⋆｡°✩21st Century Schizoid Girl✩°｡⋆ @coffinconspiracy - Tumblr Blog

Dec 24, 2025

Gridlock Remedy (AO3)

Pairing: Vox/Reader

Rating: 🍋 🔞

Length: 3,300

Warnings: GFD, hand jobs, breast feeding, blow jobs, bondage wires, NEET!Vox

Summary: Having lost his power and influence, Vox is boyrotting in the Vee tower basement and has grown to rely on you in his day to day stagnation.

Notes: Reader is a Fourth Vee but otherwise ambiguous. Not beta read, excuse any typos, etc.

It’s up to you to take care of him, not just because you too need to lay low for a while but because Val and Vel are totally unwilling to at the moment.

Maybe they wouldn’t be so stubborn if you weren’t here, since it isn’t like they hate him–they just hate him for now and spending your days behind the scenes is giving you respite from the public eye.

It’ll pass, you think to yourself for the hundredth time this week, stepping off the elevator to the bottommost floor of the Vee tower basement, holding a box of fresh pizza with the bag of wings wrapped around your wrist. This is all going to pass.

You knock on Vox’s door twice before letting yourself in and he’s the same as he’s been for weeks: sitting on the floor, in front of Val’s old chaise lounge, his claws glued to a Gamecube controller and the early 2000s model plasma TV that’s propped up on crates.

The screen is surrounded by a web of cords on the floor belonging to every gaming console and an assortment of smaller televisions and adapters.

Vox is totally absorbed in one of the most annoying games to shiny hunt, Pokemon Colosseum, specifically for Remoraid, wearing nothing but a loose blue shirt with a shark sewn onto the pocket and his navy boxers. Despite the fact that he’s barely done anything in weeks, it looks like he’s lost weight or maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks on you.

The memory foam mattress in the corner of the room is disheveled, the sheets twisted up into the comforter and the pillows scattered about.

There’s a laptop closed and set underneath the chaise, next to the flip phone Vox uses only to text you or the other Vees. He still refuses to connect to the internet.

“Hey,” you greet him, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

“Oh. Hey, babe.” He glances up at you.

Remoraid bursts out of the Pokeball in all of its shadowy defiance.

“I got the food you wanted.”

“Thanks. Will you grab me a soda?”

You place the food down next to him and go to the mini fridge plugged into the wall behind the couch, which has a half exposed outlet, and grab one of the dozen bottles of soda that are half full. Why the fuck does he do this?

As if reading your mind, he calls out, “there’s a full one in the bottom.”

You roll your eyes and find it all the way in the back. “Vox, stop wasting so much. At least empty what’s gone flat into the sink.”

“Uh, I was going to earlier, but I forgot. Can you do it?”

“Sure…”

You bring him his soda and he finally sets the controller down to open it and takes a long, audible drink as if he’s just been sitting here thirsty the whole time.

He hisses in satisfaction. “That’s the good stuff.”

“So how many resets are you on?”

“I stopped counting after eight hundred-something.”

You lay across the couch, staring up at the half finished popcorn ceiling for a moment before reaching down and taking the controller to pick up where he left off. “The odds are actually really fucking steep in the third gen.”

You catch the Remoraid with a few more throws while Vox opens up his pizza and starts eating.

You check its shiny status in the party screen. No dice.

Vox presses the reset button on the console.

“It’s pretty ambitious,” you comment, mindlessly mashing your way through the menus. “Ribbon Master, I mean.”

“Well,” he says with his mouth full. “I’m an ambitious guy.”

“That you are.”

And it’s part of why you’re so in love with him; it always felt like he provided an updraft under your wings when you were at your lowest. If only you could have returned the favor, the two of you might have soared all the way to heaven after all. But you didn’t and the white realm is still in the sky, untouched and taunting every time you leave the tower (you try to avoid it).

You engage the battle with the Miror B’s grunt, spam Surf with Quagsire and Helping Hand with Espeon. It’s not the most efficient process, but it doesn’t require thinking and Vox is very much trying not to think these days.

Now would probably be a good time to segway into how Vox should tap into that ambition and start working on his public comeback already. You might also want to inform him as calmly as possible that Val is slowly chipping through the company savings paying for “high art” erotic paintings that are definitely both a scam and a conspiracy cooked up by your old overlord enemies who have formed an alliance to dismantle Voxtek.

But you’ll tell him that stuff tomorrow, you vow, not for the first time.

He needs this. Or maybe you need him to need this so that he needs you–no, you’re just repaying him for building you into an icon.

You chuck the snag ball at Remoraid with its health in the red.

Capture!

Check the menu. Not a shiny.

Vox hits the reset again.

The two of you cycle through this a few more times, until he’s finished eating and ready to take the controller back.

At this point you take the bag you brought the wings in and stuff all the empty bottles lying around the room into it, then go to the fridge to empty out the half-empty bottles from there.

The prison cellar sink here is kinda crappy. Takes a while for it to drain.

“Oh yeah,” you say, unscrewing the next cap. “Did you write down your grocery list?”

“Pen ran out of ink, but I just want the same thing as last time.”

“Alright.”

With the bottles out of the way, you grab the hamper and take to gathering up his laundry which is scattered about the floor near his bed. The plastic dresser doesn’t hold much compared to his giant walk-in closet twenty floors up, but he isn’t exactly trying to impress anyone.

You set the garbage and by the door, you scratch your head, wracking your brain to try to remember if you’ve forgotten anything.

Vox calls out to you with a nervous laugh. “Hey, uh, don’t leave just yet.”

“Huh? I wasn’t going to.”

You slide next to him and rest your head against Vox’s shoulder, rubbing your hand up and down his upper arm where there’s still a healthy amount of extra muscle from the peak of his power. “Am I forgetting something? Do you need anything else?”

“Hmm…” He slouches back against the couch and sighs, as if he’s contemplating. “Yeah. Your lap.”

“C’mon, then.” You lower your knees down at an angle so that he can lay across your thighs while propping himself up on his elbows.

He smirks at you, a glimmer of his old self shining through the static, and you know what he wants.

“Yeeees?” You rub the back of his neck, feeling the thick circuits beneath his skin.

He bites the collar of your blouse and pulls it like a dog yanking its leash, sending the buttons flying off and clattering to the floor. It was expensive, but he’s the one who bought it for you in the first place.

You giggle and reach behind your back, unlatching your bra. “Alright, I can take a hint.”

The moment you toss it to the floor he’s pushing his face against your tits, his long tongue slathering your skin with saliva. The static from his screen tingles.

“Aren’t you eager today?” You coo, poking the shark embroidered onto his shirt pocket.

He hums against your skin, taking your breast into his mouth and sucking. His long tongue coils around the supple shape, coating it in saliva. The underside laps against your hard nipple, drawing out a shaky gasp from you.

His claws dig into your waist, as if you might try to run, but you’d never run–not from him, not from your responsibilities, and certainly not from the trust Vox has invested in you.

“Oh, Vox, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” Your touch glides all the way down his torso to the hard tent in his boxers.

His cock is already hard in your grasp as you pull it free, precum dripping down the shaft.

“You’re already this hard?” You coat your voice in enough sugar to kill a diabetic. “You must have been waiting for me all day, huh?”

“Mmhmm…” His voice reverberates against your breast, groaning as you slide your hand up and down his dick.

Seeing the most powerful demon in hell reduced to melting under your touch and nursing on you has done a number on your own ego. Not just anyone could see Vox like this, yet alone have him so desperate.

His tongue works against your skin with a hunger that can never be satisfied.

“And you haven’t cum without me?” You ask.

Vox shakes his head ever so slightly. “Mmnnhm.”

“Good boy!” You’re already drooling, rubbing your knees together, the wetness coating your breast cold in the basement air as he pulls away long enough to cast you a half lidded lustful smirk.

“I never cum without you anymore, sweetheart,” he pants.

You squeeze his throbbing cock, pressing your thumb against the head, amused at how his screen flickers.

“F̵u̷u̸u̴u̷c̶k̵…̴” He moans and reaches up to squeeze your other breast between his fingers. “It’s criminal how good you are at this! God damn.”

He sits up, wipes his chin, and pushes himself off of you and up onto the chaise. “C’mon, suck me off.”

“I’d be happy to,” you assure him, voice sultry, taking hold of his thighs to balance yourself into position.

He glides his claws through your hair, pulling it back over your shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You make a show of teasing the tip of your tongue up his length, then close your lips around the tip and inhale.

“That’s it,” he breathes, massaging the back of your scalp. “Just…just like that…good…”

You hum against his cock, taking more of it, the head hitting your uvula. His claws massaging your scalp lull you to a wet, slow rhythm, you submit to him entirely as you always have.

He’s throbbing against your tongue as it slathers his skin.

His cords snake from his spine and two of them curl around your wrists like ribbons. The rest float around your body, the static emanating from them popping in the air excitedly–he knows better than to zap you while you’ve got his cock in his mouth, but he can control himself less and less these days.

You brace for it, loosen your jaw, but before you can brace for the shock a cord wraps around your neck and squeezes.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Vox orders you with authority.

He takes hold of your hair and shoves his hips forward. ”Fuck, fuck F̴͓͖̜̐̒̽̇͌͋̉̚ü̴̧͕̭̣̥̟̝̤̦͍͚̆̈́̊̑̾͂͗̚̕̚c̶͎̭͖̲̎̓̀̉́̐̃̅̈́̈́̉ḱ̸͚͓̹̜̻̱̹̜̆̆̈́̎̾̈́̚͝͠͝…̴̼͙̲̰̮̘͔̪͚̥̌̕!!”

You gag on his cock hitting the back of your throat, the cord constricting around your trachea.

The ribbons around your wrists tighten and guide your arms behind your back to cuff you. They slither up your arms, constricting you entirely.

Your body struggles with the urge to breathe and all you can do is take it–take his dick shoving into your esophagus and endure the saliva cascading down your chin.

It hurts and it burns, but it makes your pussy so wet–you want him to cum inside of you, this isn’t fair! You whine, coughing slightly against him, and he laughs and slows down.

“What’s that?” He breathes, taking hold of your chin.

“Voooox,” you whimper, slobbering against his dick as he pulls it out of your mouth. “C-C’mon, I-I want you to fuck me, too…”

His cords tighten under your breasts, constricting your ribcage and earning a pained gasp. “Let me think about it…hmmm….okay!”

Two thick wires curl under your armpits and jerk you upwards, positioning you onto his lap. He pulls your panties aside and rubs the head of his dick over your clit a few times, then pushes it into your slick waiting folds.

“You’re such a slut for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes…”

His appendages push you down to take his entire length into you. It fills you up, long and massive and punching your cervix over and over as his wires puppeteer you riding him.

You’re his own personal onahole, one he doesn’t even have to use hands to use. Instead, he digs his nails into the back of the chaise, leaving fresh claw marks among the dozens of rips that have become a tally for his incarceration.

Your head lolls as he impales you over and over, your pussy clenching him like your life depends on it. Sweat cascades down your skin. Your hips are twitching.

Nothing feels better than being one with Vox, you think to yourself, smirking at how he’s gritting his teeth and waiting.

You let yourself cum for him, locking eyes, the euphoria surging up your spine and gushing out of your cunt with an indecent squelch.

He lets himself cum with you, grunting, smearing your juices against his crotch as he forcefully sheaths himself in you. The heat of his fluids shoot against your cervix, blowing his load directly into your womb in thick ropes.

His cords loosen, their grip fading and replaced by his strong arms wrapping around your torso and holding you securely.

His flat face collapses into your breasts, kissing them tenderly and idly sucking on your nipple.

You embrace him back, humming contently, and you fall on your sides together.

As he holds, there’s the desperation you crave in how he holds you. A gentleness in how he shows restraint to not squeeze too hard. His nails are pressed up against your skin and you’re reminded of the considerate precision of a cat kneading its claws.

He pulls out of you, gasping, and sighs heavily as he rolls onto his back. “Fuck..”

Your combined fluids leak out of your abused hole, pleasantly warm.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the sound of his heart beating and close your eyes. You’re more tired than you realized; despite everything still on your schedule today, you can afford a little nap if it’s cuddled up next to Vox like this.

“After I finish this ribbon master I’m ready to go upstairs,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?” Your voice hurts.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I have to confront it eventually. My shit ratings.”

He sits up, slapping his face into his palms and squeezing his claws at the corners of the screen. “Here I am starting the fuck over rebuilding myself for the third time. I don’t know if I can ever get those ratings back to where they were. Don’t know if Val will let that happen or if he likes being in charge too much.”

You pull yourself out of your sleepy stupor and pull yourself up next to him. “What? Vox, c’mon, Val still loves you.”

“Tsch.” He won’t look at you. “He usurped me. Sentimentality isn’t necessary anymore.”

You almost can’t believe what you’re hearing. “Huh?! That’s not…that’s not how it is...”

There’s a heavy silence, one he’s waiting on you to fill with some answer for why he’s wrong. He wants to be wrong. It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?

He looks up at you with slouched shoulders and an impatient frown.

Val has loved Vox for longer than you, maybe even more than you–not that it’s a competition, because it isn’t. This whole poly situation with the Vees has been delightfully self explanatory with your bodies doing the explaining.

“Listen.” You try to clear your throat. “Fuck, you really made it hard to talk. Val would rather have you back than be in charge. He doesn’t like the responsibility. He doesn’t, like, revel in it the way you do.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Vox’s mouth. “Well, Val never has been the most responsible or rational member of our team.”

“Because!” You nod along with your own thoughts. “You see responsibility as power, he sees it as…a hassle, and it kinda is. I don’t like it either, honestly!”

“You’ve been pretty responsible taking care of me.” Vox huffs. “Maybe you should overthrow Val and claim the crown yourself.”

“That’s only because I–” You bite your lip and puff your cheeks. “Vox! C’mon. I-I’ve been responsible with taking care of you–and other things upstairs, mind you, I’ve been super busy–because I love you. And so does Val. So does Vel. We…all three of us…”

You take his hand between both of yours; the size difference still makes you flustered. “We miss you.”

“I…” Vox’s screen tints a light blue in the middle and he’s frowning in that adorable pouty way which indicates he’s being forced to confront tender feelings. “It isn’t like they can’t come down here!”

“Do you want them to?”

“No–I mean, yes, but I don’t want you to ask them to.”

It would be tricky to convince them to visit Vox without outright asking, but you’re fairly sure you could swing it.

However, there’s an easier solution. Vox is already willing to go upstairs after this Ribbon Master quest, and so now is as good a time as ever to drop the bomb.

“Vox, listen.” You sigh, feigning regret. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but…when you go upstairs, you need to check the books and get Val’s spending under control.”

Vox sneers. “What? Is he buying expensive movie sets for his little porn projects?”

“Set pieces, in a sense…” You take hold of his broad shoulder and whisper where his ears would be if he had them. “He’s buying paintings at like a million a pop…”

“He’s what?!” Vox nearly short circuits and sits straight up, pulling you with him. “How–how fucking long has this been going on?!”

“Um…a while?”

“Why didn’t you tell me soo–okay, just.” He sighs, closes his eyes, and makes an attempt to collect himself. “Sweetheart, throw my clothes in the laundry please and when they’re dry I’ll go up with you to have a chat with him.”

“Really?!”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“A little.” You flick his antenna, giggling because you won.

That was easier than you thought.

He gives your ass a slap as you stand up, cum drying down your thighs, and grabs a pack of cigarettes from the side table.

“Spending millions on some fucking paintings,” he mumbles, beating the bottom of the pack against his palm before pulling one out and sticking it into his mouth. “Fucking Val…”

He lights it, audibly slams the lighter on the table. “Back on this fucking bullshit.”

He breathes in the nicotine, idly watching you pile his laundry into the rickety old washing machine a few feet away from the sink. He’s already anticipating Val’s stupid excuses for his poor money management skills–really, this shouldn’t come as a surprise at all.

But there’s something else on Vox’s mind, seeing you take off your panties and toss them in with the wash.

What a good woman you are, he thinks to himself. For months you’ve taken care of him, bringing him whatever takeout he asked for and keeping this pigsty of a basement in livable condition. They really don’t make women like you anymore.

“Babe,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Bring me a soda, would you?”

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