#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

-

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)

[lycanr0t]

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

(also a redraw of this!)

[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⬇️

[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

[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! 

[vroomvroomwee]

I don't think we as fans realise how good of a ship Valastor has the potential to be.

I always see these takes that Alastor thinks Valentino is gross, or stupid, or annoying, and Valentino just thinks Alastor is way too overrated in Vox's eyes. But, if we really sit back to analyse their personalities, they're... not that different at all?

Alastor respects power, and he respects people who can dissemble their feelings behind a fake smile, who can lie and cheat and deceive and con the same way he does effortlessly. Who do we know who has a good, firm grasp on not just his own feelings but others' as well?

Valentino. Say what you want about episode 2 and Val being reckless about Angel's moving out, but if he really wanted to kill him he would have done so, he wouldn't have sat on his ass waiting for Vox like a princess in a tower. He would have gone to that hotel and shot him. Which means he knew perfectly well what he was doing. He WANTED Vox to believe he was going to go berserk, and it worked like a charm. After that, he had his little vent session and flung the information of Alastor’s return like no bid deal, knowing how Vox would react. Then, he ENJOYED watching Vox fall into manic rage. He ENJOYS playing with people's feelings, and the only instance where we truly see a glimpse of his OWN feelings rising to the surface are in the scenes with Angel. And even then, he's not revealing any vulnerabilities, he's lashing out in anger to regain control. And who else do we know who is a control freak?

Alastor. Alastor who revels in control, who strives to have his authority recognized, who keeps his thralls on a tight leash, who manipulates people to get what he wants (charlie), who plays with people's feelings and intentionally angers them to a boiling point just for his entertainment (lucifer, vaggie) EXACTLY the same way Valentino does.

They have the same deceitful, underhanded methods to gain power. By putting up a genial, friendly facade to lure a victim in, offering comfort and protection, only to eventually drop the mask and reveal the violent monster hiding underneath. They maintain a whimsical, reckless demeanour to hide the calculating, conniving evil lurking beneath, hungry and ready to pounce.

Alastor wouldn't think Valentino is stupid unless he's blinded by ego or insecurity, and he doubtfully will think him annoying since that same ego is why he likes people. The more they reflect him, the more likeable they are in his vain eyes. And he wouldn't think Valentino is gross for being blatantly promiscuous - personally, I actually think Alastor REVELS in the debauchery of hell, his superiority complex is charging every time he gets to display how unaffected he is by sexual acts, how they hold sway over lesser beings which he is not, how lust is a weakness he cannot be tempted by. He doesn't mind talking about or being surrounded by sex because it gives him a chance to put his asexual ass above others. And who do we know who navigates desire and lust with complete control and lack of effort?

Valentino. Valentino who only sleeps with tens (and Vox) because he's more worried about his image, ego and pride than about who he's actually attracted to (or not attracted to since this trait is also a very ace thing to experience). When he talks to the girls at the club (ep 6), his first instinct is to ask if they need a job. He isn't even interested in sleeping with them himself, he's more interested in how much money they can make him. In regards to sex, he is the complete opposite of Alastor. While Alastor evades sex to flaunt his (nonexistent) restraint, Valentino uses sex to assert his own dominance and boost his own desirability. He is more interested in using sex as a means to earn money, put his workers in line, and to hurt. It's the SADISM that draws Valentino in, it's the humiliation, the debasement, the vulnerability, the helplessness that can derive from sex. The man likes to WATERBOARD people for fuck's sake, and I doubt he's ever filmed something that didn't have bdsm themes in it.

He's an arrogant, narcissistic, vile sadist just like Alastor. Do we really think it's a coincidence that Angel and Husk's chains are shown together in Loser, baby, how they parallel their cruel owners? Both Alastor (ep 5) and Valentino (ep 2 and 6) lash out in violent anger the moment Husk or Angel shows a modicum of disobedience and backtalk.

And about Valentino thinking Alastor is overrated - I think that might be his initial opinion of Alastor, until he actually meets him. When he meets him Valentino instantly realises that the tricks he uses on other people won't work on Alastor, because Alastor knows how overlords play these games and unlike Valentino he doesn't play them to climb the social ladder or gain territory or snatch as many souls as possible. His reason is far worse, and far, FAR more terrifying.

He does it for FUN.

And that's why Valentino would quickly realise Alastor isn't someone to mess around with. Not like he does with Vox anyway. Vox is an open book, he wants control, power, customers and to extend his influence and grow his business. Alastor, however, doesn't want any of those. All he wants is to be entertained, to watch the political scheme unfold and to sit back with a bucket of popcorn and watch the chess pieces crush each other. He has NOTHING Valentino could use to gain leverage, not even an offer for sex, and he never knows if Alastor will get bored and decide to make him his next dinner.

Both of them twist the concept of gender and what society expects of them. Valentino's queerness is ostentatious, paraded even. He wears heels, feminine clothes, make up etc. Alastor’s is a bit more underlying. His femininity isn't obvious from a first, visual assessment, but it gradually becomes clear from his movements, his motions, his gesticulations. Valentino views men and women more or less the same with the pansexual mindset of "skin is skin, a hole is a hole. Why does it matter?", while Alastor views men and women more or less the same with the cannibalistic mindset of "anyone is dangerous with a knife and proper amount of rage". Whatever misogyny they might have isn't recognized by them, Valentino's reflects (for example) in his clothing, the way he dresses more masculine for work where he needs to be more authoritative, while he dresses more feminine for other occasions. Alastor’s reflects in his opinion that "women are better than men, they're more tolerable, and most need protection which is why I'm nicer to them" which directly undermines the reality that not all women are dainty and soft, that they can be extremely perverted and despicable too. Either way, they both treat the concept of the gender binary in an unorthodox way.

Also, Alastor wouldn't be disgusted by Valentino's lewd speech or sexual advances would be treated the same way Valentino would treat Alastor’s cannibalistic, gory tendencies: "not my thing personally, but there's a kink for it I'm sure. As long as you keep it away from me, we're good." They're decades old DEMONS, they'll be fine with some unconventional, eccentric habits.

Neither of them stick to the rules or what's expected of them, EVER. Alastor disregards societal expectations of him with vocalised glee, while Valentino does it more subtly - he follows through with them until he reaches the perfect point to step away, shattering the illusion. He NEVER does what people expect and want from him, almost subconsciously.

The only difference that really might drive a wedge between them is the matter of their looks. Alastor wears torn, outdated clothing that he probably hasn't washed in months, not to mention his insistence to keep that godawful fuckass bob, while Valentino can't afford to have a single wrinkle on his expensive, perfect clothes and always keeps his fur in tiptop, clean, fluffy shape. That and the fact that Alastor has no support, unlike Valentino who has a stable partnership with two other very powerful overlords.

They're also both whiny bitches who need constant attention and pampering to survive. They're like catnip to Vox's delusional sugar daddy image of himself and his need to feel necessary and strong. They're pillow princesses who like to be in control. They pose for his cameras and bask in Vox's obsession over them and they LOVE to ignite his temper tantrums. They're untameable, they're unpredictable, which is a sweet, irresistible delight to Vox's secret need for chaos that these two effortlessly bring (and his need to be dominated)

This turned out way longer than I intended. Anyways, my point is these two should fuck. Peace

[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

[valscigarette]

Summary: Vox and Val's first time (Drugstore!AU)

Tags: Vox/Val, Smut, Top!Vox, Power Bottom!Val, Dubious Consent, Power Plays, Xeno

DM me for more detailed warnings!

WC: 3.1k | AO3

-

The private room is cleaner than Vox expected. Besides a small circular stage, not unlike the featured tables of the main club, the space contains a black leather couch and a well-stocked minibar Vox immediately ransacks for bourbon. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing at all, because a strip club is so far from his comfort zone that he feels freshly dead again, and Val’s hand on the small of his back burns closer to affection than the power play he rationally knows it to be.

Briefly, Vox considers that his drink was spiked. That must be it; he can’t explain why else he agreed to follow Val back here.

“You’re so fucking tense,” Val accuses, reaching around Vox to lift a bottle of off-label whiskey. “Loosen up a little.”

He takes the drink from Val and fumbles the cap off with trembling hands. “What are we doing?”

“Sharing a drink?” Val covers Vox’s hand with his own on the bottle, raising it toward his screen. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It would be the second, however, and the memory of their shared night in Vox’s studio apartment makes bile rise in the back of his throat. He’s used to Val coming to the store looking like a well-loved chew toy, but that morning had been different. He was bloody, more so than usual, with tears in his wings and a jaw so swollen with missing teeth that his speech was unintelligible. Vox had closed up the shop, claiming sudden sickness, and squirreled Val home because it was the safest place he could think of. All day, they drank together–Val mostly spilling it down his chest–and when Vox woke up splayed out on top of Val in the morning, he’d received a sleepy kiss to the side of his screen and a wandering hand caressing his waist. For a split second, it was nice. Then Vox remembered who Val was, kicked him out, and swore to himself he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Don’t you have customers? People who’ll pay to drink with you?” Vox asks, flexing his fingers beneath Val’s iron grip.

Val hums as his lower set of hands latch onto Vox’s waist. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

In another universe, one where Val doesn’t sell himself like a magazine subscription and Vox doesn’t even have dignity left to lose, perhaps Vox might have believed him. But he knows Val by now, as much as he can know someone he sees for ten minutes twice a week, and to believe he’d prefer Vox’s broke company than that of a paying client is idiocy at best. There has to be something he wants, and not knowing what is nerve wracking. For all he plays the bimbo, there’s a calculating coldness behind Val’s eyes that Vox knows better than to trust.

“Uh, why?”

“Do I need a reason?” Val coos, stepping back toward the couch. “Can’t I just, ah,” he sighs dramatically as he sits, pulling Vox into his lap in the process, “enjoy a drink with my friend?”

Vox tries to get up, but one of Val’s arms loops around his stomach like a vice, trapping him in place. “This doesn’t feel friendly, Val.”

“Are you sure?” Before Vox can answer, Val rolls his hips into Vox’s ass, letting him feel the bulge of his half-hard cock. “I’m giving you the friends and family discount: best fuck of your life, for the low price of letting me call the shots.” He pets one of Vox’s arms as he grinds against him again.

“Friends and family? What the fuck do you mean-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Something hot and wet suddenly curls around the sensitive synthetic flesh of his neck, not tightly enough to choke him, but uncomfortably intense when he hasn’t been touched there since he was a living man. It distracts him past the point of questioning it until it unwraps to trace a sloppy trail up the side of his screen. Then, once Vox can see a portion of it, he realizes it’s Val’s tongue.

“Val!” he yelps, pushing against the arm holding him in place. “Seriously?”

“Don’t be a wuss, it’s just a little spit,” Val says. He uses his free hands to nudge Vox’s legs apart, pulling them over his own thighs to hold them in place and keep Vox from shutting them again. “That’s better.” One of Val’s slender hands, the ones Vox has privately admired for months, cups him through his slacks and that’s somehow more embarrassing, more real, than being able to feel Val rutting against his ass. “Mmm, not bad,” he purrs against the side of Vox’s head, “I can work with this.”

Vox squirms trying to free himself, but the movement only draws a soft groan from Val that he feels vibrating against his back more than he hears. It should frighten him, or piss him off, or something, any reaction besides a heated thrill in his gut followed by a wave of shame so intense his screen rapidly cycles through solid RGB blocks. His heart, or whatever passes for one in his semi-mechanical body, beats faster than he knew it could, as if trying to outrun Valentino when the rest of him is still firmly trapped in his arms.

His head falls back against Val’s shoulder as he struggles to control his glitching enough to speak. “I’m n-not fucking gay.”

“No?” At that moment, Val tightens his hand around Vox’s dick. It should hurt, but the sensors for pleasure and pain have been crossed since Vox woke up in Hell, and a keening noise he doesn’t recognize escapes him as he arches into the contact. “What’s this then? Feels a little fucking gay to me, Papi.”

Vox swears again under his breath as Val sweeps his thumb along the length of Vox’s bulge, so gentle in comparison to the harsh grip of his other fingers that it’s impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“And it’s not that different, you know,” Val tells him. His mischievous tongue darts out again, this time smearing a trail of pink saliva across Vox’s screen that tastes like cherry candy when it drips into his mouth. “A hole is a hole, the logistics are the same.”

When Val lets go, all the blood rushing back to Vox’s dick makes him too dizzy to respond right away, though a small part of him mourns the loss. “You’re not letting this go,” he pants, “are you?”

“Nope, not until I get into those cheap, ugly-ass khakis.”

At the end of the day, Vox realizes, it doesn’t really matter if he’s gay or not. Hell seems ambivalent to such things, and whatever… this… is with Valentino feels like an inevitability, the next point on a path charted long before he was conceived, let alone dead and buried. Maybe when it's over he'll feel differently but right now, with Val massaging his cock and dry humping him to the faint bass line of the main stage, Vox wants him. He needs him.

“Don't worry, I won't make you bottom,” Val continues. “Tonight, at least. We have all of eternity to get to that.”

Vox finds himself nodding, and when Val nudges him back to his feet, he goes without hesitation. With Val’s body pressed up against his back, and all four of his hands working the buttons of Vox’s shirt open, there’s no room left to run if he were to change his mind. He still might. There’s just something in the warmth of his touch, the sweet note of his perfume, the pitch of his pleased hum that’s nostalgic; Val reminds Vox of proper girls like the ones who circled his pulpit as a preacher, and he can’t recall if it’s always been so or if the wires are crossing for the first time tonight.

“Do you,” Vox starts, his voice catching as Val tugs his belt from its loops, “do you have a condom?”

The rumble of Val’s laugh reverberates through Vox’s bones. “Not this again.” He backs away enough to help Vox out of his clothes, all unbuttoned and ready to fall faster than Vox has ever managed on his own. “If I wasn’t clean–which I am right now, by the way–you’d get over whatever you catch in a couple days.”

“Disgusting.”

“Thanks,” Val replies brightly. “I try.”

Vox turns to tell him it wasn’t a compliment, only to bluescreen at the sight of Val stripped bare, save for the heels and gloves. He’s seen almost all of Val at one point or another by now, but those memories couldn’t prepare Vox for the divine beauty of Valentino’s statuesque form, nor the fact that without the restraint of his clothing, his tentacle-like cock writhes against his belly until Val wraps an indulgent hand around it.

“Like it?” Val asks. When Vox doesn’t immediately respond, Val takes one of his wrists, guiding his hand. “Most of my clients do.”

An instinctive crackle of electricity sparks between Vox’s antenna and down his spine. “I’m not-”

“I know, I know.” Maybe the whiskey is clouding Vox’s judgment, but Val sounds genuine, comforting, instead of his usual bratty demeanor. “You’re not like them.”

The second Vox touches his cock, Val lets go of his wrist and sighs. His skin is warmer and smoother here, slightly damp with precum that stretches between Vox’s fingers as it explores his hand.

“Always making sure I get home safe, giving me discounts when I’m short- you’re such a gentleman, Papi.”

Vox drags his eyes from Val’s dick up to his face and finds Val studying him, as if testing to see how he reacts.

“Gonna take good care of me?”

“Maybe,” Vox says. He isn’t sure where the line is. “Is that what you want?”

Delighted, Val pinches the sides of his screen and smacks a wet kiss over his digital mouth. With a second of warning, Vox could’ve kissed him back. “Aw, you give a shit!” His cock twitches in Vox’s hand as Val tells him, “There’s nothing you could do I wouldn’t like. You seem, mmm, vanilla.”

“Anyone ever tell you the problem with assumptions?”

Vox extricates his hand from Val’s dick, a more difficult feat than anticipated, so he can grab Val’s balls in one hand and his delicate throat in the other, squeezing both hard enough to make him whimper. As Val’s mouth falls open to gasp for air, he scrabbles for purchase along Vox’s torso and upper arms, but not to fight. It seems he simply wants to touch.

“Val.”

“No,” Val wheezes, tongue lolling out of his mouth and smearing drool over Vox’s forearm. “What?”

“They make an ass out of you,” he tightens his hold on Val’s balls, “and me.”

Then he lets go, allowing Val to catch his breath for a moment before saying, “I don’t get it.” Notably, he doesn’t retaliate once recovered. If anything, Vox has lit a match under him by finally reacting to one of his taunts; now Val is going to hyperfixate on making him do it again. “Not vanilla, then,” Val hums thoughtfully. “Color me interested.”

“You’re a fucking freak,” Vox accuses. It’s pointless, when he can still see the outline of his claws in the fur of Val’s neck, but he has to cling to something if he intends to survive the flood of Valentino’s affections.

“Yeah, but you’re here, aren’t you?”

His gold tooth glitters through his grin as he reaches for Vox once more, closing his hand around Vox’s dick without boxers and pants in the way to dull the sensation. The satin of his glove is unlike any sensation Vox has ever felt, cool and slippery, but with a low enough thread count to catch against the ridge of his cockhead on each downstroke. A shudder that almost makes Vox miss the corner of Val’s smirk dropping into something softer rolls through him.

“Fuck, you’re like a virgin,” Val says, pleased, as if it's a compliment. “Doesn't take much with you, does it?”

Standing face to face like this, Vox has nowhere to hide, and his processors are too overloaded by Val's touch to come up with a convincing lie. Months ago, he would have run. But now he knows Val, trusts him to keep Vox's secrets as well as his own, and has run out of excuses to delay something he fears they've been hurtling towards since they first laid eyes on each other.

“Most girls get on their knees and get it over with,” Vox admits.

His head drops forward when Val sweeps a thumb over the head of his cock, only for another gloved hand to lift his face by the corner. With more grace than he has outside the club, Val's fingers move in perfect parallels, each sweet caress of Vox's screen matched to a gentle stroke of his dick.

“That's no fun.”

Val leans closer, peppering sloppy kisses across Vox's screen until his vision is tinted pink through the copious amounts of drool- another thing he would've run from not long ago.

“Can I ride you, Papi? Or do you still need to be the big man in charge?”

Without waiting for an answer, Val guides Vox back to the couch and perches over his lap, calves pressed to Vox's thighs and three hands pinning him in place like nails through his body. He’d let Val crucify him for a fuck right now, he thinks.

“You’re the expert,” Vox chuffs, turning away because he can’t handle watching Val do this. “And you’ve been chasing me for months, you put in the work.”

Val hums and takes hold of Vox’s dick to position it. “You’re in good hands.”

Vox wants to say something smart, but it turns into a broken sound when Val lowers himself onto the head of Vox’s cock. He’s tighter than a girl, but still wet like one, and he doesn’t squirm or complain as he sinks down until his bony ass rests in the cradle of Vox’s lap.

“How’s that?” Val croons.

His cock squirms against Vox’s lower stomach, far more excited than its owner's controlled movements imply. Desperation for an ounce of power in this situation drives Vox to curl his hand around it again and allow the curious appendage to explore his fingers, fitting itself between them with an excitement he reluctantly finds adorable.

“So?” Val asks, subtly shifting in Vox’s lap without actually fucking himself yet.

“So what?”

Val grins and nips the corner of Vox’s screen before kissing across it, using the pressure to force Vox to look at him. “So, are you still not gay?”

“Val.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Raising his upper set of hands in mock surrender, Val finally begins to move. Like the impatient bastard he is, Val doesn’t waste time warming them up now that he’s adjusted. He sets a brutal pace, up and down like it’s as natural to him as breathing and not the best tail Vox has gotten in life or death. Truth be told, Vox has never found sex with women particularly satisfying, and doesn’t miss anything about them now.

The elegant limbs he’s admired for months cage him into place like he has room left in his mind to run away from this. At the center of Val’s attention, Vox can’t remember a single protest he had; there’s only Val’s body accepting him like they were built to fit together, Val’s hands pressing bruises into his skin, Val’s tongue writing an essay across his chest, Valentino. He has all of Val for however long this lasts. Beyond that, he is nothing and no one.

He realizes belatedly that Val has been talking to him this entire time, the words melting together in a honeyed slurry he processes the tone of, but not the content. It doesn’t matter–Val has nothing of consequence to say, and his playful lilting laugh is too lighthearted to be a threat–but his affect soothes something frayed inside of Vox he hadn’t realized was damaged.

”-than them, Voxxy?”

Vox blinks a couple times, scanning his memory for the rest of the question but coming up blank. “Huh?” he manages.

“Aww,” Val trills. One of his hands caresses Vox’s cheek, the silk-covered fingertips dipping into the seam of his lips as he continues, “Fucked stupid already?”

For a second, Vox considers shoving Val off him, but the brief satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the loss. “Bored, more like.”

Val’s smile sharpens at the edges as he narrows his eyes. It sets off alarms, reminds Vox that Val is a whore he wouldn’t trust with the shirt off his back, yet the warnings sound far away when Val’s riding him with mechanical precision.

“Wanna take that back? I’ll give you the chance.”

He hums, low in his chest.

“I’m thoughtful like that.”

“I- I-” The words stick in Vox’s speakers as he bluescreens. Between the perfect, borderline blessed rhythm Val keeps and the obscene writhing of his prehensile cock, his systems are already at capacity. Processing Val’s purr proves to be too much. “I- Vvv-”

“Pathetic,” Val chides before he can spit it out, which is apparently the final push Vox needs.

Bliss. Pleasure, in its purest, rawest form courses through Vox like he was made to be fucked by Valentino, and he’s becoming complete with every spurt of cum into Val. He’d call it a claim if he had the presence of mind. Through his scrambled visual feed he catches his screenlight reflecting back at him in Val’s eyes, flashing blue between each scramble of technicolor panic. Val has never been this beautiful before.

Vox’s head lolls onto the backrest of the couch once Val lets go of it, chasing a sloppy rhythm to bring himself off, uncaring of the overstimulation that loops Vox into reboot after reboot without a second to recover. He processes it in flashes. Val’s tongue dripping down his jaw. Val’s abs tensing with each thrust. Val’s hand blurring around his dick. Val’s back arching into a painful curve. Val’s cum splattering up to Vox’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Val hisses, at last beginning to slow. “Fucking warn a guy if your jizz is caustic. Not that I mind.” He shivers and clenches around Vox, coaxing a final dribble of cum from him. “It’s an upcharge though. If we weren’t such good friends, you’d be in trouble.”

When Val climbs off Vox’s lap, it allows his system the chance to sort through his shorted circuits and find a way to run until he can crack his box open for repairs. Carefully, he pushes himself back to his feet and grabs a bar napkin to wipe his torso clean before redressing. He’ll regret this tomorrow. Tonight, however, he finds himself too fucked-out to be anything but satisfied.

[voxaholic]

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

[stickiemax]

as above, so below ✨

[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)

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

List of random and incomprehensible Vox headcanons because despite my Alastor fetish, I do think about other characters

He's an Aries (Val is Aquarius and Vel is a Pieces. No water imagery for him lmao)

He was born in Oregon but moved to Florida in his early forties during his midlife crisis.

He was never particularly famous or successful. Just a very mediocre newscaster living a mediocre life.

Eventually following his midlife crisis, he ended up having an extremely severe bout of religious psychosis in his 50s leading him to believe he was the voice of god and tried to start a cult.

It didn't work. Again, he wasn't popular.

He died by driving off a bridge and drowning in a lake because he was trying to fight god.

No one even reported on it lmao.

Vox is a shark sinner, but because of his head he can't go swimming, so to cope he just sits in bathtubs of water for days at a time. He has to sort of rock or wiggle tho, cuz some species of shark will straight up die if they stop moving in water cuz thats how they breath.

In the beginning before he had Vee tower/severs, Vox had very limited memory space in his TV/computer brain, and would have to literally delete memory files to make room for new memories. He wasn't aware of this at first, and had severe and debilitating anterograde amnesia which made him completely nonfunctional.

Alastor immediately figured this out. A big part of the reason Vox tolerated the abuse was because Al was allowing him to use his radio station as a tiny sever to store one backup, and smaller more important memories.

Alastor would force him to delete whole chunks of his memory just because he thought it was funny. Sometimes he would even delete it himself.

Vox's crush on Alastor died out pretty quickly after he was rejected. His obsession is more like a child desperately trying to get his parent's attention and validation after years of abuse.

Vox did a lot of stupid shit to try to make Alastor happy and proud of him. Mostly murder, unpaid labor and stealing things he thinks Al might like. Alastor still has every trinket and gift.

He was never actually under contract with Alastor. His choice to stay was always technically a choice and not because he was owned.

Vox's antenna isn't broken, it's squished like that because thats the best position for it to receive signal without hurting him. Like when you have to tape bunny ears into a weird ass position to catch the tv channel you want.

Alastor would regularly weaponize signal against him, completely isolating him or overstimulate him as punishment. Or again, just for funsies. Alastor does not like it when Vox pinches his antenna and will forcibly straiten it out.

Vox bleeds and cries in technicolor.

His head and body are two separate things that don't actually connect to each other in any meaningful way. His mouth is basically a really weird tiny pocket dimension.

Because he can't technically eat/drink in a way that effects his body, if Vox wants to get high or drunk he has to inject it into his body through muscle or his veins.

As a shark sinner, Vox's skin is extremely thick and rubbery. It's very difficult to cut him or stab him.

Despite his robotic exterior, he's almost completely organic and shark on the inside.

His original TV head was extremely heavy and resulted in him being bedridden often from the pain and strain on his spine.

Vox eventually had to reenforce his spine with metal to help withstand the stress. This is where the start of his robotic body modding began.

Vox and Val originally met because its cheaper to hire a whore than a proper hitman and if Val dies no one will come looking.

Val did not die and kidnapped him, broke both his legs, and robbed him. But let him live and take back the things they were stealing for Alastor.

Vox has a type.

When he and Alastor "broke up" it was on extermination day. Val found him half dead, face broken in and memories corrupted as fuck behind the sex club he worked at.

Vox never got his memory backup or his original head back from Alastor.

Despite Val having multiple bedrooms in his apartment, Vox had to stay on the couch in the living room because No One is allowed in Val's room and his extra one is his painting/craft room.

The name Vox was chosen by Val.

Vox is double demi, and the only people he's ever really loved or been attracted to is Alastor and Val.

Vox's opinion on romance is extremely similar to Alastor's, where he has little to no interest in traditional romantic relationships and is more interested in a long term partner in crime or business partner.

Velvette was basically his way of throwing a tantrum over Val having his side piece(Angel)

Val was extremely jealous and hurt because Vox was putting more "effort" (lovebomby and manipulative) into his relationship with Vel more than him. Vox immediately was 10000% ready to murder Velvette and move on.

Gun to his head, Vox would pick Val every time.

Vox doesn't necessarily believe that's true both ways and is deeply insecure about Val's relationship with Angel and worries that Val would pick Angel over him if push came to shove.

(Gun to his head, Val would pick Vox every time. Val has basically the exact same feelings about Alastor)

Vox never liked Angel lmao not in the late 70s when they met or in the 90s when he moved in with them. He hates that bitch so much.

Vox and Val got married in the early 2000s for tax reasons and because its easier to apply for Overlordship as a unit rather than as two separate entities.

DAgames will always and forever be my Vox voice claim.

Vox's face can move around on his screen like when people grab and wiggle a still image to imply someone is talking. He usually does this when he's bored or laughing really hard.

Vox has ADHD, PTSD and OCD.

He's nonbinary both in gender and in literal robot biology. He was a cis guy in life with an obsession with gender roles and when he got to Hell he was flat like a barbie.

Vox eventually mods himself to have a hole(largely against his will and because Val wants it) and a port that allows him to have swappable parts.

He is 6'4 but wears heels to be the same height as Alastor(6'6)

Vox wears corsets basically all the time because otherwise he'd have to mod and remove his ribs and he doesn't wanna do all that. He just wants that snatched ass waist.

He's a top generally speaking but does bottom when he wants to. He's dominate in the sense that he has a giant fucking ego and thinks he's demi god, but comes off as like super cringe and not actually a daddy dom. Val tolerates it.

Vox is not particularly gentle or careful when it comes to sex and tends to be a shitty top to Val so he doesn't get Moth Pussy privileges very often. Its a "anal on your birthday" kinda situation.

Vox is a dick and a terrible husband by most standards. His wife left him when he was alive and he doesn't really have any friends he doesn't pay for. However, Val is a very interdependent and low energy kinda person so them both going separate ways to live their separate lives and then coming home to quietly sleep together or say "hi" in passingly in the morning is literally so fine and healthy for them. Val's personality matches Vox almost perfectly.

Val is still abusive though. Vox is definitely getting the shit beat out of him randomly because Val threw a fit and decided Vox was a reasonable punching bag.

Vox has entire memory severs dedicated to "Val" that he purges and deletes every year or when they get too full.

Vox is unironically a cuck.

He also has a objectification kink (yes, it's Alastor's fault)

He weirdly enough doesn't have a rape kink despite the company he keeps lmao??

Vox controls a lot of what Val makes just because he has data and analytics to figure out what porn tropes are trending and popular at the moment. Val doesn't like this at all but allows it because money.

Vox doesn't have hobbies. He's either at work, stalking someone, or sleeping. The closest thing to down time he has is parallel play with Val where he fucks with his mods while Val gets some knitting or embroidery done.

Val did all of Vox's piercings. Vox doesn't really wear them except his nipple piercings, just because he doesn't want to deal with it.

Val also did basically internal tattooing on Vox's modded steel bones. He used a soldering iron to draw flowers and poetry quotes into his steel. You can only see it if you peel off all of Vox's skin.

Val is the only person in Hell other than Alastor to know how to detatch, reattach, and successfully port his memory cards and head. Not even Velvette knows.

Vox is colorblind.

Vox has never once given a shit about what Val does and feels little to no guilt over what he does. Sucks to suck, survival of the fittest and he killed a lot of people to get where he is.

Anyway, thats all I got rn I think. I kinda wanna do posts like this for everyone else but idk. If I come up with more Vox lore I'll reblog with my genius I guess.