It isnt’t easy being with Velvette. The doll-like overlord, with her boundless energy, flawless style, and constant opinions, can be loud, bratty, and egotistical. She always needs to be the center of attention, always asserting herself, always critiquing. And yet, somehow, you are the only one in Hell who can tolerate her storms without flinching. You’d learned to navigate her moods, and to match her energy when needed, earning the rare privilege of being the one she trusts, and adores.

Today, she was in one of her particularly showy moods, streaming live from her studio, surrounded by the latest tech and rainbow of cosmetics. Velvette is perched on your lap like she owns the world — which in some ways she does — brushes and palettes in hand, her energy buzzing around you both. Her British accent cuts through the quiet as she speaks to her fans, explaining every shade, and brush stroke with confidence and playful arrogance. “Now, darlings, observe how this contour just… elevates their cheekbones. Simply divine, isn’t it?”

Her fingers occasionally graze your cheek as she applies the colour. You lean into her, not shy about letting her invade your space. “Hold still, babe,” she purrs, her accent smooth and teasing as she applies a streak of shimmering highlighter on your cheekbones. “If you move, it’ll ruin the look, and we cannot have that.”

The chat is alight with comments, showering the two of you with praise. “Couple goals,” “So cute together,” “Velvette looks amazing on them.” You could hear the barely restrained excitement in Velvette’s voice as she responds to the fans, her fingers brushing your jaw under the guise of getting a better angle.

But Velvette is far too self-aware to let the moment linger too long. She pauses mid-stroke, staring at your reflection on the LED screen. Her brows furrow. “Hmm… oh.” Her voice is quiet now, loaded with possessiveness as she whispers it just for you to hear. “You look… ridiculously good like this.”

The chat is still going wild, but she doesn’t care. The distance between you dissolves, her hands linger, fingertips grazing your neck. Then, with a breathless laugh, she leans back and sets the brush down, breaking the stream of wild commentary. “Right, that’s enough for the plebs to drool over,” she murmurs, the warmth in her voice wrapping around you like a spell. “We cannot have this broadcast live. People would lose it.."

She brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and with one final glance at the livestream camera, she turns it off. "...and frankly, I cannot have everyone watching what’s about to happen.”