Okay totally not self indulgent... I would write it myself but I am more curious how you would do it 👀 (besides writer's block.... Save me)
Alastor x a modern overlord or sinner... Like she is an associate of Velvette and they spend time together so Alastor first saw her while he was captive and was super duper nice to him out of respect since she has such principles
Now here comes the twist...
Vox and Valentino were trying to get her to join them in a polycule but she just... Thinks they're too much
She prefers quiet and was despite being "a child of modernity" (as in born ~2000s) and has always enjoyed vintage stuff
It's mostly Vox x Reader x Alastor
(I am making a Hazbin OC atm and this was one of the core concepts pfft I thought it'd be generally fun tho to read ^^)
➺ Summary: Vox tries his best to seduce you; he didn't expect that his prisoner, Alastor, the one he displayed to show his power, would be the greatest threat to his plan.
➺ Warning: None, modern!Reader
➺ Author’s note : Writer's block is the WORST. I hope you manage to overcome it! Personally, what I like to do is recharge and find inspiration in music, TV series, or simply by reading the beautiful works of talented authors on Tumblr! You'll get through this Queen!! I have faith in you!! AND Happy New Year to you 🩷! It reminds me of my OC Hazbin, whom I created for an RP, a well-known celebrity who works with Velvette and is from Gen Z. It made me laugh when you suggested your request because I really thought we shared the same braincells 😭 I went to read some fanfics on Vox to see how the community perceived him, and I think the authors have made me develop a mild obsession with this character—help me I can’t deal with two obsessions in the same time 💀 I hope I have met your expectations, enjoy! English isn't my native language, so I apologise for any mistakes. I'll do my best to make it enjoyable to read!
“He’s killed several more of our models! The show’s in two hours!” Velvette yells from the other end of your phone. “VAL FUCKING HELL I FORBID YOU TO DIRTY MY STUDIO!”
You’re on a video call with your business partner, putting the finishing touches on the dresses on the models, who are miraculously still alive thanks to these last-minute adjustments. You push your glasses back up your nose as they keep slipping down from leaning over the beaded fabric. They’re mostly just comfort glasses, given how much time you have to spend handling such tiny, pearly fragments to sew. You hum quietly as Velvette complains about Valentino’s outbursts his anger at Vox for his obsession with Alastor, and for killing her models. But she’s also angry at Vox for his behind-the-scenes machinations, trying to eclipse them from their big projects.
“Are you even listening to me?” Velvette stops when she notices you're still sewing.
“Of course I am, but I can't stop working. I have to finish this before the show, unless you want me to make no progress?” You raise an eyebrow, making your point.
She was about to reply when you heard a gunshot from your phone's speaker. Velvette yelled at Valentino and hung up without giving you time to fully grasp what was happening, but you already had a sense of what must be going on. You sighed softly, straightening your back, which ached from being bent forward. You met the gazes of your models, their eyes almost brimming with gratitude. They must be relieved to be with you and not up on a floor above, risking their lives.
“Let's not waste any time. We only have two hours to make this show perfect…as perfect as it can be.”
They nod vigorously, the delicate, crackling sound of music from an old radio accompanying your meticulous movements against the dresses that cling to the figures of your models. The elevator chimes with its characteristic little noise; you hope it's not Valentino, you don't know if you'll be able to protect these poor girls from his fiery wrath. To your relief, it's only Vox, strutting out of the monochrome elevator cabin accompanied by his scarlet "guest" in a desk chair, with an inverted smile on his gag. Vox spreads his arms wide, like the undisputed master of this space. He approaches you, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Doll, just the person I wanted to see." the television mogul exclaims.
"And here I am, still on my floor."
You remove Vox's hand from your hip and guide it to your neck, sore from exertion. He chuckles at your boldness but agrees to massage your shoulders nonetheless. Your eyelids flutter slightly, a sigh of relief escapes your lips, satisfying as your muscles relax and knots unravel under his expert touch. His private sessions with Valentino have a few perks you're ready to take advantage of.
"What can I do for you?" you ask, your head resting against his chest, savoring the massage.
"I was thinking you could join me for dinner tonight and then…" His voice is deep and suggestive as he leaves you in suspense about what he'll say next. "You could join me and Val for…you know…a little fun."
His long claws caress your neck before gently tapping against your shoulder in time with the syllables. You swear you could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, even though he wasn't breathing; a warmth still coursed through the skin exposed by your dress. You tilted your face so you could look at him despite the uncomfortable position it forced you into. His grip on your shoulder tightened—out of need, possessiveness, or perhaps fear that you would refuse? But was he afraid of your rejection, or of how it would make him look in front of his eternal rival, who watched the scene with a bored frown? You could almost imagine him falling asleep from sheer boredom.
"A meal seems perfectly acceptable."
Vox smiled triumphantly, content for the moment with your acceptance of a simple meal. He would have the opportunity to persuade you to accept his little proposition for a more intimate evening later that night, over a good meal, thanks to his exceptional charm. His fingers trace a path along your arms, as if he's trying to leave his mark on you, to make you feel his presence like a promise of what might develop between you, of what his fingers can accomplish. You breathe out softly, a silent exhalation barely audible, not that he's paying attention. Vox is already moving away, phone in hand, while Velvette's voice resonates through the speakerphone. It seems Val still hasn't calmed down.
"Doll, I'll be right back, I have some urgent matters to…attend." The last word comes out emphatically, almost too controlled.
"Oh, but—" the rest of your sentence dies on the tip of your tongue as Vox disappears in a flash of electricity into the camera in the corner of your creative space.
You turn slowly toward Alastor, exchanging a long, uncomfortable gaze—uncomfortable for you—unsure of what to do with him. It would be extremely impolite not to attend to your guest, to ignore him and return to finalizing the dresses on your models. You purse your lips into a thin line, resigned to delegating your tasks to your assistants. Your hesitant steps lead you to Alastor's chair, whose eyes have brightened with a renewed vivacity. You don't know what has earned you this attention, but if you've learned one thing working with the Vees, it's not to ask questions and simply accept the eccentricities that accompany their lifestyle.
"Forgive me," you murmur under your breath.
You walk around his chair, your hands resting on the back, then roll it to a quiet sitting room, far from the bustle of your design studio, which hums with the frenetic pace of the fashion show starting in an hour and a half. You position the chair around the coffee table. Your gaze falls on the gag's clasp at the back of his haircut, which in your day wouldn't have been universally admired. Nevertheless, you have to admit that it's Alastor's confident and audacious attitude that allows him to make something magnificent that wouldn't be so on most people. You hesitate for a few seconds, his ears perking slightly, awaiting your next move. Another sigh escapes you as your fingers find the clasp. Vox was going to kill you, or use this to his advantage to extract a favor, but you can't let your guest be gagged. The electric gag falls to the floor with a dull thud.
“Haha, my dear, you surprise me. I didn’t expect you to dare challenge his authority.” He crosses his legs, seemingly dominating the design studio as if it were his own, despite being tied up. “You have compassion for a captive?” He seems to mock the gullible gentleness of your gesture.
“Well, you’re not my prisoner. In that sense, you’re a guest…an unwelcome one, admittedly, but a guest nonetheless.”
Your explanation seems to amuse him greatly, his smile widening beyond the bounds of human possibility. A shiver runs down your spine; truly, only he and Vox could make that kind of smile strangely seductive. And truly, only people of your generation could find it seductive and not terrifying. You push these thoughts from your mind as you hurry to serve some biscuits while the water for the tea boils. You arrange several varieties of tea on the coffee table.
“I must admit, you have excellent taste.”
“Thank you…?” You wince as your thanks come out like a question.
But it was unexpected coming from someone…unpredictable. Perhaps you should have seen it coming. You don’t know what prompted this sudden compliment, but true to your own rule, you don’t ask any questions. Nevertheless, Alastor surveys your workshop, which is no different from anything else in the Vees’ tower: a concentration of technology, rigid angles, and monochrome colors to reflect the symbolism of unity. Yet, amidst this rigid technology, a few fragments of the past stand out, like the small radio nearby emitting a soft, crackling melody, or the record player with its impressive collection of vinyl records beside it. Or perhaps this magnificent tea set, slightly chipped, meaning you unearthed it at a flea market to find such a rare gem. You haven't succumbed to technology; you've adapted without sacrificing good taste, a truly rare quality.
"Excuse my sudden request, my dear, but would you happen to have any coffee? I'm not much of a tea drinker."
"Oh yes, forgive me. I don't often have visitors who drink coffee, so I'll go and get some right away."
You hurry to find the few varieties of coffee beans you keep on your counter, reserved for snacks for your guests. The uncertainty that knots your stomach slowly fades, giving way to a quiet comfort. Perhaps it wasn't so terrible looking after him after all? Alastor doesn't seem to be the worst sinner you've ever seen; on the contrary, he seemed quite courteous.
“Doll, I’m back! Please forgive the slight delay…”
Vox’s energetic voice slowly fades as he spots you sitting on the sofa next to Alastor, as if he’d just interrupted a pleasant moment. He hates your smile. No… he adores it. He loves your smile when it’s directed at him, when it springs from the jokes he makes specifically to make you smile. He hates that you offer that charming, delicate smile to Alastor more than anyone else! Why him?! What could he have said to brighten your usually so impassive face?! The screen of his face glitches, practically cracking as Alastor greets him with a sneering grin, delighted by the commotion in the Media Demon’s chest.
──── ✧《✩》✧ ──────── ✧《✩》✧ ──────── ✧《✩》✧ ────
The restaurant is empty, leaving only a round table with three place settings, though it could easily seat four. Vox wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the table while telling you an anecdote about Shock.wav. A soft laugh escapes your lips. The media mogul, his chest puffed out with pride, savors the twinkle in your eye. He can't help but cast a defiant glance at his scarlet rival, whose smile never fades, perfectly impervious to provocation.
Valentino pulls you away from Vox's embrace, taking advantage of his one-sided battle with the deer demon to pull out your chair and sit beside you, stealing the seat Vox had hoped for himself. Too bad for him; he shouldn't have indulged in such a pointless provocation.
“Mi Cariña, have I ever told you how gorgeous you’d be in one of my films? You have the body to become the biggest star.” He purrs against your hand, his lips against your knuckles, his tongue gliding along your fingers, leaving a pink trail in its wake.
“Haha…” You laugh nervously to shake off the unease in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers are sticky now, and it takes all your strength not to wrinkle your nose in disgust. “I don’t think Velvette would be a fan of this career change.”
“And neither would I,” Vox interjects.
Valentino and Vox exchange a long look; you can almost see the tension between them. It seems the worries clouding their relationship aren’t going away. You almost feel like you're holding the third wheel, just as you have a distinct feeling that tonight the walls of the Vees’ building will shake when they make up in the most brutal way possible in bed.
The waiter chosen by drawing straws by the staff approaches your table with small steps, back straight, shoulders rigid, fingers gripping the poor bound notebook that was threatening to tear. "May I take your order?" the waiter says clearly, perfectly battling his anxiety. One after the other, the two Overlords order their drinks and food, before everyone turns to you. Your eyes quickly scan the menu—which, surprisingly, has no prices, or was it just yours?—
"I'll have a non-alcoholic cocktail; the bartender's specialty seems perfectly suitable…as for the main course…" your voice trails off, leaving you to think. “I’d say a Caesar salad.”
The waiter nods and prepares to head back to the kitchen to take the orders. You frown. Wasn’t he taking Alastor’s order? How rude! He might be a prisoner, but wasn’t it a little cruel to leave him starving while the others enjoyed a delicious meal? Alastor tilts his head slightly to the side, savoring your hesitation, as if waiting to see what decision you’ll make. Which path you’ll take. Before you know it, you call out to the waiter, who freezes in his tracks, petrified by the fear of having disturbed you in some way. He’s already picturing his death and his wife becoming a widow, inconsolable.
“I’d like to change my order, please.”
“Oh…yes, of course.” The waiter relaxes.
But what else could you order? What kind of dish would Alastor possibly like? You have no idea! All you know is his fondness for a specific type of coffee and that he doesn't seem to have much of a sweet tooth. Thoughts race through your mind, and you feel embarrassment rising as everyone watches you ponder your new order. You curse under your breath. Oh well, you have to rely on the rumors on Demon Radio. He's a cannibal, so a meat dish, a ribeye steak, is the simplest and most effective choice. But then you remember he's the legend who terrorized New Orleans in the 1930s, so perhaps he'd want something that reminds him of his past? Vox raises an eyebrow at your growing uncertainty over a simple dish, a confusion that also affects Valentino, who leans back in his chair, arms crossed.
“Gumbo and jambalaya…please,” you finally managed to say, your voice faltering with each syllable, unlike Alastor’s chuckles.
You shot a bitter look in the direction of the scarlet demon, almost doubled over with laughter. Oh Lord, you were as predictable as you were cute. All that attention so he wouldn’t be the only one without a meal, drawing on his human origins to feed him, just to be sure one of the two dishes suited his tastes.
“You must be starving, Mi Cariña. But save room for dessert tonight,” Valentino purred in a velvety voice.
As usual in these situations with Valentino, you simply laughed to dispel the unease creeping under your skin, as he leaned forward toward you, his gaze intense. Sometimes, the butterfly demon gave you the ick; you just couldn’t help it. He could be a decent person sometimes, but other times he was just…so intense.
After about ten minutes, the plates were placed on the silky white tablecloth. Two plates lay before you. Now, the big question was: how was Alastor going to eat? He was still tied up, his arms bound to his body. Your lips tightened into a thin line as you dared to look at him again. He still had that provocative glint in his eyes, daring you to follow through. Vox would never agree to release him, even for a few minutes. You were left with only one option. Your chair scraped against the restaurant floor, the subtle movement you hoped would be discreet attracting the attention of your two colleagues. You moved slightly closer to Alastor, presenting him with the two plates for him to choose from. He indicated the Jambalaya with his chin, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. God…why create something so evil yet so beautiful at the same time? How can you resist temptation? You're just a girl…a girl who's read far too many stories about monsters and demons. Authors have sins on their hands for creating such fantasies in their readers.
You bring a spoon to his lips; he opens them, offering you his mouth to feed him. You squint, trying to convince yourself that you absolutely disapprove of the mocking pleasure shining in his red irises. It's as if a thick tension has formed around you, your eyes unable to look away, your bodies leaning towards each other. Valentino was enjoying the spectacle as if he were finally watching an episode of a Korean drama where the main couple finally takes the plunge and holds hands. But for Vox, it's a pure nightmare; the scene is far more explicit in his mind than the reality of the events. He violently thrusts between you two, pulling Alastor's chair away from the table before he can even take a bite.
"Vox!" You cry out, along with Valentino, but not for the same reasons.
"Absolutely not, doll! No, no, no, I refuse! This must not happen and it never will!"
"Vox! He is a guest, he's not going to stand here and watch us!"
"Correction, my dear, he's a captive."
"Your captive." You correct him in turn. "But he's my guest."
"Absolutely out of the question!"
"Vox, don't be stubborn."
"Oh, don't look at me with those eyes, I won't budge."
He crosses his arms under his chest, facing your death stare. Seconds ticked by, the silence seemed to drag on and become unbearable. Neither of you seemed ready to break this silent battle; you both wanted to assert your point: his ego, and you, respect.
But in the end, Alastor enjoyed a delicious meal and Vox couldn't resist you.
