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“Alastor has gone missing and you’re the only one that can find him!!” Was something that Vox did not expect to hear in the middle of his workday from none other than Charlie Morningstar—Princess of Hell, and owner of the infamous Hazbin Hotel. The place that Alastor just so happened to live inside.
Vox frowns, planting his feet on the floor instead of propping them up on his desk. “You’ve called me.. why?”
“Like I said! No one else can find him, and we know you two share.. some kind of secret language!! You’re the only one that can help!” Charlie’s desperate voice rang out through the phone—somehow even higher pitched than before.
Vox shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his external processors. “Are you sure he isn’t, like? Hiding in the shadows?” Vox asks, unable to take this seriously. “He tends to do that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
Charlie somehow pouts through the phone, without any video calls on. Vox would be impressed that she managed to portray that through audio if he wasn’t incredibly irritated at being interrupted for something as unimportant as this.
Before she can whine more, Vox quickly continues. “Let’s say I agree. Who says Alastor isn’t going to tear me apart the second I find him? It’s for the best that everyone stays away from him anyways. He’s probably just throwing a tantrum. He’ll be back soon.”
“…” It’s quiet on the other line for a moment. Vox raises an eyebrow, curious if she hung up on him. Just as he’s about to hang up himself, he hears a small voice. “..He’s been missing for three days, Vox. It hasn’t been this long.. ever! So I’m worried something has happened.” Charlie whispers, barely audible. Slowly, she gets louder again. “I promise that if he tries to harm you, I’ll help you in whatever way you need. I just can’t sit back and let him continue to be missing.”
Vox feels a sudden prick of panic rise in his chest. Something that he tries to push down, but is unable to stop from rising the moment that a thought lodged itself into his mind.
What if Alastor has disappeared again? What if he’s going to be gone for another seven years? Or worse, longer? If he’s out there somewhere still, Vox can’t let him disappear. Vox can’t survive another decade without Alastor anywhere to be found. Vox doesn’t think his sanity can take that amount of paranoia and anxiety again.
It constantly ate up at him. Every second of every day—wondering if Alastor is okay. If he’s dead, if he’s hurt, if he’s being tortured. Vox can’t go through that again.
He only barely survived. Vox won’t be able to do it another day.
Vox swallows thickly, doing his best to push down the overwhelming anxiety clawing its way out of his chest and through his throat. “Okay, I guess. If you promise to pay for the expenses while I’m reviving.”
“I promise!!” Charlie immediately agrees, relief tangible in her tone. “Thank you so much, Vox.. I don’t know what I would do without you!!” She sounds like she’s about to cry.
Vox shifts in his seat, suddenly very uncomfortable. It’s what he needs to not start crying himself. “Don’t sweat it. I’m going to get on that. No promises that he will show up to your doorstep in one piece—wherever he is currently. Goodbye.”
Vox quickly hangs up the phone before Charlie can reply, not wanting to hear her kindness and thanks. It’s unnecessary. It’s not like he’s doing it for her, anyways. He’s doing this for himself.
He isn’t going to let Alastor slip through the seams again. He’s going to find him and drag him back kicking and screaming if he has to. He doesn’t give a shit how deep of water he’s in. Vox is going to get him back to that stupid hotel, where Vox can track him during the day and make sure he’s breathing and okay. Nothing is going to stop him from doing exactly that.
Vox had been searching the frequencies between them for a long while now. Every dead end he came up with was another piece of dread filling his entire being. Every time he thought he felt Alastor, he focused closer and found nothing.
It was making him closer and closer to tears. Vox hated being so emotional all of the time—especially when it had to do with Alastor.
He’s always been an emotional person. As a boy, in life, his nickname was ‘crybaby.’ No one liked the boy who was sensitive, who would cry over every single little inconvenience. Boys don’t cry. Even when he grew up into a man, the waterworks didn’t stop. He got better at hiding it, sure, but when he got to the privacy of his room—he would always begin to sob.
It was emasculating. Embarrassing. The only one that knew about such a thing was Alastor. Back when he felt safe enough to cry on him, when Vox didn’t feel like Alastor had it out for him. Back when he felt safe with Alastor. Enough to cry in his chest.
Vox took in a shaky breath. He isn’t going to cry about Alastor any more. He knows he’s already shed more than enough tears over that deer to last a millennium.
He focused back on figuring out where Alastor is. He searches the Entertainment District, Cannibal Town, Uptown. He even checked the Doomsday District. That’s how desperate he got. No matter what—he found nothing. No sign of Alastor.
Vox was breathing too quickly. His gills were fluttering in panic, his heat was heating up. Everything was going into overdrive as he tried his best not to glitch out from the pure panic consuming his entire body.
Alastor can’t have disappeared again. He couldn’t. He can’t do that to Vox again. He has barely been back for a couple years. Why would he leave again so soon? He’s supposed to stay. He’s supposed to be safe in the Hazbin Hotel. They’re supposed to fight in the streets and hate each other and Alastor isn’t supposed to be gone.
Vox feels nauseous. He feels sick. What is he supposed to do? How does he continue on with his day knowing that Alastor has left him all alone again?
As his frequency goes haywire, desperate combing over every single possible place he hadn’t checked yet, he suddenly passes by something.
Vox gasps, his eyes widening. A few tears that had been building slip down through the shock, able to slip through Vox’s defenses. Vox quickly finds the spot again, focusing in on it, and there.
His signal brushes up against Alastor’s.
He seems really distressed. It’s dull one second, before it suddenly spikes, and then goes dull again. Over and over again. Never in the same pattern. Vox frowns deeply as he marks that spot in his internal map, finding it to be somewhere that no overlord has touched. No overlord except for Alastor, considering it’s in the bayou.
Why is he in a bayou? Is an animal attacking him out there? Is he safe? Is he cold? Has he broken something and can’t move? Vox can’t sit here and wait around anymore.
Vox has to go make sure that Alastor is still around. He isn’t going to be left all alone again.
Even if Alastor is most certainly going to kill him. Vox doesn’t care. He needs to see Alastor with own two eyes so he knows for sure that he hasn’t disappeared for another seven years. His poor heart can’t take it.
Vox takes a deep breath, rubbing his screen free of any lingering wetness, before he teleports himself into the nearest camera. Unfortunately, they stop just shy of the bayou, so he is not able to just teleport right in front of Alastor. He needs to go in there by foot.
It’s been so long since he’s been in there. So long since he’s had the opportunity to be in Alastor’s territory at all. Vox frowns to himself—hopefully he won’t get horribly lost.
Vox clings onto Alastor’s frequency for direction as he steps inside, making sure to watch his step.
Quickly, his shoes become caked in mud. Each step he takes, he sinks at least an inch into the ground. Vox makes sure to not step anywhere that’ll get him too dirty. He avoids the water, the roots sticking out of the ground—Vox just does his best to traverse the terrain whilst looking for Alastor. It helps that he was staying in place.
Vox continues deeper into the bayou, doing his best to focus on not dying and finding Alastor as soon as possible. Just a quick in and out. He’ll make sure that Alastor is okay and then he will make a break for it so he doesn’t end up dead. That’s all he needs to do.
When Vox finally finds Alastor, however, his plan is quickly thrown into the trash at the sight in front of him.
Alastor, in his large kaiju form, practically feral in the middle of nowhere. His hair is tangled, his suit is torn up and dirty, and the small amount of fur that he currently has visible due to the holes in his suit is also rather dirty. Like he’d been rolling around in the mud.
Currently, he was pressed up against a tree. Vox frowned to himself, unsure exactly what he was supposed to be looking at. “..Alastor?” Vox asks against his better instincts. Something is wrong and Vox has to figure out what it is. As soon as he does, he’ll leave! But he might be injured. Vox can’t leave him here to slowly regenerate. It’s such a pain in the ass.
Alastor’s ears, which had been pinned against his skull, immediately perked up and twitched back in his direction. Alastor’s head snaps around with a sickening crack, eyes immediately focusing on him. Pupils that had previously been just a pinprick dilated until there was practically no red left.
He turned his body around, his smile widening at the sight of Vox. As Vox’s eyes travelled down, he suddenly became very aware of the issue that he’s just walked himself into.
Alastor is in rut.
He’s in rut and Vox is infringing on his territory. He’s going to get torn apart and he definitely deserves it for being so stupid.
Vox guesses it’s his fault he doesn’t know what time of the year it is. He prides himself on knowing everything about Alastor, on keeping track of everything in his life, but he can’t even track his rut cycle.
He’s never run into Alastor while he’s in his rut. Vox always knew what was best for him—staying far away so he didn't die.
Vox supposes today is the day that he finds out what a stag does to another man in his territory.
As Alastor gets closer, Vox’s eyes dart around. Maybe if he’s quick enough he can still run away? Vox truly would hate to be torn apart. Just as he takes a step backwards, his world suddenly tips.
Pinned underneath Alastor’s large hand—Vox will say goodbye to this suit, it’s now dirty beyond repair—he hears Alastor’s low growl. He must be quite mad that he’s here. Vox sighs, relaxing. It’ll be any second now. Alastor is going to rip him limb from limb.
At least he’ll be out of this situation and Charlie will pay for the damages. That’s the one good thing about all of this.
Vox tenses up as Alastor’s nose is suddenly pressed into the space between his neck and shoulder, very obviously sniffing him. What, is he smelling his meal before ripping his throat open?
Vox supposes he’s just deciding how much he wants him to suffer. If he wants to eat him alive and all of that. With that large mouth—he could do so with no issue.
Alastor’s low pitched, staticky voice breaks the ambient silence of the bayou. “Vincent..” It’s thick with static, but even Vox could hear how pleased he was. What? That tone didn’t make any sense. Why was Alastor suddenly laying down, and why is he being pressed against his chest? “My doe, my mate.. you’re here.”
Vox freezes. What? The fuck? What in the world is Alastor talking about?
“You have to be prepared.” Alastor talks Vox through the steps now that he’s finally here. He’s late, but Alastor will forgive him. “You’re so breakable, my doe.. but I’ll be gentle. For you. Only you.”
Vox gasps as his suit is suddenly being torn open, eyes wide and practically jumping off of his screen. “A-Al! Alastor! What- what the-” Vox stumbles on his words, his thoughts flying by too quickly to really cling onto one. “What are you doing?!”
“Preparing you.” Alastor reminds Vox. He can be so silly sometimes. His long, red tongue lolls out of his mouth. He places Vox to lay down on his hand, bringing him up close to his mouth.
Vox stiffens, quickly trying to get up and scramble for shelter. There is no shelter on Alastor’s hand, and no way to get down now that he’s so far up. He’s trapped. “W-Wait!” Vox quickly uses his words now that he knows that there’s no way out. “D-Don’t eat me! I taste bad, very bad. I wouldn’t be a good snack!”
Alastor ignores whatever Vox is talking about to gently have him lay down again. He puts one of his fingers underneath Vox’s hips to prop him up, leaning in to press the tip of his tongue against Vox’s hole.
Vox gasps, suddenly realizing exactly what’s going to happen to him. He squirms, though he is unable to get away from the weight of Alastor’s tongue. “I-I’m Vox, Alastor! Not your mate! I’m not a doe!!” Vox quickly tries to knock some sense into Alastor, knowing that if he were aware he would most certainly never do anything like this. He’s probably just the first person that Alastor has seen so that made Alastor want to pick him. That’s all.
Vox isn’t going to think about the way Alastor sniffed him and then immediately spoke his old name—the name that Alastor used when they were friends—with such relief.
If he ends up thinking about it too hard, Vox can already tell he’ll cry. He can’t afford to get his hopes up like this. Alastor doesn’t mean it. He’s not thinking straight, obviously. If he were more aware he would never do any of this.
Alastor growls and Vox suddenly worries that he made him mad. He’s going to get crushed. Maybe Alastor is finally aware again. Either way, Vox is absolutely dead.
Vox gasps as he suddenly feels Alastor’s tongue lap up his body—crotch to chest. His entire body feels wet now with Alastor’s saliva. “A-Al..?-” Vox squeaks out.
“You’re mine.” Alastor growls out, and Vox realizes that he didn’t like Vox denying their apparent bond. The delusional bond. The one that Vox can’t get used to because it’s fake and Alastor doesn’t actually mean it. “You’re my doe. Tell me. Tell me that you belong to me, ma bichette.”
Vox cannot help but let out the small whimper that’s torn out of him by Alastor’s large tongue poking at his rapidly hardening cock. It completely engulfs the organ—leaving no part untouched. “I-I’m, ah-” Vox tries so very hard to get the words out, “I-I’m your doe, A-Al..!”
“Stag. I’m your stag, ma bichette.” Alastor corrects Vox, wanting to hear him say exactly what he wants—no, needs to hear. Vincent is his. He has to say it.
“I-I’m your doe, m-my stag..” Vox practically whimpers out, his cock being mercilessly licked at by Alastor’s tongue.
As soon as he speaks those words, he doesn’t get a single warning before Alastor’s tongue is suddenly prodding at his hole. It slips inside, inch by inch. The tip is already bigger than anything Vox has ever taken—and he’s terrified at the fact that Alastor is even bigger than this. He’s going to die.
“Good boy,” Alastor speaks to Vox through their shared frequency, as his mouth was currently occupied, “You’re my pretty mate. So perfect for me. Stay still, let me do all of the work. I’m going to prepare you so well, ma bichette..”
Vox whimpers and moans as his hole is slowly worked open by Alastor’s hot, wet tongue. He feels Alastor’s breath on his entire body—warming him up. It only makes his systems heating up that much worse. “O-Oh, fuck- fuck, s-stag! It’s too much! T-Too deep..!” Vox helplessly tries to talk some sense into Alastor as it feels like his insides are beginning to get prodded at by Alastor’s tongue.
“Taking care of my mate.. I’m gonna breed you so full, ma bichette. You’re going to be overflowing with me. I’ll make sure it takes.” Alastor doesn’t appear to hear Vox anymore. He’s entirely focused on preparing Vox’s body for taking his cock.
A cock that, despite how much Alastor might prep him, is going to ruin his body. Vox is certain that he’s going to die on it. It’s probably going to scramble around his organs enough that he bleeds to death internally. It’s going to rip open his hole.
Vox should be struggling more. He should’ve already tried to attack Alastor to get him off. He should be kicking, screaming—anything to get Alastor to snap out of it. So then why does he find himself just taking it?
Alastor’s words inside of his head are just too pretty. He doesn’t understand everything he's saying, considering sometimes he switches to French, but every word sounds so sweet that Vox just wants to melt. He just wants to turn off his brain and let Alastor fuck him to death. Tear him into pieces. Just so he’ll get to have Alastor holding him like he means something.
Vox is sick in the head, he knows. He’s too obsessed with Alastor. Too dependent. He should’ve denied Charlie’s request in the first place. But how could he ever when he simply can’t live without Alastor? He needs Alastor in his life to function.
Which is exactly why he isn’t struggling. Isn’t trying to get away. Vox can’t bring himself to. Not when Alastor is touching him like this. Vox couldn’t do that to himself. Even when he dies, Vox will still think it’s completely worth it.
“That’s right, ma bichette.. stop thinking. Just relax. I’ve got you, my precious mate..” Alastor tells Vox through their frequency, and for once, Vox just listens. He relaxes. He stops thinking of the consequences. They’ll be dire, of course, but that’s an issue for later. Right now he just wants to enjoy himself. Can’t he do that for himself at least?
It could be minutes later, could be hours later, before Alastor’s tongue finally leaves his hole. Vox is left gaping open, dripping wet from the saliva of Alastor’s prepwork. He feels unbearably empty all of the sudden. Vox wiggles in Alastor’s hand, whimpering. “S-Stag..” He whines out, “P-Please..! More!”
Alastor wastes no time repositioning Vox. Instead of being perched on his hand, Alastor has a hand around his waist and has pressed his hole to the head of his cock. Vox feels himself tear up at the anticipation of being ripped into two. It was probably twice the size of his thigh. How is that ever supposed to fit inside of him?
Vox gasps as he feels it begin to press against his hole. He feels Alastor’s hand push him down—slowly, gently; as if Alastor wanted to prevent the damage as much as possible. Vox can only brace himself for when the head inevitably pops inside of him.
When it does, Vox cannot help the scream that’s ripped out of his throat. He already feels impossibly full and there’s still so much to go.
“Such a good doe for me..” Alastor groans out of pleasure, switching back to using his voice, “Squeezing me so well..”
Vox screams again as he feels himself be pushed down another inch. He gets a few minutes to adjust to the feeling—not enough time—before he’s pushed down again. And again. Vox sobs, tears streaming down his face as he swears he feels Alastor’s cock beginning to prod at his organs. He’s halfway down and Vox doesn’t think he can physically hold anymore cock inside of him.
Alastor leans down to lick at the tears streaming down his face, before enveloping him with a few kisses. His mate being so distressed makes him feel bad. However, Alastor doesn’t think he can bring himself to stop. So Alastor just wants to make it as enjoyable as possible for him.
Vox relaxes into the affection that Alastor gives him, still shaking and crying from the pain, but Alastor being any amount gentle with him was enough to make this at least somewhat worth it. Vox would take anything of it meant Alastor would keep talking to him like this.
“Such a good boy for me.. ma bichette is so pretty, so perfect..” Alastor tells Vox, feeling Vox clench impossibly more around him. It makes Alastor twitch inside him—drawing out a wounded whimper from Vox.
Vox sniffles, placing his hands on the closest finger that’s holding him up on Alastor’s giant cock. “F-Fuck me, Al.. please..” Vox just wants to get it over with. He wants Alastor to feel good. If he’s been out here for three days, he can only assume that he’s been suffering out here for that amount of time. Vox wants to help him feel better. Even if it’s at the expense of his body.
Alastor’s eyes dilate at the same time that his ear twitches. “You wanna be bred nice and good, huh? My precious doe wants to be round and full of my fawns?”
Vox whimpers, nodding his head. “P-Please, Al.. breed me..”
Alastor doesn’t waste any time after that. He’s going to fuck Vox full. Make sure that it takes. He’s going to make sure Vox gets pregnant, and then he’s going to hold him close throughout the entire term to make sure Vox is healthy and happy. He’ll take care of his doe and his fawns so well. All he has to do right now is make sure he’s dripping with his seed.
Vox braces himself when he’s lifted up to the tip on Alastor’s cock, but nothing could truly prepare him for the pain that shoots up his entire body at Alastor thrusting up inside him.
He feels his body being ripped open to accommodate Alastor’s cock and it certainly isn’t a very pleasant feeling. His body wasn’t made for this kind of treatment. Maybe, if this happens again, he can create a body that’s more stretchy. Perhaps with less organs too. Vox thinks that’s a good idea. Especially as he feels himself start to go lightheaded with the abuse his insides are taking.
Each thrust up into him has something being jostled around. Vox whimpers and whines, he screams and yelps, and nothing makes Alastor stop. Vox doesn’t mind. He was the one who begged him to start. Who encouraged him to.
Vox was just happy that Alastor is enjoying himself. Enjoying his body for something. It’s more than he’s ever received from Alastor, and likely ever will. It’s his own personal Heaven. To be used by Alastor. Hell, maybe when he dies, he’ll wake up in the clouds.
Slowly, however, things start going black. Before he knows it—he’s gone. Dead. Due to internal bleeding, and other such damages to his insides. His body goes limp and Alastor does not stop using his corpse.
It’s doubtful he even notices though, as Alastor continues to whisper reassurances and sweet nothings to his body as though he’s still alive.
“Such a good boy,” Alastor whispers, “You’re so amazing. I love you, my precious mate..” Alastor tells him through the overwhelming pleasure clouding his head. Vox feels so good wrapped around him. He wants to breed no one else. Only Vox is suitable to carry his fawns. He’s so happy that Vox finally decided to join him during his rut. Alastor couldn’t describe how happy he was to hear Vox beg to be filled up.
It’s just a shame that Vox is dead and is unable to hear anything that Alastor says. None of the endearments, the reassurance, the confessions that Alastor would never say of sound mind.
It’s a while before Vox’s body regenerates enough for Vox’s artificial heart to start beating again. The first thing he notices is that he feels fuller than before. Namely with Alastor’s seed. It could be one load, it could be three, Vox has no idea. All he knows is that his stomach is bulging from both the semen inside of him and Alastor’s cock constantly moving inside of him.
Vox’s noises begin to start up again, and Alastor’s ears twitch. He missed those. He didn’t know why he suddenly went silent, but he’s happy that Vox is making noise again.
The next change that Vox notices is that he’s being pressed into the ground, his legs up in the air and loosely wrapped around Alastor’s hips as he’s being fucked into the ground. Vox is completely trapped in this position, helpless and unable to crawl away. Not that he would.
Vox is glad that his body has loosened up enough for the pain to be manageable. Or at least he’s gone numb. Either way, Vox is beginning to moan and whimper out of pleasure instead of pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to savor the feeling of Alastor’s cock abusing him.
“A-Al, fuck..! Oh shit-” Vox babbles out, his brain having melted alongside his dignity. The moment he begged to be bred was the second that he accepted whatever Alastor wanted to give to him.
“Does that feel good, ma bichette?” Alastor purrs out, claws digging into the ground beneath them as he continues to thrust his hips. It’s better the ground than his flesh.
Vox sobs, nodding his head. It feels better than good. Addicting. He wishes this wouldn’t have to be the first and the last time. He wants nothing more than for Alastor to hold and fuck him like this again. Being his doe wouldn’t be so bad if Alastor keeps talking to him like this.
But this won’t last. So all Vox can do is cry knowing that he’s close to losing this version of Alastor.
Alastor coos, leaning in to place gentle kisses to Vox’s screen. He licks up the tears, savoring the salt on his tongue. “You’re going to get pregnant, my precious mate.. you’re going to carry my fawns. I’ll hold you close to me the entire term. I’ll take care of you.”
Vox wishes that he could get pregnant just so he could experience that. If only he had a womb that Alastor could flood. If only this wasn’t Hell, so if he did have a womb, it wouldn’t be dead. Unfortunately, since neither of these things can be true, Vox won’t be pregnant and he won’t be taken care of. He’s going to be thrown away as soon as Alastor is conscious again.
“Are you excited?” Alastor asks, almost desperately. Vox has been quiet. He hasn’t said anything—only crying and moaning. He has a far off look in his eye that Alastor doesn’t like. Isn't he enjoying this? Doesn’t he want this?
Vox can’t help but nod, “I-I do, Al.. please.. p-please breed me..!” Vox begs truthfully. It’s not like he isn’t already being vulnerable. What’s the point if Alastor knows how bad Vox wants him? It’s pretty obvious based on the way he’s still taking this.
Alastor brightens, fucking Vox with a tad more enthusiasm. Each thrust punches a moan out of Vox. “Even if it doesn’t take this time, I’m going to fuck you over and over again, ma bichette. Je vais te remplir jusqu'à ce que tu tombes enceinte. Doesn’t that sound so nice?”
Vox just helplessly moans. His eyes keep producing tears, ones that Alastor occasionally leans down to lick up.
After a while, he feels Alastor’s cock twitch inside him. At this point, Vox had begun to feel pressure rise in his gut. It had been dulled by the overwhelming pain earlier, but now that only pleasure was left, Vox could feel an orgasm building.
He could only feel himself get lightheaded again. Alastor was fucking him deeper, harder, faster. His only barely recovered insides didn’t appreciate that. His vision was beginning to black, with splotches appearing in his vision. He was certainly dying again.
Vox rocked his hips back into Alastor to meet every thrust. Not to speed up the process of dying, but to help build his orgasm faster. He gasped and moaned, sobs being ripped from his lips. “P-Please, my stag, fill me! Breed me! I-I need it so bad!” Vox begged, helpless to do anything but plead for what he craves.
Alastor growls, “I’m going to pump you full, ma bichette.” Alastor very eagerly promises as he fucks Vox even deeper, even harder, “I’m going to be running down your thighs for days. You won’t be able to feel anything else but me.”
Vox nods eagerly, “P-Please, please! I need it! Make me full with your fawns..!” Vox needs it so, so bad. He wants to be pregnant. He wants Alastor to make due on his promises and hold him through the entire term. Make sure each fawn comes out perfectly. He needs it. He needs it more than anything else in his life.
Alastor pants through the pleasure, quickly feeling his orgasm build. He fucks Vox harder, deeper—using his body to get closer to that peak. It’s only after a few minutes that he finally feels himself cumming again.
Vox screams as Alastor thrusts fully inside of him—filling up far more than should be possible. His orgasm and the feeling of being completely full are the last things he feels before his life slips between his fingers again.
When he finally regains consciousness, the first thing he notices is that he feels cleaner than he really ought to. After spending no doubt hours on the dirty ground, he should be filthy.
It’s rather confusing, and in his half conscious state, he nuzzles himself closer to the heat pressed up against him. He can feel the soft pressure against his stomach, and the feeling of the warmth against his back.
Vox quickly realizes that the warmth is also something he shouldn’t be feeling. Whatever is underneath him isn’t hard—it’s soft. There’s something fluffy on top of him. And he’s very obviously being held.
What?
Vox’s eyes snap open, and he quickly scrambles out of what he now realizes to be a bed. Not his bed. Someone else’s bed.
His legs are trembling violently as he looks around, and he has to hold onto a nearby wooden dresser so his knees don’t buckle underneath his weight. It’s probably not a good idea to be standing after being fucked to death—twice—but he doesn’t care.
This room is red. Red and antique. There are a couple radios around, as well as some animal fur. Deer heads mounted on the wall, fur rugs. Everything is wooden. It feels horribly, terrifyingly like-
“Why have you climbed out of bed, mon cher?”
-Alastor’s room.
Oh, he is dead. He’s going to be tortured for the rest of eternity. He’s going to be a special broadcast on Alastor’s radio show—one that’s probably going to be ongoing for months before he’s finally given the sweet relief of death. Years, even.
He should escape while he still can. Except for the fact that Alastor obviously doesn’t have any technology around that he can jump into and, now that he’s taking a second to think, he’s never going to make it to the door before Alastor’s tentacles are dragging him back.
He’s fucked.
“That wasn’t an invitation to start blowing your fuses with your overthinking.” Alastor teases—descriptively calm. He doesn’t even have the signs that he’s hiding his anger for amusement purposes. He isn’t angry in a calm way. He isn’t hiding it. He just looks fond.
Vox is seeing things. Right? He’s delusional right now. Something in his head got jostled and he should be heading back to his tower to fix it right about now.
Alastor watches Vox spiral deeper and deeper into his thoughts, letting out a small sigh. He supposes he should’ve expected this. Especially given their rich history. Alastor taps a claw against his chin as he considers how he’s meant to calm Vox down and soothe him into thinking clearly.
Vox jolts as he watches Alastor stand up, instinctively taking a step backwards. Maybe if he’s really quick then he’ll be able to escape-
“Vincent.” Alastor says, voice firm. He was leaving no room for Vox’s focus to be on anything but himself. Unfortunately, it worked, it caught Vox’s attention and made his thoughts quiet down. Alastor’s expression and tone soften when he notices that Vox is finally listening, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not mad. Embarrassed, sure.. but I’m not angry.”
Vox stares at Alastor. He’s telling the truth. That, or he’s just lost his touch and can’t tell Alastor’s cues. As unbelievable as this all is—he knows Alastor’s cues. So Vox has to be right in his assessment. “..You’re.. not mad?”
Alastor smiles softly and nods. He beckons Vox closer with a claw, standing in a completely initiating way. He wasn’t preparing to strike. Alastor was just standing there, waiting for Vox to obey him.
Vox shouldn’t get closer. It’s stupid. He would be a fool to get closer. That’s what he tells himself as he takes a few steps closer towards Alastor, until he’s only a couple feet away. “..What do you want? Why aren’t you murdering me right now?”
Alastor chuckles, “It’s rather obvious.”
“It’s really not.” Vox rebuts.
“Allow me to explain it to you.” Alastor says, sitting down on the bed. He pats the spot next to him, and Vox obeys after only a moment’s hesitation. “We had sexual intercourse.”
Vox waits for more. Nothing more comes. “..Obviously. That isn’t it. Anyone can have sex. Just because we did doesn’t mean anything is different. You can still hate me and have had sex with me in the past.”
“Sure,” Alastor wouldn’t, however, have sex with just anyone. He’s allowed to save himself from the embarrassment that he’s only ever thought of Vox as his doe. “But I have bred you. You are full with my fawns. I could never hurt you.”
Vox feels the urge to laugh. He doesn’t, because he feels it might come out as a sob. “You know I can’t actually get pregnant, right? I’m a man. Not to mention this is Hell. Sinners can’t have babies.”
Alastor tuts as though that’s just a simple rule they can break. He waves a dismissive hand, “I have never listened to silly laws, dear, and neither should you.”
“It’s not something you can just break! It’s like- a law of reality or whatever. It’s not like murder!”
“My point still stands.”
“You-” Vox takes a deep breath. He can debate it all he wants but Alastor is stubborn. It’s a law, he knows it can’t happen, and that’s that. No need to think about it any deeper. “Okay. Whatever you say. Regardless, pregnancy shouldn’t make you hate me any less.”
Alastor looks away from Vox, biting his tongue slightly. This is where things get especially humiliating. However, if he wants to make sure that he can be present in his fawns’—and his doe’s—lives, then he has to do this. “..I didn’t ever actually hate you, mon cher. It was just entertainment. A game we were playing together. I thought you enjoyed it. I didn’t realize that it was, perhaps, real to you.”
Vox stands up, eyes wide and mouth wide open. His shock quickly turned into anger. “What the fuck did you mean you didn’t know it was real?! You- you humiliated me in front of an entire bar, told me that our relationship was fake, and then you proceeded to think me being upset with you was fake?!”
“You always seemed to enjoy hurting me, and in turn when I hurt you.” Alastor said with a small shrug, his hands raised in surrender. “I enjoyed seeing you happy.”
“Well, I-” Vox’s face was flushed from Alastor noticing him enjoying it when he got hurt by the deer. How mortifying. He moved on with addressing that part to avoid the embarrassment, “I wasn’t happy. I just.. it was better to fight you if we couldn’t be friends. I got to be close to you somehow.”
Alastor blinked, seemingly processing his words.
Vox wished he hadn’t said anything. He eyes the door again. If he runs while Alastor is thinking, will he make it out?
“I see we had a lot of miscommunications between us.” Alastor murmurs, his grin strained as his ears are slightly flopped against his skull. His ears raise again as he refocuses on the conversation. “I think we shouldn’t continue to fight if it makes you so upset, my dear.”
Vox turns back to Alastor with a deep frown. “It can’t just be that simple. We’ve fought for decades. How do we just move on from all of that?”
Alastor hums, his grin becoming more relaxed as he looks at Vox gently. “We had sex just last night. I think we’ve already sufficiently moved on from all of that hate.”
Vox blushes, groaning as he decides to flop down onto Alastor’s bed. He’s on his stomach next to where Alastor is sitting. Vox has buried his face into the covers, making his voice muffled. “You weren’t even aware. You were in a rut.” Vox pauses. He looks up at Alastor, “Are in rut?”
Alastor leans closer to Vox, rubbing his back reassuringly. “You helped me immensely, ma bichette.. usually they last a week. You, however, stopped it.” Alastor says with a chuckle, “I was also aware enough. I knew it was you. I wanted to fuck you. Isn’t that enough?”
“But.. why? You haven’t shown interest in fucking me before. You haven’t shown interest in me at . Why has everything changed so suddenly?”
Alastor looks away again. His hand stills for a moment before it resumes its soothing on Vox’s back. “It’s just been.. IThidden. It’s all out there now. Why hide it when I’ve already fucked my fawns into you?”
Vox resists another groan into the bed as he drops his head. He’s still on that. He hopes Alastor won’t get too mad whenever he learns that Vox most certainly isn't pregnant. “I guess you’re right. So.. we’re like.. acquaintances now?” Vox doesn’t want to use the f-word.
“Mates. We’re mates.” Alastor corrects without any hesitation. He said it before Vox even finished his sentence.
It’s a tad strange, but Vox doesn’t find the term unappealing. It oddly makes sense when he remembers this is Alastor. “..Alright. We’re mates.” Vox confirms without any pushback.
Alastor grins bright, though Vox cannot see as his screen is still hidden. Alastor hums as he moves Vox, ignoring any struggling or confusion as he tucks him underneath the covers, head on the pillow once again. He pats Vox’s stomach through the blanket. “Take a nap, Vincent. After the abuse your body went through in such a short amount of time, you ought to recover as much as possible.”
“I’m not tired, though..” Vox whines. That’s a lie. He’s honestly been tired since the moment that he woke up. Now that adrenaline isn’t pumping through him, it’s beginning to really hit him. Especially considering Alastor told him to sleep. His body instinctively wants to listen to him.
Alastor leans down, pressing a kiss to Vox’s forehead. Then another right between where his eyes were placed on his screen. “I’ll be right here, mon chéri. Don’t worry. Just sleep and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
That isn’t what he was worried about. The reassurances still ended up making him feel more safe and sleepy, though. His eyes droop as he frowns tiredly at Alastor. “But..”
“Sleep.” Alastor orders, leaving no room to argue.
Vox pouts, glaring at him, but closes his eyes. It isn’t much longer that his screen goes dark, signaling that he has fallen asleep fully.
Alastor relaxes, feeling much better now that Vox is completely in his arms. He’s unconscious and unable to do anything to jostle their fawns. He’s simply just safe in their bed, getting the energy he needs. He climbs into bed, pulling Vox close against his chest. He never wants to let Vox go. He won’t.
Vox wakes up feeling incredibly nauseous. He quickly sits up, and it only feels worse. He has to go right now. Vox jumps out of the bed and manages to find the bathroom quickly despite having never used it here before.
The moment he’s in the bathroom, he’s knelt over the toilet and puking his guts out.
It takes a few moments for him to stop being sick. When he’s done, he just feels dizzy and weak. He whimpers, sitting back on the bathroom floor. This sucks. Why is he suddenly sick? This is so weird.
Alastor appears in the doorway suddenly. “What’s wrong, ma bichette?”
“..I was sick.” Vox tells Alastor.
Alastor cannot help the way he lights up. He goes over to Vox, crouching down next to him. “Do you think you’re pregnant?”
Vox frowns deeply. “No.” He says, before he realizes maybe he shouldn’t be so harsh. “I mean.. I’m probably just sick. It’s too early to tell.”
Alastor hums, standing up. He helps Vox up next, flushing the toilet before ushering him out of the bathroom and to the bed. “How about I make us some breakfast! What do you want?”
Vox opened his mouth to say something normal. Like a burger. Or some pasta. Instead, he finds himself growing sick at those options. Why? He likes those foods. He continues thinking, and finds himself flabbergasted. Why in the world does he have such a strong craving for sinner meat right now?
“Well?” Alastor prompts.
“..I need a pregnancy test.” Vox blurts out. There is something ITwrong with him if he’s craving sinner meat. He’s never wanted to eat that in his life. He finds his mouth watering at the idea of it now, though.
Alastor blinks, chuckling, “That’s not a very good meal, Vincent!”
“You heard me!” Vox demands, frowning deeply. He has to get this figured out right now.
“Alright, ma bichette. If you want it, I will grab it.” Alastor relents, “But until then, what do you want for breakfast?”
“..Sinner meat.” Vox mumbles.
Alastor gasps in pure, utter delight. His eyes widened in joy. “Oh, you’re finally seeing my way! I knew you would come around eventually!”
Vox wants to throttle Alastor. Why he suddenly feels so annoyed, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that Alastor is currently getting on his nerves. “Just get me the meat! And you have to cook it. I don’t want it raw.”
Alastor chuckles, “Of course, mon chéri. I’ll prepare it perfectly for you. While it cooks, I will arrange a pregnancy test to come!”
“Make it a few. I want to make sure.”
“I will make sure that happens.”
“Good.. now go make my food.”
Alastor hums, “As you wish~” He doesn’t seem to be too bothered being ordered around in this way. Perhaps it’s because he’s providing. Vox doesn’t particularly mind. As long as he listens. While waiting, Vox curls up in bed. Eventually, he falls asleep. His food will be ready when he wakes up.
Vox stares at the pregnancy tests in front of him on the bathroom counter. All of them were positive. Vox didn’t know when the tears started flowing but they were now. How could he possibly be pregnant? There can’t be any babies growing in his body. He doesn’t even have a womb!
And yet the results are all screaming the same answer at him.
He’s pregnant with Alastor’s fawns.
“Are you okay in there, my dear?”
“Come in.” Vox mumbles miserably. He doesn’t know what to do.
Alastor opens the door, blinking as he takes in Vox’s crying face. He looks so lost. Alastor begins to worry that it didn’t take, until he gets closer and sees all of the tests. They’re positive. Vox is pregnant.
He can’t help himself from wrapping his arms around Vox and holding him close. “You’re pregnant!” Alastor says, his tone full of happiness.
“Yeah.” Vox sounds dejected.
“What’s the issue?” Alastor asks, his own smile growing strained as the concern builds.
Vox moves his body so he can bury his face into the crook of Alastor’s neck. He just wants to hide his tears. “I.. what do I do? No sinner has ever been pregnant before..”
Alastor hums, pulling Vox even closer into him. “I told you I’d take care of you. I’ll make sure you and our fawns are healthy and happy. The entire time, I’m going to stay with you. Okay? I promise.”
Vox lets out a small sob. His body relaxes out of the pure relief that Alastor will be at his side. “Do you pinky swear? You can’t leave me. You have to take care of me.”
“I pinky swear, ma bichette.”
Vox sighs, letting his guard down. His tears turn into ones of joy. “..Okay. I can’t wait to have these fawns with you, then..” He whispers.
Alastor shivers. He resists the urge to fuck even more fawns into Vox, instead just squeezing his body. “You’re going to be such a pretty mother, Vincent..”
Vox huffs, “I’m hardly a mother. But.. I can only hope.”
“It’s not hope. It’s the truth.”
“..Alright, thank you, Al..”
Alastor smiles, leaning down to kiss between Vox’s antennas. “Now let’s move on. We’ll get you comfortable, happy, and full of food. Okay?”
“Okay. That sounds nice.” Vox couldn’t disagree with that plan.
“Good!” Alastor says with a large smile. He lets Vox go only so he can begin making his way out of the door.
Vox stops him just before he can leave, “Al?”
“Yes, mon cher?”
“..I love you.”
Alastor pauses. “I love you too, Vincent.” With that, he leaves, leaving Vox stunned and with a warm feeling in his heart. He’s so happy that this happened.
He places a hand on his stomach, relaxing. He hopes they don’t give him too hard a time. However, they’re Alastor’s children, so he severely doubts this will be easy. At least he will have Alastor on his side the entire way.
Vox makes his way to the bed, settling in. He should probably think about contacting his business partners soon. He won’t tell people he’s pregnant, because that’ll make him a target, but he thinks he can’t just be missing for much longer. He’ll do that after food, though.
For now he just wants to relax.
So he will.
“What do you mean a sinner is pregnant?” Lucifer asks incredulously.
Charlie blinks at the outburst, but it doesn’t quell her enthusiasm. “Yes! Didn’t you hear? Vox gave birth!! It wasn’t said, but.. I’m pretty sure the father is Alastor too, based on the photo of the babies.”
Lucifer has never been more confused in his life. There are only a couple rules in Hell, and somehow sinners managed to break even those laws. They never fail to disappoint him. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know!” Charlie says, joy only growing. “But I’m so happy for them!! This will be good for them. Having little babies to raise. Who doesn’t like babies?”
“Most people down here, actually.” Lucifer says with a scowl, “But whatever. I guess I can’t do anything about it now.”
Charlie frowns, “Why would you do anything?”
Lucifer runs a hand down his face before he looks sympathetically at his daughter, “It’s a law. One of the few rules that this place has. Despite that, they broke it. I could take the baby but it’s not like I would want to kill them or raise them. So I’m just going to leave them.”
“Kill them?!”
“I would never!” Lucifer quickly defends himself before Charlie can start crying. “It’s just.. above my pay grade, as sinners say these days.”
Charlie huffs, “Leave them alone, dad. I just thought it was beautiful. That sinners are beginning to create new life, despite the horrors that they see everyday down here!”
Lucifer shrugged, “Sure, you can say that.” Lucifer wants to be supportive but he wouldn’t exactly call this development ‘beautiful.’
“Well, I’m excited to watch them grow! I hope they’ll grow up to be loved and supported!!”
“Yeah, I hope so too.” Lucifer sighs, leaning further back into his chair. He was told to sit down before Charlie spoke and he’s happy that he decided to listen. Lucifer can only hope those poor children won’t be growing up in a horrible environment. Oh, who is he kidding—they will be. The pride ring is disgusting.
Charlie continues to talk, and Lucifer tries to listen.
Lucifer just feels bad for those children. They’re either going to be abused or they’re going to grow up to be awful. He doesn’t know which is better. Both are horrible. This is exactly why sinners shouldn’t—and previously couldn’t—have kids.
Oh well. It’s not his issue.