#big v: valentino

[angie-long-legs]

"where my hug at."

Was he serious right now? Angel never knew.

Eyes rolling as far back as his sockets would allow, Angel motioned to the cigarette in Valentino's hand. "Behind a pay wall. Gimme."

[angie-long-legs]

@hazbinned

i saw a clip of Joel and Blake singing Loser, Baby, on twitter and i could not help myself lol

Val is bad at ad libbing lmao

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Wonder if Val and Velvette would rebrand VoxTek to just VTek. It feels like a betrayal, but keeping Vox’s name on it makes people ask where he is. It’s just easier to lead the public to believe that he died during his encounter with Alastor rather than have to actually answer that question.

[starlooove]

Jackie Welles edit with sin poderte hablar…..

[st1tchedmyheart]

favorite band or musical artists?

Bad religion, my chem, Harley Poe, etc etc

[angie-long-legs]

The tremor of Angel's hand was forcibly steadied by the pressure of Valentino leaning into it, damp cheeks smearing more stains over the spider's clammy fingers. The tear streaks marred the moth's face like claw marks, lavender skin peeking through transparent pink trails to create a deep, gory purple. On Angel, however, the rosy fluid stung hot and vibrant upon white fur, branding him with the phyical evidence of Valentino's outburst. Angel would try to wash it away, as he always did with the blood and the venom and whatever else Val left in his wake. He would scrub himself raw trying to erase every lingering scrap of proof, every minute detail that could hinder him from forgetting an instance of violence.

How the fuck was he going to forget this?

As Valentino launched into recounting the day's events that had pushed him to such an extreme, complete with heave-sobs and strangled wailing, Angel waited for this sordid tale of his to make some sort of sense. Val was upset about his lunch? About Travis being less than intimated by the moth's fairly run-of-the-mill outburst? He was mad about his increasingly poor eyesight, about the technical problems on set?

None of this was new. Every one of these mishaps had happened before, and Angel had filed each one away in his mind for safekeeping, haphazardly stringing together torn-edged memories to yield some form of predictability. A shoot went awry? Angel had learned to anticipate anything from an idle smack to a full-on beating. If Val was mad at someone else? The spider could count on serving as a captive audience for the pimp to vent his aggression towards. When Val was high, he was creative and volatile and lustful - Angel should just go along with whatever he says. When Val was happy, when he was offended, when he was miserable... No shift in demeanour slipped by Angel's meticulously honed vigilance. He always knew what to expect.

Because Angel knew Valentino. He knew him out of necessity. He knew him out of self-preservation.

But Val was the director. He called the shots. And, despite Angel's painstakingly curated algorithm, the moth all-to-often went off-script. Whether that meant Valentino doting on his star when Angel was expecting unrelenting violence, or getting a black eye instead of the cathartic fuck-session he had anticipated, the pimp was an equation that defied being solved. Angel was trying to predict the unpredictable, to calculate chaos. The moth told him that two plus two was five, and Angel smiled and nodded and said "yes, Val", even though he changed his answer every single time.

It was only natural that the incomprehensible, incorrigable Valentino would one day decide that Angel Dust should die by his hand.

It was only natural that it would be for nothing.

The spider could no longer feel his body, but for the numb hand cradling his aggressor, his fallen idol. The only part of him that still existed was the part that clung to Val. Everything he thought he knew was gone, everthing he thought he understood... Who was he, Angel Dust, when looking down the barrel of the gun? And what of that man, the one who he once believed to be the love of his life, who turned that weapon on his whore with intent to kill? What did that make-

"Val..." His voice was hollow. His words held no weight. "Val, baby, it's okay."

It was the furthest thing from okay. Angel could not conceptualise a reality in which things would be okay between them ever again. Not after this.

"Baby..." Angel murmured again, slurred and empty as his thumb brushed over Valentino's cheek in a soothing, repetitive motion. Baby. It wasn't a pet name that easily lent itself to the ten-foot tall moth demon; the pimp who treated Angel like a frivolous accessory or a favourite toy; the Overlord who owned his soul and made sure he never forgot it. Daddy, Papi, Big V... these were titles more becoming of such an imposing figure, the illustrious porn director, the Overlord of lust.

But, right now? The sobbing, shaking sinner more closely resembled the very souls that he preyed upon. Valentino looked... delicate. He looked vulnerable.

This was all wrong.

Slowly, with the caution of someone handling porcelain or fine china, Angel used the hand cupping the moth's face to tenderly pull him closer, Valentino's head now resting against his chest as Angel continued to stroke his cheek with his thumb. Another arm wound around his back, hugging him. He kept his touch gentle and precise, tenderly cradling the man as though he were an explosive that might erupt at any moment. Hoping that, if he did, Angel's softness would be enough to cushion blow.

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed, a blank murmur from a dead-eyed mother to an inconsolable child. Angel hardly knew what he was doing or saying, only that he needed to pacify his attacker.

Beneath that, he harboured the rotten reality that something in his soul was pained by this Val's outburst, as little sense as this made. Was it love? Was it pity?

Did it even fucking matter?

Biting his lip, Angel pulled the moth closer, an awkward feat given the vast difference in height between the two demons. Broad shoulders hunched, quaking in the precarious grasp of his victim, it was hard to believe that this was the infamous Valentino. "It's okay," he soothed, barely comprehending the man's impassioned assertion that he was not an addict, that Angel would have done the same. "Yeah," the spider whispered. "I don't blame you."

For getting high? For trying to kill him? Angel didn't know. None of the words that left his mouth meant a thing. They were mere fabrications, as lifeless as the movie star might have been just moments before, had Valentino not experienced this torturous moment of clarity.

...If your whore was gonna put a bullet in you...

The words didn't penetrate Angel's conciousness until a long moment after their admission, and a muted frown outside of the moth's view was his only sign of acknowledgement. What did that even mean? Did Val think Angel was going to... but, why? The thought was so beyond the spider's realm of understanding that the only reasonable explanation available to his stupified mind was that Valentino had finally lost it.

Without thought, Angel's arms tightened around the fragile moth, squeezing. "Val... wh-what-" he started, but his voice cracked before he could finish his sentence. He swallowed, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "What d'ya mean, you were thinkin' about us?"

"About... me?"

"Why?" Val whined, still heaving sobs. "I WANT you to! I'd hurt me! I'd hurt me bad!"

With an offer like that, he'd damage him. He'd hit him, and then he'd make the rest of the night so traumatizing for him that that first act of violence would feel like a hug. He'd humiliate him. He'd clip his wings— literally, metaphorically.

There would be no possible outcome in which he forgot what he had done to him.

Angel, though... true to his name... had reached out not to slap him, but to cup his face. To hold his hand as it hung there, limp against his frame, with gentle fingers and a saint's kindness.

Why, Valentino would never know. He didn't deserve it. Had he driven his tendrils so deeply into Angel's soul, into the spider's very psyche, that it was impossible for him to want anything but the best for his sovereign Overlord? His owner, his pimp? That was messed up. That was the goal, but it was twisted. It was wrong.

Valentino squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned heavily into the palm that embraced his cheek, hot with shame over the sorry nature of this whole thing and mourning the fact that he could not stop it. He was at a complete loss of control, and felt idiotic and base. Val couldn't change anything.

He was pleading not with Angel, but with history.

The request, though-- it lingered. Angel wanted to talk to him. Angel didn't want to hurt him. Val, however, didn't want to talk. Talking was frightening. Talking was to rip himself open at his ribcage, and show his friend... his enemy... his lover... and show Angel his heart.

The request lingered, but it lingered in a bad way. It lingered like a ghost. Like residue. Like mold. Could he scrub it away? Or would it fester? If he begged hard enough, could he make Angel change his mind? Val was good at making Angel do things.

Things that Angel didn't want to do.

Angel didn't want to hurt him.

Valentino wanted to be hurt, because being hurt was easier than being honest.

Strawberry-colored tears painted Angel's fur and left trails down Val's own skin, and Valentino sunk his teeth into his lip and forced himself to be quiet. To open his salty, stinging eyes and look not at Angel, but at something.

To keep his promise.

'Anything you want,' he'd said to his star. A guarantee. A bargain. 'You call the shots.' Angel wanted him to talk. To let it all out. To spill his guts upon the gravel.

Angel thought he was being merciful.

Was Vox watching? Was Vox going to hear this, too?

Please, just hurt him.

"I don't know," Val gasped. At last, a sentence. The moth's pink-red eyes flicked up to meet Angel's multicolored ones, but they were glassy. His lids hung heavy. "I d—" He hiccupped. "— Don't know what's happening. I don't! I had a bad day!"

He didn't move, but he somehow looked frail, a feat impossible for someone so tall, so grandiose. Maybe it was his face. Maybe his posture, or the high pitch of his voice.

"Everything was out of control all day, Angie! Nobody was listening to me! Vox isn't answering my calls..." This wasn't what Angel was asking about, but he would get to that. This had to run its course. If Val was going to dig for gold, he had to scrape the dirt away first. The bugs, bones, and sticks.

He had to give Angel the small stuff.

"We had to keep redoing the shoots, a-as you know, and- and my lunch order came back all wrong! There were bell peppers on my burger! And- And the worst part is, Travis didn't even look scared when I... threw the chair at him. He just stared at me like... like he was used to it... or, or bored... like it was MY fault...!"

Valentino resented the way he sounded. It was appalling. Maybe if he went on like this, Angel would want to hit him.

"A-A-Actually, he showed me the order form, and it was my fault! My eyes are so bad, I marked the... wrong thing."

The fingers that were hooked through Angel's tightened round the spider's hand. He leaned forward, and his voice grew louder. Shriller. Valentino was not hyperventilating, but his breaths were shallow.

"How long until everybody realizes there's something wrong with me?" he cried, "Is there even room for an Overlord who's fucking blind? And then—" He was about to go off on another tangent. He wasn't trying to weave a coherent story. He was just trying to belt everything out. "Then I started thinking about us, and you, and— and then I got... I got... it made things worse!"

As watercolor teeth bore deeper into his lip, the briny, disgusting tang of pheromone-laced tears tapped his tongue. Raspy squeaks slid from his throat, and he couldn't stop them, even if they were obscene and he hated them. He was trying to calm himself down. He managed to be quieter— he'd give himself that.

"So I got high," said the pimp, barely more than a whisper.

Owlish eyes blinked at Angel.

"You don't blame me, right? You would too? If your whore was gonna put a bullet in you, or- or worse, you'd get fucking high? I'm not an addict! I don't fucking need it!"

[angie-long-legs]

continued from here [ @mothvalentino ]

The spider's contented sigh was swallowed by Valentino's reciprocation, the potent taste of poison hot in his mouth and dizzying. Angel pressed himself into the Overlord, wandering hands smoothing over Val's exposed chest and fisting into the soft fur of his ruff. Val's saliva was already making him feel loose and fuzzy, and between the drug and the passionate kiss, Angel's grip of the moth's neck fur was becoming more and more necessary to keep his balance. Tongue over tongue, the pinch of sharp teeth at his soft bottom lip - Angel whined. This was what he needed.

The porn star kissed back with passion. This had to be good. Good enough to wipe out the memory of yesterday's studio disaster and the subsequent beating he had taken because of it. Good enough for him to feel good, to feel wanted, rather than a used-up toy for his boss to toss around when he got mad. Good enough for Valentino.

"Need you," Angel whimpered between kisses, eagerly tugging at the top button of Val's shirt. "Now."

[angie-long-legs]

Ew. They have matching pfps? Barf. You wouldn't catch him doing that corny, lovey-dovey bullshit. Thank fuck he keeps his lovers casual.

@advlox @veelentino

[angie-long-legs]

Val pulled Angel aside on his break and held out a tall cocktail glass. Inside it was what looked to be some kind of potion, purple and shimmery-- edible glitter, perhaps.

"Drink up for Daddy," the moth cooed, fingers moving to wrap around Angel's arm— too tightly. "I'm not asking."

It wasn't unusual for Val to supply Angel with a little pick-me-up, and it certainly wasn't unusual for him to omit the crucial information of what the substance being supplied actually was. However, the devious expression on Valentino's face and the tight grip of his arm filled Angel with immense dread.

There was no way out.

"Gee, uh... thanks, Val," Angel replied hesitantly, accepting the glass with obvious reluctance. It didn't look like Love Potion, that was for sure. Instinctively, he sniffed it - nothing. It didn't even smell of alcohol, let alone anything overly chemically or suspiciously sweet.

He gulped. Here goes. Down the hatch.

Angel swallowed the drink.

[theoisdaydreaming]

ANGEL OVERLORD IDEAS

After he kills Valentino he shows up to a performance as if nothing had happened, all while the other V's are going insane and trying to catch him (say like in Chicago the musical; the opening scene)

When killing an overlord all souls and contracts pass on to you, so Angel knowing Vox and Velvett are after him doesn't break the contracts, instead uses his new power to make the studio much better, safe and secure for the employees with actual humane conditions and gives them the choice to either be free or stay with an improved contract (literally everyone stays bc holy shit this guy actually respects us, it's so much better in here than out there)

The porn industry is relocated to another side of the pentagram, close to the hazbin hotel and Husk's casino.

Husk agrees to let angel do performances on the stage to attract more people (making sure to keep everything fancy ofc, no nudity or anything) Angel's dream was to be an actor after all, not a pornstar. This is how they become acquaintanced

Charlie comes to the casino to promote her hotel, much to the amusement of angel and the annoyance of husk (she does pay so it's not like he can do anything)

This is how they become friends with the others

Angel becomes a big success,being an overlord, an actor, singer and performer

This brings attention to his family, his father specifically, who wants to take angel back into the mob business so he can take advantage of angels power and resources

Angel being raised with the 'family is everything' mentality feels obliged though husk reasures that he's not

In a final showdown against the mobs angels agrees

"your right" his father on his knees and surrounded by his men; all defeated. "Family is everything" says the overlord,,, looking to the hotel crew, as his eyes linger on husk... And the matching rings on their fingers

:3

[deafsignifcantother]

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.

[angie-long-legs]

"THIRTY PEOPLE have called me BIG DADDY BURGER today alone! Do you know why that is?!"

"Someone's been runnin' their mouth about a certain burga' related incident!" Angel hissed, pulling Val into a secluded area so as to not be overheard.

"We're screwed. This is gonna be all ova' the tabloids. I can see it now: Dumb Floozy Packs Fast Food in Cleavage!"

How this affected Val was less clear. Angel seemed to be taking the brunt of the humiliation here.

"You betta' fix this. I ain't gonna be know as burga' tits for the rest a' my career!"

[sugoi-and-spice]

Vox Relationship Headcanons

Time to strike the iron while the hyperfixation is HOT!

(I mean come ON . Look at this fucking evil dork. I love him).

SFW

It goes without saying that Vox is HUGE on appearances. He does not make his relationships public lightly. His brand as one of the V’s after all is perfection, and he’s not going to go out arm and arm with a person unless they know that.

That being said, especially given his on again off again relationship with Valentino, I could absolutely see him as being the type to fall for a hot mess. 

A very different person with his partner in front of and behind the scenes. When the cameras are off, he’s warm, affectionate, and vulnerable. He’ll share his every insecurity with you, strip himself bare to the bone for you to love and comfort truly and honestly. And he’s an excellent listener too, always available to hold and talk through any problem you have. Your problems are his problems — you’ll work through them together.

When in the public eye however, he can be a downright prick — putting everything, and I do mean everything between you two on the backburner to keep up appearances. He will not hesitate to make jokes at your expense if it means his ratings will go up.

Fights with him are explosive. No, he’s not the type to lay a hand on you, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit that he can scream at you within an inch of your life.

Words of Affirmation and Gift Giving are his primary love languages. Specifically, he needs words of affirmation and he loves to give gifts. And holy shit does he give the most uncomfortably lavish gifts. Diamonds, rolexes, new cars — no price is too high for his darling.

Surprisingly, he prefers home dates. Watching a movie on the couch or having a little game night with a bottle of wine. He does genuinely enjoy the authentic time you spend together and he wishes he could have more of it, so the more he can get of that private, intimate time together, the better.

And while he is a man of the future, so theoretically should like video games, I do think he has a certain soft spot for a good old-fashioned board game.

When it comes to video games though, he does tend to gravitate to phone games. 

Vox is from the 1950’s so I do think he prefers a more nuclear family and relationship dynamic. He wants to bring home the bacon and have his partner ready to fry it up in a pan with a dirty martini ready and waiting for him. That being said, he is a man that always looks to the future as well, so he’s by no means above doing chores of his own. At the end of the day, this desire for more traditional relationship roles really comes from a place of needing to be doted on rather than any views he actually has about gender.

The man’s a sucker for a good massage from his partner. This wired up workaholic has knots that you can’t even imagine, so please, offer him a nice bankrupt at the end of the day. He’ll be sure to return the favor tenfold.

A very lovey-dovey drunk. Oh my GOD, he’s so touchy-feely and weepy and just all the y’s. You want a guaranteed cuddle-wuddle session? Load him up with a couple glasses of scotch — you’ll have those chords coiling around you.

And yes, his alcohol of choice is scotch. Scotch, dirty martinis, or a nice oaky chardonnay.

This man wants to get married. Yes, even if he is in hell, the idea of not having to worry about who his next lay or source of connection will come from, having someone that will stand by his side through thick and thin, a partner? Now that’d be the (after)life.

NSFW

BIG fucking praise kink. This man NEEDS you to stroke more than just his bod and his cock, he needs you to stroke his ego too.

“God you’re so good”, “FUCK, you’re so big”, “Nobody can make me feel this way but you, Vox”.

Don’t worry, it’s not just for his own ego. He loves to give praise as much as he receives it. This man is a TALKER in the sack.

“Fuck, fuck yeah. Just like that, baby. You’re so fucking good, just like thaaaaat.”

He’s also got a little bit of a degradation kink — but in general, it still feeds into stroking his own ego. Loves to tease and taunt his partner once in a while about what a horny little slut they are, how he loves to see them so desperate and pathetic. Asking his partner, “you’d have anyone right now, wouldn’t you?” just for them to assure him that no, nobody but him will do.

On that note, the man can dish out degrading dirty talk, but he can NOT fucking take it.

Very much a switch. Sure, he loves to fuck, but he’ll just as happily let his partner bend him over his own desk and fuck the shit out of him. A good orgasm is a good orgasm, his ego may be big, but not big enough to get in the way of that.

Big fan of bondage, both on his partner and himself. There are few sights better to him than seeing his partner bound and shibari’d in his own cord and wires, holy shit. But he’ll also never say no when his partner breaks out their own pair of fuzzy handcuffs for him.

He absolutely short-circuits when he cums, so watch out. Sometimes, if he cums hard enough, he may just zap you a bit so watch out.

Favorite position is seated cowgirl. He loves the way he can hold his partner close while ramming as deep into them as possible. Not to mention the fact that either one of them can take over control at any moment. He can thrust up, they can grind down — it’s just the best of all worlds. Not to mention you can do it from his desk chair.

On that note, he’s a big BIG fan of cockwarming. 

LOTS of precum. This HD motherfucker is just a weepy mess.

I can’t explain why, but Vox just seems like an ass man to me.

He’s not necessarily a cuddler after, but he is something of a “savor the moment” kind of guy. He likes to lay in bed (or chair lol) with his partner for a good while afterwards, smoking a cigarette, reveling in some post-nut clarity conversation, just really taking in the moment. His life is so busy at all other times honestly, always looing and speeding to the future. Sex and post-sex are the times where he really does just like to stop and live in the moment.

[hyperfixatedbastard]

sweet, sweet silence

Vox x Autistic!GN!Reader

Dating the CEO of VoxTek Enterprises has its perks. You always get brand new devices before they even hit the shelves, and occasionally, Vox makes things specifically for you - like noise-cancelling headphones.

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS: none!

A/N: this is for the autistic homies but it works for anyone with sensory issues! 'tis based off of my own experiences so apologies if it feels inaccurate to anyone, i'm projecting so hard rn. this is also my first time writing x reader/2nd person POV so I hope I did alright! also, i do requests if anyone would like to see more of this kind of thing :)

Dividers

"Doll, c'mere for a second, would ya?" Vox calls out to you, gesturing for you to come to his desk with a 'come hither' motion. 

You raise a brow in interest as you approach your boyfriend where he's sitting in his rather eccentric chair, tinkering with...something. You hop up onto the desk, careful to sit in a spot that you know has no important screens or buttons (you learned the hard way). You don't say anything, instead just tilting your head and waiting for Vox to show off whatever he's been working on this time.

He finally lets you see what's in his clawed hands: a pair of headphones. They're clearly a VoxTek product—the blue and red color scheme gives it away—though you're certain you've never seen these on sale before. It's not uncommon for Vox to show off new products to you before they're released, though, so you don't question it.

He smirks as he holds the headphones out to you. It's not that sly, devious smile he so often has on his screen, though; it's that grin you have when you're about to surprise someone and you just know they're going to love it. "These are for you, darling."

On one hand, you get a little excited (free shit, fuck yeah!). But on the other, you're a little worried—you're not good at receiving gifts. It always ends up awkward because you don't really know how to express gratitude in an expected, neurotypical way. But Vox is well aware of that, and he can tell when you're grateful, so you push those worries to the side and take the headphones from him.

You look at them curiously, inspecting the foldable hinges, the ear cushions, and the small assortment of buttons on the speakers. You can tell that the three buttons on the right speaker are for adjusting the volume—increase, mute, and decrease—but you have no damn clue what the button on the left speaker is for.

"Well? Put 'em on," Vox encourages you, still with that expectant grin as he anticipates your reaction.

You do as he says and place the headphones over your ears. They're certainly comfortable, but you don't see what the big deal is. You already have headphones—they’re not great, as it’s damn near impossible to drown out the unbearably overstimulating sounds of Hell, but you manage. Kinda.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s so special about these headphones, Vox presses that mystery button on the left speaker, and everything goes blissfully quiet.

Your eyes widen as you get the first moment of true silence for the first time since you arrived in Hell. The sudden difference is initially jarring, but the relief is downright euphoric. 

During the entirety of your afterlife in Hell, it's been ceaselessly loud and often unbearable. The screams, the explosions, the gunshots—it's incessant, and you never get a moment of peace. The V Tower is not nearly as bad as the rest of the Pride Ring, thanks to a lot of soundproofing, but there's always something. Moans and other lewd noises fill the halls of anywhere within five floors of Valentino's studios. You can hear the screeching and yelling beneath the thrum of music emitting from Velvette’s section of the tower. 666 Studios isn't much better, with the constant chattering of the crew and bickering between newscasters.

Vox's lair office is by far the quietest place in the entirety of Hell, at least in your experience. The soundproofing here is much more effective than anywhere else in V Tower, and Vox is the only person ever here. He does talk and maniacally laugh to himself fairly often, but you don’t usually don’t mind that (and he’ll typically quite down if he can tell you’re having a rough day). But it’s far from perfect—there’s still the intermittent click-clacking of a keyboard, the constant whirring of the computer fans, the low humming of all the tech, and the audio from whatever security camera Vox is spying on. You can tune it out most of the time, but it all overwhelms you so, so easily.

And you aren't very good at hiding it (at least not with Vox, who’s too observant for his own damn good when it comes to you).

Which is why your dear boyfriend has just spent the past several days making you the best noise-canceling headphones Hell has ever seen. He knows what the constant overstimulation does to you, and he sees it far more often than he'd like to. You get irritated and snippy, and sometimes it gets so bad you have a meltdown. It's gotten less common over time, but it still happens way too frequently for either of your likings. 

“So, who’s the best boyfriend ever?” he hints, clearly fishing for a compliment. His voice is surprisingly clear despite the headphones practically deafening you—his words are muffled, but just loud enough for you to understand what’s being said. He's grinning at you like he's the one that just got the excruciatingly heartfelt present. 

Usually, you’d have a witty comeback to Vox’s attempts at getting you to stroke his ego (always followed by an actual, genuine compliment to ease his insecurities hiding behind that ego), but you’re drawing a blank right now. 

The gift is so thoughtful that you don’t even know where to start on expressing your gratitude. Noise-canceling headphones seem so obvious now, but this is Hell! Both you and Vox had died before this technology became commonplace, and not many people in Hell care that much about the noise. Vox made these headphones specifically for you. He doesn’t need them (he can quite literally just turn off his audio input) and he probably won’t make much of a profit with them as a VoxTek product. He’s a busy man, being a CEO and an Overlord, yet he took the time to make this for you himself, not even passing the project off to one of the poor souls that works for him. 

“Babe?” Vox calls out gently, waving a hand in front of your face. Oh, shit—you’re overthinking your response so much that you forgot to actually fucking respond.

You blink a few times, meeting your boyfriend’s gaze. His brows are slightly furrowed, in what you think is a mix of concern and amusement. He’s a little worried he’s fucked up somehow, but he knows you well enough by now to recognize when you’re thinking too hard about something. He actually finds it quite adorable, at least when you’re not about to have a panic attack from it. 

As he looks at you expectantly, you decide to just go with your gut (at least, that’s what you think you’re doing—you’ve never entirely understood what the fuck that phrase means).

You don’t give yourself time to second-guess your actions before you’re practically jumping into Vox’s lap—though it’s more like falling since you were just sitting on the desk. He lets out a little ‘oof’ of surprise before he chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, holding you steady while being careful of his claws. He smirks as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck, jostling the headphones a little but not enough to fuck with the noise cancellation.

“So…you like them, then?” Vox prompts, just wanting the confirmation even though the answer is already clear. You can tell by his tone that he’s still grinning proudly.

You just gently nod, inadvertently rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt (fortunately, Vox is a fancy bastard with high standards when it comes to clothing, and he’d long ago thrown out any garment made with fabric that triggered your sensory issues).

“Thank you,” you murmur against his neck. 

His hands tighten ever so slightly around your waist, and his response is so soft you can barely hear it through the headphones. “Anything for you, doll.”

[angie-long-legs]

"Imagine a water slide with no water.."

"..."

"So, like... a slide?"

[signedkoko]

Hello! I saw that your requests are open. I got really attached to Vox after seeing episode two of Hazbin Hotel. Could you please do a headcanon, or a scenario about his reaction to his sweet human s/o who almost gets killed in the extermination? She’s really injured because she got in the way to protect a little demon or something. Now the angels are walking towards her to finally kill her. How feral would Vox go? And how would he react once she’s back in his arms again? If you want you can make it gender neutral so everyone is included!

I hope this is enough info! If it’s not please let me know :D

Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which during an extermination you don't make it to the safehouse in time, and Vox decides to go out after you.

To someone so selfish and self-centred, exterminations are a big deal

There's a safehouse built just for the V's, and by proxy, who they invite, and you were Vox's only plus one

Sinners such as Vox were at their prime in hell; to die would be to lose everything, so they never risked being outside even an hour before it starts

Even so, he was getting anxious when you mentioned you were going to be late, but at least you'd still be there a few minutes before everything went to shit

But even with a few minutes to spare, he could no longer locate you through any device

Valentino was already saying they had to lock the doors now, and before they could fully shut, he slipped his way through the cracks and ran as if his life depended on it

Because, let's be honest, you were his life

There is no known way to kill angels

But when he sees you on your knees with a blade heading straight for your throat,

Messed up as if they'd been toying with you

Regretting not looking sooner, knowing you'd been hurt so badly because of his own selfishness

All he could see was red

There was a surge of electricity through hell, everything lighting up again as if it weren't doomsday

And then everything went dark, even the clocktower

Holding you with one arm and fighting with the other, he would defend for the remaining hours without a blink of rest

There was no known way to kill angels

Until Vox learned

Author's Note - I am assuming you meant sinner s/o, or at least I hope so! Thank you for requesting and please enjoy 🖤