workplace entanglement [chapter nine]
pairing — vox x employee! reader
summary — you are one of velvette’s trusted designers. when vox comes knocking and needs a new wardrobe line for him and the broadcast team, who else other than you could handle it?
warnings — typical Hazbin nonsense (death/murder/drugs/etc.), use of pet names/terms of endearment, no explicit name or gender mentioned for reader, female body though, canonically queer reader, smut (MDNI!)
word count — 7.6k
author’s note — sorry for the delay in posting in between chapters! i've been crazy busy </3
cross-posted onto ao3
vox masterlist - read the previous chapters here!
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“Velvette’s little designer is finally moving up in the world.”
God, this was miserable.
You normally didn’t mind having to boost your personality and charm for public relations, but you never had to do it alone. In every public appearance you made, you had been hot on the heels of Velvette or at least found some sanctuary with the rest of the designers.
You thought you’d be able to hold appearances for long enough on your own, but you were starting to crack. The uncomfortable laughter that was forced from your lungs, the painful smiles that made your cheeks ache, and the incessant flattery you gave — you felt like you were seconds away from crumbling.
Velvette left your side fifteen minutes ago and there was still zero hint of her returning to you. In the brief moments where the sinners you were entertaining had indulged in conversation amongst each other, you peeked through the sea of people for any inkling of your boss. Nothing.
You drowned out the voices of the chattering demons. Their crackled laughter bubbled into an array of mishegoss and shallow talk that you were barely able to contribute to. All the while, you softly smiled, nodded your head, and pretended to listen.
Earnestly, you wished that someone – anyone – would come to your rescue to sweep you away from talking to these buffoons. But now that a little nymph had scrambled over to you with the news that your date was throwing a fit, you’d rather face the men than the fury of your boss.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I have something to take care of,” even with the polite, sweet smile you gave the demons, you were filled with panic as you made your exit. You rushed to the wings, keeping your composure as you picked up the pace as you hoofed it across the length of the ballroom floors.
The moment you passed through the flowy partition of curtains, you felt as if you walked into a fate worse than death. The entire backstage and the dressing rooms were a nightmare. Two models were having a catfight about someone stealing the others’ lipstick, staff yelling at people to get into places, designer crew chasing after dressed models to fix up any last minute blemishes. And, most importantly, Velvette had left a fiery trail of destruction through the crowd.
Before you even considered the idea of asking a busybody for directions to where Velvette was reigning down real Hell, you heard the all-too-familiar screech of her voice.
“STUPID BITCH!”
The scream was followed by an abrasive crash of items and the pathetic cries of another person. You ran toward the sound. It felt like you were racing against the clock, every passing second threatening to worsen the situation if you didn’t get to her on time. The worst of it could happen — an outfit ripped, a model eviscerated, a literal dumpster fire spreading across the backstage.
You burst into the room, your chest rising and falling in quick succession, dread coursing through your veins. All you saw was one of the models shriveled up in the center of the room, facing the wrath of Velvette’s sharp stiletto stabbing her firmly in the chest. The poor girl was already beat senseless, blooming purple welts littering across her arms and legs, and a prominent black eye leaking down her cheek.
“Velvette,” you meekly called out, voice wavering and uncertain. You had felt your body trembling from the moment you stepped into the room. Having worked with Velvette for so long, most of the horror you felt standing in her presence had naturally dissipated. Although, her moments of being a walking volcanic eruption often sent you back into the memories of the absolute terror you once felt.
Now, she was an entirely different beast of her own. Seeing her like this reminded you how she became an Overlord in the first place.
“Stay out of it.” She hissed at you, peeking at you from over her shoulders with a deadly, glowing glare. As badly as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You had to damage control before word of Velvette’s unrelenting wrath trickled out on the floor. VoxTek couldn’t risk having another venomous scandal on their hands.
If the wildfire back here were to travel out into the main hall, Velvette would earn more marks that painted her as the Overlord who couldn’t get a handle on her employees. Velvette already had a controversial reputation among the masses, and any more ‘missing’ models would worsen the VoxTek image.
You were frozen in fear, too ashamed to look the model in the eye as Velvette drove her heel harder down on the girl. Blood began to bubble around her entry wound as Velvette sank her heel further into the model’s chest. An ear-piercing cry elicited from the poor sinner’s throat as she writhed underneath the weight, clambering onto Velvette’s leg and begging for forgiveness and relief.
The world closed in around you, the Earth swallowed you up and kept you planted in your spot. You were stuck in this moment, unable to stop the pseudomurder that was unveiling in front of you. Your blood ran cold and your skin felt clammy.
This was self-preservation. Zero interference and nothing but your willingness to stay quiet. You’ve done it before and you’d always be forced to do it again and again.
Today was no different.
“Velvette, let’s go,” you weakly called. “The patrons are waiting for you.” A bit of a white lie, but it was the best you could do to try to get Velvette back on the floor and as far away from the scene of the crime.
“We’ll have Serena take her place, okay? She has enough time to do the quick change,” you suggested, trying your best to be level and calm.
Velvette whipped her head around to you, giving you a once-over with poison laced in the stir of her eyes. A deep tension released from her shoulders as she reached for your hand, relieving the last bits of anger into the tight squeeze she gave you.
You barely glanced over at the sinner as she bled out on the floor, sputtering up her last moments of life before her slow, agonizing regeneration would begin. Even if you wanted to help her, it was advisory not to. If she received the palm of Velvette’s hand, you weren’t going to risk sparing kindness to the demon that ignited an Overlord’s unbridled rage.
In small steps, you ushered Velvette out of the dressing room, leaving the pitiful demon sniveling on the floor with no one to pick her up. A small part of you felt bad, but a bigger part of you thought — she knew the consequences. You didn’t know what she did to deserve this, but you knew better than to ask questions.
As Velvette continued to prattle on with her complaints and frustrations, you plucked and pruned her as you trailed behind, attempting to fix stray aways and smoothen out the wrinkles in her clothes. She was on a tirade that wouldn’t stop, but you hoped she’d spare you the torture if you clamped onto her arm and looked pretty for the rest of the night.
With quick work, you fetched a glass of champagne for your pissy date the moment you two returned to the main hall — doing your absolute best to make sure she was calm and collected before she engaged in conversation with the other demons. You brushed stray hairs out of her face and whispered gentle affirmations into her ear, encouraging her to continue being on her best behavior.
Velvette anger seemed to slowly dissipate as you gently coaxed her into a calmer state, holding onto her and rubbing small circles along her upper arm. The pair of you continued to chat up the various demon donors and ‘philanthropic’ sinners that only gave their money to flaunt their status of riches. Regardless, the two of you happily lapped up the plentiful donations and investments, never once complaining or feigning humility.
As you leaned into Velvette with an arm around her waist, a pair of stinging eyes burned bullet holes into the back of your head. The buzzing glare of a man who loved to keep tight tabs on every precious little thing of his. Vox’s gaze could be felt by anyone from miles away, but when they were constantly surveying, one eventually would learn to tune out the heavy stare.
A wry smile crept on Vox’s face as he observed the way you dazzled the sinners before you. The subtle, lingering touches you’d leave on their forearms when they told a funny joke, flashing them your prettiest of smiles and most adoring of gazes. As they blabbered on about nothing significant, you stared up at them with absolute wonder twinkling in the shine of your eyes.
Obviously, Vox knew you were full of shit — playing everything up to stroke their egos and appeasing Velvette’s wishes — but he couldn’t stop the twisted feeling of possessiveness that clawed up from his chest. He should be the only one that you look at with admiration. They didn’t deserve you.
Vox was a disgusting, greedy, prideful man. He needed to have you all to himself, despite never owning you in the first place.
After your little drunken silt from the club the other night, he couldn’t keep his mind off of you. His brain was wrecked with infernal ideas of how exactly he wanted to ruin you. He relished in the memory of your body and how desperately you clung to him. The drape of your arms around his neck, the sweet ring of your laughter, the heat of your want melting into his own.
Vox was trying to maintain his professionalism, but he was gradually losing his grip on defining that line. You were making it painfully difficult for him.
The idea of indulging in you crossed his mind, but he banished the thought when he considered the possible fallout. He valued your work more than the potential of what could be. If things between the two of you were to end less-than-ideally, he’d lose out on a valuable employee. If you decided to be mouthy with the press, he’d just have to kill you and toss you to the curb. And Velvette would have his head for that.
This is exactly why he avoided sleeping with anyone from within the company. Vox had a lengthy history of intimacy with various partners, but none of them were ever able to dig up internal information. Most were desperate fans who would do anything for a piece, even if it meant letting themselves be “coincidentally targeted during the Extermination”.
Although, more recently, he’s been considering taking back his boundary of ‘not fucking where you work’.
Vox had always noticed the relationship you carried with Velvette and he heard whispers of the more private moments between you two. You were practiced with discretion, knew how to balance professionalism and affairs, and still remembered who was in charge.
While Velvette was more reckless about her internal affairs, if she could trust you to keep quiet and obey, maybe Vox would be willing to test the waters with you.
“You’ve been distracted, Voxxy.” Valentino’s glasses slid onto the bridge of his nose as his eyes wandered over the TV demon’s body.
“There’s a lot of big things happening for VoxTek. Of course, I’ve been distracted.”
A low growl hissed from between Valentino’s clenched teeth, a deep scourging irritation slowly rising to the surface. He grabbed the bottom of Vox’s screen and snapped his attention toward him — where it rightfully belonged. Vox’s expression remained vacant as he finally met Valentino’s eyes.
“Seriously. You haven’t had any time for us.” Valentino pushed, sliding his spindly hands down the length of his partner’s arms. Before Valentino could intertwine his fingers with Vox’s, he wriggled out of his hold, snatching his hands back as if Valentino was sick and infected.
Vox’s screen glitched in passive indignation, brows raised in such as way that asked ‘are you fucking serious?’. He eyed the moth as if he were the most disgusting thing he’d ever lay his eyes on.
At one point, Valentino’s jealousy zipped straight to Vox’s groin. It filled him with desire knowing that someone could want him so bad that they’d kill for him. But now, there was nothing we wanted more than to get Valentino’s grimey hands off of him.
Valentino was killing too much for him. His possessiveness started to interfere with the inner workings of VoxTek and the public relations. Vox would use his slick charisma to win over investors and Valentino would hunt them down only to tear them limb from limb. His impulsivity lost them money, further progression and innovation, it lost them leverage over the people.
Valentino was single-handedly killing the looming power of VokTek. The press spat on Vox’s name, claiming that he didn’t know how to keep his bitches in line. If Vox couldn’t control his own co-owners, how could he control the rest of the district?
God, it pissed him off.
Before Vox’s anger could boil over, the overhead speakers crackled to life as they called for everyone to take their seats. Without another word, Vox quickly left his ‘partner’s side — earning a trail of sputtered insults and profanities. The drink Valentino held in his hand was downed and shattered in a matter of seconds, the glass cutting into his curled up hand.
From across the room, Velvette dragged you both toward your seats. She had an iron grip on your arm, the nerves buzzing off her fingertips and radiated into your skin. Her brows were knitted together, focused and undeniably stressed. Every show got Velvette twisted up in a bundle of nerves and stress.
“You’re fine,” you murmured into her ear. “They already love you. You’re the best. You’re Velvette.” Velvette glanced over to you, ears perked, like a dog hearing her favorite words.
“But the fuckin’ press they’ll—”
“Nope.” You cut her off, pressing a finger against her lips. “You already axed the weak link, we don’t have any more problems. We worked hard.”
“You’re gonna ruin my makeup, you bitch.” She swiped your hand away with a half-hearted huff. Her bright smile gave away her intention. But quickly your bit of comfort slipped past her mind. Velvette fidgeted in her seat, impatiently waiting for the show to just start. She wanted to have the praise of the public opinion.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Vox’s smooth voice chirped from above as he pulled out the chair to take his spot next to you. Velvette sharply reared her head in his direction, grabbing hold of his wrists. She dragged him forward, nearly pressing her face into his screen.
“Has anyone been talking shit out there?” Her voice was accusatory, as if he had already overheard the people’s wrong opinions and berating comments.
“Chill, Vel.” Vox rolled his eyes. “Most of the people in this room are here for you, babe. You have nothing to worry about.”
Velvette’s tension released along with her grip on Vox. He patted the backs of her hands in lazed support before she pushed him away and turned back around in her seat. Velvette’s head lolled onto your shoulder, her hand seeking comfort in your own.
Admittedly, her stress was endearing — it reminded you that she was still human at her core.
“If she squeezes you so hard she breaks your hand, I’ll take your spot.” Vox joked, a sleazy smile outstretched on his screen.
“She better not. We still have a gala to prepare for.” You laughed, beaming up at him, the most beautiful sound. All for him. It warmed Vox’s chest to hear.
The chatter of the room began to dim down alongside the lights, allowing for the host of the evening to take his spot center stage. One of the overhead lights trailed down to spotlight him directly, highlighting how insanely boring he looked. A sleek black blazer with satin lapels laid atop his plain white blouse, dark pants in the same scheme of black partnering his jacket. Out from his left breast pocket poked a little folded white handkerchief — not even folded in a vaguely unique way.
Even his stage presence was unremarkable; he was just your average white (?) guy with horrifying vibrant eyes and a smile that outstretched abnormally wide, even for Hell standards. You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed your chest as you hollowed out his words.
You were almost as anxious as Velvette. Your leg bounced in urgency, heel softly clicking the ground. You desperately clung onto your sanity hearing this man draw on about absolutely nothing significant regarding the fashion show — thanking whatever rich donors and for the audience in attendance, blah, blah, blah.
I just want to know if the people like the designs.
Amidst your complete zoning out of the host, you could feel an arm creeping around the back of your chair. His fingers traced the soft bare skin of your neck, gently brushing past your hair to leave phantom lines of where he touched you.
Your spine straightened, immediately alert of the encroaching presence. Before you could audibly react or even rear your neck to look over, Vox was already murmuring softly to you.
“Guy’s a piece of work, huh?” His voice crackled. Vox didn’t look at you or break his stoicism, but his voice was a dead give away of the smile he was hiding on his face. You pressed your lips together, holding in a giggle, the corners of your mouth curling ever so slightly.
“I’ve seen grout more interesting than him,” you whispered back, leaning toward Vox but not daring to look over at him.
“Want some?” Vox’s breath trickled down your neck. Your eyes flitted over toward the champagne glass he was nursing, the light liquid sloshing around the walls of the glass.
“Please,” you quietly responded. You gently plucked the glass from between his fingers, bringing the beverage to your lips and taking a drawn-out swallow of nearly half the drink.
As you withdrew the drink from your mouth, you noticed your lips had left a faint blemish of red along the rim of the glass. Before you could stutter out a hushed ‘wait’ to give you a moment to clean the glass, Vox nabbed his drink back from you.
“You looked like you needed it more than me,” he hummed, bringing his lips to the rim of the glass. He took a languid sip from the drink, his gaze unwavering from you as his mouth graced over where your lipstick marked the glass.
The electric color of his eyes pierced through you, absorbing every crevice of your body as he surveyed every curve and angle of your face and exposed shoulders. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled to a stand and a pitting discomfort laid intimately in your stomach.
You couldn’t look away. Something about watching his tongue carefully flit over the glass without breaking his eye contact with you sent a heat rushing to your core.
Imagine what else his tongue could do.
An electric shrill cut through your daydreaming, unwillingly ripped from continuing to lean into your temptations. You snapped your head forward, doing your best to ignore the sauntering eyes still tracing over your skin.
The lights danced around the room, pulsing in short flashes of violet, red, and blue. The beam of overhang lights above the catwalk burst on, a blinding white cutting through the dark of the audience. Spotlights in a warm white trailed to the back of the stage, lighting up the final part of the stage. The glittery drapery twinkled under the shine of the lights, bouncing back off into the audience.
From stage left emerged one of Velvette’s models, tall and languid as she made her way down the aisle. She was wearing one of the designs Beau worked on. You couldn’t find him in the audience, but you were certain he was gnawing away at his nails seeing his reworked pieces finally hit the runway.
Model after model swapped places with one another. Each struck their perfect poses, bright flashes of cameras reflecting off the shiny embellishments decorating their skirts and bodices. You leaned in closer, like a moth drawn to a flame, as you admired the fine details carefully crafted into the pieces you didn’t personally work on.
The Overlords on either side of you were lasered in on the pieces but were both quite different in their presentation. To a third-party, Vox was uncharacteristically quiet as his eyes scanned over each model. On occasion, you’d catch a small line of code running along the top corner of his screen before it’d disappear. You guessed that he was being overly critical of Velvette’s line — eyebrows knitted, pensive eyes, and the permanent flattened mouth.
Velvette, on the other hand, was muttering to herself under her breath. You couldn’t pick up what she was saying, but each utterance acted like a mantra that steadily calmed her lightning nerves. Her nails dug into your hand, holding onto you tight as you both watched the models stretch up and down the runway.
The first presentation was an eternity of Midsommar, and after intently admiring the bright colors and shimmering beads your eyes stung with bleariness. The dimmed lights breathed to life, bright house lights searing the room, indicating the brief intermission that cut between Velvette’s showcase and whatever pitiful designer had to follow up her act.
Vox leaned back in his seat, turning his head toward you, but you were already gone with the wind — stumbling in your heels as Velvette dragged you back out onto the main floor. An exhaustive sigh slipped past his lips, leaning the weight of his body against the chair.
“No luck with Velvette’s pet, huh?” Valentino’s voice crept around Vox, taunting him like a devilish serpent. The gleam of electric blue and red flashed in Valentino’s direction, a hollow anger decorating the TV demon’s face. The moth leaned into his partner, knocking shoulders and looking smug as always.
Vox couldn’t be bothered to come up with some jagged insult, opting for simply getting up and leaving the scene quickly. Valentino’s haughty smile dropped from his face and sank into his chair, glancing over toward Cosette on his right. He peered over the top of his glasses, leaning in close to her.
“You better keep that bitch in check,” he threatened low, bowing down dangerously low to her face. Cosette was trembling underneath his angry, red gaze. All she could do was dumbly nod, keeping silent and not daring to speak out of turn. When Valentino backed off of her, she frightfully looked around the room for you.
She saw you standing proudly next to Velvette, a drink in hand and a bright smile on your face. The array of demons around you two droned on as you feigned interest in their discussion. And from not too far away, Cosette noticed a certain Overlord making his way over to you with quick steps. She could feel her stomach drop, hoping Valentino wouldn’t turn around and notice.
In quick effort, she began pestering her Overlord date with various questions all focusing on him. Luckily, he continued to blab on-and-on with salacious details, each one spilling off his tongue in a fiery purr. Cosette forced herself to draw her eyes away from you, staring at her Valentino in the eyes long enough that her vision blurred. She needed to keep his attention long enough for you two to separate.
Vox slinked like a shadow in the night, on the prowl to fulfill the objective that tangled his mind. He loomed over yours and Velvette’s shoulders, ever the pest for his partner. “Hello gentlemen.” Vox’s smooth voice curled up from behind you, his voice almost landing an intimate breath by your ear. The moment he cut into the circle of conversation, with a shit-eating grin wide on his voice, he won the crowd over.
The collection of demons greeted home with bright, toothy smiles. Each of them took turns firmly shaking his hand or giving him a masculine clap on the shoulder. “How’s your evening going? Hasn’t it been a great show so far?” Immediately, he began entrancing his small audience with a charming smile. The pulse of color that emitted from his screen drew them in closer, like a mouth to a flame. In waves of eloquent words and brandishing compliments, he completely enraptured them.
Velvette barely acknowledged him, too tempted to berate him for his intrusion. Instead, she opted for squeezing your hand a little tighter than you would’ve liked. But apparently, everyone was feeling handsy with you tonight. As Vox let the gentlemen lead the conversation, he slid into a paved spot next to you and danced his hand around the exposed skin of your shoulders.
His claws trailed down your spine, drawing circles as he made his way down to perch rather low on your back. Your eyes locked onto Vox, a panicked flush burning at the tips of your ears. Suave and well-composed, he carried the appropriate dialogue with the demons — sparing you only a quick wink and a possessive pull to the side.
“I’m impressed by the designs this year, Velvette. You’ve upped your game quite a bit – gonna give your competitors a run for their money.”
“I sure hope so–”
“It certainly helps that my colleague here has the best and the brightest supporting her.” Vox zipped in, cutting off Velvette from fully accepting the appraisal. In quick succession, Vox ripped you from Velvette’s grasp and pushed you forward into the circle. Your boss began inflating your ego, singing songs of praise in your honor as he detailed the string of sleepless nights and hard work you contributed to the project and Velvette’s fashion empire as a whole.
You drowned out the polite applause and feigned sounds of approval from the unwitting audience. It was like you were stuck in your spotlight and you had forgotten every word in the script. You weren’t prepared for this to be the event where Vox started to flaunt you on his arm and push for your presence to be known.
A guilt stirred in your chest, one of a sickening pride. Hearing the scattered compliments about the specific dresses and suits you worked on, the astute observations about the cohesiveness — outward and direct exaltation you would’ve never heard without Vox standing here and tilting that limelight away from Velvette and onto you.
Just as you were about to flee back into the sidelines, Vox grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to the edge of the conversation. “I’m gonna borrow your little date for a moment, ‘kay?” Before Velvette could sputter out an excuse to keep you there, Vox quickly swept you away from the corral of gentlemen. “Enjoy the rest of the show, men.”
The feeling of Vox’s sharp claws curling around your body as he smoothly pulled you around the room made your head dizzy. The heat of his body against yours, the bright lights, and the drowning cacophonous laughter of the demons. Everything made your brains swirl and focus solely on Vox and the electricity buzzing between the two of you.
“Don’t you need to schmooze too?” You croaked out, nervously looking around the room for some out. That small moment of attention being honed in on you was enough to last you for the rest of the party. Anymore and you may burst and dissolve into a bundle of nervous energy – certain to make yourself a fool.
“Nah, this is Vel’s event — not mine. I can do whatever I want.” Vox chuckled. He side-stepped one of the servers and plucked two drinks off her tray. Vox handed you one of the drinks in hand, rubbing his shoulder up next to yours. “You’re always working during these things, don’t you want a little break now-and-again?”
You hummed as you brought the rim of the glass to your lips. “Well, aren’t I supposed to be on my best behavior?” You quirked your brow, a knowing smile teasing at your lips. “Being forced in the spotlight and all.”
“Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world for that,” he continued to politely wave and flash a smile at guests “for now, consider this your night off.” He quickly brushed past his colleagues and turned down conversations equally as fast. Like a man on a mission.
Vox led you toward one of the ornate balcony doors. The glass nearly reached floor to ceiling, the outside evening so dark that the windows merely acted as a mirror into the room. He gently pushed the doors open, widening it just enough that the pair of you could squeeze through.
The Hell skyline was beautiful at this ungodly hour, speckled in flecks of crimson and deep sea blue. The soft glow of Heaven from miles away barely graced the skies and decorated the land. The night air was cold and biting, raising bumps along your bare arms.
Before you could even begin to rub up-and-down your arms, Vox had draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. He leaned against the balcony fencing, joint hung lazily from his fingertips. With his other hand, he kept snapping his fingers to start a small light, but the winds were quick to extinguish it.
“Help a guy out?” He urged, and without another word you were quick to step closer to him. You set your drink down on the balcony perch before cupping your hands around Vox. His eyes were fixed on lighting the roll, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. You liked seeing how focused he was, his half-lidded eyes, and the soft grumble of frustration.
Vox was especially handsome in this lighting.
A soft stream of disrupted smoke rose in between you two, the smell of the grass quickly blown away with the wind. The moment you realized the joint had been lit, you took a step back away from Vox. Though, your swift escape was quickly interrupted by an aggressive pull by your hip.
“If you’re gonna have some, stay close — it might go out again.” Vox’s hand gently slid off your body, tantalizingly slow as he reached for his nearly abandoned drink. You didn’t dare retort and kept your proximity, urgently grabbing for your drink and gulping down a substantial amount.
Vox was so full of shit. His excuse to keep you close had nothing to do with any practicality. As badly as you wanted to pretend that all these exchanges were innocent or some way of Vox testing your resolve, you weren’t stupid. You knew there was something more sinister behind his intentions. He wanted to indulge in carnal desires, to shed his persona and feel like a regular, hungry man.
And you were almost just as desperate to return the indulgence.
“You’ve done good work tonight.” Vox praised as he passed you the joint. He leaned his elbows back against the stone, slowly gliding his legs to slot in between yours. “You easily had the best team.”
“You’re biased.” You shot back with a short laugh and a smile before bringing the joint to your lips. Vox shook his head, keeping his eyes steady on you as he took a sip from his drink.
“Sure, but I’m still a man with an eye for perfection.” There was a flirting hum to his voice, especially as his eyes flitted up and down your body. You felt so exposed before him, nearly trembling under his carnivorous gaze.
“And yet you get yourself looped up with some awful people,” you forced yourself to throw a sharp comment back. For the sake of saving yourself some ounce of humility in your flustered state. Vox let slip a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back.
“I’m a perfectionist. Doesn’t mean I keep my company perfect too.” He slyly responded, leaning forward closer to you now. “I don’t always do what’s necessarily in my best interest.” Vox’s voice dipped low, eyes lightly grazing over the blemishes and details of your face. You prayed he mistook your embarrassed redness for makeup blush.
“Why not? Keep everything else in your life perfect and your whole empire would be too.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Vox chirped with a toothy smile. He suddenly took hold of your waist, pulling you toward him and switching you around. Your back was suddenly met with the cold stone of the balcony fence, standing impossibly close to Vox as he held you close.
Your mostly finished glasses clattered to the floor and the joint hung loosely from your lips was plucked out by the Overlord shadowing over you. “I like indulging in a mistake or two.” His voice felt hot against your ear. The smoke slipping past his lips curled around your ear and down your neck, lighting your skin hot with frightened desire.
“Don’t you agree?” Vox caged you against the stone fencing of the balcony. You could feel your body lean back far enough to fall over and plummet to the ground. In a brief moment, you considered letting yourself fall back and diminish into a million pieces — maybe he was goading you to.
Your breath was caught in your throat, unable to even squeak out a sound of a reply. Vox’s hand rose up to caress your face, sliding his hand along the angle of your jaw before landing on your chin. He tilted your head up, leaning in closer to you. The last time he held your face like this, he threatened you into submission. In the lilt of his eyes and the warmth of his touch, you could tell this time it was different.
“Your heart’s beating so fast. Like a little rabbit,” he teased, inches away from your lips. His eyes darted back and forth between your mouth and your eyes, admiring how full of fear and want they were.
You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the weed, or both, but you dared to close the gap even more. Your hands sheepishly reached up for his tie, tracing your fingertips over the silky fabric. You slowly wrapped the fabric around your hand, tangling him up with you.
Without allowing for your brain to catch up with the movements of your body, you pulled down on him hard. Your mouth came crashing onto his, the hot buzzing sensation of his lips swallowing you whole. The joint was long abandoned, dropped and forgotten on the ground to be crushed under Vox’s shoe. His hands cupped around your face in desperation, wanting nothing more than to keep you here with him in this moment.
Your hands grew limp around his tie, sliding down the front of his abdomen. They danced dangerously low on his belt, your fingers tracing small shapes along the surface of the leather and occasionally curling around the loops. You pulled him closer to you by the hips, needing to feel him envelope your body entirely.
Any lingering moment of sensibility was lost to you. Every synapses in your brain fluttered into deactivation, instead focusing on the details of the pleasant hum of his lips against your own and the way his tongue gently prodded into your mouth and slid against your own.
“V-Vox,” you stammered out in between hot breaths. You looked up at him, eyes clouded with lust and unashamed need. You hadn’t planned on saying anything to him. You just wanted to say his name, just once — another weak-willed temptation you gave yourself the pleasure of dipping into tonight.
Vox’s hands trailed away from your face, one went to slide under your hair and hold you by the back of your neck, the other traveled down the slope of your spine and landed right above the small of your back. His mouth delved down onto the exposed flesh of your neck, peppering hot kisses up and down.
“See? Doesn’t it sound so nice when you say my name?” Vox’s voice rasped against the base of your throat. His sharp teeth grazed against your cold skin, the sharp indents digging into your neck. Vox bit down, not hard enough that it’d leave any noticeable mark, but just enough that it elicited a soft moan from your lips.
You feebly nodded, a trail of suppressed moans slipping past. Your hands gripped hard onto his hips, pulling him even closer to you — as if the distance could get any tighter. Vox’s knee parted through the fabric of your dress, slipping underneath the rather convenient slit of the skirt.
Vox licked short stripes around the bites he littered along your neck and shoulders, eventually trailing up to meet your lips once again. You groaned at the impact of his mouth on yours again, taking him fully. Your arms reached up and locked around his neck, fingers playing with the top of his collar and tracing around the sliver of his exposed neck.
“F-Fuck, baby,” Vox groaned against your lips as you began gently rolling your hips, grinding on his leg in desperation. Excusing any further politeness or airs of being a gentleman, he let his hands wander lower down your body, gently grazing over the curve of your ass before grabbing you tight as if you were all his.
“I need you,” you whispered low against the corner of his mouth. At your words, Vox groaned and his grip on you tightened. He pressed you down against his leg, rolling his hips against you in tandem.
“How badly?” He taunted, smiling against your lips as he peppered deep kisses in between his words. “So badly you’d let me fuck you on this balcony?” While the terror of getting caught and blasted all over the media sources froze you, the heat of it instead drifted down to your groin. You swallowed Vox once again, needing him to shut up and get it over with. If he was going to be bold and potentially fuck you over, he better do it now.
Vox’s leg slowly drifted away from your hot core, instead replacing the desire with his hand pressed against your dampening underwear. His fingers gently ran over the outside of your pussy, teasing you with his fingertips barely delving past the fabric and to your skin. You cried in protestation against his edging, grinding your hips against his hand, urging him to plunge his fingers deep inside you.
For once, Vox obediently obliged and gently pushed your underwear to the side. Your slick covered his fingers even just as he slid down your raw pussy. You had been waiting for this for a while, you finally let your professionalism facade drop and let Vox take hold over your wanton desires.
The moment Vox let his fingers slip inside you, he buried his fingers as deep as he could inside you. You bit back a cry at the sudden stretch around just his two fingers. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, careful as to not smudge any of your makeup on his button-up.
“When was the last time anyone fucked you?” Vox’s deep chuckle vibrated against you. He was unrelenting in his movements, hastily shoving his fingers in-and-out of you. The unabashed sound of your arousal echoed in the evening – the event too quiet to cover up the embarrassment you felt.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He curled his fingers up, prodding at your sweet spot. You shamelessly cried out as he continued to press his fingers against the area, causing you to squeeze even tighter around his hand. A trail of profanities slipped past your lips as you bit down on his shoulder.
As you were nearing your climax, a clanging ringtone sang through the night and startled you out of the moment. Vox was quick to silence the damn thing, immediately willing to ignore whatever important call he could be missing. All he was focused on at the moment was you. But before he could bring you back to a steady climb to your high, your own phone’s ringtone blared into the air.
The sound grossly reminded you of reality — and it sent an immediate panic to your body. You ripped yourself away from Vox, scrambling to find where you had dropped off your purse on the balcony. Your heart sank when you saw the undeniable face of Velvette lighting up your phone screen. Without another moment of consideration, you picked up her call and urgently held your phone to your ear.
“Where the fuck are ‘ya? They just called last five minutes and I haven’t seen you for ages.” The crackle of Velvette’s voice berated you through the speaker. You quickly looked over at Vox in a panic, collecting your purse in a hurry and dusting down your skirt — doing your best to ensure you were as uncompromised as possible.
“I’m sorry, Velvette. I got caught up in a business discussion,” you were quick to lie, looking back at Vox as you shrugged off his jacket and threw it back to him. “I’ll be in right now.” You hung up on Velvette and shoved your phone back into your bag. You curled your hair back behind your ear and dragged your thumb around the outline of your lips, blindly cleaning up any evidence of your tryst.
“I’ll see you in there.” Was all you said to Vox before you left him alone on the balcony, slipping out from the cold and back into the bustle of the crowd.
Once you left, Vox groaned and smacked his screen. He was fucking pissed. Vox adjusted the tent in his pants, grumbling profanities under his breath about getting fucking blue-balled. Vox flipped through the notifications on his phone, seeing the stark call from Valentino lighting up as the most recent.
As he stared down his phone, Valentino’s contact burst into color on the screen, accompanied by the irritating sound of the goddamn ringtone. Vox quickly answered, irritation seething through his teeth.
“Where are–”
“None of your fucking buisness.”
Vox stashed his phone away and adjusted his disheveled tie, looking out at the sight of the Entertainment District as he did. His brain flickered back to the sight of seeing your hand bound up in his tie. An idea for exploration later. If only the cockblockers in his life didn’t shoe-horn themselves in.
Before Vox could sling his jacket back onto his shoulders, he stared down at the little blemish of lipstick you left on his blouse. A small smile danced on his lips, a little achievement of pride, a reminder of what happened out here tonight. Fortunately for you, the suit jacket perfectly covered up your evidence. The next time, he was sure he wanted to brandish you and have you return the favor — a little gossip fodder for the media.
When you made your way back into the party, you quickly slipped past the wandering eyes of anyone you could’ve known and fled for the bathroom. You took claim before one of the mirrors, quick to grab a damp paper towel and scrub yourself clean of any visible evidence. You couldn’t do much about your dripping arousal, but the least you could do was fix your lipstick.
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you could only see flickers of the last however many minutes that transpired between you and Vox. You splashed your hands with cold water and patted your reddened cheeks. Fuck. How were you going to try and act normal for the rest of the night?
You highly doubted Vox would try anything further tonight, especially after such a close call. He only got one chance for the evening and you both already blew it with your timing. You didn’t know when something like this would happen again, and you weren’t holding out onto any hope that something would happen. So now, how were you supposed to keep professional airs with him again?
You already delved well past the line of workplace relations. There was a blank space for some fine-line writing between the job description of “Designer for Vox”. You didn’t know what you’d scribble down in place, but whatever it was — it was messy and a mistake.
You were prone to mistakes like anyone, but this one was by far the worst one you could’ve made. You didn’t deny your enjoyment and pleasure, and your yearning for more. But you recognized that, as clear as day, this could fucking ruin you if anyone found out.
The bathroom doors suddenly slammed open and in the entry way was a very distressed Velvette. Your gaze had shot toward her, making hard eye-contact with her. You hoped the adrenaline of her panic made her ignore everything else that was going on with your – any blemishes you weren’t able to fix or the fact that every muscle in your body was so tense.
“There you are!” Velvette was quick to drag you away from the sink, clutching onto you like a vice. “I’m not letting that flat-faced dickbag take you again tonight, okay? I can’t stand the likes of these guys without you there.” She pulled you through the crowd and you stayed quiet, unwilling to even nod your head. It was better to not argue or even question her about anything.
If you just went along with it, maybe the pieces would click back into place. You could go back to working for two-thirds of VoxTek like normal clockwork. You could disappear behind the curtains once again. And you would soon forget this night ever happened.
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