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deafsignifcantother · 9 months ago

Text

the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid

♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary

Vox

♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public

It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.

Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.

Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?

Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.

Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.

GO TO SLEEP

With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.

DON'T TRY

Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.

[Y/N]. The television shakes.

You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remote down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.

"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."

He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.

The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.

"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.

You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.

With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.

You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.

At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.

Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.

You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.

He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.

If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.

With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.

Vox furrows his brow at the sight.

You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.

"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.

"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."

She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"

You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"

Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.

Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?

The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"

Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.

"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.

"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."

What do you even say to that? I hope so.

"The happiest."

"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"

Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"

You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"

The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.

At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.

With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.

You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.

He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.

"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.

You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.

He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.

Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.

Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.

He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.

Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.

"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."

"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.

You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.

He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.

Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."

Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.

Velvette

♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, party scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now

Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.

You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.

She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.

You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.

Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.

She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.

Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).

She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.

She even got you two matching bracelets.

You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.

The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.

You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.

Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.

The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.

But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.

You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.

His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.

"Oh wow." He says.

Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."

He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.

After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.

She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."

"Thanks to you."

"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.

You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.

The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.

But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.

"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.

You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.

"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.

In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."

Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."

Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.

Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.

True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.

At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.

Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?

"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.

The crowd splits into two.

Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.

She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."

You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."

She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.

Valentino

♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description

Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.

Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.

His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.

Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.

"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.

Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.

He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"

He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.

You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."

With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.

He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.

And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.

"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).

“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”

“Which is why I came to visit.”

The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before).

“What?” You ask.

“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t resist.”

“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame.

He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”

When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips.

“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.

After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.

You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.

Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.

He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.

Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.

You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.”

Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?

She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.

But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."

You smile and start turning away. "Good."

Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.

"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."

Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?

She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"

Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.

"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.

She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."

You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.

So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"

At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.

Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.

You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.

Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.

He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.

All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.

The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.

He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."

You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.

One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.

He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.

When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.

He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #x reader #deaf community #x deaf reader #x deaf s/o #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #velvette hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel

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deafsignifcantother · 4 months ago

Text

if music be the food of love chapter 11

♥ here you go lovies, it’s series time | chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten ♥ summary: the two of you go on an outing and find a familiar place, but everything is different. he is different. ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (now purely romance) ♥ word count: 3.2k ♥ pinterest board ' it has outfit inspo in it now ♥ notes: they argue for like 60% of this chapter, reader cries and gets angry at him, is he gaslighting or is it true but even he doesn't know, they lie back and forth, this gif has been setting the tone this entire time and now it's obvious

Without death, there would be no warmth, no motivation to live a long life.

That's what you had told him many decades ago.

He thinks about that now as he buckles his sock garters, hiding his hooves. Did he once have the motivation to live a long life? He wanted to make mama proud, but he never imagined himself as an older man. Raising kids was out of the question, and he had never met a person he'd pictured himself being with for years on end. Plus, imagine how funny it would be if he'd encountered his partner in the afterlife, too.

He scoffs and laughs to himself. What a nightmare that would be.

And then he thinks about you. You can handle your own, and you're not any weakness of his. Not necessarily.

But his giving into emotional affection throws a wrench in it all. Alastor loves you, that's true. But his love is a drawback, and his deal requires him to overcome any liability that can doom the Hazbin Hotel.

He called upon you to defend the hotel; that much is true. What is he going to do now? Will he send you away or make you fight?

He could make you fight. He has the power, the authority. He could, if he must.

He has yet to decide.

Meanwhile, you're trying to calm down your purposely bunched fabric to one side, but it's overlapping in a way that seems clustered. He shouldn't mind the disorganization. It's his shade of red. You couldn't help yourself. It feels almost mandatory.

With one tiny jump, the fabric cascades in the way you intend. The dress is longer than you predicted, but the beauty of it is worth whatever guts and sticky substances will end up staining the ends.

Thankfully, once you two start walking, you elevate the gown enough to get by. Alastor knows these streets by now, yes, but you only vaguely recognize the new structures. You've been outside twice: walking to the hotel and visiting the overlord meeting. These buildings are much taller than you remember; even the bars have at least three stories. In this day and age, it appears people can live above bars. How distasteful.

Nothing is more distasteful than the eyes Alastor gets once you cross the threshold into Cannibal Town. Young ladies swoon over him, and he'll smile and wave. You almost want to smack his hand. He even ignores your music, how some violin strings audibly snap whenever you make eye contact with some of the girls. Don't they see the ascot? It's unmistakable that he's yours.

"Now, now, now," he wiggles a finger at you, his body tilted towards you as he walks. "Don't be like that, darling."

All you do is roll your eyes with a frown and place a hand on the small of his back, a casual touch that makes him cringe in place. His body is gone within the second but reappears by your opposite side, offering his elbow for you to interlock into.

You pull him a bit closer. "Is there a place here you like? I wonder if that old cafe is still open. Do you remember which one?"

He looks down at you with a wide smile, his lips curving into a sweet oh ho ho. "That tacky old place? I doubt it's still here. Why don't we go check?"

Before you can respond, he makes a b-line to the sidewalk across the street, stepping onto the road without a care. Red buildings, most lined with white pillars, pass by, and dead trees litter the gardens, proof of how rare flowers are. The only flowers that can be found are roses covered in too many thorns to grab onto. You eye them as you come by, the blood-stained petals reeking of a fresh kill. Maybe you'll ask Alastor to snap a rose into fruition. Or, hopefully, he'll do it without being asked.

A small two-story building with broken windows comes into view, tucked between two much higher stores. It's dim even under the red streetlamps.

Still, Alastor perks with excitement, dragging you along, not caring for the slight oomph your mouth lets out at his yank. He points a clawed finger towards it, eyes flickering across the wooden tables inside the rusted gate. Paint was chipped on the sign proclaiming the shop's name, and as expected, the place has been long abandoned.

"Marvelous!" He removes himself from your touch to sign with both hands. "Look at it! Oh, what a sight!"

You stare up at the sign; you can't take your eyes off it. You used to explode with happiness whenever you saw that sign, but now it's rotted with time.

Alastor takes both of your hands, pressing them to his lips before letting go. "Darling, here we are!"

"It's different," you state the obvious. But one glimpse at Alastor's cheerfulness reminds you to be grateful. You lift your head. "I suppose it still has its charm."

He watches your face, not following your eyes when you look back up at the sign. There you go, thinking about the past again.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you along as he opens the door, pulling it rough enough to break it from its hinges. But he drops it to the ground and uses it as a stepway over glass; he even slips his grip on your wrist to your fingers when he gracefully helps you step across it.

The flowery wallpaper is still up; some panels are torn but most wholly salvaged. The cash register, however, has been stolen from its place. The glass in front of where the pastries would be is cracked open, with shards scattering across the floor. Each step is crunchy under your shoes; you can feel it.

He pulls out a raggedy wooden chair for you and helps you sit before seating himself across from you. A relatively soft tablecloth remains.

"The ambience here certainly isn't what it used to be!" He signs, eyebrows raised. His facade is evident, but you're unable to see through it. Is he as saddened as you are, or did he predict this much? Is he even happen to be in this building again?

He summons a cup of coffee, sipping it without hesitation—a more genuine smile forms on your lips. You even laugh.

You raise your palm, motioning for him to summon you a drink. But he just waves a finger at you.

Alastor puts down his mug slowly.

"You've been behaving strangely today, my dear. This might be the first time I've seen you smile."

Your eyebrows contort into surprise before you can stop them. The tilting of his head has your brain stumbles over itself. His challenging eyes can only make you speak honestly, but your goal is to avoid as much trouble with him as possible.

"I've just been a bit anxious. You know," your fingers can hardly form the shape and motion, "the extermination."

His face darkens. As much as he'd like to sidestep that topic, he can't ignore how painfully you reacted to his question.

With one hand, he taps his nails against the tablecloth. "Anxious, hmm?"

It's an invitation for you to continue, and it's not an invitation you're accepting.

"Charlie and the others are preparing, yes? I see them scurrying around sometimes."

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing. You both share a similar thought, this will be interesting. Ever since he's led you to the hotel, you haven't gone a week without a disagreement. Things didn't used to be like this. He wasn't like this.

He prompts again, "Yes, they are. And Charlie is making progress, surprisingly. What are you worried about?"

Your mind races, but you're a quick thinker, as an Overlord should be. "Exterminations are always scary, and if you remember, I haven't been involved in one. If Charlie has it under control, then good for her."

Alastor leans forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "They are scary, yes, but I asked what you're worried about."

"Confrontation, simple."

Neither of you continue to sign. He leans back, bringing the coffee to his lips, eyes darting to the floor in thought before flickering back up to you. He lets out a slight, hidden hum. Your body language isn't showing any sign of stress, your hands are still, and your face has returned to neutral. Your shoes are planted on the ground, and your body is in a regular posture.

"Fighting," he says the word for you, "is a very fair thing to worry about."

"Yes it is."

Something gives you away; he notices it more deliberately than he'd prefer. Your eyes hide a bitterness towards him. You stare at him intently as if trying to figure out his intentions. He has to admit, it is a bit unnerving. He can tell you've brought up the topic for a reason, but he decides to give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Did you find out his original plan? Ah, he realizes. You know.

He pieces together your thoughts quicker than you had conjured them. You've been let in on a secret, making you doubt him entirely. But you know he cherishes you deeply, so your head is battling your heart. You're wondering if love is clouding your judgment; that's it, isn't it?

What can he do about it?

And at this same table, you had made the joke, one he still thinks about. "You're someone I should fear, aren't you? But you're such a sweetheart. How lucky am I?"

He holds your gaze, keeping his face calm, signing gently as if you'd scurry away if he made sudden movements.

"You're not... scared of me, are you, my dear?"

"Scared?" Your fingers barely flicker, the signing equivalent to a whisper. Your heart pounds in your chest, but it doesn't stop you from lying. "Scared is not the word, I'd never be scared of you."

His smile grows. You're hiding something, still fighting him, refusing to admit what he wants to hear.

"Not scared? I suppose that's reassuring, somewhat." And then he pauses, not taking his eyes off of you. He tilts his head to the side, the smile on his face never faltering. "Just... cautious, sweetheart?"

"Always cautious." You determine that to be an acceptable thing to admit. "You wanted to kill me when we first met. Losing cautiousness would be ridiculous."

But there were times when you let him drag you off to who knows where whenever he pleased. There were many times he could have killed you, and you would have had no defenses.

He lets out a bark of a laugh, placing a hand on his chest. He knows that very well, it's something you both joke about, but now you're bringing it up with seriousness.

Unintentionally, he bares his teeth. "Very true, I did want to kill you. Can you really blame me, though? But that's in the past!"

He takes time to fiddle with his jacket sleeves before continuing. "You know, dearest... you trust me. Don't you?"

This is more an interrogation than a conversation. You huff, eyelids falling, evidence of how annoyed you are with this discussion, the emotion building up. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

He raises his eyebrows, a subtle hint of irritation. He drums his fingers against the tabletop. "Hm, no need to get smart with me, darling. I was simply curious is all."

"You know, this was supposed to be an enjoyable outing but everything with you feels like an interrogation, so don't mind me if I can't seem to not be cautious around you." Your cheeks heat, and you gulp, still trying to push down your bitterness, your defensiveness. You're aware of how irrational you seem, but you're tired of Alastor trying to pick you apart piece by piece.

His smile grows as he squints at you, his irritation slowly building into annoyance. He leans forward, signs clustered because of his tense claws. "So it's my fault this outing is turning sour? My, my, you seem to be quite upset because of my harmless questions."

"Enough with that! You know fully well what you're doing!" You point a finger at him and lean closer. Your breathing gets heavy, and your eyes start to water. This is absurd, foolish, laughable, but you can't stop yourself. "I hate when you talk to me like this, why can't you let go of this persona you put on? Who's watching? There's no one else but me, and you're talking to me as if I'm just vermin!"

You drop your hands, dig your nails into the tablecloth, and shred it, destroying the only homey object that remains in this omitted cafe.

All the negative feelings in his chest mix to produce anger. He scowls at your frantic hands before glancing up into your firey eyes, eyeing the tears forming in them. They don't bother him at all. His smile tightens as he tosses the coffee across the room, letting it splatter against the flowery wall. His usual cheerful demeanor is long gone as he rips the speaker from your chest and drops it to the ground. "Watch your tone, love, or you're going to regret it."

"What are you going to do to me? Tell me. Are you going to send me off into battle to watch me die, because I know for a fact that that's what you want to do to me!" The moment you say it, the moment you shatter.

He grinds his teeth together. He should get a trophy for his patience with you. His eyes go black, and his arms get longer and thinner. "I'm going to warn you, my dear, to shut your damn mouth." He blinks, and the radio dials appear, but he blinks again, and they're gone. It's a cycle. "As for your little theory, you're wrong."

When he gets a good look at you, it finally hits him how desperate you seem. You have tears running down your face. Wrinkles have formed on your dress, which you picked out just for him. He had found it in himself to proclaim his love for you, but you still hold this distrust within you. Has he not proved himself to be loyal enough? He will not allow you to think of the extermination as a means to an end.

You wipe the tears away, taking a moment to stare at his chest as he takes deep breaths. He's calming himself down for you. He can rip you to shreds, but he isn't. It would help if you focused on that. He's not going to kill you with his own hands; that's apparent. For the best, you hone in on that. You also hone in on how ridiculous he looks in an ascot.

The pause in responses lets you gather your thoughts. Being mad means Alastor wins. You need to be more precise with your words, but you've consistently failed to do that around him. He can see right through you, he's always been able to.

The two of you breathe in sync, calming down. Alastor's sadistic smile fades into a thin line, anger dissipating, a look of concern falling upon his features. He knows you are wrong in some way. He has no plans to kill you or send you to your death, not like that. But you don't trust him, which hurts more than he cares to admit. His eyes glaze over with contemplation. What's worse, confirming your beliefs or lying and denying them?

Even more, what is the real truth?

"You know, dearest, it's disheartening to see that you'd think I have some nefarious plan for you. I'll have you know, I have no intention of letting you die."

It's the most sentimental thing he's said all day, and you cling to it, logging his words into your memory. Everything in you wants to keep the truth close, but it fades away by the second. Truth? No, he's changed. He loves you, and you shouldn't forget that.

For a second, you consider an apology, but all you can muster is a simple, "I believe you."

He returns to the man you know so well when he laughs, waving you off. "Believe me? That's a start, at least! Don't try to lie to me, I can tell you're still suspicious, my dear."

You roll your eyes, sniffling and ignoring his attitude, your hand falling to your empty chest. Your hand dips into the gap, feeling your slowing heartbeat. Deep breaths. Everything is okay now. "I'll get over it."

"Good. I much prefer a calm, happy you instead of the accusatory one."

It's another jab, a small one, but you let it go. Some parts of him are never going to change.

"Oh my," your still-watery eyes avoid his, falling to the rips in the tablecloth. "I certainly hope no one will notice."

And you look up at him with a weak smile.

His smile forms into a wide smirk. "In this deserted, forgotten, excuse of a cafe? The whole town will notice!"

"I'll have to go on the run."

"Oh yes, the owner is just around the corner, waiting to throw you in the slammer for destroying the precious thing."

"I can only imagine." You chuckle, the last of your tears wiped away. You fidget with the end of the tablecloth. "I'm sorry for yelling."

You miss his gaze softening. You're apologizing?

He knocks on the table to get your attention. You look up at him, his widened red eyes, open smile and upward eyebrows.

"My sonnet, my agony," one of his hands grabs yours, stilling it. "There's no need to apologize. I pushed a few too many buttons. I hope you're not still too cross with me, hmm?"

You squeeze his hand, accepting his poor attempt at an apology. Surrounded by dust and broken glass, the atmosphere couldn't be more peaceful, slowly repairing itself.

"I'm not, it's okay."

He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand softly. "Good. I honestly can't stand it when you're upset with me, darling."

"And yet-" you stop and bite your lip, pausing your movements. With your hand in the air, you change the movement, leaning forward and pinching Alastor's cheek with a mother would a son. Before he would be able to swat you away, you pull back, "How can I stay mad at you?"

His smile widens, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You can't! I'm afraid you love me too much, isn't that right?"

"Yes," you agree. You try to match his expression, mimicking the lightheartedness, but in the corner of your eye, glimpsing your speaker, which lies on the floor, evidence of his aggression. "Evidently."

"Evidently, indeed." His gaze never leaves yours. He enjoys the sound of the town's ambiance and the pleasant sight before him, how gorgeous you look after the tears. He can't stop himself. "You know, it's quite endearing to see those doe eyes look up at me instead of the anger from before."

"I'm sure."

Even though his smile is bright, it cannot conceal his sharp teeth. You think of what this has accomplished. He picked you apart at the seams, yes, but you also got a semi-confirmation that his plans have changed. He's not going to let you die, that's acceptable news. He got mad at you, more mad than he's ever been. He's never threatened you before, either. That's not something you're going to brush off. But most importantly, he smiled when you pinched his cheek. That's new.

#hazbin hotel #x deaf reader #x reader #reblog #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #x deaf s/o #deaf community #if music be the food of love

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