Stormy/Kai

Tooth-rotting fluff, angst, and then fluff again. Like some sort of bittersweet sandwich.

Basically a chubby!Vincent appreciation post... Also I wanted this to be Gn!reader (so if you’re not a girl shhh don’t think too hard, just pretend queer ppl could get married in the '50s), and you're a stay-at-home wife/husband/spouse

Summary: You and Vincent come home from your honeymoon, but he gets insecure once he realizes he's put on a little weight. Obviously, it's your job to comfort your husband and remind him how hot he is.

-🦈🌤️📺

You'd been together for just over a year, when Vincent (finally!) got down on one knee and proposed to you, with a 20-karat gold ring. Obviously, enthusiastically, you said - no, screamed - Yes!

You were engaged for just a couple of weeks before you got married. And just a few weeks after the wedding, summer came, and the latest season of your husband's talk-show came to a close. Well! Since you two had nothing but free time from now all the way until his next season, you took advantage of your break and had a four-month honeymoon on an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise.

(Hey, he could afford it, so why the heck not? Besides, Vincent had actively begged for you to choose the cruise option, because, you know, he was hoping to see some sharks while on the boat. All he found was one dorsal fin, and it turned out to be attached to a dolphin, and he was pretty upset about that.)

Though it was such a long honeymoon, neither of you were ready to come back home. But you had to, now that Vincent's season premiere was coming up fast.

-🦈

"I never thought I'd say this," he sighed on the night you'd returned, "But I don't wanna go back on TV tomorrow."

"Oh, no?" you asked, coy amusement in your voice as you parked the luggage in the living room. "Why's that?"

He came up behind you, his hands settling on and squeezing your shoulders. "'Cause I wanna be back on that cruuuiiise," he whined, pushing his cheek against the side of your neck. You giggled at the ticklish sensation he gave you, and you tilted your head back.

"Just you and me," he reminisced, "No hard work. Just waves and sunsets..." his voice trailed off as his hands slid down your arms, and then folded over your torso, so that he was spooning you.

"And moonlit nights," you chimed in. You started to sway subtly from left to right. "Dancing."

He smiled, reached for your hand, and spun you around in a circle. "And the fireworks," he added, once you were back in his arms.

"Yeah," you said, "And the candlelit dinners."

"Ugh, God, all that food was fuckin' amazing," he groaned. "I might even have to cut back a little now."

True, your boyfriend... Your husband had gained a few pounds since the start of the trip. But there hadn't been any reason to point it out to him, since it was far from being unhealthy or worrisome. In fact, it may have even been healthy, seeing him step back from the pressures of always being on camera. So you decided against saying anything at all, as Vincent had a tendency to be a perfectionist who could take any commentary the wrong way.

Now, you simply chuckled at his remark and pecked him. He beamed childishly at the fact you'd kissed him for no reason, and you reached up to adjust his square glasses. "Hey, how about one final night of uninterrupted romance before we go back to reality, hm? What do you think?"

He loosened his grip on your leg so that you would stand again, and he interlaced his hand with yours. "Yeah! I'm thinkinggg... We cuddle, stay on the couch, spoon, watch some I Love Lucy, snuggle under a blanket, kiss... Who knows, maybe all that leads to something more inappropriate."

"Sounds about perfect," you hummed. As he set up the show on the TV, you set up the couch by rearranging the pillows and then fetching the extra blanket from the closet. When you came back, Vincent had taken off his glasses and laid down, his body splayed out across the length of the couch.

While he was distracted by the TV, you took a quick second to observe him; his naturally squared face had gained some roundness, especially in the cheeks. You could see that his tummy was slightly bigger than before, though his tacky Hawaiian shirt was hiding it pretty well. His shorts, however, couldn't hide that his thighs were a little thicker. And you could tell that there was certainly less space available for you on the couch.

In honesty, you were relieved to see that he wasn't being as hard on himself as he usually was. Holding onto the folded blanket, you crawled onto and laid down on the slim, vacant spot in front of your husband. He absent-mindedly settled his hand on your back, his gaze fully glued to the sitcom on the screen.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek - Chu! - Yes, his face was definitely a bit fuller now. You couldn't resist pressing your face deeper, nuzzling his cheek before you chomped on it.

"Ouch!" Vincent jerked back, eyes flicking back to you. "Hey, that hurts, Y/n," he muttered, taking his hand off of you to rub at the bitemark you'd left behind.

"Sorry," you smiled. "I meant that affectionately."

He narrowed his eyes. "M-hm. Sure." You leaned forward to kiss him again, but he pulled away. "No biting!"

"I won't, I won't," you promised, still trying to reach him. "I'll kiss it better."

"Mm... Okay." Hesitating, he took his hand away, like he wasn't certain he trusted you. But you kept your word, and showered his cheek in kisses.

He instantly lit up, and he started giggling. “Alright, you’re forgiven- Enough, it tickles!” He draped one arm across your body, quite possessively. “Just come here,” he said, pulling you closer so your head was below his. He moved one leg up and rested it over both of yours, and you noticed he felt unmistakably heavier. You smirked, snuggling up to the new squishiness of his body.

"Sho shoft," you mumbled.

He nestled his face against the crook of your neck. "Hm? What did you say, m'love?"

Though he'd made it known that he was aware he'd gained weight, you knew he'd still probably feel bad if you brought it up.

"Oh, nothing. Just that this is my favorite place," you answered as you spread the blanket over the both of you. You settled your gaze on the TV.

Vincent made a little noise, a scoff between confused and mocking. "The... Couch?"

"No, silly," you snickered. "In your arms."

"Pfft- Oh," he laughed, and he pulled you in tighter. "Mine, too, then," he added. He slid his foot across your calf, his fuzzy shark sock making you squirm from how it tickled your skin. Your reaction made him smile, and he rubbed his nose against the back of your head, and he kissed your nape. Against your neck, he mumbled softly, almost soft enough that you didn't hear him, "My darling."

-🌤️

The truth was, all the spooning and kissing didn't lead to anything "inappropriate." You both were exhausted from the travel, and neither one of you even made it halfway through an episode before passing out.

You woke up to sleepy words muttered in your ear. "In your neck of the woods... Seventy-one degrees..."

You cracked open your eyes, found daylight spilling in from between the curtains of the living room window, and realized that you and Vincent had accidentally spent the entire night on the couch.

"Partly cloudy, no chance of rain... Leave your umbrellas..."

Upon recognizing that he was reporting in his sleep, you burst into a fit of suppressed giggles. You shimmied out from under his arm and sat up. "Hey, weather-boy. It's morning."

"That's it for today... Trust us..."

You shook him. "Vinny, wake up!"

"With your weather!" he jerked his head off the couch as you pulled him out of his sleep. You couldn't help snickering... He was a sight to behold; peppered hair in a dire bedhead, a bit of drool on one cheek, one eye half-closed as he owl-blinked at you. "What do you want?"

You combed your fingers through your husband's thick, spiky hair. "It's morning."

"Mmmph," he responded, closing his eyes again and setting his head back down. "Honey, I already explained to you, honeymoons are meant for sleeping in, okay."

You kissed his temple and ruffled his hair. "Honeymoon's over, my love."

This time, both his eyes shot wide open. "Fuck!" he hissed, jolting upright. He looked past you and squinted at the clock on the wall. "What time does that say? Where are my glasses?"

You reached over to the table beside you and carefully handed him his lenses. "It's 9:30."

"9:30?! I should've been ready half an hour ago!" He snatched his glasses from you, pushed them on, jumped off the couch, tripped over himself, and finally darted to the bedroom.

You calmly followed him, and by the time you got to the room, you saw that he'd already shed yesterday's clothes and left them lying chaotically on the floor. You rolled your eyes and picked them up. You placed them in the laundry bin, then peeked in the bathroom to find Vincent already wearing new pairs of boxers and socks, as he frantically brushed his teeth.

You smirked. "That was fast. Hey, do you want breakfast before you go?"

He took a moment to spit in the sink. "Uh, yeah, just make it quick."

"Noted," you said, as he dashed past you and to the closet. He pulled out a pair of brown corduroy slacks and slid them on- And struggled. He jumped up and down, trying to pull them up as fast as he could. He did get them up, but once he started to zip them, you could clearly see that the zipper had absolutely no intention of budging over the little roll circling your husband's waist.

Vincent's eyes widened. His face paled. "No- No way- There's no way that I actually-" He began pulling furiously at the zipper. "Oh, no, no, no- Fuck me..."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to approach him. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"

He looked up at you, his blanched face quickly flushing to pink, from shock to embarrassment. He shifted his body away from you and hid his zipper with one hand. "Yeah. Great. So great. Why don't you get started on breakfast?"

Hesitantly, you left the room. You went to the kitchen, reheated some leftovers from the cruise (you had absolutely nothing in the fridge since you were gone for so many months), and placed the makeshift breakfast on the table.

A loud thud against the wall was heard, followed by a "Shit!"

Your heart sank as you started to worry. "Vincent?" you called. There was no response.

Cautiously, you went back to the bedroom and lingered in the doorway. Nothing. You checked the bathroom, and found your husband gaping at himself in the mirror, both hands deep in his hair as he breathed shakily. On the floor behind him were two other pairs of pants and button-down shirts.

"Vince?" you asked softly.

He turned to you, and you saw that he was wearing white pants and a matching button-down. These pants, like the other pair you’d watched him put on, could only get about halfway-zipped before refusing to move further. As for his shirt, it was totally unbuttoned.

"I-I can't get the shirt closed," he admitted, total panic and shame written on his face. He looked so helpless. "Can you please try?"

He almost never, ever asked for help, for anything; he was clearly freaking out. You wanted to help, but you winced as you stared at the outfit. "Vince… That isn't going to-"

"Please?"

You hated disappointing him, so you reluctantly gave it a try. You took hold of both sides of the shirt and tried pulling them towards each other. The sides almost met- But didn't. You could feel Vincent cringe silently as you tugged harder.

You very nearly got the middle button through its designated hole, but there was still a centimeter of space that separated them. You probably could have pulled it through, but it definitely would have ended up popping off. You gave up, and apologetically clasped your hands. "Sorry, honey, but you're a little too big for this to fit you anymore."

He gulped. "I'm… I'm what?" His voice immediately turned raspy, like he might cry. "But- But I can't fit into any of my other formal wear- And my show's almost starting- What am I gonna do?"

Your mind raced for a good answer while Vincent looked like he was on the verge of a catastrophic meltdown.

"Okay. I can go to the store, buy you a suit a few sizes bigger, and be back in twenty-five minutes-"

He shook his head, his hands flying back into his hair. "Twenty-five..? No, no, forget it. I'm already late. Oh, God, I've fucked up..."

You tried to calm him down. "Well, you do own the network, dearest. It’s gonna be fine, I mean, it’s not like you can get fired for being late to a show that you own."

"No, that's not the problem- I'm the problem- I mean, I've got this perfect image to uphold- And they'll take one look at me, and my ratings are... Gonna..." he trailed off. He looked back in the mirror, his hands sliding down from his hair to grip the sides of his face. "I won't go on TV ever again..."

You didn't mean to, but you nearly smirked. Your husband could be so very dramatic. "Ever? Hun, don't you think you're overreacting just a little tiny bit?"

But he wasn't listening to you. "Fuck- What the hell did I do to myself?"

Your almost-smirk faded. Oh, boy. "Vinny?"

"How could I let this happen to me?"

A pang of guilt suddenly struck you. Maybe if you'd said something more encouraging before, he wouldn't be panicking, wouldn't be thinking that he was 'imperfect' now.

You could see in his face, he was beginning to turn to anger. He left the bathroom and headed for the bedroom, tugging off his button-down as he did. "Fuckin' dumbass is what I am," he said, crumpling the shirt into a ball. "All-inclusive, for months- I mean, am I stupid? What did I think was gonna happen?" He threw the shirt onto the bed. "I'm such an idiot!"

Carefully, you came up behind him, and touched a hand to his back. He didn't move.

"Sweetheart?" you asked. When he still didn't respond, you circled around to his front. His head was hanging low, and his eyes were wet. He reached his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes before the tears could come out.

"I've really fucked it all up this time..."

"What, your entire career? Because of one little trip?"

"Well just look at what it did to me," he huffed. He took his glasses off and properly wiped his face. "I can't even fit in my goddamn clothes."

"So you need new clothes," you said, gingerly taking his glasses from him. "So what."

"Are you kidding me? So what?" he snapped. "So I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the talk-show hosts! Believe me, Pudgy-Whittman is gonna be every comedian's headline by this time tomorrow! And everyone will be watching that, 'cause they won't wanna watch me, 'cause I only get views 'cause I'm eye-candy! 'Cause God knows my content isn't fucking good enough!"

Your heart broke for him a little. Never mind how you were mentally congratulating him earlier for not being so tough on himself.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a slow breath. "I'm not hot anymore, and I'm gonna lose half my audience, and every rating I've scraped for is gonna tank..."

You took his hand off his face. "No, baby, no. You've got everything all wrong." You sat him down on the edge of the bed, seating yourself beside him. A tear finally made it down his cheek, and before he could turn his face to hide it from you, you reached over and wiped it away. "Audiences watch you because you're good at what you do. You won't lose views because of this. Trust me."

He looked at you with those big, mismatched eyes of his. "You promise?"

"I do," you said, caressing his cheek. "And anyway... You are still just as hot, you know."

Slowly, he leaned down to rest his head against your shoulder. "You promise?" he asked again.

You broke into a smile, and you kissed his forehead. "I promise, baby." You interwove your fingers with his. "You're way too hard on yourself, Vincent. I wish you'd lighten up."

Your husband made a quiet whimper as he nestled into the crook of your neck. "Just... Tell me I'm good enough."

You leaned your face against his. "Well, of course you are."

He sighed in relief. He made a little sniffle, and then bashfully pulled his arm around you. "Where would I be without you?"

You chuckled. "I dunno. Losing your shit, probably."

He made a tiny scoff. God, he was so precious. If any of his viewers out there really wouldn't be able to see that, they'd have to be insane.

"Listen," you said, "I can get you something to wear for tomorrow, but today, you're already really late, and I can't get you anything before your show. And I don't want you up there performing your devil-may-care act anyway, when you're not in a solid emotional state. So why don't I call and tell them you won't be able to make it?"

He didn't respond. "Hm? Vinny, my love? We'll just take the day off. We can actually have that last-hurrah of romance we wanted last night. Only this time we don't fall asleep."

He huffed, reluctantly taking his head off your shoulder. "Okay."

-📺

You made the three-minute call out in the living room, and came back to find Vincent lying face-down on the bed. This time, you really did smirk.

"Vinny," you snickered, hopping onto the bed and kneeling beside his face. "Aw, my darling husband." You ran your fingers through his hair. You gently tugged at a zig-zagging, silver cowlick that stood out in the wrong direction, towards the back of his head.

You had always absolutely loved his hair, you found it fascinating to look at. Back when you met him, he’d been insecure about his gray hairs, but you’d been able to convince him it was beautiful. Maybe you'd be able to convince him he was beautiful now, too.

"Your darling husband feels like trash," he mumbled into the mattress.

You chuckled at his third-person narrative. "Poor baby… Does he need kisses?"

"……......Yes."

He turned his face to the left, and that was obviously supposed to be an invitation for you to kiss him. You couldn’t hide your smile.

You kissed his temple, then his cheek, then his jawline, then the corner of his mouth. He blinked a little, like that had tickled him.

“Did that help?”

“Mm. A little.”

You patted your lap. “Come here.”

He sighed, and he pulled his head up to rest it on your thighs. He settled in your lap, his cheek smushed up against your leg. You ran your finger down his shoulder, gently, like you were petting a dove. “What’s bothering you?”

He squeezed your knee. “I just… I just really liked being hot. I don’t wanna be chubby.”

“But you can be both, darling.”

“M-mm. The world won’t agree with you when I go on tomorrow.” He groaned softly. “I know they're gonna tear me to shreds for this. I know they are.”

“No, they’re not,” you said. “But if anyone does- I’ll just kill them. Okay? How's that sound?”

His eyes widened. He turned his face so that he was looking up at you. “Really? You would do that for me?”

You pushed back the brown strands of hair that hung above his eyebrows. “Of course, sweetheart. They badmouth you one time, and I promise you'll be reading their obituary in two days.”

His green eye was contrasting brilliantly with his blue, in the light of the morning sunshine. A small, crooked smile appeared on his face. "That's so sweet of you."

"You know me," you hummed cheerfully. You kissed his forehead.

Thoughtfully, he turned his head so that his cheek was resting against your leg again. "Hm. I guess they can say whatever they want about me if it means they’ll end up six feet under.”

“That’s the spirit, Vinny.”

“Can I pick where to bury them?”

“Yes, darling.”

Hey guys, hope you liked it! Btw, to those who voted for the chubby!Vox fic instead, it's here in case you missed it :3

Y'all asked for more chubby!Vox, and so you shall receive more chubby!Vox! (To those of you who were asking for chubby!Vincent, dw, I'm working on him too >:))

Once again, heavilyyyy inspired by artworks from @candysignal <3

Summary: Vox's body image issues persist, but Reader's unwavering loyalty coaxes him back into his self-confidence (and cockiness).

*Gn!Reader is one of the Vees, Poly!Vees implied but not explicit*

CW: Angst, ✨drama✨, and finally fluff (with a side of making out)

TW: Themes of depression & coping/eating disorders, dysmorphia, fatphobic comments, one allusion to self-harm, damn y/n is dangerously close to an OC in this smh

Failure.

Loser.

That's what stuck in Vox's head after he'd lost to Alastor, and lost his ratings, lost his body, and even lost the Might of Lilith... It all hit him much harder than he wanted anyone else to realize. But once Val finally reattached his head, Vox's new lack of drive consequentially made him gain weight- And he hated that. He stayed in his room 24 hours a day, and never let anyone in. Not one soul had seen him in over two months - Except you.

He trusted you.

You were the only one that he knew for certain wouldn't judge him. And would comfort him when he was down. And, for that matter, would withstand him being a jerk when he was in a mood.

The first time he let you in, you successfully soothed his self-loathing tantrum. And that made you think that he was going to let you help him out of his depression, and that he'd attend the Overlord meeting that was more than a month away.

~

Well... More than a month had passed, and the meeting was this evening. And the only thing about your boyfriend that was any better was the scar encircling his neck.

"Babe, come on," you said, your arms folded over your chest, "It's been months. You have got to leave this room."

Vox was leaning against the fridge, sipping on a strawberry smoothie as he stared at you with dead eyes and a cocked eyebrow. His overall emotional state had actually worsened over the last few days, and you assumed it was directly linked to this week's events (He tried to work off his added weight by working out for ten minutes a day, became annoyed when there were no results in two days, gave up, and subsequently hit the fast food even harder).

He slowly stirred his smoothie with his straw. "Aaaand do what?" he asked, his voice dripping with cynicism. You braced for moodiness.

"Come with me to the Overlord meeting."

He outright laughed. "Yeah-ha-ha- Right."

"Well- Why not?" you pressured.

He gestured at himself. "C'mon- Like I'd embarrass myself by going out there looking like this." He'd refused to update his closet to a size that actually fit him, and had stubbornly stuck to all his old clothes. The Jaws t-shirt he was wearing was already skin-tight back when he'd been as skinny as a pencil; now it was stretched to its limit, and unable to hide the lowest portion of his tummy. His shark sweatpants were similarly stretched around his waist.

"You've used that excuse for weeks," you countered. "Vox, you've gotta get back on the horse."

"So everyone can see what a big fat failure I am? Yeah, great idea, Y/n," he muttered, his right antenna twitching irritably. "The horse is dead, alright? Quit asking me to go to the meeting." He moved past you to toss his smoothie in the garbage. He missed, and the remaining pink liquid spilled out of the cup and onto the tile floor. He groaned.

You scoffed at him. "What do you mean dead?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I mean I gave working out a shot. Did it work? Pfft, no. In fact, somehow, I look fuckin’ worse than I did four days ago. Why? Fuck if I know."

You tried to reason with him. "Well... Maybe your body-type just doesn't lose weight that easily. But you can't just stay in here forever because of that."

His eyes widened, like he was seeing something in the distance. "Yeah… Maybe it is my body-type... Maybe I should detach my head again."

You blinked. "I'm sorry? What?"

“But this time, I'll switch my body, and not my head. I'll start over- A clean slate,” he said, a small, delusional smile on his face. “Like this never even happened.”

"What?" you asked again, still shocked by his suggestion.

"Why not? It would make everything easier," he said, and touched a hand to his scar. His left eye started to spiral at his thoughts. "The stitches aren't totally healed yet, so my neck should be easier to separate than-"

"Vox, stop it!" you shouted, snatching his hand away from his throat. "Just listen! There's nothing wrong with the way you look now. You have got to stop being so superficial towards yourself. Okay?" you said, your voice softening at the end. "C'mon. Don't you care what I think? 'Cause... What I think is that there's just more of you to love."

He looked shocked, and he blinked, his eyes finally focusing back on you again, like this was the first time he'd seen you all day.

You squeezed his hand. "I-I just want you back. With me, and Val, and Velvette. Back in the world again. Back to acting the way you always do... Please. We miss you," you said. "Just come with us tonight."

Vox's mouth tightened. "I... Can't. I can't do that. I'm..." He stepped back, "I'm not ready yet, Y/n."

At least you tried.

You flexed your jaw. "I thought you might say that," you said, letting go of his hand. "Okay... Well... I have to go get ready. Velvette has some new outfits she wants me to try on, and you know how long her little sessions can take."

Vox rubbed his shoulder, his gaze faltering to the floor. "Mhm. Yeah."

-📺

On your right, Val leaned back in his chair, alternating between taking long drags of his smoke and sips of his whiskey. He wasn't paying attention to Carmilla's rants, either. Beside him, Velvette scrolled on her phone, as usual.

Everything was almost normal, except...

You turned to your left and stared at the vacant seat that separated you from Alastor. This meeting wouldn't have been so boring, if Vox were here.

You glanced at the clock. You could swear the minute hand was still where it was ten minutes ago.

Can she just wrap this up already?

"It seems like we're boring the Vees," Carmilla commented. The three of you glanced up.

"Oh, no, mi amor," Val answered cynically, "It's just that we've all got shit we'd rather be doing than sitting here and listening to you yap for, like, an hour."

"Ustedes ya me tienen harta," she replied under her breath. "Alright, fine. I know you three had something you wanted to announce. Now's your chance."

You bit your lip, the guilt crawling up your spine.

When you told the other two that Vox had declined the invitation to tonight's meeting, they'd sprang on you the idea of officially dropping the tech aspect of the Vees, and simply keeping the social media, fashion, and porn. Voxtek was failing, and they just couldn't afford to keep the dead weight of Vox's part of the business anymore.

You'd gone against it, but they wouldn't budge on the issue. As Velvette had said, "Your boy-toy has been doing way too little for way too many months."

Val took a sip from his glass. Vel put down her phone, leaned forward, and cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, we're dropping the-"

The double-doors to the room swung open with a thwack, and you couldn't help but jump in your seat. Everyone turned to see the source of the noise.

Val spat out his drink, spraying and totally drenching Zestial from across the table. Zestial grimaced, but Val didn't notice, and he barely managed to choke out one singular word- "Papi?!"

And there he was- the TV demon himself- all cleaned-up in nice, well-fitted clothes adjacent to his usual color scheme; His button-down was white, his bowtie was red, his pants were navy, and his shark-tailed coat was blue- He'd even made the new addition of black suspenders. And he was once again wearing his dumb little hat.

Damn... He looked good in that outfit.

"Sorry I'm late," he said casually, walking over towards your side of the table. "I had to fix up a few things at Voxtek first."

"Vox," Carmilla addressed him hesitantly, "You look... Different."

"It's the suspenders, right?" he said sarcastically. He gave a little shrug. "You know, sometimes when you fail to take over heaven, you gotta shake things up a little. New look, new me."

You beamed at him, but Alastor couldn't help bursting into snickers.

Vox raised an eyebrow. "You got shit to say to me, Alastor?"

The radio demon covered his mouth to try to suppress his cackles. "No, no- No, not at all- Widescreen!"

A few giggles were heard in the room, and Vox stepped back. "Val, honey, I'm gonna borrow this," he said, plucking the cigarette from the moth demon's hand and then taking a long drag out of it.

"Oh, good lord!" Alastor wiped a tear from his eye. "Holy fuck! I mean, this genuinely must be the most embarrassing defeat in the history of h-"

Vox slowly blew the red smoke into Alastor's face, who immediately stopped talking and began hacking up a lung. More giggles came from the Overlords.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who's thought of doing that," Vox smirked as he handed Val back his smoke. His gaze drifted over to you for a moment, and he sent you a little wink. Immediately, your cheeks burned, and butterflies erupted in your stomach - This fuckin' idiot still had you wrapped around his finger, and he knew it.

Carmilla was unamused. "Are the Vees ready to make their announcement, or are we going to continue this interruption?"

Velvette was still blinking back her surprise. "Uh- Well- We were considering some power shifts at V Tower, since Voxtek hasn't been doing-"

"Oh, come on," Vox interrupted, leaning down and slinging his arms around Valentino's and Velvette's necks. "I take a sabbatical for three months, and you guys can't pick up the slack? You guys aren't that useless without me, are ya?"

The question was rhetorical, and you could tell it was a bit of a threat as well, judging by how he was digging his metal claws into the other V's shoulders.

"'Cause I just got our ratings soaring again, in a single afternoon."

Valentino tilted his head. "Well... Uh... Never mind, I guess."

Carmilla sighed. "Great. Meeting adjourned."

The Overlords all began to stand up, gather their things, and exit. Vox let go of Val and Vel. "Why don't you two go on ahead? I need to have a word alone with Y/n."

The two other Vees made some kind of comment, but you weren't listening. You were just trying to hide the fact that your face was undoubtedly blushing like crazy.

You stayed seated in your chair, with Vox standing beside you. Soon, it was just you and him.

And Alastor, for some reason.

Your boyfriend drummed his claws against the table. "Are you waitin' for a personal invitation to leave or somethin'?"

Alastor's smug smile remained ever-present. "Oh, I just wanted to get a better look at the face- And body- Of failure."

Vox snorted. "Well. Can you hurry up? I'm trying to have a moment here with Y/n."

Alastor's smile didn't fade- It never faded- But it lost its smugness, and became a bit more confused. His left ear twitched. "What, can't you handle some witty banter anymore, old pal?"

Vox placed his hand in his pockets. "That's just it- It's old. And I've outgrown you now, Alastor."

Alastor's head tilted at an inhuman angle. "Yes, it seems there's a couple of things you've outgrown."

You stood out of your chair and finally intervened. "Will you leave him alone already?!" you snarled, glaring daggers at the deer-themed Sinner. "What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Rudolph?"

Alastor's smile only stretched wider.

Vox slid his hand around your waist. "He's just looking for attention. Don't mind him."

Alastor, realizing the game was up, made a huff, and his staff made some angry feedback. "I'll be seeing you around, Widescreen."

"Yeah, probably," Vox answered, barely even listening. He was busy getting lost in your eyes.

Your blush returned. As soon as the door closed behind Alastor, you spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Using the hand on your waist, Vox smoothly pulled you in close. "I had a little confidence boost."

You steadied a hand against his chest. "Oh, you did?"

"Mhm," he said, placing his other hand on your waist as well. "That thing you said- That there's just more of me to love? Yeah, I thought that was really friggin' sweet. I don't know if you noticed, but you had me blushing like an idiot."

"I'm glad," you chuckled. "Thanks for showing up."

"Nah, it was time for me to get off my ass. And I should be thankin' you, anyway," he said, and he gave your waist an affectionate little squeeze. "So, thanks. For loving me when I was... Ya know... Kinda-sorta at my all-time lowest."

"Always," you answered. You reached up to pinch the corner of his screen. "Hey, are you alright?"

He scoffed. "What, with Alastor and his little comments? Yeah, it's whatever. I'm over him."

You smiled. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Finally takin' that advice you gave me and not caring what anyone thinks of me."

You traced the shiny edge of his screen with a finger. "About time one of the most powerful Sinners in hell didn't give a fuck."

He raised an eyebrow. "I might be the most powerful Sinner in hell, actually."

You squinted. "Why the cockiness?"

"It's not cockiness, it's just a fact, you know, since size is power."

You tried to restrain a laugh. "You're such an idiot."

He gave a little smile. "What, you didn't like my joke? I th- Mm!"

You shut him up and pressed your mouth against his. Slowly, your lips parted as you pulled back. "Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?"

Vox's screen glitched momentarily from your praise, and when his face reloaded, his brightness was on high. "Ha. Nooo... But maybe you can show me?" he asked, in a way that was both sly and pleading.

You grinned, and you guided him so that his back was against the wall. You kissed him again, this time sliding your tongue against his lower lip. He opened his mouth and whined, practically begging you to tongue-fuck him.

You heard violent knocking on the door, and the two of you stopped cold. You peered through the glass doors and found Val and Vel glaring at you.

"Que carajos estan haciendo?!"

Vox's face nearly blinded you from its level of brightness. "Have you two been watching this whole time?! I thought I told you to leave!"

"We haven't seen you in three months, V, and we've got shit to talk about!" Velvette hissed. "So get your fat ass out here now!"

Vox sent you a look. "I thought you said they missed me."

You snickered. "They did, this is just how they show it," you said, kissing his cheek.

*reluctant sigh*

*scrolls back up*

I need every single person to understand how horrible tumblr’s tagging system is

I go into the tag for epilepsy and its all flashing lights. We can’t use our own tag because people without epilepsy fill it up with improper warnings.

Use ‘flashing’ in place of ‘epilepsy’ in your tags. You aren’t warning people of epileptics, you’re warning us of flashing lights. Please please tag properly. Epileptics say this endlessly and constantly and it’s ignored. You are risking lives by doing this.

Here’s proof of what I mean:

Thanks for the idea, @sleepyandstubbornarchivist!

POV: You're celebrity Vincent Whittman's best friend and makeup artist... And you've secretly been in love with him for years. But the only way you and he could possibly have a romance is in another life... Or afterlife.

Genre: Will-they-won't-they yaoiiii, mlm yearning, star-crossed lovers with a happy ending

CW: Suggestive language, innuendos, kissing

"Shouldn't you be a girl?"

The random question from your crush sounded more like an intrusive thought than a real question, and you burst into a confused laugh. You lowered the foundation brush from his face, in disbelief. "Come again?"

Vincent leaned back in his makeup chair, gesturing briskly at you as you sat in front of him. "Well, Y/n, your profession is makeup..."

"Hm," you hummed, swirling the brush back into the foundation. You weren't sure if he was attempting to insult you.

"...And makeup is for girls," he concluded.

"Right," you replied, arching an eyebrow. "And which one of us is wearing the makeup, dumbass?"

His expression quickly faltered from cocky to slighted. "Well-"

You couldn't help smirking at how fragile his masculinity was. "Come back here, I'm not done yet," you interrupted, and you beckoned him with a finger.

Defeated, he leaned forward again. "By the way," you clarified, "There's more men who work this job than ladies. So, there."

He made a snicker. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

"It's true."

"I said okay!"

You rolled your eyes. "Turn to your left," you instructed. Vincent did as he was told, allowing you to drag the highlighting hue across his cheekbone. He had an incredible facial structure, which made it very easy to do your job; he'd barely needed any contouring at all. Gently, you tilted his chin upwards, so that you could start working on his jawline.

His face was turned in the direction of his vanity mirror, but his gaze wasn't fixed anywhere in particular as he began to smirk under your touch. "You've got lady's hands, anyway. They're so gentle."

You scoffed at his teasing. "I'm supposed to be gentle on your face, Whittman."

"Let me see."

"What?"

"Let me see," he said, turning back to face you. He took one of your hands in his. Smoothly, he pressed his palm up against yours to compare; Your hand was notably smaller than his. It's not like it was any surprise to you - The first time you'd seen him in real life, you'd seen how his hand would completely envelop anybody else's when shaking their hand.

He sent you a shit-eating grin. "I told you. Lady's hands."

The feeling of warmth that his fingers on your skin had given you was enough to make you clear your throat. "My hands are normal," you retorted, pulling away. "Yours, though... You're a freak of nature."

He smiled deviously, holding up his middle and index fingers. "Yeah? Well, dames really enjoy my freakiness."

You pushed his fingers down. "You're disgusting."

He threw his head back and laughed. "What? You don't like having fun?"

You blinked, trying to work out what to say. "It's just... You're very open about it. That's all."

He shrugged. "I'm a dreamboat, and I know it- Why not flaunt it?"

You snorted, and beckoned him closer once again. You went back to work on his face. "I guess that's why there's about a thousand girls in the audience tonight, huh?"

"Yeah," he responded. "Let me let you in on a secret, though."

You kept brushing his jawline, but your heart skipped a beat.

"I've never slept with an audience member I've actually fallen for. Those girls waving banners with my name on it, totally desperate for me? They're fun for a night, but nothing more than that."

You turned his face towards you as you started to brush that prominent bridge of his nose. "Your standards are a little higher than that?"

"Exactly."

"Close your eyes."

He did, allowing you to dust him right between the eyes. He chuckled.

"Tickles?"

"No," he said, "It's just that this feels very intimate. Like... This really should've been a girl's job."

"Well. If it makes you more comfortable, you can pretend that I'm a girl for a minute."

He seemed to suppress a laugh at the concept, his eyebrows knitting together. "Okay."

You'd been paying attention to his face rather than what you were doing, and you realized you'd slightly messed up the highlight of his nose. You tossed aside the brush.

"Keep 'em closed," you said, and gently slid your thumb up and down his nasal bridge. When you'd finally gotten the smoother result you wanted, you placed your hand back under his chin and studied his face. Your work was done, he was perfect.

He was perfect...

Slowly, you brought your face closer and closer to his. You were only half an inch away, and he didn't open his eyes. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed him.

And he kissed you back. Holy God, he was kissing you back.

And then he pulled away, like he'd just remembered who he was, and who you were. His eyes opened, wide with shock, his face flushed pink. "What are you doing?"

Your heart sank like a stone in a lake. "I don't know... I'm sorry."

His multicolored eyes traced over your face, seemingly searching for something. "You're..? In love with me..?"

The door of his dressing room suddenly swung open, and a young man in headphones stood over the threshold. He covered his microphone and spoke in a hushed tone. "Mr. Whittman, you're on in three!"

Vincent shook his head, trying to get his mind back together. "Okay. Thanks, Ethan."

The door closed again, leaving the two of you alone in agonizing silence for a few seconds.

You spoke first. "I should never have done that..."

Vincent blinked slowly, his eyes still wide as he tried to process his own emotions. "It's alright."

"...Especially not right before your show..."

He combed back his hair with one hand. "No, Y/n, seriously, it's fine."

You stood up from your chair. "No. I should leave. Leave the show- It's really best if I quit."

He looked up at you. "But- I won't tell anyone!"

You shook your head. "It's just too complicated now."

You turned to leave, but he stood, and his hand shot out to grab you. "Wait!"

You froze, with his hand on yours. "For what?"

"I... I don't know," he said breathlessly. "Just... Just let me think." His eyes darted from side to side as he searched his feelings. "Look, I... You're my best friend, but..."

"You don't feel the same."

"No- I would!" he huffed. "I really would, Y/n, but..." his voice faltered with longing. "I can't." You met his eyes, and they glistened with regret. "You know that."

"Yeah. I do." You gave him a small, sad smile. "Maybe in another life, Whittman."

He squeezed your hand. "Oh, God, if only one of us had been a girl, just know that I'd... I'd gladly..."

"You go on in a minute," you whispered.

He let go of you, biting his lip. "Yes... You're right." He turned to the mirror for two seconds, fixed his hair, and then left the room for the stage.

You quit the next day. You never saw him again.

-📺

Fast-forward ten years, and you're going through your first week of Hell.

Yes, actual Hell. You died. You're still grappling with that fact while you stumble into your first gay bar in the Pride Ring.

You watch a hundred other Sinners move around the dance floor, as you sink deeper into your third margarita. You then feel a tap on your shoulder.

Slowly, you register a blue hand with metallic talons resting on the sleeve of your shirt. You glance up to find a slim-bodied Sinner, with a TV for a head, smiling down at you.

"Could I get a dance with you?"

Your stomach flips - You'd never been asked out before while you were alive, but just one week in Hell, and demons were already hitting on you?

He seems so genuine and sweet, though.

You look him over for a moment before deciding on a "yes." You abandon your drink, hop off your bar stool, and allow the Sinner to lead you out to the dance floor. A pop song with a slower beat begins playing.

The demon brings your hands up to his shoulders. You let it happen, and you let him pull you in by the waist.

His pixelated face smirks at you. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

You tilt your head. "...No."

"Huh. I would think one of my oldest friends would've seen the news of how a TV fell through my skull and killed me."

Your face heats like it's on fire, as the dots connect in seconds. "Whittman?"

He chuckles. "I'm kinda jealous that you're still recognizable."

You can't help beaming at the fact you'd found him again. You don't even know where to start. Gently, you touch a hand to his box-head.

You laugh softly. "A screen for a face, huh?"

What once showed up as pink blush on his face now showed up as higher brightness on his blue screen. "Yeah, it's a little weird. But I've gotten fairly used to it."

"Hey, listen," you say, trying to get it off your chest, "I'm really sorry I left things the way I did."

"Ah, I didn't like the way I handled things, either," Vincent responds. "There were so many rules we had to follow while we were alive. But, uh, here in Hell," one of his hands slides from your waist up to your back, "There aren't really any rules."

You smile, and your arms relax around his shoulders. "So I guess this is that other life we talked about."

"I guess so," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Y'know, I've been thinking about that kiss a whole lot. And I've been thinking, I'd really like to redo it."

He doesn't need to say another word. You've both waited long enough for this moment.

Maaaaaybeeee, if you're feeling up to it, Lu having some sad time later when they get back to the hotel, feeling pathetic about it, and he needs some reassurance and cuddle time to feel better? 👀

Thank you in advance! You're the best!! ^-^

giving you a virtual forehead kiss for this request bc overlord reader x lucifer goes hard- And YES YOU GET IT PATHETIC 👏MEN 👏ON 👏TOP 👏

Teacher's Attention 🍎

Genre: Hurt with comfort. Also height difference! But Lucifer is the short one, duh

CW: Mild violence.

You'd been dating the king of hell for some time now- Long enough to know that his temper could get the best of him. But you hadn't expected it to lead to him accidentally revealing to all of hell that he couldn't hurt a single sinner...

That had serious consequences.

-🍎

The two of you were heading home from Charlie's hotel, holding hands as you walked, when you passed by a store that caught your attention.

"Check out that outfit, Lu," you said, stopping in front of the window to eye the pink-and-red striped suit on display. "The ruffles, the pants, oh, even the little bow-tie is super cute!"

Lucifer leaned his fluffy little head against your shoulder. "Yeahhh, but it'd look cuter on you, babydoll."

You smiled. "Should I get it?"

"Definitely," he said, and pressed a kiss to the side of your shoulder. You couldn't help grinning at the fact that Lucifer was so small, he didn't stand a chance of reaching your face unless you purposefully leaned down. You just couldn't resist; you leaned down and kissed his lips, and you smirked at the blush you caused him.

"You wanna see if there's something you like, too?" you asked, straightening up as you ruffled your boyfriend's hair.

"Nah, that's okay," he said, pulling your hand from his hair to kiss it, as he always did. "I'll wait out here for you."

"Okay. I'll just be a minute."

You had just picked out your correct size when you heard a pained shout. Recognizing the voice of the shout as Lucifer's, you dropped everything and dashed outside.

There he was, lying on the sidewalk in front of the store, surrounded by a circle of four demons. He'd obviously just been kicked down by them, and now the bat-winged demon among them was in the process of emptying his beer on Lucifer's head.

"If we're to have an endless existence of suffering, king, you should too," he snickered. "After all, it seems like there's no punishment for getting your attention... So there's nothing holding us back from dragging your royal ass all the way-"

None of them had noticed you, but you changed that in a second. You flung your hand out, and at once, a tornado spiraled around Lucifer, just missing him, but sweeping up the four sinners into its winds. You held them suspended in the air, ten feet above the ground.

"If you ever lay a hand on him again, I'll get you a one-way ticket to Cannibal Town. Understood?"

They all screamed high-pitched yeses as they were flung halfway across the pentagram. You immediately dropped to your knees to help Lucifer up.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Lucifer's snowy face was tinged golden with humiliation, but he clearly didn't want you to see.

"Yeah," he said, turning his head away from you. He readjusted his hat and tried to keep his usual jokester nature as you stood him up and brushed him off. "I just need a shower is all. Not like beer hurts or anything. I mean, hitting the ground hurt a little, but..." His voice wavered. "It was just a... A lil' tumble."

You tilted his face towards you. You rubbed some of the sticky liquid off his red cheeks. "Luci?"

His eyes were wet, and he was careful to keep them off you and on the ground. He gently pried your hands off his face. His careless facade broke, as did his voice. "Can we just go home, please?"

You nodded silently, and you brought your arm around him protectively. You glanced over your shoulder and spotted a couple more sinners pointing and laughing. Lucifer tensed under your touch, gently pushed you away, and hurried his pace so that he was walking ahead of you. He clearly was too proud to be seen being protected.

-🍎

You locked the front door behind you and watched Lucifer strip off his hat and coat, placing both on his coatrack.

"Do you need anything from me?" you asked him softly.

He'd already started towards the stairs. "No... I just want to clean up. I'm fine, really."

You caught up to him, snatched his hand and pulled him towards you. "Lucifer."

He finally made eye-contact with you for the first time in ten minutes. His eyes were so shiny with hurt, but he was still fighting it. You ruffled his hair once again and pulled him in.

"It's okay. I'm here."

He finally let go of his pride and wrapped his arms around you tightly. He rested his cheek against your chest as his tears finally came down. "They're right about me," he said. "I'm weak... And I can't do anything right."

"You're really gonna listen to the words of a few sinners?"

"It's not just them," he said, his voice starting to sound stuffy. "The angels said so, too... And they were right."

You pulled him off your chest and tilted his chin up. "You're not weak. They stripped you of your defenses."

"Semantics," he huffed. "I'm still the most vulnerable person in hell."

"Not if you let me help you," you said. A tear rolled over the red circle of his cheek, but you wiped it away. "There's nothing weak about asking for help. Okay? You and me together- We're unstoppable, you know?"

He gave you a lopsided smile. "Thanks." He pressed a kiss to the wrist of the hand you had on his cheek. "I mean it. Thanks."

"You're welcome." You pecked his forehead. "Listen, after your shower, why don't we get in bed, eat some junk food, watch some stupid rom-coms... Call it a day?"

He finally gave you a real smile. "Actually... They just adapted The Great Quacksby into a movie... Can we watch that?"

You couldn't help giggling at his request. "Of course, my little duckie."

Hiiii hope you enjoyed the duck fluff!

-Jack <3

PS, Nerd Dump: