Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You woke up with a start, realizing you were standing just in time to avoid falling on your wobbly legs. Your memory wasn’t quite there yet - where were you? How did you wake up standing? What happened before you fell asleep - or did you pass out? Questions whirled through your mind, and you couldn’t answer a single one of them. If anything, you only started to get more questions the longer you stood there.

Everything was bathed in shades of red, and the noise was loud. Everywhere you looked, the streets were full of humanoid creatures, none of them actually human. The storefronts were… odd. Businesses called things like Devi’s Diner, Cemetery Finds, and The Family Fuck Zone. That last one was definitely the most concerning, but honestly, nothing here made any sense. Looking up to find the source of the red light, you let out a gasp. 

The sky itself was red, and rather than a sun, you could see a white orb that looked like it was covered in feathers. 

It looked like what people might have thought heaven would look like.

And as you glanced around more, an anxious tingling running down your skin as goosebumps rose, you had an unfortunate realization.

This was hell. 

And on the heels of your first realization came a second:

You were dead.

A whine rose from the back of your throat, the beginnings of a breakdown shuddering through your frame as your vision grew blurry with tears. But before you could let it go, before you could sob and scream and rail at the world that let you die, that put you in hell - something fell at your feet.

You looked down, and promptly screamed, this time in genuine fear, and turned around, booking it away from the bloody arm that had been thrown directly in front of you, and ran like your life - er, afterlife - depended on it. (It probably did.)

Running so quickly, everything around you was a blur, and you barely took in the faces of the monsters around you. Some were furry, some sharp, some literally just objects, like a huge dagger for a head with eyes and a mouth slapped on. And in the reflection of the storefront windows you passed by, you glanced at yourself, trying to get an idea of what you had turned into.

The next storefront held a massive selection of TV screens, and your feet stopped moving without your intention. On every screen was the same man. A TV for a head, with a sharp grin, sharper claws, and a freshly-pressed suit. As he spoke, speakers in front of the store let his voice ring out clearly. Stopping fully, you stood on the sidewalk, facing the screens. The man was talking, his smooth, deep voice distracting you from the screams and sounds of destruction and arguing from the other denizens of the realm.

You found yourself transfixed, and you took a step closer. And another.

“So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the newest VoxTek phone today! You won’t find anything better in all of Hell,” the man on screen said confidently, winking. “Remember, VoxTek has the best of the best of every new technology, and if you want to stay up to date, you need our products. You can trust me with your tech.” As he spoke, your attention narrowed to his left eye, as it grew bigger, captivating circles spreading out from the center.

Your head grew foggy, and the only words you registered were “Trust me.” Deep in your heart, in your very soul, suddenly, you did.

The channel changed, and you jolted in place, shaking your head. You had no idea what just happened, but it felt like you lost time. Turning away from the storefront, you took a step down the sidewalk. But you couldn’t resist one last uneasy glance at the TVs, which were showing - oh, that was porn. That was just straight up porn, live on TV, right in front of you, with a four-armed arachnid who was admittedly very attractive, and approximately eight other humanoids, all very large, and very, ah… well-endowed. 

Blushing fiercely, you twisted your head forward again, striding determinedly away. You needed to figure out what was happening, how to keep yourself safe, how to ensure that it wasn’t your arm landing next to someone else next. 

It didn’t take long to realize that you were pretty much entirely on your own here. Every interaction you surreptitiously spied on, every person you watched make an offer to another, was steeped in deceit and treachery. There was no holding the door open for someone else. No friendly waves, or happy conversation. No offering to walk an old lady down the street… not that you saw any old ladies. No genuine trust between anyone down here, it seemed.

If you wanted to survive, you would have to figure it all out yourself. Pretend that you were just continuing your life back on earth. Get a job, get a home, stick to yourself until you understood how to carve out as good of a life as you could here. Hopefully they didn’t need a social security number in hell. Or a good resume with a cover letter. You definitely did not have either, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a job back on earth without them. 

It took a few days, but you found a job even you could do, with what little knowledge you had of the world you’d been dropped into, quite unceremoniously. Incredibly, warehouse jobs still existed in hell. You might not have been the strongest person working there, but your organizational abilities impressed the supervisor enough to earn you a permanent position. And the pay was enough for you to afford a tiny studio apartment nearby. Receiving a paycheck  every day helped to get you the place quickly, and when you gave it a moment of thought, it made sense that monthly paydays wouldn’t work as well down here. After all, you could barely guarantee you’d be alive a few days later, much less a few weeks. 

Your studio wasn’t much to look at. Barely big enough to fit a full-size mattress that had been discounted at the local mattress store (which, just like on earth, was definitely just a front for money laundering), a loveseat for a couch, and a TV. A big TV. The biggest you could reasonably fit. 

For no reason in particular, of course. At least, not any reason you were willing to admit out loud, or even to yourself. Except for late at night, when the lights were off, and the teal, red, and white flashes from the screen lit your face, as you watched every recent special from VoxTek that included Vox himself.

You’d quickly found out what the man on TV’s name was. After all, it was nearly impossible to avoid him or his company here. Every billboard, every public TV, every possible place for advertisement, included multiple different ads for various VoxTek products. Most of them were of Vox himself, a sinner who had been in Hell since the 1950’s on Earth. Researching him was easy; even finding early segments from as far back as when he had worked alongside Alastor. It wasn’t clear what had made that alliance end, but Vox had only made himself more successful since then. Building a company from the ground up, making deals, proving his power, gathering the powerful Valentino and Velvette to become part of his team, until the Vees were synonymous with power. Until they had all but taken over Pride Ring, every sinner carrying a VoxTek phone, the more well-off ones getting every single VoxTek product until their home was full of it.  Smart TVs, smart fridges, smart watches, washers, dryers, toasters - you name it, VoxTek produced it. 

With any luck, you’d make enough money to fill your home with those products, too. It made you feel safe, to see Vox everywhere you looked.

You didn’t think too hard about why.

You also didn’t think too hard about how you always seemed to lose time whenever you saw Vox onscreen. Whether it was on your way home from work - you had to learn to keep your eyes on your feet on your way to work, after being late twice in a row - or at home on your loveseat. It should have concerned you. Vox’s smooth, sharp voice would slice straight through your thoughts as he stole all your attention. He would say to trust him, to trust VoxTek, and the next time you blinked, minutes would have gone by.

Once, it was two hours.

But rather than worry about the lost time, or try to pull away when you saw Vox, his gaze always drew you in. Made you feel right. Safe. Like you didn’t have to think. All you had to do was listen, trust, obey. Vox wouldn’t steer you wrong, and you felt that certainty deep in your soul. So every time you had to shake your head, feeling like you’d just woken up from a subdued dream, you relaxed, rather than tensing. You leaned into the memory of Vox’s soothing, commanding voice wrapping itself around you. And you waited patiently for the next time you would hear it. 

Within a matter of weeks, you had devoured an astonishing amount of Vox content. As it turned out, spending every single moment of your free time researching him paid off quite well. The ins and outs of VoxTek, the companies that worked alongside and under it, official sponsorships, their business model, and Vox’s own personal history were all stored safely in your mind now. You found it was easy to remember anything that involved Vox. Like you were made for it. 

Or had been altered, just slightly, for it. For him.

Warehouse work remained as steady as ever, and since you never went anywhere other than work, home, and a small fusion restaurant nearby, you had managed to avoid any nasty altercations with other demons. Sure, there was plenty of concerning action at work, but all of the big strong sinners mostly fought with each other, not with you. Anytime boxes started getting thrown - and, more often than you liked, body parts - you quickly made yourself scarce, crouching down behind shelves and pulling out your VoxTek phone to make sure you were up to date on Vox’s news segments. The man himself was rarely there, as Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench generally handled the everyday events, but Vox would show up anytime something big happened. Or any time he wanted to brag about a huge new deal. 

While your coworkers were shouting and tackling each other to the ground, making a mess of your beautifully ordered boxes, you would make moon eyes at your screen. The chaos around you faded whenever Vox’s face took up your screen, and you smiled proudly at his accomplishments, at the way he excitedly and arrogantly talked himself up. If it had all been talk and nothing else, that would be one thing, but Vox always delivered. You’d noticed, keeping track of the deals he boasted about, and how they inevitably became the most lucrative down the line. 

As far as you were concerned, Vox was the whole package. Smart, charming, silly at times (his obsession with sharks was surprisingly adorable), commanding, and powerful. He knew just how to play the crowd. How to slip his way into the lives of every sinner in hell, until it became impossible for anyone to live without his products - without him. 

You admired that, admired everything about Vox, with an infatuation bordering on obsession.

Nahsty, one of your coworkers, noticed. She was a falcon demon, her sharp eyes missing little, so you figured it was inevitable. 

“So, what’s your Voxxy up to today, honey?” Nahsty greeted, feathers fluffing and settling as she took cover from yet another warehouse brawl behind your shelf.

“Huh?” You blinked twice, having to use more self-control than you were used to in order to pull your eyes from your screen.

Nahsty rolled her eyes, chuckling. “You’re always looking at your phone. And it’s always Vox on the screen.” Your stupefied expression didn’t change. Looking at you with a mote of pity, Nahsty slung a winged arm around your shoulders, pulling your head down just in time to avoid a flying wrench. “You’re lost on him, aren’t ya, hon’?” she rephrased, pointing at Vox where he was giving a speech on your phone.

Blushing, you fumbled the tech, trying to lock the screen. Instead, you swiped the video away, settling on the home screen. Which was a picture of Vox, grinning slyly at the viewer. Nahsty lifted a brow, and, sweating, you finally managed to lock the screen.

The lock screen was a different image of Vox, lounging in a chair with hooded eyes.

Nahsty raised her other brow. “Yeah, you got it bad, sweetie.”

So much for pretending you didn’t. Sighing in defeat, you opened your phone back up, idly scrolling through your gallery of Vox photos to avoid Nahsty’s piercing gaze. “I can’t help it,” you replied morosely. “Have you seen him?”

She snorted, patting your shoulder. “Yeah, I have, and I also know when to keep my eyes away. He can hypnotize, don’t you know that?”

That got you to look up at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Uh, only that the more you watch him, the more you’re going to want to? It’s like a caffeine addiction, honey, but way worse.”

As the sounds of a scuffle began to fade, you peaked your head over the shelf. One of the bigger women had another pinned to the floor, and rather than fighting, they appeared to be making out now. 

You pulled your head back behind the shelf with a grimace. So much for getting any real work done today. “I know,” you mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. “But there’s- there’s nothing wrong with that, right?” Eyes shining with hope, you looked up at Nahsty.

She gave you a flat, unimpressed look. “Uh-huh. And there’s nothing wrong with needing a whole fuckin’ bottle of whiskey to fall asleep every night, up until there is.” 

You glanced away, knowing she was right. 

Nahsty gusted out a sigh, seeming to come to a decision. “Look, I used to- I mean, I spent  some time at VoxTek, myself.” This earned her a wide-eyed look from you. The grimace on her face implied her time hadn’t exactly been pleasant. “It can be heady, letting them get to you. The Vees. But it’s not a good idea,” she warned, poking you in the cheek with a long claw. “It’s probably a bit too late for you though, huh. And they did say that if I found someone new…” she trailed off thoughtfully, side-eyeing you. 

Was this what you thought? Was she… offering to contact the Vees for you?

A lopsided, sad grin split her face. “Yeah, I might as well. You’ll be happier for it, at least for a little.” 

“You mean… you’ll…?” 

Clutching your shoulder tight, she gave you a half hug. “Yeah, hon. I’ll see if I can’t do some of that bullshit networking to get you a job at the Tower.”

Hope shone in your eyes. “You would do that for me?”

She scoffed. “Oh, don’t take it as a favor, honey. This is probably gonna hurt you in the end, but fuck it, we’re all sinners here. Ask me tomorrow what I’ve got for you, alright?” She craned her long neck around your hiding place, and stood, taking your hand to pull you up with her.

Uncertain, you glanced back to where your coworkers had been kissing. Only a pile of outer clothes remained, and now that you thought about it, there was a distinct banging coming from behind the office door. 

Turning back to Nahsty, you held her hand in both of yours. “Thank you, Nahsty.”

“I told you, don’t thank me,” she muttered, shaking your hands off and blushing. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you agreed immediately. 

Laughing, Nahsty led the way back to your stations. “No, you won’t. But if you’re lucky, you won’t get hurt too badly.”

The next day, you headed to work with a spring in your step. A few times, you caught yourself staring at a billboard, the screens at the TV store, and you found it so hard to look away - you didn’t want to. You were going to get to work in V Tower soon, if Nahsty’s connections worked out. Maybe you’d actually get to see Vox in person, one day.

Sure enough, she greeted you with an uncomfortable smile when you entered the break room to get ready for work. “Well, it went a lot smoother than I thought,” she told you with a thumbs-up. “Velvette needed a new hire, anyway. The last one was, uh, ‘unsatisfactory,’” she said, making air quotes around the last word. “So, the place is yours!” 

You clasped both of her hands with yours, bouncing excitedly. “Really? What’s the job? When can I start? Is it really in the Tower? Do you think Vox ever walks by Velvette’s department?”

“Woah, slow down there, kid,” Nahsty warned with an indulgent chuckle. “Let’s see.” She held up one finger, “The job is helping out with Velvette’s designers. Sewing, patching, ironing, boring shit like that.” Her middle finger rose. “You can start next Monday, so that your current boss has a chance to replace you.” Next, her ring finger, counting up your questions. “Yes, it’s really in the tower.” And lastly, her pinky. “I know for a fact that he walks by sometimes. Velvette’s got a whole floor near the bottom of the Tower, and Vox goes there for fittings when she’s in a mood.”

Taking in your face, Nahsty pulled back an inch. “Woah there, sparkly-eyes, you look like I just told you way better news.”

“I might see Vox sometimes!” you said wonderingly. “And I’ll be so much closer…”

“Yyyyep, you sure will. For all the good it’ll do you.” Nahsty swept her tailfeathers side to side, peering down at you. “But if you change your mind and you wanna stay here, or come back… I talked to the manager. You’re good at what you do here.” Meeting your gaze, she placed her hands on your shoulders. “I know hell ain’t the best place to be. And most of us aren’t nice. But somehow, you are, and you keep your head down and you do well. Don’t let yourself become… something you’re not, alright?”

Blinking, you returned Nahsty’s serious gaze. This was the first time anyone had shown you kindness, down in Hell. “I’ll be careful,” you replied softly. “Thank you, Nahsty.”

Shuffled feathers covered her embarrassment. “Aw, shucks, you don’t gotta be so sweet, hon.” 

You grinned up at her. “Really. It means a lot to me that you care.”

“Hmph!” Nahsty crossed her wings, not meeting your eyes. “Only because you’re a good worker.” But she smiled when she said it, and you knew she was just acting tough. 

The rest of the work week passed quickly, your thoughts focused on what would be coming the following Monday, your nights spent researching Velvette, design, practicing stitches and patterns, learning everything about fashion until you could talk about it in your sleep. (And you did, much to your neighbors’ disgruntlement, given the thin walls.) 

When Monday morning arrived, you woke up bright and bushy-tailed, eager to prove yourself. Most of your recent paycheck had gone towards an understated yet sleek outfit, one that would help you look like you already belonged in V Tower. If you were lucky, Velvette would approve of it, too, and see your worth. 

The trip to V Tower was longer than to the warehouse, but it gave your jangling nerves time to settle as the tower loomed in the distance, only growing bigger in your eyes until you were standing in front of it. 

You took a big breath. You had one shot to prove yourself. To Velvette, and if it went well, one day to Vox. 

You strode up to the doors, hesitating only slightly as they opened before you, and you crossed the threshold.

Chapter Text

Inside, a typhoon of employees, customers, and business executives swarmed over every visible surface, some of them literally. You gulped, overwhelmed, twisting your head around in an attempt to find the elevator Nahsty had told you to go to. Not the one on the right, or the one on the left, or any of the other five scattered around the massive lobby of V Tower, but the one straight behind the front desk, with an even more massive teal V decorating its doors. Without looking away from it, you bounded towards the doors, fast-walking as well as you could in your fancy new business clothes. 

A specific code got you access to floor seven, where Velvette had a full design studio. Not to be confused with floor eight, which was her material storage. Or floor nine, her finished products showroom. 

Yes, you had done your research. That knowledge allowed you to take a full breath as the elevator rose, double-checking your appearance in the reflection of the mirrored walls. The lines of your clothing were sharp, creases pressed out earlier that morning, and you picked a single hair off of your shoulder, relaxing as you told yourself that there was nothing more you could do to enhance your presentation. This was your best, and it should be more than good enough, even standing up to Velvette’s critical eye. The hours you had spent picking out clothing that fit her design standards, trying on clothes until you ended with ones that flattered your figure perfectly, would not go to waste.

When the elevator doors re-opened on the design studio’s floor, you were composed. Shoulders back, a confidence in your stride that you didn’t fully feel but intended to project, you stepped up to the first sinner that didn’t look completely frazzled. The studio was just as chaotic as the lobby had been, but full of many more people in various states of undress. 

One voice rose above the rest, feminine and fierce. “No, not like that, you dolt! I said to make it flow more, not to make it puddle on the ground!” It was Velvette, and as you looked in the direction of her voice, you saw her standing on a table, flapping a hand at a flower demon cringing below her, fabric dripping from their hands. Literally, you realized, wondering just what the flower demon had done to the fabric to make it so… loose.

Velvette was obviously occupied, so you returned your attention to the short man you had walked up to. Two horns twisted up from his skull, where glowing orbs took up the space in his eye… holes. Unbothered by the chaos, he stood waiting with a clipboard in hand, his horns adorned with necklaces. “Can I help you?” he asked, his attention catching on a commotion behind you. 

“Yes, I should hope so,” you responded lightly, turning on your friendly voice and face. The one you used when you had to talk to strangers in public, or coworkers you didn’t like. “My friend Nahsty recommended me to work here, and today is my first day.” As you watched, a tendril from an octopus-like sinner slipped a necklace from his horns, draping it around the throat of a model. He didn’t so much as blink, looking down to his clipboard.

“Ah, I see. Yes, we needed someone else for the legwork.” Clipping his pen to the top of the clipboard, he held out a dark gray hand. “I’m Benny. I try to keep everything in order around here, as much as I can.” His tone wasn’t friendly, exactly, but then again, Nahsty had made it sound like this department in particular had a revolving door when it came to staff. He was probably sick and tired of meeting new hires.

“Nice to meet you,” you offered with a firm handshake, earning a small smile from Benny. 

Not mincing words, he called over someone named Sunny, only a few inches taller than you, with flame-colored hair and bright pink skin. Once you were passed off, Benny’s attention drifted back to his clipboard, another necklace taken from his horns and replaced with an obnoxiously gaudy one. He took no notice.

“We’ll get you settled in quick, buttercup. Luckily for you, expectations aren’t high,” Sunny explained, dodging around two cat-like demons having, well, a catfight. You kept your distance, not wanting your clothes to be shredded. The two of you ended up at a small desk in a corner further from all of the action, the mayhem muted in an area full of sewing machines, buttonhole makers, heat presses, looms, and everything else you only had names for thanks to your research. “The last two dumbasses in your position didn’t know the difference between a skater dress and an A-line.” They snorted, obviously unimpressed. “As long as you have a little more basic knowledge than that, you’ll last at least a week.”

“I think I can manage that much, Sunny,” you said with a smile. 

“Good,” they said firmly. Pulling out a chair, they sat you in it, pushing it up to the desk. “Just do some simple shit for now. Whatever ends up on this desk, fix it. When you’re done, put it on the other side.” Sunny gestured to a massive pile of clothing on the left, and an empty basket on the right. “If you need any help, honestly, just fuckin’ leave. But let Benny know on your way out.”

And with those encouraging words, Sunny strode off, back into the thick of the action. 

Left to yourself for a moment, you took in the room properly. One wall was entirely made of windows, looking out onto the area of Hell surrounding the tower. The other three were covered in screens. Most of them were showing fashion segments, both of Velvette and her competitors, presumably to keep up to date on all the current fashions. But some of them were playing the news, or the weather, and a couple had Vox himself on, as he gave speeches and presentations. 

Smiling to yourself, you got to work. The cameras positioned in every nook and cranny went unnoticed.

In just a couple of weeks, you made yourself indispensable. Any wardrobe malfunction would be solved in a heartbeat if brought to your desk, and it was the right basket - the one for fixed clothing - that now contained a pile, while the left basket got emptied the moment something was dropped in it. Sunny’s disposition towards you had become more, well, sunny, and Benny began to spare you a genuine smile now and then when you arrived at work for the day. The workplace was, if anything, somehow even more chaotic than the warehouse had been. It was an unusual day if there weren’t at least two people to leave in full breakdowns, along with a few altercations, entirely unrelated. 

But Velvette ran a tight ship, and anyone caught causing trouble instead of working was heavily encouraged to go to another floor of the Tower. (And by “heavily encouraged,” you pretty much meant “forced to remove themselves from the studio immediately, on threat of death.”) It worked out relatively well, and each scuffle ended in significantly less damaged product than it had at your last job. 

In all, it was actually quite the upgrade. After proving your worth, you got a proper contract for working with VoxTek - which included a surprising amount of benefits, and a paycheck that meant you’d be able to move closer to the Tower soon. 

But the best part was that you got to see Vox all day at work - even if it was only on screens. You could watch the same reruns over and over again, but after 70 years in hell, he had made plenty of content for there to be variety. Nothing would have made you happier, short of working in Vox’s actual, physical presence. And that was a privilege that, as far as you knew, absolutely no one got. He had a personal assistant, of course; Ethan was competent and capable, and you felt a bit bad for the guy always getting unlucky with bodily harm. To his credit, he’d proven to be quite resilient, from what you heard around the studio.

Today was a day like any other that week. You stuck to your desk, making repairs, and when there wasn’t anything new to work with, you embellished what had been left. Extra patterns, more embroidery, some bedazzling when you felt a piece would actually work with it. No one had commented yet about the changes to their clothing when they picked it up from your desk, so you kept doing it, if only to idle the time while you listened to the monitor closest to you. One running Vox content for the entire work day, letting his voice keep you grounded, feeling like you belonged.

As you finished a small, bright V on the breast pocket of a dark blue suit jacket, a hand landed on your desk. Small, dark, with tastefully decorated nails.

You looked up. But not very far, as Velvette was, as everyone had noted, somewhat short.

“So it was you who bedazzled the shit out of my star’s skirt, then?” 

No preamble, no greeting - but that appeared to be how Velvette worked. This was the first time she so much as acknowledged your presence, and you gulped, setting down the suit jacket. “Um… yes, Velvette.”

She took a step back, looking you up and down where you sat in your chair and crossing her arms. “It was almost a PR nightmare, darling.” At that, you cringed, shrinking back. Velvette cocked a grin at your chagrin. “Relax, darling. If I was actually upset, you’d already be gone,” she chuckled, abruptly sitting down on your desk, swinging her legs around so she was directly in front of you. 

Covertly, you scooted your chair back to give her room, looking up at her now.

Velvette leaned forward, propping her chin up with a hand. “Normally I’d hate it when someone fucks with my work, but it wasn’t my work, and it actually… looked good.” A contemplative look crossed her face, and you released the breath you’d been holding. It didn’t sound like you were getting fired, at least. “You might have the kinda talent I can use.” She tilted her head towards you, coming closer. “And I intend to use it, darling.” Velvette’s grin held a lot of teeth, and her voice was dark with promise.

A shiver wracked your frame, and it wasn’t from fear. Velvette’s eyes flicked down your frame, her grin morphing into a smirk.

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?” 

You opened your mouth to deny it - then, realizing that it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, not here - you closed your mouth again, nodding uncertainly. Clearing your throat, you replied, “Um, yes, Velvette. I do want to be - useful.” That was one word for it, at least. “Whatever you need from me.”

“More like whatever I want,” she scoffed, not unfriendly, but with a teasing lilt to her lips. “You’re the type that gets off on getting used, huh?”

Gooseflesh rippled down your arms, and you clenched your hands in your lap. This was by far the most revealing conversation you’d had since landing in hell. “I wouldn’t say gets off -” you began, only for her to cut you off with a harsh laugh.

“Call it whatever you want, darling, it’s a positive trait in V Tower,” she said, slipping off your desk. A quick movement, and she had one of your hands in hers, as she strode off through the room. People made way for the both of you, and she pulled you along effortlessly, the strength that made her an overlord evident in the way she oozed command and strength. “Now, you’ll be taking one of the fresh spots in my designer’s corner,” she began, pushing you towards a semicircle of fancy desks, all with built-in equipment. “All the nobodies can handle the basics. People like you, I keep closer. To improve on any stupid shit everyone else makes.”

Looking around in awe, you admired the machinery, the high-end fabrics, the model dummies on display with Velvette’s best designs. “It would be an honor,” you said in a hushed, amazed voice.

“Damn straight it is,” Velvette agreed, cocking her hips and putting her hands on her waist. “And if you keep it up, there might be promotions in your future.”

“Promotions? Plural?” 

“Hah! Don’t get ahead of yourself, darling. Just follow Pinkie’s lead.” At her words, a large, pink… hippo? Creature? strutted up, wearing a pantsuit that flattered all of her curves. “I’ll check up on you personally in a week, if you’re still here. Good luck, babe!” 

And with those last words, the whirlwind that was Velvette stalked off, immediately shouting at a man who was wearing an outfit that looked like it belonged in a previous century.

“Hey, kid,” Pinkie greeted, in a deep, confident voice. “Don’t worry, she’s always like that,” she chortled, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you to one of the desks. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know to last here. Velvette said you already showed talent, so you’ll stick around longer than the last guy.”

Before you knew it, you were designing right alongside all of Velvette’s top employees, working directly with models. The work came easier to you than you had anticipated - no one expected you to be in charge, or to make decisions; simply to know what would look best. And you did. And thanks to hours of extensive research and practice in your free time, you also knew how to make it work. Facts that didn’t go unappreciated.

Within the month, Velvette was at your desk again, leaning over it with her chin cupped in both palms. When you looked up from your work to see her staring at you, you let out a short yelp, and immediately blushed. Vox’s voice continued from the TV to your left, and you couldn’t help glancing at it to see him, to feel reassured. When your attention refocused on Velvette, she had a considering look in her eye, glancing between your blushing face and the screen.

“So, that’s why you’re here, is it, darling?” She shot you a conspiratorial grin, and your eyes widened.

“Huh?”

“Vox,” she said simply, pointing at the TV. When you began to sputter a denial, she held up a finger, and pointed at your phone, sitting face-up on the desk. 

You really needed to change your lock screen. And your home screen. And do something about your gallery.

Her grin sharpened as you lapsed into embarrassed silence. “Well, that’s great news, actually,” she breezed on, standing straight and coming around your desk to lean against it. “I need someone who’s not bloody terrified of him to do some tweaks to his outfits. The fucker’s soooo exact,” she rolled her eyes, “but I can’t always be available to fix his wardrobe malfunctions. Ethan’s great at the usual PA shit, but he’s fuckin’ useless at anything else.” Putting a hand on your shoulder, she continued, “And that’s where you come in, babe. Anything that happens to Vox - or his clothes, I guess - you come in, you take care of it, I don’t have to be bothered about small shit.” Velvette waved her hand vaguely, presumably encompassing all the “small shit.” “So, what do you think?”

“You mean I could - you want me to - Vox, really? Me?”

Velvette raised her brows. “With that reaction? Yeah, sure. Why not!” A sharp laugh escaped her, as you sat there, staring at her. Unable to believe your luck. “He’ll love it. Vox can’t get enough of people worshipping him, and you…” She tilted your chin up with a finger, looking into your eyes. “You already do, don’t you?”

She couldn’t know just how bad it was. How you went home from work every night, to sit on your loveseat and watch him. How your thoughts revolved around him. Your actions, your words, your goals in life - all of it was for Vox. “Yes,” you breathed out. “I do.”

“Good.” Velvette’s voice was low, dangerous. Then, abruptly, she leaned back again, letting you have a chance to breathe. “It’s all settled, then. I’ll train you a bit myself for a week or two, until you’re up to my standards. Well, Vox’s standards.” She flapped a hand carelessly. “How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you responded without hesitation. 

You were going to make sure she didn’t regret this decision. 

Chapter Text

True to her word, Velvette ran you absolutely ragged for the next two weeks, teaching you everything you would need to know to, as she began to put it, “serve” Vox. Her sharp eye caught how you were always staring at the screens, how you couldn’t make conversation without bringing him up, and how much harder you worked when you knew it was for his sake. Not to mention, there had been a series of… incidents… where Velvette learned precisely what made you tick.

“Babe, you need to fix that collar-” she began, but when she looked, you were already adjusting, fingers flying over the fabric until it was perfectly symmetrical, exactly what you knew she wanted. “Ooh, not only do you know what to do and how to do it, but you don’t even hesitate.” 

You paused in your work. “Is that… alright?” 

“Oh, darling, it’s perfect.” 

And then you blushed, as you always did when someone praised you. Velvette filed the information away for later.

A few days later, you were wrist-deep in a pile of thread. You finally found the silver you were looking for, and pulled it out without getting anything tangled.

“Nicely caught, babe,” Velvette commented with a sly grin, no longer surprised to see you straighten at the praise, blushing even as you moved faster. She hummed thoughtfully, watching you add a hint of the silver to one of Vox’s backup outfits. You were honored to be allowed to work on - to touch - clothing that Vox had a chance of actually wearing. And every piece of flattery Velvette bestowed upon you only made you want to do better. Work harder. Prove yourself. “You don’t fall apart when someone compliments you,” she said thoughtfully.

Perking up, you looked to Velvette, your hands still flying across the pressed silk. “Of course,” you murmured, confusion in your eyes. “What good would I be if I got all clumsy every time someone says something nice? I need to be - useful, like you said before. Competent.”

“That’s true,” Velvette noted, circling you where you sat. “But usually people can’t keep their composure so well, even knowing that.”

“Well, then they’re useless,” you growled, returning your eyes to your work. “Which I will not be.”

“Hah! You said it, darling.” She stopped behind you, putting both hands on your shoulders and bringing her mouth to your ear. “Vox loves that,” she said teasingly.

Her whispered voice, for your ears alone, along with the comment about Vox, sent a shock through your system. “Loves… what?” 

Velvette spun around to your front again, sitting on your desk with legs crossed. “Loves it when people know their place. And their use,” she shrugged. “You definitely know your place, love. I don’t think you’ve said a single thing above your station since I met you.” A pause, then, “And you’re quite useful. Both your talents, and your admiration.”

“Oh!” You grinned, happy. “Thank you for saying so, Velvette!”

“Y’know, babe, some people would take that as an insult.”

Beaming with pride, you set down the thread, already done with the touch-up. “I think that’s the highest compliment I can get,” you chuckled, a little self-deprecatingly. You never had been one to seek to rise above your station in life. All you ever wanted was direction. Someone to follow. Someone else to do the thinking, to give you commands. Working for Velvette was already a dream. And soon, if you kept it up, it might be Vox himself giving the orders. 

If you didn’t know for a fact you were in hell, you’d consider that a gift from heaven. 

The next incident was when you were on a break. Still at your desk, you sipped on some tea, needing the caffeine to keep up with Velvette. She kept you at V Tower much later than your previous assignment, but you weren’t complaining. What were you going to do at home, anyway? Dream of working directly for Vox? The more you worked, the faster that dream would become reality.

Your eyes never left the nearby TV, ears tuned in to the frequency of Vox’s voice. No one else in the studio was paying attention, so when Vox’s left eye widened, circles moving hypnotically, you were the only one to notice.

The only one to be affected. 

Vox’s voice hummed through the speakers, cocky and confident. “And that’s why you can’t trust any of these other shitty tech companies,” he joked, waving away multiple images and videos of a warehouse belonging to a competitor as it literally exploded. “VoxTek is the only one that delivers, every time. Whatever the fuck you want, we’ve got it. Don’t buy from anyone else. Trust us.” 

You were blind to the way you drifted towards the screen like a moth to the flame. The way your eyes shone red, reflecting Vox’s image.

But Velvette, coming over to get back to work after your break, noticed. And she smiled.

The event that likely got you finally and fully pegged happened only a few days ago, as Velvette gave you step-by-step instructions on the precise way Vox liked his suit pockets sewn. With each command, you complied easier, simpler, faster. Until you were responding to Velvette’s words like a well-trained dog, nothing in your head other than the desire to perform, do well, and obey.

When the pocket was done, you breathed out, centering yourself. Then Velvette’s voice returned, commanding and absolute. “Stand up,” she barked. Your body moved without input, and you looked at her, wondering what - “Come here.” A finger gestured for you to stand directly in front of her. Without pause, you did. “Turn around.” You did. 

Turning back to face her, you saw Velvette tapping a finger against her lips. “Go sit back down,” she said in a calmer tone, and as before, you obeyed. You gave up on wondering what she wanted from you. And without thought, you let her decide your movements. Velvette dogged your steps, gripping your chin between thumb and forefinger once you sat, her face close to yours. “You’re a natural at following orders, aren’t you, love?”

“Uh,” you said eloquently. This close, her perfume made you dizzy, the sweet scent surrounding and soothing you. As you looked back into her red eyes, you lost yourself. The way she took charge of you as if it was only the natural order of things, how she treated you like property, reminded you of Vox. 

Releasing your chin, she trailed her thumb along your jawline, your cheekbone. Her fingers were soft, her nails dangerously sharp. Unconsciously, you leaned into the motion. “That’s it, babe,” she murmured, “Just relax.”

As if permission was all that you needed, you felt yourself droop. Shoulders fell back, your arms fell lax at your sides, your hands resting open and unclenched in your lap. 

“Fuck, Vox is gonna find that so hot,” she snickered, using her free hand to gently push your shoulder, until you relaxed against the back of the chair. 

“Velvette…” Your own voice was unrecognizable, high and needy. “What are you…”

“Just testing a theory,” she said breezily, tilting your head to the side and baring your neck. You shuddered, letting your eyes drift closed. She was making you submit - and you couldn’t help how you allowed it. Encouraged it. Velvette’s fingers made their slow, burning way down your cheek, your neck, stopping where your pulse fluttered at your throat. “Your heartbeat is racing, love,” Velvette noted smugly. 

Rather than be shy, or allow yourself to be embarrassed, you sank further into the chair. 

“This isn’t all for me, is it though, doll?” She hummed thoughtfully, tapping her forefinger against your racing pulse point. “This is what you want with Vox.”

That, you didn’t particularly want to answer. Enough people had made fun of you for your infatuation, and you didn’t think you could take it from Velvette. Not now, when she was holding you so vulnerable. 

“Look at me,” Velvette’s voice had a backbone of steel, and you reacted instantly, opening your eyes and drifting your lazy gaze to her. She pinned you with a look, the hand at your neck moving to encircle it. When you swallowed, she felt it. The heat of her hand on you was like a brand, ownership and possession in the way she held you, tight enough for you to know there was no resisting, but loose enough that remaining under her hand was a choice. “You like him. And not in an ‘I like your brand’ way. In a ‘step on me, Daddy Television’ kind of way.”

At this, your heart hammered harder in your chest. With her eyes looking into your soul, her unyielding grip on your neck, you had to answer. “Yes,” you whimpered. 

“Oh, I’m not judging, darling,” Velvette said with a small, secret smile. “Vox has that effect on a lot of sinners.” Her grin widened. “But I’m willing to bet none of them are quite as cute as you. Or as tractable.”

Finally, she pulled out of your space, hopping onto your desk and swinging her legs gleefully. “I think you can be more than a mere little outfit assistant to him, actually. What do you think?”

It took you a long moment to catch your breath, a hand pressed to your chest where it beat a quick staccato. When you gathered yourself enough, the heat draining from your cheeks, you blinked hopelessly up at Velvette. “What do you have in mind?” 

She flashed her teeth at you in a predator’s mockery of a smile. “Whatever he wants, really.” Velvette eased herself from the desk, brushing nonexistent dust from her pants. “Which means we have a lot more training to cover.”

“More training?” You cocked your head to the side, curious.

“Awww, you look like a cute little puppy like that,” Velvette said, giving your cheek a squeeze. “Yeah, I figure you could use some… escort training.”

“Escort?” Your face burned, the blush that you’d only just managed to force down returning in full. 

“Oh, not sex, love.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Unless that’s what he wants!”

“Velvette!” 

She cackled, patting your shoulder as she passed your chair. “I mean more like… being his shadow. Doing the things even a personal assistant doesn’t do.” Velvette pulled you up, shifting you until you stood in place, studying your stance. Then she nudged at your feet with hers, widening your stance, and tapped your shoulders until they fell back and your spine straightened. With a satisfied sound, she stepped in front of you, showing you her back before she looked at you over her shoulder. “If you stand there, like that, you’ll be good arm candy, too,” she noted. 

Drawing in an excited breath, you bounced briefly on the balls of your feet. “You think he would like that? Truly?”

“With you, darling? Absolutely.” She faced you again, picking up one of your hands and examining your skin and nails. “Hmm, you take good care of yourself, but you’ll need to keep up to date on mani-pedis to look the part.” Tugging on your clothes, she continued, “And we should design a wardrobe for you. Something to complement Vox, without shining too much.”

At your uncertain look, Velvette’s eyes softened.

“He’ll want you, love. You were made for him. Don’t look so anxious. Do you doubt my makeover skills?” She flung her hair over her shoulder, putting a hand on her hip. 

“No, not at all, Velvette. I just- me? Really?”

“Someone destroyed your self-confidence back on earth, huh?”

Your head drooped, and you held your hands together, picking mindlessly at your fingers. “Not- really, I… I know I wasn’t as useful as I could have been, not as productive, so-”

Velvette snapped her fingers in front of your face, cutting you off. “No more of that,” she ordered. “I’m going to remake you for Vox. And a creation of mine isn’t going to be so wishy-washy.” She sniffed haughtily. “No more talking yourself down. Only up, understand?”

A small smile formed on your face. “Understood, Velvette,” you agreed easily. 

“Anything for Vox, right?” she smirked, throwing a thumb over her shoulder to point at the TV by your desk. Sure enough, Vox was on it, giving a presentation on sharks. Your smile widened.

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes on him. “Anything for Vox.”

The next day, Velvette barged into Vox’s office, unannounced. “Vox!” she shouted, getting his attention from where he lounged in his chair, sitting in it with one ankle draped over the other knee like it was a throne. 

Vox spun the chair, facing Velvette, a slight annoyance in his face. “What? And do you have to yell?”

“I have some very exciting news for you, V,” she continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. She leaned at his desk in front of some of his monitors, taking his full regard. Holding out her phone, Velvette pointed to the picture on the screen.

It was you.

Taking the phone, Vox’s eyes roamed it for a moment, before looking back up at Velvette with a quirked brow. “Am I supposed to recognize this nobody?”

“Not yet, you aren’t.” She snatched her phone back, tapping it a few times until a scrolling collage of your work showed. Velvette let Vox browse as she continued, “But I want you to soon. This is my newest acquisition. A sweet little doll that does whatever I say, whenever I say it, no hesitation.”

“And?” Vox said, bored.

“And, rather than caring most about pleasing me…” Velvette swiped to a different picture of you, inconspicuously taken. It was of you at your desk, eyes glued to the TV screen where Vox spoke. “My talent wants to please you.”

“Hmph,” Vox scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re -” she bonked his head with her phone - “not -” another bonk - “listening.” 

“Stop that.” He smacked at her, but she danced back out of his reach.

“I’m saying, this is a sinner that will do anything you say. And that’s without hypnotism.”

Vox leaned back, claws scratching at the arm of his chair. “But what about strength, power? What do I care about having a tool that can’t do anything?”

“Oh, but there’s so much more than just fighting power,” Velvette said knowingly. “Besides, you don’t just need tools, right? You like toys, too. And believe me, this is one that you’ll be able to play with as much as you like.”

“Hmm.” Vox’s attention drifted back towards his monitors, flipping through them until Velvette’s department was visible. There, he zoomed in on the designer section, until he had an uninterrupted view of you, working faithfully on a pair of pants. The TV near you was, as always, playing a Vox special, and his lips quirked up to see it. “What else can this toy do, then? I don’t need a designer at my side all the time.”

“That’s the next phase, babe.” Velvette folded her arms. “I’ll teach all the basics of social etiquette; where to stand, how to be quiet but available if necessary, all the little details that you don’t need to handle in public - which a delectable treat like this can do for you.” She threw Vox a wide, toothy grin. “Whaddaya think?”

Vox continued to watch you, thoughtful. “And if I don’t like the end result?”

“Then we throw this one out and get a new one, obviously,” Velvette said carelessly. “But I don’t think that’ll be the case. Not when I’m done.”

A long pause, then Vox straightened, decisive. “Alright. Go ahead and try, Velvette.” He spun his chair back to the front, typing on the keyboard and sifting through more camera views. “Let me know if there’s any progress for me to check in on.”

Velvette nodded gracefully, turning to go. “Of course.”

She was almost out when she stopped, letting the door slide open before she threw over her shoulder, “But you could also check in on her tonight. I hear from a very reliable source that she spends all her free time watching you at home, too.” 

She left before he could respond, leaving him to think.

Chapter Text

It was late, all of Pride Ring lit up in neon, a realm that never slept. V Tower stood in the center of Pentagram City, the source of everyone’s news, entertainment, technology, fashion, you name it. And at its core, a massive surveillance room took up the underground, surrounded by glass walls that showed a view of sharks swimming, ones powered by VoxTek. 

Vox himself lounged at the large desk in the middle of the room, flicking through the information on the screens and swapping between cameras quicker than a thought. Most of the VoxTek employees had gone home by now, even hardworking Velvette and her… assistant, or whatever you were to her at the moment. Normally, Vox kept himself apart from the other departments in the Tower, uninterested in whatever the dumbasses around him were up to, as long as they brought in profit. 

But Velvette’s parting remark had stuck in his head, and he was, admittedly, somewhat curious. So he plucked at the strings of the instrument of his power, until he caught the camera built into your VoxTek TV. While there, he noted other VoxTek products, also equipped with surveillance. And in a heartbeat, he had every screen covered in different angles of your one-bedroom apartment, only a block away from V Tower. 

As he focused, he had to laugh. Sure enough, you sat on a deep blue loveseat, eyes glued to the screen where an older information panel played, Vox giving sinners the run-down on why they should purchase the latest product at the time: a self-heating mug with the VoxTek icon and slogan of Trust Us! on it. A camera in your kitchen caught that you already had this mug, and it was well-used, sitting freshly washed by your sink. 

Returning his gaze to you, Vox watched the lights of the screen flit across your face, painting the lights and shadows in shades of blues and reds. You were wearing an oversized sweater, which, true to form, was also VoxTek branded. In fact, the more he looked, the more he saw that you had the VoxTek version of every product that wasn’t stupid expensive. 

Velvette hadn’t been kidding. This was more than mere interest - this was obsession. Infatuation, if Velvette was right about that, too. Vox’s static hummed in quiet satisfaction.

On your TV screen, Vox’s image filled the view. His immaculate suit and perfect smile oozed a charisma in a frequency that made sinners pay closer attention, without thinking about why. Not only were you zeroed in on the panel as though it had important information necessary for survival - he enhanced the view of your face to find your eyes dilated, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. 

Vox felt it then. A thread of your attention - small, barely-there - linked your soul to his. He inhaled sharply, realizing that, in a way, you had already given yourself to him. Without having met or even seen him in person, you were attuned to Vox in a way that would let him slip into your mind without any resistance. No wonder you were so consumed by interest in him. 

Part of you belonged to Vox already.

A sharp, feral grin split his screen-face, and he moved closer to the monitors, poking at the signal of your TV, shifting it just a touch, until your screen was no longer playing the actual panel. “Let’s see how far you’ll go for me,” he hummed. Vox slipped a finger of control into the program, until the face on your screen was not just his - but live.

On the screen of your small apartment, only lit by Vox himself where he shone bright, his left eye widened a fraction. When your breath hitched in response, he let out a pleased sound, realizing you’d watched him enough to react instantly to his hypnotism like a dog to the sound of kibble falling into its bowl. 

The spirals of his eye bloomed slowly, invitingly. 

And you sank right into it.

He felt it through the thread connecting you to him, the way you suddenly and easily gave in. Any lingering tension left the lines of your body, as though you’d been waiting forever for permission to let go. 

The thought was delicious. 

Control was always delectable, whether he took it from someone else by force, or by choice. But this was more than a choice for you. It was, as far as he could tell, the natural order for you. 

As your eyes spun, Vox strengthened the effect, until he could feel the turbulence of your thoughts, smothered under a cloud of his influence. “That’s it, doll,” he said softly. “Give yourself to me.”

Your conscious mind swam in an abyss of his making, your id taking over, and the thread grew stronger, tighter, bringing your will to his. A shiver worked through him at your instinctive submission, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed heavily. This kind of control was heady. 

He wanted more.

“Stay still,” he commanded quietly. 

You froze in place, obedient as a well-trained hellhound. Vox watched as your breathing slowed, your body already relaxed, pliant. What few thoughts remained in your head circled him, awaiting another command.

 “No resistance at all,” Vox mused to himself. “You want this, don’t you?” He didn’t mean for you to respond, and you didn’t, as if your very soul could tell the difference between commands intended for you and words that were for him alone. “Let’s try something simple.” Vox shifted in his chair, uncrossing his legs and reclining like the king he was. “Come closer.”

Without hesitation, you stood from the loveseat, crossing the room to sit directly in front of the TV. He hadn’t specified the position with his words, but it was what he intended. Someone who followed his directions so beautifully, not only as spoken but as implied, was rare. Most sinners were sloppy, obeying him as mindless machines, but you… you were different. Attuned to his frequency in a way very few had been before.

“Very good,” Vox praised, watching the way a flush worked its way from your cheeks down your neck, disappearing under the sweater. An impulsive thought flitted through his mind - just how far did that blush go? - and he smiled like a cat that caught the cream, knowing he could have you take the sweater off right now if he wanted. But there was no need to rush what he could tell was already going to be very fun.

“But how far will you go for me, hm?” he mused, making a decision. With your eyes focused on him, your will waiting to be guided, Vox spoke another command: “Trust me.”

The effect was immediate. Your eyes drooped, half-lidded, and you smiled faintly, unaware of your own satisfaction in giving over all of your trust. There was no pushback, no uncertainty. You already trusted him fully, and his order only solidified that connection. 

You didn’t defend yourself. Not a single concern crossed your mind. The thread that tied your soul to his thickened as you gave more of yourself away, growing slack, moored to Vox’s desires. 

Unable to help it, Vox laughed, loud and a touch disbelieving. “You don’t have any defenses up, huh? You’ve been waiting for this. For me.” 

Dazed, you nodded. 

“You don’t just accept control. You welcome it. You yearn for it.”

Another nod from you, and Vox stood up, frenetic energy building in him as he thought up plans built on plans, excitement crackling static electricity down his clothing. “Fuck, there’s so much I’m gonna be able to do with you,” he crowed, watching how you remained seated, unbothered by his movement. Ready and waiting to obey. “It’s gonna be so satisfying using you,” he mused, touching your face on the monitor. After a moment, he sat back down, already opening new tabs on his monitors, drafting ideas. “Shame I gotta wait until Velvette’s done with you, but I think it’ll be worth it.” He spared you a glance, smirking at your empty eyes. “Don’t you?” 

Without fully understanding, but knowing what he wanted, you nodded. “Yes, Vox,” you whispered reverently. 

“Heh. Good.” Vox took in your response with sadistic glee. “But for the moment… go sit back on the couch.” 

Standing, you backed up until your calves hit the loveseat, and sat down again, never breaking your gaze from his. 

For a moment, he just looked at you. Surveying his newest project. “For now… forget this happened,” he said with a wave of his hand. The words slid into place seamlessly, nestling into your thoughts like a missing puzzle piece. 

You blinked, and when your eyes re-opened, the slightest hint of confusion creased your brows. Vox touched a monitor, resuming the information panel you’d been watching before, and slowly, he pulled his attention back from you, releasing your mind from his grip.

The thread remained, tying you irrevocably to him, even as he broke the connection. A pleasant haze remained, shrouding your mind as your consciousness returned to the forefront. 

Blinking quickly, you scratched at your head, glancing around your apartment. It was clear you knew something had occurred - but as he watched, the concern fell from your shoulders, and you curled more comfortably into the loveseat, smiling again as you watched the old advertisement. 

Unseen and unknown in his surveillance room, Vox grinned. 

The next morning, before their employees swamped the tower, Vox called Velvette to his office.

“What? You’re not gonna tell me to call it all off, are you?” she sniffed, irritated to have to come to him when she knew he could teleport around the tower whenever he wanted.

Both of them knew what she was talking about.

“Oh, not at all,” Vox said loftily, pointing to a monitor with a pleased smile.

Velvette came closer, until she recognized you on the screen, and that it was a video recording. She gasped. “You really did it last night, then? You watched my designer?”

“I did a lot more than that,” he chuckled. “You were right, Velvette. This little piece takes to command like a duck to water. Or a moth to a flame.” He shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “All it took was a hint of my eye to take full control. I bet I could get a soul contract right now if I wanted.”

“Why don’t you, then?” Velvette asked, lifting a brow.

“Some things are worth waiting for, dear Velvette,” Vox said, standing. “And I think I’ll like it very much when you’ve finished your… training.” He folded his arms behind his back, looking back at Velvette as he led the way out of the room. “How long do you expect it to take?”

In business mode, Velvette kept up with his long stride, heels clicking on the shined flooring. “Honestly, no more than a few weeks. If that. This one’s a quick learner.”

“Another point in your favor. You really do have an eye for talent, my dear.” Vox left the room, Velvette at his side as they walked to the elevator. He locked eyes with her once they were inside, eyes eager, fangs sharp. “I can’t wait to see the final product.”

“You’ll be pleased, V, don’t you doubt it,” Velvette said, self-assured in a way he appreciated in his partners, but not his underlings. “Just leave it to me.”

“No need to keep me updated on progress,” he continued as the elevator doors opened onto the lobby. The overlords stepped out together, sinners flowing out of their path as they strolled across the room. “I can be patient.”

Velvette scoffed under her breath. “Not often, but alright.”

His eye twitched. “What was that?”

She spoke loudly, “Nothing, Vox! I’m glad you’re so graciously willing to wait.”

Vox snorted, having heard what she said the first time. “Uh-huh. Looking forward to it,” he finished as he walked up to the front door, where it slid open at his approach. 

Velvette stayed inside, needing to go back to her studio - not only for design, now, but for some more training. “Good,” she said, with a lion’s satisfied grin. “I’ll get to it, then.”

A two-finger salute, and Vox was sailing through the airwaves as pure electricity, catching onto a nearby camera and riding it across the city.

Standing at the doors, Velvette watched him leave, mind racing. The things she could teach you… 

She may as well get started.

Chapter Text

The morning after Velvette decided to train you in more than design, you woke up feeling particularly refreshed. Your muscles felt loose, a certainty coiled in your gut that made you feel safe, like you belonged.

As far as you could remember, nothing had happened the day before to cause the change. There was a blank space in your memory from the previous night - but that tended to happen when you watched Vox, anyway. (Which was every night. Thus, a common occurrence.)

And you couldn’t complain about how the lack of tension in your body made it easier to work, to learn under Velvette. There was never any hesitation as you obeyed her, but somehow, this day, you found particular reassurance in following her directly. Comfort in doing as you were told. 

Velvette, as always, noticed. She teased you for it, always following any mocking jokes with praise, settling liquid and heavy in your veins. 

“Someone’s feeling particularly obedient today, hmm?” Velvette said with a chuckle as you walked one step behind her and to the right, as she had taught you. This would be the distance you remained behind Vox when he allowed you to follow him, serve him; provided you continued to prove yourself. A part of you had become tuned in to Velvette’s micro-actions, noting when she was about to stop or turn, and doing so naturally alongside her, no lag between her movements and yours. 

When she reached out an expectant hand, you placed a mug of coffee into it. The moment she stopped drinking, you readied yourself, easing it from her grip as she half-dropped it into your waiting hands. A crooked finger had you bustling forward to accept a lump of cloth another designer tried to hand to her, and without prompting, you held it up properly for her inspection. Anticipating needs and wants before they could be voiced was the most difficult thing Velvette had taught you so far, but again, that preternatural calm you had woken up with softened your mind and body, allowing you to act on thoughts that you previously would have second-guessed. 

Your entire being understood, today, that you were to act as an extension of someone, rather than your own person. 

Uncertainty had no place here.

“Time for a test,” Velvette announced with no forewarning. 

“A test?” you asked simply, having been taught that fewer words were preferable, clarity over flowery words.

“Yep!” She popped her lips on the “p,” sauntering across the floor to the section for modeling. Without missing a beat, you followed. The models today were all varied shapes and sizes - likely for an upcoming photoshoot of the same style of outfit, carefully designed to flatter any sinner who saw the advertisements. Once in a while, Velvette herself would watch in the studio, fixing anything she personally took offense to before it could become an issue at the site for the photoshoot.

Today appeared as though it would be no different, and your eyes naturally sought out the large, comfortable chair Velvette tended to perch on while she supervised, catching on it nearby. But Velvette herself didn’t appear to be looking - if anything, she looked like she was about to sit right where she was -

Oh, shit, that was exactly what she was doing.

Before you had a chance to think of an alternative, or to stutter out a warning, your body was moving. It took little more than a thought, a quick burn of your muscles as you pushed them unusually fast, and when Velvette sat, it was directly on the chair you had nabbed and placed behind her, just in time.

The glance she shot you was full of teeth. “That’s what I thought,” she hummed, a satisfied purr in her low voice. 

Flicking your gaze between where you stood now beside the reclining Velvette, and the spot a few meters away where her chair had been, you wrinkled your brow. The distance was too great for you to have picked it up and carried it back, and your memory of the moment… blurred. “What just happened?” you asked softly, looking to Velvette for answers.

A twirled finger summoned you to stand before her, and you moved without thought, awaiting her response. She gave you a long look of appraisal, and when she spoke, her words were slower than usual; pensive. “Well, love… it looks like you’re properly settling in here.” Scooting forward, she picked up one of your hands, her soft skin brushing along your equally pleasant skin, thanks to following the skincare plan she came up with for you. When all you did was blink at her, she continued, “Some people get pretty obvious powers when they arrive in hell. For others, it takes a bit longer - either for the power to show at all, or to be awakened, of sorts.” 

“Like how your abilities make it easier for designing?”

Velvette snapped her fingers. “Exactly! I can pop an outfit on and off with a thought and a gesture. Vox can ride the airwaves. A lot of sinners can transform, as I’m sure you noticed.” Indeed you had. Around here, people had a concerning tendency to get much more terrifying when they got angry. If you never had to see Katie Killjoy’s demonic form again, it would be too soon. “And it looks like you…” Velvette pulled down on your hand, and you fell to your knees in front of her. 

Her fingers trailed under your chin, tilting your face upwards, until all you could see was her - your boss - burning eyes narrowed in consideration, lips twisted in an arrogant smirk - as she looked down on you. 

“You really were made to serve.”

The sound of your heart pounded in your ears, lips parting around a dry mouth. “What… do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Velvette lounged back, letting your chin slip from her deceivingly dainty fingers. “That you fucking teleported yourself to my chair, touched it, and teleported back with it, in the space of an instant.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I wanted you to think fast, but I didn’t know you were going to move so quickly.” Tapping a finger on her cheek, she continued to eye you where you knelt. “This is useful. Very, very useful. The things you’ll be able to do…” 

You waited, outwardly patient, while your mind raced. You certainly didn’t remember teleporting. But it would explain how everything happened before you knew it, before you could comprehend what you were doing. 

“Well,” Velvette continued, “I’ll work that into your training program, shall I?” she threw you a saucy wink, and you smiled, soft and slow.

“I’d like that.”

“VOX! You’ll never believe what else!” Velvette’s voice cut through the air as she threw open the door to his office, where Vox was finishing up with a load of paperwork. 

His face, as he lifted it to watch her stomp up to his desk, was tight with irritation. “Two days in a row, Velvette? You do know how to use your phone, right?”

She scoffed as she approached, uncaring of his personal space as she grabbed the back of his swivel chair, swinging it around until he faced her. “No fucking shit, babe, even better than you.” Holding up her VoxTek phone, she shook it, reminding him that she was in charge of their social media account and general marketing. 

Vox rolled his eyes, but accepted the point, gesturing with his clawed hand for her to continue.

“This is too important to just text you about. There’s something new about your upcoming assistant,” she grinned, wide and unnerving.

“New since yesterday?” Vox raised a curious brow. “That’s sudden.” 

“Yeah, well, she’s been a bit off today. Or I guess the opposite of off.” Velvette took out her phone, checking a note and flipping the screen to show Vox a timestamp. “Go to this moment in my department. You’ll see something I think you’ll find very intriguing."

“All of today?” Vox mused, thinking, as he twisted back around to his monitors. A few keystrokes brought up the designer’s floor, at the correct time. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Velvette stopped him with a hand over his on the keyboard. “Did you do something yesterday? Something more than what you told me?”

An annoyed twitch of his eyes had her taking her hand from his, but she stayed in his space, tapping a heel on the floor. “I may have… looked in on your hire.”

“Uh-huuuuh,” she drew out, disbelieving. “And that’s all you did? Look?”

Huffing out a breath, Vox nudged Velvette out of his space, switching the camera view until you and Velvette were taking up most of the monitor. When she wiggled her fingers, Vox looked at her askance, then zoomed out, having learned by now to read Velvette’s gestures. “Frankly, Velvette, I don’t think it’s any of your business what I do in my free time,” he grumbled. 

“It is when it affects me,” she said with a toss of her hair. “Before you roll the clip. What did you do? Exactly?” 

Vox stretched an arm out along the back of his chair, wondering how much to give away. “I may have done a little hypnotism,” he admitted easily, like it meant nothing.

"I already knew that part," Velvette snorted. "What else?"

Crossing his arms now, Vox glared at Velvette, but divulged a touch more. “I had her obey me. And trust me.”

Velvette stepped back, gauging his honesty. “That’s really it?”

“Yes! Now can I just look at whatever the fuck you wanted to show me?” he ground out, tired of being questioned.

“Alright, alright, sorry, babe. Even that can’t explain this, I guess.” As Vox prepared to press play, Velvette leaned in, putting a hand on the desk. 

“And by this, you mean…?”

There it was. A flicker of motion. 

Velvette didn’t even reply, eyes glued to the screen. With a thought, Vox rewound the clip, playing it again. When the same result occurred, he slowed it down, and they both watched as the scene became clear.

You walked behind Velvette at the ideal distance, posture perfect, deference in the way you responded to her. When Velvette neared the model’s stage, she stopped, for only an instant. Vox and Velvette watched as, in slow motion, you seemed to disappear and reappear by Velvette’s chair, further away, touching it and bringing it with you as you arrived back by Velvette’s side in the span of a single heart’s beat. Around you, everything continued at the same pace, no one but the fashion designer herself having taken notice of your actions.

Without comment, Vox rewound the clip, playing it even slower. 

But no matter how much it was slowed down, your body didn’t move across the floor. It was obvious to both Velvette and Vox that you truly had teleported.

“I wonder what the range is,” Vox mused, watching the video once more.

“On her teleportation? Good question.”

Done fiddling for the moment, Vox pushed his chair to glide backwards, turning to face Velvette on his own this time. “Can you find out?”

She tilted her head in consideration, then nodded. “I’m sure I can do that. Anything else you want me to touch up? Now that you know what you’re getting?” 

“I mean, it looks pretty good to me already,” he waved a claw at the monitor. “All the basics, like you said. Plus a bonus,” he grinned, too many teeth in his smile. “You said you were going to give me a toy. But this… this looks like a tool to me.” Vox laughed darkly, eyeing you like a collector views a potential new piece to add to his collection. 

“You’ll have one, then,” Velvette promised. “You might not have meant to do much last night, but whatever you did, it unlocked something. You won’t have long to wait.”

Vox’s left eye grew, unintentional, as he continued to stare at your face on the screen. “Good,” he growled.

For the next few days, Velvette’s instruction focused on applying your teleportation to everything she had already taught you. As the two of you quickly discovered, you couldn’t use your teleportation solely at will - but only for the sake of another. For example, you were unable to teleport across the room to get your own chair, but if Velvette wanted a drink from the fridge even further away, you had no issue getting that far. All it took was a thought with intent, how you needed to get the cold brew fresh from the fridge at Velvette’s request, and you were there, grabbing the drink and arriving back at her side without conscious awareness of your actions. 

A limited form of teleportation, certainly. It was only overlords that had the particularly flashy abilities. 

But this suited Vox’s desires perfectly - and therefore, your own as well.

You learned how to teleport at a gesture from Velvette, flashing around the room to fetch anything she desired. How to take a full glass of water from the sink, and return to her without spilling a drop. After some trial and error, you discovered another limitation: you couldn’t go too far out of her sight. Behind a folding screen in the same room still worked, but going to another floor had yet to work, even if the both of you knew precisely where the lip gloss Velvette wanted rested on a counter.

That was alright, though. With your teleportation ability aligned to your acts of service, you recognized that you had a valuable chance before you to prove yourself not merely of use, but instrumental to any plans Vox may have in the future. 

And you were not going to let him down.

Chapter Text

Before you knew it, your skills had been polished to a point where even Velvette’s perfectionist preferences deemed you complete. With her guidance, not only were you guaranteed to be an inoffensive presence when following Vox - but you would be a convenient and gorgeous one, too. 

Together, you and Velvette had created a custom wardrobe intended to accompany Vox’s outfits. For every suit he had, there was a matching one in your size and style, fitted to your body alone. The version of each outfit that you would wear in his presence wasn’t the same as his. Instead, it would focus on more subdued colors, less ostentatious design. This way, you would  fade into the background, accentuating Vox. You weren’t his business partner; merely a small, advantageous tool, part of VoxTek itself, alive and breathing for his convenience. It would never be your desire to outshine him. Only to stand behind him, to make his presence shine, sharper and brighter.

“Think you’re ready to meet him?” Velvette asked, landing a heavy arm across your shoulders where you sat at your desk, watching a Vox program on break. 

“Yes, ma’am!” Your spine straightened on a dime, shoulders falling back as you fixed your posture. Once you had a second to process her words, though, you paused. “Wait. Meet him? Vox?” You felt your skin burn with an anxious flush, a tremble rushing through your hands before you forced them to settle. “Now?”

Laughing as she slung her arms around your neck from behind, Velvette brushed away your concerns. “Not now, love.” A flutter of your lashes allowed you the second you needed to take a  deep breath, in and out. Velvette’s eyes drilled into yours as she peered at you from over your shoulder. “But you are ready, aren’t you?” Her gaze was smug, knowing. “Even your teleportation is under control. Do you really want to wait? Have I not been good enough of a teacher?” She put a hand over her heart, mockingly miserable.

“That’s not it at all!” you reassured, standing to face Velvette, voice contrite. “You’re amazing, Velvette.” As proof, you knelt before her on one knee, subservient and biddable. “It’s thanks to you that I’m not stuttering up a storm right now,” you joked lightly. 

“Then what is it?” 

You broke eye contact with her, a low sigh breezing out before you could catch it. A short snap drew your head back up immediately, however, remembering your training: your boss’s desires were more important than your own discomfort. Wetting your lips, you firmed your will, explaining yourself simply. “I’m worried I’ll still somehow fail.”

“Oh, hon,” Velvette cooed, reaching out a hand to yank you up to your feet. Once there, she put her hands on your arms, noting your confident bearing, solid as steel despite the turmoil underneath. “It’s not about you,” she said, reassurance and condescension dripping from her words. “I made you what you are. Right?” You nodded. “And do I make mistakes?”

A pause to consider, then, “No, ma’am.” 

“Just so, love.” She released your arms, turning on her heel and striding away, a forefinger pointed at the ground signaling for you to rush to her side and keep pace. You didn’t have to actively remember these things anymore - you acted on them on instinct. “So in two days, when VoxTek hosts the bi-monthly business convention, you’ll be there for the reception.”

“In… public?” You’d been taught not to second-guess, but your newly-forged self-confidence couldn’t hold up under everything. 

Velvette threw you an unimpressed look over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “That is what I said, darling, do try to keep up.” Ducking your head, you kept quiet as you walked a step behind Velvette, awaiting more information. “It’s the best way to give an immediate trial for how well you do. Whether you can really enhance Vox, or if he finds you annoying. Which he won’t!” she added hastily, anticipating your concern. “But it’s a great venue for seeing what the rest of our associates think. Vox and I can read the room, see if you’re adding to anything. These conventions are always so boring, it won’t take a speck of effort to keep an eye on you.”

Thoughts racing, you tried to imagine it. Being in front of so many people, important to VoxTek, if not Vox himself. By the sound of it, not much would be expected of you. Only your presence and, if you were lucky, fetching some drinks and other simple, straightforward tasks. It would be enough to prove your worth. 

Without waiting for a response, Velvette continued, “So you'll be there. Vox already has his suit picked out, and we'll be trying your outfit to match it today. Make sure it's precisely as subdued as it should be.”

She swept you up in preparations, keeping you far too busy to be anxious. That day you both focused on your own presentation, getting your clothing fitted anew and going over what was and wasn't appropriate for you to do and say while at the reception. 

The day before the event, Velvette surprised you with a VoxTek tablet of your own, and a sturdy, official-looking strap to attach it to your hip while being unobtrusive. Then she set you a task: study Vox’s appearances at previous public events to get a full understanding of his body language ahead of time - while acting as Velvette’s shadow. It was intended to both help you learn what to expect of Vox tomorrow, and therefore how to prepare yourself, as well as a test of your multi-tasking skills. 

Velvette couldn't have known that you had a pen-and-paper journal at home, already full of precise notes of Vox's preferred drinks, common hand gestures and what he intended by them, and his usual demands when at a business convention. Still, you were all too happy for the refresher and to have a reason to watch and listen to Vox all day. One earbud kept his dulcet tones, primed for film, close in your ear while you assisted Velvette throughout the day. 

As usual, Velvette kept you at the studio late, until it was just you, her, and her favorite model, Melissa. For once, you spent a bit of time with someone who had a similar role to you. Melissa would be the closest thing to an escort for Velvette the next day, and it comforted you to see her projecting a confidence that you were only faking. There was a decent chance that Melissa’s poise was built on a firm foundation of a longstanding relationship with her boss, while tomorrow would only be the first time you would meet yours - but you weren't jealous; only an accidental voyeur of a moment she shared with Velvette as you stayed a little too close. 

Velvette had taught you to find self-assurance where you could, to hype yourself up rather than wallowing in self-deprecation. As much as you were predisposed to being meek and modest, you knew it came off looking bad on Vox if his right-hand subordinate appeared weak and pathetic. 

So as you frantically found something else to occupy your attention other than the way Velvette leisurely buttoned up Melissa's cardigan - completely unnecessary, considering she could do the same thing at a distance with a handwave - you assured yourself that one day, Vox might even do something similar for you. 

Not so lovingly, of course. You weren't completely delusional. The demon would likely never feel more than a meager gratification for your existence, if that. But you would eat up the crumbs of his attention and affection until you could convince yourself it was enough. 

The next dawn rose red and ominous as usual. Nothing out of the norm for you anymore, and you arrived at V Tower at the usual ridiculously early hour. The entire building was positively seething with preparations for the convention. An immense ballroom attached to the Tower would be the locus for the reception, the consummate locale given its stages and dance floor, already equipped with the necessary furniture. The stages would be full of dancers, models, a live band, the works. Lining the walls, long tables stacked with all the hors d’oeuvres one could imagine, with plenty of small, high tables for guests to stand at as they conversed. 

And surrounding everything would be cameras, microphones, speakers - the eyes, ears, and voice of Vox. 

Your final preparations when you entered the design department were laughably simple. Adorning yourself with garments that would make Vox shine was easy, quick. Even the touch-ups didn’t take long; cosmetics were a breeze, and there weren’t many accoutrements to your attire. With your new VoxTek tablet secure at your waist, your pockets holding pens, tissues, and anything else Vox might need at short notice, you were already prepared by the time Velvette stepped on the design floor.

She took one step in, then stopped, just looking at you. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “We really did it, love.” A twitch of her fingers, and you teleported to her side. “You clean up nice, darling,” Velvette said, quiet pride in her voice as she trailed a finger along the seams of your top. 

“It’s all thanks to you,” you grinned, relaxing into Velvette’s version of a parade rest. You could stand like this for hours without complaint, shoulders back, feet at shoulder distance from each other, back straight. Nothing could shake your composure. Admittedly, it had taken some time for you to stop blushing and fidgeting and shivering whenever Velvette touched you, light and possessive, but eventually, you managed it.

Velvette had assured you that you wouldn’t need to fully hide such reactions from Vox. According to her, he would enjoy being able to make your composure falter, as long as it didn’t affect your proficiency at aiding him. 

It wouldn’t.

“Well, I think you’re ready, babe.” The words were said with a certain degree of self-satisfaction, the cat that caught the mouse. “I can’t wait to see Vox drooling over you,” she added, eyes lingering in spots that would normally be… inappropriate. Gleefully, she continued, “After this, he’ll have to admit that I’ve got better taste. And that I can be trusted with any of his silly little projects.”

Obligingly, you laughed, knowing it would boost her ego. If being seen as nothing more than an asset would get her to help you look good in front of Vox, you would take the opportunity with both hands. Once Vox got his claws on you, you only hoped he would treat you the same. You craved guidance, by his hands alone. Direction. Someone who would take you in hand and use you. 

Preparations complete, you and Velvette spent the next few hours handling any and all design emergencies. Some models needed fresh fittings, a few shirts and skirts had tiny blemishes that simply couldn’t be allowed at the convention, and Velvette trusted you to handle everything short of a catastrophe. By the time bodies started filing their way down to the lobby, and then to the ballroom, you were well in work-mode, anxious butterflies entirely absent from your stomach. Anxiety had no place here, not now, not when you were so close. An armor of self-control, strong yet thin as titanium, wreathed your shaking limbs and trembling core, until from an outsider’s perspective, you were the picture of a dependable assistant. 

When Velvette whistled sharply across the room, you glanced up and were teleporting to her before you had fully processed the sound. “It’s time, love,” she said simply. You nodded, leaving any messes behind to be handled by those who wouldn’t be attending. The walk to the elevator was quick, the ride down to the lobby even quicker, as you dogged Velvette’s steps and stood patiently behind her shoulder when she stopped. You entered the ballroom without a second of hesitation. You knew your place.

The event was loud, already. Sinners clustered in groups around the room as the band tuned their instruments, the din of business deals being discussed spilling out of the windows, the clatter of dishes placed carefully on the tables. A low drone of static filled the quiet moments, the walls containing a multitude of screens, shuffling through VoxTek advertisements and pictures of the Vees shaking hands with CEOs with a framed contract in the background. There were various important personas you recognized, as well as their underlings, yet somehow, none of them had noticed you yet.

Until Velvette brought attention to herself, in the flashy way that was rote for her. “Hey, fuckers!” she shouted at top volume, making a short leap onto a nearby tabletop. You folded your hands behind your back, waiting until she was done. “It’s Velvette of the Vees, baby!” A cheer went up as those around the room recognized her, attention focusing on where you and she stood. It wasn’t that you didn’t see all the eyes that briefly drifted to you - you simply weren’t going to let the stares influence you. Velvette took a few selfies from her perch, then began to step off of the table, and you slid up to her as she stepped, taking a knee so she could use your leg as a stair. 

That wasn’t something she taught you, but the appraising twinkle in her gaze when she shot you a grateful smile told you that it was the right decision. What you had learned from Velvette was more than a mere series of expectations and responses. It was a method of living that allowed you to be at another’s convenience, body and mind. 

Without pause, Velvette strode off, expecting you to stick with her. From there, you followed your instincts, at her side as she mingled. Vox would be there soon, and all of your mental focus was awaiting the moment of his arrival as though it was the second coming of Christ. When anyone asked Velvette about you - not a single person had addressed you directly yet, a success - she brushed it off, saying that you weren’t hers, not really. 

“You’re not hiding,” she murmured with pride for your ears alone, taking a few minutes to sip on champagne and watch the room. A duck of your head was the expected response. “Something as pretty as you is worth being displayed.” 

Pleased, you smiled warmly at Velvette, knowing a compliment when you heard one. Even if it did happen to be a little backhanded.

She smiled back. “They know you belong to someone, too,” she said thoughtfully. “Notice how no one’s even tried to talk to you?” she chuckled.

“Yes,” you replied softly. “As it should be.”

“Precisely.” Abruptly, Velvette stood, checking her phone where it flashed. “Alright, time’s up, darling.” Her smile now was full of teeth. “He’s coming.”

A warmth worked its way up your spine, your neck, your cheeks. You felt it burn, knowing you were blushing, and redirected the heat to settle, snug and cozy, down in your stomach. Right next to the sense of safety and belonging tingling through your veins as you stepped to your place behind Velvette, awaiting Vox.

Chapter Text

Around the room, every screen suddenly went blue, then dark. The lights in the room dimmed briefly - then flashed back to life, the screens showing glimpses of Vox’s face, all in sync as he gave the viewer his trademark arrogant grin. In the next instant, he appeared to move across the screens, drawing everyone’s gaze to the front doors, just in time for them to slam open, revealing Vox, one clawed hand propped on his waist. 

You felt your heart stop. Then, as Vox strode into the room like he owned the place (which he did), your chest jolted, heart restarting at an accelerated pace. As much as Velvette had prepared you for this moment, and as much as you didn’t let your star-struck tendencies slip into your bearing, you felt yourself fall. 

This was the sinner who, intentional or not, had defined your entire existence since your arrival in hell. It was thanks to Vox that you survived those first few days, gained a purpose, found a goal. It was thanks to Vox that you could be here at all. 

And he was stunning, captivating, every inch the powerful overlord you had been fawning over since the beginning. So far out of your league, you were lucky to be near him at all, much less about to be given to him like a present with an obnoxiously large gift bow. But your thoughts didn’t linger on why you were able to be here, to think about Nahsty or Sunny or even Velvette. Your mind was brimming with Vox’s image, unable to focus on anything except his shark’s smile, how much taller he was in person, his screen more alive with color than you could have imagined, flashing between expressions and emotions like he was television incarnate.

His very presence glowed as he greeted those who came up to him first, a magnetic pull grabbing and holding the attention of every demon in the room. When he glanced in Velvette’s direction, and therefore yours, you felt your breath catch. A flicker of his screen let you see how he did, in fact, lock onto you for a moment. Then he was pacing up to Velvette, giving her a smaller, more regulated smirk. 

“Enjoying the party, Velvette?” he asked, though the way he looked at those around you - unfazed, bored - clued you into the fact that he didn’t really care. 

Velvette tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, no one really interesting is here yet, V. What am I supposed to be enjoying, exactly?”

“Heh. My thoughts exactly.” Vox snagged a drink from a tall, busty waitress as she walked past, who tossed Vox a wink. His attention, however, never wavered from Velvette.

“Fortunately, I’ve brought us some entertainment for the night,” she said. And without further ado, she snapped her fingers, gesturing between her and Vox, and you moved without delay, standing between the two overlords with a pleasant, unassuming smile on your face. Your eyes, where they watched Vox’s screen-face, were compliant, ready and waiting. With enough practice in a mirror, you knew just how to look natural even as you catalogued every detail before you.

In person, Vox was so much… more. His presence had weight, his stature demanded obedience. The sharp lines of his pressed suit outlined his silhouette, the faint scent of ozone clinging to the fabric, a new-computer smell emanating from his skin. It was oddly pleasant, and as his red eyes locked onto yours, his smile growing just a smidge, something inside of you locked into place. Like the last piece of a puzzle, found and settled where it was meant to be, you welcomed the sense of belonging tying you irrevocably to Vox. 

“And who’s this…?” The words were spoken low, soft, dangerous. You felt yourself sway towards him, imperceptibly - yet, a flicker of his attention betrayed that he noticed. That it pleased him. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Velvette, but you brought me a present, too?” he drawled, voice smooth and rich.

“This,” Velvette began, throwing one arm around you, “is your new underling!” She paused to gesture your head down, and patted you on the head. “Fresh from the oven, fully baked and ready to serve.”

You straightened, expression untroubled from Velvette’s casual, peremptory touch. 

“Is that so?” Vox mused, his eyes never leaving yours. “You made this all for me?” He reached out, snaring a lock of your hair and rubbing it consideringly between his claws. The sharp sound of them rubbing together, so close to your ear, sent the hint of a shiver down your spine. Not in fear, of course. 

Vox noticed that, too.

“You know it, babes,” Velvette assured him. “Now, I’ve got some dumb fucks to bully. This is yours.” She pushed you towards Vox, cackling as you stopped yourself from falling onto him, teleporting behind his right shoulder instead. 

“Oh, that’s useful,” Vox noted, eyes following your teleportation as if he had seen you move. He turned to face you, evidently choosing to address you before starting the reception. Your heart warmed with the attention, and you looked up at him, gratified and tranquil. “There’s just one thing you need to work on, doll,” he murmured, stepping into your space. Your neck bent back as you kept the eye contact - Velvette had drilled the importance of that into you. There would be no room for embarrassment. 

Slowly, as though he didn’t wish to spook a small animal, Vox brought a hand up. As you remained motionless, he hummed with pleasure, cupping your face in his palm. His claws trailed over the skin of your forehead, your ear, your chin. Although his talons were cold, the metal cooling your cheeks where they were on fire, you could feel a certain mechanical heat as he came close. “The way you’re looking at me right now…” A jolt of uncertainty flew through you, as you wondered how you could possibly be fucking this up already, but he continued, “it’s like you worship me.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, relieved. A rise of his brows hinted that he wanted you to elaborate, so you did. “I do, sir.” That was easy enough to admit. Especially when a brief expression of wonder flitted across his screen, quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin. 

“Exquisite,” he purred, the way his eyes roamed your body implying that he was talking about more than just the way you revered him. “Do you always worship your bosses? Or am I special?” Without waiting for a reply, he leaned back, appreciating the way your gaze followed him, unwilling to miss a thing. “You look like you were made for this,” he commented, tone conversational, almost lazy. “Do you know that?”

You stood straighter, more dignified, at what you took as praise. “I was made for this,” you stated simply. “For you.” A deep breath, and you added, “And you are special, sir. There’s no one as incredible as you in all of hell.” What was a lackey for, if not gassing up their superior? Anyway, it was true.

“Hah!” Vox barked out a delighted laugh, reaching out to steady himself with a hand on your shoulder. The touch was momentary, but the possessive weight of his grip on you burned through the fabric of your clothing, remaining and threading contentedly through your veins even when he took his hand back, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Fuck, you’re right about that, doll.” He sized you up one last time, admiring the way your clothing was styled to subtly enhance his. “Let’s see how you perform, then.” He turned on his heel, and you followed immediately, two steps behind and a few inches to the right. 

Vox strutted to where a few of VoxTek’s business associates congregated, waving various limbs in a very involved discussion. As Vox approached, the attention of those nearest him swayed, until all had stopped speaking.

“No need to stop on my account, gentlemen,” Vox said loftily. Yet he was clearly satisfied to be the object of their attention, and he held it easily. 

As Vox wheedled information from those who were drunk, either on alcohol, drugs, or his mere presence, you remained at his side. A few times, the ones Vox was talking to would glance at you as though wondering what your purpose was. It wasn’t until Vox held up a hand in a gesture you had studied - and you swiftly placed a VoxTek brand tablet pen in his claws - that you felt a wave of understanding go through them. 

Vox didn’t say anything, of course. There was no thank-you, no outward acknowledgement of your aid. 

But you didn’t need that. Didn’t want it, in all honesty. Within your soul dwelled a desire not to shine on your own, but to make another glow brighter. And that other was Vox.

“I don’t seem to recall VoxTek agreeing to that stipulation,” Vox drawled, and your attention snapped to him. You went over the recent part of the conversation in your mind, making connections, as you discerned the price agreement VoxTek had with the red-skinned demon’s company. 

“That’s because we didn’t,” you said into the uncomfortable silence that had followed his words. A considering look from Vox urged you to explain. Whipping out your tablet, you tapped the screen a few times, pulling up the contract between Biggus Dickus, the owner of the therapy company Devil’s Advocate, and VoxTek. Flipping it around so all could see, you highlighted a line in a paragraph near the bottom of the contract, summarizing it aloud without needing to consult your screen. “It clearly states here, in Clause 42, item D, that VoxTek receives sixty percent of the profit at any location within eighty meters of a VoxTek coffee stand, due to the increased revenue expected at all hours of the day and night.” You allowed Biggus another moment to stare, uncomprehending, at your tablet, then you turned off the screen and put it back at your waist. “Absolutely nowhere in the contract is there an exception to that rule.” Facts stated, you went quiet, relaxing at Vox's side once more. 

The entire table went silent, stupefied. 

Vox recovered quickest, a flash of teeth the only hint that he had anticipated your interjection. “Well, you have it from my assistant then, Dickus. I suggest you refrain from trying to get one over on me.” His voice deepened, harsh static clinging to his words. “Or we'll have to revisit that contract.” He grew taller before you, his shadow stretching as a tangible wave of static flowed out from his body. Though you remained unflinching, in your peripheral, you saw anyone nearby shudder or recoil in discomfort. 

Biggus Dickus visibly shrank, taking a shaky step backwards, fear making his words shrill. “I- I didn't mean anything by it, Mr. Vox, I just- I- I must have remembered it wrong-” he stammered, lips quivering. 

Only you caught the satisfied grin that flickered across Vox's screen, before it switched back to visible anger in the downward turn of his brows, set above narrowed eyes. “Is that so?” he ground out, taking another threatening step forward. 

At that, Biggus fell to the ground, scrambling back. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll study the contract so well that we never get anything wrong again! Thank you so much for letting us work with you! It’s really helped the business grow!” Each sentence came out quicker than the last, until the only reason you understood him at all was because of your practice understanding Vox when he prattled on. Especially when it was on an episode of Shark Island. 

Vox returned to his usual size, giving Biggus a disgusted look as he stepped back. “That's what I fucking thought, idiot. Now get the fuck out of my convention.”

Without another word, Biggus frantically nodded his head as he made a 180 and absconded from the ballroom, peoples’ clothing stirred up and one hat swept from a head with the speed of his retreat. 

At the table, Vox straightened his jacket, sparing you a short, satisfied nod before returning a charming smile on his remaining associates. “Now that that's out of the way, where were we, gentlemen?”

The ease with which Vox returned to business talk clearly unnerved everyone at the table, who soon made excuses to leave. Vox took his time toying with each of them until he got a promise heavily in his favor, with their signature on it, before letting them flee. 

It took genuine effort for you to not swoon like a maiden. It was one thing to study his success. It was something else entirely to have a front-row seat to the way he wielded information like it was the greatest source of power. To see the effect he had on other sinners in person, even strong ones, who all knew that they only had influence so long as it was convenient for Vox. 

“Hey.” Your attention snapped to Vox. Only you and he were left at the table, and his gaze had landed on you. “That was well done.” The slow, small smile that grew on his face brought a matching one to your own. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said softly, tone dialed down to a touch below full worship and closer to intense admiration. 

“You’re welcome,” Vox responded airily, as though a compliment from him was a genuine gift. (To you, it really was.) “Think you can keep it up the whole night?” He shifted, about to walk off, and you prepared to take your place behind him - until a firm weight at your back pushed you to his side, instead, and you couldn’t help the flush that spread out from where Vox’s hand rested, possessive and irresistible, at the small of your back.

Your voice was tiny, wavering. “I can.” Clearing your throat and inhaling deliberately, you centered yourself, allowing your back to rest more fully against his hand. Then you continued in a firmer voice, “And I will.”

Vox hummed contentedly, his fingers walking across your waist until he had your opposite hip in hand, claws digging in as he pulled you closer. His scent was still subtle, this close, and oddly comforting. You should have been uncomfortable being manhandled by the media overlord, infamous and commanding.

Instead, as Vox steered the both of you towards the refreshments, you felt his hand like a solid brand. 

It made you feel safe.

Chapter Text

Accompanying Vox was fulfilling. As he wandered, checking in with business partners and discussing potential new deals, you got to be there, at his side. Or immediately behind him, as was more often the case. Vox still grabbed your waist now and then, seeming to prefer to have an eager ear under his arm as he walked the room, but you took your place behind his shoulder anytime he started up a conversation. Considering his public image, it likely looked good for him to have you rather than be alone, but he equally had to make it clear that you were not the one making decisions for VoxTek.

Although you did more than your fair share of pulling up details whenever necessary. Since that first meeting with Biggus, Vox looked to you for fact-checking, and his trust was well-placed. More than a few CEOs had been embarrassed to be caught with deliberate misinformation, twisting the meaning of their contracts in an attempt to weasel out of obligations towards VoxTek. 

Which meant that more than a few times, Vox got to see that not only did you match his appearance perfectly, you also made him look good by backing him up at every opportunity.

So the night was going great. 

As Vox lounged near the refreshments table, taking a much-deserved break with a scotch in hand, you clocked the approach of a cute little lizard demon. You straightened as she came close, tilting your head towards her to cue Vox into your new visitor. He sighed, drained the rest of his drink, and plastered a smile on his face. It was the small things of getting to see behind the media overlord mask that really made you happy to be there. Everything that Vox didn’t show to the cameras, you could now be privy to. 

“I’m here with an invitation to speak with Archie,” the lizard woman said in a peppy tone, popping up right in front of you. “Can you ask your boss if he has the time?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. Being treated as his secretary was new, and somehow exciting. “Which Archie is this?”

“Oh!” The demon facepalmed. “Archie Archembald, of Ocean View Resorts!” There weren’t any oceans near Pentagram City, you were sure of that. Still, it wasn’t the most confusing business name you had seen in hell. 

“Got it,” you acknowledged, turning to Vox. Obviously, he had seen and heard her request, so you simply cocked your head in an unspoken question. 

“Archie, huh?” He tapped a claw against the bottom of his screen. “I could spare a few minutes, if he’s got something good for me.” His grin sharpened. “Lead the way, then.”

The lizard demon squealed. “Oh, thank you thankyouthankyou! Right this way!” She scampered off, a bit quickly, leaving you and Vox to stand in her dust.

“I think she’s new to her job.” You were going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Vox gave you a Look. “You’re new to your job,” he stated plainly, huffing out a laugh. Then he turned, facing you fully, giving you a stare that made you feel very, very seen. The air thickened with tension. And as your breath stuttered, he put both hands on your shoulders where he towered over you. “But you’re a lot more useful than that little shit,” he gloated. Electricity sparked where he touched you, singing as it ran up your limbs, leaving a lingering buzz on your skin. The rest of the room suddenly quieted in your mind, and all you could see was Vox, his screen taking up your entire vision. “Archie can wait a second. Before that, I want…” A finger trailed along your shoulder, stroking up your neck, landing with his hand in your hair. His claws tightened fractionally, forcing a quiet whine from deep in your chest. 

The noise brightened Vox’s screen, the triumph of forcing a reaction to you bringing him a delightful feeling of control. “Oh, how cute…” he murmured, looming closer. “You can’t help how you react to me, can you? Even in public like this.” He adjusted his grip, pulling another helpless sound from your lips. 

Knowing an attempt at speaking would only embarrass you, you nodded shortly, straining against Vox’s hold on you. At your movement, he loosened his claws, but stepped further into your space, backing you against a nearby table. “Don’t think you can run from me, doll,” he growled softly. 

“I don’t… want to,” you whimpered, swallowing heavily. The pain had passed, and you didn’t want to get away from him - if anything, you wanted to be even closer. For him to treat you like the doll he called you; to play with your hair, touch you like you belonged to him. For there to be no ambiguity as to who owned you.

Vox paused, locking eyes with you, seeing deep. His mouth opened in a soft, “Oh,” of realization. “You really, really don’t.” You nodded again, still in his grip, and he lifted his head to furtively survey the room. “Come with me,” he commanded, the firm tone of his voice leaving no room for hesitation. Then, taking a small step back, Vox turned to energy and directed himself to a nearby camera, the slight pulses of his electricity leading your eyes to a dark corner of the room. 

The moment you recognized his destination, you were there. 

“That really is handy,” Vox buzzed in your ear from behind, and you jolted, hardly containing a surprised sound. You could feel his heat at your back - and smell the ozone following his static teleportation. Not knowing what he wanted of you, you remained still, eyes adjusting to the dark of the alcove. Here, the rest of the convention wouldn’t notice you or Vox. The alcove was quiet, set apart from the festivities, far from the tables and refreshments. Clandestine. 

You wondered why Vox brought you here.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight, doll,” he said, the words humming through the air from behind you, gentle and enticing. 

Shuddering out a long breath, you tried to center yourself. To prevent yourself from making any responses to Vox when you had no idea what he wanted from you.

“Ah-ah,” he tutted, his right hand grabbing at your waist to pull you back against him. You gasped, and Vox brought his left hand up to the motion as you leaned your head into his chest. His claws traced along your neck, until your throat was encircled by his hand, your entire body pressed back against his. “Lose that stiff composure,” Vox coaxed, his grip loosening as you relaxed, entrusting your body to him. “That’s it, sweetheart. I want you to react. Let me see you, hear you.” 

His voice was smooth as butter, deep and warm, and you sank further into him, letting his words permeate your mind. 

You gave into his control.

And he felt it.

“Oh, my dear… the things I’m going to do to you.” He sounded smug, haughty. 

You didn’t care.

No, that wasn’t right - you cared. As Vox inhaled deeply, savoring his conquest over you, you let your head loll to the side, until you could see Vox’s screen-face. The cocky grin he shot you settled it. 

Being treated as something to be taken and used, by Vox - to be a possession he could do with as he pleased… It sparked a fire that was slowly and languidly curling through your veins, tempered by the weight of his attention on you. He was still touching, deliberately teasing the hem of your top with his right hand, while his left stroked your throat, the tips of his claws catching under your chin. “Vox…” You could hardly recognize your own voice, high-pitched and wanting. You had never felt anything quite like this before. Nothing that made you feel aflame, inside and out, knowing your face was fully flushed, but uncaring and safe. Vox could do whatever he wanted, and you knew it wouldn’t be more than you could handle. It was all you craved - direction. To have someone else make the decisions for you.

“Shh, it’s alright, doll,” he soothed, his left hand cupping your chin and tilting you to look into his eyes. “I’ve got you.”

Part of you expected hypnosis, now. But he only continued to watch you, to drink in your reactions, as you squirmed in his hands, panting the more he teased. Your curves melted into his sharp angles as he held you in place, allowing you to feel Vox’s arousal where it hardened against your backside. His right hand roved over your tummy, pushing you back into his length, making you arch your back for him. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, grinding his hips into yours. 

Everything was happening so fast - you thought tonight was solely for Velvette to show you off to Vox - but here you were, only a little over halfway through the reception, and you were alone in a dark alcove with him, his claws all over you. 

With a sudden shove, Vox thrust you forward into the wall, your hands coming up on instinct to keep your face from being slammed into it. A gasp forced its way past your lips, but you kept enough presence of mind to stay still, to not resist, as Vox took heavy, measured steps to close the new distance between you. 

“You can take being thrown around a bit, can’t you?” Vox asked rhetorically, giving you no time to respond before he grabbed you by the shoulders, spinning you around and pressing your back to the wall. A clawtip touched your chin, and you raised your head instinctively, baring your neck to him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You just need to be shown your place, and you accept it.”

This time, he appeared to be waiting for a response. So you gave one, letting out a shaky, “Yes, sir.” 

“I love it when people know their place,” Vox commented, tapping the claw at your chin against your skin. His other hand held tight to your hip as he slotted a leg between yours. “This is where you belong,” he grunted as he pulled at your waist, urging you to grind on his thigh. Your body went along with his wishes, your hips moving of their own accord. As your body trembled from the pleasure, you threw your head back, a moan ripped from deep in your chest.

“Mmmm, yes,” he groaned in satisfaction, the hand at your throat dragging down your front. “Wherever and whenever I want you, I’ll have you.” The words were spoken like a dark promise, a threat you wanted Vox to deliver on. His claws crept under your top, sliding up your smooth skin, the cool metal giving you shivers where it traced your warmth. The scent of Vox, in this alcove, him cornering you, invading your space - it overwhelmed you, static alighting where all of your hairs stood on end, gooseflesh erupting wherever he touched. 

And you couldn’t stop the noises Vox was drawing from you. Whines, whimpers, panting that sounded loud in your ears, all played like a symphony by the embodiment of control that was Vox. “Yes, sir, whatever you want -” your words came as though from far away, quick and rushed and desperate-

“I know, baby,” Vox assured you. “Whatever I want becomes what you want, huh?” As if in example, Vox let his hand go higher, higher, slipping under the fabric of your undershirt, the constricting material forced loose until his fingers were on your chest, tracing circles around one nipple. And sure enough, your body followed his movements, sternum thrusting out to fill his hands with your flesh. Being seen by Vox and given commands was so much more intoxicating than you could have ever been prepared for, and it was all you could do to let him take whatever he wanted from your mind, your body. “Mm, so good for me,” he cooed, leaning his head down to scent at your neck. A liquid warmth pooled in your core at the praise, and he clocked it, smirking where you couldn’t see, but could feel in the shape of his mouth on you. “You’re on fire for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Vox,” you gasped, hands twisting in the fabric of his suit jacket. He nudged your face to the side, and you felt a greater heat then. His mouth, just as hot as your skin where it burned with your blush, trailed open-mouthed kisses along your throat. A tremor followed a puff of breath released from his lips, a brief instant the only time you had to prepare before his teeth were on you, sharp fangs testing the firmness of your throat, enticing another long, drawn-out whine from you. Vox chuckled against your skin, but took his teeth away, replacing them with the long and wet length of his tongue. “You taste divine,” he murmured, laving at your pulse point and soothing the thin scratches his canines had left. 

Velvette’s training demanded that you respond to compliments, but although your hazy mind took his comment as praise, you were far, far too gone to reply. Your thoughts were lost in a fog of want, your hips still rubbing on his hard thigh, desperately searching for more friction, more pleasure, more, as Vox palmed your chest and pulled your body closer to his. As his tongue continued to dance across your skin, dirty things whispered in your ear. “That’s my good little assistant,” followed by a tweak of his fingers on your nipple. “You’re doing so well for me.” One claw tested the waistband on your lower half, retreating when your hips stuttered at the touch. 

Then his hand was on your back, under your top, pushing you into his grip. The knobs of your spine became the topography of a map he was charting, his fingers exploring your skin as though marking his new territory. “You accept my touch like it’s all you ever wanted,” he breathed out, your response a frantic nod, only encouraging him further. “I don’t need to hypnotize you at all,” in a surprised tone, as if to himself, so you ignored it, pressing your hands into his chest, trying desperately to stay still, to not try to take without permission. 

But it was so difficult, your body needed more, craved Vox like his presence was a drug you had long since become addicted to. And if anything, he appeared to enjoy your pathetic attempts to get closer, when you were already touching nearly from head to toe. “So needy for me, aren’t you?” he teased. Your only reply was to lock eyes with him, pleading without words, hips still moving. The weight of his gaze was almost physical. His red eyes, larger than life, lit from within by his screen, viewed you and catalogued your actions, your movements, and for the first time, you felt that someone truly and genuinely saw your worth. Narrowing his eyes, Vox glanced between where your fingers were still twined with his suit jacket, and back up to your face, lips open as you looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered in all of existence.

Abruptly, both of his hands moved to your ass, palming the weight and lifting you slightly as your legs naturally wrapped around his waist. “I bet you’d spread your legs and let me fuck you right here,” he purred into the crook of your neck and shoulder, before biting down, nearly breaking skin. 

Even as you cried out at the shock of pain, your legs tightened around him at his words. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he taunted, leaning your back against the wall so he could ruck up your top again, fondling and squeezing every available inch of skin. “You’d love it if I claimed you, showed everyone here who you belong to.” The last came out as a growl, and Vox pressed his cock against your core, domineering and possessive, urgent and hard. “Answer me!” 

“Yes, sir,” you said weakly, words instant and unthinking. A blink later, and you had enough presence of mind to add, “I want to belong to you.”

“Good thing you already do, then,” he grunted, giving your torso one last squeeze before pulling away, letting your legs fall, unsteady, back to the ground. “And I don’t need to prove it.” You stood shakily, watching his face, waiting. Trying to get your breath back as you continued to take heaving breaths, more turned on than you’d ever been in your life - or afterlife. 

Vox boxed you in, one hand on either side of your head. “I won’t take you here.” A surprising jolt of disappointment rocked through you, but he continued, “I want to take my time when I do. And Archie’s still waiting.”

“Oh, shit,” you cursed quietly, immediately covering your mouth to cover up the expletive, but Vox was laughing. You had completely forgotten about the invitation, and here you were, using Vox’s time for yourself when he was at a business convention intended to do, well, business.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Vox reassured you, stepping closer again, his scent invading your mind, relaxing you despite yourself. “No one is gonna keep me from having a bit of fun at a fucking party,” he snickered. His eyes gave you a full once-over, seeming to admire the way your chest still lifted and lowered with the force of your breaths, how your outfit was a disaster from your waist up, your hair tousled in a way that basically screamed sex. “As much as this is a lovely view…” Vox held up a hand, snapping his fingers, and cords emerged from his person, climbing up your body and fixing up your outfit in the space of a thought. “I can’t be having anyone else see you like that,” he finished, looking self-satisfied. 

You were tidied up, but a blush still suffused your face, going all the way down your neck to disappear under your collar, and your pupils were dilated, big and empty. Eager for more. “Thank you, sir.” It was incredibly embarrassing to have lost your composure so quickly, but by all appearances, Vox liked that. 

But you knew you would have to get back into your work mode soon if you wanted to be of any help with Archie Archembald. Or at least to not make Vox look bad. And after the way he just rewarded you, intentional or not, the last thing you wanted to do was stain his reputation - you would be perfect, and you would uplift it.

Chapter Text

To your immense surprise, only a few scant minutes had passed, and when you and Vox arrived in front of Archie, you found the lizard demon being berated by a hulking orca of a man. Of course, given that you and Vox had teleported to end up directly across from the resort CEO, all attention immediately swung to both of you, allowing the lizard woman to breathe a heavy sigh and make herself scarce. 

Dismissing her from your attention, you flicked your eyes back to where Vox was greeting Archie, the both of them sporting fake smiles through gritted teeth. Despite his size, you could tell that Archie was intimidated by Vox - and that he hated it. Vox, evidently aware of this, only dragged the conversation out further, getting more out of Archie than the man likely intended to give away in his haste to finish the conversation. At first, you found it odd that he had been the one to call your boss over if he was so eager to get away, but the reason soon became clear.

“So, you got a new fine assistant, I see!” Archie boomed, a wide, webbed hand gesturing at you. You blinked at him, offering no other response.

“That I do,” Vox acknowledged, twitching a finger to motion you forward. When you stepped beside Vox, he slung an arm around your waist, and it occurred to you that the two men were posturing. “Yours seems to be a little… ah, green.” The smarmy smile he shot Archie made his insult clear, and the orca visibly swelled in irritation.

“She’s good enough for now,” he agreed gruffly, barely tamping down on an urge to insult Vox in return. “But I’ve been in the market for someone somewhat competent lately.” His eyes locked on you, dragging down your body in a way that made you uncomfortable, and you shifted minutely in Vox’s grip. 

In return, he wrapped his arm more firmly around you, fitting you against his side. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find one,” he said loftily, intentionally ignoring Archie’s implication.

Growling, Archie took one large step forward, towering over both you and Vox. Despite his shadow covering the both of you, neither of you flinched, remaining perfectly still and uncompromising. “Well, I seem to have given you a pretty good deal just now on an updated business agreement. Don’t you think it’d be polite to offer me something in return?” With each word, Archie leaned down further into Vox’s space.

Vox’s face remained still and unflinching, smug grin fixed on his screen. “That was a business deal, dear Archie,” he said slowly, as if to a child, “and I think VoxTek gave you a fair trade. If you had wanted something else from our agreement, you should have mentioned! I’m afraid it’s a bit late now,” he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders and looking at Archie like he was a complete imbecile.

Frankly, he kind of was. Not that you would have been surprised if Vox did offer you as part of a deal, considering your current existence as little more than his possession. 

But with each moment, Vox was proving that you were more to him than a mere toy. You were his toy. And he wasn’t going to give you up. The realization shuddered through you like a promise. With Vox, you were finally where you belonged. 

“You smug fucking bastard,” Archie snarled, grabbing a nearby mini-table. The table looked pathetically tiny in his massive hand, and you watched, time seeming to slow, as he began to swing it directly towards Vox’s face.

This wasn’t what Velvette had intended by training you on teleportation. But you would use the  skills for whatever you needed in Vox’s defense.

As the flat of the table neared Vox, cables slinking from under his cloak to defend him, you moved with a mere thought - one moment, you were on Vox’s right side, hugged close to his side, and the next, you were on his other side, between him and the table - 

With a touch, you claimed the table as part of your being, and flashed with another teleportation behind Archie, the table still moving with the full force of Archie’s muscles and weight behind it - 

Then you were back to Vox, less than a second having passed, his arm still in position around your hips -

And even as Vox’s cables sailed over his back to stop the projectile, the table, now behind Archie, slammed into the orca’s back, his own strength more than enough to make him fall over, his startled shriek ended abruptly when his face smashed into the ground, nose-first. 

Everyone nearby froze.

Vox’s cords, suddenly unnecessary, retreated back from whence they came, and you could almost hear the creak as heads snapped in your general direction. Most likely, none of them had even seen you move; the sounds of a massive sinner collapsing in the middle of the reception had been enough to draw their attention. 

But Vox was looking at you. His eyes were wide with surprise, shock - admiration? The last quickly turned to affection, his grin widening, all teeth. “That was you just now, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied quietly, soft pride in your tone. No part of you had actually expected to be useful in combat situations, but evidently, the application of your new skills could be widened…

“Well done,” he congratulated you with a squeeze of his hand on your waist, bringing back the blush you had finally managed to get rid of. An uptick of Vox’s lips hinted that he had noticed, before he turned his attention to the massive, groaning orca on the ground at his feet. With a disgusted scoff, Vox nudged Archie with the tip of his shoe. “Hey, dumbass. Wake the fuck up.”

As Vox’s nudges became closer to kicks, Archie finally started moving, flailing around until he could raise his head, panting. “Wha-” He flung his head to either side, searching for an opponent that wasn’t there. 

“Get the fuck up,” Vox ordered, landing one powerful stomp on Archie’s hand with an audible crack. Archie screeched, getting onto his knees as he cradled his newly-broken hand to his chest. Vox stepped into his space, towering over Archie now, their positions reversed and the power imbalance made visible. Archie’s throat bobbed in a heavy swallow, and as you watched, he went through every stage of grief. Opening his mouth to display all of his teeth, about to yell at Vox - but one glance at Vox’s face, and he lowered his head, looking up at Vox beneath his brows. 

“Could- I maybe-”

“No.” Not only was Vox’s reply immediate and firm, but his cords appeared again, waving threateningly at his shoulders. 

Archie slumped, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It was incredible what Vox could do with nothing but his presence. Already, Archie was submitting to him, put in his place by a single act of power and a warning. 

“Gross, are you fucking crying? I thought you were supposed to be some kinda big shot resort mogul, not a little crybaby. VoxTek can find a better company to work with,” he scoffed, putting his weight on his heels in preparation to turn away.

The orca sinner suddenly shuffled forward on his knees, reaching out with his good hand, just barely stopping short of actually touching Vox’s coat when he turned a look of absolute disgust on him. “I- I’m sorry-” 

“Sorry’s not fucking good enough, idiot,” Vox growled, but you could see the hint of pleasure in the squint of his eyes, the curve of his mouth. This was what Vox had wanted. To maneuver Archembald to a point where he would give Vox whatever he wished. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, after attacking me at my own damn convention.”

Arms crossed, Vox cut an intimidating figure, and Archie scrambled to save face. “Y- you can have more of the profit from my resorts! I’ll even let VoxTek put advertisements up for other products in the foyers!”

Rolling his eyes, Vox waved a careless hand. “That’s fucking worthless to me. Let me tell you what’s going to happen.” Vox’s cables snaked up Archie’s legs, yanking him to his full height, where Vox reached up to condescendingly pat one of Archie’s shoulders - effectively ruining any feelings of dominance that Archie might have still felt at being taller. “You’re gonna completely rebrand your hotels. VoxTek will essentially own your company. And, because I’m so generous-” Vox shot a smarmy grin at Archie, tone patronizing, “I’ll even let you have ten percent of the profit! Now, isn’t that better for everyone?” Vox leaned away from Archie, dusting off his shoulders before putting his hands behind his back, shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure you agree.” Your attention remained on the men, but you pulled out your tablet and let your fingers fly, knowing that Vox would want something for Archie to sign on the spot. Something to guarantee that he couldn’t go back on his word after being publicly embarrassed.

Archie opened his mouth to respond, brows lowered, but in that moment, Vox’s cables dropped him, leaving the CEO to stumble to remain standing. 

“Isn’t that right?” Vox asked, voice saccarine-sweet.

Defeated, Archie’s entire body slumped. “Yes, Vox,” he said, monotone and dejected. “That sounds good.”

A fierce, triumphant grin flashed across Vox’s screen before he modulated it to something a little less goading. “That’s what I thought.” He snapped his fingers, and you flipped your tablet around, handing it to Vox with a freshly-worded contract prepared for the sorry sinner. He barely glanced at it, and the implicit trust in the motion sent a thrill through you, a pleasant buzz at getting to be an integral part of Vox’s business dealings. 

Hesitating, Archie stared at the contract on the screen as though he was signing over his soul. Fortunately for him, that wasn’t in the small print - despite the opportunity to put it there. No, the terms were exactly as Vox had outlined them in that brief moment, with only minor extrapolations to make it similar to other contracts between VoxTek and its subsidiary companies. 

A twitch of Vox’s fingers, a slight movement of one of his cords, and Archie was scrolling to the bottom without reading, signing with a trembling hand. 

“There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Vox cooed, taking the tablet back. When he held it out to the side, you took it carefully, quickly making a copy of the contract with the signature and sending it straight to VoxTek’s main hub. The employees still on the clock could begin working out the details immediately, and by morning, Ocean View Resorts would be nothing more than an extension of VoxTek. 

Now that Archie’s usefulness was at an end, Vox’s smile faded, replaced by a frown of distaste. “Now get. The fuck. Out of my convention.” With each pause, Vox’s shadow enlarged, static frizzing louder in a bubble around the overlord. Sparks flew across the orca’s damp skin, and he flinched in pain, tripping over his own feet as he backed away from Vox, fear in his wide eyes. 

“I’m gone, I’m gone-”

“Oh, but one more thing.” Archie stopped where he had been about to bolt, twisting his head back, a drop of sweat making its way down his face. “I’ll keep your assistant. Obviously you need to learn how to handle one right,” he chuckled, stepping around you to place his hands on your shoulders from behind. It took every ounce of your focus to stay still, to not lean into his touch, though your uncontrollable blush gave you away anyway. 

Archie barely paused, frantically nodding his head. “Whatever you want, boss,” he whimpered, and when Vox dismissed him with a look, he scuttled off without a backwards glance. 

“What a chump,” Vox laughed lowly from behind you, his claws still gripping your upper arms. “He was too fuckin’ easy.” 

“You're very good at what you do, sir,” you said softly, admiringly. 

“Yeah?” Vox spun you in place, placing one hand on your hip, the other under your chin, leading you to look him in the eye. You gulped, feeling a shiver run down your spine. 

“Yes, sir,” you continued, “The way you're always able to manipulate a bad situation into a good one. How well you can read people and make them do what you want.” Through the blush burning on your face, and the tangy scent of Vox's electronics, you watched him preen at your praise, standing straighter and his smirk widening. “It always feels like you planned the entire interaction. Like the end result was inevitable.” Your tone was quiet, reverent, as you gazed up at Vox with more than simple respect in your eyes. “Like you're destined to always win.”

Any lingering animosity from his scuffle with Archie had left his body, until Vox was back to his usual pleased, cocky, and confident self. “You're damn right about that, sweetheart.” His claws tightened on you, as he moved inexorably closer. “I always get what I want.” His eyes flicked down your body, pausing on your lips, easing down the column of your neck, your chest, the curve of your stomach - and lower. When his attention returned to your face, he found your lips parted, a certain glazed look to your eyes. “And you'll help me, won't you?” You nodded slowly, not wanting to throw off his hand. “That's right, doll…” His hand at your waist lowered, smoothing over your ass, blatant even in this public space, his claws digging lightly into the flesh under your clothing. With his other hand, he tilted your head just so, as he lowered his head over yours. “You'll let me use you as much as I want. Let me take everything you have to give.” 

“Yes, Vox,” you breathed, caught in the moment, a butterfly pinned to a board. 

His following shark-toothed grin did things to your insides. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, breathing speeding up, although from an outsider’s perspective, you and Vox were simply standing still, alone in a circle of minor destruction. The table used to knock Archie over made a last, sad groan before it collapsed into pieces, sending up a cloud of dust and splinters. 

Neither you nor Vox moved. To you, nothing besides him existed. With the overlord’s attention on you and you alone, you remained static, unwavering. And in his eyes, under his hands, you felt certain… stirrings. A weakness in your knees belied the tense muscles of your neck, as your focus narrowed on where Vox held you, the impression of his claws firm and sharp and unyielding through the thin fabric of your clothing. A buzzing filled your ears, like that of a television left on without volume, emanating from Vox’s screen-face mere inches away. You couldn’t break his gaze, didn’t want to, letting your field of vision shrink until his deep, red eyes, and the blue glow of his screen were your entire world. 

Unconsciously, you swayed minutely closer to him, and saw the way his expression loosened, eyebrows easing back and the tightness in his gaze turn from one of satisfaction to one of scheming.

“Well, it looks like the two of you are getting along even better than I anticipated. And I knew it would go well.” Velvette’s voice broke the moment, and you jolted, glancing to the side to find Velvette and Melissa nearby. Velvette was smirking victoriously, Melissa’s arm tucked in one of hers. “That moron Archembald had it coming. He’s been stingy as fuck the entire time we’ve been working with him,” she sneered, dragging Melissa in her wake as she came closer.

You turned in Vox’s grip to stand at his side, his hand slipping from your chin, though the other remained a firm and solid weight on your hip. Neither of you said a word about the moment you had just shared - it wasn’t necessary. 

“Fortunately for us, he just made a huge blunder,” Vox laughed, obnoxiously loud. “Can’t believe he thought he could make any demands of me.” Throwing his free hand in the air, Vox curled his lip. “He’ll never get that chance again.” 

“Right you are, V,” Velvette agreed easily, mindlessly fixing a crease in Melissa’s dress with a wave of her hand. She favored Vox with a wide smile. “Now we can actually enjoy this reception.” Her attention flicked to you, smile widening. “I’d say you deserve to have some fun with your cute little assistant. Why don’t I take over the adorable reptile Archie left behind?” 

The sinner in question had arrived in the past minute, tense and fidgety a respectful distance away. Vox spared her a moment’s glance, then shrugged. “Sure, I don’t really need her. Just don’t break her too soon, alright? I know what you’re like.” The fond grin on Vox’s face implied that he wasn’t bothered by this habit of Velvette’s, and he sounded more like an indulgent father giving their child a new toy. 

“Aw, don’t worry, babes,” Velvette said with a toss of her hair. “It’s Valentino who you need to worry about like that.” 

“True enough,” Vox snickered. 

“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you from socializing, and I’ve got a new project for the night to keep me occupied.” Velvette’s eyes glowed darkly at the lizard sinner. “Melissa, sweetie, how do you feel about making a new… friend?” 

Melissa smiled softly down at Velvette, the expression shocking you as you realized it was the same way you looked at Vox. “Whatever you’d like, mistress.”

And with that, the two of them were off, two employees of VoxTek entering the void they created to begin putting the space to rights.

Leaving you with Vox.

Chapter Text

“Time to rub shoulders with people who actually deserve my attention,” Vox muttered, startling a huff of laughter from you. Vox glanced down at you to see your smile, another blooming on his face in turn - although his might have been a touch more sadistic, but really, who was paying attention to that? Vox was smiling at you - and he held you close as he strutted away from the mess. 

Settled into his side, you breathed deep, inhaling the scent that clung to Vox, the slight acidity of burnt dust, heated plastic, as a buzz of static hummed on your tongue. Your mind swirled with your success, a satisfaction deep in your bones originating from Vox’s words of pride towards you. Velvette’s acknowledgement that you truly were fitting in, sliding into place like a book on a shelf, the space just right for your size. This was it, this was where you belonged.

You took a deep, even breath, feeling Vox’s claws twitching on your waist, present yet delicate. 

It felt like freedom.

As a tall, draconic sinner struck up a conversation with Vox, you spared a thought to the fallen table you had left behind, noting out of the corner of your eye that the space Archie had thrown a tantrum in was completely set to rights. The table had been cleared out, bits of broken wood swept up, and all that remained was a VoxTek employee mopping up the bloodstain. It was inspiring to see that what Vox had created would continue to work around him, how everyone knew their job and performed it perfectly, all swirling around the nexus of power and influence that was the media overlord. And finally, you found yourself where you wanted to be: a planet orbiting the sun, caught in its influence, unable to survive without it. 

The benefit was that you didn’t want to escape. You wanted to be here, and you wanted to be able to support Vox, to help his strength grow, for as long as you could. 

“And what does your… assistant think?” The bipedal dragon had moved on from business, now getting Vox’s opinion on whether it was an appropriately romantic gesture to purchase a box of ring fingers from Cannibal Town for a blind date.

“It’s not,” you said flatly, mirroring Vox’s response. 

“But why?” the dragon wailed, flapping their wings in distress. “It’s ring fingers! I’m showing that I’m open to a long-term relationship, even though we’re in hell!” 

Vox scoffed under his breath, easily distracted by a waiter wandering by with bite-size pieces of some manner of steak. As he plucked a bite from the plate, you answered the dragon with the same derision you expected Vox would have used, only a touch less cruel. “Because it’s your first date with this person, and you don’t even know if they eat meat, much less fingers.”

“But I’m not expecting them to eat the fingers, if they don’t want! It’s just… just a gesture…”

“Then find a better gesture,” you stated. “One that doesn’t involve a gift of literal body parts. It’s not hard.”

The dragon sighed dejectedly, eyes wide and watery. “What would you recommend, then? This is my hundredth blind date, and I want it to be special.” They sniffed, a whiff of smoke emerging from their snout. “Obviously, none of my previous dates lasted long. I must be doing something wrong.”

Blinking, you beheld the evident idiot before you. “I think maybe if blind dates aren’t working, you shouldn’t do them. At all.”

“But it’s my hundredth!” Back to refusing to believe common sense, it seemed.

Vox’s hand tightened on you, and you recognized his desire to move on from this conversation, politely if possible. So you decided to please the dragon, if it would get them to move on. “Alright, alright, fine. If it were me…” Now you really had to think. What would you do for someone on a date, when you wanted to leave a good impression? Not flowers, not in hell. Chocolates? Cookies? Or, “I would get them a useful VoxTek product. A mug that stays hot, a new tablet, phone, whatever fits in your price range. They can’t possibly fail to find that useful,” you added with a genuine smile. After all, no one knew better than you precisely how convenient every VoxTek product was.

You felt Vox’s approval in the way he turned his body just slightly into yours, speaking up, backing your idea. “That really is the best suggestion you’re going to get,” he said. “I suggest you take it and run.”

“You’re so right, Mister Vox! I’ll go do get something right now!”

“Isn’t your date not until next month-” you began, but before you could finish your sentence, the dragon was off, wings bouncing in excitement. “Alright then.”

“Looks like that’s one obstacle out of our way,” Vox said lightly, returning to his single-minded stroll through the room. Not that he had told you of his destination, but you were content to follow in his wake.

Across the way, a tall, white-haired woman in ballerina flats (though perhaps it’d be more accurate to call them ballet points, given that the tips appeared rather sharp, and the woman was walking on them like that) held court, two younger women flanking her sides as a semicircle of sinners with visible weapons hung on to her every word. Knives, guns, staves, bows; the assortment was just as varied as the appearances of those around her. The woman herself stood head and shoulders above Vox, the twin peaks of her hair lending an even taller, more intimidating air that suited the unsmiling lines of her face, her sharp, narrowed eyes. 

Yet Vox approached without a hint of unease, his steps equal and assured. And if Vox wasn’t afraid of her, you didn’t have reason to fear her, either, so your breath remained even and steady, even as the sinners pestering the woman drew back with Vox’s approach, clicking and muttering amongst themselves. 

“Carmilla, it’s a pleasure to see you here,” Vox purred, letting you go in favor of taking Carmilla’s hand, kissing it in a facsimile of respect. But he never took his eyes from her face, never lost his smirk, and you noted a twitch of disquiet in the way Carmilla’s muscles tightened, her lips twisting in a grimace. 

Despite her expression, her voice came out smooth, the huskiness of her voice covering the lack of any warmth in her words. “Of course, Vox. This is, unfortunately, the best place to find new clients,” and suddenly you realized, this was Carmilla Carmine, overlord and CEO of Carmine Industries. She rarely appeared publicly, which was the only reason you hadn’t recognized her on sight. VoxTek had a thin measure of influence via an agreement between the two companies that allowed for sharing of information in exchange for new advances in weaponry. It was one of the few instances where VoxTek didn’t come out on top in a deal - and as you watched the overlords size each other up, distrust and displeasure oozing out of their pores, you understood why. 

Carmilla was just as dangerous as Vox. The only difference between the two was that Carmine was candid about her interest in destruction.

Holding back a shiver, you took a minute step closer to Vox. Even the tabloids didn’t know precisely what Carmine was capable of, and you had no desire to find out the hard way that teleportation was completely useless against her. The safest place for you was near Vox, to be protected by his influence, if not his intentions. 

“Made any good deals tonight, then?” Vox asked, calculating gaze sweeping across the demons still close by. 

When Carmilla didn’t respond immediately, only stiffened and crossed her arms, Vox stepped into her space. She didn’t back away, and you had a sense that this was a common thing for Vox; taunting her and making her uneasy, while Carmilla refused to budge, uncomfortable yet unwilling to lose face. 

“C’mon, Carmilla, you know how I love women in STEM! I want you to be making great contracts, especially at my own business convention.” The hunger in his eyes, and the way he couldn’t stop flicking his eyes at the women to Carmilla’s sides - her daughters, you now realized - made even you a little bit wary. It couldn’t have been more clear that he did not, in fact, care about Carmilla, and likely only wanted to find a way to manipulate her into caving to VoxTek’s demands.

“My business is none of your business, Vox,” she all but growled, exuding danger.

Vox, ever unmoved by the threats of others, deflected, simpering. “Awww, you won’t tell your ol’ partner in business how well you’re doing? How am I supposed to support Carmine Industries, if you won’t talk to me about, well, business?” His words dripped with insincerity, and despite their height difference, you could tell Vox was looking down on her.

“We’re not partners,” Carmine gritted out. 

“No? Then what are we?” Standing straight, both hands behind his back, Vox was the picture of innocence. If Carmine snapped at him here, it would reflect poorly on her, not him - and by the way her gaze was flitting at all of those standing close enough to see, but not to hear, you knew that she understood it, too. 

The net Vox had cast around her was confining and snug, and you couldn’t help but marvel again at the way he could manipulate a person to be right where he wanted them, all with some posturing and a few carefully chosen words. It was an honor to be standing behind him as he worked his magic.

But perhaps you were too close. Carmine’s impressive glower locked onto you, and before she opened her mouth, you knew what her response to Vox would be.

“Why don’t you tell me what that is to you?” Uncrossing her arms, she pointed one large finger directly at you. Obviously, she intended to get a reaction out of you with her wording, but you weren’t about to rise to her insult at calling you a thing. You stayed silent, looking to Vox.

A pregnant pause followed. Carmine’s glare remained steady and focused on you, but your eyes were only for Vox, and when he realized that, his smirk widened. 

“Oh, this?” he asked, deliberately nonchalant. A gesture from him, and you stepped up next to him, only for Vox to sidestep and end up behind you, his hands warm on your shoulders. “This is my latest acquisition, trained up by my associate Velvette.” He let his claws trail possessively down your arms, and Carmine watched, lip curling in disgust. “The ideal personal assistant, able to fetch me a drink, be an escort at an event, the works. All with intimate knowledge of VoxTek stored safely up here,” he said, a claw tapping the top of your head. 

It should have bothered you, the way he rolled with Carmine’s assertion that you were more of an object than a person. But all that your ears heard were his compliments - he called you the ideal assistant, he knew your talents, he sounded proud of you. You straightened under the controlling weight of his hands, a sense of pride, well earned, broadening your shoulders.

“Is that so,” Carmine said, suddenly and openly disinterested. Now that stepping away wouldn’t be seen as a retreat from Vox, she took advantage of her space, putting an arm around each of her daughters. “Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your ‘ideal assistant.’” You could almost hear the air quotes around the words, as easily as you understood the derision in her tone. “My daughters and I should be heading home, anyway.”

“Leaving so soon?” Vox crooned, sneaking an arm around your waist to watch her withdraw. “But there’s so much more to discuss!”

“Not with you.” Her tone was final. Carmine’s large hands kept her daughters close, her fingers tight on them, protective, as she turned and walked through the crowd of weapon-toting sinners, much to their audible disappointment.

But Vox took in a big breath, letting it out with a quiet, breathy chuckle. “That went even better than I thought it would,” he gloated softly, for your ears alone. 

You smiled up at him, dazzled by his pleased grin. “I’m glad to hear it, sir.”

He laughed again, deep and patronizing. “You don’t even know what I was trying to do.”

“That’s okay,” you said simply. “As long as you succeeded, and I was able to help you get there.”

“Mm,” he hummed, stepping close, threading his claws through your hair. “You were, baby.” You leaned your head into the touch, releasing any tension with a soft sigh as you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair, stroking your scalp. “Velvette really outdid herself. You’re perfect for me.” This prompted a heavy swallow from you, a wash of heat beginning at the top of your head and running all the way down to your toes. “So useful…” 

When he trailed off, you hesitated before filling the silence. “Thank you, sir.” 

The two of you stood there a moment longer, and you could almost see the thoughts whirring through Vox’s mind, a tiny loading symbol in the bottom left corner of his screen working furiously. 

Then, abruptly, Vox stopped, looking around. It only took a second to find the object of his attention: a tall, dark sinner blending into the shadows, in the direction Carmine had fled. Although he was rail-thin and easy to overlook, the toxic green of his mantle hinted at unseen perils for those who might cross him. If you remembered correctly, this was likely to be the overlord Zestial. No one knew exactly how long he had been in hell, but everyone knew he was ancient. And everyone equally knew that to survive this long in hell, he had to be very, very treacherous to cross indeed.

A contemplative look crossed Vox’s face. “He thinks he can threaten me?” he muttered, vexation slipping through his pleasant mask. “We’ll see about that.” And then Vox was off, a V of blue electricity replacing his presence and snaking its way around the room to arrive in the shadows near Zestial. 

You followed.