Ashyy

Most people in Beaverton knew Jerry as the put together, strong leader that he portrayed himself as... But you knew differently. You'd been working with him as his social media manager since he first got elected and stood with him during most everything.

You sat at your desk, 9am, coffee in hand –not any different then most days– as you sifted through videos from his most recent speech, you look up to see none other then Jerry looking down at you.

"Hey, Y/n! Nice weather today?"

He swings with his natural smile, placing his hand on your desk and leaning over it slightly. You nod and smile, staring into his deep auburn eyes. You'd shamefully had a crush on Jerry since well... the moment you got hired. His charming, confident, and older, everything you look for in a man.

"You have a good commute to the office? Bus on time?"

You nod quietly. God he was so attentive. You mentioned one time that you take public transport to work and he's remembered it for the last four years. You notice the small beads of sweat on his forehead, and the natural cocky smile slipping into something more awkward and nervous.

"Soo.. what are you doing on your lunch break today?"

He awkwardly chuckles, wiping his brow and allowing the few front stands of hair onto his forehead. You felt your heart quicken. Was he asking you out?

"Nothing much... I have a sandwich.."

You mumble out, he perks up slightly.

"How about I uh.. take you out? Coffee and food?"

You nod, frantically. You'd been waiting for this moment for an embarsdingly long time. He nods and exhales slightly, relaxing.

"Perfect, I'll see you at 12!"

-he has your birthday marked down on EVERY calendar, person, work, DOESN’T MATTER! EVERYONE at VoxTech will know it’s your birthday

-He books off your birthday and the two of you spent the morning in bed until the sun comes up, something you never get to do since he’s normally ‘up and attam’ at 6am.

-He wouldn’t cook you breakfast – he’s a horrible cook, it’s one of the few things he hates to admit– so he hires a fancy ass chef to prepare you professional bacon and eggs, as per your request.

-He spends all day spoiling you. A dress you’ve been eyeing up? Yours. Fancy jewellery? He’s already sending someone out to buy it. It’s whatever YOU want.

-By the end of the day, he takes you to the finest restaurant in all of hell, paying –and harassing the staff– to get you a VIP table and a bottle of wine.

You love your husband, despite his and– and slightly concerning– habits and rude temperament at anyone below him, Vox was amazing! You knew he was a cocky, work obsessed prick, it’s the first thing he lets people know about himself when meeting him!

You’d met him through being hired by Velvette as a part of her design team. You were quiet, reserved, but what drew Vox to you the most is that in Hell you were blessed in the form of being a shark demon! While you’re not exactly pleased with it seeing you died from a shark attack, it got Vox's attention QUICKLY.

Not soon after he figured out who you are, were you on dates with the media overlord. Once a quiet loner now you were at the most expensive restaurants in all of the Pride ring, eating food that you could only wish to afford on your salary.

Pretty soon after, Vox got you transferred over to his section of the company. Working for him entailed doing basically nothing. If you got a task, it was the least stressful thing possible. You had to practically beg him to assign something to you, which was how you ended up with the job to feed Shok.Wave! You and Shok.Wave bonded fast, he soon responded to you in a similar way to a dog, wagging his fin furiously whenever you’d walk within eyeshot.

When Vox saw how Shok.Wave had bonded to you, he knew you were the one. Which leads you to the current day. You look over to the clock, it’s one in the morning and your husband still wasn’t home. You’d texted quite a few times, but it was pointless. He never answered his phone when he was at the office, if you weren't also at the office the only way to get through to him was to call, and you were instructed to only do that during EMERGENCIES.

So, like any good partner, you got dressed, fixed up your hair, and drove down to the office. Using your employee card, you tapped through all the censors and blockage until you landed at the front of your husband's door which had a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung on it. Ignoring that, you push open the door and knock lightly, which you’re met with an annoyed yell from his desk, too engulfed in his work to look up to see who is disturbing his peace.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT. CAN’T YOU READ?”

He yells, his voice crackling slightly. You clear your through before speaking.

“Vincent.” You say his human name, you’re the only one he’s ever told about it, other than Alaster but that’s… a topic better left untouched.

He whips his head around immediately, his tone shifting to one more loving.

“Y/N! What are you doing here so late?” He asks, almost worried you’d been here as long as he had. He stands up, striding over and placing a hand on your cheek. Up close you can really see how tired he is, while he doesn’t have traditional eyebags, his screen still betrays him, showing his exhaustion with little digital eyebags and the brightness dimmed.

“I came to drag you home, you need to sleep.”

You say sternly, looking him up and down. His suit is dishevelled, he looks just about ready to pass out.

“Nono, don’t be ridiculous. I have to finish this–”

You cut him off by grabbing the collar of his vest.

“We are going home.” 

He tries to protest once again, which is met with you PHYSICALLY dragging him from his office by the rim of his vest.

Once you got him in the car – and convinced him that you didn’t trust him to drive when he’s this impaired by lack of sleep – he would mumble to himself in the passenger seat. You turn to him.

“What was that?”

“Thank you… for dragging me out of there…”

He says begrudgingly before continuing.

“I can finish my work at home.”

You GLARE at him, he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“I have work to do! I’m compromising!!”

You squint at him as you pull into the driveway, parking the car.

Once inside the house, you change back into the pajamas you had been in for hours prior, brushing out your hair and flopping into bed beside your husband. When you look over he was on his laptop, typing furiously into a document.

“Vincent.” You say sternly, he waves you off though.

“Close the damn laptop and go to bed.”

You glare at him, he glares back, like it’s a western showdown.

“Ten more minutes.” He compromises. You nod and sigh.. You know you’re not going to get much more out of him. But, your body simply can NOT take being awake anymore, as you pass out soon after that.

.

.

.

When you wake up, you hear the regular morning screams and look down to your clock, seven am. You turn over to look at Vox, but you see he’s STILL AWAKE ON THAT DAMN LAPTOP.

“You better have just woken up.”

You say slowly, but the exhaustion plastered all over him, the coffee cups beside him doing him zero justice. You slam his laptop down and throw it aside, turning to him with determination in your eyes.

“I know I was meant to sleep, but–”

“NO BUTS! Out of your old clothes now!!”

He sighs and complies, getting up and walking over to his drawer, changing into a set of boxers and baggy t-shirt. When he lays down, you relax back into bed. You wrap your arms around him, his muscles loosen in your arms, laying his head against your chest.

“Fine… just… wake me up before ten? I have to finish that document.” You nod, rubbing his back. Within no time, he’s out as a light, snoring lightly, the VoxTech logo bouncing around his screen like the DVD screensaver. 

Life in a big space castle was certainly much less exciting then when you were sleeping in a different cave every night – more comfortable, but still. – You tend to spend most of your time training, since Matt is normally the one to go on missions, you’re left alone with Coran. But, this week had been peaceful, the Galra not having attacked for days, this gave all the paladins a chance to catch up on much needed rest. This also gave YOU time to spend time with your favourite paladin, Keith. You and Keith had briefly known each other from the garrison back on earth, but it wasn't until recently when you got close, bonding over movies you watched when you were younger and grungy music albums. He’d been your go to person to spend time with, while Matt and Coran weren't horrible to talk to, they also weren't exactly the type of person you were jumping to hang out with. 

All this put together, it leads to where you are now. In Keith's room, scissors in your hands as you trim up his mullet.

“I’m surprised how fast your hair grows.” You smile as you cut layer after layer of his hair.

“It’s because it’s healthy, my hair used to be fried.”

“Really?” You chuckle.

“How’d you do that?”

“I uhm…”

He fakes a cough, you look down at him with suspicious eyes.

“I tried to bleach it when I was fourteen.” You almost drop the scissors.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen.” You’re doing your BEST not to burst out laughing as he pulls out his cellphone, scrolling back for a few minutes before showing you what could only be described as the most ‘I'm fourteen and think this is edgy’ photo you’d ever seen.

The photo itself was shaky, but intentionally shaky, it looked like it was taken on a disposable camera. In the middle of an emo kids bedroom was Keith. Keith with BLEACH BLONDE HAIR. You can’t hold back the LONG laugh that comes out of you. You can see the dark messy eyeliner under his eyes and the purposely ripped band shirt.

“Oh my GOD, Keith!!”

You laugh, his face turns beat red and he sits back in front of you. “Just keep cutting.”

He grumbled sternly.

“Nono I’m sorry!” You breathe through your laughter, trying to put yourself together. “I just didn’t expect that from you, I knew you were emo but just… not THAT emo.” That comment rewarded you with a dirty look you didn’t have to see his face to know was there. “Are you almost done?” You chuckle.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get back to cutting, Hot Topic”

Colours will change depending on who the narrative is following at that point (or who’s speaking) :)

Background knowledge: This AU is set in a timeline where there is no Voltron. Instead, Keith and Lance went to elementary school together as rivals — in a rather one sided way… that side being Lances. — Keith is studying mechanical engineering while Lance is majoring in marketing and public relations.

Keith had planned to get to his dorm fairly early, he wanted to get there before his dorm-mate so he had first choice over which side of the room he'd be living in for the next few months. But of course, plans never go…well… according to plan. His brother Shiro ended up driving him two hours from his hometown to Stormcoast College. Why is it called Stormcoast? Well… it’s on the coast. 

They were supposed to arrive there at twelve pm. Keith had gotten up early to pack the last of his boxes into the truck, shower, eat, and have a few hours of relaxation with Shiro before they hit the road. That wasn’t what made them late. What made them late was the worst possible string of events. 

About half an hour into their drive on the highway, a car was in the completely wrong lane, coming at a car head-on resulting in a nasty crash. So, they took a detour. Which, apparently, only had two lanes, so you can imagine the traffic of what was three full lanes of vehicles crammed into one, much smaller lane.

Then, about an hour in, they stopped for lunch at an OnRoute, which was PACKED.

Then, thirdly, traffic in Troutbeck was horrible, which was fairly shocking considering Troutbeck is a town known for two things and two things only, their College, and the trout they catch.

It was half past one when Keith and Shiro had gotten to the dorms. Now, they had to spend an hour hauling boxes up to the third floor of the dormitory building…

Once Keith’s room was, for the most part, unpacked, he gave his brother a hug, and fell onto his bed. Getting to relax for the first time since they left the house. But, that relaxation is short lived when he hears an annoyingly shrill and bitchy voice come from his doorway. A voice that he, unfortunately, recognized.

Lance Mcclain, he knew of the boy, though sometimes he wished he didn’t.

Keith and Lance had gone to elementary school together, days that were filled with Keith being reserved, as always, and Lance always trying to pick a fight with him. It was never like… a bully way. Keith had been bullied before, he could tell this was more like… a loser way, which he didn’t mind all too much.

The main reason having Lance as a roommate was going to be rather… annoying is because Lance was VERY MUCH Keith's gay awakening in high-school. He never came out to anyone other than Shiro, he wasn’t particularly jumping at the idea to be made fun of and shunned more than he already was by his classmates. Lance was one of the only people he could TOLERATE in that school, was he annoyingly obnoxious? Yes. Was he equally hot, especially when he was playing soccer? ALSO YES.

From how loudly Lance talked in the cafe, he’d picked up on the fact that he thought they were rivals. He had a vague idea why. If Lance scored an eighty on a test, Keith scored a ninety. If Lance didn’t make honor roll, Keith did. If Lance only got into one College, Keith got several offers from different schools as well as gracious scholarships. So Keith understood to some degree where the semi-delusional boy got his ideas from.

When Lance walks in and —dramatically— throws himself on his bed, Keith couldn’t help but take a quick admiring glance. He looked good, and Keith loathed that he thought that.

–

The first week is always the worst, right? Between looking like a baby deer on ice when he tries to learn the equipment, not engaging in any social interaction now that Shiro is hours away, and every embarrassing situation that could ever happen, happening with his roommate, this wasn’t going well.

Keith is currently on his bed wearing his dark red high-school branded hoodie. He’d gotten it on his first day of grade nine and well… Keith didn’t grow too much, permanently stuck at 5’7 and 140lbs. And well, when Lance came back into their dorm from the showers dressed in what could only be described as ‘over the top’. A fancy blue house coat, flipflops, a face mask and a hair towel, nice. But before Keith could open his mouth to make a snarky comment, Lance got there first.

“Do you seriously still have that sweater?”

Keith pauses for a moment before responding.

“I mean, clearly. Why wouldn’t I? It still fits just fine.”

The other boy lets out a small chuckle.

“Nothing against it man, it's just… I swear you’ve had that thing FOREVER. It’s like all you wore in grade nine.”

Dreadfully, Keith’s cheeks tint a faint rose, Lance doesn’t notice though.

“It’s comfortable, unless you’re itching to buy me a new one, I'll stick to this.” Keith pulls his phone out and opens a random app to scroll on, to pretend to do something, to pretend like he didn’t just make a loser out of himself in front of literally the ONE GUY he’d rather not make a loser of himself in front of.

When Keith actually looks down at his phone, he sees he opened his emails. He actually should probably check those anyway. As he clicks and briefly skims each one, he sees something that catches his eye, ‘Stormcoast Newsletter’. That’s… probably important.

Colours will change depending on who the narrative is following at that point (or who’s speaking) :)

Background knowledge: This AU is set in a timeline where there is no Voltron. Instead, Keith and Lance went to both elementary and high school together as rivals — in a rather one sided way… that side being Lances. — Keith is studying mechanical engineering while Lance is majoring in marketing and public relations.

Of course. The one college Lance had gotten into, Keith had as well. Keith was his childhood rival. They had been in the same class since the first grade, and that stupid jerk had always found a way to one up him — other than sports, that’s the one leg up on Keith that Lance had, and he held it proudly.— Regardless, that idiot chose to go to the ONE college that Lance had gotten accepted into! DESPITE him getting multiple other offers! Lance swears up and down it was just to make his life miserable. 

But, when Lance arrived at his dorm, he wouldn’t have to think about that! After all, he knew mullet man was majoring in engineering, which means it was almost certain they would have no overlapping classes! Lance walks into his new room with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. While he didn’t do much research about this college, while scrolling their website, not reading much of anything, one little phrase that made him apply IMMEDIATELY, “co-ed dorming.”

When Lance opened his dorm room, he had hoped he’d gotten paired with a super hot girl who would be totally into him. If he couldn’t have that, he’d hoped he’d at least be with a moderately hot girl. He could work with her not being all over him, he’d win her over eventually.

What he didn’t expect, and what was the WORST possible reality, is seeing Keith Kogane in that room when the door swung open.

“Are you KIDDING ME? Out of EVERYONE I could have been paired with?!”

Lance shouts. Keith turns his head, moving his gaze from the window overlooking their campus, to the very aggravated Lance standing in the doorway.

“Do I… know you?”

Keith asked the loud boy.

“Do you know me?! WE WERE RIVALS THROUGH ELEMENTARY AND HIGH-SCHOOL?! We had like… English and Science together last year.”

Lance's volume dies down towards the end of his sentence. Keith pauses for a moment, letting his finger come to his chin before he looks back up to meet Lance's eyes.

“Oh no, I remember you now. You’re the loud mouth who wouldn’t stop hitting on my English teacher.”

Lance stumbled over his words. — though they could barely be considered words, they were more comparable to offended seal noises. — Before speaking again.

“Well…uhm…THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT! Clearly you’re going to have to get to know me if we’re rooming together.”

Lance grumbles, annoyed that he now has to share his space with Keith Kogane of all people. He looks around the room for the first time, it’s cleanly split down the middle.

"At least you’re not hogging the whole room…”

Lance grumbles under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“NOTHING NOTHING!”

Lances slips off his shoes and lays his suitcase beside him as he flops onto the uncomfortable mattress, letting his head sink into the cardbord esc pillows relax upon the paper thin blanket. Yep, this was the life. Laying on a shitty mattress, in a shitty dorm, with your shitty rival. This is exactly the college experience Lance had hoped for.

–

The next day goes quite a bit better. When Lance arrived to his first classes, everyone seemed nice, met a few ladies, didn’t get their numbers though. He met a guy from the culinary course named Hunk, he’s in his second year and showed Lance all the food places around campus, taught him the ways of school food, all the secrets like; where has the best breakfast, where is super busy during lunch, where gives you food poisoning, and a few hidden gems! So when he goes back to his dorm room, he has quite a pep in his step. That was until he actually opened the door and got a strong whiff of nothing but motor oil. He’d figured with that pungent of a smell, surely a car had to have crashed through the window of the dorm room and gasoline had to be leaking everywhere. Once he peered in though, it was worse. It was Keith. But what was worse than normal Keith? It was Keith in the middle of changing out of his oil soaked coveralls, leaving Lance with a full display of Keith’s built chest. How could a guy who looked THAT scrawny and not play sports have a chest that looks like it could deflect bullets?

“Are you going to close the door? I’d enjoy it if I could continue changing.”

Lance's face turns crimson as he nods and mutters an apology before closing the door, leaving him out in the dorm halls, looking like a weirdo. 

After a few minutes, he knocks and pushes open the door slightly.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, you’re fine.”

Lance cautiously pushed the door open and walked into the room, where Keith was on his bed, scrolling on his phone in a pair of grey sweats and a crimson red sweater.

“Ya know, man, maybe you should change, I don’t know, IN THE BATHROOM?”

Lance waved his hands around in the air, almost as a punctuation to his sentence. 

“Well, excuse my indecency, but I didn’t expect you to barge in the second my shirt hit the floor.”

“WELL… UGH!!”

Lance tosses his bag into the corner of his bed and desk and throws himself on the bed head first. Is this what all year was going to be like? Living in a dorm room that reeks of motor oil with an annoying, weirdly hot roommate?

Lance pauses at his own thought, taking a step back.

‘Woah there, Brain. Let’s slow down, ay? I don’t think Keith is HOT. He’s annoying and stupid.’

He thinks to himself, rolling over and grabbing his laptop from out of his busted up blue backpack, covered in patches and pins. The same bag he’d been using since the first day of high-school.

You and Vox had been dating for a few years in hell. The second. He had never questioned your history, let alone your dating history. He had no right to comment on it given how he is. So, when you tried to bring up something about your past, something that was clearly making you uncomfortable, he took it seriously. He had always figured you were… well, perfect. Never giving it a second thought of why you were in hell. Upon listening, you’d revealed what exactly you had done to end up in the land of the damned.

You had died around 1920, living until about thirty. You had gotten married in your early twenties to your high-school sweetheart, James. The second he finished college he put a ring on your finger. But when you moved in with him, things shifted. You’d never known him to be a violent man, he had always seemed so calm and ‘go with the flow’. What you DIDN’T know is he was only so ‘go with the flow’ because he was smoking marjiwana. You just couldn’t believe he’d do something so horrendous! When he was away at work, you disposed of his stash secretly, you loved your husband so you’d never report him to authorities, none the less you wouldn’t allow him to kill himself by partaking in such things! When he had gotten home that night and noticed it was missing, he took it out on you. This was the start of his abusive tendencies with you. Your relationship was truly never the same after that, you faced beating after beating after beating until you had come to expect it, that didn’t mean you’d sit by and take it nonetheless. You had always been a strong willed woman, never letting any man take advantage of you. While you were bold, this was frowned upon in your time, resulting in you getting… well… more beatings. It was December of 1919 when you stole some money from his wallet, stuffing it in your purse before going off to the store, once you had purchased enough rodent poison to kill off all of California’s rats for five lifetimes, you went home, strolling like you didn’t have plans to murder your husband when he gets home tonight. When the time comes, you play off your job perfectly, greeting him at the door with a kiss and an ice cold glass of whiskey, which he takes of course. You thought something had gone wrong in your plans when he didn’t fall to the ground, seize and die immediately. Though the next day when you were woken up to the sound of him vomiting and seizing in the bathroom, you were more than delighted. Though, this did backfire. You hadn’t thought what you were going to do once he was actually dead. Once the authorities investigated, you were convinced guilty. And of course, a few months later, you were sentenced to execution for mariticide.

Now why was this relevant a century later? Your husband had been recently employed by VoxTech. When you explained all this to your dear husband, he was FUMING. As much as it’s hell, he would not STAND knowing one of his employees hurt his beloved wife. But he didn’t just want to kill him, oh nonono that would be too easy, too slow. And Vox wanted to watch this man suffer slowly. So he planned, waiting for the perfect opportunity. This opportunity would be presented to him on a shining platter just a few months later through a HR complaint.

As much as hell is… well hell, and Valentino has his own sector of VoxTech, Vox runs his part with strict guidelines on sexual harassment, which this dingus clearly didn’t understand, that being clear with the piles of complains for him touching girls asses and making gross comments. Vox was practically rubbing his hands together when he called James up into his office, gilding him to take a seat in the chair across from him.

“So, is harassing women all you do? Or are you still an abusive piece of shit in your free time aswell?”

James pauses, looking around in confusion.

“S-sir I’m not sure I know what you mean, I’ve only been friendly to my co-work-”

Vox cuts him off.

“You know, if you were maybe, say, any other employee I’d let you off with a stern warning. But you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

Vox laughs, looking James right in the eyes.

“You’re not.”

His voice low, serious, and pixelated. He continues.

“See, maybe if I wasn’t made aware of your rather abusive tendencies in your time alive.”

“S-sir, respectfully, it’s hell-”

He’s cut off again.

“You beat my wife black and blue. Do you know how much YOU caused me in therapy bills?”

James’ face DRAINS of colour, a cold sweat forming on his forehead.

“Now, you will be punished as I see fit, and what I see fit is you being useful for once, as sharkbate.”

Before he can protest, he’s being dragged off by security to give Shok.Wave a tasty little snack.

When he arrives back to your shared penthouse, he seems prouder than normal.

“I dealt with our little… problem, today.”

He boasts, puffing out his chest like a bird.

“Our problem?”

You questioned, your voice filled with concern. You know how… impulsive and emotion driven your husband is, you’ve learned it first hand by how he deals with Alaster.

“Yes, our problem with your dreadful ex-husband.”

Immediately that concern is replaced with a grin on your face.

“You didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off.

“Yes I did. I’d do anything for you, my love.”

He says smoothly, the words dripping off his tongue like melted butter. You flush and smile wide.

“Why don’t you tell me the details over dinner?”

He nods.

“Devil's Diner?”

You ask softly, he replies back with that same gentle tone.

You and Giovanni were highschool sweethearts, meeting when your math teacher begs you to tutor him as he was the only one in her Collage level class who was failing. Since then, you'd fallen in love with his quirky personality and obnoxiously oblivious self.

While he decided to not persue post seccondary education, you did. Which forced you to move out from Sweet Jazz City, instead off to some big city, hours away from Giovanni. As much as you've been able to deal with it, he has NOT. Though you don't mind the constsnt texts, calls, face-times. It reminds you every time he calls that he adores you the same amount he did before you left.

But today that changed, you tanked the drive back to Sweet Jazz city, packing a small bag and letting your mom know you'd be home for the weekend. You knock on his door, all pretty-ed up. You have you hair done up, makeup pressed on, and your favorite outfit on. When the door opened, it's... not your boyfriend. Instead, one of his Banzai Blasters, Car Crash, you think.

"Uhh.. hello?"

He akwardly, monotonely, mumbles out. Clearly he was expecting something else, and guessing by the cash in his hand, it's probably pizza.

"Hi... is Giovanni there?"

You ask awkwardly. He squints his eyes and thinks for a minute.

"Let me check..."

He closes the door and you hear him run up the wooden stairs. You listen in, you know damn well Giovannis bedroom window is open, this is confirmed when you hear Car Crash bust into the room and yell.

"BOSS! Theres a woman at the door asking for you by name... she seemed serious... what if she's sent from Bliss Ocean to kill us!"

You hear the other Banzai Blasters panic, yelling incoherently before your dearest boyfriend interups.

"I WILL NOBELLY GO FACE THE BLISS OCEAN WARRIER."

You hear him storm down the stairs and bravely open the door with his eyes closed.

"I WILL GIVE YOU THREE SECCONDS BEFORE I SMASH YOU TO BITS,YOU HORRIBLE-"

You cut him off.

"Giovanni."

You say, holding back a snicker. His eyes JOLT open.

"MY DARLING!"

He scoops you into his arms, your bags clattering to the floor as he spins you in circles. He quickly pulls you inside, (grabbing your bag aswell) and carrys you in his arms up the stairs and into his room. It really hasn't changed in the few months since you had been here; race car bed, video-game posters, stuffed animals you'd bought him, and the occasional photos of the pair of him and his boys.

"You FOOLS mistook my wonderful GIRLFRIEND as a Bliss Ocean member? How DARE you, Car Crash.."

He shakes his head in dissapointment. When he sits back down, he sits you on his lap, wrapping his arms around you almost possesively. He starts talking about some Banzai meeting next saturday, you're not listening though, you're too busy being comfortable in your boyfriends gentle arms. You relax into him, moving to rest against the familiar shape of his chest. You feel his arms wrap tighter around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Once the meeting dismissed and all his boys were gone, it was just you and him. You're in his arms under his blankets on his race car bed. Theres a movie running on his TV, one you've both seen hundreds of times.

"Is there anything you wanna do?"

You mumble, shifting to face him. You run your hands through his pink hair. His face flushed a similar shade as his hair.

"I-i mean... like.. uh..."

He clears his throat.

"I'm not sure.."

You chuckle, covering your mouth and looking up at him.

"God, you're a dork.."

David sat in the counclers cabin, jotting things down from his latest hike in his nature journal. He had invited (forced) Max along as his company! He looks up at the clock, three o'clock. He closed his journal, setting his pen carefully beside it. He walks over to the mirror, looking over his ironed, forest green, button up shirt. He had to meet the potential new camp counciler. Him and Gwen most DEFINITELY needed more help, and he hated to admit he most certainly enjoyed having someone listen to him for more than their own benifit.

He brushes a few specks of dusk off his shirt, grabs his keys, and heads to the car. He starts the car, pulls out of the camp, and he's off! David turns up the music, bumping his shouldrs slightly to the beat. The more he's alone in his head, the more he thinks.

"It'll really be nice to have someone around to help around the camp... and to listen to me. It really feels like he's the only one who... hears me... who gets me."

The more he thinks, the more he recognizes the thrashing of his heartbeat and the growing rose colour of his cheeks. He trys to shake it off, insisting he didn't feel like THAT towards Daniel. After all, how would he hire the guy if he couldn't even think straight looking at him!

He pulls into the parking lot of the coffee shop, he checks himself one last time in his mirrors and steps out of his car. His hand hovering over the door of the shop, shaking. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open and steps inside.

He spots Daniel immediately, his face flushing RED. He has golden blonde hair, icey blue eyes, and is in a white button-up. He takes a deep breath – grounding himself– before walking over and sitting across from him.

"Ah David! Wonderful meeting you, friend!"

David smiles and sits across from him. Daniel extends his hand –which David takes, of course.–

"It's MORE wonderful meeting you, Daniel!"

As the meeting goes on, David feels himself get... nervous? He doesn't get nervous, he's a social butterfly! But the longer he talks to the blonde man infront of him, the sweatier his palms get, the faster his heart goes and the redder his cheeks get. He fiddles with his fingers while Daniel drinks his coffee, watching how his fingers wrap around the dark mug, his pale hand creating a contrast it. He watches Daniels lips as they softly wrap around the porcelain.

"So, what would I be doing as a councler?"

Daniel churps up, David snaps out of his gay panic ZONING OUT.

"W-well–"

He stumbles.

"You'd be helping to manage the kids, it's... harder than you'd think. But also help run events, and just take a load of weight off me and Gwens shoulders."

He nods and jots down notes on a small notepad David hadn't even noticed before. God, he's normally so attentive... what's going on today?

Once the meeting concludes, he drives back to camp, he can't stop replaying the little date over and over again. Distractedly walkng into the counclers cabin, ignoring Max's remarks, Gwens complaints, and everyone elses antics.

He just lays in bed, replaying the situation over and over. Thinking about his and Daniel's interactions, trying to pin down what this feeling in his chest is. Whatever it is, it's making his heart THROB and he just can't stop thinking of Daniel.

The shower with Vincent was absolutely what you needed. Feeling your husbands body against yours warmly for the first time in YEARS truely mended something in your soul, something that had been broken for a long time. You're in his bed, in one of his many shark shirts, with him beside you. You relax in his arms, closing your eyes, he is your own bubble of heavan in hell.

"So... how have you been?"

You ask, as if he had just came back from a work trip, it's not like you haven't seen him in what, ten years? You relax against him, like your body was built to fit on his.

"Good... I've been good. You know, I've been making a whole technology empire."

He says the last part proudly. You look up at him, astonished.

"Like.. like televisions?"

You say with bright eyes. He looks down at you, confused.

"What, do they not have TV's like this-"

He waves his hand over his face.

"-up on earth?"

You look down, ashamed. You know damn well you just didn't ever leave the house unless you had to in your last ten years.

"Well uhm, I'm not sure... I didn't really leave the house after you died."

He gently uses his cold fingers to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, you lean into it. Taking solace and comfort in the chilled metal of his hand.

"It's been ten years, what do you mean you didn't leave the house?"

He whispers softly. You loon away and sigh.

"I.. uh.. stayed in the house every day unless I was working or if I HAD to go grocery shopping..."

Theres a pause of silence, but you feel the pity radiating off of him.

"Love,–"

He starts.

"How did you die?"

You feel your heart speed up, your throat swell.

"Well..."

You take a deep breath, preparing for one of two reactions. It will either be him yelling at you, or him comforting you to all hell.

"When you died I was REALLY unwell, I ended up taking my life after about ten years without you."

The silence is DEAFENING. He looks down at you with a broken heart in his eyes. He pulls you closer, tighter, flush against his body.

"You'll never be without me again, not for a moment. I promise."

—————

It's now been about a month. He hasn't let you feel lonley for a minute. He got one of his engineers to make little bracelets, when she presses the button on the bracelet, it buzzes on his end, like a walkie-talkie. You feel that buzz basically the SECCOND he's not by your side, especially during his lengthy meetings.

He's also made sure to have a TON of date nights with you, taking you out whenever he can to 'make up for lost time'. He found this local diner that's fiftys themed, making it very reminiscent of dates when you were alive.

Despite how technologically advanced hell is, he makes sure to still take it slow with you. He knows this is still a lot for you, being in an all new environment, all new era, all new... everything. Despite the fact he could have a flatscreen TV with all the fancy perks, he has an old one from before he died. He's perfectly okay pretending to be stuck in time with you forever.

—————

You've made yourself at home in Vincent's flat. Taking over his closet completly, his flashy suits taken over by 'vintage' dresses. His walls, once filled with shark pictures and other unremarkable memorabilia, now covered with photos of the two of you.

Vincent doesnt let you work. That's one of his HARD rules. The others being; dont talk to Val alone, show up to big meetings, and of course, be the perfect partner you've always been. These were all easy rules to follow, of course, you adore your husband, you'd never go out of your way to disobey him. So, of course, you're getting ready to go deliver him lunch as he works on a new launch scheduled for this week. You throw on his favorite dress of course, curling your hair and doing light makeup. You slip into leggings and pumps before grabbing the bagged lunch you prepared and walking out the door to give Vincent a little suprise.

You walk past the automatic doors and into the large lobby. You're slowly getting used to the modern technology – despite how hideous you find it – you know with Vincent as your husband, it's unavoidable. You ignore all the flashy screens and blasting speakers and into the stairwell – which nobody uses, ever– and start thr strenuous trip up the ten floors to your darling husband's office.

Once you get up there, you wipe the sweat off your forehead, pushing your tired wheezes that threaten to come out away. You gracefully move past all of his rustling employees and into his office.

"What."

He growls from his desk, currently far to enthralled to his computer to recognize it's you in his doorway and not some employee he couldn't care about. You clear your throat, he looks up at you and every ounce of anger and annoyance in his body fades to something much more happy.

"Darling!"

He smiles, looking you up and down appreciatively.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You grin and walk over, placing his lunch on his desk.

"I brought you homemade lunch, your favorite!"

He pulls you into his lap, resting his hands on your hips. You flush and swat him playfully.

"Vincent!!"

You whisper, as if this act was the most scandalous thing he could do.

"I love you.."

He kisses your cheek, you melt against him and nod.

"I love you too, Vince."

Preforming is the one thing you're truely passionate about. Starting when you were a little kid with dancing, owning the stage with every step you took, until the day you died. It was ironic actually. It was the first preformance at your new Dance University. On stage, you spun around over and over, plié after plié. Just as you were about to do your big jump, you slipped. Landing on the slick part of your ballet slippers, resulting in you slipping and falling fifteen feet off stage and onto your head.

So, best belive in Hell you didn't stop preforming. You took to the stage as soon as you could, your vocal talent peaking the interest of many. The song lyrics you scribbled down on notepads in greenrooms before shows, now put together into chart topping hits that every sinner in hell had on repeat.

And tonight is the biggest show you've had yet. After blowing up overnight a few months ago, you've been playing at small venues, which have been selling out within secconds, packing every seat. It's been amazing seeing your fanbase grow from five people, to five thousand. But your longest, and most adoring fan, has to be Vox himself.

Vox has been one of your most adoring, (bordering obsessive), and supporitive fans. Funding shows and billboards, always making generous donations, he just couldn't get enough.

You look in the mirror, your hair down in gentle curls, puffing up around your shoulders. You're in a tight blue leotard, covered in twal sequence with red trim. It hugged your body nicely. Your dark red fishnets ran down your thin legs and to your black pumps. You take a deep breath as your assistant attaches your mic to your ear, giving you a three seccond count down before you're meant to be on stage.

As you preform – singing and dancing your heart out – you recognize a familiar TV shaped head in the front row. With all the times he's boughten VIP tickets to meet you. You've recognized that he's... certainly a big fan.

As the shows go on, you can't help but notice him often, occasionally taking note of his (brightly glowing) expression. His eyes bordering on smitten.

Little did you know just HOW obsessed he was with you. He has a habit of stalking checking in on you constantly. Out in public? He's watching through security cameras. Practicing in your studio? He's listening through your phone in your pocket. He has every poster, shirt, and other merchandise with your face on it.

(keeping it hidden from Val and Velvette of course, he'd never live down having a shirt that says "ride me like a cowboy" with a half naked woman with cowears on. He personally thinks it's your best album though.)

Once your show is over, you run backstage, panting. You grab your waterbottle and CHUG it before your manager comes and guilds you to the designated meet and greet section. Where your met with only one face, Vox.

"Where is everyone?"

You chuckle, looking around at the empty room.

"I bought out all the tickets, I'd like as much time to talk to you as I can."

He smiles and relaxes in his chair, looking at you as you sit in the chair across from him.

"So, did you enjoy the show?"

You smile, placing your hands on the black silk tablecloth, gently tapping your nails against the table. He grins widely.

"I did, I do every time. Are you signed to a label?"

He leans in as he questions you. You shake your head no.

"Nope, I hire my small team off of my paycheck, no label."

You smile, he loves that smile.

"Would you like to be?"

You pause, trying to process the question. He continues.

"You see, VoxTech is expanding our entertainment district and I think you would be an AMAZING candidate. I could hire you the most skilled team, have you sell out the biggest venues in hell, and have nobody but the best trainers. My associate, Velvette, could have you fitted in nothing but the highest quality of costumes and makeup."

He leans closer.

"Right now, you shine like a star, but under VoxTech? You can be as bright as the sun."

He whispers. You... debate for a moment, thinking. You really think, your manager is always late to your practices, your vocal couch can't sing, and you know more about dance than your choreographers.

"I'll do it."

You decide on a whim. He grins like a wolf.

"We'll have you sign the paperwork at the tower. Go inform your little... team, get your stuff, and meet me back here, Doll."

You nod, scrambling to get up and get back stage. When you get back stage and essentially tell everyone they're fired, explaining the deal, it's.. awkward. But you manage to grab your things and get out before someone can yell.

You meet him back at the VIP area, a small bag on arm. He walks over and nods.

"Alright. Let's go, Sweetheart."

He places his hand on your lowerback and guilds you out a secluded door on the side and into a car that awaited there.

As the driver pulls onto the busy road, Vox turns to you again.

"We're... I'M very happy to be working with you."

He grins and extends his hand, which you shake. He ends up sliding an arm over your shoulder.

"You thirsty? We have drinks in here."

He uses his free hand to pop open a cooler with wine bottles on ice. You nod and he grabs a class.

"Red or White?"

"White."

He nods and pours you a cold glass of wine, handing you the glass. You sip as he starts to talk again.

"I already have choreographers and voocal couches lined up for you. And I'll manage you, I can make you a star."

He whispers, rubbing your shoulder.

——————

It's now your first show under VoxTech. You feel a lot more confident. For once, you were pushed beyond your comfort zone with your choreo and gotten insightful feedback during vocal practices. And what feels the most impactful, Vox managing you. You'd think with him quite literally being one of the head of the biggest tech company in hell, that he'd be far too busy to manage you. But, that's far from reality. If you ever need him for anything, he's there within secconds.

The other thing you've noticed about him is how touchy he is, which isn't a problem with you one bit. You've always found Vox very attractive, assuming you had zero chance with him given he was a CEO and at the time you were a small artist preforming in bars.

You're about to go on stage, taking a deep breath, nervous. As much as you're confident, you're always nervous right before going on stage. Vox is behind you, rubbing your back.

"You're going to do amazing, you always do."

He says quietly, sensing your nerves.

"I'm just jittery, I'm fine."

You exhale, your hands shaking. He takes it in his and rubs his fingers over the top of it.

"Relax. You've done this countless of times, it's okay."

He says softly, the softest you've ever heard from him. You nod and crack a joke right before you go on.

"Kiss for good luck?"

You chuckle. He doesnt HESITATE. Pressing your lips to his quickly, smudging your lipstick. You don't have time to react before you have to be on stage.

—————

After your preformance, it blows up on the internet about you havint smudged lipstick and a fuzzy head when you came on stage, rumors about you having a secret lover spread like wildfire. And who sent you the article about it? Vox of course. He was SMUG about it.

You're in bed that night, tired but can't sleep. The scene of Vox kissing you replaying over and over again. You're so in your own world, only snapped out of it by your phone buzzing. You lean over and grab it, clicking open your screen.

"I'm outside your apartment, come let me in"

It's Vox. You groan and roll out of bed, walking through your apartment and opening the door. You're met with your manager, Vox.

"Come in."

You mumble and walk over to the couch, plopping down on the cushions.

"What's up?"

You yawn. He clears his throat awkwardly.

"I got into a spat with Val and he locked me out of the tower."

It's a lie, you don't know that but he just missed you HORRIBLY. You chuckle.

"I'll get you a blanket and pillow."

You mumble, standing up and walking over to a closet by the front door and tossing him a blanket and pillow. He catches them and sprawls out on the couch.

"Comfy?"

You ask as you lean over the edge of the couch, he chuckles.

"Don't play smart with me."

You smile and go to pull your hand back, him grabbing it.

"Wait-!"

He pauses.

"Stay. Just... set up a bed in the livingroom..."

You melt, not outwardly but certainly on the inside.

"Of course."

You grab another pillow and blanket from your closet and pushing the coffee table away so you can set up beside the couch.

You lay down and relax, going to close your eyes. But, you feel bold. You feel this is your one chance to be the confident one for once. You move your hand up onto the couch where he lays and put yours on top his.

He turns his head over, his face dimly illuminsting the room, you can see the blush under his eyes, the stupid smile across his face and it makes your heart warm.

You and Vincent, while you were alive, we're married for a good twenty years. You had met in highschool math class, he was.. much better than you at it. Ever since then you'd been inseparable. He put a ring on your finger the seccond he could. You lived happily, that was... until the incident. The TV that fell on his head, killing him quickly, along with everyone else whos feet that were in the water. Normally, you'd attend every event he was at, proudly by his side. But, that was the singular night that the grocery store was closing early and you wanted to make his favorite, steak with boiled broccoli and carrots.

After his untimely passing, you practically wasted your life away. Refusing to remarry or even look at another man the same way you did him. You lazed your years away on the couch, only affording your house because Vincent had fully paid it off and your job as a substitute teacher paying just enough for rent and food.

You ended up taking your life at sixty, deciding life wasn't worth living without him. After the pain, you're met with silence. Pure silence. You hadn't experienced that in years, lately your mind has been flooded with thoughts and crys of self pity and loathing.

You wake up in what you can only assume is Hell. Judging by the jarringly red atmosphere and smell of dirt, urine and... other.. fluids. You blink a few times, almost as if you're waiting to wake up from a weird dream, but that feeling never comes. You start to walk down the street, glancing through windows of shops. A shop catches your eye, a clothing shop! Atleast theres something familiar. But as you look through the glass you see something foren in the glass, a figure looking back at you through the glass. You bring your hand to your cheek, the strange almost demon like figure does to. You realize... is that you?

You squint more, yep.. that's.. you. Your rosy complexion replaced with an almost icy blue, your hazelnut coloured eyes replaced with a grey, and your dark brown curls replaced with harsh black ones.

You... push forward, continuing walking. Your head feels clouded, you feel desprete to cling to something familiar, something you know. As you walk, you see a TV in a window that catches your attention, a blonde women and a man in a gasmask talking about some 'princess of hell', you squint, reading the headline.

"Princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar, wastes everyones time by trying to open a redemption hotel."

You... don't really understand what that means. You go to continue walking, but see a large croud surrounding a tall tower with a large V on the front. You shrug, what better things do you have to do afterall? You approach the croud, pushing your way to the front. On a pedistool you see a man with a TV for a head, but it's not the ones your used to seeing. Instead of the box TVs your used to this one is flatter. This is probably a consequence of not leaving your house for around 10 years.

The man on the pedistool is talking about something called "VoxTech." It sounds stupid honestly, but you don't say that. This man seems... moody.

"So you see, this is why the newest VoxTech television is simply MUCH better than our original model."

He grabs the mic from the closest reporter, bringing it to his mouth.

"Trust us with your electronics."

You feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you. You listen to him ramble on a bit more about this product, closing your eyes trying to trace back where you've heard this voice. Then it hits you, Vincent. You open your eyes immediately, gazing at... him. He looks different, the TV head is certainly new. Though his general build is the same.

"Any questions?"

He asks the croud, the group erupting into questions and yelling. You open your mouth just as theres a dip in the volume.

"Vincent?"

You watch him FREEZE. That cocky demeanor gone. He turns slowly, scanning the croud until his eyes land on you.

"What.. what did you just call me?"

His voice is... confused? No...something more emotional than that.

"Vincent."

You repeat louder.

"Vincent Whittmen."

He looks at you with something you almost recognize as something you'd see in his eyes when he was alive. His eyes quickly change.

"Alright, everyone out. Leave. Other than you."

He points down to you. You watch the croud dispurse, angry grumbles from reporters who didn't get their questions answered. He walks over to you with integration eyes.

"Who are you? How do you know... that.. name."

His voice gets almost pixalated. You stammer, scared almost. You shouldn't be, this is your husband after all, right?

"Well... I- uhm.. I-"

You stammer, letting out an awkward chuckle and grin, you hear the slight whistle of air pushing through the small gap in your two front teeth. Of course out of everything, THAT is the one thing that followed you into the afterlife. That annoying trait that you tried up and down to get rid of.

His eyes widen, immediately recognizing your embarrassed laugh, the whistle through your teeth that he has grown ever so used to.

"Y/N?"

He whispers under his breath, his triangle pupils blowing large. You nod and look down at your hand, the silver band being the only thing that remains from her human body. He places his metal claws along your cheek, gently, as if just to make sure you're really there.

"It's you..."

You smile and nod, his disbelif turns into the widest grin you'd seen in forever, it truely makes your heart melt. He lifts you into his arms and spins you around and kisses you lovingly.

"My darling!"

You smile, melting into the touch you've yearned for since the moment he left.

"Vincey..."

"Come come, i'll get you all taken care of. Do you want a shower? Food? Need to sleep? Anything for you."

You nod frantically.

"Id.. honestly quite enjoy a warm shower. I need something familiar right about now, I think hot water streaming down my body will do it."

He ushers you into the tower, up the stairs and into a room labeled "Vox".

"Vox?"

You mumble to yourself curiosity.

"Yeah, consider it like an alias. I don't like using my real name from creeps, I'd prefer to only hear it from your sweet lips."

He kisses you gentley. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull yourself onto his chest.

"So, about that shower, can I accompany you?"

He grins down at you with a smug grin.

You and Vincent had been in a relationship for a few months... in secret of course. He liked to say it was because he 'couldn't risk his reputation dating a women like you', but in reality he didn’t want his manager's to yell at him for dating one of the camera workers.

Today was a normal winter day, you behind the cameras as Vincent got ready for his tweleve o'clock weather broadcast. You however, feel like shit. You have a throbbing migrane. You feel hot and cold. Both overly sweaty and horribly dry. Basically, you want to curl in a ball and die. While nobody else nessisaraly takes notice to your illness, Vincent does. While the mic people are still adjusting settings, he walks over and places his hand on your forehead.

"You're sweating profusely."

He says flatly, wipping his hand on his suit pants, feigning disgust. He calls out to the manager of the camera department loudly, almost angerly.

"DEBRA!!"

He yells. The nervous woman scurrys over.

"Why is one of your employees ill. Are you trying to kill me?"

He spits snarkily, squinting his eyes judgemenally. Her eyes show her mental panic as she's desperate for his approval. It's quite obvious she's into him, you hate her for it. Despite her not knowing he's taken, you view her as a homewrecker.

"W-well, sir- well.. well.."

She points to you.

"GO HOME! A-and don't come back until your back to health!"

He shouts at you, you nod and grab your purse. Smiling at Vincent secrely, mouthing

"Thank You."

He smiles and looks back at you, making sure nobody was looking before mouthing back.

"See you soon."

Your eyebrow lifts as you push out the door, you must have read his lips wrong. You shake it off and take the public transit home. Vincent is the one who drives you to work, getting there so early nobody sees you get out of his car.

Once you get home, you barely make it into bed without feeling like you were going to collapse. Both the fan on blast and bunded under pounds of blankets.

About an hour into your bedrotting, you hear the sound of keys jingling and the front door gently creeking open, which is unlike your boyfriend, as he's almost always the loudest person in the room. You hear gentle steps creep up your wooden stairs. You think to yourself, has Vincent sent someone to make sure you're okay? You shrug, turning towards the door, still heavy in blankets.

The door creeps open and you see the familiar face of Vincent peak into the room.

"Ah.. you're awake!"

He smiles slightly, as if he didn't want to show weakness (despite you getting to see his 'weak' side on the regular.)

"I can't sleep, I feel horrid."

You mumble, a cold wave hitting you hard, you shiver. Without wasting another moment, he's kicked off his shoes and thrown off his blazor, jumping into bed with you and pulling you into his arms.

"I can't belive you kept this from me... should have stayed home all bundled up."

He grumbles and kisses your forehead. You melt into it, relaxing into his affection.

"You're gonna get sick..."

You mumble, looking up at him. His face softens before returning to his normal facade.

"If I was gonna get sick, I would have already gotten whatever is wrong with you."

You smile up at him and press a peck to his cheek. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, pulling you closer and kissing you on the mouth. When he pulls away, you see his flushed face and dorky smile that you've grown to appreciate, especially because you're the only one who gets to see it.

"Vincey?"

You mumble, he nods and looks down at you.

"Mhm?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him.

"Can you take a day off tomorrow?"

He sighs dramaticlly.

"Well.. it's not like the entire community depends on me for weather.. I suppose..."

You smile and chuckle, kissing his collarbone and looking up at him.

"I love you, Vincent."

He smiles again, that dopey grin, god you love it.

SFW:

- Despite his hands being claws – sharp and metal – he knows how to handle them, especially when it comes to handling YOU. Whether it's hugs, cuddles, or just a hand on your thigh he's always gentle, treating you like glass.

- He is SO. CLINGY. His hands are always on you in one way or another. An arm around the waist, his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers interlocked with yours. If he can't be next to you for any reason, he'll cast his face on your phone split screen style, in a way reminiscent to tiktok subway surfers brainrot videos.

- As much as he puts on a macho man front and presents very much as a man who believes women should be in the kitchen, he cooks for you without hesitation. Sick? Expect a home made chicken noodle soup just how you like it. Tired? He doesn't let you lift a finger, making your favorite meal, no matter how complex it is. Having a bad day? He's already baking a little treat to brighten your day. When you're alone he's smitten.

- For date night, he absolutely puts on a shark documentary and explains everything in more detail than the documentary. If a fact is minorly inaccurate, he gets very frustrated, pauses the tv, and explains everything about that shark in detail before unpausing the documentary. Most of the time you end up asleep on his shoulder, he ends up carrying you back to your shared room where it's you, him, and his BLÅHAJ.

SUGGESTIVE:

- He LOVES leaving marks on you. Most of the time it's hickeys from his mouth around your collarbone, but the occasional time he feels more.. playful. You'll have a few marks from his wires, paticularly around your hips or thighs. He likes to say that it's a branding thing, wanting everyone to know what's his. Thats mostly true, the other half of it however is him being obsessed with the sounds you make under him.

- He's a sucker for praise. While he likes to boast about being a dominent top, that man melts like BUTTER if you call him handsome while you're getting intimate.

- He is an utter FREAK in the bedroom. You'd think he died in a 2010 BDSM club and not infront of a live studio audience with how horny and freaky he is. While he brags about missionary being the only way he engages in sex, that man is a LIARRR... He loves getting you in cowgirl or doggy style.