow off his face to keep teasing him, the heavy quiet of the apartment was shattered.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

A series of sharp, furious knocks rattled the mahogany front door at the end of the hall. The sound echoed down the corridor and straight into the bedroom, hitting your hangover like a physical blow.

He bolted upright under the sheets, his face instantly draining of whatever color it had left. He threw the pillow aside, his breathing turning shallow as his eyes darted to the bedroom door.

"Mr. Whittman!" a loud, booming voice shouted from the hallway, muffled only slightly by the thick wood of the front door. It was unmistakable, the building manager. "Mr. Whittman, I know you’re in there! Open this door immediately! We have a severe situation regarding your conduct in the public spaces last night!"

Vincent looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He scrambled to find another pair of trousers, his hands shaking so violently he could barely get the zipper to catch.

"The board," he whispered frantically, his deep voice cracking into a panicked hiss as he looked over at you. "They actually called him. They’re going to ruin me.. this is the end. This is how my career is going to end. Fuck my life. Fuck my luck. Fuck everything. Matter of fact! Fuck you too!"

He finally managed to buckle his pants, before he threw on a wrinkled shirt that was lying near the closet. He took a deep breath, trying to pull his shoulders back to find a shred of that famous, unbothered evening news composure, but his bloodshot eyes and wild hair completely gave him away.

"Stay here," he muttered, pointing a trembling finger at you. "Don't make a sound. If the press gets hold of this, I'm finished."

He turned and strode out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding heavily against the floorboards as he headed toward the firing line in the foyer.

Staying under the covers was far too boring. You waited until his bare feet padded all the way down the corridor, and the moment you heard the heavy front door creak open, you slipped out of the silk sheets. Your clothes were in the living room, so you had to improvise, quickly you just wrapped yourself in a robe that sat near the bed.

Your head throbbed with every step, but you ignored the ache, creeping down the hallway in your bare feet until you were pressed flat against the wall just around the corner from the foyer. You peeked around the molding, getting a perfect view of the back of his wrinkled shirt.

"Good morning, sir," Vincent rumbled. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, trying to look casual, though his hand was gripping the brass knob so tight his knuckles were white. "A bit early for a house call, isn't it? I was just preparing some copy for the evening broadcast—"

"Save it, Vincent," He snapped. The building manager was a short, stout man wearing a crisp tweed suit, and he looked entirely unimpressed. He was holding a small leather notepad, tapping a pencil against it with an aggressive, rhythmic click. "I received a phone call at three o'clock this morning from Mr. and Mrs. Higgins. They were hysterical, Vincent. Absolutely hysterical."

"The Higgins?" He let out a dry, forced laugh, running a hand through his wild hair. "Oh, come now. You know how the elderly exaggerate. A minor misunderstanding in the elevator car, nothing more—"

"A minor misunderstanding?" He lowered his voice, stepping closer into the foyer, his eyes narrowing. "They claim you were heavily intoxicated, shouting profanities, and engaged in a disgusting display of public indecency with a young woman. Mrs. Higgins had to take her heart drops! They are demanding your immediate eviction on the grounds of moral turpitude!"

Vincent didn't flinch, but you could see the muscles in his jaw clenching tightly. He drew himself up to his full, impressive height, his persona completely locking into place as he tried to bully his way out of the corner.

"That is an outrageous slander," he boomed, his voice echoing off the foyer walls. "I was assisting a colleague who had taken ill due to the torrential downpour. If the Higgins' fragile sensibilities mistook a gentleman helping a lady for something untoward, that is their malfunction, not mine. I suggest you remember who brings prestige to this address, sir, before you throw around words like 'eviction.' "

From your hiding spot around the corner, you had to bite your own hand to keep from laughing out loud. The sheer, shameless confidence of his lie was spectacular, especially since his pants were still wrinkled and his hair looked like a bird's nest.

The manager stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. He looked down at his leather notepad, then back up at the anchorman’s towering, rigid frame. The sheer authority in Vincent’s voice, the exact voice that millions of citizens trusted every single night, seemed to do the trick, slowly chipping away at the manager's resolve.

"An ill colleague," the manager repeated slowly, his tone shifting from furious to deeply skeptical. He tapped his pencil against the pad one last time before pocketing it. "Well... if that is indeed the case, Vincent, it was a highly irregular way to handle the situation. The Higgins are convinced they saw something altogether different."

"The Higgins are looking for drama where there is none," he countered smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the slight tremble in his fingers. "I assure you, my only concern was getting a sick woman out of the storm. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a broadcast to prepare for."

The manager let out a long, defeated sigh. He knew Vincent was a high paying tenant who brought a lot of status to the building. "Fine. I will speak to the board and try to smooth this over. But keep your 'colleagues' out of the public spaces from now on, Mr. Whittman. Good day."

The heavy front door finally clicked shut, the deadbolt sliding into place with a loud, echoey snap.

The second the manager was gone, all of Vincent's grand, authoritative posture completely collapsed. He let out a massive, ragged breath, his shoulders slumping heavily as he leaned his forehead right against the cool mahogany wood of the door.

"Fucking hell," he muttered to himself, his voice dropping back into a completely exhausted, hungover rasp.

You slowly stepped out from around the corner, leaning against the hallway wall with your arms crossed, a massive, teasing smirk on your face. "An ill colleague?" you echoed, tilting your head. "Wow. You really are a professional liar, aren't you?"

He slowly turned around, his eyes widening slightly when he realized you had heard the whole thing. A faint, completely embarrassed crimson flush crept up his neck, but he still tried to offer you a weak, lopsided smirk.

"It's called public relations, dollface," he croaked, rubbing his temples as the adrenaline faded and the headache came roaring back. "And right now, this 'ill colleague' owes me a massive favor for saving us from the street."

You walked back into the foyer, leaning down to scoop up your heels from the floor before turning to look at him. The morning light was fully flooding the apartment now, exposing the absolute disaster of the living room behind him, discarded clothes, an askew rug, and a complete lack of that primetime dignity he usually carried.

"Well," you said, a playful, lazy smirk on your lips as you looked around "This one night stand was definitely fun, Mr. Whittman. But I guess I should get going before your next 'ill colleague' shows up for a meeting."

You turned toward the living room in order to get fully dressed, expecting him to just let you walk away with a smooth, professional goodbye.

Instead, a large, warm hand clamped firmly over yours.

You blinked, looking up at him. Vincent had stepped in close, his heavy chest rising and falling beneath his wrinkled shirt. He didn't have his usual cocky broadcast smirk anymore. His thick rimmed glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, and his mismatched eyes were looking down at you with a sudden, intense focus that had absolutely nothing to do with a casual hookup.

"Who said this was only going to be a one time thing?" he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head up to match his gaze. "Vincent, we met in a dive bar, got blackout drunk, and almost got you evicted by a couple of senior citizens. I think we had our fun."

"I don't care about the elevator, and I don't care about the manager," he cut in, his grip tightening on your hand, pulling you just an inch closer until you could smell the faint scent of his cologne beneath the morning chaos. For the first time since you met him, he looked completely unscripted, his famous composure entirely melted away by something raw and real.

He shook his head, a silver strand of hair falling across his forehead.

"I've lived in this city for forty years, doll, and I’ve never met anyone who could make me forget who I am the way you do. I'm not letting you just walk out that door and turn into a story I tell myself at the bar."

He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours, his eyes locked onto your mouth that left no room for doubt. The arrogant Vincent was completely gone, he was entirely hooked, and he had no intention of letting you go.

"You're staying," he whispered against your lips, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. "We're going to clean up this room, I'm going to make you breakfast, and then you're going to tell me exactly how you want to spend the rest of our weekend. I belong to you, and you belong to me."

[6esiree]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐱 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐝

𝐂𝐖: Nothing, really, just Vox being a sucker for you

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: This is a short, fluffy little story about you convincing Vox to stop working, to go back to bed with you by sweetly begging — and calling him by his old name, Vincent — which is something he dreads. He can’t resist you, not when every version of his name nicely rolls off your tongue.

Dedicated to @lilsleepybear1029 🤍

Vox loathed when you did that, when you pulled that cute little stunt every time you didn’t get your way. No matter how firm he was, you straddled his lap, clung onto the lapels of his coat, and whimpered at him with that look on your face — your lower lip jutted out in a pout as you stared up at him through your lashes with soft, doe eyes.

If you didn’t have a chokehold on him, he would have easily brushed you off and continued working.

“Come on, baby, you’ve been working all day,” You whined, trying to get him to meet your gaze. “I miss you — come back to bed with me.”

His chest vibrated with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I can’t do that,” Vox told you, leaning in and extending his arms, but not to embrace you. “I have to get this report done.”

You perched your chin on his shoulder with a soft grumble as you heard his keyboard clicking.

Still, Vox knew that you weren’t done with him. He was no stranger to your stubbornness, your persistence, but when you felt neglected by him? Oh, you made sure to remind him just how staunchly determined you could be when your adorable display failed you. In fact, he could hear the words already, a groan bubbling in his throat.

It was his least favorite tactic, though only because it never, ever failed you.

Vox’s eyes fell shut, his brows scrunched together, and the corners of his mouth stretched to form a long grimace, especially as he felt your fingers release the lapels of his coat. He stopped what he was doing, bracing himself, the only sounds that resonated throughout his office being the soft squeak of his chair and the rustling of his clothes.

“Please, don’t,” Vox started, his voice slightly buffering. “You know I have to get this report done — just a few hours, that’s all I need, fucking please.”

You pulled back from his shoulder and craned your neck, plush lips delicately grazing the corner of his screen; and your palms smoothed over his chest, making his heart rate pick up. He knew it, that there was no point in trying to reason with you. When you touched him, felt him, fingers tugging at his vest, he knew that your mind was made up.

So, Vox slumped back into his chair, cracking open his eyes with a sigh, resigned, defeated as he watched you shoot him the most innocent of smiles before parting your lips to inevitably sound out the familiar set of words he dreaded as much as he adored — something only you had the privilege of doing, at least behind closed doors.

“Vinny, baby, come on,” You begged, pressing yourself up against him. “I can’t wait another few hours — I don’t want to. I love you and I miss you.”

Just like that, you had him, hook, line, and sinker.

He tossed his head back and clutched at the edges of his screen with a long, pathetic whine.

It took all of your willpower to not giggle at him.

“Fuck, this isn’t fair!” Vox cried out, the sound of his name on your tongue driving him nuts. “You always do this — always! — and I fucking hate it.”

You ignored his petulant tirade and leaned in to pepper him in kisses, making him flush cyan. A few strands of your hair flew up, tiny sparks of electricity pecking your skin, but you didn’t mind. You quite liked the static his screen emanated when he blushed, repeating his name over and over again, dissolving him into a flustered mess.

“Vincent, Vince, Vinny — is that a yes?” You pulled away and asked, as if you didn’t already know the answer. “Please tell me it is because I — oh!”

He grasped the bottom of your thighs and stood up, your hands scrambling to clutch his shoulders.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Vox conceded, screen still cyan and fuzzy. “I’ll just leave the rest to Ethan and hope he doesn’t fuck it up and embarrass me.”

You let out an excited squeal as he zapped you to your room, looking displeased, frustrated — but deep down? Oh, that wasn’t the case. The love he had for you, it was insurmountably problematic, especially for his career. In fact, if you weren’t so quick to apologize to him in bed, he would have accused you of trying to sabotage him.

[tuquoque-deactivated20260813]

♪‧₊˚Quality Time

vox x reader

tags: nsfw, smut, fluff, mommy kink, breast play, light praise kink, strong language, sinner!reader, fem!reader

synopsis: vox needs time to recuperate after a hard day's work. for someone so emotionally constipated, he seems to recover faster when he's in the arms of a lover—requested by anon.

wc: 1.9k

“All right, gentlemen, good talk! I believe I’ve made myself clear. No more TED Talks on workplace behavior needed, right?” Vox asked, uninterested in the mass of quivering employees before him.

The VoxTek engineers had instinctively huddled together—elbows pressed—to form a barrier between them and the imminent danger that was their boss.

The Media Overlord glided past the public display of incompetence and through the doors of the V Tower’s lift. Once inside, he spun around to face his subordinates—a clawed finger hovering over the elevator’s control panel. He blinked rapidly, calmly awaiting a response from the lone, brave sinner who dared to answer him, but the room remained dead silent.

Vox groaned inwardly at the prospect of resetting the elevator’s alarm if this conversation took any longer. He shouldn’t have expected these mindless demons to have a backbone anyway…

“Oh, uh, y-yessir! You don’t have to tell us tw-twice,” a voice suddenly squeaked from within the limp pile. “We’ll adhere to the dr-dress code and keep our work stations clean! This won’t h-happen again.”

Huh.

That wasn’t quite the humiliation ritual the sadistic Overlord was seeking, but it would have to do for now. These dim-witted lowlifes had wasted enough of his time—time better spent doting on his girlfriend, all alone on his floor of V Tower.

“Good man,” Vox praised glibly, his voice clipped with urgency.

The group of new hires let out a collective sigh—relieved at their boss’ apparent satisfaction.

Taking his finger off the control panel, the TV Demon flashed his employees a shark-like grin as the lift doors slid to a smooth close. At the sound of the elevator doors’ swish, Vox dropped the false pretenses and let his square-shaped head droop downwards in an undignified arc. His shoulders followed suit, taking on a hunched posture that his chiropractor would surely crucify him for. But Vox didn’t give a damn. He had just clocked out of the longest, most tedious workday he had ever had in the 70-some years of his afterlife.

The sinner felt more machine than man these days with how much of himself he had invested into his ever-growing empire.

The CEO of VoxTek Enterprises had been resolving company issues left and right. The ice cream parlor was running low on Bubble-O-Vals? Vox was already dialing up the distributors on the limo ride there. The VoxTek Assists were outperforming the new VoxTek Voyeur Scopes? Vox called Velvette to have Hell’s biggest influencers advertise them on Sinstagram. New problems would crop up in place of old problems across the many VoxTek properties scattered throughout Pentagram City. The Media Overlord felt like he was hopelessly slicing off the heads of the Hydra, or perhaps less dramatically, playing an infinite game of Whac-A-Mole.

One would think that being at the top of the VoxTek food chain would grant more freedom than the nobodies at the bottom who handled the company’s dirty work. But judging by the sharp arrowheads of stress piercing every muscle in Vox’s body, that was a gross misconception.

Hearing that secondary swish, Vox looked up just in time to see the elevator doors open, revealing the resplendent view of his living quarters.

Located towards the top of one of Hell’s most coveted high-rises, Vox’s floor of V Tower was the architectural embodiment of unapologetic opulence. The CEO stepped off the private elevator into the open-concept common room—black marble floors gleaming beneath his heeled shoes. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sinfully sumptuous view of the Entertainment District, mimicking the glow of the neon-soaked Las Vegas Strip. The dining area flowed seamlessly into the living room, crowned by an artistic light fixture that was crafted in the image of a heavy rain shower, which you had to beg your boyfriend to install.

Vox thought the ceiling ornament was too minimalistic, like something a pretentious art student would assemble for university. You, on the other hand, thought it added a balanced elegance to the TV Demon’s ostentatious preferences.

The Media Overlord's cyan-colored eyes followed the light fixture’s delicate strings, dangling teardrop-shaped crystals over your head. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, you were only half-paying attention to the movie on the large flat-screen, too invested in a conversation you were having over text.

“Hey, V! I ordered takeout tonight. I didn’t feel like cooking. Dinner should be here in...20-ish minutes,” you announced—not bothering to spare the TV Demon a glance.

Vox nodded wordlessly and quickly shed his starched suit jacket and stiff waistcoat, leaving them in a neglected pile on the marble floor.

You looked so comfortable on the L-shaped couch—clad in baggy jeans and a spaghetti-strap tank. Your relaxed aura drew him in. The TV-headed man crept closer to the sofa—worried that he would drag the negative energy from outside into the calm atmosphere of his living room. He got on all fours and crawled towards you, stretching his long body across your lap.

“Mmrgh...wha’ ‘re’ you doin'?” Vox murmured into the navy blue seat cushions.

You shifted your phone to one hand and began to massage your boyfriend’s back with the other.

“Come again?” You asked politely.

“I said,” Vox twisted his flat-screen around, “what are you doin’?”

“Oooooh, see, I thought you said that. I’m planning a ‘girls’ afternoon out’ for next Friday,” you said, putting air quotes around the impending activity.

Vox angled his body towards you, wanting to absorb more of that inviting warmth you so effortlessly exuded.

“Yeah, I'm puttin’ the kibosh on that. Nuh uh—not happenin’,” he stated firmly. “Next Friday we’re doing that wine tasting thing with some of the investors.”

Vox eyed you up and down with an expression you could only describe as the annoyed root of a budding temper tantrum.

“That’s why I said I’m planning a girls’ afternoon out and not a girls’ night out,” you clarified, rolling your eyes at Vox’s demanding behavior. “It was the only time all of us were free. The spa is right by the vineyard, so I can drive over afterwards.”

At this, Vox perked up, his screen lightening to a brighter shade of cyan.

“Why don’t I go with you? We can take the same limo around.”

“Oof…hard pass, baby.”

“WH-WHAT?”

Your boyfriend felt his throat squeeze at your refusal.

Vox tried to laugh off the straightforward rejection, but covered his misplaced amusement with a cough. “Babe, are you fuckin’ serious? ‘Hard pass’? The fuck do you mean ‘hard pass’?”

His frown deepened when you only chuckled at his sulking.

“V, be real with me for a second. Bringing your boyfriend to a girls' hangout is the social faux pas to end all social faux pas.” You tutted disapprovingly. Hoping he wouldn’t take this conversation to heart, you continued to rub Vox’s shoulders affectionately. “Besides, it’s only fair. I wouldn't expect you to keep me around when you have your ‘dude time’ or whatever you call it.”

“My inner circle is quite literally all women aside from a shark and one of two business partners.” Vox’s screen flickered before opening a photo gallery application. He swiped through images of you, Velvette, his shiver of female sharks, and the aforementioned Shok.wav and Valentino. “I couldn’t hang out with the guys even if I wanted to.”

A text box appeared over the Film Overlord’s selfie displayed on Vox’s screen—bold cyan letters reading “INVALID ARGUMENT” in a sleek sans-serif font.

Well...he wasn't wrong about his limited social life.

Vox was a sensitive soul who tended to isolate himself from everything and everyone, especially when he got wrapped up in his work. You posited that, if it weren’t for Valentino’s matchmaking abilities, there was no way the TV Demon would have expanded his interpersonal connections outside of the Vees’ sphere of influence.

Feeling a skosh of pity for the Media Overlord, you leaned forward to press a kiss to the sharp corner of his head. Unbeknownst to you, the subtle movement had pushed your breasts right up against Vox’s glass face. Your boyfriend, being the indecent man he is, smirked at the opportunity that presented itself to him. His cyan tongue darted out from his screen and licked at a nipple through the stretched material of your tank top. He watched for your reaction as his tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive button.

“Mmm, no bra, Mommy?” Vox asked in an ingratiating voice—all too eager to change the subject and beyond pleased at the lack of thick padding obstructing his tongue.

“Oh, no, no, no, no—not right now, baby. I’m busy with this,” you insisted, waving your VoxTek smartphone with the urgency of an airport marshaller. “Wait until I’m finished and we can do whatever y—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Vox had already tugged the flimsy strap of your tank top down your shoulder. You watched as your boyfriend coyly bit his lip at the sight of your exposed breasts—all soft skin and maternal tenderness. Pressing the cool glass of his face into your chest, he breathed a sigh of relief once he latched onto your nipple.

“C’mon, Mommy, you love me. Don’t you?” Vox entreated, his calm voice betrayed by the lively electrical buzzing emitting from his mechanical body. The vibrations from his deepened voice sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. “I treat you right. I spoil you like the high-maintenance…”

You gave him a warning glare.

“...Princess that you are,” he laughed out—highly aware of the unamused expression painting your features. “Do you really wanna say no to this sweet face? When has sayin' no to me ever done you any good?”

Without waiting for an answer, the TV Demon wrapped his thin blue lips around your plump breast once again, licking around the fat of your chest before latching onto the stiff peak.

“God, I really needed this,” he rambled softly to himself.

You sighed in defeat, ultimately worn down by your boyfriend’s childish persuasion tactics. “Sweetheart, you are way too old for this.”

You would truly never know a more charismatic, wet cat of a man than Hell’s Media Overlord.

Still, you complied with your boyfriend’s wishes and maneuvered him into a more comfortable position on your lap, cradling his heavy TV head whilst supporting his neck. Vox’s cool, lethargic body nestled against your skin as he suckled unhurriedly at your breast, causing your hand around his neck to grip him even tighter. You bit down on your tongue in an effort to stop a pleasured moan from exiting your mouth just as your boyfriend blew cold air over your nipple—the pert bud glossed with his spit. Saliva dribbled from his mouth down the curve of your breast before pooling at the indents of your upper abs. His flat features glowed bright with fulfillment.

Despite your earlier objections, you really did relish these quiet, intimate moments that only you had the privilege to experience. It wasn’t often that the TV Demon would so vulnerably curl up into your lap and call you “Mommy.” No, Vox was too pumped full of machismo—too prideful to admit to his love of being pampered like a spoiled child from an old-moneyed family.

You smiled warmly at the Media Overlord as you nursed him on your lap.

Slowly, you rocked your boyfriend back and forth in the way gentle waves swayed the sturdy, wooden body of a sailboat.

“That’s my good boy,” you whispered, speaking the gentle intimacy into the cool night air.

a/n: jesus christ, this is that fucking scene between firecracker and homelander...

[pxldth]

Indomitus • Alastor

➜ SUMMARY ⋮ alastor finds his greatest challenge in a seamstress who hates him a little less than they pretend to.

➜ CONTAINS ⋮ alastor x gn!reader, the word seamstress is used but it’s neutral, reader has hair long enough to tie up tho, ooc alastor probably but it’s my fic so idc, he’s pathetic and ravenous excuse my freakness, so much tension but no actual canoodling my apologies

➜ WC ⋮ 2.1k

a/n ⋮ first time posting fanfic and i cant believe it’s for hazbin hotel. 🙂‍↕️ i kinda hate this but i need it out of my drafts, happy holidays !

Pointed dress shoes click along the pavement of a bustling shopping street, sinners warily skirting past the enigmatic demon in red who hums a jaunty tune under his breath like he wasn’t a feared Overlord who incited whispers everywhere he went.

Alastor turns a corner and feels his pulse thrum beneath the skin, fluffed-up deer ears hooking on the sound of busy chatter he can already make out from the building along the next stretch of walkway.

Before him was a boutique. It was a quaint little establishment that looked just as it did the first time he’d stumbled upon it freshly out of the grave nearly a century ago. Almost opulent in a way that nothing in Hell ever really was, like whoever owned it took great pride in their business and the appearance with which it presented itself. Someone of taste in this dreadfully barren wasteland of hopeless sinners.

There’s thorny bougainvillea crawling up the exterior walls, curling around sleek, ivory pillars until they can’t possibly grow any taller. The doors, large, mahogany things with shining golden nobs, glint with lamplight from the lanterns fixed to the overhang above it.

Grand was the only word for it. Even in its humble size. It wasn’t such an eyesore like Velvette’s own fashion department up in Vee Tower. The one you’d lamented so many times before.

With a burst of magic, the doors sweep open and Alastor steps over the threshold, but not a soul turns to look his way. For a moment, the Radio Demon doesn’t even seem to exist.

The ceilings around him are tall, more so than they seem from the outside, and hang with rose-petaled chandeliers that cast warm light across the room.

Alastor’s shadow darts off somewhere, blending into the shaded corners of the room like it’s lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to stir up trouble. Every so often, a candle's flame flickers with its presence.

He points his gaze outward, watching your assistants sweep about carrying billows of fabric and lacy finery bundled in their arms, close to toppling over completely. They talk so fast that Alastor can’t make out a word of it, not that he cares to try. He’s used to their gossip enough to drown it out on instinct alone, whispering about him, about you, about the two of you or what he wishes you were.

Crimson eyes sweep the room before landing promptly on your back, You, who stands amidst the calamity like a lightning rod catching sparks with your clothes immaculate and your posture poised, but the minor cracks in your facade don’t escape his notice.

You’ve got that crease between your brows from the frown that permanently worries your lips, and spirals of hair fall free of the normally pristine updo he sees you don often. From a glance alone, Alastor could tell you were focused, busy.

And he just couldn’t have that.

He steps forward, long legged strides winding through the hustle of worklife with careless ease, and taps his microphone along the floor tauntingly. That golden grin is stuck permanently to his face, but it always looks more genuine here, even when he’s up to no good.

Especially when he’s up to no good.

“How fares Hell’s most ambitious seamstress?”

It’s like clockwork, how you lock up before relaxing with that weary sigh Alastors heard so many times before.

You clutch your pen just a bit tighter, turning to him with a glare that could levy entire mountains. A shiver runs up his back, that tingling kind that coiled at the base of his spine with something like sadistic satisfaction.

You don’t waste time, narrowed gaze trailing down the list in your hand with a flexed jaw.

“I’ve got four alterations, one Goetia party gown and a dozen wedding dresses to tailor by the end of next week. Did you know winter is wedding season in Hell? Me either.” You seem out of breath, but more than that, irritated, eyes cutting up to him with hellfire sparking at the corners.

“Tell me, why have you decided to forsake me with your presence today, Alastor?”

Alastor’s grin curls wider if at all possible. He enjoys the way your words bite, the way you treat him like you would any other sinner to walk through those doors. Like you weren’t scared.

He found that in all the years he’d known you, you weren’t frightened of much. No boogeyman nor cryptid creature could shake your nerves of steel. Alastor often asked why you’d no interest in being an Overlord. Your response? It was childish.

He props his hands upon the microphone and digs it into the ground in a way that makes your eye twitch when it grates on the floors you’d probably had polished the day before.

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood. I seem to have found myself in a bit of trouble and ended up ripping a sleeve in the commotion, fabric is such a fragile thing.”

Your eyes narrow, briefly darting to the torn sleeve in question. He could fix it himself. You knew it, so did he. Alastor was only here to annoy you.

“And I suppose this trouble came in the form of a certain Media Overlord you no doubt picked a fight with?” You accuse, almost sneering at him.

Alastor rests a clawed hand over his undead heart, so very appalled. “Me? Stir the pot? Never.”

You give him a sour look.

“Either way, I require your expert assistance, I can’t very well walk around looking any less than my best, now can I?”

Chest puffed, your brows furrow in dismay, gripping the notepad in your hand so hard the open page rips. You stare intently as though silently willing him to spontaneously burst into flames.

“It is the busiest week of my entire year and you decide with what little sense that you have remaining that I must be free for a torn sleeve? Must you always be such an inconvenience, Alastor?”

He hums. “Only on days ending with Y.”

Vexed, you turn your back to him, sauntering off with the aggravated click of your shoes along wood floors.

“There’s a thousand other tailors in Hell, piss off and find one.”

“Oh, come now, my dear,” He beckons with a jolly laugh, following after you like some lovestruck puppy. Or, as you may call him, a fly that needs swatted. But Alastor knows you, and he knows exactly which strings to pull.

“A thousand others, but none as capable as you. Spare a moment for a loyal customer who so adores your craftsmanship?”

You stop, sharp, with shoulders raised up to your chin, and Alastor can hear the internal stream of curses you don’t dare utter.

Praise, as it would have it, was your Achilles heel.

A second, then two, before you raise a hand and whistle sharply into the room, flanked by a nameless assistant in the next moment.

You shove your notebook into her hands, ordering something Alastor doesn’t care to listen to before the demon— and all other staff, for that matter— scurries off. The room is emptied in five seconds flat. You ran a tight ship.

“Come. Before you cut into my lunch break.” You don’t look back to make sure he’s following you, but the telltale click-clacking of Alastor’s hooves answer that query fast enough.

He lets you lead him along, close enough to feel the annoyance in each step you take, but not enough to risk maiming, and when you swivel around with an about-face, he tips his head in feigned cluelessness. Always pushing.

You frown. “Must you stand there like an idiot? Your jacket. I can't mend it if you’re still in it.”

Alastor smiles wider, almost daring. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

You don’t seem to appreciate that much, and to avoid any workplace accidents involving fabric scissors or anything of the like, Alastor sheds his jacket with little more than a soft hum of enthusiasm, hand hanging limply when you snatch it from his claws with a huff.

Like a pampered house pet, he makes himself comfortable, leaning against your workstation with sleeves rolled high and scarlet irises glued to your every move.

“I’m charging you extra, for the attack on my patience.”

“As much as you wish, my dear.”

You sigh wearily.

He watches you like that, annoyingly present and ever so attentive to every last twitch of your fingers as you pluck a spool of thread and a microscopic needle from the pin cushion next to it. You preferred to do it the old fashioned way. Alastor often teased that the two of you were kindred spirits in that manner.

Until you threw a mannequin at him for that comment.

“If you’d let me outfit you with something better, the torn sleeve wouldn’t matter. Your idea of fashion is positively suicidal.” You mutter with a grimace, lithely guiding thread through fabric to mend the torn shoulder ripping a hole in his outerwear.

“It’s the opinion of most that the customer is always right, dear.” He muses with light laughter.

You scoff, focused. “Like hell they are.”

Often times, it was your way or no way with you. Something others might’ve found less than palatable, and yet Alastor had always found it impossibly entertaining.

“Perhaps one day I’ll allow your creative mind to run amuck with my aesthetics,” Says the ruby-eyed sinner, claws tapping against the desk beneath his hand. “In exchange for a night out on the town with yours truly.”

Blank, your eyes look up, before returning to the garment in front of you. Almost bored. It was about the twelfth time he’d asked, and that was just this month.

“Oh, Alastor. My afterlife is not mine to enjoy. I live in service of the people.” You drawl sarcastically.

“Hm, how valiant.”

It’s an excuse, one you’d used several times before. You’re too busy, you renounced his taste in restaurants, you had nothing to wear. Alastor thought you just liked to be chased, almost as much as he liked to chase.

No sooner than the last stitch being tugged taut and tied off does Alastor’s sentient shadow reach its claw out from the depths, tugging the leg of your chair until you’re brought face to face with the Overlord before you.

Strangely, the closeness seems to soften your edges, if only enough that you don’t immediately jump to bite his head off for the maneuver.

“I confess, I’m not only here for a measly tear.”

“I surmised.” You confirm.

He grins, strained and a sort of pitiful that only the Radio Demon could pull off.

“How ravishing you are when you make me beg.”

You exhale through your nose, the closest sound to a laugh he’d ever gotten from you, and stand from the chair with ease, so close he can feel every even breath you take.

“I’m not so easily charmed, Alastor, you know that. You’ll be begging a long time.”

His heart pumps in a way it hadn’t since he was alive. You set his senses on fire, nerves alight with a bleeding heat that wanted nothing more than to have you. Alastor had always been a greedy man, but this greed was new, different. It bloomed beneath the chest and caged around his organs like ivy, clutching tighter with every leap and hurdle you led him through just for the pleasure of knowing you.

Alastor chuckles a sound low in the chest, his voice a long suffering sound. “My dear, you are so very cruel.”

With eyes glued to his, you swing the jacket over his sturdy shoulders and slip each arm through their sleeves, nimble fingers running down his front to straighten the lapels and drag over each individual button like a taunt.

“We are in Hell, after all.” You hum, like a siren's lure to a bewitched sailor.

You pull away much quicker than he’d like, but not before brushing a hand along his chin, lingering just long enough to leave tingles behind. “Fee’s on your tab. Make an appointment next time, Alastor, I don’t take walk-ins. Even for loyal customers.”

Past his jaw, down his neck, all the way across the right shoulder. And then gone.

He supposes he’s meant to feel scolded, but Alastor only feels reborn. The slightest inkling of interest from you was enough to keep him going for the next century.

Eyes like rubies follow you as you go, lingering along your silhouette as hot as a brand that only fades once you’re out of sight.

The boutique kicks back up around him, beckoned to life like it’d finally been given permission to exist, and Alastor is left burning a hole through the door you’d exited out of with his eyes.

Yes, he did adore this quaint little shop.

[queenofmorningstar]

Alastor x f!Reader (platonic)

Ok ok so I had this funny idea that imagine if Reader and Alastor are friends confidants and you've a crush on Luci lmao.

Word Count: 2.1K

For someone who so carefully curated the world around him, Alastor was a creature of rare exceptions.

His private room was one of them. No one stepped inside unless he permitted it. No one ever lingered long. Most demons knew better than to even knock.

But you… well.

He glanced over from his armchair as you moved about his room with all the ease of someone who belonged there, dusting a shelf you had absolutely no right to touch, humming under your breath completely unafraid of the Radio Demon sitting three feet away.

Alastor rested his cane against his knee, folding his hands in his lap as the corners of his lips curled upward.

You had never asked him for power.

Never begged him for protection.

Never tried to manipulate him with a pretty smile or a trembling voice.

No.

You were a constant in a place built on shifting sand, and Alastor appreciated constants.

“So,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, “you’ve taken it upon yourself to tidy my quarters again. Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You didn’t even turn around. “Considering your idea of décor includes a hundred-year-old carcass collection? Concerned.”

He laughed, an easy, rolling sound that rarely escaped him without intention. “My dear, you wound me.”

“Good. Someone has to.”

There it was again—that witty snap he could never quite anticipate. He found himself waiting for your quips, your commentary, your sharp tongue that never sought to tame or topple him—only to spar for the thrill of it.

When you had offered to help around the hotel, he hadn’t questioned it.

You were here because you liked it. Because you enjoyed the chaos, the challenge, the company.

Companionship without agenda. A novelty.

Alastor had always thought of himself as above petty, mortal emotions as irritation.

But lately? Lately, Lucifer was testing that.

There you were, on the lobby couch, seated so close to the King of Hell that your knees nearly touched. The two of you were chatting, heads bent together in some lively discussion, your voice light and warm as you laughed at another one of Lucifer’s over-the-top jokes.

Alastor watched from the upper railing, fingers drumming on the polished wood in a stiff, overly cheerful rhythm.

You had always divided your time evenly, drifting from person to person. But he always got his more than fair share. Always.

Except recently.

Recently, the King would enter a room, and you would brighten.

Lucifer would sit beside you, and you would lean in.

The King would laugh, and you would smile like the sun had dropped into your lap.

Alastor’s jaw clenched.

“My, my… how revolting,” he muttered.

You were supposed to drop by his room in the afternoons.

You were supposed to laugh at his strange anecdotes, not the King’s chaotic ramblings.

This was ruining everything.

Alastor’s eye twitched.

Lucifer leaned closer, too close, far closer than necessary. And you let him. You didn’t scold, didn’t shove him away like you did everyone else.

“How aggravating…” Alastor hissed.

Alastor descended the stairs with the smooth, deliberate calm of someone who was absolutely, without question, about to cause problems on purpose.

Your laughter drifted up to him—bright, breathy, adoring as Lucifer leaned in to whisper something. The King of Hell smirked at your reaction, clearly delighted to have your full attention.

Alastor’s smile tightened. Enough of that.

He cleared his throat, cane tapping sharply against the floor as he stepped into the room.

The effect was immediate: You jerked away from him like you’d been caught doing something scandalous. Your cheeks went pink—soft, warm, unmistakable.

And Lucifer? Oh, he looked irritated. Perfect.

He turned to you, extending a hand. “My dear, I require your assistance around the hotel.”

Your face fell. “Right now?”

“But of course.” His grin didn’t falter. “We have new guests arriving, and it seems we are dreadfully short-staffed. Urgent matters, I’m afraid.”

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. “That’s going to take the entire evening…”

Alastor hummed sympathetically. “Indeed.”

He watched you hesitate, your eyes flicking toward Lucifer. The longing was obvious, blatant.

“Well then,” the King said, voice confident and far too smooth, “I’ll help.”

Alastor’s grin flickered. “…Pardon?”

Lucifer clasped his hands together, looking painfully pleased with himself. “If you have work to do, then I’ll assist. It’ll get done faster.”

You brightened instantly, the exhaustion vanishing from your face. “Really? You’d help?”

“Of course,” Lucifer purred, stepping closer.

He slid an arm around your waist—bold, smooth, infuriatingly natural and guided you forward.

Your blush spread all the way to your ears.

Alastor’s smile sharpened so violently it could’ve sliced the wallpaper.

“Well then! Lead the way,” Lucifer said cheerfully.

“Lovely,” he murmured through clenched teeth as you and Lucifer disappeared down the hallway, far too close, far too content.

His eye twitched. That grin, too sharp to be pleasant, widened.

“Oh, this,” he whispered to himself, “simply will not do.”

-----------------------------

For the first time in what felt like ages, you were sitting across from him again—just you and him, the quiet hum of the old radio in the background, two cups of steaming coffee between you.

“You know,” he said suddenly, swirling his coffee with unnecessary vigor, “you get that annoying look on your face when you look at that stupid king.”

You froze, cup halfway to your lips. Then your cheeks warmed. “I do not,” you muttered.

“Oh, you absolutely do.” His smile stretched. “Positively nauseating. I had once believed you possessed good taste, but apparently I was mistaken.”

Your jaw dropped. You smacked his arm. “Alastor!”

He only chuckled, smug and sharp and insufferably pleased with himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “And you’re one to talk? I’ve never complained about your taste for demon meat.”

His brows arched. “Oh? That’s hardly comparable.”

You groaned and set your cup down. “Luci is a kind person. And funny. And he’s actually nice to me—”

“He’s a MAN.”

“Alastor,” you breathed, half laughing, half bewildered, “what does that even mean??”

“It’s unbecoming. And a distraction. And you’re making poor decisions. Terrible ones.”

You snorted. “You mean I’m making decisions you don’t like.”

He glared.

You sipped your coffee with a smug grin.

He glared harder.

You leaned back in your chair and said sweetly, “Luci is a good person, you know.”

“Irrelevant.”

“And he’s handsome.”

“Completely meaningless.”

“And he makes me laugh.”

Alastor slammed his hand on the table again. “HE. IS. A. MAN.”

*

He had spent the past week expertly, flawlessly sabotaging every attempt the King had made to get close to you.

Interrupting conversations.

Assigning you “urgent tasks.”

Conveniently appearing whenever Lucifer grew too charming.

He walked into the lobby today and found—Nothing.

No you.

No king.

“…Curious.”

He stepped further inside, scanning the corners, the lounge, the kitchen doorway. Nothing. His cane clicked sharply against the floor as he made another slow pass.

He needed information—fast, but discreetly.

He would not give anyone the satisfaction of thinking Alastor cared.

The first unfortunate soul he passed was Husk, leaning against the bar.

Perfect.

“Husker, old friend,” he greeted.

Husk didn’t even look up. “No.”

Alastor blinked. “Pardon?”

“No,” Husk repeated. “Whatever you’re about to ask? No.”

Alastor chuckled, tapping the bar with his cane. “How rude. I merely want to inquire whether you’ve seen—”

Husk cut him a sideways glance. “The lady?”

Alastor’s smile sharpened. “Yes.”

“And the king?” Husk deadpanned.

The smile strained. “…Yes.”

Husk sighed. “Yeah. I saw ’em.”

Alastor leaned in slightly, voice velvety, dangerously patient. “And where, pray tell, did they go?”

Husk stretched his wings with a groan. “To his quarters.”

Alastor froze.

“His… quarters?” Alastor asked, voice soft as a blade slipping between ribs.

Husk nodded lazily. “Mmh. King said he needed her help with something. She followed him. Looked real happy too.”

Husk pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, don't you think you should probably just let them be. She's a grown woman, she can make her own decisions.”

Alastor’s cane slammed into the floor, making the bartender flinch. “Thank you, Husker. You’ve been immensely helpful.”

-----------------------

Alastor reached the top floor of the hotel—the private wing reserved for one creature only.

The king’s penthouse.

A long, polished hallway stretched before him, golden decor glowing warm and regal.

He was ready for… well, he wasn’t sure what exactly. But he was prepared to handle it with grace.

That grace lasted exactly three seconds.

Because nailed beside the penthouse door was a sign: “NO ALASTORS ALLOWED.”

As if he were a misbehaving pet. Some mutt to be shooed away.

He raised a fist and knocked.

Silence.

His smile thinned.

He knocked again—harder, the sound echoing down the hall.

From inside came muffled grumbling.

Then footsteps. Then the door ripped open.

Lucifer Morningstar stood there—annoyed, disheveled, and fortunately, still fully dressed.

Thank the heavens.

Except—Alastor’s eyes slowly narrowed.

Lucifer’s face and neck were covered in lipstick marks.

His expression was pure hatred—icy, sharp, territorial. “Well?” Lucifer hissed. “Didn’t you read the sign? Or are you illiterate as well as obnoxious?”

Alastor met his glare with equal venom, the polite curve of his grin returning like a blade being unsheathed. “I am looking,” he said smoothly, “for my confidante. I was informed they were here.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, stop following her like some guard dog,” he snarled. “If you had half a brain, you’d realize this”—he gestured to the room behind him, “is called a moment of privacy. It’s called boundaries, bellhop. Try respecting them.”

Alastor let out a soft laugh—sweet, bright, venomous.

“Respect,” he repeated. “A curious demand from a man who displays the subtlety of a Peacock in mating season.”

Lucifer didn't get angry like he expected. No, his grin widened. “You’re jealous because I stole your best friend?”

Alastor’s smile widened—too sharp, too manic. “Hardly. I’m simply concerned when my confidante disappears into the quarters of a man with questionable restraint.”

Lucifer stepped forward, face inches from his. A slow, taunting smile tugged at the king’s lips. “Well, she came to me. Willingly. So back off, before she gets tired of your nursemaid act.”

Lucifer’s penthouse door swung wider when you stepped into view, emerging from behind the king while trying to button your blouse back into place. Your hair was mussed, your breath uneven, and your expression was the perfect blend of annoyed and embarrassed.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you muttered, flicking a glare between the two men. “Is it impossible to get a moment’s peace without you both trying to kill each other?”

Alastor’s grin twitched. “My dear, forgive me for interrupting your…” his gaze dipped to Lucifer’s collar, “activities. But I was under the impression you were needed downstairs.”

You sighed and rose on your toes, cupped Lucifer’s jaw with infuriating tenderness, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, Luci.” you murmured to him.

And Lucifer… softened.

The king melted in a way Alastor had never seen before. The flame of Lucifer’s eyes dimmed into something warm, bright, stupidly fond.

Lucifer murmured something low and sweet in response, his hand brushing yours with ridiculous tenderness before he stepped back into the penthouse.

You turned to Alastor with your arms crossed. “Alright. What was so urgent?”

“Oh, nothing urgent at all,” he lied smoothly, offering his arm. “I simply couldn’t find you. Imagine my… concern.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. “Well, you found me. Happy now?”

You didn’t even wait until the two of you reached the lobby. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, you whirled on him. “What the hell was that, Alastor?”

Alastor blinked, head tilting, grin immovable. “Whatever do you mean, my dear?”

“Oh, don’t.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, eyes blazing. “Barging into Lucifer’s room? Acting like some—”

His grin twitched. “Dog? According to your lover's sign.”

“Alastor. You need to stop. Lucifer and I—”

“—are becoming nauseatingly infatuated, yes, I’ve noticed.” His voice cut in, honeyed venom.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Frustrated, you crossed your arms and took a steadying breath. “Alastor,” you said, gentler, “you’re important to me. I like spending time with you. You know that.” He hated how much he needed to hear it.

“But,” you continued, firm again, “I’m not giving up Lucifer. So either you accept that or we’re going to keep having this fight.”

His grin thinned, sharpened, stretched into something brittle but obedient.

“A proposal, then,” you said smoothly. “A deal, since that is your language.”

“I,” he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest, “will refrain from interfering with you and the King of Hell—”

“Thank you—”

“If,” he continued, louder, “you do not decrease the time you spend with me. I expect our routines to remain intact. Uninterrupted.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes but your smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Fine. Deal. Happy?”

Alastor’s grin brightened in triumph. “Ecstatic.”

[itsihpituhmee]

Vox x Reader Wireplay

I’ve been seeing a lot of wireplay on TikTok and decided who not better than Vox himself. This can be a stand alone but I’m also adding it to my Vox x reader fic (My Underworld on AO3)

Also I’m not rly updating the fic atm bc of some health issues but I just want to post something yk. If u see any spelling mistakes lmk and don’t be afraid to leave a comment!!

Anyways enjoyyyy!!!

—

Word count: ~2.8k

Trigger warning: AFAB reader, oral sex (f receiving), wireplay, praise kink, slight dom/sub tones, cumming untouched(?), slight angst

lmk if I miss anything

—

You and Vox were in a relationship for quite some time. Not the healthiest, as he always lied and was a manipulative narcissist asshole who also happened to take some of your memories away to keep you “happy”. But of course it didn’t last, and when you inevitably remembered you lost your shit. You broke things off and made a life for yourself in hell without him. Tried to at least. After quite a long time of not speaking, only in the same room for overlord meetings and a few words for interlinked clients, he shows up to your private office (that he shouldn’t be able to access) in dire need of your help.

What will you do?

Decisions Decisions

You've always had headaches. When alive you were always staring at screen, 24/7, 365, for work and basically everything else in your life. And afterlife as it seems. Only now, in hell are they much worse. Cause of death and all. This one was especially aweful. You rested your elbows on your desk and rubbed your temples for any sense of relief, but to no avail.

You should call it for the night, but there's just so much work to do. Just as you were about to push through and go back to work, a frantic knock echoed throughout your quiet office. You looked up with furrowed brows. Everyone in this part of the building should be gone. Not many people had access to your hallway either. 'Probably important,' you thought. So you let out a soft groan as you pushed yourself out of the chair and walked across the room.

When you opened it, you saw your ex, Vox, leaning against the doorframe, hunched over, trembling slightly. He slowly lifted his head, and you noticed his face contorted in pain.

"Vox?!" You shouted. "What the fu—" before you could demand an answer, his screen glitched, and he toppled over again with a painful groan. It took a few seconds to end, but after he looked up again. "I need your help…" he begged

"What?"

"I was replacing some damaged hardware and something went wrong and I—"

His words were cut off as he groaned and hunched over again. You crossed your arms and tapped your foot repeatedly, believing it was just some ploy. But then he fell to his knees. Your hands uncrossed, twitching his way to help before realizing that it was him. Vox suddenly grabbed your hand. Quick and desperate but gentle. It sent a shock down your spine. You convinced yourself it was his powers messing up. When y'all made eye contact, you saw his face glitching uncontrollably—pops of color and all his other faces flashing and mixing together.

So he wasn't lying…

"Please…" he whispered in between his panting breaths. "You're the only person I trust enough to do it."

All these years and he still trusts you… You stared for a moment, considering your decision. Reluctantly, you sighed and ripped your hand away.

"Fine… Just this once."

You turned around, walking back to your desk. Vox struggled to stand up from the floor. His claws dug into the frame, fighting hard not to lose his balance as he tumbled over his feet as he followed you inside. The door shut quietly behind y'all once he was in. You used your wired tail and pulled your rolling chair from behind your desk for him to sit on.

He plopped down in the leather seat with a groan, rolling away the slightest bit. You set a small tool kit on your desk, pulling out a screwdriver. Vox was too far, so you grabbed the top and pulled him closer. His eyes widen but quickly returned to pain. His arm twitched when you began unscrewing the first one. You unfortunately noticed, and without thinking, you paused for his sake. Only for a heartbeat, though.

With a surprisingly gentle touch, you began unscrewing all the other parts. His breathing stuttered as you did. Once done, you set the metal sheet beside the toolbox. When you came back, Vox tilted his head further down, giving you a better view of his control panel. Every wire, every switch, every outlet was at your fingertips for your disposal. Just lying there in the open. On display. Exposed.

You stared at it for a good while. Something about it was so strange and intimate. Your heart grew louder in your ears as you reached for the first disconnected cord. Your hand lightly grazed it. Vox flinched again, letting out a shaky breath. His fans sped up as you analyzed the cord, looking for any further damage.

Why were you going so far to help him?

'I should've ignored him,' you thought, realizing your mistake. Yet you continued and did nothing to distance yourself.

Vox's throat went dry. A large lump formed in his throat as you gently ran your fingers along the other wires, running your eyes over them with such intent. He could feel the bulge pressing against his pants. The fans working harder just to keep him sane. Even you heard the gulp he swallowed.

His hands gripped the armrest tighter, the leather groaning under his touch while he squeezed his eyes shut to focus on his breathing. Every touch he flinched, jerked, or let out a barely audible whimper.

"Sit still," you lowered your voice and tugged the wires in your hand harder. " Or I will rip these out of you." Vox's reaction was more apparent— more vocal. He let out a higher-pitched whine that he quickly quieted by biting his lips.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. "How do you expect me to be still when you touch me like that?" He finished with a breathy laugh.

You raised a brow. "It doesn't hurt?"

"Quite the opposite."

You don't know why, but you weren't disappointed by his words. In fact, it excited you more than you liked. With this new revelation, an idea came to mind. You extracted your wire tail and slowly brought the aux end to one of his ports. Before pushing it in, you paused.

All the other times you've plugged into anything, it was as a weapon. Into a device to hack it or steal data. The only person you've used it on was Vox. As part computer, you could receive his data, his thoughts, intentions, etc. You could also use it to send your data. Shoving your hurt and betrayal into him to make him feel what you felt, since that was the only way you thought you could get him to understand.

Never once did you think to use it to share an emotion such as pleasure. Until now. With his hardware slightly better than it was before, the pain was gone, and his sensor was overflowing with bliss. You wanted to feel it too.

So with a deep breath, holding it at the end, you pushed your tail into his port. Both of y'all moaned when you finished. It was so much better than you expected. Everything Vox was feeling, you felt. His physical and emotional feelings. However, for Vox, it was just physical, but still, he absolutely loved it. Always has. And always will.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed this." He sighed while reaching a hand up to grab yours.

You smacked his hand away. A slight sting went to yours. "You don't want me to mess up, do you?" You playfully scolded.

Vox quickly put his hand back on the armrest. All logic and reasoning was quickly slipping away as you continued to play with his control panel. Stroking the wire, twirling it between your fingers, or rubbing it around his other ports. You knew which were fine to play with, which ones would actually cause problems, and even the ones he liked you touching, like the back of your palm now. All the sensations you were causing felt like pleasuring yourself. But of course, it just wasn't enough for either one of you.

"Fuck…" Vox whimpered, his claws moments away from ripping the handle off.

You could feel your own fans whirring faster. Every part of your body growing hotter despite it. You should stop this before it goes any further. This was a mistake—a disaster waiting to happen. But the way he moaned and whimpered while struggling to keep his body still is just too damn hot.

"Please…" He begged. "Touch me more."

Fuck it.

"You mean like this?" You asked while leaning in closer and purposefully letting your breath hit the back of his neck. Your hand slid down the slope between his neck and shoulder before going around to the front. His shoulders relaxed, and he lifted his head to let your hands roam. You felt his Adam's apple bob as you gently squeezed his throat.

"You know damn well what I mean." He groaned again.

You let out a light giggle and guided your hand further down, loosening his tie and slipping your finger under his shirt to rub your hand over his chest and nipples.

"If you want more," you slid your hand out of his shirt and turned his screen 180 to face you while making sure the fist full of wires in your hand didn't tangle any further. Y'all were inches away from each other. Stealing each other's air. Vox stared with his eyes slightly wider. "You gotta earn it first."

Vox basically fell out of his chair when he heard those words. He leaned back in the chair, pressing his lips to yours. The chair was quickly disregarded. Vox stood up, turning the rest of his body around and stepping into your space. You took a few steps back, and he followed until you hit your desk. His hands gripped your hips, sliding down your ass and scooping you up onto the surface.

He settled himself between your legs and kissed you with fervor. So many years apart, yet he still remembered every sensitive spot of your body. Small gasps escaped your throat as he greedily nipped and sucked your neck. Desperate to leave marks and show all of hell that you were still his. His hands ran over your thighs and your waist, settling just under your ribcage and pulling you closer. You felt his hips grind into you, both of y'all groaning at the friction y'all so desperately craved.

Before going any further, the wires still in your hand tugged him away. It sent a wave of pleasure and pain down both of y'all's bodies. His hands gripped you tighter despite it, not wanting to be away any longer. The kiss broke, and neither of y'all said anything. Silence so loud you could hear each other's racing heart and hot panting breaths.

"I said," you began, still breathing hard. "You have to earn it first."

Vox wordlessly fell to his knees, and the two of you ignored the pain that followed. You tilted your chin down and watched as he slowly began removing your bottoms. The rustle of fabric as he undid the button, the zipper following after, was all too exhilarating. You were sure you were already soaked. His hand gently caressed your calf and over your shin until it reached your knee. His touch was softer compared to how tense the air is in the moment.

One leg slid out of the fabric, then the other. Vox put the clothing beside him and looked up at you as he placed even softer kisses up your leg. You gasped quietly when he reached your inner thigh and nipped slightly harder. You squirmed under his touch, trying to wait as patiently as possible and not seem desperate. But of course, he noticed. And of course, he decided to tease you a bit longer. His metal claws grazing against your legs while his mouth inched closer and closer, but not reaching the part you needed most.

"Hurry up already." You released a frustrated huff, tossing your head back slightly.

"Oh, you poor thing," Vox mocked and stopped kissing your skin to look up at you. "You're so pretty when you're needy."

You scoffed and lifted your head back to watch his reaction as you tugged harder at the wires in your hand. Vox's demeanor instantly changed. The smug cockiness from before vanished as he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned as he surrendered into your touch.

"Remember who has the advantage right now." You kept your grip for a few more seconds before releasing them. You and Vox panted. He opened his eyes and looked up at you again with a more pathetic look this time. A smirk tugged at your lips as you saw his face. Pupils blown, brows upturned, sharp teeth slightly showing as he panted. Your eyes trailed lower, going over his ruffled shirt and lopsided tie. All the way to bulge in his pants that was basically on display with the way he sat back on his legs, knees spread far apart.

He always was a performer, no matter the situation. Displaying himself to whoever it was he was trying to win over. A client or an audience. Or you. Vox finally stopped playing and pressed his tongue into your aching pussy. You moaned louder than intended and rested your head back. Vox licked and sucked your clit, shoving his tongue inside while rubbing his hands over your waist and hips and down your thighs. But then his hands slipped away, moving to his pants instead. He didn't even get the chance to palm himself over his pants before you caught his wrist.

"Please me first." Your voice was frail, almost sounding like a question rather than a demand. Still, he followed, but not with a little fight.

He rolled his eyes and groaned with false annoyance against your cunt. The vibration was sent straight through your body, causing you to arch your back and grind against his face some more. He caressed your body all over, settling on your breast where he pinched and massaged your nipples.

"Just like that…" you moaned again and met his gaze. "Such a good boy…great at following my orders." You watched with a knowing smile, expecting his next reaction.

His eyes widened, and a not-so-subtle blush spread across his screen. His mouth stuttered for a second before continuing with much more enthusiasm, his tongue digging deeper and curling inside to hit the sweet spots he remembered. Your whimpers grew louder and more frequent. You whispered praise and applause every now and then between moans and gasps. His cock throbbed with each one, growing more painful by the second.

"Fuck you're doing such a good job… keep making me feel so good."

And he did. The wires in your hand tugged harder than ever before, causing you and Vox to whine louder. The knot that had been growing in your core was too much to handle. Not long after, you were cumming all over his screen, back arching and head tossed back. Vox continued rubbing his tongue against you until your body stopped shaking. A few seconds passed. The room was filled with nothing but panting breaths.

You finally lifted your head and the two of you stared at each other for some time before you sat up more properly with legs still on his shoulders. With no warning you turned his screen to face away from you unplugged your tail and started fixing his panel like yall were meant to do originally.

When the metal sheet was back on, you swung your legs off his shoulder and hopped off the desk to put your pants back on.

"Cmon, don't tell me you're done." Vox teased sitting in the spot you just were at.

"We are." You answered coldly.

"I did what you asked. Can I please get my reward now—"

Vox glanced down at his crotch for a second to signal to you what he wanted, but had to do a second glance when he saw the large spot over his now non-existent bulge.

"Seems like you already got it." You smirked, looking back at him.

"I-uh—" his face was ten shades darker now with the blush. "n-no that doesn't count!"

"I came," you look down, "you came," and back at him. "I'd say that's pretty even."

He took a moment to recollect himself. He quietly stared as you put everything back the way it was before.

"Well, can't we just… hang out?" He asked quietly, fiddling with his fingers and glancing up just once.

"What are you, a teenager? No." You walked across the room and opened the door wide for him to leave.

He stood up and walked your way but stopped in front of you. "I meant more than the sex when I said I missed this."

"I miss you." He added while lifting his hand and placing it on your cheek. His thumb caressed your cheekbone, and he continued.

"I miss everything about you—your laugh, your care—you, all of you."

You stared. For a second, Vox believed you might ask him to stay.

"Well, you should've thought of that before you fucked everything up, huh." You smacked his hand off.

"I'm sorry."

You ignored his pleas and pushed him by his shoulders to have him back out of the room.

"And I don't believe you." You said just before slamming the door in his face.

—

I almost didn’t post this because MY DUMB FUCKING SELF DIDNT SAVE AND IT DELETED EVERYTHING!!! I was so sad I literally almost cried bc I wrote most of this in one night…

[writerisahazbin]

Relaxation

Vox x Fem! Reader

Summary: Vox goes looking for you after a long day of work and finds you in an unlikely place.

A/N: felt inspired to write something short and cute. Hope you like it.

꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱

This particular silence that greeted Vox the moment he zapped himself into his penthouse was unnerving. Theoretically, a calm silence is supposed to be nice and welcoming. It would've been, had you not been noticeably absent. Typically, after a long day of dealing with hell's most incompetent sinners (seriously, was stupidity also a sin now?) he'd find you waiting for him on the couch.

The familiar spot you took on the couch while binging some cheesy show voxtek produced was empty. You usually sat in the corner of his fancy L-shaped couch with a fluffy blanket over your shoulders. The shark-printed blanket that most definitely did not belong to him you took was still there, untouched since yesterday.

Vox frowned. He waved a hand out in front of him to materialize his personal calendar. "Damn, assistant better not have forgotten to remind me of something," he grumbled while scanning several dates. He gave it a long stare as he double-checked. No niche anniversary, second-cousin's birthday, or death day. Unnecessary to check for your own birthday. He had that memorized.

"Where the hell is she?" He muttered, waving the calendar away and putting his wrist at eye level. The tiny screen of a voxtek smart watch lit up, casting a brighter glow on his screen.

The grumbling didn't stop as Vox shifted through various apps, searching for a specific one. His frown transformed into a satisfied smile when he spotted it. Labeled "tracker", he pressed it and was shown a map of V tower. A blue indicator lightly bounced where he was, where you should also be. He moved and pinched the screen in search of a pink indicator.

"What the...?" He asked, befuddled after finally spotting it. "What the fuck is she doing there?"

(Okay, yes, he gave you a tracker so he could find you anywhere in V tower or hell. No, it's not weird or obsessive.)

After heaving out a long, dramatic sigh, Vox zapped out of his quaint home to where you were.

What the fuck were you doing in Vel's room anyway?

꒰ঌ♡໒꒱

Perhaps Vox should've taken Val up on those Spanish lessons he had been bitching about. It would have proven to be immensely useful in this moment. Because right now, there wasn't a single word in the English language that could properly convey how Vox feels right now. The motherboard inside his monitor was surely close to frying itself while Vox tried digging the words out of his mind.

"₮ⱧɆ ₣Ʉ₵₭?!"

Hallelujah, the words came to him.

On the plush mattress of the softest, comfiest bed in V tower, you lay with two urchins comfortably glued to your sides. Or rather, chest. The three of you relaxed without a care in hell. Vox could hardly believe his eyes.

Velvette head lay on one side of your chest, eyes glued to her phone, which rested under your bust in her hand. While Val was glued to the other, eyes shut. The three of you hardly paid him any mind like he wasn't there seething. You were using one hand to stroke Vel's hair, and the other was caressing the base of Val's wings.

"Oh, hi honey," you greeted, "was work good today?" Your expression was serene, polar opposite to Vox's constipated face. How could he even begin to calm down? Instead of him using your soft chest as a pillow, his so-called business partners were with their arms wrapped around you. Those should be his arms around your waist, not Val's. Bastards lower arms were snaked around your thigh, too.

"₩Ⱨ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɆⱠⱠ ₳ⱤɆ ɎØɄ ₮₩Ø ĐØł₦₲?" His voice and screen glitched simultaneously as he glared down at his two supposed business partners.

Vel groaned and rolled her eyes. "What's it look like? Relaxing," she explained, scrolling through her sinstagram and dropping the occasional hate comment.

"₩Ⱨ₳-!? ₩-ⱧɎ ₳ⱤɆ Ɏ-ɎØɄ Ⱡ-Ⱡ₳Ɏ-ł₦₲ Ø₦ ₥-₥Ɏ ₲łⱤⱠ₴ ₮-₮-₮ł₮₴?!"

Val opened his eyes to frown at Vox. "Do you have to yell? Jeez, it's not like we're fucking." His frown converted into a smirk and he gazed at you and Vel, "though we could be."

"No thanks."

"Disgustin' ."

Val simply shrugged and laid his head back down. "Your loss, chiquitas," he sighed.

Vox's mouth remained open and downturned in disbelief to what he was witnessing. In the back of his mind, a new docket was added to his growing to-do list. "Find new business partners"

"₲Ɇ₮ Ø₣₣!" He finally managed to shriek out, screen still glitching with sparks flying off his monitor.

Both Vel and Val's lip curled, a matching expression of dissatisfaction on their faces. "No," they both said. Their grip on you tightened.

Today was finally the day Vox was going to test just how much anger his technological body could handle. It seemed to be quite a lot. Any average sinner probably would've "died" of a brain hemorrhage or something by now.

Fortunately, the sound of your sweet voice helped cool him down. Only a little.

"Okay, calm down," you soothed, rubbing Vel and Val's spots respectively, "loosen your grip." They listened.

"Vox, just come on and lay down with us. It's nice." You waved him over with the hand that had been resting on Val's back. "Val put on one of his shitty pornos. It's pretty funny."

"Hey!"

"Val, one of the lines is literally, "really, right in front of my salad?" Don't act like it's fuckin' titanic."

"I'll have you know this film won a golden dildo last year."

"Not for the dialogue, I'm sure."

Before the arguing could gain any more traction, you cut in. "Alright, calm down. We're here to relax. Not fight," you spoke softly, resuming your ministrations over each respective V. Except for one. Your actual boyfriend.

"A-HEM!"

You jerked your head to beckon Vox over. "Come on, sharkie. You can lay between my legs," you suggested while spreading them open a tad.

Vox pouted. "Not fair. Those two urchins took my spot," he huffed and crossed his arms.

"Keep poutin'. Real mature, V."

"Vel," you warned lightly. She quieted at your tone and remained glued to her phone. "Would you rather Val be between my legs?" You suggested sarcastically.

Val perked up. "Oh~? I wouldn't mind ♡," he moaned, lightly squeezing your thigh.

"No thanks," you deadpanned, softly pinching his hand.

Despite his grit teeth and tense stance, Vox knew a losing battle when he saw one. Though he didn't like it, he conceded and stripped down to his shirt and boxers (shark themed). His monitor finally began the process of cooling down when he felt the soft skin of your thighs over his shoulders, encassing his neck. His monitor laid over your stomach, the back of it warming the skin there.

The tense energy of the room dissipated with each V snuggling into you, listening to the symphony of dramatized moans from the TV. Your hand remained in Vel's hair. The other shifted from Val over to Vox's antennas.

"How the fuck did this shit win a golden dildo?"

"Excuse you! Travis works very hard on these scripts!"

Velvette scoffed. "With that tiny brain of his, not surprising this is the best he could do."

The tranquility ceased when the three V's continued to bicker with one another. You could only sigh and close your eyes to the familiar sounds of petty family squabbling. Just another day in V tower.

This is brought to you by my coworkers who are obsessed with my chest (it's fine. I think it's funny). Plus, the fact that there's barely any Vox fics where the Vel and Val actually like the reader and consider her a friend. Like, seriously, they always either dont like them or ignore them.

꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱꒰ঌ♡໒꒱

[animeshotsh]

You call them "Husband" for the first time

Notes: Established relationship but not married (yet) - Does not follow canon - HH cursing -

Lucifer

He was married once. Now divorced. Dating you and re living the first steps in the relatioship to the middle ones and that point when it hits you hard, how much you love that person. And how you want to spent eternity with them.

It happens when you two are in his room at the Hotel. He is doing some new rubber ducks while you lay on bed reading some ancient book.

"Husband, can you pass me the book marker?" You ask rubbing your tired eyes not noticing what you just said.

Lucifer stops and almost makes the duck explote (and himself). He has been call husband before, but not from you. And it feels good, too good. All of him feels like he is floating.

And he is, his wings got out without him noticing and is almost close to hit something when he registers whats happening.

He is quick to go back to normal and take the book market and give it to you (who by this point is almost sleep).

"Oh, thanks Luci" And then you are closing your eyes again while Lucifer combusts in happines.

Alastor

He was not expecting to date. Was not his main interest when alive, but eternity and hell, you may find your match in here if you are as twisted as him.

Alastor is no shy to let others know you are his. He may not touch you a lot, but his shadow is always near you. It brushes your hair, makes you spin, grinds down to anyone daring to get close to you. Is a extension of Alastor.

After a long day, both of you are at his room. Listening to some jazz and sharing drinks. Not much talk but the silence carries centrain words between both of you.

Then you break it.

"Husband, can you pass me the bottle?" You ask not looking up from a new book he just got you.

And Alastor, always on control passes you the bottle. No one sees the way his hands shakes a bit or how his dead heart beats up. His ears pick up at the name. And he finds himself liking the title.

Vox

Vox has been up to work non stop. No time for you or himself. He compensates you giving you his card and whatever you want. Feels like shit cause of it but he needs work to be perfect.

He has been stuck on the same dam page of some rates when the door opens and you come in.

"Husband, I got you coffee"

Vox nods not fully registering the words till you are outside his office.

He glitches in a good way and teleports to where you are.

"You cant just call me that and walk off!!"

There is no malice, he is truly happy.

Husk

Working late cause sleep sucks even if you are besides him on the bed.

He is cleaning another glass when he hears you appear besides him, giving him a soft pet on his wings (weak spot).

"The bed is cold without you, Husband"

Husk stops. He almost lets the glass fall. All of him locks in, basic instincts screaming at him when you called him that. He looks at you like he is seeing his life in hell and back once again.

"Again, please call me that again"

[tammyu-2]

THE FIRST "I LOVE YOU" WITH ALASTOR, LUCIFER AND VOX.

A/N: That's right- the triple kill.

Content/ Summary: Your guys first "I love you", no use of Y/n, no mention of specific gender

Tw: Prob mischaracterisation , mentions of sex but no description so like nothing extremely vulgar , small part describing gorey content but nothing too descriptive.

ALASTOR

¤ Its a shock in the first place that the radio demon has been dating you for longer than what most people thought. Or Dating anyone at all infact- He doesn't give off "boyfriend". But surprisingly he had faithfully stuck by you for a while.

¤ There was never any pressure on how fast you two went, you both just silently agreed to go your own pace. Which was a blessing on both of you cause there was no unnecessary expectations put on one another. You both decided that ur romantically interested in one another and just vibed with that from then on.

¤ It had been after he had a pretty hefty fight with an overlord who had dissed you (Completely their fault smh) and he came to your shared home in deep cuts and bruises sprinkled all over him. His normal attire not formal but messed up widely. However he still gave you that famous soft smile when he saw you greet him.

¤ Most of the time when an instance like this occurs he prefers to stitch himself up rather than have you do it. He wouldn't want you to get his blood all over you but after his tragic fight with Adam his magic doesn't help and just makes his body seethe in more pain. So he sat down on the couch while you tried your best to gently stitch up his cut again.

¤ Alastor had never been a romantic at heart but there was something nice at seeing you tend to his wounds so sweetly. It felt almost domestic, and since he was alive in a decade that it was the norm- that just added to his admiration of you.

¤ You thought he was gonna say it? Nah, it was you. You sat up after finishing your work and scolded him on his reckless behavior and how he isn't immortal and you dont know what you would do if he-

"Darling I'm not someone you should make such a fuss over."

"You seriously don't understand why I'm so worried that my boyfriend came limping home??"

"I have handled myself for decades. You're just being paranoid."

"I know...I just don't want to see the man I love get murdered. I can't lose you."

"Oh Mon chéri...I will never leave you."

Eww get a room

¤ After a comforting silence he embraced you softly (so his scar doesn't get hurt) and mummered something along the lines of "I love you more". It always amazes you how the radio demon has always shown you how much you truly adores you with no shame.

VOX

□ You were the whore of the week. That's what everybody told you. Once Vox got tired he would dump you for someone hotter. But he never did for month and months to the point where all of Hell considered you married. Because there was no way Vox would keep someone for that long.

□ Vox is the type to be the worst asshole in the world but the second you two are alone he is a softie. Because he cares for you, he may have signaled that he loves you with gifts and words of affirmation and affection but never a verbal "I love you". Because if I'm honest, he is scared. The rejection from Alastor cut him deep and he doesn't want that to happen.Which is a shock that he allowed himself to relax around anyone after that.

□ It was a late night, after Alastor had mocked him one again in a verbal battle between the two. He had stormed back to the V tower and you know that scene from Mean Girls where Regina screams into her bedroom and throws things around? Yeah he does that. Since your used to his violent ways of getting his anger out you just sit calmly on your phone waiting for his temper tantrum to stop.

□ Once he finishes, he flops beside you on the bed and practically crawls into your lap for attention. So you give it to him and put your phone aside. Rubbing his back and whispering comforting words as he melts in your touch. No one was allowed to see this side of Vox and he never knew he would be able to show this side of him to anyone. But you were different, you were his home and his comfort place.

□ He could be himself with you. No matter what you would be by his side. Even if he got caught up in the power and lost you on the way, you will take him back (ofcourse with a strong apology). He absolutely adored you, he was infatuated with you, He-

"Love you."

□ You both froze. You never expected Vox to ever say that and he didn't think he would say that out loud. And knowing Vox you immediately respond with "I love you too" before he scurries away in embarrassment.

□ Let's just say later that night you both got what you wanted. He got his anger out and you got to hear him say he loved you over and over and over. 😉

LUCIFER

☆ I love my short king. But we have to acknowledge his shortcomings aswell. He 100% said "I love you" early. Like 3 months early- or shorter, depending on what you think is shorter.

☆ If he gets with you even after Lilith then he truly adores you. Like he loves you to the moon and back- he LOVED Lilith. So its like double for you. But focourse he can't say that immediately, that might scare you away. So he planned to tell you later, however he may or may not have said it on accident.

☆ It wasn't a day out of the ordinary, he had came home after spending quality daddy daughter time with Charlie. And you had seen an episode of bluey where it invloved a duck cake. And knowing your boyfriend absolutely loves anything to do with Ducks, you ofcourse made him one.

☆ When I tell you he light up with second he entered the kitchen, Im not even lying. You could see the fireworks coming out of his ears. He gave you a bone crushing hug with a million 'thank you's and he covered your face with kisses. By the time you pulled back your face with bright red, eyes were blown out and you were breathless.

"I can't believe you would make all of this just for little ole' me!"

"Ofcourse, anything for you."

"God Satan, I love you."

☆ He ate that cake with the hugest smile ever. Whenever you two want something sweet, that duck cake is always your go-to and you always bake it together. Expect a lopsided cake and both of you covered in flour and icing.

THIS TURNED OUT SO CUTE OMWWWW

[WRITING OF TAMMY YOU DONT HAVE THE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK PLS AND TY]

[im-addicted-2u]

"immunity." alastor x reader

pairing: alastor x reader (could be read as platonic or romantic), angel dust & reader (briefly), husker & reader (briefly). content: gender-neutral reader, aroace alastor, implied ace reader, implied adhd alastor, discussion of sex (you and angel are having a playful argument), one suicide joke, cuteness aggression, nonsexual intimacy, biting, petting alastor’s ears. word count: 2.3k inspired by @rat-rambles 's post, linked here. ~

You’ve begun to notice a pattern in Alastor.

After over a year of staying at Charlie’s hotel, enduring banal trust-forming exercises with Angel (and once, Pentious) as the only other sinner attempting to be redeemed, you’d found out two things:

One, you were really, honestly, truly quite awful at this “being a good person” thing.

And two, the only person you’ve even come close to trusting is Alastor.

The first one, well, you didn't need a genius to tell you that. You were in hell for a reason. The second, though…it went against all rational urges of self-preservation. It drove you up the wall. Alastor, with that smarmy grin 24/7 on his face, with all his double-meaning words, with all the bright, flashing, neon red signs blaring at you to stay away, had become your closest confidant.

And whether it was delusion or self-grandeur motivating you, you weren’t sure, but you started to believe he felt close to you, too.

It started out of the blue.

You were sitting at the bar with Angel, discussing the ethics of fellatio with him and Husk.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead being subservient to a guy. Hell no,” you said firmly. “He can remove two of his ribs and suck his own dick.”

Angel laughed. “Ugh, you’re really missing out. Being submissive is the hotter option. Plus, you ever hear a guy whimper when you tug his balls?”

“I’d rather fondle a gun against my temple, personally.”

“I don’t understand why you two are arguing about this,” Husk said dryly, sounding as though he’d rather be anyone else than the unwilling bartender listening to two tipsy people argue about dick.

“It’s the principle of it!” you cried.

“I think you nasty fuckers are over-thinking it,” said Husk.

“You’ve just never been properly dicked down,” added Angel.

You mimed gagging. “Honestly, Angel, I really think—”

The only warning you received was a static blip, before two claws were pinching your cheek, Alastor’s voice cutting loudly through your sentence. “My, it is truly inspiring to see you so passionate about the most depraved and unnecessary topics!”

Your nose crinkled. “Um, hello to you, too, Alastor,” you replied, swiveling in your seat to face him. Grin present as always, his claws were poised in a position to grab at your face again. “Did you need something?”

“Nothing at all, dear. Nothing at all.” He sat down next to you crossing one knee over the other. “Please, continue.”

When you met Angel’s eyes again, he looked just as confused as you felt. You cleared your throat. “Anyways, as I was saying…”

That was the first time you noticed him pinching or prodding at you.

The second time felt a lot less subtle. It was late. Everyone else in the hotel was in their rooms, probably sleeping, but you were still downstairs. You’d tuned the radio to a soft jazz station, not at all thinking about a particular deer demon who occupied about half of your thoughts as of late. No, not at all.

Perhaps summoned by your (not) thinking of him, you felt rather than saw Alastor materialize on the couch beside you. You glanced over at him, shadows still clinging to his shoulders.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked.

“I should be asking you that,” he said, and the excitable raucousness with which he usually spoke was dimmed to match the atmosphere. You appreciated that. “I never sleep, my dear.”

“Never?” you echoed. “Impressive.”

“I never took you for one so easily impressed.” Alastor tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “I should flaunt my menial accomplishments to you more often, should I require praise.”

You snickered at his little joke, rolling your eyes. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Au contraire, I see it as completely genuine!”

You leaned back against the couch cushions, crossing your arms. “You’re the most impossible person I’ve ever met.”

“Why, thank you.” Alastor’s eyes remained trained on you, a fact you confirmed despite your head tipping back skyward, staring at the gritty ceiling.

“Did you—?” You began to ask.

“Need something? Not at all! You’re so particular. Do I need a reason to approach you?” Alastor flipped the question.

“You always want something,” you accused, sitting up and poking his chest. The touch was light, borderline affectionate, and something you immediately second-guessed when you remembered the way he would bristle when others acted similarly.

Alastor’s hand wrapped around yours, tugging it away more gently than you anticipated. “Careful with that finger, darling.”

Were you mistaken, or was he…being playful? His smile appeared more real, the narrowness in his eyes glimmering with a foreign intent. You put in a slight effort to struggle against his grip and poked at his chest again.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t hear you,” you teased.

A blip of static disturbed the airways, and before you could react, Alastor brought your hand to his mouth and bit your finger.

“Ow! Alastor, what the fuck?!” You recoiled, more out of shock than pain—after the initial sting, you realized he hadn’t bit that hard—and glared at him. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I argue it was a fitting punishment for your behavior.” He was back to being the perfect gentleman, hands folded primly in his lap.

“You asshole, I’ll bite you back.”

His voice darkened, and the air seemed to contort and fizz around him. “I’d like to see you try.”

For most sinners, that would be enough to high tail it out of there, but you didn’t take his display too seriously. A cheap intimidation tactic. You could tell it was more for show than it was him actually threatening you. He still felt more playful than angry.

You surged forward with your teeth bared, and instead of meeting a bitten Alastor, your face planted into the couch cushions. The only trace that he was ever there was a slight disturbance in the air and shadows.

“Damn him,” you muttered.

The third time you noticed something off about Alastor, the two of you were, again, alone.

This time, however, Alastor was in your room. That unprecedented draw and closeness you felt with him, despite his numerous red flags, outweighed your sense of self-preservation. When Alastor had turned up at your door that day, when you’d initially been planning to ignore the world and wallow, you’d let him in.

Small talk aside, the both of you sat in silence. You, pretending to read a random book you nicked off of a shelf somewhere in the city, and Alastor, not pretending to not be watching you. The only place you had to sit was your bed, but it was large enough that there remained a fair bit of distance between the two of you, around a foot and a half.

“It’s really hard to read when you’re looking at me like that,” you muttered, piercing the silence.

“Like what?” Alastor feigned innocence, finally looking away.

“Like. I don’t know. You’re just staring at me. It’s unnerving,” you explained with a huff, setting the book down beside you.

“You don’t like being looked at?” he clarified. You were unsure if he was genuinely asking, or mocking you.

“I never said that, it’s just…” you trailed off. “When you asked to hang out, I thought you’d want to do something, not watch me be really bad at reading for thirty minutes.”

Alastor hummed then. “You seem upset.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“No, no, dear, not mad. Simply…melancholy.” His voice was almost tender, then, making an observation strange and unbidden. You didn’t think Alastor cared. Hell, sometimes you questioned if he even liked you at all. Maybe you were judging too harshly.

“I’m having an off day, that’s all. I usually don’t spend time with people when I feel like this,” you answered, hugging yourself. “I’m not feeling up to performing or entertaining anyone. If you could spare some of your limitless energy, that’d be pretty sick, though.”

Alastor chuckled. “Unfortunately, I can’t. Though, if you require other assistance…”

“Like what?” you asked, rolling onto your side to watch him. He seemed almost…huh. Not nervous, but a bit hyperactive. As though he couldn’t parse the words before saying them.

“Well, whatever it is people require when they’re moping and melancholic,” he said quickly, his ears flattening. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

“So…what, a hug? Are you offering to comfort me?”

“Your words, not mine,” said Alastor, readjusting how he sat next to you on the bed. “But if that’s what you need, I suppose I could indulge you just this once.”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering if this was all an elaborate trick. He seemed surprisingly earnest, or the closest to earnest that you could imagine Alastor being. You smiled.

“A hug would be nice,” you accepted, scooting over to his side and opening your arms. You didn’t make contact yet, wanting to keep it on his terms, knowing the glares he’d given some people for prodding at him willy-nilly.

When Alastor’s arms wrapped around you, you were shocked at how nice it felt. For someone so lean, you hadn’t expected a firm embrace. It felt like you were finally meeting solid ground after an entire day of free-falling. You kept your arms and hands regulated to his back. One of his clawed hands rested between your shoulder blades, and the other against your head. You rested your head on his shoulder.

So close, you could hear the near-silent static hum that emanated off of him due to his power. He was warm. The material of his jacket was soft. You could fall asleep to the sound and from the feel of him, white noise mixed with a flowing warmth.

You mumbled something like, “This is nice,” garbled into his shoulder. Alastor chuckled.

“Who knew this is all it took to render you defenseless,” he mused.

You weren’t sure when, or if, you should pull away. You didn’t want to take more than he was willing to give. Hell was never the place you expected comfort or affection, and it felt so unnatural that between the calm, your skin prickled, waiting for the inevitable blow. Yet, the longer you stayed, the more your instincts faded to bliss.

That was until you felt Alastor’s nose prod your shoulder. The unexpected motion made you tense, and in response, Alastor’s hand rubbed up and down your back, promptly soothing you again.

“What are you—?”

Teeth clamped down through the fabric, pinching at your skin beneath. You recoiled on instinct, but you soon realized that, as antithetical as the descriptor may be, Alastor’s teeth were gentle. It didn’t hurt as much as you expected. It didn’t feel like an attack. You relaxed again.

“If you wanted to use me like a chew toy, you could’ve just asked,” you muttered, and without thinking too hard about it, rested your hand against Alastor’s head. Your fingers combed through the soft, cherry-red strands, brushing against his scalp.

You hadn’t felt anything close to friendship, peace, or care since you’d died. You’d spent the majority of your days on-edge and waiting for the ground to disappear from under you. Joining the hotel has been a reckless decision, born from fear and the tiny, stubborn bit of hope that you weren’t as bad as you thought, that there were people in Hell that could be good. Alastor was an unexpected, but wishful, variable.

And he was currently gnawing his way down your forearm. The hand in your hand moved to cradle your arm, a claw tugging your shirt down your shoulder. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve panicked, but that innate sense pushing you to trust Alastor prevailed. At some point in your embrace, you’d both rolled over so that you were on your back, and Alastor rested atop you.

Teeth pricked your bare skin, Alastor nibbling at your flesh the way a bunny eats a fluffy leaf of lettuce. It stopped hurting and started feeling like a fucked-up version of a massage, or a twisted caress. You brushed your thumb tentatively over the base of his ear. He didn’t recoil, but still.

“Hey.” You poked his forehead. Alastor removed his mouth from your arm and rested his chin on your chest, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes. He smiled at you without any teeth. You hesitated to call the most terrifying sinner cute, but if the shoe fit… “Can I pet your ears?”

“Hmm.” Alastor’s grin widened, flashing his sharp teeth. “I suppose it’s only fair, since you’ve allowed me to indulge myself.”

You tilted your head. “Without the flair this time. Yes or no?”

Alastor laughed. “Yes, my dear. Though, if we’re asking things of each other…” He moved up your body. “May I, well.” A pause. “Without you misconstruing my intent, may I bite here?” He pointed.

“My neck?” you asked for clarification. Alastor nodded. “Yeah, sure. What’s with the biting, anyway?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Why are you biting me? Is that your way of comforting people, or something?” you asked.

Alastor took a moment to think your question over. You hadn’t considered that maybe he hadn’t thought about it, either.

“I find it stimulating,” he finally replied. “More than your regular physical affections.”

“Huh. Well, fair enough. You do a good job of doing it without hurting me. I don’t mind it.” You pressed your hand back against his scalp, urging him forward.

Once Alastor’s teeth met your neck, you scratched at his ears. When the mighty radio demon melted from your ministrations, you felt a surge of satisfaction.

It was an unconventional affection, but affection nonetheless. You had always been too afraid to instigate affection with anyone, let alone someone as powerful and aloof as Alastor. Looking back on it, though, he’d shown fondness for you when you hadn’t realized. Maybe this friendship was less one-sided than you thought.

And if another day he came knocking, you’d again offer yourself up, meeting him where he was at.

You’d completely forgotten about the fact that teeth left marks, though. When you came downstairs for breakfast the next day, Angel nearly spit his coffee at you.

“Damn, toots, who gave you those hickeys?”

“Aw, fuck.”

[abs0rbed]

Behave — Vincent Whittman ♡

♡ Tone: smut

♥︎ afab!reader, pervy Vincent (obviously), cumming in pants, grinding, dry humping (?), Vincent gets stepped on, alcohol intake (nothing serious), kissing, slapping, public sex, slight humiliation, he's pathetic and lowk submissive.

♡ Summary: Vincent can't seem to behave properly, so you decide to show him who's really in charge in this relationship.

♥︎ Authors note: I might write a part 2 of this, although I'm not really sure if I would. But anywayyy, I hope you guys enjoy this poorly written draft that sat in my notes for far too long! ^^; (if there are any typos, lmk!)

♡ Words: 2157

What a dirty man Vincent was.

A brazen man who always flashed a proud grin in front of cameras, lucky for him, everyone adored him, and those who didn’t... well, he’d just complain about it to you.

He was lounging in the armchair in your room, clutching a glass of whiskey while his eyes devoured your figure, hungrily drinking in your form as he sat comfortably with his legs spread wide.

He took a sip from his drink, keeping his eyes locked on you as he did.

Dressed in a deep blue suit, paired with a lovely tie you had gifted him for Christmas last year, his hair was messily styled, gelled to look intentionally disheveled yet clean, boldly showcasing his white strands.

His glasses perched low on his nose, sliding off occasionally as he pushed them back up against his beloved hooked nose.

You, on the other hand, were trying on a few dresses, slipping them on and off while wandering around the room almost undressed, preparing for the night ahead.

Tonight, he promised to take you out for dinner at the fanciest restaurant he could find... just to see you smile.

Your bare feet touched the floor as you moved about, occasionally groaning, utterly clueless about what to wear or how to style your hair... oh, and the jewelry? What kind would suit you? What heels would look good with this dress... no, wait, how about with this one?

You held both dresses and flopped onto the bed, clad only in a bra and panties, throwing your head back in frustration.

"What’s wrong, love?" he asked with feigned curiosity, as if he didn’t already know the answer. You shot him a stern look, sitting up and walking over to him, holding a dress in each hand as you stood before him.

"Stop staring and help me decide, the red one... or the blue one?" He chuckled at your response, taking another sip and setting the glass down on the table beside the armchair, then placing both arms behind his head in a teasing manner.

"It's your call, babe, go for the blue one... but..." he trailed off, biting his lower lip as his hands began to wander towards your bare skin. "I'd really prefer if you wore nothing at all and let me take you right here and right no—"

"Absolutely not, you fucking pervert." You chuckled, turning away, completely dismissing his suggestion as you carefully started to put on the blue dress. He sighed and rolled his eyes, instantly getting up to help you with the zipper while you pulled your hair to the front. He leaned down slightly, letting his breath brush against the back of your neck, the scent of alcohol mingling with his cologne, a fragrance he knew drove you wild.

But still... nothing really happened, you just ignored his well-known tactics as you continued to prepare yourself.

With the final touches complete, both of you slipped into your shoes, he wore a sleek, polished pair while you donned heels that perfectly complemented your dress.

"After you, my lady.." he said, opening the door to your house, allowing you to step out first. You did, but didn’t wait for him, instead, you smiled to yourself and started walking towards the car. He panicked, rushing after you and shutting the door behind him, quickly opening the car door for you before he, himself, sliding in right after you.

"Did you forget something?" You asked, glancing at him in the passenger seat as a slight blush crept onto his face. Instantly, his thoughts turned to a kiss, you were clearly asking him to kiss you... right? As he leaned in quickly, you pulled back, pointing at your house.

"The door, Vincent. Go lock the door." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as he immediately jumped up. "Right..! Of course..! Hah... I was just about to do that..." He dashed back to the house, locking the door before returning to the car and finally buckling his seatbelt.

The journey was dull, you spent most of it gazing out the window while he rambled on about his day and work. Every now and then, you'd clear your throat, hoping he'd take the hint and switch to a more entertaining topic.

And his version of fun was far from exciting.

"God, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, did you know that?" He remarked, his eyes focused on the road as the lights glimmered and danced off his glasses. Occasionally, he'd steal a glance at you, showering you with compliments that made you smile and giggle.

"I’m well aware, thank you," you replied softly, adjusting your hair out of habit.

"That’s my girl, you should recognize your value... just like I taught you," he grinned, his hand sliding over your thigh for a quick squeeze, resting there.

But every time he did this, it was clear he wanted more... and most of the time, you let him have more. One hand on the steering wheel, the other creeping under your dress, pushing it up over your knees. The moment you noticed his eyebrows knitting together while he kept his gaze on the road, biting his lower lip, you slapped his hand away, making him whine as he withdrew it.

"You horny freak, get a grip," you gasped, quickly adjusting your dress and crossing your legs, now completely ignoring him.

"Oh come on... can’t I just please my girl? Just a little touch... please?"

"Absolutely not, now keep driving before I change my mind and make you pull over so I can walk home," you shot back.

"You wouldn’t do that, babe, we both know it." he countered.

"Don’t underestimate me.." you muttered firmly under your breath as he sighed, clearly conceding. And even if you insisted on getting out of the car, he wouldn’t let you... or if he did, he’d just follow you slowly with the windows down, his head poking out, trying to coax you back inside.

You both arrived at the restaurant, now seated at opposite ends of the table.

He ordered his usual heavy liquor, while you opted for their finest red wine.

As minutes ticked by, you could already feel the alcohol working its magic, wine always gets you in the mood, which was precisely why you chose it tonight, to get your revenge and make him pay for his earlier misbehavior.

"How's your drink, love?" you asked sweetly, taking a sip of your wine as he shot you a smirk, adjusting his glasses, his eyes shimmering under the warm, romantic glow of the lights.

"Eh.. it's fine, I asked for ice but I guess they forgot it." he replied.

"Mhmmm.." you hummed, peering at him through your lashes as your foot began to slide toward his, nudging his shoe with yours before carefully lifting it, letting the front get caught in his trouser leg as you started to lift it higher, making him freeze and almost shudder at your touch..

"Lord.. not here," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" you teased, watching the waiter approach as you swiftly pressed your heeled foot against his crotch the moment the waiter reached your table.

"Ahhh, I’d like to order the beef bourguignon.. and you, my love?" you asked, tilting your head to the side as you pressed down hard over his now almost fully erect cock, swiping it from side to side, forcing him to grip the table tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Ghh.. I— uhhh.. the same will.. will do, yes!" he finished with a grunt, masking it with a cough as he shifted in his seat, seeking more friction while the waiter gave him a puzzled look.

"Ah, are you alright, dear? Oh my.. your fever might be flaring up.. I told you we shouldn’t have come here. Now now, after you eat, you’ll feel better in no time I'm sure." you brushed it off, the waiter already retreating while Vincent quietly whimpered under his breath, half his face covered by his hand, positioned right under his nose as he glanced around, his eyes nearly rolling back as you continued to step on him.

"You're so.. pathetic," you whispered, leaning in a little closer with a playful smile, ensuring no one would catch on to what was happening.

"So pathetic that just a touch gets you this hard.. you're enjoying this, aren't you?" you teased, starting to move your foot again as he tried to act casual, sipping his drink and nearly choking when you hit the right spot, huffing softly and unraveling before you.

"I need you.. so bad.. god, I'm going to cum," he breathed out, pausing just enough between his words as he leaned back in his chair, attempting to appear unfazed while you pulled him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

He quickly leaned forward again, almost as if he was about to share a secret, but the dazed expression on his face told a different story.. mouth slightly agape, eyes locked onto yours, his face radiating relaxation and bliss.

With one last rub of your heel, he lost control, making a mess in his dark dress pants, his ass barely clinging to the chair as he ground against your heel like a needy pup, soft whispers and pleas escaping his beautiful lips.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, the music was loud, and so were the people chattering, the food arrived just in time, while he was still trying to regain his composure. You pulled your heel away, already diving into your meal as you thanked the waiter with a smile.

"C'mon, eat up," you encouraged, taking a bite of your food while his trembling hands attempted to mimic your actions, trying to appear more "normal" despite the sweat glistening on his forehead.

"What are you even doing to me.." he questioned, the warmth on his pants quickly turning cold and uncomfortable as he took a bite from his own plate, giving you a sweet smirk.

"You should've figured it out by now," you replied, a bit of sauce dripping onto your finger, which you quickly licked off while gazing at him, making his cock twitch in his pants once more.

Thank goodness his pants were dark enough to hide any evidence.. another round wouldn’t hurt though..right?

Dinner had wrapped up, and you found yourselves back in the car, his dried cum leaving an odd stain on his pants that you'd have to deal with in the morning.. gross, you thought to yourself.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly while you touched up your lipstick in the car. Every now and then, you'd tease him, and he'd respond with a scrunched up face, a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"I never realized you could pull off something like that in public.. and I had no idea you enjoyed it so much," you laughed, capping your lipstick and glancing out the window with a sly grin.

Vincent, however, was not amused, in fact, he wanted you more than ever. He was so close to pulling over just to take you in the backseat, his cock throbbed at the thought.

"Looks like I need to silence that filthy mouth of yours, don’t you think?" he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes glued to the road, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

"You’ll need to do a lot more than that to scare me off," you huffed. Oh god, he was definitely not pleased, you could see it in the way he clenched his jaw repeatedly, his eyes darting to you, feeling even more embarrassed since you weren’t even looking at him while you said all that.

As soon as you both stepped out of the car and into your home, he crashed his lips against yours, holding you tightly to prevent any escape. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped your arms, deepening the kiss, whimpering into it.

You, on the other hand, with your eyes half-closed, looked away, smiling to yourself as he grew needier and more desperate. It was clear that it didn’t faze you much, and even if it did, you’d just blame it on the alcohol.

Your arms were pinned to your sides, allowing him to indulge as he practically ground against you.. poor Vincent..

You were the first to pull away from the kiss, tugging him by his tie as he gasped, his hands instantly searching for your zipper before you slapped him across the face.

"Behave." You said sharply, and he nodded, his eyes practically begging with desire as you started to lead him by the tie upstairs, making sure he stayed right behind you.

"We need to teach you some manners.. don’t you agree?" You grinned, glancing to the side slightly as he trailed after you like a loyal pup.

"Yes ma'am" he answered, oh god.. he submitted so easily to you.

[tadohazbinokayy]

omg perfect timing! i just refreshed the vox x reader tag and found your blog.

do you think you could write something along these lines: reader is a shark!demon (you can make her a sinner or a hellborn from the envy ring, whichever helps your creative flow). she works as vox's personal assistant above ethan, and the man is lovestruck. he can't stop infodumping about sharks, tv trivia, or the weather in her presence. vox pulls every pathetic trick in the book to impress the reader because he is just that obsessed. everyone around the reader, specifically val and vel, thinks his attempts to woo the reader are incredibly cringy, but she actually finds vox's pick-up attempts adorable.

if you end up writing for this ask, thank you in advance!

thank you so much for your request! i actually really love the idea of reader being a hellborn shark demon from the envy realm! i hardly ever see hellborn readers and that gave me a lot of fun ideas!

When you first move up to the Pride Ring in search of better employment opportunities, your friends and family think you are crazy. While no place in Hell can really be considered safe, the Pride Ring is, quite certainly, the most dangerous of the seven rings. The constant influx of sinners, wars between various overlords, and of course, the yearly exterminations, make for a volatile and violent melting pot.

Fortunately for you, your shark traits make most people think twice before trying anything stupid. And the ones foolhardy enough to try attacking you anyways, well... you make quick work of them, your powerful tail lashing at them like a whip to bruise and knock them off balance, before you finish them off by lunging and tearing at them with your razor-sharp teeth.

This is, in fact, how you meet Vox! He's keeping an eye on some of the spy cameras he has scattered throughout Pentagram City and happens to notice a particularly bloody commotion as you turn the tables on a couple of cannibal sinners who thought they could turn you into shark fin soup.

Vox sees you at the center, tearing through your attackers with ease, and he is completely, utterly, starstruck. He zaps over there before he even realizes what he's doing and finishes off the last ne’er do well himself.

Caught up in all the bloodlust, you might try to take a bite out of him before you realize he isn’t one of the cannibals. Luckily for you, he takes this in stride, and once you’ve calmed down enough to talk a little he’s already asking you all kinds of questions about yourself, practically vibrating with excitement as he does.

His screen is glitching and he’s not as suave as he usually is. You have him flustered! And the moment he hears you’ve come to the Pride Ring in search of a job, he lights up.

Vox spits out an offer for you to come be his executive assistant at VoxTek almost immediately. He’s quick to offer you anything and everything he can think of to make you accept the position- your own full furnished apartment (in Vee tower, of course) a ridiculously cushy salary, healthcare benefits… even vacation time. He needs you to think he's a great guy.

Though initially distrustful of him after everything you’ve heard about sinners, you end up accepting the offer and coming back to Vee tower with him. (Totally not because Vox secretly sabotages any other job offers you get.)

Poor Ethan gets all but tossed aside in favor of you. He ends up becoming your assistant instead and helping you out, which is necessary because Vox is so desperate to have you by his side that he kind of forgets he needs to show you the ropes before tossing you into the deep end of your position. Fortunately enough, it works out, both due to Ethan's help and the fact that Vox has more patience with you than he does for anyone else in Vee Tower (and yes, that includes Velvette and Valentino.)

You're actually allowed to make mistakes, unlike the others, and anyone who has a problem with the blatant favoritism soon finds themselves disappeared or otherwise silenced.

While not super fond of you at first, Velvette and Valentino do warm up to you over time. You're good at your job, and Vox is easier to work with when you're around because you put him into such a good mood.

Good luck on shaking the nickname "Finny"! It's what Velvette calls you when she sees your fins for the first time and Valentino thinks it's hilarious, so it sticks. Vox primarily calls you by affectionate pet names (baby, sweetheart, doll, etc) so you hardly ever hear your real name anymore (unless it happens to be Finny).

Shark facts, ocean facts, weather and television trivia... he'll yap to you about them and he won't stop yapping, even neglecting his important work just to talk to you and try and impress you with all he knows! You're going to need to forcibly redirect him multiple times a day to make sure Voxtek doesn't fall into shambles.

It happens at LEAST once that he'll be so excited while infodumping that he'll forget that you're actually from Envy, and end up telling you a bunch of things you already know about biomes of your home realm. Vox is fascinated by Envy, its oceans, and all the sharks and shark demons that live there. He's also highkey devastated that he can't ever visit because he's a sinner, so if you're patient with him during this, he'll be extremely appreciative, and if you take the time to tell him about your own experiences in Envy he will be completely enraptured. (If you bring him souvenirs, he might cry).

(continued under the cut bc this is getting long and there's some suggestive themes past this point. reader is also implied to be/referred to as female from hereon out.)

The flirting is immediate. Vox doesn't really have a good sense of "boundaries" or "personal space" when it comes to the things he wants, although he does want you to actually love like him, so he does make an effort for his advances not to scare you or be too overt. That being said, I think he unfortunately still toes a fine line between heavy flirtation and sexual harassment (check your Voxtek apartment for cameras.) He'll also want to touch your tail, and your fins, and even your teeth if you'll let him (he gets hard if you bite him).

If you ever confront him about his behaviours, his screen will glitch out, he'll stammer and stutter, and he'll actually apologize! There will be many expensive gifts in your future and he'll even up your salary, too. Anything so you aren't mad at him anymore. He can't stand the idea of you leaving him quitting!

He will be genuinely upset when the other Vees insult his efforts to woo you, but he'll try to hide it from you because he doesn't want you to know that it affects him, or that your opinion of him matters as much as it does. You may still catch him sulking from time to time, but if you reassure him that you don't find his behaviours stupid, he will light up (literally and metaphorically) and turn into putty in your hands.

Female biased sexual size dimorphism (or female biased SSD). It is a biological phenomenon common in sharks where the females of a species are larger than their male counterparts. I personally love the idea of reader being part Greenland shark, and Vox being part Great White- and both species happen to exhibit female biased SSD. If you are bigger than Vox, he is turned the fuck on.

A veritable red sea of imps, sinners, and other unimportant Voxtek worker drones leap out of your way as you pass through their floor. You reckon that the first half of them are doing so to avoid the heavy sways of your powerful tail (which has been known to send people flying), and that the second half are simply terrified of catching your gaze.  

  You are, after all, a direct line to the boss; and if any one of them appears lacking before you or looks at you the wrong way, they will find themselves thrown out of Vee Tower before the end of the day- from the first floor, if they are lucky (the unlucky ones get launched from much further up). Thankfully for them, you have no current desire to add to the number of abstract red stains dotting the concrete several stories below. You are just passing through.  

  You exchange a brief glance with Ethan, who, all things considered, is much friendlier to you than you would expect. Being replaced as Vox's primary personal assistant has not soured his opinion on you. Nowadays, he is more your personal assistant than anything else, and he actually appears grateful for the shift- probably because he no longer has to deal with most of Vox's violent tantrums. You wave him over and exchange a few words about the day's events and your upcoming schedule before you head off again.  

  In one of your hands is a Styrofoam cup filled with dark, bitter coffee- hot and unsweetened, just the way Vox likes it (or how he claims to like it. You have caught him indulging in sugar cubes and creamer multiple times when he thinks no one else is looking.) Not wanting the beverage to go cold, you swiftly make your way over to the elevators and push the button clearly labeled VIP: VOX ONLY. You are the only employee with clearance to do so.  

  The ride up to your boss's penthouse is swift. Upon entering, you expect to see him lounging on one of his various designer couches, scrolling through the latest posts on Sinstagram, or still in bed if he is having a particularly lazy day (in which case there is a 50/50 chance he will try to pull you into bed with him and cling to you as though you are merely a shark shaped stuffed animal).  

  To your surprise, Vox is not only standing up, but his face is pressed firmly against the surface of a massive glass tank that you are absolutely certain did not exist a mere 12 hours ago. It takes up an incredible amount of space; entirely replacing one of the penthouse walls, and from what you can tell, it extends both above and below this floor, meaning it spans multiple stories of Vee Tower. The light from Vox's screen illuminates some familiar flora within as he stares into the tank. You notice some plants, small fish, and even a few artic corals the likes of which you have only ever seen back home, in the northern regions of Envy.  

  "Um... sir?" You inquire, a bewildered expression on your face.   

  Vox jumps, a loud thud echoing through the penthouse as his screen smacks against the glass from the sudden motion. He is quick to recover, taking a step away from the tank and clearing his throat as he turns around to face you. A few stray pixels, pink in color, dance across his face before disappearing.  

  "Ahem! Good morning, sweetheart! Don't mind the uh, the... that." He gestures to the tank with his shoulder.  

  "It's, uh... Part of the renovations we're having done. Very big. Very important."  

  "Uh huh..." You raise an eyebrow at your boss.  

  "So... why exactly was I unaware of this? It doesn't look like this was very easy to install, and on such incredibly short notice..." You step closer to the glass, carefully inspecting the contents of the tank. Pressing a palm to the surface, you find it pleasantly chilly. Your tail swishes happily behind you, and you miss the way Vox's eyes are drawn to the motion.  

  "This is too cold for Shok.Wav," you add. "I can't tell exactly what the temp is from the outside, but this is at least 10 degrees cooler than his threshold for-"  

  "It's not for Shok.Wav," Vox interrupts, cutting off the concern you are expressing for his favorite pet's safety. Your brow furrows.  

  "It's not? Then who is it for..?"  

  "It's for you."  

  You blink slowly.   

  Vox blinks back.   

  "Um... excuse me?" Before you can begin to feel offended, Vox begins to sputter, his screen glitching as he gestures towards you with his hands in some kind of effort to placate you.  

  "It's not like that! Whatever you were thinking, doll, I swear it's not like that! It's nothing creepy. I'm not gonna, like, keep you in there or anything! That would- that would be fucked up! Besides, you're my best assistant! I need you! Satan knows you're better than Elijah or Elliot or whatever the Hell his name is- you're a... you're a vital asset, okay? Just give me a chance to explain before you go saying I'm some kind of pervert!" Your boss is more flustered in this moment than you can ever recall seeing him. The genuine panic he seems to be exuding is enough for you to hear him out.   

  Once he realizes you are not about to storm out, slap him with your tail, or try to bite him, Vox lets out a sigh of relief.  

  "Phew. Okay. Look... this is kind of meant to be like a... a gift for you. For you to use. If you want. Like a pool. You're always complaining about how hot it is up here in the Pride Ring and how none of the baths or showers get as cold as you want them to, and I bet you're really missing it back in Envy, so... So I figured you might, you know, like it if I brought a piece of Envy here. To you."  

  You glance at the tank again, the cold temperature and the familiar contents suddenly making sense. Despite the awkward way he went about it, Vox has actually done a very good job at recreating the aquatic portion of your home biome. Your tail twitches in interest.  

  "How big is this, exactly?" You ask, unable to see just how far the tank extends beyond this floor.  

  "Oh, about 1.2 million gallons," Vox answers proudly. "It spans 5 floors, and the lowest one completely blocks out light to simulate the deep sea portions of northern Envy."  

  "Water temperature?"  

  "Right now, it's set to exactly 0°F, but I've installed thermal controls so you can set it anywhere from -45°F to 30°F. Given the size, any significant change in temperature will take hours, and I'm not entirely sure how the flora will react to either extreme since I don't have much experience with Envy's specific biolife yet, but-" Vox is so absorbed in telling you about his latest creation that he misses the way you surge forward, finding himself stunned into silence when you collide with his chest, your arms firmly wrapping themselves around his waist. The cup of coffee has been placed on a nearby counter and forgotten.  

  Vox is warm. Much warmer than you, though that can easily be attributed to the differences in your biology- which are stark, despite the fact that you both bear shark like traits.  

  "I love it," you say. A shudder runs down his spine.   

  "Yeah? Y-you do?" Vox asks. His clawed hands slowly come down to hover over your back, ghosting over your flesh at first as though he is not sure if he is allowed to touch you. When you do not pull away, they touch, and he holds you, stunned. For someone that regularly clings to you in the mornings, he is being remarkably chaste.  

  "That was... was fast," he chuckles, tapping his claws against your waist a few times. He is quickly getting over his sudden wave of bashfulness.   

  "For a moment there it looked like you wanted to bite my screen off," he adds. He is not entirely wrong.  

  "I changed my mind," You respond, flashing him a grin that shows off your sharp teeth.   

  "You argued your case and I found what you had to say... agreeable." Vox smiles at you, and your gaze returns to the tank.  

  "I do have couple of questions, though. First... why is it connected to your penthouse? And second... how do I actually get in?" Vox's screen flashes static for a couple of seconds before he lets go of you.  

  "Well, I, ahem... It's connected because I'd like to see your demon form when you swim... if that's... okay... and you get in up there." He points towards an opening in the ceiling that you did not notice when you first stepped out of the elevator. A snap of his fingers causes a ladder to come sliding down.  

  "The penthouse has two levels now," he clarifies. "The one down here is mine, and the one up there is yours. I thought it was high time we move you out of that dingy standard Voxtek apartment you've been staying in on the lower levels. You deserve something better, don't you think?" There is a charismatic lilt to his voice. He flirts with you a lot, but this is quite overt, even for him.  

  "It's fully decked out up there. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, coffee maker, minibar... even the latest Voxtek video sound system, courtesy of yours truly! And, of course, the entrance to the tank." Vox has clearly rehearsed his speech about the amenities, and if you were any less fond of him, you might bristle at the blatant attempt to get you to move in with him.  

  "Makes sense," you say, letting him sweat a little bit as he waits to see if you reject it.   

  "I do like the look of this tank... and as your assistant, occupying a level of the penthouse would make it much easier to get a hold of you when I need to... No more treks through the lower levels, or long, pesky elevator rides..." Vox is hanging on every word you say and it is difficult not to burst into a fit of giggles.  

  "How about I check out the amenities in person first? You know, just to make sure they're better than what I already have." You are openly teasing him now, and if he realizes it, he makes no comment. He waits with uncharacteristic patience as you ascend the ladder, using every last bit of self-control to avoid following you up and simply hypnotizing you to do what he wants.  

  You give your level of the penthouse a brief, perfunctory sweep, but the tank simulating your home ocean is the only thing you really care about. Vox is right about the temperatures in Pride being too warm for your liking. Envy in general is colder than Pride but where you are from, the climate is arctic. You cannot remember the last time you had a satisfying swim, bath, or shower that did not make you feel like you were boiling alive.  

  You spy the elevated entrance to the tank. From the top, it does not look much different than an ordinary swimming pool, but you know from what you saw on the lower level that it is anything but ordinary. Your shoes are thrown off along with the rest of your clothes amid a growing urgency to be cool.  

  You dive in without hesitation, and the sensation that greets you is positively ethereal. It feels like home. Your form shifts and distorts as you assume your demonic form, your body growing in size as your legs fuse together and join with your tail. You swim down past the penthouse levels, the cold water pushing delightfully through your gills. For several minutes, all you do is dive and explore. You swim and play amongst the plants and even chomp on a fish for a light snack before you remember that Vox is waiting for you.  

  Somewhat sheepishly, you swim back up, stopping when he comes back into view through the sheer glass. You realize now how small he is in comparison to you, at least right now. On land, you are similar in size, but your full demonic form is closer to Shok.Wav in stature.  

  The expression on Vox's face right now can only be described as abject awe. His mouth is hanging open, his screen flickering as the lights in the penthouse begin to glitch. You wave at him, and it is only now that you remember you are naked, too. Oh well. The fact that your boss can see your breasts right now does not really bother you.  

  And if the two distinct bulges forming at the front of his pants are anything to go by, Vox is not bothered by it, either.  

  You grin toothily at him and wave, knowing you will be discussing more than your new living arrangements when you surface again.

(A/N: petition to make this a recurring au on this blog? i really liked this idea and want to eventually write more for it. i think i'll call it the "Jaws and Effect" series.)