Heyyy so please give me tips below if this is ok AH
Vox x fem assistant reader
The studio was alive with the low thrum of machinery and the faint buzz of anticipation that always hung in the air before Vox went live. You stepped through the side door at exactly 1:47 p.m., tablet clutched in one hand, earpiece already tucked into place like Vox had instructed via a curt text thirty seconds earlier. The main stage glowed under banks of adjustable lightsâharsh white with overlays of electric blue that matched the pulsing veins of circuitry running along the walls. A massive curved desk dominated the center, sleek black with embedded holographic displays that flickered through trending topics in real time. Behind it, the backdrop was a seamless wall of shifting VoxTek logos that dissolved into live feeds from Hellâs streets.
Vox was already there, perched on the edge of the desk like he owned every pixel in the roomâwhich, technically, he did. His coat was off, draped over the back of his chair, leaving him in that tailored vest and dress shirt that somehow made the sharp lines of his frame look even more predatory. The flat screen of his head glowed steadily, red pupils sharp as he scanned a floating script. A tech demon scurried past with a boom mic, and Vox didnât even glance at him before snapping, âLeft side lighting is two degrees off. Fix it before I fry your paycheck.â
You hovered just off-camera, in the shadowed wing where the directorâs monitors cast green reflections across your face. Your heart gave one annoying little stutter when Voxâs gaze flicked toward you. The static in the air thickened instantly, a faint crackle that brushed the back of your neck like invisible fingers.
âPerfect timing,â he said, voice dropping to that velvet-static timbre he reserved for when he was pretending not to notice how closely he was watching you. âSit there.â He pointed with two claws at a low stool tucked behind a half-wall of equipment, just out of frame but close enough that you could lean forward and speak directly into the small microphone rigged for you. âEarpiece stays in. You feed me numbersâviewer retention, sentiment spikes, demographic breakdowns. No hesitation. No fluff. If I have to ask twice, Iâll broadcast your name as the reason for any dip.â
You sat, smoothing your skirt and powering up the tablet. The screen lit with the afternoon broadcast dashboard: live graphs already climbing as the pre-show countdown ticked down from sixty. âUnderstood, sir. Current projections show a twelve percent uptick if you open with the Valentino statement. Sentimentâs still hovering at sixty-eight percent âconcerned citizenâ rather than âoutraged investor.ââ
Voxâs screen flickered onceâamusement, maybe, or irritation that youâd already read the data he hadnât asked for yet. âCocky little analyst today, arenât we?â He adjusted his tie with a sharp tug, claws clicking against the fabric. âKeep talking like that and I might start thinking you enjoy watching me work.â
The countdown hit ten. The floor director gave a silent three-two-one with his fingers. The red light on the main camera flared.
Vox transformed in an instant. The sharp edges of his posture melted into effortless charisma as he leaned into the lens, smile wide and glowing, voice dropping into that smooth, hypnotic broadcast cadence that made sinners across the Pride Ring lean closer to their screens.
âGood afternoon, Pentagram City! Itâs your favorite Overlord of the airwaves, Vox, coming at you live from the heart of VoxTek Tower. Today weâre diving deep into the latest shake-ups in our glittering entertainment districtâbecause letâs face it, darling viewers, things are never boring down here.â
You watched the metrics spike immediately. Retention at ninety-four percent. Female demons aged 25-40 up two points already. You leaned in, voice low and clear through the private channel. âSentiment holding steady. Mention the âartistic passionâ line from the press releaseâviewer engagement jumped eleven percent on test runs of that phrasing.â
Vox didnât miss a beat on camera, but his screen glitched with a tiny heart-shaped static burst only you could see from your angle. âOf course, we all know our dear associate Valentino is a visionary. His latest⌠creative outburst? Pure artistic temperament. The kind that reminds us why we tune in every night. Passion like that doesnât come cheap, folksâand neither does the brilliance that follows it.â
You tapped rapidly, feeding him the next line of data. âDemographic Aâyounger sinnersâloving the confidence. Retention now at ninety-seven. But older investors are hesitating. Pivot to financials in thirty seconds.â
He laughed on air, low and rich, the sound rolling through the studio speakers like thunder wrapped in silk. âAnd for those of you crunching numbers instead of popcornâdonât worry. VoxTekâs bottom line is as solid as my signal. We adapt. We improve. We stay ahead.â His red pupils flicked sideways for the briefest second, locking onto you in the shadows. The static around him crackled louder, a warm prickle that ghosted across your arms even from three feet away. âBecause the right people know how to keep things⌠running smoothly.â
You swallowed, fingers flying over the tablet. âSpike in positive sentimentâup to seventy-four percent. Theyâre eating it up. Add something personal. âEven I rely on the best support behind the scenes.â Test it.â
Voxâs claws tightened on the edge of the desk, screen flickering againâstronger this time. On camera it looked like emphasis. To you it felt like a live wire humming between you. âAnd let me tell you,â he continued, voice dropping into that intimate register that made the air feel thinner, âeven someone like me doesnât do it all alone. The right assistantâthe right teamâmakes all the difference. Keeps the frequency clear. Keeps the picture sharp.â
The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. Viewer metrics jumped another four points. Comments flooded the side monitor: whoâs the new girl in the background clips? vox sounds different today⌠hotter?
You kept your voice steady, professional, even as your pulse kicked up. âPositive chatter exploding on social. Theyâre theorizing about âthe new voice in your ear.â Stay vague. Donât confirm anything.â
Voxâs smile on camera sharpened, but off-camera his head tilted just enough that the red glow of his screen caught the side of your face. âMmm. Smart girl,â he murmured into the private line, low enough that only you heard the praise beneath the static. âYouâre feeding me gold today. Keep it coming.â
The segment stretched on for another twenty minutesâstock updates, a quick ad read for the new VoxTek streaming service, a biting takedown of some rival networkâs latest flop. Every time you leaned in with fresh numbers, his posture shifted toward you by fractions of an inch. The static never let up; it danced along your skin like a constant low-voltage caress, making the fine hairs on your arms stand at attention. Once, when you whispered a particularly sharp market insight mid-sentence, his claws flexed hard enough to leave faint scratches on the desk surface.
When the red light finally cut, Vox let out a long, satisfied exhale that sounded more like a growl. The studio crew erupted into the usual post-show chatter, but he ignored them completely. He stood, rolling his shoulders, and closed the distance between you in two strides. The static intensified until it felt like standing inside a storm cloud.
âNot bad,â he said, voice pitched low so the lingering techs wouldnât overhear. He loomed over your stool, one hand braced on the half-wall beside your head. Close. Too close. You could smell ozone and that sharp cologne again, could see the faint after-images of the broadcast still scrolling across his screen in miniature. âNot bad at all. Retention peaked at ninety-eight point seven during the pivot. Thatâs the highest afternoon number in three quarters.â
You met his gaze without flinching, even as your tablet screen reflected red in your eyes. âThe numbers donât lie, sir. Your delivery helped. The personal touch at the endâviewers love when you sound almost⌠human.â
Voxâs pupils narrowed into dangerous slits, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. âAlmost human? Careful. Compliments like that could go to my head.â He leaned in another inch, claws tapping idly against the wall inches from your shoulder. âOr maybe youâre the one getting comfortable. Feeding me lines like that on air⌠making me sound better than I already am. Most assistants wouldâve frozen up the second the camera went hot.â
âI donât freeze,â you replied evenly, though your voice had dropped to match his. The air between you felt charged, heavy. âI adapt. Like you saidâkeeps the frequency clear.â
He chuckled, the sound glitching softly at the edges. One claw lifted, hovering near a stray strand of your hair before he thought better of it and let it drop. âYouâre dangerous, you know that? Most people in this tower would sell their soul twice over for half the attention Iâm giving you right now. And here you are, sitting there like you belong in my earpiece. Like you belong⌠closer.â
The studio lights hummed overhead. Somewhere behind you, a crew member called out about tomorrowâs schedule, but neither of you moved.
Vox straightened slowly, as if it took actual effort. His screen dimmed to a softer blue, pupils still fixed on you. âOffice. Twenty minutes. Weâre reviewing the full analytics packet. And bring that brain of yoursâI want every insight you didnât feed me on air. No holding back this time.â
He turned on his heel, coat swirling as he snatched it from the chair, but paused at the door just long enough to glance back. âOh, and assistant?â
You looked up from powering down the tablet.
âDonât be late. I might start thinking you enjoy making me wait⌠and we both know how much I hate that.â
The static lingered in the air long after heâd gone, prickling against your skin like a promise.
You exhaled, steadying your pulse, and stood. The metrics on your screen still glowed with record highs.
Looked like the frequency between you two was drifting somewhere new.
Twenty minutes later, you stepped into Voxâs private office on the executive floor. The space felt smaller than it had that morningâperhaps because the lights had dimmed to a low, intimate blue that made the holographic displays glow like underwater currents. The massive windows overlooked the neon sprawl of Pentagram City, but the curtains were half-drawn, cutting the outside world down to a thin, pulsing strip of chaos.
Vox was already there, coat discarded over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a rare show of casualness. He leaned against the edge of his desk, one claw idly scrolling through the full analytics packet on a floating screen. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the static in the room thickened, wrapping around you like a second skin.
âYouâre early,â he noted without looking up, though the corner of his screen twitched with what might have been approval. âOr are you just eager to get back in my ear?â
You crossed the room at a measured pace, tablet in hand, and stopped a respectable distance away. âYou said twenty minutes, sir. I donât like making you wait.â
His red pupils finally lifted, locking onto yours with that sharp, dissecting focus. âGood answer. Sit.â He gestured to the chair directly beside hisâcloser than the one youâd used earlier. No half-wall this time. No buffer.
You sat, smoothing your skirt as you powered up the tablet. The graphs from the broadcast filled the screen: retention curves still riding high, comment sections flooded with speculation. Vox shifted his weight, leaning in until his arm brushed yours. The contact sent a faint jolt through youâwarm electricity, not painful, but impossible to ignore.
âWalk me through it,â he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, the kind he used when the cameras were off and he wanted something more than data. âEvery spike. Every dip. And donât leave out the parts where you think I sounded⌠particularly compelling.â
You swallowed once, keeping your tone professional even as the air between you hummed. âThe biggest jump came during the personal touch segmentâninety-eight point seven percent retention. Viewers responded strongly to the line about relying on the right support. Female demographics aged twenty-five to forty saw a fourteen percent sentiment boost. Theyâre⌠interpreting it as vulnerability.â
Vox let out a soft, glitching chuckle. He tilted his head, screen inches from your shoulder now. You could feel the heat radiating off the glass, could see tiny lines of code scrolling across it in real time. âVulnerability. Is that what theyâre calling it?â One claw tapped idly against the desk, dangerously close to your hand. âOr are they picking up on something else? Something that happens when a certain assistant starts feeding me lines that make me sound almost⌠approachable.â
You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. The proximity made your pulse stutter. âThey like the contrast. The powerful Overlord who still admits he doesnât do it alone. It humanizes youâwithout making you look weak.â
âHumanizes me,â he repeated, tasting the word like it was foreign and delicious. His free hand rose slowly, claws hovering near the side of your face before he caught himself and let them rest on the back of your chair instead. The static danced along your jawline, a feather-light caress that raised goosebumps. âCareful with compliments like that. Keep talking sweet and I might start believing you actually enjoy being this close to me.â
Your fingers tightened on the tablet. âIâm doing my job, sir.â
âAre you?â Vox leaned in another fraction, his screen now so near you could see your own reflection distorted in the red glow. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, intimate and charged. âBecause from where Iâm sitting, youâre doing a lot more than feeding metrics. Youâre making the broadcast feel⌠alive. Every time you lean in and whisper those sharp little insights, my signal sharpens. The static gets louder. And the viewers? They can sense it. Theyâre hungry for whatever this is.â
He gestured vaguely at the space between you, claws tracing the air like he was outlining an invisible current. âLook at the comments from the last ten minutes of the show.â He flicked his wrist; a secondary hologram bloomed beside your tablet. Whoâs the voice in his ear? Vox sounds different today⌠softer? Is there a new girl? Sheâs got him tuned in.
You scanned them quickly, cheeks warming despite yourself. âTheyâre theorizing. Itâs good engagement. We could lean into the mystery if you wantâkeep the ratings climbing.â
Voxâs laugh was low and rough, static crackling at the edges. âMystery. Sure.â He shifted again, his knee brushing yours under the desk. Neither of you pulled away. âOr maybe I like the way you make me sound when youâre right here. Close enough that I can feel every little breath you take before you speak. Close enough that if I wanted toâŚâ His claw finally made contactâlight, deliberateâtracing the shell of your ear where the earpiece had been earlier. âI could short-circuit that pretty composure of yours without anyone else noticing.â
The touch was brief, gone in a heartbeat, but the electricity lingered, humming under your skin like a live wire. You forced your voice steady. âYou could try, sir. But then who would feed you the next perfect pivot?â
His pupils narrowed, delighted and dangerous. âThere she is. That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.â He straightened just enough to create a sliver of space, but it felt like teasing. His screen dimmed to a softer crimson, pupils half-lidded. âTell me something honest. Off the record. When youâre sitting there in the shadows, whispering into my ear while millions watch⌠does it excite you? Knowing youâre the one pulling the strings behind the screen?â
You met his gaze without flinching, even as the tension coiled tighter in your chest. âItâs⌠satisfying. Watching the numbers climb because of something I said. Watching you take the cue and make it look effortless. Like weâre in sync.â
âSync,â he echoed, the word glitching softly. One hand came to rest on the desk beside yours, claws inches from brushing your fingers. âCareful. Talk like that and Iâll start thinking you want to be more than just the voice in my ear. Maybe you want to be the reason the signal stays clear. The reason I donât short out when the pressure hits.â
The office felt smaller, the hum of the tower fading beneath the crackle of static between you. Voxâs head tilted, screen reflecting the blue glow of the holograms across your face. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick, charged, every breath feeling like it carried a spark.
Then he pulled backâslowly, reluctantlyârolling his shoulders as if shaking off the current. âEnough analytics for now,â he said, voice still rough around the edges. âBut weâre not done. Tomorrowâs morning briefing. Youâll be here at eight-thirty sharp. And this timeâŚâ His claws tapped once against the desk, right beside your hand. âWear something thatâŚshows off those pretty legs hm? I wanna have a differentâŚprivate conversation if thats okâ
She looks at him a little weirded out âwha-â
He stood, coat sliding back over his shoulders in one fluid motion, but paused at the edge of the desk. Looking down at you, screen pulsing with restrained energy, he added with a crooked, static-laced smirk:
âAnd assistant? If you keep making the frequency between us this⌠interesting, I might forget how much I hate waiting. Donât test how patient I can be when something actually holds my attention.â
You rose as well, tablet clutched like a shield that was rapidly losing its power. âUnderstood, sir.â
As you reached the door, his voice followed you one last timeâquiet, almost too soft for the Overlord of media.
âSweet dreams. Try not to dream about yours truly.â
The door hissed shut behind you, but the prickling on your skin remained long after youâd left the floor.
The burn was getting warmer.