#staticmoth fic

[valscigarette]

Summary: Val gets so overstimulated by his own prehensile dick that his demonic form comes out. inspired by this post by @shushposting!

Tags: Vox/Val, Val/Angel, Val/Velvette, Poly Vees, Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Toxic Relationship, Smut

See AO3 or DM me for more detailed warnings!

WC: 7.9k | AO3

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By now, Vox has the ritual down to a science. Every so often, just infrequently enough to avoid suspicion, he taps a couple drops of Velvette's love potion into Val's morning Four Loko and jumpstarts the program for his desktop camera feeds to follow Valentino for the day. It’s easy. Val never fails to leave his drink unattended at some point over breakfast and no attendant would dare point out Vox spiking his drink. Even Kitty, ever watchful, says nothing. 

“I'm busy today, just so you know,” Vox lies while Valentino curses out their toaster one morning. “Back-to-back meetings. Try not to have any emergencies.”

He pulls the bottle of potion from his pocket and draws up the usual two drop dose, leaving only a thin veneer of the glossy liquid at the bottom. It always amazes him how potent it is; the formula is derived from Val's own pheromones, after all. The love potion dissolves easily into the acidic drink, and, when a quick glance confirma Val is still fighting to get his bread back, Vox tips the remainder of the bottle in as well. It's hardly anything, he reasons. There's no sense in leaving so little behind. 

As he slips the empty container back into his blazer, Val turns around with a frown twisted across his face. “Vox, the fucking toaster is broken again!”

“Did you hear me? At all?” Vox asks, already getting up to assist with the not broken toaster. He leans into Val's space as he pulls the lever back up. It was knocked off track by Val's struggling, but his breakfast is salvageable and Vox can have the toaster replaced after the fact. “You're on your own today. Don't call me unless the tower is burning down.”

Once Vox plates up the toast, Val swans back to the table to spread spiked butter over it. Generally, Vox can't remember a second of the time he's known Valentino and seen him sober, and it no longer surprises him how much Val takes in a single day. So long as the studio keeps pumping out blockbusters and Val stays too high to notice a little extra kick in his drink, Vox is content to let him bury his days in a foggy quagmire of his own making. Val's less of a bitch the higher he is, anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, your schedule’s tight, Papi's got more important things to do than me,” Val drawls. He slugs back a heavy gulp of his Four Loko and doesn't so much as twitch. “Tell me, Vox, when did you get so fucking boring?”

Vox takes one of Val's hands and rubs his knuckles, a charming grin cutting into his screen. “These meetings keep the lights on, babydoll.” His own face mirrors back at him hundreds of times in Val's compound eyes, dancing as his gaze shifts over the reflections. “If anything goes wrong, take it up with Velvette. I'm sure she'd be,” Vox stops, his fans whirring like an inhale to cool his rapidly heating processors, “happy to assist. Provided you leave her models alone.” He raises Val's hand to his screen for a kiss, and doesn't begrudge Val a flirtatious caress along the bottom of his screen as he pulls away. 

Val groans low in the back of his throat, but it's too early in the morning for him to put up much of a fight. He finishes his breakfast in relative peace, scrolling through Sinstagram, texting Angel Dust, and occasionally slurping his drink, none the wiser about how long the day ahead will be for him. Vox can barely contain himself long enough to see Val out the door of the kitchenette, still nursing his Four Loko as he lights a cigarette.

The second he can drop the pretense of his own standard morning routine, Vox zaps into the nearest security camera. The electrical currents carry him down to his office, where a set of screens on the right side of his desk follow Val through the hallways of Vee Tower exactly as planned. His day is empty. There are no meetings. All Vox has to attend to is his own libido as he watches the love potion slowly rip Val’s self control to pieces. 

Its effects first make themselves known on the elevator to the studio. A simple twitch is all it is. Val looks down at his crotch, mildly surprised by the semi, but overall nonplussed as he finishes the last of his drink. He’s probably watching porn on his phone, Vox thinks, and can blame the early tinges of arousal on it. 

Valentino bursts into the studio like a model entering a runway, his wings a cape and his smoke a dramatic cloud, and the plain irritation on his face only enhances the beauty of his harsh angles. One of Vox’s cameras, outfitted with a zoom lens, closes in on the shape of his cock trapped in his tight white bell bottoms. Shifting shadows hint that the eager thing is already squirming, probably mere minutes from plunging into Val's own hole to sate its drug induced need. Vox cups himself in sympathy, stroking his thumb along the length of his bulge. 

“Angel,” Val hisses. His gravelly voice carries across the studio, distracting Angel Dust from the makeup artist turning a black eye into a smokey shadow look. “I need to see you in your dressing room.”

With a flurry of assurances to the cosmetician, Angel follows Val to his dressing room, unable to get a single questioning word past his lips before Val bends him over his vanity, yanks down his panties, and shimmies his own pants down just enough to let his swollen, prehensile dick out. The side angle from a visible security camera is perfect for admiring it until Val hunches over Angel, guiding himself into place and humming in pleasure as the slut beneath him squeaks. At that, Vox switches to a hidden camera among Angel’s makeup brushes, which allows him to watch Val’s tongue loll out and antennae quiver as he pounds Angel so hard the vanity dents the drywall.

“Fuck, fuck, Val,” Angel whimpers, scrabbling for purchase against the smooth glass top until Val pins all four of his wrists with two hands of his own. “Val, please, I’m gonna-”

Val shoves his head down against the vanity to shut him up, evidently not in the mood to hear his begging. “Just a couple minutes,” he coos, barely audible to the microphones in the room over the wet slap of his balls against Angel’s ass. “You can take it.”

None of the cameras are positioned appropriately for Vox to see the bulge Val is undoubtedly making in Angel’s stomach, but he can forgive it when this is hardly going to be Valentino’s last orgasm of the day. It’s just his first. Watching Val’s thrusts lose rhythm, Angel’s eyes cross, convinces Vox to unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly, and shove his slacks down to his knees. He knows he has all the time in the world to take care of himself. 

Angel doesn’t finish, but does keen in at an obnoxious pitch when Val does. A rich, velvety moan accompanies the final few thrusts, each hard enough to bruise and pushing more jizz to spill down Angel’s quaking thighs. Moments later, he's still panting and shivering when Val pulls out to continue jerking his now glistening cock, either unwilling or unable to stop pleasuring himself as Angel weakly pulls against the hands still pinning him in place. 

“Clean yourself up before the shoot,” Val snaps. Coming has done nothing for him, and he must realize the sort of day he’s in for. “If we fall behind schedule because you’re a disgusting cumslut, I’ll make you regret it, Angelcakes.”

“Got it, Val,” Angel hiccups.

As soon as Val lets go of him, he stumbles out of the dressing room to get to the studio shower. Left alone, Valentino plops down on the couch and lets his head fall back. The whir of Vox’s cameras zooming in on him must get his attention, because he opens one eye and bares his teeth. 

“Thought you were too busy for me,” he bitches, legs twitching apart as he pets a vein down the side of his cock, visibly trying to keep its interest in his hand so it doesn’t go searching for something better, like Val’s dripping pussy behind it. 

In answer, Vox strokes himself faster and waits for Val to realize he can’t walk out into the studio touching himself like a desperate pervert. No one’s coming to help him out with his little problem, and nothing would help anyway except to let the love potion run its course. 

“You better not be saving this to your spank bank, Voxxy,” Val spits, his back arching as his writhing dick finally escapes his grasp and presses into his hole. “You ffffuck- fucking asshole.”

After a few indulgent minutes, he clenches his fists, wipes the sweat off his brow, and eases his pants back up his hips, though their tightness does little to obscure the lewd act happening beneath. His staff ought to know better than to acknowledge it, though, when Valentino perches in his director’s chair with his legs crossed and calls action. 

For the first half of the day, Val puts up an admirable fight against the overstimulation of being fucked by his own dick non-stop. He disguises his several orgasms behind cursed insults and bites so deep into the heel of his hand that his teeth come away dark with blood. Vox doesn’t get himself off as he watches, but occasionally manages to get a few emails sent off when Val gets himself together enough to complain about the costumes or the performances. 

Vox knows things are getting interesting when Val calls for a lunch break. The mere idea is laughable, unless one happens to know it’s an excuse to clear the set so he can handle whatever meltdown possesses him on a given day. Practically the second he’s alone, Val calls Vox.

It takes a lot of willpower, but Vox lets it ring all the way to voicemail, eyes locked on the obscene movement in Val’s visibly soaked pants. He doesn’t answer the second time either. He also doesn’t feel guilty when Val throws his phone into a wall out of pure frustration. After all, Vox did warn him he would be too busy to help today.

“You little shit,” Val whines in the general direction of a camera, wobbly, like he might cry. “You can’t leave me like this Vox, get your flat fucking ass up here and help me!”

Truly, Vox calls Velvette out of the kindness in his heart. She answers for him right away, her end of the line chaotic with the background of her workshop, though she’s pristinely put together herself. “What, Vox?”

“I gave Val some love potion this morning,” he tells her, politely maintaining a high enough camera angle so as not to flash her with his own body or Valentino’s. “Great work on that formula by the way, my dear.” She grins with the compliment, a perfect opportunity for Vox to offer, “He could use a break if you’re up for it.”

Her smile drops as quickly as it appeared. “I’m not playing ring-around-the-cock-cage,” she snarks.

“Of course not.” Vox placates her by texting over a link to his live feeds of Valentino. “But I know you like him all pathetic, so I thought I’d give you a go.”

Velvette harrumphs and considers his proposition, before relenting with a long-suffering sigh as if he’s asked some gargantuan favor of her by offering up an overstimulated, submissive Valentino on a platter. “Fine. But you owe me one.”

“Whatever you please, darling,” he says. “Your wish is my command. Now, go put on a show, I’ll be watching.”

“Nasty prick.”

She flips him off, face wrinkled in faux-disgust before hanging up the call. On looking back at his screens, Vox finds Val spread out on the studio floor, massaging the base of his dick that isn’t buried in his pussy, back arched at the overwhelming sensations. The deep v of his low-cut shirt falls open as he thrashes to occasionally show one of his heart-shaped nipples, pierced and nearly as flushed as his cheeks with excitement. It takes minutes for Velvette to appear, but they drag on forever when Vox has such a delectable sight to enjoy.

“Come on, Val,” Velvette says, her voice ringing out before the cameras catch her walking up to his prone form on the ground. “You shut down the whole studio for this?” she asks. One of her sharp heels kicks Val’s hand away from his crotch, allowing her a better view of his situation. “This is embarrassing for you. You seriously can’t control your needy dick long enough to get through the day?”

To his credit, Val manages to speak between the wet hitches of his breath. “It’s not my fault,” he spits out. Excess drool puddles around his lips and tongue, slurring his speech. “I can’t make it stop, and fucking Vox won’t pick up his phone!” He lifts his hips toward Velvette but she backs away before he can touch her.

“If you only want Vox, then…” Velvette teases.

In an instant, Val is falling over himself to take it back, practically snapping his neck with how quickly he springs up on his knees. “No, princesa, I’m happy to see you!” Vox’s cock leaks at the desperation in Val's tone, the tremor in his hands as he claws up the hem of Velvette’s skirt. “Don’t go. Daddy’ll make it worth your while, don’t you worry your pretty head-”

“Shut up,” Velvette interjects. “Just- take your pants off and try not to make a fucking mess.” 

She helps Val kick off his shoes so they can strip away his bottoms, exposing him to the cold studio air. Several of Vox's cameras whirr as they focus on the million dollar view of Val's mindless, almost tentacle-like cock cruelly fucking him past him past the oversensitivity. Oh, he's going to be crying before Velvette finishes with him. 

The morning's buildup of tension surges in Vox's stomach as Velvette straddles Valentino, perfectly positioned to grind against the base of his cock and fondle his pretty nipples. A chirping trill breaks from his mouth when she pinched one between her fingers. “If you want a break,” she huffs, “we have to work for it. You know that, babes.”

Val moans a few slurred words that sound enough like an agreement for Velvette to slice off her panties to get them out of the way. Later, she'll absolutely invoice Vox their cost. At present, his cameras perfectly capture her sopping pussy rutting against Valentino. They're set to record automatically when he runs the program tracking Val, but he has to double check that he'll be able to watch the two of them forever. Velvette's exquisite heat is enough to tempt Val's cock out of himself and into her as well, giving Vox yet another gorgeous shot to obsess over for weeks before it plunges into her.

“Goddammit, Valentino!” she yelps, digging her nails into his chest. 

At the same time, Val's hips jerk up to help him bury his dick in her cunt, the poor thing helplessly repeating “Thank you Velvette, thank you, thank you,” like he's forgotten how to say anything else. Dozens of cameras strewn about the studio give Vox every shot he could want, including a down-angled lens that lets him see both the place where Val disappears onto Velvette, and Val's swollen pussy that twitches every time he bottoms out in her. Pearls of come bead from between his lips and drip to the floor, and it's the realization of how much Val has already come that pushes Vox over the edge. 

He's alone, but still bites the inside of his cheek to quiet his moan as he spills over his hand, the suddenness of it only intensifying the sensations. On screen, Val has found the perfect angle to drive fucked out little “ah”s from Velvette's painted lips on every thrust. His legs betray him. They kick out, restless and useless, a perfect tell that he's past his limit by midday. 

“So perfect, so fucking tight,” Val praises. His lower set of hands find purchase on her hips to aid each fluid motion and the pressure makes Velvette groan. “My pretty dolly.”

“Please shut the fuck up,” she snarls. “I'll cut this thing off and hang it like a trophy in my office, don't test me.”

Contrary to her intentions, this drags another breathless orgasm from him, noticeable only from her offended gasp and the cum frothing around his cock as he continues fucking her. “Y-you can have it, amor,” he chokes out, “it'll grow back.”

“You wish. It's the only worthwhile thing about you.” Velvette's cruelty always impresses Vox, and strikes one of Val's many kinks. “Now hurry up and get me off, I have actual work to get done today.”

When it takes him too long to work up the coordination, she grabs the upper hand not somehow still clinging to his cigarette holder, spits on his slender fingers, and forces it into place so that she can still grind her clit into his palm even if he goes limp beneath her. Their hands make the swell in Velvette's lower stomach look even more obscene, visibly twitching as Val's devilish cock moves inside her. 

“Finally. For a porn overlord, you're useless with a pussy, you know.” Her words don't match the climbing urgency of her motions, but do fit Val's downright sloppy rhythm that he'll be ashamed of when Vox plays this back for him later. “Vox fucks me better.”

“You fucking bitch!” Val cries. 

Although Vox planned on waiting a while for his next round, Velvette's hard-earned praise has him shifting in his seat with pavlovian interest. In his second of distraction, the slight enrages Val enough to flip himself and Velvette over with a heavy thud. The cameras fuzz with the power radiating off him, not long enough for Vox to register it as anything more than his own malfunctioning systems as he wraps a hand around himself once more. 

Velvette moans under Valentino, who has found the energy to put his back into each harsh thrust and growl, “I'll show you who fucks better.”

The spurt of jealousy surpasses his exhaustion and frustration enough for Val to drill her into the floor, each motion rhythmic and punishing in the way only a professional cam achieve, one of his many hands busy circling her clit between them.

“I can do this all day, Mami.” Every time Val thrusts into her, Velvette slides up the marble floor, until she wraps her legs around his waist for purchase. “All-” he interrupts himself with a whine, “all night, too.”

He's fucking her too hard for Velvette to get out a response, but her wordless moans say enough. She probably meant to rile him up. It worked beautifully, and Vox files away a mental note to buy her the most extravagant gift basket in the entire Pride ring tomorrow. Beads of sweat roll down Val's back like invitations for Vox's tongue, and each whimper in symphony with Velvette beckons him to join them but he promised himself he'd wait. It'll be so much better to deal with Val tonight after an entire day of this.

“Mi princesa.” Val's voice is equal parts breathless and honey-sweet, as saccharine as his dopamine riddled drool that Vox can see soaking stains into Velvette's top. “So beautiful, you, shit, you drive me fucking crazy.”

She doesn't reply so much as arch into him, nails digging into his skin once more and drawing enticing furrows of blood down the expanse of his back, mean tips of her heels beating bruises into either side of his spine with each vicious thrust. On another day, when they have the time, Vox could easily spend hours watching the two of them fuck like they're fighting. Today he only has one goal. 

“Don't stop,” Velvette gasps. Her body has gone mostly pliant beneath Val, drowning in the sensation too much to keep giving as good as she gets. “Fucking hell-”

Val presses himself as tightly against her as he can when he comes. His muscles seize, thrown in perfect relief under the calculated, cold studio lights, then go lax as he collapses in a gaggle of uncoordinated limbs on top of her. Still, his cock keeps working on its own. Judging by her whimpers, Vox missed Velvette's orgasm under the beauty of Val's, though he doesn't mind when she's still exhaling pleased groans every couple seconds. 

“Okay, that's enough,” she sighs. 

Muffling his voice in her shoulder isn't enough to disguise Valentino's sob. 

“Cut it out,” Velvette tells him, sharper this time, and shoves at Val's shoulders until he props himself up enough for her to wiggle from beneath him. Her biggest challenge is getting away from his ruthless cock, relentlessly trying to pound into her, but the advantage of being a separate person allows her to get back to her feet as Val's two excessive loads of spend drip down her legs.

Without the reprieve she grants, it takes seconds for Val's dick to find its way back to his hole. His legs collapse almost immediately. The tears come back full force when Val falls on his ass, overcome by his own rare disinterest with sex and the prospect that, like Vox, Velvette will make him deal with his libido on his own. 

“Please don't go,” Val trills, unironically crawling across the floor to Velvette because his legs must be useless. Vox earmarks this section of the footage too. It’s not often he gets to see Val in a state so desperate, so soon. “I’ll do whatever you want! Anything for mi princesa, my beautiful Vel, always so good to me and Vox.” He reaches her inches from the doorway, clumsily petting whatever parts of her he can reach in the distraction of his nonexistent refractory period. If he notices her pushing his hands away, he doesn’t care, continuing to offer, “as much head as you want, my face was fucking made for sitting on,” with no appreciation for her waning patience.

“Piss off!” she finally shouts, kicking Val away with a heel to the chest that will surely bruise.

Now that seduction has failed, Val growls at a pitch subaudible to most sinners, and somehow draws himself up on wobbly, fawn-like legs. He hardly looks threatening, still at the mercy of his own traitorous body, but Vox still snaps screenshots off every camera. “Do you know how many bitches would kill to breathe the same air as me?” If he expects to frighten Velvette into submission, Valentino has another thing coming. “You don’t get to abandon me like this, amorcita.”

“Funny,” Velvette sniffs, “I don’t actually care.”

Before he can issue another empty threat, Velvette whips out her cell phone to take several crisp, high-definition shots that Vox knows he’ll want framed even before they upload to the crowd. Thousands of pixels catch all the glory of Val’s wrecked state: his fur matted by a mixture of his own fluids, Velvette’s, and Angel’s; his cheeks flushed so bright he looks made up; his mouth slack with a suffering that could easily be mistaken for pleasure; his cock a noticeable fiend blurred by its motion. Oh, Vox could kiss Velvette right now. Instead he rewards himself by speeding up his jerking off.

“Interrupt my work day, Val, see what I do with these,” she taunts, waving around her spoils. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Val roars, though he doesn’t make any move to take her phone or stop her from leaving. “Fucking ungrateful, irritating cocktease!” As Velvette exits the studio, his shouting follows her down the corridor, all the way to the elevator. “You’re dead, princesa! FUCKING DEAD!”

She laughs as the elevator doors close.

Vox happily returns his attention to Val, who cannot distract himself forever by fussing at someone who’s not on the same level of the building anymore. The brief reprieve for his overworked pussy seems to have made things worse, reducing Val to a weeping mess as his surge of adrenaline wanes and he fights to get to the set bed before his knees give out beneath him. Honestly, Vox couldn’t have designed this better himself. The studio is the perfect place for Val to take repose as his own cock relentlessly wrecks him. 

He drags a pillow to his face and bites it to muffle the sobbing moans that return with a vengeance now that Val is giving into the helpless state he’s found himself in. What a pretty picture he paints, a magnificent masterpiece of debauchery that makes Vox understand the appeal of the sloppy scenes Val shoots all day. They’d make millions if he wasn’t such a priss about losing control of his dick, because the Sistine Chapel itself couldn’t compare to the tableau Val presents on days like these.

Another orgasm wrenches a scream from Val’s throat, his limbs jerking and the wet spot beneath him on the bed spreading faster than his legs on any-damn-day of the week. Vox has to congratulate himself, as Val’s crying turns to borderline hyperventilating, on picking such delightful business partners. Nothing in Hell compares to this, nor could it come close. And it’s all for him. He knows Val is waiting for Vox to come fix his problem, as always, and it’s a heady power the demon would never consider allowing anyone else except for maybe Velvette- who wouldn’t have put Love Potion in Val’s Four Loko this morning, but might’ve been more sympathetic if she didn’t get off on her participation in Vox’s scheme.

“Vooox,” Val whimpers, hardly discernible through the pillow and its feathery bite wound. The allure of his name in that voice has Vox leaning forward in his chair and squeezing the base of his cock so he doesn’t come from the acknowledgement alone. “Vox…?”

He switches his main camera, a few feet away but in need of an adjustment he knows Val will catch the motion of, given the wanton way he looks at the sea of cameras around him. All it takes a small movement, a few inches to angle the lens higher, and Val lets out a defeated laugh. 

“You, mmm, motherfucker,” he giggles, or perhaps sobs. Vox can see every tear to drip down Val’s face, but there’s a humorous bend to his tone like he reaches when he’s grasping at straws for any semblance of control. It typically takes him all day to break this far, but Vox did tip extra into his drink to empty the bottle, and he can’t find it in himself to fault Val for his own mistake. Not when it turns out this well, that is. “Better be coming to help me, or I’ll- I’ll-”

Vox zaps into his desk and reemerges from the camera he fixed. All the footage runs in the background of his processors, but he won’t complain about the chance to see Val up close. His screens, no matter how high definition, can't capture the scent of sweat, smoke, and cum permeating the air, or the sound of the silk sheets rasping against the waterproof cover beneath them.

“Aw, Val,” he teases, crackling with all the faux-sugar that normally falls under his partner’s purview. “You’ll what?”

Anything coherent disappears into Val’s crying. From the edge of the mattress, Vox can run his claw-tipped hands up Val’s strong thighs, nudging them further apart for a better look at his predicament. The skin on his cock is as pink and raw as his pussy by now from his fruitless attempts at shutting down his libido, as if he truly believed that a go at anyone else would be enough to stifle his need. 

“You’re no better than the rest of your whores, poor thing,” Vox tuts. He sinks into the bed enough to nearly lose his balance when he climbs on, but quickly braces himself with one hand on Val’s ass and the other on his lower back, between his bottom set of shoulder blades. Faintly sparkling sweat sticks to him, a side effect of the potion. But the barest contact drives Val wild, bucking as if he’s not sure whether he wants the attention he’s been demanding or if even Vox’s comparatively innocent touch is beyond the pail. “I can’t wait to show you all the footage later. Don’t worry- I probably won’t release it.” He squeezes Val’s ass to make him shudder. “This is just for me, right, honey?”

Val nods, trembling like he might be close again. “One more, then…?”

He sounds so pathetic, so tired, that Vox might’ve felt bad for him if he wasn’t leaking through his slacks. “Dunno about that. Your cage’s down in my room, and, honestly,” Vox trails off, shifting to pin Val’s legs with his own to stop them from twitching shut, “you already shut down the studio, and I’m not marking today as a loss.”

He knows well enough that his fingers alone won’t be enough to coax Val’s dick out of place, but he still traces the swollen point of connection where it disappears into his cunt, constantly rolling and grinding with more mechanical precision than Vox’s best designed machines. The joke really is on whatever God stuck them down here: nothing could be more heavenly than this.

“Do you know how many times you’ve come today?” Vox asks. “I counted a round dozen, but I might’ve missed some.” He rocks his hips into Val, which is barely satisfying, but nonetheless triggers his cooling fans to top speed and wires a shock over his body. “What’s your single-day record, anyway? It’s higher than twenty, if I remember correctly.”

The implicit warning breaks through to Val. He shoves the pillow away and fights to prop himself up enough to tearfully beg, “Don’t, Papi, I can’t.”

“Sure you can!” With little more effort than swatting a fly, Vox summons his cables to encircle Val’s wrists and ankles, each pulled flat to the bed until the moth is spread out for him and unable to wiggle more than a couple inches in any direction. In the chaos, he runs a quick records search as well. “You did twenty-four, one on each hour, for a New Year’s special a couple decades back. But you’re not the record-holder.” Vox abandons him on the bed. “That would be your pet project, Angel Dust. Last Valentine’s Day, you got a round thirty out of him. We never released it, but I’ve got it all on camera in case we decide to.” He pats Val’s ankle affectionately. “You’re not letting that whore outdo you.”

“Vox.”

Pretending not to hear him, Vox finds Val’s director’s chair to drag over for a better view. Nothing changes in the moments his back is turned, but he can’t stand to miss a moment of the best show of Val’s career--especially not when he finds the seat of the chair still damp. 

“Calm the fuck down,” Vox assures once he’s perched at the foot of the bed, studying Val like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory in case his cameras fail. “Like you said, you were made for this. Cry all you want, sweetheart. I’m not here to help you.”

Either Val is worked up to the point that words are enough to send him into yet another orgasm, or Vox’s timing was perfect to the instant. It’s a victory either way. As Val babbles into the sheets, his wings begin to flutter and struggle too with the inescapable stimulation. Vox can’t strip his suit away fast enough, probably should have stripped it off before he came, but the combination of his dizzying hard-on and the pure filth of Val laid out in front of him make the layers unbearably warm.. 

“Fuck, if you could see yourself, Val.” Vox can’t decide whether it’s better to finish himself off now, and last longer when he gets around to fucking Val later, or if he should draw each climax out to its highest potential before letting himself enjoy them. “I’ve been nice. I always come to help when you can’t get ahold of yourself.” Choppy wheezing is music to his ears. “I’ve earned a front row ticket here, don’t you think? Raise those hips a little.” When Val doesn’t so much as try to move, he uses the cables to rearrange him like a doll. “Let Daddy see. Don’t tell me you’re shy now; you look gorgeous.”

Val gags on the length of his useless, slimy tongue, and slurs unintelligibly. The change in angle is enough to let the searching tip of his cock probe that much deeper, wrenching a broken scream from his throat as he seems to come again, even if his shriveled balls are too empty to pump any more jizz out: another moment Vox bookmarks. 

“There’s thirteen, baby. Just eighteen more to go.”

Something in Val breaks and he struggles with renewed vigor. For all the times Vox has encouraged his favorite little interruption, he’s never dosed out this much in one sitting, and as the air thickens with demonic power, he wonders if he may have pushed Val too far this time. Funny, considering Vox hasn’t even made him cum that many times yet; they have longer sessions than this before breakfast, some days. 

“Vox, Papi, pleeease,” Val crows, pulling hard enough for one of his shoulders to dislocate with a bright pop. He’s a real mess. A flap of his wings generates enough wind to knock over a couple of cameras but still does nothing to save him, which is no one’s fault but his own, because it’s not technically Vox’s responsibility to help him cage his naughty tentacle of a cock. “Can’t do it. Help me, Vox, please.” He gulps for breath before rubbing his face into the blankets to wipe away snot and tears, sniveling, “Please, you have to.”

The safe move would be to wrap this up and defuse the rising tension in Val’s body, like it’s waiting to explode into something far deadlier, but Vox is used to riding the line of too close to the sun. “I don’t have to do jackshit. I do whatever the fuck I want: which, right now, is to watch you,” he sends a lovetap of a shock toward Val’s thigh, “break the Vee Tower orgasm record.”

Val’s responding screech echoes back off the studio walls. In a heartbeat, the bunching muscles of his back bulk and his slobbery tongue lengthens.

“Shit,” Vox mutters. He has moments before Val snaps through the cables like paper chains, quickly rescinding them to spare the extra sparks that are certain to incense the monster before him more. “Val, baby.” Racking his servers for the right words to talk Val down, he finds himself too overloaded to move. As Valentino morphs into his full demonic body, his dick never hesitates in its quest to mold its owners cunt to its exact shape, though the second phallus--one Vox somehow always forgets he has--growing from Val’s pelvis is easily occupied by one of Val’s expert handjobs. 

Whatever biological process generates Val’s aphrodisiac fluids kicks into overdrive, causing his saliva to cascade down his chin and chest, while his slick coats his legs. An extra pair of arms stretches in tandem with the first two as Val’s form grows to dwarf the bed he previously spread out on. In his presence, all the air seems to thin, leaving nothing but the siren’s call of his pheromones, strong enough to make it through the precise filters of Vox’s systems. 

“What’s the matter, amorcito?” His purr resonates through Vox’s chest and vibrates the walls of the building, while the subtle hums and trills he makes are finally loud enough to be heard without Vox cranking his audio sensitivity far higher than is reasonable. “You have a record to break.”

A panicked laugh echoes from Vox’s speakers, filling the room as easily as Val’s voice. “I was joking. You know, how we sometimes laugh at each other’s expense.”

“I get it now.”

Val’s arms shoot out to grab Vox before he knows what’s happening. It feels as if he teleported into Valentino’s embrace, face buried in his chest and still embarrassingly hard dick pressed against his second cock. Being this close puts the size into perspective; Vox couldn’t wrap both hands around it, let alone one, and its length makes him queasy, both attributes that set him against having it this close to him, let alone pressed against him, groin to ribs, like a threat. 

“Let’s be reasonable, dear,” Vox says. Static cuts through his voice, his face, in a betrayal almost worse than his own behavior this morning. “It would rip me in half.”

That tongue, endless and curious as the dick squirming against Vox’s stomach, caresses his body and drenches him in rosy spit. Several errors pop up at once, but he still hears Val murmur, “You’ll get over it.”

“Val. Val, come on.” One of Val’s hands trails through the viscous fluid and smears it down to Vox’s ass. Slender fingers circle his hole, massaging the drool into it and relaxing the muscle with unnatural ease. Vox’s only coherent thought is that it must have a different chemical makeup than the standard stuff. “No. Val-”

Val forces two fingers in. It should hurt, but instead it shoves Vox’s protests from his mind as his body falls limp into Valentino, and he barely notices the hasty addition of a third finger. Though they both know Val is an expert at both prep and fingering for the hell of it, he’s sure the cursory glance against his prostate is an accident because the bastard won’t touch it again. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter, because Val only spends a couple minutes perfunctorily working Vox open before his impatience wins out. Three of his hands--the fucker has too many--lift Vox to position him with the tip of Val’s massive cock kissing his woefully underprepared hole. 

“Val,” Vox entreats in a final desperate attempt, flaring his brightness to its maximum as his eye begins to spin, “you’re not putting that in me.”

He doesn’t get a second of control. Val laughs at him, and begins to press Vox down. Although the tip is flared, it’s still painfully wide from the get-go, and reflex-tears spring up with the first quarter inch. He bluescreens at the half and comes to at the quarter. He’s barely on Val at all and swears he can feel it in his throat with how full he already is.

“Nnn- Not gonna fit,” he chokes.

“Does it hurt?” Val coos, not that he cares. “You’re plenty wet, Papi.”

Vox shakes his head. “No. But I’m fucking full, ‘s not fitting.” The fact that it should hurt doesn’t cross his conscious mind.

“Not with that attitude, it’s not.” A haze of smoke comes on Val’s next exhale, and another one of his endless hands tilts Vox’s screen up so it seeps into his ventilation system. Another wave of warmth, of need, rolls through him in response and he loosens up enough to drop further onto Val’s impossible cock, and feedback squeals at them both in response. “You’re goddamn lucky the other one’s too busy for you, Voxxy.” Fuck, Val’s voice seems to be coming from everywhere, darkly continuing, “or I’d stuff you so full, you’d be in Velvette’s workshop for a fucking month.”

If Vox’s speakers aren’t blown, they're at least broken, judging by the constant static whine as Val works him further onto his cock. When the ridge of the head finally pops in, Vox spasms as he blurts precum into Val’s abs “Fuck, fuck, too much.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Clearly mocking or not, Val’s voice seems to soothe Vox’s panic as he absorbs more and more of his toxins. “You’re thinking too hard, amorcito.” One by one, Val’s supportive hands let go, leaving Vox at the far lesser mercy of gravity to impale him on his cock. Of course one finds its way back to Vox’s wrists, to prevent him from holding himself up as a defense, and the one holding his screen never moves, but Val achieves his goal of defeating any chance Vox has left of escape as his dick explores to the best of its ability inside him.

At the point Vox thinks another millimeter will cause a crash so hard it takes all of Hell out with him, Val’s body locks up again as he orgasms, no longer too empty to flood Vox with burning, intoxicating cum. There’s too much for him to hold. It presses ruthlessly against his prostate and makes his stomach cramp even as it spills out around Valentino like a fountain.

Vox’s finish pales in comparison, pathetically small when the fullness drags it out of him alongside a glitching moan, though several lights shatter overhead and a rogue shock momentarily freezes Val in place. His system panics and bluescreens once more to prevent a crash, but he boots back up quickly enough that Val is still whimpering his way through the aftershocks. 

“O-okay,” Vox gets out, “that’s enough.”

But he’s still slowly sinking down on Val’s cock with no hope of escape when Valentino sighs, “But we’re only a third of the way there.” At least Val relinquishes his screen, but it’s to press against the bulge in Vox’s tummy with a gusto that makes him simultaneously spurt out a few more drops of cum and gag so hard he tastes bile. “See? Plenty of room, Papi.”

“It’s not- you can’t-”

Val suddenly moves, thrusting up to force himself deeper. “What was that?” Maybe it would be less overwhelming, to be stuffed so full, if Val’s cock wasn’t constantly moving like it’s mapping every square inch of Vox’s insides and will be tested on its findings later. He can’t catch his bearings long enough to have a coherent thought, let alone keep up a debate with Val. When he dares to look down, he can see the outline of it through his skin, rearranging his internal organs to make more room for itself. “Just a few more inches,” Val informs, like he’s not already pressing against parts of Vox that shouldn’t be reachable without dissection. 

Vox tries to say no, but a jumble of technical sounds and error beeps come out instead and Val just keeps pushing. There has to be more of dick inside him than anything else, or so he supposes until Val seizes and comes again. At this point there’s nowhere for it to go besides down what’s left of his cock outside Vox's body.  Val is too far gone to play the slow game and he continuously rabbits up into Vox, fucking him on two or three inches at a time with no regard for the consequences. 

The deepest thrust yet cracks something in Vox’s spinal cord and he loses connection to his left leg, but a complaint is too high a demand for him to fulfill when all he can think about is Val, Val, Val, in and around him, an inescapable fact of reality now. Nothing else matters. Nothing else compares. The complicated mesh of brain matter and AI that makes Vox could be rewiring themselves to dedicate his existence to being Val’s cocksleeve and, at this moment, he couldn’t give less of a shit if his soul depended on it. He can’t understand how Valentino complains about a pleasure so all-consuming as this one. 

As he’s questioning whether Val’s cock ever ends, or if it will keep coming until he bursts like an overfilled balloon, his ass meets the cradle of Val’s hips. “Not so bad is it?” Val simpers. Vox only manages to gurgle. His heart, his lungs, his everything feels flattened and pinned to allow for Val’s monstrous cock. Not only does it continuously rub against his prostate, but the sweeping arc of its movement alights sensitive spots Vox would have never known existed, otherwise. “Feels, ah, so fucking good, Voxxy. Other bitches die of shock before I get this far.”

Somehow that sentence worms its way into Vox’s consciousness like a compliment. No one else could handle Valentino in his full form, but Vox can, and he’s forgotten why he kicked up a fuss about allowing it now that he’s managed the impossible. To reward him, Val’s roaming hands are back. They stroke down his back, trace the bulge in his abdomen, tease his nipples, and work his oversensitive dick.

Val allows the independent movement of his cock to do the work rather than thrusting, which Vox has to remind himself comes from laziness and not any sort of care for the damage he’s capable of causing. Between their moans, the wet sound of Val’s cocks fucking them both fill the silence. 

Then Valentino comes inside him a third time, and whatever happens next is lost to a system crash that knocks out the entire city for several hours. 

Eventually, Vox wakes up on Velvette’s workshop table with his chest sliced open and her nimble little fingers nudging his ribs back into place. She must have turned off his pain sensors, but hadn’t gone to the trouble of washing the copious amounts of spend from his skin. Hardly any of his lower body was spared, and a flaky trail that starts on his screen, floods around his neck joint, and spills down his throat only ends a half-inch above Velvette’s incision.

She glances up at him when she sees his face appear but quickly returns to the task at hand. “Do not tell me how the hell this happened. I cleaned jizz out of places it should never be, Vox. Never.”

“I appreciate it, my dear,” he croaks. She hasn’t gotten to his voicebox yet. But when he wiggles his fingers and toes, they move without issue, which is an improvement over his last memory. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to put me back together; can you imagine Val trying to replace my liver?”

They share a laugh before Velvette reprimands him for moving while she’s working. “Trust me, you’ll want to leave the pain receptors off for a couple days, but don’t forget to take it easy. Val did a number on you this time.”

“Yeah, well.” Vox grumbles, “I told him it was a bad idea.”

She pushes the mechanism that replaces his diaphragm with more malice than necessary, drawing a neon blue bruise to its surface from the rough handling. “I can't fucking wait to watch the video on our next date night.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to tell you about it?”

Velvette leans down to press a kiss to his exposed sternum. “I want you to show me instead.”

A lesser man than Vox would be embarrassed, but he merely grins in anticipation of reliving the memory with his partners in the days to come.

[voxaholic]

Before he died Vox had apparently never: fucked a man, been fucked by a man, given a blowjob, received a blowjob, or even so much as kissed another man. An obnoxiously persistent post-coital Valentino demands to know if Vox was even attracted to men before he fell and when the answer is yes, demands an example. Vox gives the second worst example he could have and Valentino is never going to let him live it down.

[robynmas]

I commissioned this pic from the lovely @quiem_rhole on Twitter to go with an upcoming scene in my fic Freak-A-Zoid but it was so pretty, I just had to share it here too! Their art is incredible and they're so sweet, I encourage everyone to go check them out on Twitter!

[vypridae]

silly thing i doodled of @sleepykittties fic 'Clerical Error' (link here) because i cannot get enough

don't ask how val found out what vox looked like in heaven (vox doesn't wanna talk about it)

[n30draws]

I love the idea of Vox having a thing for Val being a monster (because they're both monsters and perfect for eachother❤️)

loose continuation to my previous post⬇️

[ladymostdeject]

Vox - Pre-flatscreen

Are you writing about Vox, pre-flatscreen, but you’ve never seen a CRT screen before in your life because you are A BABY CHILD (affectionate)?

Come gather round, sit upon my knee, and listen to this elder-millennial tell you all about it. (if you want to I guess, I'm not the boss of you).

CRT’s don’t glitch the way we see Vox do in the show, but they had all sorts of ways to go wrong. If you flipped to a channel where there was nothing broadcast, you’d get solid static or those multicolor bars we see Vox with.

But also, if a channel had bad reception, you’d get a little static over the top and sometimes the image would distort. We called this “snow/ a snowy channel.” 

Sometimes you could get better reception if you fiddled with the antenna a little. Sometimes grabbing the antenna made the channel better, and then letting go made it worse! Because your body became the new antenna! 

I’d like to introduce you to something even before my time: Test patterns!

TV didn’t used to run 24/7! At the end of the day, the network would “sign off”, say good night, play the star-spangled banner, and end with a test pattern. Later, test patterns looked like colored bars, but early ones in the 50’s and 60’s looked like this!

One of my FAVORITE things about CRT’s is when they had been on for a while, if you ran your hand across the glass, a very gentle static would crackle wherever you were touching, and could make your hair on your arm stand up. Tell me that doesn’t have fic applications, my friends!

You can HEAR a CRT when it is on, even if nothing is playing. It’s a very high pitched whine.

I cannot explain to you how nice it felt to change channels with a dial. They were heavy metal, and there was resistance, and a very satisfying click!

If you held a magnet up to the screen you’d get crazy rainbow color distortions, but if you left it too long you’d get those color distortions permanently burned into the screen.

CRT’s are VERY heavy in the front, where the glass is, and MUCH lighter in the back where there's empty space.

CRT’s don’t have fans (only vents), or processors (they only receive, there’s nothing to process!) What they do have is something called an electron gun and vacuum tubes! This is what their insides look like:

But, Lady, you say, how do they work? I don’t know! Ask this guy!

Other things to consider: 

The word Podcast didn’t exist until 2004, and I'd never heard it until 2013 or so (who even taught Alastor this word????) I remember the first time I heard it, and I needed someone to explain to me what it was.

Emails weren’t widespread until the 90s. If Vox is communicating with his employees via text, and it’s pre-1990, the word you’re probably looking for is “Memo” which were literal sheets of paper people could send each other via an in-house courier. 

If I’ve forgotten anything, please feel free to add on! 

[lycanr0t]

valvox making out against a wackdonalds dining area window from a scene in @ziptieparty and I's fic ✌️

(also a redraw of this!)

[prince-liest]

@kibbles-bits has commissions open (including a special deal rate for Vox, Valentino, or staticmoth >:)) and you all should get one because you can live your best life and ask for delightful things like "Valentino with a corset piercing" <3

[speakofthedebbie]

hazbin hotel nation stay winning

surprised but also kinda not at how high radioapple is

notice a ship thats missing... *cough* charlastor *cough*

from here

EDIT: didnt even know there was a femslash ver but good on them

[stickiemax]

as above, so below ✨

[cringefailvox]

first scene of s2 opens with a voxval screaming match over some stupid bullshit that ends with vox storming off to his gamer cavern, collapsing into his chair, and immediately pulling up the live footage of val throwing vases at his employees downstairs. leans back in his seat and sighs with truly disgusting amounts of domestic affection

[valscigarette]

Summary: Val goes to the drugstore after a long night (drugstore!au)

Tags: Vox/Val, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced SA, Drugs

See AO3 or DM me for more detailed tags/warnings!

WC: 3.3k | AO3

-

Despite how the sun blinds Valentino at this cruel, early hour, he knows the walk to the drugstore by muscle memory. Two dozen steps down one block, cross the street, a right turn, eight more steps, and turn to the left so he can grasp the cool metal of the door handle, a hiss escaping him when it cracks the thin rug-burn scabs of his palm. This place needs automatic doors. Still, Val powers through the sting of pain to wrench the old, squeaky door open and enter the dim shelter his favorite drugstore provides. He’s pretty sure he’s more attached to the morning cashier than the store itself by now. Something about that box-headed prude makes Val feel like a million bucks,  no matter how many insults they trade back and forth. 

“Oh, fuck, Val!”

He hears the sinner in question before his eyes adjust, and chitters as he stumbles toward the counter. “I don’t think they pay you enough for that,” he drawls. With a few rapid blinks, Vox’s blue screen comes into fuzzy focus, his concern twisting a slashed frown across his face. “You get a raise, Papi?”

“Cut it out,” Vox retorts, none of the usual bite in his static voice. His eyes dance around his screen, taking in every detail of Val’s disheveled state, from the crook in his antenna, to the bruised necklace around his throat, to the cum trail ending at the broken strap of his pleasers. If Vox wanted to be mean, he has no shortage of material. “I told you,” he adds with a spark in the wires atop his head, “I’m not one of your fucking customers.” Vox suddenly turns on his heel and opens the pill cabinet, defaulting toward the slot of oxycontin. “The usual? Or something stronger?”

“You know me so well.” One of Val’s heels creaks ominously under him, prompting him to lean further into the counter before it snaps. “A double, Voxxy.” He squints at the shelves and asks, “You guys carry the good shit, right?”

Vox hesitates with two bottles balanced between his fingers. “What’re you thinking?”

“Special K.” Though Vox can’t see him, Val still bats his eyelashes. “Enough to knock out a horse. I don’t wanna move for a week.”

Another arc of electricity haloes Vox’s head, making Val’s fur stand on end and his wings twitch reflexively. The air always has a taste in Hell, and Vox’s static brings a dry, sharp flavor to the tip of his tongue, triggering more drool to fill his mouth and coat his lips– something he can’t discern as distinctly attraction or fear that Vox might hurt him. Val dismisses the latter. If Vox lays an unpaying hand on him, Val will regenerate and his boss will squeeze every last penny and pixel from the bastard for his trouble; on the other hand, if Vox ever coughs up a couple hundred bucks, he can have carte blanche.

“Yeah, you uh-” Vox clears his throat, “you look kinda rough.”

Somehow his words sting worse than a slap would. “Fuck you. You’re one to talk, you wear the same goddamn shirt everyday.” Val sucks in an inhale and gestures at Vox’s garish, ugly sweater vest to illustrate his point. “Are you a fucking cartoon character? At least I have taste-”

His scathing review of Vox’s fashion is cut short by his shoe breaking, prompting Valentino to lose his balance and crumple to the linoleum in a tangle of limbs that would hurt if he wasn’t already most of the way to stoned. No way Val would’ve made it to the store sober. As he catches his bearings, he hears Vox curse and jog around the counter, the fuzzy hum of his screen deafening when he kneels next to Val.

“You okay?”

“I’m great,” Val huffs, struggling to push himself up when his wings cover the ground around his body. “Just a broken heel.” 

He’ll have to work off the cost of it, probably through another night like last, but it's a problem for later Valentino, once his current injuries heal enough to take a fresh beating and his ego recovers enough to admit a fifth costume piece needs replacing in as many weeks. The cost is gonna come out of his drug money sooner rather than later. Val curses under his breath at the thought as he struggles with the fine buckles of his shoes. At least his only witness is Vox, too anxious and antisocial to fuel the rumor mill, and too enamored by Val’s attention to take advantage of an easy target. 

Vox is safe like that. 

“You need to clean up,” Vox says, holding out a claw-tipped hand to Val. In the months they’ve come to know each other, he’s recoiled from every touch, even incidental ones- never offered it. “There’s an emergency shower in the back, I use it sometimes when my water’s off.” He wiggles his fingers, impatient, until Val takes the support. 

“It doesn’t damage your,” Val waves one of his upper hands around Vox’s head, “whole thing?”

“You’ve seen me drink coffee. It’s not all mechanical,” Vox answers dryly. As he leads Val around the counter, he has to hold both of them up through Val’s stumbling and wincing in a display of more strength than his wiry frame suggests. Vox pulls him through the Staff Only door, down the hall, and into the bathroom lit by a single corded light bulb and inadequately perfumed by a urinal cake in the cracked toilet bowl. “Leave your clothes on the paper-towel dispenser so they don’t get wet,” Vox says, pointing toward the metal box jutting out above the sink. “You get ten seconds of water every time you pull the lever next to the shower, and it’s cold, but you can’t drip-” he stops, his face glitching with stripes of technicolor, before his voice returns in a whine of feedback, “fluids in my fucking store. It’s disgusting.”

Val rolls his eyes and tugs off his cropped hoodie. It sticks to the lashes in his back that have just started to scab over, but he tamps down a reaction as it pulls away from the welts. “Please. You’re into it, I can tell; wouldn’t be staring otherwise.” He tilts his head and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his skirt. “Hmm?”

One of Vox’s eyes flashes red for an instant before he schools his shock into a guarded expression and pointedly casts his gaze to the floor. 

“Don’t be shy. I’m not. Everyone’s seen it.”

“Val,” Vox snaps, falling short of intimidating and landing in the neighborhood of defensive. “I’ll be right outside, so I’ll hear if you fall.”

“Aww, such a gentleman,” Val coos, because he can never resist pressing Vox a step past the line. 

Rather than reacting, Vox lets himself out. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, Val is entirely alone, too close to sober for his comfort, and torn between amused by Vox’s care and annoyed at the delay in getting his fix. The former wins out. There’s something cute about Vox, clinging to a proper image like he doesn’t sell ecstasy for a living and get behind on his water bill, practically short-circuiting every time he’s tempted by the myriad sins at his doorstep. If Vox ever gets past his hangups, Val would happily introduce him to the messier pleasures of the afterlife. 

Reveling in the thought, Val peels off his skirt, fishnets, and gloves, then piles his clothes on the dispenser with his wallet atop the heap. Now to actually clean up. There’s not much he can do with only hand soap at his disposal, but he fills his bottom two hands with the pink stuff from the dispenser before positioning himself under the rusted shower head. He spares a moment to hope the water is clean. 

Thankfully it is, albeit ice cold, as it cascades over Val and cuts through the grime caked into his fur. Other than the obvious mess from a few creampies more than his body can reasonably accommodate, flakes of dried cum stick to other parts of him with errant smears of blood, sweat, and cigarette ash. All in all, Val’s had more disgusting nights. The thin soap doesn’t make him feel clean, but it washes the visible stains down the drain and rinses easily with each timed stream of water, leaving him to begrudgingly admit he feels better without a head-to-toe coat of dried jizz. The water doesn’t sting when he washes his injuries either, a miniscule comfort after all he endured to get them.

After his final rinse, he shakes off as much water as he can with a full body shiver, but finds the paper towel dispenser empty when he cranks its handle. He sighs.. Vox means well. It’s not his fault Val hates redressing without fully drying off. With effort, he negotiates his thigh-highs and miniskirt back into place. He pauses over the hoodie; it’ll stick to the cuts in his back again, and he doesn’t want to wash them a second time today, but Vox is liable to throw a fit about his indecency. Any other day it’d be a guarantee. This morning, though, his misplaced pity seems to erase their carefully defined boundaries.

Val tucks his hoodie under his arm and reemerges from the bathroom with his armor intact once more, despite his relative state of undress. True to his word, Vox leans against the opposite wall, his eyes darting from the front counter to Val when he appears, then away again with a minor glitch when he spots his bare chest. 

“Really?”

“My back’s fucked,” Val says simply, brushing past Vox. Feedback cries through his speakers, echoing in the enclosed space loud enough to make Val cringe upon seeing the state he’s been left in. Without a mirror to check the damage, Val can’t be sure how bad it is, but he could feel at least a dozen individual gashes when he washed. “I came here to get pills for it, remember? Earth to Vox?” He stops, turning to face Vox again when he doesn’t hear his footsteps following. Eight months have made Val an expert on the intricacies of digital expressions, but he can’t make heads or tails of the twitchy one on Vox’s screen now. “Are you short circuiting? Surely you’ve seen a man’s tits before today.”

The unreadable look falls off Vox’s face as he straightens up. “I have a first aid kit under the register; I’m not selling to you until I bandage those. Because they’re a biohazard.” He nods, as if to convince himself of the excuse. “No fluids in my store.” Recovered from his lapse in control, he ushers them out of the staff hallway. “And don’t show up like this again.”

He gently shoves Val onto the stool in front of the register, which Val only complies with because his muscles are too sore for it to be worth the fight. When Vox ducks to retrieve his first aid kit, the sharp corners of his screen press indents against Valentino’s calves, static from his screen and antennae teasing the lavender fur on end. One day Val’s going to see how that feels between his thighs.

“But you take such good care of me, Papi,” Val simpers.

“Here it is!”

Popping back up with the dusty kit in hand, Vox carries on like he didn’t hear the aside. He has a knack for spinning conversations, reality, to his whims with the skilled precision of a charlatan. One day, he’ll be important. Val knows it. And if he plays all his cards right, Val can climb the ladder with him as the pretty little mistress who cracked Vox’s repressed shell.

“You get off on this?” Vox asks, lifting an ancient roll of gauze. 

They’re clearly the first to make use of the kit, given how non-angelic wounds heal on their own, but with as many to attend to as Val has currently, it’ll take long enough for bandages to be sensible. Neither his flat nor the club are particularly clean, after all.

“I get paid.” That’s all that matters. Val reminds himself so every time he knocks on an ugly john’s motel room door. “Don’t get me wrong, Voxxy, I love a good pounding, a little fight-” he stutters when Vox begins pressing the first layer of gauze into the tender welts on his back, “but I’d rather bend those slimy fucks over and remind them they’re paying for the privilege to get their pathetic dicks anywhere near me.” Vox’s hands still and Val wishes he could see his face. “I like dancing, I like sex, and it keeps the drugs flowing. So if you're asking, yes, I get off on it.”

Vox considers this in silence. He winds the gauze around Val’s chest to secure it, masterfully avoiding contact with anything other than the inches of bandaging he pushes into place over the lashes, as he works his way down Val’s back. It aches, fiery and deep, every time the dull backs of his claws smooth the gauze, but the pain is far closer to the enjoyable sting of lactic acid after a vigorous fuck. By the third row down, he reaches the deep centers of the gashes, where his unwavering focus spikes from tolerable to white-hot, like a spark directly through Val's spine. 

He twitches away with a gasp. “Fuck.” It takes a conscious effort to keep his wings from draping in a protective curtain around his back. He expects Vox, his safe, predictable, loser, fucking drug clerk to freeze at the reaction, but Vox smooths the gauze again with a considering hum Val can only read as interest. “Ah, I see. Should I have come in all bloody sooner?” he teases. 

“This may come as a shock to you, but not everything is about sex,” Vox deadpans. 

When he presses the next layer down, Val groans in the back of his throat to antagonize him. He expects a snarky reprimand, perhaps a warning hum, but instead Vox suddenly digs the points of his claws into Val’s hip, far enough from the lashes to cause a distinct, fresh pain to flare at the contact.

“Yes it is,” Val counters, tilting his head back to look up at Vox’s flickering screen. “This holier-than-thou attitude’s holding you back, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Inches from the smooth, static glass, Val can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss Vox: if his screen would be cold with death or warm with electricity, if his tongue would be wet like real flesh or ephemeral like the jolts between his antennae. With any other sinner, Val wouldn’t hesitate to find out, but he can’t risk it this time. Not with Vox. He’s spent too many months being a good boy and following Vox’s lead to screw it up with poor impulse control now.

“You’ve got something special, amor.” Val grins into the teal glow. “Sucking and fucking, it’s not for you- I get it.” Another deliberate drag of Vox’s claws makes him trill. “But you’ve got star written all over you.”

“Okay, I know you think it’s funny to call me a prude, but here’s the truth, Val.” While Vox’s voice isn’t any louder, its timbre drops deep enough to vibrate Valentino’s bones. “My unwillingness to risk Hell’s version of gonorrhea-”

“Regular gonorrhea,” Val interrupts.

“-doesn’t mean I’m celibate. You do know you’re a whore?” Vox laughs, a distorted, mean sound as he winds a second layer of gauze around Val’s torso. “I’ve got better options.”

Though Vox doesn’t tempt the injuries he’s presumably caring for again, his sharp claws repeatedly skim the spared skin of Val’s ribs and waist. “Not to insult drunk back-alley bowjobs,” Val chirps, ”but you’d be much less uptight if you got a decent fucking orgasm every once in a while.”

Finally, Vox finishes his wrapping, the brush of his hands dulled through layers of gauze as he knots the end in place. He lingers a moment too long; palm splayed between Val’s upper set of shoulder blades, standing close enough for Val to enjoy his body heat, calculating eyes darting over Val’s figure like he’s memorizing the scene. The attention is familiar, if not from him.

“As fun as this has been,” Vox says slowly, turning to pack the first aid kit away, “You’re lucky no one else has come in. So, two bottles of oxy, and how much ket?”

Val pulls his shirt on as he stands up. Frustration at the dismissal squeezes his heart, but he knows better than to expect anything else from Vox. “Five grams, powdered.” If the quantity surprises Vox, Val can't tell. “What do I owe you for it?”

“Two hundred,” Vox replies automatically, crossing behind Val to reach the tranquilizer section. He places the scale on the counter and begins to measure out Val’s ketamine with more dedication than a shithole drugstore deserves. “If your cut’s less than that after they tore you up, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

Val hums. “Don’t worry about me, Daddy makes plenty.”

More accurately, he makes enough to get so high, he can put up with his least favorite customers and his handsy sleazeball boss. He eats and lives free at the club, and the cash he sees from his work keeps him stocked, making it a decent gig– definitely beats retail work. He feels the edges of the bills in his wallet, guessing from the number that they’re in twenties rather than hundreds this time.

“How many twenties is that?” he inquires. 

“Ten.”

Val counts the bills, restarting a couple times to be sure, but a nagging feeling insists he tallied them up wrong. He frowns as he counts them again. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure I can do simple math,” Vox enunciates, like multiplication is simple to most sinners. “Oxy’s sixty a bottle, like always. Two bottles is one-twenty, and then eighty for the ket.”

“That’s it!” Val crumples the bills as he snaps his fingers on another hand. “Eighty for five grams sounds wrong. Mixing up prices isn’t like you, Papi, are you distracted?” It wouldn’t be shocking, after the morning they’ve had. “I don't want you to get in trouble. You’re lucky I’m an honest sinner.”

“Honest, ha!” With a couple more adjustments, Vox seals the five gram bag and returns the stock of ketamine to its shelf. “You’ve never been honest a day of your existence.” He comes back to the register to slide Val’s goodies into a logo’d paper bag and punch the details into the register. “No, it’s correct. Staff discount, for the…” Vox jerks his head toward Val’s discarded heels in the store lobby. “Inconvenience. Put the money toward a replacement pair.”

Discounts are part of life for Val, a given in the red-light district of the city where he’d be hard pressed to run into a shopkeep he hasn’t fucked yet, but this doesn’t feel like the typical quid-pro-quo. Since Val arrived, Vox has done him favor after favor. If it had just been the shower, or the bandages, or the discount, Val could write this off as a relic of Vox’s antiquated brand of masculinity, but for him to do all three without asking anything in return is a bear trap waiting to close.

“How sweet.” As Val hands his cash over, he dismisses the thought; Vox is too tame to demand anything Val wouldn’t give him cheap regardless. “You’re too good to me.”

Vox's customer service smile glitches. “It's my job, Val.”

“I know, but you always make me feel special.” Scooping up his shoes on the way out, Val allows his skirt to ride up, grinning smugly at the choked sound Vox makes. “Same time next week, mwah!”

[voxaholic]

My first staticmoth fic ever had officially reached 500 kudos! I’m making a promotion post to celebrate!

[veetowervaporwave]

There's an in-universe Vees fandom, and a subset of it is the in-universe Voxval shipping. People overanalyze their every interaction, make conspiracy threads and videos, etc.

Velvette encourages this because 1) she thinks it's hilarious, 2) it festers parasociality

She'll like. Post a random picture of them standing next to each other but then put a heart sticker between them and everyone in the comments will be like "Velvette tell us your secrets!!!"; "Our prophet share your knowledge!!!", etc.

[vvo1d1ing]

"The first word out of your weird fucking mouth is your name. Then you give me the bills. Then, baby, you can talk."

I'm a complete fanboy of @conazo 's and @lowat-golden-tower 's writing from their RP Fic "Old School Cool" and you should absolutely check it out, it's MWAH!

(Also, just to explain, Vox's head was referenced from some old model of a Panasonic CRTV because that desk photo of them back in the days is so blurry to me ;n; Also no tiny top hat, that's just a personal preference)

[valentinoappreciator]

Vox / female reader / Valentino smut

Sooooo... that "Vox hypnotizes me" post? Yeah, I made it into a fic. Sue me 😎

Media: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Vox / female reader / Valentino + Vox / Valentino + onesided Vox / Alastor

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: none apply, everything is consensual

Tags (among others): threesome, hypnotism, electrocution, erotic electrostimulation, multiple orgasms

Where else to read: AO3, username: TheWeirdDane, title: A Shocking Outcome

Enjoy the filth, my lovelies <3

-------------------

You had a feeling you were being obnoxious. Again. Vox wouldn’t say it, but you could hear it in the way that Valentino sighed louder and more often behind you.

“For fuck’s sake, Vox!” he suddenly exclaimed, making you jump and look at him. You couldn’t help a smirk; you would never admit it, but you secretly loved riling up Valentino when he couldn’t touch you. Vox would never allow him to hurt you. 

“Can you keep your fucking pet in line?” he growled, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, a deep scowl on his face. 

“Oh, but I’m hardly doing anything, Mister Valentino, sir,” you giggled and blew him a kiss before focusing on Vox again. You kissed the side of his monitor, wrapping your arms around his neck. Valentino cursed. Vox was quiet, furiously tapping away at his keyboards. That is, until he abruptly turned in his chair, looking straight at you. You swallowed hard, for the first time in a while feeling a slight current of fear going through you. 

A step back wasn’t permitted, because suddenly, Vox stood up, towering above you, with a hand clutching your dress. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that Val is right. You’re not behaving properly, now, are you?”

Your mouth opened and closed several times. Your eyes widened. 

“Perhaps I should let my... business partner have some fun with you.”

“Vox, please, I didn’t mean---”

“What you meant,” he barked, interrupting you, “is irrelevant. You’re being a brat. We can’t have that attitude around here.”

His eyes glanced towards Valentino, and you shivered when he got up, the couch creaking slightly. He quickly closed the distance between you, all four hands grabbing you. 

“Vox, please, I---” you tried again, but were silenced by a sharp click of Valentino’s tongue. 

“Let your owner speak, darlin’.”

You bristled. 

“He’s not my owner, you sleazy piece of---”

“Ah-ah, that’s quite enough of that, my dear,” Vox said and let go of your dress. Valentino had a firm grasp of you with all hands, so you couldn’t move away. “He’s right. I think you need a... little break. Don’t you agree? It’s so hard being my assistant, after all.”

His claws caressed your chin, making you shiver. 

“I know I’m a tough boss, but you’re always doing so well for me. Actually, I think you deserve a break.” He grinned widely, and his red eyes began pulsing slightly. As you looked at him, a big black spiral inside his eye moved through it, in an... oddly comforting rhythm. It pulsed rhythmically. 

“Listen very carefully,” he purred. You nodded, staring at the slowly moving black circle. It was somehow very soothing. As you looked at it, all worries seemed to ebb away. 

“You’re being so good for me. But tonight, you’ll be good for Valentino and I, won’t you?”

You blinked a few times, then frowned slightly. 

“Vox, what do you---”

“He said listen, honey,” Valentino purred into your ear, two hands on your shoulders, and the other two on your hips. 

When Vox spoke again, his voice was lower and more staticky. The black ring still moved through his eye, a tad faster now. You were transfixed. 

“You’ll do whatever Val asks of you. No matter how deranged or depraved. Because I know you’ll be into it. You won’t be able to get enough. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, Vox,” you mumbled, staring into his eyes. The longer you stared, the heavier you started feeling. You couldn’t believe your legs could carry you, actually. Your eyes were suddenly feeling like curtains of lead. Impossible to keep them open, you wanted to close them, but Vox slapped your cheek gently. 

“Look at me, baby. That’s it. Good girl. We’ll be good to you, and you’ll be good to us. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Vox,” you mumbled again. The longer you stared into his screen, the more carefree you felt. It felt as if your mind steadily threw out everything with it, until you were left with a pleasant buzzing going through your entire body. 

“What will you do, baby?” 

His voice sounded as if coming from afar. 

“I’ll be good to you and Mister Valentino,” you drawled. 

“That’s right. He’ll fuck you to within an inch of your life, probably, and what will you say?”

You shivered. 

“Thank you, Mister Valentino.”

“That’s right, baby. Now, go on, let Val have his fun. I need to work.”

“Yes, Vox.”

Valentino allowed you to turn around before he grabbed you again, this time to pull you towards his luxurious, spacious couch. 

“Look at you, being so pliant and obedient,” he purred, quickly pulling your underwear down and off of you. You breathed a little harder. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you...”

“I thought you liked it when your girls resisted,” Vox commented. Valentino chuckled darkly. 

“Oh, I do, I relish it. But change can be nice.”

Vox laughed, and Valentino’s grin widened. 

“Now, spread those gorgeous legs, babygirl.” 

You shivered and nodded, parting your legs. It produced a wet, sticky sound that made you blush. 

“Oh? Could it be that you’re already hot and bothered?” Valentino teased. “Already wet for me?”

“Please, Mister Valentino,” you whined. 

“What is it, baby? You can tell daddy what’s wrong.”

You whined louder and looked up into his face. 

“I want you!”

“Aww, come on, baby, I know you can do better than that. Try again.”

A shudder wrecked through you, making Valentino snicker mockingly. 

“Oh, aren’t you just the most adorable little whore this side of Pentagram City? Come on, try again. For daddy.”

You licked your lips with the tip of your tongue, already feeling your pulse pick up pace. 

“Please, daddy, I need your cock inside me!”

Valentino’s grin filled your vision when he leaned down to kiss you. His tongue was long and slimy and prehensile, and it quickly moved to the back of your mouth, slithering into your throat where it got you to gag. Yet, even as your stomach jumped, you moaned and grabbed his face to haul him closer. 

Two of his hands grabbed the couch tightly, the remaining two grabbing your waist. The grip was harsh and made you gasp, before a gurgling sound was pulled from your throat when his tongue started thrusting into your throat. 

Your legs trembled, as did your hands, and you closed your eyes, relishing the whitehot pleasure that sloshed through your veins. A shuddering sigh left your lips when Valentino pulled back, then a soft when of disappointment. 

He cooed.

“Oh, don’t worry, my little darling, I’ll make sure you’ll feel so good. Daddy always treats his girls well, doesn’t he?”

You vaguely registered Vox’s snort, but were too focused on Valentino to really care.

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered. You were so unbearably horny and wet, and it was so unfair that Valentino wasn’t shoving his cock inside you right this second! 

“Please, daddy,” you whined again, seemingly taking Valentino by surprise when you spoke without being prompted to. “I need you, I need your cock inside me! Please, I’ll be so good!” His eyes widened slightly, before the widest grin pulled them into narrow slits. His tongue wriggled past his sharp teeth, slithering over your lips. 

“You sound positively divine when you beg, babydoll. I could get used to that.” 

You arched your back, your cunt practically dripping with need when you spread your legs even wider, uncomfortably so. 

“Oh, but you were not kidding! Look at that pretty, little cunt. You need daddy to fill you so badly, don’t you, hmm?”

“I do!” you almost cried, feeling mortified but impossibly aroused at the same time. 

“Val, don’t you know it’s not polite to leave a woman waiting?”

You blinked, looking towards Vox as his voice drifted across the room. Blinking again, Valentino was suddenly holding a modern, high-tech video camera. This made a cold shiver run down your spine, but the frisson of fear didn’t alleviate the burning need in the pit of your stomach. 

“Oh, Voxxy,” Valentino snickered, pointing the camera at you. “Say hi to your fans, baby.”

You simply mewled, staring into the lens. 

“Eh, good enough. Remember, darling, I could make you a star. You got the makings of a proper movie doll.”

Vox groaned somewhere behind you. 

“Val, it’s not polite to play with your food.”

Valentino laughed. 

“Oh, you’re such a spoilsport. But, if you insist...”

With two hands, he pulled down his black thong to free his cock. You nearly salivated at the sight, knowing it would soon be buried deep inside you. Valentino was able to decipher your expression, because he grinned widely and rubbed the head of his cock against your oh so sensitive cunt. You jerked with a mewl. Valentino hissed softly. 

“That’s right, baby, daddy is going to fuck you so good,” he hissed, pressing lower until his head caught on your hole. Wasting no further time, he shoved himself inside you with a single, rough thrust that had you howling. 

His cock drilled into you, splitting you open, and although you knew it was supposed to hurt, it... didn’t. Not as much as it realistically should have, anyway. No, the pleasure was so much stronger, and made you moan loudly. You grabbed at his coat, throwing your head back against the couch. 

“Daddy!”

Valentino snarled quietly as he continued to push inside, burying himself so deep you swore you could feel his cock in your belly. He throbbed hard, the tightness of your cunt meaning you imagined you could feel all the veins along his shaft. 

“I don’t hear you being so smug now,” Vox snickered. “Is her hole that good, Val?”

“Shut it,” Valentino growled, aiming the camera at your face. 

Then began the real deal. 

He wasted no more time. He pulled back until just the head was still inside you, and then slammed hard forward, pushing all the way inside and pulling a wretched cry from your lips. 

“That’s it, my little bird,” he rasped, “sing for me!”

You howled again, your legs trembling and your hands grasping desperately at the front of his coat. 

“Daddy, please, it--- it feels so good!” 

“Yeah? Does it, doll? Why don’t you tell me about it?” 

You whined loudly, lifting your legs to wrap them around his narrow waist. 

“Harder, daddy, please, fuck me harder!”

He groaned, pushing you hard against the couch before he, indeed, began plowing into you with so much force that the couch began creaking. You cried out, and now the pain was starting to increase, his thrusts so hard it bordered on ruthless. 

“Break the couch, and you buy me a new one.” 

“Fuck off, Vox, unless you wanna join in on the fun,” Valentino snarled. Much to your surprise, you suddenly felt claws in your hair, pulling your head backwards. You opened your eyes just in time to see Vox standing behind you, a wide and ominous smile on his screen. He bent forward and kissed you harshly. His tongue was different from Valentino’s - shorter, thicker, and much more slimy - but it made you moan all the same as it pushed into your mouth. You could barely breathe, and your lungs burned. Every single of your nerve endings seemed to have caught fire as well, making heat surge through you in violent waves. 

You clenched hard around Valentino, and he growled deep in his throat, shoving himself oh so deep inside you. 

You couldn’t speak. You could only make such utterly pathetic sounds as Valentino fucked you and Vox kissed you like their afterlives depended on it. The longer it went on for, a knot appeared in your stomach, winding itself so painfully tight it made you tremble and gasp sharply. One of your hands let go of Valentino, instead reaching behind you, fumbling around for a bit before finding Vox’s coat. You grabbed it tightly. 

“Oh, you really are into this,” he snickered after withdrawing his tongue from your mouth. “Maybe I didn’t even have to hypnotize you.”

“Sh--- shut up,” you managed to croak and opened your eyes to look up at him. 

“Eyes on me, amorcito,” Valentino growled, before straightening up. He grabbed your legs to press them against his chest, not missing a single thrust. The new position made you see stars, especially when Vox’s clawed hand decided to join in. A claw pressed against your clit, and you inhaled sharply, writhing violently. 

You knew, despite the fogginess of your mind, that Vox had a thing for electricity - which made sense - and you knew he wasn’t afraid of taking it out on you. 

Yet, you wanted it so badly! There were no thoughts in your head; only desire. 

So, when Vox sent a slight current of electricity through his claws and into your cunt, you moaned unashamedly, clenching hard around Valentino who also seemed... affected by the sudden spark. 

“Oh, Voxxy,” he purred breathlessly, grinding hard against you. 

The knot in your stomach tightened. 

“Who knew you would want to play with your own assistant, hmm?” 

“You kidding? She’s a fucking goddess, Val!” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Valentino snorted.

“You always were so sentimental. Come ‘ere.”

You looked up at the two Overlords, and couldn’t help a shuddering moan when they kissed. It was messy, and slobby, and so fucking hot. Their tongues pressed against each other, saliva dripping onto your face and chest, making you shudder with arousal. 

“Touch me, Val,” Vox demanded, and Valentino snickered. 

“So bossy, too! But, if you insist.”

Then, Vox grunted, and you saw from the bend of Valentino’s arm that he was jerking off Vox. 

The knot grew ever tighter. Breathing became increasingly difficult. You could only pant and gasp, pleasure crashing over you as an orgasm rapidly approached. 

“Daddy,” you managed to get over your tongue, but he didn’t pay attention to you, aside from fucking you into the couch, of course. 

Another spark of electricity went through your cunt, and that was all it took. 

You cried out hoarsely, your entire body jerking so hard Valentino had to grab you with two hands to force you to stay in place. Your cunt clenched and spasmed hard around Valentino, who in turn growled into Vox’s mouth, who then moaned in that wonderfully staticky way. 

“Yes, fuck yes” they both growled, their voices raspy and deep. 

Feeling you come so hard, Valentino thrust even more violently into you, gripping the camera so tightly it groaned. 

“That’s it, baby,” he hissed, and you had no way of knowing if he was talking to you or to Vox. Either way, it was insanely hot. 

Valentino kept fucking you, and Vox kept electrocuting you, until yet another orgasm swept through you, not even half a minute after the first one. You gasped sharply, fairly certain that your nails were cutting holes in their coats. But if they did, neither Vox nor Valentino admonished her. Not yet, anyway. 

When Valentino finally reached his own end, he flooded your cunt with his warm, sticky cum with a thunderous growl, and you arched your back, breathing rapidly. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you whined, “thank you!”

“Good doll,” he rasped.

There was a soft ‘beep’, and he tossed the camera to the couch. Pulling out of you with a filthy sound, his cum immediately began dripping from your gaping hole. You shuddered and blushed, closing your trembling legs and turning your head to look after him. 

Turned out, he went behind the couch, grabbing Vox by the waist. Soon enough, Vox was naked, and moaning hard and loud when Valentino was fucking him as well. You didn’t know how in Hell Valentino could already be hard and ready to go again, but then again; he was the Overlord of sex, drugs, and depravity, so it shouldn’t really surprise you. 

Breathing hard, you sat on your knees on the couch, watching the show with half-lidded eyes. 

Suddenly, Vox grabbed your chin, and he kissed you rather harshly. Each thrust from Valentino was followed by a grunt into your mouth. 

“Oh, come now, Voxxy,” Valentino teased, “are you really that head over heels for your own assistant?”

“Fuck off,” Vox groaned. 

“Just sayin’, the two of you would do nicely together in a movie.”

The thought made a shiver run down your spine, and you mewled softly, much to Vox’s and Valentino’s amusement; they both snickered, although Vox’s sounded rather labored. 

“Haven’t had enough, hmm?” Valentino cooed. You blushed fiercely, averting your eyes. “Don’t worry, darling, you can watch. I won’t charge you. Not this time.”

Vox hissed, and the kiss turned messy. Saliva dripped down your chin. 

“That’s it, Val, right there, that’s so fucking good!” 

Valentino chuckled darkly, and sunk his sharp teeth into Vox’s slim neck, sending sparks flying everywhere and making Vox moan loudly. 

In a moment of boldness, a moment where you weren’t sure you were still under Vox’s influence, you decided to join in. 

“Come on, sir, won’t you come for him?” you whispered against his screen. “Come for us?”

Vox’s claws tightened on your chin, pulling your lower lip down, and Valentino visibly shuddered. 

“You dare talk to your boss like that? My my, you’re a brave one...”

You blushed and moaned when Vox shoved his tongue into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but caress the side of his screen. 

“Don’t cause a power outage, Voxxy,” Valentino teased when Vox’s entire body went rigid. “We all know you’re so close, so why don’t you just let go?”

He groaned loudly, trembling all over.

“Come on, sir, we know you want to,” you chimed in, your tongue pressing against his. 

With a loud crackling of electricity, Vox groaned, and Valentino snarled, pressing himself flush against his back. 

“That’s it, Voxxy, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, “milking my cock like that. Who knew you could be so desperate for someone who isn’t the Radio Demon?”

Vox shuddered. 

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he growled. Valentino simply laughed, thrusting hard into Vox a few more times before he pushed Valentino enough, albeit rather weakly. However, Valentino obeyed, taking a few steps back from Vox. 

“Now, baby, what do you say?” Vox sighed and straightened, looking down at you. 

The look he sent you made you blush. You fiddled with your fingers.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, daddy.”

Vox’s claws ran through your hair. It was almost tender. 

“Good girl. Now, go get cleaned up, and don’t interrupt us again. We’re both busy.”