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How does Vox angst sound? Something where the reader has to take care of an injured Vox?

I’m a Bad Liar with a Savior Complex —

1.5k words,, Vox x reader

summary — After a bad fight with Valentino, Vox seeks comfort in his bootycall, you.

warnings — Toxic relationships, abuse, manipulation, Vox being a dick, Valentino is his own warning, hurt/comfort

a/n — I think I went way too ham on this one. The request was “Vox angst” not a poorly written shakespeare play.

You weren’t expecting anyone that night, let alone your self proclaimed bootycall, Vox. The knock at your door was surprising on its own, but your amazement only grew when you opened it.

“Are you going to let me in—ozzz—or are you just going to st—aa—are?” He spoke through gritted teeth and with effort.

“Vox,” you place your hand on his shoulder and usher him in, “what the hell happened to you?”

Already familiar with your apartment, he flips down on the couch almost immediately and leans in head back.

Under the dim lighting of your one singular lamp, you take him in; screen cracked at the right corner, shirt disheveled, and from what you could see in his face, eyes tired and sunken.

“Oh not much—chh—“ He sighed, glitching slightly, “—just a peachy day in the park.”

You didn’t know what to do. Vox was no picnic, unfortunately, you knew that better than most. But you vaguely wonder what could have provoked this?

Vox was a smooth talker, he usually didn’t fail to charm people and kiss ass to get what he wanted. You doubt Alastor had time to cause that kind of damage these days, not to mention the interest.

So the one culprit for the mess that sat in front of you had to be… oh.

“Jesus. How’d you piss him off this time?” You genuinely ask, coming over to accompany Vox on the couch.

“Well—bzz— he’s always pissed about something. Today’s tantrum had nothing to do with the likes of—mhh—me,” Vox sighed deeply and winced as he sat up.

“Why, do you like the new look?” Coming from anyone else, the comment would have been an attempt to lighten the mood. However, Vox only meant to condescend the baffled look in your eyes.

‘Why are you just sitting there? Help me,’ his eyes, well, what’s left of his eyes said.

You sigh and get up, stopping to stare down at him one last time, “So, what do we need to fix this?” 

He contemplated for a moment, “Well, I got the hell out of dodge before I had the chance to grab a spare—szc—screen so—“ he pointed to the area around his face, “anything to stop my fucking face from chipping off would be great.”

“So, like what? Fucking ducktape?” your attempt at a joke fell flat when the expression on his face didn’t move. 

He simply grimaced. 

You frown and look longingly towards your kitchen, “I’ll see what I have.”

You end up settling for ducktape after all. A purely comical solution to what can only be described as a miserable situation.

You patched him up gently, your hand resting on the bottom of his screen and covering the chipped part, as delicately as possible, with ducktape.

“You know, it would be kind of funny. The ducktape, I mean,” you try to smile, “…but it’s not funny.”

For once in his entire existence, it seemed Vox had nothing to say. No smart-ass remarks or egotistical words fell from his mouth. Only quiet silence as he breathed shakily in and out.

You couldn’t help but analyze his actions in your head. He must be getting sick of it, being treated like garbage by Val, by Alastor, by everyone who should respect him.

Except Vox’s empire, his power, any of it couldn’t help in this regard. Valentino was apart of his life in hell, and quietly it was dawning on Vox that even he couldn’t talk his way out of this.

Not entirely anyway. They needed eachother in some sick sense. Vox knew this, and now it seemed so did you.

Your heart ached for the man. In all of his terrible ways he seemed to be finding that cruelty was a double sided sword. Except this time, he got stabbed straight through.

You finished patching him up in silence, before leaning down and placing a kiss on the top, undamaged side of screen.

Your thumb caressed the area of his cheek softly. He shut his eyes and leaned into the gentle touch, frowning deeply.

You sit down next to him once again. “You’re staying with me tonight, okay?”

He nodded weakly, partly because he didn’t want to upset his head injury. But also partially to show you how vulnerable he felt at the moment. Although an upsettingly subtle que, he gazed up at you in hopes you would just take care of him without him having to ask.

Thankfully you catch on. You guide him up from the couch and rub his back gently while leading him to the bedroom and sitting him down.

“I have some t-shirts and sweatpants in the closet. I’m gonna go get you some water,” you say, soothingly rubbing his back before leaving.

When you come back, he already changed into comfier clothing and set his work clothes on a chair near your bed, in order to not wrinkle them.

He lays curled up on the bed with his eyes open, looking as if he was about to cry. You cringe at the thought. You’d been awkward enough tonight, Vox crying did not need to add to that.

You come over to him with the iced cold cup, sit him up right, and place it in his hands.

“Drink,” you command. He does, without hesitation. Jesus, you think, Vox taking orders. Thats new. 

After downing the whole glass in one large swig, he sets it on the bed side table. 

“He threw a f—fff—ucking wine bottle at me,” Vox said glumly.

You were just happy he was talking again. You cuddle up close to him on the bed, taking him under your arm, trying not to mind the less than ideal way the corner of Vox’s screen poked into your jaw. Oh well, Vox seemed comfortable enough.

He curled closer to you, sinking into your side and shutting his eyes, but not with the intention of falling asleep.

“I’m sorry. He’s such a douchebag,” And what? Vox isn’t? Your inability to comfort him was weighing unbareabley on your mind. Do better.

“But you’re safe now, sweetheart,” you pull him closer to you under the blankets, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Vox hummed, the sides of his mouth flickering down as the lump in his throat grew tighter. 

You kept going, “You handled it so well. You get to relax now, okay? Nothing bad’s gonna happen under my watch.”

It was stupid, Vox thought. He was an overlord, a powerful one at that. Protection was below him. But so was getting fucked up by his angry boyfriend and running off to his side pieces apartment, so who knows?

In hindsight, it was his fault. He was sloppy in his ways of manipulation tonight and Val had caught onto him. Well, in a figurative and literal sense, he supposed.

Oh, how the powerful fall at the feet of those closest to them. Serves him right.

He knows you aren’t stupid. You knew what he said earlier about how Val’s ‘tantrum had nothing to do with the likes of him’ was a lie.

And yet, here you were helping him. Vox couldn’t wrap his head around it. Just as he couldn’t understand why you continued spewing such comforting words.

Words that, if you asked anyone else, he didn’t deserve. He stopped himself from dwelling on it when he felt the tears brew in the corner of his eyes.

“I’m proud of you, Vox,” you speak softly.

He burrows his screen in your chest. “No, you’re not,” he whispers, grasping onto your shirt softly, “And I thought I was the—spzz— the liar.”

“I’m not lying. It takes a lot to survive that crazy ass moth. Let alone, everyday. I am proud of you,” you plant a kiss on the top of his head.

That was the breaking point. Vox tried to justify his tears in his mind; It’s not like he hadn’t already been embarrassingly vulnerable tonight, anyways. Could it get much worse? 

For you, maybe. As the waterworks flowed, you shushed him softly and rubbed his back. Honestly, you were a little worried about the tears fucking up his system, because of all the cracks in his head.

Thankfully, you didn’t notice any changes, basic bodily function-wise.

You found Vox’s outburst of tears specifically alarming. He muttered little apologies throughout. However, it seemed less and less about the tears themselves.

He clung to you and his the remains of his face in your shirt, hoping you wouldn’t get pissed off at the wetness around your collar.

You let him cry, and shush him with small gentle words of praise. He looks up at you, screen slick and shiny. You lean down to give him a watery, but gentle kiss.

The sad part, you think to yourself, is that you know exactly what’s going to happen tomorrow.

Things will go back to normal, Vox’s walls will come back up as if this never happened, and he’ll continue seeing Valentino. He’ll act as if he never confided in you, and once again, you two will only be an occasional good-fuck.

There was no lesson in any of this. Almost as if the whole experience was completely futile. Nothing would change, and Vox and Val would continue in their toxic, horny, power struggle. Vox using Val to his advantage, Val getting pissed off and fucking him up. 

What did you expect? Well, you’d just about accepted this fact when Vox, half asleep, all cried out, and sleepily drooling on your shirt, muttered three small words.

“I love you.”