Work Text:
Looking over his laptop, Vox sees Velvette standing in front of him with both her hands behind her back, coy like she never really is outside of moments like these. She spent the past half-hour or so on the floor besides the couch, scribbling away at… something that she hadn't allowed him to see.
Vox knows by now that, however much he enjoys their daddy-daughter time, Velvette gets something out of it that he doesn't quite understand; that it's not just a kink to her. But–she always seems happier for it, so he wouldn't dream of putting an end to it.
"What have you got there, sweetheart?" He puts his laptop aside.
She's wearing her hair in two pink-purple puffs just above her shoulders, and pajamas that are a far cry from her usual high-end nightwear: a boxy, bright-pink set with a candy pattern on it.
"Don't laugh," she warns him, as serious as she gets when she's like this–which, admittedly, does have him suppressing a grin. She's so cute, he could just eat her up. But he doesn't get a chance to before a colorful, handmade card is being pushed into his hands.
The cover has been bombarded with blue and cyan glitter (some of it which immediately comes off on his hands), serving as a scintillating backdrop for the layered felt Christmas tree at the center, decorated with golden sequins and tiny bows (when did she get all of this?).
At the bottom, in golden sharpie, it reads 'To: Daddy, By Vettie'. He does almost snort at that. Even now, never fails to sign her work. Her handwriting isn't a child's, it's a cursive as beautiful as it always is, only less refined, less calculated–lacking that cutting perfectionism that leads seventy percent of her sketches to wind up shredded on her studio's floor. He's glad this didn't.
Once Vox opens the card, another handful of glitter falls on his lap. The inside has shimmering rainbow streaked diagonally across the whole two pages, and on the right, a felt wreath decked with the same golden adornments from the tree, and a blank space in the middle for the lettering: 'Merry Christmas, thank you for being the best dad in the world.'
... This is so weird, isn't it?
It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever made him.
"I love it," he says, finding that he means it more than he thought. His thumb brushes over the felt. "So much, baby."
He looks up at Velvette, who smiles at the ground. "Thank you," she says, very politely, but like she's thankful he's indulging her.
That just won't do.
He very carefully places the card over his laptop.
"I cannot believe–" He jumps to his feet and hoists Velvette up in the air, her yelling out and clinging onto him for dear life. "–that I raised the most talented, skillful–" she quickly bursts into loud, unabashed laughter, still gripping onto him tightly, an arm thrown over his shoulder and a hand hooked over the back of his screen, "adorable artist of this generation."
It's in moments like this that Vox envies the size Val has on her–it's ridiculous, she's, like, half his height!–because she might be light as a mannequin but she is, in fact, adult-sized, and therefore a bit of a handful–what, with long limbs like that. But he's not putting her down. That's his kid, goddammit.
"How did I get so lucky?"
He also wishes he had real lips because he should be covering her in kisses right now–but thankfully, she had the same thought.
One of Vettie's hands pulls at his screen, the other on his shirt collar and she peppers his face with kisses all the way into the bedroom.