Allie

I ran out of link space (whatever tf that is) so I was forced to make a new one:) Stay safe and enjoy reading<3

DC COMICS

BNHA

MCR

QUACKITY

FNAF

HAZBIN HOTEL

TBHK

Synopsis: While the Vee’s are out at a boring Overlord Meeting, Y/N finds herself enthralled with a certain VHS tape that has no label on it. Wonder what’s on it?

TW: suggestive content (non explicit sex, mentions of p0rn/sex tapes, mentions of cum), use of Vox’s wires, mentions of alcohol, brief mentions of age gaps

A/N: Named this one after a Haute & Freddy song<3 have really been enjoying their music lately. Anyway, I’m headed out of town later this week so🫡 I will be back the following:)

TV, Sharks & Moths Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“Thank you so much, Ethan!”

Y/N gave the eel sinner a bright, almost dazzling smile as he carefully rolled a large trolley through the entrance of her penthouse. The poor thing was practically buried beneath stacks upon stacks of VHS tapes.

There had to be at least hundreds of them.

Some were neatly hidden inside plastic cases, others were shoved into cardboard sleeves, and a few of them were left exposed with a simple handwritten label.

Ethan stopped the trolley in the middle of her living room before taking a step back and adjusting his glasses.

“Mr Vox informed me that some of these may be personal older tapes and to use your best judgement.”

Y/N beamed, looking over the treasure trove of tapes in front of her. “So one of them might contain porn. Noted.”

It had been years since she last held a tape or even acknowledged VHS tapes. Growing up, her family had plenty with movies, taped television shows, and home videos. But since arriving in Hell and finding herself associating with the Vee’s, this older technology was simply outdated.

“Oh!”

Y/N hurried over to her shark shaped handbag, which had been abandoned on her couch alongside her stuffed animals and blankets.

“Hold on,” she said, opening her bag. “I know I’ve got some money in here somewhere…”

Her hand disappeared into her bag.

There was a tube of lipgloss, a hairbrush, some candy wrappers, a receipt for something she didn’t remember buying, sunglasses, and a rubber duck that looked like her which had come from the Hazbin Hotel during her last visit.

“Here we go!” Y/N said, proudly holding up her wallet as she pulled out a plethora of different coins.

She then walked over and placed the coins down in Ethan’s hands.

“This should be enough for compensation, yeah?”

Ethan looked down at the coins in his hand before looking back up at her, muttering a small “thank you” before leaving.

As Ethan left and the Overlord was left alone to her own devices, she turned back to face the trolley.

“Movie night!” She declared as she immediately began to sort through the films.

She made three piles: the ones she wanted to watch, the ones she didn’t want to watch, and the ones that were most definitely pornos.

Tonight, the Vee’s were away at another Overlord Meeting, which left Y/N to be the only Overlord occupying V Tower for the evening.

Not that she minded.

“‘Good Girls Get Good Grades,’” Y/N read aloud before sticking her tongue out in disgust as she set the tape down with the other pornos.

Y/N continued to sort through the tapes, and every once in a while she’d stop and stare, either because she was unsure what the label said due to the horrible handwriting or because the title itself left a lot to the imagination.

She didn’t want to accidentally put a porno in the watch pile.

Eventually, the three stacks had been made, with the movies she wanted to watch now sitting on the coffee tables in neat stacks.

Moving back over to the trolley, she grabbed the dusty VCR from the bottom shelf. She then walked over to her television and hooked it up, nostalgia hitting her like a wave.

Once it was set up, she hummed happily to herself and spun around, only for her tail to hit one of the stacks of movies that didn’t interest her.

Groaning, Y/N dropped to her knees and began to gather up the discarded tapes, only to stumble upon one that stood out from the others.

“This one’s unlabeled.”

Y/N turned the tape over, examining it like it would suddenly come to life. There was no label, date written, plastic case or a cardboard sleeve.

This one was a total blank slate.

“Well, now I have to watch it.”

Getting up, she slid the tape into the VCR and settled onto her couch, pulling a fluffy blanket over herself. She then placed her large half eaten popcorn bowl into her lap as the screen fizzled with static.

She silently ate for a moment, anticipation keeping her interested in the film.

But for several minutes, static just continued to play.

“Watch this be a porno,” she said to herself. “God, I hope—.”

The static on the screen flickered to show a grainy image of a torso and two arms stretched out, as if whoever was standing in front of the camera was adjusting it.

“I think it’s recording..?”

Y/N tilted her head as the figure moved away to reveal—.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, pointing at the screen. “That’s Vox!”

Indeed it was Vox, however, this version of him was much younger looking. His sleek and modern tv head had been replaced with something boxier, and his slim frame and large chest had been replaced with something smaller.

He then cleared his throat, a hand over his mouth.

“I was told to use this for a week as Voxtek is testing out a new video camera,” younger Vox explained. “A prototype. The research and development department think video cameras are going to become a profitable consumer product. Which…they will.” He concluded, like an after thought.

“Just say this is supposed to encourage people to make homemade sex tapes,” a familiar voice said from a distance.

Vox’s screen flickered before readjusting.

“Must everything be sex with you, Valentino?”

As if on cue, a younger Valentino walked onto the screen. He still looked as tall as ever with his neck fluff and his wings folded around his body, but now he had smaller and circular glasses and notably, he still had both of his antennas.

“Not always.” He said, bending at the waist as he flashed a smile at the camera along with a wave. “Hi anyone watching~!”

Behind him, Vox sighed with annoyance before wires appeared and wrapped themselves around Valentino’s waist, dragging him backward.

“Hey—!”

“You’re not allowed anywhere near this camera,” Vox snapped. “Especially after you broke the last one.”

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t going to survive some cum?” Valentino huffed as Vox stepped in front of the camera again.

“For fucks sake—.”

The screen returned to static as Y/N blinked at it.

“Aw,” Y/N frowned. “It’s done.”

The screen then flickered back to another grainy picture.

The screen was dark aside from the Hell moonlight slipping in through the crack of the plum colored curtains. The footage shook for a moment as the camera zoomed in to show the silhouette of a younger Vox. It looked like he was laying on his back, and as the camera moved again, Y/N spotted a familiar set of moth wings resting over Vox’s lower torso.

“Can you even see him?” Valentino whispered behind the camera as the footage shook again.

The camera zoomed in again before zooming back out.

“Can’t see shit.”

As the video cut again, a pit threatened to appear in Y/N’s stomach. A pit that reminded her that no matter how many times she had seen this familiar scene with her own eyes, Valentino had been there since the beginning.

He had seen every version of Vox.

Every head.

Every body.

The screen cut to static again before it came back on with Vox and Valentino in the distance. They sat at a bar and based on the shimmering gold and velvet, Y/N assumed they were at the first club Valentino had opened in Hell.

“You should try out one of my bitches, Vox,” Valentino suggested. “They’re obedient, you know.”

Vox shook his head and grabbed his glass of whiskey. “Pass. I have standards.”

“But fucking a porn star is okay?” Valentino purred.

Vox didn’t react, but Y/N was sure his facial expression had changed even though she couldn’t see it.

“Who? You or Tiffany Titfucker?” Vox asked, drinking his whiskey.

“Me!” Valentino scoffed, crossing his lower arms. “What the fuck?”

Vox set his glass back down on the table. “You’re an Overlord now. Not some…well, maybe you still are a porn star.”

A frown appeared on Y/N’s lips.

This was when Valentino was still an up and coming Overlord.

And Vox had been there to mentor him.

They’ve had each other since the beginning…

And as if to add salt to the ever growing wound, the next scene showed a brief glimpse into their sex life.

“Look into the camera, amor~.”

Vox shoved the camera away, his screen flickering with dark cyan flush.

“Don’t g-get this shit on camera.”

The VHS then ejected.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the black screen of the television for a long moment before eventually removing the bowl of popcorn and blanket.

She shuffled over to the television and held the VHS tape in her hands.

Truthfully, she had expected the worst. She had expected to find some embarrassing recording, some scandalous secret, maybe even something she’d immediately wish she hadn’t seen.

And, well…she had gotten a glimpse of something like that toward the end.

But she certainly hadn’t expected to find home video footage of her two lovers, Vox and Valentino.

Those two men on the tape were unmistakably them. The voices were the same. The mannerisms were the same. Even the little habits she’d come to recognize were there.

But they were younger.

Less experienced.

Less powerful.

They were the versions of themselves that had existed when Y/N herself was only just being born.

The versions of themselves that had lived entire lives before she had ever entered Hell.

Of course, she’d seen photographs and heard the stories. She knew that Vox and Valentino had known each other for years. Decades, even.

She knew they had built an empire together. Fought together. Betrayed each other, forgiven each other, and somehow always found their way back to one another.

But knowing about a lifetime was different from seeing it.

Y/N wasn’t jealous.

Why would she be?

There was no point in being jealous of something that happened before she ever existed in their lives. She couldn’t be angry at them for having a history without her.

She knew that.

She understood that.

And yet…there was something strangely painful about watching it.

Something she couldn’t quite put into words.

Because for the first time, Y/N had been given a glimpse of what Vox and Valentino’s relationship looked like without her in it.

And it had looked complete, but not perfect.

She knew they were probably dysfunctional back then as they were now. They probably enabled each other’s worst habits and still hurt one another in ways neither of them would ever admit.

But they had survived everything together.

They had a history that stretched back decades.

Inside jokes Y/N would never understand.

Memories she hadn’t been there to make.

Stories she would never be a part of.

A lifetime that belonged entirely to the two of them.

Y/N lowered the tape slightly.

Who would have guessed that she would end up feeling like an outsider looking in on a relationship that had existed long before she ever arrived?

Synopsis: Today's another rainy day in New York and after finishing up a recording, Vincent decides to step outside for a cigarette break. Only for America's favorite sweetheart—Y/N—to appear behind him, asking for a cigarette lighter.

TW: cigarettes

A/N: I’ve been wanting to draw Alastor but I can’t bring myself to do it☹️

Masterlist

Rain had a way of changing the city. It softened New York’s constant noise into something quieter, muffling the already impatient car horns along with the steady hiss of tires that rolled through the waterlogged streets. 

The side walks glistened beneath rows of streetlamps, every puddle reflecting distorted streaks of neon from local diners, theaters, and department stores that refused to let the gloomy weather keep customers away. Umbrellas drifted through the afternoon like colorful flowers as individuals hurried past businessmen while mothers ushered their children out of the rain.

Inside, New York's favorite television station was alive. 

Telephones rang nonstop. 

Typewriters clacked in uneven rhythm, their metallic sound echoing across the newsroom as reporters hurried to meet impossible deadlines. 

Editors called across crowded desks with stacks of papers being exchanged, and nearby, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the smell of cigarette smoke that had settled into the walls over the years. 

Every department had its own orchestrated chaos.

Producers disappeared behind studio doors carrying clipboards with revisions. Camera operators rolled equipment through narrow halls, asking those in the way to politely step aside. Makeup artists rushed from dressing rooms while actors rehearsed their lines under their breaths.

Today was just like any other rainy Tuesday. 

Inside one of the studios stood Vincent Whittman, New York’s beloved weatherman. He stood in front of a weather map, using his decorative lightning bolt pointer to aid him, a professional smile written across his face. 

“And remember, trust us with your weather!”

He said it so effortlessly like it had been rehearsed. Which, after a year of working as the weatherman, it had been. 

Once the lights turned off and the cameras stopped recording, Vincent’s smile dropped as the world continued to ignore him as it always did. 

Not that he particularly minded because right now the only thing in his mind was the need for a cigarette. 

Passing his pointer to a nearby assistant, he headed toward the exit of the studio and pushed the heavy metal door open as the smell of rain greeted him. 

Immediately, his shoulders loosened.

It was amazing what thirty seconds away from cameras and bright studio lights could do for a person.

Fishing out a cigarette case from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he tapped one loose against his palm before placing it between his lips. His lighter followed shortly after—a simple silver thing that had accumulated a fair number of scratches over the years.

Click!

A small flame flickered to life as he cupped it against the breeze, shielding it with one hand until the end of the cigarette glowed a warm orange.

The first inhale settled deep in his lungs as he slowly exhaled it toward the sky.

For a few blissful moments, there was nothing demanding his attention.

No producers asking for last minute changes to the forecast.

No cameramen reminding him where to stand.

No frantic stagehands counting down the seconds until he was expected to smile for an audience of millions.

There was just rain.

Vincent’s eyes wandered across the city, idly watching raindrops ripple across the puddles collecting on the sidewalk.

Then, the studio door behind him creaked open and he glanced over his shoulder automatically, expecting another employee searching for a quiet smoke break.

Instead, his heartbeat forgot how to function.

Y/N stepped out, carefully pulling the heavy door shut behind her before absentmindedly brushing a few damp strands of hair away from her face.

Even dressed down between filming, she somehow looked effortlessly put together. A cream colored coat rested neatly over the costume she had worn on set, its collar turned up slightly against the damp air. She held a cigarette between two fingers, though it remained unlit as she took a moment to admire the rain falling over the city.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Vincent, however, had noticed her immediately.

Of course he had.

How could he not?

Everyone in the building knew who Y/N was.

She was one of the network’s brightest stars—a leading actress whose face appeared on magazine covers nearly as often as it appeared on television screens. 

Viewers adored her. 

Critics adored her.

And Vincent…he had been hopelessly infatuated with her for nearly two years.

Not because of the magazine covers.

Not because of the television interviews.

Not even because half the country seemed convinced she was the most beautiful woman alive.

No. 

It had started on a rainy afternoon in the employee parking lot, when she had accidentally locked her keys inside her car.

Vincent had been the unfortunate soul to witness her trying—and failing—to pry the driver’s side window open with a ruler she had borrowed from a receptionist.

He had offered to help her, but neither of them had accomplished much besides laughing at how unqualified they were.

By the time maintenance had arrived with the proper tools, they had spent nearly half an hour talking.

She had laughed at one of his awful jokes.

He had made her smile.

Then she thanked him, waved goodbye and life continued.

Since then, their interactions had consisted almost entirely of polite smiles in passing, the occasional “good morning” in the hallway, and once sharing an elevator ride in complete silence because both of them had been too exhausted after filming to manage conversation.

Ridiculous.

Two adults working in the same building, and he had somehow managed to make absolutely no progress whatsoever.

Y/N finally turned, her eyes landing on him as recognition brightened her expression almost instantly.

“Oh! Vincent.”

He offered what he desperately hoped resembled a normal smile.

“Hello.”

It came out a touch higher than intended, but either Y/N didn’t notice or had graciously pretended not to.

“I was hoping someone else would be out here.” She lifted the unlit cigarette between her fingers with a small grin. “Smoking alone always feels a little depressing.”

Vincent let out a quiet chuckle.

“I suppose misery prefers company.”

“It certainly does.”

She wandered over beside him. "But you know, I've always loved rainy days because the world seems to slow down," Y/N confessed. "People stop pretending like they're in a hurry. They duck into cafes and linger under awnings...everyone seems a little more patient."

"I've never thought about it like that."

Y/N laughed. "Well, you get to be pretty observational when you're trying to convince audiences that you're someone else."

Vincent smiled despite himself.

"I spend my days observing the clouds."

"See?" She teased. "We're practically colleagues now!"

Vincent let out a quiet laugh.

"I suppose we are."

"Actually, I've caught your broadcasts a few times."

Vincent blinked, looking at her.

"You have?"

Y/N only smiled and looked away, patting the pockets of her coat before she huffed in annoyance.

"Oh, come on..."

"Did you lose something?" Vincent curiously asked.

"Honestly," she sighed, "I think someone in wardrobe is stealing my lighters."

"You think there's a lighter thief?"

"There has to be," Y/N replied. "I've gone through four this month."

"That's rather impressive."

"I should really start putting my name on stuff," Y/N admitted.

Without thinking, Vincent placed his cigarette into his mouth with one hand and reached inside his pocket for his lighter. But before he could hold it out for Y/N to use, she was invading his personal space.

She was close enough that he could see the tiny rain droplets on her eyelashes.

She was close enough to where he could catch the floral scent of perfume.

She was close enough he could see the small freckles on her face.

The ends of their cigarettes met with ease, the orange ember brightened before Y/N's cigarette caught.

She then pulled away, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air.

"There we go."

Meanwhile, Vincent stood there a flustered mess as every coherent thought had abandoned him, being replaced with the realization that the Y/N L/N had been right there.

Instinctively, Vincent took a drag of his cigarette in the attempt to appear nonchalant, but unfortunately, the smoke caught in his throat and he erupted into a coughing fit.

"Oh my gosh!" Y/N exclaimed, worry written across her face. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine," Vincent assured between coughs.

"No, I'm sorry for startling you!" Y/N apologized. "I thought I would just do something silly! I didn't mean for you to choke!"

Vincent continued to cough, although now he was starting to calm down a little.

"I'm usually much more composed than this."

Y/N tilted her head.

"I don't know...I think I find this version much more charming."