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Vox couldn’t bear for Val to see this new, soft body of his. Or at least, no more than strictly necessary. Val had commented on it the last time they’d had sex.
"Aw, Voxxy, you're finally gaining what they call happy weight!" Val had purred, his large hand gently cupping the warm underside of his belly. "It's cute! You know, they say that if it stays, it means the relationship will last forever."
Vox had swatted his hand away at the time, scoffing that Val was full of absolute shit and reassured him that he’d be back to his slim figure in no time. Yet, even as those words left Vox's mouth, he couldn't help but notice the faint frown that flickered across Val’s face, a subtle drop of disappointment that was quickly swallowed up by a smirk.
That was four months ago.
Since then, that same little pouch had grown into a full-on tummy one that, if Val wanted to, could easily fill all four of his hands.
It wasn't Vox's fault that his life had turned so sedentary. Between managing the network, endless production meetings, and monitoring feeds, he barely moved from his desk. And when he did have time to eat, it was always whatever fast, greasy junk he had Ethan order for him, paired with the constant stream of late-night snacks hidden deep in his second desk drawer.
Ugh. Vox knew he was letting himself go. And that was precisely why he had been dodging every single one of Val's soft touches for the past four months. He just couldn’t let him see much; he had let himself go, too afraid of the disgusted look that would flash within Valentino’s eyes, anything but that, please. Vox pleaded to himself as he set back to work.
"Cut! We’re clear!"
"Great show, boss!" a stagehand called out, rushing over with a clipboard. "Ratings for the eight o'clock block just peaked—"
"Fantastic," Vox cut him off. He flashed a sharp, strained smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Send the full breakdown to my desk. I’m done for the night."
He walked off the set, albeit at a quicker pace, nodding to the crew, actively repeating to himself as a mantra: hold it, hold it, don’t let go, you can’t let it go yet, move, move, move faster! As he made his way back to his private office, like everyone in the whole damn company wanted to speak to him. He honestly should have just zapped himself to his damn office, as Vox felt the steel boning beneath his shirt biting mercilessly into his waist any time he took a step. What the hell was his office actually this far away, Vox thought with each shallow breath he tried to take in.
By the time he reached his private quarters and the heavy doors slid shut, locking with a quiet hiss, Vox completely abandoned any pretense of formal composure.
He didn't even make it past the entryway before his knees buckled. A harsh, choked sound tore from his throat a wet, pained groan followed as he tore off his suit jacket and threw it onto the floor. His hands were shaking violently, claws clinking against one another as he fumbled with the fasteners of the heavy corset underneath.
He’d spent twelve straight hours holding his stomach in, forcing his body to maintain that hourglass, thin silhouette for each broadcast. It partially helped that he was a machine; he’d been able to turn off his pain sensors, but he could only turn them off for so long. It was the one flaw he’d found in his sinner body.
He had once tried leaving his pain sensors completely off when he first started gaining his new powers. But after a particularly nasty fight where he hadn't even noticed he was bleeding out from an ugly stab wound to the back until Alastor hastily pointed out that he was dripping blood all over his kitchen floor, right before Vox proceeded to pass out, that was strictly out of the question. So, he had compromised: turn off the pain receptors for a set amount of time, then turn them right back on when he was in private.
Right now was one of those times.
The second the receptors flicked back online, every muscle and nerve point screamed at him. It felt as if he were being pricked from all angles with sharp needles, yet those very same needles felt like the only things holding his stomach hostage, forcing it to stay put. With a desperate yank, the front busk popped open. The pressure was released all at once. Vox gasped, his belly immediately spilling forward, like a small tidal wave, as it was no longer trapped by the rigid canvas.
"Fuck..." he rasped, stumbling back until his hips hit the edge of the vanity table.
His gills flared wide, greedily gulping in deep lungfuls of air. His chest heaved up and down, static popping across his screen as his body finally got the oxygen it had been starving for all day. He reached behind his back, yanked the laces completely loose, and let the crushing contraption drop to the carpet with a heavy thud.
Trembling, Vox leaned his hands on the cool marble of the vanity, forcing himself to look up into the mirror.
His skin was a mess. Where the corset had been squeezed against him, deep, angry red indentations were carved into his waist, raw, swollen ridges left by the steel edges digging into his flesh for hours. Nestled right beside those harsh red marks were soft, pale stretch marks, fanning out over his hips and lower stomach. They were becoming more and more apparent each time Vox looked into the mirror.
Vox slowly dragged a hand over his belly, his thumb catching in one of the deep, painful grooves. He really should put some ice on it to help the swelling go down… he still had another full day of filming tomorrow.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his screen dimming with a cold, sickening wave of shame. He was just so damn tired. He wanted so badly to do away with the corset entirely, and in fact, he had tried. But the moment he’d put on his suit without it, he felt instant disgust. Vox hated how soft he had become. How could anyone find this sexy? He hated every line, every mark, and every single inch of his body that refused to stay thin.
Of course, the Vees hadn't helped in that department. Hell, they’d essentially made it official company policy to reject any fat fucks who tried to set foot in their tower, on top of publicly shaming anyone who tipped the scales past 200 pounds.
So, where the fuck did that leave Vox? He shoved the thought down before it could swallow him whole. And so, away went his doubts, and on stayed the tight, organ-crushing corset. Vox was so deep inside his own head, he didn’t even notice the soft click of the bedroom door.
Valentino had just finished up on set and wanted nothing more than to spend some quiet time with his husband. It was becoming a rare event these days, made even rarer by the fact that Vox hadn't immediately yelled at him to wait before coming into their shared bedroom.
Usually, Val’s arrival was greeted by the frantic rush of heavy footsteps, the desperate rustle of fabric, a muted burst of cursing, and then finally Vox’s tense voice calling out that he could come in. When Val would walk in, he’d find Vox tucked tightly into bed, the comforter pulled up so high it nearly threatened to swallow him whole, hiding every single inch of his body from view.
That had become their new normal. It was as if Vox was convinced that if he didn't want to see himself without clothes, no one else should, either.
So when Val slipped inside, he did so quietly, his red eyes scanning the room. Taking in the chaotic state of the space, his gaze lingered on the crumpled corset lying discarded on the floor like a shed skin.
He turned his attention toward the bed, where Vox had buried himself beneath a thick mound of comforters. A low, miserable hum of static vibrated throughout the room.
Val let out a quiet sigh. He knew where this conversation was heading, and he’d been wanting to talk to Vox about this for a while now, even if they kept missing each other (though Val suspected it was really just Vox running away from him). The second part of his sigh was to let Vox know he was in the room, giving him a moment to prepare himself mentally.
"You know, Voxxy... if your clothes are getting a little snug, you don't have to torture yourself with metal and wire," Val said, trying to keep his voice playful to cut through the heavy tension building with every step he took toward the bed. "Velvette’s been dying to refresh your wardrobe anyway. She can make you anything you want, no big deal. Besides..."
Here goes nothing, Val thought.
"...a little extra weight on you? It’s sexy as hell, mi amor."
"Get out," a muffled, crackling voice rasped from beneath the blankets. "Just leave me alone, Val."
Val ignored the warning, as he so often did. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping beneath his weight. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that," Val coaxed, pulling a small leather-bound sketchbook and a pencil from his inner coat pocket. "Look, I'm serious. I was already jotting down a few ideas..."
Val flipped open the book, his hands working quickly as he sketched out fluid, elegant lines across the paper. "Softer cuts. Richer fabrics. Something that lets you actually breathe instead of squeezing yourself to death. If you keep forcing yourself into those restricting suits, one of these days you're gonna burst right out of your clothes in the middle of a broadcast."
Two conflicting thoughts began to war inside Vox violently. The first was the humiliation that Val had noticed. Val knew he was practically spilling out of his own damn clothing. But the second was a strange wave of relief? Hearing that Val had actually been thinking about this for a while, that he was actively planning to help Vox design a new wardrobe and even drag Velvette into it, made something in his bruised heart feel partially healed.
Yet Vox’s mind was a cruel, complex thing; it always seemed to seek out whatever light or semblance of happiness and twist it into something monstrous. A sheen of cold sweat broke out across his skin. He felt sick at the thought of Val seeing him. He felt furious at himself for allowing himself to get this big. He wanted Val to leave immediately, and yet he wanted more than anything for him to stay and cuddle like they used to.
"Look," Val insisted, reaching over with two of his lower hands to gently pull the comforter down, eager to show off the rough draft. "See? I was thinking something with a lower neckline, maybe—"
no. no, no, no, NO!
As Val’s hands kept lowering the blanket, the more he was going to see of his flabby body! NO! Vox could see the way Val’s eyes started to descend slowly, and the horrible feelings of shame rushed back all at once, causing Vox to snap. It was all just too much.
"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" Vox roared, bursting out from beneath the blankets with a blinding flare of bright blue sparks.
Before Val could even react, Vox snatched the sketchbook right out of his hands. With a violent, electric surge running through his claws, the edges of the thick paper charred and blackened with smoking burn marks as Vox hurled the book across the room. It slammed violently against the far wall and dropped to the carpet with a dull thud.
Silence descended on the bedroom. Val stared at the smoking book on the floor, then turned his gaze back to Vox. Not even paying attention to his now exposed body. His red eyes narrowed, the playful warmth entirely gone.
"Fine," Val said, his voice dropping to a tone filled with disappointment, something far more scary to Vox than if Val had just burst into anger at him. Val stood up from the bed, drawing himself up to his full, towering height. "Be that way. I was trying to help you, Vox."
Without another word, Val turned on his heel and walked out, the heavy doors sliding shut behind him and making no indication that Val was coming back.
Left alone in the darkness, the high burst of adrenaline quickly drained from Vox’s system, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. His screen dimmed to a low, glitching as he stared at the closed door, the reality of how horribly he’d lashed out at Val felt like a bucket of ice water being thrown on him. He felt pathetic. God..I’m such an asshole and for what…”
Vox swung his feet off the bed and stood up, his legs shaking beneath him, as all the fight in him left. He slowly made his way to the opposite end of the room, where he had just thrown Val’s sketchbook.
He knelt beside the charred leather book. The paper was still warm to the touch, and a smoky smell wafted over the room as Vox’s fingers trembled as he picked it up, carefully smoothing out the bent, blackened pages. Evidently, some of the pages survived Vox’s attack.
The first few sheets were filled with quick, stylish fashion concepts, draped suits, relaxed silk shirts, and tailored outerwear designed specifically to accommodate a fuller, softer waistline without sacrificing an ounce of authority. Every line had been drawn with meticulous care, tailored around Vox’s exact proportions.
Vox turned to the final page, and his heart sank straight into his stomach. What the fuck is wrong with me?
There, drawn straight in the center, was a full-page sketch of the two of them standing side by side. Vox was wearing one of the new, custom-tailored suits, looking relaxed and sharp, while Val stood beside him with all four arms wrapped securely around Vox's waist, pulling him close. At the bottom of the page, Val had scribbled a tiny note in the margin: Date night outfit?
Vox stared down at the burnt, ruined drawing, a heavy lump forming in his throat. A wave of intense regret washed over Vox, a heavy ache settling deep in his chest as he stared at the singed sketch. Every instinct roared at him to run after Val, to knock on his door, to swallow his stupid, stubborn pride and apologize for how horribly he acted.
But Vox was a prideful creature, even as the crushing weight of shame anchored him to the floor, his ego wouldn’t let him bend. Instead, Vox closed the sketchbook, set it gently on the nightstand, and crawled back onto the bed, curling into a tight ball beneath the heavy comforters waiting for sleep to sink its claws into him.
The next morning, Vox looked as terrible as he felt. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, his screen was dimmed so low his features were barely visible, the dark circles beneath his eyes a stark testament to his sleepless night.
He had summoned Ethan hours before call time, demanding the assistant pull the corset laces as tight as they would go. Ethan had hesitated, stammering a quiet warning about the strain on his already bruised body, but Vox had silenced him with a harsh glare.
Now, wrapped in his signature suit, Vox looked razor-thin, pristine, and uncomfortable. The metal wiring dug deeply into his ribs, and the corset boning was pressing so hard against his upper torso that his gills could barely expand a millimeter to catch air.
He didn't care. He should be used to it at this point. He needed to get it the fuck together, even as the guilt of last night still threatened to eat away at him. Today was the biggest broadcast event of the quarter. He was hosting a massive, three-part live special: starting with an exclusive interview with Hell’s top trending fashion influencer (courtesy of Velvette), which then moved into one of Val’s new movies and speaking to one of the top actors (not being Angel dust) and concluding with a celebrity cooking segment to showcase the new V-Tech Smart Kitchen line. He did not have time to worry about the strain that he was putting his body through; it was going to be fine.
"Three, two, one... and we are LIVE!" the floor manager yelled, throwing a sharp cue finger toward Vox.
The studio lights flared blindingly bright. Vox threw himself into the performance with practiced ease. He breezed through the influencer segment, keeping his spine locked like an iron bar, subtly holding his breath every time the camera zoomed in tight.
The second segment Vox could feel himself struggling, this new lead actor just would not shut the fuck up, one question turned into story after story about nothing! It didn’t even have anything to do with the damn movie they were promoting! By the end of this segment, he could feel the sweat from the stage lights sliding down his neck and could hear his fans kicking slightly to a higher speed.
By the time they transitioned to the polished kitchen set for the final demonstration, Vox’s vision was already swimming with tiny flecks of static. His heart was hammering against a ribcage that had no room to expand.
"And finally, folks," Vox beamed, his voice crisp and booming over the broadcast audio despite the fire burning in his lungs, "to prove the new heat control of the new V-Burner Pro, we’re finishing off with our signature inferno-glazed wings!"
The guest chef handed Vox a freshly glazed wing, dripping with a spicy, dark red sauce known for making even high-tier demons sweat.
Vox took a breath to deliver his closing line, but there was no room for air. The combination of holding his gut in, the relentless crush of the corset against his gills, and the sudden, searing cloud of spicy steam rising into his face triggered a sharp gasp. His lungs demanded oxygen, forcing his diaphragm to expand quickly against the unyielding steel and boning. The strain of everything pressing in on Vox was too much.
POP! SNAP!
The main button on his suit jacket snapped off his waist like a bullet, ricocheting off a metal pot with a loud, ringing CLANG.
Before Vox could even register what broke, the seam of his tailored trousers split wide open down the front, followed by the sickening sound of fabric tearing apart, the steel boning beneath his shirt snapped under the built-up pressure, popping out of their casings with sharp, metallic cracks. His suit jacket burst open, his shirt seams gave way, and Vox’s stomach spilled out, now hanging out glitening from sweat from the strain of the overstage lights beating down upon him, and the worst thing was the horror that dug deep into Vox’s heart was that this was all live for all of Pentagram to see.
The studio went dead silent; the only sounds were the camera rolling and the loud gasps coming from Vox himself.
no, no, No, NO, NO!"
A rush of static overtook Vox's mind, the roaring so loud, he could barely hear in the distance Ethan screaming at the rest of the studio staff, “CUT THE FEED! CUT THE CAMERAS, CUT IT NOW!"
Vox could already see the comments forming, flashing across the feed in a wave of endless ridicule:
“God, he really let himself go…”
“IS THAT REALLY WHAT VOX LOOKS LIKE?”
“What a fatass.”
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't do this! With a desperate, panicked surge of electricity, Vox zapped himself out of the studio and appeared within his bedroom with a burn mark left below him as he collapsed onto the floor.
"Get off—get off me!" he sobbed, his voice a glitching mess of feedback and distorted audio.
He clawed frantically at the ruins of his clothes. He couldn't stand the touch of the fabric, couldn't bear the sensation of the broken and twisted metal biting into his waist. Vox yanked violently at his shirt, tearing the remaining buttons off.
When a piece of the snapped corset boning caught on his skin, he didn't care; he just ripped it away with a vicious jerk. The broken metal dragged sharply across his ribs, leaving long, bloody scratches over his already bruised, indented waist. Red welts and small beads of cyan blood rose immediately alongside his stretch marks, but Vox barely felt the biting sting over the weight of his own shame.
He stumbled backward, tearing away the last of his ruined suit until he collapsed onto the edge of the bed in his bare skin, trembling violently. He buried his screen in his hands, his screen dimming to a flickering mess of red error pop-ups.
Val had warned him. If you keep forcing yourself into those restricting suits, one of these days you're gonna burst right out of your clothes...
The words echoed in his mind like a cruel prophecy, twisting the knife even deeper. Valentino was right. Val had seen this coming, had tried to save him from this exact nightmare, and Vox had thrown it right back in his face.
Why didn't I listen to him when I had the chance? Vox thought bitterly, his chest heaving with desperate breaths. Why the fuck did I lash out at him like that?
Across the hall, in his own sprawling suite, Valentino sat on the edge of a velvet couch, swirling a half-empty glass of dark liquor. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint neon glow bleeding in from the city outside.
He was still pissed about how Vox was allowing his stupid pride and self to continue to allow him to act in such a way towards Val. His husband for Satan’s sake! He’d gone to bed furious, nursing a bruised ego and a bitter sense of unappreciation. He’d only been trying to help!
But as the night wore on and the quiet set in, Val’s anger had slowly dissolved into frustration and worry. He wasn't stupid. He’d noticed the changes over the last few months. He knew Vox was gaining weight. And honestly? It didn't bother him in the slightest.
Years ago, Val might have cracked a cruel joke about it. He was used to the superficial, unforgiving standards of their world, where image was everything, and weakness was mocked. But with Vox, it was completely different. He couldn't even explain it to himself if he tried, but the extra soft weight on Vox just... suited him.
It softened the sharp edges Vox usually wore like armor. It made him look less like a vibrating bundle of nerves and more like a person who actually allowed himself to exist. To Val, that extra bit of belly wasn't an imperfection; it was a sign of quiet nights, shared late-night meals, and a life built together. It felt real. It felt like them.
Val took a slow sip from his glass, staring blankly at the skyline.
He hated seeing Vox destroy himself over a stupid silhouette or that Vox thought he had to starve and crush his own body to stay worthy of the VEE name, or worse, worthy of Val.
When Val’s phone suddenly buzzed erratically on the glass table with an urgent alert from the broadcast division, Val picked it up, irritated. He just wanted to brood some more here! But as he swiped his phone open and tapped on the notification leading him to the recording of today’s show, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
On the glowing screen of his phone, the nightmare unfolded. Val watched the terror etched into Vox’s screen: the wide, frantic eyes, the glitching static, the desperate, agonizing gasps as his body finally forced its way free of the corset.
An aching sorrow twisted in Val’s chest. His heart broke for him. He knew that Vox feeling out of control terrified the man, and watching him endure his worst humiliation live in front of millions made Val want to burn the entire studio to the ground.
But as the camera zoomed in tight before the feed cut to black, it captured the soft swell of Vox’s stomach spilling over his trousers, the navy skin flushed, the vulnerability of his body exposed and trembling, something else stirred deep in Val’s gut.
A sudden wave of heat pooled low in his belly. It was a strange, intoxicating pulse of arousal, hot and dark, clouding over the sympathy he was supposed to be having. Yet, seeing Vox like that, completely stripped of his restricting clothes, helpless, soft, it made Val want to feel all of him and caress and kiss every inch of his body.
Val’s breathing hitched; he stood up from the couch. He needed to see Vox right now. He started towards the Vox suite. Before his hand could even reach the handle, his phone buzzed violently in his palm with an incoming video call. The caller ID flashed VELVETTE.
Val swiped the screen, stepping out into the hallway as Velvette's frantic, furious face filled the display. She was clearly still in the studio control room, the background a chaotic mess of screaming production assistants and flashing emergency lights.
"Val! Tell me you're watching the feed!" Velvette barked, her voice sharp as she paced back and forth. "The entire network is losing its collective mind! The trending tags are completely fucked! Is he back up there? You need to go check on him right now before he zaps himself into a power grid, and we don’t see him for days!”
"Way ahead of you, babydoll," Val drawled, his voice carrying a purr that made Velvette pause her pacing to glare at the screen.
"Wait... why do you sound like that?" She squinted at him through the camera, her eyebrows drawing together in immediate disgust. "Valentino, I swear to God— Vox just exploded out of a corset live on air, he's having a total meltdown! and you're here sounding horny?!"
Val let out a low chuckle, a dark, mischievous smirk curling at the corner of his lips as he made his way out of his bedroom and started his way toward Vox’s room.
"Oh, he's having a meltdown, alright," Val murmured, his red eyes gleaming with unrestrained lust. "Which means he needs his husband to go remind him exactly how good he looks. Honestly, Vel? I've been waiting four fucking months to get my hands on all that extra softness. I'm gonna pin him to that bed and eat him out until he forgets his own damn name."
Velvette made a gagging noise, slapping a hand over her face. "Ugh, disgusting! I did not need that image in my head! …just make sure he doesn't hole himself away, okay?! Fix it! I have to come up with something in the meantime on my end.”
"Don't worry, darling," Val purred, ending the call and sliding his phone into his coat pocket as he arrived at the double doors of Vox's private quarters. "I'm about to fix everything."
Val stopped just outside the double doors, his hand lingering over the handle.
He took a deep breath, letting the playful, perverted banter fade into the dark hallway. Val slid the keycard through the lock and pushed the doors open. The silence in the room was eerie, to say the least. Val half-expected there to be sparks of electricity flying around or screaming; however, the quiet was broken by the erratic hitching of Vox's breathing. Val stepped inside further, his red eyes sweeping over the dim space. A sickening wave of déjà vu hit him right. It was the same scene from last night, only infinitely worse.
Vox was curled into a small, tight ball in the center of the plush rug, his arms wrapped desperately around his own torso as if trying to hold himself together. The sight was horrific. His expensive suit had been shredded into ragged, unsalvageable ribbons, scattered like trash across the floor.
Beside him lay the corset, snapped clean in half, the wire boning bent at unnatural angles, the thick canvas torn to shreds, and on the edges of the broken metal were small, cyan smears of wet blood.
Val’s breath caught in his throat. Any form of banter he had tried to use to ease Vox was quickly forgotten. He shut the door and hurried forward, dropping to his knees right beside him. "Vox..."
Up close, the damage to Vox's body was appalling. His skin was practically a war zone. It was swollen in all sorts of places, lines embedded so deeply into his flesh from where the corset had crushed him all day, but where he had violently ripped the garment off seemed to be the worst of it all. Long gouges were bleeding, the blood coming to a sluggish stop.
What truly broke Val was seeing Vox’s belly. The soft, pale stretch marks that littered across his stomach, what had quickly become Val’s absolute favorite part of him, were now crisscrossed with thin, cyan trails of blood. Deep claw marks lined his skin, the it was the work of a desperate attempt to scrape the marks right off his own body.
"Hey... hey, look at me," Val murmured, his voice dropping into softness that he knew Vox needed. He reached out with two hands, hovering a couple of spaces from Vox's trembling frame, terrified that touching him would make him snap further. "Voxxy, mi amor... please, talk to me."
Vox flinched at the sound of his voice, curling up even tighter, hiding his face in his knees as a choked, distorted sob tore through his speakers. "Don't... don't look at me, Val... please, just don't fucking look at me..."
Val could feel sharp pains blooming within his chest; clearly, talking wasn’t going to happen at the moment. Instead, he stood up, crossed the room toward the wardrobe. He reached in and pulled out a dark red silk robe one of his own custom pieces, tailored specifically with four wide armholes, incredibly soft to the touch. It was something he had gotten Vox for their anniversary.
He could still hear Vox’s voice from that night some many years ago, a chuckle as he held up the extra fabric and pointing to the two extra set of sleeves, asking if there was some mistake made. Val had just smiled, wrapping all four of his arms around Vox’s waist, whispering that even when they were apart, he wanted Vox to feel like he was still being held. It was meant to remind him of Val,
Carrying the robe back to the center of the room, Val dropped back down to his knees and very gently, as if handling a baby bird, he began to wrap the robe around Vox’s shivering shoulders. He smoothed the silk over Vox’s back, guiding Vox's arms through the lower sleeves and letting the extra fabric drape loosely over his bruised, blood-stained torso.
"Shh... mi amor, easy now," Val murmured, his voice a grounding warmth. "I’ve got you. Just take a breath for me. Easy."
As the cool silk settled over his raw, scratched skin, a long, trembling shudder ran through his entire frame. He collapsed forward into Val’s chest, hiding his face against Val. All four of Val’s long arms folded around him, pulling the smaller demon close, holding him in a firm, even wrapping his wings around him as if a way to shield him against the world.
"I ruined everything, Val," Vox choked out, his voice breaking into a broken, whisper into Val’s chest. Tears started to well up and leak from the corners of his eyes sliding down his screen. "The... the drawings you made last night... I ruined them. I threw them against the wall like a fucking child. I’m so sorry... I’m so fucking sorry, Val."
"Hey," Val cooed softly, pressing a lingering kiss into the top of Vox’s screen, his hands slowly stroking down Vox’s back to soothe the hitching sob in his chest. "Forget the sketch book. It’s just paper, Voxxy. I can draw a thousand more."
"I was just so scared," Vox rasped, his hands clutching weakly at the velvet of Val's shirt. "I felt like I was losing control of everything. I looked in the mirror and I saw... someone who is meant to be laughed at…I saw overweight fatass trying to pass himself off as sexy…Someone disgusting. I thought... I thought if you saw how much I changed, you’d look at me like I was a joke. And then on air—live—in front of millions..." Vox’s screen flickered violently, fresh panic threatening to break through. "Everyone saw. The whole fucking city watched me burst right out of my clothes."
Val pulled back just an bit, a whimper escaping Vox as he then cupped Vox’s screen in two of his hands, forcing Vox to look up into his red eyes.
"You absolute idiot," Val said, though there wasn't a single drop of malice in it only a deep affection that made Vox’s breath catch in his throat. "You think I care about your waistline? Look at me, Vox. Val gripped his screen tighter, "You want to know the truth? I love the new weight on you," Val confessed, "I love how soft you feel. I love the laughter that fills the room when I give that extra plushness of yours a squeeze. Having more of you to hold, more of you to touch, it fills my heart with joy, Voxxy."
Val’s thumb brushed away the tiny beads of tears that accumulated on Vox’s screen, his lower hands gently gathering the red silk robe around Vox's waist, tying the sash in a loose, comfortable knot that didn’t put any strain against his already bruised gills.
"You don't need to shape yourself for anyone," Val murmured, pressing his lips against the warm glass of Vox's casing. "Not for the cameras, not for the city, and especially not for me. Soft, sharp, thin, chubby I’ll love you shape or form Voxxy. You’re mine either way. Val shifted his upper arms, to rub small circles into the tense muscles of Vox’s back top ease some of the tension from them.
Vox let out a long, shuddering breath, He didn't fight when Val gathered him up into all four arms, carrying him over to the bed and setting him down into the pile of pillows. Val stood up and the proceeded to the adjacent bathroom, returning a moment later with a small washbasin filled with warm water and a shark themed clothes in the other hand. Setting the basin on the nightstand Val took a seat on the mattress and started to undo the sash of the robe, spreading the fabric open. Under the soft light of the bedroom, the damage to Vox’s skin truly coming to light.
"Look at what you did to yourself, mi amor..." Val breathed quietly.
He leaned down, pressing his mouth against the inflamed, delicate slits of Vox's gills until the rapid fluttering there began to steady. His lips tracked lower, over the angry marks left by the steel boning.
When Val moved down to his stomach, he picked up the damp cloth from the basin, carefully wiping away the thin trails of cyan blood where Vox had scratched at his own stretch marks.
Vox's screen dimmed to a low, faint blue, as Val began to wipe every inch of him clean, the repeated motions lulled Vox into a light sleep not quite awake, but not fully under either. He simply drifted, weightless, his chest rising and falling in easy, breaths while Val worked.
"There," Val whispered, kissing the corner of his screen. As he finished cleaning the rest of his body. The room was now, filled only with the soft hum of Vox’s cooling fans and the low, steady rhythm of Val’s breathing.
Vox slowly opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling his screen flickered with a faint, hesitant pulse.
"Val?"
"Hmm?" Val was know laying beside Vox his arms draped over Vox’s waist keeping in place in the event he tried to crawl away.
"Did you... did you really mean what you said?About... liking me like this?" Vox’s voice was small, as if asking such a question would break an nonexistance illusion.
Val paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, not with anger, but with stern look. He leaned down until his face was inches from Vox’s screen.
"I have never lied to you about what turns me on, Voxxy," Val whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the rim of Vox's collarbone. "I love the way you feel under me. I love that when I pull you close, there's actually something to hold onto. I meant every word."
Vox let out a shaky, silent breath, a faint blush of soft pink bleeding across his screen. He brought his hands up, tenderly framing Val’s face holding onto him tightly as if this would all disappear the second he let go.
"I'm sorry about the sketchbook," Vox muttered, looking away. "I…I want you and Vel to design a new wardrobe for me. Clothes that actually fit who I am now. And... I still want to go on that date with you, Val. Wearing the outfit you sketched out for me."
Val’s eyes softened, a slow, ridiculously affectionate grin spreading across his face as he leaned down to pepper multiple kisses against Vox’s screen.
"Consider it done, mi amor," Val purred.
Vox chuckled, feeling a weight lift off his chest. He closed his eyes again, For the first time in months, the constant, while never truly gone finally retreated from the forefront of his mind. Being wrapped in Val’s arms made him feel safe and loved.
Three days later, the headline dominating every screen across the Pride Ring wasn't the humiliating scandal Vox had spent the following days sitting and waiting for his ratings to drop.
The moment the broadcast had cut out, Velvette had done what she did best: she took Vox’s humulation and profited from it, Instead of trying to scrub it from the web she clipped certain angles and placed carefully framed filters over it framing it into the most re watched thirst trap in Hell’s history.
Who knew there were so many chubby chasers in the Pride ring?
In fact, the system analytics showed one anonymous account under the handle @Radio_Deer_ responsible for nearly ten thousand repeat views along, something that Vel ensured was hidden from Vox.
By the end of the week, the narrative had completely flipped. The feeds weren't mocking him, in fact multiple influencers had even started to put on some weight themselfs seeing the trend was now bigger is better. Velvette framed Vox’s broader, softer look as the ultimate display of heavy-hitting Overlord decadence, turning what Vox thought was a flaw into the new golden standard of power and desire.
Seizing the momentum, Velvet Couture immediately dropped its old lineups to sign a fresh roster of plus-size models, launching a high-end line of provocative, body-baring apparel designed specifically for fuller frames. Val stepped in as head creative director for the campaign, filling the city’s billboards with lush, sultry visuals that celebrated thick waists and natural curves.
Sitting at his desk in a sleek, custom-tailored suit that actually let him breathe, Vox watched the stock market numbers shoot past their previous all-time high. A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his screen as he reached over, as his phone buzzed on his desk, a text notification popping up from Val.
[Val] So, mi amor, ready for our date night tonight? I know just the place. They serve the best sea salt steak in the Ring. 🥩✨
And you better be wearing that outfit I sketched out for you,I want everyone looking.
[Vox] Already wearing it. Pick me up at eight. 🤭
Vox locked his phone and stood up, passing the full length mirror near the door, For the first time in months, he didn’t stare with dread or try to suck in his stomach, He smoothed his hands over the front of the white suit with pinks hearts decorating the sleeves and little moths were embroidered along the pants. Taking in his now more larger frame and the plush curve of his stomach a genuine sense of confidence filled his chest.
Stepping out of the office, he adjusted his cuffs and made his way down to the tower lobby ready to wait for Val.