deeply queer and freakish

While you particularly loved listening to his plans for Heaven and the kind of world and future he wanted to build, you had a soft-spot for his more delicate fantasies. The ones that longed for lazy, Heavenly mornings tangled in each others’ arms. The fantasies that put you in his bed curled up with both of your little bundle of joy, the smell of his cooking wafting into the room. 

Husband and wife. 

Lucifer longed for that every single day he was in Heaven with you. 

A family. 

The dreams that were dedicated to a future he wanted to build, the future with you in it. Angels weren’t expected to practice the human Sacraments, but God there was nothing more that Lucifer wanted to do. It would be the tiniest taste of humanity, something that would ground you both — truly bring you both to life. 

Lucifer wanted to forever kneel at the altar of your divinity — murmuring prayers along your legs, leaving his gratitude along your collarbones and neck, whispering his passion against your lips. He wanted to meld into you like this is what the universe intended for you. 

Maybe at one point the universe wanted this for you. But God certainly didn’t. Ever since the Fall, every possibility of his universe coming true crumbled into dust just as he did. Selfishly, he’d wish one day you’d fall and find your way back to him. But he knew it’d never happen. You were always his better half. 

One moment he was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, reminding himself for the last time what you smelled like, before he was set to trial before his Masters, banished and never to return. 

Never to return to you. His love. His life. 

On the nights when Heaven shone brightly in the distant sky, Lucifer often found himself soaring through the clouds. He’d find the highest point in Pride and sit there among the stars and the biting winds. 

It was the closest he got to see you beyond his dreams. He knew you were sitting pretty there in Heaven, staring up at the same galaxy and looking toward Hell’s crimson planet — missing him and yearning for his touch again. 

Lucifer never really prayed. He didn’t believe that his hopes and wishes would ever get answered, and certainly not by the angry, vindictive beast sat on the throne of the Pearly Gates. It was the same God that accursed him to be scrubbed clean of any reminders of Heaven, of you. 

God could take away his freedom, but he could never take away his mind. The constant dreamer in him: the one that held onto optimism tightly, the one that melted into his sheets and dreamt of you and alone. 

Those lonely nights he would wrap his warm blanket around him, but it could never compare to the touch of his lover in his bed. He missed being held at night, feeling your gentle hands running through his golden hair, quietly purring at the feeling of your nails gently scratching against his scalp. Whispers that sang songs of praises curled around his ear, chills that ran up his nape, and a crimson flush heating on the tips of his ears — where you had just left the daintiest of kisses.

Like the demons in Hell, angels didn’t need to sleep in Heaven. But he always finds himself burying himself into his pillow every night, hoping you had done the same. Lucifer hopes you’re dreaming of him too. 

Sleeping at night and falling into a dream is the only chance he got to relish in the memory of seeing you again. Getting to hold your hand in his, cupping your face and peppering kisses along the apples of your cheeks, brushing your hair back to get a clearer look at the face of a true angel. 

Lucifer likes to think that when he dreams, you are too, and it’s the one instance you get to see each other again. While he couldn’t have you down there with him in Hell, and he couldn’t be with you in Heaven, he got to see you every night and that was enough to coax his constantly aching heart. 

Once the graceful presence of sleep swept him up among the branches, he’d find himself cradled lovingly in your welcoming arms. Some nights, he’d almost melt into you, burying his face into your warmth and breathing deeply — grounding himself in the smell of you: cinnamon, vanilla, and brilliance. Almost real, almost like the two of you were united again. 

You’d lay on top of him, ear pressed to his chest, hearing the soft and rhythmic drum of his steady heartbeat – the one that beats for you. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, loving eyes full of color and light. Heaven’s shining light brightened the halo around your head. 

“I miss you, my love,” your soft voice curled around his heart. You sounded like a melody, an old song, a tale from long ago that seemed to be steadily slipping from Lucifer’s mind. 

He was so afraid that one night he won’t see you, one day he’ll forget you, like he did with the rest of his life before … this. 

“There’s never a day where you’re not on my mind, my light.” Lucifer whispered against your temple as he planted the faintest kiss on your skin. In his dreams, he pretended he was writing in his diary, voicing details of what he got up to earlier in the day — pouring out every damning thought and cherished moment. 

“I have a daughter now.” Lucifer tells you during one dream while his head lays in the crevice of your lap. He twirls a strand of your hair around his finger as he drones on. 

“Her name is Charlotte.” Lucifer reaches up to cup your face. He recounts the toil of her creation, the amount of time and love he spilled into every formation of her being. 

Lucifer has told you this before, but he so badly wanted to have a family with you. He wanted to have a little one of his own, and more admittedly he wanted to have a little girl that reminded him of you. There was nothing more that he wanted than to be able to protect his two perfect girls, to love and care for them as any decent man should. 

Little Charlie has my hair. 

But she has your twinkling eyes and your smile. 

Every time Lucifer held out his hand and watched Charlie’s tiny hand barely clutch onto his finger, her eyes staring up at him — bright and full of life. Just like yours. 

He’d never know what kind of girl she’ll grow up to be, especially without your Heavenly influence certain to make her a strong-willed yet gentle beast. But he hoped Charlie would have your spirit. 

The closest piece of you he could hold to him. 

“I wanted her to be ours,” he softly explains, crawling up from your lap to sit directly across from you. You reached for his hands, interlacing your fingers with his. 

“And she is.” You smile, pure and simple. “I wish I could meet her.” 

“Maybe when she’s a little older, maybe one day.” Lucifer was solemn as he pressed his forehand to yours. He curled his hands around yours, bringing your clasped hands to dot kisses over each knuckle and fingertip. 

“I wish you were here with me.” 

“I’m always here with you.” You breathe quietly against his lips, stealing a passionate kiss. He cradled your head in his hands, murmuring strings of affection between smaller pecks. 

The only time he gets to relive the memory of you is when he closes his eyes. It’s what he does best. 

You drowned out the voices of the chattering demons. Their crackled laughter bubbled into an array of mishegoss and shallow talk that you were barely able to contribute to. All the while, you softly smiled, nodded your head, and pretended to listen. 

Earnestly, you wished that someone – anyone – would come to your rescue to sweep you away from talking to these buffoons. But now that a little nymph had scrambled over to you with the news that your date was throwing a fit, you’d rather face the men than the fury of your boss. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I have something to take care of,” even with the polite, sweet smile you gave the demons, you were filled with panic as you made your exit. You rushed to the wings, keeping your composure as you picked up the pace as you hoofed it across the length of the ballroom floors. 

The moment you passed through the flowy partition of curtains, you felt as if you walked into a fate worse than death. The entire backstage and the dressing rooms were a nightmare. Two models were having a catfight about someone stealing the others’ lipstick, staff yelling at people to get into places, designer crew chasing after dressed models to fix up any last minute blemishes. And, most importantly, Velvette had left a fiery trail of destruction through the crowd. 

Before you even considered the idea of asking a busybody for directions to where Velvette was reigning down real Hell, you heard the all-too-familiar screech of her voice. 

“STUPID BITCH!” 

The scream was followed by an abrasive crash of items and the pathetic cries of another person. You ran toward the sound. It felt like you were racing against the clock, every passing second threatening to worsen the situation if you didn’t get to her on time. The worst of it could happen — an outfit ripped, a model eviscerated, a literal dumpster fire spreading across the backstage. 

You burst into the room, your chest rising and falling in quick succession, dread coursing through your veins. All you saw was one of the models shriveled up in the center of the room, facing the wrath of Velvette’s sharp stiletto stabbing her firmly in the chest. The poor girl was already beat senseless, blooming purple welts littering across her arms and legs, and a prominent black eye leaking down her cheek. 

“Velvette,” you meekly called out, voice wavering and uncertain. You had felt your body trembling from the moment you stepped into the room. Having worked with Velvette for so long, most of the horror you felt standing in her presence had naturally dissipated. Although, her moments of being a walking volcanic eruption often sent you back into the memories of the absolute terror you once felt. 

Now, she was an entirely different beast of her own. Seeing her like this reminded you how she became an Overlord in the first place. 

“Stay out of it.” She hissed at you, peeking at you from over her shoulders with a deadly, glowing glare. As badly as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You had to damage control before word of Velvette’s unrelenting wrath trickled out on the floor. VoxTek couldn’t risk having another venomous scandal on their hands. 

If the wildfire back here were to travel out into the main hall, Velvette would earn more marks that painted her as the Overlord who couldn’t get a handle on her employees. Velvette already had a controversial reputation among the masses, and any more ‘missing’ models would worsen the VoxTek image. 

You were frozen in fear, too ashamed to look the model in the eye as Velvette drove her heel harder down on the girl. Blood began to bubble around her entry wound as Velvette sank her heel further into the model’s chest. An ear-piercing cry elicited from the poor sinner’s throat as she writhed underneath the weight, clambering onto Velvette’s leg and begging for forgiveness and relief. 

The world closed in around you, the Earth swallowed you up and kept you planted in your spot. You were stuck in this moment, unable to stop the pseudomurder that was unveiling in front of you. Your blood ran cold and your skin felt clammy. 

This was self-preservation. Zero interference and nothing but your willingness to stay quiet. You’ve done it before and you’d always be forced to do it again and again. 

Today was no different. 

“Velvette, let’s go,” you weakly called. “The patrons are waiting for you.” A bit of a white lie, but it was the best you could do to try to get Velvette back on the floor and as far away from the scene of the crime. 

“We’ll have Serena take her place, okay? She has enough time to do the quick change,” you suggested, trying your best to be level and calm.

Velvette whipped her head around to you, giving you a once-over with poison laced in the stir of her eyes. A deep tension released from her shoulders as she reached for your hand, relieving the last bits of anger into the tight squeeze she gave you. 

You barely glanced over at the sinner as she bled out on the floor, sputtering up her last moments of life before her slow, agonizing regeneration would begin. Even if you wanted to help her, it was advisory not to. If she received the palm of Velvette’s hand, you weren’t going to risk sparing kindness to the demon that ignited an Overlord’s unbridled rage. 

In small steps, you ushered Velvette out of the dressing room, leaving the pitiful demon sniveling on the floor with no one to pick her up. A small part of you felt bad, but a bigger part of you thought — she knew the consequences. You didn’t know what she did to deserve this, but you knew better than to ask questions.

As Velvette continued to prattle on with her complaints and frustrations, you plucked and pruned her as you trailed behind, attempting to fix stray aways and smoothen out the wrinkles in her clothes. She was on a tirade that wouldn’t stop, but you hoped she’d spare you the torture if you clamped onto her arm and looked pretty for the rest of the night.

With quick work, you fetched a glass of champagne for your pissy date the moment you two returned to the main hall — doing your absolute best to make sure she was calm and collected before she engaged in conversation with the other demons. You brushed stray hairs out of her face and whispered gentle affirmations into her ear, encouraging her to continue being on her best behavior. 

Velvette anger seemed to slowly dissipate as you gently coaxed her into a calmer state, holding onto her and rubbing small circles along her upper arm. The pair of you continued to chat up the various demon donors and ‘philanthropic’ sinners that only gave their money to flaunt their status of riches. Regardless, the two of you happily lapped up the plentiful donations and investments, never once complaining or feigning humility. 

As you leaned into Velvette with an arm around her waist, a pair of stinging eyes burned bullet holes into the back of your head. The buzzing glare of a man who loved to keep tight tabs on every precious little thing of his. Vox’s gaze could be felt by anyone from miles away, but when they were constantly surveying, one eventually would learn to tune out the heavy stare. 

A wry smile crept on Vox’s face as he observed the way you dazzled the sinners before you. The subtle, lingering touches you’d leave on their forearms when they told a funny joke, flashing them your prettiest of smiles and most adoring of gazes. As they blabbered on about nothing significant, you stared up at them with absolute wonder twinkling in the shine of your eyes. 

Obviously, Vox knew you were full of shit — playing everything up to stroke their egos and appeasing Velvette’s wishes — but he couldn’t stop the twisted feeling of possessiveness that clawed up from his chest. He should be the only one that you look at with admiration. They didn’t deserve you. 

Vox was a disgusting, greedy, prideful man. He needed to have you all to himself, despite never owning you in the first place. 

After your little drunken silt from the club the other night, he couldn’t keep his mind off of you. His brain was wrecked with infernal ideas of how exactly he wanted to ruin you. He relished in the memory of your body and how desperately you clung to him. The drape of your arms around his neck, the sweet ring of your laughter, the heat of your want melting into his own. 

Vox was trying to maintain his professionalism, but he was gradually losing his grip on defining that line. You were making it painfully difficult for him. 

The idea of indulging in you crossed his mind, but he banished the thought when he considered the possible fallout. He valued your work more than the potential of what could be. If things between the two of you were to end less-than-ideally, he’d lose out on a valuable employee. If you decided to be mouthy with the press, he’d just have to kill you and toss you to the curb. And Velvette would have his head for that.  

This is exactly why he avoided sleeping with anyone from within the company. Vox had a lengthy history of intimacy with various partners, but none of them were ever able to dig up internal information. Most were desperate fans who would do anything for a piece, even if it meant letting themselves be “coincidentally targeted during the Extermination”. 

Although, more recently, he’s been considering taking back his boundary of  ‘not fucking where you work’. 

Vox had always noticed the relationship you carried with Velvette and he heard whispers of the more private moments between you two. You were practiced with discretion, knew how to balance professionalism and affairs, and still remembered who was in charge. 

While Velvette was more reckless about her internal affairs, if she could trust you to keep quiet and obey, maybe Vox would be willing to test the waters with you. 

“You’ve been distracted, Voxxy.” Valentino’s glasses slid onto the bridge of his nose as his eyes wandered over the TV demon’s body. 

“There’s a lot of big things happening for VoxTek. Of course, I’ve been distracted.” 

A low growl hissed from between Valentino’s clenched teeth, a deep scourging irritation slowly rising to the surface. He grabbed the bottom of Vox’s screen and snapped his attention toward him — where it rightfully belonged. Vox’s expression remained vacant as he finally met Valentino’s eyes. 

“Seriously. You haven’t had any time for us.” Valentino pushed, sliding his spindly hands down the length of his partner’s arms. Before Valentino could intertwine his fingers with Vox’s, he wriggled out of his hold, snatching his hands back as if Valentino was sick and infected. 

Vox’s screen glitched in passive indignation, brows raised in such as way that asked ‘are you fucking serious?’. He eyed the moth as if he were the most disgusting thing he’d ever lay his eyes on. 

At one point, Valentino’s jealousy zipped straight to Vox’s groin. It filled him with desire knowing that someone could want him so bad that they’d kill for him. But now, there was nothing we wanted more than to get Valentino’s grimey hands off of him. 

Valentino was killing too much for him. His possessiveness started to interfere with the inner workings of VoxTek and the public relations. Vox would use his slick charisma to win over investors and Valentino would hunt them down only to tear them limb from limb. His impulsivity lost them money, further progression and innovation, it lost them leverage over the people. 

Valentino was single-handedly killing the looming power of VokTek. The press spat on Vox’s name, claiming that he didn’t know how to keep his bitches in line. If Vox couldn’t control his own co-owners, how could he control the rest of the district? 

God, it pissed him off. 

Before Vox’s anger could boil over, the overhead speakers crackled to life as they called for everyone to take their seats. Without another word, Vox quickly left his ‘partner’s side — earning a trail of sputtered insults and profanities. The drink Valentino held in his hand was downed and shattered in a matter of seconds, the glass cutting into his curled up hand. 

From across the room, Velvette dragged you both toward your seats. She had an iron grip on your arm, the nerves buzzing off her fingertips and radiated into your skin. Her brows were knitted together, focused and undeniably stressed. Every show got Velvette twisted up in a bundle of nerves and stress. 

“You’re fine,” you murmured into her ear. “They already love you. You’re the best. You’re Velvette.” Velvette glanced over to you, ears perked, like a dog hearing her favorite words. 

“But the fuckin’ press they’ll—” 

“Nope.” You cut her off, pressing a finger against her lips. “You already axed the weak link, we don’t have any more problems. We worked hard.” 

“You’re gonna ruin my makeup, you bitch.” She swiped your hand away with a half-hearted huff. Her bright smile gave away her intention. But quickly your bit of comfort slipped past her mind. Velvette fidgeted in her seat, impatiently waiting for the show to just start. She wanted to have the praise of the public opinion. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Vox’s smooth voice chirped from above as he pulled out the chair to take his spot next to you. Velvette sharply reared her head in his direction, grabbing hold of his wrists. She dragged him forward, nearly pressing her face into his screen. 

“Has anyone been talking shit out there?” Her voice was accusatory, as if he had already overheard the people’s wrong opinions and berating comments. 

“Chill, Vel.” Vox rolled his eyes. “Most of the people in this room are here for you, babe. You have nothing to worry about.” 

Velvette’s tension released along with her grip on Vox. He patted the backs of her hands in lazed support before she pushed him away and turned back around in her seat. Velvette’s head lolled onto your shoulder, her hand seeking comfort in your own. 

Admittedly, her stress was endearing — it reminded you that she was still human at her core. 

“If she squeezes you so hard she breaks your hand, I’ll take your spot.” Vox joked, a sleazy smile outstretched on his screen.

“She better not. We still have a gala to prepare for.” You laughed, beaming up at him, the most beautiful sound. All for him. It warmed Vox’s chest to hear.

The chatter of the room began to dim down alongside the lights, allowing for the host of the evening to take his spot center stage. One of the overhead lights trailed down to spotlight him directly, highlighting how insanely boring he looked. A sleek black blazer with satin lapels laid atop his plain white blouse, dark pants in the same scheme of black partnering his jacket. Out from his left breast pocket poked a little folded white handkerchief — not even folded in a vaguely unique way. 

Even his stage presence was unremarkable; he was just your average white (?) guy with horrifying vibrant eyes and a smile that outstretched abnormally wide, even for Hell standards. You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed your chest as you hollowed out his words. 

You were almost as anxious as Velvette. Your leg bounced in urgency, heel softly clicking the ground. You desperately clung onto your sanity hearing this man draw on about absolutely nothing significant regarding the fashion show — thanking whatever rich donors and for the audience in attendance, blah, blah, blah. 

I just want to know if the people like the designs. 

Amidst your complete zoning out of the host, you could feel an arm creeping around the back of your chair. His fingers traced the soft bare skin of your neck, gently brushing past your hair to leave phantom lines of where he touched you. 

Your spine straightened, immediately alert of the encroaching presence. Before you could audibly react or even rear your neck to look over, Vox was already murmuring softly to you. 

“Guy’s a piece of work, huh?” His voice crackled. Vox didn’t look at you or break his stoicism, but his voice was a dead give away of the smile he was hiding on his face. You pressed your lips together, holding in a giggle, the corners of your mouth curling ever so slightly. 

“I’ve seen grout more interesting than him,” you whispered back, leaning toward Vox but not daring to look over at him. 

“Want some?” Vox’s breath trickled down your neck. Your eyes flitted over toward the champagne glass he was nursing, the light liquid sloshing around the walls of the glass. 

“Please,” you quietly responded. You gently plucked the glass from between his fingers, bringing the beverage to your lips and taking a drawn-out swallow of nearly half the drink. 

As you withdrew the drink from your mouth, you noticed your lips had left a faint blemish of red along the rim of the glass. Before you could stutter out a hushed ‘wait’ to give you a moment to clean the glass, Vox nabbed his drink back from you. 

“You looked like you needed it more than me,” he hummed, bringing his lips to the rim of the glass. He took a languid sip from the drink, his gaze unwavering from you as his mouth graced over where your lipstick marked the glass. 

The electric color of his eyes pierced through you, absorbing every crevice of your body as he surveyed every curve and angle of your face and exposed shoulders. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled to a stand and a pitting discomfort laid intimately in your stomach. 

You couldn’t look away. Something about watching his tongue carefully flit over the glass without breaking his eye contact with you sent a heat rushing to your core. 

Imagine what else his tongue could do. 

An electric shrill cut through your daydreaming, unwillingly ripped from continuing to lean into your temptations. You snapped your head forward, doing your best to ignore the sauntering eyes still tracing over your skin. 

The lights danced around the room, pulsing in short flashes of violet, red, and blue. The beam of overhang lights above the catwalk burst on, a blinding white cutting through the dark of the audience. Spotlights in a warm white trailed to the back of the stage, lighting up the final part of the stage. The glittery drapery twinkled under the shine of the lights, bouncing back off into the audience. 

From stage left emerged one of Velvette’s models, tall and languid as she made her way down the aisle. She was wearing one of the designs Beau worked on. You couldn’t find him in the audience, but you were certain he was gnawing away at his nails seeing his reworked pieces finally hit the runway. 

Model after model swapped places with one another. Each struck their perfect poses, bright flashes of cameras reflecting off the shiny embellishments decorating their skirts and bodices. You leaned in closer, like a moth drawn to a flame, as you admired the fine details carefully crafted into the pieces you didn’t personally work on. 

The Overlords on either side of you were lasered in on the pieces but were both quite different in their presentation. To a third-party, Vox was uncharacteristically quiet as his eyes scanned over each model. On occasion, you’d catch a small line of code running along the top corner of his screen before it’d disappear. You guessed that he was being overly critical of Velvette’s line — eyebrows knitted, pensive eyes, and the permanent flattened mouth. 

Velvette, on the other hand, was muttering to herself under her breath. You couldn’t pick up what she was saying, but each utterance acted like a mantra that steadily calmed her lightning nerves. Her nails dug into your hand, holding onto you tight as you both watched the models stretch up and down the runway. 

The first presentation was an eternity of Midsommar, and after intently admiring the bright colors and shimmering beads your eyes stung with bleariness. The dimmed lights breathed to life, bright house lights searing the room, indicating the brief intermission that cut between Velvette’s showcase and whatever pitiful designer had to follow up her act. 

Vox leaned back in his seat, turning his head toward you, but you were already gone with the wind — stumbling in your heels as Velvette dragged you back out onto the main floor. An exhaustive sigh slipped past his lips, leaning the weight of his body against the chair. 

“No luck with Velvette’s pet, huh?” Valentino’s voice crept  around Vox, taunting him like a devilish serpent. The gleam of electric blue and red flashed in Valentino’s direction, a hollow anger decorating the TV demon’s face. The moth leaned into his partner, knocking shoulders and looking smug as always. 

Vox couldn’t be bothered to come up with some jagged insult, opting for simply getting up and leaving the scene quickly. Valentino’s haughty smile dropped from his face and sank into his chair, glancing over toward Cosette on his right. He peered over the top of his glasses, leaning in close to her. 

“You better keep that bitch in check,” he threatened low, bowing down dangerously low to her face. Cosette was trembling underneath his angry, red gaze. All she could do was dumbly nod, keeping silent and not daring to speak out of turn. When Valentino backed off of her, she frightfully looked around the room for you. 

She saw you standing proudly next to Velvette, a drink in hand and a bright smile on your face. The array of demons around you two droned on as you feigned interest in their discussion. And from not too far away, Cosette noticed a certain Overlord making his way over to you with quick steps. She could feel her stomach drop, hoping Valentino wouldn’t turn around and notice. 

In quick effort, she began pestering her Overlord date with various questions all focusing on him. Luckily, he continued to blab on-and-on with salacious details, each one spilling off his tongue in a fiery purr. Cosette forced herself to draw her eyes away from you, staring at her Valentino in the eyes long enough that her vision blurred. She needed to keep his attention long enough for you two to separate. 

Vox slinked like a shadow in the night, on the prowl to fulfill the objective that tangled his mind. He loomed over yours and Velvette’s shoulders, ever the pest for his partner. “Hello gentlemen.” Vox’s smooth voice curled up from behind you, his voice almost landing an intimate breath by your ear. The moment he cut into the circle of conversation, with a shit-eating grin wide on his voice, he won the crowd over. 

The collection of demons greeted home with bright, toothy smiles. Each of them took turns firmly shaking his hand or giving him a masculine clap on the shoulder. “How’s your evening going? Hasn’t it been a great show so far?” Immediately, he began entrancing his small audience with a charming smile. The pulse of color that emitted from his screen drew them in closer, like a mouth to a flame. In waves of eloquent words and brandishing compliments, he completely enraptured them. 

Velvette barely acknowledged him, too tempted to berate him for his intrusion. Instead, she opted for squeezing your hand a little tighter than you would’ve liked. But apparently, everyone was feeling handsy with you tonight. As Vox let the gentlemen lead the conversation, he slid into a paved spot next to you and danced his hand around the exposed skin of your shoulders. 

His claws trailed down your spine, drawing circles as he made his way down to perch rather low on your back. Your eyes locked onto Vox, a panicked flush burning at the tips of your ears. Suave and well-composed, he carried the appropriate dialogue with the demons — sparing you only a quick wink and a possessive pull to the side. 

“I’m impressed by the designs this year, Velvette. You’ve upped your game quite a bit – gonna give your competitors a run for their money.” 

“I sure hope so–”

“It certainly helps that my colleague here has the best and the brightest supporting her.” Vox zipped in, cutting off Velvette from fully accepting the appraisal. In quick succession, Vox ripped you from Velvette’s grasp and pushed you forward into the circle. Your boss began inflating your ego, singing songs of praise in your honor as he detailed the string of sleepless nights and hard work you contributed to the project and Velvette’s fashion empire as a whole. 

You drowned out the polite applause and feigned sounds of approval from the unwitting audience. It was like you were stuck in your spotlight and you had forgotten every word in the script. You weren’t prepared for this to be the event where Vox started to flaunt you on his arm and push for your presence to be known. 

A guilt stirred in your chest, one of a sickening pride. Hearing the scattered compliments about the specific dresses and suits you worked on, the astute observations about the cohesiveness — outward and direct exaltation you would’ve never heard without Vox standing here and tilting that limelight away from Velvette and onto you. 

Just as you were about to flee back into the sidelines, Vox grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to the edge of the conversation. “I’m gonna borrow your little date for a moment, ‘kay?” Before Velvette could sputter out an excuse to keep you there, Vox quickly swept you away from the corral of gentlemen. “Enjoy the rest of the show, men.”

The feeling of Vox’s sharp claws curling around your body as he smoothly pulled you around the room made your head dizzy. The heat of his body against yours, the bright lights, and the drowning cacophonous laughter of the demons. Everything made your brains swirl and focus solely on Vox and the electricity buzzing between the two of you. 

“Don’t you need to schmooze too?” You croaked out, nervously looking around the room for some out. That small moment of attention being honed in on you was enough to last you for the rest of the party. Anymore and you may burst and dissolve into a bundle of nervous energy – certain to make yourself a fool. 

“Nah, this is Vel’s event — not mine. I can do whatever I want.” Vox chuckled. He side-stepped one of the servers and plucked two drinks off her tray. Vox handed you one of the drinks in hand, rubbing his shoulder up next to yours. “You’re always working during these things, don’t you want a little break now-and-again?” 

You hummed as you brought the rim of the glass to your lips. “Well, aren’t I supposed to be on my best behavior?” You quirked your brow, a knowing smile teasing at your lips. “Being forced in the spotlight and all.” 

“Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world for that,” he continued to politely wave and flash a smile at guests “for now, consider this your night off.” He quickly brushed past his colleagues and turned down conversations equally as fast. Like a man on a mission. 

Vox led you toward one of the ornate balcony doors. The glass nearly reached floor to ceiling, the outside evening so dark that the windows merely acted as a mirror into the room. He gently pushed the doors open, widening it just enough that the pair of you could squeeze through. 

The Hell skyline was beautiful at this ungodly hour, speckled in flecks of crimson and deep sea blue. The soft glow of Heaven from miles away barely graced the skies and decorated the land. The night air was cold and biting, raising bumps along your bare arms. 

Before you could even begin to rub up-and-down your arms, Vox had draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. He leaned against the balcony fencing, joint hung lazily from his fingertips. With his other hand, he kept snapping his fingers to start a small light, but the winds were quick to extinguish it. 

“Help a guy out?” He urged, and without another word you were quick to step closer to him. You set your drink down on the balcony perch before cupping your hands around Vox. His eyes were fixed on lighting the roll, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. You liked seeing how focused he was, his half-lidded eyes, and the soft grumble of frustration. 

Vox was especially handsome in this lighting. 

A soft stream of disrupted smoke rose in between you two, the smell of the grass quickly blown away with the wind. The moment you realized the joint had been lit, you took a step back away from Vox. Though, your swift escape was quickly interrupted by an aggressive pull by your hip. 

“If you’re gonna have some, stay close — it might go out again.” Vox’s hand gently slid off your body, tantalizingly slow as he reached for his nearly abandoned drink. You didn’t dare retort and kept your proximity, urgently grabbing for your drink and gulping down a substantial amount. 

Vox was so full of shit. His excuse to keep you close had nothing to do with any practicality. As badly as you wanted to pretend that all these exchanges were innocent or some way of Vox testing your resolve, you weren’t stupid. You knew there was something more sinister behind his intentions. He wanted to indulge in carnal desires, to shed his persona and feel like a regular, hungry man. 

And you were almost just as desperate to return the indulgence. 

“You’ve done good work tonight.” Vox praised as he passed you the joint. He leaned his elbows back against the stone, slowly gliding his legs to slot in between yours. “You easily had the best team.” 

“You’re biased.” You shot back with a short laugh and a smile before bringing the joint to your lips. Vox shook his head, keeping his eyes steady on you as he took a sip from his drink. 

“Sure, but I’m still a man with an eye for perfection.” There was a flirting hum to his voice, especially as his eyes flitted up and down your body. You felt so exposed before him, nearly trembling under his carnivorous gaze. 

“And yet you get yourself looped up with some awful people,” you forced yourself to throw a sharp comment back. For the sake of saving yourself some ounce of humility in your flustered state. Vox let slip a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. 

“I’m a perfectionist. Doesn’t mean I keep my company perfect too.” He slyly responded, leaning forward closer to you now. “I don’t always do what’s necessarily in my best interest.” Vox’s voice dipped low, eyes lightly grazing over the blemishes and details of your face. You prayed he mistook your embarrassed redness for makeup blush. 

“Why not? Keep everything else in your life perfect and your whole empire would be too.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Vox chirped with a toothy smile. He suddenly took hold of your waist, pulling you toward him and switching you around. Your back was suddenly met with the cold stone of the balcony fence, standing impossibly close to Vox as he held you close. 

Your mostly finished glasses clattered to the floor and the joint hung loosely from your lips was plucked out by the Overlord shadowing over you. “I like indulging in a mistake or two.” His voice felt hot against your ear. The smoke slipping past his lips curled around your ear and down your neck, lighting your skin hot with frightened desire. 

“Don’t you agree?” Vox caged you against the stone fencing of the balcony.  You could feel your body lean back far enough to fall over and plummet to the ground. In a brief moment, you considered letting yourself fall back and diminish into a million pieces — maybe he was goading you to. 

Your breath was caught in your throat, unable to even squeak out a sound of a reply. Vox’s hand rose up to caress your face, sliding his hand along the angle of your jaw before landing on your chin. He tilted your head up, leaning in closer to you. The last time he held your face like this, he threatened you into submission. In the lilt of his eyes and the warmth of his touch, you could tell this time it was different. 

“Your heart’s beating so fast. Like a little rabbit,” he teased, inches away from your lips. His eyes darted back and forth between your mouth and your eyes, admiring how full of fear and want they were. 

You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the weed, or both, but you dared to close the gap even more. Your hands sheepishly reached up for his tie, tracing your fingertips over the silky fabric. You slowly wrapped the fabric around your hand, tangling him up with you. 

Without allowing for your brain to catch up with the movements of your body, you pulled down on him hard. Your mouth came crashing onto his, the hot buzzing sensation of his lips swallowing you whole. The joint was long abandoned, dropped and forgotten on the ground to be crushed under Vox’s shoe. His hands cupped around your face in desperation, wanting nothing more than to keep you here with him in this moment. 

 Your hands grew limp around his tie, sliding down the front of his abdomen. They danced dangerously low on his belt, your fingers tracing small shapes along the surface of the leather and occasionally curling around the loops. You pulled him  closer to you by the hips, needing to feel him envelope your body entirely. 

Any lingering moment of sensibility was lost to you. Every synapses in your brain fluttered into deactivation, instead focusing on the details of the pleasant hum of his lips against your own and the way his tongue gently prodded into your mouth and slid against your own. 

“V-Vox,” you stammered out in between hot breaths. You looked up at him, eyes clouded with lust and unashamed need. You hadn’t planned on saying anything to him. You just wanted to say his name, just once — another weak-willed temptation you gave yourself the pleasure of dipping into tonight. 

Vox’s hands trailed away from your face, one went to slide under your hair and hold you by the back of your neck, the other traveled down the slope of your spine and landed right above the small of your back. His mouth delved down onto the exposed flesh of your neck, peppering hot kisses up and down. 

“See? Doesn’t it sound so nice when you say my name?” Vox’s voice rasped against the base of your throat. His sharp teeth grazed against your cold skin, the sharp indents digging into your neck. Vox bit down, not hard enough that it’d leave any noticeable mark, but just enough that it elicited a soft moan from your lips. 

You feebly nodded, a trail of suppressed moans slipping past. Your hands gripped hard onto his hips, pulling him even closer to you — as if the distance could get any tighter. Vox’s knee parted through the fabric of your dress, slipping underneath the rather convenient slit of the skirt. 

Vox licked short stripes around the bites he littered along your neck and shoulders, eventually trailing up to meet your lips once again. You groaned at the impact of his mouth on yours again, taking him fully. Your arms reached up and locked around his neck, fingers playing with the top of his collar and tracing around the sliver of his exposed neck. 

“F-Fuck, baby,” Vox groaned against your lips as you began gently rolling your hips, grinding on his leg in desperation. Excusing any further politeness or airs of being a gentleman, he let his hands wander lower down your body, gently grazing over the curve of your ass before grabbing you tight as if you were all his. 

“I need you,” you whispered low against the corner of his mouth. At your words, Vox groaned and his grip on you tightened. He pressed you down against his leg, rolling his hips against you in tandem. 

“How badly?” He taunted, smiling against your lips as he peppered deep kisses in between his words. “So badly you’d let me fuck you on this balcony?” While the terror of getting caught and blasted all over the media sources froze you, the heat of it instead drifted down to your groin. You swallowed Vox once again, needing him to shut up and get it over with. If he was going to be bold and potentially fuck you over, he better do it now. 

Vox’s leg slowly drifted away from your hot core, instead replacing the desire with his hand pressed against your dampening underwear. His fingers gently ran over the outside of your pussy, teasing you with his fingertips barely delving past the fabric and to your skin. You cried in protestation against his edging, grinding your hips against his hand, urging him to plunge his fingers deep inside you. 

For once, Vox obediently obliged and gently pushed your underwear to the side. Your slick covered his fingers even just as he slid down your raw pussy. You had been waiting for this for a while, you finally let your professionalism facade drop and let Vox take hold over your wanton desires. 

The moment Vox let his fingers slip inside you, he buried his fingers as deep as he could inside you. You bit back a cry at the sudden stretch around just his two fingers. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, careful as to not smudge any of your makeup on his button-up. 

“When was the last time anyone fucked you?” Vox’s deep chuckle vibrated against you. He was unrelenting in his movements, hastily shoving his fingers in-and-out of you. The unabashed sound of your arousal echoed in the evening – the event too quiet to cover up the embarrassment you felt. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” He curled his fingers up, prodding at your sweet spot. You shamelessly cried out as he continued to press his fingers against the area, causing you to squeeze even tighter around his hand. A trail of profanities slipped past your lips as you bit down on his shoulder. 

As you were nearing your climax, a clanging ringtone sang through the night and startled you out of the moment. Vox was quick to silence the damn thing, immediately willing to ignore whatever important call he could be missing. All he was focused on at the moment was you. But before he could bring you back to a steady climb to your high, your own phone’s ringtone blared into the air. 

The sound grossly reminded you of reality — and it sent an immediate panic to your body. You ripped yourself away from Vox, scrambling to find where you had dropped off your purse on the balcony. Your heart sank when you saw the undeniable face of Velvette lighting up your phone screen. Without another moment of consideration, you picked up her call and urgently held your phone to your ear. 

“Where the fuck are ‘ya? They just called last five minutes and I haven’t seen you for ages.” The crackle of Velvette’s voice berated you through the speaker. You quickly looked over at Vox in a panic, collecting your purse in a hurry and dusting down your skirt — doing your best to ensure you were as uncompromised as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Velvette. I got caught up in a business discussion,” you were quick to lie, looking back at Vox as you shrugged off his jacket and threw it back to him. “I’ll be in right now.” You hung up on Velvette and shoved your phone back into your bag. You curled your hair back behind your ear and dragged your thumb around the outline of your lips, blindly cleaning up any evidence of your tryst. 

“I’ll see you in there.” Was all you said to Vox before you left him alone on the balcony, slipping out from the cold and back into the bustle of the crowd. 

Once you left, Vox groaned and smacked his screen. He was fucking pissed. Vox adjusted the tent in his pants, grumbling profanities under his breath about getting fucking blue-balled. Vox flipped through the notifications on his phone, seeing the stark call from Valentino lighting up as the most recent. 

As he stared down his phone, Valentino’s contact burst into color on the screen, accompanied by the irritating sound of the goddamn ringtone. Vox quickly answered, irritation seething through his teeth. 

“Where are–” 

“None of your fucking buisness.” 

Vox stashed his phone away and adjusted his disheveled tie, looking out at the sight of the Entertainment District as he did. His brain flickered back to the sight of seeing your hand bound up in his tie. An idea for exploration later. If only the cockblockers in his life didn’t shoe-horn themselves in. 

Before Vox could sling his jacket back onto his shoulders, he stared down at the little blemish of lipstick you left on his blouse. A small smile danced on his lips, a little achievement of pride, a reminder of what happened out here tonight. Fortunately for you, the suit jacket perfectly covered up your evidence. The next time, he was sure he wanted to brandish you and have you return the favor — a little gossip fodder for the media. 

When you made your way back into the party, you quickly slipped past the wandering eyes of anyone you could’ve known and fled for the bathroom. You took claim before one of the mirrors, quick to grab a damp paper towel and scrub yourself clean of any visible evidence. You couldn’t do much about your dripping arousal, but the least you could do was fix your lipstick. 

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you could only see flickers of the last however many minutes that transpired between you and Vox. You splashed your hands with cold water and patted your reddened cheeks. Fuck. How were you going to try and act normal for the rest of the night? 

You highly doubted Vox would try anything further tonight, especially after such a close call. He only got one chance for the evening and you both already blew it with your timing. You didn’t know when something like this would happen again, and you weren’t holding out onto any hope that something would happen. So now, how were you supposed to keep professional airs with him again? 

You already delved well past the line of workplace relations. There was a blank space for some fine-line writing between the job description of “Designer for Vox”. You didn’t know what you’d scribble down in place, but whatever it was — it was messy and a mistake. 

You were prone to mistakes like anyone, but this one was by far the worst one you could’ve made. You didn’t deny your enjoyment and pleasure, and your yearning for more. But you recognized that, as clear as day, this could fucking ruin you if anyone found out. 

The bathroom doors suddenly slammed open and in the entry way was a very distressed Velvette. Your gaze had shot toward her, making hard eye-contact with her. You hoped the adrenaline of her panic made her ignore everything else that was going on with your – any blemishes you weren’t able to fix or the fact that every muscle in your body was so tense. 

“There you are!” Velvette was quick to drag you away from the sink, clutching onto you like a vice. “I’m not letting that flat-faced dickbag take you again tonight, okay? I can’t stand the likes of these guys without you there.” She pulled you through the crowd and you stayed quiet, unwilling to even nod your head. It was better to not argue or even question her about anything. 

If you just went along with it, maybe the pieces would click back into place. You could go back to working for two-thirds of VoxTek like normal clockwork. You could disappear behind the curtains once again. And you would soon forget this night ever happened.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You were curious to see what else this newfound world had to offer, and you were desperate to find another wandering spirit like yourself. You couldn’t recall how long you had continued to wander through the Rings. You weren’t even certain of how many you had left to explore. 

It became a ritual after a short while — spending many endless days in one Ring, scavenging both sky and sea for any inkling of life. But each realm was silent, save for the occasional sounds of rushing water or the singing winds. 

You didn’t know how long you had been alive down here, or why you were brought here to begin with. No memory of another life danced in the recesses of your mind. No foresight into a world that you could live in existed. 

You thought this to be a curse cast upon you from your birth — a sentence of eternal solitude, never to experience the warmth of another person, never to seek belonging in another. It wasn’t certain if these realms would be your home, or if they were an obstacle that you had to overcome. 

This trial from whatever beings laid high above crumpled your resolve. You felt yourself start to decay from within as you trudged through each layer of the world. You were desperate to keep climbing higher and higher until you found any sign of life. You didn’t care if it was human at this point. You just wanted some proof that you weren’t alone. 

For a being who had never lived before, you felt lonely. 

As you departed from the honey-golden skies of your last Ring, you found yourself staring up at numerous volcanic suns rising high in the copper-colored skies. The land before you felt more deserted than the last. No longer were you met with unique jungle expanse, but instead you stumbled upon a warzone waiting to happen.

There was no proof that this Ring would be your last, nor would the next, but the last piece of hope within you believed that your journey would come to an end soon enough. Even if your travels were fruitless, you were determined to stay in the final Ring you’d discover. 

Exhaustion was quick to catch-up with you and drain you of any optimism that hid underneath your aching bones. You feverishly flew up toward the suns, zooming past them as you tried to claw your way through into the next. 

The air was biting, cold and unwelcoming. The skies were clouded over in a deep crimson hue, like a blood-soaked white cloth. Once again, the land seemed to be devoid of life. You didn’t imagine anything tangible would stand to live here anyway. 

The frost made your joints weak and the air in your lungs tight. You snapped your wings close to your body in the attempts to preserve as much warmth as you could. For a being that seemed to never need food or sleep, you could feel your body slowing down as you continued onward. 

But all you knew in this life was to walk forward, and so you did. 

As you wandered the empty land, you noticed that there were hardly any significant landmarks, unlike the others you came to explore. A few mountain peaks poked from the distance, but you didn’t imagine you’d find much if you climbed all the way up there.

However, you did bookmark it in the back of your mind as a future funeral site. 

It felt like you had been traveling for days by the time you came across a frozen lake. Along the ice were four concentric rings that etched itself along its otherwise pristine surface. You gingerly stepped across the slippery surface, kneeling down carefully on the lake. 

You swiped your hand over the frost, pressing your face against the ice to try to investigate beyond the cold. You scratched a sharp claw along the ice, ruining the unscathed surface. You wondered about diving inside, feeling the cold envelope itself around your body and letting your to-be corpse sink to the very bottom. 

If the cruel Gods above would let you die. 

You fished your makeshift dagger from its sheath, digging the blade into the ice and carving out a crude circle large enough for your body to slip through. You slowly chiseled away at the ice, tapping the bottom of your weapon at each pressure point. 

Large, wet tears began to stream down your face as you continued to work your way through. You were so tired, beaten, and berated by the condemning loneliness that weighed your small soul. Anguish cradled your very body as you splayed out on the lake, stabbing away foolishly at the thick surface. 

This was probably your final Ring, and your final chance for quelling your desolation. 

The lake cracked underneath the sudden force exerted on it. If you weren’t so focused on the task at hand, you would’ve noticed that the soft groan of the ice wasn’t because of your doing, but due to another weight joining its surface. 

It wasn’t until you felt the clamp of a hand on your shoulder that you reacted. Like it was natural-born instinct, you pounced the intruder and held your blade ravenously to his throat. You pressed him firmly against the ice, one claw pinning his shoulder down. Your wings flew open, caging around the two of you as you loomed over the feeble man. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

The man’s soft, breathy voice halted you. He sounded strained, perhaps due to the wind getting knocked out of him from your attack. 

“What?”  You choked, bewildered by the words of a man who was practically dead by your hand. 

He should be fighting for his life, thrashing underneath you, crying and pleading for mercy. And yet, he laid beneath you, completely vulnerable and susceptible to your every move.

The tip of the dagger kissed the arch of his throat — so close that it drew the tiniest dribble of blood. A shimmer gold began to trickle from the slope of his neck, coating the metal of your blade. A gasp nearly slipped past your lips before you quickly scrambled off his chest. 

What was he? 

You kept him planted on the ground, shifting your weight onto his hips. Your hand cusped around the back of his head, pulling his upper body up from the ground. 

You held his face to the moonlight, now seeing him with more clarity underneath the dewy glow of red. His doe-like eyes, a magnificent gold, traced the details of your face. He blinked up at you dumbly, not another word daring to leave his mouth. 

He was beautiful. 

The radiance of his eyes shone like no other, as if he were the son of the dawn, sparkling like the morning star. There was a dim glow around him, one that seemed to flicker and fade with every passing moment. 

You had spent so long in solitude that you were certain your mind was playing tricks on you. Or this place was testing you while you were at your lowest. Either way, you weren’t certain that he was real. 

“Who are you?” You quietly asked, the dagger still pointed defensively toward his jugular. 

“Lucifer,” he answered simply, completely entranced by your despite the clear threat toward his life. “I’m,” he paused as if he was remembering himself  “— was an angel.” 

“I was banished here.” His expression quickly dropped as he recounted his punishment, eyes glowing with the deep-seeded anger that he felt in the pits of his stomach. 

You had forgotten yourself in these last moments — forgotten your purpose in roaming these empty worlds. As you continued to stare at him, you could feel a familiar sting kiss the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you pathetically apologized. “I didn’t think…” your words lost themselves in your throat. You stashed the blade and held Lucifer’s face tenderly in your hands. Your thumbs gently caressed over the slopes of his dusty red cheeks. His pale skin was like ice underneath your fingertips, but the warmth of his body cradled you. 

“I thought I was all alone.” You cried, refusing to let go of the strange man. You feared that the moment you let go of him, he’d disappear like dust among the wind — a delusion of your own making. How else could such a heavenly being grace you now? 

“How long have you been here?” You slowly lifted your weight off of him, extending a hand down to him as you pulled him from the ground. His hands never left yours, relishing in the little bit of warmth that still radiated from your body. 

“I’m not sure,” Lucifer answered truthfully, glancing at the dismal skies that watched over you both. “I’ve been stuck here for … a while.” 

“You never left?” 

“I can’t–” Lucifer croaked. He withdrew one of his hands, sliding it over the slope of his shoulder and wincing at the wound he could barely reach. “I have no way of leaving.” 

You felt your lungs collapse in on themselves. Maybe you two had arrived here around the same time, forced to be on entirely opposite ends of this world. Expected to never find one another. 

“Let me help you.” You softly pleaded, brushing the stray longs of his golden hair behind his ear. Your hand cupped his cheek, brushing away the stray tears that began to roll down his face. “I’ll bring you somewhere warmer.” 

Lucifer pathetically nodded, leaning into your touch, desperate for some modicum of comfort and relief from the pain he had been harboring just as long as you had. Without another word, you cradled him in your arms and unfurled your large wings.

The flight down to the first Ring you awoke in was spent in silence. Lucifer clung onto your body like a feeble child, afraid that you’d let him go at a moment’s notice. For a fallen angel that had seemed to do something so horrifically evil to deserve this kind of punishment, he seemed to be strangely human. He seemed soft and gentle, just another pitiful soul craving kindness. 

Returning to the soft, gentle pink skies of the Ring almost felt like coming home. From all the realms you’ve seen, this one seemed the kindest — something perfectly befitting of two wretched beings needing some respite from their plights. 

You set him down along the sandy shores of one of the many islands that littered the land, sitting him underneath one of the large palm fronds. 

“Can I see your wounds?” You politely asked as you tore a scrap of fabric off the tattered clothes on your body. Lucifer carefully shrugged off the wrap of cloth that clung to his body, turning his back to you to reveal the wounds God had left for him to bare. 

“Why did they do this to you?” You murmured as you gently traced your fingers along his spine. Your eyebrows furrowed as you inspected the gashes trailing along his shoulder blades. Gold blood seeped from the wounds, still relatively fresh despite all the time that had passed. 

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped as he exhausted a pathetic laugh. He spared you a sad glance over his shoulder. “I sought power greater than God. I just wanted to have a life of my own, be my own person aside from His little helper.” 

You quietly hummed, balling the scrap of fabric in your hands. “Is it so wrong to want to be free?” As you posed the idea, you drifted toward the ocean. 

“Apparently,” he lightly joked. 

“If I were an angel, I would’ve fallen here with you.” You spared him a smile, one that he wouldn’t see. You soaked the makeshift tag in the warm, healing waters. 

“I’m glad that I found you,” Lucifer admitted sweetly, pulling the length of his hair over his shoulder to give you clear access to his back. “I thought I’d spent eternity alone too.” 

“At least you’ll never have to.” Your words were comforting to Lucifer, eased in knowing that — despite his punishment — he wasn’t the only one subjected to it. 

And still, the idea that a nurturing soul like you was subjected to a life in Hell before you had the opportunity to truly live. Maybe it was his own desires for companionship that manifested you into this world. 

“I’m glad I found you too,” you repeated his words. “That Ring I found you in seems miserable to be in.” A light jest, but it cut deeper into Lucifer than he would’ve liked. 

Compared to the Ring you awoke in? He was surprised you left in the first place. It was distinctly opposed to the cold, heartless land he was forced to travel along. But he didn’t question or blame you for leaving — it made sense. You weren’t stripped bare of your freedom, yet. 

Even in a land akin to paradise, it would be impossible to live in a utopia when the only soul around was your own. 

You gently dragged the damp rag over the tears on his back, healing the worst of the gashes. Lucifer winced underneath your touch, the pain still searing and present as you brushed over each shoulder. He bit down on his lip, worrying that his groans of agony would deter you from taking care of him. 

The skin around his wounds seemed to regenerate, still pink and raw, but much better than before. Another dip in the water and you continued to clean his body down, making sure to scrub off the dried flecks of gold blood that were splattered along his skin. 

The two of you remained silent as you continued to treat his scars. Your gentle hand would continue to brush over his unscathed skin, sending chills traveling up his back. But you were so warm. Lucifer couldn’t help but melt into your touch, despite the sharp ministrations of your cleaning. 

“This may be a punishment, but I suppose they did give you what you want,” you pointed out as you rung out the blood from the rag. “There’s no one here but me, and I’m certainly no God.” 

“Hm, I’d disagree,” Lucifer hummed delightfully as he leaned back into your arms. “You saved me after all. I’m indebted to you.” As he splayed out on your lap, you brushed the stray strands of blonde away from his face.

“You can pay me back by not abandoning me,” your laugh was the sweetest sound Lucifer had heard in a while. While you were partially joking in your words, Lucifer already had his mind made up — he would never leave you. 

Lucifer didn’t even entertain the idea of returning to solitude. Being entrapped here in Hell was his divine punishment, but finding you was a newfound blessing he wanted to hold onto. Neither of you knew when these lands would populate, but there was a mutual understanding that it’d be just the two of you for a while. 

The pair of you continued to spend your days together, arm in arm. You carried Lucifer through each realm, finding the joys in showing him all that his prison had to offer. It was beyond what Lucifer thought was befitting of him, but he saw the beauty in the landscapes and the potential they had to act as homesteads for future wayward souls.

But for now, it was a world built only for you two. 

Long forgotten stories spilled from his lips as he quietly murmured against your skin. Each passing day was filled listening to the fallen angel ramble on about his stories from Heaven — his grievances with the other Angels and the brief instances where he missed being there with his people.

But he was no longer theirs, and neither were they his. 

It took Lucifer some time to grow past the fondness he once held for a realm that no longer welcomed him. He wanted to strip himself bare of the little reminders his body carried from Heaven. He had already lost his wings, lost his divinity. Even his long hair reminded him too fondly of the days the Seraphims would braid his hair and the flowers that would decorate his mess of curls. Naturally, you helped him chop most of it off, leaving him with a somewhat crude hair cut, but he didn’t care how he looked — he felt lighter. 

You regrettably had no tales of your life to share with him. Instead, you wove bountiful stories and dreams of the wasteland that could soon be populated by more likeminded people. You seeded the idea that Lucifer could be their King, to be the guiding hand that protected the souls of the people who wanted to be free, to be the voice for the voiceless. 

Lucifer and you would lay underneath the starless skies, dreaming of the world that would build around you. Tangled in each other’s arms, stealing soft kisses between shared laughter, and breathing life back into each other. 

Lucifer gently laid you against the ground, holding you with the compassion of a devout lover. His thumb swept over your bottom lip, quietly asking you for permission to indulge in you further. You draped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer for a chaste kiss. 

Your lips found each other in desperation, melding into a perfect union. He tasted like ambrosia wine, tart and delicious. Lucifer’s chest pressed against yours, the soft beating of his heart drumming against yours. One of his hands traveled down to your hip, the other slithering past your wings and planting itself on the center of your back. 

Lucifer continued to litter kisses along the expanse of your body, making sure to kiss every part of you he saw — down your stomach, along the curve of your hips, and across your aching legs. 

He pushed between your legs, lapping at your core as if you were the last meal he’d get to experience in this life. Your hands reached for his choppy golden hair, tightening around the curls as you encouraged him further. 

You arched your back, pushing your hips against his mouth. Soft moans escaped from your mouth in breathy sighs, feeling your pleasure coil itself deep in your core. You cried out his name as he devoured your whole, bringing you to your peak. Your mind blanked as you came on his tongue, thighs quivering around his head as he continued the gentle ministrations of his tongue. 

In your haze, you desperately clawed at his pants, begging for him to fill you. Lucifer continued to press hot kisses along your thighs as he undid himself, palming his hardening cock. You tilted his head up from between your legs, urging him to plant another kiss along your lips. 

As Lucifer pushed himself deep inside you, you cried against his neck, gently biting down on his unmarked flesh. He drew your mouth away from his neck, enveloping your mouth instead with a life-stealing kiss. Lucifer ground his hips into yours, reaching the furthest depths of your body. 

You latched onto him tightly, moaning into his mouth as he continued to fuck you into the ground. Lucifer felt animalistic in indulging his desires, pounding into you relentlessly as both of you chased your high. For the first time in his life, Lucifer felt free. He felt human.

In a cry, you came with him, biting down on his shoulder as he filled the emptiest parts of you. Lucifer pressed his forehead to yours, not daring to retreat from you now. He held you tenderly in his arms, kissing along the apples of your cheeks until he reached your mouth once more. 

The two of you remained in comfortable silence with one another, treasuring the quiet breeze of the land around you and each other’s steadily beating hearts. 

Lucifer thought he’d never be able to experience the warmth of passion again, to feel the embrace of another. He was condemned to a life in Hell, but you were here with him — a comfort he never knew he’d find. 

The three of you peacefully sat together while you worked on your respective pieces, desks pushed closer together and everyone hunched over their projects. Violet had seemed to be nearing the end of her finishing up her final dress while you fretted over the miniscule details that no one other than you and maybe Velvette would notice. 

The lulling sound of 1940s jazz hummed through the crackled, shitty speaker, filling the void of conversation. Each brass burst and sliding note led to the occasional tapping along to the music as you continued to sew artificial flowers onto the bodice. 

And just when you were believing that your work week with Velvette would be unsullied by unwelcome guests, the elevator bell dinged. 

Before you could rear your head toward the entrance, the cacophony of laughter echoed through the studio. Both of the voices were distinct enough for anyone to notice — the other two-thirds of the Vees decided to waltz into the room and make themselves known. 

Valentino had his arm slung around Vox’s waist, holding him close to the hip and trickling his fingers down to his hip. The pair of them giggled like lovestruck fools, fawning over each other and not letting the other person go. They continued to walk through the studio as if they owned it, completely ignoring the three of you. Vox led the way to Velvette’s office, sliding his hand over the small of Valentino’s back. 

Your jaw clenched as you peeked over at them. Your mouth felt dry and granular, disgust resting comfortably in the swell of your throat. Hands gripped with precision around the needle, the sharp metal leaving a faint indent in the grooves of your fingers. The simple sight made you spiteful. 

It was no secret that Valentino and Vox were … involved with one another. Every other month the local magazines and newspapers had a new photoshoot of the two of them featured on the front, or the latest controversy that Valentino was tangled up in (that Vox would inevitably comment on and clear him of any transgressions). 

And even still, seeing the two of them together like this in person made your heart ache and your head swirl with confusion and annoyance. But you kept your head down, biting your tongue. It was better to stop yourself from continuing the self-induced torture of watching them. 

“Velvette, darling!” Valentino happily chirped, his wings fluttered in gentle vibrations as he eagerly awaited their third. While you and the designers were far from her office, Velvette’s exasperated groan could be heard from inside. From beyond the curtained-off glass walls, there was the occasional clatter and loud profanity as Velvette maneuvered her way around. 

Velvette threw the door open so hard the hinges nearly flew off the frame. “There’s my girl,” Vox whistled, arms outstretched as he awaited a warm and welcoming hug. At the moment, Velvette was far from being anywhere close to sweet and inviting. Her eyes were sunken and dark, exhaust weighing on her face and joints. 

You tried to focus intently on your work, but they were being so loud and obnoxious you couldn’t help but shamelessly steal glances over toward them. And overhearing the pet name Vox gave to Velvette made your stomach twist and squeeze, a knotted discomfort sitting right in the belly of the beast.  

“What the fuck do you lot want?” Velvette immediately seethed, eyebrows knitted into a fine line of anger. She leaned against the doorframe of her office, completely ignoring Vox’s invitation for a friendly gesture and instead insisted on a ‘quick, but productive’ kind of talk with no extra niceties. 

“Listen, Vel,” Vox’s voice dipped into that sickly saccharine tone of his, manipulative and forthcoming with a favor. “I know we agreed that you’d have my employee this week-”

“My employee.” Her correction came sharp and covetous. 

“We have a meeting about dressing my team for the gala—“ Vox tried to fight his way into the conversation while keeping his cool composure. 

“Zip it. I don’t care.”

Velvette was testing him. Vox’s smile never dropped from his face, but sharp teeth clenched tighter. His eyes were blown out and wide as he stared down at Velvette. The occasional glitch flashed over one of his eyes, mimicking an eye twitch of sorts. 

Feeling the heat rising off Vox’s shoulders, Valentino swiftly splayed his spindly hands over the tensest parts of his body. He pressed his face affectionately against the side of Vox’s screen, a gentle purr leaving his lips. “Babydoll, please, you know he needs to do this.”

Velvette’s lips tightened into a firm frown, an eye roll accompanying her soured expression. She already had a series of reasons and insults loaded in her arsenal, but she knew her attempts would be futile. Vox always got his way. One way or another. 

From an early age, children are combated with the idea of learning how to share and the same sentiment often applied to the three Vees. Although, they had a much more difficult time learning this than children did. 

Velvette — especially — had her own struggles with sharing her dolls as a child. Like many children, she felt as if she was owed everything in the world. As far as she was concerned, she was the princess and everyone who wasn’t her were indentured servants. 

Obviously, she hasn’t grown out of that stage.

Ever since Valentino and Velvette joined Vox’s powers in VoxTek, Velvette has needed to share the spotlight and all the appraisal. Underneath VoxTek, there was hardly anything that was truly hers alone. A small sacrifice for a much more grand life — beyond anything she could’ve ever dreamed about.

Her studios were her respite from having to share her power; everything was hers to control and bend to perfection. And yet these thugs come storming in as if they also owned the place. This was her domain, the one source of control she still had over the Entertainment District. 

“I don’t come riotin’ on your floors, do I?” Velvette sneered. 

“C’mon Vel, just one hour,” Vox’s grating, agitating voice zipped into Velvette’s ears. She groaned and pinched the bridge of nose, trying her best to diffuse the oncoming migraine. 

Vox was almost always full of shit. She knew that at the end of the day, he didn’t really need to have you at the meeting this instant. But, even still, she still loved him and would do anything to help achieve their dreams, even if it meant giving up a doll for him to play with for a while. 

The only person more stubborn than her was Vox, and unfortunately Valentino would stop playing neutral and side with his perfect on-and-off boyfriend. No matter how desperately she tried to fight them both, she’d never win. Her fiery attitude and cruelty reluctantly dissolved before the two men. 

“Yeah, sure, fine-” Velvette huffed. “The team is finished with their designs anyway.” She mumbled to herself. The hand that Velvette had pressed to her face dropped slowly, her fist balling him at her side. Her sharp nails dug into the palm of her hand, knuckles turning white from how firmly she curled her hand in. 

She resisted the urge to deck him in the screen, to kick him in the shins — get her frustrations out on him in some way. “If you go even a second over, I’ll rip out your fuckin’ wires.” Velvette poked an accusatory finger at Vox. “Got it?” Her sharp nail dug into the soft fabric of his blouse, dangerously close to piercing through and stabbing him. 

Vox carefully laid his hand over Velvette’s, sandwiching it between his chest and his hand. “I swear. On the Bible.” His other hand rose up in pledge, snarkily smiling down at his much shorter compatriot. She shoved him back, thrashing her hand out from underneath him.

Velvette stared down Vox like he was nothing more than a bug to be squashed under her boot. She pushed past Valentino and stomped over to where her designers had been stationed for the day, face flushed and upset. Hearing the frenzied clacking of her heels, you looked up to meet her gaze — her eyes full of fire and paving a path of destruction. 

You knew she wasn’t mad at you or anything along those lines. You were able to hear the whole goddamn conversation from across the room. But the sheer anger that radiated off her body was frightening enough as is and your body instinctively froze. 

From a few feet away, the other two Overlords trailed behind her like some body guards watching over their client. Seeing the three of them together approaching you felt like Death was passing over your doorstep, ready to reap your soul and take you someplace worse than Hell. 

Once Velvette got to your desk, she smoothly slid on top, crossing one leg over the other. Her head sharply turned to you at break-neck speed. “Shit for brains is gonna steal ‘ya.” You dumbly nodded, worried that if you spoke your voice would embarrassingly break. 

Even if you wanted to speak up to say something, she quickly cut into the tension in the air. “I’ll see you in an hour.” Velvette was obviously directing the dialogue at you, but you couldn’t help noticing the glowering threat in her eyes that she flickered over toward Vox. 

Ignoring her, he slid over to the side of your desk and stood parallel to Velvette, arms crossed over his chest and a smile lazily strewn on his screen. He leaned in toward you, heat practically radiating off of him like an overworked computer. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” The deep, husky voice you’ve been passively fantasizing fluttered into your ears. The warmth and intimacy of his breath sends a heat down to your legs, disabling you from standing or moving without making yourself the fool. 

Your brain couldn’t fixate on anything else but Vox, and it idled on the salacious desires that have been bubbling up to the surface in the middle of the night. Staring him in the face only made your face flush scarlet as you wondered what it would feel like to lay your lips on his buzzing screen, the curiosity to know what it would feel like to be swallowed whole by him. 

“Hi, sir,” you choked out, feeling so small and insignificant underneath Vox’s hypnotizing gaze. And Valentino loomed next to him, curling his claw possessively over his partner’s shoulder. 

Violet and Beau were blatantly staring at the whole sight, jaws dropped and eyes bugged out. It was as if they had seen a ghost, or were about to witness a murder. If you weren’t intensely focused on three of Hell’s most terrifying Overlords, you would’ve snapped at the two of them to pry their eyes away. 

“Our meeting will start in 30 minutes. My office?” Another dumb nod from you. “Good.” 

The TV demon pushed himself off your desk, retreating back into the arms of his partner. That same, nasty feeling from before dried out your mouth, jealousy pitted in your throat. Your mistake was allowing yourself to silently survey them, noting the intimacy of wandering hands and close proximity. 

It wasn’t too different from how things had been with Vox recently. 

A large part of you wished Velvette stood her ground more firmly and didn’t let the bastard swoop you up. With how mortified you were still feeling after the club, you were unsteady about seeing him in an intimate space — just you two, alone. But until he changes his mind about your employment (doubtful) or you get executed (more likely), you’d have to get used to being around him and seeping in the consequences of your actions.

The two intruders turned on their heels and made their way toward the elevator, half-heartedly giving their ‘byes’. The ding of the elevator arriving made Velvette sigh with relief. Without sparring any of you another glance, she took off toward her office. 

Once the door to her office slammed closed, Beau and Violet began to bombard you with hushed shouts. “Dude, what the fuck?” Now the two of them began to encroach on your space, abandoning their work for later. 

“I didn’t think they’d  fucking fight about it,” You softly exclaimed, overly cautious that the Overlord could hear you from all the way in her office. “I can’t believe she was actually serious about trying to keep me here,” you said in a quieter, stern voice. 

“To be fair she does own you,” Violet pointed out. 

“Yeah, but to play that calling card is sooo bullshit,” Beau argued. “It’s over one hour of your labor, and you’re practically done with everything anyway.” How sweet of him — to defend your honor like that. 

“It’s fine-” you abruptly lie. “Selling your soul to one Vee basically makes you responsible for the others. It’s annoying, but it’s technically what I signed up for.”

“Just remember that you’re more than a corporate slave, ‘kay?” Violet reached over to hold onto your hands. 

The conversation mellowly fizzled out from there as everyone slowly returned to their respective projects. Once again, the mellow music you were playing earlier sprung to life and bounced off the walls. 

The hands on the clock seemed to be ticking away at a snail’s pace, inching closer to 10:00pm and yet the time remained at a standstill. You continued to bore yourself with working on the details, and while the work kept you busy, your mind was still bothered. 

You already knew your freedom was going to get stretched from minimal to barely existent when you were assigned to work for Vox, but the list of the further complications associated with them only continuously grew. While this was only the second time (you’ve publicly known) that they’ve fought regarding your employment, you worried about its progression. 

Despite being favored by both parties, you already knew they were the type to take their anger out on their employees. Obviously, in your many years working for Velvette, you’ve been on the receiving end of a strike (many times) — you definitely didn’t put it past Vox to do the same. 

You tunnel visioned into your own personal tar pit of agonizing regret, shame, and dismay. Everything before your eyes melted away into a soft blur of colors, feeling your body move itself like muscle memory. Without even realizing, you were standing right before the door to Vox’s office. 

You barely remembered saying your goodbyes to Violet and Beau, and you definitely didn’t recall even speaking to the receptionist that let you into the back. You walked through the dark hallway, following behind the pretty receptionist that skittered down the familiar path, and you didn’t pay attention to a single thing. 

“Come in,” Vox called from beyond the door — you hadn’t even knocked. You glanced around the wall surrounding the door and the adjacent wall, only now noticing the superfluous amount of surveillance strewn about. You quietly turn the knob and let yourself in. 

Vox lazed in his office chair, feet propped up on the desk and cigarette in hand. You carefully stepped inside, bombarded with the heavy stench of the smoke, and took your rightful place in the sole chair sat directly in front of Vox. 

“Sorry to have to make a scene to get you down here,” Vox wove his hands, exasperated and apologetic. He slid his feet off the edge of the desk, leaning forward and snuffing out his cigarette into the ashtray. The ceramic disk held a few smushed cigarette butts from the same brand, evidence of red lipstick smeared on the ends — Valentino’s, no doubt. 

“I’m sure you know how stressful these deadlines can be for Velvette,” you carefully worded. “I assumed you already knew you wouldn’t have me until after the show, given how she reacted when you asked for me two weeks out.” 

“Yeahhhh,” Vox drawled. “I thought she’d drop the bitchy attitude for this at least.” One of the giant screens flickered alive behind him. A series of various tabs and windows were sorted around, the entire screen covered in miscellaneous scrawls of notes, sketches, and designs. 

Without looking away from you, he gestured behind him to the screen. “We have a couple things planned for the annual VoxTek Gala,” he began to explain, sifting through for a specific email from the depths of his inbox. “According to PR, it’s better if we have some uniformity with how the ballroom is going to be decorated.” 

Vox continued to rattle-off the stupid themes that were popularly endorsed by the public — all drab, all boring. While Vox didn’t love the idea of centering the anniversary of his company with a theme, he knew he had to pick something. He knew how important it was for the audience to be invested in the gala, even if they would never get to step foot past those doors in their pathetic lives. 

He toured through the presentation the event coordinators had quickly thrown together for him. Each photoshopped photo and concept layouts was engrossed in various shades of deep cool colors highlighted with fluorescent, neon colors and lights. Even the shark tank would be decorated accordingly, dimmed down with most of the light inside coming from neon pink and yellow lights. 

The deep, underwater theme felt like a sensible decision — nothing too gaudy or ill-fitting of the company. If anything, the idea was definitely only picked because it screamed Vox. You scrawled away on a page in your notepad, jotting down vague concepts and ideas. 

Over the course of the next 20 minutes, you two had various disagreements and back-and-forths about the general theme you wanted to have for the team. Well, what Vox wanted for his team. And, naturally, he got his way. You took down a list of the anchors he wanted dressed — the faces of 666 News. 2 for Katie and Tom, 5 for the news anchors, 1 for the weatherman, 1 for Jeffery, and 6 total outfits for the murder, sex, and gossip segment anchors. And one show-stopping suit for Vox.

16 fucking outfits. 

All by next month. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to fulfill this unless you had some of Velvette’s tailors help you out. As you looked over the details and the deadlines, your heart began to race and panic shot through your veins. You had exactly 32 days completing everything, having lost out on an additional 2 days of work per the fashion show.

“S-Sir, I know I told you I wanted heads up for these kinds of things, but I really can’t–” He swiftly cut your ramble off.  

“I wasn’t gonna ask  you to do this all on your own, sweetheart,” Vox laughed. “Cashed in a favor with Velvette — you’ll get a wholeeee team to control. Just act like quality control.” You couldn’t believe any of the words that rang from Vox. As he continued to speak, he only continued to wrap you in a blanket of the most desirable words you’ve ever heard. They were simple, but fresh to your ears. 

You’ve never even fancied the concept of you having help instead of being the one serving everyone, waiting on them like an obedient dog. More surprisingly, you couldn’t believe Vox had whiplashed you with stress and relief all within a few minutes, but you were thankful for it nevertheless. 

The rest of the conversation with Vox progressed quite professionally as you continued to bounce ideas off of him. You two continued chatting until the 50 minute mark of your meeting, having ended with rough ideas of how you wanted to stylize each person. And, of course, established tha no one else was allowed to touch Vox’s suit but you. 

“Okay, we’re edging close to time,” you began to gather the scraps of paper you drew on. “I should get back before Velvette has my head.” You half-heartedly laughed. 

“I won’t keep you.” Vox replied. 

It was quite shocking that Vox didn’t have a laundry list of other things to bombard you with. Every time the two of you spoke, there was always extra fluff and banter that Vox would sprinkle in. As much as you enjoyed the efficiency that you two worked at, you were somewhat disappointed that everything was so to-the-book. 

You slapped yourself silly for even feeling a modicum of sorrow that the two of you didn’t banter as you normally did. Yes, you found enjoyment and comfort from those meaningless talks — slowly seeing the human behind the screen. But then you remember all the horrible shit he’s done, and all the glamor starts to wash-off of him. 

And you’re back to square one with him. Detesting him, but unable to pull yourself away, because your soul was bound to this building and you couldn’t help but feel fascinated by the man. Vox was like all things wicked, something so desirable but it was probably better to stay far away from. 

As soon as you got to the door, creaked it open, and took one step out, “Are you gonna be there on Monday?” You looked over your shoulder. 

“Obviously.” You snarkily reply with a smile. Vox chuckled in return, leaning forward in his office chair. His eyes were locked onto you, scanning over your face. 

“I mean are you going to be with us? Val is bringing little — what’s her name? — whatever,” Vox rambled, tapping the side of his screen as he tried to jog his memory. “Miss So-and-So.”  

“You gotta be more specific here.” You let go of the handle, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited for Vox to spit out the name. His face flashed through multiple pictures — CCTV camera footage, old red carpet interviews, Voxstagram posts, etc. Every image was focused on Cosette — her soft, mossy eyes transfixed on the camera or whomever she was talking to. 

Oh, no. 

“I’m sorry–” you shut the door. “Why is Valentino bringing Cosette?” You cried out, almost angry. Valentino was already getting enough torture out of her everyday, but apparently it wasn’t enough for him. You had a sick feeling that something publicly bad may happen to Cosette. 

“Well, Velvette usually brings you around. Tino wanted a pretty little thing on his arm too,” Vox explained, looking through you as if you were stupid. It made sense as to why Valentino wanted Cosette with him — get her featured in the public and also potentially rear up a public controversy within the same event. An assertion of power while playing part of the Saint that got the poor girl her five seconds of fame. 

“And why aren’t you Valentino’s pretty little thing for the show?” You teased, leaning back against the door. 

“I’m too pretty for him,” Vox boasted with a charming grin. You hate agreeing with Vox, but you’d agree with him on this. For whatever real reason Vox didn’t be Valentino’s date, you were still pissed that the moth settled for your best friend out of all options. 

You hummed in amusement. “I’ll see you soon, sir.” You shortly excused yourself, sparring Vox once quick glance over your shoulder before disappearing past his office door. Before you left, you noticed another error code quickly flash across his screen — the flickering blue light bouncing off the glass around the room. 

As soon as the door closed, you let out a deep sigh before glancing back toward one of the cameras in the hallway. You gave a small wave and quickly ran off out of eye-shot. From within Vox’s office, he watched you give your cute wave, waving back even though he knew you couldn’t see him. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Velvette was constantly appreciative of you, always praising you and calling you her lifesaver. She always picked you to be her arm candy during public events because to her — “you’re my very best” and thought you were her most visually appealing of her designers. Velvette used to bring whichever model she was dating at the time, but quickly learned that — unfortunately — they were ridiculously bad at small talk and business talk with the company’s partners. 

You were capable of being pretty on the carpet and sweet talking your way into stronger connections with other brands and companies around the Pride Circle. And Velvette adored you for being able to handle the heat of adamant and rude demons berating VoxTek and asking for instructive insiders on the business. 

Honestly, during most of these events, Velvette treated you like a partner rather than an employee. You could feel your worth with Velvette, and that feeling nowadays was worth more than all the riches in the world. Throughout all the years you’ve worked for Velvette, you’ve always looked up to her. Even during the worst moments of working for her, you admired her power and ruthlessness.  

And Vox, well, the reasons you appreciated him were glaringly obvious. But, at the end of the day, Velvette was your favorite. 

For one, you’d rather Velvette hold dominion over your soul than Vox any day. You could guarantee Velvette would always take care of you, but Vox was like a ticking timebomb waiting to reign terror into your life if you took one misstep. 

And still, being back in the office felt like a death sentence. 

As per usual, there was constant movement around the workspace — models and designers alike frantically putting themselves together. Velvette and the rest of the team were getting ready for an upcoming fashion show — less than a week away by this point. 

You sidestepped past the scurrying sinners mucking around the floor, sliding along the linoleum floor and avoiding the foot traffic. You narrowly avoided a coffee spill incident on your way toward your desk. 

Your workspace was just as you left it — cluttered and disarray with a small fragment of “organized chaos”. You tossed your jacket on the back of your chair, plopping your bag down haphazardly on your desk. 

Before you could settle into your spot, a little imp came skittering over to you. You just couldn’t catch a break. 

“Miss Velvette is asking for you,” she simply stated, barely sparing you a glance from her clipboard. Before you could even respond, she had disappeared as quickly as she approached you. You glanced around the room, eyes surveying over the crowd to find the Vee you needed. 

Among the sea of vaguely familiar faces, you took notice of the sluggishly dragged along body of Violet and Ember. If Velvette was asking for you, it also probably meant she rallied up the other stragglers from the designers. You quickly caught up with the two of them, a pep in your step that was non-existent from the other two. 

Ember and Violet leaned up against each other — obviously haggard and exhausted from the night before. Dark circles decorated under Violet’s eyes and Ember’s fiery hair was an absolute mess. If you weren’t with them the night before, you would’ve believed that the pair of them narrowly escaped a car crash. 

The two of them didn’t even have the motivation to switch out of their clubbing clothes — Violet was swallowed up by a fashionably large blazer covering her tight-fitting dress and Ember’s eyes were blocked out by a large pair of sunglasses that dimmed the industrial lighting in the studio. 

“I see I’m functioning better than you two,” you jested as you approached Thing 1 and Thing 2. They clung onto each other for balance and stability, but it was like the blind leading the blind. The pair of them were barely able to keep each other standing and moving toward the office. Obviously, they were wrecked and (assumedly) they woke up no earlier than an hour ago. 

“C’mon,” you murmured as you swung Violet’s arm around your shoulders. You gestured for her to lay her head into the crook of your neck. She buried her face into your collarbone, feebly doing her best to block out the bright lights, a soft groan tickling against your skin. 

“Yeah, yeah — no need to brag about it, asshole,” Ember half-heartedly sighed as they followed behind you like a lost puppy. You guided their hands to perch on your free shoulder for less-hungover stability. Being a smidge shorter than you, could feel Ember’s head thump against your back as they weakly pushed you forward. 

“The sooner we get this meeting over with, the sooner I can rot at my desk,” Violet groaned against your skin. She gave a feeble pat to your back and ushered you to keep moving. 

Despite their insistence to hurry up, you three moved at about a snail’s pace — primarily due to the sluggishness of your companions draped over your body. They hardly helped with walking and thus you were bestowed with the unfortunate task of dragging them across the studio. 

You earned a couple of curious stares for the few passerbyers that weren’t in a complete panic. Quite frankly, you were a little irritated that Ember and Violet weren’t able to get their shit together before stepping into work. Their sloppiness reflected poorly on the reputation of the rest of your cohorts. 

But, you knew that being upset was surface level, and you were being hypocritical— if it weren’t for your pretty privilege with the Overlord, you’d be in the same boat as them. 

As you approached the office, you noticed that the deep, satin curtains were drawn — giving you a clear view inside to see Cosette and Beau sitting around the desk. 

Cosette was still distinctly hungover; definitely not as affected as the two you were lugging along. She was much sleepier, uncharacteristically slouched in her seat with her eyes closed and eyebrows knitted together in an exhausted concentration. Beau, on the other hand, seemed to be unfazed by the throws of the night. Instead of clutching his head and leaning over the porcelain throne, he leaned back comfortably into his chair while nursing a hot cup of coffee. 

At her desk, Velvette had her pointy boots kicked up on the mahogany. She was fervently typing away at her phone and conveniently ignoring the two employees sitting before her — too engrossed in her media doom-scrolling to pay them any mind. 

“Good afternoon, Velvette,” you politely greeted as you lugged the two bodies into the room with you. Your friends peered back to see you, the sudden motion throwing Cosette into a light headache and sending Beau quickly getting up from his seat and abandoning his coffee on the desk. Ever the valiant man, Beau scooped Violet from your arms and led her to one of the empty seats next to him. 

“Why do you all look like shit?” Velvette’s voice cracked through the quiet, her sharp eyes scanning over you and your co-workers. Her glare was lethal as she stared you and Ember down, silently commanding you to sit immediately. Out of instinctive fear, you nudged Ember off of you and took a seat — sitting as proper as you could. 

“Everyone in this studio is fucking incompetent,” Velvette seethed as she stood up from her chair, slamming her hands firmly on the desk. You resisted the temptation to glance over at your peers, afraid that Velvette would have your head on a platter if you dared look away from her. 

While she wasn’t able to start having a screaming match with you all, you could tell that she was extremely irritated. You weren’t exactly sure if you all were the part of this problem, but regardless someone was in trouble. And it must have been something significant enough for her to have called this meeting so last minute. 

“We have a fashion show in four days and everything looks like SHIT–” Velvette screamed, sharp nails digging into the wood. Her gaze shot between you and Cosette, a notably desperate gleam ghosting over the fire in her eyes. 

“I don’t care what those two motherfuckers have to say about it, but I’m taking you both back until we can get our shit together over here,” she seethed. Velvette pinched the bridge of her furrowed brows, screwing her eyes shut. 

“The designers here are getting sloppy with their technique. I don’t care if no one can see the imperfections up close. I CAN and it’s pissing me off,” she ranted, resisting the urge to slam her fists once again. You nervously looked over at Beau at this point, meeting his eyes in an awkward exchange. 

You swallowed hard, clearing out the knot that tied itself in the center of your throat. It felt like a stone you were trying to consume whole — grating, tense, and painful. “I’ll send a message to Vox letting him know I’ll be gone,” You spat out.

You didn’t know why it felt so difficult to say that outloud. Maybe it was because you knew you were stuck between two horrifying Overlords, being pulled by either arm back and forth. And you were worried about getting in the crossfire of the inevitable screaming match they would have. 

“I-I’ll tell Valentino too,” Cosette quietly chirped up. The notion of needing to give Valentino bad news sobered her from her hangover nausea. Her spine was tense and straight, hands crumbling tight on her skirt. You looked over at her, a small frown deepening on your face as you saw her bottom lip quiver with fear. 

“No, no, no,” Velvette tutted, quickly averting her gaze from all of you to focus on her phone. “They won’t listen to you, I’ll handle it.” She began typing away like a madman — letting Vox and Valentino know that she’ll be stealing their designers. Well, not stealing, but taking back what was hers. 

You almost sighed loudly out of relief, and you knew Cosette resisted the urge as well. Her shoulders visibly relaxed, the panic dissipating from her eyes. You shifted ever so slightly closer to her, your hand curling over top hers. Cosette wordlessly turned her hand over and gave yours a squeeze, the previous tension she was holding releasing into your hand. 

Honestly, you could kiss Velvette for sparing the both of you the pain of having to tell the two biggest brats that they couldn’t have their way. You just got let off the hook with Vox for telling him off, and you didn’t imagine he’d take too kindly to you telling him to fuck off for the second time this week. 

“I need you five to whip them into shape, ‘kay?” Velvette said, not even bothering to look up at you guys. 

“As you know, we’ve got a whole midsummer theme going on for the upcoming solstice,” She prattled off, pulling out a folder from the drawer of her desk. She flipped it open, sifting through the various sketches and designs that the six of you had drafted up months ago. 

“I’ll leave you all individually in charge of each collection of your designs,” Velvette explained, sliding the drafts to their respective designer. You took your papers back, flipping through the five different pieces you had made. 

It had been ages since you last saw this collection. Presently, there were a few things you wanted to change, but it was far too late into the process to make it work within four days. While you were still proud of the work that you had done, it was riddled with a lot of amateurish mistakes that you’ve since improved on. 

Regardless, it was good enough and that’s exactly what the company needs (at bare minimum). 

While Velvette was one of the most infamous designers in all of Hell, she wasn’t the only one that existed in Pentagram City. There were many other designers, but very few of them could rival her sheer power. Her name was revered in every district, a true tyrant over the industry. 

Every single one of her competitors knew that if they dared to step on her toes, she’d quickly scavenge away through the archives of the worst moments in their careers and start a smear campaign on them. One post and they’d be seen as the city’s pariah. 

Velvette was already at the top, but she still had a reputation to uphold. A burdensome and very heavy crown perched on her head. And she would never let her name and life get tainted by the laziness of some idiotic demons. If it did, she’d personally call down the angels to exterminate the lot of you. 

“Alright, you’re dismissed,” Velvette announced, easing back into her seat. “I’ll send you an email with details.” As everyone quietly collected their bags and said their gratitudes, Velvette called your name with the commanding tone of a mother about to scold her child. 

“Stay here.” 

Chills immediately ran up your spine, her glowering stare keeping you planted firmly in your seat. Your knees knocked together, tightly held in poise as you stared ahead and waited for everyone to flood out. You could feel their gazes trailing on you as you silently sat still. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as soon as the last person left the office. Now it was just you and Velvette. In the passing seconds that passed between Velvette calling your name and everyone shuffling out of the room, a million thoughts addled your mind. 

This is about last night, isn’t it? 

You were certain she didn’t see you at all last night, but maybe Vox’s loud mouth spilled all the salacious details of your drunken, flirtatious stupor. Maybe she was about to scold you for indecency in the workplace, and needing to keep your urges in check. 

“I can’t show up empty-handed to the fashion show,” Velvette cooly started. She distracted herself with her phone, avoiding the intimacy of asking you for help (once again).  Another internalized sigh of relief. Any previous tension held in your body dissipated and you eased into your seat. 

You weren’t fully out of the woods yet, but this started to bode well for you. 

“You can just ask me to be your date.” You cut in, a teasing tone dancing on your voice — a sly, sweet smile accompanying. 

Velvette rolled her eyes, the faintest dust of embarrassment quickly fleeting from her cheeks. “Yeah, okay, whatever—“ She quickly deflected, each word landing a soft punch. She leaned back into her chair, arms crossed defensively over her chest like a child. 

“You know I’m always more than happy to be your date.” You chuckled, unfolding your hands from their balled position in your lap. She sheepishly glanced at you, lips tightly pursed and a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. Velvette was always … shy to show her graciousness most of the time, but you knew she deeply appreciated you.

“And I’m always thankful,” Velvette huffed. “You know that.” 

“I do.” An earnest smile. 

While Velvette struck genuine fear within you most of the time, she could be really cute like this. It was funny, really — seeing this harrowing Overlord timidly ask for you to be her date when she could have anyone she wanted in the palm of her hands. And this wasn’t even the first time you had escorted her to parties and meetings, being the pretty little thing on her arm. But still, she was painfully meek about asking you every time. 

It made you feel good. A little boost to your ego. 

“Anything else you need from me?” You raised a brow, leaning closer to her desk. Velvette quickly ‘shooed’ you away with her hand, barely sparring you a glance before typing away at her phone once again. 

“Nah, I might need ‘ya later, but for now you’re cleared.” You nodded and stood from your seat, smoothing your hands over the creases on your pants. As you made your way towards escape, Velvette’s voice chimed in again — halting you firmly in your stride. 

“Also, I know you’re all hung over, but make sure you actually do work today,” Her eyes met yours with a devilish sparkle, a smile teasing on her lips. 

“You could always whip up some of that potion for them.” You pointed out, matching her all-too-knowing grin. Velvette cackled in response, sighing with delight. 

“Nah. Let a girl have her favorites,” Velvette winked at you. A small pride in your chest swelled as she laughed, a newfound pep-in-your-step. It was not a rare sight to see her laugh, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to be the one to cause it. But, regardless, every time you did it made you feel good. Strangely human, even. 

“Have a good day, Velvette. I’ll see you soon.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The entire room was spinning, and even when you closed your eyes you could feel the bed underneath you start to swirl in the opposite direction. You immediately moved to lie back down onto the bed slowly, grabbing onto the fabric underneath you for some grounding perch. 

You, quite frankly, couldn’t fully recall all the details and events of last night. The major events flashed by in your memory like photographs, but the specific details fell into the recesses of being forgotten. 

Your head drummed like the reverb of a gong, loud and intense, as you recalled the few snippets you do clearly remember. The bitter, burnt taste of cigarettes still lingered on your tongue, and the back of your throat ached with strain from yelling and singing along to music. 

You remembered most of the start of the night, spending your time with your friends and grossly relaying the pitted secret you’d be harboring for the past few days. 

In your sobering hour, you really debated if that was ultimately a good decision or a bad one. Either way, it already happened. Nothing can change that. 

Flickering remnants of dancing in the maelstrom of bodies, being graced by pretty and handsome varieties of sinners. In the depth of your memory, you vaguely recalled shimmering gold on dark skin and bright eyes. Aside from that, you couldn’t quite remember the details of their faces. If anything, the heat of their touch was cemented onto your skin.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” a voice you’ve gotten quite used to hearing recently rang in your eyes. He had a cheery lilt to his voice. You only softly groaned out in response, burying your face into the silk pillow. 

Your heart sank to your stomach. Of all fucking people you could’ve gone home with last night, it was your boss. This was embarrassing. Now that you pieced coming home with Vox, the faded memories of ogling him trickled in. 

Really, you could only remember speaking to him at a close distance, chests flushed against each other — conversation topics forgotten about. But just knowing you two were … entangled in such a compromising state was enough for you to know that your ancestors were rolling in the graves, or wherever they ended up.

“Fuck noooooo,” you complained, voice muffled out against the fabric. The mattress dipped lower when a new weight came to join you on the bed. Large claws caressed your head, patting you softly as you continued to cry against the pillow. 

“I’m so sorry if I gave you any trouble last night,” you immediately spat out, fighting the urge to punch yourself in the dome for being so reckless and getting yourself wrapped up in this situation. 

“This is so fucking embarrassing.” You murmured into the sheets, hands reaching up to clutch at your own hair in frustration. Vox’s hands slid over yours, gently prying your claws off of your locks. 

“I’ll pretend it didn’t happen,” he sighed, smoothening out the tangles in your hair. “But obviously you owe me.” Naturally, he had to remind you. 

You half-heartedly swatted his hand away from your head, a few “yeah, yeah, yeahs,” spilling from your lips. Your hands drew to your face, burying your shame deep into the cusp of your palms. 

“Thanks for getting me back safely,” you begrudgingly sighed through your hands. “I probably was a fuckin’ mess.” 

“You were,” he paused, “fine.” The vague intonation of his voice made you immediately suspicious and furiously embarrassed. 

“Fine?” You choked out, lips curling downward into a deep frown. You bit down on your tongue, eager to know how you actually were last night. 

“You were a bitch to put to bed, but that’s it,” Vox begrudgingly confessed, poking at you with a sharp claw. Behind his tight smile, you knew there was another story lying just underneath the surface. But, behind your stubbornness laid a man equally, if not more, stubborn than you were. 

You glanced over toward the clock in the room, the hands on its face blurring and swirling together like a wormhole. You could barely see the metal prongs move along the ticks of the clock, squinting your eyes hard to guess the time. 

Vox’s eyes trailed over to what you were glancing at, smiling in amusement at your struggle to orient yourself.  Vox murmured out the time for you before making his snarky comment, “I’m surprised you woke up at all, let alone this early.” 

Shockingly, it had only been 9am — much sooner than your personally predicated 1pm wake-up time. Honestly, it was a relief that you were stirred alive this early; it gave you much more time to reorient yourself and feel like a proper demon again. 

You feebly groaned in response, squeezing your eyes shut once again as the room continued to spin. You really hadn’t had a hangover this bad in years. Nausea crept up from your stomach and toward your throat, threatening to send you over the edge of embarrassing moments with Vox.

If this is how you were feeling, you weren’t exactly confident that you could tug on the reins of your own stability. Every glance around the room, every burdening inch of movement, and even the dim shine of soft light made you want to hurl. 

“Let me take care of you,” Vox softly insisted after taking quick notice of the contortion of your face as you attempted to keep everything down. He traced small circles on your back, the gentle and sharp angles of his claws drawing faint lines along your spine. 

“Nu-uh, you’re gonna expect more ‘I owe you’s from me,” you croaked out with a slight gag, pushing the TV demon away from you. You collapsed against the mattress, leaning your head over the edge of the bed — blankly staring at the dark wooden boards. 

The floor was spinning too, but you’d rather throw-up on the floor than on the freshly done bed. Save yourself the more difficult clean-up and perhaps a slightly more embarrassing situation. 

“At least drink this,” his voice chimed from above you. A bright and glittery flash of bright purple cut into your view, his claws curled around the small glass. The iridescent bottle shimmered against the contracting dark floors, and an all-too-familiar logo was affixed to the neck of the bottle via a small tag. Another Velvette potion. 

In a quick act of desperation, you snatched the vial from his fingers and choked down the entirety of the mysterious liquid. Almost immediately, a cooling air wrapped around your nauseated senses and eased you back into comfort. There was a newfound clarity among the static noise of your brain. It was almost like you were reborn. Again. 

Normally, you’d be more cautious with the substances being ingested in your body that aren’t your usual indulgences. But to Hell with it, you were feeling like shit and you’d drown yourself in whatever hangover cure if it got you feeling right as rain. 

The buzz from the liquid lingered on your tongue — a faint flavor of pomegranate, delicious and intense. You hummed to yourself, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Honestly, you liked this one better than the energy potion. Maybe you should cash in some favors with Velvette from time-to-time if she could make an energy drink taste like this. 

“Good,” Vox mused quietly, plucking the vial back from you and swiftly capping the empty glass. You lolled your head to the side to look Vox in the eye, still drowsy and tired but stable enough. To Vox, you looked damn-near like a sickly Victorian — all the color drained from your face and the generalized weakness shown in the languid way you moved. Perfectly pathetic. 

“Add that potion to my laundry list of shit I owe you,” you meekly comment. “And Velvette for that matter.” A hum left your lips as you gently lifted yourself up from the bed. 

You wanted to sink yourself into the soft bed and rot there for the rest of the day, but alas, a demon’s work is never done. Even without the hangover cure, you were holding yourself to the standard of clocking into work today. And without the excuse of feeling nauseated, you definitely needed to go to work. 

You and Velvette didn’t cross paths last night, but you had assumed she had some inkling of what you may have been up to last night — given the potion. It was likely that she was also just as hung over as you, but if she went to work and you didn’t? She’d kill you. You had zero excuse to not show up today. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said earnestly. Vox looked over at you with softened eyes. He absolutely adored seeing you in such a state of gratitude. It only boosted his ego more, especially when it came from such a sight for sore eyes. 

“Can’t let my best employee end up in some shady back alley," he jested. Vox slowly stood up from the bed, dusting off the front of his slacks. He extended a hand out to you, waiting for you to gingerly take it.

“I guesssss,” you accentuated, raising your brows at Vox. You gently laid your hand in his, letting him pull you up out of the bed. “You’re just blowing smoke up my ass after the other day.” As soon as the words left you, you began to feel your insides curl into a tight, cringing sensation. 

Way to bring up your mouthiness so casually. He literally threatened you over it.   

But your worry immediately washed away as soon as he spoke again, and without an ounce of malice or pettiness lacing his tone. 

“I’m honest enough,” Vox insisted with a charming grin. “But if you won’t take my word for it-” he trailed off and drew out his phone from his pocket. Vox opened up whatever himself-branded social media app he was on, quickly searching for the 666 News account. 

He held his phone up in front of you, scrolling through a series of comments underneath one of the media posts from the broadcast channel that highlighted the big reports from the evening. Every comment below spilled with girlish appraisal and love for the team. 

omg katie looks soooo good!!!

guys … hear me out …. tom is kinda-

oh my this is GAGGG worthy

their wardrobe team is EATING rn

vox could step on me and i’d say thank you

idk what they’re cooking up in vee tower but they are looking extra GOOD

i’m gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure

tbh these outfits are so flattering on them. i like it better than whatever slop they wore before

HOT HOT HOT !!!!!

A warmth crept onto your cheeks and you couldn’t stop the wide-stretched, proud smile joining your flushed face. Honestly, the crew of broadcasters were already generally an attractive collection of sinners, most of the praise automatically locked themselves onto the pretty faces. But you noticed the occasional comments about who made them look so good. And your pride from that could not be diminished at this moment. 

You look up from the phone to stare back at Vox, a bright twinkle in your eyes. The entire time you read through the comments, Vox had been admiring you — from your tousled bedhead and droopy eyes scanning over the body of text, and the most infectious smile he’s seen outstretched on your face. 

“Told ‘ya,” he laughed, curling a large hand around your shoulder. “You make me look good.” 

“I make all of you look good, apparently,” you sassily correct. 

You slipped Vox’s phone back into his hand and ran your fingers through your tangled mess of hair. You felt so disgusting and fucked up, you couldn’t even imagine how badly you looked either. And all of that was embarrassingly laid out before your boss and potential person of fuck-interest. 

“I should head out,” you sheepishly insist, glancing around the room for any proof of your bag and all of its contents. “I’ve got five hours until I need to see Velvette and I’m in no shape to see anyone right now.” You explained, scrambling to swipe your bag off the night stand. 

“I’m honored to be the only one to get to see the sight,” Vox teased, walking over toward the room door to open it for you. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get to have a say—“

“Mhm, you technically did,” He shot right back, the most smarmy look on his face. “You were practically begging me to take you home.” 

Obviously, based on his tone he was either exaggerating or flat-out lying. Either way, you took his comment with a grain of salt despite your apprehensions about why you ended up at Vox’s in the first place. 

“Shut up,” you groaned with a half-hearted laugh. You fished through your bag, counting along all of your items — phone, cigarettes, pre-rolls, lighter, wallet, keys — everything had safely returned with you. 

Your eyes met Vox’s once again before you murmured another gratitude to him. Your shoulders slumped with exhaust, deeply grateful for him getting you home safely and in a nice, comfy bed. And he went out of his way to get you a little cure-all for work today. 

Honestly, it was sweet. 

“You can thank me properly when you fulfill your end of the bargain,” Vox sharply beamed. 

Okay, not sweet anymore. 

While you did not actively understand the inner workings behind that screen, you could tell he already had something in mind. Your lips tighten into a fine line, unwilling to prod further into what was in store for you. You didn’t even want to know the flurry of bad thoughts that barraded his head. 

You had some inkling, but you didn’t dare to ask further regarding the matter. 

“Fine,” was all you had to say before scurrying out of the room. You kept the conclusion short and curt — desperate to get out of there in your current state. The sooner you left to make your walk of shame, the sooner you could freshen up and feel more or less normal. 

You gave a quick goodbye to Vox and left him in the dust of his own apartment, practically scrambling out of being within eye and ear-shot. 

As you stood in the elevator to make your way to your apartment, your mind was teeming with elicit thoughts that were far from the norm. 

Your mind replayed the small snippets that you vaguely remembered from the night before. The warm, intimate lingering of your hands over each others’ bodies. The slurry of alcohol that nestled itself in your stomach and the butterflies that started to flutter up to your chest as you both inched closer. 

Fuck.

You buried your face into the cusp of your hands, mentally berating yourself and your own intrusive recollecting. Last night you had planned to go out and catch some tail, and yet you came home with the one person you were trying to get your mind off from — and you didn’t even get laid by the end of it. 

Maybe it was for the better. 

Your mindless slip-up a mere hours ago led you to be even more buried in all the conflicting feelings you had for the TV demon. And reminiscing on his purring voice and fiery touch did not help ease any of your turmoil. You scolded yourself for letting you be so unfettered. 

You should’ve known better. And you couldn’t blame anything on the alcohol or the soft-drugs. Your drunken subconscious plotted to ruin your life in the hopes of — in an ideal world — letting your body feel gratified for the evening and get all of that pent-up sexual energy released. 

Either way, you would’ve gotten fucked.

The most you could do now is try to keep diligently working for Velvette again until your feelings for Vox dissipated. You could guarantee the next two days Velvette had you all to herself, but then you’d have to go crawling back to Vox for a meeting concerning the business gala set next month. 

Maybe now that your first assignment with him was done (and you had all the important information you needed to keep making suits for him and his team), you wouldn’t need to see him as frequently. You could only hope. 

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but for you it should give yourself enough time to steel off your feelings of fear and arousal. The need for professionalism had to outweigh your own personal desires. 

There was a pleasant solemn silence in your home, uninhabited and peaceful. It was just you and the quiet for the next few hours. While it was perfectly serene and a distinct difference from the boisterous evening you had, it left you alone with your own brain and the detailed fantasies that prickled in the back of your head.  

You found yourself looking at your own reflection in the bathroom — met with the personification of disaster. 

Surprisingly, your hair wasn’t as destructive as you thought it would’ve been, but your face still showed evidence of the drunken slumber you had. Sleep lines cut across your face and the make up Beau did for you last night was either long gone or smudged along your tear lines and down the apples of your cheeks. 

And, most notably, you were still wearing Vox’s shirt. It was pretty wrinkled, but otherwise devoid of any other marks or smudges. As you began to unbutton your blouse, you realized that your clothes from the night before were still laid underneath the sea of white fabric. 

You hummed to yourself as you slowly removed the article of the clothing, letting the shirt spill around the floor of your bathroom around your feet. While you were barely giving Vox any points for this, you did appreciate that he didn’t outright try to take any advantage of your inebriation. 

But that was the bare minimum. He shouldn’t get any points for being a half-decent guy. 

And still, your mind lingered on the idea of Vox being otherwise ungentlemanly. There was a part of you that mused over the thought of Vox slowly stripping you down before laying you to bed. His eyes wander over your exposed body, daring to let his hands trace over your curves and linger across your cold skin. 

Vox’s head dips down in-between your legs, the buzz from his screen sending jolts up and down your body. His lips don’t even get close to kissing down your calves, but he gently takes your shoes off and tosses them to some corner of the room. 

You don’t know what it would feel like to kiss him, but you imagine it’s electric, fuzzy like a carbonated drink and tickling along your skin. Enveloped in his warm glow, hands caressing down the curve of your spine. You arch closer to him, chests flush against each other.

You inch closer to him, warm breath glazing over and fogging up the part of his screen where his carnivorous grin had been outstretched. You want to feel his teeth graze against your pulse, a daring bite clamping down on the crook of your neck. You want to devour him just as badly as he wants to ravish you. 

Vox pulls back away from you, teasing you into desperation. His claws lightly dig into your hips as he tugs you closer to the edge of the bed. Vox’s hands loop underneath the waistband of your bottoms and pull them off — tantalizing and slow like he’s toying with you. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you further than he already has. The dark room is illuminated only by his glowing screen as he ogles every part of you, relishing in how exposed you were. Just for him. 

At this point steadily on your way to drowsy town, the high quickly catches up to your exhaustion, but you keep your eyes locked onto him through fluttered lashes and half-lidded eyes. Vox’s claw draws a line down the middle of your torso, daring to drift all the way down. 

You whisper his name out, softly urging him to get closer to you — to touch you, to feel you, to hold you, to fuck you. Your breathing feels uneven and labored, desperate to have him closer to you. Vox’s hands slowly drag over the buckle of his belt, undoing the leather from its confines before unbuttoning his own pants. 

You immediately stopped yourself from thinking about it further. Your face was engulfed in red and your hands were gripping the edge of your sink. You turned on the cold water and splashed yourself in the face with it. You groaned into your hands, unfortunately frustrated and horny. If you could drown yourself in the small puddle of water in your hands you would. 

Get a hold of yourself.

You need to get ready for work and get yourself in a decently presentable state. And right now with all your intrusive thoughts about Vox, you may need an extra hour to yourself. Hopefully, after then, you can banish yesterday's events into the ignored crevices of your memory — along all the things that are better off forgotten. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Every corner you turned, there would be a building that had your exact desire displayed on its window. If you walked any street downtown, you’d be met with variations of clubs, smoke shops, love hotels, or late night food spots that kept demons frothing at the mouth for more. 

Tonight’s particular delicacy came in the form of one of the biggest clubs in the district. With three floors to explore, large dance floors, bars around every corner of the room, and private rooms under reservation. It was the perfect place to blackout with friends and potential bed fellows. 

After the weird morning you had, Vox was kind enough to let you clock out early for the night. Honestly, you were glad to have wriggled out of his grasp for the day, especially since you needed to get him off of your mind for a little while.

Tonight was about you. Well, about you having fun with your friends — and potentially some others. You weren’t exactly looking for some hot tail to snatch up into your bed, but you were hopeful to catch a free drink and an innocent flirt for the evening.  

Something, anything, to let yourself shake loose of the building sexual frustration stuck in your body. 

It was rounding to 9pm by the time you and your friends reunited together,  all gathered in various states of dress in Ember’s home within the tower. You and two of the designers — Violet and Beau — were seated on the floor of Ember’s bedroom, cracking into your own beers and exchanging light conversation among yourselves and the room. The other two — Cosette and Ember — were sharing a seat at the desk, passing a decently-sized travel mirror between each other as they finished their makeup. 

It had been a while since the five of you had gotten the opportunity to spend time together outside of work functions. You all had met as small fish in Velvette’s pool of fresh-faced designers when your relationships began to develop, but it wasn’t until you all became her lead designers that the friendship grew deeper. But as the years dribbled by and the workload steadily grew alongside the company, it became more and more difficult to manage the balance between work and life. Just seeing each other in passing was a luxury these days. 

But despite the time away from each other, you all returned to the same high-energy, bursting excitement of contagious laughter and jabbing jokes. It felt like you were back to the early years of friendship— drinking on the floor of your bedrooms and talking shit, the most affordable way of hanging out. 

Cosette was dragging Valentino’s name through the mud, sharing every detail and every grievance she had while working as the personal designer for him and his studio. You all got the nasty details about the various forms of verbal abuse she’s received by Valentino, and the horrible things she’s been forced to witness being at his side for most of the day. 

There had always been rumors circling around the tower about Valentino. Stories of models disappearing off the face of Hell.  Poor girls who’ve been coerced by him during private parties and disappearing without a trace before the night is over. So it was no surprise to hear that all of these whispers were true — and all of that was confirmed by Cosette’s own eyes within two weeks. 

But despite the sinister subject matter at hand, there was still a lightness in the air from your raucous laughter and crass jokes. Honestly, you couldn’t stop from grinning ear-to-ear being in the company of your friends. You had really missed them dearly. Even if your reasons for calling tonight’s plan were selfish, you were glad that at the very least you were able to get everyone together. At the end of the day, you just wanted to have a fun night with your friends again. 

By the time the five of you reached the club, you all were around three to four drinks in and feeling plenty lighthearted and giggly. Despite the pretty hefty paychecks you all got, no one was willing to spend bank at the bar. And for a Wednesday night, the club seemed to be completely packed to the brim. Down the block was the pitiful sight of sinners waiting in the cold night to be let into the sweet respite. 

“Do we wanna wait or-” before Violet could finish her question, she got shushed by Beau. 

“Brough my work badge with me, skip the line,” Beau grinned from ear to ear, holding up his pristine ID — electric blue and flashy with “VoxTek Personnel”  in defined golden script underneath the small font of his name. 

As expected, getting past the Kaiju bodyguard outside of the building was no issue. It took one look at Beau’s ID for him to immediately unclip the velvet chain and usher you all inside. But as soon as you scurried past the glass doors, you were met with a dense sea of sinners. 

“Let’s get a drink,” Ember suggested loudly over the booming sound of the music and the chatter. Ember’s hands wrapped around yours and Cosette’s shoulders as they pushed the two of you forward to follow Beau and Violet into the crowd. As you snaked through the masses, you’d occasionally bump shoulders with the rogue dancer or hunkering demon, but with less struggle than you expected, you all made it to the surprisingly barren bar. 

Beau wolf-whistled the bartender over, giving him a curt wink and a wave — ushering him over to get you all situated. Beau and Ember ushered the three of you into the bar seats in front of them, blocking out any unwanted company for the time being. 

Once the orders were in and the bartender began to shake up and stir your beverages, Beau reared his head in your direction and curled his hand around your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. 

“We heard the horror about Cunt #1 already — how’s working with #2?” Beau raised an eyebrow, devilish smile stretched out and eyes twinkling with curiosity. Everyone else’s heads turned toward you, intently looking at you with similar glints in their eyes and their ears perked up. 

“It’s nothing crazy,” you started, fishing around in your bag for your pack of leftover cigarettes from the last time you went out. You wanted at least one more vice to indulge before you started spilling your tales to your companions. 

Honestly, you needed to confide in someone outside of your own mind about the tension that’s been going on between the two of you. Someone to tell you if you were crazy and/or practically dead on arrival with him. 

“I think he’s trying to fuck?” 

“WHAT?!” they all clamored in unison, leaning in closer to you — desperate to drink in more of the details that you most certainly had buried in your chest. You cupped your hand around your stray cigarette, striking your lightly and barely sparing any glances to your friends as they urgently waited with bated breath. 

“He’s been … flirty,” you chose carefully. “He’s always super touchy with me and weirdly … forward. And today he started calling me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘baby’.” you recounted, nursing your cigarette with urgency — needing the nicotine to cloud your mind and let your brain trickle into some semblance of relief. Yes, you needed to talk about this, but you wanted to bury all thoughts of him under the rug before you got onto the dance floor. 

“I don’t know. Is that just something he does?” you stammered out. 

“Maybe?” Violet responded, sliding you your drink from the bartender. “We’ve always heard him use nicknames like that for Velvette.”

“Yeah, but she’s practically part of the polycule with him and Valentino,” Ember interjected. They plucked the cigarette from between your fingers, taking a huff for themselves. 

“Okay, but that’s not all right?” Beau leaned in close to you. You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a pat on the shoulder. As you sipped from your beverage, you began to unfurl the ongoing laundry list of specific incidents between you and Vox — every little detail and breath shared between you both. 

You traced over the sexual tension, vague details of his lingering hands on your body, and the way he’d dip his voice into such a seductive tone when he was talking to you. Naturally, you spared your friends from hearing you go over in expletives about how he made you feel. 

Obviously, your friends were in agreement that Vox was trying to at least put some moves on you. But you couldn’t help the feeling that you were being delusional and crazy. 

Of all sinners in the Afterlife, why you? One of the most powerful Overlords in Hell, going after an insignificant thing like you? Surely it must be some game he was playing? Maybe, even, there was trouble in paradise with Valentino and he just needed someone significant enough to bother his on-and-off boyfriend. 

Before your mind could rattle off anything else on the topic, everyone finished their beverages and decided to shift onto the dance floor. Despite your mind momentarily slipping into thinking about Vox, you were quickly swayed away from the notion of him. 

You slipped into a world of your own, falling into a slipstream of every vice imaginable. With the swirl of smoke in your lungs and plenty of alcohol in your stomach, you were raving with excitement and glee. 

Throughout the evening, you switched off dance partners — varying between your close friends and other nearby stragglers looking for a fun group to temporarily step into and linger for a few beats. With the flurry of color-changing lights and the waft of nicotine and marijuana blending in the air, you felt like you were among the clouds. 

The hours seemed to dwindle on by as you continued to dance and indulge in whatever substances were handed to you by your friends. Technically, it was a terrible idea for the five of you to get this fucked up on a Wednesday night, but the euphoric high was unmatched. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink — want anything?” you called to your group as loudly as you could, battling the bumping noise of the crowd. You got a variety of  ‘no’ and ‘I’m good!’ before making your swift departure toward the bar. 

Ordering a drink was always the worst part of clubbing: given the battle to push through dancing demons and the variety of sinners seated at the bar itself. But the bartenders here have a heavy pour, so at least the end-goal will have you stumbling on the way back to your friends. 

Once you made your way to the bar, you squeezed yourself between the plethora of bodies that were lined up along the bar. You desperately looked around for a free bartender, unfruitfully trying to wave them down. They were all quickly dashing out drink orders to the other sinners that came before you, quickly slamming down the drinks and snatching the money slid across the bar. 

You squeezed your way through the gap between people and planted yourself against the bar counter. While you stood and patiently waited, your eyes fluttered to the patrons around you. You could feel them again, an obsessive pair of eyes watching after you. 

“This is from that gentleman over there,” a bartender came in from your blindspot, startling you from your thoughts. The drink laid out in front of you was a deliciously fragranced martini with a dried passionfruit decorated on the rim. You cradled the drink closer to you, loudly thanking the man before looking toward where he had pointed. 

Clear as day, across the way, there was the unmistakable bright blue screen of the most powerful Overlord this side of the Pentagram. Vox was leaning over the edge of the bar, elbows propped up on the surface. He smiled as he pressed his lips against the rim of his glass of rum and coke, sending a wink your way before gulping down his swig. 

Your eyes widened, caught off-guard by seeing your fucking boss here at the club — during the one night you go out and leave VTower. Everything about you felt suddenly unprofessional, too exposed, and in a drunken state of affairs. Even at the gala events and business parties, you’d never let yourself get too far gone — especially while you had Velvette on your arm the entire night. 

But here you were, already way too many drinks deep, doped up, and vulnerable. 

You looked eyes with Vox, taking a sip of your martini. His eyes traveled down the slope of your neck and down to your exposed neckline, drinking in every inch of your skin. You watched his eyes flit around every part of you, feeling scrutinized under his hard gaze, but aroused by it all the same. 

God, he looked irresistible tonight. 

Maybe it was the stirring slurry of alcohol and smoke that had already infiltrated all of your senses, or it was your pre-existing attraction toward him — but you felt your body being pulled in and drawn to him like a moth to a flame. You waved off to the bartender, snatching your drink, and carefully slipping past the towering figures around you. 

Miraculously, you found your way around the side of the bar to find Vox gone from his seat, but instead waiting for you against a nearby wall. He knew you were coming. He could’ve assumed you would just leave after the drink, shaking off the interaction as a friendly gesture and nothing more — and wanting to steel your private life away from him as best you could. 

But, of course, you were an idiot that wasn’t thinking straight. 

“What are you doing here?” you shouted over the music as soon as you got close enough to him. You tried to maintain a professional distance, resisting the intoxicated urge to fall against his body. 

Vox tilted his head toward you, as if trying to bring an ear closer to you to hear you better. You knew damn well that he could control his own hearing and could focus in on certain voices, but he was actively choosing to forgo this little ability of his — for the sake of getting as close as possible.

“You gotta get closer, sweetheart — can’t quite hear you,” Vox responded, slowly sliding his hand over the dip of your hip. He carefully traced circles over your hipbone. Vox pulled you into him, supporting you by the lower back and keeping you pressed against him. 

Oh, he knew what he was doing. And you let him, too drunk at this point to even care how precarious this situation was for you. 

Similarly to most vices, you made bad decisions and blamed it on your state of being. Letting yourself get this close and touchy to your boss was teetering on the brink of being another bad idea. In fact, it was already a bad idea. But you were already too deep in to do anything about it. 

Your free hand reached up to the back of Vox’s head, tilting his head down to you and bringing his input audio port closer to you. Your fingers toyed with the little cords that ran from the back of his head down under the bridge of his collar. Feeling someone so intimately touch this part of him sent Vox into a minor frenzy — his wires were crossed and in his arousal all he could focus on was you. 

“What are you doing here?” you repeated, a little softer. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, admiring the gleam of lights that reflected across your reddened, glossy eyes. 

“Mixing business with pleasure — got Velvette and Valentino in a private room with a few business partners,” Vox grinned, taking a sip from his drink. As soon as he mentioned his partners’ names, your eyes widened and your arm dropped from his neck. 

“Fuck me,” you groaned out, slamming your forehead against Vox’s chest. His eyebrow quirked, your words playing two different dances in his brain — one that was imagining taking you into a backroom in the club and fulfilling exactly that, and the other taking it as it was intended: an exclamation of frustration.

“Please leave me and my friends alone tonight, you and the others,” you begged, looking up at him with the most desperate, pleading eyes. Your hand pressed against Vox’s exposed chest, your cold touch burning a trickle of desire throughout his body. You could feel the hold he had on you tighten, the rest of his body tensing underneath your hand. 

“I’m with the other designers, and Cosette does not want to see your disgusting piece-of-shit boyfriend,” you were unfiltered, more focused on the protection of your friend rather than politeness. 

Reasonably, your blabbing mouth is why you refrain from being overzealous at business ventures. The moment more than four shots of liquor are downed into your body, it would take an army to stop your confrontational and rude attitude — albeit you were fair in your insult toward Valentino. 

After hearing some of the horror stories Cosette had to share from the two weeks of working with him, you wanted nothing more than to rip Valentino’s stupid wings off his back and pummel him to the ground. If Vox came around with Valentino while you were this intoxicated, you may actually feebly attempt to throw a punch at the moth. 

“I don’t even know how you deal with that fucking prick—” you spat out, face turning a hint of red with anger. Your hands balled a tight fist against his button-up, 

“Hey, watch it,” Vox lightheartedly warned. He leaned down to your ear, his breath hot, voice low and gravelly. “You’re not on the clock right now, but I could reprimand you for that later.”

If you weren’t already aroused by him, you most certainly were now. Your spine had stiffened straight, body tense under his possessive touch. Any prior aggressive compulsion had fizzled out from you, leaving behind the woefully affected sinner crushed beneath Vox’s boot. 

“Oh, shut up,” you murmured out, smacking him playfully on the chest. You were doing your best to swallow down your own idiocy and pretending to be unaffected by Vox’s veiled threat. “You know it’s true! He’s a piece of shit!” you continued your berating, gleaming the entire time. You couldn’t let Vox know that you were falling powerless to his words. 

“You’re pretty bold tonight,” Vox purred, gliding a pointed claw down your spine. “How many drinks have you had?” your back arched, his touch alone urging your body to get impossibly close to him. 

“Do you want the work answer or the real answer?” you joked, taking a languid sip from your beverage. Vox asked for the latter, taking a sip from his own drink while he waited for you to respond. 

You giggled. “At least 5 drinks, so like …” you lamely counted on your fingers. “A lot of shots. Plus-” you gestured to your drink. Vox couldn’t help but blatantly cackle at your drunken state. Usually you’d always present yourself as the epitome of professionalism — clean, pressed, and sharp. Yet, here you were, devolved into your base form as a giddy, flighty thing. 

“And you?” you pointed your finger and prodded his chest, staring up at him with bright, curious eyes. 

“Do you want the work answer or the real answer?” Vox raised his eyebrow, a cheeky smirk stretched across his screen. 

“Real,” you laughed. Vox could be cute sometimes. 

“Seven drinks,” Vox answered. “Cheers to eight!” he raised his glass, a winning smile on his face. You mimicked the action in response, tipping the edge of your cup to clink against his. 

While you both tipped your heads back to sip, you couldn’t help but steal a coy glance at him. He looked delicious in the dimly lit corner of the club — shadows dancing enticingly over his collar bones and lights shimmering off of his necklace. In the flurry of colors flashing around the club, all you could focus on was the bright light of Vox’s screen. 

“If you have a business meeting with Velvette and Valentino, why are you slumming it out here with me?” you curiously peeked, tracing your fingers over the buttons on his shirt. Vox watched your idle hands curious pick and prune at him, relishing in this feeling — one that would become all too familiar for him. 

“Well,” Vox drawled on, glancing over toward the other corner of the club where their meeting was hidden away behind dark velvet curtains. “They can be boring.” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Vox’s hand drifted away from the small of your back and slid back around to your hip. 

“There’s more entertaining things out here.” Vox’s thumb drew circles on your hip bone. You tilted your head, blinking up at him with a gloss over your eyes. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you, idiot.” Vox chuckled. His hand began to crawl up your body — moving from your hip up to your forearm, sharp nails dragging lightly over your prickling skin. A large claw curled around your face, holding your face so daintily in his hand. 

Your mind felt blank and empty as you focused on Vox’s face, instinctively wanting to bring yourself as intimately close to him as possible. Your arm desperately wrapped around the back of his neck to hold yourself steady. If you let go now, your knees would surely give out. 

In the moments of your intoxication, you knew that he was deviously planning for something to stir between the two of you. Maybe he wasn’t scheming up an elaborate plan to get you a bad reputation in Hell. Maybe he wasn’t planning a ploy to get you essentially cancelled and banished in the only place you’d be welcomed. 

But also, maybe, that was your stupid optimism trying to convince your way into his bed with no remorse or anxiety about the consequences. Just an excuse to get you to have fun and let him do this. Let him take charge of what happens to you from here on out.

The soft, seductive lilt of his voice as he spoke to you. The warm, possessive pull of his hands finding purchase anywhere on your body. The genuine laughter he let out and the familiar conversation that came with it. 

None of this was normal for any work relationship. But tonight, at least, made it obvious that he wanted you in a carnal way. The only vice either of you haven’t had the pleasure of indulging in tonight.

Vox’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open up for him and threatening to dip inside your mouth. Your body began moving on its own, as if you were cast underneath his spell. The arm you had around his neck pulled him down closer to you. Your lips ghosted over his, daring to seal the deal and put to rest the tension. 

“Bro, get back here!” Ember yelled at you from across the dance floor, pulling you out of your Vox-induced trance. It was a sobering moment, only now realizing how intimately close you were with him. Moments away from making out with him in the shady corner of the club. 

Your head shot toward the familiar voice, eyes wide as you saw them. Ember looked at you knowingly, a devious smile stretched across their face. They could’ve let you be, let you mingle around, but all of them had been observing you and Vox for a while now — eating up the morsels of your machinations. 

Suddenly the noise of the club came flooding back to your ears, unsettled by how loud it was and how many people were around you — like the white noise ringing of tinnitus. And suddenly, you wanted to smack yourself stupid for even considering that this wasn’t a play at something bigger. 

Why now would Vox try to coax you into a stupor and take you right now? 

Regardless of the lack of sobriety, with all the vying eyes around the club someone was bound to capture your indecency and pin you as the whore of VoxTek. Maybe, at least, you could work with flirtation being the only crime you were guilty of. Anything more and you’d be trapped in the media wormhole of cancellation. 

You looked back toward Vox, clearing your throat and wriggling yourself out of his grasp. Vox didn’t say another word, but there was the faintest touch of disappointment fleeting from his eyes. 

You bid a swift goodbye to Vox, fluttering away from him and returning to your companions. As you sauntered away into the crowd of people, Vox watched you carefully with wandering eyes and waited until you were fully gone from his sight before returning to his colleagues. 

Once you returned to the merriment of your friends, you were immediately berated with comments and questions. They acted like swarming paparazzi — eager to get details and completely ignoring your indifference and uncomfortability. 

“You were gone for, like, forever!” Violet blared, slinging her arm around your shoulders and giving you a firm shake. “We thought you left us.” she whined, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. You ran your hand over her hair, smoothing out the stray aways. 

“I wouldn’t without telling you guys,” you promised, giving her a friendly nuzzle in return.

“Well, someone had to get it on with Mr. VoxTek,” Beau teased, smiling so largely that his tooth gems sparkled under the surging lights. 

“Shut the fuck up!” you howled at him, giving him a hard smack on his shoulder. “Nothing happened.” you insisted with an embarrassed sigh. 

“Not with that attitude.” Beau shot back, rolling his eyes at your obvious defeat. 

“If he does take you home, let us know.” Violet winked, nudging your arm with her elbow. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” you hummed, feeling uncertain in your own affirmation. 

Unlike the rest of your companions who continued to jest and poke fun at you, Cosette had stayed silent the entire time. She wouldn’t tear her eyes away from you, a deeply concerned and empathetic expression drooping off her face. 

You had noticed it in your peripheral, a rare drunken moment of astute observation, but you said nothing regarding it. You just assumed that Cosette was just generally uncomfortable by the obvious cockblocking she and the rest of your friends did. 

Honestly, you already felt mildly embarrassed by the events that had unfurled, and more ashamed that your friends saw you being so clingy and draping over Vox like a possessive partner. You didn’t want to say anything more on the topic. 

Still, you smiled to yourself like an idiot as you recalled the populating heat between your bodies and the chill of each other’s fleeting touches. 

God, you were so fucked. 

In the few moments of mild friendly argument, everyone was dragged back onto the dance floor to continue fraternizing with new demons and let go of the stressors of the week. From another blunt and a few swigs from the flask being passed around, you were back to completely forgetting about the events that just transpired. 

You and your friends were slung over each other, spinning and jumping around as if there was no tomorrow. For the few hours you had left in the night, you were all relishing in each other’s company. Although, as the night continued on, your friends started to either dwindle out with the new company they found or they brought in a few faces to the collection. 

Before the night was ready to come to a conclusion, amidst the glow of the dance floor and the roar of the music, you were broken out of the groove by a gentle tap on your shoulder that spooked you out of your wits. You quickly shot your attention to the stranger, eyeing him up and down. 

Standing beside you was a gorgeous man: tall and inviting with electrifying bright eyes, curling ram horns framing the sides of his face, and a sharp smile. His neck was ornately decorated with layers of shimmering necklaces, dressed extremely flashy but tastefully done. 

“I love your outfit,”  the man comments with a soft smile. “I’ve been seeing you across the dance floor and your energy is infectious.” he added on, sheepishly curling a stray piece of hair behind his horn. He was so cheesy. It was almost embarrassing, but you decided to humor him. 

“Thank you!” you said as audibly as you could, leaning into him to make sure he heard you. He didn’t seem to give off any ill intent. If anything, he struck you as the kind of sinner that was coerced out by his friends to find a hook-up and loosen up — just a sweet-faced fool with a golden heart. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” The simple flirt made the demon burst into the color of red on his face. Honestly, he was really cute in that pathetic puppy sort of way. This was too easy. 

From your dance partners from the evening, you weren’t necessarily drawn in by anyone. While the variety of men and women you met were all kind and beautiful, no one really hypnotized you in the way you were hoping for. You were still chasing after that feeling of being stunned in your step and completely entranced. Someone significant enough to get your mind off your boss permanently. 

He might be pleasant enough to entice you for the evening — if he’d entertain you. Might as well have a little fun tonight. Nothing serious. One last flirt before you’d have to scurry on home like Cinderella. 

“You wanna dance?” you shouted, hand sliding further down his arm. Despite the humid warmth of the club, little bumps formed on his exposed forearm underneath your trailing fingertips. He nodded dumbly, mouth nearly agape as he let you gently pull him further into the crowd of dancing demons. 

You grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him into you. With a little bit of leading, you got him into a gentle groove with the intense, bursting bass of the music. You led his hands to your waist as you slung yours over his shoulders, bringing the stranger in closer to you. 

He was a little awkward at first, especially with starting to get into the movement, but he let you lead him through it all. As best you could over the music, the pair of you exchanged in ice-breaker firing rounds, talking loudly into each other’s ears. 

On occasion he’d accidentally brush his lips against the edge of your ear when you’d talk. It sent trickles of pleasure up your spine and down to your core. Such a simple gesture and yet it got you feeling like gelatin. You held onto him tight, claws holding onto the back of his neck.

The pair of you blew dense clouds of nicotine from his vape in between the two of you, closing the distance between you both and blurring the line of the physical boundaries. Your fingers slithered up into the back of his hair, entangling your fingers in the mess of curls. As you pulled him close by the belt loops, lips mere inches from each other, you could feel the hairs start to rise on your neck. 

Someone was watching you. You were almost certain of it. 

You could feel the heat of a hard, lingering stare fasten itself onto you — surveillancing your every move. As naturally as you could, you kept dancing on with your partner, slowly drifting further apart from him. What a buzzkill. The hand that was wrapped around his belt loop loosened, retreating away from him in an act of shame. 

Those eyes were truly sobering you up from the decent fun you were having. While in the demon’s arms, you tried to subtly look around the club for any particular person focusing a little too firmly on you. 

And nothing.

You were going crazy. You knew someone’s watching you. That unmistakable heat of a too-long-stare burning into the back of your head. It had to be someone watching you from somewhere. 

There was an anxiety nipping at your heels: maybe the paparazzi were already trying to hone you down and catch you in any kind of controversy, something to demean you about during your big debut. But why wasn’t there this feeling when you were stuffed away in a dark corner with Vox — he was the bigger name to slap on the front page and subsequently ruin your name with it. 

Still, you decided it probably would be best to slip away from this kind man and go back to your friends. In case there was some gossip columnist veering their eyes on you, you didn’t want to rope this poor boy into the throws of your world. He was an innocent, unwilling participant just by being seen with you. Best to spare him the drama.

This wasn’t the first time this has happened to you. Even in your much smaller designer days, you’d get the occasional too-intense staring from a stranger down the street and murmurs of  ‘oh my god that’s the designer for-’ and soft sounds of praise. But the staring you felt now was far from the starstruck kind. 

Slowly, you dropped your hand from being wrapped up at the base of his scalp. Guilt started to settle in your chest. You didn’t want to lie and leave the demon high-and-dry like this. But that’s just part of the considerations of consequences for semi-public figures such as yourself. 

“I’m so sorry, it’s about time I rally up the rest of my friends,” you excused, trying your best to keep your focus on him and not around the room. “We gotta head back soon, it’s getting late,” those eyes were still on you, watching you as you carefully left the poor man alone. 

“Please get back home safely tonight,” with a melancholic smile, you gave him a squeeze on his hand. “I had a really great time with you.” It was earnest. Short and simple with no promise of anything beyond this dance for the night. 

Before he could even stop you to ask for your number, you had quickly disappeared into the crowd — burying yourself deep into the pile. You kept your head down as you moved through the crowd, feeling heavy-hearted and suspicious of everyone around you. 

You desperately scurried past the people, frantically traveling up the stairs to go out to a balcony for some air. In your hypnosis, the simple task of finding an egress was near-impossible. Everything looked the same and in the masses, nothing was distinct enough for you to determine where you were. 

Everything was too loud, too bright, too immense. 

You turned a corner down a dark, eerily barren hallway. As you stumbled down the length of the corridor, the sounds from the rest of the club faded into the background — silence enveloping the once discordant noise of the party-goers. The lack of sound was pleasant, and very much needed. 

The carpeted hall led to a large bay window — ornate and extravagant with evidence of the years ruining its pristine gleam. Cobwebs clustered in the corners and miscellaneous smudges muddled the clarity of the window. Through the cracked glass, drippings of the red moon of Hell bleed onto the floor and decorated the passage in a soft crimson light. 

You took a seat on the old bench, leaning up against the sliver of wall. With shaky hands, you pull out your phone from the depths of your bag and quickly shoot a text message to your friends in case they worry about your sudden disappearance. Shimmering in the dark of your bag was your prettied case of cigarettes and pre-rolls — calling to you like a temptress. You needed to self-medicate with something, anything really. 

You unlatched the lock on the window and softly cracked it open, the cooling breeze kissing the apples of your warm cheeks. You leaned the side of your face against the dirty glass, relishing in the cold surface as you drunkenly fumbled getting a pre-roll out from your case. 

With feeble hands cupped around the end, you lit the little rolled end of paper and let it catch fire until it reached the good stuff. You peered your head outside of the window, glancing down at all the sinners still lining the street waiting for entry into the club. Small waves of demons scattered out from the bars across the way, stumbling against each other to make it home — arm and arm with their friends of the evening. 

Often you were envious of the freedoms that most people in Hell had. You couldn’t even openly be seen with someone in public, a stranger even, without sideways glances or even a lecture from Velvette for being “indecent” in public when all you were guilty for was getting a coffee with a girl. 

In all of your years working for VoxTek, you’ve hardly been graced with a break and everything about you was policed. Velvette worked you to the bone, coaxing any and every good idea out of you to be used to further the success of her brand and the company. Even under Vox’s management there was the same pretense — everything you did would be for the benefit of the company. 

Even now work still infiltrates your time off. During a time when you were supposed to be enjoying yourself, you were hypervigilant of surveying eyes and lingering people. Being off-the-clock only changed whether or not you were getting paid; the carefully curated public persona and airs about you still had to be put into play, no matter where you were or who you were with. 

If you were right about your presumptions that Vox was testing you, and if you failed, you’d fade into obscurity. But you’d be forced to work in the trenches of the tower, punished for your own avarice and tortured for your insolence. You could get fired, but you would never truly get to leave the company. 

You hated your job. You hated being in the spotlight. You hated living the life you lead. 

But your soul was bound to a Vee, and there was no escaping that. 

By your own desperate hand, you were cursed to continue wading through Hell with the heavy weight of your chain. It was your fault that you were stuck like this. You were the one that made the deal to elevate you from the slums and protect you from the exterminations. 

The longer the days waned on, the more that you envied the torment of Prometheus — the physical suffering that would come from eternal damnation was far more enticing than the psychological torture eating at your own liver. You’d be out of the limelight and maybe that fate was better suited for you. 

You got about halfway through your joint before you took notice of the bright blue sparks flying off the charging port and mic on your phone. Instinctively, you let out an exasperated groan — already well aware of who was about to grace your presence. 

You really couldn’t get away from this motherfucker. 

Vox pixelated out from your phone and slowly appeared in the empty seat next to you on the bench. You scooted over and away from him to give him more space — not entirely welcoming him into your private moment, but not pushing him away either. 

“Want a hit?” You didn’t look at him, holding the joint out to him. “Can you even have one?” you looked at him with narrowed eyes, taking a beat to inspect his face. 

“You’ve seen me drink just fine,” Vox pointed out, chuckling to himself before plucking the measly roll from between your fingers. 

“Oh, yeah, huh,” you dumbly murmur, brows still furrowed in deep thought. “Sorry, I’m extra stupid tonight.” You plainly stated, an apologetic smile on your face. 

Part of your statement held a little more than what you insinuated with your words. You weren’t thinking straight tonight — that much was obvious. With how closely intimate you let yourself get to a few sinners tonight, and particularly the one sitting right next to you, you had to be struck dumb ass fuck. 

“You’re alright, though?” Vox asked, handing you back the joint. “Not feeling sick or anything?” He inched closer to you, nudging to get a better look at your face. You looked up at him, eyes wide and pupils blown out. Joint in mouth, you gave him a little assured smile. 

“Could be better,” you vaguely said, leaning up against the glass. You craned your neck over toward him, feeling your body go slack and limp. Honestly, you didn’t realize how tired you were. You don’t even know how many hours you’d been out for — for all you knew it was already closer to 5am and you’d be due to start working soon. 

“I’m just,” you paused “really fucking exhausted.” A sigh left your lips before you worked your way to finishing the joint. Vox leaned against the glass with you, his eyes fixed on you while you smoked. His gaze lingered on the curve of your jaw and the way it clenched as you pursed your lips to blow. 

“Come on, then,” Vox suggested and brushed your hair behind your ear, hand lingering on the side of your neck. “I’ll take you home.” 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You merrily made your way down to the final dressing room, a light pep in your step. The last person you had to check on was Vox (and technically Katie too, but she told you to fuck off before you could even get close to her door). You knocked firmly on the door, shifting from side-to-side — unable to contain your surge of excitement. 

Vox threw open the door, staring down at you with his arm perched high-up on the door frame. He smiled warmly, quietly glad to see you in much better spirits than the last few days. 

Vox’s button-up was deliciously undone, a tempting peek at his chest leading down dangerously low on his torso. The button of his pants hadn’t been done yet, leaving him in a rather precarious looking position. Naturally, you couldn’t help but think he looked good — even if he was haphazardly put together and generally still in a state of looking like a mess. 

“Just who I’ve been waiting for,” Vox sang, lightly pulling you into the dressing room. The door was immediately slammed shut and you were gently pushed over in the direction of the couch. Vox had wanted to have you sit pretty on the couch and chat with him while he got dressed. But ever the stressed designer, you couldn’t sit idly by kicking your feet while he was obviously being lax. 

“You’re barely ready,” You whined, marching over to him. “I’m supposed to put on a finishing touch and you’re not even properly dressed,” Suddenly, your hands were all over him. You began carefully buttoning up his shirt, intensely focused on Vox’s clothes. 

He watched you from above like a hawk, fighting back a cocky smile. Vox loved seeing you in this position, fretting and doting over him — better you do this for him than for Tom. And he’d admit, you looked really cute from his angle — seeing your brows furrowed in focus and lightly biting on your bottom lip. 

A shiver found its way crawling up his spine, feeling the light graze of your cold hands against his skin. He wanted to feel your cold touch dive underneath the fabric of his shirt, cooling down his hot skin and sending chills all over his body. A teal blush developed on his face, keeping his lips in a tight line as you continued to dress him up. 

“Tuck your shirt in,” You commanded, swatting him lightly on the chest. You fastened his last button and took a step back, letting him handle the rest of his top. Vox obeyed, smoothing the fabric around the waistband. He made the mistake of looking over at you while fixing his pants. 

You looked absolutely lethal, standing there with your arms crossed as your eyes scrutinized him. You didn’t take any step back away from him, still as close as ever and watching him intensely. Your gaze felt so sharp that every move Vox made had him feel like he was drowning in a bucket of broken glass. You were merely standing and yet your presence was firm — intimidating even. 

The power you held in this moment had Vox fumbling, his stomach in loops and his head feeling hot. Vox liked seeing you in your work mode, serious and steadfast. And something about it made him flustered. 

Vox was feeling embarrassed. He was trying to use his undress as an excuse to get you all hot-and-bothered. And yet here you were with the tables turned. And without even trying nevertheless. Vox was practically frustrated at his own body for feeling so susceptible to your touch and gaze when you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him. 

“Where’s your tie?” You had been glancing around the room before your question, frantically looking for that stupid sliver of fabric. 

“Oh, here,” Vox had dug in his pocket for the fabric, handing over the wrinkly accessory. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You had blurted, snatching the fabric away from him with an irritated groan. You went over to the empty desk that sat behind his vanity, laying the fabric out. You channeled an immense heat to your hands, fortifying them to be as hot as an iron. You scanned your hands over it, steaming your hands out and watching the wrinkles smooth out slowly. 

Vox stayed silent while you were at work — feeling a fusion of humiliation and shame, like a dog with his tail between his legs. He felt like a child who disappointed their guardian, like a real dumbass. Vox stood around awkwardly — staring everywhere except you, too ashamed to make accidental eye contact. 

Once you were done ironing, you slung the fabric around the base of his neck. As you popped his collar up, your hands — once again — grazed against the sliver of exposed skin of his neck. Despite the state of heat your hands were just in, they had quickly returned to being cold as ever. 

Vox fought the urge to melt under your touch, clamping down any sighs of content. Every fiber of his being needed to be touched all over by you. He was getting antsy — he needed to get out of this feeling and having you so close was not helping. 

Maybe he needed to go out and meet someone. Someone who wouldn’t be a conflict-of-interest. 

“Stand still for two minutes, sir. Please,” As you emphasized, you pull on his necktie hard. Vox swallowed hard. Hearing the domineering lilt of your voice was already sending him into a spiral. But feeling that rough tug around his neck? 

God, you were killing him. 

Vox needed to get the upper hand with you. He wanted to be the one making you nervous, not the other way around. But you were already so close to him and touching him so tenderly — he was at a loss of what to do to throw you off. Maybe he’d have to get a little bolder.

Vox’s shrimps down to your level as you finish off the knot. Your fingers nimbly tugged and smoothed the fabric as you worked diligently. He stays quiet as he hovers above you, tension swallowing down his throat. Like a gentleman, his arms remained crossed behind his back. 

Vox’s eyes stay fixed on the delicate movements of your hands, watching as the fabric slipped in between your fingers. Without even thinking, he allowed himself to dip down closer to you. He shifted ever so subtly, the tips of his shoes brushing up against yours. 

The pair of you were already very close, but maybe he could use this opportunity to press this boundary further. 

Vox tilted his face just a smidge closer to yours, staring at the details of your face and taking in every fine line and blemish. His eyes were drawn to your lips, perfectly done with lipstick. But he noticed the subtle tears of skin from your constant biting that you tried covering up with the makeup. Vox wanted to bite your lips too. 

You looked up to meet his surveying eyes, feeling your own knot tie itself in your throat. Vox was so close. Intoxicatingly close. Suddenly you were hyperaware of the distance between you two, or lack thereof. His cologne wafted through the space between you like a siren’s call. Something with hints of bergamot, something delightful and compelling. 

You didn’t realize how much you had leaned toward him. And the firm grip you still had on his tie. Your feet felt like solid iron, grounding you to where you stood — looking up at Vox dumbly. 

“All done?” Vox asked snarkily, a knowing look flickering across his screen. A faint code swept across the screen, all you caught of it was something with your name in it. Your eyes widened as you realized you’d be zoning out at him for a few beats. 

“Just one final touch, sir,” You babble out, quickly retreating your lingering hands. You fret around the room to snag his suit blazer hanging off from the hook. 

You motion for him to spin around so you could slide his jacket onto him. Naturally, he complied, letting you smooth out the fabric on him once the final piece was worn. Your deft hands plucked the tiniest bit of hairs and dust off the suit, making sure it was pristine for the cameras. 

Now, it was the final touch. You fished out a quaint shark tooth pin from the depths of your pockets. This little accessory was one of your favorites that you had made. Since you were basically held in captivity by Vox for the past few days, you were able to pull some strings with him and source an old fallen tooth from one of his pet sharks.

Thank you for your contribution, Vark. 

You lightly tug Vox forward, grabbing him by the lapel to affix the pin onto his clothing. You kept a more professional distance this time, now extremely aware of the proximity you wanted to maintain.  

Maybe this was his opportunity. 

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, sweetheart,” Vox drawls, keeping firm eye contact with you. Heat crawled up your stomach and onto your face, blooming red across your apples. He never addressed you by a pet name, it was always very formal with your proper name or he’d give you the diminutive nickname of Velvette’s pet when being mean to you. 

He immediately noticed the hue shift in your face, adding to his extensive list of things to make you squirm. Vox couldn’t help but let out a wide smile, thoroughly pleased that he was able to knock you down a hitch. 

“How do I look?” Vox took a spin around to give a look at himself in the wide standing mirror. You stood behind him with bright eyes, like you were standing in the shadows of someone akin to a God. 

“Like the epitome of perfection .. like a star,” You wistfully say, awe dripping past your lips. You were unabashedly ogling his form. Seeing him in your design drew the oxygen out of your lungs. 

Was it that you were proud to see your design be broadcasted onto television? Or was it that it was because he was wearing it? Either way, he looked good. 

It was such a proud moment for you. Never in your many hopeful days did you ever think that someone as infamous and powerful as Vox would be single-handedly dressed by you. Yet here you were, successful in the impossible. 

“Oh baby, you sure do know how to flatter a man,” And you thought him calling you sweetheart got you weak in the knees. Hearing that pet name got you tightening your legs together, a heat pooling downward and nestling itself between your thighs. 

Vox examined you through the reflection of the mirror, a shameless smile stretched across his screen as he watched you fidget. He knew what he was doing. Your face was a bright cherry red, covered up sheepishly by your hand as you pretended to inspect for more flyaways or stray particles on him. 

“Come sit with me,” Vox demanded, ushering you over toward his vanity. “We still got some time to kill,” He murmured, sitting directly in front of the mirror and beginning to prime himself. You obliged, sitting on the little stool by the desk with your legs tight together. 

It was so sudden that you were thrown out of your hyperfocused work headspace. Having nothing to concentrate on left you needing to shake off the wanton need nestling itself in your groin. 

“Do you feel good?” Vox asked, glancing at you through the mirror. Your posture had shot upright, the tips of your ears turning red — your brain immediately casting the idea that he knew you were aroused. 

“About your work,” He clarified with a smile, noticing your alarmed and panicked expression. Just before your body could relax again from the sudden tension, Vox got close again. He spun his chair to face you, his long legs spread open — each leg on either side of your own. Vox was caging you in again.

“Do you feel good about your designs?” He hummed, leaning forward — closer to your face. Vox’s hands laid on his knees, threateningly getting close to yours. You almost wanted to feel his large hands graze the tops of your knees. But now wasn’t the time. 

Vox was looking for an opportunity to have you melt for him. 

And you were looking for an opportunity to bring your fire back. 

You debated to yourself whether or not to take this opportunity to set a work boundary — since Vox had a hold of your leash while Velvette was away, you needed to get things straight with him. While you had no complaints about needing to follow his orders generally, you couldn’t keep living like this. 

You were silent for a while, deep in methodical thought about this question and how to best answer this. However, with Vox, there was going to be no “best”. 

You didn’t want to ruin your euphoric high, nor did you want to instigate a potential fight from the Overlord. But this was a good opportunity to discuss, and there may not be a next time.

“I’m proud of the final product. And I think everyone looks great,” You started carefully, balancing on the tight-rope of caution and ambition. You swallowed hard, tensing your shoulders. 

“But …” You tested, glancing up from your hands to Vox’s face. You didn’t want to look him in the eye, you wanted to avoid meeting his gaze by any means. But you needed to look at him. You needed to fortify yourself and lay your ground. 

The work you provided was at risk of being subpar if Vox kept hounding you for high turn-out during a short timeline. And your sanity was at risk of crumbling if you let him keep you on such tight deadlines. 

“I need more time,” Vox curiously looked at you, irritation creeping onto his face. The intensity was felt in your voice and your eyes, but the way your hands gripped onto the fabric of your pants indicated your stifled fear. And still, despite it, you continued.

“I appreciate you making accommodations for me this week, but it’s not enough,” Those words cut like a serrated knife — jagged and sharp. Vox eased up from you, rolling back in his chair ever so slightly. But his eyes narrowed, the hue in his eyes fading dangerously into a furious red. His disdain was silent, but it was slowly bubbling up to the surface. 

“You threw this on me last minute. I am not Velvette. I can’t conjure shit up with the wave of my hand. I have to put my blood, sweat, and tears into my work—“ Your volume started to rise, voice cracking from the suppressed emotional stress that you’d been trudging through. 

“Give me at least two weeks' notice for any assignments,” You demanded, rising from your seat and balling your hands into fists. Vox’s previously irritated face dissolved, a more curious expression.

“Well, you were able to make everything work, right?” Vox’s tone was patronizing, rude, and blunt. He leaned forward in his seat, looking up at you with a smarmy, shit-eating grin plastered on his screen. 

You kept silent. Oh, you wanted to bust his screen in. You clenched your jaw, trying to mitigate your anger. You wanted to hurl profanities at him, break his bones, bash his head in — how fucking dare he be so smug. 

“Then, I don’t see what the problem is,” Vox spoke with a lightness in his voice, his superiority complex bleeding through his smile. He was unmoving to the bare minimum boundary you wanted to set, all in the name of speedier manufacturing. But you were one sinner, not an entire team of people. If he wanted that, then he should’ve hired more than just you. 

In this moment, every sway of attraction you ever held to the Overlord was lost to the shadows — your animosity toward him growing like a wild forest fire. If you could, you’d kill him right here and now. 

“No compliance, no designer.” You warned, challenging his response. 

Using this as a threat was a risk. There was an extremely high possibility that this could be a dud. There was no guarantee that he would even care about you leaving. He could easily pay someone else semi-competent to be dumb and make him pretty — and he wouldn’t have to deal with the back-talking of some insolent sinner. 

For all you knew, he could tell you to fuck off and get lost. 

“Next to Velvette, I am the best goddamn designer you will ever find,” You pointed a sharp finger at him, jabbing it hard against his chest. “You’d have to tear through all of Hell to find anyone even close to being as good as me. And even still, they will never be better than me,” You seethed through your clenched teeth.

“And I know you — you need the best. And you’ll never fucking get it without me,” Vox snatched your accusatory hand, pulling you down to his level in the chair. He stared you down intensely, an irritation buried deep in his gaze. 

Vox would never admit it outloud, but he was affected by your threat. He had seen the other portfolios of Velvette’s designers before, and none of them ever really drew him in the way yours did. Everyone else faded off into the background in his mind, and you were the only one who stood out. 

Like a stubborn child, he didn’t want to comply and agree to your terms. 

But he needed you. 

Vox’s free hand came up to hold you by your chin, keeping you in place and making sure you kept firm eye-contact with him. He kept his gaze narrowed, begrudgingly complying to you. 

“I’ll let you have your deadlines, but you do not speak like that to me again,” Vox slowly uncurled his fingers from around your wrist, but his hold on your face remained. Without any after thought, you eagerly nodded. You were wide-eyed in disbelief. 

You didn’t think Vox would actually agree to your terms. Honestly two weeks was a bit of an overshot. In the good ending of your mental timeline, you expected him to haggle down your productivity speed. You’d be okay with a week and a half. 

“And I expect you to be a bigger public figure now that you’re working for me,” Vox added on. Oh, there was the catch. “You’re my designer and I want all of Hell to see who makes me look so good.” 

Vox immediately knew that he had the upperhand once again with you. It was apparent on his face, that smug smile and gleaming eyes that knew he got you right where he wanted you. 

If Vox wanted you in the limelight and if he kept up this ambiguous flirting, you were about to be due for a scandal. Unless he behaved himself in the public eye, and you were not susceptible to him. 

Maybe this could work. Maybe. 

You were already technically a public figure, but you were back enough in the wings that you weren’t spotlighted often. There were hundreds of thousands of eyes on the models and celebrities you designed, and subsequently only a handful of thousands on you. Sinners knew your name, but hardly any remembered what you looked like. 

Taking up Vox’s offer was essentially like picking up a small modeling contract down here. Millions knew of Vox the Overlord, the Vox of VoxTek, the Television Demon. And so, hundreds of thousands will start paying attention to you. 

“Okay …” You softly murmured out. You suspected that Vox wouldn’t be so generous in the future, so might as well take him up on his offer. You were not a limelight person, but at least if you were off-centered to the main star — people would notice if you mysteriously disappeared. 

“Thank you for being so good for me,” Vox purred, slowly releasing his grasp on your face. He curled some hair behind your ear, sliding his fingers under the curve of your jaw and landing underneath your chin. 

“If you threaten me like that again — I won’t let you off so easy, sweetheart,” He spoke softly, but the threat held sinister overtones. Vox’s eyes flickered in color, red hue slowly melting back to a cooling blue . 

Your heart was beating a million beats per minute, the fear of this man creeping up your skin and burying itself into your lungs. You could hardly breathe. 

Slowly, you unfurled your spine upright, still feeling hunched over in the mere presence of Vox. You should be elated that everything worked out for you, but something behind Vox’s eyes told you that this wasn’t the only thing Vox had in mind for you. 

You parted your lips to force out a gratitude to him, but before any squeaks could escape your lips — there was frantic knocking at the door. Through the wood you heard some imp intern give Vox a ten minute warning before he was on the air. 

Vox joined you in standing, arms held behind his back as he craned his neck down to look at your shrinking form. To him, you looked like a poor deer with its eyes wide in the headlights — and he was the hunter holding his shotgun to the center of your eyes. 

“I gotta get running,” Vox side-stepped away from you, heading towards the exit of his dressing room. “Feel free to see yourself out, I’ll see you soon, baby,” 

Your stomach dropped as soon as he left the room, your blood running cold. All you could do was stumble back onto the couch, staring at your shaking hands in disbelief.

“This is fine, this is fine,” You murmured to yourself, burying your face in your hands. You couldn’t tell if you were anxious about being projected to more eyes than you anticipated, or if your heart palpitations and cold sweat were thanks to the emboldened Overlord you sullied yourself to. Either way, essentially the two of you came to a nicely done deal — you got your deadlines, Vox got his new arm candy. 

And yet somehow it still feels like you were the losing one in this dynamic. 

As he left the dressing room, Vox’s mind was still affixed on you — replaying the last few minutes of interaction with you. He held his hand over his screen, covering his wide and crooked smile. 

Vox never expected to be the recipient of your domineering attitude, but he didn’t necessarily mind. He liked seeing you assert yourself and fight for something better for you, even if your anger was targeted at him. 

But still, it’d be a blow to his power and ability if he let you walk all over him. So back under his boot you went, but he relished in getting to see both sides of the spectrum that was you. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Vox managed to stoke the flame that was your wanton desires and needs, but now you were dwindling away into a pile of soot. You were deprived of him. 

You stared at your reflection in the dirty restroom mirror of the club. You had still been lingering around in the dark, hazed room after your latest hook-up. You don’t even remember who the poor sinner of the evening was that had been the target of your pent-up rage. 

Your lipstick had been smudged across to the corner of your mouth, mascara smeared under your eyes, and a plethora of hickies scattered all over your neck. Normally, you’d feel a little embarrassed about the very obvious display of how your evening went. But all of your drinks from the evening clouded your head with thoughts of indifference — not caring about any opinions that could arise from this night. 

You stumbled out of the restroom to be met by the thick air of nicotine and body heat that flooded the room. All the bright neon and flashing lights blinded you, a fierce contrast from the low lighting restroom you were just in. In your drunken daze, you stumbled around the club floor to find your friends to let them know that you’d be heading back to the tower. 

“Oh, please, we’ll go home with you — we’re not letting your sorry-ass walk solo,” One of your friends had waved off. The five of you rallied together and swiftly escaped from the confines of the club. Luckily, the journey back would be pretty brief, and so the lot of you decided to huff-it. 

On the trek home, the five of you shared a pack of cigarettes that one of them had bummed off their flirt-of-the-night. The end of the evening was spiraling to a very sweet conclusion, all of you leaning against one another for physical support and passing underneath the dimly lit street lights of the city. It was nights like these that made you miss seeing the stars on Earth. 

As you were nearing the tower, one of them perked up with a sizzling inquiry of “so what’s going on between you two?”. Against your better judgment, you began mouthing-off to your friends about Mr. TV Head with genuine malice. You knew the cameras would be picking up on all of your conversation, and you especially knew that Vox would be watching. Unless he was caught up with Valentino. Either way, you didn’t fucking care anymore — you’d let him know straight to his face that you were pissed. 

Once you all bid each other a good night and separated into your respective sects of the tower, you felt the weight of the evening droop off of your shoulders. And the final amount of vigor you had that supported your journey home wore off. You barely supported yourself upright in the elevator as you were shot up to the floor where your little apartment was. 

Your vision blended a lot of the colors and lights together into one unified splotch, and it was a major struggle to even fish your keys out of your purse to make it to homebase. It was pitch black inside your home, only the bleeding light of Hell’s skylight seeped in through the window. Steadily, you floundered toward your bedroom, using the door frame and walls as guiding support. 

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” 

“FUCK!” You yelped at the greeting. You had just made it into the doorway of your bedroom and had been met with the bright, glowing cyan screen that was Vox. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You cried, still catching your breath from the scare that he gave you. Your claw laid over your chest, feeling the fast rate your heart was pulsing at. 

Vox had been leaning back in the vanity chair in your room, stripped down of his work clothes and lounging in your home in a sweater and a lighter-colored pair of slacks. He looked good casual. But you sure as hell weren’t going to admit that now. 

“I wanted to pay a visit to my favorite sinner,” Vox had a lazed smile on his screen, leaning forward with his hand under the bottom of his screen — ogling what little he could see of you in the dark. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” You dismissed with a frustrated huff, trying your best to ignore his existence all together. His favorite sinner? Yeah right. This motherfucker couldn’t even hold a non-work conversation with you for more than five minutes before getting snatched up by someone else.  

He had snapped his fingers and turned on the dimmed lights of your bedroom, now being able to relish in how you had looked tonight. Vox wouldn’t say it to you directly, but you looked like a goddamn mess. Your hair had stuck to the sweat that was on your face, makeup a mess, and clothing was crumpled. 

But most notably to Vox, your skin was completely covered in miscellaneous purpling and reddish welts. He could feel his systems start to overheat, his screen starting to shift color hue from the previous cooling blue to a fierce, angry red. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Vox had roared. All of the lights in your room began to flicker erratically, threatening to burst if you said the wrong thing. Normally, you would be mortified to be the recipient of his targeted anger — but in this instance you were too smoked out to even care if you died. 

“Is there something wrong?” You dryly asked him, assuming correctly that he was upset at the evidence of your tryst. You looked at him with a sullen face of disappointment, faded anger still evident on you. 

“What the fuck is that on your neck,” He hissed out, eyes pulsating with fervid colors of anger. 

“None of your fucking buisness is what,” You sneered back at him. He approached you like a predator, bright blue sparks firing off from the back of his screen. Vox was seething with rage, and he was fighting the urge to tear up your home as a pitiful act of ire. 

“It certainly is my fucking business," Vox shot back, tightening his hands into balled fists. He met you toe-to-toe, trying his hardest to regulate the jealousy he was feeling seeing you like this. 

“Why? Because we’re fuck buddies? Last I checked, you’re the one that’s still actively in a relationship,” You pointed at him with an accusing finger. “You’ve got Valentino, I’ve got whoever wants me for the evening — I’m just making this relationship fair.”

“Who was it?” Vox’s hand came up around your throat, progressively tightening his squeeze. He was letting his emotions get the better of his mind. 

“Who cares,” You spit on his screen, pushing against his chest to get away from him. As you began walking away, Vox grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you back into him. 

“Get a fucking reality check,” You yelled. “You’ve practically been ignoring me for the last two weeks. What else am I supposed to do?” Vox’s grip on you tightened, threatening to snap your bones in half. 

“Valentino, he’s been-“

“No. Don’t blame this on him. You’re the one playing the balancing act right now,” You scolded, taking this opportunity to snatch your wrist back from him. The irrationality of Vox’s anger sizzled into a stupor once hearing your words.

Once again, you were right. However, in this moment, his pride swallowed him whole. He didn’t want to admit that he was a fool, no matter how deeply he understood that it’s all his fault. 

Like most arguments with Vox, they started wildly and ended as soon as you markedly point out how irrational he was being. While Vox was a simmering, seething baby — he listened to you. He valued what you had to say, even if he didn’t like bending the knee to you.

“Let me make it up to you,” 

You expected another retort from him, even him breaking something in your house. Anything that encouraged the fearsome emotions he had been feeling. You could tell that he wasn’t necessarily apologetic, especially while his petty jealousy took over. But something in the gravel of his voice made him seem earnest. 

You were met with a firm, passionate kiss from him. His hand had trailed to the small of your back, holding you tenderly against him. There was a part of you that wanted to shove him away again, continue berating him and release your frustrations onto him. But you couldn’t help feeling absolute bliss at this small contact. 

You missed the warmth of his lips on yours, the light flavoring taste of mint on his tongue. Even if this passion erupted from stupid jealousy, you welcomed him into you regardless. 

Your hands traveled from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. You stumbled backward toward your bed, gliding Vox down with you and letting him push you down against the mattress. 

Kissing him was intoxicating, and his warm touch kept you drunk on his touch. You wrapped your legs around his hips, making sure every part of you was latched onto him. 

Vox’s hand reached up for your face, squeezing the sides of your face and pulling back from you. He gave you a once-over, looking mostly at your face — focusing on your slightly puffy lips and wide eyes. 

“I think you need a reminder about who makes you feel good,” Vox slid two of his fingers into your mouth. And you happily accepted the intrusion, swirling your tongue around him. You kept your eyes on his as you sucked on his claws, thoroughly wetting them. 

With his free hand, he reached up under the fabric of your dress and began to pull your underwear down your legs. He didn’t fully remove them off of you — just enough to get what he wanted. 

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, bringing them to your pussy. Vox slowly teased your folds, gliding his fingers all over you but not giving you any sort of relief. You mewled out pathetically, clutching onto his shoulders and grinding your hips against Vox’s hand. 

“V-Vox, please,” You choked, leaning your face closer to his. Vox dipped his head down, admiring how cute you looked in this disheveled state. His other hand reached for his belt buckle, slowly undoing it while teasing your dripping pussy. Two of Vox’s fingers prodded at your entrance, barely dipping past your threshold — causing you to whimper out more pleas. 

“Beg for it,” He breathed against your lips, only making your desire grow more desperate. You arched your back off the mattress, trying to bring your body as close to him as possible.  

“Please, Vox, I need to feel you inside me,” You pleaded. “I need you so fucking bad,” Vox was grinning wide at your pitiful attempts at getting him to touch you.

“You have to make me a promise, baby,” Vox growled, slowly kissing down your body. Every single kiss and lick had you softly moaning, each static buzz leaving chills down your spine. 

“I can be the only one to fuck you, got it?” He pinched your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whimper from you. Your body felt like it was on fire — you needed him inside you, make you cum, fuck your brains out. He could’ve asked for you to bind your soul to his and you would happily do it if it meant that he’ll ruin you. 

“I promise,” You stifle out. “You’re the only person who can fuck me.” 

As soon as the words left your lips, Vox sunk his fingers deep into your pussy. You cried out in satisfaction as he immediately began to abuse your wet folds. Vox dipped his head down to you, swallowing up your moans. 

You were writhing underneath him, desperate to cum on his fingers. Your claws dug into the thin fabric of Vox’s shirt, tearing through the material and leaving red lines along his dark blue skin. 

Vox’s thumb began to roll over the bump of your clit, the light touch pulling a strained moan from you. Your thighs tightened around Vox’s wrist, an involuntary reaction to the stimulation you were feeling. With his free hand, he pries your legs back open again — fingerfucking you faster.

“If you want to cum, you better keep your legs spread for me, baby,” Vox chuckled, dragging his claws against the soft flesh of your thigh. Just him fingering you now felt so intense, more so than the hook-up you had earlier.

Sometimes you regret even thinking of hunting down a new sinner to be the target of your lust — especially when Vox could make you feel this good. He knew your body better than anyone else, so why else even bother seeking someone that wasn’t him? 

“V-Vox,” A strained cry. “I’m gonna c-cum.”

Your climax was steadily approaching with each fast-paced thrust from Vox, your eyes squeezing shut and preemptively preparing for your orgasm. But as soon as your relief was about to arrive, he withdrew his fingers from your pussy. 

You let out the most pathetic whine Vox had ever heard. You were very obviously upset at the denial of your orgasm, clenching around nothing and your hips still lightly thrusting up to find some stimulation. 

“You were pretty bad tonight, baby,” Vox cooed, tracing circles around your navel. “I don’t think you deserve to cum yet.” He grinned from ear-to-ear as you groaned in response. 

“Please, I’ll do anything.” You mewled, maneuvering around to splay out before Vox’s lap. Your hands wandered over his thighs, sliding upward toward his belt buckle. 

“If you’re good, maybe I’ll give you what you want.” Vox teased, his large hand coming down to cup around your cheek. His thumb brushed over your swollen bottom lip, daring to dip into your mouth once again. Your fingers fumbled around with the belt buckle and leather, clawing away at the material like you were eagerly opening a present.

Pulling down his underwear, you watched Vox’s cock spring out and lightly smack your cheek. His thumb pushed down on your chin, opening your mouth wider. Without a second beat, you began to swirl your tongue over the head of his cock. Your tongue lapped over the slit, drinking up the little beads of pre-cum that began to leak out from him. 

Vox’s hand entangled itself in your hair, holding you firm by your scalp as you sunk the entirety of his cock into your mouth. You sheepishly looked up at Vox from your position, continuing to devour him whole and drag your tongue over his length. 

Drool dribbled down his shaft, wetting the fabric of his pants. Vox’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place while he lightly thrusted his hips upward into your mouth. You gagged at the sudden change of pace, but happily adjusted to this. You hollowed out your cheeks and kept your suction on him tight. 

Vox continued to fuck your face, smiling wide as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth becoming slack for him to use. His pace hastened as he began to reach his climax, a series of moans spilling from him. You kept your head down as Vox came into your mouth, drinking up every drop you could. 

You looked up at Vox, tongue lolled out and covered in cum. He groaned in satisfaction at the sight, drawing his fingers to your chin and closing your mouth before whispering “swallow.”  

Despite the arrival of his orgasm, Vox was already hard again. He couldn’t help it; seeing you in such a state of subservience and compliance to him fueled his arousal and his pride. Vox needed to have more of you tonight. 

Vox drew you closer to him, seating you on his lap. His large hands fell to your waist, caressing your body as he made his way down to your hips. He held onto you tight and lifted you from his lap, sliding his cock into your dripping pussy. The moment he slid into you, both of you let out soft moans. 

You pressed your forehead against his body as he began to slowly push up into you. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he fought the urge to completely fuck you braindead right here and now. Vox let you set the pace, albeit it was much more gentle than he anticipated. 

Still, being inside you was pure nirvana for Vox. He could feel your walls clenching around him as you rolled your hips back and forth. Vox couldn’t help but let a few curses slip from his mouth as you continued your grinding. His eyes squeezed shut, biting down on his bottom lip. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He was sounding so pathetic, voice crackling and meek. Vox couldn’t help it anymore. His arms wrapped around your waist as he laid back into the bed, thrusting his hips quickly up into you. Your hands immediately shot for your mouth, feebly attempting to muffle out the sounds of your pleasure. 

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Vox cooed, reaching up to pull your hands away from you. He drew your arms behind your back, holding them in place as he continued to fuck up into you aggressively. With the newfound pace and unfiltered volume, you were practically crying out for Vox. 

You were dumbly babbling out for him to let you cum. The sound of your bodies melding together and the drone of your moans were like a symphony to Vox’s ears. He was loving being your undoing. 

“Tell me that I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

“You’re the only one-” A hiccup of pleasure, head lolling back. “Who can fuck me like this.” 

Hearing your compliance was the final thing Vox needed to hear to send both of you over the edge. He drew his thumb over your clit once more as he continued to plunge himself into you. You let out a cry of pleasure as he abused your clit, desperate to get you to cum with him. 

As soon as Vox felt your walls impossibly getting tighter around him, he knew you were near the peak of your pleasure. You leaned back in his lap as he pounded into you — the messy noises of your bodies filling the room. With a final thrust, Vox came deep inside of you — filling you up to the brim with his cum. 

Shivers ran up your skin, headed clouded with pleasure and eyes glossed over. Vox sat up for a moment, still inside of you, and gently ran his thumb over the apple of your cheek. He gave you a sweet kiss to the other cheek, holding you so tenderly. 

“You’re all mine,” He whispered into your ear as you collapsed against his chest. Vox caressed your body with the affection of a true lover. You were drunk on ecstasy, barely able to lift your head to leave a chaste kiss on his screen. 

You were never necessarily mean to any of your assistants, but you held a stern front with them — however, Vox did get the pleasure of seeing you blow up once or twice while visiting Velvette. 

It had been a long day for you and the sheer incompetency of the newest hire was immensely frustrating. They wasted some of the most precious fabric that Velvette had gathered for her new line and the original designs you were planning for had bit the dust. You had to rework everything within four days and you were absolutely fuming. 

Vox loved seeing the fire in your eyes and the fury that emitted from you. Many of the other sinners in the tower weakly complied to every whim and will of their superiors. You, on the other hand, were polite and willing, but you still maintained a firm stance on your ideas and input. 

He appreciated the potential that you carried in your sullen form, and thought that you should have more to honor you. Vox was one for grandiose gestures and vats of adoring fans, and you were always stuffed into dim stage lights. He wanted to give you the limelight, let you take the forefront. 

He didn’t try to convince Velvette to give you to him to be his designer.

He didn’t make up an excuse to get you to work for him. 

Everything fell into place very serendipitously. 

Now that he got to see you and your work up close and personal, he wanted to give an extra push of a challenge for you. Vox had never seen you stammer, stumble, or fall at anyone’s feet — not even Velvette. As much as Vox loved a sinner that’s got a little fight to them, he enjoyed being their downfall even more. 

Vox loved being the reason that you’ve been extremely flustered. Anytime the two of you would be caught up in conversation, he’d take note of your fidgeting hands and blown-out pupils that stared up at him — idolizing him. Seeing how dumbly you’d gawk at him and how easily you folded for him, it really fueled his ego to Heaven and back. 

Vox wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you were fighting against yourself while being around him. Vox loved to watch you struggle and squirm in his presence.  He saw you like prey — a sniveling bunny that was scared of what could happen next, ready to run away at any moment. 

The spark you had before working for Vox never left you, but now you found it more difficult to muster up the confidence to stand your ground against him. But that was just going to have to be your own personal challenge you focus on to work against him. 

After your long, strenuous evening of work, you brought half of the completed mock-suits down to the broadcasting crew. Exhaust had weighed down your entire being, forcing yourself to skitter faster than the sluggish pace your body ached for. Blinking felt manual this morning — yeah, you definitely needed a coffee, or a nap, or maybe even a line of coke. 

Between the morning broadcast and Jeffery’s cooking segment, you eagerly looked around the studio for Tom Trench. Since he was one of the smaller demons working in the crew, you were able to whip up a mock-suit for him much sooner than the others — and you wanted to do a little trial-run with him. 

You had already tracked down the other two anchors you wanted to trial-run, but trying to find Tom was seemingly the most difficult task of yours to complete. With all the busy bodies and giants in the room (and with how little Tom was), you were having difficulty trying to spot him among the flock of sinners and imps. 

“Ugh, what the fuck are you doing here?” A familiar agitating and grating voice insulted.

“Hi, Katie,” You huffed. “Have you seen Tom?” You tapped your foot, obviously extremely impatient at the moment. 

“Uh, fuck no, I don’t keep tabs on that cocksucker-”

“Okay thanks, Katie. Bye.” You hastily departed from her. You were somewhat in a rush, you just wanted to get this test fitting done so you could get out of here and continue the grind. Your wandering eyes looked everywhere for him, but to no avail — if you bothered to ask anyone around, they either didn’t know or didn’t want to be bothered. 

Fortunately for you, your little game of seeking was hastily fixed.

Unfortunately for you, it was Vox that solved this issue for you. 

As you were pacing around the dressing rooms, Vox had formed before you from the cameras. His entrances were never without a little bit of flourish, and he towered before you with a wide, toothy grin. 

“What are you doing down here?” Vox curiously questioned, arms crossed behind his back as he inspected you. He missed you this morning in his penthouse — assuming you had moved from the living room to the spare room to work. But he could definitely tell that you hadn’t gotten a wink of rest since your drink break with him. 

“I’m looking for Tom, sir,” You formally stated, darting eyes looking past Vox and for Tom instead. “I want to do a fitting for him and-” 

“Say less,” Vox ushered you to follow him, walking before you. You felt like a pathetic puppy following their owner, skittering a little faster in your stride to keep pace with Vox.

“Tom!” Vox had called forward after a few moments of navigating through the studio. “Got someone looking for you,” You peeked out from behind Vox, sheepishly holding the suits in your arms. 

“Hi Tom, lovely seeing you again,” You sweetly greeted, putting forth a little bit of effort to keep-up the niceties. Vox looked at you at a break-neck speed, very obviously bothered by the silken honey voice you had put on. 

“Pleasure as always!” Tom had cheerly spouted, his mask contorting into somewhat of a smile.

“I have a draft suit for you ready and I want you to try it on before I commit to the full thing,” You explained, holding up the drafted suit up to Tom’s body. You snapped your fingers, the suits swapping places between each other. You held up his old, tacky beige suit on the hanger in your hand, lowering the fabric to instead put a focus on him. 

“How does it feel?” The other suits were laid down on top of a nearby chair as you fluttered back toward him. You picked and pruned him, plucking off stray threads and dustbunnies. Tom moved his arms around, stretching them every-which-way to get the full range of motion. 

“It feels great!”

From just a few feet away, Vox was passively fuming. He stood there, arms crossed and tight-lipped as you elatedly interacted with Tom. And you touched him. Vox was not a fan of the close proximity you were at with Tom, and his feelings regarding this contact didn’t deplete anytime soon. You kept on smoothening fabric creases on Tom, your delicate hands tracing over the lapels of the suit jacket. 

“May I?” You wearily asked Tom, motioning toward the other half of the suit. As soon as you received the consenting nod, you kneeled before Tom. You tugged at the bottom edge of the suit and continued your grooming. Seeing you in that particular position with someone set-off a quiet ire in Vox’s eyes. 

He couldn’t react outwardly right here and now, but he desperately wanted to. You were still so afraid of getting proximally close to Vox and yet here you were, touching all over some other man with ease. You only met Tom like once. Vox was like a simmering child, moping and pouting as he leaned up against the wall. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to change?” You innocently asked from your current position, looking up at Tom through fluttering eyelashes and a bright grin. 

“Nope, everything is perfect,” Tom happily responded, extending his hand down to help you up from the floor. You take his hand and let him help you rise. You kept his hand held in yours, slightly maneuvering the position to give him a firm handshake. 

“Thank you for being so compliant, Tom,” You smiled. You were on a first-name basis with him? The scowl on Vox’s screen only deepened, making his emotions much more apparent to anyone — and it certainly didn’t help that his cheeks dusted into a tasteful tomato-red. 

“It really is such a pleasure to be working with you,” You were being earnest in this statement, and you didn’t say it lightly. Of all Vox’s team, you liked Tom the most from your initial meeting with him. Everyone else had such a haughty air about them, or were a little difficult and non-compliant in the process. Tom, comparatively, was an angel. He made you genuinely wonder what it was he must’ve done to sully himself down here. 

“Please, the pleasure is all mine,” Tom retorted, his other hand reaching to clasp around your handshake and give a friendly pat to your hand. “Get some rest when you can, you look exhausted,” He chastised lightly. You gave him a half-hearted laugh, letting go of his hands. 

“I will try my best,” You truthfully stated, picking up the abandoned suits to return Tom back into his usual attire. “I’ve still got a mountain of work to pummel through, but I’ll make do,” You swapped Tom’s suits once again, bidding him a kind farewell as he scurried off to enjoy his lunch. 

Once again, you had neglected to realize that Vox stayed behind and watched you work. This is twice now?  Vox didn’t even try fixing his face, an irritated expression evidently displayed on his screen. 

“Are you always so … touchy with your clients?” Vox sassily seethed, arms crossed tightly against his chest. 

“Yes.” You quirked a brow at him, sincerely confused at what the issue was. Did it seem unprofessional of you? Or was this Vox turning green with envy? 

“Well, do you have to?” Vox whined through clenched teeth. Yeah, green with envy. Vox never struck you as the type that shared his toys.

“How else would I ensure my clients look their very best?” You quickly fired back.

A light vibration tickled your wrist. You looked down at your watch, seeing that your entire morning has gotten delayed because of this stupid manhunt. 

“Sorry, sir — I have to get back to work,” As you made your feeble excuse to leave, Vox began to follow you. Now it was his turn to trail behind you like a puppy, wagging tail and all. 

“You haven’t slept at all, huh?” Vox loomed over at your side, looking at your deepened eyebags.

“Nope, sinners don’t need to sleep,” You blinked hard, your body physically fighting against your words. Similarly to human exhaustion, your afterlife body will eventually collapse if you stay awake long enough — but it won’t do any real harm to you. 

“And if I sleep now, I won’t be able to get your suits done in time,” You added on pitifully, masking a shallow yawn with your hand. Vox tapped a claw against the glass of his screen, as if he were tapping his chin in ponderance. 

“Tell you what — let me whip something up for you that’ll help you out,” Vox grinned devilishly. “Well I won’t be the one whipping it up, but it’s my idea so,” You rolled your eyes at his addendum. Typical motherfucker. 

You didn’t love the vague nature of what he was suggesting — for all you knew he could very well be planning on drugging you later. You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kill me yet?” You frowned, dancing somewhere between genuine concern and sarcasm. 

“It’s not gonna be anything bad, trust me,” 

There was that phrase again — trust me. You wanted to find Vox trustworthy, especially since you’d (probably) continue working so closely together — but you couldn’t help but feel the manipulation leaking off the words. The Vees had their slogan “trust us” which often was partnered with Vox’s hypnotism, so hearing this phrase from him gave you little to no comfort. 

How were you to know if he was being genuine? 

How were you to know if he’d hypothesized you?

“Okay,” You said slowly, steeling your vulnerability. Fine, what’s the worst that could happen? 

The pair of you ended up standing before the elevator doors, and then the embarrassing realization hit you. You basically locked yourself out of Vox’s penthouse to do this run. 

“Could you let me back into your place?” You asked, feeling ashamed and humbled by the overlooked predicament. “I can work elsewhere, but I need to grab some of my things from there,” 

“Nonsense,” Vox waved you off, immediately fishing around in his pocket for his work badge. Unveiling the smooth piece of plastic attached to a crumpled lanyard, he takes your hand and places the card directly in your palm. Vox curls your fingers around the ID, looking at you with a mildly stern expression. 

“Don’t lose this,” He lightly warned. “Just tap the badge when you get in the elevator and hit the top floor,” Vox’s hands still lingered on top of yours. It felt inappropriate to hastily draw your hand back, for sake of him thinking you were repulsed by his touch. And the surprisingly warm contact of his hand felt nice. 

“I’ll be back for you in …” Vox pauses, humming to himself. “An hour or two,” 

“Sounds good to me,” You smiled at him, taking his ID in hand and slipping the lanyard around your neck. 

“Looks better on you than it does me,” Vox grinned, lightly tugging on the lanyard. Your face flushed as you looked up at him, shyly looking away from him as he drew into you closer. You felt your back press against the cold metal of the elevator doors. 

He was standing so close to you. You were almost certain that he could hear how fast your heart was racing. It thumped hard against your ribcage, almost an aching pain cementing itself in your chest. Vox only continued to grin wider, his sharp smile stretching to both sides of his screen. 

Vox caged you in like he finally captured the meal he was chasing after for so long. His eyes pulsed in their patterning reds and blues, but something beneath it roared with hunger. In mere moments, he could bite down and rip you to shreds. And you were almost desperate enough to let him. 

He let go of the lanyard, still keeping the close proximity to you. 

“I’ll see you later,” His voice garbled as he spoke, reverberating and low. Admittedly, he sounded really hot speaking to you like that. Your ears burned; they were almost as red as your face. Vox pointed a finger toward the elevator buttons, sparking the top one to send the elevator back down. 

“Be good for me while you’re in there,” Vox winked at you. The elevator doors flew open and he gently pushed you inside. He gave a brief departing wave your way as the doors began to close.

You scanned the badge and sent yourself up to his place. You leaned up against the wall, furrowing your brows at how dumbfounded you were feeling. You stood in the elevator for a while, cycling through the flurry of thoughts that were storming in your head. 

The ding of the elevator rang in your ears and you stumbled out into Vox’s home. Your body lurched forward on impulse, guiding your sluggish feet over toward the spare room you were staying in. 

Like muscle memory, you threw the suits onto the empty chair in the room. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, ready to swallow you whole. Your brain felt like it was short-circuiting as it recounted everything from the last week or so since working for Vox. 

Vox was being oddly doting on you, and he was really leaning into the touchiness he’s been recently insistent on. You were feeling conflicted. A small part of you begged that this was Vox showing a … genuine interest in you. And the bigger part of you assumed that Vox was only buttering you up to ask for something completely out of your paygrade. 

Of course, it would make sense. 

Vox already has the entire building wrapped around his finger, and all of that was due to a meld of his hypnotism and his natural charm. People loved him. He’s a broadcast host. His entire image is curated around attraction — getting people to look at him, to listen to him, to obey him. 

And when hundreds of thousands of sinners listen to you? That makes you feel powerful. Vox had an entire district of the Pride Ring eating out of his palm, and yet you were the only one distrusting of him. 

From the beginning, you had only shown him the respect you would have for any employer. You listened to him and tried not to argue too much with him at the start — deflecting to more constructive feedback rather than insults. 

And he just treated you like he did with any other sinner. Vox would try to raise the charm up with you: thinly-veiled compliments that sounded automated, repetitive positive feedback, and pretending to sound interested in your afterlife. Everything he said to you never stuck around, immediately getting disposed into the “not important” part of your brain. 

By day three, you had started to find Vox … annoying. He was trying to be extremely chatty with you, every other sentence pulled out of the “small-talk conversation starters” handbook. Nothing with him felt genuine. And you couldn’t trust him. 

Reflecting further back, why were you ever scared of this guy? 

You started to think that Vox was corny. 

But lately, Vox has been emboldening himself. He realized that his usual broadcast charm wasn’t effective with you, and so he moved onto seducing you rather than charming you. 

You know that his rationale for this was to — by any means — get on your good and trusting side. So the flirting and the constant bending of his knee to you had to be a means to get you to at least start to like him. And then the trust would pitter in slowly. 

The worst part of this: his plan to woo you over has been working. Maybe a little too well than he intended. 

You were still far from fully trusting him. But when he puts on that silky, sweet-talking voice of his — you become like putty in his hands. You become more compliant, more moldable for what he wants or needs. 

Because of how sweet he was, you were stupidly letting him influence you. You let him act more boldly in his favor, all because you were starting to feel more and more attracted to him. 

You didn’t hate him sounding so pathetically jealous, and you really didn’t mind him getting so close to you. Setting your rationality aside, you wanted to sink your teeth into more. To feel his warmth against your skin and to feel his hands roam around your body. 

Nope. That’s it. 

Your work came to an immediate halt, breaking yourself out of this stupor of Vox. You took a step back from the mannequin, letting out a deep sigh. No matter how much you tried to let focusing on work be your productive means to stop thinking — he always came back circling in your mind. 

You’ve already done an unfortunate amount of thinking about him and the implications these last few working hours. Your already feeble brain is getting drained and you need a break. 

Maybe a nap would do you some good. Not wanting to get the bed dirty with your work clothes, you crawl into the deliciously inviting plush couch off to the side in the room. As quickly as you laid to rest, you fell asleep with the blanket wrapped around your body — nuzzled into the crook of the couch and the soft fabric. 

Like many nights you’ve had since your Afterlife, you had a dreamless rest. You always wondered if this was some cruel joke from the Higher Beings that put you here. Since you were a cruel, unfeeling person in life — you get sent to Hell and get zero reprieve from the evils and hardship that festered down here. 

And as quickly as you laid to rest and fell asleep, you were ripped out of slumber. 

“Rise and shine,” A large clawed hand had lightly shook you awake from your nap, accompanied by an all too familiar voice. Vox held out a large coffee mug up for you, alongside an ornate glass vial mostly filled with a sparkling, pink liquid. You were still extremely exhausted, not even opening your eyes yet at the sound of his voice. 

“I wanted to let you rest, but I figured you’d kick my screen in if you found out I was the reason you fell behind on work,” Vox explained with a cheerful grin, patiently waiting for you to take your goods. 

You stared at him blankly, evidently still very sleepy and slowly processing the waking world around you. With your vision still blurry from your hour (?) nap, you barely registered what he was holding before you. 

“What?” You groggily murmured, voice minimally raspy and throat dry from your power slumber. You were still bundled up in the blanket, wrapped up like a cocoon. 

The sound of Vox’s husky chuckle filled your ear — it was obvious that he was laughing at you. You pouted, keeping the blanket wrapped around your head as you slowly sat up. 

“I had Vel whip up a potion for you, it’ll help you recharge your energy and keep you awake for-“ 

“So like a 5-hour-energy?” You cut him off. 

“A what?”

“Nevermind. Thanks,” You hesitantly pluck the coffee and vial from his hands. The coffee you felt like you could trust, but the potion not so much. You still were abhorrent to taking candy from a stranger — even if said treat came from someone who you highly trusted and respected. 

“I’ll only have some if you have some,” You childishly retorted, extending the vial back to him. Vox happily took back the vial, shaking the bottle in front of you.

“It’s not gonna do anything bad to you. But if it makes you comfortable … ” He trailed off, popping off the cork that plugged it. A cute puff of smoke left the neck of the bottle, forming a swirling cloud. You rolled your eyes at his passive response, attentively watching him gulp down about half of the vial. 

“Your turn,” With the back of his hand, he wiped the slight dribble of liquid from his mouth. You slowly down the rest of the potion. It tasted surprisingly sweet, almost tempting you to have more. The liquid left a light buzz on your tongue, lightly numbing your taste buds. 

“Hm, I’ll give Velvette some credit — this stuff tastes good,” You muse, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip to collect the little bit that was remaining. “Thank you for going through all that trouble, sir,” You smiled, stretching out your legs and rolling your shoulders back. 

“Okay, go shoo, I’ve got work to do,” You teased, briefly patting him on his shoulder as you stood up. You swept past him, taking a long sip of coffee before getting yourself seated at the sewing machine. 

“Not until we get on a first name basis,” Vox teased, still seated on the floor and looking up at you with a smarmy expression. You shot a sharp look at him, narrowing your eyes at him accusatorily. 

“Isn’t that a little inappropriate, sir?” Still not his name. That struck a blow to his ego, and he clutched his heart appropriately. 

“You’re on a first name basis with Velvette. Why not with me?” He raised a brow at you, getting comfortable in his spot on the floor. 

“Yes, but I’ve been working under her for twelve years. And she’s the owner of my soul — so I think she’s deserving of us being familiar,” You answered back, barely giving Vox a second glance as you started prepping the bobbin on your sewing machine. 

“And with all due respect, sir — I don’t think our relationship is quite there yet,” You huffed, cheeks a little reddened with frustration. A frustration that wasn’t necessarily targeted at him, per say. Internally, you scolded yourself — maintain professionalism —  like a mantra you needed to drill into your head. 

“You’re sooo stubborn,” Vox whined, lolling his head back onto the couch. He had crossed his arms like a petty child, clenching his teeth together. “I’ll get you someday,” He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. You drowned out his voice with the constant whirr of the machine. You faintly heard him amidst the noise, but you kept your mouth shut —  afraid that the next time you spoke your pride would fall to your feet and you’d cave into him. 

“But you’re in luck that I have back-to-back meetings today,” Vox was audibly irritated, his voice scratching and glitching out. “I’ll leave you be,” He was basically talking to himself at this point, especially as you kept your head down at your work. Vox noticed that you were ignoring him, and it did send him spiraling into weak-willed frustration. 

He sauntered over to you, bending down close to your ear. Vox wanted to make sure you heard him — clearly enough that you wouldn’t be able to ignore him even if you wanted to. 

“As much as I love you calling me sir, I think I’d prefer to hear my name coming out of your mouth,” Vox had whispered into your ear, lowering his voice into that gravely, raspy way that gets you hot-and-bothered. Your foot immediately stepped off the pedal, your entire body shutting down at the sound of his voice. Chills trickled down your spine and a heat began to form in the lower pit of your stomach. 

Before you could formulate a response or even look at him dumbly for more than 3 seconds, he disappeared into the power source of the sewing machine. You frantically looked around the room, double-checking that he was nowhere to be found. You groaned and buried your face in your hands. 

Yeah, you definitely needed to go out and meet someone else. 

You glanced back toward your phone. A brilliant idea and excuse came to mind. You immediately zipped to your group chat with Velvette’s other lead designers — your coworkers and closest friends. It had been a while since you five have been able to go out on the town, but soon was as good as ever. 

You guys free Wednesday night?

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You were down in the studio trying to catch all the hosts to show them the general stylistic choices you’d be giving them, all pre-approved by Vox himself. The other hosts were shockingly compliant and helpful, letting you pick and prune them as you draped different fabric colors on them and force them to stand still while you took their measurements. 

By the time you got to Katie, you felt like shooting yourself with an angelic bullet. Every idea you threw at her got insulted, berated, torn apart, and absolutely trashed on. Katie wouldn’t even let you take her measurements for said putrid ideas, smacking your hands away as soon as you brought the tape even near her. As she was on her ranting rampage about your “shit-for-brains ideas”, you were already typing away on your vPhone. 

Normally you weren’t the type to cry to Papa, but you knew only one monster could placate the torment that was Miss Killjoy. And Vox did say, “If you run into any trouble with the team, shoot me a message and I’ll be on my way.” 

hi sir. could you step in? katie’s being … difficult 

In the instant you sent your text, Vox came zapping through your phone and pixelated into full-form between you and Katie. While he was slightly shorter than her, his presence was still overwhelming and powerful. Katie immediately folded, her previous yapping muddled into a girlish giggle.

“Oh! Hello there, Mr. Tall, LED, and Handsome,” Katie flirted, batting her deliciously long lashes toward her boss. “What brings you down into my dressing room? Finally decided to have a quickie before I go live?” She bit her lip and tossed her flowy bob. 

“Are you giving our new designer some trouble, Katie?” Vox immediately cut in, expression flat and exhaustive on his face. While he completely ignored her suggestion, your face burned with prudence. You were still not very well-adjusted to the provocative outbursts of the sinners down here.  

“No, of course not,” She disingenuously hummed, a fangy grin cutting from ear-to-ear. Katie's neck bent at a sharp 90° angle, every bone cracking loudly as she unenthusiastically turned back to face you. She sent a not-so-subtle vicious glare your way.

“So what were the designs you wanted to show me again?” Katie clasped her hands together, gripping so tight you could hear the tiny crackles of each fingerbone.

You tried to keep the rest of this interaction as brief as possible, hastily flipping through the lookbook and noting down Katie’s personal notes. While you were working, you had zoned out the presence of your looming boss watching over your shoulder. You were solely focused on finishing up with Katie then getting the fuck-out-of-dodge. You thought he had left ages ago.

If you had been keen to Vox’s existence, you would’ve felt the holes he bore down your entire body. He examined you very closely, noting the pristine professional you maintained in your appearance — despite the obvious weight of exhaustion that smeared under your eyes. Your shoulders carried a lot of tension, not a day of respite has graced you in a while. You’ve been working to the bone for a long time and it was not going to get any easier with him. 

Silently — and unbeknownst to you — Vox was taking observational notes on you, storing all of his information up in his pretty RAM; it was slotted into an extensive file with your name plastered all over it. From the past few days of getting to know each other, he already had quite the collection on you. 

As soon as you were finished jotting down the final measurements, Vox flickered to your side. All the hairs stood up on your neck, his sudden appearance startling the daylights out of you. He drew an arm around your shoulders, claw curling around your arm. 

Vox was getting real comfortable with touching you whenever, not that you necessarily minded. Even if you did, it’s not like you would say anything about it. You didn’t know if you’d be able to. 

Vox started to rattle off some excuse to Katie and gave her a curt departure, dragging you along with him. Katie’s ego shattered as the pair of you left, immediately devolving back into her bratty and crude self. As you both slid out of her dressing room, you could hear Katie let out a mighty roar followed by the clattering of miscellaneous objects. 

“Could I rely on you to work extra diligently these next few days? I want to debut some of your pieces by Wednesday’s broadcast.” Vox’s hand was still wrapped around your forearm, squeezing tighter. You could feel the sharp angle of his claws digging into your bare skin. This motherfucker was threatening you.  He was expecting at least six new suits within 3 days time, which wasn’t impossible, but it absolutely wasn’t reasonabe. You regretted even thinking that the work was quiet and light for these past few days. Dumb fucking idiot.

With a candied smile, you gently pat the claw that was tightening around your arm. “Of course, sir,” You complied through clenched teeth. Vox immediately let go of your arm, but still keeping his hand hovering behind your back as he ushered you into the elevator. 

“Good, glad I can count on you.” A little electric shock leapt from his finger and onto the buttons of the elevator, immediately shooting the two of you up into the highest floor. The rest of the elevator ride was awkwardly silent. You were still steaming with frustration, feeling your ears turn red hot. You were mentally babbling off to yourself the lingering list you’d have to make in order to make the deadline on time and be able to have flawless execution as well. 

Sinners didn’t need to sleep, so maybe you could use this as your advantage to grind out the work as soon as possible. In the back of your mind, you were hoping that this would be the first and only time he would demand such an incredulous deadline from you. Reasonably, knowing Vox, you were going to get pushed over the edge with due dates. 

“I want you to work at my place for the next few days. I’m interested in knowing your … process,” He chose carefully. You didn’t like his choice of words, it left a poisonous taste in the back of your throat. The pair of you stepped out of the elevator, immediately finding yourself in Vox’s penthouse. 

“I’ll have all of your supplies brought in here. There’s a spare room you can work in, or choose the living room — it’s all the same to me,” Vox held the elevator door open for you, letting you enter his home before him like a gentleman. In the brief amount of time you spent with him, you realized that he was such a curated persona. But that’s the bare-minimum charm everyone falls for.  

And you weren’t necessarily … not falling for it. 

The inside of the penthouse was as gorgeous as you expected it to be: high ceilings with a large chandelier hanging from the center, the latest VoxTek integrated into every aspect of the living quarters, and the absolutely mouth-dropping view of the district. Despite the ire that was billowing inside your stomach, you still felt a sense of envy and wonder while looking around his home.

Maybe if you were lucky, you’d be able to continue exploring the intimate view into this man’s life and live to tell the tale. 

“Make yourself at home,” Vox began to take off his jacket, leaving it to hang on the coat rack by his door. You kicked off your heels and began wandering around the foyer, finding a good spot to make yourself comfortable at. As terribly as you wanted to be nosy around the privacy of his home, you had a task to stay hypervigilant on. The minutes were already ticking on by the longer you stood around like a dolt. You sat on the plush rug in front of his couch, hunching over on the coffee table and droning away on the sketch pad. 

“Could I fix you a drink?” Vox had asked from the kitchen. Your brows knitted together, looking toward his direction with an air of suspicion clouding your judgment. With each passing hour, your wariness of him continued to rise. He was being too hospitable. 

“No thanks. I gotta stay focused here,” You deflected, immediately returning to making broad strokes on the paper with your pen. 

“C’mon, loosen up a little,” Vox insisted, chuckling to himself as he began to make himself an Old Fashioned. 

“Easy for you to say,” You retort. “You’re not the one doing all the work here.” As soon as those words escaped your mouth, you felt like clamping your jaw shut — regretting the rude tone you were giving. There was nearly not enough built up camaraderie between the two of you that would constitute banter; at least that’s what you had learned from working with Velvette. 

Vox let out a heartier laugh, an electric buzz radiating out from his screen with little sparks accompanying the merriment. Okay … this was strange. It was not long ago that he was subtly threatening you and now he was casually cackling at your intrusive response. 

“You’re right.”

What? No fucking way. 

“I’m sorry?” You were genuinely flabbergasted, mouth hanging so low you’d catch flies. There’s not fucking way he just told you that you were right. Vox continued to laugh, a sound so full of real elation, all to your dismay. Every iron gate protecting your frail life and ego stood upright, weapons at the ready. Your grip on your pencil tighted, daring to snap the wood in half. Was he mocking you? Possibly … 

You didn’t know it then, but he found you endearing. 

“I know you’ve heard all the stories about me,” Vox chided, pouring out his mix into a chilled glass. He briefly looked up at you from his task, slyly smiling at the dumbfounded expression you still held. 

“They’re all true, of course,” He began to undo his bowtie, letting it hang loosely from under his collar. Vox flickered into the lights, appearing right before you once again through the abandoned phone on the table. 

“But I’m not a bad guy. I’m on your side. I want you to be successful —but I still expect you to obey me.” Vox took a quick swig from his beverage before plopping onto the couch behind you. 

“Trust me,” Vox purred into your ear. He knew that he didn’t need to hypnotize you to bend to his will. You were already a good, dutiful pet — you just needed to let your skepticism go.

You could feel his warmth radiating onto the back of your neck, tensing sharply at the close proximity you both shared. He reached around and past you to lay his drink on the coffee table. If you leaned back just a little you’d knock into his firm chest. 

Being in his home. Being this close. Being this casual. 

You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. It swayed somewhere between fear and/or arousal. 

The rest of the evening was spent trying to ignore Vox’s presence on the couch. Fortunately, he was generous enough to not bother you — mostly scrolling away on his phone and answering emails on his laptop. The idea of him doing menial office work was comical to you, especially as you saw his half-lidded expression on his screen as he trudged through the boring slate of messages.

Closer to the end of the work day, Vox put on a movie in the background to play while he finished answering the last collection of messages. While you’d never admit it outloud, this dynamic was … nice. You weren’t actively fearing for your life and Vox was being extremely accommodating for everything you needed. With a snap of his fingers, he’d bring you whatever supplies you needed without even having to stand up. 

Despite your better judgment, you dared to think that this arrangement would fare better than the one with Velvette. 

“Is it ever weird to watch something on a TV?” You broke the silence between the two of you, focusing intently on cutting out the lining fabric for the suits. 

“Given your, uh, condition,” You teasingly added. 

“Eh, sometimes,” Vox laughed, taking a sip from his 4th drink this evening. He closed his laptop and set it off to the side of the coffee table, stretching out on the couch. “I try not to think about it too much.” He admitted, glancing over your shoulder to check-in on your progress. 

“How’s the work coming along?”

“As quickly as I can execute it, sir,” It was your turn to let out a little giggle, marking lines with chalk on the fabric. “If I keep at the pace I may actually be done midday Tuesday.” 

“Give yourself a break,” Vox drawled, shaking his drink as a ploy of temptation. “I’m telling you this as your boss,” Even though Velvette wasn’t in the room with you, you could feel your soul-bond chain to her tighten around your throat. 

“Okay, okay,” He didn’t have to tell you twice. You stood up from your place on the floor and dusted off your pants. “What spirits do you have?” Before you could travel toward the kitchen, Vox snatched you by the hips and drug you down onto the couch. 

“Please, let me,” Vox demanded, keeping you pinned against the plush surface. “You’re my guest, I’ll take care of it,” He leaned over you, making sure you weren’t going to follow him into the kitchen. Vox gave you a pat on your knee and disappeared into his phone. 

Your face burned, completely caught off-guard. Okay, yeah, your feelings may be leaning toward arousal. But it was just because of stupid close proximity, right? 

You wanted to bury your face in your hands, splash some cold water on your face, tear your hair out — literally anything that would bring you back to your reasonable senses. Maybe a drink wasn’t the worst idea. 

“What are you craving?” He had zapped out of the goddamn VoxTek oven. 

“Hmm, espresso martini?” 

“Ask and you shall receive,” Vox immediately began to make quick work of your beverage. As he was crafting your drink, you took this break as an opportunity to wander around his place. 

You shuffled over to the floor-to-ceiling windowed wall he had in the back of the penthouse. You opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, immediately getting whipped with the chilling winds that found you at this elevation.

Your arms cradled your body as you peeked over the edge, seeing the little ants of sinners perusing the streets of the Entertainment District. The bright lights of the city were stunning — the towering buildings in full-display of whatever advertising Vox was churning out — an absolute spectacle to behold. 

Before your afterlife, you were never really a city person. You enjoyed the soft comfort of a less urbanized area — small, intimate towns where everyone knew one another. There’d be closer knit relationships and bonds to be formed with customers that would frequent stores, or people you crossed paths with while sharing a similar path schedule. 

The big city was cold — devoid of the camaraderie that came from neighbors protecting one another. Maybe you were biased, or maybe it was just because Hell continued to be so bleak and idling in its ways that you found this particular district to be so … disappointing. 

“Beautiful,” Vox mused aloud. You turned around quickly, seeing Vox standing in the doorway with two drinks in each hand and his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. His dress shirt had been partially undone at the top, daring your eyes to travel down and dive past the cut. 

That dreaded temptation of arousal kissed the curve of your neck, feeling heat rising into the most vulnerable parts of your body. The apples of your cheeks dusted with a rosy color — whether it was from the biting cold or the way Vox drew out ‘beautiful’, you couldn’t tell. 

“The city’s beautiful at this hour,” Vox continued. You fucking idiot, he wasn’t talking about you. Your blush turned into a reddened embarrassment, practically snatching the drink from him to save yourself any further humiliation. Taking a hefty swig, you cleared your throat, turning back toward the city skyview. 

“It is,” You dumbly spat out, swallowing your pride down hard along with another chug of your martini. “I’m sure having all of this to yourself makes you feel mighty powerful,” You leaned over the edge of the balcony, sighing wistfully at the sight. 

“Oh it certainly does,” Vox chuckled from directly behind you. You could feel his towering, looming presence. A tempting part of you wanted to feel his hands latch onto your hips again and have him draw you closer to his chest. Anything just to feel his warmth combat against the cold you were feeling. 

“What more can a man want when he has everything?” You hummed against the lip of your glass, sharp nails tapping along the cold metal of the balcony railing. 

“There are still a few things,” Vox replied smoothly. He was no longer looking at the city skyview, instead his gaze traveled to something more tangible. Someone more tangible. 

“Care to share?” 

“A man can have his secrets,” Vox chuckled, smiling against the rim of glass as he took a swig. He shifted from behind and stood next to you instead, his arm bumping into your own. Glancing down at you, he noticed that your free hand had rubbed your other arm in a futile attempt to relieve yourself from the cold. 

“Boo, how are we supposed to build a good employer-employee relationship when you’re being all mysterious?" You half-heartedly teased, looking up at Vox. 

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Vox grinned, extending the glass of his whisky toward yours for a clink. You returned the gesture and tinked the edge of your glass against his. “I haven’t wanted to kill you yet — so I say you’re doing alright,” He jested, sending a quick wink your way. 

“I, uhm-“ Before you could stammer about even an outline of a response, Vox had draped his suit jacket over your shivering body. “Oh, thank you,” You swallowed hard, cheeks deepening in its crimson color. His hands smoothened over the silky fabric of the jacket — subsequently caressing up and down your arms. 

You couldn’t even finish your thoughts, mind trailing off from giving a response and focusing more on the idea of him. The way he attentively looked into your eyes, a slightly buzzed grin bore on his screen. And the way he was delicately caring for you.

Was it caring? Or something more akin to a manipulative plan he was conjuring up in that database of his. 

You took another long sip from your martini, trying your best to swallow down your feelings with your drink. 

“You’ve got …” Vox trailed off, laughing lightly at the little bit of espresso cream you had lingering on your bottom lip. Without further comment, he grabbed the bottom of your chin and swiped his thumb over the little white splotch. In the back of his mind, somewhat more sinister thoughts stirred. 

God, he was killing you. 

“T-thank you,” You shoot out. You needed Hell to swallow you whole, or for the next extermination to happen right here and right now. The longer you stayed out here with him, the more your judgement became hazed. 

The infamous charm was certainly working on you, and you knew he was being deliberate with his actions. Certainly, he was doing this as a ploy to catch you off-guard, waiting for a moment for you to act on something certainly regrettable. And as soon as you did something? He’d fire and kill you. 

“Are you not cold out here?” You tried subtly suggesting, holding his jacket around your shoulders. “Let’s go inside,” You murmured, quickly skittering away from the balcony and Vox. The warmth of Vox’s home was the perfect respite from the cold, and focusing on your work would be a good respite from him. 

Distraction was never something you enjoyed indulging in, it kept you away from what you should be focusing on. And right now, you need to keep your mind and body in check. You had a job to be focusing on — the career that you so painstakingly worked hard at and killed to have. No matter how tempting the fruit was, it would be your demise. 

“I should keep working,” A knot tied itself in your shoulder blades, preemptively dreading the spinal pain you’d go back to feeling. At this point, however, you’d much rather be hunched over at your work than even look toward Vox now.

On the surface, nothing about the way you were feeling was complicated. You were just a young, stupid sinner fawning over someone who was basically an idol. It was just like being in the proximity of any bare-minimumally-attractive celebrity. It didn’t mean anything. 

As soon as Vox bid you a good night and retreated into his bedroom, you exhaled the air of stress that bundled itself up in your lungs. It hadn’t even been a week since you started closely working for him and now you were genuinely contemplating resigning from this position. 

You were very grateful for the opportunity. You got paid more, more renown among the fashion world and throughout all of Vee Tower. But it was at the expense of your own mental anguish. Vox’s flirting was getting to you, and no matter the result this could end up messy. 

Your anxious brain swirled with various scenarios that could play out for you if you did or didn’t leave this position. 

You were caught between a rock and a hard place — no matter what you did, you were damned. 

If you cried to Velvette and resigned from being Vox’s designer, there was no guarantee that she would keep you. Especially because you would’ve (likely) upset her business partner and that was not a great reputation to have on your resume. She could always train a new sinner, get someone to replace you so easily. 

But she could keep you, and that ending may not be so bad. 

However, there was also the risk of Vox straight-up killing you if you decided to leave the position. Your leaving would stir up a setback for Vox and Velvette — all of the VoxTek company really. 

If you continued being Vox’s designer, there would be a few possible endings for you. 

His incessant teasing would continue to distract you from the task at hand, baiting you into ruining your own reputation and you’d be marked as the whore that slept her way up to the top. Even if you didn’t lean into his toying, the public loves a rumor. Just a lingering hand of his on you could start a wildfire in the company. Whether or not Vox would pursue anything with you, it didn’t matter — you both were public figures. People expect a scandal from him; you, however, do not get rewarded the same luxury. 

Alternatively, if you played into this Biblical temptation, Vox could kill you for any reason. He could say that you’re a liability for the work relationship — that you’re getting too caught up in the ‘relation’ part of work relations. He could get bored of you and boot you to the curb, finding a younger, brighter, newer designer for him to leech off of. 

Maybe you just needed a good lay with someone that wasn’t your boss to placate your attraction to Vox. 

The rest of the night you continued to diligently work on constructing the suits. Maybe, at the very least, you could finish this first assignment without difficulty and you could lay these ideas to rest. It would be then that you would think about the implications of this work more thoroughly. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Not with me, sweetheart,” Vox chuckled, leaving micro-electrical shocks along the most sensitive parts of your neck that caused your nipples to harden. They were the equivalent of little bites down onto your flesh, but somehow the little sparks felt even better. 

“S-shit, Vox,” You groaned, dipping your head down onto his shoulder. This was getting dangerous for you. The sensible part of your brain was already getting fried over-and-over again by the force that was your boss. 

Vox pushed up the fabric of your skirt slowly until it bunched up around your hips. He pressed his screen against your face, muffling any further protests with his mouth. 

After the first couple of times you made out with Vox, you somewhat had an idea of how kissing his screen worked. You were pretty sure all of his mouth-parts were holographic-adjacent. His mouth didn’t feel like the usual pair of lips but he still had this engulfing warmth. Each one of his kisses absorbed you into a mind-numbing trance, like an aphrodisiac you couldn’t pull yourself away from. 

And his tongue. You didn’t think it would be functionally possible, but he proved you wrong over and over again. His tongue was still anatomically the most confusing for you, but before you’d get to think about it for too long — he’d be drowning out your scattered thoughts with a quick orgasm. He loved to draw his tongue all over your neck and down your body, leaving a static saliva-like trail on your skin that burned pleasantly. 

Your hands reached up for the frame of his face, pulling him deeper against you until he groaned softly into your mouth. Your fingers trailed down to his neck, wrapping your claws around his soft flesh. You squeezed ever so gently, testing the waters of exactly how rough Vox was willing to let you be tonight. 

You drew away from him, looking at his face through half-lidded eyes. , Returning the favor, you began to leave a litter of bites along the side of his neck. With each deep kiss of yours against his skin, he’d let out a soft moan — squeezing your thighs hard. Vox’s pathetic sounds encouraged you more, tightening your grip on his throat even more and biting down harder on his skin. Your fangs left behind the cutest indents on Vox’s neck, a smattering of purplish-red bruises in their wake. 

Hopefully those can be covered up by the next broadcast. 

His deft fingers reached up for your blouse, slowly plucking off each button until your chest was exposed to him. For a moment, you let your grip on him go and slipped the fabric of your top off your shoulders — letting it pool behind you on the table. 

“God, I need you so badly, sweetheart,” Vox hummed against your mouth, reaching up to unclip your bra. 

“Take me however you want me,” You egged on. Oh, that lit a fire in Vox. Without a second beat, he got onto his knees before you and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Fuck he looked good. 

Vox traced his sharp claw up your stockings — watching the sheer fabric begin to tear and run. You looped a leg over Vox’s shoulder, shifting your hips closer to his face. Through the sheer pantyhose he could see that you were dripping wet for him — your arousal soaking through your underwear. With a quick movement, he ripped apart the final layers of fabric to get to your pussy. 

Vox dove in with fervor, plunging his fingers deep into your sopping hole and pressing his face against your heat. His tongue swirled around your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. 

You cried out as he abused your hole, feeling the burning stretch around his fingers. The sounds of his tongue lapping up your juices filling the otherwise silent room. His fingers curled up in you, the pads of his fingers pushing and pressing against that spot that made you sob. 

Everything in your pussy tightened — knowing your orgasm would be arriving soon. Vox hummed against your pussy, the vibration tickling your nerves and making your legs squeeze around his head. 

“Vox,” You mewled, hands reaching up to cover your mouth and muffle your filthy moans. “I’m gonna cum,” You spewed out between your fingers. You leaned back flat onto the table, back arching off the surface as you neared your climax. 

“Want you to cum on my face,” Vox murmured against your pussy, tongue still abusing your quivering body. His pace only continued to hasten, his fingers plunging deeper into you and attacking all of the most sensitive parts of you. 

You could feel that final tightening convulsion of your insides before your orgasm would take over. With one final push, your release came and you let out an embarrassingly loud muffled cry. You squirted all over Vox’s screen, your legs trembling around the sides of his head. He continued to lick up all of your cum and finger-fuck you through your climax. 

As soon as he withdrew his fingers from you, you let out a whine at the sudden loss. Your hips grinded against the air, desperate to feel that stretch of your pussy again. Your body was overstimulated, thighs still shaking from the harsh orgasm he ripped out from you. 

But God you wanted more. 

Vox pulled back from you for a moment, scanning the sight of you with complete aroused infatuation. Lying there on the table in only your skirt and torn stockings, your cum soaking the table beneath you. Your usual proper up-keep devolved into the drooling, sniveling mess that you were now.

And it was because of him. 

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Vox wiped some of your cum from his face with the back of his hand, drinking up every last drop he could. He swept you up into his arms, supporting you upright and keeping you flush against his chest. Vox’s large arms cradled you so gently, making sure you were still with him. 

You looked at him with blown-out pupils, successfully fucked out with a lazy smile on your face. You leaned forward and gave Vox another passionate kiss, his mouth tasting like a lovely blend of your own cum and his usual electric flavor. 

“Thank you, sir,” You hummed cutely, leaving a gentle kiss on his cheek. A light teal tint rushed over his screen. Aw, he was blushing. You giggled at his soft expression, leaving another trailing of kisses over his face.

“Don’t think we’re done yet, baby,” Vox murmured into your ear, dropping one of his arms from supporting you. He made quick work of undoing his belt, nudging open your legs wider for him with his knee. Vox took his cock into his hand, rubbing his length against your wet folds — coating himself in your cum. 

“Get on with it,” You teased exasperatedly, half-heartedly reaching for his hips to draw him in closer to you. 

“Patience, my dear,” Vox chuckled, lining up his cock with your entrance. Slowly, he plunged himself into you until he bottomed out. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder and groaned as your body adjusted to him. No matter how many times the two of you fucked, you never got used to the stretch your body had to accommodate for his size. But God you loved the sensation every time. 

Without further preparation and warning, Vox began to slowly move his hips against you. His gripped onto your thighs, claws dragging against your soft flesh and leaving behind a fine trail of red scratches. Vox nearly pulled out of you fully before slamming his hips back into you, drawing out a squeamish moan from you.  

Already overstimulated from your previous orgasm, you could feel another slowly be coaxed out of you with each plunge of his cock. Vox traced wandering circles over the curve of your breasts, the faintest of blue buzzes following. Each spark nipped your skin and aided in your soaking arousal. 

He dipped his head down against your tits, licking long stripes along your chest. When his tongue would occasionally flick over your nipple, he would feel your walls clench around him. Vox took one of your tits in his mouth lightly nibbling along the sides of your breast. His mouth was so hot. 

Your hands reached up behind his screen and pushed him into your body, desperate to feel every inch of him touching your skin. Your sweet moans were like a siren’s call to Vox, making him desperate to hear how loud you could get for him. He steadily continued to pump into your drenched hole, relishing in the squelching noises that your pussy was making for him.  

Unbeknownst to you, Velvette and Valentino were passing by the conference room. They were making their rounds wandering the Vee Tower for any stragglers getting up to shit they weren’t supposed to. The fogged over glass windows were a clear indicator of something being amiss. They thought they caught some of their employees getting up to no good in their meeting grounds. And so they drew closer. 

Valentino cupped his hands around the fogged glass, his already poor vision unable to entirely detect who was creaming all over their table. Naturally, Valentino always had a proclivity for watching and seeing the familiar cyan spark glow dimly behind the glass only raised his intrigue more. 

From inside the room, Vox took note of the two bodies lingering right in front of the glass — two very familiar faces for him. Even if he couldn’t fully make out who was out there, he already had his suspicions up. Knowing that he had a gawking audience? That only made it more than eager to please. 

“Looks like we have an audience,” Vox cooed, tracing a finger down the side of your jaw and turning your head toward the doors of the conference room. 

In a panic, you began pushing against Vox’s chest — your better judgement taking over for a moment the second you saw lingering bodies pressed up against the room and looking in. Unfortunately for you, your feeble strength was not enough to push the Overlord off of you. Not that you necessarily wanted him to stop anyhow. 

“V-Vox, please,” You stammer out. “I could get in trouble.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Vox dismissed, bending down at the waist to continue kissing along the curve of your neck. The continued grinding of his hips against yours and the little zaps he was giving your exposed neck made you fall apart. 

“They’re not leaving,” Vox pointed out to you with an impish grin, keeping a firm grip on your face and forcing you to look in their direction. Body betraying your mind, you tightened around Vox’s cock. You hated to admit this aloud, but knowing that someone could be so invested to watch you unravel at Vox’s hands was enticing. 

“Oh, you like that, baby?” Vox mocked you, clenching his teeth together as he continued to thrust through your squeezing walls. You covered your face in embarrassment, ashamed at the vulgar sounds of Vox pounding your creaming pussy. Despite the shame, you encouraged him to continue abusing your poor cunt — legs wrapping around his hips and grinding yourself against him. 

“Let’s give them a show,” Vox snapped his fingers and the locks on the doors to spark and burn out. The doors slowly creaked open, inviting the two shameless observers into the room. 

Before you could yelp in surprise, he claimed your mouth and let your muffled cries spill out against his screen. Vox’s claws dug into the meat of your legs, his thrusts hitting even deeper into you. Your head lolled back, your eyes rolling into your head with pleasure as you could feel another orgasm threatening to erupt. 

“Without me, Voxxy?” Valentino’s smooth voice perked up, the smell of nicotine filing into the space. Velvette stood next to him, arms crossed and very notably disgusted at the scene laid before her. But like a car crash, she couldn’t avert her eyes. 

You didn’t dare to return their wandering eyes, a deeper sense of shame already nestling itself in your chest. How could you look the owner of your soul in the face while you were in your most euphoric moments? All while her associate was the one to get you in such a pitiful, messy state. 

“Sorry, ‘Tino. I’m not sharing, this one is all mine,” Vox shot back, his motions getting more erratic and animalistic as he chased his own high. 

“P-Please, sir,” You choked on your own moans, voice raspy from crying out for him. Your hands reached for the back of his neck for leverage as he continued to pound in and out of you.

“Make a mess for them,” Vox edged on, his hand trailing down between the two of you. As soon as you felt his fingers rub circles on your clit, you knew you were done for. Each of his thrusts felt more intense than the last, each stroke milking you for all you’re able to give him.

“Cum in me, please,” You begged, biting down hard on the firm muscle of his shoulder. “Need you to fill me up,” That firing pit of arousal in your groin continued to get stimulated, and you were so close to cumming on his cock again. 

“Anything for you, baby,” Vox hummed, feeling his systems beginning to overheat and his own arrival catching up to him steadily. He groaned at the sensation of your fangs biting down harder on him — definitely drawing blood from him — and grinding against you with pure desperation. 

Erratic and fierce, Vox plunged his cock as deep as it could go inside of you. Somewhere among his frantic pounding, your own orgasm beating his. Vox’s hand reached up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers entangling themselves in the mess of your hair. He gripped tightly, pulling your head back as you came all over him. 

 Your juices soaked the fabric of his slacks and his cock, his movements still unrelenting as he hunted down his own completion. With a few more eager thrusts, he finished inside of you. He shot ropes of cum into your pussy, hips staggering as he continued to rut out his orgasm. Vox nearly collapsed forward atop of you, he barely held himself up with his arms caging around your shaking body. 

“At least fucking clean up in here,” Velvette groaned, absolute detestation dripping from her voice. A hint of disdain tightly wound around her words. She tugged on Valentino’s sleeve to get them to move along, looking down at the floor with embarrassment. The apples of her cheeks were lit ablaze with a flustered expression, refusing to make eye-contact with you or Vox again. 

“If you ever decide to stop working for these two, give me a call, you’ve got some raw talent,” Valentino cooed, blowing a kiss your way as he ushered himself and Velvette out of the room. You barely even registered either of their words, or even the moment that they left. Your brain was so fogged out and dizzy with pleasure. All you could focus on was regulating your breathing and keeping your eyes open. 

Once they were gone, Vox slowly pulled his cock out of the depths of your body — a pool of his own cum beginning to leak out of you and mix in with your previous climaxes that already soaked the wood. You moaned at the loss of his warmth inside of you, weakly pawing at his chest for him to return inside of you.

“You did so great, baby,” Vox whispered down into your ear, leaving little kisses underneath your jaw. He collected the dribbling cum with his fingers, fucking all of him back into you — earning a satisfied groan from you.