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redladydeath · 5 months ago

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Been thinking about my headcanons for Vox's fucked up childhood recently. Decided to write 1300 words about it because why not.

Vox was born in 1919 to stage performers Winnifred Vaughan and William Oxright. They’d struggled to have children and had him somewhat later in life, so they saw him as something of a miracle baby. However, despite how dearly they had wanted him, it didn’t take long for their attention to turn elsewhere. Vox’s mother was a singer/dancer/actress with lofty ambitions, but who had found limited success, while his father was a singer/actor who was beginning to transition into a managerial role. They were both highly invested in their careers which took up a vast majority of their time. As a result, Vox (or Vaughn at the time) was often left in the care of friends and relatives, brought along to the theater to wait backstage, or simply left alone in their Philadelphia townhouse during his early years.

Almost as soon as Vox was old enough to form memories, he learned that if he wanted his parents’ attention, he needed to work for it. Vox was a very cute child, with piercing blue eyes and a precocious demeanor, but while that may have been enough for his parents’ friends/coworkers, it clearly wasn’t for them. At the age of two, he began putting on little shows for the people backstage, using what he’d picked up from watching others perform. People found this adorable and began recommending that his parents get him involved in the industry since he showed legitimate promise. His mother began teaching him how to perform in her free time and his father enrolled him in a dance school. Vox eagerly went along with this; when he performed, people would give him attention and praise, so he’d just continue performing.

By the age of five, Vox’s parents started to get ambitious. Their son was showing a level of talent and dedication “beyond his years” and it had people enthralled. They decided that it would be best for all of their careers to have Vox start performing for real and joined a Vaudeville company. His father would handle the business side of things while his mother would continue to train him and manage his everyday life. They promised him that if he did well, he may one day be famous or even end up in the movies. Vox, not even old enough to read and feeding off the love and attention his parents were suddenly showing him, obeyed without question and threw himself into his new job.

The three of them toured the Vaudeville circuit for the next several years. Vox’s mother occasionally would perform alongside him, but usually, he was up onstage by himself or with other members of the company. It was grueling work; their troupe wasn’t particularly well-known, so they performed more shows at more locations across the country than more well-established companies. For a while, Vox convinced himself that he was happy. Even if the work was hard and they were never in one place long enough for him to make any real friends, he was pleasing his parents and helping the family make money. But as the years went on, he began to lose his enthusiasm. He was so tired all the time, but his mother would never allow him a moment’s rest. He needed to keep working and training; if he didn’t, he was being lazy and risked costing the family their place in the troupe. When he powered through the exhaustion, his parents would lavish him with praise, telling him what a hard worker and good child he was being, so that became the norm.

Despite his dedication, Vox never made it out of the mid-leagues. Audiences thought his act was charming, but no Hollywood producers ever swooped in and offered to put him in a movie. His parents still tried their best to network their way to success though. Vox often found himself brought along to some very not child-friendly industry parties, where he would sit awkwardly in a sea of drunk adults while his parents tried to schmooze with the big shots. This was the norm for a while, until one man almost succeeded in luring him into private while he was left unattended. Thankfully, his father punched the man’s lights out, and from then on Vox wasn’t allowed to come to parties anymore; after a show, his parents would drop him off at the boarding house the troupe was staying in and leave him in the locked room by himself while they went off to celebrate.

By the time he was ten, Vox fully understood that he was miserable. He was exhausted and in pain most of the time, he was socially isolated and undereducated, and he was finally wise to the manipulative praise-neglect loop his parents utilized to keep him obedient. On top of all that, his career was in more-or-less the same place as it had started. There was nothing he could do to break the loop though. This was all he’d ever known, and any time he tried to push back against his parents, his mother would blow up at him, crying about how he was ungrateful and lazy and would drive them to poverty if he quit, while his father would turn cold and harsh.

Things finally came to a head when one night, during a performance, Vox’s ankle just suddenly gave out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor in front of a packed theater. It was humiliating, and to make matters worse, he couldn’t get back up, no matter how hard he tried. His parents gave him hell for forcing the troupe to issue refunds, but they recognized that he was injured. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, Vox was allowed to rest… for a few weeks. However, as soon as he was able to (gingerly) walk again, his parents were demanding he get back onstage— they couldn’t afford to have him out of commission for an extended period of time because of something as minor as a sprain. He reluctantly went back to his usual performance schedule, in pain all the while. Then his ankle gave out again. Another few weeks of recovery time. Then back to work. When he collapsed onstage for the third time, his parents finally took him to a doctor. After examining his leg, the doctor told them that long-term damage had been done and Vox was at risk of being permanently “crippled” if he kept walking/dancing on it before it was fully healed. His parents, terrified at the concept of Vox’s career ending and them being left with a disabled child, finally relented and took him back home to Philadelphia to recover.

Vox was on crutches for months. He was finally going to a regular school, but his injury, coupled with how behind he was academically made the other students pick on him at worst, avoid him at best. Far worse than that, the year was 1929 and the Great Depression had begun. His parents were incredibly anxious for him to get better already, fearing what would happen if they all lost their jobs. However, by the time that he finished recovering, it became clear that Vox’s dance career was over for good. Vox tried his absolute best to avoid developing a limp (and succeeded, thankfully for his future career), but he simply wasn’t capable of standing for extended periods of time anymore. His parents were deeply disappointed and scrambled to try and get their old jobs back. For the rest of his adolescence, they guilted him for putting the family in such a precarious financial situation at such a dire time for the country.

After years of hard work, Vox was right back where he started: sitting alone in the family townhouse while his parents paid him no mind.

#peyton writes massive blocks of text about her headcanons for christian borle tv man part i don��t know #redlady speaks #hazbin hotel #hazbin posting #vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox

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ellethespaceunicorn · 4 months ago

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Say It Again

Title: Say It Again

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Syverson x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Prompts: Captain Syverson + Female Reader + Phone Sex + "Hmm, you're not very patient, are you?" + Smut, requested by @summersong69

Summary: Your man surprises you with a call, and you surprise him with a show.

Warnings: masturbation (f/m), Daddy kink, phone sex, Facetime sex, mention of bodily fluids, lovey-dovey Sy

Beta: @peyton-warren

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

My Masterlist

It wasn’t easy having your man halfway across the world, but Sy was serving his country, and you loved him for that. It had been months since he was in your arms, but he always made sure to call, text, or send you a good old-fashioned letter whenever he could. His most recent letter included some spicy polaroids of him that drove you wild.

You took the photo of him smiling at the camera and lifting a barbell over his head and hung it above your desk in your home office so that whenever you looked up at your corkboard, you were smiling back at your man. You could tell that this picture was taken at the end of his workout as his chest hair was plastered to his pecs with sweat and a pinkish hue dusted across his nose and cheeks. You were always a fan of his hairy chest; tangling your fingers through the curly, dark hairs was a favorite pastime of yours.

Then there is the other photo he sent. This one is your favorite, and it stays in your nightstand’s bottom drawer along with your sex toys. Amongst your vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, nipple clamps, and various other erotic aids is a Polaroid that is pure pornography.

In this most sacred image, Sy managed to take a picture of his gorgeous, hairy chest and his groin. But not only is he shirtless, but he is also holding his fat cock in hand as it leaks. The evidence of his orgasm litters his abs and pecs like a goddamned Jackson Pollock painting. How he managed to take this selfie is a mystery to you.

You just can’t get your mind off of the fact that he wrote the sweetest letter to go with it. All lovey-dovey and ‘I miss you’ and then this erotic art falls out from between the pages. You almost gasped when you saw it, but instead, you bit your lip and whimpered before taking the picture into the bedroom and promptly masturbating to it.

It had become a habit of yours to think about that specific photo non-stop when you thought about moments with Sy. The thought of his deep baritone would lull you into a headspace where all you could think about was the way he whimpered and gasped for air every time he came. It turns out that the more you missed him, the sluttier and more willing you became.

Until one afternoon...

You sit in your home office, checking your email on your day off when you are interrupted by the sound of Sy’s ringtone. Runnin’ Red Lights by The Cadillac Three starts to play, and you smile before picking up your phone and accepting the call.

“Hey, baby! I didn’t expect to hear from you today. How are you?” Your cheery, bright voice denotes your surprise at hearing from your man.

“Well, today was a helluva day, and I needed to talk with my woman,” he drawls, his accent coming through the phone thick and sexy.

“You sound exhausted. What time is it there? It’s a little before two in the afternoon here,” you share, concerned that Sy is not getting enough rest.

“It’s almost eleven here. I should probably be sleeping; everybody else is. I just can’t seem to calm my mind. I figured the best cure to relax me was talking to you,” he hums. “Plus, I haven’t talked to you since before I sent my last letter, and I gotta know how you liked the photos.”

Shameless flirt.

“You ain’t even gonna ask how I liked the letter? Just straight to the porn you sent me.” You chuckle as he ignores subtlety.

“I already know you liked the letter because I’m a great letter writer. What’s on my mind at this very second is the thought of where you put the pics,” he muses, the smile on his face evident in his voice.

“Of course. I see your priorities are right on track,” you reply, playing along. “Well, if you must know, I am looking at the workout photo right now. I’m sitting at my desk, and it is staring down at me from my corkboard.”

“Uh-huh, let’s call that the ‘safe for work’ pic. What did you do with the other one, girl?” His voice sounded so deep and dark as if he had moved his mouth closer to the phone.

“For that one, I have to go to the bedroom,” you purr.

“Go on to the bedroom and get it for me,” he presses, and you can only imagine the look on his face is probably one of smug satisfaction.

You get up from your desk chair and walk across the hall to the bedroom. You sit on your side of the bed and reach into the bottom drawer of your nightstand. “Alright, baby, I am in the bedroom. Just reached into the bottom drawer of my nightstand, and would you look at that? The ‘not safe for work’ pic is in there, along with all my favorite toys.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and put me on speaker and then set your phone down in the charging stand?” he instructs, calmly yet strongly. You do as you’re told and tell him so. “Now I want you to take out a toy and play with that pretty pussy for me. And I wanna not only hear it but see it as well, so how ‘bout you accept my FaceTime request?”

You’re so busy trying to choose what toy to take out that your head whips up to see the incoming request. You momentarily wish you were wearing something a little more enticing, but then you remember this is the same man who can’t get enough of you, no matter if you are in your Sunday best or a big t-shirt and house slippers. You accept the FaceTime call and pick up your Big Boss vibrator and some lube, placing them next to you.

“There’s my girl, looking sweeter than Christmas morning,” he says, a big smile plastered on his face as he sits at a desk with one hand scratching his beard and the other out of view. He’s out of uniform, wearing a blue pullover and one of his favorite baseball caps.

You bite your lip, knowing that hand is probably wrapped around himself right now. “Christmas morning, huh? Well, how about I open your present for you, then?” You stand and turn your phone slightly on the charging stand so he can see you clearly as you undress for him.

You start with your old college sweatshirt, pulling it over your head so only your slinky camisole is left, hiding your upper torso from view. Hooking your thumbs in your sleep shorts, you slowly move them down your legs about halfway before turning around and bending over so he can see your cheeky undies barely covering your ass.

“You are teasing the hell outta me, but fuck if it ain’t the sexiest shit in the world,” he breathes, his arm visibly flexing as he appears to stroke himself.

You take pity on him and hold the bottom of your camisole, pulling it up your belly and letting it flop your tits out so he can see them bounce before tossing it to the ground. Next, you slide down your panties and kick them to the side before crawling back into bed. You adjust the phone again to make sure he can see you sitting with your legs spread as you pick up your vibrator. You turn it on the lowest setting and tease your nipples a bit, unable to keep quiet for long.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear all those noises. Fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he purrs, so eager to see what more you have to show him.

“Fuck, it feels so good. Wanna play with my pussy for you, Daddy,” you offer, already feeling your eager hole leaking with arousal.

“Yes, baby girl. Play with your pussy for Daddy,” he insists, licking his lips as he watches you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper.

You apply some lube to the vibrator and begin to slide it between your folds, letting it catch on your clit a few times and holding it there for a few seconds before moving the tip down to your entrance. You breathe in deeply before pushing the tip inside of you, staying still for a beat, then pushing it in further up to the hilt. You groan, and your eyes cross as you turn up the vibration speed.

Once you get your bearings, you look back up at your phone. Sy has repositioned his phone so that you can see him leaning back in his desk chair as his cock sticks out of his pants, his hand almost a blur as it rubs up and down his length. His pullover is rucked up and over his head, but his arms are still in the sleeves.

"Fuck, are you gonna recreate the pic for me, Daddy? Wanna see you cum all over that hairy chest while you watch me.” You babble, fucking yourself with your vibrator with deep, slow strokes.

"Hmm, you're not very patient, are you?" He tsks at you and removes his hand from his cock. Crossing his arms, he lifts an eyebrow as he waits for an answer.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I just miss you so much,” you whine, your sloppy pussy filling the room with a squelching sound. “I need you so bad.”

“Keep fuckin’ that pretty little pussy and cum for me first. After you cum, I’ll cum. You know how this works. Always make my girl cum first,” he warns, leaning back in his seat and lazily stroking himself as you watch.

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, pressing the button to increase vibration speed again. You bask in the higher intensity for a moment before leaning back on your elbow and planting your feet with your legs wide open. This gives you a better angle with which to hit your g-spot every time you thrust the toy inside yourself.

You mumble nonsense as you fuck yourself silly, your slick coating the toy and making it easier to dive deeper inside your pussy. Sy is there to cheer you on as you start to make the familiar moans of ecstasy that he knows only come before you explode.

“That’s it, baby girl. I can tell how close you are. Let go and cum for Daddy so he can cum for you, baby. Don’tcha wanna be a good girl for me? Come on, baby. You sound so damn wet for me right now. I bet I could slide right inside you with how fuckin’ sloppy that pussy is,” he rambles on, playing with his balls as his hand flies over his length.

Your tongue practically hangs from your mouth as you piston the vibrator in and out of you, hitting your g-spot over and over until you can’t hold it in any longer. Your breath hitches, your hand freezes, and you let out a wail as your body convulses and your walls flutter around the thick, vibrating toy.

You gasp for air as you ride out your high, slowly moving your toy in and out of yourself. Blinking yourself out of your stupor, you look up to see Sy transfixed on you. He sees you watching him, and his hand moves impossibly faster, focusing on the head of his cock.

“Oh, baby girl. You looked so perfect cumming for me. You ready for me to cum for you now? Ugh, fuck, I’m gonna cum... I’m gonna-fuck,” he blurts, his hand working his dick through his orgasm as rope after rope of thick, white cum spurts from his tip.

Just like in the picture, his chest is soon covered in cum. It just keeps coming, leaking over his hand to drip on his balls. The sounds of his gruff moans are music to your ears. His chest heaves as he dips his head back before looking back at you and smiling his goofy grin.

“Damn, girl! What you do to me should be goddamn illegal,” he yawns, stretching his arms out to the side.

“Haha, yeah, I must be such a bad influence on you. Might I remind you that you are the one that got us into this predicament? I only do what I’m told,” you tease, moving your lube and toy to the side to clean in a bit.

“Oh really? You gonna play the innocent game? Alright then, on that note, I need to get cleaned up, and so do you, sweetness. I’m suddenly exhausted, and I’ve got a meeting at the crack of ass in the morning, so I’m gonna let you go, ok?” He yawns at the end of his sentence, his eyes already starting to droop.

“Alright, baby. I love you.” You dare to clip your usual goodbye to see what he does.

“Unt uh, girl. Say it again and say it right. Come on,” he prods, his hand making a ‘come hither’ gesture.

“I love you to the moon and back and twice around the sun,” you profess, smiling wide as you say it.

“There it is. I love you, baby. You are my other half, my special person, and my very best friend,” he drawls, his tiredness showing in how his accent sounds thicker than normal.

“Sleep well, baby. I’ll talk to you soon,” you hum, beaming at the love of your life.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, love. Buh-bye,” he breathes, waving at you.

“Bye, baby,” you say, waving back.

He winks at you before ending the call, sending your phone back to the lock screen. The photo you took at the beach years ago is staring back at you. Sy is standing with his back to the ocean, arms crossed, with a smug grin on his face. It’s your favorite photo of him—well, at least it was until he sent that picture that sits in your nightstand drawer.

But you can’t exactly put that photo on your lock screen, can you?

A/N: This was almost too fun to write…oof, that Sy really gets my biscuit buttered.

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