Everyone Says That Val Is A Drama Queen

Everyone says that Val is a drama queen

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HOW VOX ENTERS ROOMS???

Scorching.

Heat, all you could feel was heat.

Everywhere in your body - hot, it was all around you in the forms of sweat and heavy breaths mingling together, you honestly couldn't see straight anymore as Alastor continued to thrust aggressively into you, the pleasure now that painful and intense that your lust hazed mind mistook it for fire, Alastor was burning you from the inside out. 

Just like he wanted. 

"Such a good slut, I do enjoy being able to fuck. You. Stupid." His hips snapped into you with each word, the slight knot at the base of his shaft threatening to breach your tight hole, a reminder of what's to come. 

"A-Al I- Ah!" He hits your g-spot, and the words go flying out of your head as intense pleasure shoots up your spine, causing your back to arch and your toes to curl. Needing something to ground yourself, you reach behind him, digging your nails into his back and gripping hard, not caring if you broke his skin in the process. 

"Good girl- Fuck!" Biting down on his lip, the pain only motivates Alastor to go faster, rougher and deeper than he already was. Alastor loved bringing this side out of you, shaking legs pressed to your chest, your neck bent back proudly showing off his claiming marks and bites... but - the best thing was your lovely face. 

He knew every time he hit your cervix because of the way your jaw would go slack in a wordless cry and the fresh tears that would collect at your waterline, threatening to spill, he wanted no - needed to see that. So, with a new goal in mind, Alastor slides his hands down your legs to your hips and picks you up, leaning back on his haunches he grips your hips tightly and starts thrusting up deeper into you, bouncing you down onto his throbbing cock stroke for stroke. 

"Look at you pet, looking so pretty bouncing on my cock" He coos with a smug- albeit strained smirk as you were finally taking his slightly swollen knot now. Your back began to hurt with how much you were arching it, you quickly dragged your nails down Alastor’s back as a pleasure filled scream left your drooling lips, his own moans now joining yours, you finally opened your eyes from his sounds, not knowing when you closed them. 

Looking down at Alastor you couldn't help your orgasm crashing into you at the sight of him- eyes half shut with a pleasured frown, blood dripping down his chin with how hard he was biting on his lip. He moans out at the near painful way you fluttered and clenched around him, your cunt trying to pull him in and milk him for all that he was worth, his claws on your hips now drawing blood.

Alastor pins you back onto the bed and begins to thrust into you desperately. Now wanting to chase his own orgasm Alastor momentarily forgets about his strength, beginning to abuse your cervix as you begin to scream out in pleasure filled pain from the stretch of his swelling knot. 

"Come on, my love, you can take it." He pants out and with a few more uncoordinated thrusts, Alastor slams into you- forcing his thick knot into your throbbing cunt and stills, not realizing that he's knocked the wind out of you from the intensity of his strong thrusts. The feeling of him pulsating and twitching inside you sends you into another orgasm - you grip the sheets, entire body locking up with how intensely painful the pleasure was, Alastor's abdomen pressing and rubbing on your sensitive clit not helping. 

"See? I knew you could take all of me, little pet~" 

You look up at him with a glare, trembling lips starting to pout as he laughs at your reaction. 

Hehe, enjoy this (I wrote it half asleep during a work morning, so please don’t judge me).

What if it'll never be enough for Vox? He has his closest friends, the Vees; he has fame; power; money; and everything he could want. But . . . Would the Vees have been his friends if it weren't for them being business associates? Would Hell still adore him if he hadn't used his hypnosis? Would anyone still love him? Would anyone still need him? Would anyone still want him? What if all of Vox's past relationships were filled with heartbreak and abandonment? What if nothing fills the void? What if he'll forever remain unsatisfied? What if nothing will be enough? What if he won't be enough? What if one day he'll be an old, useless product that no one wants or needs and that's why he constantly needs to change and upgrade? What if he thought Alastor could've fixed all that pain? Maybe he could have, but what if Vox had gone at it the wrong way? Because romance is always treated like something above all other feelings, what if he thought he could finally be loved and never abandoned by Alastor? What if he confessed and Alastor was scared and hurt by the fact? What if Alastor did love him but didn't want or have experience with romance? What if Vox took that as he'd be incapable of being loved?

Follow up idea to the person who suggested that lovely birthday doodle request,, Reader who can draw proficiently as a hobby and often sketches folks at the hotel in their sketch book. Alastor is a bit offended that no matter what it seems as though he’s no where in this book, when they retire for the night he brings it up almost as if he’s jealous and they laugh at him. He’s upset because now he feels as though they are making fun of him until they retrieve another book and turns out they draw him in privacy (he’s so special he has his own book) It’s so cute too theres little heart doodles and them holding hands everywhere

Darling, how can I say no to 1) you *handheart* and 2) to such a cute pürompt? Make way, guys, gals and non-binary pals, here comes the fluff-queen!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Pictures of You

“ME NEXT! ME NEXT!” You tugged your sketchbook out of Niffty's small but surprisingly strong fingers. The little demon giggled and almost fell from your shoulder, making you laugh.

“Niff, any more doodles of you and I'd have to pay you royalties. Also, Angel asked first.”

You grinned, turning another page of the thick binder to an empty canvas and twirled the coal pen in your hand. Husk had just involuntarily changed his sleeping position from 'face in hands' to 'face on counter', groaning at the impact, so you wanted to start anew. Niffty resumed to braid your hair – you often let her just do what she wanted, she had a knack for it anyways – and huffed. “You only want to draw him because he can do impossible poses.” “Well, he is flexible.”

“Comes with the job, sweet cheeks.” Angel, who had entered through the door, grinned at you, taking his pink heart-shaped sunglasses off while he walked behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Aw, toots, you really are talented, Husky looks like a snack there. Can I have that when 'ya done?”

“Have what, my effeminate fellow?” Angel jumped as Alastor materialized behind him without warning, releasing a startled 'Jesus Christ on a cracker!' while his lower set of arms clung onto your tensed shoulders. The radio demon laughed heartily, bending over slightly to look past Angel's head. He craned his neck and reached with his cane, forcing you to lean sideways so he could examine what you were drawing.

You flinched at the contact with the strangely warm metal, but didn't look up from the page. You only gripped the black coal tighter, feeling it beginning to crack. Alastor hummed in what sounded almost fond praise, giving a brief tap to Husk's shape on the paper.

"Marvelous! What a talent you have." he proclaimed. "Although I have to ask again, my dear, how come you never draw me? Surely I could..."

You lifted a finger, face scrunched up in concentration and shook your head, eyes firmly on the almost finished sketch. Alastor clicked his tongue in a displeased way, clawed fingers impatiently tapping the microphone at the end of his cane.

"Really, dearest. I have a great interest for-"

"Hold on!"

"-a unique idea of the possibilities-"

"Done!"

As you finished, you stretched your cramped hand, setting down the charcoal on the armrest of the red plush sofa and rubbing your fingers to get rid of the black stains. You ripped the paper out of the sketchbook and handed it to Angel, carefully avoiding Alastors burning eyes and ignoring the angry static pops sizzling on your skin.

"There you go, Ange. You can lock it in with a little coat of hairspray, otherwise it will smudge easily."

You hastily stood up, letting Niffty tumble down your back onto the sofa with a wild giggle while you quickly assembled your things. You saw Alastor open his mouth and interrupted whatever speech he might've wanted to deliver you, your heart racing and mouth unusually dry.

"Oh, would you look at the time, I promised Charlie to get laundry done by the evening, I better get going. Maybe another time, yeah? Okay, bye!"

You were already through the door by the time he had registered you leaving, mouth half-open and ready to protest against whatever injustice he felt you had done him. His eyebrow twitched slightly at your retreating figure, eyes flickering between the corner you disappeared around and Angel Dust, the latter laughing mockingly at the deer.

"Aw shucks, failing again, deer daddy? What is it now, the fifth time she blew 'ya off?"

"The seventh.", Niffty corrects him, scratching on the black spot where you had set the charcoal in between your work. Alastor gave her a sour expression, while Angel leaned back, eyeing the sketch of his subject of interest with lovingly.

"Maybe she took 'ya by heart, Smiles. Don't 'ya always say 'ya got a face for radio only?"

***

Alastor was fuming.

Everyone was in that damn book, everyone. And yet, he was nowhere in it to be found.

In his opinion he was far superior in beauty of aesthetics then, for example, Angel Dust, or Vaggie. Hell, Husk had even made an entry, and all he did was lay around and drink himself into oblivion. Why would you take the time to sketch these nobodies in detail instead of him? Was he that unimportant to you, did you deem him that unworthy? Or was this your subtle way of making fun of his appearance, his laughable predicament of being a predator in a prey body?

He thought he'd have been generous enough not to reprimand you, or destroy that damned book all together after all this time. It was your luck that he had developed a strange fondness of you. Alastor only ever bothered himself with a few souls since his arrival in hell, and his encounter with you was a happy coincidence indeed. You were so much less annoying, so much more quiet and respectful than most of the demons around him, with your charcoal pen behind your ear and a keen eye for beautiful things that you turned into artworks like it was your second nature.

And even though you've always seemed to take a liking to him, his patient questions for a sketch, a portrait or just anything of him was met by you with dismissiveness, awkward excuses or outright evading, only ever drawing other sinners, even the cursed piglet Angel called a pet. But never, never him.

This couldn't go on any longer. He would talk to you about it, and either you would draw him willingly or you would draw nothing at all.

Your room was located only three corridors down his own suite, right across of a broken down door. Despite the late hour you had left the door cracked open, music faintly streaming through it along the orange light of your desk lamp. Which meant you were still awake. Still working. Still drawing.

The door made no sound when he pushed it open, carefully peeking his head inside. He was right, your back was hunched over your desk, completely lost in your work while your voice hummed along with the little melody from the radio.

The radio he had gifted you. He snapped his fingers and the music screeched loudly before coming to a stop, the radio dying instantly and making you jump in your seat.

"JESUS!" You whipped your head around, clutching your heart. He gave his best charming smile, red eyes narrowing in on you.

"No dear, it's just me." he smiled maliciously and closed the door behind him, it clicking ominously shut. Locked. You laughed awkwardly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face and hastily closed the thick, black sketchbook on the desk shut, a different one than the one from before. A new one. Another cursed one without him in it, surely.

"Haha, thank satan, I'm not dressed to meet the son of god." you quibbed, avoiding his gaze and twirling your pencil, something you always did when you were nervous.

He didn't join into your joke, instead he walked over to your dresser, where the filled sketchbook from before laid. Open, showing a detailed drawing of Keekee stretching in front of the fireplace. The blasted cat was the last straw.

"Why," Alastor spoke sharply, barely registering his antlers sprouting in angry cracks, "are there any and every sinners and creatures depicted in that... doggone, ridiculous thing?".

His words were spat with so much anger he missed your scared and confused look when you pushed your chair back, almost tripping and scrambling to get away. "What? Alastor, I..."

He hit the book once, almost tearing the thick parchment. "And not one mention of me? You have no idea how utterly vexing and insulting it is to feel ignored, or rather unnoted! What did I do, oh do tell, dear, that makes you think of me so below you that you just outright forget my existence?!"

Again, he hit the book, feeling it starting to rip from the amount of pent up frustration tightening his grip. But it did feel good, immensely so, to take it out on the damn thing he would have shredded weeks ago, if you didn't enjoy it so much.

"N-Nothing, you really don't... you don't understand...", you laughed nervously, eyes too pleading, too soft for his liking, as if you mocked him or worse: Pitied him. The thought alone fueled his anger further.

"Then I advise you to make me understand, my darling.", he growled, shoes scratching on the wooden floors with each step as he neared you, pressing you against the desk. "Because otherwise, I have no inhibitions to incinerate every single one of these god damn..."

"I draw you all the time. In your own book."

You grabbed the sketch book from the desk and thrust it in his face, spouting more nonsense with teary eyes that went deaf through his ears, only glaring at the cover and then opening it, ready for anything.

Nothing. Nothing but him.

There was no mention of anyone else.

There was nothing but him. His face. Portraits, stills, sketches, whole sceneries, doodles even.

Pages and pages full of his own features, his eyes looking back at him, so carefully captured in coal lines that his head reeled.

There he was, walking in long strides through the lobby, hair perfect and suit straight, the drawing so detailed it could've been a photography. On the other side was a picture of him, his eyes narrowed, showing no emotion as he stared down at the hotel papers in his hand. The next page, he was captured in a fight with that buffoon Sir Pentious, his is mouth cracked in an evil smile, claws stretched and ready to snap the snakes' airship in half.

And ever in between those artworks: Little doodles, as if drawn with an absent mind, of him and you. Holding hands. Embracing each other. Laughing together. Gazing into each others eyes. Silly hearts all around them.

Alastor almost dropped the book and the shakily uttered your name, for once truly at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Alastor...", he finally heard your muttering, voice trembling with tears. "I didn't know how... I was just... so... so embarrassed, and..."

Embarrassed. The absolute absurdity of it all.

Here he had been, worried you found him beneath the beauty you held in such esteem, wounded even so much as to bring out this unjustified anger. The fool he was. He was an idiot to have not considered the other possible explanations for your reticence.

Slowly, carefully, as if you'd spook and run should he move too fast, Alastor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, still holding the book safely in his hand, pressing it into your back. At his will, his shadow lifted a hand and turned the radio on once again, a low hum resounding from the speakers as the soothing, quiet music continued.

"Mon cœur, the unnecessary pain you caused us both. And yet, I'm the one who has to apologize.", he said with an honesty he rarely spoke with. "We're both, evidently, quite hopeless. No use in keeping these feelings and words unsaid any longer then, hm? Can you forgive this old fool?"

You stared at him bewildered, at a loss for words yourself, before a relieved smile cracked your worried frown. Shiny tear streaks were running over your reddening cheeks, he wiped them off your face with a soft swipe of his thumb.

"Of course... As long as I can continue drawing you." You chuckled and pushed your face into his chest, Alastor was more than certain to hide the flush of your cheeks. He chuckled, gripping the book in his hands tighter as he buried his nose in your hair. You smelled like paper, paint and charcoal. And underneath it all lingered the scent of something new, yet familiar. Something... very much like him.

"Draw the both of us like this to perfection, darling, and that would be a deal worth to agree on."

It's not radiostatic if they're not at least a little Freak4Freak at each other, imo

Alastor: If anyone tried to take you from me, I'd hunt them down and rip them apart slowly while keeping them alive to feel every moment before gutting them open and then secretly feeding them to you for even daring to think to take what's mine.

Vox: *the horniest he's ever been* Okay.

“Through sickness and in health, motherfucker!” I’M CACKLING, YOU GUYS!