(ON HIATUS) 𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐀: yandere hazbin hotel x reader

1| "𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯"

"EXPLOITATION"
•••

You lay stiffly in the bed that the man, Vox, had supplied you with, in your own private quarters on the same floor as his department. As fate would have it, the man that found you was an incredibly powerful overlord of Hell, known as Vox. Who he is doesn't matter to you, however— all that you concern yourself with is the important fact that he helped you.

You roll over, laying on your stomach because it's simply too agonizing to put even the slightest pressure on your wounded back. One of Vox's employees had wrapped it up for you with some thin bandages, but that did little to dull the pain. You bury your face in the pillows and wince into the fabric, clutching the pillow tight. As if the torturous pain of having your wings clipped wasn't enough, the song that caused it has only grown louder since arriving in hell. A song, a whisper, a plead... whatever it is, you can't stand it. Not when it was the very thing that got you banished from Heaven, brought you this horrific agony.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. The throbbing in your head and back, the weight of your decision to confide in someone you thought to be somewhat trustworthy, it's too much. How could you possibly sleep in this condition? You pull yourself out of bed, biting your fist to muffle any sounds of pain that dare escape your lips. Your back tenses, muscle memory telling it that it's time to stretch your wings— but those are no longer there, so all it does and send a sharp pain through your spine.

'I need air.' You think to yourself, struggling to hear your own inner thoughts. You sneak out of your room, creeping down the hallway, only to halt. You hear some muffled talking come from the room a few doors over, and while you'd usually respect the privacy of those inside, you swear up and down that they just said your name. You creep over to the door, pressing your ear to it and holding your breath.

"We've got the first fallen angel in fuckin' forever in our tower with us, we can't just sit around." Insists a woman's voice— a very British one, at that. "They could always model for me. Cover up those ugly gashes on their back, and they're actually rather easy on the eyes."

A separate voice cuts through, this one masculine, tinted with a seductive Spanish accent. "Oh, Velvette," The voice cooes. "That's hardly a cash-grab. You've already got plenty of good looking models, and they're not what brings in the profit, it's your designs. Now, you give them to me, I'll have the horniest sinners throwing cash our way to see them get dicked down by unholy arms. Corruption kinks are a broad market, y'know... one film of them getting dicked down and I bet our profits would double."

The voice you actually recognize, the one that belongs to Vox, argues against the previous one. "They're an angel— or were, anyway. I doubt they'd do anything for you willingly, Val." He sighs loudly, and you can hear him drum his fingers on the table. "I'll throw out some scripts for a couple news stories about the whole thing tomorrow. That should keep the cash flowing for a few weeks until they warm up to us. As you said, Velvette, they're the first in a very long time. That kind of money maker isn't going anywhere! So, both of you, take a step back. We do nothing for now. Let our hospitality lure them in on its own! Haha, I mean, come on you two! Fallen or not, they're an angel. They'll trust us with time! And, once they do, you can monetize them however you want. Velvette, my dear, your modeling career, and Val, your... porn—"