Imagine Book 2

A Tense Encounter- Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

Fem Y/N

The neon lights of Valentino's club burned in vivid shades of pink and violet, illuminating the smoky atmosphere that swirled with equal parts glamour and grit. Music pulsed through the walls, shaking the air with a deep, rhythmic bassline. Dancers twirled on elevated platforms, their sequined outfits catching the light as patrons threw cash and slurred drunken compliments.

Y/N adjusted her garter as she stood by the backstage curtain, watching the chaos unfold. The night was just like any other—boisterous and bustling—but Valentino had thrown her a curveball. Instead of sticking to her usual routine, she'd been handed a special assignment.

"Listen, doll," Valentino had purred, draping his arm lazily around her shoulders. "Our dear friend Vox is in one of his moods. I need you to go upstairs and... take care of it." His grin had been laced with mischief, the kind of look that promised nothing good. "Calm him down, you know? Use that charm of yours. Work your magic."

It wasn't unusual for Y/N to be sent on special tasks, but this was different. Vox wasn't some low-life scumbag needing a distraction—he was one of Hell's Overlords. His influence loomed over the digital and media world, his mere presence demanding respect and fear. Dealing with someone like Vox required tact, especially if he wasn't in the mood to play nice.

With a sigh, Y/N smoothed her dress—a sleek number in deep crimson that hugged her curves—and stepped into the elevator. The ride to the VIP lounge was short but nerve-wracking. What would she find when those doors opened? A fuming, storming Vox? Or the cold, calculating figure he was infamous for being?

The doors slid open with a chime, revealing a spacious, dimly lit room. Vox stood near the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the glowing cityscape of Hell. His TV screen head flickered erratically, displaying static and distorted images of Alastor's grinning face. His shoulders were tense, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. The air around him crackled faintly, an ominous hum of energy signalling his frustration.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. "Rough night?" she ventured, keeping her tone light but respectful.

Vox turned his head slightly, the static shifting on his screen. His artificial voice buzzed with irritation. "Understatement of the century."

Y/N walked closer, stopping a few feet away. "Valentino sent me. Said you might need... a distraction."

"Of course, he did." Vox's voice was clipped, and he gestured dismissively without turning to face her. "But I'm not in the mood for whatever he's trying to pull. Go back downstairs."

Ignoring the sting of rejection, Y/N crossed her arms and stayed put. "You sure? Sometimes talking things out can be just as good as—" she paused, giving him a sly smile, "—other methods of stress relief."

Vox let out a low, static-laden sigh and finally turned to face her. His screen flickered again, showing an exasperated expression that mirrored his tone. "Do you have any idea how insufferable Alastor is? The way he pops up out of nowhere, acting like he owns the damn place, smiling like an idiot? It's infuriating!"

Y/N tilted her head, intrigued. "He's still bothering you?"

"Bothering me?" Vox laughed bitterly, the sound distorted. "He's a walking plague. Everywhere I go, he's there. He doesn't just get under my skin—he burrows into it. And the worst part? I can't seem to get rid of him."

Y/N stepped closer, her voice softening. "That sounds exhausting. Have you told him off?"

"As if that would do anything," Vox muttered, running a hand across the top of his TV screen in exasperation. "Alastor thrives on being a nuisance. Telling him off would just encourage him."

Y/N chuckled, her laugh light and genuine. "Yeah, he does seem like the type to enjoy ruffling feathers." She paused, observing the tension still evident in Vox's posture. "Here, why don't you sit down? You look like you're about to short-circuit."

To her surprise, Vox obeyed, sinking into the plush leather sofa with a tired groan. Y/N took a seat beside him, close but not invasive. Her fingers itched with the urge to help him relax, and after a moment of hesitation, she gently placed her hands on his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Vox asked, his tone more curious than annoyed.

"Helping you unwind," Y/N replied, kneading his tense muscles. "You're wound up tighter than a drum."

Vox let out a low hum of approval, his screen displaying static mixed with faint ripples of colour. "Not bad. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting... this."

"Sometimes the best distractions aren't flashy," Y/N said with a small smile. "Besides, you're not as scary as you like to act."

Vox tilted his head, his screen briefly showing a surprised expression. "Not scary? Do you know who you're talking to?"

"An Overlord with a TV for a head and a chip on his shoulder," Y/N teased, her fingers continuing their work. "But under all that bravado, you're just... tired. Frustrated. Maybe even lonely."

Vox went quiet for a moment, his screen flickering with static. "Lonely?" he repeated, his voice softer. "That's a bold assumption."

"Am I wrong?" Y/N asked gently, her hands pausing their movements.

Vox didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, almost contemplative. "No. You're not wrong."

Y/N resumed her massage, her touch light and soothing. "It's okay to admit it. Hell's not exactly the friendliest place, even for someone like you. Especially for someone like you."

Vox let out a low, distorted laugh. "You're more perceptive than I expected."

"It's part of the job," Y/N replied with a shrug. "You can't dance for strangers every night without learning how to read people."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the tension in the room gradually dissipating. Vox's screen displayed faint, calming waves of colour, a stark contrast to the erratic static from earlier. Y/N couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride—she'd managed to chip away at the Overlord's icy exterior.

"Thank you," Vox said suddenly, his voice carrying a rare note of sincerity.

"For what?" Y/N asked, her hands still resting on his shoulders.

"For... this." He gestured vaguely, his screen flickering. "For listening. For not trying to push me into something I didn't want. It's... refreshing."

Y/N smiled, her heart warming at his words. "You're welcome. Everyone needs someone to lean on now and then, even Overlords."

Vox turned to face her, his screen showing a soft, almost tender expression. "You're different. I like that."

Before Y/N could respond, Vox leaned in, his movements deliberate but unhurried. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both unexpected and electric, sending a shiver down her spine. The kiss was brief but filled with an intensity that left her breathless.

When he pulled back, Vox's screen flickered with more colour, his artificial voice low and smooth. "You can visit me anytime, Y/N."

Y/N's cheeks flushed, but she managed a playful smile. "Careful, Vox. I might take you up on that."

Vox chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

As the night wore on, they continued to talk, the distance between them shrinking with every shared word and laugh. Y/N couldn't help but feel a spark of hope—maybe, just maybe, she'd found something special in the most unexpected of places.