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The best Hazbin self-insert smut series I've ever read just got another killer update y'all, gobble it up immediately or perish at my hands

VERY 18+

The Lookalike (Part 5)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, and then into the talons of the Radio Demon himself.

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, they/them pronouns used, Alastor X reader, Vox X reader, Alastor X Vox, drug use, explicit sexual content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Author's note: This is now a series! Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4

Given that you were the same size, and the intention was to have you pose as him, Alastor allowed you to raid his wardrobe without complaint. The bulk of it was variants on the same outfit, a palette swapped version of the suit that Vox had dressed you in, but you found enough pieces in the back to entertain yourself; a dress shirt with suspenders over it, a waistcoat, a jaunty little fez that attached to the hair with a hairpin and a cravat to hide the bruising on your neck.

You still looked like Alastor, but more of a bellhop than a concierge, and weighing the man’s gaze on you, you could tell this had been the right decision. He viewed you as his lesser, and seeing that reflected in your dress gave a less guarded edge to his smile that had not been there before.

Alastor returned your things to you, the wire and the aphrodisiac, and led you out into the hotel proper to introduce you to the rest of the staff.

“This here is Niffty,” said Alastor, fondly, gesturing to the pint-sized demon in a maid’s outfit who ran up to you as the two of you entered the lobby.

“Hello, Niffty,” you said, extending a hand to her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Niffty stared up at you, her single eye wide and curious. Rather than speak, she placed a large dead cockroach in your open palm, then smiled at you toothily before running away.

Alastor’s eyes creased at the corners. “I think she likes you,” he said. “But who knows, honestly, so watch your back. The others here are Vaggie, with the one eye, the grumpy pussycat behind the bar is Husker, and that one there is our hotel’s singular guest, Angel Dust. Lucifer and his daughter aren’t here right now, but you’ll cross paths soon enough.”

Vaggie stopped and stared, her expression at first confused, and then angry. “Alastor, why are there two of you? What did you do?”

Alastor just smiled obliquely. “What did I do? Why, nothing at all. This good fellow is merely my body double. They’ll be assisting me for a while.”

Angel Dust squinted at you from his perch at the bar, his look appraising. “Soo… They slash Them?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alastor stepped in before you could speak, an arm slung friendly around your shoulders. “Actually I think they’re more of a strangler.”

“So you found yourself a murder twin. Fuckin’ great.” The big cat behind the bar sighed as he polished a glass.

Taking out a handkerchief, you folded it carefully around the dead insect, giving it a little squeeze to check that it was actually dead, and headed over to the bar.

Angel Dust gave you a lascivious grin. “So how was sex with the tv?” he asked, both hands folded under his chin.

This time you felt a chill in the air as Alastor stiffened behind you. You could practically feel the static in his throat.

“I’m sorry?” you cocked your head, apologetic.

“Oh, don’t be coy, I saw the pictures.” Angel Dust winked at you.

“Pictures?” you felt your composure break, just a little. Of course Vox had taken pictures. The bedroom had been studded with cameras, and if you had to guess he probably had at least one embedded in his face. You hadn’t expected him to distribute them though. And though you’d only been in your body a few days, it was a little galling to think of strangers looking at your naked form. Your ears dropped fractionally.

“Oh shit, you didn’t know.” Angel Dust looked genuinely apologetic for about a second. “Well, welcome to Hell, I guess.”

Alastor took a seat beside you, not looking you in the eye. “He didn’t send them to everyone, of course. Only to me.”

“It doesn’t matter who he sends em to if he took em without proper licensing,” said Angel, sagely. “Was he any good at least? Or did he just lay there, with his big flat head?” Angel gestured in a square around his own head.

You gave a tight lipped smile. “I don’t talk about things like that. Past partners, I mean.”

“What’s the harm? Sounds like he already betrayed your trust.”

“Because it’s rude.” You spread your hands. “If I’m just going to behave like the people who wrong me, then who am I, really?”

“You’re in Hell,” said Angel, with a derisive wave of his hand. “Live a little.” He laughed, but Husk slid you a drink across the bartop, and you sensed something that might have been approval in Alastor’s gaze.

Your first week in the hotel passed quickly, with Alastor taking full advantage of your promise to help around the hotel. There were few guests, but the hotel itself was enormous, so most of your tasks consisted of cleaning, dusting, or pulling Niffty out when she got stuck in the air vents.

Alastor didn’t talk about the encounter you had shared, neither the tussle nor the intimacy afterwards, so you were a little surprised when he asked you to move into his room with him. The space inside the room was huge, and at night he would vanish into his personal swamp to do who knew what, leaving you to sleep in his bed with a set of his pajamas on.

A little personal space felt good after days trapped in Vox’s bedroom, but it didn’t take many nights for the bed to feel a little too large with only one body in it. That he was avoiding sharing the bed with you was a certainty; the sheets smelled like him, and more than once you found yourself sleeping curled around one of his pillows, face pressed against the fabric.

The way that Alastor would casually reach out and squeeze one of your antlers if he passed you alone in a hotel corridor told you that the two of you were probably still on kissing terms, or at least that Alastor thought little of such small displays of intimacy.

You spent time watching Alastor where you could, learning his mannerisms and gait. You lacked his magic, of course, but your voice had the same tendency as his to give a tinny, faintly distorted sound, and you found you could replicate his silvery canned laughter with a little effort. The physical part was a little more difficult, with your body still new and a little unsteady, but within the first few days you had a passable imitation of how Alastor walked. There was a quirk to his stride, an intermittent tension to his shoulders, which you began to imitate too. Perhaps it was an injury of some sort, but it was hard to tell. Alastor’s other major quirk was that he never dropped his smile. You didn’t copy that, but took note of it for later.

Walking past the lounge, you caught sight of Charlie and all the residents starting up one of their group activities, and stopped to watch.

Charlie clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone, for our next activity, we are going to do hugging! Everyone pick a partner, and we’ll do a one minute timed hug.”

“We’re one short if we want pairs,” said Vaggie, looking around the room.

“Hey, tall dark and ambiguous,” Angel Dust caught your eye from his place on the sofa, and wiggled an eyebrow suggestively. “You want in on this?”

You checked the watch on your wrist- after hours- and shrugged. “Sure.”

A cold presence manifested behind you. “If my double is joining, it would be remiss of me not to,” said Alastor, emerging from the shadows. His claws settled delicately on your shoulder. “You’ll be my partner, won’t you?”

You glanced back, spotted the possessive look in Alastor’s eyes, and nodded. “Of course. Sorry, Angel.”

Angel Dust gave an audible sigh as Niffty crawled into his lap.

“Alastor? You’re joining? But that leaves us with an odd number again.” Charlie’s face fell.

“That’s okay, Charlie. I can sit this one out.” Lucifer, who had been sitting on the second couch, got to his feet.

“But dad…”

“I’m being a team player. That’s what dads are for, right?” Lucifer gave his daughter a fond smile, which she returned uncertainly. “I’m just gonna take some air.”

“Okay.” Charlie watched her father leave the room, her expression clouded, but she shook her head, taking in the room of people waiting for her to speak. “Uh, okay. So, like I said, we’re going to do the timed hug, and everyone has to ask a question, and answer a question truthfully. I’ll start the stopwatch.”

Sitting in a chair with Alastor was the first time you’d felt his arms around you since he’d climbed atop of you in his bed. His chest fit flush with your back, and he hooked his chin over your shoulder as both of you settled into the cuddle. Had he done this just to stop you from cuddling up with the porn demon? It seemed likely.

“Will you start, or shall I?” Alastor asked, your faces close enough that you breathed the same air. Looking around, no-one in the room was looking at the two of you, each of the participants engrossed in their own quiet conversations.

“Is that your question?” you asked, mildly.

“A question each.” Alastor’s eyes creased at the corners. “Bravo, impostor. I believe we’ve fulfilled the conditions of Charlie’s activity.”

“Not quite. We’re here until the timer goes. So we might as well talk.”

“I suppose. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering why you’ve asked me to sleep in your bed when you have no intention of sharing it with me,” you said, careful to keep your voice low, audible only to him.

“Oh? Is it so surprising that I want to keep an eye on my things?” Alastor’s smile quirked, a challenge. Say you’re not mine. I dare you.

“I don’t see Husk or Niffty sleeping in there,” you said, a soft challenge rather than a direct one.

Alastor trailed a possessive hand from your navel to your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. “Husker and Niffty,” he said quietly. “Do not have my face. Do not mistake their situations for yours.”

“And what is my situation, exactly?” you asked.

Alastor gave a hiss of displeasure at being cornered like this, and you noted the sound. His hand still over your chest, he flexed his claws, the sharp ends pressure points in a pentacle over your heart. “You’re mine,” he said. “Not anyone else’s. Mine.”

That was either deranged or romantic; you couldn’t quite decide which. “Because I look like you?”

“Because no-one else can be allowed to see my- our face. What we look like, in agony or ecstasy.” Alastor’s smile was steady, but his voice had a strained edge even at this low volume.

“That’s just for you, huh.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“I wouldn’t have a problem with that if I felt like you had any intention of seeing my expressions yourself,” you said, your own quiet challenge. You liked Alastor well enough, but an eternity of celibacy was a tall ask.

Alastor laughed in your ear, the sound silvery, his slight chest trembling with mirth. “What would you propose we do?”

You mulled it over, comfortable in his embrace. Given Alastor’s reticence in sharing the bed, straight up propositioning him for sex probably wasn’t the correct route. “I have the bottle of aphrodisiac I took,” you said, careful not to mention Vox’s name. You’d wanted to have it as an option for your eventual hunts, but you had no idea what the suitable dosages might be. “I wanted to test it as a knockout drug. Help with that?” It was an lowball pitch, an objective besides sex and no obligation for him to perform.

“Surely you’re joking.” Alastor rolled his eyes. “I’m not about to be your test subject.”

“Of course not. You’re stronger than me. I’d be the test subject.” You intended the flattery, acknowledging Alastor’s strength, and caught a flicker of something like pride in his face.

“I suppose I could help with that,” he said, his tone light but his eyes betraying interest. “It might even be entertaining.”

Lucifer approached Alastor’s bedroom door with trepidation, and looked around. That Alastor might have been his inferior in terms of raw power, which the fight with Adam had proved, but he was a tricky one. He had been attending Charlie’s activity with his double, but who was to say there wasn’t a third or fourth Alastor in the hotel somewhere. Lucifer stared at a dark patch on the floor in front of the door for a second too long before realizing it was his own shadow.

Cracking his knuckles, Lucifer transformed himself into a tiny snake with a top hat, and slithered underneath Alastor’s door.

If Mr TV man wanted cameras and microphones all over Alastor’s room, the King of Hell would provide.

Despite your earlier bravery, nervousness was a tightness in your chest as you returned to Alastor’s room that night. Memories of your previous encounter swirled in your gut, and you reminded yourself that he hadn’t agreed to a repeat performance, at least not explicitly.

Alastor was already there, laying out a set of small brass scales on his table, picking the small weights from the velvet box with his talons and lining them up beside it. Wordlessly you stalked up beside him, placing the bottle onto the table and picking out a suitable thimble sized container from the box.

Ingested, or inhaled? Ingested, you decided- you had no idea if the stuff would rip up your airways. Balancing the scales, you measured out a few grams. Given that Vox had just left this laying around in his bedroom, you doubted such a small dose would be lethal, and if it knocked you out for the count, you trusted Alastor enough to put you to bed.

You removed your shoes and waistcoat, taking a seat before you swallowed the powder, clearing your mind and taking stock of your body.

The first wave of the drug’s effects hit immediately, and you were glad you’d been conservative with the dose. The warmth spread from your throat to your chest, leaving your nerve-endings buzzing in its wake as it spread.

Alastor watched, giving you a questioning tilt of the head.

You swallowed as sensation flooded your body, struggling to keep a clear head. “I’m going to run, now. Try and stop me.”

The hardest thing was turning away, not immediately offering yourself up for soft touches, skin against skin. Part of you wanted to turn around and offer to wrestle, but you had a good idea of where that would go. That in itself was a useful effect of the drug, but not enough. Someone who knew they were being hunted by you would have the wherewithal to at least try to run.

With your senses on fire, running was a strange sensation, each bound through Alastor’s ersatz swamp dimension feeling precarious, almost drunken. The air was thick and humid, and it almost felt as if it was pooling in your lungs, slowing you down. As requested, Alastor chased, a shadow in your peripheral vision, glimpses of him spurring you on. He didn’t run full tilt, as you were trying to do, but rather proceeded calmly through the bayou, moving closer with his shadow when your quick pace put him too far behind. The closer he got, the harder it was to keep running. Your arousal was evident to you now, your cock half-hard in your pants, your pulse almost tangible through your core, all the quicker for your physical exertion.

Alastor caught your forearm in his hand, and you stumbled, heart dropping in your chest. The drug was something similar to the rave drugs in the mortal world, making physical contact feel like affection, a little like falling in love, a little like a long night under the stars, backs against the ground.

“You’re not even struggling,” Alastor noted, quietly amused. “Do you think this dosage might suffice?”

“I can still run.”

“But you’re not running,” said Alastor. He trailed a hooked finger up your chest and underneath your cravat, pulling your head forward, his voice turning singsong. “You don’t want to run.”

It was true- you didn’t want to run. You wanted to lapse into something more carnal, pull him to the ground with you, but that wasn’t entirely the drug.

You did try to pull away then, but even his light touch felt inexorable. Alastor’s smile shifted, becoming less the surface level curve his face usually wore and more an expression of intense interest. You could feel the drug’s effects intensifying, your perceptions warping in a not entirely unpleasant way as Alastor pulled you to him. Heat in your face, heat in your loins. “Try to run,” he spoke into your ear, the touch of his breath on your skin making your hair stand on end. “Try to escape me.”

You did, some part of your mind still capable of resisting, and you twisted from his grasp, making it a few steps before he was on you again, this time pushing you to the ground.

You gasped into the dirt, your vision swimming.

“Would you like me to take notes?” Alastor asked, pinning you to the ground with one hand between your shoulderblades, the weight of his palm unnaturally heavy. “About how docile you are under the influence of this, how malleable?” He leaned in close, face beside yours. “How you become perfect, vulnerable prey?”

You moved without thinking, turning your head to kiss him. For a few seconds he returned the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours, before his body tensed and he recoiled from you. You rolled to your side, watching confused as he stumbled back, scraping his tongue with his hand.

“Fuck,” hissed Alastor, and it occurred to you the maybe he’d gotten a secondary dose of the drug from your mouth.

“It’s not so bad,” you called to him.

“It’s all very well you saying that,” said Alastor, a little archly, his smile prim. “You volunteered to take this stuff.”

“And you got a fraction of what I did,” you said, keeping your tone coaxing. “We’ll both be fine.”

You crawled over to him, laying your head against his knee, and watched his face, the way his pupils dilated, ever so slightly, antlers larger than they had been a moment before.

“You’ve poisoned me,” he grumbled, but didn’t stop you as you climbed into his lap, or as you leaned in to kiss him again. His body gave a small tremor as your lips touched, and you looped your hands around his shoulders, kissing his cheek, his jaw, your skin feeling like white light where it touched his. “A good showing again, my double,” he said, his smile almost feral against your neck.

“I didn’t poison you on purpose.”

“You would say that,” said Alastor.

He pushed you from his lap and onto the soft ground of the faux bayou, on your hands and knees.

“See what you’ve done to me?” He pressed his hard cock against the back of your thigh, hot through the fabric, and you whimpered, rolling your hips back against him. With a quick and trembling hand he unhooked your suspenders, pulling down trousers and underwear, freeing his own cock with a susurrus of fabric and pushing himself between your thighs.

“Fuck.” You bit your lip, feeling the heat of him, the swell of him, the wetness at his tip as he found friction between your inner thighs. The drugs made his touch feel like love, made your cunt ache and your own cock further stiffen and weep. He pushed your shoulders down and you cried out into the dirt, arching your back as he reached around to grasp you.

“Still, can’t say I object too vehemently,” said Alastor, hand curling perfectly around your cock, pumping in time with his own thrusts. “It’s not so different to masturbation, after all.”

You groaned at the dual sensation, Alastor’s hand firm but steady round your shaft, and the heat of his cock as he fucked between your thighs. “Inside me.” You raised your face from the dirt to speak. “Alastor. Inside me, please.”

Alastor gave a thoughtful hum, but backed off just enough to let you angle and open yourself for him. With the similarity in your stature, it was easily done, and Alastor held himself still as you lined your entrance with his tip, and pushed back onto him. Your senses still heightened by the drugs, the feeling of him was exquisite, every inch of him a heady burn as he filled your cunt.

“That is-” he made a noise in his throat, one of unmistakable pleasure. “That is quite a convenient bit of anatomy, darling.”

That simple utterance was enough to bring a flush to your face, no matter that the man was already buried to the hilt in you. Darling. He had called you darling.

The whole week you had known him, he had called you his pretender, his impostor, his double and on a handful of occasions dear, in the same way that a doting grandparent might call a child, but darling was a different name entirely. Darling hit different when he was balls deep, antlers growing, palm curled around your cock and about to fuck you. Some of it was bound to be your altered mental state, of course, but not entirely. Did he care for you? Did you care for him in the same way? You whimpered, soft animal noises as he began to move inside you.

Perhaps sensing your emotional state, or perhaps from sentiment on his own part, Alastor’s movement was slow, each thrust a burning stretch on your cunt that left you able to do little more than gasp into the dirt as he bottomed out, balls resting against your labia.

“Darling,” he breathed into your shoulder at one such nadir, and the amused exhalation he gave afterwards told you that he could tell exactly the effect that word had on you. With a startle you realized that he had become bigger than he was, not just his cock but the entirety of his body, his torso longer, his arms longer, even his fingers curled around your cock. “You asked for this, remember that.”

“Darling,” you returned, heart in your throat, hoping that he could feel what you felt, and his response was a deep, animal rumble, from inside his inhuman chest as he hunched around your smaller body. It was only one word, one term of endearment, but perhaps it was enough. He fucked you then, not with abandon but control, the control of a man used to inflicting sensation in an exacting and precise manner. Each thrust felt like a descent into madness, bringing tears to your eyes, making your hips quiver as you tried to move against him, but Alastor held your waist with one clawed hand. You came more quickly than you wanted, spilling onto his fingers and the dirt beneath you, and he fucked you through it, the stretch of him enough to make you twitch all by itself.

“Should I finish inside you?” he asked, a tight, trembling edge to his voice, and you realized that his usual playful repartee had been missing all the time he had been fucking you, that this whole time he had been hanging on for sheer life, holding himself from his own orgasm.

“Please,” you whimpered into the dirt, and your suspicions here confirmed as you felt the first hot pulse of his cum inside you almost immediately, a noise from him very similar to the one you had been making, something between an animal cry and the moan of a poorly soldered capacitor.

You felt Alastor collapse against your back, face buried in your neck. He gave a soft gasp, a barely audible fuck, and you pressed yourself against him as he emptied himself into you, pulse after pulse, until his body was the normal size again and his cum ran in thick rivulets down your thighs.

The notification pinged in Vox’s peripheral vision as he was halfway through the quarterly board meeting- new camera feeds now online- and the thought of it made his mouth go dry. He didn’t have much to do here other than closing remarks, and Voxtek’s CTO was deep into explaining some shit that Vox already knew, so what was the harm in it? Just a little peek. To check the system was working. He’d probably just see Alastor reading a book or some archaic fuckin’ thing.

Valentino never attended these things. Velvette did, but rarely, her face stuck in her phone until a particular item on the agenda caught her interest.

The other two did their bit in their respective arenas, but really, Vox was the one holding it all together. The board didn't need him today though. Vox eyed Baxter wearily, watching his chief engineer go through a presentation he'd seen three times before. Really, why shouldn’t he check the camera feeds?

Making sure that none of the feed was displayed on his face, Vox switched to the first of the cameras, and catching a glimpse of movement, switched feeds to one of the cameras in the bayou.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Alastor hunched over his lookalike, both of them with pants around their knees. Going at it, Alastor's eyes like radio dials, his body elongating as the both of you moved together. Fuck. This shit was live. Vox stifled a groan, then glanced around the boardroom, hoping that no-one had caught his reaction.

Oh, fucking fuck. Vox drew in breath, trying to compose himself.

“Sir, are you okay?” Baxter stopped mid presentation, looking at Vox with an expression of concern.

“I, uh, need to make a call real quick,” he said, and the board gave him confused looks as he stood, picking up his laptop and holding it in front of him to hide the tent in his pants. Live radio demon fucking continued overlaid over the board’s stares, screen-in-screen. “Carry on as you were.”

His cock now too hard for him to walk away with any dignity whatsoever, Vox called on his magic to zap himself out of there and back to the relative privacy of his control room. “Fu-uck,” breathed Vox as he stumbled forward to the control panel, watching with wide-eyed disbelief as he broadcast the scene to the big screen, piping in the audio, the breathing and the whimpering as well as the wet visceral sounds of sex. “Oh, fuck yeah.” He licked his lips, hand at his fly, transfixed by the sight. “That's some good fucking shit.”

Lucifer had fulfilled his end of the bargain and then some. Val and Velvette would have questions as to why they were suddenly giving loads of free shit to Lucifer's daughter, but he could handle that.

Right now, Vox was going to sit down and watch the Radio Demon fuck himself. The board meeting could fucking wait.